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The Fire Triangle

Part Two:

Oxidizer

Author's note:

Conor's backstory has now caught up with the events depicted in The Fire Triangle Prologue. For that reason, they will be covered here only briefly. To see the full text of Escape From Zoo York, go to the Search Window and enter 'Fire Triangle Prologue.'

Chapter 9: Conor's Story
(Concluded…Part 17)

"Dirty people take what's mine
I can leave them all behind
They can never cross that line
When I get to the border

Sawbones standing at the door
Waiting till I hit the floor
He won't find me anymore
When I get to the border

Monday morning, Monday morning
Closing in on me
I'm packing up and I'm running away
To where nobody picks on me

If you see a box of pine
With a name that looks like mine
Just say I drowned in a barrel of wine
When I got to the border
When I got to the border."

Richard Thompson - When I Get to the Border

—-

Their laughter was hearty…but also wary. Conor had just described the way he'd put one over on Junior McCrodon—secretly recording the spoiled young sea mink while he'd been trash-talking his father… "He's a sucker for anything I tell him."

Mr. Rodenberg had nearly fallen off his chair and Erin was practically rolling on the floor. It was basically the same gag her sister had pulled on Dawn Bellwether, back in the Natural History Museum—on rocket fuel.

And yet…

Suppose that crazy young silver fox had been forced to make good on his threat—to play that recording back for The McCrodon brothers? In that case, The Mister would have been angry with his son, all right…but he'd have been just as mad at Conor. No, scratch that; even angrier. After all that he—and Mr. Rodenberg—had revealed about the sea-mink who ran The Company, she no had no doubt whatsoever in her mind. Charcoal Boy hadn't just been playing with fire; he'd been juggling Nitro.

"Weren't you afraid he might call your bluff?"

It was Vern Rodenberg who answered her. "Naw, not that little yutz; I saw him in action myself while I was in Zoo York and believe me…that kid didn't have the nerve to look crossways at a cockroach."

Erin wasn't so certain; look at the way he'd stood his ground against the Stalinzhkiy. Of course, that had been a totally different situation but even so…

"I can't believe you did that, fox." The words were out before she realized she'd said them.

Conor's answer came straight out of left field…and left both her and the rat-attorney stupefied

"Hey…if I'd known then what I found out later on, Junior would never have left that basement alive."

"What?"

"WHAT!"

"Well, I wouldn't have done him…probably." The young silver fox hastily backtracked, "But Kieran would have—and for sure, Danny T. would." He shrugged. "Heck, so would just about everyone else in The Company."

For a moment, the cabin was enveloped in an electric silence; Erin and Mr. Rodenberg each waiting for the other mammal to ask the million-dollar question.

Predictably, it was the young doe-bunny who broke first.

"All right, but WHY?"

The answer she got was anything but satisfying.

"I'll get to that in a few, but first…

Erin immediately began looking around the room for something else to throw at him.

…and then stopped when he said, "It was right after Junior took a hike that it all hit the fan."

Oh kayyy, if that was where Charcoal-Boy was going, she could wait a few more minutes to bean him…she supposed.

It turned out to be a lot longer than that. For the next few…Erin didn't know how long, she and Mr. Rodenberg sat spellbound while Conor related the story of his escape from Finagles; the triple cordon of police and AKER Security operatives, appearing out of nowhere on the monitors and completely surrounding the club. A split-second later, Finagles had suffered a total loss of web access; no Wi-Fi, no ethernet, no nothing, not even dial up.

And then, last but not least, a maniacal Voice of Doom coming from somewhere overhead, "You…yes, YOU! Stannnnd still Laddie!"

All right, that was too much for any young bunny to take.

"Oh, come ON, Conor! He didn't really…"

At once, his fangs came out of hiding.

"Yes, he did, Snowdrop! And before you ask…yes, that WAS Jack La Peigne. I'd know that big jerk's voice anywhere!"

"I think she means…it couldn't have been him up there in that…I assume it was a helicopter." Once again, Vernon J. Rodenberg was taking on the role of peacemaker. And then turning to Erin, he said, "And probably, it wasn't. If I were a betting rodent, I'd wager he delivered that taunt by remote."

Conor raised his paws defensively. "I never said he was on-site, Mr. Rodenberg. But that was his voice I heard, for sure."

Erin was still not convinced. "All right, but why would he do that?"

Once again, it was the rat who answered first.

"My guess is…to send a message. He wanted The Mister to know just who it was that had beaten him."

"Exactly." Conor nodded and cocked a finger, "He even said so; I heard him say it."

Erin could only look away for a second. She had met Jack La Peigne at the Carrot Days Festival and… sweet cheez n' crackers, he had saved Judy and Little Cotton from her Uncle Terry, when he'd inexplicably gone savage. "And Nick Wilde, too," she reminded herself. She would have to relate that story to Mr. Rodenberg sometime…but not until she and the rat were alone. If she told it in Charcoal Boy's presence, he'd likely go off like a Claymole Mine.

And speaking of Conor, he had returned to the story of his escape from the Finagles.

After Kieran had given him the armored laptop, Danny and he had revealed the entrance to a secret tunnel, leading up to the parking lot, a long disused coal chute. He had almost reached the end of the passage when a vehicle had rolled up. and parked with one of its tires on top of the exit—completely cutting off his escape. When he recalled the 'conversation' between the fake-news couple driving that rig and the police officer who'd ordered them to leave, resistance was useless; Erin dissolved in a fit of giggles. And no sooner had those two idiots pulled out than someone else had taken their place.

Only…this time, the exit hadn't been blocked. The story of what had happened after Conor crawled out into the daylight left the young doe-bunny breathless—and this time not with laughter. He'd immediately been nabbed by a police officer…who'd mistaken him for a thrill-seeker and ordered him back behind the police line.

