Bounty Hunter Uncle

By Domus Vocis

            Waking up around midnight, my brain barely registered the sound of my phone buzzing on the nightstand. I opened my eyes and checked the time, only to sigh and grab the damn thing before it could go to voicemail.

            “H-Hello…?" I murmured into the glass screen in my palm, still half-asleep. The moon out my bedside window shone in like a spotlight, no doubt painting the rest of the dusty trailer park in a shade of blue. “This…This is Trevor Finley."

            “Hey Uncle Trevor, it's me!" a half-nervous, familiar female voice called from the other end. “Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could…ya know…come over tomorrow?"

            Groaning, I drowsily sat up in bed and held the phone to my alert ears.

            “Sure…wait, who are you?"

            The voice giggled. “It's Stacey."

            “Oh, hey there uh…Stacey," I yawned, stretching an arm out. “Mfh, why're you callin' at this hour, kiddo? S-Shouldn't you be in bed for school?"

             Thanks to my brother's job as a lawyer, as well as some connections, he managed to get his daughter into a fancy-scmancy private school on the other end of town. Whenever I lingered at family gatherings, ignoring my sister-in-law's incessant ramblings or my nephew's awkward questions about girls, I'd often hear everyone talk about Stacey being accepted into this place. And the tough classes she needed to endure for a good college.

            “Nope," she chuckled heartily. “Tomorrow's Saturday, remember?" The younger Doberman paused before continuing, “Anyway, I was wondering if I could stop by your place tomorrow morning? I'm working on this paper for AP Criminal Justice, and my topic is on the bail system. Does 10:00 sound good? Maybe 11:00? Please?"

            Having only gotten a few hours of sleep, I relented. “Sure, sure…" I cleared my throat. “I gotta get some sleep, kiddo, and you should too. Just…ugh, see you tomorrow…"

            “Oh, thank you, thank you!" Stacey barked excitedly. “It'll only be a minute, and I won't bother you much. I just need to ask a few questions about your profession, ethics and such. Good night, Uncle Trev!"

            “Sure thing, Stace." I yawned once more. “Night."

            She hung up a few seconds later, and I followed before collapsing back into my mattress, only to find the blanket tangled in knots. The cool spring air inside and outside my trailer barely bothered me, especially with winter long gone, but my preference for keeping warm in bed led to me spending a few minutes untangling the damn thing.

            Ugh, so much for relaxing tomorrow, I thought to myself. Now your niece needs you for something. Before I could think about the entire of our conversation, however, sleep pulled me back to unconscious bliss.

***

            My usual mornings consisted of two things, depending on my mood. The first type of morning revolved around waking up at whatever time, going to the bathroom, taking a shower, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and underwear until the day really began later around noon. I'd then put on a pair of actual clothes, maybe hang out with some colleagues by the King o' Clubs Bar downtown and watch TV later in the evening. The second kind of morning usually started when a bail fugitive earned themselves a bounty in the area, which eventually led to me hauling ass to get my next paycheck. I'd jump out of bed, brush my short fur until it looked presentable enough, toss on my equipment and go out to get the dumbass thinking they can flee.

            Taking a shower, I did my morning ritual of staring at my eye scar for a full minute. When I got it years ago, the pain hurt like white fire, but luckily the eye healed over time. Now it left me with a scar from my forehead all the way down to my cheek, which certainly didn't help when trying to appear less…intimidating.

            Having a lifestyle such as this meant I rarely got visitors, so I begrudgingly decided to clean up as much of my trailer as I could. I implemented my tradition for Morning 2 and freshened up for Stacey's arrival. Afterward, I tossed away the drained aluminum soda cans piled by the sofa, the old pizza boxes stacked in the kitchen, washed the dirty dishes, and thought about vacuuming later. Maybe even wear something other than a bleached wifebeater and jeans.

            Sadly, as I heard a car pull into the gravel driveway, both options expired.

            Knock, knock, knock!

            “I'm coming, I'm coming!" I laughed lightly, wincing at the bright sun once I opened the door. “Fucking hell, you impatient kids these days…"

            The younger Doberman at my door almost surprised me. Wearing a pair of torn denim jeans and a red blouse that matched her dyed headfur, what really stood out were her green eyes. They were my brother's eyes, as were her black-and-brown fur patterns that came from the Finley side of our family. Her thin physique and short stature obviously came from Harriet, but I admired the snarky confidence in the female Doberman.

            It proved we were related.  

