Chapter 7

Veterinary Clinic, Fort Stockton, July 10, 2006

"Come on back Mr. Piotrowski. Wanda says you found him out near the Broken Creek Ranch?" the veterinarian was looking at the patient information sheet that Scott and Mr. Piotrowski had filled out.

"My assistant, Scott, found him out there."

"You've fed him some meat scraps, and cereal."

"That's right."

"Let's take a look," the vet carefully ran his hand under the dog's head and down his flank. "He seems to be very calm, good disposition. I'm going to lift him up on the table for a closer look."

The vet put one arm around the dog's chest and the other behind the rear legs and lifted him up. "He's a big one alright," the vet took a handheld device with a display screen and ran it over the dog's shoulder blades and around his flanks. "He doesn't have a chip."

The vet explained, "Everybody uses them these days. The microchip is the size of a grain of rice that is inserted under the skin. It's a transponder that contains a code we can use to identify the animal. He's not a dog we've seen here at the clinic."

The vet checked the dog's teeth and gave him a very thorough examination. "He's in excellent shape for having been abandoned. He needs to gain some weight. I can't tell you his exact age, but from the teeth and his general condition I would say that he is less than two years old."

Scott tried not to think about the collar with its 1997 date, or the thousand miles between California and Pecos County.

"What kind of shepherd mix would you say he is?" Mr. Piotrowski asked.

"A good one I think. The black mask and ears with the tawny, almost cream color coat tells us you've got some sort of Belgian Shepherd. He a little bigger than the Malinois, but his coloring is spot on for it. Also his temperament is unusual. For a young shepherd he's very well behaved. They're usually a little more rambunctious."

"A good dog?"

"For the right owner? A very good dog."

The vet turned to Scott "You did a very fine job of getting the mats and burrs out of his coat. Those can be tricky. What he needs is a bath and some proper dog food. Are you going to take him home, or does he need to go over to the pound?"

Scott looked at Mr. Piotrowski who answered, "What else does he need?"

"If you're going to take him? Shots, and you should think about having him neutered. If you really wanted to know about his breeding I could send a simple DNA test in for you. Plus, you're going to have to give him a name. I can chip him right now for you, and if you let me know what you end up naming him I can update our records."

"Give him the shots and chip him. I think we'll wait on the neutering, and the breeding doesn't really matter to me. Can you recommend some shampoo and the best kind of dog food for his size and age?"

"I'll write all of that down for you, Mr. Piotrowski."

After the vet's office they drove to the farm supply store. Like a lot of farm stores it had a little bit of everything. Mr. Piotrowski was clearly a dog lover; he bought two heavy duty stainless steel food and water bowls, a dog pad, a big doggie bed, shampoo and a grooming brush, new collar, dog lead, and a package of rawhide chew treats. A store employee loaded two large food bags of a brand recommended by the vet into the back of the vehicle.

They headed out of town to Meritt's Corner. The only comment Mr. Piotrowski made about the whirlwind shopping trip was, "I might have to put the dog on the payroll."

They tossed names around; Zeus, Apollo, Thor, Chief, Elvis, and so on. None seemed to fit.

"I think we'll have to see him do something and that will tell us his name," Mr. Piotrowski decided.

Scott agreed.

In the parking lot of Meritt's, Scott put the shot tags on the new collar and buckled it around the dog's neck. He whispered into his ear as he checked the fit, "You've got a good thing here. Don't go screwing it up. If you don't behave you might end up getting clipped by that veterinarian."

The dog 'woofed' quietly.

"Do you want him on the lead?"

"Let's try it and see how he handles it."

Scott clipped the lead on and handed it to Mr. Piotrowski, "I can check the auctions. Do you want to re-list the items that don't sell?"

"Let me think about it. It might be best to scrap it all. I don't know if we could find anybody local to take the stuff. I'll give it some thought. For now, the beast and I are going to take a walk and get better acquainted."

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Piotrowski and the dog escorted Scott to the front door of Meritt's.

A young couple came through the doorway chasing a small girl. She saw the dog and made straight for him. With sticky hands she was petting and stroking the big shepherd while excitedly shouting, "Doggie!"

