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Disclaimer: This story is part of a series, entitled "Dangerous Games". The series contains non-human anthropomorphic animal ("Furry") characters of varying ages, adult and cub. While there are no overt sexual acts depicted in this series, the stories will contain adult themes, topics, and situations, which may not be legal in some jurisdictions. These include: frank discussions of sexual acts and character sexuality, alcohol and drug use, criminal acts, violence, adult language, weapons including guns and knives, bloodshed, grievous bodily harm, death, and events which depict underage characters in peril.

It is up to the reader to be aware of the laws regarding depictions of such material in their place of residence. If you are not allowed to read such material, due to age, religion, place of residence, or any other factor, do not continue.

This story and all characters are copyright Shryke. This is a work of fiction. All events and persons depicted are fictional, and any similarities with actual events or persons is purely coincidental.

DANGEROUS GAMES by Shryke Part 1

A humid mist hung in the air, as the sun slowly crept upwards from the horizon. The fox jogged along the sidewalk as the morning commuters buzzed by in their cars. It was early June, and Jack Archer had just graduated from high school. It was an achievement he was particularly proud of, as it fulfilled a promise he had made to many people, not the least of whom was himself. Just three years prior, nobody would have thought it likely that he would ever walk across that stage to get his diploma. Jack was what was usually termed a "problem cub" during his early teenage years. A lack of any serious discipline at home, combined with what little enforcement there was being both inconsistent and ineffective, eventually led Jack to be a spoiled and irresponsible kit by the time he was ten. It took some sudden and abrupt changes at home to turn him around. He smiled to himself with a small sense of pride as he continued his morning jog. In addition to the "tough love" from his parents, a certain amount of his own willpower had brought him to where he now was: a fresh high school graduate. He had proven that he was responsible and disciplined enough to turn both his academic and personal lives around, and that little sheet of parchment was a vindication of everything he had been through. Jack had moved out of his house the day after graduation. This was not due to any particular desire to leave, and certainly not due to any conflict or animosity over the roughness of the last few years. As he explained to his parents, he had one more thing to prove to them and to himself: that he was responsible enough to survive on his own, without the safety net that was always there at home. Even while he paid for his own meals from the paychecks from his part-time job, there was still the implicit safety of living at home to catch him if he fell. Living in the real world, however, came with no such guarantees. The apartment complex he moved to was not particularly far from home: close enough that he could visit often, but far enough, ten or fifteen miles, to instill a sense of independence in the young vulpine. His parents insisted that they pay his first month's rent, despite of his objections over his fledgeling independence. He finally accepted it as a graduation gift; it did give him time to settle into his new surroundings and find a new job, after all. Jack continued his jog. He was an average 18-year old red fox, with markings typical of his species: his main fur coloration was a rusty reddish-brown, with black "gloves" on his paws and feet. White fur covered his his front side, running from his cheeks and chin, down his neck and abdomen, ending on the insides of his legs just below where they met his trunk. A small patch of white also graced the end of his tail. His head was topped with darker fur, nearly brown, which he kept combed straight back and somewhat short. Black fur lined the front edges of his ears and covered the backs of them. His eyes were a very dark brown, looking almost black in low light. Not particularly tall or muscular in the upper-body, he was gifted with good running speed and agility, which had served him well on his high school football team. That was his father's idea as well: Jack was pressed to try out for the team to teach him to accept failure with grace. To everyone's surprise he did make the team, which further helped him grow emotionally. Having teammates rely on him, as well as his needing to rely on them, taught him much about what it meant to be a responsible fox. The back entrance to the apartment complex came into view as Jack rounded a corner. These were garden-style apartments: groups of small separated buildings, each housing 8 individual apartment units. Between the buildings were open areas of grass and trees, all tied together by the parking lot which snaked around the dozen buildings that made up the complex. Jack's building was towards the back of the complex, set well back from the main road. Jack turned into the complex on the final leg of his morning ritual. He waved to some furs in a car as they drove by him on the way to wherever they happened to be going. He had been here only a week, and had not yet met anyone, beyond occasional waves such as this. All in time, he told himself. He hoped this would be true, at least. It was difficult for him to make friends in high school, beyond those furs in his classes or on the team with whom he seemed to get along well. In fact he considered himself to be rather outgoing. Despite this, however, he had very few of what would be considered "best friends". The building which housed Jack's apartment came into view, and he began to slow up in preparation for his cool-down stretches. A shadow of concern crossed his face as he approached his apartment, bringing him back to the little problems of everyday life, as he observed his car parked right outside. He had bought this car from a member of the football team for 50 dollars at the start of the term. It was an old car, 30 years or more, with a big V-8 engine, vinyl bench seats, and all the problems one would expect with a car that old. This was fine with Jack, as he was fairly knowledgeable in car repairs, having hung out with the hot-rodders for a time during his troubled phase. That was part of the reason he had bought this particular car, in spite of its problems: cars this old were much easier to work on than modern ones with everything computer controlled. Jack began his cool-down routine as he contemplated the car's current problem, which loomed like the sword of Damocles over his head. It was showing classic signs of an engine head gasket about to blow: running hot and the constant sweet smell of burning anti-freeze. Jack knew it was just a matter of time before it blew completely, at which point the car would, of course, be dead where it sat, whether that was in a convenient parking lot, or in the fast lane of the freeway. Repairing the head gasket on this car was a fairly straightforward procedure, albeit a messy and time-consuming one. Jack had already bought the parts and fluids needed for the job, and had printed out the step-by-step procedure from the Internet. What he was lacking, however, were the tools to actually do the job. While the parts themselves had cost him 75 dollars, a set of automotive sockets and the related tools required were well out of his reach. This put Jack in a dilemma. He had originally planned to not drive the car except when necessary, such as for work, until he could afford the tools to effect the repairs. The noises the car made only the previous evening, though, told him that the failure was coming sooner rather than later. With a dead car, and no job yet, the only way out appeared to be his parents. No! thought the teen fox. He had moved out specifically to prove that he could make it on his own. If he had to go back to his parents for money, after a mere week had elapsed, then he hadn't really proved anything. No, he would figure something out. He had to. It seemed clear to him that the solution was to find a job close by, no matter how bad it was. Unfortunately, Jack knew, this probably meant a food-service job: long hours, minimum wage, and either standing over a hot stove cooking, or standing over a hot sink washing dishes. But restaurants were usually hiring for such positions, and there were plenty of them nearby. Jack recalled seeing a pizza shop around the corner while on his jog. Perhaps that was worth a try, he thought. He had worked as a pizza chef during his junior year, which actually wasn't all that bad, he remembered. One of the perks was free pizza while on the job, which also meant he could save money on meals to put towards the car tools he would need. It seemed like the perfect solution. No getting out of this one, he thought to himself with a resigned sigh as he headed into his apartment. The apartment itself was a small one-bedroom unit on one end of the building. Jack had specifically wanted an end unit to cut down on the potential noise from neighboring units. The door opened into a moderately sized living room: enough room for a sofa and easy-chair, plus a television and stereo system, though Jack had not yet connected the TV. He would wait for steady income before adding another bill to his financial situation. The kitchen area was behind the living room, separated by a low wall which doubled as a bookcase. It was as wide as the living room but featured vinyl tiling instead of the shag carpet that the rest of the unit had. In the left-hand wall of the kitchen was a door to a small storage room, which also had hookups for a washer-dryer set, if the tenants wished to provide their own appliances. Jack did not, of course, and so used the public laundry room that the apartment complex provided. Off the middle of the right-side wall in the living room was a hallway that led to the unit's single bedroom. Prior to the bedroom were two doors in the hallway. The left side door led to the bathroom, while the right-side door opened into a fairly good-sized walk-in closet. It was a good 6x10-foot room all to itself, with an overhead light and a vent from the air conditioning system, and with shelves and hangers liberally installed in the walls. Jack stopped at the bathroom and turned the shower on, to let the water get hot and allow a cloud of steam to build up. He liked a good hot shower, a habit which he picked up during his time on the football team to soothe aching and battered muscles after a rough game. Jack closed the door to let the steam build up and headed into the bedroom, stripping off his sweaty shirt as he did. The bedroom was a fairly good size for a single-bedroom apartment. It probably looked bigger than it was, with just his double-bed sitting against the wall and no other furniture, except for a kitchen chair next to the bed which served as a night-table. He set his wallet and keys down on the chair and removed the rest of his clothes before carrying them back to the walk-in closet where the dirty-laundry hamper was. Depositing his jogging attire within, the red fox again opened the bathroom door and walked into the now steam-filled room.

