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The Fire Triangle
Part Two:
Oxidizer
Chapter 9: Conor's Story
(Continued…Part 5)
"I am your Antichrist—Are you following me?—Show me allegiance
I am your Antichrist—Are you following me?—Pledge to me defiance.
Suffer, my pretty warriors
Suffer, my fallen child…"
Marillion – Market Square Heroes
"Okay, NOW we're getting somewhere."
It was an apt thought on Vern Rodenberg's part. While he wasn't completely satisfied, things were definitely moving in the right direction.
Glancing upwards at Erin Hopps, he observed the wide-eyed stammering expression of a kid watching a slasher film for the very first time; desperately wanting to look away, but unable to move a muscle.
For his part, the grey rat was less perturbed. A lot of this was familiar ground to him. Anyone mouthing off like that to a guard in Lemmingworth would have also been treated to a little 'thump therapy,' as the officers had euphemistically referred to it.
Rodenberg also had to own up to developing a grudging admiration for the fugitive young silver fox lying on the bed in front of him. Conor had known that those punks were stalking him. True, his response could have been better—which was kind of like saying that the Ides of March could have gone better for Julius Caesar—but the kid had been absolutely right about one thing. If he hadn't moved first, those other boys would have. It came as no surprise to the rat attorney that the encounter had left his client's face literally bent out of shape. Prison fights were never a friendly sparring match.
But that was where the familiarity had ended. Even the most low-rent county jail would have offered the Lewis boy better medical care than he'd received.
And even that paled in comparison to what had happened between the fox-kid and the Zoo Jersey prosecutor. Oy vey! Vern Rodenberg had long suspected that something wasn't kosher in the Zootopia Attorney General's office but—as his father would have said—this 'takes it up to a whole 'nother level'. If what Conor had just told him was true—if the shpiel Rudy Gamsbart had given him really was identical to the one the Jersey prosecutor, Peter Shanks, had laid on him… In that case, this wasn't just a local issue, it was a big-time, stinking, interstate conspiracy.
Rodenberg felt his tail begin to quiver again. What was it that his client had said to him, only a few seconds ago? "You got no idea what you're dealing with…or WHO you're dealing with."
Well, now Vernon J. Rodenberg, Attorney at Law, was beginning to get that idea…and for the first time since his arrival, he was feeling some 'buyer's remorse' at having agreed to represent the young silver fox a second time.
But, like the bunny-girl seated next to him, he was unable to turn away, much less bail. There was nothing for it now, but to hold on tight and keep listening to the story.
They didn't subject us to a…ahem, 'full search', if you follow what I'm bringing out. They checked between our toes and fingers, made us open our mouths and stick out our tongues, but that was as far as it went. When they were done, though, we weren't allowed to get dressed. Instead, they turned a hose on us.
Not a full-force firehose; it was kinda like a giant version of a 'mist' showerhead. But ohhhhhh foxtrot...that water was col-l-l-llllld! I still get the shivers when I think about it. It was especially tough on those two grasshopper mice, not so much because of their size, but because they were a desert species.
By now, the officers who'd brought us here had left, but plenty of others had shown up to take their place…and they were having themselves just a jolly old time at our expense.
When they turned the hoses off, they still didn't allow us to get dressed—or even dry ourselves off. Instead, they marched us, dripping wet, straight off to the Isolation Unit.
When we got there, Lurch made a point of fursonally shoving each of us into our cells. When my turn came, he told me 'Enjoy your stay, BENT-ley' and more or less kicked me through the door with his foot.
Soon it closed behind me, the lights came on…and I mean bright lights, the kind you find on a stinking off-road 4X4. Sheesh, now I knew how a french-fry feels. I later learned that this was what they did to the nocturnal and crepuscular kids. If you were a daytime species, the lights went out.
My cell was about regular size for my species; four bare walls and a wooden pallet, no blanket, no mattress, no nothing. The only other items were a water spigot, no basin, and a plastic bucket. You can guess what that was for, I think. There was a drain in the center of the floor, and I don't think you'll be surprised to hear that it stank to high heaven in that cell.
Wha…you okay, Erin? Ahhh, I'm sorry…but I did promise to give you the story, straight up. Look, if you want to leave, I'll… Okay, oh-ka-y-y-y, don't go getting your ears in a twist. But fair warning bunny-girl, it's not gonna get any better from here on out.
Yes, Mr. Rodenberg, that was standard procedure for any kid doing solitary in Granite Point; strip you down, hose you down, and then you served your time naked. I found out later that this was also what happened to every new arrival at The Point. Seriously, if that deer-buck kid hadn't snarked off to Lurch, he would have found some other excuse to toss us in the The Hole. And that wasn't the worst of it. If you acted up in Total Iso, you could get cuffed, or even shackled. And if that didn't shut you up, they might even gag you.
No…I'm serious; listen. After I'd been inside for about an hour, I started looking the place over—what else was there to do—and saw where some of the kids who'd been there before me had tried to etch graffiti into the walls. But every single one of those attempts was incomplete; nobody managed more than two or three words before the writing stopped dead in its tracks. And then a lot of times, it ended in these long scratch-marks on the wall. I had no way of knowing exactly what happened to those kids, but it was pretty obvious why they'd been unable to finish their projects; someone had come in and put a stop to it, the hard way. And that told me, 'Smile you're on CCTV camera', no big surprise there.
The next morning—I think it was morning—I was blasted awake by an electronic siren. Or…I would have been blasted awake, if I'd been able to get any sleep.
Rolling off my pallet, I went to the door and waited. I don't know why I did that, but as soon as I got there, the little window up top slid open and I saw dark eyes and white fur.
"Move it back, you little snot!"
Yep, it was my old buddy Lurch again; same lousy mood as before. I immediately did as he said. From his reaction, I might just as well have mooned the guy. "Get over there and stand at attention, Bent-face! At attention! You want me to come in there? Okay, that's better; now lissen and lissen good; these are the rules…"
Uhhh, I think I can skip over the details here. It was pretty much the usual stuff—wake-up time, mealtimes, bedtime. If you're late for chow by even five minutes tough luck. No talking after lights out, or both you and your cellmate will end up in Total Iso. The following items are prohibited…blah, blah, blah. You know the drill, Mr. Rodenberg.
Anyway, at the end of that briefing, another window opened up, this one at the bottom of the door, and a tray containing something that was supposedly food was shoved through the gap.
I didn't even want to go near it…until I heard Lurch's growl again. "That better be empty when someone comes by to collect it!"
