"So, you have drinks. That is good," Warlock remarked.
Kev pointed to the kitchen door. "We have food as well, as I'm sure you know."
Warlock took another tiny sip from his drink and grinned. "Yes. I had the Carnivore's Choice when I was here last. It was quite... filling."
Kev hid his own grin, remembering Reepia's description of the very first meal he had down here on his first day. "Yes, it is quite the cut."
"Nothing compared to Fang's special at The Perch!" Warlock laughed loudly. "That walrus managed to eat it all, though. Very impressive."
Kev felt a twinge of pity for Paul, the walrus man whose night they had ruined. He didn't want to second-guess Gretchen's actions, especially since it was the first time he had interacted with her more than just thinking a particular shadow by the security checkpoint was a little too black. Yet, he had the feeling that it would have been alright if she had let their soon-to-be Mafia affiliate into the elevator.
"I might have to steal that little trick from Mr. Fang," Warlock said, running his hands over a few tables as he strolled back towards Kev. "Who would have thought that giving someone a meal could be so... inspiring?"
Kev shook his head. "I don't think Fang wanted to punish anyone..."
"Of course not!" Warlock laughed again, putting one hand on his stomach. "Punishing someone for their first offense would be barbaric." He looked over at Bruno and grinned. "Unless they want to be punished."
The buff brown bear nodded but didn't say anything.
Kev took a glance back at Talon. The eagle was standing stiffly at the entrance of the bar, his hands clasped behind his back, his sharp eyes flicking between the bear and the otter. His posture was a coiled spring of pure, professional alertness. Kev understood. Talon hadn't met Warlock yet, he'd only seen him across the theater when they were at the opera. Kev smiled at him quickly before turning back to the Mafioso.
"How about we keep this tour moving?" Kev said with forced cheer.
"But we haven't seen the kitchen yet," Warlock said, pointing towards the door next to the bar. "I've been running around all day, and it would be great to see some flesh roasting over an open fire."
Kev shuddered. "I'm sure you could ask Reepia for a tour later tonight, but the chefs are not in yet." He felt bad for the white lie, but he knew Scabs would not appreciate being interrupted twice in one day. The vulture would most definitely have a breakdown if he was asked to cook another meal. "Actually, maybe not Reepia. You should ask Fang for that."
Warlock tilted his head. "Mr. Fang runs the kitchen?"
"He runs everything," Kev said with a wave of his hand. "How about we move on?"
Kev led the small group towards the west wing. "This," he said, pushing open the heavy, closed doors, "is the theater."
The space was no longer the silent, sun-dusted sanctuary it had been that morning. Musicians, scattered across the stage and in the pit, were quietly chatting and tuning their instruments. A soft cacophony of plucked strings, reedy squawks, and gentle woodwind scales filled the air. As the doors swung open, the chatter stopped. Every head turned to look at the intruders, their expressions a mixture of surprise and mild annoyance. Kev felt like he had interrupted a secret ritual.
Warlock strode in, unfussed. "It's not quite as nice as the opera house," he said, his voice echoing slightly in the large space, "but I'm sure the shows are much more interesting... maybe with some... audience participation?"
Kev rushed to keep up with the otter, who was now inspecting the plush armchairs scattered around the seating area. He could see the musicians pointing and whispering to each other.
"Mr. Kev?"
Kev looked up to the stage and saw Gerald standing at the edge, his massive stand-up bass leaning against his side. The giraffe looked a bit nervous, his long neck swaying slightly.
"Gerald," Kev said, gesturing to the exploring gangster. "This is Mr. Warlock. I'm giving him a tour."
The giraffe's long neck made his glance between the otter and the human very dramatic. "Mr. Asmodeus is in a bit of a mood... could you consider this a... closed practice?"
Warlock flashed his sharp teeth. "The tragic toucan is here? Where is he? I'd love to meet the man."
"He is..." Gerald shuddered, "...educating the third clarinet... they were quite sharp during our warm-up."
Kev nodded. He didn't need a second hint. Asmodeus might be the only other manager that he'd been warned about as much as Fang. And now that he knew the warnings about Fang should have been taken more seriously, he didn't want there to be a big pile of feathers for Max to clean.
"That's perfect!" Warlock exclaimed. "After seeing Mr. Fang's unconventional lessons, I'd be willing to bet that Mr. Asmodeus-"
"Oh, you know how artists are," Kev said quickly, cutting off the otter. "But you know, there is other entertainment here."
Warlock glanced back at Kev. "But the toucan..."
"The fighting pit!" Kev exclaimed. "It's just across the hall! Let's go!"