After a nice long shower, Jack put on some presentable clothes to go job hunting. He reckoned nobody would expect him to dress in a suit to apply for a pizza chef position, so he chose a lightly-colored sport shirt and some dark slacks. Jack grabbed the folder he had prepared, containing all the paperwork that a prospective employer should need: employment history, identity documents, references, and the like, and went out to the car. He stared at it apprehensively. Even though the pizza place he had in mind was within walking distance, he still figured it was wise to drive there for the interview, so as to avoid building up a sweaty smell on the walk over. Rush hour would be winding down by this time, so if the car did choose to die en-route, he at least wouldn't cause a giant backup. He got in and started the car. It sprung to life quickly, and with no complaints. So far, so good, Jack thought, backing the car out of the parking spot and steering towards the exit of the complex. As he turned on to the main road, and the engine revved up a little higher, Jack heard the familiar telltale knocking coming from the engine, which indicated trouble on the way. The temperature gauge was still fairly low, though, which gave him some hope to at least make this trip safely. He tried to hurry towards the little strip mall where the pizza shop was, without taxing the car too much. The traffic light went red ahead, at the intersection of a larger cross street. The strip mall would be one or two lights further down. As he pulled to a stop, he smelled the sweet smell of burning anti-freeze, and saw the temperature gauge creep past the official end of the "normal" range. Not good. The light turned green and he gingerly coaxed the vehicle onwards. As luck would have it, he made it through the remaining lights without having to stop, as the car's temperature was now approaching the red zone of the gauge, and the knocking from the engine was now punctuated by what sounded to Jack like someone sitting on the engine and whacking it with a sledgehammer every 30 seconds. A nice white steam was also flowing from the car's left exhaust pipe. He pulled into the strip mall and parked the car in the first open spot he saw. It was on the other end of the lot from the pizza place, but the short walk should not cause any sweat or appearance problems, he figured. The car was complaining loudly when he shut it down; the resulting silence almost sounded like the car had sighed with relief. Jack sat there for a few minutes contemplating. Regardless of how it went in the interview, he was going to be here a while, until the motor cooled down enough to risk the return trip. He grabbed his folder, got out of the car, and started towards the pizza shop at the far end.

Jack walked calmly out of the restaurant, with a wave to the manager inside, and walked back in the direction of the car. When he was out of sight of the shop, he gritted his teeth and shouted "FUCK!" through them. The interview had gone well enough, until the manager asked the question which made Jack's heart sink: "Do you have reliable transportation?" Apparently part of the job involved food deliveries on a rotating basis with the other employees. So despite Jack's insistence that he would be at work regardless of rain or snow, the car requirement ruled him out as a candidate. "Fix your car and I'd love to have you," the manager had said encouragingly, though. That, at least, was something. As he made his way back to the car, he walked by every business in the little shopping center, checking for "help wanted" signs, but none of the shops appeared to be hiring. Jack contemplated the catch-22 he was in. He needed a car to get a job, but needed a job to be able to fix the car. A quick feeling of despair began to well up in his stomach, but he quickly forced it away. Returning to the car, Jack tossed in the folder of job info, as well as a newspaper he had bought, which might yield some useful job leads. He got in the car, and waited until the traffic light for the shopping center went green in his direction before starting it back up. He needed to conserve every possible second of engine time now. The car started up quickly once again, and Jack immediately put it in gear and drove out of the strip-mall and turned towards home. The engine had not cooled all that much during his interview; it was still above the "normal" range on the temperature gauge. As he approached the final traffic light before his apartment, he saw it turn yellow. By now the engine was clanging and knocking fairly impressively, and Jack didn't know if it would survive if he had to stop. Using up what he considered the last of the car's reserve life, he hit the gas for 2 or 3 seconds to build up enough speed to make it through the light, then put the car in neutral and coasted through it. That momentary burst of speed seemed to be enough to get him to the entrance of his apartment complex, at least. However, it also took its toll on the wounded motor, which made its displeasure known with a series of knocks, followed by a veritable could of white steam billowing from the exhaust pipe. "C'mon... c'mon," he pleaded with the car, as his apartment complex came into view. "Little further..." he said, putting it back in gear and navigating into his complex. A few more seconds, and he was back in front of his door, and immediately shut the car down. Jack took a mental assessment of the car's condition. The temperature gauge was pegged at maximum, the oil warning light was on, and it looked like a fire extinguisher was firing out of the left-hand tailpipe. Barring a lot of knocks, though, the engine was running when he shut it down, and had not seized up, which was his greatest fear. That would have meant the engine was beyond his ability to repair. With any luck, repairing the blown gasket would restore it to life. Fighting back the urge to cry, the young fox leaned forward and rested his head against the steering wheel, and let out a deep sigh. The sweet smell of anti-freeze steam quickly became nauseating, so he got out of the car, popping the hood-release latch as he did. Jack raised the hood and was surprised by the wave of heat which hit him. Leaving the hood up to aid in cooling the engine, he went inside his apartment and changed into some more appropriate clothes for greasy engine work. He would have to let the engine cool down completely before getting into it, but he could at least get a start on pulling the battery and other accessories to get them out of the way. Returning outside, Jack approached the car, then stopped. There was no point in rushing, he told himself, as he still had no tools to do the work and no likely way to get them, short of running back to his parents with tail firmly between legs. He was not at that point, though. Not yet anyway. Beg, borrow, or steal, he'd figure something out. Well, maybe not steal, he thought with a smile. However, there was an idea there. Surely someone in his complex would have some tools he could borrow. The idea of going door-to-door knocking did not appeal to him at all, but perhaps he could speak to the apartment manager who may know of someone, or just walk around looking for a hot-rod and talk to its owner. Jack went to the car and closed the hood again. No rush, he reminded himself. As the hood went down, the apartment building directly across the parking lot from his came into view. As if fate had read his mind, he saw not 50 feet away, an old clunker of a car parked in front of the unit on the end of the building across from his. This car screamed owner-mechanic, Jack thought hopefully. It was a large car, probably as old as his own was: the kind of car sometimes referred to as a "land yacht". It featured big wide tires in the rear, and evidence of hand-done body repairs all over the sheet-metal. Not the kind of car you owned without being used to working on it, Jack thought. The fox walked across the lot to this car and stood by it, examining the end-unit apartment, to which the car seemed to belong. The blinds and drapes were closed, and there was nothing outside on the patio to suggest that anyone even lived there. Jack figured it was worth a shot, that maybe he would get lucky on the first try. If not, there were now at least other options. Jack walked up to the door and knocked. Silence. He waited a few seconds then knocked again. This time, he heard the click of the deadbolt lock opening. The door opened about a foot. A grey-furred fox boy of about ten or eleven peered through the opening and regarded Jack for a moment. "Yeah?" asked the kit. "Hi," said the older fox cheerfully, with a wave. "Your mom or dad home?" The little fox looked slightly annoyed. "Need