Protect and Serve Don't Need A Hero

by Lena Austin

  “Sorry for the (static) but I’ll be back in a (static) weeks.” Rat’s voice was so far away I had to restrain myself from shouting into the phone for fear he wouldn’t hear me.

  “Working a schedule board for one project drives me bat crap, much less six. Why can’t you manage it yourself from there?” So what if I was whining? Desperate times call for desperate measures. I knew the answer, but I had to make the point.

  “Reception sucks, that’s why!” Amazingly, that line came through loud and clear. Worse, Rat was shouting loud enough to make my ears ring. “Suck it up until I get back, girlfriend.” Then the line went dead. Crappy reception! You’d think a bunch of wealthy Arabs would have decent cell towers and satellite.

  I put a data stick in the file cabinet, slammed the drawer, and gave the digital screen one last tweak before shutting it down. “Thank God it’s Friday!”

  “I can agree with that.” My favorite cop lounged in the doorway of Rat’s office, all slinky panther grace. He was already out of uniform, wearing a classic pair of khakis and an open-throated camp shirt. Yummy! We had a date to check out a property off Mill Creek, in a formerly exclusive island community, complete with bridge.

  I practically ran -- okay, hobbled in a hurry -- to his car, but “sucked it up” and didn’t bitch on the ride. We crossed onto the island in no time. As soon as he turned into the formerly gated community, I got a weird sense of déjà vu.

  The red sides of a fake covered bridge had faded, making it even more rustic than its designers had originally intended. The inside of the bridge was dark, but mercifully short. Yeah, like it was so difficult to cross a creek so small a man could jump it, but apparently the residents had felt they needed their road pass over said creek. Weirdos.

  Apollo kept right on driving, maneuvering his patrol car around road debris, a fallen tree, and the creeping vegetation slowly taking over the road. His truck was sturdy enough to power over the vegetation creeping over what had been a paved road. “Damned kudzu,” he muttered.

  Each house sat on its own seven or so acres, each private estate of overgrown lawns where the normally unwelcome native flora and fauna now held sway. The wealthy owners and gardeners were long gone, and good riddance. Most of the houses were falling down, and many looked like the next hurricane would blow them apart like a pile of matchsticks.

  “You want a house here?” I looked out the window and shuddered. The carpenter in me itched to get my hands on the houses and save them. I wondered if I did a title search, maybe I could buy up the land for cheap. Note to self: buy the island. I hadn’t confessed to Apollo how rich Beans was making me. I didn’t want to be a wealthy rural socialite, anyway. However, Three Amigos Construction had made me rich, and Beans was doing a good job of making me filthy fucking rich.

  “Just one in particular.” Apollo turned the truck down a barely discernible driveway between two pillars. “The owner actually owns the entire island, but her rental properties are… Um…”

  “Let’s call them unoccupied.” I grinned at him and pointed at a small herd of mule deer in the clearing. “Sort of unoccupied. Why this place?”

  “Location, location, location. It’s close enough for me to work, but far enough for the riffraff to be negligible. Besides…”

  He didn’t need to explain more. Around a bend in the drive, a magnificent house I knew well appeared from behind a stand of live oaks. My home. Unlike all the other houses, the palmetto scrub had no claim on the lawn or wraparound porch. It stood in pristine glory, a gracious Victorian old lady waiting in serene silence with a fresh coat of paint.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt now that I was staring right at it. Part of me wanted to tear it apart, and part of me wanted to go sit on the porch swing and relax in someone’s lap. Like I’d come home. Then I saw a small, granite memorial to the side of the drive. I swallowed a sob and tried to get the car door open, forgetting I was in a cop car. The damn door refused to open until Apollo slammed into park. I stumbled to the granite memorial and read the words aloud. “Beau the golden retriever. His faith and loyalty never wavered. Heroes are made of those traits.”

  Apollo knelt in the grass next to me. In his hands were a rawhide bone and some dog treats. He grinned sheepishly at me and laid the gifts on Beau’s grave. “I figured he’d like these a lot better than flowers.”

  I sniffled like a sap and caressed the bas-relief of the golden retriever. “The sculpture Mina created was better looking, but this fits Beau better. It’s simple and loving, just like him.” I would not cry. I would not cry. Maybe if I told myself that often enough, I could stop crying inside. I missed that fucking mutt.

  Eventually Apollo stood and tugged on my hand. “Come see the rest.”

  Talk about mixed feelings! I wanted to burn the place down but only after I spent a few hours traveling down memory lane. I trembled like my muscles had been tense too long. Still, I limped up the porch steps and to the massive front doors behind Apollo.

  The forest green paint still had that faint “new” chemical smell, and the doorknocker had been polished to a gleam. The sidelight glass I had jumped through in my terror had been replaced.

  The place was pristine like no one had ever left, except for a big-ass pile of stuff covered with a tarp in the middle of the octagon-shaped hall. From the thick layer of dust covering it, Mina had left this last bit. I wondered how big of a bonfire it would make.

