Long Arm of the Law 2.

Officers Hewitt and Brown walked the beat. Hewitt was a rookie, his short Ursine legs still gracing him with a cocky stroll that the older officer, Brown, had seen in a 100 other rookies who knew they were going places. He tried not to hate that self-assurance.

As a mammal, a big Bruin like Hewitt was certainly more likely to become a detective than a Reptile like Brown. Brown was a career beat and traffic cop. One step above a mall cop. Any warm blooded cop with his record and experience would have been promoted to training at the academy or some sort of desk job by now. Maybe even a homicide detective Instead, he walked a beat and waited for the day he'd fail some physical or vision exam and they'd force him to retire. It happened to Repts on the job all the time.

Still, Hewitt was an OK sort. It wasn't his fault the world was the way it was. And if it was a perfect world, they wouldn't need cops and Brown didn't know what he'd be if he couldn't be a cop. Would a perfect world need Firemen? EMTs?

Enough useless thinking.

Mr. Alma's shop was still closed. His wife must still be sick. He glanced into the space before the steel grille and the wooden doors. Same litter from yesterday. Ten years ago, one of the Alma kids would have been out here keeping it neat and clean. Brown's talonned fingers checked the lock. No one's fiddled with it since yesterday. In the old days, they'd have checked on the Almas within a day or two of the store closing. They lived locally. But Mrs Alma had never trusted him or his kind. She'd think he was casing the joint, or whatever television called planning a robbery these days.

Still, Mr Alma was all right.

The next two stores were open and brightly lit. The first one was a comic book shop. Canine owner. Retro-Hipster type. In another hour, he'd be closing up. That's when he'd be most vulnerable then, Brown made a note automatically of the four young male furs inside. The trend of wearing just pants dropped under the tail was enjoying a resurgence among the power crowd. As a rept who kept his own manhood tucked politely out of view, he found this totally distasteful. He knew it shouldn't but a fashion choice like that invoked distrust, too.

The second store, a former bagel shop reborn as a coffee and toast cafe, was enjoying a brisk trade after dinner. Wi-fi spots in this neighborhood were still unique enough to attract customers with a coins in their pockets. You could nurse a three dollar cup of joe for hours and check out the buzz or the feed or whatever kids called "logging in" these days.

His eyes took in the sights. Seven customers – five males – three cats, two dogs – four females – two dogs, one civet, one ape... the ape slumming with her girlfriend, a dog that Brown thought might live or work nearby. Three employees. One cat; delivery person; male, fourth week on the job or so. Brown knew him from repeated attempts to keep from riding his bike on the sidewalk. One ape, Cashier, glancing at the female ape, not quite resentful. Confused. One Raccoon stocking the rolls and the breads. Not sure... maybe male. Maybe Female. Clean apron in the way, new employee, he supposed.

"Hungry?" Hewitt asked as he stopped and looked back. Brown wasn't sure if there was a teasing tone to his inquiry.

Brown shook his head and moved on. "Just wondering what happened to the baker they had before."

"The Gecko with the pretty eyes?" Hewitt took two steps back and looked into the window. "Maybe she's just got the day off."

The Bruin gained a few points with that on several levels. He hadn't been sure the rookie had been paying attention to the neighborhood these past two weeks. "Well, I'm sure HE'LL be happy to hear you like his pretty eyes, Officer Hewitt."

Hewitt smiled with blush to his inner ears. "I get points for knowing that HE was a Gecko, don't I?"

"You do, yes," Brown nodded. It seemed like a good time to open the bag of worms. "You know many Repts or do you just have an eye for..."

Hewitt barked a laugh. "'Hey, some of my best friends are cold-blooded?' No, but I was an art student before I decided to become a cop. I had one teacher that went out of her way to bring in Rept models. She never made a big deal of it; but I think she wanted us to really learn how to look at people. All sorts of people. Most people... most mammals... are lazy with identification... they notice species, sex, fur color, clothing, height, weight, and eye color... in that order more or less." Hewitt shook his head, "I could tell my classmates didn't much look pass sex and species when they looked at a Rept. Made me sad."

