~ ~ Previously ~ ~
Lester pushed the door open and stepped over the sill.
Without hesitation, the cat strolled in with him, cutting in front of Tank. It didn't pause after it crossed the threshold but kept going, exuding a confidence that made him think of some of the better officers he'd served with. Its head moved from side to side, looking around as it ventured into the living room. It made a beeline to the sofa where it jumped up and made itself comfortable. It looked back at them, where they still stood in the doorway.
"Well," said Lester, "you better name it because I think we have ourselves a cat."
CH 3: Powers Revealed
~ ~ Back To Present Day ~ ~
"So the cat just walked in and never left?" asked Stephanie.
"Yep," confirmed Tank. "Just made himself at home. I took him to the vet to scan for a microchip, but he didn't have one. Vet said he was fully adult. Could have been anywhere from two years old to ten years old but there was no way to really tell."
"No one responded to the flyers we put up around the neighborhood," added Bobby. "So, we all chipped in and got him vaccinated, microchipped, and neutered." He shook his head. "All those needles. Not the friendliest way to enter a new home but definitely necessary."
"Yeah," said Lester. "Welcome to the family. Sorry about your balls."
"Hey, we gave him a name befitting his gravitas," said Ranger. "Julius - like Julius Caesar, Emperor of Rome."
Lester dug around the cushions under him, found the large paper clip from earlier, and chucked it at Ranger. It bounced off Ranger's shoulder and ended up in one of Stephanie's shopping bags.
"Oh please," said Lester. "You wanted to call him Julius because he's orange and you liked the pun. Orange Julius? The special drink Abuela would make us on Sundays if we were really good at mass? That Orange Julius?"
"You?" Steph exclaimed mockingly as she twisted to look at Ranger. "Made a pun?"
"Babe." The look he gave her was the equivalent of tossing a paper clip.
"The one time you were being goofy," she teased him, "and I missed it!"
"Hey, I can be lighthearted when appropriate," Ranger asserted.
"Yeah, Steph," laughed Lester. "Just ask our Abuela about –" He stopped talking but kept grinning when he got hit in the chest with a mechanical pencil thrown by Ranger. "What, is your arm too short to reach the stapler?"
Steph poked Ranger in the side before he could respond. "Hush, you guys. I want to hear the rest of this."
He mouthed "Sorry" and wrapped his arms around her. Steph shifted in his lap so she could lean back against his chest and laid her arms atop his.
She turned to Tank. "Okay. Now I know how he got there. But how did he get to be Judgey McJudgerson?"
"Well," said Tank, "he'd been with us a few months. Long enough to get about a dozen nicknames though Blockhead is the one that stuck the most. He got to know the regular visitors - friends, poker buddies, and so on.
"Just like now, he would greet everyone who came to the house or at least check them out. After he said hello, he usually headed back to his seat on the couch.
"Most people he ignored once he greeted them. Some he really liked and would rub his head on them or hang out with them. But a couple of them, you could tell he didn't like them. He'd glare at them or swipe at an ankle or wouldn't let them pat him. That kind of thing. Then, one poker night …"
~ ~ About Seven And A Half-ish Years Ago ~ ~
This was the kind of poker night that Tank liked.
The wings were hot, the beer was cold, and they had a full table going. Eight seats and enough participants that people could rotate in or out. Play awhile, then take a break to watch the football game on the TV in the other room, or hit the potluck buffet set out on the kitchen counter, or just hang out and chat. Everyone was in high spirits, joking and laughing. It was more like a house party that happened to have a poker game going.
Like all good things, it had to end, although it wasn't there quite yet. The football game was long over and the TV turned off. Most of the snacks and drinks were gone by 1:30 a.m. and the bulk of the guests cleared out soon after. Tank grabbed a trash bag and began to police the area again. The majority of the clean up had been done earlier and he already had the dishwasher going with the first load. As he moved through the house he assessed the current status of the party.
Lester was slouched in the overstuffed chair in the living room with his head tipped nearly horizontal to rest on the low chair-back. His long legs were stretched straight out, crossed at the ankles, and his arms were crossed over his chest. One hand was tucked into his armpit. The other clutched a half-full bottle of beer. His eyes were closed and he was snoring softly. The open bottle of beer in his hand remained unwaveringly upright.
Ranger was tucked into a corner of the couch. A soldier named Rita from the 82nd Airborne was on the other end of the couch. Ranger had kicked his boots off. One leg was down with his foot on the floor. The other was up on the seat cushion with knee bent and his foot tucked under his other knee. His left arm lay across the back of the couch while he gestured with the right. The woman mirrored him in her corner of the couch. Apparently Ranger had found another medieval siege warfare buff to discuss the joys of trebuchets and shit like that.
The only other people in the house were at the poker table, five strong.
There were quite a few empty bottles by Bobby's elbow. While his poker face was still firmly set, his eyes were starting to droop. Bobby had two modes - on or off. When deployed, he could keep going and going, turning on beast mode to stay active for hours longer than most people. But when he hit his limit, it was nearly instant lights out. Knowing Bobby, Tank figured he had about twenty minutes left before he crashed.
Tank had noticed that Swain and Cobb had been at the table most of the night with just the occasional break. Those two usually hung around together so if you saw Swain then Cobb was likely nearby and vice versa. They were about the same height and build. Even their facial features were similar but Swain had pale skin and dark blond hair whereas Cobb had olive skin and black hair.
The pair of them had been floating around the base long enough to feel like more than acquaintances. Yet they'd never been in the same training schools or units as Tank or others, so they definitely weren't friends. Mostly, they ran across each other around the area whenever people got together to watch sports on game night or for poker nights or house parties in general. Apparently Swain and Cobb were quite the social butterflies.
