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Out Dated

Ian Brooks looked past the scratched and discolored old Plexiglas window of the light rail at the familiar tall buildings of downtown Starns. He used to make this trip every day, but not so often since he’d “retired” from the Metro Police. A lot of people looked forward to retirement as a source of freedom and free time. To Ian, that freedom was far more literal than most humans could ever know.

To others on the train, it might have seemed as though the canine anthro was deliberately facing away from them. His body was, in fact, turned towards the window, but only because the existence of his long, brown tail necessitated a slight angle in order to sit comfortably. Truth be told, he would rather look at the familiar buildings on the outside than the leers and curious glances from the passengers on the inside.

He’d gotten used to the looks, even though he hoped that they’d become less frequent as the decades went on and the novelty of anthros wore off. That happened, but only marginally. Ian was one of the first few hundred of the laboratory created beings who heralded a fantastic leap in science and genetics. He’d been given a surrogate family, and gone to school with normal children, but his life was never his own. Ian had been a police assistant, where his heightened senses and physical abilities were of great use to the government. Some of his fellow anthros went to senior care, the military, or to wealthy special interests. Twenty years of work in one’s assigned field and then freedom: that was what the legislature and the courts had deemed fair.

The scientists had grown more creative as the years went on, and newer-bred anthros came in quite the variety of sizes and colors, with sophisticated neural programming and built-in personalities. Ian was a relic of a more rudimentary time in anthro development. That distinction made plenty of humans uneasy as they thought the earlier examples of his kind to be unstable. The guy sitting across from him in the train certainly seemed uneasy. Ian didn’t have any of the designed fur patterns or colors that newer anthros had to help humans distinguish them, either. He had simple, medium length brown fur across most of his body, except for the white underside and hints of grey creeping in around his muzzle.

“Next stop: Fourth Street, Municipal District.”

Ian stood up and walked towards the door, grasping the rails for support as momentum tried to carry him forward while the train squeaked to a stop. It was good to be getting off at his old stop again, and he smiled as the familiar downtown smells filled his nose. The single block between the metro station and the police headquarters brought back memories. Ian stopped at the newspaper stand outside and bought a beef stick just like he used to every morning.

As he reached his destination, familiar folks waved and smiled at him. A few old colleagues shook hands and asked how things in the private investigator’s life were. Ian wagged and chatted with various old friends as he made his way through the offices. At the end of the rows of desks and cubicles came the closed off, glass-windowed office of Chief Roland.

Henry Roland’s big, bald head and white mustache peered over his computer, and though he tried to maintain his usual stern look he couldn’t help but beam. He motioned for Ian to come in and sit. “It’s great to see you here, Ian. I wish you could have stayed on with us.”

Ian smiled as he took the chair on the right; one that’d had a hole cut into it years ago just for his tail. Nice of Henry to keep it there. Roland was a good boss. The ‘Old Man’ was one of those old-school types who was more interested in having his people’s backs and just plain getting things done than political aspirations.

“I wish I would have stayed, too, sometimes.” Ian couldn’t help but glance at the various case files scattered around the desk, wondering which one he had been called in to help with. “How is my replacement doing?”

That got a scoff and a scowl from the chief, which looked especially menacing with that upper lip fuzz. “These new models—‘models’, can you believe they call them that?—are worthless, Ian. They just do what they’re told, they don’t fucking think on their own. These scientists got it all wrong trying to make robot-like yes-men when they should be making brilliant people, like you.”

Ian’s ears flattened a little at the blunt words, but he liked being called a person. “Robots are what they want, Chief. My generation was a failure in their eyes.”

The office got quiet for a few moments. Ian hadn’t meant to make things personal, and Henry couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

“Well … uh,” the Chief started up, fiddling with his envelopes until he found the right one. The papers and files all over the desk were noticeable in an almost completely digital modern world. Henry’s old-school nature struck again: all over his desk. “Ah, here, the Missing Midtowners case.” Ian opened the files and skimmed through the pages, observing the pictures the most, as always. “Five disappearances in the last month, every one of them had gone on a date in Midtown, and every one of them had ties to an anthro. We know one them was dating a feline anthro for several years, and it appears several others were also involved in an interspecies relationship.”

Ian nodded. He’d heard of the disappearances, but not the connection to his fellow fur-covered people. There were plenty of people in the world—human and anthro, alike­—who frowned on interspecies dating, so it wasn’t that much of a stretch to have some whack job trying to enforce their ideas about racial purity with the barrel of a gun. It brought up an interesting question.

“Okay, then, why do you need me?” The canine had spent most of his life working with Chief Roland and the department, and he knew they damn sure didn’t hire private investigators to do their work.

“Because the new guy couldn’t pick up a scent of any kind at last known whereabouts and they’re built to not be able to do much more than that. I want bait, I want a fresh anthro perspective, and frankly, Ian, I trust you.” Henry smiled and held a hand up, holding off the inevitable flood of questions. “I want to send you and a female detective of mine to Midtown. Go out on a few dates._That_will garner some attention; that’s for damn sure. See if we can’t draw this creep out if he’s after pretty women who associate with anthros. The fuzzbutts I have working here now wouldn’t know what to do with themselves in that sort of scenario. It’s gotta be you.”

