Furry Folk - Part 6

Jack hits a wall of silence, and makes a terrible mistake.

Jack looked around the club. There was no sign of the cat lady anywhere. Oh well, he thought, easy come, easy go. Cats love to tease dogs. He decided to go back to the quiet room. Maybe she would be there, and if she was not then perhaps he could find out something about the runaway Panda. There was no point staying in the dancing room, the noise was too loud for conversation.

The corridor between the two rooms also boasted doors into the ladies' and gents' toilets. With the various drinks he had already consumed now working their way through him, Jack felt the need to relieve himself. Standing at a urinal beside two other men in furry animal suits, he found himself reflecting once more on the strange world in which he had found himself. The impression was enhanced by the sounds of coupling coming from behind one of the closed doors of the stalls – the noises seemed like they were being made by creatures distinctly less than human, like the people making them had genuinely regressed to a bestial state. Jack tried to take pride in his not having sunk so low just yet, but his mind was still on the cat lady. With a sinking feeling, he realised that for her he could be entirely animal.

The plush room was more animated now, with the seats mostly full of furries engaging in what looked like the most fascinating discussions. Others stood around, chatting away, or perhaps they were flirting. It was hard to tell. Devlin was at least glad that the furries were not all staring at him anymore. Perhaps the cocktails they all seemed to be drinking were making them less interested in eyeing up the new dog in the pack. But there was no sign of the cat-lady.

He made his way to the bar, and ordered another brandy alexander. In for a penny he thought, all thoughts of the terrible effects such a rich drink might have on his digestive system banished to the back of his mind.

"You're new here, aren't you?" said a man in a horse-suit – no, a donkey suit – who had come up to bar to order drinks while he watched the raccoon throw his drink together.

"I am, yes", replied Jack. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well, I couldn't help but see you order that pint. No one drinks pints here, It's not the done thing".

"I see that now. And you, you're a regular?"

"Oh yes, very much so. You never get a night in the Zoo without Old Ned".

"How long have you been coming here?"

"Ah now, that would be telling! But come now, my friend, why not join my table over here? I'll introduce you to the gang".

Why not? thought Jack, walking with the donkey as he carried a tray of cocktails over to a table around which a group of furries were ranged. Two women in what he thought might be guinea-pig suits sitting on a sofa insisted that he squeeze in between them. Their costumes were far less figure-hugging than the cat-lady's (or, at least, he hoped they weren't).

The donkey ran through the names of the two guinea pigs, a cow (who, confusingly, seemed to be male), a rabbit, a horse, another dog, and a man in a rather different catsuit to the cat-lady's. Jack immediately forget all their names, just as he was asked for his. "Fido", he replied. The other dog guffawed. "What a common name!"

Devlin was trying to think of a response more cutting then "Up your lad" when the horse riposted "You can hardly talk, every second dog here is called Bob or Bobby".

"With me Bob is just an abbreviation", retorted the dog, "For I am Bramshaw Bob, gold medal winner at Crufts!" He looked very pleased with himself.

"It's not the quality of your name that counts", interjected the cow sonorously, "but how you build a reputation for yourself. That is something that can only be achieved through continuous hard work and application, something that I am no stranger to. Thus I am well known throughout our circle as a cow of great discernment and wisdom"

"Oh he is a one!" said the Guinea Pig to Jack's right, while the other chuckled in a worrying manner.

"So", said Jack, trying to steer the conversation in directions that he hoped would prove more profitable, "You have all been on the scene a long time? It's my first night here"

"Oh we all know that!" said Bramshaw Bob, "We saw you drinking Guinness!" He said it like it was urine or some other equally foul liquid that no right thinking person would drink in public. Jack found himself taking a real shine to this mutt.

"And we saw you talking to Tiddles", said the horse, with what Jack thought might be an air of innuendo in his voice. "She likes the new ones". This provoked some mirth among the animals.

"So you know her as well?" said Jack.

"Oh we all know her" chipped in Bob. The guinea pigs were in such paroxyms of laughter that Jack felt like he was being put through a mangle.

