Epilogue

Time:  After the storm - two weeks before the wedding.
Place:  North shoreline of Nintendo Island.

    A lone figure dressed in a makeshift sarong worked her way along the beach, the canine’s attention on the sand as she stomped it slowly.
   
Phyllis LaGrange carried a woven basket in one hand, a wooden spade in the other.  The femme worked her way along the tideline as she watched for the sudden spurt of water, as it did just then.  Quickly she dropped the basket and began shoveling in earnest for the startled clam, her mind picking that moment to roll back to the reason why she was here . . .

    It had been three months since she first came to the Spontoon Islands with her boyfriend.  Johnny Ramone was a small-time hood, a terrier of questionable parentage, who worked for the crime syndicate in San Francisco.  And Phyllis loved Johnny, except when he got drunk.  Then he would change from “ a really sweet guy” into a surly monster who would knock her about; a regular Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in most folk’s minds.  And for the past year that was becoming more and more often, until late February of this year.
   
It started out as a simple shakedown at the time.  It seemed some old cat running a drugstore down by Little Italy wasn’t forking over the protection money to keep his place in business.  Johnny’s job was to go into the store, get the money, and leave.  Or if the feline didn’t fork over the dough, or gave the canine a hard time, then Johnny was to rough him up.  Except this time the beat cop was using the store’s toilet and had just stepped out when Johnny started slapping the cat around. 
   
Johnny panicked when he spotted the Bull; he pulled his rod out and shot him.  As the cop crumpled to the floor, the canine dashed out the door and dove into the waiting car.  With a squeal of rubber the vehicle took off, clipping the fender of another car in its haste to leave the neighborhood.
   
When Johnny’s bosses found out what had been done, they dropped him like a hot potato.  There was no place for a cop killer in the family.
   
“Skip town, kid!  We don’t need you anymore!  Blow while ya gotta chance.”

Back at the shabby apartment he shared with Phyllis in Fisherman’s Wharf, the words tumbled out of his muzzle in a sobbing choking torrent.  Quickly they packed a couple of suitcases and headed down to the docks.  Bus lines, train stations, and airports would be covered quickly by the police, though there hadn’t been any thought of placing some officers down at the tickets booths of the shipping lines.
   
While trying to determine what country to skip to, the canine couple spotted a vacation poster of Spontoon Island.  At the instant they saw the poster it was decided to head there.  With tickets in hand they boarded the steamer to leave San Francisco forever.

    Upon arrival at Casino Island, Johnny started looking for a group or gang that could use some added muscle while Phyllis got a job working as a waitress at a local bar.  But Johnny wasn’t so lucky.  Being from the mainland worked against him, as he didn’t know the ‘lay of the land’.  So at night he came home to the apartment the pair shared over the bar, drunk and angry.
   
It finally came to ahead one night when a major storm howled through the streets with buckets of rain.  Phyllis was very angry with her lover cause he took the last of her money.  It had been a very good week for the bar and all the girls had hefty tip jars at the end of their shifts.  But Johnny had been dipping heavily into hers, leaving very little to even buy groceries.  So tonight she was ready for the confrontation that had been brewing like the storm front.
   
In the early morning hours, long after the storm had passed through, the young canine femme was dozing in a chair at the dining table, Johnny’s gun lying by her hand.  There came the heavy, unsteady footfalls of the canine hoodlum on the stairs.  It was enough to rouse Phyllis from her slumber.  The door slammed open and in the flash of lightning that followed the femme sat up and stared at the dripping figure leaning heavily against the doorframe. 
   
What followed will always be a hazy blur of images stuck in the young femme’s mind.  Johnny gave a deep growl of anger as he stumbled into the apartment.  In fear Phyllis brought the gun up and fired without thinking, just as a flash of lightning and clap of thunder happened outside.  Fingers clawing at his clothes, Johnny Ramone fell to the floor, the look of amazement twisting his features.
   
