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The Fire Triangle

Part Two:

Oxidizer

Chapter 9: Conor's Story
(Continued…Part 7)

Know I've gone too far
Much too far I've gone this time
Don't want to think what I've done

Coz I don't know how to stop
I don't know how to stop

There are always hidden silences
Waiting behind the chair
They come out when the coast is clear
They eat anything that moves
I go shaky in the knees
Lights go out
Stars come down
Like a swarm of bees

Peter Gabriel – No Self Control

Erin Hopps was able to hold her tongue for a lot longer than even she would have expected—for almost three full seconds after she sat down with Vern Rodenberg.

"So….do you think Conor was telling the truth?"

They were seated at a table in the Mercy Star's wardroom, the only two animals present, her in a chair, him on a modified bandage-roll. set down on the table-top. She had to wait for a response until the grey rat finished taking a long sip of his coffee—and then she was greeted with a small frown and the sound of incisors working.

"Forgive me for playing lawyer here, Ms. Hopps…"

"Oh, please…just call me Erin."

"All right. I'm sorry Erin, but there's no short answer to that question. You see–-" he set down his thimble of Java, holding up a trio of bony fingers, "There's basically three types of things he told me. First, there's the items that I can't verify; the ones where I'll just have to take his word for it—like his claim about what happened in that farmer's market. Even if he was telling the truth, there's no way anyone's going to back his side of the story, not after all this time…and that's assuming I can find anyone who was there when it happened."

He ticked off a finger and continued. "And then there's the things I CAN verify—and believe me, I will—like the crummy medical care in the Zoo Jersey Juvenile system. First thing tomorrow, I'm having my investigator check it out."

Another digit vanished, leaving only the grey rat's index finger.

"Last but not least, there's the things he said that I don't need to verify—because I know all about them from fursonal experience." His teeth began to click again, and he leaned forward in his seat. "And in that category, your boyfriend…"

"He's NOT my boyfriend!"

"…gets an A+. Everything he said to me in that regard rings a hundred percent true; all of it, no exceptions, accept no substitutes."

At once, Erin felt her pique disappear, replaced by a mixture of fascination and surprise. Her ears, which had been flattened against her neck, were now standing at full attention.

"Really? Errr, such as…?"

Rodenberg sat back in his chair again, steepling his fingers.

"For starters, I have no doubt whatsoever that he was hooked up with Crazy Wez McCrodon. The way he described that meshugenneh little shmendrik…"

"I'm sorry…what now?" Erin's nose had begun to twitch.

Rodenberg smiled indulgently. "Coupla Yiddish words. Meshugenneh means 'crazy,' and shmendrik…" He scratched behind an ear, "Well, there's no literal translation, but it's basically an anti-social thug with no redeeming features. And that's Wesley McCrodon all over the place; Conor has that sea-mink kid pegged."

He paused and looked away for a second apparently lost in thought.

"I only met him once, but that was enough…believe me."

For a second the young doe-bunny hesitated; whatever memories the rat attorney was recalling right now, they were not pleasant ones.

But then SHE remembered something.

"Hold on…didn't I hear Conor say that you refused to represent Crazy Wez as his attorney?"

The corners of Rodenberg's mouth went in opposite directions; like one of those Greek comedy/tragedy masks. "Well, 'refused' is a little strong I think…and it's a lot more complicated than it sounds." He sighed and clapped his paws against his knees—as if to say, 'All right, let's get this over with.'

"Even before The Mister tried to get me to represent his nephew, I wanted nothing to do with that kid. I never liked having a loose cannon for a client; I get enough of that, lawyering for The Red Pig. And besides that, it was an almost hopeless case. Even if, by some miracle, I was able to convince a Zoo Jersey jury to let Wez McCrodon off the hook, there were only about a hundred other jurisdictions waiting to try him. Practically everywhere he'd been, you see, he'd made chumps out of the local law enforcement." He reached up and pulled at a whisker. "Believe me kiddo, if there's one thing that'll come back to bite you later on, it's humiliating the cops and/or the prosecutors. Look at John Gatti, all that swaggering around he did after those first acquittals; it only made the feds more determined than ever to take him down."

"So why did you agree to meet with Crazy Wez?" Erin asked him.

The grey rat's jaw set hard, and he shrugged. "Remember what Conor said about how James 'The Mister' McCrodon liked to handle folks—by way of leverage? No details, but that's more or less how he handled me. Even so, I only agreed to go talk to his kid nephew…but it's a meeting I'll never forget."

He sat back again, tight-lipped, paws knotting and unknotting.

"There was only one way Wesley McCrodon wasn't going to jail—and even then, it was a bajillion-to-one shot. I'm talking about an insanity plea over here."

"An insanity plea?" Erin's right ear was higher than the other.

A toothy smirk creased the grey rat's features. "Don't kid yourself, Erin…not guilty by reason of insanity is a tougher case to make than you might think—a lot tougher. If I HAD managed to get the McCrodon boy off on an insanity defense, it would have been the first time in more than fifteen years that anyone was able to make it happen—in the State of Zoo Jersey, that is." He laid an arm across the back of his makeshift chair, "The only good news was that he had an almost pitch perfect background for that kind of plea. Single mom, with substance abuse issues, and a rap sheet as long as your arm—mostly for petty theft and check forgery. Most of the time, she was nowhere to be seen; left the kid on his own for days or even weeks at a time. And when she was home, she usually had a boyfriend with her…more often than not, the type who liked to settle arguments with his teeth and claws. If Wesley McCrodon had been up for something minor, I could have gotten him into foster care, no sweat."

"So, what did he say when you told him?" Erin asked him, speaking with bated breath. All right, she was hooked. "About the insanity plea, I mean."

Rodenberg's expression went from sardonic to ironic. "He didn't say anything, he just swept me off the table and went for me with a chair." He held up his left arm. "See that? Ahhh, you can't without a magnifying glass, but it won't extend all the way. Wez McCrodon did that—and if the officers had come in even a second or two later, he'd have finished me."

"Whoa!" the young doe bunny sat back, stunned. Holy carrot sticks. Wesley McCrodon may have reveled in the nickname 'Crazy Wez'—but if you even so much as suggested that he might have some real psychological issues, it was time to watch the fur fly. "You must have had nightmares for a week." she said.

