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The Fire Triangle

Part Two:

Oxidizer

Chapter 9: Conor's Story
(Continued…Part 15)

"His fists was raised in fury
The signal came at dawn
An army at the ready
Their vengeance will be strong

The kingdom, will always make its worth
The martyr, will soon fall on his sword
The freedom, the battle rages on
The righteous, will be here when you're gone

Their voices clash with courage
Their two worlds did collide
It echoes through the ages
They bravely gave their lives"

The Dropkick Murphys – The Battle Rages On

Once again, the topic of discussion was the accuracy of Conor's recollections.

"I can tell you this much, Ms. Hopps." Vern Rodenberg stood up from his chair and stretched his shoulders, "What he said about Russian gangsters having a weakness for lobster? Absolutely true; Mr. Big's underboss, Kozlov, puts them away by the truckload…king crab, too. "He capped his words with a throwaway shrug, "'Course, he's a polar bear, but still…"

"What does that have to do with…?" Erin started to ask, but then caught herself. "Oops, never mind." She had forgotten that the big, white bears were a semi-aquatic species—and noted for having large appetites

"No worries," the grey rat told her, smiling.

Not…quite; there was at least one worry that Erin felt she needed to address, though it had nothing to do with seafood…or Mr. Rodenberg. When she'd grabbed that lab-coat for Conor, it had turned out to be so big, she'd ended up tripping over it. To his credit, the young silver fox hadn't laughed…hadn't even needed to stifle any laughter.

But still…the reason for her near face-plant was that she'd been making a conscious effort NOT to look at him when she'd brought it over.

Why had she done that? Never mind; she needed a distraction, and she found one almost immediately.

"What about the McCrodons? You must have seen them scarfing lobster, uhmmm…while you were representing The Mister as his lawyer I mean."

She was answered with a solemn nod and a knowing look. "Sure did—and they were crazy for oysters, too…also just like Conor said. The Mister's older brother, Gerry, used to keep an ice-chest full of them, next to the desk in his office. Whenever he got agitated, he'd grab one, shuck it, and sling it down, almost without even thinking. I remember one time…" His voice deepened slightly, taking on a down east brogue, "Huh, how'd these shells get all over my desktop?"

"Where was this?" Erin asked him, ears up and nose twitching. Honestly, she didn't know whether to be fascinated or repelled by the long, lost family of sea-mink.

"He owned a shipping warehouse, down by the South Barklyn Marine Terminal." Rodenberg waved a paw, as if it was right outside the door. "We used to hold strategy sessions there sometimes."

Erin wanted to ask the rat-attorney for his impressions of The Mister's younger brother—the one who'd managed to get Conor in Dutch with the ZYPD.

But before she was able to find the words, something else occurred to her; something she felt should be brought up immediately—while Charcoal Boy was still safely out of earshot

"Mr. Rodenberg," she said, taking a short breath, "Forgive me if I'm telling you something you already know, but…" she took in a longer, deeper draught of air, "But it can't be said too many times. Conor's about to get into a really painful part of his story. I…I hope you'll give him enough leeway to let him tell it at his own pace."

The rat leaned back in his makeshift chair, as far as it would allow him to go, and laid his paws across his midsection.

"You're right, kiddo…that IS something I already know. As a matter of fact…" He angled his muzzle in the direction of the door, "I'm not so sure that he really needed to use the toilet just now—have you noticed how long he's taking?"

Erin felt heat rising into her cheeks and on up into her ears. Yes, now that he mentioned it…Conor should have been back by now.

But then the rat attorney sat up again, at the same time raising a finger. "However, you're also correct in that it can't be said too many times…and for that, I thank you."

"Y-You're welcome," the young, doe-bunny replied, unable to think of anything else. But then she also looked in the direction of the door. "You don't think he might…th-that he'd try to…"

"Naaaaah," Rodenberg assured her, fanning a paw and looking away with a pursed muzzle. "He won't run out on us. If I thought that was possible, I'd have insisted on going with him." He smiled and offered her an upward thumb. "No worries, Ms. Hopps…like cockroaches and The Terminator, he'll be back."

Erin's shoulders hunched and she let out a short, sharp snigger. My, but this rodent had a way with the words. Ohhhhh, she had been so right to accept his offer to represent her. What jury could possibly resist such rhetoric?

Just then, as if on cue, the door creaked open and Conor slipped in through the opening. Dang, but that lab-coat looked even bigger on him than she remembered…like one of those movies where a grown-up drinks the wrong potion and shrinks down to kid size. It was so huge, in fact, that he had to grab the tail-end with his paw and pull it in after him. "Can you get the lock?" He said to her, "Jumping isn't exactly something I'm good at right now."

"Sure, no problem." She answered, slipping down off her stool. She nailed it on the first try, and when she turned around, the young silver fox had already shed the lab coat and climbed back into bed

And…why the heck did that make her feel a tiny bit let down? Never mind, he was about to get back into his story again.

"Junior and his crew went from the Big Boil to this rave, over by Rockawhale Beach. It would have been a great place for an ambush, but the Stalinzhkiy dudes didn't go for it. Why they shined it, I have no idea; too many other mammals around, or maybe they thought the cops were watching the place. Whatever—they decided to wait and keep following.

Meanwhile, Junior and his gang spent the rest of the evening party-hopping…and at every stop, the wolfpack just kept watching and waiting. Thinking about it now, I can imagine what must have been going on in their car right then—the younger guys demanding to know what the heck they were waiting for, while the older dudes counseled patience, and then finally told them to shut the fox up. It was a wise decision on their part. At house-party number three, the cops showed up with lights flashing only minutes after Junior and Company got there.

Nope…him and his buds were allowed to walk away clean. John Q. Law never even asked them any questions. If the Stalinzhkiy didn't know who Junior's old mammal was, the officers sent to break up that party sure as heck did.

Yeah, darn right, Mr. Rodenberg…that should have been their first clue that the dude they were stalking was connected. Did they not pick up on it, did they miss the significance—or were they just so torqued at being led around all night that by then they didn't care? Nobody ever found out.

