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Venom: Beautiful Killers. Part 49

"...if I was a cat, I'd hit that."

"Come on, Paraná! I want to go swimming! It's time for my daily routine! Let's get some exercise!" Tivoli pleads and prods anxiously from the newly minted living room. She has on a T-shirt and track shorts, ready for a jog or at least for an exercise routine. She sits on the edge of the coffee table and ties her sneakers, periodically looking at Paraná's general direction. "Seriously, I told you I've planned for this...and you said you wanted to go. Have you changed your mind?"

She is talking to a closed door. Across from her in one of the bedrooms, the sound of the jaguar jostling around is getting louder. It sounds like he is uprooting a few pieces of furniture. A couple of loud bangs later and Tivoli is standing and looking at the bedroom door with concern.

"Are you all right in there?"

Nothing comes out of him, but there are a few more loud noises before the door finally opens. The jaguar exits the room, breathing like he has done some exercise already. He sulks out with his head down and his dress shoes untied. He looks unprepared.

"What was all that?" Tivoli asks.

"Nothing. I just lost the cat. That's all. She crawled in the bed with me and woke me up. She was there one minute and gone the next."

"Oh, don't worry about that." Tivoli smiles and touches her toes to stretch. "I let Fluffy outside. She likes to pounce on me when she gets fussy, so I let her cool off outdoors. Hey, did you know we have mice? This place has mice in the back yard and near the patio."

"This place doesn't have mice." Paraná scoffs and passes her on his way to the kitchen.

"The two or three holes on the ground near the back stairs say we do. Anyway, we need Fluffy to be a mouser so I've been putting her through her paces. I've been playing with her in the backyard more often and she saw one of the mice yesterday. After I bolster her confidence some more, she should be ready to catch her first one."

"Where are you going?"

Tivoli stands and puts her hands on her hips. "You mean we. We're going to Griffith Park. Don't forget the backpack. It's got my swimsuit in there."

"I haven't been there in a long time. I used to go there for handball. But in reality, it's not one of my favorite places to go."

"Well, you've obviously got some sort of aversion to getting fit. I've never seen someone so eager to go back to work slack off like you have the last couple of weeks."

"You think convalescing is the same as slacking off?"

"You've been convalescing for four weeks."

Paraná sneers at her and passes her again. "You're just impatient. You can clearly see I'm starting to improve."

"You could have gone to the park with us. Winter and me have been playing tennis the past week. I'm slowly improving my physique. You could be too."

The jaguar angrily takes off his undershirt, exposing three dressing gauzes on his chest and two on his lower torso. The dressings cover the stitched-up knife wounds; the one on the middle of his chest is the biggest. Ironically, the wound that cost him his spleen has the smallest gauze protecting it. Besides all that, everything looks normal. His six-pack is as prominent as before and his arms are toned and ripped. Despite the rough time away from work, he looks like he has been taking care of himself.

"I've done nothing but improve," he says. "Anyway, I'm not going to the park. I'm going back to work."

Tivoli raises her eyebrows and almost laughs at the flippant way he made the announcement. She shakes her head and looks down to reexamine her laces. "You're not ready."

"What's that? Of course I am. What are you talking about?"

"You're still recovering from your injuries."

"I've recovered fully."

"No, you haven't! Just look at those!" She points at his naked abdomen, accusingly waving her finger at the injuries. "You look like a plushie who's been put together by a needle and thread. You're not remotely ready."

Still holding his shirt, Paraná looks at her angrily and folds his arms. "I will be accepted back no matter how I look. You know what? Maybe it's you who isn't ready. I think you're telling me I'm not ready because you don't want to go back to work."

"Well..." Tivoli stammers and stands to face him. "Maybe I'm not...and I've been thinking about going back, but--"

"You had a chance to return to the job and make yourself some money. Instead, you've been trying to take care of me and going to the park with Shiloh's girlfriend. You could be doing the job you've been preparing for all this time. One of the guys there would have helped you get back into shape, or maybe Ted would. As far as I know, I'm not the 'slacking one.' You are. I'm just trying to get better."

"Does this mean you won't go to the park with me?"

"I've already told you...I'm going to work."

"Come on, please? Wait one more day and go with me." Tivoli walks over to him and puts her hands on his waist. "I'd call Winter, but I can't reach her for some reason. There's no answer when I call her house."

"Then call her cell."

"It's busy. It's been busy all day. I gave up a while ago. The last couple of days playing tennis were fun and I was thinking of making it a regular thing, but now I can't find her for some reason."

Paraná rolls his eyes and walks through the dark hallway in front of him. "I'm getting dressed. Don't wait up for me."

Tivoli shakes her head and slinks down on the nearest chair. She reaches into the right pocket of her jogging pants and takes out a thick, blue rubber band. "I'll show you who's slacking," she says as she ties her hair back. Her soft locks are easily formed into a ponytail; it is the style she prefers when she does any exercise.

A couple of loud, ringing tones interrupt the calm. The loud whining comes from two telephones. The closer one is on Tivoli's right, just inches away from the TV. She continues to fix her hair as it rings, uninterested in picking up the receiver. It rings five times before Paraná sticks his head out into view. "Could you please answer that? I'm brushing my teeth."

Tivoli sighs and rolls her eyes. "When are you gonna get an answering machine?"

"I'm sorry. Are we married?" The jaguar promptly returns his head back to its hiding place.

The ocelot shakes her head and whines a bit as she stands to answer a call that is most likely not for her. She picks it up with the enthusiasm of someone who hates her roommate. "Good morning. Paraná can't come to the phone right now. Could you leave a message?"

The voice on the other end of the line is so loud, it causes the ocelot to wrench her head away from the receiver. Now the voice is loud enough for even Paraná to hear it from wherever he is. "Hold on a minute! Slow down!" Tivoli yells back and waits for the voice to stop piercing her ears. She holds on to the receiver and patiently waits. The voice calms down and comes into form. "Winter?"

She smiles at the voice, then frowns and shudders at the news she is given. Without saying anything, she walks to the couch and sits on the arm, letting Winter lay everything out. She listens intently and quietly lets her smile fade. "Are you serious?"

A couple of quick breaths later, Tivoli has the rundown and nods emphatically. "Is he out of surgery?" she asks. "How long have they been working on him?" She continues nodding as she presses her lips together nervously.

During the conversation, Paraná comes back into the living room with his shoelaces tied and a new, crisp-looking, white cotton shirt and brown slacks. The last time he went to the workplace, he was in a lot of pain. Now he intends to make a more inspiring return in front of his friends and the executives. The embarrassment he felt the last time he was at work seems to be a thing of the past.

"Well, I'm off!" he yells, only to be shushed loudly by Tivoli. She is now on her feet, pacing back and forth near the couch. He looks at her for a minute before shrugging and shaking his head. "Like I said earlier, don't wait up for me."

