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Chapter Four: The Wild Side

Clark stayed the rest of the night in Flynn’s apartment, filling most of her double bed when he dozed off after an hour of solid, satisfying lovemaking. Flynn slept on the couch, but wedged herself into bed with him when it was getting onto the time she needed to leave for work. She tickled his ears, envying his short brown fur. It must be much cooler in summer than her shaggy double-coat, she thought, but he must freeze in winter. At least I can get a trim if I need one, she reasoned.

After twitching his ears ineffectively several times Clark shook his big head to clear whatever it was irritating him, but Flynn was relentless. Finally, he rolled over and opened his eyes.

“Hey, you’re dressed.” He sounded surprised.

“Yes,” she admitted, “and you should be too. I have to be in the office soon … but first …” She reached behind her and produced a tray with chunks of old cheddar and wedges of ham, Clark’s favourite. “Here’s your Cheese Tax.”

Clark sat up with a grin, his long torso looming over her.

“Not what I had in mind for a wake-up activity,” he said, glancing down at fading morning erection, “but almost as enjoyable.”

She watched him eat, picking up the nuggets of meat and cheese between long claws and popping them into his huge maw. He ate with the enthusiasm of a child, she thought, and that brought another thought that stole the smile from her face.

“Do you ever regret it?” She asked the Great Dane.

Clark swallowed a mouthful of cheese. “Regret what?”

“Getting fixed.”

Clark stared at the ceiling. Hating his work as a stud for the Anthro traffickers that had breed him, he had gotten a vasectomy as soon as he was legally an adult so that they would stop trying to entice and extort him back to the breeding pens. He had informed all the ‘clients’ of his heat relief service of this. He was also very picky as to the health and cleanliness of those he slept with, most of whom knew each other, as well as his own health, so he could stay disease free. Although he offered to use condoms most of his partners opted to let him raw dog it, since there was no risk of pregnancy and little risk of a canine STD.

After a while he lowered his gaze to her. “No, I don’t.” He replied. “There are already too many poor Anthros in this place. I don’t want to add their numbers.”

“But what about the future? When you graduate and start making decent money? Maybe you’ll meet a nice lady and want to settle down and start a family.”

“There are enough unwanted pups that we could adopt if we both want children.” There was also artificial insemination, but there was no sense in mentioning it; no Anthro made enough money to be able to afford that.

Clark pushed the remainder of the cheese tray aside. “I guess I should get dressed and let you get going.”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “Sorry to bring things down like that. I always get a little moody after a heat.”

Clark gave her a tender smile and cupped her chin. “You’re not the only one.” He assured her. “How about you put the rest of the cheese and ham in a baggie for me to take home while I get dressed.”

His grin was infectious, and Flynn returned it as she rose to comply.

Five minutes later they were standing on the street in front of her building. He leaned down and gave her a peck on the snout.

“Take care, lady cop. It’s dangerous out there.”

“Did you steal that from an old streaming show?”

“You bet I did.” He called over his shoulder and waved as he trotted off in the direction of his flat.

That made Flynn smile again, but it only lasted a second when she recognized the car parked across the street.

Ryan lowered his window and called, “Need a lift?”

“What are you doing here?” She asked as she approached the duty car.

“I remember you saying that you needed to go to the station early. I have to go in too, to, uh, look up an old friend. I thought I would wait out front for you while I had breakfast.” He indicated two empty coffee cups and a fast-food wrapper he had tossed on the floor.

Flynn took the garbage and dropped it in a nearby trash can before sitting down.

“Thanks, I guess. My neighbours are going to think I have a stalker.”

“Do you?”

“What? A stalker? Why would you ask that?”

His head cocked to one side, a signal that she had already come to recognize as pure curiosity.

“The Great Dane. He looked kinda friendly to be just a neighbour.”

She flushed under her thick fur and almost told him that it was none of his business, but she hesitated. If she wanted him to open up to her she should be open with him, and the question was nothing that her Anthro partners on the Tactical Squad would have asked, but with many lewd references.