Ian smiled and leaned back in his chair. It was good to be needed, it was great to be validated, and it was even better to be on a real_case again, even if it was on the extreme side and totally out of the blue. Even so, practical matters came first. “I’ll cut you a deal, but I can’t afford to do this _gratis, you understand. Normal police pension is bad enough, and I get a lot less than normal.”

Chief Roland chuckled softly, “Ian, to hell with the discount, I’ll be sure the department pays you whatever your normal rate is plus expenses.”

It struck Ian as peculiar that the female detective in question wasn’t present. “Where is this detective…”

“Whitley. Trisha Whitley”

“Whitley,” Ian repeated with a nod.

“I hear you talking about me,” came a new voice. Ian’s ears turned towards the source before the rest of his body followed. Detective Whitley was standing in the doorframe, arms folded in front of her. Ian caught a whiff of sweat—one of his least favorite things about humans—and noticed her hair was a mess. Her jacket had a tear, and her hand had a bloody bandage

Ian felt a smirk creep over his muzzle. Trisha certainly didn’t appear to be the desk jockey variety of detective. He liked the ones that got down and dirty and weren’t just some bigwig’s niece or nephew. He had to admit that she looked good too. Her short, dark hair seemed to make her appear taller, although she was about the same height as Ian. She went light on the makeup, but there was just enough there to enhance her natural looks.

“Trisha, meet Ian Brooks,” the chief introduced the two as they shook hands. There wasn’t any hesitation with her, unlike a lot of people when meeting an anthro. It was as if folks thought a species created to get along with humans would have completely different customs.

She took the empty seat and pointed to her bandage, “Sorry for running late, had a little trouble with a search warrant.” Trisha elbowed the canine playfully. “I’ve heard about you since I first started here. Am told you got a real nose for these sorts of things.”

Ian smiled, “So what’s the plan?”

The chief shuffled some papers around before finding the ones he was looking for. “There’s a table reserved at The Sparrow at six o’clock under your name. Just act like a couple. Not many furry-type folks getting tables there so people are going to notice; that’s what we want.”

The Sparrow was a high-class joint in Midtown, and the “couple” shared smiles. Fake date or not, it would be quite a bonus to eat at one of the hottest spots in town that normally wouldn’t fit into a cop’s budget on the city’s dime. Introductions over, the trio began digging into the case, and the private investigator began to see just how desperate the police really were.

They didn’t have anything to go on. All that was known was that five women had vanished in Midtown and all of them had been seen with anthros. It was a shot in the dark—not to mention extremely dangerous—to try and bait the criminal like this. Ian scratched his chin as he thought about the myriad possible sceneries.

“So, how real do we have to make this date thing seem, boss?”

Chief Roland rolled his eyes. “Within reason, kids.”

Ian perked up at the new tone of the conversation and returned the playful elbowing that he’d received earlier. “Ya know, they say dogs have cleaner mouths than humans.”

“Ugh, this is going to be a long night, isn’t it?” Detective Whitley stood up and grabbed her copies of the case files. “Anyway, I need to go get cleaned up and dressed for tonight. See you there, Ian?”

“Can’t wait.”

The two old friends, Chief and former employee, waited until the young detective was out of earshot before sharing a laugh.

“Hey, Ian?” Henry’s face got more serious.

“Yeah?”

“Watch out for her. She’s got the brains, but not the street smarts, yet. She’ll get you both into trouble.” He placed a hand on the furry wrist of the PI and gave it a pat. “And watch out for yourself.”

“I will.”

The scheme wasn’t likely to work, but if it actually did, then things were going to get very dangerous very fast. On the bright side he was about to have an evening out with a beautiful young woman, and he reasoned that was probably worth risking his life over.

*

He had never had the occasion to realize it before, but fine dining was not Ian’s thing. The calm murmur of dozens of quiet conversations made the volume baseline seem low, but that just made the high-pitched sounds of dishes and pans clanging in the kitchen seem even louder to the canine’s sensitive ears, making them twitch and flick every few seconds. He didn’t like all the stares he was getting either, even though that was _exactly_why they were there in the first place.

These people weren’t keen on “something with so much fur being around our food” as one woman whispered to her partner a few tables over. The waiter had assumed that Ian would want his steak completely raw and seemed oddly concerned when the canine ordered wine.

If there was any consolation to be had, Trisha was providing it. She seemed even more uncomfortable than he was, and had even dropped her fork several times while trying, clumsily, to make small talk with him. Even worse, she kept sneaking looks around the place that weren’t sneaky at all.

“You know,” he said _sotto-voce_between bites, “you look exactly like an undercover cop.”

“How?” She scoffed in a whisper, but subconsciously her hand drifted to where her gun and badge were concealed, which made Ian frown.

“Aside from the looking around every thirty seconds, making it obvious you’re armed, and being a nervous mess?” Her face got a few shades redder at the minor scolding. “Just relax, enjoy your food, drink some wine, and act like we’re dating.”

