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Chapter XI - Cats and Mice

The last time they'd entered the favela, they'd been on a time limit. How long Tamra had left to live was an unknown factor, and it had forced them to rush through the hostile environment, leading to their entrapment.

This time, they weren't the hunted. They were the hunters.

Arlen's odd fur shade was a boon in this environment. In a night-scape like this, the tiger was virtually undetectable, and the only reason he wore the night-vision goggles was to hide the whites of his eyes.

Buck wondered about Arlen's surname, as they stalked silently through the blackness of the Rocinha, retracing their steps from the previous action as they hunted for the location Zebra's contact had mentioned.

Blacktiger. Most surnames are from old languages, usually have something to do with a job or a location. Blacktiger just...Doesn't fit. Too descriptive, and I doubt the whole family is black-furred.

If they were, no doubt his ancestors had been fearsome warriors. Such a coloration was an enormous advantage in darkened places, and Arlen certainly showed no signs of genetic weakness in his physical form.

Buck put a paw against the burly tiger's shoulder as they neared a corner, perched on a corrugated iron roof festooned with rust and corrosion-holes. Arlen knew the signal, and stayed silently still, while Buck removed some cords from his equipment belt and pressed the flat bit at their end to the steel.

The words that came through were in Portuguese and sounded distant, probably several rooms away. They confirmed that all was normal, no sign of interlopers. He ignored the other bits, something about who was fucking whose sister, who was going to get killed for disrespect, where the drugs were going...

Arlen swept the walkway ahead of them silently while Buck gathered intel. In his paws was a weapon that gave him comfort...Sato's UMP .45 was a German-made killing machine, with a long clip and a sinister profile, and felt good in his paws. More importantly, it was a connection with the wolf, a way to remind Arlen why he was here. Revenge...and to get the enemy before they could finish the job. He'd never read The Most Dangerous Game, but he knew its themes so well he might consider it a story about his life if he ever encountered it.

A silhouette moved with the moon to its back on a rooftop nearly a mile away, and Arlen shouldered the UMP and unslung the PSG-1 to get a look. The thing was a work of art. Sleek, long, powerful, with very little kick. One of the best inventions in long rifles ever, in his opinion. The starlight scope he'd outfitted it with showed him the fur on that building wasn't even armed...A young woman hanging up laundry on lines run between some rooftop piping. She was a pretty young cat, a good figure, and diligently working even though it was near midnight.

He shook his head and lowered the rifle, feeling somehow less a man for a moment for having pointed the deadly killing tool at someone who didn't deserve such violence. Or such an environment. Still, he knew he couldn't save them all...Something Sato had had to remind him more than once in the field.

With a pat to Arlen's shoulder, Buck retracted the wires, stowed them away again, and gestured to keep moving forward.

They had been at this since just after dusk. Five or so hours of stalking through the urban jungle had actually served to calm Arlen. It was a reminder of his mastery, how far he'd come under Buck and Sato's and so many others' tutelage. Four years ago, he would have barely been able to keep his cool in this situation. Now, he was solid like a stone. He knew nobody could see them, and knew he'd notice if they did.

They made another move, advancing another half mile or so into the heart of the favela. Buck patted his shoulder again to signal a stop, and lowered the wires, as Arlen gave the city-scape a look. They were up on the hillside, and he could see the favela spread out down below them like an avalanche of concrete, rust, and humanity spilling down from the hill. Beyond the edge of the Rocinha, Sao Paolo teemed with life even this time of night.

You're somewhere out there. Maybe in here. You're all going to die for what you did to Sato.

I fucking hate wheelchairs...

Tamra was wheeling herself slowly through the maze of the private hospital, trying to get her bearings, though it was largely an exercise in futility. At the best of times, this place would be a labyrinth of nurse stations, security check points to protect wealthy medical tourists, and a whirlwind of doctors.

This time of night, there weren't even people to give directions. The security guards didn't look terribly friendly, and she didn't care enough about finding her way swiftly to bother with them, and the nurses were all either busy in the emergency areas of the hospital or making rounds and looking too harried to be stopped by the little calico.

Tamra turned a corner and found herself in an atrium filled with plants and warm, humid air, and the sudden change of scenery sparked off another dizzy spell that had her leaning up against one arm of the oversized chair and holding her head while the world spun around her.

Ugh. At least the vomiting's stopped. Where the heck is my unit?

The dizzy spell had thrown off her sense of alertness, and she knew it when paws closed firmly on the push-arms of her wheelchair, and started to roll her. Unwilling to turn around for fear of losing her dinner, she didn't resist or question it immediately, just held on to the gently rolling chair.

"Do you wish to visit your team?"

