詐欺の達人
Masters of Deception
The elevator doors parted, and two intimate figures emerged into the modest hallway of an urban apartment block. They were a fairly young pair of raccoons, one a man and the other a woman, both with nearly matching fur-tones of clouded gray. The two navigated the through the empty corridor side-by-side, speaking quietly between each other.
"I think I can get us a part in Caldwell's new racket." he began.
The man was a shifty wiry figure, wearing unassuming streetwear that wouldn't draw a second glance.
"That so? I thought they were full-up on that gig."
She was a cool, calculating individual, dressed with similarly subtlety as her companion.
"Nagel got in an accident yesterday and landed himself in the hospital, which means the crew is now short a dedicated tech-jockey, plus I know they could really use an extra frontman to run some of the cons in their show..."
He cut himself off when he spotted another figure exit a nearby room and make his way through the hall toward the pair. He was a cream colored horse, apparently the building custodian by the rough, slightly dirtied coverall he wore. As he passed, the equine janitor gave the pair a silent, polite nod, and continued on his way.
Once out of earshot, the two raccoons resumed their conversation.
"That's great and all Rick, but..." She paused, turning her head down as she scratched the side of her head at the temple, "Just tell me you didn't do anything to encourage Nagel's 'accident'."
Rick smiled at her and shook his head, taking the other's hands in a display of reassurance.
"No sis, of course not. You know I'd never do something like that."
She closed in her brother, wrapping her arms around the other raccoon a in tender embrace and rested her head on one of his shoulders. Rick responded in kind, enveloping her within his own arms as he tilted his head down to speak into her ear with barely audible whisper.
"Do you want to try a Red Herring?"
The sister answered with an almost undetectable nod, and two released each other from the embrace.
In a moment, Rick's breathing became a rapid succession of heaving gasps, and a look of absolute terror took over the raccoon's face. His limbs began to twitch and tremble, until his buckling knees gave out and he finally collapsed to the floor in a writhing fit of agony.
"Oh shit no!..."
She dropped down next to her convulsing brother and held him close, driven almost to hysteria by the sudden change.
"Stay with me Rick," she managed, "we'll get you some help! "
The equine janitor had returned within seconds of the disturbance, and was standing just behind the sister with a look of determined concern chiseled into his features.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know." she answered, glancing over her shoulder at the newcomer, "He just started gasping and, twitching, and~"
"Okay, okay, let me take a look at him..."
The cream colored horse steered her aside, and knelt down to examine the thrashing, incoherent figure sprawled out below him. But on his way down, the sister stood up and slipped a nimble hand into the custodian's partially unzipped coverall, and emerged holding a blaster handgun that'd been concealed there~
"Hey!"
The 'janitor' noticed the pull, and tried to make his move on the pickpocket.
Instead, Rick shot his arms forward to grab the heavy fabric of the horse's coveralls, and swept the equine's legs out from under him during this crucial moment of distraction. With his opponent off balance and falling forward, Rick utilized the oncoming momentum to rotate the two of them around. After a brief swirl of motion and a dull thud, the horse ended up on his back, and the raccoon ended up on top. Rick wrapped both arms tightly around the 'janitor' beneath him, using his knee to compress the ribcage against the floor.
The raccoon leaned forward from this dominant position, examining his pinned opponent with a sharp eye.
"I'm gonna give you about... fifteen seconds to tell us exactly who you are and what you're doing here, starting now."
The bulkier equine had trouble filling his lungs, but managed to wheeze out a few words in response.
"I'm not here... to cause trouble..."
"I don't know; this is an awfully hefty piece for someone who's not looking for trouble."
The sister stood directly over the impostor, easily wielding the handgun she'd pulled from him.
"What'd you think, bro: hitman?" she asked, cycling through the blaster's settings.
"He would've gone straight for the kill if he was going to whack us..."
Rick shook his head and tightened his grip on the horse's chest, squeezing more air out of his labored lungs.
"I figure this guy's intentions are somewhat less intense."
"You..." the equine sputtered, "You're Richard and Rachelle Cooney, aren't you?"
The sister – presumably Rachelle – gave the faux custodian an indifferent shrug as her answer.
"Could be, but we still don't know a whole lot about you yet."
"I think I'll go out on a limb here and say..."
Rick paused a moment, and reached a hand down to pluck a minuscule comm-piece from the equine's ear.
"...spy. But who for?"
The raccoon got a response in the form of another unknown voice from behind him in a dry, almost bored tone.
"Bang."
Startled, the brother and sister instantly snapped their attention down the hall to the unexpected newcomer. He was as a rugged mid-aged hare with a dull brown fur tone, dressed in a heavy plaid patterned flannel shirt.
"This is all starting to get a little ridiculous..."
He gave a quick beckoning gesture toward the grounded horse.
"Who the~?"