“He’s a friend that sleeps over sometimes.” She said, avoiding the reason why. The human didn’t need to know everything right now. “Nothing regular.”

“Ah. I see.” He turned to her, letting the self-drive feature take over the car, with a look of concern, his face going red a bit. “Can I ask … are you … you know, fixed?”

“I wasn’t aware that I had anything broken.” She played dumb, just to see how flustered he would get.

“Not like … I mean … have you had your tubes tied?”

“Tubes? Isn’t that twentieth-century tek? Before circuit boards and liquid processors?”

“I don’t mean like an appliance.”

“Then what do you mean?”

His face looked like he had suddenly contracted Measles, of which there was a recent resurgence.

“I mean … I mean what about your personal … health.” His mouth worked a bit without producing any sound, then he blurted out. “Do you take the pill?

“Oh! I know what you mean. No, no pills for me. I use a topical flea and tick treatment.”

She had to fight to keep a straight face as his went through purple and into ultra-violet.

“Birth control pills!” He shouted in frustration. “Are you on any form of birth control?”

“Gee, Sarge. That’s a pretty personal question, don’t you think?”

Ryan turned back to face the road and took the wheel. The car lurched as he wrested control from the autopilot.

“I was just thinking that it would be bad for your career to get pregnant and go on medical leave so soon after making Detective.” Bad for my career too, he added to himself, if I lose my partner before I can prove that I can still cut it.

“Oh, that.” She said, looking away and flicking a hairy, clawed hand like the Southern Belles in the old movies they showed for a token fee at the old theatre downtown. “Don’t worry, I’ve got that covered.”

They rode the rest of the way to the station in silence. Ryan dropped her by the main entrance.

“You’re not coming in?” She asked. “I thought that you had to look up a friend?”

“He, ah, doesn’t work at this station.” It was only half a lie; the person he wanted to talk to was a Confidential Informant from his days on Homicide. The CI was connected to Gunderson’s crew but not with the gang’s sex clubs. Still, he might have some info that could prove useful in nailing the big Norseman.

“Oh, okay. See you in the office later to go over tonight’s schedule?”

“You bet.” He replied as he pressed a button to close the passenger door and sped off.

Flynn watched his drive off before entering the station, partially to be sure that he was really leaving the area. She had arranged to meet Lieutenant Lawson in their office, and she didn’t want him to walk in on them unexpectedly.

He had been acting a bit off though, she thought. She had been taking an online class in human body language since they had been assigned to the club circuit because they were all run by humans, and she wanted to know when they were lying. She was already adept enough to pick up on several of Ryan’s expressions, but the recent exchange made her think that he was not being totally honest with her.

She thought about it as she climbed the stairs, still preferring to avoid the elevators. The door to their office was ajar, indicating that Lawson, the only other person with a key, was already inside. Shook her head to clear it before going in. Maybe she was misinterpreting Ryan’s gestures and verbal tags. Maybe he was still upset after being embarrassed over the birth control thing. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt before she stepped into the office. She would not tell Lawson about the files Ryan was looking through the first week … not all about them in any event.

* * * * * * * *

Jimmy “Fingers” Anderson was waiting for Ryan in a crappy diner far from Gunderson’s turf. It was a working-class establishment, of the lowest class. The coffee there was so bad that no decent mobster or cop would show their face there, not even for a free cuppa, making it a perfect meeting place for undercover Detectives and their CIs.

“Ryan.” Jimmy acknowledged the Detective when he sat down opposite him in the high-backed booth.

“Fingers.”

“Why did you call me, Ryan? Bad enough to be talk’n to the cops but you … you know how Gunderson feels about you. It’s death to be seen within a city block of you.”

“So, why’d you show?”

Jimmy shrugged. “Not getting much respect from above these days.”

Like Gunderson, Anderson was also the descendant of the Norwegian economic immigrants that came over when the Norse Coalition collapsed at the end of the twenty-first century. Gunderson had taken over the Norwegian street gang when he was still in his teens and turned it into a formidable force in the city’s organized crime scene. He kept it tight by only employing his own people and he kept it protected by bribing and blackmailing up-and-comers in the police, judiciary and politics.