The voice wasn't in Portuguese, and wasn't accented like a local. Slowly, Tam managed to turn her aching head enough to get a sidelong look at a slim silver wolf in a very expensive tailored black and white silk suit. The wolf's eyes were smooth, calculating, his face showing no expression whatsoever as he rolled her. She couldn't see the bulge of a concealed gun, but she knew it was there by the way the wolf walked.

Predator. Ready to fight. Either Gecko found us or...Wait a minute...Silver furred wolves...

"You're..."

The pair of bodyguards emerged from the doors behind them as they exited the atrium and back into the halls of the hospital, heading towards an elevator. They were similarly well-dressed in black silk suits, though they were much taller than the wolf they seemed to defer to, and wore sunglasses to hide their eyes. Both males were shiba-inu canines, all fluffy white fur, though she could see the tattoo of a dragon and serpents peeking out from where their suits ended at their paws.

The wolf simply nodded his head, once, and made a sound that came out something like "yo," which she knew was a way in Japanese of confirming something.

A chill ran through her.

"Konbanwa, Kiyosato-sama. Tamra Delgado desu. Dozo yoroshiku." Japanese for 'good evening, lord Kiyosato. I'm Tamra Delgado. It's a pleasure to meet you.'

The wolf showed the slightest bit of a smile, just a twitch at one corner of his muzzle, and much to her relief his eyes suddenly looked less serpentine. He nodded his head in approval at her reasonably well-accented Japanese.

"Very respectful, miss Delgado, to greet a man in his native language properly. Your dossier was not incorrect about your level of education. It is good to meet a cultured individual, despite the circumstances."

The wolf's voice was soft, cultured, but with an undercurrent of confidence and steel. Kiyosato Goza, called Black Dragon in hushed whispers by other members of the underworld, and brother of her employers' CEO. And here he was, pushing her chair through a hospital and exchanging pleasantries.

Tamra fought hard to put on a smile and not pee herself in nervousness. Given that he'd responded to her in English, she continued in it.

"Thank you for coming to visit us. The nurses won't tell me about Sato's condition, but Captain Buck tells me he might wake up in the next few days. I'm...I'm very sorry for all of this."

Kiyosato accepted her apology with a simple nod, as the elevator shushed shut behind them and started to rise. He responded verbally a few seconds later, having paused to compose his words.

"I was debriefed via phone, miss Delgado. While you did act in a willful fashion, it was entirely within operational parameters and my brother's guidelines. If your commander had wished to stop you, he would have sent an emphatic negative in his further communiqué. You have done nothing wrong and thus have no need to apologize."

Tamra's head whirled a bit trying to keep up with the enunciated, precise words, so much more used to Arlen's short sentences, cursing, and slight drawl, or Buck's habitual savage sentence structure.

The elevator opened into the ICU, and Tam closed her eyes, finally able to relax and believe she wasn't about to be pitched out a window for being involved with the Black Dragon's nephew getting shot. The place was quiet, she noted, likely sound-proofed to keep out the clamor of other floors.

"Thank you, sir, for being understanding."

He didn't respond to that, just kept pushing her chair forward down the hallway. In a few moments, a door slid open and she opened her eyes to see Rene, sitting in a chair with an IV tree on wheels next to him, and Sato still unconscious and in his bed.

She winced, having not seen him since arriving in the hospital...He looked like hell, and she could tell by the slight, slight creak of the plastic on her wheelchair arms that Kiyosato was upset to see him this way.

Rene smiled sadly at Tamra, then paled and lost his expression upon seeing who was pushing her chair. He tried to stand, instinctively, to attention, but ended up gasping and having to sit back down about halfway up.

Kiyosato Goza waved him off with a curt gesture of his paw, then pushed Tam's chair to Rene's side before letting go and moving to touch his nephew's forehead. The gesture was tender, caring, though somehow also businesslike.

The yakuza kobun looked to one of his bodyguards and gave a quick nod. Some kind of signal, Tamra figured, as the guard then departed the room speaking in rapid-fire Japanese into his headset. Far too quick for her to interpret.

I should've taken that job teaching English in Japan. My conversational Japanese would be better. Argh.

"My brother will not be able to lead your company for some time. His injuries are survivable, but he is currently comatose."

The statement, so bland and emotionless, was no less shocking to the two mercenaries. Rene sighed and put his paw over his face, rubbing at it. Tamra just shook her head.

"When Sato awakes and can demonstrate his mental capacity to lead, he will be in charge of the company until my brother can recover. I expect that you two and your other companions will act as his personal bodyguards from that point forward. While you are healing, my men and I shall stand guard."

Tam just stared at him, then looked down at the tray over her lap. She'd been eating lunch when the impulse to find Sato and Rene had come over her, and the remains of her pudding cup seemed as good a focus for quick meditation as any.

