Here is the full revised Two Days ago. This round of washing and dry brushing is going slower, not because of the cons, those were breaks, but due to my effort to expand the story with details.
Two days Ago…
“You’re positive you can get the information?” Puddles said.
“Trust me,” came the reply from Chuck’s image in the upper corner of the windshield.
Whiskers right ear leaned to the side emphasizing the doubt on his face. Puddles shrugged.
“We’re counting on you Chuck,” Puddles stated as she ended the call with the push of a button on the steering wheel.
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 Bullet Magnet. The Stroud City Police Center for one half of Stroud, a three hundred story white tower, illuminated day and night, large holographic letters and images over the surfaces of the building announcing alerts, awards, and other news. Called by the Bullet Magnet because of the round entrances for traffic dotting the sides of the building, like someone sprayed gunfire at the building. Traffic around the Bullet Magnet, thick with 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 autopilot 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?”
“Current information on the gangs.”
“That could be useful. Anything about the doc’s daughters?”
“No. Chuck will get their CIS data.”
“If he remembers,” Puddles said sarcastically.
Two Stroud City black and yellow police vehicles fly past their car, lights flashing and sirens blaring. At the same time the landing chime sounded, Puddles turned to take control if necessary. Through the rounded entry to the 40th-floor landing pad, she watched non-stop motion police and civilian vehicles flying in, out, taking off, and landing. Police Officers in their black and yellow uniforms and citizens in all sorts of uniforms 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 flashed through her head, 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 as a blast of air nearly knocked her back into her seat.
Following the illuminated path to the station entrance, gusts of wind pushed their fur in uncomfortable directions. Vehicles entering and leaving, crews working, and gusts of wind kept Puddles head on a swivel, constantly turning towards the newest distraction. One-step through the entrance and the wind ceased, the noise quieted down to an acceptable level, and the temperature returned to comfortable. Puddles and Whiskers spent a few moments putting errant fur back into place before continuing down the hallway into the station. 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.
Sitting in Detective Orte’s office, listening to Whiskers and him talk, Puddles could not stop staring at Detective Orte’s mustache. Long, dark black, hanging past his chin plate and every time he spoke, the entire moustache wiggled and waved, totally in contrast to his deep, gravelly voice and menacing disposition. Looking away, Puddles observed 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 onto the landing port the wind pushed their fur back uncomfortably again. On his tablet, Whiskers swiped through several pages of data 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.