Goldilocks and the Three Bears

[Avaerilon]

---***WARNING: Contains strong violence, drug references and frequent strong language.***---

SPOILER: Click to show

Goldilocks and the Three Bears- A Story of Fairy City

When the medical examiner finally put the sheet back carefully over his body, Goldilocks couldn’t restrain herself from sobbing. When she’d got the phone call from the police that they might have found Mike’s body, she had carefully placed the phone on its hook and got into the black Saab car waiting for her. Not a word. Not even ‘Oh, God’ had been uttered. Now the silence had broken with a discordant moan; a fluttering weep. She began to cry like she hadn’t done since her cat Maurice died eight years ago, and the M.E. walked over carefully putting his arm around her.

“We’ll find the bastards who did this to Mike, we’ll find them.”

She was wrapped-up in that foetal position for about twenty minutes before the detective sensed it was a good time to go over and begin to gently gleam some information.

“Did your husband have any enemies?”
“No, none.”
“Did he ever get involved in any, er, bad-“
“If you mean ‘did he take drugs’ and that shit then no, he didn’t.”
He looked up apologetically.
“Sorry, I know this is hard for you.”

It continued in that manner for some time, until the police had established Mike didn’t have any prior convictions, any connection to drugs or the underworld, was never drunk or abusive and was a model citizen. Worth investigating.

***

Goldilocks walked towards the house, the rain soaking her, head down in dismay. As she closed that red, wooden door, she caught sight of the little crucifix he’d left there when he’d first been around, seeing as he was into all of the old ‘magic’ and such. She couldn’t bear to see it and began to soak her jumper again. She ran upstairs to their- her- no! their room and sobbed into the bed, before cursing the ceiling with:

“Why him?! He did nothing wrong! He had a heart of gold…”

***
The Three Bears were known in those parts, not least for their quick way of dealing with people they didn’t like. Papa Bear was the Don, the head, the boss. He had fur like a forest and teeth like mountains. No one messed with him. Unless they liked a coffin with a small separate casket... for the head.

Momma Bear seemed nice. Until you met her. She had mean little eyes that screamed hate and murder as if the demons of hell were in an ungodly chorus within her head. Apart from that was her great girth and claws the length of most pencils. They have a name for that sort of a woman, and I’m not allowed to write it down for reasons of decency.

Last was Baby Bear. When he was asked where he got his name from, the poor fool that asked went pale and ran off, vomiting. So we won’t dwell on that one. Yeah, he was small, but so are packets of C4 and you wouldn’t want to find one of those in the back of your car.

Now they sat in their chintzy, unspeakably awful Cadillac Escalade cruising the street like sharks in a barrel of cod. After a good day’s work, it was nice to pop-over to McDonald’s for a Big Mac-or-two, maybe scouting for some poor bastard who owed them money while they were there.

“Pap,”
Said Baby.
“We good about the one we dropped last Tuesday?”
“Yeah, son. We good. Police all tied-up in that shit over at the Beanstalk. We got no worries, ya hear.”
“I hear that,”
Said Momma.
“Boy died where none’d see ‘im.”
“I hear that.”
Replied Baby.

***

Mike had had an… interesting career, Goldilocks reminisced. He’d been approached by Lord Valentine to be a part of an elite group of watchmen, who rather than chase a pick-pocket down Drury Lane, would find out who he worked for, who his boss had connections to, and how much money was involved, before putting them in the dungeon at his majesty’s pleasure. King Handsome was well aware of what was going on in Fairy City and didn’t like it. The days of dwarves merrily rescuing seven-year-olds and cats serving a human master were over. Now the dwarves all sold seven-year-olds the deposits from the mines they won’t supposed to remove. And the cats now owned the big offices where they were the masters of humans. Oh, and don’t even mention the Gingerbread-men. ‘Gumdrop buttons?’ More like gun-drop-gutters.

