6. "Ward Goes to the Mayor"

The gothic-revival office building took up an entire city block, and while it certainly wasn't the tallest building in town, it had more floors than any building you would see in the suburbs. Everyone called it city hall, which wasn't incorrect, but it didn't paint the complete picture. It chiefly contained the mayor's office and the offices of all of his council members, but also all of the offices for all the municipal departments (public works and all that); precincts for the city, county, and state police departments (being the main precinct of the first two); a few floors of other offices for private businesses; and a shopping center and food court on the ground floor and basement levels, just for good measure. It had been an idea under the mayorhood of Richard Norman to maybe start moving the contents of the building around, just in case heaven forbid there was a fire or something like that, then not everything would be taken out at once. But his little brother's administration had other priorities.

That younger brother sat impatiently at his desk, his chair turned to face the wide window on the north edge of the room. He wasn't bored for lack of things he wanted to do. He would have much preferred to hop on the phone and start talking up his donors, or proposing some new laws and regulations to his helpless council just for the hell of it, or even gussying himself up in the mirror or simply counting his cash. But he knew the second that he started occupying himself, the imbecile would finally show up. He understood that the Chief had to drive in all the way from Georgetown, park in the garage on the second basement level, take the elevator up, absentmindedly get off on the wrong floor, be possessed to stop at the food court and grab some fries of a chicken sandwich or something, take the elevator to the fifth floor, go through security, get on the other elevator to reach the top floor, and take a solid five minutes trying to remember where the mayor's office was. But he was still furious that it was taking this long.

So he sat there, looking out on the city over which he ruled, twiddling his thumbs to ward off an embarrassing compulsive habit of his, and trying really hard not to move any part of his head or his face so that his top hat wouldn't slide over his eyes again. The top hat, antiquated as it was, was an old family heirloom dating back to the Victorian Era in the Old Country, reserved for the preeminent head of the Norman family. Richard didn't take it with him to Washington because he thought it would be a silly look for the national stage, but John had no qualms about taking it for himself. John had tried to have it padded so that it wouldn't keep sliding down his gaunt and thinly-maned head, but every expert he showed the hat to insisted that modifying it would ruin it. And yet this old thing was basically a crown in his family line, so wearing it precariously was better than not wearing it at all.

There was a thump at the thick wooden doors to his backside. It wasn't a knock; it was a thump. That's how he knew it wasn't Chief Woodland.

"Come in, Hiss."

There was a struggle with the handlebar doorknob, and it opened slightly and shut back on itself a few times as the mayor's assistant had trouble propping it open enough to get into the gap, but eventually the weasel got his foot in the door and was able to weasel his way though.

"You didn't use your mouth, did you?" the gangly lion asked without turning his head.

"No, Your Majesty, I wouldn't think of it." After all these years, Charles "Hiss" Hess didn't even think anymore about how odd it might seem that he referred to the mayor as "Your Majesty"; what had started out as a condition of his employment became just a force of habit, and since his boss had shown him more dignity than most people in his life had (especially since the accident), he was more than happy to indulge him in his regal fantasies. Besides, he loved his work; it provided him with opportunities he'd never imagined he'd have.

"That's a good boy, Hiss," the so-called prince praised passively, again without looking; he had to keep steady to keep that hat on his head, after all. "Now, what is it that demands my attention? You know I'm expecting company soon."

"That's just the thing, sssire," the weasel replied with another one of his monikers for his employer. The genesis of his own serpentine nickname was a perfect storm of not just his last name and a highly-noticeable physical attribute (or lack thereof) that he shared with snakes, but also for how the gap in his teeth gave him a lisp that made s sounds sound a bit like a th-, but even more so like a hissing sound, something he liked to exaggerate for effect every so often when the moment seemed right. "I've finished cleaning up the record-books and now I'm ready for the next assignment. Perhaps I can arrange for something to help pass the time until the Chief and his deputy arrive?"

