I stare up at the familiar exterior of the police station, feeling a chill run down the back of my neck. Gulping does nothing to dislodge the lump from my throat. Despite trying to psyche myself up all morning for the coming confrontation, I’m still petrified. Not even the vivid image of Sammy smiling at me and reassuring me that everything will go well helps to calm my nerves.
It was a pleasure seeing him last night, even if it was a bit unexpected. I got to spend the entire past weekend with him, growing closer to him mentally, emotionally and physically. Even though I was too tuckered out after our date on Friday to do everything I wanted to do with him, one of the most refreshing nights of rest I’d gotten in months granted me renewed energy and a ravenous desire for his touch.
I didn’t think I would ever be with someone in that way again. I had assumed the part of me that could love someone like that died in that cursed hospital room. The horrible monster I once thought was my soul mate had damned me to that hell, and the child I so desperately wanted to love and raise was removed from my womb because of it. I hardened my heart, believing that I would be content to never love again.
But Sammy proved me wrong. The next morning, I gazed at his peaceful, slumbering form next to me, his gentle breathing nearly lulling me back to sleep alongside him. As his eyes slowly opened and focused on mine, his smile pushed aside the last echoes of my antagonizing subconscious. The part of me that worried he would for some reason change his mind between our confessions to one another the night prior and that morning melted away in his rapid reciprocation of my kiss.
We shared much more than that with one another, too. The thought of his gentle, passionate touch sends another shiver down my spine. Our weekend together was magnificent, and his visit last night held its fair share of intimacy. However, as wonderful as the time I spent with Sammy was, the news he delivered to me was so troubling that I could barely sleep.
The police are in bed with the Herdsters. He wasn’t positive exactly how involved they are, but he was certain of their involvement. I tried to press Sammy for more information, but all I could get out of him was a hint toward a shady meeting at Olwark Port tomorrow night. He said that he was asked to be there, but that he didn’t know anything about the nature of the meeting.
The whole thing seemed to make him pretty upset. He offered smiles and hand waves when I asked him, but I could tell he was nervous about it. I could also tell he wasn’t sharing every last detail with me. I don’t know what he might be keeping from me, but I’m sure he’s got his own reasons. And I can’t begrudge him since he fulfilled exactly what I asked him to do; he found out whether the police were involved with the Herdsters, and they are.
With a shake of my head and a tightening of my fists, I march up the concrete stairs to the front entrance of Precinct 63. I didn’t stop by Commissioner Aaron’s office yesterday morning as I would have any other Monday to reiterate my desire to become a full-fledged police officer; I was still over the moon mentally about the weekend spent with my new lover. But today, he’s being paid a visit, and one that won’t involve me begging for entry to the academy.
I’ll prove my worth by bringing this corruption to his attention.
Two dozen halcyon faces glide past me as I travel toward the office at the hall’s end, leaders of years past, clad in impressive uniforms and emblazoned caps. Their respectful expressions emanate the authority of their prior-held titles within each frame. Most retired, some gave their lives in the line of duty. All are honored. Commissioner Aaron’s stern but caring expression will join them someday, and I hope against hope that I’ll wear the same colors as he when that day comes.
Through the glass of his office walls, I can see the pterodactyl seated at his desk, beak pointed downward as his pen-laden hand glides across various forms. The less exciting part of police procedure is the virtually endless paperwork, and the Commissioner has to review and sign practically everything that filters through our precinct. My knuckles rap softly against the sealed door. He doesn’t even look up from his task, seeming to sense who I am by aura alone. “Come in, Carter.”
I step into his office, pulling the door shut behind myself after my bristling tail slides through the opening. I can sense it yearning to curl up in my arms, but I deny its advances, instead putting all of my focus on keeping my voice steady and calm. “Good morning, Commissioner.”
The faintest of smiles grace the side of his mouth as he glances at me. “I usually expect your weekly visits before now. Sleep in yesterday?”
“No, sir. And I’m not here about that. I… have information that I need to share with you.”
His eyes return to his desk as he flips a form face-down into a wire basket labeled “Complete” before pulling another over to take its place. “Go on.”
I gulp. This is it, Aubrey. Prove that you’ve got what it takes. “I believe the Old York police department, including our precinct, may be involved with the Herdsters and, because of that, also involved in their potentially illegal activities.”
His pen stops moving, but he doesn’t look up at me. Only a moment goes past before it resumes its dance across the paperwork before him. “Is that so?”
“Yes, sir. I believe—”
He cuts me short. “You believe?”
I hesitate. “I know that the poli—”
“Oh, you know now?” His gaze finally lifts from his desk, settling on me with icy scrutiny. “Pray tell, Carter. How do you know this?”
My back straightens and my tail stiffens as I speak with authority. “For one, Officer Preston has been handing out pamphlets and trying to persuade other officers to switch unions.” I pause, noticing the growing annoyance in the Commissioner’s eyes. “I-I know that action in and of itself isn’t illegal, but I think there’s more to it. An inside source told me that there’s a meeting planned between someone from the OYPD and the Herdsters.”
His expression does not soften. “What sort of meeting?”
“I’m… not entirely certain. I know it’s happening tomorrow night at Olwark Port, at ten o’clock. I don’t know what sort of legitimate meetings would happen at a place like that after dark.”
“And who is this ‘insider’ you mentioned, exactly?”
I unconsciously bite my lip. “A… friend. I’d prefer not to say more.”
Slowly, the Commissioner’s hand lifts before coming to rest on the bridge of his beak, pinching the space between his nostrils as a long stream of breath exits the orifices. His eyes close and he holds this position for what feels like an eternity. My heartbeat echoes through my ear canals. He has to listen to me. He has to…
Finally, his hand lowers, plucking the pen from where he laid it to rest a moment ago. He slides open a drawer next to him, withdraws another sheet of paper, and begins scrawling into its blanks. His eyes glide across the form as he speaks. “Aubrey Carter, while I cannot help but admire the gumption you have shown and continue to show, it is apparent to me that the message is not getting through to you.” A loud scratch punctuates the final arced line of his signature; his free hand scoops the paper up and extends it toward me. “Take this to your supervisor.” I blink as I accept the proffered form. Before I can register its meaning, Commissioner Aaron fills in the blank for me. “You’re suspended. Two weeks, without pay.”
My jaw falls open. “What?!”
His eyes flare and his commanding voice booms. “Did I stutter, Carter?” I try to protest, but nothing emerges as his fury bores a hole through me. “You come to me with vague accusations about shady meetings and secret informants, all while accusing Officer Preston of corruption. Yes, I’m aware that he’s advocating for officers to switch to the Herdsters. So are two dozen other officers across nearly as many neighboring precincts. That’s how unions work—they make friends with people who in turn try to get other people to join their union. Most of our boys are happy with the PCA, but they still have a choice as to who they want to affiliate with. It’s not criminal. It’s just a business.”
