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The Fire Triangle

Part Two:

Oxidizer

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

"Dream on, dream prisoner
Hang your head in shame
Don't know the rules?
Come on, let's play the game

You taste like poison
Dressed in pain
Wash me clean
Beneath the rain

Freedom is calling…"

Toyah Willcox – Kill The Rage

"Just one minute there, Charcoal-Boy!"

Erin's voice cut through the tension like a katana through a shoji screen—startling both of her companions into a bewildered silence.

It was the target of her ire that finally broke it. "Wh-What the heck, bunny-girl?" His ears were standing at full attention.

In response, the young white-furred rabbit put her paws to her hips and sniffed derisively. "I just now remembered something; back at the Carrot Days Festival you told me Jack La Peigne fooled you too, at first."

Conor blinked and his head tilted sideways. "Yeah…so…?"

"So…" She folded her arms and lifted her chin, "A minute ago you said you couldn't stand him from the moment you met him."

She was answered by a groan; not from the fugitive young silver fox, but from the rat on the tray-table facing him, "Now you want to bring that up?"

Conor's response was breezier—and also much more sarcastic. "Yeah, that's right. I knew the guy was a jerk, but I never imagined he was a stinkin' monster."

Erin rolled her eyes upwards, "Oh, har, har, ha…"

"I'm not joking, Snowdrop!"

That was Vern Rodenberg's cue to jump in…before it blew up into a screaming match.

"Don't start with this again, fox kid!" To drive home the point, he stabbed a finger at his client.

He was answered with a gesture every attorney knows by heart. The young silver fox promptly threw up his paws, as if to say, 'Who…me?' In that moment, he looked like every guilty felon the rat had ever represented.

"Hey Counselor…she brought him up, not…"

"I don't care WHO…!"

"That's not it, Mr. Rodenberg…he lied to me!"

Once again, the room fell silent. Only this time, Erin wasn't angry, she looked hurt.

Holding back a sniffle, she again turned her gaze in Conor's direction. "You lied to me…you liar!" Her voice was soft and cracking.

He responded with a sigh and the swipe of a paw down the side of his head.

"All right Erin…yeah, I did that." His voice was quiet, but also firm. "I thought you might believe me better if I didn't tell you that it was hate-at-first-sight… Hollld on, I'm not done yet." She was leaning towards him with her fists clenched. "If you remember that, then you oughta remember THIS: I never made any promises about telling you the truth back then." His gaze darted in Mr. Rodenberg's direction. "But I'm telling the truth NOW…because I did make that promise." He put a paw over his chest and raised the other one in a Ranger-Scout salute. "On my mother's grave, I swear—to both of you—I haven't said one, single, solitary word in this room that wasn't true…at least as I remember it."

"Okay," Erin answered, nodding softly. Vern Rodenberg's response wasn't quite so agreeable.

"Fine, okay…then tell me the truth about this," he was glaring at Conor with his incisors working. "I'm not gonna debate the wisdom of you throwing yourself down that garbage chute, since even YOU seem to know what a stupid move that was." He slapped a paw against his knee. "But what I don't understand…what I absolutely can NOT wrap my head around is why; WHY did you think that phone was worth dying for?"

Conor shook his head slowly and then scratched at an ear. "I…I honestly couldn't tell you, Mr. Rodenberg. I guess I must have thought…anything La Peigne wanted destroyed that badly was something I wanted to have that badly."

"Ohhhh, for the love of…" The grey rat looked away for a second, cracking his knuckles, "Do you have any idea how weak that sounds, kid?"

"Maybe," the young fox admitted…and then his face became as hard as his attorney's, "But lemme tell you this: That cell-phone WAS worth risking my tail for. If I hadn't gone after it, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now; coz I'd either be locked up, a basket-case…or dead."

He let the last word hang in the air for a second…and then went back to his story.

Okay, I'll admit this much. However it turned out, that was still a dumb thing I did—and it took me all of two seconds to realize it. After I was maybe a yard or two down that shaft, everything went pitch-stinkin'-black—so dark, that even with my night-vision, I couldn't see diddly. It was super-disorienting, too; I couldn't tell up from down. The only good part was, that trash chute was a brand-new installation and the walls were as smooth as glass, no rough spots, nothing sharp sticking out to cut me.

Because I couldn't see, I had no warning before I hit bottom—and no way to prepare myself. I was expecting to land on my feet, but instead I hit head-first…at like a 45-degree angle, not straight down from the ceiling, like I thought was gonna happen,

Lucky for me the compactor bin was half full and hadn't been run yet. I came down into a mix of cardboard and trash bags, one of which burst open when I landed on it. The unlucky thing was…that particular bag was full of table scraps and made a serious mess when I broke it.

Ah well, at least I'd made a soft landing…more or less. But, cushy touchdown or not, I had still hit pretty hard, and couldn't be sure if I hadn't injured myself. And so, I got quickly to my feet to check things out…or, uh, I tried to. Right away, I slipped and fell on my keister. Yeah, yeah…laugh your head off, Snowdrop. Anyway, I shook it off and tried again, and…okay-y-y, I wasn't hurt; that was something at least. But now, here came the downside of that bad boy being halfway full. Did I mention that it was as big as a dump-truck? Awww foxtrot; how was I supposed to find one, little cell-phone in all of this stinkin' clutter—especially when I could hardly see? The only light coming in was from this one yellow bulb, somewhere in the room outside…about as bright as your average birthday candle. I could make out a grille, about two feet above my head, and that was it.

But then I remembered; the phone I was looking for was the former property of Jack La Peigne—the giant-size bunny whose scent I'd been able to imprint. Yeah, there was the answer. If my eyes couldn't help me find that thing, my sniffer could do the job. I shoved my muzzle into the debris and started rooting around….

…For about three seconds, until my sense of smell reminded me that I was sniffing my way through a garbage pile. Yew-w-w-www, it was the closest I came that day to saying 'take this job and shove it.' And I would have, too—if it hadn't been for Crazy Wez. Even if I found that cell-phone, he was gonna be seriously torqued at me; he didn't like it when one of his guys bailed on an assignment.

So, just imagine how he'd react if all I had to show him was a pawful of air. With that in mind, I soldiered on; take-a-sniff-and-gag, take-a-sniff-and-try-not-to-puke, and take another sniff.

