Disclaimer: Zootopia stories, characters, settings, and properties belong to the Walt Disney Co. This story is written under Fair Use Copyright laws.


The Fire Triangle—A Zootopia Fanfiction


Part One:

Fuel


Chapter 11 –The Fire Next Time
(Pt. 3…Continued)

No, Judy was NOT thumping her foot, she was only tapping it, (or that was what she kept telling herself.)

She was back at the safe house, sitting on the sofa and waiting for Nick—and ohhh, what was she going to say when he got here? There was no sugarcoating it, she'd come up dry; she'd learned nothing of importance from either Mr. Otterton or his wife.

"Officer Slick just better not accuse me of giving up too easily," she grumbled inwardly, ears turning backward as anxiety gave way to a momentary flash of anger.

When Emmitt Otterton had said, 'But I really shouldn't talk about it,' every single one of Judy's red flags had gone flying upwards. She had known then, with an ironclad certainty, that this was all was going to get from him; any attempt to push it further would only backfire.

Okay fine, but try telling that to Nick; sweet cheez n' crackers, how the heck was she going to explain it to HIM?

She took a deep breath and carefully closed her eyes,

"Okay," She told herself, "break it to him gradually. First, explain the circumstances and only then should you say that you backed off after the first question. Tell Nick your gut feeling was that you couldn't go any further without losing Mr. Otterton altogether. Remind him that you've always had an instinct for just how far to push a witness—yes, that's good—and then you should…"

The front door opened and she heard someone coming down the hallway. It was Nick; she'd recognize his footfall anywhere.

"Explain it carefully," she reminded herself, just as the fox stepped into the living room.

"Hi Carrots, how did…?"

"I blew it Nick, I struck out!"

The words were gone from Judy's mouth before could stop them—and at that moment it was probably a good thing this place had bullet-proof windows. Otherwise, she might have jumped straight through the one nearest to her.

"No luck at all?" Nick asked her. He was pretending to be understanding, but Judy could see the disappointment bubbling beneath the surface. (After two years as the red fox's partner, she ought to know his body language.)

"I'm afraid not," she sighed, falling resignedly back against the sofa-cushions, "Mr. Otterton started to say something, but then he caught himself and that was it." She shook her head and laid her ears back, finally allowing her frustration to show. "About the only thing I learned from him is that Fru-Fru's pregnant again; Mr. Big's finally getting a grandson…uh, what Nick?"

He was staring intently at her.

"Say…that…again," he told her, speaking very slowly.

Judy felt her nose beginning to twitch. What the heck…?

"I-I said that Fru is pregnant again; why…?"

"And it's a boy this time, right?" Nick's gaze was practically a diamond drill.

"Y-Yes, that's right." Judy wondered for a second if she was in the presence of a mad fox. "Why does that…?"

But he already had his cell out.

"Chief, you might want to get over here; I think we've got something."

Perhaps they did, but for some reason, Bogo ordered the fox and bunny to come to him…and all during the ride to the precinct, Nick refused to explain why Fru's pregnancy was so significant. Instead he kept repeating the same thing over and over again, something about a 'big piece of the puzzle'. By the time they were ushered into the big Chief's office, Judy was seething with curiosity.

Fortunately, she didn't have long to wait for satisfaction; the second the door closed, Nick laid down his trump card.

"We're still not sure yet when and where Mr. Big is going hit back," he said, "but I think we may know why this is happening. It looks like he's trying to get out of the rackets."

Both Judy and Bogo stared at him bewildered. It was the Chief who spoke first.

"Right, what're your reasons, then?"

"Two things," the fox replied, speaking quickly as if expecting to be interrupted, "First, I managed to talk to Renato Manchas, The Big Shrew's limo driver. He told me that Mr. Big's been expanding his legitimate business all over Zootopia…and not just Tundratown Limo, everything"

Bogo snorted, and then nodded quite slowly; even if he couldn't quite figure out how this suggested Mr. Big was planning to quit the mob, he seemed to know instinctively that it had to.

"Go on," he said.

Nick took a short breath before continuing.

"And the other reason is, Officer Hopps there heard from Mr. Big's florist that his daughter's expecting another child—and this time it's a boy…"

"Wha…!" Here came the interruption; Bogo blew a note through his nostrils that rattled the window frames. "What the Devil's that got to do with anything, then?"

