“Boring, by the book, never puts a foot wrong, as far as I know.”
“Hmm.” Felicity said. His cagey mention of some vague new program was still stuck in her head. “We’ll see.”
They neared the stage just as Mayor Browning was taking the microphone. He launched into a monologue, talking up the Pets in the Park open day initiative as if it had been his idea.
“Blowhard,” Deedra murmured. “He’s even worse when there’re no cameras around.”
“Most men in power are,” Felicity noted. “Trust me. I’ve met them all.”
“I’ll bet you have.” Deedra smiled. “All right. I’m going to make myself scarce.”
“Where are you going?” Felicity asked in surprise.
“You forget I still have to work with that man. I’d rather he didn’t know I was your co-conspirator. Good luck. Oh, and hey, don’t mess with Cooper, okay? She has a soft heart.”
“I—what? Excuse me?”
“I said what I said.” Deedra glanced around, caution in her eyes. “Look, it isn’t common knowledge and I’d like to keep it that way, but we dated a few years ago. We worked out we’re better as friends. I’m naturally protective of her, and you are her type.”
“What type is that?”
“She does appreciate career-driven bossy types who get shit done.” Deedra winked. “No wonder she liked my bad ass. But all I’m saying is, don’t be a bitch to her, okay? I mean, I’m guessing you’re straight. Either way, shoot her down gently if it comes to that.”
Felicity blinked. Okay, she had to process all of this later. In detail. Because Felicity was sure there was no way Cooper would ever look at her romantically. But right now the mayor was asking if there were any more questions from the media.
Deedra was gone by the time the man’s gaze scanned the reporters huddled in front of him.
The media had already run out of questions, which wasn’t surprising since they weren’t looking terribly interested in the photo op. Why would they be? Following a blowhard but boring mayor around on his campaign stops had to be a special form of torture for political reporters seeking real news.
Felicity edged into the media pack and lifted her hand. “Mayor, what’s the status on the legislation to allow homeless people to keep their pets when going into a shelter or an addiction-treatment facility? At the moment, isn’t it a case of them having to give up their pets in most situations?”
Browning swung to look at her. “Sadly, it’s a fact of life that we just don’t have the money or enormous resources required to cater to every homeless person and all their animals. Something’s got to give. And it’s a shame, but the sums just don’t work.”
“So you are planning on vetoing the legislation when it crosses your desk?”
“I’m sorry, who—”
“Bills 1483 and 1484.”
“—are you?”
“Felicity Simmons.”
“Which media company did you say you were from?”
“I didn’t.” She glanced at the assembled media, who looked suddenly more awake, now that their boring assignment had taken a controversial turn. “It seems there’s some interest in you answering the question.”
“Those bills aren’t on my desk yet, so it’s just a hypothetical.” His tone was glib. “And I don’t engage in speculation.”
“They could be on your desk tomorrow,” Felicity said. “The council members are stalling because they think you’ll veto it. So will you?”
“I make no apologies for doing what’s right for this city.” He leaned over the lectern. “Oh, it’s a lovely thought: everyone keeps their animals, and into the treatment centers and shelters they go. But what if their animal caused a problem? It’d be unworkable. Any lawyer could tell you the potential risk, both physical and financial, we’d be exposed to if a dog turned out to be dangerous.”
“Well, I’m a lawyer. And you’re right, I can tell you the risk. Of the eighty thousand homeless in New York, four thousand live on the street. At any given time, up to twenty-five percent of those people keep a pet. So we’re now talking about a thousand people and a thousand pets. You refer to risks from dogs. If we assume eighty percent of homeless people’s pets on the street are dogs, a high estimate, by the way, then we’re now down to eight hundred people and eight hundred dogs. Are you with me so far?” She offered him a glittery smile that just dared him to challenge her.
Browning snorted. “If you don’t think eight hundred potentially dangerous dogs in shelters couldn’t wreak havoc…” He gave a smug smirk. “Listen to her.” He glanced at the attentive media. “She thinks just because they’re homeless people’s pets they’ll all magically behave.”
“I said no such thing.” Felicity straightened. Time to crush him. “There are six hundred thousand dogs in New York. Last year there were reports of five thousand incidents of bites. Not all serious, of course, and some might be one dog biting multiple people, but for ease of simplicity, let’s say that’s five thousand dogs that bite. That translates to one in every one hundred twenty dogs being a danger to others. Which means for our eight hundred dogs owned by homeless people, we’re talking 6.67 dogs that might be a danger.” She lifted her voice. “Mayor, you want to veto all homeless people bringing animals into shelters or treatment clinics on the off chance that seven dogs might be an issue. Seven.”
The media began to titter. And it wasn’t just the reporters. Homeless people and service providers had been gathering as the media conference continued.
“You know it’s not that simple.” The mayor tried again. “Insurance companies see risk everywhere, whether it’s big or not. They’d impose steep insurance costs on shelters and clinics because they have big payouts to consider.”
“Oh really?” Felicity rocked back on her heels. “Last year the average insurance payout in New York on pet injuries was”—she glanced at the figures she’d cued up on her phone—“$55,801. And they paid out on just 893 insurance claims for dog injuries, both big and minor. Extrapolating that to our eight hundred street dogs, we’re talking fewer than one case a year that would result in an insurance payout.”
The mayor’s mouth fell open. Cameras started snapping wildly.
“And by the way,” Felicity continued, “the legislation already exists saying homeless shelters can insist pet owners keep their animals in appropriately sized crates at night. Crates are provided for free by several charities here today, including Living Ruff New York. So what exposure is the city really facing here?”
“And what if it’s not just dogs?” Mayor Browning blustered. “What if they want to bring their…pet weasel, or tarantula, or monkey?”
“Then the shelter would quite rightly turn them away because all three are illegal as pets in New York. Anything else?” She gave him a withering look.
Satisfyingly, the vein in his neck started to pop. “You do realize that not every homeless shelter or treatment clinic is run by the city. Private companies and charities wouldn’t be happy at having to pay extra in insurance and facilities to cater to filthy, flea-ridden street animals.”
A murmur of anger went through the crowd. Mayor Browning had obviously forgotten who his audience was.
“Yes, private companies such as Brightheart Services will have to make a few modifications. Remind me,” Felicity said. “Doesn’t Brightheart Services provide ten percent of the four hundred fifty shelters in New York? Are you worried that your sister, the director, will be unhappy about that?”
