DISCLAIMER – I do not own any Sonic the Hedgehog characters, settings, etcetera (anything copyrightedly relating to SEGA's works). Fang the Sniper / Nack the Weasel is property of SEGA, although some aspects of this story are my own work. Alterations to the Sonic universe in this story are not to be considered canon. Do not steal (forge in your or another person's name) or sell this story in any manner. I have a good lawyer. You may, however, place this on your website without permission. Please ask permission before using aspects of this story in yours. If sections of it look similar to another, please inform me. I'm no thief myself. Thank you, and enjoy.

Bounty Hunter
By Rusty Dillingham

--Chapter Four – Bad Company--

Night touched down upon South Island.

After a repulsive amount of repetitive consideration, Fang had eventually come to the conclusion that he would simply have to go into Station Square's downtown police station by whatever means necessary and look for some incriminating evidence against Baker. Blackmail, it would have to be – Fang didn't have much other choice in the matter, unless he wanted to starve to death without that fourteen thousand Baker still owed him. That didn't exactly look like the brightest future ever, so Fang opted for the other way to go. Even if he didn't find any good, magazine-worthy tidbits about Baker, he could likely find some other nonsense, such as the man's personal residence, bank account number, and so on. The break-in would be worth the while.

At least he wouldn't have to go barging in through the station's front doors. Baker's office was on the first floor and had a window, so he didn't have much to worry about in terms of actually getting in. Regardless, he took along the necessary equipment anyway, which in total equaled out to only be a compact flashlight, his combat knife, a minor toolkit, and the .45 pistol in his gunbelt's holster. That was all he would need in case he somehow ran into any unwanted trouble. That and a few spare clips, of course – Who knew when things would get out of hand? Hence, Fang never let his guard down.

The Marvelous Queen touched down not far from the station, in the middle of a dead alley distanced from the likely busy nighttime Station Square roadways. It didn't take Fang very long to walk on over towards the building, let alone approach Baker's office window. Glancing around occasionally to make sure he was truly alone in the alley by the police station, along with safely out of view of the traffic-goers, the bounty hunter peeked in past the glass. The room was empty; dark. Baker must have gone home for the evening – Just what Fang was wanting. He didn't need the fat badge-toting ape walking right in and tripping over him while he was in the middle of something.

His gloved hands reached down to pull up the window – and sure enough, it didn't budge. That wasn't unexpected; Fang figured it would have been locked, although one couldn't be certain around a total bumscrew like Baker. He scanned the borders of the window to search it for a specific lock or handle, hoping he'd be able to somehow pick it rather than find another way in. He didn't come up very successful, as there were one of each, but on the inside. Both would be, to put it lightly, difficult to get at. Great.

He stood up and rubbed his chin. He couldn't very well break the damn thing without waking up all of Creation, and for crying out loud, this was a damn police station. The entire block would be crawling with cops before he could even finish. Besides, his maturity would never allow him to perform such a juvenile act, however much Baker deserved to have his window along with his face broken. There wasn't much else he could think of that would allow him to so easily get in.

I could always knock out a cop and take his clothes. He had a good snicker at that one. That never worked, despite how most seemed to think it was at least worth a try sometimes. Fang would never let himself perform such a stupid act of nonsense. Oldest damned cliché in the older damned book anyway. Besides, he had no desire to leave some poor unfortunate soul out here stark naked, let alone a police officer. I may not like the law, but at least I have respect for it.

Biting his lip, eyes darting across the building's frame, his gaze eventually met the roof. That was likely a decent enough place to assist him in entering the station. Might as well, hell – He didn't have anything else to go on. He didn't feel like standing around out here all damn night anyway, considering he wasn't getting anything done, or more importantly getting any money in the process. Hopping backward slightly, he let his tail dip against the ground, allowing it to propel him skywards and up onto the building's top effortlessly.

Damn, he instantly thought as he surveyed the grounds of the roof, do they ever clean up here? Trash and smoke build-up clutched at the paneling on the roof, effectively making Fang want to puke before he could even realize how repulsive it was up there. It just figured that they'd leave a mess like this around without noticing or caring about it. Frowning, he glanced around for any other means of entering the building's interior, but considering it was a police station, they obviously wouldn't let something like a roof entrance slip past their eyes. The last thing they needed was someone breaking in – although that didn't help Fang any. This place is like an army base. So what if it's a damn police station? It's not like anyone other than myself would even want to break into this craphole.