But then…sweet cheez n' CRACKERS! Someone else had been there behind the barricades, someone the young silver fox knew.

"It was Junior all right…he was upwind from me so not only could I see him; I could smell him too." He left unsaid the fact that mink, like all mustelids, are an odorous species. "For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what the heck he was doing there, just standing around like nothing was happening, when he should have been running for his life."

What Conor had seen and heard next had hit him like a pile-driver. Someone else he'd known had stepped into the picture; a wolverine with a single, dirty-white paw…and the description of his exchange with James McCrodon Jr. left both Erin and Mr. Rodenberg breathless.

"Junior…sold…sold out his own father?" the young doe bunny stammered in disbelief. So THAT was what Conor had 'learned later.' And no, that jerk sea mink probably wouldn't have left that basement alive if Danny and Kieran had known what he was up to; even she knew that much.

"He must have known that his old mink wasn't long for this long for this world," Mr. Rodenberg intoned grimly, already starting to recover. "And I knew, long before Conor told us, that the little schmendrik's uncles hated him with a passion; it was an open secret in The Company."

"Out of the frying pan—and into a stinkin' crematorium." Conor answered, with his jaw set tight as a drum. "You heard what finally happened to him, right?"

"I did," the grey rat nodded, "did a belly-flop off the Verratzano Bridge…although after everything you just told me, I would speculate that it wasn't without help."

According to Conor's next words, Rodenberg was 100% correct in his assessment. That, however, was not the biggest issue—not for him. Before sending the Junior on his way, Mr White-Paw had demanded a current picture of Dylan Yeats. "He knew!" the young silver fox all but cried out in amazement. "Maybe the cops weren't aware that I'd survived that fight with the wolfpack and switched identities—but that stinkin' wolverine knew. Holy foxtrot, I thought I was toast for sure."

And so, he might have been, except that…by some minor miracle, the young sea-mink had been unable to comply with the larger mustelid's wishes.

But even without that picture, Conor had still been in a world of hurt. The instant Junior's limo departed, Whitepaugh had passed around a rag to his team of fellow wolverines—a rag presumably infused with the young silver fox's scent. "And somehow, I knew that bad boy was up to date." His tail was frizzed and shivering as he remembered. "It was just pure, stinkin' luck that I was downwind from that thug brigade."

And that wasn't even the worst of it. The wolverine had then informed his operatives that not only was Dylan Yeats a priority target, he was to be taken alive at all costs.

"'Kay," the young silver fox demanded, "Now do you understand why I didn't choose to wait around after I got busted for assaulting a police officer?" He'd become so red-faced with vexation, it was showing through his facial fur.

This was the second time he'd asked the question—and that was probably why he was able to anticipate Mr. Rodenberg's response. "And no, I don't know what they want with me—want, not WANTED. I figure it's gotta be something to do with me being immune to Nighthowler and Morningmew. Other than that, I don't have a clue, except…" The heat had once more returned to his eyes, "I think The Mister may have been planning to sell me out to Jack La Peigne. Why, and for how much, I don't know. All I have is this gut feeling—but it's one of the strongest I've ever had. And it would have been just like that sea-jerk to backstab me; he'd have stuck it to his grandmother if it would've helped boost his 'business'."

"Only he didn't succeed," Erin pointed, speaking with bated breath. "Or you wouldn't be here right now." She left the follow-up question unasked, but Conor answered it anyway—telling her how, moving quickly and quietly, he had threaded his way to the edge of the sidewalk, hoping to hail a taxi.

"Good luck with that." Mr. Rodenberg muttered, having had no small experience of his own with Zoo York City cabdrivers. Fortunately, so had his client—and he'd solved the dilemma by improvising a sign, offering an extra twenty-dollar tip to whoever picked him up. That had finally secured the desperate young silver-fox a ride, and none too soon. By then the wind had shifted and the Whitepaugh gang had caught his scent. He had gotten away by the skin of his teeth—except for one, completely boneheaded mistake.

"Hold it, you left that sign you made behind?" Vern Rodenberg was thoroughly astonished. After all of Conor's clever—and, let's face it—lucky maneuvers, the kid had up and made the mother of all silly blunders.

Or…had he?

"Not the REAL one, Mr. Rodenberg," he hastily amended, "a fake one… saying I was headed to a different location."

"Ohhh…"

Okay, so maybe the kid wasn't such a dumb fox after all. And it was a good thing, too, because after finally making it to Idlewilde airport, he'd come face-to-face with the slow torture of a Migration Safety Administration checkpoint.

And then had come an even longer wait—when his flight turned out to be delayed.

Listening to him talk about it, the rat attorney could only shake his head. What an ordeal that must have been. Every second that Conor had been stuck on the ground had been a boon to his pursuers, giving them that much more time to catch up with him.

And an airport is the easiest place in the world to take someone down. All you have to do is point and yell, 'gun!' and security will be all over your guy. That, in fact, might have happened had the fugitive young silver fox not taken advantage of the interlude. Opening up his laptop, he had implemented a new change of identity—shedding the fursona of Dylan Yeats for a new one; Conor Lewis.

"Good Lord," Vern Rodenberg didn't know whether to be impressed or horrified. "That kid's been through so MANY different aliases. No wonder he can't remember his birth name."

When Conor had finally been allowed to board his plane, it had been both a relief and an anticlimax—except for two things.

"You're…" the grey rat's whiskers were twitching like antennae. "Are you sure that was Judge Schatten who refused to sit next to you?"

"100%," Conor answered without hesitation. "I was close enough to get a good whiff of him, and he was sitting upwind of me in court, too."