Rick was abruptly cut-off when the equine easily shoved him off his chest with a sweep of his arm, forcing the raccoon to scramble back to his feet while the horse returned to the newcomer's side.
The hare greeted the equine with a tired glance.
"Saul, I need ten minutes alone with these fine folks, just ten."
The cream colored horse identified as Saul nodded at the hare's words and strode back toward the two raccoons, both of whom eyed the larger equine with a cocktail of suspicion, annoyance, and curiosity. Once within a foot or so, Saul held out his hand toward Rachelle in a firm, yet indifferent manner
"If I was going to hurt you, I would have..."
After a few tense moments, the sister relinquished the blaster handgun back to its owner.
"Nice moves."
The horse replaced his weapon inside the janitor's coverall, and silently walked down the hall away from the group.
The following silence persisted for a few awkward moments, until the mysterious older hare filled it up as he approached the leery Cooney siblings.
"That was pretty slick what you pulled there, but from what I've been told about you I was expecting something a little more..." the hare scratched one of his ears as he paused a moment to consider "well, better."
"Better?" Rick replied, one eyebrow curiously raised.
"You made one fatal mistake: you got caught in situational tunnel-vision..."
The hare stepped closer to Rick and picked the earpiece comm out of the raccoon's hand.
"After you took down Saul, you assumed he was the one and only immediate threat, and focused your attention exclusively on him. That gave me the opportunity to sneak up and catch you off-guard, and in plain sight too. That sure as hell ain't good form."
"So did you just drop in to give us a surprise lesson in sneakery?" Rachelle snapped back, "Or was there some other reason for stalking us to our doorstep?"
The hare replied with a nod and easy smile.
"As a matter of fact, I came by this way to hire your services..."
In response, the two raccoon siblings simultaneously crossed their arms over their chests, each bearing a similar scowl of skepticism on their faces.
"I know you're suspicious, and you've got every right to be."
"No, really?" Rick retorted, his words twisted in sarcasm.
"Okay then, I'll cut to the chase. I'm Lylat Central Intelligence, LCI, and this..." the hare mysterious pulled a thick stack of high denomination bills from a pocket, "is fifty-thousand credits in hard cash currency, plus another hundred-thousand if you finish the job."
He held out the stack of banknotes to the Cooneys with a confident, cool-headed gleam in his beady eyes.
"If you two don't want to get involved, now would the time to say so. I'll keep the money and be out of your fur in no time."
"Wait..."
Rick stepped forward to the older hare, intrigued by the new prospect.
"We should talk about this somewhere less conspicuous."
The door slid open into a small, sparingly furnished office that had seen many busy days. It wasn't the most lavish or luxurious workplace, but it was taken care of, and could function to the degree it was required to. The principle occupant of the office was an older, modestly dressed squirrel, his fiery red fur having faded to a dull tone with the years behind him...
The weary rodent was at the moment conversing over an audio/visual comm channel, using the computing terminal at his desk. The opening of his office door came in the middle of a sentence with his caller.
"... you can still appeal the social workers' findings from the home study. The court will always have the final say on someone's adoption qualifications..." The squirrel paused and looked up from his terminal's display for a moment, acknowledging his guest. "I need to put you on hold for a minute."
After inputing a few commands into his desk terminal, the rodent gave the newcomer his full attention, bearing the chiseled look of one who fully expects to hear bad news.
"James got away."
The bearer of this bad news – a silken, honey-colored collie – carried herself with a composed conviction, for whom duty was the first priority.
"Again?"
The collie gave her colleague a short confirming nod.
"He slipped out of his group during an outing at the history museum about twenty minutes ago. We don't have any idea where he is now."
The squirrel bent his head forward, scratching his forehead.
"That's got to be the third time this week he's tried running off."
"Fourth, actually." the other corrected.
"Whatever..."
He sat back in his chair and glanced up at the collie.
"Look, just activate his locator tag and go get him. You don't need to bother me to do something so simple. I have someone on-hold that I need to get back to."
"I'm afraid the locator's not going to do a whole lot of good..."
She dropped a bundle of drab, child-sized clothing on the squirrel's desk. The shirt bore a sewn-in nametag that read: 'James McCloud, Cornerian Foundling child welfare' and also included contact information for the organization.
A few surprised moments passed, and the older rodent looked up with a frustrated shake of his head.
"That boy isn't running around the city naked, is he?"
It was a lot like the inside of a cathedral: large, expansive, open with a roof overhead, and pretty quiet for the most part. However, any sound made became exasperated, drawn-out, and was sent bouncing across the cold space in a string of nearly endless echoes. Strictly speaking though, it was actually a public hangar, jam-packed with as wide a variety of spacefaring vehicle as can be feasibly accommodated.
