“—around the corner, but with how hot the summer was you shouldn’t be expecting the snow any time soon. Anyway, that’s all for this crisp and cool morning weather report. It’s 6 AM and time for another Miles Cratis instant classic, ‘Freddy Freeloader’.”
A lot of folks say that the sense most closely tied with memory is smell, but personally it’s always been sound for me. My dreams give way to bleary consciousness before melting into the memory of that evening at Birdland Nightclub, where a very special, very beautiful woman and I had our first date. We got to hear Miles play this very song, but more importantly, I got to dance with her, and kiss her for the first time, too. As much as I love this music, I love her even more.
Almost in response to my wordless proclamation, Aubrey tightens her grip on me, arms wrapped around my chest and feathered tail pressing into the flat of my back. She stretches, then nuzzles her snout into the crook of my neck, her breath dancing across my skin. “Mmm… just a few more minutes…” I’m in no rush to turn off the clock radio or deny her request, opting to run my fingers through her hair. She murmurs her approval, squeezing even closer to me.
As the blue strands dance across my fingertips, I recall that horrid night when I fled from a roaring inferno with two knocked out dinosaurs in my battered Fairlane. Pierce had barely opened the back door before he tipped inward, fully unconscious. I struggled to push his legs and tail in as the sirens grew closer, only barely managing to close the door behind him. We peeled out, forcing the angry and tired engine on one last jaunt for the night. I made a beeline for the clinic to which I had previously taken Pierce and Marty, the one under Herdsters jurisdiction. The staff recognized me and didn’t ask any questions, quickly wheeling both Pierce and Aubrey into the facility.
As I had surmised, Aubrey was mostly unhurt. She stayed the night at the clinic, just to be sure she didn’t have a concussion, and the cut on her head only required a few sutures. Aside from a nasty bruise and some swelling, her knee was okay too. I recall the horror I had felt when I saw the blood seeping into her beautiful blue hair, terrified that I had lost the woman I loved. My fingers trace the now invisible scar as I thank God for not taking her away from me.
As for me, a few of my ribs were indeed cracked. Nothing to do about those but rest and take a shit load of aspirins. The bullet’s kiss to my face, on the other hand, needed more help. A total of eighteen stitches were required to seal the line drawn from my cheek bone to the top of my neck. The doctor was amazed that I survived it; had the bullet angled inward by only another quarter inch, it woulda popped my jugular. God’s protection or blind stinking luck, I wasn’t gonna complain either way.
Pierce, on the other hand, was in a very bad spot. By the time they got the blood bag attached to him, he was practically flat-lining. The bullet was lodged in his gut something fierce, and the amount of exertion he had expended during our escapades didn’t help it any. The doctors pulled the slug out of him, but he didn’t wake up for two weeks.
Aubrey’s eyes finally open up, clouded by drowsiness but slowly finding their focus on mine. The diamond-shaped pupils resize, surrounded by brilliant yellow irises within which I could lose myself for an eternity. She smiles, then brings her lips to mine. I reciprocate the tender gesture.
A moment later, we part and I speak up. “I’d stay like this with you all morning if I could. But today’s the big day.”
Her smile fades. “Ah. He’s coming back to work, then?”
I nod. “Yep, and I’m his ride.”
She already knew this, of course. We had agreed to be more transparent about everything surrounding our professional lives and otherwise with one another after everything that happened. With the hell that occurred on those docks, the bombshell of Aubrey having been married to Pierce’s brother seemed like nothing more than a leaf in a windstorm. After she made it home and we were able to move past the initial shock and dread of what had transpired, the topic was bound to come up.
She wasn’t keeping anything from me purposefully. The only thing for which I could fault her was saying that she was divorced, when in truth she had filed the paperwork with only one signature on it. Her husband, Francisco Signorelli, had disappeared without a trace. Whether he moved halfway across the country or lay dead in a gutter, Aubrey only knew that she was rid of him, and that was enough for her.
