Venom: Scenes of Chaos

“We don't belong with each other."

The night outside is smoky and dull. The clouds mercilessly shroud the moonlight, threatening to dump their payload on the unsuspecting town. The weather is about to be unfit for man and beast alike. As it so happens, such a man has just parked his vehicle at the driveway of a nice, suburban house. The red, rugged pickup shines its headlights through the windows of the uninhabited domicile. That rude awakening is followed by the blaring of the horn. It blares multiple times.

The driver-side door swings open. The young, male driver leaves his place behind the wheel, laughing maniacally. He pumps his fists in the air and shouts exuberantly from the top of his lungs. As he revels, the passenger-side door opens, quietly, with less bombast. It attracts the young man's attention and he immediately stops. “Wait a second," he yells.

“One second," the other occupant says.

The young man closes his door and runs to the other side to help the occupant out. She is a white rabbit, wearing a slinky, blue, evening dress. He is wearing a rugged, denim shirt and blue jeans. She looks like she has come from a black-tie function. He looks like he is returning from a hoedown. They are completely mismatched. Yet, the human cradles the rabbit's shoulders with his arm as they walk to the door.

“Hold on," she says. “Let me reach this." Her beau releases her, letting her crouch to remove the keys from under the welcome mat.

The man laughs. “I unlock my house with my phone."

“Don't make fun." She stands to unlock the door and gets greeted by a pair of denim-clad arms wrapped around her trunk. “No, not outside."

“Come on. No one will see."

“The women will see. They'll gossip like good housewives do, and daddy will know. Now please let me go."

He reluctantly obliges. “Racist."

The rabbit smirks as she saunters away from him. “The word you're looking for is speciesist." She puts the key in the lock. “And I'm neither of those things."

“That's not even a word. I'll bet you if you type that on your computer, a big red line's gonna pop up under it."

The door is opened and they both step inside. “You timed it perfectly," she says. “Daddy won't be home for two hours."

“And what are we gonna do for those two hours?" Once again, he wraps his arms around her.

“Could you close the door first?" She laughs and watching him scamper. “You know that if he catches us, you're dead and I'm disowned, right? We have to be careful. I shouldn't need to tell you that every night we're together. Any bit of carelessness could hurt us."

“Is it my fault your dad has no vision?"

“Vision?"

He closes in and presses his chest against hers. “A human and a hare together doesn't have the stigma it did years ago. A relationship like this has tremendous upside. Why, we could make history. We could be the first couple ever who…." He stops in his tracks, trying to come up with the words to say. His girlfriend laughs at his stutters as she turns on the lights. “Don't laugh. It'll come to me."

“Clark, you don't have to--"

“I've got the red hair, the freckles, and the webbed fingers and toes, while you've got…um…the albinism!" He smiles as if he has just made a mind-blowing discovery. Once the living room is fully illuminated, he struts toward her and grips her shoulders, firmly but dotingly. “We're the ultimate power couple. There's no reason your dad couldn't approve."

She smiles and looks up at him, allowing herself to be held in place. Her smaller frame makes her look like a full-sized plush toy next to his hulking arms. The bright lights show off her deep red eyes. They shine like rubies under the electric chandelier, until he covers her face. He kisses her dull-pink nose, causing her to giggle simperingly. He then aims for her mouth, but she stops his advance by lowering her head.

“Clark, you don't have to try so hard to get into my pants. You're already halfway there." She buries her face in his chest and they stand that way for a few minutes. Her hands paw his waist and lower back, trying to dig through the denim he wears. “I'm ready," she says.

“Ready for what?"

She raises her head and kisses his mouth. “I'll be in my room, waiting for you."

He smiles with deviant thoughts. “Waiting for me to do what exactly?"

“Take a shower. You smell like a walking tap room." She leads him through the kitchen and into the corridor, turning on all the lights along the way. “I agree with everything you said, by the way. You and me work really well together. The only drawback I see is that…I can't seem to get used to the webbing."

“You've ignored it so far, haven't you?"

“Yeah, but I can't…." She stops and holds his left hand up to her eyes. There is a thick membrane of skin between his pinkie and his ring finger, starting about where his knuckles are. There is another such membrane between his middle and right digits. “You can't put a ring on these fingers, can you?"

Clark laughs and pulls his hand away. “You're thinking that far ahead, huh?"

The rabbit closes her eyes and turns away. “I have been for the last week. We're getting quite serious, you and I."

Her room is truly spacious. It looks like the biggest room in the house. On the left side lies a fancy-looking bed with a canopy. The decorative drapery is deep red. The bed sheet is covered with three pricey-looking pillows with watercolor flowers on them. There are two larger pillows standing beside the intricately carved headboard. At the furthest corner of the room is a marble bust on a pedestal. It is a bust of Voltaire. On the right side are two bureaus standing on either side of a mahogany closet door.

The excited human steps inside her girlfriends private island, looking around jovially. “What do you need two dressers for?" he asks.

“You see this dress? I've got several of those on the left dresser. They take up a lot of space, so daddy bought the other one."

“Being with you's got plenty of upside. I clearly got it made."

“Help me unclasp my necklace? Be careful though. It costs more life itself."

He kisses her forehead before swinging around to her back. “I've been meaning to ask. What is that centerpiece made of?"

“It's amber. It's my sweet-sixteen gift from mom. It's probably only a thousand dollars, but the sentimental value is nothing to sneeze at. Place it over there, would you?"

The man makes the short trip to the bureau, inspecting the tan-colored jewel in his hand. He plays with it like a cat playing with string. “Impressive. But I'm used to things that sparkle."

“I know. Your watch, your gold pendants, and your diamond bracelets. Aren't you worried that all that sparkle is gonna dull your senses?"

