Chapter 34

.

.

"On a scale of ten?"

"Five," Nick grumbled, looking even less happy than he sounded. "It's like I've been stung by a bee."

Judy looked up at him from her driver's position. "That's not so bad…"

"It is when you're constantly at the moment it sticks the pointy end in you," the red fox said through gritted teeth, looking back at Carmelita. "Any luck in finding out what that thing was?"

"No signal," the vixen grumbled, tapping her phone down and trying to load it up. "Come on. Come on. Come… Ah! Ça marche!"

"Right," Nick huffed, jolting a little as Judy went over a pothole in the road. "Now the long wait while you search for obscure online botany texts to find out whatever horrid evil nasty plant is…"

"Got it."

He turned back to her. "Already?"

"Sí. I searched for 'tree of death.'"

"And let me guess," he sighed. "First thing you got was something horrible from… Australia. It's going to be Australia."

"Well the first candidate was," Carm said, scrolling down. "And the second, third, fourth, fifth… But the sixth! I stumbled onto something very familiar." She turned the screen around, letting Nick have a look.

"That's it."

"Sí," Carmelita agreed, "and now I know why I had a strange sense on seeing it. Or at least think so. You just touched manzanilla de la muerta. The little apple of death."

"And grownups say that fruit is good for you."

"More commonly known as the manchineel tree," she carried on. "Its fruit has a sweet taste, much beloved by a species of iguana that happily lives off of it. If you are not said iguana, said sweet taste is quickly replaced by a strong peppery sensation that explodes into unbearable burning as your mouth and throat blisters. Indeed, this is the effect of any of the plant's sap, present in fruit, leaves and bark, contacting any bare skin. Merely standing under the tree in the rain is enough to be badly affected, as tiny fragments of the sap are carried down by the water droplets to come in contact with and blister you as if it were a car's paint job. Which it also hates and will melt off. This is the most dangerous tree in the world. That is not hyperbole. It is an official world record. Do not cuss with this tree. Seriously, do not. If there is a god, this is proof he went through a sadistic phase. Either that or he let a six year old Jesus design a tree once, and six-year-old-boy do as six-year-old-boy do, son of god or not. This Woolipedia article has been flagged for hyperbole and over-exaggeration. While everything said about the physical and world record possibilities of the Manchineel tree is true, its relationship to theocratic debate and the nature of divine power is unverified."

"All I know is I'm glad I'm not some ignorant leaf eater," Nick huffed. "So, I'm guessing you heard about this tree on one of your globetrotting adventures. If it isn't Australia, which bastion of dark lunacy and chaos did it come from? Where did our mammal go to get it for his collection, huh?"

"Hedging my bets on where it would be easiest for him to access and retrieve it from…" Carmelita scrolled down a little further.

"Deep in the Amazon jungle? High up in the forests of New Guinea? Did he canoe up into the deepest darkest Congo? Which sick and deprived hellhole do I have to blame for all of this?."

"Florida."

"...Florida?"

"Sí," she nodded. "I guess manchineel is, how would you put it?"

"Florida tree?" Nick asked. "The timber equivalent to Florida mammal?" He sighed, relaxing back into his seat, or at least as much as he could giving the continuous stinging.

"In reality, it is mostly found throughout the Caribbean," Carm said, looking up. "I probably saw one with a warning sign during a mission a long time ago in Haiti."

"Fun. What were you doing out there?"

The vixen paused, before shrugging. "Ever seen Live and Let Die?"

"So drug smuggler busting and anti-voodoo work, got it."

She smirked. "A-ha, only one of those," she clarified, imagining a certain grey furred mammal next to her, giving the world's most exaggerated wink-wink nudge-nudge say no more.

"Regardless," Nick huffed, pausing as he flexed his fingers. "I think it's going away, but that's probably the lovely lovely drugs. Is there any notes on actual cures…"

"While locals tend to use a balm made of local arrowroot, off the shelf and prescription anti-irritants work too." She looked up. "Given that you have only a tiny bit on you…" She paused, nodding as Nick showed her his thumb pad, a red swollen patch about the size of an 'o' on a computer keyboard, rising up and out. "Keeping it dosed up should be fine. Or, as it's surface level, I suppose we could go to a wart removal place, put the area under local anaesthetic, cut out and cauterise and be done."

