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Venom: Beautiful Killers. Part 50

"...upgraded to serious condition."

[Day 2 of my quarantine has begun. Yesterday I got visits from uncles, aunts, neighbors, friends, and a call from my now ex-girlfriend. At one time, there were eight relatives in the house, all of them giving me well-wishes. It was too much after a while. It's not like I didn't enjoy the gifts, but I had to live with the embarrassment of everyone knowing that I can't drive for a month. ]

[Around here, when you're fresh in college and just establishing your social status, you depend on your car. It is more than transportation; it is a symbol of competence. It doesn't matter if you bought it yourself or if your parents bought it for you. Being able to drive is everything to a budding young stud. Being driven is okay, but driving gets girls in your car. Well...girls and future business partners.]

[After the doctor told me I couldn't drive, I was dreading the day my friends would find out. Now, most of them have. I guess it won't be a real big problem as long as I stay at home and don't have to hear the comments from anyone I like. An even bigger problem is that I have almost nothing to do.]

[I've written down all of the characters that have appeared in my recurring dreams. I plan to write a synopsis on each of them in order to keep things straight. It's weird that the dreams are forming a comprehensive and rather intriguing story. It's even weirder that I'm investing so much time in it. But since I have literally nowhere to go, I have plenty of time....]

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

Camille's home is located in a gated area in the suburbs. The neighborhood is made up of rows of humble houses that are big enough for three bathrooms but not big enough to look too opulent. There is a stark contrast between where the cat lives and where her friend Pamila lives. Pamila's neighborhood is dark and dreary, even in the daytime. The surroundings where Camille lives are clean and bright. Pamila's apartment sits in a crime-ridden area while Camille's house is in a happily quiet setting. Each house and environment seems to match each woman's personality. The cat is as bright as her abode while the fox, quite recently, is as dour as her apartment.

Around the neighborhood, the garage doors all open, almost in unison, and the cars take off as their occupants head for work or school. Horns honk, people wave hello, and the tires stream through the water puddles on the street. In mere minutes, the area looks empty. Camille's garage door does not move with the others. Rather, the real movement is happening inside her house. Anybody who looks through the windows, and the open curtains, can see her moving about, running to and fro, setting up for the upcoming party. Her frantic pacing makes her look ill-equipped for her task.

A white car pulls up in front of the house. It barely stops when its owner, a white mouse, rushes out and closes the door. She is wearing a yellow raincoat with the hood on. Even though she has trouble moving in it, she manages to run to the cat's front door. She has trouble pulling her left hand out from the cumbersome coat, but eventually knocks on the door, huffing loudly.

The door opens slowly and Camille's warm smile leads her outside. "Hey, Beth, come on in!" She holds the door open and giggles at the mouse's appearance. "Let me help you take that off."

"Thanks." The mouse tries to catch her breath while struggling with her clothing. "I rushed as soon as I was able. I thought the party starts at six."

"It does."

"Then what's the emergency? I came as quick as I could, but why would you need me now?"

"Sorry, Beth, but I really need the help. There's been...a complication and I need another pair of hands to...." Camille widens her eyes then drops her head when she sees what Beth is wearing. "Make that two complications."

The mouse is wearing a long-sleeve flannel shirt, a denim skirt with black leggings, and a cast on her right arm. She tosses the raincoat aside and chuckles at Camille's reaction. "What? This thing? It comes off in six weeks."

"You're right-handed."

"A bit of a problem, yes, but it's not a handicap."

Flustered, Camille covers her face for a couple of seconds. "Sorry. I so totally forgot about that. But I wouldn't have called you if--"

"Shut up! What do you mean you forgot? You were there when the doctors put it on."

"Well..." The cat chuckles with embarrassment and picks up the raincoat. "I've been so busy with work, car repairs, and buying all that shit for the party. I just...forgot. Sorry, I don't have better excuses." She leads Beth away from the door and to the middle of the living room. "Besides, if I've moved on, you can too, right?"

The mouse gasps and frowns. "I can't believe you just said that. I'm sorry, but there's no moving on for me. I got crushed by a stampede of frightened humans. I'm lucky my arm was all that broke." A look of dismay takes over her. "I swear to glob, if I find out who bombed that place, I'll throttle him."

The living room looks empty; it is more spacious than the typical living room. There are two couches up against the wall near the door. Two more chairs are up against another wall. The marks on the carpeting indicate that they have been pushed out of the way. Beth looks around and gives an impressed whistle. "Wow. You moved this furniture all by yourself? How come?"

"This is the dance floor. I'd say there's room for...maybe ten people to dance. That said, there'd be room for more if I could just get rid of those extra chairs."

"You could take those smaller ones down to the basement."

"Yes! And you can help me!"

"Oh. Did I mention I got a cast on?"

"I'll pay you!"

Both girls laugh and Beth nods in agreement. "I just hope they're not too heavy."

"They're not. Anyway, you're stronger than I am. We'll leave the couch where it is; we only need to move two chairs."

The friends help each other move one of the chairs to the basement door by lifting it off the floor. The mouse is pretty strong lifting it with one hand. She moves forward while Camille moves backwards, lifting the chair by the arms. It is not that hard to maneuver with it, but once they put it down near the top of the basement stairs, Beth flexes her left arm. "Damn. Where's Pamila anyway?"

Camille flexes her fingers and sighs heavily. "Yeah, that's the reason I got you to come here so early. She's not coming to the party anymore."

"She's not coming?!"

"No, she isn't. Not anymore."

"But that's not possible. She's responsible for most of the setup. She's bringing half the food and drinks. She's got the DJ and the 'special request' music list."

