Disclaimer: Zootopia stories, characters, settings, and properties belong to the Walt Disney Co. This story is written under Fair Use Copyright laws.

The Fire Triangle

Part Two:

Oxidizer

Chapter 9: Conor's Story
(Continued…Part 14)

"No matter how the race is run, it always ends the same
Another room without a view awaits downtown
You can shake me for a while, live it up in style
No matter what you do, I'm goin' to take you down

Shakedown, breakdown, takedown
Everybody wants into the crowded line
Breakdown, takedown, you're busted
Let down your guard, honey
Just about the time you think that it's alright
Breakdown, takedown, you're busted"

Bob Seger - Breakdown

"Hold it right there, fox-kid!" Vern Rodenberg was out of his chair with his arms spread, like Mooses preparing to part the waters. And then he lowered them again, very slowly. "That red panda cop…she wasn't…who I THINK she was?" His whiskers were quivering like guy-wires in a gale.

"Yep," Conor nodded, unaffected by the grey rat's outburst—as if he'd known it was coming all along. "That was ZYPD Detective Sergeant Claudia Nizhang." The right-side corner of his mouth angled upward, "Or…Zootopia City Councilmammal Nizhang, as she calls herself today."

Rodenberg's gaze hardened and his whiskers froze in place.

"Then you better hope you never run into her, booby. She'll recognize you in a Zoo York minute. She may not be a cop anymore but believe me, she never lost the instinct…or the hunger."

To both his and Erin's considerable surprise, the fugitive young silver fox only fanned a paw. "Nahhh...nothin' to worry about there, Counselor."

The grey rat blinked, stared, and then unsheathed his incisors.

"DON'T get cocky on me, kid." He hissed.

"How do you know that?" Erin Hopps interjected…quickly, before the rat-attorney could threaten to quit on him—again.

Conor sat like a stone figure for a second…but the young, white-furred bunny could tell that he was trying not to smirk. It was a useless effort, and in a flash, he was sporting a puckish grin.

"Because I already ran into her, here in Zootopia—and she didn't know it was me."

Erin's eyes went wide and her ears dropped sideways. Mr. Rodenberg only drummed his fingers on the crook of his arm, looking testy. Conor saw him and swiftly back-pedaled.

"Maybe…I better tell you how it happened."

"Yes, that would be nice," the rat-attorney nodded, refusing to soften either his expression or the tone of his voice.

"Okay," The young silver fox returned the nod, and quickly went on to explain. "I had just come out of seeing the Emoji Movie…"

"You paid money…to watch THAT thing?" Erin's burst of incredulous laughter was enough to ruffle Conor's facial fur…and also his pride.

"I was bored and had nothing else to do, mmm'kay?"

"Hey-y-y," Erin's ears shot backwards, and her foot began to thump. "Don't you EVEN bare your fangs at me, Charcoal-Boy!"

Now, his ears were also laying back.

"I wasn't baring…!"

"Yes, you were…!"

The argument ended in a piercing shriek that made both young mammals hurriedly cover their ears. For such a relatively small animal, Vern Rodenberg was capable of producing a very large whistle.

"Thank you," he said, glaring balefully from the fox to the bunny, and then back again. "And now, would YOU mind getting on with it, please?"

Conor grumbled under his breath for a second and then complied with the grey rat's request.

"It was bright outside, so I stopped to put on my mirrored shades. Someone bumped me from behind, and when I turned around, there she was, along with her daughter—I assume it was her daughter—a red panda girl, a few years younger than me."

"And she really didn't recognize you?" Erin asked him. If Mr. Rodenberg was expecting a snarky comeback to this, he was to be wholly disappointed; his client's tail only frizzed up a bit.

"Nope," he said, biting his lip and glancing sideways for a second "Scared the snot out of me when I saw her; thought for sure she was gonna make me…but no, she just said 'Oh, excuse me,' and went on her way without another look."

"Alllll right," Rodenberg nodded, only half satisfied, "I get why she missed your eyes, kid…but standing that close, she must have caught your scent—and that's another thing you can't change."

"Actually…you can." Conor tapped his fingers together and looked up at the ceiling. He seemed embarrassed at having to correct the older, wiser mammal, a nearly complete reversal of his attitude from only a moment ago. "Takes time, but it can be done."

"How?" It was Erin again, blue eyes wide with astonishment. "How can you change your scent?"

"By changing your diet," the young silver fox told her. "What you eat plays a serious part in the way you smell. It was something Danny taught me, after…ah, I'll get to that later." There was nothing arrogant in his reply, not even a hint of derision. It was nothing more than a simple statement of fact.

And then he went on.

"When I ran into Councilmammal Nizhang, I was eating way different than when I'd been running with The Company. And I'd been chowing down like that ever since I got here—to Zootopia, I mean—and that had been more than…Oh, foxtrot!" His paws clapped suddenly against the sides of his face. "Ohhhhh, that's right…dumb, dumb. DUMB fox!"

"Wha…? Now both Erin AND Mr. Rodenberg were staring bewildered.

Conor looked at them with eyes that were almost pleading.

"After I broke outta Precinct One, I changed my diet again—on purpose this time—to mostly seafood; the same way I was eating back in Zoo York City." He slapped the side of his face again, this time with only a single paw, "I take it back, Mr. Rodenberg. you're right. If that red panda gets even a whiff of me, she will know I'm the fox-kid who tried to plant a tracker on her."

"I thought so," Rodenberg heaved himself back down into his chair, at last looking gratified. It had taken some effort to get through to this silver-fox kid, but not as much as it might have. And truth be told, even in his most stubborn moments, he wasn't nearly as obstinate as some of the grey rat's other clients. "And I'm betting that wasn't your only encounter with her, that time when you were running with The Company."

"No," Conor admitted, looking not at all abashed, "No it wasn't."

"And what did The Mister say when he found out?" Erin's ears were up and her nose was twitching. "About her finding that tracking tag you put on her cruiser?" Once more, her curiosity had trumped her trepidation.

Conor's reaction to this could almost have passed for a case of multiple fursonalities. First, he winced, then he bit his lip, then he looked away, shamefaced, and then finally, he grinned, crookedly.

