Where The Heart Is - Prologue - Falling to Pieces
#1 of Where The Heart Is
Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fiction from two very different minds. It is intended for Mature Audiences. There may be depictions of violence, sex, and drug use as the series goes on. The following chapter detail alcohol use/abuse. Some of it may be disturbing, so be forewarned; If same sex encounters, Furry Sex or Sex in general offends you, The Management cautions you to stop reading now. Otherwise Mouko/Glass Productions thanks you for reading
For everyone wanting a a quick yiffy plot...
We're sorry to disappoint, however, The Management is intent on telling a good and hopefully compelling story. Trust us, the yiff will come, and when it does, they'll be lots of it. Until then, you'll just have to wait.
Okay, Enjoy.
- The Management of Mouko/Glass Productions
Where The Heart Is -Prologue-Falling Apart.
By Will G. Wiger and Kibagami Skye
Birch Springs, California
"NO! IT'S NOT FAIR! IT'S NOT FAIR! I'M NOT GOING, AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!"
Screams of protest from a defiant boy's wounded heart rose into the dense air of a lazy afternoon and shattered the tenuous calm that clung to the Mouko home like a cheap suit. Heavy footfalls landed in rapid succession, across hardwood floors and ascended two small sets of stairs, which led to the house's second level. A powerful slam from a door at the hall's end shook the split-leveled Tudor styled home to its foundation. Framed photographs fell off its painted walls in response to the vibrations and the soft tinkle of shattered glass accented the initial, thunderous boom. Moments later, as if on cue the deafening wail if an inconsolable one-year old punctuated the scene, which had only taken five minutes to play out; yet the aftermath went on for several minutes following the initial outburst. When quiet finally returned to the home, softer muffled sobs echoed through out the second level and down the stairs.
Terrance Ryoku Mouko sat on the broad windowsill in the bedroom he shared with his twin brothers Joshua and Kenji. The cub had pressed his knees tightly to his chest, and curled his tail around his feet. He pressed his head down into his crossed arms and let out sob after pain filled sob, as an overwhelming sense of fear and loss filled him. His carefree world of happiness had darkened and begun to crumble right before his eyes. Life as he knew it, suddenly extended far beyond his reach and nothing would ever be the same. The sudden news of a major change in the Mouko's lives affected Terry most of all, and the worst part about it was that no one cared. No one considered his feelings, but then again, they never did. Everything had been decided in the blink of an eye, and as usual, it was not up for debate.
At ten years of age, Terrance (or Terry as he liked to be called) was the oldest of the Mouko clan's four cubs. Josh and Ken had just turned four a few weeks back; and they hadn't even begun preschool yet. They mostly played together as twins do. Sometimes his Mom took them to the park, but there were parks everywhere, so their lives weren't going to change.
The newest edition to their family was his baby sister, Sally. The little girl with the bright blue eyes was barely two years old. Moving wouldn't affect her at all. All she did was crawl around, watch teletubbies, chew on things, poop, and cry about nothing in particular; which she did often, the sound of which was loud enough to wake the dead.
Terry's Mother, Nora, didn't seem to care much about the upheaval. She had been married to her husband for twelve years and she was used to the constant state of transition He kept them in by now. She was a strong and confident Bengal tigress, who knew that she could carry out her duties as wife and mother anywhere, without fail. Nora was a free spirit and had learned early in life not to form attachments to places, possibly because of her own unstable childhood. She often said that starting over wasn't starting from the beginning. She was the rock on which her family rested, and that was something that no patch of Earth or building made of stone and mortar could ever change. She was not overly religious, but, she did hold fast to her beliefs, and as long as she could find a church and fellowship to help her through the dark times, she was at ease.
That left Terry's Father, Gene. Gene, was hardly ever home anyway. His work always kept him away from his family. It kept him from having any sort of active role in their lives. For Terry in particular, there were many years of missed birthdays, unattended karate demonstrations, scraped knees, and baseball games. The times that other men would kill to have with their families, were the times Gene seemed to avoid like the plague. When Gene was around, he was often distant and cold to his family, especially with Terry, and in his son's darkest times, Terry felt as though his daddy didn't like him all. Terry often wondered, when looking up at the much larger Siberian tiger's orange and gold fur, with its deep chocolate stripes if he had done something wrong or disappointing to make his dad act that way.
As Terry grew older, the thought had occurred to him that the only reason his parents stayed together, was to bring yet another cub into the world. That thought made him cringe. He remembered the day he learned where babies came from, and the image of his parents together had not only shocked him... it turned his stomach. Terry wished he had been late coming home from school that day. Terry blinked and shook his head to will the image away that intruded on his thoughts as he concluded that his father had no real ties to this place either.
Terry on the other hand had everything to lose. He had friends. He had a school that he loved, a school in which he was to begin the fifth grade in just a few short days. He was an all-star pitcher for the Birch Springs Dodgers. The suburban community's little league team. These things made the life of a ten-year-old boy life worth living. Terry had even been excited to learn that upon his entry into his new grade... he'd finally get his own room again. Now, suddenly, they just expected him to forget about all of that and go somewhere new. They expected him to start a new life, in a new school and forget everything and everyone that he ever knew or loved. He was expected to give up baseball, karate, and all of the other little things he loved about his life. They told him he had to be suspicious of everyone he met now. They expected him to be on guard, always. They expected him to lie when they taught him that lying was wrong. They even expected him to forget his own name. Tears streamed from Terry's eyes and soaked into his fur as he mulled it over in his mind. They wanted him to change... to be someone else...but, but...