"Everything," Nick told him, refusing to be deterred, "For as long as I knew him, Mr. Big always swore that he never wanted his children in the rackets—and it's a pretty safe bet that applies to his grandkids as well."

"Really?" Judy spoke up for the first time. So THAT'S why this was so important. It felt good to know that she hadn't quite blown it after all.

"Absolutely, Carrots…Chief," the red fox was saying, speaking mostly to her. "Remember that birthday party of Mr. Big's I told you about, on the train back to Zootopia? While I was there, I overheard him talking with Frankie Lupino…Uhhh, Frankie was a wolf, head of the Tauronto cartel. Anyway, he was bragging about how his oldest boy, Tony, had just gotten his button. Mr. Big heard him out and then shook his head sadly, 'Ahhh, I'm sorry to hear that.' Frankie looked at him like he was crazy."

"Huh, I'll bet," Judy sniggered, but Nick only shook his head.

"No Carrots, you see, the Big Shrew was right; Tony Lupino's in jail right now and he won't get out for at least another 20. Would you want that for your kids? I sure as heck wouldn't. If I had a son, I'd NEVER want him to run hustles for a living; look where it almost got me."

Caught off guard by this unexpected show of passion, Judy could only swallow hard. Nick nodded at her and turned his attention to the Chief.

"Up until now, it hasn't made much of a difference; Big's daughter's only been giving him girls—and the mob doesn't accept female recruits."

At this, Judy couldn't help smiling; ordinarily a full-time supporter of gender equality, in this case, she was more than willing to make an exception.

"But now, with a grandson on the way, it's a different story," Nick was saying, "and the ONLY way Mr. Big can be sure that the kid won't end up in 'the life' is if he gets out himself. That's why I think he's trying to go legit."

Bogo folded his arms and raised an eyebrow, "How sure are you about this?"

"Not as sure as I'd like to be," the fox admitted, "But there's a way to be a lot more certain…that is, if we have someone on the inside," (in other words a snitch inside the Tundratown syndicate.) "I told you how the Big Shrew's been expanding his legitimate holdings, right? Well, if at the same time, he's been cutting back on his criminal activities, you can be almost 90% certain that he's trying to quit the rackets."

"I should…have to look into that." the big Cape buffalo answered cryptically. The ZPD dispensed information regarding Confidential Informants on a need-to-know basis only—and this was something Officer Nick Wilde didn't need to know, at least not yet.

For some odd reason, their exchange jogged something in Judy Hopps's memory and she quickly raised a paw.

"Nick…Chief, there's something else; it didn't mean much to me at the time, but now it does. Before Mr. Otterton caught himself, he was starting to say something about what a it is that shame Mr. Big's having problems, 'just when he's been trying to…"

There was silence for a second, and then Nick and Bogo asked in unison, "Trying to…what?"

"I don't know, that's as far as he got," Judy answered, slightly annoyed, "But coupled with everything Officer Wilde just said, it could be pretty darn important."

"Perhaps," Chief Bogo conceded, and then looked at Nick again, "Except how does this relate to those arson fires then?"

The fox was more than ready for that one.

"Well for starters, sir, if Mr. Big IS getting out of the rackets, those rackets are going to be up for grabs, at least the ones outside of Tundratown —and you can bet your life the Red Pig would like to get his hooves on them."

"No doubt," Bogo snorted, his expression half wry and half grim, "But I get the impression that's not all, yes?"

"No sir, it's not," the fox responded. "The other thing is, if Mr. Big is trying to go legit, then he's vulnerable. It's like…" he seemed to think for moment. "It's like being in jail and being up for parole. If you're attacked and you fight back, it could ruin your chances for release—so you'll be a lot more reluctant to defend yourself than you normally would. Prison gangs know that, and that's often when they'll try to extort you or take revenge."

"I-I-I think I get it, Nick." Judy told him, feeling a bulb coming alight above her head, "What you're saying is that trying to go legit puts Mr. Big in more or less the same type of situation."

"Right, Carrots," Nick responded, "Nobody gets out of the rackets without partnering up with some legitimate business-mammals—partners who might get scared off if you're forced to do anything violent. And that's not even mentioning the potential trouble with law enforcement, right when you least need it."

