Day One

Paul unlocked the door to Gil’s mayoral office and flung it wide with a flourish. Gil hesitated in the hall. He’d known the location of City Hall in a theoretical sort of way but couldn’t even find it on a street map. Now he was running the place. How effed up was that?

And what the eff was all that scat in his office?

“Ignore the papers,” Paul said in response to the sight of the roomy room’s tornadoesque appearance. “Ex-Mayor Link blew through here pretty extensively before we were able to stop him. We confiscated most of it back. Plus I’m the one who backed up all the computer files. I think you’ll find everything in order.”

Gil looked around. “What’s with all the baskets?”

Paul shrugged. “Outpourings of good will from an adoring public?”

“My ass,” Gil growled. Along with scattered papers and open file drawers, the room was packed with wicker baskets, bowls and boxes, all overflowing with nuts. Salted, unsalted, dry roasted, honey roasted, in the shell, out of the shell, double-dipped in chocolate. Walnuts dominated, followed by peanuts and almonds and cashews and moving down from there to the more exotic varieties.

Gil sidled into the room. “Doesn’t this count as bribery?” he said. “Undue influence or something?”

“It would if any of the doners had identified themselves. Pretty much all the baskets came without cards. The people just like you. Accept it, Mr. Mayor.”

“It smells like bananas in here.”

“Your predecessor had different tastes. We’ll have a cleaning crew go over the place.” In the meantime, Paul threw open a window to admit a crisp November breeze.

Gil shivered, not from the cold. This was all happening too fast.

He sat behind the huge mahogany desk. It was bigger than his kitchen table. The matching chair swallowed him up. It would have fit Louie so much better. He’d had the sense to keep his name off that stupid poll at Rattigan’s. Briefly, Gil wondered what would have happened if the town really had elected Justin Bieber.

“What am I supposed to do?” he said to the desk.

“Run Talbot’s Peak,” Paul answered. “It’s an easy job. Leave people alone and don’t raise taxes. Wave at parades. Oh, and you’re now in charge of the police department. You can outlaw squirrel-chasing by the local canines. Hey, does you being mayor mean they can finally stop showing Planet of the Apes over at the Astoria?”

Gil opened a desk drawer and pulled out a shriveled, spotted banana peel. He dumped it into the waste basket beside the desk and wiped his fingertips on his pants.

“What do you do around here?” he asked Paul suddenly. Suspiciously.

“I keep the wheels greased for you so everything runs smoothly.”

“I’ll just bet. You’re a rat shifter, aren’t you?”

Paul looked cagey. “I prefer to keep those matters private.”

“I’ll bet you keep a lot of stuff private. I know you hang around with that Lamar. So you’re good at keeping secrets. Like everybody doesn’t know already.”

“The perils of living in a community where half the population are hunters and the other half likes to root around.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I like to climb trees, and you can see quite a bit from up there. Okay. First order of business, pack up all these nuts.”

“And do what with them?”

“Donate ’em. Elly’s diner, the bakery, the candy shop. Rattigan’s gets first choice. All peanuts go to the bars. Anything left over—do we have a food bank?”

“The church handles that. Pastor Tim’s in charge. We provided a ton of banana bread under Mr. Link.”

“He’s Jim Gordon’s brother, isn’t he? Yeah, they’re twins. I’ll have to have a chat with Officer Gordon. I hear he’s got connections. Wayne connections.” Paul didn’t say anything. “That reminds me. It probably wouldn’t hurt to set up a meet with Dante Hancock.”

“I see Mr. Mayor is well-versed on current events.”

“Hey, I hang out with a rat. You pick up on stuff. That reminds me.” Gil leaned across the desk and pointed a stiff finger at Paul. “Don’t ever schedule a meeting or appearance for me during a full moon. This town’s chock full of predators. I don’t need to be perched on a podium with a gavel bigger than I am and a whole damn wolf pack licking their chops at me.”

