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Venom: Beautiful Killers. Part 39.

"I have no such...proclivities."

Winter lies on the big couch in her living room. It is morning and she had just awakened, only to lie back down. This is her first morning without her boyfriend since going to Chino Hills earlier this summer. Before that, they have hardly been apart since they have been an item. Winter's body language shows just how odd the feeling is. Her face is pouty and worried. Her eyes are glassy, as if she has been up all night. The fur on her face and shoulders is frayed and disheveled. She has done a good deal of tossing and turning.

The television is off and, aside from the humming of the air conditioner, no noise is being made. The sounds of laughter and banter from a deep male voice are sorely missed. Without them, the house undergoes a cavernous silence. The atmosphere is unnervingly calm, waiting for something to happen.

Winter simply lies there. She may be by herself, but she is not necessarily alone. There seems to be something that she is holding against her belly; she is squeezing it tightly, squishing it against her abdomen like she was putting pressure on a wound. A huge, depressed sigh exits her mouth as she turns from her back to her side. She may not have any wounds, but she looks like she is in pain.

The sounds of stray cars zooming by emanate from outside the window behind the couch. They are few and far between and they do nothing to really break the silence inside the house. She ignores the noise, and practically everything else around her, to look at the black box twenty feet away. It is off and has been since she first got there. She looks at her reflection and sighs once again.

While her gaze is fixed somewhere else, a blue car pulls up to the house. If Winter would look through the window behind her, she could see the yellow, black-dotted ocelot bounding out of the car and happily strutting to the front door. She is carrying a gold-colored purse and is dressed in a white, tied blouse and blue jeans. Her clothes show off her curves very well. She looks much older now than she ever has before, especially compared to the schoolgirl attire she wore during hunts.

Tivoli knocks on the door and stands back, anticipating immediate entry. She looks around at a couple of birds on the front lawn and some cars passing by on her right. Some of the slower moving cars look like hers and she gets a good glimpse of those. A minute later, she is surprised at the closed door in front of her and knocks a little louder.

"It's open!" is heard from inside the house. Tivoli scoffs and gently pushes the door out of her way. She bites her lower lip to hide an exuberant squeal; she is really happy to be there and eventually sees the white wolf on the couch.

"Get up!" she yells. "It's Friday morning! Time to loaf!" She moves closer until she is virtually standing on top of her. "I'm here to take you out."

The ocelot is now blocking the TV, so Winter is pretty much staring at feline's stomach. The wolf turns on her back and turns her gaze to the ceiling. "Good to see you, but I'm already loafing."

"Ooh, what is that?" Tivoli points at the object the wolf is holding against herself. "Is it a pet?"

The wolf holds the item up to her face to reveal that she is holding a brown, stuffed teddy bear. It has googly eyes and a missing left ear. Its outside is clearly not as plush as it once was. Its color has somewhat faded. "This is Shiloh when Shiloh's away." She chuckles a bit as she strokes its belly. "I even renamed it Shiloh a couple of years ago. Is that weird?"

"Um...no. Not at all." She shakes her head vigorously and gets closer. "It looks nice."

"I got a call from him about an hour ago. I didn't sleep much before I got the call, but now I can't sleep at all."

"It's all right. It's gonna be okay." The ocelot squats in front of her and they can now see each other's faces. "What did he say?"

"Not much. Car broke down and he had to spend quite some time getting it fixed. The fan belt broke and needed replacing."

"Wow. That's not cheap. Does he have enough money now to do his job?"

Winter sits up. "Hmm...I didn't ask that. Maybe I should have. But I was just glad to hear his voice that I let him do most of the talking. I let him talk, said I love you, then stood there listening to the dial tone for a couple of minutes."

"You've been holding the bear ever since."

The wolf chuckles. "I've had this since I was ten years old. I named him Brownie. He comforted me when my parents died. He was with me when I left my old house. I even took him to the college dorm. As long as I hid him from my roommates, I wouldn't be picked on too much."

"Couldn't bear to part with him, huh?"

"I owe him my childhood. If I needed someone to talk to or cry on, he was always there. I wouldn't be holding him now, except I don't know where Shiloh is. He called, told me about the fan belt, and left before I could get any real information."

"If he's getting it fixed somewhere, that place will have a phone." Tivoli stands and stretches her arms above her head. "Look, it's eleven o'clock. Let's go out. I wanna take you to meet Paraná. I've managed to convince him not to keep straying too far and let his wounds heal. He's decided to follow my advice, but he's still not very happy. So I just thought--"

"You want me to meet him?" The wolf bristles and shifts in her seat. "You want me to meet someone who, along with everyone else in the office, hates Shiloh and by association hates me?"

"He doesn't hate you."

"How do you know?"

Tivoli shrugs. "He doesn't know you. Sure, he knows your boyfriend; he's made mention of him, but he doesn't know who you are at all. I just figured you were tired of looking at these same four walls all the time and needed a change of atmosphere."

Winter turns herself and plants her feet on the floor. She looks down at the bear and caresses its head gently. "Did you say it was eleven?"

The ocelot smiles, believing that her friend is coming with her. "Yeah. An hour until noon."

"Great. Let's stop at The Shark Pit first."

"What? This early?"

Winter stands. "That's when they open. Besides, they know me there. They let me in even earlier than that sometimes."

"You must be their best customer."

"After all these years, I better be." The wolf straightens herself, dropping the stuffed toy as she does. She gasps as it rolls away, but Tivoli is there to pick it up. Her mood changes a bit as she watches the ocelot hold and inspect it. She starts to get a little nervous. "Careful. His face isn't as strong as it used to be."

"Don't worry. He'll be fine. Have you ever thought about getting him fixed? Finding a replacement for his ear?"

"Could have done so years ago, but had no parents to ask to fix him, and once I got older I...." Winter shrugs and closes in on the ocelot. "I could never find the time."

Tivoli nods. "Oh no, I get it. There's no use hiding it. There must be so much nostalgia connected to this bear, too many memories. You're probably never gonna get it repaired."

Winter smirks. "Just give him to me, would ya?"

"All right. Don't get testy." She gently hands Brownie over to the wolf. "You know what? You look like you need a drink."

"I probably need several. Let me get dressed."

She suddenly gets nervous and clears her throat. "I'll wait here. Hey, listen, I just wanted you to know that the raggedy bear you've got there doesn't make me think any less of you. I think you're great."

Winter stops on her way out of the living room and looks back at her friend. She holds the bear tightly against her and smiles. "You'll probably need several too."

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

[I have had time to think, now that I'm free of the hospital contraptions that I have been hooked up to. I have been out of it for most of the week, so I don't know why I needed the kidney transplant. I haven't even asked. I'm normally a very healthy individual; I don't go to hospitals except for the yearly checkup. Sure, I don't live an exemplary life; I drink and smoke so I'm not straight edge. But there has never been a real health crisis in my family until now.]

[I've probably had three months' worth of dreams this week alone. Normally, I don't sleep well when I have so many, but it's different when you don't have much choice. I started having them a month before the transplant, at a time when I could wake up from a dream, or nightmare, and stay awake if I wanted to. Now that I've been sleeping for more than half a day this week, the dreams have become coherent and less random. They've turned into a story, the juicy parts of which I have been writing down so I could follow it more properly.]

