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 6—The Children's Crusade
(Continued…Part 5)
I want to go home
Take off this uniform and leave the show
And I'm waiting in this cell because I have to know
Have I been guilty all this time?
Pink Floyd – Stop
Monday, 04;30, Unknown location, Savanna Central, Zootopia
When the door opened, Erin nearly jumped clear out of her seat. But of course, it wasn't Craig…it was only Conor.
"Okay, I got the bike put away," he said, closing it behind him.
She didn't know how to respond at first; her mind was a whirlwind of questions. Where had he stowed that bike? It couldn't be too far away from here, he'd only been gone for like twenty minutes. And what the heck was that thing; she'd never seen a ride quite like it…or sat on one. Dang, but that bike was fast, something made even more unnerving by the fact that it was virtually silent. And what the heck was in that backpack slung over his shoulders—and in that holster clipped to his belt? Was that a…gun? And how the heck had he found her—especially in his current state. Check out the brace propping up his knee; it looked like a reject from a junk pile. And why did he keep clutching at his side like that? Was it her imagination, or was he having trouble breathing? Nearly a minute passed before she was finally able to decide upon which of so many questions to ask first.
"Conor…where ARE we?" She was seated in a wing-chair, inside of an office somewhere; high ceiling, wood-paneled walls, lights mounted on overhead fans; fans that turned lazily at the flick of the switch. All of the furniture had been shrouded in drop-cloth when they'd entered; most of it still was. The coverings they'd removed had revealed an antique coffee-table with legs carved to resemble mangrove trees, and chairs of similar vintage, a mite too large for her, but just right for him. Well, wherever this was, it wasn't part of any recent construction; the staleness of the air in here easily belied that notion…but again, where was this place?
The path to get here was still a blur; dark streets, darkened alleyways, and then even darker passageways, followed by a labyrinth of corridors that had ultimately led them through a low-ceilinged room filled with row upon row of hydroponic planter tanks. Most were empty, but some had contained various types of plants and shrubs, sprouting beneath greenish-amber grow-lights. Nearly all of their species had been unknown to the white-furred young doe-bunny, never mind that she came from a horticultural background. There had, however, been one very large exception to that rule; a row of healthy-looking Nighthowler blossoms.
"We're in the Natural History Museum," Conor told her, setting down a grocery bag on the tabletop, "Specifically, the office of Dr. Grant Simovic, beech marten, assistant curator of botanical specimens, currently on a plant-gathering expedition somewhere in Boarneo."
Erin stared at him with her nose twitching. "Wha…? How do you know all this; what, did you hack his computer?"
"No," he replied coolly, regarding her with a jaundiced eye, "It's all right there on the Natural History Museum's website…for anyone to see."
He reached into the grocery bag and pulled out two cans of soda, one of which he slid across the table to her. She was only barely able to restrain herself from pouncing on it. When he followed up with a pair of cello-wrapped sandwiches, all pretense of self-discipline went out the window. The heck with how she looked; she was hungry!
"Where the heck did you get these?" she asked, before snatching up a sandwich and tearing away the wrapper with her teeth.
"From the commissary upstairs," he answered, opening his sandwich with a wee bit more decorum than she had, "They got vending machines up there."
"Ohhph, I sphee," Erin spoke through a mouthful of her own meal. Sprouts and Cucumber sandwich; not the best she'd ever had but right now she didn't care.
Conor, meanwhile, had his own sandwich unwrapped, but instead of taking a bite, he looked down and away from her, drumming his fingers on his knee. Then he sagged a little and shook his head.
"So…whaddaya think, am I an idiot, or what?"
Erin's eyebrows went up and so did her ears. He had luckily caught her between bites. "An…idiot, wh-what the heck are you talking about?" If there was ONE problem this silver fox kid didn't have, it was a lack of intelligence.
"You know what I mean, Snowdrop," he said, turning towards her with a tight-lipped expression, "Running off to your rescue like that…when you already had it covered."
There was something rather endearing about the way he'd said that, but she wasn't about to let it show. He still had a lot to answer for.
Just the same…he hadn't been quite right in his self-assessment. And so she set down her sandwich on the table for a moment.
"Conor, I didn't need you to come and rescue me, but I did need you to help me move that dumpster, and…" She fidgeted uncomfortably for a second, "and then after, when I…ummm…" More fidgeting and then a change of subject, "And I would have had no idea what to do next if I'd been on my own. For sure, I wouldn't have known to come here." She waved a paw around the room. "Uhm, is this really the Natural History Museum? I went there a couple of times with Judy and my folks…and I don't remember anything like this."
A foxy smile stretched out along his muzzle, "Go ahead and finish that," he said, pointing to her sandwich, "I'll explain while we're eating."
Erin grabbed for her food as if it were the last morsel on the face of the earth. Conor did the same, but in a much more leisurely fashion.
"The Natural History Museum's actually a lot bigger than most mammals realize, bunny girl; what they keep on public display makes up only like 7 percent of everything they got. There's supposed to be crates down in the basement—some of 'em more than 200 years old—that have never been opened. That's how big their collection is, and that's only what's here in the central museum. There's like tons more stuff, out in the annexes."
"Annexes?" Erin was staring with her nose twitching again.
"Yep." The young fox nodded. "After Zootopia was divided into separate eco-zones, someone—Dr. Lionheart I think—got the idea to transfer some of the more easily damaged stuff to…uh, how'd that go again…? Oh yeah, 'to more suitable climes.' And then that's what they did; they moved the tropical plant collection to the Rainforest District; the mummies, the old documents, and whatever else needed to stay dry got sent over to Sahara Square, and of course the stuff that needed to be kept cold ended up in Tundratown."
"Howf foo you…?" Erin swallowed and took a swig of soda then repeated her earlier question. "How do you know all this?" She could feel her nose twitching.