"Whoa boy…it hit the fan like a stinkin' hurricane…"

By now, I knew The Mister well enough to know that he was gonna find out what happened. Like Danny said to Kieran, after that thing with the tayras, nothing got past that sea-mink. What I didn't expect was that he was gonna find out so quickly. No sooner did I walk in through the door to Finagles, than Lefty grabbed hold of me…I mean literally.

"'Bout time you made it back here, punk…let's go."

He hauled me to the elevator, and from there, straight up to The Mister's office. When we got there, he didn't bother to knock, he just threw the door open and flung me inside. "Here he is Mr. McCrodon."

I landed on my paws and knees, and when I stood up again, I was surprised to see that the big boss wasn't alone. There was Denis, sitting in the chair facing his desk, the one everyone called The Hot Seat. Crike, how the heck had he made it here ahead of me? I didn't have time to think about it, though—because The Mister was leaning over the desk with his teeth bared and his paw out.

"Give it up, kid!"

I knew right away what he wanted and pulled out the tracking tag I'd been given. Thank God, I'd kept it; I had almost tossed that bad boy.

As soon as he had it, the Mister held it up over his head and snarled—not at me but at his brother. "She'll never find it, huh? Never FIND it!" And he flung the tag in his brother's face. "And that better have been just you being stupid, instead of lying to me!"

A few weeks earlier, I might have thought I was in the clear; he was blaming Denis, not me. But by now, I knew otherwise; any time the Mister got that angry, you didn't have to be guilty for him to lose it with you, just handy. And sure enough, he turned on me next.

"And as for YOU, fox-kid!" He was leaning out over the desk again, looming over me like a thundercloud. "Why the heck would you ever go along with a brain-dead scheme like that?"

I gave him the only answer I could think of. "M-Mister McCrodon, didn't you tell me when I got here that when I'm given an order, I'm s'posed to obey it right now, or else, it's back to Granite Point?"

D'ohhhh...I immediately wanted to swallow my tongue. Stuuuupid fox-kid; now he was really gonna be torqued at me.

Nope…he only waved a paw.

"Yeah, yeah…I did say that. Okay kid, go ahead and get you tail outta he…"

That was as far as he got before the door banged open and Kieran came storming into the room. It was obvious he knew what had happened, but holy foxtrot—I had never seen him this angry.

And I had never heard him scream like that before—and this time, I was relieved that Denis was the target instead of me.

"You stupid git! I orta kick yer stinkin' tail right now!"

Denis was instantly out of his chair.

"Hey, punk…you don't talk to me that way!"

"He does, if I say so," The Mister snarled, from behind his desk, "and I'm sayin' so!"

Whoa, THAT put Denis back in his place, real quick. But then, HE turned on me. "Hey, Z-Face, I thought you were told to get outta here."

Z-Face…I hadn't been called that since I'd broken out of The Point—and now it was MY turn to be triggered. My job with the Company was supposed to be Messenger Boy, not Whipping Boy.

And it just so happened, I might have a way to get back at this jerk.

"Okay," I shrugged, and then speaking to The Mister, I said, "But before I take a hike, there's something you may not know." And I told him what Claudia Nizhang had said to me, just before she'd driven off.

Bang—Kieran went off like a cherry bomb…just like I knew he would. Bad enough that Denis had tried to put a tracker on that cop car without consulting, or even informing, him…but now The Mammal was blaming him for it? You'll understand, I think, if I don't repeat back any of the next few things he said. In any case, I only heard the first part, having wisely chosen to make myself scarce as soon as I was done with my recitation.

What? Yeah, Snowdrop, I used Kieran to get back at Denis. So…? That's how it was in The Company. Everybody used everybody—even the guys they liked. Danny used Kieran, and Kieran used Danny…and both of them used me. So, don't try to ring my guilt bell over here, okay?

Anyway, there were other repercussions. Less than a minute after I got back to my room, someone knocked on the door. I expected it to be Kieran, but it was Danny.

"C'mon kid…let's go grab some pizza."

I knew right away that we were not just going out for pizza.

He took me to the Grunt Street Pizzeria, ordered us each a Sicilian slice, and then took me upstairs to this empty apartment that The Company used for, uh, 'different things' from time to time. We had to sit on the floor to eat, but like I said, we weren't there for the food.

I was several bites into my 'za, before Danny got down to business.

"First of all, kid…I want you to know that nobody blames you for what happened. Like you said yourself back there, you've only been told a thousand times that when you're given an order, your only answer is 'Yes sir.'"

He took a short pull from his pop…and I knew that a, 'but' was coming.

Not quite, but close.

"Just the same, you should have told Kieran what Detective Nizhang said to you in private, and after he had time to calm down—not in front of The Mister, while he was still mad."

He set down his drink and gave me a serious look.

"When you did that, kid, you played right into that red panda's paws; she knows that Kieran's too smart to get behind a stunt like that. What she said to you back there was only to try and sow some discord in The Company. How do you think The Mister found out so quickly about what happened, huh? Because she WANTED him to know." He reached up with an index finger, and pushed back the brim of his touring cap. "And did her plan work? You tell me."

Oof! Talk about a punch to the gut. I pushed the rest of my pizza away, not hungry any more.

Danny nodded, and put a paw on my shoulder. "Like I said, no one's blaming you…and you're not in any trouble. I'm telling you this because I need you to understand something. You're up against some very smart cops over here."

It took a minute for what he said to register completely…and then I felt my ears wilting.

"I'm…I'M up against these cops?"

"Yep…'fraid so," he answered with his mouth turning downwards in a long, foxy frown. "If Pennanti even suspects you're the one who planted that tracking tag, it's all he's gonna need to want to bring you in for questioning."

He must have seen how scared I was, coz he laid another paw on my shoulder.

"He doesn't know it was you…or, at least he can't prove it. Otherwise, Lady Nizhang would have busted you, right then and there."

Okay, that made me feel better, not a whole lot, but enough so that I could go back to my pizza again.

Danny let me finish before he went on.

"That being said, he's got enough to bring you in for an 'interview'," On the next few words, he tapped the table like a telegraph key, "and make no mistake, it's going to happen."