“Consider those three days off your calendar, sir.”

“Okay.” Gil leaned back. The chair felt more comfortable the longer he sat in it. A guy could get used to this. Maybe even do some good.

“One other thing,” he said. “I need air freshener in here. Pine-scented.”

“Right away, Mr. Mayor.”

And the Winner Is ...

“What the hell’s taking so long?” Mayor Lance Link paced in a tight circle away from, then back to, the table in the Bighorn Diner currently occupied by Vernon MacMahon, his wife Miss Elly, Louie Delavecchio and Gil. The question mark behind his long-held title hung in everyone’s mind, Lance’s in particular. “It’s never taken this long before.”

“We’ve never had such a turnout before. Not that I can remember,” Elly said. She patted the empty chair Lance had abandoned. “I’m sure we’ll be hearing any minute now. Sit down. And no more coffee.”

Gil clamped his hands protectively around his half-empty mug. “How am I supposed to stay awake without coffee? We were up half the night. Nobody wanted to go home.”

Vern yawned and scratched his beard. He’d flamed out around two in the morning, even though he had a stake in the race. He wasn’t so tired that he failed to hold Miss Elly’s hand. Or failed to snipe good-naturedly at his political rival. “Did Dolly remember to vote?”

“Of course she voted,” Lance snapped.

“Did she remember to vote for you?”

“That’s enough, boys,” Elly said. “The election’s over, and so is the scat-slinging. Play nice.” She sat up, peering through the diner’s large front window. “Here comes Paul. We may have a winner.”

“At last.” Lance yanked open the door and hustled his assistant inside. “You’d better have good news.”

“That depends,” Paul hedged. He eyed the pot behind the counter longingly. “Coffee?”

Vern got up and fetched the boy a brimming mug. Paul sipped appreciatively. When he looked up again, he found himself flanked by two agitated males, both of a species known for mayhem. “I guess you’d like to know the results,” he said.

“That would be nice,” Vern said dryly.

“Um, okay.” Paul fished a folded, stained sheet of paper out of his pocket. “You’ll be pleased to know almost every registered voter in Talbot’s Peak came out yesterday. It’s the best turnout we’ve seen since who knows when.”

“The winner?” Lance prompted.

“The winner. Yeah. That was the problem. We’ve been checking the machines and recounting the votes all night. Most of them were write-ins.”

Vern lifted his grizzled brows. “Write-ins?”

Lance groaned. “Just tell me Todd Lang didn’t win.”

“Todd Lang didn’t win,” Paul said. “Neither did you.” He turned to Vern. “Or you.”

“Lemme guess,” Louie said. “Mickey Mouse is the new mayor.”

“Sort of. Having a wolf on the ballet brought out the herbies in droves. A lot of people in town were tired of Mr. Link, but no way did they want a predator in charge. Then the bunnies organized their own campaign and started the Grass Roots Party. You know how many bunnies we have in Talbot’s Peak?”

“So Bugs Bunny won?” Louie said.

“No, they wrote in an actual person. I told you, organized. The new mayor of Talbot’s Peak is … ” Paul consulted his paper. “Gilbert Peskosky.”

“Who?” Vern and Lance asked in concert.

Gil spit coffee all over the table.

“Say that again?” Vern said.

“The winner,” Paul said, carefully pointing to the choking Gil, “is him.”

“No!” both Lance and Gil blurted. “He wasn’t even on the ticket!” Lance complained.

“Neither was ‘that wolf dude from Twilight’, and he got a hundred votes. Sorry, boss—I mean, Mr. Link. It’s official, and it’s legal. We just spent the whole night verifying that.”

“But—but—but—” Gil sputtered. “I didn’t run for anything! I didn’t even campaign!”

“The patrons of Rattigan’s beg to differ. You had a huge surge in popularity after the dinner rush.”

“What, that fake poll we ran? That was a joke! I was losing to Justin Bieber, for God’s sake!”

