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3rd of August, 1972

For the private detective, infidelity and infidelity-related cases are a dime a dozen.

For me, they had their advantages; low personal risk, helping people who need it and being fairly cheap and quick to pursue.

The downside however is that I could only count a handful that had happy endings.

“Ms Burton," I said as a red fox entered my office. “Please take a seat."

She thanked me and sat down.

“It's about my husband," She said. “Husband-to-be, I should say. His name is Wendell. I met him in the fall of 1970 and we have been dating almost ever since. He's a lovely, wonderful man but… recently he's been… off the rails."

“In what way?" I asked.

Her eyes darted around the room. “He's been drinking more. Been away from home more."

“Has he been violent?"

“Absolutely not." She said firmly and decisively. Her body tensed, then deflated. “He cries," She said. “He won't tell me about what. He just… cries."

“Do you suspect infidelity?"

“No." She looked me dead in the eye. “I suspect suicide."

I drew a long breath. “Has he asked to call off the marriage?"

“No, no he hasn't. But I can only assume it's to do with the marriage, because it started after I'd proposed to him."

I blinked. “You proposed to him?"

“That's correct," she said. “I know how much my father wants me to be married. My mother and father separated just after I moved out and I feel like he wants to have a successful marriage vicariously through me. And Wendell seemed like the ideal man for me to give everyone what they wanted. So I broached the question."

“And giving them everything they want is vital?" I probed.

She looked down at her paws. “It is… to be desired," She said. “Escaping our families is… not cheap."

“Why is that?"

For the first time, Ms Burton didn't have an answer for me. In fact, for the first time her composure seemed to slip a tad. “They're… not kind people, Mr Tremblay." She said. “My marriage to Wendell was also going to help appease them, and justify an escape. This was something I had to instigate; Wendell… he hadn't shown any interest in a marriage or anything more than cohabiting and talking."

A sickening feeling stirred in my gut. “I'd like to ask you a personal question, you do not need to answer it if you do not wish to, but it would clarify a great deal." I said, perhaps overly formally.

She looked at me expectantly.

“Have you and this man engaged in any sexual contact throughout the time you've known him?"

“Not really," She said. “Though I'm not regularly interested in sex." She said, flatly. “I didn't find that unusual in me or in him. If anything it made a welcome change from previous partners I'd had to whom that was their primary interest."

I had a horrible, horrible feeling that time was of the essence. “Where is Wendell liable to be?" I asked.

“We're attending a party this evening at Guildhouse Manor. In case it was useful I put in a reservation for yourself and a plus one."

I raised a brow. “Quite the expense to take."

“No expense." She said. “Just sleight of hand."

I tapped the table with my paw. “Forgive me but… it seems like this might be a matter more suited to a therapist or a counsellor?"

“I have my reasons." She said softly, but firmly. “I explored all of those, however you have a particular set of skills which set you apart from those other options."

--

“Guildhouse Manor?" My fox, Charles, repeated with a wry smile.

“Tonight." I added, kissing him again. “What do you know about the place?"

“Words is the owner has a vast collection of artifacts, acquired under… dubious means." My fox said.

I nodded. “If we ever need to be ejected from the building, I'll be sure to ask where they got them from."

“I'd better get changed," Charles added, turning around to face the bedroom, then pausing to gaze at me over his shoulder. “Unless you'd prefer I stay in my underwear?" He teased. “You know… really give them something to talk about?"

“Now Charles, you know it's rude to make the other guests feel inadequate," I say, pressing myself against his back and running my hands over his bare fur. “A leaflet is the polite way. Perhaps Larry can get some more pictures of our... performances? I have a hunch we'll be visiting the commune tonight."

Charles gave a loud purr, pressed his hips back against mine and stuffed my paw down the front of his briefs. “Is that so? We ran him out of film last time we were there. And the good stuff ain't cheap."

“Only the best for you, my love," I replied.

He gasped and then snorted, biting his lip to try not to chuckle, though I wish he wouldn't. “I really set you up for that one, didn't I?" He whispered, a big grin on his muzzle.

“You did," I smiled. “I'd thank you the only way I know how, but it takes ages to get your cum out of my fur and we're somewhat up against the clock."

Charles agreed. He kissed me again, then scampered into the bedroom to change.

My fox emerged from the bedroom in a cheap suit. “Perhaps it's for the best to maintain a low profile?"

“As low a profile as you can," I said, stepping close to hold him again. “You're far too stunning to slide completely under the radar."

“Oh please," Charles grinned, kissing me again. “We all know how to hide when we need to."

–

We arrived at Guildhouse Manor at 3PM.

“What's the plan?" Charles asked.

“First objective is to locate Wendell. Then, we get him somewhere safe."

“And you're thinking Larry's commune is the spot?"

“If my intuition is correct about Wendell's sexuality, then there's no safer place.." I said. “If I'm wrong…then I guess my intuition isn't as sharp as I think it is."

“While we're in here," Charles gestured up to the Manor. “ We're… just friends?" He sighed.

I nodded meekly. “Just friends."

We were chaperoned into the parking lot. This wasn't our first adventure into high society gatherings; Charles had once played a chess tournament in a vast manor house like this. My mother and father would spend as much money as needed to be seen being seen in these kinds of places.

We left the car and walked around to the entrance of the building. There were people being dropped off in limos and people lining up to go inside, a line that we promptly joined the tail of.

The door was guarded by a beaver in a tuxedo. He ushered people through, then paused at us. “And you would be?"

“Victor Tremblay, I'm here on request of Julia Burton," I said.

