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"Even psychopaths have emotions, then again, maybe not." - Richard Ramirez a.k.a. "The Night Stalker"

The ceiling fan oscillated slowly above the bed of Natasha Klimenko. The female panther felt all the tension now released from her body. Naked, she looked up at the big tiger she'd brought home with her. He was everything she'd hoped for and more. Powerful, full of stamina, Isaac had given her the ride of her life, fucking her like there was no tomorrow. He grinned mischievously at her.

"Was it as good for you as it was for me?" he asked, putting his paws on her perky breasts.

"Yes," she said in a drawn out breath, still trying to regain her senses. "Do you think you could go again?"

"Of course," he answered, lying back down on the bed and getting on top of her. "I'll give you something you'll never, ever forget."

Natasha closed her eyes, feeling the big, strong paws of the tiger go up her sides and back to her breasts, giving them a firm squeeze. They traveled ever further, resting on her neck. The panther prepared herself to be penetrated once more, but got something she had never bargained for. Suddenly, without warning, the tiger put his paws around her throat and squeezed, hard, very hard. Her eyes opened wide as she gasped for breath. Struggling for breath, she flailed her arms and legs as the tiger wrapped his thick, muscular arm around her neck. His eyes, burning absolute hatred at her as he snarled with pure malice.

"I hate you fucking bitches," he growled, wrapping his arm ever tighter around the panther's throat. "You're all filthy sluts!"

With one sudden movement, the tiger jerked his arm. The morbid, crunching sound of Natasha's neck snapping filled the room. Letting go of his victim, Isaac watched as the now dead panther fell back on the bed, never to rise again. He looked over at his pile of clothes lying on the floor and retrieved them. Getting dressed in a timely fashion, he went out to his SUV, returning with an enormous duffel bag. Taking hold of the oversized zipper, he unzipped the bag, preparing his victim for transport. Working quickly, he made the bed, giving the appearance that no one had recently been there. This wasn't his apartment, so he had to make sure to take the used condom with him in the ziploc bag he brought with him. Making sure he hadn't left anything incriminating behind, he picked up the duffel bag, now stuffed with the remains of Natasha, and shut off the lights before locking up and leaving. No one was outside or coming down the road as he threw her bagged corpse in the back of his SUV. Getting back in the driver's seat, he started the engine, muttering to himself.

"Gonna have to visit Slut Cemetery tonight."

Detective Leo Lowenstein had a stinker of a case. It was bad enough that after almost twenty years of being on the job he had been transferred from Robbery/Homicide to Missing Persons, but now he had a Missing Persons case that was going absolutely nowhere. He was just about ready to write "all leads exhausted" on the Cassie Foreman case, when he heard his boss, Captain Alan Murray, yelling from his office.

"Lowenstein," screamed the serval. "Get your ass in here, now!"

Muttering under his breath, the leopard shambled into the office, slamming the door behind him. Lowenstein did nothing to hide his contempt for how his boss was treating him. "What is it now?"

"How's the Foreman case?" asked the serval.

"One big shit Sundae, boss," snapped the leopard, folding his arms in disgust.

"Is that with or without sprinkles?" cracked the serval.

"Fuck you, Al," countered the leopard. "I don't need this."

"You watch your mouth, Detective," advised Captain Murray. "You might have went through the academy with me, but I'm still your boss."

"Lucky me," grumbled the leopard. "Add that to my ever growing list of reasons to say goodbye to this job."

"Don't be so pissy," advised the Captain. "It wasn't my fault that you got moved to Missing Persons."

"But you didn't try and stop that transfer either, did you?" Leo shot back.

"No," answered Murray, getting a file from the top of his desk. "You might want to take a look at this."

The serval threw the manilla envelope at the leopard, who grudgingly picked it up. "What's this?" he asked, not really wanting an answer.

"New missing person," answered the serval, twiddling his paws. "Some young panther named Natasha Klimenko. Her sister reported her missing a few days ago."

"So now I get the honor of having another pile of crap dumped in my lap?" inquired the leopard. "I wish I had my twenty years in already."

"Speaking of getting twenty years in," said the serval, pointing back at the file. "You need to take a look at where this girl used her credit card last."

Leo ruffled through the scant few documents that were contained within. Pulling out a small note, he smiled when he read where Natasha had last used her credit card.

"Leinster's?" he said, grinning.

"Yeah," said the Captain. "Now don't just stand there. The taxpayers aren't paying your salary for you to sit on your ass and fiddle around with your dick."

"No," said Leo, opening the office door. "That's what they pay Captains for."

Captain Murray scowled angrily as the leopard slammed his office door shut. He hoped he could transfer him to a precinct far, far from this one.

