FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The door to my office creaked slowly and I opened my eyes, annoyed. A woman stood in the threshold as if deciding whether or not to enter. Sighing, I contemplated lifting my feet from my desk and straightening my tie to look presentable, but afternoons have a way of making me complacent. Instead I moved my hands from my stomach to behind my head; looking up at the woman who gently knocked on the already open door as if she had just remembered common courtesy. She wasn't a bad looking girl; a bit too thin for my liking, though. She was wearing a surprisingly ordinary white blouse and brown skirt; brown stockings too. Her high heeled shoes looked uncomfortably tight and the black oversized hat she wore hung on her head in a comical fashion like she was attending a clown's funeral. She had been in my office before and she took a seat in front of my desk without asking or waiting for me to speak. I had to look around my shoes to keep my eyes on her. There was a brief silence.

"Can I help you, Mrs. Finch?" I asked in a tone that was neither pleasant nor malicious.

She smiled at me, but I could tell it was difficult for her. There was an air of unpleasantness she carried with her every time she came in.

"No, Mr. Wesson, I just wanted to thank you for- Well everything you've done for me and my husband."

I blinked; surprised. Was she actually serious? I wondered if her husband had put her up to it. He was a nice enough fellow, but he couldn't bear to be seen with a common investigator.

"Well that's very nice of you, ma'am. I trust you and your husband are doing well after that unfortunate theft business."

"Oh yes, quite well." Her eyes wandered around my office, as if taking note of my wooden furniture. Most of it was antique. I couldn't stand modern accouterments.

"Is there anything else?" I asked, eager to get back to doing nothing.

She shook her head and stood from the leather backed chair, digging around in her purse briefly and removed a small plastic card. She dropped it unceremoniously it onto my desk.

"My husband sends his regards as well, Mr. Wesson. That card contains the last of our payment that we owe. My husband also suggests that you give him a call if you ever need to take out an insurance policy."

"I'm sure he would love that." I responded, removing my feet from the desk to pick up the card. She snorted as if disgusted by something and I ignored her.

"Have a good day, Mr. Wesson." She said as she turned on her heel and walked importantly from my office. I nodded distractedly as she left; turning on my Readydesk Terminal. I hated these machines. The screen lit up and the annoyingly cheery Readydesk jingle sounded. My name appeared on the screen shortly after and I logged into the console. Almost immediately an alert message popped up.

"Hello, Nate." The console said in a disturbingly artificial voice. "You have one unread message." The terminal looked almost ridiculously out of place in my antiquely furnished office.

"Play message." I sighed to the machine.

"Message received on October eleventh at two thirty am."

"Yeah, yeah just play the damned thing already." I said as a male voice began speaking.

"Hey, Nate! It's your buddy Rocky here. Listen I got some more dirt on Finch if you're interested. We can get in touch the usual way just don't call me back on this number. It's a pay terminal. Well gotta go! Be cool, bud."

I shook my head. Rocky was always a day late and a dollar short. I closed the message window as the terminal asked if I wanted to reply. Douglas Finch would still pay well, but it seemed as though the job wasn't quite over yet. I pulled up my bank information and dropped the plastic card in the terminal's intake slot. Thirty five thousand credits deposited themselves into my account as the machine shredded the plastic card. I decided that talking to Rocky would be better than letting him go on thinking he was still working for me. I liked the kid, but I preferred to do my own dirty work. It would make me feel less responsible at any rate. I stood from my chair, pulling my brown trench coat from the wooden coat rack next to my desk. As I slipped it over my shoulders my office door creaked again. People must have forgotten how to knock. I turned around ready to refuse whatever request they were going to ask me, but my train of thought careened off of the tracks at the sight of them. A very nervous white rabbit was looking at me. My mouth hung open and the creature spoke.

"Mr. Wesson?" It asked.

It took me a few moments to find my composure. The rabbit-woman fidgeted nervously as I attempted to re-rail my thought locomotive. She was wearing a grey business suit jacket with a matching skirt and a "Vote Taylor for Mayor" button on her lapel.

"That's me..." I said. "Don't see many animalized humans around here. What do you need?"

The rabbit's nose twitched as she thought of how to proceed.

"Mr. Wesson, my employer has need of your assistance."

"Oh?" I asked folding my arms over my chest. "And who is your employer?"

"I trust you have heard of Franklin Taylor. I work for his mayoral campaign." The rabbit replied.

I might have known.

"So what does this have to do with me?"

"Mr. Taylor thinks that his opponent, Caroline Sweeney is trying to smear him illegally. We need you to look into it. I can assure you that Mr. Taylor will pay you handsomely for this job."

"Does he know my working rate?" I asked.

The rabbit nodded. "He does and he asked me to bring along a fraction of the cost in case you were hesitant to take the position."

"Taylor needs my help that badly, then? I thought he was ahead in the polls."