Anyway, that turned out to be the last stop of the evening for Junior and his crew. After they left, the limo driver began dropping them off at their various houses and apartments.

That left the wolf-kids with another problem. The only time Junior got out of the limo was to say good night to his sea-otter pals…who just happened to live inside a gated complex where the Stalinzhkiy couldn't get to them. Their door was at least a hundred yards from the entrance, with at least a half-dozen security cameras between there and the exit gate. Those wolf-dudes prolly hated like heck, having to let anyone walk but they didn't have a whole lot of choice. It was Junior they wanted—they had long since tagged him as the leader of his crew—but they didn't dare make a move while he was still inside the limo. If they did, he'd get away for sure.

Finally, at about three in the morning, with only Junior and his girlfriend Peggy left, the limo driver pulled up in front of her dad's place—the Pierhouse Condominiums, over in The Heights.

And that was where he finally took his leave of them, both of them.

Heh…who knows, Erin? Junior always insisted it was because Finagles was only a five-block stroll, and he didn't want his dad to know he'd shelled out for a private limo. While he'd been right to do that—the old mink didn't like it when he heard—it was still a bad move on his part. The backside of those condos just happened to be right across a greenway from Pier One Park, a place with big lawns and clumps of trees-–very dense clumps of trees.

….and zero visitors in the wee hours of the morning.

In other words, Junior couldn't have presented the Stalinzhky with a more perfect set-up if he'd tried. And as soon as the limo was around the corner, the wolf-kids made their move.

Junior never saw them coming…or heard, or even smelled them. I think it was coz he was hoping to make a move of his own right then, if you follow what I'm bringing out, heh-heh. And like I said, he was never the sharpest tool in the shed. Before either he or Peggy knew what was happening, the wolfpack had them surrounded.

Then the leader, the alpha wolf, came pushing his way through the others, and drew himself up in front of Junior snorting and folding his arms

"Hey little jerk-mink," he snarled in a thick Russian accent, "you think you can eat up our dinner and just walk away, eh?"

Gotta give that sea-mink kid some credit over here. He didn't fret, he didn't panic, he didn't look confused; heck, he didn't even ask what Wolfie was talking about. Instead, he just looked up, real calm-like, and folded his arms, "You know who my dad is?"

For once, Junior was giving the right response—no name-calling, no aggression, no challenges, not even raising his voice; just as cool as shaved ice. Uh, that is…if that's really how he spoke to that wolf-dude, who knows?

In any case, that should have been all it took to make the Stalinzhkiy boys back off. Had they been native Zoo Yorkers, they probably would have. Nobody in the Five Burrows asks THAT question—and in that tone of voice—unless they've got some majorly family connections.

But, like I said, these wolf-kids were new to the neighborhood.

"Nyet…now ask me if I care." The Alpha dude snarled. And then, at his signal, the wolf standing behind Junior threw him in a wrist-lock, while Dear Leader seized him by the throat and stuffed a rag in his mouth, nearly choking him. At the same time another wolf wrapped a layer of duct-tape around his muzzle. After doing the same thing with Peggy, they hauled both of their captives around the back and over to Pier One Park. It had closed at 11 and the gate was locked, but the Stalinzhky had a rope with them, and also some experience. That car-lot they'd ripped off had been protected by a fence even taller than this one—and with razor wire to boot. Compared to that stinkin' fortress, this place was about as impregnable as your average speed-bump. Forming a lupine pyramid, they sent their smallest guy over the top with the rope, and then used it to bring over the rest of the crew, and then their captives. I don't know exactly how they worked that last part, but the whole time, Junior kept trying to scream through his gag—and took several shots to the head, and elsewhere, for his troubles.

Okay-y-y, at this point, the story gets kinda muddy. The Stalinzhkiy may have decided to leave Peggy alone and concentrate on Junior…or maybe they didn't. What I do know is that they used the rope to tie her to a tree and then dragged him over to the center of Harborview Lawn.

That was when he got his first look at the weapons they were carrying, and he reacted predictably.

Wheeew, if you've never gotten a whiff of mink musk, count yourself lucky; it makes skunk-spray look like air freshener —and the Stalinzhkiy boys were wolves, remember? Which meant they had a wolf's sense of smell; and so now, finally, they backed off.

But not for long. After less than a minute, the pack leader—who'd gotten the biggest dose—came snarling back at Junior. And now, he was really torqued.

"You think I can't handle your little stink, mink-boy? WRONG…and now you fight me." And to his comrades he said, "Untie his paws, and unwrap his mouth—and bring his girl over here." And while they went to fetch Peggy, he informed Junior that if he refused to fight, they would take it out on her. "That also happens if you scream," he said, and then drew the edge of his sickle across his throat for emphasis, "And then, is what you get."

Okay, I gotta hit rewind here. Meanwhile, back at Finagles—actually, some whiles earlier—someone was banging on my door again. "All right Danny, I'm coming!" I groaned.

Yeah, I knew it was him; by that time, I'd had so many guys paying me late-night visits, I could tell who they were, just from the way they knocked. Danny T. always hit like a jackhammer, and always just above the level of my head.

When I opened the door, the look on his face was way too familiar, pursed lips, rolling eyes, and raised eyebrows. Ohhhh great, just what I'd always wanted…to be sent on a fool's errand at Three O-Stinking-Clock in the morning!

"Sorry, kid," Danny scratched at the back of his neck, "Junior's not answering his cell. The Mister wants you to go find him and tell him to get his tail back over here, ASAP!"

"Wha…?" I started to ask, but all that came out was a yawn.

Danny answered my question anyway, spitting out the words as he spoke.

"Yeah…that stupid punk went out for the evening with his friends earlier tonight—and hired a private limo to take them." His ears went back and his fangs came out, "which he also charged to his Uncle Denis' credit card—along with everything else!"

