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The Fire Triangle

Part Two:

Oxidizer

Chapter 8: Everything You Know is Wrong
(Part 5…Concluded)

Undisclosed location, Zootopia Sound—Monday, 17:47, ZST

At first, Conor was unfamiliar with the tune; he had heard it maybe one or two times before—and that had been years ago.

But …where the foxtrot was he? He could see his arms; he could see the bed…a hospital bed? Yeah, okay, but beyond that, he could see nothing; nothing except a ring of haze surrounding him, perhaps the size of a traffic circle.

And after that—zippity; just an endless, empty black void.

Yeah, and what about that music? It seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere; from beyond the darkness and, at the same time, from somewhere inside of his head.

But now he finally recognized the melody; it was the opening synth-riff from the old Alan Purrson's Project tune, "You Can't Take It With You." Hmmm, how did that first verse go again?

"Well, I sympathize completely
But there's nothing I can do
I am just a humble servant
With a message here, for you."

Whoaaaa, wait a minute—that wasn't any synthesizer. Someone was whistling those notes; repeating them over and over again, in a closed loop.

That was when he heard the voice…deep and soft and smoky.

"Hello, boy. So…we meet again."

Conor looked…and fox-screamed.

Skittering backwards, he pressed himself into the mattress and pillow with all his strength—as if trying to bury himself inside of them.

Standing at the foot of the bed was an enormous wolf, with fur like an arctic glacier. The astounded young silver fox recognized him at once, although …n-no, it couldn't be…not him.

He was big, mean, and hulking; with deep-set, burning eyes, embedded in a mask of ash-grey fur. The most familiar thing about him was his mode of dress; a baggy shapeless tunic with Slavic overtones, a relic of Soviet Russia.

But it was the object in his paw that drew the bulk of Conor's attention; a crescent-moon, razor-sharp sickle. The sight of it was enough to turn his tail into a bottle-brush and make his fur stand on end as if charged with static electricity. He felt a bolt of searing heat slice across his back. It wasn't real, but only a memory—of what the leader of the Stalniy Volki had done with that thing the last time they had met. He'd been about to finish the job with his hammer when…

When…

"No, no, no! You're dead; Danny blew you away, I saw it." Conor had done more than see it, actually. It was another memory he couldn't get out of his head, no matter how hard he tried.

The wolf rolled his eyes for a second and then looked at him. He seemed almost disappointed.

But…where had his tunic gone? Now he was wearing a hooded cloak. And what was it made of, oilcloth?

"Ohhh, you think I'm THAT animal? Well, I suppose it's understandable, considering, but…"

He reached into his cloak and pulled out…not his hammer, but another sickle, at the same time drawing himself up to his full height. Holy foxtrot, this dude was HUGE.

"You know, boy," he was scratching at his cheek with the tip of one implement, "someone once said that 'with strange eons, even I may die.' Mmmmm, who knows? Bur, whatever, let me tell you something that isn't going to happen…" Without warning, he leaned swiftly across the bed, getting right in the terrified young silver-fox's face. At this distance, Conor could make out every single one of his teeth; pearly and translucent, with edges like daggers.

But why couldn't he feel the heat of the big wolf's breath—or even smell…?

"I am not, repeat, NOT going to die and leave you boss!" His snarl was like something from a deep, dark well.

"Wha…? " Conor gasped and tried to push away again. "Wh-What the heck are you talking about?"

With hard, unflinching eyes, his visitor stepped back from the bed, face suffused by a look of pure contempt.

"Ohhh, I think you know, boy." Tossing one of his sickles onto the floor, he gestured towards it with the other one. "Pick it up."

"What? No way!" Conor didn't even want to touch that thing…and anyway, they'd have to get him out of bed first, and…. Wait a second, he was already out of bed—crouched on the floor in a three-pointer; when the heck had that happened?

"I said…pick…it…UP!" The wolf showed his fangs as he spoke.

Conor looked at the sickle…and then at him.

"Nuh-uh, no wa—waaaaa, what the foxtrot?"

The wolf was gone; standing in his place was a young coyote…another animal easily recognized.

…Craig Guilford!

"Come on, boy. I thought you wanted to get some payback for your friend…don't you? Well, here I am; come and take it." It was Craig, but he was speaking in the wolf's voice. Perhaps that was why the fearful young silver fox was unable to make a move.

Or maybe it was something else.

"What's the matter, son?" the wolf-yote taunted, flashing a toothy smirk "Afraid you'll get a boo-boo? Here, let me make it easy for you," By way of explanation, he hurled his other sickle away. Conor watched as it sailed off into the void and was gone. "There, I'm unarmed." his adversary growled, flipping upturned fingers in the traditional martial arts challenge, "Now get over here and finish what you started."

Unable to resist, the young silver fox turned his eyes towards the object on the floor…oh, so sharp and gleaming.

"You do, and I'll never speak to you again!"

"Huh?"

Conor looked again and saw that Craig was gone. In his place was Erin Hopps.

She was there for only a second, before she dissolved into an ethereal cloud—a cloud that expanded and got bigger and bigger, at last coalescing into someone that the fugitive young silver fox knew only from a picture on his laptop. Her expression was tender—and also heartbroken.

When she spoke, it wasn't in the wolf's voice, but her own. "This isn't you, kid…because if it is, you're not my son!"