            “You're one to talk, Trev!" Stacey snickered as she held onto a notebook and pen. I noticed her eyes wander at my messy interior, flashing momentary disgust, then immediately turned to me with a smile. “Can I come in?"       

            “Would I be a gentleman if I said no to my niece?" I joked before opening the door wider. As she walked in, I noticed her perked ears suddenly lower. “Heh, so…it's good to see you, Stacey. What's it been, since Christmas, that I last saw you and your dad?"

            “Pretty much," she slowly sat down on a nearby sofa. “I hope I'm not bothering you at a bad time or anything—"

            “Nah, don't worry your tail off, Stace!" I waved a paw while walking into the kitchen a few feet away. Reaching into the refrigerator, a new one I bought a few bounties back, I continued, “Mi casa es su casa. I know your pops ain't too fond of me, what with his job and all, but family is always welcome here…"

            “Thanks, Uncle Trevor," she nodded and opened up that notebook of hers. “So can I start asking you some questions then? I'll need to know a few things about your uh…job, for my presentation to class."

            Finally finding two sodas at the back of some leftovers, I pulled them out and kicked the fridge closed, returning to the trailer's 'living room'.

            “You said it's for AP Criminal Justice, right?" I asked, eyes raised while sitting beside my niece. She nodded. “Well, I don't know what you could ask for me."

            “I told you last night, it's about the bail system in America. Now," Stacey readily positioned her pen, “as a bounty hunter, do—"

            “The term is 'bail recovery agent', kiddo."

            The younger canine turned to raise her own eyebrow at me. “Huh?"

            “I said I'm a 'bail recovery agent', Stace." Opening one of the soda cans and setting the other on the coffee table/foot stool, I took a small sip from mine. “My job is to capture a fugitive when he pays for a bail, but either doesn't attend his trial or goes on the run from the law."

            Stacey began writing things down as I rambled on.

            “But that's what a bounty hunter is, Uncle Trev…" she murmured.

            “Bail. Recovery. Agent," I emphasized for her. “I'm not some gun-toting loser with a pair of shades or a rocket pack. My job is more professional than that."

            “…as a bounty hunter," Stacey continued while ignoring my eyes rolling at her snark, “how long have you been doing this job? And Why did you become a…'bail recovery agent'?"

            Sighing, I reluctantly replied, “Since I got discharged from the Army several years ago, I guess. Jim rarely talks about it, but we grew up in a broken home. Grandpa and grandma worked all the time, fought, yelled and the like. Me and him looked out for each other, but we had different…goals in life. My little brother wanted to go into college, but I went into the military. After being discharged, I guess I didn't have anything better to do."

            Stacey suddenly laughed.

            “I-I'm sorry, but…there has to be more than that, Uncle Trev," she composed herself and glanced curiously at me. “Dad says you enjoy your job, and that you were inspired by Dog t—"

            “Do not say that name," I growled in annoyance, then took another heavy sip of my can. “I didn't become a full-time bounty—bail recovery agent, because of some stupid reality show. I did it because I liked being in the military, but I can't be a cop because I failed their fucking tests, so I went for the next best thing."

            “Chasing bail fugitives?"

            I pointed a finger.

            “Exactly," smirking proudly, I gripped my soda and rested my arm on the sofa's armchair. “Turns out it isn't that hard to do. Just get a proper license, buy some body armor and voila!" As if on cue, my phone suddenly started vibrating in my right pocket. After placing my drink aside, I pulled it out to find several texts. “And speaking of which, can you give me a moment, kiddo?"

            “Sure thing," Stacey said as she continued writing in her notebook.

            After reading each of the texts, my eyes lit up like flashing headlights.

            “I'm sorry, but I think we'll have to cut this short, Stace."

            The young Doberman hitched her breathing. “Huh, what is it?"

            “Duty calls," I shoved my phone back into my pocket and began strolling into the bedroom. “Just got a text about a recent bail jumper in this county. He's fresh meat, so I cannot miss out on this!"

            “Hey, I'm coming with you!"

            I paused putting on my bullet-proof vest.

            “Absolutely not." My frown couldn't have been more sour or meaner. “If your Dad ever found out, he'd kill me in a way that'd make the Bible cringe."

            “But I need you to answer the rest of my questions!" Stacey stood up as I grabbed my stun gun and some duct tape. “Please, Uncle Trev! I'll just stay in the backseat and not get in the way, I promise!"