Sniffing – and regretting doing so for a moment – he scanned the roof further, noticing one aspect of the department. Apparently, whoever was in head-dog of the precinct – probably Baker, Fang presumed – was too tight-assed to buy an effective air conditioning system, so it looked as though they all relied on a group of swamp coolers to do the job. They were running, at the moment, too. He wasn't about to go crawling through the air vents, but he perhaps he could utilize the cooler system in some other manner, preferably one that wouldn't get him stuck in an air duct in the process.

He glanced at all the hideous garbage laying around and raised an eyebrow. Hmm.

"So, Josie," Officer Bill goaded to the attractive young secretary, who was at the moment trying to ignore him as best she could but failing miserably, "I heard you used to go out with Sergeant Walls. Now, did he treat you right?"

Secretary Josie sighed.

"I'll take that as a no." Bill relaxedly sat back on her desk, successfully covering half her paperwork with his posterior. "Sergeant Walls never was very good with women. Take the Goober the Monkey, for instance. Boy, she sure got the ass-end of the stick when it came to claims of police brutality, huh?"

Secretary Josie didn't answer, besides in the physical department, considering her face was turning a very red color.

"Now, uh. I know they have, uh, you know... rules against officers dating other officers, but you're not really an officer. I mean, you're a secretary. A cop is to a dog as a secretary is to a cat!" Bill chuckled uncomfortably. "And you are a cat if I do say so myself."

Before Josie could smack him upside the head with the nearest computer monitor, Bill's attitude suddenly changed. His nose perched upwards in disgust and his expression went green, but not with envy. "Holy crap in a teapot, what is that smell?"

Almost immediately after he stated the question, more officers blubbered into the lobby, the majority of them covering their noses while weird old Officer Paul sniffed the air as though smelling a five-star meal. The officers rushed through the adjacent hallways, trying to find the source of the very foul problem, but it had by now turned into a widespread problem, the vile stench sweeping over the entire police station. Bill and Josie were forced to rest their hands against their faces, wide-eyed with repulsion.

"Holy crap," most of them blared, "somebody turn on the fans! Turn off the damned air coolers! This place'll look like frickin' Normandy in a minute!"

The officers and the department's pencil-pushers rushed about, doing whatever they could to relieve themselves of the terrible odor apparently trying to kill them before an antidote could be found. Bill rushed into the nearest office – Baker's – and unlocked the window, shooting it open before he could puke. "I think I'm dying! Get my will out, Josie!"

Josie was too busy coughing to respond, but that was probably the best answer Bill could have gotten, regardless.

Bill hurried out of the office, searching out other windows to help the department in its dire battle against the smell.

He left too soon to see a dark figure drop from the roof beside the window. Fang the Sniper allowed himself to smirk for a half second, pleased with the sense of accomplishment surrounding his body. Dumping some of that disgusting garbage into the swamp coolers may have been a rather evil act on his part, nor was it particularly chivalrous, but he had no need of such consideration in his line of work. He did what needed to be done, and that was that. He couldn't do his job terribly well when he had limits to worry about. Too bad for the fuzz – They were really getting the short end of the stick now, thanks to his lack of personal boundaries.

Fang rested a hand on the window sill and propelled himself up through the big open gap, easily sorting himself into Baker's office. As soon as he landed, he rushed swiftly though quietly over to the door and closed it, instantly hitting the lock afterwards. With that, he had all the privacy he needed to search for whatever he could to use against Baker in order to receive that fourteen thousand the big, arrogant fricktard owed him. He whipped out the tiny flashlight on his gunbelt and switched it on, surveying the room.

Might as well start with the desk. It was the most likely place Baker would keep anything he didn't want inquiring eyes to see. Fang stepped over to it, raising his nose a bit at the putrid smell still radiating from the cooler, and he moved to open one of the drawers after shoving Baker's enormous chair out of the way. Sure enough, the damned thing didn't budge – Just like the window. Goddamn it.