At the driver's wheel, Judy gave a look back at Carmelita, then turning to Nick, the bunny grew increasingly concerned that they seemed to be taking the second option as very much not a joke. "Or," she said, putting her foot down as they swung around a bend in the road. "I take you back to my place. Trust me, farming family with ludicrous numbers of little ones. Being able to treat poison ivy or any other planty nastys is a way of life. We have family remedies that'll blow over the counter medicines out of the water."

"That, please," Nick said, as off they went.

By the time they got to the gates of the Hopps family farm it was already open, Carm driving them on. After being stopped at a red light, Judy had decided it was best to swap everyone around, the bunny navigating and, more to the point, calling ahead to prime her family..

"I knew you always promised me Hopps Hospitality," Nick smiled, as he saw the table arranged outside the front door, various bunnies in medical wear standing there, "but this is a bit literal, don't you think?"

"Given that you're joking so much, I hope it wasn't all unnecessary," Judy said, smirking back at him. "I can tell them to all go back in and…"

"No, no. About a three at the moment, I can joke and bear it, until the drugs wear off. Then I can't." And with that they pulled up, Nick jumped out, almost immediately being dragged forward by a horde of bunnies. Both over professional and over excited at the same time.

"If you would just lie down there…"

"Do you need your temperature taken?"

"Does your meat heavy diet have any following on side effects?"

"Are you red because you're made by the devil or are you suffering from heatstroke, a rash, fever…"

"What way do you want your temperature taken?"

"With the reputation of mangy foxes being mangy, are you suffering from any ticks? Parasites? Internal or external…"

Stepping out, Carmelita looked on concerned as a quite worried Nick was helped down onto a stretcher and then carried off by a team of bunnies, a whole horde following after. "Is it me?" she asked, looking down at Judy. "Or are most of them on the much younger side?"

"Trained in the basics since five, and there's always major competition for those wanting to earn their first-aiders badge," Judy said, watching him get placed down onto a laid out table, a curtain drawn around it. "He's in good paws."

"A lot of them, certainly," the police vixen noted, only for the bunny to get pulled off by something else.

Two very big bunny hugs. "My Bun-Bun!"

"Jude the Dude."

"Not in front of the Interpol inspector Dad," Judy grumbled, slipping out. Standing up, then turning around, Carmelita smiled at the sight of her partner, both parents alive and well either side of her. "Carmelita. Mom. Carmelita. Dad. Dad, Carmelita. Mom, Carmelita."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur, Madame," she smiled, leaning down to shake their paws.

"A pleasure to welcome you to the Hopps ranch," he smiled. "And Inspector? Well, I know that those in Zootopia were bold to start letting foxes and bunnies into the force. But over in France, it seems they've been catching up with gusto!"

Her ears lowered a bit, not nearly as much as Judy's, folding hard behind her slightly red face. "Uh… Dad…"

"I think it is your Zootopia that is doing the catching up," Carmelita said, taking the nice approach. "I was serving for Interpol back when your daughter was entering the phase of horrific grumps and unaccountable moodiness."

Judy's pleasure at how well her father took that was wiped out several orders of magnitude over by how well her father took that. "Oh heck in a handbasket, you ain't heard nothing yet!"

"Dad…."

"You know, are there goth cops over…"

"DAD!"

"She was never a goth, Stu," Bonnie said.

"Thank you," Judy sighed with relief.

"But, given how poorly you looked after yourself I don't blame mammals for thinking that…"

"My room wasn't that dirty!"

"Oh but your fur," Stu said, finger up. "I tell you," he said, looking at Carmelita. "I've seen mammals get stuck and drag themselves out of trailers full of cut up weeds and stuff, and they ain't looked half as messy as our girl did."

"I WASN'T messy!" Judy huffed, turning to Carm and stomping hard. "And you can stop enjoying this!"

…

"You see, she was just like that."

"Totally," Bonnie agreed.