“But, sir! I—”
A wicked claw flashes in my direction and a snarl forms on his beak. “I’m not finished. This ‘meeting’ at Olwark Port that your sleuthing has uncovered? I’m well aware of it, too. In fact, the police are often informed when valuable shipments and merchandise are embarking or disembarking from the docks. Tomorrow evening so happens to be one of those occasions, and the Herdsters, being representatives of a company with such a shipment, asked us to have a presence there to prevent any would-be thieves or gangsters from attempting a robbery. It’s perfectly standard protocol.”
He pauses, taking a moment to let the air hang heavy between us. The weight of his disapproving gaze is crushing, but I somehow find the power to utter meek words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t.” His palms turn upward. “I’ve told you time and time again that you aren’t a police officer, yet here you are, striding into my office like you’ve got a badge pinned to your chest, making claims about ‘other’ officers as if you are one yourself. If you were, you would know better than to do what you just did. It’s unprofessional and unbecoming of you, Carter, and I’m running out of ways to say it: you’re not a cop.”
He sighs and shakes his head before continuing. “As it stands, you’ve got a flawless record. You’re a hard worker. And I know that you’ve been through a lot.” A minuscule wince escapes his hardened expression with those words. “I don’t know how else to communicate this point to you, so I’m suspending you. It will be your first and final official reprimand on the matter. Use the time to reflect on what you really want out of this police department.”
Even though there isn’t a mirror in his office, I know the color has drained from my face. My tail lies on the ground behind me, a lifeless tangle of cartilage and feathers. Whatever mental capacity might have been utilized to maintain my composure is being spent instead to keep myself from throwing up.
For only a fraction of a second, his steeled gaze softens before it turns back to its previous focus atop his desk. “Go.”
Without another word, I exit his office. The same framed faces that glowed with pride and achievement along the wall now glare at me in disappointment and rejection. They harbor contempt for the foolish girl who thought herself capable of being more than a simple pencil pusher, who wanted to make a real difference. Each echoing click of hardened leather against linoleum flooring is a shriek of defeat and anguish as my dream is trampled underfoot.
I barely register my supervisor’s words as I hand him my reprimand paperwork, nor do I meet his gaze as he frowns at me. He knows that I’ve been going over his head to speak with the Commissioner, and he’s never been happy about it. I suppose this is some sort of vindication for him; his uncaring attitude toward my aspirations is the reason I went straight to Commissioner Aaron. The Commissioner is a reasonable man. He… he would want what’s best for me.
The morning sun warms my scales as I stand on the precinct’s front steps again. My eyes drift to the sky, allowing my vision to blacken as the scorching circle’s rays penetrate my pupils. Several other dinosaurs weave past me as they move up the stairs, almost certainly shooting a backward glance in my direction, wondering what this daffy broad is doing staring at the sun. Could I answer them if they asked? Am I trying to hurt myself? Seeking an excuse for tears to fall beyond the pain of my failure?
Without much understanding of how I got there, a city bus pulls to a stop in front of me. I fish a dime out of my purse and deposit it into the tin slot next to the driver before hazily slumping onto a seat. Brick and concrete become a blur outside the bus windows, interwoven with the bustling populace of men and women with determination. The fella at the corner stall hands a newspaper to a waiting customer while the teenager working at the pharmacy sweeps dust and dirt off of the front stoop. A herd of high powered businessmen stride forward powerfully, adorned in pressed suits and wielding leather cases. Two women laugh with one another as they enjoy their morning tea outside a café.
Meanwhile, a velociraptor woman sits on a bus, purse cradled in her lap, staring at nothing as the world of purpose passes her by.
I don’t know how much time passes before my feet find the sidewalk again. The fugue carries me forward, destination unknown. I don’t know what my expression looks like, if there even is one, but anyone I come across on the sidewalk offers me a wide berth. My journey concludes with me staring up at an apartment building; the front door is unlocked, allowing me to step into the familiar foyer. I’m unsure how my legs led me here, but I know exactly why.
Three flights of stairs later, with my knee bitterly reminding me of its eternal malignancy on my life, I slide to the ground, my back against his door. I don’t try the knob; I know it’s locked. I know he’s not home. But I want to see him. I need to see him. I need him to tell me everything will be okay, that everything I’ve done hasn’t been a waste. Hell, this relationship with him is still so new, we still have so much to learn about one another… but there’s no one else’s voice I want to hear.
I need someone to believe in me.
Time passes. My legs grow numb from sitting on the floor for so long. The same knee that is hellbent on preventing me from doing the one thing I wanted to do with my life aches from the awkward positioning. I offer it an olive branch of relief, sliding my foot toward my bottom and slowly extending it back outward several times. It quiets down.
My mind ceaselessly cycles between hopelessness, apathy and rage. One moment I try to rationalize my actions, the next I realize how foolish they were. Anger bubbles forth toward the pterodactyl that I respect so greatly stonewalling me in such brutal fashion, then instantly drains away in understanding of his position. I have been a horrible employee, proving definitively that I don’t deserve to be a police officer, bad knee or not. I thought that if I wanted it strongly enough, things would just work out… but they didn’t. I’ll never be a—
“Aubrey? What’re you doing here?” His voice drifts to me through the haze. I can barely raise my head to bring him into focus. It takes every ounce of my remaining strength for the corners of my mouth to lift the fraction I can muster.
“Hi, Sammy. I’m having a bad day.”
He quickly ushers me into his apartment and we sit on the edge of his bed. His arms are around me in a tight hug before I utter another word. No tears fall. I shed enough of those when I bore my heart to this man. He accepted me then, flaws and all. Now I have to admit to him again that I’m a worthless, incompetent lump of scales and regrets.
Sammy patiently listens to me unburden my emotions a second time. I tell him everything, from spying in the locker room to gain my initial suspicion of Officer Preston to the reality check that Commissioner Aaron bestowed upon me after I brought my findings to his attention. Sammy knew that I wanted to be a police officer, but didn’t know what a pestering bother I’d been to the Commissioner in my mission to prove my dedication via weekly visits. It hurts me to do it, but with accepted resignation I manage to form the words.
“I’m not cut out to be a police officer. I’m just not. Between my broken knee and my foolish actions, I don’t have what it takes.”
Sammy’s hands had shifted down to my upper arms, his thumbs gently massaging the insides of my elbows. The act was calming and loving, and I was thankful that he was still willing to touch me after being such a burden on him a second time. But his fingers stop moving in response to my words, and he blurts out his first utterance since bringing me inside his apartment:
“Bullshit.”