Leinster's Irish Pub and Grill was a much quieter place during the weekdays. The music was at more of a talking volume as the regulars sat at the bar, talking to the owner, a jackal, one Hugh Leinster, who was busy telling old stories.

"And then I tell this guy, you don't have a permit to go walking down Central Avenue Drunk! He was just the craziest . . ."

The jackal stopped in mid sentence, seeing a familiar figure walking up to the bar. Smiling like a kid on Christmas, he ran out from behind the bar to meet him. "Holy Jesus," said Hugh. "Leo Lowenstein! What the hell are you doin' here?"

The jackal threw his arms around Leo, giving him a huge hug. This didn't bother the leopard at all. After all, they had been partners in the Detectives' Bureau together until Hugh retired three years ago to collect his pension and start his own restaurant.

"How've you been, Hugh?" asked Leo. "This is quite a place you've got here."

"Bullshit," laughed the jackal. "This old place? I'm ashamed my name's out front on the sign!"

"It's not that bad," reassured Leo. "So, how's Agnes?"

"Great," said Hugh. "She waits tables on Mondays and Tuesdays here."

"You've got your own wife waiting tables?" asked a surprised Leo. "You cheap bastard!"

"Hey," uttered the jackal. "You're one to talk about being cheap, you Jewish prick! You still the only Jew on the force?"

"As far as I know," laughed Leo. "You never would let me live that down, would you?"

"What can I say?" cackled the jackal. "You're in a department that's almost completely Irish! You stuck out like a turd in a swimming pool."

The two old friends talked at length about how business was, how their families were getting along, but Leo eventually had to get down to business. "So," asked Hugh. "Did you come here to talk old war stories, or is this a business call?"

Leo sighed. "Afraid it's a business call," he said, reaching into his coat pocket and taking out a picture. "You wouldn't happen to know this girl, would you?"

The jackal looked at it for no more than a second. "That's Natasha!" Did something happen to her?"

"Her sister reported her missing," Leo answered. "I take it you know her then?"

"Yeah," Hugh said, nodding. "She's a regular. Comes in here every Friday and Saturday night. I was surprised that she'd hang out at a bar owned by an ex-cop."

"Why?" Leo inquired. "She got a criminal record?"

"No, not that. She's originally from Ukraine, and they're scared to death of the police over there."

"I see," nodded Leo. "This was the last place listed as being charged to her credit card."

"I figured as much," said Hugh.

"She leave with anybody?" asked Leo.

"Yeah! This big, huge guy!"

"How big?"

Hugh, though retired, had never lost his keen sense of observation that he had learned from his time on the job. "I'd say six foot five, maybe six foot six, 250 to 260 pounds. Very muscular build. I mean this guy probably shits muscles! He was wearing blue jeans, sneakers and a black "Everlast" t-shirt with white lettering."

"What species?"

"Tiger," answered Hugh.

Leo, upon hearing the species, looked up from his notepad. "Tiger?"

"Uh-huh," said Hugh. "I'd say from the looks of him he's probably a boxer, UFC fighter, or maybe a personal trainer."

"Personal trainer?" Leo said to himself, thinking about a person he'd spoken to during the Cassie Foreman case that was quickly matching Hugh's description to a T.

"What's wrong?" Hugh inquired.

"You got cameras in this place?" asked Leo.

"Sure do," answered Hugh. "It's required by my insurance carrier. Come on, let's go back to the office. I'll scan through Saturday night's video footage to see what we can find."

Back in Hugh's office, the leopard and jackal looked through the video files that the retired cop had stored in his computer's hard drive. Hugh brought the footage to about the time that was listed on the credit card receipt to try and see what they could find. Even though the room was a large one, there were four cameras that captured footage of everything that went on in the bar. Clicking on the proper camera, he waited until the video showed Natasha walking over to Isaac's table, and though there was no audio, it captured them talking to one another and eventually leaving together as Hugh said they did. Leo had a very serious look about him as Hugh shut off the computer.

"What's wrong?" asked the jackal.

"I knew it," answered Leo.

"Knew what?" asked the jackal, wondering what was going on.

"That tiger in the video? I spoke to him a week ago about another missing person. A vixen who lives at his apartment building."

"And now we have footage of him leaving with a panther that's missing too," observed Hugh. "Coincidence?"

"You know better than that, Hugh. This guy knows something that he's not telling me."

Henry Beaumont, personal trainer and fitness enthusiast yawned as he was roused from sleep by the repeated ringing of his apartment doorbell. Grumbling, he dragged himself across the floor and putting his eye up against the peephole. Any drowsiness he was feeling seemed to vanish as he saw a leopard dressed in a black suit and red tie holding a police badge up against the peephole. Having no idea what a cop was doing on his doorstep, the hyena opened up, greeting the officer politely.

