Lyn Gala

The Witness Wore a Puppy Tail, Chapter Two (Patreon)

Published:

2018-03-23 20:55:52

Imported:

2026-06

Tags:

puppy

Content

Ken was on the phone to the hospital when he walked into the squad room. Their victim would make it, but the injuries were severe enough that Ken had to wonder if this wouldn’t have been their first murder if the witness hadn’t interrupted the attack. Ken had seen people beaten to death—bodies broken, arms twisted out of shape, faces unrecognizable.

Sometimes Ken felt like that horror had followed him home, but most of the time he recognized that violence and evil existed anytime a large group of humans gathered. Hell, Gilles de Rais fought next to Joan of Arc to free France, and then he’d gone home and raped and murdered countless children. If Ken had learned one thing from his psychology master’s degree, it was the ubiquitous nature of evil in the world. He couldn’t fix that, but he could stop wrong from happening one suspect at a time.

Ken glanced at the clock. It was after three in the morning. That explained why the precinct was so silent. With the exception of one detective in the far corner, the squad room was abandoned. Even though Jenkins had called Ken on scene, the captain’s office was dark. Clearly he had called from somewhere other than the station. His witness was sitting next to his desk, and unless Ken was developing a raging case of paranoia, he was reading Ken’s paperwork upside down. Luckily Ken locked up anything relating to his cases, so all the Millan could see was some paperwork on departmental changes in the handling of paperwork and some research Ken had been reading on deviant psychology.

In the brightly lit squad room, and without the distraction of the bondage gear, Ken could get a better look at Robert Millan. He wore his hair military short, but he definitely wasn’t military. He slouched in his chair, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, and he wore a ratty old t-shirt that made him look like a teenager hauled in on a curfew violation. A quick background check had given Millan’s age as twenty six, but he didn’t look it.

That was probably an advantage in the prostitution gig.

“Mr. Millan. Thank you for coming,” Ken said as he extended a hand. Millan slowly rolled his head to one side and looked at Ken the way another man might consider a cockroach skittering across his kitchen counter.

“I hope you make a better second impression than first.”

Ken gritted his teeth as he sat behind his computer. It wasn’t like Millan had made a great first impression—not on Ken or any other officer at the scene. However, Ken needed to work with Millan. And from the sounds of it, someone on scene had been fairly insensitive about disabilities and sexual function. Ken respected someone who stuck up for others, even if Ken wished Mr. Espinoza had found a partner in a bar and not hired one. “Whatever happened with the uniformed officers, I do apologize. A person’s disability or sexual relationships should not be discussed.”

The witness snorted.

“However, I’m not willing to let a gay basher keep working the neighborhood, and I’m hoping that you’re willing to give me a statement.”

“Guilt.” Millan had beautiful amber eyes with a gray ring around the edge, but when he narrowed them, it reminded Ken of a snake ready to strike. “Nice. So you’ll manipulate me into giving you a statement, and then what? You file it away? You’ll go investigate crimes with real victims? Ones you care more about?” The man sat in the chair, his body screaming his aggression and frustration. He really expected Ken to be one more asshole cop, and if he had a history with Hennery, he might have some evidence to support the idea of cops being assholes.

Ken rubbed a hand over his eyes and braced himself to do something really stupid—like tell a witness about his case. The prosecutor was going to gut him, but Ken was less interested in prosecuting this case than catching these guys before someone died.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his psychology book. “I think this is a pair of assholes who are trying to get up the nerve to really hurt someone. I think we’re seeing the first warning signs of a murder team. Have you heard of Wolfgang Abel and Marco Furlan?”

Millan blinked several times and sat up. “Are they suspects in this case? Have they killed anyone? Did that woman tonight die?” All the bravado vanished.

“No,” Ken said quickly. He might bend the rules, but he certainly wouldn’t give a witness the names of any suspects, even if he had some. “Abel and Furlan aren’t related to this case, but these attacks remind me of their work. Every person our suspect or suspects attack is hurt a little worse. The last few have gone to the hospital.” He left it there, but Millan made the logical jump on his own.

“Which suggests they’re building up to something,” Millan said with a grimace. “Is that where Abel and Furlan come in?”