At one end of the cavernous facility stood a meager attendant's station, standing at its position next to the main exit out to the street. Inside was a scruffy green plumed avian, lounging behind a set of surveillance monitors and other such consoles, all near a window that opened to the hangar floor for customer access.
A synthesized chime alerted the avian attendant of a new arrival. One of the display screens showed an image from an exterior cameras, following the craft as it descended over the Corneria City skyline. It wasn't anything too remarkable, just a small Mercutio class courier – a simple spacecraft that could easily be housed in this public hangar facility. Once the registry cleared, the outer hangar doors automatically opened and allowed the incoming craft to enter in and settle down in a long row of other parked...
In this time, the attendant straightened up and looked the part as best he could, preparing himself for the customer's imminent arrival. It was some time before the noisy cacophony of the Mercutio's landing died down, allowing sound of someone's footsteps against the concrete to fill the otherwise silent hangar. The source revealed himself a few moments later – a youngish raccoon in a hooded sweatshirt.
"I came in on the old Mercutio, registry number 97520."
The attendant ran the number through one of the consoles, and turned up a match. 97520 held a valid monthly permit for a Mercutio, matching the one that just touched down, and didn't necessitate up-front payment for the landing. The picture of one the registry holders matched the figure here at the window – Richard Cooney.
"Everything checks out, you're good to go."
"Actually, I found this on the ground on my way over here..."
Rick handed a bank card through the window.
The avian took the thin plastic card, issued to a Scott Aberdeen, and searched the system. Sure enough, there was a registry file in the database that matched the bank card, and his spacecraft was indeed parked at this hangar.
"Yeah, he's got a spot here." the attendant began with a nod, "In fact, I'm pretty sure I saw him come through about fifteen minutes ago."
"You don't say?" The raccoon responded with some curiosity
"The guy popped in for a couple hours to tinker with his ride, that beastly attack fighter over in row B..."
The green plumed avian reached out the window and pointed toward a row of single-seat craft on one side of the hangar.
"I'd sure hate to be the poor sap who ends up on the wrong side of dogfight against him."
"Do you know where he went?" Rick asked with some interest, "I might be able to get Scott's bank card back to him."
"Nah that's alright, you've done plenty already." The attendant responded with a polite wave of his hand and shake of his head. "I'll just hang on to it until he comes back. You have a nice day Mr. Cooney."
"You too."
And with that, the raccoon backed away from the hangar attendant's station and headed for the exit. Rick took several carefully measured steps, waiting until he was out of reasonable earshot before making his next move.
After checking his surroundings, the raccoon took out his personal comm and began speaking without even dialing. He already had a channel linked up beforehand.
"The 'lost-and-found' looks like went off without a hitch. You get our guy's contact info?"
"Sure did." Rachelle replied over the comm, "I'm connecting you now..."
Rick took a deep, almost meditative breath as he listened and waited for the mark to respond. After a few seconds, a gruff voice answered his call over the comm.
"Aberdeen."
"Hello sir!" The raccoon replied instantly with fabricated enthusiasm, "I'm calling to tell you about a fantastic new fur cleanser specially formulated for fur with a thicker, more robust texture, such as your own. Did you know that most regular one-size-fits-all shampoos and conditioners often can't fully cleanse and nourish~"
"Blow off, ye damned leech." the gruff voice cut him off, and closed his end of the channel.
"Tell me you got something out of that." Rick implored, back in his normal speech.
"Playing-back the audio now... Sounds like he's in a bar, or restaurant, not too busy..."
The sister remained silent for a few moments. Some of the previous conversation could be heard bleeding across the channel.
"It's not giving me a lot to work with. We might have to try something else."
The brother shook his head as he continued on, nearing the exit to the city streets outside.
"I don't want to risk hacking the telecomm networks if we don't need~"
"Wait, I got him." Rachelle interrupted, "You know where Ewan's Pub is?"
"It's just around the block here..." Rick responded with a nod, "Quaint little joint if I remember right."
The raccoon replaced his comm in a pocket as he came to the exit, and the sliding doors parted into the streets of downtown Corneria City...
The first sensation was the familiar din of a living metropolis – a noisy cocktail of countless people on the move from point A to B, using any and all necessary means. It was early in the afternoon by the looks of it, the streets and sidewalks here busy with the notorious tail-end of lunch hour. Men and women of a great variety of species were making themselves busy hustling through the ever-shifting sea of people in the urban canyon, with intermittent walls made of steel, glass, concrete and other materials used for buildings...
But there was a minor anomaly here – a young fox boy with a cinnamon brown fur-tone shuffled off the sidewalk and right past Rick into the hangar facility, apparently without an adult. He'd have to be someone else's problem though, so Rick dismissed the wayward vulpine child from his thoughts.
The clouded raccoon took a deep breath of vigorous city air, and slipped quite comfortably into the orderly chaos of the busy streets before him.
