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Rebecca started singing Country Roads by John Denver well before they reached West Virginia. Amethyst offered to just play the damn song on her phone, lamenting that Helga’s car didn’t have a smart phone interface. Helga reminded Amy that it did, via the colorfully described phone charging cable hers was locked into. Suffice to say, the road trip was going about as well as she expected it would.

Helga wasn’t averse to traveling. In her stint as a biker gang leader, she made a habit of traveling along the countryside. Hell, she still did on some weekends with her old gang, even if she wasn’t the leader anymore and most of the gang was basically ‘retired’ to have real jobs and hobbies. But riding along freeways on her cruiser, with the wind in her hair and the roar of her engine thrumming through her ears, was different than being cooped up in a sedan with two women almost half her age and the emotional experience that came with it. She felt less like on a vacation with her polycule and more like a mother with two college age daughters arguing over the radio.

Except they didn’t even use the radio anymore.

“Can we pull over?” Amy asked from the passenger seat, loud enough for Rebecca to hear, “I wanna grab a gag from the trunk.”

Helga snorted a laugh, then noticed the vole was halfway serious by the way she bit her lip and fiddled with one of her many earrings. “Sure. Do you wanna explain why Rebecca’s gagged when a cop pulls us over?”

“A cop is not going to pull us over.”

She would have stared her girlfriend down but there was a road that needed her attention. “Honey, we’re on the interstate freeway. Cops literally hide like ambush predators to get tickets for their arrest quotas. If they see a woman gagged in the backseat, that’ll raise alarm bells and I am not in the mood to explain to an officer that you gagged your bitch…your girlfriend, to keep her quiet.” Helga glanced at the rearview mirror to find the pitbull in the backset blushing at the word. A masochist even outside of the bedroom. “And don’t you say you don’t mind it. Both of you need to get your heads out of the gutter.”

Amy scoffed like she was a teenager. Given the dyed hair and her ‘rebel without a cause’ attire, she might look it to some. “We were pretty deep in the gutter on the last road trip.”

“Nobody notices a gag under a motorcycle helmet.” Helga didn’t take either of her girls out on weekend trips for a reason. Not unless she, or they, had a fun idea to explore. Public play was usually too much of a risk to do often. She expected Rebecca to be jealous that Amy got that kind of attention, but the pitbull didn’t seem bothered by it at all. She was more intrigued by the prospect of a road trip altogether. Helga supposed that if she spent most of her life under a parental authority figure demanding she do one thing and one thing only, she too would find excitement in traveling anywhere with two women that cared about her.

But the travel had been long, and a rest stop was requested. Helga needed to stretch her legs and use the bathroom. “I’m good,” Amethyst said when pressed, “I’ll just stay here and enjoy the silence for a little.”

“Want any snacks?” Rebecca asked, having elected herself as the provisions master for the road trip. Helga offered to pay but Rebecca wanted to put her part-time income to use, despite this road trip being a gift to the pitbull for doing well in her classes at the local community college. Independence, the pig supposed, was one’s own reward.

Amethyst looked like she was about to ask for something chocolaty until she remembered the pitbull’s allergy, “Get me an energy drink. I’ll need it for tomorrow.”

“We can just get coffee tomorrow,” Helga said. She’d been halfway paying attention to the conversation while parking. Her eyes focused on the cop car situated in the corner of the lot. It’d been years since she’d had any trouble with cops, unless she counted the current partner of an ex of hers, though that had proven favorable for her in recent times. Still, experience on the road and bad history with dirty cops made the sight of a cruiser give Helga pause.

Amy, a barista by trade, looked the pig dead in the eye. Helga held her hand out, “Fine, fine, no coffee in the morning. Make that two energy drinks, Rebecca.”

“Any flavor you have in mind?” Rebecca asked, following close behind Helga after they parked. Helga shook her head and told the pitbull to surprise her. In her defense, they all tasted like battery acid.

Pit stops were islands in the asphalt oceans of the American Freeway. They could vary anywhere from the size of a mom & pop stop to a minimall with a vast parking lot built for overnight truckers. This one was the latter, with its log cabin aesthetic cheapened with dark tinted windows and a glimmering sheen only paint could offer. It gave the illusion of respite, which is all Helga really wanted as the doors slid open with a ping to announce their presence.

