He sat in the bar at Snug Harbor, crammed into the old fashioned phone booth.  He liked to come here to make his calls, as the phone booth offered both privacy and anonymity.  And he knew the bartender; he was fairly well assured that no one was tapping the lines, or bugging the phone booth.  Too much of the bar’s business depended on such folks, seeking a quiet, obscure, untraceable communication.  "John, I hate to say this," General Forrest (Ret.) said, from the other end of the line, "But right now, things are pretty quiet.  I just haven’t heard of anything that would match your skills...."  John heard the hesitation in his voice, and just waited patiently, knowing something was coming.  "The only thing I’ve heard of, recently, was a friend of mine lamenting the poor quality of the couriers his company has been using.  You wouldn’t be interested in making a courier run, would you?  Its probably a little tame, considering your background..." 

John thought for a moment and gave a shrug; "True, but right now I just need a change of pace.  If your friend is interested in me, have him give me a call.  For something like this, I think the cellphone on the schooner should do."  Forrest agreed to talk to him about it, and would let John know.  They spent a few more minutes talking over the latest events, and swapping stories of what they’d heard of old comrades, before hanging up. 

John looked around, shaking his head once again.  He’d been in this bar, on the Snug Harbor waterfront before, but it wasn’t one of his favorite places.  It was more of a longshoreman’s bar, dirty, dingy, and disreputable.  Still, he knew the place, and had been quite surprised when the voice on the phone told him to wait there, for the meeting.  He’d come prepared for most anything; he was wearing his olive drab shorts, with the cargo pockets, and a khaki bush jacket, also covered in pockets.  He had a small carryall bag with a shoulder strap, along with his maps, travel documents, credit cards, cash and other assorted things he felt he might need.  He sipped his ale quietly, watching the crowd, only half listening to the TV in the corner. 

John knew it was him the instant he walked in the door.  It had to be his contact.  No one else would wear a fedora and a trenchcoat to a place like this.  The weasel removed his coat, and then his hat, hanging them on a beg by the booth John occupied.  Underneath he was wearing a rather stylish three piece suit.  John got the impression of corner offices full of windows, high up in a prestigious office building.  "This guy’s having a lot of fun with the cloak and dagger stuff" John thought to himself, as he took another sip of is ale. 

"The deal is simple," the weasel said without preamble or introduction.  "You carry the package I give you to the address I give you, and hand it over to me, and me only.  You do not open it, tamper with it, get it wet, or otherwise damage it.  It’s a very important parcel, critical you might say, and you can expect at least one attempt to be made to take it from you.  We pay half the money now, half on completion, and all reasonable expenses.  Keep your receipts, or there’s no reimbursement."  John nodded; "any bonus for a quick delivery?"  The weasel considered this for a moment and then shook his head no; "we’re more interested in it getting there intact and unopened than we are in a speedy delivery.  Just do it right and all will be well."  John nodded.  The price that had been named was sizeable, and the destination on the slip of paper was only a few cities away.  Normally, he could take a commercial flight and be there in a few hours.  This, it had been implied, would be a little more difficult. 

John still thought that this guy was much too much wrapped up in the thrillers seen at the cinema, and that he wouldn’t have any trouble at all. "A walk in the woods" he thought to himself.  After taking another sip of his ale, John nodded, and the Weasel, looking left and right, conspiratorially, pulled a small flat package from under his suitcoat.  He handed it to John, who immediately made it disappear under the table.  An envelope with small and medium sized bills followed.  John grinned and slipped that into an inside pocket of his bush jacket.  The weasel nodded; "see you there", and rising, reclaimed his coat and had, and was gone. 

John finished his beer, threw a few coins onto the table, and ambled slowly towards the water closet at the back of the bar.  As he walked, he casually watched the other patrons in the mirror behind the bar.  No one seemed to take more than a passing interest in him.  In the water closet, he relieved himself, and after making sure that there was no one else in the room, he pushed open the lone window, above the toilet tank, and crept out into the alley behind the bar.  Watching for movement, he carefully slunk off, keeping to the shadows. 

Normally he would have taken a cab, but instead, he walked a considerable distance through some rather disreputable neighborhoods, to catch a city bus, on a secondary route.  This he took to the outskirts of the city, making sure he wasn’t the last furr to depart the bus.  All the while he kept a careful watch behind him, looking to see if anyone had tailed him. 