"Okay," Rodenberg nodded—with a small measure of bitterness. That information would have been highly useful…before his client had chosen to escape from jail

Or…no wait, no, it wouldn't have. Even if the City of Zootopia had chosen to drop every single charge against Conor S. Lewis, he was still a wanted fugitive in the State of Zoo Jersey—which would have meant a one-way ticket back to Granite Point if the ZPD had become aware of his true identity.

No, not if…WHEN.

All right, that made it official as far as Vernon J. Rodenberg was concerned; he believed the young silver fox's story—wholeheartedly and without reservation.

The other thing that had kept Conor's flight from becoming a total bore turned out to be of greater interest to Erin Hopps than to the rat; the list of promises he'd made to himself, drawn up while enroute to Zootopia.

Although…she wasn't exactly a fountain of support.

"Never make another dishonest DIME?" Her nose was raised and her lip was curling. "What about that loan-shark business, Charcoal Boy?"

"That wasn't dishonest, only illegal," he shot back, causing Rodenberg's eyes to roll upwards. Oy VEY…just try using that one in court. But then the young fox added, "And I only charged extra, so folks wouldn't think it was charity, remember?"

Once again, the rat attorney threw up his paws. Here was something else his client must have shared with Erin but not him.

Conor's description of the loan-scheme left Rodenberg nearly speechless—although this time he had no trouble believing what he'd heard. In his experience, crooked bankers were about as difficult to find as wet water; it was the sheer audacity of the plan that nearly put him on the floor.

But then, as before, he recovered almost immediately

"Honest or not, it WAS illegal," He reminded his young client dryly, "And even if it wasn't, you're still very much guilty of assaulting a peace officer. So, do me a favor, kid and don't try to justify your actions over here, okay?"

"Okay," Conor answered in a soft, contrite voice; the wind seemed to have fled from his sails. Any way you sliced it, he had broken one of the vows he'd made to himself…which meant that technically, he'd broken his word to another fox. Surprisingly, Rodenberg didn't hold that against him.

His reasoning was the same as Erin's. You don't live with the kind of violence this fox kid had experienced—year in, and year out—without SOME of it rubbing off on you. The difference was…unlike the young doe-bunny, Rodenberg could relate to it fursonally. Even now, he still retained some of the aggressive instincts that he had acquired while serving time in prison.

And—let's be honest—he'd been hanging out with some pretty violent types himself since then.

The rest of Conor's flight had been a snoozer—literally. Upon completing the first draft of his promise list, he had fallen into an instant and dreamless sleep. He'd awakened just as the plane was preparing to make its final approach for landing.

"When I raised the window shade, and saw Zootopia for the first time," he said, shivering slightly at the memory, "I felt something I hadn't experienced since…since I could even begin to remember. One look and I knew that this was where I belonged. I'd never been to this city in my life; didn't know a thing about it." He blinked, and Rodenberg could have sworn he saw the hint of a tear in the young fox's amber eye. "But it felt like…like I'd come home."

Home or not, there had still been a mission to accomplish. No worries; when Conor had disembarked from his flight, everything had gone as smooth as Teflon. The police had barely noticed him as he boarded a metro train, bound for Savanna Central. The only dicey moment had come when he'd stepped onto the platform. There, practically right in front of him, had been the big, gold-rimmed, station clock.

"It was only then that I realized how late I was running." He was rolling his eyes upwards and drumming his fingers on the side of the exam table—as if it had been some other dumb fox-kid who'd suffered that lapse of memory. "I was supposed to have made the exchange something like eight hours ago. For all I knew, when I opened up that locker, the money might be long gone."

But no, it had still been there. And after making the swap, Conor had found a quiet corner and activated the special cell-phone Kieran had given him. It had immediately instructed him to board another metro train, and sent him on a circuitous route through the city of Zootopia, presumably to throw off any potential pursuit, either by the ZPD or any possible thieves.

"And that's pretty much all there is to tell you," He concluded with a shrug.

"Ehhh, not quite kid," Vern Rodenberg was regarding him with folded arms and an arched eyebrow. "If I remember correctly, that was all of three years ago…and a lot can happen in that amount of time. Aside from that money lending business—and getting into the Performing Arts Academy—what else have you been up to since you landed in Zootopia?" The brow went up even further. "And how the heck have you been getting by without any adult supervision?"

"And where've you been living?" Erin Hopps chimed in, startling the rat and the young fox both. She'd been so quiet for the last few minutes they'd forgotten she was even in the room.

Conor answered her with a severe expression. "Don't ever ask me that bunny-girl—or you, Mr. Rodenberg—it's the one thing I'm not gonna talk about…ever. If I tell you where I live, and AKER finds out that you know, they'll be all over you to make you give it up. And believe me, these guys have ways of making you talk."

"All right, but what about the rest of it?" Vern Rodenberg queried, jumping in before Erin could press her demand. "Three years on your own, kid. I would think by now at least a couple of animals would be starting to get suspicious about where the heck your parents are."

A long, sly smirk spread its way along Conor's muzzle. And then he raised and waved a finger.

You don't know about this guy, Mr. Rodenberg, but Erin does. He's this fennec fox I hooked up with; Finnick's his name. Whenever I'd get into a situation where I needed to have a parent or guardian present—like say, if I had to go get my rabies shot, or get registered for school, or whatever—he'd step in to play the part. In return, I helped him out with some of his…Ah, enterprises. Nothing illegal, you understand," he hastily raised his paws, "and he had nothing to do with that money-lending thing. But that's why hardly anybody ever asked me where my folks were. And if they did, I'd just give Finnick a buzz, and no problemo. Up until the day I got busted, it worked out fine.