Grumbling, the bounty hunter instantly searched under the desk for any sign of a key that might open it, but there was no sign of anything besides fourteen wads of gum on its underside. Fang looked over towards the few shelves showcasing Baker's numerous awards and whatnot that he'd likely gotten for winning the precinct's weekly pie-eating contest, but likewise, nothing there could open the desk. The weasel-wolf crossbreed muttered some random vulgarity and plucked a lockpick set from a pack on his gunbelt, along with his combat knife for assistance. The pick set rarely met chances to help, and he wasn't very good with it, but it had seen its uses.

He instantly began tinkering with the with the pain-in-the-ass lock, digging the knife into its confines as well. If he couldn't find a way into these drawers, this whole trip may as well have been nothing but a pleasant little walk for exercise. I swear, if you don't open right this instant...

Nothing yet. Fang might have been patient, but he had limits. Come on!

Another moment passed, and yet still no progress. I hate life.

This was ridiculous. The bounty hunter made a mental note to purchase a key machine somewhere in the near future with the fourteen thousand Baker would inevitably give him, unless the man were as stupid as a monkey, which he seemed to be. Fang had had easier times opening a safe with his bare hands.

He fiddled more with the stupid thing, using up a good deal of his sanity in the process. The pick gave its best efforts to help Fang in this miserable struggle and unlock the drawer for him already, but it seemed powerless to provide much assistance. The temptation to pull his sidearm and blast the whole damned desk to smithereens grew greater every second. Goddang son of a bitch-ass piece of crap!

Click.

Exasperated, Fang dropped the knife in relief and slung the drawer open – to discover it was entirely empty. "Rrrrgh!!"

"Alright, the cooler's off!"

Fang's head rose sharply towards the door, suddenly growing silent and motionless.

"What the hell caused it?" a second voice blabbered in a tone expressing disgusted curiosity.

"I don't know," the first returned, "but I'll call maintenance tomorrow and have them check it out. Baker probably just screwed it up on purpose again."

"Why don't you call them now?"

Fang ground his teeth and rolled his eyes, praying for the two imbeciles to leave the office's vicinity.

"Meh, they take forever to get out here anyway. What's one more day?"

More conversation followed, but the voices began to drift away. Fang waited until he could no longer hear them to resume searching the office. One drawer was empty, but what about the rest of them? He hadn't searched the shelves yet, either. Since the other drawers would likely bring him as much trouble as the first, he figured he'd just look elsewhere in the office for the time being. The bounty hunter picked himself up and scooted over towards one side of the room to examine whatever he could lay his eagle eyes on.

He picked up a framed picture sitting on one of the shelves, scanning it. Baker's fat face took up most of it, but a similarly large woman stood next to him in it; Fang presumed it was the sergeant's wife. Another picture lay near its original position, and this one included a few children who threatened to outweigh their parents. These people are so fat, they need VCRs for pagers. Standards for being a fuzzball have gone down.

He started to move towards another group of shelves, but before he could, his black eyes spotted a board on the wall, showcasing a decent "wanted" list. Some of the wanted posters were obviously outdated, as Hemorrhoid the Hippo's ugly face showered part of it, with his fake little fifteen thousand dollar reward, but others were definitely still in effect. Fang's gaze rested directly on one wanted poster in particular.

Wanted dead or alive – Claw the Mole, on four instances of armed robbery, twenty of grand theft / larceny, ten of second-degree murder, five of first-degree murder, six of voluntary manslaughter, twelve of assault / battery, countless of conspiracy, countless of tax evasion / fraud. Reward offered: Three hundred thousand dollars.

Fang raised an eyebrow. A bounty on the head of the most despicable creature he'd ever heard of, and it offered one of the largest rewards he'd ever seen. He reached out and ripped the wanted poster off the wall – He didn't need other bounty hunters like Jagged the Hyena or the Kangaroos walking in and seeing this thing. This bounty was his for the taking.