Before Conor could even begin to think, the figure changed again.

Now it was Saad al-Zaqir, his neck and one of his arms twisted at a hideous, unnatural angle.

"What about me then?" The sand-cat was also speaking in his own voice. "Look at what that coyote did to me." He pointed towards himself with an odd, jerky motion; a marionette handled by an incompetent puppeteer.

"That's right, boy." Craig was back again, and so was the voice of the wolf. "So, what are you going to do?" he bobbed his head and sneered "just stand there and let me get away with it?"

Conor stared at him for a second…remembering. Not just about Saad, but how the animal standing before him had tried to help dump a load of defoliant on the Carrot Days Festival. And now this lowlife dirtbag thought that…!

Slowly…almost deliberately, the fugitive young silver fox's ears began to rotate backwards—until they appeared to have been glued to the back of his scalp. At the same time, the neck fur in between them, had risen up into hedgehog quills.

"No, I'm not," he snarled…and then lunged for the sickle, snatching it up, and flinging it away into the darkness.

When he turned around, the wolf was back. Good; he had some choice words for this loudmouth punk.

"Nice try, wuffie…except Saad would never have…wanted…me to…to…"

His voice faltered as he realized…he had just been played, played like a Jeff Buck guitar solo.

For just a hint of a second, a grin flitted wickedly across the white wolf's features.

And then his arms shot out sideways and the pair of sickles came whirling out of the blackness and into his paws.

"Then here's what's gonna happen," he growled—and raised the weapons high above his head, preparing to…

"NO…!"

Conor snapped up into a sitting position, his arms crossed protectively in front of his face.

When he lowered them, the wolf was nowhere to be seen…gone, along with the darkness. Now the bewildered young silver fox found himself in a softly-lit room with lime green walls. a room that seemed to be swaying just ever so slightly from side to side. He was panting rapidly, so rapidly that he thought he might pass out again. Hmmmm where was he? Wait, that sound, an all-too-familiar, rhythmic peeping. Turning sideways, he saw his vital signs, scrolling across a flat-screen display in pixelated form.

All right, now he knew where he was; he'd better know. After all, this was…what; only the fourth time in his life that he'd awakened in a hospital room—even more if you included the instances when someone else had been the patient.

He shifted his gaze left, towards the nearest wall. Oops…no, this wasn't a hospital; the last time he'd looked, hospital rooms had windows, not portholes.

Oh-kayyy then, where was he? Wait, he was on board that floating clinic, the…what was it called again? The…something star, the MERCY Star; yeah, that was it. Whoah, so they'd made it after all, they had gotten him here in time.

Uhhhh, who had gotten him here again? Erin Hopps…he remembered her, but…

But…?

But why wasn't she here? Where was she? He needed to see her; he needed to talk to her. Where…?

The door swung open and a minkesse in scrubs entered; a nurse, not a doctor. Conor recognized that fact from his previous medical experiences.

"Ohhh, you're awake, Mr. Lewis," Her tone fairly screamed 'about TIME! "Hang on, I'll go get Dr. Xiang."

She turned on her heel like a drum majorette. Conor reached out a paw as if to grab her sleeve. "Wait, where's Erin…the bunny that came with me, is she…?"

But the mink-nurse was already out the door.

Grumbling at nothing, he fell back against his pillow, trying to think. His head felt like a jigsaw puzzle that was trying to reassemble itself.

How long had he been out of it? It seemed like less than a minute, but again; being no stranger to surgery, he knew better.

Billy! Billy Mackenna; that was who had been piloting the boat that brought him here…was that right? No, there'd been another boat, and had…Mr. Rodenberg shown up at one point? He hadn't caught so much as a glimpse of the rat-attorney…and yet, he could have sworn…

And a hovercraft; there was…something about a hovercraft, something that made his skin crawl when he tried to wrap his head around it.

The door opened and the mink-nurse returned, followed closely by a female pangolin in a less-than-spotless lab-coat. Hmmm, that must be the good doctor. Conor dearly wanted to ask her what had happened to Erin, but again, from experience, he knew better. He wouldn't get a thing out of her, or Nurse Minkie. until AFTER she had completed her examination.

Dr. Xiang's manner was neither aloof nor affable as she gave him the standard once over, temperature, blood pressure, pulse, reflexes, penlight-in-the-eye; 'okay, deep breath,' and the rest of it.

"Well, everything looks good, so far," she said, jotting memos on a clipboard. And then, taking note of the look on the young fox's face, she told him. "We will destroy these notes after you're gone…but until that time, we'll need them."

"All right," Conor nodded, in no mood for an argument. "But what's the prognosis; how'm I doing?"

The pangolin gave him a sharp look, as if surprised that he knew the definition of the word. Then she offered him just the barest excuse for a smile.

"You're going to be fine; a full recovery. And you'll be surprised at how quickly it will happen." She frowned, pointing with a finger claw. "I mean…the abscess; your leg is another matter. That should also heal completely, but it's going to take a bit longer, at least a couple of weeks. You'll need to stay off it until then, as best you can. I've got some meds prescribed for you, and I've had you fitted with a brace…a real one. You will also need to get yourself a set of crutches." Her final sentence dripped with lye—meaning he'd have to find those bad boys for himself.