Rodenberg surprised her by waving a dismissive paw.

"Nahhh, I've had worse, and to tell the truth, I was actually kind of grateful. After that little incident, even The Mister couldn't force me to represent the kid. He paid me an extra ten grand for my troubles, plus medical expenses and put me on a plane back to Zootopia." He let out a breath and shook his head. "And if I NEVER see Zoo York or Zoo Jersey again, it'll be too soon. As for Crazy Wez, that was where he got his nickname—how's that for irony—and it was also how he ended up in Granite Point. I don't know if Conor's aware of that or not."

"I guess that was the end of the road for him and his uncle, too." Erin suggested…and was immediately rewarded with another toothy smirk.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? But nope…now nothing was gonna stop the old guy from tying to get him sprung."." He threw up his paws and now she could see that yes, his left arm couldn't extend all the way. "Why…I'll never understand. Everyone else around him thought bringing that kid into The Company was the worst thing since New Coke. Nobody liked the idea, not his brothers, not his captains, and not nearly every single one of his soldiers…and me too, you shouldn't be surprised. His other nephew, Kieran—the one that ran his cyber-rackets—was dead set against it. Even his son, James Jr., whom he otherwise doted on, tried to talk him out of it." Rodenberg's expression became even more sardonic. "And that's something ELSE that Conor got right; if Wez had ever met Junior McCrodon face-to-face, he'd have whacked out that punk in a Zoo York second. I never saw such a spoiled, snot-nosed brat in all my life."

A small chill rippled through the white-furred young bunny. The more she heard about Wesley McCrodon, the more he sounded like an even more volatile version of Craig Guilford—if such a thing were possible.

"I…I just can't believe Conor would allow himself to get mixed up with someone that unhinged."

"I can," Rodenberg told her forthrightly, "Make no mistake kiddo, the joint—even a Juvie joint—is a dangerous place. When you're on the inside, you do whatever you can to protect yourself. And the best way, period, is to join a crew—even if it's run by someone you can't stand. That way, if anyone messes with you, they're also messing with everyone else in your group." He leaned forward again, this time giving her a penetrating look. "I don't blame Conor for hooking up with The Enforcers—not one little bit. If it were me, I'd have done the same thing, and never thought twice about it."

"So…what did you do to protect yourself?" Erin said it and immediately wanted to bite her tongue. She hadn't meant to voice it as a challenge.

But the grey rat only smiled, as if he'd been expecting the question from the get-go.

"I had my own way of shielding myself," He frowned slightly, "Though I never planned on things working out that way." He cocked a thumb in the direction of the examination room. "Assuming Conor's telling the truth—and for the moment I do—he's not the only animal on this boat that got put away on a bad rap." He tapped the base of his throat. "I was given two 75-year sentences, back-to-back, for a double mammacide—when I hadn't been anywhere near the place at the time. I was able to prove that on retrial—and also that the DA had suppressed and even fabricated evidence against me…and that the cops had coerced two of the witnesses into giving false testimony.

"Why would they do a thing like that?" Erin asked him in a quivering voice. Sweet cheez n' crackers Mr. Rodenberg had been…framed for murder?

"Three reasons," The grey rat's smile was as bitter as a January blizzard. "Number one, it was a high-profile case, both of the victims were cops. Second, the prosecutor was an ambitious little witch who'd do anything to build up her resume." His expression turned almost feral. "And—I'm happy to say—I paid her back in spades. She went to jail and lost her law license because of me. Last I heard, she's running a coffee shop in Salt Lick City."

For a long second, Erin was unable to respond. It seemed that being wrongfully convicted wasn't the only thing Conor Lewis had in common with his lawyer. Vern Rodenberg too, was unable to let go of the past…or a part of it, at least.

But then she realized; he wasn't done talking.

"Third, and last, when it comes to species-stereotypes, Conor's got nothing on me. If your average fox is shifty and untrustworthy, us rats are sneaking, filthy vermin that spread disease and attack babies in their cribs."

That was good for a guilty wince from the young doe-bunny. Rodenberg was dead right about that stereotype…and had she ever bought into it? Never mind; there was something he still hadn't explained.

"Okay…but how did that…?"

"Ah yes," the smile returned to the grey rat's face. "On the advice of another inmate, I began studying the law…trying to get my conviction overturned. Eventually, I earned two law degrees from correspondence courses I took inside the joint, and went to work on getting a new trial. Along the way I became the go-to guy for any prisoner needing legal assistance. Got a parole hearing coming up? Talk to the rat. Hoping to get your case reopened? Go see Vern Rodenberg. The thing that made me was when I was able to secure a compassionate release for Nunzio Midena, the elephant who headed up the Chicagoat Outfit; something that his six figure attorneys on the outside had been unable to pull off for the better part of a year."

Seeing her puzzled expression, he quickly raised a finger.

"That was my security blanket, Erin Hopps…the animals who owed for helping them out, and also…" his dark eyes seemed to sparkle for a second, "Nobody wanted to see the rat get clipped when I was their best shot at taking a walk." He looked away, and when he looked back again, the bitterness had returned to his face.

"That is…until the prison bureau got fed up with my 'antics', as they called them, and had me transferred to Lemmingworth. Soon as I got there, I found out that I was in a world of hurt. Some punk Tasmanian Devil—a guy I didn't even know—was spreading the word that I'd been a snitch at Jolion." He slapped his paws together and looked away for a second. "That was bad, Erin…really bad. As a newcomer to The Greenhouse, I wasn't well known. Likely some inmate that wasn't aware of my reputation might think he'd be doing the right thing by whacking me."

Erin almost asked him what happened, but at the last second, she realized it wasn't necessary. This rat was on a roll.

"Luckily—or that's what I thought at first—two of Don Nunzio's soldiers were also locked up in Lemmingworth. When he heard about my problem, he had them go pay Mr. Loudmouth a visit in his cell." He sighed and shook his head. "They were only supposed to read him the riot act, but he was such a jerk about it, they ended up killing him—and I ended up defending them. Oy, what a mess!"