"Yeah, well I've called off the DJ. I'm using my own music and we still have plenty of time to buy more food." She leads Beth across the living room to the other small chair. "Anyway, I envy her. Pamila's Friday's just become a little less busy. I've got some extra planning to do."

"But why's she not coming?"

"Because she's a bit of a nuisance, especially when it comes to my personal life. Yesterday, she overstepped her bounds. I just couldn't take it anymore."

"Mm-hmm. Who is it? Who's the guy?"

Camille grabs the chair by the arms and starts walking backwards. "How do you know a guy's involved?"

Beth grabs the chair one-handed and pushes forward. "Would you and Pam have a disagreement about anything else?" she grunts. "One of you has met a guy; the other doesn't like him. No matter how much one likes the guy, the other won't like him. No matter how much one tries to convince the other, the other is determined to hate him. Trust me. I've seen this happen too many times, so I know the routine."

"Well she wouldn't give Tom a chance! I was more forgiving with her choices. Why can't she give me a break?!"

"Ooh, his name is Tom? Simple and sexy. Do tell."

The cat grunts and groans, trying to keep herself steady while looking behind her. Eventually, they place the chair near the basement staircase. With both chairs out of the way, the girls head back to the empty living room. "Damn. This is gonna be harder than I thought."

Beth flexes her arm again. "You're right. Without Pamila's input, we're kind of starting from scratch. It's gonna be hard getting this party off the ground."

"What?! No it isn't! We can do this by ourselves! Come with me to the kitchen. I'll show you what we need. I've got a list and everything."

The mouse shakes her head as she follows. She does not share her friend's hopefulness. "So you gonna tell me who Tom is?"

"Do I have to?"

"Is he coming to the party?"

Camille's face goes from pained to furtive. She smiles slightly. "Yes, and you'll know him when you see him. He's a Manx. You know what that is?"

"Hmm. No, but I'm intrigued."

"He's dark, really dark, tall and handsome. As far as looks go, he's everything you'd want in a cat...minus the tail. We've been getting together off and on for most of the year, but a couple of weeks ago, I asked him out and he said yes. We had a good friendship before this, so a next-level relationship is pretty easy."

"Where'd you meet him?"

She hesitates a bit, but forces herself to say, "Tiger Tails!"

"Eww. You go to that place?"

"It's my favorite nightclub. Tom's one of the bouncers."

"Oh. Well at least you got yourself a guy who's good at protection."

"He's good at romance too. He's excellent to me. Whenever we walk down the street together, we get looks of both awe and jealousy. The more looks I get from all those cougars downtown, the more special I feel. It's just great."

"Yeah, it sounds ideal. So why doesn't Pamila like him?"

Camille pulls up a chair and sits in front of a stocked kitchen table. On the table are platters of different kinds, including two cocktail shrimp plates and three cheese plates. It looks like there is going to be a lot of wasted food when the party is over. The cat pries open one of the cheese plates and takes a bite. "I don't know, Beth. I guess she's got a different set of standards. At any rate, she hates the bouncers. She thinks they're only strong and dumb and--"

"And that you could do better. She _is_the judgmental type, isn't she?"

"Well she's wrong!" Camille puts a cube of Brie in her mouth and chews forcefully. "This thing with Tom is better than it has any right to be. Pamila thinks he's just the stereotypical musclehead who's doing the only thing he knows how. But she couldn't be more off the mark. He's fashionable, he's knowledgeable, and he's into politics. He's such a brainiac that he's teaching me things about L.A. that I never knew. Wait 'til you meet him, Beth. You'll be amazed."

"I already am. He must be something magnificent if you've disinvited Pam."

"Pam's gotta learn to stay out of my personal life. You know what I mean? There's friendship...and then there's my love life. I see Pam almost every day. I'll never miss her. But a chance at a fulfilling relationship comes around once in a friggin' blue moon. It's frustrating looking for someone these days because there's so much competition. When you luck out, like I just did with Tom, you gotta take that stroke of luck by the horns!" She laughs wistfully and looks at her friend with wide, confident eyes. "You know what I mean?"

Beth nods and reaches for some cheese. "I get it. I'm looking for love too. It's been put on hold for now while I heal, but I'd seriously like a shot."

"That's all I'm asking for. A shot. Pam got one. Why don't I get the same?"

"Still, you gotta be careful. You met your guy at Tiger Tails. I've heard things about that place--things that border on illegal activity; drugs and prostitution and what not. Your guy could be corrupted. Pam could be on to something."

"Would a meeting with him later tonight change your mind?"

"I can't wait to meet him, really. He sounds like a catch." The mouse puts cubes of cheese in her mouth and chuckles at the taste. "Terrible. Listen though...about Pam. When this soiree is over, what happens?"

"One thing at a time, okay?"

"You guys aren't gonna fight, are you?"

"Not unless she wants one. In the meantime, she should take this time away from me to think about someone other than herself for a change. She wants to take Tom away from me. She made that clear earlier this week. But I want him at the party, so she can't be here. I know it's weird. It's gonna feel weird." Camille sighs and closes the cheese platter. She puts her hands on her hips and looks at the arrangement on the table. "But I've made up my mind. I've put my foot down. Pam's lucky I don't put it through her head."

"Whoa."

"Sorry, but..." She looks at the mouse as her happiness turns into slight desperation. "I need this, okay? I need things to be just right. Please understand. Pam'll ruin everything. She can't...."

Camille's voice trails off when a sharp tone peals from inside Beth's purse. The mouse smiles bashfully and takes a couple of steps away from her friend. "Just a moment." She fiddles with her purse until she gets it open. As she does, the cat shakes her head at the foodstuffs on the table and whispers, "Need more food."

