FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Another four months had come and gone.

Paul had receded into the depths of seclusion once more. After a tearful visit to the shop, he'd hugged his protégé and disappeared again, headed for the forests of Southern Wyoming. Erin had apologetically ended a short relationship with Reid, leaving him instead for the younger, more virile Xavier. The older dog was okay with it; there were no hard feelings between the brothers, and when he saw them together, he couldn't help but be happy for Xavier, who said he would never marry.

Blaine was nearing the end of her pregnancy, and the end of her budget for hemp-based or otherwise organically sourced maternity clothes. She looked like she could pop at any moment, and Vance was never further than arm's reach of his cell phone should she go into labor. He paced oddly around the shop most times, lost in thought, an amusing sight to everyone else around.

Perhaps the biggest change of all was seen in Lucy. Reid found himself getting misty-eyed with pride every time he saw her waist-deep into the engine bay of a car or kicking back in the driver's seat of a car on the dyno, reading the data on the laptop as though she'd been doing it for years. Her '69 Chevelle, still broken, sat depressingly in the corner of the garage, nearly a year's time-out its punishment for being unable to handle a 100-shot of nitrous. She'd taken a liking to her BMW they had built, its legendary suspension now paired with a Chevy LS1 motor and a Borg-Warner T56 transmission. It was putting out over five hundred horses to the crank, and would burn up the quarter mile in ten seconds flat with the right driver behind the wheel.

That was Reid. Lucy was still working on her starts.

Reid pushed his way through the double doors into the lobby, cutting a hard left into the break room to deposit his empty coffee mug into the sink just before a customer made an entrance through the front doors, bells alerting him to his arrival.

"Morning!"

"Morning. I heard this is the best place in SoCal to have your car tuned at, that a fact?"

"I'd like to think so." Reid said coolly, attempting to match the client's attitude. The coyote was incomparably well-dressed, clean cut, and the driver of a 2015 Mustang GT Fastback. He twirled the keys around on his finger and smiled at Reid, who gestured to the many photos of famous people that they'd tuned cars for hanging on the walls.

"Good. What do you offer for the Mustang?"

"Well, we've got a few packages here..." Reid explained, and produced a three-ring binder from underneath the counter, laid it open and turned it around so the coyote could look, "This is our entry-level package, this one right here. Basically, unrestricted airflow; that's upgrades to the intake manifold, you get a cold air intake with an MAF, that's mass airflow sensor, throttle body, headers, and exhaust. You also get the sub-frame connectors, three-point-seven-three ring and pinion-"

"Do I look like an 'entry-level package' kind of guy?" The coyote asked, but he wasn't ugly about it. Reid looked up to see that the other canine was smiling; almost amused by the fact that Reid would bother to start with the cheapest upgrades available.

"No, I guess not." Reid replied, blushing a little bit and turning a couple of pages to the pricier packages. The coyote flicked an ear and turned one more page just to make sure he wasn't missing out on something even more unnecessary.

"That one." He said, tapping the page on the most expensive package, "That's what I want."

Reid had long since been taught by Paul that when a client was ready to spend nearly forty thousand dollars, you didn't try and talk them out of it based on what you thought they needed. You simply said 'yes sir, right away' and made it happen. He'd been taught by the best. So when Garrett Dyckert himself slapped down an American Express Black Card™, the cattle dog scooped it up, got the information he needed, and handed it back to him along with some paperwork.

"Give me about a week to ten days on it." Reid said, and the coyote just shrugged, scrawling across the paper.

"Whenever's cool."

Behind him, Vance came walking through the double doors and froze in his tracks. Thankfully, he regained his composure by the time he made it up to the counter.

"Excuse me, are you Garrett Dyckert?"

"That'd be me." The coyote replied, not looking up from his paperwork. Reid silently prayed that the pit bull would not make an ass of himself - another thing Paul had been adamant about when there was a celebrity in the store.

"Man, my wife loves your show. Every time I come home from work, man, it's Carmen Barbasol on the TV."

"Barbosa." The coyote corrected, smiling. Reid facepalmed. "Well. Tell her thanks."

"Definitely. She's nine months pregnant; I'll bet she's at home watching it right now. I'm Vance Gillis, by the way."

"It's a pleasure. And congratulations. Give her my best."

"Hey, I sure will! Do you...think I could get a picture with you? She'd love it, man."

