by Diane Kelly
We climbed into our seats and Seth drove to a nearby burger place, pulling into the drive-thru lane. He unrolled his window and leaned his head out to call into the speaker. “Two plain double-meat burgers.”
A garbled voice came back. “You want fries with that?”
Brigit stuck her head over the seat. Woof-woof!
Seth cast a glance at her, chuckled, and leaned out the window a second time. “Sure. Two large fries.”
Seth insisted on paying for Brigit’s lunch even though the department added an amount to my paychecks to cover the cost of her care. Who was I to argue? The beast ate way more than the stipend would ever cover.
The dogs’ lunch taken care of, Seth turned to me. “How’s Mexican sound?”
“Muy delicioso.”
As Seth aimed his car for Chuy’s, a popular Mexican restaurant just west of downtown, I reached into the white food bag, the paper crinkling as I removed the burgers. I tore the burgers into bite-sized pieces and fed them to the dogs. “Wait your turn,” I scolded Brigit when she tried to snatch a chunk intended for Blast.
I finished feeding the dogs as Seth pulled into a curbside parking place across the street from Chuy’s. Peeking into the burger bag, I groaned and held up my greasy fingers. “They forgot the napkins.”
Brigit and Blast seized the opportunity to get one last taste of meat. Slurp. Slurp-slurp-slurp. Their tongues might be germy but they were effective.
We left the dogs in the car with the windows cracked and went inside. I made a quick stop at the ladies’ room to wash my hands with hot water and soap, then joined Seth at a table near the window where we could keep an eye on the car and make sure Brigit and Blast weren’t eating the seats.
We placed our orders and made small talk for a few minutes until the waitress returned with our food. She set our steaming plates down in front of us. “Here you go. Enjoy.”
Seth glanced down at the tortilla and turned his plate 180 degrees to face me. “Say hello to Willie Nelson.”
I took a look. Sure enough, the brown parts looked like a man with a bushy beard. “I think it’s less Willie Nelson and more Karl Marx.”
“How do you know what Karl Marx looks like?”
“Randy Dunham,” I replied. Randy was the sociopath who’d strapped explosives to my chest. The guy hadn’t even bought me dinner first. Jerk. “We found a copy of The Communist Manifesto in his bedroom when we searched it.”
The copy had been worn and dog-eared, several passages highlighted with yellow marker. Because I’d been the one to take Randy down, the higher-ups allowed me to go along with the detectives and crime scene techs when they gathered evidence at his home.
Seth picked up his quesadilla and took a big bite, essentially scalping Willie or Karl with his teeth.
“Pareidolia,” I said, with a shrug. “Weird how the brain works, isn’t it?”
Seth swallowed, splayed his fingers on either side of his head, and emitted an explosive sound. “Kapow! You just blew my mind.”
I read a lot and tended to retain random information, most of it useless. But occasionally some of the information proved helpful.
“Pareidolia is the tendency for people to see faces in inanimate objects.”
He nodded and took a sip of his soda. “Is there a word for seeing sexual organs in inanimate objects?”
“Ew.” I cringed. “Do we need a word for that?”
Seth shrugged this time. “You always hear about people saying something looks like guy junk or girly parts. You know, like butternut squash or tacos.”
I shook my head and waved a hand as if to clear the air of this ludicrous conversation. “Moving on topic-wise.” I held up the newspaper, which remained folded to the rental section. “I’m going to see three p-places this afternoon. Can you come with me? You might notice things I don’t.” After all, women tended to focus on things like wallpaper and closet space, while men tended to notice dripping faucets or dry rot. I’d already lived in one hellhole. I didn’t want to move into another.
He cocked his head, his gaze heated and intent as he eyed me. “I’ll come if you promise me a sleepover.”
My eyes flickered to his soft lips, his broad shoulders, and back again. Yeah, I can definitely see myself waking up to him. “Okay. I promise you a sleepover. I just don’t promise when.”
A slow, sexy grin spread across his lips. “I’ll take it.”
