Lyn Gala

The Witness Wore a Puppy Tail, chapter three (Patreon)

Published:

2018-03-24 16:23:57

Imported:

2026-06

Tags:

puppy

Content

Ken loved his university, particularly the wide field and grove in front of the main building. However, the cracked and patched paths and aggressive grass growing up to create green spider web patterns in the concrete showed a benign neglect that Ken didn’t see at Loyola. The curving walk was well maintained, and manicured slopes had perfectly spaced plantings. The university even had a beautiful view of the rocky shore of Lake Michigan. It all smelled of money.

A pair of young women passed Ken, giving him coy looks. In general, when Ken did date women, he preferred older women who knew the relative importance of retirement accounts over lip gloss. There had been an officer at Camp Lemonnier Ken had considered settling down with, but flirty college students were not his speed.

Ken couldn’t imagine Millan fitting in with this crowd. People who paid to go to expensive Catholic schools generally didn’t approve of gay escorts, not even the sort with rich fathers. Maybe Millan’s father had cut him off because Ken couldn’t figure another reason for the man to make a living playing a dog. Then again, he couldn’t figure out why Millan had called him, either. The man confused him.

For example, Ken had no idea why Millan had left a message for him. The officer at the front desk said that Millan had made it clear that he didn’t need to alter his witness statement, yet he insisted he had to talk to Ken immediately. He’d given his cell number and the number for the Loyola room where he was tutoring students. Tutoring.

Ken’s imagination ran a little wild when he thought of what sort of tutoring Millan might do, not that a Catholic university would put up with that. Ken stopped an older man to ask for directions. A few minutes later, Ken found himself at one of those huge interior windows that divided the hallway from a semi-public space. Neat white letters on the glass announced “Outreach and Intervention” and inside, Millan sat at a kidney-shaped table with seven kids who looked too young to be at college. A dozen other tables stood empty, but three older students sat at a table near the corner, and a few people worked on computers against the opposite wall.

When Ken pushed the door open, he heard Millan loudly pontificating. “No way. Look, I am as anti-math as the next guy, and that’s only if the next guy is a journalism major who sucks at math, but there’s no way I’m going to let someone screw me over because I can’t figure out enough math to cover my ass.”

“They don’t use math for that, Bobby,” one of them said with a touch of disgust. Surprisingly, the other teens gave the grumpy one dirty looks.

“Robert, Mr. Millan or Rob are all okay, but don’t call me Bobby, Jeremiah.” From the cutting sarcasm in Millan’s voice, the kid clearly did not like his name, and Millan knew it. The other teens laugh, and then Millan turned on them. “Don’t you start. I have shit on every one of you.” He pointed to each individually. “So, I’m Robert or Rob, and you’re Meek. Deal?” he asked the first kid.

“Whatever,” the kid replied, but Millan smiled like he’d just won a victory.

“Awesome,” he said. “And Meek, you are one hundred percent right that people on the streets are more likely to use weapons or fists to screw you over, but when you move to college and then into the workplace, you’re going to figure out there’s a whole new level of shit headed your way. It’s like everyone else is playing Half-Life and you’re using the rules to Grand Theft Auto. You’re going to get your metaphorical ass kicked. So, let’s look at credit cards.” He pushed papers across the table to each of the boys. “Okay, so you get enrolled, and next thing you know, you have all these people offering you credit. Let’s look at how the numbers work.”

Ken leaned back and watched while Millan made the kids pull out math books and look up formulas for working out compound interest. When Meek refused, Millan ignored him. Ken thought maybe he was giving up on the teen because Meek did not seem to enjoy being in this outreach and intervention program. One by one, the other kids hooted and clowned as they figured out how much a cool speaker system would cost after making minimum payments. Millan high-fived each one. The last one to finish shook his head as he looked at his paper.

“I’m doing this wrong.”

Millan stood and peered over his shoulder.

