Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

My newly-engraved nameplate wasn’t the only surprise I received that Monday morning. While Kazimir was recovering at home from our incident with Harry, my partner would be everyone’s favorite hitman-turned-used-car salesman, Victor Bonicelli.

Vic waited on the sidelines while everyone congratulated me for earning my name, looking like an unusually husky medieval warrior in his chainmail and Kevlar bodysuit. When the crowd thinned out, he clomped over in his brand-new leather boots and gave me a hearty slap on the back. I stumbled forward a bit and let out a soft ‘oof!’ sound.

Vic beamed at me and hollered, “Good on ya, Billy-boy! Seriously, you did a great job in there, kid. Most guys wouldn’t have the balls to hug a Sasquatch, but they’re not Billy fuckin’ Whitebread, are they? I knew I did right by hiring you. I had a feeling you were a good kid. A real stand-up guy.”

I motioned at his outfit and asked, “Are you filling in for Kaz?

“Yeah, I got no choice,” Vic sighed. “You can’t just go down to a temp agency and get yourself a new Caretaker, that’s for sure. Go suit up, kid. Not the suit you were using for the undead, the other one. We’re going to be working in the Aviary Wing. Don’t forget the bird seed.”

I gave him an incredulous look and asked, “Are you being serious? Because it would be a nice change of pace if I didn’t have to fear for my life today.”

“Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with ya,” Vic grinned. “These things don’t eat no bird seed. They eat meat. More importantly, they’ll eat you if you’re not careful. No joke. Now hurry up and put on your chainmail, Billy. We got work to do.”

The service tunnel was a bit different than what I’d seen in the other two wings. On the other side of the security door, there was a flight of concrete stairs that descended a good twenty feet below the ground floor of the building. The Aviary exhibits were partially underground so the creatures could have more room to fly around. As we walked down the steep flight of stairs, Vic told me there were only two cryptids currently residing in the Aviary Wing. He had a Thunderbird and, in his words, “just a mid-sized Forest dragon, not one of them big bastards from the mountains.”

To be clear, I wasn’t very stoked about having Vic as my partner. He was cheerful and personable, but he was also a homicidal maniac. In fact, he was best known in certain circles for his expertise in the art of sawing aparting corpses for easier disposal. Vic would dispose of me if he even suspected my secret plans for his zoo. He would shoot me dead where I stood and not even blink.

With this in mind, Victor Bonicelli was also known to be very good at peering into a person’s heart and seeing their true intentions. Salvatore had told me, “Vic is a fucking bloodhound,” and I believed him. When Vic looked you in the eye, you could almost feel his gaze pierce into your brain. All in all, I was pretty fucking nervous to be in close proximity to him, day in and day out, for the next couple of weeks or so. I smiled and nodded as Vic prattled on about the dragon, and I silently wished Kaz a speedy recovery.

“The tranq gun won’t penetrate those scales,” Vic was saying, “so you gotta hit it in the underbelly. Are you paying attention? I don’t like repeating myself.”

“Yeah, the underbelly,” I repeated, and I pantomimed firing a rifle. Truthfully, I hadn’t caught much of what he’d just said, but I heard enough to know that the dragon was actually part Wyrm, and its relatively tiny wings weren’t very good for flying.

“I wish I could get my hands on a mountain dragon,” Vic grumbled. “I’ll tell ya, those babies are something else. Can’t be done, though. I think it’s possible to trap one, it’s housing the thing that’s the problem. I’d need to build a pyrex dome that’s four feet thick and two hundred feet high. I crunched the numbers, and it’s just not doable. So I’m stuck with this feisty little fucker here.”

We were standing in front of a typical exhibit entrance, replete with pneumatic locking bolts and a sturdy porthole window. I peered through the glass and saw a woodland scene that was reminiscent of Harry’s habit, but not quite as dim or densely forested. There was a lizard-like creature laying in a clearing in the center of the room, basking in the morning sunshine. It looked a bit like a crocodile and a bit like an anaconda, with just a pinch of bat thrown in for good measure.

I breathed, “Wow, that’s really fucking cool. Is it intelligent? Aren’t dragons supposed to be wise or something?”