"But how is that…?" Bogo started to say, and then his eyes widened slightly and his nostrils flared. "Cor, wait a minute; I think I'm getting it. Are you suggesting that the Tux-On fire might have been the Red Pig's way of testing the waters—seeing if Mr. Big's still willing to fight, even though he's trying to clean up his act?"

Nick answered by cocking a finger. "Bingo, Chief. I still can't understand why he burned down an entire recycling plant as payback for the Tux On fire—OR why he agreed to such a crazy-complicated revenge attack. But it sure as heck explains why he hit back so quickly. If he'd waited too long, Peccari might have come to the conclusion that he either couldn't or wouldn't fight back…in which case the Sahara Square Mob would be moving in on those rackets of his right NOW.

"But doesn't that make Mr. Big's overreaction even harder to explain?" Judy asked him, playing the Devil's advocate.

"Yeah, and I still can't understand why he did that." Nick's mouth was stretched backwards in a fox grimace, "If Mr. Big had responded in kind—a shop for a shop—that would have probably been then end of it; the Red Pig would have shrugged, written off the damages and waited for a better opportunity to try and take over those rackets But instead…well, after losing an entire recycling plant, I'd be surprised if he hadn't gone ballistic."

"Too right, that," Chief Bogo snorted, stone faced. "This wasn't in the report Wilde, but the Red Pig's yacht was spotted near the scene of the Interspecies Recycling fire, the morning after it happened." A corner of his mouth turned upwards, "Word is, he threw a temper tantrum so loud, some of the fire-crew had to cover their ears…and that's not an exaggeration."

Everyone sniggered, but only for a second; this was no laughing matter and they all knew it.

"So, knowing what you know, d'you think Mr. Big will feel compelled to respond quickly, same as before?" Bogo asked the question with his ears flicking back and forth, a sign of unease.

"No," Nick answered him with an immediate and firm head-shake, "The Big Shrew made his point the first time; he won't need to make it again. And in any case, it'd be much too dangerous for him to hit back right away; this time the Red Pig will know for sure that he's coming."

"Mmmm," Bogo rumbled, but the look of relief on his face was unmistakable. Judy didn't blame him; she felt the same way.

And then the Chief scratched thoughtfully at a horn.

"D'you think, perhaps, that by setting the Tux On shop alight, Peccari might have even now ruined Mr. Big's plans for getting out of the rackets? It'd certainly explain why he burnt down a recycling plant as payback for a shop, wouldn't it then?"

"No," Nick's head-shake was even firmer than before. "In the case, they'd already be at war. And keep in mind, sir; if Mr. Big loses out on going legit, The Red Pig loses out on taking over those rackets. He's not about to throw away that kind of opportunity, even now."

"Mmmmgggh," the Chief made another sound, half a grunt, half a rumble and then slapped his knees and stood up again, "Right then," Anything else then, or does that about cover it?"

"Ahhh, that's all I have," Nick answered him, and looked at Judy.

"I-I-I can't think of anything else," she said.

"All right then," Chief Bogo came around his desk and went to the door, "I may need you again later but for now, I think you're done. Good job, both of you, excellent work. You may very well have helped to stop a gang war before it starts."

There was a hopeful note in his last sentence but Judy barely noticed it, focusing instead on the heat rising slowly in her ears. It was Nick who'd largely figured it out; she'd only been along for the ride.

But then their boss's features hardened slightly. "Before you go, sorry, but I've got to say it again; not one word of any of this—to anyone else."

"Including our fellow officers, we get it," Nick finished for him, half weary half irritated. Judy felt the same; if the Chief really wanted to keep their assignment a secret, what the heck were they doing in his office? At least a few of the other cops must have noticed them entering (and leaving); there'd be questions now, a lot of them.

Any further thoughts along this line were curtailed as the Chief swung the door open.

"Off you go then; I'll see you at roll call tomorrow."


