8:21

“Bugger!”

The beaver had been hanging about Gareth’s apartment for eight hours, and there was still no sign of him. This was getting dangerous for pretty much everyone involved. And time wasn’t on his side with old cottontail out there somewhere and a bunch of beaver-napping lunatics on the loose.

For the fortieth time the beaver strode over to the window and gazed warily out at the street. It was dark now and nothing seemed to be moving out there.

“Bugger!” he repeated.

At which point the heavy wooden apartment door flew into the hallway with a resounding crash, and two dark figures quickly followed, dropping what appeared to be a matte-black battering ram.

“There!” the beaver heard come from one of them, and then they headed straight for him.

“BUGGER!” the beaver grunted for a third and final time as he flung himself at glass in front of him. His sixty pounds shattered the brittle glass with ease, and moments later the beaver found himself scrambling out of the dogwood and paralleling the building toward the lane. Fourteen feet up, he could hear a muffled curse and then the sound of a someone dropping into the poor abused shrub that he had just exited.

Muttering imprecations to himself, the beaver hung a right into the short lane and scrambled up the back of the old pickup and onto its roof. From there he could just reach the top of the brick wall that surrounded the dumpsters and boxes of the neighbouring shop. Along the wall and onto the canopy overhanging the back entrance, and then a quick hop onto the top of the large illuminated sign that wrapped around the building.

“There’s the bastard!” The beaver quickly slid around the corner and jumped awkwardly onto the canvas roof of the 450 SL that was parked in front of the all-night convenience store. He rolled clumsily across the hood, leaving a few claw marks in the shiny black paint job, and landed mostly on his feet on the side of the empty street. He could hear his pursuers running around the building, but he figured he at least had some breathing space now.

Across the street the park began, but it was all fields and didn’t offer much protection. He could make a stand there or try to head up the street a hundred metres or so and make for the protection of the park’s dense shrubs. All things being equal, the beaver figured the two pursuers weren’t much of a challenge, but he had already experienced a bit too much of other people’s hospitality and it was time to make like a banana and split.

Besides, maybe he would find his lemon tree in there somewhere. The beaver headed down the street, sticking close to the shadows of the buildings, and slipped into the trees just as one of the dark figures rounded the corner.