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Sitting at a small breakfast diner somewhere on the corner of 1stAvenue and Main Street a lion sits across from a cross-bread German Sheppard, Doberman mix. The lion is wearing a white shirt one size to small for him (it was borrowed from the dog), and the dog found himself dressed in a very similar shirt also wearing his typical dark grey fedora over the top of his head. The dog is casually lying with his back to the corner of the booth with his arm stretched over the top of the bench behind him. The lion is less comfortable, sitting across from the dog he is slouched over and looking down at his breakfast.

On the checkered table before them there are two servings of the 1.99 breakfast special: A gluttonous serving of ham, bacon, home fries, three eggs, beans and toast with your choice of tea or coffee. They both had ordered a coffee, except the dog had chosen to spice his coffee up with some whiskey he kept concealed within a flask.

As they share breakfast, the dog refuses any conversation about the night before. Instead he chooses to talk about the case which they were investigating. The dog was excited, purposing a theory that would convict the wealthy MR. BROWN and perhaps an unknown blackmailer. On the other side of the table the Lion acted like he was listening intently but in his mind he was stuck on what happened the night before.

Despite his ramblings, the dog could tell what the lion was thinking. He was a detective, he could read people like a book but all the same he chose not to address the lion's distracted thoughts. There was no reason to talk about last night. 'Everybody has their slip-ups,' he thought and he refused to believe his time with the lion had been anything but that.

He was Archer, Private Detective, and he was sure he was in love with his secretary. Despite his lapses, his times of undeniable desire, he knew he was still a straight man. But sure as the plot before them will thicken, as sure as certain truths will come to surface, it would be Archer who would find himself enveloped in what the pulp magazines would call--A Detective Story Noir.

Nihilophobia:

A Detective Story Noir "We now return to your programmed event, A Detective Story Noir!"-The BeaverReturn Broadcast Radio, 101.55

Part 1: Poor, Old MR. BROWN

"MR. BROWN loved SUNSHINE. Why would he murder him?" The lion wondered, sipping his coffee while his blue eyes awkwardly avoided contact with me. I knew MR. BROWN was somewhat of a hero in The Village and I knew it would be hard for him to imagine that such a man could be involved in a murder. Still, the truth was truth and sometimes the truth does not come easy,

"Not murder him. Have him murdered." I mused, "MR. SHACK before his disappearance seemed to believe that somebody was blackmailing MR. BROWN. This offers many possibilities but right now only one seems the most plausible. Perhaps SUNSHINE had lost himself to greed, then perhaps it was offered that if MR. BROWN did not pay a certain ransom SUNSHINE would out him to the press. This would corner MR. BROWN, and MR. BROWN would have to act quickly to see that he is killed to save his reputation."

GANYMEDE interjected quickly slamming his hands on the table. For a brief second, I was taken aback by the protesting fires that shined behind his eyes, "But...MR. BROWN loved SUNSHINE! MR. BROWN even offered us funding to help in the support of finding SUNSHINE. Why would he help us if he was the one responsible for SUNSHINE's murder?"

I shook my head and shrugged, "An act of deception. It is all too easy to become the innocent one when you are the one leading the cause."

"I don't think it adds up Archer. You don't even know Mr. Brown like I do. MR. BROWN would never do that."

"Desperation is a terrible thing." I said, smugly taking a bite out of my eggs.

"Be careful with this one Archer. The village needs MR. BROWN as much as he needs us." The lion warned me. I could tell he was upset--he still had not yet touched his breakfast. It was a terrible thing to imagine such food would go to waste because one upset fur could not muster the appetite to indulge on it. I always knew that fairies had a flare for dramatics but damn--

'I wonder if I could grab that plate off of him?' I silently thought to myself before replying to the lion,

"Image is not what is at stake here. Justice is more important." Suddenly this image of me becoming some sort of comic book hero flashed in my brain. The emblem on my chest decorated with the stitched pattern of weighing scales, "It is not convenience that decides guilt, but the truth."

After I finished my breakfast and we paid, we threw on our jackets, got together in my car and drove off to Wine-Meadow Estates. Wine-Meadow Estates was a collection of expensive manors that being to the north of Mid-City was as far from The Village as possible. It would take a while to get there for sure and Ganymede was not making the trip any more enjoyable.

Trying to avoid the pouting Lion in the passenger's seat beside me, I had turned on the radio as we drove. But even as The Skunk Sisters sang their surprisingly upbeat tune of unrequited and lost love, GANYMEDE's uncomfortable silence never lifted and I had begun to become annoyed by his continuing display of this melodramatic upset. It was going to be a long trip if this was how he was going to act,

"Listen GANYMEDE about last night..." I had a cigarette at the corner of my lips and it was trailing a puffy tail out into the open window beside me.

"Yes?" GANYMEDE said suddenly brightening up.

"It was fun, alright? I'll admit it." I turned to face GANYMEDE, "But it isn't something that I would like to continue pursuing. I'm a changed man now. I've got my sights set on a dame and I'm not going to compromise THAT romance for anything or anyone. Got it?" I turned my head back towards the road, and reiterated, "It was fun. Just some fun..."

"Oh really, just fun? So then we were just 'playing' last night?" GANYMEDE threw his arms in the air as he raised his voice in offence in attempt to match action with sound, "You can't tell me that that was just a friendly game of wrestling we had last night. You can't surely believe that all you felt last night was a sense of 'fun.' Why can't you believe that it is possible for two men to fall in love?"

My jaw tensed and I inhaled my cigarette deeply. I did not like anyone addressing me in that tone of manner and I most certainly did not like it when it was some fairy doing so, "Listen here punk. You forget yourself. You are a prostitute. I doubt your experiences with 'love' compare anywhere close to proven scientific facts. Men are horny, we like to have sex and sometimes we can get confused and push that love onto another man. In any case, it's all just good fun. But for falling in love, be with a woman and then you'll understand where I'm coming from."

"Been there, tried that, did not like it, and you know what? Something about you makes me think you won't like it your first time either."

