Disclaimer: Zootopia stories, characters, settings, and properties belong to the Walt Disney Co. This story is written under Fair Use Copyright laws.


The Fire Triangle


Part Two:

Oxidizer


Chapter 7—The Cascade Effect
(Cont'd…Part 5)


1549 Skippingstone Wharf, Canal District, Zootopia, 16:20 Hrs, ZST

"Conor can't die…he can't!"

"Don't worry Missy, he'll pull it on through; he's a right little battler, that fox."

Erin said nothing, but continued to pace the floor, eliciting a chorus of creaks and groans from the floorboard underneath; par the course in the Canal District.

The ride to get here had seemed to take longer than an Atlantic crossing; something the young, white-furred bunny wouldn't have experienced if she hadn't chosen to stowaway on Billy Mackenna's speedboat. Even now, she couldn't understand why she'd done it—and when the Tasmanian Tiger had pulled back the tarp to find her crouching beside the injured young silver fox, she'd expected him to blow a gasket. Instead, he'd only sighed and shaken his head.

"Lucky f' you, I didn't have to hit the throttles." he'd said, putting his paws on his hips, "Y'd have flown right off the stern, wouldn't yer?" And then, shrugging it off as if it were no big deal, he'd told her, "Well, s'long as yer here, y' might as well come and give us a paw with 'im."

Once again they'd used the tarp as a makeshift stretcher. That was when Toby Webb, the marsh rabbit who'd brought them here admitted that he didn't know if his sister was working today. She was, but what he'd also neglected to mention was that she was his semi-estranged sister. When she'd opened the door and seen who was there, she'd come that close to slamming it in his face. It was only after Erin had practically got down on her knees and begged her to help that she finally agreed to at least take a look at Conor.

That one look was all it took; she had immediately ushered the quartet of young animals into her office, instructing Erin and Billy to wait in the foyer and telling Toby to get his tail home right now. "You've got one hour, kid…and then I'm calling Mom."

The young marsh bunny had promptly bolted for the door, so fast he might have been fleeing from a burning building.

Toby's sister, whose name was Jeanne, had mellowed a little upon his departure—but only a little. Turning to speak to Erin and Billy she'd demanded to know exactly how Conor had come by his injuries. The younger bunny had responded perhaps a little too quickly. "He slipped and fell down some stairs in the rain,"

At this, Jeanne had just rolled her eyes; "Yeahhh, right!" Obviously this wasn't the first time her brother had fobbed off an injured young miscreant on her.

Now Erin glanced at the door to the examination room for the umpty-eighth time. What the heck was going on in there? Oh, she had no doubt that Jeanne would do the best she could for Conor…but then what? Would she alert the ZPD? She might be on the phone with them even now.

Dangit, the young doe-bunny chided herself, she had to stop fretting—and there was only one sure cure for that ailment. She needed a distraction, any distraction to take her mind off of Conor.

Well…how about the animal sharing the waiting room with her? He ought to be good for at least a little diversion.

"Billy…can I ask you something?"

"Ehh, you can ask," he answered lazily. He had shed his oilskins and was stretched out on a chair as if it was a lounger. He was a hard-muscled young marsupial, this Tasmanian tiger. Not the heavy build of a weightlifter, but the lean, rangy frame of a triathlete. In that regard he was not unlike a certain silver fox of her acquaintance.

"How is that you know Conor?"

Billy sat up and stretched his paws out in front of him, cracking his knuckles like a pawful of walnuts. Okay…he seemed to be saying, this was a question he could answer.

"Right…welllll, y'know 'bout him carryin' money for the Phantom, I reckon?"

Erin only nodded…although, whoa, did she EVER know about that!

In response, Billy returned the nod and then got up and turned around. On the back of his jacket was the embroidered image of a speedboat throwing up a gigantic plume of water.

Stitched above this were the words 'Roostertail Marine.'

"Family business," he explained, turning to face her once again, "Kind of odd for a species that's not anywhere close to being aquatic, in' it? But that's us. We've got our boatyard over on Outback Island—which isn't so strange, eh?"

"Nope," Erin answered, with a grin peeking through her otherwise worried face. She was seriously beginning to like this Tasmanian tiger.

"So," he went on, pointing to the door by which they'd entered, "That V-8 Superboat we came here in's a custom job—that the bloke who ordered it never picked up; tell y' bout that some other time. But we've also got a production line, several of 'em in fact. And how d'yer think we build the hulls, eh?" He capped the query with a wink and a grin.

"I don't know…how?" Erin answered him tiredly. She was in no mood to play guessing games at a time like this.

Billy winked again, "We print 'em."

Oh-kay-y-y, that got the doe-bunny's attention; all at once, her ears were standing up straight and so was she.

"Wha…print? Ohhh," she snapped her fingers as the realization hit her, "You're talking about a 3-D printer right?"

"You're got it, bunny!" Billy cocked a finger, "We've got three of 'em, small medium, and jumbo; we can build a boat for almost any species y' care to name—from a mouse, all the way up to a polar bear."

"No elephants?" Erin was unable to resist the tease. There was something infectious about Billy Mackenna's sense of humor.

