A Bear and His Pain
#5 of The Compelling Corruption
A Bear and His Pain
By: ToKu
'At last the long awaited fifth part of The Compelling Corruption'
Gregory pulled up to a darkened house out in Windy Point; a wind strewn part of the desert where low-income families and drug dealers called home. Although not a single palm tree stirred at this late hour, it was a normal occurrence to have dust storms and whirlwinds bombard this lonely grouping of houses, leaving one side of a house piled high with the softest of sand unless maintenance was kept. He tried not to think about the contents of his trunk but failed miserably by slipping into a cold sweat as his paws gripped the steering wheel. He looked disheveled; his eyes blood shot and his fur matted. The only thing keeping him running was the smack in his veins and the fright in his heart; utter fear that he would soon be looking at time served similar to Rolland McGregor.
He groaned a sigh; being a junkie, he could find H when he needed it the most, but finding a place to dump a dead body was way out of his league. He needed help, assistance, and his only pal was locked up for the very far and foreseeable future.
Slowly he pulled himself together enough to climb out of his car and walk up the dirt path to the front door of a rather decrepit looking home. His muscles ached and his eye lids were heavy with exhaustion; all thanks to his perverted desires. If he had only become a firefighter instead, maybe he would never have met Rolland and his twisted ways. Never would have delved into cubby lust, never would have picked up his first needle and never would have killed that fox. He shook his head. What was done was done, and he could only move forward.
As nice as the house he lived in was, Gregory could tell this house was still livable. The possibility of squatters was always there however. He could remember raiding houses when he was a bit younger and could remember worse looking places than this. The white paint was cracking and two of the windows were boarded up; from a robbery or from the vicious wind the bear wasn't sure, but he realized he could hear the faint hum of a heater running somewhere inside. He knocked twice, waited a moment, and then knocked four more times in slow succession. It seemed to be a well known code round this part of the desert, he had seen furs use it at his dealer's house before, and here he was, using it here.
There seemed to be no sign of life in the ramshackled building, it sat like an empty desert tortoise shell on a plot of dirt in the middle of the night. He waited more, slowly loosing hope until the sound of a dead bolt being undone brought Gregory's eyes to the door knob. Sure enough it twisted and the door creaked open just enough to reveal a dark form beyond.
A very large and very muscular Rottweiler appeared beyond the cracked door, his dark eyes scanning the outer darkness with suspicion. Gregory thought to say something, some sort of greeting when the door suddenly opened the rest of the way. The dog was tall, maybe an inch more than the bear but not as round. Though as athletic as the dog looked, he appeared to have put on quite a few pounds over the years, particularly in the gut.
He was very familiar looking and appeared to be in his late forties, maybe early fifties, but the crooked cop couldn't tell, all he knew was that he had seen the guy before. This was the guy he was referred to by 'a friend' to deal with his cubby problems.
"You the cop?" The dog asked, scratching as his chest under a raggedy old wife-beater shirt. The shorts he wore looked old too, well used at the very least, an dingy pair of camo shorts that had seen better days.
Gregory nodded.
"Come in then." The dog grunted and stepped aside, ushering in the big Kodiak bear without a very warm welcome. The smells of sex assaulted his senses as the Rottweiler lead Gregory down a dark hall pass a few opened doors revealing younger furs with familiar collars around their necks with similar chains keeping their naked forms from making an escape. He noticed a pair of bear cubs, maybe brothers, in one room, a sleeping zebra in one, and a lonely looking wolf in another.
Despite Gregory's worry, a hard on awoke in his shorts at such a collection. It was like a petting zoo for pedophiles. Some of the rooms had televisions, the ghostly light filling the faces of sexually exhausted boys. All had beds, dirty and bare, and clothes were apparently against the rules. Not a single cub wore more than his own metal collar attached to a chain and the mark of his molester in the form of a crusty cheek stain.
When they arrived at the room at the far end the Rottweiler flipped on a light to reveal two black forms atop a bare bed, both in the act of anal sex. An older fur with a younger; Gregory wondered if this was also a place where furs paid to fuck cubs. The realization that the two furs were related barely fazed him. Incent had become a very common thing in this 'business'. In fact, it even dawned on the bear that these two boys were probably the older Rottweiler's sons.
