Chapter 25
Georgina Princess August watched cars on Campbell from the open window of my downtown office.
She was fond of the Mercedes A-Class engine, a sound she clearly remembered from her youth, and every so often her body would tense and perk when she caught the correct drone in her ears.
I kept the window cracked, not wide open, so she couldn’t launch herself from our second-story vantage.
Despite the shower, I was restless and irritated.
Ragged around the edges. Like my clothes were too tight or I had a headache that wouldn’t go away or a blister or something that forestalled the possibility of peace.
Nothing on my schedule was urgent, and I used the freedom to brood over the two recent surveillance jobs.
Dr. Rod Buchanan lied to his wife, drove to a casino and gambled on the weekend to pay off a blackmailer, and he wasn’t happy with me. Nor was the client who hired me, because I hadn’t dug up enough dirt.
Piper and Theo Cardot were inept humans raising an adopted daughter, and I assume doing it ineptly. My report had dumped guilt onto my client. And something was off.
Two cases, neither of which came with a positive outcome, and I felt glum about it.
The shower had been nice. I focused on the shower for a while to lighten the mood, and soon the ragged edges softened.
I researched the furry society in northern Virginia, finding two articles written by the same reporter, Reese Cantrell, one for The Washington Times and the second for a neighborhood journal. Her email was listed and I wrote her with my number and she called me in five minutes.
“I’ll trade you,” said Reese. “Tell me what happened to you, and I’ll tell you what I know about the furries in northern Virginia.”
I gave her the vague narrative. I’d angered a squirrel, who called in his friends, who jumped us in an alley. My car was totaled and two of the furries were in jail, last I heard, and no she didn’t have permission to use my name.
“This is the third reported attack this year,” said Reese when I finished my tale.
“And the least successful.”
“Have you ever heard,” she asked, “that your neighbors are into freakier and kinkier and grosser stuff than you think? Trust a reporter, that’s the god’s honest truth.
Just, barf, you don’t even want to know.
On the other hand, the furry orgies can be blown out of proportion by the media.
Yes it’s a thing and no it’s not rampant.
These are the same kids who liked manga cartoons as kids, and dressed up like Harry Potter, or whatever they were into.
Now they’re adults and it’s fur-suits. They role play and embellish their costumes and go to conventions.
And by the way, fur-suits are expensive and hot and difficult to clean. Not a lot of sex happens in them.”
“Good to know,” I said.
“The group you’re referring to would be better categorized as a criminal gang than a furry group. That’s the way the police label them. They have group sex in public and vandalize and throw shit. Literally.”
“What about therians? You mention them in your article.”
“I have to be careful about what I put in print, as an objective journalist. But between you and me, Therianthropy is a serious mental illness where a human truly believes he or she or it or whatever has the soul of an animal. It’s clinical.
But most of these losers, sorry but they are losers, most of them put on the disorder like a shield, like armor so they’ll get special treatment.
They aren’t therians. They might’ve pretended so long that they’re in a rut, but trust me, after weeks of research into this, they’re just bored assholes. ”
“Are you familiar with Narcissus the unicorn?”
“Oh yes. She’s the one who convinced me these kids aren’t real therians. You can find Narcissus doing all kinds of kinky stuff online. No one with a true mental pathology would be so successfully capitalizing on fetishes like that,” said Reese. “They wouldn’t have the capacity.”
At my window, GPA perked up and closed her eyes and sniffed the air. I could smell it too. A street vendor was serving hot dogs.
“What about Maximus the gorilla?” I said.
“Know him too. He’s the heavy. King of the jungle, that kinda thing. He’s a former fighter and he is not a true therian, I’d bet my life on that. He likes sex and he likes hurting people and feeling good about himself.”
“That wasn’t in your article,” I said.
“You think I can write everything I think? In this political climate?”
“Isn’t accuracy fundamental to good journalism?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Isn’t the suppression of news indefensible?”
“Are you quoting the journalism creed at me?”
“Doesn’t the journalism that succeeds best honor God and serve man?” I said.
“You are quoting the damn journalism creed at me.”
“I just looked it up on my laptop,” I said.
“Whatever, I can’t write my suspicions that people claiming to have mental health disorders are faking it. The backlash in the comments, eeeesshh.”
“What about a squirrel named Twitch?”
“I don’t know that one,” she said.
“I suspected you wouldn’t.”
Manny came by an hour later with a bag of chili dogs still in their wrappers. Him walking with a limp was like a Lamborghini racing with a flat tire—it looked silly. He sat in my client chair and set out four hotdogs for himself and four hotdogs for me, and he placed two in GPA’s silver bowl.
“Ten?” I said.
“Only cost eight pesos.”
“What animal can be eaten so cheap? Not pig or cow.”
I poured coffee into mugs. Cold beer would be better but I had no fridge. We ate with our feet up.
I should get a fridge.
“Potpourri smells good.”
“A new scent. Wood, sage, and aftershave,” I said.
“Couldn’t find one that smells like leather, tequila, and Ronnie?”
“Can’t afford it.”