something?" he asked flatly. Charming, thought Jack. "Well," he began, "I'm your new neighbor across the way there," he pointed to his building, and the boy arched his neck to follow Jack's indication. "I'm, uh... having a bit of car trouble, as you can see," he said, pointing to the car which was still visibly steaming from the tailpipe. "Oooh, ouch!" the kit said, with a slight smile. "Yeah, so I was wondering if your dad had any tools I could borrow for a few days, to try and fix it," Jack said. "Oh, okay, yeah!" came the reply from the cub, now suddenly cheerful. He threw open the door. "C'mon in, I'll show you what we got." Jack followed the boy inside. The apartment was the same model as his, but a mirror image. The hallway to the bedroom was off to the left of the main room, while the laundry and storage room was to the right of the kitchen. The living room was fairly sparse, with a sofa and a large TV that didn't appear to be connected up to anything. Boxes served as end tables and footrests, and there were no pictures on the wall. The room was fairly cluttered with boxes stacked here and there. Jack followed the younger fox into the storage room. There were more boxes piled higher in here, as one might expect from a storage room. But there was a work table against one wall, and Jack noticed the logo of Click-On Tools on a red metal box underneath the table. That's promising, he thought to himself as the kit rummaged through some of the open boxes. "So you live here?" said Jack, making small talk, and immediately realizing how dumb the question sounded. "Nope, just came to rob the place, but I liked the carpet, so I stayed," the cub replied without missing a beat. He looked back to Jack and grinned. The boy was averagely-built, perhaps a touch on the thin side. He wore a black T-shirt and faded blue jeans above well-worn sneakers. His fur was medium-grey for the most part, except for his chin and neck fur and the tip of his tail which were a much lighter, almost white shade of grey. The top of his head sported darker, charcoal-grey headfur, as did the edges and backs of his ears. Jack noticed he wore 3 gold earrings in his left ear towards the base, and what looked like a black diamond stud near the point of the ear. Bright blue eyes gazed out from the surrounding grey of his face. "Here, I think this came with the car," the kit said, sliding the red case from under the work table. "See if any of these work for ya'." Jack opened the case. The tools within were well used, some still displaying oily fingerprints, while others had a fine layer of rust. There was, however, a set of sockets that looked to be complete! In addition there were heavy duty pliers, screwdrivers, and myriad others. Jack smiled broadly with relief. "Perfect," he said, "This is exactly what I need. You sure it's OK for me to borrow these?" "Yeah no problem," said the younger fox. He regarded Jack briefly before continuing. "So, you're good with old cars, huh?" "I know my way around them, sure," replied Jack, closing the toolbox back up. The kit nodded at this. "Hey, thanks a million for this," Jack continued, "You're a lifesaver. There's no way I could afford these myself. I'll bring them back soon as I'm done, don't worry." "Cool, cool," the boy replied. "I know where you live, so I'm not worried," he added with a smile. He led Jack back out into the living room. Jack looked down the hallway towards the bedroom as he followed the little fox. The bedroom door was open, and Jack could see it was free of the ubiquitous clutter that spanned the rest of the apartment. He caught a glimpse of several pieces of dark wood furniture within, before walking out of view of the room. The boy sat down heavily on the couch and picked up a book which had been left open there. He waved to Jack. "Seeya later. Good luck with the car!" "Heh, thanks," Jack replied, returning the wave. Apparently he was to let himself out, which he did, pausing briefly after he closed the door, then started back towards his own dwelling. As he got 20 feet or so from the kit's apartment, he heard the clicks of the locks being thrown back into their secure position. He smiled to himself and went back to his own apartment, the precious tools in-hand.

By mid-afternoon, Jack had much of the motor dismantled and laying in organized groups of parts, spread out on newspaper on the ground. He had finally gotten the left cylinder head removed, exposing the troublesome gasket, which clearly displayed its failed areas. So far, all the removed parts appeared to be in good condition, despite the motor's rough handling over the past weeks. There was some anti-freeze pooled inside the engine from the leak, which Jack set about mopping up. "Howdy!" a voice called out from behind the car. Jack looked up from under the hood. A well-dressed ferret was walking towards him from the apartment building across the parking lot where he had borrowed the tools. The little grey-furred fox boy followed behind him. Jack waved as they came near, hoping there was not a problem with his use of the tools. The ferret looked to be in his 30's. He had mostly chocolate-brow fur, except for his face which was white, but with a brown mask around the eyes, typical of sable ferrets. His black headfur was slicked back, probably with a gel of some kind as it looked perpetually wet. He wore a black button-front shirt and dark pants in spite of the June heat. Jack thought he looked like the kind of guy you'd expect to see in an upscale nightclub on a Saturday night. "Afternoon," said Jack as the pair came to the front of Jack's car. The little fox poked his head under the hood to examine the state of the engine. "Hope you don't mind me borrowing your tools." "No no no, absolutely not," the ferret replied reassuringly. "Victor Morrison," he said extending a paw. "Jack Archer," Jack replied with a smile and held up his paw, which was covered in oil and grime, visible even over the blackness of his paw-fur. Victor withdrew his paw with a laugh, then continued. "Angelo here tells me you're good with old cars," he began, indicating to the younger fox who had now walked back to where the ferret was standing. "You sure got this one pretty well broken up," he said, noting the parts on the ground. "Yep," said Jack, "I'm just about ready to start putting it all back together, actually." The ferret nodded approvingly. "Ah, yes, that's the key, isn't it," he said with a wink. "Anyone can take one apart, right?" Jack smiled back, not sure how to take that comment. "Yeah, I suppose. I'll have it running tonight, though, don't you worry," he said, trying not to sound confrontational, but still defending his ability. "Hey, I'm just messing with ya," Victor replied, as if picking up on the subtleties in Jack's tone. "Actually, I wonder if you'd like a little side job along these lines, since you do seem to have a knack for it," he said. "I'd pay you for your time, of course." Jack's ears perked up at this. "Sure, if it's something I can do, I'd be glad to help. It's the least I can do for you lending me the tools." "Great, great," replied Victor. "My other car there has a pretty bad leak in the gas tank," he said, indicating the old car that had first caught Jack's eye earlier in the day. Jack noticed that a fairly new-looking black coupe was now parked next to the older car. "I can get a tank from the junkyard, if you can swap it out. That sound doable?" "Sure, that shouldn't be too hard," Jack said. He had never done such a replacement, but knew there wasn't much to it. "That's what I want to hear," said Victor. "I'll see about getting one tomorrow, and I'll leave it with Angelo here. How does an even hundred sound for your time?" Jack was momentarily stunned. A hundred? Dollars? "Uh... yeah... yes definitely!" he stammered. Victor chucked. "Alright then. I'll leave you to your engine for now. No big hurry on the gas tank; it's been sitting there a while, so an extra day won't matter a whole lot." He waved and started back towards his apartment. The young grey-furred fox known as Angelo lingered by the car as Victor departed, and poked his head under the hood again. "You're really going to have all this back together today?" he asked. "Yeah, sure, why not," said Jack. "It's just bolts, really. Just putting them back in the right order." "Mmm-hmm," Angelo said, still looking over the dismantled engine. "All right, good luck!" he said brightly, then started after the ferret towards his apartment. When he got halfway across the parking lot, he stopped. "Nice to meet you, Jack!" he said with a wave. "Nice to meet you, Angelo," Jack called back, returning the wave with his oily paw. The kit turned and dashed back to his apartment door and was quickly inside.

