Above the Paw

by Diane Kelly

  As nine o’clock neared, I texted Seth. Where are you?

  At the big truck was his reply.

  I strategically meandered my way over to the fire trucks and found Seth now decked out in his firefighter turnout gear and looking sexy as hell. The guy really made a yellow coat and helmet work for him.

  While Brigit plopped down next to Blast on the dry grass, I leaned back against the truck next to Seth. Soon, the sounds of Sousa’s songs blared from the speakers and the first firework streaked upward into the night sky, leaving a golden trail behind it. POP! Another followed behind, offering another POP followed by a crackling sizzle as sparks showered down. POP! POP-POP-POP! POP-POP!

  Brigit emitted a nervous whine, her ears flattening back against her head. Though it was critical for a K-9 to be accustomed to gunfire and I’d been forced to subject her to gunshot noise during some of our training sessions, Brigit was smart enough to realize these sounds were different and potentially threatening. I stroked her back to reassure her. “It’s okay, girl. Nothing to worry about.”

  Eventually, the bigger guns were brought out, treating us to one KABOOM after another, the sound waves reverberating off the truck behind me. I glanced over at Seth only to find he’d closed his eyes. These pops and kabooms might be innocent enough, but Seth had heard many pops and kabooms in Afghanistan, pops and kabooms that meant his life, or those of other soldiers, could be in danger or, even worse, have just been cut short.

  After looking around to make sure everyone’s eyes were on the sky, I reached out and took Seth’s hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. Though he didn’t open his eyes, he squeezed back.

  Seth’s radio and those of the firefighters around him came to life. “Grass fire reported near the portable toilets.”

  Seth opened his eyes. “Duty calls.”

  “More like doody calls,” called one of the other men.

  I roused Brigit and stepped away from the truck as the firefighters piled on to drive it across the field. They returned a few minutes later, just in time to see the grand finale as bursts of red, blue, yellow, green, and silver lit up the sky as if the heavens were raining glitter.

  The headliner band immediately kicked in on the stage across the way, the diehards among the crowd heading in that direction to keep the night going while the older folks and families with small children began easing toward the exits. That was my cue to get back on patrol.

  “I better go,” I told Seth.

  He slid me a sexy smile. “Meet you at your house for a shower later?”

  I slid him a sexy smile right back. “I’ll wash your back if you’ll wash mine.”

  Brigit and I headed to the exit, stationing ourselves next to the gate where we could keep a close eye out for drunks who might be planning to get behind the wheel. Officer Spalding, a beefy black cop, took up on the other side, giving me a chin lift in greeting. Spalding was a man of many muscles but few words.

  As the beer-bellied heckler from earlier stumbled toward me, I held up a hand. “Hold on a second, buddy.”

  He stopped walking, but swayed in place as if slow dancing with himself.

  I cocked my head. “You’re looking a little tipsy, sir. How many have you had?”

  “Not near enough!” he cackled.

  One of his friends had the sense to shush him. “Be cool, man.”

  I turned to the friend. “How about you. How many have you had?”

  “Only two,” he said, “and one of those was at lunchtime.”

  The fact that he’d admitted to two told me he was likely being honest. It was the people who said “just one” that were usually lying. I pulled out my flashlight and shined it in his eyes. His pupils responded as they should, by retracting. He, too, responded like a sober person, by frowning and squinting into the light. “You driving your friend home?” I asked, hiking a thumb at beer-belly.

  “Always do,” he replied.

  “All right, then.” I swept my hand toward the exit. “Carry on.” I could have issued beer-belly a citation for public intoxication, but he hadn’t caused a fight, urinated on anything, or touched any women inappropriately. He’d caught some ten-proof happiness. I’d let him slide.

  A few minutes later, Spalding performed essentially the same exchange with a group of young women, two of whom were teetering precariously on their wedge heels. “Who’s driving?” he asked.

  A young woman who looked annoyed, and thus sober, raised the keys in her hand and shook them. “That would be me. I drew the short straw and got designated driver.”