“Is it my fault I like shiny things?" Clark laughs as he spreads the necklace on the dresser. “I live in Beverly Hills. All this stuff comes with the scenery." He turns around to walk back, but is stopped in his tracks. “Holy hell."

The coquettish hare has slipped her clothes off. Her dress is on the carpeted floor, covering her feet. Her fur, deftly combed and intricately arranged, stands before the human, waiting to be roughed up. All that is left on her is a white brassiere that clings to her A-cups, a pair of lace bloomers, and garters, all white. They make her look thinner and smaller than she really is. They blend in, yet stick out. Clark is mesmerized and stops himself several times before finally advancing. He holds out his hands, but does not quite know where to touch.

“Uh-uh. Go shower." The girl is playfully forceful. She steps on her dress to walk over to him. “You get your prize once you're clean." She kisses his nose and slaps his rear, sending him on his way. “Don't take too long."

“You know…." He stutters, still stunned by her naked charisma. “You could distract your dad by calling him and asking him to pick you up something. That would give us extra time. Don't you think?"

She smiles and picks up her dress. “Good idea. I'll do just that."

They blow each other kisses and she watches him walk away. The bathroom is only a stone's throw away from where she is. It is quite possible that she can hear him taking off his clothes. She bows her head and smiles as the water runs next door. Her anticipation for what is about to come makes her giddy. As her right hand holds her clothes, her left hand runs down from her chest to her belly, then slowly inside her bloomers. She releases a couple of strained breaths from her gritted teeth.

Her leg muscles tighten and for the next couple of minutes, she forgets where she is. Her teeth part, making her sighs tenser and louder. A latent spasm forces her dress to drop on top of her curled toes. Her now freed left hand grips her left breast and stays there until she stops. Her lips tighten as she slowly lifts her right hand from inside her lace pouch.

Suddenly, a loud wail rings out from the bathroom. Her startled head turns to look behind her. She is excited and scared, but it turns out that her boyfriend has a pretty loud, operatic, singing voice. She laughs softly and picks up her dress, inadvertently wiping the remnants of her dalliance. She struts to the bureau, looking proud of herself. By the way Clark is belting out Puccini, she is probably proud of him too.

The rabbit folds her dress inside the top drawer and picks up her amber necklace. She looks at it lovingly while she opens the closet door. The air from the walk-in closet hits her, making her laugh again. The air is cooler and the atmosphere is spacey. It feels less constrained in there than in the bedroom itself. “Maybe we should do it in here," she says. “It could be more enjoyable." She reaches overhead to pull on the light switch. By the look of things, the red fox is enjoying the atmosphere as well.

Her red eyes double in size at the sight of Pamila, standing there under the light bulb, right in front of her. The tall fox shrugs calmly, then rears back. The sight of the stranger has the rabbit frozen in place. Her mouth stutters and her tail flutters. Before the rabbit can do anything, she is submerged by a right cross.

While Pamila flexes her hand, the rabbit scampers, kicking at the ground to back herself away. The sudden, shooting pains in her face and back slow her down. She scampers faster as the fox exits the closet, but still moves slower than the fox does. As quickly as she can, she picks herself up and runs to the bed. Pamila quickly pursues. She has something in her hands.

The rabbit starts to cry. It is a scared, frantic sobbing. It could help her in a pinch if it were not being drowned out by the running shower next door. Pamila's head turns towards the noise, then quickly back to her mark. She rushes the bed and lands on top of the young girl. It looks like she is reaching for something under the pillows, but it hardly matters when the fox wrenches her head backwards. There is a wire around her neck.

The rabbit tries to scream as her face is forced to look at the ceiling. Pamila does not have to strain much to get the wire in her hands to tighten around the girl's throat. Her voice is no longer active, but her arms still are. She desperately bangs on the headboard with her palms, hoping to get her boyfriend's attention. The fox realizes the urgency of being found out and climbs on top of her. She drives her left knee on the rabbit's back and her bare right foot on the back of her head. The banging does not stop, but it is now less forceful.

Pamila has to contort her body to choke and smother her victim all at once. It looks uncomfortably difficult, but it is getting the job done. The rabbit's arms flail about some more, but it is only a matter of time. The battle is over in less than a minute, with the fox leaning forward to make absolutely sure her foot is planted squarely and her face is practically in the pillow. When she stops moving, the victor lets go.

Another job well done. Pamila sits on the bed next to the newly-minted corpse. She leans on the headboard and takes a couple of slow, easy breaths. The surrounding air feels nice and agreeable. She takes advantage, stretching her feet and her hands. The room is enjoyably quiet. The grunting and struggling sounds being made earlier have allowed the fox to appreciate how nice a calm room feels. She takes some more breaths as her heart rate slows.

Something below her eye level catches her eyes. She looks down to see the rabbit's tail fluttering. It picks itself up and drops back down. It does so over and over again. It goes at a steady pace, as if fighting for someone's attention. Pamila smirks at it and flattens it with the palm of her right hand. The tail stops dancing for the moment, but resumes when she let sit go. The fox replaces her hand on the rabbit's backside, then raises it again. The tail continues to move.

As amused as Pamila is by this, she knows that chances cannot be taken. She is nothing if not thorough. She climbs back on the rabbit, uses her left arm to hook her neck and grabs the girl's hair with her right hand. Without thinking about it, she twists until the neck cracks, then drops the rabbit's face on the pillow. The mark's vacant eyes and open mouth show that the job has been done now, if not before. Pamila returns to relaxing next to the body and again basking in the quiet.

Seconds later, she turns to her right, facing the wall, behind which is the bathroom. She gasps and stands. The water is supposed to be running. The room has been quiet for a while; the fox has uncharacteristically lost track of her surroundings. Now the mark's boyfriend has dropped from her radar. Her standing up quickly has knocked a pillow off the bed. She picks it up, but before she can replace it, she sees an item that the pillow was hiding.