            “This is dangerous work, kiddo."

            She whimpered and blocked my doorway with her folded ears. And the same saddened face the female dobie wore when her older brother stole a toy from her on Thanksgiving. Seven years later, and my niece had perfected it into a weapon.

            “Dammit, don't do that now."

            “D-Do what?"

            My frown could've scared a nasty old lady off, but Stacey knew me better.

            I eventually relented. “Stay in the backseat and—" 

            “Thank you, thank you! Come on then, let's go!"

            Stacey's sad face miraculously melted away into her eager smile before she turned to follow me outside to my truck. Hopefully, today wouldn't be one of those dramatic days where I got another scar or a bullet in the leg.

            Otherwise, my brother would fucking murder me himself.

***

            “Uncle Trev?"

            “Yeah?" I spoke up, my eyes still focused on the road as I drove towards our destination. “What is it, kiddo?"

            Stacey leaned in from the backseat.

            “There's something I've always wanted to ask, but I never found a way to—"

            “No. I'm not gay," I sighed before taking another swig of a soda bottle. “As much as it's hard to believe, your uncle isn't into other dudes. I'm straight as a metal ruler. Not to say I am homophobic or have any form of disgust towards the LGBT community. I'm just a loner and never got lucky with long-term ladies in this field of work. However, I understand why you would have that misleading thought about me."

            Suddenly, she started yipping with laughter. “I was going to ask why you drink soda and not beer, silly!" the female Doberman shook her muzzle, clearly amused.

            I was about to take another sip when I paused, grumbled to myself and carefully set it down in the nearest cupholder. “Mmm, no comment."

            Minutes later, my ears fell in embarrassment.

            “I…read a study once that said," I groaned and finished, “that the amount of sugar in an average soda makes the brain feel like it's on cocaine."

            “Bullshit," she laughed.

            “Language, Stace…and yeah, it beats hangovers," I smirked.

            We were far from the trailer park and entering a maze of green-patched suburbia. Plastic toys and garden gnomes in front yards as far as the eye could see. And the neighborhood of my target. I suspected the wanted bail fugitive, a pudgy wolf in his early twenties named Daryl L. Schneider, would go if he were on the run. According to the memo, he didn't gain the attention of the law until a year or so back. Aside from a few expensive speeding violations and losing his license recently, the boy was caught twice stalking some younger high school girls a few months prior, with the last straw happening when he snuck into their house during a slumber party. The parents got him out on a $20,000 bail bond, but then he didn't show up to his required court hearing this morning.

            And thanks to the cops having better things to do, that meant me getting another easy paycheck.

            “Ah!" I slowed us down beside a duplex. “Here we are, kiddo: Casa de Bail-Fleeing Jackass. Well, more like half of a casa than a single casa, but still…"

            “Why would he be here, Trev?" Stacey pondered, staring out her window. “If I were a bail fugitive, wouldn't I be fleeing the city or something?"

            “Yeah, but he's not some experienced criminal. Everyone will be looking at his residence on the campus, but if I were a stupid college kid, I'd go to the one place all of 'em go when I get in trouble. That would be—"

            “Parents," Stacey finished for me in lit realization.

            “Now, I want you to stay back here," I told her as I exited my truck, then handed her the keys. “I don't think this'll be too bad, but if anything happens, duck down and call the police from your phone, okay? And if you need me back here, ya honk that horn, okay?"

            “Sure thing, Uncle Trevor." She started writing in her journal again.

            “Ugh…" I groaned. “And please, don't tell your daddy about this."

            “Don't worry!" she waved me off. “You go do your job, Uncle Trev."

            I turned and started walking back to the left side of the duplex house. My left paw instinctively gripped the taser in my holster as I surveyed the property, which looked like any of the other residences that stretched for several blocks. A grassy yard, tacky summer props and the works. However, I noted a few interesting things in the driveway:

            One, whoever decorated their front yard obviously had too much extracurricular time on their paws. One look at the flowers and how clean everything was proved it.

            Either I have a housewife or a dedicated gardener.

            Two, despite the wolf's family only having three members—the parents and Daryl himself—there happened to be two obvious cars owned by a twenty-something parked in the driveway. One was a rustic Stallion brand, and the other an outfitted Atom with a mean stereo and bumper stickers. Cheesy, crude ones that littered every metallic square inch. The one that almost made me do a double-take was this offensive sticker depicting a vixen kneeling in front of a male wolf, warning about a 'large package' that was a 'choking hazard for chicks'.

