As Perry started the engine, Kev couldn't help but feel a pang of curiosity. "Do you know what Talon's doing?" he asked.
Fang shook his head, his expression unreadable. "Lawyers are personal business, Kev," he replied, his tone firm. "If he wants you to know, he'll tell you."
A few minutes later, Talon emerged from the office building, his expression carefully neutral. He slid into the front passenger seat, and Perry pulled out into the bustling city traffic.
"My apologies for the delay, Mr. Fang," Talon said, his voice a low rasp. "It seems Mr. Bozeman simply wanted to apologize to me, regarding you."
Fang raised an eyebrow, catching Talon's eye in the rear-view mirror. "Apologize?..." he inquired.
"He... didn't realize I work for you, Mr. Fang," Talon explained. "He was... surprised to see me."
Fang's lips curled into a knowing grin. "I see," he purred, his amusement evident.
The car navigated through the city, leaving the bustling downtown area behind. The scenery shifted, the sleek skyscrapers and vibrant lights giving way to a more industrial landscape. Warehouses and factories lined the streets, their imposing structures casting long shadows in the twilight.
"Are you sure about the address, Mr. Fang?" Perry inquired, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "This area seems... industrial."
Fang, his gaze fixed on the GPS display, nodded confidently. "Ralph said this was the address," he replied, his voice a low rumble. "He wouldn't steer us wrong."
Perry, though still skeptical, continued driving, his sharp eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. Kev, his curiosity piqued, peered out the window, taking in the sights. Large pumps, towering cranes, and rows of garage doors painted a picture of a district dedicated to utilities.
As they rounded a corner, a line of cars came into view, their headlights illuminating the road ahead. Kev could see a cluster of lights in the distance, a beacon of activity in the otherwise quiet industrial zone.
The car eased into the line, joining the procession of vehicles slowly snaking their way towards the illuminated destination. Dale, his curiosity piqued, leaned forward from the backseat. "Is this duck that popular?" he asked, his voice a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Better be a nice club."
"He learned from the best," Fang replied.
"His restaurant, with the glass floors and the amazing view, was really nice," Kev chimed in, a fond smile playing on his lips. "The way you could look down and watch the cooks at work was really cool."
Dale laughed. "Yeah, and they get to look up at the asses of the folks they're making food for," he retorted with a mischievous grin. "I prefer things eye-to-eye, myself."
Kev's cheeks flushed slightly, a wave of embarrassment washing over him. He hadn't considered that perspective before.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Perry pulled the car up to the front of the line. The club's facade, bathed in a neon glow, was a stark contrast to the surrounding industrial buildings. A large, garish sign, emblazoned with a stylized sewer rat, proclaimed its name: "The Sewer."
Kev's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "The Sewer?" he echoed, his voice a mix of amusement and disbelief. "That's... an interesting name."
Fang's face twisted into a scowl as he read the garish sign. "What the hell is this, Ralph?" he muttered under his breath, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
He stepped out of the car, his imposing figure casting a long shadow in the neon light. Kev and Dale followed suit, Talon trailing silently behind them.
A valet, a sleek ibex man with a charming smile, greeted them at the entrance. "Good evening, Mr. Fang," he purred, his voice a smooth baritone. "Welcome to The Sewer. We've been expecting you."
He spoke into a small radio clipped to his lapel, "the wolf has arrived." Then he announced, "someone will meet you at coat check. Enjoy your evening."
Perry nodded at the valet and drove away, leaving Fang and his entourage standing on the sidewalk.
Fang, his displeasure evident, led Kev and Dale towards the entrance, Talon following in the rear. The heavy metal doors swung open, revealing a dimly lit, smoke-filled interior that pulsed and throbbed. The moment they stepped inside, a cacophony of lights and sounds assaulted their senses. Pulsating electro beats and raucous yells filtered up from a grand staircase that dominated the entrance hall. To their right, a coat check counter, manned by a bored-looking koala, stood bathed in a dim, red glow.
Suddenly, a figure emerged, ascending from the shadows of the stairs, his footsteps quick and light. It was a chipmunk man, dressed in a tailored suit that resembled a plumber's uniform, complete with overalls and a tool belt. He bounded towards them with an energetic grin.
"You must be the famous Fang," he chirped, his voice surprisingly deep for his small stature. "Welcome to the Sewer! I'm the manager, Simon."
Fang nodded, his expression not hiding how uncomfortable he was with the club's theme. "Where's Ralph?" he growled.
"He's in a VIP room downstairs," Simon chirped, gesturing towards the staircase. "Follow me."