It was another long walk to the railroad yard.  When he’d been a soldier, many times he’d found that he’d gambled or drank all his money away, and out of necessity, had "hitched a ride" on a freight train, to get back to base before his pass had expired.  He knew it was dangerous, perhaps even foolhardy, and definitely illegal, but he felt that it would also be deuced difficult to track him that way.  Besides, he hadn’t done it for years.... 

An hour later, he was curled up under the overhang of a hopper car, rocking and swaying as the freight accelerated to the Southeast, almost directly away from the direction his destination lay in. 

He departed the freight as it slowed to pass through a small town, two hour’s ride down the track.  His map told him he could catch a cross-country bus there, and there was also a small airport, catering to crop dusters, that he thought he might also charter an aircraft at.  But first, he wanted some rest.  The office of the small motel was still open, and he walked in, looking a little disreputable, but still clean enough not to warrant too much suspicion. 

John looked around the small room.  It was old, but clean.  The first thing he did was to bar the door, using some hardware he’d brought with him.  They might wonder about the holes in the threadbare carpet behind the door, but for the moment, the steel bar between the floor anchors and the doorknob would defeat most attempts to break it down.

Taking the package, and his service automatic with him, he entered the bathroom, locking the door behind him.  Smiling at all the horror movies he’d seen that showed the sweet young thing  being surprised in the shower, and then gruesomely murdered, he slipped the package and his pistol into a plastic bag and propped it against the far wall.  "Anyone who came through the bathroom door here had better be wearing body armor" he grinned to himself.  Then he laughed as the thought crossed his mind that he was certainly no "sweet young thing." He finished his shower, with no interruptions, and toweled himself as dry as he could.  The room was too old, and the motel too inexpensive, to boast a hairdryer system that could handle his mane.  Padding back into the room, he dressed.  Although he preferred to sleep in just his fur, he knew he might have to move rapidly at any time.  Pulling the mattress off the bed, he shoved it into a corner, and laying down, almost pulled it around him, like a bun around a sausage. 

It was about four in the morning when something brought him awake.  He had just enough time to click the safety off his pistol when the wall of his room exploded inward.  In the dust and confusion immediately following the blast, two dark figures came through the hole in the wall, to swat at the box spring of the bed.  The dim crackle of electricity revealed that they were using shock sticks, meant to stun anyone on the bed into unconsciousness. 

John  rose from his cocoon, to bring the butt of his pistol down on the back of the  head of the nearer figure.  The assailant gave a soft moan and amidst the crackle of his shock stick, collapsed in a heap.  As the other figure turned, John stepped forward, to shove the barrel of his pistol up under their chin, forcing them back against what was left of the wall. 

The figure gasped and struggled weakly, until John twitched the barrel upwards, painfully.  As the dust cleared, as his eyes recovered from the bright flash of the demolitions, he made out that the figure was a fox, and that the pressure of the gunbarrel had shoved its head up harshly.  After a minute he’d regained his breath, and he growled; "Turn off and drop the shock stick.  Do it NOW."  The fox moved convulsively, and the shock stick hit the floor with a muffled thud.  Moving quickly, John flipped the safety on his pistol, dropped it into the outside cargo pocket of his pants, and jerked the fox around to face the wall, pulling its paws down behind its back.  A plastic cable tie formed an impromptu handcuff, and then he pushed the fox down on the bed, to fasten its ankles together in a similar fashion. 

The fox growled; "what did you DO to poor Rupert?" and it was more by the timbre of its voice that he realized the fox was actually a vixen.  Pulling the black knit mask from her face, he looked at her in the dim light with amazement.  "Well, after you blew in the wall of my room and tried to nail me with those shock  sticks, I decked him.  Would you rather I’d shot him?"  The vixen shook her head, growling angrily; "the shock sticks are non-lethal.  The way you hit him, you may have killed him!  Dammit, you’re not following the RULES!"  John bent to look at the still form on the floor.  It was a male fox, similarly attired in black commando type clothing. While his knit mask was sticky with blood, his skull wasn’t fractured, and he was breathing satisfactorily.  "Relax Lady" John growled; "he’ll wake up with a helluva headache, and one heck of a lump, but he’ll wake up.  Now what in the HELL is this about RULES?" 