She seemed to take the advice seriously for about ten whole seconds before staring blankly at her ravioli.

Ian sighed, “Okay, look in my eyes like we’re having a moment.”

She set her fork down and huffed, but she when looked up, the pair had a few tantalizing seconds of eye contact. Ian felt his heart beat a little harder in his chest as his baser emotions got the better of him. She really was quite lovely, and her green eyes were a curious thing to him.

“God, your eyes are fucking weird.” She also knew how to ruin a moment.

Rather than make a clever comeback, Ian just shook his head and had a long sip of his wine. “Yours are actually very beautiful.”

Trisha clearly liked that compliment, even though she tried to hide her smile with a forkful of pasta. “Usually I have to remind guys where they are. They normally seem to think they’re down on my chest.”

Ian couldn’t help but glance down at Trisha’s breasts. They were a strange thing to him, even having lived his entire life among humans. Female anthros had breasts, of course, but they were flat and mostly hidden behind their fur. Whether they’d swell up with pregnancy was a moot point; anthros were sterile. Detective Whitley, though, had a very nice set. Not huge, or even that big, really. Just enough to be noticeable and enjoyed, especially in the tight fitting black dress she was wearing.

“Mmm,” he nodded softly, “your eyes are gorgeous, but your tits are amazing.” Ian’s tail wagged a little with the playful jab, and it stopped when she maintained her offended look for more than a few moments. Finally, she couldn’t hold back the smirk any longer, and they both had a moment of immature giggles.

“It’s too bad you left the department before I started,” she said as she poured some more of the red wine into her empty glass. “You would have been fun to work with.”

“We’re doing that right now.” Ian smiled. All it’d taken to get her to loosen up and start acting as if she was on a real date was a little genuine flirting.

She started to say something, hesitated, and eventually started, “I-I haven’t really worked with anthros before. Here and there, but never anything serious, ya know?” He nodded, and she continued nervously. She didn’t have to be nervous about the topic, but so many humans were. “Even with the things I’d heard about you from people at work I didn’t expect you to be so…” She trailed off, fumbling with her fingers. Ian could have finished her sentence for her, but decided to let Trisha work it out. “Normal?”

The canine had certainly heard that a lot in his time. “We were designed to be. ‘For maximum cooperative potential’, I’m told.” He took the last bite of steak and looked yearningly at his empty plate. “You’ve only just met me, though. I could turn out to be a total freak by the end of the night.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. It takes one to know one, after all.” Trisha waggled her eyebrows.

Ian’s mind was starting to wander off into areas he knew it shouldn’t. He had to tell himself that, no matter how real the flirting seemed to get, it wouldn’t go anywhere. The last thing they needed was Ian getting lusty and stupid. His thoughts were interrupted by their waiter leaving the bill on the table.

“It’s almost as if they want us out of here.” That was probably the first observant thing that Trisha had said all night, but it was a clever pick up nonetheless. She was right. A place like The Sparrow should have tried to sell some more drinks or dessert and certainly not have rushed guests out.

“It’s fine, we did what we came here for.” Ian left cash on the table, with just enough of a tip to not be insulting. “Let’s go.”

Trisha didn’t argue, and the pair made their way out of the quiet and intimate setting and onto the busy street. Starns had a good nightlife all-around, of which Midtown was widely considered the epicenter. The streets were busy with people and slow moving cars, the buildings lit up by a variety of bright colors, and nearly every place had a line outside the door. It was still early in the evening­–not even eight–so there was plenty of time to make another stop or two.

The next few blocks passed by in quiet conversation about the meal they’d had. It turned towards how it was decent but not really worth it for the inflated price especially if it involved a lot of uncomfortable, prejudiced staring at Ian. Trisha got closer to him as they walked–just a few inches every dozen or so steps, but enough that Ian noticed.

“Do you ever get used to it? Folks not seeing you as people, the weird looks, the thinly disguised fear?”

The question made Ian pause. People usually didn’t ask him that sort of thing, People. Hell, even he wasn’t thinking of himself as a person. Was he used to it, after all? Even at that very moment, he could feel the unseen prying eyes from all around judging the pair. “Don’t know, honestly.”

Trish replied with a slight nod as the pair resumed walking; one of those half-ass “that wasn’t an answer but I won’t pry” type reactions that humans were so good at.

“Tell you what,” Ian started. “Sometimes I find sleeping on a case refreshes the mind. We might remember things from tonight that we didn’t even realize. Let’s get some shut-eye and meet up at Midtown South station tomorrow and swap any notes. Say about Eight?”

“Works for me.” Trisha nudged his arm gently. “Hey, sorry if I got a bit personal there.”

Her expression was one of genuine concern; one that he wiped away with a pat on her shoulder and a toothy grin. “You’re good. See ya tomorrow.”

*

It was a curious sensation that Ian had long ago become addicted to. The heavy, pungent, somewhat spicy aroma of espresso lingered in his nose long after the sip he’d had disappeared down his throat. Of course, the energy buzz that came from downing a few shots of the stuff was nice too.

