How to Fetch a Felon

by Cat Clayton

  Dickie didn’t mention a gun when I questioned him. What did I get myself into? I thought.

  Sounds like trouble, Chiquita.

  “See? Speaking up won’t kill ya.” Gertie clapped Mr. Peters on the back. “And good on you for turning away from the tables. I’m mighty proud of you for doing so.”

  Mr. Peters choked his bite down.

  “Okay, y’all. I get it. Stay away from Dickie’s Bar.” I observed Mr. Peters nodding his head in agreement.

  A foreboding expression appeared on Jackson’s face. “Mr. Peters, do you think you could identify the man who pulled a gun on Earl Wood, Ziggy’s brother?”

  Mr. Peters shook his head, the whites of his eyes glowing with fear. “I don’t want to be involved.” He backed up a few steps, dropping the other half of his hotdog on the ground. It landed upside down with a splat, relish oozing onto the concrete.

  Cuff wiggled in my arms. Oooh, it is fair game, Chiquita! Put me down!

  “What’d you do that for, Peters? You shouldn’t waste good food,” Gertie said. She bent over to pick up the hotdog.

  “Don’t!” I shrieked.

  “What?” she glanced up at me in bewilderment.

  While Gertie’s attention was on me, Taffy pounced on the partially eaten hotdog and devoured it.

  I busted out in laughter. “Thank goodness. I thought for a split second you would pick it up and eat it, Gertie.”

  Gertie stood up straight and shot me a you’re crazy look. “Baby sister, it was way past the five-second rule. I was gonna toss it in the trash, but little miss cutesy-tail beat me to it.”

  I set Cuff down, and he trotted over to Taffy and licked her muzzle clean from any hotdog residue.

  “Okay, back to my question. Mr. Peters, could you identify him? What if he was in a lineup and couldn’t see you?” Jackson asked.

  Mr. Peters shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “I guess if he can’t see me, then there’s no harm in helping. But promise me he won’t find out I’m the one who snitched on him.”

  “You have my word,” Jackson said, holding out his hand.

  They shook on it.

  I wrapped my jacket around me, shivering. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon thirty minutes ago, and the evening temperature grew cold.

  “Does this mean they found him?” I asked.

  Jackson nodded, his dark eyes serious. “We picked up someone who matched your description not long after I called it in. They have him down at the station now. And if my suspicions are right, the man who threatened you tonight, and the one Mr. Peters saw at Dickies the other night, are likely the same person. We need both you and Mr. Peters to come down to the station.”

  “Tonight?” I hoped not. Getting pushed around by the creep had worn me out and spending the evening at the police department was the last thing I wanted to do.

  “Would you rather do it tomorrow?” Jackson asked.

  I nodded.

  “Me too, Officer Jackson. I’d feel much better if I got a good night’s rest first. If you don’t mind,” Mr. Peters said.

  “Okay, first thing in the morning then,” Jackson agreed.

  Cuff jumped up on my legs. Oh, Chiquita, can I come? I have never seen a lineup before. And I want to catch this bad guy. I will teach him a lesson or two.

  I narrowed my eyes at my pup. Nobody, especially not you, will teach this guy a lesson.

  Back at my apartment, I thought about the following day. What happens during a lineup? I’ve only seen them on TV. Can I do this? Would I recall what the guy looked like? What color jacket had he been wearing? Black? Dark blue? Anxiety firmly grabbed ahold of my stomach. Fear bubbled in my gut. I closed my eyes to settle my mind, and before I knew it, I fell asleep.

  Chapter 14

  Early the following morning, I woke on the living room couch, groggy and out of it with Cuff curled up at my feet. My cell phone blinked, and I opened it to find a text from Pop. Last night after I dozed off, he’d sent me a message about day six’s gift. My skin prickled as I opened the images in the text. One showed an illuminated Christmas tree adorned with baby booties, and the second photo of the typed message, the C handwritten.

  On the 6th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, six baby booties, five teething rings, four baby hats, three baby rattles, two tiny mittens, and a teddy bear in an oak tree. Love, your Secret Santa

  I shivered and sent Pop a reply. Sorry didn’t get these until this morning. Fell asleep. We’ll figure this out soon. Talk later.