“Italian serial killers,” Ken said. “They were friends who believed society needed to be cleansed of undesirables like Roma and homeless… and homosexuals.”

“I can guess how that ended.” Millan rubbed his hand over his short hair. “Shit. I want to keep hating you, but you almost sound like you care about someone targeting us queers.”

“I care enough that I’m not going to give you any shit about what you were doing tonight. All I care about is finding our assault suspects before this turns into something more serious.” Ken turned to his computer and pulled up the witness paperwork to print off. Hope gnawed at his soul, pushing him to move too fast, and he accidentally opened three copies of the damn document by accident. He printed one and closed the other two windows.

"There is nothing illegal about what we were doing," Millan quickly said.

Ken doubted that. Hennery might be a power-hungry jackass, but he didn’t target innocent citizens for solicitation charges. “Honestly, I don’t care. You could be into bestiality for all I care if you help me get these people off the street.”

"There were no animals involved, there was no sex involved, and just because you're some uptight prick who only uses missionary position doesn't mean that everyone is wired the same,” Millan said, his voice rising with every word. Indre was working in the corner, and he looked up in alarm. Millan ignored him and kept right on with his rant. “Mr. Espinoza has a right to his interests. You are the same shade of abusive as all those assholes at the scene."

“Dial it down,” Ken said. He hoped Indre wasn’t about to call uniforms up to contain the situation. That would definitely lead to an escalation. “I was trying to express support—to suggest that I wouldn’t care if you did resort to bestiality, not saying you were using one. Although that was an exaggeration because if real dogs were involved, I would arrest someone.”

Twin red spots appeared high on Millan’s cheeks. He had a darker complexion—one that could mean anything from Native to Italian heritage, or even a Dane with a good tan, but even that darker skin couldn’t hide his blush. Or maybe he was turning red in anger. Ken found Millan very hard to read.

“Mr. Espinoza would never hurt a dog.”

"Mr. Espinoza? You aren't even on a first name basis with your…?" Ken stopped before saying ‘client.’ The evidence looked fairly convincing, but Ken didn’t need to set Millan off, and he did seem to be a bit of a powder keg.

Millan shifted forward in his chair. "There is nothing wrong with wanting to have an unconditional relationship that doesn't rely on societally imposed roles defined by our gender or sex."

Ken sighed. "I really do appreciate you coming forward as a witness, and I will try to make this as quick and painless as possible. I'll have you back to…" Ken paused again, struggling with the sarcastic comment that wiggled its way up his throat… "work just as soon as possible."

Apparently Millan was not impressed with Ken’s self-control. "I didn't have to let you guys know I'd seen anything,” he said darkly.

"I know, Mr. Millan."

"I was trying to do the right thing, and it's not like it wasn't embarrassing for me."

"I'm sure." Personally, if Ken had been in that same situation, he wouldn't have come forward for anything less than a murder, not with that… equipment… on him.

"You're just dying to say something shitty, aren't you?" Millan asked with narrowed eyes. Clearly Millan could read Ken far more easily than Ken could read him. Ken put a little more effort into creating an impartial façade.

"Sir, I'm doing my best to keep this professional, so let's start with when you first noticed the suspects." Ken took out his phone and hit the recorder. He would have Millan write all this later, but right now he wanted to get the information before any of the details could fade. As focused as Millan was on his anger toward the police, every passing second was another vital detail that would fade away.

Millan considered him with a sharp gaze, as though trying to figure out what angle Ken was taking, but after a second, he nodded and started talking. "I was people watching out the upstairs window, and I noticed these three guys who came out of the alley between Roxanne's and the coffee shop on the corner. They came out into the light from the streetlamp and then one of them hit the other on the arm and they all three disappeared back into the alley. And I told the officers this already.”

"I know this can be a little tedious, but going over the facts again often help witnesses to remember additional details."

"Or it helps witnesses invent memories. The more often you repeat a story, the more likely a witness is to invent details. The National Institutes of Mental Health found that less than 50 percent of eyewitness identifications were accurate, and that even an hour after an event, a witness might make up as much as 20 percent of the details from their own imagination without even realizing it."

