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Venom: Scenes of Chaos.

Prologue.

One week down, three to go. My sequestration period has started in earnest. I am to stay put until my body has adjusted to its new situation. For as long as I can remember, my parents have made sure that no matter how many breaks from school I took or how long they were, I always spent some time outside. There has been only one time that I’ve spent this much time in the house. I was ten and I had the chicken pox. I spent a week in my bed, with no ability to enjoy the outdoors or play with my friends. This time, it’s a month indoors. No driving anywhere for four weeks and no riding in a car for two. No going outside without sunscreen; the medicine interacts with the heat…or something. I’m not an indoor creature and there’s usually nothing in the house to keep me from going crazy with boredom.

I say usually because today, I’m not as hopeless as I look. I’ve taken the dream journals that I have written down and formed an actual story. It doesn’t have a beginning, so it’s rather incomplete. I didn’t start taking down the recurring dreams I had until my third day in the hospital. By that time, the she-wolf and her ocelot friend had already been employed and situated. I filled in the blanks as best I could. I also decided to go all out and make it an actual manuscript. I learned about proper writing grammar and English syntax back in high school. Recently, I brushed up on formatting and page numbering. I even learned about illustrating in case I thought it necessary. For some reason, I’ve decided that I could write this thing. It may even be a success.

Suni arrived a few minutes ago. Like a good ex-girlfriend, she’s been visiting me sporadically since I returned from the hospital. Of all my friends in Masters Physics, she’s the only one who’s bothered to come see me. I can’t help but feel disappointed. Meanwhile, the sequestration concept totally amuses and baffles her.

“What have you been doing all week?” she asks blithely.

My answer is straight and to the point. “I’ve been writing a book.”

Her eyes lower with indifference. “What’s it about?” She’s already not interested.

I’m somewhat excited about my new project and its premise, but I feel that I could use outside validation, especially since the premise is kind of out there. I’ve thought about it, but for this plot to work, the characters would have to undergo some kind of major catharsis that can draw the readers in. It doesn’t quite help that the main characters aren’t human beings, or aliens, or vampires, or something tangible to the typical reader. Anthropomorphic literature isn’t quite up to those heights of popularity, but I hope to buck a trend or start a new one with my stuff. Suni’s the perfect springboard; she’s the only one here after all.

So I show her a few pages. She reads the first conversation on the first page, then skims the other pages, just to give me the satisfaction of looking like she’s going over them. “This is a joke, right? You can’t write a book. Even if you pull this off, no one’s gonna read it. Nobody’s gonna take it seriously. Besides, what can you possibly write about that is new and exciting? What can you say that hasn’t already been said?”

Her question surprises me. At first, I’m taken aback, not just by her indifference, but at the thought that her coming here was more of an obligation instead of a willful gesture. Undeterred, I sit her down at the kitchen table and put some pages in front of her. I tell her the plot, then lay the characters on her. I start the plot off as best as I remember from the beginning. Try and tell me now that you’re not interested.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“First, let me level with you. The story is based on a series of recurring dreams I’ve been having for the last three weeks. The first parts of the dream don’t have a plot, you might say. Maybe they did, but I had only ever been dreaming about the climaxes. In each of them, a man or a woman, or three men in one case, would be sitting or standing around doing something. They would be enjoying themselves, lost in their own adventures, doing whatever it was that made them happy. They could be washing their car, tending to their garden, playing video games, or one time, having phone sex. The three men I mentioned earlier? They were just lounging around a sitting room, drinking champagne.

“Then suddenly, along would come a stranger. She’d come out of nowhere and interrupt proceedings. Usually, the person interrupted would say, ‘Who are you?’ or ‘What do you want?’ or something like that. Seconds later, they’d be dead at the hands of that same stranger. They’d be killed in the most brutal, offensive, or fantastical ways possible. Sometimes, I would wake up with a start, but most of the time, I stayed asleep long enough for the climax to form. Then the killer would show her face. It was always a female. In a three-week span, I dreamt of, maybe, thirty deaths. Each of the killers was a woman. And they weren’t human.

“They would appear every time I slept, even if I dozed in front of the TV for a few minutes. The woman tending to her garden was strangled. The man having phone sex was knocked unconscious with some blunt instrument. I don’t think he made it. And the three men drinking champagne? Mieri spiked their drinks. She actually introduced herself and they invited her in as if the visit were prearranged.”

“Man. You’ve had some really effed-up dreams,” she says. “Is that what your book’s about?”

