More changes and expansions; previously.
Two days ago…
“You’re positive you can have the information for us?” Puddles said.
“Trust me,” came the reply over their car’s speakers.
Whiskers right ear leaned to the side emphasizing the doubt on his face. Puddles shrugged.
“We’re counting on you Chuck,” Puddles stated.
Line disconnected, Puddles shook her head at Chuck and the traffic. She glanced over at Whiskers who continued working on his tablet oblivious to the traffic around the police station. A cloud of flying vehicles entering and exiting the multiple flight lanes, made navigation a pain. Lining up her approach for the 40th floor landing pad, Puddles turned on the auto-pilot and turned to Whiskers.
“What has you working hard?”
Looking up from his tablet, “Research.”
“Oh,” shaking her head, “What are you hoping to get from Detective Orte?”
“Information. Current information on the gangs.”
“That could be useful. Anything about his daughters in your research?”
“No. Chuck should get their CIS data.”
“If he remembers,” Puddles said sarcastically.
Non-stop motion on the landing pad; vehicles flying in, out, taking off, and landing. Officers and citizens moving all over the place. Puddles briefly wondered where their car would land without hitting another vehicle or crushing someone underneath. As quickly as the thought finished, the car landed without incident. Whiskers put away his tablet and checked his skin watch.
“Five minutes to our appointment.”
“Lead the way,” she responded.
Blasts of wind pushed their fur in uncomfortable directions all the way to the entrance. The noise level deafening and the constant motion made keeping track of any one thing difficult. Stepping through the entrance the wind disappeared, replaced by controlled temperatures and noise dampening. Following Whiskers, Puddles regretted making the trip, too many people in uniform, too much noise, and most of all she hated being inside police stations. Nothing ever positive ever came from a visit to a police station, thankfully Whiskers knew the location of Detective Orte’s office.
Puddles could not stop staring at Orte’s mustache; long, dark black, and hanging past his chin plate. Every time he spoke, the entire moustache wiggled and waved, totally in contrast to his deep, gravelly voice and menacing disposition. Looking away, his office decorated with commendations, holos of him with local officials, and one moving holo of him carrying two children away from an explosion. Impressive career and yet each time she looked at him she worked hard to suppress a chuckle.
Stepping out the Stroud Police Divisions 40th landing port the wind pushed their fur back uncomfortably again. Whiskers swiped through several pages of data, on his tablet, that Detective Orte gave them about the gangs of Tumbledown, “Puddles, you should read this, seems that several of the gangs are being financed by local corporations through backchannels. At least that is how this report reads; upgraded weapons, cyber, and so on.”
Before Puddles could respond her phone chirped, flipping her phone open, “You got Puddles. Oh hi mom.”
Whiskers smiled, he enjoyed the mental and verbal gymnastics Puddles had to go through when her mother called unexpectedly. The conversation continued across the hover port despite the high winds and sounds of vehicles coming and going.
“Fine. I’m on a case. Yes, on a case. Do you want to talk to Whiskers, he’s right here. Fine. Okay mom. Yes, I will return the frying pan.” With that Puddles closed her phone and gave Whiskers her “what are you going to do” face.
“You really should buy your own frying pan,” he said as he opened the car doors.