"I see. I was asking her about an old friend of mine, someone who had first introduced me to… to this whole thing, you know what I mean. Maybe you know her too? She used to tell me about how she would come here, and made it all sound so magical. I used to dream about coming here myself, but wondered if I would ever pluck up the courage to reveal myself as the… as the dog I really am. But now, yes, I have plucked up the courage, and here I am".

"Well done, sir, well done", said the cat, whose accent sounded English. "And is she here, this inspirational old friend of yours?"

"I haven't seen her yet. I don't know if she comes to the club much. It's a long time since we've talked, but I heard she got married – to another of her kind. I think they may spend a lot of time at home together, you know what I mean".

"When I'm at home I like to eat my carrots", the rabbit pipped in helpfully.

"We all have our favourite domestic pursuits", the cow declared, "but the noblest of all activities is industrious labour. I can tell you in a most unequivocal manner, that that is how I spend my time at home – in ceaseless toil, for as the Roman once said, laborare est orare. Not that I am particularly religious, of course, but you will understand the improving nature of my labours".

"I often find that I have to tidy up after you because you've left a terrible mess everywhere" said the rabbit. The cow turned his expressionless face towards his floppy eared friend, and the latter somehow sensed that it was time to be quiet.

"This friend of yours, Fido", said Old Ned, "it is possible we know her, both her and her husband. We animals are a gregarious bunch, mostly, and weddings are a great social occasion for us. What was your friend's name, and do you know what kind of animal she is?"

"Why yes", said Jack, "Her real… her human name is Laura, but I think she said that here she calls herself Miss Cuddlebuns. She's a panda, and I think her husband is called Mr Chubbytail. He's a panda… too".

Jack trailed off in what he was saying, because it seemed to be getting something of a reaction. With the animal suits, he could not read facial expressions, but from body language it was clear that what he had said had caused some upset. The animals went silent, and their plush faces turned blankly to each other. Jack sensed also that some of the furries at the neighbouring tables had gone silent.

"Do you know her? Or her husband?" he gamely continued.

"No, Fido, I can't say I do", replied Old Ned, deliberately. "I know no pandas", concurred the cat. The others seemed uncertain whether it was necessary for them to also confirm their lack of panda acquintance, but then the rabbit threw in a somewhat contrary position.

"I knew a panda once – " he began, before being unsubtly given a dig by the horse. The rabbit lapsed into silence, lowered his head and looked at the ground.

"So, no one knows any pandas?" Jack queried, again.

"We do not know the pandas", replied Bob emphatically. "Let us trouble ourselves no more with this subject. You there, Raccoon!" he called to the bar. "Fetch us more drinks, can't you see we are dying of thirst!"

After that the animals resumed their conversation, largely ignoring Jack and preventing him from questioning them or the rabbit again about the pandas. They did at least throw him another brandy alexander, which he sipped while wondering what it was about the pandas that had made them clam. They knew something, it was obvious, but they were not going to talk. Apart from the rabbit – Jack felt certain that if he got him away from the others he could worm something out of him. But there was no real chance of this happening. At one point the rabbit had to visit the toilet, and Jack took his chance to nip off after him, but the cat and the horse sprang to his side and more or less escorted him too and from the urinal.

The animals did at least keep plying him with drinks, but he knew his investigation waw going nowhere. And there was only so much of the furries' inane converstational one-upmanship that he could take. So he decided to call it quits.

"Well guys", he said, butting into an argument over whether Bob or the horse was the best read of the animals present, "it's been a lovely evening but I am getting a bit puppy tired. I'm heading home to my, eh, kennel. It's been great meeting you all, and I'm sure I'll see you again here real soon".

By this stage, he had had quite a bit too drink, a quantity of alcohol that could only really be identified as too much. He rather staggered towards the door, waving to the animals, missing the rather half-hearted farewells they threw back at him. The bear in the kiosk was still at his honey and did not seem to be aware of him going. Outside, there were some taxis parked in the hotel courtyard. Brilliant. The gorilla-suited bouncers helped him into the back-seat of one and generously buckled up his seatbelt for him. He barked out his address to the driver and the car sped off.

Devlin had a lot to think about. The marked reluctance of the furries to discuss the panda lady or even acknowledge her existence. The cat-lady and her sudden disappearence. In his drunken semi-stupor the events of the evening and the day before all started to merge into each other, and he started imagining the cat-lady showing up in a panda suit in his office, with all the other furries close behind.