In another time and place Conor might have come back with something snappy. Instead, he allowed the remark to go in one ear and out the other. Stuck-up snob or not, Dr. Xiang had probably just saved his life.

And besides that, he was in no position to antagonize her.

So, instead he asked, "What time is it? How long was I out?" He knew better than to check his watch, it wouldn't be on his wrist.

"About ten after six…uh, six in the evening." It was the nurse who answered, at the same time passing a syringe to the pangolin, who took it and began probing his arm, looking for a vein.

"All right, little poke," she said. And, as always, it was more than just a little poke.

Conor didn't bother to ask what was in the shot he'd been given. Recovering from an abscess as he was, it was probably some sort of antibiotic. He was more interested in the time; a little after six pm. Whoa, he'd been out a lot longer than he thought—and no wonder he felt so hungry. No point in asking for anything to eat though. Judging by the 'tudes he was getting in here; he was lucky they'd even let him on board this tub.

Only…why; why the heck were they treating him like a party crasher? Were they scared that the ZPD was gonna bust down the door at any second?

For some odd reason, that thought reminded him of something else; if he remembered correctly, the Mercy Star had been scheduled to weigh anchor at 8:30 that morning. Wherever they were now, it was nowhere near Outback Island. Hmmm, was that a chill in the air he felt? Yes…yes it was; that put them somewhere off Tundratown. Where they were, exactly, the fugitive young silver fox had no idea, but it didn't matter. It was highly unlikely that the ZPD would be searching for him in this neck of the woods…at least for a while.

The ZPD…

It was all coming back to him now; the events of the previous night. DAY-ang—the cops had known exactly where to set their ambush…and it hadn't been any improvised operation either, not with practically a whole task force of police boats lying in wait. That pointed to only one possible explanation; someone had tipped them off—but who? He would need to discuss that with his lawyer, when he...

Hey, wait a minute. Where was Mr. Rodenberg? And what the heck had happened to Billy?

And, especially, where was…?

"Was there a bunny that came on board with me? White fur, with black…"

"Yes, she's here," Dr. Xiang interrupted, her frigid manner thawing just ever so slightly.

Erin Hopps was, in fact, just then drying herself off after exiting the shower. She had already showered once after coming on board, but after being pelted with all sorts of munchies last night, she had felt the need for another one as soon as she'd awakened. Even then, it hadn't made her feel completely clean—but it had helped.

Luckily for her, the Mercy Star just happened to have an onboard laundry. And so, while she'd been sleeping, the staff had washed her things for her. Pulling them off their pegs and starting to put them on, the white-furred young bunny noted that THEY weren't completely clean either; calicoed with stains of varying colors. Oh well, at least they smelled fresh.

She had just finished fastening the hasp of her bra, when she heard a knock at the door.

"Are you decent Ms. Carr?" a female voice asked, addressing Erin by the name she'd given after coming on board last night.

"Just a second," the young doe-bunny answered, reaching for her top and slipping it on. "Okay, c'mon in."

The door opened, and it was the mink-nurse she'd met the night before.

"Your friend's awake; he's asking for you." Her manner was far more congenial than it had been with Conor.

Erin managed a smile as she answered, "Oh? Great; tell him I'll be there in just a minute." She held the expression until the nurse made her exit, letting it drop only after she heard the retreating footsteps fade away. Clasping her paws, she pressed them against the wall, shutting her eyes and leaning into them with her forehead.

"Ohhh, God…what am I going to SAY to him?"

She had not forgotten why Conor had needed to be brought here in the first place; because she had dropped him fifteen feet to the asphalt. Not only that; by now, Craig Guilford was either back in police custody, or else he'd managed to dig his way to freedom from beneath the dumpster where they'd left him trapped. Either way, that coyote jerk was now officially beyond her companion's reach…and he wasn't going to like it.

With a heavy sigh, Erin pushed back off the wall, turning to face the mirror, mounted on the wall behind her. "Okay," she said, brushing a strand of fur from her eyes, "let's get this over with."

When she entered the room where Conor was waiting, she found him fingering the stitches in his flank. She grimaced and almost gagged, remembering the nurse's description of what had happened when they'd lanced his abscess. 'Like a garden hose full of eggnog.' Ewwwww…that was way more information than she'd needed to know right then—or at all!

But then he saw her and waved, "Hey Erin!" And she almost burst into tears.

They had said he was going to be alright—but only now did the young doe-bunny dare to believe it. He sounded way stronger than he had last night; like his old self again, and then some.

"H-Hi Conor," she answered, offering a half-hearted wave. If they'd been alone, she would have been tempted to run over and hug him.

"Ahhh, you guys got a chair she can sit on?" The young fox queried. He was speaking to the nurse, who responded with a jaundiced look before going to fetch one from across the cabin. Conor watched her with a curious expression, as if wondering what the heck everyone was so down on him for? Erin could have explained it…but not with all these other ears in the room.

The chair turned out to be either a little bit too low—or the bed a mite too high—for her to make eye contact with the injured young silver fox. But with the addition of a pair of folded towels that problem went a considerable way towards being rectified.

"Thanks," Conor nodded, sounding like he meant it. And then to Dr. Xiang he said, "Can you give us a few over here?"

"Yes, we're finished," the pangolin replied, sounding more tired than angry. Turning on her heel, she motioned for the nurse to follow her out through the door. When she closed it behind her, she almost slammed it.

