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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

MIKEY

Lights at the Leopard's Lair Nightclub were dimly visible from where Mikey watched, peering through the window of the white Prius from where he'd parked across the street. He'd been sitting there for over half an hour, still indecisive. Why was he here?

Probably it wasn't wise coming to another of the nightclubs owned by the lately deceased Marvin Feeley. San Fernando had many nightclubs, of which many catered to gay patrons, but the Feeley clubs were certainly among the best. Mikey wasn't sure what was gay about the name "Leopard's Lair," but all of the Feeley-owned nightclubs had a name associated with some type of feline - Tiger's Tail, Leopard's Lair, Cougar's Cave, and so on. Still, he'd picked this club because the streetlights on this street where better than on some of the other streets.

He rolled the passenger side window down slowly, so as to gain a better look at the patrons lining up in front of the bouncer, ears pricked to catch their conversation. The patrons represented an interesting cross section of San Fernando's LGB population. A well-dressed otter, an athletic-looking fox wearing hardly anything at all, a lion and weasel couple who were laughing and joking. After them, another couple, but this pair lesbians, a serval and a jackal. Another fox, this one of college age and with the walk of someone who's looking to attract attention. A leopard who seemed to be eyeing the fox ahead of him. A ringtail who'd died his tail rainbow. A female collie wearing pants but not much above them. A paunchy older raccoon with, it seemed, a lot of piercings. Three cheetahs who were loudly speaking some foreign language Mikey didn't recognise. A group of four women of varying species, who by the way they were watching some of the male patrons, Mikey guessed were straight girls looking to go somewhere where they wouldn't get hit on constantly.

The grilled chicken sandwich he'd purchased to-go at the Good Samaritan Diner was getting cold, so he unwrapped the brown paper from around the sandwich and took a bite. Ok, although the mustard tasted bland and artificial, and some of the tomato kept falling out. But it was still better than McDonalds or Subway or any other such place where pretty much everything was bound to be dripping with fat or salt or chemicals.

As he chewed his eyes drifted downward to the empty place on his neck where his father's ring should have been. How could he have lost it? Thinking back, he could not remember when he had last felt the thin chain around his neck; it could have been back in Sacramento when he was killing the Hardings, but it could just have easily been at the gas station where he'd fuelled up en route back to San Fernando, or at Alana Wittmore's house when he'd dropped off the DVD, or anywhere else he'd been since then. Chances of recovering the ring were not likely, he supposed, and that also imposed the problem of what would happen if the police discovered it.

Even more important, Dad might be disappointed in him. He promised himself not to mention the loss the next time they saw each other.

More patrons had appeared outside; a nerdy Labrador with large glasses who was slurping a diet soda; a formerly white ermine who had dyed her entire body a pale shade of aqua; a young snow leopard, college student age, who was probably apprehensive judging on how his small ears kept flicking while his paws fidgeted with the end of his tail. A pair of wolves, one white, one brown, definitely boyfriends, as each had his arm around the other's shoulder and they kept kissing and playing with each other's tails. Watching the wolf couple made Mikey slightly jealous. It had been so long since he and Joey had been to a club like this...four months, at least.

Memory, ever elusive, suddenly bubbled up again, the remembrance of the time, two months prior to when Before changed to After, when he and Brett had snuck out with those twin otters they'd used to hang out with, Ben and Jerry, and attended a rave at the house of a wealthy student, a Doberman named Albert Abraham who'd been fond of throwing big parties as proof of how rich his family was. Predictably, Albert had neglected to alert his parents that the party was an all-out rave, not just a few friends, so they had busted up the party at 12:30, but nonetheless, Mikey, Brett, and the twins had had an amazing time - sampling Albert's ample supply of booze, joining a bunch of drunk seniors at drinking games, jumping into the swimming pool with all their clothes on - what a ball. At some point Ben and Jerry had tired of the pool, if otters ever tired of water entirely, and gone off into one of the bedrooms with Sasha Clayborn, that slutty lioness who'd been sort of dating both of them at once. That left Mikey alone with Brett, watching some tipsy cheerleaders partially strip themselves on the back patio. Brett had said something about the two of them needing to find dates of their own, to which Mikey had replied "But what if the person I like doesn't like me back?"

Brett had just smiled with the blue eyes that had never failed to make Mikey melt and said "Go ahead and tell them! You never know, they might like you back."

He'd winked, and for a moment Mikey thought he'd just say it, Brett, I love you, but it had been at that point that Albert had come running out with a couple of his jock friends, barking "My parents are home; beat it, all of you," so Mikey did not have the chance to confess.

Would things have been different if I'd told Brett then? he wondered. Would he and Brett be living together somewhere, married even, or touring the nation as football stars? Francesca had said that that had been fifteen years ago, which meant Brett would be in his thirties now. Would he still be as handsome?