In the days that followed, things seemed to settle into a regular routine for the fox and bunny-cop. They were put on street patrol, mostly in the Hyenahurst and Palm Districts, (the border zone between Savanna Central and Sahara Square.) It was hardly a plum assignment but not a punishing routine either. They wrote traffic tickets, settled domestic disputes, and answered numerous calls from citizens; car thefts, petty burglaries, kids caught shoplifting, etc. The only episode that even came close to being memorable was when they foiled a carjacking in progress—and even that wasn't much of a big deal. The driver in question was a hedgehog, and the animal attempting to jack him was a ferret…a fat ferret, the ferret equivalent of Benjamin Clawhauser. Upon seeing the cops approaching, he'd attempted to flee down a drainpipe—and promptly become stuck. It wasn't the easiest bust Nick and Judy ever made, but it was certainly in the top 10

As more time passed, Judy began to catch up on her life. (She'd put a lot of things on hold since returning to work, what with all that had happened since then.) The high point was when the furnishings she'd purchased during her Carrot-Days sojourn finally arrived. Much to her surprise, her normally loud and contentious neighbors, Bucky and Pronk offered to help her bring everything upstairs. She was flabbergasted but not about to say no, and she soon had all of it properly placed.

And yet…

Ordinarily, she would have asked Nick to come over and help her. This time she didn't—and although no one made the suggestion, Judy would have verbally body-slammed anyone who did. Rock Hardesty and that surveillance tape had NOTHING to do with her decision to leave the red fox out of it. Absolutely nothing; no way!

Besides…maybe she wasn't fooling herself; even that episode was fading into yesterday's news. With every passing day, she and Nick were getting fewer and fewer jaundiced looks from their fellow officers. Even Hardesty himself seemed to have forgotten about their 'inappropriate behavior', referring not even once to the fox and bunny-cop's kiss over the course of the following workweek. At last the incident of the Rafaj Brothers surveillance tape seemed to be blowing over.

And yet…and yet…

There were at least few ZPD officers who seemed not to have forgotten about that kiss, most notably the clique surrounding Francine Trunkaby. If Nick and Judy walked into the police commissary while any of them were present, they'd invariably move to the table furthest away from the fox and bunny. (Sometimes, they'd even walk out altogether.) While Nick pretended not to be bothered by any of this—never let them see that they get to you—Judy saw otherwise; it was there in the spiking of his neck fur, the curl of his lip, and the way his ears kept trying to turn sideways.

And then there was the matter of Mr. Big and his Sahara Square nemesis; Judy couldn't quite shake the feeling that this was only the calm before the storm. Neither could Nick, who correctly pointed that their new patrol area put them as close as you could get to Sahara Square and/or Tundratown without leaving Precinct-1's bailiwick.

"And we're also not that far from home," the red-fox pointed out, "If Bogo needs us back at the Precinct, we can be here in just a few minutes."

Last, but hardly of least concern, was the graffiti popping up all over the city. It came in numerous variations, but always with the same basic design; a 'V for Vendetta' symbol, reworked into a fox's face, with a tag reading, 'He Fought The Law…And HE won.'

The first time Nick and Judy saw one was on a bus-stop shelter near Vortnoy Plaza. Unlike many of their fellow officers, they'd known immediately what, or rather to whom the artwork referred; they had been there in court when Judge Schatten had announced Conor Lewis's trial date and they'd heard the other kids' murmured chant, 'Remember, remember; the fifth of November.' When the young silver fox had performed a late-night cover of 'I Fought the Law' on the Beach Promenade, they'd been present for that as well.

AND they'd heard him whistling t it as he was led out of court. You didn't have to be Basil of Baker Street to connect those dots. Upon their return to Precinct-1, Judy had dutifully informed ZPD Cybercrimes of the significance of the graffiti. Lieutenant Tufts had thanked her curtly and then hung up. It was no surprise to the doe-bunny; she probably hadn't told him anything he didn't already know.

Yes…and not quite; Tufts had been aware of most, but not all of what she'd told him. Rudy Gamsbart had informed him of the events in Judge Schatten's courtroom but up until that moment, he'd completely been unaware of the young silver fox's beachside jam.

Hearing the news only added to his frustration; ZPD Cybercrimes was no closer to running down Conor Lewis than they'd been when he first escaped from custody. No one had seen him, no one had heard from him; it was as if he'd dropped off the face of the earth. For all Tufts knew, that blankety-blank fox-kid could be on the other side of the country by now, (although his instincts told him otherwise.)

Worst of all, none of the interviews his team had conducted had turned up so much as a single clue as to their young fugitive's whereabouts. Everyone they'd talked to had been completely surprised when they'd learned of Conor Lewis's double life…and none of them had been pretending. His teachers, his friends, his classmates, the animals at the guitar shop where he'd worked as an apprentice; none had possessed even the slightest inkling he was working for loan-shark—much less living under a false identity. While most had expressed shock and dismay at the news, there had been several notable exceptions. Every kid they'd questioned on the subject—most of them, anyway—had only pretended to find the news disturbing, smirking surreptitiously when they thought the police weren't looking.