And then, five minutes later, I heard another cell door, maybe ten yards down from mine just stinkin' slam open. I cocked an ear and tried to listen, but I didn't hear anything else until it slammed shut again. I had no idea what was going on, but I could guess. The deer-kid had mouthed off to Lurch again, and he'd made good on his threat to 'come in there.' I never did find out for sure, but getting thrown in The Hole had to be tougher on him than it was on me. Foxes are a denning species and solitary by nature. Deer, on the other paw, are social animals that live life out in the open.
The next day it was pretty much the same routine—except now it was MY turn to recite the rules, getting loudly corrected whenever I made a mistake. I only did that twice, but I swear, for a second there, I thought Lurch was gonna throw open the door and beat the spit out of me. It didn't happen though—not to me or to anyone else, as far as I know.
On the third day when I recited the rules, I managed to get 'em right. In response, Lurch just kind of grunted, which could have meant anything. But maybe a minute after he left, the lights in my cell dimmed…not all the way, but enough to be a lot more comfortable. That was my first taste of another favorite method they had here for keeping the Granite Point kids in line, the old Carrot-and Stick routine. Oops, pardon the expression, Erin. Anyway, it was like 80% stick 20% carrot.
When they finally let us out of Total Isolation, they marched us straight off to the showers. After we finished washing up, we got dusted down with flea powder, nasty stuff…really nasty; stung your eyes like you wouldn't believe, no matter how hard you tried to keep 'em covered.
Next, we were issued our coveralls—tan, not orange, with the letters JDC stenciled on the back. I later learned that the kids called them potato sacks, coz that's how they made us look. The blanket I was issued had three holes in it, but by now I knew better than to say anything.
After that, we were hauled off to our cells…or, at least that's where I thought we were going. The others yeah, but not me. When we came to this one T- junction, the other guys all went right, and I went left. I also noticed that I was being fursonally escorted by Lurch. What the heck? I hadn't been here long enough to cause any trouble—even if I'd wanted to. Ohhh, I was feeling the need to ask what the heck was going on, but if I didn't know by now to keep my fox-trap shut around that polar-bear, I'd never get the message.
He took me down a long, wide, dimly-lit corridor with concrete walls, prodding me every step of the way. After a while, we came to a double electric door under CCTV surveillance.
On the other side, it was like walking into a different world, a carpeted hallway with soft lighting and pastel-beige walls. These were decorated, here and there, with old black-and-white photographs of Granite Point, back before it became a junior grade Alcatraz.
At the end of the corridor, I got at least a partial answer to my question about what was going on. There, in front of my eyes was a double wooden door with a brass nameplate, Ammon Argyll, Superintendent.
Okay-y-y, now I was scared…and also seriously confused. What the heck had I done to deserve being dragged in front of the head honcho? Yeah, I'd been in a serious fight…but heck, I hadn't been the only violent offender on that bus–-or even the worst. You didn't see ME being muzzled and hauled around by a neck chain.
Well, I'd find out in a minute. Lurch was knocking and someone was answering, 'Come'.
When he opened the door, I expected to find some sawed-off, button-down bureaucrat on the other side. You know what I mean, little dude in a three-piece, with big, black-rimmed glasses and a perfectly knotted tie. What I got instead was a huge, brawny Marco Polo sheep in a turtleneck—a dude who could have walked in straight off the cover of a wrestling magazine. At the moment he was seated on a low bench, performing arm curls with a set of dumbbells that looked like they weighed more than I did.
That was when I noticed he only had ONE arm with which to perform those reps. Okay, scratch the pro-wrestler thing.
"I'll be with you in a moment," he said, glancing up at me for just a hint of a second. Whoa, for such a big, buffed-out guy, he had this surprisingly high-pitched voice.
He was also not one for long introductions. Without saying so much as a single word, he set down the weights and went behind his desk, riffling briefly through some papers, and then looking at me.
"You've been brought here because the name we were given by both you and your Connecticat foster home turned out to be false."
"WHAT?" Even with Lurch standing beside me that was just too much. There was no way the Kaneskas would have given the Jersey authorities a fake name. As for me…had I even given them any name? I must have, though I couldn't remember it now…there were a lot of things I couldn't recall since getting my muzzle broken.
Lurch reacted predictably to my outburst, cuffing me on the back of the head and ordering me to shut it.
His boss, meanwhile, just kept talking.
"Accordingly, the state is assigning you a new name."
Yes, they could Mr. Rodenberg. In fact, I wasn't the only kid they did that to. And you don't wanna know what happened to the ones that tried to object.
Why, is something else I didn't find out until later Erin…when I was with The Company. I'll give you a hint though. It had a lot to do with the fact that I didn't have any parents or legal guardians.
After rifling through some more papers, Warden Argyll—nobody ever called him 'Superintendent'—held one up at arm's length, humming to himself here and there as he read. Then he set it down and gave me the eye. He may not have looked like your average pencil-pusher, but he sure as heck talked like one.
"Henceforth, your name is Alan Murphy—no middle name. This is how you will be addressed, and how you will address yourself to the officers and other detainees from now on. You are not to respond to any other name and when asked, or when volunteering, this will be the name you give. Any violation of this policy will result in severe administrative penalties." As he said this, Lurch let out a growl from beside me, leaving no doubt as to what those penalties were. Argyll finished by asking me, "Do you have any questions, Mr. Murphy?" …in a voice that said if I knew what was good for me, I'd better NOT have any.
Wisely, I shook my head and said, "No sir."
"Very well, Mr. Murphy," he responded with just a hint of satisfied nod. "Sergeant De Nallie will now escort you to your cell. In the interim, you would do well to meditate upon the wisdom of adhering not only to your newly designated name, but to the rules of conduct in general."
I know, right? This guy was stuffier than a room full of head-colds. Even Lurch couldn't keep from rolling his eyes, and I barely managed to not let out a groan.
Just the same, I knew instinctively that this sheep was no joke. And experience would later prove just how right I was.
Lurch took me from there to a cell on the second tier in A Pod; they never used the word 'block' in The Point. The whole time he was escorting me, he never said a word—and I knew better than to say anything to him.
When we got to my cell, it was dark inside and looked empty. My nose, however, was telling me otherwise; somebody was in there. I couldn't identify their scent though; it was a species I'd never encountered before. But whatever the heck he was, his smell was seriously strong.
Wait, something was moving on the upper bunk-bed, something bigger than me by the look of…
That was as far as my train of thought managed to get before Lurch derailed it, growling and slapping the bars with his baton. The noise was like a broken church-bell.
