With Great Power ...

Louie burst into the Mayor’s office and stalked right up to the desk. His belly, still covered by his chef’s apron, arrived five seconds before the rest of him. “Vern. I got a bone to pick with you.”

The newly-appointed Deputy Mayor swung his feet off the desk. “Boar or bison?”

“Don’t get cute. I wanna know what the hell you think you’re playing at.”

“When it comes to Talbot’s Peak, I don’t ‘play’ at anything.” He gave Louie’s apron a close, suspicious scrutiny. “Um … you’re not armed, are you?”

“Not now. Them wolves you got stationed downstairs confiscated my cleaver.”

“What wolves? You mean my grandsons?”

“Dirty pool, Vern. You know damn well I ain’t gonna hurt no kids.” Louie advanced another menacing step. His belly pressed into the rim of the desk. “Enough with all the BS’in’ around. Knock it off or else.”

Vernon gazed mildly at the furious rat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“A health inspector, Vern? You sent a friggin’ health inspector? To Rattigan’s? My kitchen’s cleaner’n yours, and you damn well know it.”

“I heard rumors of a bug infestation. Even the cleanest kitchen can—”

“Yeah, but I got backup. You know Cecily? My prep cook?”

“You mean that girl with the enormous—”

“The one with the big schnozzola, yeah. She’s an anteater. She allus sweeps the place after closing. We ain’t had so much as a gnat in months.” He leaned his bulk against the desk. “You ain’t the kind’a wolf what likes to throw his weight around. What’s going on?”

“I told you. I heard rumors. I take the population’s safety seriously.”

\Louie suddenly grinned. Vernon shoved back from the desk to put more distance between them. A grinning rat isn’t something you want to see looming over you.

“This is about the waffles, ain’t it?” Louie said, still grinning. \

“I swear before Lupa, I have no idea—”

“Uh-huh. We put a gourmet dinner waffle on the menu. Word starts gettin’ around. Alla sudden Mr. Deputy Mayor is doling out health inspectors. Trying to shut me down.” Louie’s eyes narrowed. “I smell the missus behind this.”

Vern bristled. “Elly had nothing to do with this. She would never stoop to such underhanded tactics. On the other hand, she is … concerned that your dinner waffle has become so popular. She has her own waffle recipe, of course, and the flapjacks, but still.”

“G’wan. What’s to worry about? We ain’t in competition. Rattigan’s don’t serve breakfast. Hell, even you don’t serve breakfast at the Grease ‘n’ Grill no more. Nobody can go up against Elly’s flapjacks. We don’t even try. She don’t serve dinner, either, so we don’t go head to head. I got one friggin’ breakfast item on the menu, and I serve it after she closes. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that we tried your dinner waffles the other night. By ‘we,’ I mean Elly and her children. They had the spinach parmigiana, I had the cheesesteak. I made the mistake of commenting on how light and perfect the waffles were. Just the right amount of crunch.”

“Oh shit.” Louie backed away from the desk.

“Oh shit indeed. Poor Elly nearly burst into tears right there at the table, and her brood—well, you know Bo and Hannibal, and Mary can be as vicious as a predator in defense of her mother. They never even said a word. Just glowered at me, all the way home. Three guesses who slept on the couch that night.”

“It was your own damn fault.”

“I’ll cop to that. But then I started hearing word on the street about how delicious your waffles are. Even worse, Elly was hearing it. I had to do something. I want to sleep with my wife again. And walk down the street without getting butted by bighorns.”

“And you, being Deputy Mayor and all … ”

“With great power comes great temptation to use it for one’s own ends.”

Louie scrunched up his nose. “I don’t think that’s how the quote goes.”

“That’s how it goes in Talbot’s Peak. I don’t suppose you’d consider … ?”

“I ain’t taken my waffles off the menu. They’re too popular. But maybe … ” Louie sighed heavily. “Look. I like Elly. She knows her way around a kitchen. She wants to come over and talk shop … I ain’t handin’ out my recipes, mind, but I can allus drop a couple hints. What she does with that’s up to her.”

“Thank you. I’m always eager to keep the peace in town. Especially within my own family. Anything else I can do for you?”

