Megan
As Brigit and I approached the stage, I spotted Derek Mackey digging through a trash can, hurling food waste, dirty diapers, and other miscellaneous detritus to the ground. I wondered if whatever he was looking for was the reason he’d appeared so ticked off earlier.
“What’re you doing?” I called as we drew near.
“None of your damn business!” he snapped, waving me away with his meaty hand.
He was acting like an ass, but I wasn’t going to let his sour mood and disrespect get to me. Why give the jerk what he wanted? “Alrighty, then,” I said cheerfully as my partner and I moved past. “Enjoy those scraps.”
We continued on to the stage, where a band was setting up for a performance that was to begin in a few minutes. A lineup of politicians had gathered at the back of the platform. They ran the gamut from the city’s mayor, to a member of the state House of Representatives, to a United States senator who was back from Washington, D.C., to spend the holiday with his family. No doubt many in Congress went on break for the Fourth, returning to their home states to make appearances, assure their constituencies that they remembered from whence they came, and eat hot dogs and barbecue with their supporters.
Though not technically a politician, Police Chief Garelik had even turned out in uniform for the event, realizing it made an excellent PR opportunity for the department. With his broad, bulky build, silver hair, and chest adorned with medals, the chief looked both formidable and dignified. While the others took seats in an area at the back of the stage shaded by the broad tarp that hung over it, the chief stood at the front in clear view, letting those in attendance know that he and his officers were keeping an eagle eye on things.
When Chief Garelik spotted me and Brigit, he motioned for us to join him on the stage. As his golden boy’s nemesis, I was far from the chief’s favorite officer. But Brigit and I had played a major role in nabbing a number of violent criminals, and even he couldn’t deny that the two of us were local heroes, our presence providing those in attendance something to rally around. The chief didn’t like me but he did respect me, even if he disguised that respect in a wrap of snide comments and squinty-eyed sideways glances. I’d much prefer being respected to being liked, so all was good here.
As Brigit and I headed for the steps, my ears picked up comments from those in the crowd.
“Look! That’s the K-9 team who took down that bomber!”
“Isn’t that the two who caught that killer who was burglarizing houses?”
“Hey! It’s the cops who captured the Berkeley Place Peeper!”
“Can I get a pic with you two?”
Given that the last statement was directed at me, I stopped and replied, “Sure.” I stepped into place next to a thirtyish woman, instructed Brigit to sit at our feet, and smiled at the cell phone her companion had aimed our way. Click!
Far be it from me to gloat, but Brigit and I were minor celebrities around these parts. We did our job, and we did it with a dedication bordering on obsession.
“Thanks!”
“Anytime,” I replied.
Brigit and I ascended the fold-out staircase on the side of the stage and took places next to the chief at the front. “Good afternoon, Chief.”
He responded with a grunt. “Good? I’ve got sweat running down my ass crack, the sun in my eyes, and the mayor breathing down my neck. There’s nothing good about this afternoon.”
Every party needs a pooper. Looked like the chief had volunteered for the role today.
Any glory I’d expected from being featured on stage was short-lived. When the chief noticed Derek stepping away from the garbage can, he squeezed his shoulder mic. “Officer Mackey, report to the stage.” In seconds, Derek was on the stage with us, standing on the other side of the chief, giving me his own squinty-eyed sideways glances. So much for my metaphorical moment in the sun.
On cue, a Boy Scout color guard presented the American and Texas flags, placing them in stands on the stage. One of the boys stepped to the microphone. “Please join me in reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.”
Derek, the chief, and I turned toward the flags, placed our right hands over our hearts, and murmured in unison with the crowd as they recited the pledge. Brigit took advantage of the opportunity to sniff the chief’s shoe.
As the last line of the pledge was carried away on the breeze, five F-16s from the 301st Fighter Wing at the Naval Air Station Joint Reserve Base roared up in the sky and performed a low-altitude flyover, impressing the crowd with their precision turns and noisy engines. Brigit yelped—Arp!—and dropped to the floor of the stage, cowering in alarm.
“It’s okay, girl.” I knelt down next to her and ran a hand over her back. “It’s just airplanes. They’re loud but they won’t hurt you.” Why I felt the need to explain things to a dog that couldn’t understand was beyond me. I think sometimes I forgot she was a dog rather than a person. At any rate, the soothing tone of my voice seemed to calm her and I could feel her stiff body relax under my touch.