            According to the memo, these cars were owned by the Schneiders, but both clearly belonged to the young Daryl, seeing how the father was most likely at work.

            Great, I surmised in my head. I'm gonna be dealing with an unruly brat spoiled by his coddling parents. They'll probably be protecting the kid.

            Walking up to the front porch, I hesitantly knocked on the door three times.

            “Hello? Mrs. Schneider, are you home?"

            I could hear some shuffling on the other side, followed by a whisper. “Who are you?" a feminine voice spoke up. “What are you doing here?"

            “Listen, my name is Trevor Finley and I'm a bail recovery agent searching for your son," I stated carefully. I pointed to my 'bail agent' inscription on the front of my shirt. The last thing I needed was to spook the she-wolf into thinking I'm a thug. “Daryl didn't show up to his court hearing today. Did you know that?" Silence. “Mrs. Schneider? Do you know where Daryl is, because aiding a known criminal is a serious charge—"

            “Daryl is a good boy, he's not a criminal," Mrs. Schneider interrupted me, her wavering voice vibrating through the closed door. “I don't know where he is, but he's not a criminal!"

            “Ma'am, do you know your son is charged with stalking two girls on separate occasions and breaking into a house? Those acts make him a criminal."

            Further shuffling and further silence.

            Now this was where things went incredibly awkward. As I'm about to knock again, the door opened to reveal a forty-something she-wolf with graying silver fur, medium build and too much make-up. Her slim, yellow t-shirt barely left anything to the imagination for her cleavage but based on the sudden smile appearing on her muzzle, I knew she was hiding something else.

            “Where is your son, ma'am?" I wouldn't fall for this. The last time I fell for this, I lost a $50,000 bounty. “Do you know where he is at? The bondsmen need to know why your son didn't show up—"

             “He isn't here," she huffed in deep offense. Her tail swished at my ankle seductively. “I don't know where Daryl is at. Ever since he went off to college, and my husband started taking those trips," Mrs. Schneider began stretching her arms out, emphasizing her…two best buddies proudly, “I've been lonely here."

            My deadpan stare didn't cease.

            “Uh, yeah. You didn't answer my last question: Do you know where your son is?"

            “W-Well," the mother stammered. Her eyes wandered from me to the air around me, like she was trying to figure out which angle would make her more appealing. “I mean, the last time I heard from him was last night. He was here yesterday and said…said he was gonna drive back here…"

            I widened my eyes at the she-wolf. “He's been driving, huh? His license was revoked, right?"

            Mrs. Schneider hesitated. “Yeah?" she awkwardly retained her sensual grin. “But—"

            “I think the police would like to know he's been on the road again, ma'am. On top of the stalking charges, this isn't looking good for Daryl."

            “But he's not a criminal!" the she-wolf insisted, her smile immediately turning into a nasty frown. “Those sluts wouldn't give my boy a chance, and then they have the gall not to invite him to a party they were having!"

            “The report says it was a girl's slumber party, ma'am," I almost corrected her, but then shut myself when I noticed how Mrs. Schneider was looking behind me. That's when I heard a car engine hum back to life. “Son of a bitch!"

            I whirled around to see the stickered Atom rolling out of the driveway. Right on cue, my truck suddenly lurched forward to block the driveway. I flinched as the Atom suddenly braked hard, but I didn't hesitate to run over and pull out its occupant.

            “Good to see you Daryl!" I shouted, then I grumbled as he tried fleeing out the passenger's side door. “No, you don't! Come back here!"

            Normally, I was prepared to go on any chase on foot. One time, I found myself on a stakeout at a known bar in the area, trying to apprehend a bail fugitive known to miss court cases. The cheetah was a lacrosse athlete-turned-purse snatcher and could run fast enough to evade anyone without a car. My plan involved sneaking up on him before he could bolt off, but it changed when a drunken bargoer bumped into me and loudly asked if I were a bounty hunter. The idiot had caught the ears of the cheetah, who dropped his drink and ran out the front. I ended up running four city blocks before an off-duty cop helped me restrain the cat.

            And Daryl? This slightly overweight timber wolf didn't even make it two dozen yards before I held him down. The wolf tried biting the air, craning his neck despite his position. He was barking and squirming under me, but my arms held him muzzle-down against the dried grass. Sure, he was a wolf, but I happened to be a Doberman.