I slammed my brakes and the car came to a halt in the middle of the road. With one paw tightly gripped on the steering wheel, as I turned my torso towards the lion it took every bit of my will not to lash the back of my free paw against his ungrateful face, "You better shut your trap! Or by heavens I'll abandon you on this very street and leave you a victim for the killer. You got that? I don't need you, or your money. "

"Actually I think you do need the money. Why else did they shut off your power last night?"

Damn! Kid has smarts. Letting out my anger is an exaggerate exhale I turned back towards the road, "Fair enough, kid." I flicked my cigarette out the window and grabbed a new one from my jacket. Keeping my eyes off of the lion, I muttered pupishly, "What makes you think I'm a virgin anyways?"

"Are you?"

I grumbled, squishing my cigarette as I gnashed my teeth together and sternly replied in a low growl, "That is none of your business." before starting up the car again and continuing our drive. When the silence between us returned, I was thankful that the Lion had now shut-up again.

It was around noon when we had made our way across Mid-City and into Wine-Meadow Estates. Contrasted to the dirty and corrupted streets of The Village, Wine-Meadow Estates was a utopian paradise. The non-furred person, human as they preferred to be called, often walked the streets hand in hand with their equally furless yet beautifully pale wives. Like one of the oil-paintings hanging in my home, as they joined together on their walks, their elegant attire and high-priced fashion combined with their properties' richly manors and together they worked to aesthetically purpose a sense of cleanliness and prosperity within their own private limits. Driving down through the estates was always a delight for the eye. But that was all it was good for.

Furred people were rarely allowed to move into the border of Wine-Meadow estates as the properties prided themselves on being a traditional neighbourhood free of outer human influences. Furthermore, furs often did not visit here despite the scenic niceness of it all as we were rarely even welcome. The place was a succulent fruit, bright coloured and looking mightily delicious. But take a bite out of it and you'll taste how rotten it really was. Even then, as we drove through the estates' streets did we catch many a cold glances from the estate inhabitants.

"Ignore them," I whispered to GANYMEDE who acted self-conscious as we drove through the properties. At the same time, I wondered to myself how exactly MR. BROWN had been sneaking a male, furred prostitute from The Village into the estate limits all these years.

Pulling up to MR. BROWN's gated driveway, I exited the car and buzzed the house from the outdoor intercom located on the gate's pole. As I waited for a replay, a lady from across the street seemed shocked to see a fur standing outside of MR. BROWN's estate. Unbeknownst to her, my canine hearing overheard her whisper when she addressed as us, "Vandals."

'Rather be furred then an old dried out hag like you,' I thought to myself.

Diverting my attention back onto the intercom I realized that there was no response, so I buzzed again, waited, and then turned back towards the car where GANYMEDE was still seated,

I was about to say "He must not be home," when the intercom suddenly replied with the sound of a loud crash. As my ears flicked into attention, my head turning sharply back towards the box, a panicked voice spoke from beyond it,

"Help! I'm being attacked!" I had never met MR. BROWN but I knew it to be his voice. There is an odd speech pattern humans have.

MR. BROWN buzzed open the gates and I heard a loud unlocking sound. In one easy push I opened the large golden gates, pulled out my revolver and ran towards the house yelling at GANYMEDE to, "Stay in the damn car!"

"This is it old-man. Stay steady and stay true." I whispered to myself as I sprinted up the long driveway. My pistol held upwards, the adrenaline that began pumping through my veins made the pistol's weight barely noticeable as I let my mind ready itself to kill. It had been a while since I shot anybody and suddenly I found myself looking forward to dusting off my trigger finger.

Arriving at the mansion's entrance, with a powerful burst of energy I slammed myself sideways against the door forcing it to open wide (My arm still has not forgave me for being so rough with it that day). My finger at the ready, my pistol held upright and steady, I barked from the deepest part of my lungs,

"Freeze!"

There lying before me was MR. BROWN, knocked out in this almost comically effeminate pink bathrobe. Standing beside his still corpse was a dark-brown bloodhound wearing a dirtied and worn out suit. My eyes dropped and I noticed a bloodied hammer in his paw. It was only when he turned to face me did I immediately recognize who this attacker had been,

"MR. SHACK?" I barked in surprise almost losing grip of my gun, "What the hell are you doing!"

"By the bone, Who are you?" Mr. RORY SHACK barked back, the hammer in his paw dripping a long and thin gooey glob of blood onto the floor below. A and B quickly connected in my head and I re-raised my pistol,

"Freeze!" I screamed again, finger tense and at the ready.

"Hold it! Drop your gun you lug. You do not understand. MR. BROWN has been holding me captive for days." MR. SHACK's voice was dark and grim, sounding as though he was on a strict diet of cigarettes and whiskey.

"Captive? Explain yourself." I ordered with my gun still raised high.

The gun did not scare him, it was not the first time he had a gun pointed at him evidently, and when he spoke, despite his jagged voice, he spoke calmly, "MR. BROWN, in discovering that I had found out his connection to SUNSHINE's murder appeared to want to have me silenced for a while. He caught me and threw me in his basement and tied me to a chair. You caught me just as I was making my daring escape."

The bloodhound's fur was matted and dirtied while the skin beneath his eyes drooped, an irritated redness appearing beneath the soft white's of his eyes. Sure he was a bloodhound and sure he had the face of a bloodhound but still it was hard to tell if he had the face of sanity. I realized then that I had never liked bloodhound faces. I realized that there was something just "not sane" about them. I decided it was best to stay defensive. I was not going to drop my gun just yet, "How hard did you hit him?"

"Hard enough to knock him out," He said slowly dropping the hammer at his feet before raising his paws in the air, "I'm on your side, I assure you."

I hesitated a while before finally lowering my pistol, "I'll drop the piece but realize I'm one hell of a quick draw. Betray me and I'll blast a hole between your eyes."

"Good, I'm glad." He almost sounded half sarcastic, "Now help me get this guy bandaged and in bed. He's going to wake up with one hell of a headache."

