Disclaimer: See Chapter 1
Chapter 11—Collateral Damage
Rick lay on his stomach, sound asleep, the covers up around his bare shoulders. The vivid dream he'd been having caused him to twitch. Now there was a strange clicking that had become the background noise in his dream. He grimaced and shifted onto his side.
Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk!
Years as a police officer made him suspicious of any out-of-place sights or sounds, even in his sleep. He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. Through bleary eyes, he saw that the clock read twelve-thirty.
Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk!
He yawned and rubbed his eyes. "The hell is that?"
Silence.
Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk!
It was coming from the bathroom. He was feeling that pressure on his bladder and figured now was a good time to find out whether maybe he had a leaky faucet or if maybe more mice had found their way in. Slowly he got up and stumbled along the floor, following the nightlight in the bathroom.
Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk! Tuk!
He snapped on the bathroom light.
Blizzard was on the rim of the toilet, her head down. She looked up, but then her weight shifted, causing her to lose her footing. She slipped and landed in the toilet with a splash and a howl, splashing the wall and the floor.
Rick squinted in the brightness as he ran over to the toilet. Blizzard howled and flailed, baptizing him. He reached his arm in and fished out the wet cat, holding her by the scruff of the neck. She flailed wildly in the air, trying to grab anything, spraying more water on the wall, the floor, and an annoyed IAB agent. Rather than be stung with those claws again, he reflexively dropped her. She left a trail of water on the floor as she bolted out of the bathroom.
"Hey! You got—" He tried to run after her to keep her from causing yet another mess, but she was gone. He grabbed a towel and cursed under his breath as he looked around at the walls and at himself. "Stupid cat!"
The silence was deafening in Rick Stetler's living room. He was tired and grouchy from being awake half the night, thanks to Blizzard's near-drowning. His black, wavy hair poked out. He hadn't shaven yet. The washer could be heard rattling down the hall, washing the clothes and towels he'd used to mop up the bathroom and carpet. He took a sip of his coffee and slapped the blue mug down on the desk, nearly breaking it. He scowled at the red, yellow, white and brown shreds that had once been his chance to stick it to Horatio Caine. His bloodshot eyes looked at the torn file and then at the pieces of tape. This would have to do until he could get certified copies.
"I'm stuck here babysitting a cat who trashes my house and wakes me up, and I gotta tape a whole file back together! See what you did?"
Ayr?
"Get out of here! You made another mess!"
Mrrrm?
Rick took a deep breath and looked down at the hopeful blue eyes. "No! Go away! I fed you! Like if it's not IAB crap, it's you trashing my house!"
But Rick couldn't help it. Those blue eyes seemed to apologize. It was as though deep down, Blizzard knew she'd caused him grief, but she didn't understand how or why. Her white tail waved in the air as she rubbed against his bare ankle. He could feel his anger slipping away. "Go away!"
Blizzard sat by his bare feet and casually licked her paws. She seemed to know she had him. Rick turned his attention back to the pile of torn papers. "I bet Caine never had to put a report back together. Never had a cat puke a hairball on his chair" he growled.
Two white paws now hooked onto the edge of the table, claws out. Blizzard seemed to have more trouble jumping up on things lately. "Here. Come on." With a sigh he wrapped his hands around her white girth and hoisted her up. "You fat cat."
Blizzard sat at the edge of the table and scrutinized everything.
"Do you approve of the job I'm doing?"
She then came up and rubbed her forehead on his forearm. With two fingers he rubbed her between her pinkish-white ears. She tipped her head up toward his hand and closed her eyes, almost smiling. She moved her head so that his fingers rubbed the short fur above her eyes and on her nose. She then lowered her head and moved forward, letting him rub her shoulders. He responded by taking both hands and kneading her muscles.
"Why do you aggravate me like this?"
She then lay on her side, her eyes closed, kneading the air. Her front paws stood up in the air. Her tail patted the desk.
