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Venom: Beautiful Killers. Part 23.

"...it's on."

[My sleep, and the dream, are interrupted by the ceiling lights. A couple of nurses have come in; one has a thermometer and the other has an electronic scale. I have to stand to be weighed, but I'm not sure I know how. I've been in a morphine-induced stupor for the past twelve hours. I'm not even sure what day it is now.]

[As I buzz in and out of consciousness, the dreams keep coming and going. Most of them have the feisty fox in them, so the morphine must really be working. Unfortunately, I may not be in pain, but I still feel terrible. My stomach is queasy and I can barely stand without help. "160 pounds." I've lost weight.]

[I have a bit of a fever too. The nurses are leaving now, but someone's coming back shortly with medicine, guaranteeing that my sleep will be interrupted again. The clock says ten, so it's still Wednesday....]

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Have a good weekend, everybody. Try not to overdo it in the bars tonight." Simon Blank waves at Colin Besser and Joseph Luisi as they disappear into the night. The clock is about to strike eight, so he is now the only executive still in the building. He closes the front door and satisfyingly stares at the nearly empty lobby. The day must have gone well because a smiling executive is a rarity these days. Simon defies the norm and laughs heartily as he turns the television off.

Winter is in the room as well, sitting at the front desk. She has an iPod in her left hand and ear buds in her hears. She softly bobs her head to the music and starts to hum. The music is barely audible from across the room. Her free hand taps against the desk. She seems in good spirits today, which has also been a rarity. (This marks the first time that she has arrived on back to back nights.)

Simon gains her attention by tapping her shoulder. "You ready?"

"I sure am."

"You got the picture?"

The wolf reaches down below the desk and hands him a laminated photo. It is an artist's rendering in charcoal instead of an actual photograph. The drawn face looks old and worn, but is still well detailed, including the small scar under the suspect's right eye.

"St. Croix told me you fought well for this mark."

"Well...I had help."

"Where's your boyfriend now?"

She chuckles and lowers her head bashfully. "Um...I'd rather not say. It's kind of embarrassing and he wouldn't want you to know. Suffice it to say...he's still at the Shark Pit and I took a cab here."

"Let me guess. Another police raid?"

"Those guys are really desperate."

Simon nods with understanding as he removes the ear buds and hands them to her. "Come on. Let's go finalize this bad boy." He takes a good look at the mark as they leave the front desk. "So, according to our records, it's been about two weeks since your apprentice days ended. How's the work?"

Winter sighs and shakes her head. "Just one hunt--a failed hunt. I'm still kinda sore about it."

"The Ambrose hunt?"

"How'd you know?"

"Crevecoeur met with all the execs, and Mrs. Cross, at lunch today. He says we must do something about marks that are on the FBI most wanted list. I know about what happened with you and Doran Mann, but this is the first time I'm hearing about Mr. Ambrose being targeted by the tiger brothers. So what happened that day?"

Winter stops walking and shrugs. The events are still fresh in her mind, because she takes very little time before answering. "I got there and sensed a presence. I...um...guess I should have known that the smell wasn't human. Anyway, I got there just in time to see Mr. Ambrose running away. He left behind all the taxpayer money he had stolen stuffed under a mattress. Ravi tried to convince me to take some as his way of apologizing, and--"

"He left money behind? Where is it now?"

"For all I know, it's still there. I imagine that the tigers are taking it all, little by little."

"Son of a bitch; this is serious." He shakes and scratches his head, contemplating the bad news. His right hand clutches a bit of his red hair. "And all this time, I thought Crevecoeur was just blowing smoke up our asses."

"You mean you didn't believe him?"

"Well, he's an alcoholic--not exactly a fountain of reliable information."

"Robert's my friend. He looks out for me. If he tells you there's a problem, you know you can believe him."

The couple starts walking again and makes it to the entrance of the hallway. Simon looks at the ceiling in his usual, reflective way. "Damn. First Pica and Dunn, now Ravi and Gonal. I really like those tigers; I'd hate to reprimand them. But if the FBI gets a tip about the missing money, they could be in trouble. I gotta bring this up at the meeting on Monday."