Conor tilted his head for a second and then looked at Erin.

"Mmmm, I don't think they like me very much, bunny-girl."

She didn't hug him; that moment had come and gone—but she did take his paw.

"I-It's not you so much as Mr. Rodenberg." The young doe-bunny explained, timidly. "You, uh, weren't what they were expecting when he brought you here."

"Meaning I'm not Cosa Nostra," he muttered, speaking mostly to himself. For some reason, he seemed to find the news a little disturbing.

But then he reached out and took her other paw, giving them both a little squeeze.

"Erin…I-I don't know what the heck to say, except…thank you."

A pair of burning flowers bloomed on her cheeks, and then rose up into her ears. She nearly pulled away from him, but somehow managed to resist the urge.

"No Conor," she shook her head, barely able to look at him. "Don't even thank me. You almost died, and it wouldn't have happened, if I hadn't grabbed you from behind, and then kicked you off that fire-escape…"

He immediately cut her off.

"Erin, that's what I'm thanking you FOR."

"Huh, what?" Her nose was twitching so hard, it felt like it was going to detach itself. Sweet cheez n' crackers, was he hallucinating or something? Or…was she hallucinating?

His eyes turned downwards, towards the bed-sheets. "Like I said before, I've done some things in my life that I'm none too stinking proud of, but…" His gaze abruptly locked into hers, "what I almost did back there would have been a zillion times worse than any of it—and you stopped me. So…thank you, bunny-girl." He squeezed her paws again, "Thank you…"

She just stared with eyes like moon-pies. "B-But I almost killed you," she stammered, and immediately wanted to take it back. What a great way to put it, DUMB bunny!

"Yeah, I know," he told her quietly, his amber eyes softening as he spoke. "But do YOU wanna know something? I'd rather be dead than a murderer."

Now, Erin did pull away from him, or, more correctly, she yanked herself away. "You mean…you really would have…?"

"I…I dunno," Conor sounded like an engine that doesn't want to start. At the same time, he seemed to have become fascinated with the view outside the nearest porthole. "I…wanna think that…when I met Craig face to face…I would've got cold feet, and backed off on him; wouldn't have been the first time I did something like that…but…" His shoulders straightened, and he looked at her unflinchingly. "But when you caught up with me outside the museum—yeah, I was ready to off that punk. And I knew exactly how I was gonna do it."

"How?" Erin asked him breathlessly—immediately wishing that she could take back the question.

She needn't have bothered.

"Tha-a-at's…something you don't wanna know," he answered, in a voice like boots crunching gravel, at the same time shaking his head. When he stopped, he had an actual smile on his face; wan, but genuine. "What's important is that it didn't happen," he reached for her paws again, "Because of you, Erin."

She let the young fox take hold of them but she was thinking. She could almost believe that yes, he would have stopped himself from hurting Craig when they'd finally confronted one another.

But…only almost; this was still the same young silver fox who'd drawn first blood in that fight with her sister.

Out of nowhere, his words came back to her, 'You don't KNOW what kind of kid I am.' And only now was she beginning to comprehend the truth of that statement; there was so very little that she actually understood about him. Look at the way he was reacting to her now; tail-between-the-legs penitence—the last thing she would have expected after the events of last night.

But then he let out a cough, but not a real one—he had something else to say and wasn't quite sure how to put it.

"Listen Erin…I think you already know that I was seriously zoned for a while last night; I have no idea how I got here. Can you…fill me on what went down while I was out of it?

Erin studied him for a second with her nose twitching.

"Ummmm, okay…what's the last thing you remember?"

"The police boat hitting that sandbar," Conor spoke without hesitation, but then hurriedly qualified his words. "That's the last thing I remember clearly. After that, it all gets kinda blurry, though I still remember some stuff…like somebody else shooting at us and…w-was there a hovercraft chasing us back there?"

"Yeah, there was," Erin shivered a little at the memory, "and yeah, they were shooting at us, Conor!" Her voice rose a good two notches as she spoke; the impact of having been subjected to deadly force was only just now beginning to make itself known.

"Okay," he seemed confused by her reaction…as if he considered it an over-reaction "But that wasn't the first time someone took a shot at us, bunny-girl. What about that cop on the jet ski?"

"That was different!" she insisted. "She just kind of went crazy or whatever…but the second time was like, I dunno, calculated or something. That wolverine was deliberately aiming for Billy."

She felt her paws clench as she readied herself for the fox's rejoinder. What was coming, she wondered, a laugh…or a sneer?

It was neither.

"Wolverine, did you say?" Now his voice was like a pond on a chill, windless day; cold, icy, and still. "Did you…get a decent look at that hovercraft, by any chance?"

"Yeah, a real good look," Erin wondered if her nose was EVER going to stop twitching. "They turned sideways when Billy tried to dodge them and it was really close, they were only like about three car-lengths away from us. That's when I saw that one guy was a wolverine." She bit her lip and clutched at her elbows. Ohhh, she did not want to have to ask him this. "Why, Conor…do you know who they were?" For her own part she had no idea—except for sure, they hadn't been ZPD.