The mother's eyes got real wide, and the father rushed over to rescue the girl. The dog, for his part, sat there amused at the entire exchange. The mother took a wet wipe from her purse and was trying to clean the little girl's sticky fingers which now were coated in dog hair. The dad apologized profusely.

Mr. Piotrowski and Scott both breathed a sigh of relief, "No harm. No foul." They bid the girl's family good bye.

"I think we have a name for this beast. I'm going to call him 'Job, ' as in 'the patience of.' We'll spell it 'Jobe' so that ditzy girl at the clinic doesn't get too confused. What do you think, does it fit?" Mr. Piotrowski asked.

Scott tried it out in his head, "I like it. It's a bit unusual."

"I think that makes it official. Jobe and I are going for a walk."

Scott went in and got the day's password for the computer and checked their auctions. A few items had done very well, but most had only one or two bids and sold for the minimum. About twenty items got no bids at all. Scott opened the email account and found messages. Almost all were from the auctions. It looked like the majority of the bid winners were quick to make payment.

There was one unsigned message from an address he didn't recognize. It had to be from one of the places that he had sent the netsuke (nets-keh) inquiries to. Whoever it was wanted more pictures of the bottoms of several different pieces, and close-ups of any symbols or signatures. It was a brief message. He printed out all of the winning auctions with bidder addresses for those that had already paid. They could ship those items right out.

Scott found Mr. Piotrowski outside conversing with a couple of grey haired ladies. Jobe sat beside him watching quietly.

"Do you want to get something to go from the diner?" asked Mr. Piotrowski.

"No, sir, can we just grab a sandwich at the house? We've got a bunch of items that we can box up and ship out. Plus I need to take some more photos of the netsuke."

He explained about the email and Mr. Piotrowski agreed that it couldn't hurt to put forth the extra effort to comply with the mystery correspondent's wishes. Scott handed the stack of printouts over. Mr. Piotrowski seemed pleased that they had managed to sell so much of the remaining inventory.

At the house the crew was busy sanding. There were five guys up on the scaffolding. Mr. Mason waved and said that he was ready to do the inspection of the interior work.

"Let me get this dog set up and then I'm all yours."

"You know we could install a pet door in back if you wanted?" said Mr. Mason.

"Wouldn't it be more like a pet garage door?"

Mr. Mason held up his hands, "It would only need to be so big. They make a kit that we can install in a half hour. It's weatherproof."

"Let's see how Jobe gets along here and then we'll decide. Scott, why don't you look around and see what you can find to make an outdoor shelter for him?"

Mr. Piotrowski went inside to arrange the dog dishes and pet beds while Scott tracked down Bo.

"Do you want to help me build a dog house?" Scott asked.

"Sure."

They found some lumber and plywood in the storage building and stacked it outside. They were trying to figure out what to build when one of the contractors came over and offered his assistance. He helped them build a professional looking 'lean to' dog house against the storage building. It faced the back door and would give Jobe a good view. It had a pitched roof with a wood floor and a large doorway.

"All you need now is some felt paper, a few shingles, and the roof will be water tight," the contractor observed. "If you wanted you could even paint it to match the house."

Scott liked it, "That's a great idea, and I know where we can get the roofing materials. The Mendozas reroofed their house last year and they stored the extra shingles out at the shop."

Bo and the contractor had to get back to paint prep, so Scott went to find Mr. Piotrowski. He was in his easy chair in the television room. Jobe was curled up on his new bed next to the chair. It would have been a cozy scene if it wasn't for the noise of the contractors outside.

"We built a really nice dog house."

"I'll take a look at it later. I think I'm going to rest here for a while. Why don't you go take a look at the work they did upstairs?"

Scott peeked into the downstairs bathroom. There was a sign taped over the doorway that said 'Stay out until noon Tuesday.' The tile looked great. The upstairs bathroom was ready for business. The office had brand new dark oak double doors. Inside, the walls had a fresh coat of paint and the contractors had added a chair rail detail around the room. It was a nice touch that dressed the room up. All Mr. Piotrowski needed now was some furniture.

He checked in with him, "I think they did a terrific job. Are you happy with it?"