One half of the building was a convenience store selling only the most esteemed gas station essentials like energy drinks, waxy chocolate, lottery tickets, cigarettes, and beef jerky. The other half was a mall’s food court without the mall. When traveling Helga liked to take note of which fast food joint she’d seen the least in the current lineup. Subway seemed to be the winner in that regard. That was all it was winning considering the empty line.

Luckily the women’s bathroom had no line either. A modern miracle she was eager to make use of.

Rebecca, face blank with a sudden realization, looked to Helga. “I left my wallet in the car.”

It would have been smarter for Helga to reach for her keys or just tell Rebecca to go get it since Amy could open it. Needing to pee, Helga decided to cut out the middleman and just gave Rebecca her wallet. “You can pay me back later.”

It was after leaving the bathroom, one much cleaner than she’d come to expect, that everything went to shit. She first noticed something was wrong when various heads were turned in the direction of the convenience store. Perked ears and wide eyes, the marks of interest. Some looked to be considering taking out their phones for some new-fashioned vigilante justice of recording and posting. Helga, feeling her anxiety spike, quickly walked past the crowd to the scene. She froze at the threshold between burger joint and convenience.

Rebecca was facing the wall, hands forward on the glass displays over the energy drinks with her ass out like she’d done so many times in play. Only instead of a smile or the calm look of submission on her face, it was covered in a mask of fear with flat ears and a nubby tail that couldn’t go between her legs. Behind her, in the forestry green blouse of a highway patrolman, was a brown weasel woman with blonde hair and a nightstick in one hand, patiently prodding the pitbull to get her to spread her legs.

Helga’s rage at seeing someone humiliate Rebecca clashed with her history with uniformed officers. She could go over, grab the bitch, and demand to know what she was doing to Rebecca, but that would leave a stint in a cell for a night at the very least, and prison time for assaulting an officer in public. So, like the experienced former outlaw she used to be, Helga approached the situation with her rage restrained by each step she took. “Hello, officer, what seems to be the problem?” She asked.

The weasel didn’t pay her any mind until she repeated it. “Back off, civvie, this is police business.”

Civvie. Helga mentally rolled her eyes. Of course it would be one of those officers. The kind who have a taste of power and are willing to abuse it to get something done. Always for the good of the law, as they say. Plenty of those Helga met were more interested in filling out their quotas than helping others. Enforcement was their drug.

She caught a glimpse of the officer’s badge to get her name. Bobby Lorraine. Unsurprisingly, her body cam was off given the model wasn’t giving the red light it should be. Rebecca tried to turn her head to Helga, halfway mouthing the words ‘help’ when Bobby shouted for her to keep facing the wall.

“It is my business, Officer, because that’s my girlfriend you’re groping.”

Officer Lorraine stopped her patdown. Her face twisted in confusion, not at the groping part but at girlfriend. She eyed Rebecca, then Helga. “Bit young for you, don’t you think?”

“Not your fucking business,” Helga wanted to say. Instead she kept her face placid and said, “What’s she being charged with?”

“Shoplifting,” Officer Lorraine said, “I saw her sneak a can into her jacket.”

“I wanted my hands free,” Rebecca muttered.

Years of self-control were all that kept Helga from socking the weasel when Officer Lorraine prodded the pitbull’s ass with her nightstick, “Shut up. Anyway, I saw her shoplifting, and the wallet she has doesn’t have her ID. I’m adding pickpocketing to the mix.”

“Petit larceny."

The officer blinked behind her aviator sunglasses. “What?”

“It’s not called pickpocketing in court. It’s called petty larceny, or petit larceny in this state.” Helga stepped forward, inching close enough to highlight that she was taller than the weasel. She didn’t like using her size to intimidate outside of play, but she liked the officer less. “Can I see the wallet?”

Officer Lorraine’s smile seemed forced, as if she was used to snarling to get respect. “That’s evidence.”

“It’s also mine,” Helga said, pointing to Rebecca, “I gave her my wallet to buy stuff for the road trip we’re on with our partner. Got more than enough cash to buy the drinks.”

“Do you want to get in cuffs for obstructing justice?”