When he got one of his bought-and-paid-for City Councillors elected Mayor his gang became the most prominent mob in the town. The Mayor appointed the police Commissioner and had a say in all senior police promotions. He also appointed the DA and nominated judges. With his network of bureaucrats growing Gunderson had become all but bullet proof. Ryan had fond that out firsthand.

With expanded control of the crime world Gunderson’s wealth grew, but not everyone in his old gang profited as well. Jimmy was one example of that. He had been a reliable pickpocket and extortion man in the old days but lacked any organizational skill or potential. He was still trusted, thanks to his heritage, but only so far, and that left him on the sidelines watching as his old buddies rose in the organization and raked in the riches that went with promotion.

Ryan had become aware that Jimmy was disgruntled while investigating Gunderson for the murder of a witness, but Jimmy did not have the kind of access that Ryan needed at the time. Now that he was determined to get at Gunderson from another angle though, he needed the kind of low-level organization and personnel information that Jimmy was likely to be privy to. He decided to see if Jimmy was really invested in a scheme to topple his boss.

“What happens to you if Gunderson goes down?” Ryan asked.

Jimmy shrugged again; it was a habit of his. “If him and his top guys end up in jail … or six feet under … then the other big gangs will fight over the territory. One of the lieutenants will take over what’s left to defend what we can and everyone still standing moves up a notch or two. I just gotta stay alive until that happens and I could become a lieutenant myself by default.”

“That’s what I like about you, Jimmy, your deceitfully optimistic outlook.”

“Yeah, I’m a prince, but unlike one of them royals I’m going to need some compensation to tide me over until my ship comes in.”

Ryan had thought about that. Although he was reporting directly to the Chief of Detectives Clubs and Cabarets notionally worked under Vice, and therefore had access to Vice’s considerable CI fund.

Normally the CIs were registered under their real names with the Detective Bureau by people in the Chief’s office, but sometimes, for the most sensitive cases, they used a double-blind system. Under that system the lead detective on a team could register a CI under an alias, providing an extra layer of protection. The CIs real name did not have to be revealed until a case went to court or was deemed closed, and that could take years. Even the name of the Detective requesting the funds could be disguised, so that none of the pencil pushers in the Chief’s office would know which case had snagged a major CI, and thus reduce the chance of leaks.

The key to this working was that while Ryan had been kicked down the hall, literally, his privileges as the senior team leader in the Detective Division had not been revoked on the system. He had verified that only yesterday. If he requested the funds anonymously no one would know it was him doing it until the Division Audit, almost a year away; plenty of time for him to get the goods on Gunderson. He envisioned spreading out the payments to Jimmy under numerous aliases, making it look like it had come from several supervisors that had minor CIs in different gangs.

He informed Jimmy of the rates for information. “Of course,” he added, “the biggest payouts are reserved for the best information, things that can guarantee an arrest and conviction, or that otherwise ensure that the investigation proceeds successfully without any outside interference.”

Jimmy gave Ryan a sly smirk. “What about the fact that Gunderson has a mole in the Police Department? Not just some desk Sergeant or clerk either, somebody high up.”

Ryan thought for a moment. “That would be big, but it would have to include the name, or names, and payment would only come after the information was acted on, but yeah, it would be worth quite a bit. Why, you know something about it?”

“Not yet, but I could look into it.”

“You do that, Jimmy.” Ryan pulled an envelope full of credit vouchers out of his jacket and slid it across the table to Jimmy. “Here’s a little something to get you started. There’s also a list of names and establishments I want you look at in there. Contact me at the number I gave you when you have the low down on them and I’ll give you more … more money and more instructions. You good with that?”

Jimmy peaked inside the envelope, expertly ruffling though the stack of universal credit vouchers. “Yeah, we’re good.” The envelope disappeared like a prop in a magician’s trick. “You picking up the tab for the coffee too, right?”

