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I fast-forwarded on the recorded file, and pressed play for all to hear.

“—but across the country. Not only will he be mayor at the end of the election, but he'll one day become governor and perhaps President. If not, he'll help me rise through the ranks in his place. And I'll be damned if our potential is ruined because of some dropout hooker and a jailbait rent boy. Becky Mullin and Charlie Rochford are just obstacles for us—"

I fast-forwarded yet again, then pressed the play button once more.

“I'll admit, I only sent the Mckenna and Solomon brats to silence Charlie. The hit had nothing to do with you. It was my mistake. It was also my mistake to think you were just another mob killer in a tracksuit, who wouldn't be missed."

One more time, I performed both feats, then let the audio return.

“—you into my obstacle, but it doesn't have to be that way. Just modify the terms of your offer. Kill Charlie Rochford, and I'll never do anything else to his remaining family."

I pressed stop, grinning in satisfaction. Cherry mirrored the same expression on my muzzle, while the older feline standing beside us did not look pleased.

“You had your backup phone recording this whole time they were here," the ocelot said excitedly, his eyes awestruck and tail swishing at the floor. “And you knew having me sit in the back pews with Richard—"

“Would let you hear our conversations from the altar due to echolocation," I finished for him. “I also banked on maybe Richard confessing something to you, maybe apologizing for all this trouble, but this," I gripped the open flip phone that displayed the recorded file onscreen, “This is more than enough leverage for us. All that's left is us getting their file on me."

“You do realize that this comes with penalties, right, my son?" Father Abraham spoke up, his paws behind his back, and at least two nearby nuns watching our conversation from afar. “It is one of the rules you agreed to when I arbitrated this conflict between you and Mr. Walker and Mr. Corbin. And you felt the need to violate it."

“Then why aren't you giving out the consequences, Father?" I asked, pocketing the flip phone without looking away from the white tiger. “From what I've heard, the last time you punished an arbitration rulebreaker, they needed to go to the mental asylum afterward?"

Cherry nervously glanced at the older feline, then to me. The priest did not look away, his eyes burrowing into me, as if he were deciding whether to give me physical forms of punishment, or mental anguish. The stories I'd heard didn't rule out one or the other.

“Normally, I would bring this up to my father," Abraham said, “but based on the rude and disrespect conducted by Mr. Corbin, I am willing to give you and Charlie here leniency. Do not mistake this for complete mercy, however. I expect the two of you to be vacated from this church, and to never set foot in another blessed by Levi Zacharias again."

My ears partly folded in understanding. “Understood," I replied. “Can you at least provide us with knowledge of where to go, please? You heard what Corbin said about us not being able to walk out of here."

“I did," he said, nodding and smiling between me and my ocelot, “and I believe I know the best place for you two to stay, until your war with Mitchell Corbin and his mentor is complete. Grab your things, then follow me."

We did it without complaint. The priest calmly led us down a corridor and to a gated staircase. Beyond it on the right side was an alcove where a statue of the Virgin Mary stood, one palm held up as various rosary beads hung from her wrist. Without a word, Father Abraham fished for a key, selected one as ancient as the cathedral itself, then unlocked the gate, motioning for us to follow. He grabbed a used flashlight sitting atop a wooden chair, shining it in front of us during the descent.

As we passed by the Virgin Mary statue, a cold shiver ran up my back. Or maybe it came from the sudden drop in temperature? Either way, I ignored her judgmental stare forever carved from the ceramic stone, instead focusing on grasping Cherry's paw as he walked behind me. He warm heartbeat allowed me to focus on the moment. It didn't lessen the weight of the flip phone (and what it held) in my pants pocket, however.

“A-Are we going into a c-crypt?" Cherry asked.

“Don't be scared," I murmured, ignoring the echo in my voice.

“I'm not scared!" he groaned. “J-Just suddenly cold."