Oh, it was all nice and legal, Mr. Rodenberg—on paper, and in certain databases, if you follow what I'm bringing out, heh-heh. And nobody who saw us together ever thought twice about it. Everyone knows that the only animal who'll adopt an orphan fox is another fox. But just in case, we had a cover story ready; he was my mom's business partner before she passed.

Why didn't I just pay him to play the part of my stepdad? Ahhh, don't get me wrong, Erin. I like Finnick and I enjoy working with him; he'd never try to stick me. But Mr. Tight-Lips, he ain't. That's why I didn't pay him—coz I didn't want him to know how much money I really had. It's also part of the reason I didn't bring him in on that loan-thing.

Well…suppose the word got around that there was this fox kid, living all by himself and sitting on a pile of cash; what do you think would happen?

Right…exactly.

Oh, I had enough to get by for a while when I first got here. Most of the money I picked up was in sequential numbers, but not all of it. At least… I don't know the exact amount, but there was plenty of it in random bills. That cash was safe enough to spend and I also had a prepaid debit card that Kieran had given me. I even had some funds of my own…money I'd saved from the tips and whatnot I'd received while working as The Mister's errand boy. It wasn't much and Kieran had talked me into putting it all in crypto. It was gonna take some effort to get my paws on it, but at least it was there. Between those three things, I had enough to live on until I could figure out how to launder the rest of it.

Anyway, my first few months in Zootopia, I pretty much laid low. I only went out on late afternoons, and on weekends and holidays—lest some cop ask me why I wasn't in school.

Actually, though… I was. One of the first things I did after getting settled in was start taking those online classes again. It was a start, but I knew that pretty soon. I was gonna have to get back into real school. I had a goal in mind; more than anything else in the world, I wanted to get into the Zootopia Academy of the Performing Arts.

Wha…? Excuusse me, Snowdrop, I did not 'throw it all away.' And anyway, look who's talking. What chance do you think YOU have of being readmitted, huh?

Wait…no, Erin, please…I'm sorry. Please don't cry. I…aggggh, grrrrr!

Mr. Rodenberg? Would you do me a favor and call someone to come in here and slap me around? Ohhh, when am I gonna learn to keep my stupid fox-trap shut?

Okay…yeah. It was about a year later that everything changed—and I mean, like the earth shifted under my feet.

It was three things, actually. First, I made contact with the hackers in The Circle again. That didn't have much impact at first, but you better believe that it did later on. The second thing was a lot more serious, the Savage Predator Crisis. Like I said before, I was too scared to go to the ZPD and tell them what I knew but…ummm…

Okay, look…I know this is gonna sound really stupid—heck, it was stupid—but what I DID do was load up a dart gun with Morningmew, and go looking for the perp myself.

I know, I KNOW! You don't have to tell me. I thought if I could catch him in the act, I could hit his victim with the antidote, and then take him down using my new fighting skillZ

Heh…as IF. When Erin's big sis and Nick Wilde nailed What's-Her-Face Bellwether in the Natural History Museum, I was all the way over in the Canyonlands, looking for the dude.

But that's what led to the next big thing in my life. Afterwards, Nick decided to go straight and join the ZPD. The bad news was that he had to say Sayonara to his hustling partner…who just happened to be, guess who? Right…Finnick. I bumped into him one afternoon in the middle of trying to run that Pawpsicle thing all by himself. He wasn't doing too good, so I jumped in to help him out. Took some convincing, but I was finally able to talk him into taking me on as his new partner. Good thing; I had only just started with that money-lending business, and my reserves of spendable stuff were beginning to run low.

And with Finnick to play the part of my stepdad, I was finally able to go to a real school. And what do you know, as soon as I got in, I started to ace all my classes. I mean, without even really trying, I was killing it. I even got bumped up a grade.

Yeahhh…it was hard to fit in at first, but I managed.

Bullies…? Yeah, I had to deal with that a couple of times—I am a fox, after all—but nobody ever tried to pick on me more than once.

Ahhh, let's just say there's other ways of handling dudes like that besides confronting them face to face. The toughest part was trying to avoid being grabbed from behind. Thank God for Danny having taught me how to use my magnetic sense.

And then finally…wait a second.

Erin…will you be all right if I talk about my experiences in ZAPA for a bit? Okay…and I'm sorry again for what I said; you did the right thing back there, when you tried to help out my buds. I never said so, but thanks…thanks for trying.

When I finally got into the Performing Arts Academy, I was surprised to discover that I was the best guitar player in the school. Yeah Erin, I know…and you're right, but that was what I thought. And like I told you before, if I hadn't gotten my attitude adjusted, I probably wouldn't have lasted; I'd have either quit or been kicked out.

What I didn't tell you, bunny girl, was that the animal who set me straight was none other than Gazelle herself. No, I swear…cross my heart, she really did.

It happened on a Friday afternoon, when everyone was getting ready to take off for the weekend. I had a place of my own on campus—it had come with the scholarship—but I almost never spent the night there, preferring to live in my own den. I was waiting to catch the Metro for home when my phone buzzed, telling me I had a text.

It was from Gazelle.

"Meet me in your flat; we need to talk."

Whoah, it was a good thing there wasn't a train coming right then; her message nearly blew me right off the platform. Since the day of my audition, I hadn't seen or heard a word from her. And now, here she was, insisting that I meet her right now. Needless to say, I hurried back as quick as I could.

When I walked into my room, she was sitting on my bed—the only piece of furniture I had that was big enough to accommodate a larger species. But it was the thing in her lap that drew most of my attention. It was a guitar…and not just any guitar, a Hamster Virtuoso.

I know, right Erin? I'd never even seen one of those bad boys before, except on the net.

Oh, it's like one of the rarest guitars in the world, Mr. Rodenberg. Hamster only made 'em for like two years; there's only like 30 Virtuosos in existence.