"I hope they rot." Winter's smile ebbs away.

"Aw, come on. You don't mean that."

The wolf stops walking. "I'm serious. It's a good thing they weren't here today. If they were, I'm pretty sure I would have done something...unholy."

"Just what our business doesn't need--another fight between workers. I still remember having to separate you from Pica and Dunn."

"Those assholes. You know that stupid bobcat kept looking at me during the meeting? He kept on giving me angry glances. I wanted to throw something at him. I've got a feeling they're not through with me yet."

"Just ignore them. They've been docked significant pay after I told Ted of their actions...all after we learned about Mr. Petrescu. I'm just glad there were no fights that day. Tivoli has recovered and you went to Chino Hills with no problems. Everything returned to normal then, they can remain normal now. Pica and Dunn have been punished; they won't do anything to you. Just don't do anything to them, and everything will be fine. Okay?"

Winter shakes her head in frustration, quite convinced now that there is nothing she can do. She is itching for a fight, but has to be content with letting her grudges slide at this time. She puts her hands in the pockets of her jeans and slowly releases a breath. Once Simon leads her into the conference room, her smile returns. "Say, whatever happened to that stranger? I still haven't...thanked him for what he did to Tivoli."

"Now, that's classified information. If you really want to know, you should ask the chief. But Mr. Petrescu is out of your hair, so why worry about him?"

The conference room door closes behind them. At the same time, Camille slowly strolls out of the women's restroom, casually wiping her hands with a handkerchief she pulls from her shirt pocket. She is wearing a dark blue vest covering a white cotton shirt and a pair of dark slacks. She is also wearing a bow tie. Her entire appearance could leave people with doubts about her gender. It is not like her to wear something so fancy; the clothes look more like what an executive would wear. She replaces the handkerchief in her pocket and walks down the hall toward the chief's office. The smile on her face gives a stark contrast to the dark surroundings.

As she closes in on the white door, she slows down. Muffled, but raised voices can be heard on the other side. The female voice is the unmistakable shout of her friend, Pamila. The male voice, on the other hand, could be anybody. It has a gruff, thunderous tone when raised and a cocky, condescending tone when calm. Camille's smile disappears as she hears her friend try to chase the male out of the office so that she could resume cleaning it. She shakes her head in response and plants her right ear against the door. Her lips press together as she gets a better handle on the testy conversation. When she hears the fox yell, "Just get out," she presses her hands against the door, showing great concern for her friend.

Camille's breath quickens; it sounds like things are about to get out of hand in there. Her right hand inches toward the doorknob, intent on ending the argument right away. Suddenly, she backs off. It sounds like someone is about leave the room. The cat moves a considerable distance, trying to look less like the eavesdropper she is.

The door opens and the Italian Greyhound steps out, adjusting his collar. He is wearing a biker coat and leather trousers. In his right hand is a black bike helmet. It looks like his weekend will be action-packed. He is about to run out of the office and almost bumps into the cat. He stops himself and scoffs. "Sorry. Didn't see you there."

She is not happy to see him. "Whatever," she says as she tries to pass him by.

"You look dressed. You going to the party?"

"I sure am. You?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna drop by for about an hour, then I'll be riding down to Hollywood and enjoying the spoils of my success. It's been a real good week, and it's gonna be an even better weekend. You know, you're invited to join me after the party. We can ride together. It's been a while since I had a pretty little thing like yourself--"

"What were you talking to Pamila about?" She turns angry. "You weren't making fun of her, were you?"

Baua scoffs again. "Trust me, there was nothing 'fun' about it."

"Do you really have to do that? Isn't it enough that she'll be made fun of by everyone else? Do you really have to join in? Couldn't you just be different and give her support, or not see her at all?"

"I know she's your friend and you feel like you have to check up on her and everything, but frankly, you deserve much better. You don't have to limit yourself out of some sense of devotion. You could take advantage of this beautiful weather and go riding with me tonight. My bike's just outside." He puts his free hand on her right shoulder. "What do you say?"