"I like being Terry"
Terry whined that phrase repeatedly to no one in particular, as a deep sense of hopelessness filled the room, which suddenly began to feel too small. Terry tried to battle the feeling with anger, as he looked around the room he shared with his brothers. Their clothes and toys were everywhere. Most of the things they owned were strewn on floor by their closet, or by their bunk bed in a careless fashion. Their side of the room was always a total disaster, down to the beds that were always a mess. Such disarray annoyed Terry to no end, yet it was the sight of his baseball card binder on Kenji's bunk that made him growl. He grew angrier. His hackles rose and the young tiger curled his upper lip ah he ground his teeth. He snatched his book from his brother's squalor and set it on his own well-made bed before he returned to the sill. Once there, Terry returned to his former sitting position and hugged his body tighter to prevent himself from shaking. He tried to fend off a new wave of despair as best he could with the heat of his anger, but it was a losing battle. His face burned, and his chest tightened, but the ten-year-old wasn't equipped to hold out against such strong emotions. He snuffled as he lifted his head, and tried to blink the tears away. When that failed to work, he rubbed his cheeks beneath his eyes with the heel of his paw, in order to wipe away the tears as they continued to fall. He shivered as that sense of fear and loss clutched even tighter around his heart, forcing another wave of sobs to escape the prison of his body; they burst through the lid he tried to place on them. It was all so unfair. Why, why now...? Why today, of all days? It was so cruel, and... so... unfair. Why did they have to ruin everything?
Terry placed a striped paw against the window's cool glass and stared intently at the faint reflection of his face, which in turn, stared back through him. His normally bright cerulean irises were clouded and blood red veins ran through the whites of his eyes from crying; the facial muscles around them were swollen, and gave the impression that he'd gone ten rounds with King Kong. Tears had matted his fur and clung to his drooping whiskers. They fell on to his favorite shirt and soaked into the bright white poly-cotton blended material. He traced the reversed scripted letters of the word "Dodgers" with his paw finger on the glass. Today was the last Dodgers game he'd ever see. Well, at least not in Dodgers Stadium. He'd never again be able to experience the sights and sounds of the fans, the hotdogs, or any of the other million or so little things that he'd taken for granted about something so simple. The best of which, was hanging out with his best friend in the world.
Terry's heart stopped cold when he thought of that friend. A fresh wave of tears welled up in the cub's eyes as his mind replayed events from earlier that day. Pain stabbed at him like a psycho in a slasher flick, as he watched a yellow party balloon float above the mailbox at the house across the street. The house was so near, yet so very far away and Terry ached to be there, sharing cake and ice cream with his best friend to celebrate their birthdays... like always. Terry even had a gift to give. He'd saved part of his allowance for months just to buy it.
The distraught tiger cub clutched his knees to his chest tighter and thought about Brian Long.
Brian Long had been Terry's best buddy, ever since the day they met on the playground, on the fist day of preschool. First grader, Reggie Colson had taken the tiger cub's Dodgers baseball cap, during recess and played ‘Keep Away' with it, holding it high above Terry's head. The black-furred squirrel teased and taunted the light orange tiger cub until Terry was on the verge of tears. Then out of nowhere, a tawny coloured streak collided with the heavyset bully and knocked him over. Terry's cap flew up into the air in that moment and the agile four-year-old took off after it. Terry ran and jumped onto a rising sea-saw, which catapulted him into the air, high enough for him to recapture the hat, before it hit the ground. Terry's hat successfully landed on the feline's head with a silent ‘plop'. Terry was so happy that he'd caught his prized possession, and that it hadn't been damaged, that he grinned widely.
When the striped feline looked back toward Reggie, he saw a triumphant looking Falkland Island fox sitting on top of the bully, wearing a huge smile. The fox yawned and licked his nose as Reggie moaned, tried to get up, and landed again. Meanwhile, the fox sat there, looking quite innocent. The priceless expression on the fox's face made Terry laugh so hard he cried and very nearly wet himself. The amazed feline walked up to the fox and stuck out a paw, speaking with youthful exuberance.
"Hi. My name is Terry... what's yours?"
"My name's Brian. That was really cool, just like Jackie Chan!"
The little feline's skin and face fur warmed and flushed with color as he blushed. Terry smiled back as he spoke.
"Naw, it was nuffin. Thanks for helpin' me get my cap back. My daddy gave it to me... Wanna play?"
"Oh Wow! Cool! My daddy got me this..."
Brian then showed Terry a little All-Star pin, like the ones the players who participate in the All-Star game wear.
Terry's eyes widened and his tail lashed back and forth excitedly as he let out a low whistle...
"Awesome."
