Protect and Serve Don't Need A Hero

by Lena Austin

  Chuckling, he swept me low enough to let my fingers brush the smooth, blonde wood. “Trust a finish carpenter to recognize wood design.” He yawned. “I’ll show you my workshop in the…” Another yawn punctuated his tired mumble. “Morning.”

  Yawns are contagious. We both should have been revved on adrenaline, but all the energy drained out of me. “It’s already morning.” I pointed at the faint trace of light above the tree line across the river. “Screw the shower. Is your bed really a Lane Hemingway?”

  Apollo turned and headed toward the bed. “Yeah. With a real featherbed on top.” He put me in the bed and let me sink. Did you know featherbeds ensure you have to cuddle? Oh, like that hurt me. The last thing I remember was both of us purring in unison with this warm, buttery-soft quilt on top.

  I heard my security system answer the phone vaguely, but it was programmed to call screen. I cracked one eye in time to see Dustin Hardesty’s phone number on the ID screen and that we’d had only about six hours of sleep.

  “Hey, mah man!” Tigs’ voice was entirely too cheerful. “Petey can come home. Newsies left this morning.”

  Pete muttered a sleepy obscenity and burrowed under the quilt.

  Yeah, my thoughts exactly. Dustin’s mate needed to go to hell.

  Tigs sniggered. There was no other polite way to say it. “Bring her back when you’re done with her.”

  Pete sat up, all pissed off kitten, and just as cute. “Sonovabitch! When the cop’s done with me? How about when I’m done with him?”

  My cock really liked that plan. “Yeah, when we’re done with each other.”

  One side of her mouth twitched upright, like she flicked her whiskers at me. She stuck her tongue out at the speaker embedded in my wall right next to the alarm above the nightstand. “See you in a thousand years, mah man!”

  Chapter Eight

  The cold wind bit right through my naked body. I tried to change back to cat, where at least my long cream-colored fur could keep me warm, but nothing happened. The setting sun shone through the bare trees, orange-bright but not warm. I craved warmth.

  A large, brownish-gold lump of fur just ahead caught my eye. Beau! The golden retriever had always been good-natured about sharing a bit of rug, or even his bed. He wouldn’t begrudge me a cuddle now.

  I ran for my pal where he lay on the white, crushed marble drive. The sharp stones were icy-cold, but the promise of Beau’s fur was worth the brief chill.

  Ice! Beau’s body was ice-cold. The stench of unwashed dog and feces clogged my nose. Beau had never smelled so bad! Okay, so he was a dog, but this was worse than bad.

  “Beau! Dude, you so need a bath.” I moved a little closer so I could grin down at my old friend. He always had a doggie-breath grin for me, and I was lonely and scared. I really, really needed a friend right now.

  This time though, the grin was a skeletal parody of Beau’s happy face. A beetle crawled out of the visible eye socket. Beau was dead. Long dead. Even while I watched in horror, a bit of gold fur broke off and flew away on the autumn breeze.

  As if to emphasize my terrified isolation, the sun slipped further down behind the horizon. Dark shadows with crooked talons crept closer. They’d rend me to pieces if they touched me!

  I fled for the safety of the house. There would be my cozy bed beneath the piano, safe and sound. Perhaps there’d even be a new catnip toy to take my fears out upon.

  The door did not open when I beat on it, but a window nearby had been broken. Sidelight. I knew that sort of window was a sidelight. How I knew this, I couldn’t say. All I knew was that my heart was beating so loudly in my chest, I thought I’d explode. I dove through the sidelight, praying I wouldn’t be cut, but too terrified for a more dignified and careful entrance.

  The sting of several cuts yanked a hiss out of me when I hit the glass shards on the inside. Oh, the maid had just earned fur all over her black uniform for not cleaning up the mess quickly!

  I picked the pieces of glass out of my foot and one hand and ignored the other minor injuries. I’d do a better job of cleanup when I got into my bed. The music room was to the left, and Mama often entertained guests in the evening there. Perhaps I’d convince someone to give me a shrimp from the sideboard. Or two. I could lose dignity for a few shrimp, and…

  The room was empty. Not one stick or thread of furnishings remained. Not even my fuzzy white bed where the piano had been. The cold wind whistled through the broken glass.

