Evelyn's eyes widen with excitement as she nods, listening.

Nodding in return, Fate continues. "Discretion, loyalty. Those things would be rewarded, of course," she finishes. "If this kind of work appeals to you, perhaps you could leave your number?"

Evelyn leaned forward and scratched her name and number onto the notepad before tearing off the piece of paper and handing it to Fate. She stood and smoothed down her dress again before scratching a pleased Shepherd behind the ears.

"Well, this has certainly been exciting. I don't know precisely what sort of business you're in, Fate, but if the money's good and you keep me out of any sticky situations I'd be happy to work closely with you you and this wonderful boy here. Is there anything else we need to discuss? If not, I'll need to get back to Mother."

Rising herself, Fate walks Evelyn to the door. "I believe we've covered everything. Thank you for coming by, Evelyn," she says as Shepherd follows them to the door. He whines once more, seeming to regret that his new friend has to leave.

A few brisk knocks in quick succession jolt Fate out of her reflection. Shepherd heads to the door, wagging his tail in excitement. He was content convalescing in this warm apartment, but having all these new people- and their interesting smells- come to him was an enlivening experience. Fate opened the door and saw a short, older man. He was somewhat stout around the midsection, but he seemed as strong as an old oak, even if its branches were somewhat knotted. Kind but incisive eyes peered out of from under his parted grey hair and  matching beard framed his face. 

It was his voice, however, that was the most striking thing about him. A satiny, lilting musicality seemed to dance within it- partially from its accent, somewhat hard to place, but mostly due to the low voice itself. It was a rich voice. A full bodied voice that was somehow soft around the edges while maintaining an imperial precision. 

"Good evening, my dear. Dylan Roberts, responding to your advertisement."

Fate opens the door and stands transfixed as Mr. Roberts speaks. Her jaw parts and hangs there most unladylike until Shepherd steps on her foot, applying pressure until the spell is broken and she looks down at him. What's wrong with you?

"Oh. Hello, Mr. Roberts. Please come in," she says, backing up to allow him to pass. "Please sit. Can I offer tea, or some refreshment?" She asks as she seats herself. Shepherd is heeling to Mr. Roberts as if the man was his true owner. A spate of jealousy comes and goes. Isn't this what she's looking for? Someone connecting instinctually with her dog? 
"Please call me Fate."

He bows his head.

"Thank you, Fate. A strange name. Although it befits a woman of your arresting appearance, if you'll forgive a purely aesthetic observation. I haven't had tea in many years, but I'd be delighted to share some with you."

He walks into the apartment and seems pleased with it, as if it's a mansion.

"What a wonderful home you have."

His piercing eyes flash to her for a moment.

"A new home, not fully yours yet, perhaps. Although you've got the most important ingredient."

Kneeling down, he reaches out an open hand for Shepherd to smell, then lick. Shepherd sits up very straight as Dylan lightly drums his fingers on the top of Shepherd's head, staring into the dog's eyes for a few moments. Shepherd simply stares back, relaxed. 

"This is quite the remarkable dog you have here."

She's lulled again by his speech, and has to discreetly pinch herself in order to snap out of it. Pouring some tea, she tries to shove all the pertinent information to the forefront and into words before he can speak again.

"Yes, he is. Quite the dog. You clearly have a knack, Mr. Roberts. Have you worked with animals before?" She asks as more tea is poured. 

Sitting on the couch and accepting the offered cup and saucer, he sampled it for a moment with closed eyes and smiled before placing it on the table in front of him. Leaning back, he rested an ankle on the opposing knee and placed his hands in his lap.

"Have I worked with animals? Quite a bit. Men, most recently. But when I was a young man- a boy, really- I had a couple hunting dogs. Not the same breed as this chap here, though. In fact, considering my family owned a sheep farm, I may be the same breed as him. What's his name?"

Blinking rapidly, Fate answers. "Shepherd. His name is Shepherd. He needs opposable thumbs while I'm away. He works, you see. Already trained and quite knowledgeable. He simply needs assistance with the...people side of things. I'm not bragging on his abilities...please feel free to see for yourself. I honestly believe he can communicate the basics if you pose yes and no questions to him."
Fate leans forward in anticipation. 

Dylan lifts an intrigued eyebrow. With an outward waving motion of his hand, he calls Shepherd over to him. The dog sits with a straight back in front of the older man. 

"Well, we're both shepherds it seems. I imagine that the Germans have probably engineered you a bit better than the Welsh or New Yorkers, which is what I would be."

Standing, Dylan puts Shepherd through a series of increasingly difficult- but standard- tests. Eventually, the man is left with his hands on his hips as he chuckles and looks at Fate.

"This is a remarkable animal. He has been well trained. The military?"

Shepherd growls before barking once, seemingly in affirmation. Dylan looks down at him, bemused.

"Did you just answer me?"

Bark.

"Are you a cat?"

Bark. Bark.

"Am I a man?"

Bark.

"Is she a woman?"

Bark.

"Do two barks mean no?"

Bark.

"Should I kill this woman?"

Dylan stretches out a finger toward Fate. Shepherd barks twice and growls.

"I would never."

Dylan kneels down and stares at Shepherd, who relaxes once again.

"What is two plus two?"

Shepherd tilted his head to the side and stared back, confused. After a few moments, Dylan looks up with an expression of bewilderment at Fate.

"Brilliant... limited brilliance, but brilliance nevertheless. How is this possible?"