It is a small, black Ruger. The fox looks at it and tilts her head with interest. She recognizes the brand and lightly rubs the logo on the butt. Suddenly, a door opens nearby. The only other person in the house is coming out of the bathroom. Pamila grabs the gun and hurries back in the closet. The bedroom door has been wide open all this time. It does not take Clark long to find his girlfriend lying on her belly with her arms at her sides.

He raises his eyebrows. “Baby? You all right?" He stands there, waiting for an answer, then realizes how disorganized the bed is. He runs to the body and shouts the rabbit's name several times. He looks around the room frantically and pulls her towards him. All is completely limp and lifeless, even the girl's tail. Clark has no idea what to do. His eyes begin to flutter and his mouth makes some strange noises. He struggles to breathe as he shakes her vigorously. He trips over his feet trying to stand up, but he repositions himself to start CPR. At that moment, the fox is on top of him.

Pamila busts his forehead with the butt of the Ruger. Without a second's rest, she swings again, hitting him on the back of the head. Clark is down, face down next to his fallen girl, but he is not completely out. Blood runs down from his face to his to the white blanket and he weakly feels the top of his head. He struggles to look up, but his arms give way, and his face sinks into the satin.

Pamila looks at the gun with more interest for a few seconds more, clearly staying for longer than her purpose possibly allows her to. She gloats silently at the still couple before tossing the firearm. It lands on Clark's back. “Enjoy the civil suit," she says.

However she entered the house, she is not taking that same way back, instead brazenly walking through the hallway, through the kitchen, and into the living room. There are two windows on either side of the front door. She looks through the one on the left, pressing her nose against the glass. “Come on," she whispers.

She looks behind her a couple of times in suspicion; the mark's boyfriend is probably on his way. She again presses her nose to the window. Her eyes pace back and forth, on the lookout for something. Sure enough, a car pulls up right in front of the house, stopping short of the driveway. The wolf nods, blows a mocking kiss to the room behind her, and opens the door. She leaves the lights on behind her and makes her way to the waiting car.

The windows of the passenger door slide down to reveal the driver. The snarky smile leaves the assassin's face as she opens the door. The occupant of the car does not look pleased to see her either.

“What did I tell you about coming out through the front door? Didn't I tell you to take the secret passageway?"

She folds her arms and plants her back in the seat. “Why, I'm just fine, Simon. How about you? And yes, the hunt was a big success. Thanks for asking."

“What did I tell you about coming out the front door? What if you were seen?"

“It's fucking midnight!"

“It's ten."

“Well, either way, it's late. No one's going to find out someone was in that house until the mark's parents come home." She clears her throat and looks at her lap. “Or when the boyfriend wakes up."

Simon Blank was about to start the engine until he heard that last statement. “The boyfriend was there?"

“Well, you did say it was a possibility."

“You didn't kill him, did you?"

“No! I showed restraint. I knocked him out. I wasn't prepared to face him, but I had everything handled. If I felt I had more time, I would have planned to make it look like he did it. But I didn't kill him, so all you suit-and-tie types can relax easy and give me my money tomorrow evening."

The man sighs with resignation, dreading the trip home. “For the record, I'm not worried that you can't do the job. I'm more worried that you would have gotten caught leaving through the front door instead of the secret passage that I told you about."

“Well, if you just sit there dicking around, we're sure to be caught, aren't we?!"

Simon is about to yell some more, but figures that she is right and promptly starts the car. His tires wheeze on the pavement as the car peels away. The noise probably attracted someone in this normally quiet neighborhood. The darkness disguises most of the car, illuminated intermittently by the street lights while it speeds down a side street.

“You're bleeding," he says.

“What's that?"

“Your right hand's got blood on it."

“Oh, that's his blood. I just…." She gives her hand a careful look. It does not take her long to find a gash on her palm. “Well, shit."

“First aid kit is in the glove compartment. Don't bleed all over the upholstery."

Pamila angrily opens the compartment, just now feeling the pain of her hard work. “Well, so much for leaving unscathed. Though I think most of this is his blood."

“Is your blood anywhere on the scene?"

“I'm not sure and it doesn't matter." She gingerly opens the first aid box, digging around inside for quick relief. “By the time the police are finished there, they won't have a clue. The only person in that room with fingerprints at any time was the bitch's boyfriend. You're missing a few things in here."

The fox does the best she can with the gauze. There are no bandages in the kit, so she just presses the makeshift dressing on the affected palm. “This will blow over in a couple of minutes."

“Don't worry about it. We're almost there." Simon is much calmer now. With the remnants of the hit far behind them, he relaxes and speeds up, jostling them as he makes a couple of turns. “We'll dress it properly."

Still looking at her hand, she says, “You know, you're making an awful lot of turns. My place is on a straightaway. We getting gas or something?"

“We're going to my house. It's closer from here and we can avoid driving in the heavy rain."

Pamila leers at him suspiciously. “Ok, that's weird. Thanks anyway. I'll just make do with this until you take me home."

“Nonsense. I don't want that thing to get infected. I've always got replacements. Between this and my family life, it's become a necessity."

“Whatever."

“Besides, there's someone at home who misses you very much."

Pamila looks at him confusedly before remembering who else lives with him. “Aw, come on!"

“What? Don't be like that. He's really fond of you."

“No offense meant, but I don't really feel like getting groped today."

“He's not going to grope you."

“Yes, he is."

“While were there, the babysitter's gonna be on her way out, so no mention of where we've been tonight. As far as she'd know, we're just friends and I'm letting you stay with me for a while."

Pamila clears her throat. “Again, no offense, but you don't dump your son on someone if you want to remain friends with 'em."

