Junk Food By Lupine (All characters were made up on the spot, and are therefore purely figments of my disturbed imagination) Every city, real or imagined, has its own version of Tiahuanaco Square. Set by freakish accident in the most improbable yet wildly advantageous position in the city, on the sun-facing slope of one of the Twins, with a clear view of Quezatl Harbour, powerful trade winds of profit have drawn commerce from every part of Xochitl city and far beyond. Over countless years and business transactions, the Square has built up as though deposited directly from the gold it generates, and is now the financial heart of the city. But more importantly, what has also built up is its Reputation. To have your office in Tiahuanaco Square is to have Succeeded: corporations dream about it, banks refer to it in hushed and reverential tones. There are some sites in Xochitl that are just as wealthy as The Square, now, but they will never be more than an alternative. No one argues with Tiahuanaco Square. It was Wednesday, and the molten tropical sunlight streamed into the Square as usual. It flared through the vast glazed-glass arches that surrounded the Outer Plaza, and the Great Plaza raised within it, casting brilliant colours and shadows that shifted with the sun, and had become the Square's unofficial clock. Illuminated thus, and adorned with vibrant mosaics, trade boomed as usual in a riot of noise and activity. The light rolled around the tall, steeply stepped pyramid buildings raised around the Plaza on innumerable and unique levels and platforms. Classical architecture was at its finest here, and crystal windows glowed in intricately carved walls cut from jade, garnet, cinnabar, malachite, red serpentine and olivine, quarried from each of the two mountains that Xochitl nestled between. Dense jungle vegetation had reclaimed small cracks and spaces around the buildings, and over generations strange patinas and oxides had whorled the stone surfaces to natures' own designs. Far from provoking outrage, the inhabitants of the Square forcibly forbade restoration, as it only enhanced the beauty of the place. And no one argued with Tiahuanaco Square. The light also illuminated the massive, intricate stone doorway of one of the larger buildings, which perfectly framed a tall, lithe female wolf, dressed incongruously in a pair of thin cotton slacks and a very casual top. Her straight, glossy blonde-grey fur almost glowed with health and vitality, a long mane of it sweeping down one side of her face to her shoulder. Her tawny-gold eyes shone with inner fire. With a whoop of laughter she leapt out of the doorway and danced down the austere flight of steps that led to the Square proper. To most people, this seemingly out-of-place female would appear to be overdoing the good cheer just a tad. But if told they were looking at Alexandra Altiplano, 4th wealthiest business-fur on the continent; youngest furson ever to own a place in the Square, let alone a whole building, and that her profits had just broken the 7 billion mark (and who by the way could afford to wander around the Square naked if she so pleased), many would decide that she was being remarkably restrained about the whole situation. But that wasn't the main reason for her boundless exuberance. It was her day off. She had just popped into the office to give all the staff talking about her behind her back the fright of their lives. The news about her profits she considered a happy bonus. Alexandra was one of these people who could have the time of their lives living in a cardboard box and drinking rainwater out of an old boot. Many observers disliked her because she seemed to be poking fun at the whole situation. When not at work, she slouched around barefoot in old clothes handed down from her family that had repeatedly been patched up, without jewellery or even a mobile phone. She grinned to herself as she reached the Plaza floor, and started to work around the low, richly decorated walls to one of the exits. She was perfectly aware of how people thought she should act, and she also knew exactly what they could do with those thoughts. A great deal of the money she made she immediately reinvested, which was the main reason why she had so much. She had been born into a modest family where money was watched closely, and always put to good use. She saw no difference between then and now, except that now she was able to afford much better quality essentials that in fact lasted much better than the old, so in fact saved her money in not having to buy more. Coming to an inner gate of the Outer Plaza, denoted by a soaring stone arch, she strolled down some more shallow steps and into the broad ring of granite cobbles, past a traditional frieze picked out in amber and topaz. She liked the Outer Plaza, because it was a pleasant mixing point between the Square's wealth and the rest of Xochitl's busy, modern life. Not to get her wrong: she adored the ancient and reserved beauty of the Square, and the purposeful aesthetic it embodied, but she also loved the vibrant immediacy of life that exuded from Downtown. Here she had a sense of both, in some parts warring, in some parts melding together with marvellous simplicity. Alexandra paused as she reached a large open wooden gate, and frowned. This was a part of Xochitl's modern delights that most certainly fell into the 'warring' category: the Tip. Why the city's main inorganic dumping ground had to be in such a prominent position was beyond her normally astute intellect, but she supposed that these things just happened. Like the Square itself. Today the scene was also marred by a black, battered old van parked opposite the gate, with very obvious signs of attempted enhancement. The paint still looked tacky. Normally she wasted no time on this stretch of ground, which even the jungle had given up trying to beautify, with its twisted mounds of metal and plastic, sprawled like ruined termite's nests on a barren and polluted savannah. But today, with nothing more important to occupy her, she felt inclined to be curious. Perhaps the place had a hidden quality that could only be appreciated if it was looked for. She strolled into the gate (after all, it was open), and spent an instructive but messy half an hour poking around. She found an impressively large amount of enigmas and strange artefacts buried in the heaps of rubbish to amuse herself, but any hidden qualities truly were hidden, and hidden deep. The whole place seemed to exude a peculiar odour: a strange mix of old plastic, rust and decaying engine oil. It changed in character around the yard; you could probably navigate by it if you knew it well enough. When she put her foot on a mound to pull something out for inspection, a new scent would puff up around her feet. But what surprised her most was how big it all looked from the inside. Totally unable to see the boundaries of the Tip, she realised that she could quite easily get lost amongst these massive mounds if she were to just blunder about aimlessly. Very much like she had been doing, in fact..... "Hoi!" Alexandra whirled, shading her eyes against the dropping sun. She saw a canine figure on top of one of the heaps, waving at her with both paws. Unsure if this was a knight in shining armour, or just someone who enjoyed hallooing complete strangers for the sheer heck of it, she waved back. The figure vanished as it slid down the heap. After a few minutes, when she was just wondering if the mysterious figure had gotten lost itself trying to find her, it rounded the corner and trotted up breathlessly. 'It' was a large, scruffy male alsation with big paws and ears, wearing a grubby guard uniform consisting of dark blue trousers and jacket, white(ish) open-necked shirt, black boots and belt. A large set of keys dangled noisily from the belt on a chain, as did a torch. On his jacket pocket she noted the city ordinance crest picked out in cheap gold plastic. Her sensitive nostrils picked up a whiff of cheap cologne, obviously an attempt on the dog's part to distinguish himself from the pervasive undertone of rubbish. He was slightly taller than her, at 5 feet 10 inches. Currently he was wheezing, slightly red in the face under his tan-and-coffee-and-black fur, with his large red tongue lolling out. He was also reaching for his wallet, with a hopeful expression on his muzzle. That look fell as he scrutinised her, to be replaced by one of confusion and consternation. "Oh." His paw stopped groping in his pocket. "You aren't the delivery- I mean," he hastily amended himself, straightening up and attempting to assume an air of stern authority, "I'm afraid you're not meant to be in here, miss. This is restricted property." "I know." Alexandra replied with disarming and uncharacteristic meekness, trying not to laugh at this comical apparition. "I was just curious, that's all." She gave the place another look round, just to make her point. "I would have left a while ago, but I'm afraid I've temporarily misplaced myself." She gave him a charming smile. "If you could show me the way out, I'd be most grateful." The alsation had started off by giving her a slightly reproving, if not doubtful look, but during her little speech he had been inspecting her features with a puzzled face. As she approached the end of it, his jaw dropped open, and gave Alexandra the slightly stunned look that she had come to know and dread as 'recognition'. "Miss... Miss Altiplano?" He finally faltered. With a small, resigned sigh, she nodded. She hated this kind of thing. After all, how would they like it if groups of people accosted them in the street, asking for money, for advice, for autographs. Autographs, for goodness sake! The alsation's entire demeanour changed, now all deference and respect. His tongue seemed to have tied itself in knots. "I'm terribly sorry, I- I didn't recognise you. I'm s-sure it would be perfectly ok for you to look around, Miss." She couldn't stop a small smile. She had seen a Tiahuanaco Square reputation work before, and it still never ceased to amaze her. He gulped and finally got a grip on himself, obviously nerving up for something. Finally he blurted out. "I'm one of your best customers!" Alexandra blinked, displaying what on normal people would have been blunt astonishment. This wasn't a part of the script. The guard turned very red. "A-at Omni's Bakery, I mean." He stammered. Light dawned, and Alexandra smiled. Omni's was a chain of bakeries that she had inherited from her father, who had owned the original shop. Under her supervision (and personal baking in the early days) they had expanded and were now worth a bomb, with dozens of outlets across the city. People came especially to Xochitl to visit an Omni's. She was proud of the chain, because it was what had started her on her meteoric success, a fact often ignored by all the high profile biographers and irritating people who considered themselves 'in the know'. That