"Good," I wanted to say, "Serves the stupid jerk right for bringing all that heat down on me." I didn't say that of course, but I had to practically bite my tongue off to stop it.

Meanwhile, Danny was still talking. "Needless to say, The Mister hit the ceiling when he found out; he wants his boy front and center and right NOW!"

"Okay," I was waking up fast, and getting seriously angry, "But where the heck…?"

"The driver says he dropped him off at his girlfriend's place—in the Pierhouse Condos, over in The Heights. You know where that is?"

"Yeah," I nodded. I'd delivered messages there a couple of times.

"Good," Danny nodded back, and gave me a slip of paper, "here's the exact address."

"Right," I answered, barely keeping myself from snatching it out of his paw. Oh well, I told myself, at least it was fairly close; a fifteen-minute round trip, give or take, and I could be back in bed again.

I was trying to calm myself and I thought it had worked. Nuh-uh, the next thing I said came out before I could stop it, "Why ME?"

Oooo, Danny T. did not like that.

"Because The Mister says so," he growled, folding his arms and showing a fang, "You want to take it up with HIM, kid?"

Obviously, I didn't and turned to grab my messenger bike.

As I pedaled in the direction of the Pierhouse Condos—all the while keeping an eye out for the Pennanti crew—I was not in a chipper mood. There were two things I knew for certain. Number one, Junior wasn't going to appreciate being ordered back to Finagles at this time of night.

Number two, he'd almost certainly take it out on me.

Not right now, of course, he'd give it a couple of days, and then…aggggh, grrrrr, why me, dang…?

All at once my nostrils flared, and I slewed my bike to a stop, jumping off and raising my nose, sniffing more deeply. The air was rife with the odor of mink musk—and not just any mink, Junior McCrodon. I felt my tail begin to frizz and the hair on the back of my neck turning to quills. This wasn't the first time I'd caught wind of him losing control of his scent glands; Captain Courageous, he wasn't.

But he'd never lost it like this; I was at least a block and half from the Pierhouse Condos, but from the strength of that smell, Junior might have been standing five feet in front of me. That could only mean one thing; whatever the heck was going on it was something serious—really serious; he wasn't just scared, he was terrified.

Oh, God…if anything happened to that kid while I was supposed to be looking for him, his old mammal would send me back to Granite Point in three separate containers.

I got back on my bike and put the hammer down.

It wasn't hard to track him, almost childishly simple, really. Less than ten yards further on, I caught the scent of another mink; a girl this time, and someone I didn't recognize. Never mind, her musk combined with his made the trail so easy to follow, I could have nailed it with my eyes closed. Took me like half a second to realize that their scent wasn't coming from the condos, but from that park on the other side of the greenway where I was riding. Yeah, but wasn't that place supposed to be closed right now? No, that was the location, all right…and as I got closer, I began to get a fix on Junior's exact coordinates. He was somewhere out the Harborview Lawn, near the west end of the park

As I hurried in his direction, I caught myself wishing, for once, that Pennanti's guys were following me. No such luck; like the old saying goes, there's never a cop around when you need one.

By the time I made it to the park entrance—locked, just like I figured—the scent of mink had begun to dissipate, but I was still pretty certain of the source. And now I was starting to pick up another scent, and one that didn't fill me with a whole lot of confidence—wolf, a species with twice my biting strength and more than twice my size.

And they never travel alone; this was not good.

That was when I heard the howling. Oh foxtrot, it was wolves all right; four or five of them, at least—and they were definitely somewhere out on the Harborview Lawn. Stashing my bike behind some bushes, I did a fast draw for my cell phone…only to realize that I didn't have it. Between having been half asleep when I'd been given this assignment and wanting to get it over with right now, I'd forgotten to bring it with me.

DUMB fox-kid…and what I did next was even more clueless. As it so happened, there was a hotel, down just past the park's west end. I'd delivered messages there a few times, and one of the night-clerks knew me. I could have gone there and had her dial 9-1-1, but did I?

Nooooo, instead I went looking for a way through the fence—and I found one almost immediately, a section where the ground underneath had worn away, leaving just enough space for me to squirm through. By now the howling had stopped, but not before I finally locked on to the location of Junior and the wolfpack, practically right in the center of the lawn. As I slithered underneath the fence-line I was cussing up a storm…about Zoo York and Zoo Yorkers in general. Here, in Zootopia, anyone making a racket like that, at 3:00 in the morning, would have a dozen animals yelling at them—and at least a couple more on the phone to the police.

But in Zoo York City? Fuggeddaboutit; not even a single, solitary light went on in the condos behind me…not a single one.

Dropping down on all fours, I crept through the underbrush to the edge of the lawn. And that was when I finally saw them; about five or six wolves, all gathered in a widely-spaced circle, with the biggest guy in the center. There was no sign of Junior but I knew he was there. By way of sheer, dumb luck I had somehow managed to position myself downwind of the pack. I could smell not only him but his girlfriend, too. There she was, over on the perimeter, held fast by another young wolf. What really made my tail frizz out was the way these dudes were dressed, like some kind of zombie death squad. To be hanging around Barklyn, at this time of night, and in those kinds of outfits? In Zoo York City, that isn't just asking for trouble, it's practically begging for it on your paws and knees. Holy foxtrot. these guys' brains had to be running on FUMES—and from long experience with Wez McCrodon I knew that crazy is the worst kind of dangerous.

Then the big guy snarled, "Now, you fight me…or die."

I found out who he was talking to when he was answered by a scream of mustelid rage. And then that was when Junior went for him.

Yep, he attacked first, can you believe it? Blew me away when I heard him—though it shouldn't have. Even the scraggiest mink will fight back when he's cornered; it's in their genes. And the attack caught Captain Alpha-Wolf completely by surprise. The next thing I heard was a yelp of pain and astonishment.

Sad to say Junior's gambit wasn't enough—not nearly enough. His screech ended quickly in a half-choked gurgle.