I smile, having known he’d try to make me feel better with something like this. “I appreciate you, Sammy, but I’ve finally realized—”
“Nuh uh. That’s bullshit. The Aubrey I fell in love with wouldn’t give up this easily.” My smile falters, but before I can protest further he presses on. “Do you remember the day we met?”
“Of course I do. But—”
“I watched as a jazz-enjoying velociraptor lady charged straight into an alley toward gunshots. I remember thinking to myself, what sorta nut job of a woman would be dashing into danger? And do you remember what you told me?” For a moment, the air holds still between us. I know the answer, but when I hesitate he fills in the blank. “You told me that you’re a cop.”
My cheeks redden. “But Sammy, I lied to you.”
He shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. What I saw that day wasn’t a fluke. It wasn’t a silly girl chasing a far-off dream. You did something very brave and heroic, something that a good police officer would do. And you didn’t just rush to the crime scene—you stuck up for me when I got arrested. You followed me down to the station and vouched for me when you didn’t have to. You had every opportunity to ignore the gunshots or ignore me, but you didn’t. That sounds like a cop to me. Or at the very least, someone who deserves to be one.”
His kind words swirl around me like an autumn breeze, but my lingering doubt doesn’t relent. “I screwed up today. All of my suspicions were unfounded.”
Sammy’s nose screws up before he responds. “Were they?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, were your suspicions really unfounded? How do you know that for sure?”
“The Commissioner said so. Officer Preston wasn’t breaking any rules by talking about the Herdsters, and the meeting you brought up is standard protocol. Police have a presence there if it’s a high value shipment, for safety.”
Sammy finally pulls his hands away from me to cross his arms in thought. His brow furrows as his eyes focus somewhere on the floor. After a moment, he glances up at me, then back down again. He gnaws on his lower lip, and I find myself wishing that I could mimic the fairground magicians who can read your mind for a nickel.
Finally, he takes a deep breath and meets my eyes with resolve. “I don’t want this to come off wrong, but… do you trust the Commissioner?”
I blink in surprise. “Of course I do! He’s an honorable, honest man. He was—” I pause before drawing in my own steadying breath. “He was the only person who visited me in the hospital after…”
Sammy’s hands find my forearms again as he nudges himself closer on the edge of the bed. “I understand. And I don’t want to call the fella’s integrity into too much question here. But, looking at it rationally, if he was involved in some way, wouldn’t what he told you be the exact sort of story a police officer would use to cover it up?”
A particularly bland knot in the wooden floorboards becomes my focus. I want to blurt out that this theory is entirely impossible, that the Commissioner would never do something like that, but… how well do I really know him? I’ve never been to his home or met his wife and son. All of our interactions have been professional, and brief. He certainly seems clean cut and above the board. But Sammy has a point.
My eyes return to him. “I… guess it isn’t out of the question, but I still think it’s very unlikely.”
He smiles warmly at me. “That’s all I’m saying. A little critical thinking and a healthy dose of skepticism got me where I am today!” I glance around his still barren apartment, then back at him with a raised eyebrow. His grin turns to a frown. “Hey! I ain’t that bad off! And at least I got you, Aubrey.”
I rest my head against his shoulder, allowing a faint smile to tug at my lips. His palms move to my back, gently rubbing the tension away from my muscles. As much as the gesture relaxes me, and as desperate I am to forgo the painful topic and simply enjoy his company, I force myself upright again. Sammy’s blue eyes watch me, his circular irises holding focus on my face. My calm instantly shifts to regret.
“I’m so sorry for getting you wrapped up in all this. I shoulda never asked you to look for police involvement. I mighta put you at risk.” He tries to hold me steady, craning his head to keep up with my attempts to turn away from him. “It was a terrible thing for me to do. If there is something corrupt going on, you coulda been hurt! God, what if they hurt you?!”
“Hey, I’m okay. Nothin’s gonna happen to me!”
His reassurances don’t slow my heart rate. “Preston was one of the sons of bitches that arrested you and then hurt Miles Cratis, and he’s the one I suspect of being dirty! What if he saw you? What if he recognized you?!” I suck air past clenched teeth, finally losing the fight with my tear ducts as they begin spilling forth. He tries pulling me into a hug but I coil into myself and away from his warmth. “I’m a horrible person. I put you in danger.” His shushes fall on deaf ears.
I can barely squeeze the words past my trembling lips. “That’s not what a cop does. That’s not what you do to someone you love.”
He doesn’t allow me to say anything more, bringing me into a tender kiss. I sob through closed eyes, unwilling to pull away from his loving gesture but knowing I don’t deserve it. How could I do something so selfish?
We part, and Sammy gazes at me. I expect him to assuage me again, but instead his forehead wrinkles in thought. I scoop the lingering moisture in my eyes away with the back of my hand and steady my breathing. Finally, he speaks.
“How about a chance to find out what those cop pals are up to, and the opportunity to keep me safe?”
“W-what?”
“You could come with me. To the rendezvous tomorrow, that is.”
A curt breath escapes me. “I think a velociraptor gal who is neither a cop nor a Herdster would stick out like a sore thumb, don’t you?”
“Well, about that… y’see, I sorta did a bit of a reconnaissance mission to the port. Poked around a little bit, got a feel for the joint, y’know?”
“I thought you said you didn’t know what the meeting was about.”
He shrugs. “I still don’t. There were a shitload of crates there, but they were sealed up tighter than a nun’s hooha and it was nearly pitch black, too. I didn’t bring a flashlight because I’m an idiot. And I almost got caught by a security guard to boot.” My shoulders sag at this last statement which he quickly amends. “I didn’t, though! He didn’t see me or even know I was there. I, uh… well, I hid in a broom closet.”
I cock my head. “A broom closet?”
“Yep. Dusty, dingy, home to a couple wary raccoons… but it was concealed. Tucked behind a staircase, with some rotted boards that give good visibility out but practically none in, especially that late at night. If these guys are doing something illegal, I doubt it’ll involve doing any sweeping afterward. And even if it does—” He jabs a thumb toward himself. “—that sorta work would probably be assigned to Mr. Lowest-on-the-Totem-Pole.”
“So what exactly are you suggesting?”
He takes a breath. “I gotta be at this thing, and visible, right? But you could be there, too. Just… hidden. I figure if you tuck yourself in that cubby, you can see with your own eyes whether what’s going down is on the level or if it stinks of police corruption. If what your Commissioner pal said is true, the cops would just be there to keep an eye on a legitimate business dealing. But if things are dirty… you’d have proof. Your proof.”