Conor only shrugged. "Field trip, back in the sixth grade; got an A on my report that I wrote."
"Okay-y-y," she asked, drawing out the word and eyeing him warily, "But how did you know to come here?"
"Well-l-l-l," the young silver fox replied, perhaps mimicking her and perhaps not, "These days, it kind of behooves me to keep a few good hidey-holes handy."
"Oh," Erin took a quick bite of her sandwich, feeling very small for a moment. She had almost forgotten that the silver fox sitting opposite her was a wanted fugitive.
And that reminded her of something else; she beckoned with a finger, "C'mere a second?"
Conor tilted his head and then set down his drink, leaning towards her with a curious expression. "Uhm, okay Erin, what…?
She slapped him hard across the muzzle, "THAT'S for what you did to my sister Judy!" and then braced herself for the inevitable angry comeback.
Except none was forthcoming; he only rubbed his face and shook his head sadly. "Okay, I probably deserved that."
"Probably?!" Her foot was thumping like a compressor-pump. Remorseful response or not, her sense of family honor was anything but satisfied. The NERVE of some mammals!
"All right, yes…I had that coming for sure," the young silver fox admitted, throwing up his paws and still not ready to argue. "For what it's worth Erin, your sister did a pretty darn good number on me, too." He reached down to pat at his makeshift leg-brace, "In case you didn't notice."
For a long second, she hesitated. She had not only taken notice of his leg, but also of the fact that he didn't look too good in general.
All right, but still…
"Conor Lewis, that's no excuse; you attacked HER first!"
Again, she was unable to provoke a hostile response.
"Yeah I know," He said and then rubbed at his cheek where she'd tagged him, "And I'm sorry for that Erin, really I am." His gaze shifted sideways, as if the walls had become transparent and he was able to see everything taking place in Savanna Central Plaza. And then his head sagged and his voice became an airy murmur. "For that and for everything else that went south after I showed up at your audition; it's my fault Erin, all my fault."
She thumped her foot again, louder.
"Your fault!" she bristled, "What do you mean, your fault? I'M the one who started that riot!"
"Which never would have happened, if it hadn't been for the kids I invited to be there," NOW he was up for a quarrel, halfway out of his seat with his ears flattening.
Erin stood up as well, clenching her fists.
"Do you tell them to lose it if someone got busted? It's not your fault, it's mine."
"Like HECK it is!" Conor smacked the table with his pawlm. "If I'd only stayed away from that amphitheater, none of this would have happened."
"And then I never would have made it out onto that stage," the young doe bunny reminded him with an ice-cold glare.
He glared at her right back
"Yes, you would have. Tuff Guy Tufts only made you go on last coz he wanted to keep ME hanging around."
Erin blinked and reeled back slightly. "What, you know about that?" For the first time since the argument started, she'd been caught off-guard.
"Yeah, I know about that!" he snarled, and at once she realized he wasn't angry at her, as much as at the squirrel.
That was all it took to get her right back into a fine, high dudgeon.
"No, I wouldn't have. Even if you hadn't shown up, it wouldn't have made any difference, not as long as…Tuffy, or whoever, thought you were going to be there."
There…that was unarguable.
Not quite; Conor waved his paw as if wiping a window.
"Then I should have made sure he KNEW I wasn't coming. It's my fault, Snowdrop."
"No way, charcoal-boy, it's MY fault." She was all the way up on her feet now, and leaning in close, so angry that she'd nearly forgotten about her injured shoulder.
Conor also seemed to have forgotten about his injuries.
"Get real, rabbit; it's my fault!"
"Says you, fox; it's my fault!
"It's my fault!"
"It's my fault!"
"It's MY fault!"
"It's MY fault!"
They were screaming in each other's faces now.
"DUMB BUNNY, IT'S MY FAULT!"
"IT'S MY FAULT, YOU STUPID FOX!"
"Okay, okay-y-yyy," Conor fell back in his seat and threw up his paws, "Have it your way, it was my fault."
Erin rolled her eyes and groaned. What the heck did he think this was; a cartoon or something? She threw up her paws as well, but in disgust rather than surrender.
Or that is…she tried to.
"Oh, puh-LEE-OWWWWW!" All at once, she was doubled over and clutching at her injured shoulder. Sweet cheez n' crackers, she really had forgotten all about it.
And Conor immediately forgot about his anger.
"Wha… Erin? What's wrong with your shoulder?"
"I'm fine!" she pouted, turning away with her ears laid back. Ohhh, WHY had she ever gotten on that bike with him?
"No, you're not; come here." He got up and took her gently by her good arm, turning her around. She let him, but was barely able to keep from planting another paw in his face.
A moment of close scrutiny followed, during which neither one said a word.
"Don't touch it," she warned, but Conor only hemmed and hawed as he studied her injury more closely.
"Hmmmm….yep, it's dislocated…don't think anything's broken though. The good news is, it'll take like three seconds to fix it once you get to an ER."
"Can you fix it?"
The question was such a curveball, it nearly made him go tripping over his own tail
"Wha…? What, are you dumb AND crazy? That's your shoulder Snowdrop, not a stinking bass guitar."
She only glowered at him. "Fine…can—you—fix—it?"
Conor slapped a paw over his eyes, trying not to gekker. "Erin, listen to me. If anything IS broken…"
"Can YOU…fix it…yes or no?"
"Agggh, Grrrr!" he snatched his can of soda, hurling it across the room in a whirl of spraying foam. "What makes you think I'd even know how to fix it?"
Her ears began to pull back again, but then they stopped and she let her voice soften, "Because I know a thing or two about this kind of hurt myself, Conor. I'm a country-girl, remember? Stuff like this happens all the time down on the farm. So please…can you fix my shoulder?"