"How?" I asked, feeling my pizza wanting to come back up, the way it had gone, "If he can't arrest me, how can he bring me in for questioning?"

Danny rubbed a paw across his eyebrows for a second.

"I… to tell the truth, kid, I don't know." He frowned deeply, "But I know that fisher; he'll think of something, he always does. The important thing is, you need to be ready for when it happens."

"I-I know what to do," I answered, trying not to sound too defensive. "Say nothing except that I want my stepdad." Yeah…I was torqued. There was another thing I'd been told, about a zillion times before.

"That's good, but not good enough," Danny answered me, leaning forward and nodding, just ever so slightly. "Not with Lieutenant Pennanti. Even if you don't say a word, you won't be able to keep from hearing. And trust me, kid…nobody knows how to find your weak spots like that guy."

"I…I don't understand," I said. Actually, I sort of did get it, but I didn't want to think about it,

Danny, however, had no such qualms.

"I think you do, kid. He's going to try to flip you." It was the same voice he'd used when giving me the job of firebombing that bake shop; the same expressionless face, too. That was the only reason I didn't laugh out loud. Turn snitch…ME? No! Stinking! Way!

Or…was there?

"Okay," I said at last, "Then besides keeping my fox-trap shut, how do I handle him?"

"Wellll," Danny seemed surprised by the question—though not unpleasantly, "First of all, you need to keep in mind that there's no rule, says the cops can't lie to a suspect…or even a witness."

I almost said 'Seriously?' Cop didn't lie, it was against the rules, wasn't it?

Nooooo, it wasn't, I realized almost instantly. While I didn't count the guards back at The Point as real cops—they worked for a private security company—how many times had the Zoo Jersey State Police lied to me after my arrest? Danny was right, and I should have known that without being told.

Wha…? No, Erin…I'm not calling your sister Judy a liar. But just coz SHE never lied to me; it doesn't mean that every cop tells the truth. Look, if it makes you feel better, it took me like maybe five seconds to forget everything Danny just told me.

I'll explain later.

We spent the next two hours going over what I should do if I got picked up. The most important thing was that I needed to stall until somebody could get to the precinct with Mr. Henschel. I suggested that he have Kieran reprogram my phone to recognize the word, Pennanti.

"Nice thought," he said, "but it won't work. He won't bring you in himself; he'll send a uniform to do it."

I tried, I really tried to psych myself up for getting pinched again—but, as it turned out, nothing could have prepared me.

It happened when I least expected it. I was helping out at another Tribute Thursday gig; the act that night was a KISS Tribute band called KUSS. While not one of my favorites, they were always a big draw. I was standing at my usual post backstage, when the camel who served as one of their two roadies came up to me.

"Hey kid, you're wanted out by the tour bus."

Tour Bus? That was what he called the beat-up motorhome KUSS used for transportation? Somehow, I managed to keep from laughing until I was out of earshot.

I wouldn't have thought it was so funny if I'd realized then what I found out later; those words hadn't been his, he'd been told what to say. And for good reason; there's nothing like a big laugh to make you drop your guard.

When I got to the 'tour bus', I was surprised to see that someone had left the door open. Not only that, the lights were out; I almost shined it, but thought I better check, to make sure everything was okay. Wouldn't it be just my luck to get blamed if that rig had been ripped off? I knocked on the door frame and went inside.

Ewwww, when was the last time they cleaned this rolling landfill? I called out a couple of times, but got no answer. Finally, I shrugged, and hurried to get back inside the club. It was cold that night, and I didn't have my jacket.

But when I turned around…what the heck? I was sure I'd left the door open—and I knew I hadn't locked it; what the fox? I tried it once, twice, and when it opened on the third try, two things happened.

Just as my feet hit the ground, the band cut into a full-blast rendition of Detroit Rock City—and at the same time, I found myself surrounded on two sides by a pair of ZYPD Officers, a pronghorn and a cheetah, animals that could easily catch me if I tried to make a run for it. Right away, I asked, "Is there a problem, officer?"…only to realize that I could barely hear myself over the music—which meant my phone couldn't hear it at all. It was clipped to my belt, too far away from my muzzle to pick up the distress call.

And before I could make a grab for it, the cheetah cop beat me to the draw, slipping it out of the holster as easily as picking flowers.

From there, I was hustled to a police cruiser and put in the back—at least they didn't cuff me. The pronghorn got in the driver's seat, but the cheetah didn't join her. Instead, this kinkajou in plainclothes got in. I could tell right away that he was the mammal in charge, and demanded my phone back.

He only shrugged. "Sorry, muchacho." He said, holding it up on the other side of the plexiglass so I could see. "Needa be sure this isn't no stun-gun, ju know?"

Ho…lee…foxtrot. It would have taken him all of two seconds to find out that my phone was just a phone, but yeah! A lot of the guys in The Company did carry cell phones that doubled as stun-guns, another one of Kieran's contrivances. After my bike got stolen, I'd asked him if I could have one.

Uhhhh, he told me not to ask again, and in language I don't think you wanna hear. But the point is, it gave the cops probable cause for taking my phone away; stun-guns are illegal for a kid to carry. Whoa, Danny had warned me that these dudes were smart, but I never could have imagined they were that stinking smart.

For instance, instead of taking me to the 84th Precinct, the closest one to Finagles, they drove me across the Mammalhattan Bridge and all the way to One Police Plaza. They knew, like Danny had known…the longer they could keep Mr. Henschel away, the more time they'd have to work on me.

It was perfect. They had snagged my phone before I could send the SOS, and at the same time, I had no idea where we were headed—except that no way was this the first place The Company would come looking for me.

As soon as we arrived, they brought me straight into one of the interview rooms. When I got there, I found the red-panda whose ride I'd attempted to tag waiting for me. But it was the fisher, sitting next to her at the table, who really drew my attention.

I'd been told about him and I'd seen his picture, but none of that came close to being in the actual presence of Detective Lieutenant Martin J. Pennanti, ZYPD.

He was about the size of a full-grown fox…maybe a little bigger, although he gave the impression of being a whole lot larger. He was dressed in a turtleneck and sport jacket and built like an Olympic wrestler, with deep, dark eyes that seemed to go right through you. Like all of his species, he seemed to be constantly on the alert; you got the impression that this guy never missed a detail.