“This death dream was the most memorable for two reasons. First, the three men were classmates of mine in a past Chemistry class. Second, it was the last dream I had before I got the call from the hospital that a kidney had been found. My earlier dreams came without rhyme or reason. Someone got killed and I woke up. But during surgery, I had the first of what would become a bona fide dream-sequence-series. In time, the killers had names, backstories, and plots, just like a television show.

“Now Winter is a tall, white wolf. She’s one of the more imposing killers in the story. She is sensitive, but not weak. She had only killed one person in those earlier dreams, but her second kill starts the story going. Pamila is a red fox, one of several foxes in my dreams for some reason. She is the most proficient of the killers. She dresses in many outfits and kills in many ways, killing more than half of the people in my earlier dreams. Camille is a bluish-gray cat and Pamila’s best friend. She is overly gregarious, flaunting her sex appeal and easily making friends. When she kills, she gets real close. She was the one who killed the phone sex guy. Mieri is a red panda, the most exotic-looking of the assassins. Also, the most unassuming. I found that she uses her innocence to deceive her killers. Many of them try to invite her to their homes or cars. Her soft and easygoing nature can draw in multiple victims. She’s killed only three. Pamila and Camille have killed the most, sometimes together but mostly away from one another. Winter had killed one.”

“So you’re writing about murders?” Suni asks. “Is that as far as it goes?”

“That’s just reference, babe. The story really begins when Winter kills a man outside an empty office complex on a rainy night. She does it alone, but after the kill, she heads to a vehicle where a male wolf is waiting for her. He is the first male non-victim in my dreams. His name is Shiloh and the two are a loving couple. He takes her home, commending her for a job well done. The killing was a paid hit for which they will soon receive a reward.

“The next morning, they head into an office building somewhere near the metro area. She enters first and meets a couple of people inside. All three of them work there. Inverness is a Scottish terrier, Pica is a swift fox, and Dunn is a bobcat. They’re all young-looking, early twenties probably, but they’ve been working there for a couple of years. They appear friendly to Winter at first, but their intentions soon show. They start to shake the wolf down for money they feel she owes them. They say the guy she killed at that empty office complex was a wanted man. They were gonna turn him in to get reward money. It was quite a large sum and the men had been hiding in the dark, waiting to capture the man.

“Winter tries to defend herself but cannot fend off the assailants. Things are looking hairy when Shiloh enters. His height and menacing look effectively clear the room, ending the confrontation for the time being. They are led to another room deep in the building where they meet their superiors. While Shiloh negotiates for a bigger reward, Winter hangs out with one of the bosses. His name’s Robert Crevecoeur. He and the wolf are friends and they’ve known each other for a while. The man she killed was part of an evaluation that tested her readiness to be an assassin. Shiloh is a veteran and Winter was his student.”

“He was teaching her to kill?”

“Hold on. I don’t want to spoil it early. The next plot point happens in this bar called The Shark Pit. It’s a popular bar downtown in a district that has many of them. This one stands out for being a notorious “furries-only” bar and being rather unfriendly to humans. It’s also Winter’s favorite spot to hang out after a hit. Now she goes in for a pick-me-up after a long day. She is quite friendly with the bartenders and is fairly well known in the place. Despite what happened earlier, she is quite proud of herself, but the happiness is short-lived when a stranger sits at the empty stool next to her. Even though the seat is reserved for her boyfriend right outside, Winter humors her by listening to what she has to say.

“Her name is Tivoli. She’s an ocelot. You know what one looks like, right? She is young, short, and slightly overweight. She looks real young, but she’s not short in determination. She tells Winter that she saw her kill someone and they’re soon confronting each other in the ladies’ room of the bar. Tivoli says that after witnessing the killing, she followed her to her workplace. As she was hiding, she saw the workers exchanging large amounts of cash on the office parking lot. Considering that she has little to her name, Tivoli takes a chance, offering to keep silent about the killing in exchange for entry into the wolf’s shady circle. She even scares the wolf a little by brandishing her concealed knife.”

“And the wolf just acquiesces?”

“Winter didn’t have much choice. She just started work. She’s never been blackmailed before. She didn’t know what to do.”

“Maybe she’s just not that quick a thinker.” Suni laughs. I think she’s into it.

“Anyway, Winter lets Tivoli in on a few secrets. The building she works in is really a savings-and-loan office. It’s fully functional in the light of day. It operates just like any other office. People go in and get loans for things they need. But deep inside is another enterprise that hires hitmen. The killing Tivoli saw was one of those hits. For her to join them, she would have to be introduced by someone who could be responsible for her. Being a novice, Winter couldn’t do that, but she could get Shiloh to do it. Even then, there is no guarantee of success. Tivoli agrees anyway.