And then there was that wise-mouth little fennec fox, Finnick. He'd nearly laughed himself sick upon hearing the full story of his sometime partner's escape from jail—and had given the ZPD nothing of value. As for Ian Shortal, (Conor's only confirmed 'customer'), HE had hired a lawyer and was threatening the ZPD with a lawsuit, blaming them for his computer having been infected with ransomware.

All of that was bad enough; but just to put a cherry on top, every day, and in every way, the breath on the back of Albert Tufts' neck was getting hotter and hotter. Chief Bogo, the Attorney General's Office, and especially the Zootopia Banker's Association; they all wanted progress and they wanted it yesterday.

And now here was this graffiti being pasted all over the city. So far, the media wasn't paying attention, but that state of affairs couldn't last forever. And when the press did finally begin to take notice of that guerilla wall-art campaign….chit-chit-chitrrrr, Albert Tufts Could have gnawed his desk in half; he should have punted this mess to that dumb fox and bunny when he'd had the chance!

In fact, although the squirrel had no idea, Chief Bogo was actually going easy on him…not because he thought Tufts deserved a break, but because the bulk of his attention was diverted elsewhere.

Per Nick Wilde's suggestion he had officers watching the Palm Hotel Casino for the presence of any outside muscle. So far, no out-of-town firepower had turned up, not there, not at the airport, not at any of the train stations…frankly, nowhere. Bogo couldn't understand it. If he were the Red Pig, he'd be bringing in enforcers by the busload right now. Mr. Big wasn't going to just sit there and let the Tundratown Limo fire go unanswered, not for very much longer.

In the meantime the ZPD detective bureau was going over everything they could find regarding the Red Pig's legitimate business operations, trying to determine which, if any, might be a match for Tundratown Limo. Here, at least, they were finding some success; there WAS a business owned by Rocco Peccari that had something in common with Mr. Big's Limo Company, a great deal in fact. When Chief Bogo heard, he couldn't help snorting at the irony; of all the places where the Tundratown crime boss might decide to hit back…

But then the smirk had quickly faded from his face, replaced by his trademark scowl. That particular business had too many branches for his officers to cover all of them, especially 24/7. Until they knew the when, as well as the where of Mr. Big's planned retaliation, the ZPD stood no chance of pre-empting it.

Accordingly Bogo had ordered the word put out among the Department's network of Confidential Informers—including one in particular. (Nick Wilde had been right; the Department did have someone on the inside of the Tundratown mob—and while he wasn't in that deep, he'd at least know if, and when, the Big Shrew was planning to hit back at the Red Pig.)

But so far, nothing had turned up—except for the news that Mr. Big was indeed scaling back on his criminal enterprises; (right again, Nick Wilde .) But on the more important subject, when the Big Shrew might decide to retaliate for the Tundratown Limo fire, they were getting exactly nowhere. "Your guess is as good as mine," their CI's last message had read.

What did that mean, Chief Bogo wondered? He finally decided it was bad news. In a situation like this, not knowing was never a good thing. All he could do was sit, and wait—and hope.

Wel-l-ll that wasn't necessarily all he could do. The big Cape buffalo still had a few other things to occupy his mind, the sudden rash of 'V for Vendetta' wall-art for example. In his opinion, the Conor Lewis jailbreak was not so much the reason for that graffiti crusade as the catalyst. What was going on was actually a response to the city's anti-vandalism campaign, something that many of Zootopia's younger residents regarded as ham-fisted and biased. The Lewis boy's escape from custody had been nothing more than the spark that lit the fuse. If it hadn't been for that…well, the Angry Kids Brigade would have just found themselves a figurehead somewhere else.

Even so, the Chief had ample cause for concern. This was much worse than last summer. While there weren't any more incidents of defacement taking place than back then, there'd been far fewer arrests, (none at all, if you narrowed it down to the modified V-For-Vendetta artwork.) It was Lieutenant Serena Leonard, the lioness who headed the Department's Anti-Gang Unit who'd summed it up best, "Last summer, we were dealing with random acts of vandalism; this year, they're starting to get organized."