They descended the wide concrete steps into the heart of the club, Kev's senses overwhelmed by the unexpected sight. The interior was a stark contrast to anything he had encountered so far. Large concrete structures, tanks, and pumps reminiscent of an industrial warehouse, dominated the space, their rough surfaces adorned with graffiti and neon lights. Water flowed freely through exposed pipes and channels, creating a mesmerizing soundscape of gurgling and rushing currents.
The electric music pulsed through Kev's body, its relentless beat driving the energy of the crowd. Beastmen and beastwomen of all shapes and sizes danced and mingled, their movements a blur of fur, scales, and feathers. Kev, disoriented by the sensory overload, clung to Fang's arm, grateful for his reassuring presence.
They navigated a maze of walkways and bridges, the glass-covered grates beneath their feet offering glimpses of the rushing water below. The bar itself was built into a massive water turbine, light shining up though its spinning blades creating a hypnotic visual effect. Above the bar, a small second floor loomed, its windows shrouded by heavy curtains, hinting at the hidden pleasures that awaited the club's most discerning clientele.
Simon led them up a set of stairs beside the bar and pushed open a heavy door at the top, ushering them into a dimly lit room. The sounds of the club below were muffled, replaced by a soft hum that barely registered.
The room's decor was a stark contrast to the industrial aesthetic of the main club. Rustic wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, while exposed brick walls adorned with vintage photographs and neon signs created an eclectic, almost dive bar vibe. The furniture was a mix of worn leather couches and chairs, their surfaces etched. A large, flat-screen television, muted, displayed the latest news headlines. Large windows, currently shrouded by heavy velvet curtains, offered a bird's-eye view of the bustling club below.
Ralph, the dapper mallard-man, was sprawled on one of the couches, a young lady duck perched on his lap, her beak locked in a passionate kiss with his. The sight brought a blush to Kev's cheeks and a low growl from Fang's throat.
Dale, ever the jester, sauntered into the room with a playful grin. "Well, Ralph," he drawled, his voice a teasing rumble, "who's the little birdie?"
Ralph, startled by the intrusion, tilted his head back over the couch, peering at the newcomers upside down. "Oh, it's you," he said, his voice a slightly muffled quack.
He quickly disentangled himself from the young duck woman and stood up, smoothing his ruffled feathers and straightening his suit jacket.
"You're actually on time," he remarked, a hint of surprise in his voice.
Ralph gestured towards a large, circular table in the center of the room. "Sit, relax," he invited, his voice regaining its usual smoothness.
He then turned to the young duck woman, who was still perched on the arm of the couch. "Donna," he said, his tone professional, "this is Mr. Fang and his guests. Please take their orders."
Donna stood up, smoothing her dress with a practiced gesture. She approached Kev, her gaze lingering on his form with a mix of curiosity and appraisal.
"Human," Kev supplied with a wry smile, anticipating her question.
Donna smiled coyly. "Human, huh?" she echoed, her voice a soft chirp. "Don't think we have that on the menu."
Kev grinned, enjoying the playful banter. "Chicken parm and a… cranberry-vodka will do just fine," he replied, his tone light.
Donna nodded. "Nice cufflinks, human," she complimented, her gaze lingering on the silver wolf teeth that framed the gemstones.
She then moved on to take Fang, Talon, and Dale's orders, her professional demeanor returning as she efficiently jotted down their requests.
As Donna disappeared into the bustling club below, Ralph grabbed his drink from the coffee table and joined the others at the large, round dining table.
"What are you doing here, horse?" he asked Dale with a playful nudge. "Shouldn't you be slinging drinks?"
Dale leaned back in his chair, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "It's my day off, actually," he replied, a wide grin spreading across his face. "I get to do whatever I want."
Ralph chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And you're still getting ridden by Fang? Sounds like a great day off."
"It won't be every time," Dale retorted, his smile unwavering. "But I haven't cooked for ages, and a free meal is always appreciated."
Ralph laughed heartily, his feathers ruffling with amusement. "Kev told me about these days off," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Still blows my mind. So, tell me, what are you going to do on your real day off?"
"Get away from Fang," Dale said with a chuckle.
Fang's ears flattened against his head in mock offense.
Dale continued, oblivious to Fang's reaction, "I'll sleep as late as I want, do my grocery shopping, maybe watch a movie. Might even get a date lined up…" A genuine smile spread across his face. "I'm really looking forward to it."
"You'll get ghosted, buddy," Ralph laughed. "But to be honest, it does sound appealing... How was reworking the bartender's schedules?"