“Do you want a scene of arresting someone on false charges?” Helga said, putting the items away, “She’s done nothing wrong. It’s all a misunderstanding. I’m sure you work hard enough and are tired, so you’re jumping to some easy conclusions. Why don’t we just ignore this? Forget it ever happened.”

Now Bobby grimaced like she’d been insulted. Rebecca bit her lip, stifling a cry as that damned nightstick patted her cheeks again. “I’ll just need to do one last check. Stop and frisk, you know how it is.”

“What reason do you have to suspect her?”

“Reasons I don’t need to share. Now shut up and let me do my job.”

This was the most Helga could do without consequences. She watched, nervously twitching as the weasel took her sweet time ‘searching’ Rebecca’s pockets. Then she saw something. Her hand shot out to grab the officer’s fist.

“The fuck are you–”

Helga pulled that fist up and squeezed. Not enough to break the fragile glass tube she saw the weasel grab from her own pocket, but enough to make her aware she saw it. “I know a very good lawyer,” She whispered, face close enough to smell the sweat of panic on Bobby’s neck when she heard that profession. “‘And she knows this girl personally. You might say she’s family. I could call her up and turn this little altercation into a lawsuit that’ll see you transferred. No biggie for you, I’m sure, but would you want that hassle? How about you drop the charges, let her go, and we pretend this didn’t happen?”

“Do you think I’ll let you walk away after threatening me?” Bobby whispered back.

“That wasn’t a threat,” Helga said, squeezing harder. “A threat would be me telling you how much it’d suck to clean glass out of your palm after whatever’s in that vial does its thing. But I’m not telling you that, am I?”

The officer shared a smile that masked a snarl. Helga could tell she wasn’t used to getting her way. Maybe she thought she was doing the right thing, dishing out the king of justice that left eggshells cracked open. For now, that was fine, so long as Rebecca wasn’t one of those shells.

Bobby let go. Rebecca immediately slipped behind Helga, pulling her hood up as though it were a protective veil from the world. “You both better leave before I consider this an assault of an officer,” The officer said with a scoff, slipping her nightstick into a slot just beside her gun. Helga eyed it carefully for a moment, contemplating if the weasel was power hungry enough to draw it if she didn’t comply with the last chance. She might have tried something in her younger years, stepped up to show she wasn’t afraid of the cop’s little fascist high. But Rebecca was on the urge of tears, so she buried that desire down in favor of getting her out of there.

“Oh, and a word of advice,” Officer Lorraine said as Helga led Rebecca out, “If you want your ‘girlfriend’ to be less suspicious, tell her to get some ear and tail extensions. Cropped ears and docked tails are just asking for trouble.”

Helga’s smile back carried all the rage she wanted to bring. “Have a good day, officer.”

Amethyst asked what happened when she saw them rush to the car. Helga just told her to get inside. They were a mile out from the station before catching the vole up on the matters.

“That profiling bitch!” Amethyst shouted, unable to filter her anger at the injustice. She turned to Rebecca, “You’re alright, right? She didn’t hurt you or anything?”

The pitbull shook her head. Helga knew she was lying from the way she looked downcast at the ground and how she fiddled with her cropped ears. She didn’t press because it wasn’t the time to do that. Amethyst, deciding that was wrong, climbed out from the passenger seat into the back to give her a hug.

Helga heard the pitbull’s cries soon after.

***

It was nightfall when they decided to stop at a motel off the freeway. Helga wanted to just get out of the state then and there, but both her girls told her she needed to rest. She’d prefer to rest when they were safe, but she couldn’t argue with them.

“That fucking bitch,” Amy growled. Riddled with irritable energy, the punkish vole paced around their two-bed motel room for want of an outlet. “Who does she think she is? Profiling isn’t meant to be standard procedure here in the first place. Not that it makes it good anywhere. Fuck!”

“Let it go,” Rebecca said. Her voice was strained and her cheekfur was damp.

“Let it go? How can I let it go when she treated you like…like…”

“Like the wrong breed.” Rebecca sighed, curling up into a ball atop the bed. She’d let her red hairbun drop, leaving her headfur in a mess as she fondled the cropped ear. They weren’t even hers by choice. Helga regretted only putting the girl’s father in the hospital instead of the morgue, even if that was better in the long run. “It’s fine. It happens. Even back home.”