Whoooo, I'd been face to face with some overwhelming characters in my life—Lurch, Blackbird, Crazy Wez, and especially The Mister—but I'd never met anyone like this fisher. If they'd left the door open, I think I would have bolted.

I was sure I was gonna get the old Good Cop/Bad Cop routine—with him as the hard-case. Nope…he was way too smart for that, and he proved it with the first thing he said to me.

"Hey, c'mon in son, have a seat," he said, gesturing to the chair on the other side of the desk. From the tone of his voice, he might have been asking me to watch a movie with him. I pulled myself up onto the chair he'd offered, but at the same time, I told him. "I wanna talk to my step-dad."

It was Claudia Nizhang who answered me.

"We're trying to locate him, Al…excuse me, Sean." Her voice was soft and lilting. "Do you have any idea where we might be able to find him?"

Ouch! Holy foxtrot, these cops were even smarter than I thought. I had just been hit with a double-whammy. In one swift move, that red-panda cop had just informed me that she knew I was the fox-kid who'd escaped from Granite Point. I might have wondered why the heck they didn't send me back to Jersey right now—except for the second half of that broadside. Yeah, I knew where Danny was—and I was sure the cops also knew. He was somewhere over in Afurica, on Company business…a little hard to get hold of at the moment. Truth be told, I had only asked to speak to him coz that was what I'd been told to do.

As for Kieran, he was pulling an all-nighter with his hacker crew, and so he was also incommunicado. Pennanti had chosen his moment perfectly.

"Would you like a soda-pop?" he asked me.

"No thanks," I said, even though I was practically dying of thirst. Another thing Danny had taught me was never, never accept any offer from the cops, no matter how small or trivial.

"Well," he shrugged, "Then I hope you won't mind if Detective Nizhang and I have one. Claudia, would you mind?"

"Not at all," she said, getting up and going to the door.

Agggggh, grrrrrrr…blankety blank fisher! He was one step ahead of me again!

Nuh-uh…not this time. There was an appendix to that thing I'd been taught. I waited until just before the door closed, and then let out a fast gekker.

"Ahhh, I'm sorry, I think I want a pop after all," I said, "Do you have any Mountain Mew?"

Because, Erin…if you accept an offer from the police during questioning, you're basically giving them control. But if you say no, and then change your mind, you're the one in the driver's seat…you follow what I'm bringing out?

Yep, that's also true Mr. Rodenberg. My interview would have to wait until she got back…and every second wasted gave The Company that much more time to find out what had happened to me. Accordingly, I planned to keep silent until Detective Nizhang came back.

Not that I needed to. The whole time we were waiting, Pennanti never said a word to me.

His partner returned several minutes later with a cardboard tray and three fizzing paper cups; no cans or bottles allowed in the interview room.

I drained mine in a single gulp; I was that thirsty. Pennanti gave me a crinkled smile and then began to count backwards. "5...4…3…2…"

Ahhh, I tried my best to hold it in, but no way, Renee. On the count of one, I let loose a ginormous burp.

And now having regained control, he got right down to business.

"Do you know why you're here, Sean?"

I responded in the way I'd been taught.

"I wanna talk to my stepdad…and where's Mr. Henschel?"

"You're not under arrest, son," Claudia Nizhang told me. I wanted to tell her not to call me 'son.' But then she added, "You can call Mr. Henschel if you like…though at this time of night, you'll probably just get his answering service."

Aggggh, grrrr; right again! DAY-ang these cops were good. I could feel my fangs trying to unsheathe; this was that maned-wolf jerk, Peter Shanks, all over again.

"Yeah, yeah…and I'm better off without a lawyer anyway. right?"

Ohhh, crike! I could have chewed my own tongue off—except for the reaction I got. For the first time since I'd been brought here, my friendly, neighborhood inquisitors were caught off guard, regarding each other with puzzled expressions. Without meaning to, I had finally scored a point.

"What do you mean by that Sean?" Pennanti finally asked me.

If I'd known then what I know now, I prolly would have told him. But I didn't, and so I clammed up and folded my arms, glaring up at him defiantly.

"Fine," he shrugged again, "If you don't want to talk, you can listen." He leaned towards me, laying an elbow on the table. At the same time, Claudia Nizhang was bringing out a laptop. "In case you don't know, you've fallen in with some VERY bad mammals, kid." Suddenly, he wasn't so congenial any more. "Forget how bad you think they are, they're really a hundred times worse."

Again, I said nothing and now Detective Nizhang re-joined the discussion.

"You saw what the gun your 'step-dad' carries did to that car window? Well, if you keep hanging with THAT swift-fox…sooner or later, you're going to find out what it does to someone's head."

"Make no mistake, Sean." It was Pennanti again, tapping the table for emphasis as he spoke, "That guy's a killer, it's what he DOES!" And with that, he tagged off on his partner, who rose quickly to the occasion.

"And we know he's not really your legal guardian. Oh, he has the documentation, all nice and legal, but we're not fooled. Dan Tipperin's a convicted felon; no way should he be allowed to adopt."

"Unless somebody's being paid off," Pennanti added, tartly "and if he's really your stepfather, then how come you don't live with him? How come you live all by yourself, underneath that nightclub?"

Again, I didn't answer, and again, they didn't expect me to. Instead, they switched gears.

"You know that bake-shop you torched?"

"I want to…"

"We can't prove it, but we know it was you."

I said nothing, expecting that the next thing they were going to say was WHY the Mister had ordered that shop burned down.

And again, I got it wrong.

"The owners' insurance policy turned out to be fake, a scam." Pennanti told me flatly, "They got no settlement, no compensation…you left them with nothing when you firebombed their bake shop."

Okay, THAT hurt…and it was about to hurt even more.

"And you know who else is into that fake-insurance racket, kid?" Claudia Nizhang was looking at me down the bridge of her nose, lip curled upwards almost to her nose. "Your other little bud, Kieran…or, he used to be. He even had a fake website that looked totally legit." I bit my lip to keep from responding, but she went on as if I had. "No, he didn't sell those poor hedgehogs their phony insurance policy…but it was still his game for a while."