For my part, the mistake I made was not being more forward about my work dealings. I kept myself tight-lipped about what I was doing for the Herdsters, including which branch I worked out of and who I was associated with. I justified it as keeping Aubrey safe, considering what I knew the Herdsters to be capable of. Her ex-husband also didn’t share much about his dealings, so the only through-line she had was that both Francisco and I worked for the same organization, not necessarily that we worked at the same branch or with the same relative of his.
If I had even done something as simple as telling her Pierce’s name, it would have been a massive headache avoided. Neither of us were angry with one another about it, but we agreed that transparency would be best from then on. After all, I was still working for a potentially dangerous and likely criminal operation, and she was nested in a corrupt police department. We’d both need each other, and as much information as we could possibly get, if we had any hopes of making this work.
Aubrey remains thoughtfully still for a moment before she replies. “He isn’t still angry about anything, is he?”
I perform the best shrug I can manage from my prone position on a bed with a velociraptor lady laying partially on top of me. “Truthfully, I didn’t talk to him about anything with us. We got our story straight for those fellas questioning us, and that was it.”
She finally releases her grip, allowing both of us to sit up. She massages her knee, a morning ritual with which I’m well acquainted at this point. “Well, go ahead and hop in the shower first. You’ll need to head out before me.”
I hop off the bed, stretching my back and working my way across the more furnished apartment. Aubrey demanded that I fill in a few missing pieces—a living room set, a television, and her record player, of course—if she was gonna move in with me. There were no complaints from me, or from my roommate. The walking carpet shimmies up to his feet as he stares up past the shaggy white fur that overhangs his eyes. He doesn’t bark, instead merely panting happily in my direction.
A quick scratch behind his ears elicits some furious and happy tail wagging. “Good morning, champ. I’ll get your breakfast and take you out to potty in a few minutes.”
Aubrey speaks up. “I can take care of him while you get your shower, it’s no problem.”
I turn to her and raise an eyebrow. “You sure? He can be a little stubborn with people who ain’t me.”
She merely grins, then claps a hand to her hip. “C’mere, Saxon!”
He bolts across the apartment, skidding to a stop in front of her, tongue joyously flopping from his mouth. I cross my arms. “Yeah, that’s all well and good, but—”
She extends a hand, palm facing the floor, and speaks with authority. “Saxon, sit.”
He immediately does so.
“Lay down.”
He does that too…
“Roll over.”
What the actual hell—when did she teach him to do all this?! I stand, jaw agape and staring at the circus spectacle of animal taming that occurs right before my eyes. The shaggy white dope murmurs out pleased grunts as Aubrey scratches his exposed belly. All I can do is sigh and acquiesce that this woman has done a better job in training my dog in a week than I had in several years.
The grin she shoots me drips with pride. “I did some work with him during that time off I had. Not like I had anything better to do just sitting around here.” She pauses. “At least, after… well.”
She doesn’t have to finish the thought. Neither of us are going to forget that night for a long time. We both stare into space for a moment before I try to break the awkwardness with a smile. “I’ll get that shower now. Thanks for taking care of Saxon for me.”
I make my way to the bathroom and turn the levers for the faucet, letting the water heat up since that wretched heat wave had finally broken as of a couple weeks ago. As the shower water gets to an agreeable temperature and I step under its calming downpour, my mind drifts again to that night. The three of us all made it out of there alive… but for two of us, something was taken away that can’t be given back. Pierce is a killer; he’s done in at least four people, and those are only the ones I know about. Aubrey and I had never taken a life before.
After she was released from the clinic, I stayed with her at her apartment. Her first night back home was horrible. She couldn’t stop shaking; hyperventilation overtook her at the drop of a pin. She kept apologizing, and all I could do was hold her and reassure her that she hadn’t done anything wrong. After all, she’d acted in self-defense. She saved my life. If she hadn’t done what she did, I wouldn’t be there with her.
A few times, the tears gave way to anger. She’d push me away, staring at me as though I was an intruder in her apartment before shouting accusations at me. Blaming me for the entire mess, blaming me for being the worst thing to ever happen to her. Unable to create a reasonable reply, I’d merely apologize and head for the door, only for her to dart across the room and stop me, weeping apologies of her own and begging me to stay.
