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The Fire Triangle

Part Two:

Oxidizer

Chapter 9: Conor's Story
(Continued…Part 8)

Can you feel my skin?
Can you feel my bones?
Can you put my spine in plaster and take me home?

So unpleasant, inside and out
So unpleasant, inside and out
If you like, I'll tell you about it
You wouldn't want to know

My heads full of water
Tears I never cried
Could you hold me under the shower
In the cold outside?

So unsteady, inside and out
So unsteady, inside and out
If you like, I'll tell you about it
You wouldn't want to be

Separated out!

Marillion – Separated Out

"This kid is either the craziest, cleverest, dumbest, or bravest bunny in the city of Zootopia. No, scratch that—in all of CREATION. And when you consider who her sister is…that's saying something and a half!"

As attorney to The Mob, Vernon J. Rodenberg was no stranger to stunning revelations. He'd stopped counting at ten the number of times a client had told him, "Lissen, there's something else I needa tellya..."

Even so, the bombshell Erin Hopps just dropped had been an absolute stunner; enough to blow him clear into the middle of next Passover. When she'd finished her story, the grey rat had insisted on hearing it again.

And both times, the young doe-bunny had held up like a rock. She really had grabbed Conor from behind—on purpose—in order to deliberately set him off.

Flabbergasted as he was by what she'd done, Rodenberg couldn't fault the reckoning behind it. Yes, that fox-kid might have killed her, and yes—her gambit had nearly brought him to death's door.

But better that than Conor Lewis becoming a murderer. However recklessly Erin might have gone about it, she'd been 1000% correct in wanting to stop him from clipping that coyote-kid. Once you crossed that line, you never came back—and no one knew that better than a mob lawyer.

There was just one thing still eating at him.

He knew who Craig Guilford was, yet another meshugenneh little shmendrik…the 'yote-kid who'd served as his father's eyes-on-the-ground, when he'd tried to launch a chemical attack on the Carrot Days Festival. Certainly, that punk hated rabbits…and the Hopps clan in particular. It was Erin's sister, Judy, who had busted him after all.

All right, BUT…had that been reason enough for Conor to go after him with lethal intentions? True, this was assuming Ms. Hopps account just now had been accurate—but Rodenberg was all but certain that it had. As he'd recently reminded his once-and-prospective client, he had radar for that sort of thing.

Except…Erin had told the truth all right, but it hadn't been the whole truth; of that the grey rat was equally certain. Something was missing here; something that he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Unfortunately, it was also something he needed to know.

With that in mind, he assumed his most formal manner.

"Ms. Hopps, there's still one thing I don't understand. Why would Conor want to END that coyote-kid?" He shifted his gaze to the silver fox on the exam table, putting extra emphasis on the word, "WHY?"

Erin tried to answer, but all that came out was a tearful whimper. The young silver fox on the exam table had better luck.

"Nooo, better let me tell him, bunny-girl." With that, he shifted his gaze in Vern Rodenberg's direction, sending a small shiver through the grey rat's tail. His client's eyes were like coals in a forge—and when he spoke, his voice was as cool and precise as a stiletto. "Craig Guilford killed a friend of mine…in the Precinct-1 jail, during the riot. Sand-cat I know…uh, knew from school, kid named Saad al-Zaqir." He angled his muzzle sideways for a second, "Erin saw him do it,"

For the second time in less than five minutes, Vern Rodenberg was nearly bowled over backwards. "What is this?" Oy, just when he was starting to recover from that last blockbuster. He shifted in his chair, favoring the white-furred young bunny with his famously penetrating gaze. "This is true?"

She blinked back tears and nodded, still unable to speak.

Rodenberg hurriedly checked himself, allowing his expression to mellow and also his voice. Stupid, stupid, stupid…this was no hardball gangster, just a frightened young girl, "And with good reason," he reminded himself.

"Tell me what happened…please," he said.

"She was…" Conor started to say, but was stopped by the rat's raised paw.

"Sorry Booby…I need to hear it from her." He turned to Erin again, his eyes and his tone not unkind. "Please…I know this is difficult, but please try."

Somehow, the young doe-bunny managed it. She stammered her way through most of the story, and broke down sobbing at one point—but she was able to get through it, just the same.

Glancing sideways at Conor for a second, Rodenberg had no lingering doubts as to the fugitive young silver fox's murderous intentions—nor was he surprised, given what he'd learned of his client's history since arriving on board the Mercy Star.

And on that note, he had business to attend to—serious business, very serious.

He stood up and cleared his throat.

"Ms Hopps," he said, once more addressing her formally, "I came here in order to make a final determination as to whether I should continue to represent Mr. Lewis there as his attorney." He cleared his throat a second time. "But now…I should like to offer you my services as well."

"You…huh, what?" Erin's left ear was up and her nose was twitching.

It was Conor who explained it. "He's offering to become YOUR lawyer, Erin."

"Wha…Why?" Now both of her ears were up. "What do I need a lawyer for?"

"Well, for one thing," Rodenberg sat back down again, his face assuming a dry expression, "Correct me if I'm wrong young lady, but didn't you break out of jail the other night?"

"Well…yeah," she admitted, ears pulling backwards as if someone were yanking on them, "But I had to; Craig Guilford was chasing me. It was the only way to get away from him."

Rodenberg sat up again, fast. "So, that coyote-kid knows…he knows that you saw what he did?"

"Y-Yes," she admitted, trying not to turn away.

"Hmmmm" the grey rat stroked at his whiskers, mulling her words. Oy, this put yet another spin on Conor's attempted vendetta; maybe it hadn't been so much an act of vengeance as a pre-emptive strike—getting to that psycho-coyote before HE could get to Erin.

And speaking of Conor…Ahhhh, he should have told that kid to zip it when he had the chance.

"Right, and THAT'S why you should accept Mr. Rodenberg's offer, bunny-girl." He tapped himself in the chest, "Take it from a fox who knows; you absolutely don't wanna have to explain all that for yourself."

"Exactly," the grey rat concurred, nodding and hiding his relief. "Listen to your boyf…your boy, Erin. He's exactly right." He narrowed his eyes and looked sideways, lowering his voice to a murmur, "for once!"

"I..." Erin shrugged helplessly, "I don't know if my family can…how much…?"