By way of response, he fell back in his chair, releasing a long, slow breath up at the ceiling. "That still doesn't…okay, yeah…yes, I know how…but I've never actually done it, and…" he swiveled towards her with hard anxious eyes. "Erin, what I CAN'T do is, be sure whether or not anything's broken." He swallowed and gave her a pleading look. "I could end up making things a whole lot worse; you follow what I'm bringing out?"
She reached out and took hold of his paw. "Wha…? What am I smiling for..?"
"I'll take that chance, Conor."
"Erin, no, I…"
"Hey, let me finish, okay? Back when I was six, I was riding with my father on a tractor when we hit a mudhole and it started to tip over. Dad got me out in time, but he wasn't so lucky himself and it went over on top of him."
"Holy…foxtrot." His voice was a dry gasp.
"Oh it wasn't that bad," Erin said, waving an airy paw, "It could have been…but thank God the ground was so soft. Anyway, when Junior and the others got the tractor off him, the only thing wrong with my dad was a dislocated shoulder."
"Um, okay," her companion's head was tilting again. "But I don't see how…"
"Hang on, I'm getting to that. Dad had someone go get him an aspirin, and then he pointed at his shoulder and said to Junior. 'Son, put this back for me, will you? I can't take any more time off today; I have too much to do.' Long story short, Junior got his shoulder fixed and he went right back to work."
Conor almost interrupted again, but this time, seemed to put a check on himself; that was good, because she still had more to say.
"What happened to my father that day was way worse than what happened to me back there in that cul-de-sac…believe me, I know. But after Junior put his shoulder back, he was fine…no more problems."
"All right," Conor stretched out his legs, glancing upwards again for the barest of seconds. He seemed defeated, but unconvinced. "But why the heck do you need to do this right NOW?"
Now it was her turn to look away, chewing on her lip. Ahhh, he was never going to understand, "Because…I have too much to do to take any time off either." Once again, she braced herself, knowing what was coming; a burst of laughter followed by 'like WHAT?'
But again he surprised her.
"Okay, that makes sense, I guess; I dunno why it makes sense, but..." Puffing out his cheeks, he looked up at her, on board with the idea at last. "All right Erin, you win…but if you've really seen this done before, you KNOW how much it's gonna hurt."
Ohhhh, why did he have to remind her of that? She felt her foot beginning to thump again and had to step on it to make it stop. "I will NOT show any weakness; not in front of him!"
Conor meanwhile was rummaging in his backpack, coming up with a paw-towel and rolling it into an two-inch-thick cylinder,
"What's that for?" Erin asked him.
"For you to bite down on," he said, passing it her way.
She immediately batted it aside. "Conor Lewis, there's nothing shameful about screaming if you're really in pain." There, that ought to show him she was nobody's shrinking violet.
"As Her Highness commands," he growled mockingly, dropping the towel back where he'd gotten it. And then he slipped an arm beneath hers, reaching up to take hold of her dislocated shoulder from the front. At the same time, he took hold of the shoulder from behind with his other paw. "Okay, count of three…ready?"
Erin clenched her teeth. "Do it!"
"Okay…one…two…three!"
He twisted his paws and she felt a stab of pain, but not nearly as much as she'd expected. "Hey that wasn't so…"
He twisted again, harder…much harder, this time using his whole body.
"AAAAAAHHH! AHHH-OWWWWWWWW!"
Oh God…He had warned her it would hurt, but this felt like her arm was being torn out by the roots. She screamed again, then doubled over and began to cry.
Conor leaned over and laid a paw on her. "Sorry…had to do that; it doesn't work if you're all tensed up."
She turned on him with tear-stained eyes, blubbering wetly, "Will you PLEASE stop apologizing to me?"
"Okay, okay," he said, backing off. "The good news is, I'm pretty sure we got it fixed."
This time, she didn't even try to stop her foot from thumping, "Pretty sure?"
His paws went up like a shield. "Hey, hey, hey…I told you I never did this before. And by the way, you're welcome."
"Um yeah, thanks," Erin answered him wanly, rubbing a tentative paw over her shoulder. It felt as if it had gone back in okay…but dangit, why did it have to keep on hurting?
Her discomfort was not lost on the silver fox crouching beside her.
"I got Purrcocet if you want some," he said, pointing to his backpack.
"Purrcocet…what's that?" she asked, nose twitching, and an ear going up..
"Painkiller," he said, "You want one?"
"Oh yes, please!"
He nodded and opened his pack again. A few seconds of rummaging followed, and then he was pressing something into her palm: a pill that could quite easily have been mistaken for a plain, old aspirin tablet.
Erin swallowed it with the remains of her soda…at the same time realizing something. If Conor was feeling the need to carry a supply of painkillers in his backpack, her sister really HAD done a job on him. It brought her one step closer to forgiving him for having drawn first blood.
And while she was on that subject, she crumpled the can and tossed it into a nearby wastebasket. Her companion, meanwhile, had taken his seat again.
"Conor, you don't owe an apology…but I DO think you owe me an explanation."
"About what?" his ears were standing at full attention.
That got her going again.
"What do you mean, about…?"
But he already had his paws up.
"Wait, wait…that didn't come out right; what I mean is, I got a whole bunch of things to explain over here. Where do you want me to start?"
Okay, that was better. Erin sat back in her chair for a second. As far as she was concerned, there was only one proper place for him to begin.
"All right, WHY did you go after Judy first like that?" By now she knew better than to expect a hesitant answer and sure enough, he delivered the goods immediately.
"Because that's how I was trained to fight; it was one of the first things I learned. If your opponent gives you an opening, take it. And forget about all that stuff from the movies or wherever, 'Never throw the first punch, but always throw the last one,' just forget it. In a street-fight, the guy that throws the first punch usually IS the guy that throws the last one."
"So it was all just…tactical?" Erin was staring at him open-mouthed. "But…that was my sister Judy, Conor. How could you do that? You knew her…you liked her, she was your friend. Sweet cheez n' crackers, you saved her life once."