"Sure." The coyote set his pen down. Vance walked around to the other side of the counter and pulled out his phone, opening the camera app. He switched it to the front-facing camera, and held it out at arm's length, putting his other arm around the Garrett's leather jacket-covered shoulders. They smiled into the camera, and before Vance could take the picture, their faces were replaced by Blaine's - which could mean only one thing.

"Oh, shit!" Vance said, and tapped the green button, bringing it to his ear, "Okay...okay, I'll be right there!"

What he did next was straight out of a Looney Tune. He danced around stupidly for a moment while he figured out which direction he wanted to move, but then brought the phone back to his ear.

"Blaine! Blaine, you're never going to believe who's here right now!" He said, and handed the phone to the bemused coyote, who took it and raised it to his ear with a smirk.

"Hello Blaine, this is Garrett Dyckert from Carmen Barbosa!" He said, and immediately pulled the phone away, grimacing while Blaine screamed. Reid was nearly in tears from laughing so hard, and Vance looked like a young pup that needed to go to the bathroom. Mr. Dyckert handed the phone back to the pit bull.

"I hope everything goes well for you and your wife, Vance."

"Thanks Garrett Dyckert!" He said and bolted out the door, only to run back inside, having forgotten his car keys. As soon as he had them, he was out the door and down the road, his exhaust blaring.

"I swear I've never seen him act that way before." Reid said between chuckles, wiping away a giddy tear while the coyote just shook his head amusedly.

"Trust me, I've seen a lot worse."

***

Lucy's Converse All-Star bound right foot pumped the kick drum pedal, and her left kept the hi-hats clapping together while she worked the snare and kept the crash cymbals gyrating on their stands. Earphones filled her head with psychobilly rock, drowning out the rest of the world as she wailed on her drum kit.

Beating the tubs and pies had become therapeutic for her. She began playing when she was a freshman in High School, and the memories of why were still fresh enough in her mind that when she played her heart out, she was able to harness the raw emotion that allowed her to be as skilled as she was. She drummed fast, hard, and loud, such that the memories of times long past began to seep out of her subconscious, evaporating with every crash of the seventeen-inch Paiste cymbal. Crash cymbals screamed when she couldn't. The ride cried when she wouldn't. She fought that drum kit just like she wanted to fight her half-siblings, who stole and broke her things. Just like she wanted to fight her stepdad, who broke her.

It was a friend from High School she'd dated briefly who introduced her to the drums. Her first time on a drummer's throne succeeded a fit of crying over her life at home, and until that day, she'd never had a way to vent her frustration. On that day, she found one. She found that she had a knack for keeping time. For coordination. On that day, she'd found her passion, and drummed until she was as exhausted by that as she was by the rest of her broken life. These days, it was just how she unwound after a long day at work. Afterwards, she would shower, dry off, throw on her pajamas and enjoy dinner with the man of her dreams.

Lucy removed her headphones and hung them on a peg nearby once the song had ended. She lay her sticks down on the snare, pocked with several sessions' worth of drumming to Primus, The Cramps, and her favorite, the Good Reverend himself. The hydraulic throne wheezed softly as she stood up, and headed into the kitchen where Rigo was preparing dinner. Padding into the kitchen, she encircled him from behind and stood up on her tiptoes to rest her chin on his broad, manly shoulder. He smiled and turned to kiss her on the forehead.

"What's for dinner?"

"I'm making spinach stuffed lamb." He said, dropping several chunks of feta cheese into a mixture of spinach, garlic, pine nuts and oil sautéing on the stove and emanating a tantalizing smell. As if Rigo himself wasn't enough.

"So, have you given any more thought as to where you want to go on vacation?"

"What about the Caymans?"

"The Caymans?" Rigo echoed, rolling the lamb in some salt and other spices on a wooden cutting board, "That sounds nice, I've never been myself."

"Chris at work was saying it's really nice, he went there with his family on vacation some years back."

"You'll have to get a passport to go there. Do you have your birth certificate?"

"No, that's back in T-" She caught herself, stuttering a bit, "...Tucson. I'll call my folks and see if I can get them to fax it over to the shop."

"M'kay. Are you going to shower?"

"Yeah." She said, and headed off for the master bath. Minutes later, she was stepping into the ornately-tiled shower, wondering just how long she was going to be able to keep her reality a secret from the man she loved.