It was hopeless; I never got even a tiny whiff of that phone—not even when I stuck my snout right into it.

Ohhh-kay, if my nose didn't know what it was smelling, it sure as heck knew what it was touching. I grabbed for that bad boy like the last parachute in a crashing plane, pulled it close, and let out a small whoop. What the heck, I'd earned it. When I turned it on though, all I got was a passcode request. That might have bothered me, except…well, at least, I could see a little bit better.

And now I could make out, just above the grille, a long, horizontal slot. It looked pretty darn narrow, but I was sure I could manage to squeeze through it. "Thank God, I'm a fox," I remember thinking—and the next thing I thought was "Ohhhh, SNAP!"

Because at that instant, I heard a loud, electric, buzzing sound and saw yellow lights, scrolling across the wall outside the grille. And then, a piston as big as an elephant-size mattress began slowly pushing down on me down from above.

The grille, on the other paw, moved a whole lot faster, slamming upwards with a loud bang, closing off the exit-slot and trapping me inside the compactor bin.

Aggghhhh, grrrrrr, dumb, dumb, DUMB fox! How the heck could I have forgotten about Blackbird? And come to think of it he'd never said the control switch was in the same room as the trash compactor—only that it was…'somewhere else', before La Peigne cut him off.

Those were my thoughts at that moment. The next thing to pop into my head was, "One thing's for sure, I'm gonna be a lot thinner."

Yeah guys…I know, right? But I swear to God, that IS what I was thinking right then.

And that was my last thought before my head shut up and I started feeling all over the walls in a frantic search. Maybe this thing had an emergency switch, for just this kind of accident. Nope, no luck, there wasn't any. Okay…in that case, now was the time to panic. I began to fox-scream my head off, even though I knew what was gonna happen after that stinkin' puma got me out of here.

Besides, he'd probably never be able to hear me, anyway

"Help! I'm in here, shut it down, HALLLLLPPPP!"

It was no use; the piston just kept coming down, down, and down. Like an idiot, I put my paws against it, trying to push back. The metal was cold against my pads, and now, I could feel myself being compressed into a fetal position; threads of pain began to shoot through my shoulder back.

And then the piston stopped—and began to go the other way.

For a second, I just stared dumbly, watching it rise back up again. I remember thinking, maybe…maybe that was as far down as it was supposed to go? Oops…the grille had dropped and the slot was clear again. I needed to get the heck out of here…fast!

I jumped up, threw an elbow over the rim, and got ready to pull myself through the opening.

…when a big, feline paw grabbed me by the wrist and yanked me out of the compactor bin.

I landed on the floor in a hot mess, bracing myself. Out of the frying pan, into…another frying-pan; Blackbird had heard me after…

Wa-a-a-aitaminnit—that wasn't a puma leaning over me, it was a Furrida panther. And standing beside him was a young sea mink—a very ticked-off looking sea mink.

"Pick him up!" he snarled, "and watch out for that camera over there!"

"Right Boss," Hitch nodded, and dutifully hauled me upright—sinking in his claws as he grabbed me, although Wez had said nothing to that effect.

The instant I was on my feet, he was in my face.

"You stupid, little, head-case moron, you! If you wanna commit suicide, at least leave a note first—DUMB fox-kid! And who the heck do you think you are, running off on your own, like that? When I give out orders, I expect 'em to be obeyed!" He drew back his arm, and I was sure he was going to smack me. And maybe that was what he had in mind, but in the end, he only shoved a finger under my nose. "If you EVER pull a stunt like that again, I swear…Ooooo, gimme one good reason why I shouldn't kick your tail outta The Enforcers right now!"

That wasn't quite how he said it, but you wouldn't want to hear his exact words on the subject. Meanwhile, Hitch was standing off to one side with a big, dopey smile on his face. Ohhhh, I wanted to pay him back for those claws and soooo bad.

But then, I remembered—I DID have an excuse for him not to fire me. Only, where the heck was it? Ohhhhh, NO…my paws were empty! I hadn't held onto that cell-phone; I had dropped…

Wait, hold it…I reached down fast and patted my hip.

"Hey, stupid, I'm talking to you!" Wez was baring his fangs at me; I hardly noticed. "What the heck do you think you're doing?"

I answered by pulling out the cell phone and showing it to him. I didn't remember having put it in my pocket—but who cared, so long as I had the thing?

Not Wez McCrodon, apparently…

"Wha…?" Even through his fur I could tell that he was livid. "You jumped down the stinkin' trash-compactor chute for a crummy SMART-PHONE?"

He raised his paw, ready to bat it out of my grip…while my ears and eyebrows shot up into the ceiling. What the fox? Didn't he realize…? Whoa, wait…no, he didn't. Hitch hadn't told him the whole story.

I moved quickly to correct that oversight.

"Not just any phone." I answered in a rush, almost thrusting it in his face; "Jack La Peigne's fursonal cell-phone! And he doesn't know we have it!" He couldn't or else there'd be guards all over us right now.

"It's…what?" Wez stopped and took a wide-eyed step backwards.

And that was my opportunity to lay a little payback on a certain Furrida Panther.

"Yeah, that's right…ask Hitch. He was right there when the big guy tossed it."

"He was?" Wez's brow went up and then came down hard. And then he came down hard…on Mr. Claws. "You stupid, stinking, pea–brained hick! How come you never told me that part?"

"I…" Hitch mumbled, clasping his paws, "I-I didn't think…"

"Yeah, that's right, you DIDN'T think!" Wez cut him off at the pass. "That's the whole stinkin' trouble with you." And then he turned to me, holding out a pair of cupped paws. "Lemme see."

I gave him the phone. He took it, and just stared for a second, cradling it like a sacred icon. For some reason that told me now would be a very good time to cover my tail.

"It's probably encrypted from here to Zootopia," I cautioned, raising a finger.

He just kept gazing reverently at the magical thing in his paws.

"No problem, Z." His voice was soft and velvety, "I know a guy."

And then a noise came from somewhere upstairs, breaking the spell.

"All right, listen up…the whole two of you." Wez held up the cell-phone for both of us to see. "Nobody says nothin' about this, not to anyone; not to me, not to each other…not even to yourselves. You don't talk about it, you don't think about it, you don't stinkin' dream about it. Got that?"