"That all you got, skinny kiddo?" I heard the alpha-guy growl. "Meh…I've done wasting time with you."

What I saw next remains tattooed on my brain, even to this day. The wolves surrounding Junior and the pack leader all began to move backwards, really slow and awkward, like they'd all nearly stepped on a rattlesnake. The guys whose faces I could see looked totally shocked and horrified. I remember that the dude in charge of minding Peggy—a kid, not much older than me—was trying to keep from puking. And then I heard her trying to scream and then starting to cry.

And that was when I finally saw him.

Junior was down on his knees, clutching his midsection—while standing over him was this big, brawny wolf with off-white fur. He was dressed in what looked like a raggedy poncho, and he was carrying…

"Oh, my GOD…Is…? I-Is that a…a…a sickle? I remember thinking.

Yes, it was, but he wasn't really going to…He couldn't actually be thinking of…?

The faces of his crew said otherwise, but it was HIS expression that sealed it. It was a look I'd seen before, ironically enough on the face of another sea-mink; a kid by the name of 'Crazy Wez' McCrodon…right before he'd wrecked MY face.

Yes, that wolf-dude could do it.

Yes, he would do it.

I always tell folks that the reason for what I did next was coz I was scared of what The Mister would do to ME if he found out I'd been there and hadn't tried to help.

And while yeah, that's true…I honestly don't know what I was thinking right then—or even if I was thinking at all. Kieran later told me that I must have had a death wish, or something, and who knows? Like I already said, in the past few weeks, I hadn't been into this thing called life very much. All I know is…I just exploded out of the underbrush, bolting straight for Captain Alpha. In theory, I shouldn't have been able to get anywhere near him…not with his boyz in the way. And I'm sure they would have stopped me, if they hadn't been totally hypnotized by what he was about to do to Junior. In any case I was past them before they realized what was happening.

Breaking through the ring, I leaped up in a fox-pounce with my jaws wide-open, catching the pack leader by the forearm and biting down hard. I heard another yelp of pain, but he recovered almost instantly; shaking me off as easily as a dusting of snow. The only good part was that he lost the sickle in the process; I saw it go flying off into the bushes. I hit the ground face first, and immediately tried to get up again. Not happening; the Alpha dude had already grabbed hold of me.

…from behind.

You can guess what happened next. In fact, you're gonna have to—coz I got no idea of what went down in the next few minutes. Except…even in that state, no way was I gonna beat an entire, stinkin' wolfpack.

The next thing I remember, I was on my back with my arms pinned, laying on something rough and hard. Somebody was dumping cold water on my face, and I could feel a puddle spreading out underneath me, soaking through my pants and jacket.

Only, this 'water' wasn't cold, it felt warm—and carried a coppery smell.

Another freezing load hit my face, and then there was Captain Alpha, kneeling over me and looking totally berserk. I couldn't understand a word of what he was saying, and thought at first that I must have gotten a concussion or something. Nope…Wolfy was just so mad at me, he'd reverted to Russian without realizing it. That was my first clue that maybe Junior had gotten away. If he hadn't, this dude would be sneering, not snarling at me.

When he finally switched to a language I could understand, he had just three words for me, delivered in a low, rumbling growl. "Time…to die!"

"Then, that's what's gonna happen." I croaked…and spat blood in his eye.

I badly wanted to make him lose it with that gesture; a last great act of defiance. No dice; he just calmly wiped the blood away and stood up again…at the same time, reaching under his cloak.

I expected to see that sickle again, but instead he brought out this big, heavy blacksmith's hammer.

Once more dropping down on his knees, this time so he was straddling me, he raised the hammer high above his head, and growled again, "Time to die."

Yes, it was…but not for me. At that instant, the air was ripped by a deafening blast. It was a sound I'd heard before—only that time, the target had been a car windshield. This time it was…it was…it…

Claudia Nizhang had warned me…she had told me that if I kept hanging with Danny T., one of these days I was going to see what that .44 Mag of his could really do. And now, I wasn't just seeing it…I was…I-I-was…

Yeah, okay, Mr. Rodenberg. Yeah, I'll skip that part; I blacked out anyway right then.

When I finally woke up, I was in a hospital somewhere, curled up on a bed in a semi-fetal position, and laying on my side.

Or…was this a hospital? It sure as heck seemed like one; the same bleached lighting, the same ultra-clean sheets and antiseptic smell. Something was clamped to one of my fingers, and off to my left, I could hear the rhythmic peeping of a monitor. Meanwhile, I had a tube plugged into my nose, and could feel the dull sting of an IV needle on the back of my wrist. So yeah, I was in a hospital, except…something was off here, something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

I rolled over onto my back. Or, that is…I tried to. Someone grabbed me by the arm and stopped me, an alpaca in a nurse's uniform. Whoa, where the heck had she come from? I had thought I was alone in here.

"No, son," she told me gently, "You need to stay on your side for a while, you've suffered a serious laceration to your back."

Right then, as if to confirm her diagnosis, a searing, white-hot pain shot downward from under my shoulder to just below my rib cage. Unable to stifle it, I let out a tortured whimper.

"Oh," she said, "I'll see if I can get you something for that," and then disappeared out the door.

While she was gone, I finally realized what was wrong with this room; it had no windows—none!

A surge of cold panic swept through me; it was the exact same set up as The Clinic. Could it…BE the…? Ohhhhh, no…oh please, not there.

No worries, I wasn't back in Jersey again. I found that out when the door opened and Danny Tipperin came into the room—right in the nick of time; I'd been that close to losing it.

"Hey kid, how ya doin?" he asked, toothpick rolling between his teeth.

"Better n' last time," I answered in a truthful rasp. Bad as I was feeling right then, it still wasn't nearly as painful as after my fight with those kids in the Johnstone Campus. Thinking about that incident reminded me of something; the kid who'd broken my face that day was now locked up in the REAL Clinic. "I hope they NEVER let you outta there, punk!" I remember snarling to myself. Weird thought to have at that moment—yeah, I know. But after everything I'd just been through, I could forgive myself a little insanity.