“Of course.” Although Homicide did not rely on CIs as much as the other divisions, Ryan knew how the game was played. He was already deeply invested in this gamble, a couple of crappy coffees would not make any difference. Jimmy did not know it, but Ryan had used his own funds to purchase the vouchers and now his savings fund was completely empty. He wouldn’t bother trying to make it back through CI claims though, just the satisfaction of nailing Gunderson would be enough for him.

Ryan downed the last of his coffee, made a face at the taste and got up from the booth. He threw another credit voucher, a small one, on the table.

“Be seeing you around.”

“Not if I see you first.”

With a nod, Ryan turned and left.

* * * * * * * *

Ryan made it back to the station just as everyone else was leaving for the day. Now that they were doing the higher-end clubs that didn’t really get going until after eight he and Flynn were in the habit of meeting before supper time to go over the schedule and plot out which places to hit first then breaking for a couple of hours. They often stayed out until three in the morning, later if they had to bring anyone in for a violation. The late start allowed them to get their sleep and do whatever else they needed to do in their personal lives. Ryan would have been just as happy to be working since he wasn’t sleeping much and he had nothing better to do, but Lawson had made it clear that the chief was not going to authorize any overtime for the Clubs and Cabaret Squad, so any extra work he did was on his own time.

That was fine with Ryan, but he didn’t want to be seen working alone and have someone, like Lawson, ask what he was doing. Better to come in just a little early and eat at his desk during the break when there wasn’t anyone else around and do his research a bit at a time.

He found Flynn already in the office. Probably stayed after she finished her paperwork, he supposed. He reminded himself to review her file and make the monthly entries as her supervisor. They would form the basis of her quarterly and annual evaluations. So far, he had to admit, she was doing pretty good.

“Oh, hey Sarge.” She acknowledged as he entered.

“Flynn.” He picked up the papers she had left on his desk. “How’s the schedule look tonight?”

“We got a couple of real sketchy ones tonight. They are run by the Indonesian gang and the Department has linked them to Anthro Trafficking, bringing in unregistered Anthros to work in the sex trade or as indentured servants to pay off bogus ‘immigration fees’… basically slaves.”

“Uh-huh.” Ryan was flipping forward, noting that it was another two nights before they were due to visit any of Gunderson’s clubs.

“They’re a rough bunch, Sarge. When I was on Tactical we were getting called out there a lot to back up Vice, Gambling and Robbery. You think maybe that we should put them on standby?”

Ryan shook his head absently as he folded the papers and stuck them in his jacket pocket. “Nah. We’re not going in there looking for trouble. We’ll just make note of any violations we see and if it seems like there’s anything worth making a few arrests over we can come back tomorrow before they open with a warrant … and Tactical to help enforce it.”

That seemed to satisfy Flynn. “Okay Sarge, but we better be on our toes. Old white dude and an unfamiliar young Anthro female, the punks down there will think that I’m a hooker intruding on their turf and you’re my client. They’re likely to roll us both for whatever credits we may be carrying.

Ryan puled his jacket back to reveal an automatic taser canon, the type that could give a smaller Anthro a mild shock or be dialled up to take down a gorilla in its tracks.

“I know that the Department recommends those for Anthro encounters,” she said, giving the plastic device a disdainful look, “But those things are slow to adjust and fire. I prefer this.”

She reached behind her and produced a projectile gun.

“I have it loaded with a non-lethal stopper, then a low-power penetrating charge. Every shoot after that is high-power armour piercing explosive. Nothing keeps coming after one of those babies hits it.”

“You think you can get three shots off quick enough?”

She shrugged. “You’ve seen my scores.”

He had. She had been one of the best shots on the Tactical Squad. But gun play counted for little in the Detective Division. In over twenty years Ryan had only drawn his weapon on three occasions, and only fired it during the ambush that landed him in the hospital.