Coz like the name implies, it's a guitar built strictly for experts; too much for even a mid-level player to handle. It's got 36, count 'em, 36 frets. I know that doesn't mean much to you, but trust me…it's stinkin' brutal.

And, as if that wasn't enough, when Gazelle saw me, she stood up and started playing—the finale from the Direwolf Strays tune, Sultans of Swing. You wouldn't know, to hear it on the radio, but that's one of the toughest guitar solos in the world to get right…right up there with Eddie Van Howlen's Eruption. And Gazelle didn't just play that bad boy, she CRUSHED it.

And then, when she was done, she winked at me and said, "Didn't you know, mi zorrillo plateado? I was a rocker before I became a pop-star." Getting to her feet, she pointed at my Strat, already plugged in for my convenience. "Now you try it."

What, was she kidding? Even with my own guitar I might have been able to get through that solo, but no way, Renee, could I have done it as well as her. And on a Hamster Virtuoso? Forget it, I'd have been totally helpless on that thing.

"I…I…" All I could do was stammer and stare.

"Why, what's the matter?" she said, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow, "Don't tell you can't. Aren't you supposed to be heaven's gift to rock guitar? Or…that's how you've been acting, yes?"

Ohhh, okay…NOW I followed what she was bringing out…and it popped me like a balloon. I wasn't as good as I thought I was.

Yeah, Erin…I did think about quitting. And maybe I would have if Gazelle hadn't seen it coming. Before I could say anything else, she smiled and gestured at my desk chair. "Sit down, Conor," She pronounced it Con-HOAR. And after what I'd just heard, resistance was futile. I took my seat and waited.

"I hope you will forgive me for my little, ahhh, demonstration just now," she said, sitting back down on the bed again, "But, trust me, it was for your own good. I did not do this because I'm angry with you, it was because I like you—and because I didn't award you that scholarship only to see you fail." I remember her leaning towards me, with her elbows on her knees. "Answer me this, mi zorillo, what is the one thing that's ruined more careers in music than any other?"

Well, at least she'd asked an easy one—or, that was what I thought. I rattled off all the obvious answers but nope...every time I did, she shook her head and told me to try again. Finally, after I'd thrown up my paws in defeat, she smiled—the most serious smile I think I've ever seen.

"No mi zorillo plateado. It is not drogas, or drink, or reckless behavior. It is the thing that they all have in common; ego…arrogance, the belief that you can do no wrong as an entertainer, that you are so good at what you do, nothing can ever bring you down." She shook her head, half weary, half frustrated. "Have you ever heard of an aardwolf named Terrence Trent D'Arbeast? No? Well, I remember him. His debut CD, The Hardlion, was the number four album of 1988 and Hardlion's hit single, Wishing Well, went all the way to the top of the Bullboard Hot One Hundred."

Yeah, Wishing Well; I remembered that tune…vaguely. But then Gazelle slapped her hooves against her knees, and made the closest thing to a growl her species is capable of. "He could have been a superstar…but no, he had to go and let his big head run away with him. He stated, publicly, that The Hardlion was the greatest album of the twentieth century, even better than Sergeant Pupper. You can imagine how that went over. Even worse, his arrogance began to find its way into his work; he refused to listen to any voice except that one inside his head. Because of that, he never again made the charts, not the way he did with his debut album. And to this day, he still blames the music industry for the decline of his career—because how could HE have possibly done anything wrong?"

She gave me a minute to digest this, and then got up and came over to me, laying a hoof on my shoulder.

"That's why I'm here, Conor. Because I don't want you to end up that way; angry and bitter over what might have been. And what I just told you is but one example of many that I could mention."

"Wh-What should I do?" I felt as if someone had just pulled me back from the edge of a cliff.

"Oh, I think you're smart enough to figure that out for yourself, mi zorillo." Gazelle winked as she took her hoof away. I think she knew she'd gotten through to me. Without another word, she grabbed her axe and headed for the door. But then, at the threshold, she stopped and turned around, holding it up like Exhibit A. "Just so you know Conor, when I was your age, I wasn't half so good at playing guitar as you."

And then she was gone, leaving an echo of words in my head—something an old porcupine had once said to me. "Just play for sixty years."

Gazelle was right about one thing, though; I knew exactly what to do. Like I said, I'd been living off-campus when she'd asked me to meet with her. Now, I flipped my routine, moving into my flat at school and only going home on weekends, and/ or holidays. It wasn't easy at first—especially trying to run that loan business from my laptop.

Noooo, I never thought for a minute about giving that up. I was helping other mammals with that gig, making up for what I'd done when I was running with The Company.

Ahhhh, actually Erin, I didn't need the money by then. I'd found another, even bigger stash of dinero, hidden inside the den where I was living. The place had been set up by Kieran as a hideout, some years ago. So, needless to say, it came with a bankroll—and that's all I'm gonna say about it. Heck, I prolly said too much already.

But…getting back to the Performing Arts Academy. Once I was able to tone down my 'tude, I finally started to make some friends. The first kid I hooked up with was a member of your species, Mr. Rodenberg, Mike Daehan. Mike plays keyboards and he's stinkin' great at it. I hope you'll get to hear him one of these days. Hanging with him led me to hooking up with some other students, and pretty soon we were jamming together on a regular basis. Before I knew it, I was actually starting to get popular. The other kids liked me, and I was even starting to like myself. I also re-connected with some of the friends I'd made before going to the academy…that was another thing I'd let slide. In the meantime—hey, how about it? My guitar playing was improving by leaps and bounds and so was my singing voice. My academic performance was feeling the effect, too. Though they don't give formal grades at the Academy, I could tell that I was doing better in class.

