So, I'm back! Wow, lost a week to downtime? How crazy was that? Anyways, the reason I haven't uploaded anything in so long is because I've been working. Both my normal job and on this book. It's coming along. I'm about a chapter and a half away from the end of Act II as it is being produced (Act II will the longest of our three act story, with the final third being about the same length as the first, I think.) But, progress is slow because life is life. Anyways, this chapter is probably the one I consider my favorite, as of yet. There may be a few in our finale that will usurp this one's throne. But, anyways, in this chapter, Jane is privy to some of Jackie's more private life. How will she take that? Well. Hopefully well. I really hope you guys enjoy this one and that it tides you over until the next bit I upload. I'm still trying to keep to my 5-6 chapter leadway, but I'm way beyond that at this point. Thanks for stopping by, and, please, enjoy!

Premise: It is August, 1979, and it is nearing the 20 year anniversary since Zootopia has ended forced segregation. But in the wake of the fences coming down, shock collars have gone up. Predators of any age are forced to wear possibly deadly shock collars. For those like private investigator Jack Quartz, a coyote, this is just a fact of life. For beat officer Jane Brooks, a white-tailed deer, it's just another facet of her job. But when a gazelle is murdered by a predator, questions of bigotry, freedom, inter-species relationships, civil rights, and the natural order begin to arise.

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Chapter 14:

I'm not thrilled when Jackie jumps behind the wheel of my car. But when he smiles this sly, suave smile, and insists that what he wants to show me has to be a surprise, I button my lips up. My concerns are soon revealed to be unfounded when Jackie guides my car with grace and poise, though he does go heavy on the throttle. He just laughs, says he isn't used to driving an automatic, and a car that isn't aged like fine wine.

As he drives, I watch my surroundings go by and try to guess where he's taking me. But my guesses are all met with warm silence from Jackie, who just smiles over at me and chuckles. So I resign myself to watching the streets slide by all around me. My car glides through the middle class neighborhood on the east side and onto Lionheart Avenue, where the glitz and glamour of the city come out to play. The people on the street are dressed to impress, readying themselves for fine shows and the club scene on a Saturday night. Thousand dollar suits, two hundred dollar tickets, fifty dollar meals, it's the best that the city can offer all in one place.

I take in the neon signs and bright strobe lights that proudly display the musicals opening tonight, the musicians playing concerts, and the finest things purchasable for sale. You have Serengeti Street with its luxury clothes and exquisite jewelry, Baobab with its high end hotels and million dollar penthouses, and of course Lionheart with the best in entertainment in the world. We follow it all the way through Downtown, though we never pass through the heart, Primal Square, which was a few blocks north of where we picked up Lionheart, until we're down to the relatively quieter parts of Savanna Central.

The bikers and punks hang about in front of the SheepBGB, dressed in blacks and blues, some with their suspenders up, while the disco dancers cling to each other in the shadows of their club, feeling one another up in their sequin-covered jumpers. The music pours out from every door, though I only hear a little bit of it from within the insulated bubble of my car. It's all so odd, seeing my beat as if I'm an outsider, everything taking on a new, unfamiliar flavor I never noticed before.

But, I do find one thing very familiar. As we pass by the precinct, I can't help but lean against the glass to see what's going on, to see who's starting their shifts and who's bringing in the catch of the night. Oddly enough, I don't see Bullworth or Oxley, even though I swear that's their cruiser parked out front on the curb. Must be inside. Other than that, I take in a lot familiar faces, none of whom notice me. Soon after, the lights and the noise of Savanna Central begin to fade behind us as Jackie drives the car ever southward, towards Happy Town.

The demographics begin to change on the sidewalks only two blocks south of Savanna Central, with hooves being replaced by paws, and horns with teeth. But the attitude doesn't seem to change, and I begin to understand why. Jackie takes a turn onto Cyprus Grove Way which runs east-west and I lean forward to look upwards. I've been patrolling my whole career, and don't think I ever really noticed this place.

