Paw Enforcement 02 - Paw and Order

by Kelly, Diane

  Blurgh. Why are relationships so confusing?

  My cell phone rang then, giving me an easy out of the conversation. I pushed the button to accept the call and stepped away. “This is Officer Megan Luz.”

  The caller identified herself as Dominique. “I checked my Diners Club account online today. It showed charges of nearly three hundred dollars at a Kroger grocery store last Friday. I’d nearly forgotten I even had that darn card. I never use it. That thief must’ve made the charges.”

  I advised her to pursue a claim through the credit card company’s fraud department, and asked her to e-mail me a copy of the account information. “I’ll follow up with the store,” I told her. “See if they can tell me anything.”

  She thanked me for my efforts. “I hope y’all find that girl,” she said. “Thanks to her I had to stand in line for three and a half hours at the DMV today to get a new driver’s license. That’s how criminals should be punished, I tell you.”

  Not a bad idea.

  After the stock show closed down at ten, I drove up I-35 and exited on Western Center Boulevard. I left Brigit in the squad car. I didn’t expect to be here long. Besides, she’d fallen asleep on the way over and had been snoring happily until I’d stopped the car. She’d probably rather go back to her dreams than be dragged into the store. I had no idea why I was worried about her comfort, though. The damn dog had managed to circumvent the slide bolts I’d put on my closet last weekend and chew up a pair of cute ankle boots I’d bought at an after-Christmas sale. She’d even shared them with Blast. I’d since moved all of my shoes to the top shelf of my closet and replaced the levered handle with a round one that locked. If the dog was smart enough to figure out how to get into the closet and get the shoes off the shelf, she’d deserve to have them.

  “Be a good girl,” I told her as I climbed out of the car. “I’ll be back real quick.”

  She yawned then settled her head onto her paws.

  I went inside and found a shaggy-haired guy working the register. His chin sported a small tuft of hair, not enough to constitute a beard but enough to prove that he was actively producing testosterone.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m Officer Megan Luz. Might you be Jason?”

  “Yeah. That’s me. My boss said you’d be coming by.” He motioned with his head for another employee to cover the cash register while he and I took seats at one of the small round tables.

  Knowing he’d need to get back to work as soon as possible, I got right to the heart of the matter. “I’m trying to find the person who used a gift card,” I told him. “It was a fifty-dollar card with the words happy birthday printed on it. The person used it shortly before the store closed up for the night last Friday.”

  “I remember,” he said. “It was a girl about my age. A blonde.”

  “Attractive?”

  “I probably wouldn’t remember her if she wasn’t.”

  Men. Sheesh. Of course the same could be said for women. We tended to remember the attractive men more than the plain ones. So, to be fair, Women. Sheesh.

  “Was her hair short?”

  “No,” he said. “It was long.”

  Hmm. That didn’t fit the description Dominique had given me. Of course the woman could have had her hair pinned up in a barrette or clip or elastic band earlier in the night.

  “How long?” I asked.

  He turned sideways and put a finger to his back, just under his shoulder blade.

  I pulled my notepad from my breast pocket to take notes. “Was it curly or straight?”

  He circled a finger in the air. “She had those big curls. The kind they make with that pointed wand thing.”

  My surprise at his insight must have been clear because he added, “I’ve got a sister. She wears her hair the same way. I’ve burned myself three times on her curling iron. She leaves it on the bathroom counter right next to the toothpaste.”

  My siblings and I had similar problems growing up. I couldn’t get in the shower without first having to round up the Barbie dolls and plastic boats from the drain. Our living room was a minefield of Lego blocks and green army men. Walk through it barefoot and you’d be hopping and howling by the time you reached the other side.

  “Do you remember what the girl was wearing?”

  “Jeans,” he said. “Some kind of black jacket or sweater.”

  “What else can you tell me about her? Eye color, maybe? Any moles, scars, tattoos, birthmarks?”

  “I’m pretty sure her eyes were blue. No scars or tattoos or moles that I noticed. No birthmarks, either.”