  I ignored the huge, dusty, cloth bundle in the middle of the hall and ran full-tilt into the kitchen to my food bowl. Or rather, where my food bowl had always been. Not even the mat remained.

  The kitchen, normally bustling with activity until well into the evening, was dark and silent. No knives glistened on the magnetic strip near the prep island. The appliance garage’s doors were wide open like gaping mouths in a perpetual scream of horror. Even the refrigerator was gone.

  My stomach growled audibly.

  I glanced down, surprised at the sound I’d not heard in a very long time. A red rivulet of blood from a cut on my rib pooled in my navel before it slowly continued its descent into the short curls below.

  What was I to do? I didn’t know how to do anything but be pretty! Where were all those that loved me? Had they left me? Was this what alone was? A dry sob wrenched from my soul.

  Then, like a miracle, a warm arm wrapped around me. A warm breath purred in my ear. A masculine voice shushed and soothed me with all those nonsense words that mean more than intelligent conversation.

  I turned toward the warmth and comfort of another feline’s vibrating body. For the first time ever, I felt more than merely admired for my beauty or needed for my skills. He just wanted me to be happy.

  The dark room faded away, replaced by the light of a sunny morning in Apollo’s arms.

  The cop pulled me even closer, until I had to wrap my sore foot over him, just in case he sleepily kicked it. He rubbed his face in my hair, ignoring the bad hair day I had going. He sighed contentedly around his rumbling masculine purr. “I didn’t know how lonely I was until I found you, Kitten. I missed you even before I knew you existed. Bad dream?”

  It was like cuddling a diesel engine, and I let the vibes just wash over me. I’d heard riding one of the old motorcycles had made females orgasm just by sitting on the seat. Yeah, I could believe that. My scent was all over him, but I rubbed against his chest anyway. “Yeah. A bad memory. My human family left me and the family dog behind when they abandoned suburbia for the boonies. Beau -- the golden retriever -- died sitting in the driveway, waiting for those selfish bastards to come back for us. He fucking starved and died of loyalty.” I choked back a sniffle despite the anger I still felt. “Both of us were so clueless how to live without someone to take care of us. You’d have liked him. He was loyal, so trustworthy, friendly, and happy. Well, a dog. You know.”

  “Sounds like a boy scout or hero.” Apollo grinned down at her. “Obviously, you survived. How?”

  I buried my face in his chest. I didn’t want to remember those times when I’d have done anything -- anything -- for a morsel of food and a sheltered spot out of the cold. I shrugged like it didn’t matter. “A few squirrels and a shitload of rats made the ultimate sacrifice until Tigs and Rat found me in one of their construction sites.”

  They’d found a half-starved ball of matted fur too weak to run. They’d had to clipper cut me bald to get me halfway cleaned up, and I’d just hung my head and hoped they’d kill me quickly. I’d eaten what they gave me for days before I recovered enough to be scared, and by then there was no need.

  “They taught me how to shift, how to… live, I guess.” I tried the nonchalant shrug, but Apollo’s arms tightened around me anyway.

  “Hm. I owe those guys big time. I take it they gave you a job?” His heart beat slowly and steadily against my ear. I could have listened to it for years.

  I shut my eyes, full of contentment for the first time in my life. “Yuppers. Finish carpent
ry and millwork. I get a kick out of making things beautiful or restoring them to their former glory.” I reached around and grabbed me two handfuls of the city’s finest. “Did I mention you’ve got a great butt?”

  Apollo had a strange look on his face. “Back at you, baby.” The answer was absent-minded, but I forgave him instantly when he asked, “If you’re a finish carpenter, how are you with chisels and inlays?”

  “I’m no Sorrento, but I’m okay. Why?”

  He waved vaguely down below our feet. “I’ve got this inlaid compass rose thing. It’s too complicated for me. Want to take a look?”

  “Oh, hell, yeah!” I sat up, and we dressed hurriedly, like a pair of kids who’d been offered a day at an amusement park.