Conor shifted in his chair for a moment; was she starting to get to him?
"That's what happens in a street-fight sometimes…you just start acting on your instincts, and before anyone knows it—Aggggh, grrrrrr!"
He had literally flown out his seat, looking away shamefaced with his muzzle turned downwards at the floor.
Then he lifted it up again, and she saw his back stiffen. "Ahhh, it's no good, I can't do this."
He turned and cast an eye at her over his shoulder, the classic thousand-yard stare. "All right Erin, the truth—but you're not gonna like it; you know I'm living under a fake identity, right? Conor Lewis is NOT the name I was born with."
"Um…yes," she answered, with her nose twitching skittishly. She had known it, but she'd never really thought about it…not until now. "Wh-What's your real name?"
He responded by turning to face her; a pair of fingers planted firmly in the center of his chest.
"My real name is Conor Lewis; that's not just an alias, Erin… it's who I am and who I choose to be. As for my birth name, sorry, can't tell you that…or a lot of other stuff." She would have broken in here, but his paw was already up and ready. "No…don't bother; you don't wanna know my birth name, babe. Trust me, there's a lot about this silver fox that you're better off not knowing."
"All right," she sniffed, wondering why she was feeling teary-eyed again; must be the purr…co…whatever it was she'd taken. "But you haven't told me why you…"
"For the same reason I broke out of jail—even though I had a decent shot at beating the charges against me." His voice had become so flat and icy she could have used it to go skating. "You see, even if I'd won that case, it wouldn't have done me any good." His eyes found hers, and the intensity almost made her want to lay for the door. "The ZPD isn't the only outfit looking to nail my tail Erin. There's someone else besides—and they've got first dibs on me and the power to make it stick." His lip curled upwards, exposing his fangs. "And these are not nice animals, trust me. They wouldn't go easy on me if it was the only way to stop an asteroid from hitting the earth."
"Wh-Who are they?" Erin asked him, the words coming out like worn velveteen. She sounded almost as if she were speaking under hypnosis.
Again, he shook his head.
"Can't tell you that, bunny-girl…but I can show you what kind of mammals these guys are. You see this?" He patted his leg-brace again, "That's diddly compared to what happened to me when…Come here a second?"
She only looked at him with her nose twitching.
"Come on, it's all right," he said, beckoning with a pair of fingers.
Hesitantly, as if she might be sticking her head in an invisible noose, Erin leaned in closer.
"Okay, now look." He turned his head sideways, opening his mouth. And then hooking a finger in the corner of his jaw, he pulled it back and upwards, exposing the full length of his teeth and gums. "You sfee dat?" he said, pointing to the pair of gold teeth, near the back of the lower rim. "C'mon, loof closfer, bunny."
Erin did and saw, for the first time, the ice-white scars branching downwards from the spot.
"I got that, the first day they had me in custody," he said, unhooking his finger again. "These three bigger kids jumped me when I couldn't pay their 'protection fee.' I tried to fight back and I thought I was doing pretty good; but then one of them grabbed me from behind, and-d-d…" his words shuddered to halt, and then he was grimacing with his eyes pinched shut. "And…that's the last thing I remember. Next thing I knew I was waking up in the infirmary with my face all bandaged and in more stinkin' pain than I'd ever had in my life."
Erin could feel her breath getting lighter and lighter as she listened. Good God…was this for real? And …what was that he'd just said; he'd blacked out after one of them had…?
Oh, sweet cheez n' crackers!
"Conor…I-Is that why you lost it when Judy grabbed you from behind?"
"Yes," his voice was quietly matter-of-fact, "Same thing that happened when Nick grabbed me… or when anyone snags me from behind. I think how it works is that whenever anyone does that, it makes me start to remember what happened after that kid grabbed me…and it's such a terrible, stinkin' memory, I can't handle it." His eyes found hers again, earnest and beseeching. "But Erin, that's not what I'm bringing out over here, I didn't get anything close to decent medical treatment after that fight. Heck, they didn't even X-ray me, just gave me some shots and put a cast on my muzzle. And when they took it off again, my face was all crooked…and it stayed that way for a long, long time."
"How did you…?" Erin reached as if to touch it and then pulled back. "How did you…finally get it fixed?"
"Sorry," he shook his head, "That's another thing I can't talk about."
"Huh, why not?" she asked, perhaps a little too stridently—or perhaps there was some skepticism in her voice. The response she got was laid-back ears and an angry snarl
"That DID happen to me, bunny-girl…and it wasn't even the worst thing."
"I didn't say…" she tried to protest, and then yelped as his paw shot out and seized her by the wrist.
"Do you wanna know the worst thing they did?"
Erin grabbed the paw and tried to pull away. "Conor, you're hurting me!"…but he had already let her go.
"Sorry, sorry," again his paws were up and his eyes were closed, head shaking rapidly from side to side, "But I need you to believe me over here. And you need to understand just what the fox will happen to me if those dirtbags ever get their mitts on me again."
"All right," she said, rubbing her wrist and trying to keep her cool, "But the next time you grab ME like that again, I swear to God…I'll turn you in to the police so fast, you'll never know what hit you."
Sweet cheez n'…did she really just threaten to…?
And holy carrot sticks, she'd had no idea his grip was that strong.
"Yeah, okay." He informed her quietly, and then got up out of his chair—with some difficulty, the young doe-bunny couldn't help but note—and then he held out his paw to her again, "Do you wanna know the worst thing they did to us?"
No…Erin didn't want to know that.
But she told him yes anyway, and let him help her up.
And…us? There'd been others besides him?
He led her back outside and into the next room, and…why was he taking her here?
"You know what those are, right?" he said, pointing to the nearest hydroponic tank.
Erin felt her ears go back. Well, DUH! As of two years ago, there wasn't an animal from here to Bunnyburrow who wouldn't know that flower when they saw it.
