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Gator Tillman was screwed.
Every single night for the last two weeks, he would put his rottweiler puppy in one of the wood houses, unused barns at the Tillman’s Ranch. Gator would wrap him up in one of his old Stark County shirts, the first one he got when he was going through the recruiting, and place him on the top of a clump of hay to get him more comfortable on the soft edge. The deputy would lock the door and go back inside the house, where his dad’s voice would be overthrown his stepmother’s nervous attempts to catch his approval. At this time, the twins were already asleep, and the television would keep on running its job for a few minutes more until Roy decided it was time to go upstairs.
Just like that, he was alone again. Honestly, it wasn't a surprise that many of his hours were spent at the police station: clearly, the shitshow Roy Tillman would push him into demanded time like any other illicit work, at least he was never on his own.
Gator fucking hated that silence.
When he was alone in his room, the radio was always on the tune. Blasting his eardrums to metal rock was better than a quietude. When he was at work, the noise of people and their busy lives kept him on his toes, mending time with shots training and paperwork. When he was busy on a stakeout, normally he would go with one of the guys - they are in the best company in the world, but neither was he. So it was a match in the worst way with the worst kind of conversations, but it was better than the other option. When he was at home having dinner with his family, his father’s voice would ricochet like punches against the housewalls, or the sound of silverware against the plate would ring his ears, or the twins, in their wasting innocence, would go on about school shit. When Nadine was there, their breath was the only thing he could hear while they, stupid kids, would hide in her room during the countless arguments and fights between the adults, a company in misery.
Late in the night, the city’s asleep, the house was too quiet, drowning in the kind of silence that people only see at funerals. Not even the ancient architecture made a noise, a crack like houses do, neither the animals would make a sound. Tillman wondered if that was how it was supposed to be, if every family in North Dakota was like that.
He hoped not.
Gator remembered it wasn’t like this when his mom was there. He reminisced falling asleep to the sound of her gentle voice narrating tales about good days. Before he’d wake up to scream of the dog days.
Today, there’s only silence. Creeping in while the hours pass by like an unwanted guest, suffocating any sense of comfort or safety that Tillman thought he could’ve found at his age, living in the same place he had always lived at.
Until a couple weeks ago. When he met Jack – taking such a name directly from his favorite movie of all time, The Nightmare Before Christmas, as much as he’d deny to death if anyone asked, especially his father. Through Roy Tillman’s lenses, the name was picked out in honor of John Wick, a badass movie character, and he had just messed up due the similarity of both names.
You are losing your brains for that shit you smoke, son. The patriarch had said, and his son took the cussing like a beaten horse. It was for the better that he thought that the younger was stupid rather than a weakling who was still into cartoons.
This time, at least, the punch right to the gut was worth it. Jack was a rottweiler for only a couple weeks, from what he had searched online and from the sayings of his former owner. Rescued by Gator’s own usual red stained hands when he went out to check a call for drugs and possible domestic violence. The puppy’s mother had already done his job when the deputy got there, leaving the husband on the floor, wounded and bleeding out through groans of pain and a bite that certainly would take a whole lot of stitches to heal.
The wife’s face was covered in tears, whilst she crumbled up in fear against the corner, too frightened of any male presence. She was trying to make herself look small to prevent from getting hurt, an usual behavior from women that suffered domestic abuse, recognizable by the bruises on her cheek and arm. Yet, as the dog let go of the man’s leg and hustled to her tutor’s side, the housewife didn’t seem bothered by the blood, she didn’t seem to care about anything when she scratched behind the bitch’s ear and called her a good girl, her distraught, giving a seat for the temporary relief as the rottweiler licked its own lips, tarnished with the scum’s blood.
What a bittersweet reminiscence.
It didn’t take much longer for Gator to deal with the case, throwing a couple of hundred dollars from the fund for her to leave the town and letting his dad’s men take the husband to the Tillman Ranch. After all, he had been warned once about his trafficking problem and the way he didn’t educate his wife as he should – and Roy Tillman didn’t warn anyone twice.
