FSE

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"Now Troy, I'm just dying to hear your answer," the tigress said, her paw still holding a hidden pistol.

Troy, also a tiger, cleared his throat, glancing down at the collapsed waiter that the woman across the table from him had just shot point-blank in the chest. "Mom, are you already making a joke about this?" he asked, his eyebrow quirking upward. He still gripped his own gun, admittedly still shocked from the escalation.

His mother pierced him with her dark blue eyes that matched her dress. "Nice try. But, you're not going to distract me. What job are you doing that leads to a gun getting pulled on you on Mother's Day?"

Troy shuffled, a bit in seat, noticing that his mother still hadn't moved the pistol that was subtly pointed towards him. He averted his gaze, realizing that the restaurant was completely deserted. It should have been packed during the holiday.

"I'm waiting. CIA, FBI, DHS?"

He could hear her heel tapping on the wooden floor. "C'mon Mom, even if I was doing something like that, you know it would be classified." He grunted, resting one arm the table. "Now, can you put that thing away?"

She tutted, "Dodging the question and throwing the word 'classified' around. Guess that answers my question well enough for now." She sighed, delicately adjusting her hair. "Why couldn't you harvest grain like Anthony? At least your brother's job has a longer life expectancy." The tigress shook her head once again. "I see you haven't moved your other paw. What are you hiding?"

"That's classified," he said curtly before cocking a grin at her. Despite that, he did release his grip and rested both paws on the table now.

"Cute." His mother let out a breath. She looked down at the dead coyote that had dropped the appetizers all over when he'd been killed. "How inconvenient." She nudged one of his legs with her high-heel. "So, where do we go from here?"

Troy stood slowly, the only sound coming from a crackling speaker playing some elevator music. "No one else is here. We should get you home before we get more company."

"And what about the dead waiter?"

The tiger pinched his nose again before reaching into his other pocket. "I'm gonna make a phone call. I don't know where you learned to fire a gun, Mom, but, I've changed my mind. Maybe you should keep yours out just in case."

His mom tilted her head briefly before nodding. He watched her slide her glove back on and take the pistol in her hand. Her gaze darted from the back towards the kitchen to the front. He'd have to trust her for just a few more minutes until he got this mess figured out. He dialed the number from memory and waited.

A baritone voice picked up on the other end. "Hello?"

"Hello, this is Mike Taffeta, Patricia Marie Taffeta's father."

There was a moment of recognition. "Oh! Father Taffeta, you've reached Morningside Pre-school, Chuck speaking. What can I do for you?"

Troy walked slowly towards the kitchen in back while he spoke. "Well, it seems my daughter got into a bit of a fight today. I'm requesting some supervision, preferably from a nurse. Though, don't know how much use she'll be."

There was another pause before the deep voice continued with a hint more interest than before. "Oh, really now? How is she doing? Do you know how many kids were involved?"

"One," Troy said. The tiger glanced through the counter that showed the inside of the kitchen. Inside were a wolf and a bear. The bear had a fine cord wrapped expertly tight around his throat, and the wolf had taken at least two bullets given the visible holes and blood. Yeesh... "Make that three kids."

"Three?" Chuck sounded almost impressed. "Alright, I can arrange that. Can I just confirm the address so I can send you a form to sign?"

Troy padded back towards the table his mother was at, squinting at the inverted gold lettering on the glass for the business. "Ugh yeah... It's 116 Milford Avenue."

If the tiger strained his ears, he could hear some scribbling on the other side of the call. Chuck seemed to stretch, because he grunted afterwards just like he normally would.

"Alright, 116 Milford Ave. I'll have that letter sent over on the double. Oh, and you're Patty is lucky to have a Daddy like you," the baritone voice snickered.

"Hey! No, don't you start th-" and the phone clicked before Troy could chastise him more. "What a bitch," the tiger muttered under his breath.

"What was that, Troy?"

His mom startled him with her chastising tone. "Nothing," he snapped. He really wasn't on top of this like he should have been. Hell, he could have been dead if not for her. Troy frowned, shaking his head and looking down at the tigress. "No... I'm sorry. But, we need to get going, ASAP."

"But what about our food? I was really hoping for Italian tonight," she pouted and crossed her arms, even as she was leaving the table.

Troy took her arm and helped her step over the dead coyote (who really had become an annoyance). "Well, the waiter killed the cooks, and you killed the waiter, so, I don't think we're getting served any time soon." He opened the door for her and she gracefully glided through. "Tell you what, Mom, we'll stop by the store and pick up some ingredients and I'll make you some Italian food."

"Oh? My son cooking for me for a change. That will do, I suppose."

When he tried to lead her away from the restaurant, he was tugged backwards. He tried to pull again, but she refused to move until he turned back to her. She was staring back inside at the corpse on the floor.

She bit her lip. "Troy. I just need to know this. Are you one of the good guys?" She stared at him, eyes hard.

Troy, instead, looked at his shined, black shoes. "I don't know, Mom. I like to think I am." He led her away from the restaurant. "C'mon, we can still salvage this Mother's Day."

~The End

4/1/19

By: Novak "Walto"