Amethyst looked shocked at that. Helga didn’t. She knew that specism in the police force wasn’t only in major cities or small bumfuck towns. Even a midsized town like they called home had bad apples in the force they couldn’t quite get rid of.

Rebecca’s features became sharp. As though someone stepped on a branch behind her. Her hand shivered over her coat pocket. Helga knew what it was but said nothing as the pitbull pulled out the cylindrical can of an energy drink from her pocket. “Oh…fuck…” she muttered to herself. “I forgot to pay.”

“So what?” Amethyst asked, still full of self-righteous rage at an unjust world. “Fuck them. That’s ours now.”

“No,” Rebecca said, eyes teetering on the brink of tears, “No, you don’t understand. I forgot to pay. The cashier would notice. They might tell her. Fuck. Fuck. I forgot.”

“Hey,” Helga grabbed the can as Amethyst joined Rebecca on the bed. “That guy’s not gonna report you over one can. Shoplifters have never been worth the effort.” She would know, having palmed enough jerky from gas stations to have more regrets in the bathroom than from the cops. Rebecca didn’t seem convinced, but she did take Amethyst’s offer to curl up beside the vole. Helga hadn’t seen Rebecca that scared since dealing with her dad. This time she couldn’t just solve the problem with her fists.

“I’ll return it. Why don’t you girls order a pizza so I can pick it up on the way back?” She had no intention of driving that far to return an energy drink, but if it put the girls at ease then so be it. That and getting their car away from the motel would let Rebecca think the cop wouldn’t find her. Truth be told, Helga doubted that bitch in the aviators would bother. Any cop shaking down someone for shoplifting wasn’t going to go out of their way to chase them down several miles. They’d need to be more vindictive, and Helga gathered Officer Lorraine was a lazy cop.

She thought about that twenty minutes later when the blaring red and blue nightmare echoed behind her on the freeway. “Motherfucker,” Helga said aloud as she saw the familiar shape of a weasel appear in her rearview mirror. She took a deep breath, put her hands on ten and two on the steering wheel, and smiled right when that nightstick tapped her window.

“Step out of the car, ma’am,” Officer Lorraine said with a tone that was somehow both professional and not at all.

“Good evening, officer. Don’t you want my license and registration?”

“Cute. Step out of the car. You and your…” Officer Lorraine squinted her hazel eyes. Helga, surprised that the boot licker didn’t wear her sunglasses at night, couldn’t help suppress her grin.

“Expecting someone, Officer?” She asked.

“Don’t make me say it a third time, ma’am.”

Knowing not to press her luck further, Helga stepped out of her car with her hands exposed. No sudden movements, no threatening postures, no reason for the cop to unclip the gun at her holster. “Working late?” She asked, knowing that being conversational was one of many ways to show she wasn’t frightened. A quick glance to the patrol car showed her that there was no one with the weasel. “Working alone?”

“Partner doesn’t like overtime,” Officer Lorraine pointed her baton to Helga’s trunk, “Hands against the car.”

“With what am I being charged with, officer?”

“You really don’t understand how this works, do you?”

Helga smiled. “Oh, I know very well. You’ve skipped several steps. Unless, of course, this is just some power trip you’re going on. That might explain why your body camera is missing.”

The officer had the look of someone who either didn’t like being talked down to, didn’t like having to look up at someone, or was just angry as her natural state of being. Halfway through ordering another command, she caught a glimpse of the open energy drink in Helga’s cupholder and smiled. “Well, I’ll be. Looks like your girlfriend is guilty.”

“What’s your evidence?” Helga said, her voice tense, “An open can? We picked it up at another station. One without a psycho cop trying to fill her quota.”

“Can it.” Her cuffs clinked as she pulled them free, “Turn around, hands behind your back.” Helga did so, cursing silently and grunting when the weasel tightly lashed one cuff against her wrist. “You’re gonna tell me where that pitbull is. Then you, her, and, what the heck, that third little punk bitch can join you all in holding for the weekend. Gonna have to check for contraband. But don’t worry, I’ll be thorough with that little mutt. Might even let you watch.”