We call it Off Lionheart, or Predator Lionheart. Cyprus Grove Way acts as a sort of entertainment capital for non-prey and prey tastes alike. Being only three or so blocks from Fence Street, where Happy Town begins, this area made its money by catering to the predators returning home from work in the city. Now it makes it by catering to everyone. This means the signs display more teeth, claws, and sharper features, to reflect their clientele. And on a Saturday night, the streets are packed with them.

But Jackie doesn't stop the car, or even slow it down. As I watch as the lights begin to fade into the mirror, I turn around and look to him, a bit nervous as to where we're heading. But then I remember what he asked me. He asked me to trust him. So, I'm going to do just that. Jackie sees my enthusiasm and smiles. I try to as well, even though the glitzier part of the city is long gone, and the shadows are creeping up on us from every nook and cranny in this decaying part of the city.

Jackie finally pulls the car over a minute or so later, delving it into an alleyway across the street from a poorly lit, dilapidated park. We're only a block or so now from Fence Street, maybe only five from the Aries Theater. This isn't exactly a very safe, or very good, place to be at a time like this even if the sun hasn't yet gone down. When he kills the engine, I reluctantly follow him out into the warm summer evening.

Looking up, I survey the building we've parked next to, as I wasn't paying any attention when we drove by its façade. It's tall, made entirely of brick, and doesn't look like it's been occupied in a very long time. An old advertisement, faded now with age, is painted on the side, displaying a happy lion drinking a Royal Cat Cola, a brand still very popular in predator-dominated areas. The ad doesn't have him painted wearing a collar, showing just how old it is.

Jackie slams the door shut and then begins to walk towards a metal door near the back of the alleyway. Still trying to trust him, I shut my own door and jog to catch up. As we approach the side entrance, I see a big, heavy door knob, obviously locked tight. Despite that, Jackie continues forward, his ears perking up and his eyes darting back up the alleyway. I look as well and see that nobody is watching us.

I have no illusion about what he's going to do, but seeing as I want to see what he wishes to share with me, I bite down onto my lip and keep quiet. Jackie grasps the doorknob and then inserts the claw from his right forefinger. As he twists, he rotates the knob to and fro, knocking it about with his claws. I cross my arms and watch him, wondering if I'm really going to let him trespass in some boarded up building at the far end of Cyprus Grove Way.

But, then the thought crosses my mind that I'm not technically on duty, and I am here with him, so maybe it's not as bad as it seems. Plus, Jackie has been so personable, which makes me feel pretty good. I don't want that feeling to end, even if it means biting my lip and letting some unsavory things happen. I promise we'll clean up anything we dirty on our way out.

"A coyote has to have his tricks?" I ask him, though more playfully than seriously.

Jackie looks to me with a sheepish, playful grin and shrugs. A few seconds later, the lock finally clicks and the door jolts open with a loud clang, the noise reverberating up and down the alleyway. As the metal service door opens with a loud screech, dust falls from within. Jackie waves his good arm to swat the debris away. Then he looks to me, holding up an inviting paw, his black lips stretching into a proud smile.

"Come on, it's just in here," Jackie tells me. "Ladies first."

"What is this place?" I ask him, unsure about going in.

"It's something special," he replies cryptically.

But looking into the pitch blackness inside, I get a guttural fear that wells up within me. It's a foreboding, chilling fear, one that threatens to be concealing something just out of sight. While a bit of me wonders what's in there, a large part of me is screaming to not go inside, that it's dangerous, especially with a predator.

"Come on, it'll be fun. Do you trust me?"

And with that thought, I look to Jackie and see his bright eyes and suddenly the fear begins to dissipate. Of course I do, I trusted you with my life, how is this any different? So I begin to walk forward, through the threshold and into the dark room beyond, even as fear wells at the back of my mind. The light from outside, the sun now hanging just above the horizon, illuminates the room.

At first I only see a narrow walkway, leading directly forward towards something, a wide room. But then the shapes of frayed rope, large boxes, hanging cloths, and discarded clothing comes into focus, casting odd shadows in the low light. Dust motes hang in the dimming sunlight, kicked up by the unaccustomed activity. I realize I must be behind a stage or off to the side of one, as I'm able to make out a hallway lined with doors to my left, and instrument storage boxes and cases off to my right. I think I know where I am.