The bouncer glared between us, then looked down at his list of reservations. “So you are," he said. “And your plus one is…?"

“Charles Alexander, he's a friend of mine," I said. I regularly had to remind myself that this was not, technically, wrong. We were both lovers and friends. Just that one was taboo, the other wasn't.

“I see," the bouncer mumbled, looking at our cheap clothes as if trying to find a way to disqualify our entry. When he could not, and our denial of entry was causing a scene, he stepped to one side and reluctantly let us in.

The room we entered was a large open ballroom. Servers with drinks trays shuffled between clumps of people. They had a uniform, black shirt, black pants, white waistcoat, which made them easy to spot in a sea of people in various gray and silver suits and colorful dresses. A set of stairs at the back led up to the first floor balcony that overlooked the room. Beneath the balcony at the very sides were doors into other rooms, held open to allow maximum crowd flow.

Finding Wendell would be difficult. There were hundreds of people in here, and getting good looks at individuals without looking suspect is a fine art. And that was just this one room, let alone the others.

“I think the best way to locate Wendell is to split up," I said to Charles. “I'll try in here, the balcony and upstairs, do you think you could try those side rooms?"

“Can do," he agreed, “What does he look like?"

“Marble fox. Early 20's. Likely to be drunk. Very emotional," I sighed. “I wouldn't be surprised if he makes a pass at you."

“Understood," my fox said, and before I knew it, he'd camouflaged himself into the room.

I began walking around the room. With Charles gone, I felt vulnerable. And in particular, I felt that sense of being on enemy turf. Just like I had felt growing up in Quebec. Every now and then, I could have sworn I had seen the old lemurs in the throngs of people. Watching me. Waiting to hurt me again.

“A drink, Sir?"

A stoat stood before me, holding a platter.

“Thank you," I said, taking a glass of wine. “Oh, one thing-" I interject as he goes to leave. “You wouldn't happen to know a man by the name of Wendell Olsen?"

His passive stare shifted. He drew a long breath, then forced it out through his nose. “Yes, Sir, I do. He may be in a bedroom upstairs."

“Thank you," I said.

“Follow the empty bottles," the stoat tutted. “And hope that he's still conscious when you find him."

I watched him walk away and took a moment to collect myself. It seemed Mr Olsen's troubles were an open secret if a butler was willing to blurt it so brazenly to a guest. Or it was a secret they couldn't keep closed.

-

Up on the balcony, I started inspecting the side doors. None of them had any signs on them. I hesitated to try and open any, even if Wendell was inside. Spooking him or otherwise getting caught were not to be desired. Some of the decor on the walls had an insignia, resembling a mask placed atop a diamond. It didn't mean anything to me, not at the time anyway.

With nothing of note, I took a moment to look down at the room below. I was able to just about pick out the figure of Ms Burton. She was wearing a long blue dress and was sipping a drink, stood to the side of the room. She did not have anyone with her. I considered approaching her again, but I didn't want to link the pair of us together in a public capacity unless it was absolutely necessary.

As I turned back, I could hear a commotion down a corridor near the top of the staircase. I headed towards it, just in time to see a tail round a corner, and an open door to a bedroom.

I approached the room.

Peering inside, it seemed to be empty of people, but on the bed sat a magazine. The room was otherwise tidy in a manner similar to a hotel. Clinically tidy, not thoughtfully tidy. There were more of those insignia on the towels and the cups. Whatever it was, it was an important brand for this place. But for some reason, only once you were inside the building.

I snuck into the room and picked up the magazine.

Porn. Gay porn. In fact I was certain there was a copy of this particular portfolio in our home.

I flicked through it, for the first time able to justify doing so as “work".

There was a page missing. Torn clean out. Somewhere in my brain I could remember which man was on this page, but then and there, it escaped me.

Leaving this magazine out here for anyone to find was risky. Very, very risky. And with no immediate benefit that I could see. It was either a mistake, or someone wanted it to be found.

I stuffed it in my jacket pocket, then departed the room, making a note of the room number as I did so. From here, I followed the tail I'd seen depart around the corner of the corridor, trying to remember what it looked like.

At this point a panic began to flutter up my spine. I knew men who'd been in this position. This helpless and hopeless. Hell, I had been a man in this position, Charles had, Larry surely had too.

The tail had gone to the left at the end of the hall. This set me into another balcony overlooking another large open room. This was brighter and quieter.

Opposite the balcony, down on the ground floor was a bar.

And sat there were Charles Alexander and Wendell Olsen.

-

Wendell was drunk.

God I bled just looking at him. But we'd reached him in time.

He was dressed in a white suit to match his marble fur. Black dress shirt underneath a white waistcoat and jacket, red tie and white slacks. There was something folded neatly into the inside jacket pocket, just barely poking out of the top.

I took a seat at the bar so that he was sat between me and Charles.

“Good evening gentlemen," I said.

The marble fox looked over at me and took another sip of his drink. “Can I help you?" he slurred.

“I was wondering if I might be able to help you," I said. “You look a little lonely over here."

“Oh me? Oh I'm… I'm just fine," he lied. He tried to smile at me. That kind of smile that buries a twenty inch knife blade right in your gut.

I took a breath and nodded. “Sure, but we'd like you to stay that way," I said. I turned back to the waiter. “A drink, please."

“I'll have what he's having," Wendell grinned. A grin that I couldn't bear to look at.

With that reaction from him, I was reasonably confident that he hadn't attempted anything recently. People who have just attempted are not jovial and keen to knock back yet more alcohol. Which meant we were still in the prevention cycle.

“A water, if you don't mind," I said to the barkeep.

