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Venom: Beautiful Killers. Part 47.

"Very angry at you. Avoid at all costs."

[The rules were laid out for me before I left the hospital and my parents went over them with me last night. I will undergo a prescription pill routine for the first month after the kidney transplant. I'll be taking fifteen pills to start. After a month, the number of pills will gradually decrease. Three months from now, it'll go down to nine. The medicine prevents kidney rejection by suppressing my immune system. Since the immune system protects my ass, I cannot afford to get sick. From now on, I have to be careful in my day to day endeavors.]

[I can't risk getting the flu, so I can't be near anyone with the slightest hint of a cold. I can't eat raw veggies left out in the open, just in case. I can't smoke; I was thinking of quitting anyway. I can't stay out in the sun too long. I can't lift more than twenty pounds. For the time being, I can't exercise at my normal pace. My world is full of cants.]

[My main source of contention is that I can't drive for a month. I think it's a stupid rule. Doctors believe it is another layer of protection. I think it is a needless, overkill kind of measure. It doesn't matter that the pain is going away. It doesn't matter that the new kidney seems to be working well and that things are relatively normal. For the next few weeks, I'll be stuck at home. If I want to go anywhere, I'll have to be driven. It's just as well, I guess. My job is seasonal; it won't start until October. For the time being, I have my new journal to keep me busy.]

[Knowing now that I have days and days of boredom ahead of me, I've decided to catalog all the characters that have appeared in my dreams. I have most of them written down already, but I've decided that a tabulated list will help me figure out who is who. I'll do it as the days go by, increasing it little by little. Any later dreams I have will be recorded in my new folder....]

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

A black vehicle with tinted windows slowly moves across the Rapid Recovery parking lot and stops at the parking space the rightmost to the door. This is Vivian Cross' black hatchback, a fairly recent acquisition that helps establish how important she is. It gleams in the sunlight as if it has just been thoroughly washed and waxed. To anybody's eyes, it can easily be told apart from other cars as the one the boss drives.

Vivian Cross seems to be the first one there as there are no other cars at the front lot. She looks around and sighs contemplatively before closing the door. The passenger door also opens and another human being comes out, a younger man. He has a peachfuzzy, five-o'clock shadow on his chin. The hair on his head is also fuzzy, shaped into a fresh looking buzz cut. He closes the door and watches the chief unlock the front door of the building. He has a scowl on his face that would probably make him fit in with the hitmen who frequent the place. He waits patiently until the door is open, then follows the chief inside.

"Well, Mr. Petrescu," Vivian says, "this is your last day in this building. If you don't mind my asking, how did it feel to kill for money?"

Peter stops for a moment, thinking about the answer. "I thought you were mad at me."

"I am. The things I said to you before bringing you here are still true. You're a bastard for blackmailing us. But now that it's mostly over, I was just curious. For the last month and a half, you have done something that was meant for a select few. Only our employees, and their loyal contacts, know what really goes on here. You did well, got through it almost unscathed, and you're about to make a little bit of money."

"And you're asking me how it feels to do this job?"

Mrs. Cross enters the hallway, causing the stranger to run to keep pace. "I'm just curious. After all, most of the workers are kind of jaded by it all right about now. Killing criminals has become second nature to them, to the point of almost becoming boring. How'd you fare?"

Peter nods and shows a smug smile. "I think I did all right. I'm not sure how your furries do it. I'm sure that most of them are stronger than me, have sharper senses, and are built for the elements more than I am. But I think I did fairly well. I like it just fine."

She stops in front of the conference room and puts the keys in the lock. "You've killed four people since we first met."

"Five. Someone got in the way of one of mine."

"Listen, my anger at you aside, I just want to say that I appreciate you taking the marks Ted gave you without asking too many questions. I also appreciate you agreeing to the hours and keeping this away from the prying eyes of the other workers. They'd have conniptions if they knew you were taking marks meant for them. Well...a couple of them already do, but better safe than sorry." She opens the door and enters.

Pete follows her. "Hey, I've proven myself more than capable to do this. Five kills in less than two months. Maybe I should work here in a full-time capacity. What you think?" He lets out a slight laugh.

"I hope you're kidding."

"Well, why not?"

She looks at her with an unbelieving stare and her determined hands on her hips. She scoffs and turns on the lights. "You know what, Mr. Petrescu? I kinda hope that happens. In fact...I do hope that happens. If you wanna join the club, you could ask one of the killers about the process, or you could wait in the lobby and ask Ted when he arrives. I'm sure he'll say no, but you never know."

"Why don't I just ask you? You just say the word and make it automatic."

Vivian laughs some more. She looks more relaxed and seems to be enjoying the conversation. "I didn't tell you this when we first met, and I should have. Officially, I'm the CEO of Rapid Recovery and one of the building's loan officers. Officially, I am not involved in the hitman business. That's Ted's venture. I just own the place and let it happen here. I don't choose who works here, though I do interview them just in case they want to be loan officers like me. I have no say in whether you can stay. I just gave you work...for obvious reasons."

"So...I got somewhere I gotta be, but I take it you don't mind my coming back here again if I need money."

"Whether or not I mind doesn't matter. Whether or not you'll be accepted does. Please stand by." She leaves the young man standing by the door and heads over to a painting on the other side of the room. She removes the paining to reveal a wall safe with a black combination lock on it. While she turns the knob, Pete raises his brow and slowly advances.

The safe door is swung open, revealing the bounty inside. The boy gasps at the sight of the neatly stacked piles of money now lying in the open. Though the money half-fills the safe, the inside is still spacious enough for more than double that amount. The inner walls gleam in brilliant silver coloring. The money itself also shines, especially to Pete, who comes even closer to the safe.

"You have six thousand from your first two marks, right? That leaves...twelve grand. Am I right?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, that's it. Twelve large."

The chief takes the necessary amount of money from the safe and closes it. She removes the binding paper and tosses the hundreds in a big pile on the table. "There you go. This totals the eighteen thousand you originally asked for. No commission deductions either. And with that, our business is done." She replaces the painting and makes her way toward him. "Normally, showing the content of your safe to strangers shows a serious lack of judgment. But do you wanna know why I showed you all that?"