Camille looks at his hand for a couple of seconds before angrily swatting it away. "No thanks."

"Are you sure? It's a Ducati. It's a beautiful monster of silver and red--the perfect contrast to your perfect blue features. It's also the kind of bike chicks wanna be seen with. With you at the back seat, we're gonna turn heads. You could get the attention that you've always said you crave."

The cat raised her eyebrows at the description of the motorcycle; she probably showed some interest in going with him. A few seconds later though, she only shrugs boldly. "I'll see you at the party."

"Does that mean you'll think about it?"

"I'll give you my answer then, okay?"

"Sure thing." Baua fixes his collar again before confidently strutting away, as if he had just won a major victory.

Camille shakes her head and watches the greyhound walk away. "What a waste of good leather." She turns towards the door and gently knocks.

The voice on the other side yells, "What now?!"

"Can a friend come in?" She slowly pushes the door open as she tries, and fails, to hide a chuckle. A disheveled and tired-looking fox comes into view. Upon seeing her weary figure, she gives up and starts laughing.

Pamila first frowns, then smiles at her friend. She is standing behind Vivian's bare desk, holding a white towel in one hand and a bottle of disinfectant in the other. The items that were once on the desk are now on the chair nearby. The chief's laptop is precariously perched on top of a stack of files and papers. Next to it is a bucket of half-filled, dirty water. The mop is standing in a corner of the room.

Camille looked at the shiny floor. "Is it okay to come in?"

"Yeah, come on in. The floor's dry." She finishes wiping the desk, places the bottle on the floor, and puts her hands behind her back. "It seems I'm finished."

"Nice work."

"Don't patronize me. It sucks."

"Yeah, I know. You'd rather not be here, but...the chief would like it anyway."

"Whatever." The fox throws the towel next to the mop.

"Hey, shouldn't you mop after you've cleaned everything else? Shouldn't it be the last thing you do?"

"I don't care. Besides, I'm not wearing shoes. The floor won't get dirty." Pamila starts to replace the files and papers on the desk. She is about to reach for the laptop only to see her friend grab it and put it in the middle of the desk. She chuckles with relief. "You know, I don't say this much, but today I'm really glad to see you."

They stand in front of one another, looking like complete opposites. The fox is slightly taller, looks gruff and seasoned in her old clothes, and has fur that has known better days. The cat is shorter, has on clothes that make her look precocious and adorable, and is as well-groomed as she has ever been. Pamila laughs and straightens her friend's tie. "So? What are you dressed as?"

"I'm going to a party. It's being thrown in Loiola's house by his friend, Sherm. You don't know him. He's an Appaloosa. He's trying to cheer Loiola up while he recovers from his injuries, so he decided to do this and everyone at work, and a few others, are invited. Any of the workers can bring one friend. It's gonna be great. I was told there'll be dinner and desert, sports and action movies, karaoke and, hopefully, dancing." She giggles and folds her arms. "So? What do you say?"

The fox raises her brow. "What...you're inviting me?"

"Of course!"

"Is that why that Bitchhound was wearing that ridiculous motorcycle outfit?" She shakes her head and turns away. "Sorry, buddy. I'm not really in the party mood."

"Aw, come on. Why not?"

Pamila turns back at her with more confusion on her face. "Are you kidding? Are you really asking me that? You know they hate me, right?"

"Well...."

"I blew up a building and killed more than just the mark. Therefore, I 'don't know how to do my job,' and I'm 'putting everyone in danger.'"

"Nobody's saying that."

"If Hoeness is saying it, they're all saying it. You just don't want to listen to it. Not that I blame you. It gets old after a while." She pulls out another towel from her back pocket and starts wiping the nearest filing cabinet.

"You really mean it? You're not going because of what they might say about you? That's not like you, Pam. You don't care what people think. Besides, Hoeness is on assignment and won't be there anyway."