"Every day."

"And night."

"No I wasn't! Are you trying to embarrass me or what?"

"Hey, uh," Stu said, looking up to Carm. "You haven't been, uh, doing things to turn her back, have you?"

"No. That is all you," Carm said.

"See!" Judy yelled. "But back then you were always do this, do that, don't be a goth. I was NEVER a goth."

"I mean, you're being a bit like one now," Bonnie said.

She was met by an angry grunt.

"It is true, she is not being a goth," Carmelita said, Judy sighing with relief. "I think this is far more… How you put it, being an Emo?"

"ARGGGHHHH!"

"Goth, Emo, they're all the same thing," Stu said.

Bonnie nodded. "Like Nintendoes."

"No they're totally not," Judy grumbled, face going down into her paws. "Why couldn't I have been the one to touch the stupid apple of stupid death in the suicide cult ruins…"

The joking nature filling the air left as if a brisk wind had carried it away. "So.. You did go to that place," Stu said, paws going behind his back as he fussed the ground with his foot.

Bonnie made the mark of the cross on her chest and nodded. "Well, I suppose if terrible things like whatever your partner touched were to be anywhere, they'd be there."

"Yes," Judy said, breathing out, as if relieved but at the same time not by the sudden flick in the tone of the conversation. "We'll definitely call the sheriffs about it. I think it needs specific conditions to survive, sandy soil and warmth… The ground had been set up for it, so I don't think it can spread. But probably best to document and destroy it."

Stu nodded. "Good riddance by the sound of it too. If I found one of them on my land, ooooh, we'd have a bonfire before you could say…"

"-Arrghhh, the smoke has blinded me," Carm cut in.

Stu blinked. "Good golly. It just doesn't stop, does it!"

"Well it does, after a few days or a week or so," Carm said, as they began walking over and in. "Depends how much smoke you get in your eyes."

The two older bunnies looked at each other, before Bonnie spoke up. "So, that stuff at that dreadful old place. Did you go looking somewhere as there's some case involving a survivor?"

"Or someone going around taking out all the remaining survivors or something," Stu said, voice picking up.

"It's…" Judy began… "It could easily be a coincidence. Or just a vague connection. But what we're looking at at the moment, we don't have any really solid leads. We're just going around fighting fires, almost. And so we might as well have looked at this place and see what we find."

"Which was something," Bonnie said, as they stepped inside. She pointed at Carmelita. "You'll want to take those things off."

She began unbuckling her boots, Stu carrying on. "Mam, I hate them, don't you? Sometimes you need rubber boots and stuff when spraying and all, but ain't there just something wrong about locking away your paws in tight things like those."

Carmelita shrugged. "I like them, each to their own."

"Oh, uh, right," he said, pausing as he picked up a walkie talkie. "Calling Violet. Code seven-two-one, status on Judy's fox."

A whole bunch of chattering emerged, within moments the entire burrow ringing with the name 'Violet' being spoken over and over. And then, it died down and, a few seconds later, what must have been the doe in question answered back through the receiver.

"Sorry, just dealing with getting a fox into the medical ward for observation."

Carmelita blinked, looking out to the curtained off area outside Nick had been pulled into, now being disassembled and packed away. "That was fast."

"What did I say?" Judy said. "We have a system."

"Don't we," Stu said smiling, looking up at Carmelita. "Anyway, we uh… Have tea, coffee, anything you'd like. I'm afraid we can't do croissants and stuff…" Judy and Bonnie face-eared and face pawed.

"It is fine," Carmelita smiled. "I can do without."

"Good to hear, though If you feel the need I can recommend Gideon's bakery in town," he waved off. "Business partners too, buys a bunch of our blueberries and other stuff. Heck, he's been running us ragged these last few days, ever since this hippo fellow moved into town. Practically eats three meals a day there, at least one of them a whole blueberry pie!"

Carmelita giggled. "I guess if someone can do that, it shows he must be good."

"Yeah," Stu said. "...Or just a weird hippo. I mean, he's not the weird one of the two."

Carmelita blinked. "Two?"