[It's Friday evening now, about five o'clock, and this is my last day here. I was officially discharged a couple of hours ago. Hopefully, it will be my last day in a place like this for a long time. I've been thinking about that day since I first got here. Before, it was because I wanted to get out right away. Now I think about the dreams and the characters in them. Will the dreams come with me, or did I just have my last one? Will they continue as a story or will they go back to being just dreams of random murders again? If it's the latter, I'm not looking forward to it.]

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

Taking Tivoli's Jetta, the girls make it to The Shark Pit around half past eleven. The parking lot there already has a good amount of cars in it. Either the bar already has a good size of customers or people are parking on this lot and walking to other places in the vicinity. The ocelot exits the driver side and stretches. "It feels so good to be outdoors," she says, "without worrying about anyone else but yourself. Don't you think so?"

Winter leaves the car and suspiciously looks around. It looks like she ignored Tivoli's question as she carefully scans the cars in front of her. She slowly closes her door and steps around to where her friend is and puts her hands on her hips angrily. "What do you mean?" she asks.

"You know...we're outside. We're outside and not following anyone. We're not memorizing cover stories or buying items we need for work. We're outside with the intention of having fun. I haven't been able to say that for quite a while."

The wolf continues to eye the cars in the lot. "I have plenty of days when I'm not working. They just don't happen too often."

"You suddenly don't look so hot. What's wrong?"

"Should there be this many cars on the lot this early?"

"You said yourself that they open at eleven."

"Usually, there are just two or three cars here this early, not ten."

"You're still in work mode. Lighten up."

"I'm always in work mode...." Winter sniffs angrily and slowly steps away from the car. "...especially since there's a slippery mark I'm still on the lookout for."

"Look, don't worry about it. This area's the last place you'd see him. It's full of killers and other seedy characters."

"Shiloh's always taught me to expect the unexpected, to act as though the mark is watching and following you. That way, you're always ready when a hunch comes through. I'm always on the lookout, whether I want to be or not."

"Come on, Winter, don't do this." Tivoli closes her door and holds her purse tightly. "Don't work when you don't have to. Shiloh isn't here. You're not obligated to do anything today."

The wolf nods slightly in agreement. "No, Shiloh isn't here." As she turns to head into the bar, she sees something out of the corner of her eye. She turns toward it and smiles. "He's not here, but I see someone else who is."

"What? Who?"

"My dealer."

"Your...who?"

"Follow me." Winter chuckles; this is the happiest she has looked since her boyfriend left. She has a spring in her step and more than one twinkle in her eyes. Tivoli follows, extremely curious and eager for a new discovery. The wolf cautiously enters, looking around her as if being followed. After stepping aside for a couple of leaving patrons, the ocelot follows.

The place is mostly empty, but there are a couple of guests sitting at the bar. There are no familiar faces inside, save for the bartenders, so Winter relaxes a bit. Tivoli nods happily and steps in front of the wolf. "It's been a while since I've been here without any work responsibilities. I feel like binging."

"Don't forget. You're driving." She retakes the lead from her friend and walks to the bar. She sees the unmistakable ears of the bloodhound tending bar and yells, "What's happening?!"

The raggedy-looking dog looks up for a second, then looks back down and returns to his work. "Hey," he answers.

"Fine. Be that way." The wolf laughs and takes one of two empty seats at the bar. "I see that Angelo's here."

"Ugh. Stupid badger. Thinks he owns the place since we gave him the okay to bring outside food in here." He looks up at the wolf. "This is your doing, you know."

"Aw...what's wrong, Casey? Is my money no longer green enough for you to spend?"

The bloodhound shakes his head. "Look, I appreciate the extra you're paying to make this happen even though it's highly irregular. I just hope you realize the risk we're taking. Some of the eggs are from endangered species. If anyone important finds out--"

"Will you relax?" Winter places her clasped hands on the table. Her positive attitude makes her look like she owns the place. "I've already told you that I accept full responsibility for everything I order. If I ever get in trouble, it wouldn't come back to haunt you, I promise."

"If you get in trouble, your boyfriend will come back to haunt us."

Tivoli tries to stifle a laugh. Winter remains undeterred. "Is Angelo here? I'd like to see him."

"In the kitchen area. He and Bruno are having a bit of a tiff."

"Excellent. By the way, you know Tivoli, right? She's coming with me."

Casey gives off a disapproving sniff. "Oh, sure. Why not invite all our customers into our kitchen?"

"Lighten up. She only wants to see who my dealer is. Give her a break." With that, Winter hops off the barstool, walks behind the counter, and enters the open door at the background. Tivoli carefully follows, getting a very close look at the drinks on display before entering the doorway.

Bruno folds his arms even tighter when he sees the wolf enter the normally restricted area. "Hey, get out of here."

The wolf stands as straight as she can; Tivoli creeps up behind her so that she could enter unnoticed. "Good morning, Bruno. Good morning, Angelo."

The badger is wearing a blue jumpsuit, blue gloves, and a blue baseball cap. He wears dark shades that cover most of his face above the nose. He looks about as shady a character as the marks she kills. He nods his hello.

"You got what I asked for?"

He watches her grin in anticipation, then backs away to reveal a large, brown, cardboard box placed on a nearby counter. As everyone else watches nervously, the badger opens the box to reveal an assortment of eggs of different sizes. On the left side are small blue eggs, clean and perfectly oval. Tivoli sneaks past the wolf to get a closer look at them. In the middle of the display are larger, ivory-colored eggs. Upon seeing them, Winter bows her head to get a closer look. To the right, the eggs are white with blotchy, black spots; they are smaller than the other two groups of eggs.

Angelo clears his throat. "Robin eggs, goose eggs, and pigeon eggs in order from left to right."

While Winter wows, Tivoli scratches her chin with amazement. "Which ones are the endangered ones?" she asks.

"The goose eggs." The badger's voice is loudly urgent. "It took a while to get them all in one piece."

Winter sniffs the box. "I appreciate it."

"You owe me extra for getting the big ones through customs."

"Extra? How much extra?"

"Ten grand should do nicely. Room and board in Canada ain't cheap."

The wolf looks at him with suspicion. "Did you have to go all the way up North to get eggs?"

"To get the best eggs? Yes."

Winter puts her hands on her hips, not quite believing what she has to do. In the meantime, Tivoli still looks at the bounty with astonishment in her eyes. "They're beautiful."

"And quite delicious," Angelo says.

"It's a deal," Winter drones. "But I can't pay you right now...and I can't take them home." She turns to Bruno. "That's why I'm paying you a tidy sum to keep these here. If you hide them well, I'll keep paying you in the future for hoarding these things for me."

Bruno shakes his head. "I never knew you wolves had such voracious appetites."

The wolf smiles. "Speaking of which, I'm thirsty, so I'll be at the bar. I'll have a gin and tonic, as always, and...." She reaches into the box and takes two robin eggs. "Keep these well, Bruno. If you don't think they'll be safe here, then keep 'em in your house."

"Just get out of the kitchen. I'll keep your eggs." Bruno shakes his head and closes the box.

Angelo smiles and takes his leave. "Excellent. Since you're open, I'll have a Tom Collins."

"Just go."

The wolf and badger return back to the bar with Tivoli at their heels. She keeps on looking at the eggs in Winter's hands. The wolf sits down on her usual barstool. Angelo sits to her left. Impressed with what just happened, he gives a little laugh. "What you gonna do with those?"