After awkwardly lifting the unconscious body up his mansion's central and curving stairwell, we wrapped bandages around MR. BROWN's head and tucked him into his quarters. I was thankful to see that he was still breathing. That was a good sign but both MR. SHACK and I agreed that as soon as we were done talking we would anonymously call an ambulance to his house just in case. For now however, that would have to wait, there were answers I needed and I needed them now.

"We came across your journals MR. SHACK." I said as I pulled the journal pages out of my inner jacket and passed them to the bloodhound. Quickly he grasped them and crumbled them messily into his pant pocket. "Cigarette?" I offered, lighting one for myself.

"Don't smoke. Bad for the health." He said, raising a paw in refusal. Then out of nowhere he began to tell his story, "Here, let me tell you what happened."

"Alright," I said, sitting down on a chair that was behind me, "Speak boy!"

Part 2: The Story so Far...

"As the journals would tell you I was hired to find out about the disappearances of a Village call-boy, SUNSHINE. In the beginning I had hoped that this was not another murder case but with my luck, I knew this was not going to be some kid trapped in a well. The Village has a nasty way of piling up the corpses and before I had begun I knew SUNSHINE would be found dead."

"SUNSHINE has been killed. Among other Call-Boys." I interrupted.

"Unfortunate." Is the only word the bloodhound said in that grisly voice of his before continuing his story, "I'll tell you now that I'm one damn good detective. My instincts have never betrayed me and so when my instincts told me to go visit MR. BOWN, I went to go visit MR.BOWN. Money has a funny way of playing with people and usually where there's money there is crime.

"During my first visit to MR. BROWN I found that although MR.BROWN was most certainly a gentleman, he was not above my suspicion. As I engaged him, I could smell he was hiding something, so with a bundle of rope and a few broken fingers later I got him to confess. It turns out MR.BROWN was indeed blackmailed, but not by SUNSHINE as any average detective would assume, but by another fur or person who remains mysterious still. MR. BROWN assured me that he was unaware that such a person intended harm on SUNSHINE and was apparently told by the mysterious blackmailer that his intention were that he only wanted to talk to SUNSHINE. This makes me believe that the culprit was a man of high-esteem. One who could easily contact MR.BROWN and was well spoken enough that he could assure that SUNSHINE would come to no harm even after resorting to blackmail."

"Do you suspect another human? Perhaps a neighbour?"

"No. This is fur to fur related violence. My instincts tell me such." The bloodhound scratched his chin as he talked, as though in some deep and wise thought.

"So, how did you end up here?"

"The next day, as I was writing my next journal article a group of thugs busted into my office door. We had a scrap but there was too many of them and I was defeated. They hit me on my head pretty hard and the next thing I knew I was tied up in a chair in MR. BROWN's basement. MR. BROWN apologized for having to keep me captive but he did not want me telling anybody of my findings.

"Just before you arrived here I had used my pocket knife, which I kept on my body at all times, to cut the rope that was holding me in place. Once free, I picked the lock on the basement door grabbed a hammer and then went to incapacitate MR. BROWN. The rest-- well I'm sure you know what happens from here. "

"That I do." I replied nodding my head as I stood up, "So what now?"

"I'd like a drive back to my office if you got a car."

Part 3: A Shot in the Rain

As we drove, MR. SHACK told GANYMEDE the story so far, and GANYMEDE listened back zealously; quite invested in the story the bloodhound was telling. I kept my attention on the road, thinking in my head of potential suspects. If I was to trust MR. SHACK's instinct, then not only was this fur to fur murder but also the murderer was somebody of high-esteem. A real richly man capable of getting close enough into MR. BROWN's social circle that he could contact him. MR. SHACK was onto something. Not everybody can just wander into a man's home in Wine-Meadow Estates, especially if that person happens to be a fur.

"So you guys a couple or something?"

I almost swerved off the road when MR. SHACK asked that question.

"God No!" I immediately responded.

"Well--Uhh" Ganymede said at the same time to my response.

"I can smell his scent on you. Don't have to be ashamed." MR. SHACK shrugged. He was sitting in the seat behind me and GANYMEDE was beside him.

"That is not anything you need to go inquiring about Mr. Detective." I growled, my grip tightening on the wheel.

"---We're just friends." Ganymede commented with an awkward smile across his face.

"Touchy subject." MR. SHACK grumbled (I say grumble; because that's what it was, but I have a feeling it was a honest attempt at a chuckle).

It was a little bit later in the afternoon when we arrived back at Le Plaza. Where the morning sun had given us scenic warmth as we (or rather I...) ate our breakfast hours ago, a sudden burst of afternoon showers had brought nothing but rain, torrential and powerful rain. Momentarily we sat in the car as I smoked a cigarette hoping that the downpour might stop as sudden as it had begun but after a few minutes we realized that the storm was apparently here to stay.

"Well we going?" MR. SHACK questioned.

"Yea sure." I said, and the three of us opened our door's simultaneously entering the outside rain together.

Then, without warning, in the parking lot of Le Plaza a gunshot exploded in a loud burst. As I instinctively pulled my revolver out from my jacket MR.SHACK fell holding a bullet wound in his chest. GANYMEDE caught him as he descended, slowly easing the bloodhound to the ground. Half in a panic, half excited by the sudden burst, I searched around to where the gunshot had come from.

BANG!

Another shot flew through the wet air, grazing my arm and causing me to stumble, "Sniper!" I called out as though I was back on the battlefield. Suddenly there was this warm pain inviting itself onto my arm. Sure it hurt, but it also more prominently invoked a sense of nostalgia within me that I had not felt in a long time. GANYMEDE began to drag MR. SHACK to the other side of the car and I made to take cover with him. Now I could feel the blood dripping down my arm as we hid behind that car. Shit. I did not like when I was forced to bleed, but just as I was a tough son-of-a-bastard, I also was not going to let a gunshot hold me down--"Now where the hell was that sniper?" I snarled, my hot breath almost turning the falling rain in front of me into steam.