Again, I just sat there and kept my mouth shut. It was no use; with every passing second, I was finding it harder and harder to make eye contact with these two.

And you better believe they noticed it. The next thing Pennanti told me was like a sledgehammer, upside my skull.

"And then there's that motorcycle you torched."

"Wha…I didn't torch any motorcy…" I forced myself to stop, but it was already too late. Claudia Nizhang began typing on her laptop while Pennanti leaned across the table at me again, speaking softly, very softly

"What, you think, you only gummed up the fuel works or something? Sorry kid, the thing you slipped into that gas tank was an old commando trick. You take a grenade, wrap it in rubber bands or shrink-wrap, and pull the pin. It won't go off, because the wrapping is holding the striker lever in place. And then you slip it into a gas tank and get the heck out of there. After a while, the gas eats through the plastic and frees the striker lever, and…BOOM!"

He shot up and threw his arms wide…and now he wasn't being so quiet. His outburst nearly sent me flying over backwards.

I gotta admit, it was the closest he came that night to making me crack. I almost…almost said it. "No way…that thing I put in the gas tank was way too small for a paw-grenade." The only thing that stopped me was…you don't hang out with a gang of arms merchants without coming across a piece of ordnance now and then. I had seen a grenade that small once; even held it in my paws. I remembered, coz at first I hadn't been able to tell what the heck it was…not until Danny yelled at me, "Put that down! You wanna blow your stinking head off?"

I bit my lip again, hard enough to draw blood this time. I felt like I was inching back from the edge of a cliff.

A quick glance at the two detectives told me that they knew their ploy had failed. But that wasn't the only card they were holding, not even close.

"In case you're wondering…you'll be happy to know that Mr. Rudel wasn't injured when the grenade exploded."

Whoa, thank God. At least that hadn't happened. Little did I know that I was being set up again.

"He wasn't hurt," Claudia Nizhang's righteous anger cut through my relief like a meat-cleaver. "But if it just so happens that his motorcycle blew right when someone was getting out of a car parked next to it." She spun the laptop around so I could see what was on the screen. It showed a small SUV of some kind with one side all charred and blistered. The windows were gone too.

"The driver sustained only minor injuries, and her daughter was unharmed," Lieutenant Pennanti informed me, coolly displaying his fangs, "Just the same, you could have been responsible for the death of two innocent mammals—including a three-year-old kit."

"And if you think The Mister cares even one little bit about accidentally hurting civilians," Claudia Nizhang had drawn herself up in her chair, the picture of high indignity, "Then I have six different bridges to sell you. To him, that's nothing more than a little collateral dam…"

She had more to say, but just then, someone knocked on the door to the interview room.

When she opened it. I couldn't see who was there; wrong angle. I did see her reaction though. First, she looked irritated, then her brows rose, and then she stepped outside of the interview room, moving cautiously, tentatively—as if she were stepping into a rowboat, and closing the door behind her. Only a minute later, it opened again—slammed open! And then she came STOMPING back into the interview room.

And I didn't have to wonder why. Following close behind her was a nattily-dressed opossum, Franklin P. Henschel, attorney at law—and right behind him was Kieran McCrodon.

I didn't know how the heck they found me, and honestly, I didn't give a flying fox. I lifted my muzzle and howled—yeah, foxes do that every once in a blue moon. Detective Nizhang, meanwhile, had taken her seat again, and was giving Kieran a look like a stake through a vampire's heart.

He could hardly fail to notice…and he responded in his usual fashion.

"As ye can see, Darlin', I took yer advice an' tried harder this time."

That yanked her chain.

"Don't call me Darlin'!" she snapped, jumping halfway out of her seat.

"Claudia!" Lieutenant Pennanti was also halfway out of his chair. They held like that for a second…and then both sat down again.

"Nothin' meant by it, Detective," Kieran shrugged mildly, "S'just a regular expression from the old country. I use it all the time, I do." But then, whoa…now he was the one giving HER a deadly look. "After all this time you've been plaguin' me, I should think ye'd be aware of that fact."

That was Martin Pennanti's cue to nip this conversation in the bud.

"What'd you do, chip the kid?"

"Well now," Kieran regarded him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. "That'd be tellin', now wouldn't it, Detective Lieutenant?"

He pronounced it lef-tenant…and somehow it told me that yeah, that was exactly what he'd done. I wondered for a minute where he'd planted it on me.

Then Mr. Henschel cleared his throat.

"We'll be taking the boy home now—unless you plan to charge him with a crime."

From the tone of his voice, I could tell that he knew…the cops had never planned to book me.

Pennanti said nothing to this, only leaned back in his chair, waggling his fingers at the door.

Kieran was as quiet as an empty library, nearly all the way back to Finagles. I didn't think he was mad at me for getting pinched, but after everything that had gone down tonight, I couldn't be sure. My brain felt like a pin-ball machine on auto-play.

By the time we arrived back at the club the place was dark, and he took me in through the service entrance. And then it was time for my second interview of the evening.

Not before we got something to eat though; we had both skipped dinner. On the way back, we grabbed some Chinese take-out, and that was where Kieran surprised me again; placing the order in fluent Mandarin. "Drives ol' Lilylotus barmy, when I do that." He told me with a wink. "I speak it s'good as her, would ye believe?"

"So Lilylotus is Detective Nizhang?" I asked him as we sat down to eat in Finagle's employee lounge. I had suspected from the beginning but now, I was sure.

"She is that," He nodded, taking a bite of his Jang Bong noodles. They looked delicious, but I knew better than to ask for a taste. Kieran liked his food 'Alien Spicy'—meaning it'd eat through the floor if he spilled any. And then, setting aside his chopsticks—yeah, he knew how to use them—he took a short sip of his drink and got down to business. "Right, tell me what happened, boy…from the beginnin', and don't rush it, be thorough."

I had to repeat myself several times…and then a whole bunch of times when we got to the part about the motorcycle. But other than that, I was never pushed, never leaned on. I think that was why I was able to own up to having almost folded under questioning. Kieran responded by quoting one of Danny's favorite memes.