Beth takes the phone away from her ear and says, "It's Pam. Wanna jam?"

Camille waves her off and turns back to the food.

Beth nods and puts the phone back to her left ear. "Sorry Pam. She doesn't wanna talk." She nods and frowns, bristling at what Pam is saying on the other line. "Uh-huh. Listen, Camille's told me all that's happened. But to quote my favorite movie, 'I'm not an owl.' So whatever it is between you two, I'm not gonna get involved. I'd like to have you here, but I'm not the party host, so...."

The cat turns back around to see her mouse friend nodding and commiserating on the phone. She decides that she's had enough and leaves the kitchen.

"Got it, Pam. It's nice that you're still willing to contribute even though you're not coming. Anything else I need to know?"

Beth nods some more and does so for a couple of minutes before she says goodbye. After putting the phone back in her purse, she turns to see Camille staring at her through the doorway.

"What did she want?" the cat asks angrily.

"Um...you have a guy coming to the party by the name of St. Croix?"

Camille nods and chuckles. "Shit. Yeah. I forgot I invited him. He's a coworker. He works with me and Pam."

"Well Pam says to remember that he likes Bellini cocktails so we should buy some Prosecco. She recommends two bottles."

"Yeah. She knows her booze. She was gonna buy that drink until I...." She blows an angry breath. "We gotta buy a lot of booze. We should also replace the cheese we ate. Wait here. I'll go get dressed."

Beth shakes her head. "This party's gonna suck."

"No it won't!"

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

"No, you alternate red and black in this one. You can't put that 7 of Hearts on top of the 8 of diamonds. But you can put that 7 of Clubs on it."

"This is tougher than I remember."

"It's more challenging that way, isn't it?"

"You'll lose more often too."

Tivoli is teaching Winter to play Solitaire. The wolf is taking to it well. They have been playing card games for the last hour and a half. They are so wrapped up in their activities that they almost forget where they are.

"If I alternate colors, I won't be able to put these numbers in the house."

"You giving up already? We still have twenty cards left. Give this a chance. You're doing quite well."

"Yeah, well I guess I'm doing well for a first-timer. I still prefer the other way, though."

"So you are giving up."

"Not at all. Let's find that Jack."

The women are in a different waiting room, presumably one closer to the recovery room where Shiloh would be right about now. The room is smaller and has less people; there are two others sitting across the girls, watching their banter. The conversation has been mostly funny, further pushing Winter out of her doldrums. She is more focused on a simple card game that even she expected. It seems Tivoli's presence has been good for her.

"Remember, you need that Jack to be red."

"I swear, you're making this hard. It's like you don't want me to win."

Tivoli chuckles at Winter's slow, awkward movements. "My, but you have big hands."

"The better to kill people with, my dear." The wolf laughs.

"Hey, careful. We're being watched." The ocelot points to the couple in front of them. One of the humans is a small, preteen boy who is looking more at the cards than at the women. He smiles and waves at the ocelot, who is only barely taller than he is. He probably thinks she is his age.

They wave back at him and the wolf shakes her head. "Sorry," she whispers.

"It's all right. Just watch it," Tivoli gathers the cards and places them in a pile. "You know what? You're right. This game is a wash. Let's try it again." She cuts and shuffles the cards while laughing at the angry look the wolf is giving her. "So, when are you going back to work?"

"I don't know. It's...." She hesitates, remembering that the kid is looking at them. "It's hard when your coworkers steal your account. You know what I mean?"

"I do. It's even harder when your business partner won't show you the ropes."

"You're talking about Paraná, right? What he do this time?"

"Oh, nothing. He told me, in no uncertain terms, that he's going to work, whether I want him to or not. I say he's not ready; his injuries are still not healed. He says I'm making him sluggish by keeping him home. So he pretty much blames me for his current lack of fitness. It's like he doesn't remember how he got that way in the first place."

"Are you two fighting?"

"I don't want to call it that." She riffles the cards in her hands and starts preparing for the next game. "But let's just say that things could be better."

"That's too bad. It seems like everything started out so well."

"Yeah. It turns out my would-be boyfriend's an insecure crybaby. He hates what happened to him, sure, but he's not patient enough to return at one hundred percent. He whines and bitches when I try to get him to exercise. Early on, when he was tutoring me, he loved going to the park and we spent plenty of time there. Now he's all 'Leave me alone,' and 'I hate jogging.' It's like he hates me all of a sudden, like I'm the one who stabbed him."

"Sounds like Shiloh early in our courtship."

After setting up the next Solitaire game, the ocelot slams the remaining cards down on the table. "I'm so confused. When did he stop liking me? When exactly was the moment I became a burden?"

Winter shakes her head. "Hey, back to the card game, okay?"

"You trying to ignore me?"

"Well...those questions you just asked are more suited for a psychiatrist to answer. I'm not one. You could do with a session with the shrink."

"I guess so, but...." The ocelot looks across the table to see that the boy in front of her is not looking at her now. "Truthfully, I'm afraid of her. "

"You're kidding, right?"

"I know it sounds stupid, but I am. I've always been afraid of psychiatrists. I've already seen Miranda. It was a few days after...the McDaniels incident. It was mandatory that I see her so I could keep my job. She kept asking all these personal questions that I wasn't at all comfortable with. I had to swallow my pride and expose some things."

"You know that whatever's said in Miranda's office is between just you and her, right?"

"Yeah, I know, but still...."