"On your feet Beale; you got a new cellmate."
Something slid out of the top bunk and onto the floor. The best description of him would be…take a cougar, shrink him by about a third, darken his fur and graft a canine muzzle onto his face. In the dim light of the cell, his eyes were like glowing green fireflies.
Okay, now I knew; I was in the presence of a fossa. I had never met one face to face, but I had seen pictures.
He did not look pleased to meet me. Lurch, meanwhile, was ushering me into the cell, shoving me really. "This is…" He cocked his head, "I'm sorry…what was your name again, fox kid?"
Heh…as IF he didn't know that already; he was testing me, and I wasn't about to fail. I knew what would happen if I did.
"Name's Murphy…Alan Murphy," I said, offering a paw to my new cellmate. He just looked at it as if I was holding out a wad of mud, and never so much as reached out to touch it.
Lurch, for his part, seemed satisfied with my answer, and turned to leave without another word.
No sooner had he departed than my new 'buddy' took it upon himself to establish our relationship.
"Top bunk's mine, and so are all the blankets." including the one I'd be issued, which he reached out and grabbed away. "You want one for yourself, bent-face, you find it someplace else!" Oooo, he seemed nice—and he was just getting started. "You can put your stuff away later. First, you know where the commissary is?"
I didn't…but before I could say so, he was talking again.
"Never mind…go find it, and get me a pop."
Yeah, I know; he was trying to see how far he could push me. And the answer was, 'not very.' I took a step forward and unsheathed my claws.
"I don't think so, Beelzebug." Whoa, where the heck had THAT come from? This guy was at least a foot taller than me, and several years older.
At first, he didn't seem to understand me, but when it finally registered…bang! "WHAT did you call me?" He looked like he was gonna spontaneously combust or something.
"I called ya Beelze-BUG. What's the matter, you deaf or something?"
Obviously, I was being snarky, but for a second there I wondered if I hadn't gotten it right; he just stared at me, bug-eyed.
And then he bared his fangs. "Why, you snot-nosed punk, you! I'll tear your head off your shoulders!"
I snarled and showed him my fangs. "Then that's what's gonna happen!" It was the first time I said it—and it wouldn't be the last. I really didn't care what that jerk did to me. If he offed me, at least I wouldn't have to walk around with that face any more.
Oh, quit looking at me like that Erin; that's not how I feel NOW. Otherwise, would I have called Mr. Rodenberg for help?
Okay, yeah…I did say I'd rather die than go back to The Point. But, after what you just heard, can you blame me?
And anyway, bunny-girl…they ain't got me yet; this silver-fox kid still has a few tricks left up his sleeve.
Look, never mind, what I got to tell you next is super important. When I said that, my cellmate's eyes went wide, and he backed off a couple of steps.
I knew right away that it wasn't coz of me—I may have been naïve, but I wasn't cocky, not after getting my muzzle bent out of shape. Nope, there was someone else behind me.
I turned around…and found myself looking at the biggest mink I'd even seen in my life, with a leopard-kid standing next to him. They were both too young to be guards and dressed in standard Juvie coveralls, the only really clean pair I'd seen since my arrival here.
Then mink-boy cocked a finger at me, and shot a thumb over his shoulder.
"You…take a hike."
I slipped past him and out the door, as fast as I could…standing outside with my back to the wall, where I couldn't be seen.
But I could sure as heck hear what was going on behind me.
"Why'd you snitch on Bobby Knocks for, dude?" The mink-kid's voice was velvet-soft, almost a purr.
Beale-boy, on the other paw, sounded like a skipping CD
"Wha-Wha-Wha…? I-I-I didn't…"
"S'cuse me, but that's NOT what I asked you," Again in that same cool voice, "Why did you do it?"
"I…I…never…"
"WHY?!" Whoa, now that mink-kid sounded angry…and scary. I almost turned and ran, except…I couldn't move; it was like I was hypnotized.
Meanwhile, Beale—the fossa kid who'd been ready to decapitate me a second ago—was actually sobbing.
"He…He ripped off two packs of jerky from my cell. Wouldn't give 'em back…ate one right in front of me."
"Okay," the mink-kid's voice had gone soft again, "That's a legitimate gripe." And then it suddenly hardened. "Exceppppt…instead of settling things like a mammal, you slipped a note to Imma-Tep about that shiv Bobby had hidden in his cell."
"Wha…I never…" Beale was starting to panic now.
"Eh, mebbe DIS refresh you memory?" It was the leopard-kid this time.
"Wha…? Where did you…?"
The question ended in the sound of a slap…followed by an enraged mink-scream.
"You no-good snitch, you dirty squealer. Slime-ball…sneaking…low-rent…JERK!" On each word I heard the sound of an impact—and a scream. Then I heard the mink-kid say, "Grab his tail!"
I just turned my eyes to the floor. Behind me, something hit the railing, hard, and got dragged back into the cell, begging and crying.
But then I heard a gasp…and when I looked up, there was the clouded-leopard kid who'd ridden in on the bus with me, his jaw hanging halfway to the floor.
Again, I have no idea what prompted me to do what I did next. I flashed my teeth and snarled, "Beat it punk, there's nothing going on here!"
And he did. He turned around and literally scurried away on all fours. That was my first clue about something else I hadn't known before. Whenever I showed off ALL my choppers, that busted face of mine looked stinkin' scary.
But not as scary as what I saw when I turned around, the mink and the leopard-kid, exiting the cell. The mink-kid was wiping his paws on his coveralls—leaving dark streaks, if you follow what I'm bringing out.
Uhhh, are you sure you want to hear the rest of it, Er…? No, I'm not trying to get rid of you!
So, then the mink-kid crooked a finger and called me over. For a second there, I thought I was about to get the same treatment as Beale—but he only asked me, "Who was that, you were talking to just now?"
"Clouded leopard kid, came in on the bus with me," I said, "I dunno his name."
"Ohhh," Mink-boy tightened his lips and nodded, "Newbie, huh?" I couldn't tell if he meant me, or the other kid.
Didn't matter; either way the answer was, "Yeah, that's right." Behind him I could hear whimpering. So, at least they hadn't killed that fossa kid.
Then the leopard kid spoke up, in a Ratsfarian accent, "Hey Wez, t'ink I know who dis is…dat fox kid, got his muzz broke in dat scrap wit' da three, down Johnstone Campus."