Then instantly he remembered where he had seen the older dog before, even the two younger furs fucking away, unaware of the two new comers despite the light being flicked on. The cubby porno with the Rotty family had done well in Asia; the two sons and the father, and they were all here. The whole video came rushing back. Rolland had paid the family a few years back to film an exhibition. Since then, the father put on weight, the oldest son got older, but the little boy still hugging his pillow looked about the same age, from what he could remember from the video that is.
"Jacob, Thomas, we have a guest." The older Rott growled and the humping halted and the older of the two craned his neck to look back at his father. Gregory wasn't very good at guessing age when it came to teenagers, but he'd say the boy was about seventeen or so, maybe even eighteen.
Jacob pulled his cock out of his younger brother with a sigh or reluctance, gripping the blood-red knot in his strong looking paw. Pre flew from the tip onto the cub that looked about twelve, but the bear couldn't really tell as his face was half buried in a dirty pillow.
"Wadda ya want, pop?" The teen said with an equally deep voice that he shared with his father. The boy stood naked and unconcerned that his knotted cock stuck up at attention before a complete stranger. His more athletic form served as a window to his father's more active past, but even the son still had traces of baby fat lingering form his adolescence. However, the kid must have been use to mysterious furs coming and going, having sex and probably, by the collection of water pipes and pookies on the bedside table, doing drugs.
"Get the bear a beer and tell Joey in the back to get his cock out of that fluffy white rabbit." The dog seemed the think for a moment, about what, wasn't clear, but he obviously thought to add something else to his command. "Tell him I have a job for him, so long as Mr. Bear here has the money."
The son grumbled to himself but he complied, leaving the two adults and the Rotty cub that now seemed to be fidgeting with something; a Dildo, a knotted one that looked similar to his brothers own cock. He aligned the tip with his already loose hole and slowly pressed it inward letting out a little moan as he did.
Gregory forced himself to look away and dig in his pocket for the bundle of cash he had gathered together. It was the last of the fortune that he and Rolland had made by selling the more recent cubby porn with that brat Zachary. Little shit cost Rolland his freedom, but then again, the tiger was a moron for fucking that otter with his father. 'Damn it Rolland, where are you when I need you the most? Prison...'
"Here," Gregory handed the black canine the wadded up cash. "That's five thousand. All that I have. I just need it to be gone."
"Joey's good," The Rottweiler said thumbing through the bills his large arm muscles flexing even under such a simple arm movement. "Washes the mistakes, makes sure there's nothing to trace, so that even if the body is found, they won't be able to trace it back to you, or me, or Joey."
"That's good." Gregory said taking another look at the cub on the bare bed. "What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't, but everyone calls me DK."
Gregory nodded as the older brother returned with an ice cold Budweiser. He took it and thanked the kid, noticing that his erection hadn't gone down in the slightest.
The teen just shrugged and returned to the bed where he confiscated the dildo his brother was using and waved the real thing in front of his face. The little rotty just reached up and grabbed it before shoving it into his mouth as if he were starved. Gregory wondered if they fed the cubs here. He always had just given the fox and the shepherd the leftovers of whatever he had eaten unless he ordered out for pizza or something of the like. Rolland had kept his 'pets' in cages, Gregory at least tried to think he was a bit more humane.
DK was about halfway through counting the money when a scruffy lion waltzed in through the door wearing only a pair of dingy white briefs. Like DK, Joey looked like he had seen better days. Though he had his mane trimmed short with a matching goatee, his eyes looked sunken and the veins on his arms stood out in a dark blue against his tawny fur. Another junkie if Gregory ever saw one.
"You kill a cub?" Joey asked with a simple expression upon his face, like it was common place to kill a kid after you fucked it. Gregory knew he was deep in the slime of pedophilia, far too deep down the rabbit tail-hole to back out now. Staring in a few homemade cubby films was one thing, but this Joey and DK were much deeper than he had ever wished to go. Everything just seemed so ordinary to them.
"It's a, it's in my trunk. I just..."
"Gimmie yur keys." The lion interrupted with his paw out. His face was serious, but by the way he leaned to one side with a paw on his hip; he almost appeared comical. Gregory almost laughed, had his throat not been so tight. He knew it was the drugs in the lion's veins, the same stuff in his. It could make you feel so lethargic, but the fresh memories of waking up to a dead thrill still sent his bones shivering.
