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The Fire Triangle
Part Two:
Oxidizer
Chapter 9: Conor's Story
(Continued…Part 17)
"I've got my head, but my head is unraveling
Can't keep control; can't keep track of where it's traveling
I've got my heart, but my heart is no good
And you're the only one that's understood
I come along, but I don't know where you're taking me
I shouldn't go, but you're wrenching, dragging, shaking me
Turn off the sun; pull the stars from the sky
The more I give to you, the more I die"
Nine Inch Nails – The Perfect Drug
"Kits…For Cash?" Vern Rodenberg repeated the words tentatively, as if they'd been spoken in a foreign tongue that he didn't quite understand.
"Yep…That's right, that's what AKER called it." Conor's ears were turning backwards and his head was hanging low between his shoulders; the fur on the back of his neck had spiked into quills. Even now, the rat attorney realized, the memory still infuriated his young client. He was almost afraid to ask what those words referred to.
He would ask though; this was why he had come here in the first place.
"All right, then; what is—or was—Kits for Cash?"
Conor's lip curled upwards, exposing first one fang and then the other.
"Heyyy, take it easy, Charcoal Boy!" It was Erin Hopps, trying not to sound alarmed—and only barely succeeding.
Barely or not, it was enough to get the job done. Taking a long, deep breath, the fugitive young silver fox shut his eyes, and balled-up his fists. After a short moment, his fangs went away and his eyes blinked open once more.
"Sorry," he said, speaking to the bunny-girl before turning his attention back to Mr. Rodenberg. "It goes like this," he said, "For every kid that gets sent to one of their juvie institutions, AKER Correctional gets a payment from the State of Zoo Jersey. Are you with me so far?"
"Yes, they're a private corrections company," the grey rat answered. Now HE was the one trying to maintain control. It had not escaped his attention that Conor was speaking in the present tense.
"Right," the young fox nodded, "So, what AKER did was come to a little arrangement with these two Zoo Jersey judges. For every kid they sent to Juvie—instead of community service, or probation, or whatever—they got paid a kickback…"
"Oy!"
"NO!"
Both Erin and Vern Rodenberg were gaping in openmouthed shock.
"YES! Conor snarled, folding his arms and looking grimly triumphant, "I didn't believe it either, not until Kieran showed me the receipts. Kits for Cash is a thing all right. And that's not all; along with the direct payment there's a bonus effect. When your clean-cut, regular kid, gets out of Juvie, he's far, far less likely to steal or whatever than a hardcase delinquent—especially if he was convicted on a bogus rap. So, if you send a bunch of regular kids to Juvie, the overall effect is to reduce the percentage of that reoffend when they get out. And then AKER can use that statistic as a marketing pitch, 'Look at our low recidivism rate, isn't it wonderful?' His eyes narrowed into fire slits, and he slapped the side of the exam-table. "And it's still a thing. Only it's not just for Zoo Jersey anymore; it's happening here—in Zootopia!" He was staring at Mr. Rodenberg with the intensity of a laser-torch.
"How…?" The rat attempted to ask, before the words dried up in his throat. He'd been expecting something scandalous, but this…this was monstrous!
IF it was true, he reminded himself. But even as the thought came to him, he knew—deep in his heart, he knew that yes…yes, it was.
He swallowed hard and tried again.
"How…do you know this?"
The answer hit him like a slap in the face.
"Like I said, I saw the receipts. And by the way, every single one of those 'for cash' kids were advised—same as me—to shine on being represented by an attorney." He looked away for a second and then back again, "Yeah, that's right; Kieran had an actual memo from AKER HQ. Those stinkin' judges were TOLD to recommend that those kids not seek counsel—and then, when they got to court, it was double-cross time. They got hit with the maximum sentence Their Dishonors could get away with." His fangs came out again, for just a second. "And…it gets worse."
"W-worse?" The word came out of Erin as a ragged croak. 'How could it possibly be worse?' she seemed to be thinking. Vern Rodenberg understood this, because it was exactly how he felt.
"Yeah," Conor was favoring them both with his burning-amber eyes. "If you were a kid on your own, no family, no legal guardian, no one to ask after you, you got selected for even more special treatment." He shook his head, as if he didn't believe it himself. And then without warning, his gaze snapped sideways, focusing solely on Mr. Rodenberg. The rat shrank back a little, as if caught in the beam of a powerful spotlight.
"They called it 'the upgrade program'. Remember those punks who jumped me in the Johnston Campus? That wasn't anything spontaneous; they were acting under orders. Yeah, that's right; The Enforcers weren't the only goon squad the Mammal had at his beck and call…and I was far from the only kid who got that treatment. By the time it was my turn, AKER practically had it down to a science; have their stooges pick a fight with a kid on the upgrade list, and then, no matter how it turned out, it was always that kid's fault. After that, The Mammal owned you. Once you were listed as a violent offender, you could be sent to The Clinic any time they felt like it. The only difference was that normally, the upgraded kids didn't end up in Granite Point first. I was the exception coz I really did throw the first punch…and because of what Wez did to me; I mean mentally, not physically. Those AKER guys weren't stupid, they knew I was a changed fox when I came out of their so-called 'infirmary'. If it hadn't been for my fight with that sable-kid, Wayne Babin, I might never have been sent to their stinkin' psycho ward."
"What about the Mearns Brothers?" Rodenberg asked him. "I remember you saying that they had their names changed, same as you did. Were they, um, on the upgrade list as well?"
Conor answered him with a short, tight nod.