We answered simultaneously.

"Yeah Boss."

"Right Wez."

"Okay," he said, shoving the phone in his pocket, "I'm gonna go head on back upstairs. Give it about a minute before you follow me."

As soon as he was gone, Hitch wheeled on me with his claws unsheathed.

"You little…"

"Thanks," I said, offering a paw.

Hitch pulled the claws back and his head tilted sideways. "Thanks…? For WHAT!"

"For saving my life," I said, pointing to the trash compactor behind me. "You're the guy who shut that thing off, right?" I didn't know if it was him or Wez that had actually pulled the switch, but it hardly mattered under the circumstances. "So…thanks." I held out my paw even further.

He slapped it aside…ears laid back and fangs exposed.

"Keep your thanks boy; I don't want it. And I swear…one of these days, I'm gonna fix your tail, real good."

"Then that's what's gonna happen," I shrugged, "Now come on…let's get the heck outta here."

This time, I followed my orders to the letter. I never once mentioned the incident with the trash compactor, and luckily, nobody asked me about it either. A couple of guys did want to know why Wez had been so torqued at me; he'd practically thrown a conniption when he learned that I'd bailed on my mission.

So had Hitch, by the way—when he'd run off to tattle on me instead of following those VIPs like I'd told him to. Not that I'm complaining you understand; I'm still alive, after all. And at least he'd whispered the news in Wez's ear, instead of broadcasting it all over the place.

Anyway, no sweat. Whenever someone asked me what I'd done make Wez blow up like that, all I had to do was say, "Sorry. he told me not to talk about it"—which he had—and that was that.

I never forgot about that cell-phone, but I didn't give it much thought either; maybe a minute or two before I went to sleep. So, when I finally heard back about that bad boy, it hit me like a freight train out of left field.

It started in the mess hall. I had just finished stacking my lunch tray, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and there was Blackbird, giving me a curious look.

"Your uncle's here, Murphy," he told me, deadpan.

I immediately froze. I knew today was visiting day, but…uncle, what uncle? I didn't have any uncles; I didn't have any living relatives, period.

Un-lessss it was somebody from my father's side… nooooo, that couldn't be it, either. I'd been put here under a fake name, so what the heck….?

That was all I was able to manage, before Blackbird's growl derailed my train of thought. "You want to see him, or don't you?"

I came within a whisker of telling him no. All too well did I know that this puma had it in for me. Maybe he was laying a trap over here.

Yeah, Erin …so? You'd be paranoid too, if you had a guy like that, always looking to nail your tail, over every little thing.

And now, if you don't mind... Okay, maybe it wasn't a trap. In any case, there was only one way to find out.

"Yeah, I'll see him."

Never having had a visitor before, I had to wait outside the visitation room while Blackbird laid down the rules. I would have thirty minutes, not one second more, and the only thing my uncle would be allowed to give me was paperwork.

…And nothing but paperwork; no staples, folders, paperclips, or anything else. And he couldn't give it to me directly; he'd have to pass it to a guard, who would send it through the partition to another guard, who would pass it on to me—after he gave it a thorough inspection first.

And, of course, our conversation would be duly monitored and recorded

"Okay," Blackbird purred when he finished, "you're in Booth Nine," and with that, he waved me through the door.

I was three spaces away from my spot, when I got another surprise. There was Wez, seated at another window. I only had time for a quick peek, but I was able to make out another sea-mink on the other side of the glass, a guy much bigger than him. Who could that be, I wondered. Was this the uncle he was always talking about? Noooo, I decided; too young. Must be his cousin…Kerry, or Kellen, or something like that. Whatever…I didn't have time to hang for a better look. I hurried on, found my slot and quickly took a seat.

The set-up in the visitation room was pretty much the same as what you see in the movies. Narrow booths, armored glass, and scuffed-up phones with steel-jacketed cables. As with the Isolation Cells, this was one of the few places in The Point that the riot hadn't touched—and so there'd been no makeover here. The glass was dingy, the seat was hard as a rock, and the paint was thick, peeling, and baby-puke green in color.

Parked in front of me, on the other side of the window was another fox—no surprise there, since he was supposed to be my uncle. What was surprising was that he wasn't a red fox, but a swift fox. Whoa, how the heck had this dude managed to convince The Mammal that HE was related to me?

Yep, you got it Mr. Rodenberg; by crossing a few paws with silver…and also with the help of a little leverage, although I didn't find that out until later.

As I took my seat, I saw him mouthing a pair of words. 'Uncle' and 'Danny'. I nodded that I understood; he nodded back and then he said, "Hey, Al. How you doin' kid?" He had a Zoo York Irish accent that wouldn't quit. Think Jimmy Catney in White Heat.

Who's Jimmy Ca…? Uhhh, later Erin, okay?

"I'm doin' pretty good, Uncle Danny," I said. Quickly deciding to play it straight, I lowered my voice and added. "All things considered; I mean…this IS the stinkin' Point after all."

"Yeah, really." He nodded, offering a toothy, tilted grin. He seemed to appreciate the line I was taking, and so I decided to cut to the chase.

"I have to admit, I wasn't expecting you, Unk." I said, addressing him in the diminutive. And then I leaned forward until my nose was almost touching the glass. "What brings you here today?"

Instead of leaning forward, as I had done, he leaned back in his seat and made a dismissive gesture with his paw. In response, a shadow moved away from beside him. That was my first clue as to how he'd managed to pass himself off as my uncle.

And then he leaned forward, same as me. "Just checking to make sure you're alright in here, kid, after the riot and everything. I would have come sooner, but they're only just now letting you guys have visitors." That was probably true, and a perfectly good reason for my 'uncle' to come and see me—except he wasn't my uncle and that wasn't why he was here.

Ahhh, I so wanted to ask him about it, but I didn't dare. Maybe HE could tell the guards to mind their own business, but I sure as heck couldn't.

He dropped his voice to a low murmur. "I also heard about a little…'accident' you had. You follow what I'm bringing out?"

Yep, you're right Erin. That's where I get that expression, from Danny Tipperin. But I think you prolly knew it already, Mr. Rodenberg—having met the guy and all.

