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Horizons II

1

"Are you friend or family, sir?"

"Friend," the gray wolf said. He was wearing tan khakis and a rum-colored t-shirt, the kind of color you would rather not see in a hospital. He was scratching at an itch on his left forearm; it was tingling again, just as it always did when he was nervous. It was an uncomfortable feeling that he knew he would never get used to, but after that night he realized that whatever made you remember that you were alive was alright in anyone's book.

"Alright, dearie," the shrew said with an annoying nasal inflection as she checked at something on a clipboard. "Room four-oh-three. But please be quiet."

The wolf nodded his thanks and walked down the hall, sweat building up on his forehead as he smelled the scents of the hospital: disinfectants, antiseptics, piss, blood. That last one hit just a little too close to home, though, and it made him feel a little colder.

Eight days. Eight. The magic number bounced around in Jake's head like a sing-a-long ball. Eight days since the gunfight in that little motel. Eight days since the nightmare that left him and Alex in the hospital. It all felt more like a century.

Finally, he found the right door. Its number was etched into the polished wood in a large black font, and below was a small placard. Two names were written on a pair of thin cards that could be slipped in or out with ease. The first was:

PATIENT 403(a) Nikolas Wachter

And below that:

PATIENT 403(b) Alex Trenton

Jake wiped away the sweat on his forehead and cleared his throat before turning the knob and stepping into the room. It smelt unabashedly like the rest of the hospital, but the only exception was the cloying scent of something flowery.

On the right side, closest to the door, an old panther lay in his bed. His muzzle was covered with a foggy respirator and tubing snaked out from underneath his white sheets. There was a small brass vase on his nightstand filled with marigolds. Jake passed the resident and walked to the far end of the room.

The fox looked so small and thin in the hospital bed. Emaciated, even. There was an oxygen mask covering his muzzle, and tubes hooked up to various flickering machines attached to his body. His chest rose and fell as his heart blipped out a steady 8-bit beat on the electrocardiograph.

"Hey, Alex," Jake muttered. "We never quite made it to California, did we?"

Alex was silent. His chest rose and fell, and the machines continued to beep and flicker.

"Coma," Jake remembered hearing from the doctor, back when he himself was residing in room 400 not two days ago. Coma...Oh my god...

Images, disturbing and bleak, ran through the wolf's mind as he looked at the vulpine. Visions of administrative errors, mechanical failures, cerebral accidents, bodily setbacks...they all formed a conglomerate of terror that made him cringe. He knew that if anything happened to Alex, there was only one person to blame; and that person was standing beside the fox's bed right now. After all, who was it that forced him into going on that trip?

The police had questioned him from the moment he could open his eyes. They asked him questions he didn't understand, and the ones he did he tried to answer in such a way that didn't make him or Alex seem like a pair of sociopaths. They showed him photographs in emotionless black and white of the same scenes he had already been all too privy to. He must have done something right, however, because they let him go. They let him off, but not without saying "Trust is essential," which sounded too much like a warning...or a threat.

"You really are lucky, you know that," Jake mumbled, crossing his arms and looking out the window into the parking lot below. "You weren't the one they set the Spanish Inquisition on. I hope I did alright. They didn't seem really interested in me afterward, but I don't trust them. I really hope I did alright by us, Alex."

Jake looked down and absently brushed the fox's black bangs out of his eyes. It was niggling him, seeing those locks where they shouldn't be.

"It feels like things are just falling down around me. Nobody knows what we went through. I don't even want to talk about what I saw. When I first woke up my head hurt, like someone was pounding a railroad spike through it. They had me take some painkillers the first few days. I never stopped taking them..."

He didn't know if people in comas still functioned to the point of hearing you. He thought they did, but he wasn't sure. Whatever the case, it was probably better to put stock in a rumor than to look into Alex's face as cynical thoughts ran around in his mind.

"I need you, Alex. Now more than ever."