The vixen shook her head; "who the hell are you anyways?  I don’t remember any lions as couriers in the cosmetics industry.  You must be either some sort of sociopath, or a very stupid temporary, and what IDIOT would send a Temp out without telling him the rules?" 

John nodded; "Yeah, this is the first time I’ve worked as a courier.  Normally I work as a mercenary, and in that "game" there are no rules, ‘cept "stay alive" and "win".  Cosmetics?  Why would ANYONE want to go to these lengths for cosmetics?"  The vixen just shook her head;  "There are billions to be made in the cosmetics industry and its highly competitive.  Each year the major houses bring out their new line, and it can make or break them.  Industrial espionage is incredible, but all the major houses have an agreement; nothing lethal.  Now, are you going to hand over the package or not?  You know an amateur could never succeed.  You might as well concede right now." 

John looked at her in amazement; "Hand it over?  Listen, lady, you’re the one all trussed up.  There ain’t no WAY I’m going to hand it over."  John looked at her for a minute, and then grinned; "I don’t suppose you’d tell me how you found me, would you?"  She just glared and shook her head no.  John shrugged, and patted her down, smiling to himself at the rather voluptuous form he found concealed under the commando outfit; after a moment he found what he was looking for; the keys to a vehicle.  He also found a little aerosol can that he suspected was some sort of sleepy gas.  Pocketing the aerosol can and the shock stick, he paused to grin at her; "won’t make it, eh?  Bet you that I do; in fact, I’ll bet you my expense account for the trip that I will!"  The vixen looked at the hole in the wall and smiled; "my expense account against yours, including damages such as that?  HA!  You’re on, LOSER!"  John nodded in agreement and then rather rudely stuffed a hotel washrag into her mouth, to be taped in place with a piece of duct tape from his carryall.  "With the sound of the explosion and all, I suspect someone will be along to see what was happening before long.  In fact, I’m kinda surprised no one has shown by now...."  Removing his door brace, he calmly opened the room’s original door and stepped out into the night, giving the vixen a wave goodbye.The keys fit a late model van.  He backed it out of the alley it had been parked in, and headed down Route 2, heading West.  After a while, he found a darkened side road and pulled over, to search the van carefully.  There was no sign of any device, or technique that they might have used to find him.  "Should have searched the fox too" he sighed.  He ditched the van in the next town big enough to have a bus station, after carefully wiping his pawprints from it.  He left he keys in the van, in the hopes that someone else would make it even more difficult to trace his route through there.  The bus ride was uneventful, and the next night, he walked several miles out into the country, and then several miles into the woods, in the hopes of truly confusing anyone who might be searching for him.  Reclining in the crotch of a tree, he spent half the night watching, and did not get much sleep.  And it turned out, it was just as well he didn’t, either. 

It was early in the morning, before what some call "false dawn," when he heard the movement through the underbrush.  Lions have good night vision, and his remaining eye detected four forms moving towards him.  As they drew closer, he shook his head in amazement; they were dressed like action adventure movie Ninjas, black masks and all.  He couldn’t see the throwing stars or samurai swords but wouldn’t have been surprised had they been there.  Whoever they were, they were NOT used to moving in the woods; they were making much too much noise.  "Urban Ninjas" John chuckled to himself as he fished in his carryall for the shock stick he’d appropriated, and a coil of light line.  The Ninjas, obviously under the direction of one of their number, slowly made their way to the base of the tree he was camped out in.  One of them actually scratched his head, as they looked around, obviously looking for him. 

John didn’t give them much time to puzzle out where he was.  He turned on the shock stick, and then started lowering it with the line, swinging it back and forth as it descended.  He’d been trying to hit the neck of one of the ninjas, but the stick bounced off his shoulder instead.  Whatever the black outfit he was wearing was made of, it didn’t do much to insulate him, as he promptly dropped to the floor of the forest, with a strangled howl. 

His three remaining accomplices turned to look at him in wonder and surprise, each adopting a different posture of defense.  As they stood, looking for the foe that had dropped one of their number, John managed to swing the shock stick into one of the others.  That one too gave a shriek and dropped, stunned into immobility.  However the swinging shock stick had been seen, and the largest of the remaining ninjas reached out to catch the line, to give it a hard tug. 