“Now, about Pamila and Camille. When we first see them in any context, they are dining with a friend in a restaurant. Everything looks innocuous, but when the friend leaves them for a bit, they discuss business. They are not actually eating leisurely, rather they’re busy staking out a future victim. His name is Cam Morris and he is eating lunch with business associates, just a few feet in front of the girls. They notice a woman come up to the patio guard rail and hand the man a present. Camille recognizes the woman as Mr. Morris’ secretary and the box as a present she left for her earlier that day. The girls tense up when they remember that the box has an incendiary device inside and they quickly bail on lunch before the device goes off.

“The next day, they enter the same office building that Shiloh and Winter entered earlier that week. They work there too but are no rookies like the while wolf is. They have been working there for about two years, long enough for one of them to have a bad reputation among the other employees. The fox is already jaw-jacking with one of them as the television in the room shows the results of the explosion. The bomb killed Pamila’s intended target but also several innocent people. She defends herself while her coworkers complain.”

“She just drew attention to them.”

“Looks like it. That’s when her boss, one of her bosses really, comes in and announces that she will be fined the total reward for what they say is a botched hit. The fox does not take to it kindly and attacks the human in front of everyone, Camille included. It takes a while for the others in the room to pry her away and unquestionably save the man’s life. Another human enters the commotion and takes control of the deteriorating situation. As everything is cleaned up, he forces Pamila home where--”

“She’s gonna lay low, right? She’s got to after all that.”

My ex is less flippant about the story now, but only because Pamila’s attack piqued her curiosity. She stops my summary, saying that she likes that the story has females in the lead, at least one of whom could be the main character. She also asks me how strong they are and if my book would transcend any “genre clichés,” whatever that means. She doesn’t want the girls to turn into damsels in distress or sexpots.

“I can’t make any promises,” I say. “I don’t know what’ll happen from one dream to the next. But I think you’ll agree nothing happens that you’d expect.”

“Well, I guess that sounds promising.” She sits back and thumbs through my manuscript.

“Now then, Winter and Tivoli enter the office a day or two later to get the ocelot started on the introduction and initiation process. Shiloh’s not there, but it looks like he gives his approval. The ocelot is taken to meet the CEO of the company in her office deep inside the building while the wolf stops by the front desk. Winter introduces herself to a tenured coworker by the name of St. Croix. Like Shiloh, he is a gray wolf and is really friendly, so she relates to him right away. On the desk is a pile of laminated pictures, featuring the faces of people with contracts out on them. Winter shows that she is in for real by just picking one out. St. Croix tells her to choose carefully, but she just takes one with a good price.

“Now the company CEO is a stern-looking, intellectual working woman by the name of Vivian Cross. She’s just your type. Her office is stacked with evidence of her past exploits and proof of her success, including a couple of magazines with her face on them and a diploma, which Tivoli instantly belittles. She’s scared of authority figures. That fear threatens to derail her chances of joining a lucrative venture.”

“I’m confused,” Suni says. “She wants to be an assassin just like her? I thought she was blackmailing Winter for a job at the lending company.”

“Oh no. She wants the instant cash that comes with the killings. As a means of calming her down, Mrs. Cross tries to relate the story of how she came to be where she is. She first admits to killing someone. She tells how she arranged the killing of her abusive husband in order to gain sympathy from law and avoid prison. She gets befriended by an ex-police officer named Max, who helped her out when money was tight. He eventually bought the lease to the building in which they currently work. She got the help of some employees, all ex-officers and friends of Max. They all have baggage from their former jobs, especially Ted, who tried to get revenge on the criminals who cost him his. While working for Mrs. Cross, he inadvertently started a murder-for-hire service after employing a couple of wolves to settle his old scores. The wolves were St. Croix and Shiloh. When the hit proved successful, the other ex-cops wanted in. Soon, more hitmen were hired and the side-business formed in earnest.

“Knowing all of this, Tivoli’s less nervous and more focused on the human woman’s exploits. By being drawn in to her stories, she appears more interested than ever. If the wolves got paid instantly, so could she. As I said, she’s in it for the money. She’d also be around people who knew how to do what she wants to do. All that knowledge would make her comfortable. If she was hired, she’d be about the thirtieth hitman there. Mrs. Cross then decides to give her a tour of the building. As she does, she lays out the rules that all the hitmen need to follow while staying in a place where legitimate, financial business is done. The ocelot takes mental notes.