The dark visions erupted again into his mind, and Jake saw the oxygen mask fill silently with blood, saw the deadly little air bubble slip up into the IV tube, heard the mosquito-scream of the EKG flatlining, saw the white-clad doctor throw a sheet over Alex's face as he made a well-rehearsed face of sadness, saw the crow from his dreams fly in through an open window and perch lightly on the fox's bed sheet screaming "He's mine now, you faggot, and I'll _never_give him back!"

A tear slid down through the grey fur of Jake's cheek. Slowly, he bent down and kissed the fox, quick peck just on the forehead.

He turned and headed for the door. Suddenly, he saw a young lioness in nurse uniform standing just beside the door, watching him. A cold feeling of horror and embarrassment washed over him, and he steeled himself for the hateful look and reproachful eyes and maybe a snarling upturned lip or scathing comment.

But there wasn't any of that. As a matter of fact, the lioness's caramel eyes were soft and kind. Looking straight at Jake, she smiled warmly and nodded, understanding and maybe appreciation marked on her face.

The wolf scratched anxiously at his arm as he modestly laid his ears back. He proceeded to leave the hospital room (the place was beginning to make him feel sick, which was probably fitting, he supposed) as quickly as he could. On his way out the lioness brushed his shoulder and said "It'll be alright."

He stopped and looked at her, wondering if she was another hallucination. But she couldn't be; she wasn't screaming at him or coughing up blood in his face or vomiting her organs onto his shoes. The lioness smiled again and went to the old panther, straightening out the sheets and ruffling the pillow.

Jake walked out the door, smiling in spite of himself. He felt a golden spark of hope alight in his chest, spreading throughout his body and giving him an elated, uplifting feeling inside. Although he wasn't aware of it, he walked tall and held his head high. Maybe it will be alright, after all. He smiled at the shrew nurse and she smiled back, happy that the strange kid had turned out all right.

A pair of dark eyes watched the wolf as he walked down the hall, glinting with a hidden emerald fire. A white-furred hand tapped out a jazzy burlesque beat on an unfrequented gurney as a single thought pulsed rhythmically like a neon street sign: Things are coming together.

2

"My name is Jim, but most people call me...Jim."

"Mmmm...I don't know that one."

"Oh, come on, man. Blazing Saddles? One of Mel Brooks' greatest creations?"

"Eh..."

"You really don't know anything about movies, do you?"

The gaunt canine face, half hidden by the penumbra of his hood, sneered at the two feline teens as they gallivanted across the dark street and rambled on about their trifling nonsense, tossing a leathery orange ball to one another. They were blind, blind and stupid. People were no longer like they used to be; they used to be loyal and appreciative of the things they had and which showed them kindness and appreciation. The world used to be one in which trust and benevolence were the flowing blood that circulated across the veins of the planet. Now people had become savage, merciless, and so damnably stupid.

In the old days, he would have had all the stupid people strung up high on the Killing Rock, and he would have introduced them, very slowly, to his glory and compassion, for he was not without mercy.

But these days, the word "mercy" held such an ambiguous tone.

He was tall and broad shouldered, and he slipped from street to street unnoticed like a wraith. The night in the city was warm and alive with a pulsating, artificial glow, and it made his skin crawl with a mixture or hatred and delight. He passed underneath a lamplight, which flickered as though irritated. The two kids fell silent, feeling a cold wind brush through their fur and a strange tingly feeling made their temples throb unpleasantly. They looked at each other with (stupid stupid stupid) shocked expressions, as though they had just missed death by inches.

He drifted fluidly into a dark corner of the street, where not even neon signs pervaded the darkness. The hem of his black coat barely brushed the rough concrete sidewalk.

Just then the door of an antiques shop burst open and a coyote appeared in the doorway. He politely stepped aside as the hooded figure slid lithely into the shop, not saying a word.