“Hey, good job. That is exactly the right answer.” The whole time, Millan kept his folder up so it blocked Meek’s view. The kid was being subtle, but he was definitely trying to sneak a look.

“What? “No fucking way. That’s stupid! I don’t care if the speakers are coated in gold, that’s not worth it,” the kid announced loudly.

Millan laughed. “And that is how you get screwed over if you don’t know your math. If you want to see a real horror show, we can look at some high-interest car loans or mortgages. I’m going to make your hair curl.”

“How much is it?” Meek asked. He reached for his neighbor’s paper.

Millan neatly swiped the finished work away from the student in question. “K.B, walk Meek through how to come up with the answer,” he told the neighbor, the one who had been so horrified by the cost of the speakers. “The rest of you. Let’s see how much a six thousand dollar car is going to cost you if you have a good credit rating versus a bad one.” He pulled new papers out and distributed them to the other five students. “I have to go talk to the cop.”

All seven kids turned and looked right at Ken. Ken stood, surprised at they would all pin him as the cop in the room so quickly. Millan grinned as he passed. “Come on, Mr. Cop. And finish your damn math,” Millan said over his shoulder before he walked out of the area.

Ken followed. “I don’t want to interrupt.”

“Nah,” Millan said. “Meek doesn’t want me to see him struggle, so he’ll work harder if I’m not right there, and K.B. could use the extra work. Explaining it will be hard work for him, which will be good practice, and Meek will see that it’s okay to struggle when you’re trying to get an answer.”

That sounded remarkably thoughtful and measured for a gay rent boy. Ken was trying to figure out how this version of Millan fit with the one he already had in his head, and he must have taken too long because Millan slowly narrowed his eyes.

“Did you come here for a reason, or did you just want to cast aspersions on my character? Hey, maybe you plan to say something to my supervisor here so I don’t contaminate young, vulnerable teens with gay cooties.” His voice was a low, hoarse whisper.

“No!” Ken pulled back as sharply as if Millan had actually slapped him. “I would never do that. Hell, I’m more likely to judge you for having a lawyer for a father.” That seemed to derail some of Millan’s anger. “And I came because you called me."

"Yeah, the operative term being called. I didn't expect to have a cop show up in the middle of my tutoring time," Millan said.

“I was perfectly willing to stand to one side and wait for you to finish.”

“Right,” Millan said, drawing the vowel out. “Because having a cop hovering isn’t going to make inner-city Chicago kids twitchy, nope. Not at all. Feel free to hover.” Millan rolled his eyes. “Only maybe you should hover down at Damen Student Center where you won’t drive kids away when my whole job is to show them that university is a possibility if they keep their noses clean and do well in school. So go. Shoo. Skedaddle.” Millan waved Ken way. “I’ll be done at one, so don’t come back before then.”

Ken glanced over, and all Millan’s students had given up on math in favor of watching Millan dramatic shoo Ken away from the door. Millan was probably gaining cool points by the second, but since Ken did want to know what Millan had called about, he decided that retreat was the wisest course of action. Millan didn’t strike him as the sort of witness who would respond well to being pushed.

“You’ll be here at one?” Ken asked as he backed up a couple of steps.

Millan pursued him, still flapping his hands. “Yes, fine. One. Go away now.”

“Ass,” Ken muttered before he turned and beat a hasty retreat. Captain Jenkins had been impressed as hell that Ken knew how to handle Millan. As far as the captain was concerned, any interaction that ended without a formal complaint or a call for a protest went in the win column. However Ken felt like Millan ran circles around him. Ken couldn’t even figure out how to respond to one shock before Millan had moved on to the next outrageous action.

Rather than leave the building and give Millan a chance to leave, Ken found a waiting area and parked his ass. His Violence and Victimization 564 textbook was online, so he read on his phone as he waited for the minutes to pass. He was reading the chapter on labor trafficking and debt bondage in the migrant population when the gaggle of teenagers Millan had been teaching flowed through the halls.

