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Damn. It's 3 am, halfway thru another sleepless night. Don't know why I can't sleep... I lie, I know exactly why. What I don't know is why the whiskey won't help... I drank nearly a whole fifth..._ _

It's this godsforsaken case, fucking thing's nothing but a maddening puzzle. File's sitting here on my desk, taunting me cos it knows I can't stand not being able to figure shit out. ... Shit, did I really just write that? Maybe I should take a break, find something to get it off my mind so I can stop giving it a goddamn personality. Nice thought; only problem is, there ain't nothing in my room I wanna put my mind on. I could always go see him_... __ _

No, shouldn't even think that. I couldn't do that to Scott, especially not after what happened earlier. I can't believe we had a fight period-he's such a sweet kid-and to have it blow up into something that fucking big... Un-fuckin'-real. It was awful, I didn't mean to, I just... I just lost it. I was afraid I'd actually hurt him bad, which is the last thing I wanna do. I lov--_ _

Pff, listen to me, babbling on like I'm a fucking girl or some shit. I mean, I know it's a diary and all, but goddamn, I've got balls for fuck's sake, I don't need to sit here whine about my feeling for pages and pages. Besides, everything ended just fine, with some amazing make-up sex. Honestly, what more could a guy ask for?_ _

Speaking of Scott, as I write I keep wanting to look back at him, laying sloppily on the bed just like I left him. Gods, he's so beautiful when he's sleeping; beautiful even with the strange, almost black cast his orange fur gets thanks to the flickering blue and green light from the neon sign across the street. Damn, I thought I wasn't gonna talk about this. I can't help it. He makes even this trashy hell-hole we call home beautiful, lighting up this tiny piece of shit with its shitty walls made of crappy plaster over brick-you can tell because most of it's cracked and some's even broken away in spots-and its water-damaged ceiling and its ratty, practically nonexistent carpet full of cigarette burns (not my fuckin' fault, by the way). He smiles, and I almost forget about all of that, even the dank, musty air that always hangs around no matter what you do, even if you pop the window open and get that annoying-ass fan going. Hell, some days I wonder if it comes from outside too and the fan just pull it in, from the shady alley below our window that's always filled with fucking hobos and junkies and whores._ _

It's no wonder I don't hardly sleep anymore... It's enough to make anybody crazy. Makes me wonder if maybe my guy lives someplace like mine, just he takes his frustration out by killing anyone who walks by. Not sayin' I condone murder, just, I could understand it if that was why..._ _

Shit, and I'm back to where I didn't want to be. I keep doing that. Then again, it beats the hell outta wondering why I can't stay away from him_, which is why I couldn't sleep and why I started writing this in the first place. It'd be more productive, too, maybe, if I could just get into his head. So far it ain't been easy. That man's got issues, a lot of 'em, of the incredibly warped kind, so it's not exactly like I_ wanna get in there. Not that I really got a choice in the end but... Blessed Canis, I mean, it's one thing to bump somebody off but the shit this guy does... Makes my skin crawl just thinking about it. All my years in Anthrocide and I ain't seen nothing like the twisted shit this... sicko... does. I mean, what the fuck does he think he is? A goddamn art-

"Jeremy, are you still up? What's the matter?"

The scritching of the pen stopped as the writer, an undershirt-and-boxers clad Doberman, stiffened. Gritting his teeth, he slowly closed his journal and turned his head just enough that he could see the bed and the speaker, who was propped up on one elbow and rubbing his eyes sleepily. Frowning, the orange and white tabby looked from the dog to the glowing clock on the nightstand and back, his green eyes flickering even greener as they caught the dim light. Concern was etched on his face with harsh lines that marred his soft, young features.

Always worried, Jeremy thought as he ignored the question and clicked off the lamp. Never mind the fact that I took care of myself for years before he came along. If that kid ain't careful, he'll get an ulcer that'll kill him long before my liver does me in._ _

His brain wanted to add and I don't know what I would do if that happened, but he shook it away before it had a chance to. With a grimace and a groan, the Doberman got up from his desk, stretched backward 'til his spine popped, and moved to the dusty window, where he leaned over the sill and out into the loud, angry night of the city as much as he could. The soft rustle of movement earned only a flick of his pointed ear as Scott slipped off the bed and padded up behind him.

