Cheetahs Never Win

by RJ Blain

  “I’d call that partner of yours to cover for you. I think you’ll be busy, even with angelic verification. The chief wants us thorough on the cases involving kids. My shift ends at seven, and I have no idea who you’ll be with if you’re still in questioning.”

  In Maxwell Smith’s language, he wanted to talk off the record about the murders, he’d probably pull strings to make sure I got out the same time he did, and I’d save myself a lot of aggravation if I went with what he wanted. I couldn’t imagine what he wanted to talk to me about. I’d find out soon enough.

  I dug out my phone and dialed Sassy’s number.

  “What do you have for me, Aaron?” my partner growled.

  “I need help with a job, and I bought you two pairs of shoes for a stay of execution. There’s been a double homicide at Park Lane. I was around the corner and called it in. I need you to put on your new shoes and go to a party for me. Formalwear. I’ll also need you to extend my apologies to someone.”

  “Sure. I can do that. I can be at Park Lane in twenty. Call me if they take you to the copper shop.”

  “What about your date?”

  “Cheetahs,” she hissed.

  “Caught him with his tongue down his buddy’s throat?” I guessed.

  “Basically. If this didn’t happen at least once a week, I’d ask if you were following me.” She sighed. “Again. I’m impressed you didn’t shadow me today.”

  “Had I been available, I might have. I have to practice shadowing, and someone has to bail your ass out when you forget to watch where you’re walking. I’m concerned. The one pair of shoes has a heel.”

  “You’re joking about shoes when I know you can’t stand them. You’re rattled. Who was shot?”

  “A mom and her kid.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  “All right. Twenty minutes, Aaron. No one likes the cases with kids, so sit tight, don’t touch anything, and play nice with the police officers.” Sassy hung up, and I returned my phone to my pocket.

  It was a good thing I wasn’t a cop. If I got a hold of the killer, I doubted the bastard would make it to trial. Some things I couldn’t forgive, and young lives ended early topped the list.

  No matter how many times I swore off women, whenever Sassy came around, I forgot all the reasons why and risked dying from suffocation. Holding my breath while watching her, a haphazard blend of feline grace, clutzy charm, and tanned Texan cowgirl, might kill me one day.

  If she liked me half as much as my bribe of shoes, I’d be set for life. She snatched the bag and invitation out of my hands, bouncing from foot to foot while digging for her prizes. The gathered cops, working hard to make sense of a senseless murder, stopped and stared.

  I remembered I needed to breathe. “Sassy. We’re at a crime scene.”

  Without looking away from my bribes, she pointed behind her. “There’s a spent casing in the step’s shadow in the confetti someone missed.”

  Sure enough, she pointed right to the missed evidence.

  “I’m going to buy you a cheap pair of shoes for that.” I marveled at her photographic memory, the original reason I’d joined forces with her. I tailed people better than she did, she caught the little details I missed, and we both did well at interviewing and intel gathering for defense attorneys, which made up half our workload.

  Without that damned case from a few months ago, it would’ve made up the entirety of our workload.

  “These are good. Your best friend was about to find it anyway.”

  Maxwell sighed. “You don’t have to live up to your name, Sassy.”

  “Screw you, Max. Has Aaron gotten around to requesting an angel yet?” She abandoned her examination of her new shoes to give the cop her full attention. “I’ll be accused of having rabies if he hasn’t.”

  “It was the first thing he did when we arrived. I already called it in. Keep your rabies to yourself, Sassy. If you need a dose of neutralizer, go to the clinic. I’m not your personal supplier.”

  I tensed, ready to grab my partner around the waist so she wouldn’t assault an officer and lose her PI license. “Sassy, if you need to vent about your scumbag date, come over to my place tonight after the party.”

  I wanted to suggest she wear her blue dress with her new shoes, but that would send the wrong but also right message. If she came over, I kept a stock of treats meant to keep cranky cheetahs happy. A happy cheetah purred, and if I got lucky, she’d shift for me.