And I had one animal to thank for it. Her visit to my flat was the best thing that could have happened to me.

No…she went off on tour right afterwards, and I haven't seen her since. But if I ever do, I just hope I'll get the chance to explain things to her, the way I have with you guys. I owe her that much, if nothing else.

And…I guess that IS pretty much all there is to say. Summer came, classes let out, and I got busted for assaulting a police officer. The rest you know.

What? Ohhh, that's right Erin; the Guilford family and the attack on the Carrot Days festival—Mr. Rodenberg wouldn't be aware of the part I played, riiight! You want to tell him?

Yes, Mr. Rodenberg…that's what happened. It went down just like she said.

Why did I want to keep it a secret? Coz Jack La Peigne was there, that's why. I couldn't take the chance that he might recognize me if he spotted me—and if word of what I'd done had gotten out, it would have meant reporters, and questions, and prolly my picture on TV.

And THAT could have been all she wrote as far as Conor Lewis was concerned. I could've helped save the whole stinkin' world, and it wouldn't have mattered to that big jerk-rabbit. He'd have sicced his goons on me without a second thought, and then—back to Granite Point!

You see, by then it was fursonal with him. My escape from The Point had been a major embarrassment for AKER Correctional…and, by extension, the mammal in charge. And, trust me, Jack LaPeigne is NOT a guy who plays well with humiliation.

That's why I begged Erin and Nick Wilde to keep my name out of it—I think Erin's sister Judy may know by now too, but that's all.

Hmmmm, yeah… Now that you mention it Mr. Rodenberg, I suppose there is no reason to keep it a secret any longer. The word's out already that I'm the fox formerly known as Al Murphy. And so what have I got to lose by letting everyone know what really happened at the Carrot Days Festival?

And that really IS everything Mr. Rodenberg, or at least everything I can think of for now.

So…I guess I gotta ask you the same question I asked Gazelle. Where should I go from here?

The rat attorney worked his incisors for a second before answering.

"I'm not going to ask you where your den is, kid. But I need to know…is it really as secure as you say it is?"

Conor lifted his paws, "I'd be in custody right now if it wasn't."

"All right," Rodenberg nodded tersely, "In that case. we need to figure out a way to get you back there without you getting caught—and then you'll need to stay put and keep a low profile until you hear from me again." He lifted another eyebrow. "Think you can do that?"

"No problem." Conor's answer was quick…a little too quick for his attorney, who glared acid in the young silver fox's direction.

"Don't get cocky on me, kid!' he snapped, and then pointed over at Erin. "You thought sneaking in to watch her audition wasn't going to be a problem either. And how did that work out?"

"I never…" Conor started to say, but then instantly caved. "Yeah, okay. I can stay under the radar, Mr. Rodenberg." He sounded determined, if a lot less sure of himself than a moment ago.

"You better," Erin reminded him, a dark warning in her eyes, "Next time, it won't be just YOU that gets hurt, Charcoal Boy."

"What the bunny said," Vern Rodenberg agreed, capping his words with an appreciative nod in her direction—which he swiftly cut short. "Hold it, wait a second…what did she mean by…?"

"All right, all riiiiight…I get it already!" Conor was waving his paws in frustration. And that was apparently enough for his two companions. At once, the rat-attorney's mood went from nettled to thoughtful.

"But first, we need to figure out a way for us to communicate that can't be compromised."

"I got that covered on my end," the young silver fox answered confidently, but then before the rat had time to upbraid him again, he quickly added, "But from your end, I think burner phones are the way to go." He did not bother to explain. As Zootopia's unofficial attorney to the mob, Vernon J. Rodenberg had better know the ins and outs of that particular device.

"Right," he nodded, "When you get home, ping my service with a number where I can reach you. Don't mention my name, though…send it to Obermaus and Company. He didn't bother to explain, and Conor didn't ask for one.

Instead, he offered a sardonic smile, "Gonna verify my story first?"

"As much of it as I can," the rat replied, nodding.

"Gotcha," his young client nodded back. It was a reasonable arrangement on both ends.

That is, until another voice piped up—a shrill, angry, female voice.

"Heyyyy, what about ME?"

Conor gave himself a face-pawlm…dumb fox; he knew what she was talking about, but Mr. Rodenberg wouldn't. And sure enough, the rat was staring bewildered at the young, white-furred bunny—who was standing with her paws on her hips and a fierce expression on her face.

"Wh-What do you mean, 'what about you?'" His eyes were wide and his whiskers were twitching.

Erin responded by pointing in Conor's direction, "I'm going with him, that's what."

At once Rodenberg's confusion vanished. "Like HECK you are!" he squeaked, nearly flying out of his chair.

She refused to give ground. "You can't tell me what to…"

"Oh yes, I can!" he interrupted, "In case you've forgotten young lady, you retained me as your attorney too, remember?"

"I don't care!" Erin's foot began to thump, "Go ahead and drop me; I'm going with Conor and that's final."

Rodenberg closed his eyes and clenched his fists, counting under his breath, trying unsuccessfully to block out the rest of her words.

"And look at him," she said, jabbing finger at the fox laid out on the examination table, "Go ahead, LOOK! How the heck is he supposed to care for himself in that condition?"

Conor sat up fast, looking indignant. "Hey, what do you think, I'm helpless, or…?"

Erin instantly turned on him, "YOU stay out of this!"

"Whatever…." He fell back and rolled his eyes.

It was then that Vern Rodenberg returned to the fray. "All right, fine…but think about something first, if you go with Conor to…to wherever it is he lives, you'll be stuck there. Because what if AKER finds out where you've been and gets their mitts on you…remember what Conor said a minute ago? And he's right, if the AKER mammals want him that badly, how far do you think they'll be willing to go to get you to tell them where he is?"

