by Trey Nosrac

In his defense, police officer LaMonte Williams had a lingering sinus infection and was at the end of a graveyard shift. He had three reports to file before clocking out. The first incident began with a 2 a.m. domestic disturbance call where Mrs. Angela Pittman accidentally scratched Officer William’s bald head with her wedding ring as he was separating her from Mr. Pittman. Officer Williams debated filing a personal injury claim, but the scratch did not bleed, and the thought of more paperwork seemed more painful.

At 3 a.m., a distraught mother called the dispatch, saying she needed her out-of-control, drug-addled son locked up. Officer Williams arrived to find the son sleeping on a sofa and his mother sobbing uncontrollably. Officer Williams listened for almost an hour to heartbreaking tales of drug use by her only son. In the end, the mother did not press charges.

At 4:10 a.m., a break-in in progress report found Officer Williams speeding to a farmhouse on Belmonte Road. He pulled into the gravel driveway with flashers on but without his siren. His pulse raced when an open first-floor side window with a red curtain fluttered like a Chinese flag when his headlights flashed across the house. He called for backup, unbuckled his pistol safety strap, climbed out of his patrol car, and approached the house shouting, “HELLO, this is the police.”

A woman in a flannel nightgown, curlers in her Beetlejuice hair, and a cell phone raised in the air stepped out the front door to the front porch. She waved at Officer Williams and smiled. Like Juliet speaking to Romeo, her elbows on the porch railing, she said, “False alarm. When I took out the dog and saw the red curtains, I called the police from the bushes. Then I called Burt, my husband, who works the night shift at the stamping plant. He explained everything. He was replacing a screen in the window when his sister called to bitch about her son-in-law. He forgot to close the window and went to work.”

Just after 6, as the sun rose, Officer Williams received a dispatch directing him to proceed to 2021 Remington Road, Huntington Valley. It consists of 10 large estates in a wooded valley, the wealthiest area in his jurisdiction. The dispatcher said, “Consultation on abandoned animals.”

Officer Williams turned into the driveway, drove about 30 yards into the surrounding greenery, and saw a middle-aged couple dressed for a morning jog in high-end, skintight orange body suits, black gloves, ski caps, and wraparound sunglasses. The couple looked like giant mutant bees searching for a hive near a section of the nine-foot-tall black fence enclosing their property. Across the driveway from where they stood were two horses, each with a sturdy 15-foot rope tied to the black fencing and a bale of hay between them. The horses munched as the woman described the situation in a breathless staccato.

“I’m Julia. He is Walt, my husband. I’m a hedge fund consultant. Walt is into pharmaceutical testing research. He’s from England and has a PhD from Cambridge. We live behind that gate.”

“Officer Williams, my resume isn’t as impressive.”

At that point, each person was silent for 10 long seconds.

Julia, “WELL, do something.”

Officer Williams, “Do what?”

“Call someone, get rid of them.”

“Call who? Get rid of them, how?”

“Open an investigation.”

“About what?”

“Abandonment?”

“Look, lady, you want abandonment? Last month, I found a mother and two kids living in a deserted train car after the man of the family slapped her around, took every dime, and hopped on a bus to Florida. Now, that’s abandonment. Abandonment is a complicated charge to prosecute for humans, let alone animals.”

She slightly tilted her mutant head, “I don’t appreciate your tone.”

Officer Williams’ sinuses felt like they were in a vice, and his patience was thinning. He said with all his remaining sincerity, “There are two horses, just eating grass on the edge of your property. Tell you what, how about you solve this case?”

“That’s not why we pay taxes.”

“Lady, I pay my taxes just like you. If a swarm of wasps appear in my garage, I don’t call the police. You’ve got a situation, not a crime.”

“My husband and I don’t know anything about horses.”

“I grew up in a basement in Compton and spent a tour in Sudan. Do you think they made me an equestrian expert?”

She spread her arms and huffed, “Can you give me some SUGGESTIONS?”

“Plenty, starting with not being uppity and entitled. Follow that up with a few Google searches, a YouTube video, and a few phone calls. Use some initiative.”

“Your superior will hear about this.”

“Good, his name is Richard. Tell him I’ll be clocking out in 15 minutes, tell him I’m getting sick of this shift and flitting around like a bat all night, and tell him he still owes me 50 bucks for the Mets game.”

Office Williams returned to his car, spoke into his shoulder microphone, backed down the drive, and sped away.

Behind his wraparound sunglasses, Walt’s eyes were wide. A slight frown hid a happily beating heart at his wife’s failure to control the narrative.

Julia and Walt watched the two horses graze in the early sun.

Julia asked, “Do you think I’m uppity and entitled?”

“Of course not,” Walt said, knowing it was a lie. “However, his suggestion that we use some initiative could lead to a bit of an adventure. Let’s untie them, lead them through the gate, and then remove the ropes from their head thingies so they do not get entangled.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Aren’t you afraid they will bite, stampede us, drag us down the driveway, or rear up with flashing front hooves?”

“I wasn’t until that sentence. Let’s chance walking a horse 20 feet. Use your clicker to open the gate.”

The relocation went well. Walt and Julia untied the ropes, and the horses walked through the gate. The most nerve-wracking part for Walt was removing the ropes from the halters. Then, the couple dragged the bale of hay through the gate.

Walt beamed. “Well, my dear, that was a bang-up job showing great initiative.”

She punched him playfully on his orange shoulder. “I have an idea.”

“’You always do.”

She smiled and said, “As I removed the rope from the head thing, I saw a tattoo with numbers on the horse’s neck.”

Walt gave her a playful shoulder hug and said, “Agatha Christie is on the case.”