  Some pieces of furniture looked vaguely familiar, and some I knew quite well. Apollo’s place must have been emptied of every antique that could be moved. Just to be sure, I peeked in the kitchen. Yep, he’d upgraded to the latest chef toys until I drooled on my shoes. Did this mean he wanted to live here?

  Shit, now I was really, really conflicted. I damn sure couldn’t burn the place down with his shit inside. Then again, I was relieved I didn’t have to burn it down anymore. Yeah, I’d have those days playing “lap fungus” on the porch swing with Super Cop, if he’d let me get cat hair on his uniforms. I’d buy the biggest fucking grill and set it in an outdoor kitchen to die for. I still grilled out better than he did, though he stomped my ass into the dirt when it came to inside cooking.

  Apollo’s arms slid around me from behind, interrupting my daydream. “You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?”

  Ask? Like he had to ask? “Fuck yeah, I’m moving in with you!” I whirled around and jumped into his arms. “I don’t know how you persuaded Mina to let you have the lease on the joint, but I’ll bet you got it for a song, considering the lack of other tenants.” I’d make a discreet call to Beans and see if he could track the bitch down. I wanted to buy the whole damn island for sure, now.

  “Not quite the question I had in mind, but I’ll take that answer.” He purred into my hair and rubbed his cheek all over my head. “But, you’re laboring under a misconception, Fur-Baby. Mina doesn’t own this island anymore, and hasn’t for ten years.” He lifted me up and walked backward until we stood next to the dusty tarp.

  My eyes lit up. So, I could burn that shit under the tarp? Yeah, baby! Bonfire in the backyard, grilled tuna and beer party coming up! Then, my inner calendar caught up with my emotions. I’d been on my own for ten years. She’d sold the place the same time she’d dumped Beau and me outside. My fingers itched for a matchstick. I really, seriously needed some revenge. Had she sold us as part of the package deal? I didn’t even try to stop the hiss I made at the pile. “Get this shit out of our house!” Something snapped inside me, and all the misery of that first year came back.

  Apollo’s arms became steel bands before I could wriggle out from them and start tossing the contents out the door. “Wait! Before you do that, you’d better hear the truth of what happened.”

  “She abandoned us! That loyal fucking dog died because he didn’t know how to stop loving and believing in them!” I fought like a hellcat, determined to have some small measure of revenge.

  “He was right.” Apollo’s quiet affirmation stunned me long enough for
him to reach out and yank the tarp off the pile.

  Two large boxes supported a myriad of smaller boxes, but the labels hadn’t faded. I read the words aloud. “Princess Petra’s bed and toys” and “Beau’s bed and toys.” On top of those boxes were two carriers, one small pink one and one large one the same gold as Beau’s fur. On top of those were two collars and leashes. Taped to my carrier was a note with a simple message:

  “Madam, you can get your own pets ready for the move. I quit! Lucy.”

  My knees went weak. The maid was supposed to have put us in the carriers, but instead she’d let us out into the yard and left, deliberately abandoning us. “Why didn’t Mina come back for us?” My voice came out as a squeaky whine, and I bitched myself out for showing any weakness.

  “Because she was already dead.” Apollo’s arms loosened enough where I could breathe. “A riot of the have-nots on I-295. The car had been overloaded and too slow to get out. The rioters turned the car over and burned enough fuel around it to cook them alive inside. Mina and her husband Sam died before rescue could douse the flames and get them out. They’d already changed their address, so no one thought to check back at the old house for you or Beau.”

  Shit. My whole body shuddered while the truth seeped its way through years of hate and misery. Hate given for no damn good reason, it seemed. I stood in that musty, spacious hallway staring at the evidence of how we’d not been abandoned. She’d intended to come back for us and take us with her, but the one person Mama had trusted had betrayed her.

  No, two people had betrayed her. First, the maid Lucy. She’d be on my list of people to look up, later. Second was me. I hadn’t believed. “Beau was right.”

  “Yeah. Dogs are like that, I guess.” Apollo gathered me to him. “Love and loyalty all wrapped up in slobber and a complete lack of dignity. Fucking mutts are born to be heroes.”

  My lips twitched. I guess he couldn’t see the irony of his statement. My big, bad panther was also a hero, but it’s just not wise to tell a kitty when they’re doing something cool. Feline perversity dictates we must do the opposite of what is expected and approved. It’s in the Feline Handbook. Trust me. “I won’t mention to Rat and Beans what you just said. They might take exception.”

  “Good idea. The world needs heroes, but you never tell them what they are.” My big bad cop cuddled me to his chest. “So, are you going to let me lease the house?”

  “Nope. Mine.” My lips twitched. “But… if I remember correctly, Mama’s bed was huge and super soft. Wanna go check it out?”

  “Great idea.” He swept me up into one of those romantic carry holds like something out of a cheap novel. I ignored the way my heart fluttered. “I guess this means I’ve adopted a cop.”

  We all need our heroes. I’d found mine.

  Lena Austin

  Lena Austin has been and done a few things that the statute of limitations hasn’t run out upon yet, but she combines her memories with an active imagination. When she’s not being a professional liar (her term for writer), she’s a customer service rep in a call center -- and sometimes both simultaneously. Writing keeps her off tall buildings with high-powered rifles.

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