"Oi, we're boat builders, not miracle workers," he was making a face and raising his paws defensively. "There's only so much y' can do with a printed hull, y'know. But whatever kind of boat you want, ski boat, fishing boat, pleasure boat, we're your blokes."

"I see," Erin answered, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Sweet cheez n' crackers, he sounded almost like a walking TV commercial.

But then he got serious…very serious.

"Ahhh, but if it hadn't been for Conor and his mate The Phantom, we could have lost it all, couldn't we?" He was folding his arms and working his fists into mauls.

"What…how?" Erin had to swallow before asking it; Billy looked like he was ready to take a bite out of the first animal that got too close.

He inhaled deeply and let it out slowly.

"When we bought those printers, we financed 'em direct through the bloke who sold 'em to us. For the first couple of years, everything went fine. Da paid what he owed, like he was supposed to, and our business kept on growing; word was getting 'round about us, and things was looking better and better—but then whoooosh!" He made a zooming motion with a flattened paw; "3-D printing took off like a blinkin' bottle rocket…and those machines of ours were suddenly worth more'n twice what we bought 'em for." His face turned halfway ferocious again. "And that was when the trouble came knocking."

"Wh-What happened?" Erin stammered, blinking. She had no idea, but a sour feeling in her stomach was telling her that whatever was coming, it wasn't going to be anything good.

Once again, Billy had to take a breath before speaking.

"It happened on a Saturday afternoon; start of a three-day holiday weekend. Bloke we bought the printers from rings us up and demands the entire balance, paid in full, by Tuesday morning or else he'll repossess 'em. We found out later that the sod already had a buyer lined up."

"But…But how could he DO that?" Erin was staring, slack jawed and wide eyed. "Isn't that…illegal?"

"That's what me Da thought, too." Billy's mouth had set into a long, flat line. "But it turned out there was a clause in our contract we hadn't noticed before; gave him the right to demand full payment at any time, and to reclaim the printers on 48 hours' notice if he didn't get it."

"But how…?" the young doe-bunny started to say, and then stopped when the Tasmanian tiger raised a paw.

"Yeah…and you're right, we could have taken that 'roo to court….but even then, we couldn't have stopped him from ripping out the printers. He had a crew hired and waiting already, didn' 'e? Nope…by the time our case made the docket, those machines would have been long gone…and then we'd have had deal not only with him, but also wi' the new owners."

"So…" Erin hesitated, making sure that Billy was finished before asking it, "So, what did you do?"

"The only thing we could do," the Tasmanian tiger answered her, settling back in his chair with his fingers hooked into talons, "Somehow try t' raise the money before the deadline. Ma called every friend we had; while Da called in every favour he was owed. I even gave a bell to a few of my mates; see if maybe their parents could help us out. Long story short, by Monday mornin' we were within shouting distance, but that was it; couldn't raise another penny—an' it was the full amount or nothing." He pounded a fist on the chair arm. "Looked like we were cooked—but then one of our customers, Asian Black Rat, mentioned The Phantom. We'd never heard that name before, and what he said next wasn't all that encouraging. 'I can't make any promises, Colin,' he said to Da. 'The rule with The Phantom is you don't find him, he finds you.' Well, by that time we had nothing more to lose, so Da told him to go ahead an' try to make contact wi' the bloke." His face broke out in a wide, unexpected grim, "and then imagine our surprise when right before suppertime, this silver fox kid turns up on our doorstep with a bag full of cash. It was all we needed to make the payoff and then some."

Erin wanted to whoop, but then remembered that the fox who'd delivered that money was badly injured, maybe even waiting on death's doorstep.

"And YOU put him there," her inner voice reminded her darkly.

Billy MacKenna, meanwhile, was rubbing his paws as if in anticipation of a feast.

"Oi, an' yer should've seen that 'roo's face, when Da came across with the money. Y' never saw anyone look so UNhappy 'bout getting paid…heh, heh, heh! Anyways, now those printers were ours, free an' clear, we could put em' up as collateral for a bank loan. We got it in three days, paid back the Phantom and everyone else who'd lent us the money…and everyone was happy, except the bloke that tried to rip us off."

"Yay!" Now Erin did allow herself a cheer.

But Billy had his paws up once again.

"Hold on there, bunny…as they say in the infomercials, but wait, that's not all. Because those printers were worth more than what we paid for 'em, we were even able to expand our business a bit. The 'roo we'd bought 'em from tried to take us to court—some blokes just never learn—but Da found someone to represent us who was a real ace of a lawyer; rat who did…ahhhh, what d'yer call it again? Pro…pro…ahhh, who did work for no charge on the side; he made that 'roo pay all our court costs, and then some. The bludger practically slunk out of court when the shoutin' was done, and that was the last we ever saw of him."

That might have been the end of it but for a chance encounter between Conor and Billy at the Meerkat Market later that month. They'd hit it off immediately, and in spite of their age difference—he was three years older than the silver fox—they'd become fast friends. 'Right cobbers,' as the thylacine put it.

"But then, when he went off to that school of his, I started to see less and less of him…until finally he wasn't coming round at all. Mum sent him an invite to my birthday party last year, but I never expected him to show up. Only, what do yer know then, he not only came, he brought me a real nice present. Pair o' VIP Passes to see Acca-Dacca, live at Animalia."