"I am. Bill Mason and his crew do first rate work. What else do you have to do this afternoon?"

"Box up the winning bids that have already been paid for, and take new photos of the netsuke."

"Do you need any help?"

"No, sir, I think I can handle it."

Scott checked, and double checked, each box. He taped each shut, and neatly printed the addresses by hand and applied the labels. It didn't take long to load the panel truck. Over the next few days they should be able to ship the rest of the items provided that the payments cleared. Their online auction adventure was almost over.

The contractors were cleaning up. Bo said they would be painting from here on out.

Mr. Piotrowski came outside. He had Jobe on the lead, "We're going for a walk. I want to let Jobe get familiar with the property." He stopped to examine the dog house, "Boys, you did a fine job on this lean-to. I'm impressed."

"We had help."

"It's still a fine job. Solid construction."

Jobe sniffed around and poked his head inside. It looked like it had his seal of approval.

Scott went into the kitchen to retrieve the box of netsuke and the camera. He put a dish towel down and sorted through the carvings. Only ten of the twenty-eight netsuke had any kind of signature or mark that he could find. He took several different pictures of the signed carvings. He took detail photos of the rest. There were nearly a hundred photos by the time he was done.

After Mr. Piotrowski returned from walking Jobe they made a quick trip to Meritt's. The postal people helped unload the panel truck and got the boxes processed. Scott talked Mr. Piotrowski into parking by the engine center for a short stop. Mr. Mendoza told Scott to take whatever he wanted for the dog house. A sheet of felt paper and a half-dozen three tab shingles were all they needed.

"What next?" asked Mr. Piotrowski.

"I need to email these photos and check to see if any more people paid for their auction items. Shouldn't take me more than fifteen minutes."

"Sounds like a plan. I'm going to grab a cup of coffee, and we'll wait for you."

The first thing that Scott had to do was to send all the photos he had taken to their mystery correspondent. There were too many images for one message, so he broke the response up into four separate messages. Hopefully that wouldn't flood their mailbox, but he or she did ask for them.

Scott checked the email account and found five more payment confirmations. On a whim he decided to search other auction listings to see if he could figure out why some of their items hadn't sold. He got quickly distracted and ended up searching for all sorts of random items. It wasn't just a saying; you really could find anything online. Curious, he entered another search term.

"Mr. Piotrowski!"

"Good grief, Scott. What's the matter?"

"You have to come see, hurry!"

"I can only move so fast. There's no need to rush."

"Look! Sit here."

Jobe nosed around in the little computer room. He didn't find anything interesting to smell so he sat down to see what all the fuss was about.

"Scott, what exactly am I looking at? Take a deep breath first."

"I wanted to try to find out if there was anything different that we could do with our unsuccessful auction items, but I didn't find anything. Then I sort of got ... distracted. There's just so much to look at. So look, I searched for the watch you gave me."

Scott clicked the mouse to back out of the auction he was on and revealed a page of similar watches.

"Now isn't that interesting?" Mr. Piotrowski said in amazement.

"Interesting?" he switched to another tab to show a page that explained all about the moon watches. "Mr. Piotrowski you should sell the watch. From what it says here it's a rare, vintage example, and it's in perfect condition. I bet you could sell it for ... three, maybe four thousand dollars if we go by these prices! I can't keep it when you're trying to sell all of this other stuff. It's not fair to you."

Mr. Piotrowski logged the session off and pushed himself away from the computer desk.

"Let's go back to the house while I tell you a little something about value."

Jobe was sitting between them in the truck, enjoying the view.

Mr. Piotrowski organized his thoughts, "Scott, I appreciate that you want me to take the watch back and sell it. You're right. Those are incredible prices. However, I gave that to you as a gift and you're going to keep it."

"But—"

"But nothing. Now let me talk. Almost forty years ago I bought that watch along with some other items from a man who was going broke. I didn't pay much for it. The watch sat in a box for all of those years, and I never once thought about it. Its value is that I could give it to you. You're not going to sell it are you?"

"I would never sell it, Mr. Piotrowski."

"There you go. What is the value of the watch to you?"

He thought about it, "That you gave it to me."