He sucked in a hiss of air between his teeth. "I…might; were there any kinda markings on that hovercraft, bunny-girl?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "Some kind of—hmmm—a monogram I guess you'd call it. I saw an 'A', maybe an 'X' or a 'K,' I'm not…Conor, what's wrong?" He was doubled halfway over and grimacing, as if she'd just planted a foot in his gut.

"I'm fine," he answered quickly, straightening up again. He didn't look fine at all; he was looking frantically around the room. "Where's my laptop?"

"Wha…?" What the heck did he want that for, all of a sudden. "It's right over there," she pointed, "on that wall hanger."

"'Kay," the young silver fox replied, taking a breath. He seemed to be trying to force himself to calm down. And then he pointed. "Go bring it here, okay?"

Alllll right…that was where Erin Janelle Hopps drew the line. Folding her arms and lifting her chin, she thrust it forward, like a dare. "Hey Charcoal Boy…just who do you think you are, giving me orders? I'm not your house-maid…"

"Fine, I'll get it myself." He snapped…and then threw back the sheets and swung sideways off the mattress.

Erin immediately turned away from him, yelping and covering her eyes.

"Agggghhh, grrrr!" Conor groaned, or maybe growled, "NOW what?"

Still not looking, Erin pointed and shrilled.

"Dumb fox, you're naaaaked!" She drew out the last word like chewing gum.

Now it was his turn to yelp, frenziedly covering himself with tail and throwing himself back into the bed…while the doe-bunny in the chair beside him started laughing so hard, she nearly went tumbling to the floor. Ooooo, yum-MEE! As sweet revenge went, this was a double carrot-cake sundae.

But then his voice became a plea. "Erin, listen…I could be in some way serious trouble over here—and so could you."

She looked at him for a second…and nooo, she didn't feel guilty, of course not. Slipping down to the floor, she went over to where the backpack was hanging. It was too high up on the wall for her to reach, even on tiptoes. Fortunately, it was well within hopping distance, and a moment later she was passing it over to Conor.

He spent the next few seconds rummaging around inside of it. "Ahhh, at least, no one else has been in here," he grumbled, as if he'd been expecting to find it turned inside out and sideways.

Erin wasn't about to argue; he was right to have thought that way.

"Mr. Rodenberg told them to leave it alone—or else," she said. He hadn't put it quite like that, but being an experienced attorney, the grey rat had a knack for making threats without actually saying anything.

Conor's head tilted sideways as he pulled out the laptop from his pack.

"Yeah-h-h, where IS he anyway?"

"He had court today; he said he'll be back this evening."

"Oh…okay," Flipping open the laptop, the young fox booted it up and typed a few instructions. And then he swung it around to show her the screen. "Is this what you saw on the side of that hovercraft?"

Erin looked…and saw a picture of a military command vehicle of some kind. Peering closer, she noted an emblem on the door, and pointed to it.

"Yeah, that's it."

"Nrrgggh!' Barely stifling a fox-scream, Conor grimaced and turned hurriedly away—as if he couldn't bear to look at the image on his laptop screen. And then his paw slapped between his eyes with a sound like a flyswatter killing a wasp. "Oh, God…they're on to me." His voice was both hollow and breathless.

"Wha…WHO'S onto you?" Erin asked him, frightened and bewildered. He seemed even more distressed than a moment ago. It made her want to bolt for the door and just keep on running.

With the slow, mechanical movements of a wind-up toy, he turned to look at her again.

"Did they…see you, Erin? Did THEY get a good look at you?"

"Y-Yes they did." The young doe-bunny admitted. Ohhh, she had never wanted to lie so badly in her life—and had never felt less capable of it. "They…had me in a spotlight. There's no way they couldn't have seen me."

She expected this to bring on another violent reaction, but the young fox only clasped his paws together, tapping them against his forehead while apparently trying to think.

After what might have been a thousand hours, he let out a breath and turned to her with weary, hollow eyes.

"Erin, remember what you said about wanting to stay with me?"

She studied the floor for a second.

"Yeah…well…since you're just about all better now, I thought…maybe I should go ahead and turn myself in."

There, that should make him happy.

No such luck.

"Sorry bunny-girl," he was shaking his head and looking grim. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me now."

A moment ago, that would have brought her rocketing out of her chair, demanding to know where the heck he got off talking to HER around like that?

Now, she just wrung her paws, barely able to maintain eye-contact with the fugitive young silver fox.

"Why?"

His eyes darted upwards for a second.

"Erin…you're either gonna believe this or you won't, but…" he swung his gaze upon her; eyes like wasps, trapped in amber. "Those guys on that boat…are part of an outfit that's been after me for a long time." With the speed of striking rattlesnake, his paw shot out and took hold of hers; she seemed to go numb at his touch. "These are not nice animals bunny-girl… and now they know that you were with me last night; you follow what I'm bringing out?"

Not this time…

"No, I don't!" The question seemed to rejuvenate the young doe-bunny and she snatched her paw away again. "Some…'outfit' I never heard of is chasing you? WHY? What for? Who they heck are they?" She shook her head, almost violently. "Ohhhh, forget about them, who the heck are YOU?"

"Wha…who am I?" Conor reeled back, wide-eyed, so bewildered, she could almost see HIS nose twitching.

She spun in her chair showing her back to him.