Ian looked up from the café table towards the incoming train. Sure enough, Trisha Whitley was among those streaming out. He was a little surprised to feel that his tail automatically perked up just on seeing her among the crowd. Was he getting a little too into his role? They made eye contact, and she waved and headed over to take the chair opposite of him.

“Evenin’, detective. Looking good.” Ian smirked as he took in her attire. They’d both agreed earlier in the day via text to go semi-formal this time around, and she did indeed look great in a blue button up and slacks.

She rolled her eyes and set her phone down on the table, swiping through a few apps and stopping at her notes. “Right,” Trish started. “So what do these victims have in common?”

Right down to business, he liked that. She answered her own rhetorical question.

“They’re all human, but affiliated with anthros. Now we don’t know they were all dating, but—correct me if I’m wrong—I think it’s possible that they were and just not making a big deal of it. I imagine many couples would prefer to keep an interspecies relationship on the down-low.”

“Nice thinking, Detective.” Ian smiled on the inside at her initiative. He was thinking along the same lines, in fact. “I think you’re onto something, and what you said last night about, ya know, the feelings of being stigmatized?” He paused, waving off her incoming apology. “Look, it got me thinking. What if we’re looking at this completely wrong?”

Trish cocked a brow. “Do tell.”

Ian pulled up the crime scene report on his phone and slid it over. “Okay, this is our vic, who we know was romantically involved with a canine. Scroll down to the Anthro Forensics Analysis. Tell me what you see.”

“Right, checking the A.F.A.” Her eyes moved to and fro across the screen as she scanned for anything that stood out. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. “I don’t see it.”

If Ian was being honest, it gave him a small bit of satisfaction to know that she was fumbling over the obvious. Of course, he hadn’t seen it at first either. “Under scents I believe it says something along the lines of ‘no anthro scents detected’.”

Trish tilted her head for a few moments before a knowing grin crept across her face. “But we know that these victims were associated with anthros. _No_scents? Correct me if I’m wrong, but even casual contact should leave some trace.”

“Absolutely, and she was dating one of us.” He took his phone back and put it back in his pocket. “Someone deliberately de-scented the crime scene. Why would that be necessary?” Ian knew the answer of course, but he wanted to see her arrive there as well.”

“Because the perp is an anthro…”

“Exactly.” It wasn’t a happy realization to come to; that one of his own people was out there killing. If the press got ahold of that, tensions would only be dialed up, but the evidence—or lack thereof, in this case—was the evidence.

“It’s the ‘other’”, Ian said quietly. “We’re all more likely to go after groups we perceive as not the same as us. The obvious examples are humans who feel threated by us, but it pains me to say the truth; anthros can hate humans. You created us, and we can have all the same prejudices and hatreds as anyone.”

“I suppose you’re right”, she fidgeted. “Guess it’s something that nobody is comfortable talking about. There are still places out there where humans frown on humans dating their own species.” Trish chuckled. “Don’t suppose you get shit if you’re a brown canine dating a black or white canine, do ya?”

The levity was very much welcome to Ian, in spite of the grim subject matter. His tail flicked behind him as he leaned forward on the table some. “Different fur colors mingling? Madam, you disgust me.”

“You’re right,” she nodded. “I’m beginning to think our killer might be on to something here. I feel ill just talking to you.”

Ian downed the rest of his espresso, shaking his head. “Alright, so what’s the plan tonight? Dinner out again, just at a place with more fur?”

“Honestly? I totally already ate. Besides, I had a dog once and I’m in no hurry to eat the slop that comes out of those cans.”

The brown canine gasped “Oh, but if you only knew how orgasmic that lamb and rice flavor is, you’d never go back to those dull steaks and sandwiches and pasta. Who am I kidding? I ate earlier too.” As the pair shared a chuckle he couldn’t help but notice the genuine smile from his temporary partner. She was having fun, real fun, not just forced small talk.

“So,” she said, standing up. “Just drinks somewhere?”

“Let’s.”

Midtown South was a good stop to be at for their change in tactics. They’d hit the almost entirely human Eastern district the night before, but the South part of Midtown had patches of both. He led her away from the train station and the office complexes that surrounded it towards the smell of kitchens and sounds of nightlife.

The sensation of Trisha’s hand sliding into his as they walked startled Ian out of his thoughts on the case. All part of the date act, though, and he pointed down the street with his free hand. “I know a cozy little club about five blocks away if you want a change of pace from last night. Relaxed joint that usually has good music.”

“Oh great,” she laughed. “I couldn’t handle another uptight place tonight.” Ian could have sworn she squeezed his hand affectionately right then. “I could sure use a stiff drink though, none of that wine nonsense.”

“Really? The wine was the best part of that experience.” He leaned over and gave her cheek a playful poke with his snout. “Well, the second best part. The company was superb.”

She wiped the little damp spot on her cheek off, shook that hand off in the air dramatically, and slapped him playfully with it. “Yeesh! Down, boy!”

Try as Trisha might to act offended, the canine knew better. He could read humans better than most actual humans could, noticing the little things that people didn’t. Some of those things, like pheromones, heartbeat sounds from several feet away, and subtle smell changes humans naturally missed … at least consciously. Of course, he could also pick up on the subtle facial expression changes and voice tones just as well as anyone.

