Chapter 15

"Thank God we finally get a day off," Peter mumbled as he groped around the edge of his bed for clothes. When his fingers brushed against an old, sweaty white t-shirt, a pair of jeans with spaghetti sauce smeared on one knee, and two mismatched socks, he threw them on. The shirt was backwards, one sock was inside-out, and his fly was open.

Bruno, who was still fast asleep in the other half of the bed, groaned and pulled more covers over himself. Peter chuckled, walked into the bathroom, and turned on the sink so water trickled from the faucet. Cupping his hands, he waited until he had a generous handful of water before splashing it on his face. Feeling a little more alive, Peter shaved with an old razor, cursing every time the dull blades caught on his skin. He made a mental note to buy new razors after the movie.

By the time Peter had scraped his face clean, Bruno rolled out of bed, yawned noisily, and stumbled into the bathroom. He cranked the water onto full blast until drops splashed all over the bathroom, dunked his face under the rushing cold water, and came away with his face sopping wet. Bruno took a brush, jerked it through his tangled hair a few times, and took a long drink from the tap.

While Bruno filled the bathtub, Peter started two burners and greased two stainless steel frying pans. On one, he set a box of frozen sausages in a row and rolled them in their own melting grease. On the other, he rubbed a dollop of butter around with a plastic spatula until the pan had a thick coating and cracked four eggs over the sizzling butter. He let them sit while he threw two pieces of flimsy bread into a toaster.

When the toast popped out, blackened and crunchy, Peter slathered butter and strawberry jam on each. Then he took a bottle of Tabasco sauce from the fridge, drizzled it over the eggs, and slid them out of the pan. He set two plates, cut the group of sunny-side eggs in half with the spatula, and pushed them onto each plate. Then he added equal portions of sausage and toast, put the plates on the old, care-worn wooden table, and poured two glasses of orange juice.

By the time he was done, Bruno had finished his bath. His glittering blue fur clung tightly like a damp towel, despite the liberal use of two hair dryers. He sniffed the air, which was laden with grease and charred grain, and sat at the table. Peter joined him. Together, they wolfed down breakfast, leaving nothing on the plastic plates but minuscule black crumbs and a faint yellow sheen of egg yolk.

Peter glanced at the clock and felt his stomach drop. It was half past two in the afternoon. He bolted from the table, rummaged around his dresser for the movie tickets, and saw that the movie started in twenty minutes. Halfway to the door, he noticed his dirty apparel. He threw off the spaghetti-encrusted jeans and sweaty t-shirt, dug fresher attire out of his dresser, and threw them on, twirling the shirt around his neck so it faced forward. He left the bedroom, but remembering his little black book, he darted back in and shoved it in a pants pocket. Bruno, noticing his sudden rush, also threw on a black shirt and shorts.

Together, they sprinted out the door, down the manicured sidewalks of the city neighborhood, and arrived, breathless, with five minutes to spare, at the newest movie theater. Its opening premiere, for a long-awaited science-fiction sequel, loomed on an enormous digital screen over the entrance. A thick line of people crowded the huge glass doors of the entrance, and an army of red-vested cashiers rushed to get them seated.

After a four minute wait, Peter and Bruno reached the front of the line. Peter handed the cashier their pre-paid tickets.

"Where's the second person?" she asked.

Peter glanced around in confusion. Then he smiled and pointed at Bruno. The cashier frowned and pointed at a sign next to the register. It read, "All Pokémon must remain in their pokéballs."

"He's city-certified for facility access," Peter said, showing the cashier a plastic card outlining Bruno's information.

The cashier took the card and glanced at it. "Well, I guess I can call the manager over. Do you mind waiting by the side while I take care of the others?"

Peter glanced back at the line behind him. Angry glances met his eye, and a few people impatiently checked their watches.

"You know what? I've changed mind. I'd like a refund for these tickets."

"I'm sorry, we don't do refunds either," the cashier said.

Peter felt anger swelling in his chest, like a draft of hot air from a fire. Bruno flicked his ears and glanced anxiously at him. Peter was debating what rebuke to throw at the cashier when he remembered the Chief's warning. With a glance towards Bruno, Peter relaxed his grip on the crumpled tickets, closed his eyes, and took a slow, deep breath, counting every second while focusing on the gentle rush of air past his lips. Then he placed the tickets on the counter, turned around, and left.