Once again, the young doe bunny said nothing. And again, the grey rat wearily shook his head.

"There was nothing I could do. A guard caught them leaving the cell, and the devil-jerk managed to finger them before he checked out. They're still in the joint, both of them. and they won't be eligible for parole for another five years, at least."

"What the heck am I supposed to say to that?" Erin wondered to herself. She'd been curious about Mr. Rodenberg's background ever since Conor had touched on it—but she had never expected a full, unbridled confession.

Oops, he was speaking again.

"The point of all this, Ms. Hopps is…yes, I believe Conor's been telling me the truth, at least the parts where I've been there, done that myself." He raised a finger again, "And if I was a little uneasy about taking him back as a client again, that is most definitely no longer the case." He lowered the finger, and leaned forward. "Don't get me wrong, I still believe he made a big mistake when he broke out of jail. And he absolutely should have stayed away from your audition…"

"That's where you're wrong!" Erin snapped, surprising even herself. "Yes, I know what happened…but it wasn't his fault. He didn't start that riot. And even if I'll never get into The Academy now, I gave them the performance of a lifetime—and it was all thanks to him. No matter what happens next, that's something no one will ever be able to take…."

"What the…?" Rodenberg's chair seemed to have morphed into a catapult. He came flying up onto the table top, landing in a perfect, three-point stance. "Hello?" He straightened up rapidly, once again sporting that piercing look. "Conor sent your sister Judy to the ER, remember? Yeah, I know who she is… AND he nearly got himself killed, and now he's very much guilty of assaulting a police officer—you can't put what he did in that theater down to PTSD alone." He regarded her with an eye that had now turned laser-sharp. "Tell me, kiddo; is all that worth wowing an audience, huh?"

No…it wasn't; not when he put it that way.

But that didn't mean she was going to back down. "All right, no; but then why did you agree to be his lawyer again?" That should make him hesitate, she figured…and she figured wrong. The answer came back like a fastball.

"Because none of this would have happened if that fox kid hadn't been railroaded by the State of Zoo Jersey!" Erin shrank back a little; holy carrot sticks, NOW this rat was on fire. "Even if he did steal that bottle of juice, there's no way in creation he should have been sent to Juvie, much less a place like Granite Point. It was his first offense…and he was how old at the time? That's something else he should have told me in the beginning, but never mind. Whatever he's done since then, it doesn't come close to everything that was done TO him." He returned to his chair and sat down again—hard. "And who can blame him for not wanting to go through that experience all over again? Not me, that's for sure; I'll throw myself under a lawn-mower before I'll go back to Lemmingworth. THAT'S why I agreed to become his lawyer again. I may not agree with his actions, but I sympathize completely with his reasoning; you can take that to any bank you want."

Ouch, she should have known better than to argue with a lawyer. Still—his feelings towards the fugitive young silver fox dovetailed almost perfectly with her own. She decided to offer him an olive-branch.

"So…you've agreed to represent him for good?' He's not on, uh, probation anymore?"

"Provided his story checks out," Rodenberg informed her, lifting a finger to emphasize the caveat, "or at least as much of it as I'll be able to verify."

"But…you think it will check out?" Erin mentally crossed her fingers, not knowing why.

"I do," the grey rat answered, nodding sagely, and then angled his head in the direction of the examination room, "But there's so much he hasn't told us yet…so much that I still need to know."

At that moment, as if on cue, the door to the hallway opened and the otter nurse poked her head through the opening.

"'Kay, we're done with him."

She sounded about as enthusiastic as if she'd just finished taking out the trash.

So…we finished our clean-up and Granite Point passed the inspection—not with flying colors, but it was enough to get us those two days off and that week of good eats we'd been promised. It was kind of a surprise; most of us were sure that thanks to Marc Shevaldo's little stunt, we weren't getting anything but a boot up the tail. Instead, it was practically a festival—but not for me. I couldn't stop thinking about that pygmy hippo and everything he'd said to me.

When I think back on it now, I see that as the moment when Wez McCrodon's hold on me first began to loosen. I didn't realize it at the time, and I wouldn't for a long while to come, but that was when we first started to go in different directions. All that week, when I went to sleep, I kept dreaming about my mother. She never said anything, or did anything, she was just…there. But every time I woke up, I found myself remembering what she'd told me about being a good kid. What would she say, if she could see me now?

Anyway, shortly after the end of 'good week,' Wez made the announcement that he was going to be leaving us for a while. "I gotta make an appearance before the Judge down at Johnstone. Should be back in three, four days at the most. Cutty, you're in charge, 'til I get back."

"Dis your uncle's doin'?" the leopard-kid asked him, cryptically; the first time I ever heard a reference to The Mister.

"I wish," he shrugged, "But honestly, I dunno what the heck's goin' on. When I tried to ask the One-Armed Bandit, (The Warden) about it, Lurch told me to shut my cake-hole."

That was good for a knowing nod from every single Enforcer. None of us were worried though—mainly because Wez didn't seem worried. After he left, Cutty surprised me by designating me as his second in command. In the days that followed, we spent a lot of time together and I got to know that leopard kid even better than before.

Things went smoothly in Wez's absence—for the simple reason that there was nothing going on, no 'work orders' from The Mammal, no snitches to be handled, no problems with any of the other crews, nothing. It was what we used to call 'dead time,' and both Cutty and I were perfectly content with it.

"Not like Wez, he go stir-crazy after two days widdout any action." The big cat grinned as we sat together in the library, one rainy afternoon.

"Can I…ask you something about him?" I said; I'd been wanting to for a long time but had only just now got up the courage.

Cutty frowned and his ears laid back a little. "Not good to be talkin' bout Wez behind his back, Z."

"It's nothing fursonal." I said, quickly raising my paws, "It's just that…well, everyone knows that he was the Bearfoot Bandit. I read all about him online, before me and my best-bud Jimmy tried to take off for the summer." I had told Cut the story during one of our training sessions, "But before I actually met him, I had no idea he'd even been arrested…much less sent to Granite Point."

At once the grin returned to Cutty's face—now with extra toothiness.

"You check de date on any of those t'ings you read?"