“The building’s hours follow the typical nine-to-five rhythm, but the doors will open for the anthros an hour earlier. At eight in the morning, the side-business begins in earnest. The hitmen come in for a meeting where one of the executives, one of the ex-police officers, shares with them the latest marks. By that, I mean the names and faces of people with hits out on them.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“The meeting ends when all the marks are introduced. Then the assassins choose the ones they want to hunt. It is possible for them to trade marks with one another, considering that the monetary rewards vary from one mark to the other. Once the clock strikes nine, everyone must disperse for the beginning of the business day. St. Croix is the secretary, so he stays behind. Presumably, there is a replacement for him should he want to engage in a hunt himself. Mrs. Cross continually stresses that the hitmen cannot be seen. There are contingency plans for when a meeting runs long, but interactions with the public should generally be avoided. During the tour, Tivoli is shown the psychiatrist’s room, the locker room, and the makeshift gymnasium.”

Suni raises her brow. She’s now into this. “Psychiatrist’s room?”

“I promise you it gets put to good use. At the end of the tour, Tivoli gets introduced to the executives. With one of them currently out of commission, thanks to Pamila, she meets the other four. Two of them, including Winter’s friend, Robert Crevecoeur, go to the clients to confirm the hits. The other three work for the loan company but also contribute to the side business. The leader of the five is Theodore Mullins, the Ted I mentioned earlier.”

“The man who started it all.”

“Yes. He has a private meeting with Tivoli in which he goes over what she should expect as a new member of the enterprise. The newbies are assigned a tenured hitman among the group, called a handler. Tivoli would be taken through three of the handler’s hunts. She would take lessons from and observe the master in action. Whether she participates in any of the killings, like Winter had been earlier, or whether she only observes, depends on the whim of the handler. After the hunts are over, if the handler thinks the rookie is up to the task, he or she will give a positive review to Ted, who then makes the hire official.

“The interview goes smoothly, with the ocelot being asked very few questions. Shiloh’s blessing might have had something to do with the ease of her acceptance. Either way, Tivoli goes back to Vivian Cross, who gives her old VHS tapes of years-old interviews she had with some of the other workers. It is something that the CEO hopes will give her an edge before she acclimates herself to her new workmates. She accepts them gladly and chooses to take a full day off to study for her grand entrance. She does meet a couple of the workers before she leaves, including a German Shepherd named Hoeness. He’s the dad that would be king, but everyone knows Shiloh’s the main man. Anyway, while watching the tapes, she gets introduced to Mieri, the red panda.

“She shows up to the office two days later with Winter for company. It’s the first meeting for each of them, though the wolf already has a mark chosen. The wolf makes her presence known right away, announcing her intention to hunt her first mark, a businessman named Matthew Ambrose. He is located in Chino Hills, a fair distance from where they currently are. Shiloh’s told her how intimidating they could be, so she makes a lot of noise to establish herself.

“Now while she leaves to get her hunt finalized, the meeting comes to an end and Tiovli does the meet-and-greet thing with the few people still there. Without a doubt, the lack of numbers gives her the confidence to walk up to one of the stragglers. As she is getting acquainted, this human being walks in the room. He looks like the typical customer, so he takes everybody by surprise. He came in through the front door just like that.

“He’s instantly recognized by Pica and Dunn. They try to kick him out, but he lays a big surprise on everyone there. He exposes that he was there with Pica, Dunn, and Inverness the night Doran Mann was shot and killed. He was wanted dead or alive by the feds, but when he was shot, it attracted attention. When the police came, the men had to leave. Now he’s come for the money he feels is owed him. He followed the wolf to get to the loan office. Now he’s--”

“He wants to shake Winter down too?”

“Pretty much.” I lean back in my chair and pause for a moment. She’s got a lilting smile on her face. It looks almost like we haven’t broken up. “Anyway, there’s a big fight and Tivoli gets in the way. The human hurts her big time, and the commotion draws out not only Winter, but Mrs. Cross as well. The CEO tries her best, but the human refuses to move. He introduces himself as Peter Petrescu and threatens to call the feds on everyone if he is not paid his share of the reward money right there. Mrs. Cross takes him to her office so they can talk. When Shiloh enters, everyone calms down, the room is cleaned up, the concussed ocelot gets tended to, and Winter gets herself ready for the long trip to Chino Hills to hunt her mark.”