Anyway, I did follow…he was talking about my swan-dive down the garbage chute.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said, "Close call…but I'm okay."

He offered me a head-shake and a tired smile. "I'd be lying if I said that wasn't a stupid move you made, kid. But that being said, I gotta admit…it turned out fine in the end. You got the goods, and…" He finished up with a chef's-kiss gesture.

I was more than a little surprised…not that Wez had managed to smuggle the Holy Cell-Phone out of The Point, but that he hadn't tried to grab all the credit for himself. I later found out that he had, but it hadn't worked. When the phone finally reached its destination, my scent was still on it, along with several strands of my fur. How that had led his uncle's guys to the discovery that I was the real cell-phone-ranger, I still don't know. Somehow, though, they'd figured it out—and the proof was sitting less than three feet away from me.

All right, yeah…but that still didn't explain why this swift-fox had been sent here to talk to me.

And I wasn't going to find out…not right then, anyway. Even having paid off and/or put the squeeze on the guards, there was only so much Danny T. could tell me right then.

"You're the one that likes blackberries, right kid?"

"Yeah, that's right," I said. I would have been confused by the sudden change of subject; except he winked while he said it.

"Oh good, I wasn't sure," he answered, "Anyway you got a care package coming, later on this week, with lots of blackberry goodies inside." He seemed to remember something then, and snapped his fingers, "Oh, there'll be something else too, something just for you."

"Wha…?" I started to ask, but he had already raised a paw.

"Sorry kid, don't wanna spoil the surprise; you're just gonna have to wait and see."

That was when something happened that I'd never experienced before. Danny leaned in even closer and, barely moving his lips, he spoke again—in a voice so high in pitch that only a canine or a bat would have been able to hear it.

OR…another fox. "Push up on the stand and pull down." he said…and then sat back again.

Needless to say, I was floored. How the heck had he done that? Before I could say anything, he was already raising another paw. Okay, I wouldn't ask…but dangit, I wanted to know.

I was about to tell him, "Right, got it," when I remembered—I wasn't supposed to have heard him. So instead, I gave him a tiny nod…even though I had no idea what he'd meant by what he'd just told me. The way I figured, I'd find out when my care-package came…or else I wouldn't.

We spent the rest of our visit talking about nothing important…except I got the distinct impression that when it came to Crazy Wez, this swift fox wasn't a fan. Every time I mentioned his name, my 'Uncle Dan's' mouth would tighten up a little. It was very subtle, but unmistakable.

And then, after what seemed like only another minute, Blackbird appeared behind me.

"All right Murphy, times up."

"Okay," I said, getting up again, "Thanks for coming, Unk."

"No problem, kid." He said, also getting up. And then he added, "I won't be able to come visit you for a while…but I really hope to see you again."

And then he was out of there…and now I was more confused than ever. Oh great…another puzzle. The way he'd spoken those last few words, I was sure they contained a hidden message—but for the life of me, I couldn't decipher it.

As things turned out, I had my answer in less than an hour. When I got back to my cell, I found Wez waiting for me, leaning a shoulder against the bars.

"Come with me," he said, turning and beckoning with a pair of fingers. I knew where we were going when he passed me a bandanna; we'd done this dance several times before.

He led me out to the yard and to a row of low, concrete bleachers overlooking the ball field; one of The Point's new, post-riot constructions. There were several other kids present, but they took their leave as soon as they saw us, although much more slowly—and sullenly—than they would have before the uprising.

Selecting a pair of seats at front-row, center, we were invisible to every guard-tower, except for the one on top of the main building…and that one was like a zillion yards away. Still, there was such a thing as binoculars, and so we took no chances. Tying the bandannas around our necks, we let them drape over our muzzles and cover our mouths. Now, even with visual aids the guards wouldn't be able to read our lips…and if they ordered us to lose the scarves, we'd know they'd been watching and shelve the sit-down for later.

As was usually the case, Wez didn't get down to business right away, engaging first in a little small talk.

"So…did you have a nice conversation with The Danaconda?"

"With who…?" I asked. I knew who he meant of course, but where the heck had he gotten that name?

"Your 'Uncle' Danny Tipperin who came to see you," he explained. Even through the bandanna, I could tell that he was grinning. "That's his street-name. I'll tell you how he picked it up some other time, but right now, I got something important to discuss with you." He went silent for a moment, and it wasn't a dramatic pause; it was what he always did when he wanted to get serious.

Finally, he said, without looking at me. "I'm getting outta here, Z…I'm gonna say Sayonara to The Point."

Whoa, okay—NOW I was blown away! And not just by the reveal; why the fox had he felt the need to bring me all the way out here to tell me? And what the heck did it have to do with my visit from 'Uncle Danny?' I was sure those things were connected; Wez had buttonholed me less than fifteen minutes after I'd finished my talk with that swift fox. No way was it just a coincidence.

AND…what in the actual heck had his uncle done to convince The Mammal to let him take a walk? This wasn't some joe-shmoe kid who'd been busted for stealing a bottle of fruit juice, it was the stinkin' Bearfoot Bandit, for crying out loud; the kid whose antics had been front page news, from Mane, down to Furrida and beyond.

My bewilderment must have been visible even through my facial covering. Wez instantly fanned a paw. "No, Z…they're not letting me out; I'm gonna break out. My uncle, The Mister, is gonna help me."

Oh-kay-y-y, that explained what we were doing out here on the bleachers—but it didn't explain why he was letting me in on his plan. And breaking out of Granite Point? That wasn't just crazy, it was total insanity.

Remember all those security things I saw when I first arrived? Well, they were just the tip of the iceberg. The Point was maybe the most escape-proof correctional facility on the eastern seaboard—juvenile or adult—and the proof was there for anyone to see. Of the few who'd tried to break out of this place, not one had made it, even to the outer wall. The kids who'd attempted to smuggle themselves out had fared even worse…getting busted before they cleared the first checkpoint. And every single one of those attempts had been before my time. For as long as I'd been locked up in The Point, not a single kid had tried to escape from here, not even once.

And that wasn't even mentioning what the riot had wrought. Thanks to that little incident, the security system had been upgraded, along with everything else; scent detectors, motion detectors, hi-def security cameras, drones with infrared, the works—all of it brand new, hi-tech, and cutting edge.