Good argument—but not good enough for this young doe-bunny. "Then I'll just have to blindfolded or something, so I won't know where we're going."

"That won't matter if they THINK you know where to find him!" the rat's voice had risen nearly to the level of air-horn.

It was then and there that Conor decided he wasn't going to stay out of it any longer. Though his intercession was hardly what Vern Rodenberg would have expected—or welcomed.

"That's WHY she has to come with me, Counselor," he cut in, slapping the side of the bed for emphasis, "the AKER guys already know she's with me." He turned and looked in Erin's direction. "Tell him about the hovercraft, bunny-girl."

"Oh yes…that," She sounded slightly embarrassed, as if the incident had slipped her mind. "One of the boats chasing us the other night was a hovercraft."

"I already know that." The rat replied, half dismissive, half testy.

"Did you know it belonged to AKER Security?" Conor asked him, narrowing his eyes and flattening his ears.

If Rodenberg was taken aback, he didn't show it.

"That…I didn't know," he answered quietly, and then leaned his muzzle in the young silver fox's direction, "But how do YOU know?"

Conor looked over at Erin. "You still got that picture you drew, bunny-girl…the one of the emblem on the side of that hovercraft?"

She looked around for a second and began to thump her foot. "Dangit, where did I…? Oh, wait…" her gaze shifted back in the fox's direction. "I gave it to you; don't you have it?"

Now it was his turn to look uncomfortable. "No…I…"

"Oh wait, there it is on the floor." Erin pointed and then picked up the drawing, laying it on the tray table in front of Vern Rodenberg. The rat stood up on his makeshift chair for a second, studying it minutely.

"That's the AKER logo," Conor told him, "You can look it up for yourself later."

"I will," the rat-attorney assured him, and then turned to Erin again, assuming his most formal manner. "May I suppose then, Ms. Hopps, that the crew of that hovercraft got a decent look at you?"

"You may," she answered, equally formal, "They had me in a spotlight; no way could they have missed me."

"And," Conor added, even more soberly, "they were close enough that she was able to make out the species of one of them—a wolverine."

"Oy!" Rodenberg grimaced and his eyes blinked shut. When he opened them again, Erin was speaking.

"So, whether I go with Conor or not, won't I still be in danger?"

"Yes, you will," the grey rat admitted, appearing very grim. And then, giving both her and the young silver fox a severe look for not having mentioned this earlier, he said. "And if that's the case, much as I hate to admit it, you're right. Your best course of action is to go to ground together."

"Maybe," The young silver fox sighed. "But we're not going anywhere for a while at least." The corners of his mouth were pointing in different directions…while his two companions were both scratching their heads.

"Wha…?"

"What do you mean, kid?"

By way of response, he angled his muzzle in the direction of the nearest porthole. Erin and Mr. Rodenberg immediately followed his gaze…and this time, it was the doe-bunny who got in first.

"Huh, it's…MORNING!"

"'Fraid so," Conor shrugged, leaving the obvious unspoken. They could either wait until dark to leave The Mercy Star—or else risk making a daylight run. And from the tone of the young fox's voice, it was clear that he'd already rejected the second option.

Mr. Rodenberg was somewhat more ambivalent. "I don't need to know exactly where it is, kid, but how far will you need to go to get home?"

The answer he got was both quick and sharp, if a little imprecise.

"Too far; if I was at 100% and travelling on my own, maybe…"

"Hey!" Erin's ears were back and her foot was thumping again. Conor cut her off with a growl.

"Cool yer jets, Snowdrop, I'm not trying to talk you out of it. But facts are facts; if we go now, we'll get nailed before we're even halfway there. Is that what you want?"

Erin waved a paw at the door…as if to say, not this time, Charcoal Boy.

"What I want is for us not to get thrown off this boat…or did you forget how badly the crew wants us out of here?" she thrust out her chin and wrinkled her nose. "And if that happens, then what, huh?"

That was Rodenberg's cue to play referee again.

"She makes a good point there, Conor," he said, and then quickly, before she could respond. "But he's right too. If I were him, I wouldn't try to make it home in broad daylight…and I'm a lot harder to spot and not nursing an injured leg."

She threw her arms wide. "But what about the…?"

"Let me handle the captain and crew," the rat assured her, and then looked over at Conor. "What you need to do is figure out a way to make it home without getting busted. Even after it gets dark, you're not just going to waltz on down to the nearest ZTA station and hop a train to…wherever it is you're going."

"Heck, no!" the young fox barked, in agreement "That's the last route we want to take. What with the riot and all, the ZPD's prolly got every platform in the city under super-heavy surveillance."

"And that's assuming the trains are even running," the rat concurred, nodding. "The last I heard; Savanna Central Station is still closed. And since that's Zootopia's biggest rail hub, you can guess how it's affecting metro service." He stood up and brushed down his coat with his paws, and then straightened it, a sign he was preparing to take his leave. "Right now, I need to get back to my office and have a word with my PI." He flashed a brief, toothy smile. "There's a story I need to have verified." Turning serious again, he cocked a finger in his young client's direction, "In the meantime—I can't say this enough—you need to figure out a way to get your bushy tail safely home again. Call me when you get there, but for God's sake—not UNTIL you get there, not unless it's an absolute emergency."

To his immediate surprise, Conor gave himself a quick facepawlm. "D'ahhh, how did I manage to forget…? I've got a couple of burner phones in there, if that helps." He was pointing at his backpack.

"It does," Rodenberg nodded in tight approval. "And in that case, call me when you're ready to move. I might be able to run some interference for you."

"Got it."