"Acca…who?" Erin's ears were pointing at the ceiling and her nose was twitching up a storm.

Billy bit his lip and, for the first time since they'd met, looked slightly embarrassed. "Oops, that's what we call 'em Down Under. AC/DC's who I mean."

"Ohhh," Erin nodded her understanding. Oh yeah, she knew that band all right; she had the bass-line to Thunderstruck dialed in and could kill it on the vocals.

"Conor was just all full of apologies," the Tasmanian tiger was telling her, "Saying how sorry he was for shining me on and promising he'd never do it again. I told him there was nothing to forgive and we've been mates again ever sin…"

That was when the door to the examining room opened and Jeanne Webb came back into the waiting area.

The expression on her face was not an augury of good news.

"I've done as much as I can," the marsh rabbit told them, wiping her paws on a little towel, "I gave him some antibiotics, and something for the fever, drained the edema in his knee as best I could, and got a good wrap around it." She puffed out her cheeks and shook her head. "But it's not enough; only a temporary fix. Your friend needs X-Rays…and probably needs surgery too. I think he's got an abscess…a deep one. And if I'm right—and if it ruptures…"

She left the rest of it mercifully unsaid.

For a long moment, nobody spoke…and then Erin raised a tentative paw.

"Soooo, uhhhh…what should we do?"

"Hrm? I thought I told you that already." Jeanne was giving her the 'dumb bunny' look, a rebuke made all the more stinging by the fact that it was coming from another rabbit. "He needs to get to a hospital—the sooner, the better."

"But he CAN'T," the younger bunny pleaded, "If we take him to the ER…" She stopped suddenly, wondering if she'd said too much already.

As things turned out, it didn't matter; her appeal had fallen on deaf ears.

"…he'll be arrested, yes, I know." the marsh rabbit responded in an ice-chilled voice, "and that's your problem."

"Now look 'ere, Sheila…" Billy Mackenna was halfway out of his seat.

"No, don't!" Erin got quickly in between them.

"Count yourself lucky that I haven't called the police already!" Jeanne told them, daunted not in the slightest by the Tasmanian tiger's implied threat; she reminded the younger bunny of Judy in that regard.

But Billy wasn't ready to back off either, letting his jaw fall open to show every single one of his teeth.

"Don't even think about it," the marsh-rabbit nurse shot back, nodding in the direction of a squat, black, LED-lit cylinder on a nearby table. "This office is alarmed…and I can trip it with a single word."

"Billy? Billy, come on, cool your jets already…"

The voice had come from somewhere over Jeanne's shoulder…

No, wait…from the open door behind her.

It was the voice of Conor Lewis.

"Come on, back off." He sounded weak…but still a lot better than when they'd shoved off from that tunnel, down by the Lion's Tail Wharf.

"Ohhh-kay." Billy did as the silver fox instructed, but it was obvious that he didn't like it.

"Yeah, that's better. Now c'mon in guys, we need to talk."

They filed into the exam room with Erin bringing up the rear.

Conor was laid out on an examination table, covered over by a thin sheet, and with his head propped under a pillow. None of it looked all that comfortable, but it was the only game in town. There was nothing else in the room even close to resembling a bed.

He spoke first to Jeanne.

"Thanks for taking care of me, Doc…I-I mean Nurse Webb. I know you did the best you could…and I know you took a risk in helping me."

She only pursed her lips and nodded. In the background, meanwhile, Billy was starting to fume, apparently none too happy that the fox was taking her side. Conor saw it and gave him a 'we'll talk later' look. Then he resumed speaking to Jeanne.

"So…how soon do you want me outta here?"

The marsh-bunny folded her arms and raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"Right NOW would be nice," she said, and the silver fox reluctantly shook his head.

"Sorry…no can do; not until…"

"That wasn't a request!" she interrupted, barging forward with her paws on her hips.

Slowly, deliberately, Conor pulled himself up on his elbows. His expression remained as it was, but his eyes were blazing like the coals in a blacksmith's forge.

"And if I don't leave right now, you'll call the cops, right? Or maybe set off that alarm you were talking about—yeah, I heard what you said in there." His lip pulled upwards, exposing a fang. "Before you make that kinda move lady, you need to think about it real hard. You seen what Savanna Central looks like today, huh? Well, if the kids who did that find out YOU gave me up to The Mammal, I don't think they're gonna like ya very much; you follow what I'm bringing out?"

Jeanne said nothing to this, but Erin could see that her ears and tail had dropped downwards and that the white of her eye was showing. At the same time her haunches were all bunched up and tensed.

Oooo, she knew what that meant; that was probably how she looked right now, like a thoroughly frightened rabbit. Sweet cheez n' crackers, she'd never dreamed that Conor was capable of being so ruthless.

But then he raised his paws and sheathed his fang.

"Please understand, I'm not threatening you here. I'd never do that, not somebody that helped me…even if they didn't really want to." He let out a small, frustrated growl. "But if you turn me in to the ZPD, then that is what's gonna go down…and it'll be something I can't stop, no matter how hard I might try."

He paused to let her think about it, and then raised a paw with a pair of fingers extended.

