Quick shout-out to the first Guest reviewer on Chapter 26: Thanks for your feedback on Nick and Taelia. I'll answer you in a little more detail at the end, but I guess it's worth explaining now that Taelia probably chose to have the previous date play out like it did on purpose. In part, I suspect she wanted to get a feel for who Nick was by seeing how her friends and particularly Xavier reacted to him before she committed too much to him (emotionally speaking). This last's opinion would be especially useful since, as they say, "Men know men." If you look back at chapter ten, I hinted at Taelia's reasons for this. However, I'd been meaning to step things up between her and Nick a bit, so your timing worked out pretty well.
Also, decided to change Taelia's last name to Fangaster. Will be revising past chapters accordingly.
"Then," said James, "You don't hold with that saying, 'Everyone look after himself and take care of number one'?"
"No indeed," said John. "Where should I and (my sister) be if Master and Mistress and old Norman had only taken care of number one?... Where would Black Beauty and Ginger be if you had only thought of number one?... No, Jim, no. That is a selfish, heathenish saying, whoever uses it… That's what I think."
Black Beauty by Anna Sewell
Mammals had many ways of unwinding after a long day. Some favored a hot shower or a long bath. Others liked listening to music. A growing number advocated yoga.
Not many mammals subscribed to Officer Catano's recipe for an end-of-the-day detox: beating the skins off of punching bags. An hour after the interview with Lionheart, she was in Precinct One's expansive gym, lost in a succession of what martial artists called combinations. Straight-arm, hook, roundhouse kick, hook. Hook, three jabs, tornado kick. Grab, knee, hook, elbow jab. It was almost like dancing, but with more of an actual purpose.
Still, cheetahs had to rest sometime. With a sigh, she sagged onto a bench and took a long drink of water which she broke off only to gasp and pant. Cheetahs had limited stamina as a rule, but it was incredible how much they could do in just five minutes – and Catano was never one to waste the downtime either. As she caught her breath and let her temperature return to normal, her eyes moved by habit to a book propped open on one of the weight machines. The pages showed detailed charts of a male and a female rhinoceros, highlighting critical weak spots in each one's anatomy: joints, nerves, even vulnerabilities in their centers of gravity and places they couldn't reach on their backs. This type of analysis was an old skill, almost a hereditary one born of the mingling of her father's athletic skill and her mother's sharpshooting.
"Callie? Is that you?"
She turned and looked to see a familiar lion standing in the doorway. Looking a little surprised, he propped his wrists on his hips. "Haven't seen you in a while."
"Delgato," she greeted.
He strolled casually into the room, clad in a muscle shirt and biker shorts that brought out his physique to considerably more advantage than his uniform did. This was probably not an accident, as during her time on the day shift Catano had noticed Delgato was rather vain. He was rather attractive as his kind went, and as much of a pretty boy as a cop could be without also being a pansy about the job's inevitable messiness. He proceeded to plunk himself down in an overhead lift machine, set the weights to a prodigious level, and begin a succession of lifts.
"Hey, I'm meeting some of the other officers for a few drinks later," he mentioned between lifts. "You want to come hang out for a while?"
Catano sighed. Part of the reason she had switched to the night shift was that it gave her a handy excuse not to get involved in socializing with her co-workers. Much as she prided herself on ensuring the safety of those officers who worked alongside her, she made it a rule to avoid getting too attached. Attachment led to dependency, and dependency inevitably led to trouble.
Besides, she suspected that Delgato had a thing for her, and she couldn't have that. Even with their being on different shifts, it was a bad idea all around. Too unprofessional and much too risky. Besides, she was pretty sure he wasn't her type. She didn't know what her type was, to be honest, but she didn't think it was him.
"No, but thanks for the offer," she said in a bored, distant tone ideal for dissuading further inquiry. Then she rose to her feet and made for her treadmill – a machine which, even under the best maintenance, was noisy enough to ensure no workable conversation.
Fight and run. Run and fight. That pretty much summed up Catano's existence one way or another; being quick enough to pull someone out of harm's way or good enough to keep the harm at arm's length. Even interrogations, for the most part, were a kind of combat, albeit a more chess-like form. Nothing else mattered to Officer Catano. Nothing else fit in the world of Callie Catano.
Nothing else had really fit in her world since she was eight.
About the time that was going on, Nick Wilde was struggling with a familiar drawback of a high IQ: terminal boredom. Despite what he had said to Judy about needing time to take care of his laundry and pay his bills, he really wasn't all that busy. Trip to the laundromat: hour and a half. Catching up with Finnick and his other lines in the water: half an hour, mostly from the laundromat. Dinner: Ten minutes, counting the eating time. That left some loooong hours still to be filled, and aside from seeing a pig groan in frustration as he drew a white shirt splotched with pink and blue out of the washing machine (and then hasten to hide whatever had contributed the colors), nothing interesting was going on.
