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Boss drove into Salem Wednesday morning in a rotten mood. He hadn't expected Daisy to want to press charges, but the way she had simply shut him down was discouraging. On the drive home she had barely spoken at all. He had struggled with what to say to her for miles until finally he was left with only one thing.

"I'm sorry." He had told her. "I shouldn't have even asked you."

She hadn't answered him. The rest of the drive had been silent. But as he had walked her to her front door she had paused on the steps and turned to him. She had looked like she wanted to say something, but in the end her face had simply crumpled into tears and she had leaned into him, hiding her face. His arms had wrapped about her instinctively as she burrowed into his chest, crying silently, and then she had pulled free, disappearing inside without a sound. Closing the door behind her. He had stood on the porch for several moments afterward, a great weight in his chest squeezing his heart. It had felt like a goodbye.

The next morning the feeling had settled into his gut and he found himself feeling irritable as he made his way south to Salem. The Oregon State Penitentiary was a huge concrete, steel, and stone affair cleverly disguised with Oregon greenery. The brick main gate was marked with large mature trees but soon enough the main buildings loomed in view. Chain link and steel bar fences soared, surrounding courtyards of asphalt adorned with razor wire and bright yellow painted directions on where to go and what not to do. Boss passed the main gate after showing his badge to a surly looking officer in a small fortified outbuilding who gave him a visitor pass, and drove under no fewer than three guard towers on his way into the compound. To the side he parked in the visitor's lot and made his way into the main building. Echoing halls of painted concrete in alternating stucco brown and slate grey depressed the soul and reinforced a sort of numb clinical silence. He passed through three more gates that checked his visitor's status and detective badge before reaching a waiting area. Boss was met outside the heavy steel door by none other than Captain Ronnie Bates in the flesh.

The chocolate colored Doberman was lean and militant looking, his dark blue uniform fitting him in smart creased seams as if he had ironed it while wearing it. He walked with a tight authority that made itself known in the wrinkle between his upright cropped ears. And a sharply pointed muzzle that was always carried perfectly level, his head carried upright with painstaking posture. Even his tan eyespots seemed to turn downward with a scowl of severe morality.

"Ronnie! It's been a while..." Boss woofed at the Chief of Operations, his spirits lifting. No one would guess in a million years that Ronnie and he had been drinking buddies in the academy. Ronnie's lips quirked in a subtle grin, flashing perfectly white teeth up at his old friend as they clapped each other on the shoulder in greeting.

"Still wearing that stupid duster, I see." Ronnie sniffed, eyeing Boss' brown leather duster. "Even wearing a suit underneath it, you still manage to look homeless in that thing."

"Feh. Are you kidding me? This is pure Private Eye magic!" He chuffed good naturedly. "They don't let beat-cops wear their own coats. When I made detective I put this on and I haven't taken it off. It's my good luck charm!"

"Yeah, right."

"Yeah, right, nothing!" Boss followed Ronnie when he led the way through the maze of halls and offices to the area set aside for interviews and visitations. They were still in the part of the prison that had a vaguely business feel to it, they had yet to see the rows of cells with their alternating colors of bland washed out colors. Here there were still civilians and furs in suits carrying briefcases with legal documents. Families and tired looking spouses of inmates herding frightened looking offspring. Ronnie paused in the hall and turned to regard Boss with a calculating look.

"Not that I'm unhappy to see you, Boss.... But what is this all about?" Ronnie questioned. "Wilderson has been here for nearly three years... We had all sorts of news reporters and researchers when he was first brought here... but why do you want to talk to him?" Several guards walked between them and Boss looked through a bulletproof glass window into one of the visitation rooms, watching a sullen greyhound in an orange jumpsuit listen to a smart looking border collie wearing a suit talk while poring over paperwork spread out on the table in front of him.

"His last victim is a friend of mine..." He finally turned back to Ronnie, not entirely sure how much he wanted to tell. "She's been getting letters from Wilderson. Nasty ones." Boss tongued the inside of his teeth, his expression stony. Ronnie lifted a lip silently.

"Hn. Not surprising." Ronnie sniffed. "Bastard is cunning. He has more connections than I can track down. Of course no one admits to anything around here, but he and his crowd have been responsible for a lot of the shit that goes down. Pisses me off, but there's very little I can do."

"Does he have access to a phone?" Boss gritted, his former mood rising from his gut again.

"Monitored, if he wants to call someone he has to schedule it thru me. But cell blocks A, D and C are allowed limited phone and some internet access during yard time and before lockdown. Also monitored... Wilderson so far hasn't earned free time but he might know someone in the other cells. He's actually been in lockdown for the last few months."