"Yes, they were. Only there was no need to get THEM into a fight; they were already in for a violent offense. What it was, they never said, but they always insisted that they'd only been defending themselves." He waved a paw as if clearing away smoke. "But never mind; all three of us were headed for The Clinic the minute we got busted—and we never had a clue. THAT'S how AKER handled the kids without any family."
"But…But why?" It was Erin again, her nose twitching almost as hard as Vern Rodenberg's whiskers.
Conor looked from her to the rat and back again.
"Coz AKER also happens to be the owner of LPN Pharma; you follow what I'm bringing out? A chip the size of a roofing beam appeared to have materialized on his shoulder—or, that was the expression on his face at least.
"Hang on," Now Vern Rodenberg was the animal shaking his head. "Are you trying to tell me that…that AKER used you as a test subject for a new pharmaceutical?"
"No." For once, the young fox answered him in the negative—but not in a good way, "Not a pharmaceutical. I was used as a test subject for the Nighthowler antidote."
"Oh! My! GOD!" The grey rat's paws slapped against his cheeks, "Oh no, they couldn't!" Glancing briefly to his right, he saw Erin Hopps, blinking back tears but with her mouth set into a hard, flat line. Conor must already have told her this, he realized–-and she'd hated it, but she'd believed him.
His ears, meanwhile, had turned backwards and were lying flat against his neck. "Yes, they could, Counselor. It's called Morningmew. And, it's actually…"
"Hold it, hold it!" Rodenberg's paws were raised; a stranded motorist, trying to flag down a truck. As any one of his other clients could have said, he was noted for making fast recoveries. "How do you know this, Booby? And what the heck is Morningmew? I never heard of it before."
"That's what I'm trying to tell you…if you'll let me," Conor's face had morphed from defiant to irritated. "Everyone thinks Morningmew is the antidote to Nighthowler, but it's actually the other way around—hang on, hang on, I'm getting to that." The rat had started to raise a finger, but now he lowered it again. "Morningmew came first, then Nighthowler—and should I know, coz I'm totally immune to both of those bad boys." His arms folded and his face hardened into a 'show-me' stare. "If you don't believe me, have a nurse come down and give me a Mew shot—they prolly got a dose or two of that stuff somewhere on this barge." His eyes seemed to flash for a second. "Go ahead, it won't do jack to me."
"Ahhhh, that won't be necessary, kid." Vern Rodenberg's voice was gentle but also wary. This was something else he'd seen a few times; a client who knows he's telling the truth, but doesn't expect anyone else to believe it. From long and bitter experience, the rat attorney had learned to trust the word of such mammals, and trust it implicitly.
On the other paw…if Conor WAS telling the truth, then…
Then…!
"Wait, you mean…AKER had the Nighthowler antidote all along? They could have stopped the Savage Predator epidemic any time they wanted—and chose not to?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying," the young fox answered, slapping the side of the table yet again.
"And you knew too—but you never said anything," Erin Hopps interjected. There was nothing aggressive in her voice, nothing critical; it was a prompt, not an accusation.
Conor rose to it at once. "Like I told you before, bunny-girl, who were they gonna believe, a fine, upstanding, billion-dollar company—or this punk fox-kid on the run from John Q. Law?" His head tilted sideways. "And besides that, I had no evidence; it all got burned up in the Finagles raid—or else AKER got hold of it. Either way, I couldn't prove a thing—and I still can't."
There was regret in the young fox's voice, Vern Rodenberg noted—genuine, deep regret. It was probably true; there was nothing he could have done. And yet even now, he was carrying a burden of guilt, as if the whole thing really had been his fault. It made the rat's next question awkward in the extreme, although he knew he couldn't avoid it.
"Understandable, son. But there's something I still don't get. Why didn't The Mister blow the whistle on what AKER was doing? I thought he hated that corporation."
Conor threw up his paws in frustration. "I don't know, Mr. Rodenberg; your guess is as good as mine. All I can say is, most of the time nobody knew what the heck was going on in that sea-mink's head—especially towards the end. The only thing I can think of is…maybe he thought he could use it to run a leverage-scheme on The AKER Group."
Rodenberg nearly guffawed at this. Even in their heyday, the McCrodon gang wouldn't have been any kind of match for a multi-billion-dollar corporation. It would have been like putting up a high-school football team to play the Super-Bowl champs.
He did NOT laugh, though…because he had met The Company chieftain face-to-face. He had seen for himself how random James 'The Mister' McCrodon could be at times—and that was before his health had begun to spiral. Yes-s-s…when you thought about it, that sea-mink just might have been rash enough to pull such a dangerous stunt.
And hey-y-y, hadn't AKER Security been running backup for the ZYPD during the Finagles raid? He'd have to check; if they had, it would fit in with Conor's narrative almost perfectly.
But in the meantime, there were some significant gaps in his client's story. For example, he still hadn't revealed…
"All right, but what DID Dr. Winters want with you?" he asked, circling back to the beginning.
That was Conor's cue to do the same…and he went all the way back to his first encounter with the dormouse.
When I woke up in The Clinic, and learned why I was there, I didn't see anything weird about it. Why should I? Any kid who'd lost it the way I had would have ended up in that place. So, when Kieran told me that my being sent there had been planned from the beginning, it practically blew me through the wall. I remember him saying that I was especially valuable as a test subject because of my species…hrm?
Wel-l-l, you know that old joke about how foxes are canine hardware running feline software? Well, a lot of it's true. We have paws like canines, and night vision like a lot of cat species; we even get off on catnip. And nooo, Erin, I haven't tried it…so don't ask.
Yeah, yeah…I'm no fun—wha-a-a-tever! The point is, a fox can be used to test pharma products for both felines and canine species.