TWO
DOG DAY AFTERNOON
FWPD Sergeant Brigit
The dog days of summer were so called because the star Sirius, also known as the “Dog Star,” in the constellation Canis Major, was most visible in the summer months in the Northern Hemisphere. Of course, though Megan knew this, Brigit did not and wouldn’t have given a cat’s ass about it anyway. All that mattered to Brigit was that she’d been taken for some fun playtime at the dog park, fed a nice lunch, and was now dozing peacefully in the backseat of Seth’s Nova, using Blast’s butt as a pillow.
If life never got any better than this, she’d still die a happy dog.
THREE
MY TWO DADS
Dub
Sunday afternoon, Dub ran down the basketball court at the YMCA, faking left, then dribbling right. But his moves weren’t quick enough. Trent, one of his foster dads, slapped the ball away and took off in the other direction. Dub turned and ran after him.
When Trent reached the basket, he performed a slam dunk followed by a celebration dance involving goofy knee lifts and arm rotations. Show-off.
Dub jogged up to the basket. “I didn’t think gay dudes were supposed to be good at sports.”
“And I didn’t think black boys were supposed to suck at them,” Trent said, chuckling as he ruffled Dub’s dark curly hair.
“I’m only half black.”
“Then you should only suck half as much as you do.”
Wesley, Dub’s other foster dad, finally caught up with them. His face was red and sweaty. He bent over to put his hands on his knees. “You two are going to give me a heart attack.”
Trent scoffed. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack. I’ve tried to get you to work out with me and you always say no. You’ve got no one to blame for your big ass but yourself.”
“And Mrs. Butterworth,” Dub added.
Wes raised a hand from his knee and pointed a finger at Dub. “You leave her out of this. She’s the only woman I’ll ever love.”
“Her and Aunt Jemima,” Trent said. “I caught you having a three-way with them in the kitchen this morning.”
Trent and Wes might be a couple, but like all men they gave each other crap. Three months ago, Dub had been released from McFadden Ranch, a halfway house for juveniles. He’d thought going to live with a gay couple would be totally lame. But it turned out to be dope. Trent was an architect who drove a Hummer, worked out every day, and, like Dub, liked to watch sports on TV. Wesley taught biology at Tarrant County Community College. He had more fat than muscles, but he was really smart. He helped Dub with his homework. He didn’t even mind when he had to explain things two or three times before Dub got it.
Dub had three burglary convictions and a felony drug offense on his record, and he knew the men had taken a chance taking him in. Both were in their late thirties. With no kids of their own eating up their money, they’d been able to buy some nice things. A house in the historic Fairmount neighborhood. All kinds of exercise equipment, including an adjustable treadmill and a universal gym, which they’d set up in the converted attic. An enormous high-def television and a state-of-the-art stereo, a thief’s wet dream. They even had season tickets to Bass Hall and the Dallas Mavericks basketball games, plus matching sapphire-studded cuff links to go with the tuxedos they wore to charity dinners.
The two had once dragged Dub to one of the dinners. Before they’d left, Wes had schooled Dub on manners and the right way to use silverware. Salad fork on the outside, dessert fork up top. Wes had learned all of this stuff when he was a kid at something he
called cotillion. The only things Dub had learned as a kid were how to pack up and flee in the middle of the night, and to never, ever cry, no matter how bad you wanted to. Oh, yeah. He’d also learned never to talk to cops or lawyers. They only heard what they wanted to hear.
“You stink, kid.” Wes wiped sweat from his ruddy face with a white hand towel, then used it to snap Dub’s butt. “So do I. Let’s hit the showers.”
Dub followed them to the men’s locker room, bouncing in his brand-new basketball shoes. They’d come with a $130 price tag, by far the most expensive shoes Dub had ever owned. Trent said Dub needed good footwear so he wouldn’t end up with blisters or bunions or fallen arches. Dub didn’t even know what a bunion was. And Trent hadn’t stopped at the shoes. He’d also bought Dub the latest iPhone, a closetful of new clothes, and a laptop computer. He signed them all up for a YMCA membership so Dub would have a place to play basketball, too. What more could a fifteen-year-old boy ask for?