"Ah, don't worry about that, kiddo" The grey rat answered, waving a breezy paw, "The offer's pro-bono."

"Pro-bono," Conor started to say, "that means…"

"I know what it means, Charcoal-Boy!" Erin glared at him for second, before returning her gaze to Mr. Rodenberg. "Can I…? I need to think about it."

"Sure…you don't need to answer right now," he told her, nodding, "Tell you what—why don't you hold that thought until Conor finishes with the rest of his story?"

As he said this, he shot another sideways glance at the fugitive young silver-fox, a look that practically screamed, 'So, get ON with it, Booby!'

Ohhh-kayyy, where were we, again? Oh right…the morning after they brought me to see Wayne Babin. Right…well, I didn't have a whole lot of time to feel glad that he was gone. I had barely finished my morning yawn-and-stretch when Dr. Winters came by for another visit. "Ahhh, foxin'-A!" I remember thinking, "here we go again!" She had orderlies with her, both of them packing restraints—and that only meant ONE thing.

Yes…and no. I was not—thank God—subjected to another game of 'Grab-The-Fox-Kid's-Neck-And-See-What-Happens.' Instead, I was brought to the examination room, where Doc W gave me the usual twice over before sending me back to my cell. Just the same, I couldn't help but feel antsy—because that was how she had been acting. All through my checkup, she'd looked like she was ready to scoot out under the door at any second. When she went to take a blood sample, she had to stick me five times before she found a vein. Goes without saying that I didn't complain, much less ask her what the problem was…not with that moose standing by, taser in hoof.

Mind you, my anxiety level had managed to build up pretty good on its own by then. The heck with all those nice colors and soft lights, the ward where they were holding me had turned into one seriously creepy place by then. There were always at least two other kids in the cells close to mine—I could smell them if I couldn't see or hear them—but none of them ever spoke to me, or even to any of the staff.

I heard lots of whimpering and sniffling, though. Sometimes I heard screams—which always brought the orderlies on the run. They also showed up pretty sweet quick if I tried to call out to any of the others. And none of 'em ever answered me, not even once. Heck, they never even seemed to notice I was there; it was like I was shouting into the wind or something.

But then, one time, Dr. Ponder came by to pay me a visit…sort of. He didn't have me brought out of my cell, and he never said a word to me. He only stood there at the window, looking me over as if I'd just crawled out from under a rock. I was sorely tempted to give him the tombstones, but I knew…

Oh, uhhh, the tombstones? That's Point-Speak for baring all your teeth at someone. Anyway, I didn't do it. Dr. Beaverboard had some major backup tagging along; a hippo and a grizzly bear, both of them fully loaded. Finally, he just turned away, muttering under his breath, "Idiot!"

Somehow, I knew he wasn't talking about me.

For the next few days—I don't know how many—it was me, myself, and the orderlies again. Oh, and the flat-screen, I forgot to mention that bad boy.

You've read George Boarwell's 1984, right? Remember that mandatory gadget everyone had in their den, the…telescreen, I think it was called; played propaganda 24/7, and you could never turn it off? That's basically what I had. Whenever it was on, it would either show relaxation videos, or these really cheap, bad, motivational cartoons. The stories varied, but the messages were all the same—be good, behave, and do as you're told—and remember that we're only here to help you.

Gahhh, those vids were awful. I used to wonder, where the heck they got those things, North Korea? And there was no way to shut them off or even turn down the volume.

Ah, but eventually I found a way to make it stop. I started playing Rifftrax with those cartoon-vids whenever they came on—talking way raunchier than what you see on DVD. Hee…it used to bug the snot out of orderlies. Whenever they'd come in and ask me to cool it, they were always polite and friendly, but I could tell; they wanted nothing more than to throw open the door to my cell and shut me up the hard way.

Uh, no…honestly, I wasn't afraid they might. Somewhere, deep down, I had come to the conclusion that I was too valuable to be given any thump therapy. I had no idea why but I knew. Whatever…my plan worked. After only a couple more days, bang…no more propaganda videos, no more anything on that stupid flat screen.

That is, until late one night, when I was sound asleep, and heard a buzzy voice barking, "Wake up! Wake up!"

I sat up quickly and saw that the monitor was powered-up. There was no picture; the only way I could tell that it was on was coz it was almost pitch-dark in my cell.

But then this super-bright light hit me from somewhere outside in the corridor. I remember that it looked a little bit prismatic from passing through the Plexiglas. And then, I heard the door slide open.

For a second or two I panicked. Oh, no…this was where the orderlies paid me back for all the wisecracks I'd dropped during those motivational cartoons.

But then I heard Doc Winters speaking. "Hurry up…quickly," her voice was hushed and anxious—almost a whisper.

Responding to her command, the orderlies fitted me with the usual restraints. I began to wonder…why the heck didn't they turn the lights on? And what time was it anyway? I had no way of knowing—there was no clock, and I hadn't seen the sun since I'd been brought here—but somehow, I knew it was the dead of night.

When I got a better sniff of the orderlies, I was even more certain. Usually, there was at least one hoofed mammal in the mix, but not tonight. This time it was Bigwolf, a smaller wolf. and a swamp bear—three species with excellent night-vision and a super-keen sense of smell. Just what the heck was going on here?

They cuffed me to a wheelchair and brought me straight to the examination room. They'd never done it that way before, and at first, I thought it was in order to get me there quickly. But no, they wheeled me along at a slow walk; really slow, almost sloth speed. After a minute or two, I began to notice that everyone was doing their darndest not to make any noise. No one spoke a single word, not even under their breath. And—why were they all wearing booties on their feet and walking extra soft-like? Myself, I didn't need to be told to keep quiet, the wolf holding a stun-gun to my ear pretty much took care of that problem.

When they brought me to the exam room, things got even weirder. There was a camera, mounted directly over the table, but this time it was pointing in a different direction.

Not only that, why was the smaller wolf watching the hallway through that little window in the door? That'd never been done the previous times I was brought here.

And then there was Dr. Winters. Except for my first session, she had always spoken into a voice recorder while examining me. This time, she used a tablet and kept stopping to make notes on it.

Other than that, it was the usual routine; blood pressure, temperature, and the other vitals, followed by electrodes and blood samples.