I mull over his suggestion for a moment. “Hiding in a broom closet, huh? That’s not very cop-like.”
“Hey, the Commissioner said you’re not a cop, right?”
I give him a light swat with the back of my hand, causing him to chuckle indignantly. “Just because you’re right doesn’t mean you can say it out loud.”
“I got you to smile again, though. It was worth it.”
This man…
Infectious as it was, my smile fades into thought. “It’s going to be dangerous.”
“Maybe, but I’ll feel an awful lot better with you there to back me up if things get crazy for some reason.” He brings a finger to his chin. “You know what you should bring along? A ca—”
“A gun.”
He blinks. “Uh… yeah, that might not be a bad idea, too. But I was gonna say, a camera.” He blinks again. “Wait. You have a gun?”
My eyebrow lifts. “Of course I do. You think a woman living in a city like Old York should be unarmed?”
“Guess I never thought about it. I mean, I don’t have one.”
“Are you a woman living in Old York?”
He balks. “Well, no, but I am a human living in a city full of dinosaurs.” A puff of air escapes his nostrils. “I’m gonna get myself a gun.”
Another grin tugs at the sides of my mouth. “It’s a Christmas gift idea. Right now I think we need to come up with a plan. If I’m gonna be stuffed into a closet… if I’m gonna be keeping an eye on you and seeing if there’s any wrongdoings, I need to know as much as possible.”
Sammy beams with confidence. “Let’s draft up a plan, then!”
—
My thumb and forefinger trace the outline of the small crescent moon hanging from my neck. The motion is a welcome replacement to fidgeting with my tail, but I usually have to consciously pull my hand away when it idly slips to the necklace at inappropriate times. Right now, though, my nerves can use some cooling. I considered leaving the pendant at home, worrying that it might stand out amidst the darker, stealthier choice of attire I wore for this particular mission. Guess the comfort of Sammy’s gift outweighed sensibility today.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
The setting sun paints the dockside buildings in darkening oranges and reds, their shadows growing visibly longer with each passing minute. I staked out a vacant warehouse several hundred feet away from the building marked “617”, where Sammy said this ten o’clock rendezvous was going to take place. While it wasn’t difficult getting to the docks themselves—no fence meant walking in went unchallenged—I don’t dare approach the building early. Who knows how much security they’ve got there already, or if the police are already present? I can’t risk getting noticed before I get into position.
Sammy and I worked through the plan last night. I’d get to the dock nice and early, just in case there were any unexpected hiccups. He’d arrive after his regular shift, but not so early that it might raise suspicion. Being punctual is one thing; standing around for five hours could be unfavorably noticed.
Though I was able to spend the night with him again, the morning hit me like a ton of bricks. While he got ready for work, I sat around like a lousy layabout, knowing my suspension meant I didn’t have a job to go to. Sure, the meeting at the dock had the potential to be a bombshell, but if it isn’t… I’ll have nothing to do but tuck my tail between my legs and sit around for two weeks. And once I return to work, if I so much as glance up from my desk in a way that Commissioner Aaron doesn’t like, I’ll get served a lot worse than a suspension.
Instead, I spent the day nervously fretting about the coming night of subterfuge and danger. I mentioned my gun to Sammy, but I don’t carry it around with me at all times. A city like Old York can certainly be dangerous, but God saw fit to grace me with teeth and talons should the need for sudden and violent self-defense arise. I caught a morning bus back to my apartment and fetched the FN Model 1905 from the small gun safe in my bedroom closet. A purse pistol to be sure, but I’ve taken it to the range enough times to know how to handle it.
My fingers move to the handbag resting next to me, feeling the outline of the gun along with the spare magazine alongside it. Twelve .25 caliber rounds that I pray I won’t need to use put my mind at ease. I crane my neck fruitlessly, trying to peer out the window of the empty warehouse I’m holed up within. Getting here as early as I did was probably unnecessary, but I’ve always been a firm believer in being safe rather than sorry. If I showed up too late and wasn’t able to hunker down anywhere without being noticed, I’d blow this entire operation.
I rely on the tried and true jukebox of my mind to pass the time, sinking into the loving embrace of Miles Cratis’s warm trills. One of his hits from a few years ago brings motion to my toes, lightly tapping the concrete beneath me in time with the rhythm. Solar, perhaps an ironic choice given the evacuation of the sun above Old York, is upbeat and smooth. The trumpet and piano playfully swirl around one another, forming an intricate dance of competitive harmony. Cratis tags out for Dave Schildstout’s alto sax, sliding into the routine with practiced rhythm, not missing a beat. Both make way for Horace Bronze’s piano solo, tying together a symphonic sizzle reel of some of the greatest living talent in jazz.
The music suddenly pauses as a glimmer of reflected waning light catches my attention. Sammy’s car, the “7 Up Can”, as he jokingly refers to it, slowly rolls down the single paved lane between the buildings. It’s about the least stealthy set of wheels one could ask for, its downright gaudy lime green and white paint job screaming “Look in my direction!” However, he has the advantage of being expected, so whoever might be congregated in building six-seventeen shouldn’t be too suspicious of its boisterous presence in the area.
I hustle over to the side door of my vacant warehouse hideout, popping it open slightly and waiting for him to approach. He rubbernecks as he goes, looking for any trace of me. We agreed on me hiding somewhere nearby, but didn’t have an exact place picked out due to the rapidity of our planning. A quick wave of my arm out the door catches his attention and he comes to a stop before slowly backing his car between my warehouse and the one next to it. He quickly exits and glances around before jogging over to the door I’m behind and slipping in.
“Heya, Aubrey. Sorry about the wait, had to run a quick errand.” He clutches a small brown paper bag in his hand.
I give him a quick kiss. “No problem, Sammy.” My eyes dart to the satchel. “Was that the errand?”
He smirks. “So perceptive of you! I’m glad you got your detective eyes on for tonight.” He reaches into the bag and withdraws something resembling a black brick. The camera isn’t exactly designed for being stuffed into your back pocket, what with the myriad of silver knobs spattered across its surface. But given our limited timetable, it should do the trick. “It’s an Argus C3. Not a bad camera, a little ugly but it’s a top seller for a reason.”
“Geez. How much did this thing set you back?”
“Oh, it didn’t. I had it tucked away in storage. It was one of the few things I evacuated from my ex’s place when things went to shit, but I’ve never been much of a shutterbug so I didn’t really need it until now.” He shrugs. “I did pick up a new roll of film, though. Whatever was in there probably involved my ex, so it’s right where it belongs now: the garbage.”
