Paw Enforcement 02 - Paw and Order (31 page)

Without a word the clerk reached down and pulled a small black handgun out of the case. He laid it on the counter in front of her. “Beretta nine-millimeter Nano. You'd pay four hundred new. Our price is one twenty-five. Can't beat that with a stick.”

She laughed and cut him a look. “Oh, you'd be surprised what I might beat with a stick.”

The guy had the sense to look downright concerned now.

She picked up the gun. It was lighter than she had expected, easy to grip. She held it up and pretended to take aim at a framed
Iron Man
movie poster.
Bang!
she thought.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Take that, you stupid superhero.

Satisfied, she turned her attention back to the clerk. “I'll take it. Give me some ammo, too.”

In less than ten minutes, she was armed and out the door. So easy.
God bless Texas.

 

FORTY-THREE

HOUSE CALLS

Megan

Given that the thieves had now caused serious bodily injury to a victim, Chief Garelik officially assigned a detective to the case. The detective phoned me early Saturday morning and arranged for me to meet him that evening at the stock show. Of course I'd then immediately phoned my mentor, Detective Jackson, to ask for a heads-up about the guy.

“Who got the case?” she asked.

“Detective Hector Bustamente,” I said. “Do y-you know him?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Me and old Bust-a-move were in the academy together back in the day. Heck, we were just kids then.”

When I asked for information about the detective, Jackson warned me not to judge a book by its cover. “He's a clever guy, though you wouldn't know it to look at him. He can be very disarming, charm a confession out of the tightest lips. He has an innate ability to understand criminals, to figure out their motivations and reasoning. Watch him closely, see how he handles things. You could learn a lot.”

Exactly what I'd hoped for. Another potential mentor.

Given that I was already up, I figured I might as well make a run by Cheyenne's and Mia's residences to see if I might catch them today. With it being the weekend now, maybe I'd have better luck.

I dressed in my uniform, rounded up Brigit, and snagged our patrol car from the W1 lot. Fifteen minutes later I pulled up in front of Mia's duplex. An older-model pickup with a camper shell was backed up to the open garage door. Inside the garage, Mia and a stocky, dark-haired man moved large cardboard boxes around. The boxes were imprinted with the names of sport shoe brands. Nike. Adidas. New Balance. Reebok. Fila. Not exactly the type of thing one would expect to find in a residential garage. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say these two had ripped off the inventory from a delivery truck or a store's stockroom.

Looks like Mia's brush with the law hadn't scared her straight.

Shame.

The man picked up one of the boxes, turned to slide it into his truck, and froze when he spotted me and Brigit standing at the end of the driveway.

“Hello, there!” I called. “Want to tell me what you're doing with those boxes of shoes?”

He glanced back at Mia.

She raised a hand as she stepped toward him. “Don't say anything!”

If I hadn't known before that they were up to no good, I certainly did now.

“You have receipts for that merchandise?” I asked, moving up the drive toward them.

Mia sidled toward the door at the side of the garage that led into the house. “We don't have to tell you anything!” She pushed the button to lower the garage door, leaving the bewildered guy standing outside on the driveway, still holding the box of stolen goods.

As the door came down, I stepped forward, whisked my baton from my belt, and extended it. I swung my baton underneath the door. The sensor registered the movement and the door changed direction, heading back up now.

I pushed the button on my shoulder mic and requested backup. “I've got two suspects in possession of stolen property.” I gave dispatch the address.

“Stay right here!” I ordered the man, pointing my baton at him. “Don't move or you will be very sorry!”

I unclipped Brigit's leash and went to the door inside the garage. I turned the knob to find that Mia had locked it behind her. Running back out of the garage, I tried the front door. It, too, was locked.

The sound of feet scrambling on wood out back drew me to the gate of the six-foot privacy fence that surrounded the backyard.

“Dammit!” The gate was locked, too. These people sure did love their locks.

