Hound Dog & Bean by B.G. Thomas Read Free Book Online Page B

through the transactions and figure out who he was? It was all done on the shop’s iPad.
    But H.D. came through once again. “Yeah, sure. I know exactly who he is. I told you, the dude tried to adopt a dog from us the other day. He filled out the paperwork and everything. We got his name and address and phone number—whatever you want.”
    Townsend looked surprised, the expression making him even uglier. “Well, that is pretty fuckin’ convenient,” he said, running a hand over the hair-free center of his head (his bald look wasn’t even close to as sexy as Bean’s).
    “You been listenin’ to anything I’ve said?” H.D. rolled his eyes dramatically. “He came after me because I wouldn’t give him the dog he wanted. Pissed him off royal. If you want to know his address and shit, all we have to do is go around the corner to where I work.”
    “And it’s that close?” Townsend expression turned suspicious. “That’s pretty coincidental, ain’t it?”
    “Oh for crying out loud, Cain,” said Brookhart. “There is nothing coincidental about it. The son of a bitch came in here for coffee and saw Mr. Fisher and went for him, and Mr. Alexander got in the way.”
    Townsend’s expression got even uglier. “So how did he—”
    “Brubaker is his name,” H.D. filled in. “Robert Brubaker.”
    Townsend shot him a look. “How did Brubaker know you’d be here?”
    “You really haven’t been listening, have you?” Brookhart asked. “Brubaker came in for coffee and saw Mr. Fisher—”
    “Who just happens to work right around the corner.”
    “Yeah,” Brookhart admitted with a shrug. “You think he knew Fisher would be here”
    Poindexter watched this all with bemusement, and when she looked over at H.D., saw a mixture of anger and humor warring for control of his emotions as well. The man was an open book—total heart-on-his-sleeve kind of guy. She winked at him, and he gave her a lopsided grin, the humor winning the battle—thank goodness!
    H.D. winked back, then said. “You wanna get the four-one-one on Brubaker or not? We can go get it right now.”
    “No,” said Bean, breaking his momentary silence. “Dondt….” His words were still affected by his swelling nose.
    God, is that going to look like shit tomorrow , Poindexter thought.
    “Dond’t wandt to press charges.”
    Detective Brookhart swiveled to face him. “You don’t?” It was her turn to look taken aback.
    Bean shook his head and then immediately winced and closed his eyes. “No. Leave it alone.”
    “But Mr. Alexander,” she responded. “If he’s done this once, he could do it again. He’s obviously a violent man….”
    “Dond’t wandt to press charges,” Bean repeated firmly.
    Brookhart shook her head. “Well, we have to at least check up on the man. See if he has a record.”
    “Damn right we do!” Townsend added. “You want him pullin’ this shit again?”
    “You do whad you haf to do, but I dond’t wandt to press charges,” Bean answered.
    Townsend glared, then looked at H.D. “And you, rasta-boy?”
    H.D. laughed, turned to Bean, then back to Townsend. “Hey mon,” he said, breaking into a fair imitation of a Jamaican. “I and I is fine. Ol’ Bobby did na laid a hand on me. If de manager he’ah”—he hitched a thumb toward Bean—“don’ wanna press no charges, I sure don’ need ta.”
    Detective Brookhart sighed again. “Can we at least get the info on him? Maybe my partner and I can pay a little visit and scare the God into him.”
    H.D. chortled. “You bet, sis! Let’s do it.” He stopped and walked over to Bean. “You okay man? I feel like shit about this. If it weren’t for me, this would’a never happened.”
    Poindexter smiled. This dude was nice. He was cute too. Too bad boss man was too banged up to notice.
    “Not your fault,” Bean said. “I judst hope you’re okay.”
    “Dude, I am finer than frog’s hair,” H.D. replied. “Now you take it easy, go sit down,