Pete shrugs as he counts his winnings.

"It's because if you're gonna be one of us, you might as well know. Ted calls that safe the Treasure Chest. It contains the money paid to the executives by the people who put out the hits. At the end of the day, the workers are given their share, minus the thirty percent commission. Ted makes sure the workers see all that money as an incentive to keep working. Whenever it is you decide to join the other hitmen, you'll be seeing it occasionally."

"That's nice." He shoves some of the bills in his trousers. He had been happy to see his pay, but his smile slowly wanes. "One thing though. What about Dunn and Pica? And Inverness?"

"What about them?"

He looks at her angrily. "What do you mean? You remember what I told you, right? They were in the car with me when we were staking out Mr. Mann. They were robbed of their share of the seventy-five thousand as well. They should get theirs."

"I remember the story, Mr. Petrescu. However, there's little I can do about it. What they were doing was not in a work capacity. That was just for the FBI's money. Worse still, the hit put out on Mr. Mann was to be carried out by one of our workers. If you guys had caught him, it would have robbed that worker of her requirement to join our group."

"You mean that white wolf?"

"If Pica and company want that money, they'll just have to ask her directly like you tried to do. She's gonna say no of course, but then again, so would anyone."

He folds the rest of his bills and pockets them in his shirt. "That ain't fair to them."

"If you're so concerned, then pay them yourself. We're not responsible if they choose to pursue those kinds of endeavors. As far as we're concerned, as long as they don't bring the police to our doorstep, everything is fine."

"Speaking of that, you know I could still sic the cops on your ass."

Vivian leads him out of the office. "You could do that, but I don't think you will. Since you've spent the better part of a month hunting the marks you were given, I'm betting that you don't have a high-paying job, or any job at all." She watches him turn away from her angrily, easily confirming her hunch. "Like I said, an exception is being made for you. If you wanna work for us and make much more than eighteen grand, you should let us stay open, shouldn't you?"

"I guess I should."

"Whether you choose to work here as a hitman or a loan officer, the money's good either way. Of course, for loan officer, you'd have to have more education than I think you have." She closes the conference room and uses the keys in her hand to open her office. "Anyway, if you would like to work with us, come back here and see Ted. If you decide to come in the morning, make sure you get here before nine. I've given you extra for a taxi. Take the doorway behind you when you leave."

With the young man looking on, the chief enters her office and closes the door. He stands there for a couple of minutes, contemplating everything told to him. Afterwards, he does what the chief told him to do and takes the open doorway. He squints as he enters the bright cafeteria; the lights are not on, but the sun is reflecting off the clean floor.

He reaches inside his shirt pocket and pulls out the money he had just jammed in, then he pulls out a small cellular phone. He pushes a button and puts it to his ear. He bites his lower lip sternly as if anticipating something bad. "Hey Rick? It's me. Is Kyle there? Put your phone on speaker. I need to talk to you both."

Pete walks across the cafeteria, looking around the room like a lost child. The weights and machines at the farthest end of the room peak his curiosity.

"Is everybody listening?" He clears his throat and lowers his voice. "Listen carefully. You can all go home. The plan's over. The deal is off. We're not doing the job." He pulls the phone away for a moment as a couple of loud voices reverberate in his hand. "Quit bitching. I said I'd change my mind if something came up. Well, it did. We're not going after her anymore. I've just come up with something else. Just leave my house. I'll...."

He waits a minute longer, soaking in the angry voice on the other line. "Sorry, my friends. The white wolf that frequents The Shark Pit is now off the menu. I've got the money and I've got another plan. I'll call y'all later."

He hangs up and gets ready to leave through the building's back door. He stops in his tracks just in time to see a gray wolf make his way up the stairs. The door opens and reveals St. Croix, uncharacteristically coming through the rear. His slacks, cotton shirt, and vest are all pressed and ready for work. The fur on his head; however, is not. He looks tired and sad, not his usual confident self. He slowly closes the door behind him and struggles to lock it. Once he turns, he and Pete look in each other's eyes.

St. Croix leans his face in closer and squints. It takes a few seconds to recognize the face. "Oh. Hello."

"Hello yourself. I've seen you before. Besides that white wolf, you're the most familiar to me."

"Sadly, you're very familiar to me too. You're the guy who trespassed in our building before we were open. You went crazy and hurt one of us with your actions. You're also extorting us and taking the workers' money."

"You remembered all that, huh?"

"Trust me. No one's forgotten."

"That white wolf hurt me first."

"She was doing her job. That mark didn't belong to you, Pica, or Dunn. What you guys were doing is illegal."

"The FBI doesn't seem to think so."

St. Croix sneers at the human and starts making his way out of the cafeteria.

"Hey, wait a minute. What's your name?"

"Huh?"

He slowly walks to the stopping wolf and puts his hands in his already full pockets. "What's your name?"

"What's it matter? Why do you want to know?"

"Because I gotta know the people I'm about to work with. It's the right thing to do."

"Are you kidding?!" St. Croix advances and stands toe-to-toe with him. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"The Treasure Chest."

"The...." The wolf coughs. "You saw that?"

"With all that money? Yes, I did. If you think I'm gonna miss out on a chance at some of that, you're fucking crazy."

"Do not curse in front of me."

"I'm joining you guys. Your boss saw how effective I was and said that I could if I wanted to. She said I could talk to one of you for more info."

"She said that, huh?"

"Yeah, she did. Therefore, I choose you." Peter rubs his hands together in anticipation. "So what's it take to become fully fledged in this place?"

Unexpectedly, a smile creeps across St. Croix's face. He laughs quietly and nods. "Well, first you need a sponsor."

Pete scoffs. "A what?"

"You see, every hitman came into this building sponsored by someone else, usually another hitman with tenure." He puts his right arm around him, slightly unnerving him. "That sponsor is your reference. He or she assures the bosses that you are trustworthy. You'd need to get to know someone since...we're pretty much sponsored by friends of ours."

"Is that all? I can get either Pica or Dunn to do that."