"So the value to each of us is something that you cannot put a price tag on."

Scott squirmed in his seat, "You should still think about selling it. It's a lot of money. You gave me a nice Army watch to wear every day."

Mr. Piotrowski rubbed Jobe's ears, "Your heart's in the right place, but a gift is a gift. Besides I didn't have the yard sale or put those items on auction to make money. Don't get me wrong, that was a very nice bonus. The important thing was to empty out the storage building and to get my house in order after Verna's passing. I don't know if you can understand that."

"You're not planning on ... going anywhere are you?"

"Don't you worry about that because I'm planning to stick around for a long time. After all, who else is going to look after this beast?"

That night in his room, Scott took the moon watch from the display box and put it into a soft cloth bag with a draw string. He secured the bag in his lock box and returned it to the shelf in his closet. He closed his eyes and felt the coolness of his pillow. There was a lot to think about. He almost owned a motorcycle. In January he could register it and it would be official. With his own transportation there would be more options open to him, and there was a watch in his closet that was probably worth more than two years of his paychecks.

The one thought that he couldn't avoid was about the dog collar that he'd also hidden. The collar was dated the day after he'd left San Bernardino County almost nine years ago. It was impossible for Jobe to be less than two years old like the vet said, but have a 1997 ID tag from a San Bernardino animal shelter located over a thousand miles away. Jobe didn't make any sense, but the dog's appearance couldn't be random coincidence. What did it mean? I need to sleep. Ever since he had woken up on the floor his head had felt like it was too big.

Painting was therapeutic Scott learned. It didn't require a lot of thought. You put new paint on your brush and transformed your section of house siding from dull to fresh. Then you repeated the process. Mr. Piotrowski had decided on a color change. The house was now going to be a pale cream, with ice white trim, and dark reddish brown shutters. Scott thought it was going to be a very handsome house when they were finished.

They painted for two days, and they were ahead of schedule when Scott had to report for his Thursday shift at Mendoza's. By the time he got back to Mr. Piotrowski's that afternoon the painters were finished.

Bo was cleaning brushes out behind the house.

"You guys are finished already?"

"Yeah, we're finished. We'll come back tomorrow and tear down the rest of the scaffolding. Did you like what we did with the dog house?"

He did, somebody had added faux trim and shutters to the side of the lean-to, and they'd painted the entire thing in the same colors as the house.

"Did you do all of that, Bo?"

"I thought you guys would get a kick out of it."

"It looks really good."

"What are you doing for the rest of the summer?" Bo asked.

"I don't know. Work for Mr. Piotrowski I hope."

"I can't promise anything, but Dad's needed extra laborers lately. The guys all agreed that you were a good worker, so we might have something for you later if you're interested. There's next summer to think about too."

"Hey thanks. I could use the extra work, but I don't know about next summer. That's a long ways away."

"No sweat man. I enjoyed working with you. Don't be such a stranger when school starts okay?"

"You got it."

Scott helped Bo load the painting supplies into the back of the Mason's truck.

Mr. Piotrowski cut him loose for the rest of the afternoon after showing him what the phone company had done for the DSL installation.

Scott spent the majority of Friday morning searching the shop for a box of valve seals that inventory said they had, but nobody could find. He finally found it under a bench in the electrical section. No one claimed knowledge of how it had gotten there.

The afternoon went smoothly, and Noah asked him what his plans were for the fall.

Noah explained, "I'd like you to work with me, but our small engine business gets really slow in winter. I usually only put a couple afternoons in on it, and spend the rest of my time doing rebuilds on the big trucks."

"I don't know what I'll be doing this fall. I guess I'll go back to washing parts and cleaning the floors, or whatever Mr. Mendoza tells me he needs done."

"I doubt that. I bet he has something else in mind for you," Noah said with conviction.

Scott was unlocking his bicycle when Mr. Piotrowski drove up in the panel truck and surprised him. He leaned out the window and shouted, "Put the bike in the back. We need to run into town."

Scott put the bike in the back, closed the rear door from the inside and climbed over the bench seat. Scott buckled his seat belt as Mr. Piotrowski watched with amusement.

"Where's Jobe?"