"No," I admitted, trying not to sound annoyed. I had already figured that much out for myself. "But shouldn't I have seen something about him getting busted? It's not exactly the kind of thing the cops are gonna keep quiet about."

"Ohhhh," Just like that Cutty was nodding soberly, "Yah, I see where you comin' from, mommal. Dat was his uncle's doing."

"Uncle?" I said, feeling my head tilt sideways. For as long as I'd been in The Point, Wez had never mentioned having any relatives; at least, I hadn't heard him talk about them.

"Yep," Cutty nodded, "He's got dis uncle, up in Zoo York City; crime boss." He held his paws apart, as if describing the size of a fish he'd caught, "BIIIG crime-boss—weapons dealah. He de one sends Wez his care-packages every month. Boss's got dis other nephew; don't remembah his name but he's big-time computer hackah. Fixed up Zoogle so dat if you search for Wez McCrodon or Bearfoot Bandit, anyt'ing 'bout his arrest or him bein' sent to Juvie gets shoved back to somethin' like tenth page."

Whoo…I wanted to laugh sooo bad. Was this the same leopard kid who, less than a minute ago, had tried to warn me off asking anything about Crazy Wez? I might have at least sniggered, if I hadn't been so confused.

"Why would he do a thing like that…the uncle, I mean?"

Cutty looked away for a second, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

"Your guess, good as mine, Z." Back came that pearly grin again. "But he IS Wez's uncle. So, mebbe doin' t'ings, don't seem to make no sense, runs in de family eh?"

"Riiight," I agreed, offering a toothy grin of my own. Later, of course, I found that Cutty had been dead-bang in his speculation. And you saw it too, didn't you Mr. Rodenberg?

Anyway, there wasn't anything more that leopard knew about Wez's 'Uncle Crime Boss.' Or…anything that he was willing to tell me at least. And so, the subject shifted to his own background…and how HE had ended up in Granite Point.

"I got busted in Voletee Park, up Teaneck Zoo Jersey for possession of catnip. I wasn't usin', just transportin,'" he hastened to explain, and then shook his head. "Ohhh, I was havin' some bad juju dat day. If Sheriff John Brown had shown up just two minutes latah, I'd have been clean, and if I'd had just one less ounce on me, would have been misdemeanah, not felony."

"Awww. Jeez…" I groaned; talk about a tough break.

The incident that had gotten him sent to Granite Point had taken place during a brawl on the basketball court of the Essex County Juvenile detention center. Like many another jailhouse fracas, this one had started out as an argument between two players and quickly escalated into a melee between their rival gangs. Cutty, who had been waiting his turn on the bench, had quickly found himself in the thick of it.

"I was goin' at it wit' dis black bear kid, when suddenly anodder bear grabbed me round my throat. I hit him in de gut wid'me elbow, and den t'rew him off and went for him wid my claws. Dat was when I saw—oh, no—it wasn't a detainee, it was bloody guard. I stopped myself from slashin' him, just in time, but de damage was done."

"Yep…" I nodded, grimly. It was a no-brainer that assaulting an officer would get you sent to Granite Point.

Actually, in Cutty's case…

"Could have probably avoided De Point, if I'd apologized and said it was mistake." He said, and then his ears laid back and his tail stiffened, "But no way was I sayin' 'sorry' to a hack…'specially not to DAT bloke," he spread his arms, "An' so…here I am."

There was one upside to that incident at least; it was Cut's refusal to apologize for his actions that had gotten him into The Enforcers. "I like your attitude, cat." Wez had told him, offering a high-five. And unlike me, that leopard kid had been hoping to get recruited into the crew.

When Wez got back from the Johnstone Campus, he had to spend three days in The Hole before being released back into the general population.

"Don't know what he did to make De Mammal mad at him," Cutty told us, when he got the news, "But dey holdin' him in de dry cell." That was good for a low whistle from everybody. The dry cell was reserved exclusively for troublemakers of the aquatic and rainforest type. As the name implied, it was equipped with de-humidifiers that made it drier than an airline cabin in there. They could also adjust the heat as needed, close to freezing for any tropical species, hot as an iron-works for a cold-weather animal like Wez. If they'd put him in that cell, it meant that they were seriously torqued with him. Normally, he did his solitary in the same generic hole as the rest of us.

When Wez finally came out of isolation, his fur was like dried grass and some of it was falling out in clumps, but he was otherwise in an upbeat mood.

The story he told us was this. He'd been called to Johnstone Campus to give a deposition in the case of another kid, a bunny of all things, who'd been—Hey, put that down Snowdrop! What, do you think I only made that up to bug you? He WAS a rabbit; deal with it.

Now, as I was saying—before I was so rudely interrupted—he'd been caught burglarizing these summer homes down in Ocean City, using the same basic methods as the Bearfoot Bandit. In fact, their M.O. had been so similar, John Q. Law had leaped to the conclusion that they must have been partners at some point. When Crazy Wez had gotten the news, he had refused point blank to give that deposition, but the thing was…

"I wouldn't have talked anyway," he told us, "But honestly, I couldn't have given up that bunny-kid, even if I'd wanted to. I never saw him before in my life."

That was what he'd told the prosecutors…and naturally, they hadn't believed him.

All of us either growled or hissed…so typical of The Mammal.

During his absence Wez had received another care package, which he opened and shared with the rest of us. At the bottom was something I hadn't seen before, a small bag of cookies. At first, I thought they were raspberry cookies, but the filling was too dark. No, wait they were blackberry cookies. Ohhh, be still, my growling stomach. I love blackberries, always have, and I hadn't had any since running away from foster care.

Wez must have noticed the way I was looking at them, because he reached down and grabbed them…and then offered them to me.

"Here Z…why don't you take these?" I did, of course, he would have been insulted if I hadn't.

Stuke Stuckey later told me, "He must really like you, Z…those cookies are some of his favorites."

Yeah, Wez did that…it's the kinda guy he was. Generous one minute, ready to smack you around the next. When our group broke up, he told me to come and see him in his cell. "I got something private to talk over with you."

