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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

MARVIN

The usual manager at the Tiger's Tail Nightclub was down with some kind of flu, so it was the assistant-manager, a slender white fox named Frank Thomas, who was giving Marvin Feeley the rundown of the month's business.

The kid was going on about their alcohol stock being lower, something about more customers than previous years. "The summer tourist traffic is really hot this year" he explained. "All the emotions about the national marriage law and all, my kind of people are flocking here in droves."

Marvin didn't give a shit about Thomas's "kind of people," gays and lesbians and whatever the other letters in LGBTQ and so on stood for, but he nodded and said something affirmative. He wasn't going to argue with the kid, at any rate; more tourists meant more business.

"Just order more margaritas" he said, waving away the inventory papers the fox was trying to show him. "Do what needs done; that's what I pay you for."

Thomas raised an eyebrow, but put the inventory list back and walked back out to the bar, which as it was now just a few hours before dawn, was already closed. The last of the club's patrons had left; the servers had been dismissed, and only he had been left there to deal with Marvin Feeley. "If you don't care about the inventories and the number of customers we're getting, then what do you care about, boss?"

Marvin didn't like the fox's attitude; that was why he typically didn't hire foxes, but it had been Craig, the main manager, who had appointed Thomas as his assistant, and Marvin wasn't going to argue with him. "That's a stupid question" he snapped, running a paw over his short whiskers so they sprang up again. "I care about making this club profitable, and keeping it more popular than every other fag dance place in this city."

The fox was shaking his head disapprovingly. "I must say boss, I find it very odd that you're the owner of four gay nightclubs and yet you seem to have a low opinion of the very demographic that makes you rich."

"Do I look like I'm rich?" Marvin snapped, irritated. "If I was I'd be out on some beach in Monte Rey with a couple of cute ferrets and maybe a lynx, not wasting my time with you."

Thomas was smirking. "You didn't answer my question" he said, flicking off the lights over the DJ's stand.

For the love of Pete. "Listen, kid" Marvin said, gesturing with his paws. "I don't have a problem with you fags. My own brother is one." He chuckled. "Probably even more so now that he got himself thrown in prison, the idiot." He followed the fox back up to the bar, where Thomas was checking to make sure the bartender had tidied up properly before leaving. "You wanna stick some other guy's dick up your ass, doesn't bother me, just so long as you keep coming here first and drinking yourselves drunk on my booze. It's like my wife says-"

"Which wife?" The fox asked sarcastically. "I hear there's been four Mrs Feeleys."

Ok, this had gone too far. "Listen, kid. Don't fuck with me. Ok? Not if you want to keep your job." Would that shut him up? I don't have time for this, Marvin thought. I pay these guys more than I should just to manage the nightclubs. He didn't need to come down here and have some smart-aleck fox telling him what was what.

The fox flicked his tail and smiled. "I'm sorry boss, but I do have a boyfriend, so I must decline. Plus, I don't date weasels."

"What?" Marvin retorted. "Kid, ya gotta know what I mean. First you poke your little snout into my love life and then you insult my species." He grinned for the first time. "And you talk about prejudice."

"I've got nothing against weasels" Thomas insisted, leaning over the bar. "But listen to yourself, boss. You sound like Danny DeVito in a sappy 1980s comedy."

Marvin threw his paws up in the air. "I've heard enough of this crap. Is there anything else I need to know or can I go?"

He didn't like that sly smirk that spread further across the fox's muzzle. "Well...one thing. I fired that DJ you had Craig hire."

"What?!?" Marvin fairly screamed. "He had great ratings."

"....with pre-teen girls, maybe" Thomas flicked his little white ears. "Not here, though. I got a new guy in, plays David Guetta, Zedd, Avicci - decent stuff."

Marvin couldn't hold still, listening to this smart-ass idiot of a fox, so he turned away, pacing, clenching and unclenching his fingers. "Are there any other changes you've made to my establishment I need to know of?" The words came out sounding forced, with the tone of anger poorly disguised.

"Yes, actually" Thomas told him. "I need you to approve another server position - two would be better. Yvonne wants us to hire another lesbian server or two - she's tired of patrons thinking she's a male cross-dresser."

"I don't give a shit about the concerns of some dyke" Marvin muttered, wiping his muzzle with a handkerchief. "If the bitch isn't happy here, fire her."

"You're such a nice guy, boss" the fox smiled.