The sun had just crossed the top of the trees on its way down as Jack re-connected the battery cables to the car battery: the last step in the repair process. Things had gone well during the re-assembly of the motor, just as he had planned and hoped. With a chuckle, he noted that there were no extra parts left over, which was not always the case when he was first learning this sort of work. Jack grabbed the car-wash hose that was provided at one end of each building, and topped off the car's radiator. He attempted to clean the grease and oil from his paws with the hose as well, but quickly gave up, realizing that it would take some strong detergent and much scrubbing to get clean. Instead he pulled his ratty T-shirt off and used it as a rag to wipe as much off as he could. He desperately wanted to know whether his endeavors had paid off before the sun disappeared completely. A proper cleanup could wait until afterwards, though he also didn't want to track too much grime into the car. Once he felt sufficiently clean, the fox sat in the driver's seat and put the key in the ignition, and holding his breath, turned it one click. The dashboard lights and bells came on as normal. "OK, here goes nothing," Jack said out loud and turned the key to the start position. The engine cranked for five seconds or so, then began to sputter and finally roared to life. Jack could not help himself and threw back his head and cackled joyously as the car idled happily. The fox leaned forward and rested his head against the steering wheel, this time in relief. He gave the car a few test revs, to which the engine responded normally, and with none of the racket it had previously given. Jack got out of the car, engine still running, to inspect the motor itself for any problems. As he stepped out of the car he heard a whistle followed by enthusiastic clapping from behind. He turned and saw the young fox Angelo on his doorstep cheering his accomplishment. The boy threw a thumbs-up to the older fox. Jack bowed theatrically, which made the kit laugh. The engine all appeared good, at least externally, to Jack's inspection. The only remaining milestone would be for the temperature to rise to the "normal" range and hold there. Jack returned to the driver's seat to watch the gauges, giving the engine some more revs here and there to coax it along. Angelo had already vanished back into his apartment, Jack noticed. Much to Jack's relief, the temperature did just as he hoped, with the gauge parked firmly right in the middle of the "normal" range. After he was sure it wasn't going to start to overheat, he finally shut down the engine and got out to clean up the tools and assorted bits that were scattered around the car. Now he could go back to that pizza shop and land a steady job, he thought to himself. Well, not right away, he corrected. First he would take the ferret up on his hundred-dollar gas-tank repair. Not only for the quick cash, but also in gratitude for the use of the tools. Plus, just because he said he would, he reminded himself. The tools and parking space cleaned up, Jack contemplated another hot shower to clean up as well as relax his muscles from all the bolt-torquing he had done. Stopping at his door, he looked once more to his car, then to Victor's car across the lot, finally landing his eyes on the apartment where Victor and Angelo lived. Something in the back of his head was bugging him as he regarded the closed up curtains, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it. In any case, that shower was waiting, Jack thought, and retired into his apartment.

The next morning, Jack allowed himself the luxury of sleeping in, rather than be out jogging at sunrise as was his usual. As the morning sun thoroughly illuminated his bedroom window, he finally sat up in bed. 9:30 in the morning. Stretching deeply, he got out of bed and tended to his morning routine. He had just showered the night before, of course, so skipped that portion for now. Besides, if he was going to work on Victor's car today, he'd just end up grimy again quickly. Jack was still feeling good about his own car repair, and decided to go out for a hearty breakfast. This was partially a small celebration, but would also give him an excuse to test drive the car more vigorously, just to make sure all was truly well with it. The car performed like a brand new vehicle, Jack thought, as he drove it down the main roads. He started out gingerly, then got more aggressive with it, testing out all the normal ranges of driving. The big car gave no hints that it ever had the problems of the last few weeks. After breakfast he drove back to his apartment. Pulling in, he saw that the promised junkyard fuel-tank was now sitting next to Victor's old car, along with two large red 5-gallon fuel cans. He had been gone over an hour, between the breakfast itself and the test drive. It was just after eleven in the morning. Jack figured he might as well set to work on the tank replacement. The sooner he started, the sooner he'd have an extra hundred in his pocket, and might even have time to resume his job search. He retrieved the tools from inside his apartment, and brought them over to Victor's car. He crawled underneath it, and surveyed what would be required to do the job, and in what order. "Hiya Jack," came a young voice, as Jack lay under the car making mental notes. Jack poked his head out from underneath, and saw Angelo had come outside with a folding chair. "Morning," Jack called back with a smile. "I'm just gonna watch," declared the little grey-furred fox. He unfolded the chair near the back of the car and sat down, a soda bottle in his paw. Despite the hot June day, Jack noticed, the kit had on a denim jacket over his T-shirt and faded jeans. "Ok with me," Jack said, "I'd love the company." The kit smiled warmly. Jack pulled the tool box under the car, and set about loosening the various bolts and straps holding the tank in place. The hole in the tank was blatantly visible, easily half an inch wide, and did not look like it came from rust or even a rock strike. It looked to Jack like someone had rammed a metal rod or something similar into it, as the hole was uniformly round and dented inwards. "Good work on your car yesterday. I didn't think it was gonna work after seeing all those parts thrown everywhere," Angelo remarked. Jack laughed. "I told you guys I'd have it working, didn't I?" "Yep, you sure did," Angelo replied. "This should be a piece of cake then, right?" "Should be, yes," the teen said, as he worked on loosening fasteners. "So," he continued, "Is that your dad?" he asked, referring to Victor. They two were obviously not blood relatives, but perhaps he was the boy's adoptive father. He felt slightly guilty for prying, but something still seemed off about the two of them. "Vic? Nah, I just live there," the little fox replied. Jack waited to see if he would expound on that point, but the kit did not elaborate. This did not help ease Jack's nagging feeling. "So he's your guardian then?" Jack asked, probing a little more, but trying not to look like he was probing. "Guardian," the younger fox said, as if testing the word. "Yeah, I guess you could say he's my guardian." That answer sounded almost deliberately evasive, Jack thought, but decided against pushing the point further for now. In fairly short order, the old tank was free of the car, and Jack dragged it out from underneath the vehicle. He lifted it up by the filler tube and held it up like it was a record-setting fish he had just caught. There was a rattling sound from inside the tank as he did so, as if there was a loose bolt within. Angelo kneeled down and inspected the tank and the hole in the bottom. "Watch yourself," Jack cautioned, and upended the tank to try to shake the loose object out the filler tube. After a few vigorous shakes and knocking the filler tube against the ground, what looked like a small reddish rock fell out. Angelo picked it up and studied it briefly. Jack placed the tank back on the ground. "What is it?" he asked the kit, stepping closer to inspect the object. The little fox held out his paw to Jack, who picked the thing up. It was rather D-shaped, though with the rounded side smashed in slightly. The reddish color came from the metal the thing was made of, which Jack figured to be copper, as it was the same tint as a brand new penny. Then it hit him. It was a bullet. Jack looked to Angelo, who was watching his eyes, his face expressionless. "Do you know what this is?" Jack asked. "Looks like a bullet," the boy replied matter-of-factly, his face still not showing any concern or indeed any emotion at all. "Yeah, a bullet, how did it get in there?" Jack asked, though the "how" was fairly obvious. "Beats me," Angelo answered calmly. "I guess Vic drove through a bad neighborhood." Jack was still somewhat disturbed by the finding, but again dropped the subject for now. There was no use getting worked up at Angelo, as he clearly would not have been driving the car wherever it was that someone took a shot at it. "I suppose so, but still... jeez," he said, hoping to diffuse the situation. "Anyway, lemme get this new tank on so we can get 'er back on the road." Angelo nodded with a smile and returned to his chair as Jack set about installing the new tank. Neither spoke during the time it took him to do so, though Jack's mind was working, trying to put all the pieces together into some kind of meaningful picture. He figured Angelo was probably a runaway. He certainly didn't seem to be here against his will, as he was clearly free to come and go while Victor was away. The boy clearly knew more than he was letting on about the bullet, though. As for Victor, he seemed to have money, based on his dress and demeanor, although he lived in these budget apartments. He had a nice new car that he drove during the day, yet kept this old car that someone was shooting at for some reason. There were still pieces missing from this picture, Jack concluded. There was something that would tie all this together, he just hadn't come across it yet. Jack resolved to have a longer talk with Victor when he presented him with the repaired car, along with the bullet that caused the problem.