At least, not until a text came through from Taelia while he was chilling on his couch. Nothing major; just a smile and a 'Hope your day's going well.'
Oh, yeah, having a blast, he thought to himself. He typed in a message to reply, though. She was a supporter after all, and besides, he needed something to occupy his time.
'Yeah. Hopps & co still chasing leads, gave me afternoon off.' As an afterthought, he added, 'What you doing?'
It was a couple of minutes and two more outgoing texts acknowledging reports of dead ends before she answered. 'Not much. Pretty ho-hum, really. Might jog around... if nothing comes up.'
Nick noted the '...' with interest. The question of what she was up to had been more than casual inquiry on his part. Though he was hardly an etiquette major, experience – both good and bad – had taught him that asking a girl out on a spur of the moment date was a faux pas best avoided. A general question about her schedule, though, was a good, safe way to probe without looking like he had a definite plan. Whether Taelia had guessed that or not, he suspected that those three little dots were a hint saying he was onto something. Not as strong a hint as a wink would have been, but a hint none the less.
Forgetting for the moment the minor misgivings he'd had with their last date, he fired off another message. 'Want to go do something? Maybe a movie?'
Her reply was a few minutes in coming. 'Sounds good. Need to take care of a few things, but you can pick me up at 8.'
Nick smiled. Sometimes getting shuffled off to the sidelines had its perks. 'Sure thing. Got any preferences?'
Standing in front of her wardrobe again a couple of hours after the messages with Nick, Taelia mused over her options. One considerable advantage this date offered was that, in addition to having her laundry done, she didn't have to worry about working in whatever she wore. Eschewing more everyday attire, she pawed her way back and forth through the dresses like an indecisive chef leafing through a cook book.
I haven't worn this one in a while, she thought, examining a red party dress. She drew it out and held it at arm's length, then slipped it on to try the fit. To her satisfaction, she found that it still fit her just fine and did a nice job of complimenting her figure; slim and showy, but not atrociously so. The skirt displayed some pretty nice leg, and the neckline and shoulders were likely to draw Nick's eyes. A blue lightweight jacket would pair nicely with it if she got chilled - or if she just got cold feet.
She debated whether to pair up a scent with it or just go, showered as she was with some deodorant. Part of her – in the familiar introvert-versus-extrovert conflict – recommended wearing a perfume that would excite Nick a little. Another part argued in favor of her natural scent, pointing out that she wanted Nick to like her for her, not her aromatics. The latter might have won it at that, but went on to suggest 'playing it safe.'
At that she paused to think it over in a new light. Playing it safe? she thought. What's that supposed to mean? To some extent she even hated herself for thinking it. She trusted Nick. Why shouldn't she enjoy herself with him that night?
Before she could change her mind, she went to the bathroom and picked out a perfume with a sharp, slightly mischievous spike to it which she hadn't used in a long time. Administering the sweet, spicy fragrance, she rubbed it into her fur and then rubbed her paws together.
Life's too short to spend cringing, she mused. At any rate, she was darn tired of it. Then a smile came to her lips as she thought, Besides, those other guys were jerks. Nick's totally different. It's not like a scent could make a guy do something he'd regret, right?
That night when Nick picked Taelia up, he almost wondered for a moment if she had a twin sister. Granted, he had seen and dated fancier females, but she was definitely showing another side of herself. The scent of her perfume made a marked change from the previous occasion; probably a lot more marked than she realized.
"Wow," he said, being careful not to look too obviously. He suddenly felt under-dressed, having simply showered and – as was his habit – grabbed his clothes with little attention to occasion. He was wearing a dark blue Pawaiian shirt this time, decorated with white blossoms and olive green dragons, and pants pretty much identical to most of the other pairs he owned.
I wonder where she thinks we're going, he thought, wishing he'd been more specific about his plans. Like intelligence, a fondness for surprising mammals could have its drawbacks. Hoping to ease into it, he asked, "Ready for the movie?"
She nodded, picked up her purse, and stepped out, locking up before she slipped her arm into his. The contact lightened his spirits a little as he walked her out to his car.
"Hope you don't mind the size," he offered with a shrug, catching her glancing around the interior. The car was definitely smaller than hers, though stylish in other respects.
She smiled and waved a paw, dismissing the matter. "It's okay," she replied. "So, did you have a particular movie in mind?"