A frown crossed the hare's face. "Well the media can be misleading as I'm sure you are aware."

Her nose twitched as she said it. I had a feeling she was lying to me. I pulled a cigarette from the box in my trench coat pocket and lit it.

"Walk with me." I said. "What was your name, doll?"

The rabbit wrinkled her nose at the cigarette, but followed me as I left the office and locked the door. "My name is Regina Polk."

"Alright, Regina, I have a strict policy about taking political work. It costs double my usual rate."

The hare's eyes widened in shock and I paused to let the gravity of my statement truly sink in. I wanted to get the truth out of her. The hallway was made of steel. Hell, most of the police station was. It was a fairly ordinary building, though with all of the modern amenities. Cleaning robots zipped around the floors, the doors were mostly automated, and security cameras watched nearly every corridor. There was no paint on the walls and many of the officers in the building were either still working in their offices or were on patrol around Meridian city.

"Why, you ask?" I continued, "Political work is usually dangerous. Any job that may get me shot at, costs extra; plus I hate politics. So on top of the usual seventy thousand credits, I need a twenty thousand political fee and a fifty thousand dodging-bullets fee. Are we clear?"

Regina followed me in silence for a moment. I smirked around my smoke. I suddenly felt a tug at the sleeve of my trench coat and I turned. She had stopped walking; one hand clutching my coat sleeve, the other holding out a plastic card similar to the one Mrs. Finch had dropped on my desk.

"Please, Mr. Wesson. This card contains seventy thousand credits. It's all I can spare. Mr. Taylor doesn't know I came to see you. Please, I'm begging you. I don't want to see all of our hard work destroyed."

The truth was revealed at last. I took the cig from my mouth and exhaled one long breath; the smoke curling around the rabbit's nose and long ears. She grimaced, but didn't cough. If she wasn't a rabbit I may have found her attractive judging from her figure.

"And what happens when Taylor finds out I've been snooping around the political camp of Mrs. Sweeney?" I asked.

"You would only be doing this at my request. I will deal with the consequences from Mr. Taylor."

I took another long drag of the cigarette as I thought about it; breathing the smoke away from her this time. Douglas Finch had recently endorsed Sweeney and it made me all the more curious about what Rocky had discovered. I nodded.

"All right, I'll do it. But I'm only doing it because I hate politics. If the opportunity arises to snip Taylor's wings, don't think I will hesitate for a second."

Regina nodded, her long ears folding back slightly on her head. I took the card from her and dropped it into my pocket.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Wesson! I also have the address for the Sweeney campaign headquarters."

"Thanks, doll." I took the piece of note paper she offered. Her handwriting struck me as very beautiful. "Where did you go to school?" I asked.

"Shakespeare University in Boston," she replied. "Why?"

"Most people have terrible handwriting these days."

"Oh, well handwriting courses were a requirement for my degree in political science."

I nodded and cleared my throat after a short, awkward pause.

"I should be getting to work on this job, then," I said.

"Oh right, of course. Sorry to have kept you."

I finished the smoke and threw it in on the floor of the building. A small cleaning robot was there in seconds, picking up the discarded butt. I thought about kicking the machine, but decided not to risk getting arrested for damaging civic property. Regina beamed at me as she walked by me to the exit. I snorted after her stubby, cotton tail passed through the door. I must have been getting soft. I walked out of the station and looked up at the tall buildings of my city; blaming her for my change of heart. Flipping open my Readycell, I pressed speed dial number two. A familiar voice answered on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" It was a deep voice.

"Hey, Steve, Nate Wesson here."

"Oh, howdy, Nate. What can I do for the force's best gumshoe?"

"Knock it off, Steve, I don't need the flattery. It doesn't suit you."

"Fair enough, pal. But what do you need?"

"Why do I have to need something? I can't call one of my best friends just to ask how things are going?"

"Yeah right. I'll believe that when hell freezes over."

I smiled to myself. Steve Germaine was a realist for sure.

"Well alright, you got me. I need some info on the history of one Franklin Taylor."

Germaine whistled.

"Taylor? You actually took a political job? You, Mr. I Hate Politics?"

"I'll take any job if it pays the right price."

"Yeah, or if there's a pretty face attached to it."

Germaine laughed. I couldn't help but grin even though he couldn't see it.

"Well you got me again," I said. "Let me know what you can dig up and I'll see you tomorrow morning. I have some unfinished business I need to wrap up this afternoon."

"Alright. I'll do what I can, Nate. By the way, is your surgery still affecting you at all?"

"It comes and goes. Lately I haven't had any real problems."

"I feel for you, Nate. Give me a shout if you ever do just want to talk."

"I'll think about it," I said. "Catch you tomorrow morning."