Tivoli is interrupted by a couple of more people entering the waiting room. They are immediately followed by a short woman in light blue scrubs, wire-rimmed eyeglasses, and red sneakers. She watches the couple sit down in front of her then starts looking around the room. The ocelot taps Winter's shoulder. "I think that's for you."

The wolf looks at her friend then at the physician standing by the open door. She stands just in time for the pro to notice. She shuffles herself forward and asks, "Um...are you Mrs. Wolf? We've moved Shiloh, your husband."

Winter looks around her, clearly uncomfortable with the extra people in the room and leads the surgeon outside the waiting room for a more private conversation. The confused ocelot watches as the women in front of her speak in hushed tones. The white wolf towers over the surgeon by more than a foot, but she helplessly watches as the doctor lays down the facts. Winter only nods and clasps her hands.

Tivoli looks at the two speak just outside her hearing range. As sharp as her hearing is, she cannot get a handle on what is being said. She decides not to be left out and starts collecting the playing cards from the table. As she starts packing, she notices the boy across the table peering at her. His face is frozen with a disapproving glare. "What?!" she asks.

"You said stabbed. Did you stab somebody?"

The question draws the attention of everyone in the room, surprising the kid into holding his breath. Tivoli wrinkles her nose angrily and tries to leave as quickly as possible. She puts the cards in a nearby box and stands. "Yes," she whispers, "but he was a really bad guy." She puts the cards in her pocket and runs to the door as fast as she can.

By the time she reaches her friend, the surgeon is walking away. Winter turns back to Tivoli and beckons her forward. "We're going to Shiloh's room," she says. "He's finally out of recovery."

The ocelot tightens her grasp on the box of cards and presses her lips together. She looks the more nervous of the two, as if Shiloh was her loved one. She follows Winter so closely that the wolf's tail whacks her knees a couple of times. Winter keeps a fair distance from the surgeon and listens while she explains her mate's condition.

"He's been upgraded to serious condition. We've removed the excess air from his chest to help with the collapsed lung, and I'm glad to say that he's breathing on his own. He's received four units of blood with no negative effects. We'll determine if he needs more after testing. All the wounds have been patched up and, besides the one in his chest, none of them are life-threatening." She stops walking and turns to the wolf. "We do have one slight issue."

"The broken collarbone?"

"You're very attentive. Unfortunately, we can't work on that quite yet."

"Why not?"

"Well...." The surgeon approaches her and politely clears her throat. "We need to know exactly how he injured it. He hasn't awakened yet so we don't know. If we don't know, we can't act. It could be either a simple dislocation or a compound fracture. In the latter case, he would need surgery. Until he wakes up, we can't do anything except order an x-ray."

"But won't the x-ray tell you?"

The surgeon continues walking. "We'd still need his input. The collarbone is quite complicated in its design." She stops short of a nearby door; it is the closest to the waiting room. "Here's his room. I left his file back at the nurse's station. I'll be back with it. You can both go in."

Winter and Tivoli look at each other, unsure of whether to follow that piece of advice. Tivoli looks at the closed door then back at the wolf. She does so a couple of times. Winter's eyes scan the door impatiently, but her feet stay still. She clasps her hands and sighs nervously.

"You okay?"

"There's no chance that Shiloh's gonna look anything like his old self, is there?"

"Well...."

"I mean...does he look like he did when we saw him leave last week?"

Tivoli nods. "I tell you what. Why don't I go in and look at him? I'll let you know his condition. If he looks roughed up, then you don't have to go in. Would that be all right?"

Winter exhales and nods with relief. "It's wrong that he's in here. You know what I mean? When we're together, he's really sweet and compliant; but he's much stronger than he lets on. He wouldn't be caught dead in places like this. He's the bravest, smartest, most physically fit man I know."

"You don't have to say all that. He already impresses me. I'll be right back." Tivoli carefully pushes the door open, as if Shiloh were only asleep and not incapacitated. She looks back at the wolf for a few seconds, then closes the door behind her.

Winter sighs and slowly steps away from the closed door to her mate's room. She strolls a few feet to the nurse's station, where the surgeon has gathered a large file with leaves of paper sticking out of it. There are three other nurses, all cats, chatting amongst one another. She clears her throat to gather their attention. "To whoever it was who saved Shiloh's life...I profoundly thank you. Thank you all."

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

It is nearing sunset and life at The Shark Pit is about to brighten. The night time is the best time for this particular street. All of the shops, bars, and family restaurants compete for customers. Competition is fierce, as are some of the visitors, and there is activity as far as the eye can see. Music blares, the streetlights and neon lights shine, and the foot patrols are out in full force. Of course, The Shark Pit is the most visited place on this block, even more so since news of the Imbroglio bombing broke. Its doors now open to let a couple of hyper customers in, while at the same time letting one surly fox out.

Pamila walks slowly out of the bar and yawns heavily. She is lumbering to the parking lot with heavy legs and a distant face. She looks like she has seen better days. She is wearing a tattered, blue, denim shirt; it is opened to expose a camo green tank top and a bare midriff. She is also wearing blue Capri pants that stop just below her knees. It is frighteningly rumpled, as if it had spent years in a dresser. The fox is usually meticulous about her appearance and never usually wears anything so unironed. She is also meticulous when it comes to her behavior in public. So the fact that she is pulling on the door handle of a car that is not hers is quite surprising indeed.

It takes about a minute before she realizes that her car is next to the one she is trying to enter. They are the same shade of red, but that is really the only visible similarity. Pamila huffs and opens her door. Safely inside, and hoping nobody saw those last couple of minutes, she reaches into her pants pockets for her keys. It takes her another minute to realize that they are in the ignition.