Yes, I know Mr. Rodenberg, I couldn't believe it either…us just standing there, talking like nothing had happened. I wanted sooo bad to get gone before an officer showed up—but I was more afraid of these guys than I was of that.
"Hey, yeah," The mink kid snapped his fingers, "I think you're right, Cutty." And then to me he said, "Three at once; that was some serious guts there, fox-kid."
"Eff not very serious brains." The leopard chimed in with a toothy smirk. That seemed to break a spell or something, and the mink kid turned instantly serious.
"Yeah, whatever…c'mon let's book; Chives'll be making his rounds any minute." He seemed to think for second and then pointed at me, "You too, fox kid, come on."
Behind him, the leopard kid's ears perked up. "You t'ink dis kid might be…"
"Maybe; let's go," the mink-kid interrupted him. Now, he sounded dead serious.
There was no question of my not going with them. Aside from these two scaring the livin' spit out of me, I had better things to do than be found inside my cell with a fossa-kid, beaten to a pulp—and no way to explain it. I may have been the new kid on the cell block, but even I understood a few things. If that happened, The Mammal was NOT going to take, 'I don't know,' for an answer.
They brought me down to the ground level and the washroom…another place with that black film all over everything. There were maybe 6 or 7 other kids in there—all different sizes, from a hippo to a ground squirrel. But as soon we walked in the door, the mink kid clapped his paws. "Need some time here, guys."
Everyone stopped what they were doing and began filing out through the exit. Jeez, what kind of dude was this mink?
And…why was there something so familiar about him?
I had first begun to notice it on the way downstairs. I could swear I'd seen him somewhere before. Not the leopard-kid, only the mink. They were both at least three years older than me.
As the kids in the washroom trooped past us, their reactions were like a stinkin' kaleidoscope. Most of 'em kept their eyes straight ahead, two of them looked away with resentful expressions, the ground-squirrel kid went skittering past as if afraid to get too close, and this one armadillo kid actually stopped and gave the mink-kid a high five.
"Thanks for taking care of that thing for me."
"No problem, guy."
Who was this animal?
When everyone had gone, the leopard kid nodded sideways in my direction.
"So, you really t'ink…?"
"Maybe," the mink-kid kind of shrugged, "I'm gonna put it to the crew."
"Yeah, dat. Good t'ought."
"But, first…let's get cleaned up."
We went to the basins and started washing ourselves. Even with the hot turned up all the way, the water was barely lukewarm. And whatever that foamy stuff coming out the dispensers was, it sure as heck wasn't soap.
Fortunately, the mink kid had come prepared, producing a bottle of clear liquid, with a sharp, stinging smell—paw sanitizer. After using it for its intended purpose, he began working on the stains on his coveralls, drawing a disapproving look from his companion.
"You really got to stop doin' dat t'ing Wez, wiping bloody on you potato-sack like dat."
"Yeahhhh, tell me about it." the mink kid sighed, tossing him the bottle. He took it, and when he was done, he surprised me by tossing it in my direction. There was barely any left, but I wasn't complaining. It was better than nothing, and besides—I hadn't gotten my paws dirty a minute ago.
Exiting the washroom, the mink kid told Cutty to 'go round up the guys,' and led me into a maze of dingy corridors that seemed to go nowhere. I could only hope that when we were done with—whatever the heck was going on here—there'd be someone available to guide me back to my cell.
My cell…
"Oh God," I sent up a silent prayer, "Please don't let that fossa punk take it out on ME, for getting his tail kicked."
Even as the thought entered my head, I knew for certain that it was going end up exactly like that.
Our journey ended at a set of double wooden doors, one of which seemed to hang slightly on its hinges.
Throwing the good one open, without ceremony, the mink kid stepped through and beckoned with a finger again.
On the other side, I found myself in the prison library… a term I use VERY loosely. The shelves were maybe two thirds empty and of the books that remained, most of them had no covers.
Not that it mattered, we weren't there for a reading session.
There was only one other animal with us, a young wallaby, seated behind a desk and looking bored as heck; probably what passed for a librarian. As soon as he saw us, he left without having to be told.
There was a space at the back of the room with several long tables of different sizes, more garage-sale specials. We took a seat at the one closest to our size, and settled in to wait.
Soon as we were in our seats, I just couldn't stand it anymore, and I asked the mink-kid what was going on here.
He just waved me off. "Be patient, fox."
"Well, can I at least ask your name?" I was starting to feel a little frustrated.
My companion seemed to find that amusing.
"Hey, that's right…I never did…" He stuck out a paw. "Wesley McCrodon…Crazy Wez they call me."
What? No, he didn't mind it when another kid called him that. Just the opposite, he considered it almost a badge of honor. But now there was something really familiar about him—and I still couldn't pin it down.
Anyway, I took his paw and shook it, more out of fear of offending him than as a friendly gesture.
And speaking of not offending anyone, remembering what I'd been told in the Warden's office, I answered quickly. "Alan Murphy."
I saw his head tilt sideways for a second.
"That your real name, or the one The Mammal stuck on you?"
I almost pitched over backwards. How the heck had he…?
It was as if he was reading my mind. "If that had been your real name, you would have said 'Al Murphy,' not 'Alan Murphy.'
Whoa, this mink kid might have been crazy, but he wasn't stupid.
"Yeah, that's right," I said, "but please don't ask…"
"I won't, I won't," he waved a paw again, "But if that's the case, it means you don't have a family, right?"
"No, I don't," I admitted, trying not to look shamefaced, "But if that's the case, it means that EVERY orphan kid sent here gets hit with a new name." I could show some smarts, too. "Am I right?"
Wez seemed pleased by my answer and cocked another finger. "You got it, Al."
It took a while for the rest of his guys to get there; they arrived in dribs and drabs. Counting Wez and Cutty, the leopard kid, there were a total of nine animals in the gang.
They were motley crew, to say the least; ranging in size from an Indian rhino to a pair of short-tailed shrews.
Heh…don't discount that species, Erin. As Mr. Rodenberg could tell you, shrews are nobody to mess with. Anyway, the other guys in the crew were a hyena, a honey badger, a red kangaroo and a red-giant flying squirrel.
As soon as all his guys were there, Wez had them push two of the tables together to form 'V', with himself seated at the point, and me on his right.
Then he got up on his chair and rapped the table. At once, the room fell silent.
"As you guys all know, we need to find a replacement for D-Bark."
Several kids nodded, but nobody spoke. And then he waved a paw in my direction. "So, I'm proposing this silver fox kid, Al Murphy, for the slot. In case you're wondering, this is the guy who took on those three punks, all by himself, in the Johnstone Campus. You can see by his face how that worked out."