“You keep that thing out of sight.” He advised her. “If the Indonesians see it and think you’re working for a rival gang they’re likely to shoot first and ask questions later, while dissolving our bodies in one of their dry-cleaning vats.”

Flynn nodded and the gun disappeared behind her. Ryan idly wondered where it was when she stood up and turned to grab her jacket, and whether all the fur kept the holster from chaffing.

They took the duty car to a neighbourhood east of downtown. It had been a poor, immigrant district since the earliest days of the city, Ryan told her.

“First it was the Irish, my people, back when the taverns had signs that said, ‘No Dogs or Irish’. The Italians came next, then the Eastern Europeans. By the late twentieth Century they had gone through Vietnamese, Lebanese and Somalians. Every time a new ethnic group moved in their kids started gangs; out of boredom and survival I suppose. They shook down the shopkeepers, ran the gambling and sold drugs at street level for the established mobs, and no one trusted the cops.”

“As soon as each group began to prosper, they moved out to the suburbs, taking their gang affiliations with them, and evolved into more organized crime families. If they could, they took over the drug supply trade from whoever had come before them and became suppliers to the new dealers in their old neighbourhood. They collected a percentage from the gambling and cashed in on real estate investments by burning out the old tenants. Soon they were paying off politicians and judges and fighting with older, established ethnic mobs.”

“Sometimes they won, sometimes they lost, but the older a gang got the more likely it was that they either took control of everything or got out of the game completely by going legit.”

“Survival of the fittest?” Flynn asked.

“Survival of the meanest. Only the coldest sons-o-bitches can stay in control for any length of time, and only the cleverest can make it a multi-generational thing. It’s one thing to be out gunning people down in the streets when you’re twenty and another to be watching them come after your grand-kids when you’re sixty.”

“Like the … Italians?” Flynn asked. She had almost said ‘Norwegians’ but changed it at the last second.

Ryan took her hesitation as reluctance to insult his mother’s heritage. “Yeah, like them in some cities. Not here anymore. My mother’s people came long after the mafia’s time. No, in the last hundred years this city has seen the rise of the Colombians, the Algerians, the Mongolians, and now the Indonesian gangs. Next? Who knows?”

Flynn decided to take a chance. “What about the Norwegian gangs? They were big a few years back. They come through here too?”

Ryan gave her a quick sidelong glance, but she was looking out the window, seemingly only mildly interested in the answer.

“They settled in the Northwest,” Ryan said, “where the Germans and Czechs were before them. Immigrants from those areas tended to be better off and have more skills when they came over, plus, they didn’t like to mix with people from other continents.”

“They were racist.”

“Yessss. I suppose they were.”

Flynn started out the window as the street signs began to change from English to a mix of strange words in the modern alphabet and something that looked vaguely like Arabic. After a few more blocks the Indonesian script became predominant.

“It’s the same way in my neighbourhood.” Flynn said as she stared at the neon signs. “Canines stick together, as do felines. New or rare species find no solace at first, but when enough of them move in they group together too. Young Anthros with no jobs and few prospects either work for the human gangs or form their own. They fight over turf like our ancestors fought over bones. They sell drugs to those that have lost all hope and take money from the gamblers that have too much.”

“Anyone that gets a leg up becomes a victim. Shopkeepers pay protection to whoever is in charge that month, but they still get robbed by rival gangs. Kits that do well in school get harassed, adults with a regular paycheck get robbed, females get lured into the sex trade. It seems that the only way out sometimes is to become a cop.”

Ryan barked in laughter and had to fight to regain his composure. “Sorry. Sorry. It’s just that when my people first came here they used to say that an Irishman was either a drunk or a cop, but more likely both. Becoming part of the establishment has always been a part of the immigrant experience, especially back when cops were low-paid and needed no qualifications. Now the Force recruits the minorities not just to show diversity but also to get an in with the community.”

“To get them to turn on one another.” Flynn observed.

“Yeah, but also to create a desire within the group to eliminate the leeches that prey on them.”

“The other cops don’t trust us newcomers. They think that we … they … might have connections to the bad guys in the neighbourhoods.”

