As Indigo hooked the equipment around Sky, he reminded himself of where all the dangers existed in the neighborhood. The house to his immediate right, a large Victorian if Hollister’s description was accurate, housed some sort of brothel; he was certain of it. Men came and went. Younger boys, legal but young, lived there. They slept most of the day but in the evenings, they loitered about on the porch until their clientele started to arrive. Indigo couldn’t judge because he had a male escort that came to service him twice a week. Clay. The game of chicken continued between the two of them…and his heart shattered each and every time he let Clay pretend to be something he wasn’t.
A retired dirty cop lived in the house to the left of him. All his old buddies came on Friday night for poker and beer drinking. Oh, and probably talked about keeping any active-duty officers away from the druggies that peddled on their street and quite possibly all the streets around. The ones who lived near Indigo were drug soldiers or corner-workers, so he was certain the head of the snake was nowhere in his shitty neighborhood. Having said that, the shit was still all around.
The security in his house was top-notch. Had to be.
Walking Sky-baby—that was a totally different story—the opposite of safety and top-notch security. Every time he left his house, he questioned whether he’d return alive. To be honest, he didn’t give a fuck. Old Indigo would have never allowed the drug shit to go on. New Indigo just looked the other way. Get it? Looked the other way? Ha ha. He was a regular comedian.
Not.
“Let’s go Sky-baby,” he whispered. “Remember, if daddy dies, run for your life. Don’t stick around. There’s info on your harness that will hook you back up with the training company. You’ll get a new home—maybe a sweet kid that likes to snuggle at night.” Sky growled. He wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t rolling her eyes at his dramatics. Sky was more than his service dog. She’d served alongside him on tours, acted as a drug dog, and could kill a man before he had time to reach for a weapon. Poor girl, when he’d been injured, they’d sent her to be trained as his service dog. She seemed content with her new life, but he doubted it was true. Indigo wasn’t.
He deactivated the security, unlocked the door, and said, “Forward.” Once they were on the back porch, Indigo fumbled through reactivating the security then told Sky to take their usual walk. Obediently, she led him slowly down the back stairs and made her way around to the front of the house. Within seconds, they were on the sidewalk, heading toward the brothel. It was early enough that they were stirring about but not late enough for customers. The drug guys should be passed out because, from the neighborhood noise, they frequently “tested” their goods, just to be certain they were offering a prize product. He guessed it would just be poor business if they didn’t. Cop guy rarely did anything but sit on his porch and drink beer, unless it was poker night, of course. It was going to be as safe as it ever was. “Sidewalk, Sky. Go right.” He wasn’t in the mood for cop guy this afternoon.
They’d only gone about fifteen yards when Sky stopped walking. Indigo knew why. There was a fight happening on the sidewalk. Well, not actually a fight—more like a screaming match. It was weird. The druggies usually left the brothel alone. Not tonight. Just his luck.
“Go around, Sky,” he ordered, ignoring the altercation as best he could, which was pretty damn good since he was blind and all. Ha! He cracked himself up.
“Yeah, blind boy, go on around.” A member of the group sneered. “Ain’t nothing that goes on in this neighborhood any of your damn business. Hell, if we didn’t already have a house of pussies living next to you, we wouldn’t have even let you move your sorry ass in.”
“Good one,” Indigo muttered under his breath as he kept walking. His old team would laugh their asses off if they could see him now.
“Who the hell are you calling a pussy? You come over here enough to know the damn difference, Leonard! Can’t you tell a pussy from my asshole?”
That remark came from a high-pitched voice that Indigo knew belonged to Hollister, and his comment would have made him laugh if complete silence hadn’t fallen over the crowd. He slowed his gait and tightened his hold on Sky’s harness. He had a feeling good ole Leonard might not have wanted the crowd to know about his visitations. The shit was about to hit—just what Indigo needed.
“What the hell did he mean by that, Leo?” A voice growled. “Is he saying you’re a fag?”