But then, something different happened. Doc Dormouse climbed up onto my chest, gazing down at me with her teeth clicking. I could also see her tail shivering…so fast that it looked like it was going to snap off at the base at any second. All the while, she kept taking in these slow, deep breaths, like she was trying to calm herself.

And then, finally, she looked to her right.

"All right, go ahead."

I felt a sting in my arm, and for a moment, I thought they were taking another blood sample. But then I felt a spreading warmth, and knew that I'd been injected with something.

And that was all I felt; as soon as the warm-thing faded away, it was like I'd been given just saline solution or something. There were no anxious feelings, no drowsiness, no nothing. From where I was lying, I had a decent view of the readout monitor and as far as I could tell, there were no changes in any of the lines. For some reason, I thought Dr. Winters would be bothered by that, but she only nodded in satisfaction.

She did, however, give me a thump in the chest—pretty solid for someone her size—and then I heard her hiss, "Work, dang you!"

I just lay there, feeling no different than I had before getting that injection.

Except for one thing…the pain in my arm. It wasn't bad, nothing more than a little sting.

Except…it felt exactly the same as the one from last time—when I'd awakened in my cell after being set off on purpose. I had assumed, back then, that it had come from a tranq-dart. Now, I wasn't so sure.

And…what the heck had they just given me?

They left me like that for an hour—I think—and then brought me to the 'trigger-room,' as I'd started to call it. When I realized where they were taking me, I started begging and pleading, "Please, not again…please!" Even though I couldn't remember anything from my previous blackouts, I for sure didn't wanna go through another one. No way did I want to wake up, feeling like THAT again.

As you prolly guessed already, they ignored me. The only difference was…this time, they had Wolfie suit up before they removed my restraints. Other than that, it was the same old song and dance.

But then, after everyone else left the room…nothing happened. Bigwolf just stood there, watching the window and waiting for the signal—but it didn't come. What the fox now? Glancing to my left, I saw Dr. Winters peering intently through the Plexiglas. The expression on her face reminded me of the way Mr. Kaneska used to look, while watching the Pawerball numbers being drawn.

And then, finally, she said it. "Turn around, please."

"No!"

"Holy foxtrot", I remember thinking, "where did THAT come from?" It was the first time I'd refused an order since—whoa, since the day I'd been arrested. Just the same, I was determined to stand my ground.

Doc Winters only stared for a second, like she couldn't believe what she'd heard. Then she repeated the order, this time stapling each word to the ground as she spoke. "Turn—around—please."

Again, I refused…and her next command was directed at Wolfie. "All right, make him turn around."

Bigwolf promptly made a grab for me, but I ducked easily out his reach. That was when I realized something—something I should have noticed earlier, dumb fox! All that body armor might have made wolf-guy untouchable—but it also made him slower than a wind-up robot-toy. And don't forget…you're talking to the Ringolevio Kid over here.

He chased me all over the trigger room, and never came close to laying a paw on me. All the while, I kept up a steady stream of trash talk…mostly about his species. "Whoa, you guys really CAN huff and puff, can'tchya?" On the other side of the Plexiglas, Dr. Winters was jumping around like a kangaroo mouse, and looking like her head was two shakes from exploding.

Yeah, I knew that what I was doing was dangerous—but for once, I didn't care. A fox, even a fox-kit, can only take so much. And anyway, what were they gonna do, send me to The Clinic?

Then Bigwolf made another grab for me, and almost fell on his face. He straightened up fast, a little too fast, and I couldn't resist the opening. I jumped up in a fox-pounce, hitting him square in the chest when I landed. And just as I'd hoped, the impact, plus the extra weight made him topple over backwards. I bailed off just before he landed, yelling, "Timberrrrrr…WOLF!" The icing on the cake was that when he hit the floor, he was like a turtle rolled on its back; couldn't get up to save his life.

So, what was I supposed to do? I jumped on his chest, lifted my nose, and howled at the ceiling.

Yeah, foxes can howl—not as good as wolves or coyotes, but we can pull it off when we have to.

And that was when someone else snagged me from behind.

When I came to, my first thought was "Dangit, I should have been watching the door." Looking around, I saw that I was back in my cell again. The next thing I noticed was that my body was a mass of aches and pains…but hey, at least I wasn't cuffed or muzzled. Swinging off the bed, I felt a burning, slashing sensation across my chest. When I looked down, I saw that it was wrapped in a thick layer of bandages. I knew then that I'd probably done some damage this time—and I couldn't have cared less. As far as I was concerned, Dr. Dormouse and her merry band of jerks had brought it on themselves.

It was then that my nose caught a familiar scent, and when I looked up, I saw one of the orderlies I knew, a bighorn sheep, standing sentry outside my door. Hmm, there was another new development. When I'd awakened after my previous trigger sessions, I had always been alone. Anyway, when I tried to talk to my new bud, he ignored me like I wasn't there.

Okay, NOW I was beginning to feel uneasy.

I was kept under guard for two more days, with an orderly outside my door at all times. They worked in three, rotating shifts, and not one of them ever said a word to me. Whoa, what the heck had I done the other night?

On the third day, Dr. Ponder came by again. Sheesh, was this beaver-guy ever not in a bad mood…although, just like last time, I sensed that it wasn't because of me.

And once again, he was stingy with his words.

"You'll be leaving us tomorrow; we're sending you back to Granite Point." That was all he said, before he turned to go.

Okay…that was it, I couldn't keep my fox-trap shut any longer. "Where's Dr. Winters?"

Why did I ask…? Coz, I was beginning to think I might have hurt her, or even worse. When I'd been grabbed from behind that other night, had the door to the trigger-room been open? More and more, I was starting to think that yes, it had. It wasn't that I felt guilty or anything; I didn't. But if I had done a number on that dormouse…hear that loud, jingling noise? It's the sound of a key being tossed.

Anyway, Dr. Ponder just looked at me over his shoulder for a second. "You won't be seeing her again," was all he said…and then he left without anther words; it was the last time I ever saw him.

But not Doc Winters; he was wrong about that…we both were.

As far as going back to Granite Point went, I had very mixed feelings. The food might be terrible and the cells garbage dumps…but at least I wouldn't go stir-crazy, locked up day and night, with nobody to talk to.

