"Why They Call Me Skinner."

The man felt the van stop. Before he knew it, the van's rear doors were swung open and he was thrown in the dirt. His suit is dirtied by sandy soil.

Jerome and Cass stand over the man, who is an otter. Skinner had heard them arrive, and exits the utility building before them. Jerome stares down at the man, now sitting with his hands tied behind his back, legs curled, and covered head hung. Cass is looking at Skinner, waiting for his words.

"Bring 'im inside." says Skinner. The two oblige by picking the otter up by the arms and escorting him swiftly inside. Skinner looks around to insure the lack of sightseers. Surrounding him is the Californian desert, somewhere near Borrego Springs. The sands are empty. Pleased with the area's vacancy, Skinner follows the trio inside the pumphouse.

The building is quite rusty. Most of its valuable components have been seized by looters since it has gone defunct. In the middle of the rust and stripped machines the three thugs look down at the suited man. After they exchange a few looks, Skinner retrieves a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket to review its contents. On the paper a corporate profile is printed.

"James Walters." Skinner declares. The man has an obvious reaction, causing the bobcat to chuckle.

Jerome pipes in. "Me and my two friends here got a thing or two to ask you." He takes the cloth bag off the man's head and kneels on one knee next to him. His face is drenched in sweat and his eyes dart around the building. "You see we-" he pauses for a moment as he looks at Skinner and Cass. "We're looking for some product your company transports." The man doesn't take long to reply.

"Look, guys, they don't tell me the routes of the cash. I'm not even that high up in the company!" The man continues switching his view between the three, praying they're satisfied with the answer.

"Pal." Cass produces a pistol hiding in her waistband. The man's darting eyes become stationary on the gun. "We're not after the money."

The otter swallows and begins to reason. "What do you want, a van? I can get you the keys to one!" Skinner retrieves a toppled metal chair from the corner of the room as the man continues. "We just landed a museum contract, maybe I could tell you where some expensive antiques are headed. Or-" The man is interrupted by a chair being slammed before him.

"Take a seat." orders Skinner.

"Hey man, I-"

"Sit." Skinner demands with a hiss. The otter shakily stands up and carefully sits in front of him.

"You heard 'a me? You oughta, since yer up from Red Bluff. Name's Skinner."

The man's eyes widen. "You're S..." His voice trails off. Cass looks at Skinner curiously.

"Looks like you have." Skinner says. "Tell us where the dust is."

The otter clears his throat. "L-like sawdust? We don't do heavy industr-" He stops talking as Skinner unsheathes a large hunting knife from the inside of his jacket.

"The blue dust." Skinner states, adopting a menacing tone. The man looks away.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He claims. Skinner leans in. The sunlight from the open doorway gleams off the knife.

"You wanna know why they call me Skinner?" The bobcat bares his fangs and twirls his knife for effect.

"Palm Springs." Laments the otter. "The cobalt is leaving Palm Springs Tuesday at 8 A.M. sharp and driving to some lab in Prescott."

Skinner inches closer. "You wouldn't lie to ol' Skinner would ya?"

"N-no sir!" the otter swiftly stutters out.

Finally satisfied with his answer, Skinner leans back, steps away, and re-sheathes his knife, much to the man's relief. "Put him back in the van. Drop him off somewhere." Cass tucks her sidearm back into her waistband and helps Jerome put the man back in the van with the bag he arrived with back on his head. As Jerome gets back in the driver's seat, Cass steps over to Skinner as he exits the pumphouse.

"How'd he know who you were?" She asks.

Skinner smiles. "I'll tell you over a beer back at the bar. Poor James won't go tellin' on us, don't worry."

Cass eases up. "The van leaves day after tomorrow. I'm guessing we'll go over the plan in the morning?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right. Woulda liked more time on this one, but it should be easy." The bobcat says.

"It will. Trust me." The lizard gives him a pat on the shoulder. "See you back at the bar, Skinner." She says cheerfully as she spins around and walks back to the van.

"Yup." Skinner replies. As the van pulls away, he circles behind the building and mounts the motorcycle he arrived on. He starts it. Sitting on the bike, he observes the scenery. Sand whips across sand in the open desert. Turning his attention away from the empty terrain, he retrieves his bottle of painkillers from his jacket. Skinner pops the bottle open and pours a few in his palm before downing them. The bobcat uses his foot to put away the bike's kickstand and rides off.