Simon grips the wheel harder than before, but tries to limit his ire to just that. “You know my son's a special needs child who needs a special needs caregiver when I'm not there."

“This affects me how?"

“It's getting very expensive and he doesn't enjoy himself when I'm not there."

“You're boring me."

Simon keeps talking, almost as if the fox was not there. “I don't think it would be so bad for you to visit him every once in a while."

“No."

“Not even as a favor to your old handler?"

“Being friends with humans comes with a price."

“Being friends with anyone comes at a price."

“You're son's a basket case when I'm in the room. As you say, he needs a professional to look over his 'special needs.' We don't belong with each other."

His voice raises slightly, but he is more determined than angry. “Well, I'm willing to take any good, cheap, short cuts anywhere I can find them. He likes you and misses you. If you can make him happy, I'm going to give him what he wants."

“Get him a dog. A ferret. Something with four legs and is just as stupid. As long as it has fur, he'll be happy with it."

“Ferrets are illegal in California…and dogs scare him."

“I've just come from a hit where I had to hear the mark lord her riches over her poor schlub boyfriend. I cut my hand in the process. Nothing's scarier or more dangerous than me right now. Just have your special needs sitter dress up as Cousin It and have him grope her. I'm out of the babysitting business."

Simon's nostrils flare. “Cousin It is hair."

Pamila folds her arms and fumes. There is nothing she can do about where she is being taken. As predicted, the rain starts to fall. It only increases as Simon speeds to his destination. “Keep your hand as dry as you can," he says.

Simon parks in the lot of the apartment complex he resides in. With the rain pelting them, they rush through the front door. They are soaked, but not water-logged. They dry themselves on the way up through the elevator. She does not notice, but the whole time the lift ascends, he stares at her. It is an angry, resigned stare, unsure of how to feel when he opens the door to his place.

He hardly has to wait long. As soon as the elevator door opens, they make the turn to room 400. An air-conditioned blast hits them once he opens the door. It stings the fox's wet face and she bows her head.

“Have a seat," Simon says. “We're going to…wow! Look at you!"

Damien sees his father and silently runs up to him. He gives the old man the biggest embrace his arms can muster. Behind him, a blond, buxom, early-twenties ingénue stands behind them both. She folds her arms proudly and breathes a sigh of relief. “He's been a handful, but better behaved than yesterday."

“I'll bet." Simon releases the hug and grasps the five-year-old's shoulders. “How've you been?"

Damian does not answer. His eyes have caught his angel. Sure enough, he runs past his father and clamps his arms around the fox's legs, just before he's had the chance to sit down. The now red gauze falls from her damaged hand to the floor. She herself almost falls.

She does not try to pry him off, but instead looks at the humans in front of her, hands clenched, low growls audible.

The babysitter looks at her employer. “Can I ask?"

“No you may not. Stay here while I get your money."

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

“I know it's Saturday morning, but it's not like you're busy. It's not like the office is way out of your way. Just don't think of it as a burden on your day. Also don't think about it as cheating either. You'll just be doing me a huge favor. What could go wrong?"

Camille is speaking on her phone in hushed tones because her new boyfriend is not far. He is on his own cell phone, pacing back and forth just outside her bedroom. He looks jovial and full of life. He talks and moves like he has a spring in his step. Spending the night with the blue-gray cat again is clearly doing him wonders.

Camille has to keep Tom at a distance while she has her conversation. She is obviously talking to someone she works with. “You were there, St. Croix. You saw me choose it. You know that mark's mine." She waits for him to speak, keeping an eye on her pacing boyfriend. “Well, could you blame me? He came to pick me up. Of course I forgot it." She laughs then covers her mouth.

“You would too if you were looking forward to a night of surprises. Besides, I couldn't very well leave the picture of the mark in Tom's car, could I?" She looks up to see her boyfriend walking away, then tugs at her nightgown to take it off. “Well, I don't mean to ruin your weekend, but you don't have much to do. Just unlock the front door and the executives' office and let me get my mark back."

She kicks the fallen gown away from her feet and looks for clothes in her rustic-looking closet. She moves hangers around, looking for something to wear and making a lot of noise in the process. Tom takes this opportunity to sneak in through the front door and quietly close in on his unsuspecting mate. He smiles wickedly as he ends the call on his device.

Meanwhile, Camille has found what looks like an acceptable pair of trousers. She shakes her head with dissatisfaction as she tries to put them on. “I don't need much from you, church boy. I just need a ride. It's not like you haven't done this for any of the other guys."

She squeezes the flip phone between her left shoulder and chin. It is really hard to do while she squeezes in to her jeans. She jumps twice to stretch them up to her waist. “Well, if you can't do it, who can?" She struggles to hook the button. “What's that? Who else has keys?" Tom is standing right behind her, giggling silently.

“Why would that janitor have keys? I know that…." She sighs and holds on the cell phone, leaving the jeans unbuttoned. “That isn't fair! He has keys and I don't? You want me to get the ride from him? I don't even know where he lives!" She puts her hands on her hips and taps her left foot on the floor angrily. She has no idea that her boyfriend is stretching his arms through hers.

“No, St. Croix. Don't give me that lecture, okay? I don't have to get to know the janitor. Why would I? What's he ever done for me? I don't even work in that office. I just…Don't do that, okay? I don't need a guilt trip. I just need to look for what I left behind. No, I'm not angry at you, though I should be. I mean…you get a key, the kid gets a key, but I don't? I need to get a ride from him? What am I? A rookie? I swear, this isn't how you treat somebody who hunts ma…Aah!"

The Manx grabs Camille's bare breasts and pulls her towards him. He then wraps his arms around her and lifts her in the air. The phone falls and her jeans slide down to her thighs. She laughs and begs to be released. He instead sits on the bed, making her sit on his lap. “I didn't know you were awake."