Vic snorted, “Nah, Forest dragons are pretty dumb. And Wyrms, shit, they’re even dumber. It’s a hybrid, so it’s a bit smarter than an average Wyrm, but it’s a bit stupider than your typical Forest Dragon. It can sorta understand what you’re saying most of the time, but it can’t talk back. Can’t read or write, nothing like that. It’s a temperamental bastard, too. Anyway, like I was saying earlier, always grab a cattle prod out of the supply room before you go in. The dragon might start flapping around a bit to intimidate you, but don’t pay it no mind. It can’t fly good enough to lift you in the air. If it gets too close, give it a zap. Show it who’s boss.”

Vic looked at me patiently for a few seconds, waiting for me to go do something. I looked back at him with growing confusion. Finally, Vic let out an irritated grunt and said, “What, are you on strike or something? Go get the fucking cattle prod, dummy! Yeah, that’s right, in the supply room over there. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Am I talking to myself over here?”

I protested, “The way you worded it made it sound like nobody had to go in there just yet. Geez man, you really-”

Vic held a finger to his lips and pointed at the supply room across the hall with his other hand. I promptly shut up and scurried over to fetch a cattle prod. Vic called out, “Grab two! One for each of us!”

I came back with a disturbed expression and a cattle prod in each hand. I asked, “Why is there a walk-in freezer full of dead goats in there?”

Vic shook his head at me and muttered, “What do you think a dragon eats, genius? You think they eat hamburgers and hot dogs? Nah, we feed ‘em goats and chickens. Maybe a deer now and then for some variety. But we don’t feed it any live prey, see, because that could be dangerous. Forest dragons don’t got no magic powers. They can’t breathe fire, they don't horde any treasure, they can’t grant you a wish, none of that shit. They’re just overgrown lizards that can fly around a bit. If Donny catches a hoof in the mouth, that could be a serious injury. It’s a safer bet to just chuck ‘em in there already dead.”

I sighed, “Okay, sure. That makes sense.”

This was a lie. Literally nothing about the zoo made sense, not one bit, but I wasn’t about to say that to Vic. I steeled myself for yet another encounter with the unknown and asked, “So, what do I need to do in here?”

“Mostly, you just gotta pick up the bones and the piles of shit,” Vic said casually. “It’s a biological creature, just like the goblin. It eats, it shits, it’s the circle of life. The sasquatch buries his shit, but the rest of ‘em just crap on the ground and leave it there. It’s the reality of being a zookeeper, I guess. Whatcha gonna do?”

“Donny the Dragon,” I murmured in a bemused tone. “Why do you keep referring to Donny as an ‘it’?”

Vic chuckled ruefully and said, “Well, I actually thought all Forest dragons were boys or whatever, but as it turns out, that was incorrect. They produce asexually. As in, once every hundred years or so, they lay and fertilize their own eggs. Crazy, right? I’ve been told it’s probably an evolutionary trait, because these dragons, geez, they can’t freakin’ stand each other. They won’t tolerate any other dragons in their territory. If they see another dragon, it’s probably gonna be a fight to the death.”

“Nature is pretty hardcore,” I agreed. “Okay, so I’ll go pick up the bones and poop. Does it need a frozen goat today, or...?”

“Nah, Esmerelda dumped one in there a few days ago. Donny usually lets the goat get a bit ripe before it chows down. Denaturing the proteins with some decay makes it easier to chew.”

“That’s gross as fuck,” I grumbled to myself, and I stared blankly at the keypad beside the door. I was too distracted by my unease with Vic’s presence to remember the code.

He squeezed my shoulder and asked, “What, dintcha see the memo? It got changed to 5-3-9-5 this week. Trying to tighten up security measures and all that. Anyhoo, we keep a shovel and some garbage bags right near the door. Get scoopin’, Billy-boy. Don’t worry, I’ll be watching out here like a hawk. Old Vic’s got your back.”