She knew why he’d been killed. That big case against the Three Bears was nearly finished and he’d told her he was arranging a meeting with the mole that had given them a fountain of gold in terms of info on the bears. Now Mike was dead, found with a bullet in his head and the mole was later found floating in different parts of the Wishing Well River.

Was it worth it? No. The case couldn’t go ahead now that Mike was dead. He’d been the one who met the informants and he’d had all the recordings on him when he was gunned-down; it was the condition of the mole meeting him. Of course, his body had no tapes on him. If the watchmen even tried to move, someone with connections would silence them for a considerable fee from their grisly friends in The Woods. And that was a name that rang full of… of shit. The Woods started off as some nice little cottages by the big wood. Now the wood was gone and the cottages overshadowed by the big tower blocks built to “mix society up a bit.” All tenants were either the customers of the Bears, their people or those too afraid to try and leave.

Well, at least she had those precious memor- no, BULLSHIT! She wasn’t going to let Mike stay a corpse killed by God-knows-who. She was gonna find the bastards who murdered him and make it even. No matter who they were or how many of them there were, she’d have revenge. And not just for her. For the watchmen who saw their cases fall to pieces against political intrigue. For the residents living under that great shadow of organised crime (as well as those ghastly concrete shit-boxes). And for Mike. If he’d have been there now, he’d egg her on. In fact, she felt like he was; his passion for what was right and honest surging through her, coursing in her veins like the fire of the gods.

She’d do it. Oh yes, she’d do it.

***

Chapter I-More Chapters To Follow!

[Avaerilon]

SPOILER: Click to show

Chapter II


***

The bears, of course, didn’t live in the squalor they had created; instead they had a nice house in a nice neighbourhood, which they rented from a nice cat. Such a nice cat! In fact, that nice cat was having a nice little talk with his buddy, lovely Papa Bear. Oh, what fun they must be having; shall we listen-in on their conversation? Shall we?

Tiberius Regis, or ‘Tibbles’ to his friends, was sitting in the painted-wood living room of that quaint little cottage, sunk-into the armchair of leather that formed a merry little coffin around him. Of course, Tibbles (since I’m sure he won’t mind me using his pet-name) knew a thing-or-two about coffins. But since this is such a nice house, we shan’t talk of those nasty things. Shall we?

“…and, of course, paid on-time as usual Pap. I don’t see enough of, eh, that these days, y’know?”
“Oh yeah, I know a thing or two ‘bout folks slippin’ on a payment or four…!”

And they both laughed; howling, cackling laughs, of people who shouldn’t do but still have too much money. Of course the Bears had too much; they had a Rolex carriage clock, a Cadillac that drank more than a 5-tonne Millwall fan and enough jewellery to shame a Mogul. And Tibbles had loads, too: Jaguar XJ, a Fortnum’s membership card, a suit made from gnome-skin, the sort of items that say: ‘trough.’ And he had his little feline head right in the trough.

It wasn’t as if he’d earned it, either. Was he a brain surgeon, a writer or one of those men who you call to say you’re blind drunk and can’t possible drive your car, but equally haven’t enough change on you to get a taxi, and since they’ve got that moped which they bung in the boot of the car when they arrive and then get you home safe and then got on their moped for another call, they really deserve some recognition ‘cos who’s going to bail you out of that one, eh? Anyway, Tibbles broke people for a living. And those he didn’t break were his friends. Special friends. So special, they told him all kinds of things he could maybe use later if they didn’t pay all the rent on time. He-he-he.

“So, Pap, what are you doing with yourself today, hm?”
Quizzed the cat.
“Well,”
Said Papa.
“I’m going off to a lovely picnic with the wife and kid. We’re just ready to go.”
“I’m afraid I don’t see a picnic basket in the kitchen…?”
“Well, some fool’ll have one with them, eh?”
And joy! Yet more of that exquisite laughter. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.