  “Be careful now, ladies.” With that, he pointed to the gate, letting them know they were free to go.

  The band continued to play and was into their sixth or seventh song when the flow wound down to a trickle. I could see a large group of people, mostly teens and people in their twenties, dancing in front of the stage, never mind the fact that the night was still warm enough to induce sweat when standing still. As I watched, the movement at the front of the crowd shifted, the dancers stepping back and growing still. Not ten seconds later, a call came across our radios. “EMTs and police needed at stage. Reports of an unconscious person on ground.”

  I looked over at Spalding.

  “I’ve got things under control here,” he said. In other words, he’d rather stay at the gate than work crowd control at the stage. I couldn’t blame him. People loved tragedy, gaping and gawking when they should be getting the hell out of the way so the paramedics could tend to the victim.

  “C’mon, Brig!” I took off at a run, my partner galloping alongside me.

  We passed Derek, who appeared to be headed for the exit.

  “They’ve called us to the stage!” I shouted.

  He pointed at the watch on his wrist. “My shift is over.”

  Such dedication, huh?

  By the time Brigit and I arrived at the stage, several other officers were already on hand, as were Trish LeGrande and her cameraman. Officers shooed the crowd back from the collapsed girl so that paramedics could get to her. The EMT swarmed and hovered over her. One appeared to be checking her pulse, while another shined a light in her eyes. I couldn’t see much of her at this point, other than thin legs with skin the warm brown of my own, tapering down to a pair of bejeweled sandals.

  A girl and a boy, both of whom appeared to be around nineteen or twenty, stood at the front of the crowd, staring down at her. One of the boy’s hands clutched his dark hair in a death grip while his eyes shined bright with fear. The girl openly sobbed, her hands cupped over her mouth, her auburn waves shaking as her shoulders heaved. They must be friends of the victim.

  My suspicious were confirmed when a third EMT stepped over to the boy and girl to ask them questions. The two exchanged nervous glances before the girl said something to the EMT. He nodded and returned to the girl on the ground. As soon as the EMTs had the victim loaded into the ambulance, I’d make sure to get names and contact information from the two, just in case this wasn’t a mere case of heatstroke.

  Motion to my left caught my eye. Officer Hinojosa, a seasoned cop in his mid-thirties, stepped up next to me. “People have been dropping like flies today.”

  I cut a glance in his direction. “No kidding. Humans aren’t meant to be out in this kind of heat.”

  When I turned back, the girl had been loaded onto a gurney and raised from the ground. One arm flopped lifelessly over the edge of the thin mattress. Her face was lax and innocent, like a sleeping child’s. Her eyes were open, but barely, the slits big enough only to reflect the revolving lights of the ambulance. Still, though no life showed behind them, I felt as if the girl’s eyes were imploring me to do something. But what could I do? She needed a doctor, not a cop.

  As the paramedics slid her into the back of the ambulance and closed the doors, my gaze moved from the vehicle to the crowd. The girl who’d spoken to the paramedics was gone. So was the boy who’d been with her, the two of them disappearing like ghosts in the night air.

 
SIX

  SIXTH SENSE

  Brigit

  She stood beside her partner in front of the stage. The band had stopped playing, the loud rock music replaced by the shrill scream of the siren coming from the ambulance. Sometimes Brigit’s superior sense of hearing was a curse. She fought the urge to put her nose in the air and howl. Anything to drown out the earsplitting wail.

  The lights atop the ambulance flashed, extra bright against the dark backdrop of night, burning her eyes. But those lights were nothing compared to the blinding flash when someone turned on the white spotlights on the front of the stage.

  As Megan called again for the crowd to move back, Brigit’s nose twitched instinctively, surveying the surroundings and detecting a number of smells. Sweat from the people who’d been dancing in front of the stage. Beer on the breath of those who’d gathered around, gaping at a young woman being loaded into the back of the ambulance. The stench of half-digested hot dog the girl had heaved all over herself before dropping to the grass.

  Yep, there were all kinds of scents here.