Nick had considered a good drive-in in Tundratown, as it was his experience that cold made ladies more inclined to snuggle. Conveniently, the bug-out bag in his trunk had a fleece blanket which, if needed, could be just as handy for cold dates. On the other paw, Taelia was lightly dressed enough to spoil the mood, and somehow his gut instinct had warned him that it would be a bit soon to expect her to snuggle under a blanket, however innocently. She didn't seem that forward.
Fortunately, there were other places with the same movie. "Legend of Pyro," he replied. "It's playing at Date Palm Drive-In."
"Hmm, the movie sounds good," Taelia agreed. She had told Nick she liked a good mix of action and romance, and he had apparently guessed without her saying it that fantasy was also on her menu. "Haven't heard of the place, though. What's it like?"
"Biggest slushies in the city, and fans at every station. I hear it's perfect for hot dates."
Taelia rolled her eyes. "I see what you did there," she replied, doing her best to read his tone and body language. She got the impression that he was being casual and jocular enough to allay any suspicions she might otherwise have about double-meanings.
The drive-in, when they got there, was exactly as Nick had promised. The slushies were huge and came in sixteen different flavors, of which Nick picked blueberry while Taelia chose a blend of cherry and root beer. Armed with those and a pair of cold bug loaf sandwiches, they took advantage of their vehicle's small size and parked close to the front, right behind the rodent area.
"And would madame like the top down?" Nick asked winsomely.
She nodded, taking a sip of her drink. "Yes please."
The last time Nick went to a drive-in – which had been quite a while, really – some feline cub had stolen the show by climbing up onto a ledge in pursuit of a moth. Since the ledge had been somewhere between the screen and the projector, an otherwise boring love scene had been livened up by a visit from Cat Kong. This time, nothing so remarkable happened, so although the show was interesting enough in its own right, Nick decided to put his charm skills through their paces.
As the movie played, Nick kept glancing at Taelia and smiling, motioning with his head for her to feel free to scoot over his way. She demurred at first, more because she liked seeing him try than because she was reluctant. In response, he pulled out his phone and let her catch him looking at the shot of them on the park bench. That was enough to sway her, and she slid across the seat close enough to conveniently hold paws. A few more subtle hints coaxed her snug up against him, now sans-jacket and looking decidedly appealing in the light of the movie screen with the fan blowing her fur.
Alone in the car, the movie's explosions and chase scenes faded into the background as she tucked her head into the crook of his neck. He responded by putting an arm around her, feeling surrounded and permeated by the scent of her perfume. Half-drumming, half-stroking his fingers on her side, he mused on his chances of stealing a kiss that night. Probably two in three, he figured. He idly wondered if he'd have a shot at coaxing her into the back seat, though several good reasons ruled that out. For one thing, he'd never been one to pull stunts like that, even in his old line of work. Besides, he wasn't that interested in gambling his standing with Taelia for a joke.
As it turned out, he wouldn't have had much of a shot at it anyway, especially not that night. Taelia had been enjoying the light massaging sensation of his fingers… at first. As she sat there propped against him though, a different sensation crept through her. It wasn't a physical sense – not even the not-touching-prickle of a body part falling asleep. She thought, rather than really felt, something as unnerving as if hundreds of ants were slowly making their way up her body, starting at the place where Nick's paw was on her side.
Oh, come on, she thought, partly anxious and partly exasperated. Don't do this now. Not now.
She tried to concentrate on her own cozying up as a way to block out the unwelcome nuisance, and found some relief in that – for a moment. After a minute or two, though, it started to come back.
Stop it, she thought again. He's not doing anything.
She wanted to stay put; she really did. She hadn't felt this secure with a guy in what felt like forever. Yet the sensation grew stronger, and it was spreading. Over to her spine it traveled, and then up until she could feel a sense of disquiet almost buzzing in the back of her head.
Please, stop doing this.
It was almost as if the whole thing had become some outside entity, and if she had lived in a bygone era she might have even chalked it up to some fiend needling her out of spite. She would even look back later and recall thinking, Leave me alone already.
At last she could take it no longer. She pulled herself away and drew a puzzled look from Nick.
"Sorry," she offered weakly. "I just need to, um…" She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.
"Oh, sure," said Nick, nodding in oblivious acceptance. "But it's the other way; next to the snack bar."
She smiled, doing her best to hide the sadness inside. "Thanks. You want me to bring anything back while I'm up?"
He declined the offer, and she strode off with a sick feeling in her stomach. She hadn't felt that tingle since… well, she didn't like to think about the last time she had felt it. The last time she had that reaction to cuddling with a guy, she'd known there was something fishy. She had tried to brush it off, but she had a reason to want away from him. She'd just been stupid; stupid enough to stay with him because she didn't want to break up.