They all walked a little too close together and spoke a little too loudly. It made Ken look at them closer, and he could see the signs of poverty. One had shoes with treads worn to nothing, another had an uneven haircut that had probably come from a mother. The shortest one was carrying his books in a dirty canvass bag with a grocery store logo, so it was probably and abandoned reusable grocery sack. They were not the sort of students Ken had expected to find on the Loyola campus, but he had to admit he was a little impressed with the university for providing tutoring and with Millan for working with them.

Ken closed the textbook app on his phone and headed back to the tutoring room to see if his witness was a little more willing to talk now. He found Millan sitting at the same table, filling out what looked like reports of some sort. “Still busy?” Ken asked.

Millan looked up. “No. These can wait since you’re here. Just… don’t do that again. I had a hell of a time getting their attention away from the fact that a cop had come to see me and back onto the math.”

"It's not like I announced I was a cop," Ken said. “You did that.” He didn't expect the sharp bark of laughter.

"Buddy, you scream cop," Robert said with circular gesture that encompassed Ken’s whole body.

"I worked undercover for a year," Ken said with a frown.

"If that's true, you were either going undercover as a thug or a dirty cop because your alpha-dog vibes are not subtle." Millan put his papers into his messenger bag and headed past Ken and out the doors.

Ken followed. "Hey, look who's bringing dogs up.” Unfortunately, Millan was right. Ken had played a small-time heavy with an interest in dog fights and gambling.

Millan whirled around and poked a finger into Ken’s chest. "Buddy I did not call you to continue this conversation."

Ken flinched. He had momentarily lost track of the fact that he needed any help Millan could give him on the case. "You’re right. I’m sorry. So, you had some information?"

"Did you just say what I think you said?"

"What?" Once again, Ken was not tracking this conversation.

"A big alpha-dog cop apologizing. That is totally against stereotype, but that's why I called you."

"Am I going to get a straight answer here, Short Stuff?" Ken asked, annoyed at Millan’s amused surprise. The military had given Ken a certain physique simply because he had spent a lot of time in the bush carrying a shit ton of electronic equipment. However, he wasn’t some alpha dog, macho asshole who refused to admit when he was out of line.

"That came off rude. Sorry. I'm just wired."

"And I'm hoping that's wired on an academic high because I would hate to have to toss your car." The minute Ken said the words, he wished he could grab them back. Millan had done nothing but try to help, and Ken was threatening him with arrest. Not only was that against department policy in dealing with a witness, but Captain Jenkins had specifically ordered him to not poke the hornets’ nest with Millan. Weirdly, Millan laughed.

"Okay, that's alpha-dog behavior. When threatened, even verbally, show dominance or display power in order to regain the upper hand. And if it would make you feel better, you can rifle through my bag.” Millan held up the fashionably worn brown leather bag. “Do you want to handcuff me while you do it?" Millan asked in a teasing voice, and Ken tightened his jaw.

"Why did you call, or did you just want someone to play the straight-man for your act?"

Robert started walking down the hall again, and Ken followed, feeling more and more like he was out of his depth. "Some of the guys down at the clubs will talk to me. I'm not one of them, but I'm not some cop coming in with his attitude and his homophobia. Anyway, these three thugs you’re chasing have been working the area longer than you know, getting worse and worse as time goes by."

"Which means they're gearing up for a kill," Ken said quietly.

"Definitely. That's the pattern. But I convinced a couple of their early victims, ones they didn't hit so hard, to talk to you. They're scared, but I think they might be able to identify these guys."

"So you called me?" Ken asked as he followed Robert into a bright sunlight. Ken squinted and wished he hadn’t left his sunglasses in the car.

"Hey, like I said, you're not bad when you aren't being an asshole."

"Names?" Ken pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"No way. Nope. Not going to happen,” Millan said firmly. “Look, I know you're better than most. You called Rosie Comfrey "Miss" without even batting an eye, but no way am I giving you names and letting you go down there by yourself."

"This isn't open for negotiation. Give me the names of the victims, and I will do my best to handle the situation with diplomacy."