  I’d never live it down if Sassy figured out I’d violated my sacred vow of never loving a woman again. If she realized I wanted to offer what she hunted with other men, we’d fight. By the end of said fight, I’d either be left on the curb or infected with lycanthropy. I hedged my bets on the curb.

  We’d partnered together because we were utterly incompatible.

  I wore my clothes to death. She worshipped new shoes. She drank. I grabbed a beer every blue moon. I still snuck smokes in the back. She was allergic to cigarette smoke and always caught me.

  I’d forced her to coin cheetahs never win thanks to an ill-timed cig.

  Neither of us acknowledged a painful truth: we wanted the same thing.

  Sassy tugged on my jean jacket. “You okay, Aaron?”

  “I hate when kids are brought into it. What a fucking waste.” I told the truth yet I lied. I did hate when kids became involved in the problems of adults. I hated my helplessness more. If I’d moved faster, if I’d been closer, could I have stopped one of them from dying? I had no idea if the shooter had gunned down mother or son first. It didn’t matter. I replayed the seconds between their deaths and my arrival over and over again.

  If I'd arrived ten seconds sooner, could I have done something to save one of them?

  The past I couldn’t change would haunt me for a long time.

  Maxwell thumped my shoulder. “If you ever get tired of being a PI, join the force. You could do good things. I have.”

  I wished I could forget Maxwell’s past. I bet he wished he could, too. The chasm of bad choices and circumstance divided us, but I pushed my feelings aside and buried them for a while. He tried to pay penance for his sins.

  I couldn’t say the same for most.

  “We’ll see. Maybe if I finally get tired of figuring out who cheated who and snap.” I shrugged. “I respect your beat, Max. You’ve got a tough job.”

  He carried the burden of saving lives on his shoulders.

  I searched for the truth on behalf of the defense. If Max and his fellow officers found the killer and an attorney approached me for the case, I wasn’t sure what I’d do. I wanted the truth, but the idea of helping a lawyer defend a killer of children didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t trust myself to look for the unbiased truth.

  It might result in an innocent going to jail.

  “Give it some thought. The two of you would make a good pair.”

  Sassy growled. “I don’t have the hybrid form, Max.”

  “Tough luck. Well, I still think you’d make a good cop despite your feline disposition. Go on and get out of here before you earn a case of rabies along with your scratching post.”

  “You’re an ass, Max. And Aaron isn’t my scratching post.”

  “Why not? He’d be a good catch for you. We’ve all heard you yowling about how useless unmated cheetah males are. I’ve witnessed it for myself. Aaron is capable of tying his own shoelaces without help.”

  I counted to ten, my estimated time for Max’s jab to sink in and blow a fuse in Sassy’s head. I made it to eight before my partner hissed, stomped down the steps, hissed again, and howled, “Men are jerks!”

  “I can’t tell if you’re a help or a hindrance, Max,” I admitted.

  “I’m helping. I planted the seed you’re a viable solution to her dating problems. I’ve bought my wife shoes from that store, Aaron, and a man doesn’t just buy any old girl shoes from that store without a lot of love and money involved. A lot of money. That said, she’s out of your league, but I
tried. Good luck. You’re going to need it. Now, let me see where we’re at and get you to the station for a proper questioning session. I’ll check on the status of the angel while I’m at it. There’s been a wait for them lately.”

  “Off the record, any reason why?”

  “Stalkers. Women have started asking for angels to prove they haven’t done anything to deserve the unwelcome advances of their stalkers. It’s a mess.”

  Sometimes, I really hated Texas, its backwater ways, and so many who insisted on treating women like fodder or accusing them of guilt for the crimes of men. I’d heard Sassy rant.

  No matter what, it was her fault.

  She wore too much. She wore too little.

  Her shoes were too flashy. Her shoes weren’t flashy enough.