I had some business to take care of that afternoon, so I didn't get the chance to visit him until after what passed for dinner. When I rapped on the door-frame he had me sit down on the bunk, and then went to the door, checking to see if anyone else was within hearing distance.

And then he gave me the news. "I took care of those two punks for ya, while I was down at Johnstone."

I felt my ears go up and my eyes widening. What the FOX was he talking about?

I soon found out.

"That dhole kid and that coati kid." He said, pointed briefly at my face. "The ones who did that number on your muzzle. I caught up with 'em in the lavatory and smoked 'em both."

I knew right away that he hadn't taken on the two of them together; a mink, even a sea-mink couldn't have handled both of those guys at once. Wez McCrodon was crazy but he wasn't suicidal. I also knew that he must have gotten the jump on them—and I was pretty sure that I knew how he'd done it.

Uhhh, sorry Erin…but I'd rather not say. You know what I'm talking about though, right Mr. Rodenberg? How did I feel…? Well, later on I got a look at exactly what he'd done to those punks; he'd used a pipe, and this time it hadn't been wrapped in newspaper—and there'd been bolts sticking out of it. I nearly puked my guts out when I saw…

Huh…? What do you mean, I still haven't answered your question?

"Ahhh…okay. At the time, all I felt was disappointment. Yeah, those guys had jumped me; but it wasn't them I wanted, it was the jerk who'd actually done my face, the one I couldn't remember. I didn't say so to Wez of course, but that was what I was thinking. I consoled myself with the reminder that it was just as well he hadn't been there; I wanted that jerk for myself. And when I caught up with him…

Aw, cool yer jets, Erin. That's not how I feel now…okay? My muzzle's all fixed, and I'm done with wanting payback on the guy who did that to me.

On a related subject—no, I'm not dodging—Wez had long since disabused me of the idea that Wayne Babin was the kid who…

Oh right, I never... I mean the sable kid who came in on the bus with me, the one with all the restraints. By then I knew for sure that it hadn't been him; he'd been at large at the time. He had run away from Youth Forestry Camp #2, near Wild Haven Bunnsylvania, and hitched his way to Zoo Jersey—where he'd managed to con his way into this shelter for abused kids. It was what he'd done while there that had earned him a trip to The Point…and also the muzzle and collar-chain I'd seen him wearing.

Surprisingly, after landing in Granite Point, he'd become an almost model prisoner; he did what he was told, when he was told, and never mouthed off to the guards, never got into any fights. If someone stepped on his tail, he would apologize.

And yet…there was something about that sable-kid—and it made everyone want to keep their distance. He was never bullied, never picked on, despite the fact that he was relatively small as predator species go. Myself, I saw him mostly in the gym; he was maybe the biggest workout fanatic in Granite Point—which is really saying something. When he ran circuits around the yard, the weather didn't exist for him. Rain, snow, broiling heat; he was always out there. Once, he peeled off his glasses and went running through a hailstorm that was dropping stones the size of cherries. Came back with an ear all swole up.

You would have thought a guy like that would be a prime candidate for The Enforcers, but no way, Renee. It took less than a week for his story to make the rounds and it pretty much wrecked his chances of being accepted into any crew. Not that he ever seemed interested in joining one—strictly a loner.

I'm telling you this because I'm about to get into the worst thing that happened to me when I was locked up in The Point; the worst thing I ever saw—and the worst thing I ever did. Look at me, Erin; I mean it this time.

Okay…but don't say I didn't warn you.

It was Saturday afternoon and I was tracking this Saiga antelope kid through the hallways. Somebody had been shooting out the overhead lights with a homemade slingshot and there'd been several warnings broadcast over the PA. "Unless the guilty party gives himself up…blah, blah, blah…" As luck would have it, I was the one who spotted Saiga-boy in the act. He didn't notice me, thank goodness; I was able to duck around a corner in the nick of time. And naturally, I didn't tell The Mammal—but I did tell Wez. "He's not being real careful about it. Sooner or later the guards are gonna find out that he's the guy. Honestly, I dunno how he's been able to get away with it this long."

"In that case," Wez leaned across the table with his paws folded. "I want you to start tracking him and get his movements clocked. Chances are, when the guards figure out it's him, they'll want us to handle it."

"Right."

Saiga-boy turned out to be almost ridiculously easy to follow; the whole time I was tailing him, he never looked back, never checked over his shoulder, and he always took the most direct route to wherever he was going.

That is…except for today. Without warning, he suddenly veered down a corridor to his left. Now, what the heck was that all about? I knew he hadn't made me; his ears had never once turned in my direction, much less his eyes. Just the same, I thought it unwise to follow him directly—but I happened to know that the next hallway over ran parallel to the one he'd taken. If I went that way, with a little luck, I'd be able to catch up with him on the other side.

At the end of the hallway, there was a T-junction. To the left was a shortcut to the commissary—which was where I figured the Saiga kid was headed. There was nothing to the right but a narrow corridor leading to the laundry-works. And it was closed today; he'd have no reason to go there.

Just the same, when I got to the end of the hallway, I flattened myself against the wall and listened. That's the nice thing about tracking a hoofed species across a concrete floor; hoofbeats on cement are the easiest thing in the world to follow. And sure enough, when that Saiga kid came out of his hallway, he turned left, towards the commissary. I made a quick, mental note. If we did get word from The Mammal, this would be the perfect place to set up a…

That was as far as my thoughts went, before I heard something else.

It was very faint, and very high pitched; only a fox or a canine species would have been able to pick it up. But I recognized it at once, the shriek of a shrew…and not just any shrew, my fellow Enforcer, Thread.

At once, I felt my tail frizz, and my neck-fur standing up. I had heard him shriek before, lots of times—but not like this. In all those other instances, he'd been angry. THIS was a shriek of terror.

And there was no mistaking the one that followed from Needle, "Somebody…HELP!"

I swung to the right and dropped to all fours, running for all I was worth. The heck with Saiga-boy; one of my crew was in trouble! With every step I ran, I could hear Thread's screams getting louder and louder. And then he let out this one, massive shriek…and then nothing, like someone had flipped a switch.

When I hit the laundry room, I didn't see anything at first. But then I heard something, a kind of crunching, smacking noise…coming from the other side of one of the big support pillars.