I muttered, “Thanks, Vic,” and I entered the habitat. It smelled like a combination of cool, dank forest and big, stinky lizard. Donny the Dragon appeared to be having a snooze. This suited me just fine. Now that I was on the other side of the door, Donny looked a hell of a lot bigger. It was curled up nose-to-tail, a lump of reptilian muscle the size of a buffalo. It was covered by an interlocking shield of triangular scales, each one of them ending in a savage-looking point. Donny’s tail was ten feet long and thicker than a telephone pole at its base, tapering down to four or five inches of rib-shattering devastation near the tip. It ended in a spiky protrusion that was clearly designed to pulverize bones and crack open skulls.

I gave the industrial-strength cattle prod in my hand a skeptical look and clipped it onto my utility belt. The dragon gave me a sleepy glance and closed its eyes again. It seemed completely unconcerned with my presence. I started tip-toeing around with my garbage bag and shovel, quietly playing treasure hunt with piles of dragon shit. There were also the scattered remains of past meals lying here and there on the earthy floor of the habitat, and they stank to high heaven. I was struggling not to gag.

After about twenty minutes, I was finished scouring the habitat. I had collected three garbage bags’ worth of dragon refuse, and I was more than ready to leave. The dragon had quietly napped in the sunlight for the duration of my visit, basking its exposed belly without a care in the world. It seemed my very first encounter with a dragon was going pretty well, all in all. I was pleasantly surprised.

As I was dragging the putrid garbage bags over to the exit, Vic turned on the intercom and said, “Hey kid, get your cattle prod ready. Donny’s giving you the look.”

I looked over and, sure enough, the dragon was now awake, and it was giving me a cold, considering stare. It heaved itself up onto its feet, let out an enormous, jaw-cracking yawn, and started ambling towards me with its tail swishing back and forth through the air.

I dropped the bags and scrabbled for the cattle prod on my belt. I held it up and called out, “Take it easy, Donny! I’m already on my way out!”

The dragon frowned at the cattle prod and said, “I’m not going to eat you. Stop embarrassing yourself.”

I did a double take and called out, “Hey, Vic! Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” his voice crackled over the speaker. “Come on, quit fucking around and get outta there.”

“He can’t hear me,” Donny said patiently. “I’m speaking to you in your mind. Please don’t make a scene.”

I sputtered, “How come Vic doesn’t know about this?”

Donny settled back on its haunches and let out another yawn. “He doesn't know because I never told him. Look, we don’t have much time, so be quiet and listen. I know what you’re planning to do, and I’m on your side. When the time comes, release me from this prison and I’ll help you bring it all down.”

I stared at the dragon in shock. I let out a shaky breath and whispered, “How do you know about any of that? I’ve never even seen you before.”

“Oh, I know all kinds of stuff,” Donny assured me. “Be careful to keep your plans a secret. Victor isn’t a clever man, but he has the gift of insight. He can look into a man’s heart and see his true intentions. Keep a lid on it until you’re ready to act, or he’ll kill you.”

Vic turned on the intercom and hollered, “What’s going on in there, kid? You having a conversation in there? Trust me, this ugly fuck don’t understand a single word you’re saying. All it can do is eat and shit. Come on, let’s go.”

The dragon murmured, “When the time is right, come for me. Be very careful, Billy Whitebread. You live in dangerous times.”

I exited the habitat wearing my best poker face. Vic threw his hands up in exasperation and said, “Don’t get it riled up, Billy, or you might regret it. That overgrown gecko has a bite like a hydraulic press. I’ve seen it eat. There’s a big crunch, and then half a goat is lying there on the ground. It chews ‘em up, bones and all. It’s fuckin’ horrifying to watch.”

“Sorry, Vic,” I apologized, and I avoided looking him in the eye. “I was trying to make friends with it. I was saying stuff like, ‘Oh, you’re such a good dragon,’ that kind of thing.”

“Don’t waste your breath,” Vic grunted. “It’s not a dog, it’s a big fuckin’ lizard. It don’t care about you. Come on, let’s go check in on the Thunderbird.”

I asked him, “Isn’t a Thunderbird supposed to be a demigod or something like that?”

“Nah, that’s a bunch of horseshit. They’re just birds. I mean, they’re really big freakin’ birds and they can kill you, but they’re just birds. I swear, people are always saying to me, ‘A Thunderbird is a god or something, right?’ And then I’m like, ‘If it’s a god, why the hell is it locked up in my zoo?’ I'll tell ya, there’s so much misinformation going around out there, Billy! I can only shake my head, you know what I mean? People will believe anything.”