He looked out the window, expecting to see the familiar landmarks of the city centre. But he was mistaken, and with a sickening mental thud he was jolted back into semi-sobriety by the realisation that the cab was not heading south into the city, but north – out into the wilds of north county Dublin.

"Hey! This isn’t the way to Rathgar!"

"No, Mr Devlin, it is not" replied the taxi driver, inclining his head slightly so that Jack could see him better. Oh my God, he thought, I'm a fool! Why didn't I see it until now? The taxi driver did not have a human head, or not one that Jack could see - the cab was being driven by a man in a badger suit.

Furry Folk - Part 2

Private detective Jack Devlin has been hired by a man in a panda suit to find his missing wife. Now he is off to the pub.

Devlin's office was on Capel Street, but whenever he felt the call of an early pint he made the trip over to the Palace on Fleet Street. He had tried the Capel Street pubs, but they were not to his taste – they were all either full of skangers or trend people. The Palace was somewhere he found far more congenial. As he came in, he spotted one of his associates drinking on his own at the bar.

"Joe! Story? Pint?" he said, by way of greeting.

"Pint, yeah sure", came the morose reply. "Why not live while we can".

"So, Joe", said Devlin, after placing the order, what has you in the pub so early? Shouldn't you be at work, looking after the administration of the country?"

"Ah, it's all gone to shit, I might as well be here as there".

"Yeah?"

"Jesus Jack, don't you watch the news? The rebels are attacking Athlone. If they take there we're all fucked".

"Athlone? That's a shithole, they're welcome to it".

"That's not really the point – if they take Athlone, there's nowhere else to stop them. They'll be here within the week, and then – ". He made a gesture indicative of a man being hung by his neck until dead.

"Ah now, maybe it won't be that bad. I mean," he continued in an undertone, "they might even be an improvement on the current lot".

"Oh come on, you've seen the pictures from Limerick!"

"Well, yeah, but that's another shithole".

"Well they might think Dublin is another shithole and do the same here! Then we're all fucked! Or at least I am!"

"Well, yeah. So what are you going to do about? Sit here moaning? Wouldn't you be better off, I don't know, signing up with the FCA to do your bit or something?"

Joe paused to take a sip from his newly arrived pint before continuing. "No way, Jack, those poor fuckers won't last a minute, and they'll be the first up against the wall if the rebels get here. No, if Athlone falls, I'm getting the fuck out of here – first train to Belfast".

"I doubt you'll be the only one".

"Jesus, I hadn't thought of it like that! What the fuck am I going to do?"

"Ah, you'll sort something out. Anyway, I've got bigger fish to fry. An interesting case came my way today, you might be able to give me a dig out with it. It all started when this guy in a panda-suit came into my office, and – "

"What's this got to do with me?" interrupted Joe, suspiciously.

"Nothing! Jesus, I just thought that as a man of the world you might have heard something about this kind of thing".

"Well okay, as long as we're clear on one thing, I'm not one of those freaks who dress up in animal costumes. Those people make me sick!"

"I wasn't saying you were".

"Well it sounded to me like you were implying it, and I couldn't let you get away with that. I'm a man, not some perv who likes to dress up as a dog and go round sniffing other people's arses".

"Let it go, Joe, you're protesting too much".

Joe shuffled uncomfortably on his stool. "OK Jack, this Panda, what did he want?"

"His wife had left him. Seemed like she was another panda-suit weirdo too, but she had turned her back on all that. Left her suit behind and everything. He wants me to track her down, so he can give her the big speech, make her come back to him and all that shite".

"I see".

"So, Joe, you are something of a man of the world, and have heard about all kinds of things. I am not for a second suggesting that you are one of these animal suit fruits, but have you ever heard anything about this lot? It's all new to me".

"Well… from what I have heard, they are typically people who live a normal life – what society calls normal anyway – by day, but by night they seize any opportunity to get together with other people who, like them, like to dress up as animals and do animal stuff together".

"What is this all about, Joe? Not that you would have any personal experience, obviously, but from what you have heard, is it all some kind of sex thing? I am having unpleasant visions of a lot of fat middle aged people in animal suits porking away at each other". He shuddered.