Moving quickly but cautiously. I crept over to the support column and ducked my head around—and then it was my turn to scream.

I-It was…Wayne Babin…the sable kid. He...He had Needle in his paw, and was…k-keeping his muzzle pinched shut with a thumb and forefinger. And…he was chewing…there were…stains, a-and I could see, sticking out of the corner of his mouth…

Awww, NO! Dangit, I tried to warn her. No, Mr. Rodenberg, let her go. She'll come back when she's ready…I hope.

Yeah…okay. When I saw what was happening, I was too stunned to move…but Wayne wasn't. He threw away Needle like an empty pop-can, and was all over me before I had time to think. Oh, my God…he was maybe two thirds my size, but his strength was like…he handled me like an empty back-pack; threw me face first, up against one of the dryers and then jumped on me from behind…

And…the next thing I knew, I was waking up, cuffed to a bed again. Only this time, I was wearing a muzzle.

Yep, you're right. That was the first time I lost it when someone grabbed me from behind—although at the time, I naturally had no idea what had happened. I couldn't remember anything from after that sable-kid jumped on me. Heck, the biggest question on my mind right then was, why wasn't I dead? And where the heck was I? This wasn't the Johnstone Campus infirmary, I knew that right away, and it wasn't The Hole either. Was I even still in Granite Point…or had they taken me somewhere else?

I called out "Hello?" or tried to; it sounded like I was gargling. I swallowed, cleared my throat, and tried again. "Hello? Hello!" That was only a little better, but it had an effect. The lights came on—blinding lights—and I heard a door open. For the moment I couldn't see anything, but my nose was telling me that there were two of them. The first one, I could barely smell, but she was a dormouse. The other one though was hard to miss; it was my old buddy, Lurch. So, I was still at Granite Point, or…was I? As my eyes began to adjust to the light, I found that I was in a room that I totally didn't recognize. Way too clean for one thing; almost spotlessly clean. And the bed was actually…Heh…wouldja believe an examination table? Yeah, I was in the same kind of room where I am right n…

Hey Erin…you okay? No, it's all right, c'mon in. Look, I'm sorry if I spooked you. Wanna grab yourself some water before you sit down? No, I'm done with the worst of it.

I'll just give you the quick version of what happened next. Wayne jumped on my back and I blacked out again…and then I woke up in The Clinic.

Yeah Mr. Rodenberg, that's where I was—specifically in the intake room of the Incorrigible Section, the place where they put the violent kids.

I spent the next hour undergoing a medical exam that made the one I had just now look foxin' casual. The dormouse-doc climbed up on my chest and shone a penlight down my throat, my nostrils, and then in both of my eyes. While this was going on an armadillo-nurse came in and started taking my blood-pressure and other vitals. All the while, I kept still and kept my mouth shut—mainly coz Lurch told me to. They stuck me with a needle at least five times, put electrodes on my chest, and also on my head. It was while all of this was going on that I became aware of something. My arms and midsection were swathed in bandages. And this time, it wasn't your quick patch-up job.

When at last they finished, Dr. Dormouse jumped down to the floor, and I heard her say, to no one in particular, "Well, we won't know the full story until we get the labs back—but so far, everything looks perfectly normal from my end."

That was it, Lurch or no Lurch, I couldn't stand any more.

"What's going on?" I cried, "Where am I? How did I get here? Please…what happened?"

I half expected a smack for that outburst, but all I got was a moment of silence.

And then I heard Lurch again…sounding surprised rather than ticked off. "Holy crow, I think…he really doesn't know."

I saw his big, white, polar-bear face looming over me, studying me even more intently than Dr. Dormouse had, a moment ago.

"What's the last thing you remember, fox-kid?" Sheesh, did he actually sound a tiny bit sympathetic?

"Th-That sable-kid, Wayne Babin, jumping on me from behind. And that's all until I woke up here." I felt like I could almost remember the rest of it…but didn't want to.

And with good reason; what he said next felt like someone dropping a sheet of ice on me.

"He's dead, Murphy…you killed him."

"I…what?" My voice was a high, squeaky gekker. "But…but…"

"Hey, don't sweat it kid." Lurch just kind of shrugged. Oh my God, now he sounded genuinely sympathetic, "We know what he did. If it was up to me, you'd get a medal for taking out that freak. And you probably saved that other shrew-kid's life."

Okay…I need to jump forward again here. I only learned the full story in bits and pieces—and some of it I didn't pick up until much later. No Erin…there won't be any gory details, promise.

Remember that Saiga kid I'd been tracking? When I ran out into the hallway and bolted for the laundry-works, he saw me—and then followed me. How I missed him, I don't know, but he got to the laundry room only a minute after I did.

…And saw everything that happened.

Rather than get involved—prolly a smart move on his part—he turned and ran for help.

But the guards were already on the way. We were making a LOT of noise, Wayne and me; they'd been able to hear us clear up in the Warden's office, or that's the story I was told later on. This one guard shot me with a tranq dart and another one pulled me off the Babin kid —in that order, which was probably a wise move on their part. If they'd grabbed me first, I don't know what the heck I would have done.

But getting back to the present, at last, finally, I knew where they'd taken me. No way would I not be sent to The Clinic after offing another kid—especially in the middle of a blackout.

How did I feel about…? For cryin' out loud Mr. Rodenberg, what are you…my lawyer or my shrink? Okay…sorry, but the answer is, I didn't get the chance to feel much of anything. Right then, someone stuck me with a needle and I was out of it again. As I started to slip away, I thought I heard Dr. Dormouse going off on Lurch for having told me what I'd done.

When I woke up again, I was in a…ahhh, you ever seen those pics from the Cliffside Sanitorium—the ones from after Erin's sister, Judy helped bust the place? It was like one of those rooms where Mayor Lionheart had the missing preds stashed; inch-thick plexiglass, with perforations, big, sliding doors, with electronic locks and warning lights all over the corridor walls. The door to each cell had a holder with a clipboard stuck in it.

