Page 7 of Shenanigans

Locking the door, Iquickly stripped off the habit and rubbed the makeup off my face. My steel toed combat boots didn’t exactly match my black sports bra and spandex jogging shorts. Hopefully, everyone would just think I was a fitness nut with an interesting choice in running shoes.

The bigger problem would be getting my van back. The phony plates wouldn’t fool the police for long. Sally’s boyfriend was a repo man and since he hated cops, I bet I could talk him into retrieving the van before the police impounded it. Plus, he still owed me for finding his pot belly pig.

Tinkerbell growled.

“He’s here?”

Bam! Bam! Bam!The backdoor shook from the force of the blows. “Open the damn door,Sister,” Dutch yelled. “I know you’re in there.”

What was he, the Flash? Rolling the habit up, I yanked the bathroom door open and speed walked through the store.

The Yorkie trotted at my heels. Arf. Arf. Arf.

“Yes. He is a bad-tempered ass. No, we aren’t going to doggie jail. Not if I can help it.”

I stuffed the habit in a homeless woman’s shopping cart and strolled calmly toward a bus stop.Think. Think. Think. Once the police set up their perimeter, my goose was cooked.

Four patrol cars screamed down the street. Crap. It might already be too late.

The little fur ball threw her head back and howled.

“Stop! Those are sirens, not other doggies singing.”My eyes widened in surprise when I spotted all the dogs I had freed from the warehouse running down the sidewalk. The chickens were riding on their backs. Now, that was something you didn’t see every day.

I smiled. How does one flee a police barricade and not get shot? When being chased by a horde of dangerous critters.“Follow me,”I commanded and bolted.

The dogs obediently raced after me.

The chickens flapped their wings and crowed.

Tinkerbell barked.

Glad someone thought this was fun. I glanced up at the three TV news helicopters hovering overhead. Oh Lord, I’d make the evening news. Again.

Dutch shouted, “You! Stop! Police!”

I glanced over my shoulder. Dutch had my habit in his hand and was running after me. “Crap.”

The homeless woman suddenly jumped on his back and wrapped her arms around Dutch’s neck. “Thieving bastard! That’s my habit. Give it back.”

“Get off!” Dutch spun in a circle, trying to dislodge her.

“Give it back! It’s mine!” The homeless woman bit Dutch’s ear.

Dutch yowled and threw her to the ground. “If I wasn’t in pursuit of a felon, I’d arrest your ass. Consider yourself lucky.”

Before he could take a step, the homeless woman screamed, “Rape! He’s trying to rape me. Help! Help!”

A bunch of street people rushed Dutch and one hell of a brawl started.

Even outnumbered five to one, Dutch was holding his own. I had to admit, he had some pretty good moves. Put him and my Dad in a ring and it would be a toss-up on who won.

The homeless woman latched onto Dutch’s leg and did a great impression of a hungry zombie. Was she trying to gnaw it off?

His teeth bared in a snarl, Dutch kept swinging; knocking down the combatants like tenpins and doing his best to shake the crazy woman off his leg.

I laughed. This was better than watching those wrestling smackdowns. I tripped over a curb and fell into a shallow ditch. The dogs crowded around me, and a dozen tongues washed my face.“Okay. Okay. Stop that. It tickles. Stop licking.”Ugh. I wiped my face off and watched a police car whizz by with its siren wailing.

Tinkerbell woofed at me.

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