"Eat 'em, of course." Winter happily sniffs at one of the deep blue eggs. "These are pretty, aren't they? And they're gonna taste good too when I dip them in the drink."

"You eat 'em raw?"

"Our feral cousins do, don't they?"

Tivoli shrugs. "I still think you're better off getting a sloe gin fizz...if you want eggs in your drink."

Winter shakes her head. "It's not the same. The way I do it, the eggs are really fresh and the flavor is really bold. And it just feels better going down. Maybe you should try it. By the way, what'll you have?"

"Ginger ale...I guess. It's too bad I'm driving. I had my heart set on a Rob Roy."

The bloodhound appears, seemingly out of nowhere, and places his arms on the counter. "All right. What are we having?"

Winter is absolutely giddy and laughs heartily while she orders. Angelo orders his with about as much enthusiasm. Tivoli looks a little down while she orders her ginger ale. She watches the badger light up a cigarette then says, "I'm gonna get some air. I'll be right back."

Tivoli bounces off her seat and straightens the folds on her blouse as she exits the establishment. The sun shines on her face and she stretches to meet it. She breathes a sigh of relief and puts her hands behind her back as she looks at the passing cars and pedestrians. The ocelot likes to people watch, so she is in her element as she leans on the side of The Shark Pit to gaze as the morning commuters.

It is a calm and beautiful morning. With no wind and no clouds to block the sun, the day is only going to get hotter. Tivoli looks around, trying to take in all she can before her drink is made ready. After a couple of minutes, no cars are crossing the street; Tivoli can now focus on the buildings on the other side of the road. These are buildings that only light up her way at night as she goes to her favorite bar. Now she can see what they really are.

While reading the signs across the way, a couple of stray, furry pedestrians amble into her view. She stops leaning on the wall to get a closer look at them. One is wearing all black clothes; black shoes, black socks, black trousers, and a black dress shirt. Tivoli laughs at that; whoever that is will be absorbing a lot of heat in a few minutes. The other one is wearing a white T-shirt and a blue, plaid, pleated dress. Tivoli looks at that one carefully, then recognizes the familiar, bluish gray tail sticking from the back of the dress.

The ocelot gasps when she makes out Camille. She watches the couple slowly trudge past a few restaurants and salons before stopping right across from her. She gets nervous and runs inside The Shark Pit before she can be seen.

Across the street, Camille and Pamila have stopped in their tracks. The fox is looking at the bar across from them while the cat looks at her and chuckles. They might have caught a glimpse of the ocelot going inside, but it seems that neither pays attention.

Camille playfully flicks Pamila's left ear. "See something you miss?"

"Shut up."

"You know you can't go in there yet."

The fox looks down and sniffs angrily. "And why not?"

"Well...the patrons hate you, the bartenders hate you, the police or the feds might still be there trolling for suspects, um...." She giggles, drawing an angry stare from her friend. "That's all I got."

"You don't have to rub it in."

"The Shark Pit will always be there...and the heat is dying down. Just give it one more week, okay?"

"I don't know. My alcohol drought is making me lose myself."

"You have drinks at home."

"I'm running out of the essentials. I'm running out of bitters and mint...and lemon! How could I have run out of lemon so fast?"

"Ever think of taking a break from drinking?"

Pamila leers at her for a couple of seconds, then tries to walk away.

"Hold on. I was only kidding." Camille catches up to her friend and puts right arm around her shoulders. "So, Shark Pit's out of your reach. But still, you could always meet the competition."

"The what?"

"Right across from our favorite place is one of the bars that opened last week. Let's check it out."

The fox leans into the cat as they walk together. "Aww, I don't feel like it."

"Hey, do we like drinking or not?"

"That doesn't mean we drink just anywhere."

"Well, I'm going to the new place. It's just around the block. Just have a drink with me again, just like we did before the whole bombing mess took place."

Pamila has to be dragged by the arm, but she eventually follows Camille to the new watering hole. Upon viewing its neon signs, the ladies stop and stare. The outside is smaller than that of The Shark Pit, so it looks underwhelming, but the garish, animated, neon lighting showing through its many windows definitely attract attention.

Camille says, "I like it," and takes a couple of steps toward the door.

Pamila looks at the name on the roof of the place and tsks loudly. "Shapely Bottoms? What the hell kind of name is that?"

"Umm...maybe it's the name...or names of the owners?"

"You kidding? That's not the name of a bar I want to have drinks in."

"Give it a chance! What are you afraid of?"

"Being seen inside for one."

"Hey, we won't know if it's better than The Shark Pit, or vice versa, if we don't get in there, right?"

The fox nods and hangs her head. "I guess it's something to look forward too. We have to judge this place under its own merits."

"That's the spirit." Camille gleefully holds open the front door so that Pamila enters first. The fox straightens her collar and psyches herself into

entering the strange place. Once she does she scans the room for five seconds before turning around to head out. Camille places her hands on the fox's shoulders and pushes her back inside.

"Aww, come on, Cam. Don't make me do this."

"Why not? It's just...oh."

The girls look around with open eyes and open, disbelieving mouths. The main room is dark, lit only by the dim, incandescent lights above, the lights surrounding the bar mirror, the neon beer displays, and the sun outside.

Camille shakes her head. Pamila rolls her eyes. "I can't believe this. You dragged us into a place like this. Unbelievable!"

The cat shrugs. "It doesn't look...so bad."

The fox keeps looking at the ceiling. "It's seedy and nightclubby. All it needs is...."

"What?" Camille looks at what her friend is looking at.

"A mirror ball." The fox points to a spinning, glittering sphere hanging from the ceiling, just above the front door. "What a joke."

"Wow. I did not see that coming."

"Can we leave, please?"

"On its own merits, remember?" She holds Pamila's hand and drags her toward the bar. There are a couple of customers sitting down, nursing their drinks. "Ooh, bourbon. That looks good." Before they get close enough to sit down, a tall, lanky human appears in front of them. He smiles and clasps his hands, surprising the girls.

"Welcome to Shapely Bottoms," he says. "Thanks for coming and giving our little enterprise a chance. My name is Torrance and I'm the proprietor, manager, and part-time bartender."

Camille nods and shakes his outstretched hand. "Thanks. And I guess congratulations are in order. It's not easy to start a new business in this economy."

"We're only a week old, but we're growing already. We've have contracts with some of the best wine and liquor producers in America. We also have advice and praise from some of the best sommeliers and food experts across the country and around the world. Our selection of...um....where's your friend going?"

Camille looks to her left and sees that Pamila is not by her side anymore. She turns around and sees the fox headed for the door. "Excuse me," she laughs and only takes a couple of steps to bring her back to face the owner. "This is Pamila. She loves hard liquor and she can't wait to--"

"She doesn't like it here?"

"Its...the mirror ball. It freaked her out a little."

"Yeah, that happens to some people."

"I'm Camille, by the way." She holds Pamila in place with one hand while again shaking Torrance's hand with the other. "Table for two, please?"

"You want a seat at the bar? It's quite empty at the moment."

"Excellent. Come on, Pam. Don't be difficult."

Torrance leads the girls toward the bar where a customer throws is money down and leaves, releasing another seat. "At the bar, you'll get a chance to meet some of our workers more formally. They're eager to serve. Besides myself, there are only two of them right now because the mornings are so slow."