But, suddenly, there's darkness as the door slams shut behind me. Fear spikes up in my mind as I gasp, tensing up, and my heart beginning to pound. My ears prick up, tail flagging to anyone who can see it, and a buried part of me leaps forward and screams to me that I'm about to be jumped, to be mauled and mutilated by some mad predator in the darkness. I'm ashamed to say that a bit of me even suspects Jackie will suddenly turn on me after lulling me into a false sense of security.

Just as my mind reaches the worst thoughts imaginable, something grabs my left hand. A familiar warmth radiates into it as Jackie laces his fingers between mine. I look over just as my eyes begin to adjust and see him, just smiling, trying to calm me down. A chill rushes down my spine as my adrenaline levels drop, seeing the blinking green light, the shine in his eyes, and familiar blue shirt glowing in the darkness.

"Hey, are you ok?" He asks gently.

"Uhm, yeah, yeah, I just . . ." My mind stumbles, trying to conjure up something that explains the fear I just experienced, without it sounding like something hateful or disgusting. "I'm just not used to new spaces."

Good lie, very good lie. Jackie's ears flicker, maybe from doubt, or maybe just from the dust, but he doesn't say anything. He just steps forward and pulls me onwards. Our footsteps echo off of the empty walls, my hooves clacking on the dusty wooden floorboards. Soon, they bellow into the hollow of a very large room. Blue light filters down from somewhere high above, bathing everything in a light blue tint that draws my eyes upwards to a roof cut up by stained glass in the shape of a full moon and countless many-pointed stars. My jaw drops open as I look at it all, grimy and unclean, but magnificent at the same time.

"I knew you'd like it," Jackie says proudly.

Jackie's fingers slip from between mine as he walks forward, across a recently swept dance floor and disappears from my sigh. I watch him go for only a moment before I'm forced to look around, to take it all in. The room is absolutely massive, a mixture between a theater and a club. Two floors high, the ceiling reaches up into the darkness that hides old chandeliers and house lights below the stained glass windows. I bet thirty years ago, this place was the finest place in town.

A seating gallery, lined with golden accents and flowery, soft lines wraps around the entire second floor in the back, with old, blue stadium seating molding into the floor. Some have been ripped out, other ruined. A lot of the classical-styled columns have been covered with graffiti casting curses on all those who witness them.

Down below, dark wooden flooring reaches out into the blackness of the coming night. Ornate, if damaged, tables sit spread out evenly, some with sullied white tablecloths covering their forms, others showing their bare, wooden majesty. Cobweb-covered sconces sit back in alcoves along the back wall, flanking a wide, white-and-blue set of double doors leading out to a foyer beyond. Directly across from where I stand is a wide bar.

"The Linen Club" hangs above in broken neon tubing. The barstools are brass and secure to the floor, and they're covered in soot and filth. Some of the seat cushions are cut up, most likely by some punk cat or dog thinking it was funny to destroy property. Empty bottles, decades old, and broken pint glasses line the rear shelving. The mirrored backing of the bar displays a collage of pictures, taped up, seemingly older than I am.

With my eyes, I follow the elegant bar all the way around to my right where the stage begins. It's tall, deep and beautiful with greened copper shades hiding lights that once illuminated everything. At the very back, a tall blue curtain hangs, mostly torn, concealing some of the backstage beyond. A wide, black grand piano sits off center to the left. Jackie currently stand near it, leaning onto its corner and smiling.

"Welcome to what will one day be the Coyote's Den," he says, bowing to me and raising up excited hands.

I follow his voice as it reverberates into the vastness of this empty room. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, I smile and try to look to every corner at once.

"It's beautiful, Jackie," I tell him, without a hint of doubt. "Is this the theater your dad wanted to buy?"

