+AMDG+
Time: Present Day
Place: City of Port Vespucci
The older detective slurped down the last of his coffee before he continued his questioning. "You want me to accept this story as the real deal? Do I look like I was born three hours ago?"
"I'm not kiddin' you," Grief said, eyes bulging. "They flew above my van, all dressed in pink with glowing pink boots. Next thing I know, I was airborne. A minute later, BOOM! I wind up in front of the station. Yeah, it's freaky stuff, but I ain't tellin' crap."
"Man, you've must've been doin' a lot of blow or somethin' worse to cook that up."
"I've been clean for months. Hell, do a drug test on me right now and prove it."
"Yeah, like we're gonna spend our tax dollars on you for that," the other detective said, turning his back away from him toward the two-way mirror. He tapped the side of his nose three times, turned toward the door.
"Look, guys, if I end up in the can, you'll be spending your taxes on me anyway. No one wins in any case."
"It would've been easier if you didn't mess up at all. Now you're telling us this? Some ladies picking you up off the ground, flying you here like some UFO or something and plopping you into our laps? And they're all in pink? Pink? C'mon, Jack, let's take a break, I'm getting' thirsty."
"Sure, Phil. You want some water?" Grief nodded yes, scratching his curly beard. "Hold on. Phil, I'll get it. You refill my coffee."
"What flavor?"
"Coffee flavor, what do you think? What are you, bananas?" Both men left the interrogation room, the younger man speeding out the door first.
The room was still except for the hum from the fluorescent lights above him. Grief put his head down on the desk, rubbed the back of his head to relieve the tension.
He heard the door click open again, sat upright and exhaled.
"That was fast," he said.
"Hey," she said. "Service with a smile."
Grief shot up from his seat to look upon a radiant sixty year old woman, arms folded before her, leaning against the wall next to the door.
Shaggy long hair cascaded over her shoulders, gray streaks scattered here and there in it with gray eyes to match. She was swathed in bright pink mid-sleeve tee-shirt, pants and knee-length boots, a cape behind her back, a bulky wide white belt girding her waist. A pair of black gauntlets with white square buttons covered her bare lower arms. A stylized logo of three letters, two capital Ms and a capital C, lay in a white circle in the middle of her bosom.
"Sit down," she barked. "Now!"
He plopped back down, pushed the chair against the wall. His mouth hung open for what felt like an eternity.
"Weird nickname you got," she said, her voice now softer. "Grief? Who gave you that tag?"
"Ah...my dad...when I was ten," he gasped. "Cause I gave him nothing but grief when I screwed up."
"Which was all the time in his eyes, right?"
"Yeah...yeah." He stopped to gulp down a breath or two. "You're not an...urban legend...then?"
"I don't look like an Elvis sighting, do I?"
"Then...you're...real?"
"Ever since the mid-Seventies," she grinned. "Oh and yeah, they're still getting your water." She heard a loud set of raps behind her. "Come in, Julia."
The door opened again, a tall thin younger woman entering the room, dressed also in pink with a similar logo on her chest. Her shirt was sleeveless, her pair of black gauntlets ending in silver triangles near the wrists. Her pink boots were thigh-high, covered in a knee length skirt of the same hue with a similar white belt. Her navel-length hair was straighter, smoother and shinier, a Cleopatra-style cut at the bangs. Her intense blue eyes peered at him.
Grief gulped down his shock. "Two...two of you?"
"Not really," she said, hands on hips. "Jasmine, get in here."
A third woman walked in, even younger looking than the second, holding a plush Persian cat in her arms. Grief could spy the logo behind the cat on her pink jacket, white buttons fastening it on her left side. Her black gauntlets had one white button and stripe on each pair. Her skirt was ankle-length, brushing the tops of her pink ankle boots. Her elbow-length hair curled at the ends, green eyes sparkling.
The cat purred low and satisfied, as she gently scratched his ears.
"Oh God," he squeaked. "Three? Seriously?"
"Seriously," she murmured. "You're not hallucinating."
"A whole host of cats," said the oldest of the trio. "Rare breeds, stolen from God knows where, to be sold to the highest bidders on the sly. Man, that's cold."
"How...how did you know..."
"News travels fast in certain circles," said Julia. "Look, buddy, you're staring at...let me see...at least ten years for stupid stuff like this, maybe more. Throw in your good old fashioned police chase that we three stopped in mid-flight and that's...another year or two in the pen. Maybe. On top of that, you ruined a good 'girls-night-out' with my mother and daughter in the process. That's just evil, buster."
"Huh?" he said, pointing to the eldest of the trio. "She's your...mother?"
"No, she's my great aunt Matilda from Cleveland, ha-ha-ha."
"Julia, please?"
"Okay, okay. Now I figure you know others behind this idiocy. Suppliers, buyers, your boss and his or her boss and so on. You might get off with a reduced sentence if your cough up the details to the cops here."
She pointed a finger at him. "Save yourself a lot of embarrassment too in the public eye. Doing hard time for stealing cats? They'd laugh at you in the pen from now to Judgment Day."