“The crypt beneath St. Francis was once used to smuggle alcohol during Lakertown's Prohibition years," Father Abraham's voice echoed as well. He didn't turn back to us as we circled downward. “There have been documentaries about that fact. But what they don't know is how it's not collapsed due to traffic overhead."

“Let me guess," I surmised, “you still use it for the Lord's work?"

“And nothing less," the tiger replied curtly. “Once every blue moon, St. Francis and my father's operation needs to smuggle goods into the country. I won't tell either of you what they are, but suffice to say, you won't be the first—or last—wayward souls to require escape from our cathedral."

The flashlight's luminescent beam led us to the foot of the staircase. Father Abraham guided us through a wide labyrinth of stone coffins and stone archways that shone like marble. An air of tranquility filled the air, the kind belonging to a museum more than a mortuary. I remembered being mesmerized by carvings built into the archways, and the touch of Cherry's swishing tail indicated he felt the same. My ocelot trilled behind me at something.

“Never knew crypts could be this beautiful…" he whispered.

The older tiger walking in front of us hummed. “Death may be inevitable for us all, but he's not malicious, nor should the tombs we bury our dead in. Now," he cleared his throat, “it doesn't mean we should embrace Death, but recognize that when our time has come, it has come."

“Hopefully, it will be years before we reach that point," I mentioned.

“Agreed," the tiger sighed.

He stepped in front of one coffin in particular. It was opulent, but unmarked, and embedded directly to the floor as if it were carved into the cobblestone. The priest handed me his flashlight for me to point at him, and as if the cover itself were made of plastic rather than stone, Father Abraham moved it aside.

A hole went two meter down, then went directly away from the crypt.

“This tunnel travels away from the cathedral and directly to a mausoleum near the farthest gate leading inside our cemetery," he explained to us. “The doors aren't locked on the inside but close them upon leaving. Wait thirty minutes, and I will create a distraction that will keep these assassins distracted while you flee for the nearest gas station."

“And the truck?" I asked.

“I will have a friar drop it off, along with a new fake license plate," he replied.

“That's also going to help," I said, peering with Cherry into the tunnel. The flip phone still weighed in my pocket, prompting me to turn to Father Abraham and offer my paw. “Thank you. I know I don't deserve it but thank you."

A pair of tiger's eyes shone at me through the reflecting light piercing the darkness. They gazed in a mixture of emotions. He shook my paw after letting out a dismissive chuff.

“This is between you and me, Markus, but I hope you succeed. Besides you two, I also don't want that brat and his hapless mentor stepping foot in St. Francis ever again."

“Thank you, Father," Cherry shook his paw as well. “Really, thank you!"

“It is the least I can do, and the last of it." His finger pointed into the hole. “Now go, my sons. Go!"

***

The distraction that Father Abraham had in mind involved a faulty fire alarm going off, flooding the parking lot with fire trucks and ambulances. The brilliance behind it meant everyone inside the cathedral would be required to exit the premises, and whichever Reaper's Row assassins that Corbin hired would be hyper-focused on the nuns and friars waiting outside. They would rightfully assume we were among them, either trying to hide or make our escape.

Instead, the targeted timber wolf and his ocelot hooker were a couple of blocks away. I fast-walked with Cherry into a dilapidated Stop-n-Shop gas station sitting half a block away from the Catholic cemetery. A few customers or members of staff were too distracted to acknowledge us, let alone notice us enter the men's bathroom in the back.

During the quasi-clandestine retreat, Cherry and I exchanged conversation in hushed whispers. As if the Reaper's Row assassins were somewhere in the nearby shadows and cloud cover.

“You knew they wouldn't back down, didn't ya?" Cherry asked. “You knew this 'arbitration' would fail."

“Small part of me hoped it wouldn't, but I knew it wasn't likely," I sighed. “Corbin and Walker are too deep in shit at this point. And you saw it yourself. Corbin is too arrogant and overconfident for his own good. He thinks he's a mafioso. So, it made sense to have a Plan B."

