The portly cheetah kicked open the door to Gazelle's penthouse, the act almost causing him to lose his balance and drop the precarious tower of pizza boxes in his paws.
It was quite crazy story, how he got those pizzas. He'd been on his way to the penthouse, riding a ten-foot canoe down the street connecting Main Street to Higgins Avenue, when a pizza guy on a scooter came zooming around the corner ahead of him. A police squad had come tearing after it, sirens blaring, its windows blackened into opacity. One thing led to another, and before Ben knew it the poor pizza guy had lost control and skidded fifty feet down the pavement, while Ben was sitting pretty with a canoe full of pizza.
Funny how things work out. The police didn't even get out the car to take back the 'evidence.'
Thinking about how he was going to get the guys to believe his story, Ben staggered across the plush purple carpet and deposited the whole thing onto the marble island in the kitchen.
The tower toppled and the boxes slid across the surface, spreading out like playing cards.
He yelped and threw himself across the island, catching one right before it slid off the edge. Another wasn't so lucky, the box lid flying up as it fell. Ben heard the splatting sound of a good pizza slapping face down on the tiles.
Well, crud.
Ben pushed himself off the island and noticed two things. One; in his haste to save a pizza, he'd squished the other ten boxes with his pear-shaped form. Two; he was alone in Gazelle's penthouse.
At least, he thought it was Gazelle's penthouse. It was far too big and fancy to be his own. There were posters of her beautiful face all over the room, and gold discs adorned the aqua glass wall separating the interior from the balcony. Gazelle was supposed to live somewhere in Sahara Square, but beyond the balcony was an endless sea of treetops.
Ah, well. He was sure the others would be here soon.
Ben walked around the island and retrieved the fallen pizza. It looked as good as ever, even the pawaiian pineapples bits Gazelle had requested. There wasn't even a big grease and tomato stain on the floor. Ben shrugged. Waste not, want not.
There was one problem. They'd neglected to cut the pizza. Ben checked the others, opening the boxes one by one. Donut sprinkles for himself. Broccoli for Bogo. Bug Burga pattie pits for Nick and Finnick. And so on.
Unbelievable. None of them had been cut. It looked like he'd have to do it himself.
He grabbed the giant cleaver off the counter and started chopping.
He didn't think about how light the cleaver was, or the fact that its blade was already glazed with a splash of dark blood.
It wasn't like that rhino hadn't deserved it.
Ben was halfway through the second pizza when he heard the tapping of large claws on a hard floor. He looked up and saw someone staring back at him through the glass wall.
He froze, the cleaver held high over his head.
Is that an ostrich?
No, ostriches were taller than that. This one better resembled a prehistoric mix-up of emu and cockatoo. The feathers thickly coating its bulbous body were pure black, glistening red specks in the sunset. From the neck up its feathers were white as bone, its beak matching the colour to form the impression of a skull. Its crest was as grey as the steel of a knife, and its eyes- Ben felt a chill- were dark and glassy. They were dead eyes, like the eyes of a taxidermized beast.
The bird quizzically jerked its head, never taking its dead, dark eyes off of the cheetah. They glinted red in the dying sunlight, like the feathers. Ben tilted his head, unconsciously mirroring the bird's movements. When did Gazelle get a pet? He put down the cleaver and approached the door to the balcony. As he drew closer, he was able to see the bird's feet. They were big and black like its body, with claws that could tear out your guts if you ticked it off. The bird wandered out of sight before Ben reached the door and opened it.
He stepped out onto the balcony, a wide expanse of interlocked deck tiles bordered by a rail of glass and black frame. The forest beneath him rustled and stirred. While he looked around for the strange bird, he thought he saw the distinctive wheel of a mine shaft tower in the distance.
The sky turned dark. With the night came rain, sudden and heavy, splashing violently off the balcony tiles.
Ben pulled his thick black coat around himself and went back inside. He glanced at the front door. Someone should have come back by now. He shut the door, drowning out the rain, and went to find a phone.