"Well he sent a letter last week sometime so he's getting it out somehow." Boss sighed. Ronnie's eyes widened at that bit of news.

"That shouldn't be possible."

"Well... it is. No return address, obviously. Otherwise her Father would have had it blocked. Honestly Ronnie, I don't know why I'm here either... She doesn't want to press charges, she's traumatized! She doesn't want to have anything to do with him at all! But I had to come and at least lay eyes on him." Boss shrugged, his words earning him a frown from the Chief of Operations. But Ronnie just shook his head and seemed to brush it off.

"Well, like I said, he's normally pretty shut down. But they're bringing him now, should be in interview room seven here in a minute. Watch what you say to him, I ain't kidding about him being crafty."

"I understand." The two resumed walking, and Ronnie unlocked a door with a painted number seven with a swipe of the badge on his chest.

"I'm serious Boss. Don't give him anything he can use." Ronnie gave him that last bit of advice before allowing the door to close behind Boss, leaving him in the whitewashed room by himself. There was a table in the center directly across from a large window, and two chairs positioned at either side of the table. Beyond that was another door. Boss went ahead and sat down facing that other door, settling into the molded plastic and letting his face fall blank. He had dealt with psychopaths and murderers before, and Ronnie was right. Whatever you did, you didn't give them anything of who you were, because if they weren't stupid they would definitely find a way to fashion it into a weapon against you. And slip it neatly between your ribs when you least expected it.

When the door finally opened and two guards came in leading Wilderson, Boss felt a thrill of aggression, and he knew it wasn't going to be easy keeping cool.

Wilderson was of average height, around five eleven, with matt black fur that was frosted about the neck with grey and an unremarkable physique. But he was anything but average. In the small room with the bright halogen lights and the white concrete walls Wilderson stood out like a spot of empty space in the shape of a wolf. His black fur seemed to suck greedily at the light, absorbing it into nothingness. It was as if he were there because something else was missing, and he was the hole left behind. Eerily, he made no sound when he moved, and seemed to hardly breathe, the only thing about him that spoke of life and emotion and self was his eyes. His eyes moved slowly over the room and in a roundabout way came to rest on Boss with an electric blue stare. Nothing changed in his features, but Boss could somehow sense that the wolf was sizing him up, searching for chinks in his armor. And they hadn't even begun.

"This way. Up to the table." One of the guards ordered Wilderson to the chair, and reached to attach the handcuffs he wore to the metal ring at the center edge. The black muzzle parted then, and without looking away from Boss, Wilderson addressed the guard in a level, almost bored mid tone voice.

"Afraid I might try something?"

"Standard visitation procedures for maximum secur-" The guard began.

"You can leave it." Boss said shortly. His jaw was tight. Somewhere inside of him hoped the wolf did try something. A shadow of a smile drifted across Julian Wilderson's features as the guards shrugged at each other and left the room. Boss watched them out of his peripheral vision, locked in a contest of will as neither he or Wilderson blinked. The wolfs nose twitched imperceptibly and he was the first to glance away with a small wry smile. Boss resisted the urge to release a sigh when those startling eyes focused on something else.

"So. You came here to ask me a question?" Julian's voice was flat, bored. But under that, Boss thought he heard angry. Buried way down under.

"I suppose I did." Boss pondered, he reached into his pocket for something to stall with while he though, and came up with a pack of spearmint gum. He pulled a piece out, and made a meticulous show of unwrapping it. The stick of gum halfway to his muzzle, his brain defaulted to the usual set of questions he asked furs like Wilderson.

"Why did you do it? Kill all those girls?" Wilderson sniffed, and blinked again, disappointment plain in the way he sat back in his chair.

"I grew tired of ordering out from Pizza Hut." The wolf smiled. "I though you were going to be more interesting than this."

"I'm sorry. Did I interrupt you while you were doing something more important?" Boss mirrored Julian's humorless smile.

"Who are you? Some kind of writer?" Julian sneered.

"Who me? Naw... I'm a detective. Lester Boss of the Portland Police." Boss chewed his gum and picked at his claws, enjoying the wolf's irritated eyebrow furrow, however slight it was.

"And you're here to, what... Make sure I'm not having any fun?" Julian leaned forward on his elbows. Boss gave a half chuckle and tipped his muzzle.

"Did it piss you off that one of them got away and ratted you out?"

Julian's smile disappeared and he leveled on Boss with a slight soundless snarl that almost instantly was transformed into a sneer. That got his attention. Boss thought.