Errrgh…by rights, that should have offended the heck out of me, but for some reason, it didn't.
"He also backed off this other new kid, while Cutty and me was taking that punk-snitch Beale to school."
He hissed as he said it, seeming to get angry all over again. He was met with an approving chorus of grunts and growls, and then the hyena kid asked him, "How'd that go, anyway?"
"He got the message," Wez responded, simply…and there were more grunts and growls, plus one or two snickers. "So," he went on, "I think Al here is who we want for our new guy. Any objections?" From the tone of his voice, it was obvious that he wasn't expecting any. Just the same, the rhino-kid raised a hoof.
"Ahhh, not really an objection," he said quickly, "More of a question." I had expected to hear him speak in a south Asian accent, but it was actually closer to south Barklyn. "You never brought a newbie into the Enforcers before…or a guy this young. Why now?"
He wasn't skeptical, only curious—and so Wez wasn't bothered by the inquiry. In fact, he almost seemed to welcome it.
"Good question, Krat." He smiled, "And the answer is…well you already heard part of it." He turned and laid a paw on my shoulder. Somehow, I managed not to shrink away. "The rest of it is…I-I-I just got a good feeling about this fox kid."
That seemed to satisfy not only Krat—who took his nickname from that Kratos guy in God of War, by the way—but everyone else in the room.
Well, almost everyone. What the fox had I just been roped into? I wasn't about to say, 'Thanks, but no thanks,' though—not to this bunch.
What's that, Erin? Yep, that was how Wez McCrodon rolled; it wasn't the only time I saw him make a decision based mostly on a hunch. Heck, a lotta times he did stuff entirely on instinct. And the thing is, he was usually right—even when his ideas seemed to make zero sense at the time.
Anyway, that was it; no votes taken. Wez had said I was in, and I was in.
"Okay guys," he clapped his paws, "Go ahead and take off, we're finished here. Oh, uh…Scorp, go tell the office we got a replacement for D." He was speaking to the honey-badger
"Done and done, Wez," he answered, shooting a finger. And then he was gone, too.
As for me—sheesh! If before I'd been confused, now I was foxin' blown away. They were gonna inform The Mammal that they'd recruited me? What the heck kind of a crew was this, anyway?
Well-l-l-l, it didn't take long for me to find out. As soon as the last of his guys departed, Wez slapped me on the back and stuck out a paw.
"Welcome to The Enforcers, Al," he said, and then, at last, proceeded to fill me in on just where I'd landed.
And talk about your emotional roller-coaster. One minute I was ready to whoop, and the next, I wanted to heave my guts out.
For starters, The Enforcers wasn't just the name of Wez's crew, it was what they did.
Remember what I said about how Granite Point was a private prison? Well then, I don't think you'll be surprised to learn that the guards didn't get paid too good—not nearly as well as a State Correctional Office. And because of THAT, they didn't like to put a whole lot of effort into their jobs—especially when it came to keeping the kids in line. So…instead of doing their own dirty-work, they recruited a crew of the inmates for the task. That was The Enforcers. What I had seen Lurch do to that deer-buck kid was actually a very rare occurrence. Ninety percent of the time, if a Granite Point detainee stepped out of line, The Enforcers were sent to take care of him. And now, that included me.
Oh, get off it, you guys. I already told you I didn't have any choice. And it's not as simple as you think. At least hear the rest of it before you judge me, okay?
Okay, look…The Enforcers may have dished out some, uh, thump therapy on the other kids from time to time, but what they never did was inform on them…ever! I'm telling you straight up, there was nothing Wesley McCrodon hated more than a snitch. Right there in the library, he made me get down on one knee, put my paw over my heart and swear on my mother's grave never to squeal…and not just on the other kids, on anybody! The guards, Lurch, even visitors from the outside, they were all off-limits…or ELSE! That was Crazy Wez McCrodon; a kid with his own, private sense of right and wrong.
In fact, that thing that happened with Beale, the fossa kid, is a perfect example of what I'm talking about.
Remember that guy he informed on, Bobby Knocks, the mountain-goat kid with a shank hidden in his cell? Well. the way Wez found out Beale had snitched him out was when Lurch ordered The Enforcers to go kick Bobby's tail…which they did. And then afterwards, Knocks was accused of starting the fight and given two weeks in The Hole. That was always how a visit from The Enforcer ended…when they were working for the Mammal, that is
Okay, so…so far, it all sounds pretty cut and dried right? Yeah right, except…when Wez learned how the guards found out that Bobby had a knife, he hit the ceiling and went after Beale too. And, from what I heard later, him and Cutty went a LOT harder on that fossa kid than they ever did on Bobby. Are you following what I'm bringing out over here?
Yep, exactly that, Mr. Rodenberg…that crew spent as much time enforcing the inmate code as they ever did, enforcing the prison rules—maybe more.
Oh yeah, there was some resentment against us…but not as much as you might think. I'll explain why in a minute. But first…no doubt you're wondering, if there were only ten Enforcers, then why didn't the rest of the kids gang up on us? The answer is, because that WOULD have brought the guards into it. And nobody wanted to see that happen; there was nothing that made those goons madder than having to dish out their own discipline.
When you think about it, though, it was a pretty sweet deal—for the officers, I mean. If some parent, or whoever, raised a stink about their kid getting beat up, the guards could honestly say that they hadn't laid a finger on him. And yes, we're trying to find out who was responsible, but your boy refuses to say who attacked him, and we can't get him to change his mind.
No one ever did change their mind, by the way; they knew what would happen next. Then AKER would get involved…and that was every kid in The Point's worst nightmare. They wouldn't go medieval on you, but they had plenty of other tricks up their sleeves. For instance, they'd find a way to add more time to your sentence; that was so easy, it was almost pitiful. It could have happened to me if I'd declined to go with Wez after that number he did on Beale. "All right, if you weren't involved, who WAS? Are you going to tell us…or do you want to spend another six months in here?"
And, as if that wasn't enough, there was actually an even worse place they could send you than The Hole—though I didn't find out about it until later in our conversation.
Anyway, there were any number of things that could bring AKER down on your head. If you assaulted a guard, if you stole from a guard, if you committed a serious act of vandalism. Not graffiti on the wall, that was a minor infraction. I'm talking about breaking or destroying prison property, smashing one of the toilets, stuff like that. Whistle blowers were especially frowned on; that'd bring down not only AKER but The Enforcers on your tail. As far as Crazy Wez was concerned, whistle-blowing was snitching by any other name.