"Ugh." She turns to Camille incredulously, but tries to remain calm. "All right, look. You obviously don't know this since you've been running around chasing marks and making money. I'll say this again. Those guys don't just say rotten things to me. They hate me. It's not just a bad feeling they have towards me. They hate me. They already can't tolerate me in here. Can you figure out what would happen if I step foot into that stupid leopard's house? If I go there, it's on. Whatever the 'it' is supposed to be, it's on. I'd be so mad, I might not make it through the night."

They look at each other in silence while the feline tries to process that nasty bit of information. She scratches her head and straightens her whiskers. She is clearly stumped, though her actions make it look like she is in deep thought. Pamila peers at her, looking for some sign that she understands her plight. The cat lowers her head. "That bad, huh?"

Camille's ignorance causes the fox to turn away again. "You're hopeless. Have fun at the party."

"No wait!" She almost bumps into the chair as she closes in on her friend's back. "Okay, so the guys hate you, but they don't hate me. I can go in there and talk you up. I helped you bag the mark, so I'm responsible for the bomb as you are. I'll just tell them how hard it was to do and that they shouldn't judge you too harshly."

"That won't work! You're really gonna spin the bombing in a positive light? It's not gonna get them to change their minds about me."

"Well...something has to."

Pamila faces her once again. "Forget it. It's a waste of time. Even if you convinced them to like me, they're not going to make the effort."

"I'm still gonna try, dammit. You're worth the effort. If they knew you like I do, they'd see you differently. Besides, it's not like the boys are perfect hunters either. Our business is unpredictable, so they make mistakes too." Camille's smile comes back, causing the fox to nod in agreement. "Anyway, if they rag on you too much, you've got Simon for help. When he keeps the guys in line, no one will bother you."

Pamila covers her face with her hands, releasing a sharp sigh. "Please, don't talk to me about Simon, okay?"

"What's wrong this time? What's wrong with Simon?" She waits for an answer but gets the fox's back instead. "What's wrong with you? You can talk to him. He's our handler."

"Was."

"Yeah, but he's our friend. He's the executive we like, remember? Why don't you want to talk to him?"

Pamila finishes wiping down the filing cabinet before throwing the towel next to the mop in the corner. She then stares at her friend angrily. She is trying to get her to leave without actually saying the words.

Camille holds out her hands. "Come on, talk to me. Did something bad happen?"

She delays a bit, putting her hands on the desk. "I called his son retarded last week." She frowns at the cat's gasp. "Don't do that. It's not that horrible."

"You called Damian retarded?"

"And what do you know? Turns out he is."

"Wow. That's serious." She covers her mouth, wondering what to say next. "Well...have you said you're sorry?"

"Why? What's the point?"

"You mean you haven't? Or you just don't want to? You didn't have to demean that sweet kid."

"What was said has already been said, and I say what I want. I told him that as he was trying to convince me that babysitting that little creep was okay. Well, it's not! I know you like him, but you didn't have to live with him. You didn't get to feel the spasms of pain that I had to endure. He didn't grab your ears, your nose, the fur on your back, your legs...." Pamila stops to cough as some of the froth from her rant goes down the wrong pipe. Her eyes start to water. She coughs a couple of times, trying to relieve the pressure. "I'll be fine," she says, keeping Camille back.

"Yeah, he really messed you up, didn't he?"

"Sarcasm won't get you far." The fox clears her throat. "Anyway, it's too late to apologize because now, every time Simon sees me, the color leaves his face. He could forgive me, but I know he'd never really mean it."

"Well you just have to. You called our boss' kid retarded. Now our leverage is compromised. If Simon is angry at us, he might not protect us from trouble, whether it comes from a hunt or from our co-workers."

"We'll be fine. We're the only leverage we need. There are no better hunters in this building than us and we kick ass, so we don't need protecting." Pamila's anger starts to dissipate and her voice lowers back to normal. "I don't hate Simon's kid; I'm just not the calm, politically correct type. I'm just not that kind of girl."

Camille laughs. "Noted."

"Also, there's only one person I intend to apologize to today. If I've disappointed you, I'm sorry."