As the females sit down, they notice the tall bartender, much taller than the owner, pick up the money dropped from the leaving human customer and place it in the pocket of her apron. She is wearing what appears to be a red tank top with the bar's logo on it, and orange short shorts. She has gray fur, a rounded mouth, and long, velvety antlers. The skimpy clothes expose a rather long and muscled midriff. Once she notices the new guests, she places her tray on the counter behind her and walks up to them. "Welcome to Shapely Bottoms!" she yells. "How may I serve you?!"

Pamila narrows her eyes and shakes her head. "That just sounds wrong," she whispers.

Camille hears her, but does not respond. She is too busy staring at the bartender's physique. "Amazing."

Torrance sits next to Pamila. "She is one of our most loyal workers. She looks intimidating, but she makes up for it by wearing the uniform. It makes her quite attractive. So does the accent." He turns to the bartender and shouts, "Introduce yourself."

The worker smiles from ear to ear. "My name is Lena and I'm from Sweden."

Camille's stare widens. "And...what are you?"

"A reindeer. Here in America, I could be called a caribou. But I prefer reindeer."

Pamila still leers at her angrily. "But you have antlers."

Lena giggles. "All female reindeer do, silly. These things make me who I am. They make me taller than I really am too, but I've also been told that they are sexy."

Torrance laughs. "Lena's pretty smart too. She's good with numbers and has a photographic memory. She never forgets a customer's name, face, likes, and table preferences. She's a real boon to the workplace."

"It's too bad my boyfriend doesn't think so."

"Oh yeah! She's also got a boyfriend who's a bit of a control freak. He doesn't like that she works here, even though she's making over two hundred a night in tips. She's also getting proposals from most of the guys in here, but nothing serious. It's all harmless flirting. But his boyfriend comes in here and cops an attitude. In fact, it probably suits his species. Hey Lena! Tell them what your boyfriend is."

She raises her eyebrows unsurely. "His name is Randolph."

"No, tell them what he is."

She shrugs her shoulders. "He's a dik-dik."

Torrance guffaws and slams his left hand on the bar a couple of times. "You hear that? And she says that without any semblance of irony at all." He pats Pamila on the back and stands. "You girls have a nice stay."

The fox angrily watches the owner leave, then sadly places the palms of her hands on the bar. "I wish I were somewhere else."

"So what will you have?" Lena is genuinely happy to serve, though she mostly stares at Pamila's sullen demeanor.

Camille is just as bubbly as the reindeer is. "I'll have a margarita. You'll need to get something harder for my friend here."

Pamila barely looks up as she says, "Shapely Bottoms? Really? Where'd you all get that kind of name?"

Lena closes her eyes and nods. "I agree. It sounds stupid...and I'm told it's offensive. But Torrance promises us that the name refers to the shape of our custom-made beer glasses."

"And not the shape of your backsides?"

Confused, Lena squints at the fox. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Are you kidding? Look at what you're wearing. Call girls have more modesty."

Camille lightly punches Pamila's left shoulder. "What did I say about being difficult? Order something or I'll do it for you."

"Fine." The fox clasps her hands. "I'll have some vodka."

"Oh good." Lena's smile returns and she backs away to show some of the bottles on display behind her. "It just so happens that we've made a deal with a supplier that has given us access to special designer vodka. We have peach-flavored vodka, pineapple-flavored vodka, orange-flavored vodka, um...oh yes! We even have their newest, special flavors. We have birthday cake-flavored vodka, bacon-flavored vodka, cookie-dough-flavored vodka--"

"Hey! Lena!" The fox stands impatiently and takes a deep, calming breath. "Do you have any vodka-flavored vodka?"

The reindeer nods. "Of course."

"Good." Pamila pulls a greenback out of her pants pocket. "Forget the glass. I'll give you a hundred dollars if you give me an entire bottle."

"That's highly unusual."

"But don't you want your tip?" She slams the hundred dollar bill on the bar and folds her arms.

Lena picks it up and looks at it cautiously. "Okay. I'll get you our most popular brand."

As the bartender leaves, Camille shakes her head at her friend.

"What? I ordered didn't I?"

"She was just trying to be friendly."

"Vodka is already smooth by nature. It's easy to drink; it feels good going down. That's why I like it so much. That's why it's so popular. It doesn't need to taste like anything else."

"I don't know. That bacon-flavored vodka sounds pretty good."

"I got news for you, my friend. Bacon isn't real meat and flavored vodka isn't real vodka. At least The Shark Pit keeps things simple."

"That's a shame. All our friends are running to The Shark Pit to give those guys their support in the face of all this competition, but they should really give places like this a try. Designer drinks aren't bad drinks." Camille shakes her head again, but grins this time. "But don't worry about it. A week from now, you won't be cleaning the office anymore, and The Shark Pit can be yours for the taking."

"Why're you so bubbly today? You've been like that all morning."

"The party's this time next week, stupid. Don't you remember?"

"Huh? Oh yeah. That thing."

"Aren't you going anymore?"

"Who've we invited so far?"

"Including Beth, I have twelve...with room for two more. Besides you, nobody from work. I was thinking about inviting St. Croix and--"

"No."

"What? Come on. You like St. Croix."

"I do, but let's keep it coworker free, okay? The party's escapist in nature, right? So we don't need anyone who reminds us of the office."

"Well...that's too bad 'cuz I've already told him that I was doing one of these and...."

Lena appears with a bottle of vodka, a popular brand that even Pamila has heard of, so she takes it as soon as it is offered. The bartender is also holding two slender drinking glasses, one of which she gives to the fox. "Your martini is coming right up," she says, pointing at Camille. "We just got some new glasses for that type of drink and I think you're going to like them."

The cat blows a slightly embarrassed breath. "I said margarita, not martini."

"Oh. Sorry. Be right back." Lena takes the glass with her and heads to the drinks behind her to start mixing.

Pamila chuckles. "So much for photographic memory, huh?"

"Hey, it happens. We get so many customers a night, I'm glad I have four other mixologists who do what I do."

"They all wear the same...uniform?"

"Yes. Two ferrets, an otter, and a Doberman with a cropped tail, which I think looks really cute with her shorts." A minute later, she brings the margarita to Camille. "Enjoy."

"How much?"

"On the house."

"What?"

"Well...you're our first female customers. Ever! Seriously, thanks for coming here."

Pamila scoffs. "I don't blame them. I'd be out of here too if it wasn't for my friend here."

Lena leans on the bar and turns serious. "I don't get it. The neon lights and the pop music should be getting females in here. That's what Torrance tells me. The cozy setting should attract them. The guys don't need any big reason to drink, so we get them pretty much exclusively. We just need more ladies to make the place complete. To be honest, it's a little intimidating. The men keep staring at us and asking us out. It's almost impossible for us to do our jobs. I wish I knew how to bring females in."

"I don't know. Maybe get rid of the mirror ball, get brighter lights, bring in some live entertainment. That'll get them interested."

"That all sounds really expensive."

Camille finishes her drink rather quickly and asks for another. "You do good work, Lena."

"Thanks. I hope we win."

"Huh?"

"I said I hope we win. We're battling the bar across the street. Mr. Torrance went up to the two owners yesterday as they were closing. He offered them his support since their bar had been raided on a regular basis. He brought them over here for some drinks and I was closing the place--"

"Wait a second," Pamila says, taking a swig from the bottle. "Let me guess. Bruno, that waistcoated idiot, immediately determined that this place was a dump while inhaling a fifth of bourbon...and Casey, good ol' skinface himself, remained quiet the entire time while downing a bottle of hard cider."

