Second Hand: A Tucker Springs Novel 2

problem was, I really couldn’t take her home. There was no way in hell I could afford to pay the $5,000 damage clause listed in my lease if caught with a pet. Granted, I might be able to get through the first night without the landlord knowing, but what would I do with MoJo the next day? Or the day after that? I couldn’t risk leaving her alone in the house. Nick was a nice guy, but I couldn’t ask to bring her to work every day.
Who did I know that could take her? Not Stacey. Not Nick. Not Brooke, who had been sullen all day at work again, sneering at poor MoJo. I didn’t have any other friends. The only other person I knew was Emanuel. And I barely even knew him.
Still, barely was better than not at all.
It was absurd, but it was the best idea I had. I took one of Nick’s extra leashes and led MoJo down the street to the pawnshop. El was in his usual spot, feet on the counter while he read a newspaper. No cigarette, but it was probably only a matter of time. He looked up when I came in, and I thought maybe he even looked happy to see me.
“Hey, Paul. Here for another beer?”
“No. I have a question for you.” I was blushing, unsure what to say. Can you adopt this dog? suddenly seemed a bit too forward. He solved my dilemma by standing up and looking down at MoJo in amusement.
“What the hell is that?”
I frowned. “It’s a dog. What’s it look like?”
He laughed. “That, my friend, is what happens when a gremlin fucks an Ewok.”
“Be nice.” I reached down to scoop MoJo up off the floor. She wiggled in my hands, her tail wagging and her tongue flapping gleefully toward my face. I put her down on the glass countertop, facing Emanuel. “Look at that face. How can you not love it?”
Emanuel cocked his head sideways at MoJo, as if he really were trying to decide if he could love her or not. MoJo panted happily at him, her tail swishing back and forth on the countertop.
“I hate to break it to you, but you can’t pawn a live animal.”
“I’m not trying to pawn her. I was wondering if . . .”
“If what?”
I took a deep breath and said in a rush, “If maybe you’d keep her?”
“Like pet-sitting? For how long?”
“Well, uh, forever, I guess. Owning a dog is a full-time responsibility, and—”
El’s eyebrows rose into his hairline. “Owning? Who said anything about me owning her?”
“Well, that’s what I’m asking. She needs a home.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled challengingly at me. “What’s wrong with yours?”
“I can’t have dogs.”
“And why me?”
“You’re the only person I know.”
He’d looked flummoxed before, but now he seemed flustered. “What am I supposed to do with her?”
MoJo was still on the counter, looking back and forth between us as we talked, her tongue lolling. “I don’t want to take her to the shelter. She’s a good dog, and I’d worry every single day about whether or not she’d been adopted.”
El rubbed the back of his head, staring at MoJo in exasperation. “Not sure I’m allowed to have dogs in here.”
“I thought the cops didn’t care about your personal vices?”
For half a second he stared at me, as if weighing my words, and then he laughed, his eyes suddenly bright. He rubbed the back of his head again. “Fair enough.” He looked down at MoJo, who was responding to the happy tones of our voices, wagging her tail faster than ever, panting at him. “You want to be a pawnshop dog?”
She flapped her tongue excitedly in his direction.
“Huh,” Emanuel said. “I had it wrong.”
“What?”
He took a red felt-tip marker out of the jar next to the register before turning his back on me, taking something off the shelf behind him, and leaning over it with the marker. A second later, he turned back around and put the item on the counter next to MoJo. It was a soccer ball, white and black, only now it sported a little red half-moon in one of the white spots. He turned MoJo around so she was facing me.
Black and white. The tip of her tongue hung from her mouth, a little half-moon of pink.
Emanuel held his hand over them and pointed back and forth between them. “See the resemblance?”
I laughed. “Does that mean you’ll take her?”
“I guess.” He leaned down to look at MoJo, staying out of reach of her tongue. “No peeing in the store. No chewing the skis or the golf clubs. No biting the customers, unless I give you the signal. Got it?”
MoJo’s wriggling turned into full-blown convulsions of doggy