"I promise I'll be out of here as quick as I can. I need to do that anyway; I heard the other thing you said in there, about that abscess and whatever. But before I can boogie, I need to try and make some arrangements. Eh, Erin…can you go get my cell phone?"

Oops, she didn't need to go get it; it was still in her pocket. She had forgotten to put it back after she 'borrowed' it. With a rueful expression, she retrieved the phone and gave it to Conor—who appeared not at all bothered that she had it.

Following a quick check to see that the battery was charged, he made a flipping motion with his paw. "Okay, this is a private call I gotta make, so I need you to leave me alone here. Ahhhh, not you, Erin; you can stay."

Waiting until the door closed, he called up his contacts list. But instead of punching in a number, he focused his attention on the doe-bunny sharing the room with him.

"All right…what?"

"Wha…what are you talking about?" she demanded, paws planted firmly on her hips.

Conor angled his chin downwards. "You're thumping your foot is what." He concluded the observation with a raised eyebrow. "So…?"

Erin ceased the impromptu percussion solo, vexed, but also a little embarrassed—as if she hadn't realized what her foot had been up to until the silver fox pointed it out.

"I…I can't believe you did that, Conor." Every cord on her face was as tight as a bow string.

"Did what, bunny-girl?" His face was a portrait etched in innocence. He knew but was going to make her say it.

"You know what I mean." Her foot was thumping again, "Bullying poor Jeanie, or whatever her name is, after she helped you like that. You ought to be ashamed, Conor Lewis."

"Oh that," he said, waving a paw, "That was just to give her an escape hatch."

"An…escape hatch?" Erin said it slowly, as if she hadn't quite heard him. Her foot was still thumping, but now in confusion rather than outrage.

"Yeah, that's right," the young fox told her. His strength seemed to be increasing with every word. "Look, you know why she wants my bushy tail outta here right now?" He paused, waiting for the inevitable inquiry. None was forthcoming and he continued. "She's afraid that if the cops find me here, they might bust HER for aiding and abetting."

"Unless she calls them," the young doe bunny pointed out, "'Cept now she won't," She looked even more affronted than a second ago.

But Conor only shook his head. "Naaaah, if she was gonna drop a dime on me, she'd have done it already; given me something to knock me out and then made the call while I was unconscious." Another head shake; "Didn't happen, I was awake the whole time she was treating me. Just barely, but I was still awake. As for that intimidation thing, I didn't say anything to her that she didn't already know."

"Then WHY…?" Erin almost screamed, but then caught herself and toned it down. "Why even say it?"

"Because," the silver fox told her, speaking with what could have passed for infinite patience, "Now, if the ZPD tries to turn the screws on her, she can say that I threatened her—and then they'll have to cut her some slack; get the idea?"

Erin did but she didn't seem to like it; her ears appeared to have no idea which way to go. "I swear Charcoal Boy, I'll never understand you."

"Hey Snowdrop, I told you before that you don't know what kind of kid I am," he said and then held up his phone showing her the screen. "Now look…I heard what Nurse Webb said about those shots, and whatever she gave me, having only like a temporary effect…so if I go down again, you're the one's gonna have to keep in touch with this guy. Think you can do that?"

"I-I'll need the encryption code," she said, peering closely at the highlighted number on the silver fox's contact list, "but who are you calling?"

Conor blew a silent whistle, letting his eyes drift upwards to the ceiling. "Someone who's prolly gonna drop the call when he hears that it's me…but he's all I got right now."

"But…"

"If he doesn't blow me off, I'll give you the code," he told her, and then thumbed the appropriate icon.

473 Skinner Street, Little Rodentia, Zootopia, 18:03 ZST.

"Uncle Vernon…phone!"

"Always when I'm eating or in the shower!" the grey rat squeaked in frustration, slapping down his knife and fork on the TV tray. And right when So You Think You Can Prance was starting too!

"Oy…that better not be Mandy calling. If she chewed off her tracking anklet again, I don't care HOW tight she is with the Big Shrew's kid!"

"Tell them I'll call back after dinner." He answered her through a pair of cupped paws, and then picked up his eating utensils again.

"I-I-I think you're going to want to take this now, Uncle," His niece Missy Van Ratten answered. She came into the living room holding a cell-phone out in front of her, like a cross against a vampire.

"What the heck is THIS?" the grey rat wondered, and then sighed, dropped his fork and held out his paw. He'd seen Missy pull this shtick plenty of times before—and knew she wouldn't back off until he agreed to take the call. She was going to make a great attorney in her own right someday…but for now, let's get this business over with.

"All right, who is this?" he demanded, slapping the phone against his cheek, now all but certain that it was Mandy on the other end.

He should have been so lucky...

"Counselor…this is Conor Lewis."

The voice was raspy and maybe a little tired, but the rat attorney didn't notice; he was too busy trying to restrain himself from throwing the phone across the room. Ohhhh, why had he EVER offered to take back that meshuggeneh little silber-fuchs as a client?

"Why'd I ever offer to take his case in the first place?" he asked himself rhetorically, "Because I had no idea he was gonna turn out to be a junior shtarke, that's why."

"What do you want, kid?" he asked, in a voice like a chilled sheet of steel.

If Conor was put off by the rat's response, he didn't show it. His reply was both calm and matter-of-fact.