He decided not to bring up the fact that he could tell she was enjoying his playful advances and let her have the moment. The right time would come up later, probably after a few rounds of drinks. Either way, their playful exchanges were much more natural-looking to any potential third party than their initial awkward interactions.

As well-known as Stray was to every fuzz-covered resident of the city, humans showed a remarkable ability to not notice the two-story music club built inside an old abandoned brewpub. It sat a few buildings down on a side street off the main thoroughfare. He had some worry that he might run into someone he knew. Fortunately, Ian rarely ventured to Midtown and had only been to a dive bar or two when it came to anthro hangouts. Big clubs just really weren’t his thing, and he especially avoided the most popular one. The low bass line from whatever music was being played there carried to Ian’s ears, and other notes started to fall into order as the pair got close.

“This place?” Trisha didn’t seem overly pleased as she examined her surroundings and eyed the run-down looking building. She probably had a point. Stray looked like a complete dive from the outside. Moreover, they certainly weren’t used to many human clients, and the narrow-eyed gaze from the hefty canine bouncer wasn’t very welcoming. She could deal with it though; it was only fair after what Ian had endured at the human place.

Ian placed his hand on the small of her back, and the pair walked up to the door. He figured that an anthro club would be easier on him without all the stares, but Ian started realizing, before he even took a single step inside, that it wasn’t going to be. These were _his_people looking at him holding a human female, and they didn’t approve. It was easy to brush off an outsider’s rebuke, not so much one from his community. He wondered if Trisha had felt the same way at The Sparrow.

“Welcome to Stray. Enjoy your evening.” If the bouncer had any misgivings about the “couple”, he certainly did not display them in a way that Trisha would pick up on. The big fellow by the door let Ian know, though, with his still tail and bristle of the neck fur as the pair passed by.

As soon as they were inside, Ian’s senses were going a hundred miles an hour. His nose attempted to process the smell of over a hundred anthros and the sumptuous odors wafting from the kitchen and the tables. It was a shame they’d both eaten before meeting up, because whatever was on the menu at Stray smelled way better to him than the microwave pizza he’d had earlier. The interior was dimly lit, with strips of colored LEDs lining the main aisles between the tables and the borders of the band stage creating a nice effect.

Then there was the music. Ian’s eyes drooped half closed almost the moment he took his seat in the booth as he let the soothing tones work over his ears. The three-man band was playing something soft and bluesy, and dammit if it didn’t put him right in some kind of zone. He leaned back against the comfortable booth and was pleasantly surprised when he found there was a slit cut for tails. How had he never been to this place before?

“Evening, folks.” The waiter, a well-groomed, cream-colored feline, set their menus down on the table. “My name is Evan, and I’ll be helping you two out tonight. Can I get you going with a drink?”

“Whiskey and soda for me. Just drinks for us tonight, no food.”

Evan nodded, “And you, miss?”

“Make that two.” Trisha offered a little wink with that, as if to answer an unspoken challenge.

“Of course, may I see your ID, ma’am?” The server appeared needlessly apologetic while Trisha fished for her civilian license. “The city comes down very hard on us for this sort of thing, I apologize.” Evan looked over the card for a few seconds before smiling, “Thank you. I’ll have those right up.”

“So,” Trisha leaned in, clearly confused “I don’t get it. The guitar player seems to be strumming but I only hear sporadic notes. Is that some kind of weird minimalist thing?”

Ian blinked, dumbfounded by her question until he realized that she wasn’t joking and she _couldn’t_hear most of the notes coming from the guitar. The reason she couldn’t was the same reason that they sounded so alluring to him.

“Oh, I didn’t even think of this.” He smiled and twitched his tail around to the beat of the music that only one of them could hear. “Lots of our musicians like to distinguish themselves by playing at least some frequencies that only anthros can hear. It was kind of a backlash to some human music that was literally painful to us.” Ian shrugged, still unable to help swaying to the enjoyable sound. “Sorry.”

Trisha nodded. “It’s okay.”

An awkward silence started to creep in and threaten the mood, only abated by the appearance of their drinks. Unfortunately, it was Evan the waiter who was feeling the chattiest.

“Sorry for the delay, I guess I wasn’t supposed to take this table but the other guy is letting me keep it. I’ll try and keep an eye on you two, but if you need anything don’t be shy about waving me down.”

“Will do, thanks.” Trisha dismissed the server and wasted no time in noticeably reducing the level of drink in her glass.

Ian took his time, sniffing at the powerful, stinging aroma of alcohol. They didn’t pour lightly at Stray, that was for sure, nor did they use bottom shelf whiskey. It would have been hard to get away with serving the crappy stuff with the highly tuned senses of the clientele, a fact the canine appreciated as he took a sip.

“So, tell me the most degrading thing that the department ever had you do, with your unique skills and all.”

“The Park Pooper case,” Ian didn’t have to give that query any thought. The worst part was that he knew she’d be laughing and he’d be internally grimacing once he told the story.

“The what?” came her expected response.