"Can I help you officer?"

"Detective Lowenstein," informed the leopard. "Are you Henry Beaumont?"

"Yes. Have I done something wrong?"

"No sir," assured the leopard. "I was wondering if I might come in and ask you some questions."

Relieved that he hadn't done anything wrong, Henry welcomed the detective into his home, letting him sit down on the couch next to his recliner.

"Can I get you anything to drink, Detective?" asked Henry, always the friendly host.

"No, thank you," answered the leopard, pulling out his notepad. "I was wondering if I might ask you about your relationship with Mr. Burwell, sir."

Henry paused before placing his rump on the couch. "Isaac? What do you want to know about him?"

"For starters, how long have you known Mr. Burwell?"

Henry rolled his eyes, trying to think. "I'd say . . . about five years."

"Would you describe yourself as being a friend of Mr. Burwell?"

Henry managed a slight laugh. "I'd say we're what a lot of people would call 'work friends' if you know what I mean."

Leo jotted down the information he was being given. "So, you don't really socialize with Mr. Burwell outside of your place of work?"

"No," said Henry. "And it's not for lack of trying either. It's . . it's very complicated, Detective Lowenstein. I'm not sure you could even make sense of it."

Leo gave the hyena a slight grin. "Making sense of the complicated is what the city pays me to do, Mr. Beaumont. Please, go on."

Henry sighed. "I've known Isaac for five years, and he's a great guy to work out with, got a huge list of clients who thank the world of him too. You can talk to him about exercising, nutrition, sports, the weather, even politics, but his personal life is very secretive."

"Secretive? In what way exactly?" inquired the leopard.

"He's," answered Henry, pausing to find the words. "He's . . . very guarded. I don't know why that is, but getting him to talk about his personal life is like pulling teeth. He doesn't open up much about that area of his life."

"When he has opened up, what has he told you about his personal life, Mr. Beaumont?"

"I know that he's originally from Texas, but you'd never know it fromtalking to him. I think he's purposely tried to shed the accent. You know how it is; big city like this, beasts look at you like you're an illiterate, backwoods degenerate."

"What else has he told you?"

"I once asked him about his family and I got the weirdest response. I asked him about his mother and father, and he said they were both dead, but the way he said it was so . . . creepy."

"Creepy how?" asked Leo.

"He told me that his Dad died of cancer about ten years ago, but when he talked about his Mom, there was this real bitter, nasty tone to his voice, like he really hated her. It was so disconcerting that I didn't press it any further. Honestly, Detective, it scared me enough that I've never even thought about bringing it up again. I get the feeling that his parents, or maybe just his Mom, were really abusive."

"Do you have any evidence other than his tone of voice to give you reason to believe that, Mr. Beaumont?"

Suddenly, Henry went silent. A nervous look hung on his face that didn't escape the detective's notice.

"What's the matter, Mr. Beaumont?"

"If I were to tell you something, could you keep it in confidence?"

"Yes, of course," reassured the leopard.

Henry, still nervous and almost shivering went ahead. "Look, I'm a personal trainer, and the key word there is personal. I've built a very close, trusting relationship with my clients, and if something were to get out about my personal life, it would ruin my career. The truth is, I'm bisexual, Detective Lowenstein. Now, I know it's 2016, and if I were a doctor, lawyer, banker or almost any other profession, I wouldn't bother to hide it, but my line of work has me undressing and showering with other naked males. You've gotta understand, all it would take is for someone to find out that I like guys and then all they have to do is say I was peaking at them in the locker room. I would be absolutely ruined as a personal trainer in this city."

"I can respect your feelings, Mr. Beaumont, but what's that have to do with Mr. Burwell?"

Henry sighed. "It's because of me realizing who I am that I'm very careful when showering in the locker room. I always face the shower wall, eyes front and center, never peaking at anyone. I've been very scrupulous about that, except for one occasion.

"After spending so much time working out with Isaac, I found that I was becoming attracted to him. I tried to control it, tried to tell myself that acting on it wouldn't gain me anything, but then one day I slipped."

"What happened, Mr. Beaumont?"

"One day, when I was sure Isaac and I were alone in the shower room, I decided, if only for a split second to turn around and get a glimpse of his butt. I'm not proud to say that it was wrong for me to betray a trust like that, but when I turned around, it wasn't his butt that caught my eye. It was his back."

"What was it about his back that caught your attention?"

"It was covered in scars," answered Henry, his voice shaking. "I don't mean scratches, I mean deep, old terrible scars. I only looked for a second or two, but I'm pretty sure that it was an extension chord that made those scars."

