Micky had never been much for clubs, but right now all he cared about was the cigarette in his hand and the empty shot glass on the bar counter before him. He was not quite sure if the dull throbbing in his skull was from the heavy bass lines blasting from the amplifiers, or the end result of one shot too many. Taking a deep breath and rubbing his aching eyes, Micky wondered whether to head back home or keep drinking himself to death.
Suddenly, a hulking figure dropped himself down on the bar stool beside him. "So, we meet again," the stranger hissed.
Micky recognized him instantly. "Jaws!"
The bat smirked and twitched his giant ears, rattling his numerous piercings. "I'm not here for a fight, Micky," he said quickly, "How's the shoulder holding up?"
"The hell do you want?" Micky growled.
"What do I want?" Jaws repeated, "I'm here to help."
"Help?" Micky asked. "Help with what?"
Jaws quickly darted his eyes to and fro, then leaned in closer to Micky's ear and whispered, "I know what you're thinking of doing, and I'd like to help you along."
Micky snorted. "What makes you think I was thinking of-"
"Call it a hunch," said Jaws quickly.
Micky grumbled, still a little uneasy. "Why did you attack me?" He asked.
Jaws smirked smugly. "I just needed to see how tough you were," he said. "I needed to see if you had gotten soft after your trip to Afgh-"
"What do you know about that?" Micky suddenly cut in.
Jaws shrugged. "Enough."
Micky turned his eyes to his shot glass again. "What makes you think I can trust you?" He asked.
Jaws chuckled. "Don't tell me you haven't recognized my voice by now."
Micky turned to Jaws, and suddenly it all connected. "Angel?" he asked, bewildered.
Jaws nodded. "Took you long enough."
Micky sighed, almost with relief. "Man, you really helped us out with some major busts back in the day," he muttered.
Jaws huffed. "And I'd like to keep doing it, but both you and I know nothing's going to get done with all the shit at city hall." Micky quietly groaned, ashamedly admitting to himself that Jaws was right. "Well?" asked Jaws, "How about it?"
Micky shook his head. "Whatever you think I'm thinking, you're wrong," he said.
Jaws chortled. "Am I?" He asked. Leaning closer to Micky, he whispered, "What if I said I know who ordered the hit on your sister?"
Micky's eyes bolted wide open. "You know what?" He gasped, trying to remain quiet.
Jaws turned his head, and looked over his shoulder. "Them," he said, pointing his thumb-claw at the table near the end of the club. "The cat in the suit. See him?"
Micky turned his head too. Right where Jaws had pointed sat a red-furred cat in a lime-green suit, smoking cigars and laughing heartily along with his entourage. "Yeah," said Micky at long length.
"James MacRedtail," said Jaws, "John's little brother."
"Redtail," Micky thought to himself. "That was the name in the book!"
"He ordered Sneaks to silence Mindy."
Almost as quickly as Micky felt his blood begin to boil, he forced it to simmer. "How do you know?" he asked.
Jaws chuckled quietly. "When have I ever been wrong?" Jaws asked. Micky turned to stare at the cat again, barely able to string any two thoughts together as his mind raced. "I'll let you think about it," said Jaws, standing up and quickly vanishing into the crowd in the darkness.
It was not long after Micky finally turned his attention back to his drink when he picked up a low, barely audible shriek over the noise of the club. He looked behind him again to see a large rat from the cat's entourage grabbing a visibly distressed female mouse by the wrist. The cat and mouse were exchanging heated words, abruptly coming to an end when the cat waved his hand dismissively. The rat jerked the helpless mouse along, with Micky following them with his eyes all the way to a hallway leading to the bathrooms. The cat then went back to business with his group, as if nothing had ever happened.
Before Micky knew it, he was already up on his feet, slowly wandering towards the washrooms. Leaning up against the wall just before the turn into the hallway, Micky lifted his cigarette and took a quick drag, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the cat's table to his left. Occasionally glancing up and looking in the other direction, once Micky was sure the cat's posse were no longer eyeing him, he dropped his cigarette and quietly darted down the hall and into the ladies' washroom. Taking a moment for his eyes to adjust to the bright light inside, Micky quietly crept towards the single stall at the end of the washroom, its door wide open. Peeking around the corner, Micky's eyes were immediately met with the sight of the lifeless mouse, face-down in the toilet. "Oh shit," Micky muttered, taking a step backward.
He immediately felt himself bump into someone behind him. "You've got no idea," came a quiet chuckle.
