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Underbox: Seven
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
capt_hairball
Hamo had to confess to some surprise.
Gerstein’s apartment was fairly neat and clean. One room that sufficed for a bedroom, living room, kitchen and dining area, a bathroom with a shower, and a closet rounded out the floor plan. The paint job was in muted pastels. The back wall was taken up by a slightly scratched and stained screen that was showing porn. The background music to the video was from a genre that had gained currency over the past few years; dubbed Nervenmusik, it combined a rhythmic techno melodic line with a bass line that could be an entirely different tune. It was designed to enhance the effects of Bliss while having sex, and was popular with certain dance clubs.
The cross-fox listened, and discovered that the bass line was Ey, ukhnem. Clearly, Gerstein had been dedicated to his occupation. The porn, though – SinfulFur had been popular for years, but Hamo had never seen the point to it. The cyberbahn had plenty of it for free.
“Did he entertain clients here?” Hamo asked McBeard. Joachim was taking notes.
The rat shrugged. “Few times a week or so.”
“Do a sweep for fur,” the cross-fox remarked to the crime scene techs. “Did you ever have him here?”
“Nah. We’d settle the rent at my place.” Hamo nodded; they didn’t exactly relish asking the rat for a fur sample, or a sample of anything, to be honest.
One of the techs switched off the movie and music, obviously left on when Gerstein had left for his last trick, and opened a drawer under the bed/sofa. “Hey, Detective, look at this,” and Hamo stepped into the room to see.
Actual paper and a collection of colored pens, some of the paper sporting drawings of butterflies and the phrase Es Kommt in block letters. “Hmm. ‘It Comes.’ What the hell does that mean?” the cross-fox wondered aloud.
His partner had been paying attention. “No idea. Not a lot of things so far have made much sense.”
Hamo grunted a reply, their gloved paws sorting through the contents of the drawers. They took a plastic kitchen storage box containing twelve Bliss syrettes out of the drawer and put it on the bed. A matching container contained condoms and a half-used tube of lubricant.
“Hey!” McBeard called out. “Can I get that?” and he pointed at the container with the syrettes.
The boar said, “Nope. It’s evidence.”
“Shit, just my luck to get two honest cops.” The shaved rat stroked his beard and his expression grew sly. “C’mon, just one? He doesn’t need them anymore.”
“Get him out of here,” Hamo said quietly. They’d had quite enough of the rat for the day.
Joachim poked the rat on the shoulder. “You heard the detective. We’ll talk in your office.” Outside McBeard grumbled, but led the way as Hamo went back to work.
In addition to the stash of Bliss, there was a reader and some book cartridges. College courses in Chinese and database construction – was he planning on emigrating? Another drawer revealed a number of video cartridges for the reader; they were unlabeled, so they were bagged as evidence.
The final bit of mystery was a flexible gel masturbator, and Hamo put a paw to their chin. Gerstein was a prostitute – why would he need a milker when he could just go out and get paid for his mouth, ass or cock? Their ears flicked at sounds coming down the hallway, and the crime scene techs paused as they completed their tasks.
The cross-fox stepped out in the hallway and was confronted by a quartet of garishly-dressed furs, two femmes, a mel and one androgyne. One of the femmes, an orange tabby with her headfur dyed electric blue and done up in a quiff, walked up to Hamo and looked at them. “What the fuck you doing in Karl’s place, huh?”
Hamo smiled and showed his badge. “Karl’s dead. We’re investigating it as a murder.”
The androgynous red deer burst into tears, sobbing, “W-We heard he was dead.” The other femme, a marten, hugged the deer and stroked his long headfur.
“Were you friends of Karl’s?”
“Yeah,” the tabby said.
“Do you want to help me catch whoever killed him?”
The male, a red fox wearing a gleaming metal skullcap, gave the cross-fox a sidelong look. “How much you paying?” he asked. He wore a set of lederhosen in gold and silver vinyl with no shirt, and he was rather impressively built.
Hamo shrugged, keeping a straight face. “Not much.” It was the way of things in the Underbox; everything was transactional, cash on the barrelhead (even if no one understood the reference anymore), and the currency could literally be anything.
Anything . . .
“Wait here.” Hamo stepped back into the apartment and asked, “Have you tagged this yet?” They placed a finger on the container holding the Bliss syrettes.
One of the techs looked at the others. “No,” she said, “but – “
“Good,” and the cross-fox picked up the box and walked back to the doorway.
“Hey, they can’t do – “ the tech started to say.
One of the senior ones shushed her. “We haven’t logged it in on the inventory. Suleymanoglu knows what they’re doing.”