            “Don't resist, buddy, don't resist!" I growled while reaching into my back pocket. “Daryl Schneider, you're in a lot of trouble today."

            “What the fuck?!" he snarled. “Lemme go! I have fucking rights!"

            “Boy, you lost those rights trying to flee the scene," I began cuffing his furry wrists together. Whilst pulling him up, I gripped the wolf's arms and shouted, “Stacey, you okay?"

            “I am!" she replied from the truck. “You got him?"

            “Sure do, kiddo! Now can you do me a favor and call the police?"

            “Already got them on speaker!"

            “Daryl, honey!" Mrs. Schneider scrambled outside. “Let him go, now! Fuckers!"

            “Ma'am, you're in enough trouble as is!" I glared hot-red daggers at her and bared my teeth in defense. “Aiding and abetting a wanted fugitive, plus knowingly letting your son drive with a revoked license is grounds for jailtime!"

            “He's not a criminal, dammit!" she hollered. The she-wolf, now frantic and waving her arms, stepped five feet towards me.

            “My husband has connections, so you better fucking let him go before I sue you!"

            Good luck with that, lady, I said to her in my thoughts.

            Daryl tried squirming away again, but I held him tight like an iron leash.

            “I've tried being nice to you, but you were distracting me to let him escape!" I scowled as we approached my truck. “Stacey, is a police dispatch coming over or what?"

            “Yeah, they said a police car's coming over in a few minutes," Stacey poked her head out the backside window. “They said they'll need us to give witness statements!"

            I inwardly shriveled. Since she was a minor, her parents needed to be informed.

            “Damn, so much for secrecy, eh?" Once more, the cuffed timber wolf aggressively tried yanking himself free from my paws. “Hey, hey, hey! Knock it off, moron! Even if you get out of here, where you gonna go? Kid, it won't change a single thing!"

            “You bastards better let my son go!" she continued shrieking. “Fucking do it!"

            Daryl began baring his teeth, then hung his head down and whimpered. Per captured fugitive protocol, I held the wolf against my truck and started searching his pockets. Nothing except his wallet, some money and an unused condom, which I gladly put back.

            “This can't be happening to me, not like this!" he murmured softly against the truck, tail tucked between his legs and ears splayed downward. “I'm so sorry, Mom! I tried being quiet, but the car wasn't!"  

            “Let him go and I'll give you my body!" she tried approaching. “I'll do anything you want, please just don't take my angel boy away!"

            “Ma'am," I repeated myself, “I'm gonna need you to step back. I'm not asking!"

            Finally, police sirens came closing in.

***

            One of the accompanying officers, a tigress who knew me from years past, handled the hysterical mother and allowed me to bring the boy in, since he wasn't much of a threat. Plus, they'd already apprehended a burglar and didn't have enough room in their car. I didn't mind, seeing how it gave me the chance to look good as I brought him in.

            The first five minutes were tense as hell with him in the shotgun seat. On the few occasions I did bring a bail fugitive in by myself, I counted on it being them and me only, but it changed with my accompanying niece. Daryl's wrists still cuffed behind his back, and Stacey in the back seat, still writing down in her notebook, made me somewhat cautious with him finally talking again by the time we left the suburbs towards downtown.

            “I'm sorry, sir. I really am…" he tried to say through a shaky voice. “I just…I didn't know what to do. I can't go to jail, sir. I just can't!"

            “Before, it was up to the judge, boy," my eyes remained on the road, but I'd occasionally glance to see him try anything. In this line of work, paranoia often saved your life. “Now you're past the point of no return. Because you skipped out on paying your bond, and your little stunt in your parents' driveway won't help your case at all."

            “I'm sorry!" he barked. “I slept in by accident and panicked, and I didn't know what to do, alright? Besides, this whole case is bull. I'll admit I sped here and there, but I didn't know they'd send Dog the—"

            “The tickets aren't the reason I came for you, buddy." I quickly changed the conversation, and pretended Stacey wasn't trying to hide her audible snickering. “Your file tells me you were stalking two chicks over a period of a few months, sending them one too many emails and following them to and from school. Then you decided to break into one of their homes and watch them from a closet. Like a creep."

            “I-I wasn't in my right mind, alright?!" he responded angrily, either at me, them or himself. “Marta kept ignoring me since I told her I liked her, and…and I thought Kendra would be a good rebound, but it backfired." He lowered his muzzle to stare at the pick-up's carpet. “Now my life is over. It's dead…Now I'm just a criminal."

