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I woke up early the next morning, freed myself from Natalya's grip, (she liked to sleep with both arms wrapped tightly around my midsection) and threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I splashed some cold water on my face, and made my way to the local Starbarks coffee shop to meet my buddy Ryukami.

I found him seated at a corner table, sipping a bottled water. I ordered my usual and joined him. He was wearing a Hawaiian print shirt and cargo shorts. I had to chuckle at the bulge on his right hip, which I knew to be a Beretta 92 pistol. Ryukami seemed to love the Beretta, despite my constant badgering of him about it. A pair of dark glasses covered the wolf's eyes. I had to admit, no one would figure him for an AFI agent, even if he did look like a retiree on his way to the golf course.

Ryukami Foxclaw was a member of the AFI's elite counter terrorist unit; which didn't exist. But if it did, it would consist of the finest shooters around. But as good as they were, they still operated under the flag and Constitution of the Commonwealth. Thus, there were some places they were forbidden to go, and things they weren't allowed to do. That's why they outsourced to contractors like myself from time to time. I didn't concern myself with the Swiss Convention. As long as the checks cleared, I'd do just about anything.

"What's up?" I asked as I took a seat.

"Seems we have need of someone with your "unique abilities." He replied. "I don't have details, but I'm sure you're well aware of that fiasco with that dignitary from Santo Domingo?

"Just what I saw on FNN. Not really my business."

A few days ago, some diplomat from the tropical (and famous for its cocaine exporting) nation of Santo Domingo was killed by a car bomb in front of the Commonwealth Embassy in his home country. Hey, it happens when your government is so corrupt it practically /is/ the cartel. So it didn't really surprise me. Drug dealers killed each other all the time, and I had no financial interest in it, so I considered it none of my business.

Though as Ryukami sat across from me, I had a feeling that it was about to become my business.

"This one's way above my pay grade, Yote. I'm not even sure I'll be allowed to go with you on this one. I don't even have all the details, just your contact at the AFI."

"You mean it's not you?"

"No, like I said. This one's way above me. You're dealing with one of the bosses this time."

"Sounds kind of fishy, Ryukami"

"Yeah. Watch your back, Yote."

Ryukami had given me the name of one of his superiors, and told me to meet her at her office at AFI field office in St. Bernard. I brought Natalya along to act as my "assistant". Not to mention if these AFI creeps tried anything funny, four paws were better than two.

We were directed to wait for an Agent Whitlock by a bespectacled Yorkshire Terrier who must've weighed all of 100 pounds.

The Yorkie led Natalya and I down the hallway and into your standard government-issued office. The desk was plain and basic, as were the two chairs in front of it; they looked like they had been stolen from an airport departure area. We were offered coffee, which I accepted. Natalya politely declined- she was from Cascadia; which made her a coffee "connoisseur" by default. Those people were serious about their caffeinated beverages. I slurped the warm liquid happily while we waited for Agent Whitlock to arrive.

Cassandra Chase-Whitlock entered the office a short time later, and I fell in love from the get-go. She was a coyote about an inch shorter than me, with amber eyes that seemed to be constantly scanning- searching for threats. Her brown hair was pulled tightly into a bun behind her head. A conservative skirt and blouse covered her athletic and toned form, which was a shame; this lady yote had a killer body. The Springfield .45 pistol holstered on her right hip told me she knew a thing or two about guns, which upped the hotness factor. Perhaps I was looking a bit too hard though, because she narrowed her eyes into a glare when her gaze met mine.

"Daniel Yote." She practically spat my name. "It's a shame we're not having this conversation downstairs in a cage, where you belong."

That remark earned a chuckle from Natalya, and a confused look from me.

"What the hell did I ever do to you?"

Whitlock actually growled at me in response, taking care to ensure I was aware of her impeccable dental hygiene.

"You have disgraced the coyote race. You are a criminal who profits from violence, and your unrestrained presence in this building in an insult."

"If I'm such a dirt bag, then what am I doing here?"

"Some of us have worked very hard to improve Coyotes' image amongst our fellow canines. And scum like you, take the negative traits we are known for and expose them to the world. The fact that you call yourself a coyote is despicable. It is only by the grace of your friend Ryukami that you are tolerated. Do not forget that."

"Ouch. That's harsh." Natalya whispered under her breath.

"As much as I would like to see your worthless neck in a noose, it seems we are forced to rely on you. Because of your unique skills, you can get into places and do things that we cannot. I'm sure you are familiar with Danica and Dora Schutzhund?"

That pair of names sent a shiver down my spine. Danica and Dora Schutzhund- The Shepsisters- to anyone out of earshot- were a pair of German Shepherds, and sisters (In case you didn't figure that one out) known as two of the most formidable assassins in the world. Cold, calculating, and efficient, there was really no telling just how many furs had fallen to their prowess. As best as I knew, the reason they were not viciously hunted by law enforcement was because like me, they drew a lot of their employment from the government. Ergo, they mostly killed "bad guys". Mostly.

"Actually I've never met them." I lied, which caused the female coyote to deepen her glare.

"The information we have suggests otherwise. You spent a year at their facility in Yellowrock. One could say you three were quite... familiar."

"I didn't really have a choice..." I replied. That wasn't a lie. It was either that or someone would find my bloody and probably headless corpse in a dumpster somewhere. So I had agreed to do some... unspeakable and man-card revoking things in exchange for my life and eventual freedom. But you can read all about that in my other adventures.

"I spent a year as a hostage being tortured on an almost daily basis."

Cassie's muzzle turned upwards in a slight smirk

"I would have loved to have seen that."

"Yeah, well if you're sending me back to them, give me a Go-Pro and I'll send you back some videos."

"I'm sending you back all right. Only this time, you are to kill them. Well, technically Dora is the primary target, but I'd take them both out. Your chances for survival increase exponentially."

"Wait..." I held up a paw. "You want me to take out The Shepsisters. Two of the best heavy hitters in the industry."

"No, Mister Yote. I want you to kill Dora Schutzhund. I only assumed that you would want to kill her sister as well, for your own sake. If Dora were my sister, I wouldn't stop until I was dead, or her killer was literally burned to the ground. And Danica is a lot better at that kind of thing than I am."

Whitlock produced a business card from her desk, wrote something on it, and handed it to me. It contained an international 800 number and a Google e-mail address.

"This is my satellite phone number and e-mail. You will keep me updated on your progress, and notify me when the mission is complete. You will be paid one million dollars for your efforts. If it were up to me, you would receive nothing but your life."

"Whoa, hold on cowgirl." I held up a paw. "How exactly do you suppose I get into the base of the Shepsisters?" The female coyote shot me a frown and shrugged.

"You've been there before haven't you? Figure it out. You have two weeks to complete your mission, Mr. Yote. Two weeks. Failure to comply will be considered at the very least an act of sedition, if not a willful act of treason. And I will have the distinct pleasure of insuring you don't have an opportunity to insult our race any longer."

"Hey, Yote boy." Natalya said as we exited the building. "Did you ever meet a girl that didn't want to see you in handcuffs?"

My reply was simple.

"Nope."