L'influence de la Femelle
This was written for a magazine entitled ROAR, to fit the theme "Neon and Noir"Johan bit his lip, lowering his head as he walked through the door. The room was lit dimly, but he could already feel eyes following him and the cloud of dust that he was stirring up from the floor. He kept his eyes straight ahead, and flattened his ears back into his roan fur. He was not anything special, average height, a little skinny- though more so from sleepless nights and poor eating habits than anything else.
The plump feline behind the bar nodded as the wolverine approached, setting down a glass and placing both hands on the counter. “I’m getting’ tired of seein’ you here, Mister Alanberg.” His voice was sharp, and broke directly through the dust and poor lighting.
“Yeah, well,” Johan pulled himself onto a stool, “Nobody knows this town like you do, Derrek. Who else am I gonna talk to when I get stumped?”
The cat turned his ears back, frowning. “So who’s the girl?”
Johan raised his eyebrows. “No girl, this time, actually.” He rummaged through a bag hanging from his bandolier and pulled out a case file and a packet of pictures. “Murder. Guy called Tristan Brunsworth was found dead a few days ago. Late thirties, Javali.” He looked up at the bartender’s confused expression. “ It’s a type of pig.” He pulled out a few pictures of the crime scene. “Three gunshots. Head, heart, and hands.” He pushed forward a picture of the victim’s hands, bound together, clearly hit with a single bullet.
Derrek glanced at the pictures and peered at the investigator without moving his head. “Get to the point, Johan. Ale?
“Alright- and, please.” Johan pulled the pictures back into a pile and slipped them into their envelope. He took a moment to watch Derrek pour the ale, then slipped out the case report. “They haven’t been able to give me much information yet. We don’t have a suspect, but from what forensics has been able to tell me, we’re probably looking for a man. About five feet, six to ten inches- they’re guessing at around two-hundred twenty-five pounds. Not much else, and what we have is iffy. You hear anything?”
Derrek shook his head, pushing the ale across the counter. “Naw.” He winced as Johan took a large drink from his glass. “I mean, most of the guys who hang around here are pretty damned small- and compensating for it something nasty- I’d bet you my hard earned money that it’s not any of them. You sure it’s not an ex-lover?”
“Positive. There’s no girl, remember?”
“I never said it was a girl.”
Johan snorted out his ale, breaking into laughter. “Oh, you sick bastard. I doubt it, but stranger things have happened.” He leaned back a bit, smiling, and wiped off his face with the back of his hand.
“Listen, Alanberg, get outta here. I don’t know nothin’, and you know how these men feel about you.”
Johan glanced out at the tables elsewhere in the bar. He turned his head back towards the bartender and cocked an eyebrow. “Kitty, I don’t know where you’ve been recently, but these folks, they may hate me, but they damned sure respect me enough to stay the hell away.”
The feline cocked an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? You sure that it’s you they respect? Or is it the people you get to do your work for you?”
Johan flicked his ears up and bared his teeth, taking another swig of his ale. Derrek picked up the glass and refilled it. “You sent quite a few of these men and their friends to jail. You know as well as I do that they’d just as soon crack your damn muzzle as lookatcha, most of them.” Derrek’s tail was swishing in malcontent. “Leave.”
Johan peered at the feline bartender over the top of his glass, lips pursed. He sat still for a moment, then set his glass down and stood up. He flicked an ear, wiped his muzzle, and made his way to the billiards table, his fur bristling.
“Ey, you. Yeh. Skunk.” He stopped next to the table and leaned forward on his elbows, staring at the spotted skunk.
“What?” he sounded none too happy.
“Whatcher name? Eh?”
“.. Kenneth.” The blonde-furred mammal leaned forward and took aim at the cue ball.
“Whatchoo fink ‘o me?” The wolverine angled his large muzzle up at the skunk, then stood up and leaned forward, palms flat on the edge of the table. “Eh?”
Kenneth looked at Johan out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t wanna know.”
“Eh?”
The skunk furrowed his brow and flicked his tail, turning to face the wolverine. “I sead, ‘you don’t wanna know.’
“Johan! Either leave like I told you to or get the hell over here and finish your ale! I’ll not have you startin’ problems in my bar!” Derrek’s voice cracked through the dusty air. Johan turned sharply around, wobbled, and walked to the bar. He picked up his mug, and in one smooth motion, chugged down the rest of his liquor and slammed the container onto the bar. “There! You happy?!”
