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More from Walt46
Listed in Folders
Moonlight and Mayhem
A Very Odd Romance
© 2010 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
cherushi and 
amonomega
Four
“What the hell’s going on, Carl?” Sam asked after Max had reached dry land and dried off. Through the office windows she could make out the cruiser’s masts and funnels as the Orca made its way out of the lagoon. “The Chief Constable pressing charges anyway?”
“Nope,” the bear replied. “The Vice has a job lined up for you two.”
“Oh? What’s the job?”
Masters looked at a sheet of paper. “You two recall a guy named Louis Morpion?”
Max growled. “Louie the Louse?”
“The very same.”
Earlier that year in Singapore, Louis Morpion had attempted to scam the Naval Syndicate by selling shoddy merchandise. The adulterated solvents would have raised havoc with whatever machinery they had been used on.
Max had particular reason to dislike the French feline. In the course of arguing about the bad solvents, the cat had hurled a can of the pure stuff at Max.
It had taken weeks for his fur to grow back.
“Where is he? I got a score to settle with that little – “
“Max.”
“Sam?”
“The score was even. You did wreck his warehouse.”
“That was nothing, Sam, compared with what I’m going to do. Damaging the fur hurts the pride, you know.”
“Well, now you can arrange a rematch,” Masters said. “We spotted him, and we have a warrant for his arrest.”
“So why not send the cops around?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, are they on their coffee break?”
“Shut up, Max,” Carl said. “Morpion’s been spotted on Krupmark Island.”
Sam’s eyebrows drew together as she frowned. “Krupmark? Who spotted him there?”
The bear gave her a look. “Never mind who. But he’s been seen there. We want you to go after him, and bring him back to Seathl for trial.”
“So, who’s coming with us?” Sam asked. “Landing Forces?”
“No.”
“Cops?”
“Nope.”
“Two cranky Boy Scouts and a trained seal?” Max asked.
Masters shook his head. “Just you two.”
Max howled, “I KNEW IT! That stupid, goggle-eyed, kink-tailed wolf is trying to get me killed!”
“It wasn’t his idea, Max.”
“Stout fellow, tribute to his species, backbone of the Service,” Max declaimed without missing a beat.
“Max, stop kissing up,” Sam suggested.
“I’m short, Sam. I can’t kiss any other way.”
“Hmm. We’ll see about that. Carl, who thought this up, and why us?”
“The plan – which was set up by the Intelligence Service, by the way – “
“There’s a laugher for you. Rain Island Naval Intelligence Service: three nested contradictions in five words.”
“Shut up, Max. Anyway, The Intel Syndic thinks that a small group, two people, have a better chance than going in force. And as a plus, you both know what Morpion looks like.”
“There’s a lot who know what Louie looks like,” Max said. “Cockroaches, sewer rats, fleas, a guy in Great Wolf Lake named Sorenson – “
“Yeah? Well, they’re not here, and you two are,” Masters countered.
“What’s the plan, Carl?” Sam asked, taking a seat on one corner of the desk. She fended off an attempt by Max to sit in her lap.
“We plan on having you two board a submarine at Blefuscu. From there you’ll travel to Krupmark – Max!”
“What, Carl?”
“Stop trying to sit in my lap, for God’s sake!”
“Why? Aren’t I allowed to sit comfortably?”
“Then take a seat on the floor, you little miscreant, or I’ll ask the sub’s commander to deliver you to Krupmark via torpedo tube.”
“Hah. That blast of compressed air doesn’t scare me,” Max said. “Wouldn’t be the first time I had a blow – “
“Max.”
“Sam?”
“Come over here and have a seat on my lap.”
“Goody!” The badgeress took up a more comfortable position on the desk, and Max took a seat in the lap thus offered. “Now, Carl . . . “
“What, Max?”
The fox and the badger shared a long kiss before Max asked, “Since you and the Intel boss are so dead set on trying to get me and Sam killed, when do we leave?”
***
July 15:
An errant breeze stirred the torch, making the flames gutter and dance and sending gold and orange-red reflections sparkling over the gentle waves. The canine in the boat crouched a bit lower as the hull rocked in the swells while rechecking his lines.