It was hard… but so was everything that had happened. And she wasn’t wrong. She didn’t deserve such a burden as the one I’d caused to befall her.
Things didn’t start to even out until I admitted to her what I had done. I didn’t wait long; I had no intentions of hiding anything from her. When I told her that I was the one who killed Charles, she didn’t react at first. Her eyes analyzed my features as she processed the words. I also told her about the pool hall and how the regret I felt then paled in comparison to this. Back then, it could have been argued that I was defending Pierce, and that it wasn’t my hand that killed that baryonyx. At the warehouse, however, nothing stopped me from scooping Aubrey up and dashing away from that place. Charles was strong, but he wasn’t fast. Even with Aubrey in my arms I likely could have outran him and left Pierce to his own fate.
But I didn’t. I scooped up that revolver and ended a man’s life. When I admitted all of this to Aubrey, it was my turn to break down, trembling uncontrollably and trying in vain to push back the tears. She didn’t waste another moment before throwing her arms around me and comforting me. She shushed my sobs and apologized for reacting coldly, admitting that she already knew what I had done despite being unconscious during the act. She saw in me the pain she was feeling, even though I didn’t say it out loud until then.
We were both changed irrevocably on that horrific night, but as we held each other and unburdened our guilt and sorrow in its aftermath, we knew that we still had each other.
I conclude my shower, toweling off and dressing myself as Aubrey reenters my apartment with a relieved Saxon in tow. He trots across the space and plonks down on his new favorite resting spot, the oval-shaped throw rug resting between the couch and television. Aubrey approaches me. “I got Mr. Garbowitz’s paper for him, too.”
I placed my hands on her hips. “He asked us to call him ‘Harold’, remember?”
Her arms weave around my back. “You haven’t started, why should I?”
I can’t mumble out a reply before her lips find mine, tender and serene in their dance. It brings back those same swirling memories from the sidewalk down the street of Birdland Nightclub’s front canopy. In the wake of travesty and conflict, under the starlit city sky, she accepted my kiss. Now, after everything we’ve been through together, I accept hers.
We still have each other.
—
The roadways offer a lot of time to think, doubly so when the trip is extended by a detour out to the suburbs. I’ve had a lot of time to think over the past weeks, and a lot to think about. I think about the narrative I have weaved, repeating it over and over in my head to ensure there’s not a single loose thread upon which someone could tug to unravel the entire tapestry of half-truths. I’m perfectly open and honest with Aubrey now; as for the Herdsters, they’re an entirely different story.
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Even before Pierce woke up, the questions started rolling in. An awful lot of representatives from an awful lot of different branches in the Herdsters were very interested in my retelling of events. As I laid in the hospital bed on that same night, the doctor passing his needle and thread through the flesh on my face over and over, I was already mentally preparing the story I’d need to tell when I was inevitably asked.
All I could do was turn Charles’s machinations in on themselves, crafting the scenario into one where Pierce, Marty and I were suspicious of the Herdster boss’s foul play. When we discovered his scheme to torch the warehouse and a bunch of evidence of his misdeeds, we chased him down, colliding with the squad car at the nearby phone booth. The story played out mostly the same as what actually happened, save for replacing Aubrey with Marty in the passenger seat and giving him credit for gunning down both Preston and Charles before succumbing to his own wounds. We didn’t have time to stop the fire that Charles had started, or to pull Marty’s body from the burning building.
It’s a sad replacement for a proper funeral, but at least the fiction gave Marty a more honorable end than he really got.
The inquisitors seemed content with this story. Of course, I had to retell it about a half dozen times to a half dozen different pairs of investigating officials. None of them were police, merely higher ranking Herdsters who needed the full story. They were incredibly tight-lipped about most things when I tried to ask them questions, but I did gather that the notion of Charles being dirty wasn’t a massive surprise to them, nor was his involvement with the Old York P.D.