"And that's just the stuff we know about," I reminded Wez cautiously.

"Not…quite, Z," He was waving a finger, and I was sure he was grinning again, "My uncle's guys know a lot more than you think...and it's all thanks to you."

I felt my paw slap into my chest.

"What…ME?" Whoa, just when I thought things couldn't get any more confusing. What in the actual heck had I done?

Wez said nothing to this, only stuck out his thumb and his little finger and held them up to his cheek.

Okay…now I got it. This was all about the cell-phone I'd rescued. His cousin—Kieran, that was it—his cousin must have figured out a way to crack the encryption code. I had no idea how that was supposed to help Wez break out of here, except—that phone had once been the fursonal property of Jack La Peigne, the Big Boss Bunny himself. Who knew what evil lurked in that heart of that bad boy?

And there was one more thing. Unless Wez had been lying to me just now, his uncle, the big-time crime-boss, had signed off on his escape plan. And that guy was nobody's amateur; take a look at the swift fox he'd sent to come and talk to me.

There was just one thing left that I couldn't figure out.

"All right Wez, I follow," I said, "but why are you even telling me this? Shouldn't you want to keep it to yourself?"

"Normally, yeah." He answered, giving me a slow nod, "But even with my uncle's help, there's no way I can pull this off alone. I'm gonna need a partner, you understand?"

Holy foxtrot! Yeah, I understood…and now I was totally blown away. I had no idea how to answer him, and so I settled on something lame.

"Geez, Wez…why me? Wouldn't Hitch be a better choice?" I immediately felt like an idiot, but he only waved a paw.

"Couldn't bring that guy along if I wanted to; he's too big. This'll only work with someone small-mammal size or less." He shrugged, "And let's face it, that panther's not exactly super endowed in the brains department. I need a guy with some savvy, and besides…" He reached out and put a paw on my shoulder. "You're the kid who snagged that cell-phone, Z; it's only right that I make you the offer first."

Whoa, you could have knocked me over with a toothpick; once again, I had no idea how to answer him.

And so, once again, I punted.

"I dunno Wez…this is something really huge, ya know. I-I'm gonna need some time to think it over."

"I understand," he nodded. "I can give you 'till lights out tomorrow to make up your mind—but that's it, I'm afraid. If the answer is yes, gimme a fist-bump when you see me. If it's no, make it a high-five."

"Right," I said, "But there's one thing I gotta know first. I'm not going to ask you for any details—but at least tell me you have a plan."

Wez looked away for a second, chewing on his lip. He wasn't angry, it was more like he was trying to make up his mind or something.

"Yeah-h-h," he finally said, and then raised a cautioning finger. "It's not complete, only a barebones thing. And even I don't know everything yet. There's a lot of stuff being worked out, 'off campus' if you know what I mean.

"Okay, good enough," I said…and we left the bleachers by separate routes.

I don't think either one of you will be surprised that I didn't get much sleep that night. I had like a Godzillion things to think about—and only 24 hours to get it done. In the end, I divided them up into three categories

The Ugly:

Whatever the chances of success, getting caught while trying to escape from The Point was the worst thing that could happen to a kid. Everybody knew that, and what made it even worse was that nobody knew exactly what that 'thing' was. All we knew for certain was that if you got busted trying to break out of this place, you were hauled off to The Clinic and you were never seen again.

I had come back from that place, of course…but Wayne Babin and Marc Shevaldo hadn't. And the thought of ending up like them was my worst nightmare—times stinkin' infinity!

And I would end up like them if I got caught trying to break out of The Point; of that I had absolutely zero doubt. Nobody ever came back from the Clinic after being sent there a SECOND time.

Or…why even bother? The Mammal could have one of the guards grab me from behind and then call what happened next an act of self-defense. In any case, if Wez and I got busted breaking out of here, they'd make examples of us for sure.

The Bad:

Like I already said, since the day it opened no one had ever escaped from the Granite Point Youth Correctional Facility. Only a few had even tried, and it wasn't only because of the consequences of getting caught—it was also because of the odds.

First of all, there was no such thing as trying to tunnel out of this place. As the name implies, Granite Point was built on solid rock; trying to break out of here by taking the low road was a total non-starter.

That left either the wall and trying to stow away on a delivery vehicle.

Let's take the second one first. Every car, truck and van that came into Granite Point had to stop at a scale on the way in, and again on the way out. And every delivery had to be weighed as soon as it was offloaded. When the driver hit the scales that second time, his vehicle weight had better not be on the high side. Otherwise, the guards would practically tear it apart, looking for any hitchhikers. And that was only one of their gimmicks.

Now, let's move on to the wall. Assuming you could get that far, you'd be a sitting duck all the way to the top…and did I mention that those new patrol drones fired tranq-darts? And even if you were able to make that climb, it wasn't going to happen quickly; by the time you reached the top, you'd have a reception committee, waiting for you on the other side.

What's that now? Nope Stuke couldn't have made it either, flying squirrel or no; he had to wear an ankle weight 24/7, his own, private ball-and-chain Wez called it. He could climb, but he couldn't glide—and that weight was not only heavy, it threw off his balance, too.

And, of course, there was all that high-tech stuff I mentioned earlier. But bar none, the most effective escape deterrent in Granite Point was also the simplest. Any guard who busted a detainee trying to make a break—or even plotting an escape—received an automatic bonus of ten thousand smackers. Now, how you gonna compete with that, huh?

But wait…there's more. They had a similar deal for the detainees. If you informed on another kid's escape attempt—assuming your info was legit—you'd get an instant parole, a get-out-of-jail-free card, no questions asked

Yeah, Mr. Rodenberg, I know…but The Mammal had thought of that too. If the worst offense you could commit in Granite Point was trying to escape, the second worst was trying to frame some kid on an escape—and that applied to the officers as much to the detainees. This one time a couple of guards actually tried it, they were not only fired, they were blacklisted, and then they got hauled into court on a civil suit.

Right, I know…I thought it was an urban legend too, the first time I heard it. But it really did happen; that's another thing I found out later on.

What's that, Erin? Oh, yeah…but how were The Enforcers supposed to punish a kid for snitching if we couldn't get to him? If a detainee went to The Mammal with news of an escape plan, they'd whisk him off to The Clinic so fast, he'd catch cold from the breeze. Of course, whether he went home or ended up staying there, depended on if he'd been telling the truth.