Lance had swung around to glare at Louie. “Hey, don’t look at me,” the rat said. “I didn’t serve no liquor till nine.”

“It wasn’t that,” Paul said. “Exit polls said it was the gun incident. The herbie population in Talbot’s Peak still outnumbers the carnies three to one. Anybody small and furry who points a gun at a carnie is okay folks in their eyes.”

“But—but—” Gil choked out.

Vern grabbed his hand and pumped it heartily. “Let me be the first to congratulate you, Mr. Mayor. So what if I didn’t win? Neither did Lance. That’s the only result I was hoping for.”

Gil stared at his hand, still tingling from Vern’s hard grip. “I don’t know the first thing about how to be mayor.”

“Exactly,” Lance snarled. “It’s a delicate balancing act—humans and shifters, carnies and herbies. It’s not a game for amateurs. You need a leader with experience.”

“Which he got,” Louie said. “Gil here works the bar. I seen him handle drunk bison at one inna morning. You think that don’t take diplomacy? And human? He was born human. He knows ‘em better’n you, Mr. Ape. He seen the human side from experience. Same for the shifter side. You’s gonna make a great mayor. I’ll help you through the political crap. Rats always know where the bodies are buried. Or,” he added with a significant, sidelong look at Lance, “where the banana peels are stashed. First thing you wanna do, you wanna audit the tax returns of some of our public servants. Funny how much people’ll blab when they’re full-fed and drunk.”

“I should go,” Lance said hurriedly. He grabbed Gil’s hand, shook it once, and bolted out of the diner.

“Guess I won’t be cooking him breakfast,” Vernon said.

“Nah. Ain’t nobody cooking but me today, if Miss Elly’ll lend me her kitchen. You want something?” Louie added to Paul.

“Just wondering if I still have a job. Do I still have a job?”

“Yeah, sure,” Gil muttered. “Whatever.”

“Kewl. I’ll go get your office ready. I’d better hurry, too, before Mr. Link gets hold of the records. See you this afternoon, Mr. Mayor.”

“I get an office?” Gil looked dazed.

“You betcha.” Louie delivered a hearty slap to the new mayor’s back. “About time we got the monkeys out of the way and let the squirrels take over. And ya know what’s best about it? Squirrels work for—”

Gil brandished his coffee mug. “If you say it,” he said, “I’ll have to kill you.”

# # #

Sitting at his kitchen table, Bernard “Bugs” Bunny muttered into his morning carrot juice. “A write-in," he grumbled. "I should’a won a write-in. What’s up with that?”

Wild Cards

“One week to go,” Mayor Lance Link announced to no one in particular. He bared his big, banana-stained teeth at Vern MacMahon. “There’s still plenty of time to bow out gracefully.”

“In your little monkey dreams,” Vern returned cheerfully. “Why not just retire now and save yourself the grief?”

“And here we go,” Louie grumbled. They’d gathered at Miss Elly’s diner—now Mrs. MacMahon’s—for their regular Tuesday night poker game, but cards had taken a back seat to political sniping for most of the evening. Since the cards had been running cold for Louie all night, he hadn’t complained until now. “We got another whole week of this shit. Can we put a sock in it?”

“Some of us can,” Vern said. “Others may feel a need to do some last-minute desperation campaigning because they’re falling behind in the polls. Right, Lance?”

“You actually pay attention to the polls? Those are worthless. You’ll notice we’re neck and neck in every survey out there. Nobody wants to be accused of influencing the election. Not to mention no one in the media wants to be shown up as wrong.”

“He’s got a point,” Louie said. “I ain’t serving no alcohol until after the polls close. Neither’s anybody else in Talbot’s Peak. People show up drunk to vote, it ain’t gonna be my fault.”

“The survey outside the movie theater had me ahead by a wide margin,” Vern insisted.

“And who did they survey? Carnivores,” Lance said with a triumphant flourish of his winning hand. “If you survey the herbivores or the humans, you’ll get a whole different response.”