“Yeah. You can tell me what the hell you’re doing in here when it’s almost time for the lunch rush … ” Louie’s voice trailed away. He suddenly burst out laughing. “The Grease ‘n’ Grill got shut down, didn’t it?”

“The health inspector decided to check out the Grease ‘n’ Grill and the Bighorn, as long as he was in town. He found the groundhog guts.” Vern made a sour face. “Dog-damned human health inspectors. What happened to Franco? He was the best.”

“He retired. I know what you mean. Nobody sniffs out dirt in a kitchen better’n a jackal. ‘Less it’s a rat.” He clapped Vern on the shoulder. “Tell you what. We’ll go over to the G’n’G and I’ll tell ya what youse is doing wrong. I know what humans look for. Anything needs cleaning, hell, you got two kids downstairs who don’t got nothing better to do than play with a cleaver.”

“Play with … ?” Vernon’s face went white. He shot out of his chair.

Too late. Beyond the windows, one of the trees in front of City Hall began to sway. Loki and Thor yelled in chorus, “Timmmm-berrrrr … ”

The Fast and the Furious

It usually starts in a bar. Somebody has one drink too many, he makes a boast, somebody else calls him on it, and the next thing you know five shifters are lining up at the track behind the Talbot’s Peak High School. The patrons who had followed them from Rattigan’s took seats in the bleachers.

“Here’s how it’s going down,” Gil said. Inside, he was thinking, Figures. They always have to get rowdy while I’m behind the bar. As Mayor, Gil didn’t have to work at Rattigan’s any more. He did so because Louie was his friend. He wasn’t always so wild about the drinking crowd.

At least this particular bet could be easily settled without violence. “When I say go, you run around the track. The winner’s species gets declared fastest animal alive. Everybody good with that?”

“Why even bother?” Barry said. “Everybody knows the cheetah is the fastest beast on earth.”

“Yeah?” Jay the antelope smirked. “Then why is it you guys can’t catch us guys half the time?”

“We’re running on a track? No fair.” Pietro jabbed his finger at Wally and Bart. “The horse and the greyhound have the advantage.”

Bart smirked. “I thought bunnies always ran in circles.”

“Hare. It’s hare, you anorexic mutt!”

“Okay,” Gil said. “We’ll do it this way. Winner gets a free lunch buffet. Eddie eats the losers.”

“Fine. Wait, what?”

“He’s joking,” Wally said. He looked uncertain. “Aren’tcha, Gil?”

Gil smiled thinly. “Depends on whether or not the whining stops.”

Wally, Pietro and Jay cast nervous glances toward the bleachers, where Eddie the Komodo dragon shifter lounged among the onlookers. Eddie grinned, flicked his tongue at them and waved.

“I’m good with a track,” Pietro said. The others nodded.

“All right, then,” Gil said, “if everyone’s ready … ”

“I will be,” Barry said, “just as soon as Santa’s Little Helper here quits sniffing my ass.”

Bart bristled. “Well, if you’d quit farting—”

“You know, Eddie eats predators. It’s all meat to him.” The words cut off in mid-snipe.

“Now then.” Gil stepped to the starting line. “You’re all sprinters, so one lap around the track should be enough. Agreed?”

Jay raised his hand. “How do we determine start positions?”

“Uh … do we have straws, or sticks, or—”

“I got some straw.” Wally dug into his pocket and came up with a handful. “What? I like to snack.”

“No more outside food in Rattigan’s. I don’t want to have to institute searches.”

Wally muttered, but handed over the straw. Gil selected five long stalks. He snapped off bits until he had different lengths. The contestants drew their lots. Wally neighed when he got the long straw. He popped it into his mouth.

“Can he do that?” Bart asked.

“You all can, once you know your positions.” Gil tried not to groan. Bart frowned at his stubby straw and passed it over to Wally. The others did the same.

The contestants shed their clothes and took their lanes: Thoroughbred, cheetah, greyhound, antelope, hare. “See you at the finish line,” Barry said.

Jay made a face at him. “Bite me.”

“Plan to.”

“Well, we know where you’re ending up,” Pietro sneered over at Bart. “Behind me. Just like in every dog race ever.”

“Hump my leg, bunny boy.”

“Assume your shapes,” Gil called out. The racers shifted. Five disparate animals glared at each other. “On your mark … get set … go!”