Her ears went even further back and she thrust out her chin, paws going straight to her hips. "Yes, those are Nighthowlers. SO…?"
"So…watch," he said, and then yanked one of the plants from its pod, breaking it off at the stem.
"Uh, fox…wh-what are you doing?" Erin's foot had started to thump again, only this time not out of any annoyance or frustration.
"Just watch," he said again…and then stuffed the blossom into his mouth and began to chew.
"Conor, NO!" Her scream was even louder than when he'd put her shoulder back. But it had come too late; he had already swallowed most of it. Oh God, no…this was a hundred times worse than Craig. She had to get away from him; quick, before the toxin started to kick in.
She turned and ran…but where could she go? Back to Dr. Simovic's office, it was all she had.
Throwing the door open, she bounded inside and slammed it shut behind her.
Wha…no lock? Why wasn't there a lock…or a deadbolt, or even a doorstop or…?
Someone knocked on the door; they didn't bang or pound on it, only rapped lightly with their knuckles.
"Erin…Open the door, please."
She didn't, but she did stop panicking. What now? Conor didn't sound at all like he'd gone savage; heck, he didn't even sound angry. He sounded…almost kind of sad. And why was he asking her to open up when he could just as easily…?
"Open the door?" his voice came again; and this time she complied. And then there he was, looking just plain weary.
"That's right bunny-girl, no effect…nada." He stepped back inside the office and closed the door, "and just so you know that WAS Nighthowler…" He handed her the stem from the plant he'd taken. Halfway down the length was a tag, reading, 'Midnicampum Holicithias. Caution: Psychotropic Properties–Do Not Ingest.'
"But…But how?" Erin was staring slack jawed, as if he'd just appeared in a puff of smoke.
Conor flopped down in his chair again, spreading himself out like a blanket. "Kinda self-evident, isn't it? I'm immune, Erin…completely immune to both Nighthowler and Morningmew. You could shoot me full of either one of those bad boys—and it wouldn't do a thing to me."
Her nose began to twitch again. Morning...mew? What the heck was…? Never mind, she could ask about that later.
"Ummm, yeah…but that's not what I meant, Conor. How did you get to be immune?"
The question seemed to trigger something, deep within the young silver-fox. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, paws clenching and face hardening into a mask of chiseled flint. His voice, when he spoke was like a block of sandstone, being dragged across a rough-cut floor.
"I got this way…by being one of the test subjects they used to develop the stuff."
Erin gasped and almost screamed again.
"What?" her voice seemed to be coming from the bottom of a deep, dark hole, "Someone was…experimenting on you?"
"Not just me," he said, batting at an invisible fly. "And I was one of the lucky ones. Some of the kids…" he frowned and looked at the table top, "No one was ever sure, but…"
"But…How could anyone DO that?" the startled young doe-bunny couldn't believe her ears. Kids…they'd been testing that stuff on KIDS? She didn't want to hear any more; it couldn't be true, could it? No one was ever that cruel. And yet…those scars on Conor's jawbone were real enough. And so was the Nighthowler he had just eaten—without suffering any ill effects.
"It's something a lot of folks don't think about, Erin. There's no other way to test new drugs except on volunteer mammals. One thing is to offer guys in prison a shorter sentence if they'll agree to let a pharma company use 'em for test subjects. Trouble is, there are never enough mammals like that to go around. That's why a whole heckuva lot of those guys are unwilling volunteers; basically either blackmailed or conned into getting with the program. 'If you agree to help us out with this, you'll get time off your sentence; if you don't, you'll get thump therapy and The Hole.'
"But that's terrible!" The young doe bunny cried out, waving her paws as if trying to ward off a demon, "Forcing someone to do that, even a prison inmate. It's…It's…" She was unable to find the words.
"Well what the heck else are we supposed to do, Snowdrop?" the silver fox in the chair opposite asked her, his face split by a sneer of contempt. "Without bodies to test them on, how are we supposed to come up with any new lifesaving drugs? It's not like there's a lotta dumb animals out there we can use. Nope, it's either sentient mammals or nothing." His look became as penetrating as a diamond drill, "Is that what you want, bunny? Let a whole bunch of good mammals die, because we're worried about a few bad ones?"
"WHAT?!" Erin was halfway out of her seat before she realized something; he was playing the Devil's advocate, a fact confirmed by the next thing he said.
"That's the argument, bunny-girl. I must have heard it a hundred times…and it always manages to shut folks up." He slapped his paw down on the tabletop, "That is, the ones who've never been there, done that." He growled bitterly for a second, and then looked at her again. "You want to know why I attacked first when your sister Judy caught up with me? That's why; I'll do anything to keep those lowlifes from getting hold of me again. I'll DIE before I let that happen." His voice became softer, but his eyes did not. "And if I ever get caught—by the ZPD or anybody else—trust me, it will happen."
Erin could only gape at him. She didn't want to believe it, but she did. What would she do if…?
Waiiiit, hold it, hang on a second; there was a little bit of a hole that story…no, make that a great, big, yawning hole; big enough to drive a train though. She felt her ears go back and heard her foot starting to thump again—and this time it was because she was aggravated.
"Just a minute, charcoal-boy…if you're so scared of getting caught, what the heck were you doing running errands for the Phantom?"
Conor groaned and planted a pawlm in his face. "Ohhh foxtrot, not HIM again," He whipped it away revealing amber eyes, burning with frustration. "How many times I gotta say it, huh? The Phantom doesn't exist. He's an urban legend, a tall tale, a boogie-mammal….a story the bankers invented to scare their kids." He seemed to stop and Erin was about to respond, when he began gesturing riotously with his paw. "He's a myth, a fantasy, a fictional character, a creature out of fairy-story, a figment of the imagination. He's fake news; a fable, a fabrication, an illusion. He has no physical form, no true identity and no distinguishing characteristics. Any similarity between The Phantom and any actual mammals, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. He was created entirely out of thin air; non-corporeal, not real, and wholly non-existent. THERE…IS…NO…PHANTOM!"
