From: Snowcat To: furry-lit@dasb.fhda.edu Subject: Furry-Lit: Still Untitled -- Conclusion Date: Monday, June 22, 1998 12:07 AM I posted the first half of this story just prior to disappearing for a few weeks of vacation. Now that I am back, and ostensibly rested, I set aside an evening to write the conclusion to the story. Just as a reminder (since it's been awhile), the first story involved a liquor store that was held up by a group of ne'er-do-well furs while our feline hero was at the back, cowering for his life. Currently Untitled ------------------ by David Braun (aka Plonq) 8<------ cut and discard ------- It had been Plonq's intention to hit the ground running, but landing in a bramble patch forced him to quickly modify his plans. "Ouch!" he yelped, as the thorns tore through his clothing and fur, biting cruelly into the tender flesh beneath. He clawed and thrashed his way free of the bushes, finally breaking clear into a well-manicured yard. A crushed-limestone path led a meandering course through the neat flowerbeds and immaculate lawn. At the centre of the yard stood a small, white gazebo, overlooking a crystal pond. A bronze cherub in the centre of the pool probably spewed water from a spigot of questionable placement, but the pump was not turned on at the moment. On a hunch, Plonq glanced over his shoulder and saw that he had made rather short work of somebody's prize roses. The snow leopard hesitated briefly, but an angry shout from the alley on the other side of the wall set him into motion again. He loped through the yard toward the street, blithely unaware of the strand of roses that remained firmly attached to his tail, bouncing merrily along the ground behind him as he ran. The cat sped down the side of the house and leapt the front hedge, nearly bowling over a startled weasel morph on the busy sidewalk that ran past the house. With a terse apology, he turned toward to his right, a trail of white petals marking his wake. At the corner he glanced about frantically, hoping to spy a telephone or - fortune willing - a Furrymuck police cruiser, when his little feline eyes spotted the Duckin Donuts franchise at the end of the block to his right. The cat reasoned that the doughnut shop was as good a place as any other was to find a phone. He sprinted down the sidewalk as quickly as his snow leopard legs would carry him, and reigned up by the large picture window overlooking the street. He pressed his nose to the pane, searching for a telephone, and spied something even better; two porcine Furrymuck police officers were standing at the counter, ordering doughnuts and coffee. "How serendipitously stereotypical," he thought as he scurried around to the front door and burst into the doughnut shop. As soon as he entered the building, the smell of fresh pastries wrapped itself around him, and the cat remembered that he had not yet eaten. The bouquet of fresh apple fritters mingled with the nose-tingling odour of old-fashioned, sourdough glazed, and honey-crullers to create a mouth-watering olfactory experience. As his senses were overwhelmed, the little morph's eyes glassed over, and he found himself walking mechanically toward the counter, drooling and mewling, "Mmmm.... Doughnuts...." Plonq had only taken three steps when one of the kits behind the counter spotted him and gave a wail of protest. "Hey mister, you can't come in here like that!" "Hrm?" "You're bleeding all over the floor, and I just WASHED there! Aw man, you're probably putting us in violation of all sorts of health regulations. Bleeding? Plonq glanced down, and saw that his arm was soaked in blood, which had saturated his fur and was dripping onto the floor. He remembered the sting he had felt as he leapt over the beer cases, and realised for the first time that he had been shot. The small fountain of red liquid pulsing out of his arm seemed to swell until it filled his entire field of vision. A spear of cold impaled him in the gut, and the cat felt the pulse pounding in his temples. In a detached part of his mind he knew that he was on the verge of fainting. "What's all this?" oinked one of the pig morphs, turning from the menu board over the counter and fixing the snow leopard with one of his porcine eyes. "You can't come in here and bleed on the floor. Take it outside, punk." The other police morph did not even deign to look. The distraction pulled Plonq back from the edge, and he began to gesticulate wildly, and breathlessly shout, "Liquor store... robbery... they shot someone..." "Hey - watch it!" yelped a Dalmatian morph at a nearby table, as one of the snow leopard's wild arm-waves spattered her with his blood. "Some of us are trying to enjoy a doughnut and coffee in here, if you don't mind." "But they're holding up the liquor store," said Plonq, turning to her in protest. "They've got guns, and they shot somebody!" He held up his arm and stared at the wound again in morbid fascination. "They shot ME!" The second police morph finally had his fill, and turned to direct a hammy finger at the snow leopard. "Look, punk," he snorted derisively, "you're a damn sight lucky we're on break or we'd run you in right now for creating a public nuisance, and violating Furrymuck health regulations by bleeding on the floor!" His partner, meanwhile, had wandered over to the front window and was craning to see the liquor store down the street. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "might be something going on at the liquor store. Was there a body lying on the street in a pool of its own blood when we pulled up here?" "How should *I* know, bob?" snapped his partner, "I was busy watching traffic. You don't exactly go looking for bodies bleeding on the road when you're trying to make a left turn against traffic." "Well it might be worth checking out," said his partner. He turned back to Plonq and began, "Maybe you could just - say, what's that in your hand?" "Hrm?" The snow leopard suddenly noticed that he was still clutching the bottle of Johnny Stalker Red-Eye Label firmly in his right fist. He blinked at the bottle, then looked back up at the porcine officer in confusion. "I suppose you can produce a receipt for that, can you?" he asked dangerously. The snow leopard noted that the partner's hand had dropped to his holster. "Ack!" said Plonq. "I mean, they were shooting, and I guess I panicked and forgot to put it back on the shelf." "I... see," said the officer coldly. "I'll go back and pay for it as soon as the robbery is over," said the cat morph quickly. He pointed at his arm in disbelief. "I mean, like, they're shooting people!" "Right," said the other officer, "a likely story. What, do you think we're stupid? Do we look like the kind of rubes who would take the word of the first felon to walk in here off the street, waving the proceeds of shoplifting and concocting wild stories about armed robberies?" His partner patted the holstered gun and gave a melancholy sigh. "It's too bad they're so liberal with the laws these days. There's a time we could have just blown away a worthless piece of social flotsam like you." "Isn't there a 'three strikes' rule on the books?" asked the other police morph. "I mean, this punk has broken three laws since he came in here: causing a disturbance, violating health regulations, and shoplifting." "Er, I don't mean to interfere in your jobs," piped up the kit from behind the counter, "but I'm majoring in law, and I'm pretty sure that at least one of those is only a misdemeanour." "Whatever," oinked the first officer again, "We'll book him and let the judge sort it out." He held out a hand toward Plonq and said, "now very slowly hand me the bottle." The snow leopard complied, and the pig eyed the liquor with a snort of disgust. "Blech - how can you drink this stuff?" "It comes with a free shot-glass," said the cat morph glumly. "Oh ya - cute glass!" said the pig, holding the bottle up for inspection. As his partner latched onto Plonq's non-bleeding arm, he turned to the kit behind the counter and said, "by the way, could you make that order to go?" Minutes later, as they piled into the police cruiser - Plonq sitting in the back - the officer riding in the shotgun position picked up a jelly doughnut, and paused before biting it to give the snow leopard a final rebuke. "It's scofflaws like you that make this society the mess that it is," he lectured pompously. "If it wasn't for the folks like us who they pay to keep this city clean... geez! Charlie, didja see that? Freakin' punk cut right out in front of us, and there's no crosswalk anywhere near!" "I'm on it," said his partner sharply. He spun the wheel and executed a smart bootleg manoeuvre, hitting the lights and siren as he did so. He cut across the meridian and pulled up in front of the jaywalker in a cloud of burnt rubber. Before the car had even finished rolling, his partner had tossed back his doughnut and thrown open his door. He leapt out of the car and tackled the startled stag morph in the street before the latter could even think to react. The driver jumped out of the car shortly after, but when he saw that his partner had the jaywalker adequately subdued, he stepped back and opened Plonq's door. "Get out," he ordered. "Hrm?" "I said get outa the car," he said again. "We don't have time to be ferrying around the likes of you when we have real criminals to handle." He shoved the bottle of scotch back into the feline's hand. "And take this with you," he added. "But I thought..." stammered Plonq in confusion. "Don't think, just get out of here," he growled. "Looks like you've fallen through the cracks of justice. Who knows, maybe you lost the receipt for the bottle or something, but I don't care. This kid, I mean, we caught him red handed!" He turned and planted a vicious kick in the stag morph's ribs. "Hey!" protested the stag, "are you going to buy that, or what?" Plonq started, and blinked blankly. "Are you going to buy that, or what? You've been standing there, staring at nothing for the last five minutes now." The snow leopard sighed, and glanced up at the stock boy who had addressed him. "Ack! I was just getting to the good part," he protested. "After they let me go I was going to run home and get my Furburner. Then I was going to come back and save the day. They only nicked her, you know. She was going to smother me with fox kisses of gratitude after I rounded up all the bad guys and bandaged her." "Uh," gaped the stag morph, backing up a step. He glanced furtively both ways, and then looked back at the snow leopard. "Okay," he said, backing up further. "Look, they don't pay me enough to deal with sad individuals such as yourself. If you need any help, please ask for it at the front counter." "Hrmph," growled Plonq, as he turned and stomped toward the front of the store with his purchase. Nobody appreciates a hero any more. * Plonq