Fort Freak Read Free Page A

to feel like a minnow in a shark pool.
    “Dumb-ass was standing in the door blockin’ the way,” my nemesis growled. “I thought he needed a lesson in manners, and now he thinks I oughta apologize.”
    I found myself gripped in a one-armed man-hug by the furry, horned, giant muppet-thing. “Hey, give the kid a break. He was probably just gettin’ his bearings.” He gave me a little shake. “Right?”
    I looked up and realized the brown eyes on either side of the snout and fangs were warm and very kind. I nodded; it was as good an explanation as any, and it might keep a bad situation from turning into complete shit.
    “Aw, Beastie, ever the peacemaker,” said a redheaded woman. Her shoes were polished mirror bright, and her pants crease could have provided a shave. She patted the dragon on the shoulder. “Lu, it’s not the kid’s fault you’re hungover. Come on, we’re going to be late.”
    Everyone started to move again. Dragon guy fell into step with the one-eared guy and the redhead and threw back over his shoulder, “Next time you see me, Rook, step aside.”
    “Come on, kid, let’s get you to the briefing. Don’t wanna be late on your first day.”
    “Thank you, Officer…” I let my voice trail away suggestively.
    “Bester. Benjamin Bester, but everyone calls me Beastie. You can too. It’s great not to be the rookie anymore.”
    “Glad I could oblige.” I followed after him, past the winged desk sergeant and up the stairs. “Who’s my other rescuer?” I asked, with a nod toward the redhead.
    “Angel Grady, Puff’s … sorry, Lu Long ’s partner. She’ll be captain before she’s forty. She’s awesome. The other guy is Thomas Driscoll … Tabby. He works undercover.”
    “That can’t last long. He’s pretty distinctive-looking.”
    “No, no, he doesn’t go undercover like that. He turns into a cat.”
    “Oh,” I said, faintly, as we topped the stairs and entered the squad room.
    More chaos there. Phones were ringing, people were talking. Depressed-looking suspects in handcuffs were seated at a few desks while uniformed cops and plainclothes detectives pecked at the dirty keyboards of ancient computers. One old guy had ram’s horns growing out of his skull. At the back of the room were two glassed-in offices for the precinct brass. I wondered if things had been remodeled since 1986. They must have been. Somebody would have noticed if my dad had died at his desk in a glass office.
    Clashing odors swirled through the room. In addition to gun oil, sweat, and vomit there was the distinctive burnt-nuts smell of very old coffee and very fresh donuts in the air. My stomach gave a growl. I had been too nervous to eat breakfast. Maybe this is how cops become a cliché , I thought. I longed to go in search of the donuts, but instead followed Beastie into the briefing room.
    Beat cops were settling into chairs. Behind the podium was a middle-aged Asian woman with an oval face and worried dark eyes. Her name tag said CHOY . Behind her was a large and detailed map of Jokertown and a bit of Chinatown where the two intersected. There were wanted posters and updates from the FBI, SCARE, and other law enforcement agencies.
    I took a chair in the back. I’d drawn enough attention for one day. The sergeant began the briefing. I took out my iPhone and began taking notes.
    “Mr. Lee reports that somebody’s been entering his fish market and eating just the mussels and the clams. He comes in every morning to find empty shells. Tabby, maybe you could offer some insight?” The Asian woman looked over at him.
    “Love to,” Driscoll drawled.
    “Just don’t get distracted banging the alley cats, Tabby,” a short, skinny Asian man called. Laughter sputtered through the crowd.
    A middle finger flipped up, and Tabby shot back, “Unlike you, Dildo, I can do more than two things at once.”
    More laughter, quickly extinguished when Choy said, “Okay, okay, moving on. The turf war between the Werewolves