Still laughing, she heel-kicks his left ankle. “You dummy! You made me hang up."

“Was it important?"

“Well…no, but--"

“Wait a moment. Did I hear you say you didn't work in the office?"

“Um…Hey, look at this!"

“What?"

Camille turns herself to kiss him, catching him by surprise. She wraps her arms around his neck to keep him still. They get ten good seconds of nuzzling each other before she stands. “Ignore all that back there. We say things we don't mean when we're angry." She tries to slide her jeans back to her waist.

“Just get another pair. I can't stand watching you jump up and down for those things. It's horribly funny."

“Don't make fun of me. I bought these things last week. I bought them for you."

“I'm flattered, but you don't have to imitate me. I can get away with wearing jeans. Men have more styles of jeans than women do. You all got those skinny jeans you're forced to put on. It's killing you guys. You're just better off wearing my clothes."

“Ugh. You want me to wear those hand-me-downs?"

“Right now, I'd actually prefer that you wear nothing. Lucky for us, you're wearing it now."

Camille laughs as she gets forcefully held in his long arms. She wants the jeans kept on, but he effortlessly slides them below her posterior. She giggles as they kiss, then sighs pleasurably when he drives his nails down her back.

“I love you," he says.

She answers in kind. Then his phone blares its ringtone.

“Ah, shit." He pulls it from his back pocket and looks at the display. “I'm late. Sorry, babe. I gotta go."

“Go? Go where?"

“Tiger Tails. All the bouncers, bartenders, DJs, and party hosts have to attend."

“Attend what? Tell them to fuck off. It's Saturday. Your shift starts at six!"

Tom heaves an uncomfortable breath. “One of our best clients is dead. His name's Ronald Brice. He was found last night in his home, with one of our former workers. They were both shot in the head. Where are my shoes?" He reaches into the closet and brings out a black pair of loafers. He kneels to rub them clean while his lover hovers over him.

“This is critically important, isn't it?"

He huffs angrily. “Apparently, the police are going to question us. The proprietor is just trying to make sure each of our asses is covered. They want no surprises. I imagine he wants to ask us where we've been before the police do."

Camille gasps nervously. It seems she now recognizes the name. “Will Silas be there too?"

“Yep. Everybody. It's gonna be a long day, and then we start work, so you should tell Pamila not to bother Silas for a while. I'll be going home too." He stands after putting on his shoes. “It's been nice spending the night with you."

“It's been nice having you, as always." Camille turns away from him nervously. “Can I expect a call?

He shrugs unsurely. “We'll see, but don't wait up for one, okay? The owner sounded very scared when he called me last night. He wonders if what happened to him happened to some of our other clients."

They kiss once more and she reluctantly lets him go. She remains in the bedroom, trying one more time to pull up the jeans she wants to wear. She pulls at the brass button and sucks in her gut as much as she can. She gives up minutes later, flopping herself on the bed. Her mind wanders as she stares at the ceiling.

Her body is directly in the glow of the rising sun. It feels nice on her legs and she decides to take full advantage. She slides halfway down the bed so that her trunk can get some warmth as well. It is a pleasurable feeling, but her legs are being restrained by those stubborn jeans. She quickly kicks them off until they fall. Then she hears a noise.

She climbs on her knees to notice that her phone is on the floor. “Oh, right." As quickly as she can, she picks it up and hits redial, returning to the giant sunbeam on her bed. “Pick up, St. Croix," she whines. The low drone of a moving car engine can be heard. Camille gets up for a second to look out the window at her boyfriend pulling away. Once he is gone, she returns to her place under the sun.

“Hey, St. Croix. I'm sorry I was cross. I'd like to talk to you again when you get back. I've…changed my mind. I'll get the keys from that twerp. I'll have him drive me if he won't give them up. If you can't take me, I understand. Just tell me where he lives and I'll do it. Call me back soonest. Bye."

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

Miranda is flirting with danger. She is in the Rapid Recovery building on a Saturday morning, a feat that seems beyond her to do. She is not an executive, the secretary, the CEO, or the janitor. She should not be where she is right now. But there she is, pacing back and forth through the lobby, looking nervously through every window. She peers through the venetian blinds instead of simply opening them. She looks like she is up to no good.

A few minutes later, a yellow taxicab with squealing brakes crawls into the parking lot. The psychiatrist hears the noise and runs to the window again. “No. No. Please stop there," she whispers. “Don't come any closer." She looks on as the car stops just short of the front door. She swallows watching the passenger door open.

“Shit." She scrambles away from the window and angrily opens the double doors. Coming out of the cab is a young , gray stranger, wearing a blue, cotton shirt and a red, pleated skirt. Her furry, gray legs emphasize how small the skirt is. She pays the driver and turns to look at the human. She takes off her baseball cap to reveal her face. Her ears proudly stand on end after being constrained for what looks like a long time.

The young-looking gray wolf cautiously steps toward the waiting woman. “I'm here like you asked."

“I told you to--"

“I couldn't get a ride. I'm afraid I couldn't be any more discreet than this."

“Get in before we're seen." Miranda fumes as she holds open a door for her. The wolf runs inside, stepping on the woman's foot as she does. She clasps her hands nervously and looks around. Miranda sighs and tries to shake off her displeasure. “Here. Let me lead you to the psych room. We'll talk there."

The wolf is angry that she is being manipulated, but lets the woman guide her to the big room left of the dark hallway.

“Take it easy, okay? You still have at least one friend in the world."

“Are you talking about you? We just met."

“Just push the door open. For the record, could you please tell me your name?"

“You already know my name."

“For the record, please." Miranda turns the lights on, showing off the cozy, luxurious room. The wolf widens her eyes to take in the closet and the bookcase standing near the farthest wall. She looks at the leather couch on her right and the mahogany desk on her left.