"Closeness only counts in pitchin' pennies an' paw-grenades, ye'll excuse my call-back t' that business wi' the motorbike." And then he got serious. "Just th' same, if I was you, I'd keep that to meself, goin' forward."

"I will," I promised, swearing to myself to do just that.

"Good," Kieran took another mouthful of noodles, this time lingering for a minute, looking thoughtful. And then he said, "But there's somethin' y'need t' understand, Sean. Pennanti wasn't tryin' to make you talk—he was tryin' to make you THINK."

"What now?" I set down my fork and looked at him with my head tilting sideways.

"Aye," he said, face steely, "'S how that fisher rolls; he never tries to break down a potential informant on the first encounter. What he did, back at One Police Plaza was try to plant some seeds, get ye to have some doubts, cause youse t' see what's goin' around ye in a different light." He sighed and shook his head. "And I'm afraid you've not seen the last of Martin Pennanti. You'll be meeting him and his crew again, count on it."

I don't know why, but that brought up a question I'd been wanting to ask ever since we left One Police Plaza.

"Does…Does The Mister know…about Pennanti hauling me in?" Once again, I had visions of Granite Point dancing in my head—although that would be the least of my worries if that fisher ever managed to turn me.

Kieran threw his right paw upwards.

"No…but he knew it was comin.' That's why he had me chip yer."

So…Pennanti had been right about that. Made me even more wary of the guy.

"Where?" I asked. "Where'd you plant it?"

Danny's eyes narrowed, shrewdly. "Ahhh sorry boy…that'd also be tellin', now wouldn't it? And you know what me uncle always says."

"'You can't give up what you don't know,'" I quoted. Yeah, really…he said that even more often than when he brought up Granite Point.

Kieran took the last bite of his noodles and then pushed the carton aside and folded his arms.

"Now, then…I believe y' have a question for me, don't ye?"

Ohhhh, foxtrot…yes, I did, but if HE hadn't brought it up, I don't think I would have had the nerve to ask it.

Now…resistance was futile.

"Is…Is it true. Did you really once run a fake insurance hustle?"

He didn't even flinch.

"Yes, I did, Sean…but Pennanti didn't tell you everything. There's a lot more to it than that." He got up and began to pace. "It was at The Mister's behest that I did it. I didn't like the idea. Matter of fact I hated it. It's one thing to rip off a big-time corporation or some stuck-up, greedy-rich jerk…but this was hurtin' regular folks, wan' it? I tried to object—and me uncle told me to shut my cake-hole and do as I was told, 'or you know what'll happen.'"

He stopped pacing and turned to face me, gripping the back of a chair with both paws. "You're not the only indentured servant in this gang, boy. The Mister's got at least as much leverage on me as he does on you; same thing with Danny Tip…and probably arf the boys in The Company." He let go of the chair and stood up again. "There's a little somethin' else he likes to say, something that ye likely haven't heard yet. 'I never trust anyone I can't destroy with a single phone-call.'

No…I hadn't heard that one before. But I was going to be hearing it a lot in the weeks to come. I finished the last of my Dan-Dan Mein and pushed the carton aside, offering him a hopeful look.

Kieran caught it at once.

"Almost done, boy." He said, wiping his chin as he got up from the table. "Just two more things. First of all, even if you wanted to—and I know y' don't—there's nothin' you could've given Pennanti anyway. None of the jobs you've done can be traced back to The Mister, an' even if they could, they're peanuts, petty stuff…an' that's not what he wants at all. That fisher'll settle for nothing less than putting him and his brothers away fer good. Certainly, it won't satisfy 'im to see them fined fer chump change. And that also goes for me and Danny Tip."

"Then why is he even interested in me?" I cried, hearing my voice crack in frustration.

"Because," Kieran dropped to one knee and put his paw on my shoulder, looking me straight in the eye. "He's hoping to get ye to do some diggin' on his behalf, d'ye understand? No…don't say it, just listen. I know ye'd never dream of doin' such a thing, but youse don't know Pennanti an' his crew the way I do. They're absolutely relentless…an' like that clown-thing, hidin' in th' storm drain, they know what scares you."

"A-All right," I said in a shaky voice. If that had been meant to reassure me, it was having just the opposite effect. My heart felt like it was gonna crash-dive, right through the floor. "And…what's the other thing?" I had to force myself to ask it.

"Something I need to show ye," he said, "come with me."

He led me downstairs to the basement, but at the third door, I balked,

"What, then?" Kieran asked me, raising a quizzical brow.

"I'm…not allowed in there," I said, pointing ahead with a quivering finger. It was The Mister himself, in fact, who had laid down that rule.

"He'll make an exception fer this, I think," he said…and then without waiting for my reaction, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me across the threshold.

When we got to our destination, my fears vanished like ice in a hot tub—replaced by a sense of total awesomeness.

I was standing before the most ginormous computer set up I'd ever seen. No kidding, it was like a multiscreen home theater, except with keyboards, headsets, mikes, and VR gear—and a killer speaker system.

"Say hello to The Beast," Kieran smiled, a note of almost fatherly pride in his voice. What the heck, if he was the one who'd built this bad boy, he was entitled to puff a little.

"Right, now sit there," he said, directing me to a high-backed task-chair, facing the center screen. It was a bit large for a fox my age, but he had a couple of cushions handy.

Satisfied, he began to work his fingers over the keyboard, bringing the screen to life. Several different web-pages came and went, none of them staying long enough for me to figure out what they were showing.

I turned to give Kieran a tilted look.

"Uh, what's going on?"

"Just watch," he said, "you'll see."

I did…and right when I turned to look again, the display settled on a slightly grainy black-and-white image, which I recognized instantly as the feed from a security camera. I had no idea where this was, but I did notice that the time-stamp was from several days ago—and that it wasn't moving.

And then the screen split into two separate windows—same location, but different angles, and now I knew what I was looking at. There was no mistaking that vintage motorcycle in the center of the second frame.

"Now," Kieran told me, "Keep yer eye on the ball, boy." This time it wasn't necessary; my eyes were Krazy-Glued to the display in front of me.