It was mid-afternoon when Jack saw Victor's black car pull up to his parking space. Jack watched from inside his own apartment as the ferret looked over the old car, then went inside. It would be fairly clear that the repair had taken place, the fox thought, and Angelo would certainly brief him on the events of the day, including the bullet and Jack's reaction to it. Jack sat back in his chair, sipping a soda. He would give Victor a few minutes, then he would head over. The teen fox made a mental note to avoid sounding confrontational on any of the things he wanted to discuss. He still could not shake the feeling in his guts that something unusual was afoot, but if he came across as accusatory, or even just overly nosy, they would likely just shut him out. After some minutes had passed, Jack got up and picked up Victor's tool box to return to the ferret, and went outside. He was surprised to see Victor and Angelo walking towards his place across the parking lot. They stopped when they saw him emerge, Victor waving in a friendly greeting. Jack carried the tools over to the pair. "Hi guys," he said when he was close enough to not have to shout. "Heya Jacky," the ferret said amicably. "I see you got the old beast patched up," he said, indicating the car they were now standing by. "Yep, she's all good," Jack replied. "And please: just Jack." He had never liked being called Jacky, or Johnny, J.J., or any other variant on John Archer Jr. for that matter. Victor chuckled. "Fine, sorry," he said with a smile. He reached into his pocket and produced a hundred-dollar bill. "Here you go, as promised," he said, proffering the bill to Jack. "My pleasure, and thanks," said Jack. "Thanks for the tools as well," he added, placing the box on the ground. "Any time, any time," Victor said, picking the box up. "And now, I suspect you've got a few other things on your mind. Am I right?" Jack paused. Yes, Angelo had definitely filled in the ferret on the day's events. "Well... yeah, kind of," was all he could think to say. "Mmmm," Victor replied, nodding. "Kinda figured you would. But let's go inside to talk about that, shall we?" He started towards his door. Angelo lingered until Jack began to follow Victor, then fell in behind him. Victor opened the door and placed the toolbox on the floor just inside, then beckoned Jack inside. Angelo followed, and closed and locked the door behind the three. "So... what's on your mind?" the ferret asked. Jack thought this was rather disingenuous, as he obviously knew what Jack wanted to talk about. He looked to Angelo, who was leaning against the door. "Would you, umm..." he began. He wanted to talk privately to the ferret, but being a guest in their home, didn't know quite how to say that. Angelo dropped one ear halfway, a frown crossing his face. "Oh please," he said indignantly, "I know exactly what you're going to talk about." He raised his paw to his chest and extended three fingers. "It's cool, Jack," said Victor, "Fire away." "Well, ok," he began, looking over to Angelo again, who was now smiling pleasantly, three fingers still extended. Jack reached into his pocket and pulled the bullet out. "First of all,as you probably already know, someone took a shot at your car, which is why you had that hole in your tank." He handed the bullet to Victor who took it and looked at it. Jack looked back to Angelo, who had dropped one finger, leaving 2 still extended. The little fox winked at him. "Mmmm yeah, sure looks that way, doesn't it?" replied Victor vaguely. "What else do you got?" he then asked. "Well, I was kinda' wondering why you've got an old car that people are shooting at, when you've got that nice new black car as well," Jack replied frankly, again hoping not to sound overly intrusive. Angelo dropped another finger, leaving just one. Victor nodded silently, as if choosing his next words carefully. "Well, the thing is, I use that old car when I'm... ehh... doing business, shall we say, in some of the shadier areas around town. I'll fill you in more on that in a minute, 'cause I've got one or two things I'd like to discuss with you too. Next?" Jack looked back to the little grey-furred fox. "Ok, smarty, you tell me!" he said. Angelo chuckled, and lowering his last finger, said, "Who the heck am I?" Jack nodded and looked back to Victor. "Ah yes," the ferret began. "You want to tell him, or me?" he asked the younger fox. "Go for it," Angelo replied. "You can give him the Reader's Digest version. Maybe later on I'll fill him in." "Alright," Victor began, "Well, Angelo here... lost his parents. Father a long time ago, and his mother... more recently. I told him he could crash here, and he helps me out with my business." "I see," Jack said, ruminating on what Victor had said. "So its all... you know... official?" he asked awkwardly. "Meaning did I clear it with Cub Protective Services?" Victor asked. "Hell no! They'd have hauled his tail off to one of their orphanage prisons a long time ago. I grew up in one of those CPS hell-holes myself. No way I'd do that to a fellow orphan," he said, with a nod to Angelo who gave him a thumbs-up in response. Jack nodded apprehensively. Victor, noticing this, continued, "Hey look, I'm not forcing him to stay here, don't worry. Ain't that right, Angelo?" "Yep!" said the kit enthusiastically. Jack looked at him, concern evident on the older fox's face. "Really, Jack, it's cool," said Angelo, with a smile. Jack nodded. It wasn't your usual family setup, of course, but who was he to judge, he thought. It did explain why the little fox was living with Victor, and he sure seemed happy enough with his arrangements. "Ok," said Jack, "I'm sorry to pry, it just struck me as kinda weird, is all. It's pretty cool of you, actually, to do that for him. I knew some guys a few years ago who got put in State custody, and I know how much they hated it, so I can understand." "Glad to hear it, Jack," Victor replied. "I can also understand why you might have been suspicious. Good to see that you're looking out for the kid too." he said with a disarming smile. "I feel so loved," Angelo said sarcastically, then laughed. Jack laughed as well. "Now then," Victor continued after a moment, "About my little side business, and a little proposition I have for you, Jack." "Proposition?" Jack asked uneasily. If this proposition involved being shot at, Jack thought, then this conversation would be over before it started. "Yeah, if you're interested, that is," the ferret replied. "Lemme tell you a little about what we do here, and if you think you might want some easy side cash, then you're in." Victor looked intensely into Jack's eyes as he spoke the next part. "If you don't want in, of course, I'd hope you would do us the courtesy of keeping quiet about the whole thing." Jack met his gaze, somewhat intimidated by the black eyes peering at him from within the brown mask of fur. Jack stared back, unsure how to answer that. If it was murder they were talking about, he wasn't sure he could keep quiet about something like that, but to say so would itself be dangerous. Victor read the hesitation in the fox's eyes. "Don't worry," he said, the intense look relaxing into a more friendly countenance, "that sounds worse than it really is. Here's the scoop: I run a little independent import business out of the apartment here. I buy certain exotic foreign commodities and luxuries that, for whatever reason, your average fur doesn't have access to, then provide them to customers who will appreciate my service." Flowery speech, thought Jack, but at least it didn't sound like there was murder involved. At the same time, though, Victor's poetic description wasn't telling the whole story. He figured he might as well be blunt. "These... commodities. Would they be considered... illegal?" Angelo's eyes darted to look at Victor. The ferret made some circular hand gestures as he replied. "Well, there's 'illegal', and then there's 'illegal'," he began, putting extra emphasis on the second word. "Lemme give you an example: You know about Cuban cigars?" he asked. "A little," Jack said. He had heard of their somewhat mythical status around friends of his who smoked cigars. "Well, then you know that they're technically illegal in this country. If you've ever had one, you also know that they're the best on Earth. Now, just because some politicians here fifty years ago didn't like some politicians there, that means we have to go without those little jewels? No! That's where I come in." He motioned Jack over to one of the numerous boxes stacked against the walls. Jack went to the box Victor indicated, and looked inside. There were many small boxes within, all with various Spanish-sounding names printed on them, some with exotic pictures on them. Cigar boxes, quite obviously. Victor continued as Jack looked in the box. "Doctors... lawyers... rich professionals of all kinds. They'll pay hundreds for one box of these. A couple in here are worth a grand a piece. Illegal? Technically. But these folks want 'em, and I can provide them. There's nobody getting hurt here, and everyone goes home happy." Jack listened to the ferret's explanation as he regarded the cigars, then looked up at Victor as he finished. "So that's it? Just cigars?" he inquired. "That's just one example. But rest assured, everything I sell is by-request. I don't force anything on anybody. But we can get into that later on. For now, I imagine you're wondering where you fit into all this." "The thought had occurred to me," Jack said. "Of course," Victor replied. "Well, for the longest