"Yeah," he said, ignoring his wife trying to hush him. "Always goes with this strange friend, this real body-modded armadillo. Painted himself green all over and uses a wheelchair and…"

"He's a sentient tortoise from the Galapagos or something," Bonnie corrected him. "But anyway, that's none of our business…"

"Actually," Carmelita cut in. "Could you give me directions to this bakery. -I think Nick mentioned he really likes blueberry pie, I think he'd enjoy it after this slight mishap." She paused, shrugging. "And who knows, maybe those two know something about all this too."

.

.

"So," Rattigan grumbled, leaning forward on his cold iron throne. "Do you two have anything to add to this? Other than your history of absolute abject failure?"

Down in front of him, his two associates stood, the red fox on one side and the pig on the other. He held a paw up, his lion and tiger stepping in to stop the pig advancing with whatever silly idea he had.

Instead, it was the fox, head bandaged up, that spoke. "Failure?" he asked. "I'll have you know that we've got mammals taking our bait hook, line and sinker." A smile grew across his face. "Even when your bat leaves a trail so obvious that the old enemies you hauled on against us managed to find it in a few hours… I turned that loss into a win. After all, that's what I do."

Rattigan leant forward, fingers knitting. "My bat? Excuse me one moment." He cleared his throat, looking up. "Oh Fidget? Fidget?"

There was a soft flapping, the group looking up as the small creature sailed through the tall black hall, circling around the huge rusting column that hung in its centre and down, down past the gantries and pipes and machines affixed to its outside. Down past the cold metal never given a chance at use, now rusted in place. Down to the very base, flush against the heavy hexagons lining the floor, and to the small throne his boss sprawled out in.

The rat looked up as the bat landed awkwardly, stumbling along on his pegleg, shaking and nodding his head frantically as he went. "Y-y-es… Yes boss. Yes, you want me. You want…"

Rattigan smiled, before jumping forward, wrapping his right paw around the fine length of bone along the leading edge of his wing. Upper arm firmly gripped, he swiftly leant over to pin the outer half against his body, elbow hooking below it and pulling up as he pushed down, locking it into place against him. Fidget tried to struggle, flapping and pointlessly curling his long stretched wing-supporting fingers against the rat's body, only for his boss to use his thick broad muscles to dominate him completely. Wrenching the bat against him, bending the wing the wrong way at the elbow. Beyond their naturale angle, the joints clicking and the bat squeaking and hissing in pain. It was all merely a pressure lock though, keeping him steady for the real move, as Rattigan pulled out a small razor sharp knife and pushed the scalpel through a small hole punctured in the delicate layer of skin of the wing.

"YAArgghhHHH ARghhh Arhhh ARGHHHH!"

His right foot paw stomping on the bat's only natural one to keep him in position, he placed his left on the bat's chest, pressing down to fix and bend him into position. The struggling ceased, and Rattigan let go of the knife, still piercing the wing, and held the sniffling bats mouth tight and shut. "I'd cut the chit chat here old friend and listen closely. A single swipe down here will separate the fine filigree canvas of your wings from the rest of your body. Now, this gives you the splendid advantage of finally being able to wear the kind of regular clothes that most normal mammals partake in. Shirts, blazers, fine suits. On one side of you at least, though I'd certainly be delighted to do the procedure on your other. A two for one, as you know I am very generous. Alas, it does come with one minor disadvantage. The complete inability of said wing to be able to produce any real lift whatsoever. Most of your wing surface will just… flop around this way and that. If it even does that as, do correct me if I'm wrong," the rat smiled as he bent Fidget's elbow just a little further, bringing a new round of muffled yelps and cries from his mouth.

Rattigan wore a sad face like a clown would for a moment or two, shaking his head. "I do believe that your whole elbow here is dependent on this sheet of skin connecting it to your body. So with that cut, it's not like you'll even be able to move your former wing. Either way, try to fly and you'll humorously spin around on the ground, giving me a splendid time but… Well, I'm not being selfish here, and I can appreciate that's not really the best thing for you, is it?"

He let go of Fidget's mouth, the bat stuttering and starting off. "Nnnn-nononono. No boss, no."