***

Reid stopped in front of Dr. Ramachandran's clinic following work that day, his face beset with no less trepidation than Vance's had been the first time he saw the quaint little building. The heeler looked around in confusion, unsure if he even had the right place. He checked the address. He was right on top of it. A plaque on the exterior of the building right by the door bore the name of the doctor, and Reid entered to the telltale sounds of childbirth.

Vance stuck his head out the far door at the end of the hallway and gave a little tilt of the head to Reid, who waved in reply, beckoning him. The pit bull exited the room and removed the bandana he had tied over his head to keep his hair out of his face.

"Is the baby here?"

"No, she's still in labor." Vance breathed. He looked tired, understandable, as he had already been there for several hours.

"I brought you something." Reid smiled, holding up a paper bag containing a fast-food burger and fries.

"Dude, you're the best." Vance laughed and graciously took the bag from him, tearing into it and pulling out a double-meat hamburger, which he devoured in a short series of visceral chomps.

"Whoa, slow down there!" Reid chuckled. "Blaine holding up okay?"

"Seems to be, for a woman giving birth." Vance replied through a mouthful of fries.

"Are_you_ holding up okay?" The cattle dog smiled. Vance went wide eyed as he swallowed and blew out a breath.

"I think so! I just have this feeling like, 'holy shit, I'm about to be a father'!"

"Pretty surreal, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Hey, we've been meaning to ask you this for a while," Vance began, wiping his mouth on a napkin and wadding it up between his hands, "Blaine and I want to ask you to be her Godfather."

"Me?" Reid asked incredulously.

"Yeah. I honestly can't think of anyone else I know who I would want to fill that role. I mean, if anything were to happen to Blaine and I, I'm sure her parents would step up first, but you know, we just want to have that role filled."

"God, Vance, I mean I'd be honored. I never would have thought you'd want me to be...y'know, that. Considering what, with Lucy and all." He finished tentatively, looking at the hardwood floor and scratching behind his ear.

"That didn't have anything to do with our decision, Reid. I see you and Lucy almost every day, and I see in you now the father that I hope to be someday. Took you a while to come around, sure, but you've been there for her since day one around here."

Reid smiled, "Thanks, man. I'd be glad to be her Godfather. Do I get to make offers people can't refuse?"

"Shut up." They laughed, and after a moment, they hugged. Reid blushed when he relaxed a little in Vance's arms. Vance gave good hugs. "I'd better check back up on Blaine. Thanks for the chow."

Kaitlin Rose Gillis was born a perfectly healthy, eight pound two ounce baby girl at 9:59 PM. Mommy held her first, then Daddy, then the clinic staff, who carried her away to clean her up and put her in pale pink socks with a matching cap and blanket.

Swaddled in a pastel pink blanket, Kaitlin slept silently in Reid's arms. Sitting in a chair next to the birthing pool, he rocked her gently back and forth while Blaine watched. Vance looked tired, but they all were. It was getting late, and Blaine was understandably worn out. Reid looked down at the sleeping child and thought about the last time he'd held one. Eighteen years ago, in Pasadena, Texas. Lucy had been a healthy baby, albeit a slightly smaller one. She'd been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. And he'd given her up. He felt a lump rise in his throat, and he passed the newborn to her Daddy, who hadn't stopped smiling since she'd been brought into the world. Watching the pit bull cradle his newborn daughter, he could tell he was thinking about all the memories they were going to make together. All the ones he'd missed out on with Lucy. He forced himself to think about the garage as a means to fight back the tears.

"Hey, Vance. Why don't you take a day off tomorrow? I think you might have a long night ahead of you, and you'll have your hands full tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. We've just got that Mustang to work on tomorrow, and I've got two clients coming in to discuss some mods. We can hold down the fort for a day."

"Thanks, man. I guess I'll see you on Thursday then."

"Yeah. I'm going to head home and get some rest. You be sure and get some, too, especially you, Blaine." He pointed, and she smiled.

"All right, hey..." The pit bull stood up and placed Kaitlin in the rolling bassinet with the gentleness of someone handling fine china, and turned around, pulling Reid into a hug and clapping him on the back. "Thanks for being here tonight, man."

Reid closed his eyes and relaxed a little in his friend's quick embrace, "Sure man. I'm glad I could be here." He hugged the pit bull back, and turned away, exited the room and left the hospital, wondering what Lucy was up to now.

