By John Cosper

Like so many of the finer things in life, happy ever after seems to be a luxury reserved for the elite. Take my friend Nick. Like most wolves living in Fairyland, he wasn't the most popular guy. What few friends he had, he threw away when he turned states against the Peter Piper family, sending a peck of perps to the big house while he went into the witness protection program. He spent three years living under an enchantment as a frog on a lily pad.

Enter the dame.

Blonde, built, her blue eyes alone could charm a viper. Nick had no chance when she asked the wolf-turned-rat-turned-amphibian to fetch a ball out of a well. He was still catching his putrid, froggy breath when she planted the kiss on him: one hand on each cheek, square in the lips. The kiss of death broke the enchantment, returning Nick to his wolfish former self.

"This is from the Peter Piper family!" the blonde shouted, driving her shank into his heart. One more dead wolf no one would shed a tear for.

I pass the spot where they found Nick’s rotting corpse on my way into The Woods. Night has fallen like a heavy blanket on this decrepit suburb. Once the pride of Fairyland, The Woods is a mere shadow of what it once was, littered with ramshackle homes long past needing to be torn down. It’s the kind of place you don't walk through after dark alone, a shanty town watched over by a hard luck kinda guy who just wants to retire to some beach town bait shop and be left alone.

That's right, this is my Woods. Wolf Hudson is the name. Or as the children call me, the Big Bad Wolf. Racist little brats. They watch the news with their parents and see how half a world away, the forces of "good" do battle with evil, ravenous wolves who want to disrupt the happy ever after they so enjoy. They hear rumors of wolf cells living among them, plotting slaughter and violence. They cast a suspicious eye on anyone with fangs and a bushy tail.

Forget that I was born not ten minutes from this pit, raised to believe in the happy ever after dream. I've got the fangs, the long snout, and the bushy tail that marks me as the enemy of the people.

I don't wanna hurt anybody. I just want to collect the rent on time so I can eat.

The hunger leads me into the dark suburb, searching out three tenants who have made pig sties of their three bedroom dwellings while refusing to pay a dime. Blackmailing swine told me it was because I wouldn't wire their houses for cable. But I'm not the one who rooted and dug their backyards up to the point no cable guy would cross it. I'm also not the one that set up the herb lab in my living room, presenting a danger to my neighbors... not to mention a fire hazard the insurance company would not likely pay for.

1315 Drury Lane. Across the street, I see the Muffin Man and his wife, sitting on the porch. The self-appointed, self-righteous neighborhood watch. Old Man Muffin's been itching to put buckshot in my bushy tail for years. Better play this cool.

I knock on the door. Crashing, banging, scampering sounds from inside. I catch wind of that forbidden herb that I tried once in my younger days. Pigs love the herb.

"Rent's due, little pig," I say. "Bring out the cash, or bring a suitcase, 'cause you're out."

"Uh, he's not here!" The snort tells me he's a liar. Not that I needed any clues.

"Little pig, little pig, let me in."

"Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin!"

His vulgar mouth ignites that passion all wolves hold inside. "Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in!"

I whip out my .9 and blast the door down, shaking the straw walls of this shack to its foundations. The pig knocks me over running for cover, down the street.

I start after him, just in time to dodge the shotgun blast from the Muffin Man. Little tart, I got no beef with you. But just to keep him honest, I put a hole in the passenger window of his pumpkin carriage before I run after the pig.

I knew where he was headed. Meadow Drive, the house of sticks right next to the giant shoe. The old woman sees me coming, and calls to her kids. Why anyone would raise children is beyond me. I've done my part, called Child Protective Services. She's human; I'm a wolf. It didn't take them long to file that one in the wastebasket.

I walk right up to the stick door. "Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!"

"NOT BY THE HAIR OF OUR CHINNY CHIN CHINS!"

Now I'm really mad. Swear in front of me? That's one thing. But two of the old woman's kids heard their foul speech this time. My .9 is out, huffing and puffing and blowing the house down before I can say the words. The pigs, giant splinters sticking in their fat, porky flesh, run squealing through the muddy yard, hopping the fence into Jack Horner's yard. They run over his plum tree like it's a twig. Jack would be ticked, but I'm sure he's probably got his thumb stuck in a pie somewhere.

They make my job easier, running to the Brick two-story at the foot of Deep Dark Wooded Way. Now all three pigs were trapped, along with the lab I desperately wanted out of my neighborhood. My .9 was out as I approached the door.

"Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!"

"Not by the hair of our chinny chin chins!"

"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll--" My patience is gone. I've waited too long for this. I start blasting. Next thing I know, I'm ducking bullets. It's a steel door, you idiot! The bullets ricochet off the door, flying over head, nearly hitting the girl in the red hood I've seen so many times skipping down Deep Dark Wooded Way to her Grandma's.

The door keeps bullets out, but I can hear their snort laughs through the walls. They're not going to win this one. The windows are all barred, no doubt improvements they installed to keep away the cops.

Only one way in: the chimney. I'm on the roof in a few minutes, not the fit wolf I once was. The smell of herbs is stronger up here. They're brewing a new batch for the streets even now! I reload my .9 and step up to the edge of the chimney.

It's a tight fit, but I'm making my way down slowly. The herbal scent keeps rising, inflaming my nostrils. I hold my snout, trying not to choke. Don't cough. Don't give yourself away.

Suddenly there's shouting inside the house. I can hear the pigs squealing and running about. I look down and see the second, the stick house dweller. He sees me... or does he?

"Something's blocking the vent!" he screams. "Run for it! It's going to blow!"

Stupid pigs! They used the chimney to vent their little lab. Now I was the cork in the pipe that could only lead to one thing.

The explosion burns like the devil on my bushy tail. I find myself rocketing skyward, chunks of pork, ham, and bacon flying past me as the pigs are incinerated. Some how I land safely in a daisy patch, far from the inferno. I gingerly handle my cooked tail, still simmering, as I look back into The Woods.

One problem solved, but who knows how many new ones I've caused. The fire's already spread to three other houses. I can hear the bells on the fire wagons rushing to the scene.

They all saw me. The Muffin Man, the Old Woman in the Shoe... Forget the pigs were dealers whose illegal activities caused the explosion. Pigs don’t build bombs. Wolves do.

I need to get out of town, and there's only one man who can make it happen quickly.

Although no one ever really wants to see Humpty Dumpty, he owes me one for tipping him off about the so-called Musicians of Bremen, the hit squad hired by the Gingerbread Mafia to take him out last Christmas. He'd offered to buy me out of The Woods at a price that would let me walk out of town with barely a nickel in my pocket. Right now that nickel sounds like a fortune.

Humpty held court on the south side of town at a place called The Wall. You wouldn't walk into this place without a set of fangs, or at least a hard, blunt instrument that could be used as a weapon. The usual riff raff are scattered throughout the place. Ironic that even in this place, the scum of the earth keep an eye on me, just because I'm a wolf.

That wooden blockhead Pinocchio stands by the back room door. "Where you going, bushy tail?"

"I need to see your boss, Woodstock. Let me in."

Pinocchio rolls his painted-on eyes. "Shouldn't you be bombing an embassy or something?"

I show the puppet I have no time for him by knocking on wood with the butt of my .9. I step through the beaded curtain to the back room of The Wall and walk in on a familiar site: a tiny elf kneeling before the rotten egg.

"So you're one night away from having the queen's child. You get a keg, throw yourself a party for one in the words, and turn your name, the key to the whole scheme, into a rap song."

"I'm sorry, Hump," the elf stammers. "How was I to know she'd send a spy?"

"You have failed me for the last time, Rumplestiltskin." The elf is lifted off the ground and carried out the back door. Humpty's eyes fall on me.

"What'll it be this time?"

"I'm thinking Jack and Jill," Humpty says. "You remember. They fell down, broke their crowns."

And Jill came tumbling after. No telling how many people had made the famous leap off Humpty’s favorite point. It was his way.

"You still interested in The Woods?"

He reads me like a children's book. "You in some kind of trouble? You've held out on me in the past, Hudson. Why now?"

"I'm ready to find that beach front bait shop. That's all."

"I hear someone was cookin' bacon out there tonight."

"Yeah, well, word travels fast, doesn’t it?"

"Those were Little Bo's Peeps who got cooked."

An icy chill overtakes my stomach. Little Bo? I could be in a heap of trouble. "Humpty, I'm willing to take your price. I'm in a rush, but remember, you're here because..."

"I know, Hudson." Humpty nods. "I never forget a friend. I'll pay your price, but you better never show your face here again."

"Agreed," I tell him.

"Give me two hours," said Humpty. "You bring the deed, I'll send you on your merry way."

The deal is set. I turn to leave. Humpty's word is as good as anyone in this black world, but when he sets the terms, negotiations are closed.