Dropping the gun the femme grabbed the small case of clothes left by the door and dashed out the door and down into the rain-wet street.  Without thinking where to go Phyllis took off down the street.  Not long afterwards a car slowly followed her, lights out.  Within minutes it pulled up by the running figure and opened a door.
   
“Get in,” said a deep feminine voice.
   
Not knowing what else to do the canine femme did so.  Two nondescript figures dressed in male clothing were seated up front.  The vehicle pulled away and headed towards the docks on the West Side of Casino Island.
   
The femme in the passenger seat turned around and began speaking to Phyllis.  She explained they were part of an organization that looked after battered women.  Some they move to other islands under new identities.  Others are sent far to the southwest to a place called Nintendo Island.
   
“It’s a place where a buncha native femmes live, and they sometimes take in mainland femmes getting away from rough males.”
   
Phyllis listened with one ear while looking out the window, worried that the police might be after her.  The femme up front leaned back to pat her enfolded hands, a smile on her muzzle.
   
“Relax, sister,” the femme said.  “Nobody will ever find ya.  We’ve been doing this for nearly forty years so we know what we’re doin’.”
   
The rattled canine femme could only nod, too scared to speak.
   
The car pulled into a warehouse down on the southwest docks.  There the femme in the front seat helped Phyllis out while the car drove away.  Tied to the dock was a small packet ship.  Together the two walked out of the building and up the gangway.  A couple of male fursons on deck directed the femmes to a stateroom while they went back up topside.
   
An hour later the ship cast off and headed on a southwest heading.  It was over a day’s travel to the island, and when they arrived the femme pair were directed into the ship’s boat.  Together they were rowed to a broad beach of sand dotted with rocks and driftwood.  A small party of native women met them.
   
Phyllis felt fear grip her stomach as she stared at the collection of spears and clubs the natives held.  Their faces were grim as they stared back.  Then the femme who brought her here – she was an Alsatian – stepped forward and began talking to those gathered.  When she had finished the others spoke quietly to each other before turning back to the pair, and they had smiles on their faces.  One of the natives closed the distance until she was before Phyllis.
   
“Welcome, sister, to our sanctuary.”  She had a New York accent to her voice.
   
The rest gathered around a relieved Phyllis.  They guided her to their encampment as the Alsatian returned to the ship.

   
By late morning the canine femme had half a basket of clams and she was becoming very hot and tired.  She paused to wipe the back of her hand across her eyes, trying to clear the stray hairs away.  Ahead of her was a large log half-buried in the sand.  Blowing noisily Phyllis trudged to the log.  It was going to be tough going, either climbing over or around the log.  She chose to work her way around.  Splashing through the surf the canine halted at the sight beyond the log.

    Two bodies lay in the sand.  Softly Phyllis stepped forward, her bare feet leaving impressions in the wet sand.  As she got closer she began to recognize what kind of fursons they were.  One appeared to be a male pig dressed in a sodden brown linen suit.  The other was a feline femme with dark brown fur except for the hair, hands, and feet which were black.

    Setting aside basket and spade Phyllis eased forward until she could kneel by the porcine figure.  He was lying face up, arms spread wide, a look a surprise stamped on his face.  He looked to be Asian as far as the canine femme could tell, except the bulging of his eyes indicated something else, something that hovered on the edge of her memory.

    Leaving the pig Phyllis moved around to the feline.  She was face down in the sand and was dressed in what appeared to be an embroidered gown, also Asian.  As the femme studied the body she noticed something out of the ordinary.  Carefully Phyllis reached forward to touch the damp tangle of tresses on the back of the head.  She felt what seemed to be a small hole.  Then it all came back to her.  Both had been shot in the back of the head at close range.  That was why the pig’s eyes bulged from their sockets.

    Gathering spade and basket Phyllis headed back up the beach towards camp.  The others had to be told and they would deal with the corpses.  Most likely they will bury the femme while hauling the male out to deeper water to feed the fish.
 
    A hint of a smile creased Phyllis LaGrange’s lips.  She was glad to be on Nintendo Island, where the femmes know how to take care of each other, and how to deal with any stray male that came to their refuge.

end