Lena smiles cautiously. "You know their names. How come?"

Camille laughs. "We go to that bar. Bruno and Casey are our friends. The Shark Pit is pretty much our place."

"I see. Heh. I hope this isn't too awkward for you. While they were here, Torrance bet them that we would get more sales in a month than they would. The loser would pay for half the supplies of the winner for the next thirty days. It made them feel better and kept them motivated to be our competitors. They were nice and friendly, but I have to tell you...I've been to their place. It's unseemly. Not the friendliest of areas in which to get a drink."

Pamila nods. "Yeah. The atmosphere is killer." She puts the bottle to her lips and tilts her head back.

Lena tilts her head. "What does that mean?"

Camile places her empty glass on the bar. "Don't mind her. How much do I owe you?"

"Like I said before, it's on the house."

"Oh yeah, right. Sorry. I'm not used to that. The Shark Pit doesn't have ladies' nights."

"Ladies' night! Now there's a good idea." Lena is keenly interested in Pamila, who she watches gulp down her alcohol until there is only half a bottle left. "I've never seen anyone drink vodka so fast. You must practice daily."

"I mix drinks too." Pamila wipes her mouth with her shirt and belches softly. "I own the latest in bartending paraphernalia. My dad used to collect those things. I know my way around these beverages and I could make you a cocktail in no time at all. If you ordered it, I could make you a Tom Collins before you finish saying 'Collins.'"

"That's impressive, although now I think I regret giving you that bottle. You're starting to abuse it."

"Nonsense. This is just an appetizer. Besides, I deserve this. After an alcohol-free week, I'm attacking this thing with a vengeance."

"How will you drive?"

"I'll walk!" The fox looks at Lena with a mix of confusion and anger. "Why are you bothering me?"

"I just don't want you leaving the bar drunk. It doesn't look good for us with the police everywhere. They won't leave us alone as long as they still believe that there's a bombing suspect in the area. So everyone has to be on their best behavior."

"I already have a mom, thanks."

"I'm not mothering, I promise. We're trying to keep things respectable. The bar down the street may let you get away with something like this, but we cannot afford to be careless right now."

Pamila raises her voice. "That bar across the street is called The Shark Pit, and in the three years they've been open, they've owned the bar scene in Los Angeles. They keep things simple; no mirror balls, no prancing neon lights, no bacon-flavored drinks. The bartenders are a couple of nitwits, but they know what they're doing...." She screws the vodka bottle closed. "...and I wouldn't get my drinks from anyone else!"

Lena defiantly folds her arms and nods. "Hmm. So does that mean you'll give me the bottle back?"

The fox stands. "Mine!" She almost trips over the barstool from which she stood. After steadying herself, she straightens her shirt with her right hand while tightly holding on to the bottle with her left.

The reindeer shakes her head. "You're not endearing yourself to me right now. I hope when we finally get women to come down here, they don't all act like you. We don't need people leaving our bar drunk as skunks." Her jovial mood now gone, she stoically puts Camille's margarita glass in a nearby sink and wipes the counter. "Now I feel bad. My first week on the job and I give a...alkoholist an entire bottle of vodka. Luckily, I will never make that mistake again."

Now Camille stands. Even though the bartender's words were not meant for her, the cat knows enough from the tone that her friend was getting insulted. She stands with the intention of stepping in front of Lena, but Pamila gently pushes the cat aside. As they both stare at her, the fox leans into the bar, interrupting Lena's cleaning. She waits until she gets her attention, then says, "Hey bitch. I hope you lose that bet."

"Oh really? Your friends across the street don't have a chance against us. My co-workers and I are ready for the challenge. We will use our sex appeal and knowledge of mixing drinks to win the day."

"You think a bunch of scantily clad whores can beat a couple of veterans like Bruno and Casey?"

"We have Torrance too! He has been doing this for fifteen years. He can tend bar with his eyes closed. He'll help us win!"

Camille notices that the conversation is getting heated, and gets a little unnerved when she sees a group of five humans entering the bar, about to sit down. She touches Pamila's shoulder and tries to end the fight.

The fox continues as if untouched. "Let me tell you something, honey. If he's your ace, then you don't have one."

"You're a drunk. What do you know about it? Your side is losing the bet!"

"Keep dreaming! And I am not a drunk. Even I could outmix you under the fucking table."

"Ooh...you think you can do better than me?"

"Just by being me, I'm already better!"

With that, Pamila marches away from the bar with Camille hot at her heels. She still carries her vodka with her, so she probably thinks she has won something. The furry couple is halfway out the door when they hear Lena yell at them in her native language. The barrage lasts long enough to get the attention of everyone in the bar. When Lena stops, nothing but the music is audible.

The fox turns around, itching to get the last word. "Oh yeah? Well your boyfriend is a dick!"

"A dik-dik!"

"You said it, not me." With that, she leads her friend out of Shapely Bottoms, clutching the vodka as if trying to hide it from prying eyes. She chuckles to herself and sighs proudly, then looks at Camille's judging face. "What?"

"Oh, it's nothing. You did great."

"I did though, didn't I?"

"Yeah. You've made it possible that we'll never be visiting that place ever again."

"Meh. So what? You got to wet your whistle and I've taken this from them so...we win two-to-nothing as far as we're concerned."

"Actually, technically, it's a tie."

"Huh? How come?"

"She said our drinks were free. She just robbed you of a hundred dollars."

"She...what?" Pamila stops walking and reaches into her pants pockets with her free hand. Not finding what she is searching for, sighs and drops her head. "God dammit."

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

[It's three in the morning and the pain is returning. I've been told that I will be given a prescription for Oxycontin for the residual pain at the operation scar.]

[If I go home, what happens to the dream world?]

[If Pamila came with the morphine and the morphine is gone, is she gone too?]

[If I return to my day job, the constant dreaming stops. Will there be huge gaps in the story?]

[I must confess, I'm thinking more about these things than I am my health.]

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

Shiloh's dusty and newly dented station wagon crawls into the parking lot of an antiquated-looking building. Of all the cars in the lot, the station wagon stands out; all the other vehicles look expensive and important compared to his. Most of them have personalized license plates, shining hubcaps, or two antennae instead of one. Shiloh is surrounded by wall-to-wall luxury cars. He looks around, stunned at his surroundings.

In front of him is one of several two-story buildings that make up the High Temp Resort. The red-roofed, white-sided hotel looks inviting indeed; it is the only think he has seen for miles that is not a natural part of the dusty landscape. The welcome sight makes him smile broadly as he closes the driver's door. He turns around to look behind him and sees the vast, giant peaks that make up the Black Mountains. The mountain range practically looks down on the resort and the people filing in.

Something happens to the wolf that does not normally happen. He is taken by surprise. He gasps at the sight of the purple-colored mountains and a couple of minutes later, continues to stare at it with the widest of open mouths. The normally unflappable hunter literally takes a couple of steps backwards until he bumps into a stray car. Winter's words must be registering at this point. He is clearly out of his element. If not for the mission at hand, he would look completely lost.