I stood as one of the festival organizers stepped up to the mic. Dressed in red and white striped pants and a blue blouse emblazoned with white stars, the woman epitomized patriotism at its best—or worst, depending on your viewpoint. “Hello, everyone!” she cried. “Welcome to Fort Worth Fourth at Panther Pavilion!”
Lethargic from heat and humidity and hot dogs, the crowd offered only a smattering of applause. They’d come to the stage to hear the band, not a bunch of blowhards.
The woman didn’t let the lukewarm welcome deter her from her mission. “We hope you all are having a wonderful time today. Don’t forget to reapply your sunscreen! And be sure to stick around for tonight’s fireworks followed by more live music. Now, it’s my pleasure to introduce the mayor of Fort Worth, Mr. John Normangee!”
Another smattering of applause ensued, followed by the squall of a toddler whose snow cone had rolled out of its paper cup and fallen to the ground. Tragic.
While the kid’s parents ushered him off to get a replacement, Mayor Normangee stepped up to the microphone and issued a greeting with the same practiced cheerfulness as the woman who’d introduced him. “Good afternoon to the fine folks of Fort Worth! So glad to see all of your faces here today. If you haven’t tried the zip-line, be sure to give it a go! Lots of fun! Some exciting things are on the city council’s agenda for the upcoming week. We’ll be voting on the acquisition of land on Helmick Avenue for a new city park, contracts for infrastructure improvements, and rezoning requests for land along Bluebonnet Drive for a proposed multifamily development.”
The lack of response from the audience indicated that they did not share the mayor’s enthusiasm for city business.
The mayor gestured to the fortyish Latina woman standing behind him. “We’re privileged to have our state representative here today to share a few words with us. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Esperanza Espinoza!”
While the crowd’s response to the mayor had been lukewarm, the audience now threw their fists into the air and broke into chants of “Ess-ie! Ess-ie!”
Esperanza “Essie” Espinoza stepped forward, raising a hand to wave to the crowd. She was dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt featuring a sequined American flag, her signature dark curls gathered in a bushy ponytail at the nape of her neck. Before running for the Texas House of Representatives as an independent candidate six years ago, Essie had practiced labor law in Fort Worth, representing plaintiffs in wage disputes, discrimination cases, and other employment-related matters. The fact that she fought for the little guy, along with her sincere smile and approachability, had made her a popular politician. She’d earned my vote. She’d gone on to gather fame and fans when she filibustered against a proposed bill that would have established a school voucher system.
“Happy Fourth of July, everyone!” She repeated the sentiment in Spanish. “¡Feliz cuatro de julio a todos!”
Her wishes earned her three times the applause as her predecessors, and one cry of “ay yi yi!” to which she responded with a laugh and “Ay yi yi, indeed. ¿Hace mucho calor hoy, no? It’s very hot today!”
Despite the fact that she’d merely stated the obvious in two languages, the crowd cheered her on. Esperanza lived up to her name, which meant “hope” in Spanish. She was a bright-eyed optimist, a woman of understated brilliance, a consensus builder who brought people together rather than dividing them.
“I’m so glad to be home for the holidays so that I can spend the day with my husband and children.” She blew kisses to her husband and three daughters, ranging in age from seven to thirteen, standing in the front row. She looked back up. “I’m also glad to spend the day with my constituents. I consider each and every one of you to be part of my extended family, and I’m proud to represent and work for all of you. I encourage you to contact me with any of your concerns. My office is only an e-mail or phone call away.” She swiped her windswept bangs out of her eyes. “Senator Sutton will address you now and update us on what’s going on in our nation’s capital. Let’s give him a nice welcome, shall we?” With that, she cast a look back at Senator Montgomery Sutton and motioned for him to step forward before applauding him and stepping aside.