I hung up the phone before he could respond. Why did he have to drag up old memories whenever we talked? That's why I never called him just to chat. I closed my eyes to try and clear my head of the past, but all I saw were the surgical knives and the bright operating lights shining in my face. I could feel the start of a migraine coming on. Son of a bitch. I needed to find a distraction. The address Regina had given me wasn't far away. I decided to stop by the Sweeney headquarters to see what I could see.

The Meridian Central Transport Station was crowded as usual. I entered the station quickly; pushing through the throng and ignoring the protesting cries behind me. The walls were covered with holographic advertisements that permeated all of the stations of Meridian, selling all manner of junk. Some tourists were stopping at each one to stare at the three dimensional figures. The metal floors and walls reverberated sound, making the place obnoxiously loud. I muscled my way to the pay terminal, slid my ID through, and pushed passed a few more people to found myself inside one of the octagonal transport cars that was constantly rolling by at a reduced pace. We were packed in like sardines, but the people in the car gave me a wide berth after noticing my coat and hat. I tipped my fedora to them and watched them squirm. I loved my job. The car picked up speed as it left the station. I clutched one of the metal bars for support along with all of the other passengers as the car accelerated. We passed holographic billboards advertising everything from food to medication. It wasn't an uncommon sight in Meridian City. The windows of the car also moved with visual stimulation. News reports, weather forecasts, and sports scores: every bit of information that a Meridian citizen could wish to see in a span of five minutes. The car slowed to that constant crawl once more at Grover Street Station. I briskly stepped out of the vehicle and was immediately swept up in the waves of passengers disembarking along with me. We traveled together towards the exit like salmon swimming upstream; rolling as waves in the sea as we moved. I caught the occasional dirty look from people around me, but I ignored them. Grover Street was in the center of the financial district.

Out on the street in front of the station the waves of people broke off into pairs or trios; single persons or small groups. High-rise office buildings surrounded the station, housing law offices and accounting firms. Most of the passengers headed for a nearby shopping center littered with neon colored holographic ads. I shook my head. People only cared about buying in this city; buying and consuming. No one remembered how things were before the technological advances we had. Most of the information of the past was too boring for the layman to read. I read it because I liked the doom and gloom of many of their predictions that never happened; at least not yet. Making my way down Grover Street passed the crowds of people entering and exiting the shopping center, I found myself in front of the Kurbin and Partners law firm building. It figured that the husband of the conservative candidate was a lawyer. I pushed my way into the building through the revolving doors and stopped dead at the sight of the lobby. It was a picture perfect antique interior. The outside of the modern building had been built around the original Meridian Courthouse. The floors, walls, and columns of the lobby were made of carved marble, a material that had become a precious commodity since all worldly mining operations had been outlawed by the United Nations World Police. Mahogany desks were set up as a reception center towards the rear of the gigantic room. A large holographic banner hung in between the columns that read; "Sweeney for Mayor 2347." It looked terribly out of place in the middle of the old-style room. I approached the reception counter and an attractive, young woman with blue eyes held up her finger as I opened my mouth to speak. She was wearing a white, wireless headset and yapping about how to donate to the Sweeney campaign. Her hair was blonde and pulled up into a conservative bun. Her clothes were standard business woman attire like Regina had been wearing; a gray dress suit, but with a Sweeney '47 button on her right lapel instead.

"We accept checks and direct deposits, Ma'am." She told the caller.

Her voice was high pitched with an ascending tone that made every sentence she uttered sound like a question.

"Oh that will be wonderful! On behalf of the Sweeney campaign, thank you so much! Is there anything else I can assist you with today?"

I tapped my finger idly on the desk top and she glared at me, thinking the tapping was meant for her. It wasn't. She held up the same finger as if to tell me to hold my horses.

"Well thank you once again for choosing to vote Sweeney for Mayor. Have a wonderful day!"

She pushed a button on the screen in front of her.

"Excuse me miss-" I started to say, but she answered another call instead, thrusting that same finger at me again. I wanted to break it.

"Hello, Kurbin and Partners, how can I help you this afternoon?"

I sighed and turned around to look at the rest of the lobby again. I was surprised at the amount of security on the way to the law offices and the lack of it near the campaign office. The guards were giving me sidelong glances every so often, but I had come to expect that.

"What is it you needed, sir?" The receptionist said behind me with an air of distain in her voice.

I turned and noticed that she was looking at me instead of the screen.

"Hi," I said. "I'm looking for the Sweeney campaign headquarters. I wanted to find out some information about their policies on important issues."

She nodded.

"Well we don't often get visits from people like you-" She brought her hand to her mouth as if in afterthought. "Oh I'm sorry."

"I'm used to it," I said. "They do have some literature I could look at, yes?"

"Well much of their campaign information is freely available on the extranet at the campaign website. There are some Readydesk terminals set up inside the headquarters if you'd prefer to peruse the information there." She spoke quickly and matter-of-factly as if she was trying to brush me off.