But then another memory came crowding into my head; or rather, a lack of one.

"What happ…" I coughed and tried again. "What…happened? I don't remember anything after that one guy…grabbed me." Danny was aware of my issue by then; he knew that when I said 'grabbed' in that tone of voice, it meant 'grabbed from BEHIND.'

And he also knew what happened when anyone did.

I saw him grimace and fan his paw. "Don't worry about it, kid. Those wolf-punks won't be giving you any more grief." His voice dropped to a guttural murmur, "Or anyone else, if you follow what I'm bringing out."

I did, but that wasn't what I'd been trying to ask him.

"No, I mean Junior. Did…Did he get away, okay?"

What? Yeah, Erin; I was concerned. You think I wanted to get beat half to death and have nothing to show for it?"

Anyway, for the first time since his arrival, Danny gave me a genuine smile.

"Yep…him and his girlfriend, thanks to you." He leaned in close, and lowered his voice again, this time to nearly a whisper, "And let me tell you, kid…The Mister is very appreciative of what you did."

Uhmmmm…I'm gonna jump ahead again here, 'kay? I only learned later about what happened with Junior after the pack leader grabbed me, but I think I oughta tell it now.

Everyone has their moment, that instant when they manage to rise above themselves…and that was James McCrodon Jr.'s time to shine.

No, he didn't try to help me—but he didn't run off and save only himself either. He turned and went screaming for the kid holding Peggy, catching him by surprise and taking him down. Yeah, that guy was the smallest wolf in the pack, but still…

Not wasting any time, Junior bit through the duct tape securing his GF's wrists and the two of them fled together—lucky for him, the wolf-kids had untied her before bringing her over to watch the fight.

And, would you believe…that sea-mink kid actually showed some smarts for once? Instead of going for the condos—too far away, they'd never have made it—he spun Peggy around and the two of them ran for the river.

Gotta admit, that was one seriously sharp move. By the time the Stalinzhky dudes realized what was happening, him and his girlfriend had already hit the water…where they knew the pack couldn't catch them. Your average wolves may be big and brawny—but no way can they outswim a sea-mink

Great for Junior and his girlfriend, but not so much for me; you can guess who the Stalinzhkiy took it out on, after they got away. I think that was when I got that sickle-slash across my back.

I would have been killed for sure if that sea-mink kid hadn't acted out of character again. Instead of heading downstream, as anyone might have expected, him and Peggy swam upstream, leaving the river almost directly in front of this 24-Hour bodega he knew. And, it just so happened, the agouti on counter duty knew HIM, too. That isn't to say he liked Junior, but he wasn't about to deny entry to the son of James 'The Mister' McCrodon…dripping wet or not.

Nor was he about to refuse this particular mammal the use of a cell-phone…which he used to dial his dad's emergency number. I'm told The Mister picked up on the first ring, and when he did, Junior used his head yet again—jumping in quick, before the old mink could utter a single word, and keeping it short and sweet.

"Dad, I got ambushed by this wolfpack, over by Peggy's place. Her and me got away, but not Sean…"

Danny was on the way with three other guys, before he was even halfway finished. Even then, they would have been too late if the pack leader had wanted me conscious when he finished me off.

And the rest…well, I already told you the rest, or as much as I remember anyway. I have no idea what happened to the other guys in that wolfpack, and honestly, I don't want to know.

No, Erin…why SHOULD I? I didn't call down Danny on those jerks, Junior did. And you know what? That's one thing I don't blame him for. As far as I'm concerned, those wolf-punks brought whatever The Company did to them down on themselves.

Yeah, you tell her Mr. Rodenberg; what the heck could I have done about it anyway? I was slightly unconscious at the time. Yes, I was, Snowdrop! The next thing Danny told me was that I'd been out for almost three whole days.

"That long?" I gasped. I never got an answer, because just then, the door opened and the nurse came back, along with a beaver in squeaky-clean scrubs, presumably my doctor.

He was not pleased to find Danny in the room with me.

"Just what do you think you're doing in here?" he demanded, laying his paws on his hips, "He's not ready to have visitors…OUT!" To emphasize the point, he jabbed a finger at the door.

Ohhhh, foxtrot; I almost wet the bed. I'd seen Danny threaten to WHACK guys for less than that.

Not this time, he only threw up his paws in surrender, "All right, all riiiiight, I'm going."

And then he slipped out the door without another word.

What happened next was the usual drill, having my vitals checked while Doctor Beaver gave me a rundown of my condition. The short answer was that I was very lucky, considering what might have happened.

"You lost a lot of blood from that injury to your back," he informed me, speaking in an accent that I couldn't quite place. "That's why you were unconscious for as long as you were; you went into shock." I'd suffered several bruises and contusions but—almost miraculously—nothing was broken. The worst of it was the slash across my back, not especially deep, but seriously long…and there was also another problem.

"Do you have any idea what it was that cut you?"

At first, I hadn't an inkling of what he was talking about…but then I realized. He wanted to know what kind of BLADE those wolf kid had used to cut me.

"Uh, I dunno," I answered. Actually, I had a pretty good idea, but I could just imagine his reaction if I told him.

"A sickle? Come now boy, what was it REALLY?"

If he wanted to know, he could take it up with Danny, I decided.

"All right," he said, "Then let's have another look at your wound. Nurse Echeverria, if you would…"

I felt her pull up my gown above my shoulders. The next thing I felt was…

Have a LOOK at my wound he said...yeah riiiight! Next thing I knew, he was probing my injury with gloved fingers, and he wasn't going easy on me; everywhere he touched me, it felt like I was being stuck with a red-hot needle. I practically bit my own lips off, trying not to scream; would have sunk my teeth into his arm if I'd had the strength. Finally, after what seemed like a year in hell, the torture ended, and the nurse pulled my gown back down again. At the same time Dr. Çetin—that was his name—came trundling around in front of me, with a big, deep frown on his face.