"I knew that!" she yells. Seconds later, she is driving out of the parking lot and speeding away from her favorite watering hole. On her way to wherever she is going, she turns the radio on. Seconds later, she turns on the air conditioner. As the cool wind blows in her face, she heaves a sigh of relief. She does not look comfortable at all. Her foot is heavy on the gas, her grip is hard on the wheel, and her breathing is spotty. She belches rudely and increases the volume.

"The first of two planned gubernatorial debates will take place on Monday, August 3rd, 2014 at the County Library. Republican Benton 'Eagle' Cartwright, the incumbent, will take on Democrat Thomas Maynard, the challenger. Governor Cartwright is running on a platform of an improving economy and sustainability through a strong jobs market. He has been touring small businesses all over California, Los Angeles and San Francisco especially. Challenger Maynard's platform is the increase of LGBT rights in California and the repealing of Proposition 20, which limits the number of jobs that can be procured by the anthropomorphic population. Despite trouble garnering support from minorities, as well as the deaths of members of his cabinet, the incumbent is leading in most polls by double digits...."

Pamila slows down to yawn again. Her eyelids look heavy and well used. They gradually start to shut as she keeps on driving. The meanderings of the newscaster are only making it easier to doze. The fox is now on the highway and driving faster than before. It takes a loud blast of music from a commercial on the radio to wake her up. She shakes her head vigorously in an attempt to keep herself awake.

Twenty minutes of driving later, the radio clock strikes eight. Pamila's car meanders its way into the Rapid Recovery rear lot. There is one other car there, parked next to the giant trash receptacle in the corner. The fox's sedan jerks to a stop right in front of the cafeteria door. She turns off the ignition and looks up to see that the lights are still on. A sly smirk comes across her face as she puts the car keys back in her shirt pocket. Devious thoughts are crossing her mind. She seemingly still has them as she runs up the stairs and opens the back door of the building.

She recognizes the other car on the lot and whispers Tobias' name, chuckling and covering her mouth as she enters. The room is clean and empty. There are streaks on the floor that show where the mop had been; they stretch all the way to the farthest wall. Tobias has been busy. Pamila stands near the entrance admiring his work; the door almost closes on her tail, but she moves out of the way just in time. She calls the janitor's name again as she looks in the refrigerator. It is mostly empty with just a couple of bottles of water on the middle shelf.

The fox opens one of the bottles and takes a long, satisfying drink. She returns the bottle two-thirds empty. "Tobias!" she yells. There is no answer. She stands there waiting for noise and eventually hears the sound of a door being shut. Tobias is whistling loudly as he moves from one room to the next. Pamila sneaks out of the cafeteria and stops at the hallway. She looks around mostly dark corridor and sees nobody. Every door in front of her is closed, but the door behind her is slightly ajar. She laughs quietly and pushes it open.

Vivian Cross' office has been cleaned. The floor is spotless and the desk is well organized. The laptop computer is in the center of the desk ; a pile of files is placed neatly on the left and there is empty space on the right. Pamila looks around and nods. Before she can enter, her ears detect something, or someone, behind her. She pulls the door quickly until it is slightly open and turns around to see a figure standing just feet away.

"Pamila? Is that you?"

The fox's mouth opens wide to say something, but nothing comes out at first. After getting a good look at him, she smiles as if glad to see him. "How you doin'?"

"What are you doing here?"

The fox laughs. "What am I doing here. I work here, silly."

"Yeah, but you are...." He chuckles and gets closer to her. He is more comfortable around her than before they were working together. "Are you here to get paid? 'Cuz Simon just left."

"Um...no; I got my mark in the car. I just...." Pamila scratches her head. It would appear that she does not know what she came here to do.

"You don't by any chance...want to help me clean. Do you?" He moves even closer until he is a foot away. "I just gotta do both restrooms and I'll be gone. It's past eight and I'm late going home, but my mom said it's okay because--"

"Could I...use the bathroom?"

Tobias raises his eyebrows in surprise. It looks weird to him, but he steps aside and lets her pass. "Of course." As he watches her pass, his eyes squint to observe her walk; there is something about her gait that does not quite fit. "Don't use the men's room though."

Pamila turns to look at him. "Why not?"

"Baua's in there. He wants to be alone."

"I...huh?"

"Are you all right? You look really tired."

The fox scratches her head again and approaches him. Her mood changes quickly, souring at the name of one of her enemies. "What's he doing here?"

"He's getting dressed for the party. You know? The one that Camille is throwing? He said he was invited at the last minute. He _really_wants to go."

Pamila huffs and hangs her head. "Oh. That thing." She walks back towards the boy.

"He said it started already and if he's gonna be late, he wants to look perfect." Concerned at her appearance but careful with her demeanor, he lowers his voice. "Aren't you going? You've been planning it for a while."

"I'm not invited...But I don't feel like going home. I guess I just need a place to crash for a while."

Tobias nods unsurely. "Sure. Just...where do you want to stay?"

"Anywhere I can forget about the world."

"Wow. Your home must really suck if you can't forget your troubles there."

Pamila turns around to face him and releases a small belch. "It's not a home. It's just an apartment. A dingy, run down...no good cubicle with furniture." She stumbles a bit as she passes the boy and pushes open the door to the chief's office. "I just gotta sit down."

"I gotta call mom. I'll be back to check on you."

Tobias runs to the lobby, dropping his cell phone on the way. Meanwhile, after turning to make sure the kid is not looking, Pamila doubles over on the chief's desk. She supports herself with her left hand and clutches her abdomen with her right. She grunts and groans quietly before shuffling to the other side of the desk and sitting down. Her face looks vacant and ghostly. She covers it with her hands and sneezes twice. She looks in poor shape.