“Even if it meant losing sanctuary at Francis?"

I nodded. “Especially if it meant losing sanctuary."

“So, what now?" he asked after a moment. “Do we go with the original plan? And you gonna turn that in to the police?"

“Not exactly. I'm modifying the old plan to include the recording," I replied. “Depending how this goes, we need to be ready in case shit hits the fan, and we may need to escape the country for a long time." My muzzle formed a dark, canine grin. “But I'll be fucking damned if I'm letting that pissant little smart-aleck turn our lives upside down and get away with it."

“We gonna go fuck some shit up?" Cherry said a little too eagerly, “Please tell me we're fucking some of their shit up."

“Once we get my truck back, and get a few things arranged for insurance," I answered, smirking back at the ocelot, “we're fucking their shit up."

***

The two of us purchased some tacky hooded sweatshirts for Lakertown tourists, along with some sunglasses and hats that would help (but not much) with hiding from hacked CCTV cameras, then prepared for Halloween Night. On top of making a couple of visits, I used most of our cold hard cash to get the appropriate materials needed: gloves, a USB drive, a stethoscope, lock picks, fur dye, a fake passport for Cherry, additional ammunition, underground market Kevlar vests, and another burner phone. I also didn't forget DeadEx's suitcase that we couldn't break into. At least, not until I had the stethoscope.

Corny as it sounded, it did wonders with listening in on the small tumblers, and with some patience and an hour of trial and error, I managed to pry…it…open!

“Finally," I sighed.

We were hiding inside of a parked garage, the truck engine remaining idle in case a surprise ruined our morning. As Cherry kept watch in the front seat, I examined the contents of the opened suitcase.

“What do you see?" Cherry asked over his shoulder.

My gloved fingers examined what lay inside. “Some tools and passports that definitely belong to our bobcat," I said, grinning, “DeadEx's laptop. Bet it's got dirty secrets."

Excitement flickered across his eyes. “You gonna open it?" he pondered.

“No, but I bet the police will be more than willing to look at it once our plan is in play," I informed the ocelot, then pulled out the burner phone.

The first number I dialed belonged to a trafficker that operated in the Midwest, using Lakertown as their base of operations like I did. He specialized in illegal trafficking and border crossings for immigrants, helping them get out of one country into another for a price. A literal and figurative Coyote. He owed me a massive debt once I helped disappear a previous client of his who wouldn't shut up about how they got to America. Anyway, after leaving a voicemail promising to pay cash for a potential Canadian flight on his personal aircraft, it wasn't long before I received a text message back. The Coyote didn't have much going on, so he was willing to wait for the two of us at the city airport. Whether or not we ended up leaving only mattered if he got a deposit, regardless. I texted back in agreement.

The second number I dialed went out to a small Canadian fishing company based in the northwestern-most coastline of British Columbia. The town and airport neighboring them could barely be qualified as either. Thrice upon a time, not long after I became freelance, the small Canadian fishing company's CEO required my services. All three times involved silencing witnesses to their alleged antique trafficking ring that allowed Chinese smugglers to ship ancient artifacts to North America. Simply put, they had a favor for me too. I didn't promise I would likely need to be smuggled into Asia, but I did inform the CEO that me and a plus-one might be visiting in the near future.

At last, an exit strategy was in place. While I would miss the cabin Up North, I fully knew that hiding up there would not be an option if Interpol got my past and present identities.

Finally, the third number I dialed belonged to an ocelot likely checking out of the hospital. When he didn't answer, I had Cherry leaving a voicemail, telling the older ocelot to meet him at noon where he 'used to hide whenever the old man wanted the house to himself'. My protégé ended the call by adding, “I miss him too. See you soon."

The place to meet happened to be an old graffitied playground over a dozen blocks away from the old Rochford home. From a distance, it didn't seem much different than any other wonderland of play. However, walking across the rotting old woodchips littered with cigarette butts and the occasional condom prevented any reasonable parent from coming close to the spot.