Terry whispered in fascination as his eyes stayed transfixed on the object. The 10-minute whistle sounded and the larger children began gathering up balls and things in preparation to back inside. By this time, Reggie Colson had gotten up to his elbows and growled at the fox cub to get off him. Brian's ears turned to the side and sort of flattened as his tail swayed back and forth slowly. It was around then that the teacher's aide spotted the trouble and rushed to their aid. She scolded Reggie for tormenting the pre-schoolers, and dragged him off by his ear, telling the boys to play nice as she walked away. Both boys giggled and slapped a high-five, and with that, a lasting friendship was born
That was six years ago. From that day on the two boys had been inseparable. In the time since, they had gotten their red belts in Karate together, become part of the Westwood County Boys' Club's Allâ€"Star little league team, they had even gotten their first Cub Scouts badges together. Their families had moved to Birch Springs together, and moved in across from one another. They spent nights reading comic books under sheets and imagining what they both wanted to be when they grew up. Terry spent as much time at Brian's house, as he did at home and vice versa. When they were eight, they had cut their paws and taken the "Blood Brother" oath. It was just a few days ago that the two boys shared their first innocent kiss.
It broke Terry's heart to know that this would all end. It just wasn't fair. He didn't want to leave. He could tell Brian anything, and Brian kept his secrets too. They were family; their moms had said it all the time... Terry had begged his mom and dad to allow him to stay with the Longs; he knew they would take him in. He just didn't want to leave the only world he knew, but his parent's wouldn't even consider it! They didn't even want Terry to say goodbye. He couldn't tell his best friend where he was going. They wouldn't' even allow him go to Brian's house for their birthday party. He didn't understand why they were being so mean.
Terry often heard his parents argue. It was a common occurrence when they weren't "together," but all Terry knew was that his dad had done a bad thing, and, because of it, Terry's life was over. It didn't make sense and it wasn't fair.
He wouldn't take it.
Terry thought this over as he looked outside. A large panda, and an equally large (if more muscular and slender) hyena, dressed in black suits with dark sunglasses. They sat on a black sedan outside and Terry could see the two of them staring at the white Tudor structure with its brow. Earlier in the day, before they grounded Terry for no reason, it had been a giraffe and a moose, dressed in the same way. He had seen them there as he left for the Dodgers game with Brian and Mr. Long, and he wondered who they were and why they were there. Terry felt very uneasy around them and watched them as the Mr. Long's car drove off. The newer men had been here when Terry returned that afternoon. They made the fur on the cub's neck stand on end. That's when his parents first told him of their sudden move and Terry ran in response... he ran right into those suited men's waiting arms. Held by the scruff of his neck, Terry had been carried back into the house by the panda and dropped into his mother's lap. The gruff sounding panda pulled Terry's father to the side and spoke to him sternly, yet quietly. The older tiger's ears flattened as he nodded and when he turned to Terry, he sharply ordered the cub to pack. All further attempts at protest were met with a look of anger from his father, which was a type of punishment for a son's dishonour. Terry often wilted under the heat of that look when the larger tiger didn't get his way and Terry had enough of it. It was then that ten-year old exploded in his brief fit of rage and locked himself in his shared room.
However, the fires of rage had cooled and the cub was getting sleepy. He lay down in a ball, his paw still touching the cool window as the August sun set on the rows of small suburban houses.
A soft knock came to the door when Terry's sobs stopped. When the interested party on the other side received no response, a small click echoed in the room and the door slowly crept open.
She padded in and sighed while shaking her head softly. She moved up to the head of his bed and sat by him as he stayed curled on the windowsill. She tried to comfort him, as she rubbed his back, which he effectively showed to her. Instead of the purr that would normally come from him when she did this, Terry mumbled.
"Some birthday this turned out to be..."
"I know, and I'm sorry baby, I know it's hard to understand, and I know it's asking a lot... but there is no other way."
Terry listened but did not speak. His mother‘s words were meant to soothe him, but it didn't dull the pain. It didn't make things better...
"But Mommy... It's not fair..."
The colours of summer in the late afternoon danced across the sky as Time slowly progressed forward. The ever-changing blue red and gold hues warmed and cooled night had fully grasped the peaceful neighborhoods of Birch Springs and tucked the tiny suburban community under a sheet of darkness. While smaller children played in the front and back yards of cookie cutter homes, older ones played on sidewalks and in the streets. All tried to wring out the last drops of fun and laughter from these lazy days before the dreaded school bells rang and September locked them into the often mundane learning routines of fall. Adventurous cubs of all shapes and sizes chased crickets and fireflies under their parent's watchful eyes. Their parents felt safe watching them; secure in the knowledge that nothing bad could ever happen here, in their close-knit community. Crime, after all, was the reason they had left the cities; it simply didn't exist here. Porch and streetlights came on when the day's playtime had ended and children went inside toward hot dinners, baths, and peaceful dreams. Sprinklers gently watered well-manicured lawns, as gentle breezes swept through immaculate streets while older residents and travelers alike, felt a sense of calm and serenity as they went about their business after twilight.
As time moved forward however, the serene streets slowly became deserted. Porch lights dimmed, and then went out altogether, and soon the streetlamps followed. This left places that were bright and happy during the light of day to take on sinister new life. Now they were places of fear and desperation. The kind of places that made the fur on the back of one's neck rise... They were the kinds of places where every footstep that echoed was cause for alarm, and tragedy could happen in an instant. They were the kind of places that fostered evil intentions of sick minds, and where closed doors hid the hid unspeakable horrors within.