"Well, whatever it was that cut you, it was a very dirty instrument," he gave a small, tight head-shake. "We're going to have to put you on a course of antibiotics. But first, have you had your tetanus shot this year?" He blinked as he asked the question.

"No," I answered, although I wasn't quite sure. I'd had several shots during my stay at The Clinic, but had no idea what any of them had been for.

"Well, we'll take care of that," he answered breezily, and then turning to the alpaca nurse, he proceeded to rattle off a list of medications that I couldn't pronounce, much less remember.

That is, until she reminded him. "What about something for the pain, Doctor?"

He consulted a tablet that I hadn't noticed before.

"Mmmm, yes. Let's…put him on... Let's make it 10…no 15 CC's of Purrcocet.

Purrcocet…THAT name, I caught. And it was one I was going to be familiar with for a long, long time to come.

After telling me to stay on my side—like I'd ever want to lie on my back now—he departed along with the nurse. A few minutes later, she returned with a fistful of syringes.

The first thing she gave me was the tetanus shot.

"Okay, little poke," she said. And if THAT was only a poke, I'd hate to have felt what a…

Huh? What do you want to know that for, Erin?

Yeah, yeah…in my backside. Happy now, you little white-furred weirdo?

And you'll be sorely disappointed to learn that I got the rest of my shots by way of my IV feed…ha-ha.

Most of 'em I barely noticed—until she came to the Purrcocet. Whoa, that not only made the pain go away, it made the whole stinkin' world go away. It was like I was floating in a big, fat comfortable cloud. There'd be a price to pay later, but right then I didn't care; I wanted to stay like this forever.

Didn't happen, of course. Sometime later, while I was sleeping, it began to wear off…and it gave me the mother of all nightmares. There was that wolf again, standing over me, and then I heard Danny's cannon going off. Same effect, only this time Wolfy didn't die. The last thing I saw, before I woke up, was him bringing the hammer down and…

And then I was back in bed, fox-screaming to raise the roof and bringing an orderly on the run.

Sad to say, that nightmare wasn't a one-off deal. I had it many times afterwards, in different variations. Eventually the bad dreams went away, and unlike with being grabbed from behind, I learned to handle the trauma of that memory.

Except for one thing…I hadn't cared much for guns before then, ever since that incident with the tayras. But when I woke up from that nightmare, I stinkin' HATED 'em—even though a gun had just saved my life. And after all this time, even long after that dream finally went away, I still can't handle 'em. I can't so much as look at a gun without feeling a knot in my stomach.

And that's all I'm gonna say about it for now.

Yeah, all right. During my recovery…partial recovery, I learned a few things here and there.

For starters, I'd been right; this place wasn't a hospital, I was in the basement of a hospice, a place where terminally ill patients go to spend their final days. Smooth move, when you give it a little thought…no one would think twice if they saw drugs or medical equipment being delivered HERE.

The section where I was staying though, wasn't an actual part of the hospice. It was kind of a secret annex, a place where wiseguys who couldn't go to the ER could go to find medical treatment, no questions asked. It was hidden behind a secret door, and used not only by The Company, but by Cosa Nostra and the Russian Mob as well. Unless you were known or had the password, you weren't getting in there. And by mutual consent, the place was neutral ground, no guns allowed on the premises…or violence of any kind.

No Erin, I wondered about that myself, but no. The Stalinzhky wouldn't have been safe there, assuming they would have been allowed inside. That no violence rule didn't apply to independents, only guys who were connected. If those wolf-kids had shown up at that underground hospital—IF they could even have found the place—they'd have been turned away at the door. Either that, or they'd have been kept waiting until the Mister's guys got there.

Anyway, I also learned that the place where Danny found me was a set of stone steps called, get this, The Granite Prospect. How's that for irony?

I only saw him once in the next three days, and he got chased out of the room again.

But not before he told me that I'd gotten it backwards. Up until then, I had always assumed that Junior must have done something to provoke those wolves into going after him. It was just the kind of guy he was. Now, to my serious embarrassment, I learned that I was wrong. He hadn't done a thing to antagonize the Stalinzhkiy; it was all on them…all of it.

"Over a lousy lobster dinner, can you believe that stuff?" Danny growled, barely restraining himself from spitting on the floor. "And what a stupid name for a crew, sheesh!" And then he told me the rest about Junior. "I never would have believed it, but that mink-kid handled himself great."

If I'd heard that from anyone else, I wouldn't have believed it either. Whoa, good thing had I'd never given voice to any of my thoughts about Junior and the wolfpack.

Especially since, two days later, his dad finally came to see me.

He blew into my room like a stinkin' tornado, accompanied by Danny and two of his brown bear bodyguards. He was in pretty decent shape that day, needing only his gold-headed cane to get around. Behind him, I could hear the agitated voice of a nurse, insisting on only one visitor at a time.

When he was close enough, he got down on one knee beside the bed, and…

…And Jiminy Christmas, just when you think you've seen it all. Never before, and never afterwards, did he ever apologize to me.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner, fox-kid." I saw him grimace and look away. "And…I'm sorry for what happened to you. I swear, if I'd had any idea, I never would have sent you to go find Junior, all by yourself." I said nothing to this, I was too blown away. And it wasn't just me; Danny Tipperin was actually pinching himself. But if you think that's nuts, how about this? When he turned to look at me again, he had tears in his eyes and his voice was cracking. "You saved my boy's life." He sniffled, laying his paw on top of mine. Lucky for me I was half-zonked on Purrcocet, or I might have pulled away. "I'm not ever gonna forget that, fox-kid…never."

To this day, I have no idea why I answered him the way I did. Maybe it was the painkillers again.

"He held up great, Mr. McCrodon," I said, "Never once begged or cried; I even saw him try to fight back." What the heck, it was true—although try telling that to the big mink's brothers. Right up until the day of the raid, they refused to believe that I hadn't just been trying to butter him up. I remember Gerry saying to me once, "Junior… standing up for himself? Yeah, riiight…now tell me the one about the Fang Fairy."