Nothing. Not a nibble since the waning Moon set earlier that night.
“Come on,” he said to himself in an irritated tone.
Another wave rocked the boat, and he waited for the swells to subside. Instead they increased, causing the boat to bob rather sickeningly. The man grabbed at the gunwales and hung on, his lines now forgotten.
A vast dark shape broke surface less than a yard to port. He would have capsized had he not instinctively thrown his weight to one side to counterbalance.
He scrabbled for his torch, and the light illuminated the slickly gleaming gray surface of the shape. A stray gleam of white and the characters "S-2" revealed themselves.
The man, teeth bared in anger, waited.
The surfaced submarine steadied itself and there was a metallic clang as a hatch was thrown open. As a shadow came into view along the conning tower rail the man shouted, "Took you long enough! You damned near swamped me!"
"Crybaby," a voice sneered. "This place isn't the easiest harbor in the world to try submerged and at night."
It wasn't. Smuggler's Cove (more bay than cove, it was over a mile across) was the remnant of a volcano that once dominated the southwestern corner of Krupmark Island. Untold years earlier the volcano had expended itself in one massive eruption before the empty shell had collapsed. Soundings suggested that parts of the caldera were two hundred feet deep; other areas hadn't been sounded yet.
"So?" the man asked scornfully. "I always thought you Syndicate types were daredevils. Besides, it’s been over an hour since you last poked that damned scope up at me."
The sound of hatches opening was loud. "Daredevil yes, stupid no," another voice said. "Had to make sure you were the only one here. You our ride?"
"You got the money, I got the transportation. Tight union, you know."
"Yeah, that's why the Teatotallers Society had to fold.”
“Nice to see anarcho-syndicalism has a long reach. Sam, my dear?”
“Yeah, Max?”
“Mind your step.”
“You mind yours, Max. You’re closer to the water than I am.”
“Now, that hurt, Sam.” He stepped into the boat, helped Sam aboard, and money changed paws. The fox sat next to the canine and the two started rowing.
“So, how do we get on the island?” Sam asked, eyeing a looming bulk that occulted the stars. The maps called the feature Traitor’s Ridge, and best estimates held it to be five hundred feet high. “I don’t think we can climb the ridge.”
“Won’t have to,” the man said as the S-2 slowly sank out of sight. The submarine would pick its way out of the cove, then surface a discreet distance away and run the diesels to recharge its batteries. It would return to the cove each night. “We’ll go around the south point of the island and land near The Beach. I hope you two ain’t wearing uniforms.”
“Nope. Just good ordinary clothes. No plaid, either.”
“I’ve heard about The Beach!” Max enthused. “They got girls there who’ll do anything, they say.”
“No, Max.”
“Sam, you are determined to not let me have any fun.”
“Maybe later, Max. You know, you’re pretty oversexed – even for a fox.”
“Well, the Almighty made me short. He had to throw me a bone somewhere.”
“Uh huh. We’ll talk about bones later. Where was Morpion last seen?” Sam asked.
Their informant grunted, and spat into the water. “He was seen drinking up in the Thieves’ Bazaar two nights ago. Could be anywhere by now, but still on the island.”
“You know, Sam, I was thinking about the Thieves’ Bazaar.”
“Oh yeah?”
"How much do you think I could get for you?"
"What? You'd consider selling me?"
"If the price was right, and they paid cash."
Sam sniffed. "And what would MY cut be?"
“Oh, I’m sure we can negotiate something. Sixty-forty?”
“So long as I get the sixty.”
“I claim the finder’s fee, then.”
“Hmm. Will you take it in trade, Max?”
“You know I will, honeyfur.”
The canine cleared his throat diffidently and asked, “Are you two, um, married?”
“Not for lack of trying,” Max said as he bent to his rowing. The water was growing choppy as the relative calm in the cove met the Pacific.
They beached the boat and concealed it under a pile of brush before picking their way through the dunes to a rough track that made its way past several buildings. Lights were on, and there were sounds – music, laughter and occasional shouts. “This is The Beach?” Max asked. “Looks like a boom town, like you read about in those old books.”