***

It didn’t take long for Goldilocks to get the info she needed from the files Mike had been working on. With hair as luscious as that and a wink-or-two with those voluptuous eyelashes the watchman had dashed-ff to bring her the case file. It didn’t surprise her that the Three Bears were the target. Only a year ago it had been Old King Coke and his ‘Pipe Club’ on Doherty Street. Now that was a case full of money and dirt. Dirty money, of course.

Anyway, she had the names of the suspects, their whereabouts and where they might be found from home. If course, it had to have been Papa or Momma that killed Mike. The calibre of the gun had been the kind they had been known to use. They thought it would be a murder no-one would or could tie to them. The corporate suffocation of the city had them safe from the law, even if the Grand Old Duke of York himself got all ten-thousand men on the case. But no-one thought that the sweet little girl, far too curious for her own good, would ever think to hunt them down like… well, animals.

***

She had the taxi drop her off a few streets from The Hill (The Top Of), so as not to look suspicious. How could she? Short denim skirt and black boots? More someone to be investigated rather than investigate herself. She sauntered up the nice little road, with borders of grass on either side and box-hedges in every garden. What a nice place! So nice, no-one would suspect a killing about to occur. Surely not!

The house was rather aptly called ‘Goose’s Nest.’ It had a nice wooden roof, painted red, with red paint on the window frames and sills and on the door. It wasn’t the heavy town-house she and Mike… she lived in. It was a quaint little cottage. The kind of one that little old ladies with cats would live in, before Prince Charming took ill and let Princess ‘Cinder-Block’ Cinderella run the place. That bitch had made such a mess of Fairy City (let-alone Fairyland); no-one could even have begun to describe it. But then, how can you when there’s an arrow through your throat?

She snuck up to the window that looked into the kitchen. No-one was in. She waited five, maybe ten minutes, but not a soul came out. It was time to do her work. She crept up to the door and opened it. Of course, in this neighbourhood, nobody ever locked their doors, for who would be so offensive as to steal anything or trespass? Kind of like in the roughest areas of town, where all the doors were unlocked. That was because there was no point; all your stuff would get nicked anyway. The door creaked a little, but nothing too sinister; the homely, invitational creak of similar properties.

She had debated beforehand how she was going to do it; she’d thought guns- an eye-for-an-eye. Maybe a butchering knife, to paint the walls red. A bomb, perhaps? Surprise! No, subtle would do it. So they could suddenly find out, but with no-one there and know for hours before that they would die. Oh, the cold, meticulous pleasure!
She went to the kitchen and found, rather handily, three bowls of porridge on the table (Momma Bear got lazy in the evenings and so cooked beforehand to save her the bother when she was tired). One was in a big, brown bowl and steaming like a pile of horse manure.

She put three drops of poison into that. The next was in a normal-sized bowl, but pink and florally-decorated. And practically frozen porridge. Three drops in that. And finally the little one, with blue stripes, for the big boy! Of course, perfectly done food. And three little drops of breathing-medicine for Baby, too.

Then she eased into the living room, dipping a set of three nails into the poison, where there were three singular chairs that greeted her. One was huge, imposing and made of solid ebony. Rather tasteless, so no shame to hammer a great nail in it, facing upwards. The second was a great, puffy affair, covered in flowers. It was soft enough to sink under the weight of an anorexic supermodel. And soft enough to put another upturned, poison-coated nail into. Last was a tiny chair, just big enough for her to sit on, and she might have done, had a great nail not been hidden in the cushion. Baby would have a sore arse tonight!

Lastly, Goldilocks found the bedrooms in the house, all three of them. Papa and Momma didn’t share the same bed since the combined snoring in one room was enough to loosen the beams on the ceiling. The first bed was Papa’s; it was a gigantic bed seemingly hewed from rough tree trunks. At least it was softer than the mattress itself. A dusting of arsenic powder on the sheets and she moved on to the second room. Momma had a bed softer than a damp sponge cake, so soft it looked like a pile of exhausted pillows and blankets, not a proper bed. She fought her way through the layers of sheets and duvets to reach an area appropriate for the vile powder.