Well, what else are they supposed to do, huh? It's not like there's all kinds of non-sentient mammals, just running around, waiting to be used as lab-animals.
Easy…easy, Counselor. I'm just parroting the official AKER line over here. But now do you understand why my tail gets frizzy and my fangs start showing when I talk about it? Right…exactly.
All right, this is gonna need some explaining—and I don't know all the details, so bear with me here, okay? Morningmew will undo the effects of Nighthowler, but Nighthowler won't do the same for Morningmew…not completely.
I don't know how, exactly…but that was the problem and it was driving the AKER guys bonkers; they needed it to work. Don't ask me why—even Kieran had no idea—but they were like a kid who can't get that last, stinkin' Tetris piece to fit. And that's why Doc Winters was so interested in me. You see—I didn't know this until Kieran clued me in—but when someone grabs me from behind, the effect is very similar to Nighthowler poisoning, except with one big difference. When I lose it after being snagged like that, the effects are only temporary. Nighthowler, on the other paw, will make you go savage for good if you don't get the antidote. And that's the reason that blankety-blank dormouse latched onto me. She thought that whatever was making the effects of me being grabbed from behind go away after a while; it might be the key to tweaking Nighthowler so that it could finally do the job as a Morningmew antidote. I'm not sure how that was supposed to work, and Kieran didn't know, either. Anyway, that was why Doc Winters wanted to make me her pet project.
But first she'd have to deal with this one, teensy-little glitch. Her bosses totally refused to get on board with the proposal; they thought it was a waste of time and resources. Still…they'd tried just about everything else by then and so they gave her the go-ahead—very reluctantly, and with all kinds of restrictions. Long story short, her theory didn't pan out and the mammals upstairs ordered the project terminated.
To say that Dr Dormouse didn't take it well would be a major understatement. According to Kieran, she screamed her stinkin' head off when she got the news. "You can't do this, you can't! I'm THAT close…yadda, yadda, yadda!"
Oh, you already know what happened next, Mr. Rodenberg. She snuck behind AKER's back and ran that little-late night experiment on me—totally unauthorized.
And that was where it really got interesting. Doc Winter was soooo sure it would work this time…and that when it did, her bosses would totally forgive her for going behind their backs.
Nice try, but it didn't work—and the mammals upstairs didn't give her a pass. They came down on her like a runaway wrecking ball. She was fired for cause, no severance, no nothing. And then she was blacklisted; AKER spread the word about her unauthorized experiment and after that, no legitimate pharma company would touch her. When she tried to apply for a job with ZooGen, she got slapped with a 'Cease and Desist' order.
So, guess where she finally ended up? Running The Company's bootleg pharmaceutical operations—at three times what she'd been making before.
Ahhhh, I'll get to that in a minute, but first I need to talk about something else. Like it or not, I had a reason to be grateful to that dormouse. Thanks to that 'guerrilla experiment' she ran on me I was deemed useless as a subject for anything else. Tainted—that's the word Kieran used—they couldn't do anything else with me, coz the results would be tainted. That's the real reason why I got sent back to The Point; the AKER dudes couldn't figure out what the heck else to do with me.
By the way, that was also the reason the Mearns brothers got let out of Juvie when they did. Catching the hantavirus rendered them useless as test subjects, too.
Beats me…but that's why AKER let them walk. Or, that's what Kieran found in their database.
Why wasn't I given my walking papers? Ahhh, Erin…I must have asked myself that same question a zillion times. Who knows? Maybe I would have been set free if I hadn't broken out of The Point…or maybe not, I'll never know. Whatever the case…right now, as far as I'm concerned, what's done is done and there's no going back.
But, getting back to Dr. Winters…I don't know how she did it, but eventually she found out I was running with The Company.
I can guess when it happened though; had to be after my fight with the Stalinszhkiy, but before my surgery.
Coz she must have gotten a look at me; my new name, Dylan Yeats would have meant zip to her, and that was my second alias since hooking up with The Company. Like I said, I don't know for sure, but if she'd spotted me, she would have known who I was in a heartbeat; she had seen me up close and fursonal in the Clinic—and before I had my face fixed, it was pretty hard to forget. Whatever the case, as soon as Doc Winters discovered that the kid she'd known as Al Murphy was working for her new employers, boom…there I was, back in her obsession book. Somehow, she managed to wangle an interview with The Mister and practically begged him on her knees to let her continue her experiments with me. To just about everyone's surprise, he gave her an instant green light.
"Could've knocked me over with a playin' card when I heard." Kieran was shaking his head when he told me. "After all the effort—and cash—me uncle had invested in having yer muzzle repaired, getting ye in shape, and yer training, he shouldn't have wanted t' let that quack anywhere near you." He lifted his paws in a helpless gesture. "But…that's The Mister for you. Y' never know WHAT'S gonna float 'is boat."
Truer words were never spoken. But before I could say so, he sat up straight, and folded his arms, giving me a look of chiseled marble. "And that's everythin' I know, boyo; I've fulfilled me part o' the bargain, so now it's time for you to own up to yours." he spit in his paw and held it out to me. "Promise me, right here an' now, that ye'll behave yerself for Dr. Winters."
What could I do? He had me. I took his paw and swore to be a good little silver fox for Doc Dormouse.
I had a total of eight more sessions with her. The first four began with Kieran grabbing me from behind, so I have no idea what she did to me afterwards. Like always, I blacked out…and no one ever filled me in on what had gone down while I was zoned.