A soft crackle and a high-pitched whine blended into the song of the crickets that bled into the night, ignored by most, but noticed by the owner of a leather-clad paw, which reached into the black sedan and turned a small knob until a muffled click rang out. The coppery scent of blood rose into the humid August air some time after midnight and mingled with a tiny gasp, just another sound that mingled with the others in the dead of night.
Footsteps rushed toward the white Tudor styled house; within seconds, the front door's dead-bolt tumblers shifted to the unlocked position, and evil entered the Mouko home. Two sets of footsteps entered the home and joined with a third, already inside. The steps clicked along the hard wood floors, in quiet exploration of the first and basement levels of the sleeping family's abode. Two sets of steps broke away, and shuffled up the stairs to search for the home's inhabitants. The lingering scent of the family's last meal, a chicken dinner, flooded the senses; it hovered in the rooms and made this place seem like a real home...
Sadly, that feeling would soon come to an unhappy end.
The fires of hell lapped the small cub's heels as a fiery beast chased him. As he ran for dear life, he screamed and cried for his mother and father, but they were too far away to hear him; their backs turned so that he couldn't' see their faces, and the distance between then grew with each second that passed. His feet felt like lead as his body moved in slow motion. His heart sank as tears flew from his eyes and evaporated into steam. Then suddenly the beast found and cornered the orange striped cub and wrapped its arms and wings around the struggling tiger, pulling him down into the hottest and deepest pits of hell. The cub fought and fought his way to freedom, yet he could not escape the danger. Somehow, he had slipped from the beast's grasp, but the cub barley held on to a protruding ledge with his claws... he was slipping. The scent of burning flesh, fur, and gunpowder was so strong in this place that it made his stomach do somersaults. His claws weren't strong enough to hold his weight, and they began to break, he began to slip and fall into that fiery pit, where more beasts were rising from the abyss to recapture and drag him down. He screamed, but found that he had no voice. His claws broke, leaving large gouges in the rocky ledge, and as he continued to fall he kept begging someone to save him, but his soundless cries fell upon deaf ears.
Terry fell from his bed onto the floor with a thud. He groaned softly as he sat up and the metallic scent of copper assaulted his over-sensitive nose. His ears swiveled toward the sound of whimpering, but he couldn't locate its origin. It took a moment for him to realize the whimpering he heard came from his own chest, yet it took another moment for him to gain control over it. Terry opened his mouth and let the unfamiliar scent that filled his room roll over his tongue and the roof of his mouth, as is the custom among tigers. When he identified the scent as blood, he was puzzled. The cub looked around the room and blinked...
Where were his brothers?
The last thing he remembered was his mother comforting him over the blow he'd been so recently dealt. He winced when his mind ran over that wound, the pain from it was still fresh, and raw; it would be for quite a while to come, Terry was not sure if he could ever forgive his father for yet another disruption in his life... especially one that would erase everything about his life.
Terry's head snapped to one side, following his ears to the sound of raised voices. Seconds passed and he heard the sound of Sally's late night cries. He was used to hearing it by now. They always fought after the cubs had gone to sleep. She was unhappy, and he was barely holding on, consumed by work and other distractions. Normally, the cub would have simply put on a pair of headphones to drown out the noise, only this time...
His hackles were high and his heart was pounding. His fur was stiff and uneasiness coursed through his veins.
Anger at the situation spurred him to action. He'd had enough of the adults, and their constant bickering. He was going to tell them to cut it out; he couldn't take it anymore and he didn't intend on trying. His stomach was tied in knots, yet, for some reason, he couldn't move. The tiny voice in the back of his head told him not to leave that room, for something was very wrong. Unfamiliar scents assaulted his senses as he backed away from the door. The cries of his baby sister died suddenly, making a lump rise in Terry's throat. He heard two unfamiliar voices outside his door, their conversation grew more terrifying by the second, and Terry's frightened eyes grew large and wide as he listened.
"Tanaka... That's enough! You know I don't like doing women and children! It's wrong!"
For a moment, there was silence and then...
"The contract called for the torture and extinction of the entire family. No exceptions... No... Loose... Ends."
"No, let's go, the example has been made, and we have what we came for. Beat the kid up, blindfold him... tie him up... He hasn't seen our faces... just let him live... No one has to know."
"You know the penalty for betrayal Duchette."
_CLAK!
CLAK!
CLAK!_
"Ahhh... I guess it couldn't be helped... You've outlived you're usefulness."
Terry stood there, just a few inches away from the door. He could faintly feel the cold brass of the handle beneath his hand. His mouth grew dry as he trembled. He'd heard something heavy fall against his door and he screamed, though just as in his dream, he had no voice. The orange and brown striped cub stood there frozen in silent terror, as he watched blood slowly seep under his door and run toward his feet.
The sound of the shaking doorknob snapped him back to reality. The cub's heart skipped a beat, and then stopped as the bedroom door burst open...
Old Capitol City, New Rome
_"And you coming back to me, is against the odds and that's what I've got to face...
I wish I could just make you turn around - turn around and see me cry...
There's so much I need to say to you - so many reasons why...
You're the only one who really knew me at all...
So take a look at me now, well, there's just an empty space...
