Free Paw Enforcement 02 - Paw and Order by Diane Kelly Page A

after a respectable period, it was business as usual. No sense getting all worked up. After all, the rider knew the risks and had voluntarily taken them on, right? Besides, they’d come here to have a good time and weren’t going to let this mishap ruin a fun night out. The announcer called out another name and another rider slipped onto a fresh bull in the chute. This rider had the sense to wear a helmet instead of a cowboy hat.
    The gate burst open once again. Clang!
    After just three seconds, this rider’s hand came down to touch the bull’s flank. This so-called slap meant his ride was now over as far as judging was concerned.
    My radio crackled to life. “Officer needed at the outdoor beer booth.”
    I pushed the button to activate my mic. “This is Officer Luz and Brigit. We’re on it.”
    The event continued, bull after bull, rider after rider, clang after clang. I tugged on Brigit’s leash. “Let’s go, girl.”
    We ventured back out onto the stock show grounds. The wind had picked up now, bringing blasts of icy air with it. Most of the people had gone into the livestock barns to stay warm. The few that remained outside huddled together lest they freeze to death.
    I zipped my jacket all the way up and looked down at Brigit. She had her nose in the air, sniffing the various scents carried on the wind, the cold not seeming to bother her at all.
    â€œI wish I had a nice fur coat like you,” I told her.
    She responded with a tail wag.
    I turned and headed to the beer booth with Brigit trotting along beside me. I arrived to find a large man in a sweatshirt bearing the Coors Light logo standing watch over two boys who appeared to be in their late teens. They sat on the ground, outraged expressions on their faces.
    I circled the slack in Brigit’s leash around my hand to draw her closer in. “What’s going on?”
    â€œThese two boys tried to buy beer,” the man said, “with these.”
    He handed me two laminated cards purporting to be Canadian military identification cards. The photos on the cards depicted the faces of the two boys sitting on the ground. Though the boys didn’t appear to be twenty-one yet, I knew age could be difficult to guess. Some people had baby faces, others aged prematurely. Still, I was with the beer man on this. I thought these boys were trying to pull a fast one.
    â€œThose are real IDs!” said the taller of the two boys. “We’re in the Canadian army.”
    â€œThey certainly look real.” I gave the man a discreet wink and looked down at the boys. “You wouldn’t lie to a police officer, would you? That could get you in big trouble.”
    â€œNo,” they mumbled, sounding less sure now.
    â€œWhere in Canada are you two from?”
    â€œMontreal,” said the taller one.
    â€œYeah,” agreed the other. “Montreal.”
    â€œWhere’d you do your basic training?” I had no idea where the Canadian army held its boot camps, and I suspected these boys had no idea, either.
    â€œAt home,” the tall boy said. “In Montreal.”
    Montreal seemed to be the only city in Canada these boys could identify. Americans weren’t known for excelling in geography.
    â€œWait a minute.” I narrowed my eyes at the boys. “I’ve heard that the Canadian army holds its boot camp in Vancouver.” I was just making stuff up now, screwing with them a little. Might as well have some fun on the job.
    â€œVancouver,” said the tall one. “Yeah. That’s what I meant to say.”
    Riiight.
    â€œWhat brings you to Texas?” I asked.
    â€œWe’re on vacation,” said the first.
    â€œYeah,” agreed the second. “Vacation.”
    â€œFunny,” I said, “you don’t seem to speak with French accents. Your military ID cards aren’t in French, either.”
    The two said nothing now, fear gleaming in their