Fear Nothing

before Pia Klick had decided that she was the goddess of surfing in search of her Kahuna. Roosevelt claimed to be able to discern the anxieties and desires of troubled pets that were brought to him. He didn't charge for this service, but his lack of interest in money didn't convince Bobby : Hell, Snow, I never said he was a charlatan trying to make a buck. He's well-meaning. But he just ran headfirst into a goalpost once too often.
        According to Roosevelt, the only animal with which he had never been able to communicate was my dog. He considered Orson a challenge, and he never missed an opportunity to try to chat him up. “Come here now, old pup.”
        With apparent reluctance, Orson finally accepted the invitation. His claws clicked on the deck.
        Carrying the shotgun, Roosevelt Frost went through the open hatch and down a set of molded fiberglass stairs lit only by a faint pearly glow at the bottom. He ducked his head, hunched his huge shoulders, pulled his arms against his sides to make himself smaller, but nevertheless appeared at risk of becoming wedged in the tight stairway.
        Orson hesitated, tucked his tail between his legs, but finally descended behind Roosevelt, and I went last. The steps led to a porch-style afterdeck overhung by the cantilevered sun deck.
        Orson was reluctant to go into the stateroom, which looked cozy and welcoming in the low light of a nightstand lamp. After Roosevelt and I stepped inside, however, Orson vigorously shook IT the condensed fog off his coat, spraying the entire afterdeck, and then followed us. I could almost believe that he'd hung back out of consideration, to avoid splattering us.
        When Orson was inside, Roosevelt locked the door. He tested it to be sure it was secure. Then tested it again.
        Beyond the aft stateroom, the main cabin included a galley with bleached-mahogany cabinets and matching faux-mahogany floor, a dining area, and a salon in one open and spacious floor plan. Out of respect for me, it was illuminated only by one downlight in a living-room display case full of football trophies and by two fat green candles standing in saucers on the dinette table.
        The air was redolent of fresh-brewed coffee, and when Roosevelt offered a cup, I accepted.
        “Sorry to hear about your dad,” he said.
        “Well, at least it's over.”
        He raised his eyebrows. “Is it really?”
        “I mean, for him.”
        “But not for you. Not after what you've seen.”
        I frowned. “How do you know what I've seen?”
        “The word's around,” he said cryptically.
        “What do you-”
        He held up one hubcap-size hand. “We'll talk about it in a minute. That's why I asked you to come here. But I'm still trying to think through what I need to tell you. Let me get around to it in my own way, son.”
        Coffee served, the big man took off his nylon windbreaker, hung it on the back of one of the oversized chairs, and sat at the table. He indicated that I should sit catercorner to him, and with his foot, he pushed out another chair. “Here you go, dog,” he said, offering the third seat to Orson.
        Although this was standard procedure when we visited Roosevelt, Orson pretended incomprehension. He settled onto the floor in front of the refrigerator.
        “That is unacceptable,” Roosevelt quietly informed him.
        Orson yawned.
        With one foot, Roosevelt gently rattled the chair that he had pushed away from the table for the dog. “Be a good puppy.”
        Orson yawned more elaborately than before. He was overplaying his disinterest.
        “If I have to, pup, I'll come over there, pick you up, and put you in this chair,” Roosevelt said, “which will be an embarrassment to your master, who would like you to be a courteous guest.”
        He was smiling good-naturedly, and no slightest threatening tone darkened his voice. His broad face was that of a black Buddha, and his eyes were full of kindness and amusement.
        “Be a good puppy,” Roosevelt repeated.
        Orson swept the floor with his tail, caught himself, and stopped wagging. He shyly shifted his stare from Roosevelt to me and cocked his head.
        I shrugged.
        Once more Roosevelt lightly rattled the offered chair with his foot.
        Although Orson got up from the floor, he didn't immediately approach the table.
        From a pocket of the nylon windbreaker that