"Bring everything down to smut, that's always your way. No, Joe, it's not like that. Or so I have heard. It's a total lifestyle. They engage in the full gamut of interaction with each other. Now, that might include sex, but it's not like it's the central part of what they do, any more than it is in normal life".

"Speak for yourself!", Jack responded, and then wondered if something a bit less flippant would have worked better. "Anyway, from what you are saying, this animal-suit stuff seems to be like, I don't know, fancy dress or something. But this panda-suit guy, he seemed to be living it twenty four seven".

"That, Jack, is the dream of every Furry – that's what they call themselves. Many would live the furry life at home, especially if their spouse is another Furry – it makes it all so much more of a way of life, not just something that people do out in clubs or at parties".

"A pretty weird way of life", retorted Jack, his pint glass now heading for empty.

"Ah yes, of course," replied Joe, before nodding to the bar man for two more pints. "But who are we to judge? Anyway, this Panda fellow you had in your office, he has achieved what so many of his furry friends would dream of – he has the guts to wear his skin wherever he goes, to say to everyone he meets 'I'm a Panda! Have you got a problem with that?'. That would be the greatest thing imaginable… to another Furry, of course".

"Though his wife left him, so maybe it's not that all that great".

"Feh", said Joe, dismissively, "She sounds like a false Furry, some gold digging slut who put on a panda-skin just to leech money off a vulnerable man! Such people are the lowest of the low, Jack. Don't you forget it!"

"Sure, but if it weren't for people like that I'd be out of a job. Anyway, these furry people, where do they get together? Would you have heard this?"

"Well, a lot of it would be at parties in people's houses, but there are some clubs that cater to people of that persuasion. The Pet Shop, the Zoo, Reynard's, they'd be the big ones, and I suppose the Cage would also count. It's for Furries who are into, you know, S & M".

"Bondage Furries, now I've heard it all".

"Oh come on Jack, don't be so narrow-minded! Just as there are normal people who like to be tied over a barrel and mercilessly flogged by women dressed as Ann Doyle, so there are Furries who enjoy being forced to run around mazes or to take part in strange medical experiments. Don't let the minority colour your perception of the whole community!"

"No way, that's not my style Joe, you know it", he replied. And then, in an undertone: "Joe, keep your voice down, walls have ears, you know? This isn't the kind of thing you want too many people to hear you talking about". Jack had started to wonder if the guy in the corner with the sweaty face was only pretending to read his Irish Times. He had the air of someone who liked to earwig on pub conversations, and he seemed to be nursing his pint a bit too much to be the kind of serious drinker you find in a pub in the later part of the afternoon.

"Sure Jack, I get you", Joe responded, in what passed for a whisper.

"One more thing, Joe. From what you're saying, this animal-suit scene seems to be pretty big. From talking to the Panda, I thought it was only a dozen or so fruits getting together once a month or something".

"No Jack, you're wrong. The scene is huge! Furries are everywhere. Anyone you look at, they could be one too! That's the thing with the suits, you never know who that dog or squirrel you're talking to might be in 'real' life. And you never know who might have a furry suit hidden at home".

Jack glanced around the bar, looking at the barmen, the other patrons, and at Mr Sweatyface, imagining them all as people who might like to put on animal suits and secretly get together to do whatever the furry people did. It was a most disturbing thought, and one that made him suddenly feel the need to get out and clear his head.

"Cheers Joe", he said, before knocking back his pint. "Thanks for filling me in on all these furry freaks. I've got to go now, but I'll see you again soon. If you haven't run away to Belfast, obviously".

With that hurried goodbye, he made his way out into the street and started moving through the crowds. It was late on Friday afternoon now, and Temple Bar was already filling up with wankers. He pushed his way through them, determined to punch the face in of any fool who tried to start something. No one was obliging enough to give him an excuse. Devlin continued drifting through the crowds, not really going anywhere in particular. But then that alertness that goes with his profession kicked in, and he realised with a start that the sweaty-faced guy from the Palace was following him. Or at least, he seemed to be following him. It could just be coincidence, of course. Time to check this guy out, thought Devlin.