Vern threw his own hand on the table. “Who cares what humans think?”

“They do. They’ve been putting me back in office for the last ten years. They don’t even know who you are.”

Miss Elly came in from the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee. “They at it again?” she murmured to Louie.

“They been at it. You might as well rejoin the game. It ain’t gonna get any better anytime soon.”

“As for the herbie vote, you can kiss that good-bye,” Lance went on. “There’s no way they’d vote a wolf into office. I told you from the start, old dog, you were setting yourself up for failure. Being married to a herbivore won’t help you.”

Something deadly flashed through Vern’s eyes. “That’s not why I married her, and I’ll prove it. Elly, m’love, say the word and I’ll drop out of the race right now. Hand the Peak back to the monkey here. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve won the only race that mattered.”

“Awww,” Louie said. “I’m getting all misty-eyed over here.”

“Forget it,” Elly said, pulling up a chair. “You’re not throwing that on my back. If you want to drop out, go ahead. I was sick of this damn election the day after campaigning started.”

“The bane of politics,” Lance agreed. He passed the deck to Elly, who shuffled and dealt a new hand. “You were doomed from the beginning. I’m ahead of you alphabetically on the ballot. That’s often the deciding factor.”

“You’re not the only one running, Lance,” Elly pointed out. “What happens if neither of you wins?”

Lance and Vernon stared at her. Then both started to laugh.

“What?” Elly said, miffed. “What did I say?”

“You don’t really think those other doofuses stand a chance, do you?” Lance said. “Todd Lang and his Stag Party? Give me a banana-loving break.”

“Lang’s the elk, right?” Louie said, inspecting his hand.

“Lang’s the asshat,” Vern said. “He runs in every election, for every position. I guess he figures sooner or later he’ll get elected to something.”

“And then there are our good friends in the UAU,” Lance said. “Hopeless but persistent.”

“UAU?”

“United American Ungulates.” Elly discarded two cards and picked up replacements. “Bison mostly, but with goat, elk and sheep members, and the occasional horse. Todd broke off from them and started his own party when they wouldn’t nominate him for anything. I think they’re running Jose Sandoval this time around.”

“Sandoval,” Vern muttered. “Bull, right?”

“Steer. Bad marriage, messy divorce. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“And then there are the write-ins,” Lance said. “There’s always a segment of the population that likes to throw away their vote in an effort to be clever. Patty O’Furniture almost got elected treasurer one year, as I recall.”

“You gotta watch out for that. It can come back to bite you on the ass,” Louie warned. “We had that happen in Jersey once. People got ticked at the two jokers running for state senator. A whole mess’a people voted for Mickey Mouse. It was like one’a them, whatchacallits, collective unconscious things. Trouble is, there really was a Mickey Mouse out in Seaside Heights. Well, Mikey Maus, but that was his nickname and everybody knew it. After the election he came forward and claimed he won and they had to swear him in. Waddaya gonna do? He did a good job. They re-elected him twice.”

“I don’t think we need to worry about that happening in Talbot’s Peak,” Lance pronounced. “Those who do vote take their civil duty seriously.”

“I’d be worried, I was you,” Louie told them both. “We got our own poll going over at Rattigan’s. The both of youse fell off in the first week.”

“Who’s ahead?” Elly asked. “Patty O’Furniture?”

“Justin Bieber, last time I looked.”

“He a shapeshifter?” Vern said.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s not a resident,” Lance pointed out. “I trust our side bet is still on? When I win, you cook me breakfast. Banana flapjacks with nuts. I like them nice and golden brown.”

“Better brush up on your own culinary skills, Emeril. I like my eggs over easy, my ham pan-fried and my bacon nice and chewy. Don’t forget real cream in the coffee. None of that powdery crap.”

“Don’t you forget who’s won every mayoral election for the last decade,” Lance reminded him. He laid his cards on the table. “We’ll see next week, won’t we?”

