Night on the Town

"Are you sure you want to do this, Charl?"

I looked at Reginald with a raised brow. "Seems to me I'm the one who should be asking you that question, buddy."

Reginald sighed, no small feat when one is as large as elephants tend to be. The end of his trunk curled into a slight arc as the air whistled from its end. His large, floppy ears twitched back and forth as they always did when something was on his mind. The inside of his semi-hov seemed to shrink with the expansion and contraction of his torso. I gave his thick-fleshed shoulder a light punch with my black handpaw and smiled. Reginald looked amused. "What was that for?"

"What? Can't a furson give his friend an affectionate tap to keep him from being nervous?"

Reggie laughed. "Alright, alright!" He activated the door panel and it slid open.

"After all," I said, getting out as he did, "since when has legitimate conversation ever been a reason to deny a good time?"

"You're right about that," Reggie agreed.

I reached into my pocket and retrieved my modular phone. "Let me just set the mood," I said, touching a few keys and giving my neck a stretch, "and we'll be on our way!"

"No interruptions then?"

"There's a time and place for everything, Rege," I said, "if the time for interruption comes, then we'll go from there."

I closed the door to the semi-hov and looked at it appreciatively. It wasn't the first time I'd ridden in one, but smooth transport is always worth a second glance. The thing was big; of course it had to be if Reggie was going to drive it. Fortunately for him, twin multiple-aperture doors allowed access to fursons of any size. The body design reminded me of what happens when a bunch of engineers all get the idea that a teardrop is the most aerodynamic shape to build a vehicle. The popularity reminded me of what happens when everyone else thinks it's hot enough to singe fur.

As I walked along the even brick street, I took a moment to think about how I'd always wanted to drive a semi-hov. The ride is so smooth because the thing only has one wheel, right in the center. True hovering vehicles are still the stuff of science fiction to most of us on Pellicia, but our brains know enough to perfectly balance transport along a wheel. If they knew how to bring the damn thing into my price range, I'd appreciate them more.

Reggie came around and we started toward the establishment ahead of us. The Windsor Patch Club logo stuck out from where ornate vines curled around its frame. The silhouette of an equine head facing right and a porcine head facing left told more than it could with words. It was the centerpiece of an amazing entryway, adorned with green and white glowbulbs that seemed to grow brighter as the natural sunlight waned. Redbrick columns supported a long overhang dangling with enough foliage to feed a small herd. Most of the building itself was brick as well, though the architecture seemed muted by carefully groomed trees that obscured viewing the upper levels. Large windows hinted at the unique art deco layout of the place, though aside from the ceiling and a few milling fursons, it was hard to see what else was inside.

As my elephant friend and I made our way to the front door, I caught the eye of a short red fox tending the garden. Patches of dirt and grass clung to the fur of his forearms and a cruddy gardening apron wrapped around his waist. He seemed shocked to see me. His stare was not the first I would feel this evening, so I passed him a light smile and a nod before turning back to the business at hand.

The hardwood doors were solid, and not all that inviting. A few slits placed at convenient heights allowed those from the inside to look out, but not the outside to look in. A card scanner sat atop a curvaceous gilded handle. Reggie slipped a card into the slot and retrieved it as the unlocking mechanism gave us access.

"Here we go," the elephant breathed, pulling the door open for us to walk through.

The greeting area had an ovular shape, plush seating surrounding the oval. A giant representation of the Windsor Patch Club logo was embedded in the hardwood floor, covered by protective glass. From my vantage point I could look into a semi-circular shaped interior belied by the rectangular design outside. Glass double doors toward the back led out to a veranda that completed the circle. In the center, a round wet bar curled around an ornate stone fireplace with more gilded features and a marble façade. The dining room felt crowded, though it probably could seat about two hundred standard sized fursons without a second's discomfort.

Whenever I go into places like this, there are a few things that I can always expect to happen. Within the first few seconds, the room takes a glance at the entryway to see who is coming in - natural instinct, nothing to be surprised about. Then, a momentary lull in crowd volume warns anyone who didn't participate in the first glance of some kind of anomaly. Murmurs begin, questions arise, and those who aren't cagey enough to time their looks pass on the very explicit message to me: Watch yourself. And, if they're lucky, I won't catch them hastily getting up to leave.