Needless to say, if that ever happened, Wez would use his outside connections to put the word on the street that the kid was a snitch…but even that wouldn't have been enough to discourage everybody. Tell me Mr. Rodenberg, did you know any guys in Lemmingworth who'd have been willing to run that risk for a ticket out of jail?

Yep, thought so.

Did I ever think about…? Yeah…for about half a nanosecond. If I snitched on Wez's escape plan, it would take all of half a day for the word to get back to that uncle of his—and then what, do you think he'd have done, just let it slide? Nuh-uh…I'd already had a taste of the kind of power that guy wielded-–when he'd been able to successfully pass Danny Tipperin off as my uncle. If I informed on his nephew's breakout scheme, before the week was up, I'd be toast for sure. And not only that, what do you think Wez would have done if I gave up his plan to the guards? Only tell The Mammal everything he knew about how I'd rescued Jack La Peigne's cell phone—in which case my chances of making that release wouldn't just be merely dead; they'd be really, most sincerely dead.

And even without all that—I may not have hated snitches the way Crazy Wez did, but for sure, I would have hated myself that much if I informed on his escape plan.

Okay, fine—but should I join him in his escape plan?

The Good:

Wez had one major advantage that none of the previous runners had enjoyed—help from the outside, and from an outfit with some serious resources. One more time, look at the way Danny Tipperin had been able to wave that guard away. The Company could easily beat that $10K reward AKER was offering for foiling an escape attempt—and this was a gang that thrived on leverage; I knew that much even then.

I also knew something else; thanks to the riot, nearly all of The Point's security systems were now AI controlled…and Wez's cousin Kieran was supposed to be some kind of hotshot computer hacker. AND he was now in possession of Jack La Peigne's fursonal cell-phone. If ever there was a breakout scheme that stood a decent chance of succeeding, it was this one.

And there was one other thing I knew; as head of the Enforcers, Wez McCrodon enjoyed a whole bunch of privileges granted to no other detainee in The Point—which made him the kid with the most to lose if he got busted trying to escape. And, for all his craziness, that sea-mink was no dummy. Even in his freakiest moments he'd never so much as dream of trying to break out of Granite Point unless he thought he could pull it off. Oh, and that also made him the last kid The Mammal would suspect of trying to plan an escape.

And getting back to his Uncle Mob-Boss…For sure, if I snitched out his nephew's escape, he'd be, 'Bring me the head of Alan Murphy!'

But…what if instead, I helped Wez with his escape plan—and it WORKED? Whoa, in that case, his uncle would owe me one.

Yeah, yeah Mr. Rodenberg …I see you rolling your eyes. And you're absolutely right—but what did I know from wiseguys back then? And I wasn't that naïve; I knew the reverse was also true. If I declined to go with Wez and he got caught, his uncle might blame me for it, even if I kept my fox-trap shut. "If you'd been there, my nephew would have MADE it!"

Aggghhhh, grrrrr…why couldn't that stinkin' sea mink have made it an offer I couldn't refuse? It would have been so much easier to make that choice if I didn't have a choice.

That was when I remembered something else…I remembered Cutty. He had gotten out legally, no need to make a break—something that would never happen for 'Crazy Wez' McCrodon, aka The Bearfoot Bandit.

But…could it happen for me?

I wasn't any notorious interstate felon, just a first offender who'd gotten into a brawl on his first day in Juvie. I'd been given a year in Granite Point because of that fight, but by now, I had to be getting close to my release date. Yeah, maybe it could happen for me…they might be letting me out next week for all I knew.

…unless somebody grabbed me from behind!

Awwww, snap! I'd forgotten all about that little problem; it was all the excuse that anyone would need to keep me locked up indefinitely. And that wasn't everything, either. For all I knew, my little 'incident' in the laundry room could have earned me some extra time already. Seriously, I wouldn't have been the first kid in Granite Point to have his sentence extended without being told about it.

Agggggh, grrrr. it was no use; I couldn't make up my mind. And so, I decided to sleep on it—yeah, right, as IF!

I rolled over, starting wide-eyed up at the ceiling…and was out like a light before I knew it.

Uhmmm…what do they call it again, when you're dreaming and you know you're dreaming? Oh right, a lucid dream. In the one I had that night I was part of a pirate crew. Naw, not like Jack Sparroar, think Donkey D. Fluffy. Anyway, I was running along the dock, trying to reach my ship…except it never seemed to be getting any closer. Every once in a while, I would turn and look over my shoulder, although I never understood why. No one was ever there behind me, and I knew that they wouldn't be. After the third time, I began to wonder why the heck I was even doing this; it was only a stinkin' dream. And then I decided, the heck with all of this stupid stuff and jumped off the dock and into the water.

And then I woke up…just in time to hear the reveille siren. It was only then that I knew…I'd been trying to reach that ship because my mother was on board.

When I got to the mess hall, about a half hour later, Wez was already there, sitting at the Enforcers' table with Scorp and Jawbone. For a second, I thought about heading straight over, except that would have been way outside my normal routine. So instead, I got in the chow-line, like usual. It seemed to take forever to get my morning rations.

Sliding into my usual space next to Crazy Wez, I gave him a nod, "Morning, mink," and offered him a fist-bump.

"Morning, fox," he said, and gave it right back, with a little nod of his own.

The deal was sealed.

In the midst of all of this, I nearly forgot about something else. And it wasn't until the next mail call that I remembered. "The following detainees…report to the Post Office, blah, blah, blah…" As always, I ignored it…that is, until I heard my name being called, "Murphy, Alan…."

Whoa, right…that care package!

The Granite Point 'post office' would have made a perfect stand-in for a police property room. My package was about par for the course, roughly the size of your average tool-chest. Nonetheless, I got a lot of curious looks when they gave it to me. I had never received even a letter before, much less a parcel.

And…seeing as how I was a member of The Enforcers, it hadn't been opened for inspection.

However, I couldn't open it either—not right away, at least. There were protocols to be observed. Luckily for me, The Enforcer crew had a meeting scheduled in the library, for that very afternoon.

Usually, when one of us got a care package, they had to wait until we adjourned before they could open it. However, since this was the first package that I had EVER received, Wez dispensed with the usual agenda and gave me the nod as soon as we sat down.