time, Angelo here has handled the deliveries for me." Jack looked to Angelo who nodded with a slight smile. "Problem is, business is getting so good now, that he can't keep up with them on his bike. Plus, I'm getting orders now from all over the area: too far for a bike ride even if he had the time. And if all goes well with some of my... sources, business will really be taking off here soon. So what I need now is a driver." "You need me to make deliveries for you?" Jack asked. "Well, not exactly," Victor said. "Angelo will still handle the deliveries and the payments and all that. You just need to drive the car. Drive him around to the various customers, and he'll handle all the rest. You can even use my car: the one you fixed today. Easy-squeezy. Plus with you there, folks might be less inclined to try and steal my product without paying. What do you think?" "Sounds... interesting," said Jack. "I left out the most interesting part," Victor said. "I'll pay you a hundred per day, flat rate. Not too bad for a few hours driving, right?" "Wow," said Jack, reflexively. He did some quick mental arithmetic and figured he could have his rent paid off by just over a week's work at that rate, leaving the rest of the month as pure profit. He did feel a twinge of uneasiness still at the thought of what was, essentially, transporting illegal contraband, but had to concede Victor's point about the cigar buyers. If there ever was such a thing as a "victimless crime", he thought, selling cigars to rich clients fit that definition perfectly. "So..." Jack continued, "About the other stuff you sell?" Victor raised a paw. "Later. For now, how about you help me move these cigars? That will probably take a couple days," he said, indicating a row of similarly-sized large boxes as the one Jack had inspected. "You don't have any problem doing them, do you?" Jack shook his head. "No, I guess not," he said. Angelo smiled a sort of half-smile at this. "Great," said Victor. "Do this for a few days to clear out my living room, then we can talk later about other products. Like I said, I don't force anyone to do anything. That goes for my customers as well as my business partners. Deal?" "Deal," Jack replied, extending his paw. Victor took the paw and shook it. "Excellent. Be here at 8:00 or so tomorrow morning. I'll get you guys started before I have to leave for my day job. Nothing nearly as fun as this is, nor as profitable, unfortunately," he said with a wry smile. "Sounds good, I'll see you tomorrow," Jack said, starting for the front door. "Bye Jack," Angelo said to Jack, opening the door. "Night guys!" Jack replied, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. He paused for a moment then started towards his apartment, thinking as he walked. He had certainly resolved the concerns he had from earlier, even if the explanations were somewhat unusual. He had already decided that delivering contraband cigars to rich fat-cats did not send up any moral red-flags with him. The "other products" did have him leery, though. He suspected that they would ultimately end up being drugs of some sort. Even so, Jack wasn't sure how he would react to that, or how he would feel about delivering them. If it was true that all of Victor's customers were buying of their own free will, then who was he to judge, Jack thought. If it turned out to be marijuana especially, then given his own past, he felt it would be rather hypocritical of him to make a morality call on that. In any case, it appeared as though he could still collect several hundred dollars just from delivering the cigars. If afterwards, he did not want to continue due to the nature of the unknown products, Victor had assured him he could just walk away, as long as he kept quiet. Jack didn't quite know why, but felt he could take the ferret at his word on that.

Jack slept well that night: a further indication, he felt, that he was fine on a moral level with working for Victor, at least in the short term. For the second day in a row, he slept in and elected to skip his morning run. He did not skip his shower this time, though, as he anticipated that he would be in some fairly well-to-do environments today. Shortly before 8:00 in the morning, he knocked on Victor's door. The ferret opened the door and greeted him heartily. "Hey, you're early," he said. "I like your enthusiasm! You'll go far if you keep that up." "I like to make a good impression," Jack replied. "Consider it made, my boy," Victor responded, beckoning him inside. A fair amount of preparation had clearly gone on after he had left, Jack observed. The numerous shipping boxes had been opened and their contents split into individual parcels, each now bagged in a brown paper grocery sack. Jack assumed they had been split up into the individual orders. Each bag was folded closed and stapled shut, a paper tag with various notes also stapled to each. "Angelo!" Victor yelled towards the hallway, "Get your ass up!" He looked at Jack and smirked, "Kits." Jack chucked. "Want me to try? I've got a kid sister about that age." Indeed, when he was still in high school, part of Jack's morning responsibility was to rouse his sister out of bed before he left. As his school started an hour before hers, the timing worked out well. Victor gestured towards the hallway. "Be my guest," he said. "First door on the left." Jack smiled and started that way, then stopped in his tracks. The first door on the left? If the layout was the same as his own, that would be the large walk-in closet in the hall. He thought for a moment, then continued on into the hall. Sure enough, the first door was the large walk-in closet. The door was open already, and the overhead light was on. Jack stood in the doorway and looked. There was a standard twin-size mattress in one corner on the floor, with a disorderly pile of blankets on it, and a pillow at the far end. Jack smiled as he observed a small nose on a grey muzzle poking out of the tangle of blankets at the pillow end. There was maybe two feet of floor space surrounding the two remaining sides of the mattress. Various small boxes, books, and piles of clothes occupied that space, while more clothes were properly folded or hung from the closet shelving midway up the walls. Jack had once thought that the walk-in closet in his own apartment could serve as a guest room if ever needed, but seeing it now used for that purpose made him question that. Even so, he thought, it seemed to be a serviceable kit-sized bedroom, good for sleeping if nothing else. "Come on, sleepy-fox, wake up!" Jack sang out cheerfully. No response, just as would be the case with his sister on the first wake-up attempt. He flashed the light. "Time to get up and face the world!" he said, still in a cheerful sing-song tone. "Mmmrf," said the nose poking from the blankets. "Now now, don't make me get a bucket of ice water," Jack said with a smile. That was always the threat back home. "We got stogies to deliver! Up and at 'em!" Jack reached down and grabbed the blankets and pulled them off of the sleeping form. The little grey-furred fox lay curled up on his side, naked, with his knees drawn up to his chest, tail tucked underneath concealing his nether regions. "Whoops!" Jack said, genuinely embarrassed. He threw the blankets back down over Angelo's waist. One eye opened on the small fox and looked at Jack, a smile on the small muzzle. "Sorry about that," Jack said. "Come on and get up, though, seriously." "Ok, ok," said Angelo. The kit sat up on the mattress, propped up on one arm, the blankets still over his lower body, and scratched at his chest fluff. "All right then," Jack said with a smile. "I'll be out here." He walked back out into the main living room. Victor was sitting on the couch, sipping coffee and reading over what appeared to be the master list for the days deliveries. "Any luck?" the ferret asked. "Yep, he's up," Jack replied. "So... he sleeps in the closet, eh?" Victor looked up from his paper. "Well, better than in my room, right? It is a single-bedroom place, after all." "Yeah, I guess so," Jack said. He heard the bathroom door shut in the hallway, as Angelo got himself out of bed. "You can start loading up the car if you'd like, or just grab some coffee," Victor said. "How about both?" Jack asked amicably. Victor chuckled. "Of course," he said, indicating the coffee pot. Jack poured himself a cup and walked to where the little bags were staged for the day's deliveries. "Ok, here's how it works," Victor began. "The short version anyway. The kit'll fill you in on the details once you're out there. Basically, this is the master list. It's got everyone who we need to deliver to, and what they get." Victor looked up at Jack and emphasized the next words. "This doesn't leave the house, understood?" "Gotcha, no problem," Jack said. Victor nodded and continued. "Each bag has a little tag on it with the address and your contact. What you do is grab 6 or 7 orders at a time, and take care of them. Never have more than that in the car at any given moment. Just in case." "In case..." Jack repeated. "Just... in case," Victor replied vaguely. "Use your imagination. Who knows what could happen out there? It's a dangerous and unpredictable world, after all. I don't want to risk any more than I have to, you know?" Jack nodded. "I think I get it," he said. "Good," said Victor, turning back to the document. "So, you do six or seven deliveries, then come back here and re-stock. Do that until they're all done. Once they're all gone and the money matches the paperwork, we burn all the