He went through the mirrored door and strolled down the cold hallway of Tundratown's Bug Burga restaurant. The rain was louder here. He could hear it spattering the windows in the adjoining rooms. He turned into the manager's office and found Gazelle's dressing table straight ahead of him, howlywood mirror and all. The bulbs surrounding the mirror were the only light in the office.
Right on cue, the cherry red cell phone on the desk glowed and audibly vibrated. Ben strode up to the desk, ignoring the mirror, and picked up the phone. It was a text from Koslov.
As he was reading, something dripped on the screen. Not blood, or tears, but a pure midnight blue stuff.
Ben blinked. He felt something leak out his left eye. He touched his cheekbone with his fingertips, and at the same time he looked up into the mirror.
He choked.
There were streaks of Night Howler down both sides of his face.
No… not me.. please…
His chocolate brown eyes were shining red in the light from the mirror…
He fell back from the dressing table. His paws were wet. He stared down at them.
They were covered in blood…. dripping endlessly… seeping through of the pores beneath his fur…
He felt a presence. The sharp tip of a tail passed by the top of the mirror.
Swinton's secret.
Cunninghorn's killer.
Ben's accomplice.
It was climbing down from the ceiling in the mirror. Its big yellow eyes stared through the glass.
Night Howler coming from his nose… the corner of his mouth…
His head hurt so much…
The cleaver was back in his paws…
Benjamin Clawhauser woke with a sharp gasp.
A phantom of the headache from his nightmare stabbed at him. He pressed his clean, unblemished fingers to his temples and closed his eyes until it went away.
With his eyes still shut he fell back against the pillows. The eyes of Subject 0 blinked behind his eyelids. He opened his eyes at last and gazed up at the boarded white ceiling. The three-armed light that hung down was at the lowest setting, the tulip lampshades glowing a faded amber. Everything about the room was white.
Ben exhaled long and hard, and then pursed his lips.
"That was a new one." It was just as well that nowadays he had these nightmares once in a blue moon.
Thank the dickens that Elba had found a therapist worth her salt.
He turned his head to see the alarm clock. It was 9:31. The blue late morning sky shining through the window confirmed that he'd slept through the alarm.
"Screw it." He got out of bed and walked to the closet. On his way he stopped before the oval mirror. His reflection looked tired. His eyes were squinted, and his fur was in need of a comb. No psycho serum pouring down his face. Ben ran his paws down the side of his rectangular form. It had been two years since he'd decided to make a change. Why was it that every time he had one of those nightmares his brain insisted on envisioning his old dress size?
He'd looked up dream symbols on zoogle, and the response was dubious. On one paw, dreaming that he was fat, or still fat in his case, signified that he was experiencing a fortunate change in his life. He supposed in some ways that was true. He was average weight, living with the most powerful mammal in Zootopia, his friend Nick would be out of prison soon. Not to mention he was filthy sinking rich.
On the other paw, it could also symbolise overindulgence. Ben vehemently disagreed with that. Other than some anonymous donations which Zootopia had desperately needed, he'd barely touched the inheritance Pottermass had posthumously surprised him with. He'd sold the hippo's mansion and cars to Elba for a modest amount, practically giving them away. Elba had then sold the mansion and two of the cars, keeping the electric Ibexla. Ben had kept the villa. He'd even lived in it for a month, not long after everything had gone down and Nick and Finnick had been given their sentences. He'd wanted to get away from the city so he could process his emotions in peace. When he'd returned, the first thing he'd done was approach Elba about handing over his share of the inheritance. Elba had refused to take the money, insisting that Ben keep it as compensation for what Pottermass had put him through. Ben agreed after realising that his vulpine friends could benefit from it as well. With that Wilde Times scheme on their record, their chances of getting employed in Zootopia were less than zero.
Ben's luck had been better. After his first encounter with Sedor, he couldn't bear to enter a fast food joint again. Instead he'd managed to get an internship at the Natural History Museum through the Mammal Inclusion Initiative, a programme which the late Mayor Swinton had created in order to create an illusion of equality, and Elba had kept because of the genuine good that it did. If all goes well, he'd have a paying job by the end of the year.