Just for good measure, he also took the wanted posters on two figures he knew to be Claw's miserable yes-men. Sombrero the Gila Monster, with his doofy white sombrero and a similarly-colored bandana over his face, looked like a pathetic excuse for a Village Person, but the little bastard knew how to use a gun and frequently showboated around about it like the blustering blowhard he was. Dry Horn the Bison preferred the use of a sawed-off shotgun, considering he couldn't aim worth a stink, so Fang would have to take care of that little nuisance if the time came. As they were just pitiful cronies, the reward for both Sombrero and Dry Horn was ten thousand dollars each – Considerably better than what Hemorrhoid had so far granted him, since they were real criminals and not just wannabes like that retard.

But Claw's head was the one he wanted to spring a leak in. Three hundred thousand dollars would feel real good in his pocket – as long as he didn't get stiffed again by the authorities. If that happened, people would die.

Folding them up, he shoved the wanted posters into a small compartment on his gunbelt and went back to work, examining the rest of the office for any clues he could nab. As soon as he was done here, he would head back to his living quarters and prepare to set out on Claw's trail, but he had to concentrate on this first. Fourteen thousand dollars would hold out for some time, hopefully long enough for him to get that three hundred thousand.

And after that, he'd find a higher bounty and go after that. Fang grinned. He lived for this.

He started to step back over towards the desk, but before he could, a terrible sound coursed through his nerves.

"Hey, Sergeant, back from, oh, what break is this? Fifth?"

"Very funny, Bill. Get back to work!"

Baker's voice had been the very last thing he'd ever wanted to hear at that moment. Fang's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

The door handle rattled repeatedly. "What the hell? Who locked this damn door? Bill!"

Cue an audible sigh. "Maybe you just locked it before you left for your break, and forgot about it, sir."

"That's bull! I never forget anything! I have the mind of an elephant!"

"Yes you do, sir. Yes, you do."

Fang's head swiveled around, searching for whatever means of hiding he could spot. The only decent hiding place was the office's closet, and that was good enough for the bounty hunter. He rushed into it and closed the door just as Baker unlocked the opposite entryway's handle.

The sergeant blubbered into the room, flipping on the light switch. "Bill! Get me a bagel!"

Bill groaned from the lobby. "Yes sir."

Baker leaned out the door halfway. "With cream cheese!"

Cue another audible sigh. "Yes, sir."

Muttering something about the lack of work ethic among his employees, Baker shut the door and sauntered over towards his desk, undoing his already untidy tie so blood could finally flow through his big, fat neck. His hand gripped the chair and swung it closer towards his desk as he plumped down into it, picking at his nose a bit before scanning the table's current contents in case he had paperwork to do. Well, if he did, it could wait until tomorrow.

He pulled his finger from his nose and examined it a moment before his eyes drifted to the ground, and Baker spotted something most unusual.

"What the hell?" the overweight sergeant uttered to himself as he bent over and picked up the combat knife lying there on the coffee-stained rug. How the hell did this get in here?

It didn't look like a police-issue brand. The officers used pocket knives. This thing looked as though it could cut through a dinosaur's foot. Baker scanned it, partially admiring his reflection in the blade, and just shrugged his shoulders. Guess it's mine, now.

Whenever something ended up being lost around the precinct, it usually ended up in Baker's hands in some way or another. Hell, his chair belonged to Captain Shamrock. Granted, Baker never really bothered to return whatever he found, considering he was always just too darn busy with paperwork and lunchtime to do so. He was a busy man, by God. Busy men needed food.

Baker somehow hefted himself up from the poor chair and stepped over to the closet. He didn't want another officer walking in and seeing the knife on his desk only to claim it for himself; this thing was his now whether its previous owner liked it or not. He rested his hand on the door handle and slung the big wooden thing open. "BILL! Where's that bag—"

The sergeant froze in mid-speech.

He slowly backed away, raising his hands into the air as he struggled for words with the dark .45 barrel taking up most of the inside of his mouth. Fang stepped out of the closet, giving the man the most hateful of glares possible. "Next time you touch something of mine, you wash your hands before doing so."

Baker couldn't have responded if he'd wanted to.

By then, Officer Bill had gotten Baker's lousy bagel -- with cream cheese -- and he stood outside the office's door, mumbling to himself. "Here's your food, sir."