Ian gulped a little more liquid courage before exhaling slowly. “Okay, so, about ten years ago there was this rash of city parks where the slides were getting defecated on in the middle of the night. Took a while but they got a few suspects.”

“Oh, I like this one already,” Trisha grinned.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, long story short they basically made me sniff the slides and compare it to these fellows’ … ya know.” Even a casual retelling of the story made his stomach want to knot up.

Her excited, devious look turned to disgust and she shook her head. “Nope! That’s enough, you win the, heh, ‘Shittiest Assignment Award.’”

It was all he could do to shake his head slowly at that horrible pun. The music had a change in tone, coming down a ways and actually hitting the audible zone for Trisha. Stray was a hell of a place, and the diversity of the crowd was impressive. Not that there were other humans, but just the sheer age variety of the anthros. Ian hadn’t expected to see many youngsters—the newer “models” the Chief was ragging on earlier—out at a place like that. Perhaps all the bioengineering that was supposed to be making the new ones less freethinking wasn’t working as well as people thought: “robots” didn’t go to blues bars.

“Fuck me,” she said, her choice of colloquial expressions getting a pair of raised brows from the canine. “Should have just come here to begin with.” She caught his bemused look. “Oh, please, it’s just an expression you … dog.”

“Whoa!” Ian set his glass down on the hard table audibly. “Dogs do tricks and eat disgusting things off the street. I only do one of those things.”

Trisha smirked and leaned in with a devious grin. “Glad I didn’t kiss you at the last place for show, then. As for tricks,” she twirled the straw around her drink with a finger before taking a big gulp, “I’ve got some peanut butter back home.”

Either the whiskey was hitting her hard and fast, or she was taking the playful banter to an entirely different level. The mostly empty glass suggested the former, though it wasn’t the first time that night Trisha had displayed her surprisingly dirty sense of humor. Ian inhaled quietly. There it was, a hint of alcohol in her sweat. It was hard to pick up on it through the sensory overload that the club was providing, but he caught it. She wasn’t drunk though, just loosened up.

“Miss Whitley…” He leaned in as well, pushing his nose as near as it would go to hers. “I can assure you that I don’t need peanut butter to motivate me.”

Had it not been for the width of the table, he was pretty sure he might have gotten away with a peck on her cheek there. Anthros tended to feel the effects of alcohol more than humans, and Ian was no exception. Inhibitions were loosening up fast, and flashes of naughty fantasies involving his partner were coming just as quickly, even with only half of his drink in him. He wondered how her panties would feel as he tucked a claw under the elastic band and pulled down and what she’d look like without them. Ian adjusted his suddenly uncomfortable slacks. The sound of his heartbeat started to pulse in his ears as his mind took him other places, like what she’d taste and smell like.

She pushed a little more, teasing at his legs with her foot. “You ever actually, ya know, have the sex thing with a human?”

“The ‘sex thing’?” He laughed. “Is that what you kids call it now?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do, and I have.” Ian couldn’t help but smile thinking about that encounter. “Back in high school, one of my classmates got curious about anthro anatomy. I educated her. That was the first time; there have been some others.” The dress slacks Ian was wearing were uncomfortable enough, and were only becoming tighter. There was no doubt about where Trisha’s mind was either. His sensitive nostrils got just a hint of arousal from her.

She was about to say something wonderful; he just knew it. Ian was ready too, ears perked forward, smirk across his muzzle, and heart beating way louder than normal.

“Hey, folks, just checking in on you.”

Fuck.

Evan seemed oblivious to the fact that he was intruding at an inopportune time. “Nice to see the species getting along, ya know? You two a serious thing? I saw an interspecies couple the other week that had been living together for years.”

Trisha seemed as deflated as her companion, slumping back into the booth. She played her part well though. “We’re not that serious yet. Testing the waters right now. Moving in isn’t on the agenda yet.”

The feline swayed his tail nervously, seeming to notice the agitation in his customer’s voice. “Oh, uh, well, do you two need anything right now?”

“Just the check,” Ian replied.

“Sure thing, I’ll be back in a couple.”

Trisha shook her head slowly. “Good call. That guy is totally ruining it.” She finished off the last of her whiskey and soda with a gulp and the most unladylike burp. “Question is: my place or yours?”

"You serious?”

“You tell _nobody_about this,” she jabbed a finger square at him. “Also, you don’t take this as more than a one-time thing, and don’t assume you’re even getting any tonight.”

Ian felt the twinge of adrenaline flowing through him. He was on autopilot, nodding dumbly and thinking only of the possibilities.

*

“Sorry about the mess,” Ian repeated for the second or third time. He topped off the pair of glasses he was working on in the kitchen with soda and headed towards the living room. Meanwhile, Trisha once again reminded him that it really wasn’t that messy in his apartment.

Ian sat down next to her on the couch closer than he normally would, making sure he curled his tail around her backside. The uniquely non-human act got a smile out of her. He figured that was what this was all about, really: those exotic things that made him different than other men. That human curiosity had gotten him laid enough times by women who wanted something out of the ordinary. Plenty of people even had a fetish for anthros. Whether she was one of them or this was only for her curiosity he honestly didn’t care. They would get a good time out of it either way.