I walk in alongside Reggie as if I belonged here all my life, netting me a new set of looks. A long time ago, I managed to convince myself that these stares were of envy; that they had never seen a panther with such striking ebon fur, or such powerful musculature and stature. Most of my own (that being other carnivores) would probably kill for such a well-cut suit as this. My willful belief that they envied my broad, silver-whiskered muzzle and feline eyes let me enter such dens with pride. Standing among those that would rather gore me than adore me, it was easier to transform their looks into expressions of desire - rather than face the cold truth that I was not wanted.

"Welcome to Windsor Patch, sir."

"Oh, thank you," I started, turning to face where the voice had come from. I had been so busy taking in my 'audience' that I hadn't noticed the short warthog greeter sidle up to where Reggie and I stood. But I was cognizant enough to notice that the original statement was not directed at both of us equally. Reggie inclined his head a little as the warthog went on.

"Do you have a seating preference today?" His accent was stilted, characteristic of excessive herbivores. Drawn out vowels on single syllables and rapid enunciation on multi-syllabic words.

"The veranda," I said. I was going to demand acknowledgement whether the smaller creature wanted it or not.

The warthog (his nametag said Clyde) coughed slightly and looked at me without turning his muzzle. "I'm sorry, the veranda is closed for this evening."

"Ah," I said, "I'm sorry, I just thought that all those empty seats next to those others sitting out there indicated vacancy."

"I'm afraid that is still not possible," Clyde said, "The area is reserved for a party later."

Oh yes, I thought. There certainly was going to be a party later on if this kept up.

Reggie didn't let the silence linger. "Hmm, seems predominantly full."

"If you'd be so kind as to take a seat at the bar, then we can summon you when a seat becomes available."

"I was also considering membership here," I said, "where does one apply?"

The warthog managed his best fake smile. "I'm afraid that you'd need a sponsor to join."

"I sponsor him," Reggie said. Good ol' Rege. I tried to act touched.

Clyde looked up at the elephant and hesitated. "The bar is where we handle new contracts, I suppose you can inquire there since I have nothing to do with it."

I couldn't detect whether or not he said 'I have' or 'I'll have'. No matter. Reggie and I acquiesced in spite of a few open tables within view. They were bound to be reserved for other 'parties', of course. We'd run into this situation a week before at another fine herbivorous establishment. Reggie had the amusing suggestion that they kept a few tables open because it made the place feel more 'expansive'. I jokingly rebutted that he meant 'exclusive'.

At any rate, sitting at the bar meant facing inward. It was a proposition that I didn't enjoy. Having my back to the restaurant made me nervous. I was fortunate enough to be angled in such a way that I could use the mirrors of the bar to see what was happening behind me.

"This place has a fantastic drink I want you to try," Reggie said, trying to summon the barmaid.

"Oh really?"

"It's called Windsor Wine, and it's got kick like you wouldn't believe."

"Now Rege," I said, "you know I don't like to drink when I'm out like this."

"Relax," the elephant said, "no alcohol. Just sweet bliss."

The barmaid had been trying awfully hard to ignore our existence, but it was hard to completely blank out Reggie with his sheer size.

"So what's it taste like?" I asked, quietly counting how many times she was going to look in this direction and then pretend like she had something more to clean.

"Kinda sour, but sweet at the same time," Reggie said, "the aftertaste is the real kicker. Feels like someone's tickling your taste buds with a feather."

"A feather, eh? What species?"

Rege laughed. "Humor me. It's good stuff. It'll make you not want to leave."

"Somehow that doesn't set me at ease, Rege," I said, giving the place another once over via the mirrors.

"Trust me, you'll love it."

The barmaid finally gave in to Reggie's insistent demand for service and came over.

"Alright, what can I get you, sir?" Yet another direct question to the elephant, though this one was interesting. She was porcine in heritage, though she had the beginning of tusks like a warthog. Instead of looking right at Rege and ignoring my presence, she took the type B approach: Stare directly at you as if challenging you to look away. No matter how well I dressed, there always is someone who tries to take in your features as if they might have to recognize it again in a line-up. I tried to keep from showing fang as I smiled at her.

"Two of your best Windsor Wines, Mrs. Curley."

Reggie's voice was her excuse for breaking the staring contest. "Will you be having both of them, sir?"

"Of course not," Reginald snorted through his trunk, a noise that I discovered was rather intimidating to other herbivores, "one for me and one for my partner here."