But then, the fourth time…
For our fourth session, Dr. Winters had me lie down on an exam table, and then raised up the end so my head was elevated, kinda like the way this one is now. That was when I noticed a CCTV camera looking straight at me. Uh-oh, I had a very bad feeling about this—and an even worse one, when Kieran came in and began strapping me down. If it hadn't been for my promise…
And then, when I was all nice and secure, Doc Dormouse hopped up on the table beside me.
"Okay, just need a blood sample; little poke."
What? No, she didn't do it herself; she had a nurse with her—didn't I mention that before? No? Well anyway, she was one of my own species, a corsac fox vixen; Natasha-something, I never did get her last name.
But when she stuck me with that needle…it was really strange. It didn't feel like she was drawing blood; it was more like I was being given a shot. It did nothing for my anxiety when everyone cleared out of the room when she was done—and I mean really fast.
But then…
For the next ten or twenty minutes I just lay there…with nothing happening; nicht, zip, nada. Whatever that vix had given me—if she'd given me anything—it might as well have been tap water for all the effect it was having.
What the heck was going on here?
When Dr. Winters came back, I expected her to be all frustrated and stuff, the way she'd been during our last session in the Clinic. Nope, she was anxious, yeah, but in kind of a…I guess a hopeful is the way you'd put it.
We repeated the process three more times, and after each of them, her mood went up a little more. And then, after our eighth session …whoa! I've seen grand prize winners on The Price is Right who weren't that pumped. The really weird thing was when that fox nurse, Natasha, happened to mention the name, 'AKER' in her presence. When Doc Winters heard that, I swear, she looked like a witch, about to turn an enemy into a toad.
But then the next day, she was gone…no farewells, no goodbyes, just not there anymore.
Well yeah, mostly I was happy…except before she left, I really wanted to tell that stinkin' rodent what I thought of her—in graphic detail. I had never promised to be nice to her after she was done with me.
Oh well, she was gone, and that was enough, I'd settle. Gone, but not forgotten; I still had to sit for the occasional blood draw.
Gotta admit…Doc Winters knew what she was doing—or somebody did. When she took off, she left her nurse assistant behind. She was the one who drew those blood samples and checked my vitals—and I'd let HER do whatever the heck she wanted with me.
Are you kidding, Mr. Rodenberg? This corsac vix wasn't just cute, she was hot—we're talking centerfold-hot over here. Not only that, she was always getting flirty with me. Used to tell me what a brave kid I was, and how cute I looked with my new face. A coupla times she even stole kisses. Whoa, I was like…
Huh? Erin, what the…? Where you going? Hey, don't slam the door! Sheesh, Mr. Rodenberg, what the heck's wrong with her?
Green-eyed monster…what green-eyed monster? And what's so funny? Look, even then I knew that routine of hers was only to keep me in line…or maybe she just got off on being a tease. I dunno, but she was never serious about it. Later on, when Danny T. showed up, that was when she got serious—real serious.
Ahhh, I'll get into that in a few, but there's some other things I gotta talk about first. After Doc Winters left, Kieran kicked my training routine up to the next level, teaching me some of his mad fighting skillZ
Yeah, that's what I thought too—but I found out otherwise real sweet quick. It was…ahhhh, as if what I'd learned in Granite Point was basic training, and this was the advanced course. Like I said before, Kieran knew how to fight with his head, not just his teeth and claws, and now he started teaching me. The first thing he taught me—something he never stopped repeating—was to lay off the trash-talk, before and especially during a fight.
"Yer here for a Donnybrook, boy—not a debate. So can the yappin' and get to scrappin'!"
Later he taught me a little refinement; when your opponent starts in with the trash talk, that's the time to go after him. He also taught me how to size up an enemy before a fight; how to read their body language, and how to anticipate their next move. I was never as good at any of that as he was, but I still like to think…
Oh, hey Erin…you okay? Well, you don't sound fine; what the heck's the matter already?
All right, whatever. Anyway, I was just telling Mr. Rodenberg about Kieran teaching me some, uh, advanced fighting techniques.
Well, he also taught me how to adjust my strategy according to my opponent's species. F'rinstance, bobcats, lynxes, and the like all have thin skulls…so if you find yourself in a fight with a small-to-middling feline species, go for a head-shot, you follow what I'm bringing out? "Every species has their weak-spot," he always used to say.
Wel-l-l-l almost every species. One time I asked him, "What should I do if I find myself up against a wolverine?"
He told me, "RUN!"
I didn't laugh; I wasn't joking. I had never forgotten that one dude with the dirty-white paw; the one I'd encountered back at The Point.
In the meantime, Kieran also kicked my fitness program into high gear. He used to make me play Sisyphus with this tractor tire and have me climb this coconut tree while he timed me with a stopwatch. Even though mink are anything but an arboreal species, I was never able to beat his time; never even came close. Even so, I continued to improve, slowly, but surely.
Yeah-h-h, kinda goes without saying that he kept up with my computer training. But now he raised that up to another level too. One morning, he led me to the pool cabana, and a secret door, leading to a hidden basement. When he flicked on the light, there, inside a geodesic dome, was an almost exact duplicate of Brenda; the big computer set up underneath Finagles. When I asked him what the dome was for, he told me it was Furaday Cage, and explained how they work. From that moment, until I left Bulize, that cage was my computer school.
The Beast? Ahhh, my bad, I was thinking of, um...this other computer
As the days passed, they began to meld into each other; the same routine, over and over. Sometimes I couldn't remember what day of the week it was. The only break was when this big storm blew in and we had to shelter in place for a couple of days. I had almost no leisure time, and spent every single minute of it practicing guitar. Yeah, I'd been allowed to bring 'em; didn't I say?
