Page 12 of Whiskers on Kittens

I even went as far as to point out how I might have been able to bust out of the joint had I been given a few more weeks.

Thanks to the angel’s recommendation I be brief, I finished the report before dinner, spent twenty minutes proofreading it and checking it for accuracy, and sent it off to the judge. Then I went to the kitchen, cracking my knuckles and determining how best to feed a hybrid lycanthrope.

A normal lycanthrope could eat a lot, and I’d barely given us a snack for lunch. After poking my head into the den to discover the cop reading a book, I skipped over to the garage, hopped into my Acura, and hit the grocery store, opting for a roast, steaks, every package of bacon the store had, and enough eggs to fuel two lycanthropes in the morning. I picked up some token vegetables in an effort to convince myself I could be civilized before heading home.

To my amusement, the cop waited by the garage, leaning against the wall. Once I parked, he patted the trunk until I opened it. Without a word, he gathered most of the bags, leaving me with some steak and bacon to drag inside.

I wondered if I should inform the man that he flirted with me through the demonstration he understood how some chores worked and when to make himself useful without prompting. My virus appreciated the view, and I indulged her rather than hurrying to catch up.

Once in the kitchen, I began sorting my haul by what would get consumed tonight versus in the morning, putting everything away as needed. “Normally, I would have started this several hours ago, but the report is finished and sent off, and I’m accepting we’ll be eating a late dinner. We’ll have breakfast here. I made guesses on what to feed a hybrid, so if I got the quantity wrong, now is the time to speak up. I can go to another store.”

Easton checked my offerings before saying, “This looks fine for at least two lycanthropes. I don’t usually eat that much.”

I read between the lines: he had budget issues.

“I’m in charge of feeding us during this trip, and I’m expecting you to eat the appropriate amount for a hybrid expecting a fight. And if you shift and I determine you are underweight, you are being put into protective custody—and I will tango with the CPD about their pay rates.”

For a long moment, he stared at the steaks, and he picked up the container, reading the label. “This package of steak cost how much?”

Right. I lived in a completely different world than he did. “Do you know why I entered this line of work, Mr. Goody-Goody?”

“No. Why did you?”

“I wanted to change the world. I wanted people on lower income to be able to put food on the table. I wanted them to be able to get a phone if they wanted one. A car shouldn’t be an unobtainable—not just a junker like what I used to drive, but something like my Acura, a nice and good vehicle. I’ve learned equality isn’t giving everyone the same exact opportunities, but it’s giving little stepping blocks so that those who are behind can catch up and get a piece of the basic pie. We all deserve to be able to look over the fence, even if we start out short and unable to see even if we’re standing on our toes. I quickly learned that if I wanted to change the world, I had to join the world I wanted to change.”

Taking the package out of his hand, I lined up all the steaks I’d purchased, which totaled to almost three hundred dollars. I also plunked the roast, a prime rib I’d commit sins against because I didn’t have four hours to properly marinate it. I’d winced at the price of the prime rib, but I’d paid for it anyway.

“Before you freak out, this is not what I normally buy. You’re a guest, and I always become excessive when I have guests. When I have warning I have guests, I buy this sort of thing, put them in vac bags, label them with the date of purchase and package expiration, seal them, and stock the refrigerator. I sneak over every day, check what’s been used, grab the stuff that needs to be frozen, date the freezer use date, and repeat the process until I’ve figured out what my guests like to eat.” I went into my pantry, pulled out the vacuum sealer, and showed him the device. “If I were buying for just me, I could get this quantity of food for half the price. But you can’t afford half the price, can you?”

“No, I can’t.”

I appreciated his honesty and admired his courage in admitting it to me. “By tangoing with the big corporations, I pave ways for everyone underneath the big corporations to get better treatment and earnings. This eventually ripples out from there. Other people see what the corporate fish have won through my efforts and the efforts of unions, and they start making demands. When they can point at the corporations I’ve worked on, they have something to show as an example. It makes it harder for the other corporations to fight the changes. It doesn’t help everybody, but it helps.” I allowed myself a grin. “I haven’t tried taking on something like law enforcement before. I bet I could shakedown the CPD and get you some good results.”

“Our changes usually have to go through the court system.”

“You’ll be my prime example. And while I’m betting you have a great record, I’ll use the prejudices in the Chicago area against them to win cops better pay. A hungry lycanthrope might eat you, didn’t you know?”

Easton snorted. “We’ve used that line. They told us money doesn’t grow on trees and we should, perhaps, try going on a diet.”

“Do you have that in writing?”

“Actually, yes. I do.”

I went to my junk drawer, fished out one of the business cards I kept around just in case I needed it, and I handed it over. Then I pointed in the general direction of my public office. “There is a guest login in the top notepad in the upper right drawer of the desk. Forward the relevant information to that address. When we aren’t chasing leads on the kittens, I’ll start building a case. Too much information is better than not enough information. You can work on that while I get dinner ready. If you’re worried about pulling your weight, you can help with the dishes after I’m done making a mess.”

Taking the business card, he nodded and headed off. I leaned over for a better view, deciding I would have to send him off on errands often to give my virus a show.

Then I went to work cooking a feast. I needed a few good steaks in my life, as did he.

I suspected the angel had understood I would pursue the cop’s financial affairs. After I finished feeding him and sent him off to bed, I worked halfway through the night on the foundations of his case. In an effort to give me the entire picture of his career, he’d sent me his entire employment record, including pay rates, cost of living, and his general inability to do much more than survive as a hybrid lycanthrope.

Moving to Chicago had been a downgrade in terms of position and salary, and I would be able to take on the CPD and the CDC at the same time over it.

The CDC had been the driving force behind the CPD hiring him.

Rather than wake up some CDC paper pusher at three in the morning, I thumbed through my contacts in search of an angel, demon, or devil I might convince to do my bidding. As I’d gotten an angel at the courthouse and worked on His behalf, I figured I could wheel and deal with those upstairs without having to dance around it. That left me the choice of which angel to call at an offensive hour of the morning.

Angel or archangel? I had three archangels in my contacts who might dance to my tune. Michael might be the easiest, but he had a wicked sense of humor and might bring his brother, Gabriel, into the mess. While a two-for-one special might help, especially on the rescuing kittens front of things, both liked to drive hard bargains.