The High Temp Resort is an oasis in the middle of the heat, sand, rocks, and dry foliage that make up the main environment. By the front door are a number of guests, mostly human, a couple of whom are parents with kids. After getting his fill of the mountain range, Shiloh cautiously steps toward the main building. He starts to pant slightly, a simple reaction to the stifling heat, and enters the welcoming shelter.

Once inside, the wolf nods in approval, not just because of the cool air but also because of the home-like setting. The plush carpet has a nice, Native-American, mosaic design dressed in warm colors. In front of him is a large fireplace, in front of which are four leather chairs. Two of them are occupied by a couple of Irish Setters just starting to settle in. The walls were decorated with gorgeous pictures of the landscape that surrounds the resort. There are also a few pictures of certain activities that the tourists and other visitors can partake in. The front desk is to the wolf's left, complete with a laptop, a couple of thick stacks of paper, a container of brochures, and the friendly receptionist.

Shiloh walks toward the desk but does not make eye contact with the human employee. He continues looking around the large structure, nodding every couple of minutes. He turns to his right to see a flight of stairs about ten steps high. It veers off the right over to another staircase that leads to the second floor. He watches on as a human family, a couple and their precocious-looking son, slowly climb down from the top of the stairs.

Besides the receptionist, there are ten people in this lobby. The client Shiloh is supposed to meet is not one of them. He looks at the gold wristwatch around his left arm and sighs. It has just turned five o'clock. For some reason, it irks him; he sullenly puts his hands in his pockets and slowly walks to the wall farthest from him. There is a window nearby that shows the "backyard" of this place. As looks outside, he makes a note of the human family; the mom and dad have sat on the leather chairs not far away. The Irish Setters are no longer there. While the parents have taken a seat, the blond-haired son, about ten years old, paces around the furniture. He is agitated, most likely bored, and he is starting to drive his parents crazy.

"But mom, I don't wanna wear the tie!"

"Fine. Put it in your pocket...but don't mess with the collar." The mother sights, exasperated and edgy; she looks uncomfortable being in the room. She takes out a handkerchief from her purse and wipes her forehead angrily. "Just don't give me anymore problems today."

The young boy wastes no time wrenching the necktie from his neck and tossing it on the floor. "This is stupid! We didn't have to dress up like this when we got here!"

"We're dressing up because your grandfather is picking us up. We always dress nice for him."

"But it's sooooooooooo hot in here!"

The father of the kid leans back in his chair, trying but failing to enjoy the scenery. "Just bear with it a little bit longer," he says. He has his eyes closed and does not care to give the unruly child the attention he seeks. "Just pick a chair and sit down."

"I don't want to!"

"Aw, for the love of God...." The mother turns to look at her son. He is right behind them but is keeping himself about an arm's length away. "You're gonna undo all the work we did dressing up this morning. And how many times to I have to tell you to tuck your shirt in?"

The boy had been wearing a black tie. He is currently wearing a white cotton shirt and dark brown slacks. His black dress shoes shine in the light of the incandescent ceiling bulbs. His black, heavy wristwatch pretty much hangs from his right wrist. He is dressed like he is going to church. His bottom of the shirt hangs well below his waist, ruining what would otherwise be a pretty good look for him. "I don't want to tuck it in," he whispers. "It's uncomfortable."

"That's because you don't sit still."

"It itches!"

The father laughs. "That's because the shirt is starched to within an inch of its life."

"Don't defend him!" The mother stands and looks at the boy sternly. "Look, that's just how it's done, okay? You tuck in your shirt. It doesn't matter how uncomfortable it is. You tuck that thing in! That's just the way it's supposed to be. That's what makes you look good." She sits down angrier than before. "Besides, if I have to wear these heels, you're gonna tuck that shit in."

At first, the boy responds by looking down angrily, but just seconds later, he looks up and around him. "Ask anyone, huh?" There are still about ten other people milling around the place; two of them are talking on their cell phones while three of them were talking to the receptionist. The being closest to him was Shiloh, who was still looking out the nearby windows. With his parents looking away, he sneaks up to the wolf and loudly clears his throat.

The pensive wolf hears the noise and turns to his right. He sees the kid staring at him, shrugs his shoulders, and turns back to the window.

"Excuse me, Mr. Wolf? Can I ask you something?"

Shiloh squints angrily. He is uninterested in talking and impatient waiting for the client, but there is little he can do while he waits. He slowly turns, showing the boy his height in all its glory. His eyes widen inquisitively; he does not have to ask the boy what he wants when his eyes can do it for him.

"Can I leave my shirt untucked?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Are you asking me whether it's better to go without your shirt tucked in?"

The boy nods emphatically. He looks comfortable asking a complete stranger a seemingly random question; he is certainly not as scared as his parents would be if they would just turn their heads.

The wolf opens his mouth to answer but stops to look down at himself. His silk shirt is tucked in and he looks very presentable compared to his young counterpart. He straightens any stray folds and puts his hands in the pockets of his slacks. "Listen kid, your clothes say a lot about you. If you tuck in your shirt, you're showing people that you know how to dress. You're telling the world that you're the best you can be...and people will believe that you can do anything. You will look like someone not to be messed with. Look at me. You know what I'm dressed up for?"

The boy shakes his head; his face is showing some disappointment.

"I'm dressed up for a lady. She's really late and I've been waiting for some time, but I still dress like she means something to me, just like I'm sure whoever you're dressing for means something to you."

"I guess," the young man says. He mimics Shiloh and puts his hands in his pockets. "So you're saying tucked, huh?"

"Tucked makes you presentable, trustworthy, confident, and maybe even a little bit educated."

"Oh." As the young man turns to leave, he feels the wolf's hand on his left shoulder and turns around.

Shiloh leans in and whispers, "But untucked makes me look taller." He immediately untucks his cotton shirt and smiles as the kid quietly laughs. "Just bear with it for a little while longer, okay? Dress up well enough to please everyone for now. After a couple of months of wearing your good clothes that way, you'll please enough people--"

"Then I can go without tucking it in, right?"

"I'm not your parents, but I see nothing wrong with that. Just be a good kid from this point forward."

With that, the boy leaves the wolf and heads back to his parents. He sits down on the floor in front of the fireplace and relaxes where his mom can see him. He can stay out of trouble this way. Shiloh looks at him for a couple of seconds before turning back to the window. The conversation with the boy keeps the smile on his face for a couple of more minutes. Then as the impatience kicks in, he decides to leave the window.

He reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a small photograph. He straightens his collar and reaches to the receptionist. There is a small line of patrons talking to her right now, but Shiloh does not have to wait long before it dissipates. With a determined face, he holds out the photograph to the employee.

"Excuse me, ma'am. Do you know if a woman who looks like this showed up here today?"

The receptionist looks tired and uninterested; she has been talking to people all day. She looks up at the wolf, glances as the photograph, and promptly looks down. "She's right behind you," she says.

The wolf raises his eyebrows with surprise and turns around. Just as he was told, the client he was looking for is right behind him. She waves bashfully and whispers "Hi."

Shiloh scans her carefully. He has been told that she was in danger from the mark, but she hardly looks like she is in any distress. She looks composed, confident, and very attractive. Her face is white but the rest of her has the slightest bit of tan mixed in with the white; it is as if her fur has been air-brushed with a dull-copper coloring. She is wearing a green shirt and khaki shorts, looking like she is about to go to an archeology dig. Her thick, black hair hangs down and partially covers her face.