Trying to look as though he was unaware of his tail, Jack took a roundabout route up to Dame Street and then crossed over and made his way into the maze of side-streets that fill the space between Grafton Street and George's Street. Sweatface was still coming along afterwards, trying far too obviously to look as unobtrusive as possible. Maybe he's the one I'm meant to see, thought Devlin, wondering if maybe there were more subtle tails marking his course through the city. Somewhat unlikely, he reckoned, but there was only one way to find out. Devlin ducked up Andrew's Lane, and past the theatre and hid in the bend of the roadway there. No one around, good. He pretended to fiddle with his mobile phone, so he would look that bit less suspicious to anyone who spotted him.

Soon enough he heard footsteps coming along the way he had just travelled, and then Sweatface came round the corner, his faux nonchalance turning into dismay when he realised that his target was right there in front of him. His dismay multiplied when Devlin grabbed his jacket and slammed him roughly against the theatre's wall.

"Right, fucko, what's going on here? Why are you following me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about – ow!"

Devlin had slammed him against the wall again. "Cut the crap! Don't try to play me for a fool!" He shook Sweatface roughly one more time, realising that this guy was plainly not used to rough stuff.

"Ow! Stop hurting me! Alright, I was following you… I wanted to warn you! I heard you in the Palace, and you need to be careful – you are getting involved with things you don't understand!"

"Stop giving me the conspiracy theory bollocks and tell me what you're on about!" Devlin slammed the increasingly sweat-faced man against the wall, one more time, not so much because he reckoned it would make him talk, but because it was fun.

"Ow! It's the Furries! I heard you talking about them. They're dangerous – they don't like outsiders poking around in their business, and they'll do anything to stop their secrets getting out. Be careful, for the love of God!"

"So you're saying I should watch out for a load of freaks in bunny costumes?"

"Yes! yes! Believe me – I know what I'm talking about!"

"And how would that be?" said Devlin, getting ready to slam the sweat-faced sap against the wall again. But before he could do so, he heard the sound of heavy footsteps from around the corner and a distinctive broad accent calling out:

"What's goin' on there now?"

The Guards! The last thing Devlin needed was trouble from those clowns. He flung the snivelling wretch down to the ground and sprinted off as fast as he could, hoping that the man he had been questioning would not feel like telling tales, and that if he did he hadn't caught his name in the Palace.

There is an art to running away, especially from people who have not seen you and do not know what you look like. Devlin was practiced in that art. Once he had rounded another corner he ducked down into another alleyway, came out onto another street, and then assumed the kind of ambling pace that someone out for an after-work stroll might adopt. He became the very picture of innocence. He walked around aimlessly for a bit, stopping in a shop for a packet of crisps, and then when the coast seemed definitely clear he made his way home.

There was a thick, hand-delivered envelope waiting for him in his post-box. He opened it up, to find a couple of wads of money – €50 bills, no less – and a note.

"Dear Mr Devlin. Today you can expect a man in a panda-suit to visit your office, attempting to engage your services. He is not what he seems. Do not take him on as a client. Let Laura have her freedom. As compensation for losing this business, please accept the enclosed monies as a token of our appreciation."

Devlin had not checked the post-box on the way out, so the note could have been there this morning. Reflecting that they had not left a return address, Devlin scrunched the note into his pocket and trousered the cash. He did not count the money, but it had to be a couple of grand's worth. The case was becoming even more bizarre than it had appeared when Mr Chubbytail walked into his office, but whatever happened, he had taken on the case and was bound to the Panda by a commercial relationship. He could not back out now.

Furry Folk - Part 1

What the hell. I have decided to post my NaNoWriMo thing here, in instalments. The worst that can happen is public humiliation. Anyway, it is going to appear here at the same rate I wrote it, typos and all, but only for a limited period of time.

Here's part one, written on the 1st of November.

Jack Devlin was drunk. When some people get drunk, they become violent, combative, and argumentative. Jack, though, just became talkative and over-friendly.

"So yeah, how is business going for you at the moment?"

"It has been better", replied his taxi driver. "People do not take so many cab trips now".

