With a shrill squeal of brakes, a fourteen foot moving truck with a familiar logo painted on the side pulled to a stop at the curb. The occupants inside sat for a moment, silent. Slowly, the hand of the female driver shifted to the automatic door lock button and pressed it. The audible clicking of the lock caught her passenger unaware, and he jumped, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a quiet hiss, the hair covering his neck tufted up.
āYou sure this is the right area?ā the passenger asked, a paw lifting to scratch uncertainly at his chin. He didnāt want to question his companion, but he had to admit, the area in which they found themselves was not exactly what the brochure had described.
The driver said nothing. Her jaw tightened in the dim light of twilight. Her brows furrowed. Lifting the cell phone from its cradle in the console, she tapped at it a bit. Her frown deepened and she lifted her head and squinted at the nearest street sign. āYeah,ā she said finally. She checked the directions one more time and bit her lip. āThe entrance to the neighborhood should be right up there.ā
The passengerās tail flicked spastically twice before settling against the door once more. āItāsā¦ā he started, clearing his throat. āā¦nice?ā
The attempt at a compliment was met with a sharp bark of a chuckle and the driver turned her face to him. āWell, we wanted a new start, right? How hard can it be to start here?ā
The paw was back to the awkward scratching once more before smoothing out his whiskers. āDo you have a gun?ā It was meant to be a joke, but it fell short of being humorous.
Rather than crack a smile at the awkwardness, she nodded. āI have six.ā
With that, she shifted the moving truck into drive once more and continued down the road. At the entrance to the
Fontainebleau neighborhood, the truck turned a sharp right with a rusty groan.