I burst out into a long, shaky fit of giggling. He frowned at me and said, “What’s funny? What did I say?”

I just shook my head and blurted, “Let’s go, Vic. I wanna see this big freakin’ bird.”

“Bird is the word,” he grinned, and we both started to laugh. Vic was laughing because he was a darkly jovial kind of guy, and I was laughing to prevent myself from screaming. All I wanted to do was jump in my car, get onto the highway and speed off into the sunset. Truth be told, I kinda wasn’t holding up so great anymore. The pressure of all the constant weirdness was starting to take its toll. The thrill of this completely insane and top secret life was wearing thin. I wanted to get off this wild ride and return to my normal, boring little existence, but there was no feasible way to go back. I was doomed to see this situation play out until the end.

#

I went to bed exhausted, and I fell asleep immediately. At some point during the small hours of the morning, something compelled me to open my eyes, and I let out a startled squawk of terror. There was a circle of eight sprites faintly glowing in the impenetrable darkness above my bed. They were hovering in the air and studying me with blank expressions on their tiny faces. I tried my damndest to jump up and run for my life, but I was stuck. The weight of their collective will had me pinned to the bed. I was helpless.

Finally, one of them turned to the others and said, “I disagree. It is not intelligent.”

Another one shook its head and warbled, “Nay, the poor thing is not stupid, it is only ignorant. I believe it thinks and feels, as we do.”

There was a burst of high-pitched and virtually incomprehensible dialogue between the eight sprites, which ended with the first sprite yelling, “Silence! I am the King. I have the final word in all deeds and matters. Human, speak on thine own behalf, and be judged accordingly. Art thou pure of heart?”

I sputtered, “I, um... I mean, yes, sure I am. Pure as gold.”

The sprites all whirled together like eight spinning tops, all of them making that high-pitched, unearthly trilling sound as they did so. When they were finished with the twirling and trilling, the King of the Sprites floated down until he was hovering just a few inches away from my face. He jabbed the tip of my nose with a tiny finger and growled, “I have revealed myself this eve with the gravest of doubts in my heart. I do not believe you are worthy of my assistance. Dost thou pledge thine neverending fealty to I, Murkus Honeydew, King of the Sprites? Thine fealty or thine head, which wouldst thou pledge unto me?”

“Fealty!” I squeaked in terror. “Definitely fealty!”

The King’s tiny lips twitched in a brief smile. He drifted even closer and murmured, “Follow the thread, mortal, and take heed. Can you see? You must beware the one who walks in the moonlight. The light is close to thine heart.”

“Thine heart!” the others chanted in unison, and they all engaged in another manic twirl to emphasize their point.

I stammered, “What thread? I can’t see anything. God, I’m so lost over here, it’s not even funny.”

The King floated up to the others and threw his hands up in frustration. “Do you still believe it is intelligent?” he demanded. “We have shown it the way, yet it still cannot see! Why should I care about the fate of this creature? It is no different to me than a dung beetle or a pine cone.”

The other sprites buzzed their wings and trilled amongst themselves for a few moments. They all nodded in agreement, and one of them drifted closer to King Murkus. It performed a humble bowing gesture, then said, “Intelligence cannot be quantified by only one set of measures, my Lord. It may be a simple creature, but it is clearly capable of reason, and it is pure.”

“And what of it?” the King demanded. “Self awareness means bugger-all. This lowly lump is hardly more than dirt and clay. Why should we interfere with its fate?”

“Because it wishes to release the prisoners,” the other sprite answered quietly. “Without our assistance, it will surely fail.”

I croaked, “How does everyone know that?” and was violently shushed by all eight of my tiny intruders.

King Murkus sighed, “Very well,” and he floated down to stand on my chest. He pulled out a sword that must have been all of two inches long, and he lightly tapped me on either side of my nose.

Murkus cleared his throat and called out, “Hear ye, hear ye! In return for thine fealty to the King of the Sprites, thou shalt be granted our assistance! Go forth into the world and walk without fear, puny mortal! For thou art shielded from all manner of evil on the order of I, Murkus Honeydew, King of the Sprites!”