Mrs. Curley gave a curt nod and pulled a few bottles from under the bar. Despite my less than warm reception, I couldn't fault the place for being cheap when it came to mixing a drink. Several of the bottles she opened I had only seen as part of collections because they were so expensive. But approval would have to give way to observation as she mixed - been on the end of a bad drink once before in a place like this. It was a nice show at least, and soon Reggie and I were sitting behind two frothing goblets of reddish-pink liquid.

"Marvelous," I said, sliding a currency card across the table to her, "thank you."

She took it and swiped in the amount of the two drinks. I made a mental note to check my balance later to make sure she hadn't overcharged - by accident of course. Another oversight involved in going to places like this. After she tossed the card on the bar next to me, the barmaid walked off without another word.

"Cheers," Reggie said.

"What's the occasion?" I asked, lifting my goblet.

"Who needs one when you're in a business like we are?"

I laughed a little at that and pressed my cup toward his. "Indeed. Cheers, buddy."

The goblets clinked and we both took a long draught of the famed Windsor Wine. It didn't take long before the liquid began to reconfigure my mouth. It was smooth - far smoother than I anticipated. First, I felt the sensitization burning the tender lining of my gums. Then the ecstasy, whirling dances of flavor swung around every crevasse in a wild orgy of taste. I swallowed as fast as I could, the sensation was far more than I ever expected. And, as Reggie promised, there was a residual tickle left in my mouth, satiated only by another swig of the heavenly liquid. The look on my face must have been priceless.

"Easy there, Charl," he said, "you'll hurt yourself."

"By the claw, this is good stuff!"

"I knew you'd like it," Reggie snickered, "quite distinct, isn't it?"

"Very much so." I put the half-full goblet down so that I wouldn't get caught chugging. It gave me enough time to glance at another couple, an antelope pair, being seated upon entrance. I sighed softly. "Well, it doesn't look like we're going to get seated tonight."

"S'okay," Reggie said, "we can do it this way if necessary."

I nodded. "Then I guess it's your show."

Reggie tilted his head forward and reached into his pocket to retrieve his timepiece. "My time is never right," he muttered, tapping the surface a few times until it auto-adjusted to the master clock.

A few minutes later, Clyde the warthog sidled up to him. "Excuse me, Mr. Certis?"

"Yes?" Reggie said, putting his goblet down. The warthog whispered to him for a few seconds before Reggie sighed, a trademark technique of his. "I'm afraid I'll have to go for a bit. Apparently my car alarm is causing chaos outside."

"Of course," I said, trying to be cool, "I'll wait for you here. Good luck, Rege."

"You too." And with that, the warthog followed him to the door, leaving me alone at the bar.

I contemplated the number of times Reggie and I had gone on the town before. We'd been in a number of cities, enjoyed the magnificent cuisine offered by the best and brightest dining stars across the landmass. No matter what anyone says about Jirinate, they can never talk badly about the food. Aside from normal job-related dangers, I could almost be happy hopping from place to place with the solemn duty of partaking in such fine dining establishments.

My sensitive ears picked up a keyword and tuned in to a conversation happening a few chairs down from me. Anytime anyone says anything that sounds like 'pred' or ends in 'ator' gets my attention fast. I tried to maintain a cool veneer as they talked on the end. It didn't take a SIH professor to guess what the impetus for their conversation was. Before I could fully tune in, I noticed a tall rhino and a pair of water buffalo approaching on my right.

"Hey friend," the rhino said, his voice belying his words, "I don't think that they're going to find anything for you to eat anytime soon."

I watched them through the mirrors, not turning. "Not my problem."

The rhino leaned against the bar, his weight evidently not a problem for the sturdy architecture. "This must be a tough thing for you? Food, food, everywhere and not a thing to eat?"

"Oh, there's plenty to eat," I said, turning to look at him with a pearly grin, "just some things taste better than others, friend."

The rhino snuffed in my direction. I began to notice through the mirror that others in the establishment were beginning to take notice of our interaction. "You know, me and my buddies were just talking about some stuff and wondered if you had an opinion?"

"I've got many opinions."

"Well, this one is on the whole meat processing thing. Really interesting subject, you know? Don't you feel it's strange and hard to expect a whole persuasion of fursons to give up on their natural instincts just because a bunch of plant-eaters don't like it?"

I'd heard this one too many times to keep from chuckling. Seems that hecklers are about as imaginative as ionized lead. "Not really," I said, passing him an indirect glance, "though it apparently must be strange and hard for another persuasion of fursons to give up on their natural instincts, just because it's the law of the land not to hold a grudge."