"Yeah yeah, the economic situation. It's not holding me back! I've just closed a big case. I'm a private investigator, you know? It's not as exciting as it sounds, all insurance scams and taking money from saps whose wife is getting it on with their best friend. It was a bit of that this time. This guy, he thought his wife was seeing someone else… turned out she was seeing half of Dublin. Jesus, I might be in with a chance with her myself. She's a really fine looking woman… great pair of tubridies… ". He trailed off in silent contemplation. And then: "Maybe I should give her a ring – I've got her number!"

The taxi driver made no reply while Devlin fumbled for his mobile and keyed in the numbers. The phone went straight to voicemail, unsurprisingly given the lateness of the hour.

"Hi! Yeah, how are you? Listen, you don't know me, but I was wondering if you might fancy meeting up for a meal or a drink or something, taking it from there, you know, seeing where it goes. The Korean places on Parnell Street, they're good crack, not too expensive, and you can do a it of karaoke afterwards, puts you in an excitable frame of mind, see what happens… what do you – ".

The voicemail's closing beep cut him off. Devlin started to imagine the woman disrobing in front of him, but then he remembered where he was and started to engage the taxi driver again.

"Hey, have you ever seen Taxi Driver? I've always wondered whether you guys watch it".

"Oh yes, it is very good. That Danny De Vito, he is a very funny man".

"I think that's the TV series you're thinking of. I mean the film, with Robet De Niro. You know, 'Are you talkin' to me?' and all that".

"Is Marilou Henner in it? She is very beautiful lady".

"No, but they had yer one from Moonlighting. But the film isn't the same, it's about this guy who drives taxis, and he is a Vietnam vet, and he turns into a bit of a psycho".

"That does not sound as good as the TV programme. It was very popular in my country. Seeing it made me decide to come here and become a taxi driver".

"But it's set in New York…"

"It's all the same".

Devlin looked out the window. Where was he? How long had he been in this cab? Where was he going?

"Eh, is this the way to Rathgar?"

"Ah yes, short cut, avoiding congestion".

A few minutes later Devlin was outside his apartment building. Thirty five Euro seemed a bit steep for the fare, though he was not really in a position to argue.

There was a guy in a white tracksuit and a shifty looking moustache loitering near the front door of Devlin's apartment, who now started trying to engage him in conversation. Devlin ignored him, opening the door as quickly as he could, tense in case he would suddenly have to fight for his life. "Here bud! Come here! I got something for you, Mr Devlin", but the slamming of the door drowned out his words. Devlin found himself wondering how the skanger knew his name, but did not dwell on this mystery. His bed was calling him, and that is where he soon found himself.

Devlin slept late the next day. After a leisurely breakfast he rolled into the office, said hello to his floor's receptionist and buried himself in some of the paperwork he needed to catch up on. Distraction soon set in, and he found himself checking webmail and reigniting a frank online discussion on the relative merits of the different Indiana Jones films. And then his phone rang, he answered a call from his receptionist, and his day changed course alarmingly.

"Mr Devlin, there's a… a Panda here to see you", said his receptionist.

"A Panda, Jane?"

"Well, not an actual Panda. That would be weird. What I mean is, there is a guy in a panda-suit here to see you."

"OK, it takes all sorts, show the fucker in".

And so Devlin found himself ushering a somewhat chubby looking man in a panda-suit into his office. "Please do not take offense, Mr Devlin, if I decline to shake your hand", began the visitor, speaking in a deliberate and distinguished voice that suggested time spent studying art history in Trinity College Dublin. "Incorrect assumptions about pandas abound in this age of debased culture, and one of the most pernicious is that pandas crave nothing more than physical contact with complete strangers. Hence the propensity for people to try to give me hugs" (at this he shuddered) "when we have barely been introduced. The truth is, Mr Devlin, that I loathe physical contact of any sort with any but my own kind, and even then only after a long and extensive courtship. Even a touch of the hand is something that I find rather disgusting, especially with a – with a person such as yourself".

"Sure, sure, no hand-shakes, I get the idea", said Devlin as he ushered the Panda into a seat into which he was barely able to squeeze. "So, what can I do for you, Mr…? Someone been at your bamboo?"

"Very droll, Mr Devlin, I see your reputation as something of a humorist is well deserved. I am not, however, in a situation where jokes are of much assistance. And you can call me Mr Chubbytail".

"I take it that's not the name on your birth cert?"