"What makes you think it was an extension chord?"

"Because one time at the gym, I unplugged a treadmill to take it to get repaired, and I accidentally swung the chord around and just barely brushed Isaac on the leg, and he yelled with this look of pure terror on his face, like someone had hit him with one of those before."

"Interesting," mused the detective. "And have you ever known Mr. Burwell to act violently?"

Henry exhaled. "There was one occasion where Isaac and I were about ready to head back to the locker room to shower, when he hears this group of teenage girls making some rude comments about this client of ours whose pretty heavy set, but tries to lose weight. Well, Isaac hears what they're saying and he completely flips out, screaming at the top of his lungs at the girls. I mean, it was so bad that everyone in the gym stopped what they were doing and were staring in shock at him! Eventually, Mr. Atlas, the owner came out and dragged Isaac to his office and really chewed his ass out big time. He told him that if he ever did that again, he would be cleaning out his locker and leaving. I saw him storming out of Mr. Atlas's office, and he was severely pissed. I tried to calm him down, but he's so enraged that he goes out to the parking lot and punches the side of his SUV, putting a huge dent in it! Can you believe that?"

"But he's never flipped out like that again, Mr. Beaumont?"

"No, but there's times I see him staring at females clients, and I don't mean ogling them or grinning either. Just yesterday I saw him staring with this really nasty look on his face at this group of lionesses who were working out. He . . . looked like he was almost in a trance, like he held some deep seated hatred for those lionesses. I don't know what that was all about, but it made me very uncomfortable."

"Is there anything else you'd like to add, Mr. Beaumont?"

"No, and you're not going to tell anyone that I talked with you, are you?"

"No," said Leo, putting the notepad in his coat pocket. "If anything, I was going to ask you to keep our little meeting a secret."

"Good," said the hyena, breathing a sigh of relief. "And thanks for keeping my secret a secret, Detective."

Leo smiled, bidding the hyena a good day before he left his apartment.

Wuthering Heights, an apartment complex across town was one of the nicer buildings in the area, but the manager, a weasel named Elmer Weston wasn't exactly thrilled to see someone coming into his office so late in the day.

"We're not accepting rental applications at the moment," grumbled the old weasel.

"I'm not here to rent," said Leo, holding out his badge. "Police officer, I was wondering if I might ask you some questions about one of your former tenants."

"Oh," said Elmer, swiveling around in his chair. "Sorry about that. Been a long day. What can I do for you?"

"Do you recall renting to a Mr. Isaac Burwell?" asked Leo, hoping that the weasel would recall the name.

"Oh, I remember him! Big, buff tiger, right?"

"That would be him, sir," answered the leopard. "What can you tell me about him?"

"Kept all kinds of strange hours," said the weasel. "Said he was a personal trainer, or something of that sort."

"Yes, Mr. Weston," agreed the leopard. "Do you know if he had any girlfriends in the time that he lived here?"

"I don't think he was ever serious about anyone in particular, not that I like to pry into my tenants business, you know. But, I see things."

"Do you know why it is Mr. Burwell vacated his apartment three years ago, sir?"

"Yeah," said the old weasel. "The damnedest reason I ever heard too!"

"What was the reason?"

"Well, I sent a letter out to all the tenants saying that we were putting cameras in the halls and out in the parking lot. Security purposes, you know. The same day that I send that letter out, I get a letter from him saying that he's moving out in thirty days! I couldn't believe it! He'd never been a problem, never paid rent late, never bothered any of the neighbors, and then he just moves out like that! I only remember that because it was right after Emma Chapman went missing."

Leo looked up from his notepad. "Whose Emma Chapman?"

"Oh, well, she was this fine young she wolf who lived on the same floor as Isaac did. She's the reason we decided to put security cameras in. Last I heard, the police never have found out what happened to her."

"I wasn't aware of a missing person's case from this building," admitted the Detective. "I'll have to look into that and see what I can find out. Oh, and do you know if Ms. Chapman ever spoke with Mr. Burwell?"

"I recall painting the hallway one time on their floor, and there I see Emma and Isaac walking into her apartment together! I don't know if there was anything to that, but it's not really my business anyway. I'm just the building manager, not their priest!"

Leo put his notepad away. "Thank you, sir. You've been very helpful."

Detective Leo Lowenstein had a very, very bad feeling about this case, and the now hot Foreman case. Something about Isaac Burwell deeply concerned the leopard. Everywhere the tiger went, females seemed to just suddenly vanish, and after Henry had told him about how Isaac would give female clients, nasty, dirty looks, he started to think that Isaac Burwell had a very sinister role to play in this.