Helga twisted round without warning. Her elbow slammed into the officer’s neck. Stunned, Officer Lorraine was too busy coughing to stop the pig from clasping her shirt collar with both hands. One smack from Helga’s forehead to her face sent the officer reeling out of consciousness. She dropped the officer on the ground, staring at the slumped body for seconds that felt like an eternity.

“Fuck it,” Helga said. She hadn’t beaten up a cop since the days she went by Hrist, and at this point there was little she could do to take it back. Better to act quickly than to do nothing. Besides, this bitch needed a lesson.

Strapping on some latex gloves that all cops had stashed in their car, Helga freed her wrist from the cuffs and latched them to Bobby’s, locking her arms behind her back. From there she dragged the weasel to the side of her cruiser facing away from the road, obscuring her from any of the sparse drivers at night.

She cut through the weasel’s clothes using the trauma sheers she found in the officer’s left pocket, exposing that tightly muscled ass to the evening air when her briefs came off. Not one to waste the opportunity, Helga stuffed the balled-up briefs into the officer’s mouth, then sealed that snout shut with a couple of zip ties. Somehow it wasn’t the taste that woke her up, but the pressure clamping her jaw. No wonder, cops loved to run their mouths.

“Easy does it, cunt,” Helga whispered, strapping several stripes of cloth over the officer’s eyes as a blindfold. The officer, pressed against the dirt thanks to the pig’s full weight on her back, could do little more than kick out to squeeze herself free. Not even another pair of cuffs latching those ankles together put a stop to that.

“Hey,” Helga hissed, pressing a taser against the weasel’s neck, “Knock it off. Unless you want to feel how painful this nonlethal option is.” The growl she heard was less of submission and more acceptance that the cards weren’t in Lorraine’s favor. For now, anyway. Helga would make sure they’d never be.

“Good enough. Get up, bitch.” Helga pulled the weasel up by her headfur, forcing her to hop on her knees. The officer struggled in her bindings, more out of spite than being able to break free. Any cop knows that they can’t get out of handcuffs so easily. A weasel might be an exception with how flexible they were, but Helga wasn’t going to let the bitch slither free.

“Let’s see what kind of goodies you got in your trunk,” Helga said, figuring she might as well use whatever restraint was at her disposal. Bobby seemed to panic at the mention of her trunk, growing wilder with her thrashing. Curious, Helga tightened her grip and dragged her along, popping the trunk open with but a click from the keys.

Cop cars were modern miracles of storage. Little stations on wheels. Onboard computers, several compartments, a whole back seat meant to house prisoners. Whatever wasn’t in use belonged in the trunk. Sometimes weapons of a higher caliber or extra paperwork. Helga, using Bobby’s spare flashlight, caught something of interest. A small compartment hidden in a hollowed-out section of the wall.

“What do we have here?” Helga said, ignoring Bobby’s thrashing as she unlatched the hidden compartment. Inside she found unmarked bags of various substances that were too small to make a profit from dealing individually. Perfect for planting evidence.

“Oh…oh you corrupt bitch,” Helga growled, feeling halfway justified in assaulting an officer of the law. The weasel, realizing what had been discovered, doubled down with gagged swears and wormlike thrashing rather than cower in guilt. The sheer indignation of it all. She flipped her around, grabbed her by her tits, and pulled her up quick enough for the bitch to scream. A solid fist into her abdomen shut her up.

“Bet you felt invincible until now, huh? Big bad cop swaying her hips like she’s got a ten-inch cock. Anyone doesn’t like it then you’ve got enough evidence to ruin their lives on false fucking charges. I’ve dealt with shit people, plenty of them were cops, but you really pissed me off. See, there’s a short list of people allowed to make my girlfriend’s bitch cry. You aren’t on it.”

That last line brought a moment of confusion over Bobby’s face before it twisted as Helga twisted her tits. Not surprised to see an extra pair of nightsticks, Helga turned the batons into a vice around the weasel’s breasts and locked them in place with zipties. She twisted her around and laid her flat against the hood, admiring the gagged mewlings she made from her tits being squished.