Elly spread her hand on the table next to Lance’s. Four queens, two aces. Lance’s grin dropped off his face. Louie swore.

“Yes,” Elly said, with a wink at her husband. “We’ll see.”

A Decent Proposal

Vernon MacMahon did a double-take when he saw who’d just walked in and taken a seat at the Grease ‘n’ Grill. “Elly? Don’t take this the wrong way, sweetie, but what are you doing in here?”

Elly scanned the all-meat-dishes menu, then laid it aside without even shuddering. “Thought I’d come visit. You’re in my place half the time, and I’ve never once been here. You still carry fruit, right?"

“Some,” Vern said, and tossed her a fresh apple to prove it. Elly bit into it, chewed, and gave him a thumbs up. “Coffee?” he asked.

She shook her head. Vern shrugged and poured himself a cup. He took the seat at the table opposite Miss Elly. “Are you going to tell me why you’re really here, or do I have to guess?”

“Curiosity,” she replied once she’d swallowed her bite of apple. “I saw you changed your hours. You open at eleven now. Not serving breakfast any more?”

“What’s the point? I can’t compete with your flapjacks. Even carnies eat breakfast at the Bighorn. I know when I’m licked. Lunch is my busy time anyway. Go with the flow, like they used to say back in my cubhood.”

“Maybe if you were here more often during breakfast instead of at the Bighorn, you’d do better.”

“I like to be where the action is. During breakfast, that’s your place. So now I do lunch and dinner, and I still get to eat your tasty flapjacks.” He flashed his charming grin at her. “And the pleasure of your company.”

“I’m not giving you any discounts, Vern.”

“Not even if … ” He combed back his luxurious mane of silver-gray hair with one hand.

“If what?” Elly prompted.

Vernon gave his trim moustache a quick lick for good measure. “I was going to save this for tomorrow morning, but as long as you’re here … Eleanor Quickfoot Ewing, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Elly stared at her half-eaten apple. “I think your fruit’s gone bad. I could have sworn you just proposed.”

“I did indeed. Elly, will you marry me?”

Elly set the apple aside and crossed her arms before her on the table, the better to look Vernon square in the eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“Elly, I’m hurt.”

“You’re a wolf. There’s a catch.”

“All right, you’ve got me. I’m tired of being a lone wolf. I want to settle down. That’s easier for betas. No pressure to have cubs. Your children are grown—”

“And dangerous. The boys are going to stomp you when they hear about this. Then Mary will shred the remains. You sure you don’t want to reconsider?”

“I was hoping you’d intercede on my behalf. Come on, Elly. I enjoy waking up in the morning next to a beautiful woman. Wouldn’t you like to wake up in the morning next to a gorgeous man?”

“Sure. Point him out.”

“Ha ha. I’m serious, Elly.”

“I know you are. That’s what’s got me wondering. This isn’t about that stupid election, is it?”

“I swear on my pack I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Pull the other one, Vernon. People like their leaders mated. Especially wolves. A wife would give you a leg up, pardon the pun.”

“I won’t deny I thought of that,” Vernon admitted. “A well-liked and trusted businesswoman in the community, mother of two pro football stars, daughter overcame personal challenges, a pillar of shifter society—”

“And a herbivore,” Elly finished. “You know what could happen to your political career, not to mention your life, if you married a herbivore?”

“Yes,” Vernon said. “I thought about that too. You know what makes a lone wolf lone? They don’t give a rip for the rules.” He took Elly’s hand. “So how about it, Elly? Will you marry me? You might as well say yes, because I’m going to keep coming over to the Bighorn every morning anyway. It’s not like I have anything better to do in the morning. And there’s truly nothing better than gazing upon your beautiful face, even with the flour smudges.” He brushed one such smudge from beside her nose. “What do you say?”

“You big bad wolf,” Elly said fondly. She squeezed his hand and smiled.