"Left him at the house. We'll see if he tears the place apart while I'm gone."

"So what are we doing in town?"

"That my young friend is a very good question. What can you tell me about the emails you sent out about the netsuke?"

"I searched for museums with Asian collections and tried to pick a few that seemed ... I'm not sure how to describe it. I guess I picked ones that seemed more serious? The closest one was that place in Dallas. Is there some sort of problem?"

"No, I don't think it's a problem. What about that email and the photos you sent?" Mr. Piotrowski looked at him.

"That? I'm not sure who it was from since there wasn't a name associated with the account. The address wasn't from any of the museums. I think it was somebody's private email address, or maybe it was one they created just for the purpose of contacting us. You don't think somebody is up to something shady do you?"

"I don't think so. What can you tell me about the Field Museum?"

"It's in Chicago," oh that's brilliant, Scott thought, "and it's really big. That's about all I know about it, Mr. Piotrowski."

"I should tell you about my morning then," Mr. Piotrowski said. "I got a fascinating phone call from a man who said he was with the Field Museum. I believe he might be the guy that you sent those photos to because he seemed to know a lot about our little carvings."

"No kidding?"

"No kidding. In fact, he likes them so much that he wants to fly down here and see them on Monday."

"Really?" was all Scott could think to say.

"That was pretty much the same thought that I had."

"So what are we going to do in town?"

"We're going to stop and see somebody I think you'll enjoy meeting."

Riding in a one ton truck built in 1959 with the windows down was not exactly 'quiet, ' but they rode the rest of the way deep in thought. In Fort Stockton Mr. Piotrowski parked in front of a building located in a professional center near the courthouse. A sign on the door read, 'Black & Black: Attorneys At Law.'

Scott wondered why it was 'at law?' why not 'of law' or 'in law?' Where there other kinds of attorneys who were 'at' something else?

Mr. Piotrowski walked right up to the receptionist. She was an older lady who greeted him by name.

"Alex, she's expecting you."

From an office down the hall Scott heard a cheery voice call out, "Come on back."

Scott followed Mr. Piotrowski into a nice, professional looking office. The voice belonged to the most exotic woman he had ever seen. She had golden brown skin and short black hair. Her eyes had a slightly Asian shape, but what really caught his attention was her smile. She had the whitest teeth, and her lips glistened with a touch of dark, blood red lipstick.

He was transfixed.

Mr. Piotrowski introduced them, "I'd like you to meet my friend, Scott MacIntyre. Scott, this is my friend and lawyer, Honour Black."

She was looking at him.

He watched with absolute fascination as she licked the corner of her mouth. Good god, is she teasing me?

"Go ahead, you can ask. Everybody wants to," she said.

You better focus, he thought, or she is going to think you are a complete idiot. "Does your name ever cause problems in court?"

"Oh!" she laughed and covered her mouth.

Good grief, even her laugh was exotic.

"That's a first. Usually it's 'where are you from?' or 'how did you end up here?', but I like your question better. You can blame my father for the name. I did get teased about it in law school; 'your honor, Honour, ' and that sort of thing. It's not been a problem in court."

"I think it's a beautiful name," remarked Mr. Piotrowski.

"You are an old charmer, Alex, and your young friend is delightful. Now, to business. You said you needed legal advice, so what can I do for you?"

Mr. Piotrowski explained about the Japanese artifacts, the phone call from the Field Museum, and the impending visit. He took a folded cloth handkerchief from his pocket and revealed one of the small carvings which he set on her desk.

"This is a netsuke? Is that singular or plural?" she asked.

Mr. Piotrowski turned to Scott, so he answered, "It can be both, ma'am."

"Very interesting. Alex, would you mind if Joseph sits in on this meeting? He may specialize in criminal cases, but he's very strong on contract law."

"Not at all, Honour, I trust your judgment."

Mrs. Black's husband joined them shortly. Scott thought he looked like a lawyer should. He had perfect hair and features, and wore a fancy suit. If you were in trouble this was the kind of man you wanted standing next to you in court. Scott felt chagrined when he realized that he was like everybody else, at least on one account. He found himself wondering what these two were doing in a tiny place like Fort Stockton.