With Brigit running loose by my side, I darted back, past the man in the driveway, and dashed to the end of the block. In the distance, Mia ran full speed across the road and down another side street. She was damn fast. She must be a runner herself.

Knowing I'd never catch Mia with the lead she had on me, I checked for cars and, seeing none, gave Brigit the signal to take Mia down. Brigit's nails scrabbled on the asphalt as she took off after her quarry.

I ran after my partner, lagging half a block behind, then three quarters of a block, then a full block. Ahead, Brigit gained on Mia by leaps and bounds. Mia turned her head just as the dog launched herself into the air. The impact of one hundred pounds of furry beast sent Mia sprawling forward on the sidewalk, her shrieks shrill in the winter-morning air.
“Aaah! Aaah!”

Knowing Mia was under Brigit's control now, I stopped running and walked the rest of the way, trying to catch my breath.

When I reached Mia, I pulled out my handcuffs and bent down next to her. I grabbed her left hand and cuffed it around the wrist. Calling Brigit off her, I waited for the dog to move, then cuffed her right wrist. “Up to your old tricks, are you?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Mia spat.

“Stealing jewelry? At the stock show?”

“I haven't been to the stupid stock show,” she snarled. “That's for hicks.”

I stood and nudged her with my foot until she turned over. She had a bloody scrape on her chin and cheek, and a look in her eyes that could cut through metal.

“Where were you last night?” I demanded.

“At the movies with friends. Then we went to Chili's for a late dinner.”

“Can you prove it?”

“Yeah. I can prove it.”

“What about last Friday?”

“Stars game,” she said.

“Can you prove that, too?”

She snorted indignantly. “Got the ticket stub and program.”

I yanked her to her feet and Brigit and I escorted her back to her house. She produced a movie ticket stub and receipt from Chili's indicating she'd eaten a burger and fries late last night, along with a margarita. The time stamp on the food receipt was right around the time we found Sloane Gallatin writhing in the parking lot. The Stars ticket checked out, too.

“Told you,” she snapped.

So Mia was not one of the stock show thieves. She was, however, selling stolen tennis shoes, thus earning herself a ride to the lockup.

I stopped by Cheyenne's apartment next. A young woman with brown hair answered the door. I wondered whether she might be one of the accomplices.

“Hi,” I said. “Are you Crystal?”

She shook her head. “No. There's no Crystal here. Sorry.”

“Actually, I'm l-looking for Cheyenne Wembley. She around?”

“She's at work.”

“Where's that?”

“Dairy Queen on Montgomery.”

“Thanks.”

I hopped back in the car and drove to the Dairy Queen. Brigit and I went inside and stepped up to the counter. Might as well get my partner some lunch while we were here. “Two plain burgers,” I told the lanky boy working the counter, “hold everything.”

I handed him my debit card and he ran it through the machine. As he handed me my card and receipt, I asked, “Is Cheyenne Wembley available? I need to speak with her.”

He stepped back a few feet and called into the food prep area. “Cheyenne! There's a cop here wants to talk to you.”

Cheyenne's face popped up over the soda machine, her eyes alight with anxiety. Her reaction could mean she was guilty. Then again, people tended to get nervous around cops, even if they were innocent.

“I'll be right there,” she said.

She finished Brigit's burgers, wrapped them, and handed them to the counter clerk, who in turn handed them to me. When Cheyenne came around the counter, I gestured to an empty booth in the far corner where we could have some privacy. “Let's sit over there.”

Cheyenne took a seat on one side of the booth, while Brigit and I slid into the other. Knowing Brigit would wolf down the burgers whole if left on her own, I tore her lunch into smaller, digestible bites and fed them to her one by one, forcing her to pace herself.

“I know about your criminal record,” I told Cheyenne, keeping my voice low. “That you and a friend stole purses from customers at the sports bar where you worked.”

Across the store, a middle-aged woman stepped up behind the counter, wiping down plastic trays and eyeing us.