For a moment or two, Erin didn't know whether to laugh or roll her eyes. She did neither; instead responding with a cool wave of her own paw.
"All right, there isn't…but you were still carrying money for a loanshark…"
"We were NOT loansharking!" He was out of his chair again…but she was still in her zone.
"Fine…if you say so. But whatever you were doing, you were practically begging to get busted." Now she was the one making paw gestures, "And why Conor…why risk ending up back in the custody of the mammals who hurt you like that? Did you really think you could get away with it?"
To her considerable surprise, his expression turned lopsided.
"Actually…yes, we did think we could pull it off. But uh, if you wanna know why we started that lending-thing in the first place…well, it's complicated.
Erin gestured at the door ,"I'm not going anywhere."
"Ohhh-kay," Conor flexed his shoulder and rubbed the back of his neck. It reminded her of the preps Judy had made before competing in the Carrot-Days Rabbithon. Holy Carrot sticks; that seemed like another lifetime now.
"First of all, don't ask me where I got the money, coz I'm not saying…."
"Hold on, that was YOUR money?" Erin's eyes had gotten bigger than ever and she'd had no idea that her ears could stand up so straight.
His ears, on the other paw, were lying back again.
"Hey Snowdrop, what did I just say?"
"I didn't ask where you got it," she purred, folding her arms, "But that was your money, right?"
"Okay, yes, it was mine," his voice was breathless with exasperation, "Look, do you wanna hear this or not?"
"Go ahead," she answered, rolling a paw and indicating for him to get on with it.
"THANK you," he said, favoring her with a mocking bow—and then becoming serious again. "I don't know how much you already know about our operation, so I need to ask you something. Did anyone ever tell you exactly how we found our clients?"
"Ahhh," Erin sucked on her lower lip, tapping her index fingers together. "Nooo, but I assume it was something to do with…hacking?"
"Yes it did, BUT…" Conor was lifting his own finger as though to emphasize a point, "Supposedly what we did was hack into the databases of a whole bunch of different banks." He shook his head bitterly, "not true, bunny girl; we never hacked into any bank—only into the home computers of some of the banks' employees.
"Ohhhh, like THAT makes a difference!" Erin groaned sarcastically; her eyes were rolling so far up into her head, she almost felt as if she was going into a trance.
The fox sitting opposite her, on the other paw, only folded his arms and sat back with a smirk…a smirk that lasted for less than half a second.
"As a matter of fact Snowdrop, it does. What if I told you those bums we hacked were running a scam…ripping off innocent animals who were only trying to make a life for themselves?"
His neck hair was up and his fangs were showing; that told Erin he wasn't merely being overly dramatic; he had meant every word he just said.
"Go on," she told him with a quiet nod.
He leaned forward on his knees again. "Here's how it worked. Some member of a maligned species…say, a fox, a hyena, a weasel…" He allowed himself a caustic grin, "...Or a coyote would go pay a visit to their friendly neighborhood bank, looking to get a loan to start their own business. Short version, they'd end up getting turned down." His expression became exceedingly somber, "but never because of their species, of course."
"Of course," Erin echoed, mimicking his expression—which immediately went from mockingly sincere to indignantly sulfurous.
"Okay, now here's where it gets ugly. The guy would go to another bank and get another rejection…and another, and another. But what he wouldn't know was that the bank officers turning down his applications were all in cahoots with each other—working behind the backs of their employers, by the way. They'd run the animal looking for the loan around for a while, and then just when he was about to give up, the guy who'd first turned down his application would call him up again." He held up a fist to the side of his face, thumb and little finger extended in the classic phone-call pantomime, "'Hey buddy….great news; I think we can swing you that loan after all.' The mark would be so happy to finally get his loan approved, he wouldn't notice that the payments were gonna go through the roof after the first few months…or that the bank had the right to foreclose if he went short on even a single payment—and 90% of the time that was exactly what happened. The bank would take possession of the guy's business and put it up for auction. And then guess who'd end up buying it for like pennies on the dollar?"
"Um…the bank officer who approved the loan?" Erin felt not a little foolish for asking. It was one of those questions with an obvious answer.
Not quite; Conor immediately shook his head. "Nope, not him; too obvious…he'd get his cut under the table, but it was one of his buds in the scheme that'd always make the buy. And then afterwards, one of two things would happen; either they'd sell the business at a profit and divvy up the proceeds or else, if the place looked like it had the potential to become a serious earner, they'd hang on to it." He was getting angrier and angrier as he spoke, ears laid back against his neck and his fur standing out like sea urchin spines. "And meanwhile, the poor guy who'd broken his tail to make that business work would end up with nothing but a pawful of air."
Okay, that was just much too much for a young doe bunny to handle.
"But…how could they get away with something like that?" she cried Just when she was starting to cope with what he'd told her about his immunity to Nighthowler…Ka-BOOM, here came another bombshell.
Conor laced his finger behind his neck and leaned backwards a little.
"They could get away with it bunny-girl," he informed her icily, "Because, except for the conspiracy part, it was all perfectly legal. There's no law, says you can't make that kind of a loan to a business…only to an individual." Erin started to respond, but he was already there ahead of her. "But that's getting off topic here; you wanted to know how I got involved with The…with this loan thing. Well, that's where my partner comes in. He was the one who first put me on to that scam. So what we did was hack into the home computers of the jerks running it, see who they had lined up as their next marks, and then we'd beat 'em to the punch. We'd get hold of one of the guys on that list and then WE'D offer to loan him the money. It took a while; the first few times, nobody wanted anything to do with us. We got the door slammed in our face, so to speak, a whole bunch of times before we finally found any takers. But once that happened, and the word got around that we were legit, we had mammals jumping over fences at our offer. We never got turned down after that…not even once." There was an unmistakable note of pride in his voice…but Erin wasn't buying it.