Even the whole deal with his friends hadn't been so bad. After Nick had finally taken responsibility for his actions, Ben had found it within himself to fully forgive him. Honey was speeding up her recovery through sheer grit.
And Bogo… he'd been too busy looking after Zootopia to keep in touch regularly, but Ben enjoyed every moment they got to spend with each other. Even now he missed him.
Jeez, he needed a hot chocolate.
Ben entered the hallway and noticed that Elba's door was open. The water buffalo wasn't in his bed, and Ben couldn't hear his cane tapping about the villa. He must have left Ben to sleep in and went out.
He went into the kitchen. The electric kettle was right in front of him as soon as he came through the door. There was condensation in the spout. It had been used recently. There was enough water inside for one mug. Ben got a black one out the cupboard above the kettle and began rummaging for a hot chocolate sachet. He dispensed the powder into the mug, added some sugar, and began pouring in the steaming water.
There was a hissing sound. Ben didn't recall turning on the kettle, and he hadn't, otherwise the little light beneath the switch would be on. The hiss faded. Ben looked through bleary eyes to his right. He made out the shiny cream tiles of the kitchen floor, and the eleven-foot reptile gaping its toothy maw at him.
Ben blinked and turned back to his mug. The water poured into the mug in a steady stream. The reptile hissed again. Ben had heard that crocodiles and alligators had different snouts. Which was which again? Alligators generally had broader snouts. Yes, that was it. This was an alligator in the kitchen.
Wait a sec, WHAT-
Ben flattened himself against the opposite wall, bleary eyes suddenly wide and very awake. The alligator quickly shifted, moving its gaping mouth jaws toward him. The cheetah let out a sharp yelp and ran out through the door, colliding with a water buffalo in the hallway.
Elba lost his balance and fell back against the wall but managed to stay on his feet. His arms instinctively wrapped around the spotted missile which had struck him. In that moment Ben remembered freezing rain, Mansa Bogo's cologne, and an oversized trench coat being wrapped around his shoulders.
Then he remembered the gator, pushed himself off of Elba's torso and slammed the kitchen door shut.
Elba held his phone to his chest. "Ben, did you turn on the wrong hob again?"
"Elba, call the police!" Ben backed away from the kitchen door and gripped Elba's arm.
"Calm down. What's wrong?"
"Do not go into the kitchen, there is a gator in the kitchen!"
"Excuse me?"
"There is an alligator in the kitchen!"
"Alligator?" asked the voice from the phone.
"There's a dinosaur in the kitchen!" Ben shrieked.
Elba had a bewildered look on his face, but he got himself together enough to take Ben by the arms and ease him out of his freak-out. "Ben, calm down. Let me have a look."
Ignoring the voice on the phone, Elba pulled down the handle and poked the door open with his cane. He poked his head through the doorway and took one look before jerking his head out and slamming the door closed again. With his hoof wrapped around the handle, he stared at Ben with eyes like saucers. He brought the phone back up to his ear. "I'm going to have to call you back. I have a reptilian infestation to deal with."
He ended the call. They both jumped when they heard the crash of the alligator knocking something over.
"I think that was the wine rack." Ben said.
Elba said. "We should probably vacate the villa."
"Yeah, before it figures out how to open doors."
They took the nearest exit, emerging into the back garden. While Elba searched the internet for the number for Feral Control, Ben went to open the gate. He stood in the gateway and turned to see Elba standing by the fence separating the garden from the riverbank.
"Ben, come here."
Ben came over.
"Look at this." Elba pointed at one of the narrow gaps in the fence. Ben saw pale scratches in the metal.
"It climbed that?" He asked, incredulous.
"Very versatile creatures, alligators." Elba turned and pointed his cane at the broken glass panel in the outer kitchen door. They could actually see the animal's tail. Ben hoped none of the glass had hurt the big guy. "It must have smelled your turkey leftovers from last night. The plate was all over the floor when I looked inside."