Erin Hopps could only stare with her nose twitching. The grey rat didn't seem to want to know the details of Conor's plan to get home. "IF Charcoal Boy is able to come up with anything," she sourly observed to herself, "But…WHY is Mr. Rodenberg so uninterested?"

The answer came to her even before she finished asking the question, something Conor had said to her earlier. "You can't give up what you don't KNOW." And, if what he'd said was about the AKER mammals was true, they were not likely to observe such niceties as attorney/client privilege.

There were several more such thoughts in her mind, but they were going to have to wait. At the moment, Mr. Rodenberg was in need of her assistance

"All right, can you help me get down to floor level, please—and then get the door for me? Thanks." He was polite but also insistent.

Erin offered to carry him up the stairs to deck-level but the rat waved her off, insisting he could manage by himself. He could; but he was required to drop down on all fours to make the ascent while dragging his briefcase behind him like a slice of pizza.

It was at the top of the steps that his real problems began. There, waiting for him, was Dr. Xian. Standing beside the pangolin, with folded arms and a tapping foot was a muskrat in rumpled blues and a peaked cap. The epaulets on his shoulders told Rodenberg that he was in the presence of the Mercy Star's skipper.

"Well…is your client finally ready to disembark," he demanded, putting special emphasis on the fifth word.

Before Rodenberg could answer, Dr. Xian jumped in. "We're about to get underway again," she said, "and we're going to need that examination room." Her voice was almost a plea.

Vernon J. Rodenberg was a hard-bitten rodent to say the least. Even so, he didn't like it when other mammals begged him—not the decent ones at least. Heaving an inward sigh, he stood up and offered a wan smile.

"I hope to get my young client out of your fur as soon as possible," he said, and then raised a bony finger in his trademark gesture. "However, I think there's something you may not have considered…"

Two hours later, after a shower and a light breakfast, the grey rat was in his Savanna Central office, with his feet up on his desk. The furnishings here were Spartan as opposed to his office in Little Rodentia; the only wall decorations being copies of his law degrees. Rodenberg had never particularly liked this place, but he needed it. Here was where he met with clients larger than himself—and except for Mr. Big, that meant pretty much all of them.

At the moment, a yellow mongoose was seated opposite the rat attorney, larger than him, but not a client.

"So…how did you get the, eh…the Mercy Star's keptain to agree to let my 'son' remain on board?"

Vern Rodenberg eyed his Private Investigator caustically. Ton Ruiter had just reminded him of an earlier ploy, in which the rat had attempted to have the mongoose assigned as Conor Lewis's legal guardian—thus depriving the city of the right of in loco parentiis.

A neat tactic, but when the young silver fox had escaped from the Precinct-1 Youth-Jail, the maneuver had swiftly become an embarrassment.

Before answering him, the grey rat took a quick sip of coffee, his fourth cup this morning, extra strong, no cream, double sugar. The all-nighter he'd just pulled was beginning to catch up with him.

However, he was still sharp enough to come back with a quick rejoinder.

"Not your kid any more, Booby…it seems some fennec-fox beat you to the punch."

"WHAT?" Ruiter fell back in his chair and then leaned forward in anticipation.

But Rodenberg had already switched topics. "As for how I persuaded the Mercy Star's captain to let the Lewis boy remain on board, I simply pointed out that if the ZPD spots him leaving her, he and his crew can be held liable for harboring a known fugitive—in which case his boat can be impounded."

"You better hope thet never happens," the mongoose replied with an ironic smirk, "Misteh Big would hev your head for a Bocce ball, eh?"

Rodenberg flipped his paws upwards. "What can I say, Ton? Facts are facts. Anyway, they agreed to let the kid stay on board until after dark. After that, ready or not, there he goes." He frowned slightly, "They insisted on moving him out of the examination room, though…and I didn't argue. Heck, I'm lucky they're letting him stay aboard at all."

Ruiter rubbed his nose with a finger. "You said the Mercy Star was about to get under wey when you left. Did the keptain tell you where she was off to?"

"Yeah," Rodenberg took another slug of Java, "Next stop's the Marsh Market."

"Ah, yes." The mongoose nodded, and then suddenly leaned forward, a tach-needle revving into redline. "And NOW will you tell me about this fennec fox?"

Rodenberg made a steeple with his fingers. "Serves you right for trying to put me off my stride, Ton. I won't give you his name, but he plays…or rather, used to play the part of Conor's adoptive father when he needed to have his guardian present."

"Ah," Ruiter sat back in his chair, satisfied at last. "Is he really the boy's legal guardian or…?"

"No," the rat attorney interjected, "But there's a lot more I need to tell you."

He spent the next 90 minutes filling in his PI on Conor's story—only the barebones version, but that was enough.

"Let me guess," The mongoose told him when he finished, narrowing his eyes and wrinkling his mouth, "you need to check out this fox-boy's story, end you're hoping I might know this Markus Klopper fella, yeah?"

"The thought did cross my mind," Rodenberg answered, offering a lopsided expression of his own.

"Well," Ruiter scratched at an ear, "I don't know THET name, but I've got a few contects with the merc community in Joburg. Shouldn't be too hard to treck him down, I think."

"Excellent!" Rodenberg clapped his paws. But then he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and an earnest expression on his face. "But what I really need to know is, was the Lewis kid telling the truth about his experiences in Zoo York and Zoo Jersey. You, uh, wouldn't happen to have any contacts in that neck of the woods, would you?"

To the rat's bewilderment, his PI's mouth zipped open in a big, toothy grin.

"Es a matter of fect, Mister Rodenberg, I hev just the memmal for you."

—-

And thus endeth the saga of Conor Lewis. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. In the next installment, we'll be getting back to our irregularly scheduled fanfic with Nick and Judy, and perhaps a surprise or two,

And Conor and Erin will also be back.