The cat grabs her friend's shoulders. "Listen, I got a party to go to. I'm still gonna try to get the boys on your side. I'd like them to stop 'dissing' you. At the very least, they'll listen to what I have to say."

"Good luck. I mean, if you can get them to even listen for ten seconds, that would be impressive."

"You know what's really impressive? There are drinks behind you, and you're not drinking them." She laughs as Pamila turns to the liquor cabinet. "I'll see you later." She happily leaves the office.

The liquor cabinet is already clean, but the fox decides to wipe it with her towel. As she does, she looks over the many bottles and colors inside, predictably one of the many times she has done so. The top shelf has a couple of small whiskey bottles on both ends. In the middle, standing there like an important museum display, is a tall, hefty bottle of scotch. She looks at its glowing, amber hue with awe and sighs heavily. Minutes later, she continues wiping the cabinet. The shelf below holds bottles of rum, hard cider, and expensive-looking wines. On the bottom shelf, small bottles of gin surrounding a large, green bottle of vermouth. Pamila stares at the bottles with a jealous eye, all the while cleaning the hell out of the cabinet holding them.

"Are you thirsty?"

The startled janitor quickly turns around to see where the voice came from. Her breath picks up as she sees a tall, white wolf strolling towards her. She drops the towel and tries to make herself look big.

(Winter is in high spirits. Her mark has been made official and her next, hopefully trouble free hunt, has begun.) She smiles and jams her hands into the pockets of her blue jeans. A slight laugh leaves her mouth as she looks around. "Not bad. Not bad at all. Almost as good as Tobias would do it. Of course, it pays to have him as a teacher, doesn't it?"

"What the hell do you want?"

"Nothing. Just a talk. That's all. I'm situating myself in this place and I'd like to meet as many of my fellow hunters as possible."

"I don't feel like talking now."

Winter's emotions turn quite serious. "Do you know who I am?"

Pamila stares at her for a couple of seconds before going to the far corner of the room. She grabs the wet mop. "Not really. The one time I did see you, you were with...him."

"Him? Oh. So you know my boyfriend then."

"Who here doesn't? That prick makes absolutely sure that you can't not know him."

The wolf frowns. "Well, be that as it may, he's my mate. My name is Winter. The first time I saw you was my first day in this building. I thought you looked kinda cool in those shorts."

The fox turns to her angrier than ever. "Look, I've been working here for a long time, so I know a setup when I hear one. Just say what you really want to say and get out of my way. I'm done in this room."

Winter inhales loudly through her nose, trying not to get angry. "Fine. I just wanted...." Her right foot bumps into the bucket of half-filled water. She gently kicks it aside. "Shiloh tells me that you're a fan of The Shark Pit. So am I. I go there after work and I try to go as often as I can."

Pamila shrugs. "Well, their service is the best. What's your point?"

"I don't go there just for the drinks. I go there for the camaraderie, the atmosphere. I love the people, even if a lot of them work here. You know it's the first totally furry-owned bar in the entire West Coast? I was there since its inception. I got to know the owners and we've become good friends. They even let me bring in my pigeon eggs to their establishment. That was very nice of them."

The fox leaves the corner carrying the mop and towels. "Bo...ring."

"Fine." She moves closer to her adversary, bumping into the bucket once again. She sighs with frustration. "I'll say this as nicely as I can. I want you to stay away from the Pit."

"Mmm. That's funny. Why don't you nicely kiss my ass?"

Pamila tries to pass. Winter defiantly stands in front of her, exhibiting her height and her obstinate nature. "Do you know where my boyfriend is now? He's at the bar, being questioned by police. He's told me that the raids are because of you, because of the way you got your last mark, and he's trying as hard as hell to keep himself from telling them that it was you. They were also questioning some of the guys who work here; so far, nobody's told the police it was you. Shiloh and I planned to have a couple of drinks, talk with some friends, and then come here to get our next marks. Instead, the police are giving him the third degree. They still are, so I had to come here by myself."