"I figure," said the elder lady, "you hate being embarrassed. Your nickname alone irks you, right? Grief? What's your real name?"
"Willie. So...what's yours?"
"Juniper. I'm named after a tree. What can I say, my parents were hippies. So was I. So what?"
"Look, spill the beans," said Julia, "and I'm sure the gang here may ease up on you. That's 'may', not 'will'. That all depends on you."
"If it will help you confess your guilt easier," said Jasmine, snuggling the Persian. "We'll tell you why we're called what we're called."
"Um...well...sure."
"One, we're called 'Miss', not 'Ms.', because we're not feminists. Two, the Captain term is a tribute to all those comic book heroes with that title. And three?"
She walked up to him, the feline rubbing himself against her arm. She bent down to his ear, cleared her throat.
"We're...NOT...from...Mars," she whispered, smiling.
He shuddered as she turned away toward the door, embracing the cat close to her heart.
"Your call, man," said Juniper, opening the door for her granddaughter. "Give yourself a break, okay?"
"Final piece of advice," said Julia, following her out. "Get a better nickname. Later."
"Ah...yeah...right..."
"We'll make sure you get your water," said Juniper, fixing her cape. "Call your lawyer yesterday, if you get my drift."
"Um...gotcha. Thanks." He wiped his brow as the last lady in pink left the room.
The cat mewed in Jasmine's embrace, stretching a paw toward her cheeks.
"I bet you say that to every bi-pedal hominid with an immortal soul that lives on after death, don't you now, hmm?" she whispered. "I bet you do. I bet you do."
"Jazz, you say that to every cat you hug," her mother said, smiling.
"True, true," she murmured. "One of my many character flaws, I guess." Catching the eye of the elder detective, coffee cup in hand, she walked up to him. "Sir, do you know anyone here who'll take care of this little fellow?"
"He looks more mid-size to me," he chuckled. "Yeah, I'm sure we got somebody here to look after him." His partner walked up beside him, two water bottles in his hands.
"Jack, I'm sure this loser will talk," said Julia, sticking a thumb towards the door. "Nobody will believe him if he says anything about us though."
"The benefits of being an urban legend." Jack looked over his shoulder. "Phil, you had a question for 'em?"
"Might sound dumb, but I gotta ask it," he said. "Don't you gotta file a flight plan with the FAA before you...um...take-off or something?"
Jasmine giggled, covering her mouth with a free hand.
"No, thank God," said Juniper. "If we tried, they'd laugh us out the door."
"Okay, Mrs. Harrington, we'll take it from here," said Jack. "On behalf of the police department...off the record, of course...thanks again for your help."
"No problem."
"I don't know, mom," Julia said, holding the precinct door open for Juniper and Jasmine. "Does it seem to you that the crooks are getting dumber every year?"
"Honey, they've always been dumb. At least the majority have been, and as long as I've worn the cape, so to speak."
"Stealing cats for money?" asked Jasmine, picking strands of fur off her jacket. "Are they that desperate for cash?"
"More like greedy for it. They figure the cops wouldn't be that suspicious over this caper rather than them selling drugs or something else."
Julia shook her head as she exited the building, the crisp night air kissing her cheeks. "Guys like him make me wish sometimes I could cancel my membership to the human race."
"Yeah? How much you'd think you'd get for a refund? Who'd you get it from? What would you spend your cash on? Anything you'd want to buy is all geared for humans."
"Exercise in futility," said Jasmine, touching her gauntlets. "Hover on?"
"Slow down, Jazz. We synchronize our liftoff routine, remember? Ready, mom?"
"Answer my questions first, honey."
"Do I have to?"
"If you still want to have a girls-night-out while we can. Why let these cat-nappers ruin our fun?"
"What were we going to do anyway?"
"My question?" she said, releasing the door.
"Alright, mom. Nothing, no one and nothing."
"Thank you, sweetie. Hover on." The trio touched their left gauntlets, a low hum filling their ears with sound. Their boots glowed soft pink as their feet left the ground.
"I was thinking when we get back home," Juniper said. "We change into our 'civilian clothes', so to speak, and head for that new restaurant on the East Side. Rumors are they have the best jambalaya this side of New Orleans."
"Ooh, sounds heavenly." The trio leaned forward, pushed their arms out and away from them as if swimming in a pool. They floated up and away from the police building, drifting into the star-spangled velvet above them.
"And Jasmine, before I forget," said Julia. "Remember to feed Socrates before we leave, okay?"
"Tuna or chicken this time?"
"Didn't eat the tuna last night. He's on a chicken kick this week. He's got to tire of it sometime."
"And check on our kitty litter supply," said Juniper. "It's looking pretty low."
"Okay, Grandma."
"Cruising speed when we reach one hundred feet. Shields up." They touched their right gauntlets, the hum around them growing stronger. A soft pink oval bubble of energy surrounded each of them, as they flattened out in the air, arms extended.
"Flight mode in three...two...one...Now!"
All three pushed their arms to their sides, speeding into the night, leaving a loud whoosh in their wake.
THE END