Ten minutes later, the coyote was seated at a large mahogany card table, a cup of powerful black coffee quivering soundlessly in his hands. The figure was standing at the other end, his black coat billowing without wind. After a little while the figure spoke, his voice cold and terrible in the mute, dusty room.

"Your raccoon died."

"It's not my fault. Something happened; he didn't handle the box properly."

"I'm not surprised. None of you are capable of 'handling' anything I give you. The thing inside perished."

The coyote chuckled with ill humor. "Am I supposed to be crying over the death of one of your pets? I don't want any of your business anymore. You've proven time and time again to be more trouble than you're worth, and my mother always told me to cut my losses..."

"I am the only business you have."

"No, pal, you're not. This might come as a shock to you, but you're not the only guy from another world trying to fuck up this one."

The figure's coat spasmed quicker and more fiercely. His hood slid back over his ears, revealing a canine head that resembled something like a jackal, but with odd banded markings of black and ashy grey running horizontally across his face. His eyes were dead white and glared ferociously down at the coyote.

"How dare you speak to me that way," he growled menacingly.

"Ooh, I'm so sorry, your highness, but sometimes you get a thorn in your hand every now and then. You just have to deal with it. You want to know why I took up your propositions, buddy? It's because I knew I could get something out of them. The raccoon, the box...they were just dolls in a dusty old steamer trunk. They were building blocks for a bigger thing, bigger even than you, asshole. Even that little pet of yours. Now, it wasn't as loyal as you thought it was; had some fun with a kid, I heard. Diddled with his brain or something. Where did it learn to do that, I wonder?"

"I wish I had never met you, Sawyer" the canine-thing growled. The coyote only smiled and chuckled a high, mad laugh.

"Right now governments all along the Mediterranean are wishing the same thing. Now get outta my shop."

The canine growled low in his throat. The black coat dropped to the floor in a rush of air, revealing a half-naked body. There were no legs, only a writhing assembly of thick, greenish-grey tentacles that spread across the table toward the coyote.

Tom Sawyer didn't flinch, he didn't even blink. When the creature came at him with claws outstretched and seeking tentacles flailing, he smiled that winning smile that had won him so many things in his life and waited. After all, all good things come to those who wait, as mother used to say.

A ragged-looking claw was inches from his face when a blinding white flash shot out when the two connected. In less than a moment, the creature disappeared. The two kids outside were long gone now, but had they still remained there, they would have seen the light from the windows of the antique shop.

Sawyer reached into his green shirt and took out a pewter capsule that was looped around his neck on a thin thread of twine. It was about the same size as his pinkie finger and a little thicker. Little symbols on its surface glowed with a sickly orange light. The coyote's smile broadened, exposing sharp teeth yellowed by years of tobacco. He got up to make a fresh pot of coffee...he had a feeling that the morning was going to be a busy one.

3

That's right, fag, he's gonna be mine pretty soon. I suppose I've got you to thank, don't I? After all, he was becoming a bit of a scold, wasn't he? Who knows, maybe he would have been a better mother figure than she was. But we'll never know now, will we, because he's going to be mine and you're going to suffer for the rest of your life until I finally take you and I'll make you suffer even more because I love it when you suffer. Maybe I don't have to wait, maybe you'll just off yourself one fine moonlit night while you're tossing and turning thinking about him. Who knows, it's a big world full of what-ifs and maybe's. For instance, WHAT IF Alex is going to d--.

"Here's your coffee," the otter waitress said.

"Oh, thanks," Jake accepted the coffee and set it on the table, glad to have a reason to turn away from the window. He saw a crow outside munching ravenously on an unfortunate snail, but he had a feeling that there really was no crow at all.

Close your eyes, look deep in your soul, step outside yourself, and let your mind go...