She returned the gesture with an arm and gave him a squeeze. The air in the apartment felt more intoxicating than the booze to Ian, thick with pheromones and the smells of arousal that his partner wouldn’t even notice. All he could hear was the beat of his own heart and his deliberate breathing playing with her excited, short breaths. Those breaths drew closer, and he soon felt them through his thin cheek and muzzle fur as she inched nearer to him. They’d both been anticipating that moment, and the nervous tension flowed into passion as their mouths connected.

When the scientists who created anthros envisioned a race of beings that would achieve maximum compatibility with humans, they clearly hadn’t had kissing in mind. Despite the mismatched muzzle-and-mouth combination they tried their damnedest to make it work. She tasted sweet on his tongue, which was getting more adventurous in her mouth.

“Mmmff!” Trisha pulled back. She ran her fingers through his headfur gently on the way to his ears, which she generously rubbed, much to Ian’s delight. “That is one _hell_of a tongue you have…”

He knew the desire those words conveyed. Ian’s knees found their way to the floor while his hands undid her pants. The canine rumbled approvingly as his nostrils filled with the irresistible scent of female arousal. Trisha said something that Ian’s ears heard but failed to comprehend as he lowered his long muzzle towards the object of his lust. He wasted no time pressing his nose into the neatly trimmed hair, letting his tongue explore further.

“Holy shit.” Trisha squirmed and squeaked, grabbing the back of her partner’s head and making sure he didn’t go anywhere. She gripped tighter and moaned when that long, flexible tongue hit places inside of her that other men couldn’t come close to. Not only was Ian better at it than the others, he was devoid of any reluctance; almost as if the canine was somewhat overcome with the baser instincts that his animal genes doubtless still carried. He had other needs, which were making themselves painfully apparent in the confines of his pants.

“Right, that’s enough of that,” Trish gave his ears a quick rub as she slid off the couch to be next to him. She lifted Ian’s dejected looking face away from her nether regions and immediately found herself in another clumsy kiss. Remnants of his oral activity lingered all over the thin fur on his muzzle and she got—much to her surprised enjoyment—quite a sample. “Damn,” Trisha said with a sly grin as she broke the kiss, “I taste great.”

“Fuck yeah, you do,” he agreed as he adjusted himself. He was hoping she’d take note of the rather large tent and moist spot in the front of his slacks, and if her raised brows were any indication, she did.

Trisha let her pants fall to the floor when she stood up. She said nothing, but gave him that classic “come here” finger motion as she walked purposefully towards the bedroom. Ian needed no convincing. The journey to his bedroom was a short one, only a few doors down a narrow hallway, but every step served only to remind him of his desire to set what was in his pants free.

When he turned the corner he only wanted to take the sight in for a few moments. It was just about perfect: Trisha on her back with legs spread invitingly. Ian’s bed was its usual mess, with sheets lying every which way and yesterday’s pants on the floor next to it. If she cared she sure didn’t show it. The canine dropped his hands to his belt and undid it while his companion watched with hungry eyes. Those eyes got wider and she sat up some as he exposed himself. It was not as if people didn’t know what anthro junk looked like—there was a whole subset of the porn industry devoted to it—but they always seemed so curious when actually seeing it for the first time in person. Even the straight male coworkers back in his department days wanted to check it out in the locker room.

“Look at that thing!”

He had been hoping for a nice, wordless few minutes of bliss, but Trisha Whitley seemed incapable of letting any situation arise without a remark. His tail swayed slowly from side to side, and his very inhuman cock hung near his belly as he crawled up on the bed and hovered over her.

The unique feel of his fur pressing against skin was something Ian loved. Trisha shivered to every touch, even more so when his fur brushed against her inner thighs as he shifted into position to line up. He didn’t waste time once he’d found the right spot. She gripped his sides as he slid in, gasping at the unfamiliar feelings of fur and canine cock.

He could tell that this was a completely unique experience from anything she’d had before. Compared to the average human man, Ian’s hips moved differently, with shorter and faster thrusts. Trisha tilted her head up on the pillow and let out a moan that broke up with every push he made into her.

Ian seized the opportunity to nuzzle her exposed neck, resisting the overwhelming primal urge to clamp his teeth down on her tender flesh as he would with a female of his own species. Earlier she’d recoiled at his wet nose, but now his licks and nuzzles along her neck and face were welcomed. For the first time of that night, Trisha seemed content to not say any words and let her body do the speaking. The feel of her legs wrapping around his waist was her asking for more. He wanted to fight the constant drumbeat in his brain that told him to knot her and cum. Ian knew the moment he thrust that unique piece of anatomy in it would all be over, yet every nerve in his body begged him to do just that.

She could tell what was going on, and to his surprise she matched his lusty growls with a few of her own while giving her partner an encouraging pull with her legs. Trisha didn’t care that it would make their encounter end quickly; she needed that enticing bulb inside her.