I would like to say that what happened to Jimmy Jr. that night was a life-changing experience…that it inspired him to finally straighten up and fly right.

Sorry, no soap. By the time I made it back to Zoo York, he was his old, spoiled-rotten self, again. I'll get into more about that later, but the next thing The Mister said to me was…

"From now on, things are gonna be different for you around here, fox-kid," he promised and then gave my paw a little squeeze. Again, I wanted to pull away, and again, I couldn't—thank God. "You got my word. Even as we speak, my nephew Kieran's working on it." I would have loved to ask him what he meant by that, but just then, another Company guy, a lynx named Carlos-Something came into the room and whispered in his ear. I saw him grimace and heard him utter a low hiss. "You tell that guy I'll get there when I get there. Stupid jerk; he knows what almost happened to my kid the other night."

If I could have moved my head, I would have shaken it. Holy foxtrot, he really did feel beholden to me. In the days before my encounter with the Stalinzhkiy, no way would he have put off attending a sit-down on my behalf.

But…there was something else he'd said, and it was only just now beginning to register through the painkillers.

"Where IS Kieran?" I asked, casting my eyes around the room as best as I could. He hadn't come to see me, even once after the fight.

I saw the Mister make a face and then a rumbling noise. "Ahhhh, I hadda send him down to the Beach House for a while." He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "The heat's on, if you know what I mean."

I did; Detective Sergeant Nizhang had never forgiven Kieran for humiliating her in front of her boss—or, that's the way HE told it. Whatever, I was missing him really bad right then.

Meanwhile, The Mister was frowning at his watch. "This late? Dangit…" He looked up at me again. "Sorry kid, gotta go. I'll come by and see you later. Tipperin? You stay here and fill him in."

"Yes sir, Mr. McCrodon," Danny answered—with a barely suppressed smile, happy at not having to accompany the boss to wherever he was off to.

When he sat down beside the bed, he was wearing the sly smile that only a fox can pull off.

"Sorry to have to tell you this, kid…but you're dead."

"I'm…WHAT?" I'd have sat up fast if my back would have let me.

"That's right." His smile broadened and he laid a paw on my arm, "On paper, you're toast." His head tilted sideways along with his mouth. "Doesn't it seem kinda strange to you, that none of Pennanti's guys ever showed up here for a talk?"

Actually, I'd never thought about it…but now that he brought it up, yeah, that was kind of odd.

Danny caught my expression and winked, "That's coz, officially, you were killed in that fight with those wolf-punks; they planted your coffin in Potter's Field two days ago." He let out a fox-bark of laughter. "And good luck trying to find it; Kieran made sure of that."

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him if my coffin had been empty. Except, I had a sinking feeling that it hadn't been—and that the occupant had been one of six convenient candidates. In that case, thanks, but noooo thanks; I wanna know nothing, nothing, nothing!

Meanwhile Danny was still talking, "He's also workin' up a new identity for you…a lot more detailed than last time. He won't be finished for a while yet, but you'll wanna start getting used to your new name; it's Yeats…Dylan Yeats."

"Oh, joy," I thought, "ANOTHER alias." Well, at least this one was sort of catchy. And later I learned, typical Kieran, he had named me after two of his favorite poets, Dylan Thomouse and William Badger Yeats.

Needless to say, faking my death involved a lot more than just a new name and a bogus burial. Even now, I don't know how Kieran managed to fool the world—and especially Pennanti and Company—into thinking I'd kicked it. I was aware that he had the resources, but still...

Whatever the case, I never saw that fisher or any of his crew, ever again.

Well yeah, Erin…but I don't include that, it was only a chance encounter. It wasn't like she was looking for me or anything.

Although I didn't see Kieran in the flesh and fur during my time in that 'hospital', I talked to him a lot online. Danny had brought me my laptop, that second time he came to see me. I had to change all my passwords before I could use it, but I understood the need—even if I didn't like it. The first time I spoke to Kieran, he brought me up to speed on some details his partner had missed. Yep…he had been sent down to Belize on account of Claudia Nizhang.

"Not that I'm complainin' y'understand," he told me with a smirk, "No Mister, no Junior, no pressure…I feel like I could stay down here fer the next ten years. Heh…remind me t' send that red panda cop a case of her favorite bev'rage sometime."

I was happy he was happy. And yet…I had the strangest feeling that there was another reason he was glad to be where he was; something he not only wasn't telling me, but couldn't have told me, even if he wanted to.

Part of it, I later discovered, had to do with something he'd taught me earlier. Whenever you breach a database, the first thing you want to do is create a second way in. That was exactly what Kieran had done when he'd hacked into the AKER mainframe; anticipating, correctly, that my escape from The Point would alert them to the breach—and then to him. Or, that might have been what happened, if he hadn't deleted that back-door and covered his tracks, as soon as he was done with my jailbreak. Wisely, he had chosen to allow the second one to remain dormant for a spell…until things finally began to cool off. Only recently had he gone back inside the AKER mainframe…and what he'd discovered there was, in fact, the main reason he was down in Belize. While that thing about Claudia Nizhang putting the screws to him was true, it was mostly a cover story. And even now, I'm not sure it was the whole story.

I'm telling you this because it has just about everything to do with what happened to me next. It changed my life—and no, I'm not exaggerating.

When The Mister finally came to see me again, he brought Junior along with him.

And ohhhh foxtrot, talk about putting the 'awk' in awkward; our encounter was as stiff as a stinkin' Kabuki play. Seriously, Danny told me later that we sounded like we were reciting from a book that both of us could barely understand."

"Thank you, Sean…for coming to…"

"His name's Dylan now, son."

"Yeah, right. Sorry dad. Thank you, uh, Dylan…for saving my life."

"Thank YOU…for saving mine." True…sort of; he was the one who'd called in the cavalry, after all. Honestly though, I didn't feel all that grateful to him right then…but what else was I gonna say, with his dad standing there? "Are…you okay?" I finally asked. He'd taken some pretty good hits himself that night.