They began only as morbid dreams, popping up when he was in the drug-induced, half-conscious limbo in the hospital. He was back in that prison of darkness and hot wind, faces of his mother in the form of preternatural yellow lights dancing in the sky. Then, he was floating down a massive white hall where black doors yawned open and whispering voices called to him from thin silver strings that ran across the glass ceiling and hung like spider thread from the tops of the massive, gaping doorways. He wandered in the air for what seemed like centuries--it was probably no more than an instant--when he finally came to the end of the hallway and into a blazing red sky that rippled like strawberry gelatin. Down below he could see hideous landscapes flashing in and out of focus as he slowly came to. It never mattered where he was, though, because there was always the crow...the monstrous crow that carried him and forced him to see what he couldn't bear to see.

As you go insane, go insane...

Jake shook his head and sipped his coffee, listening to the buzz and hum of the little Oklahoma diner. It was a strange place, but not much different from the bar and grill that Alex worked in back home. Country boys and city folk mingled indiscriminately (this was an odd phenomenon that confused the wolf, who was a nature boy at heart) as they spoke of everyday sort of things, run-of-the-mill things that nobody else would find interesting except for Jake. As a writer, he always found it his duty to keep an open ear in an open place.

That's commendable, Sonny Jim, but how long do you think you'll still be writing before I rip that stupid brain of yours out of your fucking skull?

Probably a week, Jake thought pragmatically. He took a sip from his cup and savored the sweet taste of caffeine. Closing his eyes, he tried to push the dark thoughts away. He was always successful after another dose of coffee or Lortab.

His mind went back to the police. What would they have thought? After all, he was found lying on top of Alex, they were both covered in blood, and there were two dead bodies in the motel--one of them a damn constable--and they were the only ones alive. They probably thought that...he didn't really want to know what they thought.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

Jake opened his eyes, stunned to see a rather voluptuous albino lioness peering at him from beneath a pair of dark sunglasses. Her dark red hair curled around her face and fell over her ample chest. Her black leather jacket was studded with dozens of little buttons, trinkets, and tiny road signs. Her faded black jeans were adorned with exertion rips and strain marks. Over her shoulder she carried a snake-skin purse that glittered darkly in the morning sun. She looked like she had come from of an eighties punk concert.

"Um, no, not at all."

"Good," she said, immediately sliding into the booth opposite him. He noted that she didn't say thanks.

"You and I have some things to talk about," she said as she dug into her purse. Her voice was thick with the air of east-end London.

I knew there'd be some cryptic Matrix bullshit to this, Jake thought with a mental chuckle as she handed him an envelope. He opened it and pulled out a few photocopies of grainy black and white photos. One of them showed a cast iron box with its lid open. Something must have been burning, because smoke was drifting out of it. The second was one the police had already shown him; it was a mug shot of the skinny raccoon that had taken Alex prisoner. Below that was a photo of the kid that worked at the motel and had offered to help him and Alex.

"Recognize any of that?" she asked, taking out a cigarette and preparing to light it. She obviously hadn't seen the No Smoking sign when she walked in.

Jake handed the photos back to her, saying that he knew some and didn't know others. She took a long drag on the cig and blew out a dart of smoke directly into his face. Jake, annoyed, cleared his throat and said "Look, just who the hell are you?"

She growled at him, a low and grinding sound. "Right now, I'm the woman making sure your furry ass isn't being slow-roasted over a large fire. Just think of me as your fairy godmother, and we should get along quite nicely."

If she's my fairy godmother, then I'm Orson Wells.

She held up a photo of the raccoon. "You know this guy?" Jake shook his head. She went on. "His name is Caleb Zylka. He was a big time drug user before he..."

"I know who he is," Jake interrupted. "The police told me about him."

"Did they tell you that he's part of a cult?" She said, raising an eyebrow. As Jake sat a little straighter in the booth, she sniffed a light chuckle. "They didn't, did they? Of course not, because the police don't know a quarter of what I know, so you better listen damn well, kid, or I'll leave you here to waste time that could be used for more important things, like saving your friend. So do you want my help or not?"

