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Serve and Protect

Morgan Galbraith scowled at the book in front of him, his feline claws tapping the table in his annoyance. Three months ago he was on the fast track at the St. Louis County Police Department. One screw-up involving a couple of faggots and overzealous fellow officers, and after a laughable Internal Affairs investigation Morgan was lucky to be alphabetizing files while the higher-ups sought an excuse to be rid of him. That he hadn't laid a finger on the pansies was less of a consideration than the fact that he was the least senior cop present.

Morgan had started reading every law book he could get his hands on, determined not to let the pencil-pushers force him from the department. He couldn't tell if it had done any good; maybe the dark glances he'd been getting from his fellow cops had eased up, but it wasn't his fellow cops who would decide his fate. Telling himself he was doing the best job he could got old after the first month; by the end of the second month he'd been fighting old memories of the sweet burn of whiskey...not that he had anything against Prohibition...and now... a few days ago he'd found himself staring at his service pistol, his tail dead-still behind him.

Morgan tried shaking off the gloom that hung over him, rubbing his eyes and attempting to refocus on the book, but the sprawl of words refused to make sense. While it was easy to read about how "excessive force" applied to scofflaws, there was nary a mention of how you should stop your fellows from applying it. Morgan sighed resignedly as he realized he wouldn't be rid of the book anytime soon. He'd borrowed it from the library hoping for a quick read, but had struggled with the final chapter. He'd brought it to the St. Louis Public Library hoping to finish it there and be rid of the accursed volume, but it now appeared he'd be renewing it. The feline rose to his feet feeling much older than his 23 years, wishing he saw something ahead of him grander than a middling desk job at the station house. Morgan made his way to the check-out desk, stopping en route to pick up a copy of volume two of Bouvier's Law Dictionary to help him with some of the pricklier terms he'd run across. The librarian behind the desk paid him little mind as she processed his books, which suited him fine given his mood.

As his home was nearby, Morgan had walked to the library. It was later than he'd anticipated, shadows lengthening as St. Louis slid into twilight. Preoccupied with morose thoughts, Morgan was startled when he heard an agonized grunt from a narrow alley, his head jerking upright as his delicate ears caught the sound. The lanky feline slowed as he approached the alley, wishing he had more threatening objects than books at hand.

Morgan's nose twitched at the scents of blood and booze before his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the alleyway. On the ground, conscious but seeming disinclined to move, were two men. At a glance one would be needing a dentist's attention, while the other favored one of his arms and had an eye swollen shut. Standing over them with billy clubs in mid-swing were officers Gareth Kenrick and Jarvis Llywelyn. Morgan suppressed a frown; both of them had been among the men who had likely cost Morgan his future. While Kenrick was a brutish thug, Llywelyn was a sly, sycophantic type better suited to life as a weasel.

"What's this, then?" Morgan asked casually, acutely aware that he had no real idea what he was walking into, nor any actual authority in the situation.

"None o' your concern Galbraith, 'specially not with you being out o' uniform," Kenrick replied sharply, the older and taller feline looking down at Morgan with irritation. Llywelyn's amber eyes averted Morgan's questioning gaze, the expression on his face alternating between guilt and annoyance.

Keeping his tone mellow while adopting a more defensive posture, Morgan replied, "Humor me."

Kenrick parted his lips to respond, but Llywelyn cut in before he could speak. "It's nothing Morgan," the smaller cat replied too hastily. "We found these two sissy boys boozing it up and canoodling. Thought we'd make it clear that we don't appreciate that sorta behavior in our fair city of St. Louis. Rough 'em up a bit, you know..." Llywelyn's voice trailed off as Kenrick stared at him venomously.

Morgan's hands tightened on his books, but he affected calm as he replied, "Rough 'em up? Like we roughed up those two miscreants in lock-up? That kind of roughing up?"

This time it was Kenrick who replied, a low growl in his voice as he took a step in Morgan's direction, nightstick still lifted. "What of it boyo? This isn't the station house. We're not going to have IA prigs snooping into two fairies who got into a 'bout in an alley. Unless you're knowing someone planning to shoot his yap off."

Morgan eyed Kenrick for a moment, the other cop looming over Morgan's 5'8" frame. With an effort he kept his voice reasonable as he replied, "I'm not looking to cause any trouble for you gents. You've had your fun with them. How about you let them go and we forget we were here?"

Kenrick squinted at Morgan, then took another step forward, close enough that Morgan could smell alcohol on his breath. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Jarvis and I let these little bufters go, then you report us and end up looking like a feckin hero!"

Morgan stepped backward as Kenrick advanced upon him, his claws starting to prick the covers of his books as he realized the situation was deteriorating; Kenrick was in a snit and intoxicated, and Llywelyn wasn't the sort to let principle imperil his standing with other officers. "Listen mate, no need for anyone to get reported. Those two will keep their muzzles shut, and I've no interest in raising a ruckus."