First step, sober him up. Doing so without him realizing it would be important. I had interrogated many drunk scumbags for information before. I couldn't bear to interrogate a broken man like this while he was intoxicated.

The barman placed down two glasses of water, for myself and the white fox.

“To good health," I said, raising the glass to toast.

Two glasses met, two drinks knocked back.

It was just that. Water. But Wendell drank it and it was a good start.

“Wendell," I began. “I see you've met my boyfriend, Charles."

The word seemed to hit Wendell like a semi truck. Or perhaps it was shock. He couldn't mask it regardless.

He looked at me, then Charles, then back to me. “Oh uhhhh I'm not… in the market for that," he whispered, before his full voice returned. “In fact, I'm going to be marrying…" he began the sentence, but couldn't finish it.

“Julia Burton?" I offered.

“Yes," he said, “It's not very… becoming of a husband to forget," he said. He was looking for an exit.

“Would you mind if we spoke to Julia with you?"

The moment the question left my mouth, he stumbled to his feet and stared at me with grey, glassy eyes. His stare abruptly shifted to Charles too. Then back to me. Then back to him. I sit perfectly still. I don't want him to panic.

Abruptly, he turned.

He ran.

I leapt to my feet.

As I did, Wendell tripped and tumbled onto the marble floor.

He tried to shuffle away from us as we approached, but he quickly realized it was in vain.

It was a very public incident.

What began with just drawing the attention of people in the room, soon drew people in from the main hall.

People glared. They whispered.

“So drunk so early Wendell," the stoat piped up, walking past the marble fox's body with another tray of drinks. “Must be a new record for you."

Charles picked Wendell up while I checked the seat to see if the ripped page of the magazine was there, but it wasn't.

“Come on, let's get you somewhere quiet," my fox said. Wendell was powerless to resist, so just nodded and let it happen.

I went to follow, but the figure of another red fox moved to block me. Older, eyes just as yellow as Julia's, but blunter and less insightful. “Mr Tremblay?" he asked.

“Yes," I said, extending a hand. “And you would be?"

“Ulysses Burton," he said.

“Like the president?" I blurted before my mouth could stop me.

He scowled. “I'm aware that my daughter hired you to try and mend their relationship."

“She hired me because she has concerns about Mr. Olsen," I replied.

“I have concerns too," Ulysses said. “Concerns that unless something is done that drunken, lily-livered princess is going to be marrying my daughter!" He growled.

“I appreciate your concern," I lied. “I am liaising with both Mr Olsen and Ms Burton and aim to do what I can to make both parties happy."

The old fox screwed his face up again. “You really think you know what's best for my daughter?"

“I never claimed to."

“Then why are you acting like you do?"

“I'm sorry?" I said firmly. “Your daughter hired a private investigator to check on the safety of her husband-to-be. She's doing due diligence. I'm doing my job."

He grabbed me by the collar. “You listen here and you listen good. You will talk my daughter out of marrying that man, or I will personally fly your stripey tail right back to Quebec where you belong, do you understand?"

I didn't respond verbally. I waited a moment, then nodded, and he released me.

He took a step back, then turned and walked across the now-silent room.

--

“I never hurt her," Wendell whispered, lifting his head to look over at Charles, then up at me “I never wanted to hurt her. Please tell me I didn't hurt her."

“You haven't hurt her," I whispered firmly, stepping towards him and squatting down by the bed. “She's worried that you're going to take your life."

His gaze faltered again. He whispered it under his breath. The unholy request that mustn't be repeated.

“Wendell, no," Charles said firmly. “You mustn't and you won't."

The marble fox lifted his head and with a finger Charles turned it to face him.

He was crying.

So were we.

A broken man sat before us.

The nadir of his life.

“Please," Charles whispered. “Let us help Julia. Let us help you."

Wendell buried his face in my fox's shoulder and cried just as hard as he could.

I sat on the bed and held him, just as Charles held him and he held Charles.

The marble fox finally raised his head. “How did someone find out?" he whispered, his throat hoarse. “I did everything I could to hide it."

“Because we've been down this road too," I said.

I stared at the wall. I remembered what this was like when I realized I was like this. Locked in my ugly little bedroom. Realizing that I was on enemy turf and that I was in for a war, not a battle. I looked at that wall and remembered being alone.

Then I looked over at Charles, and reminded myself that I'm not anymore.

“People like us have all hidden it. We get to know what it looks like in others," Charles said softly.

Wendell sighed, uncoiling from Charles and sitting up on the bed. He looked at me with those gray eyes again. “I don't feel like I can call off the wedding. Everyone would know. Either that I'm gay, or worse, they'd think I did have an affair."

“Is that why you said yes to the proposal?" I asked.

He nodded. “Partly that, and partly the money," he said.

I narrowed my eyes. “You were hoping to inherit some of the wealth from the Burton family?"

“Julia was. She had a plan for what would happen after the wedding. She didn't say much, only that we wouldn't be worrying for money anymore."

“What was your plan, long term, for being in that marriage?" I continued.

He stared blankly at the floor. “I'd just hope she had an affair. Or I'd just go ahead and-"

“I see," I interrupted.

Keeping him talking was important. But not about that.

He drew a long breath. “What can I do?" he asked. “To make it right? To get us both out of this horrible mess?"

“Tell Julia the truth," Charles said.

He flinched. “What can I do that won't hurt her?"

“Tell Julia the truth," Charles and I repeated.

“It will hurt her," Wendell insisted, the first time I saw him do anything with conviction. “I've been lying to her for years. Our entire relationship is built on lies."