BANG! PING!

A ricochet shot bounced off the roof of my car. The sniper was not playing around-- he wanted us dead. The sound had frightened GANYMEDE and I wondered if I had been followed this entire time. Had the bastard followed me into THE VILLAGE? How long had he tailed me until we got to this place, where in the absence of the police, two detectives and a male prostitute could be easily killed off--no questions asked? Well, if he followed me or not, I was not going to give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing us dead. I had a dog's ears, and a dog's nose, and as I sniffed the air, smelling the gun powder, and listened diligently, hearing his rifle load, rain or no rain, I knew exactly where he was.

"Archer, NO!" Ganymede yelled as I stood up from the cover, a mean scowl on my face, a tight grip on my pistol, and mind ready to kill as I unloaded all six chambers of my revolver towards the direction of the assailant. The heavy rain was like a curtain in front of me and foolishly I was firing my entire payload blind. As I held my pistol upwards, standing within that heavy rain, I waited for a retaliation shot, a bullet to my head to end it all. I knew I was lucky enough that my pistol had worked smoothly in rain like this but was I lucky enough that I had actually hit the sniper?

There was no return gunshot. I breathed out deeply. I had hit my mark.

I dropped my pistol and grabbed my arm as I walked towards the target. The heavy rain had made it hard to see what exactly I was shooting at but as I came closer I could see my target had been another car. A strange excitement overcame me, an appreciation for life if you will, when I saw the car riddled with six bullet holes. But that euphoria felt was nothing compared to the euphoria I felt when upon opening the car door I saw a very familiar Ferret.

"Oh shit." THE DOCTOR's ASSISTANT said, the first time I had ever heard his voice.

"Oh yes." I grinned, grabbing the elongated rat by the neck and throwing him into the downpour outside. Reaching again into the car I then pulled out his miniature rifle, "Is this your gun?"

"Eat shit." He growled fiercely at me, withering in pain as he grabbed the wound that bled from his side.

I unloaded the rifle with one swift movement and threw it to the side as it splashed in a nearby puddle, "Mind telling me why you were pulling pot-shots at me and my buddies?"

"Fucking faggot. Ahh--"

I lifted the rodent by the neck and threw him onto the roof of the car. His neck fit perfectly within my tightening grip as though his neck itself was made with the distinct purpose to be choked by me. As I grinned, my paw tightening further still, I found that I enjoyed watching the rodent squirm perhaps a little too much.

"C-c-an't--" The rodent gargled as tiny paws fought to loosen my grip.

"Can't what? Can't breathe? This hurt? Don't worry it'll be over soon enough." My breath was hot still as the cold rain poured down around me. I was determined to see this rodent's last moments of life leave his beady little eyes,

"Archer! Stop!" Ganymede shrieked and I loosened my grip and the Ferret slid off the front of the car unto the wet ground below. Holding his neck he started to gasp for air, "We need him."

"Damn. Lucky fur."

Part 4: The interrogation

The rodent was a tight-lipped little bastard and it was hard to get any information from him. But then again there was already plenty of information that him being here had already given me. Things were starting to come together and I had begun to expect that somehow, for some reason THE DOCTOR was behind this. Why else would he send his assistant to see us dead?

The other clues fit perfectly as well, a fur of high-esteem, one who could get into contact with MR. BROWN. A doctor, of course! And then he had to be a well spoken man; a man who could convince MR.BROWN to betray SUNSHINE-- Why not a therapist? But now that I knew that THE DOCTOR was involved the question I needed was why.

We had taken the rodent up to MR. SHACK'S office. None of the other store-owner's seemed concerned about the gunfight outside and all the same they knew not to ask questions as we made our way back to the office, most of us bleeding in some way. Now as the four of us sat in the office, the rodent tied to a chair, Ganymede had managed to buy some bandages and medicine from the pharmacy in Le Plaza and was working on tending to our wounds. MR. SHACK was laid over the flat of his desk, unconscious from blood loss; we'd have to call an ambulance soon or he would die.

"So what's your name? Ah-" I said, as Ganymede tightened a bandage around my arm wound, "Pretty good shot you have to be sniping like that in such a downpour as this. It if weren`t for the rain being so heavy you might even have killed me."

"Faggot, I always knew you could never be cured." He snarled, "He'll get you soon enough."

"Who? THE DOCTOR? Where does he play in all of this?"

"I 'aint saying nothing." The ferret muttered weakly.

"I think you should cooperate, unless you would prefer to witness the extent of my rage once again..."

The ferret dropped his head and his body suddenly went limp.

"Hello?" I said, snapping my fingers in his face. Ganymede rushed to check the Ferret's pulse,

"He's dead. Looks like his wound was worse than we imagined." Ganymede's voice was innocently remorseful as we both looked at the pool of blood beneath the chair.

"We don't need him anyhow." I muttered, "How's MR. SHACK?"

"Worse off as well."

I walked over to MR. SHACK and checked the inside of his jacket. In his coat pocket I found a key, which in turn, opened a drawer in his desk. Pulling out MR.SHACK's revolver I passed it to Ganymede, "Do you know how to use this?"

"Yes but--"

I interrupted, "Take MR.SHACK to the hospital. Do not stop for anybody. Do not stop for anything. When you get to the hospital call my secretary at her home number. Here--" I wrote down the number on the back of one of MR. SHACK's business cards that he kept in his drawer. "I'll check in with her in moment's time. For the love of god, stay in the hospital and keep that gun at your ready. If anyone approaches you put a bullet in them."

"What are you going to do?" Ganymede was frightened,

"It's time I pay a visit to THE DOCTOR."

Part 5: Return to The Doctor's Office

Getting an afternoon appointment with THE DOCTOR was unsettling easy. As I sat in that familiar lounge chair in his exquisite office, my wound hidden under one of Mr. Shack's clean shirts I borrowed from back at Le Plaza, I began to wonder how much THE DOCTOR exactly knew. If he had sent his assistant to intercept us, then he had to know a great deal already of what I had been doing.