  I supposed it was too much to ask that she have something easily distinguishable, like a Tinker Bell tattoo in the middle of her forehead or a mole shaped like Mickey Mouse on the tip of her nose.

  “How big was she?” I asked. “Can you estimate her height and weight?”

  “She was medium,” he said. “About like you. How much do you weigh?”

  I gave him a pointed look. “I’ll just write the number down on my pad.”

  Back at the counter, the barista on duty called out, “I’ve got a skinny soy latte for Jemma!”

  A girl who’d been texting on her phone stepped forward and took the cup without even looking up.

  I turned back to Jason. “Her name. Did she give it to you when she ordered?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I remember because we joked about it. It’s Robin. I said it was like the bird, and she said it was like the guy in green tights who stole from the rich to give to the poor.”

  “Robin Hood?”

  “Yeah. She said something about how Robin Hood redistributed wealth. Then she gave me a three-dollar tip.”

  Interesting …

  What did it say about the thief that she’d been generous with the barista? And could her tip even be called generous when it was paid with someone else’s money? I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but I made a note of it. Three-dollar tip. I also wrote down the name she’d given. Robin. Surely it was made up, but it might mean something.

  I found myself wondering what fake name I might use in such a situation. Maybe Aphrodite. She’d had numerous lovers, both gods and mortal men. Or perhaps Phoebe, just ’cause it kind of rhymed. I just knew it wouldn’t be Apple. Really, what had Gwyneth Paltrow and her husband been thinking? Had they lost a bet? And was the kid named after the fruit or the computer company? Either way, it was ridiculous.

  I looked back up at Jason. “Any chance you saw what kind of car she was driving?”

  He shook his head. “No. I started cleaning up right after she left the counter.”

  Looked like I’d squeezed all I could out of this kid. “Thanks for your help.” I pulled one of my business cards out of my breast pocket as I slid the notepad back in. I held it out to Jason. “If she comes in again, give me a call immediately. Okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  As we stood, the manager I’d spoken with when I’d stopped by the store a few days ago stepped out of a back room and spotted me. He waved me over. “I got word from legal that I can show you the video. Would you like to see it now?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He took me back to his office and offered me his chair. Bending forward next to me, he pulled up the video feed but paused it. “I assume you’ll want a copy of this?”

  “That would be great.”

  He slid a thumb drive into the computer and instructed the machine to copy the feed as it ran.

  I leaned in and watched closely. Jason and another employee stood behind the counter, helping customers, making drinks, wiping down the equipment, snapping towels at each other’s butts. Approximately thirty seconds into the feed, a pretty young blonde woman stepped up to the counter. Though the tape had no audio, it was apparent that Jason asked for her order. The girl bit her lip in a sensual, flirtatious way and said something back to Jason, no doubt her drink order. He punched buttons on the register, told her the total, and she handed him the stolen gift card. He looked down at the card then
back up at the woman, his mouth moving again. She smiled and said something back to him. He ran the gift card through the machine and returned it to her, then picked up a paper cup and a Sharpie, holding the pen aloft. His lips moved again as he asked her name.

  Her mouth formed Robin. But surely that was a made-up name, right? Perhaps her comment about Robin Hood was a clue, a hint about her motives for committing the thefts. Is she some type of ultra left-wing socialist? Or just a young woman with an overdeveloped sense of entitlement?

  The woman stepped back from the counter to wait for her drink. When it was ready, she took it and handed the three singles to Jason. He doffed a nonexistent hat in gratitude and she left.

  Everything on the video jibed with what Jason had told me. And, unfortunately, it told me nothing new.

  The manager stopped the feed, pulled the thumb drive out of the USB port, and handed it to me.

  “Thanks,” I told him. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  I stepped out of his office and made my way back through the store.

  As I passed the counter, I raised a hand in good-bye to Jason.

  “Want a doughnut to take with you?” he called.

  “Why? ’Cause I’m a cop?”

