“I like to think of it as completely full.”
He returned to his office, a large room that he had to himself and that gave him a bird’s-eye view of the street corner below. The four-way intersection of Fillmore and Washington gave him insight into how the world was changing. Pedestrians jaywalked, forcing drivers to jump on their brakes. Those who did wait for the crosswalk pushed others aside so they could be at the front. Drivers ran red lights because their lives were in such high gear, they didn’t have time to stop. Bums panhandled instead of getting a job. People dropped their trash on the sidewalk or tossed it from their car windows. All these actions said the same thing: my shit is more important than yours. The world was a self-centered place and he hated it for it.
This attitude was the main reason the cats and dogs here at the shelter amazed him so much. They could be subjected to the worst of circumstances and yet give their love to the first person who showed it back. If people could learn that simple aspect, there might be a chance of saving this world.
His heart rate was climbing, and he felt his blood pressure rising. He didn’t need to be angry right now. He exhaled and let the stress of the moment bleed out of him.
He cut himself off from the shelter’s day-to-day operations by closing his door and zeroing in on his work. If he was honest, the charity’s success and failure didn’t interest him. He’d taken the Urban Paws job for the autonomy it afforded him. Kristi and her staff left him alone to take care of the money side of things, which gave him the freedom to do what he had to do.
Unfortunately, an hour later, as he came out of the break room with a cup of coffee, his peace was broken by a moan of “Christ, she’s back again.”
He didn’t have to ask who. He knew it was Laurie Hernandez without leaving his desk. He got up and went into the hall just in time to see her disappear into the cat enclosure.
Kristi blew by him on a collision course.
He hooked her arm. “I’ve got this. You’ve got those dogs to attend to.”
“You sure?”
“Of course.”
“If she touches one of those animals . . .”
“. . . then I’ll kick her out.”
“Thanks, Marshall.”
He waited for Kristi to return to the Assessment Annex before moving in on Ms. Hernandez. He kept his distance from her. The shelter’s layout afforded him that luxury. The building had been divided up into annexes. Two for cats, one for small dogs, one for large dogs, and one for rabbits, chickens, and more exotic animals. Each annex was closed off to keep the sound down but glass-fronted to keep it bright, which also made observation easy. Animal theft was an issue. He leaned against the wall of the large-dog annex and observed Laurie Hernandez at play.
Beck guessed Laurie Hernandez was in her late twenties. She was fairly attractive, although a little rough around the edges. The dark rings circling her eyes and her sickly pallor added years to her age.
She’d gone into Cat Annex Two and seemed oblivious to anyone watching her. Not that Beck guessed she cared. This wasn’t her initial visit here. It was her fourth in the past two months. At first glance, she’d seemed like every other prospective pet adopter. She’d ooh and aah at the animals and put her fingers through the cages so that the animal would sniff or lick them. But then she’d switch from pet lover to pet tormentor with no warning. Once she’d gained the animal’s trust, she’d flick it with her finger, poke it with something, or squirt it with a water pistol. She carried out her offenses without any concern of being seen. Beck got the feeling she wanted to be caught. It was part of the fun for her.
Laurie Hernandez dropped to her haunches in front of a cat and urged it to come over to her. The animal edged forward from the recesses of its cage as she reached into her pocket. She produced a toothpick and jabbed it at the cat just as it got within poking range.
Beck opened the door to the annex. “I think it’s time for you to leave—again.”
Laurie Hernandez grinned. “I have a right to be here.”
“Not with that toothpick, you don’t.”
“What if I said I wanted to adopt this cat?”
“I doubt that would happen. We’re trying to prevent animal cruelty, not encourage it.”
“OK, I’ll go.” She stood, but not before flicking the toothpick at the cat. Luckily, it bounced off the cage. “You people are no fun.”
He walked her out, then grabbed his coat and followed her. Only he knew her name was Laurie Hernandez. She always ran off before anyone could get a cop. He’d learned her name by trailing her.
The second she was on the streets, she plugged in the headphones to her iPhone.