And there's nothing left here to remind me - just the memory of your face...
Now, take a look at me now ‘cause there's just an empty space...
But to wait for you is all I can do and that's what I've got to face...
Take a good look at me now ‘cause I'll still be standing here,
And you coming back to me is against all odds - it's the chance I've got to take...
Take a look at me now."_
Connery's Bar was no different from any other gin joint at one-thirty in the morning. It was just as quiet, just as dark, and just as lonely as any other place misery settles in and calls home. The bar itself was quiet enough save for the chords of a dying ballad, the soft clink of various drink glasses and the sound of breath over burning tobacco. Yet, if observed carefully, above the hum of neon signs, one could hear the wails of the damned, the tears of the broken, and the sound of loneliness as it played its own haunting melody, the lyrics of which didn't matter; only its end.
"Last Call."
Those two words were enough to send a fevered rush of bodies toward the bar. After all, ‘last call' signaled the true start of desperation in so many, and again, Connery's was no exception. For the lovelorn, it's the final chance at connection. He or she would search franticly for someone, anyone to go home with. Inhibitions had been cast away hours before, and beer goggles have stripped away any sense of discrimination one might have, in exchange for the momentary feeling of being wanted or maybe even loved.
It was all smoke and mirrors, simply lies told to ones self to make the world go ‘round
There are those who saw "last call" as the beginning of their penance. This is the time for their drunken reflection, a time where promises are made... promises one makes with no intent on keeping. It's just another denial of self that the spirits can easily be blamed for later. This is the time when memories are re-written, and in some cases totally erased
This leads to those souls that try to bury their minds in hopes of a short dance with oblivion. They drink so much with hopes to erase their entire being for those few, wonderfully dark hours where dreamless sleep claims them. They become friends and hold the hand of death, until the waking world calls and the pain begins again.
However, ‘closing time' means far less to one final group. They are so far gone that they openly and actively seek an end to their suffering. This breed has full knowledge the road they traverse, and yet they no longer care. The oblivion that drink provides is lost upon them, for even in their dreams the agony is real. Simple slices of death do nothing for the wretched souls. They are too far gone into the pits of despair.
Yes, at "Last Call" Connery's bar was like so many other bars past and present, the world over. It was the last bastion of the damned. A place where sinners and saints alike clamored for another drop of burning liquid that would bring them to the place they longed to be.
Illusion, salvation, oblivion, for one man it was all the same... and it was all totally meaningless.
At the end of this most ordinary of bars, tucked neatly into its darkest of corners sat a gloomy abyss. Anger, pity, and despair seemed to be well rooted there. What little light that shone through the haze of smoke in the room seemed to disappear within its depths, yet two dim embers along with the scent of Cuban cigar smoke and Jack Daniels returned from the void and floated free in a pale blue haze, along with the gnarled voice of the bar's resident drunkard.
"Gimme another double."
A couple seconds later, another cloud of smoke joined the first and the jukebox started up again, playing the same song as before. A soft groan rose into the air as some poor slob grew annoyed with the repetition, while another disjointed voice openly complained.
"Turn that shit off dammit!"
"Fuck off!"
The gnarled voice of the drunkard spoke those words from the shadows just as the song's introduction was over. The room fell silent once more, save for the pain-filled voice of Phil Collins.
A brown and silver furred paw grasped a rocks glass and held it beneath the covered lamp that hung above it as a second identically coloured fist slammed down on the hard oak surface, which was the bar.
"Who inna hell ya gotta fuck ta get a drink here?!"
"Keep ya shirt on Glass. Besides, I think you've ‘ad enuff lad, don't you?"
An apron-clad figure stood in front of the fisted glass and his paw, covered its mouth...
"I said gimme a double..."
The gnarled voice was a bit more distant, and a bit more desperation filled each syllable. Two dull embers shifted their focus to meet the eyes of the bartender, who leaned into the abyss, speaking softly to the drunk inside.
"Och it's after last call you should call it a night lad."
The two embers that burned in the two of the embers went dark for a moment then they returned.
"Just one more Ian... Please... "
The desperation in the man's eyes was heart rending. The old badger just looked at him and sighed.
"Ah, Laddie ya cannot drown the past..."
You're the only one who really knew me at all...
Pier 77.
Pier 77 was one of the largest piers along the Old Capitol City waterfront; it bordered a derelict part of town that was the dirty secret of New Capitol City's elite society. It was a popular destination for every shady deal and crooked connection that took place in the New Roman underworld. Although dens of iniquity littered the place there were a few things that even the over extended arm of Capitol City's Police Department couldn't ignore... and a large scale weapons trafficking scheme was much too big to miss.
The case had been a personal crusade for one team of detectives in particular and thousands of man-hours over the course of a five month long investigation had produced some sizeable gains. Yet, the case had only recently gained ground because of a disturbing revelation made by the local police force: an influential politician's son had been involved with this sordid business, which was connected to one of the largest organized crime syndicates in the nation.
Lieutenant Anthony Glass sat in a jet-black Lexus and stared through its dark tinted windows at the sign that hung above Antonelli's International Exports. Countless hours of tiring work would end tonight with the take down of the smuggler's biggest players. The meeting had been set up for weeks and now it was all set to bear fruit, but Anthony was anxious... an uneasy feeling had been gnawing at him all day and his discomfort showed all over his face.