“It will hurt more if you don't," Charles said softly. “She can see what's happening to you. She will work it out eventually and the best thing you can do is tell her the truth now."

“And if mine and Julia's families find out?"

“Do you have any dependencies on them?" I asked.

“I live with Julia here in Guildhouse manor. Her father owns it," he said. “My parents know I'm a drunkard, I can't go back home to them." Wendell deflated again. “They taught me how to lie. I followed their example. At first I just lied about it to them. Then I lied about it to my friends. To my landlord, to my boss. I even lied to the draft man. I was too weak to be sent to die in 'Nam. But I'd rather have died there than let anyone find out." He gestured towards the wall out into the ballroom. “When the word gets out, I don't know what these people'll do to my future."

“People whose love turns to hate over who you are never loved you to begin with." Charles said. “At best they liked the idea of the fictional you that you exhibited. They want you to play a role in their life, a role they dictate, they decide on, they control. If you kissing men is enough to ruin their little stage show, then fuck 'em."

Something about the revelation that Wendell and Julia lived in this building felt… off, to me, but I didn't have time to pursue it.

“You're going to have to tell Julia the truth," I said at last. “We will help you, but ultimately you'll need to tell her."

Wendell summoned his strength. “If she's hurt more by me not telling her than by me telling her… I'll do it."

“We can do it now," I said.

He shuddered, then gulped. “We can get it over with?"

“Yes."

He drew a breath. “Okay."

I stood up. “Charles, if you could remain here and comfort Wendell, I'll find Julia."

-

“He made yet another public scene, Julia," Ulysses had gathered Julia in one corner of the large ballroom, underneath the balcony. He hissed, at a whisper. “In our home, in front of such esteemed guests."

“I've been made aware of that," she replied.

“Are you going to put me through this humiliation any longer?" He asked. “Or have you finally seen sense?"

“Julia," I said, taking the opportunity to interrupt.

Mr Burton looked at me with contempt, Julia without much overt emotion at all.

“Wendell needs a word with you." I said.

She moved to follow me, but Ulysses stopped her. “He can wait. My daughter and I are having an important discussion and I would like to think you would find it polite enough not to eavesdrop."

Julia glared at the back of his head with aggression I'd not seen from her before, but he was too busy glaring at me to notice. Before Ulysses could turn to look at her again, she gave a loud cough.

From across the room, a large stack of glasses fell over, bringing the hubbub of the room to a quiet.

The old fox turned his head sharply to the source of the noise, then released Julia. “I will speak with you later," he said firmly.

Julia nodded, aggression masked again, then moved towards the balcony stairs. I turned and started to follow her.

“Mr Tremblay?" I heard Ulysses call.

I didn't bother to stop.

“I know Jacques."

This did grind me to a halt. I gestured Julia onwards and turned to face the old fox.

Ulysses continued, with an awful smile smeared onto his face. “You can't run away from family, Victor. No matter how far you run, or how pathetic the reason; blood is thicker than water. And besides, your father is an upstanding member of society," he said, approaching me. “I like him a lot."

I shrugged. “I guess somebody has to."

-

“You're hiding something." I said to Julia, stopping at the door to the room.

“So are you," she replied effortlessly. “What am I hiding?" She stared at me, not aggressively, but expectantly.

I sighed. “I don't know. But something," I said, opening the door and gesturing Julia inside.

I followed her in and closed it behind us.

The room and its four occupants were silent.

Charles sat on the chair next to the desk.

I stood in front of the door.

Julia stood beside the bed.

Wendell sat upon it, staring up at her.

“Julia! I…" His lips trembled. Almost begging her to interrupt him. To accuse him. To destroy him.

Julia made no attempt to.

When Wendell closed his mouth, she took a breath and nodded. “Wendell. I'm glad to see you're safe." She stepped forth and sat down beside her husband-to-be. “What would you like to talk about?"

She knew.

I couldn't believe that she didn't. I'm almost certain that she knew all along.

She just seemed to understand that she couldn't say the words for him.

Neither could Charles.

Neither could I.

To save his life I would. But that would mean stealing the last grain of power from his hands. And I couldn't bear to do that.

“Julia," Wendell started again. “Do you remember when we went down to the river at Camp Hampton? We sailed those boats, do you remember?"

“Of course I do," she said. “We sailed around under the stars. Why, you even tried to catch a few fish until they told you that there were none in the water."

“Yes, yes I did." He smiled. The smile began to waiver the moment it appeared. “You remember that we met Derek? He was the one who lent us the boat. He told us how he'd sail that little boat across the lake, then park up on the far side and paint the landscape? He showed us the paintings of him and his…friend?"

“Yes I remember," Julia said. “You got on very well with him, didn't you?"

Wendell started to tremble and shudder. “He was such a lovely man. Wasn't he?" With that, he shattered.

Julia guided Wendell's head against her shoulder, where he wept for a while.

“It's true, I'm gay, Julia..." He whimpered at last.

Where the room should convulse from the weight of the words, no movement came forth.

For a while, nothing happened.

The only sound was Wendell's sobbing.

Julia kept holding him. Charles and I stood back. We let them have the moment, for as long as they needed it.

“What now?" Wendell asked.

“I have that under control," Julia assured him. “First, we have to get through this evening in one piece. We're going to have to make a public appearance before the night is through. Are you up to that?" She asked him.

He nodded. “I'll do what I can. They've been sobering me up a fair bit," he said.

She looked back to myself and Charles. “If you two are willing to continue helping, I can pay well."

“Of course," Charles agreed. I was about to probe further about how all of these dots were supposed to join together, but Wendell's safety was going to be more pressing.

