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CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

WILLISTON

The prostitute was a white ermine who called herself Wanda, although Captain George Williston doubted that it was her real name. These whores always had some fancy name for themselves, which they seemed to think would make themselves more endearing to potential clients.

Williston didn't care what her name was. He'd gone with Wanda three times before this, and she was a good lay; that's why he was back. He didn't care about her name or her personality. It was all about the performance.

He grunted as they rutted on the bed. It had taken a little while for her to get him hard, and that bothered him. Sure, he was 56 years old, but that wasn't too old, was it? He was too young to be dealing with erectile dysfunction or other such nonsense. As such, it would be Wanda's fault if he couldn't perform, so he'd slapped her hard across the face, and ignored the whimper of pain that followed. "Get on your knees and do what I pay you for" he'd growled, menacingly.

The Doberman had always appreciated the reputation his species had. Dobermans were men's dogs; not sissies like huskies, and just as wolves were stereotypically expected to be leaders, or foxes to be clever, Dobermans were expected to be tough and manly; values which the police Captain could appreciate. Being manly meant you took no shit from women or lesser males, as Williston's wife, Sandy had learned the hard way. Stupid bitch. She kept talking about divorce, and he just knew if that happened she'd find some faggy lawyer who'd get her the house; maybe even his truck.

Fortunately, he'd given her the punch she'd needed and she'd shut up the yapping. Not that she could yap much anyway, with a broken jaw. A good punch, now, that was exactly what Antonia Lennox needed. Williston increased the roughness and speed of his thrusts to that thought, growling in annoyance that such an infuriating woman should invade his moment of pleasure. He'd appointed the wolf to the position of lieutenant because he thought she'd be easier to control than that fox, Denison, but he'd been wrong. What Antonia needed was for a strong man to remind her of her place, but of course, her husband believed in equality of the sexes, or some other such modern liberal invention. Then again - what could he expect, considering Finn Lennox was an Air Force man? Real soldiers, in Williston's perspective, served in the Army.

Wanda had been pleasingly quiet for the majority of their encounter, but after he'd sped up she cried out a few times. "Shut up, bitch" Williston growled, reach under her to grab one of her breasts harshly, and squeeze. It did not hurt every so often remind a lesser person of their place. Williston had tried doing that at the station, especially concerning Antonia and that latest pet of hers, the fag wolf, Parker. Now that, he reflected, forcing Wanda flatter against the bed, was an interesting thought. What if Antonia was only standing up for Parker because she had the hots for him? After all, he had seen Parker dancing with that dazzling Brit wolf, Olympia Rogan, at the Mayor's gala, so perhaps he wasn't entirely gay....interesting. He could go to Finn Lennox and tell him that his wife was having an affair with Parker, or he could use the threat of doing so as leverage over Antonia the next time they came to blows.

But not now. Antonia, Parker, Denison; they were all off having their fun, celebrating the close of the Prophet murders - a case that had ended two weeks ago, as it were. And he, Williston, was supposed to be enjoying being away from them, by his bi-weekly visits to this particular hotel, one that turned a blind eye to whores, partly because its owner was under Javon Kabuli's "protection."

"Captain Williston."

He'd been just about to blow, about to bury his knot in the bitch, ignoring her cries, when the voice addressed him.

Williston's army days had warned him against the danger of ignoring a potential warning. He yanked his dick out, started to turn around, as the bruised and sniffling Wanda crawled out from under him and scooted towards the head of the bed.

The next sound was short and muffled, but Williston recognised it as that of a gun with a silencer on it, or at least his brain made that connection just as his ears caught another sound, that rather like a spoon stabbing into a melon, and something wet splashed the side of his face.

Blinking, he glanced up.

The white wolf wore what almost looked like a ninja costume - black top; black pants; some sort of tight-fitting athletic clothes. The door to the hotel's balcony was open, and she stood next to the television, only a few feet away, Williston's pistol in one paw. She was motionless, save for the slight swaying of a few bead-strung strands of mane.

"Olympia?" Williston gasped, confused. He wiped at the side of his muzzle; glanced at his paw. Blood?

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Wanda's legs still on the bed, her upper body hanging off the side of it, against the wall, while above, a dark splattering of blood stained the wall. He glanced back to the wolf. "What the hell..."

"You don't know me, Captain Williston" the wolf said.

"Put that thing away" the Doberman pleaded. "Before you hurt...someone else." In his mind and eyes he was scanning the room for a weapon, anything. She had his gun, she had killed Wanda with it, and he was naked, exposed - and now he saw the handles of something else sticking up from behind her shoulder, in a shoulder sling; swords or knives or something. Shit.

Olympia smirked. "Catch." She tossed the pistol to him.

Williston snatched it out of the air and pointed it at her. "Stand down, Olympia." He ordered, fangs bared.