John was overbalanced in the tree, leaning way out to try and swing the dangling shock stick around.  The tug on the line toppled him out of the tree.  Fortunately his fall was broken by the ninja that had precipitated his descent.  Even more fortunately, said ninja landed on top of the shock stick, with John being insulated from its debilitating effect by the body of the ninja under him.  John managed to regain his feet, before the remaining ninja could get over his surprise.  John just laughed and shook his head; "Death from above!"  The remaining Ninja, a cheetah, moved with fluid grace, his paws waving before him as he mouthed whatever cries it is that Ninjas make when they’re on the attack.  John for his part, just watched quietly, trying to prepare himself for whatever the Ninja tried.  He was tempted to just pull his pistol, but he remembered the vixen’s comments about it all supposed to be non-lethal. 

Before he could decide on a better course of action, the Cheetah let loose a blood curdling scream and leapt right at him.  John recognized the move from the old Kung Foo movies as the jump sidekick.  And he remembered what his old hand-to-hand instructor had told him.  That maneuver looks great in the movies, but as soon as your feet have left the ground, you’ve gone ballistic.  You can no longer affect the course you’ve chosen...  John chuckled and stepped back, and as the Cheetah sailed passed, still screaming his war cry, John decked him with a roundhouse.  The cheetah collapsed in a heap on one of his comrades. 

John collected his carryall, and made tracks, not knowing how long it would be before the ninjas woke up.  He knew that against four of them, he would have to either surrender the package, or use his pistol, and he didn’t want to do either. 

 A muskrat farmer in an old stake bed truck gave him a ride later that morning, dropping him off at the outskirts of a medium sized town.  As he rode in the old truck, he realized that he should have searched the ninjas for whatever means they were tracking him by.  Had they used an infra red detector in an aircraft or even a satellite to watch for his heat signature in the forest?  Had someone planted a radio transmitter on him?  They both seemed so improbable.  After leaving the farmer and his truck, he caught a cab to the local airport, a small affair that had about three commuter flights a day pass through.  He’d entered the lobby, and had spotted his destination, the rental car agency counter.  Thinking that he looked a little rough, he decided to hit the restroom first and clean up some. 

He saw the door open, and the ferret walk in.  There was something about the way he moved that rang alarm bells in John’s head.  Slipping his paw into his tunic pocket, he withdrew the aerosol can that he’d appropriated from the vixen.  He caught the motion from the corner of his eye, the ferret slipping something from under his jacket, and as he turned, he sidestepped.  The taser dart missed him by inches, passing between his right arm and body, to sail through the toilet stall door behind him, just as it opened.  The middle aged cougar let out a howl as the dart buried itself in his chest, looking like a particularly strange tietack.  The electrical jolt knocked him back onto the toilet where he slumped, unconcious.  The ferret’s face registered surprise, and he twitched the taser to the right a bit, preparing to shoot the second dart at the lion.  John brought up the spray can and let him have it right in the face; however, all the ferret did was cough, his eyes going closed tight.  John had seen the label on the can ; it was an upscale brand of hairspray, and he had assumed it was just camouflage.  Suddenly wondered if he had made an invalid assumption.  With a shug, he brought the side of the can down against the coughing ferret’s neck, and then watched as he slumped to the floor.  With a sigh, the lion heaved the now rather sticky ferret into the adjacent stall and closed the door.  There were no other interruptions as he made his way to the rental car counter and he rented the largest car they had available, what they laughingly called an "intermediate."  He barely fit. 

His maps were the best he could buy, and some of the roads he took weren’t on the more commonly available maps.  Most didn’t have names, and few were paved.  Still, he was making progress, tracking in towards the city of his destination.  He’d pulled onto a paved road, still fairly far out in the country, but too close to the city for the agricultural roads he’d been using, when he spotted trouble coming.  It was a powerful sedan, the obligatory black, with two hulking figures glimpsed dimly behind the tinted glass.  He hoped optimistically that they’d just pass him, and sure enough they pulled alongside...  he was ready when they veered to the right, and as he stood on the brake, the sedan wound up in front of him.  Of course, they too stood on the brake, trying to make him hit them, probably knowing that the back of their car was much less vulnerable than the front of his.  John, however, swung around to the left, and stomped on the gas, and it was only the element of surprise that let him pass his pursuers.  As they sped in pursuit,  it was his turn to stand on the brakes again, braced for the resulting collision.  "There goes my damage deposit" he sighed as he watched the trunk buckle upwards from the impact.  However when the vehicles separated, he was pleased to note a trickle of steam coming from the sedan’s radiator.  Now all he had to do was to stay ahead of them, and eventually, their radiator would overheat. 