“Wendell isn't going to be safe with your family and in this place," I explained. “The sooner we can get him somewhere healthy, the better."

“I know," Julia said firmly. “That's all part of the plan. Just keep up appearances."

“This plan," I began. “Tell me wh-"

“Keeping up appearances," Wendell repeated, now at his feet. “I've been doing it all my life."

“Not for much longer." Charles assured him. “We know a place that'll do you well. Once tonight's done, you won't have to wear a mask again."

Julia took a moment to compose herself. Arms behind her back. Eyes closed for a second in contemplation, then a deep breath. “Wendell, without ill-will, and for the best interests of both of us; this relationship is over," She said at last.

Wendell nodded. “Thank you."

“What does this 'public appearance' entail?" I requested.

“An address," Julia said. “Followed by a song from the band."

Suddenly there was a banging at the door. “Julia!"

“Coming!" Julia slid immaculately back into the facade and stepped out of the door.

Wendell pulled his suit straight and followed her out.

Arguing began outside as I looked to Charles.

My fox lent close and whispered. “Is Julia…"

“I'll tell you later."

The Burtons stopped arguing when Charles and I appeared.

“The toast is in five minutes." Ulysses informed us. “We will not have another scene, do we understand?" He said, firmly to Wendell.

“Yes, Mr Burton," Wendell said.

“Good. And once that's done, we'll talk privately about your right to marry my daughter." He said, before turning and looking past me.

Past Julia even.

Landing on Charles.

--

“I'd like to thank you once again for coming along tonight." Wendell spoke at great length, but said very little. What was said revolved largely around this central theme, accompanied mostly by microphone feedback more so than applause or attention. But he was a competent speaker certainly; if there was one thing he'd likely had practice at, it was putting on a happy, empty mask.

Wendell and Julia stood on the stage at the far end of the main hall. I hung back a bit, both to give them space, but also to get a better view of the room. The steps up to the balcony were behind me, and Charles was stood at the top of the steps.

Wendell finished his address, to light, slightly forced applause, then started to leave the stage.

“That marriage is never going to work," I heard Ulysses say to Charles from up on the balcony.

“Love has a way," my fox replied.

“My daughter deserves better, much better," the old fox continued. “Tell me, you've met my daughter now, you've been in this manor all day…" My gut lurched. I couldn't believe he was going to try that. Wendell had stopped a few feet away, but it seemed like he couldn't hear. A few more feet away, the stoat with the drinks tray had noticed that Wendell was alone.

“Are you suggesting what I think you are?" Charles snarled.

“I'm just suggesting that a better life for her is possible. And perhaps… a better life for you too? She would look much better with another red fox on her arm."

“I'm not for sale!" my fox growled.

“Oh? Then to whom are you bound?" Ulysses asked. “Is it your 'friend', Mr Tremblay?"

I turn and remind Charles “You don't have to answer that."

“Does he always speak for you? Does he not treat you with even a scrap of privacy?" The old fox said, moving and blocking the steps between Charles and myself.

“Care for another drink, Wendell?" the stoat asked.

My gaze returned to the marble fox.

“No," Wendell grunted. “I'm not a drunk."

“Oh come on… just one sip," the stoat said, picking up a glass and pushing it into Wendell's paw. “You've already made a fool of yourself once tonight. What's one more time?"

And from behind me, I heard Ulysses say “Being a faggot can be cured, Charles. And I know just how to do it."

I turned just in time to see Charles' foot bury itself in Ulysses' ribcage, sending him spine-first into the balcony.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Wendell tackling the stoat to the ground.

In the far corner of the room, someone else threw a third punch.

And thus, the lust for violence engulfed us all.

I expected the three of us to get attacked as outsiders, but the rich seemed keen to fight among each other. It seemed like everyone wanted an excuse, and they'd finally found a good one.

Wendell had swung the stoat out to arms length, then whipped him across the floor into a table covered in more drinks. It collapsed when the stoat slammed into it, pinning the man down and raining glass and spirits down upon his prone body.

From behind me, Ulysses had got to his feet, swung at Charles, but my fox had been faster to connect fist with skull and send the old fox reeling.

“Charles!" I shouted, running forth and stopping him from doing any more. “Leave it! He'll have us shot!"

“Son of a bitch had it fucking coming!" My fox snarled.

“He does, but rich motherfuckers like him hold grudges," I protested. “We've got to go, now!"

Reluctantly, Charles agreed. We ran forth and intercepted Wendell.

“Come on, we've got to move!" I shouted.

“Where?" Wendell growled. “This is my home! You really believe there's a better place out there for me?" He screamed.

“We know just the place, come on!" I insisted.

“What about my family?" he protested, ducking a bottle flying over his head.

“You've seen what they've done to you!" Charles shouted. “Blood's thicker than water, let's fucking move!"

“Where's Julia?" Wendell asked as we scramble towards the double doors at the exit.

What an excellent question.

In all the chaos and confusion, the wise fox had vanished into thin air.

-

When we reached the door, the bouncer had picked up a chair and was beating back various members of the mob with it, and didn't seem to mind the three of us making our escape.

“Guess we found an even faster way to be ejected from the building than asking about all the stolen shit." I quipped to Charles.

“Are we going to leave Julia behind?" Wendell continued.

“She's undoubtedly the most capable person within the square mile." I said. “If she didn't ask for help, I'm damn sure she doesn't need it."

He agreed and Charles led us towards the car.

We rounded the corner of the building and approached the parking lot. As we did, I heard footsteps behind me.

“Go, get to the car, I'll be a few minutes," I whispered.