"Yup," he says and walks to the center of the stage. "This used to be the Linen Club, one of the finest places to ever cater to pred tastes. It closed down a pretty long time ago, but Dad saw its potential, and so do I. The acoustics are fantastic, the building is still in great shape, and I've already planned where everything is going to go. I'm going to restore the old dance floor, and put in a bigger bar! I'm going to have booth seats up on the second floor and put tables down here on the first, everything wrapped in blue and white!"

I follow Jackie's hands and lips as he excitedly points everything out. I can sort of imagine what everything will look like, sparkling and new, ready to be used and enjoyed. But a lot of it seems sterile and stale in my own mind, even with Jackie's assistance. Something loud beeps into the darkness. I turn around and look to him, smiling wide, those rows of sharp teeth glittering in the low light, his eyes not really looking at anything, a yellow blinking light under his chin.

"I've already got these great bands interested in playing, animals I've met over the years. But I'm going to make sure that I'm always up here on stage first every night, singing my songs, no matter who will follow me, so everyone remembers where we came from!" Jackie says to me, his tail wagging. "I can almost hear the crowd already!"

And I can too, even only just over the rapid beeping that comes from somewhere around us.

"And on opening night--"

Suddenly Jackie stops talking and gasps loudly. Swinging my head around, I look up to see him standing stock still in the middle of the stage, his arms thrust down at his sides. He takes a couple of steps forward and then collapses. Gasping, frightened, I rush forward and throw myself up onto the stage. When I get to him, his collar is still shocking him rapidly with low, repetitive zaps. Without thinking, I pull my key and slip the collar from around his neck, burning my hands only slightly. It deactivates as it skitters across the stage.

"Jackie, are you okay?!" I ask him, terrified and concerned.

He lifts his head up from the ground and I help to support him, kneeling down beside him. He licks his lips and looks to me, confused, as I take a seat next to him. I won't make him stand up or leave, he seems ok now. But I don't understand what happened. That damned collar shocked him, but he wasn't angry, he wasn't fighting! He was just really happy.

"Metal," he tells me, sounding delusional and licking his chops "You always think you'll get used to the taste of metal, but you don't, really."

"Jackie, are you okay?" I repeat myself. "What happened? Should I call in and get you to the hospital?"

"No, no, Hooves, it's okay," he replies. "I'm just--I just forgot about the collar is all. I just need to rest."

Then he rubs his neck and looks to me. At first he seems dazed, far off, but then he smiles again and looks to me. He looks at me very kindly, in a way I hardly recognize, but enjoy. Those eyes are lazy, content, hanging half-open above his muzzle. And even though I can see every tooth in his maw, I feel comfortable, safe even. Finally Jackie sighs.

"I asked you to trust me, Hooves," he suddenly says with a weak smile. "And you did. You trust me enough to take my collar off when we're all alone. When you said you didn't have a lot of friends, well, I can relate. I lost most of mine. And I guess, I want to trust you enough to share this with you, because it makes me feel less alone. This is my dream. Well, Dad's first, but it's mine now."

As he leans forward, trying to lift himself up, I jump to my hooves and begin to help him.

"Here, let me help," I tell him.

He's weak, as I can feel his paws about to collapse out from underneath him. But when he finally has his good arm around my shoulders, he points to the swivel stool in front of that old, scratched-up grand piano. I lead him over, Jackie only stumbling a few times, and then deposit him gently onto its seat. The stool creaks, but doesn't threaten to throw him off. He sighs and touches the keys and I lean onto the piano beside him. It's too quiet for a second or two.

"I wish you could've seen this place in its prime," Jackie tells me. "It was beautiful, back before the collars. It used to be a swinging spot for all the hep cats and cool pups. It's not easy being a predator in a city that hates you. And for a lot of us, music, dancing, singing, they were the escapes we needed before we went back behind the fence. Things changed, though, when the fences came down."

"What happened?" I ask, but, then feel stupid.

The collar still sits, its form lumped into a pile halfway across the stage, and looking at it makes me wonder. Jackie plays out a little tune, beautiful, but unfamiliar on the keys. He knows I've already put two and two together and doesn't answer.

"It doesn't just stop anger, does it?" I ask him, finally saying it out. "The collar. It doesn't just stop anger and primal urges. It stops . . . everything."