Only two souls could be found sitting on one of the carved wooden benches. Both were ocelots. I figured one of them had to be Alan, but didn't recognize the other. As Cherry and I casually walked around the playground's left flank, heading towards them, one of the felines stood up. Unlike his counterpart, he didn't wear a long-sleeved shirt for the fall weather.

He gaped at Cherry underneath the hood of his tacky sweatshirt. My eyes trained on the sitting ocelot. Cherry gaped back at the other ocelot and then him, no longer walking beside me.

“D-Dennis?" he quavered.

He beamed, then literally jumped at us. “Charlie!"

A pair of muscular spotted arms pulled him up into the arms of that older ocelot.

My paw instinctively reached for the SIG Sauer P230 handgun hidden inside my own tacky sweatshirt, having earlier unzipped the top. My fears dissipated with the cold wind the moment I heard those two laughing, and witness Cherry hugging the ocelot back. My paw pulled out of my jacket, relaxing. If Dennis was the one hugging him, then the other ocelot had to be Alan, who wore a relieved expression even as he walked hurriedly over to us.

All three Rochford brothers had their similarities, from their auburn eyes to their fur colors and facial features. However, their differences were much easier to spot as Alan awkwardly waited for them to stop hugging. Cherry's hood fell back, and it dawned on me how all three felines had noticeably different spot patterns; Alan and Dennis were much taller with Dennis resembling his spots and appearing more like what Cherry would be if he fully committed to working out his arm muscles. Meanwhile, Alan was lankier and possessed darker shades of spots along his face and had an almost-black tail.

“You little fucker, you've had us worried!" Dennis cackled, letting the smaller ocelot down to his feet. “Here I am, hearing you got kicked out by Dad for prostitution, and you never No phone calls, no letters, no fuckin' visits to your oldest brother—"

“I thought you'd be ashamed of me!" Cherry uttered out.

“I'm the one who robbed a joint," his brother mentioned, laughing.

“How'd you get out, Den?" Cherry asked between happy, purring breaths. His tail wouldn't quit wagging, thrashing and snapping behind him like a renegade whip. “You had months left on your sentence!"

“Parole does wonders," he chuckled. “They granted me parole for good behavior."

“He just got out this morning," Alan cut in, then knelt to push Dennis away (he didn't look please but acquiesced) to hug Cherry next. “You have no idea how much we were worried about you, Charlie. Months of silence, no word from you. I'm sorry I didn't stop him throwing you out that night, and now Dad…he…"

“I heard." Cherry nodded into his shoulder. “I still can't believe he's gone…"

“Excuse me," Dennis finally acknowledged me, “but who the hell're you?"

My spine straightened up, but I didn't appear afraid. “Fergus," I lied. “I've been—"

“Are you his pimp?" Alan abruptly glared at me, and I frowned back.

“I'm not his pimp or one of his johns," I clarified for them with narrowing eyes. “Or, at least, I'm no longer just one of his johns."

“He's my boyfriend," Cherry declared.

A pin dropped. Both of his older brothers blinked at me. I let out a frustrated flare from my nostrils, my hardened eyes telling Cherry that could have been a little more delicate about telling his remaining family that we were lovers.

“Holy shit," Alan exhaled. “You gotta be joking, Charlie."

“He's not," I said, only to find Dennis suddenly closing the distance between us to inches.

“You fuck my little brother?" he hissed. The instinctive urge to pull out my (recently loaded, fully stocked) P230 from the hooded jacket) was strong in my clenched fingers. “What business do you have being with my kid brother?"

“We're both consenting adults and he's grown up," I reminded him in an even voice, though with an amused smirk. My powerful grip held his wrist when he tried punching me. “Even if he doesn't act like it sometimes…"

“M—Fergus!" Cherry groaned. That was too close, him using my real name as opposed to my current one. “Dennis, let him go. You just got outta jail!"