“Only you read those, Max.”
The fox snorted derisively. “I only read those nice mauve-backed books from Gaslight Press in Seathl, Sam. You know, like The Trolley Conductor’s Daughter? She was really a
live wire, once you rang her bell..."
“Max,” Sam growled.
“What? What’d I say? I mean, it’s not Good Soldier Schweik, but it’s great bedtime reading!”
“Do you want to get hit in the head, Max? Again?”
“Only by you, my sweet.”
Sam immediately obliged, punching the fox in the back of his head. Max rolled with the punch and executed a somersault, rebounding to his feet and acting as if nothing untoward had happened.
The trio had been passing the house on the end of the road, a ramshackle affair with twists of black wool streaming from the porch. A wolf femme wearing a leather overcoat paused in her smoking to wave and call out, “Fräulein!”
“Yeah?” the badgeress said.
“You haff a good right hook, nicht wahr? You perhaps vant a job?”
“No, thank you. I already have one.” In the glow of the lights Sam pointed at Max. “Hitting him.”
“Ach, so,” the wolfess said. “Enjoy yourself, then.” She then opened her overcoat, revealing that she wore nothing but a belt under it. She removed a riding crop from her belt and went back into the house.
“Takes all kinds to make a world,” their canine guide remarked. The light had revealed him to be at least part Japanese, with a shiba inu’s dense coat of fur.
“You bet!” Max said enthusiastically. “Can we stop by there on the way back, Sam?”
“What, aren’t I enough for you?” Sam replied, affecting a hurt tone.
Max whirled and leaped at the badgeress, landing on his knees at her feet and pressing his head against her stomach while hugging her tightly. “You are everything to me, Sam - the sun, the moon and air and light and – “
“Max.”
“Yeah, Sam?”
“You stole that line from The House Guest, didn’t you?”
“Sure!” He grinned up at her. “I only steal from the best. Besides, the playwright was a rich guy. He could afford to miss a line or two.”
“Get up, Max. Let’s concentrate on the task at paw, shall we?”
<NEXT>
<FIRST>
<PREVIOUS>
A Very Odd Romance
© 2010 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
cherushi and 
amonomegaFour
“What the hell’s going on, Carl?” Sam asked after Max had reached dry land and dried off. Through the office windows she could make out the cruiser’s masts and funnels as the Orca made its way out of the lagoon. “The Chief Constable pressing charges anyway?”
“Nope,” the bear replied. “The Vice has a job lined up for you two.”
“Oh? What’s the job?”
Masters looked at a sheet of paper. “You two recall a guy named Louis Morpion?”
Max growled. “Louie the Louse?”
“The very same.”
Earlier that year in Singapore, Louis Morpion had attempted to scam the Naval Syndicate by selling shoddy merchandise. The adulterated solvents would have raised havoc with whatever machinery they had been used on.
Max had particular reason to dislike the French feline. In the course of arguing about the bad solvents, the cat had hurled a can of the pure stuff at Max.
It had taken weeks for his fur to grow back.
“Where is he? I got a score to settle with that little – “
“Max.”
“Sam?”
“The score was even. You did wreck his warehouse.”
“That was nothing, Sam, compared with what I’m going to do. Damaging the fur hurts the pride, you know.”
“Well, now you can arrange a rematch,” Masters said. “We spotted him, and we have a warrant for his arrest.”
“So why not send the cops around?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, are they on their coffee break?”
“Shut up, Max,” Carl said. “Morpion’s been spotted on Krupmark Island.”
Sam’s eyebrows drew together as she frowned. “Krupmark? Who spotted him there?”
The bear gave her a look. “Never mind who. But he’s been seen there. We want you to go after him, and bring him back to Seathl for trial.”
“So, who’s coming with us?” Sam asked. “Landing Forces?”
“No.”
“Cops?”
“Nope.”
“Two cranky Boy Scouts and a trained seal?” Max asked.
Masters shook his head. “Just you two.”
Max howled, “I KNEW IT! That stupid, goggle-eyed, kink-tailed wolf is trying to get me killed!”
“It wasn’t his idea, Max.”