Nooo, I didn't stop to wonder why they were sending me back; that came later. My biggest concern right then was…by now The Enforces must for sure, have found a replacement for me. Would I have to wait for another opening before they'd let me join up again? Or…would they let me back in at all? I finally decided, no sense fretting…I'd find out when I hit The Point. The only thing I knew for certain was that I wouldn't be coming back here again, at least not any time soon. Unlike the last Enforcer kid who'd done time in this little funhouse, I was still in full possession of my marbles.

Okay…yeah, but I still had something like a zillion unanswered questions.

For starters, I didn't have to be a whiz kid to know that my last session in the trigger room had been completely unauthorized; deep down, I'd known it all along. That was why I'd said no when Dr. Winters had ordered me to turn around…or that had been part of it, anyway.

But, assuming that dormouse-doc was still alive, what the heck had happened to her? I had no idea, but I was willing to bet that whatever it was, it went way beyond a pink slip and an order to clean out her desk. And on that same subject, had my refusal to play ball with her been the thing that blew her cover? Was that at least part of the reason she was gone? Once again, I didn't feel guilty, only curious. As far as I was concerned, whatever had gone down with her, she'd been asking for it.

And nobody had MADE her leave the door to the trigger-room open.

Besides, my game of Ringolevio with Bigwolf had been the most fun I'd had since the day I'd hit the road with Jimmy.

But the Final Jeopardy Question was…WHAT had been the point of all my visits to the trigger-room? What the heck had Doc Winters been trying to accomplish? And—okay, one more question—what the fox had been in that shot she'd had them give me?

Well, I figured, flopping back down on my bed and closing my eyes, I'd probably never know, so why dwell on it? And on that thought, I drifted off to sleep.

They came for me two days later…around noontime rather than the crack of dawn, which surprised me. I was shackled and cuffed, but no muzzle, thank God.

It was my first time seeing The Clinic from the outside, and let me tell you, that place was every bit as spotless on the outside as on the inside; gleaming steel, squeaky-clean glass; the hedges were so neatly trimmed, I thought at first that they might have been artificial. Seriously, if you didn't know better, you could have mistaken this joint for the office of some super hi-tech outfit—although you'd never have known for certain. There wasn't a clue to be seen anywhere as to who the heck owned this place; no name on the front, no corporate logo, nothing. The number above the entrance was printed in such tiny numerals, you'd have needed a pair of hi-def binoculars to read them.

After about a ten-minute wait, a gray van with the AKER monogram pulled up and a pair of guards got out. I recognized one of them immediately; Ravenclaw, the puma whose pet tarantula had been the Mearns brothers' unwilling lunch guest. The other guy was a bighorn ram I didn't recognize. There was no sign of Lurch, which was kind of another surprise.

I remember the orderlies who brought me outside, telling The Point guys, "Whatever you do, don't grab this fox-kid from behind."

"We know, we know!" Blackbird…excuse me, Ravenclaw growled. "You should have seen what he did to that sable kid."

"Not that the little psycho didn't deserve it," the sheep added, spitting on the ground for emphasis. Hmmm, did that mean EVERYONE back at The Point thought Wayne Babin was toast?

That was pretty much the end of their conversation; without a bleat or a growl, they put me in the van and we were off.

I had no idea where we were or what route we were taking; there were no windows in the back of that van, and a mesh barrier, between me and the driver's compartment, kept me from seeing out through the windshield. Oh well, no biggie; I knew where we were headed, so what difference did it make?

The trip back to Granite Point took maybe three hours. It would have been quicker if my escorts hadn't insisted on stopping for lunch at this diner on the way. And of course, they didn't order anything for me.

"Tough luck, fox-kid," Blackbird told me from the driver's seat, licking his chops as we drove away.

I just shrugged. "No worries; I don't think they had tarantula on the menu anyway."

We came that close to going off the road.

Yeeahhh…I knew I was gonna get it later on for that little snark; but right then, my attitude was the ol' standby, 'then that's what's gonna happen.'

In the end, Ravenclaw never got the chance for any payback…at least not right away. When we arrived back at The Point, who should be waiting to meet me at the gate, but my dear old friend, Lurch. "I'll take it from here," he said…and poor Blackbird looked sooo disappointed.

Not that I was getting off scot-free, the next thing that polar bear said was addressed to yours truly. "Heard you made some trouble at The Clinic." And with that, he hauled me off to The Hole.

Even as the door closed behind me, I suspected that Lurch didn't have a clue as to what had really gone down with me while I'd been away. Tossing me in The Hole again was prolly standard procedure for any kid being brought back to The Point from The Clinic. Hmmm, should I tell him that Wayne Babin was still alive? Nooo, he may have known already—and if he didn't, it might be better to wait for a more strategic moment to give him the news. In the meantime, there was nothing to do but wait to be let out of here.

The next morning, after a 'breakfast' that almost made me homesick for The Clinic, the flap over the floor-level door slot creaked upwards, and wee, familiar figure came scurrying into my cell.

It was Bob Mearns.

I drew back fast, hunkering in a protective crouch. The last I'd seen this grasshopper mouse, I'd been working him over with a piece of rope, along with his brother, Ben. Well…okay, not the very last time, but you know what I mean.

When Bob saw what I was doing, he sat up fast on his haunches and raised his paws. "No Al…it's okay, Wez sent us."

I relaxed…but only a little. "Us? Where's your brother?"

"Ben's outside, keeping watch," he hissed, glancing furtively over his shoulder at the door-slot "Look, I only have about a minute."

I relaxed the rest of the way—at last realizing what the deal was. The shrew-kid Thread was gone, and probably Needle too. And who better to replace them in The Enforcers than the Mearns brothers?

"Okay, I getcha," I said, getting to my feet again, "But what the heck are you doing here?" He'd taken no small risk, sneaking into my cell like that.

His answer came so rapidly, I had trouble understanding him.

"Two reasons; to make sure it's really you…and to give you a message. Next opening we get in the Enforcers, you're back again. Okay, I gotta boogie."

And with that, he darted back out the door-slot and was gone. I watched him go and then went to the corner and sat down.