But the absolute worst offense you could commit, the thing that was never, ever tolerated, was trying to escape.
"You get caught pulling that garbage, and you're on your way to The Clinic." Wez told me, trying to look solemn—although he actually seemed a little bit afraid to me.
The Clinic, he went on to explain, was where they sent the kids with serious injuries or illnesses—which made me wonder why I hadn't been sent there after getting my face broken. But it also had a wing where they kept the crazies, the kids so out of control, even Granite Point couldn't handle them. If you were caught trying to escape, or doing anything else that was really serious, you got sent there for an 'evaluation.'
"Maybe a third of the kids who go there for an eval come back after a while, no different than before." Wez told me. "The rest either come back…mmm, 'changed', or else they don't come back at all." He was trying not to look scared again…and it wasn't until much later that I found out why. That was what had happened to D-Bark, the kid I was replacing in The Enforcers; the first, and only, time a member of Wez's crew had been sent to The Clinic. When D had been returned to The Point, he'd lasted two days before having to be shipped back again—this time, for good. It had left the rest of the guys in the crew seriously spooked.
I don't know, Erin; nobody would tell me what was wrong with him. Heck, they wouldn't even tell me why he'd been sent to The Clinic in the first place. That's the part that really scared me.
But, getting back to the story…
As you can probably imagine from what I said so far, the correctional officers in Granite Point were anything but top tier. A lot of them were guys who'd either washed out of the Police Academy, or else didn't want to be bothered. Some of them were former retail security guards, and a few were ex-MPs who'd been discharged from the military for bad behavior; Lurch was one of those. Very few of those animals had ever worked in actual corrections before, and for a very simple reason. Like I said before, AKER paid a lot less than The State—and they also offered way fewer benefits.
Ha! Beat me to it, Mr. Rodenberg; that's just what I was gonna say next. Yep, those guys were highly bribable. That wouldn't mean much to me, since I didn't have any connection on the outside. But Crazy Wez sure as heck did—although I didn't know it at the time—and as a member of his crew, I was able to share in some of the returns.
For instance, The Enforcers were the only kids in Granite Point whose packages from home were never pilfered. Heck, they never even searched Wez's goody-boxes, not unless some higher-up made them do it.
No, that's right, I never got one. But The Enforcers had kind of an unspoken rule; anyone who received a care package had to share it with the rest of the guys.
Not having your packages from home ripped-off wasn't the only privilege you got by being a member of The Enforcers. We were also issued news coveralls once a month—the other guys got theirs once in a blue moon—and we were the only kids in The Point with private cells. Everyone else had to double up or sometimes triple up. The more I listened, the more I began to think that maybe this wasn't such a bad deal after all.
The Enforcer kids were also supposed to be moved to the head of the line at chow-time, or if we went to visit the commissary. Wez, however, wouldn't allow it. He insisted we wait our turn along with everyone else, and woe to whoever disobeyed him. "We need to show our solidarity," he always said—meaning he wanted the other kids to know that just because we did the guard's dirty work, it didn't mean we were on their side. That, and the no-snitch rule were two of the reasons we didn't get nearly as much hate as you might have expected.
And, there were other reasons. If you were locked up in The Point and getting abused by any of the other kids, better not even think about taking it to the guards—coz this is what you'd hear.
"Are you saying this stuff happens on my watch, punk? Are you trying to get me in trouble? Oh NO, you're not!"
And bingo, off to The Hole you'd go. And then when you got out, you were branded a snitch.
What's that Mr. Rodenberg? The same thing used to happen at Lemmingworth? Ah, that doesn't surprise me.
Yeah, Erin. He did time there…that's how he got into the Law in the first…
Okay yeah, Mr. Rodenberg—later. But if you were being picked on in Granite Point, there was a place you could turn to for help—The Enforcers. We wouldn't always give it; if you'd just stood there and let your tail get kicked, we'd turn our backs on you. But if you'd shown you were willing to stand up for yourself; if you'd tried to resist, done all you could to fight back and still gotten clobbered…in that case, we might step in to help. And 90% of the time, all it took was a verbal warning from Crazy Wez. Believe me, he never had to tell a guy to lay off more than once.
Uhhh, scratch that; almost never. There were always exceptions—newbies who weren't aware of The Enforcers' reputation, and crazies who were too freaked out to care. Fortunately, there weren't a lot of guys in that second category around; the head-cases invariably got sent off to The Clinic after only a short stay in The Point.
Hold it, look…I'm not trying to defend Wez McCrodon over here. The Enforcers never helped out a kid without expecting a favor in return…usually to be repaid 'later.' Knowing who that sea-mink's uncle was, Mr. Rodenberg, I don't think that should surprise you.
And there was another side to him that came from his family—one that I was about to see for myself, up close and fursonal.
While we were talking, Scorp, the honey-badger kid, came back, and whispered something in Wez's ear.
"Good," he said, and then looked at me, "It's all set, Al…you got a new cell all to yourself." Why Scorp didn't just tell me directly, I have no idea.
But then he looked at Wez again, and then at me. "Now that he's in, he's gonna need a name, right?"
"Yeah that's right," Wez nodded back, and studied me for a second. "Everyone in the Enforcers has a nickname, Al…so you gotta have one, too. Lessee…" He narrowed his eyes and I felt like I was under a microscope or something. One thing was for sure; I wasn't gonna get to choose my own nickname.
Finally, he clapped his paws together. "Ahhh, the face of yours, where it got bent, looks kinda like a 'Z'. So that's what we're gonna call you—'Z-face.'
No, Mr. Rodenberg…I didn't like it. Matter of fact, I stinkin' HATED it…but, of course, I wasn't gonna say so to that kid.
Hah…and don't think I can't see you trying to hide that grin, Snowdrop. I-I-I know what you're thinking. Lil' newsflash, don't waste your time; since I got my muzzle fixed, that name doesn't bother me anymore. Besides, after a while it got shortened to just plain 'Z'…and I never minded that one.
Wha…? Oh no, that's not the 'other side' of Wez McCrodon I was talking about. It was what happened after he finished briefing me, when he insisted on fursonally escorting me to my new cell.
"But first we need to make a little detour," he said. That detour took us to the commissary, where Wez bought himself a can of grape soda. I had hoped he'd get one for me, too, but he didn't even open it. Instead, he just said, "Let's go," and instead of taking me to my cell, he led me out to the yard.