I let out a soft giggle. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.” I turn the hunk of metal and vinyl over in my hands. “So, this knob to wind the film, and this bit over here to focus?”
“You’re a natural!” His toothy grin makes my heart skip a beat as I peek at it through one of the camera’s two openings. “That’s the view finder, the other one’s the range finder.” He prods at the front of the device with his forefinger. “And that there’s the shutter lever.” I thumb it down as he speaks. “I did take one test photo to make sure the thing still works, so you should have thirty-five left.”
“Make that thirty-four.” Before he can register my meaning, I bring the camera up and press the shutter release button. The device lets out a sharp snap, capturing his candid grin.
“Hey! I wasn’t ready!”
“That means it’ll be a keeper.” My own smile fades. “That was… really loud.”
He purses his lips in thought. “Yeah… it’s all I had, but you’re not wrong. I’m hoping that things will be busy enough in the warehouse that nobody will notice.”
I don’t like it, but then again… I may not even need the camera at all. If this does turn out to be above board, pictures of legitimate cargo handling won’t do us any good.
Seeming to suddenly remember, Sammy thrusts the brown paper sack in my direction. “Oh, I got this for you, too. Figured you might get peckish in there.”
With a lifted eyebrow, I peel open the container. “A sandwich? You thoughtful son of a gun.”
“I woulda got you some potato chips to go with it but the crunching coming from a broom cupboard might be a bit of a giveaway.” We both laugh. This fella is a real piece of work. As we calm ourselves, he peeks out the same window I used as my vantage point, glancing both ways down the lonesome lane. He turns back to me. “Okay. Like we discussed, I’ll head over real quick to get a feel for the place, grab a headcount and make sure I know where anyone who’s there already is positioned. If the coast is clear, I’ll come back to get you, and we’ll sneak you in through the side door.”
I nod. “Sounds good. See you on the other side, Sammy.”
This time, he initiates the kiss. I nearly lose myself in its tenderness before he pulls away, too soon for my liking but understandable all the same. “See you in a few.” And with that, he slips through the door and out of sight. I watch him until his form disappears behind the neighboring warehouses, a murky outline in the setting sunlight. It should be dark in about ten minutes, leaving another hour and some change until the ten PM meeting time.
I glance down in the bag again, grinning at the kind gesture from the man I love. My stomach reminds me I did not, in fact, have dinner, and a quick decision forces the sandwich out of the bag and down my gullet. I’d rather not play around with trying to eat while I’m hiding in a dangerous place, and Sammy isn’t here to watch me wolf this down. Not very lady-like, but a gal’s gotta eat.
As I swallow the last bit of ham and cheddar on toasted bread, Sammy comes into eyesight again. He gives a quick glance over his shoulder before ducking into the building. A little winded, he quickly composes himself before speaking.
“Alright. Looks like there’s only two guys there right now, and they’re both hanging around the pier side of the building. Looked down their snouts at me for a second but once I name-dropped our boss they knew I was the human fella they were told would be here tonight. No cops yet, either. I think we should be able to get you in, no problem, but we should go now before more guys show up.”
Scooping up my purse and the camera, I step forward. “Right behind you, Sammy.”
With a final reaffirming nod, he sucks in a deep breath before sticking his head out the door. With a quick left to right sweep, he pushes into the night air. I follow behind, tucking my tail in close to reduce my profile as much as possible. We hustle across the paved path, past his concealed car and away from the slowly illuminating bulbs of the sparse above-head lamps. Our destination is several warehouses away, making the trek a short but dangerous one. Thankfully, the rest of the buildings surrounding us seem entirely vacant of prying eyes.
Coming up to the rotted wood panels, we slow our pace to reduce the already minimal noise we’re generating via our footsteps. I made sure to wear soft shoes along with my darkened slacks and top. We slink toward the side of the building, pressing our backs to the exterior wall. Sammy holds a hand out to halt my movement before peering around the corner. As his head flicks back, he turns my way and gives a quick nod. We slip around the building, moving as quietly as possible, and he gently unlatches the side entrance.
We slip through, pulling the portal behind us closed just as quietly as we opened it. On tiptoes we shift past dozens of enormous crates, most stacked two high, each large enough to hold a sizable kitchen appliance. My eyes rapidly adjust to the darkness, though some errant light through the ceiling-height windows cast enough shadows to prevent me from clumsily walking into anything.
A few yards into the structure and past an outcropping with some rickety stairs leading up to a second story loading platform of some sort, Sammy gestures toward the enshrouded corner tucked behind it. Just as he said, a lone, nearly crumbling door blocks off a cubbyhole just large enough for a few upright brooms and a velociraptor woman to stand. I slide past the nearest crates a few feet away from the closet and give my lover one more kiss before gently pulling the small metal ring that serves as a handle and squeezing myself into the broom-laden sarcophagus.
My tail coils around my leg as Sammy pushes the enclosure shut, the barely functional latch letting out a soft click as it falls into place. His eyes linger on me for a moment longer before he retreats through the entrance we used. My vantage point is limited due to the crates, but the night sky is visible beyond, with the salty lick of ocean foam making its way to my nostrils past the open warehouse door. This particular unit is right on the dock, more than likely coming at a premium due to the convenience of loading and unloading almost directly from a cargo vessel. This part of the dock wouldn’t facilitate any of the humongous commercial barges, but it gets the job done for smaller shippers.
I can just make out the shape of a hulking dinosaur atop a stool not designed for someone of his size about sixty feet away, stationed outside the main warehouse opening. His head turns and his gruff voice barks. “S’you again.”
I can’t see him, but Sammy’s voice makes its way to me. “Sorry about that, fellas. I was—”
A third voice interjects. “You ready to get to work or what, skinnie?”
My feathers stand on end upon hearing the word used toward the man I love, but I remain motionless. He responds with a stutter. “Y-yeah. Where do you need me?”
“Ship’ll be gettin’ here in about a half hour. Get over to the dock and make sure the anchoring ropes are prepped. We don’t wanna waste their time, after all.”
“O-okay! Got it!”
As Sammy jogs over toward the docks, the two men sitting guard chuckle. “I doubt the dumb ape even knows what an anchoring rope looks like, let alone how to tie one off.”
I bite my lip, knowing it’d be big trouble for me and Sammy if I kicked this door off its hinges and broke that fucker’s neck. All the same, my imagination runs wild with the possibilities of making that scumbag wish he was never born. I never liked the casual racism hurled at humans, though the opportunities to step forward and put a stop to it rarely made themselves accessible. But now that I’ve fallen in love with a man as kind and gentle as Sammy… I want to protect him. I want the world to see him for his innate strengths and his everflowing heart, not just the durability of his carapace.