“Looks like my living room," she says.

“Have a seat. Your name, please."

“You're not recording this, are you?"

“Yes, but I'm a psychiatrist. Anything you say in here stays here."

The wolf looks even more unsure. She trips on her own feet sitting down. “Why couldn't we do this in your house or something? I'm getting really nervous."

“Again, for the record, your name please."

“Paulette Hopkins."

“And who's your dad?"

“Maxime Hopkins. Real last name, Kovalenko."

“And what does he do?"

“He's the Secretary of the Treasury for the State of California."

Miranda folds her arms. “And that makes him?"

Paulette sighs and hangs her head. She looks like she is being questioned in front of a judge. “A member of Governor Cartwright's Cabinet."

“Mm-hmm. And that's why we're not doing this in my place. I don't have an office yet and I don't want paparazzi hanging all over my house."

“Fine! Sorry!" Paulette folds her arms. “It's not my fault the Governor's men are dying."

Miranda's look softens and she takes a seat next to the wolf. “I'm sorry. I'm being insensitive. How's your family holding up? How's your dad? How is your family?"

“Everyone's fine. Our Secret Service protection is top notch. Nobody comes near us without being ID'd or frisked, or…whatever. It's turned our lives upside down, but at least mom isn't worried that dad's in danger."

“So tell me your problem."

“I…don't think I…." The wolf stands and walks away from the couch. “I'm in love with a human being."

Miranda shrugs. “That's not a problem these days."

“It is if you have a high-profile family. Also, if you have a little sister who looks up to you."

“Do tell."

“I've had three boyfriends in my life before Derrick. My last one, I was 18 years old and dad had just dipped his toe into the political waters. The last one I had broke up with me because he didn't have the patience to wait for me while I was on the campaign trail, helping dad win his election. So I said fuck it. I was single for a couple of years. I had a couple of flings that I don't count. You get me?"

“Of course."

Paulette closes in. “I met Derrick six months ago in the middle of this campaign. I thought nothing of him at the time, but--"

“Cut to the chase, Paulette. The quicker, the better."

“Hey, you're supposed to help me. I'm in an existential crisis here."

“What made you fall in love with Derrick?"

“Dad and I paid a visit to Mr. Cartwright's L.A. campaign headquarters. It was only supposed to be a quick stop for the TV cameras, then we could go home. Derrick was the spokesperson for this particular office. He said that they were understaffed and he appealed to the news people that they needed help and that they paid well. Well, I was out of work at the time, and when my dad heard the salary, he practically forced me to sign up."

“Why would he do that? Can't you get a job on your own?"

“He was afraid I would get hung up on being a celebrity since the Governor's got cameras following him and all his Cabinet members. He figured that if I were going to be on TV, I might as well be seen working. I protested, but it didn't take. In April, I started work troubleshooting ideas with Derrick and his team. I would also answer phones. Derrick was hands on and my transition from go-getter to working girl was practically complete. My fifteen-year-old sister joined in a month later because she heard the money was so good and she wanted to be on TV." She releases a sharp cough. “Also, she wanted a BMX…kind of thing."

“Want some water?"

“No thanks. I didn't mean to fall in love with him. It just happened. In May, I hated the job. By June, we were used to each other. Last month, we hooked up for the first time, on the 4^th…during the fireworks…at the pier. Nobody missed us."

“Just like that? No hang-ups?"

“What do you mean?"

Miranda laughs. “Sit back down, please." She looks at the young girl with kindness and understanding. For her part, the wolf is now less uptight and defensive. As she sits, the psychiatrist lowers her voice to a more motherly tone, the kind of voice she saves for the hitmen who seek her services. “You and Derrick just hooked up? Just like that? No complaints about the way you kissed? Or the way he kissed? No fur got in the way? You weren't hung up on his lack of fur? He had no B.O.? No issues? Really?"

“Did I mention that I was in estrus?"

“Oh. Never mind."

“The hang-ups would come later, I guess, but the first time was so good, I didn't care. Neither did he. We were only worried about whether to do it and when. We were careful for a while, but we started doing it at the campaign office. Long story short, I--"

“Too late." Miranda laughs.

“What's that?"

“Sorry. Old joke. Keep going."

Paulette shrugs and continues. “I brought him home while dad was away doing his...Treasurer thing. Mom was running for Alderman, so the house was always empty. Anyway, on the 28^th, I brought him to my house for the third time that month. We couldn't keep our hands off each other…and my sister couldn't keep her curious eyes away from the basement window."

“Ouch."

“Two nights later, on a rare occasion when both parents were home, we had a fight. My sister brought up BMX to dad. She wanted to take lessons. He vehemently said no. They had the independence argument that fifteen-year-olds have with their dads. She was beginning to understand what it was like to rebel. She was upset she wasn't getting her way and she started to curse." Paulette releases a breath, causing Miranda to lean in closer. “Then, for good measure, she brought me into the discussion. 'You're letting her see Derrick,' she said."

“What did you do?"

“I lied, of course. I yelled at her. 'You don't know what you're talking about' and so forth. I laid into her good. Then she tried to guilt-trip me. You're supposed to be my sister. You're supposed to stand up for me. Blah, blah, blah. I again lied, reassuring everyone that Derrick and I were together only in the professional sense." She folds her arms again and pouts.

“What she say back?"

“Does professional mean your feet over your head?"

Miranda laughs again.

“Not funny. It was a bad time for all of us. Pam Daltrey had just died, mom and dad were on edge, and now I'm seeing this boy that they think I have no business seeing, but am still gonna defend as if he were one of the family. After we yelled some more, I went to the park to be alone. When I came back hours later, my sister was alone in the house."

“And you argued again."