"I'm glad you decided to come back for therapy after all." The Doctor said, his smile warm, it was as though he knew nothing of what was going on.

"I had a slip up." I muttered, rubbing the wound under my shirt with my paw.

"Oh-?" THE DOCTOR sat up in his chair, leaning towards me with intrigue.

"I fell victim to the presence of another man." How long was I going to play this charade as patient? "I was scared, the power was shut off in my home and I did not know what else I could do."

"And how did this man come to be in your home in the first place?"

"He's part of my new case, Doc. I am protecting him from somebody that wants him dead." I gave THE DOCTOR a cold stare, directly in his eyes. 'I know who you REALLY are.' I silently thought, trying to speak almost telepathically.

"That is unfortunate. Do you think taking in this role of protector could have aided your need to be with him?" THE DOCTOR did not respond to my gaze and I could not read a single sense of guilt on him; maybe THE DOCTOR was not involved after all--

"No. I was not the protector. I was the one being protected. He helped me from being afraid of the dark--if only for the night. " I sat up from the lounge chair and looked away from THE DOCTOR and towards the door, "He cared for me. Cared for me better than any woman ever had, and you know what? I cared for him. More than I had cared for any woman. And you know what else? I don't think I'm afraid to accept that. And I don't think he needs to be afraid of somebody who would kill him because he's gay. Because, for every one person that wishes harm, there is a whole community behind him to protect him." I turned to THE DOCTOR, "And you know, one last thing, whose ever been killing those innocent men from The Village, well he's got to be one sick sunuva bitch, don't you think Doc?"

"I see. So you have come to therapy, this one last time, to tell me that you no longer need therapy? Are you sure that's the only reason you came here?" THE DOCTOR stood up and walked towards the entrance, speaking calmly and smoothly as he kept one arm behind his back. I stood up from the lounge chair myself, starring at him as he randomly walked away from the interview.

"That's right. I'm not sick." I laughed, "Well I still am afraid of the dark, I still have violent tendencies, and I still can't remember my past, but I'm not sick because I can find love in the company of men. And anyone who thinks I am sick, well I think they are the ones who are sick."

"Mhmm," The Doctor slowly lifted his hand and hovered it over the wall. I questioned the odd motion until I realized that it had moved --Over--To--The--Light Switch. DAMN.

Part 6: Darkness Returns

Darkness, blasted darkness, unknowing, forever expanding, infinitely possible darkness, I fell to my knees--into the darkness. It's damned miasma filling my lungs as I drowned in it. Like an embrace from Satan's darkest of soldiers, I was held, suspended in its liquid form, pulled under into a sense of hopeless as my body froze, my heart pulsated, and my lungs choked to breathe even the smallest amounts of air.

"So you came here to stop me. Stop me and my--Experiments?" THE DOCTOR's voice spoke out from somewhere within this void--this tartarus, "The so called justly, man-loving, detective coming to stop THE DOCTOR from taking away the community he feels like he belongs. I would call you heroic if it wasn't your own sexual deviancy you were trying to protect."

"Turn on the lights. Please!" I cried, "I can't stand it."

"Oh no you can't, can you?" THE DOCTOR laughed, "I know everything about you. I have been your doctor for how many months? Of course I was going to turn the lights off on you. How stupid could you be?"

"Please." I gagged, my stomach turning and twisting as though it was trying to jump out from my throat.

"I could have cured you, you know? I've been working on a cure. At first I thought the best way to cure somebody was taking the desire out of the man. But no, it is about taking the desire AWAY from man. And not just taking it, destroying it, obliterating it. Take away the homosexual and man will no longer be tempted by their deviancies. Brilliant is it not?"

"It sounds..." I struggled to say the word, "mad."

"Yes, I am the one responsible for the murders but I assure you I did so in the name of science. For the betterment of humanity, in a more exaggerate sense, to rid society of the homosexual. " Suddenly there was a hoof on my head, its weight pressing downwards on my skull, "You were a good detective. I admit I'm surprised to see you had made it this far. Perhaps trying to get my assistant to kill you was my greatest mistake. Although I`ll admit I underestimated you, I really did not expect him to fail. "

"Ahh--"I screamed, the hoof pressing down harder onto my skull. I was helpless to fight the fear around me. There seemed to be only one escape now and soon enough I would be thankful for the death that would soon come to me. 'End it all' I thought to myself, 'End it all soon--I'm ready to join the void.'

"I could have cured you! I could have made you straight! Now you're doomed like the rest of the queers! You let yourself become one of them! SHAME on you, Mr. Archer, Shame on you--"

The horse was interrupted as the office door opened and a panel of light shined in from the waiting room. I heard three gunshots erupt and suddenly the hoof relaxed off my head and THE DOCTOR fell onto the floor beside me. I opened my eyes and to my surprise GANYMEDE was standing in the next room.

"ARCHER!" He cried dropping the pistol and turning on the light, "Shit!"

"GAN--" is all I could muster in my weakened state. God was I happy to see him.

Part 7: Concluding Remarks

"It appeared as though Ganymede after dropping MR. SHACK off at the hospital had not stuck around for very long. He called Penny Luckwise as I had asked, but not to report in, but to instead get the address of THE DOCTOR's office. It was an instinct feeling in his gut that made him rush over to THE DOCTOR's office and thank god he had that instinct or else I would have been THE DOCTOR's newest patient. Perhaps my detective senses had rubbed off on him.

"As for THE DOCTOR, when I read over his medical journals I learned of the travesties he was committing. It turns out THE DOCTOR was part of a special school of thought that believed homosexuality in the most extreme cases, as with those who had accepted their identity indefinitely, could be cured only through means of extreme torture.

"Needing a patient to test these theories he began to hunt for a victim. However, being a man of higher-esteem he was unable to find the courage to bring himself into the limits of The Village. That's when he turned to MR. BROWN. Although MR. BROWN appeared to be too afraid to admit this, THE DOCTOR was actually MR. BROWN's therapist as well. Knowing all about MR. BROWN's and SUNSHINE'S affair he blackmailed MR. BROWN into giving him SUNSHINE for some extra non-consensual therapy. MR. BROWN reluctantly accepted and SUNSHINE was captured.