"Excuse me?" Gregory asked. He swore he heard the lion correctly but surely he didn't expect the guy to think he would just give up his car willingly.
"Give me your keys." Joey spoke again, enunciating each word more clearly in mockery. "I'll get rid of yur troubles for ya. You can stay here, drink some beer, have a good time, and when yur done, you can go home without a worry, a'ight?"
The bear hesitated, paw in his coat pocket, resting on his keychain. He couldn't trust the lion, he didn't even know him, and he expected him to relinquish his car keys? But then again, what other choice did he have? He had a dead cub in the trunk of his car that would 'disappear' if he complied. He had already given up the money, no backing down now.
When he handed them over with a sigh, the lion grinned and tugged at his crotch. DK looked up from his wad of dollar bills and handed over most of it to the lion. The rest went into the back pocket of his shorts.
"Four thousand." He said to the lion who nodded in agreement. "I'm keeping a thousand as rent." He paused a moment, turned towards the bed; his arms swinging like black hams. "Jacob, go get_'me'_ a beer now."
The older brother let out an exasperated grunt as he pulled his cock from his brother yet again. The little fuck must be soiled, getting sex whenever he wanted from his kid brother. He remembered Rolland's prejudice against older kids, teens and such. The tiger was a true Pedo, only into that perfect age between ten and thirteen. Gregory hated to admit that it had rubbed off a bit and stuck to him, not that he wouldn't fuck the arrogant Rottweiler teen, he'd just do it with a vengeance, for Rolland.
"Worth every dollar." The lion said folding his own bills but not having a real place to stash it he simply tucked it between the waist band of his briefs and his mangy crotch fur. It brought Gregory back to the present matter as the boy went to play fetch, the smell of cock and ass tempting to get him hard again as the knotted cock wobbled by. "This has got to be the best place I've ever lived. Get me a little golden retriever or a snow tiger and it'll be heaven."
With a wave of his paw, Joey turned and left the room, trotting merrily down the hall. It almost made Gregory feel sick how someone could be so lively when having to dispose of a body. When the brown tipped tail disappeared through one of the doors at the other end, Gregory turned his attention to the bed with the youngest boy who was alone again. DK seemed to read his mind.
"Since I got a bit out of that money for your fuck up, I'll let you fuck my son for free. He's made to do tightening exercised during his down time so he's always nice and tight." He spoke placing a heavy paw on the bear's shoulder. It almost made Gregory shudder, hearing a father speak about his boy that way. It also got him incredibly hard. "Think of it as a start over gift. You fucked up, but there are many other butt boys out there, my son included. He even made a movie with me and my older boy. JACOB, WHERE THE HELL IS MY BEER?"
His ears rang from the words directed at the older son, but the boy on the bed caught his gaze and DK's paw fell away as he left to search for his oldest boy and his drink. Gregory barely remembered taking off his coat or undoing his shorts, but when he was on his knees, heavy, cum filled, balls swinging, over the boy's legs, he knew that he was gonna tear the boy up to drown his sorrows, his fears. His paws worked their way up the brown thighs to the black belly; he was a sexy little fucker. It was almost odd, looking into those glazed yet starved eyes, he almost found himself completely forgetting about his problems, at least for the time being.
Thomas was his name? They puppy lifted his legs on either side of Gregory's thick hairy thighs, exposing his wet but tightly puckered hole. The bear shucked off his white shirt and let his naked body press against the boy's smaller one; his shorter but thicker adult cock demanding entrance to another unexplored fuck-hole, at least by him. He could smell saliva, excitement, fear, and cum , a miasma of scents that bombarded him at his drooling lips met puppy muzzle. He was lost again, lost in a haze of drugs and sex, a world all too familiarly known for years.
He was unaware of DK's blank stare or the sudden presence of the oldest son, not even the cracking of a bottle opener reached the bear's ears as he pushed into the pup in a flawless thrust. The pre and anal juices provided ample lubrication to hilt in a smooth straight shot. His belly crushed underage balls while the small knotted dick poked his belly button. Again it was a detail barely noticed. Maybe it was the drug. Maybe he couldn't feel anymore. He was fucking a little boy while the one he had killed was being taken care off. Maybe he wasn't any better than Rolland. Sure he gave his 'pets' pizza, but here he was; in a slum out in the Ozarks making mincemeat of a twelve-year-old's tail-hole.