"I don't think they've been here long enough." The wolf starts to walk Pete towards the cafeteria door. "Anyway, you know Ted Mullins, right? He's the guy who leads the hitman project. You and the sponsor see Ted and then he interviews you. He's got to say yes, or you won't be chosen, so you better impress. Since you've been taking our marks however, you've been paid from the Treasure Chest. That thing is controlled by the executives and a lot of the money in there is their commission. So...I bet Ted's not liking you right now."

"That's not gonna stop me. The chief has told me that my goal was to kill marks to make back the money owed to me. I've killed six in less than two months. Anyone would be proud to have me on board."

"Well, we'll see about that. You go on ahead and try to join. If you can get either Pica or Dunn to--"

"Or you! You sponsor me."

St. Croix almost doubles over laughing. "That's rich. Me sponsoring you."

"You seem to have tenure."

"One, I'm not your friend. Two, I work here in two capacities. When I don't do the hitman thing, I'm the secretary. I take phone calls, fax and file, greet customers, et cetera. I don't have time to know you well enough to get Ted to accept you. You're just gonna have to make do with the furries you do know."

Pete nods confidently. "Well, those guys owe me anyway. Thanks, man. I mean it." He opens the door to leave.

"Sure, no problem. One more thing you should know."

"Really? What's that?"

"Tivoli's got a message for you."

Peter stops and turns. "Who?"

A haymaker from the grey wolf shows the human how powerful he is. The punch knocks Pete off balance and he falls down the stairs and on the ground. He is now outdoors and on his back.

St. Croix flexes his right hand. "You really hurt her with that unnecessary show of force. Now the whole office wants you to pay. I just wanted to give you a sneak preview." He waits for the human to stand while smiling at his handiwork.

Peter is still off balance, even while on his feet. He tries to look tough while rubbing his chin. "Thanks, dickhead."

"By the way, watch out for Hoeness," the wolf says.

"Who?!"

"Big dog. German Shepherd. Very angry at you. Avoid at all costs. Take care." The wolf closes the door and is about to head out of the cafeteria and through the hallway. A couple of steps later, he notices a couple of water prints on the floor. He then looks at his feet. "Aw, shit." He broods while he crouches and unties his expensive-looking shoes. The shoe tops are fine, but the soles are shiny with dampness.

He carries them through the hall and to the men's room. As he wipes his shoes near the paper towel dispenser, his sharp ears hear the front door open. He stops cleaning and listens carefully, trying to guess who has just entered. First there are a couple of muffled footsteps, then the front door closes. A few seconds pass with no sounds and he resumes wiping the shoes. Then he hears "First!" followed by an unmistakably feminine laugh. He laughs as well and exits the room.

Pamila may not be the first one there, but is currently the only one at the lobby. She is standing in front of the door, looking down at the rows of chairs that face the front desk. The chairs have a new design; they are white with soft, felt cushions. They would be more comfortable than the old, steel chairs. There are also twenty-five chairs instead of the usual twenty. Either more people have been attending the meetings lately or the office has been visited by more customers. The fox looks at the arrangement pensively as numerous memories course through her head. Her arms fold and her feet fidget.

For some reason, she is less comfortable now than when she entered, even though she is back in her element. She sighs uncomfortably and moves from her spot. She takes a few steps backwards until she reaches the television. This television is new, much smaller than the older one. The flat screen hangs from a stand attached to the ceiling. It looks like it is only precariously fastened by a couple of screws. She nods at the setup and pushes the on button. As the screen flickers, St. Croix comes up from behind her and stands there with folded arms.

Pamila backs herself a few feet from the television and patiently waits for a picture. Since it is past eight o'clock, the local morning show is on. The top stories are the spotting of someone who may be Matthew Ambrose by an eye witness and the death of Princeton Reed. The Reed story gets the 'breaking news' treatment, complete with an interview with Cliff, one of the department's police dogs. The fox shudders at the familiar face and shuts her eyes. "My kingdom for a remote," she says.

"It's in the desk drawer." St. Croix smiles as the startled fox turns her head, then her body, to face him. He laughs loudly and points at her.

Pamila does not like getting surprised. Her doggedness and her vigilance keep her alert at all times while she is in this building. Since it is occupied by hard-boiled killers who are not exactly friendly with her, she needs to carefully observe her surroundings. She needs to know where everyone is at all times. It is extremely rare to see the fox caught off guard the way just has been.

The fox jumped at hearing St. Croix's voice. Now she stands there, breathing heavily, slightly scared from her own reaction. She looks at the smiling wolf for a few seconds before mustering a smile of her own.

He watches her press her left hand to her chest. "Are you all right?"

She laughs harder than he did earlier. "Am I all right? It's you!" Out of nowhere, she surprises him in turn; she lunges at and embraces him, trapping his arms and squeezing him tightly. He grunts in disapproval, but chuckles when their noses touch. "Good morning, big guy. I haven't seen you in a long time. You miss me?"

"You didn't go anywhere."

"On the contrary, St. Kitts! The old me did go somewhere. She left and was replaced by someone too pitiful to imagine--a housewife! She scrubbed toilets, washed dishes, and wiped the furniture with awful-smelling concoctions. She did everything but look after the kids. I'm sure Hoeness and his friends just loved having her around the house. But she's gone and I'm back!"

"St. Kitts. That's new."

"Yeah, I wish I was there right now." Pamila releases him and looks on seductively, putting her hands on her hips and half-closing her eyes. "How do I look? Don't I look good?"

"Nice ensemble, but the T-shirt and blue jeans are too casual for a Tuesday. Everyone else will be wearing their Sunday best. You're only gonna be made fun of some more at the meeting."

"Looking forward to it, bud. I bet it pales in comparison to being in St. Kitts though."

"You know, my name's an island nation too."

"Oh yeah? I didn't know that."

"Hey listen, I hate to bother you with this since you just got here, but I wonder if you could do me a huge...huge favor."

"Anything for a pal. What you want?"

St. Croix stops smiling and looks behind him. He blows out a breath and grabs one of the chairs in the arranged pattern. It takes some effort, but he folds it and carries it to a corner of the room. "I need to vacuum the lobby. I haven't been feeling well, so I didn't come to work yesterday. I thought Tobias would do it but apparently he didn't show." He leaves the corner and takes a second chair.