Ben giggled guiltily. "Whoops."
"Ah, it's not your fault. And no-one got hurt." Elba dialled the number and escorted Ben out the garden while he waited for someone to pick up the phone. He watched a fancy car go by while Elba talked to the mammal on the other end. Two trappers would be there in an hour to capture and return the creature to the wild.
"Well, that's that." Elba put away his phone and squared his shoulders. "What a way to start the day, huh?"
"Where were you this morning, Elba? I thought the meeting didn't start until 11:00."
The annual meeting of the Zoonited States Conference of Mayors wasn't even meant to start until January. But out of the blue the current ZSCM President, Anna Whitmaw, Mayor of Whitewall Beach, had requested a face-to-face meeting with Elba and the Superintendent of Braithwaite National Park. Unfortunately, there was a festival happening in Whitewall Beach this month. Ben had offered him the villa so he wouldn't have to worry about finding a decent hotel, but the meeting place was half an hour's drive.
Elba looked at his watch. "Damn it."
Ben had left his own watch in his bedroom. "You can still make it to the meeting, right?"
"Not with the keys in the kitchen."
"You've had breakfast at least, right?"
"Also in the kitchen."
Ben put his paws on his hips. "Shoot."
"Someone has to stay here and wait for the trappers." Elba smiled ruefully and handed out a twenty dollar bill. "Be a dear, will you?"
Ben grinned and took the cash. "Apple turnover?"
"What else?"
During his last stay at the villa, Ben had found a small bakery, Dickinson's Pies, which prided itself on its fast service. This was where he went now, taking the rented red scooter that was too small for Elba to use, reaching the street within ten minutes. The street was close to the edge of the town of Boarweaver, and rarely busy. It was also in perpetual shade, except for that brief period where the sun passed directly between the tall, colourful buildings on either side. It was in shadow now, the change in temperature and saturation as rapid as a light switch. Ben parked the scooter close to the bakery, opposite a pair of female felines who were chatting around a one-way sign. The sound of the scooter's engine caught their attention. They didn't say anything, but the look of interest in their eyes made him blush and stop in the middle of removing his helmet. Leaving the straps dangling on either side of his head, Ben continued on Dickinson's Pies and pretended he hadn't noticed them.
He considered himself an extroverted mammal, but he wasn't used to this kind of attention. When he decided to increase his diet and exercise, he hadn't considered how losing a few pounds could alter mammals' perceptions of him. And he certainly hadn't expected to make himself attractive.
As he drew closer to the bakery, his thoughts on attraction kept turning to Bogo. He wondered if the buffalo was aware of his own attractiveness. He'd looked incredible in the tuxedo he'd been wearing when they'd first met, even with that silvery mask hiding his features. He must have ladies lining up at his office by the hour. Ben laughed lightly as he imagined Bogo shooing a horde of women out of the precinct with his coat stand.
Ben entered the bakery and ordered the apple turnover, plus a hot chocolate and bear claw for himself. While he waited at the counter, he bounced anxiously. If the bakery didn't live up to its reputation now, Elba would miss the meeting for sure. He didn't think that Mayor Whitmaw would believe some cock and bull story about a gator in the villa.
Ben leaned on the wall next to the window that took up almost the whole front of the shop. Across the street was a bar that seemed half-full every time he'd entered this street. There was no name he could see, only a big neon cherry sign which glowed blue at night. So, he called it Berry's Bar in his head. He'd never set foot inside, but through the windows it seemed like a generic bar, nothing whatsoever unique about it.
A black car with tinted windows stopped in between the bakery and bar. The driver's side door, the side facing the bakery, slowly opened, showing the hunched form of a grizzly bear. The bear climbed out, reaching his full height, surpassing the average polar bear by at least two feet, and turned his head to the direction of the bar.
Ben recognised him instantly. He knew that face. He knew those eyes, which had seen so much blood.
Sedor Valentino.