The boy moaned and groaned like a good little slut and it got Gregory hot. His heart beat on against the strain of Heroin in his veins like a steam train towards a tunnel, only this tunnel consisted of inverted anal flesh. His bear paws groped the thinner body, exploring the innocently lost fruits of boyhood. It was stimulating; again a contradiction against the drug in his system, but his whole life had been one long contradiction. He was a police officer, sworn to serve and protect. When was the last time he had actually done that? Too long ago. His life was all about boys and drugs now, and keeping it that way was a challenge. He had nothing else; no friends, no family who wanted anything to do with him, only a good fuck and somehow, he was fine with that. It's what he knew now; he had lost all his past interest in big strong guys or petite females. True he liked the father watching him, and the son, while a punk, was hot too.
So he fucked with the audience and came after such a short time. He rolled to the side with a huge growl as his cock slid out; the flood of cum soaking the bed sheets, but the brother was there in no time to plug him back up. It had been a long time since he had eaten some ass, and the bratty teenager needed to know a bit a punishment it seemed. He glanced at and swore he saw the unspoken go-ahead. So as soon as his tongue was deep inside the teenager's colon, he could already feel his cock regaining its length even while it continued to drip cum from his last orgasm.
He knew now what Joey had meant by his enthusiasm for this place, it was like heaven, a place where you could let your problems melt away. And as Gregory pressed his fat drooling cock into the even tighter teenage boy, he planed of drowning in those very meltings.
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It was a very humble restaurant, not more than four tables filled the patio area, while only a dozen littered the inside in various sizes. It had a bar near the back, a flat screen television blaring sports, and oddly enough, all the napkins were folded into interesting shapes on the round dining tables. There was soft music being played from tiny speakers in the corners of the low ceilings, creating an ambiance suitable for a small family owned Italian restaurant.
John Miller sat with his paws gently crossed and resting on the white table cloth. The music barely made it to his pointed ears as he stared into the pitcher of water in the middle of small table he sat at. The ice lazily drifted back and forth across the span of water, clanking gently against the walls of imitation crystal. He was probably too over dressed for such an occasion but it was a restaurant after all. A dark blue and black dress shirt could mean anything and he tried not to think about the small things. Instead he would simply raise his bottle of High Life to his muzzle every few seconds until only a pool of golden liquid remained at the bottom.
He was early, but after dropping Zachary off at Child Protective services he had nothing left on his plate, work wise. His mind was still troubled by the unofficial Gregory Carson case, but he was meeting a good friend for a few drinks and now was hardly the time to think of such negative thoughts. He couldn't help it though. It was like a plague and he swore to himself, sworn to Zachary, to put the scumbags who had hurt him away. He had one down already thanks to Regan Gray and his son, but the second was going to be the hardest.
He tried to wait as long as he could before ordering a second brew but the itch to do something other than watch ice melt drove him on. He raised his paw to the waitress a table away and she nodded at his already known request. It took only 48 seconds to reach his table. The pretty crane popped the top off with a bottle opener from her apron and split her long beak into a pretty smile as she took the empty bottle from the Sheppard. He humored her and returned the flattering smile, but inside he longed for a different bird.
"I'll take one as well." A deep voice spoke from behind. John didn't even have to look around before the large form of a hawk appeared on his left. He rounded the chair there and took the one across from the canine, a rushed but pleasant look on his painted face feathers. The crane nodded and handed the hawk a menu from under her arm. Jason took it and set it beside his folded napkin. When they were alone Jason made eye contact and grinned with a raised brow as if something interesting had just happened. He had already felt a little odd sitting at such a small table, but it was seemed even more ridiculous now with both their frames tucked below the table cloth.
"Looks like you just won the lottery." John mussed happy to see his old college buddy. It honestly hadn't been that long, a couple of years, but they were close for the time they were in close contact.