The puppy, though, remained only watching the scene unfold, as if it was too stunned by the ordinary violence. He was just a small guy, he should be wondering about milk and playing around, maybe bite a couple people, not seeing his mother tear apart a bad man.
Dejá vú is shit, but it also can build a bond. The woman didn’t waste time before offering the dog, saying she couldn’t take it with her and his mom, that it would already be too hard just for them.
Somewhere in the basement of Gato’s mind, where all the thoughts catalogued with ‘do not open ’ rested, he wondered if his mom had the same thought. If she was still out there.
He’s docile. The woman said, the same way parents think their kids are harmless, a quality when you are an animal, he guessed. Tillman approached the puppy, half hesitant, half curious. He had an awkward tenderness, unused to the softness of the situation. The distrust was shared by the dog and the man, both taking another step towards each other. Gator held his arm out, painfully an amateour to displays of affection, and the puppy glared at his palm, bigger than its head, before leaning towards to sniff him. His nose was wet and tickled, soon the deputy’s hand was full of a small rottweiler, fur falling and sticking to his bulletproof vest.
Tillman didn’t mind it.
His nights were no longer synonyms for lonely silence. Jack wasn’t loud, maybe a little too lazy, but he’d blame it on him being a puppy. Although, he was always pulling Gator’s clothes, putting his tiny teeth to good test, or finding something to play and mess around in his room. And then, sometimes Jack was just there, being a clumsy companion while adapting to being alive. Gator understood the sensation.
Of fucking course, Roy Tillman didn’t. He wouldn’t allow dogs to sleep inside the house. Well, the ones in the ranch were old and broody, trained to be guard dogs and nothing more, coming halfway done into the younger Tillman’s life (neither had ever chosen him, anyway). As any other thing, including people, Roy only saw them as meanings to an end. So, yeah, no dogs allowed in.
That’s why he had to slide him into the granary, a training for it not to be useless, his dad’s voice reverberated without a genuine care. So, he’d hide Jack in his old shirt and wait until Roy fell asleep to go back there and bring him.
Until today.
While he was doing his nightly routine, Tillman's patriarch called him, making Gator forget to lock the door. And Jack, as any other newborn, had decided to take a little adventure through a new habitat. At midnight. In the dark.
Now, after a few races of the clock, the deputy headed downtown, well, what was the middle of the small city forgotten by time, looking for a rottweiler puppy while he tried so hard to keep up the tough act, not wanting to demonstrate how desperate he actually was. Fuck, Tillman was about to fucking snap. How could he be such an idiot? What a fucking loser.
Not even a damn puppy wanted to stay with him. Jack was fed, had a bad and even fresh bones. Why’d it run away? Was he such a bad owner?
In the sea of his self-deprecation, Gator could feel his hopes breaking like waves on the shore everytime he looked under a car or in a hallway and came up with nothing. Should he send an alert on the police radio? Sighing, Tillman slid his hand into his pocket, searching for something until he held his vape between his fingers. His best quick stress relief.
Before he could take a drag, his gaze stumbled into a scene as confusing as refreshing: Jack, in the arms of a very familiar brunette, being carried outside the police station.
''Hey, you! Damn it!'' The deputy screamed for her, hustling his steps towards the girl, while clumsily stuffing his vice device back in his pocket. The woman looked as appealing as ever, especially in her work uniform, but she wouldn’t spare a glance his way, much less seemed to hear him. '' That’s my dog!''
That word appeared to grab her attention, who turned around with a grimace. An expression that would look weird in any other features, but that only made her even prettier. Officer Olmstead. Gator remembered her, about meeting her briefly at the hospital when their cases aligned and thinking that she was as dangerous as hot. Like Eden’s fucking apple. Tillman had been able to get her off his dad’s back and foil her attempts to understand the case, provisionally at least, when he deleted Dot Lython’s photo from her phone. Therefore, it wasn’t a surprise to see Indira in his county, probably looking for more clues or beating her head into another rabbit hole about the occurrence, since he was cleaning it up for Roy), but it was shocking that she was the one finding Jack.