  But mostly what Brigit smelled was trouble.

  SEVEN

  THE COVER OF DARKNESS

  The Dealer

  The wail of the ambulance siren met his ears as his car pulled out of the parking lot. He turned to see the flashing lights, their reflection bouncing off the food booths and Porta Pottis.

  Looked like he’d gotten out just in time.

  He continued on, disappearing into the darkness.

  EIGHT

  CHAIN OF CUSTODY

  Megan

  Those of us who’d worked the Fourth of July celebration had been given the fifth off, and I’d intended to take full advantage of it by sleeping in until noon. Unfortunately, my partner had other plans. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, the sky still hazy with an orangey-pink glow, when Brigit slid down from the bed and woofed softly to wake me. Woof.

  “Please, Brigit,” I moaned. “You went out at two A.M. Can’t you hold it?” I pulled the sheet up over my head.

  I’d nearly fallen back asleep when she woofed again, louder and more insistently. Woof!

  I pulled the pillow over my head now, but it wasn’t enough to drown her out.

  Woof! Woof!

  I tossed off the covers, sat up, and glared at her. “Next time you’re napping I’m getting even.”

  I climbed out of bed and let her out the back door. Knowing she wouldn’t be satisfied with just a potty break, I set about fixing her breakfast, spooning some wet food into a bowl for my partner to enjoy. As if the dog weren’t pesky enough, my roommate’s fluffy calico cat leaped up onto the counter and nudged my hand with her nose, feline code for feed me now or I’ll hork up a hairball in your closet. Rolling my eyes, I retrieved a can of her wet food from the cabinet and set about filling her bowl, too. I pushed it to the back of the counter where she could eat in peace without Brigit trying to steal her meal.

  After letting the dog back inside, I looked from one of the furry beasts to the other. “You’re really the ones in charge, aren’t you?”

  They both cut me looks that said if I was just now figuring that out I was behind the curve.

  “’Mornin’.” The five-feet-eleven-inch Amazon that was my roommate Frankie slunk into the room, her spiky blue hair sticking up in all directions. “What’s for breakfast?”

  “I gotta feed you now, too?”

  She dropped into a seat at the table. “It would be nice.”

  I scoffed, but it was halfhearted and we both knew it. Frankie had taken me and Brigit in when I’d had no luck finding a house to rent that was both suitable and affordable. She’d taken a chance on us, having known us for only the fifteen minutes it had taken for me to nearly run her over in my squad car, discover she’d been dumped by her boyfriend, and return to the house to prevent her boyfriend from taking the television she’d helped pay for.

  Luckily, things had worked out well for both of us. Brigit now had a nice yard to play and poop in, and I no longer had an upstairs neighbor with a prostate problem who flushed his toilet all night long or a bastard landlord who refused to fix anything until the apartment complex nearly burned down. Frankie gained a new friend and a guard dog to keep her, her cat, and her valuables safe. Of course the most valuable things she owned were the TV I’d mentioned and the Luigino Atom Matrix skates she used to play roller derby. Those skates cost nearly five hundred dollars.

  I fixed Frankie a bowl of Cocoa Puffs and made a bowl of organic granola for myself.

  Frankie had been working as a nighttime stocker in a grocery store and still trying to figure out her life plan when Seth suggested she might enjoy the physical challenges of being a firefighter. It was as if a lightbulb had gone off in her head. She’d immediately applied for a position and was currently working her way through the required training, which took several weeks.

  “What’s up in training today?” I asked her.

  “More physical testing,” she said. “They’re also making us climb an aerial ladder today. Gotta make sure we’re not afraid of heights.”

  “You’ll do great. You’re not afraid of anything.”

  “That’s not true.” She smirked. “I’m afraid the Fort Worth Whoop Ass might lose this weekend’s bout against the Sherman She-Devils.”

  As we ate, my cell phone pinged with an incoming text. It was from Seth. Up yet? Dog park?

