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6.

Before he could ponder his hankering suspicions any further, a young man sat beside him, vacating the empty barstool between where Max and the badger bum were positioned.

The boy, a slightly well-toned human around his mid-twenties and no heavier than perhaps a hundred-fifty pounds, plopped down hastily into his seat and pulled a coaster napkin closer by to his side from a nearby pile, pinching a tight grip on the corner fold with his thumb and index finger, both ringed with gold and turquoise bands. Max watched him steadily, not quite staring but not exactly ignoring his actions either. A certain eccentricity emanated from this new arrival, one that spoke swiftly with so few words mentioned. He was different from the others in how he operated – his mannerisms seemed strangely extraterrestrial in lieu of this place. The human rubbed his nose with his left wrist and vied for the bartender’s attention, cocking his wrist upright, bracelets and bangles chiming and jangling like castanets in a gypsy’s treasure satchel, arm extended, gesturing a broad swinging wave and snapping his grimy untrimmed fingers. Before Gaston the barkeep could take the order though, Max interrupted with flying dexterity.

“Hi there!” Max exclaimed, trying not to oversell himself too magnificently.

Too late.

“uh… hello.” The young man replied, glancing over at him with a look of solemn confusion etched thoroughly upon his face. Maybe that expression was more uncertainty than confusion… or it could’ve very well been a mixture of both. Perhaps he was attempting to show a friendly, sociable face to a delirious whack-job of a shep-coon? Such a struggle.

“Say there, amigo...” Max swallowed the last of his beer in a single wincing gulp then stared back into the eyes of this particularly fascinating human, “I’m curious to know, but are you new to this place as well?” Max asked him, nearly barking with a fastidious haste to be heard over the supercharged DJ’s set. Then Max suddenly felt completely unaware of his surroundings. Everything seemed to dissipate into thin air: no more bartender, no more horny bridesmaids, no more elder bum, and no more non-stop throbbing techno music, even his own churning fear had been gracefully disposed of. One thing Maxwell didn’t expect was another living soul this attractive to show face, not here, not tonight, not at all. He felt a slight tingling sensation emanate from within his groin. His heart was racing at the same pulse rate as a hummingbird. If this truly was Max’s prick-of-a-druggie, he was ashamed in the fact that he had to wind up killing such an attractive one, a diamond in the rough, a rare jewel mixed in with thousands of cloned artificial duplicates. Max was expecting some doofus with a hook-nose and gaudy horn-rimmed spectacles. Max anticipated some freakishly ugly old woman with a cleft lip and a scalded, missing ear.

Not this delectable hunk of a young man.

“Not at all there, Coonie. In fact, I come in here once about every other week. The bitches in this place are dynamite! No joke, this pad peddles the greatest pussy I’ve ever had the utmost pleasure to fuck anywhere else – and I should know, been just about every-damn-where else in the area imaginable! And to think some cheapskate motherfuckers out there are actually up in arms over this place being here? They’re mad! At us!? I say to hell with them! That’s what I say, dude. I mean… you catch my drift, ese?”

Maxwell nodded.

“Right, so anyways I’m actually here to meet up with someone. I’ve got…uhm, a certain bit of business to attend to with him, or her. Honestly though I’m not sure who I’m meeting up with exactly, but time will tell, right? I’ve just got to keep a bit of an eye open, that’s all. Business as usual.” The young attractive prick said.

(Bingo!)

What a well-rounded point, Max thought, and about fucking time you show up to the party, you fucking prick-ass jack-wad dick-wipe. I’ve got a little gift for you to behold right here in my pocket, pal.