If Chief Bogo was apprehensive about all of this, for the Honorable Judge George L. Schatten, it was both agony and ecstasy. Agony, because, in his mind, every single one of those pieces of graffiti was a taunt aimed directly at him. The ecstasy came from the knowledge that here was an opportunity to repeat the greatest triumph of his judicial career; when he'd ended that car-window-smashing epidemic of two summers before last. The first time some smart-kid was brought before him for tagging a wall, or a billboard, or whatever with V-for-Vendetta garbage, he or she was going to be made an example. It had worked before; it would work again.

And so it might, except for one thing. Before that could happen, the ZPD had to catch one those Guy Fawxe wannabes—and unlike the ball-peen-hammer window smashers, these kids were coordinating their efforts, posting look-outs, deploying drones and even carrying portable police scanners. So far, not a single one of them had been busted.

As if aware of all this, the Guy Fawxe Jr. brigade was getting cheekier and cheekier with their graffiti-trolls. Just how audacious they were becoming was driven home to Nick and Judy one sultry evening in a sudden, dramatic fashion.

It happened in the motor pool parking lot, when they were preparing to wrap up their shift for the day. Judy had just exited their police cruiser, when she felt an ear shooting upwards. Somewhere down the line of vehicles, a hubbub was brewing, nearly a commotion.

She looked, and saw Officer McHorn getting out of his police cruiser with a puzzled expression on his face. Gathered around the rear of the vehicle was a small group of other officers, talking animatedly amongst themselves. One or two of them were pointing at the cruiser's rear bumper.

Judy turned to Nick.

"Now, what the heck is that all about?"

"No idea, Carrots," he shrugged, "Let's go see."

They were about ten feet away when McHorn jabbed a finger at his cruiser's rear end and made the sound that rhinos normally reserve for when they're preparing to charge. That brought even more cops rushing to the scene; by the time Nick and Judy arrived, they were obliged to push their way through in order to see what the fuss was about.

What they saw left the both of them momentarily slack-jawed.

Sometime during the course of his workday, Officer McHorn's police cruiser had acquired a new bumpersticker—one showing a V For Vendetta logo, modified into a fox's face, together with the words 'He Fought The Law – And HE Won.'

Half the officers watching were trying desperately not to laugh, while the rest seemed to share the rhino's sentiment—if he ever got his hooves on the little so-and-so who'd done this, or better yet, on that Lewis kid…

What none of them knew was that what they were seeing was only the tip of the iceberg. Below the surface, on the internet to be precise, the Guy Fawxe Jr. movement was rapidly becoming a groundswell—and Conor Lewis was rapidly becoming a role model for every young mammal in Zootopia with a case of galloping angst.

If the officers gathered around the rear Officer McHorn's cruiser were unaware of this, it was for a good and simple reason. On the more 'established' social media sites, like FurBook and Critter, Conor was getting barely a mention.

On the more youth-oriented platforms, like Snapcat and Dik-Dok it was a different story. Here he was being elevated almost to the level of a folk-hero. There was fanart, there were videos, and also endless chatroom-discussions, all of them dedicated to the fugitive young silver fox's escape from custody. Someone even opened up a Dischord server in honor of his exploit, 'Eleven-Five', (although it quickly became a discussion group for adolescent dissatisfaction in general; the name Conor Lewis was soon rarely mentioned, if at all.)

And then there were the mixes, the endless non-stop music mixes created as tribute to the young fox's jailbreak. Invariably they would lead off with some version of 'I Fought The Law', (usually the Dead Kannopy's version, in which the lyrics change from, 'and the law won' to, 'and I won.') From there, each mix would move on to such paeans to youthful rebellion as John Mellencat's 'The Authority Song' or Twisted Hamster's 'We're Not Gonna Take It'. Any Hip-Hop tune dissing on the cops was considered de rigeur, especially if it had lyrics tagged with the words, 'Parental Advisory.'

And what did the subject of all this hoopla think?

Nothing! Living as he was in a temporary, self-imposed exile, Conor Lewis had no idea that it was even happening. Except for communicating with Guild and keeping an eye on the ZPD's efforts to track him, he was staying the heck OFF the internet, (especially the social media platforms.) He was watching cable TV a lot, but as Albert Tufts had earlier noted, the media had yet to pick up on the Guy Fawxe Jr. movement.

