Waldo woofed at him once as they took him to their car.
"Merry Christmas!" cried the children.
Lehrmann waved, then closed the door and turned back to the rest of the dogs. They looked at him in anticipation.
"Playtime," he called, pressing a switch on the wall, and the doors all swung open at once.
The dogs burst out of the cages and charged madly into the pit, racing and colliding with each other. There was a mad pileup at one end as several skidded into the padding on the curve, launching a number of wrestling matches. As they played, Lehrmann went methodically through the cages, cleaning each thoroughly. Then he went into the walk-in refrigerator and hauled out one of the sides of beef. Using an electric butcher's saw, he hacked it into dog-sized portions. He laid them out in inpidual bowls, then came back out to the arena.
"Chow!" he called, and the dogs abandoned their melee and raced to their cages. He closed the doors, then began distributing the bowls.
While the dogs ate, Lehrmann hauled out an artificial Christmas tree and began stringing lights over its branches.
From the woods at the rear of the warehouse, a man watched through a pair of binoculars, catching glimpses of Lehrmann as he passed by the windows, his arms full of wreaths and ribbons.
"Very festive," muttered the man.
He was wearing a ribbed black sweater that was fine for the Georgia winter, along with black jeans and boots. A ski cap covered his hair, but his chin and jaw were covered with a matted, gray beard. His legs were thick and powerful.
He had been keeping his vigil from the woods the entire day, making sure that Lehrmann would be alone tonight. He had watched the Spinellis leave, knowing they were the last customers before Christmas, and smiled. His palms itched. He wiped them briefly on his sweater, then scratched the right one with the corner of his belt buckle. He looked through the binoculars again. Lehrmann was hanging a wreath on each of the dogs' cages.
"Very festive indeed," said the man.
The dogs made this one a challenge. He couldn't risk breaking into the warehouse and planting any bugs. He had used a combination of a long-range listening device that bounced an infrared beam off the windows, and a monitor that picked up any nearby cell phone signals. The arrangement still left gaps in the sound. And any time one of the damn dogs started barking, the infrared could have been a flashlight for all the dialogue he was picking up.
Lehrmann was unfolding a six-foot cardboard Santa Claus and hanging it on a wall.
"Now, that one is just plain tacky," said the watcher.
The cell phone monitor chirped. He squatted down and turned the volume up.
Lehrmann picked up his cell phone from his desk.
"Lehrmann's Guard Dogs," he said.
"Hi, Sam," said a familiar voice, and he clutched the phone hard for a moment. "You still there?"
"Hello, Mona," he said.
"It's Christmas Eve, Sam," she said. "I thought you might like some company."
"I've got company," he said.
"You know what I mean," said Mona. "Dogs don't count."
"Man's best friend," said Lehrmann. "Didn't you know that?"
"Only when the man has no woman," said Mona. "You're in Georgia, Sam. Not Alaska. Georgia. A man in Georgia doesn't need to spend the only Christmas Eve of the year with a bunch of dogs."
"You been drinking, Mona?"
"It's going to be a beautiful night," she continued. "Crisp and clear, with a full moon. A full moon on Christmas Eve, Sam. That doesn't happen that often. Maybe we'll see Santa's sleigh flying across it. Yes, I have been drinking, Sam. I'm alone in Georgia on Christmas Eve, and I'm drinking. Can't I come over? You shouldn't be alone with a bunch of dogs."
"Dogs are loyal, Mona," he said. He wished immediately that he hadn't.
She was silent. He thought for a moment that she had broken the connection, but then he heard her crying.
"How's Nicky?" he asked, awkwardly changing the subject.
"Nicky's a great, big, warm, wonderful pal," she said. "I am going to cuddle with Nicky tonight. I could be with you, roasting marshmallows in the fire . . ."
"I don't have a fireplace," he said.
"Please let me back into your life, Sam," she said softly. "You can't shut me out forever."
"Good night, Mona," he said. "Merry Christmas."
He broke the connection.
The man in the woods checked his watch, then glanced up at the sky. The sun was nearing the horizon. It would be an hour until nightfall. He looked through his binoculars to see Lehrmann sitting disconsolately at the desk, staring at his cell phone, then turning it off.
"Poor Sam," said the watcher. "Full moon and empty arms."
An alarm signal went off, and Carson, a five-year-old German shepherd, looked up.
"Easy, boy," said Lehrmann. "Still got an hour. Plenty of time. Finish your dinner."
The dog went back to his meal, but kept glancing up at the windows.
She was drinking early today, thought Lehrmann. God knows that the holidays will do that to a person. Hell, he was all shook up from a two-minute conversation with her, and he was the sober one.
"Hell of a time to call, Carson," he said, and the dog grimaced sympathetically.
Lehrmann thought back to when she'd first walked through his front door. What was it, three years ago? Three and a month. It was mid-November, and he was training a Rottweiler, a ten-month-old female.
The woman was slim, brunette, and built like a runner. Her clothes were carefully casual in a way only large amounts of money could accomplish. She had ruby drops dangling from each ear, with more strung along a gold necklace that plunged between her br**sts.
He was playing tug-of-war with the Rottweiler, using a broomstick wrapped in several layers of cloth. The dog had clamped on tight, and was digging its claws into the mat, trying to pull the broomstick out of Lehrmann's hands. She looked like she might succeed. The woman leaned forward, resting her hands on the wall of the pit, and watched.
"Here!" Lehrmann said suddenly.
The Rottweiler looked up at him, but refused to relinquish the broomstick.
"Here!" Lehrmann commanded her again.
The dog reluctantly let go, and moved to sit by Lehrmann's right foot. She stayed there, a resentful glare on her face.
"Good girl," Lehrmann praised her, and he handed her a small piece of beef. "Can I help you, ma'am?"
"If I'm not interrupting," said the woman, smiling. "Is that raw beef?"