“Stout fellow, tribute to his species, backbone of the Service,” Max declaimed without missing a beat.
“Max, stop kissing up,” Sam suggested.
“I’m short, Sam. I can’t kiss any other way.”
“Hmm. We’ll see about that. Carl, who thought this up, and why us?”
“The plan – which was set up by the Intelligence Service, by the way – “
“There’s a laugher for you. Rain Island Naval Intelligence Service: three nested contradictions in five words.”
“Shut up, Max. Anyway, The Intel Syndic thinks that a small group, two people, have a better chance than going in force. And as a plus, you both know what Morpion looks like.”
“There’s a lot who know what Louie looks like,” Max said. “Cockroaches, sewer rats, fleas, a guy in Great Wolf Lake named Sorenson – “
“Yeah? Well, they’re not here, and you two are,” Masters countered.
“What’s the plan, Carl?” Sam asked, taking a seat on one corner of the desk. She fended off an attempt by Max to sit in her lap.
“We plan on having you two board a submarine at Blefuscu. From there you’ll travel to Krupmark – Max!”
“What, Carl?”
“Stop trying to sit in my lap, for God’s sake!”
“Why? Aren’t I allowed to sit comfortably?”
“Then take a seat on the floor, you little miscreant, or I’ll ask the sub’s commander to deliver you to Krupmark via torpedo tube.”
“Hah. That blast of compressed air doesn’t scare me,” Max said. “Wouldn’t be the first time I had a blow – “
“Max.”
“Sam?”
“Come over here and have a seat on my lap.”
“Goody!” The badgeress took up a more comfortable position on the desk, and Max took a seat in the lap thus offered. “Now, Carl . . . “
“What, Max?”
The fox and the badger shared a long kiss before Max asked, “Since you and the Intel boss are so dead set on trying to get me and Sam killed, when do we leave?”
***
July 15:
An errant breeze stirred the torch, making the flames gutter and dance and sending gold and orange-red reflections sparkling over the gentle waves. The canine in the boat crouched a bit lower as the hull rocked in the swells while rechecking his lines.
Nothing. Not a nibble since the waning Moon set earlier that night.
“Come on,” he said to himself in an irritated tone.
Another wave rocked the boat, and he waited for the swells to subside. Instead they increased, causing the boat to bob rather sickeningly. The man grabbed at the gunwales and hung on, his lines now forgotten.
A vast dark shape broke surface less than a yard to port. He would have capsized had he not instinctively thrown his weight to one side to counterbalance.
He scrabbled for his torch, and the light illuminated the slickly gleaming gray surface of the shape. A stray gleam of white and the characters "S-2" revealed themselves.
The man, teeth bared in anger, waited.
The surfaced submarine steadied itself and there was a metallic clang as a hatch was thrown open. As a shadow came into view along the conning tower rail the man shouted, "Took you long enough! You damned near swamped me!"
"Crybaby," a voice sneered. "This place isn't the easiest harbor in the world to try submerged and at night."
It wasn't. Smuggler's Cove (more bay than cove, it was over a mile across) was the remnant of a volcano that once dominated the southwestern corner of Krupmark Island. Untold years earlier the volcano had expended itself in one massive eruption before the empty shell had collapsed. Soundings suggested that parts of the caldera were two hundred feet deep; other areas hadn't been sounded yet.
"So?" the man asked scornfully. "I always thought you Syndicate types were daredevils. Besides, it’s been over an hour since you last poked that damned scope up at me."
The sound of hatches opening was loud. "Daredevil yes, stupid no," another voice said. "Had to make sure you were the only one here. You our ride?"
"You got the money, I got the transportation. Tight union, you know."
"Yeah, that's why the Teatotallers Society had to fold.”
“Nice to see anarcho-syndicalism has a long reach. Sam, my dear?”
“Yeah, Max?”
“Mind your step.”
“You mind yours, Max. You’re closer to the water than I am.”
“Now, that hurt, Sam.” He stepped into the boat, helped Sam aboard, and money changed paws. The fox sat next to the canine and the two started rowing.
“So, how do we get on the island?” Sam asked, eyeing a looming bulk that occulted the stars. The maps called the feature Traitor’s Ridge, and best estimates held it to be five hundred feet high. “I don’t think we can climb the ridge.”