"Hold on, girl! I'm coming right over!" She squeezes the cordless receiver between her left shoulder and left cheek, allowing her to crouch and untie her sneakers. "I'm gonna get dressed and I'll be right there in half an hour."

The jaguar was on his way to the kitchen as Tivoli was talking. Now he looks at her with some interest and stops in front of the doorway. The ocelot is trying to console the wolf over the phone. When he hears Winter's name, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. But once he hears Shiloh's name, he first gasps, then smiles modestly before heading to the kitchen.

"Paraná's fine," she says. "He says he's ready to go back to work, but I rather doubt it. And how are you?" She quietly kicks off her sneakers and chuckles slightly; it sounds like Winter has calmed down. "I'm on my way, okay?" Her hands are still free; she slides off her track pants below her knees. "Nope. Don't discourage me. Even if I wanted to go get a mark, I'd still go there first to see you."

The jaguar exits the kitchen holding a mug with steam rising from the inside. He blows on the contents as he comes in, but stops as he sees the ocelot with her pants around her ankles. He observes her backside lewdly and momentarily licks his lips. However, once she hangs up, he simply walks by her as if nothing happened.

"Shiloh's in the hospital," she says as he passes. "He's got stab wounds just like you. I'm going over there to see Winter and wait with her until he is out of surgery."

Looking more at her bare legs instead of her face, he simply nods and says, "Good. He's out of our hair."

Tivoli takes off her pants and was headed to the bedroom when Paraná said what he said. "What do you mean?"

"He is out of commission. As long as he is, life will be easier for the rest of the hunters. This truly is good news. I can't wait to tell Hoeness. He will jump for joy."

"Are you kidding?"

"Don't you remember telling you this? I've already told you; taking all the marks that he has from the rest of the group costs all of us money. I know the executives prefer him over the rest of us, but it was getting ree-dee-culous." He laughs at his pronunciation of the word before continuing. "The next few weeks will be sweet."

"But that's one of your guys. Shiloh's one of your coworkers. Even if he takes marks from you, there are still others to choose from. That's a stupid reason for you guys turning against him."

The jaguar approaches her sternly. He scans her up and down; he looks angry at her for what she said, but he is more likely eyeing her underwear. "I know you are new to this business so you can be forgiven for not knowing. However, if you want my help in getting you through the difficulties of our work, you need to know who your friends are. Shiloh works only for himself and does nothing for the betterment of the team. He steals marks and money from us. Soon, her girlfriend will do those same things too. Shiloh is no friend of ours...so I don't have to visit him. Neither do you."

Tivoli shakes her head and starts to walk away. "He vouched for me. He's the reason I'm in with you guys in the first place."

"He vouched for a lot of us. We owe him that, but that doesn't mean we respect him now for the way he's been treating us. He certainly didn't vouch for me. In fact, he didn't treat me like anything but second class."

The ocelot disappears into the bedroom, leaving Paraná looking on. He fixes his collar and buttons the cuffs on his sleeves. As he looks at his watch, he hears her say, "Well fine! You do what you want. I'm going to visit him. Winter is there and I think she could use the company."

"As far as I am concerned, she can stay there with her boyfriend."

"And you can stop with the condescending tone." She leaves the bedroom dressed in more casual street clothes and pumps instead of sneakers. She holds her designer purse over her shoulder and wears her favorite necklace. "What do you have against her anyway? You only met her a couple of days ago. She helped cook you dinner."

Paraná folds his arms. "Listen to me. You once told me that you wanted the money that comes with doing this job. If you really want that, you'd be coming to work with me. We can continue your training where we left off."

"And I want that! But it has to wait right now!"

"No, it doesn't."

The felines look at each other with contradicting feelings. He looks at her as if looking down on her, as if he were taller than she was in both height and importance. It looks like he wants to advise her in his wise ways and she is petulantly rejecting him. She looks at him in disbelief. The sweet, kind, strong yet flawed man she once met has now turned into something unappealing. Her face shows that she is learning much more than she wanted to.

"I gotta go," she says. "I'm gonna go see my friend."

"I'll see you later then."

"I must say...you've given me a lot to think about. I'm especially wondering how I ended up kissing you all those weeks ago."

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

The waiting room in the sixteenth floor is mostly empty. Its rows of simple, soft-cushioned chairs are quietly standing there, waiting to be used. The end tables on each side of the rows have old magazines and pamphlets just waiting to be read. Everything inside looks drab; the carpet and the wallpaper are the same color; the seat cushions have that same faded green coloring. There are several landscapes and paintings of flowers on the wall that give the room some character. There is a television hanging from the roof, but it is off at this time.

Winter is pacing at the only really spacious area there is. She is right next to the nurses' station, walking back and forth on bare feet. Her low-hanging hands are clasped in front of her. She looks humbled yet jumpy as if news of her mate's fate will come any second.

Robert Crevecoeur is sitting just feet away from her, deeper inside the waiting room. Though his face shows as much concern as hers, he looks more relaxed, like he knows something she doesn't. He might know more about Shiloh's condition than she does, or he may have been to the hospital so many times that he is numb to it by now. Either way, he looks a lot better than she does.

"Sit down," he says. "Take a load off. It's not bad until the doctors tell us it's bad. And most times, it's never as bad as we think it is." He pauses and tsks loudly, seeing that his words are not working. "Look at you. You look like a bad 50's stereotype. Trust me. Your baby will be born and you'll be handing the doctors cigars in no time."

Winter looks at him angrily, sighs, and continues pacing. All the attempted joke managed to do was unclasp her hands.

"Well, I tried. You can keep running around if you want, but the news will be the same if you just sit down. Trust me. I've been in waiting rooms many times, so I'm used to it."

"Well, I'm not, okay?!" The raised voice startles the receptionists at their work station. Winter's breaths grate and grind out of her. Her nervousness gives way to quickly growing anger. "I hate hospitals."

"Surely you figured you'd be here sooner or later, right?"

"Ummmmm...." She takes a couple of more breaths before turning away and pacing once again. This time she shuffles her bare feet on the carpet, trying to look in control of herself.

"Please stop. Just come here and sit next to me."

Winter slaps her left hand against her thigh. "I've been sitting next to you for...." She stops yelling and looks at her right wrist. "How long have we been here?"

Crevecoeur looks at his own watch and tsks once again. "It's now seven. We've been here since eight last night."

"You mean they've been working on him for thirteen hours?!"

"Well...eleven actually, but--"

"What's taking so long?!"

"Please sit down. You're scaring the nurse practitioners."

Beckoned by her friend, Winter approaches him quickly. His demeanor is aloof and nonchalant; she is becoming annoyed. "Tell me. Why is this taking so long?"