"Anything that raises your heartrate, drops adrenaline, cranks your blood pressure," Jackie explains. "That's why the world changed for us when segregation ended. You ever heard of Spring In August?"

It stops everything? Then what happened with Joffer?

"Yeah, of course," I tell him, though my mind is still thinking. "It's that street fair that happens at the end of August in Happy Town, right?"

"That's the one," Jackie replies. "It was at the very beginning of the Spring In August fair when segregation ended. I guess it'll be, what, twenty years now next week? The fair usually lasts a week at best, but that year, it turned into a raging party that lasted two whole weeks. If only we knew what was on the horizon."

"What was it like? The fair, I mean."

"Oh, it was fantastic," Jackie replies to me, looking up with a grin. "Bands played on every street corner, preds hung from the windows throwing food and clothing. Even prey came down from Downtown and from across the river to celebrate with us. And for two weeks, the city delivered on its promises, for both a better future, and that anyone can be anything. Everything was perfect. The day segregation ended. I was just a puppy, barely in elementary school, but I remember it being some of the best days of my life."

He turns and presses down a couple of chords. The piano vibrates out into the darkness, perfectly tuned. Something tells me that this isn't the first time he's been here, legally or otherwise. The notes dance off the walls, bringing flickering movement to my eyes. Jackie seems so happy, so I cross my arms and listen, anything to keep him talking.

"Music was pretty different when I was little, less controlled, less saccharine and fake," he continues without me asking, his fingers touching the bones. "James Bear screamed over the shortwaves," his fingers slam out the opening beat to 'Caledonia', "and Short-tailed Richard hummed in the streets." The rise and fall of 'Lucille' hum from that piano. "Rock and roll, rhythm and blues, jump, boogie all ruled the air, and then disappeared in a flash."

He snaps the fingers on his right hand and the music, perfect and beautiful, begins to fade away into silence, replaced by the dull hum of Zootopia outside. I smile and then look to him and see him frowning. Suddenly I can't enjoy the music anymore when I realize what he's talking about. The collars came. Oh, sure, they regulate anger and hatred and base impulses, but they lost other things in the process. My mind starts to hum away again, wondering.

"I--I didn't know," I tell him, feeling a bit ashamed.

"Yeah, well, most prey don't," Jackie replies, a bit sour. "I think prey don't think about how the collars affect us. How could they? If they knew, they wouldn't be able to sleep at night. Oh, sure, it keeps most predators from getting angry, from fighting and killing. But it keeps us from feeling. Music wasn't the first casualty, that came later, but it went away nonetheless. So now you have LABBA winning awards with 'Waterloo' and the Slythers hitting the top of the Billboard 100 with 'Hot Line' because those are the only songs that we can sing: unfeeling, uninspired tripe. Jesus Capybara."

For a long time he's quiet, contemplative. I guess he knows how sorrowful and miserable he sounds, so he tries to sweep it under the rug with a couple of upbeat chords and notes that his fingers conjure up. But the theater seems darker now than it was before, and I start to think; about collars, about music, about feeling. If he can't even be ecstatic, and joyous about sharing something personal, what else can't he feel?

"Jackie?"

His fingers stop playing and he looks up to me.

"You never answered me," I continue. "Did you ever sing your song?"

His eyes turn to me, seeming to widen, as if I've asked him something way too personal. His ears switch back to resting atop his head. Then he looks away, slowly, and sighs loudly.

I begin to retract my question, "You don't have to answer, it's just you've been alone, and I just--"

"No, Hooves, it's ok. It's part of why I brought you here," he replies. "Spending all that time around the music, it sort of became a part of who I am. Like I said, Dad never wanted me to follow his footsteps into the barbershop. And I'm sure he didn't want me getting stuck somewhere else. So, even after I had my collar put on, I followed a path into music. I worked a couple of jobs here and there, playing a few gigs at pred bars and the odd club. But things started to get better when I met Anne."

He smiles and his fingers reach up to the keys. He plays out a relatively upbeat tune, though it seems to be sprinkled with sour, minor notes.