I pushed the muscular ocelot away with a shove at his arm. “As interesting as it sounds to introduce myself to you two over a few cans of beer, Dennis and Alan—it's pleasant meeting you, by the way—we've don't have much time." I glanced between them. “Cherry's been with me in Lakertown since getting kicked out by your late father. He's not been answering his calls because someone is after us."

Their eyes widened, either in shock or I motioned for them and Cherry to join deeper into the playground, next to the ruined playground fort defaced in runestone-like gang markings. We were out of sight, and the two older ocelot stood with Cherry standing between them, almost protectively.

“Dennis, Alan, did you two go to the same high school that Cher—I mean, Charlie did?" I asked.

“Yeah, we did," Alan replied.

“What's this got to do with someone being after you and Charlie?" Dennis asked the obvious. “What the hell's going on here?"

From there, I told an abridged tale about what their youngest brother had been doing since getting kicked out onto the streets, with Cherry butting in to add an occasional comment or clarification. Sometimes, it soothed their nerves. Half the time, it did little to help.

To his immense credit, Cherry was the first to mention to Dennis and Alan about me working as a mercenary, then a security contractor for my current career, a backstory I'd already planned to tell them. The surprise on my muzzle was noticed by the younger ocelot, and he smiled as we told as much of the truth as we could, starting with that bloody night at the Traveler's Inn motel, my suspicions of the Benefactor being Daddy Stripes, learning about Becky Mullin's murder being similar, then Daddy Stripes being killed not too long after, followed by the phone call, the gangbangers invading my penthouse, them almost killing Cherry, our escape to the woods in northern Wisconsin, and how we connected it all to Richard Walker and his tech-savvy assistant/master. Slowly, the older brothers lost their skepticism, and when I described Mitchell DeadEx being a bobcat, they appeared to believe us.

“Remember when I visited you to wish you luck at your parole hearing, Den?" he asked the eldest brother. “The day after that, Dad and I had a bobcat visit us, claiming to be a plumber we ordered for the smelly shower drain. He wasn't with the company we called though."

“Oh God," Dennis breathed in disbelief. “Don't tell me—"

“Yeah." The ocelot folded his ears down. “We didn't think much of it. A week later, the house fills up with CO2 and Dad's…well…"

“Jesus," Dennis exhaled, as did Cherry, who held his older brother's arm. “I can't believe this is happening…"

“What're the conditions for your parole?" I asked the muscular ocelot. “Are you allowed to leave the city, or the county?"

“I can leave the city for a few days, but not the county," Dennis replied after a moment. “I need my parole officer's permission for that first. Why do you ask?"

“We're not going into hiding," Alan tried interjecting. “We should call the police."

“Yeah, we need to call the cops about this," Dennis agreed. “You and Charlie can testify that that creepy fuck Walker's—"

“That's not possible," Cherry interrupted. “We can't do that."

“Corbin's hitmen will kill us before we can make a statement, and the dingo will scrub any and all traces of this fucking thing before a warrant's issued," I reasoned with them. “Charlie and I have a plan though, and it will only work with you two being safe."

Even after everything I told them, that we told them, they still had a layer of skepticism.

“Fergus?" Cherry turned to me. “Could you…give me a moment with them?"

I exhaled through my nose. “Sure. Please don't be long."

***

Somehow, some way, my ocelot protégé managed to convince his older brothers to get inside of the truck, then follow us towards St. Francis. We parked on the sidewalk a couple of blocks away from the cathedral, however. Cherry and I stepped out of the truck. The old van that Dennis and Alan drove parked ahead of us, and their passengers exited, partially confused on why we stopped. Then, the two ocelot froze as I handed them a roll of money.

