Free Dancing on the Head of a Pin by Thomas E. Sniegoski

now sniffing Remy’s pants, and he reached down to give them each a scratch before Luthor noticed.
    “What kind of strange smell? Can you describe it to me?”
    The rottweiler looked up, his dark brown eyes deep and soulful like Marlowe’s.
    “Like you,” the dog said, a spark of realization in his eyes. “Smell like you.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    K arnighan had done as he’d promised, delivering the paperwork by courier by the time Remy had left the office that afternoon.
    It hadn’t been such a bad day, catching up on phone messages and sorting out bills. Remy had left his office with a sense of accomplishment, more connected to his work than he’d felt in quite some time.
    But it didn’t end there; he’d returned home, got Marlowe fed and walked, made himself a quick bite to eat, and put a fresh pot of coffee on. In the old days, Madeline used to call this getting the bug . It happened when a case slowly began to worm its way into Remy’s life, when there was something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on that made it so he couldn’t—or didn’t want to, really—think of anything else.
    He believed the Karnighan case was going to go something like that.
    The man certainly had been telling the truth when he said that he’d kept detailed records. There were pages and pages of notes, and even photographs of the stolen weapons, some beautifully crafted, others crude and primitive in their execution. The notes were painstakingly detailed, describing the origins of each piece, the name of the craftsman, and in some cases, who had owned the particular dagger, sword, or spear over the span of centuries.
    Remy found himself lost in the pages and time periods, remembering snippets of his own past when weapons such as these were carried with as much ease as a designer purse or an iPod.
    He wasn’t sure how much time had passed as he flipped through the extensive records. It was a low-throated woof that interrupted his deep concentration. Noticing the stuffed monkey on the floor by his desk chair first, Remy angled himself around to see Marlowe waiting at attention, tail wagging eagerly.
    “Is this your monkey?” Remy asked, leaning over to snatch up the brown-furred primate from the floor. He held it out toward the dog, giving it a bit of a wiggle. Marlowe flinched, stomping his paws down on the hardwood floor.
    “Yes, monkey. Yes.”
    “Want me to throw it?” Remy asked. He knew that was exactly what the dog wanted, but he thought he’d play with the Labrador’s head a bit.
    He made a move as if the throw it, the dog taking off, waiting for the stuffed animal to fall, but it never did.
    “Hey!” Marlowe said, turning around to check him out.
    Remy still held the monkey and gave it another shake.
    “Tricked ya,” he said.
    “No trick ya,” Marlowe grumbled, coming back to stand before him. He tried to pull the monkey from his hand. Remy let him get a grip before he started to pull. The Labrador growled in play, enjoying a good tug-of-war as much as retrieving things.
    This went on a bit, the animal pulling with all his might, his growls getting louder and more excited as he tried to yank the stuffed animal from Remy’s hands.
    With the help of the stuffed monkey, Remy drew the Labrador closer, leaning his own face in toward the growling animal. “This is a blast, but I’ve got to get back to work,” he told his best friend.
    Marlowe released the toy, jumping back, ready to fetch.
    “No, play,” he said, his tail wagging furiously. Now that he had gotten a taste, he didn’t want to stop.
    “Maybe later,” Remy said, throwing the monkey into the corner of the room. Marlowe leapt across the floor, his nails clicking and clacking on the hardwood as he went in pursuit of his prey.
    Remy turned back to the notes, surprised to see that he had actually made two separate piles.
    “More play now!” Marlowe demanded, attempting to shove the stuffed animal beneath the arm of the chair and into his lap.