"C'mon," the tabby practically pleaded, "you look awful, like you haven't slept in days. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Jeremy bit off sharply. "Can't sleep tonight is all."

"It's more than that, Jeremy, and you know it," Scott said softly. "Please don't lie to me, there's no need for it."

Gods-dammit, boy. Jeremy felt himself tense; his hands tightening on the windowsill and threatening to turn the already crumbling wood into dust.

"And there's no need for a repeat of earlier, now, is there?" he growled through gritted teeth. "You want another fucking bloody lip?"

He could practically see the young fur recoil as if he'd been physically struck, his hand going to his mouth, and it made his gut twist in guilt.

"I, I'm..." Jeremy choked out: his throat had closed up at the thought of what he was trying to say. It went against everything he felt about himself, everything he'd been raised to believe about the way men acted, but he had to say it; Scott deserved it. Somehow he managed to force the words out around the blockage in his throat. "I'm, I'm sorry. I sh-shouldn't have snapped like that."

Not getting a response, the dog sighed. "It's this fucking case: too many clues, not enough connections. There's just so many dead, and I ain't found nothing so far to link any of 'em to each other, and it's pissing me off."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," the cat said encouragingly after a silent moment, almost too brightly to not be forced.

"I don't know if I can, babe," Jeremy replied, closing his eyes and letting the hot breeze swirl around his face, carrying with it the stench of the streets and the promise of rain. "I'm trying, it's just... How the hell am I supposed to find something that connects folks that aren't from the same social circles or the same species, or aren't even the same fucking gender? I can't wrap my head around all of it, and, and... Fuck, I can't even think straight, there's too much on my mind."

Scott wrapped his arms around Jeremy's waist, resting his chin as well as he could on the taller dog's shoulder as he did so. "Poor thing, it must be hell. Maybe you need a break, a distraction; you know, something to help you clear your head so you can focus."

"Maybe," Jeremy said without turning around, eyes still closed, unable to keep the corner of his mouth from curling into a slight smile as the youth echoed his thoughts from earlier. Sometimes he could swear the boy was a mind-reader (and other times glad he wasn't).

"Definitely. And I think I might be able to come up with a few ways to help you do that," Scott purred softly.

"Yeah? And just what might you have in mind?"

The tabby chuckled and sensuously stroked his hands across the dog's belly. The Doberman tensed a bit, waiting to see where the cat would go with this, though he had a pretty damn good idea; he just wasn't sure if he wanted to go there. Those almost-delicate hands slid up over his lean chest before drifting back downward, one drawing his shirt up as it reached the hem so that the other could caress his thinly-furred stomach. Jeremy sighed shakily and gave in, melting into the touch.

Only now it wasn't Scott. Unbidden, his mind had replaced the cat's lithe form pressing against his back with one that was taller, bulkier. No, no, he shouldn't be thinking that. This was Scott, Scott whom he loved more than he could ever admit to even himself, the youth who could cheer him up just by being there. So why then were there muscular, scaly arms wrapped around his waist instead of slender, furry ones? And stocky, clawed hands creeping down the center of his stomach toward the waistband of his -

"N-No, I c-can't. I-I-I'm sorry," Jeremy stammered, shaking his head as he just about threw himself out of Sk- Scott's grasp.

He crossed the room in two strides and pulled on the same khakis he had worn yesterday, leaving Scott standing by the window looking dumbfounded. Fastening his belt, he began scavenging for a shirt.

"Jeremy? Is, is something wrong?"

He didn't answer, despite the distressed tone in the other's voice. Finding an old navy dress shirt, the Doberman silently pulled it on without even bothering to button it and began collecting his wallet and keys.

"What are you doing?" the tabby asked frantically, confusion and sorrow mingling in his voice and on his face, creasing it even worse that it had been earlier and undercut this time with anger.

"I'm going out," Jeremy stated flatly, gathering up his coat and hat: a battered trench and equally abused fedora.

"Out?" Scott asked, his tail lashing in obvious frustration.

