1
THE FIRST TIME COAL Ereness spoke to his father’s ghost was the night the man died. The second time was the following morning.
The specter of his father had a bluish-green tinge, his fur and clothes monochromatic. No vibrancy to them. Matching the man’s personality in life.
Coal was eerily reminded of that night while sitting at a small round table watching a burlesque show in the city of Vinnag. A little more than a year had passed, and he was now on the other side of the kingdom from where he last spoke to his father. At times, though, he feared he would never be far from that moment.
There was a single dancer on stage, a pretty raccoon covered in white fur. A rarity. Her stage name was, appropriately, White Rose. Almost all her fur was exposed while she danced and gyrated on stage to the smooth tunes of the house band nearby. A group of hedgehogs tooted away on saxophones and muted trumpets. One tapped animatedly on a drum and cymbal.
Blue stage lights drenched White Rose in their cool embrace, following her every seductive move. Well, for anyone else they would have been seductive, but Coal had allegedly spoken to a ghost. So, up on that stage he did not see an exotic, sexy white raccoon—he saw a blue, drifting spirit. He saw death.
Coal shook the morbid thought from his mind. He generally tried not to think about his father too often, and tonight was definitely not the night for it. He needed to focus. He did not want to come across as distant or weird in front of Zank’s associates.
He scoured the walls for a clock but found none, which was not much of a surprise in a place like this. Worrying about the time meant worrying about some far-off responsibility. Responsibilities were for the real world. This was not the real world. This was the Starlite.
Coal watched White Rose and waited for Zank. He wondered how often the raccoon received comments on her white fur.
He was no stranger to unsolicited remarks about his own unusual visage. His fur was orange and black instead of the orange and white coloring typically found in his fellow foxes. His father told him on more than one occasion that when he was born, his face looked like it was rubbed in coal, hence the name.
Coal hated that story. He was glad to no longer hear it.
The hedgehog band’s song began winding down. White Rose came to a slow stop on the stage, smiling broadly and bowing deeply. Men and women in the audience hooted and hollered for her, cheering her on to do one more dance, but the raccoon laughed and tossed her hands as if to say “Oh, stop! You know I can’t!”
She shuffled backstage as the house lights dimly lit back up and the band transitioned into a softer tune. Attendees chatted amongst themselves while waiting for the next performer to take the stage.
A waitress in a short skirt and a skimpy top stopped by Coal’s table to ask if he needed another drink or something to eat. He’d already downed one glass of water and did not want to be caught needing to relieve himself later, so he declined the drink. The Starlite’s air was filled with the aroma of smoke and sweat, which effectively curbed his appetite, so he turned down any food as well. The woman offered him a sweet smile and scurried over to the next table.
Nervousness jittered through his body. He tapped his nails on the tabletop uncontrollably.
He would be lying if he said part of him didn’t wish Zank would abandon him tonight. Just complete the job without him, or call it off altogether. He desperately needed the money, there was no denying that, but something like this was far out of his comfort zone.
There was a sudden clap on his shoulder and a raspy shout of “Junsuelu!”
Zank sat himself down in the seat across from Coal, who returned the customary rabbit greeting. So much for calling off the job.
Two others accompanied Zank: another rabbit and a wolverine. Coal nodded a hello to them both, which they returned.
Zank scratched behind his tall ears while he looked Coal up and down. “How long you been waitin’?” the rabbit asked. Even in the low light, Zank’s rough, patchy fur was plain to see.
“Not long,” Coal lied. No reason to introduce any friction to the group, however faint. He hadn’t minded the wait anyway, aside from the creepy blue lights during the last performance.
“Great,” Zank grinned.
The waitress returned to dote on her three new guests, who each ordered a shot of liquor.
“That the best idea, you think?” Coal asked, pointing the question at Zank. He didn’t want to come off as accusatory toward the two others he had never met, but he and Zank went back years. The rabbit could take a soft jibe.
Zank shrugged. “Not the worst idea.”
After a few moments of silence, it was clear that their scatterbrained mutual friend was not going to be making any introductions. “I’m Coal,” he said, extending his hand toward the wolverine sitting to his right.
“Marl,” the intimidating man said with a smile, exposing rows of sharp fangs.
Coal did the same for the rabbit, who introduced herself as Venny. He had heard a lot about Venny from Zank. Coal had been staying in the man’s apartment since arriving in Vinnag two weeks earlier, and Venny had come up in conversation several times. She and Zank were close.
The waitress returned with the trio’s order. As she sauntered away, Zank asked Coal, “Did White Rose go on already?”
“She finished right before you got here.”
“Shit,” Zank muttered. He knocked back his drink, something thick and brown that Coal hadn’t caught the name of over the club’s music. Zank went on, “Well, no need to dally, then, I s’pose. Might as well hop to it.” He pushed his chair back and stood. Marl and Venny did likewise after downing their shots.
Zank nodded to Marl, and the wolverine tossed a handful of coins onto the wooden table to pay for the drinks.
It made sense that Zank had solely chosen the Starlite as their meeting place so that he could watch a dancer perform. He was by far the horniest person Coal had ever met, even reaching back to their youth.
The rabbit cocked his head toward the back of the club and said, “C’mon.”
The three followed their intrepid leader toward a rear door that had a burly boar standing guard over it. Both of the man’s tusks were chipped and his expression clearly stated he was unafraid of damaging them further.
“Off limits,” was all he grunted at their approach.
Zank flashed him a toothy grin and said, “Onomatopoeia.”
The boar cocked an eyebrow and stepped aside. Zank pushed the door open and stepped through, followed by Marl and Venny with Coal bringing up the rear.
They rounded a corner and found themselves in a narrow hallway that led to a door painted bright red. On either side of the hallway were rooms with Private signs tacked to the doors. They heard female voices behind the door on their right, which Coal assumed was the entrance to the dancers’ dressing room. Zank rapped his knuckles on the door to their left.
Perhaps Zank had a utilitarian reason for meeting at the nightclub beyond general horniness.
The door swung open and a rabbit with black fur stood before them. His left ear twitched as he examined the new arrivals. “Who’s the fox?” he asked.
“He’s fine,” was all Zank said.
That was good enough for the twitchy rabbit, who stood aside to let them into the private room.
It was a messy office with too-bright lighting and three desks all crammed into tight quarters amongst shelves of seemingly unorganized documents that spilled onto the floor. Only one desk was currently occupied. A flustered, yellow-coated marten wearing a white button-up shirt stained with sweat and possibly coffee was scribbling away at some papers on her desk. She had a hefty stack piling up in front of her, almost obscuring her entirely from view.