"Uhhh, I'm doin' alright," he said, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Good," I nodded, "and what about…uh, Peggy, that's her name right? Is she okay?"

"She's fine!" he answered…very quickly, almost snapping at me. I later learned that she dumped him over the incident. Go fig.

As it turned out, that was the last I saw of Junior for some time to come. A week later, the docs took my stitches out and I was finally able to sleep on my back again.

But not for long. The next morning, at the bright and early hour of 4 AM, someone grabbed me by the shoulder and shook me awake. When I opened my eyes, I saw nothing but a blur and needed several good blinks to kickstart my eyes.

Yep…It was Danny again. And standing behind him was a pair of EMT's with a gurney.

And standing behind them was Nurse Echeverria, wearing a look that was half disapproving and half afraid.

…because standing behind her was a pair of Company enforcers—Alaskan Brown Bears, not the kind of species you wanna argue with.

"C'mon, kid," Danny said to me, "We're getting you out of here."

Standing back a little, he motioned to the guys with the gurney. In mere moments, I was outside the hospice and was being loaded into the back of a medical transport.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, just before the doors closed—and I'm sure Danny only pretended not to hear me.

I had no idea where we were headed. The only thing I could see out the rear of the medical transport van was a narrow view of the streets behind me. All I knew for certain was that Danny was following close behind; there was no mistaking that ride of his. After a while, we stopped at a gate, somewhere. When the driver rolled down the window to speak to the guard, my nose caught the thick, oily scent of jet fuel.

Okay, now I knew where we were, but…HUH? Why the heck would they be taking me to the airport? Oh, wait…they must be sending me down to Belize. Yeah, that made sense…or it did, if you were high on Purrcocet.

When the doors to the ambulance opened…yep, I was at the airport all right. As a matter of fact, I was in a place I sort of recognized, behind the cargo terminals at Idlewild, where I'd sometimes gone to pick up and deliver messages.

When they wheeled me off the ambulance, there was my ride on the tarmac, a twin-engine jet in refrigerator white with red and blue trim on the fuselage. Imprinted above a line of windows, I saw the name, MEDICAIR INTERNATIONAL. It was only then that I realized something—I had never flown before, and I wasn't sure how I felt about it.

But then I saw Danny hovering over me.

"This is as far as I go, kid." He smiled, "But I'll be seeing you again, real soon." He reached down to clasp my paw for a second, then turned to walk away.

"Wait," I called out, sitting up as best I could with all the straps, "You haven't told me…where are you sending me?"

Danny stopped and winked over a shoulder, snapping his fingers in pretend embarrassment, "Awww, Jeez…sorry kid, coulda sworn I…We're sending you to get your face fixed."

And then he went on his way, without another word.

Whatever elation I may have felt at that news damped down real sweet quick when they bundled me onto the airplane. Okay…now I was scared of flying. I don't think I would have been, though, if I hadn't been all strapped down and helpless and whatever. Aw heck, I KNOW I wouldn't have been scared. When I flew into Zootopia, three years ago, I had noooo problems. And that flight had all kinds of issues, just getting off the ground.

But that first time I flew? Forget it, I was shaking all over and trying not to whimper as they transferred to the in-flight medical bed. I remember begging them not to strap me in again, but they just told me not to worry and did it anyway. That was when I really came close to losing control. It was just like the old Ram-mones tune, you know the one, Erin.

"Get me to the airport, put me on a plane
Hurry, hurry, hurry—before I go insane
I can't control my fingers, I can't control my brain
Oh, no, oh-oh, oh-ohhhhh

Dah, da, dat-da, dat-da-dah, da-DAH!
I wanna be sedated
Dah, da, dat-da, da-dah, da-DAH, dat-dah, da-dah!
I wanna be sedated."

Whoo, heh, heh…there's never a guitar around when you need one either, huh bunny-girl? But truer words were never sung, because the next thing I knew, somebody was sticking a needle in my arm. At first, I thought it was more painkiller…and that was the last thought I had 'til we landed again. God only knows what they gave me, but it was some seriously heavy stuff. I think I woke up twice, maybe three times during that flight, but I'm not sure.

When I finally woke up for good, my first thought was wondering why my flight had been canceled; it felt like no time at all had passed.

That all changed when they wheeled me off the plane—and into the brightest sunlight I'd ever experienced. It was so bright I was ready to sell my soul for a pair of mirrored shades. Ohhhh-kay, so I wasn't still in Zoo York.

But this sure as heck didn't look like Belize either. It was hot enough, yeah, but not nearly wet enough. It was so dry, I could almost feel my lips cracking. Not much jungle around here either…or any vegetation, period. Off the end of the runway, I could see nothing but an endless flat plain.

And then a grinning feline face leaned over me, a caracal in khakis and a beat-up baseball cap. "Eh, you're awake…perfect timing."

His name was Markus Klopper—and in the weeks to come, he and I were to become very well acquainted.

He was about average size for his species, though a little bit leaner than your standard-issue caracal; always with the air of someone sharing a private joke. And now he turned and whistled through a pair of fingers. "All reight, bring it over, let's get this young silver fox out of the sun, before he dries up and blows awey, eh?"

In response, another van began to roll in my direction.

Looking back on it now. Markus' accent and safari shirt should have clued me in about where I'd landed. But having just woke up from being sedated, I didn't pick up on any of it.

"Whe…?" I tried to ask, only to have the words shrivel up in my throat. I swallowed twice and tried again, "Where…am I?" Barely audible but good enough.

"Eh?" Markus' ears seemed to twist and then shoot upwards at the sky. "Nobody told you, then?"

"No," I answered, beginning to feel exasperated. Like that other old saying says, the condemned fox is always the last to know.

"Well then," his grin came back, even wider than before and he waved his paw in a sweeping gesture. "In thet case, welcome to Johorrnesburg, South Efurica, Mista Yeats."