Well anyway, this one morning I was having breakfast in my cottage, when the intercom buzzed. It was Kieran, telling me to meet him in the main house, pronto.
"Can I at least finish my…?"
"No, get over here, right now," he told me…in a voice that said I'd better move it if I knew what was good for me.
All the way there, I kept wondering what the heck I could've done wrong. As it turned out the answer was nothing—although what Kieran had to say wasn't much better. His uncle, The Mister, would be arriving in a few days.
Ohhh joy…I'd have rather spent a week in a dentist's chair than a day or two with that guy.
But then Kieran told me, "For the duration of his visit, you're confined to quarters, Dylan—meanin' you're stay inside the guest cottage and not come out for any reason." He sat back and aimed a finger. "I mean it, boy. I don't care if th' place catches fire; you stay put, y'understand?"
"Y-Yes sir," I gulped, although actually, I wasn't that bothered. The way I saw it, being grounded for a while was a small price to pay for not having to hang with The Mister-–especially if he was bringing Junior with him. (He wasn't…though I didn't find out until later.)
But when I say grounded, I mean guh-rounded! I was forbidden to use the intercom, my cell-phone was confiscated, and if anyone knocked on my door, I was to ignore them, even if they started pounding the heck out of it. Also, my window-blinds and shutters were to remain closed at all times. I could text Kieran by way of my laptop, but only in an emergency. "An' it better BE an emergency," he warned me. And…I had to wear headphones while using it, no speakers. Ditto for the TV…and especially if I wanted to practice guitar. I didn't object; what choice did I have? And even with all those conditions, I still considered it a fair trade-off.
I didn't catch The Mister's arrival—which was fine with me. He showed up in the middle of the night, while I was sleeping. I found that out when I woke up, next morning, to the sound of my laptop pinging.
That was pretty much how it went for me the whole time the boss mink was in residence. I never saw him—or anybody else during that week. I knew he was around though; at least twice I heard him throwing one of his epic conniptions. The second time, I swear…they must have heard him back in Zoo York.
And whoa, things were busy during his stay. No one ever came knocking on my door, but there was always some activity going on outside. Every day, at 10 AM sharp, a helicopter would come swooping in over the guest cottage and touch down on the pad outside the compound. And I don't mean one of your standard-issue, TV-news-type chopper, either. We're talking a king-size military transport over here. And it always took off at the same time; 6 in the evening, right on the dot.
As for me, every morning when I woke up, there were fresh provisions in the kitchen, and fresh linens, waiting on the couch. It spooked me a little at first but after a couple of days, I got used to it. I never saw who left those goods—or smelled them; they always sprayed the cottage with bio-deodorizer before they bailed.
No…I didn't get bored. I had my laptop and guitars and this was my chance to get in some serious practice—which I did.
Finally, on the eighth day, things quieted down, and the next morning I woke up to a message on my laptop, "Olly-olly-ox-in-free." Not in those words, but that was how it felt. I quickly got dressed and was just about to reach for my door when someone knocked, jackhammer-fast and just above the level of my head. Whoa-ho; that could only be Danny Tipperin.
When I opened up…yep, it was Danny all right, but I was surprised to find him there all by himself.
"Hey kid, lookin' good." he said, offering a rare smile. "How ya been?"
"Doin' great, Danny," I grinned. It was good to see that swift fox again. But then, I couldn't help looking past him. "Where's Kieran?"
"Went back to Zoo York with The Mister," he said, "I'll be taking over your training schedule from here on in." Somehow, I managed to hide my disappointment.
Nooo, Danny was an okay fox; it was just that…he was always so darn serious, about as much fun to hang with as your average funeral director. In the time I'd known him, I think I heard him laughing a grand total of five times.
Oh well, at least it wasn't Junior.
There was probably more that I could have learned from Kieran, but Danny taking his place wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He might have been a little too humorless for my tastes, but his teaching abilities were at least as good as that sea-mink's. He was no slouch himself when it came to a fight and he also knew a thing or two about how to use weapons, improvised and otherwise. He was the guy who first taught me how to use a telescoping baton. He also got me started on that obstacle course I mentioned earlier, the one that he'd designed himself. Hoo-boy, what a trip that was. Like I said earlier, it took brains and not just strength to get through that bad boy.
Well, f'rinstance, the overhead bars on the section where you have to swing across a mud-bog were set too far apart for me to reach—even by doing the catapult swing, and they'd been set that way on purpose, AND…I had to totally figure out for myself how to get across that bad boy. Danny straight up refused to give me any advice. "Gotta learn to think for yourself, kid."
Hmmmm, well…with all the rain they get in Bulize, there were umbrellas all over the Beach House. So, what I did was grab a couple and turn 'em into arm extensions…using the handle-crooks to snag the bars as I went across. Worked great—until one of those bad boys popped open on me, right when I thought I had it owned. Heh…That was the sixth time I ever saw Danny Tipperin laughing his tail off. The next day, I tried it again—but this time, I wrapped the umbrellas shut with duct-tape first, and I made it all the way across to the end.
Danny also began instructing me in strategy and tactics; how to tell if you're being followed; how to know if you've got a tracking tag on you, and how to lose it without the guy tailing you knowing you got rid of it; how to slip a message—or anything else—into someone's pocket without them noticing. A hundred-and-one ways to hide contraband on your furson, without it being discovered.
But the most valuable thing I learned from that swift-fox was a skill that only another vulpine could have taught me; how to use my magnetic sense.