  Apollo threw me one of his green T-shirts with the sheriff’s department logo. I hope he knows he’s not getting it back. How my bra ended up on top of a bookcase is still a mystery. If Apollo hadn’t spotted the one strap dangling over the edge, it might still be there. As soon as I’d wriggled my way into my jeans, the cop scooped me up. “You couldn’t negotiate the stairs, even with your crutches. This is easier.”

  Yeah, I should have protested, but maybe I was enjoying the pampering. He carried me past a steel-reinforced security door, down a set of narrow stairs that probably had once been a fire escape or something, and into paradise.

  The lower floor was a giant workshop containing a lathe, drill press, compound miter saw and even a room-sized paint cabinet. “Whoa! Is that a dip tank? Seriously?”

  Everywhere was a project in various stages of completion. I tried not to drool at the Gilded Age armoire doors on the workbench. A fine set of Buck Brothers chisels in a custom display stand caused my fingers to itch. I ran my finger over the parquetry tabletop on a workbench I could reach. “Lemon wood, mother of pearl, and… um…”

  “Yeah, that I figured. What’s the whitish-tan wood?” Apollo pointed to one of the smaller points of a Mariner’s Compass inlay.

  “Boxwood. It starts white, but it turns tan as it ages.” I stuck out a finger and ran my hand gently over the blank spots where the inlaid pieces had come out.

  “C’mon, there’s more to see.” He carried me to a hoard of treasures, stacked in a basement as big as a warehouse.

  I yelled, “Stop,” and my jaw hit the floor. On the stand, displayed with LED lights focused on it, was a sculpture I knew well. My former owner and the one I’ve called “Mama” had made the three-foot tall column of trinkets embedded in polymer. The theme of that sculpture had been Beau. There were gold dogtags, bones of ceramic and tiny figures of golden retrievers. At one time there had been a matching one of me. I’d been so proud, I’d rubbed my scent all over the blue column.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “An illegal fence operation.” Apollo shrugged but I could tell the fences had been selling more than just inanimate objects, probably kids. His frown was haunted. “We shut them down.”

  I told him about the… sculpture. “I know that one. It was in my house, growing up.”

  Apollo’s frowned became puzzled. “But it’s a Miko. She was an internationally known local artist. This was hers. I’ve always wanted to know more about her.”

  Suddenly, I hated the statue. “That she was a selfish bitch.”

  * * *

  I’ve never been happier than I’ve been these last few weeks. I have a partner even better that Jeff could ever imagine. Pete cooks as well as I do and will threaten me with my own whisk when I touch her culinary efforts.

  Last week she ran the chop saw while I assembled the restoration of an Andy Warhol-era entertainment stand, then she carved an inlaid compass rose. I’m in awe and in love.

  Yeah, I said it. Mr. Solitary has finally found the queen of my dreams. She just happens to not be another Florida Panther.

  Now that little Mikey is out of the hospital, we babysit two active Rottweiler puppies in human form and love every minute of it. I can chase Angelina around Dustin’s estate while Mikey “makes auntie Pete rest.”

  Today is the final hearing on the bank robbery that brought us together. The posthumous conviction of that nutball bank robber ties the last bow on the whole incident. We’ll never know whose bullet struck Mikey. It was too distorted, and no one gave a damn anyway. So, we cops go back to work on Monday, pending no surprises at the hearing.

  I’ve got a surprise of my own for Pete. Sometimes I find much more than merely furniture. I surreptitiously patted the little, satin-lined box.

  I hardly recognized Pete when she got out of the taxi at the courthouse steps. Those mile long legs and strong body were hidden behind some pink dress that made her look like candy. I certainly wanted a bite. She marched up the steps slowly, in deference to the still-healing foot. Her smile was nervous and tight. “I’ve never been in the courthouse before, much less a courtroom. And I’ve never been escorted into a courtroom by a cop in uniform.” She batted her big blue eyes and popped her gum nervously.

  The security arches just inside the doors had a short line of people shuffling through, presided over by a bored guard in body armor.

  I stepped through easily and nodded to the guard. He lifted his stunner an inch or so when he saw my identification on his screens.

  Pete stepped forward, clearly eager to be done with security. The arc flashed briefly, and the barrier snapped up blocking Pete’s way. No alarms blared and the guard sighed. “Huh? This can’t be right.” He peered at the arc screen. “Champion Petra Delight of Oakton?”