"Thanks," I said. "Do I need a badge or something to get in?"

"No, our headquarters are freely accessible to everyone. Have a pleasant day."

She turned back to the alert message on her screen and tapped it with her index finger.

"Thank you for calling Kurbin and Partners, how may I direct your call?"

I wanted to ask her a few more questions, but the conversation was apparently over. I crossed the shiny marble floor of the lobby to the door of the campaign headquarters. The bald guard at the door held out his hand to stop me.

"What's your business?" He asked.

"The secretary told me that it was free access. I just want to look at the policy information for the candidate I'm thinking of voting for." I told him.

He gave me an appraising glance. "I suppose that's alright. But I've got my eye on you."

I nodded pleasantly. I hated this neighborhood. The headquarters room was cluttered with desks that were overflowing with stickers, buttons, magnets, signs, and posters. Campaign volunteers were dashing back and forth across the room answering phones and assembling rally signs. A large sign at the back of the room read: "Time until next rally: 1 day, 2 hours." The Readydesk terminals the receptionist had mentioned were set up in a semi-circle near the entrance. I walked over to them and pressed my finger against the first button. It was a more or less complete political history of Caroline Sweeney. She had started out, simply enough, as the treasurer of a school district on the north side of Meridian. From there she campaigned for a city-wide treasury position. However, after losing that bid, Sweeney turned her sites on the mayoral offices. She was now running for mayor with a near immaculate track record as far as politics went. There had been a few questionable purchases that went unnoticed by the media when she was a treasurer, but that was the only blemish. I was surprised at how honest the history was. My attention turned to where the volunteers were getting their orders from. It would make sense this month if the candidates were spending a lot of time in their headquarters planning strategy and the like. Sweeney however, was nowhere to be seen. That in itself was strange, but more disconcerting was the hurried yet nonchalant attitude of the office, which made it seem like Sweeney had already won. I approached one of the volunteers who was assembling a stack of rally signs. He didn't seem terribly busy as all he had to do was stick the top of the paper sign onto a wooden post with glue. Using all holographic signs would have been too costly. The volunteer had a nametag that labeled him as Joel.

"Excuse me, Joel." I said.

He looked up at me and did a double take.

"Er- I'm kind of busy at the moment. Can you ask someone else if you have a question?"

"Well you all look pretty busy. I just want to know where Mrs. Sweeney would be. I'm from the Meridian Daily News and I'd like to ask her a few questions."

The volunteer looked around briefly before leaning towards me and lowering his voice.

"I'm sorry, sir, but Mrs. Sweeney and Mr. Kurbin are attending a private meeting at the moment and are not to be disturbed."

"Mr. Kurbin is her husband, right?" I asked.

"Yes. Mrs. Sweeney decided to keep her last name."

I nodded.

"Could I leave my information with someone so that they could get back to me for a possible interview?"

Joel thought for a moment.

"Well I don't suppose it could hurt anything. Write down the info and I'll make sure Mrs. Sweeney gets the message."

He handed me a piece of paper and I wrote down my Readydesk address as well as my work phone number.

"That cell number is my private line so I'm the only one who will pick up."

The volunteer took the paper from me and put it in his breast pocket.

"You can rest assured that the message will be delivered."

"Thanks. Hey could I take one of these signs for posterity?"

"Sure, we have enough as it is."

I thanked him again as I took the sign and made my way to the door of the headquarters. I didn't expect a return call and I wasn't satisfied with getting the runaround either. There was something else I wanted to try. I walked out into the lobby and glanced at the personnel directory next to the elevators. Kurbin's office was on the tenth floor. Maybe I could find some clues there. I strode out of the main entrance and walked around the building. What luck! There was a side door that looked like an employee entrance there. The door had no handle, though and was made of solid metal. So I leaned against the wall next to the door; removing my coat and folding it over my arm. I was dressed like an ordinary employee of the building anyway in my white button down shirt and black pants. I rolled up my sleeves to my elbows and loosened my blue tie. I took off my shoulder holster and gun; wrapping it inside my folded coat. I pulled out a cigarette as if I had just come out for a smoke break and lit it. I didn't have to wait long. A female employee opened the door next to me and I caught it, holding it open for her. She smiled and I returned the favor as I dropped my butt on the ground nearby. She pulled out a cig of her own and searched for a lighter. I offered mine.

"Thanks." She said, smiling.

"You're welcome." I replied.