Duncan … Something was across from Swain. Or was Duncan his last name making him Something Duncan? Tank didn't care one way or another. The guy was rumpled and sweaty and was rapidly jiggling his right leg. He didn't look too good. Better not puke on the table or anywhere else in the house. Tank would throw his ass outside before he'd let that happen. Duncan was a smaller guy, maybe 5 feet 9 inches and average build, so it wouldn't be an issue.
The fifth person at the table was a mechanic from the motor pool. Tall fellow with dark skin and darker hair. Went by the name of Junior. Did good work on the vehicles or anything else with an engine. He was meticulous and thorough. The guy was about to go through Ranger School and had come to Tank for advice. Tank got a good vibe from him. Reliable. Intelligent. Solid. Worth keeping an eye on as a possible addition to the teams.
As he circled the room collecting trash, Tank noticed an orange striped tail sticking out from under an empty chair next to Cobb. The end of the tail was snapping from side to side in a way that usually signaled irritation. Hmm … better not be a sign of trouble starting.
Swain and Cobb were two of the folks that Blockhead didn't seem to like. It started the very first time the cat met them and never improved. In fact, the last time they came for poker night, Blockhead kept swiping his claws at their pant legs until Tank locked the cat in his room upstairs. Now here he was parked next to one and in easy reach of the other. Hopefully, Blockhead wasn't going to get into more mischief like that.
A strident tone drew Tank's attention to the conversation at the table. Seemed like Junior and Bobby were trying to talk Duncan out of betting and Duncan wasn't having it.
"What are you, my mom?" Duncan sneered. His words were slurred, his eyes red rimmed. "This is between me and Cobb."
Junior spoke in a reasonable tone. "That's true but at some point you're just throwing good money after bad."
"Maybe it's time to cut your losses instead of getting in deeper," added Bobby.
Duncan snarled, "You calling me a loser?"
"No, not saying that."
Before Bobby could continue, Swain interrupted.
"What's it to you if Donut here wants to write an IOU? The only thing that matters is whether he," Swain pointed at Cobb, "will take it."
"It's no different than cashing a check." Cobb spoke as if he was addressing the room, but he focused his friendly smile on Duncan. "You give me the IOU. I hand you the cash. You get to keep playing. If you win, you can buy back your IOU now. Otherwise, we'll meet up in the next day or two and take care of it then, right?"
"It's no big deal," said Swain. "What are friends for?" With a pointed look at Bobby and Junior he added, "Nobody's business but yours, isn't it?"
Duncan was nodding along as Cobb and Swain spoke. "No big deal. Nobody's business but mine. Let's do it again. Give me the pen and paper."
With a big smile, Cobb reached for the big pocket on the leg of his cargo pants. "OW! FUCK!" He jumped up out of the chair, shaking his hand. "What the fuck?" There were four bloody scratches across his wrist and down the outside edge of his hand.
Oh, shit. Tank hurried forward but a deep growl from under the chair stopped him from reaching for the cat. The sound brought the rest of the players to their feet, chairs shoved back scraping loudly as they hastily stepped away from the table.
Cobb glared at Tank and yelled, "Your fucking dog bit me."
Lester's voice came from the doorway. "It's a cat, you idiot, and he scratched you."
A quick glance showed Lester, Ranger, and Rita standing together, drawn by the commotion.
"Well get it away from me!" Cobb leaned over, trying to see under the table without getting too close.
"We'll sue you for this," threatened Swain.
Oh, shit. Tank could feel a headache coming on. Shit. Shit. SHIT. He put his hands up, palm out, in the Peaceful Negotiator position the army had taught him. He got no farther than "Why don't we – " when all hell broke loose.
Blockhead was a large orange blur as he charged out from under the table straight for Cobb, who yelped in surprise and nearly tripped over his own feet trying to back away. Tank knew better than to reach for an angry cat so he yelled at Bobby, who was closest to the kitchen, to grab the broom.
Cobb was shaking his leg, trying to fling off the cat but the motion made Blockhead cling tighter, his claws digging deeper. Swain learned the hard way that anything put in the path of a rampaging animal is going to get attacked and ended up with his own set of bloody scratches.
"Tank! Here!" Ranger tossed the heavy afghan from the back of the couch.
Tank quickly folded it into a thick layer. It should stop Blockhead's claws and maybe dull the teeth but it wouldn't completely stop a bite. He'd have to be careful about how he grabbed the cat.
Blockhead was still latched onto Cobb's leg, biting and clawing at the pocket on his cargo pants. The yowling war cry of a cat in full fury was terrifying on a primitive level. It gave Tank goosebumps and kept the others from approaching.
Using the afghan, Tank grabbed the cat under the armpits and pulled. As he lifted the cat, the tattered fabric of the cargo pocket tore wide open. A small pad of paper, a pen, two markers, and a few playing cards spilled out. Tank got a glimpse of high value face cards.
Everyone but Blockhead froze for a moment as they stared at the items scattered around the floor.
Lester was first to move. He pinned Cobb to the floor and said "Let's see what's in the other pockets. Tank, would you do the honors?"
"Give me a sec."
The closest room with a door was the half-bath in the hall. Tank tossed Blockhead in there, blanket and all, and quickly shut him in then hurried back to the others.
While Tank was securing the cat, Swain tried to sidle out of the dining room but Ranger pinned him down before he got two steps away. Bobby had returned with the broom as Tank had grabbed Blockhead. Now, he set the broom aside and went through Swain's pockets. They were stuffed with the same things.
Rita and Junior gathered everything together. They set it all at one of the empty spots on the table, being careful to keep Swain's stuff separate from Cobb's.
Duncan dropped back into his chair like his knees had given out. He sat there in his own little world, sniffling occasionally, and saying nothing.
~ ~ To Be Continued ~ ~