He shrugs at her. "You gotta understand...it's not easy. Working on someone like Shiloh has lots of downsides; lots of drawbacks. Since you're not used to hospitals, you would need a rundown on how a major hospital operates to understand how Shiloh will be worked on. That would take a long time to explain."

"Try!"

Surprised at being yelled at, he looks at her sternly and pats the empty seat next to him with his right hand. His conduct is less like a detached friend and more like a father angry at his child. "First, calm down and sit down."

Winter obeys, keeping her eyes off him and turning her head away when she sits.

"Your shoes." The human hands her the sneakers that were under his seat. After having them snatched from his hands, he realizes that the wolf is not one to be messed with today. It would be better to just answer her questions. He nods and leans back in his seat while she sits petulantly next to him. "You okay?"

"What do you think?!"

"Calm down. I want you to listen to me, okay? And don't interrupt...unless it's to ask a question without yelling. Now...what I'm about to tell you goes back a long time, all the way back to the 1960s. To truly appreciate what's happening to Shiloh, you've got to understand the state of the United States back then. After the failure at the Bay of Pigs, everyone was panicking because Cuba got the freedom it wanted and they made friends with the Russians. After Cuba acquired those Russian missiles, everyone started to quake in their boots. We had the Missile Crisis, we had 'Duck and Cover,' we had all that suspicion and paranoia, and it led to a lot of questionable decisions from our local governments, Los Angeles included. You with me so far?"

Winter had been tying her shoes during the speech. After he stops to look at her, she sits up and looks right back at him. "Go on."

"Well, one of those decisions sprung from America's distrust of people they thought were communists. This included most anthros because a lot of them kept to themselves and they drew a lot of suspicion. That led to a lot of laws being passed, including the one where hospitals had to have separate accommodations for furs and humans. When the bill became law, only furs could work on furs and humans on humans. There was too much fear of cross-contamination with other species in the same hospital. I'm not even gonna go through the communism accusations my parents and their friends faced. Now fast forward to today. As we got smarter, our scientific breakthroughs got better...and we started learning from one another. The segregation law still exists; anthropomorphic patients are kept in separate wards from human patients in hospitals. This time though, human doctors can work on anthros and vice versa. That's important because when you're sick, you don't care who's working on you."

Winter leans back in her chair and looks at the ceiling with exasperation. "And what does all this have to do with Shiloh?"

"As the nurse told us, Shiloh's got multiple stab wounds, broken collarbone, a slash across his neck, and a collapsed lung. Now, it's hard enough to work on a human with all that, but Shiloh is a six foot-five inch wolf. He's got six people working on him, including two wolves. Think of all that needs to happen to fix what's broken. Think of all the cooperation needed to reinflate that lung. All that stuff takes hours, my friend."

"But if everyone's working together, then Shiloh's gonna pull through! Right?"

"That's part of what makes this the best hospital in the nation. So just keep the faith, okay dear?"

Winter blinks a couple of times while he looks at her hopefully. She looks at her lap and sighs haughtily.

"You look like you want to go home."

She looks at him and tries to smile, showing her teeth in silly desperation. She soon gives up and lets herself fall until her head leans up against the human's right shoulder.

Crevecoeur looks at her calmly and cannot help chuckling at her unnerved state. He watches carefully as she slowly grabs his right arm with her hands. When she wraps her arms around his chest, he stops smiling and starts to realize how scared she is. He clears his throat and straightens himself. "I've never seen you like this."

"Yeah, well I don't like it either." Her voice is softer now and much easier to take. "It just feels wrong to feel this way. I hear all those injuries that they say Shiloh has...broken collarbone...collapsed lung...and I'm thinking that it's wrong. Everything is wrong. This is Shiloh we're talking about. This stuff just doesn't happen to him."

"I know what you mean. I was just as surprised as you are." Crevecoeur responds to Winter's closeness by putting his right arm around her. Now they look as one, equally sharing each other's pain and waiting for news that will most likely be bad. "I'm sorry about this, really." He coughs lightly and tries to continue speaking, but hears a sound coming from her mouth. He turns to see her chuckling. "What's so funny?"

"If my friends could see me now." She laughs and holds on tighter to him. "They'd be saying 'I told you so.'"

"You mean your classmates in college?"

"I told them back at the dorm that...I'd never want to fall in love with a cop. This was hours after you came to my class and a couple of days before I met Shiloh. You remember that, right?"

"Of course. I wasn't a detective yet."

"Yeah. That was my last class of the day. After you gave that lecture, I went to lunch then went back to the dorm. My friends came over and we talked about your appearance. I said I'd never want to be a cop's wife. Waiting every day for your husband to come home must be really nerve-wracking. I can't imagine what it must be like. They then reminded me that my major was criminal law."

Crevecoeur laughs softly and squeezes her tightly. "That's ironic."

"I know, but not more so than this, right? This must be what it feels like to be the woman of a police officer. I'm waiting for Shiloh to recover. All those other times I've been waiting for him to come home from a mission never felt quite like this." She swallows with discomfort and stops smiling. "You think this is what your wife felt whenever she waited on you?"

"I hope not. She'd scare the kids."

Winter laughs again, less shyly this time. "I'm not that bad."

"Don't forget. You're a wolf. A shouting wolf will unnerve anybody who sees one."

She straightens herself and looks at his profile. "Be serious with me. Were there any wolves on the force when you worked there?"

"Oh, God." Crevecoeur releases the wolf and puts his hands on his lap. "Yes there were, and before you continue, the answer is yes. They would get hurt. They mostly got sprains, strains, pulled hamstrings. One got shot but was protected by his vest. Still, he got a bad bruise and took a couple of days off. Yes, they would get hurt. No, they were never as bad as Shiloh's injuries are."

Winter huffs again, not getting the answer she wanted. "Just asking."

Crevecoeur yawns. "What's it gonna take to get you to relax?"

She grabs his face with both hands and gets him to look at her really urgent-looking face. "Say some magic words, transform into my boyfriend, and take me home."

He looks at his quite serious best friend with a warm smile and kisses her nose. Nothing helps.

Without warning, a short, stout man wearing blue surgical scrubs and a light blue mask enters the waiting room. He sees the mixed couple immediately. "Good morning, Mr. Crevecoeur! Nice to see you again!" He pauses slightly to observe Winter quickly letting go and hanging her head. "Is that the relative of the patient?"

"His mate, yes." He gently grabs her arms to stand her up. "We've been waiting for twelve hours."

Winter gives Crevecoeur a brief angry glance before turning to the surgeon. Strangely, she keeps her mouth closed, even though some of the questions she asked earlier could have been answered by the physician. She wants only the man who worked on Shiloh to talk and gives him a piercing stare.