***

Lucy's heart raced just outside the bay doors while the phone rang. She was about to talk to her mother for the first time in nearly a year, since she'd run away from Texas to leave her old life behind in search of a new one. Must run in the family.

A coughing fit preceded the answer, "Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Who's this?"

"Wha...who do you think? It's Lucy!" She answered incredulously, sneering into the phone. That was just like her mother. She was probably drunk, or well on her way.

"Lucy? Jesus, I haven't heard from you in forever! Where are you?"

"Los Angeles."

"Los - why?"

Lucy sighed, "If you have to ask, I don't think you're ready to accept the answer, let alone accept the consequences of your actions. Or Brody's, for that matter." She added darkly.

"What actions?"

Lucy changed the subject, "I need you to fax me a copy of my birth certificate."

"Lucy."

"What?"

"What actions? Talk to me, tell me what happened that made you want to run away!"

The young wolf smacked her gum and pondered the potential ramifications of spilling the beans about everything she hated about living with them. Learning to change diapers at the ripe old age of thirteen. Helping her half-siblings with their homework when she had her own to do. Her resentment over being robbed of her childhood. Her security. Her dignity. It was more than she was willing to talk about, especially on a workday, so that can of worms remained sealed.

"I tell you what..." Lucy began, her Texas roots showing, "...fax me over a copy of my birth certificate, and then we can talk."

"Why do you need your birth certificate?"

"So I can get a passport."

"Why, so you can run even farther away from me?" Josie said, hurt apparent in her icy voice.

"No! I'm just going on vacation!"

Josie sighed, "Lucy, I don't think I even know where it is right now. Brody's got all of that stuff somewhere; I think it may be in a safety deposit box or something, if you give me a day or so I can probably come up with it."

"Forget it. I'll just get it online and pay the fee to have it mailed to me."

"No, Lucy, wait! Can I reach you at this number? Lucy?"

Frowning, the wolf hung up on her estranged mother and glanced briefly at the phone before walking back into the garage and handing it back to Chris.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Lucy spent her lunch break that afternoon sitting at a computer in the office, submitting forms on the appropriate website to have a copy of her birth certificate sent to her. Twenty-two dollars in all. She punched in her card number and hit enter, watching the site process her request without asking her questions about why she ran away to California.

"That was easy." She mused.

"What's that?" Reid asked from his desk.

"Getting a copy of my birth certificate. Rigo and I are going on vacation to the Caymans soon, and I have to get my passport first."

"Yep." Reid said, clicking away at his keyboard.

"Lot easier than trying to get my Mom to send it to me. She doesn't even know where it is." Lucy rolled her eyes. Reid stopped typing, listening to her continue, "Sounds about like her."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, she's a train wreck. Real class act, you know?"

"Hmm. I imagine being a mother is pretty hard."

"If it was so hard, I don't know why she would have bothered to have two more kids, especially with that scumbag Brody."

Reid flicked an ear.

"Brody?"

"Yeah. Such a douchebag name isn't it?" Lucy chuckled.

Indeed it is, Reid thought to himself. He remembered Brody. They'd gone to High School together. Brody had been on the football team. He'd been one of the worst athletes they'd had in the history of the school, and he was such a blithering idiot that he was almost endearing, in his own, strange, stupid way. He literally graduated last in their class, but Reid wasn't that far ahead of him, so he'd reserved any and all judgment.

But still, that idiot raising his daughter? It made his blood curdle just thinking about it.

"Well, I'm going to go across the street to the corner store. You want anything?" Reid said, standing up from his desk, needing a way out of the current conversation.

"No, thanks."

***

Paul had determined that the best course of action would be to strike during the day. Dusk offered far more concealment, less traffic, and therefore less cluttered egress routes. The only problem was that at night, a Bitten MC biker was rarely found alone. His M40 had a four-round internal magazine, and the bolt had to be cycled after each shot to ready another. Not the best weapon for engaging multiple targets.

Hardcore as they were, most of the bikers were just regular guys with regular jobs. They drove their trucks to work in their corresponding clothes, and shed them for their signature leather vests when the time came to ride. Others, the types Paul was convinced were involved in Randal's death, were delinquents. Deadbeats. Dregs of society that rode around on their Harleys, battling with rival MC's, and keeping the LAPD's homicide division gainfully employed.

