The Interstellar Police Force, Book One: The Historic Mission by Raymond Klein (ebook reader 7 inch txt) 📕

her teeth behind it. “Hi!” she said as pleasantly as she did yesterday. “Hey, I remember you, you were in that cool old car. Are you gonna use your coupons?”

“Yes,” Trent replied. He then noticed her name tag. “Mon-i-ca, yes, I was thinking of the same thing we had yesterday.”

“Sure, I can get you one.”

“Oh, could you make it two?”

Monica giggled brightly, showing her braces, and said, “One for your dog, right?”

Trent exited Dave’s with two white bags. He found a newsstand and told the attendant that he was new in the area and asked for a local paper. He then struck up a small conversation, and found out about local history, restaurants, different shops and theaters.

“It was really fascinating,” Trent told Genghis. “This part of town is called, of all things, Old Town, because it’s so old. The big area right over there with all the newer buildings is called Westberry.” They could see the large metal and glass buildings five blocks away very clearly. The orange glow of morning reflected off the shiny glass. “Founded in 1865 by the railroad tycoon, Albert Westberry.”

“What’s a tycoon?”

“Haven’t a clue, but look what I got in the bag.” Trent reached in and pulled out a Styrofoam cup.

Genghis’s ears shot straight up. “Oh, is that a cup of that layte stuff?”

“It most certainly is, complements of the grand opening of Dave’s Coffee Pot. And look at this.” He popped off the lid and showed Genghis. “Foamy stuff on the top.”

“Alright!” Genghis replied.

“And it’s called a latte.”

“Don’t care! Hand it over.”

Trent replaced the lid and held the cup out for Genghis. Genghis looked at it for a moment, then muttered something about no opposable thumbs. He swung his hips so his butt was now directly on the seat. He pulled his hind legs in close to his body and balanced himself, then reached up with his front paws. Taking the cup, he held it in between his paws and started sipping. Trent pulled another cup from the bag and started drinking his own.

They drank their coffee making little mmm and ahh sounds after every sip, sitting in the morning light of the parking lot of The Riverside Mall. They watched more employee cars pull in.

Genghis looked again into the backseat. “What else you got there?”

“Oh, yes,” Trent said, and grabbed the other bag and newspaper. “Two breakfast sandwiches from Dave’s.” He placed one on the center console for his partner. “Egg, cheese, and sausage on something called a bagel. I even picked up a news-paper. It has all the news periodicals of the local area and includes international events as well. I figure that our escapees will most likely go back to their old ways and if so, it might be published.”

“Yeah, old habits are hard to break,” Genghis said, in between big bites of breakfast sandwich. “Even on a new planet.”

While they were enjoying their breakfast and coffee, Trent opened the paper. He handed a couple of sections to Genghis and they both started to go through the newspaper, hoping that something would stand out. Trent opened the first section and started flipping page by page. What he found on page three under the fold surprised him. “Oh, no!” Trent said quietly.

“What? You find something?” Genghis asked, with a mouth full.

“Yes. A picture of us!”

“What! Let me see.”

He angled the page so Genghis could see and sure enough. It was a photo of them in the park. Under a headline that read, “Good Samaritan and Dog Stop Theft.”

“Oh, no!”

Jeff Trent and Genghis Khan stared at the photo for a few minutes in disbelief. “I don’t remember seeing anyone with any photography equipment.”

“Neither do I,” Trent said. “But there it is.”

It was obviously taken with a cell phone. It showed Louie on the ground being handcuffed by the police officer, the women speaking to the other officer, Trent standing next to her, listening, and Genghis sitting, panting with his nose in the air and in the middle of a blink.

“What the hell am I doing? I look stupid! My tongue, it’s . . . it’s hanging out of the side of my mouth!”

“Yeah, I was going to ask you about that.”

“About what?”

“That whole,” Trent took his index finger and made a circle around his mouth, “tongue thing!”

“I don’t know!” Genghis replied, “I guess all that running just made my tongue hang out.” He thought for a moment. “Kind of like Codas canines, but at least I can control mine!”

Trent started to read the article. “'Mary Murphy was finished with her shopping in Old Town, where she purchased several items for her daughter's birthday this Sunday. While she was walking back to her car, Louis Maitland, a petty thief, who has been in trouble with the law since he was fifteen, approached Ms. Murphy from behind. Grabbing her purse and pushing the twenty-eight year-old woman to the ground, Maitland started running for Grant Park. A man, walking with his dog, obviously witnessed the crime. He then ordered his dog, a large Doberman Pinscher, to pursue Mr. Maitland.'”

Genghis interrupted, “You didn’t order me to do crap!”

“Yes,” Trent replied, looking up from the paper. “I know that and you know that. But they don’t. To them you were just another well trained canine!”

“Just! . . .  another!” Genghis said, half joking, “You cut me to the quick, Mr. Trent.”

“You . . . you know what I mean. Anyway,” he went back to the article, “ah . . . let’s see,” Jeff looked through the article. “'The thirty-five-year-old Maitland entered Grant Park where he ran into several people enjoying the unseasonably cool weather. Mark Anderson and Susan Dalton were having a quiet picnic when Maitland ran by disrupting their meal, followed by the large dog. Other witnesses reported to the police that the dog leapt upon the back of Maitland, knocking him to the ground and holding him at bay until his owner arrived.”

“There’s my favorite word!”

Trent ignored his partner's sarcasm and continued, “The good Samaritan and