Yeah, I'm serious Erin. Us foxes have the ability to navigate and locate other animals using the earth's magnetic field. It's how our wild ancestors scoped for prey under the snow—oh, don't look at me like I'm psycho or something; you know we don't play that anymore. But the thing is, all foxes have that ability. We never lost it, we just kind of forgot about it as we evolved. But it's still there—and with a little training, we can learn to use it again.
Oh yeah, it was easy-peasy for me to get the hang of it; so easy that I honestly had to wonder why I never figured it out for myself. And boy, did that skill come in handy, once I got it dialed in. It's saved me from being grabbed from behind many a time. It's got a major limitation though; only works if you're facing North—or South, if you think someone's sneaking up on your six.
That was the good part. The bad part came when Danny started training me in the use of firearms.
Ahhh, I'd call it an ordeal and a half, Mr. Rodenberg. The first few times he put a gun in my paw, I got the shakes so bad, I couldn't keep from dropping it. And this was just a dinky, little target pistol. Danny was understanding when I explained the problem, but never stopped reminding me that we were both under orders from The Mister. After a while, I lost the shakes, but a lot of times, when we finished up on the firing range, I had to run to the bathroom to hurl. No matter how many times I handled them, I just couldn't stop hating on guns.
But that wasn't the only reason I kept getting sick to my stomach. Something was happening to me, something I didn't like. You've heard me say it—whenever someone threatens me, I always come back with, "Then that's what's gonna happen." I'd had that 'tude ever since the day Kieran wrecked my face, but after my surgery, it had started to go away.
Not anymore; now that sucker was back with a vengeance. With every passing day, I cared less and less about what happened to me—and I knew what was going on. Little by little I was being turned into one of those child soldiers I'd seen in the Nelson Manedela Children's Hospital.
And that was the last place I ever wanted to go.
While all this was happening, I was keeping up on my computer training with Kieran. That was something I could do by remote. What little free time I had, I spent practicing guitar.
Except for…there was this time I found Danny futzing around with a backgammon board. I immediately told him that I played too, and how about a game? I didn't really want one, but we were due out on the firing range shortly. Anything I could do to delay that tribulation was one in the win column as far as I was concerned.
Danny just looked up at me with a bored expression. "Ahhh, I don't think so, kid. Not to toot my own horn, but I'm really good at backgammon; it wouldn't be much of a contest."
That might have put me off, if I'd actually cared about winning. But, since I didn't, I spread my arms and gave him the soulful eyes routine, "Awww, c'mon…just one little game? Who else around here knows how to play, anyway?"
"All right kid," he said, setting up the pieces and motioning for me to sit down, "ONE game, one and done."
For the first few moves, it looked like that swift fox's prediction of an easy victory was going to come true. But then the lessons I'd picked up from that old porcupine, Jasper Komeyaza, began to kick in—and the trend commenced to reverse itself. Danny won that game, but only by a whisker—and then he insisted on a rematch. I won the second match, and then the third; on our fourth go around, I smoked him. I dunno how game five would have ended, though…coz about halfway through, Danny turned the board over and stomped off, gekkering—something about, "…wasting my time on a blankety-blank KID's game!"
And the best part was, he completely forgot about our gunnery lesson for that day.
I began seeing less and less of Danny after that. Not because of that backgammon thing, but coz he was spending more and more time with Natasha. A lot of times, they'd disappear together, and even back then I knew what they were up to. Didn't mind it though, especially when it cut into my firearms training. And—no surprise—the minute she hooked up with Danny, I became the kid who wasn't there. The only time that corsac vixen even spoke to me was either to tell me to get lost, or….
Huh? What do you mean 'Whoo-Hoo?' You're getting really weird on me here, bunny-girl, you know that?
Anyway…eventually my Bulize vacation had to come to an end—and it was not something I was looking forward to. My toughest days at the Beach House were better than my best ones in Zoo York.
The ax finally fell when Danny showed up late for dinner one evening—and plopped himself so hard into his chair, it would have broken if it hadn't been carved out of blackwood. This was not his usual behavior, so I asked him what was wrong.
"We've been ordered back to Zoo York!" he snarled—and then attacked his meal like a wild fox on a lizard.
Awwwww, nuts! I began to slide out of my chair.
"Huh, where you going, kid?" Danny glared at me over a mouthful of food.
"T-To start packing," I answered, totally bewildered.
He swallowed and reached for his glass, still giving me the eye. "Not now, ya little idiot; Saturday. Siddown and finish eating."
Nahhh, how could I blame him for getting his crank on, when I felt exactly the same way? I didn't wanna leave the Beach House either. And for sure, I was in no hurry to hook up with The Mister again.
'Course that swift fox had even more reasons for wanting to stay than me…one in particular, if you follow what I'm bringing out.
Heh, that's what he thought…until he broke the news to Natasha. She was sad but not heartbroken. She told Danny how much she admired his mind, how she was going to miss him, and wished they could have spent more time together. "Call me when you get back to Zoo York, give it a week." she said, "and always remember…whatever else happens we'll always be the best of friends." And then she kissed him on the cheek.
Danny came away from that meeting ready to take the head off of anyone who got too close to him. I had no idea why at the time—but I know now, heh-heh.
We didn't fly directly back to Zoo York. We took a helicopter up to Cozumel Island and flew to Pawston on this charter flight, tagging along with a bunch of college-kids.
Yeah…they were on their way home from Spring Break. Yeesh, what a rowdy bunch, I didn't get a wink of sleep on that flight. When we landed at Logan we had to wait until the kids got off before we disembarked—by way of the luggage compartment in a pair of packing crates. From there, we were taken to a dockyard where we switched over to a limousine for the drive back to Barklyn.