Fate shakes her head. "I honestly couldn't say. They've done something to him...the scar there on his head? I think the military has a project that he was part of, until he escaped," she says, remembering her anger that night. Never again would anyone harm this dog. He was her family now. 
"I'd rather see him dead than in their hands again, Mr. Roberts. He's that important to me. I'm in an unusual line of work, and he functions as an assistant. But I have business in Las Vegas and elsewhere in the country, and he can't always go with me. Basically, I need someone that can help him do what he does when I'm not here. And...someone that doesn't look too hard at what I do, or ask too many questions," she says, trying to convey her meaning. "Shepherd's assistant would be compensated accordingly, of course," she adds.

Roberts stands slowly and crosses his arms. His voice is quiet.

"Between a dog like this, Las Vegas, and your preference for secrecy... you're a criminal."

He paces over to the window, looking out at the city.

"Or a high end prostitute, I suppose. But unless my perception is failing me entirely, you don't give off that sort of air."

Fate simply looks at him as the older man stares out the window. Eventually, he speaks again.

"Miss Presor, you should know that a few weeks ago I was released from prison. I was an enforcer. A thug. I used to be a boxer, actually, and I employed those skills to hurt and intimidate anyone I was pointed at. In many ways, I was like your friend here- albeit I was less intelligent."

Shepherd whined.

"Organized crime, in my day, was far less organized, but it still had its rituals. One of them was the concept of initiation through the act of murder, which I gladly carried out to climb the ladder- to finally become a full member of the group I aspired to join. He was a banker. I was caught fleeing the scene, sentenced, and locked away."

Roberts began to pace.

"I was a creature of rage at first, trapped in my cage like a beast. So I fought. I fought the guards. Fought my fellow prisoners. Fought myself. Eventually, I gave up. A year is long, even when you're busy. But time is different inside. Slow and terrible. First it broke me. Then it changed me.  I dedicated my life to reading, instead. I read everything I could get my hands on. Thirty years is a long time. By the end of it, they were calling me The Professor. I'd resigned myself to dying in there... and then I was out. Paroled."

He crossed his arms and looked at her intensely.

"I won't kill for you. Or pick up a gun, even. I'd prefer not to hurt anyone. I'm not sure I could, physically or morally, considering I haven't raised my fists in anger for over two decades. At least for now, I can't leave the state. But I have no illusions about "crime" being "wrong". I can help you, perhaps. Perhaps we could help each other."

Dylan raises his hand before Fate can speak.

"Not that I'm presuming I have the job, of course. I'm sure you're speaking to many people. Those would simply be my requirements."

Staring hard at the man, Fate can't help but smile. "Can I have your number? I mean, is there a way to contact you when a decision is made?" 

Wordlessly, Dylan walks to the table, scratches his number down on a piece of paper and rips it off to hand to Fate. He seems a mixture of wariness and wonder. 

"Will there be anything else, Miss Presor?"

"N...no, I believe we've covered things, Mr. Roberts. We may be in touch," she says, now wishing this man would leave quickly before Fate's daddy issues exploded all over this man. 
"Thank you for your time." She says as she walks him out the door.

Fate, eventually, went to bed that evening. Shepherd had been sleeping for most of the day, but when Fate turned out the light he started patrolling the small apartment. Fate fell asleep to the padded footfalls of her canine sentry. When she awoke, the sun shining through the windows illuminated the dog sprawled out on the bed near her feet. He lifted his head as soon as she did, ambling quickly over to the door and whining.

Fate threw on a jacket to protect herself from the January chill, but as she opened the door to take Shepherd down to the alley to do his business, she found an old woman standing outside in the hall. Shit... had she overslept?

"Good morning, dearie! Ethel Stanbridge, we spoke on the phone. I know I'm an hour early for our meeting, but I've been up since dawn and I figured I'd come show you what a go getter I am! What a beautiful dog! What's his name? And oh, are you taking him out for his morning constitutional? I wouldn't mind doing that for you; where is his leash?"

"Oh! Well, why don't we walk and talk. I'm Fate, very nice to meet you," she says, grabbing Shepherd's leash and pulling the door shut behind her. Fate struggled with politeness before she'd had her coffee, so a chipper old lady would be a test for her, as well.
"This is Shepherd," she says, handing over his leash handle and stuffing her cold hands in her pockets as they made their way down the walkway. "Have you worked with dogs before?"

Shepherd seemed to exhale a rumbling sigh when the leash made its appearance, but he didn't fight as it was attached to his collar.

"Oh, I've had several dogs in my lifetime. Five? Six? No, five dogs."

As they hit the sidewalk Shepherd took a deep breath in. Spying a small grassy spot, he began moving quickly towards it, pulling the old woman behind him away from Fate.

"I- oh! Goodness! Smaller than this, though!"

At this point, the old woman was practically running to keep up with Shepherd.

Fate can't help it, she snorts out a laugh and then tries to hide it behind her hands as the elderly woman is nearly dragged off by the large dog. 

"SHEP!" she commands, and he stops abruptly to look at her. What? I gotta go. Not my problem if she can't keep up.
The poor woman careens into the halted dog, unable to stop her forward momentum. She almost falls over Shepherd, but somehow catches herself before toppling over him.

Fate catches up and steadies Ethel as she takes the leash from her. "Please, allow me. He's...a lot of dog to handle," she says, having mentally filed away this applicant as well. If Shepherd was a toy poodle, maybe it could have worked.