"The surgery was successful. The laceration below his neck has been patched up and all the other cuts have been stitched. He is breathing fine, though he will be in considerable pain when he wakes up. He was dehydrated and lost a lot of blood. We've had to give him three pints during surgery. So far, he's taken to it well...for the time being at least."

"Any long term effects from his injuries?"

"Well not that I know, Robert, but I am worried about that collarbone. We'll get him x-rayed as soon as he wakes up, but we first want to see about the blood issue."

"There's an issue?"

"Shortages...especially among wolves. We were lucky to get the ones we got as soon as we did. He's doing okay for now and he's not bleeding internally, but he's gonna need a couple of more pints."

Winter steps in between the men and puts her face rudely in front of the surgeon's. "Can I help in any way?"

"If you're a match, it would. Do you know your blood type?"

"Um...." She hastily strokes her chin, believing that the fate of her boyfriend depends on her answer. "I...don't know. Actually, I've forgotten. The last time I had a checkup, I was still living with my parents."

"Well, that's all right. We'd still be short of wolf blood anyway. Frankly, unless you start a wolves-only blood drive, we're gonna struggle to return him to normal."

"Is he awake?"

"No, not yet. He's in the recovery room and we're keeping an eye on him. With any luck, you'll see him within the hour."

With that, Winter backs off and lets the men discuss her boyfriend's future. She chooses not to listen and resumes pacing the floor. A couple of other patients are now in the waiting room, but she hardly cares if they stare. After five minutes of reminiscing with .the surgeon, Crevecoeur says goodbye and carefully walks up to the nervous wolf. Two hands on her shoulders stop her pacing.

"He survived."

"Yeah, he did." The meditative wolf calmly pulls down the human's hands off her. "Robert, you need to go home."

"What's that?"

Winter's voice cracked, hitting a sour note. She loudly ahems and boldly repeats, "You need to go home."

"Well...that's gratitude for you."

"No, Robert. I'm grateful for you taking me here and being with me...but you've been here for half a day. You gotta go back to your kids. You haven't seen them in a while and I'm sure they're tired of grandma by now, don't you think?"

Crevecoeur releases a long "Mmmmmmm" sound from his closed mouth; he hardly seems enthusiastic about leaving her side. Moreover, he looks like he dreads spending any time with his children. "This is gonna be a long day."

"Don't tell me about long. I've been here forever and the day hasn't even started." She closes in on him and slides her arms under his. She presses herself to him and wraps her arms around his shoulders. "Besides, your kids need you. Summer vacation's almost over."

The faces of a couple of waiting room dwellers stare at the hugging couple. The wolf's height and the sight of her quite large, hanging tail unnerves one of them; he moves to a seat five feet away. Winter and Crevecoeur share a strong and passionate embrace. It is like they are trying to massage away each other's wounds. He gently rubs the small of her back, getting her to sigh softly. She grips his shoulder blades and nuzzles his chest.

"How long are you planning to stay?" he asks.

"As long as it takes. If he's talking, then I'll feel good enough to leave the hospital."

"That could be a while. What are you gonna do for a bath?"

"I'll just do it in here."

"Shall I go to your house and get you some things? Your toothbrush? Extra clothes?"

"I'll just stay here until Shiloh's taken to his room, then just stay there until he wakes up."

"A book to read?"

"I'll just watch TV." The wolf laughs and backs off to look at him. "Look at you trying to be all nice to me and stuff."

"Are you sure you don't want to go back to work? It's what Shiloh would want and you've been doing so well with the lessons he taught you."

She stops smiling and looks down. "Shiloh doesn't know what he wants...and I'll be just as sharp after a couple of days off." Before he can respond, she suddenly leans her face in to him. She presses her palms on either side of his face and points her muzzle against his mouth. Her strength keeps him still so he can neither respond nor fight it away. She closes her eyes and slides her tongue partway in. Confused, he hangs his hands and waits for her to stop. The kiss lasts five good seconds. She smiles. "Thanks for everything. Okay?"

When she stops to look at him, he turns away with embarrassment. "Okay. You can't kiss me the way you do Shiloh. Human mouths aren't built like that."

"Can't blame a girl for trying. Anyway, I just wanted you to stop worrying."

"You failed. I don't feel good leaving you here by yourself."

"I'll walk you to your car." She grabs his left hand with her right.

On the way out, she leans her head on his shoulder, making herself look smaller than she really is. This is the happiest she has been today; it belies the serious nature of her boyfriend's situation. It is something she has to deal with once they say goodbye.

"You're right, you know," he says. "You're right about everything. This afternoon, I'll take my kids to the park or something. But I'll be worried about you the whole time."

"You're my best friend. We know each other. We know we will be okay, so...." They stop at the nearest elevator. She wraps his arms around his waist. "Why don't we now deal with those who aren't quite so okay?" She kisses him again and pushes the down button for him. "You deal with your daughters and I'll try and nurse Shiloh back to health. I'll call you if anything develops."

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

Shiloh may be badly damaged and in need of repair, but Pamila is alive and well. At a couple of minutes before eight o'clock, she arrives at the Rapid Recovery building, trying for a third day in a row to start work. Since being reinstated progress has stalled, but the look on her face is stonier and more determined than ever. This time, things are going to be different. After two no-shows, she will make her presence in front of the other workers today.

She is the first one at the lot; her red car, freshly washed and waxed, stands there alone. The sunlight causes the car to glare in the plain-looking parking lot, causing a couple of nearby pedestrians to stop and stare. The fox pays little attention to them. She is too busy playing with the radio and eventually finds the station she is looking for. The morning news tells of a rally to support Governor Cartwright in the upcoming election. It will be held downtown later today. There is another rally for his opponent to be held at Griffith Park. Then a breaking news story pops up--there is to be a second anti-Cartwright rally.

This one is being held at The Shark Pit.

Pamila bursts out laughing at the news. She tries to quiet herself to hear the rest of the story, but eventually gives up and lets loose. The rest of the story disappears behind her voice. The idea of the almost certainly anti-human bartenders hosting a party in support of a human candidate has her in stitches.

She closes her eyes and hangs her head, gradually catching her breath and returning to normal. Now that the joke is over, she wants to regain her businesslike demeanor. She folds her arms and listens to the rest of the story.

"...To date, the murders of the five members of Governor Cartwright's cabinet have not been solved. Last night, in a statement, Lola Morris, the widow of Cam Morris, expressed her frustrations. She described the slow pace of the investigation of her husband's death and of the bombing of the Imbroglio as 'a burden on the family.' A spokesperson for the Governor expressed her frustrations in a statement from the Governer's office. Echoing the family members of the dead, she says...."

A sharp knocking sound shakes and startles the fox. She violently turns her head to see her boss, the chief, standing outside the driver side window. At first, she looks angry, but when they look at each other, she smiles and waves. Pamila shakes her head and rolls the window down.