This is what you call Staring at the Rabbit Hole, Jake thought bitterly. Should I jump or walk away?

In the end, he agreed to make the jump and nodded. She took another long pull on the cigarette, blew out another white dart, and continued.

"As I was saying, he was part of a cult, and a big one at that. He kind of went AWOL and started doing his own thing, though. He stole this..." She held up the photocopy of the open box.

"What's that supposed to be?" Jake said. He remembered the police saying that it was underneath the bed in the motel room. They had called in for some help from the CDC, probably thinking it was part of some biological weapon.

"It was a container for something that's been alive for a very long time. I don't know how you and your friend did it, but you managed to kill it--."

"But what was it?"

The white lion looked around the diner. There were fewer people than there were before she came, and those that were still here were getting up to go back to their homes or work. She turned back to him, taking off her sunglasses and revealing a pair of concerned yellowish-green eyes.

"One thing you have to understand before I say anything more, kid. This spinning ball we live on, this little planet called Earth, it isn't the only thing in the universe that can hold life. You believe that, right?"

Jake, who ten days earlier would have laughed in her face and told her that she should become a fiction writer, thought that there were things more absurd than extraterrestrial life. He nodded, taking another much needed sip of coffee.

"Is that what that thing was?" he asked. "That big glowworm thing?"

"Glowworm?" she repeated, scrunching her eyes in confusion. "You mean you saw it?"

"Yeah. It was a huge bunch of yellow glowing worms with hair. And it was making a humming, screaming kind of noise."

She sat back against her seat, looking at him with wide, shocked eyes. Her mouth hung open, and the hand holding her cigarette was shaking slightly.

"Are you telling me that you were so close you could see it? You're not chaffing me, are you?"

Jake shook his head. He then proceeded to tell her his story, the whole thing, including the trip to California with Alex. He was always afraid of openly expressing his love for Alex, but luckily she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she seemed rather amused. When he was finally done, she looked at him now with a refined look of admiration.

"You're a brave one, Jake, I'll give you that much. Are you...do you still want my help?"

"Will it bring Alex out of his coma?"

She looked at him, her eyes filled with a trusting kindness he was only used to seeing in Alex. By now there were only a handful of people in the diner, most of them just chatting away with old friends.

"If we do things right, I think we can," she said, smiling. Jake couldn't help but smile back. Outside, the crow had flown away to seek out other dining spots.

4

"So," Jake said, finishing his coffee. "Tell me everything."

"Alright then. First off, the raccoon, Zylka. He's part of an international cult that's hell-bent on bringing certain 'things' to our world. We call these things 'Changers' because they can create life and, as you can well imagine, destroy life. We don't really want these things around, see? Some are already on our planet and raising hell in their own little way, some are so destructive that they've been put in special containers, and some are dead. Kudos for our side, but that doesn't make the ones that are alive any more lenient, you get me?

"Yeah...but how do you know all of this?"

She gave a sardonic sort of smile and shrugged. "Born into the family, I guess you could say. My mother and father worked at a research facility in Antarctica. They found some...thing, and it killed everyone, even my parents. I grew up in a foster home where they raised me like any other kid, but when I went to live with my uncle--I was a bit of a little hellion, you know--he told me all about it. Ever since then I started looking for friends in high and low places, learning about all this stuff that would make Freud wish he was a homemaker."

She paused to take another breath from the cigarette. She was tossing the burnt remnants into the potted plant beside the booth, and it was already less than an inch long by now. A waitress came by and refilled Jake's cup of coffee.

"What about that kid?" Jake said. "Dobson, I think his name was..."

"William Lester Dobson," the lioness said, nodding gravely. "Killed two days after you went to the hospital..."

"What!?" Jake almost shouted. The few people that still occupied the diner turned to look at him, but he didn't care. He refused to care. It just wasn't possible that the kid who had offered to help him and Alex, had offered them room and board in his own home was dead. By normal earthly logic it didn't seem possible, didn't seem sane.