"No, no, Hiss, they'll be here any time now, and I'm sure there's more paperwork somewhere if you look for it."

"Ah, but I insssist, milord!" His favorite part of his job was getting closer to power than he had ever thought possible. "Please, let me pour you a glass of wine to ease your troubled mind!"

"Hiss, do you really think of me as the kind of man who would get drunk before a very important meeting!?"

"Sire, one drink will not do you ill! And wouldn't it make a meeting with Chief Woodland all the more bearable?"

Prince John finally turned his head to the persistent weasel. "Hiss, what on earth is with your insistence on giving me a glass of wine? Are you plotting to poison me!?"

"Oh, nonononono, Your Majesty! I just hate to see you so tense! It's my job to serve you, after all, and why should I not take initiative?"

"Because you're pestering me at an inconvenient time." He turned his head back to the window; this time, the hat slipped down over his eyes. For a moment, he just sat there like that, at once too angry and mortified to acknowledge the shame. Then he finally allowed himself to readjust it and grumbled, "Oh, to hell with it, give me half a glass. And use the slip-ons!"

"Why, of courssse, milord," Hiss bowed and made his way to the swivel chair in the corner that was just for him. He jostled it out of the corner with one of his feet and gently pushed it along with his hips until he got to where the wine rack and glasses were. He then scurried over to the next corner down the wall, where there was a box of sterilized latex gloves, also expressly for his usage. He nudged the box down to the wine station with his foot; he'd have put them on in the corner, but he didn't want to get them dirty.

John Norman was still in a "I-could-take-it-or-leave-it" mood for the wine, but what made up his mind was his fascination with how Hiss managed to find elaborate ways to pull off tasks that the able-bodied would find all too simple. It was absolutely a spectacle to behold, and was a major reason why he kept the weasel employed when others would call it impractical (though many would say it was one of the least impractical things about how he ran the city). One could even say that to the Prince Mayor, watching Hiss do anything other than walk and breathe was almost hypnotizing.

Hiss was carefully slipping the gloves on his feet, making sure he still had the dexterity of his toes. He grappled the wine bottle by the neck, hooking his big toe under it for added grasp, and used his other foot to carefully slip the cork out. Wine was poured to the point where the glass was exactly half full, and the bottle was lowered back onto the counter, its surface perfectly parallel to the bottom of the bottle. The bottle was recorked, and Hiss slipped the neck of the glass between the toes of one foot while using his other foot to push himself and the chair across the thinly-carpeted floor.

John shifted a bit in his seat to better face Hiss as he came to deliver the drink. Now that he knew it was coming anyway, he was developing a genuine craving for it, and was beginning to feel a tinge of legitimate thirst. He reached out to his right to grab the glass from Hiss's gloved foot, but Hiss kept scooting along just out of the mayor's reach, parking himself right in front of him so that Prince John had to move back into his original position.

"Why, th-thank you, Hiss," he reached out one hand again to grab the glass while using the other to keep the hat over his brow. "I really-"

"But wait, Majesty! Let us give it a nice good ssswirl…" Hiss insisted, and he started slowly swaying the glass right and left and a little more right and a bit more left, the liquid making waves that crashed upon the rim. "A steady will be good for the flavor. Don't you agree, sssire?"

"H-Hiss, please just, er… please just give me my-"

"But it's not quite ready, now isss it?"

The liquid rocked back and forth like a pendulum that was just so damned enthralling to watch, and as Hiss kept his focus on his boss's face, he was glad that he wasn't returning eye contact.

"It's been sitting in that bottle for ssso long, milord," Hiss said in his best attempt at cooing someone into tranquility. "We'd best ensure there are no sssediments."

John Norman wasn't saying a word. He didn't quite look like he'd yet been made to lose conscious control of his body, but it looked like he was on his way there. Charles knew that this probably wouldn't be the day he'd pull it off, but practice makes perfect.

"You know I have your best interests in mind, sssire," Hiss murmured, very much making a point to incorporate s sounds near the ends of his sentences as he worked his magic.