He continues, smiling, "She had everything. She was charming, smart, drop dead gorgeous, and she knew what she wanted from life. Plus, it didn't hurt that she had some good connections. I ended up getting a steady gig based on her recommendation and the money started rolling in. We sang beautiful duets, harmonies, even. Dad was proud, when he was alive, and everything seemed fantastic . . ."

The smile begins to fade and his fingers reach about, gently coaxing out chords that seem to dissipate into the darkness that surrounds us.

"So what happened?" I ask, only after Jackie's voice trails off.

"She," he begins and then pauses. "She wanted things I couldn't give her. But I was in love, or what I thought was love. Dad didn't like her, despite what she had given me, and he warned me about her. So, I didn't see what I had made until it was too late. The house I built was one of cards and soon it all came crashing down around me. I lost the gig, I lost most of my money, I was blacklisted everywhere save for a few places, and I added to my scars for my troubles. I went home with my tail between my legs and started up the agency, the only job where I could work without anybody recognizing me, which is hard because club singers know everybody. Dad had just died and I think if he had been alive, he'd have said 'told you fucking so'. She's gone now, far away. And I'm still here."

The music seems to fade away and then he heaves a heavy sigh. Seeing that he needs it most, I step forward and touch his shoulder tentatively. He looks up to me, a mixture of sadness and confusion filling his eyes. But there's also a touch of happiness, as if he doesn't regret everything, even if it hurt in the end. My ears creep forward and I feel a surge of confidence boil in my stomach.

"She doesn't know what she's missing," I tell him.

He looks up to me, surprised.

"What?" He asks, shocked.

"Anne," I say, trying to conjure up a caring grin. "She doesn't know what she's missing."

He sits in stunned silence. I can see the blush burning through his tan and white cheeks and he looks away, a bit of a smile tugging at his cheeks. Looking up, I can't help but see this building in a different way. His dream is beautiful, if but simple. It's not the grand dream of changing the world that I once held, and hope to hold again, but it's something noble and fearless. Things can't be the way they were before the fences came down, but, maybe they shouldn't be. Maybe we should be moving forward, to something different, something better.

"I guess it's kind of dumb," Jackie says, "the club. To want something so bad, even if it hurts, even if everybody tells you that you shouldn't."

"No, it's great," I tell him, trying to be positive. "When I was a fawn, I wanted to help animals. And I thought, the best way to do that is to change the system. I wanted to become a police officer since I was sixteen. Become commissioner and rewrite the rules, you know? Boy did I get a wakeup call when I got my job. I think I've sort of forgotten about that over the years. Just because your dream is smaller doesn't make any less valid."

Jackie smiles up at me and for a while we're quiet, each of us secure in ourselves, in our dreams. But as I look to the collar, knowing that we'll have leave soon, I get an odd idea. I cross my arms and smile.

"Hey, could you play something for me?" I ask him. "You don't have to sing me your special song, but, I'd love to hear something."

"What, why?" He asks, looking up to me.

"I don't know," I reply, just shrugging. "Because we're here, you have your collar off. Please?"

Jackie looks to me, contemplatively for a second, and then chuckles. His fingers warm up on the keys, becoming more dexterous.

"Sure, Hooves, anything for you," he replies. "But, I'll try and make it quick. I guess we should get back to work soon. This one's an old one, and close to my heart."

As his fingers begin to play, I step away from the piano. At first I can't recognize the tune, but then it becomes crystal clear. Turning out towards the dance floor, I let my imagination run wild as the music from the piano reaches up into the dark recesses of the building. The sconces along the wall light with an unearthly glow. The graffiti that covers most of the walls washes away, the blues and whites of the wallpaper becoming vibrant and new. I gasp at seeing it, at taking it all in.

The tables along the back line up, covering themselves with ghostly tablecloths and figures sit around them. They're dressed in fine suits, elegant dresses, shining gold and glittering pearls. Above, the house lights burn brightly their ethereal illumination, illuminating a brand new dance floor, as figures come forward to enjoy the music. And there's not just predators, but prey as well, from thin antelope, to rotund rhinos, interspersed amongst their more toothy companions.