Jason 'Smitty' Smith was one such biker, and one of the youngest members of the Bitten MC. Prison had formed him into a guiltless sociopath, and his felony convictions left him with little to lose. Paul had no hard evidence that he was the one who'd killed Randal, but the top rocker on the back of his vest was evidence enough for guilt by association.

Smitty busied himself with the ketchup bottle at a burger stand. Paul positioned his truck in the parking lot of a hardware store across the street, watching the gator through a pair of 10x binoculars. Smitty shook the glass bottle violently, attempting to get the condiment onto his burger, but the bottle dumped the entirety of its contents onto the food, splashing across him as well. Incensed, the gator whipped the bottle down to the concrete, smashing it in a spray of glass and ketchup.

Paul, realizing his window was exceedingly small, got in position in his truck, opening the rear hatch in the back cab wall. Grabbing the rifle, he loaded it, extended the legs of the bipod and took up a position on the passenger side floorboard, peering out through the hole. Smitty was only about 100 yards out, but he was on the move. The old bear's heart raced. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Smitty hurled the basket containing his ruined burger and fries at the window of the stand and prepared to get back on his motorcycle. Paul moved the safety selector switch to 'FIRE' and curled his finger around the trigger. He began to apply pressure to it, but he released the moment he saw two other bikers roll up into the parking lot of the stand.

"Shit..." He whispered, blinking the sweat out of his eyes. Seconds later, it became apparent that his target and the new arrivals were not friends. One of them pulled out a gun from underneath his jacket and shot the gator eight times in the chest, the reptile toppling backwards over his own bike as the bullets ripped through his body at 1200 feet per second. A chorus of screaming ensued, and people began to scatter while the two men went to work. Paul watched through his scope as one of them rolled Smitty's corpse over and used a knife to cut the California bottom rocker off of his leather motorcycle vest. As soon as they had showed up, they were gone, blasting out of the parking lot on their bikes and into the maelstrom of LA daytime traffic.

Paul sighed and slid the selector switch back to 'SAFE'.

***

The next couple of weeks were just how Reid liked them. Uneventful. Business as usual. They didn't come often, and he'd learned not to take them for granted - any time he got to do what he loved without the interruption of some event that demanded his immediate attention was a time to be thankful for, he reasoned.

Mr. Dyckert had come to pick up his car, and had been quite pleased with the results. He'd indulged everyone in a group picture with the car for the wall of the lobby, and he'd even brought an autographed copy of Season One of the show for Vance to give to Blaine. Lucy wasn't as enamored; neither she nor Rigo watched the show, but it was kind of cool meeting a celebrity for the first time. For once, she had something new and interesting to tell Rigo, that she might rival his stories from the ER.

That evening, Lucy swung her BMW into the driveway alongside Rigo's Cadillac. She entered their home, only to find that the lights were off and the kitchen was dormant. Usually when the wolf was home early from work, he had a meal in the works. No matter, she figured. He probably needed the rest. The TV in the living room was on, and some sounds were coming from the bedroom. Slowly, she made her way around to the bedroom door.

"Rigo?"

"Lucy." Rigo, sitting on the bed, looked up at her. Something was wrong. She couldn't tell what, but something was just not right about the man she knew.

"Rigo, are you all right?"

"Come here." He said, getting up and walking past her into the kitchen. He flipped the switch to turn the lights on, and then grabbed a sheet of paper off the counter, sliding it across the granite to her, never taking his eyes from hers. Lucy reached forward, and felt her heart drop into her stomach when she turned it over to see a photocopy of her birth certificate. She clasped a hand over her mouth and stared at her date of birth.

"Lucy. Is that a typo?" Rigo asked, desperately wanting to give her the benefit of the doubt. Lucy said nothing. She stood there, her hands trembling, her eyes glazed over. "Lucy, talk to me, please."

She shook her head. He reached forward and took the paper from her, looking at her date of birth again, reading May 23rd, 1997. A tear fell from her eye, and she shut them tight, believing that at any moment, she would wake up from her nightmare.

"You're only eighteen." Rigo said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "And you're from Texas."

Eyes shut tight, she nodded, her hand still over the end of her muzzle.

"Lucy, why didn't you tell me the truth? Why did you lie to me?" He asked. He wasn't angry. She couldn't recall an instance when she'd seen him get upset. But he was hurt. Behind his confident, manly exterior was a heart as soft as cream cheese and she knew it was breaking from the news.

"Rigo, there's a lot about me that I haven't told you yet...about why I came to California in the first place."