"You aren't studying to be a defense attorney, are you?" Ken asked as he looked at his witness in dismay. The captain had said his father was a lawyer, but he hadn’t mentioned whether the son was following in his father’s footsteps.

"Journalism major," Millan corrected him, not that it made Ken feel any better. Reporters were scarier than lawyers because they had larger audiences and fewer requirements to stick to the truth. Hell, in this day of blogs and webcasts, Millan might have a thousand social media followers. That would explain why he had staged protests against the police. Drama attracted social media followers.

"So, you're trained to report, so let's get this done as quickly as possible before that brain of yours starts making up that 20 percent of the details," Ken said. Considering what Millan did for money, Ken really didn't even want to think about what the man might make up as his imagination filled in the gaps.

"When did you see the men next?"

"There was a woman coming down the street. She might have been a transwoman or a female impersonator or maybe just a masculine woman, but she walked like she owned the street. Cis women don’t usually walk like that—not at night on a dark street."

"Miss Comfrey?" Ken asked as he glanced down at his notebook.

"I don't know her name. I wasn’t in a position to ask, either. She was dark-skinned, tall, had on a blue dress with a white shawl and she was blonde. She had a lot of hair, so either a wig or a lot of teasing was involved."

Ken nodded. That matched one Robert "Rosie" Comfrey well enough to make the connection to the victim. When Millan hesitated, Ken prompted him, “Okay, so what did you see?"

Millan turned white, and he gripped the side of Ken's desk. His gaze drifted off into the distance, and Ken could read the shock and guilt in every line. Millan hadn’t stopped the attack, but he couldn’t carry any of the blame for that.

"She's going to be fine. You did good; you did everything you could given your situation."

Millan closed his eyes tightly. "I just felt so damn helpless."

"Technically, you were," Ken said, and he felt very proud of himself that he managed to keep a nonjudgmental tone. But Millan was worth the effort. Maybe he was a prostitute, but he had done his best to save someone, and in Ken’s eyes, that put him on the side of the angels. The kinky, gay angels who wore puppy tail butt plugs, but an angel nevertheless. Millan had put himself and his reputation in quite a bit of risk to come forward.

"So, there was a woman coming down the street, and she didn’t act like a cis-gendered woman," Ken prompted, using Millan’s own words in an attempt to get the kid talking again.

Millan physically shook his head like he was a puppy trying to get the water out of his ears. "And all of a sudden, two of the guys jump out of the alley and grab her arms. The third one punches her in the stomach." Millan stopped.

"What next?" Ken asked after another pause.

Millan took a deep, shuttering breath. "I went to the door, threw my shoulder against it to try and get Mr. Espinoza's attention, so I didn't see the next bit, but by the time I got back to the window, I saw her leg sticking out of the alley with a torn piece of blue dress laying on the sidewalk. I knew I had to do something, so that's when I broke the window and chucked the lamp out."

The crash of lamp from the second story of the town house had caught people's attention. However, that hadn’t prevented Rosie Comfrey from suffering a concussion, bruising, and cracked ribs. She was lucky she didn’t have worse.

"Describe the suspects," Ken said. He needed to keep Millan focused on the details of the crime.

"One was a few inches shorter than Miss Comfrey plus her heels—four or five inches shorter. That one had on a blue jacket with a big circle on the back and some sort of writing. The one who did the hitting had on a sweatshirt, just gray. He was about an inch taller than jacket guy. The third guy I didn't really get a good look at."

"Would you recognize any of them?" Ken asked.

"I wish. It was dark out, and I was too high to see their faces even if I hadn't been totally freaked out."

Ken nodded. This was all valuable information, although some of it simply confirmed what Ken’s gut was already telling him. A single person would have struggled to contain some of their victims. The team was targeting gays and transsexuals—not octogenarians using walkers. But teams didn’t function the same way as individual criminals did. Of the criminal teams he knew of from his studies, married couples attacked people for sexual motives, but pairs of young men often had political agendas. However, Ken had guessed at two suspects, not three.

"Maybe you shouldn't go back there tonight. That might not be the best… situation, especially given that you've had a hard night."

"Don’t tell me what to do,” Millan said.