"I wish." He spoke a little to sober for John's liking. It didn't really do anything to his mood though, having already been in a metal mixture of many things. He wondered what Zachary was doing, if Mr. Gray really had only done the things to his son through force, or if Jason felt anything similar to the way John felt about him. "I just got off the phone with Rosa Carson, Gregory's sister. I gave her my card the other day before I sent her home but didn't think I'd hear back from her. She said she was willing to come forward if you could build a case. She wasn't willing to be 'The Rat' to use her words. But if it went to trial, she'd speak out against him, for his own good she said."
Despite the topic it was good news indeed. John would have Zachary, Mr. Gray and his son Dustin, Rosa Carson, the bear's own sister, and a list of heinous crimes to put a true perverted individual away for the things he's done.
"That's good news." John spoke before taking a healthy swig of his beer. He wasn't really a drinker but it was a way to soothe the frustrations of a hectic week. He never drank enough to get drunk, but the warming affect was a welcome feeling in such trying times. It didn't however do anything to quell the jitters he had for the hawk before him. He tried his best to ignore them. "My meeting with Mr. Gray went well enough. Zachary also agreed to testify so we have our foot-paws in the door so to speak. Now, the only problem I have is figuring out how I'm going to get around his position of power. He's made evidence disappear before and if he's that intent on staying out of jail, who knows what else he could make disappear, or who."
It was a frightening thought. Someone so crooked in such a position of authority using their power to silence someone by any means necessary. John had seen that kind of thing before but among petty drug lords and gang members. It sickened him to think about justice being misused for such a deviant thing.
"What is there to do? I'm an EMT but there's gotta be something I could do." Jason spoke as the crane returned with his own High Life. She opened it the same way and asked if he wanted to order something to eat. John noticed the hawk glance at his menu but hastily shook his head in polite refusal. The waitress responded with a nod and promised to be nearby if they decided to order. When she was out of earshot Jason sighed and continued. "We'd either have to come up with something awfully cleaver or find ourselves some hard evidence."
"The box of kiddie porn recovered from Rolland's home was useless." John said shaking his head. "There was one picture but all you could see was a bear paw reeking havoc on that poor kid Zach."
"T-that's a little dark don't you think?" Jason spoke in a muffled manor. John scoffed.
"I know, but... You shift through that shit and tell me what it does to you." He lashed out.
There was a pause were only the music and muted mumbles of other restaurant patrons. Nothing was discernable from something else so John knew that they're conversation couldn't be overheard. Both adults cradled their beers in nervous paws with brains too over worked in a situation that neither of them wanted to be in. He didn't mean to bark that badly but it was the stress of the week and the impossibility of the situation that had him at his wits ends. Then there was the young Sheppard wolf mix that they had rescued from the pedo tiger's house. Kid's had always seemed a nuisance to him until the other day. He remembered laying beside the sleeping pup and remembered the warming feeling he had felt; a feeling of belonging and paternalism. It was a feeling he knew he wanted to feel again one day.
"I'm sorry." Jason spoke finally and John shook his head.
"No, I'm sorry." He sighed. It had been too long a day already. "I came here with too many things on my mind and I sat trying to empty it before you walked in. I guess I didn't do a very good job. I'd rather not talk about the case. It's good news, it really is but talking about football sounds like a better idea."
John thumbed over to the large flat screen television hung above the bar only a few feet away. It was muted but the score spoke for the announcer. The bear's were down by 17 and it was the final quarter. John wasn't that big about sports but it was another one of those things he had become use to; that created a centering feeling when stressed. Jason nodded and watched the screen for a while. Honestly, John wished he could keep staring into the hawk's eyes, keep his sly smile on him, but the practical thing to do was shut up, order another beer and watch the game.
By the fifth beer, the sixth for Jason, (He had caught up) they were talking again now that the game had ended as imagined. Jason has started on about wanting to get a roommate to help pay the rent for his apartment. John's ears perked up at that but he remembered that the lease wasn't up on his own place, not until spring.
"We'd make a mean pair." Jason spoke gulping down the remaining amount in his bottle. "I'm a pretty tidy guy, can't let the ladies see a mess you know. I remember your dorm room in school; spic and span."
"The ladies huh?" John mused under hidden resentment. It wasn't fair but it also wasn't fair that he felt this way about someone like Jason. He couldn't expect someone like him to feel the same way.