Shiloh is definitely impressed. "You're Aurora?"

"That's my name. You're Shiloh?"

"You know my name?"

"I was told by the person I made contact with all about the man who would be my savior. I've...um, forgotten his name, but--"

"Crevecoeur?"

"Yeah, that's it. He's already told me who'd be doing the business. The way he described you, he made you look like a gladiator. So far, so good. Could you follow me, please?"

Aurora turns around and heads for the stairs. She walks across the room daintily and gracefully; her hair and her tail bounce gently to her movements. The wolf stares at the coyote with wide, disbelieving eyes. Something about her has him in rapt attention. He waits until she is some distance in front of him before following. He shakes his head while he observes her.

The coyote stops at the foot of the stairs before turning around to face him. She puts her hands on her hips and asks, "Something wrong?"

"Um...." He shakes his head quickly and closes the distance between them. "It's nothing."

"Get close, would you please? I'd like it if you hovered over me. I'm in danger, remember?"

"Yeah, what kind of danger is it? I hope you don't mind my asking."

"You don't believe me?"

"It's not that. It's just...I need you to tell me more about your situation. Right now, I'm really focused on the mark, but--"

"You act like you've never met a damsel in distress before." She gives a short smile and climbs up the stairs.

Shiloh is a little closer to her as he follows. For some reason, the pace of his breathing increases. He exhales shakily as he watches her tail flounce back and forth. When she stops at the top, he covers his mouth with his left hand, hoping she can't hear his sudden nervousness. The stairs lead to a hallway with doors on either side. Aurora picks up the pace, looking more confident up here than downstairs. After passing a couple of doors, she veers left. "This is my room."

"You here by yourself?"

"Well, yes and no. I am by myself, but I've dressed like this so I could look like I'm part of a hiking party. There is to be a hiking tour in five hours. I've signed up to be part of it so that I can have the cover necessary to slip past the tour and head for where we need to go. I'll sign you up for it later."

"That's your plan?"

"Hold on a moment." She opens the door and flips the nearby light switch. "Let's get the introductions out of the way first. Then I'll tell you my problem and what I need you to do."

"I'm a professional. I already know what to do."

Aurora smirks. "Oh really?"

"Yeah. I get a picture of the mark from my boss...well, bosses anyway, then I hunt him down. Simple as that."

"You won't be saying that after I tell you about Aleph. Have a seat."

Aurora sits on the bed at the right of the room. In front of the bed are a large coffee table and a couple of red velvet chairs. The wolf turns one of them around and sits to face the client. She is scanning him carefully, paying attention to his rather impressive physique. When he sits, she continues to stare. Shiloh waits for her to say something to break the tension, but then decides to clear his throat loudly to get things started.

"You know," she says, "you're acting like something bad is about to happen. You don't look so sure of yourself."

"I'm sorry. " Shiloh hangs his head and starts to laugh. It is a polite, tittering laugh, not his usual boisterous chortle. "I'm almost embarrassed to say this but I gotta confess. I'm a little bit smitten."

Aurora clasps her hands and tries to remain serious. "What...with me?"

"You remind me of my girlfriend." He looks at the ceiling and shakes his head. "I left LA two days ago to get here and I figured my being away from her would allow me to concentrate on my mission. Suddenly, I meet the client and the picture I have of her does her little justice." He finally looks right at her. "You look a little like my girlfriend. By that, I mean...almost exactly. Your eyes are even the same color."

The coyote responds with a quick smile before shaking her head. She is still trying to remain focused. "Well, that kind of sucks for what needs to happen. Are you gonna be able to help me if you see your girl instead of me?"

"But I do see you. It's just an amazing coincidence."

"Can you do what I need you to do?"

Shiloh stops smiling. "You're in danger, right? That's all I need to hear. I guarantee you that nothing bad's going to happen to you today."

"That's nice, I guess, but it's not today you should be worried about. It's tomorrow. Before I tell you though, I have to ask. How good are you at this?"

The wolf blinks a few times; the question is definitely unexpected. "Oh, okay. That's new." He closes his mouth tightly as he thinks of an answer. "Are you asking how many people I've killed?"

"I'm asking how strong you are. The number of people you've killed doesn't matter to me; you're here to kill one man. I want to know if you're fit for desert travel."

"Well...I don't know if I am or not. But I--"

"You look strong enough." The coyote stands. "When I was coming down the stairs, I saw you talking to this small, human boy. It gave me the chance to observe you for a couple of minutes. You're just like Mr. Crevecoeur described you. He told me you're strong enough to take on most anything. You're big and muscular, so I'm willing to believe that you look like you can handle what's about to happen."

"What is about to happen?"

Aurora walks toward him and puts her hands on his shoulders. She looks eager to get something off her chest. "We're going to meet Aleph."

"Wow. Just like that?"

"I can feel the absolute strength in your shoulders. You look strong enough to take him."

"No, wait a sec. We're actually meeting the mark together?"

The coyote releases him and stands up straight. "Is that problem? I'm afraid it's the only way. Allow me to explain." She walks across the room and heads for the flat-screen television on the other side. Under the television is a brown bureau with four drawers. She opens the top drawer and pulls out a small, blue backpack. "I'm sure you're prepared, but I brought us some insurance. These cloth coolers will provide our liquids with enough insulation to last us a couple of hours apiece. I have eight of these altogether. I'm sure you've got something like this on you."

"I've got thermoses of water in the car, but no coolers. How far into the desert do we have to go?"

"Miles and miles." Aurora throws the cooler at the wolf and retakes her place on the bed. "Here's the situation. I live in a commune, deep in the desert. It's not quite the middle of Death Valley, but it might as well be. The commune is twenty beings strong; it's got a coyote--me--and coywolves like Aleph. It's one of several colonies that are situated in arid locations around Death Valley, New Mexico, and parts of Nevada. My commune is run by Aleph, though he gets help running it from outside sources."

"Sorry for interrupting, but how'd you make it to this resort from where your commune is?"

"How do you think? I walked. The desert is my home. I've learned to acclimatize. I've learned to pace myself. In the communes, we use tents for shelter. They are decorated according to which commune lives there. Our daily life is the desert. We hunt for food and protective clothing. We forage for dried foliage to make fires at night. Aleph and his group have studied the Bedouins of Northern Africa and the Kalahari Bushmen. That's how they were able to build such a community out there."

"But what do you do for water and other...outside amenities? It obviously doesn't rain out there."

"Some of our members are designated travelers to nearby cities. The biggest city near us is Carson City, Nevada. We go there, buy water and supplies with the money we have, and return. Some of us have jobs in those cities. Any money made goes to the well-being of the commune. Every cent is shared."

"I'm guessing you're one of those travelers."

"That I am. All it takes is following my nose, but I never forget the map."

"That's fascinating." Shiloh is genuinely fascinated. He has slowly shifted to the end of his chair and is unwittingly sitting closer to her. "If we really are going to meet the mark, I'm glad you'll be leading the way."

"Yeah...." Aurora looks at her lap and shakes her head. Her confidence seems to be waning. "Forgive me; I'm really nervous about this. I'm asking you to kill the leader of our commune; a man who is very popular with many of the coywolves in our community. He started the commune idea and is credited with saving the lives of many of its inhabitants." She nervously covers her face. "I might be having second thoughts."