A couple of minutes later, the janitor comes barging in. He exuberantly opens the door and looks at her, thinking nothing is wrong. "Just wanted to know if you needed anything before I start cleaning. It should only take half an hour before I'm done."

The fox pulls her hands from her face. To the boy's surprise, she is smiling at him. "Oh, nothing much. I'll just rest here until you finish up. Though, I gotta tell you...I could use a drink."

Tobias laughs, then bashfully turns away; it looks like he is laughing at her. He tries to avoid making her mad, but gets a surprise when she starts to chuckle.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing, ma'am. It's just that...you've never smiled at me before. You're usually threatening to kill me by now."

"Yeah, well I'm not angry at you today. I guess it's because...." She shrugs and laughs loudly. "I guess I like you today."

"What's that? How come?"

"Because I need you today."

"What do you need me for?"

"To get me a drink." She laughs again, louder and more slurred. "You can do that, right?"

"You want me to buy you alcohol? Are you crazy? You know I can't do that." He starts to walk out of the office. "Besides, can't you go one day without a drink?"

"Of course not, silly. And I didn't say buy."

He stops just outside the office and looks back at her. "What are you talking about? The only drinks around here are in the cabinet behind you."

"I know."

"Well that's...." He realizes what she wants him to do and scoffs at the thought. "Are you trying to get me fired?"

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease...do this little thing for me? I promise I won't ask for anything else."

"Why me?"

"You're the keeper of the keys. You have a lot of power. Why...you practically own the building."

"But I can't--"

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease? Don't make me beg." She smiles and places her clasped hands on the desk. She looks uncharacteristically friendly. "Just open the cabinet."

Tobias hangs his head. "I should have known it was too good to be true. I was wondering why you were being so sociable all of a sudden. For a second there, I thought you were starting to like me."

"So I've had a few. Look, don't judge me. I'm trying really hard to...get used to having human bosses. It's a drag. First, the executives stiff me, then I had to work under you of all people. It's really hard. But I'm trying, kiddo. I'm real close to getting it. I think you're a swell guy." The fox hides a chuckle under her hands and stares at him with a big smile. "For a human, you're so-so. Help me like you better, okay? Just be a good little Homo Sapiens and open the liquor cabinet for me."

"How did you drive?"

"Very carefully."

"Forget it. Even if you demanded me to do it, I wouldn't open that case. There's someone bigger than the both of us who would have a cow if I did what you asked." He leaves the room, closing the door behind him, and marches through the dark hall to the men's restroom. As he nears the door, he can hear the greyhound whistling. "Hey Baua. You done yet?"

Tobias opens the door slowly only to hear the dog shout, "Go clean the bitches' room."

"I'd like to, but the supplies are in here. Can't I just come in and take 'em?"

"Just give me five minutes!" Baua mumbles in Italian and goes quiet.

Tobias grunts angrily. "You're making me late. I gotta get home." He leans his right ear against the door and hears the dog's happy whistling once again. "Damn."

The time on the boy's watch says 8:45. By now he is usually done. About half of the cleaning is done in the morning by St. Croix; he vacuums the offices with carpets, cleans the windows and the blinds, and mops the cafeteria floor. Tobias does the rest. It usually takes him an hour to do. Tonight, it has been over ninety minutes and he is no closer to leaving.

Frustrated, he pushes the Vivian Cross door open, ready to yell at Pamila. As soon as he enters, he stops in his tracks. There is nobody at the desk. Everything has been left just as it was before the fox arrived, with the exception of an open desk drawer. Nothing has changed and the last couple of minutes with her were uneventful.

Tobias sighs with relief as he enters the room. "Well at least she's gone home."

"I hate begging."

"Wha...!"

From behind, Pamila wraps one arm around his trunk and the other one around his neck. She holds him close, choking him slightly. His back is pressed tightly to her chest. He tries to move, but gives up right away. Even buzzed on alcohol, she is just too strong.

"But you know what I hate more than begging? It's begging human beings!" She is screaming in his hear, causing him to wince in agony. "I'm done being nice. Now I'm gonna get stabby!"

"No! Please don't do that!"

"I hide weapons on my person. You know that, right? I've got a knife on my holster in my bra strap. Do you believe me?!"

"Yes! Yes, I believe you!"

"I also got a handgun behind my back. It's loaded and waiting to be used. You understand what I'm saying? Do you know what happens to people who piss me off?!"

"Whatever I did, I'm sorry!"

"You sure are!" Pamila turns her head and spits. She keeps her unrelenting pressure on the young man. "Now move!"

Tobias strains as he is pushed forward. His feet shuffle against the floor, squeaking against the tile and ruining the results of his cleaning efforts. He would gladly walk to the liquor cabinet now, but the fox holds on to make absolutely sure. The boy starts to hyperventilate. He is breathing so hard, his belly looks like it is about to burst through his clothes. "Just tell me what you want and I'll do it!"

Pamila stops him just inches from the cabinet. "Open that! Or I'll open you!" She pushes him forward. He slams into the front of it, rocking the contents inside. The bottles and shot glasses shake; a couple of them topple over. There is tremendous weight off the boy's shoulders and he breathes easier. But she is still behind him, so he struggles to take the keys from his back pocket.

The keychain has maybe ten keys on it, including a couple of really small keys. There is a key for every room in the building. Tobias fumbles with the chain and even drops it when he hears the fox sneeze. He picks it back up and opens the liquor cabinet.

