Previously on Nerve City:
Lucky came home to his wife swinging from the shower curtain. Unable to process the situation in an optimal manner, he decided to bury her in the backyard, but not before shooing his son out the door to stay with his Aunt, Wendy. Now, Lucky and Shutterfly head to Madam Le Pew’s brap house to get intel on the Mouse Mob and their X-WEB operation. Be warned, dear reader, things may get…filthy.
5
As me and Shutter haul tail down Bearverly Boulevard, all I can think about is Snowball’s cold black eyes staring me down like the last fry on the plate. Of all the fuckin day, Mark’s ass, why’d she have to do it on a Sunday?
I pop a couple Amps at the light. Shutterfly is busy profiling a pair of slutty giraffes showin leg by a bus stop. Five more minutes ‘til the Amp kicks in. Then the shakes and nausea will disappear–maybe the Snowball flashbacks, too.
I take a look in the mirror. I’m all dolled up like your average John: civilian drab, a cheap watch, even had my fur dyed.
“Do you catch a lot of UTTs around here? You know, ‘Under the Tables?’”
I’m thinkin: Yeah, caught a lot of VD too.
“No shit, we call this block ‘Lover’s Lane.’”
“Tee hee. Cute. Mouse Mob terf?”
“No, the Mice pedal the pricier merchandise; broads you gotta buy dinner first. Lover’s Lane here is your bottom of the barrel meat market. Some of them ain’t even got a pimp to smack some sense into em.”
“Got it, chief.”
“Yeah, those giraffes look fresh off the Ark, prolly crawlin with AIDS.”
She sticks her tongue out. “AIDS? Yuck-o!”
I shrug. “It ain’t so bad; they got a treatment for everything now…uh, not that I would know about that.”
Shutter’s eyes light up. “Ooooh, is that Le Pew’s?”
The large, pink, Victorian-style estate comes up on the right. Among the rows of drab, weed-littered office buildings and government kennels, the place stands out like a sore tail.
“That’s the one. Wow, the memories. My dad took me here on my thirteenth birthday. Caught a bad case of pink eye.”
“Cool beans–not the pink eye part though–teehee. You think I’d like it?”
“I’m not the guy to ask. Call me I’m old-fashioned. Just gimme a hole to fill and I’m good.”
“Lame-o-rama,” Shutter says, rolling her oval eyes. “You really gotta get in touch with your kinks.”
“Don’t get it twisted, sweet hoofs. Maybe after work I could show you how us rabbits get down.”
Shutter giggles. “You sure your colon can handle all of this?” She gestures toward the bulge in her tight little police shorts–yikes. How had I not noticed that before?
“Three beers and all bets are off, but I got this thing where if anything goes up the poop chute, I feel all lightheaded and pass out. ’Vasovagal response,’ my doc calls it.”
“Tee hee, no problem-o, partner! Wouldn’t wanna trigger your ‘bagel’ response.”
She gives me a wink, and for a second, I wonder if I could, ya know, after a couple Amps–ah, who am I kidding, of course I would.
We pull into a space at the end of the block in our nondescript thirty-year-old Mark-V dual-web, dented doors, Furtallica stickers and all that working-class slob ephemera.
She hands me a little flash drive. “Here ya go, partner!”
“What’s this? I already got this thing on.” I tap the little camera tucked into the fur behind my ear.
“It’s a data extractor, silly goose! Just pop it in a port, wait for the light to turn green, and presto: one cloned hard drive to-go.”
So, the scheming little bitlicker is upping the ante.
“I thought I was just shakin’ down a pawstie, not playin hacker. Without a warrant, I could get some serious heat over this.”
“Oh, don’t be a scaredy bunny, teehee. This will be great! Who knows what we’ll find in those files?”
“Look, I don’t got a problem with a little extra-judicious justice, but copping data without a warrant is a bold move. If Chief Diddy finds out–”
“I’ll give him a blowie! No problem-o.”
My hands are shaking. This could get messy. I pop another Amp.
“Hey, can I have one?”
“What?”
“Those mints you’ve been munching, silly! What, you thought I didn’t notice? Are they the minty or the fruity kind?” She says.
“It’s, err, my heart medication. Gotta take it all the time or I die.”
“Oh wow, how’d you pass health review with a bad ticker? Seems like a liability to me.”
“Your ass is a fuckin liability. Now give me a minute, I gotta mentally prepare myself before gettin farted on.”
She pinches her nose. “L-O-L, stinky time!”
“One minute you’re tellin me I gotta get a kink, now you’re bustin my balls.”
“Well, you know what they say: in a society where everything is permitted, only the purest of human expressions make it through the collective digestive track; meanwhile, Morality, like a disease, rots away the stomach lining, ultimately paralyzing and slowly killing its host. Teehee.”
“That’s… one way to look at it,” I say.
“Sorry, sometimes I get kinda philosophical,” followed with a giggle.
There’s somethin real wrong with this broad, better not tell her too much.
“Alright, give me a minute, I gotta relax, slip into character.”
“Oooh, good idea!” she says. “I’ll keep my lips zipped.”