Essie was definitely a class act. Though she’d tossed her hat in the ring for the U.S. Senator spot Monty Sutton now held, she’d made no snarky comments about her attempts to unseat him in the upcoming election in November. If only every politician could be so gracious and professional. Of course her restraint could also be due to the fact that Monty Sutton was a well-respected and well-liked politician, with impressive approval ratings. He’d held his office for four full terms so far. He, too, had earned my vote. At sixty-eight, he was older and more old-school than Essie in his appearance and demeanor, but he had an everyman quality about him, a grandfatherly sense of humor, and a record that proved him a thoughtful legislator. With his calm, reasonable demeanor and good people skills paired with his determination, he was a proven consensus builder and expert negotiator, able to bring the parties together to get things done. His integrity was beyond reproach, too. Unlike some of the more notorious members of national governments, he’d never slept with an intern, sent a dick pic to anyone, snorted cocaine off the breasts of a prostitute, or made implied references to blow jobs or the size of another politician’s gonads. He’d also never accepted campaign contributions from special interests, as reflected in his slogan “Montgomery Sutton—The Best Representation Money CAN’T Buy.”
Senator Sutton stepped up to the microphone. He, too, had set aside his business suits for more comfortable attire, though his navy pants, short-sleeved red polo shirt, and loafers leaned more toward business casual. The typical politician’s American flag pin graced his collar. His white hair gleamed in the sun and he dipped his head to give a polite nod to the crowd.
Not to be outdone by Essie Espinoza’s supporters, Senator Sutton’s small entourage near the stage raised fists in the air and chanted. “Sut-ton! Sut-ton!”
When the chants subsided, Senator Sutton launched into his speech, giving the crowd a quick update on the latest news from Washington. “As y’all may have noticed, our middle class is shrinking, due in large part to jobs moving overseas. To put Americans back to work, I’ve proposed a bill known as the China–U.S. Partnership, or CUSP for short.”
He went on to explain that the bill posed a challenge to China’s tradition of mercantilism under which it exported far more goods to other countries while enacting protectionist measures, such as high tariffs, to limit imports. Sutton was a longstanding member of the Senate’s Foreign Relations Committee, as well as chairman of the Subcommittee on East Asia, the Pacific, and International Cybersecurity Policy. Barbara Boxer and former presidential candidate Marco Rubio served on the subcommittee with Sutton. Among other things, the subcommittee’s duties included promoting U.S. trade and exports.
“I’ve done so much walking up and down the halls of the Senate Building in Washington to drum up support,” he said, “I’ve just about worn out the soles of my shoes.” When he lifted up one foot and wiggled it, the crowd chuckled. He waved a hand dismissively. “But that’s enough shop talk. Y’all are here to have a good time and celebrate this glorious Independence Day.”
His reference earned a few whoops and whistles.
“On this date in 1776,” he said, shifting from current proposed legislation to a history lesson, “our forefathers dared to declare independence from England. We owe a lot to Benjamin Franklin, Samuel Adams, John Hancock, and those other rebellious upstarts.” He paused for laughter, which the audience again provided. “Let’s think about their words for a moment.”
“Do we have to?” hollered a beer-bellied man, causing his buddies to erupt in laughter.
Senator Sutton, having dealt with hecklers for decades, was unfazed. “We sure do,” he replied with a smile. He leaned closer to the mic and whispered. “Looks like we’ve got some rebellious upstarts here today, too.”
Again the audience laughed.
When the senator spoke again, his words were slow and deliberate. “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.”
He paused a moment to let the words sink in. “What does this mean?”
The beer-bellied man hollered again. “It means it’s time for another beer!”
At that point, Chief Garelik motioned for an officer at the perimeter of the crowd to move in and let the heckler know his jackassery wasn’t appreciated.
“What this means,” Sutton said, “is that every person is entitled to live, to be free, and to pursue those things that will bring them joy, purpose, and satisfaction. Serving you all has brought me such joy, purpose, and satisfaction. Of course it’s brought me quite a few headaches, too.” His own chuckle echoed those of the crowd. “It’s my hope that each of you will find your own particular source of joy, and that you will find it in abundance. I wish I could do it for you, but as Benjamin Franklin noted, ‘The Constitution only guarantees the right to pursue happiness. You have to catch it yourself.’”
“I caught happiness once!” the man in the crowd yelled, undeterred by the cop standing next to him. “Took two rounds of penicillin to clear it up!”
Sutton smiled. “You might want to find a different source of happiness, son.” His speech complete, he raised a hand. “Enjoy the music, folks!”
As the politicians descended from the stage, the band launched into a rock version of “America the Beautiful.”