Vivian Cross backs up a bit and lowers her head to see the fox eye-to-eye. "Welcome back! I haven't seen you in over a week. How've you been?"

"Just waiting for you to open the damn door and for the rest of the managerial nobodies to get here with the marks. Otherwise, I'm fine." The chief's face is the last thing the fox wants to see, but she manages to remain calm and focused on the task at hand.

"I guess that means you're okay since being angry is normal for you." She stands straight and searches for her keys in her purse. "I'm glad to see you haven't let cleaning the offices change you in any way. We were...less than amicable to each other the last time we talked and I somehow wanted to make it up to you, so I decided to start by saying hi. Now didn't that cheer you up?"

"Why would you be all concerned about me? Officially, we don't exist in that building. So why would you give a damn about us in any way? We're only worth anything if we stay out of trouble."

"Nonsense!" She laughs at the keys she has finally fished out and zips up her purse. "I care about all of you guys...so much so that I've been staying later and later in the office every day, saying goodbye to the boys. In fact, just yesterday I was outside, ready to drive home, when I saw this nice-looking tomcat standing on the lot. I greeted him and jokingly asked him if he wanted a job. He laughed and said he was waiting for Camille, who was still inside getting paid. He had driven her over here and they were about to go to a nightclub together. I told him that she was one of my best loan officers and that she was due for a raise." Mrs. Cross laughs heartily at her joke, causing the fox to turn away. "He kept raving and gushing over her and...I take it those two are a couple now. Good for her! She deserves it and he looks like a catch. Just between the two of us, if I was Camille, I'd hit that."

"Yeah, great." Pamila stares at the front door, desperately wishing it open.

"Camille later came out and said hi, and the three of us talked for about ten minutes. She was really happy that I cared enough about her to get to know him. It was as if she wanted my approval before going out with him. Anyway, he said he'd think about working here. Camille and I played our parts well and he doesn't suspect a thing. In fact, he thinks he'd be pretty good in a lending company. He says he's good with numbers."

"Could you just--"

"Hey, you know what? I asked Camille about you. She said fine...but she didn't speak again until we said goodbye. She even looked sad that I said your name. I wonder why." She shrugs and heads for the front door.

Pamila's sits and stews for a moment. Her anger softens at what the boss said about Camille. Even though the front door has now been opened, she stays in the car, listening to the radio and thinking about things. She looks more reserved and less eager to enter the building. Her shoulders droop and her eyes fall to her lap. She is so deep in thought that she hardly notices other cars arriving at the lot. Ted arrives, followed in another car by Colin and Joseph. The three executives talk outside before deciding to enter. None of them notice the red car behind them.

Whatever the fox is thinking, it is making her nod her head quietly. She shuts off the ignition, killing the A.M. news, and opens the door. She is halfway out of the car when she notices the familiar hatchback that her current main nemesis drives. She decides to wait and surely enough, Hoeness exits his car, all dressed up like he is going to a function. It is just a swift jaunt from his car to the front door; Mrs. Cross holds it open for him. They exchange pleasantries before the door closes.

Pamila sits back down and closes the door. A soft "Damn" escapes her mouth and she goes back to stewing. Next to arrive is the small two-door car owned by Dunn and Pica. It parks next to the hatchback. Only one, the swift fox, comes out and enters the building. Seeing him without his partner makes her smirk, but she soon returns to her angry pouting. Two more cars arrive. St. Croix and Inverness take the last two open spaces up front and enter the lobby with big smiles.

The sight of one of her only true friends among her coworkers boosts the fox's confidence. She takes one more minute to psych herself up and quickly opens the door. For some reason, she runs to the door, quickly testing out what look like a new pair of sneakers. She wastes no time entering the building.

The room looks half occupied. Pamila makes enough noise coming in that she sees ten sets of eyes staring at her. They include Ted who is behind the front desk and ready to moderate the meeting. Her confidence lowered, she gulps angrily and closes the door.

"Welcome everyone," the executive says. "Sit back and relax. We have fresh new marks to show you. Just wait fifteen minutes. In the meantime, I have a short announcement to make. Nothing too big. The chief has made a deal with a coffee supplier from Hawaii. That supplier will now be our exclusive coffee provider. In a few weeks, we'll have bags of fresh coffee ready for use and we won't run out so often. It'll be great for our customers and you guys get to have some too. I've tasted it myself and it's pretty good. It doesn't hurt that it's the governor's favorite brand."

Everyone is quiet on the news, but Pamila spits at her feet and mumbles something slightly audible.

"What was that, Pam?"

She coughs loudly. "I said...I guess that means I won't be drinking it!"

Everyone in the room, except Hoeness and Ted, laugh. The governor is quite unpopular here, even more so than the fox.

Ted nods but keeps his stoic pose. "Glad to see you back, Pamila. Got any more surprises in store or is your second chance going to be mercifully quiet?"

"I was just gonna ask...is there any way that...." The fox stops herself and looks around at the faces looking back. St. Croix gives a big smile; Inverness shrugs indifferently. "Never mind. It's nothing."

"You sure? You haven't done this in a month. If you have any questions, you can just--"

"I said forget it!" The fox angrily carries herself through the lobby and into the hallway. She veers to the right, toward the restrooms. As she is about to push the door open, she spots the door to the executive suite open. She looks inside the restroom for a bit, then decides instead to go the other way. The conference room seems to beckon her inside, but she sneaks in cautiously. While poking her head in, she hears a noise that forces her to withdraw. She listens in and hears Vivian's voice.

The fox sneaks back in and sees the chief kneeling on the floor, picking up some laminated pictures of marks that had fallen. The chief mumbles to herself as she puts the scattered posters in a pile and stands to return them to the table. As soon as she springs on her feet, she sees the fox. Pamila's body stutters like it's going to take off, but she remains her ground.

Vivan Cross smiles and places the pictures. "Hey. Shouldn't you be at the meeting?"

"It'll start in a moment. What....?" The fox stops as she notices the top name on the pile of marks--Ronald Brice.

"What am I doing here? I came to put money in the treasure chest and I bumped into these marks and...." The chief laughs at the open safe next to her. "You...probably shouldn't be seeing all that money in there."

"No, that's all right. Listen, is there any chance I can look at those?" She actually starts to smile at them and walks closer to the topmost one.

"Now? Okay, I guess." The chief gives way and closes the safe. Pamila immediately picks up the Ronald Brice poster. He is the man she wanted to go after a week ago; she had asked about him at Tiger Tails, without much success. The caption shows a new, raised price on the man's head.

"So...I'm glad to be back and I'll just take this and get out of your way." She laughs as she starts to back up.