  Pete popped her gum and tried to sound like a tough alley cat. I knew better. It was all an act to hide her fancy roots. “Yeah, what? How do you know my real name?”

  The guard blinked, then nodded. “Ma’am, you were chipped as a kid. For some reason, the chip was flagged. There’s a request for you to see the clerk of the court.” He waved down the hall and released the barrier.

  “What?” Pete seemed frozen in place.

  I yanked her forward and out of the way. “Rich kids and pedigreed pets are chipped so they can return home.” I caressed the nape of her neck, where the chip likely was. “There’s an electronic chip back there with your kitty ID embedded in it.” I hustled her down the hall and through the door to the clerk of the court.

  The receptionist at the counter smiled up at Pete. “Ms. Oakes, please go right in. Room B is on the right. Mr. Bennett will explain.”

  Pete glanced at her wrist, unit. “I… I don’t have a lot of time. I’m due to testify in courtroom 317 at 1300.”

  “This won’t take long, ma’am.” The receptionist smiled vacantly at everyone still waiting for their turn and ignored the filthy looks some shot her for jumping someone over the line.

  The clerk at the desk of room B had that weary-eyed look of clerks throughout history, but his smile and courtesy offering Pete a seat was all old-world. “I won’t waste your valuable time.” He opened a slim data pad. Beside his data pad was a sealed silicate envelope. “You’re the only known beneficiary since…” He studied the file a moment. “The canine Beau was never found.”

  “Beau is dead.” Pete’s voice was flat and emotionless. “He didn’t survive our abandonment.”

  Now the clerk frowned. “My apologies and condolences. Be that as it may, here are your tax records and the names of the legal firm in charge of your estate.” He slid over a data stick. “It’s all inside.”

  “Estate? Huh?” Pete was genuinely puzzled, judging by her frown and baffled look.”

  I bit my lip. I had an idea, based on my research, but I haven’t had a chance to work it into a conversation yet. She was so bitter. Call me a coward, not a hero.

  “Ms. Oakton, please call the legal firm for more details.” The clerk stood, clearly ending the conversation. “My apologies for flagging your identification, but we had been unable to locate you by the usual means.”

  Pete put the data stick in her pocket. Trust my girl not to have a purse like a normal female. Her face was a set mask like she alw
ays wore when the subject of her past came up. She nodded and regally left the room as if going to her coronation.

  We made it to the hearing, and after Pete’s testimony and the dash cam videos, the jury took less than five minutes to reach the expected verdict -- guilty. We were done by 3 p.m.

  I thought Pete had forgotten about the data stick but in the parking garage, Pete pulled it out of her pocket and dropped it atop a pile in the trash bin. She kept walking as if she’d thrown away a wad of used gum rather than millions of credits.

  I scooped the little silver stick out of the trash behind her and fingered a sequence on my badge communication unit. Naturally I’d made my testimony in uniform, so my patrol vehicle blinked its lights to acknowledge my approach. One small red dot on the dashboard confirmed my signal.

  I caught up with Pete just in front of my car. “Hey, Pete! You dropped this.” I held up the stick.

  “No, I did not fucking drop it. I threw it away.” She turned and faced me. “I don’t want to deal with those lawyers.”

  Bingo! Just what I’d hoped she’d say. This was too easy. “So, should I contact the law firm for you?”

  My kitten shrugged. “Sure. I don’t care. Just as long as I don’t have to touch it, you can do what you like.”

  I keyed in the door code sequence to let her sit in Jeff’s seat. He wouldn’t need it for another few weeks, and I promised her a safe ride back to Marissa’s for some babysitting. I had what I wanted, so I would let Mikey and Angelina distract her.

  Chapter Nine

  Fuck me running if I wasn’t relieved to put the trial behind me. This kitty girl needed some hard work and sweat, but with my bum foot and Rat in fucking Dubai, I was stuck behind the general contractor’s desk. “Am I enjoying my manager’s stint? Yeah ah… No, not really. Screw you, Rat! Get your tail-wagging ass home!” Trying to hold a conversation with Rat when the cell service made reception snowier than a Christmas morning in Denver frustrated the shit out of me.