annoyed her, and it was nice to be recognised in connection with Omni's for once. "Thank you. I'm glad you like the products so much." Her wicked sense of humour cut in, and she grinned slyly at him through half closed eyes. "Strange; you don't look like our biggest customer." The alsation turned red from about the knees up, his paws involuntarily resting on the slight paunch that the deliberately loose shirt concealed. He gave her a lopsided grin. "I... hehe... I don't get to visit as often as I'd like, believe me. In fact I was kind of waiting for a delivery from them when I saw you. I just love the biscuits they do." The last he confided to her in an earnest, wistful tone. Alexandra found herself grinning at his slightly puppyish expression, and she held out her paw. "You have me at an advantage, sir." There was an awkward pause before the dog, finally working out his cue, nervously seized her paw with his and shook it. "Ummm... my name's Tyre." Seeing a disbelieving look flit over her expressive features, he rushed on, "No, really, it is." "Ah." Comprehension dawned on Alexandra's countenance once more. "After the old classical city. Pleased to meet you Mr. Tyre." It was the dog's turn to blink, and he gave her a slightly sheepish look. "Umm... actually, just Tyre, Miss Altiplano. You see, I was a foundling at the Old Orphanage: I was discovered in a truck tyre by a skip and taken there, and the name just landed on me." His smile became even more sheepish. "Of course, everyone calls me Truck." "You were abandoned?" Alexandra wasn't smiling any more. Her expression displayed unfeigned shock and sympathy. For once, she floundered for something appropriate to say. She had to settle lamely on, "I'm so sorry." Truck smiled dismissively, pleased at this attention despite himself. "Its nothing: they gave me a good education and roof over my head when I was growing up, and then helped me to land this guard job. And it's a good thing too." Alexandra smiled at him again. "What do you guard against, exactly? Could I have my paw back please?" Truck yelped and dropped it as though it were red hot. He blushed again. "I-I'm terribly sorry, Miss Altiplano. W-what did you ask me again?" She grinned ruefully, surreptitiously rubbing life back into her thoroughly shaken paw, and biting her lip to stop the laughter. "Do you stop people from coming in, things from going out, or both?" His faced cleared a little. "Oh, I just make sure that people don't come in and start messing around. There isn't really anything worth taking here, but you'd be surprised at how much people try and nick anyway." Alexandra gave him a slightly ironic smile. "You don't say." Just then, the bells of Xochitl chimed the half. Automatically, she turned to look for the shadows of the Square, and was nearly blinded by the low, slanting light of the setting sun over the city. "Good grief, it's later than I thought. I'd better leave and let you get on with your job." She smiled and shook paws again. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, 'Truck'. Could you point the way out, please?" After a few brief directions, and a much longer plea to stick to the path and beware of the broken glass and metal, she set off out of the Tip and back on her way home. Just before she passed out of sight, she turned and waved, dropping into colloquialism. "Tula!" She passed the old van again. Inside the van, her presence was duly noted by the shabby ocelot laying back in the driver's seat, and tapping his feet on the dash in time to the raucous music he had on. His fur was cut short at the temples, with the rest drawn back into an elaborate topknot that ended at his shoulders, and an artful lock left free at the front. He had just broken into a frenzied and inspired solo on the air- drums when a fist smote his head from behind. "Yeargh!" The stage rocked and the crowd howled in dismay as the drummer collapsed painfully amidst his kit. "Serves you joyful you moronic mechanic!" a foghorn, apparently with hearing difficulties, bellowed in his ear. Craesto reached for the volume control, looking up at his assailant. The tall, plain puma glared back at him witheringly, and carried on in a slightly more normal tone. "We're supposed to be keeping that dump under surveillance, not testing out your van's new soundproofing capacity. Or my eardrums'!" "Relax, Marq," Craesto Pasona waved his paw in a universal symbol of 'chill'. "Got it all under control." "Huh." Marqezapec Carachi's expression didn't suggest confidence in the ocelot's ability. "And I suppose you noticed that the female finally left the vicinity just now?" "At 6:34 and 23 seconds p.m. precisely. Heading uphill." The ocelot smugly waved a clipboard under the puma's nose. He glared all the harder at him. "Huh. Well, being cocky about it will only lead to mistakes." "Relax!" Craesto repeated, now with an exasperated expression on his face. "Its not like anyone goes in there anyway. Just a few delivery trucks each day, and we know what time they come." "Well, we can never be too careful." Marq muttered sullenly to himself. "Anyway, the Jag just called. He wants us to return to base. At least, that's what I THINK he said." He threw another dirty look at the stereo. The ocelot just smirked in the driver's seat and, turning the volume back up to full, accelerated into the gathering dusk with his partner cursing in the back. * * * The next day, Alexandra was back at work. But she wasn't really interested in it today. That didn't cause a problem, because she could handle most things to do with work in her sleep. She gazed listlessly out of her window overlooking the Square, and stared over the throng below. The air outside was hot, a wonderful arid hotness with just a hint of steam blowing around on the fitful breeze. How she would love to be out in the streets, or better yet, out in the country, running through the rainforest and diving into deep green pools of water, or basking on the sticky mud. She sighed, and stretched back in the drowsy cool of the office, the intricate and fascinating air cooler in the corner humming contentedly to itself. Still, she couldn't complain about having a little patch of cool on a day like this. Her eyes rested thoughtfully on the wall of the Tip, and the mounds of rubbish beyond. Truck lay panting in the heat, his ears wilting, and longed for a cool drink. He shifted in his company-issued clothes, which never quite fitted him properly. He was lying back against one of the rubbish mounds, waiting for the shade he was in to dissipate before setting off on his next tour of the yard. He had tried out every comfy spot on the tip in the 4 years or so he had worked there, and knew where shade and shelter could be found at any point of the day. His feet were now exposed to the light, and were heating up nicely. He'd wait until the sun reached his knees before hehe, 'hot footing' it around the Tip. A noise near the entrance made him look up, and he goggled. Miss Altiplano was strolling through the gate! She was wearing a thin cotton blouse with a loose sleeveless jacket of jungle green over the top, cut at a daring angle. Her long silk trousers were golden-yellow with dapples of black and green, tied artfully at the waist with a scarlet sash. Her sandals were of plain, but obviously high quality, beeswax- polished applewood, and her mane was tied back from her proud features. The vision made Truck's heart beat in his mouth for a moment or two. He was still wearing the same things he'd worn yesterday. She spotted him, and waved cheerfully. Truck lumbered over to her, and whilst the big dog was breathlessly stumbling over his greeting she presented him with a plain waxed-card box and a large thermos. The box had 'Omni's' stamped across it, and a delicious scent tickled his nostrils. It silenced him as effectively as a half-brick. "I was bored at work, and I thought of you." She explained without preamble. "I decided that I could quite easily combine a break with a chance to get out of the office." Truck gulped and took the box from her almost reverentially. "That... that's very kind of you, Miss Altiplano." He croaked. They moved to a patch of shade against a slightly nicer-looking pile of rubbish, and, unable to stand it any longer, Truck opened the box. His green eyes went wide as he took in the dozen or so freshly baked ginger-and-treacle cookies, which lay invitingly in the confines of the packaging. Miss Altiplano smiled at him. "I wasn't sure which you'd like best, but I reasoned these would be a fairly safe bet. They match your fur." She added mischievously. The dog just nodded absently. In fact, they were much better than the type he usually bought from Omni's. He went for the cheapest varieties available, occasionally saving up to treat himself to a pastry or small cake. His salary didn't allow for much luxury. He looked up at the wolf, and suddenly blushed, looking down. "I-It's very kind of you, Miss Altiplano, b-but I really can't accept these." A little reluctantly, he offered the opened box back to her. She just looked at it with a raised eyebrow, which she then turned on him. He gulped. "I-mean, I'd like to, but it isn't really... proper, if you see." "You don't like them?" She had a slightly blank look on her face, concealing annoyance and distaste. She thought she knew what was coming next. "No, no, it's... well.... it's not really proper for a Lady of your standing, Miss. To be hanging around a rubbish tip and giving a mutt like me stuff." Alexandra leaned back and smiled levelly at him. "The hell with that, Truck: I felt like doing something nice for you. Why shouldn't I be able to?" Truck blushed a little, shocked. Alexandra smiled at him. "Sorry. Very unladylike of me, I know, but I don't fit in with being a Lady very well." When Truck still just stared at her, she sighed, and stood up. "He disapproves." She announced to the world. "He disapproves of me, of my unladylike language, of my biscuits (which is most unfair by the way because you haven't even tried one)-" "Now hold on-" there was a growing note of desperation, even panic in Truck's voice. "Say no more!" Alexandra stepped away and posed with dramatic flourish, her voice becoming rolling and theatrical. "Nobody loves me: I am crrrushed!" She leaned back, her arm thrown across her forehead. Finally, Truck had to laugh, half in amusement, half in bewilderment. She joined in delightedly. "At last! I knew you weren't such a mutt as you looked!" He blushed again, but still smiled happily at this slightly backhanded compliment. Alexandra grinned, sashayed back over to him, and sat down. She nodded meaningfully at the box. Giving in, Truck took one of the palm-sized biscuits and bit a small piece off. The thick, treacly taste instantly coated his throat and tongue with brown sugar. The small bits of ginger slowly broke up and dissolved, warming his mouth as they released their flavour. He rolled the piece around his