"You like that, don't you? I can hear that little purr motor." Before Rick knew it, he was leaning over her and talking in baby talk. "Yes. Listen to that little purr motor. Daddy hears that little purr motor going." Quickly he cleared his throat. The head of Internal Affairs didn't speak baby talk to anyone, least of all a fat white cat.
He couldn't help it. She just looked so sweet with those blue eyes closed. Relaxed. Lying on her side next to him on his desk. Without warning she opened her eyes and started to wash her paws. She was like a white furry baby.
Rick nodded at the torn-up report. "You know, for such a cute cat, you sure can do some damage. Look at this. Makes me wonder whose side you're on." He dipped his head. "Looks like you solved three murders. You solved my break-in."
Blizzard slowly rolled over, sat up, and washed her side.
The IAB agent held up a pink shred of paper. "You see what you did? You're destructive."
Blizzard looked at the paper, ignoring him.
"Yeah! You did that! I'd like to know how the hell I'm supposed to do an investigation."
The white cat looked down thoughtfully at the pile of shredded papers. She pawed another pink piece of paper and picked it up in her teeth. Rick grabbed it.
"Hey! Gimme that!"
Those blue eyes looked at him defiantly as she refused to let go. Rick leveled his eyes at hers and held his face just inches away. "Give me that!"
Blizzard opened her mouth as he pulled the paper away. "You drooled on it!" he sneered as he held up the wet paper with two fingers. But then something caught his attention.
"Hmm. Inventory sheet from the evidence locker. Detective Stephen French had accused Caine of mishandling the evidence in James O'Brien's death, but here it says he went into the evidence. Doesn't have a date." He looked at the hopeful white cat again. "Don't suppose you can help me dig up a date in that pile."
Her blue eyes looked at him and then at the piece of paper.
"Guess I should thank you. And talk to Detective French."
The officer unbuckled his shoulder holster and placed it into the locker. He then held his arms out as a corrections guard ran the wand over him. He had worked homicide for much of his life, and it showed in his face. He'd seen all the ways humans could kill each other. Many times the only words he had for the grieving families was "I'm sorry for your loss." Risking his life to haul in the same dirtball every few years, only to watch a judge cut him loose on a technicality. His reddish-brown hair was mussed, and he had a bald spot. He looked tired, angry.
"Go on in, Detective" the guard said.
He nodded and sat at the booth.
Dean Cresswell wore an orange Dade County jumpsuit as he limped to the booth. He sported a red scratch and bruises under his eye. The cockiness he once had as a phony officer was a memory now as he sat down painfully and picked up the phone.
"Looks like they did a number on you."
He took a deep breath. "Couple of guys beat me up."
"Yeah well, word gets around GP when the new meat's a cop. Real or fake."
The man just stared in a dazed silence as he held the phone to his ear. This was more than he bargained for, and this officer didn't seem to care.
"You screwed up, Kid. All you had to do was go in there, get the cat, get the info, and then give it a swimming lesson. How hard was that?"
"I didn't know that vet was gonna be there."
His jaded blue eyes blazed at him as he leaned forward to make his point. "So you let everybody know you were a fake badge when you let her spook you! Now the MDPD's all over the place, and they got the head of IAB babysitting her! Donovan's been breathing down my neck for that info, and I can't get to it, and it's gonna be a matter of time before Stetler wants to talk to me! You and your buddy were supposed to help me! That's what you got paid for, but you were running around with a fake badge like Halloween!"
Dean Cresswell seemed to want to do something—jump through the plexiglass, scratch and scream, run, anything. But the reality was sinking in that he might be there for life, and this was just the beginning. He was hoping this cop could somehow help him. "So now what?"
"I'll get the cat just long enough to download the info and deal with Stetler." He started to stand up.
Dean Cresswell looked up at him wide-eyed. "What about me?"
"Hey, you screwed up! Get a good lawyer!" With that the man hung up the phone and walked away.