And to cap it all off, she entered the tiny little room that was Baby’s. The bed was just her size, but she was no fool; who sleeps in a bed they actually like in a strange house. That was just inviting trouble. So a lacing of poison and that was that. She held her head up in cold satisfaction as she left the house, just to see the gits rolling down the lane in their bling machine. Papa had a pair of shades on that obscured not only his eyes, but also his vision, judging by the way he was weaving in-and-out turbulently on the road. Mamma was snoring, fast asleep, so loud that passers-by must have mistook the constant beat for some over-loud club mega-mix. And that little sod, Baby: he was tapping at a little hand-held console, no doubt playing a shoot-‘em-up to ‘educate’ him.

They pulled-up at the garage and disembarked from the mammoth vehicle, lazily dragging their huge paws to the front door. Goldi allowed herself the satisfaction of a quiet, sinister chuckle, before hailing a taxi and driving off home for some quality chocolate time.

***

The criminal fiends waltzed into their kitchen, awaiting the warm, heavy concrete in the bowls. Lips were licked and stomachs groaned in the anticipation, the glory of coming home to a nice bowl of porridge. But they decided to prolong their wait by watching a diva being interviewed on the local TV, so out they went… or at least, two of them did.

***

Chapter III is coming soon!

[Avaerilon]

SPOILER: Click to show

Chaper III

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***


When they had all come back from the junk on the box, they sniffed the air with pleasure, for the meal was still as good as Momma had cooked it, by magical coincidence. But then- a gasp! Someone has noticed a problem with their bowl of nourishment.
“Who’s been eatin’ my porridge?”
Angrily demanded Papa.
“Who’s been eatin’ my porridge?”
Screeched Momma.
“No-one, fool!”
Replied Baby.
“Who gonna come in here and gobble our meal, y’all?”
The parents looked at each other and nodded, sat down and began to gorge.

They then decided to have a seat. After all, being a group of vicious drug-dealers is hard work. And then-
“Ow! Fuck! Who’s been puttin’ shit on my chair?!”
Cried Papa.
“Ye-AAAHHH! My butt! Who the hell been playing games with my mind?!”
Screamed Momma.
“Oh, my chair’s hurtin’ me, too!
Whimpered Baby.

After a rather uncomfortable sit-down, the gargantuan bears not able to notice a little nail-head sticking out from their seats, all decided to go to bed, since they were early risers, after all. Papa began to get into his bed, when he noticed his leg was covered in a fine, white powder.
“Who been puttin’ crap in my bed?”
Momma spotted the same in her bed.
“Who been puttin’ crap in my bed?”
“Oh, I decided a safer way to hide the stash was to keep it in our duvets. I guess some of it leaked out.”
Silence confirmed his parents had decided to agree with him, even though their meal had tasted strange, their sit-down painful and the beds coated in powder. Baby slept very soundly.

***

Al Greypaw was the bane of all drug-dealers in Fairy City. Maybe even Fairyland. After all, his name rang-out as far away as Treasure Island and Far-Far-Away. Al was a wolf. A tall (wolves only crawl at home where they can get away with it), lean one, with dark grey fur and big, yellow eyes. And don’t forget the scar running-down one side of his face. No-one knew how he had got that. And right now, he was sitting in his dilapidated van, cleaning his .42-calibre shotgun, whistling ‘Three Drunk Mice.’

He’d 47 kills to his name. At least officially. But that was one thing that the King had managed to change about the city. Anyone who robbed drug dealers would be untouched. Al didn’t drop civilians, because that was rather crude. He stole the dope from dealers and either washed it down the sink (there were no laws about giving rats heroin) or sold it back to them for an exorbitant price. And sometimes he just blew their goddamn heads off. Piss easy.

The lone wolf eyed a couple of dogs going down the back-alley. He saw they were part of the M-Boney crew by their collars. Al was just about to step out and dust them down when he noticed a cat with a trilby and trench-coat stepping silently behind them. Al nodded with a toothy smile to the cat, who lifted his hat and extended a set of titanium claws. “Shadow” Angelo was going about his business. Al chuckled to himself. He wasn’t the only one.