I had no idea what all the secrecy was for. Danny didn't know either and it made him uncharacteristically edgy.
This time, we were driven directly to Finagles. When we exited the limo, I expected to be hustled straight into The Mister's presence, but nope…not this time. I was brought down to my room and told, once again, not to leave the basement for any reason, except mealtimes.
Ah well…at least this time I could eat in the break-room after the club closed down for the night. I had access to The Beast too—but only when Kieran wasn't using it.
Yeah, he was there—but after welcoming me back to Zoo York, I barely saw him. Same thing with Danny; he was always too busy to talk to me; they both were. In fact, so was everybody. All that week, Finagles was like a dang beehive, always something going on. More than a few times, I was confined to my room for an indefinite period, no explanation given. I spent a lot of that week either exercising or practicing on my guitar.
I didn't have to be the sharpest knife in the drawer to be aware that something big was in the works. I was dying to find out what—but if I didn't know by then when to keep my fox-trap shut, I'd never get the drift.
Finally, eight days after my arrival back in Barklyn, Kieran came knocking, to tell me that The Mister wanted to see me in his office.
"Dunno what for, Dylan, but I can say this at least, he's not mad at ye."
"Ah, thanks, Kieran," I said, rolling off my bed. I was trying to sound grateful, but as cold comfort goes, that was stinkin' ARCTIC.
What I saw after we left the basement, did nothing for my peace of mind. Finagles had been as busy as Black Friday all week…but now it was like totally deserted. No kidding; you would have thought there'd been a bomb-scare, the place was so empty.
Outside The Mister's office, the usual line of wiseguys waiting to be called was nowhere to be seen and we entered without knocking. When we got inside, there he was, sitting behind his desk. He was alone, except for his bodyguard, Lefty…who seemed to be trying his darndest to pretend he couldn't see me.
"Hey kid," the boss mink greeted me with a wave, "long time, no see, huh? You're looking good over here."
For a second, I was too stunned to respond. No, WAY would I have said the same for him—the guy was a total wreck. The last time I'd seen him he'd at least been able to stand unassisted. Now, he was confined to a wheelchair and hooked up to an oxygen tank—and he looked something like 50 pounds heavier than the last time I'd seen him. Holy foxtrot…what the heck had he been doing to himself while I'd been down in Bulize?
But then, he spoke the magic words, breaking the spell. "Sit down, fox-kid, I got work for you."
Ouch! I'd suspected something like this was coming, ever since Danny had told me we were heading back to Zoo York. But still, it hit me like a hornet sting.
When The Mister saw my reaction though, he waved a dismissive paw. "Naw, nothing like you were doing before, fox-kid; you'll be making a delivery and a pickup in another city; drop off a package in a prearranged location, and grab another one to bring back here." Without giving me time to digest this, he leaned across his desk. "Think you can handle that?" His eyebrows were halfway to the ceiling
"Sure, no sweat," I told him. I would have said 'yes,' no matter what. But yeah…that sounded like something I could manage.
And I wouldn't have to hurt anyone—even better.
"Fine," he nodded, looking halfway pleased. "You'll get the details later. Right now, nephew, take him back to his room."
And that was that; I had been in his office for maybe a minute, if that long.
The next morning, after breakfast, Kieran had me meet him in one of the downstairs conference rooms for a more detailed rundown of my mission. This didn't surprise me in the slightest. Like many another crime-boss, The Mister never gave orders directly, not for big assignments anyway. It made it that much harder to trace the scheme back to him, if things went south.
Even then, Kieran didn't tell me much more than his uncle had; only that I'd be flying to another city and delivering a backpack to a prearranged drop-site, where I'd be picking up a slightly bigger one to bring back to Finagles. He never told me when I'd be leaving, which city I'd be going to, or what I'd be carrying.
About the first one, I didn't have a clue…but I could guess the third, and that gave me an idea about the second one. Diamonds, I was about 80% sure it was gonna be conflict diamonds.
Well…a lot of it was a hunch, but I knew The Company traded in those bad boys; there isn't a gunrunner on the planet that won't take diamonds as payment for an arms shipment. That also gave me a clue as to my destination. Los Antelopes; the Mister had sent diamonds there in the past…or, that's what I'd heard anyway.
Yeah, I know…why send those stones 3000 miles away when you're sitting on top of the biggest diamond exchange in the country? That was another thing about The Mister; he never did business locally. If you were based in Zoo York and wanted to buy guns from him, you were straight out of luck. "I got enough headaches with that fisher-cop as it is," I heard him say once.
Anyway, I was only half right. Yeah, it was diamonds, but it wasn't LA—although how was I supposed to know? Up until then, the Mister had never done business in Zootopia, at least not that I knew of.
As the days went by, I began to get further details of my assignment, always in bits and pieces, and always from different guys. Only rarely did the Mister even mention that gig, and even then, he never referenced it directly.
He did, however, return to a familiar theme.
"That thing you're doing kid? Just so you know, it's a test to see how well you can handle yourself. Do good…and good things will happen for you." And then he leaned across his desk, scowling, "Mess up…and you know what'll happen, right?"
Yeah, I knew…Granite Point, the first time he'd even alluded to that place since my fight with the Stalinzhkiy.
Ahhh, not really, Erin…I'd been warned, several times—by Kieran and especially by Danny, "Don't be fooled, kid. The Mister's gratitude always comes with an expiration date."
The only other times the boss mink ever mentioned my assignment was to reassure me, "Don't worry; they won't search no kid." Coming from him, that did little to bolster my confidence.