So…I had been replaced. I wasn't surprised, but I couldn't help feeling disappointed. Hmmm, I wondered who the new guy was? Well, whoever it was, there was no point holding my breath, waiting for another opening. When I'd originally been recruited into The Enforcers, I'd been their first new in almost a year. Okay, fine…but what should I do in the meantime, try to hook up with a different crew? Would any of them even have me? And even if I was good to go, what would Wez say…? Well, I'd certainly consult with him about it first, I owed him that much, if nothing else.

One thing I wasn't worried about was getting my tail kicked by another kid when I got out of Total Iso. Though I was no longer a member of the Enforcers, I had the very strong feeling that I was still under their protection. Why else would Wez have had Mearns brothers come see me? Knowing him, that had been his way of sending a message: 'Lay off the silver-fox—or else!'

When I did get out of the hole, three days later, I was surprised to find myself assigned to a private cell—on the ground floor no less. Was this more of Crazy Wez's doing? Yes…and no, as I was about to discover very shortly. I had just finished getting my bunk stowed away, when someone rapped on the bars, and a familiar scent caught my nose.

I turned around, and there he was, "Cutty!"

I ran over and hugged him. He picked me up and returned it, and then set me down again, wiping his nose with the back of his paw.

"Whoa mommal," his voice was slightly cracked, and his accent way stronger than usual. "When dey took you 'way to De Clinic, I t'ought for sure I nebbah gonna see you again."

I waved a paw, "Ahhhh, takes more'n a place like that to put ME down!" What can I say, I was feeling cocky right then. And then, I just couldn't help asking, "Who'd they get to replace me?"

Cutty's eyes shifted sideways for half a second,

"Bloke named Calvin, Calvin Givers; Furrida Pan'ter. We call him Hitch."

I felt my ears go up. Didn't The Enforcers already have a big cat? "What, not another small mammal?"

Cut threw up a paw in a one-armed shrug. "I know, right? But Wez knows him from outside, from back when…" He stopped and flipped a paw back and forth. "Ahhh, betta let him tell it. He waitin' to see you, in de library."

"Good," I said. I wanted to see him too.

On the way there, Cutty filled me in on some of the other events that had taken place in my absence. Although Needle had sustained only minor injuries from being thrown against the wall by Wayne Babin…just as I'd figured, he'd been basically done afterwards, a basket case. In fact, he'd been sent to The Clinic only a few days after me.

"You didn't see him while you deah?" Cut asked me, tail twitching in confusion.

"Nope," I answered honestly, "Except for the docs, I didn't see any rodents while I was there; didn't smell any either."

On the subject of rodents, the grasshopper mice who'd replaced Needle and Thread had been a hit with the crew from the moment they'd joined.

"'Specially wit' Scorp." Cut informed me, flashing his trademark pearly grin. "Grasshoppa mouse an' honey-badgah, dey bot' got immun'ty to poison, eh?" That, in fact, was how Scorp had gotten his nickname—by being repeatedly stung by his namesake and suffering zero ill effects. Needless to say, he got along splendidly with a pair of rodents that ate those bad boys for snacks. Ben and Bob's nicknames in The Enforcers were Slice and Dice—a reference to what happened to any large insect unfortunate enough to cross their path.

When we got to the library, I was surprised to find not only Wez but the entire crew waiting to greet me. And, would you believe it? When I walked in, they gave me a standing ovation—and then some. They whooped, they cheered, they bellowed; the Mearns brothers were up on their haunches and howling their little heads off.

It just plain blew me away. Holy foxtrot! I had been hoping for a friendly reception when I got back to The Point, but I'd never expected a stinkin' hero's welcome…and what the heck FOR?

Then Wez came bounding over the table, and threw me in a hug that nearly dislocated my neck. Heh, same old sea-mink; he never did anything half-way. In the next few minutes, I found out the reason for my joyous reception.

When I'd been hauled off to The Clinic, everyone had been sure they'd seen the last of me—especially considering the reason I'd been sent there. Even the kids who got transferred to that place as a disciplinary measure didn't always come back. At least a third of the time, they were never seen again. And of those who did return, maybe half came back as damaged goods.

But me? I'd gone berserk and nearly killed another kid…and I couldn't remember any of it. There isn't a Juvie in the world that won't send you to straightjacket-city after an incident like that. Honestly, if there's anyone who should have been hauled off to The Clinic with no return ticket, it's this silver-fox kid right here. Instead, I was back in Granite Point again—and I had returned not only with my head on straight, but looking better than before I'd left. At least, that's what the guys kept telling me—and could it be true? I sure as heck no idea; I hadn't seen myself in a mirror since…well, since I could remember.

Yeah, Erin, there'd been mirrors in The Clinic. I could have checked myself out if I'd wanted to—only I didn't want to; don't forget what my face looked like back then. Since the day that jerk of a guard had forced me to see my reflection, I'd been avoiding it like the plague.

But that wasn't the only reason for my spike in popularity. A lot of it came from my fight with Wayne Babin. As far as everyone in the room was concerned—after what he'd done to Needle and Thread that dirt-bag sable had gotten exactly what was coming to him,

And I was the one who 'd given him his payback.

"Burn forever, slimeball!" Wez hissed, spitting hard on the floor.

Whoa, so they thought that sable-boy was dead, too. Aggggh, grrrr, like it or not, I had a few records to set straight.

"Guys, listen," I said, raising my paws like a preacher, "There's some things you need to know over here. First of all, Wayne Babin isn't dead; I saw him in The Clinic."

"What?" everyone gasped in unison, and the look I was getting from Crazy Wez was seriously unpleasant. I moved fast to qualify myself.

"No, it's true. His face looks worse than mine, and he's practically a vegetable; had a huge, honkin' panic-attack when he saw me—but he's alive."

That fixed it; everyone immediately calmed down, and I saw Wez nodding his head in approval. Okay, good, he seemed to be saying.

"What're the other things?" Scorp asked me, raising an eyebrow.

I took a breath before answering him.

"Well, the big one is…I don't remember what I did to that sable-punk. One minute, he was grabbing me from behind, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the clinic with a muzzle on my face."

That really blew 'em away.

"What, seriously?" It was Jawbone, the hyena-kid.