The silence that followed but for the pattering of rain was broken by the rusty hinges screaming at the opening of the passenger door.
“What up, yo?”
Said Al.
“Not bad, boss, not bad.”
Replied Little Lucifer.
Lucifer was a small fox with far too many shiny, white teeth. And he was Al’s boy.
He gave Al a little kiss on the muzzle and brought out a bag of white powder in phials.
“Snatched it right form Percesi’s window. Fucker didn’t think to shut it!”
“Good call, son,”
Al praised.
“We be selling it tomorrow or next day.”
“Back to Percesi?”
“Nah, boy. We be sellin’ it to Large Owen at the Cornerhouse. We robbed his ass two weeks ago now and he still hasn’t got any product. Sell it at twice what he paid and we be rich in a day!”
He tickled Little Lucifer in glee, who emanated a Hyena’s laugh in response.
“Boss-! Boss-! He-he-he… we got to go and see… ha-ha-stop! He-he, the Bears came back couple of hours… naaagh!”
“Don’t you worry, fox. I got it covered.”
Al turned to start the van up and they drove off down the dark little street.

***

The next morning, Goldi sauntered into the neighbourhood where she’d done her work , confident she’d find the bears dead, blood running from their foaming mouths, the smell of arsenic tainting the air. And lo-and-behold! She opened the creaking door to find Papa slumped against the wall, blood dried from his nostrils and mouth, the foam still there as he had vomited the contents of his own veins. She nodded in satisfaction of having got even with Papa, but now to see if Momma was also painted in her arterial glory. And yes! She was lying on her bedroom floor, obviously trying to reach for the door as she died, chocking on the venomous grasp of the poisoned blood inside her.

And now the little shit, Baby. Where was he? Goldilocks crept up to his little room, shaking with anticipation for his death. And-!
“Hands up, bitch.”
She turned around in horror, to find Baby standing in front of her, pointing a gun at her.
“Hands behind your head.”
She, unsteadied from the shock and failure of it all, obeyed. The little furry bugger had spotted her traps, evaded them and deliberately got his parents killed. That took some kind of evil.
“Why did you do it?”
Asked Goldi, whimpering a little.
“Do what?”
Said Baby.
“Kill your own parents?!”
“Ah,”
Replied Baby.

“Y’see, the game is real hard. An’ my folks was OK, but I mean they had no concept of having moles in the system. I got them ev… ever… er,”
“Evidence?”
“Yeah, right. That. Ever-thingy of moles in our crew. And y’know what? They laughed at me! Said I was too paranoid. Started cuttin’ my share- sayin’ I was insurbordithingy and then gave those mother fuckers more juice on us! So, I had to sort things out. You feelin’ me?”
“What did you get out of it?”
“Money. And my own place. And a sweet ride!”
Baby said with a degree of manic pleasure in his little nasal voice. He sniggered and pushed Goldilocks into the kitchen, where he tied her to a chair with black electrical tape.
“But your hard work was all wasted, girl”
He said, chuckling in a sinister way.
“What do you mean?”
“Your boy, Mike?”
“Yeah?”
Asked a growingly-worried Goldilocks.

“I nailed him. I carried it all out. Use my pap’s gun so I wouldn’t be suspect’d. He didn’t go down easy, so I respect his ass for ir. Didn’t stop me killin’ him, though!”
Goldilocks silently seethed with a sickening anger, before the kid-bear said:
“Now, you are gonna make a phone call in a little bit, y’hear me? I’m gonna be back.”
And with that, the despicable little turd strutted out of the house and into his Caddy, driving off down the avenue.

***[/spoiler]

The final part, Chapter IV, is coming soon!