Brigit and I followed Derek and the chief down from the stage. While the chief headed for the air-conditioned trailer that served as FWPD’s mobile command center, Derek stalked off. Neither bade me and my partner good-bye.
I, on the other hand, took advantage of the opportunity to rub elbows with the senatorial candidates. Or at least I tried in Essie’s case. As I walked toward her, an assistant with an earpiece swooped her away without so much as a glance in my direction. Hmm. Senator Sutton, on the other hand, put his hands on his knees and called out to Brigit. “Hey, there, girl!”
She tugged on the leash, knowing a “hey, girl” often came with a butt scratch.
I led my partner over and held out my hand, my pulse pounding. Given his tenure and success in Washington, D.C., Sutton was no stranger at the White House, often called in to offer advice and consultation. Standing here now, I was only one degree of separation from several U.S. presidents! “Hello, Senator Sutton. It’s a p-pleasure to meet you.”
He eyed my name badge. “You, too, Officer Luz. What a fine-looking K-9 you have here.”
Brigit wagged her tail as he ran a hand over her head and neck.
“I couldn’t ask for a better partner,” I said.
He stood full upright. “You two enjoying yourselves today?”
Only if you call being on your feet for hours in the broiling sun enjoyable. “We sure are!” I lied.
He gave me a pat on the shoulder and a “you take care now” before stepping away to round up his wife.
I spent the rest of the day rotating duties with the other K-9 teams. Between drunken brawls, heatstroke, and lost children, first responders were kept busy all afternoon. Each time I passed the people floating in the river on inner tubes, I fought the urge to dive in. When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, it was all I could do not to send up a cheer. Of course the temperature was still in the nineties, but at least the sun was no longer scorching my skin and Brigit’s fur.
As nine o’clock neared, I texted Seth. Where are you?
At the big truck was his reply.
I strategically meandered my way over to the fire trucks and found Seth now decked out in his firefighter turnout gear and looking sexy as hell. The guy really made a yellow coat and helmet work for him.
While Brigit plopped down next to Blast on the dry grass, I leaned back against the truck next to Seth. Soon, the sounds of Sousa’s songs blared from the speakers and the first firework streaked upward into the night sky, leaving a golden trail behind it. POP! Another followed behind, offering another POP followed by a crackling sizzle as sparks showered down. POP! POP-POP-POP! POP-POP!
Brigit emitted a nervous whine, her ears flattening back against her head. Though it was critical for a K-9 to be accustomed to gunfire and I’d been forced to subject her to gunshot noise during some of our training sessions, Brigit was smart enough to realize these sounds were different and potentially threatening. I stroked her back to reassure her. “It’s okay, girl. Nothing to worry about.”
Eventually, the bigger guns were brought out, treating us to one KABOOM after another, the sound waves reverberating off the truck behind me. I glanced over at Seth only to find he’d closed his eyes. These pops and kabooms might be innocent enough, but Seth had heard many pops and kabooms in Afghanistan, pops and kabooms that meant his life, or those of other soldiers, could be in danger or, even worse, have just been cut short.
After looking around to make sure everyone’s eyes were on the sky, I reached out and took Seth’s hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. Though he didn’t open his eyes, he squeezed back.
Seth’s radio and those of the firefighters around him came to life. “Grass fire reported near the portable toilets.”
Seth opened his eyes. “Duty calls.”
“More like doody calls,” called one of the other men.
I roused Brigit and stepped away from the truck as the firefighters piled on to drive it across the field. They returned a few minutes later, just in time to see the grand finale as bursts of red, blue, yellow, green, and silver lit up the sky as if the heavens were raining glitter.
The headliner band immediately kicked in on the stage across the way, the diehards among the crowd heading in that direction to keep the night going while the older folks and families with small children began easing toward the exits. That was my cue to get back on patrol.
“I better go,” I told Seth.
He slid me a sexy smile. “Meet you at your house for a shower later?”
I slid him a sexy smile right back. “I’ll wash your back if you’ll wash mine.”
Brigit and I headed to the exit, stationing ourselves next to the gate where we could keep a close eye out for drunks who might be planning to get behind the wheel. Officer Spalding, a beefy black cop, took up on the other side, giving me a chin lift in greeting. Spalding was a man of many muscles but few words.
As the beer-bellied heckler from earlier stumbled toward me, I held up a hand. “Hold on a second, buddy.”