She had a nice ass all things considered. Muscular, firm, the kind of cheeks Helga wouldn’t mind spreading to eat out or fuck with her strap. In another life she might have eagerly taken them as part of some ritualistic hate sex with the cop who’d curse her out as the fucked. Here, well, Bobby had an impressive collection of batons and it’d be a shame not to use them.

The first meaty smack of the baton against her cheeks made Bobby shriek into the stuffed briefs. The following thwacks came hard, each one controlled with purpose to not break anything. Helga wanted the bitch to recover after all. A long recovery process, one where every time she sat down she’d remember the beating, remember what brought it on, and remember her weakness.

Most people under onslaught would start begging for mercy. Helga had met many tough guys who broke out in tears far too quickly. But not this cop. Officer Lorraine seemed to take every ass shaking strike as a personal insult. Growling with her shrieks of pain, as if she could threaten Helga a retribution of a hundred-fold when she got out. This, likely from a combination of adrenaline and old sadistic urges, created a wicked feedback loop for the pig. She hit hard, Bobby growled more, so Helga hit her harder.

“And I thought you’d like a little police brutality.” Helga sneered. She paused for the moment, catching her breath and admiring the purple and blue mosaic of bruises along the weasel’s ass. Officer Lorraine’s struggles had weakened out of exhaustion, but not enough to warrant a loosened grip of her headfur.

“Guess not when you’re on the other side of it. Not to worry, we’ve got other experiences for you.” She trailed the baton’s tip along the bruises, taking pride in how the uppity bitch’s flesh twitched underneath her fur. “Bet you hate this feeling. The depersonalization. The loss of control. You’re supposed to be this big bad cop. You demand respect. But you’re nothing but a bitch in a uniform.” She slipped the baton through the weasel’s closed legs, biting her lip when Bobby’s grunts confirmed it pressed against her cunt. “At least you’ve got a nice ass. Has anyone ever told you that? If I were younger, less dedicated to my lovers, I might even flirt with you. Maybe even push for a fuck against my better judgement. Now? Well, I think a bitch like you, with all these drugs, might need a thorough cavity search.”

Helga pulled the rod free. Fresh juices and sweat coated it. She chuckled. “Should have guessed you were into this. Performative bitch.” The weasel grunted something that, if not for the gag, would have sounded like telling the pig to fuck off. Unfortunately, Helga was well-versed in gagspeak on account of her mouthy girlfriend, and opted to use that response as justification for just spit-lube.

The rod sank into the weasel with considerable effort on Helga’s part. She gathered the officer was a tight ass, so it being so literal wasn’t a surprise. Enjoying a challenge, enjoying revenge, Helga buried her elbow in the squirming weasel to keep her steady as she pushed the first few inches of the baton in by its side handle. “This all you can take?” Helga laughed, pulling it back an inch after five inside, only to push more in. “This is nothing compared to my bitches. You need to loosen up!”

Maybe it was Officer Lorraine’s aggressive grunts, Helga’s own excited heart pounding in her ear, or a combination of the two that made her deaf to the world. It hadn’t been the first time she’d lost track of time enjoying herself with someone. Though the sudden slam of a car door from just out of earshot ruined her mood far faster than simple exhaustion.

She twisted round to catch the flashing red and blue lights of another patrol car parked behind them. A lone figure approached, his hoof-free boots spreading into the gravel along the side of the freeway. He carried himself all, broad shouldered with a uniform just tight enough to show off his pecs without looking uncomfortable. His body cam was off, and the glare red blue glare of his circle glasses hid his pupils, amplifying the devilish smile headed her way in the night.

Without thinking, Helga wrapped her arm around Bobby’s neck and hoisted her up. “Stay back,” she hissed, silently cursing she left the last baton in the weasel’s ass, “Not unless you want this bitch to get hurt.”

She fucked up. Helga had enough experience with cops to know what would happen if she hit one, let alone what she did here. She pooled over ideas of what to do next but all she could think of was to stall for the inevitable.

The white goat stopped. He didn’t seem frightened, or particularly bothered by the situation. If anything, the way he craned his head implied he was thinking. Thinking with crossed arms rather than reaching for his sidearm with an itchy trigger finger. Now that Helga had a moment to look, she found he didn’t have a sidearm. He didn’t bring anything with him.