But Max himself hadn’t come for the pussy or the prestige. Even though he humbly despised being called a Coonie (racial bigotry always infuriated Max; he associated the term “coonie” with the likes of “spic” or “gook”), he couldn’t help but let this one impromptu slander slide just once, especially from the contact he’d been pining for nearly all night. This was most definitely, without a single doubt, his man - and what a FINE young man he was! Such a cruel shame. The sultry youthful devil was still pretty damn attractive to him. Max just shrugged to himself and kept his attention focused on the boy, refusing to let his own personal affections gain the better of his fine-tuned judgment. He really didn’t wish to kill this bombshell sat down beside him, but a coon-dog had to do what a coon-dog had to do. Especially if it meant blowing the entire place sky-high and making off like a ghost.

Max squirmed in his barstool, thinking to himself: Keep it together man, just act friendly and follow his lead. Don’t brush him off with your uncertainty or any kind of a threat. Do what he wants, say what he demands, drink or smoke or ingest whatever the hell he offers you and then by all means, find a way to get that money from him! For fuck’s sake, don’t blow this one either. Just a single shot to the head, right between those beautifully fetching eyes. You may not survive for long if something goes wrong with this deal, old dog. Keep your cool and you’ll learn to keep your goddam head screwed on tight. You’ll be killing this prick and making ends meet in no time. Now figure out where his end of the bargain is and–

“I tell you one thing though.” The cute-faced prick added.

“Yes?” Max replied.

“Well, it’s a damn shame seeing how these stupid governmental assholes always try to over-empower us by removing anything remotely entertaining from the big picture!” He yelled rebelliously, slamming his fist down upon the counter of the bar. The bum jumped in his seat, startled with fright. He frowned at the boy, sniffed back a wad of phlegm, and spat on the ground beside him. Scared me, ya damn cock-suckerin’ loudmouth.

“I know what you mean, man.” Max said, really knowing what this young punk truly meant. That hadn’t been big-man talk for show but a genuine disagreement between anthros and humans which dated back multitudes of years prior. Like civil rioting from the 60s, the two species have actively been at each other’s throats for an extended, lengthy period of time. Peace had been a spoiled opportunity for the two living species to grow imbued to, which meant a lifetime of severe discrepancies from both sides of the species pool. The arguments never ceased and had only grown more violent in nature throughout the course of the passing years. Of course, some didn’t agree with the negative confrontation and rather enjoyed the company of one another. This informant was a prime example of the latter. Max couldn’t be any more thankful.

“What’ll it be for you, young man?” Max spoke up, asking the tardy young prick aloud and clearly enough to be heard over the implosive bass-powered techno rhythm, assertively focused and glancing over in an effort to befriend a seemingly less-than-scraggly person who seemed trustworthy enough, even if the poor bastard would eventually be deader than a doornail with shrapnel from a hollow-tipped bullet buried deep in his cranium. If this was truly his informant, Max couldn’t be any more or less relieved over how damn easy it had been after all to find and identify the mystery culprit. In a way, the prick had much rather found Max instead. The hardest part was the lengthy agonizing wait in the beginning.

Please God let this deal run its course, let this be the breadwinner of the evening!

“Oh, that’s okay coon-dog! I can afford my own drink. Thanks for the offer though anyways. Maybe you & ol’ Gus across the way could share a drink, just so long as he doesn’t spit on your shoes first, eh?” The young man heckled.

Max chuckled beneath his breath a bit and then laughed aloud, brandishing a wide-toothed smile. A long silver-crowned lateral incisor drooped downward from the upper-right corner of his slim dog-lipped mouth. His stout raccoon-like muzzle scrunched up into tiny wavy rivulets of peach-fuzzed fur as he smiled gaily, imagining what this prick looked like either naked or dead.

“Hell, with the lack of decent teeth, I doubt he’d draw even a trickle of saliva from those clammy old aged lips.” Max said. His silvery grin glinted a tiny reflection of light from his fanged snaggletooth into his beer stein, sending tiny beams of fluorescent glowing sparkles shooting across the mahogany-polished countertop.

The young man laughed aloud, then cut himself short.

“Oh! Hey by the way, my name’s Guadalupe, or Lupe for short, in case I’ve yet to tell you such.”