''That’s my dog.'' Tillman repeated once he was closer to her, his cheek slightly pink from the running towards her. The policewoman clothes fit her as well in the morning light as his nightly thoughts used to show him. He brought his gaze back to her face, wearing that same old arrogance as a cheap trick. – And he’s a highly trained guard dog. If I were you, I wouldn’t be that close.
As if he wanted to prove him wrong, Jack yawned and cuddled up against Indira. Gator frowned towards the shameless transom.
At least he was shaking his tail and glancing at him.
''Are you sure we are talking about the same puppy?'' she mocked, but there was no trace of malice in her voice. Indira looked at the dog, squeezing him gently in her arms, ''He’s so cute. What’s his name?''
Cute?! Alright, Jack was kinda cute, but only Gator could call him that. His rottweiler had a reputation to keep!
''His name is Jack.'' Tillman answered, half indgant by the way she seemed to treat it as a toy. ''Listen up, dollface. His bite is one of the most dangerous in the world and.. WHY IS HE WEARING A PINK LACE?!''
He was just leaning in to take Jack back when his eyes caught that monstrosity, the tarnishment to the good Tillman name. That woman was ruining his dog’s honor.
And that satisfied smile on that pretty mouth wasn’t helping at all.
''It’s a pink tie!'' she said, laughing at Gator’s exaggerated outraged face. ''I think he likes it.''
Tillman scoffed, but it looked more like a tantrum pout than anything else.
''He doesn’t like it! He’s an alpha male!'' he said unwillingly, watching as his puppy attempted to lick the official's face. ''A dog cop!''
''I guess it takes one to know one.'' Indira pulled Jack to the side, showing the embroidery name Olmstead right over her breast, and then the distinctive on the other one, which, by the way, even under that pile of clothes, Gator could notice that they were large.
Certainly, he had already recognized her since the first glance, but Indira didn’t need to know that. The deputy arched his brow, smirking as if he had just recalled who that woman was. Besides the tough pose, his hand slid in his pocket, searching for his vape to calm him out.
''City girl, huh?'' Tillman greeted her the same way he had done when they’d met at the hospital, the taunting grin on his lips growing as he saw the gleam of irritation in her brown eyes.
''We say woman now.'' Just like their first encounter, despite Indira not feeling the anger that she probably would if any asshole of the district had said so to her. Gator just seemed like the all bit and no bark kind deal. The tan skinned woman placed Jack on the ground, and the puppy immediately started shaking his tail while strapping hesitantly against the concrete.
For a moment, Tillman thought that he was going to run away again, but soon enough she told Jack to sit down, and, as if that was a magic word, he obeyed.
''What did ya do with my dog?'' A frown settled between his brows, whilst he glared at the puppy altering his attention back to her and then back to his four paws friend with a pink tie, a somewhat trepidation that he’d disappear again.
''Don’t worry. I took good care of him.''
Gator shook his head. He didn’t doubt that Indira had watched out for his dog, all the ‘good, honest cop’ going on with her and the way she had held it showed that she wasn't the type who’d be into hurting animals for fun, but how did she manage to teach him a trick in only a couple hours? He had Jack for weeks and that puppy turned every attempt of training into a playground.
And honestly, he wasn’t as tough as he dad, it was near impossible to go against Jack’s face.
Maybe he was a shitty owner, after all.
''How did ya teach him that? He never listens to me.''
Olmstead arched a single brow: ''I thought you said he was a highly trained dog.''
''He’s in training, alright?'' Gator huffed in frustration, tapping his vape with his fingertips inside his pocket. ''I’m sure he only obeys you because he was scared of starving to death and didn’t see me.''
Indira didn’t answer right away, studying his face like she could somehow tell that he had said it more to himself than to her.
''Sure thing.'' she mumbled, rolling her eyes before glancing back at him. ''Is this your first time?'' Gator grimaced, not knowing exactly what first she was talking about. Was she flirting with him? The first..? ''Having a dog. Didn’t the shelter give you any instructions or anything like that?''
''I didn’t adopt him.'' he scoffed, disappointed that she wasn’t trying to get in his pants. – He was at a home I got called in for drug shit and domestic violence.