            The car went silence. Even Stacey stopped writing things down and, as I watched from my rearview mirror, she gave sympathetic look. Ugh.

            “Hey, Daryl. See this scar?" I pointed to the exact one running down my right eye, visible under my dark fur. “Wanna know how I got this?" When the confused wolf didn't speak, I explained, “When I was half your age, my little brother and I grew up in a poor neighborhood. Our mother left us, and Dad was an alcoholic whose job barely paid for the bills. Our home was this tiny two-bedroom apartment all three of us had to share, plus eat fast food for our meals, and the smell? Good God, it—"

            “Is there a point to telling him this, Uncle Trev?" Stacey moaned from the back. “You are kind of trailing off."

            “I agree," the wolf half-frowned, half-brightened at my niece acknowledging his presence. “What's the point, sir?"

            “Be quiet and I'll tell you," I snarled at the impatient canine. “And by the way: keep staring at my niece, boy, and I'll give you a real reason to sue me." I cleared my throat and ignored Daryl's flickering expression of terror, or Stacey's awkwardly amused chuckle.

            “Sorry about him, by the way. He's very protective."

            “Anyway, I dropped out of school to find a job to help support me and my brother, since Dad spent his fair share on beer. The best I could find was being a Wald-Mart cashier while doing odd job. The work was decent, paid well and such for full-time, but what I could not stand were the customers," I inwardly felt my fur crawl at the memories. “Fucking customers, these irritated tight-asses who thought everything you said was offensive. One day, I'm in the middle of rush hour when suddenly this opinionated retriever comes in and accuses me of stealing his credit card. I tried telling him he was mistaken, but then called me a 'corporate pawn' and tried stealing money from the register. Next thing I know, he's trying to choke me and…huh, he fucking scratches his claw along my eye. So I broke both his arms as I clutched my bleeding eye, kneeling there, in the crowded checkout lane…"

            Daryl muttered, “Holy fuck, dude." The look on the boy's face was more priceless than I thought it'd be; a mixture of fascinated awe and revulsion beautifully stirred in a single pot.

            Stacey, seeing how she'd known about this since she middle school, barely reacted.  

            “As much as provocation was an appropriate response, the judge still ordered me to stay in juvie for twelve months. I got out in ten, but the damage was done to my teenage life."

            Sighing, I finally pulled over outside the police station.

            “My brother only had to stay in foster home for a year, and he got a good job as a lawyer, but he's never forgiven me ever since. By the time I got out, I never wanted to be in a jail cell ever again. So, I went back to school, graduated and joined the U.S. Army at eighteen, and did several tours in the Middle East before I got discharged eight years later. Apparently, when you have consensual relations with a fellow female soldier, it is grounds for being dubbed 'inappropriate', but I happen to personally disagree.

            “The point is," I finished, “someday, you might get out of jail and move on with your life. It's damaged for you currently, but not beyond repair. Get the help you need, and do what you want in the future, Daryl. Can you do that for me?"

            “I don't know," the wolf looked away uncertainly. “I…I'll try, sir. I'll try."

            Smiling, I exited the vehicle and handed the passive youngster over to a waiting police officer. As I watched Daryl Schneider be escorted to booking, I offered him a curt nod, but he was pulled inside before he could give one back.

            “Welp, come with me, kiddo." I exhaled tiredly. By now it was already half past three o' clock, but I felt like I'd endured a week of tension. “We better get in and give our witness statements for today. I thought it'd be a simple grab, but the dumb kid decided to make a run for it." I laughed shortly, and grinned. “You did good though, with the truck."

            “It's not your fault he almost escaped," she exited the passenger side and began strolling alongside me, her notebook held close. “And besides, shadowing you gave me so much info for my presentation. I'll be sure to get an A+ for it!"

            “Quick question, kiddo:" I asked, “If you're defending bail bonds, why did you feel the need to shadow me in the first place? I've been wanting to ask you that."

            Stacey paused, her ears guiltily lowering.

            “Actually," she trailed, “I have a confession to make Uncle Trev, and please don't be angry with me: I'm doing a presentation against bail bonds. Not to say I'm against your job, but it's the only topic that wasn't picked in class…"

            Walking into the station with her, I blinked twice and laughed heartily.

            “Don't worry, Stace. I understand. At the moment, I'm more concerned with what your father's gonna say when he gets that phone call tonight about you being with me on a job."

            Stacey snickered. “Yeah, he's not gonna be happy."