And you're going to be fired, as soon as Craig is back, Marvin thought, but he didn't say it just yet. He'd come in next week to give Thomas his notice; how marvellous it would be to watch the fox's face when he learned he'd lost his job. "And you're a terrible employee" he said.

He'd hoped that would get at least a little reaction, but the fox's ears didn't so much as flick and his tail was still swishing lazily behind him. "I am? We've had an increase in business just in the last two weeks since I took over."

"All you could do was point out issues" Marvin pointed out.

"Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?" the fox argued. "Help make this place function better?"

"You're supposed to tell me 'everything is running perfectly'" Marvin snorted. He shook his head in disgust. "You know what I like about Craig? I come in here, he says "all's well, boss. No problems here."

Thomas snickered. "That's because Craig has about as much imagination as a grasshopper. He's been mismanaging your club, which you would know, if you bothered to look into our business records. No wonder his boyfriend left him; Craig would have bored him to death."

Marvin tried to picture what it would look like seeing Craig's big brown bear paw smashing into Thomas's arrogant little face, and found the image satisfying. "Listen kid, you've wasted enough of my time for one evening" he said. "I've got a flight to catch to Vegas in" he glanced at his watch, "in fifty fucking minutes. If you've made me late...." He gave the manager his best evil grin, which he knew secretly probably wasn't very impressive. "Kiss your job goodbye, fox. Maybe you can find a better job sucking dicks." He turned and went into the back to grab a shot of vodka to clear his head. It hadn't been the best parting comment, he knew, but those never seemed to come at the right moment anymore. It was, he reflected, another thing he disliked about kids like Frank Thomas. The fox was what, twenty something? Barely out of diapers, and yet he thought he was so much cleverer, being a child of the information age, computer genius - blah. Marvin had not told anyone that he'd had to have his secretary show him how to program his iPad; that wasn't the sort of thing that sounded good at a board meeting. These smart-ass kids thought they were so smart and he had thirty years living on them. They'd learn soon enough that the real world required more talent than just quick comebacks.

Thomas had left when Marvin returned to the dancefloor. The weasel stared briefly at the floor, remembering his teenage years, back in the 70s. That was when clubs played _real_music, not the noisy electronic stuff that kids played today. He snorted. Maybe it was time to retire. He could retire, couldn't he? He was 53, maybe a little younger than the average retiree, but if he sold all the clubs at a profit, that would be enough to live in comfort for the rest of his days. Ditch Peg Ann and find some pretty young mustelid who'd give him paw massages, then fly off to Trinidad or Seychelles and lounge on the beach for the rest of his life.

Now that would be the life.

He toasted his glass to that pleasant thought, drained the last of the vodka, and put the glass on the bar. Now to catch his flight. Peg Ann was meeting him in Vegas, which was suitably depressing, but it was always possible he could ditch her at the slot machines and find some cute waitress to sneak off with. That had worked last year; there was no reason to assume it wouldn't do a second time.

He locked up the club and walked around the corner towards where he'd parked his car, a little ways down the alley. A dark place, but Marvin had grown up on the streets (so long ago, it seemed now), and alley goons and street rats didn't scare him. He stepped into the darkness.

He'd taken two steps and was fishing in his pocket for his car keys when his ears caught a sound that had not came from his own movement. Paws on water, in one of the puddles from that afternoon's rain.

Instinctively, Marvin leapt forward, just as he became aware of a swishing sound from some long instrument being swung at him, just barely missing his shoulder, judging by the sound.

Not missing a beat, Marvin whirled, and swung a fist at the shadowy form just behind him. The guy was holding something, a club or a knife.

His fist collided with the guy's chest, sending him sprawling. He heard the splash as the guy fell into the puddle, arms flailing. Hard to tell the species, but the guy was a taller fellow, and didn't have much of a tail. A mustelid of some kind, or a shorter-tailed feline - but it really was impossible to tell in the darkness. "Don't fuck with me, buddy" Marvin yelled, then turned and ran for his car. Stupid kid. Probably some meth-head looking for easy cash to fuel his habit.

I may be past fifty, Marvin thought happily to himself, but I can still handle myself on the street just like when I was fifteen. Maybe it was odd, but the brief encounter with the mugger had entirely restored his good mood, Frank Thomas forgotten. Try to fuck with me all you like, bastards. I can still outrun-

He was almost to his car when the first bullet hit him.