"No sir, it is not, but if you are asking whether it is my real name then I can assure you that it is. I changed my name by deed poll five years ago when I adopted this persona. Mr Chubbytail is the only name by which I am known".

"No first name?"

"I have no need of such a thing. In formal situations Mr Chubbytail is perfectly appropriate, while in more intimate company the mister can be dropped and I become simply Chubbytail. But, Mr Devlin, this is not an intimate encounter, and all this talk is taking time away from more important matters".

"Sure, you'll have to forgive me if my normal professionalism lapses. I've never had a guy in a panda-suit in my office before, so – "

"Mr Devlin", interrupted Mr Chubbytail icily, "Please do not under any circumstances ever refer to my skin as a panda-suit. It is not something I take off and put on at will, but an intrinsic part of what I am".

"Sorry! Jesus, look, this is all new to me, don't take it the wrong way if I make a wrong step. Let's start again. What has led to you requiring the services of a private investigator, and what has brought you to me?"

"Well Mr Devlin, I can answer the second part first. I was given your name by an associate, who recommended you as someone who can deal with the most sensitive matters with the necessary tact and discretion. He warned me of your less appealing personal qualities, but he made clear that you were the kind of fellow who can accomplish wonders, and all at a highly competitive price".

"I aim to please".

"And as to what brings me here – well surely you can guess. I mentioned that I loathe physical contact with any save my own kind, and even then a courtship that your sort would find unacceptably lengthy is necessary. Now, after years of disappointment, I had found a mate, a most delightful lady Panda called Miss Cuddlebuns. The more we came to know each other, the more in love we grew. Last year we took the logical next step – Miss Cuddlebuns became Mrs Chubbytail. Yes, Mr Devlin, we got married. Marriage is not just for your kind, but for ours as well".

"Well, I've no problem with that, take love where you find it and all that".

"My mate and I set up home together. Our life was one of unremitting joy. We looked forward to the day when we would be blessed with offspring, when our house would echo to the sounds of little Panda cubs gambolling around. But that… that was then. Things are different now". A hesitation crept into his voice, but he forced himself to continue.

"Last Tuesday, I arrived home from the office to find that my wife had gone. She had left me a note – and her skin. Mr Devlin, she is a Panda no more".

"I see. Do you have the note with you?"

Mr Chubbytail's suit seemed to come equipped with pockets, and from one of these he produced a piece of paper and began to read. "'My dear husband. This is the hardest letter I will ever have to write. I love you, and I always will, but all this time I have been with you, I have been living a lie. I have tried to deny it, but I can do so no longer. Chubbytail, I am not really a Panda'", and at this a choking quality came into the Panda's voice, as his black-eared head slouched forward. "'I am a human being. I belong with my own kind. I must leave you now. We must never see each other again. I hope one day you will find yourself a good lady Panda, god knows you deserve it. Yours with eternal affection, Laura'. Do you see Mr Devlin, she didn't even sign the letter with her real name?"

At this Mr Chubbytail broke down into tears, sobs causing his black and white frame to convulse. Devlin jumped up and was about to give him a reassuring hug when he remembered Mr Chubbytail's aversion to physical contact. Another tack was called for, so he ran over to the filing cabinet and produced bottle of cheap Irish whisky. "There there Mr Chubbytail, how about a glass of Paddy to cheer you up?"

"Thank you Mr Devlin, you are too kind", sobbed Mr Chubbytail. "But I never drink alcoholic beverages".

"Come on, just this once, it's not every day a man, eh a Panda loses his wife" he said, forcing a well-filled glass into Mr Chubbytail's paw, albeit with the minimum possible amount of skin-fur contact. "Look, I'm going to have one myself, don't make me look like the kind of guy who drinks on his own like a sad alcoholic".

"Alright Mr Devlin, I will take a couple of sips", said Mr Chubbytail, bringing the glass up to the suit's mouth, where a small aperture allowed it access to the human mouth behind.

"Now Mr Chubbytail, tell me, where do I come into all this?"

"Well Mr Devlin", he said, with composure returning to his voice, "I want you to find my Cuddlebuns. I need to talk to her again. If I can speak to her one more time, then I am sure that I can persuade her of the error of her ways. Mr Devlin, what she said in that note is just not true – she is a Panda, through and through. She can never be happy in the human world".