I entered the building, no questions asked. The inside of this section of the law firm was sickeningly modern. Everything was made of white washed metal. I was in a stairwell that was fairly ordinary with metal steps. The lighting was fluorescent, but the light of the outdoors that filtered in through the glass walls overpowered it, thankfully. I made my way up several stories and entered the tenth floor. A maze of identical offices and hallways greeted me. This was going to be a challenge. I closed the door behind me and took one long, good look at the door and my surroundings to embed them in my memory. Walking down the hallway of similar looking offices, I read the names by each door. None of them struck me as familiar. I walked nonchalantly through a small reception area, but the receptionist didn't even look up. I supposed that was a good thing. Before long I was in a larger hallway. These looked like the executive offices in the building. I was in the right place at least. I took note of the security cameras as I passed them, keeping my hat pulled down to hide most of my face. Before long, I found myself outside of Jack Kurbin's office. If Sweeney and Kurbin were in an important meeting like the volunteer had said, then it was likely that Kurbin's office would be empty. I tried the handle when the security camera looked the other way. It was unlocked so I stepped inside.

I was not prepared for what I saw on the other side of that door. A room full of executives in suits stared at me as I entered. All of them were male except for Caroline Sweeney at the head of the table. I clutched the rally sign to my chest and spoke first.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt..." I turned quickly to leave.

"Hold it, boy!" Jack Kurbin called after me in a southern accent. I knew his face from the news clips. He was an older, fat man with a wrinkled face and white, thinning hair. He was dressed in a black suit that made him look even more like a lawyer than his greasy hair and slimy face did. I froze, but the tone of his voice wasn't angry.

"Yes, Mr. Kurbin?" I played up a naïve employee persona for a moment.

"Stay here for a second, kid. We need someone from the outside to review this campaign ad."

Sweeney frowned. She was also dressed in black with brown, wavy hair and a face that most would have called grandmotherly.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Jack. I mean look at him. He looks completely green," she said.

Kurbin glared at his wife. "That's all the more reason to ask him what he thinks, Carol. It's his demographic we need to hit hard in the ads."

I didn't think I looked that young, but I took it as a compliment.

"I just came up here to show you the new rally signs so you can OK them for tomorrow." I said timidly.

"What?" Kurbin turned back to look at the sign in my outstretched hand. "We OK'd those two days ago. Who sent you up here?"

"Er- Joel did, sir."

Kurbin looked confused, as if he was trying to place a face to the name. He turned to Sweeney for help and she just shrugged.

"Ah well, forget about it, kid. Watch this ad and tell us what you think."

The lights dimmed when Kurbin waved his hand and I turned my attention to the holographic images that appeared on the other side of the room. It was a typical political ad aimed at the younger crowd. A college age guy talked about taxes and how Sweeney would lower them. When the ad was over, everyone at the table turned towards me again. There is nothing as disconcerting as being put on the spot twice in a row. I gulped and, in the timid voice I was pretending to have, spoke my peace.

"Well I don't think that younger voters really care about taxes."

"What do you mean?" Kurbin asked.

"Younger people don't really have to pay taxes, so I would guess that most of them don't think it's that important."

"What is important?" Sweeney asked as she pulled out a pen and began writing on the notepad in front of her. I was on a role apparently so I ran with it.

"Most young people really care about a candidate's image I think. So you could try... I don't know, making a cooler ad, maybe."

"You hear that, boys?" Kurbin said to the rest of the table. "Make our ads more cool!"

There were murmurs around the table as several of the big wigs wrote down the instruction. I was beginning to question whether it was Sweeney or Kurbin who was running for mayor.

"Um, I actually have a message for you as well, Mr. Kurbin, where should I put it?" I asked.

"Oh, just put it on my desk in the other room, kid. Thanks a lot for your input."

"It was no problem, sir." I smiled and he grinned back, winking.