"Judy Hopps told me you were still willing to represent me as a client…that so?"

Rodenberg wanted to scream 'NO!' except…when the heck had that krolik poltisay had the chance to relay his message?

"When did she tell you this, booby?" he asked, in a voice oozing with sarcasm, "while you were trying to beat her brains out?"

Once again, the young fox answered him calmly.

"Ahhh, I wouldn't put it quite like that, but yeah…that's pretty much how it went down." And then, before the grey rat had time to react, he added, "except she hurt me worse than I hurt her. And right now I'm in a world of hurt. I need a doctor, a good one—one that won't turn me over to the ZPD."

Now Rodenberg wanted to BITE his phone. Of all the stinkin' chutzpah! Of course this was hardly the first time a client had ditched him, only to come crawling back for assistance when he ran out of options; but still…

"Sorry kid; can't help you."

"Mr. Rodenberg." Finally, at last, a thread of entreaty could be heard in the fugitive young silver fox's voice. "They tell me I could die if I don't get treatment…"

"Then call 9-1-1…"

"And I'd rather die than go back to The Point."

Vern Rodenberg would later remember that moment as the closest he came to hanging up on the kid. The only reason he didn't was…wait a minute. The Point…could he possibly be referring to…?

"Kid…are you talking about…Granite Point Youth Correctional Center?"

"That's the place," Conor told him—and then added quickly, "Oh and by the way…you were absolutely right to shine on taking Crazy Wez as your client. That sea-mink wasn't just a loose cannon, he was a loose, stinkin' nuke. No kidding, he'd have torn Junior's head off his shoulders the first time that punk started giving him grief."

Now the grey rat nearly dropped his phone. How the heck did this fox-kid know that The Mister had tried to recruit him to get his nephew out of Granite Point? Nobody outside of The Company knew about that…and every single one of them was either dead or locked up for good.

Or…were they? Was it possible…?

Before he could finish gathering his thoughts, Conor threw another wrench into his brain-works. "In case you're wondering how I ended up there…it happened after the first time I got told that I didn't need a lawyer."

"SQUEEEEEEEE!"

"Uncle Vernon!"

His niece Missy came scurrying into the living room, with a worried look on her face. He immediately waved her off, speaking into the phone with all four of his incisors showing

"Oy, you blackmailing little shmendrik—and I suppose you'll only tell me the rest of it if I agree to help you, huh?"

"I don't wanna die OR go back to Granite Point," Conor informed him, unflinchingly, "You follow what I'm bringing out?"

"Yeah, yeah…I get you, booby." Rodenberg was out of his chair and holding his phone in a death grip. But then he remembered. "Wai-i-it a minute; 'follow what you're bringing out'… that's what the Danaconda always used to say. Is that where you got it from, kid?"

"Mr. Rodenberg…are you still there?" The voice was slurred and airy, "I can't hardly hear you and the room is getting all fuzzy."

Yet again, the grey rat had to resist the urge to destroy his cell-phone.

"Ha, ha, ha…yer a comedian, kid. Okay, you win…but if I'm able to help you, then you're gonna tell me everything, deal?"

"Deal," Conor answered him—in a clear voice and without hesitation.

"Okay," Rodenberg took a breath and then several more, "okay." It was only when he felt his heart rate slowing down that he finally spoke again. "All right kid….I know somebody. What I don't know is if they're available right now. So I'm gonna disconnect and then you call me back in twenty minutes."

"Wouldn't it be easier…?" the young fox started to say, before the rodent attorney cut him off at the pass.

"No…you call ME kid. If I haven't heard a yes by then, I'm not going to, period." His whiskers crinkled slightly. "I'm taking you back as a client, Conor. But that doesn't mean I want the world to know about it—which means I don't want any outgoing calls from me to you showing on my phone records. You follow what I'M bringing out?"

"Five by five," Conor answered, bewildering and gratifying the grey rat all at the same time. It was fine that he got it—but more than a little spooky that a kid his age would understand his reasoning.

Well, maybe when they were able to talk face-to-race. In the meantime…

"Twenty minutes," he said again…and then rang off and began searching through his contacts library.

1549 Skippingstone Wharf, Canal District, Zootopia, 18:14 Hrs, ZST

In another part of the city, Conor Lewis set his phone aside and looked at Erin.

"You don't wanna know."

Her ears shot upwards and her nose began to twitch.

"Huh? I don't want to know…what?"

"What I meant with all that stuff I said about The Point and whatever." The young silver fox replied, waving a paw at the phone he'd set aside on a tray table. "That IS what you were gonna ask me, right?"

Erin's paws jammed downwards and her foot began to thump again. She had nothing to say, but no further answer was necessary.

However that didn't mean she couldn't ask him a different question.

"Okay, fine…but who was that you were talking to?" She seemed to be expecting another stonewall.

Not this time; "That was my attorney, Vern Rodenberg…the only guy I could think of to call for help. He said to call him back in twenty minutes."

"Vern…Rodenberg," Erin spoke the name slowly, as if not quite sure how to pronounce it. "He's the one who used to be a mob lawyer, right?"

Conor had to wonder where she'd heard that, but refused to let it show.

"Still is, as far as I know," he shrugged, and then asked her, "You got a problem with that?"