Miles Cratis and his bandmates soothe my bristling nerves, playing their songs on the spotlight-draped stage of my mind. The calming timbre of Bill Ephans’s fingers gliding across the piano keys light a spark inside of me, the opening notes of Blue on Green sending a chill down my back. The song that Sammy and I danced to on that night fraught with smiles and tears and laughter and devastation. A promising date turned sour by my horrible attitude, one that the man I came to love plucked me out of and held me in spite of. A night that turned cataclysmic as the wicked officers with a vendetta nearly hospitalized my favorite musician in the world. A whirlwind of conflicted emotion as I tried to rebuff Sammy to spare him the pain that dating someone like me would bring, only for him to overrule my attempts and accept me.
He accepted me despite my outbursts and foolish tantrums. He accepted me despite the traumas of my past that I unburdened to him on his bedroom floor. He accepted me despite being a flawed and broken woman of a different species.
The muted call of Cratis’s immaculate trumpet swirls around me like an embrace, one made manifest by the man I love. The plucks of Paul Chainers’s bass pepper my lips, echoes of Sammy’s tender kisses. Jimmy Dobb’s percussive taps match the rhythm of my breath in tandem with that of my lover as we share our bodies with one another.
I draw in a slow breath to calm my nerves, allowing a smile to tug at my lips. I’ve always been enraptured by Miles Cratis’s music, but now… I can’t think of anything else I’d rather have his songs call to mind.
Regaining focus on my surroundings, the shape of a vessel comes into view beyond the adorned pallets between my hiding spot and the sea. It eases into position, bumping against the protective buoys that line the wood and steel outcropping of dock. The two dinosaurs seated outside the warehouse stand and join the workers who hop off the boat and begin fastening it in place.
A lightbulb somewhere above the warehouse flicks to life, causing me to shrink back even further. Based on the angle of the overhanging platform, no light makes its way anywhere close to me. All the same, I feel more exposed than ever. If worse comes to worse and I get spotted, I could make a mad dash for the door. So long as my knee doesn’t give out, I might be able to slip away before the shock of some velociraptor woman hiding in the broom closet wears off and they give chase.
More voices join the chorus of labor outside the warehouse. I can’t hear Sammy’s among them, but I can’t pick out any distinct words either. There must be two dozen of them, if not more. An engine comes to life, the rumble of its combustive guts growing closer. The forklift it powers rounds the corner, sliding its two powerful prongs underneath a double-stack of crates before lifting them with ease. It spins around, the pilot’s deft skills on full display as it rolls onto the dock and deposits its payload. Waiting workers throw several hooks and ropes around the topmost crate and, after a moment, it hoists into the air and out of sight, certainly heading toward the ship’s hold.
This process repeats for thirty minutes, the view of the dock and those working it becoming clearer with each row of crates that gets removed. The hectic noise is clear enough disguise for the simple click of a camera, so I get to work taking a few photographs. I don’t notice any police presence yet, so any attending officers must be outside watching the work being done. Even so, establishing shots of these crates and their mysterious contents being evacuated onto the boat might be handy.
I twist the knob on top of the camera, causing the numbered wheel adjacent to it to shift down another digit. Peering through the view finder, I press the aperture as close to the cracks in the door as I can and take another photo. The snap of the lens is almost deafening to me, but entirely unnoticed by anyone in the vicinity. Good. So long as I don’t do something stupid and take a photo against dead silence I should be fine.
A few minutes later, the containers dwindle to a half dozen or so. The one closest to the broom closet door is only a single crate that stands about waist-high. At this point, I’ve got an almost perfectly clear line of sight over the warehouse, save for a few blind spots here and there. It appears the forklift driver had been staging them on the dock so rapidly that a surplus await hosting aboard the vessel. I wind the film again as the forklift charges toward me. I’d be more nervous if I hadn’t watched him drive just as quickly with zero errors for the past thirty minutes. However, as the dual lifting plates slide under the pallet, it pushes the crate forward three feet before lifting off the ground, the splintering shriek of wood scraping against wood causing me to grit my teeth and pray to God the door doesn’t fall off its hinges.
“Ayo, Paulie! Not dat one, dat one’s stayin’.”
The forklift driver, ostensibly named Paulie, throws his arm over the seat behind him and twists his upper half to address whoever just addressed him. “Well, which other ones gotta go? They all look the fuckin’ same!”
“Not dat one! Get dose two over dere and tha rest stay behind!” The stubby finger of the one barking orders at Paulie points elsewhere, and Paulie lets out an annoyed groan before turning back toward the forklift’s controls and throwing the release lever. The pallet crashes to the ground, the forklift’s metal teeth clattering against the concrete beneath us. He backs up and spins in the direction of whichever other…
Oh no.
I gently push against the door. It doesn’t budge.
I put more force into it. Nothing.
I brace my legs and press my entire body into the wretched wood.
I’m stuck.
The pallet completely blocks the door from opening, being pressed so tightly against the frame that even a professional escape artist couldn’t wriggle free. My chest feels as though it’ll collapse in on itself as hyperventilation takes over. The knee that’s been surprisingly quiet this whole time I’ve been standing begins stabbing daggers into the surrounding muscles, doubled protestation of the strain I just inflicted by trying to heave the door free and the impending terror of my imprisonment. I never thought I was claustrophobic, but I’ve also never been pinned into a broom closet in a place I shouldn’t be.
Oh my God. Sammy, please help me.
I close my eyes, doing everything in my power to steady my breathing and lower my heart rate. Sammy will help me out of here. Once these guys are done, he’ll be able to push the crate from the outside and get me free. As I reopen my eyes, the man of my dreams comes into sight. His back is to me as he addresses two dinosaurs near the warehouse opening, a diplodocus wearing a surprisingly warm smile and a stern triceratops that oozes authority. That must be Sammy’s boss.
The triceratops speaks. “You did good tonight, Samuel. I’m real proud of you.”
The diplodocus’s thick hand claps Sammy’s shoulder. “You’re proving yourself to be a team player, bud! I knew you were cut out for this sorta work!”
Though I can’t see Sammy’s face, I envision his smile as he scratches the back of his neck. “Aw, don’t mention it. Happy to help wherever I can!”
A large cigar rolls around lazily in the triceratops’s lips. “Good. I’m glad to hear that. We’ll have you do one more thing tonight, and then we’ll call it square on that nice new car of yours. That sound like a deal to you?”
“Y-yes, sir! More than a deal!”
“Attaboy. Alright, what I need from you—”
A stern voice interrupts them. “Well? No issues tonight, I take it?”