He listened.

"I came from a bad home. I mean a really bad home. I never even knew my real dad, and I had a stepdad that abused me. I had to get out. I didn't have any other choice. I started lying about my age and my background because I felt secure in doing it. By the time that I met you, that time in the ER, it was too late to go back. I would have told you eventually, I swear!"

"How much longer were you going to wait to tell me? During our wedding vows?" Rigo asked, walking out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bedroom, where he picked up his shirt and pulled it on over his head.

"It's so hard for me to acknowledge my past, I just want to forget it all, that's all!" She continued in tears, following him into the bedroom where he was pulling on his shoes.

"You could have told me from the start," He started, getting up and grabbing his keys, "How can I trust you? If you can lie to me and get me to believe something like that, how do I know you're not lying about everything else?" He walked past her and out of the bedroom.

"Rigo, I promise you I'm not lying! Not about anything, not anything else, I swear! Rigo, don't leave!" She cried, chasing him down the hall.

"I need to be alone." He said quietly, and opened the door, shutting it gently behind him. She pressed her hands and face to the cool, painted wood and slid down to the floor, a sobbing mess as she listened to his car start and pull out of the driveway, and out of her life.

***

Frank was looking forward to kicking back in his favorite chair with a good book to fall asleep with when he swung his Mitsubishi Lancer into his driveway. He opened the garage door and slowly pulled the car inside, shutting it off and stepping out of it. No sooner than he had, the rat was grabbed from behind and the door was pulled shut with the manual lever by another person. It all happened so fast, he wasn't even sure what was happening to begin with.

He was thrown to the cold, concrete floor of the garage, and looked up only to find himself staring down the bore of a silencer attached to a nine millimeter pistol. The other man, a large, imposing cougar walked slowly over to him and crouched down next to him, appearing to think for a few seconds.

"I'm going to ask you a couple of questions, all right?" He spoke quietly and calmly, his gravelly voice paradoxically soothing in such a situation. Frank, struck with fear, only nodded feverishly.

"Do you want to get hurt?"

"No." He shook his head, his eyes as wide as saucers.

"Good. Who killed John O'Dell?"

"I-I..." Frank stammered.

"I don't have time for this." Dallas said, and his accomplice cocked the hammer on the gun and framed up as though he were about to pull the trigger.

"Vance!" Frank shouted, shutting his eyes tight and praying that a bullet wouldn't blow his head apart, "It was Vance!" The masked gunman hesitated.

"Vance?" Dallas asked. Frank just nodded, shaking uncontrollably.

"Yeah! Pit bull, about five-foot-ten, reddish fur..."

Dallas smiled cruelly, reached into his pocket and pulled out a one hundred dollar bill. Kneeling down with a groan, he tucked the bill into the rat's breast pocket and patted it.

"For your trouble."

Frank, breathing heavily, looked down at the C-note poking out of his pocket, and looked incredulously up at the cougar, who smirked darkly.

"Think we can make a deal?"

A deal? Frank was sweaty, shaking, and more frightened than he'd ever been in his life. Of course, he would make a deal, anything if it meant not getting shot in the face. Just then, Dallas motioned for the gunman to relax. The gun was taken away, and the would-be shooter took a few steps back.

"Here's the deal. There'll be a lot more where that came from," He started, pointing at the hundred, "If you help us bring this Vance fellow to justice for killing my son."

Frank couldn't believe what was being asked of him. His grey eyes flicked from the man with the gun, to the floor, then to Dallas, and back to the floor. Dallas grinned again, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a thick stack of hundreds, totaling ten thousand dollars in all, so indicated by the wrapper around them. He tossed it down onto the concrete.

"Ten grand now, if you accept. Another ten after he's been taken care of."

"You don't want me to..." Frank whispered.

"Oh, heavens no. It wasn't your son who was killed, why would I shoulder you with the responsibility?"

"And if I don't accept?"

Dallas shrugged, "Then the hundred is yours to keep, but the ten grand goes home with me. Either way, this Vance is going to die. I'm willing to put twenty thousand dollars in your pocket simply to help us out with the process, and maybe to...assuage some of the guilt."

Frank blinked.

"All you have to do is make sure he's in the right place at the right time." Dallas crooned with a devilish smile. Swallowing, the rat looked up from the ten grand on the floor to the cougar and sighed.

Frank picked up the money.