The fox rolls her eyes. "Well, I'm sorry I ruined your evening."

"On the contrary, you did no such thing. Everything's still going according to plan."

"Great. You gonna add to this dull conversation by telling me how much wolfie sex you'll be having tonight? What's any of this to do with me?"

Winter's face moves closer to hers. She looks down at her so their noses barely touch. "You brought attention to your actions and it might cost all of us. Thanks to you, the cops are all over my bar, but they won't find anything because everyone's keeping their mouths shut. The police will go away disappointed and they shouldn't bother us after a few days...as long as you stay far away. You just keep mopping the floors and dusting the tables. It'll keep you out of trouble by keeping you in hiding. Just don't go near The Shark Pit, things will die down, and eventually the trail will grow cold. We won't be bothered anymore."

"You can't tell me where to go or what to do. I don't answer to anyone."

"Maybe, but you know I'm right." Winter stiffens her posture. Her folded arms are slowly pushing the fox backwards.

"You must have gotten a huge set, cornering me like this. Tell me something. Did your boyfriend donate you his scrotum?"

Winter scoffs away the question. Her already sinister voice lowers. "Shiloh has nothing to do with this, and I'll stop cornering you once you see the truth. Your last, pathetic hunt 'sicced' the police on us. Because of that, you have to pay. You will not be going to that bar anytime in the near future."

Pamila smiles. "Oh good. And I assume you're the one who's gonna 'make me pay.' Huh?"

"I'm going back there tonight and I'm gonna have my drinks. I'll also be playing pool, so I plan to be there for quite a while. If I see you there, or hear that you went there today, I'm gonna give you a reason to stay away. I haven't been in a fight in a long time, but--"

"Don't threaten me, bitch. You haven't been here long enough to know how. You have no idea what a beatdown looks like until you've had it from me."

Confidently, Winter shakes her head. "You can't do anything to me. No one in this building can do anything to me. No one has the guts."

"Do not mistake me for the rest of those fools. They may be afraid of your dick boyfriend, but I'm not. I'll kick your ass...and make him watch."

As defensive as she towards her mate, the white wolf takes a calming breath. "It wasn't supposed to go down this way, you know. All I wanted to do was talk to you, not threaten your well-being. I mean...there's an investigation going on, and The Shark Pit is the main target. I know you're not stupid, so you won't go to ground zero while the cops are combing the place, looking for the bomber. " She backs away slightly. "No, I'm not gonna fight you. After all, I'm close with the executives since they all like Shiloh, so I have the upper hand without having to fight. Just try and step foot into that bar. One word from me to Ted or any of the others, and you'll be cleaning their houses; that is, if you still allowed to work for them."

This threat is enough to shut Pamila up, even though she has many words of protest left in her. She grits her teeth angrily and grabs the mop with both hands. It looks like she is planning to wipe the wolf's face with it.

Winter straightens herself and boldly announces, "You will keep away from The Shark Pit, things will go back to normal, the owners won't close it down, and I won't lose my favorite night spot. Since you have to go thirty days without hunting, you should take that same amount of time to keep out of sight. There's nothing stopping you from going elsewhere...or buying your own drinks."

Pamila's grip on the mop is so tight that her palms squeak against the handle. The sound stops the wolf and allows the weary fox to relax a little. "Anything else, your highness?"

Winter shakes her head and turns to leave. As she does, she steps her left foot into the half-filled bucket. She gasps and raises her knee, raising a sopping, wet shoe. She exhales in shock, then frowns at the sound of the fox chuckling behind her. At first, she looks mortified, but seconds later, she smiles and puts her foot back into the bucket. "Well...there is one more thing."

"Yeah? What's that?"

With her wet foot, the wolf gently eases the bucket on its side, spilling the sullied water all over the floor. It spreads quickly, backing the fox away and messing up what had been a skillfully cleaned floor. "You missed a spot." Winter starts to walk to the door. As she does, she leaves a wet footprint. "Make that two spots." She resumes walking, smiling all the way. "Three spots...four spots...that's five...that's six...."