She responded by plopping herself down onto a nearby stool…set a mite too low for her species.

"Sorry, my problem box is full," she said, "But do you really think he can help you?"

"No idea," Conor told her, stretching his arms above his head, "But if anyone can, it's him. There's nobody who needs doctoring that they don't want the cops to know about more than wiseguys…and please don't ask me how I know that."

"I wasn't going to," the young doe-bunny snapped, immediately giving the lie to her statement by thumping her foot even more loudly.

The rest of the wait passed in a frigid, moody silence.

When Conor called him back, it seemed at first that Mr. Rodenberg wasn't going to pick up. The call only connected after something like a dozen rings.

"Sorry kid, took longer than I thought," the grey rat told him, completely unapologetic, "But I got something. I don't need to know your exact location, but where are you right now?"

"Canal District," the young fox told him, saying nothing more. He wasn't being dodgy; he honestly had no idea where the heck he was beyond that information. It hardly mattered; that was pretty much all the grey rat needed to know—although he hardly found the news to be satisfactory.

"Yeek! Ahhh, yer further away than I thought, kid. Is there any way you can get from there to Outback Island without getting nailed?"

Conor looked towards the door to the waiting room with a slow grin scrolling across his muzzle.

"I-I-I think I can work something out," he said.

"All right kid," the grey rat replied and then an image appeared on the young fox's cell-phone screen, a twin-hulled vessel of some sort, with a hull as white as a glacier. At first Conor didn't have the foggiest notion as to what he was looking at—until his sharp, amber eyes alighted on a tiny red cross emblazoned on the superstructure.

He narrowed his gaze and peered closer.

"Hey, hold up; is that the Mercy Star?"

"You got it kid." Rodenberg informed him, and for the next few seconds the fugitive young silver fox's mind was whirling as he tried to remember what he knew about her.

Originally commissioned as a ferry, she'd been converted into a floating clinic some years earlier, offering free medical care to the poorer neighborhoods of Zootopia, Happytown, the Muddy Swamp, and the like. Their operation was supposed to top notch; they even had their own operating room.

There was just one, itty-bitty little problem…

"Are you nuts or something, Ratso? The minute I set foot on that barge, they'll be on the phone to the cops." The Mercy's Star's crew was known to give up crime suspects to the ZPD. It was such a common occurrence, in fact, that news crews occasionally showed up to film the bust.

Rodenberg bared his incisors at his phone again.

"Don't call me Ratso, kid…and they won't give you up, not when they find out I'm the one sending you."

Conor felt his ears go up.

"Wha…why?"

The reply he got came as a stark reminder that rats can be every bit as sly as foxes when the spirit moves them.

"Ahhh, let's just say we both do work now and then for a guy who doesn't LIKE snitches…and as far as the Mercy Star's crew is gonna know, you're with him. You get the drift, kid?"

The young fox did, although he had to wonder exactly who 'that guy' was; Mr. Big, the Red Pig…or someone else?

Well, he could ask those questions later; right now he needed to get to that boat and the sooner the better.

"Yeah, okay…where, exactly, is she right now?"

"On the back side of the island, in Barramundi Bay; ah, you got any idea where that is?"

No, he didn't…but Billy Mackenna sure as heck would. "I can find it," he told the rat-attorney.

"Okay, they'll be there until 8:30 tomorrow morning. Ehhh, listen kid, you know what's wrong with you, by any chance? It'll help if I can let the docs know what to expect in advance."

Conor reeled off the litany of his injuries and how he'd come by them—drawing a stern look from Erin when he got to the part where she'd kicked him off the fire-escape ladder. He wrapped things up by reciting the diagnosis he'd overheard from the waiting room a short while back.

Rodenberg winced as if he'd stuck himself.

"Ehhh, that doesn't sound too good, kid. All right, get to that boat as quick as you can; I'll try and meet you there."

'As quick as he could' turned out to be not to be as fast as either he or the grey rat would have liked. When he sent Erin to go get Billy, she returned with the news that he was gone.

"What the…?" Conor was up on his elbows in a nanosecond. "Dangit, what's wrong with that stripey-tailed idiot? Doesn't he know that…?"

"Oh, he only went to get fuel; he'll be right back," the young white-furred bunny interrupted—her features suffused with a look of smug enjoyment.

Conor immediately felt his ears turning backwards. Blankety-blank, little white-furred BLANK; she'd held back that last part on purpose—probably as revenge for the way he'd described their encounter on that fire-escape.

But then her nose began to twitch.

"Where the heck are we going anyway? I thought I heard you say something about…what was it, a boat?"

Conor was sorely tempted to respond with something on the order of, 'What do you mean 'we' dumb bunny?' Except, he needed all the help he could get right now.

So instead, he told her. "It's the Mercy Star, a floating clinic that services the poorer parts of Zootopia, free of charge."

"Oh," Erin nodded her understanding, "We have something like that back in Burrow County, too…only it's a bus, not a boat." But then she frowned. "Aren't you afraid they'll call the police on you?"

"Mr. Rodenberg doesn't seem to think so," He grunted, stretching his arms over his head again. Ahhh, his shoulders felt really tight, was that the meds he'd been given, already starting to wear off? God, he hoped not. "He didn't say why, but he kind of hinted that the guy paying their bills is one of the local mob bosses; I got no idea which one."