Derrek narrowed his eyes, his tail thunking back and forth so hard that it could be seen rising above the counter. “I’ll put it on your tab. Get out.” The cat extended the claw in his index finger and pointed toward the door. The rest of the bar was silent, watching closely.
He wolverine cracked his neck, smoothed down the bristling fur on his arms, and packed up the case files. He grunted to the bartender, turned on his heel, and began to walk to the door. He was nearly there when he hit the floor with a loud crack.
Derrek stepped around the counter, picking up a clean rag. “Kenneth. He hurt?”
The skunk jogged over to the wolverine. “Looks like he bit his tongue. Nose is bleeding a little, too.”
The bartender shook his head. “He never could hold his liquor. . .”
***
Johan slowly came to, first realizing that he was awake, and then slowly figuring out where he was. It was dark. He was on something hard. Wooden, probably. Crates? His head had never hurt this much, his arms were numb, and good lord he’d never been this thirsty in his life. The wolverine tried to sit up, twisting to his front as he did so, and found himself on the concrete floor. He heard muffled voices, followed by the more distinct sound of a door opening nearby, and footsteps on a set of stairs. He tried to move himself so that he could see where the sounds were coming from, ad found himself blinded by a flashlight beam.
“Here, doggy, doggy, doggy.”
Still somewhat inebriated, and on top of this an angry drunk, Johan could not help but retaliated, despite his pounding headache. “Ahm not a canine, ya- yeh—“ he could not finish his thought, and collapsed back onto the floor with a particularly crippling wave of pain.
“You’d rather I called you a weasel? It’s true in both senses of the word.” Johan recognized the voice as Derrek’s.” Hold still.”
Johan felt rough hands on his jaw, and he growled.
“Calm down, weasel.” Johan heard more footsteps. “He’s still bleeding. Kenneth, Couldja get me another bandage and some of that crap you use to clean it?”
“Yessir.” The footsteps retreated, and Derrek waited until the door closed again before he spoke. Johan opened his eyes, trying to see past the light.
“Whereammi?” Johan was having a hard time thinking, and his eyes refused to adjust to the light.
“You’re in the cellar. We’ll be keeping you here for awhile, Johan.”
“Why?” his inability to adjust was making his headache worse.
“It doesn’t matter. Open your mouth, buddy.”
“Derre—“ Johan was cut off as a cold liquid flooded his mouth and started to progress to his lungs. He began to cough and sputter violently.
“Should help your hangover and your tongue. You bit that sucker hard when you fell.” Johan could see the silhouette of the feline moving, and something that sounded like hands wiping themselves against pants. “We’re gonna clean you up a tad, get you back up on those crates, and clothe ya- and then we’re gonna take you someplace a little more hospitable. “
“Footsteps. “here you go, sir.”
“Thanks, kenneth.”
Johan squinted, trying to figure out where everyone else was situated.
“Hold still.” Johan tried to figure out where Derrek was coming from, then felt the sharp sting of the alcohol hitting his muzzle. “Ey!”
Derrek hissed. “Shaddap. You keep runnin’ your damned mouth and we’re gonna have ta muzzle ya again.”
Johan frowned Finally just able to see Derrek’s face. “Again?”
“You snore like a fog horn- now keep it down. I’ll be back soon to get you.”
Johan watched the silhouetted and his flashlight lave the room. ‘Great,’ he thought. ‘Just superb.” He let himself slide to the floor and set his mind to work.
Male. Late Thirties, Javali. No suspect. Killer is likely male, five feet and eight inches. Two hundred twenty five or so pounds.
Johan’s eyes snapped open, even though, in the dark, they did him no good. Derrek fit those specs rather well, did he not?
The wolverine just wished that they had any idea what species the killer was.
***
The phone on the bar rang. Once, twice, three times before Derrek could set down the cup he was cleaning and pick up the receiver. “Quothing Raven, Whaddya need?”
“Johan Alanberg. I know he uses you as a resource, he’s been missing for a few days. Have you seen him?”
“Who is this?”
“Captain Howard, Renauld Police crew. So?”
“Haven’t seen him since the other night, sir.”
“Hm. Alright, then. Listen, you get any leads and we can’t find him, could you do us a favor and call?”
“Yes, sir.”
Derrek set the phone down and narrowed his eyes. “Well. They knew who to call, they just didn’t know they were doing it. Kenneth, Go get the weasel and bring him back up here.”