As for Aubrey, I had a cover story for her, too. Hand-waved her as being a private investigator that I hired to monitor Charles, and who was going to gather photographic evidence of his wrongdoings to back us up. Of course, the camera was lost in the fire, and her injury was due to being discovered and attacked by Charles. She had come to and was discharged from the clinic before the investigators started turning up.
There was only one loose thread left. I scoured the newspapers, finding a brief article about the warehouse fire in Friday’s morning edition, but absolutely nothing about the dead cop or two dead Herdsters ever appeared. It seemed that the Commissioner was pulling double duty to cover everything up. By the time Aubrey returned to work, everyone acted as though nothing was amiss, as though Officer Preston never worked for them at all.
If the corruption flows that deep… I don’t know that anything can be done to salvage it.
I just hope Aubrey can stay safe. She’s in the dragon’s den again, keeping her head low and doing her paperwork without ruffling any scales. I tried to talk her out of going back, but she refused. I knew she would—that’s the kind of woman she is. She feels that it’s the right thing to stay where she is and try to make a difference. She insists that there still might be some way to expose the Commissioner, but that her chances of finding anything incriminating will reduce to zero if she quits.
Even so, there’s no getting around the fact that she went to the Commissioner with information about that event at the warehouse, an event that went completely tits-up for whatever criminal enterprising he was doing. Even if he doesn’t know that Aubrey was directly involved, he might connect the dots and try to come after her for something if he suspects her in some way. She’s a tough woman and can defend herself in a fight, but if he chases some sort of criminal charges against her, she could get buried in court cases and legal fees indefinitely.
We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, I guess. No matter what, I’m gonna stay by her side.
I pull to a stop in front of a home upon which I’d never laid eyes before today. I check the address scrawled in my untidy handwriting again, glancing up at the house to ensure it’s the right place. With a self-reassuring nod, I shut off the engine and exit my car. The two-story structure is extravagant in comparison to what I’m used to. Massive bay windows overlook its handsome yard, and the front door is well over nine feet tall. I take a breath before knocking on the wooden obelisk.
A moment later, it swings open. The stegosaurus woman on the other side greets me. “Good morning, Samuel. Please, come in.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” I remove my cap as I step through the portal.
“Oh, stop that. I told you to call me Bianca.” Her welcoming smile puts me at ease. “Besides, I’m not that much older than you.”
“Y-yeah. Sorry about that. Force of habit.” I feel my cheeks redden.
She titters. “Go ahead and have a seat in the living room. Pierce should be ready in a few minutes.” She makes her way toward the kitchen. “Did you want a cup of coffee while you wait?”
“Sure, that’d be nice. Thank you.” I do as she asks and gingerly place myself on the living room couch, gazing around myself like a paleontologist in a museum of antiquity. I knew Pierce was doing well for himself, but this feels like a damn mansion. The gargantuan 21 inch television offers my reflection back to me via its darkened screen. The decorations on the walls and end tables offer a portrait of a modern upper-middle-class family, one in which the matriarch clearly has exceptional tastes.
I got to meet Pierce’s wife and both his kids when I came to visit him at the hospital one day. Russell and Angela were a hoot, friendly and energetic and excited for their dad to come to. They were practically bouncing off the walls with the idea of going to the beach “again”… I could only assume they had gone recently based on their phrasing. And it certainly wasn’t Bianca who put the idea in their heads; she tried to talk them down from the notion, but they wouldn’t relent. With a sigh, she gave up and let them enjoy their flights of fancy. The oppressive August heat had finally died down and given way to cooler September skies, but there might still be a few weeks of good beach weather left for them.
Bianca was pleasant with me, but very direct. The moment her children weren’t within earshot, she demanded to know what happened. For consistency’s sake, I gave her the same story I had given the Herdsters. As it painted her bed-ridden husband in an honorable light, she didn’t protest, but I had the feeling she could tell that I wasn’t being entirely truthful. However, having another person at the ready to coach Pierce on what to tell any investigating officials upon his awakening was a good thing in my book.