He obliged. It took several forceful thrusts before he tied her, each one accompanied by loud, high pitched moans from his partner. Her sounds turned to a breathless gasp as his knot forced its way in. Ian’s head swam with pleasure that had started in his groin and encompassed his whole being. He felt her insides quivering which only drove him harder, though he had nowhere to go trapped inside her by his knot. She was saying something but he couldn’t make it out over the overwhelming moment of orgasm. That was how it always happened. The instant that knot got in he came. It wasn’t like any other climax. Jacking off, getting blown, even fucking a girl without tying; nothing compared.

Ian’s entire mind was in a daze as he huffed and bucked into her cum-filled hole. His moment of nirvana came back to reality as she gripped his hair. Her own juices mingled with his in an exquisite, sloppy mess that was trapped inside her. Then they both grew still aside from a few spasms from both and occasional pleasant shivers when an aftershock hit her.

He wasn’t sure how long they laid there, breathing and holding each other, but they enjoyed the quiet afterglow. He slid out once he was able to and couldn’t resist glancing down at his messy handiwork.

“Whew, that was a hell of a thing.” Trisha sat up and gave her companion a quick kiss on the side of his muzzle before standing up and making her way over—wobbly legs and all—to where her clothes were.

“It sure was.”

“You know,” she said as she pulled her pants back up, “I ought to go back to Stray again sometime.” Trisha unhooked the holster and gun from her belt and set it on the table. “Was a pretty chill place.”

“Yeah?” Ian started buttoning up his shirt. “Just in general or with me, specifically?” He flashed a toothy grin out the side of his muzzle, hoping to get a smile back out of her. He did.

“With you. I wouldn’t want to go there all alone now, would I?” She gave Ian a little tap on the nose and winked. “Really though, aside from that weird-ass waiter it was just about a perfect spot for an evening.”

The canine froze. His hands dropped slowly to his side, leaving the top few buttons of his shirt undone. Whatever giddy, playful expressions had been playing across his face were replaced with a dire stare off into space. Trisha was asking him what was up, but it took him a few moments of contemplation before he was able to reply.

“He was right in front of us.” Ian shook his head and kicked at his crumbled up pants on the floor. “Fucking hell.”

“Uh, come again?”

Ian held his index finger up. “First thing the waiter did was switch tables with another employee to make sure he got near us.” He held another finger up, “Second, he ID’d you. He’s got your name and address.”

Trisha tilted her head some as he rattled off the points that seemed so obvious in hindsight. “Third,” she joined in, “he mentioned seeing another interspecies couple. He said they’d been together two years; that sounds like one of the victims in the case.” She sat down on the couch and shook her head. “Shit, then he pretty slyly asked if we lived together or not.”

Ian nodded slowly. “Exactly. That’s our fucking man.”

The room fell quiet, and the air felt heavy. Trisha stood up and paced around. Ian scratched his chin. They both knew what they wanted to do, but realized that charging into the nightclub to apprehend the suspect feline with no actual evidence and no warrant would just destroy any case that _could_be built.

Trish fished her phone from her pocket and started entering notes. “We’re going to have to get something solid. We’re looking for cream-colored feline fur at the crime scenes. There could easily be some already in evidence.”

“It’s not going to be simple. We can’t just draft up an order for me to scent him out, seeing as there _is_no smell at the scene.” Ian started to reach for his shoes. “Want to head down there and rifle through the evidence room?”

They made eye contact for the first time since their climax, and it stirred both of them even amid the serious situation.

“No, not tonight” Trisha stated. “We can’t do anything meaningful till the morning when the chief is there. I’ll call in a couple unis to watch my apartment.”

“You’re not going to go back home, are you?” Ian sat back down next to her, ears flattened and tail twitching. It was silly to worry about an armed and alert woman in an apartment watched by armed and alert officers, but he couldn’t help it.

She took his fuzzy hand in hers and gave it a squeeze as she kissed his cheek. “I think I’ll stay here if that’s okay.” She nosed the spot that she kissed gently. “For my own safety, of course.”

“That would … probably be for the best.” Ian curled his tail around her like he had when they’d first got to his place, and draped his arm over her side as she leaned against his frame. “For your safety, of course.”

*

“You think we’ll ever know what happened to those women?” Trisha looked back up at the CCTV screen showing the feline waiter sitting quietly at the interrogation table.

Ian shrugged. “Hard to say. He might give up the details of their deaths and body locations, he might not.” One never could tell with the real sickos like that guy was. Some of them wanted their kills to be found just to add to their own legend. Some would never speak a word. If Ian had to guess, he’d guess that the killer was the chatty type, given how he’d been as their waiter.

“I just can’t believe he tried to get into my place the very next day.” She huffed and walked away from the TV, shaking her head. Ian followed.

“Well, at least it was over fast. No waiting around trying to scrum up an excuse for a warrant. He made it real easy.”

“Suppose we should be grateful for the little things.” She wanted to hold his hand, or maybe kiss him. He could tell by the way she was smiling and scooting closer and of course, the scents coming off of her. She wouldn’t, though, not in the middle of the station. “Dinner tonight?”

“Yeah, sounds good to me. Watcha’ thinking?”

Trisha smiled. “Not sure, but nowhere in Midtown.”