I raised a paw, "Swear to God, 'yeen. Back at The Clinic, they grabbed me from behind on purpose at least three times—trying to make me lose it. Don't ask me why, coz I don't know, but I can't remember any of what happened after they did." That reminded me of something else, and I tossed in a quick warning. "Ahhh, just so you're aware, guys…I lose it if anybody snags me from behind; friend, enemy, or whoever."

"Oh, we know 'bout dat, Fox," Cutty told me, waving a breezy paw.

"Yeah, Z," Wez nodded, seconding the motion, "That's how come you got a cell all to yourself. The Mammal doesn't want to take a chance on you going off on some other kid by mistake." Okay, so my cell assignment hadn't been his doing…tho' I later learned he was the reason I'd been put on the ground floor. Even so I had to admit that it made sense, keeping me by myself. If someone grabbed me from behind—even by accident—in a small space like that…

"So, what else happened to you in The Clinic?" Stuke Stuckey's squirrel-tail was flipping up and down like a sheet being shaken out.

"Yeah, Z, what's it like there, mate?" Stoney also wanted to know. Whoa, now there was something you didn't see every day. That 'roo was normally the most close-mouthed guy in the crew.

I raised my paws again, "In a minute, guys. First, I need to get something straight over here." I turned to the Mearns Brothers, who were sitting perched on the table-top between Krat and the new guy, Hitch. "The first time I saw you guys was on the bus that brought us here—but the first time we actually met was in the gym. We all know what went down with that encounter, but I gotta be sure of something…no hard feelings, okay?"

Everyone nodded, and Wez folded his arms, "Yep, right," he said and then looked down at the pair of grasshopper mice, with a raised an eyebrow. "Well, guys?"

Ohhh, I'll never forget their reaction. They stood up, got down on one knee, put a paw over their hearts, raised the other one—and swore an oath that there was no bad blood between us. Whoo-hoo, can you believe that? Whoo-hoo, can you believe that? Talk about bringing the drama! Still, it was good to hear them say it, and they kept that promise too. From the moment we shook on it, we always got along great. In fact, except for Cutty, they're the guys from the crew that I miss the most.

But now, with that little issue out of the way, I was finally free to recollect the epic tale of my sojourn in The Clinic.

Huh? What do you mean, 'look who's talking about drama'?

Yeah, yeah…whatever, Snowdrop. Anyway, they also said that most of their screams on that day in the gym had been fake, which made me feel even better

Okay, now…when I told the guys about my experiences in The Clinic, they mostly just listened. That lasted until I brought up my encounter with Marc Shevaldo. When Cutty heard, he hit the pause button, hard.

"What-ho, you sure it was him, Z?"

"Positive," I answered, nodding, "I'd know that scent anywhere; I was alone with him in his cell for a while—more than long enough to get an imprint. And hippos aren't exactly aroma-free as mammals go."

"Yeah, well," Wez put in with his nose wrinkling, a sign he'd heard all he wanted to hear, "whatever happened to that fool, he only has himself to blame."

Ahhh, I would rather have skipped that part, and I especially didn't want to talk about when they'd brought me to have look at him, trying to trigger me again. Wez insisted however, and so I was forced to give a detailed account of what I'd seen inside that sable-kid's cell. I didn't mind the telling so much as the way that crazy sea-mink seemed to hang on my every word. Sheesh, was this some bloodthirsty animal over here, or what?

I had to repeat the story of my game of Ringolevio with Bigwolf—not once, but twice. That didn't bother me, though. The reason I kept having to reboot was coz the first two times I tried to tell it, I broke up laughing before I could finish. And I wasn't the only one; everyone else was practically on the floor along with me. When I repeated the remark I'd made to Blackbird—the one about no tarantulas on the menu—it cemented the bond between me and the Mearns brothers for good. I had 'em both on their backs, hugging themselves and kicking their legs up in the air, literally howling with laughter.

…along with everyone else. "Hot dang, Wez," Hitch, the new guy drawled when he finally caught his breath, "I can see now why y'all were so eager to welcome this fox-boy back again." He immediately offered me a paw. "Hecka nice to meet you, Z. I'm Hitch…case you ain't been notified yet."

"Yeah, I know," I said, taking the paw and shaking it, "Cutty told me. And uh… he also said you know Wez from the outside, right?"

"Uh-huh, that's right." The panther kid nodded, and then promptly deferred to his crew chief,

It was Wez who gave me most of the story. He'd been driving northbound, through Georgia, in a stolen SUV, and having a seriously tough time handling it. It was only after he'd hit the road that he'd realized something…his new ride was two sizes too big for his species.

"I should have scoped that rig out better before I snagged it, but I didn't have time," he explained, "Cops were on me, and getting really close; I had to grab the first thing that came along and worry about it later."

He'd been just about to hang it up and walk when he'd happened upon a young Furrrida panther, standing roadside with his thumb out. Taking a chance, he'd pulled over and discovered that his passenger was also on the run…in his case, from an abusive family. Even better, Hitch not only knew how to drive, but had a credit card he'd lifted off his stepfather. It allowed them to make it all the way to Furginia before abandoning their ride and going their separate ways.

When his one-time road buddy had arrived at Granite Point—only two days after I had been taken away—Wez had viewed it as a near-heavenly miracle,

Before he'd run away from home, Hitch had never been in trouble with the law. His criminal career, boosting cars, hadn't started until after he and Wez parted company. He had landed in Granite Point after a high-speed chase that resulted in two serious injuries, including one of the pursuing officers. After that, getting thrown in Granite Point was a slam dunk. He'd been16 at the time.

Mind you, that panther-kid wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. When he'd tried to run from the cops, he'd been driving a Kia Soul, of all things. Sheesh, like you're ever gonna get away from John Q. Law in one of those hamster-cages. What Hitch lacked in brainpower though, he made up for in toughness—and in his loyalty to Crazy Wez, an almost fanatical devotion, although I didn't find that out until later.

Anyway, now that I wasn't with The Enforcers any more, I ended up getting assigned to a work detail on the loading dock. Heh, what a joke. All day long, all I did was press the button to raise the dock ramp, whenever a truck pulled in. The rest of the time, I either played cards or pitched pennies.