“Use this as a tithe," I informed them, handing it to Alan. “Tell Father Abraham that you'll do any work, no matter how miniscule, and they'll let you stay inside for the next couple of days. You'll be protected from any trouble that happens out here." Next, I pulled out a USB drive from my jacket's pocket, handing it to Alan. “Take this too. Just in case shit goes sideways and you still wanna make sure that Walker and Corbin face justice."

Justice. What a ridiculous word. Saying it like it held any legitimate meaning made my tongue almost want to gag. Even so, Cherry wanted nothing more than the Benefactor and his politician puppet rot behind a prison cell. Me? I wouldn't mind putting the two in a deep, dark, unmarked grave out in the countryside. Their corpses would make excellent fertilizer, but if me and Cherry wanted to get out of our situation in one piece, sending the dingo and bear to prison would have to suffice. I'd spend the rest of my life content that Mitchell Corbin would be spending his all alone, away from his political power, and away from the ladder to reach it.

I let Cherry talk a little bit longer with his brothers. I heard pieces of conversation, talking about what they'd been up to, joking that Dennis could apply to be a priest, and Dennis and Alan telling something my ocelot didn't expect: their father expressed genuine regret at kicking him out. They told him it was all true, and that the graying ocelot began attending AA meetings after Alan threatened to leave too if he didn't change.

“Hey, Fergus, right?" Dennis stared at me. “I'm only trusting my little brother with this shitshow because he trusts you. Make sure he's safe, or so help me, I'll fuck you up so hard, the parole board's gonna need to put me in a fuckin' black site after I'm done with you."

The irony of his words didn't faze me.

“I promise you, Dennis," I answered, telling him the truth. “I will die before he ever gets hurt. I know what we have is strange, but…I do love him. I love Charlie."

“Good," he said with a firm nod. “Good. Don't fuck it up."

In another life, one without bullets or blood, I imagined Cherry bringing me to dinner to visit his brothers and their still-alive father. He would be sober, clean-shaven, and eager to meet the older boyfriend of his youngest son. Everyone would have hamburgers. Everyone would laugh, be at ease in armchairs, and one of us would occasionally sit up to answer the door for trick-or-treaters as I shared beers with the family's patriarch. If only. If only.

The three felines hugged for what felt like minutes. I cautiously waited for a hammer to drop, or a sniper shot to ring out, what with us being out in the open. Finally, Dennis and Alan let go of Cherry, then slowly went into the van. From the inside of the truck, behind the wheel, I watched the vehicle disappear into the cathedral's parking lot, then the two ocelots entered the holy sanctuary.

The minute we drove away from the church's direction, Cherry spoke up.

“I might not be able to see them again," he surmised, “will I?"

“I don't know," I replied honestly. “I…don't know."

Things went silent between us for a minute. I asked, “You still okay?"

“No, I'm…I'm good. I'm good enough to keep helping you but…I didn't know I could hate Mitchell and Richard even more than I did earlier today," he growled, then continued in an even tone. “All my life…All my life, I've waited for Dad to say he was sorry for blaming me for what my birth did to Mom. Now here are Alan and Dennis telling me he was on the verge of doing that…Now, thanks to them, thanks to those evil motherfuckers that murdered him," he let out a guttural exhale, “I'm never gonna get that chance. Me and my brothers are never going to see our dad again, and Becky's mom is gonna live forever without a daughter. And for what? Just so my old principal can have a squeaky-clean record for an election? So nobody knows he fucked me and other highschoolers?"

“Don't worry, Cherry," I told him, placing one paw on the wheel and the other on his fidgeting paw. He squeezed on it. “By the end of tonight, neither Corbin nor Walker are going to have normal lives anymore. This whole city's gonna know what they've done, and we're gonna do it."

Cherry offered a thankful smile, perking his ears up at my last statement.

“How?" he asked. “I've been seeing bits and pieces of what you've got planned, but I'm not getting the whole picture."

I flashed my fangs at the ocelot, grinning.

“Let's just say that I'm taking a page from Corbin's playbook."