Truthfully, that was the reason I was visiting as often as I was. If Pierce made a full recovery or if he remained comatose for years, neither would have made a tremendous difference to me. I still had my doubts as to whether he was someone that could be fully trusted. Sure, he proved himself a mostly honest man, but his seething hatred for humans wasn’t about to go away overnight. The two of us endured a hell of a tribulation together; even so, I felt like I’d still have to walk on eggshells around him if I didn’t want to risk being disposed of.
Bianca circles the couch, placing a saucer and cup on the rustic table between us. The tendril of steam that rises from its contents relaxes me. “It smells delicious. Thank you.”
She smiles, settling into the armchair across from me with her own cup in hand. “I’m not a bad cook, but coffee isn’t my specialty. Afraid it’s just the canned stuff.”
“That’s okay with me.” I take up the gift and enjoy the aroma before sipping at it. Canned or not, that’s a damn good cup of joe.
The air is silent between us for only a moment before she speaks again. “Thank you for offering to drive Pierce. It’s been a tough recovery period, but he’s anxious to get back to work.” She fidgets. “I just… didn’t want him driving himself with the painkillers the doctors have him on.”
“Hey, it’s no problem. I’m happy he’s in working shape again.” I bite my lip, stopping myself from making a comment about how I didn’t even expect him to still be alive, let alone having recovered enough across a month to be coming back into the office. Instead, I offer a shrug. “Things have been a bit slow. They got me pulling routes with a floater, some fella named Barry. He’s okay.”
Bianca smiles politely, but she casts her eyes down. Neither of us bring up Marty. He was my friend, but he was an even closer friend with Pierce and Bianca. His wife had their baby nine days ago, a boy who will grow up never knowing his father.
The brief awkward air is cut by two sets of rapidly descending footsteps, fast enough to be mistaken for machine gun fire. Bianca turns toward the commotion. “Slow down on those stairs, you’ll break your necks!”
“Sorry, mom!”
“Okay.”
The sources of the young voices pause for only a moment to look at me before darting past and toward the kitchen.
“Be ready for school in ten minutes!” Another set of muffled affirmatives past the clatter of cereal falling into bowls acknowledges Bianca’s command. She sighs as she turns back to me. “Sorry about them.”
“Hey, no problem! I ain’t a parent but I get that they can be a handful sometimes.”
“Oh? Well, are you married?” She asks past the rim of her coffee cup.
“No—well, I was, but right now I just got a girlfriend.”
Her only reply is a muted “Hmm.” I take another sip of my own caffeinated delight, puzzling over whether Pierce had said anything about Aubrey or not to her. If he has, Bianca’s keeping a tight leash on that knowledge. If not… it makes me wonder why he wouldn’t have.
Before I can ponder it too deeply, a slower, heavier set of footsteps descends. I glance at the stairwell, watching a familiar pin-stripe suit containing a familiar midnight blue stegosaurus find the landing. All things considered, he looks good, even if his movements are more rigid than normal. His gaze turns from his wife to me, offering only a small grunt and a nod in acknowledgment of my presence.
Bianca sets her cup and saucer down as she stands. “Do you have everything you need, honey?”
Another grunt.
“You have all your medication, your keys, your—”
“Yes, yes. I have everything. Don’t treat me like a child.” Even though there’s a veneer of annoyance, I sense no actual anger in his voice. He turns to me. “Let’s go.”
As I pull myself away from the comfortable couch, Bianca crosses the room and embraces Pierce. She plants a kiss on his snout; I avert my gaze, not wanting to be an awkward human staring at a stegosaurus wife wishing her husband a good day. A moment later, we both traverse the scenic pathway extending to the short drive that holds my restored Fairlane and its fresh coat of blue paint.
He pauses for a moment, revering the sight. “Is this the same car?”
I grin. “Yep. Took a few hundred bucks to get it fixed up and repainted, but it looks good as new, don’t you think?”
He frowns in response. “I woulda dumped it in the sea, myself. It could have incriminated both of us.”