The summer heat that August brought to the peninsular island was the worst of the season. New Rome had already suffered through four brutal heatwaves and it now sweltered under the oppressive thumb of its fifth. The temperature that had started in the morning as 90 degrees had soared to an intense 115 degrees, which further agitated the detective. He grunted and slammed the steering wheel in frustration.
A cool glass bottle soon pressed itself against his over heated flesh and fur and a friendly voice filled the cramped air.
"Tony, ya shoul' really calm no? Dere ain' much we can do about it now eh? Jus' relax Homme."
"Damn it, Rem, I'd relax if this wasn't our collar, our case, and our asses on the line. Goddammed Feebs waltz in like they're Moses on the fucking Mount... like they know it all and we're forced to swallow mouthfuls of shit sandwich. Weren't' we the ones who tracked down every dead end lead? Didn't we build the case from scratch? We even got the Dempsey kid to roll... but that ain't good enough. Some senator's brat kicks, and this whole thing is going down way to soon, man...and you and I know it."
Anthony snapped his head to the right to cast eyes on his best friend and partner, Remy Lacroix, his sunset coloured eyes were ablaze with unrelenting rage; rage that slowly ebbed away as he stared into the cooling cerulean hues of the tiger. With each rise and fall of his chest, Anthony calmed a bit more and he turned away. He lifted his right hand to grasp the cold bottle his friend and placed against his neck in an attempt to calm him, and he sighed.
"I hate it when you do that... Thanks Rem."
Silence filled the cabin of the luxury car once more as the two detectives waited for their marks to arrive. The minutes slowly ticked away and the sun sank beneath the horizon as those minutes stretched into hours. Clouds began to gather and cover the deep diamond covered velvet of he night sky as the hours dragged on. With nothing better to do while they waited Detective Lacroix began to scroll through the case file on his PDA again.
Anthony, on the other hand stared blankly at the meeting place, he ground his teeth and then checked his watch once more. He let loose a frustrated sigh and drummed his finger onto the dash board. He sighed angrily and stared into the rear view mirror, catching sight of himself in the reflective glass. He adjusted the mirror and gazed upon his partner for a while. Mentally he compared himself to the other as he tried to occupy his mind.
Both detectives were in their mid-twenties, and both of them were very muscular. Years of hard work on fields and in the gyms had toned their bodies to varying degrees of perfection. Yet they couldn't be more different. Anthony was a Beowulf, the hybrid son of a bear and a wolf. His frame was massive and he spent hours making sure it was honed to its peak he had a barrel chest, and while his abs were hidden under a thin layer of fat, his core was solid, and hitting him was like hitting a brick wall. His arms were huge and his back was well sculpted. When he walked around the weight room in the precinct, other males envied the perfection of his legs. Lacroix was a pure bred white Siberian tiger. The hours he put into his body were staggering and while he was every bit as muscularly developed, his lithe feline form was slimmer than Anthony's. He often wore tank-tops in order to show of his ‘guns' and to tease any number of muscle worshippers out there.
However, there was something more...
Rembrandt Lacroix had been Anthony's best friend through grade school and the two of them had been through just about everything together. Their friendship survived rivalry, girlfriends, the deaths of loved ones, and even war. They were inseparable, no matter the situation, Anthony could not imagine anyone he would trust more at his back than Lacroix. The white tiger's broad shoulders, huge arms and strong back, were always there to hold things together when needed. The guy's smile was enough to brighten the darkest corners of...
‘No! Not this again... not now.'
Anthony sighed again softly as he pulled the latch on the door and stepped out of the vehicle. He slammed the door and moved around front to sit on the hood of the car. The beowulf admonished himself mentally because the place where his thoughts were headed was not a productive area to be exploring at a time like this. Their case was about to bite the big one, and here he was pining over a painfully straight guy; he didn't have the nerve to be honest with. Anthony looked at his watch again and grumbled softly. It was getting close to 10:30 pm and there was no sign of the perps. Anthony looked back through the windshield and then shook his head once more while cursing softly.
"God damned radio silence."
Anthony could not see any sign of the back-up support that was supposed to surround them. For all intents and purposes he and Lacroix were alone, and while he knew the two of them could get out of any situation, something continued to nag at him and fill him with dread.
A thread-like flash raced across the darkened heavens. The light filled each empty space between each mass in the growing cloud cover with the brilliance of a thousand explosions. It made the gray clouds brighter, and sent shivers down the spines of any who stood witness to its it majesty. It was as if mighty Zeus had set the heavens ablaze simply to demonstrate his power to the lowly mortals who weren't worthy enough to behold its majesty. Moments after the display, what had begun at dusk as cloud cover now resembled the rolling patterns made when one adds cream to coffee. The distant scent of much anticipated rain had drawn closer and all doubt about when the heatwave would end began to melt away. The air had grown thick and its sharp aroma burned with each breath Anthony inhaled. It brought tears to the beowulf's eyes. The anger, the knot in his stomach, the rage, the uncertainty... the scent of rain on the horizon... in some inexplicable way all of these things combined to sharpen his senses and make Anthony feel... alive.