“They’ve forgotten what it was like when they were the strangers.” Then he remembered what Jimmy had said about a mole in the PD and he continued. “But it’s true that the gangs also try to infiltrate the Force, sometimes successfully. You were probably vetted pretty thoroughly when you joined, and more so when they made you a Detective.”

Flynn frowned. The cops that had visited her family and friends had been very rude and invasive … both times … but her background had been squeaky clean and none of her family or associates had ever had anything to do with the gangs.

“They check you out too, Sarge?”

“Not so much.” He had to admit. “Although there was some funny business in the past us Irish were pretty much established by the time I joined, but they did want to know if my Mother’s family had any ties to the mob where they came from. Fortunately, they didn’t.”

“Good.” She glanced at the GPS display. “Here we are.”

The first stop of the night was a large establishment, catering to the wealthiest of the Indonesian emigres. Like many of the immigrants before them, not only did the poorest of the poor come over as refugees but also the richest of the rich, usually to avoid political rivals or exorbitant taxes. They helped establish the businesses that exploited the poor just as they had done in the old country.

The established rich were joined by the nouveau riche, the sons of the poor immigrants that had either become successful entrepreneurs or who had profited from exploiting their fellow immigrants, sometimes both. Mobsters from the more successful gangs were among them.

According to the Intelligence Division this club was neutral territory. It was run by the oldest and most established of the Indonesian gangs, but it catered to a wide range of clientele. This included not only the rich Indonesians that could afford to live in the better parts of town, but other wealthy folk whose tastes ran towards the exotic. While they were parked outside studying the place Ryan recognized two professional athletes, a popular musician and several prominent businessmen with political ties entering.

“This place specializes in exotics.” Flynn informed him as they cruised past the main entrance. “Rare breeds that are often first generation Anthros, with many of their wild ancestors’ instincts intact. The ‘training’ for the sex workers is very cruel, but unfortunately legal in some countries.” A hard edge had entered her voice. “As is the use of certain veterinary drugs here to keep them calm while servicing the clients.”

“Okay, but we’ll have to be very careful not to ruffle any feathers while we’re in there.” Ryan advised her. “Half of the Mayor’s biggest doners just went in.”

They parked around back, where the limousines of the wealthy were idling, the drivers gathered in small groups based on whether they were Human, Furry or Anthro. Ryan did not bother running the plates; if any belonged to friends of the Mayor it would just set off alarm bells at City Hall, but he did memorize many of them and noted that Flynn was jotting down some in her notebook. He grunted approvingly.

Ther was no delay at the staff entrance once they showed their badges and paperwork. The Manager escorted them to his office where he had the latest employment records brought for them to review.

The Manager’s office was on a higher level than the main seating area and had a one-way glass so that the Manager could oversee operations without ever having to appear on the floor. Ryan glanced out a few times while they went over the records. It seemed like a typical sex club at first. Many female Anthros and a few males wandered among the tables while one or two others performed on the stage, taking drink orders or offering other services.

Instead of ‘Champagne rooms’, however, this club offered semi-circular booths that could be curtained off. Ryan supposed that with this crowd, expensive champagne would be just for starters.

Several of the booths had their curtains drawn and Ryan could see the tail of a spotted feline poking out from one, swaying back and forth while she, or perhaps he, did something on their knees to the hidden client.

They finished the current quarter’s employment records and Ryan asked the Manager to bring in the previous quarters. The Manager frowned but he complied, going himself as the paper copies of the old records were locked up in the basement storeroom.

“You notice anything about those records?” Ryan asked Flynn when they had the room to themselves.

“They were all in order.” She replied. “A little too in order.”

“Exactly.” He concurred. “None of the places we’ve visited before had such ‘pristine’ records. What does that tell you?”

“That there is a good chance some if not all are forged or obtained illegally.” He nodded and she continued, asking, “What do we do about it?”

“We could seize their records now and compare them to immigration and import records, but they could argue that we didn’t have, what did you call it? … a nexus?”