Mr. Black listened as Honour summarized the meeting so far.

"The Field Museum? I visited it many times when I was an undergrad at Northwestern. They're flying here Monday? Mr. Piotrowski, I can only say that these people must be very keen for your collection. If Honour agrees, I think we should have the meeting here. We have a room that would suit perfectly."

"Oh, I agree, Joseph," Honour replied.

Mr. Piotrowski was on board, "There is one issue that I should mention. Some of the pieces are ivory. I know that there are laws about buying and selling ivory."

"We'll have to research that. You're right. There are laws about selling ivory, but I think owning it is okay before certain dates. You brought these carvings into the country in 1952? Would you have any documentation that might prove that?" Mr. Black asked.

"I have the original handwritten receipt from the gentleman I purchased the netsuke from. I can't remember if it has a date on it or not. Scott, do you know?"

"No, sir, I haven't seen it."

Mr. Black leaned forward eagerly, "Please bring it with you on Monday. It could be extremely important for establishing the provenance of the pieces."

Honour raised a good point, "You don't actually know if they're interested in purchasing the collection. They might want you to loan it to the museum for display. That said, the speed and eagerness they're showing would tend to argue for an acquisition as opposed to a loan."

Mr. Piotrowski smiled, "Then we'll play it by ear. With my lawyers on the case I can rest easy. Can you think of anything else I need to prepare for this meeting?"

"Alex, the only thing else I can think to ask is if you're ready to part with your collection?"

"It's been hidden away for fifty years. I like the idea that people, especially young people, would be able to see it," he replied.

"Then we'll see you on Monday."

Outside in the truck, Mr. Piotrowski gave Scott a look, "What did you think of my lawyer?"

"She's something!" Scott replied.

"She sure is," Mr. Piotrowski agreed.

The next stop surprised Scott. They drove to an auto dealership that was located by the middle school. A couple of younger dealers flocked to Mr. Piotrowski, but he just waved them aside. He was here to see their boss he explained. A middle aged man who smiled too easily came outside and shook hands with Mr. Piotrowski.

"Mr. Piotrowski, I'm so glad to see you. My father mentioned you might be by. I've got that truck if you'd like to look at it?"

"Earl," was all that Mr. Piotrowski said by way of acknowledgement.

They walked over to a pickup truck.

"Scott, what do you think?"

Scott looked at Mr. Piotrowski and then at the truck, "This truck?"

"Yep."

Yikes. "It's ... different."

They were standing in front of a bright silver Dodge Ram 2500 extended cab pickup truck. These three-quarter ton Rams were nice looking trucks, but this particular example was awful. It had a big brush guard, and large, fake 'big rig' style vertical exhaust pipes behind the cab, all of it chromed. Surprisingly it had only been lifted a few inches and had large, but not obnoxious tires. Worst of all were the garish purple and yellow flame decals running down the length of the truck. Some sort of intricate sticker covered the back window. Scott wasn't sure what it was supposed to depict but he could see lots of roses and thorns. There was a pair of chrome balls hanging from the rear hitch.

"What can I do to put you into this truck?" asked the dealer.

Mr. Piotrowski looked thoughtful.

Scott recognized that he was in dicker mode.

"How many miles?" he asked.

"It only has eighty-two hundred miles on it. The guy that bought it didn't make any payments so we took possession of it since he financed it through us."

"It's damn ugly."

"That, I cannot argue, Mr. Piotrowski. Under all of that is a real fine truck; Laramie package 4x4, the 5.9 Cummins turbo-diesel, automatic, tow package. The interior's in great shape. I think he ran out of money before he could screw that up."

"And it's been sitting here on your lot for four and half months," Mr. Piotrowski added.

The dealer was not pleased about that.

"What can I do to make you happy, Mr. Piotrowski?"

"Earl, if I have to tell you that then you're worse off than your father suspects. I'm here to do him a favor. Get rid of all of that crap. Rip that chromed monstrosity off the front end. Put it wherever you're going to stick those ridiculous pipes. The flame decals should come right off and your body department can buff out the paint. Get that rear window re-tinted to stock, and take those damned chrome nuts off the back of the hitch!"