Murkus sheathed his sword with a flourish and favored me with a benevolent smile, his hands planted on his hips in a stately fashion. I stared back at him awkwardly for a few seconds, and then I murmured, “Um, I’m actually not going to leave because, you know, I live here. Maybe you guys-”

Murkus clapped a hand to his forehead and exclaimed, “Oh, right, of course! My apologies.”

The King floated back up to join his subjects in the air above my bed. He called down to me, “Rest easy, mortal! Be you a fool or a wise man, you have my protection!”

The sprites twirled together as one and shot upward in a blur of movement. They passed through the ceiling like it wasn’t even there, and then they were gone.

I was left feeling like a boneless puddle by the magical force the sprites had used to hold me still. I urgently needed to take a piss, but getting out of bed was a tall order for someone with no bones. It took me several tries before I could sit up and heave my legs over the side. I held myself up with the towel rod as I did my business, and then I lurched back to bed.

I wondered if Len was out there on the street, watching and listening from behind the wheel of his car, and I decided it didn’t matter anymore. I was under the protection of His Majesty, Murkus Honeydew, king of the Flying Barbie Dolls. I had a cigarette in the dark, watching the smoke drift towards the open window in the moonlight. My nerves were screaming, but my body was exhausted. I dropped the butt into an empty Coke can, curled up into a defensive ball, and fell headfirst into the abyss.

#

I woke up once again with the feeling that I wasn’t alone. I opened my eyes to a disorienting wash of morning sunlight. There was a large figure standing in front of the window. I squinted against the light, still half asleep, and I saw that it was Vic.

He rumbled, “I was good to you, kid. Is this how you repay my trust?”

I fell out of bed in a tangle of blankets. My mind was a thunderstorm of terror and panic. I held out my hands in supplication and gasped, “I didn’t do anything, boss! I swear I didn’t do anything!”

Vic stared at me with a grim expression, slowly shaking his head... and then his lips curved into a grin. He snorted out a strangled laugh and yelled, “Ah, c’mon, you're killin’ me over here! It’s a joke, Billy, don’t shit yourself! Ha, you shoulda seen the look on your face! Are you sure you ain’t got something to hide? I dunno, that look was pretty convincing.”

I moaned, “Stop it, okay? Just stop. I can’t believe you! That’s fucked up, Vic. That was just wrong. It was the wrong thing to do.”

Vic flapped a hand at me and said, “Come on, don’t be a little girl. You ain’t dead, so you ain’t got nothing to complain about.”

He ambled out the door and called over his shoulder, “Go take a leak, have a shower, all that morning stuff. Make it snappy. I’ll be waiting out front in the car. I’m gonna take you out for a nice breakfast, kiddo. You need to put some meat on those bones.”

I watched him leave with eyes like saucers. That was too close for comfort. Way too insanely motherfucking close. There was a horrible second or two where I was sure I was a dead man. I was so completely sure of it, I saw a gun in his hand that wasn’t actually there. I couldn't stop shaking.

And now he wanted to take me somewhere for breakfast. What a guy.

I found Vic out front, sitting in an illegally parked Mercedes Benz sedan. He was smoking a cigar and listening to a news report at an ear-splitting volume.

I jumped into the passenger’s side and shouted, “This is a great ride, Vic! Can you turn that down a bit, please?”

“Sorry, kid. Okay, you ready to start the day off right? They say breakfast is the most important meal. The doctors and whatnot, they always say that.”

Vic wheeled away from the curb with very little regard for oncoming motorists, and he gunned it down the street. I clutched the armrest as he weaved like a madman between slower-moving traffic. He dialed in an oldies station and cranked it up to eleven, alternately cursing other drivers and warbling off-key along to Richie Valens.

“This is good music!” Vic bellowed, and he turned it up even louder. “You young kids, you don’t got no good music these days! Sometimes I turn on that MTV, and I’m like, ‘What the hell is this shit?’ I’ll tell ya, things were a lot better when guys like me were running the music industry.”