documentation until next time." "Yep, I'm with you," Jack said. From the hallway, the sound of the shower coming on emanated from the bathroom. "Six at a time, though. That could take a while." "Yep," said the ferret, "It'll probably take you two, three days to do 'em all. Just go until traffic starts to get annoying in the afternoon, then call it quits." "Perfect," Jack replied, somewhat relieved. He had feared that he was expected to deliver all the pre-bagged cigars that same day. "Well, have at it," said Victor. "The bags are kinda' grouped by area so you don't have to drive too far between them. Oh, and you'll want this." The ferret handed Jack a large map-book of the city and surrounding area. "I don't have a GPS yet, least not in the delivery car," he said. "Ah, perfect, that was my next question, actually," Jack said. "Good, good," said Victor. "So go ahead and grab the first batch, and load 'em in the trunk. Pull the tags off of each and give them to Angelo, and he'll tell you where you're going." Victor handed Jack the keys to the big car outside. Jack nodded and grabbed a couple of the bags and took them out to the car. As he was loading them, he inspected them more closely. Each had a three-digit number written on the bag. Stapled to the bag was the paper tag which had the same three-digit number, but also included the names and addresses of the buyers, along with details such as who to ask for, or what entrance to use. Returning to the apartment, he grabbed a few more bags. Victor was coming down the hall from his bedroom, having donned his button-front shirt, and was tucking it into his pants. "Soon as Angelo's out," he said, "I'll be taking off. I'll see you back here this evening for your pay." "Not a problem, I trust you," Jack said disarmingly. As he said this, he noticed the ferret froze for a second, then smiled broadly. "Good to know, Jack," he said, "Good to know indeed." Jack loaded the last of the first run's bags into the car and went back inside. Angelo was now sitting on the sofa with just his boxers on, brushing out his fur which was fairly fluffed up from being towel-dried. His chest fur was the same almost-white grey color as his neck. "All right, I'm gone," said Victor, headed for the door. "Later furs!" "Seeya, Vic!" Angelo replied. "Ok, so I got the first batch loaded," Jack said after Victor had gone. "Tags?" inquired the grey-furred fox. Jack held up the tags he had pulled off the bags as he loaded them. Angelo nodded. "I guess Vic gave you the rundown then?" "The general gist of it, yeah," said Jack. "He said you'd fill me in on the details." "Yep, this stuff is pretty straight-forward, though," said the kit, finishing up his brushing. "Right back," he said, heading back towards his "bedroom". Jack sat down and sipped his coffee. Out of curiosity he picked up the master list and looked down the names to see if he recognized any. That could make for some humorous yet awkward encounters, he thought with a laugh. As it happened, he did not recognize any of Victor's clients, at least not the cigar-buying ones. "Ok, lets do this," said Angelo, returning to the living room. He was now dressed as Jack had seen him previously: a black t-shirt over faded jeans and sneakers, and a denim jacket with what appeared to be a demon painted on the back. For his own part, Jack had chosen a golf shirt and casual khaki pants, specifically in anticipation of the upscale clientele that he expected to be visiting. He now suddenly felt over-dressed, if the customers were used to seeing Angelo dressed as he was. Jack walked out to the car. Angelo followed, locking up the apartment as he left, before climbing in the passenger side of the car.

The delivery procedure was fairly straight-forward. Jack drove to the first client's location, in this case a doctor's office. The two foxes went inside and Angelo told the receptionist he was there to see Dr. So-and-so, and that it was not work-related. After five minutes or so, a raccoon gentleman who appeared to be the doctor in question came out of the door leading to the exam rooms, and ushered the boy inside. Jack waited for no more than 2 minutes before Angelo came back out of the door and headed to the exit. Jack, who had just taken a seat in the waiting room, followed the kit out. "Easy enough, right?" inquired Jack. "Easy fifteen-hundred," replied Angelo, then paused. "Something not right about a doctor who smokes that much," he said with a chuckle. The next few deliveries went similarly smoothly. Angelo would read out the address, and sometimes mention a word or two about the client in question. Beyond that, the little grey-furred fox did not speak much during the trips. Jack wanted to ask him about Victor, about what happened to his parents, and about how he came to be where he was in his young life. The moment never seemed right to the older fox, though. Granted, he didn't really know the boy all that well, though he seemed friendly enough back at the apartments.

Approaching half-past ten in the morning, they were down to the last two deliveries of the first batch, which happened to be in the same professional office building, but on different floors. Angelo read off the address, then made an irritated puffing sound as he read the client details. "What's up?" asked Jack. "This next guy," Angelo began. "He's a plastic surgeon. He's also a... creep. I don't know why Vic doesn't just drop him. He's only good for a hundred bucks at a time." "What's so bad about him?" Angelo chuckled. "I think he's got the hots for me," he said with a shrug. "Last time he asked if he could take some naked pictures." "Whoa," said Jack, taken aback by that. "Yeah," said the younger fox. "Creep." "You know," said Jack, "Why don't I stay with you this time?" Angelo looked over at Jack. "Just in case," said Jack, echoing Victor's caution from the morning. "Yeah, good idea," said the little fox with a smile. They pulled into the parking lot of the office building and took the elevator to the plastic surgeon's office suite. Jack carried the bag for the second delivery in the building, while Angelo carried the bag for this doctor. As before, Angelo asked for the doctor at the receptionist. "He said you should wait for him in room two, in the back," the receptionist responded. "Just go through the door, and it's the first door on the right." Jack opened the door to the back. The receptionist spoke up at this. "He didn't say anything about you, sir." Jack looked back at her. "We're together. The doc will understand, trust me," he said, starting through the door, then stopped. "We'll both be glad to leave if he's got a problem with me, don't worry," he added. While he was leery of this doctor, he did not want to alarm the receptionist, who might decide to bring the police into the situation if he was too argumentative with her. The two went into the designated room. Jack left the door open and stood just inside, while Angelo curiously thumbed through a book of nose-job specimens for prospective clients. Presently a middle-aged badger came into the room hurriedly. "Hi cutie," he said as he entered, then abruptly stopped as he saw Jack. "Hi yourself," replied Jack, courteously yet somewhat sarcastically. He motioned to Angelo to proceed. "Ok, I got your box here," said the kit. "That's an even hundred." Straight to the point, no small talk. "All right, all right," the doctor said, still appearing slightly frazzled from Jack's unexpected presence. He reached into his pocket with one hand, and turned to Jack. "Say, I don't believe I've had the pleasure..." he started, extending his paw for a handshake. Jack folded his arms. "No. No you haven't," was all he said. "Right..." said the doctor uneasily. Turning back to the grey-furred fox, he continued. "Here you go, one hundred." He paused briefly, then said, quieter, "Thought about my offer any?" Angelo took the money and stared the doctor in the face. "Not gonna happen, doc. And... I think you better drop it for good." He started to walk out of the room. The doctor stepped aside. "Ok, ok, it's just..." Jack, following the boy out of the room stopped abruptly and glared in the badger's face, their muzzles mere inches apart. "Drop. It." he said deliberately and flatly, then followed Angelo back to the reception area. The doctor stood where he was briefly, then turned back down the hall. "He was cool with it," Jack said to the receptionist as they passed on the way out. "Thanks for your time, have a nice day!" The two foxes walked to the elevator. When the doors closed, Angelo broke out laughing. "Oh my god that was great!" he exclaimed, holding his paw out for a high-five. "You're pretty good at the tough guy bit!" "Thank you, thank you," the older fox said with mock humility, slapping his paw against the kit's. Angelo giggled. "Something tells me he won't be placing any more orders after that little encounter, though." The elevator door opened on the floor for the last customer of this run. "Ok," said Angelo, now back into business mode. "This guy's great. He's a lawyer who loves to party it up. You won't need to mess with him like the last guy." "Gotcha," acknowledged Jack. "I'll still go in with you though." Angelo nodded, again with a slight smile that almost seemed to Jack to be one of appreciation. The secretary at the lawyer's office directed the two to a large glass conference room adjacent to the lobby of the suite, then picked up her phone to let him know they had arrived. An extremely well-dressed otter in a silk suit quickly bounded into the conference