Tarnished and Torn Read Online Free PDF Page B

plus overtime, the looming threat of a high unemployment rate, and the possibility of one day perhaps qualifying for health insurance. Since presumably they weren’t particularly invested in their careers, much less in bringing someone like me to justice, I felt confident in my ability to influence them.
    I concentrated, shook their hands one by one, and spoke.
    “This was all a simple misunderstanding. My pig and I are going to go now, and we won’t come back. No need to write up a report.”
    “I guess she’s right,” said the self-proclaimed chief of security, who looked as though he’d graduated from high school this past June. His chubby cheeks were covered in peach fuzz, and his face was absent the lines and hard planes common to those of us who’d seen a few years. “There’s really no need to write this up.”
    The guards who had chased Oscar around the floor nodded.
    One rebel, a pear-shaped man whose plain features were arranged in what appeared to be a permanent sneer, wasn’t as easily swayed. He hitched up his pants and said, “Now, hold on there just one minute. I still think we need to—”
    The radios on their hips squawked.
    “Report to sector 4
,” came a scratchy voice.
“I mean, sector . . . wait . . . ah hell. That place behind the right rear corner of the show. Behind the partitions. All units. Except—Jimmy, you wait out in front and show the paramedics where to pull up in the rear.”
    As though relieved to have something important to do, all four men leaped up and ran out of the room so fast that two of them got stuck briefly when they tried to squeeze through the door at the same time. It was a fair imitation of an old Keystone Kops movie. I was relieved to see them go so that I could join Bronwyn and Maya, who had agreed to haul my heavy box of jewelry out to the car.
    The young chief was the last to leave. Upon realizing I was still there, he turned back at the door and said, “Please take your livestock and leave the scene, ma’am.”
    “Yes, sir,” I said, holding tight to the prickly rope one of the officers had tied around Oscar’s neck. I yanked him down the fluorescent-lit utilitarian service hallway, his hooves clacking loudly on the worn gray linoleum tiles as he hurried to keep up.
    He kept casting me sidelong glances, his pink eyes hangdog and imploring.
    “What in
tarnation
did you think you were doing?” I demanded, though I knew full well that in his porcine guise, Oscar had no way of answering me. Which was just as well, since at the moment I was madder than a wet hen and in no mood for his excuses. “Don’t you realize what could have happened? You could have been
impounded
. I don’t even know if it’s
legal
to keep a pig in the city. What if animal control shows up and takes you away from me? What’ll we do then, huh?”
    Now he looked up and, despite his piggy form, gave me a disgusted look, as if to say, “Are you kidding me?”
    Oscar was so much more than an average pig, and he had gotten along just fine without me for centuries. He certainly wasn’t worried that the police—much less animal control—could keep a tricky guy like him behind bars.
    “Okay, you’ve got me there,” I muttered. “But I’m still furious with you. What were you thinking, coming into the fair like that? You should have known you’d cause a stink.”
    Unless . . . it dawned on me that Oscar needed to tell me something. Why else would he have disobeyed me, and taken such a chance?
    Just ahead of us, a door to a broom closet stood ajar. I ducked in and pulled my pig behind me.
    For a few seconds Oscar just stared at me.
    “Now transform and tell me what’s going on.”
    He obeyed and assumed his natural form, in which he stood about three feet tall, with greenish gray scaly skin, huge bat ears, and a monkeylike face. But then he folded his thin, scaly arms over his chest and glared, pursing his muzzle.
    “Okay, okay,” I grumbled. “I’m sorry. You’re