He paused in confusion when no one responded. "Sir, I have your food. Are you in there?"

Still nothing. Bill grinned, evil feelings spreading through his nerves. "Well, gee, I guess you aren't. I suppose I'll just have to eat your tasty little bagel with cream cheese for you, although it sure wouldn't hurt your weight problem any, you big, fatass mound of beef! You're so darned fat, you make Free Willy look like a goldfish. Yeah, you heard what I said. I went there. By the way, tell your wife that the next time she walks past a window, make her duck under it so we don't lose four days of sunlight. You blue-skinned blowhard. If you want your bagel so damn bad, you can have it after it goes through my system and lands in the—"

Bill stopped, noticing a shadow next to his on the wall, and he turned slightly. "Uh. Hi, Sergeant Walls."

Fang shoved Baker against his desk, the gun barrel still stuck in the man's mouth. The combat knife fell from the sergeant's hand. "I think you owe me fourteen thousand dollars."

All he got was a very muffled response. Fang slowly – very slowly pulled the gun out of Baker's fly trap and stuck its tip up against the sergeant's right eye. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

"I said," Baker groused, trying to concentrate on both the dark eyes under the brim of the brown outback hat and the bounty hunter's itchy trigger finger at once, "you can go to hell—"

Fang shoved the barrel deep into Baker's eye, and the sergeant stifled a yell. The bounty hunter's gaze tightened with ferocity. "I think you did not hear me. You give me that damn money or I'll blow your face out all over the wall and those lovely little pictures of your family."

"You can't," Baker stammered. "You'll have more than you can chew off after you. You'll have GUN agents and bounty hunters firing everything they've got at you. Cop killers aren't looked upon very well by the government, you little freak of nature."

Fang relaxed slightly, allowing some of the pressure on the sergeant's eye to ease for half a second. Then he pulled back and wacked the side of the gun directly into the man's jaw. Baker fell sideways, but kept his balance with the help of his desk. "I will tear you limb from limb until I have that damned money, you acidic horse spit. Do you not understand the predicament you're in? If you don't give me what I want, you will die, because I will kill you, and then you'll be dead, and I'll be happy."

Baker's breath sharpened. "You... you can't... do anything to me!"

WHAM went the gun against the sergeant's head again. Baker fell to his knees, gripping the fat by his face, forced to look up to the bounty hunter despite how the weasel-wolf was only a few feet tall.

"What makes you think we even have fourteen thousand? For all you know, we're broke!" Baker scowled menacingly. The pain in his head made his face pulsate.

"Is that why you're offering a three hundred thousand dollar reward for Claw the Mole?" Fang just glared down at him.

Baker blinked. "But, uh, that's the government offering that bounty! We, we just get the money from them, a-and... we don't have it!"

"You're just a gibbering prick trying to save his own ass. Start telling me the truth."

"I swear to God, I am telling you the truth!"

The bounty hunter stood there, a very blank expression on his face, but his tightened muscles clearly expressed the rage under his bristling fur. For a moment, he was the deadliest, most volatile-looking thing Baker had ever seen.

"If you don't give me fourteen thousand dollars within the next thirty seconds," Fang uttered quietly and slowly, "I'll take your wallet and use your identification to find your address. I will go directly to your home, break in, shoot your wife while she's making dinner and let her bleed to death, then I'll take these gloves off and strangle your miserable children with my bare hands. Then I'll fill up your bathtub and drown your pets, and after that, I will burn your goddamned house down. Only then will I come back here and set your police station ablaze with you and everyone else who works here locked inside it."

Baker stared into the bounty hunter's soulless eyes.

"Alright," Baker stuttered, swallowing hard, "alright."

The hunter's expression didn't change.

"You'll get your fourteen thousand." Baker still gazed up at the black-hearted hybrid.

An irate Fang hesitated, and suddenly, without warning, slung a steel-calved boot directly into the sergeant's mouth. Baker fell back into the front of the desk, gripping his face.

"You halfwit," Fang growled in disgust, pulling his foot back, "how dare a mangy horse's ass like you lie to my face. You pitiable camel licker; you ever do something like that to me again, I'll tie your mother to the railroad tracks."