  She’d made eye contact. She hadn’t made eye contact.

  Sassy counted herself as lucky. Lycanthropy gave her an easy out plus sharp claws and teeth. It helped, but I still worried.

  Everything circled back to her belief that she never won at life, beginning before birth and being infected with the lycanthropy virus, the middle child of a pair of cheetahs determined to up the percentage of feline lycanthropes without help.

  “This city pisses me off.”

  “Cool your heels, Aaron. Get through questioning, and as soon as I’m off shift, we’ll go grab a beer. Well, I’ll grab a beer while you nurse a coffee.”

  Fuck it. “I’ll have a beer, but you’re buying and driving.”

  “Well, I know you’re having a rough day when you decide it’s time for a drink. No worries. I’ll get you home safe and sound.”

  Chapter Three

  My questioning session lasted less than ten minutes. I supposed the cops had interviewed other witnesses before getting around to me, confirming my alibi and story before asking me to confirm my name, something that made us all laugh.

  Everyone in the station knew who I was. My willingness to give my statement before an angel, who confirmed the truth of my words, made things easier on everyone. I classified as a second-tier witness, and I offered to give them copies of my photographs. They refused on the grounds I hadn’t been in the right location and lacked images of the victims.

  I’d keep copies of the pictures in case I’d somehow photographed the killer during my time at Park Lane. It annoyed me that the cops didn’t want the potential evidence.

  They had no proof I had pictures of the killer, but they lacked proof I didn’t have pictures of the killer.

  I scored a few brownie points and a donut for not giving them a hard time on a shit case. After my questioning, I waited for Maxwell so he could live up to his word on buying me a beer. To kill time, I checked over the images, wondering if some secret lurked in plain sight.

  “You ready?” Maxwell appeared at my shoulder. “I doubt your phone holds the secrets of the universe.”

  “A man can hope, can’t he?”

  “The DA is miffed you’re involved, but he changed his tune when he saw the interview recording. He even said if we could nab you to run cases involving kids, our solve rate would skyrocket. He liked you were willing to share your photos.”

  “The DA is involved already? It’s early.”

  “That’s what I was thinking, too. Mostly. I’ll explain at the bar. How does the place by your apartment sound? I can drop you near your truck, and we can meet there.”

  “That works. I think I can handle staggering two blocks home.”

  “I’ll make sure you get there. While the DA’s happy with you for a change, don’t test your luck with him on this one.” The way Maxwell arched a brow led me to believe he wanted some unofficial help.

  I could do that. “I’ll keep my nose clean.”

  “You always do. Why’d you think your photos might be useful?”

  “I took pictures of the crowd while investigating. I’ll see what I can find and tip you off if I learn anything important.”

  “This is what I like about you. You always do what’s right. I’d be a much different—and better—man had I known back then what I know now. I really hope we find this bastard before he has a chance to go after someone else.”

  He would. They always did. Then I thought about it and wondered why Maxwell assumed the killer was a man. “He?” I asked.

  “Women are creatures of passion given flesh. If it were a woman, she would’ve gotten in their faces and killed them at point-blank range. No, my gut feeling says a man did it.”

  I’d take the sane route and collect evidence. While women were creatures of passion in the flesh, men were as well.

  Everyone had the capacity in moments of passion to do the unthinkable, but the mother and child hadn’t died from someone’s unleashed, raw emotions.

  They’d been killed in cold blood, and the murderer had left them in a shower of paper confetti, irrefutable evidence of meticulous planning.

  Women could be meticulous. Women could be cruel. Women were equally capable of planning murder as men.

  I wouldn’t argue with Maxwell over it; it wasn’t worth wasting my breath. “Well, if there’s anything I can do, ask.”

  “We’ll talk at the bar,” Maxwell replied.

  I wondered what he knew that I didn’t, but I’d find out soon enough. All I could do was hope he wouldn’t ask for something I couldn’t give him.