Rattigan put on a sickly smile. "Shame dear chap! Because the only thing that matters is what's best for me. And, while most of the time that involves you being able to fly, you haven't been performing lately. Have you?"

And with that, he threw the bat down on the cold metal floor, watching him scrabble and shake as he lifted himself up. "Do you know how long it took those pests to work out that that dingo was completely scott free? How long it took them to try their best to make sure they knew it was I, not him. For them to announce it all and let him off with just a fraction of a fraction of the potential anarchy and hatred it could have TRULY ignited? A FEW HOURS! TELL ME, DID YOU LEAVE THEM SIGNS! DID YOU PUT IN A SIGNED CONFESSION!"

"NO! Nonononon," he begged. "I… I do nothing. I get in, I wait, I watch, I used little ziplock bag for bathroom. I only eat moths I find, and I make drop, and I…"

"Moths?" Rattigan asked.

"Lots of moths. In lamppost. All around me. Me no move body, just head. Om. Nom. I thought no big thing, I thought…"

"You thought this, you thought that," Rattigan huffed, rubbing his eyes. "But you do enough stupid to let those two and their little task force work out not only that it was you, but HOW it was you!" He grimaced, paw up and working around his muzzle, claws digging in and massaging his whisker bases. "It's very fortunate that one of our partners does have a veritable skill at seeding the kind of confusion and animosity we need from even the slightest little disturbance. Alas, he's not good at battling the own STUPID DO-GOODERS HE BROUGHT ON TO THIS FIGHT!"

"It wasn't her," the fox hissed, wincing down and rubbing his bandaged head. "It was that Interpol fox who came over, the moment she heard you were involved. Sure, I can make idiots do what I like and want. I could make them think the apocalypse was coming starting with nothing but a strategic acorn if I put my mind to it. But I can't deal with one of the best trained mammals in the world attacking me head on."

Rattigan laughed at that, the fox tilting his head. "What's so funny?" he sneered.

"Oh, my dear gentlemammal," Rattigan sighed. "I can't think of a better way to describe how the lowly sidekick of your enemies, that dumb hick bear, defeated you… than head on. Head! On! On the head!" He burst down laughing once more.

"Sorry if I don't find it funny," the fox said, as the pig finally took over.

"What's even less funny is that they seemed to have found out about a certain old contact of mine. One I requested be dealt with a long time ago. And now, if what I've heard through the grapevine is correct, they've gone out to a certain site in Bunnyburrow…" He closed his eyes, breathed in and then out. "If they're as sharp as they seem to be, I wouldn't put it past them to see the signs, see the…"

"And what?" Rattigan asked. "Work out who you are? After your previous meetings, when you spoke to them face to face? Now I certainly agree that them closing in on your past life is a set back. Yet another one, in this ever, growing, farce! But, better now near the end than drawing their attention to it way at the beginning. Don't you think?"

The pig remained silent.

"See…" Rattigan smiled. "We're close, close now." He turned to the fox. "Keep up your… usual, work, of undermining the leaders of this fair city and stoking anger and hostility." He turned to the pig. "Carry on with your quaint plant stuff."

That pushed it. "It is not quaint. The howler toxin was key to this plan far before that damned sheep drew it to the public eye. Years of planning, years of pushing forward, you are but an accessory to our, grand, Project Chaos!" He marched forward, only to be held back by the tiger, and the bandaged up lion.

Rattigan held his paw high, giving a look over at the latter. "Please," he moaned. "Don't strain yourself. Unless you plan to die in some absolutely humorous way or something. I suppose though that at least this you can manage." And with that, he turned to the pig, raising himself up. "You needed an army, didn't you?"

"I had an army."

"And they were useless for the job, uncontrollable, found out," Rattigan waved away. "Honestly, I shouldn't be surprised. You're fantastic at stirring up the mob, perfect for our little three part project, but controlling them? Leading them? Discipline and loyalty? Ah, that's where things go bye-bye and it aaaalllll comes tumbling down!" He stomped his foot, grinning hard. "As for my army, the one I and only I could get to my side… They already lie on enough wealth to guarantee a satisfactory pay off from Project Chaos, and when fully deployed…" He rubbed his paws, gleefully. "My dear foxy friend. My dear porky pal. Stoke the flames, and when they light we will pull off the greatest criminal enterprise this city has ever seen! I guarantee, that your aims will be exceeded, more than your wildest dreams!"