"So you want me to...?"

"Could you mop the cafeteria floor for me?"

"What?!"

St. Croix smiles with a bashful innocence that tries to soften his request. "I can't vacuum one area and then mop another area before the meeting starts. I won't make it in time."

"Are you kidding?"

"You wouldn't have to clean all of the cafeteria. If we work together, we'll be done in about fifteen minutes."

Pamila growls and grabs a chair. "I'll help you clear the area for you to vacuum, but that's it."

"Come on. Be a pal. I'll owe you big time."

"After the month I've had, everyone in this place owes me big time."

St. Croix sighs and grabs another chair. "You know, you're not the only one who's had a bad month. There are too many people coming and not enough marks for them all. Those who do get some take too long to kill 'em. It's driving the clients and the bosses crazy. Everyone's been on edge."

"You wanna see 'on edge?' Try being forcefully having to adapt from your normal routine. You blow up a building, now everyone wants a piece of you, from the police to Shiloh's girlfriend. Better still, try losing a month's worth of wages."

"You think you've had it bad? Try getting thrown out of your apartment like I have. Better still, try spending your nights here. Try sleeping here but with the responsibility of waking up bright and early and getting the office prepared. Then try doing your job all fatigued. You're not the only one who's had it rough."

"Don't do that to me, Hoeness. Don't compare battle scars with me."

"Who?!"

"I...." Pamila looks at St. Croix with dread in her eyes. She gasps slightly and turns away. "Did I just call you Hoeness?"

The wolf slowly walks to the corner of the room and places the folded chairs there. "Look, I'm not asking you to do something you haven't done before in your own house. Surely you've handled a mop before."

"You hear what you just said? The chief said something like that to me on the day she gave me that ultimatum. She treated me like I was some spoiled bitch who couldn't take care of herself." She folds two chairs and joins St. Croix at the corner. "Of course I've done it before! Just because I don't want to do something doesn't mean I can't do it!"

"I'm asking you to help me get this office in shape. I know you're tired of cleaning, but this place has to be cleaned and we're the only ones here. I left a couple of muddy footprints on the cafeteria floor. You just need to clean that. If you want, I'll mop while you vacuum."

The fox shakes her head and slowly ambles back to the row of chairs. "I'll help you move these things, then I'll go mop the floor. Just...I've been gone too long I wanted to enjoy my return. That's all."

"In case you need reminding, our current janitor starts college in the fall. As soon as he leaves, there will be no one left to clean but us; the hitmen. And unless there's someone out there we can hire who will clean our junk while keeping our secrets, we're SOL."

Pamila nods like she understands. "Just so you know, I'm not going to be doing that every day after Tobias leaves. Everyone gets a turn."

"Of course not. I'll have to...come up with some sort of rotating schedule. But it's gonna be hard getting someone like Shiloh to clean the office."

"Listen pal, I'm sorry I called you Hoeness. You don't deserve that. I was just--"

"Don't worry about it. You're always fighting with him, so it just slipped out. I understand."

"You're the last person I want to argue with. You're the only friend with a third leg I have in this place. I'd like to keep it that way for as long as possible."

"What about Ted? He's friendly enough. You can talk to him if I'm not there, can't you?"

Pamila helps him clear two more chairs. "I couldn't talk to him as candidly as I do with you. It would just be too weird."

"What about Simon? Mr. Blank was your handler. You two are still close, aren't you?"

With that, the fox closes her mouth tightly and places the chairs she holds at the corner of the lobby. The task is not that hard and she really likes the company, but with only half the chairs cleared, she decides that she has had enough. The mention of Simon's name has suddenly shut her down. "I'll go mop that cafeteria floor."

Without much explanation for her sudden shift in tone, Pamila leaves the confused wolf behind and scampers through the dark hallway and into the cafeteria. The mop is kept inside a room near the refrigerator, along with other cleaning supplies. Upon opening the door, she sees that it had been stocked with new items, including new towels and a few new bottles of cleaning solution. There seems to be a replacement for everything used the night before. The fox sighs and grabs the bucket below the lowest shelf.

She slides the bucket out of the room and looks back in. This is when she sees something else that surprises her. It was hiding in the corner, in plain sight but still hard to see. "What the hell?" she asks curiously. She takes the long, thin item out from hiding and brings it out in the open. It is a silver-colored rod with what looks like a flat plate at one end. The plate has some slotted holes on it, only increasing Pamila's interest. Looking more carefully inside the storeroom, she sees some green sponges and a long, folded page of literature. The instructions have pictures that show what the rod actually is. Unfolding the paper further proves her suspicions. "It's a flat mop," she tells herself.

A small smile creeps on her face as she reads the instructions. Someone, Tobias maybe, has bought a new mop. It is a lighter, more streamlined version of the cotton mop she had used before. It will certainly be much easier to use. She rips open one of the sponges and tries to attach it to the silver-colored mop handle. She has to kneel to keep the mop steady. While on the floor, she is able to see the water droplets and muddy stains near the cafeteria door. Some of the water has evaporated, but the stains are still noticeable.

Pamila runs the sponge with water from the nearby faucet and takes a couple of minutes to attach it to the mop handle. She decides she does not need the bucket and puts it back in the storeroom. With the new tools, the floor can be easily taken care of. As she walks to the mess, she recognizes Camille's vehicle parked at the rear lot. Her smile widens as she mops the floor.

The stains are gone in no time, but Pamila mops a little more of the floor. Doing this, she starts getting used to the feel of the new mop. It is much easier to handle because it is not as heavy as the old one. It is also looks easier to grip and push. She turns to see Camille out of her car and walking around the front passenger door. She waves at her feline friend even though it goes unnoticed.

The fox sighs happily once finished with the new tool and leans it against the storeroom door. Making her way back to the rear door, she is about to go talk to Camille. She stops to see someone else exit her car. That someone's long legs swing out from the car, surprising the smile out of the fox. The stranger stands and towers over Camille. He is wearing a black, three-piece suit and a bright, red tie. His suit and shoes cover everything from the neck down. If not for his ears and round head, he could easily be mistaken for one of the executives. He, instead, is a black cat. He has no tail.