Suni is still thumbing through the pages of my story while I tell it, so I decide to stop there. “That’s about a week’s worth of storyline there,” I said.

“You haven’t mentioned Pamila since she hurt one of the bosses.”

“She’s in hiding. Camille sees her off and on.”

“I like it. I mean…” She puts the papers on the table. “I find the diverging storylines appealing and kinda out of the ordinary. So what happens after all that?”

“Uh-uh. That’s it. You’re going to have to actually read the thing to know.”

“Oh, come on. You got me all psyched up for a story and this is the thanks I get?”

“We’ve been at this for half an hour. I gotta go get breakfast. But you got the book in front of you. Just pick it up and read it. What else have you got to do today?”

We laugh softly as she readies herself. She takes off her sandals and wipes her reading glasses. “Well, I’m not sure about the furry motif, but it’s good that the human interactions are there. Why not make them all human?”

“Hey, come on. A bunch of furries working for ex officers to kill the people they couldn’t kill when they had those jobs? What other book can you name that has that as its main plot? Besides, the furries don’t have fingerprints. That sets up a whole bunch of storyline possibilities, especially if the police get involved. Also, there’s political intrigue. The guy who was blown up was a cabinet member of the Governor of California. Isn’t that exciting?”

She holds my hand, stopping me from standing up. “I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

The atmosphere turns serious. She hasn’t wished anything well of me for quite some time.“Um…thanks.”

“So what you dream about last night?”

“Yeah. That’s the last four pages of the manuscript. You can look at it now if you want.”

“Sure. By the way, what’s the name of the office building?”

“Oh yeah. It’s called Rapid Recovery.”

As I walk out of the living room, she asks again. “What’s it called?”

“Rapid Recovery.”

She starts laughing. First softly, then uncontrollably. I ask her what’s so funny. She stands up and goes to the front door where her bookbag lies. She opens it and pulls out a plastic package with blue gel in it. “It’s a cold pack,” she laughs. It has the words Rapid Recovery pasted on it.

“I knew that name was familiar.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Pamila lies on an exercise mat in the middle of her living room. Her feet are square on the ground and her knees are pointed upwards. Her hands are interlocked behind her head, pushing it up slowly. She quietly strains to lift her upper body off the floor and grunts as her elbows touch her knees. It looks like hard work to do this one sit-up, so she must have been at it for a while. She does it two more, equally slow times before collapsing on the mat. Her chest heaves with aching rapidity, struggling to lift itself from the constraints of the tightly wound sports bra that covers it. The fox lies on the ground for about five minutes.

She quickly rolls to her left, knocking her knee into the table in front of her. As she shouts in pain, a white telephone receiver falls in front of her eyes. A quick curse later, she replaces the receiver on the table before returning to the supine position. She is dreadfully out of breath.

“Okay, I’m back. What’d you want to tell me?”

“Shit,” she whispers. She plants her palms on the floor and carries her upper body until her mouth is near the telephone. “Where’ve you been?”

“I told you. I haven’t had breakfast yet. So, how’s the City of the Angels treating my angel?”

The fox chuckles and drops herself back on the floor. “That’s City of Angels, dad. No ‘the.’”

“If you ask me, it should be called Los Diablos. Better still, Los Culos.”

“Dad, stop.” She laughs again.

“Bring yourself home. Then we’ll see.”

The voice on the other line sounds deeply serious, so Pamila quickly sobers herself. Her face soon matches her father’s somber mood. “You sound cheerful.”

“Why do you sound so distant? What are you doing?”

“If you really wanna know, I was doing sit ups. And before you complain that I’m doing them wrong, I’ve just finished.”

“What you doing them for? You’d get better exercise eating a doughnut.”

“I don’t have a bench press. It’s my favorite exercise, but I refuse to go to the gym.”

The voice clears its throat. “So, what you calling me for? I haven’t heard from you since New Year’s. I kinda figured you’d take the usual one-year break between calls like your sisters.”

“Perish the thought. Besides, I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?”

Pamila gets herself up in the lotus position, facing the receiver. A devious smile creeps across her face. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“Come home.”

She sighs heavily and shakes her head. “I know I haven’t been home in years. You’re right to be sore. I don’t believe in forgiveness. Just like you taught me, everyone needs to be held accountable for their actions. I know you can’t absolve my truancy, but….” She stands up, now looking down at the phone. “All I can ask you to do is to not hate me when I say no.”

Pamila’s father stays silent.