In an interesting development, John's lips peeled apart from one another and his jaw started sliding open. Hiss also noticed that the mayor hadn't blinked for a bit. Hey, maybe this would be the day. A bit ahead of schedule, but no complaining there. Granted, he didn't have quite a solid plan for what to do next, but if he had actually successfully wrested control of the mayor, he'd have plenty of time to figure it out.

But this would not be the day that Charles Hess would put his improvisation skills to the test. The knock at the door broke the trance with a visible tic on the lion's gaunt face. Hiss stopped swinging the glass immediately and quelled the shit-eating grin that had been brewing on his face so Prince John wouldn't realize what he'd been trying to pull.

"Op-!" Mayor Norman spit out. "I- I appear to have blacked out there again. Oh, my, I do need to see my physician about that-"

Knock knock knock. "Mister Mayor! Do ya want us to come in or not!?" An annoyingly familiar voice was getting agitated.

Prince John grabbed the glass of wine and swung around toward the door. "Oh, yes, yes, come in! The door's open!" he hollered before taking a long swig.

The Chief of the Nottingham Police Department welcomed himself in, with his deputy reluctantly standing on his shoulder, trying to keep balance despite his superior's horrible posture and bouncy, ungracious swagger.

Hiss stood from his chair and went over to greet the guests, nudging the swivel chair into the corner along the way. He made a mental note that he could probably have better luck winning over the mayor if he only could get his feet on a pocket watch, but since his job was to wait on Prince John more or less around the clock, stepping away to go buy a nifty accessory would be a bit of a challenge.

"How's it goin', Prince John?" the wolf greeted, then regarded the weasel. "Hiya, Chuckie."

Hiss simply nodded and bowed a bit; he, like Nutzinger, didn't exchange polite greetings aloud because they knew that Mayor Norman wanted to get to to business as soon as possible.

"It's going poorly, Chief Woodland," the lion grumbled. "Very, very, poorly. But I may have an idea to remedy our situation. Have a seat, you two."

Woodland sat himself down in the chair opposite Mayor Norman. Nutzinger did his best to not fall over in the process, grabbing Woodland's ear when he nearly lost his balance.

"Gah! Nutsy!"

"I wouldn't've had to grab onto you if you were more elegant when you sat down, jackass."

"Deputy Nitzinger, I can have Charles fetch you your own seat if you'd like," the mayor offered, gesturing to the weasel standing at attention to the side.

"You tell me, boss," Nutzinger answered. "I can stand right here if we aren't gonna be here for, like, five hours. And if this guy can sit still for two minutes."

To that, Woodland reached his arm up and flicked his thick finger on the squirrel's gut. Nutzinger contained his exclamation of discomfort and pretended he didn't feel anything.

"Well, we'll certainly be here much longer than we need to be if you two don't stop behaving like children!" Prince John scolded and gulped down the rest of his wine. "Thank you for the wine, Charles; I needed that."

"Certainly, Mayor," Hiss answered, less inclined to charm him with a hiss in the presence of company.

"Anyway, gentlemen," Mayor Norman continued, "I've had a thought cross my mind as of late. I had thought it was quite the silly idea, but I may be having a change of heart now that I hear that you, Chief Woodland, have found a settlement in Sherwood Forest - is that so, Eddward?"

"Absolutely, Mister Mayor!" the chief beamed. "And every indication is that it's where the bandits live!"

"How so? Elucidate me."

"Wh-what?"

"Explain the settlement, dumbass," the squirrel muttered into his boss's ear.

"Well, uh… there were a bunch of clothes in there. A lot of eyewitness reports say that the suspects are a fox and a bear, and I think the clothes were about the right size."

"You think," answered the mayor. It was not a question.

"I do think that. Yes, Mayor."

"What proof have you that they belong to a fox and a bear, Woodland?"

"Well, they were about the right size-"

"Do you or your department have any concrete proof that the assailants are a fox and a bear, Chief Woodland?"