The curiosity in Pamila turns to anger as she observes Camille pull the familiar-looking cat away from the car. They hold hands and laugh playfully. He then leans down to whisper something in her ear. Pamila clamps her mouth shut and expels loud breaths through her nose. She walks to the door to open it, but only holds on to the handle. She is in plain sight, but the couple only look at one another.

Through her hard breaths, she can still make out the male saying, "You're still having that party, right?"

"Of course, Tom!" Camille answers. "I didn't disinvite you."

"Thanks so much! I'm really looking forward to it."

"The planning is finished. I just need time to arrange things, but I promise that in three days, you won't be disappointed...."

Pamila turns away and spares herself from hearing any more. She skids a little on the wet floor before quickly tearing out of the cafeteria. Her fists are pumped, her stride is long, and her face is tightly wound. She looks crushed, like her friend just told her something hurtful. When she reaches the middle of the hall, she stops and turns.

She takes a few seconds to look behind her. There are sounds coming through; the rear door has been opened and someone has just entered the cafeteria. Two soft-spoken voices come through as well. One voice is laughing. The other one is giggling lithely. Camille has brought Tom into the building.

Pamila huffs and continues her journey through the hall until she reaches the other side. She is almost at the lobby when the front door opens. Hoeness and Rory have just entered, each dressed in black three-piece suits. They look comfortable and happy to be there; they shake hands with St. Croix as if neither of them had been in the office for a while. The fox moves no further, but only stares at the men. Then Baua enters the room. This seems to be too much for her and she decides not to enter the lobby yet. She turns back around and bolts to the 'psych' room--the hiding place closest to her.

The voices of Camille and the Tiger Tails bouncer are getting closer. It appears that she is showing him around the building's inner workings. She is working quickly since, as she tells him, "The meeting will start shortly, so let's hurry, okay?" Pamila blows a frustrated breath and sits on the nearest chair. She is sitting where the patient usually sits, staring right across the psychiatrist's leather chair. She clasps her fingers and waits, even though she hardly knows what she is waiting for. The outside voices are getting closer, making the fox more agitated. Camille is eventually going to pass by.

The closer the voices get, the more her tone changes. She now shows signs of apprehension and discomfort. Her eyes blink excessively and her fingers quiver. She looks like she wants to say something but there is nobody to say it to. She stands up and starts pacing the floor.

The fox jams her hands in the pockets of her jeans. This keeps them from shaking, but does not help the rest of her. She stands still and faces the door, listening to the conversation on the other side.

"So what are the lockers for? And when would you ever need to shower?"

"Well, it's the new workplace esthetic, you see. Our employer wants to make it...easier to work here while living our lives outside of work. He's urged us to bring our clothes to the lockers so we can save time. We're close to downtown. If we ever need to go somewhere right after work and there's no time to go home and change, we can just change in there. It's convenient if we're running late for functions and parties and such. Isn't it cool?" Camille releases an uncomfortable laugh.

"Well...that makes sense. I guess."

"You're so funny, Tom. I agree with you about the showers though. I never use those."

"What's in here?"

"Oh, these are our offices. There's no one in them right now."

"Are they spacious? I've never worked in an actual office before. It's always been a cubicle. My past life is full of cubicles. I've always wanted an office with a view of the outdoors."

"Imagine that; you working in an office like this. What exactly would you be doing?" Camille giggles some more. "Seriously. What can you do that doesn't involve your muscles?"

"Hey! I can do other things. I'm smart."

Pamila closes her eyes. "Yeah, smart as a brick." She returns to the chair she had left earlier. She sits and lays her arms and head on the table in front of her. Hearing Camille flirt while showing Tom around grates in her ears and causes her posture to sag. There is genuine sadness in her right now, a feeling that she hardly ever lets manifest. The day has barely started and nothing seems to be going according to her wishes.

A knob turns somewhere outside the room. Pamila springs her head up in time to hear Camille say, "Tom, stop that. Close the door."

"Just curious."

"Curiosity gets me fired. Close it."

"Fine."

"What's wrong with you? Why are you so damn nosy?"

"Because!" Tom emits a muffled laugh; it sounds like his mouth is being covered. "You're finally letting me see where you work. After months of asking, I'm just excited to finally see it."

"Quiet."

"I must say, I'm really impressed."

"Nah. It's not that hot. To be honest, I kinda wish I didn't bring you here."

"What's wrong? Are you embarrassed that I wouldn't like the answer? I don't care that your job is giving people loans. I think it's great. Home loans are really needed right now. Hey, can you guys do houseboats?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Look, I'm glad to know where you work and what you do. There's no reason for you to feel embarrassed. I never once thought you worked for a law firm or an investment firm or something like that. Just because the Tiger Tails clientele is a bunch of rich prats, and the daughters of rich prats, doesn't mean I look down on you in any way."

Pamila hears Camille sigh and raises her head again. She seems really interested in the conversation and is less nervous about Tom's presence. "You've seen the place," she whispers to nobody. "Now just go away." She then hears what sounds like a kiss and lowers her head.

Camille giggles yet again. "You scamp. But seriously, I'm just glad to get this off my chest."

"So I can stop asking you all the time."

"I thought you muscle-heads only cared about working out and looking good for your ladyfriends. Why would you care about my job so much?"

"I'm not most guys. I guess financial security is important to me. I'm quite interested in how my good friend earns her living. A future with you depends on it."

"Future? With me?"

"Don't you think so? I think it matters. If this is your steady job, then we'll be set for life. And at least you're more forthcoming than Pamila is. She's remained silent for so long, I bet Silas is going crazy just trying to pry it out of her."

"You don't need to know what she does. That goes for Silas too. Tell him I said that if she doesn't want to tell, then just leave her alone, okay?"

There is no sound for a few seconds, causing Pamila to stare at the door with concern.

"Okay," Tom says. "Fair deal."

"Great. You know Pam. She likes to keep things close to the vest. She'll tell him when he's ready."