And they were off. Wally bolted into the lead, only to be passed by Barry. Barry held the lead all the way to the second turn, where his speed started to flag. Jay bounded past him. Bringing up the rear came Pietro, who had succumbed to instinct and was zigzagging all over the track, and Bart, who seemed to have forgotten about the race and instead pursued the hare. Up in the bleachers, Eddie watched these two especially. He leaned forward, licking his lips.

By the third turn, it looked like the race had come down to Jay and Wally. Jay might be inherently faster, but Wally was used to track racing and knew how to pace himself. Barry had dragged himself over to the side and lay in the grass, panting. Meanwhile, Pietro was cutting across the field with Bart right behind him. Gil clapped a hand to his forehead. Why didn’t I bring my gun?

Suddenly someone blew past him from out of the bleachers. The new racer blazed down the middle lane, kicking up a cloud of gravel and dust. He streaked around the turns and hit the home stretch at the same time as Wally and Jay. They might as well have been statues. The latecomer breezed by them and crossed the finish line in a flash of brown fur and a whiplike, hairless tail.

Gil couldn’t even make out his species until he finally slowed, out beyond the first turn. He got up on his hind legs and strolled back toward Gil with a huge, crap-eating grin on his pointy muzzle.

A mouse. A five-foot mouse.

By the time he returned to the finish line and shifted, Gil had guessed his identity. “Gonzalez?”

“Hola. I wasn’t part of that crowd, so I didn’t hear about the race until late. Naturally I couldn’t let it pass.”

Gil lowered his voice. “It was supposed to be for Earth shifters. Blade Runner’s going to be ticked when he hears you’ve been violating the Prime Directive again.”

Gonzalez shrugged. “If it stops these yoyos from beating on each other, it’s all good, eh?”

“Can’t argue there.” Gil raised Gonzalez’s hand. “We have a winner.”

Naturally the others weren’t happy, but what could they do? The mouse had outrun them fair and square, and with a late start, yet. “Due to the circumstances,” Gil announced, “nobody’s getting eaten. Sorry, Eddie.” Eddie pouted, but took it in stride. “The next round’s on the house. Oh hell. Where are Pietro and Bart?”

Barry pointed to the other side of the track, and the frantic hare dodging the determined greyhound. Gil swore. “Somebody want to—”

“I’m on it.” Gonzalez took off like a shot.

Gil relaxed. Knowing a rat with connections, including otherworldly connections, sure did come in handy sometimes.

Special bonus trivia question: what’s the significance of the racers’ names? Hint: “Barry” and “Pietro” are the giveaways.

CLOSED DUE TO SPRING FEVER?!

Gill wiped his eyes, stuck a finger under his nose, and inhaled----“AACCHOOO!”

Another round of allergy meds lay on the bar.  Louie looked up from where he sat, sniffling and nodding.

“Who ever thought we’d need these?”  Louie pointed to the two antihistamine pills closest to him.

Gill blew his nose.  “Damn I sound like those geese that came through a couple weeks back.”

Louie’s chortle didn’t last long before he reached for the glass next to him.  He grimaced as he swallowed.  “Gack!  I hate lemonade!’

Gill saluted Louie with his glass.  “Me too.  However Doc Williams said it’s this or a stint in the clinic next to his vet hospital hooked up to IV’s to get fluids into us.”

“Damn snow.  Frackin’ rain too.”  Louie held up his hand as Gill set his glass down.  “I know we need the rain and plants.”

“AACCCHOOO!’  Gill grabbed another tissue as he replied.  “Shape shifters with allergies.  BAAH humbug!”

Louie began chortling again, coughing in between out bursts.  “Got your seasons mixed up.”

“No, we got a sign to put out.”  Gill pulled up the sign Thorn down at the new print shop in town made for them.  

“Yep, that’s what we are.”  Louie reached for the sign.  “We is closed due to Spring Fever.”

Gill nodded downing two allergy pills, a few vitamin tablets, and a hefty gulp of tart sweet lemonade.

“A shot of whisky would make this stuff less vile.”

Louie turned from where he placed the sign in Rattigan’s front window.  “Can’t due to the pills we got to swallow.”

Gill cursed more and wondered how others across the Peak were handling Springs forward bounce touching off a spurt of blooms and growth all over the mountain range.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HAPPY WEEKEND GANG!