My heart sinks into my stomach. No… please, God, no…
“Commissioner Aaron! Nice of you to stop by! I figured it’d just be your underling with us this evening.” The triceratops warmly greets the one man I wish wasn’t involved in all this as he strides into view like a waking nightmare. “Yes, everything went fine.”
The Commissioner doesn’t accept the triceratops’s proffered hand, instead jamming his thumbs between his stomach and the suspenders adorning him. He stands even taller than the already quite tall triceratops and glares down his beak. “This is proving to be a lot more trouble than it’s worth, Charles. I’ve got people asking questions at the station. People I’d prefer not knowing about these arrangements.”
The man he called Charles lowers his hand and his welcoming smile wanes. “I assure you, Commissioner. We’ve got a secure crew here. If anyone’s causing you problems, it’s likely unrelated—”
“They knew about the dock. About the shipment going out tonight. How secure can your crew be?”
Another voice joins in, its shrill, cruel tone causing me to stifle a gasp. “Can’t be that secure if they got fuckin’ skinnies workin’ for ‘em.”
Preston. Fucking Preston, oh my God. He’s the one that attacked Miles Cratis. He’s the one that—
Oh, fuck. Sammy!
Charles interjects, all pleasantries in tone having been discarded. “I said that I have a good crew. At least, I do with me tonight. There are… others not present that I am more wary of, and given what you’ve told me I may need to reexamine a few things.” At this, the diplodocus’s head lowers slightly and he glances away. Sammy has seemingly shrunk into as small of a silhouette as possible, having shimmied closer to the diplodocus and farther away from Preston. Charles clears his throat. “All the same, everything is fine here tonight. We had no hitches and the goods are almost done being loaded up. Once we wrap up our final tasks, everything will be squared away.”
They pass a few other words back and forth, but I don’t register them. The horror of unraveling reality is almost too much for me to bear. Not only is the Commissioner crooked, but Preston is involved too, and he arrested Sammy the day he and I met! If he recognizes Sammy, everything is gonna fall apart, and I won’t be able to do anything to stop it. I can’t protect him, not against four armed dinosaurs! All I can do is cower in this stupid hole, watching my world collapse in slow motion.
I blink away the despair. Thankfully, Preston doesn’t seem interested in Sammy, instead focusing on the developing transaction. Charles’s hand extends toward the Commissioner again, but this time it isn’t empty. A thick white envelope rests between his fingers. I quickly wipe the tears away from my cheeks with my wrists before bringing the camera up again. I hate this. I hate that I know this now, but I have to do what I came here to do.
Commissioner Aaron, the man I had come to respect so highly, reaches out and accepts the envelope. I press down on the shutter release button.
Snap.
Simultaneously, five sets of eyes spin in my direction. I instinctively duck down, cowering as far back in the closet as I can without making a sound. My free hand covers my mouth, the terror of my breathing somehow being audible washing over me. Stupid Aubrey, fucking stupid. I’m fucked.
The diplodocus withdraws a revolver from his chest holster and cautiously steps in my direction. I quiver uncontrollably, wishing that I could turn back time a few seconds and undo this catastrophic fuck-up.
I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m so sorry—
“I saw some raccoons scampering around back there! Musta knocked something over, the little flea balls.” Sammy’s voice stops the diplodocus in his tracks. “Dunno what else it’d be, Marty.”
The dinosaur Sammy called Marty narrows his eyes, his lengthy neck craning as he peers at the crate and its surroundings. I pray to God that his herbivore eyes aren’t as keen as mine and that the shadows still adequately enclose me. There’s no other way I’m getting out of this alive.
Only the sound of my heartbeat in my ears persists. For an agonizing moment, I hold my breath and tense every muscle in my body, remaining as still as possible. God, please…
With an annoyed huff, Marty stuffs the revolver back into its home. “Little bastards.” He rolls his eyes as he turns to rejoin the others. “Yeah, nothin’ over there. Just a pallet up against a closet or somethin’. Nobody gettin’ in there without a hand truck or an awful lot of spinach.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, I let the air out of my lungs. My chest burns from depriving itself of oxygen for so long, but I reintroduce the element to my body in shallow, silent draws. I make a mental note to cuss myself out for how absolutely fucking brain-dead that move was later. For now, I thank God and, even more so, Sammy for saving my ass.
The Commissioner shakes his head, stuffing the envelope into his pocket. “Just do what you need to do. I’ll notify the fire department once you give me the call.”
He spins on his heel, ignoring the polite grin offered by Charles, and exits the warehouse. Preston, on the other hand, narrows his eyes toward Sammy. “Don’t I know you from somewhere, skinnie?”
Sammy lowers his head, averting his eyes and cleverly using his cap to obscure his face. “N-no, sir.”
The spinosaurus’s sharp snout twists in thought. “You seem awfully familiar—”
“PRESTON! Car keys!” Commissioner Aaron’s voice booms from around the corner and out of sight. With a click of his tongue, Preston mutters as he turns to leave.
“Tch. Fuckin’ skinnies all look the same.”
He fades from view and, shortly thereafter, an engine fires up. Headlights make themselves briefly known before turning away and vanishing into the night.
I had slowly risen back up to a standing position, doing everything in my power to keep from drawing any further attention toward my hiding spot. Now, with my legs straight beneath me again, I peer through the same crack in the door I’ve made my personal peepshow for the past hour. The last of the crates outside the warehouse lift out of sight and the boatmen begin preparing to cast off. They exchange farewells with the Herdsters, offering to buy drinks for one another the next time they’re in town. I can’t place any specific accents nor pick anyone in particular out of the crowd. I’m too frazzled.
I just want to get out of here. I just want to be away from this place, somewhere safe with Sammy.
Charles’s attention shifts from the dispersing crewmen and departing vessel back to Sammy and Marty. Only the three of them remain now. Though the air is notably less tense than it was with the Commissioner present, it still crackles with tension. “Samuel. I already know the answer to this before I ask it, but it needs to be asked all the same. You are loyal to the Herdsters, correct?”
Sammy’s back stiffens up. “Y-yes, sir! Absolutely!”
“And you wouldn’t do something foolish like going to the police about our dealings?” He waves a hand toward the space that Commissioner Aaron had occupied just minutes ago. “As you see, we’ve made arrangements with them, so such machinations would be entirely fruitless anyway.”
“No, sir. I didn’t and wouldn’t. You guys treat me well, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.” To be fair, Sammy isn’t lying. Well, not exactly. He did come to me with information, but as was made brutally apparent, I’m not a cop.