He burst into laughter, cackling up and out, only for a bitter voice to speak. "No, I think that describes your dreams."

Rattigan froze, looking down at the fox. "Excuse me."

"All this stuff you have me running after, trying to learn about. That stupid bunny culture this, and looking into the museum that. Almost getting myself captured by my old pests for what…? Nothing? At the end of the day, you'll be more than happy to let Project Chaos and what we want out of our plan fritter into the wind. All for… whatever crap you're interested in."

The rat was silent, sitting up,looking between them. "Project Chaos will go ahead. You'll have your payout. I will have mine. Indeed, right now yours might be the only way of getting mine. No thanks to your pests."

"And what even is it?"

"Something you would not understand. You two are masters of the lie. But this? This is the greater truth. The greatest truth. And I must have it. I must seize it. And only then will you understand. Carry on with the plan." He looked at the pig. "I want your -heh, plants back up and feeding is in more information, we never know when it might be useful." He looked at the fox. "Get ready to truly light the fires." He paused, ruminating. "Every piece is in place, waiting for the starting gun to fire. That is on you two." He pointed a bony finger out. "NOW LEAVE!"

The pair didn't have to be asked again. Out they went, fast, leaving the guards behind and shutting the heavy metal door to The Charging Hall closed behind them. At the very least, if they were to be followed, they'd hear the grind and slough of it being pushed open once more.

"He'll destroy us," the Pig said. "He's loyal only unto himself. He'll fiddle away while our plan burns."

"Unless he kills us first," the fox hissed. "Or gives us to his cat." He shivered. "However much I tried to channel her sadism, beyond even the loose bounds I enjoy, while confronting that vixen, I don't doubt the real article will be far worse."

The vulpine was quiet for a moment before speaking. "It should have been you or I who stepped in to take over the Tundra Town mob. But we let him convince us that only he…"

"Maybe that was true, I think it was," the pig grumbled. "But if only I had picked a more… competent mammal to lead my own force than that damn Wildebeest."

"What is done is done. You thought he'd be like one of your wolves or servants from so many years ago. Ready to die for you." He paused looking up. "Like you were ready to die, so I've heard, Napoleon?"

The pig looked over, smiling. "What can I say? I am a lover of history, how could I resist?"

"Whereas I prefer to look to the future, one looking increasingly bleak for us. No thanks to our poor selection of allies. It reminds me of this old lion saying. Taka the scarred was only exiled by Simba the Great. It took his own hyenas to tear him apart."

"Such as it is, whatever those bitter revisionists like to gloss over."

"So you know back to then, do you?"

The pig froze, giving his ally an almost incredulous look. "Of course."

"Then what about Efrafa. Neildelienes. Sarcophagus' and…"

"I do not know what ragged tail he is chasing," the pig scoffed. "All seem to be no more than expressions of the inherent strigniphobia and raptophobia present across all mammalian cultures… Not that they're strictly phobias when talking about things the size of hares, or rats. If he is to believe there is some 'greater' connection behind them or something, then he might as well believe in ancient aliens."

The fox nodded, pausing. "Either way, we are stuck with him. We need to get the fire going, as soon as possible. Once it's lit, we can make our payday and get out."

"Indeed," the pig sighed. "Indeed. Just like me, a long, long time ago."

"Tell me, did you believe all that stuff?"

The pig froze. "Believe what stuff?"

"Back, years ago, that 'new way of living'," the fox said. "I know you don't believe the anti-predator nonsense you had the un-useful idiot hooked onto, else you wouldn't be working with me…"

"Oh, I believed the same things both those times," the pig intoned, eyes narrowing. "And what I preached to that wildebeest was likely the most sincere of the two. He just chose to fill it in by himself and I, as I am want to do, ran with it."