Anthony dug into the pocket of his coat and retrieved his cell phone. He frowned when he saw the screen was blank. There were no messages, text or otherwise, and he grunted at this revelation. He grunted a second time as he took note of the time; he flipped through several names as he ran his fingers through his mane and waited. Several seconds of dead air passed before the chirping sounds that signaled the phone's connection rang out. After several rings, the other party's voicemail message informed the detective that the person he wanted to call had shut their mailbox down, and that leaving a message was no longer possible...
Anthony growled as he lowered the phone from his ear with a snap. He briefly contemplated crushing the useless technology in his paw.
‘Something is very wrong here,' was the only thing that ran through his mind.
Thunder in the distance followed another flash of lightning as Anthony tilted his head to the faint sound of something hitting the fiberglass and steel of the car. In fact, the sound of slight impacts surrounded him in a thousand different areas, and suddenly the hybrid felt a few drops fall onto his muzzle. A defeated look crept across his face and he sighed.
Anthony briefly caught the strong scent of copper above the scent of rain on the wind. The hybrid scent burned the beowulf's nose as he drew his next breath, causing him to sneeze. The force of which knocked the shades from his face and onto the asphalt. The sounds of music and a car door opening and closing masked the sound of the shades' impact on the rapidly moistening ground.
"It'd ga'damm' amazin' Homme, ya 'kin smoke 'dem cigars li' a chimney, buh le' ‘de rain be on de win' an ya sneeze an' spudder li' a pup wid' a cold... Tony. Ya been lookin' at ‘dat watch for de las' ‘alf hour... ‘de're nah comin' maybe we shoul' pack it in, no?"
The tiger held an umbrella over Anthony's head and stared into his eyes. Unfortunately for him, the look in the hybrid's eyes said he wouldn't be back anytime soon. The tiger's ears flattened against his skull as he leaned forward with his legs slightly bent. His tail waved back and forth, catching a stray raindrop here and there, as he stared at the other detective intently. Lacroix waved his oversized paw in front of Anthony's eyes hoping to catch his attention. He frowned when it did no good.
"EART' ‘TA GLASS!"
The tiger snapped his fingers twice, close to Anthony's right ear. This seemed to get him the desired effect. The sound jarred the brooding detective from whatever plane he'd been stuck on, and returned him to the animated world of the living. Anthony blinked a few times, and hissed softly as his sunset colored eyes flashed with a bit of annoyance as he crashed back to reality. Lacroix snickered as he shifted his weight slightly to his right and straightened his stance.
"Wha...? Remy, interrupt somethin' Mon ami? Go'd a hot date Remy don' know abou'd?"
Anthony lifted his paw to his jaw and covered his mouth. He slowly pulled it down and he spoke as he stroked his goatee.
"Almost six months of hard work down the porcelain pisser, Stripes... We had ‘em... Damn-it I want those bastards!"
Lacroix frowned and sighed as he sat on the car's hood next to the other and looked at him.
Anthony could feel the weight of the tiger's gaze and it made the already tense detective feel closer to the edge than he already was. He had a million things on his mind and so many of them conflicted with his current purpose. Part of it was rooted in the past, part of it was the case, and how much it meant but, the largest part of it was sitting right next to him, it was Remy, his best friend.
The tiger continued to stare at the hybrid, as if to speak, but he said nothing. He simply read the other's body language. His gaze intensified. Tony often was uncomfortable when Remy did that, the tiger's gaze had the power to strip away the sturdiest of walls. Tony often felt that his most fiercely held secrets were on display for Remy to see. He hated that feeling... yet, he reveled in it. Tony had grown tired of trying to hide and he wanted to confess, he wanted the truth to set him free, but he didn't know how to say the words. The uncomfortable feeling of the tiger's silent scrutiny grew along with the heaviness of the rain and the uncomfortable humidity, as did the heat on the back of Tony's neck until the detective could no longer stand it. He snapped his head to the side to lock eyes with the feline and broke the awkward silence
"For the love of... What is it?"
"Yer far too riled up Mon ami, an' wha'd yer sellin', Remy ain' buyin..."
Tony frowned.
"It's personal, stripes, I want answers, maybe I can find out what happened to ‘im... I need this."
Anthony lied. The reason wasn't entirely why he snapped, but he hoped it would be enough to throw Remy off the trail... at least until he could figure out how to approach things.
Once more silence filled the air between the two males as the rain began to fall at a harder, more aggressive pace. Both males curled their tails closer to their bodies and under the umbrella to keep them out of the rain.
Once again, Anthony broke the silence in order to change the subject completely.
"One more thing, stripes, can ya lose the comic book accent, you ain't that good at card tricks?"
Remy's smile broadened a little and his heavy fist found Anthony's arm with a good deal of playful force. For his part, Anthony looked over at the tiger and then down to where he'd been struck. His response was dry, somewhat comical, and totally unaffected.
"Ow, you hit me."
Remy laughed.
"Dat's for makin' fun of m' accent homme..."
Lacroix lifted the right flank of his jacket and turned his head as he searched for his lighter. He'd seen that Anthony had pulled out a cigar and Lacroix would be ready to light it, as Anthony could never find his own lighter at a time like this. As the flame danced, the tiger's eyes widened and he exclaimed...