One look at the opened trunk warranted a whistle from him. “Well, well, well,” he said, ignoring Helga as he perused through the trunk. She tightened her hold on Bobby in case he went fishing for her spare guns. Instead he pulled out one of the many spare bags of drugs she kept hidden. “What do we have here, Bolo? Looks like just the amount that’s been missing from evidence for months. In fact, all of this stuff looks like it’s been missing from evidence. The kind of stuff that just so happens to reappear whenever you bring someone in.”

Bolo, Bobby’s nickname apparently, stiffened at the sound of his voice. Then that momentary fear turned to rage as Helga expected it would. The goat laughed. “I mean, it’s one thing to catch a fellow officer with drugs. But it’s another to imply, then prove with ease, that she’s been padding her record with false arrests and planted evidence. One might suggest a lot of people behind bars would be happy to see her.”

Helga warned him again when he stepped closer. The goat raised his hands. “Now, now, I’m not here to cause trouble. Not like my partner. Sorry, my former partner as of just now.”

“Who are you? What do you want?”

That smile never wavered. Helga wished it did. “Officer Long. My friends call me Summer. And what I want is to offer you a proposition.”

“Me? Why?”

“Short answer? I don’t have room for two in my trunk. Long answer? Well, consider this as my gratitude for helping me skip a few steps. See, I knew Bolo has been pumping her arrest records for quite some time. We all do it, it’s rather normal.”

“Agree to disagree,” Helga said, nearly choking Bolo out as the weasel squirmed in her grasp. If not for the gag she was certain the officer would be throwing the worst obscenities she could think of. Frankly, she still tried.

Summer nodded, “Not here to debate on the morality of law enforcement. What I’m happy to debate on is the hypocrisy. See, Bolo, despite her obvious abuses, has made a habit of sticking herself into other cop’s businesses. I have a few private affairs she’s come close to unveiling, and I’d rather she not reveal them. Ah, by that look in your eye I can gather you’re experienced in this side of the world. I don’t intend to bury her in the dirt or throw her in the lake with cement shoes. Killing is wasteful. No, I have a much better way of dealing with her. And if you hand her to me, I’ll let you go.”

“You’ll let me go?” Helga asked as if the words were shields raised in defense.

“No strings. You and your girlfriends were just passing through, yes? Well, give me Bolo, take your partners out of state, and I promise no one will come after you.”

A deal too good to be true. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“You really can’t,” Summer said, “But what are your alternatives? You think Bolo’s going to be thankful if you side with her? Not after you…” He leaned forward to squint, “Did you shove a baton up her ass? And here I thought the vice for her tits was impressive. Regardless, she’ll sooner toss you and your loved ones behind bars as retribution. Me? We’ll never cross paths again. And, if by some unfortunate circumstance we do, I’ll remember your contribution and aid you.”

Summer kept one hand out as he carefully reached for his pockets. He pulled out a keyfob, clicked it, and the trunk of his cruiser opened. “Just put her in the trunk, and drive away.”

Helga looked at Summer hard. He had the face of someone who never lied, at least not directly. Half-truths seemed more his forte, better to twist for sadistic glee. Yet she believed he wouldn’t go after her. Not out of some sense of honor amongst criminals, but disinterest in her or her girls. He wanted Bolo, and Helga wanted Bolo out of her life.

So, with reluctance on Bolo’s part, she marched the weasel over to the goat’s car. “What do you plan on doing with her car?” She asked when passing him.

“I know some people,” Summer said, “The chief’s been wanting an excuse for an upgrade anyway.”

He whistled once Helga shoved Bolo into the trunk, one bereft of any cop essentials. “Gotta say, impressive work with her ties. You know, if you ever need a job–”

“I got one,” Helga said.

“One that uses your talents?”

“I prefer the term skills, and they’re a passion.”

The goat nodded with understanding as he shut the trunk, silencing Bolo’s gagged shouts. “Some things should stay fun. I completely understand.” The car shook. He smacked the trunk, hard. It still shook which made him chuckle. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.”

Helga didn’t say another word. She left, picked up the pizza, picked up her girls, and drove out of West Virginia at the speed limit so no cop would dare pull them over.