  An hour later, I met Mr. Peters in the front lobby of the police department. They escorted us to a small room with what I assumed was a one-way mirror. Chief Becker joined us. I stood next to Mr. Peters and wondered if he was as nervous as me.

  Jackson and my ex, Lt. Nick Campbell, stepped inside and moved behind us. Jackson patted my shoulder, somewhat calming my nerves.

  “Okay. I want both of you to inspect each of the men as they enter. They’ll all be wearing numbers, and we’ll have them turn both directions, then face us again. Remember, they cannot see you, so don’t be nervous. Just take your time and try to relax,” said the chief.

  Easy for you to say, I thought. I focused on the pale green walls of the room in front of us. The dingy gray linoleum floor. A door on the right with a silver doorknob. The knob twisted, and the door opened. Five men walked in, all in bright orange jumpsuits, each one wore a number on his chest, tied around the neck. They all had dark hair and scruffy faces, and all of them stood facing the window, their eyes boring into me. At least it felt like they were.

  I moved from one man to the next, stopping at number four. Number four scowled at the window. I could almost hear his voice threatening me and smell his rancid beer breath. If I squinted hard, I could see the scar on his left cheek. It was him. I was almost positive, but I moved on to number five to rule him out. I glanced behind me.

  “Okay, I’m done,” I said.

  “Steely, wait until we’ve had them turn around. We need you to be confident,” Chief Becker said.

  “Yes, sir,” I replied, feeling like a scolded child.

  Nick leaned past me and pressed a call-button on the wall. “Turn to your left.”

  The five men did as instructed. Their right profiles did nothing for me.

  “Okay, face forward again. Now, turn to your right,” Nick said.

  As they turned, I kept my eyes on number four, focusing on his face. Again, it was difficult to see because of the distance, but there appeared to be a scar on his cheek. I leaned in closer to the glass. Yes. I’m almost sure.

  “Steely, what is it?” Jackson asked, resting a hand on my shoulder.

  “I don’t know,” I said, not wanting them to think I was jumping the gun. “But I need number four to step forward, closer to the glass.”

  Mr. Peters cleared his throat. “Me too. Number four.”

  I reached around, searching for Mr. Peters’s hand. I knew he had to be shaking in his shoes. When I wrapped my hand around his, he trembled, giving me a weary smile.

  Nick pressed the button again. “Everyone, face forward.”

  They did.

  With his hand ready, Nick pushed. “Number four, take two steps forward.”

  Number four’s beady, black eyes seemed to burn a hole right through me. His lips, under scruffy facial hair, moved slightly as if he were mumbling something. Halfway down his left cheek, a jagged one-inch scar stretched toward his mouth. I remembered the scar and the way it oddly tugged on his upper lip.

  “It’s him,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

  Mr. Peters squeezed my hand. I squeezed back.

  Nick pressed the call-button. “Step back in line number four.”

  “Steely, what did you say about number four?” Chief Becker asked.

  “I said, it’s him. He’s the man who threatened me at the park last night.”

  Mr. Peters nodded his head beside me. “And he’s the same guy I saw draw a gun on Ziggy’s
brother at Dickie’s Bar. I overheard them arguing about some debt Ziggy owed the guy, and he was trying to get the money out of the brother. I’m one-hundred percent sure that’s him. Right there.”

  Nick released the men and left the room.

  I turned around and faced Jackson and Chief Becker. “That was nerve-wracking.”

  “I know, but you did a great job. You too, Mr. Peters,” Jackson said. His eyes told me if Becker hadn’t been in the room, I’d be in his arms right now.

  “Yes, good job, both of you. Give us a few minutes to get them secured in their cells. Officer Jackson, can I see you outside for a minute?” Chief Becker asked.

  I let go of Mr. Peters’s hand and wiped mine on my jeans. “Sorry, my hand was sweating!”

  “Oh, Ms. Steely, mine was too. I’m sure glad I wasn’t alone.”

  “Me too.”

  Jackson opened the door and motioned for us to follow him out into the hallway.

  “So, the guy y’all identified is Jason Kramer,” Jackson said in a low voice.

  “Kramer’s the guy Dickie mentioned the other day,” I said.