  A rusted-out family car tailed me halfway across Dallas, and I took a few detours to shake off the vehicle. Once satisfied I’d lost the driver, I headed home, grateful my apartment building had an indoor garage. It wouldn’t stop anyone from finding me, but it’d make their work a little harder.

  Maxwell waited for me in the bar at a table tucked into the corner. “That took longer than I expected. What held you up?”

  “I picked up a tail. I figured I’d give him a tour of Dallas.” Had I worked in any other profession, I might’ve been more worried about it, but I’d dealt with it time and time again, usually in the form of an angry boyfriend, side man, or soon-to-be ex-husband wanting to blame me for his abusive ways. If the tail showed up again, I’d get the plate numbers and report it to the police. If it related to one of my jobs, the incident would become part of the case one way or another.

  I needed to fit in some time at the range and start carrying again soon, especially if I kept having to deal with clients like Tom Heatherow.

  “Get a look at him?”

  I shook my head and sat across from Maxwell. “Not really. No front tags on the vehicle.”

  “Welcome to Texas. You worried?”

  I shrugged. “Not yet. If I see the junker again, maybe. What do you want to talk about? You obviously want it off the record and on the sly, else we would’ve been in the break room entertaining your badge buddies.”

  “Thank you for not calling my co-workers badge bunnies this time.”

  I grinned. “I save that for when I’m in the break room and they’ve annoyed me. I also try to wait for Sassy to be around because she enjoys the entertainment.”

  “Obviously. That’s because she’s the one who usually gets mouthy with the police. A damned pity she doesn’t have the hybrid form. She’d be a real asset on the force.”

  Trying to imagine Sassy as a police officer gave me a headache, and I hadn’t even gotten around to grabbing a beer. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “You’re both smart, you’re both good at getting information, and you both understand the importance of finding the actual truth and not what the DA’s office wants you to find. Or your attorneys, although word down the line is the local firms are still giving you the cold shoulder for finding evidence against a client and turning it over to the police, thus losing the defense the case.”

  “It’s right in my contract. It’s not my fault they didn’t read the contract closely enough.”

  “I bet the lawyers were not happy when you told them that.”

  “Precisely. I think they blacklisted me more for beating them at their own game than exposing their client. As I told the
m, they hired me to find evidence. I found it. It’s not my fault they didn’t like the evidence I found and that their client was so guilty they had no chance in hell of being able to reduce his sentence.”

  Maxwell sighed. “I sometimes believe the law enforcement system and judiciary systems have nothing to do with justice and everything to do with personal prestige.”

  I suspected the former politician understood that better than most. “You won’t hear me arguing with you. What do you need that’s important enough for you to cross town to have a beer with me?”

  “I’m worried the shooting at Park Lane is just the beginning. In the past few months, we’ve gotten a lot of calls about women being stalked. It’s following the same trend as the killing; every report has involved single mothers with children. Most are only bothered for a week or two before the stalking stops.”

  The first thought to come to mind bothered me; when I did work for a client, I usually wrapped up the initial profiling within a week or two unless I needed to uncover deeper, darker secrets. “PI?”

  “Doubtful. There’s too much overlap, but it could be a pair of PIs working together. Some of the detectives brought your name up, but when we showed the women your pictures, only two of them recognized you or Sassy, and they confirmed you weren’t the ones stalking them.”

  “That’s something. But why involve Sassy?”

  “We all know you send her in to do your dirty work if the woman you’re shadowing either likes shoes or is skittish around men.”

  Considering Sassy could charm the shoes off other women without much work, I couldn’t blame them for assuming I’d use her like that. Sassy did pick up that role when needed, although she volunteered as often as not. “Are we cleared off the suspect list?”

  “You’re clear. You two were cleared early. That said, you’re being monitored, so keep your nose clean. You’ve ticked most attorneys in the area off one way or another. The local prosecutors would love to have your license revoked.”