“Okay, kids,” the cross-fox said to the quartet of younger furs. The androgynous deer flattened his ears at the word. “My name’s Suleymanoglu. Here,” and after tucking the box under their arm, the contents rattling and causing all four to swivel their ears, the detective gave out contact cards. “If you truly want to help us find Karl’s killer, call and tell me what you know or what you can find out.”
“What’s in the box?” the tabby with the blue headfur asked.
Hamo cocked an ear and a smile toyed with the corners of their mouth. “It might be Bliss. If the information you give me checks out, you get this.” They rattled the box a little.
The red fox looked down at the card, while his tail made a few motions.
“Not a good idea, fellow,” Hamo interrupted. “I know that signal, and you four can’t rush me without getting all of you in trouble.”
That made the younger fur blink. “You a ganger?”
“Long time ago. We got a deal?”
The quartet glanced at each other and the tabby said, “Yeah. We’ll be calling,” and the group of prostitutes headed back up the hallway while Hamo stepped back inside.
They offered the container to the crime scene tech who had objected. “I had to show them something tangible to get their cooperation.”
She looked at it, then up at the cross-fox as she placed it in a clear bag. “Why not money, then?”
“I’d have to write it up,” Hamo admitted. “The Bliss will only get disposed of. It’s not listed, and it’s not addictive, so why not put it to good use?”
“You think they’ll come up with something?” Another tech asked.
A shrug. “You never know. Prostitutes are good sources at times; they’re known in the neighborhood, and can easily spot someone or something new.”
“And their customers might say something?”
Hamo nodded. “That too. It’s a calculated risk, but if it doesn’t work, we don’t really lose anything.” They shepherded the crime scene techs and their evidence out of the apartment, and waited as they closed the door, made sure it was locked and affixed police tape across the doorway. The group then headed back down the hallway to the rat’s office.
Joachim turned as his partner came around the corner. “All done?”
Hamo nodded. “You done with McBeard?”
“I’m standing here, you know,” the portly rat said.
“I’m trying to forget,” the cross-fox said. “Gerstein’s apartment is sealed, so don’t go poking your muzzle in there, got it?”
Outside McBeard merely gave the detectives a raised middle finger and slammed his door shut.
“Back to the office, then?” the boar asked.
“Yeah.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST<
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
capt_hairballHamo had to confess to some surprise.
Gerstein’s apartment was fairly neat and clean. One room that sufficed for a bedroom, living room, kitchen and dining area, a bathroom with a shower, and a closet rounded out the floor plan. The paint job was in muted pastels. The back wall was taken up by a slightly scratched and stained screen that was showing porn. The background music to the video was from a genre that had gained currency over the past few years; dubbed Nervenmusik, it combined a rhythmic techno melodic line with a bass line that could be an entirely different tune. It was designed to enhance the effects of Bliss while having sex, and was popular with certain dance clubs.
The cross-fox listened, and discovered that the bass line was Ey, ukhnem. Clearly, Gerstein had been dedicated to his occupation. The porn, though – SinfulFur had been popular for years, but Hamo had never seen the point to it. The cyberbahn had plenty of it for free.
“Did he entertain clients here?” Hamo asked McBeard. Joachim was taking notes.
The rat shrugged. “Few times a week or so.”
“Do a sweep for fur,” the cross-fox remarked to the crime scene techs. “Did you ever have him here?”
“Nah. We’d settle the rent at my place.” Hamo nodded; they didn’t exactly relish asking the rat for a fur sample, or a sample of anything, to be honest.
One of the techs switched off the movie and music, obviously left on when Gerstein had left for his last trick, and opened a drawer under the bed/sofa. “Hey, Detective, look at this,” and Hamo stepped into the room to see.
Actual paper and a collection of colored pens, some of the paper sporting drawings of butterflies and the phrase Es Kommt in block letters. “Hmm. ‘It Comes.’ What the hell does that mean?” the cross-fox wondered aloud.
His partner had been paying attention. “No idea. Not a lot of things so far have made much sense.”
Hamo grunted a reply, their gloved paws sorting through the contents of the drawers. They took a plastic kitchen storage box containing twelve Bliss syrettes out of the drawer and put it on the bed. A matching container contained condoms and a half-used tube of lubricant.
“Hey!” McBeard called out. “Can I get that?” and he pointed at the container with the syrettes.
The boar said, “Nope. It’s evidence.”
“Shit, just my luck to get two honest cops.” The shaved rat stroked his beard and his expression grew sly. “C’mon, just one? He doesn’t need them anymore.”
“Get him out of here,” Hamo said quietly. They’d had quite enough of the rat for the day.