"You know what I mean, Charcoal-Boy. Conor Lewis isn't your real name, it's a name you made up…and I don't care if that's what you WANT to be called." She flicked her feet backwards, casting a baleful eye over her shoulder. "If I don't even know that much about you, then how the heck am I supposed to believe anything you just told me?"

"Yeah, Erin…okay, I get you." He tried to reach for her again, but she shuddered a cold shoulder, deflecting the move. "I promise, I'm gonna tell you everything,"

That tore it; she wheeled on him with her ears laid back. Oooo, as IF she'd fall for that old dodge.

"WHEN, Charcoal-Boy? When were you planning to tell me huh?" Ohhhh, brother…and now he'd come back with some vague assurance; 'soon,' or 'later', or whatever.

"When Mr. Rodenberg gets here," he said, "I promised him too, remember?" There was no raised paw, no paw over his heart, just a plain, simple statement of fact.

And how was she supposed to argue with that? She folded her arms and sniffed.

"Ohhh-kay Conor—or whoever you really are—but when he does get here, I'm going to hold you to that promise, 'kay?"

"Fair enough," he nodded, scratching at his muzzle for a second before looking her way again. "Listen, Erin…I know I can't make you stay with me; I'm not even going to try. All I ask is that you hear me out. And then…" His gaze fell away from hers for a second. "And then, if you still want to take a hike…well…then that's what's gonna happen."

"All right," she answered quietly—although she honestly couldn't think of anything he could say that could get her to change her mind. All right, yes…it had been her idea to stick by him. But that was when he'd needed medical help—which he'd finally gotten—and before she'd been chased through the canal district by two different gangs of thugs and shot at TWICE. "Thanks for the ride, Charcoal-Boy, but I'm getting OFF this roller-coaster."

"So, uh…can I ask what else happened while I was out?"

Conor's question snapped her instantly out of her reverie. Oh well, she had nothing better to do at the moment, and so she proceeded to fill him in on the rest of what he'd missed. Mostly, he just listened—until she got to the part where Billy Mackenna's dad and uncle had shown up, along with…

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…Mr. Rodenberg was on their boat?"

"Yeahhhh, that's right," Erin answered him uncertainly—and with good reason. How the heck could he be unaware of the fact that…? "They're his clients, too—or they used to be or something." She felt one of her ears rise up. "You…didn't know?"

"Nope," the young fox answered, shaking his head and giving her a 'sly-fox' smile, "And I'm glad I didn't. Coz if he never mentioned their case to me, then it's a slam-dunk that he never talked about MY case with them—or anyone else." He stopped smiling and looked at her seriously, "That's what a good lawyer DOES, Erin."

"Oh yeah," She nodded, trying to remember, "Ahhh, attorney-client privilege, is that what it's called?"

Yeah, that's right," the young fox answered, narrowing his eyes and smirking, "and it goes double for a guy like him. If a mob lawyer breaks that rule, he doesn't just get disbarred, he gets whacked!" His head dropped between his shoulders, as he sniggered at the witticism.

Erin wasn't laughing; she was appalled. How the heck could make light of something like…like murder? No way was she going to stick with him now. She'd bail this instant, if a promise wasn't a promise.

Hold on, he was speaking to her again, at the same time working his paws uncomfortably.

"Yeah, okay…that's not funny, I'm sorry." Dangit was he reading her mind or something? When he looked at her again, he reminded the young doe-bunny of a beggar, rattling a cup. "All I can say is…you don't grow up around the kinda violence I've seen, without getting at least a little bit used to it."

"…Or without some of it rubbing off on YOU." Erin kept the thought to herself—but with it, came an epiphany. That much, at least, had to be true. There was violence in this young silver-fox's past. There had to be; it was the only good explanation for him having nearly gone after Craig like that. Or…forget that crazy coyote, what about the attack on her sister?

Her sister…ohhhh, sweet cheez n' crackers, what would Judy say if she could see her right now? What would Mom say? How on earth was she ever going to explain herself to her family?

…And for what? For THIS mangy jerk? All right, maybe he wasn't mangy, but still….

"But still he was there for you at that Carrot Days Talent Show and your audition." The rebuke from her inner voice was sharp enough to sting. "And Craig Guilford would have made it out of that hole and been all over you if HE hadn't been there to help. And what did he ask in return for any of that, huh?"

"Nothing," it came out as almost a croak

"Huh?" Conor's ears were up and his head was tilting sideways.

"Nothing," Erin repeated, in a slightly different tone of voice. It made no difference; her inner turmoil had not escaped the young silver fox's notice.

And it hadn't exactly put him in an upbeat mood, either.

"Oh God, bunny-girl…I'm so sorry—for everything." He slapped his paw against the bed, so frustrated that his claws were exposed and tore tiny, ragged holes in the sheet. "I shoulda stayed away from that audition…let myself be seen in another part of the city. Tuff-guy Tufts would have pulled his guys out of the Academy, and…"

"So, why did you come?" the question was out before the young doe-bunny even realized she'd asked it.

His eyes came level with hers again. She could tell right away that he was forcing himself to look at her.

"Coz I promised you I'd be there, okay?" he said, and then turned away embarrassed—as if he'd just made the stupidest statement in the history of mammalkind.

Erin looked at him with her ears falling backwards. They didn't plaster themselves against the back of her neck, but only hung there, limply.