She makes the zipper motion across her mouth. Cute.
Fuck–heart goin hummingbird, need to calm down. I lean the seat back, try to think about nothing. Just close my eyes and enter that dark tunnel where time no longer exists, a mental vacation to the abyss–developed the technique as a kid, something to do while daddy was beatin mom’s ass. The move came in handy, especially after gettin married. Mark’s ass–who was I kidding, thinking I’d ever be a family rabbit? Thought having a wife and kids would make me straighten up. Boy, was I retarded. Well, Snowball took care of herself and left me with the mess. As for little Jack, he’ll figure it out, just like I did after Mom got pussy cancer.
Folks act like they’ll live forever–like some deranged maniac won’t blow his cool one day and fill them full of hollowpoints–life’s a lot simpler when you realize how fucked up it is–eat, shit, fuck, and deny everything–that’s all there is to it.
“Mark’s ass,” I scratch an itch behind my ear and almost knock the damn camera off. Shutter’s staring at me like a blank screen–ain’t asking me to hurry up or anything.
“Okay, time to get to work,” I say, slippin out of my seatbelt.
“Wow, you looked like you were trying to solve a super hard math problem.”
“Everything’s a math problem.”
“Hey Lucky–”
“What?”
She looks towards Le Pew’s.
“I don’t wanna sound like a weirdo or anything, but…do you ever wonder what it’s all about? Like, why are we here? I mean, me, a cute little pony in a car with you, a grumpy rabbit preparing to shake down a fart brothel–sure seems kinda…random when you think about it, right? Tee hee.”
“Shutter,” I say. “That’s the most retarded shit anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Well, my parents always told me I was special!” She makes the derpy face.
“Watch it with the abelism, my kid’s a retard. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta date with a colon.”
“Okay, have fun!”
I hop out of the van, slamming the door a little too hard. Remember to breath, Luck. What was I so damn stressed about? Oh, I remember: my wife killed herself, and my son hates me. The only thing I have going for myself is getting high and barebacking fluffers. If the Amp ever ran out, I’d likely be joining Snowball in hell.
Well, at least I’m not my son–that kid’s life is gonna be a mess.
Walkin’ up to the old brap house, I notice an outline peering out from the upstairs window. A mouse, judging by the ears. Sizing me up, no doubt. I play it cool–not too cool though. I’m no newbie, but today I gotta act like one. This way, no one takes me for a pimp or a fuzz–just your average fart hound looking for a sniff.
I’m buzzed in. The place is decked out like a kitschy gambling joint, type a thing the mice think will hypnotize the rubes. I walk the worn Greek key rug to the aging Stork at the counter. She slides a menu through the protective glass.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Yep.”
Let’s take a look at the services: A fart in the face, that’s 40 creds. Dance plus fart, 75 cred. Dance, massage and fart? 175 cred. Pricey, but fully legal and above board.
“Yeah, I’d like the, uh, full package. Who will be providing the, uh, services? I’m a little new to this.”
“Sure ya are.”
She directs my attention to the video screen behind her with a lineup of some of the ugliest whores you’ve ever seen on Furfax avenue, caked in enough makeup to make a tranny blush. The one that catches my eye is a mouse working under the name “Goocheese.” If any of these whore’s have insider information, it would be the mouse.
“Ooh, I never made it with a rat before.”
“Careful, guy, she’s hears you call her that, you might get your head caved in.”
“Ah, yes, sorry about that.”
“So, we’re going with Goocheese today?”
“That would be fantastic.”
“Alright, just sit anywhere you like and she’ll come get you.”
The stork makes a forced smile that doesn’t quite land. She’s an older gal, probably used to be one of the braps on tap twenty years ago.
I glance around the lobby. In the corner, there’s this Lion in a trenchcoat reading an issue of Doggystyle, I believe the dalmatian edition. Think I recognize the guy too, pretty sure he’s on the sex registry, but he’s got the magazine up over his maw. Hard to tell them lions apart anyway.
I take a seat near the old coomer–just curious to see if he’s the same cat. Before I can get a better glance, a poodle in a miniskirt opens the door and calls, “Hey Simba, I’m ready for ya.”
He sets down his magazine, shoots me this look like “the fuck you want?” then makes off with his dame.
I pick up the Doggystyle he’d been reading, skimming for money shots. A couple of the bitches look okay, but nothing to write home about.
I set the mag down to admire the decor, charming stuff: faux-marble statues, beads, flamingo feathers. There’s an old-timey boudoir photo of Madam Le Pew herself. I can tell it’s old because her knockers aren’t mopping the floor. That being said, she had some serious tail back in the 70s.
Just as I’m about to check the time, the door squeaks open, and this mouse no taller than a cunt hair is fingering me over. She doesn’t look half bad in that silk robe and baby doll.
“I’m here for the rabbit, that you, cotton tail?”
“That’s me, gorgeous,” I say.
“Good. The name’s Mindy, I’ll be the one sitting on your face today.”
“Lead the way, beautiful,” I say. “I’m Buster, by the way.”
She smirks.
“Okay, Buster Bunny, let’s make today memorable.”