"Whoa! Stop right there, young lady!" Vivian Cross walks to the rightfully stopped fox and stands in front of her. "You can't just take that. Just wait until the meeting and declare for it."

"I don't want to share it with anyone."

"That's not how it works. You know that."

"Do you know how it works?"

"What a stupid question. I may not be privy to the day-to-day hitman operations, but I at least know every worker sees the marks."

"Then why does Shiloh take them?"

"Why does who do what?!"

Pamila slowly backs off until her backside hits the edge of the conference table. "Shiloh gets these early. That's been the case for the last year. Everyone knows it, everyone hates it, but he still does it. And you guys let him. Why is he so special? If what he does is wrong, then why does he get to do it?!" She sticks the picture of Ronald Brice in Vivian's face. "After everything's that happened to me, why can't I get special treatment for once? Why can't I have this one? Just give it to me and let me leave! Screw the meeting."

The human shows her strength by snatching the picture from the fox's possession. They trade angry glances for a few seconds before she tosses the pictures back on the pile. "You know what, Pamila? If you want to keep this job, you're gonna have to be nicer to me."

Pamila spits on the carpeted floor. "Ted says that as long as he has a job, I have one too!"

"I'm Ted's boss. My orders trump his. Always." Vivian straightens her blouse and nods with confidence. "Now, I don't know why Shiloh gets marks early. You'll have to ask Ted about that. I have nothing to with his day-to-day operations. I just own the building you guys use. Be nice to me, and you all get to stay. Even my biggest detractors give me respect. Those would be the gay guys, in case you're wondering. All I'm asking is for you to bring some of that respect my way."

She was not originally planning to, but to keep the fox away from the marks, she grabs them from the table and leaves the conference room. Pamila is about to follow her, but stops and turns her head slightly to the left. There is an item on one of the chairs. Swiveling the chair around reveals a fancy-looking purse. Without taking a moment, she just opens it like it is hers. "Oh, Camille. You'd forget your head if it wasn't screwed on." She closes it quickly and takes it with her out of the conference room.

The fox enters the men's room and uses it for five minutes before making it just in time for the meeting, purse still in hand. She sits in the back of the five-row, four-column arrangement of chairs. St. Croix, Inverness, and Hoeness sit in the front. Dunn and Baua sit in the row behind them. Stefano and Prosper occupy a seat in the third row. Right before Ted is about to moderate, Paraná enters the room, making good on his earlier promise. The jaguar is greeted with joy and is beckoned by Hoeness to the front. He sits down between his German Shepherd friend and Inverness.

Camille usually keeps a pad and writing utensils on her person for these meetings. Sure enough, Pamila finds both in the purse. She has the opportunity to write down useful information about the marks shown. Everybody else in the room is doing so and it seems she would benefit from it. But she only watches as Ted rounds off the list of dead men.

Ronald Brice is the fifth mark shown. While Ted holds up his picture, Pamila pays rapt attention. The executive reads the caption to the small crowd. "Ronald Brice. A bit of a playboy and a troublemaker. He frequents the Tiger Tails dance club and bar downtown. A lot of miscreants I know have been there. I used to be a regular; I remember arresting a furry a week at that place while in my prime. Anyway, the client contacted us two days ago and raised the price on his head. He's more valuable now with the extra five thousand dollars. The client tells me he may be leaving town soon with his new girlfriend, so time's of the essence. She says we have about a week to kill him."

The fox looks at the mark greedily, but keeps her mouth shut. While everyone writes frantically, she simply looks around, glancing at the clock a couple of times. Ted puts Ronald Brice down and picks up another one. There are several still to go. The next two are worth ten thousand a piece. The three after that range in prizes less than five thousand dollars.

The time now is 8:40. There would barely be fifteen minutes left to look at and pick marks once Ted stops moderating. In a huff, the impatient fox stands and steps around the chairs. Everyone watches her face squirm as she leaves the room. Ted keeps talking without missing a beat.

Pamila carries Camille's purse over her shoulder as she heads through the hallway to the cafeteria. Her mouth moves unintelligibly in a droning mumble, voicing something only she can hear. She goes straight to the coffeemaker and opens the cupboard above it to get a mug. Her sharp ears hear someone other than Ted talking. A question is being asked, meaning the meeting is winding down. Moving quickly, she fills the mug with the freshly made brew and takes the whole thing down. She tosses the cup in the sink and takes off through the hallway and back to the lobby. She stops at the end of the hallway just in time to see the men standing.

As the men rearrange the seats, Ted spreads the pictures all across the desk. "Sorry I took too long," the executive says, "but try not to do that yourselves, okay?'

As soon as he turns to leave, Pamila buzzes past him, surprising him. Before any of the others can pick a mark, the fox slams her right palm on the table. The loud bang startles everyone but her. She meant for it to draw their attention and she gets it in spades. Without hesitation, she declares, "This one is mine! I got him! He belongs to me!"

The looks she is given range from confused to bitter. Her eyes move from face to face, keeping tabs on everyone's location and proximity. Nobody moves any closer to her or the table. The closest is Ted, standing feet behind her. He is bemused with her acts and folds his arms. The tension grows as a couple of the men start backing away. There may about to be another fight between workers.

Ted moves as close to her as he can without bumping her. "Are you sure you don't wanna look at who you've just chosen?"

She turns to him with a rudely determined face. "Ronald Brice. I've done the research! He goes to Tiger Tails often. I go there too. I know from my time there that he's friends with the owner, so he gets unrestricted access to the VIP rooms. He's planning to elope with one of the workers there. Her name is Doris. All I have to do is find out where they're planning to go and kill him before they leave the state. I'm closer to finding him than any of you guys."

The men look at each other incredulously. They cannot believe she knows what she knows. St. Croix smiles, knowing that his friend is really back. Ted leans forward to see that her hand is on Ronald Brice. He shakes his head. "You're a poor liar. I don't think you got all that info where you said you got it. But you don't have to make shit up just to grab a mark." He raises himself and looks around. "That said, she just said that Brice is hers. Does anyone have any objections?"

Though most everyone disapproves, no one even mumbles a word of dissent. For ten quiet seconds, the hitmen look at one another. Pamila swivels her head, giving everyone the evil eye. She mentally keeps everyone, even her friend St. Croix, away from her chosen prey.

Satisfied with the silence, Ted nods. "In addition, we should all be glad that one of our own is back and things can...maybe...return to normal. I know everyone's unhappy with Pamila. I was too. But remember folks, we're fighting a common enemy and I need all of you to fight. You kill the scum that get away from the police. I, and the other execs, set you up to find that scum. Pamila is one of you and, believe it or not, she is needed, just like any of you. She's back...and I'll hear no complaints about it. Let's just all get along now. All right?"