  “No. Because I’m about to throw out the ones that didn’t sell.”

  “In that case,” I said. “I’ll take two.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  NOT HER FIRST RODEO

  Brigit

  On Thursday, Megan and Brigit had lunch with Seth and Blast at a deli near the fire station. Megan ordered her partner a platter of sliced lunch meat. Not bad, but Brigit would have preferred the entire roll of salami she saw in the refrigerated deli case.

  Brigit could tell that seeing Seth made Megan happy. Her partner had showed her teeth a lot on the drive to the deli, and even more on the way after. Brigit liked it when Megan was happy. Her partner tended to be more generous with food scraps and more forgiving of Brigit’s bad behavior when she was in a good mood.

  Friday night, she and Megan were back at the rodeo. The deputy whom Megan had brought to the apartment last weekend was at it again, riding bareback on a horse that looked damn pissed off about it. As the horse spun and bucked, Clint hung on, his legs moving up and down in his fringed chaps. Brigit felt for the horse. It was like the poor thing had an enormous flea on its back and couldn’t quite reach to scratch it. Been there, done that.

  As they set back out on patrol, Brigit got back to work, putting her nose to the air to scent for anything out of the ordinary. She smelled the usual food smells, the usual smells of the livestock. She even smelled the two colognes from those three women who seemed to be here every weekend. But her nose caught something else, too … a vaguely familiar scent … an odor that triggered a suppressed recollection from deep down in her memory banks …

  Beer-scented sweat.

  The ramen noodles and frozen pizzas the guy seemed to subsist on.

  The dope he always had in his front pocket.

  If Brigit had been capable of laughter, she would’ve broken down in guffaws. Watch out, asshole. You’re about to get some long overdue payback.

  She tugged on her leash, pulling Megan into the crowd and after the scrawny guy and his friends. At first, Megan tried to hold her back. But when her partner realized that Brigit had scented drugs and was following the trail, she let Brigit take the lead, trotting after the dog as she weaved in and out of the crowd.

  The stench grew suddenly stronger as she broke out of the horde.

  There he is. Stepping into line at the corn dog stand.

  Brigit bolted forward, ran around to the front of the guy, and sat, giving her passive alert signal. Her thoughts then were uniquely canine, but if translated to English would read: Jig’s up, numb-nuts!

  “Holy fuck!” the guy said, bending down to get a good look at Brigit. “Is that you, Shithead?”

  Megan stepped up next to Brigit and held up a palm. “Sir, my dog has alerted to drugs on your person. I’m going to need you to stand still and raise your arms while I pat you down.”

  His eyes flashed in alarm and his mouth fell open. “Uhhh…”

  It was the most intelligent thing Brigit had ever heard him say.

  “Raise your arms,” Megan repeated, her voice more stern this time.

  But the numb-nuts didn’t raise his arms. Instead, he turned and took off running, as numb-nuts are wont to do.

  Megan unclipped Brigit’s leash and gave her the signal to take the guy down.

  Gladly.

  Six seconds later, the guy fell face-first onto the ground with Brigit on top of him. He squirmed under her, trying his best to throw her, just like the horses and bulls in the rodeo tried to throw their riders. But he had far less luck than the rough stock. Brigit was enjoying some sweet revenge and wasn’t about to be thrown. It’s not fun to have something heavy on your back, is it?

  Megan stepped up beside them. “Stop resisting my dog!”

  Again, the shithead didn’t listen.

  “I told you to stop resisting my dog!” Brigit heard the snap of Megan extending her baton, the swish-whap as it came down on the guy’s thigh.

  The guy hurled a string of obscenities that had mothers covering their children’s ears. “Fucking cunt cop! Get your dumbass dog off me! This is fucking police brutality!”

  Another swish. Another whap. Cell phones were pulled from purses and pockets and record buttons were pressed.

  Brigit sensed Megan stiffen, her resolve to give this ass the beating he deserved lost in the face of a potential brutality charge. But Brigit had no such qualms. She knew how she could cool this guy down really quick.