"Move!" She shoulders him out of the way; the sheer force of the push carries him across the room. She flings the door open and starts collecting the bottles inside. First, she places two small bottles of gin on the desk nearby, then two more, then three bottles of Bourbon whiskey. Once Tobias rises to his feet, he sees a collection of bottles of booze displayed on the desk.

"The chief is gonna kill me," he says.

"Quit whining!" Pamila sits down on Mrs. Cross' chair and gathers the bottles in front of her. She reads the labels carefully. "Ooh, this one's eighty proof. I'll start with that first."

Tobias is rubbing his left shoulder. "You don't care that the chief will come here tomorrow and see these bottles missing?!"

"Tomorrow's Saturday, genius!" She arranges the bottles in order by height. "By the time she gets back, I'll have each and every bottle replaced." She licks her lips at her first choice and grabs it in her hands. "Besides, it's not like she gives a shit anyway. She'll be too busy beating off to pictures of the governor to notice." She smiles as she struggles to open the bottle she has.

"Need help?"

"I invented sarcasm, kid. It doesn't work on me." Her drunkenness seems to only make her stronger as the bottle cap gives way. "Come to mama," she says, and dumps a third of the bottle into her mouth in one go. A bit of the liquid dribbles down her chin, but she consumes most of what she wanted to drink. "You know who really needs help?"

"Who?"

"The party hostess. My 'friend,' Camille.' She's in waaaaaaaaaay over her head."

Tobias gets closer, but keeps a safe distance from the angry woman. He is more nervous about the booze than the already wasted drinker. "What did she do? Is that why you're not going to the party?"

"She's done nothing! And her party's gonna _be_nothing!" Her speech starts to slur. One whiskey bottle finished, she opens another. "Because she doesn't have me! I chose the location, I planned the music, I know the guests' likes and dislikes...and allergies...." She hiccups and clears her throat. "Did you know that Stefano is allergic to peanuts? Camille doesn't know that. She's gonna kill him when he gets there."

Tobias nods, and almost smiles. "So that's why you're drunk. You're upset 'cuz you're not going to the party."

"Who are you? The company shrink? And who is she to disinvite me?" Two bottles finished, and she seizes the closest bottle of gin. "This is really good! You know that?! I can't wait to take this home and...." Pamila gasps and chuckles. "Of course!"

"What?"

She stands up, knocking the chair over, and runs back to the cabinet. On the top shelf, in the very center, standing in front of her eyes, pretty much undisturbed from all the jostling, is the prized bottle of Scotch. She has been looking at that bottle for a few months now, all the while wondering what was really inside it. Weeks before, she would wipe the cabinet clean just to look at it. Now, she has it in her greedy hands. "Do you know how old this scotch is?"

"The chief is saving that for a special occasion!"

"What occasion could be special than this?" She turns to Tobias and points at him. "No! Let me answer that for you! None. There's no occasion better than this and no time better than now!" She easily overpowers the wrapping that holds the bottle and raises it so that the label is at eye level. "This is the same brand my dad drinks. You know that? What is this? Is it...like...fifty years old? Probably older."

Tobias' hands shake. "You don't know what you're doing! I don't know much about Scotch but I know that thing you have is very rare. You can't replace that if you drink it!"

"My dad shared his with me the day before I left for L.A. There was this place...I forgot the name...where dad would get these. He and the proprietor were great friends." Her speech softens, but also slurs even more. "And he would...get his drinks there. That place...was the only thing about New York that made my dad happy. It was the best thing I remembered about him. It's the only memory I have of my dad anymore. I don't care what anyone says. I'm going to drink this."

"This is something you could have told the chief. If you and her got along better, maybe she could have shared some of her--"

"Shut up!" Pamila puts the bottle on the table and turns back to the cabinet. Still sitting on the chair, she scoots to the open receptacle and looks around inside. "All these glasses are shot glasses! Doesn't the bitch have any larger glasses? These cups aren't proper for fifty-year-old Scotch."

"Please don't do this! She'll have our heads!"

"Yours maybe." Pamila laughs and grabs a shot glass. Scooting back to the desk, she pries the bottle open. "I deserve this. I deserve to drink this. And...you're gonna watch me drink it because I'm gonna make a toast--to somebody special. I know you can't really join in, so...just stand there with your hands behind your back."

"Who's gonna watch yours when the chief comes back?"

Pamila ignores the question and pours as much of the Scotch the shot glass can take; she nearly fills it to the brim. Taking it in her unsteady right hand, she lifts the glass and clears her throat. "This is for all the work I do that I don't get paid for..." She swallows. "...and for the ass my dad busts that he gets no compensation for." She raises it in front of the boy. "To dad." She puts the shot glass to her lips, but her shaking hand will not let her take a sip. Drops of the drink fall on her lap. She turns to the concerned janitor, hesitant to continue. It looks like her unsteady hands are forcing her to rethink her actions. She looks at the boy worriedly, but eventually just shrugs off the embarrassment. "To hell with this!"

She jettisons the shot glass across the desk and it lands on the floor on the other side. While the boy runs to grab it, she jams the bottle into her mouth and starts chugging. The shot glass did not break. Tobias picks it up and puts it on the desk. He then tries to use shirt sleeves to wipe the floor. Failing miserably, he runs out of the room and into the men's room. Thirty seconds later, he runs back in Vivian's office with a couple of paper towels. By the time he wipes the mess clean, Pamila has finished half the Scotch.

"I can't believe this. I'm a dead man on Monday and you're giving the chief the ammo!" Tobias wipes a bit of the alcohol on the desk and tosses the used paper towels in the nearby trash bin. "Look at yourself. You're supposed to be one of the best hunters in this organization. St. Croix once told me you killed three guys in one day! He said you had the most potential of all the girls who had ever been here. That was six months ago. Now you've thrown it away because...." He leans in to get a closer look at her. "Hello?"