muzzle, and a deep growl of pleasure welled out of his throat. He swallowed the small mouthful, licked his lips, and immediately took another, larger bite, removing about half. His tail, which always expressed his feelings eloquently, wagged happily. She smiled at the sight. "Do you like them?" Truck grunted and nodded emphatically as he chewed and swallowed, already taking another eager bite. When the whole biscuit was gone (about 5 seconds later), he gave her a big, puppyish grin of pleasure, licking his lips. "Those are wonderful!" His paw was already reaching for the box. Smiling, Alexandra proffered the thermos to him, and the paw automatically changed course. Truck blushed again, but she only smiled and pressed it into his grasp. It felt icy cold, and he immediately began panting. A nice cold drink of water would just hit the spot. The tap he usually used was always lukewarm. He opened the top and poured himself a cup of what turned out to be chilled orange juice. Expensive. He gulped dryly, glanced at Miss Altiplano's wry face, and took a tentative sip. And then one long gulp, draining the cup. He smacked his lips appreciatively, and shivered a little as the cold liquid absorbed some of his body heat in his stomach. Alexandra just laughed and leaned back comfortably. Unable to resist the genial atmosphere she generated, Truck grinned and sat back too, tucking into another biscuit. They stayed like that for half an hour, chatting amiably about whatever. Truck broke off as his paw, searching the box of its own accord, came up empty. He blinked and looked, but discovered that he'd eaten every single one. Without even offering one to Miss Altiplano! Looking over, he realised that he'd emptied the flask too. Not a dribble left. His cheeks burned, ashamed, and he was about to make a grovelling apology when she just gave him a genuine, warm smile that stopped the words in his throat. "It's alright: I brought them along for you to enjoy. Besides," she continued, stretching lazily, "I'm not really hungry. I just needed a work-break." She sighed a little as her mind worked up to speed again. "Speaking of which, I should really be getting back." She scrambled upright an instant before Truck was up and offering her his paw as assistance. She looked at it, and then grinned and shook it instead. He found himself all tongue-tied again. "Uhhh... thanks for the snack, Miss Altiplano." She suddenly laughed. "Miss Altiplano! You make me sound like a supervisor. Please, call me Alexandra." "Oh, I couldn't do that..." Truck trailed off again, shuffling his paws a little. Alexandra just smiled. "Anyway, I'm glad you liked them." She turned and strolled back towards the gate, looking perfectly at ease in the brilliant sunshine and heat that shimmered around her. She turned the corner into the Plaza calling "Tula, Truck!" He blinked again, and managed to call out, "Tula, Miss Altiplano!" before she vanished completely from view. He shook his head, feeling refreshed, pleasantly full and a little dazed, and then set off on his next inspection. * * * "Well?" The way someone speaks can tell a lot about them. The way this simple monosyllable was rolled out and then bitten off, with thinly veiled undertones of irritation, implied that the person asking the question expected a reply. And wasn't in the habit of waiting patiently for one. Marq gulped a little, unconsciously drawing himself to something that might have been a distant relative of 'attention'. "Well, Boss." He felt sweat trickling down his back as he glanced across the shadowy old table into burning-yellow eyes, before resolutely staring at a point exactly 3 inches above and to the right. "It seems like there's a fairly simple security routine protecting the Target: we've been studying the flow of traffic into and out of the perimeter, and taken detailed notes which we compared with data garnered from the public records office, making sure as to obfuscate our real intentions-" He stuttered to a stop as he heard a small sigh from the figure opposite. The tall, broad-shouldered jaguar put his head in his well-manicured paws briefly, and rubbed his eyes in the dimly lit room. What he said next was in a controlled, quiet voice, obviously endeavouring not to lose his patience after an already trying day. "I know how you got the information, fool: I was the one who gave you the instructions, if you remember." "Y-yes Boss." "What I want you to tell me, quickly and in the minimum of words, is: when will it be easiest to enter the Tip and pull off this heist without being seen or interfered with? Especially by the authorities, who might have something to say on the matter." Marq frantically tried to work out how he was going to do this, without digging his hole any deeper. Finally, he shut his eyes, gulped and said. "At night." There was a long pause, during which time he screwed his eyes tighter. The jaguar eyed him incredulously, and then said, "That's all?" He suddenly leaned across the table and glared up from under his eyebrows, incredulous rage building in his voice. "Are you telling me that you've been monitoring the ingress and egress of people and goods to a facility with only 1 exit, 24 hours a day, for over a month, and you've discovered that the best time to break in would be 'at night'?" Missing the point entirely, Marq relaxed and nodded. Craesto, who had been standing next to him but had been lucky enough not to be spoken to up till now, grinned. "That's right Rev." "I COULD HAVE TOLD YOU THAT WITHOUT EVEN THINKING YOU... YOU... DUMMIES! AND DON'T CALL ME REV!!" Revo Jaguez roared at the underlings, dragging an exasperated paw through his mane of dappled fur. The two smaller cats cringed: the Jag's temper was infamous. Revo sighed again. It was so hard to find good help. He stood up out of his leather reclining chair, and slowly walked around the table towards them. The light from an overhead lamp illuminated the well-tailored trousers, lightweight sleeveless silk shirt and dark green sash that served as a highly fashionable belt. When he reached them, his patience seemed to have been restored a little. "You had better" he glared from one to the other with smouldering eyes, "be able to explain this." Marq gulped again, rocking slightly on his heels. "W-well, Boss, that's just all there is." He flinched as Revo snapped his claws out to their full extent, and hurried on, "The g-gates are shut at 8 p.m., just after the last delivery, and don't reopen until 6 am when the sun comes up. Any time during then would be as good as any other. The only person there is the guard-dog they hire to keep an eye on things." In the ensuing silence, Revo chuckled nastily, his humour swinging back like a pendulum. "I misjudged you." The claws were re-sheathed with a 'schlip'. "You've done well, both of you." Marq sagged visibly, then glared spitefully at the beaming Craesto, who had done nothing to earn praise except play noisy and interminable tattoos across his nerves. Revo, all smiles again, returned to his seat and slouched sideways across it, seemingly perfectly comfortable. He looked over at the pair. "Which brings us to the guard. I trust you will be able to give me slightly more detail on this subject." Marq caught the dangerous tone in the Jag's voice, and nodded vigorously. Unable to keep quiet any longer, Craesto burst out, "Sure thing Rev..." the jaguar gazed levelly at the ocelot, who's smile froze and face went rather pale, ".... Rev... o, we found out a lot of stuff. That guy's a real sad case. He has some kind of shack on site that he lives and sleeps in. He hardly ever leaves the Tip, except to go and eat at some cheap snack joint or other. Apart from the trucks, practically no-one visits the place either." He shrugged, "Just recently some wolf's been going there at lunchtimes for some reason, but that's during the day. The only people who ever do go there at night are a few furs delivering junk-food." "Delivering? Interesting..." Revo lapsed into thoughtful silence, musing on something. Marq gaped at the smug ocelot, raging helplessly. How dare that mangy, machine-mad moggy steal his thunder! There was going to be pain for this later! Revo looked up suddenly, an evil glint in his eyes. "Do you know which companies have delivered to him?" Craesto made to answer, swelling with pride, but Marq beat him to it, handing over a sheet of typed paper and incidentally knocking Craesto over with a well-aimed elbow. Whilst the ocelot grovelled unheeded on the ground, Revo's eyes scanned the list. He smiled. "How fortuitous. No, I don't think that we need consider the guard a problem in the slightest...." * * * It was lunchtime again. As always the sun poured down over the Square. Alexandra strolled across it, not really in the mood today to pay attention to the fine detail that was there to be enjoyed. It had been a very trying day so far, and now she was on her way to see Truck and have lunch. The thought managed to make her smile. She enjoyed these lunchtime visits of hers. They'd become something of a habit for her: every day, she'd wander down to Omni's, pick up a box of biscuits or sometimes a cake, and then head for the Tip. After the first few days, when Truck had insisted on offering her a share, and had looked so distressed when she'd refused that she hadn't really been able to say no, she had started going down slightly later, and getting herself some lunch at the same time. And then they'd sit there together, him munching on rich, gooey biscuits and confectionery, and her on whatever she'd fancied. She usually got something from one of the vendors in the Square: a roast corn-cob with sauce, or maybe some sushi, or sometimes just a mug of chocolate- the proper, bitter, natural kind of chocolate, not that sweet sickly rubbish that Truck adored so lamentably. He really did have terrible tastes in some things. Again, the thought of Truck made her smile. She slowed her pace, musing. She wasn't exactly sure why she liked him so much, or even what she liked. Maybe it was just because they were such different people. He had absolutely no idea about all of the strenuous, stressful, annoying little things that were so vital to running a company in an endless, vicious cycle of making money, and he held it all in reverential awe, even the parts that were obviously stupid and petty. She had tremendous fun ranting about them, trying to explain to him why they were so stupid. In a way, it helped get her facts straight. On top of that, he lacked the glazed, featureless sophistication and refined, cynical way of living that most of Alexandra's acquaintances had, and that made him startlingly real to her, as though she had suddenly found a solid object in a world of reflections and smoke. She could talk to him. Really talk, utterly openly, without having to constantly scan for hidden meanings, allusions, or even worry that any of it was going in. She could relax around him. And she had