And then she threw her arms around Conor's neck and hugged him tightly. "Thank you," she said, trying not to let her voice crack. It lasted for maybe three seconds, before she pulled back with a look on her face of 'What-am-I-DOING?'

The silence that followed was as awkward as a hippo attempting to roller-blade.

It was the bunny that finally broke it, coughing into fist and then continuing with her narrative.

"…And then Billy's dad told him to hide the boat in the tunnel where he picked us up and get it cleaned up."

"Hmmm," Conor bit his lip, looking concerned. "I hope he got it done okay."

"Me too," Erin answered not a little worried herself, "His father was SOOOO mad at him."

"Ahhh, Billy'll be okay," The young fox waved a dismissive paw. "His dad's a decent guy; he won't come down too hard on him." But then he sat up with his paws on his hips, looking serious. "What I'm more worried about is that the animals who own that hovercraft are gonna be looking for that boat—and so is the ZPD. Colin's gonna have to get rid of it if he doesn't want majorly trouble. That's prolly why he's so torqued at Billy." His shoulders rose and fell in a dismissive shrug. "Honestly, the best thing he can do is part that bad boy out and send the hull to the shredder; just make it disappear."

He seemed almost to be musing to himself. But what really drew Erin's attention was the cool detachment with which he delivered his assessment…as if he knew exactly what he was talking about.

Who the heck WAS this fox?

But just then, his coolness melted into a rapid-fire near-panic

"Ohhh Crike…Billy! Why didn't I think…? How could I forget…? Did those guys on that hovercraft get a good look at him, Erin He turned to her with…cripes, he looked as if he'd just remembered leaving the stove on in a fireworks warehouse.

"No," she answered quickly. "He kept his head down 'cause of the shooting, and he had a full-face helmet on, remember?" In truth, she wasn't entirely certain if the young thylacine had been spotted or not, but what good would it do to tell Charcoal-Boy THAT?

"Oh? Good…thank God." He let out a breath that seemed to last for hours…and it was then that Erin finally realized something; he really was that scared of whoever had owned that hovercraft.

And now, she was beginning to feel afraid as well. Ohhh, she needed a change of subject and pronto. Now, what would be…? Ah yes, the question she'd been wanting to ask him since Saturday.

"All right…WHAT?" He was looking at her with his ears laid peevishly backwards. Hmmmm, her thoughts must be showing on her face. Oh, well…who was she to turn down such a juicy opening?

"Sorry Conor, but I just remembered something; you never did tell me what you thought of my audition performance." She had no idea what he'd say to this; if she didn't know by now to not second-guess his reactions, she'd never figure it out.

He responded by reaching for her paw again…stopping halfway there, in case she decided to pull back again.

She didn't…she didn't want to.

"If I could get outta this bed right now, I'd be down on my knees, going, 'I'm not worthy! I'm not worrrrtheeeeee!'"

"Really?" Erin felt her ears go up, and her mouth attempting to pull itself into a pout. Pooh, this silver-fox kid was no fun at all; really sweet, but still no fun. Couldn't he be at least a little bit jealous?

"Heck yeah," he said, giving her paws a squeeze, "I always knew you were good enough to get accepted, Erin…but holy foxtrot, The Gazelle Scholarship…!" That was all; he seemed to have completely run out of words.

Well, she hadn't. "You won it last year," she pointed out, instantly wondering why she had.

"Uh-UH!" Conor was wagging a finger at her. "When I tried out for the Academy, I didn't have near as much competition as you…and it wasn't nearly as good, either. I saw at least two other kids on that stage who were better than I was last year…or that's what I thought anyway."

A reminder might have struck the white-furred young bunny right then—with the force of a runaway wrecking-ball. Her scholarship was gone…and she probably had about as much of being admitted to the Performing Arts Academy right now as of finding a treasure-chest while pulling weeds.

And she was going to be doing a LOT of weed-pulling when her mother found out where she'd been for the last two days. And Judy…yep, HER again. Sweet cheez n' crackers, Conor was the fox who'd sent her to the ER…and then guess who had helped him to get away from the ZPD?

Mercifully, none of these thoughts came knocking on Erin's door right then. Something else was distracting her, causing both of her ears to stand up and pay attention.

"What…what is it?" Conor watched her with a tilted head.

"There's another boat pulling up alongside us," she said, cocking an ear. She listened more closely for a second…trying to get a lock on the noise of the engine.

"Is it…Colin's boat?" the young fox asked her. He could hear it for himself now, although his ears weren't nearly as sharp as hers

Erin understood the question. If it was Colin Mackenna out there, he would almost certainly have Vernon Rodenberg with him.

Unfortunately…

"It's…not him," she half-heartedly shook her head, "Or anyway it's not the same boat that picked us up last night."

Conor fanned a paw. "Ahhhh, it could still be Mr. Rodenberg." He sounded even less hopeful that she did.

The next few minutes lasted for weeks; they heard the boat bump up against the Mercy Star's hull, heard the engine fade, and then a painful, interminable silence.

Then, somewhere up above, a door opened and they heard feet descending a set of stairs.

They came down quickly and now the young fox and bunny could hear them strolling in their direction.

Conor looked at her sideways. "Is that…?"

Erin only shook her and shrugged; she might be able to recognize an animal by their footfall…but only if it was someone familiar. And Colin Mackenna was someone she knew barely, if at all.