"If you ask me, I think she should just level with him and quit stringing him along. They've known each other long enough for that, don't you think?"

"Not so loud. They'll hear you."

"Yeah...what's going on over there?"

"That's the lobby. I told you about the meeting earlier. That's where it's going to take place. I gotta be there, so this is the end of the tour."

"Over already?"

The two laugh again. This time, Camille sounds like a grown woman full of confidence instead of a young girl. "Afraid so," she says. "I've got time to drop you off at the bus stop before I gotta get back here."

"Excellent. So...unless I see you at the club in the next two days, I'll see you on Friday at your apartment. Anything you want me to bring?"

"Just your dancing shoes. And the rest of you."

"Great. One more thing. What's in there?"

The psych room door suddenly opens. By this point, Pamila is still; her head is peacefully resting on her arms, calm and meditative. Given more time, she could have been sleeping instead of attending the meeting with the other killers. When the door opens, she bolts upright and sees the hulking figure of the bodyguard staring back at her. Camille follows right behind him and clenches her teeth at seeing the fox.

The girls look at one another in what has to be their most uncomfortable encounter ever. Pamila decides not to hide and just angrily folds her arms looking at them. Camille covers her mouth nervously, biting on a couple of fingernails. She closes her eyes and whispers a loud F-bomb, either cursing herself or Pamila. The girls' hearts start pounding from this prickly moment.

Luckily, the moment is short. Tom waves at Pamila and says, "Hello Pam. I must be going." He leaves immediately, not even stopping to acknowledge his tour guide. Camille looks at her friend for a few seconds before steeling herself and leaving the room.

The fox stares at the open door, trying to decide whether or not to follow. She creeps through the opening slowly and looks around. The couple has disappeared, but St. Croix spots her from the lobby. "Hey there," he says. "You finished?"

Pamila huffs angrily and decides to forget about Camille. "Yeah, I'm done. I saw the new mop. It's really nice."

"We have a new one?"

Before she can answer, a couple of executives and a few more workers enter the room, garnering their attention. Pamila closes the door behind her and decides to join in.

"Sit next to me," St. Croix says. "If anyone gives you trouble, I'll protect you. If Hoeness gives you any sass, try not to respond, okay? You just got back. You don't need to be attacking anyone."

"Believe me, the only person I want to attack is my next mark."

The floor has been vacuumed and the chairs placed in rows again. The two of them sit in the front row, right in front of the desk. The two executives, Ted and Simon, are arranging a new stack of marks and the projector through which they will show them all. A few more people stream in until the room is full.

The chairs are arranged in five rows of five with no aisle dividing them. Inverness, Honor, and Greenleaves join the fox and the wolf at the front row. Pamila has no issues with any of them. Hoeness, Rory, and Baua are sitting in the last row. If any of them have noticed the fox, they don't show it. They just sit together without saying a word.

All but five chairs are taken and there is a lot of activity. Most of the men are writing in their notebooks and note pads. A couple of them are drinking coffee and two of them are doing crossword puzzles. As a couple of the men greet each other, Honor, the diminutive white rabbit, leans to his right to "psst" Pamila. The somber fox turns at his direction.

"You remember me? I've been away from a while," he whispers. "I just wanted to know something. Is it true you blew up that Italian restaurant and killed five people?"

The girl sighs heavily and turns away from the rabbit. "Is this shit gonna follow me the rest of my life?"

"Listen, I know the executives have it out for you, but I got an opening in my other job." He smiles as the fox turns back to him. "I was wondering if you'd consider it. Meet me later and I'll fill you in." He winks and turns his attention to the executives at the front desk.

Pamila looksat St. Croix, who also heard what the rabbit said. "What does he mean? What job opening?" She is given the answer through St. Croix, who whispers in her right ear. She scoffs in response. "Porn? Forget that."

At the front desk, Ted clears his throat, ending the causal small talk among the workers. "Good morning, everybody. I'm glad everybody's alive and well. I see more people here than yesterday. That's good. I told you guys that today would be big. I'm glad you all spread the word. Before we start, I have to ask...what's with the suits? Why are you guys dressed like that?"

Hoeness stands. "Yeah, we each got sent an e-mail by Miranda. She said she was gonna come here today to make a big announcement. We haven't seen her in over a week and we always dress up well for her anyway. The e-mail said she'd be here after the meeting."

"Oh. That's why the room's so full." Ted nods and sulks to the hallway, leaving Simon in charge of the meeting. He turns on the projector and looks out into the crowd.

"Good morning. As you all know, the last few days have been...rather dry, to put it eloquently. It seems the marks had suddenly evaporated. Today, I've got twelve new ones. Even though there are again more hitmen than there are marks for them, everybody should be pumped today. Even better news--all but two of them are based in L.A. If you haven't hunted in a long time, today's the day." With that, he looks right at Pamila. She glances right back at him, setting up an awkward staredown between the two. It takes several seconds; the men look on wondering why Simon has suddenly stopped.

At this time, Camille barges in through the front door, breathing hard and hunching over. It catches everyone by surprise but as soon as they know who it is, they return focus to the front desk. After several seconds of catching her breath, she waves at everyone and takes an empty seat next to Hoeness. Nobody waves back.

"Just in time," Simon says. The meeting starts ten minutes early and goes on without a hitch. No questions are asked and the executive speeds through the process. As normal, pictures are shown, notes are taken, and time passes quickly, leaving little time for the workers to scrutinize and trade. This could be the fastest meeting ever the way Simon is flying through the names. "These last two," he says, "are out of town but not impossible to reach. Ted LeRose lives in San Jose. He's a twenty-something year old who lives with his parents. He's lazy and complacent, according to the client, so he should be easy to nab."

He pauses to take a glimpse at Pamila; she has her head bowed and her hands crossed on her lap. She is not interested in this venture at all. Camille, on the other hand, is looking at Hoeness' note pad with interest.

Simon shrugs the fox's presence off and continues. "The last one is based in Silicon Valley but makes his residence in Anaheim. We don't know if that's a permanent residence. Brandon Miller will be more difficult to catch since he travels virtually everywhere in California, but as he's a video game and tech fanatic, you may be able to trap him. Wherever there is an electronics expo or a similar convention, he'll be there."