“Yes, a nexus.”

“Yeah, one of those. ‘neat records’ won’t cut it under probable cause. But if we cross reference a few of the more obvious ones and find a discrepancy then we have a … nexus … and we can come back with a warrant. Preferably when they’re closed.”

“When none of the Mayor’s buddies are around.”

“Exactly. You are a fast learner, Flynn.”

“Geez Sarge, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

He was about to ask if that was why her tail had wagged just a tiny bit when they were interrupted by the sound of screaming coming through the mirrored window.

The curtains of one of the booths were thrashing wildly and specks of red could be seen flying out between them.

Flynn had been standing close to an air vent that connected the office to the main room. “Blood.” She pronounced. “Human blood and … and something else.”

They both drew their firearms as they rushed out of the office and down the stairs to a door that let onto the stage. By the time they got there the two bouncers, a pair of Anthro Black Bears, had reached the booth.

More used to dealing with drunken or drugged out humans, the bears were taken by surprise when a whirling dervish of fur and claws erupted from behind the curtains and proceeded to tear their faces off.

The bears retreated, stumbling backwards with big paws covering gaping wounds on their snouts and around their eyes. They were either blinded by the attack or by the blood, Ryan guessed.

The assailant was standing naked in the gap between the curtains, breathing heavily, her green eyes wide. Ryan could see the dilated pupils from across the room. There was blood on her face and hands, hands that were more like paws, Ryan noted, with no thumbs. Weak cries continued to emanate from the curtained booth behind her.

“A Clouded Leopard.” Flynn said as she raised her gun. “Rare, even in Indonesia, and protected. No way she came over legally.”

“Looks like they gave her too many drugs.” He said as he guessed at her weight and dialled in the appropriate charge on his taser.

“The client probably did something stupid, like offering to share his cocaine with her.” Flynn observed as she hopped down from the stage and began to advance on the feline. “Speaking of which, we’ll have to take her out before we can get to him to render aid.”

“Wait!” Ryan called as he followed her. “I’m almost in range.” But before he could aim and fire the taser the cat spotted them.

With a snarl she reached behind her and pulled the client out and used him as a shield. He was a smallish human male, in an expensive tuxedo jacket but naked from the waist down. He was bleeding profusely from the groin, where Ryan suspected the cat had bit him.

The Clouded Leopard backed away from the advancing police officers. Flynn was holding her gun in one hand and her radio in the other, calling in medical assistance and backup. Someone off stage brought the house lights up and turned on the emergency exit signs. All the other customers and employees left on the floor ran towards them.

Suddenly, the Leopard charged Flynn, reaching around her victim with one viciously clawed hand. Flynn fired off two rounds almost by instinct but was forced to aim her shots high to avoid hitting the man. The cat, senses heightened by a cocktail of drugs, ducked even as Flynn’s finger tightened on the trigger and both shots went wide.

“Fuck!” Flynn swore. “I don’t want to kill her but everything I have left is a lethal shot.”

Ryan scrambled forward, adding another few volts to the setting on his taser as he did. He figured that, with all the blood making contact with skin and fur, even if he hit the victim by mistake the charge would transfer to the feline. Enough to make her drop him for a second shot at least … he hoped.

Before he could line up his shot the cat turned, slinging the bleeding human across her shoulder and began to climb the decorative curtains that hung from the ceiling. The curtains were attached to metal rafters that had been painted black to be invisible in the darkened room. With the agility her ancestors were famous for the Clouded Leopard swung up into the rafters, crouching among them and again using the bleeding victim as a shield.

“It’s too far for the taser.” Ryan informed Flynn. “How long before backup gets here?”

“Tactical was on a routine task on the other side of town, so it will be fifteen minutes, minimum, before they arrive.” Flynn answered, managing to keep any hint of ‘I told you so’ out of her voice.

“He doesn’t have that long.” Ryan said, biting his lip as he studied the cat and the area on the floor below her perch where blood was steadily dripping down. It was splattering on a booth full of large cushions.

