FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

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Things couldn't be better. Right. I'm naked, hanging from a brick wall with my feet about six inches off the floor. I have one helluva cramp in my tail, and I think that a family of aphids has decided that my hair is the perfect place to form a nest. My right eye is almost swollen shut. That fat fucker beat the shit out of me, and I almost wish that he had done the other half of beating me half to death . Right now it would take two of me to feel worse. I'm still not exactly sure where Victor is; with the screaming from earlier, I'm pretty sure that Bradley's dead.

I'm assuming that they'll be through here any minute to come get me, and then, onto whatever foul deeds that they're dark gods require, and I'll be the one doing the screaming.

Like I said, things couldn't be better. I keep thinking to myself, and wondering when everything went wrong.

Oh, yeah. Tuesday.

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I often think it's amazing what people do when they walk into my office. Sure, it's on the 15th floor of a rat-trap in an area that most people don't want to go. Beggars can't be choosers. It's cheap, the rent's good, and if I stick my head out the window, I can look to the left and see the river. That's if I want to risk the chance of being shot, which, oddly enough wasn't on the agenda for today. Not tomorrow. Damn busy schedules.

He pokes his head in and looks around. Memo to me: clean the office. Cute guys don't often walk in, and I'd hate to give a bad impression. But I digress. His eyes were wide, brown. God, I'm a sucker for brown eyes. This is going to be interesting. Despite the hat, I can see his ears pressed back against his head, and the loosened tie and almost-business collar don't hide the hackles climbing slowly up his neck.

"Can I help you?" I don't stand, just say the words matter-of-factly, with a tone implying that he needs to state his business, or pull his head back into the hallway with the rest of his body, and move along.

He swallows, slowly. I can see his nervousness, and wonder nervous about what? Hiring a private dick wasn't a crime. He pushes the door open; the old hinges creak against the jamb. He exhales.

"You Dollinger?" Okay, kid. Not the brightest way to start a conversation. Especially when the door says Redmond Dollinger, Private Investigator. He steps into the office.

"Yeah." He teaks off his hat, and holds it in both paws. Beneath the fur, I can see knuckles turning white. This kid isn't just nervous, he's downright spooked about something. I stand, slowly. "What can I do for you?"

"I need your help." Don't they all? "I can pay whatever you want." The kid doesn't waste any time getting right down to business. I appreciate that. Don't waste my time.

"Have a seat." Although my chair is on casters, the client chair isn't, and he pulls it back quickly, etching the legs into the wood of the floor. No one would notice the scratches, but, hell, this place was under lease, and Manny didn't need any more reasons to kick my ass to the curb. "Watch the floor, bud."

He slows the chair, scratching ceases, then stops it about a foot from the desk. He takes off his jacket, and lays it on the back of the chair. How in hell a husky is going to get those legs into that small a space was beyond me, but who am I to say what makes him comfortable. I turn slowly, and motion toward the percolator by the window. "Coffee?"

"No. Thanks." He doesn't sit in the chair; he sits on it! Practically perches himself on the narrow back, paws on the seat. Screw it. I'll wipe the mud off the leather with a towel later. That kid doesn't need coffee. I pour myself a cup, and move back to the desk. I take a sip, and curse under my breath as the liquid scalds my lip and tongue. "Shit."

"You okay?" He looks at me.

"Yeah. Mind if I smoke?" I pull the case and lighter from my jacket.

"No." I offer one to him. He takes it, and I light both with a quick flick. I sit, and nonchalantly flick the starter ash into the ashtray on my desk.

"So? Tell me about what you need." As he speaks, I begin to get a better look him. He is tall, but not much taller than I, and muscular, but not overly so. His face is long, almost more Shepherd than Husky (but who am I to judge what woodpiles were in this kid's family tree?) His paws are large enough to palm my face (otters have small faces, okay?). The tweed suit is old, tattered around the edges, probably the only suit he owns. If he can't afford a decent suit, how can he afford forty bucks a week, plus expenses? His broad thighs open he talks, and I begin to picture ways that we can probably work out some form of payment arrangement. My mind begins to wander farther, and I force myself to pay attention to his words.

The Husky begins slowly: "It's my brother. He's missing."

"Missing persons are usually police fare, kid. Why come to me?"

"I did. They think I'm a little crazy." With the way he perches on the back of that chair, I'm starting to get the same idea. "Vic goes to Camden." I'm familiar with the university, if only as a drop-out ten years prior. It was a prestigious, if not well-known campus, not far from town. The school was not cheap. "He started out in medicine about a year ago, but recently he just seemed to lose interest."

"What do you mean he 'seemed to lose interest'?"

"He stopped going to his classes, and keeping weird hours, up all night, sleeping during the day. He started eating less, and when he did eat, it was odd things. We would go out to eat, and he kept asking for his meat to be cooked lighter, then not at all. No one would serve him raw meat, and that infuriated him." His ears perk slightly, then resume their position flat atop his skull. His eyes keep jetting around the room, as if he's looking for something or someone.

"I've known a lot of college students. Most keep weird hours, but the raw meat thing does seem a bit odd."

"That's not all. His hygiene went to hell. At first, I thought he was just getting sick, and then it kept going. Near the end, I'm pretty sure he stopped bathing altogether."

"Near the end?" Okay kid, you have my curiosity piqued. His voice gets quiet, almost reverent, taking on the aura of a campfire ghost story.

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