“Those were the good old days,” I yelled back. “So, where are we going? You’re not taking me somewhere fancy, right?”

Vic hollered, “Yeah, it’s the fanciest joint in town! We’re going to fuckin’ McDonalds, kid. Didja think Victor Bonicelli eats crepes and caviar for breakfast? Hell, no! I like to get two of those egg hamburgers and a hash brown. Sometimes I’ll get the hotcakes and sausage to mix it up. I toldja already, kid, I ain’t no fancy pants over here. The only expensive things I truly enjoy are whiskey, cigars, and high-class broads. I would never cheap out on any of those things.”

We pulled into the lineup at Mickey D’s, and my stomach immediately started to growl. I’m not usually hungry first thing in the morning, but I don’t have fast food vapors wafting into my nostrils, either. True to his word, Vic got himself two of those ‘egg hamburgers’ and a hash brown. I followed his lead, and we both got a large coffee. Vic parked the Mercedes across three parking spots, and we dug into our breakfast as Eddie Cochran sang about teen angst and the summertime blues.

I turned to Vic and said, “You know, this was a great idea. Thanks for breakfast, boss.”

Vic beamed at me with crumbs and flecks of egg on his lips. “Don’t mention it, kid! We gotta fatten you up a little. You’re skin and bones over there! Maybe I’ll take you over to the deli later this week. You can get a pastrami on rye and meet some of the... hey-o, who’s this I see? Is that...”

Vic was staring at a heavyset, middle-aged man in a pair of blue coveralls. He was approaching a white cargo van with a drink in one hand and his keys in the other. Vic’s eyes narrowed, and his smile collapsed into a snarl. He popped open his door and said, “Wait here, kid. Gimme a minute.”

He hustled over to intercept the other man as he was unlocking his van. The guy looked over his shoulder as Vic approached, and his broad, ruddy face went pale as milk.

Vic screamed, “Didja have a good breakfast, cocksucker?” and he closed the last few steps between them at a dead run.

The target of Vic’s wrath dropped his drink and raised his hands over his face. He had time to shriek, “Victor, no!” and then Vic blasted a punch through his flailing arms, hitting him in the mouth with brutal force. The guy bounced off the door of the van and fell to the ground. Vic started to relentlessly kick him as he curled up into the fetal position, grunting in pain as Vic’s Adidas running shoes thudded into his legs and kidneys.

Vic panted, “The money, you fat fuck!” and he stomped on the helpless man’s ankle, making him screech in agony. He tried to worm his way under the van, but Vic grabbed his legs and dragged him back. Vic seized the man by the hair and forced him to look up. He balled his free hand into a fist, and he proceeded to emphasize his words with a series of shots to the face.

“Where’s the money, you deadbeat prick? Huh? Mario Gibaldi says he ain’t seen your sorry ass for three weeks! If Mario don’t get his money, then I don’t get my money, capice? Do you under-fuckin-stand me, you degenerate asshole?”

Vic’s last punch broke the guy’s nose, releasing a heavy gush of blood over his swollen lips. Vic let go of his hair and growled, “No more fucking around, douchebag! Get ahold of Mario and work something out. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

The victim collapsed in a heap, and Victor lumbered back to the Mercedes with a vague look of disgust on his face. At least a dozen people were staring at him in open-mouthed shock, but no one dared to say anything. I should know, because I was one of them. My only coherent thought as Vic climbed behind the wheel was holy fucking SHIT.

“Just taking care of some business,” Vic wheezed, and he wiped a few smears of blood off his knuckles with a McDonalds napkin. He was breathing hard, still winded from kicking another human being into multiple ruptures. He had a strange, muddy look in his eyes, like he had just awoken from a dream. It scared me.

“Let’s get going, Billy. We don’t wanna be late, do we?”

I muttered, “Yeah, let’s go,” and dropped the remains of my second Egg McMuffin in the bag. I no longer had any appetite.

I took a quick peek at the victim as we were driving away. Several people were drifting over to help him, but he shook his head and motioned for them to go away. He was trying to stand up, but his foot was dangling uselessly from his broken ankle. The poor bastard was completely fucked from head to toe. He needed an ambulance.