"So what do you believe in?"

"Hmmmm?" he mused looking over.

"Truly."

The pig smiled knowingly. "The uncompromising pursuit of power and strength. Whatever cloak you chose to dress it up in so that others deign to grant you it."

.

Back down below, now alone, Rattingan leant over, eyes shut, rubbing them hard. "Oh no," he whispered to himself. "Not me." Breath in. "I never…" Breath out. "Lost control." His eyes opened and, starting up a screen, he let his face compose itself once more. Stern, bold, cunning, dapper. The greatest mouse there ever was or would be. "You're face, to face. With the mouse that will sell the world."

And with that the screen flicked to life, an empty room in front of him. One finally filled in as the wolf, this time in a cloak with two sickles of all things in his paws, walked forward. On each stride they flicked up sparks as they cut against the metal floor, the lupine figure looking up and smiling.

"Tell me," Rattigan said, maintaining a level voice this time. "Is there a pup with you? Do you enjoy dressing up for him? Or what!?"

"Oh this?" he asked, sitting down and taking his time to reply. He pulled up one of the sickles and worked the pointy end of the hook into a gap in his teeth, working on digging something out. "This is just me doing me."

"I see then that 'you' is someone who doesn't know how to make up their mind then. A scatterbrain. A useful howler for your boss to move around like a pawn on the table, meatblocking for him…"

"Ah-ah-ah-ah," the wolf warned, holding up one of his hooked blades and smiling. "I wouldn't be too hasty before you speak. After all, we're just playing from the same playbook here."

Rattigan scowled. "Are we? Really?"

"I mean, think about it. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but so far your plan seems to have been based on one very simple and clever idea. Noise."

"Noise?"

"Yeah. Don't bother with keeping everything hush hush. Or rather, once it's broken and the koala is out of the bag, don't bother. Instead, make noise here, there, everywhere. All sorts of random things, you acting to a plan, you not acting like you have a plan. Have the ZPD fighting fires here, there, everywhere. Always running, trying to put them out. While you just light them on and on. And best part is, as you're not doing them to any plan, they can't look at them all and deduce your secret final goal aim. Can they?"

Rattigan's ears went back, the rodent raising his chin up. "You don't speak for me."

"Ah, now on my side, I just do the same thing," he said. "But on a more personal level. Throw out enough chaos and nonsense that I, the deliberately ambiguous handsome one-eyed wolfy boy, can never been pinned down. Can I?"

"I've never heard such nonsense in my life."

"Ah, but it works, dont it?" he smiled.

"Everything I do," Rattigan said, stretching himself up and glaring down. "Is in aid of my final goal, my ultimate motive. Can you say the same?"

"Well if I can, I'm not going to. I've got a lot of things to hide if we want to remain top dogs." He smiled, folding his arms, as Rattigan leant in.

"A lot of things to hide indeed," he said, leaning in. "Such as a certain nighttime incident involving an underground house in Tundra Town. Blown apart, explored, it was conveniently polar bear sized, wasn't it?"

The wolf looked at him. "Was it?"

"And from what I've heard," the rat said, leaning forward. "Weren't there a lot of wolves out there that night? Just as some of my mammals think there was a white wolf running about the night before, when a bunch of polar bears made an escape with something of incredible value to me."

"Well, I'm sorry for your loss," the wolf shrugged.

"Don't play the fool with me."

"I'm not."

"Listen, you are here as an equal, an ally…"

"Which we're not, we're not, and I don't hear you coming out with the classic 'I know you did it' or even a 'we have evidence', because you don't really have anything firm, do you? You know, has it ever entertained your mind that there are other lupine gangs in this city. Some who are, to put it mildly, especially violent towards certain kinds of mammals. Have you contacted a Miss Lang, or even a Mrs Wolford, about any of this?"

"No," Rattigan said, crossing his paws. "We do NOT get along, in the slightest."

"Soooo… If this was a slight against you, Occam's razor would suggest…"

"Fine!" he barked, paws out and wide. "Fine. Fine. Fine! But consider this a warning. Do NOT get in my way."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he smiled, relaxing back. "And, by the way, our delivery is ready."