"Yeah, out," his mate nearly snarled from the doorway of their bedroom, pulling on his coat. "I need to take a walk, clear my head. I'll be back later."

Jeremy didn't notice the way Scott's face had fallen, nor did he hear the soft question that the cat asked as he swept through their living room and out the door, hat in hand. Or, at least, that's what he told himself. He didn't want to think about Scott standing naked and alone by the dingy window, asking if he'd done something wrong. Jeremy couldn't answer that question, not without lying or breaking the boy's heart, so he wasn't going to acknowledge what he'd done, even though he should be in there comforting the cat and not out here, leaned back against the wall just outside the door and trying to catch his breath. Besides, Scott was grown-if a bit young-he could take care of himself; Jeremy didn't need to sit there and hold his hand and wipe away his tears and tell him how sorry he was and how much he loved him.

No matter how much he might want to.

After several long, long moments of sucking in ragged gulps of air, he pulled himself together and a hand down the side of his face, then pushed away from the wall. He cast quick glances down both sides of the empty hall and headed down the corridor on his left, toward the street side of the building. The rest of the building was in the same disrepair as his cubbyhole, maybe worse. There was little plaster left on the walls, and the patchy, threadbare carpet underpaw was the indeterminate color of uncountable stains, its original color now gone from memory. The tenants were in similar shape, but not that he saw any, not tonight. He could hear them, though, desperate screams from behind some of the doors, angry arguments through others. Some made no sound at all; only sent out a horrendous stench that made you wonder if the tenant had died.

As the Doberman's paws met the first steps of the first of the three flights of stairs, he put his hat atop his head and began buttoning up his crinkly shirt. He made it to the street quickly, feet barely touching the steps he took two at a time, and once there paused for a moment again, taking in several deep breaths of the humid, smoggy air. Shaking a cigarette out of the pack he'd pulled from his breast pocket, Jeremy looked about and tried to decide where to go. The city was highly segregated-as most cities were-primarily between the rich and the poor; though, unlike the upper classes, where money was all that mattered, the slums were further divided by "orders": mammals (Warms), reptiles (Colds), birds (Avs), saurians ('Saurs), and others, which was typically quite small and populated with species like gryphons and pegasi and dragons that didn't really fit in with the other orders, and none were generous enough to claim them (usually called Outsiders, or occasionally Mythies, though no one knew why). Jeremy's home city, Silver Haven, wasn't a port town, or else there would have been a ghetto for water-dwellers, simply called Fish; no matter how much species like dolphins and otters might protest that they were mammals, most Warms didn't want anything to do with them and called them Fish anyway.

Jeremy lit and pensively pulled on his cigarette. His shoddy apartment was located near the outskirts of the city, near the boundary where the Warm, Cold, and 'Saur zones met. Not that the borders were fenced or really clear-even in his own building, he'd seen a few scrawny Rexes inhabiting one small flat (at least, that's what he thought they were; most 'Saurs looked the same to him, especially the carnos, so he couldn't tell if someone was a raptor, a rex, or a struthiomimus) and there were rumors that a big croc lived on the top floor, though no one had ever seen him-but the divisions still remained, growing more and more concentrated the farther one went towards the center of the district. So from where he was standing, one way would take him into furred territory, the other to places owned by scaly hands. He'd be safer staying in Warm lands, especially for a cop who'd be outside of his zone. So why he found himself moving in the exact opposite direction was a complete mystery to him. No, not a complete mystery, which was why he spun on his heel and marched the other way. Dammit, he was not going to betray poor Scott like that, he was going to keep his cock in his pants and -

Do exactly what he'd decided not to do, apparently, as he found himself yet again heading right for the scaled side of town. Shit. He suspected that at this moment his body had a mind of its own and cursed the traitorous thing with a loud snarl that startled a ragged, grungy-looking canine into running, an anthro so thin and unkempt it was difficult to tell gender, let alone species. Slightly embarrassed at his outburst, Jeremy flipped his collar up around his face and hunched his shoulders as he walked, trying to not be noticed and to ignore everyone else. Not that there anyone was really out at three in the morning, not in this part of town anyway.