Other than that, though, it was totally different; the lighting was soft and so were the colors; everything was in this kind of low-key pastel. The walls were even painted with flower decorations. Honestly, if it hadn't been for the fact that all the furniture was bolted in place, you could almost have mistaken it for a motel room. There was even a flat-screen TV—set into the wall, behind armored glass, but there it was.

Heh…but, as I think you can imagine, it wasn't there for my entertainment. There was no remote, no controls of any kind. And at the moment, it was dark.

After opening my eyes, I started to get up…and then lay back down again, staring up at the ceiling. Had I really done that sable kid? If Lurch had been lying to me, it wouldn't have been the first time.

Yeah, right…but he'd approved of my actions. Why would he do that, unless…?

All right, maybe I had…done it. What would happen to me now? Wayne Babin had attacked me before I'd even had time to blink…and he'd already proven that he was capable of killing. Whatever I'd done, I'd acted totally in self-defense. Any reasonable mammal would know that in a heartbeat.

Only…since when was the State of Zoo Jersey a reasonable outfit?

I spent the next few minutes conjuring up all sorts of unpleasant fates for myself; being confined in here for the rest of my life, being sent to an adult prison… In my worst-case scenario I imagined getting the death penalty. What can I say, I was one seriously scared fox-kid. Who wouldn't be, in a situation like that?

For the next two days, I was pretty much left alone. The only time I saw anyone was when the orderlies came by to drop off my meals.

Yep…orderlies. They were never called guards, or even officers in that place—and never dressed like 'em either. They always wore scrubs, even the heavies, the guys carrying the sticks, mace, and tranq-dart guns. They didn't act like the guys back at The Point either, always polite and soft-spoken.

But make no mistake—try getting rebellious or uncooperative with those dudes, and you'd find they were every bit as quick with the thump-therapy as Lurch and Company.

I should mention here that the food in that place wasn't just good, it was excellent; even better than what I'd had at home, much less back at The Point.

The Point…

What'd Wez had to say when he'd heard about me being sent off to The Clinic? What about the rest of the guys? Had they already found a replacement for me? Ohhh, what I wouldn't have given right then to have been able to shoot them a message.

On the third day, Dr. Dormouse—her actual name was Dr. Winters—showed up at my cell with a pair of orderlies, both heavyweights, a bighorn ram and the most humongous wolf I'd ever seen.

The sheep was carrying shackles and a muzzle, while Wolfie was equipped with pepper gas and a stun baton.

It was Doc Winters who did all of the talking.

"Good morning Mr. Murphy. Please face the wall, and put your paws behind your back. Oh…and you'll need to keep your claws sheathed." She was as chipper as a Howl-Mart greeter—but sugar-coated poison is still poison. I turned around and did as I was told; nothing else would have pleased her.

When they led me from my cell, I hesitated for a second. My nose had just caught a familiar scent—very familiar; it was Marc Shevaldo. He was in the cell, just to my right. I tried to look, but before I could even begin to turn my head, I heard Dr. Winters' voice again. "Come on now, let's get a move on, shall we?"

I had never wanted to step on someone so badly.

Even without looking, I knew it was the hippo kid's odor I'd picked up. And yet…there'd been something different about it; an undercurrent that no pred species will ever fail to recognize; the smell of adrenaline.

The smell of fear.

I had thought they'd be taking me back to the examination room, but instead they brought me to a padded cell with off-white walls and no furnishings. They took me inside, closed the door, and then, to my considerable surprise, the wolf began removing my restraints while the sheep kept a taser trained on me.

Soon as that was done, Bigwolf started suiting up in a heavy-duty Kevlar suit with a laminated helmet and a stainless-steel face mask. What the heck was going on here? When I tried to ask, I was politely told that I'd be informed later. Ah, well…at least I hadn't been ordered to shut my face or else.

Things got even stranger when they put this thing on me that, at first, I thought was a straitjacket. Turned out to be some kind of vest, with a battery pack and something like a dozen wire leads. Three of these were stuck to my chest, and the rest were fastened to my head. They were tiny little things; no bigger than pinheads, and fit easily through the spaces in my fur. As soon as they were in place, a cap was put over my head, to keep them there, and a bandage was wrapped around my chest.

And then everybody left, except for the wolf in the body armor.

For a long moment, nobody said anything, except for me being told to stand still over the intercom.

Then I heard Dr. Winters again, "All right, turn around please."

I did…and the armored wolf immediately grabbed me from behind.

And again…the next thing I knew, I was waking up in bed—but in my cell, not the examination room. And this time, I wasn't shackled or muzzled.

But I could feel a pain in my…errrr, a pain that told me I'd been tagged with another tranq dart.

Huh, what do you mean, exactly where did it hit me? Why the heck do you need to know that for, Erin?

Ohhh-kay, bunny-girl…if you really wanna know, it'd be easier to show you than to tell you. Here, let me just…

THAT'S better. And next time, Snowdrop, try to remember which one of us is the clever species.

Whoa, does your sister know you use that kind of language?

Yeah, yeah…okay. This time I wasn't worried that I'd hurt anyone. Somehow, I knew that I hadn't. I couldn't remember, but I just knew.

As my senses continued on their comeback tour, I became aware that my bandages had all been changed…and that I also had a new one, a small patch on the back of my wrist. They must have taken a blood sample while I was out.

For the next few days, once again my only contact was with the orderlies. There was no sign of Dr. Winters. Once, when the air seemed to shift slightly, I caught another, very strong whiff of Marc Shevaldo. I tried to call out. "Hey Marc, is that you?" There was no answer, but before I could try it again, the door to the ward swung open and a pair of orderlies came in; a rhino and another bighorn sheep.

"Son," the big ram told me, "Please try to keep it down here, okay?"

He was friendly enough, but I barely heard him; the stun-baton, the rhino kept slapping against his hoof was getting most of my attention. Needless to say, I put a zipper on it. Aggggh, grrrrr…I should have remembered that they were watching me—and also listening.

Two days later, I was taken back to the padded room, the same routine as before.

Well, not quite… When I woke up in my cell again, I was in a fetal position—and why was it so dark in here, and why was the bed so hard? Wai-i-it a minute, I wasn't in my bed; I was under it. I crawled back out into the light again, brushing myself off and then stopping. At least, it hadn't been dirty under there.