learned about his life during their lunches, too: how seriously he took his responsibility, and how hard he worked at guarding heaps of rubbish. It was strange, because from her own viewpoint it was something that she could never have taken seriously. Yet when he talked about, it she did. She supposed that it was a bit like that for him too. As far as he was concerned, Tiahuanaco Square and all its problems were so far away from his own life that it was impossible to think about them as important. She now knew why it was so vital to have the Tip just where it was, and for it to be guarded just so, and even how to call the police for help if someone did break in. She also knew obscure, intimate details of his life that he hadn't really talked about, she'd just.... picked them up. Maybe it was how down-to-earth he always was. He took his job seriously. He was honest, if a little bit dishevelled and not too clean most of the time. He never worried about the bigger picture, just his own little circuit in it, and trusted the rest to people who understood it. He was- she fumbled for the right word- normal. Reliable. Solid. And getting more so. She couldn't resist a small grin. The buttons on that old shirt of his had definitely begun tugging a little. She'd also seen how his face was getting a little rounder in the cheeks. But then, he loved to eat. It seemed to be his major source of enjoyment in life. And she'd always liked to see people enjoy their food. With Truck it seemed especially pleasing: when he ate, he ate stolidly and methodically, as though he could keep it up all day, and wanted to. It didn't really matter to him what he was eating: he took such innocent enjoyment from everything and anything. It had become a kind of game for her: buying different things for him and seeing him treat them all with that same puppyish delight. She had also started buying him more than she should, she knew: that was almost certainly what was expanding his waistline, but now she didn't like to think of him going hungry. She enjoyed food as well, and quite honestly considered all the people who needlessly missed out on one of life's great pleasures to fit into too-small clothes to be nuts. They made bigger clothes, didn't they? And besides, it wasn't as if the extra weight made Truck look bad. He looked heftier, but friendlier with it, too. Warmer, and a little more cuddly. The chubby look he was developing was actually quite attractive, in its own way.... She blinked a little, finding her mind in depths it was swimming more often these days. She gave her thoughts the once over, and was surprised at their shape. She couldn't be falling for that... mutt, could she? No. Love wasn't for her. They were just friendly, that was all. Honest. Well... ok, maybe she was just slightly, but in a good way. He was... comfortable. She finally found the word that described Truck perfectly. Comfortable. Like the old, patched teddy bear she had grown up with, that had kept her warm and safe on cold, lonely nights. The image made her laugh, and she broke out of her reverie to find that she had just wandered passed the Tip gates. Grinning, she turned back and walked in. To her surprise, Truck wasn't there to greet her. Unperturbed, Alexandra walked over to the spot where they usually ate (Truck assured her that it was the nicest place on the Tip), and sat down. After a few minutes, she heard what sounded like some old steam engine or vehicle, puffing, thumping and gasping in the distance. She looked a little alarmed as the sounds approached, and then grinned as the source rounded the corner at high speed. Truck skidded on one paw as he changed direction, jacket missing, his arms flailing briefly, and then lumbered towards the gates at a dead run. He slowed as he reached them, clutching at his side and wheezing terribly. His plump frame quivered and heaved as he gasped for air, obviously not used to the exercise. "Did you catch them?" Truck leapt two feet in the air from a standing start, and nearly fell over as Alexandra called out from behind him. He managed to save himself, and looked around wildly. "Huh? Where? Oh! M-miss Altiplano." He staggered over to where she was sitting, giving her a smile. The extra padding accentuated his puppy-like expression. "I-I'm sorry. I got a little delayed today. C-caught who?" "Whoever you were chasing. They must have stolen half the yard to make you get after them like that." She grinned mischievously at the large dog. "And I've told you before: please call me Alexandra." "Oh!" Truck laughed a little, his face returning to the beetroot colour it had been during his run a moment before. He knew Miss Altiplano was only teasing, and that was fine by him. But it was still a little bit embarrassing. He'd actually been doing a couple of laps of the tip, though he'd never admit the fact. He tugged at his hot shirt, which seemed tighter across his middle every day. He was getting fat. He'd never been a skinny dog- his body was the kind that put on weight very easily- but he was sensitive about his size. It was because he was naturally greedy. Miss Altiplano was very generous about lunch, and always refused any kind of payment in return. He ate far too much at them, he knew, but just couldn't seem to stop himself if it was there in front of him. And, doubtlessly seeing how much he ate, she was actually buying more for him now! Worse still, free lunches always left him with more money to spend on food himself. Omni's was getting his custom twice a day now, sometimes. Either that, or a nearby fast-food outlet. It was so unhealthy, but he was addicted to junk- food. His taste buds had grown up with it, you see. Some of the new stuff Miss Altiplano had let him try was nice, but it just wasn't the same as a proper, greasy pizza or a bag of crispy, deep fried chips. But he had another reason for keeping his weight down: if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to guard as effectively. And then he might lose his job. As for calling her by her first name... his blush returned full force. He couldn't bring himself to be so familiar with this witty, intelligent female, even if she wanted him to be. Even when she was relaxed, everything about her exuded class. She was just too far above him in the world. Even the thought made him cringe a little. She patted the patch of ground beside her. Truck was again struck by her self- confidence. Just by being there, she seemed to own the place. He sat next to her with a slight grunt, surreptitiously hitching his belt a little lower to give his paunch the room it was pressing for. Alexandra noted the fact with a quiet smile. He was getting quite tubby around the middle. The shirt strained ever so slightly at the buttonholes. His clothes were still the ones she'd first seen him in. Doubtless he washed them occasionally, but the grubbiness seemed ingrained. "Busy day, then?" Truck nodded, and went into minute detail of all the things he'd done so far. He finally wound down, realising that he was probably boring Miss Altiplano terribly. He coughed. "Have you had a good day, Miss?" Alexandra sighed and flopped back. It had most definitely not been a good day. "You wouldn't think there could be so many idiots running the place, would you? I'm having to conduct business and licence negotiations with people who should be arrested for 'Malicious stupidity', or 'Deliberate Obstruction and Obstinacy when its Been a Hard Day and I've Had Enough'." She launched into her own lengthy account, pouring out the frustration and annoyance that she normally held back, but could let out with him. Truck couldn't follow more than about a third of what she said, especially when she forgot herself and started using long words. But he didn't mind. It didn't really matter what she said, it was more her company that he enjoyed. And she treated him as though he could understand. She enchanted him, partly because her moods were always so different, yet such a strong part of her character. She was startlingly alive and colourful, and she always made the world around her seem the same way. Sometimes she was wildly happy and carefree, sometimes she was fuming, and needed to get things off her chest, but she was always lively about it. He never knew which mood she would be in, but he had gotten used to it. And he had gotten disturbingly used to the meals she heralded... Alexandra carried on, lying back in the sun with her eyes shut. She felt the knot of annoyance inside her slowly unwinding, and she smiled to herself. It was so good to be able to talk to someone. Good old Truck, he never seemed to mind her going off like this. Today, however, she began to sense that something was wrong. She trailed off, and glanced sideways. Truck seemed restless and slightly upset. She gave him an enquiring look, a little worried for him. "Are you ok, Truck?" The alsation shuffled his paws and hurriedly returned his full attention to her. But still there was something missing from the scene. "I'm... fine, Miss Altiplano. You were saying...?" A rumble from his stomach cut through this last lie, and he blushed, his ears wilting. Tumblers clicked in Alexandra's mind. "I forgot lunch!" She sat up, confused and angry with herself. It had definitely not been a good day. How could she have been so stupid? This was pretty much the first thing she'd forgotten this year. But when she did forget things, it was always a doozy. Poor Truck! Having to listen to her ramblings without even food to console himself with! She sprang up. "I'll go and get it quickly now. What time is it?" She glared around her automatically, looking for the shadow clock that was all the way over in the Square. Then she squinted up at the sun in irritation. "It's alright, really it is!" Truck had scrambled to his feet as well, surprised and a little frightened. He'd never seen Miss Altiplano quite this angry before. "I don't mind, I can just get something later." He tried to calm her down, and actually reached out to touch her shoulder before remembering who she was. He whimpered in agitation, holding out his clockwork watch. "You're always very kind, bringing food down here only to have me eat it all. You don't have to. And it's half past 2" Forgetting herself, Alexandra swore loudly, and dropped her head in her paws, going very still. Truck dropped into shocked silence. Finally, she looked at him through her fingers, remorse plain on her muzzle. "I'm sorry about this, Truck." She sighed and raised her head. "Its been a bad day, and its about to get worse. I've got an important meeting in 10 minutes, and I can't afford to miss it." Truck gave her a wobbly smile. "It's alright, Miss Altiplano. I understand you're very busy." She smiled ruefully into his anxious eyes. "It still leaves you without lunch." Her expression solidified into determination. "I'll get you something after work, and bring it over to you." She held up a paw to forestall his protest. "It's