"What, Daisy? Ah, Daisy was just confused..." The wolf scoffed. Boss felt his muscles tense when Daisy's name was uttered by the same mouth that had ripped and tore the flesh and innocence of the little goat to pieces. He had to physically check himself from growling.

"Confused about the rape? Or about the attempted murder..." Boss gritted.

"You have it all wrong, Detective Boss. Me and Daisy stay in touch... we're very close, her and I. She loves me." Wilderson was actively digging him now, and it was working. Boss tamped down on his temper and began to realize that this had been a bad idea.

"Her Father burns them, she doesn't read your filthy letters." Boss leaned back in his chair, giving Wilderson the best stony faced stare he could muster. "You're wasting your time."

"It doesn't really matter, Detective Boss." Julian met Boss' gaze steadily. Neither flinched or wavered.

"Oh?" Boss' tone was patronizing, full of scorn as he tried for the upper hand again. "I suppose you do have a lot of time to waste... you know... being in prison and all."

"I guarantee, Detective Boss," Julian growled, fixing Boss with a narrow eyed glare. Boss could feel his ruff rise at the wolf's tone as he continued. "Daisy thinks about me... every day... I'm in her dreams. Now... What girl can you say that about, hmm?" The words were barely out of Julians muzzle before Boss leaped to his feet snarling. The chair clattered across the room and the table shuddered as the big dog slapped his paws down between them and growled fiercely. The stoic white dog with the intelligent gaze was gone, and in his place was a slavering six and a half foot beast with eyes of pure rage. Julian pinned his ears and flashed his teeth.

"She doesn't belong to you!" Boss snarled, Saliva glistening and forming foam at the corners of his mouth, every last sharp tooth in his giant block of a head showing white against his black gums. Julian tipped an ear to the door, hearing the sounds of rapid footfalls, his lips curling back to mirror Boss' aggression.

"Well, I marked her-didn't I?" He mocked. Julian Wilderson hit the floor even as the words left his mouth, Boss grabbing him and dragging him bodily across the table, handcuffs and all. The larger white dog let loose a bellow, slamming the wolf down with enough force to make his spine creak and his ribs groan. The two large canines roared at each other, teeth flashing and limbs grappling for dominance. Wilderson was pinned easily as his cuffed hands prevented him from getting a good grip on Boss. Boss' fist connected with the wolf's muzzle once with a heavy wet thud before the weight was lifted from Wilderson just as suddenly as it had appeared. Arms were around Boss and were pulling him away.

"You fucker, I'll kill you!" Boss thundered, his voice a mad promise of pain and distruction. "I will kill you!"

Julian rolled and picked himself up off the floor slowly, his eyes never leaving the big white dog who was being dragged out of the room by three of the bigger guards. Boss was resisting, his brown eyes wild, his jaws snapping at the air as he continued to snarl and bark threats at the wolf, who grinned in an unpleasant way while licking the blood from his fangs and straightening his bright orange inmates jumpsuit. Only his cold blue eyes showed his seething hate for the big white dog. Bates walked in when the guards managed to wrestle Boss out, his cropped ears pinned to his mean looking skull. The tall Doberman was carrying a set of shackles and Julian quirked a brow.

"Up against the wall, Wilderson!" He barked. Julian turned slowly with his hands raised to the painted concrete header over the bulletproof glass window, but the tip of his tail ticked back and forth, and he kept one eye on the Chief.

"How sweet... Are you going to tie me up and let Detective Boss have another go at me? You're a good friend Bates..." Julian grinned as the chain belt was clipped on and handcuffs were attached and then his paws were being roughly manipulated down to the belt. Followed by his feet with another chain.

"Awful chatty today, aintcha? Friggin' scumbag..." The Doberman muttered as he pocketed his keys and stood up from cuffing Julian's feet. "I'm taking you back to solitary."

"How uninventive." Julian sighed as he was pushed towards the door. Bates leaned in and growled close to his ear.

"Whatever you said to Boss, you better be fucking thankful I give a shit about my job, Wilderson. Next time I might just let him take your damn head off."

Boss was forcibly sat down on a bench outside by three burly guards as he panted and tried to regain his self control. Soon enough, Bates rounded the corner looking pissed enough to eat nails. He dismissed the guards with a snarl and turned on Boss.

"What the hell was that!?" Bates growled. Boss shrugged, rubbing his face.

"He got to me... I don't know-"

"Yes. You DO know!" Bates interrupted him, eyes wide with fury. "You knew before you even saw him, I'm guessing."

"I'm sorry Ronnie." Boss sighed. Ronnie tipped his muzzle in a short nod.