The duo in the sedan were in no mood to quietly knuckle under, though, and they accelerated, plowing into his car again, almost knocking him off the road.  As he saw them accelerate again, attempting to ram, he pulled off onto the shoulder, slamming on the brakes.  He grinned as they sailed on ahead, failing to negotiate the curve in the road, tearing through about 30 meters of grass, and plowing into a shallow pond.  Pulling his car back onto the road, he grinned and waved as the two, a Wolf and what appeared to be a Rhino, pulled themselves out of the windows of their half submerged car. 

He got quite a few strange looks as he drove into the city, following an almost random route, making unusual turns, sometimes even U-turns.   As he had driven into the city, he’d wondered if the package he was carrying was the means by which he was being tracked.  Did it contain some weird radioisotope that could be detected?  Stopping at a hardware store he spotted, he purchased a small steel storage box, and put the package in it, surrounded by a layer of potting soil.  More radiation he did NOT need...  Pulling back into traffic, he lamented the fact that it was past rush-hour, and getting dark, but he was also getting close to his destination...  He was way past hungry, quite thirsty and getting very irritable.  State secrets he could understand.  Defense industry plans, or super-secret gizmos, sure.  But was he REALLY going through all this for next season’s cologne?  Absurd. 

He was fuming, when he picked up the lights in his rear-view mirror.  They’d followed him through the last three turns.  They’d found him again.  How, he still didn’t know.  But he was getting real tired of this... 

He took a quick look at his map.  There were no good prospects for making sudden turns, quick dodges, or anything else he’d ever seen in any action/adventure film.  He was very tempted to just stop his car, get out and at gunpoint ask the driver of the car following him just what the HELL he thought he was doing?  With a shrug, though, he decided that he really didn’t want to change the rules of a "game" that to this point had been non-violent.  The only thing left to do would be to make a mad dash for his destination.. 

He ran the red light, to the outrage of several motorists, their ire only increased when the car behind him sped up and also ran the red light.  He took several quick turns, not shaking them, but at least getting closer to his destination.  As he passed through one intersection, he glimpsed another dark sedan coming from his right, and it swung in behind him.  As he drove, paws TIGHT on the wheel, he couldn’t help whistling "I love a parade", as another vehicle, an unmarked white van, joined in behind the two dark sedans. 

He looked at the piece of paper in one paw, and at the decreasing building numbers, as he sped down 32nd street.  "Getting close" he chuckled to himself.  Then he saw it; all glittering chrome and steel and glass.  The building was huge, and the sign out front proclaimed "tarsong Inc."  John shook his head as he recognized it as one of the larger, more expensive cosmetic houses.  With his mane, he usually bought shampoo in bulk, whatever happened to be on sale in the giant economy size.  Starsong catered to those who cared a great deal more about their appearance, and to the best of his knowledge, he’d never bought any of their upscale products. 

He was headed for the front door of the building, intending to cross the sidewalk, and drive across the small square in front of their entrance, to stop immediately in front of the door, but another vehicle, speeding across his bow made him swerve.  He collided with the rear of that vehicle, the resulting collision causing his car to go straight through the front door of Starsong Inc., in a shower of glass. 

Alarms rang, and angry security furrs came running.  The door security type, a uniformed coyote, sat frozen behind his desk, a look of shock and disbelief on his face as John slowly extracted himself from what was left of his car not three feet away. 

Pistol in hand, John turned and picking his way through the glass, roughly dragged the driver of the vehicle that had spoiled his plans from the wreckage.  He wasn’t surprised to find it was the same lady fox he’d run across before.  Holding her by the scruff of her neck, he returned to the lobby of Starsong, the look on his face making the assembled security guards take a step back.  They were rescued by the arrival of the Weasel, from one of the executive elevators.  Still dressed in a fancy suit, the weasel looked about at the wreckage, at John, and at the vixen in his grasp.  "What have you DONE?" he gasped.  "And what are you doing with HER?" 