"You accusing me of something, friend?" The rhino snorted again. "It sure sounds like you've got a knot in your tail over something or other."

"No accusations here," I said, just as cool as before, "I'm just another patron waiting for a table."

Mrs. Curley, the barmaid, walked over to where the four of us were sitting. She hesitated as she saw the rhino standing next to me. I caught him nodding to her in the mirror. Without a word, she reached for Reggie's empty glass and put it in the sink behind the bar, and then took my half-full glass and emptied it as well.

"I wasn't done with that," I said, momentarily ignoring the stares of the three herbivores hanging beside me.

The pig looked into the sink, then back at me. "Well, sorry about that."

"That's alright," I said, "you can just make me another." I placed the currency card on the bar and slid it toward her.

Mrs. Curley wiggled her flat nose at me. "Sorry. We only make Windsor Wine for members."

"Very well," I said, taking my currency card back, "what kind of application is necessary to join?" This was, of course, said to gauge her reaction. I didn't mention that I had already caught view of her passing the application to someone else earlier that night, or that I saw a stack of them under the dry portion of the bar a few yards around the way.

The porcine barmaid cleared her throat. "There is an online application that you submit through the Gen-network. The keyword is W-I-N-D-S-O-R."

I nodded. "Very well, then I'll just fill out the paper part of the application while I'm sitting here."

"I'm afraid that you still require sponsorship if you were to join this establishment."

"Yes, yes," I said, "my sponsorship just went to deal with an alarm on his semi-hov. I'm sure he'll be back in a second."

"Well, we can't release the paperwork without a member's explicit approval."

It was beginning to get a little deep. "For what reason is that?"

"Well," she started, "we don't want it to be copied by other locations. We don't release them because they involve specific details that we'd rather not have leave the area."

"Fair enough," I said, "I'll just fill it out here and not leave the bar."

Mrs. Curley was clearly becoming flustered, but I pretended to be just as innocent and impressionable as they wished to believe. "Why don't I let you speak to the owner, maybe he can shed some light on the subject."

"With all due respect, friend" the rhino said, cutting in "I don't think it would be wise for you to apply for membership here."

Now we were getting somewhere.

"And why is that?" I asked. "I happen to find the Windsor Wine quite refreshing."

"Look," he muttered, "this isn't the place for you. You need to be out of here with your own kind or in some place that doesn't mind your kind."

Bingo. I turned in my stool to face the much larger creature, a placid look on my face. "Perhaps I should speak to the owner. I'm sure he'd not appreciate such sentiments in his fine establishment."

The rhino leaned forward. "I am the owner, friend. And I'm asking you to leave peaceably."

How interesting, I thought. I checked the mirror again. Several individuals were getting up to leave, while some rather surly customers seemed more intent on migrating toward the bar. I reached toward my modular phone, but left it in my pocket. "And your name, sir?"

"Windsor," the rhino said through his nose, "Pat Windsor, if you must know."

I silently began to count backward from sixty. "Mister Windsor, are you aware that denying me membership on the basis of dietary preference is against the law -"

"You are hurting my business simply by being here," he said, frowning, "your presence has already cost me several customers tonight, and upset the regulars. I don't appreciate that."

"Well, I'm sorry they felt the need to leave. Maybe the service wasn't up to their high standards."

"When a furson comes here, they expect a certain clientele and a comfortable environment. It does no one any good to have a predator sitting next to them while they're eating."

Simply by using the word 'predator' in this context, he'd shot a canyon-sized hole in our relationship. I frowned. "Well, I've heard no complaints."

"We have the comment cards if you want to see them."

"No thanks," I said, "I think I'll just report this to the business bureau and see what they think about your specist attitudes." I got off my stool, expecting them to move out of my way such that I could leave. It became very apparent that the small crowd surrounding me had no intention of getting out of the way.

"You know, I don't think I can let you do that," Windsor said in a low voice.

I took stock of my situation. Standing on my own footpaws, I noticed the herbivorous blockade before me. It seemed as if the tallest and strongest of the restaurant formed a tight arc that left me with no place to go. I debated whether or not the intimidating sight had been preplanned for such an occasion. Regardless, their stance made it clear that they didn't intend to let me leave without a fight - one I would not be able to win alone.

"Now, I don't intend to lose money tonight, so why don't you just hand over your currency card and we let you walk out of here in one piece."

"Robbery too, now?" I shot Windsor a sour look. "That's stooping low."