The rat's ears rose. "That's good news. I hope he suffered, significantly."

"Not really," the wolf waved off. "It's kind of anti-conductive to the process. And trust me, we know what we're doing here. Tell me, think of those on your side of the law who you'd hate the most if they were around now. The ones absolutely most dangerous to you if they got on your tail and wanted to bring you down."

"Well," Rattigan huffed. "One procyonid dynasty certainly stands, or stood, out."

"And if you're thinking what I'm thinking… Guess who made it you don't have to worry about them, especially him, any more. And they'll never even know."

"Impressive if true," Rattigan huffed. "And I studied law, no contract was signed or agreed on, you owe me nothing."

The wolf chuckled. "I'd say see you in court, but I do not wanna jinx anything."

"Indeed," Rattigan grumbled. "So when will you deliver him, and let me start getting some pay-off for the incomprehensible damage that piece of filth eucalyptus muncher did to me?"

"Name a time and place, we'll drop him off."

"Same quay and time you picked him up at," Rattigan said, and with that he clicked off.

Sitting back.

Rubbing his head and eyes.

Naturally, he'd have to presume that his so called allies were secretly against him and thus maintain distance and discretion. Still, he hoped he'd get some use out of the world's worst auction hoster… Before he let his wife have a play with him, that was. The idea of being able to use twice as many thumb screws as usual certainly had her… excited.

Future days, future days, right now he had to make the course. He couldn't lose control. Disloyal allies and snapping do-gooders at his heel. He was forever this close to calling in the General, even if his paramour always voiced her displeasure.

In the end he had to admit, he was his version of his porky colleagues wildebeest. A mammal whose loyalty he could not fault. But who was also a wild cannon, who could blast a hole in the very fortress he was sworn to protect.

For now, he had to rely…

On others.

Better at their stuff than he was at it.

He felt the queasiness in his gut and shame in his heart.

He would bear it, for the glory that awaited him.

.

.

With a heavy clank, the wolf stepped into a cell, looking down into the corner. "You feeling good?"

"Fine," a far smaller mammal responded. "Fine. I… I don't want to be a bother, I really don't, and I'm only asking as this will probably make things cleaner and easier for you overall, but could I have a new slop bucket? My one is sort of getting full, and I don't want it to spill…"

"Fine," he waved off, making the exchange. "No worries. Indeed, you'll be going home very shortly."

"I will?"

"Yup."

"Good…" he agreed, meekly. "I'd hate to be in your fur being a bother any longer than I have to be."

The wolf smiled. "That's the spirit!" And with that, he closed the door. "Ah, the system works."

"As you should know," a voice echoed down the hall.

"As I do," the wolf shot back, moving forward to the main computer screen. "Anyway, more good news, it seems our mammal has settled down again."

The sharp clacking of metal on metal rose up beside him. "Indeed he has, in a far more defensible position."

"In which case," the wolf mused. "We can use our friendly asset to… Well, direct someone else to do the dirty work for us. We just run in and grab him at the end."

"I don't enjoy delegating to those I don't have complete control over. You know that."

"I was one of those once. But you took a chance on me, and look where we are now."

"I suppose we both experienced a terrible fall, didn't we?" He looked over, the happy go lucky look on the wolf fading, significantly. "A plummet from great height. Neither of us should have survived, yet alone worked together, but here we are."

"But here we are," he nodded, turning back. "About to work out how to bust into a Kung Fu temple of all things. Now this is gonna be…"

"WAIT!"

The wolf froze at the sudden exclamation, stepping back as his boss moved over, took control, more filled with passion and emotion than he'd even seen him. Not that it was easy to read him in the best of cases, at all.

"It can't… It can't. IT IS!"

"Uh… Uh boss?" the wolf asked. "What is it?"

"Someone from my past, a long, long time ago. Before you and I even met." There was a creaking, a cracking, before the computer mouse shattered into sliced up fragments. "We have both changed so, so, so much since then. He'll think I'm long gone. Destroyed, disgraced, burned. I'm now very much looking forward to correcting that panda's misapprehension."