I can so relate to Louie and Gill's feelings.  I rejoice there is no more snow on the horizon or ground either.  BUT---my allergies and asthma are kicking my writing arse.  Survive I shall.  Thrive I am!  Blessed am I to have meds, the love of my spice and loves to help as well. 

Happy Spring to all!  May your celebration be filled with joy, good food, family and friends, and a the time to enjoy a few good books with you spice and loves too!  I know I am!

Until Next Week,

Solara

Hail to the King

Nick was getting better at sensing when his privacy was about to be violated. He hastily dumped the ruler in his desk drawer and actually looked busy when Ziva burst in. That look on her face got his figurative tail wagging. “Something I can do for you, honey? Preferably on top of this desk?”

“Oh my dog, oh my dog, Nick, you have got to log onto TalTube right now!”

Instantly Nick groaned. “What’s Penny done now?”

“It’s not her this time, it’s—oh, never mind.” Ziva commandeered Nick’s laptop and logged on to the Talbot’s Peak video site. “Just watch.”

The video took its time loading. Nick didn’t find it worth the wait. A bunch of guys in Rattigan’s, drinking beer after hours. Louie was going to roast their asses. No, probably not, because that was him off to the right. Nick recognized the rat by his full belly and chef’s hat. Somebody was recording them on a cell phone. Nick heard a woman giggle, but there were no females in sight. She must be the one with the phone.

Suddenly the picture swung to the left—a bit shakily, with an “Oooooo!” from the woman and a "Steady as she goes there, Bets,” from Louie. The picture came into focus again, on—

Nick sat up. “Is that Hizzonor the Mayor?”

Ziva tittered. “Keep watching.”

That was indeed Mayor Gil. He had a mop in one hand and a beer stein in the other. The mop must be for cleaning up all the product he, Louie, and their buddies had sloshed on the floor. Gil raised his glass to the males off-camera.

“Ladeez an’ gennulmin!” Louie’s voice bellowed. “The King o’ Rock an’ Roll!”

Gil dumped his stein on the bar—fortunately, it was empty—and took the mop handle in both hands like it was a mic on a stand. He held the end of the mop to his mouth.

“Well, since my baby left me
I found a new place to dwell
Well, it's down at the end of Lonely Street
At Heartbreak Hotel—”

Nick shot off his chair. Papers and a stray ruler scattered. “Holy mother of dog. Are you kidding me?”

“Good, isn’t he?”

“Lupa scratch my fleas, he sounds just like him! Y’know, if he puffed up his hair—”

“He’s doing the dance! He’s doing the dance!”

“Willya look at him grind those hips! That is one limber squirrel.”

Gil gyrated across the floor to the gang by the register. He threw one arm around Louie’s shoulders and sang into the mop,

“Well, if your baby leaves you
You got a tale to tell
Well, just take a walk down Lonely Street
To Heartbreak Hotel
Where you will be
You'll be so lonely, baby
Well you'll be lonely
You'll be so lonely you could die.”

“Thank yuh,” Gil said to the camera while his audience applauded. “Thank yuh vurrah much.” Then he slid the length of the mop handle down to the floor. Louie made a grab for him and missed. “Oops,” the rat said. He didn’t sound all that sorry about it.

The picture was shaking, probably from the laughter of the woman holding the camera. “You boys are too much. Now where’s Tom Jones?”

One of the other men got up. He sang into his mug, “It’s not unusual—”

The video ended abruptly. By the sudden tilt of the picture, Nick surmised the woman must have dropped the phone. Not hard enough to break it, obviously. Or to save Gil’s reputation.

Ziva held her stomach. “Oh. Oh. Oh. I’m gonna hurl.”

“Not on my desk. Trash can.” He grabbed one and held it out to her until the crisis passed.

Ziva recovered swiftly. “Poor Gil. If this ever got around … ”

“Yeah.” Nick grinned viciously. “It’d be a crime.” He called up his extensive mailing list and, with absolutely no remorse at all, hit “Share."

# # #

Some hours later, people passing by City Hall heard a full-blooded scream from the Mayor’s office, followed by a semi-strangled, “Louie, you son of a rat!” Other words were forthcoming, but these are best left unrecorded.