More silence. Hoeness huffs, but he is the only one who sounds mad. Most of the men in the room look at the fox some more, but it seems they all agree. The fighting has to end someday.

Ted nods and looks at the girl. "All right. Follow me to the conference room. Everyone else, hurry up."

Pamila picks up the laminated face of her mark and stares at Hoeness, who immediately stares back. His nostrils flare in disapproval and he turns away from her to find a mark. The fox smirks and follows the boss through the darkness.

Once out of sight of the others, the fox exclaims, "Thanks but I don't need your protection from them."

"Could have fooled me. Hoeness looked like he wanted to beat you up...with your own arms."

"He always looks like that. He frowns so much, his smile muscles have atrophied. I'll be fine."

Ted slows down a bit. "So...you go to Tiger Tails, huh? Not the kind of place I wanna see you guys in, especially since it appears to be in the news every other night. What do you do there anyway?"

"Gee, I don't know, boss. What does one do in a nightclub? I didn't lie, by the way."

"Yeah, right. Who told you that nonsense then? How could you possibly know that Ronald Brice is eloping with one of the bartenders?"

Pamila smirks again and clears her throat. "For your information, the club is a front. Its real business is prostitution. There's a spot in there, hidden from view, where exotic felines are paired with high-paying clients for sex and other things. Mr. Brice had been going out with one of the whores and they fell in love." She laughs and struts proudly. "You see, you may be the ex-detective, but I knew there was prostitution there, and you didn't."

Ted scoffs as they come to the conference room door. "Please. Who told you that shit? The bouncers? And how the hell could you have 'done research' on Mr. Brice when I only told everyone about him today?"

Pamila's face turns angry again. "I saw the marks one day when I was cleaning. I looked them over, saw Mr. Brice, and went to Tiger Tails with Camille. I asked around. One of the bouncers gave me the info."

"That's cheating. You're not supposed to see them before the meeting."

"Shiloh cheats. You let him do it."

Ted sighs and hesitates. "You don't understand. His situation is different. There are marks he can hunt that not just anyone can."

"Well then...give me one of his and I'll find out for myself. He hasn't shown up in a while, so he won't know. You know I'm as good as he is."

This is enough to shut Ted up. He gives no further comment to the fox and simply opens the door for her. Colin and Joseph are both inside eating breakfast. This would make it the first time Pamila and Colin have been in the same place since she attacked him months ago. She looks at them with some apprehension, but eventually closes the door behind her. Ted smiles and jokes, "Pam, Colin, I think you two know each other. Let's settle some differences."

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

Ten minutes later, Pamila is standing next to her car and contemplating her new assignment. She has been close to knowing the target's location before, but was in too compromising a position. Now she has a more grounded foundation in which to work. Included in the notes given her are the mark's last known location and the addresses of his businesses. The fox throws the picture on the back seats of her car. She is about to enter herself when something in the corner of her eye draws her attention.

A car is standing in the middle of the front lot. All the spaces are taken and the car is blocking her way. She shakes her head and walks to the car with the intention of laying into the driver. She stops when the occupant exits. His jet-black ears and head are immediately recognizable. He closes his door and looks around nervously. He knows his parking is an inconvenience and feels apologetic for the intrusion. But once he and the fox look at one another, his nerves relax. "Hi there!" he yells.

Pamila is not at all happy to see him and rolls her eyes at his greeting. Before he can talk some more, she quickly walks back to her car and reaches inside through the open driver-side window. Seconds later, she emerges with Camille's purse and heads over to the visitor. "Tom," she says, throwing the purse. "I take it you came for that."

Tom laughs with surprise and delight. "Yeah, thanks. That'll save me the hassle of looking for it. We went out last night and were about to go into this exclusively rich nightclub when she realized she forgot this thing. I didn't want her to worry so I paid for everything." He laughs as he looks inside the purse. "We partied too hard and she's a bit under the weather, so she asked me to get over here and--"

"Blah, blah, blah. You got the purse. Now beat it."

"Oh...sorry. I'm in your way."

"In more ways than one."

Tom blinks with confusion and stares back at the fox. "Did I do something wrong? You seem mad at me over something."

"It's bad enough I see you at your workplace. Why you gotta come to mine? Now you and Camille are apparently a thing?"

He chuckles bashfully. "Yeah. It's funny, isn't it?"

"You think that's funny? It was bad when she was only crushing on you. Then, she was only sounding stupid. But now? It's even worse now that Camille turns dumb every time she even says your name."

"Hey! Stop it. That's not right. Camille and I have a good time. She's the life of the party. She's pleasant and I'm charming. We've gone out twice and I realize that we go well together. I think she is the thing that's been missing from my life. Now I know I meet plenty of girls back where I work, and I could be with any of them if I wanted to, but Camille is totally different. She's--"

"Don't tell me. She's 'special,' right? She's the one who makes your blood run. She's the one who completes you. She's the one you identify with so well...even though she's a smart career girl with a bright future and you're a sad sack who stands outside of nightclubs."

Tom is not smiling anymore. He folds his arms seriously and calmly says, "You weren't there. When we're together, I clam up and let Camille do all the talking. She's smarter than you give her credit for. She does not take any crap from anyone...not even me. She likes it every time I try to sweet-talk her, but if she thinks I go too far, she puts the hammer down. This bond between us is happening on her terms and I'm enjoying the ride. Camille is intelligent, like you say, but she's also cunning, witty, and extremely good-looking. She's not changing for the worse just because she's dating me. Don't you believe that?"

Pamila boldly steps up to the muscled tom and grits her teeth. "I believe she's better than that! She's better than you! In time, Camille's gonna realize you two have no future together. After that, you'll go back to what you do and we'll continue pursuing our dreams of being rich." She points to him and raises her voice. "You may be getting to know her, but I already know her. I know what makes her happy and it's not someone who works in a pseudo whorehouse. It'll just be better for all of us if you broke it off with her and let us return to our regular lives! Now move the car!"

Tom still has things to say in his defense, but the fox quickly walks to her car and slams the door. She angrily waits for Tom to back his car away. Ultimately, Camille's new beau drives away from the lot and back on the nearby highway. Pamila sighs with relief that he is gone and starts to back up too. Before she can leave, she sees St. Croix exiting the building and decides to pull up next to him.

The wolf waves at and approaches her, holding a mark of his own. "Well, hello," he says cheerfully. "You did well in there. I've never seen the 'It's mine' approach work before."

"I saw you smiling. Glad you approve."

"Wanna grab a drink later? I'm gonna be at The Shark Pit in about two hours."

"I'm always there. It'll be good to talk with you again."

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

At eleven o'clock, on the dot, Pamila shows up to her favorite watering hole as it is just opening. There is only a smattering of cars on the lot beside The Shark Pit this morning. She smiles, knowing that there are not as many people inside as there usually is. She parks next to St. Croix's car and enters quietly.