the least I can do." She smiled wanly at him. "And now, I really have to run. Tula, my friend!" She turned and hared out of the gate, leaving Truck standing there, hungry. * * * "Well?" Same speaker, different location. Revo raised an eyebrow at the sturdy black-panther female in front of him. She smiled back, undaunted. Her voice held an accent that gave it a laconic drawl. "I think you'll be pleased, Revo." Panna chuckled, her eyes aglow with self- satisfaction under the bright lights of Craesto's workshop. "I'll be pleased after I've seen it work." The jaguar growled back at his unofficial second-in-command, pointing at her with the dog biscuit that she had just handed him. It was a distasteful thing. "Huh. Still don' see what it has to do with my van." Craesto muttered to himself. He was in a deep sulk. He loved his van. He'd spent hours on it, lovingly putting it back into perfect condition and styling it to his own exacting standards. It now sat in the middle of the shop, hurriedly and inexpertly painted white, dripping occasionally. It had 'Omni's' stencilled down each side in red, and across the back. From across the other side of the room, a hulking Siberian tiger growled menacingly at Craesto, who shut up quickly. Marq unconsciously took a step away from Craesto. For some reason, Ortez despised the diminutive ocelot, though it may just have been on principle. Ortez didn't like anyone very much, except Panna. He was a tiger of very few words, but he didn't need to be. He won arguments just by showing up. Fortunately, Revo wasn't in a bad mood. He merely rounded on Craesto and smiled witheringly. "I'll take it from the top." His voice was loaded with exaggerated patience. "As you know, some years ago I, with the help of some colleagues, managed to pull off the only successful heist from Tiahuanaco Square in history. We were arrested in connection with the crime, but as they couldn't find the money, the authorities had to release us. When I say us, I mean myself, because the others were all stupid enough to be wanted felines. The reason that the authorities did not find it was because we hid it in the local dumping ground, which was conveniently close and obscure. And now, I want my money back. Unfortunately, it is now on the site of Xochitl City Tip, which is far less obscure. You are helping me overcome that, and in reward you will all receive a share of the money. With your inestimable reconnaissance skills-" he grinned wryly at Marq and Craesto, "- we have established the time at which we will best be able to retrieve it. However, there is still one obstacle." "The guard-dog." Panna put in contemptuously. Revo smiled and nodded. "As you say, the guard-dog, who may inconvenience us at a critical time. Fortunately, according to your research, he is of limited intelligence and bottomless appetite. This," he flourished the biscuit, "will keep him out of our hair. If it works." Revo shot Panna a pointed look. She merely smiled and gestured. Ortez left the room, and returned carrying a diminutive mongrel over his shoulder with no appreciable effort. He dumped him to the floor. The dog opened his mouth angrily, and then shut it when Revo smiled brightly at him. It was that kind of a smile. "I suppose," he asked with amusement, "you are wondering why we brought you here, my friend?" The dog looked at him furtively. "Might be." He struggled to look around the room. "Indeed you might." Revo grinned amiably. "But before we get to that, have a biscuit." He tossed it to the dog, who automatically caught it in his mouth and chewed. Craesto looked at Revo in confusion. "I don't get it." He scratched his head. "How is tanking our Fido up with nourishing Doggybix going to keep him out of-" There was a thump. All eyes turned to the dog, who lay flat on his back, still in a sitting position. Obviously slightly shaken, Panna checked for a pulse. "Out cold, in 8 seconds." Revo beamed approvingly at Panna, checking his watch. "Well done. As you can see, our dear Panna has managed to create and refine a dog- biscuit so stunningly revolting in its taste that it renders the eater completely unconscious." Panna grinned laconically, twitching her long tail. "It wasn't that hard actually. Several leading brands were halfway there already." Revo turned to the others. "Any questions?" "Well.... Yes Boss, just one." Marq gulped, pretty sure he wasn't going to like the answer. "How do we get this guard-dog to take one of those things?" "Ah." Revo beamed. "I was hoping that you would ask that...." * * * Alexandra pulled open the door of her oven, and instantly the kitchen was filled with the mouth-watering smell of freshly baked brownies. Oh yes, she still had that rolling-pin-razzmatazz. She pulled the large, inch-deep tray out and juggled it to the side, where she left it to cool. It was a lovely recipe, but would be banned by health- conscious people, demanding double cream, real butter, brown sugar, and even half a cup of rum. Naturally, she wouldn't dream of skimping, this batch in particular. You could almost hear your arteries begging for mercy when you looked at them. No one could eat more than 2 at a time. She was pretty sure Truck would like them. His was an appetite built for this kind of food. Which brought her back to her earlier dilemma. Her home was small but cosy, built higher up the mountain slope above Tiahuanaco Square. From here, she could look out over much of Xochitl. She gazed unseeingly out of her kitchen window into the gathering gloom of evening. The sky looked leaden with clouds. Things were getting more acute. Was Truck just a friend, or would she like him to be something more? Somehow, the idea felt so... natural to her. But was it right? Oh, she had felt 'love' a few times in her life, mad, passionate infatuations that had burned almost painfully for a few weeks, or even months, before guttering out and leaving her in the dark again. She usually lost money over it. This was different. There was no passion here, no crazy urges. It was just that, every time she thought of herself, she found herself thinking in relation to Truck. It made her feel... safe? That seemed the best way of putting it. For the first time, she felt as though she had might have found someone that she could stay with for the rest of her life. He wasn't attractive in the conventional idea, but he felt attractive to her. And his increased weight was only making him more so. Was that wrong, in itself? Maybe she was just mentally unbalanced, and this entire thing was fictional. Besides, it could never really exist outside her mind, so it might as well be fiction. Truck might like her, and even feel some faint attraction too, but he was painfully aware of who, or rather Who she was. He hadn't even been able to bring himself to touch her today. They lived in different worlds, and never the 'twain shall meet. Oh, she was too tired to sort this out now. She'd take the brownies down to him, and just see how things turned out later. That was all she could do. * * * It was 8:30, and Truck was running late. The air was hot and humid, with that heavy, prickly sensation that came before a rainstorm, and it was getting to him. In addition, he hadn't had time to get a surrogate lunch, and so was starving, almost weak from hunger. It was made worse by his expanded stomach, which flapped against his spine. Finally finished, he trotted over to the main gates to shut them. After that, he would put his feet up and rest until Miss Altiplano arrived. He put his shoulder to the left gate, and began to heave. It felt much heavier than usual. Slowly, the big wooden thing pivoted around towards the entrance. But then, a pair of headlights blazed at him, and there was a screech of brakes. Truck leapt back a little, the gate stopping. A white van slewed across the entrance, inches from it. A voice called out, "Sorry! We thought the gates were still open! Is there a-" there was a muffled snigger from the driver, "-'Truck Tyre' working here?" Truck growled a little. "That's me. And it's just 'Tyre'. What do you want?" "Well, we've got a delivery order for you. Prepaid." The alsation was confused, and looked blankly at the van. "I didn't order-" He made out 'Omni's' along its side. Light began to dawn. "Oh! Did Miss Altiplano send you? She might have been too busy to come herself." He looked up at the ocelot driving the van, who gave him a very odd look. "That's right, pal. Mind if we park inside?" Truck waved them in, and trotted after them. When he caught them up, the two occupants were already out of the van. The puma opened the back doors, whilst the ocelot leaned against the side. Craesto was fuming quietly. Now he was a delivery-fur! The indignity! Craesto considered himself the Mechanic of the group. Unfortunately, everyone else considered him the mechanic of the group. Marq wasn't too pleased with the arrangements either: they were to pose as delivery furs and knock out the guard whilst Revo and the others went in over the back wall. Then Marq and Craesto were to keep watch whilst they got the money. Well, so far so good. They had stocked the van full of those vile biscuits, to make them look plausible just in case they were stopped. Marq selected a 2-dozen box for the look of the thing, made a show of checking against a clipboard, and handed it to the guard with a forced smile. "They're a new recipe we're trying out. I'd taste one now to see if you like them or not." The big dog gave him a slightly odd look. Marq began sweating slightly. "I mean, they're freshly baked. They'll go stale if they aren't eaten fast." The dog gave him another odd look, but thankfully he opened the box and took out a biscuit. He put the whole thing in his mouth, chewed twice with a thoughtful expression and swallowed. Then, he licked his lips and beamed. "Say, those are good!" To the cats' horror, he reached in, pulled out another one, and gave it the same treatment. "Are... are you sure?" Craesto's eyes were very wide, and his mouth hung open a little. He had just counted past 15. "Some people have mentioned that they taste a little... peculiar." Truck beamed at him with his mouth full. "Oh no, they're lovely!" Crumbs flew, and he started on a third. "Really tasty. Mmmm...." After a few more seconds, filled only by the sound of the dog's munching, the puma asked in a strangled voice, "If... if you'll excuse me a second, I'll just go and... and..." he turned and walked behind the van. Truck carried on eating, getting into his stride. These really were good! "Boss!" Marq hissed frantically into his walkie-talkie. "We've got a problem here!" "What?" Revo snarled back in a hoarse whisper. "You idiots! What have you done now? Hasn't he taken the bait yet?" "Taken the bait!" Marq began to sound a little hysterical. "He's taken it, hook line and sinker! He likes them! He's already got halfway through his first dozen, and he's crunching them down like sweets!" There was a brief, colourful