"It was during this period of numerous late-night studies that THE DOCTOR had begun torturing SUNSHINE. But found that his results came with little success. Eventually 'excessive therapy' lead to SUNSHINE's untimely demise where he realized that there was no cure for extreme homosexuals. He deduced then that there were two types of gays.

1. The straight to gay queers (the prey)
2. And the born gays (The hunters)

"Thus the gays became the scourge that needed cleansing. That's when he began hunting more gays. Who knows how he managed to get RAIN and SWEETIE, perhaps using similar methods he did with MR. BROWN or perhaps hunting them himself this time. His journal does not mention this, it does not even mention RAIN and SWEETIE. Either way, THE DOCTOR is dead, MR. SHACK is recovering in the hospital, and you owe me a healthy pay-check."

I finished my monologue, smugly smiling at THE LADY who sat across the desk from me as three of us lounged around my office. Beside her was GANYMEDE who although had already known THE DOCTOR's story was listening intently still.

"I knew you would do it Archer. I just knew you would do it!" THE LADY said, unsettlingly and uncharacteristically gleeful now that the murders had been stopped. She signed a check and then passed it to me stating, "Take all of it! Spend it as you will! You deserve it, Archer. By the ole gods, you deserve it!"

I grabbed the check and folded it into my inner coat pocket before lighting a cigarette and giving myself one strong puff. I turned to the lion who was smiling at me with bright eyes, "It was a pleasure working with you GANYMEDE You'll always be a friend. A real good-- friend."

"Yea..." GANYMEDE trailed off, sounding somewhat disappointed, his bright eyes fading. THE LADY, seeing this, dropped her gleefulness to give me one long and menacing look. I scoffed at her, but I knew she was right all the same; GANYMEDE and I needed to talk.

"I'm going to go wait in the car." She said, sitting up from her chair and moving towards the door. Ganymede got up too but she shook her head, "You stay here."

She left us alone.

"So you sure, after all of this, after all we been through, after all you witnessed we are still just friends?" He sniffed, his eyes watering.

"Yea, sure a man could be with another man, sure that's true. But I can't be with another man. Either I'm not like you or I'm not ready to admit it. For now I'll stick to dames. Maybe that'll help me figure things out. For now, I'll admit one thing, I did use to love a man, and that man was Private Adams. But that man died a long time ago."

"I'm not ready to say goodbye to you." He grasped my paw in his paw, and held it tight, "Not like this. Not in this stingy office."

"Stingy, hm?"I smiled warmly, lightly caressing his paw with my fingers, "Then come by my place later tonight. We'll have a drink and talk this all out-- But no funny business!"

"That's not the first time you said that you know..." He said giving me a wicked smile.

"And I mean it, no funny business!"

And sure enough I would once again choke on those words. I was just about to say goodbye to him, we were just about to finally part ways and it could have ended just like that. I thought that perhaps I could happily never have to see him again but sure enough, things would not be so easy. All I had to do was help him put on his jacket, help him out my door, and then lean back on my couch and finish my drink alone. But sure enough my drunken self had fallen into another "Slip-Up".

It had become painfully evident that the lion was not ready to say goodbye yet. Not without one last (sneaky) kiss. So, there we were, in my living room, surrounded by my art collection, and embraced within each other's presence, sharing one final kiss. Our tongues hunting the inside of each other's mouth as I let the alcohol ease me into his person. Chest to chest, paws rubbing each other's back as we eased our way out of our clothing. I, the first to open his shirt and expose his masculine form underneath, and he, the first to lower my pants, grab a strong paw onto my arousal, and rub me through my underwear. I half-naked waist down, he, half-naked waist up, the lion broke the kiss,

"Take off your shirt, this time. I want to see your chest."

"Back off." I growled, pushing him off of me, "Don't tell me what to do."

"Tough dog has a bit of a bark does he?" The lion pulled me back into his embrace, "I'm not doing this again if you wear that shirt. Don't make me force it off." First a paw-finger played with the buttons of my shirt, and then when I gave no resistance, he slowly went down the shirt. A short time was filled with gentle kisses until he managed to finally open my shirt. As a soft feline paw pushed the white fabric off of my shoulders, GANYMEDE stepped away from me in surprise.

Just like the scar on my head, across my chest was a similar scar. Only this one was bigger, much bigger and much more grotesque. The cut, another "cherished" remnant from my time in the war snaked in the same fleshy bumps as my facial scar only it moved across my chest in an uneven "X" shape. It's top "V", lazily waving over my pectorals and its bottom "V" drunkenly fluttering its split over my rounded, not-quite-fat, belly. Where I knew my head wound came from a bullet (or so they tell me), this scar across my chest, the extensive surgery I must have forgone was still a blank to me. A piece of my memory I did not have.

A near eruption of anger would almost have had me lash out at GANYMEDE for being so disgusted by my scar if GANYMEDE had not moved back into my presence, wrapping his arms around me and whispering softly into my ear, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?" I hotly said, trying not to let my anger diffuse, trying my best to hold up some sort of shield to the lion.

"The war, it must have been terrible to open you up like that." He empathized licking my neck, he knew all too well that that was, and always will be my soft spot, "The scar on your chest. What is it from?"

"Stop asking about it. I don't want to talk about it." I tried to push myself out of his hold but he just held me in tighter.

"You don't know do you?" He questioned, "Its okay we don't have to talk about it." At those words, as I tried to squirm out of his embrace, his lips met mine, and my shield raised before hit the ground with a loud--yet unheard PANG!