"If you're expecting me to be impressed fox-box, don't bother. Whatever else you were up to, you were still running a loanshark racket."
That got him out of his chair right quick.
"Lemme say it again, Snowdrop: no…we…WEREN'T!"
"Ohhhh, I see," she sat back and clapped her paws together. "You just lent all that money out of the goodness of your heart."
He leaned forward until he was almost looming over her. "Lemme tell you something, rabbit. Wanna know how much interest we charged on those loans? Zero, nada, zippity-do-dah; we took a flat fee of a thousand smackers on every deal we made, regardless of how much money we lent out."
Okay…THAT made her jaw fall into her lap, much to the satisfaction of the young silver fox in the other chair.
But then he got serious again.
"You were right about one thing though, Erin. It wasn't out of the goodness of our hearts that we lent out that money, not at first anyway." He looked away for a second; when he looked at her again his jaw was jutting defiantly. "Okay…the first loans we made were a money laundering thing. That cash I told you about—and I'm still not gonna tell you where I got it—needed to be cleaned up before I could spend it. That's why we made those first few loans."
"But…then you kept on lending money, why?" She had caught the words 'early' and 'first.'
He only smiled.
"Awwww you know why, Erin…you've seen it for yourself, back home in Bunnyburrow. We both have."
"What, now?" She knew better than to ask any further, because he wasn't going to tell her. She could either figure it out for herself or go home.
Hmmm, something they'd both seen? Okay, when had they both….? Wait a minute…now she remembered; the argument she'd had with her girlfriends that one time…about the Phantom. Even now it was almost impossible to believe, but…new business, check; maligned species, check…they'd both been there, DOUBLE check! There could be no doubt…and yet she still had to ask him.
"C-Conor," She was almost stammering, "did…YOU lend my friend Terri's stepdad the money he used to start Trask Whitewater Expeditions?"
To her great surprise…he was even more surprised, reeling back in his chair as if he'd just been caught a dodge ball the hard way.
"What the…? How did you ever…? Uh yeah, Erin, that's right, we did; the only time we went outside the city limits. But, uhhhh…" His face had become foxy sly, "But that isn't who I meant, bunny girl. I was talking about Gideon Grey."
"Gideon…Grey?" Erin drew the name out slowly as if it was one she barely remembered. "What do you mean, Gideon Grey? He wasn't one of your…uh, clients."
He smiled again, but this time it warmed her like a sun-lamp.
"No…he was your client; excuse me, your mom and dad's cli…"
"Partner!" she snapped, cutting him off at the pass. "He was their partner." Calling Gideon a client made it sound like her folks had him by the puppet-strings or something.
"Partner, client, whatever," Conor shrugged and flipped a paw. "What matters here is that he was the last guy most mammals would have taken a chance on; not only a fox, but a fox with a record. And that goes double for your folks, Erin; look at what went down between him and your sister Judy, back when they were kids. And yet, even with that kind of baggage, your mom and dad still went in with him on that bakery biz…and look how nice it all turned out—for everybody." Without warning his smile vanished, replaced by an expression that seemed to bring a chill to the air. "But where do you suppose he'd be right now if, instead of your folks helping him get a leg up, he'd gotten ripped off by those banker-bums? He'd prolly be right back in the slam again."
"Ohhhff!" His words were like a punch to Erin's gut and she grunted and almost doubled over. That was exactly what would have happened…no question about it.
"Right, I think you're getting it now," he winked and cocked a finger in her direction. "Your parents did a great thing, Erin…a really great thing. I only wish I coulda told them so when I met 'em. If only there were more mammals like them around, willing to offer a chance to a maligned species, I wouldn't have needed to lend out that money."
"Uhm…thanks," the young doe bunny answered, fidgeting and looking away; and then here came that heat in her ears and cheeks again, what the HECK?
Conor nodded and then went on.
"So now you know why I kept going with that loan operation, even knowing the risks. Every one of our clients—I mean every single one of 'em—ended up owning a successful business." He sat back in his chair again, rubbing the bridge of his muzzle; he seemed to be feeling almost as uneasy as her. "But… I didn't do that out of the goodness of my heart either. There were…other reasons."
"Such as?" Erin asked, reminding herself, for the umpty-eighth time, not to take everything he said at face value.
"Well, for starters, trying to get off my guilt-trip." He seemed to have an invisible gun to his head, one that was forcing him to meet her gaze. "I'm not happy with myself over that fight I had with your sister, Erin…but that's nothing compared to some of the other stuff I did, back before I came to Zootopia." His mouth worked for a second while he pulled on his fingers with his other paw. "And that thing I DIDN'T do…after I got here!"
Sweet cheez n' crackers, her ears were going to end up stuck in the vertical position forever if this went on much longer—and was her nose ever going to stop twitching?
"That you didn't…do? Ohhhh….please tell me that isn't something else you can't talk about." If it was, she'd clobber him, and who cared how strong his grip was.
He seemed to sense it and smiled…if for only a fleeting second.
"No, that's one thing I can tell you—you'd probably figure it out for yourself anyway. Remember two years ago, when all those predators started going savage and nobody could figure out why? I knew, Erin…I knew it was Nighthowler the first time I saw it on the news; I knew," he clasped at himself, shivering and seeming to shrink by several inches. "I knew what it was…and I never said a word about it, not to anyone."
For once Erin's black tipped ears stayed where they were and her nose held quietly still. Unexpected revelation or not, it made absolute, perfect sense. "IF he was telling the truth about those scars," her inner voice reminded her.
Well, maybe so, but there was no harm in going with it, yea or nay.
"All right Conor, but why…why would you do that?" She thought she knew but wanted to hear it from him.
He blew a puff of air out the side of his muzzle, at the same time, working his paws.