Charles nodded and led Wendell onwards.

I snuck between cars, over to the wall surrounding the grounds of the manor.

“Did you get them?" A male voice. European. Slightly French sounding, but not quite. It came from beyond the wall.

“The Agora Diamond and the Kaber Mask?" Julia said.

“Of course."

I heard something being exchanged.

“Where are you taking them to?" Julia asked.

“Samantha will be taking them to the FBI and claiming their bounty, which shall be yours to enjoy," the European man said. “I trust you've enjoyed her assistance on this?"

“Yes." Julia said. “Though I dare say I wish to enjoy her under more intimate circumstances as soon as possible."

“Excellent," the man continued. “Is Wendell safe?"

“He's with Tremblay and his partner."

“Charles," the man said confidently. I flinched. It wasn't… odd for people to know about us. But this wasn't the best time to discover it.

“That's right. I can retrieve him from them if we doubt their ability to keep him safe?"

“No, no. I trust Mr Tremblay. There's not a safer pair of hands out there," he said.

“Very well," Julia said. “And of my father? He will likely go after all of us."

“The FBI have been made aware that he stole them. The photographs you provided will do enough to see that he will not be a concern of any of ours for a long, long time."

“You helped me with this just for Wendell? You really don't care about the money?" Julia said.

“It was your plan, your information and your execution. I just laid the red carpet," he insisted. “The safety of yourself and Wendell was the important part. Besides, I stand to gain a lot from the toppling of Ulysses' real estate empire."

Realizing that they were about to move, I crept back across towards the car. As I did, I got a look at the man. A silhouette resembling a rodent. When I realized he was looking at me, I hurried. He had to have seen me, but he didn't react in any way. Either he had no ill will, or his ill will was better served by me knowing he was there.

I returned to the car and the moment my ass hit the seat, Charles began to drive out of the parking lot. I flung the door shut and strapped in.

“What did you hear?" Charles asked.

“I'll tell you later," I said. “But Julia's safe."

--

“We're taking you to a commune run by a very close friend of ours out in Issaquah," Charles explained to Wendell. “It's a very queer place. They'll take good care of you."

“What… kinda things should I expect there?"

“Well, in return for food, shelter and warmth, they are going to expect you to work and help out. Maybe farming, maybe building stuff, mending things, repairing clothes, cooking food… wherever your skills lie. However, expect to have very affectionate men flirting with you all day and all night."

Wendell's eyes went wide. He blushed a little and smiled. “I… like to help out…"

“One more thing you should know," I said. “The dress code is… 'optional'."

Taking Wendell to Larry had drawbacks. There would be drink at his commune, and someone would have to keep Wendell away from it. That being said, Larry is a good, safe pair of hands. There was ample sleeping accommodation there and letting Wendell live with a few dozen openly, vibrantly queer people would help him heal to no end. At the time, I couldn't think of anywhere safer. We didn't have room or food budget to support him at home, and everywhere else was a nightclub, which would have been even worse on the alcohol front. The only thing that worried me was if Wendell would find the commune's overt queerness overwhelming if he was still finding his footing with it.

The commune was in the middle of nowhere, way out in the sticks. It was surrounded by a small wood and sheet-steel wall covered in murals. Murals which espoused such things as “Seize the Means!", “Adults only! Sin inside!" and “The Chains should be Consensual!".

Above the wall, you could see the tops of hand-crafted buildings made of wood and aluminum. The smell of barbecue, the sounds of cheerful hollering and music emanated from the place.

I began to have second thoughts. But what choice did we have? We could have returned him to Julia, but I didn't know who she was working with. Not at the time anyway.

“Is this… it?" Wendell asked.

“It sure is." Charles said, almost wistfully. He climbed out of the car and we followed suit.

Stood at the gate was a scrappy rat, dressed in a cut-off denim jacket, knee-high leatherette boots and a black studded thong.

“Scratch!" Charles called, jogging forward and embracing and kissing the rat.

“Howdy Charlie!" he replied. Charles released him and he looked over the three of us together. “Aw shucks, the three of you just got married and I missed it?" he said, in a soft, melodic and honeyed drawl.

I glanced at Wendell to see if he was taking this well. But it seemed the fox's only struggle was keeping his gaze at Scratch's eyeline.

The rat approached me, we exchanged an embrace and a kiss, as was the custom around here. Not an unappealing custom by any stretch.

“This is Wendell. Wendell, Scratch," I said.

“Why hello Wendell." Scratch sauntered towards him. “Damn good thing I practiced my court'sey"

“Hello," the marble fox replied, very formally, outstretching a paw, but not looking too closely to see if the rat took it.

“Well don't be shy now," the rodent grinned. “My body ain't no museum."

I heard Wendell mumble something, but I didn't catch it.

Scratch gestured the four of us inside.

Charles took one of my hands and one of Scratch's, with Wendell being offered one of the two free hands if he so wished, and taking Scratch's. Walking hand-in-hand with another man without even the slightest hesitation was another comfort of this place.

“It's like a festival in here." Wendell said.

“Sure is." Charles said wistfully.

“How is this place so blissfully queer?" The marble fox asked.

“Ain't nobody out here to see us. Nor judge us, nor stop us." Scratch replied.

“Is Larry around?" I asked Scratch.

“He sure is, last I heard he might even be wearing some pants," he chuckled.

Wendell's footfall stopped.

I was about to query it when the stout border collie in leather chaps and waistcoat appeared before us.

“Larry," I smiled.

“Victor! Charles… and…" Larry began.

Wendell and Larry's gaze met.