Yep, that was Wez's doing—and, as I think you can imagine, it wasn't all out of the goodness of his heart. Remember those bootleg phones and video-games I talked about…the ones the Enforcers used to sell to the other kids? Yeah, well whenever a shipment of those bad boys came in, it was my job to make sure things were cool with the guards…and of course, to help unload 'em.

But then, only two weeks into my new gig, The Enforcers lost another guy—only this time it wasn't such an unhappy occasion.

It all went down when Cutty was summoned to the Warden's office one morning, and came back nearly bursting with excitement.

"Dey lettin' me out, mommals; I'm gettin' me walkin' paypahs!"

Everyone cheered and hugged him, and then Wez sent Stuke to give me the news. Soon as I heard, I went running to the library and the HECK with my work detail.

I was happy for Cutty, but sad that I wouldn't be seeing him anymore. He had been more than just a friend to me, he'd been my mentor. I was seriously going to miss that leopard-kid when he was gone.

I didn't say that to him of course, and I especially didn't tell Wez. And it was a no-brainer that when Cut was gone, I'd be back with The Enforcers once again.

It was two more days before The Mammal—'scuse the pun—cut him loose. In the meantime, we had some time to talk, and my first question was the obvious one. What did he plan to do when he got out? "After you finish delivering your messages I mean."

Yep, messages…the one line of communication The Mammal can't touch, am I right Mr. Rodenberg? Anyone getting let out of The Point always had a stack of messages to deliver, and Cutty was no exception. In fact, Wez had me repeat the story of my time in The Clinic for him, "to pass on to my uncle." Why he wanted it, he didn't say, but that was the first time I ever heard HIM make reference to The Mister.

Anyway, when I asked Cut about his plans, he told me straight up that as soon as 'me chores' were done, he was catching the first boat back to Jamaica. "If dey don' deport me first, dat is," he added, showing that famous grin.

When that leopard-kid finally left us, there was no big farewell. They came for him in the middle of the night, and took him out so fast, he didn't even have time to write a note. He managed to smuggle one back inside a few days later though, confirming that he was okay, and that all of his messages had been delivered.

Likewise, there was no big deal when I was brought back into The Enforcers. Wez simply had me come to his cell to give me the news. There was no meeting, no ceremony; he didn't even have me repeat my promise never to snitch. As far as he was concerned, I guessed, my original pledge still held.

But then he informed me that as of now, I was his second in command, a position formerly occupied by Cutty. I was more than a little surprised; I was the youngest guy in the crew and, except for Hitch and the Mearnses, also the newest. Given my druthers, I would have chosen Scorp or Jawbone for that gig. I wasn't about to object though; by then I'd been around long enough to know something…that sea-mink kid's offers were always the kind you can't refuse.

And…okay, I'll admit it. I wasn't entirely unhappy with the idea. As the number two guy in The Enforcers, I'd get second pick of any care-package goodies that came in, and first pick if it was one of Wez's parcels. I would also receive a bigger cut from our electronics scheme than I'd gotten before, and I'd also be eligible to move into Cutty's old cell, the nicest one in the Point after Wez's…if you could call any of those mini-landfills nice.

I would also—as I next discovered—be privy to some info that had formerly been reserved for that leopard-kid's ears only.

First of all…Wez did indeed have a crime boss for an uncle; James, 'The Mister' McCrodon, head of The Company. "The numero uno arms merchants on the East Coast," and that was only one of their rackets, according to him. They also dealt in bootleg pharmaceuticals, black market diesel fuel, stolen securities—the only thing off-limits was drugs, and I mean strictly off limits. If The Mister caught you using, you got one warning, 'get clean or get whacked'...and it was never a bluff. And if he caught you dealing, he didn't bother with any warnings, you were automatically toast. That's what I was told anyway…and later on I learned, for once, that sea-mink kid wasn't exaggerating.

And then there were The Company's cyber-schemes; they were into online gambling, corporate espionage, ransomware, cyber-extortion…you name it. If it was illegal, made money, and could be done with a computer, they had their claws in it.

Ahhh, yes Erin…yes, they dealt in 'Adults Only' merch. And that's all I'm gonna say on the subject.

I more or less accepted that everything Wez told me was at least partially truthful…that is, until he started bragging that his uncle was, "working 24/7 to get me outta this place." Okay-y-y, now I began to doubt his story. If Uncle Mister really had that much clout…then why wasn't his nephew out on the street already?

Yeah, I know Mr. Rodenberg; this was the Bearfoot Bandit, not some kid who'd ripped off a convenience store. Of course, HE wasn't going to walk so easily, you're right about that, no argument.

But, listen to me here, okay? That wasn't the only reason Wez was still inside The Point. There was another, bigger one—and it wasn't until I was with The Company that I found out what it was.

Okay, I need to move on here. After I was made back into The Enforcers, things began happening and very quickly. Wez got into a gripe with some snow-leopard kid and ended up in The Hole. As soon as he got out, he went after the guy again and got his tail thrown in the Dry Cell. Both times, he left me in charge of the crew.

Whoa, I had NEVER felt so out of my depth. Me…giving orders to a rhino and some Apex preds. The first time Wez was put away, subbing for him was a cakewalk, it was another 'dead period' with nothing at all going on.

That second time, though…Ho-LEE foxtrot! No sooner was that sea-mink kid back in Total Iso, than I was handed an issue to deal with—and not a little one, either.

The kid's name was Eddie Derzala; he was a half-Bengal/half-Siberian tiger, and he was all bad. He had a rap sheet as long as his tail, and most of it was for violent offenses. He also held the record in Granite Point for the most time spent in The Hole.

Nobody could figure out why he hadn't already been packed off to The Clinic. The prevailing theory was that he was gonna be sent to adult prison the moment he turned eighteen. And since that was only a few months from now, why bother? In short, this was a big cat with almost nothing left to lose.

Up until then, Eddie D had managed to stay off The Enforcers' radar. He was one of the few kids the guards preferred to deal with themselves, rather than giving it to us. You'll excuse me if I don't describe exactly how they handled him.

But then, two days after Wez went into The Hole for the second time, he bought one of our bootleg cell phones on a four-fingered discount.

Ah, that means he walked away without paying for it, Erin. And when Scorp tried to stop him, he ended up in the infirmary, with claw-marks from here to Meowria.