“Shoot her.” He said, inching closer to where the blood was falling.

“Wha- … Sarge, this isn’t her fault!”

“It’s not his either, but he’s the one we’re committed to saving.”

“But Sarge …”

“No buts. You have the skill to do this, I don’t. Take the shot, Flynn. That’s an order.”

Flynn’s face went through several expressions, hate, sorrow, resignation, and finally resolve as she raised her gun and took careful aim.

The Clouded Leopard seemed to realize what was going on, and perhaps even understood the inevitability of what was about to happen. She did not release her human shield, but she lowered him enough to expose her head, where the ammunition Flynn was using would guarantee an instant kill.

Flynn fired. Ryan rushed forward to catch the falling man, diving and twisting to land on his back on the blood-soaked cushions with the victim cradled in his arms. The body of the crazed sex worker landed on its back with a thud on the bare floor beside him. Most of her head was gone.

Flynn cleared her weapon as soon as she saw the damage her shot had done. Internal Affairs would want both their weapons and any ejected shell casings for the automatic investigation that was required after any police shooting. Anger returned to her face as she watched Ryan trying to stop the victim’s bleeding and keep him from dying. She called ‘All Clear’ so that the ambulance crew could come in and take over from him.

They were there in seconds, having been called by the club staff at the first sign of trouble. They pushed Ryan out of the way and began frantically applying bandages, tying tourniquets and injecting drugs. Twice they interrupted chest compressions on the command ‘Clear!’ and shocked the patient. Then one began to hook up a bag of plasma to a line she had inserted in the victim’s arm, but the senior paramedic waved her off.

“He’s gone.” Her boss told her. “His heart isn’t pumping what blood he has left. You’ll just be wasting the plasma.”

“What about the hooker?”

“Just throw a sheet over her until the Coroner gets here.”

Flynn’s anger flared. She turned to Ryan, prepared to risk her Detective’s shield with a tirade about how he, and every other human on the Force, didn’t place as much value on the life of an Anthro as they did a human when she saw that his expression was as angry as her’s as he stared at the limp body of the Clouded Leopard.

“A waste.” He said between clenched teeth. “A bloody waste. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t stand a chance.” He wiped a tear that had formed in the corner of his eye. “Why did she have to run?”

Flynn put a hand on his shoulder. “She was just doing what her instincts told her, Sarge. Panicked and disoriented, driven by the smell of blood, it never would have ended well. Tactical would have made the same call. At least you tried to save one of them.”

Ryan wiped his face with his sleeve and straightened up. You’re in charge here, he reminded himself, keep it together.

“What do we do now, Sarge?”

“Now?” He said as he turned to face his subordinate. “Now we lock this place down tighter than a Nun’s … cash box. I want all their records seized, all their employees segregated according to species and status and a list of every other club, cabaret or cafe they own added to the application for a warrant. This guy came from money,” he added as he gave the half-dressed corpse a disdainful look, “and there’s not a judge in this town that would deny that we have a nexus now.”

“This is going to take a couple of weeks before we can hand everything off to Major Crimes.” Flynn observed.

Ryan frowned, realizing that meant that it would mean more time before he had a chance to look at any of Gunderson’s establishments, but that would give Jimmy more time to dig up some info for him.

“Has to be done.” He told her. “We don’t have anything urgent on the schedule anyways.”

The reply assured her that she had been right to withhold key details about his extracurricular activities from Lawson.

“Roger that, Sarge.” She said as she directed the arriving members of the tactical squad to surround the building and detain everyone for questioning, just like she had seen other detectives do when she was with the backup force. “And Sarge …,” she added while the humans and Anthros of Tactical rushed to their tasks, “while I appreciate your looking out for my sensibilities, I do know where Nuns are said to keep their cash. There are missions all over the ‘Rundown Downtown’ and we’ve all heard the expressions … colder than a Nun’s cunt, and all that.”

Ryan gave her a look that might have contained a hint of a smile.

“Carry on, Detective Flynn. Carry on.”