Rene needed no such time to gather his thoughts. He just whispered a response, off the top of his head, like he usually did. He always was more analytical with planes and choppers than people, Tam thought.

"We would die to protect him. All of us would, the same as he would for us. You've got my word."

Kiyosato raised a brow at him slightly, regarding the injured hare for a few long, somehow tense seconds, then simply nodded and sat down in the spare chair next to his nephew.

"We shall see. Your commander and his second are handling the clean-up at the moment. I will speak with them when they return about their new status. And their conduct"

Tam swallowed a lump in her throat as she looked up. That had sounded more ominous than she had liked.

A commander is responsible for his troops.

Tasha woke slowly, warm and less achey than when she'd gone to sleep. There was a paw on her groin, though it seemed to not be doing anything. It did serve to make her more aware of her situation quickly, though it turned out to be nothing terribly wrong. The warm and slightly damp towel sitting underneath her body reminded her of how she'd fallen asleep, with the nice, plump wolf she was curled up on holding ice on her bruised behind.

She turned slightly, slowly, to look up at the young man. He was handsome enough, if perhaps a bit overweight and not terribly muscular. The wolf who'd introduced himself as Tristan was fast asleep, his glasses askew atop his snout, and didn't appear to register that she'd moved at all.

With a lithe motion and careful grace, she slid off of him and the bed, putting her feet down and standing into a back-arching, spine-popping stretch.

Stiff. I've been sleeping too much. Don't feel drugged any more at least.

She eyed the wolf and considered her options again. She knew taking the boy hostage would, at best, help her get out of the hotel. However, it wouldn't help her family, who were under threat from that psycho Gecko. There was no sign that he'd been back that she could immediately see, so whatever he had planned for her killing skills wasn't yet needed.

She furtively shot one more look at the sleeping wolf and padded silently over to his laptop, which was still sitting on the glass table next to the television set on which she'd shown the botched mission to Gecko. A few careful taps had the desktop up, and she squinted at the fifty or so icons there, many of them games or arcanely-named text files.

This is going to take too long.

She stood up from the computer, took two steps towards the kitchenette, and then was forcibly reminded by her bladder just how long she'd been sleeping and how desperately she needed to relieve it.

The bathroom she'd spent the previous night dozing in was a nice one, she noticed, all white marble and brushed nickel fixtures. The shower looked so inviting she stared at it the whole time she was using the commode, and then was in it with an enthusiastic hop not long after.

The hot water cascaded down her fur, and she thoroughly soaped herself with the nice hotel body wash, taking special care on her muzzle, breasts, groin...All the filth of the previous days was coming off her, and the feeling was glorious, so much so that she was able to ignore the twinges that still came from her abused body.

Must have had a reaction to whatever he drugged me with...Aphrodisiac or barbiturate maybe.

She made a note to check with a doctor when she got the chance. Drug allergies could be dangerous in her line of work, where medical treatment could sometimes come from unlicensed and poorly-trained off-the-books medics.

The shower water was nice, and it had her leaning into the spray, eyes closed and ears back, letting it flow down her body and carry her worries with it for a moment. The opening of the hotel door was muffled out by the splash and splatter of hot water, and so was the opening of the bathroom door.

When a sudden change in temperature hit her fur, she spun to the side, taking a step back in the slick tub and sliding till her footpaw hit the shower wall. The stance she'd tried to assume was rather ruined by it, and the water had to be blinked from her eyes before the interloper could be identified.

Tasha was stuck between a reaction of violence or fear...The black dog was back, and had just pulled the shower curtain open. He was staring at her naked, soaked, soapy body with a look of hunger and anger.

She bared her fangs at him, knowing well just how silly it would look to him, and coiled...

Stan came through the door and glared at the bodyguard's back.

"Hey! Leave her alone!"

The bodyguard stiffened, then turned his eyes away from Tasha. He spoke a few gruff words of Portuguese, then tossed the wolf a small, wrapped packet of files before storming out of the bathroom.

Stan turned away from her, blushing furiously, and set the file on the countertop.

"Um...Looks like things Simon wants checked out. Uh. Said to call me if you need anything, so..."

He scribbled a cell number on the folder cover with his pen, shimmied his feet nervously, then walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Tasha raised an eyebrow, still crouched in an awkward fighting stance, dripping water and soap and befuddlement.

After a few seconds of just standing there, she remembered to rinse off, grabbed a towel, and gave the file the once-over.

Hospitals. Six of them, all in Sao Paolo or surrounding areas.

Finally, something easy. Just have to check hospitals for targets while dodging any guns or guards they've got. No sweat.