Joey, Mikey thought. I should be thinking about Joey. He swallowed the last of the sandwich and took a sip of the vanilla coke he'd ordered with it, but the taste was uninspiring. The memories, and the frustration at the inability to feel for Joey or to remember Brett had sparked that deeper need, the only satisfying need. But tonight wasn't the night for the plan; it had only been yesterday that he'd killed the Hardings. Every time he killed someone, it seemed like longer until the next kill, the need rising within him, a fire he couldn't control.

The line outside the club had dwindled to nothing, and the bouncer was gone too, inside on a break, or something. Should he go in to and try to use dance to free himself from his ailments?

The answer appeared a minute later, in the form of the young snow leopard he'd watched enter the club earlier. This time the leopard was accompanied by the rough-looking raccoon, the one with the piercings. Stupid kid, Mikey thought. The raccoon was easily twice the cat's age, probably more, and definitely not the sort of person a scared college kid should be going home with. The kid had probably never had a one night stand before; didn't have enough common sense to watch out for predators.

I could help, Mikey thought. I could walk out there and tell the kid not to make this mistake. In the parking lot, the snow leopard had paused, hesitant. He said something in a low voice, causing the raccoon to frown. "Just come on, junior. Car's right around the corner."

Two more steps and the feline hesitated again. Mikey reached into the glove compartment and extracted his pistol, the one he'd bought the same day he acquired the machete with which he'd killed Carlos Sanchez. Best not to use Conrad Fincher's pistol here. I'll shoot the coon and tell the kid to run, he thought vaguely, but the lust for blood was already rising within, possessing him like a demon. The pair were still arguing, oblivious to him as he walked across the street, glancing at the lightposts for cameras. None. Not a wealthy-enough district to warrant them, probably. This potential danger avoided, he stepped up onto the curb, holding the pistol extended.

"Hey, you two!" he called, loud enough for them to hear but not enough for anyone else. Not that such mattered, the pounding beat in the club muffled any outside noises.

Both heads turned, the leopard's eyes widening in fear, the raccoon spitting a horse "what the hell?"

Mikey's pistol spewed bullets.

It was over almost as quickly as it had begun. He was panting, but his stub tail was wagging, making the whole thing move, as this was his first kill while wearing the false tail. The exhilaration filled him, better than any drug or sexual high. Oh, the power! No one could stop him, no one!

He approached the bodies warily, ears perked for footsteps, but none of the club's happy guests had heard the confrontation outside, and the pistol had a silencer to prevent gunshot noises.

The raccoon was lying on his back, chest blasted open by one single devastating hit to the heart. Probably dead on impact, Mikey guessed. The man didn't look so frightening now, sprawled with arms thrown to the sides. Now that Mikey could see him closer up, he realised the coon had been even older than he'd thought, closer to sixty, maybe.

A soft whimper made his ears prick, and he left the dead coon to study the snow leopard. The sight made him grimace in spite of himself. While the coon had been a clean kill, the young feline was a different matter entirely. He'd fallen on his side, arms in front of him, confused eyes darting slowly back and forth. Three bullets had struck him, apparently, one in the side, one in the left forearm, which was shattered, while the third and most horrifying injury had been to the lower jaw, which was mostly tore away so that when the kid looked up at Mikey in a wordless plea for help, blood bubbled from his ruined muzzle as he gurgled, trying to speak.

What a remarkable thing the body is, Mikey thought, watching the ruined leopard in wonder. It's a perfect machine, but damage one significant part and the rest begins to fall with it. The leopard had been a good looking guy, young, but of the sort who could easily get a job as a model or actor if he wanted to. Mikey bent to stroke a gloved paw carefully along the leopard's cheek, watching a shocked eye attempt focusing on him. He brushed the downy fur, finger circling one of the characteristic spots.

"Don't cry now, beautiful" he spoke gently. "You're all broken up now, but I'll fix you." He smiled friendlily as the cat gurgled again, still trying to speak, and stood up. A glance in the pistol's magazine showed one bullet left.

He pointed the pistol at the leopard's head and smiled. "It's been a pleasure helping you on your journey" he said. The leopard's eyes widened, just a little, the thick tail wriggling against the pavement.

He pulled the trigger.

Much later, after he'd left the two bodies where they lay and drove back to Joey's house, he finally allowed himself to ponder what had occurred at the Leopard's Lair Nightclub. Joey had been too sleepy for anything more extensive than a blowjob, but that was fine. Mikey needed to think. Not one spec of guilt had flowed through his mind while killing the pair at the nightclub, despite that they had nothing to do with the cause. They were ordinary people, nameless, not celebrities or businessmen or representatives of institutions like the Marines. No one would care about them, so they had not needed to die. And yet, after killing them, Mikey had felt inspired, content, in love with his life.

I love killing more than I love serving the Cause, he thought.

It was probably at that moment that he realised he did not want to stop when the Cause was completed.