Oh God, it was hot out there that day; your typical Zoo Jersey summer. Every kid on the yard—the ones from species with sweat glands that is—was just soaked in his own perspiration. Myself, I was starting to pant my brains out, even though I'd only been outside for maybe a minute. Whoa, now I really wanted some of that pop, even though grape was one of my least favorite flavors.
Wez, meanwhile, was looking the other kids over and tapping a finger against his leg. Maybe half the guys in The Point were on the yard right then…and the few that recognized him looked away real, sweet quick.
But then his head stopped moving and he gave a tight nod.
"There—see that okapi kid over there?"
I followed his gaze, to where a soccer game was taking place, on a field about as level as a camel's back—but I didn't see any okapi kid. As a matter of fact, none of the kids in that game were even any kind of large mammal species.
"No, Z-Face," Wez rapped me lightly on the side of the head, "Over there on the sidelines, see him?"
I looked…and yep, there he was, sitting by himself on a sagging wooden bench. My first impression was that he didn't look like he belonged in Granite Point…although there was no way I could have told you why.
Later, I found out that my instincts had been seriously sound. The kid's name was Chester Schellenbarker, and he hailed from Short Hills, Zoo Jersey, one of the toniest burgs in the state.
Definitely not your usual Granite Point inmate; his dad was supposedly some kind of big-shot architect. Anyway, before his arrest he'd been an honor student and a star athlete.
Annnnnd…he'd also been a first-class hothead. A year earlier, his girlfriend had dumped him and he'd responded by trying to run her and her new boyfriend down in the street. No one had been hurt, but he'd ended up totaling his car. He might have gotten off with probation or whatever, except his ex and her new guy decided to get revenge by showing up at his trial and kissing right in front of him. Worked like charm; he grabbed a chair and threw it at them. They managed to duck out of the way in time, but the antelope sitting behind them wasn't so lucky. She'd needed fifteen stitches, and it had taken all of Chester's fancy attorneys—no offense Mr. Rodenberg—it had taken all their powers of persuasion to get the judge to sentence him to the minimum of thirty days.
But then His Honor had thrown a wrench in the works. "However…you're going to be serving those thirty days in the Granite Point youth correctional facility. Maybe THAT will teach you violence doesn't pay."
Ahhh, it's not as surprising as you might think, bunny-girl. Yeah, Chester came from a wealthy family…but don't forget, so did the kids he'd tried to run over. And, from what I heard, his ex-girlfriend's dad was anything but a live-and-let-live kinda guy.
Like I said, I didn't learn any of this until later; right then, I was just totally confused, and it wasn't gonna get any better. When I turned to look at Wez again, he had popped the top on that can of grape soda. Wha…when had he done that? I hadn't heard a thing. But then I saw that was holding it out to me. Ohhhh, blessed saints…but when I went to grab it, he pulled it away.
"Okay, I want you to take this and go sit next to that okapi kid." I saw his paw fall on my shoulder, felt the prickle of claws as he tightened his grip, "But DON'T drink any, you got that? I mean it, kid; not even one, teensy little sip."
I just nodded like a puppet. What was this…a test or something? Well, whatever it was, I knew I'd better get a move on. That sea-mink kid had never struck me as a guy with scads of patience—and no, he wasn't, not at all.
If it had been anybody else who'd sent me, I would have slammed that stinkin' soda and the heck with my orders.
As it was, I hurried over as fast as I could—before temptation got the better of me.
When I plopped myself down next to the okapi kid, he didn't seem to notice me at first. But when he did, he pulled the fastest double-take I'd ever seen and then recoiled like I was a rattlesnake or something.
"Holy frick'n'…! What the heck happened to YOU, fox kid?" He was talking about my face of course.
"I caught it in a revolving door, what's it to ya?" I answered, snarky as always, whenever someone made a remark about my crooked muzzle.
It did not go down well with my new acquaintance. "Yeah, whatever. Get out of my space, fox-boy…now!" Whoa, for a kid from the 'burbs, this dude talked pretty stinkin' tough. But then, so did Wez McCrodon—and who was I more afraid of?
Before I could decide, Chester slapped me on the shoulder. "Hey, stupid, I said get lost! Seriously fox, take your ugly face someplace else."
Ah, well…Wez hadn't told me I had to stay here. I started to get up, but only made it half-way before my new okapi buddy waved a hoof and pointed. "Leave the soda-pop!"
Oh, ho…now I got it. In another second, this guy would have Wez McCrodon's guys all over him. And then, when the guards showed up, he'd be able to say that Chester had started it. Clever guy…
Ahhhh, but not such a clever young silver fox. When I turned to go, I saw that Wez wasn't even looking in my direction. Getting up the rest of the way, I went back over to where he was waiting; he didn't even seem to notice me.
But then out of the corner of his mouth, I heard him say. "Did he take your pop?"
"Yeah," I said, expecting him to come unglued. But he only shrugged and said, "Good," and then he said, "Let's go sit down."
There was another bench nearby but it was already full. However, when the kids occupying it saw who was coming, they immediately got up and bailed, no questions asked.
And did I mention that one of those kids was a freakin' tiger? Sheesh, Crazy Wez was even able to intimidate the apex of apex predators; I didn't know what to think.
When we sat down, I tried to ask him what was going on and got a 'talk-to-the-paw' gesture for my troubles—and that was it. He just hunkered over, with his elbows on his knees, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on Chester, the okapi kid. When I looked, I saw that the can of soda was gone. No, wait…there, it was; bent in half, underneath the bench where he was sitting. Whoa, he'd finished it already? He must have chugged that bad boy.
Hey, hold it a second; what was going on over there? He was standing up and kind of swaying on his feet, clutching his midsection.
All at once, he cried out and doubled-over…so fast he could have been spring-loaded. I saw him fall to the ground, writhing and shivering. It looked like…Holy foxtrot, was that foam coming out of his mouth?
By now, there were other kids rushing over. I started to get up too, but felt a paw on my shoulder.
"Stay here." Wez told me, and then hurried off with the others. I wondered what the heck he thought he was going to do, but he was back after maybe fifteen seconds—clutching something purple in his paws which I recognized as the remnants of the soda-can, now crumpled to a shapeless wad.
"Let's go," he said simply, cuffing me on the shoulder for emphasis. I got up at once and followed.
Yes, Mr. Rodenberg, I knew what was going on. I just refused to believe it…that is, until I saw Wez drop the can into a trash bin, and throw some other stuff on top of it. That was when I finally quit trying to deny it…and it made me feel almost as sick as that okapi-kid.