Camille thanks Hoeness for looking at his writings and quickly leaves her seat. She bolts out of the lobby and through the hall. Pamila looks up for a moment just to see her pass, then returns her gaze to the floor.

Simon is about to end it all. "Mr. LeRose is worth two thousand while Mr. Miller is worth thirty-five hundred. I should also note that the client who wants the hit on Mr. LeRose has opted to reimburse for gas and lodging. So whoever decides to take that job will be well rewarded indeed. That's all. Try not to step on each other." He takes the projector and leaves the pictures. Before he disappears through the hall, he glances over to the still quiet crowd and clears his throat. "Welcome back, Pamila."

The fox looks up to see him leave and stands to follow. To the surprise of St. Croix, she bypasses the marks and the hunters. He shakes his head, says "Weird," and then joins the scrimmage of hunters sorting through the pictures. Meanwhile, Pamila passes the psych room and looks around her frantically. She calls her friend's name and the door to the ladies' room opens. Camille comes out wringing her wet hands and whispering "Left my purse," to herself. When she faces forward, she sees the fox looking at her. She gasps lightly, but stays put together. "Hey there," she laughs.

Pamila responds with a sigh and crossed arms.

Camille sees nothing wrong. "You ready to start our journey? Let's get to the lobby. We've got just fifteen minutes, so we need to act fast."

"Could I talk to you, please?" Pamila's voice is abrupt and rude. She follows the request by pushing the psychiatry room door open and marching inside.

"Not now. We got go or the good ones'll be gone."

"There will be more tomorrow."

Camille eagerly looks at the lobby light. The noise of the other workers attracts her attention but the angry stare from her friend wins out. She shrugs and enters the room. "Are you all right?"

"Close the door. I don't want the executives to hear me."

"Well then...couldn't we talk outside? And can't this wait until after we looked at a few marks?"

"How can you be with Tom?"

Camille nods and closes the door behind her. It looks like she knows what is about to happen and takes another breath. With her back to the fox, she says, "I know what you're going to say."

"Do you?"

"Yes, and before you go all 'soap opera' on me, I know it was wrong to bring him here. I know he could have recognized some of the guys. I knew the dangers." She turns and runs to her counterpart. "But he kept asking me...and he's coming to the party. That means he'd only keep on asking me. I could only leave him hanging for so long."

"You know, every time he asked you what your job is, you've never seemed eager to tell him to stuff it."

"He has a right to know. I don't begrudge him that. Silas has a right to know too. They want to be our boyfriends. Why shouldn't they keep asking?" She closes in and smiles; her defense is solid enough that this talk could be coming to an end already. "Come on, Pam. He was gonna know soon. So is Silas. You don't have to show him the building. Just tell him you're a loan officer."

"Like I told you Monday morning, we've split up."

"Oh yeah, that. I forgot. You told me that at the bar...right before you got attacked. I see your cuts have healed."

"That stupid wolf couldn't cut the cheese. Next time I see her, she's dead meat. Anyway, I just can't believe you're with that meathead. Tom's not good enough for either of us. In fact, he's not good for either of us."

"Are you kidding?" The feline confusedly backs away. "Tom's been nothing but good to us. He's good to all the patrons at Tiger Tails and he not too stuck up that he won't chat with you on his break. He treats us with respect, he shares his drinks with us...and he introduced you to Silas. He's a keeper for someone. Why not me?"

"You remember the agreement we made?"

"That's...." Camille clenches her fists and turns away. While it sounds like nothing bad has been said, it looks like a nerve has been hit. "This is different."

"Is it?"

"Pam...." She slowly turns and puts her hands behind her back. Her posture sinks in front of her friend. "Please understand. I haven't been with anyone intimately for three years."

"You've had sex with marks. That's the point of the agreement. We treat our bodies with the respect that befits women who kick ass! We carry ourselves with dignity and don't give it up just because it's convenient or easy or we're horny. We act like real women should act."

"Tom is not a mark! We don't have to treat him the same way. If we do end up having sex, it won't be bad. He's tough and strong, yet soft and kind. I can easily see myself with him. Even you could do worse than him. And you have!"

"Nothing could be worse for us at this moment! I broke up with Silas because of the agreement...and because I can't do this job effectively with the 'boyfriend' anchor tied to me. You should give the job the same consideration."

"I can't believe this!" Camille approaches her again and gesticulates wildly. "Just because Silas sucked doesn't mean Tom will. He's a nicer guy, not as rough around the edges. He's smarter and more financially sound. He cares about my well being and--"

"What about the job?!"

"I got a mark yesterday and I'll start the hunt tomorrow. I can do that and be with Tom if I want to. It won't be that hard. He has two jobs and he works real hard, so it's easy to hide my activities from him. On the weekends, we'll get together as if nobody's committed murder. You're making too much of a big deal of this."

Pamila gently presses her fingertips on her temples and scoffs in disbelief. "So in the end, you're no better than Zesty or Mariana. In the end, the agreement means nothing."

"Hey!" Camille points at the fox in a very rare act of resistance towards her. "That agreement was more for you than for me. We both ensnared our marks with sex, but you got carried away! You had the outfits, you had the come-hither lines, and you had the cleavage! With all that, you skanked your way to a profit! You were so successful with that method that I joined in. It wasn't long before I realized what I was turning into!" She pulls back and lowers her right hand. "Look, I appreciate the agreement. It fixed us. But I'm seeing Tom now, so it's no longer valid. Not in this case."

For a minute, peace takes over. Both girls take well deserved deep breaths. Pamila's silent reaction seems off character; she would never take this from Hoeness or any of the other men. She looks at her friend disappointedly. Camille, on the other hand, tries to fight off the despairing feeling of fighting someone she cares for and respects.

"Come on, Pam! Our enemies are gone! Zesty is pregnant and Mariana is...wherever the hell she is. They'll never come back. Our agreement to not turn into those bitches has succeeded. My being with Tom doesn't count. Tom is a friend, not a mark, so everything's okay! Not only won't he find out what we really do, but he is the nicest guy you'll ever get to know!" She lightly covers her mouth and emits a sound that sounds like a forced chuckle. She is either starting to laugh or fighting tears; it is hard to tell.