The skunk nodded and flattened his ears, pulling open the door to the basement and pulling his tail through the narrow opening just before it shut.
“Hey, Wolverine.” Kenneth grabbed Johan’s shoulder and shook it. “Let’s go.” The skunk pulled a pocket knife and cut the ropes binding Johan’s feet, before pulling the wolverine up to a standing position. “Let’s go.”
Johan muffled something at the skunk, who proceeded to backhand him.
“Shut up and come on.”
Johan grunted and adjusted his eyes as the Skunk opened the door and pushed him forward into the light.
“Here ya go, Derrek. All dressed up and ready to go.”
The cat smirked. “Right, Kenneth. He’s obviously ready for the ball. You, Johan, stand up and put your pants on.” Derrek reached down and placed his hand in the crook of Johan’s arm, pulling him up and shoving a pair of trousers into his arms. His face very briefly reflected something that Johan’s barely adjusted eyes could interpret as “hold on.” Although the wolverine would not have put himself above hallucinating the emotion in his long-time cohort’s eye.
The cat quickly narrowed his eyes and shoved himself away from the wolverine, tail twitching at the tip as if he were trying to hides his agitation. “Captain Howard, your employer, called looking for you. I would assume he knows how apt you are to being kidnapped and tortured, so let’s add to your collection of scars. We’ll make this one emotional, shall we?” Derrek cleared his throat, perked up his ears and turned around, pulling on a waistcoat. “Kenneth, remove his bit, if you would.”
Johan snarled as the skunk approached, but flattened his ears and waited for the bit to be free of his muzzle before he did anything. The wolverine had just barely opened his mouth when the bartender interrupted him.
“Put your pants on, Johan. We’ll let you go if you promise to drop this case. Understood?”
Johan stood rigid. “It would be easier to dress if my hands were free, you know.”
“. . . certainly.” Derrek pulled a large knife from one of the drawers underneath the counter and held it up to show, grinning. “Johan, hold your hands still, if you would not mind. This won’t take but a moment, and it shouldn’t hurt unless you squirm.” The bartender took a few steps forward and put one hand between Johan’s wrists to hold them apart, before carefully sawing off the ropes. A few strands of fur came off with the rope’s fibers. “Hm. Kenneth, clean those up. Johan, put on that jacket on the post there and follow me.”
The wolverine glanced back at the skunk for a moment as he began to follow the bartender, wondering how Kenneth had gotten in on the scam. Johan did not remember putting anyone that might have been associated with the skunk in jail. Maybe Derrek had some sort of dirt on the man. The wolverine grabbed the jacket he was referred to as he passed the coat tree, and lat the door slam with a thud behind him.
“Get in the car.” Derrek had already disappeared on the other side of the vehicle, lit just barely from overhead with the broken lighting from the bar’s sign. Johan glanced back at the bar, took a breath, and slid into the car.
“Upholstery is a little crackled, but I suppose that’s what you expect when you don’t take good care of your leathers, Johan. Yeah, that’s right. This baby is yours. We’re gonna put you someplace just a tad more secure. Can’t have you out and about just anywhere your fuzz friends might be able to get a hold of you, am I right, Johan?”
The cat peered into the rear view mirror, his pupils slits in the afternoon light.
“How long was I out?”
“Two days.”
“. . . Normally alcohol doesn’t knock me out for that long.”
“Well, Kenneth knew some tricks to help you stay under. I suppose he didn’t take sudden falling off of your –ahem- bed, into consideration. But I suppose it would wake most people up.”
Johan shifted in his seat to get a better look through the tinted glass. “Hmm. I suppose.” The wolverine watched Derrek’s movements reflected in the window, began to consider the best way to run. When they stopped, he could make a run for it. It was daylight, after all. Somebody would see him, and see Derrek or someone chase after him. Although . . . it was sweltering hot, and with what he was wearing, it was bound to be an uncomfortable dash, but still. He needed to get to the Police. Captain Howard would be able to help him get out of this, like he always had before. And Johan had a suspect. That had to count for something.
Derrek pulled the car to a stop just outside of town and, turning the key in the ignition, leaned back and exhaled loudly. “Johan.” The cat did not look back at the man he was addressing. “I really am sorry for all of this. But you’re just so good at getting in the way.” He reached into the glove box and pulled out a pistol. “Johan. Get out of the car.” The wolverine bared his teeth, and the cat brandished the business end of the gun at him. “Move.”