John released the dazed vixen, letting her fall to the floor as he reached into his rental car, to extract the steel box containing the package.  As he handed the amazed weasel the package, he said; "She’s employed by your competitors to try and steal the package.  Thought you might want to know who she was, to keep an eye out for her in the future.  Maybe you’d like to press charges?"  The weasel tossed the package casually on top of the security desk, and bent to help the vixen to her feet; "of course she is.  In fact, she’s the head of such operations for Marquee Ltd., my opposite number!"  Turning to the vixen, he asked; "Alexandria, Dear, are you all right?"  She shook her head; "Yes, William, I am, but tell me, Dear, what did you tell this clown when you hired him?  He almost killed poor Rupert!"  The weasel looked around, the façade of the building shattered, the rental car sitting in the middle of the lobby, both ends crumpled, the vixen’s dark sedan almost embedded in one wall with its trunk crumpled, and shook his head; "I didn’t explain, as I HONESTLY thought he wouldn’t get a mile before you took the package from him." 

John let out a "HUH?" And the weasel looked at him a little sheepishly; "you were always the decoy.  The real package went by parcel post, mixed in with a thousand other nondescript packages.  Its much safer that way.  There was a homing device in the package I gave you, ostensibly so that we could track your progress and "make sure" it wasn’t stolen.  You were actually supposed to have it stolen, the misleading information keeping the competition busy and diverted until we could finish the development of our new line." 

John sagged against the remains of his rental car and shook his head;  "you know, you might have told me".. it would have made it all go a heck of a lot easier!"  The weasel just shrugged. 

The vixen was good to her word, seeing to it that John’s expense account was paid for, including the damage to the rental car.  The Weasel paid the remaining part of his fee, and even put him up in a nearby hotel, where they had a block of rooms reserved.  All parties agreed that it would be prudent if John went back to the work he was more used to; None of them seemed to be able to stand the strain of him doing this kind of work.... 

John was sitting in the patio bar of the hotel.  He’d had a shower, and 12 hours of uninterrupted sleep (even if he was tempted to sleep on the floor again, with the mattress wrapped around him).  The concierge had even had his clothes cleaned and pressed.  He’d had one good stiff drink and was working on another, when a voice purrrred in his ear; "Say, are you that courier the whole company is buzzing about?"  John looked up, to see a slim cheetah fem smiling down at him.  She looked vaguely familiar, and then it hit him; he’d seen her face, or more accurately, her body on the cover of magazines; the ones he glanced at while waiting in the market check-out lines...  "Uh, yes, I’m afraid I am" he rumbled.  The cheetah fem purrred; "we’ve heard so many stories about what happened; it all sounds so wild and exciting.  Uh, I’m due for the photo shoot right now, but when I’m done, could you tell the story to me and the girls?  I’m sure we’d all be MOST interested."  John grinned; "Why I’d be delighted to.  In fact, I’m still on the expense account; why don’t you and the girls join me for dinner?"  She smiled and nodded and in response to a shout from down by the fountain, trotted off, waving. 

The hotel’s restaurant had "closed" a half hour before, and the four of them were the last "patrons" there.  The staff, however, were fawning over the ladies, and apparently were in no hurry to chase them out.  The Cheetah fem, by the name of Claudia, had been joined by a blond Mink by the name of Patricia, and a lady skunk by the name of Kiana.  John had regaled them with his tale of the "mission", from the seedy waterfront bar to the car chase, and they had listened enraptured.  As the conversation turned to more mundane things he’d listened as they talked about the photo shoot, the producers and the photographers, and the others in their business.  He in turn had told them about the Waterwings resort and his schooner, which they also found exotic and interesting. 

As promised, John picked up the bill, charging it to his room.  He knew that whether it went on his expense account, or the ladies, the same firm would pay it, but the ladies seemed to appreciate it.  He was quite surprised when Kiana invited him up to her room, with the others for a nightcap, and it was an offer he couldn’t resist.  In the course of the evening, they found out what made the lion roar. 