  “Yeah, it seems before he roughed you up, he paid a visit to Dickie and did a number on his face,” Jackson said.

  Mr. Peters wandered down the hallway, wringing his hands.

  Jackson continued in a hushed tone. "Kramer admitted he and Ziggy were involved in a small drug dealing operation. Ziggy was a middleman, and according to Kramer, Ziggy was skimming money from the deals. When Kramer learned about Ziggy dying and his brother arriving in town, he thought maybe he’d get the money out of Earl.”

  “Oh goodness. The guy’s definitely bad news.” I guessed my confrontation could’ve been a lot worse.

  Jackson nodded. “Mr. Peters?”

  Startled, Mr. Peters flinched, turned toward us, his eyes wide, and headed back over. “Yes, Officer Jackson?”

  “When you observed Kramer pulling a gun on Earl, did you see Earl expose his own gun and threaten Kramer in any way?”

  “No, sir.” Mr. Peters fidgeted with his hands, shifting his weight back and forth between both feet, like he had ants in his pants.

  “Did someone threaten you about speaking to law enforcement? Because if so, we can protect you,” Jackson said.

  “No, officer. I’m just nervous and tired. I didn’t sleep well last night,” Mr. Peters said, his eyes darting about the hallway.

  “All right. You let me know if it happens.” Jackson nodded at me. “We appreciate the two of you coming in today. You’ve both been a big help.”

  I motioned for Jackson to call me. “C’mon, Mr. Peters, I’ll walk you out.”

  Jackson nodded. “Lenora will have papers for y’all to sign before you leave. Thanks again for doing this.”

  BACK AT THE SHOP, WE had a full morning of grooms, one after the other. I could barely keep up with the sweeping and helping them bring pets back and forth. Since Stoney had group therapy in College Station, she had the morning off. She and Pop made the drive, and he promised to have her back by noon. I’d received a phone call from Lloyd; his doctor released him at 8:30 AM. He would meet us at Orsack’s at 12:15 PM. So far, Pop was sticking to his agreement.

  After a mind-whirling rush of work, I took a break at the front counter. We were down to only one pup in the groom room. I gazed out the front window at the drizzly, cold day, munching on a cookie from the box April dropped off earlier. My thoughts drifted to this morning’s lineup. I needed to stay off Kramer’s radar for sure.

  Thinking of Kramer reminded me of Stoney’s Secret Santa gifts. Thankfully, she didn’t receive one this morning. Would this be day six or seven? I thought. I’d lost count of the days. If Kramer spent the night in lockup, there’d be no way to deliver a gift. Had it been him leaving the creepy gifts for Stoney all along? If so, it’d make sense why one didn’t show up today.

  I grabbed my cell phone to call Jackson when I noticed Vivienne Peacock prancing across the street with Pop-Tart leading the way in our direction. Her scarlet skirt suit and black heels screamed I’ve got the power! as she parade-waved at a car pausing in the street to let her cross.

  I glanced at the screen and saw their names. What?

  My phone call would have to wait.

  Tossing my cookie on the counter, I dashed to the back and stuck my head in the groom room. Christmas carols played on the iPod. Gertie and Daniel swayed while they worked.

  “Why is Pop-Tart on the schedule? I thought someone in Houston was doing his grooming.”

  “Calm down, Steely!” Daniel yelled over the music. “She said she was desperate.”

  If anyone knew the phrase calm down irritated the freaking boots off me, it was Daniel.

  “Well, I won’t be anyone’s last-ditch effort out of desperation!” I stormed up front just as Vivienne blew through the front door.

  Cuff sidled up next to my leg. Do you want me to show her who is the boss, Chiquita?

  I mentally snickered. No, I’ll handle this, Cuff. As hilarious as it would be to watch him hump Vivienne’s leg and show her who is the boss, it wasn’t a wise move.

  “Vivienne, how can I help you?” I kept my tone impassive, playing dumb to her appointment. I normally addressed folks her age with a proper title, but she didn’t deserve my respect. Not anymore. Not after the way she acted in here two days ago. Not to mention, she accused me of having something to do with Petunia’s death back in October.

  I slid behind the counter, set my chin on my stacked fists, and offered her a deadpan expression.