Cheyenne cast a worried glance in her manager's direction. “That was a mistake,” she said. “They know about it here. That's why I have to work the grill and fryer. They won't let me near a cash register. But why are you asking about that?”

“Someone's been mugging women at the stock show,” I said. “Taking their purses and jewelry. You know anything about that?”

“No.” Her eyes widened. “You don't think I did it, do you?”

“I'm here, aren't I?” Again with the bluster.

“I didn't do it! I swear!” She made an
X
over the left side of her chest with her finger. “Cross my heart and hope to die!”

What is this, junior high?
“Where were you last Friday night?”

Her eyes went up as if she were thinking back. “Here,” she said. “I worked the late shift that night.”

“Can you prove it?”

“We have to punch in when we get here and when we leave. My manager can show you my time card.”

She stood, scurried up to the counter, and spoke with the manager. The woman nodded, put down the tray she was drying, and disappeared into the employee-only area at the rear of the restaurant. A minute or so later, she reappeared with a slip of paper in her hand and handed it to Cheyenne.

“See,” Cheyenne said, handing me the time card when she returned to the table. “That shows I was here last Friday from five in the evening until two in the morning.”

Indeed it did. Looked like Cheyenne wasn't the stock show thief. Her crossed heart would continue to beat indefinitely.

“Thanks for clearing that up,” I told her as I stood to go.

“So we're good?” Cheyenne asked.

“We're good.” I rounded up Brigit's leash and gave the manager a nod and a friendly wave as we headed out the door.

 

FORTY-FOUR

WELL DONE

Brigit

Warm burgers for lunch? What a great day!

Her partner had finally learned to leave off the pickles and onions and lettuce and tomatoes. It had taken weeks of training, of Brigit spitting out the vegetables in the cruiser and on the floor of Megan's apartment, but her partner had finally figured things out.

Now if Brigit could just convince her to move to a bigger place …

 

FORTY-FIVE

NEW STOMPING GROUNDS

Robin Hood

She didn't return to the stock show Saturday night, concerned that Sloane what's-his-name-and-who-really-gives-a-crap-anyway had given a description to the police and that she might be recognized. Of course the description he'd given would have been of a redhead. The sleazeball from the weekend before would have described her as a brunette. The two women who'd tried to chase her after she'd snatched their purses from the bathroom had told the police the thief was a blonde. Probably the police had no real idea who to keep an eye out for. She could be anyone.

Still, she'd be a fool to return to the event. She could tell that both the Fort Worth PD and the Tarrant County Sheriff's Department had beefed up patrols after the purse snatchings, and surely they'd added even more officers after what went down last night. The police chief had said as much when he'd been interviewed on television earlier today. He'd assured viewers that the stock show was safe, that additional officers had been deployed, and that it was only a matter of time before the person or persons behind the rash of robberies would be caught.

Yeah, right.

They'd never catch her. Just as the sheriff of Nottingham had been helpless to stop the fictional Robin Hood, law enforcement would never catch up with her. She'd stay one step ahead of them, changing her MO to knock them off track, keep them guessing. After all, there was no sense taking unnecessary chances. Tonight she'd forgo the stock show and instead head up to the north side. There would be plenty of out-of-towners up there she could set her sights on.

She'd dressed in stilettos, jeans, and another tight, low-cut top, this one in a shimmery black fabric. She parked in a paid lot, sliding a ten-dollar bill into the automated machine and punching in her parking space number. She stepped onto the sidewalk and aimed directly for the White Elephant Saloon.

A Fort Worth legend, the White Elephant Saloon was purportedly the site of a gunfight between a corrupt lawman and the bar's owner way back when. The place was always brimming with tourists impressed by the fact that scenes from
Walker, Texas Ranger
had been filmed there.

She paid the five-dollar cover charge and stepped inside. It was against the law for her to be carrying a gun into a bar, but who would know? Besides, after what had happened the night before, she wouldn't have felt safe without it.