“I’m Maxwell, or Max for short.”

Lupe’s hand shook Max’s hand-paw. Lupe brushed his index finger against Max’s palm while the raccoon-shepherd’s firm gripping black paws squeezed down tight on his new buddy’s taut slightly tanned hand, thoroughly embedding white hand-paw print markings over the surface of his crusted palm which softly dissipated back to rosy red fleshy undertones.

“Trust me man, I don’t think you’d be able to catch me dead sharing a drink with THIS old geezer,” Max said insistently and comically with a slight undertone of sarcasm in his breath, nudging in reference to the dirty homeless elder anthro beside his middleman victim. Lupe chuckled and nodded in agreement.

“So, you still interested in that drink, amigo?” Maxwell asked.

“Y’know what? I’ve changed my mind after all. Consider it a sure thing, pal.” Lupe said while patting Max on his slender shoulder, “you see, the only reason I turned you down before is because I’m waiting on somebody to do with something regarding a balloon of her-… well, very special stuff for a very special client of mine.”

“I see…” Max said as he began to swelter with a fulfilling erection of anticipatory excitement. He felt like a child awoken upon the dawn of Christmas morning. You’re waiting for a balloon full of heroin to make you a cloud-walking disciple…but all you’ll get is a face full of death before this night is over, you bum-fucked little goddam prick!

A brief silence passed between them. Max saw Lupe shuffling in his seat, looking like an old woman holding her composure together while maintaining both a full bladder and a bad case of severe gastrointestinal distress.

“Know what, amigo? I notice that you seem a little tense.” Maxwell finally said to shatter the silence, “Looking at you, I just simply couldn’t help but observe the dead obvious, you know? Is everything okay? I wonder… am I wrong to assume such a bold observation? Perhaps you just need a minute to recuperate or–”

“What’re you talking about?”

Lupe looked at Max cautiously for a few seconds, briefly rummaging over what he’d just been told by this complete and involuntary stranger. He then shook his head and smacked his palms into his eye sockets, rubbing them in circular motions.

“I do? Oh… well, it’s nothing really. And no, you’re not wrong. I am a bit nervous… but I’ll be okay! For real, anything to ease the anxiety of a normal routine work-load, I always say! It’s nothing really, I’ll be fine, dude. Have a drink on it?” Lupe asked.

“I see… a drink sounds nice.” Max said. When he sat back down, Lupe continued.

“So are you meeting somebody new here for the first time, then?” Max asked. He swigged back his glass of top-shelf vodka and belched, stinging his throat. His gums burned ever-so briefly.

“Well, it’s something like that I suppose; this is certainly not a date, that’s for damn sure! I’m actually just waiting on a delivery. A sort of ‘exchange’ was promised to be undertaken here, so I’ve come with goods to trade for it. Helps keep the bosses happy and my ass out of a goddam sling, am I right?”

“As rain, amigo.” Maxwell said as a twinkle of reassurance flashed in his good eye.

Max nodded in agreement and took another steady glance at his own beer mug, which had been refilled while he wasn’t looking. The bartender swooped in with ninja stealth and tip-worthy efficiency and filled Max’s glass. It was now devoid of any carbonation from sitting for a long while. The heat in this damn place must be quite intense indeed, Max thought as he swirled the liquid substance in the mug. He then decided to abandon it altogether and order two fresh new shots of vodka, one for him and the other for his new human prick of a junkie friend. He slid the pint down to the badger bum and the man offered him another charming putrid smile, thanking him sincerely. If Max would be getting anything from this puny pusher bastard who now sat beside him, nudging his left knee back and forth and up and down and all around compulsively, he’d have to inebriate the boy thoroughly beforehand. Max threw in a couple India Pale Ales into his initial drink order as well. Lupe continued his discussion perfectly uninterrupted.