The lioness looked around and lowered her voice. "The cult caught wind that Zylka left them and had taken the container with him, probably to swap it for money to buy drugs or something. The police weren't releasing any information, but somehow they found out that Dobson was working that day. He was alone at his home when they interrogated him. They got as much information from him as they did from the police, so they just killed him. My people were the first ones there when we heard that there was cult activity in the area. I saw the body..."

The lioness trailed off at this point, staring solemnly at her diminished cigarette. She shook her head. "It only adds to the importance of getting rid of the cult and the things they worship."

It also adds to how goddamn evil they are, Jake thought.

The lioness crushed the remaining cigarette between her fingers and reached into her jacket. She brought out a little black pen and started writing on a napkin. "This is where you can find me and my group. We're always looking for new members, and I know you'd be a welcome asset. I mean, you already killed one of the Changers..."

She handed him the napkin, which he accepted. She told him to memorize it and burn the napkin.

"Well, must be off, love," she said as she slung her purse over her shoulder, slipped the dark sunglasses over her eyes and started to get out of the booth. Jake, suddenly realizing that she hadn't answered one question, gently grabbed her arm.

"Wait a minute. What's your name?"

She smiled at him as she hoisted her purse higher over her shoulder. "Helena Carver," she said, quickly turning the corner, walking past the potted plant, and out of the diner.

5

Tom Sawyer laughed a strong, hearty laugh. He always did so when he was right, because the morning had been a busy one. An old grandmother had bought an ornate Russian vase for $250, an afghan rug for half that, and an Italian locket for twice that. A worried fox wearing a formal tuxedo came in looking for a ring, poor fellow, so Sawyer of course obliged him...for $140.

He even let somebody purchase from his "Special" stock. A young man came in to buy something for his girlfriend, an anniversary gift or some damn thing. So the coyote gladly showed him a b-e-a-utiful selection of earrings. He showed the young man, a panther, one particular pair that sparkled wonderfully in the shop light, a small amethyst gemstone embedded into each earring. Of course, he neglected to tell the young man that the earrings were scavenged from Chernobyl and were still heavily irradiated. Caveat Emptor, after all. He sold them to the panther for $60, a lover's bargain.

He hadn't expected, however, the next customer or her request. She entered his store like any other young vixen had, the little shop bell tinkling happily overhead. She walked up to his polished red pine counter like any other customer, and, like any other customer, she said "I'm looking for a certain something, do you have it?"

"Young lady, if my humble shop doesn't have what you're looking for, I will gladly buy it for you personally. Now, what is your particular requisite?"

"It's a weapon."

Sawyer turned his head, looking at her from the corner of his eye. "I sell those," he said simply. "Self-defense, martial arts, that sort of thing..."

"No, no, none of that. It's a weapon, but it's not from around here."

Not from around here? Sawyer thought. What is this kid on about?

"What are you talking about, young lady? All I sell are weapons for self-defense, decoration..."

She interrupted him with dismissing, commanding wave of her hand (Sawyer felt a twinge of anger when she did that). "I take it you know my sister Lucrecia De Carlo?" she asked.

Oh Christ, another De Carlo, Sawyer thought sourly. They should've been rabbits.

"Yes, I know her," Sawyer said, looking at her more directly, his eyes glaring. "I also know that your sister has yet to complete her payments on a number of curious objects she bought last week. I sincerely hope then, young lady, that you are not as penniless as your sister."

The fox shook her head, dismissing the entire problem just as she did before. She was indeed a De Carlo. "If you know my family than you know what kind of thing I'm looking for. Like I said before, it's a weapon."

_ I know your family all too well, little girl. But, business is business as mother used to say_.

"Just what, pray tell, are you looking for, young lady?"

"Well, from what I've heard, it fits over your whole arm, and it covers the shoulder. It's supposed to be made out of both magic and metal, and you can do some pretty neat things with it, like controlling machines and people and stuff."