"We have a whole bunch of eyewitnesses that say-"

"We've also had eyewitnesses over the years reporting coyotes, raccoons, badgers, wolves, wolverines, hippos, rhinos, and as recently as twelve hours ago, a pig."

"I-I know that, uh-"

"Tell me, Woodland, what kind of fox and bear?"

"I know that one! A red one!"

"A red bear?"

"No, no, the bear's brown! Or… tan? Orange! But, um, closer to brown than orange-?"

"Deputy Nutzinger, have you anything to add to this?"

"Sir, no, sir. Chief told me to stay by the road and make sure nobody took off with the car."

"No, I didn't! I told him to stay there to make sure no civilians went into the woods while we were investigating."

"And to make sure they didn't steal the car."

"Nutsy!"

"Again."

"Enough!" roared the lion. "I have other things to accomplish today than to watch you two have a row."

Nutzinger and Woodland stopped talking and turned their eyes toward the mayor. They each gave him a 'don't-you-dare-suggest-that-I-was-being-as-much-of-an-asshole-as-he-was' look.

Prince John let out a light sigh. "Hiss, another glass of wine please?"

"Yes, Mayor!" the weasel vowed as he went off to fetch his swivel chair.

"Full this time…" the mayor muttered before he turned his attention back to his chief of police. "Eddward, George, I apologize if I was being rather… catty with my interrogation? Would that be the right word? Sarcastic? Unconstructive?"

Woodland and Nutzinger still weren't saying a word.

"Well anyway, let me be clear: it wasn't that what you were saying was wrong, per se, Chief Woodland. The consensus is that there are only two of these bandits still wreaking havoc after all these years, and while they are - evidently - masters of disguise, they've give us enough clues that the tall, fat one is almost certainly a brown bear, and the small, slender one is either a coyote who looks like a fox, or a short-statured wolf who looks like a fox, or simply a rather tall fox. As for my own encounters with them? They were always either in some stupid get-up or making a quick getaway, but from what I've seen, I do espouse the fox-and-bear theory…"

John noticed that Hiss had finished filling his glass in his periphery. He paused to take a long swallow of the wine.

"...But you can't prove any of it. You're sloppy, Eddward. You found some clothes that perhaps, just maybe would fit these two? That's it? No… 'signs of life,' shall we say?"

"Well, there were plenty of signs of life! There were sleeping bags and toilet paper and a teapot-"

"That's not what I meant! I meant proof that the people you've been looking for were there!" Prince John was getting flustered and his sentence structure was deteriorating. "Did you see a stash of all that they stole? Did you see weapons? Did you see things with people's names on them? Did you see them? You can't arrest some homeless people because they have toilet paper and a teapot. Or, rather, you can, but at the peril of making the entire city look bad. And you'll make me look bad for appointing you. And that simply will not do, Eddward."

Another brief moment of silence as the mayor gulped more wine down. When he finished, he took the remainder of the glass with him as he turned in his chair and stood to walk toward the window.

"Another quiz for you, Chief Woodland: how have we not found them yet over how-many years?"

"Seven! Seven years, Mayor John."

"Eddward, that wasn't the question. How do they keep eluding us?"

"Urm- because they're great masters of disguise!"

"And?"

"And… they…"

"They're damn good at hiding, too," piped in the squirrel.

"There we go! Thank you, George. And since their stomping grounds are right in the grey area of your jurisdiction, surely some of their hiding spots are in the suburbs, and that means what?"

"We have to cooperate with the suburban and county Boys," answered Nutzinger without even giving Woodland the chance to think; George just wanted to press the fast forward button and have the mayor get to the point, but John Norman had always been a lover of dramatics.

"Precisely!" confirmed Prince John ecstatically.

"I'm sorry, Mayor, but… I'm not really getting where you're going with all this."

"Ah, yes, yes, yes. Reeling me in. Thank you, George. Showing more initiative than your commander, I see."