Warlock looked back at the stage but couldn't hide his interest in the more visceral entertainment room.
Kev waved at Gerald and led Warlock across the hall to the fighting pit. The room was empty during the day, a wide, circular space with a raked sand floor. The afternoon sun, filtering in through a few high, barred windows, cast long, dramatic shadows across the pit, illuminating the faint scuffs and dark stains that even the diligent daytime cleaners couldn't fully erase. A heavy, wrought-iron railing encircled the pit at waist level, with a single, gated opening. Tiers of simple, stone benches rose up around the pit, a stark, gladiatorial amphitheater waiting for its nightly dose of blood and spectacle. The air was still and smelled of damp earth, stale sweat, and a faint, metallic tang.
As Kev walked in, he said, "The fights here are quite raw."
Warlock entered, sniffed the air, and let out a big, satisfied breath. "Ahh, courage, fear, and blood. Nothing else gets the juices flowing like some hulks burning lactic acid for our entertainment, huh?" Warlock stood next to Kev and slapped his shoulder.
Kev laughed nervously. "We actually hired Talon here after he had a really amazing fight."
Warlock turned and considered the eagle as Kev continued, "He was up against an ox that was easily three times his weight."
Warlock's grin slowly widened. "So, Mr. Talon," he purred, "do you enjoy tearing into those bigger than you?"
Talon glanced between Kev and the otter but remained silent.
Kev tried to jump in. "He doesn't have to enjoy fighting to be a good bodyguard."
Nodding, Warlock agreed. "You're right. Some of the best fighters don't enjoy it... they find it too boring."
Kev didn't have the time to push back against this before Warlock raised an arm towards his own guard. "Let's watch one, then! Bruno! You and that eagle jump down there and give us a show!"
Bruno, who had been standing impassively by the entrance, let out a low, rumbling chuckle. His small, intelligent bear eyes landed on Talon with a mixture of amusement and anticipation, and he cracked his massive knuckles, the sound like rocks grinding together. Talon, however, went rigid. His feathers bristled, his wings twitching at his sides, and a low, sharp hiss escaped his beak as he glared at the bear. It was a purely defensive, instinctual reaction, a cornered animal preparing to fight for its life.
Warlock laughed loudly. "Oh, Bruno won't kill you!"
"No," Kev said, a little too loudly.
All three, Warlock, Bruno, and Talon, turned to look at him, their expressions ranging from amusement to surprise.
"I mean..." Kev's mind raced as he assembled a defense. "With the big dinner tonight... and he's my personal bodyguard... and the raid yesterday..."
Warlock cocked his head to the side. "Oh, Mr. Kev, just have one of your other bouncers watch you if the bird breaks." He scratched his chin. "Mr. Rex seemed quite capable, especially after his team found the camera."
Kev shuddered when Warlock said "camera," but he swallowed his unease and leveled his gaze on the otter. "We can't be letting our security team be injured over entertainment. We just started a day-off policy recently and haven't been able to hire back to full levels."
"Day off?" Warlock said. "And that is...?"
Kev briefly explained what the day-off policy was, the words sounding a little hollow in the grim, sandy pit.
"But… it's just a duel," Warlock said. "As long as he taps out, Bruno won't rip his beak off. He will be able to walk and breathe just fine after…"
Kev shook his head again. "I don't think that's a good idea." He wracked his brain for a distraction. "Anyways... Talon's most entertaining when he's out in the open." With that, Kev began walking out towards the west wing hallway.
"Oh, but Mr. Kev," Warlock said, following the human out into the hall, "a fight would be so exciting!"
Kev looked back at Warlock and said, "Excitement is Lanon's department." He gestured down the west wing hallway.
"Yes... I suppose you are correct, Mr. Kev," Warlock conceded. "But..." his tail flicked. "...I was only able to enjoy one of the rooms while Bruno was being shown how to properly breathe while carrying a camcorder."
Kev did his very best not to look over at the bear. "I guess you already know what the offerings are, then."
"Just that one room," Warlock said, finishing off his cherry schnapps and handing the empty glass to Bruno. "It would be so enlightening to see what other boutique services the club provides."
Kev shook his head. "My apologies, Mr. Warlock, but that is Dr. Lanon's area of expertise. You'll have to ask him... I wouldn't know the right terms for his... 'therapy equipment'."
Kev saw a twinge of disappointment cross the otter's face. He hoped he wasn't harming the business deal that Fang had spent so long putting together by refusing to show Warlock the leather swings and whips. Kev turned and began walking back to the bar. "Anyways," he said, "I don't think the brands will be hot until the club opens."
Warlock's ears perked up as he followed Kev. "Brands, you say..."