stream of invective from the other end as Revo tried to come to terms with the utterly phenomenal bad- taste of canines. "Well, we're already over the perimeter and searching. It's your problem. Keep that mutt occupied, or I'll have you and Craesto made into fur rugs. Sewn together!" Marq shuddered, more at the thought of being stuck to the ocelot forever than anything else. "But... but how?" He was talking to a dead mike. Ashen faced, he zombie-walked back around the van. The alsation was still working though the box, looking for all the world like a puppy let loose in a pet-food shop. Craesto was staring at him, still counting under his breath in a disbelieving monotone. Marq looked around him wildly, his gaze passing over the rubbish, the dog, the box, Craesto, and the truck. It stayed fixed on the truck. Marq felt himself unhinge a little more. Well, why shouldn't they try it? Just as the dog, apparently to his intense disappointment, finished the last of the biscuits, Marq stepped over to him. "Say, we've umm... just had a few cancellations come through." He gave the dog a sickly grin. "You obviously really like those biscuits. We'd normally just chuck the unwanted ones away. If you like, you could have them instead." Truck gaped at him, his face lighting up in a lighthouse smile. "Really? That'd be... oh wow!" He rubbed his stomach, his tail wagging madly. Marq smiled and backed away, dragging Craesto with him into the van. The ocelot seemed unable to take his eyes off the dog, and was still counting. Once out of view, he cuffed the cat until he came to his senses. Craesto gaped at him, slack jawed. "How? Why isn't he dead?!" Marq snarled at him, fear making him angry. "Don't ask stupid questions! Just grab a couple of boxes and take them out to him." "Huh?" the ocelot's face radiated confusion. "You think giving him more might knock him out? Uh-uh. He likes the taste, Marq. It won't do anything." "It'll keep him busy! And if you don't want to be a rug, that's just what we'll do, for as long as possible!" Craesto looked at him and gulped. "Rug?" "With me. Sewn together!" Craesto grabbed the first 2 boxes within reach, and raced back out. Sighing in exasperated relief, Marq followed with his own load. Truck felt as though he was in heaven. He was well into his fourth box of delicious biscuits, and had no inclination to slow down. He felt a warm, gluttonous glow start inside his stomach. He'd been so hungry: now it felt so good to EAT! He had already sat down to make himself more comfortable. His belly was feeling heavier. In fact, it was now bowing out a fair bit more than usual, stretched out by the quantity of its contents. It slowly pushed his legs apart to accommodate its new size, the buttons of his shirt beginning to pull taut across his middle big-time. It was now clinging much more firmly to the curves of his frame. At the same time it was pressing down on his trousers, making the belt tighter, but still confined within his clothing. His tail was wagging nine-to-the-dozen as he let himself go just a little bit further, more than happy to eat all night if that's what it took to fill him up. He hit the fifth box, still gathering momentum. Marq and Craesto just gawped. It was like watching some terrible God of Gluttony, or an unstoppable, consuming force of nature. The mutt just kept on eating! He was quite happily polishing off the last couple of boxes they had brought out from the van ("We've just had a few more cancellations! Hahaha!"), without any sign of stopping, collapsing from terminal indigestion or, seeing the way he was eating, exploding. Craesto in particular was stunned. As a joke, he had scrawled 'Bottomless pit' under the surveillance comments about this guy. The universe seemed to be pulling some cruel joke on him. He gave a little whimper as the dog reached the end of the last box, and began rooting around for crumbs. "What'll we do now?" Marq was getting more and more frantic. He didn't know how long they were going to have to keep this guy's attention. He might have had some kind of desperate plan at the start, but now he was just sticking to what he knew worked. He walked up to the recumbent Truck and patted his shoulder. He looked up, his cheeks still bulging, and a thick ring of crumbs around his muzzle. "Mmph?" "Y-you still hungry pal?" "Mmmmph." A very emphatic nod, followed by a belly-rumble. Craesto staggered in disbelief. Marq gulped and carried on. "There's plenty more in the back of the van, if you'd like-" "What?" Craesto cut across him in a whisper. "Y-you can't let that loose in my van!" Marq ignored him, looking at Truck. He was thinking wall-to-wall puma. "What do you say, pal?" "Mmmmphhh!" Truck beamed at him, his round cheeks bouncing. He struggled heavily to his feet amongst the wreckage of boxes. His frame now sported a big, broad, swollen belly at his front, framed by his open jacket. His shirt rode up, exposing a thick bulge of brown fur that forced itself into the gap between shirt and trousers. The belt creaked a little. Now walking around the soft ball of his stomach, tail wagging, he was hauled up into the back of the van, which dipped under the added weight. * * * Alexandra looked into the Tip from around the half-closed gate, carrying a tin of brownies and dressed in casual clothes. Something was up. She knew that solid, sensible Truck would never leave the gate like this unless something had distracted him. She resisted the urge to call out; it was 9:00 p.m. and the gates should have been shut at around 8:00. Someone whom she didn't want to be seen by might still be about. Instead, she slipped through the gate and padded forward as noiselessly on her bare paws as only a wolf can. She followed the main track, keeping to the shadows. Soon, she spotted a shabby white van with an 'Omni's' logo stencilled badly onto it. It looked deserted at the front, but it was rocking on its suspension. This looked suspicious. She crept behind heaps of rubbish, working around the van without being seen. She saw that the back doors were open, light spilling into the cleared area and illuminating both a small heap of boxes and a cat having a frantic, whispered conversation seemingly with itself. "You've found the money? That's great Panna! When will we be out of here? Wha- ANOTHER HALF AN HOUR??!!" His voice cracked, then he suddenly cringed, as though he'd been hit by a sharp stick wired to some electrodes. "Oh! B-boss! I-I didn't realise you'd taken over. B-but... another h-half an hour? You've got to be kidding!" Fear made his voice bold for a second. He leaned back, holding a walkie- talkie a few inches from his ear. He brought it back, and his voice held a pleading tone. "Boss, I really don't think we'll be able to keep him out of the way for another half an hour." He gave a sudden, slightly manic laugh, "I don't know if the food supply will last that long!" That sounded like something to do with Truck. Something not good. Alexandra clenched her fists. Not if she had something to do about it. Noiselessly, she slipped away and headed for the telephone in Truck's office. * * * Inside the van, Truck ate. And ate. And ate. Steadily, mechanically, his paws took bunches of biscuits from the nearest available box and crammed them in his muzzle. He chewed the mouthful thoroughly and then swallowed, his paws already carrying the next load. He worked methodically, working down each stack of boxes on each side, and then moving onto the next row. As he ate, he grew. Not just his belly, as he had begun to digest some of his earlier intake. His trousers grew tighter around his legs, around his behind, which broadened and pushed outwards as a kind of counterbalance to his stomach. It forced the seat of his trousers taut against his buttocks, making it appear to the horrified Craesto, who was up near the front of the compartment behind the dog, that they had been painted on. The only thing now holding the straining trousers up was the belt. The alsation was getting broader all over: his formerly just snug jacket was now stretched and straining over his back, even though it was completely undone. The ocelot's eyes widened as he heard a seam go, and the jacket gave a little more. Truck swallowed his next mouthful, and there was another rip from the tortured uniform. It was like watching some B-grade horror movie transformation in slow motion. "H-here, l-let me help you with that." Thoroughly unnerved, and in a sort of daze, Craesto pulled at the jacket. Truck paused in his rhythm long enough to shrug out of the clothing with a grateful grunt, before returning to the attack. Not all of the expansion was in his belly, but most of it was. A big, stuffed belly was revealed, looking like a king-sized brown furry beach ball. It was taut and firm, the pressure inside keeping it from sagging. His shirt was riding high on its curve, like a mainsail bellying out before the wind. Small bulges of tan tummy were squeezing out between the straining buttons, which were almost humming with tension. Truck's belly was swelling almost visibly with every bite he swallowed, along with the rest of his body. Lost in a haze of food, the dog seemed totally unaware of his ballooning self. One of the buttons gave suddenly, ricocheting around the van with such force that Craesto had to duck. The shirt rose up higher, exposing more of his bulk. His belly spilled unstoppably over the waistband of his trousers, being forced up by the belt into a flattened ball shape suspended in the air. The belt was now so tight it was cutting into his body, but Truck was so absorbed in his eating that he just carried straight on. A small tearing sound came from the belt as the buckle ripped through the leather, and Truck's body expanded into the new space. His belly bounced, seemingly swelling an inch all round. Growling a little in irritation, Truck was forced to step back from the food slightly to give his gut more room. He planted his expanding legs wider, and redoubled his eating. About 15 minutes later Marq, who had been pacing outside, leapt as the van's suspension gave a 'spang'. He walked around and looked into the back. His jaw hit his chest. He wouldn't have recognised the ambulatory tan-coloured whale in the back as the same dog. He had polished off over three-quarters of the boxes, and was still eating! Now having to stand next to the box he was emptying, his immense paunch brushing the van wall 2 feet away. He was leaning backwards automatically to counterbalance the weight of his gut, hoisting it up higher and making it appear even bigger. Another button had burst off the shirt (you could see the dent in the metal where it had hit), and the rest had been pressed up by the expanding bulk into a tube around his top that contained his chubby chest. At the top his open collar was pulled tight around the blubbery neck. The curve of his belly bulged out from under it all around. Now no longer just at his front, the