He'd circled round and round, through alleys and parking garages and behind buildings, trying to delay the inevitable, but he had either lost track of time or moved faster than he realized, for after what seemed like no time at all the Doberman found himself staring down an alley toward a surprisingly sizable group of young anthros, almost all reptiles and saurians by the look of 'em, clustered in a roped off section near the guarded door of a nondescript building. It took him a moment, but he realized he recognized the place; his feet had carried right to the site of many an illicit rendezvous, just like he suspected they would. Damn. His treacherous paws continued to carry him forward of their own will, past the churning line of youths and towards the door. He was so out of place he blushed, glad that his red ears were tucked underneath black felt. Not only was he a Warm, a fur, trying to mix with scalies, he was probably twice the age of most of the youths here, and he looked it. Grey hairs peppered the tip of his muzzle and threaded the fur along his skull, not so much to make him look older than his forty-two years but enough to be noticed and give him a slightly grizzled appearance. His attire didn't help either, being the almost exact polar opposite of the flashy, revealing clothes favored by the young 'Saurs and Colds.

The bouncer, a massive, tight-black-t-shirt clad triceratops that looked like the epitome of his species-long, sturdy horns above his eyes, stout neck, thick, muscular limbs, and the slight pot-belly that almost every herbivore seemed to carry no matter how in-shape they were-narrowed his eyes and couldn't keep from sneering a bit as Jeremy approached him.

"I think you're in the wrong place, buddy," the trike drawled, rolling his shoulders so that the muscles of his arms rippled in a threatening way. "Clearly you don't know that this place is for Colds and 'Saurs only. Need to have scales or be in the company of someone who has 'em to get in."

Jeremy fished his badge out of a pocket and flashed it at the 'Saur. "Might not be scales but is it shiny enough for ya?"

The brute glanced over the badge. "Bit outside your jurisdiction, aren't you, Officer? Warm cops don't typically come calling in these parts. Don't need to, our boys in grey do just fine."

"Detective," Jeremy corrected as he tossed his cigarette butt onto the cement and ground it out with a foot, deciding to ignore the thinly-veiled insult. "Anthrocide. I'm working on a something that crosses sector lines, so I've got the clearance."

"Must be big," the triceratops stated flatly. "Who's dead?"

"Lots of folks," Jeremy growled, adding pointedly: "Folks that aren't any of your concern. However, it does concern the witness I need to talk to, who's probably in that club."

The bouncer cocked an eye-ridge. "You know who you're lookin' for? It's an awful big place and if you don't have the right joint..."

Jeremy bristled, his hackles rising. "I know exactly who I'm looking for and I've got it on good authority that they frequent this place, so are you gonna keep questioning my ability, or are you gonna just let me do my fucking job?" he snarled.

"Alright, alright, was just trying to help," the trike said in a placating way, holding his hand up in a gesture for peace before unlatching the rope and letting the Doberman pass. "Good luck, Detective."

Jeremy fought to keep from shooting a glare back at the bouncer as he slid past the rope, trying to stay professional. It was harder than he thought it would be. He heaved a heavy sigh as his paw met the handle before groaning softly and pulling open the heavy door. Instantly, he was struck by the intensely bright, pulsing lights and the thundering boom of music from inside the discotheque. Fuck, he hated clubs.

Anthrocide Detective Jeremy St. John slipped through the entryway, the metal door falling shut behind him with an ominous clang.

---

Note: I'm not gonna lie here, this is a revamp of an old [read: shit] piece I did that did, unfortunately, make its way onto here. I took it down a while back, but realized how much I like it, so I decided to rewrite it. Hopefully it's a lot better, and worthwhile. Any and all feedback is appreciated, whether or not you liked it... Oh, and there will be porn (because everything I write turns to porn...), just, that's not the main focus here. Trying to wrap porn around a murder-mystery (which is outside my usual repetoire) with rather dark and adult themes (y'know, murder, adultery, the struggle between who you are and who you're supposed to be... Fun stuff, bro) and see how that goes... Oh, and you'll have to be patient with me, hopefully it won't take too long to get things going fully (though there is porn in the next part. Y'all should be pleased with that...), just, I honestly never know exactly where a story is headed...