This was nothing like that, she told herself. She'd seen nothing but good from Nick so far. Nil. Diddly. Squat. She didn't doubt him, and he didn't deserve to be doubted.
'That's what you thought before,' pressed a dismissive voice. 'That's what you always thought before.'
She raced on, telling herself that it was because now she really did need the bathroom and not because she was trying to escape her unseen tormentor. She went about her business, washed her paws, and lightly slapped her face as one who is trying to wake herself up. Then she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, concentrating on the good memories she had so far of Nick: his hopes of becoming a police officer, and the way they had met backing it up. His gentlemanly – if fumbled – behavior in Chez Cheese. The way her band mates had taken to him. The side-hug and selfie shoot on the park bench.
"I trust him," she said at last, opening her eyes and looking in the mirror. The assured gaze in the glass bolstered her confidence, and the corners of her mouth lifted. With a lighter step she went back to the car, greeting Nick with a small but genuine smile as she slipped back into the seat and resumed her position next to him.
"Miss me?" he asked with a grin, not quite noticing that she settled in a little more gingerly this time.
Only since before I met you, she thought. She said nothing, but drew her tail over both their laps. This surprised Nick at first, but not enough to put him off. With an inward shrug, he slipped his arm back around her waist and leaned his head on top of hers. This time, for no particular reason, he left off the finger massage – and much to Taelia's relief, the tingling did not come back in any noticeable degree.
No more looking back, she told herself happily. Only ahead.
Alas, looking ahead was not so bright for every mammal in the city that night. Leodore Lionheart hunched over his desk, slowly going cross-eyed from staring at paperwork. He'd been filling out forms for the last two hours, give or take two weeks, and his wrist was definitely feeling it. His actions, in addition to criminal charges, had drawn a number of lawsuits which, even in the unlikely event that not all of them went through, were apt to bury him in court costs alone. Now he was reaping the consequences, and cursing himself for not having better laid out his savings plan or said no to a vacation or two a year to lay money aside for a rainy day. Of course he'd never meant to get into a mess like this, but it was still stupid of him.
Surrendering to the stiffness in his wrist at last, he slapped the pen flat down on the scattered papers, pushed back his chair, and stood up.
"Oh!" he groaned, suddenly arching forward again. Taking a step or two so as not to fall on his face, he pushed his paws against his back and more carefully straightened up. If the mess didn't put him in prison or the poor house, it might just land him in a wheelchair.
Looking aimlessly about the office, his eyes came to rest on a large portrait of his family: himself in his usual immaculate suit and broad, winsome smile – quite the contrast to the weary, T-shirt-wearing cat gazing at his younger, happier self. His wife wore a royal purple dress which set off her eyes and Meowna Lisa-like smile, and their son was wearing a tailored suit just like his dad's. This last contrasted humorously with the red baseball cap which, through most of his childhood, was the cub's trademark, usually accompanied by a dark gray sweat jacket. Though Scott Lionheart had hated suits at the age of ten when the picture was made, he was smiling cheerfully (helped, if Leodore remembered correctly, by the promise of a trip to an amusement park when they were finished).
They all looked so happy together then; it hardly seemed possible that now the father was old and haggard, the wife threatening divorce, the son a teenager nursing bruises alone in his room, and the whole family facing bankruptcy and social annihilation. If the older Leodore could go back into the picture and warn his past self, the whole family would probably keel over laughing at the idea.
And then I would go and get myself in the same mess anyway, he thought ruefully, clasping his paws behind his back.
The marriage counselor had advised him to invest more time in his family, which was a pretty tall order with the mountain of legal filings on his desk. So far, it wasn't working so well. Lionheart had managed earlier to coax his wife into a candle-lit dinner like they used to have, but she had dressed plainly and eaten little. Truth be told, he suspected she did it more because the maid went to such trouble to fix the meal than for his own benefit. As for their son, after brooding by the pool Scott had retreated to his room and, by all indications, not shown a whisker all evening.
Heading over to the private wing of the house, Leodore knocked on his son's door. "Scott, are you in there?" he called. No reply came from within.
"Scott, it's Dad. Open up."
When still the silence was unbroken, he took the knob in paw and gently turned it, opening the door all but noiselessly on well-maintained hinges. Scott Lionheart lay inert on his bed, sound asleep. Stepping softly, Leodore walked up to him and stood by the bed, lost in thought. The cub – though he wasn't going to be a cub much longer, alas – lay with his back to the door dressed in an undershirt and boxers. His mane was half-grown and had a reddish tint to it, a recessive trait which had gotten him a great deal of interest from females at his school.