Sooner or later, however, (sooner rather than later,) Conor would have to learn of his status as an underground celebrity. Either Guild would inform him, the media would at last take notice of all the V-for-Vendetta wall-art, or…

Or… the young fox's larder was finally starting to run low, and it wouldn't be long before he'd need to make a 'provisions, etc.' run. Out on the street, his chances of NOT coming into contact with a piece of Guy Fawxe Jr. graffiti were somewhere between slim and none.

(And if anyone would be able to grasp the significance of that artwork…you'd better believe it was Conor Severus Lewis.)

But for the moment, he knew nothing; his main concern right now was making sure that when the time came to make that supply run, he'd be ready—and he was already closing in on that goal. The repeated applications of fur bleach had lightened his coat from grey-on-black to ash-on-grey. Just a little bit more, and with a few judicious touches of a fur trimmer, he'd be able to pass for a young arctic fox.

In the meantime he was working out like a fiend and continually honing his fighting skills. He'd also added several new items to his messenger bag and even more his backpack. If worst came to worst, if Aker Security and that Frankenbunny who ran it finally caught on to him, he was not going down without a fight.

As it was, Conor needn't have worried himself on that score, at least not quite so much. At the moment, Jack La Peigne had not one, not two, but three other projects on his plate.

The third of these involved the port recently inserted below his left arm, and as the big bunny examined himself in the mirror, he saw that incision had already closed, and the fur was growing back nicely. He'd soon be ready to test it, although that would probably take some persuading. Dr. Honeybadger would almost certainly object; Seth Whitepaugh definitely would.

However, if Conor Lewis wasn't currently showing on up Jack La Peigne's radar, another rabbit couldn't get him off of hers.

Like the young fox himself, Erin Hopps was spending much of her time cloistered—alone in her hutch, with no one else around—although for a very different reason. The day of her Performing Arts Academy audition was drawing near, and the young, white-furred bunny was reserving every free moment for practice, practice, practice.

And she needed it; after much deliberation, Erin had finally settled on a tune to perform for the judges.

It was a risky proposition; the lyrics were simple, perhaps a little too simple for something like this, and the vast majority of the tune was instrumental.

On the other paw, it would allow the young bunny to employ the full range of her vocal talents…and if she could successfully convert that one part into a slap-bass solo, she'd blow the judges right out of their seats, (she hoped.)

"…just like Conor had said I would. Ohhhh, go away, fox!"

Darn him, WHY did he always have to intrude on her thoughts at moments like this? Every time it happened, Erin's voice would falter, or she'd miss a chord, or lose her place, or nooooo,..dangit!

And then she'd have to start all over again.

Oooo…why, why had Conor done it? How could he have gotten mixed up with a loan-shark when he had everything to lose? Dangit, the song she planned to perform for her Academy audition had been chosen on his advice.

"Pick a familiar tune, one the judges will recognize," he'd said.

Check.

"And put a new spin on it," he'd suggested.

Check.

"Hit them with a surprise," he'd told her.

Check, (if she could pull it off.)

Someone knocked on the door to her hutch, "Erin, honey? It's Mom, I brought you some lunch."

"Be right there." the young bunny called back. She set down her bass, stretched and got up.

When Erin opened the door, her mother was there, holding a tray covered with a napkin. By the smell of things, veggie pot pie was on the menu today.

"Hope I didn't interrupt anything," Bonnie asked, regarding Erin with a wary smile.

A wave of affection washed over the younger bunny and she took the tray with a smile of her own, (a warm one.) "No sweat mom; I needed to take a break anyway, (but dangit, if I could only just get that solo right.")

She began to nudge the door shut but then stopped herself. "Ohhhh, what is the matter with ME?"

"Thanks mom," she said, turning sideways and craning to give her mother peck on the cheek, "And thanks for giving me the space to practice for my audition."

"Oh no need to thank me, Erin," her mother waved an airy a paw, "I know how important this is for you." But then she raised a cautionary finger, "Just a reminder though, you're on Farmstand duty again tomorrow." She said this and then braced herself, as if expecting a tirade, but Erin only smiled again.

"It's alright Mom, I don't want to burn myself out by over-rehearsing anyway."

And that was something she'd figured out for herself.


Apologies for the delay. First I had jury duty, then I got called in for some work, and then I caught a nasty cold. I'm still not completely better, but at least I'm able to work at writing again.