  She pursed her blood-red lips. “Well, we have an appointment. Didn’t your assistant, that kind young man, let you know?” She clonked her gigantic black purse on the counter, the metal brads on the bottom clicking on the wood.

  I leaned over and peeked at the computer again. “Oh, I must have missed it. So sorry.”

  “So sorry you overlooked it, or sorry your organizational skills are lacking?” she asked, the sarcasm spilling out of her mouth.

  Chiquita, she wants you to lose your cool. Do not fall for it.

  I gripped the bottom edge of the counter and forced a smile. I picked up the cookie I’d left earlier and chomped into it. With a full mouth, I couldn’t scream at her. I pushed the box of cookies toward her, motioning her to take one. She either takes a cookie or I strangle her, and one of those is illegal, I thought.

  Chiquita, not a wise idea.

  I know. But thinking about it isn’t against the law.

  “Ah, Baker’s Bliss. Don’t mind if I do,” she said, taking one and wrapping it in a napkin. She yanked her purse off the counter and dragged Pop-Tart over to the row of chairs facing the TV and sat down.

  I tried to stay occupied and dodged all conversation with her. I rearranged the front counter. I organized stacks of old file folders and boxes under the counter. And I swept the floor—avoiding her feet. I went back and grabbed Elvis, the basset hound, after Daniel finished him and called his owner. Somewhere in the middle of all that, Gertie had taken Pop-Tart to the groom room.

  “How long will this take? I need to be back at the library at 11:15 AM for a campaign meeting,” Vivienne said, scrolling on her phone. She had what appeared to be a day-planner open across her lap.

  I glanced at the dog clock on the wall. 9:55 AM. “I’ll check with Daniel.” Grateful for the escape, I wandered off to the back.

  Do not leave me with her, Chiquita! He skidded into the back of my legs. She is probably like the mean witch from Hansel and Gretel.

  I made a stop in my office first. “But didn’t she cook little kids?”

  Yes, but I am a lot easier to shove into an oven, Chiquita.

  “Good point, little buddy,” I said, grabbing the stack of invoices from my desk. Since Stoney was absent, I’d have to work on these at the front computer.

  I popped into the groom room. Gertie had Pop-Tart in a soap-filled washtub, and Daniel buzzed the electric shears down Charlie’s back. He was a buff-colored labradoodle,
and it’d been about seven months since we’d seen him. Grooming Charlie was fairly easy with a simple trim and clean-up of the fuzz on his soft coat.

  “Psst!” I whispered.

  They both looked up.

  “The devil in red out there wants to know if Pop-Tart will be done for her 11:15 AM meeting back at the library.”

  A crash came from out front.

  “What was that?” Gertie asked, scrubbing Pop-Tart’s back.

  “Maybe the door?” I shrugged. “I’ll go check. Anyway, Daniel, time?”

  Daniel glanced at the clock on the wall. “I think so but tell her if he’s not done by 11:00 AM, I can drop him by the library after he’s finished.”

  “You’re too nice,” I said.

  “Don’t you wish you could be nice like me?” He beamed.

  “Um, no,” I said.

  He set his trimmer down, reached into Gertie’s tub, and blew a handful of suds in my direction.

  I popped a couple of bubbles in mid-air. “I’ll let her know. Maybe she’ll leave early, and I won’t have to stare at her sour face,” I said and headed back up front.

  I will stay back here, Chiquita. She is scary. I heard Cuff on my way out.

  From my view, bouncing down the hallway, the lobby appeared empty. Maybe she’d stepped out or ran an errand.

  “Halle-freaking-luiah, she’s gone!” I sang in a zippy tune.

  “What did you say?” Vivienne’s voice said from somewhere in the room.

  Oops, I spoke too soon.

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  “Over here, on the floor you nitwit!”

  “What’re you doing on the floor?” I leaned over the counter and found her. Oh, dear. I see London, I see France... I see Vivi’s underpants.

  Paper thin, butter-yellow granny panties tented her behind, as she scrambled into a seated position, holding her empty purse above her head.

  “Oh my, what happened?” I bit my lower lip, fighting back a grin.

  “First, I dropped my purse and spilled it everywhere! Then, this wobbly chair spilled me over! You’re lucky I didn’t break a hip. Now, help me up this instant!”