  I texted him back. We’ll be ready in half an hour. It was crazy early, sure, but if we didn’t get the dogs to the park by eight o’clock, it would be too hot for them to run around and play.

  I finished my cereal and rinsed the bowl in the sink, leaving Frankie at the table with Zoe on her lap. I showered, washing my own back this time around, and dressed in shorts, a tank top, and sneakers. Seth came to the door as I was rounding up my dog park bag, which held a cooler of cold water, a plastic bowl, and an assortment of throw toys including a Frisbee, a tennis ball, and squeaky squirrel. No need for me to call Brigit. She’d heard Seth’s car pull up and was already at the front door, sniffing at the bottom and wagging her tail as if to say Our dates are here!

  As we stepped onto the porch, Brigit and Blast greeted each other with a playful tussle that ended up with Blast on his back and Brigit hovering over him, chewing affectionately on his neck. Seth and I did essentially the same, though our tussle culminated in a kiss. Much less slobber.

  Seth rested his forehead on mine, his green eyes looking into mine. “How about another shower before we go?”

  “I’ve had two in the last six hours. I’m plenty clean.”

  A grin tugged at his lips. “I could get you dirty.”

  I pushed him back. “Behave yourself.”

  He raised his palms in surrender. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  He took the bag from me and stashed it in the trunk while I loaded the dogs into the back of his seventies-era Nova. The muscle car sported blue paint with bright orange flames down the side and license plates that read KABOOM, apropos for a member of the city’s bomb squad.

  Once the dogs were situated, we humans slid into the front, sitting side by side on the bench seat. My skin stuck to the duct-taped vinyl, but it was a small price to pay to get to sit thigh to thigh with Seth.

  Seth pulled into the dog park, taking a spot near the chain-link fence that enclosed the area. As Blast and Brigit descended from the backseat, an adorable rust and white papillon rushed the fence, barking up a storm.

  “Hello, Lady!” I called to the dog.

  Lady Fenton was one of Brigit’s dog park pals and seven pounds of pure attitude. I think that’s why Brigit liked the fluffy little dog so much. A Rottweiler or mastiff had sheer size on their side, and all they had to do to look tough was stand up. But for a tiny little thing like Lady to show no fear among dogs ten or more times her size was truly courageous.

  I raised a hand to her owner, who offered a friendly smile.

  We let Brigit and Blast in through the doubl
e gates, and they joined with Lady, trotting off to greet their buddies and make the acquaintance of the dogs they hadn’t met before.

  Seth and I found a spot to stand in the shade of a live oak. There, we did the same things the dogs had done—greeted the people we recognized and introduced ourselves to those we didn’t. We made small talk, the conversation starting with the weather and someone asking the inevitable question, “Hot enough for ya?’”

  We all agreed that, indeed, it was hot enough for each of us. A man named Pete who owned a boxer said, “Hell, it’s hot enough for Satan himself!”

  A sixtyish man with short and wiry gray hair not unlike that of his schnauzer took a sip from his water bottle and eyed Seth. “That reporter from Dallas with the big bazoombas said some girl nearly died last night at Panther Pavilion. You know anything about that?”

  “Little bit,” he said.

  “What happened?” he asked. “Was it heatstroke?”

  “Sorry,” he replied, “but medical information is confidential. I’m not allowed to talk about that kind of thing.”

  The man scowled, insulted.

  Brigit loped up, stuck her snout into the bag at my feet, and pulled out the Frisbee. Blast grabbed the other side and the two engaged in a brief tug-of-war until Seth managed to wrangle it away from both of them. He pulled his arm back and sent it sailing across the park. “Go get it!”

  He didn’t have to tell them twice. They were off in an instant, kicking up dirt and grass in their determined quest to be the one who snatched the disc out of the air.

  Brigit won, circling back and dropping the disc at my feet. I tossed it this time, though my throw didn’t have nearly the reach of Seth’s.

  A few minutes later, the dogs flopped down at our feet, tuckered out from the activity and the heat. We offered them some cold water, which they drank with gusto. Slurp-slurp-slurp!