“One guilt trip too many. Again, she's like, 'You were my hero. I looked up to you. Why would you sleep with one of them?' Then came the big one. 'I can't believe you let his dick make a fool of you.' She stormed out of the house and we haven't spoken since." The wolf lowers her head into her palms.

Miranda applauds softly. “You got it off your chest. The battle's half over. And I'm guessing that was your sister's first encounter with a sexual act. I imagine she didn't like it too much."

Paulette still has her mouth covered. “Whatever. I didn't think she'd go feminazi on me."

“Humor me, if you don't mind. Your dad's doesn't hate humans, does he? I imagine that'd be bad for his boss' campaign."

“Dad'll tell you he doesn't hate humans, but you put one of his daughters alone in a room with one, and you can tell he hates 'em."

“You might have told me this already. How did your sister find you having sex with Derrick?"

The wolf raises her head angrily. “I asked her that! She confessed that she and her friends cut across a couple of backyards from a neighbor's house to ours 'cuz they wanted to use our backyard swimming pool. They heard us and looked through the basement…bedroom window."

Miranda nods throughout. After the wolf stops speaking, she stands to stretch her legs. “So ultimately, it's come down to whether or not your sister should continue holding you up to that pedestal. She doesn't hate you. She's just disappointed that--"

“Hey, I have sex, okay? I have sex. I have orgasms. Sometimes I lose control." She stretches her legs on the couch. “And it feels good. I'm sorry I'm not the goddess my sister thinks I should be. I'm sorry I don't measure up to her standards."

Miranda sighs. “I remember the one time I caught my parents doing it. I had never seen a woman that old on all fours before. I couldn't look at mom the same way again."

“Yeah? Well, your mom had that right and so do I. I don't apologize for it. I love my sister, but I'm not leaving Derrick. Still, I'm worried that I'm drifting away from my family. I want her to look up to me. I always want to be her friend. I'd definitely be a better one than her BMX friends. And I don't want to fight with mom and dad anymore." She rises up and puts her hands on her knees. “I can't wait for the campaign to be over so we can get back to normal. But I'm falling in love with Derrick. And you know what? The more they attack him, the more I want to defend him. The more I do that, the further away we become. We're suffering here. I don't think…." She looks around the room, paying special attention to the door.

“Tell me something. Sorry to interrupt. Could your father's reluctance to accept Derrick be because of the killings? Do you think that's the reason he's angry at your relationship?"

Paulette stands carefully. “Are you sure this place is secure?"

“Of course it is. Sit back down."

“I thought I heard a noise. In fact, I know I did."

“Don't be ridiculous. There's nobody out there."

“Are you sure?"

“Look, I'll just check myself. Wait here." As soon as she opens the door, the evidence is clear. There are noises to her left, at the direction of the cafeteria. She closes the door and places her back against it. “The back door's open," she whispers.

“Damn. I knew this was a bad idea. I'm being followed everywhere I go."

“Hold on. Maybe they'll leave if we keep quiet long enough."

They hold their tongues for a good minute. Miranda nervously watches her client pace the office with her hands interlocked on her head. If she is trying to keep them from trembling, she is failing badly. Even her breath trembles.

“Keep calm," Miranda whispers. There are voices behind the door. Paulette stops upon hearing them. There is a low, male voice next to a boisterously loud female voice. The commotion is drifting slowly toward them.

“They sound familiar."

Paulette is fidgety. “What's that?"

“Stay right there." She cracks the door open and is able to make out what they are saying. It also sounds like a key is being rustled. She peers her face through the opening she has made and is able to see Simon Blank opening the executive suite. Pamila stands behind him, fuming as always.

As he opens the door, Simon turns back to shake his head at the fox. “That's still not a good reason to get paid now as opposed to Monday."

“That's what you get when your son tears my blouse," she says.

Miranda watches them enter and closes the door. She smiles at Paulette and returns to the couch. “It's not paparazzi. It's just some co-workers. You can relax."

“Isn't your office closed?"

“Yeah. It's weird, but maybe they forgot something. I'm sure they won't be long. Now, back to what we were doing. We're looking for a solution that can satisfy all parties. Have you thought about inviting Derrick to dinner?"

“Hell no! No way. Definitely not as the campaign heats up. It could be used against Governor Cartwright."

“Well, that's definitely beyond my reach. I'm not a campaign advisor. I can only give you…."

The front door is now being unlocked. The sound of the tumbler clicks are unmistakable. Paulette seizes up and returns to the couch. Miranda makes sure her subject is not moving, then returns to the door. “What now?" she whispers. She pushes it until the opening is wide enough for the sounds of two new voices to enter.

“This is the last time I ride in a hatchback. I swear, I might as well be riding in a pickup truck."

“I'm sorry, ma'am. My parents are really down-to-earth people. They don't live like you do. They'd never dream of owning something as expensive as a Porsche. Matter of fact, dad looks down on all foreign cars."

“Your parents wouldn't know class if it invaded your home and took them prisoner."

“Well, dad was in the army, so class would sooner take you prisoner."

“Hey, Tobias."

“Yes, ma'am?"

“Quit while you're ahead. Give me those conference room keys."

Miranda looks out through the opening, and though she cannot see anyone, she knows who is there. “What are they doing here?" she asks nobody.

Paulette huffs. “More coworkers?"

“Take it easy. You're still safe. You haven't been followed."

Before Miranda can close the door, one of the voices closes in. “Somebody's here already. Who's there?!" She closes the door, but she has already been seen. The door is pushed open as the owners of the voices curiously look inside. Miranda and Paulette stare right back at Tobias and Camille.

It is an awkward situation. Even though nobody is in a compromising position, and there is no semblance of a problem anywhere, the women are still shocked to see one another. Tobias looks inside, interested at the goings on. He manages to eke a smile, unbeknownst to everybody.