Peter strode past the line and bulldozed through the pedestrian-choked sidewalks. Bruno followed after him, ducking and weaving through his wake. After a few minutes, they reached a coffee shop. Peter took the nearest seat, curtly ordered two coffees, and took the black book out of his pants pocket. On each page was a Sudoku puzzle, a nine by nine grid dotted with thick black numbers. Peter patted his pockets for a pencil, and Bruno handed him one of his. Leafing through the pages until he found an unfinished puzzle, Peter leaned over it, ignoring his coffee until he had every square filled. Then he chugged the coffee, wiped his face on his sleeve, leaned back, and smiled.

Bruno scribbled a note and passed it to Peter. It read, "You didn't have to give up your ticket."

"We're partners," Peter said. "We do everything together, or not at all."

Bruno took the paper back and added to it. "But then how are we going to see the movie?"

"We'll just have to wait for it to come up online."

Bruno's ears drooped, and he stared sullenly at the half-eaten coffee cake in front of him. Peter thought for a moment, and then he said, "We could always go to the old theater. I think they have the first one playing right now."

At his, Bruno gave a happy bark, ate the rest of his cake, and nodded towards the door. Peter paid the bill, leaving an extra tip to make up for his sour mood, and took two cakes to go. They ate the cakes during the walk to the old theater, which was nestled in a block of brick-front buildings, between a butcher's shop with choice cuts hanging in the window and an empty hair salon.

After buying the tickets and some popcorn, Peter and Bruno walked through the massive oak doors to the theater. With its huge spacious seats, a lavishly decorated interior, and the faint musty odor of aging wood infusing the air, the theater wasn't even half full, but by its usual standards, it was packed. Peter and Bruno took seats nearer to the top, away from the crowd nearer to the screen, and set the bucket of popcorn on the miniature table between their seats.

Though he saw the movie a week ago, in anticipation of the newest release, Peter enjoyed himself. Sinking deeper into his luxurious chair, Peter grabbed a handful of buttery popcorn – real butter, judging from the rich taste – and crammed it all in his mouth. He glanced towards Bruno and saw his muzzle drenched with butter and his eyes fixed on the screen.

However, about halfway through the movie, in his peripheral vision, Peter caught Bruno glancing off to the side every minute. Peter gave him a gentle nudge and was startled to see him flinch.

"Hey, is something wrong?"

Bruno hastily wrote and handed him a butter-smeared paper. "There's something bad going on."

"Nearby?"

"No, a couple miles that way."

Peter consulted his mental map. A couple miles west meant the warehouses and the old industrial park. "How long?"

"About a half hour."

Peter glanced at his phone. There was an hour left in the movie. With a sigh, he rose from his seat and whispered, "I'll call it in quick."

Bruno stood, but Peter gently nudged him back into his seat. "No sense in both of us missing the movie. It'll only be a minute, alright?"

Peter ducked underneath the stream of light projecting the movie, silently opened the door, and walked outside. He turned down an alley, leaned against a faded gray brick wall, and called his Chief.

"Peter," the man said over the phone, "You're calling in on your day off?"

"Yes, sir. Bruno has me worried." He took a deep breath and explained what happened at the other movie theater and Bruno's current unease.

"Two miles west?" the Chief asked. "Are you, by any chance, downtown right now? Caldwin Street, maybe?"

Peter glanced at the nearest street sign. "Alice and Baker," he answered. Peering down a street, he saw Caldwin just a block north. "How did you know?"

"The other Lucario sensed it too," the Chief said. "I can't tell you anything now, but you will be briefed on the situation tomorrow."

Peter sighed with relief. "Thank you for letting me know."

"You're welcome. Now, enjoy your day off. That's an order."

Peter felt a chill run down his back. "Understood, sir."

He hung up and forced a smile on his face. The Chief was fond of saying that the act of smiling changed one's mood. Peter felt his unease slipping away, but just in case, he stopped to get two drinks at the front before returning to the theater. Buoyed by the forced smile and the carbonated beverage, his spirits floated back into contentment as he absorbed himself in the movie.

Sensing Peter's ease, Bruno struggled to put the brooding dark cloud to the west out of mind. Tried, and failed. Despite the distance, he felt certain that the violet-haired Pokémon in human clothes was there. But he too forced a smile on his face, and he glanced west no more.

Changelog

9/3/18 - minor writing tweaks