It was the first time in Dub’s life that he wanted for nothing.
Well, almost nothing …
Wes said he and Trent had been “blessed.” Until now, Dub had been nothing but damned. But he was beginning to feel blessed, too.
Despite all the money they’d thrown around, Dub knew Trent and Wes weren’t trying to buy him off. They were only trying to make his life easier, help him fit in at Paschal High School and focus on his schoolwork. Not that it was easy to do, especially with girls like Jenna Seaver around. Dub had been held back once and none of them wanted that to happen again. But flunking sixth grade hadn’t been all his fault. It had been a really bad year …
After showering at the rec center, Dub put on jeans, a blue sweater, and his basketball shoes. He slid his wallet into his back pocket and clipped the attached chain to his front left belt hoop. He probably didn’t need to secure his wallet like this. After all, he no longer lived in the ghetto where someone would be looking to jump him or pick his pocket. But, you know, old habits and all that. Besides, he liked the badass look of the chain wallet.
The three of them packed up their gym bags and headed out to Trent’s Hummer.
“Can I drive us home?” Dub asked when they reached the car. He gave Trent what he hoped would be a convincing smile. “You’d be the coolest dad ever if you let me drive this.”
Wes had signed Dub up for driving school and taken him to get his learner’s permit. He’d even taken Dub out for practice sessions every afternoon in his Honda Civic. But the Hummer? That car was Trent’s baby. Dub knew his chances of ever getting to drive the Hummer were low. But no harm in asking, right? The worst Trent could do was say no.
To Dub’s surprise, Trent turned to Wes. “Whaddya think?”
Wes looked at Dub before turning back to Trent. “He’s been doing real well, doesn’t go too fast, obeys the rules. If he practiced here in the parking lot first, got a feel for the car, I think he’d be okay.”
Dub’s heart began to pound in his chest. Could this really be happening? It is!
Trent pulled his keys from his pocket and tossed them to Dub. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t!” Dub said. “I swear.”
A minute later, Dub sat behind the wheel of the Hummer. He started the engine and put his foot to the gas.
For the first time in his life, he felt in control.
FOUR
HOUSE HUNTING
Megan
At three o’clock, Seth pulled his car up to a small but cute house on Wabash Avenue in southwest Fort Worth.
I took in the one-story, wood-frame house with bright blue shutters. “Not bad.” Though certainly not quaint, as it had been described in the ad. Mental note: quaint = old.
Seth raised a finger off the steering wheel and pointed down the street. “There’s a greenbelt that runs through this neighborhood. You’d have a nice place to walk Brigit.”
We climbed out of the car, bringing the dogs with us. Even if she couldn’t speak, Brigit should get a say in where we moved, shouldn’t she? We met the property manager, a fortyish blond in a plain navy pantsuit, on the steps.
After Seth and I introduced ourselves, she looked from me, to Seth, to the dogs. “Would all of you be living here?”
“Just me.” I lifted my end of Brigit’s leash. “And my shepherd.”
A wary look crossed the woman’s face as she gave my partner a thorough once-over. “She’s much bigger than I had expected.”
I wasn’t sure if the woman was scared of the dog herself or simply of the destruction a huge beast like Brigit could cause, but either way it couldn’t hurt to allay her fears. “She’s a police K-9,” I told her. “We’re both officers with Fort Worth PD. She’s very well trained.”
Trained to sniff out drugs and chase fleeing suspects, that is. When it came to her off-duty time, the dog was a loose cannon, chewing my shoes, knocking over the garbage can and spreading trash all over the place, clawing open the pantry door and helping herself to dog treats. But this woman didn’t need to know all of that. I normally believed in honesty, but in this case honesty would only keep me and Brigit from securing a lease. Better to keep my mouth shut.
The woman’s lips pursed as she seemed to consider the information. “Well, let’s take a tour, shall we?” She pulled a huge key ring from her purse and flipped through the numbered keys until she found the correct one. She slid the key into the dead bolt and turned it, giving it a little jiggle when it fought her. “There we go,” she said when the bolt slid home. She pushed the door open and raised a palm, inviting me to lead the way.