Pamila shakes her head. "Don't do this. Just break it off with him. He's got an abundance of whores where he works to get busy with. You can't trust him. We're better than his kind. Let's just go back to work like normal."

"Dammit, Pam! He'd never do that. He's the opposite of what you think and he's been nothing short of fantastic to me. I haven't been this close to sublime in a long time. Don't you get that? Don't you understand that feeling?"

Pamila rolls her eyes. "Must be love, right?"

"I...don't know. But it feels warm, like a soft, fuzzy blanket, clinging to my fur and soothing the parts underneath. My heart slows down and accepts him gladly. Nothing bad can happen because nothing bad even starts. He won't allow it. He's sweet, considerate, and honest. He is nothing like the guys we kill. I like him a lot." She shakes her head at the fox's sneer. "This man could be the one! Don't you understand?!"

"He's not even negative one!"

Camille tires and hangs her hands. The lump in her throat proves difficult to swallow. "How can you talk to me this way? I thought you were my friend."

"And I'm being one. This is not our high school back in New York, okay? We're not in a clique and I'm not a yes-man. I'm your friend and friends tell you no. And as long as you're with Tom, I'm gonna say no...." The fox's voice breaks. She responds by standing rigidly straight. "...and I'm going to say it often."

The atmosphere is thick with discontent. The women suffer as they breathe in its toxic air. They are behaving in ways that are completely contradictory to their natures. This has never happened before; there has never been a disagreement between them that has been this animated. The more they stand up to one another, the more they lose their identities. After getting in those last words, Pamila looks down, as if bashful, or regretful. Camille angrily presses her lips closed and forces venomous breaths from her nose. She slowly takes a step forward; she may be ready to take a swing.

Suddenly, the door opens, causing them to turn its way. Miranda, the building psychiatrist, makes her bubbly appearance. She sees the women and stops herself. She opens her mouth and yells, "Hi, you two!" in the most annoyingly excited way she can. "How are you guys?!"

Camille answers by bolting out of the room, bumping her right shoulder into Miranda. The psychiatrist mumbles "Uh-oh" as she watches the cat run deep into the darkened hallway. She then turns to the fox. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Just shut up. What are you doing here? You're getting in the way of our conversation."

"Um...this is my office."

Pamila looks around as if she really does not know where she is. "Yeah...right. Well, in that case--"

"Wait, please! Don't go, okay? Stay with me a bit. I really need to talk to you."

"For what?!"

"Um...." The human chuckles and places her purse on the desk. "Okay. I don't need to talk to you. It's just that I could use a change of pace. I think I've told you this already, but I only see the men; the male killers. They give me their undivided attention and I'm so grateful. I have a session later today with Hoeness. However, I've been waiting and hoping for a session with the girls. One of you! Any of you! It's really important now more than ever."

"Oh yeah? How come?"

"Well...I'm leaving. Some time after Labor Day, I haven't decided yet, I'll be gone. I just made the announcement to the guys at the meeting. In a couple of short weeks, this room will be turned into a regular loan office. I found a great way to make money doing what I do--"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll miss you. Now get out of my way."

"Come on, please? Talk to me. There's got to be something on your mind that you're willing to part with."

"Like what?"

Miranda closes the door behind her. "Well, how about telling me what you and Camille were doing here instead of the lobby? I mean...aren't you two usually the first ones out there grabbing marks and sticking it to the men? And isn't this your first day back from suspension? Did something go wrong?"

Pamila is more than ready to leave, but short of physical violence, there is no way around the tall, leggy obstacle. She exhales in resignation. "All right. I'll give you just two minutes of my time, all right?"

"Yes!"

"We can talk, but not as doctor and patient, okay? You can ask me one question and one only. I'll answer it, then I'll go. I don't want to be psychoanalyzed and I don't want you to tell me what you think I should be doing. It's no use giving me advice I won't use."

"Just two minutes, huh?" Miranda moves from the door and sits on the chair near the desk, moving it to face the fox. "Well, I guess I'll be asking one all-encompassing question then. I have a lot more than one of course, but that's because you've had such a tough and interesting couple of months. First you're fighting with the Borzoi and the Maltese, then you're fighting with the guys, then you get suspended. You're effectively working for a seventeen-year-old boy, cleaning up after other people. I've never seen someone fall to the bottom rung after being handed a really sweet gig. Now, St. Croix just told me that you're reinstated and can hunt again. You've been on a rollercoaster."

"What's your question?"

"Well, after all that, after everything, how do you feel?"

The fox looks at the woman as if she is speaking another language. "How do I feel about...everything?"

"Are you overwhelmed? Are you feeling good? Do you feel used? Do you still like your job?"

Pamila pockets her hands and takes a small stroll around the table. Camille may be gone, but she feels no better. "I feel fine."

"Just fine?"

"Yeah, that's what I said. I'm fine."

"So the past six weeks have just rolled off of you? Like water off a duck's back?"

"Nope. It's had no effect on me whatsoever." She sighs and tiptoes to the door. "Except that my suspension has been over for two days and I haven't yet chosen a mark. But everything's gonna be okay. I'll just try again tomorrow."

"Do you think you'll be welcome, considering what the guys are saying about you?"

"What do they say about me?"

"Well...I can't tell you specifically. That's privileged. Suffice it to say that...after the firings of Zesty and Mariana, the guys don't think favorably of the girls anymore. To a fault, all but St. Croix, and maybe Ravi, would rather the girls not work here anymore. But...I've just said too much. Look, I just want you to know that the environment is already very toxic for you. I wanted to know how you were doing before you got back on the saddle."

Pamila nods. "I know they hate my guts, but personal feelings shouldn't get in the way of trading for marks. I'd work with them whether I like them or not. After the choosing and trading is done, if they want to spar, then I'll spar. I won't be welcome, but there's nothing they can do about it." She smiles and nods as she heads out. "Besides, I've got Camille to soften the blows. They can't hurt us when we're together."