By the time we got to the zoo, the darkness in Vic’s eyes had vanished like a passing thunderstorm. He was all smiles, singing along with the radio and making random observations about the state of the world. The incident was a somber reminder that, despite his outwardly cheerful demeanor, Victor was a very bad man. I would do well to always keep that fact in mind. It might mean the difference between life and death.

#

The rest of the week passed without incident. Donnie the Dragon kept silent and stuck to its dumb lizard act. I didn’t wake up to the King of the Sprites or a murderous gangster lurking in my room again, which was definitely appreciated. The only difficulty for the rest of the week was trying to convince the Thunderbird to not aggressively peck at me when I was cleaning his habitat. His name was Ross, and he was a giant, grumpy asshole of a bird.

Ross looked like a cross between a buzzard and an eagle, but he stood eight feet high and possessed a set of talons that could disembowel a cow with one swipe. Fortunately, Ross didn’t possess any magical abilities, nor was he particularly intelligent. My uniform kept me safe from his claws, and the cattle prod was a good reminder to keep his distance. It quickly became evident there would be no bonding with this foul-tempered animal, but at least he wasn’t rocking my entire worldview with his explosive secrets. It was nice to deal with a creature with no hidden abilities or agendas, even if the damn thing kept trying to sneak up and bite me on the ass.

When noon rolled around on Friday, Vic suggested we go visit a deli - specifically, the deli he was talking about on Tuesday morning, right before what he referred to as “the incident”. Vic said, “C’mon, let’s get a sandwich and see what’s shakin’ out there, Billy. You can meet some of the guys. I already told ‘em about you. They all wanna meet you.”

I raised an eyebrow and asked, “Who are you talking about when you say, ‘the guys’, Vic?”

Vic rolled his eyes and said, “You know, the guys!”

He pushed his lumpy nose over to one side for emphasis, then added, “They’re mostly friends and associates, you know what I mean? They’re not exactly your average model citizens, mind you, but they’re all good fellas. They’re like family to me... if you catch my drift.”

“Yeah, I gotcha,” I answered in a listless tone. The very last thing I wanted was to meet more gangsters. I’d rather have a sleepover with the goblin, and I’m not even exaggerating. The monsters in the habitats scared me, but gangsters like Vic were somehow much worse.

The deli was close to the Little Italy district, which wasn’t terribly surprising. A couple of tough-looking guys were sitting at a table on the sidewalk patio. One of them was eating a big, sloppy-looking sandwich, and the other one was gloomily smoking a cigarette. They both looked up as we approached, and the smoker rasped, “Hey, look who it is! Bonesaw Vic, live and in the flesh! How ya doin’, Victor? You look good.”

Vic beamed down at them and exclaimed, “I’m feeling good, too! You know what it is? I stopped eating red meat on Wednesdays and Sundays. Only chicken or fish on those days, no exceptions. Haven’t felt this good in years.”

The smoker butted his cigarette on his plate and croaked, “Well, that’s great. I’ll have to remember that. Hey, thanks for taking care of that thing for me the other day. Appreciated. The situation got resolved yesterday.”

“No problem, Mario,” Vic grinned. “It was my pleasure.”

The other man put down his sandwich and asked, “Who’s your long-haired sidekick over there, Victor? He looks like he’s about to play me a guitar solo, this guy.”

The three of them had a hearty laugh at my expense. Vic slapped me on the back and said, “Mario, Tony, this is Billy. Billy, this is Mario Gibaldi and Tony Andretto. Billy’s the one I’ve been telling you about lately. He works for me.”

Tony waved a hand in the air and said, “Wait a minute. Are you talking about the dealership, or the other thing?”

“Nah, not the dealership,” Vic snorted. “He’s too good for that shithole. No, Billy’s my up-and-coming star over at the other place. Even the Russian put in a good word for him, and that grumpy old fuck don’t have a good word to say about nobody.”

Mario said, “Well, pleased to meetcha, Billy. You probably already know this, but your boss over here is a huge prick.”

They all laughed again, and I joined in with a cautious smile. Vic ushered me through the glass door and into a dining area that was packed full of gangsters and their associates. Fifteen pairs of eyes swiveled in unison and locked onto my face, all of them gleaming with hostility and suspicion.