"Yeah, like you did with me?" Millan crossed his arms over his chest and squared off against Ken, blocking the path. Ken could only tighten his jaw to keep from saying something totally inappropriate. "Look,” Millan said after a second, his voice more conciliatory, “these guys value privacy above all else. They barely tolerate me, and if I give you names, man, it will not end well. It will particularly not end well for me because I have a journalistic code of ethics that precludes me handing information over to the police."

“Bullshit,” Ken said. “You aren’t a reporter yet, and you didn’t collect information to write some investigative piece. You’re a witness in this case. And why would they barely tolerate you?"

“Well, I don’t exactly fit in the club culture.”

Maybe Ken had missed something. "From what you and Mr. Espinoza got up to, I assumed—"

"Yeah, yeah, you assumed, but one, I do not have sex with clients, and two, the gay community is not accepting of bisexuality. Lots of them think it’s a gay man's way of adapting himself to society by lying to himself and denying the community."

Ken’s mouth about fell open. Millan had set his gaydar off so strongly that he never would have guessed he would date women. More than that, he hadn’t expected him to publicly embrace his bisexuality. In the day and age of gay rights, Ken didn’t know anyone who openly claimed bisexuality—at least not any men.

"Buddy, your enlightenment is very limited, isn't it?" Millan asked darkly. "I am perfectly capable of seeing the inherent beauty in both the male and female forms. However, I am not seeing any way in hell that I'm going to just give you names. They wouldn't talk to you, and they probably wouldn't ever talk to me again."

Ken frowned. “Millan, did you call to say nonny-nonny-boo-boo, I know something that I won’t tell you? Because I think that makes you a shitty human being. Your father might be some big-shot lawyer, but I will subpoena your happy ass you if you plan to play games with my case.”

“I don’t. And neither of us wants my father involved, but I need to go with you on this case. I’ll be a good little ride along and you can tell your captain that I’m doing a story or that I’m thinking of being a cop and doing the professional shadow thing. I’ll go with any bullshit story you give him. But these people trust me and I need to be there.”

“You think I’m going to lie to my captain?” Ken’s blood pressure was rising. “Seriously?” he demanded when Millan stared at him. “Short Stuff, I am not taking a witness with me on an investigation."

Millan gave him a sweet smile. "Then I guess you're going to have to work the case on your own, and I'll keep trying to get information on my own."

Ken stepped forward into Millan’s personal space, standing no more than an inch away so that Ken could almost imagine that he felt the heat from Millan’s body. "I need those names."

"You aren't getting them.”

"I can haul you in front of a judge, and that judge can throw your ass in jail for contempt until you give me names," Ken threatened.

"Alpha-dog tactics. Small problem, though. I'm not an alpha-dog. I don't even pretend to play that game. So, if you want to haul me off, get out those handcuffs and I won't even argue, but you're not getting those names." Millan held out his wrists, and they were standing so close, that his hands ended up resting on Ken's chest. Ken fought an urge to cuff the man and then give him a wedgie until names started popping out the other end.

“I’m not lying to my captain.”

Millan made a production out of thinking about that. “Okay, but the truth is going to be a hard sell. Are you sure you don’t want to go with the job shadow story? I can fake macho bullshit like no one’s business. I just pretend I’m a Rottweiler pissing all over everyone else’s territory and then it’s hard to tell me from a real cop.”

“You’re a riot, Millan,” Ken said. He caught Millan by the arm and started heading for his car. He had no idea where Millan was parked, but if Ken had to go to his captain and explain that a witness was holding other witnesses’ names hostage, he didn’t want Millan to have a chance to wiggle away.

“Call me Robert. When you say Millan like that, I think of my father.”

"You’re going to explain why you are holding out, and if Captain Jenkins throws you under the jail, I’m going to stand back and watch.”

"Yes, sir," Robert smiled. "You know, usually people have to pay to boss me around this much."

Ken didn’t answer, in part because he had no idea what to say.

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