"Mr Chubbytail, I am happy to take this job, but I have to warn you – you are probably setting yourself up for a big disappointment. You may be the first Panda to come into this office, but I've seen a lot of husbands whose wives have done a bunk, and they always think they can make them come back. They can't. When a woman walks, she's gone".

"But my Cuddlebuns is not a woman, Mr Devlin – she's a Panda".

"I'm not sure if that makes a big difference, but look, I've tried telling you, my ethical duty is done. So now let's get on with things. Have you any idea where your wife might have gone?"

"No, Mr Devlin. She is in the world of humans now. Your world. That is why I am hiring you to find her".

"I see. Well, can you tell me anything about her background, or even her real name – I mean her name before she became Miss Cuddlebuns?"

"I cannot, Mr Devlin, save that the note reveals that her former first name was Laura. She was already Miss Cuddlebuns when we met".

"Is that the name on her marriage certificate?"

"Mr Devlin, we did not marry in one of your churches, or in a registry office for your kind. We married in a ceremony before those who share our persuasion, and yes, I can assure that Miss Cuddlebuns was recorded there as her name before marriage".

"I see. But can you tell me where and when did you meet?"

"Five years ago, Mr Devlin. We met at the Zoological Club, known somewhat more informally as the Zoo. It is a convivial environment where our kind meet and relax together, away from… your sort. I say that without meaning to give offence, Mr Devlin. I am sure your kind are happy in their own way, but we are always happier without the snide glances of the furless. That is why we seek out our own exclusive company, wherever and whenever possible".

"So, a whole club full of Pandas?"

"Not all Pandas, Mr Devlin, not all Pandas. All kinds of furry creatures frequent the Zoological Club. The venue opens its doors to all who are blessed with a body covered completely in thick hair".

Devlin wondered if his ex-girlfriend had heard of this place, she would fit right in. "I see, Mr Chubbytail. I think this is going to be a bit difficult. But tell me, do you have any pictures of your wife?"

"Why yes, of course", said Mr Chubbytail as he produced some photographs from another of his pockets.

"Ah, I meant photos of her not wearing the, ah skin, whatever you call it".

"Mr Devlin, what do you take me for?" replied the Panda, with a hurt expression. "I am not the kind of person who is interested in taking obscene photographs of his loved ones. That kind of sordid smuttiness disgusts me". He shuddered.

"Fair enough", said Devlin. "I thought maybe she could have some photos from before she had become a Panda, or… whatever. This is not giving me much to go on. Does she have a mobile phone?"

The Panda wrote down a number on a piece of paper and handed it to Devlin. "I have tried telephoning her, but the phone seems to be switched off".

"Well I don't know, Mr Chubbytail, this all does not give me much to go on. I will see what I can find and come back to you in a week. If the trail is cold, I won't take your money any further, but if the leads are going somewhere you can decide how you want to play it. Speaking of money, there is the small matter of my remuneration…"

That led to a brief discussion of payment rates and expenses, after which a short document was signed. Devlin then walked the Panda back to the lift, promising to do his best to find his wife.

"I have complete faith in you, Mr Devlin. You cannot fail. I must speak to my wife again. Deep down inside I know one thing – that Miss Cuddlebuns misses her Chubbytail".

"I'm sure she does", replied Devlin waving his client into the lift. Strolling back into the reception area he came across Jane reading some celebrity scandal sheet. "It takes all sorts, eh Jane?" he said by way of a conversational opener.

"Yeah? Oh you mean the panda? Yeah, I suppose it does".

Devlin went left her to her reading and went back into his office. How the hell was he going to get anywhere with this case? While helping himself to another whisky, he checked his mobile for messages. Someone he didn't know had texted him.

"SCREW U ASSHOL U TINK U R BIG MAN HOW BIG U B WHEN I CUT UR DICK OF N FEED 2 UR DOG?"

"Charming", thought Devlin. Then he remembered that he didn't have a dog. What was this all about? Probably one of the lads playing some kind of prank.

"FUKC YOPU CNUTY UR GAY" he texted back. That made him feel better. Then he decided he had been in work for long enough and headed out to the pub.