Wide-eyed, Baker nodded shakily, still covering the lower section of his face with his bloodied hands.

"Now quit bleeding all over yourself and get the money." Fang waved the gun towards the desk, glowering down at the man.

Not hesitating in the least, Baker scrambled up and hurried to the other side of the desk, fishing the key Fang had longed for out of a pocket on his uniform, and he quickly pulled open the bottom drawer after unlocking it. Fang stepped closer to keep an eye on what the underhanded bastard was doing – To make sure he didn't pull a gun out from the drawer or something only to get his head blown off. While Baker did that, Fang picked his combat knife up off the ground and shoved it into its own leather holster on his gunbelt.

"Here's your damn money," Baker grumbled, eventually fishing an envelope out of the drawer and holding it up towards the bounty hunter.

Fang just stared at him, already predicting what the envelope carried. "I don't want a check!"

Baker paused, then dropped it in defeat and again began rummaging through the drawer. Fang sighed under his breath, wishing the fat pig would hurry his ass up – The last thing he needed while being so close to achieving his objective was for a hungry pack of officers to walk in and see what was going on. Fang had never had a run-in with a SWAT team and he wasn't looking to get in one anywhere in the near future. "Hurry it up. The mail moves quicker than you."

"I can't go so fast with you pointing that thing at me," Baker muttered, sparing a glance to the .45 pistol in the bounty hunter's hand.

"Tough crap. Put a cork in it and move." Fang's nerves pulsated. He didn't want to be here any longer – He had a new bounty to go after, and he wanted to get started as soon as possible. Baker's current speed of one-and-a-half miles an hour while he sorted through the drawer wasn't helping things any.

Eventually, after Fang felt the guy would never find what he was looking for, Baker held up another envelope. "Here. Fourteen thousand dollars, in cash."

One eye narrowed as the bounty hunter stood there a moment before slowly sauntering up to Baker. A leather-gloved hand swung out and snatched the envelope out of the Sergeant's hand, and Fang stepped back, examining its contents, all the while keeping the gun pointed in Baker's direction. Sure enough, a horde of hundred-dollar bills sat in the envelope, just dying to be spent on all sorts of useless garbage he didn't need. "Fourteen thousand."

"Fourteen thousand," Baker repeated.

"What are you doing with this kind of money in your desk drawer?"

"I was going to buy a new car. I always pay with cash up-front, because you never know—"

"That's enough," Fang said, letting the sergeant know he was still very much in charge of this scene. Baker's breath stopped as he stood there.

The bounty hunter closed the envelope and shoved it onto his gunbelt, then raised the .45 to eye level, pointing its deadly tip directly at the space between Baker's eyes. "I think I've told you before not to tell anyone about our meetings."

Baker's pupils shifted to the ground. "Yes."

"I assume you're fairly aware of what will happen to you and your family if you utter a single word of this instance to anyone." Fang's blank expression was terror itself.

The sergeant nodded. "Yes."

Fang stood there a moment longer, then spat directly into Baker's bloody face.

"You could use some cleaning up."

Baker successfully refrained from raising a hand to wipe the contents clean from his visage. Fang glared at him, and after the tense stare-off had gone on longer than he desired, he slowly stepped away from the desk and headed to the window.

With that, he was gone.

Baker watched him leave, only now picking a rag up off his already filthy desk and rubbing it against his face. It wasn't until a minute later that he managed to wipe off every speck of the blood and spit.

"Sergeant Baker," a voice uttered as the door opened. An officer stepped into the office, but stopped as soon as he saw the look on the sergeant's face. "Are you alright?"

Baker's muscles tightened. "Get me the phone number for Bountech."

The officer blinked. "Bountech? Why in blue blazes would you need—"

"GET ME THE FUCKING NUMBER!!" Baker's voice echoed throughout the entire station.

"Eep!" The officer rushed out the door.

"Oh!" Baker suddenly started, causing the very frightened officer to stop halfway out the doorway. "By the way."

Swallowing with difficulty, the officer turned slightly and looked over his shaking shoulder. "Uh, yes, sir?"

Baker's eyes narrowed. "Tell Bill to come in here, too."