“What are you doing here?" Camille asks. She squints at Paulette. The poor wolf tries not to look at the taller feline.

“I'd ask you the same thing," Miranda says. She tries to look beyond the cat and sees the boy. “That you Tobias? Your parents or uncle know you're here?"

The janitor stands up straight, as if the psychiatrist was a drill instructor. “I brought Camille over, ma'am. She forgot a mark in the executive office and--"

“Knock it off!" Camille snaps at the young man, worried at what the wolf had heard, if anything. She turns back to Miranda. “If the bosses see you've brought a stranger over, you're in trouble." She does not stay to hear a retort and angrily storms off towards the conference room. Tobias waves at Miranda and follows the cat, even though he has no reason not to wait in the lobby.

Just a few feet away, the door to the executives' room opens and Pamila comes out. Camille stops, surprised that someone else is in her way. The fox's back is turned, so she has no idea.

Simon is still inside the room, out of sight. Camille is startled to hear him say, “I can't believe you're taking this job just a few hours after finishing your latest one. Don't you want to take a rest?"

Pamila laughs and blows him a kiss. “After cleaning this forsaken place for that little twerp for a month, I've only started making up for that folly. I'll be in the car waiting for you to take me home. Don't take long." She closes the door and turns for the cafeteria. She has a laminated poster in her right hand. Before she even takes a step, she hears an “Ahem" of a rather familiar tone, causing her to stop and turn in one really quick motion.

Camille stands there with her arms folded, right toes tapping, mouth curled in anger at the sight of the fox. The last time they saw each other, she left Pamila on the floor of their favorite bar. It was a sudden shift from old times, when it seemed like they were the only friends they had in the world. Now Camille looks at her with the kind of glare usually saved for her victims. It is cold and impatient with no sign that she remembers that they were friends since childhood.

Pamila stares back, not with anger, but with a combination of wonder and bewilderment. Even though they know each other, she looks at the cat like she was a long, lost friend who just so happens to hate her. The fox does not know what to do. She is in between turning around to exit through the cafeteria and going over to give the cat a hug. She remains frozen in place, looking for an ice breaker. She opens her mouth to speak.

“My mark, please.” The cat is swift and direct, holding out her right hand and expecting the laminated poster Pamila has to be handed to her. She looks up at the fox’s face, then back down at the mark.

“You’re--” Pamila’s eyes race up and down Camille’s angry frame, hesitant and insecure.

“Well?”

Before an exchange can happen, Simon comes out of the conference room and is about to lock the door. He is surprised to see the fox there and chuckles. “What’s wrong? You change your mind?”

There is no answer. The women are still looking at one another. The executive locks the door and freezes in surprise at the sight of the two former friends.  “What are you doing here?” he asks. He gives Camille almost the same look Pamila is.

Camille is firm but not loud. “That is my mark. That’s my mark and my money.”

Simon shakes his head. “No, it isn’t. I just signed off on this. What are you talking about?”

Before anything more is said, Tobias springs in from behind the cat and stands in front of the confused man. He was so quiet before, everybody is startled when he shows up. Miranda, watching from a distance, is absolutely transfixed.

“Sorry, sir. It’s my fault.” The boy is eager and confident at the same time. He looks back at Camille for a split second. “I left it there.”

“You did what?”

“Camille left the mark in the office yesterday. I came in when Joseph…Mr. Luisi was handing out payment to other workers. I picked it up, but he told me to leave it there because Camille was going to come back for it. When everybody left, I was still here, cleaning the chief’s office. I clocked out, but I forgot to take it with me. I didn’t even call Camille to tell her she left it here. So she decided to come today. I’m sorry I forgot about it.”

Tobias is convincing and seemingly worthy of a listen. Simon nods and coaxes the fox to release the mark. “Sorry, Camille. I didn’t know. I’ll just go back in and erase Pam’s name. Joseph must have taken the ledger home with him.”

Simon gives the poster to Tobias, who quickly places it in Camille’s waiting hands. With her mark returned to her, the cat turns and walks away. “Take me home,” she says, not even acknowledging the fox. Tobias looks at Pamila for a few seconds before following. Simon closes the door behind him and Pamila is left there by herself, wondering what just happened.

Miranda looks on for a moment longer, then closes the psych room door to return to her client. “Okay, Paulette. Everything’s been solved. Back to work.”

“I don’t have to pay for this, do I?”

“Nah. In fact, I’ll even pay your cab fare.”

Meanwhile, Tobias locks the front door behind him and gets ready to drive Camille back to her house. He heaves a sigh and starts the car. The cat sits next to him, happy but puzzled. She looks at the poster and the three-thousand-dollar reward, then turns to the boy. "Why?" she asked.

"Why what?"

"You covered for me when you didn't have to. I left the mark there and forgot all about it, thanks to my wild night with Tom. You didn't have to take the blame."

"Actually, we all left it. After you left without it, Joseph forgot about it, only to remember it when I picked it up. Then, when he and the other workers left, I forgot about it as I locked up for the night. I thought I'd say all that 'cuz I didn't want Simon mad at you."

"But he could have been mad at you."

"I can take it. I learned from the best."

Camille scoffs. "And who might that be?"

"Pamila. I’ve seen her step in front of danger in the month I worked with her. I’m learning to do that too, but it a much smaller way. I’d never have the guts to face all the men who are against her.” He stops at a red light and smiles. “I didn’t get yelled at, so that’s good.” He turns to see Camille frowning. “Something wrong?”

"Nothing."

"You looked angry at Pamila there for a moment. Is everything all right?"

"I don't want to talk about it." She leans back in her seat and relaxes, looking about as loose as she has ever been this morning. She looks ready now to face the day and her mission. "It's not a bad car," she says, looking around her. "For a hatchback, I mean."

"Well, thanks a lot."