The marble fox blushed, tried to look away and failed.

Suddenly, I remembered who was on that page of the magazine.

“I don't think we've met before," Larry said, holding out a large paw. “My name's Larry, Larry Lauderdale."

“Oh I… no, no we haven't. Wendell. Wendell Olson," the marble fox replied, taking the paw and shaking it, though doing so only seemed to make him blush more.

I watched Larry's gaze widen as he noticed something, then saw him almost instantly cover for it. “Well... pleased to meet you Wendell." Larry said with that warm, fuzziness he often had. “Would you like to sit down?"

“That would be lovely." The fox smiled nervously. “I must confess I am rather familiar with your work. I just had no idea you were so… local."

Realization hit Larry for just a second, but then his composure returned and he nodded and smiled again.

“Scratch," Larry said. “Would you be able to take our guests through to the dining quarters? It's nearly dinner time."

“Sure thing darlin'" The rat said, taking Wendell's paw.

Wendell and Charles followed him, but I stood still.

“Uncomfortable?" Larry asked.

I sighed. “Yeah, I guess."

The border collie put his arm on my shoulder. “I don't blame you, Wendell's been through a lot."

I closed my eyes. “Wendell doesn't know you from a cereal packet, Larry," I pulled the magazine out of my jacket. “He had this in his room. There's a page torn out of it and folded up in his pocket." I looked up at him at last. “It's a picture of you."

Larry took the magazine and flicked through it. “I'm flattered."

I looked away again. “I should have asked you first before dropping a secret admirer who's at rock bottom right in your lap."

“I appreciate your concern." Larry said. “But I also appreciate that you didn't exactly have the time to shop around for perfect outcomes."

“Certainly not outcomes that aren't keen to sell him more liquor."

“He does more than drink." Larry sighed. “I saw his wrists, Victor."

I gulped. “I didn't… think to look for that. I guess I really haven't been paying enough attention."

He pressed his snout to my ear. “You were a little busy saving his life, Victor." Larry said. “You brought him to a safe, queer place. If he disrespects this commune, what it represents or the people who call it home, I won't take it lying down. But so far, he's been nothing but kind, respectful and polite."

I nodded. “I hope he becomes a wonderful part of your community."

“I'm sure he will." Larry said, before pressing his lips gently to mine. Larry isn't a man whose love I can resist. So I didn't. We kissed and we held each other for a while.

He eased from my lips, then licked my nose. “Now please, join us for dinner."

I nodded.

Larry smiled again. “I love you." He said, offering his paw.

“I love you too." I replied, taking it.

–

“...so then he figures out the smaller the pipe, the faster the water goes 'cause there's more pressure in it."

We walked into the large dining hall to find Scratch showing Wendell some sketches of pipes and plumbing, with Charles keeping watchful eye from a modest distance.

“Gotta go set up the grill." Larry said, before departing off to what seemed like an enlarged coal barbecue.

I took a seat next to Charles.

“You okay?" He asked, embracing, then kissing me.

“I'm okay." I replied, rubbing noses with me. “Lot going on, but I'll get by. You?"

“About the same." He said.

“How's Wendell?"

Charles grinned. “See for yourself."

“And you did the plumbing for this entire place?" Wendell asked.

“Well, when you word it like that, it don't half sound like a lot." The rat blushed. “But I was just doing what I could to help my family."

“It's still very impressive." Wendell said with a smile, placing a paw upon the rat's hand.

“Oh shucks, you charmer you." Scratch leaned forward and kissed Wendell on the muzzle.

The fox blushed scarlet, then eased forward and pressed his lips to the rat's.

“Now he's getting comfortable.." Charles whispered with a chuckle. “I think he's going to make it."

The fifty pound weight in my gut dissipates and my eyes feel wet. “I think he is."

“What did you see in the parking lot at the manor?" my fox asked me at last.

“Julia." I said. “I heard her talking to someone over the wall. She was retrieving a few stolen artifacts from the manor. Had two accomplices. Planned to exchange them for a bounty. That was how she was going to fund her and Wendell's escape. Then the FBI would arrest Ulysses for the theft. Us taking Wendell seemed to be an acceptable outcome, even if not the one she intended."

“You work out why Julia hired you in particular?"

“Of course," I said, “I'm the only openly queer private eye in Washington state. Who else was he going to trust?" I sigh and wipe my eyes. “Do you think Ulysses is going to find out where we live and come after us?"

“Could probably find our house. But a communist commune three towns over? I doubt it." Charles assured me. “He didn't want Wendell to marry Julia, and he ain't."

“He wanted you to though." I reminded him.

“Well yes but I very politely declined."

“Very politely declined your foot into his ribcage."

“It's the most polite thing a person can do!" he grinned, flicking out his tongue to lick my nose. “Do you know anything more polite a man can do?"

“You know what? Yeah," I said, putting my hand on his crotch. “I think I do."

Charles encouraged me to unbuckle his trousers, but as I did, out of the corner of my eye I noticed a shadow stood on the edge of the commune.

A shadow that looked a lot like a slender rat.

The moment I saw it, the shadow turned and walked away.

“You okay?" Charles asked.

“Oh yeah." I said. “I'm just fine."

-

8th of June, 1975, three years later.

“Victor!"

My run was interrupted by Larry's voice.

I paused, breathless, before I raised a palm to the horizon. For a moment, I wondered if it was just a mirage. Running, like dance, is an entrancing mistress. But through the haze, it was definitely him.

My heart fluttered some. A run is very pleasurable when it ends in a man's arms.

Once I had reached him, the only disappointment was that I was too breathless to do more than embrace him.