Joachim poked the rat on the shoulder. “You heard the detective. We’ll talk in your office.” Outside McBeard grumbled, but led the way as Hamo went back to work.
In addition to the stash of Bliss, there was a reader and some book cartridges. College courses in Chinese and database construction – was he planning on emigrating? Another drawer revealed a number of video cartridges for the reader; they were unlabeled, so they were bagged as evidence.
The final bit of mystery was a flexible gel masturbator, and Hamo put a paw to their chin. Gerstein was a prostitute – why would he need a milker when he could just go out and get paid for his mouth, ass or cock? Their ears flicked at sounds coming down the hallway, and the crime scene techs paused as they completed their tasks.
The cross-fox stepped out in the hallway and was confronted by a quartet of garishly-dressed furs, two femmes, a mel and one androgyne. One of the femmes, an orange tabby with her headfur dyed electric blue and done up in a quiff, walked up to Hamo and looked at them. “What the fuck you doing in Karl’s place, huh?”
Hamo smiled and showed his badge. “Karl’s dead. We’re investigating it as a murder.”
The androgynous red deer burst into tears, sobbing, “W-We heard he was dead.” The other femme, a marten, hugged the deer and stroked his long headfur.
“Were you friends of Karl’s?”
“Yeah,” the tabby said.
“Do you want to help me catch whoever killed him?”
The male, a red fox wearing a gleaming metal skullcap, gave the cross-fox a sidelong look. “How much you paying?” he asked. He wore a set of lederhosen in gold and silver vinyl with no shirt, and he was rather impressively built.
Hamo shrugged, keeping a straight face. “Not much.” It was the way of things in the Underbox; everything was transactional, cash on the barrelhead (even if no one understood the reference anymore), and the currency could literally be anything.
Anything . . .
“Wait here.” Hamo stepped back into the apartment and asked, “Have you tagged this yet?” They placed a finger on the container holding the Bliss syrettes.
One of the techs looked at the others. “No,” she said, “but – “
“Good,” and the cross-fox picked up the box and walked back to the doorway.
“Hey, they can’t do – “ the tech started to say.
One of the senior ones shushed her. “We haven’t logged it in on the inventory. Suleymanoglu knows what they’re doing.”
“Okay, kids,” the cross-fox said to the quartet of younger furs. The androgynous deer flattened his ears at the word. “My name’s Suleymanoglu. Here,” and after tucking the box under their arm, the contents rattling and causing all four to swivel their ears, the detective gave out contact cards. “If you truly want to help us find Karl’s killer, call and tell me what you know or what you can find out.”
“What’s in the box?” the tabby with the blue headfur asked.
Hamo cocked an ear and a smile toyed with the corners of their mouth. “It might be Bliss. If the information you give me checks out, you get this.” They rattled the box a little.
The red fox looked down at the card, while his tail made a few motions.
“Not a good idea, fellow,” Hamo interrupted. “I know that signal, and you four can’t rush me without getting all of you in trouble.”
That made the younger fur blink. “You a ganger?”
“Long time ago. We got a deal?”
The quartet glanced at each other and the tabby said, “Yeah. We’ll be calling,” and the group of prostitutes headed back up the hallway while Hamo stepped back inside.
They offered the container to the crime scene tech who had objected. “I had to show them something tangible to get their cooperation.”
She looked at it, then up at the cross-fox as she placed it in a clear bag. “Why not money, then?”
“I’d have to write it up,” Hamo admitted. “The Bliss will only get disposed of. It’s not listed, and it’s not addictive, so why not put it to good use?”
“You think they’ll come up with something?” Another tech asked.
A shrug. “You never know. Prostitutes are good sources at times; they’re known in the neighborhood, and can easily spot someone or something new.”
“And their customers might say something?”
Hamo nodded. “That too. It’s a calculated risk, but if it doesn’t work, we don’t really lose anything.” They shepherded the crime scene techs and their evidence out of the apartment, and waited as they closed the door, made sure it was locked and affixed police tape across the doorway. The group then headed back down the hallway to the rat’s office.
Joachim turned as his partner came around the corner. “All done?”
Hamo nodded. “You done with McBeard?”
“I’m standing here, you know,” the portly rat said.
“I’m trying to forget,” the cross-fox said. “Gerstein’s apartment is sealed, so don’t go poking your muzzle in there, got it?”
Outside McBeard merely gave the detectives a raised middle finger and slammed his door shut.
“Back to the office, then?” the boar asked.
“Yeah.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST<
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Fox (Other)
Size 85 x 120px
File Size 50.4 kB
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