The next few minutes were like a blur. Wez led me to my new cell, D-107, but he could have been leading me through a fogbank to nowhere, for all the attention I was paying to where we were going.
My new cell was about the same size as the first one I'd been assigned—except a little dirtier and with only one bunk. I hardly noticed.
"Welcome home, Z-face!" Wez told me, in a voice bubbling with cheerful acid. "You'll wanna hurry up and get settled in, it's only an hour till chow-time, and Lurch meant what he said about…"
"WHY?" The word was out before I could stop it. I expected a puzzled look and a confused inquiry, maybe even some anger. What I got was a shrug and Wez folding his arms.
"When you've been inside those 'burbie kids' houses as many times as I have, you figure out real quick what a miserable bunch of jerks they are."
And that was it, that was the only explanation he ever gave me. But it was enough; Chester hadn't snitched, he hadn't done a thing wrong. Wez wasn't even mad at him for getting what was basically a slap on the wrist, compared to what he or I would have gotten for the same offense. He had it stuck to that okapi kid coz he just plain didn't like mammals from the suburbs…at least not the ones with money.
But that wasn't the worst of it. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard…and I couldn't hold back, either.
"Y-You poisoned him…for THAT?"
Now, he did get mad.
"Keep your voice down, stupid!"
"Sorry," I said, lowering the volume; what else could I do?
That did the trick, at once Wez's 'tude change from hacked-off to almost hurt
"Who, me?" he said, placing a paw against the base of his neck, and sounding just SO innocent. "Not me, I didn't poison anybody," And then he shoved his face in mine and smirked, "YOU did!"
And with that, he turned and walked away without another word. I can still remember how he never once looked back.
I watched him go and then stumbled into my cell and threw myself onto my bunk. With my first breath, I took in a head-full of dust that made me want to sneeze my lungs out. I didn't care. I had just gotten my first taste of the McCrodon family creed; never trust anyone you can't blackmail. As of now, I wasn't just a member of that sea-mink kid's crew; he stinkin' owned me.
Still sneezing, I rolled over onto my back and tried to think. That was when I realized something; what had happened to me out on the yard just now HAD been a test…and what a test. If I had disobeyed and taken even a small swig of that soda, it would have been me they were hauling off to the ER right now—or, wherever they were taking that okapi kid.
No Erin, he didn't die. In fact, he recovered completely…but it took a while. His one-month jail sentence ended up as a three-month hospital stay—all because of me.
Yeah? Well, it sure as heck feels like my fault, dumb bunny!
Sorry…sorry, that was out of line. But that was how it felt, Erin…even today, that's how it feels.
But then I realized something else…something that made me sit up fast with my mouth hanging open.
"When you've been inside those burbie kid's houses…" Holy Foxtrot, NOW I remembered where I'd seen that sea-mink kid before…in a whole bunch of online magazine articles. But…how could that be? The last time I'd read one had been only a week before I'd hit the road with Jimmy? And why hadn't I recognized Wez's name when he'd introduced himself?
Never mind, it was him all right; not the slightest bit of doubt in my mind. My new crew chief was none other than the Bearfoot Bandit, in all his terrible stinkin' splendor.
The Bearfoot Bandit…the kid who had inspired me and Jimmy to hit the road in the first place. He had been our role model, our hero…a real-life, Gen-U-Wine Robin Hood.
Meanwhile, the kid who'd just left me had turned out to be a real-life, Gen-U-Wine Hades…and that assessment was only going to become more accurate as time went by.
Like the King of the Underworld, Crazy Wez was a devious jerk who'd shaft anyone he thought was a threat to him. Even the guys in his crew weren't immune. I once watched him grill Cutty for something like three hours, just coz he'd been seen talking to Bug-Juice, the black-footed cat that headed up the Southsider Jukes; a guy that sea-mink seriously didn't like ...and who didn't like him very much either. A lot of that had to do with the fact that The Enforcers were the only crew in the Point that never got punished collectively.
Oh, I'll TELL you why, Erin. Once—just once, it did happen—when Captain Donnerhuf, the bison in charge of the guard detail went away on vacation, and they brought in this eland guy from the Johnstone Campus to sub for him. I don't remember his real name, the kids all called him Corker.
Anyway, two days after he arrived, someone ripped off his watch…and a rumor started going around that it was one of the Enforcers who'd taken it.
So, what did bright boy Corker do? Sent every kid in our crew to Total Isolation until the guilty party confessed. He was that torqued about his watch, super expensive, a birthday present from his partner, and almost brand new.
Everyone told him it was a bad idea; rumors like that were always flying around The Point. It probably hadn't even been an Enforcer who'd taken it, they all insisted
And it hadn't been; Corker later found his missing watch stuck between the seat cushions of his office sofa; he had lost it while trying to retrieve a pen that he'd dropped. Lurch kept trying to convince him that a better course of action would be to recruit The Enforcers to help him get it back, but that eland jerk was way too smart to listen. We all went into lock-up and when the word got around that The Enforcers were away, the rest of the kids decided it was time for them to come out and play. The upshot was the closest thing to a riot that I saw while I was in Granite Point. They had to call in the State Police to help calm things down, and Donnerhuf had to cut his vacation short. As for Corker he got busted all the way down to Sergeant and lost most of his pension. We even got a visit from the AKER brass…
Hold it…wait. I'm getting ahead of myself again. That didn't happen until way later, almost right before I made my break. But now do you understand why the Enforcers were only disciplined individually?
Okay, getting back to where I left off. There was one thing that was still confusing to me, but I hadn't been able to work up the nerve to ask Wez about it before he boogied. And after the way he'd made me his patsy, I wasn't able to bring it up again it for another whole week.
My problem was…yeah, it was wrong to snitch; I got that, no sweat. "But if that's wrong, then why is it okay for us to be the guards' bone-thugs?"
Soon as I said that, I braced myself. Wez was in a particularly good mood right then—which was why I chose that moment to ask the question—but you could never be 100% sure with that kid. This time, though, my gamble paid off because he smiled, and then explained.
"You gotta remember Z-Face, the kids the guards send us to take care of are the guys that have ALREADY been caught; they're gonna get their tails kicked anyway, no matter what. And better by us than the guards. Sometimes, we hold back ya see, but they never do."
I later learned that this wasn't true; the whole time I was with The Enforcers, we never once went easy on a guy…not even when they'd been falsely accused, and we knew it was bad rap.
Little by little, the mask was coming off and I was beginning to see the REAL Wesley McCrodon.