“The only damn drawback is that I have no freaking idea who this person is I’m supposed to meet, where they’ll end up, even if it’s in fact a PERSON I’m meant to meet in the first place! All these freaks in here look suspiciously similar to this description I received though, amigo, and no offense.” Guadalupe said as he fished a small slip of yellow notepad paper out of his rear jean-pocket and handed it over to Max to read.

“None taken.” Max said. Due to low lighting conditions, he had to turn the paper at a certain angle to read the words, neatly printed with a No. 2 pencil upon the yellow surface:

CLASS: ANTHROPOMORPHIC

AGE: MID-TWENTIES

DIRTY BLONDE, COULD BE DREADLOCKED

GERMAN SHEPHERD/RACCOON HYBRID

GOES BY “BLACKBURNADEAUX”

Suddenly the brown-haired green-eyed human being with a pocketful of cash and sinuses littered with cocaine sprang up and shouted aloud, “Let’s settle for a toast! We’ll drink to The Man and all the ways that those scurvy fuckers just love to screw working-class studs like you and me! What do you say, dog-guy?”

“Dog-guy?” Max laughed and gave a friendly pat to the young boy’s back like a long-lost war-time chum reunited and safe from any irrefutable harm, “I’m a hybrid entity, amigo. Half shepherd, half raccoon.” Max replied to him, correcting his methods as generously as possible while keeping a half-cocked smile plastered upon his conniving canine lips, blackened darker than onyx with accumulated filmy scum upon the two farthest side corners. If somebody had told Max right then and there that he’d just given himself away to the enemy in a drunken stupor, he’d just laugh them off and buy them a round as well. Effortlessly, Max shifted his position in his barstool to expose his long, bristly ring-striped tail as a telltale sign of proof, brandishing it liberally in his firm grip.

“Oh! Really? Got it dude! So… to the established order of shit then!” Lupe hollered aloud. He didn’t register immediately to the fact that he’d found his informant as well. Both were beginning to get tipsy to a fault. Lupe raised his shot glass, spilling vodka over the side to smoothly trickle down his brown-toned fingers, hollered “Salut!” and downed the flammable liquid in a single quick gulp.

Max gave a slightly irritable shrug then smiled weakly without much excitement, like how people got paid to wear fake smiles in television commercials while always keeping their expressions limited to only the slight occasional grin or two.

“Okay then Lupe, you won this round; I’ll share a toast with you, pal.”

“That’s the spirit!” Guadalupe exclaimed excitedly, wide-eyed and energetic.

Had Max found his informant… really? He had no idea his VIP candidate would be human, let alone such a young man, a teenager, a grad student fresh off the old chipping block of scrutinizing college-bound studies. A little more time spent among his company would ultimately yield a tell-tale sign of established success, just perhaps. Max simply didn’t see the obvious signs, given the atmosphere in which the deed had been slated to take place. Under such absurdly compromising situations, nobody really takes the time to step back and see the bigger picture come into effect. This would ultimately be Max’s downfall and in a strange way the very mistake that would save his life from an otherworldly painful death because sometimes, the strangest run-ins occur in the least likely of places. He raised his shot glass and swung it over against Lupe’s glass, colliding with a swift echoing clink sound.

“To the established order of shit, amigo,” Maxwell said with a smile. His heart was racing faster than a prized palomino in the Kentucky Derby, but still his patience tapered on the inevitable edge of disastrous nothingness. He was on the verge of losing his shit very fast if he didn’t get ahold of his moo-la-la and then get the hell outta dodge.

They downed their drinks with hasty gulps, slammed the shot-glasses down hard upon the bar counter, and without a hint of hesitation locked lips in a passionate embrace. The elder anthro bum stared with bedazzled wonder, the bridesmaids proceeded into the tumultuous sea of rave dancers, the DJ received a formidable request or two from the crowd and the night rolled on freely without much distraction or discrepancy.

As for Maxwell’s patience? Well… shit.