"A mob boss…funding a free clinic?" Erin was staring at the silver fox as if she'd just observed his spirit leaving his body. "Are you serious, Charcoal-Boy?"

"Heck yeah, I'm serious," he growled, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, "Wiseguy bosses do stuff like that all the time; 'Look, see? I'm a good guy at heart.' And it's not even anything new. Back during the Depression, Al Caprine opened up a whole line of soup kitchens; the only food a lot of folks who'd been thrown out of work were able to get." His eyes narrowed and he could feel his mouth crinkling. "And the Mercy Star's prolly where the guy backing it sends his soldiers when they get hurt—and he doesn't want the ZPD to know about it."

Erin only stared at him again, saying nothing. It didn't matter. Her thoughts could not have been more obvious if she'd been painting them on a billboard; how the heck did he know all that?

Should he tell her? He was going to have to tell Mr. Rodenberg, so why not her too?

"Coz you put her in too much danger ALREADY, ya dumb fox-kid." His inner voice's retort was like a slap across the muzzle.

Okay…scratch that idea. Honestly, why had even thought about opening up to her anyway?

Any further musings along this line were cut off by a noise from the waiting room, the outside door opening and closing, followed by footsteps…at least three sets of them; if that was Billy, he hadn't come back alone.

Conor wasn't the only one who heard it, and while a fox's hearing is seriously sharp, it can't begin to measure up to that of a bunny.

"It's okay," Erin's paw was on top of his. "At least two of them are deer; I think one of them is your buddy, Eez."

She might as well have said nothing. Conor sat up on his elbows again.

Where's my backpack?"

"Wha…? Erin pulled back with her nose twitching. "It's over there by the coat rack, but why…?"

"Bring it here." His voice was like a steel bridge-cable.

"Wh-What for?"

"Don't argue, bring it…please."

It was the last word that did it…not an order but a desperate appeal. She hopped over, grabbed the pack, and then hopped back to where the fugitive young silver-fox was waiting.

He took hold of the pack just as the door opened.

It was Eez all right…along with three other kids, the young black bear, Root, a beaver whose name was either Brian or Brendan—Conor couldn't remember which—and a deer he hadn't seen before, this one a doe, about the same age as the blacktail buck.

She wasn't a blacktail deer herself, but she might as well have been; everything else about her was the color of midnight. Her ears, her lips, her eyelids, even the end of her muzzle; her hooves had likewise been blackened with lacquer. She was clad in a short, black skirt, secured by a burgundy-red belt, a black t-shirt decorated with red, runic symbols, and a black hoodie that was fraying around the edges. The only bright spot was the silver ankh, dangling from a chain around her neck.

Glancing sideways, Conor saw that Erin's ears were wilting and that she had taken a tense step backwards. He could hardly fault her; he, himself, would not have been greatly surprised to see the newcomer open her mouth to reveal a set of bloodsucking fangs.

It was Eez who broke the ice.

"Whoa dude, thank God we got to you before…" He snorted and swallowed hard, "Brent…go keep watch out front." He waited until the beaver was gone and turned his attention to Conor again. "Listed dude, you've got problems."

"Ya think?" the young fox answered with an eyebrow squiggling upwards. This was no time for sarcasm, but he couldn't help it.

"No, we mean you've got NEW problems!" It was Root, sounding more scared than exasperated; almost on the tipping point of panic.

"All right…what?" Erin demanded, unable to keep silent any longer.

Eez ushered the other deer forward.

"Guys…this is my girlfriend Stacy; Stace…tell them what you told me."

At once, Conor felt an ear going up. His GF, did he say? That was unusual; heck it was almost weird. Goths, as a rule, only hang out with other Goths…and Eez was anything but.

But then with her first words, Stacy made it abundantly clear that while she might be dressed as a Goth, she sure as heck didn't ACT the part.

"Wow, fox….like it's really you. I never thought I'd ever get to meet you f-2-f." She was as bubbly as a groupie, meeting her thirst object for the very first time.

Conor's other ear went up to join the first one. F-2-f; nobody used that expression in regular conversation except…

He was in the presence of another hacker.

Eez, meanwhile, was nudging her in the elbow.

"Uhhh, Stace…!"

"Oh, right, right, right." She shook her head as though she had only just now awakened. But what she had to say next wasn't just dead serious; it was deadly serious. "It's all over the web, Conor. There's a $50 K reward out for your capture."

"Kgrrf!"

The sound the young fox made fell somewhere between a snort and a growl. Whatever; it was an unmistakable utterance of derision.

"Seriously?" he shook his head, looking almost like a disappointed teacher, "Give it up Stacy; no way is John Law gonna offer that kind of dinero for MY bushy, lil' tail; the whole thing's bogus." He fell back on his pillow again, rubbing his paws and sniggering. "Heck, if I knew who started that rumor, I'd buy 'em a case of their favorite pop; now the ZPD's gonna get hammered with calls from animals saying they've seen me or know where to find me—which means that even if any of 'em turn DO out to be legit, by the time the cops get 'em sorted out from the cranks, they'll be completely worthless."