"Only two weeks in and already you are kissing up to your partner." Brown didn't really want to hear about Warm Guilt. Brown didn't really want to create any tension with this CubCop, either, but neither did he want his partner trying to guess his species. His species wasn't just some box on a checklist for people to check off like some sort of scavenger hunt or an inventory. As much as he wished it amounted to nothing, his species meant everything.

The differences were trivial and sometimes merely cosmetic, but they could be life shattering. He'd had the wrong gun for his first three years; his right hand talons had to be filed down in ridiculous cuts so he could get a good grip. If his second partner, Poole, hadn't had some pull with Police One, he'd still have the Standard Talon 9mm Issue. It was a nice utilitarian handgun but the thumb safety meant he had to use both hands to make the weapon fire-able... or be one of those cops that kept the safety off, ready-to-fire. The X-3 Sharp Talon 9mm was a much better fit; with a thumb slide where his thumb actually was. The balance was a tad off as the trigger guard was larger and thicker than standard, but he'd easily compensated. His scores had suffered briefly, but his confidence had soared.

There was an awkward silence as if the young Ursine was trying to read Brown's thoughts from his face. Unlikely, given that Brown's face was even less emotive than most Repts. Brown was certain his voice had carried just the right amount of human to convey "back off, I don't know you that well yet" without closing the door to possible friendship beyond work partners.

They walked passed a few more closed shops. Some had finished for the day. Others for the foreseeable future. Hewitt appeared neither hurt nor encouraged by the silence. Civilians skirted out of their way, but without resentment. Eye contact was rare; but apathy was a few steps up from this first years on the beat. No one was in a rush; people lived in this neighborhood. They got by. Most of the people who worked in the few shops here lived in yet poorer neighborhoods.

Class, he reminded himself, wasn't always about the twists of your gene pool.

"So," Brown found himself saying, "how'd an art student end up on the job?"

"My whole family's been Blue for generations, since around the time the Dead Rabbits and the Bowery started going after each other. Roosevelt brought my great-great granddad and his brothers in. Not because they were strong and fierce, but because they were all educated. Educated cops were unheard of in Old Gnu York back then. It's been the tradition, but I was a rebel. I was an artiste. My dad was supportive..." Hewitt pulled his lips back and spoke in another's gruff voice. "If it doesn't pan out, you can always become a police artist." Hewitt looked embarrassed, and returned to his normal voice. "But my older brothers lost their lives when the Starfish attacked and my younger brother... about two years ago... he started getting, what they call, Starry-Eyed."

Brown nodded. The Starfish was an alien hive-mind but it was also, in some versions, a seven story tall creature of mass destruction. A lot of first responders had lost their lives trying to contain the monster. Others had been mind raped and puppeted. In hours, the most amazing collection of Zoos, Sports, and Mutants had banded together to send the thing back where it had come from. People were free of control within hours, unaware of what they'd been doing... or who'd they'd been doing it do.

But a few of the victims started hearing echoes of the Starfish. The most popular theory was that the repressed memory was returning in drips and pieces. Another was that some people had figured out what they had been done through their hands and guilt was eating at them. This second seemed most likely to Brown.

But there was a third explanation that Brown didn't like to consider... that the Starfish, wherever It was, whatever had become of It, was reaching across miles and dimensions trying to wrest back control.

A few of the Starry-Eyed believed that last one; blinding and maiming themselves so as not to betray Earth.

The frightening thing was, one in four missed gouging out their left eyes, but were convinced they'd were totally blind, without eyes of their own. And, maybe they were right.

"You can't let someone like that have a gun," Brown said bluntly.

"Nooo," Hewitt said softly, "No you cannot. So, Bobby drummed out and I joined the force... but I think I would have joined up anyway." Hewitt looked at Brown with a warm smile. "Art wasn't really panning out."