Johan snorted and slowly opened his door, hanging his head as if resigned to his fate. The road was dusty out here. It was bright. If he ran into the sun, Derrek would have a harder time shooting into that. Johan cast a glance at the bartender, took a breath, and took off along the dirt road, towards the hub of the town of Renauld. He was a trained sprinter, but he had learned a few things for running longer distances. He would have to pace himself. Especially if Derrek decided to get back in. . .
The car roared to life somewhere from behind the wolverine. He spared a glance back, only to wish he had not done so. Derrek had one hand on the wheel, the other holding the handgun as steadily as possible, and his foot on the gas. Johan whipped his head back around and pounded his feet against the dirt as hard as possible. He heard a shot whiz by, then the bang, and instinctively ducked. ‘Thank God for the difficulties of aiming while driving.’ Johan thought. He sped up a tad and glanced behind again, just as he heard another bang. The car was gaining on him, he needed to—
The wolverine hit the dirt and rolled off the shoulder into a runoff ditch., followed by the ricochet of metal against metal, and another bang. The wolverine pushed his muzzle further into the mud, before standing up and jumping the meager fence, swearing under his breath and running his sleeve over his nose. ‘Where do I go now? He’s probably right behind me…’ yelling from the feline verified the thought. ‘He’s still got my handgun. . .’ a bullet thudded into the dirt just behind Johan, forcing him to run faster, ‘and I have no way to contact the police. . . Screw it, Johan, just look for a place to hide…’ The wolverine followed his own orders, ignoring the yelling that had picked up from behind him. Derrek was not worth listening to now. He was no longer trustworthy, and Johan was wondering if he ever had been.
The wolverine continued to run. He did not know this area well. He knew to look out for barns, houses, cellars, but he also knew that he would have seen any general living area by now. The area was wide, open, and patch worked for cows and planters. The only real disruption was the city of Renauld, which was along the road and to the south.
***
Derrek swore when, yards ahead, Johan suddenly dropped down into the grass and disappeared from sight. The cat immediately set off a few shots from the handgun. The third pull merited only a clicking noise, which gathered more swearing form Derrek. The cat Jogged forward, hissed at the handgun, and dropped out the clip. “You can obviously run, but you can’t hide for long, Johan!” Derrek fished around in his pockets for another clip, still making his way forward. “I’m warnin’ you. I told you to stop getting involved. You seem inclined just to not listen to me, Doncha, Johan?” Derrek snorted and finally tugged a clip out of his coat pocket, sliding it into the gun’s grip. “Come out, come out, wherever you are. . .” The cat paused, his tail brushing back and forth in unison with the tall grass. He cocked the gun and placed his index finger carefully over the trigger, intending to fire as soon as he could. “Listen, I can wait out here all day for you, Johan. So just give it up, already.”
The fur on the back of Derrek’s neck flared up.
“I don’t think so, bartender. You know that I never let things go until it’s been solved. So, Derrek.” The cat heard the distinct sound of a hammer being pulled, and a bullet set in the barrel. The muzzle of the gun pushed itself harder against the base of Derrek’s skull, and Johan continued. “Now. The tables seem a tad turned. Drop your weapon. “ Derrek hesitated, then yelped as the weapon was knocked from his hand to the ground below. Johan took its place, his hand wrapped around Derrek’s wrist. “I said, ‘Drop the Weapon.’” The wolverine glared for a moment, before leading Derrek to a bare patch in the field. “Open it.”
“Open what?”
“Look down. The cellar door.” Johan brandished his weapon. “Now.”
Derrek growled and crouched down, opening the latch and pulling open the rusted trap door.
“Go in. At the bottom of the stairwell, there is a light switch, to your left. Turn it on. I’ll be right behind you.”
The cat twitched his tail angrily and took to the stairs. He heard footsteps begin to follow once he was halfway down.
The room went pitch black.
“Damnit, Johan! You couldn’t have waited until the light was on, could you?” The wolverine did not answer. Derrek felt his hand along the wall of the stairwell, and followed his fingers around a corner to his left, fumbling for the light switch.
A single, dim bulb, with a distinct tint towards yellow came on in the center of the room.
“I see there was no expense spared here. . .”
“When you’re trying to survive, Derrek, I don’t think it really matters.” Johan did not look at the cat, walking past the feline and towards a set of cabinets. “Sit down.” Johan waited for the sound of the chair moving before he opened the cabinet. “You want something? Refried beans, or. . .”
“What do you want with me?”