I stepped inside and found myself in a small living room with dark wood paneling and mottled brown carpet designed to hide stains. Not exactly the bright, cheery home I would have hoped for, but not too bad, either. Seth, too, glanced around, lifting a shoulder in an it’s okay gesture when my eyes met his. Brigit and Blast snuffled along the floor, checking things out.
An open doorway to our right led to two small wood-paneled bedrooms and a single bath with a pedestal sink. No room to set out my hot rollers or makeup. Not a deal-breaker, though. I could always add some shelves or a little table.
We continued on into the kitchen. Unlike the dark front room, the kitchen was bright. Outdated, though cheery, yellow tile covered the countertops and backsplash. The cabinets were painted a slightly lighter shade of yellow. Daisy-print wallpaper covered the walls, curling up at the edges and seams. A window over the sink looked out onto a backyard that wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, but it would at least give Brigit a place to relieve herself and a little room to sniff around and enjoy the outdoors.
While I opened the cabinet doors to assess the shelf space, Seth opened the cabinet and peeked under the sink. “No evidence of a leak.”
I stepped to the sliding glass door, unlocked it, and slid the heavy panel open. The concrete patio was cracked and uneven but, again, not a deal-breaker given my limited price range. The shallow yard was enclosed by a four-foot chain-link fence that provided a clear view into the adjoining yards and very little privacy. On the upside, the back of the yard looked out onto a small grassy hill. There was no house behind the rental. One less neighbor to deal with.
The woman, Seth, and Blast stepped outside after us.
While Seth meandered over to check the outside faucet, the woman turned to me, ready to get down to business. “We’ve had quite a bit of interest in this property,” she said, probably lying to get a quick close to this deal and have the rest of the day off. “If you’re interested,” she continued, attempting to wave us back into the house as a rumbling sound began off to our right, “we should get a credit check started as soon as—”
Clack-clack-CLACK-clack. Clack-clack-CLACK-clack.
The woman’s words were cut off by the rhythmic chugging of an oncoming freight train running up the rails that ran at the top of the incline. Clack-clack-CLACK-clack. CLACK-CLACK-CLACK-CLACK! The orange metal of a BNSF engine roared into view, forcing us to co
ver our ears lest our eardrums burst.
While Blast yelped and darted back into the house, Brigit lowered the front half of her body, raised her head in the air, and began to howl. Arooooooooooo!
The outdated kitchen might not be a deal-breaker, but the train tracks were. I couldn’t subject the poor dog, with her superior hearing, to this kind of noise on a regular basis. It would be cruel. Besides, I feared a derailment. What if a tank car carrying some type of toxic chemical rolled down the embankment and into my bedroom?
Woooooooo-woo! The engineer laid on the horn. Probably some idiot up ahead who thought he could beat the train by ignoring the warning lights and bells and crossing the tracks. At least I wasn’t on duty if the idiot got splattered. I’d been on the force for just over a year, and had somehow been lucky enough so far to avoid a dead body. I’d seen some mangled ones, sure, including a guy with his arm bent the wrong way after a motorcycle–school bus collision—freaky!—but I’d yet to see a dead person. Of course I knew my luck would run out at some point, but was it wrong to hope that any dead persons I encountered would be old folks who’d died peacefully in their sleep with a smile on their faces?
“Come on, girl!” I hollered, my words lost in the noise. I tugged on Brigit’s leash and we ran back inside, the manager and Seth on our heels. Seth shut the door behind us but the glass only marginally muffled the intense train sounds. The house vibrated like a nightclub playing techno music on a Saturday night. The motion was unnerving.
When the last clack-clack-CLACK-clack had clacked, I shook my head. “Thanks for your time,” I told the woman. “But I’m going to keep looking.”
“It’s your decision.” Her tone was snitty now. “But this place will go fast. You better call me right away if you change your mind.”
I wouldn’t, but no need to irritate her further by saying it.
Seth, the dogs, and I headed back out to his car. We climbed in and he cranked the engine.
Sliding on his aviator-style sunglasses, he cut a glance my way. “Where to now?”