"There's a lot of answers to that question, bunny. Like…ohhhhh, I thought it was probably Nighthowler, but I couldn't be sure; that's a lie, I was a zillion percent sure. Or…that I knew it was Nighthowler but I didn't know how those preds were getting hold of it. That's the truth, I didn't have a clue; never imagined for a second that anyone might be darting 'em with the stuff. The best I could come up with was that maybe it had gotten into the water supply or something." Seeing her expression, he quickly raised a paw. "Yeah, I know….that's still no excuse for not coming forward. But then, here's the big one; even if I spilled what I knew to the law, no way was anyone gonna believe me." His eyes locked into hers, "And that one was 100% true. After all, how would a kid know something like that? And uhhhh, what's that thing they always say about my species again…something about 'shifty and dishonest?'"
"But…you could have shown them, Conor." Erin didn't want to argue, but couldn't help it. "You could have shown the ZPD that Nighthowler has no effect on you…just like you did with me." He only raised a finger in a 'tut-tut' gesture.
"Ahhhh, not quite, bunny-girl; the ZPD had no idea back then that Nighthowler makes you go savage; even your sister didn't know until your folks told her. If I'd eaten some of that stuff in front of the cops and nothing had happened, it would have proven…well, nothing. I'd have been tossed outta the precinct on my ear—if I was lucky!" He slapped his knees and blew another puff of air, looking flinty all over again. "But, that being said, there is a way I could have convinced them that I knew what I was talking about…only I didn't think of it until after the savage pred thing was over." He clenched a fist and gritted his teeth, "I not only knew it was Nighthowler making those predators go ballistic, I also knew the antidote…I even had a supply of the stuff; still do, as a matter of fact. I could have given some to the ZPD…or maybe figured out a way to get a shot off at one of those savage preds with it. Then they would have had to believe…"
Once again, Erin couldn't keep from interrupting. "Oh come off it, Conor, how the heck were you ever supposed to…?"
"It doesn't matter, bunny-girl!" he was out of his chair and almost shouting again, "Didn't you hear what I said just now, I didn't think of it until after Mayor Bell-whatever went to jail—and for the same reason I dummied up in the first place; I was too stinkin' scared." He fell back into his seat again, looking like a spent cartridge, "scared of being sent back to…" His eyes, his whole body seemed to screw shut—and when he spoke again his voice was a ragged croak, "…that place."
Ohhhh, what was a young doe-bunny to do after hearing something like that? She had always known he wasn't Captain Invincible…but this was a whole new level of vulnerability for him.
She got up and put her arm around the quivering young silver-fox.
"Conor, c'mon and stop that, okay?" She told him gently. "You don't need to go beating yourself up like that; my sister Judy already took care of it."
He made no reply but she could hear the little sniggers and feel his shoulders bobbing. Oh-kay, she was off to a decent start.
"And whatever you did or didn't do, it all worked out in the end. Nobody got killed, Dawn Bellwether went to prison—AND they found the antidote for Nighthowler all by them…"
That was as far as she got before he pushed her away. The guilt and shame had fled from his face, replaced by a more familiar expression; the look he got before telling her that he wasn't going to talk about something.
"You got NO idea…" was all he said…and she knew it was pointless to press him any further.
For many long moments, there was nothing between them but an awkward silence. The only way to break it, Erin knew, was to give him an opening—except she couldn't come up with anything to save her life, dumb bunny.
Except for maybe…well what the heck, it was better than nothing.
"Conor…it couldn't only have been about feeling guilty." Not the smoothest way to break the ice, but good enough—she hoped.
It was; his shoulders squared and he turned to face her, once more wearing that look of proud defiance.
"No Erin, you're right, it wasn't. There's another reason why I got into that lending thing. For as long as I can remember, The System's been sticking it to me." he poked himself in the chest with a thumb. "So this is me, sticking it back! No…you're not gonna cheat this animal, just because he's a mink; no, you're not gonna rip this guy off, just because he's a hyena; not this time. The King John Gang isn't running their stinkin' little shaft on this mammal, not if I got anything to say about it."
"The…WHO?" Okay…now he had her ears reaching for the ceiling—and for crying out loud…AGAIN?
Conor smirked just ever so slightly, and then explained.
"The King John Gang, that's what the guys running that lending scam called themselves—and don't look at me, it was their idea."
"Okay, yes," Erin was thumping her foot in exasperation, "But…how the heck did they ever come up with that name?"
"I know, right?" The corners of the young fox's mouth were going in two different directions. "I couldn't figure it out either, the first time I heard. Anyway, it comes from how King John acquired a lot of his property; it wasn't just taxes, y'know. What he used to do was sell positions with the court to this or that mammal. 'You too can become a sheriff, for only twelve easy payments of…' You get the idea. So then His Majesty would forget to collect on the debt for a while…or pretend to. And then, after the bill got big enough—or if he decided he didn't like you any more—WHAM! He'd send his bailiffs to demand payment; all of it, right now, or else your entire estate was forfeit. It's one of the big reasons his barons made him sign the Magna Carta."
"Gah!" Erin could only shake her head, "How brazen can you get; naming yourselves after THAT greedy jerk?"
"Tell me about it." Conor's growl was both harsh and cynical.
"Hmmmmm," all at once, the young doe-bunny felt a wicked smile unzipping along her face. "You know, I just thought of something. If those bankers were the King John Gang, then I guess that makes you Robin Hood… Alllll riiight, what's so funny?"
He was laughing so intensely it looked as if his chair was about to tip over. It took nearly a minute before he finally began to recover—and then he was giving her the old 'what a dumb bunny' look.
"Robin Hood…a fox? Gimme a break Snowdrop; like anyone would ever believe THAT!"
"Yeah-h-h-h, okayyy…" she sighed, feeling her eyes roll upwards—and her foot, wanting to thump harder than ever.
She just hated it when he was right.