Two hours to freedom. I make my way into town to a little place called Grimm's. It's not bad as dives go. The brothers who own the place run a microbrew in the back that's better than the average. Good guys. They don't care who you are or where you're from, so long as you have gold coins to spend and a story to tell. You almost get the idea they're recording it all, saving it and writing it down later to print.

The older boy can tell I've got a lot on my mind tonight, but in his usual way, he doesn't pressure me to spill. Sometimes you gotta sort through things internally before you can talk them out, finding closure through a bar tender or shrink. You pay either way, and both will offer you chemical relief. Beer's just a little tastier than pills.

I crawl into a corner booth, an eye on the door looking out for cops. Instead, I'm treated to a vision like these wolf eyes had never beheld. She's dressed in rags, tattered and town, drenched in sweat. Yet she glistens and glows like the sun itself. Her radiant blonde hair crowns her like a goddess.

And for some reason, she's looking at me.

"Is this seat taken?" She slides in, taking the hungry look in my eyes for a yes. "I've had such a hard night. Buy me a drink?"

I agree, if she tells me her name. Goldi. Her name is Goldi. She throws down her first shot like it's water.

"First thing I've had in my stomach since noon. And that was a bowl of porridge."

"Porridge?"

"I know. It goes right to my hips, but I was starved."

"Where would you even buy a bowl of porridge?"

"That's the thing, I didn't. I was waiting for someone at their place."

"Someone special?"

It takes another shot of courage before she can spill. "I thought so. You know, my mother told me never date a bear. 'They're all liars,' she said. I wish I'd listened."

She tells me all about her lover, a grizzly from up north, who became a sugar bear to her. Six months of sneaking around didn't clue her in to his secret: he was married, with a kid. Hurt, confused, she knows it was probably a mistake to break into his house in order to tell his wife the truth. She nearly got eaten for her trouble.

Damsels in distress are a dime a dozen in a place like this. Another hour, Rapunzel will be on stage dancing. Only she knows if her tale is true, but it gets her more than a few extra tips. But Rapunzel's a red head, and Goldi... there's something about blondes. It'll be the death of me one day, but tonight, when it's already staring me in the face, I feel like playing with fire.

"You afraid of wolves, Goldi?"

She considers my question while she sizes me up. "I did just come out of a bad scrape with a bear. But frankly, you don't look like the crazed, jihadist wolves I see on the news."

"You got any plans tonight?"

"Just staying out of trouble."

"Now where's the fun in that?" I tell her I'm planning a little trip, soon as I collect on a gambling debt. No use boring her with the true details. "You wanna see the ocean?"

She's got all the courage and spunk I hoped for. "Okay, Wolf. Where shall I meet you?"

"Right here, 1 am. We'll hop the red eye carriage out of town."

"So long as I'm not riding a pumpkin."

She makes me laugh... but she's got a point. Maybe I can borrow some decent wheels, and enough gas money to get me to the next kingdom.

Rendezvous time. I make my way from Grimm's down to The Wall. Something's not right. The place is too quiet, smells like rotten eggs, and my trigger finger's itchy. I let my finger massage the trigger on my .9 and make my way inside.

I burst through the door and get a lead pipe in the back of the head for my trouble. Stupid! He must have been waiting outside, jumped me as I came in the room. I hit the ground snout first, and when I pull up, I see the powder blue shoes, standing in what can only be egg yolk.

"You looking for Humpty Dumpty?" Little Bo Peep is everything they say she is: cute, darling, with a lust for homicide twinkling in those blue eyes. The yolk under her feet, the cracked shell, it can only be Humpty. He’d taken a few falls in his time, but this one looked to be his last. No putting him back together this time.

My mind wonders to the next question, wondering who ratted me out. As if Little Bo can read my mind, she motions the traitor to step into the room, his head splintered from the sock in the head I gave him.

"Pinocchio," I growl. "You ratted me out, didn't you?"

"Me?" the wooden boy squeaks. "You know I'd never cross you. Or Humpty."

The growing nose tells me he's lying.

"You took something of mine, Wolfie," Little Bo coos. "I need compensation. With interest."

"Why would I ever do anything for you?"

"Hudson, I’m surprised. Wolves are violent creatures. It shouldn't matter if you're causing mayhem for Humpty or me."

"I'm not a violent guy," I tell her. "And I'm sorry about your bacon. All I want is to get outta this town and live on a beach. Some place I won't get stares, just because I'm a wolf."