"Yeah," He spoke, scratching the back of his feathery neck in mild embarrassment but John wasn't sure why. Why would a guy like him be embarrassed to talk about the ladies he got with? It was a regular guy thing and sometimes John had to lie in order to keep his business his own. It had become second nature since middle school. For some, sex was a public thing to talk or joke about. John was different; he felt that whatever went on in the bedroom should stay there. "Never anything serious, I can never find any I have things in common with. Like there was this hawk I met a few months ago, still got her number, but the last thing I want to do on the weekends in go shopping or hang out in bars with other brods."
"Well good luck," John spoke a little out of spite but covered it up well with a chuckle as he raised his beer to his muzzle. "You're either gonna have to put up with that or get with a dude."
He almost choked on his own words. It made it hard for the beer to go down. His throat tightened up and he felt his canine face flush with color. He hoped that the artificial lighting would hide it. His eyes darted away from the hawk towards the bar and the post-game review. He expected to hear a nervous laugh or an angry but playful "fuck no" but all he heard was a genuine laugh from the diaphragm followed by the words: "If only it were that easy."
There was a pause during which even John couldn't keep his thoughts to himself.
"What's so hard about it?" He asked bluntly.
'Damn my big mouth. What the hell is wrong with me?' John thought franticly in his mind while his face remained calm and inquisitive. He set his empty beer bottle on the edge of the table and wondered to himself. 'I can't be drunk already... But then what the hell am I doing? Who has a conscience when they're drunk?'
That put a stranger look on Jason's russet colored face this time. He didn't seem perturbed about the question, only a little caught off guard so to speak. It took way too much self-control to keep John's ears from drooping in shame. He continued to stare into those eyes, all thought of the past week's detective work forgotten in the haze confrontation. He knew deep down that he just wanted to get it over with. Tell Jason how he felt and whatever came of it was okay with him because living a secret was far too painful at times.
"Well, I guess it wouldn't be that hard." Jason said awkwardly. The Sheppard knew he had said too much, causing the hawk to question something, only, he hadn't the slightest idea to what it might be. There were speculations sure, but that's all there was. A sudden ruckus near the back of the restaurant didn't help things; someone was yelling about something, possibly a wrong order, but it caused John's resolve to waver and he had to look away from his friend and stare mournfully into his half drunken beer. "I mean, I always get noticed by females because of my cousin who's in porn. We look so much alike and those kinds of chicks are only interested in one thing. If I could take a good friend of mind and put him in a female's body, it'd be alright it guess."
It was a better answer that John has expected but he couldn't stop him mind from hoping it was an answer for what the hawk thought John wanted to hear; that would mean other under answered things, but still.
He shifted in his seat, the wooded chair creaking under his weight as he painfully brought his attention back to his friend. His muzzle said nothing about how he felt on the inside, years of police work having taught him to stay composed, but the sharp tightening in his chest made him wince. Jason must have taken that as a response to what he had said and his feathers showed it. He looked embarrassed now; his foot-claws scraped surprisingly softly across the glossy wooden floor, and he sought out answers in his own beer between feathery fingers. John wanted to speak, to say something, his honest canine instincts telling him to explain but the only thing that came out was a sigh.
"Earlier," Jason spoke between a fleeting break in the chatter. There was a full-fledged argument going on now but it wasn't enough to break the sudden tension. The Sheppard knew then that it was a bad idea to come to a restaurant; it put him into such a weird mood. It was a romantic mood that had no place here, between two furs such as him and Jason. He feared rejection, and should never have put himself into a position to be rejected. It was his fault and he'd have to pay for it. He braced himself for the worst. He was painfully obvious and it was his punishment. "When we talked on the phone, I couldn't help but feel..."
"CALL THE POLICE!" A deep and throaty voice roared from the back. It stopped Jason dead in his sentence and caused John to jump to his foot-paws without so much as a second's thought. A group of restaurant workers had gathered around the double doors leading back to the kitchen. One of the cooks was among them; his grizzled reptilian face was more white than green. John would have thought the croc had seen a ghost. He was shaking his elongated snout back and forth as he shook his head furiously. A waitress fox stood nearby with the crane linked arm in arm as they listened in shock as the croc cook pointed back towards the kitchen. The bartender, a rather large` bull with a missing horn stood dialing the short number for emergency. John stared down at his friend who stared back, all thought of their conversation pushed forcefully to the back of their heads and nodded.