The wink made me feel ill. It was more than just a normal wink and it had the hint of feelings behind it that I didn't want or need to know about. I decided it was better not to linger for fear that I may find out what those feelings were. I entered the office proper of Mr. Jack Kurbin. It was a good thing that people always seemed to assume I was younger than I actually was. Kurbin's desk was immaculately clean. There were no security cameras in Kurbin's office, which seemed a bit odd to me. It was a good thing, though. I opened Kurbin's desk drawers and began looking through his files. There were a lot of completed cases in the bottom drawer of his desk, most of which Kurbin had won. A few of them caught my attention, though. Most of those few had been in defense of members of the Domingo Mafia and most recently, Ronnie Domingo who the police had tried to charge with murder, drug running, and grand larceny. Rocky usually hung out at Ronnie's club on Church Street for some reason. I would have to pay the club a visit later to try and find Rocky. The other case was the only one in the drawer that was not concluded. It briefly mentioned a prostitute in the red light district named Alice. There was a picture attached. Alice looked fairly unattractive for a prostitute. I took the photo and pocketed it. The only other bizarre thing about the case file was that it was dated for a week in the future and there was no name listed in the defense's client space. I returned all of the files and opened the top drawers of the desk; surprised to find a pistol, like mine, in a waist holster. There was a bag of pills that looked like KA0, a recently engineered designer drug. KA0 was not illegal. It was just really rare because of its relatively young age on the market. It was supposed to make the world a much nicer place to live in. In Kurbin's suit jacket, which was draped over the back of the chair, I discovered a small, crumpled up piece of paper and a business card. The card was for a company called Services and Exports Limited. There was a phone number as well. The note on the paper read in messy script: "You'll get the same price for getting my idiot son out of another stupid mess. Call my boy Karl for more info when you need it." Anthony Domingo's scrawled signature was on the bottom. A note from the big boss of the Domingos himself meant that Ronnie had probably done something very naughty; or at least something very dumb. It made me all the more curious about his club. The name Karl sounded familiar as well, but I couldn't place it at that moment. If I was going to sneak into that club I would need something to bribe the bouncer with. The bag of drugs would do nicely. I pocketed the KA0 and, not finding anything in the office about Taylor or a smear campaign plan, I left. Something like that would probably be in Sweeney's office instead anyway and I had no idea where that was. I took the business card for SEL. I had a hunch about it. There was one last thing to do. I tore a piece of paper out of a small notebook on Kurbin's desk and flipped quickly through the telephone directory next to it. There were an unnerving amount of numbers in the directory labeled with a single letter and a "personal" tag. Karl's number was one of the few that actually had a complete name attached to it. I didn't remember who Karl Schmidt was exactly, but I figured he was either a hit man or an information gatherer for the Domingo family. Either way, that made him my competition. Copying Karl's number onto the paper, I folded it and put it in my pocket. I guessed it was probably not a good idea to go back through the meeting room, so I went out the side door of Kurbin's office instead and made my way back downstairs.

On street level, I opened my Readycell and dialed the number on the SEL business card. A machine answered with a pleasant female voice.

"Thank you for calling Services and Exports Limited. Our office is currently closed, but we appreciate your business. Please contact us again during office hours or visit us in person at 6719, Autumn Court, Meridian City."

I hung up the phone. It was a weekday. Why would an office be closed? And Autumn Court? That was in the old warehouse district. It was little more than a slum now. Something was definitely not right about that card, but for now, meeting with Rocky was more important. I also wanted to try and find that prostitute to ask her some questions about that case file. I hurried quickly to the Grover Street Transport Station. It was less crowded now, this late in the afternoon. I disposed of the "Sweeney for Mayor" sign in one of the public incinerators that were scattered throughout the station for flammable waste and made my way onto a transport car headed for Church Street Station. My Readycell rang in my ear piece.

"Hello?" I said over the noise of the people in the car.

"Hello Nate," a female voice responded.

I knew I should have looked at my caller ID before answering.

"What is it, Michelle?"

"Robert and I were wondering if you were planning on coming to the wedding. We hadn't heard from you after sending out the invitations."

"I don't know, Michelle. When is the wedding again?"

"It's in four days."

"You know, I always thought it was a bit strange how Robert insisted that you invite your ex-fiancé to your wedding," I said, changing the subject.

She sighed.

"Look, Nate. If you want to continue being bitter about us, then feel free to not show up. I also still have some of your shit in the house that you never came back for."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Well there's a gun in the bedroom that I sure as hell don't remember Robert buying. I also have most of your classical music collection in the den collecting dust."

"I bought you that gun in case someone ever tried to rob you. That music was also a gift if I remember correctly."

"Well I don't want either of them. You can come by to pick them up after the ceremony if you don't want me to trash it all."

"Michelle, keep the gun, seriously. It might come in handy."

"I don't want to keep anything given to me by a disgusting law dog-"

She cut herself off and I fought every urge to hang up on her.

"Is that what you really think of me?" I asked. It was turning into the same fight we had during our split.

"I'm so sorry, Nate. It's the stress of preparing for this wedding and trying to make Robert happy. You know I didn't mean it."

"Right." I didn't believe her. "I'll pick up the music at some point I guess."

"What about the gun?"

"Keep it."

"...okay."

"Goodbye Michelle."

"Goodbye... Nate, I'm rea-"

I hung up the phone. Michelle had changed after I returned from the military. No, it was me who changed. She didn't like who I had become. Who could blame her? It was another loose end that I stubbornly refused to tie up. I somehow figured that leaving some piece of me with her would eventually change her mind about me. It was probably a lost cause. I should have gotten over it by now. I watched the sun set outside of the windows. Slowly, lights popped up all over the cityscape, turning the gray metal into a sea of glowing fireflies. I probably would have thought it was beautiful if I hadn't seen it every night since I moved into the city. My thoughts were broken as the transport car pulled into Church Street Station.

I pondered the irony of the station's name and location as I stepped out into the street. Church Street was the red light district of Meridian City. Or at least half of Church Street happened to be inside the red light district. Most of the travelers from the station were headed in the opposite direction. I walked over the district threshold without looking back. The red light district looked no different than the other metal clad streets of the rest of central Meridian City. Save for the fact that there were more graffiti and bills posted on the walls of buildings and litter strewn about the streets. The cleaning robots seamed to not bother with the district as it just became dirty again seconds later. The usual riff-raff of homeless people, prostitutes, and pimps lined the street corners searching for food and cash. The visual advertisements were more provocative here, but they were blurred in the more sensitive places to protect innocent eyes. I doubted anyone's eyes in Meridian City were still innocent.