It didn't take long. Even before I finished standing up, the door to the ward opened and the bighorn sheep came in again. This time he had a pedestal in his hoof and Dr. Winters riding on his shoulder. He dropped the pedestal in front of my cell, set her down on it, and then stepped back.

For a long few minutes, she just peered through the plexiglass at me; her expression was unreadable. I remember once, the orderly telling her, "Don't get too close." She ignored him.

Finally, she said, "Mr. Murphy…how are you feeling right now?" She didn't sound particularly sympathetic—or especially angry. The vibe I was getting from this dormouse was…she sounded puzzled.

And she wasn't only one; what the heck kind of question was that? I felt pretty much the same as I had when they'd come to get me. That is, except for a lingering sting in my arm and shoulder—from two different needles this time.

"I feel okay," I shrugged, "same-old, same-old…why, what's up?"

Instead of answering my question, she turned to the orderly.

"I need the exam room prepped ASAP for a small species, plus another orderly…no, make that two. And make sure they bring restraints."

"Yes Doctor." The ram replied and then went to the door and left.

On the way to the examination room again, they took extra care to make sure that no one was walking behind me. And then it was the same routine as last time, vitals checked, lights in my eyes, and the rest of it. When they were done, Dr. Winters seemed even more bewildered than before. And then, after some deliberation, she reluctantly gave instructions for someone by the name of Dr. Ponder to be called in.

When he arrived, the reason for her hesitancy became instantly and perfectly clear. He was a beaver and highly irritable—spent the first few minutes reaming her out for having called him away from…Ah, I don't remember, but he was one seriously torqued rodent. He then proceeded to give me a brief examination…much quicker than the one I'd just been given.

Then he and Dr. Winters went into a huddle on the far side of the room, with her sitting on a shelf in order to maintain eye contact. I pretended not to hear—and I couldn't hear all of it.

And most of what I heard didn't seem to make any sense.

"…found him under the…?"

"…check his pupils? Then it…a reaction to the light."

"It still doesn't…should have…"

"How big of a…"

"…Milligrams."

"What…impossible!"

"…what I thought but…records."

"…And he's fully…?"

"Completely! Now do…understand why…"

"Okay…but you're sure…not the same…?"

"Positive.…Nighthowler…wouldn't be fully…."

That was the first time I ever heard mention of that flower—though it goes without saying that I had no idea what they were talking about. When Dr. Winters spoke again, she sounded positively thrilled.

"...understand? …could be…breakthrough we've been…"

That was the last thing I heard out of either one of those docs right then. As if suddenly remembering something, Doctor Winters turned and gave orders for me to be returned to my cell.

It was when they brought me back into the ward that I realized something; Marc Shevaldo's scent was no longer present in the air. It was gone—and so was he.

Once again, I spent the next few days alone in my cell, seeing nobody but the orderlies.

But then, on the third or maybe the fourth day, I woke up in the morning, and immediately felt my ears laying back and my neck-fur spiking. There was a new scent in the air…and it was getting me seriously triggered.

I had no trouble placing it; it belonged to a certain mustelid—one that I knew a whole lot better than I'd have liked.

Wayne Babin was somewhere on the ward.

So, I hadn't killed him after all.

When I think back on it now, I'm not 100% sure that Lurch lied to me about offing him—at least not knowingly. He may have only been repeating what he'd been told by the docs. As I later found out, those jerks were the most bald-faced liars on the planet. I swear, if you hooked one of 'em up to a polygraph machine, the readout would prolly tell you, 'Shoot Me Now!'

But when I took another whiff of air, there it was again; that same smell of fear I'd detected from Marc Shevaldo. What I didn't know—at least not then—was that when that hippo-kid had been put here, it had been a mistake. Wayne's presence, on the other paw, was purely intentional.

As I was to find out for myself, very shortly.

It happened right after lunch. When the orderly came to collect my tray, he wasn't alone. Once again, I was put into restraints and a muzzle. Only this time, they stuck me in a wheelchair and attached monitor leads before moving me.

And then they rolled me up in front of the cell where Wayne Babin was being held.

At first, I couldn't see much. He was crouching on the bed in a fetal position, with his face turned to the wall. He was shivering slightly, and I thought I could hear him whimpering.

Then I heard the voice of Dr. Winters, on the intercom.

"Mr. Babin…you have a visitor."

He didn't seem to hear her, and she spoke again, this time more forcefully.

"Look out through the window, please."

Now, finally, he turned to face me.

No…I hadn't killed him, but…

Ahhh, I'll spare you the full description. Let's just say that if the Babin kid HAD been the guy who'd wrecked my face, we would have been more than even.

Yeah, it bothered me…but not nearly as much as what he did when he realized who was there. He screamed, scampered over to the corner of the bed and buried himself under the covers, sobbing his head off. The smell of fear coming off of him was so strong, it almost made me want to gag.

Right away, I knew that it wasn't just coz of…whatever I'd done to him after he jumped me. Something else was going on here; something a whole lot worse. Anyway, after maybe five more minutes, I was taken back to my cell, with no explanation given. A little while later, Dr. Winters showed up with a clipboard and notepad. What she wanted to know was…had the sight of Wayne Babin triggered any memories of what had happened after my blackout. It hadn't, and I told her so; I still couldn't remember a thing from after he'd grabbed me. This time, though, she didn't look puzzled; she just nodded and made a few notes.

I didn't see her again for another three days…but when I woke up the next morning, there was no sign—or scent—of Wayne Babin. Whoa, was I grateful for that; he'd been blubbering non-stop ever since our encounter, and I had barely been able to fall asleep.

Hmmm, knew you were gonna ask me that Erin. And to tell the truth…no, I didn't feel the slightest bit guilty over what I'd done to that jerk—not after what I'd seen him do in that laundry room. What concerned me a whole lot more was…was the knowledge that the same thing would happen to anybody who grabbed me from behind…even someone that I cared about.

No, Mr. Rodenberg, it's true…as matter of fact, that's how I ended up on this boat in the first place. You see, after I caught up with Erin, the other night…

What, now? Okay bunny-girl, if you're sure…you tell him.