Shiloh leaves his chair and sits next to her on the bed. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm just overwhelmed." She uncovers her face and smiles at the wolf. "I need you to know that Aleph, even though he's done all these nice things, is not a good guy. He is a controlling, paranoid, underhanded cancer. His reign is dictatorial. If we're not hunting food or buying supplies, we're standing guard against the occasional humans who wander too close. He and most of the males from the other camps are responsible for at least three killings in the past year. They eat the bodies and take the clothes."

"Did you say eat the bodies?"

"Until there's no evidence left. Even the bones are dealt with. The worst part of living there is the lack of togetherness between warring tribes. That has a really negative effect on my sisters."

"You live with your sisters?"

"I have no biological sisters; all the women in the commune call each other sister. That's despite the fact that I'm the only coyote and the other females are coywolves. We used to be very close, but now we're fragmented. There are twelve females and eight males in our commune. All but five of us follow Aleph faithfully. He is the master and commander...and you follow his orders, no questions asked. If he says to have sex with him...." She swallows and looks at the ceiling. "...you have sex with him. The sisters who follow him have no problems giving their bodies up for his pleasure. I...have no such proclivities."

Shiloh shifts himself closer until his left foot is touching her right. "Did he do something to you?"

"Not yet. He usually has one girl a day, sometimes two. Some of the girls are attached to a couple of the boys, but anyone can have sex with anyone. He has been eyeing me for a long time. I'm the smallest of the girls, so he thinks he'll have me sooner or later. Since I travel a lot, I've been able to resist, but there are signs that...he is getting impatient."

"What kinds of signs?"

"He's raped one of us. It was just over a week ago, a day before I strenuously refused his latest advances. When I did that, the sisters who were not loyal to him took that as a sign that they could refuse too. He did not see it that way. He raped Clio, and allowed one of his brothers to take her as well. That, as they say, was the last straw." She coughs a couple of times. It is a dry and harsh cough.

"You want something to drink?"

"There's water in the fridge, just behind you." She watches the wolf stand to look for the mini refrigerator and continues. "The sisters who are loyal to Aleph turned against those who weren't, including me. We still live together, but we're not together anymore." She accepts an unopened bottle of water. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Shiloh has taken a bottle as well. "So we have a reason to kill him, not that I needed one. This is a lot more info than I usually get about a mark before I do him in."

"It's important I tell you all that because I need you to know that I'm not alone. The five of us who have rejected Aleph are scared for our lives. Clio's been assaulted and she's no longer the person she once was. Any one of us could be next. We decided that something needed to be done."

"So you sought me."

Aurora laughs. "I found you guys by accident. I was in a library in Carson City perusing the internet, and I came across this forum that only hinted at your group of hitmen. There were a lot of code words used, but after I deciphered the messages, I decided to give you all a call. I talked to a man named Ted who said he'd send someone over. I told him where I would be and two days later, Crevecoeur and I met in this very room. After we made the deal and gave him some money, I told my friends of the plan. They did not hesitate. They pooled all the money they had together and we came up with fifty thousand dollars."

"Damn! But don't you need that?"

The coyote reaches under the bed and pulls out another backpack. She gently tosses it to Shiloh and says, "Open it." As he obeys, she quietly adds, "I gave your boss ten thousand, to show him that I'm very serious and on the level. In there is the rest of it." She sighs heavily and her voice starts to break. "You have to understand...that money is meant for tools, water, outside food, and medicine that we need to live out there. We're instead giving it to you. We're entrusting you with our lives and our future. We need you to deliver."

At first bowled over by the amount of hundreds in the bag, he is now stiffened with resolve. "Don't worry. I'll do the job regardless, but are you sure you can part with all this?"

Aurora wipes her eyes. "To kill Aleph, I'd spend every penny I have."

He nods and closes the bag. "You got yourself a hitman." He smiles and extends his right hand.

The coyote only looks at it and turns away. "I'm afraid I have to ask too much of you for this job."

"Nah, don't worry about it. This isn't more than I usually face."

"I'm afraid this one might be. It concerns our cover story. You see, a week before he raped Clio, Aleph gave me an ultimatum to go to bed with him. I lied and told him I had a boyfriend...and that I met him while buying medicine in Reno. He backed off, so the boyfriend angle worked that day."

Shiloh raises his eyebrows. "And our cover story is?"

"You're my boyfriend and I'm introducing you to Aleph."

"Uh-oh."

"What's the matter? Remember what I said before? Aleph is very paranoid, which means he's very careful. His best weapon is his nose, and thanks to the lonesome environment, his sense of smell can reach a long way. He can smell if you're being unfaithful. He can smell dishonesty. When I first told him I had a boyfriend, he gave me the benefit of the doubt since he likes me so much. It won't work a second time. If I just introduce you to him without preparation, he'll know something up."

Shiloh looks more unsure than before. "So what's the plan?"

"I have to smell like you. That is, I've got to have your scent on me. Aleph can smell a stranger a mile away. If I smell like you when we meet, he'll know I'm no longer available. It'll upset him and, hopefully, he'll be easier to kill."

"And how exactly do we do that?"

Aurora clasps her hands and look at her feet, as if embarrassed. "You'd have to sleep with me."

Shiloh bursts out laughing. The outburst first startles, then angers his client. He laughs so hard that he closes his eyes and shakes his head vigorously. He drops the bottle of water he had been holding and puts his hands on his knees. "That's rich. Thanks for the laugh."

The coyote is sad and sober. "I had the feeling you weren't ready."

The laughter suddenly stops. "You're serious!"

"Aleph will sense us when we come near. He's bitterly jealous and hates competition. If we meet him and we don't smell like each other, the boyfriend gambit won't work--"

"So use some other excuse!"

"I can't think of any that'll get you close enough to kill him!" Aurora quickly grabs Shiloh's hands and gets him to look into her eyes. "Please...I'm begging you. This is already so difficult for me to ask. Please don't make light of this."

He cannot decide whether to look at her or look away. "I can't...sleep with you."

"We can just sleep in the same bed. I promise, we don't have to do anything else, but we have to smell as much like one another as possible."

"I...don't like this."

She releases him and stands to take a drink of water. "Rest assured, Shiloh, it has to be this way. I told him I had a boyfriend to get him off my back and get him off guard. If he meets you, he'll be floored. He'll lose focus...and we can kill him together."

He shakes his head and murmurs to himself. He is now very uncomfortable, even though he is sitting in a pretty comfy bed. "This is bad."

"Does that mean you won't do it? Remember, you're not just some hitman I hired. You're my bodyguard, and you're going to keep him away from me before it's time to do him in. I've already told you how dangerous he is. We have to outsmart him if this is to work. If we mess up, even by an inch, he will kill you. Then...I can only imagine what'll happen to me." She moves closer to him and crouches in front of him. "You've already said that I remind you of your mate. Use that as motivation. Use your imagination...but I have to smell like you." She straightens herself and walks away from him.

"I've got to think about this. This is...completely different from what I was expecting."

"Don't think for too long. The hiking party starts at five. That's when we meet the other hikers downstairs. We pack up our supplies and join them before they leave. Then during the hike, we separate ourselves from the group. We first need to go over the map so I can show you where we're going. I'm going to take a shower to prepare. You can join me inside if you'd like. We can share our scents right away."

Shiloh flops down on the bed, a million thoughts racing through his head. "Just give me more time to think, okay?"