Page 58 of Hoofin’ It

“Well, Mr. Telleman showed off his chest, too, although his wasn’t quite as…”

“Nice? Feminine? Curved? Beautiful?” My mother snickered. “Voluptuous?”

“Scarred.”

“Ouch. That bad?”

“That bad. They put their son on the stand, too. I think he’s two. Cute kid.”

“They usually are at that age. Little devils, but cute little devils. Were you okay? No flashbacks?”

“On their way back to their seats, the kid’s dad put him on my lap and introduced me as the nice police officer who pulled them out of the car. Apparently, the kid has decided he’s going to be a police officer when he grows up.”

“Oh, baby.”

“Yeah. I handed in my resignation last week. They tried to fire me for not responding to some bogus request for information. The judge overturned it, but the CDC lawyer had my resignation prepared so I would have a chance to return to law enforcement.”

The distinct sound of my mother cracking her knuckles worried me. “Do I need to come over there and start banging heads together?”

“No.”

“But I’d enjoy it.”

“No, Mom.”

“But I’d really enjoy it.”

“No, Mom. I’ve already done something even worse.”

She grunted and kept cracking her knuckles. “Like what?”

“I sent the CDC after them. The CDC’s lawyer laughed at the insurance company’s settlement offer, and the CPD has already had one smackdown in court. I’m moving on, and that doesn’t mean bailing my mother out of jail for smashing heads together. And no, you can’t send Dad, either. Or Lewis. Or anyone else. I don’t need you or Dad coming here and ruining the CDC’s chance to give other lycanthropes equal rights in Chicago and other prejudiced cities. Stay out of it.”

“When did you become such a good man, Shane?”

“I’m pretty sure my parents had something to do with it. I’ll talk to you later, Mom.” I hung up on her, shook my head, and turned my attention to the stack of boxes waiting by my couch.

I started with the boxes Michelle had identified as gifts from an unidentified sender. The first contained a set of pot and pans, the second had a coffee maker expensive enough I searched the box top to bottom for the sender’s name with no luck. Whoever had sent them had decided I needed a kitchen upgrade; by the time I’d emptied the final box, I had more stuff than I knew what to do with, including a set of dishes elegant enough even my grandmothers would approve of them.

Out of excuses to avoid them, I opened the first of Marian’s packages, cautiously peeking inside.

A stuffed animal waited for me.

“What the…?” When I lifted it out, its weight startled me. At first glance, I wasn’t sure what it was, but the tag informed me the animal was a badger. It was dark with two pale stripes over its head, which made it resemble a badger someone had made in the dark with two left hands. I flipped it over and discovered a zipper on its belly with another tag attached bearing Marian’s signature. I set the stuffed animal on my coffee table and opened the second box.

It contained a pair of pocket holsters, several empty magazines and clips, a gun-care kit, and a thick packet stuffed with papers. My eyebrows rising, I opened the envelope and peeked inside.

Concealed carry licenses were a pain in the ass to acquire on a good day, requiring just cause, training, and an excessive amount of paperwork to be considered for the permit. Every state had different rules, but the government occasionally issued special permits allowing an individual to conceal a weapon in any state.

A laminated permit card fell onto my lap. It featured a picture of me wearing a suit; I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn a suit, making me wonder where the hell Marian had gotten the picture. It wasn’t from the trial; I’d worn slacks and a dress shirt with tie and had opted against wearing a jacket. I opened my mouth, closed it, and retrieved the stuffed animal, pulling open the zipper and peeking inside.

Sure enough, inside I found a pair of handguns small enough to fit in my pockets. Both were black with white grips, matching the stuffed animal they were hidden in. Several folded sheets of paper accompanied the weapons, including the sales receipts, registration in my name, and a copy of the shipping label, which declared the package contained firearms.

A handwritten note advising ammunition was my own problem made me laugh. I picked up my phone and called my mother back.

“You’re such a brat. What do you want now?”

I laughed. “I want to run a scenario by you.”