Almost immediately, a Toyota Rav4 pulled into the garage. Although I didn't know it, I had seen this ride before…except on that occasion, it had been a half-charred wreck.

As I continued to stare, it exited from the first window and reappeared in the second one…pulling into the parking space right beside the motorcycle. At once, I felt my stomach turn into a sour apple—but I couldn't look away.

And then the door opened and…heyyyy, wait a minute! That wasn't any young mother. It was this koala-guy, late thirties or early forties—and as soon as he got out of the car, he clicked his key-fob and the lights flashed. And kid…what kid? He was there all by himself.

Putting the keys back in his pocket, he turned and disappeared from window number 2, reappeared briefly in window number 1, and was gone.

As soon he disappeared, Kieran clicked and scrolled, and the footage began to fast forward. I never would have noticed except for the bugs flitting around the lights, and the accelerating time-stamp.

I was almost mesmerized, watching it scroll forward, 5 minutes, 10 minutes, 15 minutes, 16… At precisely 17 minutes, the playback returned to normal speed.

22 seconds after that, window number 2 vanished in a blinding flash of light. And then it faded to reveal the red wolf's bike engulfed in flame, a pillar of smoke rising from where the gas tank had been. After another few seconds, the sprinkler system kicked in, but nobody appeared in either window. Nobody came running to see what had happened, nobody tried to run away from the fire…nobody was there, period. The garage had been empty when the grenade went off.

When the show finally ended, I just kept staring at the display, unable to make sense of what I'd seen.

But Kieran could…

"That's right boy, Pennanti lied to ye." His shoulders went back and he put his paws on his ribs. "Matter of fact, there's nothin' says a cop CAN'T lie to a suspect, or a witness. An' that comes all the way from the blessed Supreme Court."

Like I mentioned before, I had already heard the same thing from Danny…and I immediately wanted to kick myself around the room. WHY hadn't I remembered it while Pennanti had been questioning me?

Because…until I saw the evidence, I hadn't believed it, not completely

What…? No Erin, that video wasn't a deep-fake. Even Kieran couldn't work that fast.

I spent the rest of that night tossing and turning, getting up to walk around, and then tossing and turning some more. While that sea-mink's revelation had gone a long way to dulling the impact of my session with Pennanti and Nizhang, in no way had it been erased.

Okay, so nobody had been hurt when that grenade went off…but someone could have been; it hadn't exactly been a precisely timed explosion. And even without that, I was still responsible for some innocent mammal's car getting fried.

And yes…I had fallen in with some very bad actors. I had known that from the day I arrived in Zoo York; I'd simply chosen not to think about it.

…until now.

And now I couldn't stop thinking about it. Kieran had just told me that I hadn't seen the last of either that fisher, or that red panda—and I believed him. What I couldn't figure out was…when would they show up next?

Yeah, I know Mr. Rodenberg…or I know now, anyway. Much as Pennanti may have wanted to flip me, he didn't dare try to put the squeeze on me. The Commissioner's office would have thrown a nuclear conniption if they'd found out he was trying to rope a kid into becoming an informant…especially against a guy like The Mister.

But there was nothing that said he couldn't work on my head…maybe get me to offer my services to the ZYPD The next thing I knew, his guys were following me on practically every single one of my message runs. Sometimes they'd even be waiting for me at my destination. They'd show up when I wasn't working too. One time, when The Mister was out of town, I decided to head out to Coney Island for the afternoon. When I got off the Cyclone coaster, who should be getting off with me but that kinkajou guy-–the one who'd grabbed me the night Pennanti had ordered me pulled in. It might have upset me, except as soon as his feet hit the boards, he bolted straight for the restroom—with his paw clamped over his mouth.

How could I resist?

"Too much for you, Detective?" I called out through cupped paws, just as he disappeared through the door.

The day didn't end well for me, though. I was waiting in line at the funnel-cake stand, when this wallaby passing by me snickered and said to his friends, "Hey, someone call the freak show, I just found their missing Picatsso-Face Kid."

If he'd been younger and/or all by himself, I might have gone after that jerk. Not right away, of course; I would have followed him and looked for an opening. But he was college age, and had three other guys with him. There was nothing I could do but suck it up and let things slide.

But then…whoa, where the heck had HE come from? There was that kinkajou-cop again—with his paws on his hips and getting right in that wallaby's face. "Hey puto, where you think you get off. talking to that fox-kid like that, huh? Ain't he been through enough already?"

"Oh, yeah? The wallaby slurred his words as he spoke, "What're y' gonna DO about it, huh?" Whoa, now I knew where he'd gotten his attitude.

But I didn't realize just how much 'tude he'd consumed until he kicked out with his foot, and sent the kinkajou sprawling on his back. When he got up again, wallaby-boy and his buds were laughing themselves sick…

…until they noticed the smile on his face.

…and the badge in his paw.

Whoa, you never saw four guys get sober so quickly…but by then, Detective Kinkajou had already called for Security.

Yeah, right again, Mr. Rodenberg. Those bums couldn't be charged with assaulting a police officer. The kinkajou hadn't shown his badge yet when that one guy knocked him down; I think he just wanted to scare them. Anyway, I didn't wait to see how it ended. I decided I'd had enough of this place, and made a beeline for the exit.

When I got there, I found Detective Nizhang waiting for me. I tried to sneak past her, but she spotted me right away.

"Just a minute, Sean, hold up there." I almost bolted; I dunno why I didn't. I stopped, and when she came over, she didn't look angry for once. In fact, she seemed almost sympathetic.

"I heard about what happened back there, kid," she said, jerking a thumb in the direction from which I'd come. "And I'm really sorry; mammals can be so cruel sometimes."

She reached out, and I thought she was trying to put paw on my shoulder. I batted it aside.

"Oh no, you don't," I remember thinking. This was another one of her mind games…and I wasn't gonna play along. "Get away from me!"

Yeah-h-h, you're right, Erin. Knowing what I know now, I'm sure she meant well and that she hadn't just been trying to manipulate me. All I can say is…my head was in a totally different place back then. Despite all of my best efforts—despite all of Danny and Kieran's best efforts—Pennanti and his crew were starting to get to me.