Her features softened. Indiras’s pretty grimace that seemed to live free rent in her face vanishing almost completely. Maybe he wasn’t a lost cause, after all.
''I can’t even imagine what he must’ve witnessed at such a young age.'' The deputy just nodded, a dry laugh coming out shortly. It hit too close to home. ''Well, you should be careful. Rottweilers aren’t naturally mean, but the whole fame comes from bad owners.''
''Watcha ya mean?''
''It’s just like a person.'' Indira faced him, that same look that made it painfully obvious that she was smart, the kind that would pick things up in the air quicker than most. Gator almost felt vulnerable when she glared at him like that, holding on to his vape for dear life, trying to keep on a façece. She left no room for speculation: Olmstead knew something was up. Did she already know about his dad? Was she close to cracking Dot’s Lython history? ''He’s gonna repeat what his tutor teaches him.''
Like a kid who wants to be like his daddy.
''I don’t..'' Tillman said, not even knowing what the hell he was gonna be defensive about. Was Indira accusing him of being violent or of being kicked around by his dad? No. She couldn’t be that close. Yet, knowing that somebody thought he’d ever hurt Jack was a new kind of punch to the gut.
Gator faced the floor, a sneaky grin appearing when Jack put his dog snout on his right boot, sniffling where he had been. At least that little one thought highly of him.
''I know.'' She said, reassuring him that she was hinting at the brutality where Jack came from, not the one he was in. Her focus went back to the puppy that was now playing with his shoelace. Her voice came out gently, ''But he already saw his former one being a piece of shit. You just don’t be a total asshole and he will be docile.''
Tillman mumbled, turning his head to the side while he’d bring his vape to his lips.
''He won’t be docile, he will be a dog cop.'' he murmured, his shoulder coming down while the sweet flavored smoke left his likes, causing the officer to consort her features once again.
Gator smiled at that, a small win of some sort.
''He can be both.''
''Hm.''
The affirmation was hanging in the silence while they watched Jack mindless playing. It didn’t take long for Gator to run his big mouth, that same vintage reinless haughtiness dancing around his words: – What meal did ya get him to get him hushing over ya?
''Nothing. Just dog food and snacks.''
''Not even meat?''
''Nope.'' Indira leaned down, petting behind Jack’s ear. The scene was ambivalent, causing a tightness in his chest due to his jealousy and, at the same time, setting a warm fire there that he wasn’t used to having. ''See? He’s just a big goofy that likes cuddles.''
''He’s an alpha male ready for combat.'' Tillman defended him immediately, but Jack would rather embarrass him, following his own puppy plans as he laid down with his belly up to get more scratches. ''This is.. to deceive the enemy.''
Jesus Christ, his dog had to man up.
''Sure thing.'' she rolled her eyes, picking him up, ''Just so you know, he’d cry every night, no matter what I did. I’m sure he was missing you.''
Gator only glared at her in pure surprise, a smile conquering his lips before he cleared his throat. Jack missed him? Even with all the shit and running away? That made Tillman feel like a winner. Indira nodded at the dog with her head and then at the vape device, and he sighed, catching the hint. Tillman got another drag just out of spite before putting it back into his pocket.
''Get him a collar, deputy Tillman.'' she advised, giving Jack back into his arms. His calloused hands softly touching her palms, Indira made sure to throw to the back of her mind how different that felt from Lars’s touch, and how good that was. ''Your police station doesn’t have a good protocol for lost dogs.''
Tillman, however, allowed the thought of that sensation to boil on the surface.
''Yeah, yeah. I will.'' Gator answered, rolling his eyes. While Olmstead turned her back to him and walked away toward the Minnesota’s police car, he added in a tantrum move: ''But it won’t be pink!''
She shook her head. Besides him not being sure, by the way her shoulder moved, she seemed like she was laughing. Maybe out of disbelief or at him, but laughing. That was.. cool.
''We’ll talk about the case later.'' she said a little loud before getting in her car.
Because for sure she wouldn’t let go without placing more doubts in his head.
And of course, that night, Jack whined like he never had before. Now missing another owner.
Shit. He would have to call Indira up, wouldn’t he?