Whoa, this was one serious sitch—and it demanded an immediate response. No way could it wait until Wez got out of Isolation; what kind of message would that send? Nope…this tiger punk needed to be paid back right now, and with major interest.

Obviously, we couldn't confront him directly—or individually. There needed to be a plan, and since I was the guy in charge while Wez was away, it was all on me. I spent most of that night racking my brain, but couldn't come up with an idea to save my life. Finally, I just gave up and went to sleep.

But when I woke up the next morning, I knew exactly what to do. It took me most of the day to set it up.

That afternoon in the yard, I confronted Scorp, with Hitch and Stoney at my back. "What the fox did you think you were doing, huh," I snarled, giving him the tombstones, "selling to that guy? Everyone knows his reputation—and you shoulda known better." I shook my head at the ground, gritting my teeth. "Sheesh, and I thought honey badgers were supposed to be smart or something." Stuke Stuckey, who'd been watching, later said he'd never seen me looking so totally steamed.

"Come on," Scorp protested, raising his paws. "We never had…"

"I don't wanna hear it," I interrupted, "Get that phone back, and get it back NOW!"

"Hey!" he started to say, taking a step towards me, "You don't…!"

That was as far as he got before the other guys moved in to block him.

"Get that phone BACK, Scorp!" I repeated, sharpening my words.

"All right, all right," he said, again raising his paws, and nodding at the big cat on my right "But I'll need Hitch and Krat to…"

I cut him off again. "You lost that phone by yourself…you get it back by yourself."

Without waiting for a response, I turned to go…but of course, I got one anyway.

"You snaggle-toothed PUNK! If Wez was here…."

"Well, he's not here," I growled. turning a fast 180. "So, phone back…by tomorrow, got that?"

And then I spun on my heel again and went on my way.

Later that evening, just before lights out, Eddie D was lounging in his second-floor cell—or doing whatever—when he heard Scorp calling him.

"Derzala…get out here, and bring that phone you took."

Tiger-boy only complied with half of the order; he came out of his cell, but left the phone. And when he saw who was there—a lone honey badger, showing damage and with no one backing him up—he started laughing, fit to bust.

"Hah, I knew you guys didn't care, but this is really stupid."

"Give back the phone," Scorp told him, holding out a paw.

Eddie's paws went to his hips, and then he shook his head…more in disdain that incredulity.

"Whoah…I don't stinkin' believe this." He purred, narrowing one eye, "You really gonna let some stinkin' FOX-kid tell you what to do?"

"Give it back," Scorp repeated, holding his paw out even further, and spitting out a final word. "Jerk!"

It was like shooting a flare into a fireworks warehouse. Eddie D roared, dropped down on all fours, and rushed to the attack.

He never made it. As he passed in front of the cell next to his, Krat, the rhino-kid came charging out through the door, hitting him broadside, full force—pitching him up and over the walkway railing and dropping him to the floor below.

When he hit the ground, Stoney, Hitch, and Jawbone were waiting for him, and commenced to do their little thing…stopping only to let Scorp get in the last few shots, as was his right. While this was going on, the Mearns brothers were rifling through his cell, looking for the phone he'd taken. They found it right away, and passed it on to Stuke, who brought it down to me. I unlocked it and proceeded to snap two fast pics of the hot mess on the floor in front of me…the tiger-kid that had once laid claim to being one of the toughest dudes in The Point.

And then I leaned over him, speaking in a low snarl.

"Two rules to live by, kittens: Rule Number One—don't ever mess with The Enforcers. Rule Number Two—don't ever forget Rule Number One."

And then we all just walked away.

The guards found Eddie D. in the middle of the nightly bed-check and the next morning he was sent off to The Clinic. He only stayed there long enough to get patched up, but he never returned to The Point. From there, he got shipped off to the Zoo Jersey State pen in Trenton and we didn't see him again.

No Erin, there were no repercussions. As you might expect, none of the other kids saw anything and for once, they didn't need much persuading; Eddie D had never been Mr. Popular in Granite Point. Lurch asked a few questions, here and there, but he never tried to push for any answers. Like Wayne Babin before him, that tiger-kid was someone that the guards were glad to be rid of.

Oh…that reminds me…

There was never any fallout from what went down between me and that sable-jerk Wayne either—none, zip, nada. No charges were ever filed, no investigation ever took place; heck, I was never even questioned about…

Okay, yeah…except for that time Dr. Winters brought me to his cell to try to get a rise out of me, but come on Erin, that's not the same thing. And other than that, nothing happened. When I got back in with The Enforcers, I learned that no one in The Point had been questioned about our tooth-and-claw either—not even the Saiga kid who'd seen it happen. After taking his statement, The Mammal never got back to him.

No, Erin…I never stopped to wonder why, not out loud anyway. The only thing that mattered to me was that I wasn't going up before a judge over that what I'd done to sable-kid.

But getting back to Eddie D, my plan to take him down was the thing that made me once and for all—not only with the Enforcers, but with every kid in The Point. Like I said a minute ago, it wasn't just the guards who were happy to see him gone. I discovered my new-found status the next time I went to the gym. Everyone stopped what they were doing, and a couple of kids even applauded me. And that was only the beginning. Seriously, I had guys step aside for me, when I came down one of the walkways…and I never heard another remark about my face, at least not from any of the detainees.

Yeah, yeah…all well and good, but there was a price to pay. When Wez came out of The Hole and heard about what happened, he was all over me with congratulations, grabbing me around the shoulder and throwing a fist in the air. "I was soooo right to bring you back, Z!'

Nice try, but I wasn't fooled; he wasn't happy…and I knew why. I had only done what the situation demanded and both of us knew it—except, however unintentionally, I had stolen his thunder in the process.

And nobody upstaged Crazy Wez McCrodon. Though we continued to put on a show of solidarity, deep down I could feel the rift between us getting wider. Eventually, I knew it was going to have to close again. And when that happened, would it be a reconciliation—or a collision?

Well, it wasn't going to happen for a while, anyway. Only a couple of weeks later, Wez was right back in Isolation…along with every other Enforcer, me included. And all because of a crummy watch that hadn't been stolen after all.

I already told you that part of the story, so I'm not gonna bother repeating myself. And besides…it's what happened after we got out of The Hole that's the real kicker.