Walking by the open clubs and adult toy stores, I moved deeper into the district. Several women and a few men propositioned me as I walked, but I politely declined. I wasn't here for pleasure. There wasn't a cop or criminal in Meridian City who didn't know that most of the red light district was owned by Ronnie Domingo, the youngest son of the Domingo family. The Domingos were a typical crime ring; too powerful as a group to do anything about and just smart enough to get away with the bigger crimes practically scot free. It was usually the little guys, package boys or entry level hit men, who took the fall for the family. Strangely enough, none of them seemed to mind too much. Ronnie was the only member of the Domingo family who had been voluntarily animalized. He fancied himself a werewolf so that's what they made him. However, that put him in a place of disrespect among the rest of the family, not to mention amongst most normal humans in Meridian City. The cops had been trying to nail the Domingos through Ronnie for a long time, even going so far as to plant animalized members of the force in the district undercover. All operations of that type that I knew of had failed, though, when the officer was either discovered dead or switched sides. I knew Ronnie operated from the largest club in the district. It was called "Moonlight Embrace." The patrons of "The Moon" as the locals of the district called the club were mostly animalized themselves. The club was their favorite spot to hang out and many of them acted as though they were invincible when inside. It was a dangerous place for a human. It was an even more dangerous place for an investigator. Still, my curiosity needed to be sated and going in was the only thing I could do about that. Besides, I could handle myself in a fight if I really needed to.

The Moon's sign was hard to miss. An obviously female wolf-person could be seen repeatedly howling at a full moon. The words, "Moonlight Embrace" were scrawled in barely legible, blue script underneath the moving hologram. There was a line of people outside of the club as usual. But I wasn't ready to go in quite yet. I wanted to find that whore first.

The darkened alley next to The Moon was a popular hang out for drug dealers and pimps. True salesmen, these shifty-eyed peddlers kept their business strict and to the point. There was no need to beat around the bush in this district and each sale was precise and straightforward. Buyers entered the alley and left with exactly what they were hoping for; usually a bit more than that as well. I skirted around the merchants as I moved to the back of the alley. There was another kind of salesman in this alley, but he was a special case. The alley itself seemed to swallow light, the neon signs of the street barely lighting the farthest reaches. I stepped further into the darkness until my palm rested on the cool metal of the back wall. I could barely see anything back there, but the various noises I heard and the pungent smells told me that I wouldn't have wanted to see much anyway. I looked to my left and could barely make out the shape of a pair of torn, rounded ears sticking up from a furry head. A long snout protruded from the animalized human's face and whiskers adorned it like spines on a cactus.

"A question approaches." The rat-man said.

"Hello, Garret." I replied.

The rat hissed slightly and looked through me at the wall across the alley from him. His eyes were white from blindness and he clutched an aluminum cane to his scrawny chest defensively.

"Do not utter its true name, question. Of what would you have it speak?"

Garret was an old rat, one of the first to be animalized. The genetic modification process had not been perfected back then and there would have been intense pain. The results were successful, but Garret's mind was warped as a result. Now he saw himself as a sort of soothsayer or prophet and preached to those who would listen in the red light district. I didn't believe in any of his mumbo jumbo, but he was very good at obtaining information about virtually anything in Meridian City and that ability made him a very precious commodity.

"I need to know the whereabouts of a prostitute named Alice." I said.

"There is a matter of payment."

I smirked. There was always a matter of payment.

"How much?" I asked.

"One wish." Garret said.

I sighed. Money would have been so much easier. There was a long pause as I thought about his request. He wanted a wish. What would a guy like me want to wish for? Well there was Michelle. That was selfish, though. Garret would want something that sounded like a revelation; something that sounded personal and something unexpected.

"I wish I could go back in time and tell myself that nothing is worth it." I said. Garret blinked as if in surprise.

"The payment is sound. You will have your information."

The rat dug into his pockets and pulled out what looked like dice in the bad light. He shook them in his palms; tossing them onto the metal in front of him. They made a clattering noise as they landed and I could see that they were actually small bones. Garret stared at them and I wondered for a moment if he could actually see the result. After a moment he looked back up and through me.

"The one you seek works for shadows and shadows pull her strings. She is a question not even it has all of the knowledge of. The question will find her in Twilight's Mirror."

I nodded, not expecting him to return the gesture.

"Thanks," I said as I started to walk away.

Garret gathered the bones and put them back in his pockets; clutching his cane close once more.

"It waits for a new question." He mumbled to himself as I left.