“I’m not. Once you write out your statement and sign it, you’re free to go, but these men are dangerous, and you’re upset. I can take you home.”

“Mr. Espinoza paid for two days, and not only did you guys go traipsing through his house, but you made him talk about things that were totally private. He does not deserve that. He needs the release that comes with a good, long weekend."

"Millan, that kind of release is called prostitution, and it is against the law," Ken pointed out. He didn't want to run the guy in, not after the night Millan had, and not considering that the captain had all but ordered him to give Millan a free pass, but Ken wasn't comfortable delivering Millan back to the perv in the wheelchair. He could admit to feeling just a little protective. He chalked it up to respect for Millan’s nerve, both in interrupting the attack, and in letting himself be seen by the uniform who'd shown up at the scene.

"No way. I do not do intercourse in any of its varied and beautiful forms, at least not for money," Millan winked, and even though Ken knew the little shit was yanking his chain, Ken could feel the heat in that look. "What I provide is strictly about fantasy."

"And Mr. Espinoza likes to fantasize that you're a dog. He should just get an actual dog," Ken said dryly.

Millan actually rolled his eyes. No wonder Hennery hated him. "An actual dog makes an actual mess,” Millan said, “besides, it's all fantasy, my friend. He likes the control.”

"And that puts you out of control." Ken didn't know why it bothered him, but for some reason it truly did. If people wanted to play tie up games, that was their choice. But after seeing LGBT people targeted and hurt, he felt uncomfortable at the idea of anyone in the community putting themselves in a position of helplessness.

"He's safe, and I’m pretty sure you’re not old enough to be my dad,” Millan said. “You’re definitely not mean enough to be him. So you don’t get a say in what I do. Hell, my father doesn’t even get a say, and he pays the college bills.”

“I just—”

Millan interrupted, raising his hand like a sock puppet before making the universal sign for talking. “Blah, blah, blah,” he said. “Mr. Espinoza just likes to play out his fantasies in a setting where he doesn't feel like he's out of control. Besides, the worst he ever does to punish me for getting a little too hyper is to put me in the front room for an hour. He's a sweetheart, and right now he's alone and probably frustrated out of his mind when he expected a weekend of relaxation.”

"Punish? No amount of money is worth degrading yourself like this." Ken struggled with himself. After years of working vice, he knew he couldn't convince anyone to quit if they weren't ready to, but he really disliked the thought of Millan humiliating himself by crawling around on the floor like a dog.

"Degrading?" Robert asked with a laugh. "Buddy it's really something to just forget all the worries about school and the way society is getting flushed down the fucking toilet and just play. I get to lay by the fire and eat treats and annoy Mr. Espinoza until he puts me on the leash just to keep me from stealing his slippers. Don't knock it until you've tried it."

Millan, and Ken couldn't even find a comeback for that. Of all the speeches he expected—the 'I need the money' line or the 'it's none of your business' counterattack or even the 'I'm turned on by it' bullshit—he never expected Millan to claim it was fun.

"Look, I've got to use the bathroom before we go much further,” Millan said. “Where is it?”

"Uh, yeah. Bathroom. Out those doors and to your left."

"Thanks, detective," Millan said as he turned toward the doors. "Oh," he added as he turned back around with a smile, "thanks for being worried about me. You're not so bad when you stop acting like an asshole." Millan turned and headed out the doors.

For a second, Ken stared at the door where Millan had vanished. Not even knowing why he was doing it, Ken pulled out his a pad of paper and jotted the name and address from Millan’s background check down on a piece of paper and tucked it into his billfold. After all, he might have some official reason for calling Robert Jacob Millan sometime in the future. However right now he had three suspects to catch. If Millan wanted to screw up his life, Ken didn’t have time to convince him to do otherwise.

Chapter 3 : https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-17744417

Chapter 4: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-17750264

Chapter 5: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-5-17767577

Chapter 6: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-6-17772109

Chapter 7: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-7-17795246

Chapter 8: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-8-17856154

Chapter 9: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-9-17964838

Chapter 10: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-10-18290483

Chapter 11: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-11-18463879

Chapter 12: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-12-18561312

Chapter 13: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-13-18583563

Chapter 14: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-14-18835280