"Damn straight you're sorry." He grumbled. "You're lucky I hate that bastard as much as you do." He sat down on the bench next to Boss.

"I need to get back to Portland." Boss realized with a sinking feeling. "He'll retaliate somehow... I know his type."

"Well I stuck him back in the pit.... Told the guards to keep everyone clear. So I don't know what he can do except pick his nose and count the floor tiles... but I'd be careful just the same." Ronnie stood and walked with Boss out to the last checkpoint. Clasping his old friend in one last hug before waving him off.

"Take care Ronnie."

"You too." Ronnie barked. "And hey! You gotta introduce me to this girl, one of these days!" Ronnie winked. Boss snuffled and gave the Doberman a half grin as he turned towards his car. The smile didn't last though, and as he turned the key in the ignition the bad feeling in his gut from earlier returned with a force. Deep down, Boss knew he had started something. And he sure as hell hoped he could finish it, without anyone getting hurt.

Back in solitary Julian sat, quietly seething. The taste of blood was still in his mouth, making his fur stand up at the back of his neck. Daisy was not reading the letters he sent, and that Detective Boss was getting far to close to what belonged to him. He growled softly and went to his mattress, digging inside a hidden hole in the seam for his pen and paper. Scribbling madly he grinned as a plan of action formed in his demented brain.

"If the good old US Postal Service fails to deliver... you gotta send a message some other way..." He growled. "Personal courier."

Clive was on time as usual, mopping the main causeway in his nervous thick way. The malamute was dusty colored, and carried his ears low. It had only taken Julian a few conversations to turn the simple fur into a tool he could use.

"Clive!" He barked softly through the little window. Clive came slowly, apprehensive.

"Uh, I gotta... I gotta get the floor mopped... I don't..."

"Clive... Don't talk, it's not helping matters in the slightest." Julian flashed his fangs as he leaned his head against the bars of his tiny cell window, his voice silky and dangerous. Clive snapped his mouth shut and ducked his head obediently.

"You give this to Jax in block A, and.... I'll keep my promise." Julian slipped a folded note held in between two claws out and the Malamute took it reluctantly, tucking it into his coveralls with his back to the camera up the hall.

"You won't hurt my Ma?" Clive whined. Julian nodded, blinking innocently; a disturbing image while so many fangs were still on display.

"As long as you continue to deliver for me, Shady Oaks Retirement Home is safe from the big bad wolf." He narrowed his gaze. "And don't go testing me Clive, I have pack on the outside who know what they're suppose to do if they don't hear from me from time to time, understood? So be good and don't get caught."

"Y-yes sir."

"Good boy. Now get going."

Clive delivered the note with his head hung low, shuffling off as soon as the message left his paw. The husky black bear named Jax lounged in his cell with a pair of headphones precariously stretched over his bruin skull. Jax read the note quickly and then crumpled it and tossed it in the toilet, flushing it away as he committed it to memory. His bloodshot little eyes flicked up to the clock on the wall, protected by a metal grate. Ten minutes to lockdown, just enough time. He pushed the headphones forward onto his temples and with a grunt headed for the guard station. The humorless lynx at his desk gave the bear a hard glance as he approached.

"What do you need, Jax, it's almost lockdown."

"Gotta make a phone call."

"Make it quick." The Lynx stood and walked over to a bank of phones, turning a key into the cover of one of them, swinging it open so that the receiver could be lifted.

The bear watched the lynx walk back to his desk before he dialed a number with practiced ease.

"Hello?" A familiar voice yapped into the phone after the second ring. Twitchy. Jax thought to himself. Damn jackals are always so twitchy.

"Hey, its me." Jax rumbled.

"What's up?"

"Ol Blue Eyes can't get ahold of his girlfriend."

"The one with good taste?"

"That's the one." Jax chuckled and tapped with his claw on the receiver, three times slowly as if deep in thought. But the message was received. Now the jackal knew he was calling for a hit.

"He wants us to deliver a message?" The voice on the other end was eager, predatory. Jax grinned despite himself.

"Yeah, to a friend of hers...." Jax lowered his voice even further. "Someone close enough to reach her."

"I gotcha..."

"Good." Jax hung up the phone and ambled off without a spare glance to the Lynx who watched him go. Nonchalantly the bear pushed his headphones back over his ears, thinking to himself that he'd better raise his rate soon. A new CD every other week wasn't enough for this back and forth shit. Maybe next time he'd ask for a dvd player. Or a few dozen boxes of those cheese crackers he liked. A bear had his needs...