broad curves of his stomach had pressed back through his body, making him appear that he had been drawn from a series of balls balanced on top of each other. The sleeves constricted his plump upper arms, now resembling thick sausages all the way down to his chubby fingers. His neck bulged in a series of rolls, and he had developed a third chin. His round, tubby cheeks were constantly crammed with food, making them seem bigger than they actually were. By some miracle, the belt was still intact, although thrumming with tension. The trousers were skin-tight, and had been forced down his hips a little by his bloating belly, exposing a stretched pair of boxer shorts to the horrified Craesto. A large roll of fat bulged out from the top of the waistband all around, which creaked along with the belt. The tail was still wagging, although it was being swallowed up by his rear. Things were beginning to look decidedly cramped in the van, with both Craesto and this behemoth, who took another step back to accommodate his growing belly. He nearly filled the entire width of the compartment, and might soon take up the whole volume! Craesto seemed to realise this too. He licked his lips, gauging the narrowing gap between all that furry flesh and the van wall. He risked it, and made to squeeze through. Mistake. Even his diminutive weight on that side was too much, and the strained suspension tipped the van that way. Truck staggered backwards, sandwiching the poor cat between his massive backside and the wall. "Ack!" Craesto was crushed. "Get this mountain off me!" This last was barely audible, as there was no air left in his lungs. He writhed helplessly, turning purple. Marq gingerly stepped into the van and hauled on the ocelot's outstretched arm, but the pressure was too great to shift him. Truck hauled himself forward, mumbling something that might have been 'sorry'. Marq heaved, and Craesto slid out of the gap, resembling a cardboard cut-out of himself. Both of them fell out of the van. A second after he was pulled free, there was a long, terrible ripping sound. The belt, finally pressured beyond endurance, ripped free of the buckle and hung loose. Truck's belly sagged down, pulled irresistibly by gravity. The trousers' button tore free, and the fly burst open slowly, one tooth at a time, his gut pouring in and stretching the gap wide. His rear expanded as the zip opened, taking up the slack in the material. The sheer pressure of his body on the trousers prevented them from falling down. Something had to give: the seam along his seat ripped open, giving the cats a good view of his boxers. Craesto blanched, feeling dull terror. "I... I could have been crushed." "All I can say is, thank god for elasticated boxer shorts." Marq shuddered a little. Just then, they heard a petulant whimper. Inside the van, Truck's paw, straining around the huge bulk of his gut, which was pressed hard against the wall, scrabbled inside the last remaining box of biscuits in the van. It came out empty. He took a step back, and his rear hit the other wall. "You ate EVERYTHING IN THE VAN?" Craesto had definitely lost his composure; nearly being flattened by over 850 lbs. of alsation- in his own van, mark you- had been the last straw. He was nearly gibbering. Truck belched hugely, and leaned back against the wall. The van leaned dangerously. "Come out of there!" Marq cringed. Truck roused himself, and waddled laboriously to the doors, where he promptly wedged. It took both Marq and Craesto hauling at the protruding gut to finally wriggle him through. The back of the van was touching the ground. When he stepped off, it bounced up and nearly drove the front into the ground instead. Truck swayed on fat feet, his legs planted wide. The two cats just looked on in a kind of horrified awe. Truck belched again, quietly. He seemed to be coming out of a trance. "I... I think I'm full...." Without bending in the slightest, he rocked backwards and hit the ground with an earth-shattering WHUMP! The two cats looked at each other. Craesto glared at the supine mountain of flesh. "Huh, now they kick in." Just then, they heard a police siren and froze. It was definitely getting closer. Its' raucous wail was joined by others. Many others. "I don't like this," Marq muttered. "I'll radio the Boss, you get the van going." "What about him?" Craesto pointed at Truck. Marq laughed shrilly. "You think the van could move with him in it? Get going!" Craesto hurried over to the van, got the engine going, and waited. Marq didn't appear, and the sirens were getting nearer. Nervously, Craesto peered around for the puma, then leapt down to have a look behind the van. "Marq? Hurry up! The fuzz'll be here any second!" He hustled around the corner of the van, and was hit full in the face by a large, heavy tin. He dropped over his fallen companion, and Alexandra stepped out of the shadows, dropping the dented brownie tin. * * * Truck woke up amidst smooth, cool sheets and a thick, comfortable duvet. His eyes drifted open, and the first thing he saw was his belly. The only thing he could see was his belly. He blinked at it uncomprehendingly, still half asleep. What the...? Suddenly very much awake, he stared at the monstrous bulge. Disbelievingly, he poked the great pile of fat. It resisted the poke, his finger sinking into it, and then shifted very slightly before settling back, pushing the pudgy digit out again. He pinched, and yelped, discovering that it wasn't a nightmare. His eyes went wide, and he whimpered in horror. His memory helpfully yet tactlessly reminded him of a certain vanload of delicious, but very fattening biscuits. "The whole thing?" He whimpered aloud to himself. Yes. He gave a long, despairing groan, sinking back into the bed, then 'oofed' as his weight settled on top of him. He had really done it this time. He struggled to sit upright, hampered by the sheer size of his middle and by fat limbs that didn't seem to want to bend very much. Once propped up on plump paws, it dawned on him that this wasn't his bed, or his bedroom. The fact was so unexpected that it briefly distracted him, and he looked around. The bed was a large double one, the quilt a patchwork of soft, colourful materials sewn together. The sheets were linen, or possibly even silk. The pillows were almost as plump as he was. Truck was currently taking up a distressingly large part of the bed. There was a crystal window in the wall, framed by large wooden shutters, with a door leading onto a balcony. Water was streaming down the window, and he could hear the quiet, insistent drum of raindrops on the roof. The rainstorm had finally come. Even now, with that deluge going on, you could hear the odd chirp and squawk from the jungle. Outside the window the top of a huge, ancient tree swayed impassively. This was nothing, compared to the storms you could get. The floor of the room was made of an irregular patchwork of rough grey stone, but a large, thick woollen rug covered most of it. There were a few other bits of furniture: a chair with his clothes folded over it, a bedside table, and some lamps. To one side of the room was a small table, on which stood a large mirror. It had a certain inevitability about it. Gingerly, Truck swung the porky legs that were apparently his off the bed, and stood up. His paws sank into the rug, which was warm and tickly on his toes. He grunted as gravity pulled greedily at him, settling his bulk into an even rounder shape. He looked down at the broad horizon of his stomach, his expression having lost some of its shock. Things didn't look any better. All he knew now was that he was no longer on speaking terms with his feet. They were practically on the other side of a planet. He shut his eyes, and gave another groan, this one weary with resignation. He took a step. He immediately overbalanced, and careered several steps into the room before he could pull up. His footfalls almost made the ground shake, and he felt his legs rubbing together to his knees, forcing him into a kind of straddle-run. He finally pulled himself to a halt in front of the mirror. Tricky, with all that momentum. Truck stared stupidly at the hugely overweight alsation standing in it, shock blossoming anew on its fat features. In a stunned, distant way, he surveyed the extent of the damage. His paws traced the outline of a massive pear shaped belly, covered in stretched tan fur, that more than doubled his width, its centre marked by a deep, slitted bellybutton. It bulged out several feet over the top of incredibly chubby thighs. The chubby theme extended all the way down his legs, and generously included his paws and arms. Very, very generously. A big, plump chest sagged atop his belly's curve. He turned, and the figure turned, revealing that it was as thick as it was wide around the belly. With a small whimper, he reached behind him, and the image's paws ran over an economy-sized set of buttocks from which about two thirds of a long, bushy black tail, even that plumped out slightly, still stuck out. They also brushed against a truly vast love handle that bulged all around his back. It did indeed look as though he had slipped a truck tyre around his body. Amazingly, it was the only roll, the rest of his sides evenly stuffed with blubber, like some bizarre sofa. He craned over his chunky shoulder, against the thick muffler of flab that swaddled his neck, and took in the broadness of his back, especially his backside. Interestingly, the black fur of his back had spread with him, melding into the lighter brown along the vast rolls of his sides and his gut. He looked up behind himself from that position into a pair of lambent eyes, shining with amusement. He froze. Miss Altiplano smiled at him from the doorway, and then her eyes returned to an inspection of his rear elevation. She wore a thick green towelling dressing gown cinched at her slim waist. Her fur was wet and dishevelled, her mane freely hanging down over the side of her face in long thick strands. To Truck, she looked like some wild, beautiful jungle spirit that had stepped out of the rainstorm itself. She leaned to the side slightly, and smiled into the mirror. Her grin expressed almost louder than words, 'If only I had a camera.' It was then Truck realised that he didn't have the benefit of a dressing gown. He reached the bed from a standing jump, dragging desperately at the quilt. The bed bounced a few inches across the floor, creaking loudly in protest. Alexandra's grin became impish. "Easy Truck! You'll break something. After all, there's a limit to what wood and metal can take." The huge dog cringed, tangled in the covers. Grinning, she padded over to the edge of the bed and sat. "You're up then. Did you have a good sleep?" She laughed as a huge, belated yawn forced its way out of Truck, and sat a little closer to him. "It look like you could do with another half an hour. Though I don't see how you could possibly sleep any longer." Truck blinked at