Along the wall, a large lion works the bar, dressed in a fine white suit, shaking out martinis as a sign is hung above the counter reading 'The End of Segregation!' and men and women of all stripes lean against it, romancing. Voices, high and breathy, laugh into the darkness as music from a full band roars from behind. As I swing about, I swear that they're there, standing right on top of me, booming into the darkness.

"Those fingers in my hair,


That sly 'come hither' stare,


That strips my conscious bare,


It's witchcraft . . ."

Turning to Jackie, I see even he hasn't escaped my fantasies. He now wears a full white, three-piece, three-button suit. And he doesn't wear that collar. Nobody here does. His shoulder moves fully, as if he's never been injured. His fur looks clean, not barely covering up stitches, and freshly styled. A candelabra casts a warm glow on his claws as they move freely about the keys.

"And I've got no defense for it,


The heat is too intense for it,


What good would common sense for it do?


'Cause it's witchcraft, wicked witchcraft,


And although, I know, it's strictly taboo!"


The note holds, loud and clear as a bell, and the crowd jumps, hand-in-hand, as women are twirled about by their mates. Joyous, amorous laughs and giggles cut through the music as the band crescendos. I swear I see two coyotes, just like Jackie's parents, twirling about in the center of the dance floor, their paws scarcely touching the ground, their tails wrapped around one another. Young ones giggle and chase one another between the taller adults, smiling wide and playing tag.

"When you arouse the need in me,


My heart says, yes indeed in me,


Proceed with what you're leading me to."


Suddenly the dresses and suits fade away as the band quiets down and out of the corner of my eye, I see Jackie, no longer sitting at the piano, but standing center stage. I step gently to the side as watch as his ghostly form approaches a metal microphone and takes it gently in one hand. A cigarette is held in his left hand, its smoke trailing off into nothing. The spotlight beats down on him, and he looks unreal, even in my mind.

"It's such an ancient pitch,


But one I wouldn't switch,


'Cause there's no nicer witch than you,"

His lips lean in and lovingly caress the little bulb that sends his voice bouncing throughout the hall. The band plays up behind us, hyenas, wolves, tigers, lions, all taking to their paws as the brass and strings serenade their song into the rafters. A talented otter pounds away at the drum kit just off to the side. Looking out, I see the dresses and suits begin to fade away into more modern clothes.

Bright blues, yellows, oranges, and greens begin to sprout up like weeds, all modern dress. The lights change, to a warmer red as opposed to cooler blue it once was. To my right, the bartender has changed over to a more familiar wildebeest, though I don't know why Zan would ever work here. Above the bar 'Welcome to the Coyote's Den' is painted out in bright, vibrant, and beautiful red print.

Suddenly the crowd begins to part and looking down, I see somebody approach, though her face is covered completely in shadow. Her dress is a stunning shade of aquamarine, and her fur is a vibrant, heavenly white. She strolls forward, her legs kicking up the fabric of her dress and I watch as Jackie lifts the microphone from its stand and begins to step down the glass steps to the dancefloor below.

"'Cause it's witchcraft,


That crazy witchcraft,


And although, I know, it's strictly taboo!"

They approach each other as all of the other mammals on the floor move to the sides. The lights burn bright above, the spotlights twirling to center on them, aimed from somewhere up above, out of sight. She looks to him like a predator to prey, licking her chops, smiling wickedly. Her claws come up as she pirouettes for him. He delves a hand into his pocket, the cigarette carelessly discarded onto the floor as she throws her arms around his neck, leaning her breasts into his chest and delving her nose into his neck fur in a surprisingly familiar fashion. But that microphone stays up and he looks to her only sparingly.

"When you arouse the need in me,


My heart says, yes indeed in me,


Proceed with what you're leading me too."

She leans back, away from him and looks deeply into his eyes, as if they were meant for one another, meant to be there at that very moment. He pulls the microphone to his lips and hides them behind it. Then he leans forward and stares deeply into her eyes, which I can't tell the color of, because of the darkness cast over her visage.