A barrel of a gun soon brushed up against the back of his head. "Why'd you do it?" Micky asked as he raised his hands, hoping to stall for a little time, and distract his attacker from his left foot slowly creeping back behind his assailant's leg.
"What's it to ya'?" came the answer, along with the click of the safety being taken off a gun.
Micky's lungs froze as he suddenly whipped his foot forward and tucked his chin in, hearing the roar of a gunshot and bullet buzz over the top of his head as the rat tripped backwards against the wall. Wasting no time, Micky rammed his shoulder into the chest of the rat, grabbing hold of the arm holding the gun as more blind shots rang out. Winding back his arm, Micky drove his elbow into the base of the rat's neck, staggering him as the gun began to click emptily. Two more strikes sent the rat to his knees, and a fourth sent him to the floor out cold. Micky hastily grabbed the gun and ejected the empty magazine, scouring the rat's jeans for another clip. Finding one and jamming it in, Micky peeked around the corner, quickly retreating back as a bullet ripped into the wall inches away from his face. More and more gunshots pelted the other side of the wall, with Micky waiting for a lull in the storm to return fire. Hearing the faint clicking of clips being loaded, Micky hung himself out from around the corner and fired two shots at the gunmen outside before being driven back into the washroom. "Cover me!" Micky heard one of them yell from outside. Thinking quickly, Micky climbed up on top of the sink, and placed a foot above the doorway. Digging his claws into the wall, Micky vaulted himself over the doorway, wedged firmly into the top corner of the washroom. As soon as a fox with a gun drawn passed below, Micky dropped down, smashing the butt of his pistol into the top of the fox's skull. Catching the fox by the shoulder as he stumbled forward, Micky planted his heel into the inside of the fox's knee, buckling him immediately. A well-placed point-blank gunshot into the fox's arm sent a chilling scream into the air, followed by the sound of a gun hitting the floor and an inescapable shower of blood. Holding his free arm across the wounded fox's neck, Micky flung himself out into the hallway, with the fox in front of him as a shield. Immediately, Micky could feel bullets pelting into the fox's body, with no sign of letting up. Reaching his arm up beside the fox's bullet-riddled torso, Micky returned three shots to the left side of the hallway, hearing the thud of a collapsing body. Waiting a little while, once Micky could no longer hear movement outside, he dropped the profusely bleeding corpse shield and darted out into the dance hall. Still in near-darkness with the coloured lights flashing away, Micky could see the fire exit doors on the other side of the building open and close; three figures quickly slipping outside. Raiding the body of the lynx beside him, Micky grabbed a handful of clips and stuffed them into his pocket, rushing outside to the parking lot. The lot was completely empty except for Micky's motorcycle and a black car, the latter peeling out and onto the streets with a deafening screech. "Oh no," Micky snarled, wrought with rage, "You're not getting away from me!" Hopping onto his motorcycle and revving the engine, Micky roared out of the lot and thundered down the road after the fleeing car into the night.
Tires screamed as the two vehicles whipped around corners, darting into the midnight traffic. A red light up ahead had little power to stop the speeding car, blazing through the intersection and clipping another car's fender. Micky was right behind, steadily gaining ground as horns blared around them. Now within a few meters apart, the car suddenly swerved to the right, screeching as it zipped down another street. Swinging the rear of his motorcycle around, Micky turned and had regained his place behind the car within seconds.
Suddenly, the back window of the car shattered, and gunfire came raining out. Ducking underneath his windshield, Micky drew his gun and returned two shots, barely able to see what he was hitting. The gunfire suddenly stopped, and something came flying out of the busted back window. Micky swerved to his left as whatever it was hit the pavement with a show of sparks. A bottle of wine was chucked at him from the window now, soon becoming asphalt fodder in a futile attempt to stop Micky. Now with his front tire almost touching the rear bumper of the car, Micky drew his gun again and fired into the window. A muddled gasp pierced the night above the roaring engines, and the car began to swerve erratically. Just as Micky was about to catch up to the back seats, a fork in the road suddenly presented itself. With only fractions of a second to decide which way to turn, the car veered right, and then suddenly jerked to the left, leaving Micky to shoot up the high road on the right as the car took the low road on the left.
Inside the car, MacRedtail breathed a sigh of relief. "Driver, get us out of here," he muttered, still trying to catch his breath.
Before the driver could respond, Micky's motorcycle came roaring down from the right, landing with a spine-tingling crunch on the road beside them. Whipping out his gun for the last time, Micky fired a single shot into the window. The car veered away to the edge of the road, slamming squarely into a light post, flipped up and over before bursting into flames. The car came crashing down like a fireball as Micky sped away into the night.