her distractedly, still trying to squeeze more of himself from view. "H-how long have I been asleep?" Alexandra smiled fondly at him. "You've been filling up my bed for about the last 18 hours. All that digesting made you a very heavy sleeper. Literally." Truck's blush turned up another notch, and he scrabbled pathetically at the covers. Gently, Alexandra reached over and took them from his paws, tucking him in. Unfortunately, she tucked them in under the massive bulge of his belly, only accentuating his whale-like proportions further. He squeaked, and scrabbled back a little, only to find himself trapped up against the pillows. "Y-your bed?" She nodded agreeably. "Comfy, isn't it?" Her smile changed, becoming strangely tender. "It's even comfier with you to cuddle against." Astonishingly, she reached out and lightly stroked a paw along the bulging side of his exposed gut, leaving a tingle in its wake. Her smile was radiant "Not only are you a heavy sleeper, you're big, soft, and very, very warm." Truck made a slightly strangled noise, his eyes going very wide. He managed to fix an unnatural smile in place. He laughed hollowly, trying to reassert normality. "I-I-I g-guess I-I sh-should start looking f-for an extreme diet plan, huh?" Alexandra looked at him, and shook her head with a small smile. "Oh no you don't, Truck." Then she actually squeezed a pawful of his dough-like bulk in her paw! "I think you're the most handsome dog to ever burst out of his uniform." Truck's eyes bulged and he gulped slightly, the smile slipping. "P-please, Miss Altiplano: stop teasing." The female wolf sat back a little, and gazed at him. For once, her eyes were totally serious. Her voice was soft, almost regretful. "I'm not teasing, Truck. I've never been more serious in my entire life. I've realised that I love you." She regarded him in silence for a second whilst that sank in. It took a good few seconds, but when it did, it struck him with the force of a tidal wave. All he could do was gape at her. She smiled quietly, playing with the covers herself for a second, before looking up at him with those gentle eyes of hers. She laughed, a little nervously. "You know, I thought that that was going to be the hardest thing I would ever have to say. But it wasn't. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. And so does this." She scooted closer and hugged him fully around his huge paunch. Her arms only just reached around past his widest point. She pressed herself against him, her chin on his chest, still fixing him with her eyes. She spoke quietly. "I love you, Tyre. To the very breadth, and depth of my soul. I can't even begin to explain why, or how. It's just... you. Sweet, scruffy you." Alexandra turned her head, and laid it sideways on him. She spoke to his tummy. "And that's why all this fat just makes you even lovelier. It's natural of you to get this huge. You love to eat. I want you to be happy. I want you to eat, as much as you want to. I want you to grow bigger." She fell silent, and shut her eyes. There was nothing more she had to say. Truck stared down at her head, over the bulge of his chest. His mind whirred uselessly. Slowly, instinctively, his fat arms wrapped around them both, holding her closer. Gently, silently, he rocked her in a deep, warm embrace. The only sound was the rain dripping outside, and his hammering heart. He was rewarded with her paws squeezing the great, bulging roll of fat around his sides. A deep, pleasurable murr welled up from deep inside him, and his back arched, pressing his titanic stomach against her more. Gently, he lowered his head over hers, and relaxed against her. Yes. This felt... right. Feeling him finally relax against her, she looked up at him. His green eyes were shut, and his tubby face smiled dreamily. He gave a deep, contented sigh. It was the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen. Grinning, she dug her paws into his fat. His muscles spasmed, and a long, delicious shiver ran through him. His entire blubbersome body quivered, and then he slumped back onto the bed, a vast, goofball grin splitting his fat muzzle. Alexandra rolled with him, keeping her hold. Slowly, she rolled him onto his side, and was buried in his soft gut as he hugged her to him. She ran her muzzle over his chest, the fur tickling at her, his warm scent filling her head. His fat body settled against her like her own personal mountain. She carried on rubbing him, secure in his reassuring girth. He wasn't going anywhere. She could be sure of that. And it didn't look like that he wanted to, either. Truck's tail wagged deliciously, and he produced a constant low growl of delight, which made his huge bulk vibrate softly. They stayed like that for a long while, wordlessly nuzzling each other. Finally, Alexandra ran a paw over his round cheek, pinching and wobbling it gently. He opened his eyes, grinning, still lost in pleasure. She grinned back, her impish sense of humour returning. "I'd love to spend all day lying here with all this 'Spare Tyre', but I actually came in to tell you that breakfast was ready." She smiled into his eyes. "Want to be my dinner-date?" "Breakfast?" Truck smiled, but slowly his face clouded over as the real world reasserted itself, and poked him in the small of the brain. "Yes. As much as you want." She ticked things off on her paws, but soon ran out of fingers. "Bacon, or gammon if you so prefer, with eggs; poached, fried, scrambled and boiled. A pile of toast freshly spread with real butter, along with honey, jam, chocolate spread and others to choose from. Warm, freshly baked croissants. Chilled fruit yoghurts, very thick and tasty. Several stacks of hot waffles with syrup and cream. A whole pig's worth of sausages. Fried tomatoes. Mushrooms. Beans. French toast. And finally coffee, tea, orange juice, iced milk or hot chocolate for those who prefer it." "I... I can't." Truck's face looked as though the entire mouth watering feast would turn to ashes in his mouth. Alexandra blinked, her smile fading into concern. Truck struggled awkwardly to get up, and she helped lever him into a sitting position. He sprawled in the bed, belly pushing his legs out wide, the mother of all blushes growing on his fat cheeks. "I... I don't know... I cant... this... you... me... the Tip!" His eyes suddenly went wide, and he looked at her, horrified. "Who's guarding my Tip? I'll lose my job!" He tried to spring up, but failed miserably, struggling against his own massive weight. Alexandra shushed him softly, pressing him back into the bed. "Shhh. Shhhhh. It's alright, Truck. The police are still there, looking for more evidence." Truck gulped and stared at her, a feeling of horror rising in him. "P-Police? Evidence?" Alexandra looked at him, and then sighed gently. "Those two friendly delivery furs who provided the all-night buffet? They were keeping you distracted whilst their friends broke in the back and dug up a pile of money they obviously hid there. Luckily, the police arrived in time to stop them." Truck sat very still. A dull, hopeless expression filled his round muzzle, and he suddenly seemed very small, and very vulnerable. "I'll lose my job." His voice was tiny. Alexandra took his shoulders comfortingly. "You don't know that." "Yes I do." He gave her a sad, sorrowful look. "I let thieves break in without so much as a bark of alarm. Even if they don't sack me for that, they could have me out on other grounds." He poked his side, and gave a wobbly little laugh. "I'm not likely to pass many physicals looking like this, am I?" He lapsed into silence, his face becoming more and more bleak. He stared at nothing, whispering brokenly, "What am I going to do? That was the only job that I could get. I'm useless. Guarding was all I could do." Alexandra hugged him, and he leant against her unprotestingly. She now rocked him softly, stroking his neck. She heard a soft sniffle, felt his shoulders shake, and her heart almost broke. She patted his back comfortingly. "Well, I guess it was a good job I made that call then." Truck blinked, still sunk in misery. "Huh?" She smiled softly at him over his shoulder.. "Last night, I called your superiors and had a word with them. I explained the situation to them. How you, sensing a trap, bravely and selflessly sacrificed your own fitness and waistline to keep the criminals occupied, whilst I went and telephoned for back-up under your instructions." Truck pulled away and gaped at her, looking as though he were expecting this to be another of her teases. Her smile broke into a grin as she watched the misery on his face was transmuted into utter amazement when he realised that it wasn't. "And when I hinted that you might be considering legal action, under the advice of my own very successful solicitors, they very quickly commended you for your outstanding bravery. Not only that, they agreed to your early, honourable retirement, complete with a large pension, and a one-off lump sum nearly as hefty as you are." Truck gaped at her again. All he could think of asking was, "H-how big a lump sum?" She seemed to consider. "Well... they wanted to leave it at twenty thousand, but I persuaded them to round it up to an even million. After all, I do work in Tiahuanaco Square." She grinned, and poked his belly lightly. "You can more than afford not to work, my big, chunky love. Now, how about that breakfast? It'll be getting cold soon." The fat alsation gazed up at this beautiful, wondrous female whom he loved more utterly than anything in the world, and nearly burst into tears. "M-Miss Altiplano. A-Alexandra...." She leaned over his massive stomach and kissed him on the lips, and then pressed her muzzle close to his ear. "If I have myself a date, then its Sasha." He looked at her, and broke into a watermelon-sized grin. "Sasha." He managed to haul himself to his feet again, and was met with a crushing hug from Sasha that totally enveloped her. It was then that Truck realised he still wasn't wearing clothes. Sasha noticed at the same time. Their eyes met, and the both just laughed. "Well, I don't think your old uniform will be much good." She pointed at the stretched, burst ruins of it lying over the chair. The shirt would barely cover his back now, and the waistband of his trousers would have trouble getting over one thigh. His old boxer shorts were there too. Suddenly grinning, Truck waddled over and picked them up. He held them up to her, stretching them in front of his belly. It growled hungrily. "Do you think these would suit me?" Sasha burst into delighted laughter. It took them several minutes to haul them onto his behind, but together they managed it. Then Truck, massively fat belly bouncing in front of him, and spilling out of a ridiculously tight pair of grubby boxer shorts, and perfectly happy about both, let himself be led, by the stomach, to a breakfast where he was going to eat until he bust.. After all, no one argued with Tiahuanaco Square, did they?