Charles’s eyes narrow for a moment before a gentle grin graces him. “Excellent. I knew you were a good man, and I’m glad I brought you on board.” He turns to Marty and gives a commanding nod which the diplodocus answers by stepping outside the warehouse. “We’ve got one more task for you. Once it’s done, you’ll be all set. In fact, you can take tomorrow off for your hard work here tonight.” He pauses a moment. “You… did park farther away from the warehouse, as I instructed?”
“Y-yes, sir. I did.” He shifts. “Wasn’t sure why… because you didn’t want a human to be seen driving something that nice nearby is what I’m guessin’.”
“Not exactly.” As Charles mutters this, Marty returns with what he was commanded to fetch. Grasped by their metal carrying handles, two five-gallon containers wearing coats of chipped and partially eroded red paint cause my throat to clog in panic. They clang against the concrete floor, their contents sloshing about and already filling the enclosed space with acrid fumes.
Charles’s hand rests on Sammy’s shoulder. His violet eyes are piercing and authoritative. “I want you to burn this building to the ground.”
The color drains away from Sammy. He turns and stares directly at me, mouth agape, horrified and speechless. Marty speaks up, seeming to believe that Sammy is looking at the crates and not at his imprisoned girlfriend. “Don’t worry about those ones. They’re stuffed full of shit we had to get rid of anyway. Documents, mostly. Papers we’d rather not have anyone siftin’ through in the dumpsters, if you get my meaning.”
Sammy turns back to them, finally reclaiming his voice. “B-but why?”
Another cigar makes its way into Charles’s lips but he hesitates on firing up his lighter, glancing at the gasoline cans only a few feet away. He reconsiders and pockets the device, leaving the unlit tobacco between his teeth. “Part of the operation. It’s what we call a ‘two-for-one special’ in the business. We get a shipment of goods out of here, then an accident happens that removes any traces of our actions while allowing us to claim a respectable insurance policy on the building.” He steps over and claps a hand to the rotted wood making up one of the warehouse’s walls. “As you can see, this building isn’t long for the world anyway. Salt spray will do that in a surprisingly short amount of time.”
Sammy trembles. I’m terrified myself, but he’s the one that’s visible to those two. Keep it together, Sammy. We’ll figure this out. He stutters. “U-um… o-okay. So I j-just—”
The comforting triceratops hand returns to Sammy’s shoulder. If he weren’t being asked to commit arson, it would come across as fatherly. “Douse the crates and baseboards of the walls, and light it up. From a safe distance, of course. Once the flames are going, you’re free to leave. Marty and I will take care of calling the Commissioner just as soon as we’re sure the building and its contents are properly… disposed of.”
Charles’s smile is sickening, laced with false warmth and disgusting duplicity. Sammy’s head lowers. “Y-yes, sir…”
Marty chimes in. “Good work, buddy. This’ll be a piece of cake for you! Charles and I will be a ways down the dock waiting for the show with that spinosaurus copper. Y’know, plausible deniability and all that!” He chuckles and hands Sammy a box of matches. Sammy’s spirits seem to lift, though I know that it’s not due to the diplodocus’s joviality. He caught the same nugget of information I did.
They’re gonna leave. We’ll have a chance.
Sammy scoops up one of the two jugs of gasoline while Charles and Marty make their way out of the warehouse and down the dock. I barely notice the shape of Preston join them; he must have stayed behind to oversee the last step of this plan. Safely away from the ignitable liquids, a spark of ember appears in Charles’s hand and raises to his mouth before being extinguished with a flick of his wrist.
As Sammy begins sloshing the gasoline against the walls of the warehouse as far away from me as possible, he stares in my direction. I can read his thoughts, clear as day.
“As soon as they’re out of sight, we’re getting the fuck outta here.”
He keeps up the show, glancing over his shoulder occasionally to ensure his boss and coworker haven’t changed their minds. As he reaches the corner of the building, the stench of gasoline almost becoming unbearable, he quickly sets the can down and runs the length of the warehouse toward the opposite wall near the warehouse’s opening. He cautiously peers around it, staring into the darkness for a few moments, likely trying to gauge their apparent location past the inky night.
With a confident nod, he turns toward me and bolts across the warehouse again, sputtering in a loud whisper before he reaches me. “Raptor Jesus, Aubrey, I’m so sorry! Holy shit!”
I do my best to fight my own panic and calm him simultaneously. “It’s alright, Sammy. Just help me get the fuck outta here!”
He quickly assesses the situation before spinning around to the side of the crate. Forcing all of his weight into it, he pushes as hard as he can, grunting and straining against the several hundred pounds of paper and other incriminating items the Herdsters wished to incinerate tonight. I join him by pushing against the door, bracing my good leg against the wall behind me and heaving all my force into the obstacle. With our combined exertion, the pallet and its payload begin to slide, a slight budge at first, followed by a groaning shunt. The wood against wood crackles and squeals, both door and crate complaining about being brought into violent union with one another.
With several more heaves, we push the barrier far enough out of the way that the broom closet door can open, if only a crack. Good enough is good enough. I thank my lucky stars that I’m a slender woman and squeeze through the opening, though I have to turn my head back to fit my protruding snout through the gap. With a gasp, I pop through the fracture and immediately into Sammy’s waiting arms. An involuntary sob escapes.
“Sammy, I’m so sorry. I was fucking stupid with that—” My eyes widen. “The camera!” I spin away from his grasp, dropping to a grouchy knee and reaching back through the opening. I find both the camera and my purse, having silently left them on the ground after my absolute bungle of photography during the quietest part of the night.
“It’s okay, Aubrey. We’re gonna get out of here. I don’t give a shit about the Herdsters, I just want you to be safe.”
I rise to my feet, belongings in hand, and turn back to him. “I couldn’t agree mo—”
Beyond Sammy, the silhouette of a man stands against the darkness. The poor illumination of the single bulb in the warehouse rafters only seems to throw more shadows upon his visage.
Even with the disadvantage… even with the waning light… I recognize his outline. I recognize his shape.
Oh, my God.
Sammy notices my horror and spins around, putting himself between me and the intruder. He stands firm before almost immediately relenting in relief. “Raptor Jesus, you scared me—” He cuts himself off. “Wait a minute… what are you doing here, Pierce?”
The hulking stegosaurus steps forward, each stride clearing a significant portion of the warehouse floor. Radiance retreats from his midnight blue scales and entirely black ensemble, trousers and a turtleneck with absolute secrecy in mind. Only the glint of steel tucked in the holster under his armpit gives armistice to the light. His enraged blue eyes snap from me back to Sammy.
His voice is gravelly and filled with fury. “I’d rather ask you, what are you doing with Aubrey?”
Sammy freezes. His eyes flick back to me for only a split second before he responds. “Wh-what?”
“I said, what the FUCK are you doing with my brother’s wife?!”