It was near morning when Claudia, who’s head was resting on his stomach, idly traced the length of a scar along his side with a fingertip; "and how’d you get this one?"  John looked down at himself, "Um, the Cambardia incursion, I think.  We got ambushed and this little rat came out of the bushes with a bayonette...  Patricia stroked the edge of his left ear and purrrred; "A scar like that would be the end of a career in a business like ours, and yet they seem to be a routine part of yours...." John just chuckled; "The roadmap by which you can measure my life, trace my history.  Each scar tells a story, and is a souvenier, of good times and bad."  Kiana smiled; "you sure have seen a lot of interesting places in your life, done a lot of exciting things too..."  John just chuckled and turned to kiss her; "that particular experience I could have done without.  Bet the rat could have done without it too."  Kiana eeped and rolled backwards, John’s body moving on top of hers, as Patricia and Claudia giggled.  Kiana Mmmmmmmmed and chuckled; "ah, but I love the tricks you’ve learned... show me again?  What was it called?  The Jade Passion?"  John just purrred. 

He’d been back for a week, the routine of the Schooner seeming much less boring.  He’d made a run to Bibbity Bay, helped some guests catch a Marlin, and in short, had gotten back into the routine of things.  Somehow even scraping rust didn’t seem so bad.  It was a quiet afternoon, and he was enjoying a cold one on the porch of the main lodge, while talking to the White Tiger. 

James shook his head; "you honestly can’t expect me to believe that!  Oh, I can believe the fact that you trashed a hotel room, hitchhiked across country, and even wrecked your rental car.  I might, just might believe that you delivered your package, but there is NO WAY that I’ll believe you not only met, but made love to those three models!  Its such an absolutely Adolescent fantasy!"  John just shrugged and turned to watch Kari’s seaplane as it kissed the blue waters of the lagoon.  "James, I’ve told you the truth, you can believe what you will.  No, I have absolutely no idea what those ladies saw in me, unless they’d decided to try brown bread instead of caviar.  But sometimes it all comes together, and for that one brief instant, life is sweet.  Makes up for all the times I’ve been up to my nose in crap, all the nights I’ve watched my foxhole slowly fill with rainwater, all the times I’ve had leave canceled.  Believe what you will." 

James just shook his head, muttering something about shell-shock leading to delusions.  The two sat in silence, watching the seaplane tie up at the pier.  After a while, the guests started walking towards the lodge, and John made out three figures that looked familiar.  Elbowing James, he pointed.  As the three ladies, already stripped down to just bikinis, climbed the steps to the main lodge’s porch, John set down his drink and rose to give them each a hug hello.  Claudia smiled; "we finished our shoot, and felt we needed a break; your description of this place sounded so yummy, we just had to come see!"  Kiana nodded; "that your schooner over there?  When can you take us sailing?"  And looking to one side, Patricia purrrrred; "and who’s the Tiger?  Friend of yours?  Care to introduce us?"  John just grinned; "Ladies, I’d like you to meet James, the Baron VanAnkat; James, this is Claudia, Kiana and Patricia, some friends of mine...." 

Epilog 

It was several months later.  John had returned from a peaceful trip to the outer islands, and was just finishing tying up the schooner to the dock at waterwings.  As he straightened from adjusting the spring line, he looked up to see a vixen walking down the dock, towards his ship.  She was tall and slim, but well shaped, and was wearing only a pair of rust colored bikini bottoms.  As she drew closer, his eyes narrowed, recognizing that face.  It was the vixen who had pursued him so doggedly on his courier job, the weasel’s opposite number.  What was her name?  Alexandria?  She stopped on the dock, directly opposite him, to stare up at him with a wry smile, her paws on her hips.  John forced a smile to his face, resisting the temptation to look around for ninjas, or other assailants.  "Hello, Alexandria; what brings you out to the islands?" he rumbled.  The vixen smiled; "why you do, of course.  Although I have to admit, I’m enjoying the resort here quite a bit more than I would have expected for a place barely listed in any of the travel guides....  But I really came to talk to you.  The houses will all start working on the new spring line soon, and that will mean another flurry of packages traveling back and forth.  I was wondering if you’d be interested in a... "consulting" position...  I think we all agree that your temperament isn’t quite right for the game we play, but I bet you could come up with some fresh "dirty tricks," both for our couriers, and for our... agents."  John just smiled and nodded his head; "why don’t you come aboard; I suspect there are things we might find, to talk about..."