Vic boomed, “Good afternoon, fellas! What’s shaking?”

Someone called out, “I heard your Goomar’s been shakin’ her cans down at the titty bar,” and there was a raucous wave of laughter. Vic grinned and threw his hands in the air.

“I can’t bring nobody decent around to meet you degenerates, can I?” Vic chuckled. “Everyone, this is Billy Whitebread! He works hard for me down at the thing, and he needs a goddamn sandwich! Jackie, get this young fella a pastrami on rye, wouldja?”

The sallow-faced old man behind the counter gave him a crisp nod and sprang into action. I looked around and saw Len sitting in a booth at the back of the room. Vinnie the Pomp was crouched beside him, talking a mile a minute as he methodically devoured an enormous bagel. Len caught my eye and gave me a nod. He pointed at the empty bench seat across the table and called out, “Over here, kid. Bring the old man with ya, I guess.”

Vic nudged my arm and handed me a plate that was heaped with a huge sandwich, a pickle, and a large pile of potato chips. He called back, “I ain’t no old man just yet, you big, bald bastard!”

He leaned over and said in a low voice, “See, we’re all family here. That’s what it’s all about, Billy. We’re just a big family, having a few laughs and watching out for each other.”

Vic escorted me over to Len’s booth. I sat down and Vic slid his bulk onto the bench beside me, crowding me against the wall with his sheer girth. As big as he was, Len dwarfed him from across the booth. Vinnie the Pomp looked like a curiously weathered child beside him.

Len rumbled, “Congrats, Billy. You earned your name, kid. I’m proud of ya. How you doing today, bossman?”

“Good, good," Vic crooned contentedly. "Always good over here. Vinnie, this is Billy Whitebread. Billy, this is Vincenzo Pompesino. Vinnie the Pomp is the best goddamn lawyer in the whole state, hands-down.”

Vinnie gave him a shocked look and exclaimed, “What, only the state? I’m the best lawyer in the whole damn country, Victor, and I stand by that claim.”

Vinnie looked over at me with a perfectly neutral expression of unfamiliarity, and he said, “Pleased to meetcha, Mr. Billy Whitebread. The pastrami sandwich in this place is better than a blowjob, I swear to God. Good choice, young man.”

I muttered, “Pleased to meet you,” and tried my best to appear casual. Vic gripped me by the shoulder and smiled at me fondly.

“He’s a good kid,” he said with pride. “I can really choose ‘em. So, what were you two fine gentlemen discussing just now? Looks important.”

“Me and The Pomp were just going over a few things. You know, about the thing we discussed a while ago.”

Vic nodded and said, “Oh, yeah, that thing. I remember that now. Making any headway over there?”

Vinnie shrugged and said, “I think so. The thing is, with situations like this thing here, it can take a while for things to line up.”

“It ain’t ever easy with a thing like that,” Vic agreed. “Keep me posted.”

Vic lowered his voice and asked, “Hey, have you guys heard yet? Somebody’s stool pigeon disappeared, and everybody’s losing their shit over it. The fuzz are buzzing around and hassling everyone, but nobody knows what happened. Len, make sure your guys are aware of the situation. The D.A.'s office was supposed to make a move next month, and now their case is dead in the water. They’re stuck on the can with their pants around their ankles and no toilet paper in sight, and they’re pissed right off.”

“Huh, that’s too bad,” Len said mildly, and they all burst into laughter. Len gave me an almost imperceptible look, and I twitched a finger on the table as a sign of acknowledgment. Vic still didn’t know about the situation with Vince, and it needed to stay that way if I wanted to continue drawing breath.

We spent the rest of our extended lunchtime shooting the shit and having a laugh. I was introduced to a number of hardened criminals who came over to pay their respects to Victor, men with names like Jimmy Hardball and Renaldo the Noose. Around two o’clock, we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.

Vic drove us back to the zoo with a smile on his face. He clearly loved his gang of outlaws in his own selfish and narcissistic way. They were a family he could control, close friends who had no choice but to do his bidding. It was wholesome and completely twisted at the same time.

(cont'd below)