From within Kenrick's shadow, Llywelyn regarded Morgan with a mix of pity and determination. "Sorry Morgan. Nothing personal, but I've got a wife and kids to feed, and I don't need anyone screwing with my career. Anyone asks, we found you getting jumped by these two. Good thing we got to you before they did any permanent damage. Make it quick, Gareth."

Llywelyn's words barely gave Morgan enough warning for him to get out of the way before Kenrick's billy club landed inches from where his shoulder had been. The large orange cat advanced on him while Llywelyn's ebony form moved to flank him. In the growing darkness of the narrow alley it was unlikely any passers-by would see them, and Morgan knew a scuffle between cops wasn't the sort of thing likely to encourage public interest anyhow. Thinking quickly, Morgan raised his right paw and slammed his copy of Bouvier's Law Dictionary into the side of Kenrick's head. As he'd hoped, the blow stunned his fellow officer, and Morgan swiftly traded the heavy volume for Kenrick's dropped baton as he dodged a blow from Llywelyn. Out of the corner of his eye Morgan noticed the two alleged faggots had risen to their feet but seemed paralyzed, watching the fight with wide eyes.

"Clear out!" Morgan snarled at them, baring his teeth for emphasis. While it had the desired effect, the distraction cost him as Llywelyn's billy cub found his left arm, sending a shock of pain through it. Morgan thanked fortune it had been Llywelyn rather than the much stronger Kenrick who made contact; happily the larger cat was still looking a bit dazed, shaking his head to clear it. Morgan eyed the opening to the alleyway, but Llywelyn moved swiftly to block it as Kenrick recovered, the larger cat glaring murderously at Morgan while his partner regarded Morgan through narrowed eyes, probably trying to guess his next move. Morgan was no fool; even with Kenrick disarmed the man had a boxer's build, while Llywelyn still had his own billy club. Thankfully neither of them seemed inclined to go for their guns.

The three circled each other, Morgan trying to maneuver for the entry to the alley while Kenrick and Llywelyn kept him penned in. Morgan considered making for the far side of the alley, but even if he could outpace the sleek Llywelyn, a chain-link fence blocked the exit. Morgan had no doubt he could climb the fence even with his arm injured, but he also had no doubt that the others wouldn't give him the chance to try. He was considering taking a wild swing at Kenrick before breaking for the entrance to the alley when a gruff voice rang out.

"What the hell is going on here?" came the bass roar of Lawrence Warren, captain of their district. Training swiftly kicked in, Morgan going to stiff attention and lowering the paw holding Kenrick's nightstick. The other two followed course a moment later as Captain Warren stepped between them, glancing over the three men with a look of disgust plain on his muzzle. After an eternity of the captain staring down his subordinates, he turned to face Morgan. "Officer Galbraith, you're wielding a weapon while out of uniform. Explain yourself."

Morgan's hackles rose at the unforgiving tone in his superior's voice, taking a moment to compose himself before he spoke: "Sir, I came upon Officers Kenrick and Llywelyn exercising excessive force in dealing with suspects. When asked to desist, they became belligerent. I defended myself, captain."

Warren's ears twitched as he listened to Morgan's report, his tail flicking contemplatively while his eyes shifted their cerulean gaze from Morgan to his assailants. After Morgan finished speaking, Warren relaxed his posture slightly, nodding as he replied. "Provided you're telling the truth, you of course acted appropriately, Officer Galbraith. Surrender your weapon," the captain stated before extending his right paw to Morgan. He proffered the billy club to his superior with relief, glad that Warren had shown up before the conflict had escalated.

Abruptly the alley grew darker as the crack of thunder filled his ears, and it took Morgan several seconds to recognize that the captain had reversed the billystick and struck Morgan's forehead. Time slowed as he crashed to the floor of the alley, smelling his own blood as it poured from his wounded head. Dimly Morgan heard Warren speaking to the other two, "Stupid Teuchter. Should have kept his nose out of his fellows' business. As for you boys, what were you thinking? Next time you're looking for fun, see if you can't have enough brains to keep it out of plain sight."

Morgan fidgeted against the ground, trying to right himself as the world spun about him, but only darkened his view further as blood dripped into his eyes. His injured arm had gone numb, while his right didn't seem to know what to do with itself, claws extending and retracting uselessly. The dark threatened to engulf him, the voices of his fellow police becoming indistinct as Morgan gave up on getting to his feet and focused on trying to get his legs to cooperate enough to let him crawl out of the alley.

"Yes Sir!" rang voices in stereo. Kenrick and Lly...Lly-something. It was getting harder for Morgan to think.

"Good lads. As for this sorry heap over here..." a grunt was forced from Morgan's muzzle as Warren's foot came down on his side, halting what meager progress he'd made. "...we'll bring swift justice to the bastards who thought they could mug a cop and then cripple him. It's a damn shame he'll never be a police officer again. Good man." Warren's voice faded into the distance as he spoke, and it took long moments for Morgan to realize that Warren had left the alley.