But then a set of knuckles rapped on the door, and they heard a familiar, high raspy voice.

"It's me, kid."

Erin let out a fast, relieved breath and saw Conor do the same.

And then he cupped his paws around his muzzle.

"It's open, c'mon in."

The door swung on its hinges and there was Vern Rodenberg, perched on the shoulder of Colin Mackenna—who did not look happy. Seeing him. Erin felt her flight response trying to kick in again. Perhaps it would have if the bulk of the Tasmanian Tiger's displeasure had been directed towards her rather than the fox in the bed beside her.

…As Colin immediately proceeded to make clear, aiming a quivering finger in Conor's direction.

"I appreciate what you did for me, boy…but you'd best be understandin' summat. My gratitude only goes so far. You've made more trouble for me and mine than that loan can even begin to excuse, y' get me?"

"I'm sorry; I know I have." The young fox's expression was quiet and solemn, "But I hope you understand that I had no choice. I'd be dead right now if Billy hadn't helped me get away."

Colin let his jaw fall open in the familiar thylacine threat-gesture, dropping it all the way to the center of his chest. When his mouth finally closed, it left behind a face etched in stainless steel.

"Don't gimme that foxy; you'd still be alive if my son hadn't been there. In jail yeah, but yer'd still be alive, wouldn't yer?"

"No," Conor fielded the thylacine's look and gave it right back to him. "No, I'd be dead…or as good as dead anyway; on my way to a place that makes Four Corners look like an amusement park."

"Wha…?" Erin felt an ear go up and then her nose began to twitch. She had no idea what the fox was talking about.

But Colin Mackenna sure as heck seemed to. At the mention of that name, his eyes went wide and he took a clumsy step backwards…nearly spilling Vern Rodenberg onto the floor.

"Hey, watch it, booby!" It was first thing he'd said since entering the room.

"Mr. Mackenna," Conor pulled himself up on his elbows, "You have more right to be mad at me than you know. Mr. Rodenberg there," He acknowledged the rat with a nod of his head, "will fill you in after we're done. But right now, I need to speak to him in private—and I'm not kidding."

For the next few seconds, Colin glared icicles at the fugitive young silver fox. And then, reluctantly, he held up his paw to his shoulder, allowing the rat-attorney to climb onto it.

"I've got him," Erin responded at once, holding out her own paw for Mr. Rodenberg. He hopped onto it, and she saw Colin turn and make for the door. At the threshold, he stopped and jabbed another finger at Conor.

"If my boy gets into any sort of trouble f' this…"

"Sorry," The young silver-fox looked almost shattered, "but it's too late for that I'm afraid."

Colin snarled, stepped through the door and slammed it so hard the portholes rattled.

One thing you had to give Vernon J. Rodenberg; he was not one for beating around the bush. No sooner was the Tasmanian tiger gone than he was regarding his vulpine client with a raised eyebrow.

"Four…Corners?"

"Youth detention center in Northern Australia; Colin did some time there when he was my age. Their favorite restraining method was a thing they called 'folding up'; hurts as bad as it sounds. They'd lock your legs into a figure-four and then sit on you."

For the second time in less than a minute, Erin wanted to flee the room. If not for the rat perched on her shoulder…

Sensing her distress, Rodenberg motioned towards the bed.

"Ahhh, you wanna set me down on the mattress there, kiddo?' Erin did as he asked, and when he stepped off her paw, he turned and looked up at Conor.

"And that place you said makes Four Corners look like a party…Granite Point; that so?"

"Yep, that's the place," Conor nodded. He seemed neither surprised, nor perturbed that his attorney was aware of that name.

"Like I thought." The grey rat nodded back…and then turned and looked up at Erin

"Okay, kiddo; you can go now."

"No!" Conor's voice split the air like the blade of a knife-thrower. "She needs to hear this Mr. Rodenberg; like it or not, she's in it now."

"And I'm not?" His paws went swiftly to his hips and he stared up with his teeth clicking.

"No, not yet," the young fox told him flatly, "But you will be soon—unless you change your mind about this." His mouth set hard and he shook his head. "You got no idea who you're dealing with, Counselor. Tell me, did those guys in The Company scare you at all?"

Rodenberg's tail began to shiver…not with fear but with anger.

"They scared everybody, kid! And quit trying to dodge me; a deal's a deal!"

"Nahhhh, not quite. Counselor," Conor raised a finger and wagged it. "There was one animal even the Mister couldn't scare; the guy who took out The Company in less than one day—and no, it wasn't the ZYPD; forget about those guys, they were only the front."

"Now listen here, ya little shmendrik…" Now Rodenberg's teeth were clicking so loudly, it sounded like a stapler. Erin thought he was one step away from quitting again. When Conor interrupted him, she was all but certain he was going to bail.

"I'm not trying to talk you out of anything over here. I promised to tell you everything, and okay, I will…but guess what? 'Everything' isn't just the stuff that you want to hear. I'm serious, Counselor; if you get involved with me again and if that guy finds out, there won't be anybody on the planet that can protect you, not the ZPD, not your other clients, NOBODY!" He laid back on his pillow, arms folded, and eyes on the ceiling. "So…what's it gonna be?"

The grey rat eyed him moodily for a second, and then rolled his paw in the air.

"I'll take my chances, kid…let's hear it."