He stopped walking, but swayed in place as if slow dancing with himself.
I cocked my head. “You’re looking a little tipsy, sir. How many have you had?”
“Not near enough!” he cackled.
One of his friends had the sense to shush him. “Be cool, man.”
I turned to the friend. “How about you. How many have you had?”
“Only two,” he said, “and one of those was at lunchtime.”
The fact that he’d admitted to two told me he was likely being honest. It was the people who said “just one” that were usually lying. I pulled out my flashlight and shined it in his eyes. His pupils responded as they should, by retracting. He, too, responded like a sober person, by frowning and squinting into the light. “You driving your friend home?” I asked, hiking a thumb at beer-belly.
“Always do,” he replied.
“All right, then.” I swept my hand toward the exit. “Carry on.” I could have issued beer-belly a citation for public intoxication, but he hadn’t caused a fight, urinated on anything, or touched any women inappropriately. He’d caught some ten-proof happiness. I’d let him slide.
A few minutes later, Spalding performed essentially the same exchange with a group of young women, two of whom were teetering precariously on their wedge heels. “Who’s driving?” he asked.
A young woman who looked annoyed, and thus sober, raised the keys in her hand and shook them. “That would be me. I drew the short straw and got designated driver.”
“Be careful now, ladies.” With that, he pointed to the gate, letting them know they were free to go.
The band continued to play and was into their sixth or seventh song when the flow wound down to a trickle. I could see a large group of people, mostly teens and people in their twenties, dancing in front of the stage, never mind the fact that the night was still warm enough to induce sweat when standing still. As I watched, the movement at the front of the crowd shifted, the dancers stepping back and growing still. Not ten seconds later, a call came across our radios. “EMTs and police needed at stage. Reports of an unconscious person on ground.”
I looked over at Spalding.
“I’ve got things under control here,” he said. In other words, he’d rather stay at the gate than work crowd control at the stage. I couldn’t blame him. People loved tragedy, gaping and gawking when they should be getting the hell out of the way so the paramedics could tend to the victim.
“C’mon, Brig!” I took off at a run, my partner galloping alongside me.
We passed Derek, who appeared to be headed for the exit.
“They’ve called us to the stage!” I shouted.
He pointed at the watch on his wrist. “My shift is over.”
Such dedication, huh?
By the time Brigit and I arrived at the stage, several other officers were already on hand, as were Trish LeGrande and her cameraman. Officers shooed the crowd back from the collapsed girl so that paramedics could get to her. The EMT swarmed and hovered over her. One appeared to be checking her pulse, while another shined a light in her eyes. I couldn’t see much of her at this point, other than thin legs with skin the warm brown of my own, tapering down to a pair of bejeweled sandals.
A girl and a boy, both of whom appeared to be around nineteen or twenty, stood at the front of the crowd, staring down at her. One of the boy’s hands clutched his dark hair in a death grip while his eyes shined bright with fear. The girl openly sobbed, her hands cupped over her mouth, her auburn waves shaking as her shoulders heaved. They must be friends of the victim.
My suspicious were confirmed when a third EMT stepped over to the boy and girl to ask them questions. The two exchanged nervous glances before the girl said something to the EMT. He nodded and returned to the girl on the ground. As soon as the EMTs had the victim loaded into the ambulance, I’d make sure to get names and contact information from the two, just in case this wasn’t a mere case of heatstroke.
Motion to my left caught my eye. Officer Hinojosa, a seasoned cop in his mid-thirties, stepped up next to me. “People have been dropping like flies today.”
I cut a glance in his direction. “No kidding. Humans aren’t meant to be out in this kind of heat.”
When I turned back, the girl had been loaded onto a gurney and raised from the ground. One arm flopped lifelessly over the edge of the thin mattress. Her face was lax and innocent, like a sleeping child’s. Her eyes were open, but barely, the slits big enough only to reflect the revolving lights of the ambulance. Still, though no life showed behind them, I felt as if the girl’s eyes were imploring me to do something. But what could I do? She needed a doctor, not a cop.
As the paramedics slid her into the back of the ambulance and closed the doors, my gaze moved from the vehicle to the crowd. The girl who’d spoken to the paramedics was gone. So was the boy who’d been with her, the two of them disappearing like ghosts in the night air.