Little Bo thinks before responding. "I believe you." I don't know if she really believes me or not, but she knows an opportunity when she sees it. "You want to get out of town? I want you gone."

"Good," I say. "Swap you my deed to The Woods for a ticket on the next coach outta town."

"I'll take that deed," says Little Bo. "But I need something more. I lost a huge chunk of my production capacity today. You're gonna help me take over the operations of one of my top rivals."

"Am I?"

Little Bo nods to one of her slimeballs, who tosses me an envelope.

"That's your target. The delivery person. My sources tell me she's got a midnight delivery coming. Find her, find out if it's true. Report back to me."

I slide the photo out of the envelope. Somewhere, some cruel puppet master overseeing the events of the living is having a field day with my fate. I know the face. And I know where to find her: Deep Dark Wooded Way.

It's pitch black now, and the firefighters are gone. A crater sits where the brick pig house once stood. Charred ash covers most of the houses. I find cover out of the street lights and wait. And wait.

Deep Dark Wooded Way is unlike any other street in the neighborhood. It runs straight for two, dull suburban blocks, then winds up a tree-lined one lane to the last house on the block. Grandma's place.

There were a hundred stories about Grandma, most all of them third or fourth hand. There's the one I heard in The Woods, how she swallows the souls of little children on Halloween. The one I got from Rapunzel at Grimms, how she killed her own family, held hostage by her rivals, rather than let someone else take over her empire of crime.

The story I believe is the one about her being a sweet, charming old lady who bakes cookies for her granddaughter and keeps her bird feeders well-filled. Call me crazy. I guess I'm just hoping to find the good in people rather than the rabid psychotic.

I'm shocked to see the little girl in the red hood skipping up the road just after midnight. I guess I had hoped she wouldn't show. Then maybe Little Bo would cut me loose to meet Goldi and get outta town. Now that she's here, I have no choice.

"Hello, little girl." I do my best to sound menacing. Not hard for a wolf, but I'm rusty.

"Hello, wolf," she says, totally unflustered.

"Where are you going with that basket?"

"What's it to you, wolf?"

"Just curious what a sweet young thing like you is doing in a dangerous place like this."

"My grandma's ill, and needs medicine. I'm going to take care of her, no matter what dangerous neighborhoods or wolves try to stop me!"

"I'm not dangerous!" I tell her. "I just wanna be left alone."

"That makes two of us."

She skips off down the road. The win whips up and I get a glimpse at the "medicine" she's packing: a .38 special and possibly thousands in gold coin.

I make my way to the white horse carriage parked outside The Woods. Little Bo rolls down the window.

"She's making a money run. All gold coin."

Little Bo smiles greedily. "You know what to do."

I shake my head. "Bo, I did what you want."

"And now you have one more job."

"No deal, Bo. I want my ticket."

She lifts an Uzi into view. "You ever wonder happened to those sheep I lost? Let me send you off to pay a visit."

I sigh. There's nothing left but to head up to Grandma's.

"I want the money, and I want them both dead." She rolls up the window. There's nothing further to discuss.

The only thing I have in my favor is an intimate knowledge of this forsaken suburb. There's a short cut up to Grandma's by way of Drury Lane. I make my way through the discarded trash and weeds up to the tiny cottage.

I peer through the back window. No sign of Grandma. The glass door slides open, and I make my way inside. The place is pristine. If all my houses looked this way, it'd be worth a fortune. A nice lady lives here. I pray it's a nice lady, and not some neat freak crime boss.

"Grandma? It's me!"

I panic. Grandma's nightie lies on the bed. I slip into it and do my best grandma voice.

"Come in, little one!"

Red walks into the house. I'm sitting on my couch, my tail tucked in between the cushions. "Why Red, hello. You have my medicine?"

She cocks her head. "Why Grandma, what big eyes, nose, and teeth you have!"

I'm toast. "Yeah, well, you know our family."

The closet door flies open. Grandma aims a pump-action shotgun at my chest. "And now you know ours! Take this, Wolf!"

As the bullet ripped my chest apart, my last thoughts were of Goldi. I was supposed to meet her in an hour. It's probably just as well. Like every other dame, she probably woulda just broke my heart.

As many pieces as Grandma's gun split my heart into, it would be tough for anyone to inflict much more damage.

Blame it on dames. Blame it on bad luck. You're still only part right. No one wants to see a wolf have a happy ending.

Copyright 2006 by John Cosper