Jason rose and was trailing after John as he dug his badge out of his coat pocket. The Sheppard could already hear a portion of the conversation as he approached, dodging though tables and chairs. A few other patrons were trying to listen in; interesting glances shooting towards the crowd in the back, but as he got closer and heard the words being repeated by the scaly cook he knew he wouldn't like what he heard before he had even heard it.
"I just lifted the lid, bout to dump the garbage, got too full, and there it was." He spoke in a tone that clearly didn't match such a mean looking, middle-aged crocodile.
"It was a he or a her?" The slender fox waitress asked darkly. The crane just shook her narrow head and hugged the orange furred arm with hers.
"A fox boy, only about ten maybe, give or take a year." The croc replied looking sick. "Had no clothes on, poor thing."
"Cop's are comin'." The bull behind the bar shouted at a well dressed Ermine that John took for the restaurant owner. He wore a simple pair of black slacks and a shirt as white as his fur. He looked dressed for successes, only now he ran his claw tips through his head fur in utter stress as panic was an understatement.
"A cop is already here." John spoke. It amazed him how steady and strong his voice sounded considering the recent topic, but he was in work mode now, and nothing got in the way of that. All the heads in the bar shifted to him as he strode along the last table between him and the bar. He flashed his badge professionally, allowing everyone within view to glimpse the silver and gold emblem before speaking. "Officer John Miller, PSPD. You called for the cops?"
They all seemed stunned for a moment. Eyes and ears had to take in the words and sight before anyone could speak; clearly they hadn't expected such a fast response.
"There's a body." The crocodile spoke first; still too stunned to continue his head shakes. "A little fox boy, in the dumpster out back, it wasn't there a few hours ago."
"We were all inside for the last two hours." The ermine spoke, obviously trying to distance himself and his employers from the discovery. John didn't blame him, and any other time it would have been an incriminating statement. But when the oversized croc had mentioned a young fox boy John couldn't help but assume. Honestly, he didn't have to, he knew. Just one of those gut instincts you become keen on after years of being on the force. He looked to Jason who has appeared at his side and the Sheppard knew that he and the hawk feared the same thing. Jason nodded a nod that turned into a shake in frustration and John knew how he felt.
"Can you show me to the dumpster?" John asked the crocodile who in response reluctantly nodded and pushed his way through the double doors behind him. A group of cooks and workers were huddled in front of a long grill broke apart when the croc emerged from the front and tried but failed to look busy. No doubt he was the head chef here.
"My name is Wallace; I've worked here for fifteen years and never found something like this." He spoke in a southern slang that John couldn't pin point in his mind. He didn't suspect the croc because he already had an awful feeling he already knew who was responsible for what he was about to see. It didn't stop him from letting the croc continue on with his defense. Jason just followed in silence. "I was just takin' out the trash. Almost didn't notice him. Normally I just open the lid, toss the bag in, and then let it slam shut. But I took a peek and there he was, white as snow among the scraps..."
It was strange to hear such a huge, fearsome looking guy talk so softly and distressed about a subject, even one as terrible as this. It was something John has realized about himself and the boy Zachary. His thoughts wavered, reminiscing over the previous night. The wolf/Sheppard alone wasn't enough to make him deter from his objective, but he thought about Jason as he walked behind him, about the video he had masturbated to, the feelings of fatherhood and relationships blurring amongst his judgment. The heavy metal door creaking open brought him back to the present but left him with an unsettling shift in his pants.
The back alley was dark and smelt of rotting meat. It was a smell that brought nothing but despair to John's thoughts, and although he knew that whatever he found in the dumpster was already dead, but meeting the young Sheppard had left him with his hope open full-bore, gushing optimism but knowing only doubt.
Wallace remained just outside the door, obviously not wanting to get near enough to see the body again. John didn't blame him, he almost dreaded it himself. The restaurant owner emerged a second later, ermine eyes panicked and fur pulled in tufts. Jason however took initiative and pulled a pair of latex gloves from his back pocket.