Twilight's Mirror was another club owned by the infamous Mr. Domingo, but he rarely went there. The club was best known for the cheap whores that called the place their base of operations. Twilight's Mirror was a little bit further down the street from The Moon, so I headed in that direction. Rocky and Domingo could wait for now. There were no bouncers outside Twilight's. People came and went as they pleased. I walked inside. The inside of the whorehouse was lit almost entirely with black lights, making white things turn odd colors. It wasn't the best lighting choice. There were visible stains on virtually every surface inside the entryway and it made me feel more than slightly uncomfortable. Alice was easy to spot among the other whores. She was and older woman, sitting on one of the couches and smoking a clove cigarette.

"It'll be four hundred creds upfront for four hours." She said as I approached.

"That's not why I'm here."

"Oh really? That's why everyone's here, hon."

She was wearing a bathrobe that could have been almost any color in this light. Her diamond earrings glinted green along with her teeth and eyes. It was a very eerie sight. She had red hair, and her face was covered in make-up, which made her look even creepier.

"I'm actually here for information, Alice. I need to know why you were on a case file in Jack Kurbin's office for a case that technically doesn't exist yet."

She looked at me like I had suddenly grown a third eye.

"I don't know anything about whatever you just said." She told me.

"I think you have to know at least something. Your photo was in the file." I pulled out the picture and showed it to her. In the photo she was lounging provocatively on a couch, smiling.

"Hey, I remember, this pic!" She said. "That old fart hired me a while back, but all he did was take pictures of me. He paid good money, though."

"Who was this ‘old fart?'" I asked.

"Oh I don't know his damned name. He was just some old guy in a suit. Look, if you're not gonna' pay for my time then get out of here so I don't look taken."

I nodded.

"Right. Sorry. Here."

I pulled out my credit card and swiped it in the slot on the card reader on the wall. I entered her name and deposited one hundred credits for her. I didn't want to think about what had been on other people's hands when they touched that keypad.

"Thanks." She said sarcastically.

"Not a problem," I replied. "How many clients do you usually get a night?"

"What are you the Economy of Prostitution Inspector?"

"I'm just curious."

She sighed.

"Times aren't as good as they used to be. Guys come in here and get hooked on the younger girls up front while the rest of us get pushed to the back. I usually only get one or two clients a night who decide to ‘settle' on me when all of the young ones are taken. Do you have any idea how much that hurts?"

I shook my head.

"I can't even begin to imagine."

"I always used to think I was good at this. Then shit started going down the tubes."

"Any idea why?"

"Well it started changing after that asshole Domingo exiled his son to this district."

I blinked in surprise.

"Ronnie Domingo was exiled here?"

"Yeah I heard his dad basically told him to never come back to their estate ever again. I guess his father doesn't like people who fuck with their genetics or something."

"Most people don't," I said.

Two fat and ugly human men came in the entrance of the place, practically ripping their shirts off as they picked up two of the prettier whores at the front of the room. I made a disgusted face before turning back to Alice.

"How does his father keep him from leaving? Couldn't Ronnie just walk out of here if he wanted?" I asked.

"I don't know about that. But if you ask me, I don't think the little shit wants to leave. He's practically king of this district."

"Well you're not mistaken there. I have to get going now, Alice, but thank you for answering my questions."

"Hey, what can I say? You're actually civil and nice to me. Not many people are anymore. All they see is a rundown whore."

"You never know," I said. "Maybe you'll get a break soon."

I stood to leave and she grabbed my sleeve.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay for a little fun? I won't charge you for it."

I shook my head, fighting back a grimace.

"No, sorry, Alice. But good luck."

She frowned and let go of my arm and nodded. I turned and left the building. I felt pity for her, more pity than I would have usually felt because I knew that she was probably going to be used by ‘that old fart in a suit.' Though the lead hadn't led to much information, I had my suspicions about the case file I had found. Now however, it was time to find Rocky. I made my way back to The Moon; walking by the line that stretched down the street. There was a rhino standing near the door, dressed in a neat black suit. He had a cigar hanging from one side of his snout and looked like he could rip phone books in half. I guessed he was the bouncer and strode towards him with an air of importance, but he rolled his eyes as I approached, holding out a hand to stop me. He pulled the cigar out of his lips with his other hand.

"We don't serve cops here, buddy. Take a hike." He said.

I ignored him, opening the bag while he spoke and pressed four pills of KA0 into his leathery palm. I gave him my best cheeky wink.

"Enjoy those." I said as I walked towards the door like I owned the place.

"Wha-?" He fell silent as he saw what I had given him. "Er, right, sir. Please enjoy the Moonlight Embrace."

"Thank you." I entered the door as the rest of the line protested loudly.

"Shut up!" I heard him yell as he stuffed his cigar back in his mouth. "Anyone who wants a shiner, complain louder!"