Chapter 8: Invitations
Monday at lunch, I ran into Officer Poulsen again, he getting his breakfast for his late shift patrolling the town. I waved him over.
“Hello, Officer,” I greeted him.
“Been a while. Did you hear about the two additional fencing operations they rolled up a few counties away from here from that bike theft operation you busted?” he returned.
“This is the first I’m hearing of it. I’m glad of it. I hope that means fewer bikes are being stolen now.”
“Maybe. Either that or other fences are getting richer now,” he said darkly.
“I’ve got some news to cheer you up, Officer. Kaitlyn and I are getting married on the 9th. You remember Kaitlyn,” I said with a grin.
“I remember…all…of Miss Gutierrez,” he said with a small smile.
He ought to. He’d been called out to arrest us for skinny dipping, and our captor, the same Ranger Ed Goetz from the start of this tale, hadn’t let us dress. The Goat — as Kaitlyn called him — had made us stand naked on the side of the highway in full view of several passing vehicles to wait for the responding officer, Poulsen, whom I’d been lucky enough to get to know, forging a measure of trust before the fact.
“Well, how would you like to see…all…of Miss Gutierrez again? We’d like you to come to the wedding,” I returned, mimicking his prior delivery.
He looked confused, but rallied. “This isn’t going to be a naked wedding, is it?”
“Actually, yes. The wedding party will be dressed as normal for an American wedding, including Kaitlyn and I, but we’ll strip each other at the altar. All very ceremoniously, of course.” Poulsen looked shocked at this. “It’s a symbol of openness to and trust of those we invite to the wedding. Please consider it an honor, Officer, not a provocation.”
“Oh. Well, when you put it that way…”
“And you know you want to see Kaitlyn again,” I added with a smirk.
“Also you, apparently,” he said with waning enthusiasm.
“Also me, yes. But here’s the really scary bit, Officer: the after-party will be held on-site, and it’ll be clothing-optional. Whoever wants to strip off and join us, can. But no pressure.”
“Which church is letting you do this?” he asked, sounding a bit alarmed.
“The Church of Gaia,” I replied. He looked blank, so I clarified, “We’re holding the wedding out in the canyons North of town, on BLM land, and we’re inviting only family and close friends. We consider you one of them, Officer.”
“Well,” he said, relieved and apparently flattered. “I suppose I will come, then. No promises to get naked, though.”
“As I said, it’s clothing-optional,” stressing the last. “Your choice. Do you know any friendly judges who might be willing to officiate? Or even an especially liberal pastor?”
“Um, I think I can help you there. The laws of the state of Utah are pretty broad on who can officiate a wedding. Any private citizen can do it as long as they can get some reasonably well-recognized religious organization to call them a minister, priest, rabbi, or whatever. There are a bunch of organizations that’ll sign you up online. My sister asked me to do that for her several years ago, and I’m still current.”
“You’d marry us?” I said, surprised. “I think Kaitlyn would love that. It’d be perfect, in fact. What do you charge for this service?”
“I think the invite is enough,” he said, showing me the same small smile.
“You’ve got a +1. Any idea who you’ll bring?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure who I’ll bring,” he said, continuing to smile.
“Do tell,” I prompted.
“No, I’ll keep that to myself for now.” When I looked worried, he said, “Relax, it’ll be someone you won’t regret me bringing.”
“Well, all right. Be discreet.”
“Have you known me to be anything but?” he challenged mildly.
“In fact, no. You’ve got at least two big secrets on me, and I appreciate your keeping them. Thank you,” I replied solemnly.
“You are my batmen,” he pointed out, expecting me to understand that that was sufficient reason for him to keep our secrets.
We’d given ourselves that name when we’d agreed to help him on police cases when normal means wouldn’t suffice. It’s an old word meaning a kind of servant, which is in some sense what we were to him: we were his magical crime-fighting helpers. The good officer hadn’t had much cause to call on the service of his tame mages so far, but we were serious about wanting to help. It was one of those “with great power comes great responsibility” kind of things. It was also an amusing pun, which I can’t resist.
“You coming to the wedding dressed as Commissioner Gordon, then?” I asked with a grin.
“Which one? And did you want the Commissioner anyway? I could instead be Sergeant, Detective, Lieutenant or Captain Gordon.”
“The Batman mythos is a mess, isn’t it?” I agreed.
We continued in that vein, me positing that Nolan’s version was best, and he arguing for the old TV series. BIFF! POW! BLECH!