"I always carry them now." Jason said to John's questioning look. He had only been prepared for drinks and light conversation, not a crime scene. He had to hand it to the hawk; he took his job very seriously. It didn't help how he felt about him though, if anything, it made him appreciate the hawk for who he was even more. John just nodded and took a breath as the dirty plastic lid was lifted up to reveal a smell only slightly worse than the surrounding smell of rotting food and filth.
John didn't react but he felt his insides scream because for a moment he saw a brown colored wolf/Sheppard and not a while fox. He always tried to disassociate himself from the victims he found; only now he was doing the exact opposite. He was putting himself in Zachary's father's shoes. How he would feel if it was Zachary who he had found here and not the poor curled up, dead, fox.
"He's no older than eleven, maybe still ten." Jason breathed, but refrained from taking in a deep breath. At a closer look John could already see signs of decomposition.
"He's been dead for roughly eighteen hours." John spoke in monotone.
"I don't see signs of struggle, no bruising around the neck, no cuts on his paws." Jason pointed out. But John saw something.
"Look there." He pointed with a padded finger at the boy's right arm right below the bend. Standing out against his white fur was a swollen red dot above one of the major veins in the body. It was common to see them dotted along the arms of junkies and crack heads who use needles to inject themselves with they're drug of choice. "See that spot. This kit injected himself. You can tell it stopped his heart; the body didn't even have enough time to reject it. There's no vomit on his muzzle."
Neither one of them wanted to say what was on the others mind. It was obvious as to what had happened and Gregory Carson had something to do with it. John could smell the burning scent of chlorine bleach among the reek of decay along with the smell of utter foul play. It had obviously been used to burn what little evidence there might be left upon the boy. John's superior canine nose couldn't always be relied upon though. It was an awful thing to wish for but signs of anal penetration would swing the pendulum towards Gregory, but without DNA they'd have nothing to pin against him. It infuriated him and saddened him.
A phone rang somewhere in Jason's coat pocket but John heard it like it was a mile away, faint and meek. He stared with intent canine eyes at the scene within the steal container while the hawk moved away to take the call. It was probably his work, ordering him to hustle to the scene. He was on call, but they didn't know that he was already there. That would change soon. He could hear the distant sound of sirens too, cutting through the chilly night air with a vengeance. It was all in vein of course, it was already too late, an innocent cub had fallen victim to a predator more cunning than sick. All the Sheppard could think about was preserving whatever evidence was left and the fleeting warming thought of a hawk.
He still had his doubts. Even with all the evidence against him, John somehow knew that Gregory would try and find a way around it. He always did. He had all these allegations but no physical evidence, it wasn't like other raids or busts in the past month; Even Rolland McGregor's DNA was found all over Zachary and was enough to send the washed up football star to prison for multiple life sentences. And that got him thinking.
"John, the beat cops are here." The canine heard the bird say almost as if he were miles away. John nodded, barely noticing the repetitive flashing of red and blue lights against dirty brick building. The ermine was already chattering to a hyena in suit while the crocodile stood by, looming over all but acting as small as a bug. He felt the sudden presence of a warm wing on his thick upper arm, but his mind was racing elsewhere; even what he saw around him didn't matter. He turned to the hawk with alarmingly wide eyes, lit with an idea he should have thought of hours ago when they were hauling the ruined tiger away from his own home. "What is it John? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Don't be ridiculous; you know I don't believe in ghosts." John said, placing the paw of his touched arm against the forearm of his friend. "Not without physical evidence."
Jason's gaze went from concerned to perplexed in a fraction of a second; the enamel of his bill shifting ever so slightly as he looked on in question. John wanted to hug the hawk but that would only put his professionalism into question, not to mention the degradation of the dark matter at hand.
"What are you talking about John?" Jason asked with a curious but worried tone. "You have that look in your eye that I remember from our school days."
"I've been looking in all the wrong places." The Sheppard spoke incredulously. For the past three months he had been trying without prevail to come up with evidence or testimonies to build up a case from the dust of the desert itself, but now he had the idea to go to the source; the source of information that had been in front of him since the night before. Sure he had Zachary's, and now Rosa Carson's testaments, but he had to pull teeth from someone on the inside, someone who knew Gregory better than anyone. "I think it's time to pick the tiger by his toe."
The End of Part 5
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