"Merde! Tony, look' li' d'ere ganna show afta' all Mon frere... it' show time, no?"
‘It' Showtime, no?'
Those words echoed in the hybrid's mind as the color drained from Lacroix's devastatingly blue eyes. They echoed as Lacroix's face moved rapidly away from Anthony's. The words echoed as the haze of drunkenness lifted slightly to allow a curtain of pain to descend upon the hybrid.
A sharp sound caused the man in the shadows to jerk his head to the right, where his eyes met those of a rather muscular bulldog. His lower back had finally registered its complaint at the blow it had taken while the man was on his trip.
"You lads get outta here... This is..."
The bartender had begun to speak but the point of a knife pressing gently into his throat silenced him. The giraffe that held the weapon to the badger's throat bent his neck down to the badger's ears and whispered softly.
"Shhh old man... this has nothing to do with you... so I want you to be nice... and... quiet."
The bulldog spoke next as he invaded the darkness, stealing it from the drunkard who sat there.
"Now that I got your attention, its time you paid for bustin' my kid brother. I told you we'd settle up, you cross-bred piece-of-shit."
The gnarled voice returned as its owner turned his attention back to the bartender.
"So, yes or no, Ian... just one more double?"
The sound of a barstool sliding across the floor filled the once silent air and suddenly the drunkard hidden in the shadow felt a fresh wave of pain as a red flash danced before his eyes. The bulldog's fist had connected with the side of his face and the canine's sharp ring had broken the skin beneath the drunkard's soft fur.
The faint scent of the drunkard's blood filled the air and the bulldog grunted.
"You bitch ass motherfucker... don't you dare ignore me!"
The bulldog pulled his fist back for a second strike. The drunkard caught it before the blow could connect.
"All I want... is to drink my drink, in peace..."
"Hey you sonovabitch! Lemme go!"
The bulldog growled as he pulled away from the vice-like grip of the other male. Fear had suddenly gripped him as he stared into those dull red eyes. He couldn't stop shaking. The air soon filled with laughter at the bulldog's expense, which prompted another strike from the brown and white furred male. This time the bulldog invaded the darkness and kicked the barstool from beneath the drunkard. The bulldog laughed as he witnessed the drunkard's chin hit the bar.
A single shot glass tipped over, and its contents spilled upon the bar, before the glass rolled off the wooden plane. When it shattered on the floor below the bulldog doubled over in pain.
A second punch sent the canine flying into the air. He landed on a nearby table, which crashed under the unconscious bulldog's weight.
Two hyenas rushed the drunkard as he made it to his feet. The drunkard's paws grasped the downed barstool, and he swung it, causing it to crumble from the impact. The giraffe stared at the drunken hybrid. He tightened his grip on the bartender and started to pull him along.
"Nice and easy pops and you... you just keep back..."
The giraffe instructed to two males on how to behave as he inched his way toward the door, however the drunkard grew impatient and in one fluid motion, he pulled his off duty weapon and aimed it at the scared giraffe.
"Drop it and let him go, or I give you several stylish new holes to breathe from... Your choice."
For emphasis, he flicked the safety off and cocked the gun.
The knife, which the giraffe had been holding to the bartender's throat, fell to the floor as the would-be gangster relaxed his grip on the old man. He kicked the door open, prepared to make a run for it when the bartender elbowed the male beneath his breastbone, cutting off his air and forcing the young punk to the floor. The bartender then kicked the giraffe in the head, rendering him unconscious as well.
The drunkard cuffed the bulldog to the bar's lower rail, along with the giraffe, and then cuffed the two hyenas together around a table. He then proceeded to sit down, grabbing a new glass as he did so.
"Och no, Glass, I'm closin' up an' yer goin' home... Gonna call for a wagon to round this lot up, but then it's to me own bed... and sleep."
"Ian..."
The badger pressed a brand new bottle of Jack into The other's paw."
"I don't wanna hear it lad... take it, it's the last bottle, and the last time I wanna see ya in here... Don't come back."
A moment of silence passed between the two before the hybrid stood and headed toward the door. He felt a paw on his shoulder just as he got there.
"Och, Tony, I'm doin' this for the sake of your father, rest his soul. I'm beggin' ya, Laddie... get help before ya end up in a grave right beside ‘im."
With that, Tony pulled away from the badger and walked out into the darkness. Sirens blared somewhere in the distance. Thunder that rolled across the sky foretold of the coming storm Just off the horizon.
Pier 77
Anthony stood there, in the place where it all began... or ended. Clouds had gathered above and now they unleashed a steady stream down upon him. In his paw, he clutched a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. Another mouthful of liquid from the upturned bottle slid down his throat before he turned it to its side. There he stood, pouring some of the liquor onto the concrete and wood pier below him.
"At least you can still have a drink with me eh, buddy?"
When the bottle was empty, ‘Anthony the Drunkard' threw it into the air as hard as he could. The weighty object soared high into the air. Once it reached its highest point, Anthony quickly drew his gun, pulled the hammer back, and squeezed the trigger. The chambered bullet exploded from the revolver's muzzle with a flash. Seconds later, the bullet reached its target as gravity sent the bottle hurtling toward its final resting place. The glass shattered and jagged shards rained down onto the body of water below...
And then, there was silence.