Lionheart sighed and almost left. He'd been hoping to talk things over and at least apologize for the mess. He turned with the intention to leave, but there was something holding him back; something he could not think to name. He didn't want to walk out of the room. Waking or sleeping, his son was in there.
Very gently so as not to wake the teenager, he sat on the side of the bed and looked for a long time at Scott as his eyes adjusted to better use the light from the hall. Was it his imagination, or was the young lion's face creased with worry and grief even in slumber? Was that a bruise on his cheek; a claw mark or two on his nose?
I did this to him, he thought, looking away. Scrunching his mouth and blinking to excess, he let his eyes wander aimlessly around the room. How long had it been since he even came in here to talk with Scott? The place seemed very different, though it took a little searching to light on any clear differences. Most of the old photos from thrill rides – once Scott's favorite thing in the world – were nowhere to be seen. The shelf of Ranger Scout and Junior Ranger Scout memorabilia bore some trophies Lionheart didn't think he'd seen before, though one in particular he recognized all too well. Back in January, Scott had taken part in a triathlon which Lionheart had neglected to note in his day planner. After what seemed a typical day at the office, Lionheart had come home to find that his son had placed first in skateboarding and second in mountain biking. Not only had the father missed the event, but he'd also been beaten to the punch on his immediate suggestion of celebrating with ice cream.
And I promised him a father/son outing to make up for that, he remembered. He'd meant to make good on the promise months ago; he really had. Unfortunately, just a couple of days later he had learned of the predators in lockup, and everything else had dropped off his radar.
Cripes, I've missed so much. He was going to get frequent flier miles on this guilt trip. I hardly even know him anymore.
Further surveillance turned up other surprises. On the walls hung posters for bands he'd never heard of, and his gaze paused uncertainly on a poster of a mostly female group. Front and center was a decidedly fetching... well, it was hard to tell if she was a vixen or a she-wolf wearing orange fur dye. The placements of the band members made it hard to tell. Whatever she was, she was dressed in a retro lime-green suit like something out of the seventies. Over in the corner was a cardboard cutout of a wolf wearing a curious yellow suit and red-rimmed sunglasses, frozen in mid-strum on an electric guitar.
I didn't even know he was this much into music, he reflected dismally, lowering his gaze back to his son.
Then, with the kind of impulse so arbitrary as to border on supernatural, his gaze drifted toward the night stand. There lay a concert ticket. Reaching over Scott's inert form, he reached out and picked up the slim rectangle of paper. It was for the benefit concert he'd been hearing about, and a little paper next to it revealed that he was going there with his troop.
I should be taking him to this. I owe him at least that much. Then he paused. It was thanks to him that Scott was getting beaten up at school. What would the other kids do if they saw him at an all-city event with one of the top two most hated mammals in the city, rivaled only by his deranged former assistant herself?
Still...
Out in Meadowlands, in a less-than-favored section of town, a broken-up stone sidewalk hugged the outside of a disreputable watering hole called the Cloven Hoof. Built into a space between several boulders and tucked under a truly massive one hollowed out for extra floors, the place seemed to dare strangers to venture in while regulars ignored the dismal look and neighborhood.
To those who passed through the swinging western-style doors, the inside of the place showed clear signs of a once-venerable establishment fallen on bad times and worse management. Hardwood floorboards shifted slightly underfoot, and rustic tables tightened and re-tightened until parts began to snap were kept from wobbling only by means of washers and pieces of coaster glued to the bottoms of their legs. About the only table in the bar to receive better maintenance was the pool table towards the back, and that only because it was such a source of income. The smell of tobacco – chewed and smoked – was thick in the air, mingled with the sharp scent of several kinds of tobacco from barley beer to wheat grass whiskey. Faded pictures which the manager replaced only when patrons punctured them with too many dart tosses on the sly decorated the place with images of voluptuous actresses and models.
Few of the pictured females, however, could match the voluptuousness of the arctic vixen who strolled about among the tables. Hired to sing twice a day and wait tables the rest of eight hours, she was most likely hired for her feminine appeal and for the chance to let patrons feel dominant over a predator. In the wake of Bellwether's scheme, some mammals who shared the former mayor's resentment of predators were bound to feel cheated of the chance to become the elite. This seemed to be backfiring, however, for the ewe present at one table. Her efforts at willfully and tediously hemming and hawing over the tip could not seem to inflict any unease in her waitress. On the contrary, the more she lingered the more the waitress winked towards the other side of the table whenever a chance appeared. It was working, too; only a thoroughly disinterested onlooker could miss that the ram, who was settling the main bill, had his eyes on his waitress at least as much as on his date.
