Would you like some champagne and caviar?

Animals fill the room, eyes of glass and lack of bodies beyond the fur, otherwise, the four men in their short leather chairs would not be able to sit so calmly without their rifles.  The smell of smoke filled the room.  Half from the cigars.  Half from the fire burning in the grand fireplace, the only light source in the dim room.  The room is small but the decor is rich with dark green wall paper and dark wood paneling.  

“More Scotch?” The man with the grizzly bear behind him asks.

“I mustn't, the misses will be wondering where I am if I don’t come home soon,” the man sitting beneath the mountain goat head said.

“Ah, how is married life?” The man with the buffalo head behind him took a puff of his cigar.  

“It’s been what? Two years?” Asked the man with the buck behind him. 

“Our third year wedding anniversary is next month,” Mr. Goat closes his eyes, gives a sly smile and nods his head.

“And yes, he will have more Scotch as will I,” Mr. Buck said, pointing back and forth between the two crystal glasses.

“Ah, what the hell,” Mr. Goat pushed his glass toward Mr. Bear “I don’t go out hunting with you fine fellows every weekend.” 

“Third year wedding anniversary,” Mr. Buffalo nods, bringing the conversation back to marriage as Mr. Bear pours more scotch from the crystal decanter on the low table.  “Is that the year where the gift is paper?” 

“Being married for twenty years has got you all tangled up,” Mr. Buck taking a sip of his Scotch, “Paper is one year.  Leather is the third year.” 

“And I am happily married,” Mr. Buffalo corrects.

 “What are you going to get her for your anniversary?” Mr. Bear interrupts.

“Well, I was thinking of a purse…” 

“A purse?” Mr. Buffalo spits out his scotch.  “Dear boy, take it from me.  Your wife can have a purse any day of the year.  But this is your anniversary.  Why not something a bit… how do I say this?” 

“Bigger!” Mr. Bear interrupts.

“Bigger?” asks Mr. Goat.

“Yes, like….” Mr. Buck starts.

“...A hunt,” Mr. Buffalo finishes.

“A hunt?  Really?  Well she does like it when I take her out to go hunting.  Fox season starts next week.  If we get a good catch, maybe I can have a coat for her made out of it,” Mr. Goat gleams.  “Thanks, gents, for the idea.” Mr. Goat raises his glass.

Mr. Buffalo purses his lips.  “I have a better idea.”

“A better idea?  But that is the perfect idea.” Mr. Goat starts.

“Hear me out.  What about a human?” Mr. Buffalo says.  Mr. Buck and Mr. Bear can’t help but smile like the devil.

“A human?” Mr. Goat leans forward.

“How many times have you taken your wife out hunting?” Mr. Buffalo asks.

“Yes,” Mr. Buck continues, “And how many times has she had the opportunity to hunt a human?” 

“Yes,” Mr. Bear chimes in, “And how exciting to get that once in a lifetime opportunity to hunt a human?” 

“I see your point,” Mr. Goat scratches his chin.  “But where would I find such a human?” 

Each of the men looked up at the ceiling in thought.

Mr. Buck snapped his fingers without a cigar, “I got it!”

“Oh yeah?” Mr. Buffalo asked. 

“On Chestnut Avenue,” Mr. Buck finishes, “That’s where I like to go when I need some,” he hushes his voice, “company.” 

“Company?” Mr. Goat's voice goes up an octave.  The three men answer his question with a slight motion of their heads.  “Oh.”  Mr. Goat replies in understanding.

“Well, that’s no fun,” says Mr. Buffalo.

“Why would you say that,” says Mr. Bear.

“Those kinds of people go missing all the time.  What kind of fun is that?” Mr. Buffalo says.

“Good point,” says Mr. Bear.

“What about a beggar?” asks Mr. Buck.

“Too smelly,” Mr. Bear and Mr. Buffalo say at the same time, then give each other a “look.”  

“What if I bathe the guy?”  Mr. Goat chimes in, “You know,...  And give him nice clothes.  I can dress him up any way I want.”

“That’s a great idea!  You can make him a Cowboy,” says Mr. Buck.

“Or a police officer,” says Mr. Buffalo.

“Or a clown,” says Mr. Bear.

“So, where will this all take place?” Mr. Goat asks.

“Right here my dear boy,” Says Mr. Buck, “The finest hunting grounds in the land.  Bring him here and we will bathe and clothe him.  Then we will sit him down for a feast.  The caviar and champagne will be flowing.  That is when you break it to him that you will be hunting him.”

“I see,” Mr. Goat scratches his chin.  “Well, how do I get the person to come with me?” 

The men all stare at Mr. Goat, “Just say the words ‘caviar and champagne’.”  Says Mr. Buck.  The other men nod in agreement.

—

A few weeks later, Mr. Goat drives down Chestnut Boulevard.  Bright neon signs fill the red Corvette with light.  Life is present on the street.  Shady characters line the street.  Some with feathers in their hats, some in leather jackets, some barely clothed.  Mr. Goat stares as he chooses his prey.

Then the street gets quiet.  The neon signs disappear.  And no one is standing on the street.  Mr. Goat makes a U-turn and tries again, viewing all the options like he is reading a menu.  

He spots a man on the corner, his clothes may have once upon a time been light colored but they are now dark.  His hair is greasy from unwash.  And his cheeks looked an unnatural color of grey.

Mr. Goat slows down the car and swallows, “Hello dear sir.” He is tripping over his words and debates, turning the Corvette around and heading back home.  A fox stoll would make a wonderful wedding gift.  Then he speaks one more sentence to the man, “Would you like some champagne and caviar?”