“Nothing, then. Alright.” The wolverine turned around and walked back to the table, keeping his eyes on Derrek. “I was thinking about the specs that the cops gave me.. and just how odd your behavior has been since I walked into your establishment yesterday.” He tossed the gun onto the table to let the cat know that they were even.
Derrek narrowed his eyes and stared directly at the wolverine. “Whatchoo getting’ at, buddy?”
“I’m not your buddy.” Johan stood up ant leaned across the table, grabbing Derrek’s jaw and lifting it slightly so that the two were making eye contact. “Hold still.”
“What in the ‘ell are you lookin’ for, Johan? . . . Johan?” Derrek hissed and stood up, grabbing the wolverine’s wrist and digging his claws in.. “Johan, answer me! What are you looking for!”
“. . . Doubt.” Johan tore his hand away from Derrek and took a moment inspecting the scratches before he sat down again, staring up at the barkeep from beneath the shadow of his brow.
“Who’s the girl?”
“I thought that you said there wasn’t one.”
“I’ve changed my mind. Sit down.”
The cat let out a low growl and plopped himself back down onto his chair, rubbing the blood off of his claws.
“Now. You asked me what the hell I was looking for. I was looking for doubt.” Johan pushed his chair out of the way and walked along the table, dragging his palm along the wood. “When you love somebody, you’d do anything for them, given that it’s something not far from what you’d normally do, and still more or less within your morals. I know you. You’re a future family man, but you’ve done your share of alley work. What’s killing a man after harboring so many criminals, right?”
Derrek continued to rub his hands together, his tail switching back and forth in agitation. “More than you’d think.”
Johan cocked an eyebrow. “What’s her name?”
“There’s no girl.”
Johan frowned and flattened the short cropped fur on his head. He eyes Derrek for a moment, then stood up and walked around the table, planting his feet behind the feline’s chair. “You know that you fit the specs they gave me for the murderer? Almost perfectly. And you don’t usually wig out like this when I come to you asking for help. And I know you, Derrek. You’re a tough man, but you’re no murderer.” Johan grabbed Derrek’s shoulders and lowered his head so that he could look sideways into the feline’s eye. “What’s her name?”
Derrek bared his teeth and flattened his ears. Johan could feel the feline’s tail thumping against his legs, and started to wonder if it was worth pushing it.
Derrek was silent, and Johan could almost see the gears working in his brain.
“… Well?”
Derrek stood up and glared. “Leave it.” He glanced at the wolverine, and calmly picked the gun up off of the table. Johan took a step backwards, eyes widening a bit. The feline took a step towards the door, dropping the weapon’s hammer. He closed his far eye, made sure that he was steady, and waited for Johan to corner himself by backing away.
Derrek’s finger clicked back the trigger, and he felt the kickback from the nine millimeter send his arm upwards a bit.
“Sorry, Buddy.”
He walked forward, kneeling next to the downed wolverine. He stared for a moment at the blood that was seeping over Johan’s fur, but made it a point not to look at the wound. The feline gently lifted the wolverine’s undershirt, patting the fur on the dead man’s chest until he found what he was looking for. Derrek tugged a bit to remove the object from its holster, then he looked at it for a long while. The recorder was small, but he knew that it could get every breath in a room as crowded as his bar usually was. And he knew that Johan never went anywhere without it- and that it was nearly always on, as it was now.
Derrek took a breath, looked away from the body, and began to speak.
***
“She was.. what do you call a woman like that? A witch, I suppose. Bewitching? I- She had a problem. A prickly pear. And something about her just being there made me want to help her out. If you’ve ever met somebody like that, maybe you’d know why I did it. But….
He was a small guy. I could take him, easy. She had set up a sort of princess-in-a-castle deal. Whoever got her out of this mess she’d give a try. I said why the hell not. I was nearly retired from the bar anyway. I’d been fixing to sell it to Kenneth. I needed to get up and relocate anywho. They hired my old friend Johan to look into the case. The one person who might have been able to put it together. Hell, the guy who did. He never ceases to amaze me. I tried to lock him up long enough to get myself out. He fought, of course. In the end, I had to shoot him. I had to shoot Kenneth, too, for being involved, once I felt like this was all going the wrong way.
I.. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. Three good men, dead, all for.. what? Somebody I’d just met?
Hell, maybe it wasn’t worth it, after all…”
A single gunshot sounded, distorted a bit as the sound overloaded the tape.
Themeless, Rating Variable.