Inside was a blackberry strudel, some blackberry preserves, and two blackberry muffins. Whoever had sent me this bad boy knew what I liked.

They also knew—whoever 'they' were—that The Enforcer rules required that I share the contents of my package with the rest of the crew. And so, they had included a number of items aimed at the other guys rather than me. A tin of smoked oysters for Wez, a jar of honey for Scorp, some extra tough jerky for Jawbone, some unshelled hazelnuts for Stuke, some sheets of sandpaper for Krat to use on his horn, a couple of moon-pies for Hitch, a jar of Vegemite for Stoney…and for the Mearns Brothers, a pair of black-widow spider lollipops.

But it was the last item to come out of the box that hit me—and we're talking right between the eyes; a flat rectangle, maybe 8" X 10", covered in brown paper.

When I unwrapped it, I gasped and almost dropped it. And then I just sat there staring, holding it in a pair of quivering paws. How the fox…? How the heck did they KNOW?

"Who's that?" Scorp asked, pointing to the picture I was holding.

"M-My mom," I answered, in a shaky voice that seemed to come from somewhere else.

"Your Mama?" It was Hitch, "I thought y'all said you didn't have any…"

"She died," Wez interjected flatly, cutting him off. I had told him about her shortly after coming back from The Clinic.

Obviously, no one else was going to claim that item. The guards could have confiscated it; it had come encased in Plexiglas, which made it a potential weapon—but even Blackbird wasn't that heartless.

When I got back to my cell, after stashing the rest of my swag, the next order of business was to figure out where to put my new picture. I would have liked to hang it on the wall, but there was nothing to hang it on. Okay, I'd have to make room on my shelf, but first, I'd need to find something to prop…Oh, wait; the back unfolded to make a stand.

Make…a stand.

That was when I remembered…what Danny Tipperin had told me in that super high-pitched voice. Leaving my mom's picture on the bed, I went to the cell door, and checked outside, making sure that none of the guards were around.

And then I went back and grabbed it again.

Okay, what was it that swift-fox had said to me? Push up on the stand…and then pull down.

When I pushed up, I heard and felt a click; when I pulled down, the back of the picture slid away, revealing a glossy, gray display screen.

Whoa…I had never used a tablet before, but I knew how they worked. When I looked closer, I saw a sticky-note, pasted in the lower right corner, 'Push the button with your thumb and hold it for a second.'

I'd do that, but first things first; another check to make sure there weren't any guards close by—or any of the other kids, for that matter.

When the tablet finished booting up, I saw the usual assortment of icons, along with a pop-up message, telling me to double-click the chrysanthemum icon. It took me a few to find it—what the heck did I know about flowers? And when I did, I got a bluescreen message, 'Please Stand By'. Agggh, grrrrr, this was getting annoying. I was starting to think about bagging the whole business, at least for now, when a face appeared on the screen.

It was another sea-mink, older than Wez, late twenties, maybe early thirties. He was wearing a headset over a flat cap and had a broad, toothy smile on his face. Was this the same guy my crew-chief had been talking to in the visitors' room? I couldn't be sure; I had only gotten a quick glimpse of whoever that animal had been.

"Ah, there y'are Mr. Murphy," he said, "Been wantin' to meet ye's ever since I got me paws on that cell phone ye rescued." He had a smoky Irish lilt in his voice and a mischievous gleam in his eye. And, unlike that swift-fox, Danny, he didn't seem to have a problem with what I'd done to secure that phone. In fact, he seemed almost delighted with how I'd snagged it. "But…enough with the chatter, boyo…Name's Kieran, Kieran McCrodon."

Holy stinkin' foxtrot…THIS was Wez's cousin that he'd told me about, the master hacker? No! Way! This guy looked more like your typical MMA fighter, than your average computer geek.

Heh, little did I know back then that I had gotten it exactly right. Pound for pound, this sea-mink was one of the toughest street-fighters in the Five Burrows.

And…I had also gotten it 100% wrong. Later on, I found out that his fighting skillz were nothing compared to his abilities with a computer.

"Uh, hi…nice to meet you," I said. Lame…but all I could think of at the moment.

"Likewise, boyo," he answered back. And then he got serious.

"It's Danny Tip'rin that'll be yer contact from here on out, Alan…but before he takes over, I need to walk ye through the workin's of the tablet yer holding. Uhhh, first… please tell me ye didn't give away either o' them muffins."

"Nooo," I answered, cautiously, "I've still got 'em." I had managed to hang onto all of my blackberry yummies.

"Good," he smiled again. "You'll find a pair of air-buds inside one of 'em; they're gray to match your ear tufts, and they'll only work with this particular tablet, d'yer understand?"

"Got it," I answered, impressed. Talk about attention to detail…whoa!

And I was even more impressed by what he told me next.

"The front with yer mammy's picture is actually a photo-'lectric cell. Try and leave it in the light whenever yer can to keep 'er charged. S' even better if ye can get it outside when th' sun's shining. That'll get er' fully charged in only 'bout twenty minutes.

Whoa-ho-ho…maybe this sea-mink was a techie after all. But then I remembered something else.

"How did you know about my mother, and…where the heck did you get that picture of her?"

"From yer old account with the Danbeary Public Library," he answered, surprised not at all by the question, "No offense, I hope, but we needed to vet ye first, before we could make contact."

No, I wasn't offended, much less surprised, that The Company had felt the need to check me out, but I was surprised by something else.

"My library account…it's still there?"

An uncomfortable look crossed Kieran's face.

"Ahhh, not any more I'm afraid, boyo; I scrubbed it."

He'd…what?

"What? Why?"

Well yeah, I was bothered, Erin. That was one of the only links I had to my life before The Point. How would you feel if someone erased a whole bunch of your memories?

Even so, I had to admit; he'd had a good reason for deleting that account.

"Sorry lad, but it needed to be done. Y' wouldn't want your current masters getting' their paws on those files, would ye? Anyway, I copied and saved 'em before I shredded 'em. They're all nice an' safe, now."

"Ah, thanks," I said, trying not to sound irritated. Why the heck hadn't he told me that in the first place?

From there, he went on to instruct me in the proper use of my new toy. First and foremost, I was to say nothing about it to anyone else.

