Free Rolling Thunder by Chris Grabenstein Page A

care of it. I need you to start pulling your weight around here, son. When I tell you to do something, do it.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Mr. O’Malley sighs and shakes his big Irish head.
    Meanwhile, Skippy’s freckled face goes red with embarrassment. He keeps hugging the cat. Stroking it.
    Mr. O’Malley turns to face Ceepak and me.
    â€œOfficers. Thank you again. Skippy? I’ll be upstairs. Order me a sandwich.”
    â€œThe usual?”
    â€œI don’t care. Hell, surprise me.”
    Mr. O’Malley shakes his head again, mutters something about Jesus, Mary, and Joseph giving him strength, and heads up a spiral staircase to his office.
    â€œI’ll let the people in the parking lot know it’s okay to come back in,” I tell Skip, who looks totally bummed out.
    â€œIt’s a kill shelter,” he mumbles.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œSouth Shore. If they can’t find Gizmo a new home, they’ll euthanize him. Put him to sleep. I’ve seen it happen. When I went out there with Mom—”
    â€œHe’s a very attractive cat,” says Ceepak, attempting to comfort Skip. “I feel confident he will find a new home. South Shore is where we found Barkley, our dog.”
    â€œMy mom loved Gizmo.”
    Ceepak and I just nod because, well, we’re guys and guys don’t get all weepy about our pets in public because it’s against the official (if unwritten) guy code.
    All of a sudden, Rita pipes up: “We could take him.”
    â€œCome again?” says Ceepak.
    â€œWe could take the cat. We have the room.”
    â€œWe do?”
    â€œSure. T.J.’s heading off to Annapolis in July. His room will be empty. Of course, a cat doesn’t really need his own room … just a nice bed and some sunshine.”
    She reaches out her arms.
    â€œReally?” says Skippy, his face brightening. “Are you sure, Mrs. Ceepak?”
    â€œWe’ve always wanted a cat, right, John?”
    Ceepak clears his throat. “Well, dear, to tell the truth—”
    â€œYou can tell me later, honey.”
    â€œWhat about Barkley?”
    â€œHe’s old. He’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine.”
    Skippy hands Rita the cat. “He likes when you scratch under her chin.”
    So Rita strokes the cat’s chin. “Of course he does. Aren’t you beautiful boy? Yes you are.”
    Rita Lapczynski once rescued a seagull with a broken wing from the middle of the road. She nursed it back to health and then set it free. Next, she and Ceepak rescued an old dog named Barkley who had been abandoned on the beach by a family that didn’t like the stink of his farts anymore. Today, the Ceepak menagerie adds its first feline. I, of course, was the first stray human they took in. Rita’s forever inviting me over for Sunday dinner or a cookout because my parents moved to Arizona (“it’s a dry heat”) as soon as my dad retired from the post office.
    â€œCan I come visit him?” asks Skippy.
    â€œSure,” says Rita who is holding the cat very close to Ceepak so he can pet it.
    Ceepak does. Then he sneezes.
    â€œMy mom and I were the only ones in the family who loved Gizmo.”
    â€œYou two were close, weren’t you? You and your mom?” Rita says, oozing so much empathy, I wish she were my mom.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWell, you can come visit anytime you want.”
    â€œThanks. Officer Ceepak?”
    â€œYes?” He sneezes again.
    â€œYou know why my mom had that heart attack yesterday?”
    â€œWell, Skip, we suspect she had some sort of preexisting heart condition.”
    â€œExactly. It was broken.” Now he whispers. “By that bastard upstairs.”

12
    T HAT “M OMMA ’ S B OY ” STUFF CRAZY M ARY KEPT YABBERING about on the roller coaster yesterday doesn’t seem so crazy today.
    I mean, I love my mom, but I wouldn’t clip her toenails for her. I