[Avaerilon]

SPOILER: Click to show

Chaper IV

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***


Goldi swore once he’d gone and tried to wriggle out of the tape. It got worse when she’d finished, all tangled and cutting-off the circulation in her wrists, making her hands useless. Now what would she do? Her mobile was unreachable. Screaming for help wouldn’t work; everyone was out of their nice little dwellings, enjoying the sunshine. Bugger. As she began to cry again, she turned her head towards one of the work surfaces and saw a phone, the number pad tipped-up. If she could just get over there… she might be able to hack at 999 with her toes!

She turned the chair around and dragged it toward the work surface. The chair was one of Baby’s, so it was her size and light enough, but very low down. She might not be able to reach the top of the counter... Alas, the predicament was correct and she cursed under her breath. Even if she had stretched her legs out all the way, she still wouldn’t have reached the surface. What now?

***

Little Lucifer peered at Baby driving down the avenue in his Escalade, reaching for his pistol.
“We jump him, Al?”
“Nah, son. This is getting’ interestin’. Why Baby driving himself wi’out his folks, yo? Somethin’ not right here, and Al gonna find out what’s what.”
“You want me to come and-?”
“No, son. Too dangerous for your pretty lil’ tail in that house. I see if I can’t pop those bastards in the process, if they there. You stay here and keep watch for Al.”
“A’right.”
The fox made to give Al a kiss, but his boyfriend darted out of the way and leapt out into the avenue.
“Al repay the favour when he get back!”

***

Tibbles purred along in the big Jag, passing towers of wealthy glass full of paper on his way to the office. On the radio was a piece of classical music and in his pockets were large notes: small change. It was, of course, the good life. Making a bit of money here-and-there, maybe the tax people don’t need to know about it. Hey, they probably don’t want to! Papa had given him the rent, which was going towards a holiday somewhere warm, with girls in grass-skirts serving rainbow-coloured cocktails and a man with a ukulele in the distant, rosy background. Ah, how sweet it is to be a god!

Of course, like any caring, sharing businessperson, Tibbles had enemies. Some were just flies that buzzed around his head. He could swat them and they’d die. Or at least be silent. But some were big, juicy ones that even he had trouble getting rid of. He’d heard rumours that people up in the courts knew what he was up to and didn’t like it, but with the influential friends he had, nothing could be done. Short of a bullet in the face. But that was murder. Non-corporate murder. And non-corporate murder doesn’t go with businessmen.
Tibbles had also heard some of the drug-guys were out to get him, since some of his manoeuvres had helped The Three Bears. But who would even try, so well protected was he?
Oops.

***

Goldilocks was passed crying, moaning, shouting or swearing. She was sulking. Here she was, killer of two of the nastiest drug-dealers this side of Legoland, tied up and probably going to be killed later or ransomed for a huge price. Fucking police. Still, at least she had her sanity. That at least-
“Oh shut up!”
She cried out.
“I’m not gonna think like that!”

She tapped her feet angrily. She wanted to go home. She wanted Mike back. She wanted justice. She wanted the loo before she wet herself. But she wasn’t going to get any of that. At least until-
“Hey, Pap! You gots some shit for me, or do I have to break a few windows, y’all?”

She turned in utter surprise at the cry, made by some sort of wolf by the sound of it. Goldi was about to cry for help when she saw the tall figure march into the room and point his gun at an ornamental vase, shooting it to pieces.

“Fool! I ain’t gonna stop! You is dead unless- oh, hello there.”
He noticed Goldi tied up, leaned on his gun and began to smoke a cigarette.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m human and don’t find you attractive, Mr. Mysterious Stranger.”
Al dragged on the smoking end and breathed out a cloud of fumes, before he spoke.
“Oh, I is sorry you gots the wrong imper-ession, Little Lady. Let me tell you even if I was human, I’m not that kinda guy.”
“It’s nice to see there are some gentlemen in the world.”
“Oh!”
Said Al, laughing.
“Thank you very much, shorty, but I meant ‘not-that-kind-of-guy.’”
Realisation dawned on Goldi’s face.
“What, you’re-?”
“Yeah-huh.”
“And you come in here, large, heavy coat, massive gun, demanding stash or death?”
Al had another smoke before answering.
“Y’ done good, girl.”
“You have no idea.”
“Do tell.”
“Well, if you look in the hall, you’ll see a dead Papa Bear and in her bedroom, a dead Momma Bear.”
Al gave her an odd look, cocking his head, before he stamped on his cig and went out to inspect the damage. Sure enough, he saw the corpses, both drenched in blood, and sniffed. In he came once more, smiling at the girl.