Finally accepting the check and the pittance of a tip, the vixen retaliated by 'accidentally' brushing the ram with her tail. Once she no longer felt the ewe's baleful 'I saw that, you witch' glare on her back, she looked toward them again. It was only seconds before the ram glanced toward the departing white figure, who threw him a wink and put an extra bit of sashay into her stride as she slipped out of sight.
Let's see if that relationship lasts, she thought with satisfaction. It was always fun to meddle with males' minds - such as they were, in her opinion - and draw the jealous ire of these oh-so-rotund ewes. Still, she had more important work in paw. She continued to go about her job description dutifully, bustling to and fro with the speed of an antelope and the poise of a mountain goat. Then came her opportunity.
"Hey, V," called the she-goat managing the bar at the moment. "We're running low on Wheatgrass Whiskey. Grab a case from the basement, willya?"
About time. "Yes sir," she replied breezily. "Shall I also bring up some chardonnay?"
The combination of slitted pupils and suspiciously squinted eyelids which this remark yielded clearly presented his un-amused demeanor. Uppity vixen, the ungulate thought to herself. As if she could get work in a place classy enough for chardonnay. "Just the wheat grass whiskey," she replied. "Oh, and some Muler too, while you're down there."
Fully aware that it was a toss-up whether they even had any Muler in stock or her boss was just sending her on a snipe hunt, Vanya strode off to the staff door in the back and made her way down the steps. Spread with boxes of seldom-used cooking and serving apparatus (for those times when someone booked the place for an event) the basement was a fire hazard waiting to happen. Didn't matter to her; she'd worked in worse. Instead of bothering with the alcoholic drinks – if you could call them drinks – she calmly made her way to a door at the back of the basement. A rectangle of paint less worn than the rest showed where a sign had probably once hung on the door, but apparently whatever fasteners had once held it had given out some time ago. Now, scrawled in the space once covered by the sign, was a simple STAY OUT in red Sharpie. The door and the wall around it bore clear signs of age and disuse… to an amateur, anyway.
"Theater mockups? Please," she muttered under her breath, fishing in her pocket. "If they wanted people to stay out, they should put up a sign for a males' room – and be more careful with their keys."
Her digging produced one of the items in question, made the day before from a molding of her boss' master key. "Alright, let's see if this does the trick…"
Alas, the key would not turn.
"Well that's pretty inconsiderate." She hadn't been in a position to take moldings of all the keys; she'd only had five seconds and one tray of molding putty. Now she had to move quickly before someone wondered what was taking her so long. "Time for Plan B." She dipped into her pocket again, drew out a lock pick, and fiddled a moment. With a satisfactory click, the lock turned.
Smiling to herself, Vanya looked around one more time before carefully opening the forbidden door and slinking inside like one shadow merging into another. The hall within showed considerably less rust, mold, or cobwebs than the door outside, hinting that the former had been camouflaged to be less interesting to snooping eyes. It was also deceptively well-sealed, containing the reekingly strong odors of liniment, wool… and, underneath them, a hint of Night Howlers.
Mr. Big must think I'm getting old if he's giving me such easy jobs. I'm insulted.
Despite her confidence, Vanya wasn't foolish. She drew out a pair of devices resembling epi-pens as she slunk down the hall, holding one in each paw in a reverse grip. She had her phone in her pocket for pictures – silenced, of course – but if she had to act quickly it wouldn't be to take photos. Her assignment was to find evidence second, but foremost to avoid detection.
After a few steps, the hallway brought her to a boiler room practically out of the stone age… or the twenties, at any rate. She had little knowledge of old fixings, but extensive knowledge of underhanded designs and locales led her to think the room had been added back in the twenties. She had noted on a plaque upstairs that The Cloven Hoof had once been a speakeasy. Which means…
It was the perfect setup. A boiler to supply heat, noisy equipment and machine odors to cover up traces of an operation, and lots of corners to hide a secret entrance. Back in the Prohibition era, it would have been the perfect place to hide tunnels for a still and who-knew-how-much illegal alcohol.
If there's not a secret door in here somewhere, I'll eat this stupid apron I'm wearing.
The entrance was brilliantly camouflaged to blend in with a brick wall. It would have been flawlessly hidden… if it wasn't for the countless overlapping trails of hoofprints on the un-swept floor leading right to it. Evidently the ones using the place now were a few IQ points – or, heck, maybe a few dozen – below the ones who had built it.
"Amateurs," she scoffed, shaking her head at the stupidity of such an oversight. "Why not just paint me a road sign?"
