Protect and Serve Don't Need A Hero by Lena Austin Page B

inlaid pieces had come out.
    “C’mon, there’s more to see.” He carried me to a hoard of treasures, stacked in a basement as big as a warehouse.
    I yelled, “Stop,” and my jaw hit the floor. On the stand, displayed with LED lights focused on it, was a sculpture I knew well. My former owner and the one I’ve called “Mama” had made the three-foot tall column of trinkets embedded in polymer. The theme of that sculpture had been Beau. There were gold dogtags, bones of ceramic and tiny figures of golden retrievers. At one time there had been a matching one of me. I’d been so proud, I’d rubbed my scent all over the blue column.
    “Where did you get this?”
    “An illegal fence operation.” Apollo shrugged but I could tell the fences had been selling more than just inanimate objects, probably kids. His frown was haunted. “We shut them down.”
    I told him about the… sculpture. “I know that one. It was in my house, growing up.”
    Apollo’s frowned became puzzled. “But it’s a Miko. She was an internationally known local artist. This was hers. I’ve always wanted to know more about her.”
    Suddenly, I hated the statue. “That she was a selfish bitch.”
    * * *
    I’ve never been happier than I’ve been these last few weeks. I have a partner even better that Jeff could ever imagine. Pete cooks as well as I do and will threaten me with my own whisk when I touch her culinary efforts.
    Last week she ran the chop saw while I assembled the restoration of an Andy Warhol-era entertainment stand, then she carved an inlaid compass rose. I’m in awe and in love.
    Yeah, I said it. Mr. Solitary has finally found the queen of my dreams. She just happens to not be another Florida Panther.
    Now that little Mikey is out of the hospital, we babysit two active Rottweiler puppies in human form and love every minute of it. I can chase Angelina around Dustin’s estate while Mikey “makes auntie Pete rest.”
    Today is the final hearing on the bank robbery that brought us together. The posthumous conviction of that nutball bank robber ties the last bow on the whole incident. We’ll never know whose bullet struck Mikey. It was too distorted, and no one gave a damn anyway. So, we cops go back to work on Monday, pending no surprises at the hearing.
    I’ve got a surprise of my own for Pete. Sometimes I find much more than merely furniture. I surreptitiously patted the little, satin-lined box.
    I hardly recognized Pete when she got out of the taxi at the courthouse steps. Those mile long legs and strong body were hidden behind some pink dress that made her look like candy. I certainly wanted a bite. She marched up the steps slowly, in deference to the still-healing foot. Her smile was nervous and tight. “I’ve never been in the courthouse before, much less a courtroom. And I’ve never been escorted into a courtroom by a cop in uniform.” She batted her big blue eyes and popped her gum nervously.
    The security arches just inside the doors had a short line of people shuffling through, presided over by a bored guard in body armor.
    I stepped through easily and nodded to the guard. He lifted his stunner an inch or so when he saw my identification on his screens.
    Pete stepped forward, clearly eager to be done with security. The arc flashed briefly, and the barrier snapped up blocking Pete’s way. No alarms blared and the guard sighed. “Huh? This can’t be right.” He peered at the arc screen. “Champion Petra Delight of Oakton?”
    Pete popped her gum and tried to sound like a tough alley cat. I knew better. It was all an act to hide her fancy roots. “Yeah, what? How do you know my real name?”
    The guard blinked, then nodded. “Ma’am, you were chipped as a kid. For some reason, the chip was flagged. There’s a request for you to see the clerk of the court.” He waved down the hall and released the barrier.
    “What?” Pete seemed frozen in place.
    I yanked her forward and out of the way. “Rich kids and