“Man, I seen some serious shit in my time, but DAMN! That was good!”
Goldilocks smiled her nicest smile.
“Well, I’m flattered Mr-?”
“Greypaw. Al Greypaw.”
He held out his right paw, but then retracted when he realised she couldn’t shake it.
“You want me to help you out, girlfriend?”
“If you would.”
“I see.”
Al took out a large knife and cut her loose. She dusted herself down and stood looking at him.

“Er, have you seen Baby anywhere?”
“Yeah, fool passed some time ago. Thought it was a little odd, myself.”
“Well, he needs to be… taken care of. I’d do it, but… I’m just too shaken at right now.”
“Al got it. He see you got beef with them, Omar got beef too. Mutual assistance. But what a girl like you got beef with the Bears for?”
She breathed in a little, before she spilled it all out. The wolf listened patiently, before going into the living room and coming back with a few sheets of paper.

“I’m sorry about your boy. I’d hate to lose mine and all. So I pop a cap in Baby for his crimes and then maybe sort this out…?”
He held up the papers for inspection. They were papers of financial dealings between a Mr. Notta-Bare and a Mr. V. Muchadogg. A cover for illegal transactions, linking some sort of financier to Papa, Momma and Baby’s franchise.
“First- I’ll take care of that. Second- where’s the toilet?”

***

Baby had the stereo on full-blast, listening to some indiscernible music that just sounded like a stampede of drunken buffalo. He had a pair of shades on, nodding to himself with glee. He’d done good. He’d get some cash for that wuss in his kitchen or kill her, but that didn’t matter so much. He was the sole head of his crew, now. Long live Baby Bear and his minions! Right up until a clattery van pulled up next to him. He turned and with horror saw the scarred face of a grinning wolf.
“Present for ya, kid.”
“-!“

Was all Baby could say before his head exploded and decorated his Cadillac in brains and gore. Lovely stuff. The van drove off, Al reloading his shotgun and laughing to himself. He liked serving justice. It always ended up in a burger for his troubles.
One way-or-another.

***

Tibbles couldn’t understand why they were all these blue flashing lights behind him. Was an ambulance unable to overtake? Certainly not. Were there ever fires in this neighbourhood? Never! So what- oh, I see. Police. Ah, we’ll just see about this. He pulled up at the kerb.
“Yes, hello officer, I- what? Oh no, I have no idea what you mean. ‘Bears?’ What’s one of those? Look, I’m a very influential and important cat, so why don’t you- hey! I’m very senior in my department! You can’t just-! WHAT! Who’s responsible for this! Mummy! I’m too handsome to go away for life! I know things! I know things! Let me go!”

This continued the same way for some time, a whole horde of Bobbies wrangling with a very droopy-whiskered cat, meowing for some sort of respite. And from the passenger seat of the old Saab, Goldilocks laughed. It was always funny when plutocrats – or in this case, plutocats- got taken away. But it was especially satisfying to see this one wiggle and squeal so.

Maybe she could do this for a living.



THE END[/spoiler]

[Deleted]

i enjoyed that immensely, somewhat reminiscent of our mutual favorite?

[Avaerilon]

Thank you Equum, I glad you liked it :) The great man did have a small amount of influence on this work, indeed, but I was most inspired by HBO's The Wire, overall. And my own personal sense of humour ;D

[Deleted]

hahaha, both shone through! ;)