The bar is occupied by five customers; all but one of the barstools are taken. Rory and Baua are among the five, sitting the closest to the door. Neither of them were at the meeting earlier this morning. Pamila passes them and sees St. Croix at the very end.

They greet each other with a short embrace and he invites her to sit next to him. He orders for them both, drawing an angry rebuke from the dingo.

"What's the matter with you?" St. Croix asks.

As Rory turns away, Pamila says, "Don't mind him. He's just mad that I hit him a few days ago."

"You hit him?"

"I had just returned from my month-long exile from this place. He was lording it over me...so I hit him."

"Back to normal, huh?"

"Don't be disappointed. I tried to avoid confrontation. I even promised the bartenders I'd drink quietly. But I'm still gonna protect myself."

"Well, at least the exile did what it intended to do, right? The cops have stopped coming and we can finally drink in peace."

"Yeah, it did what it intended. And it'll be a long time before I use pyro to off a mark again. That's for sure. From now on, I'm sticking with the classics."

Casey gives them their drinks. St. Croix gets a gin and tonic while Pamila gets two glasses of bourbon. She downs them quickly and rudely asks for a third.

"Careful," St. Croix says. "You don't want to drink so much when you have a hunt to plan."

"I'll be fine."

"Have you hunted on a deadline before? Ted says you have a week to kill your mark before he leaves the city. You don't have time to drink."

Pamila hiccups and clears her throat. "That's why I'm drinking now. Tomorrow, after Camille's party, I'll get to work."

Casey arrives with a third glass of bourbon. He reluctantly slides it to the waiting fox. "Your third," he says. "I'm not gonna see anyone on the floor today, am I?"

She sneers at him and swipes the glass from the bar. "I said I'll be fine."

"I'm not worrying about you. Just the other patrons."

St. Croix steps in between the two and mediates with a smile. "Nothing bad's gonna happen."

"Just see that it doesn't." Casey steps away from the bar and into the kitchen behind him.

Pamila laughs loudly and finishes the drink. "Well, aren't you the boy scout?"

"Keeping the peace is becoming a full-time job. Besides, more people have just come in. You don't like most of them...so someone's gotta keep your tail out of the fire."

She smiles and closes her eyes. "Listen, church boy, if I say I'm gonna be fine, then I'm gonna be fine. Don't worry about it. Besides, not everyone in here hates me. I'm sure even Rory likes me a little. And besides you, there's at least one other person who I'm friends with in here." She raises her hand to order another.

"Whoa. Slow down. I don't have a lot of money on me." He turns and stands. "Oh, hi Camille."

Pamila smiles at her friend's name being called and turns to greet her. "Hey there. Have a seat."

Camille is right behind the fox, looking at the back of her head. St. Croix offers her his seat; she refuses and walks to her left, toward the restroom. The wolf sits back down. "She was rather quiet. That's new. Are you getting another one?"

"I'm not drunk enough, so yes." Pamila laughs. "Hey, seeing Camille just reminded me. You bringing something to the party?"

"Yeah, about that...." St. Croix leans in close enough to whisper. "Will Camille provide the food or can we bring our own? Because I've been working on a desert that I think everyone will love. But if it's a cocktail party and she's providing for everything--"

"I helped her plan it so you don't have to worry. Of course you can bring something. We're mostly gonna have finger foods and crudités, so a desert would be nice. What you got?"

"Lemon squares."

"Oh...well, that's not special."

"They're flavored with rum."

"Oh! That kicks ass."

"Yeah, but I think I'd still better ask...ah! Here she comes."

Pamila receives one more order of bourbon. She tilts her head back and swallows it whole. St. Croix looks at her with disbelief, but does nothing to protest. He then turns to the blue feline. Before he can ask, and right after Pamila finishes her drink, Camille runs to the fox and grabs her by her ears. She drives the fox's head into the bar and delivers a punch to the back of her head.

The fox is woozy and ill-prepared. Filled with bourbon, she (not to mention St. Croix) is caught completely off-guard. An angry Camille waits until Pamila raises her head then punches her in the nose. She bounces off St. Croix and falls on the floor.

The wolf fights between stopping Camille and tending to the fox. He sees Pamila struggling and kneels to check on her, then looks up at the cat and yells, "What are you doing?!"

Belligerent and out of breath, Camille stands over her shaky, fallen friend, then looks around her. There are more than fifteen faces looking at her and more entering every second. Rory has taken a seat by a nearby table. He nods with amazement. "Impressive," he says.

With everyone looking on, Camille stoops over Pamila and waits for her to look at her angry face. "My boyfriend is mine to command, not yours! You stay away from Tom!" She storms away from the fox to a chorus of "Woo!" yelled by the men in attendance. St. Croix can only watch and listen as everyone, some of whom are Pamila's adversaries, make fun of her as she recovers.

Suddenly, silence falls on the bar again. Camille has returned, standing over the now seated fox. St. Croix is about to stand to confront her, but she pushes him back down. She reaches into her pocket and throws a piece of paper at Pamila. "Here's your fuckin' DJ list. You're no longer invited to the party." The cat is less angry now and more reserved. St. Croix stands to confront her again, but she runs away toward the back door.

Rory looks up at the fleeing cat and throws some money on the table, paying for his drink. "Hey! Camille, wait! Did you say party?! I wanna come!" The dingo runs where the cat escaped to.

Meanwhile, St. Croix helps the bewildered fox into a seated position. "Are you okay?" he asks.

Before she can answer, Casey looks down on her from his place behind the bar. "Look at this! You see what I'm talking about?! This is exactly what I was talking about! How come every time you come here, someone's on the floor?!"

St. Croix helps her on her feet. "Shut up, Casey."

"Don't defend her! You know what she is? She's a walking pestilence! Honestly! I'm surprised businesses don't close up shop every time you come near!"

Pamila gently pushes the wolf, her only friend in the entire place, away from her and lays her head on the bar. "One more bourbon," she slurs.

The bloodhound shakes his head. "You've had enough. Just go home."

"Fine! I will!" She gently pushes herself off her barstool.

Crossing the line between being helpful and pesky, St. Croix grabs her hands and helps her stand straight. He hears "Don't let her drive!" behind him and turns to see Baua standing. He points to the greyhound, disgusted, and says, "Don't help, okay? You don't like her anyway. Or else, you'd be doing what I'm about to do." He places her left arm around his shoulders and keeps her propped up with the rest of him. He helps her make the long trek to the front door as they are gawked at by unsupportive onlookers.

Pamila quietly strains to talk. "Hey church boy, was that Camille earlier?"

He shakes his head. "No, it wasn't Don't worry about it."

"You sure?"

"She's your friend, right? You still have friends left, right? So why would she hit you?"