Fully nude, I hardened again quite easily as his tongue twisted itself in the inside of my mouth. My head cocked to the side and angled upwards, his head, sitting on the podium that was his taller body, leaned down towards me and we met somewhere in the middle of our height differences. I could not help but moan, as I had done that one night before, his purr returning, as it did that one night before, and together our sounds met in the middle of our species difference. My erection was pressed against his pant leg, his erection was concealed behind his pant, and as he pushed my body forward he forced me to sit down on the couch that suddenly crept up behind my knees.

I moved to take off his belt, raising my paws from my seated position, but he slapped my paws away, rather forcefully, making it clear he was not ready to be rid of his pants just yet. Kneeling down in front of me, grabbing my arousal within his paw, he gave me a few strokes before placing the cock within his mouth. The feeling of my exposed cockhead as it slid into the interior of his mouth, repeatedly and expertly, gave me a shiver of pleasure. His head bobbing up and down my shaft relentlessly I felt helpless to stop him as he forced within me a building orgasm.

"Oh god--" I moaned, clutching the furs of his head with a tight grip, "Sweet Jesus."

"You taste wonderful." He sighed, stopping the oral pleasure only for a second so that he could speak.

His feline tongue teasingly played along my cock as firm squeezes teased my lower balls. I knew I was going to cum. He was too rough, too fast, my body helpless against such treatment. I had to give him warning but I suspected somehow he already knew,

"I'm going to cum." I whimpered in a heavy pant,

"Not yet!" The lion said lifting his mouth off of my cock and turning me over so that my rump rested against his muzzle and my upper chest was placed along the back of the couch. Where his feline tongue had once been on my cock, it now worked my puckered hole, sliding itself over the opening and moistening it with a thick coating of saliva. I could feel my arm muscles constrict around the back of the couch, holding onto its topmost frame as I became caught in the immediate sensation of the lion's attention.

Eventually he added his fingers into the equation and I could feel myself being opened up once again. I winced at the first feeling of penetration. It never seemed any easier accepting those large lion fingers in my hole. They always found a way, as though through boasting, to make sure my hole knew they were bigger than the average fur's fingers. But I could take it, such uncomfortable feelings were worth it as it always told of what was to come next.

Lining his hips up with mine, I felt the familiar sensation of his erect meat now placed against my hole. Somewhere between licking and fingering my anus the lion had evidently removed his pants and now the godly creature was reading himself to penetrate me. His front came to rest on my back, pulling me in closer to his embrace, slowly gliding himself inside of me he spoke into my ear,

"I'm going to miss this--"He paused, "I'm going to miss you."

"Ahh" I moaned, "Stop being so damned sentimental."

"Yea? Fine!" He half-growled as he shoved me rather forcefully to the base of his cock. With one arm wrapped across my chest, the paw that held my far shoulder now dug a playful claw into my flesh. The sudden strike of pain surprised me as much as it excited me.

He was now thrusting into me strong and aggressive. His claw still into my far shoulder, he nipped at the furs on the back of my neck. Instinctually it made me aggressive. The natural sensation of being bit there forced me to fight against his submission, but as he was bigger, and evidently quite stronger than me, I could do little to wrestle myself off of his penetrating cock. Eventually the nips turned into a full on bite, as he clamped down onto my fur and I relented to him; his thrusts still strong, still hard, my rump almost starting to grow sore.

Now, my own throbbing arousal was bouncing in the air out from my crotch, its orgasm denied once, the building pressure seemed to come doubly now, begging me to let it release. With my free paw I grabbed the enlarged genital and quite hastily pumped my organ, racing myself towards a much needed finish.

Just as I felt the white-wash come, spraying my seed across the front of my couch, it appeared the lion was finishing off too. Our unplanned and joined orgasm, although improvised, was perfectly cued as I felt the lion spurt his hot seed into my interior. He let go of my neck as he came, afraid that his pleasure might cause him to bite down too forcefully, but oddly enough, I had just begun to enjoy the sensation of being forcefully submitted. 'How could I have let myself be so trusting?' My interior soliloquy ran.

As the lion pulled out of me, a white stream of ejaculate now dripping from my hole, we shifted our bodies so the two of us were now cuddling on the couch. As we lay stuck within a duet of panting breaths, we were uncaring of the puddles of semen that we now rested in. The temptation at this point was to fall asleep, to fall asleep in his arms, but I couldn`t do that, I had to speak up,

"Penny is coming in the morning. I don't think you can spend the night." My eyes closed and my heart beat fast.

Ganymede was silent. I could not see his face because he was behind me but I could feel his breath against the back of my neck.

"I'll help you get your clothes." I murmured getting up from the couch.

Ganymede was still silent and instead of picking up his clothes I shuffled over towards the bar and poured myself a drink in the nude. A quick shot helped the rage build inside of me and I sharply turned back towards him,

"GET THE FUCK OUT!" I screamed throwing the empty glass onto the floor and shattering it.

"So you still are not ready to admit it?" The lion finally spoke, tears welling under the whites of his eyes as he began to get changed once again, "After all of this. After what we had just done minutes ago, you still can't admit that you can love a man?"

"Maybe I can love a man. But there is no way I could ever love a god dammed prostitute like you." My glass broken and in pieces on the floor I instead grabbed the bottle and took a swig of the harsh alcohol. Its intoxicating effects only elevating my cruelty, "You're a god damn fuck toy! You are as dead on the inside as the next street walker; don't believe for a second that I could ever have loved you."

The lion had got changed relatively quickly all the while keeping his wet eyes away from my gaze, "I'll tell her about this John Archer. I'll tell her ALL about your cruel heart. Cruelty will be met with cruelty, THE LADY will make sure of it."

"Your threats are empty. Go home and never see me again!"

When the lion slammed the door I thought he was going to break down the entire wall. At the very least it sent a tremor through my home that made the art work on my living room walls shiver. Then, just as the frames decorating my walls stopped their dance, I started to cry. A damned hard thing to admit, I'll tell you, but that night I cried myself to sleep.

Part 8: More to Come...

In the morning I had managed to clean up most of the mess from the night before despite the hangover that now pounded in my head. The broken glass, the semen stains, even the scents of the raunchy night before was all concealed by cleaning product and now I was ready for Penny and I`s date.