Ahhh, no…they never hauled me in again, but they never left me alone either. And every time I saw them, it was the same old song-and-dance. "Hey, kid…guess what else The Company is into—and you don't belong with guys like that…blah, blah, blah." I never said a word to any of those cops, but like Danny had warned me earlier, I couldn't help hearing what they said to me. The only good part was that The Mister stopped sending me on sabotage missions; with all that heat on my neck, he didn't dare.

No…he was mad all right, but mostly at his brother Denis. "See what you started, you stupid jerk?" Me? Well, I overheard him saying to Gerry once. "I gotta admit, that fox kid is holding up great under all that pressure; I wish I had more like him."

To tell the truth, Pennanti's chances of flipping me were doomed from the start. The Mister had a card up his sleeve that no one else could touch. He could keep me from being sent back to Granite Point…a play the ZYPD could never hope to match.

Just the same, I was worried. I knew that he'd continue to protect me only so long as he could make use of me. And thanks to the efforts of Detective Lieutenant Martin Pennanti and associates, my usefulness to The Company was rapidly dwindling.

And…what kind of life was this anyway—in hock to a crime boss, having to do stuff that made me hate myself, and with nothing to look forward to? No family, no real friends, no nothing. Again and again, I asked myself, "Is it worth it?"

But then—in a single night—everything changed.

It started with something I mentioned before, that the McCrodons were bonkers for lobster. And their favorite place to get 'em was this little joint over by Mill Basin called The Big Boil. I had never been there, but Kieran brought me a take-out bag from there once, and the food really was that good…even better than a McCrodon family clambake.

I mention all this because those sea-mink weren't the only ones with a jones for lobster. The Russian mobsters loved 'em too…only the predators yeah, but even the Mafiya guys who weren't aquatic species were always going out for lobster. For them it was as much of a prestige thing as anything else. If you could afford to eat THAT all the time, you were somebody.

That was why lobster was an equally big thing with wannabe Russian gangsters—like this crew of young wolf hooligons, practically just off the plane from Arkhangelsk; called themselves the Stalinzhky—or something like that. I…

No Erin…not hooligans, hooliGONs; Russian slang a street thug with big ambitions.

And these wolves had no shortage of either that or bad craziness. For street weapons they all carried hammers-and-sickles. It was their way of paying tribute to their idol, Josef Stallion.

I know, right? Totally weird. And get this; the oldest guy in the pack had only just turned 18; the rest were anywhere between 17 and 13…yeah, that's right, 13!

Anyway, they had just made their first big score, relieving every car in this dealer's lot of its catalytic converter—with a little inside help from the owner of course. Even after the kickback, they came away with a nice payday—and decided to splurge on a lobster dinner, a belated celebration of their arrival in Zoo York.

Of all the eateries they could have picked, it had to be The Big Boil. Unfortunately, somebody else had chosen the place for shindig of their own that night—Junior McCrodon. He was there with his girlfriend and his buddies, having a farewell dinner for… Ah, I forget their names, but they were these brothers whose folks had decided to split up. They were leaving with their mom for Liondon the following Monday and Junior wanted to give them a proper send-off. And since they were sea otters, and every bit as crazy for lobster as he was, the choice of where to go for dinner was a slam dunk.

When the Stalinzhky showed up a while later, the sea-lion at the front desk took one look and decided…no way was he seating these punks. They looked like something out of a low-budget post apocalypse-movie. Half of them were dressed in makeshift militia uniforms and the rest were done up in cloaks, hoods, and taped up arms; not exactly proper attire, even for a casual place. And so, he politely informed them that the restaurant was all booked up for the evening.

Like good hooligons, they refused to take nyet for an answer. Pointing out the several empty tables in the dining room, demanding to see the reservation book…they even tried telling a sob story about how one of their number had just been diagnosed with a terminal illness. When that didn't work, they planted their feet and point-blank refused to leave.

"We come here to eat lobster and we don't going nowhere until we get it."

No, Erin…the sea-lion dude didn't call the law. Yeah, he would have been perfectly within his rights to make that call…except he knew that these wolf-kids could do a LOT of damage in the time it would take for the cops to get there.

And so, he fell back on a trick he'd used before. "I'm terribly sorry, sir…but we're all out of lobster at the moment." It was a neat little maneuver; the Big Boil, in fact, was known to run out of lobster from time to time. And because of that, the 'sold out' hustle nearly always worked.

It worked this time, too. With a few snarls and growls, and some unpleasant name-calling, the Stalinzhky turned to go…just as Junior and his party showed up to take their leave.

That was where it really started. Out of habit, the sea-lion asked them, "How was your dinner?"

Junior could have said almost anything. What he did say was, "Fantastic, Pierre…and that lobster was just…" He topped off his words with a chef's kiss and then continued on his way—unaware that a dozen venomous lupine eyes were boring into his back.

So…THESE were the jerks who'd eaten up their lobster? Well, they weren't going to get away with it.

When Junior's limo pulled away from the curb, neither he, nor his guests, had any idea they were being followed. Heh, just goes to show how clueless he was. Danny and Kieran would have spotted those wolf-kids in a heartbeat. So would I, after all those times the cops had followed me on my message runs.

Why didn't the driver…? Coz he was from a private limo outfit, not one of The Company soldiers. Junior hated having his dad's guys along whenever he went out for the evening; said they scared his dates. While yeah, that was prolly true, I think it was more that he didn't want his father to know what he'd been up to during the night. And, it goes without saying that none of The Company soldiers wanted to spend their time driving THAT punk around.

Because…Both Junior and The Mister thought his father's reputation would be more than enough to keep him safe. If you're gonna mess with James McCrodon's kid…better make out your will first.

Yep, exactly Mr. Rodenberg…that idea only worked so far as anyone KNEW his father's reputation—and the Stalinzhky kids didn't have a clue. They'd been in Zoo York for less than a month on that particular night; they'd never heard of The Company, much less The Mister. And, as I'm sure you know, Counselor—to look at him, you never would have guessed that Junior's old mammal was a crime boss.

Uhmmmm…uh, listen I need to go take a whizz; is there anything around here for me to wear? Ahhh yeah, that lab coat'll work. Can you snag it for me, Erin? Thanks.