Sweet zombie Jesus, Sawyer thought as a chill broke out in his back. Sweet mother of god, this kid is insane.

"I don't...I don't have those here."

"Do you know where I can get one?"

The coyote stared at her more closely, and then he realized just how young she looked. She must have been fifteen or some damn thing! And she looked at him with wide, begging eyes, like she was asking her mother to buy her something at the mall. No way was she talking about...those.

Crazy if ever there was one. I must be insane if I go with this, but I'm not insane, so I'll turn her out, give her a boot straight to the tail, and put her photo up on the Banned Wall. I'm not going to go through with this...I'll just tell her about them. Maybe she'll just go away if she knows a bit.

"It's impossible to obtain one," he explained. "If you were to search any infinite number of doorways to any infinite number of realities, you'd have to enter one where such a weapon exists, and take it. But doing so would make you fuck up the entire history of that world if that weapon was involved, and all of them are involved."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to do that. Can you make one?"

"Make one? Hell, you're crazier than I thought, kiddo."

"I just want to know..." she pouted, looking at him with soft, yielding eyes. Sawyer sighed, wondering just how deep into the hole he was getting himself.

"They're a real bugger to make, mostly because none of the components are located in one plane of existence or time. Hell, far as I know only five of them are around. Even if you were to get all the materials you'd need someone to actually make the damn thing, and there's only one guy that can..."

Oh shit...

"Really?" the young vixen asked. Her eyes lit up with a wild light, and Sawyer mentally kicked himself for letting that bit slip. When you spill the can of beans you always knock over the can of worms.

"Yeah," the coyote continued, licking his lips. "Yeah. He should still be alive, I think."

"Could I place an order for one?" the little fox asked.

"Place an--this guy isn't an artist accepting requests for money, young lady! He happens to be a very important person..."

"Oh. Well, then he wouldn't mind having something to do. Could you talk to him for me?"

Tom Sawyer couldn't believe he was doing this. He felt like he should be wearing a little paper hat, saying "Would you like a little extra blood on your murder machine?"

"I suppose I...I could..."

"Thank you so much!" she cried, making the small Victorian chandelier above jangle irately. Immediately he interrupted her gust of strange joy.

"The damage for this purchase will of course be exceptional, young lady."

"Oh, sure, sure. How much?"

How much, Sawyer repeated in his head. It were as though his conscience, if it still existed after forty-odd years of being pushed aside, were asking, pleading, with him to reconsider, that there was still a chance to throw the little vixen out of the store. Just then he realized that no child this young would have the money for such a dangerous device.

"A million," Sawyer said, his voice quavering with hysterical cheerfulness.

"Done."

Done? Done?! The coyote felt like laughing. No way in hell did this kid--a goddamn De Carlo, no less-- have that kind of money. Still, there was that pang of fear eating away at his heart and his spine.

"You're not putting me on are you, young lady?"

"What?"

"You're not lying to me, are you?"

"No, sir," she said, shaking her head and raising her right hand. "Scout's honor."

Scout's honor...bless her sweet and crazy little heart, Sawyer thought madly.

"I can get it to you by tomorrow, if that's alright with you," she said eagerly.

"That would be...satisfactory."

"What?"

"I mean that would be alright."

The little De Carlo vixen smiled happily, showing teeth that were well kept and cared for. "Thank you so much, Mr. Sawyer! Let me know when your friend is done with it!" she said happily. She walked back to the door where the bell jangled merrily at her presence, and she walked out. Sawyer watched her through the glass window that had the painted sign that proclaimed RARE ANTIQUES!

He breathed a heavy sigh. It was just too much for one day. He went into the back room and went to the telephone, realizing that he had a lot of calls to make.

He had been running this little black market of extra-dimensional odds and ends for twenty four years, but only now he realized that it was becoming a little too precarious for his liking.