“Not yet, anyway. My work’s not done here. I’ve made some good money and I have good connections, but I can’t come home until I’ve made something of myself here. New York’s fine, but this is where the stars are. I know I can’t sing, and I know I get nervous performing in front of an audience, but I’m still making money and that’s all that matters. I’m not poor and I haven’t been taking advantage of. Things are just…taking too long. That’s all.”

Pamila rolls up the exercise mat and tugs at her green camo brassiere. “I’m starting to chafe,” she whispers. She tugs on it, trying to take it off, but changes her mind after about a minute. “If it makes you feel better, my apartment’s a thousand dollars a month and I always make rent, so I’m not poor or anything.”

She fans herself with her left hand while unbuttoning her camo shorts with her right. She tugs on them until her red panties are slightly visible. She is about to take them off completely when she realizes there is supposed to be another voice in the room.

“Dad, you there?”

The other line remains silent as she takes off the shorts and kicks them on the couch behind her. Her body straightens, as if the shorts had been chaining her somehow. She breathes easier and moves more freely, walking from one end of the room to the other. On her way back to the coffee table, she sees the receiver still standing there and once again remembers that she is having a conversation. She closes in and shouts, “Daddy?”

A loud belch, followed by “Sorry. Breakfast.”

Pamila laughs again. “You scared me.”

“How come? I already told you I’m eating breakfast.” He waits for his daughter to stop laughing. “If you’re not telling me you’re coming home, then why did you call?”

“I called because…I had a dream about you.”

“You did what now?”

“I had a dream a few days ago. You were in it. I got drunk one night and I saw you while in my stupor. It was a memory of back when I was ten and you were telling me not to out for cheerleading.”

“Hmm. I knew it was a mistake when you first proposed it. That said, I thought you were actually pretty good.”

“Wow. Really?”

“Yes I did. I happened to go to a couple of football games and I would always see you girls at the sidelines. I thought you danced pretty well.”

Pamila scoffs. “Well, gee. Thanks. You know, I could have used those kind words while I was actually in the squad.”

“You had other people giving you praise. You didn’t need me for that.”

“You would have made a difference.”

“You know what I wanted you to do when you were ten? I wanted you to pursue chess as more than a hobby. You’d beaten me several times. I wanted you to hone those skills and become a grand master at age…twelve or something. That cheerleader stuff dragged you down.”

“Honestly, dad, I’ve put those skills to good use.”

“You mean at your job? What is it you do again?”

Pamila sighs and picks up the receiver. She looks like her free and competent self again. “I work in a brokerage firm. I’m in sales and acquisitions.”

“Fine. Don’t tell me.”

“Dad, you’ll be disappointed no matter what job I say. So why do you want to know?”

The sound of a despondent sigh carries over through the phone, removing the fox’s smile and causing her to sit on the couch. “Ever watch an animated movie in theaters lately? All the plots are the same and all the people are the same. They follow all these preposterous tropes that are never true to life and always unrealistic.”

“That’s why they’re called fairy tales, dad.”

“Pay attention. Those stories always have a princess and she was always the damsel or the hero. Or both. Those stories never have a queen. They never have an authority figure that our children can actually aspire to be.”

“That’s because all the queens are evil. Don’t you know that?”

Her father’s voice turns grimly stern. “I didn’t raise you to be a princess. I raised you to be a queen, to actually have a position of authority that has responsibilities that make people take notice. That’s what I did when we chose home schooling. I just want to know that my efforts have paid off now that you’re in your mid-twenties.”

“I promise you that they have. I know how the world works. I’m smarter than the other people at my work place. When I put my mind to something, even my friends don’t stand a chance. I promise you, I’m no princess. I’m the smartest person at work and the envy of everyone in the complex. If you’re nice enough, I’ll even send you some money.”

“Well, don’t spend too much on me. How’s the cat doing?”

“Camille’s fine dad. How’s the she-beast?”

He laughs. “Your mother’s disappeared off the face of the earth. But I know she’s fine too.”

As they banter, the fox strolls to the kitchen and sits by the table. The picture of her latest mark lies in front of her. Next to it is a brand new, opened box of 9mm bullets. "I have to go back to work, dad. Just wanted to say I loved you and...I'll try to make it before Thanksgiving."

"You know I don't observe human holidays."

"Too bad, dad. The office isn't closed for the holidays you support."

"Festivus will have its day."

Pamila doubles over with laughter. "I'm sorry it's been so long since we last talked. I'll see you soon."