"Wasn't that bad," Dale replied with a shrug. "We train new people all the time. I just pretended Fang had another one of his meltdowns and a lot of the staff walked out again."
Ralph's laughter boomed through the room, a deep, hearty sound that echoed off the exposed brick walls. "Kev, buddy," he said, turning to the human, "tell me more about your idea for the park restaurant, it seems like your ideas have a way of taking off. I have my own vision, but you might have some human perspectives I haven't considered. To be honest, I haven't stopped thinking about it since last night."
Kev paused, taking a sip of his water as he gathered his thoughts. "When I think about it," he began, "it needs to be unobtrusive. Although it's catering to the wealthy who can afford it, we don't want to drastically change how the park operates for everyone else… Maybe the restaurant itself breaks down - tables, chairs, everything packed away - so morning joggers can still use the paths. Or maybe there's no visible security, so anyone can walk through; after all, the park is a public place. We could even build the kitchen on the club's land, with the dining area just beyond in the park itself."
Ralph nodded thoughtfully, stroking his beak with a webbed finger. "I agree that we can't upset the folks who aren't using the restaurant," he said. "The park is a public space, and we need to respect that. However, security is essential. I can't have any incidents tarnishing my reputation or endangering my guests."
He paused, his gaze flickering towards Fang. "When you mentioned the kitchen being on the club's land… now that is an interesting idea," he mused. "It would certainly save a lot of red tape, given the zoning differences between the two properties."
Kev, his imagination ignited, leaned forward eagerly. "I had another wild idea," he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "What if everyone was served on picnic blankets? Total picnic style!"
Ralph burst into laughter, his feathers ruffling with amusement. "No, no, my dear boy," he chuckled. "I don't think the ladies who are all dressed up will want to sit on the ground."
"Some hits, some misses," Ralph conceded, his laughter subsiding. He turned to Fang, a curious glint in his eyes. "Hey, Fang, what are your thoughts on all this?"
Fang stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Your kitchen on my property?..." he considered. "That's Reepia's domain. You know she'd never allow it."
"You're right," Ralph sighed. "Damn that prideful rat."
Kev, intrigued by their exchange, leaned forward. "What's the issue?" he asked. "Why couldn't she run the kitchen?"
"If there's a kitchen operating on club grounds," Fang explained, "Reepia will be head chef, by any means necessary. She's fiercely protective of her territory. I'm not sure if she'd let Ralph even step inside…"
Dale nodded in agreement. "She'd see it as a challenge," he added. "And you know how she feels about challenges."
Kev persisted, "But couldn't she oversee both kitchens? If we ran the kitchen on club property, Ralph could still handle everything else, like the menu and the ambiance, marketing, staff, finances..."
Ralph shook his head. "The kitchen doesn't have the same profit margins as cover fees or the bar, Kev," he explained. "I need to be in control of the entire operation to make it financially viable, to make it soar."
"Why?" Kev questioned, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I don't think it would be challenging to sell her food. You seemed to enjoy the meal she made you last night."
"Her food is exceptional," Ralph conceded, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Her personality, on the other hand..." He trailed off, a knowing smile playing on his beak.
"Are you worried about staffing," Kev questioned, remembering the dedication he'd witnessed in the kitchen during his brief visit. "Her cooks all seem very loyal to her."
Fang nodded in agreement. "They are," he confirmed. "But Reepia is... fiercely independent. She might see this as a chance to catch up to Ralph. He's got two restaurants, two kitchens, after all."
Ralph laughed, a hearty sound that echoed through the room. "You're right, Fang," he admitted, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "But I'll always be one step ahead. If this works out I'll be at two and a half and she'll only be at one and a half."
Donna returned, balancing a tray laden with drinks and food. As she placed the orders on the table, Simon, the manager of the Sewer, leaned forward with a curious glint in his eyes.
"Who's this 'Reepia' broad you keep talking about?" he asked, his voice a mischievous squeak. "She sounds feisty."
Dale laughed. "She'd chew you up and spit you out, chipmunk," he warned, a playful grin on his face.
Simon laughed too, unfazed by the warning. "Who says I wouldn't like that?" he retorted before turning to Ralph, his tone earnest. "Hey, you gotta let me have one of those so-called 'days off' next time you go to the club. I wanna meet her."
Ralph raised his glass in a mock toast. "Why not?" he replied, his voice a smooth quack. "It could be quite the spectacle."
The group settled into their meal, the sounds of conversation and laughter filling the private room.