I had finished my cleaning not a moment's too soon and just as I put my cleaning supplies away I could hear the delicate rapping of a female hand at my door.

"Come in." I invited, unlocking the door.

Penny walked into my apartment and I stepped back to get a good look at her. The female gazelle greeted me with warm and dark eyes. She was about my height in the tall black shoes she wore, a bit curvier then most women, but she came from a culture that knew how to dress. Wearing a large white flowery hat that shaped her skinny doe faced wonderfully, and a not-so-buxomest white dress (an honest, fair dress really), her fashions always seemed to reflect her personality. Exteriorly her sweet innocence came matched by an interior and sly eroticism that was as alluring as it was mysterious and foreign. She was absolutely stunning. But just as she moved to sit down on the couch (The same couch where GANYMEDE had me the night before) she first presented me with a letter.

"I found this at the foot of your mail-slot downstairs."

"Oh?" I said curiously examining the small lettered envelope. There was something in the envelope, something with an added bit of extra weight. "It's addressed to me. I wonder who it's from."

I opened the letter and my eyes went wide, my heart beat went quick, and my hands began to shake. It was a simple letter, a 4 word memo written on a regular sized piece of folded paper, but as I read it as I saw the object which added weight to the envelope, it was only with those four words that my head turned into a cyclone.

I read, in blood red ink,

I need your help. -A

And I held, on the pads of my soft paws, the dog tags of one, "PRIVATE ADAMS."

"Who is it from?" Penny wondered, now sitting on the couch holding a small purse between two gloved paws.

I turned to her, the shock not yet leaving my system, "An old friend Penny," I said, "An old friend."

---

DUN DUN DUN! I decided in celebration of Detective Stories that I would have to leave the story on a cliff-hanger even if I choose to continue this series or not. In all honesty, the feedback I have gotten from this story has been great, I really enjoy the characters (specially Ganymede and Archer) and I feel like I could write more but at the same time I`ve got side-projects and schooling to work on before I can even start to imagine another ambitious project. Especially since I am not anywhere close to finishing my first ambitious project that was my Cyber Necromancy series (a good contender for my next submission).

Funny enough, my muse and I are currently also percolating on ANOTHER series project, 8 stories in total (as of right now), that will be centered within the same universe but with each story working as individual as well. The idea might be to post a teaser of sorts in the near future and then considering the project for the summer where maybe I can challenge myself to release a chapter a week or something for a couple of months. But then again, Ive got other plans for this summer as well and that story isnt exactly furry relevant.

On top of that, any other stories I've mentioned in commentary before is still on the back-burner. And then there are the one's I'm too embarrassed at this point to mention ;), or the ones I don't want to mention because it'll be a surprise (kekekeke).

Part 2 was finished in rough draft for a while but in the crazy week I had I missed the deadline I set for myself. My deadline being sometime LAST week... I kept pushing it back until Sunday hit (which was at this point 2 hours ago--So I didn't do so bad!). Well, Friday I was out till late even though I worked in the morning and then Saturday night I was at an electronic music festival till ever later even though, once again I had to work in the morning. That being said when I got home, I passed out. I was actually not going to submit this till Tuesday but having woken up from what could be seen as a nap I decided I would burn the mid-night oil and get this done and submitted. See how much I love you guys?

Now in the first submission I said I would reflect a bit more about this story.

Technically I could trace the desire to write a detective story all the way back to when I saw the Maltese Falcon. Although I've seen a lot of Noir films, Maltese Falcon is up there as one of my favourites. Seconded probably by Fritz Lang's fury, but the inspiration to write THIS story in particular came from reading Robert Sawyer's Identity Theft and also during my time spent researching 1950's gender value/queer fears for a paper I wrote last semester. Identity Theft making me want to write in the genre, and my research, giving me inspiration for THE DOCTOR character. Who in my own imagining is so ALFRED HITCHCOCKIAN, he's practically serving blue meals to his guests (that's a referential joke to a story you should probably look up if you don't already know).

As for my inspiration for Archer, I actually stole the term Nihilophobia from Star Trek: Voyager and so oddly enough, and I hate to admit this, part of Archer is based off of Neelix (but not much). All joking aside, a lot of my writing uses varying concepts of voided spaces. In my own analysis their primary function is usually to mark psychological imbalances as well as initiating a primal sense of the unknown. An idea that, sometimes that what is best left unseen is scarier then what is described. Thus, the first draft of Archer came from the idea that, "What if a character was aware that he was in one of my stories?" Obviously his character changed quite a bit since this original thought but I think if you look back through the story you can see the remnant of this initial notion. Mix that with a bit of added extra Bogart and you got Archer!

Just a side note, it was rumoured, like most celebrities, that Bogart was afraid that he might have been gay. It was during one of his many divorces that one of his wives was quoted Bogart as almost being suicidal over the notion. Obviously you can take the story with a grain of salt, but when I came across the story (One you can find by googling Bogart/Gay), it kind of helped mould my character a bit more.

In reflection this was a rather fun story to write. The story offered a lot of chance to play with a lot of emotional styles (comedy, action, suspense, and eroticism), while at the same time reflecting a "pulpy" style or idea that in my own opinion is a really fun thing to try and imitate. I often imagined what this story would look like sitting in a newsstand. More so, had I any drawing skill I would almost be tempted to draw out the magazine cover I have envisioned within my brain. If I had to describe this story myself, it's non-invasive, fun, and can be enjoyed at face value.

On a final remark, and in tradition of pulp literature, I'll leave you with what I currently am imagining of what's to come (as I currently see it now--expect change). One, as Archer begins to reflect on his time in the war he may realize what he has been told in his past--what he remembers of his past--might not be exactly true. Two, he will team up with a familiar friend that will test his relationship with Penny. And finally, the audience's desire to smoke cigarettes and drink whiskey will go up by multiples of ten in Archer's next instalment of:

Nihilophobia:

A Detective Story Noir:

Memoires of the War (I just made that title up)