"It's such an ancient pitch,


But one that I wouldn't switch,


'Cause there's no nicer witch than you."

Suddenly the microphone is dropped from his fingers, though I never hear it hit the floor. The band crescendos once more, and then begins to fade as the two coyotes, one familiar, one a stranger, kiss passionately, ears raised and eyes closed. He wraps his right arm around the small of her back and leans into her, bending her at the waist. I gasp, my heart straining, and everything begins to fall apart.

The lights brighten before wafting into darkness and the graffiti returns, the tables smashing, dirt and dust swirling around in a tornado of destruction. The faceless animals on the edges of the crowd twirl away as the lights along the walls dot out one by one. The bar tears itself apart, the banner announcing the grand opening of the club shreds itself until it's completely unrecognizable. Finally, the two lovers whirl into a mist of blue and white.

From behind, the perfectly tuned piano comes to a soft rest and I hear Jackie rise from his seat. He turns towards me, smiling gently, never having done any of those things I imagined. While he bows awkwardly, still sore from his shock and no doubt from his wounds, my brow is high on my forehead as I try to rip myself from my fantasy gone rotten. Half of me wonders why I'm so worked up, why I'm so frightened by what I've just seen, especially when none of it happened and the real mammal is here, right in front of me. What just happened?

"That was unreal," I tell him, commenting on my fantasy and the song as well.

I may have imagined everything I saw, but I didn't imagine anything I heard. He was pitch perfect, crystal clear, like listening to Frank Persano himself as he croons his now-aged ballad 'Witchcraft'. Jackie beams widely, as if hearing my praise is worth everything to him. I see him try to form a reply, but he just rubs the back of his neck, his lips stumbling before he just grins.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it," he tells me quietly. "It feels nice, being here, free for a little while."

And it feels nice, to be away from work for a while, mentally as much as physically. I just smile in reply and watch as he crosses the room towards the collar, still sitting quietly off-center on the dusty, poorly lit stage. As he bends down, groaning with the strain, he picks it up and looks to it, obviously not wanting to slip it back onto his neck. But he does anyways, and as the beep of it activating echoes through the quiet hall, I suddenly feel a hatred course through me that I'm not used to. Because I know it doesn't control anger, primal hatred, it chokes life.

"Are you ready?" He asks me.

"What?" I ask as I surface from my thoughts.

"To go," he explains. "Mrs. Fangmeyer will be waiting for us."

"Oh, yeah, we don't want to be late," I say, feeling awkward, confused again.

As Jackie walks back towards the rear entrance, I follow with my eyes projected squarely over my shoulder. The club seems different since I entered. At first, I thought it was frightening, dark, and foreboding. But now it seems beautiful, if but kind of sad and lonely. It makes me think of a place I used to run and hide away as a fawn to escape from the world. And yet, it makes me feel hopeful. This is Jackie's place. Glancing over to him as he leads the way, his tail rocks to the beat of the song he just played.

I'm so tense, but I feel good, warm, so very warm. So I try to catch up with him and be pleasant, at least understanding that what he's just shared with me is personal and precious. When I come to his side, he smiles down at me, maybe content that I'm here with him. Soon enough, we're back outside and I'm climbing into the driver's seat of my car once more. Our destination isn't far off, but it's back in Happy Town, near the Bayfront area.

When the car turns over, the radio sweetly sings out a familiar tune and I begin to feel so odd inside. So many conflicted feelings, many that I don't really understand, flicker through my mind. Happiness that Jackie, who I do consider a friend, shared something personal with me, and I didn't fuck it up by saying something stupid. Confused that I feel so tense. Nervous for having imagined whatever it is I did. And, finally, confident, that I sort of don't feel alone anymore.

As I'm backing out of the alleyway, I look to myself in the rearview mirror and silently study my visage, wondering. Who was she? Was she like me? A shadow passes over my muzzle for a second and I swear that I see her staring back. What did he see in her? Alarmed, I look away and gun the car out onto Cyprus Grove Way, away from the club, away from my thoughts.