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“All right, you can stop your whining,” Harold Finch said. “We’ll go for a walk in the park.”
Harold stood up slowly and eased his back. He knew he shouldn’t have spent so long hunched over the computer screen, but the current matter was pressing, and he was reluctant to spend even half an hour away from it. But Bear needed his exercise, and, if Harold were honest with himself, he too needed to stretch and relax his muscles, or the pain would be bad by the evening.
They made their way into the park, Harold nodding briefly to a few of the regular dog walkers he recognised as they walked past. His favourite bench was empty, so Harold took a seat and unclipped Bear’s leash. The dog trotted off to explore the various scents he could find, skirting round the other occupied benches while shoving his nose into every pile of leaves and tree root which could possibly be hiding a squirrel or two. Harold briefly closed his eyes, confident that Bear would return when he was ready.
When Harold opened his eyes again, he scanned the area, surprised the dog wasn’t back already. He spotted him apparently making friends with a shabby man seated on a bench further away. Harold was surprised for Bear rarely approached other people, but both man and dog seemed happy with the encounter, so Harold wasn’t concerned, simply waiting for Bear to return.
After a few minutes, Bear trotted back, wagging his tail. Harold bent down to pet him and then rapidly withdrew his hand as he encountered something sticky. Horrified, he looked at his hand, to see there was blood on it.
“What has that man done to you, boy?” Harold said. He ran his hands all over the dog’s body, but there were no signs of any injury, and Bear didn’t whimper as he would have done had he been hurt.
Harold sighed with relief. “You’re okay. But if you’re not bleeding, then… Well, it’s none of my business.” Bear sat down and looked up at Harold. “Are you trying to tell me it is my business? All right, we’ll go and ask. I can always give him the money to get to a hospital, even if he’ll probably buy alcohol with it instead.”
Together they walked over to where the man was still sitting.
“I found blood on my dog,” Harold said.
“I didn’t harm him,” the man replied.
“I know. It’s your blood.”
“What of it?”
“You need treatment.”
“There’s no point.”
“Let me give you something.” Harold reached inside his jacket to take out his wallet.
“Don’t bother.” The man stretched out his arm to stop him.
Bear moved so he was sitting between the two men, his bulk being sufficient to protect Harold without the need to attack the other man.
The man looked down. “You’ve got a well-trained dog,” he said.
“I acquired him when he was already trained,” Finch replied. “He is, however, very protective.”
“That I don’t doubt.”
At that moment, Bear’s demeanour changed. His ears pricked, and the fur round his ruff stood on end. At the same time, the man reached out and pulled Harold to one side, just as a bullet whizzed past them.
“This way,” the man said.
The man ran behind some bushes. Harold followed, but he had twisted his bad leg and stumbled. The man returned, grabbed Harold by the shoulders and helped him to move. There was another shot; the man swore but didn’t stop.
They heard a woman scream, but there were no further shots.
“Are you okay?” the man asked.
“Yes, I’ll be fine,” Harold replied. “What about you?”
“It winged me but nothing more.”
Harold saw the man put his hand to his arm, and blood seep through his fingers. “This time I insist you go to the hospital. That was my fault.”
“No hospital! I can deal with it myself.”
“At least come back to my apartment. I’m sure you will find it easier to treat there. I have a very good first aid kit you can use. My name is Harold Finch.”
“John Reese. How do you know you’ll be safe with me?”
“As I said, Bear is very protective. He may not be able to do much about a shooter at a distance, but I think you’ll find you’re no match for him at close quarters. But it’s up to you. Come, Bear!”
Harold began walking back but stumbled again. Instantly, Reese was with him.
“Looks like you need someone to accompany you home,” he said.
Harold almost replied that he could manage by himself but then reasoned that if he rejected the help he clearly needed, however much he might wish he could, then he was in no position to offer help to another.
They arrived at Harold’s apartment building, and Reese accompanied him as far as the elevator.
“I’ll leave you now,” Reese said.
Harold stumbled once more. He realised it probably wasn’t very convincing; Bear didn’t even bother to turn his head, but he knew he’d achieved his aim when Reese said, “I suppose I’d better make sure you get into your apartment safely.”
They ascended. Harold took out his key. There was no way he could force Reese inside the apartment, but he noticed the man’s shoulders slump as if he had admitted the inevitable. They went inside.
“The bathroom is to your right. Use anything you need. There are some disposable razors in the cupboard if you want to shave.”
While Reese was in the bathroom, Harold put some cheese and meat on the table, together with some crackers and a bottle of beer.
When Reese finally came out, he’d not only bandaged his wounds, but also taken the opportunity to have a wash and shave.
“I have a proposition to make to you, Mr Reese,” Harold said. “You are clearly ex-military and have skills I could make use of. The job I have in mind requires someone who is happy to stay off the grid, which I suspect would suit you perfectly.”
“Look, I appreciate what you’ve done for me,” Reese replied. “But I don’t need a handout.”
“It’s not a handout. The job doesn’t come without certain dangers, as you may have already realised. At least have a think about it while you have something to eat. It’s not as if you’re going anywhere at the moment.” They both looked over to the door, which Bear was lying across, fast asleep. “He won’t move for a while.”
“How do you know you can trust me?”
“I’ve always found Bear to be an excellent judge of character.”