“O-oh…” My smile fades rapidly, and I climb behind the wheel without another prideful word. Pierce lowers himself into the passenger seat, moving slowly and deliberately, letting out a wince as he straightens his back. I fire up the engine and pull out of the driveway before asking, “How are you getting along? Y’know… are things healing up okay?”
He doesn’t look at me. “I’m in a tremendous amount of pain.”
I gulp. Maybe I expected a bit too much in thinking that us surviving an ordeal like we did would lend to easier conversation.
The majority of the drive is silent and awkward. I consider turning on the radio, but think better of it. Instead, I merely watch the peppered homes slowly grow wider, taller and more industrial as we approach the city. The bustle of street cars and well-dressed individuals going about their Monday morning fare breathe life into the stoic structures that surround us. Traffic thickens, not becoming unbearable but forcing a few unexpected slowdowns. If the newspapers are right, continued growth like Old York is experiencing will mean practically unusable streets in twenty years instead of the occasional rush hour traffic jam.
But that’s a problem for down the road. For now, I enjoy the relative peace and ease of the journey.
A few minutes away from work, Pierce finally clears his throat. He turns my way before lackadaisically gesturing toward my cheek. “Looks like that isn’t going away.”
Without thought, I trace the line with my hand. The groove in my flesh is healed, the stitches long gone, but the mark remains, and probably always will. “Some of those serials I listen to have a fella with a scar on his face. It either makes him cooler, or more intimidating.” I glance at Pierce. “I dunno if it does either for me.”
He shrugs. “You’re asking the wrong guy. It just makes you even uglier than you were.”
I blink, unsure if that was an attempt at a joke or just a nasty jab. I clumsily fill the void. “Aubrey hasn’t complained about it, I guess.”
At this, Pierce merely turns away, gazing out the same window with which he entertained himself for the past fifteen minutes. That was probably a stupid move on my part. He and I haven’t discussed Aubrey whatsoever, not since the two of them fought one another. We formed a tenuous peace in the mutual goal of trying to stop Charles, but I’ve got no clue how to proceed now.
Aubrey, Pierce, and me… an awkward trinity of crossed soul threads. I find myself wishing yet again that things were just a little simpler. A beautiful woman in my arms, a normal job that affords us a home, and a life that isn’t filled with danger, duplicity and death. Why is that so much to ask?
The front of my Fairlane rocks upward as the wheels ascend the slanted curb granting us entry to the employee parking lot. It loops behind the building and travels underneath the structure; I find my usual parking spot and settle the car in for at least a temporary rest before taking it out again to do my rounds.
As we climb out of the vehicle, Pierce speaks up. “How have things been here in my absence?”
I take a moment before responding. “Not too bad, I guess. They paired me up with Barry since you were out.”
He scoffs. “Barry’s a moron.” I don’t reply, but I’m not inclined to disagree. Barry is friendly, but also comes across as being a few grapes short of a bushel. “Anything else eventful?”
We make our way toward the door, passing through the employee entrance and down the familiar hallway. “Not too much. A new person transferred in to… to take Charles’s place.” I lower my voice when saying his name. “She seems nice so far.”
“Oh?” We turn the corner.
“Yeah, she’s a stegosaurus like—”
Pierce freezes. His eyes widen and his hands ball into fists. I cock an eyebrow at his sudden halt before following his gaze. At the end of the hall, a greenish-blue stegosaurus woman in a form-fitting turquoise dress-suit hands a paper to one of our secretaries. She smiles and bids the other woman a fond good morning before turning our way. Her dark blue eyes light up and her lipstick parts in a wide grin.
“Ah, good morning, Sammy!”
She strides across the hall, planting one high-heeled foot in front of the other in a graceful display of balance and elegance.
Pierce grits his teeth and growls. “Aurora… what are you—”
It isn’t until the two of them are in close proximity that my foolish human eyes recognize the resemblance.
Her disarming smile does not falter, but her eyes flash at him. Her emphasis oozes with saccharine insincerity.
“And good morning to you, too, big brother.”