He started to laugh but then stopped abruptly; neither one of the two young deer was showing even the slightest bit of amusement.

"Dude, it's not just a rumor," Eez insisted. Dipping a hoof in his pocket, he came up with a folded printout, which he carefully unfolded and then passed to the skeptical young silver fox.

It was dampish, but still legible. And when Conor took it and began to read, he felt as if he'd been given an injection of Freon. In his short time on the planet he'd seen more than a few wanted posters…and this one practically screamed 'real deal'—through a megaphone.

There, beneath a caption reading, "Wanted, Reward Offered" was his booking photo, front and side view, digitally updated to reflect his latest color scheme. Below this was a list of his crimes, which now included not only assaulting a police officer, but assault with a deadly weapon and incitement to riot. That he could live with; except he now saw that he was wanted in connection with the cyberattack on ZPD Precinct-1.

"Okay fox-kid, keep it together. Getting torqued won't help you. Just keep reading. This thing can't be…hey-y-y-y, okayyy, bingo!"

He slapped down the paper like a winning poker hand.

"Just like I thought—bogus," He was indicating a paragraph near the bottom of the document. "Look here; the reward isn't for info leading to my arrest and conviction; you've gotta deliver me in furson to collect. No way is the ZPD going to go in for something like THAT."

"It's not the Z…" Stacy tried to tell him, but Conor just rolled right over her.

"…OR the Zootopia Bankers Association—yeah, I saw that, too—and if even they did, the cops would be all over 'em like a car fire." He slapped the printout with the back of his paw, "Stinkin' hoax!"

That was apparently all that Stacy could take. She flung herself over the prostrate young silver fox, straddling him with her hooves and getting a whole lot closer than he would have liked.

"You stupid little moron, it doesn't MATTER if it's bogus if everyone thinks it's the real thing!" Her hoof dove into her pocket, coming up with another document that she didn't bother to unfold, but practically flung in Conor's face. "Take a good look, fox-boy; those are just a few of the comments."

She stepped back again, folding her arms and glowering.

"Crikes," Conor had to wonder, "Is THIS the same valley-girl who was almost gushing over me a minute ago?

He unfolded the paper as if he were defusing a bomb. It was a printout of a Preddit page…and as the fugitive young silver fox began to read, he could feel his tail frizzing and his paws starting to tremble. Holy foxtrot, it was worse than he thought; like sharks gearing up for a feeding frenzy.

"What the heck is wrong with mammals?" he growled silently, at the same time gnashing his teeth. "How the heck could anyone fall for something so stinkin' phony?"

Well, never mind; they had fallen for it. Eez and his girlfriend had been sooo right to come here and warn…

At that instant, the door handle began to rattle.

Everyone tensed…except for Conor, who grabbed swiftly for his backpack again, reaching hurriedly inside and finding…

Before he could complete the move, the door banged open…revealing a thoroughly irritated Billy McKenna.

"Oi, someone needs t' tell that rabbit-nurse to fix that bloody thing," he said, stepping into the room and closing it behind him, "Where'd she go, anyway…?" But then he stopped, noticing for the first time all the staring faces. "Cor, what's going on in 'ere, then?"

Conor gave him the short version. "Somebody put a $50 thousand smacker reward on my head. It's bogus, but a whole lot of animals think it's real."

"Wha…?" Billy's mouth fell open and his paws dropped limply to his side. "Yer jokin', aren't yer mate?"

"Wish I was, but no, "Conor shook his head grimly, regarded the Tasmanian Tiger with a flinty gaze. "Billy, I got no right to ask you this with a bounty on my tail, but I gotta. I…" he coughed hard, and cleared his throat. Dangit, he was starting to slip already, "But my lawyer came through with a doctor that can help me…only I gotta get to Outback Island by 8:30 tomorrow if…"

But Billy already had his paw up. "Say no more mate; we're out of here."

"NO!"

Eez and Root were screaming in almost perfect harmony.

"Dude, you can't!" the deer-buck protested, making stopping motions with his hooves. "You'll never make it past the Muddy Swamp, not with half the homies in the city looking for you. Conor, show him that Preddit page."

"Save it mate," Billy fanned a paw at young blacktail buck, "I can guess for meself what it says."

"Guys this is the CANAL District, remember?" Stacy was almost apoplectic. "You know who hangs out here? You'll get caught for sure if you try to make a run for it."

"Then that's what's going to happen."

Every head in the room turned. The speaker wasn't Conor—it was Erin.

"Listen, there's something you don't know," she told them, nodding quietly in the silver fox's direction, "He's a lot sicker than he looks; if he doesn't get to Outback Island, and right away, he could die."

"Didn't you hear what Stacy said…he'll never make it!" Eez was flapping his arms as if attempting to become airborne.

"Well then, what else are we s'posed to do, eh?" Billy's chin was jutting forward and his knuckles were on his hips.

It was Root, the black bear, who answered him. "Call 9-1-1 and get an ambulance. Look I know it bites, but…"

"No! Way!" Conor's verdict was as final as an ax, splitting a log.

He had more to say but then the door-handle began to rattle again and a quavering voice spoke up from the other side. "Eez, it's Bren…"

That was all the young beaver managed to say before the door burst inwards with an earsplitting crack.