“You wince when you move your arm,” he said.
“A unicorn hit me with a bat. You’re limping.”
“A gorilla pendejo tried Krav Maga on me. Almost tore my ACL.”
“Couple of sissies,” I said. “Me and you.”
“Beck told the Marshal’s Office about the furry jump. They’re calling me the Crocodile Hunter.”
“Was there a crocodile?”
“Don’t care, I like the name.”
“A reporter told me that the gorilla considers himself the king of the jungle.”
Manny sniffed. “Wasn’t even king of that alley.”
“This is a lot of hot dogs,” I said.
“Just enough.”
We balled up the foil wrappers and took turns shooting them into the far trashcan. I made three. Manny made four. I couldn’t remember him ever missing.
Elijah Betts knocked on my door and shuffled in with his laptop. He saw Manny and did a jump.
Manny grinned. “Edgar’s boy. With the fifty thousand bounty on his head.”
Elijah kinda nodded, hunched, didn’t know where to look. “Yeah. That was crazy, huh. I’m good now. I’m a man.”
“Elijah,” I said. “Why do you have your laptop?”
“I need more information about you.”
“No. Go home,” I said.
“Damn, my guy. Just talk about some stuff and I can use it.”
“Que pasa?” said Manny.
“Elijah is creating a website about me. I’d rather die. No,” I said. “I’d rather Elijah die.”
“Why?”
“Because I value my life more than his,” I said.
“No, idiota, why is he making a website about you?”
“That way,” said Elijah, “the search engines and AI machines can find him easier.”
“Elijah is searching for a way to pay me back for our help,” I explained. “And I hate it.”
“We can start easy,” said Elijah. “Tell me about cases you closed recently?”
“No.”
“C’mon, my guy.”
“Don’t,” I said.
“Sorry, I’m trying to stop. Tell me about the cases you’re working on right now?”
“No.”
“Tell me why you like A Few Good Men.”
Manny perked. “Ay, that’s a good one.”
Elijah dropped into my other client chair. “You like it too?”
“Watch it. Makes you a better American.”
“Why? How?” said Elijah.
Manny made a scoff. “Watch it and grill a steak and plant a tree and go to a shooting range.”
“Huh? I don’t get it. Isn’t it about Tom Cruise beating Jack Nicholson in court?”
“No. No.” Manny stood. Uh oh. Hands on his hips.
“No. Listen. I will use small words. Loving your country doesn’t mean pretending it’s perfect.
Okay? Write that down, amigo. A Few Good Men gets it.
We believe America is worth fighting for even though it’s flawed.
You come from another country, and you got half a brain, you understand that.
” He paced. He limped as he did it. “You watch the movie and think Colonel Jessup is the villain. Yeah? No. Wrong. You watched it bad. Colonel Jessup broke the law and covered it up and someone died, which is bad, which is wrong, but he’s not a villain.
He’s a patriot with a hard job. He didn’t wake up and think, Today I’ll be a villain.
Man was protecting America. Write it down, hijo.
He was wrong. But he was not evil. The world is evil, not him.
And Kaffee? Ay vaya. Lieutenant Kaffee. I would die for Tom Cruise.
He risked his career for America at the end of that movie in the courtroom.
He called the colonel a liar. Could’ve been court-martialed but he did it anyway.
Watching that, I stood up and saluted. You said Tom Cruise beats Jack Nicholson in court?
That’s what people miss about the movie, and what they miss about America.
Today, in the news, on the streets, it’s about beating the other side.
Ay, makes me furious. Beating other Americans, pfah.
No. The movie is about duty to the Constitution.
Spelled d-u-t-y. That movie is about America staying strong when people are brave and do hard things.
” Both GPA and Elijah watched him pace, back and forth, their heads following him.
I wish a flag had been waving. “America is great because we can argue about how great it is. The flag doesn’t fail, the Constitution doesn’t fail, even when Colonel Jessup does.
Everyone should watch it because it’s not a courtroom movie, it’s not about Tom Cruise beating Jack, it’s about asking yourself, what are you willing to sacrifice to serve your country? ” He shouted the last part.
Elijah was typing. He said, “Shit, sorry, I missed some. Can you start back at—”
“The problem I got with guys who don’t care about America, they aren’t willing to sacrifice for their country, they expect the country to sacrifice for them. Like with these furries.”
“These what?” said Elijah, looking up. “Furries?”
“They expect us to sacrifice for them, so they can play pretend. They expect… Ay, no, they demand we conform to their stupid, ignorant, un-American lies. They say things and act in ways that are false and call us bigots if we don’t play pretend for them.
I was the governor, guess who’d get the electric chair first?
Here’s a hint, it’d smell like fried squirrel. ”
Manny’s voice stayed loud. He balled his fists. I thought he might pick up my client chair and throw it through the window.
“Okay?” Elijah typed and cowered at the same time. He looked at me for help. “Furries? Those dummies who pretend to be pandas and shit?”
“Particularly in Alexandria,” I said.
“But. I guess I don’t get it.”
“Neither do we,” I said. “It’s been a weird few days.”