room from down the hallway past the secretary. "Hey, there's my man!" he said in a friendly tone, shaking Angelo's paw. "And his friend!" he exclaimed, shaking Jack's paw vigorously with one hand while simultaneously handing him a business card with the other. "Perfect timing, perfect timing," he said. He was very animated, yet didn't seem agitated or nervous. "Yep, all here, Max," confirmed Angelo. "Big order this time!" He placed the bag on the conference table. "Yeah, yeah," said the animated otter. "Two grand, right?" Angelo nodded. The otter pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket and counted out twenty hundred-dollar bills. "There we go," said the otter, handing them to Angelo. "Worth every dime. And..." he paused, reaching into his suit jacket pocket. "Here's a little something extra for you. A tip, if you will. In case you want to see what all the fuss is about, you know?" He leaned in said something else to Angelo which Jack could not make out, and handed the little fox a small brownish object which the kit promptly stowed into his own jacket pocket. The otter clapped his hands together once loudly. "Well, I got to get going. My best to Victor, and I'll catch you next time, Ange." "Ok, seeya, Max," Angelo said, though the otter had already grabbed the bag and started walking back to his office at a fairly brisk pace before the kit had even started speaking. "See, I told you," Angelo continued after the otter had departed. "The guy's a trip!" "Yeah, I see what you mean," replied Jack, bemused at what had just transpired. The two foxes returned to the elevator and took it back down to the parking deck. By Jack's calculations from the bag tickets, Angelo had close to six thousand dollars in his jacket. Clearly Victor had positioned himself in a desirable and profitable business, Jack thought admiringly. That it was illegal was still just a technicality in Jack's mind. Returning to the car, Jack recalled something from the lawyer's office. "So, what did the lawyer give you back there?" he inquired as he sat down in the car and shut his door. "Well, lets see," replied Angelo as he shut his door. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the item. It was a small brown vial made out of glass or plastic. Jack could see a small quantity of powder inside. "Is that coke?" Jack asked incredulously. Though perhaps cocaine did explain the otter's over-animated behavior in the conference room. Angelo held the vial up to his eye. "Yeah, that's what he said it was," The little fox popped it open and poured the contents out onto the back of his paw in a small mound. "I dunno, what do you think?" he asked. "Definitely," said Jack. Angelo raised his paw close to his eyes and studied the little white pile momentarily. Without warning he lowered it to his nose and swiftly inhaled the mound of powder from the back of his paw. "Hey!" exclaimed Jack, reflexively lashing out his arm and batting Angelo's paw away from his face. "What the fuck are you doing?" "Hey, Relax!" Angelo snapped back. He then took a deep breath through his nose and held it, before letting it out slowly. "Whoa," he said looking up at Jack with a slight look of surprise, his eyes wide. "Dammit, what the hell did you do that for?" Jack barked at Angelo. "That shit will kill you, you know." Angelo didn't respond, but just took another deep nasal breath and held it, his chin tucked into his chest, before letting the breath go in a long sigh. "Fuck," Jack exclaimed again as he backed the car out of the parking space and headed out of the garage. "Relax, Jack," said Angelo when the car was back on the road. "Its just a little coke. A 'kit-sized' dose, he said. What's the big deal?" "The 'big deal' is, you shouldn't be doing coke at your age! The last thing you want is to get hooked on that shit." Angelo folded his arms defensively. "I'm not going to get hooked on it! And any case, what do you care?" he said, with raised voice. "I do care," Jack replied loudly, almost argumentatively. "I don't want to see your life get fucked up..." He stopped abruptly. He had been about to add 'any more than it already is' but realized how cruel that would sound. Angelo didn't appear to pick up on it though. He just stared out the front window, arms still folded, though Jack noticed his knee was now nervously bouncing. "What do you care..." the kit said again, though quieter. Jack put his paw out and gently placed it on Angelo's knee. The kit jumped at the contact, clearly startled, though how much of that was due to the stimulant he had just taken, Jack couldn't tell. "Sorry, sorry," Jack said, pulling his paw back. The car drove past a road sign indicating the interstate highway was two miles ahead. There were a couple of stop lights and one railroad crossing to get past, then they'd be on the freeway for home, and the next batch of deliveries. As the light ahead turned red, Jack noticed a police car turn out of one of the shopping centers and fall in behind his car. He pulled to a stop at the light, and the police car stopped behind him. Jack hoped this old car wasn't visibly smoking, or doing anything else that might justify a traffic stop. Granted, the contraband was all gone, and there would be no reason to search a cub, so they wouldn't find the money even if the car had a burnt tail light or leaky exhaust. Jack still maintained a certain paranoia when it came to the police, though, which stemmed from his earlier teen years. The light turned green and Jack eased the car forward down the road, making sure to stay under the posted speed limit. The police car was several car lengths back and seemed to be not taking any particular interest in the big old car. "Cop," Jack said to Angelo who abruptly perked his ears. "Shit," he said, sinking low into the bucket seat as if to avoid being seen. "Be cool, be cool," Jack said reassuringly. "Shit shit shit," Angelo just whispered. The light ahead turned red. Jack had hoped to be able to just barely make it through, causing the police car to get caught at it, but that now wasn't going to happen. Just prior to the intersection that this light controlled were the railroad tracks which ran parallel to the cross-street. The intersection itself was just past the tracks, though the traffic light was placed before them, apparently to prevent people from being stopped on the tracks when they had to stop for the red light. Jack shot a quick glance into his rear view mirror. The police car was still behind him, and the officer appeared to be on the radio. Jack began to drum his fingers nervously on the wheel. The light was still red, though there didn't seem to be any cross-traffic. His heart sank. This could only mean one thing. As if on cue, the red lights on the railroad crossing gate lit up and the gates lowered to the fully down position in front of the car. Jack looked to his right and saw the bright headlight of a train locomotive moving up the tracks. It appeared to be at the head of large freight train, judging from what he could see past the engine. Oh well, he thought, this would give the police officer behind him plenty of time now to find fault with his car. The train was a hundred yards or so away still, when it sounded a warning blast of its horn. Angelo jumped again at that. "Shit shit shit..." he kept muttering. "Be cool, bro," Jack said, as much to himself as to Angelo. "Jack..." the kit said nervously. At that moment the blue lights on the police car came on. That didn't take long, Jack thought. "Better hand me the registration," he said to Angelo. "Jack!" the kit exclaimed through clenched teeth. Jack looked over at him, questioningly. "The car's stolen," the little fox said, his ears flattening back. Jack's head snapped forward. "WHAT?" he half-shouted. He looked in his mirror again. The officer had gotten out of his car, but was standing behind the open door, with the radio mic in hand. Jack had seen enough reality cop shows on TV to recognize that the officer was probably calling for backup, now that he had Jack trapped at the railroad crossing. The officer spoke into the microphone he was holding, and his voice broadcast over a loudspeaker from the patrol car. "Driver, shut the car down and throw the keys out the window. Do it now!" Jack also recognized this routine as being the start of a "felony stop", which confirmed that the officer knew about the car. He must have called in the tag number. Jack did a quick mental survey of his situation. He was driving a stolen car and had a coked-up cub in the car with him, who just happened to have thousands of dollars in cash and a used vial of cocaine in his jacket. 'Officer, this isn't what it looks like' was not going to work here. He would likely be arrested for drug trafficking, kidnapping, car theft, or any number of other crimes, and Victor would probably not stick his neck out to rescue him. A second blast of the approaching train's horn shocked Jack back into the moment. The train was bearing down on the intersection and would soon cross in front of the car, trapping them with the police car. Jack looked through the intersection, past the tracks, then back to the train rolling towards them, horn blaring. No, that would be insane... He saw Angelo out of the corner of his eye brace against the dashboard. "Driver, shut down..." the officer began again over the loudspeaker. Jack looked back to the intersection again. "PUNCH IT!" Angelo shouted. He had clearly been thinking the same thing. With a feral scream, Jack stomped on the car's accelerator pedal.

To be continued...