Pamila has her head on the desk. Her eyes are tightly closed and her mouth pushes out some pained breaths. The tension thickens as Pamila's earlier drunk bravado has turned into something disturbing.

Tobias reaches her and shakes her shoulders. "Come on! Don't be wasted now! You gotta get up!"

"I am up."

"I mean on your feet!" He tries to help her out of the chair, throwing her left arm around him. He fails miserably; she is just too strong.

"Let me go," she mumbles. "I don't feel so good."

"No duh. You drank a party's worth of booze in just ten minutes."

"Speaking of which, there's a party with my name on it. I'm gonna go crash it...right after I go the bathroom. Stop trying to pull me up. You're already pathetic. Don't be more so."

The fox pushes herself off the chair and stands as straight as possible, an incredible feat considering how much she must have imbibed. She stumbles out the door with the janitor nervously following her every step of the way. They are halfway to the men's room when Baua comes out, inspecting his cufflinks and whistling happily.

"Hey kid. That room's now yours." He spies the two trudging toward him and widens his eyes at the fox's appearance. "Whoa! What happened to you?!" He laughs as she flips him off. "Wow! Could it be? The woman who brags about the amount of liquor she can hold is wasted?!"

Tobias steps in front of the doubled-over fox. "She's hurting! Help us!"

Baua laughs louder, startling the kid. "Are you kidding? Help that? No! Let her learn her lesson. I don't like her enough anyway."

"Think of me, for God's sake! I can't clean this up on my own!"

The greyhound shakes his head and shrugs. "All right! Let's...." A loud tone sounds, interrupting the conversation. He digs into his left pocket. "Hold on, kid." He pulls out his flip phone and puts it to his ear.

"Please, hurry up."

"Hold on, I gotta take this. Hey, Camille!" The greyhound's face lights up. He is genuinely happy to hear from her and straightens his pinstriped suit as if she can notice it through the phone. "Yeah! I'm on my way. I might be there by 9:15...huh? What's taking so long? Because I gotta look pretty for you, of course. Don't forget what we promised. I get a date. A real one. And...aah! What the hell?!"

Pamila has thrown up. She had broken free from Tobias and is now on all fours, crawling to the restroom. The sight is indeed sad; the strong, resolute, attractive-but-not-too-sexy woman has been thoroughly reduced in size and stature. Her favorite vice has crippled her in front of the men. This is the moment that Hoeness and most of the others would gleefully take in. Baua would be doing so right now. He just has to address the puke on his shoes first.

"Oh my God!" Belligerent, the dog accidentally hangs up on Camille as he backs away, taking the mess on his feet with him. The fox escapes into the men's room while he immediately kicks hi shoes off. "What is this?!"

Tobias looks back and forth, at the men's room door, then at Baua, then at the door again. He shakes his head and tries to remain calm in the face of overwhelming disorder. "I'm so sorry. Let me clean those for you."

"Don't touch these shoes!"

"I can get them cleaned right away and you can go to the party. I know how to do it. It'll be like nothing happened. I promise."

"These are Ferragamos!" He walks toward the boy with a look that most people would not survive if he were feral. "These are five hundred dollars! Not five hundred a pair. Five hundred a shoe!"

"Just give them to me and I'll--"

"Forget it. Where's that bitch?" Baua pushes Tobias aside and opens the door to see the fox on her knees and vomiting in one of the urinals. The unpleasant sight surprisingly gives the angry dog pause. He tilts his head to one side and raises his eyebrows. He was about to lay into her, but now feels a little sorry. "Never mind," he says.

"Help us, okay?" Tobias steps in front of him again, acting as a buffer between them, just in case he feels like getting revenge. "She needs help. I don't know what to do. Should I call someone? Should I get an ambulance? You gotta help me figure this out."

"I don't gotta do nothing, kid. I got a party to go to. My shoes...." He looks down. "And my socks are ruined. But I really like Camille, so I'm just gonna risk it." He points at the fox. "She's gonna get what's coming. That's a fact. The chief tried to reform her. It didn't work. There's nothing you can do that she hasn't tried. You should just do yourself a favor and wash your hands of her. The sooner she's gone, the better it'll be for ya."

"I can't let her get fired. She'd hold me responsible. She'd kill me."

"Well...." He looks at his Rolex and curses. "Just pump some coffee into her. Maybe she'll sober up. I gotta go." He runs toward the lobby.

"Hey! Go through the back! A can't mop a carpet!"

Baua grumbles and turns around. Gingerly holding on to his nearly painted shoes, he shouts a couple of Italian expletives at the woman's back before heading off through the cafeteria door.

Tobias sighs and heads inside. He takes slow and careful steps when he approaches Pamila; he is basically sneaking up behind her, something she would not take kindly to. Sure enough, she turns around, stopping him in mid-step. He holds his breath, anticipating an attack. However, they both know there is none coming. The fox looks a mess. Her stare at the boy looks more like resignation than anger. There is so much drool escaping her mouth, she could be mistaken for a rabid dog.. Moaning lowly, she turns back to the urinal and spits.

"We're alone now," he says. He decides to stand next to her instead of behind her. "We're both in trouble. You know that?"

"Don't do me any favors," she says. She plants her hands on the urinal, trying to stand. A few seconds later, she gives up and stays on her knees.

A loud buzzing emanates from Tobias' trousers. "That'll be mom. Just stay here okay? I'm here for you if allow it. I'll be right back."