A large, booted paw kicked Morgan's torso, and as he felt the cracking of bones he couldn't decide whether that pain hurt more or less than knowing that his dream of serving the city of St. Louis as a police officer was turning to dust. Morgan tried to cry out for Warren, but all that emerged was a harsh cough.

Kenrick and Llywelyn closed on the prone Morgan, blocking out the light of the moon as they towered over him in pregnant silence.

Then they really hurt him.

=====================================================

Morgan's eyes snapped open and were flooded with light. His body jerked upright only to slump back against a bed as pain coursed through him. A hand closed over his shoulder, steadying him.

"Easy. You've had a rough week. They almost lost you a couple of times," a smooth masculine voice rumbled above him. Morgan realized bandages were wrapped over the top of his head as well as much of his body as he tried to see who the hand belonged to. As he relaxed against the bed the paw left his shoulder, the man who'd evidently spoken to him settling into a nearby chair. Morgan realized he was in a hospital room as he took the measure of the only other person present. The stranger lifted a pipe to his mouth, regarding Morgan through intense green eyes as Morgan assessed the unfamiliar man. He wore a carefully-tailored suit and had an official air about him. Police? Internal Affairs? Private detective? Morgan attempted to speak, but his voice was a weak croak.

"Don't try talking just yet, Officer Galbraith. I've sent a nurse to get you water," the stranger stated while looking over Morgan's battered form with that appraising expression, the whiskers on his gray muzzle twitching. "I'll tell you I'm not with the police. I wouldn't even be here if two men who were clearly the worse for wear hadn't almost collided with me. In my position, you take notice of such things." The stranger paused for a moment, then added, "You'll forgive me for not introducing myself just yet; in my line of work one doesn't give out their name willy-nilly."

Morgan's eyes closed briefly as he considered the stranger's words. During his musing the unfamiliar man regarded him with a narrow look. Beneath that unsettling expression Morgan shifted in his bed, glad he was more numb than in actual pain, wondering what the stranger's intentions were.

As though reading his mind, the stranger spoke again. "I'm not here to cause trouble for you, Officer Galbraith. You've done quite a job of that on your own." At that, the gray-furred man reached into a bag at the side of his chair and started leafing through a file. "Seven months on the force. Three months ago you were involved in...let's call it an incident, shall we? Suspension for a month, ongoing restricted duty. Let's be frank. Your career's in a rut, and that's before you stupidly decided to take on two muggers who almost killed you. While off-duty. Without calling for back-up." The stranger held up the folder as though taunting Morgan with it, a stern note to his voice. "Officer Galbraith, you're reckless and incompetent and lucky to be alive." The harshness left his voice as quickly as it had emerged as he continued, "At least, that's what your file is telling me. You've also been put on report by Captain Warren." With that, the unknown feline tossed the file onto a nearby table.

"What your file doesn't say is that there are two men who might have been beaten to death by cops if you hadn't intervened. It also doesn't mention that you've been reading up on police procedure and other matters of law since that incident, and that of the eight men involved in that incident, you're one of two who showed any degree of restraint or remorse for what happened; the other resigned and later killed himself. You have principles, officer. Principles that have put you at a crossroads." The man paused, leaning back in his chair and taking a puff from his pipe as a nurse entered the room, offering a glass of water to Morgan. He had to grit his teeth, feeling his bones move unnaturally against each other as he took a careful sip, his voice hoarse from disuse as he addressed the stranger.

"What...what do you want?"

"Me? I want to know what you want. Bluntly, Officer Galbraith? Your career is over. Oh, maybe not officially, but do you really think any cop in this town will work with you now? Even if you avoided being kicked off the force, you'll never amount to anything."

Morgan took another sip of his water, his eyes burning for reasons that had nothing to do with the beating he'd taken. "Then what I want...doesn't matter anymore."

"Mmm. What if I could offer you a chance to do some good? You've been trying to be a better cop, but this city will never give you that now."

Morgan couldn't keep the cynicism from his voice. "If I'm not good enough for this city, why am I good enough to work for you?"

"Because you did what was right instead of easy. Because you didn't resign. Because you knew you made a mistake and tried fixing it instead of letting it go. Because I get the sense that you deserve another chance." As Morgan watched him the stranger's eyes looked away from him, a haunted look entering his face. It was the first time Morgan had seen the man show any real emotion, his voice quieter, not quite so smooth as he added, "And because you're not the only cop who ever got into an incident and made a mistake."

Morgan lay back in his bed, trying to think clearly despite his aching body. In the end, it really wasn't a very complicated decision.

"Where do I sign up, sir?"

"Agent, actually. Agent Drago. I'm with the Treasury Department."