The rhino snorted again. "I don't know, seems to me that we caught you trespassing and you refused to leave. Sounds like a more feasible idea than some predator walking up in a herbivorous business?"

"I have a different idea," I said, waiting for the final seconds to tick off the clock.

My modular phone went off on cue, beeping two short notes before a long third. The front door burst open and fursons began to pour into the room. They wielded pulse rifles and hand pistols, dressed in black flak jackets and bulletproofed vests. The doors to the veranda slid open and more fursons of the same garb rushed into the room. All were shouting.

"Down on the ground! Down!"

"Drop it!"

"Handpaws behind your head!"

"Do it! Do it now!"

Within fifteen seconds, every corner of The Windsor Patch Club was under the eye of a highly trained strike team.

Pat Windsor, the rhino, looked around in disbelief. "What is going on here?"

"I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself." I live for this moment. "Agent Sharpe, Investigations Bureau." I showed him my IB-ID.

"Speed protect me," a voice cried out, "it was a sting!"

Windsor looked shocked. "The IB has no business here!"

"Tell it to someone who cares," I said, motioning several fursons down, "you are officially in IB custody for perpetuation of specism, explicit specism, and threat of battery in association with a hate crime. Give him his rights."

A narrow-eyed stag wearing a light gray helmet came up next to me as a group of burly fursons escorted Windsor outside. "You okay, Sharpe?"

"You know how much I love this, Jim," I said, not bothering to hide my sarcasm. As much as I've done this, it still bothers me to be the target of such ill sentiments.

"Don't worry," he said, "this sting is just another step in the eventual elimination of specism."

"Did team three find what we needed?"

Jim nodded. "Agents have already found the APP propaganda in the offices on the second floor, as well as a slew of other incriminating evidence."

"Sounds like Winter Parkland is going to need a new hot spot for herbivores," I said, removing the hidden wires from my neck fur and handing him the modular phone. "I think that I picked up enough direct evidence with this that he won't be around for a while either."

"He'll probably end up on a penal island for the kinds of things he's wanted for," Jim said, clapping me on the shoulder, "it was a great job."

I sighed. "Yeah, great." Not that I couldn't have gotten killed tonight anyway.

"Take some time off and get some rest. I'll take your report when you come in next week."

"Alright, Jim," I said, "thanks."

I walked outside to the swirling lights of IB vans. We always have our handpaws full with cases like this at the Investigations Bureau. We'd been tipped off almost four months ago when several carnivorous fursons presented with unusual injuries in the area. Winter Parkland had a history of such things, especially since it was the foundation of the Anti-Predation Party. We'd done our job in seeing to it that the APP remain as contained as possible, but sometimes dissidents were able to use law and influence to hide their less than stellar actions. Windsor was definitely one of these fursons who was able to throw a little money and influence in a direction and get things changed. Not like justice really existed for carnivores in Winter Parkland, not yet anyway. No matter what, there was always some herbivore out there trying to step on your tail.

I passed the vans and the incoming news crews as if I didn't exist. It was better that way, considering the kinds of things that I did. I had already made it to the corner when the teardrop-shaped semi-hov pulled up. The door slid open and a large pachydermian head stuck out.

"Need a ride?" Reggie asked.

"Don't mind if I do," I said, walking around to the other side.

"I guess it went well then, hm?"

"We got him, if that means anything," I said as he pulled off.

"It means one more step toward a better future."

"Rege," I said, "specism, no matter how many laws we make, or how many guidelines we put in place, is always going to exist in some fashion. I think about the cubs that are growing up around this city - how they have to endure the most insidious kind of emotional rape there is. It's an attack on their soul, Rege. And no amount of money can heal things that deep. No number of arrests makes it all better. How can you look a furson in the eye and say 'because you're a carnivore, you are going to be disliked?' Or that you're accepted just for being an herbivore?"

Reginald remained silent for a moment. "Kinda hits you personally, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, well," I said, exhaling, "I try not to take it that way, but it's hard."

"You know what you need?" The elephant grinned at me. "A nice dinner in a fancy restaurant."

"No thanks!" I laughed, giving his thick-fleshed shoulder a light punch, "Next time we have a night on the town, I'll be happy with fast food."

Reggie chuckled. "Too bad, I'm going to miss having a Windsor Wine. But not Windsor."

I looked out of the tinted window as nightfall took the streets, trying not to think about my empty stomach. "That was some good stuff, but I think it's time for something a little more substantial, don't you think?"

Reginald chuckled. "That's good, because I know this great place -"