Woodland knew better than to disagree.

John waltzed toward the left edge of the window and turned his gaze northwest. While the building was surrounded by skyscrapers on three sides, a point had been made not to obstruct the view from the mayor's office all the way to the northern horizon, and from that window he could see the sea, the Fertile Crescent, and a sizeable thicket of trees bisected by the Georgetown-Millsboro Highway that the mayor now fixed his eyes on.

"Gentlemen, I have been made a fool of by these hooligans. Their capture is of the utmost importance, in a very personal way. And yet I don't want anybody but my city's police to be the ones to apprehend them. But! But… I acknowledge the fallacy of all this. I should want to see these mongrels captured by any means necessary. Yet the same minds that provide us with rational thought also fill us with irrational emotions. It's such a cruel paradox. A travesty! But while I'm sure the men and women of the county and suburban departments are fine officers… they aren't loyal to me as you two are. You deserve the glory more than they do. More than I do. So you boys can imagine how conflicted I feel when you tell me that now you've found a specific location that may be the outlaws' hideaway. And of course it's in that infernal purgatory where every department lays claim when it's convenient for them and shies away when it's not. It eats me up inside, gentlemen. Truly it does."

"So are we gonna tell the other departments to fuck off and let us into their territory?" inquired Woodland.

"That's the splendid thing about my idea: if it runs smoothly, we'll not need to do something so drastic and overbearing. Shall I share it with you?"

"I was born ready," Nutzinger spit out. Five minutes ago he would have been concerned that that came out sounding too sarcastic, but at this point he didn't care.

"Lay it on us, Mister Mayor," agreed the wolf.

"You're planning to return to the campsite in Sherwood tonight to see if you can find anybody, correct?"

"Yuh-huh."

"And you're certain you'll be able to relocate it, yes?"

"Yessir!"

"Splendid. Would you be opposed to taking some County officers with you? Perhaps even their Sheriff?"

"Uh- is there a reason for that?"

"Eddward, would you agree that the County officials want the glory of capturing these delinquents as much as we do?"

"I-I think they do."

"Hell, they'd jump at the chance to beat us to it," Nutzinger added. "Make us look like a bunch of dumbfucks."

"My fear exactly, George," said John. "Would you also agree that it's unlawful to be in the forest after sundown?"

"I would, Mayor!"

"That's not even an agree-disagree thing; that's just the law," Nutzinger pointed out.

"Ha! The little squirrel knows his stuff! Now…" the mayor trailed off as he made his way back to his desk chair. "I think I have a way to bridge my rational desire to see these two captured with my irrational desire to want to be in charge of the people who do the capturing. Tonight, I want you to see to it that the first civilians you encounter in the depths of that damned forest - if you encounter anybody at all - see to it that they are beaten and arrested on the spot. If it's the outlaws, then that's brilliant. Mission accomplished. But if not, and it's simply some trespassers, then - oh, how shall I put this? - it may open a new window of opportunity."

"You want us to beat the shit out of the first random bums we come across!?" asked Nutzinger. Woodland wasn't saying anything, but he clearly was also surprised by the tactics the mayor was advocating.

"Now George, after all of your good responses, this is quite the poor one. I never once said that you'd be the ones doing it. Simply that you'd be seeing to it. And again, it might wind up being the criminals, in which case they'll have rightly deserved it! But just in case it isn't…"

Mayor Norman stopped to take a sip of wine, adjust his hat, and open a drawer. From this drawer he pulled out a lump of metal and plastic emblazoned with the word "NOKIA".

"Now, I'm about to ask you a question - two questions, actually… no, no! I tell a lie! Three small questions! - and I want you both to say yes, and mean it, for each of them. Firstly, are you two two decent actors? Secondly, can you two both be persuasive? And thirdly, Ward - pardon me, George, but for size and spatial reasons, I'll have to defer to Eddward on this - Eddward, have you ever used one of these newer cell phones which can also be used a camera?"