Of course, she would leave paw prints too. She weighed her options and adjusted to put both of her weapons in one paw, allowing her to pull out her phone with the other. By the light from the hall, she took several snapshots of the prints leading to the seemingly blank wall.
Anticlimactic, she mused, but it ought to be enough to get the ZPD curious. If she had planned a little better she could have smuggled a mouse or a shrew in; one in Mr. Big's employ, of course. Unfortunately, that would reflect pretty shabbily on one of the boss's best operatives. She'd always taken great personal satisfaction in only enlisting – and only needing – the help of her 'sisters.'
She was just turning to leave when a click from the end of the hall drew her attention. Cocking her ears, she heard the door opening and hoofprints coming her way. Not good; definitely not good.
Thinking quickly, she made her way along the dusty floor, leaving clear paw prints over the sheep tracks. Then with a jump to one side, she took cover behind the boiler and waited in a crouch.
The manager walked in, looked at the floor, and swore under her breath as she cast her eyes warily about. "Knew I shouldn't have hired that vixen," she snarled. "But that's what I get for taking a job from ungh!"
Vanya lunged, driving her shoulder into the goat's oblique region as one of her needles narrowly missed its mark. The two of them tumbled in the dust before the vixen regained her paws and threw herself in again, heedless of having dropped one syringe.
"You should have stayed put like a good little barmaid!" shouted the goat, catching Vanya's paws in her hooves. Vanya quickly retaliated, flinging herself backward to connect a foot with her target's chin.
They traded blows ferociously, but in the end it was no contest. Deflecting a blow with a whirl of one arm, Vanya jabbed with the other and drove her needle home into the goat's belly.
"Ungh!" grunted the nanny goat, stumbling backward. "I don't know what that was, but you'll… you'll…!"
They continued to fight, with the nanny goat now demanding to know what Vanya had put into her system even as her moves grew slower and heavier. Slipping inside a swing a sloth could have dodged, the vixen rammed her fists as one into the goat's face and threw her to the ground.
"Oh, you'll live," she promised as the goat's vision began to darken. "Boss didn't want any dead bodies on this job, so I just gave you a little sleeping drug. Nighty-night."
She never saw the other figure loom behind her, grasping the dropped needle. With a lightning fast move, a stout arm wrapped around her throat from the back while a sharp prick of pain knifed into her shoulder.
"Get off!" she snarled, driving her claws into the encircling arm. The attacker grunted and loosened his grip a fraction, but even as she threw up her chin and ducked from under his arm, she knew the damage was done. She drove an elbow into his pelvis and spin-kicked his hooves from under him, but that was all she had time to do. The sensation which overcame her was oddly like that of being drunk; confusion, unsteady paws, and vision which clouded over on its way to blackness. Her last impression was of a ram doubled up on the floor, and she stayed conscious just long enough to hear him vent his rage over her skillful blows.
"Lousy witch. Once my boss is done with you, I'm going to make you pay for that."
Oh, great. Just when you thought it would be a nice, touching slice-of-life chapter. What's Vanya gotten into? What are Taelia and Catano hiding? And what do you suppose Lionheart's cooking up?
I thought some of you might find Catano's history interesting as context for this. Much as I tapped into Maleficent and Cruella DeVille for Vanya, Officer Catano holds distinct traces of Raven (from the older Teen Titanscartoons) and Batman. As such, she has a rather stunted capacity for warmth and kindness and has even come to use knowledge designed for healing as more of a weapon. So a scene like this, where she has no use for harshness and no one nicer like Judy to nudge to the fore, is a real game-changer for her. We'll just have to see where that leads. Incidentally, her having been raised by Major Friedkin is mentioned back in chapter 10 – and it probably didn't help her disposition much more than whatever happened with her parents.
I had a lot of fun designing some of the sets for this chapter. Having admittedly never been to a drive-in movie theater, I based the Date Palm chiefly on movies and word of mouth, plus a little simple logic as to what would work best at a place in Sahara Square (hence the fans and slushies). In the case of The Cloven Hoof, I had a few pieces of concept art from the first movie for this unused locale, and drew on the outside shot to set a tone of desolation and disrepair. The basement and extras were drawn on basements and staff-only areas I've been in myself, though I had to use some imagination as I've never worked in a former speakeasy (at least, not that I know of).
Vanya's reference to Muler is, of course, a play on Mueller, a rather pricey brand of beer. At least, it's the priciest stuff I've ever come across, teetotaler that I am. Vanya's crack about chardonnay is, obviously, a quip suggesting that the Cloven Hoof and its fare are lowbrow and classless. I've half a mind to agree, but then there are times when I think the same things about her.