“Won’t have to,” the man said as the S-2 slowly sank out of sight. The submarine would pick its way out of the cove, then surface a discreet distance away and run the diesels to recharge its batteries. It would return to the cove each night. “We’ll go around the south point of the island and land near The Beach. I hope you two ain’t wearing uniforms.”
“Nope. Just good ordinary clothes. No plaid, either.”
“I’ve heard about The Beach!” Max enthused. “They got girls there who’ll do anything, they say.”
“No, Max.”
“Sam, you are determined to not let me have any fun.”
“Maybe later, Max. You know, you’re pretty oversexed – even for a fox.”
“Well, the Almighty made me short. He had to throw me a bone somewhere.”
“Uh huh. We’ll talk about bones later. Where was Morpion last seen?” Sam asked.
Their informant grunted, and spat into the water. “He was seen drinking up in the Thieves’ Bazaar two nights ago. Could be anywhere by now, but still on the island.”
“You know, Sam, I was thinking about the Thieves’ Bazaar.”
“Oh yeah?”
"How much do you think I could get for you?"
"What? You'd consider selling me?"
"If the price was right, and they paid cash."
Sam sniffed. "And what would MY cut be?"
“Oh, I’m sure we can negotiate something. Sixty-forty?”
“So long as I get the sixty.”
“I claim the finder’s fee, then.”
“Hmm. Will you take it in trade, Max?”
“You know I will, honeyfur.”
The canine cleared his throat diffidently and asked, “Are you two, um, married?”
“Not for lack of trying,” Max said as he bent to his rowing. The water was growing choppy as the relative calm in the cove met the Pacific.
They beached the boat and concealed it under a pile of brush before picking their way through the dunes to a rough track that made its way past several buildings. Lights were on, and there were sounds – music, laughter and occasional shouts. “This is The Beach?” Max asked. “Looks like a boom town, like you read about in those old books.”
“Only you read those, Max.”
The fox snorted derisively. “I only read those nice mauve-backed books from Gaslight Press in Seathl, Sam. You know, like The Trolley Conductor’s Daughter? She was really a
live wire, once you rang her bell..."
“Max,” Sam growled.
“What? What’d I say? I mean, it’s not Good Soldier Schweik, but it’s great bedtime reading!”
“Do you want to get hit in the head, Max? Again?”
“Only by you, my sweet.”
Sam immediately obliged, punching the fox in the back of his head. Max rolled with the punch and executed a somersault, rebounding to his feet and acting as if nothing untoward had happened.
The trio had been passing the house on the end of the road, a ramshackle affair with twists of black wool streaming from the porch. A wolf femme wearing a leather overcoat paused in her smoking to wave and call out, “Fräulein!”
“Yeah?” the badgeress said.
“You haff a good right hook, nicht wahr? You perhaps vant a job?”
“No, thank you. I already have one.” In the glow of the lights Sam pointed at Max. “Hitting him.”
“Ach, so,” the wolfess said. “Enjoy yourself, then.” She then opened her overcoat, revealing that she wore nothing but a belt under it. She removed a riding crop from her belt and went back into the house.
“Takes all kinds to make a world,” their canine guide remarked. The light had revealed him to be at least part Japanese, with a shiba inu’s dense coat of fur.
“You bet!” Max said enthusiastically. “Can we stop by there on the way back, Sam?”
“What, aren’t I enough for you?” Sam replied, affecting a hurt tone.
Max whirled and leaped at the badgeress, landing on his knees at her feet and pressing his head against her stomach while hugging her tightly. “You are everything to me, Sam - the sun, the moon and air and light and – “
“Max.”
“Yeah, Sam?”
“You stole that line from The House Guest, didn’t you?”
“Sure!” He grinned up at her. “I only steal from the best. Besides, the playwright was a rich guy. He could afford to miss a line or two.”
“Get up, Max. Let’s concentrate on the task at paw, shall we?”
<NEXT>
<FIRST>
<PREVIOUS>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Badger
Size 72 x 120px
File Size 64.1 kB
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