"The chamber is empty" the wolf nodded towards his paws. "I merely had to insure your scent and prints were on it." She gave Wanda's corpse a disconcerted glance. Wrong place, wrong time, her eyes seemed to say.

The Doberman stared at his paws and cursed. "What do you want, wolf?"

She leaned against the television. "First, to enlighten you." She regarded him for a moment of silence, paws fingering the tip of her tail. "You've been a very bad dog, Captain. Collaborating with Javon Kabuli?" The wolf shook her head disapprovingly. "And who knows how many other crime lords. Making deals with politicians, all for your own gain. Shooting my grandfather just because Javon asked you to..."

Williston made the connection. "Fuck, you are Xang Lan?" Damn, why hadn't he made the connection before?

"To some people." He didn't like the way she was staring at him, eyes unreadable, like a fox's, filled with scheming and a confidence that she could outwit him. "Did you really imagine I would allow that slight to go without retaliation?"

His eyes darted here and there - no weapon, but he could overpower her. He'd knock her down and strangle her, or bash her head in. Stupid bitch. He'd show her- wait until the right moment. "The Panthers will retaliate in turn" he growled. "If I come to harm."

Her next smile was even more foxlike, the kind of smile foxes used when they thought they had outwitted you before you began. "Such a fool you are, Captain. Do you really imagine that Javon, or any of the Panthers, have even the slightest concern for your welfare? To them you are just a tool." Her ears flicked. "Rather like your underlings are to you, I understand."

"You have moles" he guessed, baring his fangs again. "Fuck, I'll kill them-"

"Of course I do, Captain" the wolf smiled. "Redfield has been extremely helpful, as has Simms, and..." she trailed off. "New allies appear every month. And I, unlike Javon, protect my allies."

"Redfield? The wolfdog?" Williston spat, then laughed bitterly. The scent of the dead ermine was starting to sting his nose. "We'll see how long his pretty face lasts behind bars." As for Melody Simms - well, there was another example that women could not be trusted.

Olympia straightened, reached behind her back. "That will not be necessary." She pulled out one long Chinese sword, then another. "You, Captain, have caused, I think, enough damage to this city for one man. This city needs new leadership if it is to remain great in the future. You will not be part of that future. Antonia Lennox will make a far more suitable replacement.. One who will actually strive for the justice I wish to see enacted."

"You can try" he snarled.

Williston and Olympia moved at almost exactly the same instant. He vaulted off the bed, swinging a big fist at her, body low in a wrestlers stance, but instead of swinging a sword as he'd expected, the wolf swung a leg upwards, flawlessly kicking the Doberman smack on the underside of his jaw, then spinning completely so that her leg again collided with Williston's face, sending him staggering back against the wall.

He hit the wall, started to push off, and felt the swords enter his chest.

It was almost impossible to breath. He blinked, coughing. Olympia stood before him, ears forward, arms slack, letting the two swords pin him to the wall. "Foolish man" she whispered. "So rash; so predictable; so easy to kill."

Williston felt blood rising in his throat, and coughed again. His chest ached; his senses were fading. In fact, everything was fading; the hotel room scene blurring into uncertain images, although Olympia remained clear, regarding him with that cool expression, devoid of emotion.

He was losing control of his body, unable to feel, although in a cruel twist of fate his nose still worked, mixing the scent of his own blood with Wanda's, and with Olympia's elusive, exotic musk, still captivating even in her fatality.

The wolf reached out and pulled the swords away, allowing Williston to slowly slide down the wall, leaving twin smears of blood on the plaster.

All was ending; the Captain was falling away, down a dark tunnel, but though everything else had blurred, he could still see Olympia, her dark eyes regarding him like those of a merciless Goddess, so that in the last moment he gasped in incomprehension, voice weaker than a man's ever should have been: "Who _are_you?"

Williston could no longer see her now, but as he was called into the darkness, the white wolf's voice followed him. "Captain; how very disappointed I am in you. Have you not already guessed? I am Medea!"

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Hey guys - while your heads are spinning from the revelations in this chapter, I'd like to say thanks for reading; I hope this journey was fun for you. I imagine it's clear by this point that this story is far from over - this is the first installment of a trilogy. In the next episode more will be revealed concerning Olympia's, and to a lesser degree Garrett's, past, and the greater conflict will begin to become more clear. I'll go ahead and reveal that while Ned will continue to be a POV character, he will no longer be the primary POV - book 2 will have FOUR primary POV characters sharing the limelight. You're free to guess at who they are - Garrett and Olympia will never be POV characters, as it would spoil the mystery surrounding them, but *any* other character, no matter how small, may be a main narrator next time. Wait and see.

Book 2 should be out later this year, once I've written enough of it to feel confident posting it. The first scene may or may not feature Montoya and Sofia showing up to a formal party in drag :)