Guest: Your comment interests me greatly. On the one hand, all other commentators have seemed satisfied with the chemistry between Nick and Taelia thus far (and I myself prefer relationships that develop slowly, as they in my experience are the better in the long run). On the other hand, I have been meaning to move things forward between the vulpines and mainly holding off for fear of revealing too much too soon about Taelia's past and her imminent role in this story. I can say for now that one thing holding the couple back is that each of them, for reasons which are their own, is not being totally honest with the other about certain things. In any case, I hope you found this chapter to at least be interesting enough on that front.
In the meantime, if you want a little more sizzle you can feel free to look up Chapter 10 of Santa Clawed. It's not quite the sexuality you suggested, but it's further along in their relationship and therefore offers a little more wiggle room.
(second) Guest: Thanks. I like twists. Once tried my hand at being a contortionist, actually. The stories I could tell… but I digress. Always a pleasure to keep everyone on their toes.
Justin Durfee: There's no official information on Lionheart's family life, but it's my impression that historically the norm for politicians – or at least male ones – has been that people look for family men to be their leaders. The United States, for example, has only elected two bachelors out of our fifty-two presidents, and one of them got married while in office. I looked at that and one or two other fan writers depicting Lionheart as a husband and father, and realized if he was married it would be impossible that his family would not feel some effects of the scandal.
I'm glad to see your response – and so many others like it – to the matter of the divorce. I too found it difficult and even painful to write it, but it fits the purposes of the story and felt like a matter that needed to be addressed. In a way it's nice to see that issues like this still pull heartstrings like they do, for it seems as though marriage has become rather trivialized these days. I never set out with the intention of my stories being painful to read, but it's reassuring that people still feel pain when they should (well, sometimes anyway). I do plan on ultimately tying up that loose end, of course, but in the meantime I slipped in the scene with Lionheart and son to try and leave that sub-plot on a not-entirely-hopeless note. I had a scene with Lionheart and his wife too, but decided that it added more pain than it took away.
As for registering on DA, I've had some difficulties with that site myself. I don't know how the system works, so I'm not sure if Google makes a difference. However, you can always add an account on here. I appreciate your love of my other stories. I have a couple of time-sensitive projects in the works on here, but once I get those taken care of (last one's marked for sometime in August, but it might have an impact on September and October), I can post more Toby – or sooner if I end up with time online to kill. I have to admit I'm a little surprised that those stories are still getting attention. I was still practically a kid when I wrote those.
Oh, and if you do get onto DA, I go by DragonTamer2000 over there.
Easter Eggs:
A superhero style snafu
At least three goofy movie references
A nod to a too-cool-for-school Disney TV series
A hot idea that never happened
That Darn Cat
A paraphrased line from a DTV Disney sequel
Kudos to dispix and Beecroft for noting one of the Easter Eggs in the last chapter. Dispix, you almost nailed it; the king in question was not Simba or Mufasa, but Richard the Lionheart as seen in Robin Hood (but I'll give you credit for finding the right clue, at least).Granted I don't consider Zootopia and Robin Hood to be contiguous, but it's safe to assume that there was aKing Richard The Lionheart in the world of Zootopia at some point. As for previous Easter Egg answers…
Chapter Ten: An episode of Doctor Who supplied the line from Taelia's ex-boyfriend. I don't recall the episode, but it involved someone taking over the Doctor's body - which, in context, was even creepier than it sounds. I never imagined I'd reference that scene, but I wanted to establish that this guy Taelia dated was a world-class slimeball, so it seemed fitting to use. Judy's brainstorm derives from the Sherlock Holmes mystery A Scandal in Bohemia, and while I don't want to drop spoilers about it fans will readily see a similarity to the stunt Judy and Nick pulled on the renegade rams (I see I congratulated BeecroftA for spotting that one, so I'll just give him another shout-out). And congratulations to Out of Pseudonyms for bulls-eyeing the source of Chief Bogo's fake name, Basil Stag Hare of the Redwall books (specifically Redwall and Mattimeo).
Chapter Eleven: The exchange of "Just like that" as first a question and then an answer was used as a gag of sorts in Angel Wars Episode 2(you have to watch pretty much to the end to really get it), though I'm not surprised no one noticed that bit. Equally obscure, perhaps, is Judy's remark about "staying focused on your goals," a nod to the refrain of An Extremely Goofy Movie. Bogo's tapping in rapid sets of four is a nod to Doctor Who, in which the tenth Doctor's demise was heralded by the prophecy, "He will knock four times."
On a side note, would you believe I wrote the father/son scene on Father's Day Weekend? Totally unplanned; didn't even think of it until they did a Dad theme in church.