  Her teeth still firmly clenching his collar, Brigit copped a squat on the guy’s back and released her urinary sphincter.

  “Aaaagh!” the guy shrieked. “Your dog’s pissing on me!”

  Though Brigit’s former handler would have likely put a stop to the dog’s bad behavior, Megan made no effort to pull Brigit off the guy’s back, letting her completely empty her bladder.

  Partnering with another bitch definitely had its benefits.

  THIRTY-NINE

  SHOCKING

  Robin Hood

  The balding man at the pawnshop held the gold diamond ring up to the light and scrutinized it through one of those little eyepiece things. What are they called again? Oh, yeah. A loupe.

  He set the loupe on the counter. “This is a nice ring. High-quality diamond.”

  “I know,” she said. “So I’ll expect a good price.”

  He chuckled before leaning in and giving her a scrutinizing look. “Is it hot?”

  Robin Hood felt her face blaze. How dare he accuse me of trying to pawn stolen property! What do I look like, a common thief?

  Of course she had stolen the ring. But that was beside the point. She’d only taken it because fate had been unfair to her and someone had to even the score, right? Once fate got off her lazy ass and started giving Robin Hood what she was entitled to, there’d be no more of these petty crimes. Really, that kind of thing was beneath her.

  “Of course it’s not hot,” she spat. “I got divorced and I don’t want the rings anymore, that’s all.”

  His brows quirked in skepticism. “You look awfully young to be getting divorced already. Didn’t give your marriage much of a shot, did you?”

  She glared at the man. “My private life is none of your business. Now how much will you give me?”

  He stood up straight. “Two hundred for the set.”

  She sputtered. “That’s nothing!”

  “The price reflects the risk I’m taking here. You don’t have a receipt for these. How do I know they’re not stolen?”

  She grabbed the rings back out of his hand. “You just lost a good deal here, buddy!”

  She’d sell the damn things on eBay or Craigslist. She’d probably get more for them anyway and at least she wouldn’t have to put up with some asshole treating her like a derelict.

  *
* *

  She’d chosen her quarry well tonight. A middle-aged cattle rancher who reeked of both prosperity and the spicy classic Calvin Klein Obsession for Men cologne. She’d caught his eye from across the room in the dance hall and gave him that practiced come-hither smile. A minute later, he’d successfully ditched his rancher friends and their wives and taken a seat at the table next to hers, close enough that he could chat her up, see if she might be interested, but not so close as to appear lecherous.

  Her eyes cut to his left hand. No band on his ring finger, no telltale ring of pasty skin where a ring had recently been removed, and thus presumably no worries that someone would snitch to a wife back home. He probably just had the sense to realize his friends’ wives would call him a dirty old man for hitting on a girl half his age. Of course his friends would placate their wives by agreeing with them, all the while thinking how they’d love to trade places with their rancher friend and bang a sweet young thing like her until their eyes crossed and their balls fell off.

  Ha.

  “Enjoying yourself?” he asked as he took a sip of his beer.

  “I was until my friend ditched me,” she said. “She hooked up with some cowboy.”

  “Rodeo groupie?”

  “The worst kind.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “All it takes is a pair of chaps and spurs and her panties come off.”

  The man offered a soft chuckle and cut an intent glance her way, a glance that said he was wondering what it would take to make Robin Hood’s panties come off.

  Shame he’d never find out. He was attractive enough, and appeared to be successful enough, too, but the gold Robin was digging for would preferably come with a more sophisticated type of man. A younger one, too. She knew that riding a man’s coattails would also mean riding his cock, and she’d prefer that cock to be perky and spry.

  A waitress with a round tray came by their tables. “Can I get y’all anything?”

  The man raised his bottle and looked in Robin’s direction, lifting his chin in question.

  “Coors Light for me,” she told the waitress. She didn’t normally drink beer, of course, especially not the everyday brands sold at convenience stores and gas stations. But she needed to do her best to blend into this crowd and drinking beer seemed to be a good way to do it.