"Not even to me cousin, Wesley. Obviously, he's trustworthy, but y' never know who else might overhear ye's."

"Right," I understood that one immediately. And it made me realize something; Wez must have a tablet of his own, and with the same terms of use as I did.

I was also told to use it only during the day-time or with a light on, lest the glow from the screen give me away. "Ye'll be getting' somethin' later on that'll help out with that problem, but fer now, the light sensor won't allow ye to power up in the dark."

Ahhhh, I wasn't too thrilled about that—I'd be much more likely to be spotted using this bad boy in the daytime—but I was in no position to disagree. Kieran finished up by telling me that Danny would be contacting me the next day, at around 2 in the afternoon. "If yer not able to pick up, don't worry 'bout it. He understands how 'tis on the inside, and he'll leave ye a text message."

And then his face disappeared from the screen.

As a matter of fact, I did miss that rendezvous; the next day was the Sunday boxing matches, and I had an appointment with a newly minted Juke. He was this Pallas Cat kid—one of the newbies who'd come to The Point in the aftermath of the riot. I had challenged him to fight me after hearing him make one too many snarks about my face.

He was a tough little feline, and smart too; knew enough not to try and grab me from behind. Our fight ended in a draw with both of us too tired and/or sore to come out of our corners. The next day, though, he caught up with me in the mess hall and offered a paw. "Good fight," he told me—and though he never apologized to me, he never made another remark about my face. His name was Rank, Bobby Rank, and he was actually a pretty decent kid.

When I finally did make contact with Danny Tipperin, he was perfectly understanding about my having missed our first hook-up. He done some time himself, and so he understood the ins and outs of life in the slam. "Yeah, you couldn't let an insult like that just slide," he said.

I only learned the details of the escape plan in bits and pieces—Danny dispensed them strictly on a need-to-know basis and he never spoke about anything directly.

Well, for example, he never used the word 'escape.' It was always 'that thing.'

The gist of the plan was that on the appointed day, Wez and I were to make our way to the roof of the main building, where a couple of drones would come to take us off. Sounds simple right?

Yeah, you'd know it was anything but simple Mr. Rodenberg…and you're absolutely correct. For starters, Wez and I were both housed on the ground floor, which gave us the longest possible climb to get to the extraction point. And, like I said before, we were housed in two totally separate areas. What that meant was…until we made contact, our chances of being caught were effectively doubled. Not only that, it would defeat the whole purpose of my being brought into Wez's escape plan in the first place. I had good night vision, but he didn't—and it was a slam-dunk that we'd be making our move after dark.

On the plus side, we weren't the only ones aware of those obstacles. Our contacts on the outside knew about them too. Time and again Danny T assured me, "Don't worry kid, it's covered," although he never provided any details. Looking back on it now, I know that was the right thing to do, but at the time it made me seriously nervous. I was having to take a whole lot of things on faith—and from a guy I hardly knew.

Meanwhile, on the home front, Wez and I were spending a lot of time closeted together, going over the details of our escape plan. And for once, the circumstances were on our side; being as I was The Enforcers second in command, nobody saw anything unusual in all those private sit-downs.

The following week, I got another care package, this one containing a pair of sunglasses, the wraparound kind you see old folks wearing. I had no idea what the heck they were for—until the next time I spoke with Danny T.

"There's a new icon in the upper left corner of your screen, there. You see it, kid? Okay, good…give it a double tap and then put on the shades."

I did as he said…and at once the LED light blinked off and the screen went totally blank.

Whoa, that almost sent me into a full-blown panic, but then I heard Danny's voice again. "Put on the glasses, kid."

I did…and lo and behold, there he was on the screen again, perfectly visible. "Now we can talk after lights out," he winked.

Gotta say it; that conversation gave a major boost to my trust in both him and Kieran McCrodon. They had pledged to fix it so I'd be able to communicate with them other than during daylight hours—and they had delivered on that promise. Afterwards, I never again worried when that swift fox made a vague promise about this or that issue being 'covered.' When he told me that Wez and I would need to start turning in early each night, I agreed without question…even though he offered no explanation for the necessity. "Do it gradually," he cautioned, "A little earlier each night, until you're hitting the sack an hour before lights out." About five days after that, he gave me the route up to the roof we would need to take.

Like I said before, Granite Point had been a seminary before it was converted into a juvenile detention facility. And as you might have expected, there were any number of remnants of that past life still around. One of these was a staircase used by the janitors, maintenance-mammals, groundskeepers, etc. who lived on campus, It was supposed to lead from the boiler room to the upper floor, where they'd once had their living quarters.

Since The Point had been converted to run on electricity, the boiler-room was where the emergency generator was housed. As for the door to the stairs, it had long ago been sealed off with concrete and forgotten.

But that staircase was still intact, and there was another way to get to it; through a storeroom, on the other side, where the cleaning supplies were kept—heh, how's that for irony? Once Wez and I were inside, there'd be nothing between us and the stairwell, but a thin layer of very old brick.

That was the easy part; the hard part would be first getting into that storage area. It was secured by both an electronically controlled lock and a good, old-fashioned padlock.

"My cousin Kieran can take care of that first one," Wez informed me when next we met, "but the padlock's gonna be tricky. It's one of those fancy jobs that'll only open with a special, magnetic key…and if it's tampered with, it's got this really bright LED light that starts flashing.

I could only shake my head.

"Whoa Wez, how the heck are we gonna get through that thing?"

"Dunno," he shrugged, "Kieran had me shoot him a picture of it—from all six sides, so he's gotta have something in the works."

Like me. Crazy Wez had learned to obey his instructions without question. And now I knew for certain that he had a tablet, too.

The next message he got—and so did I—was a simple, two-word text. 'Stand By'

So, that was what we did.

You know what they say, about how waiting is the hardest part? Nooo Erin, I'm not talking about the Tom Catty tune, ha-ha. I mean…how, when you're stuck in limbo, your mind goes looking for distractions. You follow what I'm bringing out? Yeah, well the one my head landed on was a thought I'd been suppressing ever since I'd agreed to throw in with Wez on his escape plan.

If we made it…S'cuse me, when we made it, what the fox was going to happen to the rest of The Enforcers, to the guys we left behind?