“Little way away from the running track, eh gorgeous?" Larry smirked.

“Tough assignment." I panted. “Really fucking with my head. Exercise fixes most of those problems."

“So that's where these came from." Larry said, poking my upper arm. “And these," He added, at my thighs, “Oh and these..." and then lifted my vest to look at my chest.

“They're a damn sight smaller than yours." I protested.

“Yeah but when I first met you, you were a couple twigs bundled together." Larry chuckled. “I bet it's these tiny shorts of yours." He said, patting my ass.

“Only the skimpiest will do." I said. “I have to be careful, you know, the people back in Seattle are starting to think I'm straight."

“We can't have that now, can we?" Larry grinned. “Come on, let's get you something to eat."

“I'm not hungry," I said.

“Bullshit! You've been running around for hours." The border collie grinned. “At least fill up that water bottle."

“It's half full!"

“Half empty. Plus, there's a ton of guys who wanna see your ass in these shorts."

I smile. “You make a good point. Alright, just remind everybody that I'm not a museum piece, ok?"

Larry laughed and squeezed my ass. “Oh we know."

-

I followed Larry into the commune.

“Well well," The voice is familiar. But the figure has changed greatly.

Stood before me, in sturdy leatherette boots and a pair of denim shorts cut off about as short as shorts could be, is a tall marble fox, with glossy black eyes fixing me with a proud stare. “Dinner has arrived early, hasn't it?" Wendell said. His eyes darted faster than mine. My heart fluttered a little. That anxious, terrified fox is gone. Long, long gone.

I didn't speak in time and he filled the space. “You will have to tell me who makes your shorts." He said, strutting around me.

“I… could say the same to you." I stammered.

“I was beginning to think you couldn't." He teased.

It's hard to describe how little expression the Wendell of old had and how profoundly, verbosely expressive this Wendell was. He moved with grace, talked fast, snappy, and in control. There's not even the faintest whiff of alcohol within 30 meters of him. The scars on wrists and thighs were almost gone. I didn't look for them, but Wendell refused to let their memory inhibit his new-found strength.

He was handsome and pretty in equally large measures.

I keep being unable to reply and he just grinned more and more. “Oh come on, do you do this every time a hot guy flirts with you?"

“Yes." I said without hesitation.

Wendell cackled. “True enough. Me too." He takes my hand in his paw. “Come, let's get you some water."

He led me over to one of the counters with stools around it. The counter top had a large jug of water and a collection of cups. He sat on one of the stools and I sat next to him.

“You're beautiful." I said at last.

Wendell smiled. “Thank you, same to you". He said, this time in a softer tone. “This whole place has been so welcoming and transformative. I feel like I'm me at last.".

I nodded and poured two glasses of water from the jug, handing one to him and taking the other. “I'm glad to hear it."

“It's thanks to you and Charles and Julia and Larry that it all happened." He said. A flicker of something flashed over his face. “Have you heard from Julia recently? Is she well?"

“Last I heard she's seeing a woman named Samantha and is getting up to all the good things that entails."

“I'm glad." He said. “It seems that everybody got what they wanted in the end."

His relaxed gaze moved back to my figure, scanning it in a way that sent a pleasing shiver up my spine. “And so, I must thank you again Mr Tremblay." He said. He turned his figure to face me and I almost didn't notice him spread his legs.

“Please," I smiled. “Call me Victor."

“Why of course Victor." Wendell gazed deeply into my eyes. He placed his paws on my thighs. I made no effort to move them.

I felt my loins stir. A hesitancy grew inside me to accompany it.

“But it's not the only name I hear my husband call you." He said.

I bit my lip. “Is that so? What other names does your man use for me?".

His paws started to wander up my thighs. “Sometimes he says you're cute." He said.

“I'm not cute." I objected breathlessly.

Arousal began to overtake hesitancy. My own paws started to explore him. Long hours of work on the commune had given Wendell a slender, toned physique that my hands found great joy in caressing.

His paws moved their way onto my shorts. Teasing my crotch through omission.

My hands moved down to his hips. The denim of those skimpy shorts he wore had been heavily worn in, once stiff and uncomfortable, now soft and rugged. Befitting a man like him.

“Sometimes he calls you slut." Wendell grinned. He slid one paw up under my vest.

“That's a much better name."

At this point, we were all-but in each other's laps. Nose to nose. Unmistakably stiff.

“But do you know the name he calls you most?" Wendell gasped, his hot breath on my neck.

“What could be better than Slut?"

“Lover." He grinned. His paws, having finished with my chest, found my shoulders. “If I wanted to love you and Charles too, just as I love Larry, and you three love each other, would you let me?"

“I'd have to ask Charles." I said truthfully. “But, if he agrees-"

“When I agree."

“When he ag-" I sharply looked over, seeing Charles stood watching, shirtless in his jeans. A set of jeans that Larry had a paw stuffed down the front of.

“Aw man, the two don't have stagefright, do you?" Larry asked.

“Oh no," Wendell began sarcastically. “The male gaze, whatever shall we do?"

“We'll have to give it something worth looking at" I said, before finally pressing my lips to Wendell's and starting to kiss him. It was a slow, sloppy kind of kiss. The kind you do when you want someone to watch. I learned it from a go-go dancer.

I heard Larry pull down Charle's zipper. I knew where this was headed. It was exciting, still something that occasionally took some getting used to. But it was what we all wanted. And from here, “we all" included Wendell.

The embrace of debauchery would welcome the family's expansion to four. Four men, contently unaware that the shadowy figure of a rat stood over us all…