Something that did help was when Kieran dropped by my room with a 'specially modified' cell phone for me to take along—one he'd equipped with several apps to use, 'in case of emergency.' That made me feel better; I had yet to use one of his gadgets that wasn't 100% reliable.
I didn't see him much after that, but I saw a lot of Danny, who constantly drilled me in how to handle my assignment, always ambushing me with questions about what to do in case of…'friction' as he called it. What do I do if someone on the plane starts asking me about my parents? What do I do, if someone tries to snatch my backpack…or what if they try to rob me at gunpoint? How do I handle it if the plane has to make an emergency landing at another airport? What if, when I go to make the exchange, the other package isn't there? He just about drove me bonkers with his nonstop Spanish Inquisition.
Yeah, yeah…nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition, nyuck, nyuck, nyuck. You know, Mr. Rodenberg…I expect that kind of thing from Erin, but not from YOU.
Nope…the one time I asked him, he said, I'd be told where I was headed later—and I knew better than to ask a second time. I was pretty sure, though, that I'd guessed wrong about Los Antelopes. Other than that, I didn't have a clue.
One afternoon, while I was practicing my hacking skills on The Beast, Kieran came rushing in, breathing like he'd just run an ultrathon.
"Oi," he gasped, "Should've looked here fir…never mind…get to your room boy, right now!"
"What…?" I began to slide out of the chair, "What…?"
"Shaddup and MOVE kid! They'll be here any…"
"Who'll be…?" I almost asked, and then dropped to all fours and bolted for my den. Darting inside, I shut the door behind me…and immediately heard something heavy being moved in front of it. Not to keep me in—I'm pretty sure of that now, but to keep my door from being spotted.
The next thing I heard was Kieran's voice from outside, "An' no messin' round on yer guitar, boyo; keep it down in there."
And then he was gone. I spent the rest of the day alone in my room, keeping the noise to a minimum. I didn't hear much from outside, either…It could have been an hour after closing time, it was so darn quiet upstairs.
When I was finally let out the next morning, I was given no explanation for my internal exile, nor did I expect one. I'd never been told why I was being cloistered any of the other times either.
Except…this thing had been different. Nobody had ever blocked off the door like that before, and I'd never felt such an air of urgency either. Not only that, this was the first time, no one had brought me anything to eat or drink. Good thing I kept an ice chest stocked with goodies in my room, for just such an emergency. In any case, I wasn't going to ask why I'd been put in limbo. I did, however, learn something else, later on that evening—when Danny finally revealed the name of my destination.
"Zootopia?" I remember asking, "Where the heck's Zootopia?"
He groaned and proceeded to fill me in on my destination city. It turned out he had lived there once…only briefly, but he knew the place fairly well.
"You gotta watch out for the ZPD, kid. They're sharp…and almost every single one of their officers is as straight as a foxin' flag pole. You try to offer a payoff in that city and you'll wind up behind bars so fast, you'll catch cold from the breeze.
I didn't think…I hoped it wouldn't come to me having to explain things to a ZPD officer, but I nodded just the same. After giving me another 'lightning quiz', Danny left me and let me finish my dinner.
It was typical of the way The Mister rolled that he saved the bombshell for last. The next day Kieran summoned me down to the Beast Room—not for a computer lesson, but because it was the most secure part of the basement. When I got there, he sat me down and opened a cabinet, coming back with a clear plastic tube, about the side of a mini-penlight. Inside were a pair of marble-size translucent pellets, one red, one blue. Setting it down on his worktable, he slipped on a pair of surgical gloves, and twisted it open, shaking them out into his paw.
"Right, Sea…err Dylan; this is somethin' very important." He held up the pellets between his thumb and forefinger, "Ye'll be takin' some o' these with ye on yer 'errand', so pay very close attention."
I did…to him, not the pellets; my red flags were flying everywhere. He sounded about as happy as a guy trying to explain how he lost all his money in a card game—and he had never, ever messed up on my name before. I had no idea what was going on, but it wasn't anything good.
Meanwhile, Kieran went on with his briefing, still wearing that same, mournful expression.
"I won't be givin' em to ye now, boy, but ye need to know what these are and how they work," He leaned in close, lowering his voice to an even more unhappy near-whisper. "If it were up t' me, you wouldn't be getting 'em at all. But ye know how 'tis; orders are orders."
Ohhh, yeah…I knew all right. In fact, I had already guessed it was something like that.
"I getcha," I said; what else could I do?
Kieran nodded back, and then set the pellets back down on his worktable, pointing to each of them in turn.
"That blue one there is what they call Nighthowler, and the red one's Morningmew, both suspended in a solution of Dimethyl Sulfoxide."
I had no idea what any of that meant, but I nodded as if I understood every word. Kieran returned it and pointed to the Morningmew pellet. "If an animal gets hit with one of these red 'uns, it'll send 'em into a full-blown panic attack, they'll run through electrified razor-wire to get away from you."
"And…what's the other one do?" I asked. I didn't really want to know, but I couldn't help it.
Kieran grimaced before answering me. "It…It'll make 'em go berserk, boy," he looked away for a second, "Not unlike what happens t' you when someone grabs yer from be…Whoop, ye all right, Dylan?"
I had shrunk back in my chair so fast that it had gone over backwards. A drug that could do to someone else what being grabbed from behind did to me? I was shaking all over as I got to my feet. It was my worst fear on steroids.
And that wasn't all. Next, I was informed that the effects of Nighthowler—and Morningmew—were permanent.
There was, however, one little piece of good news.
"Either one of these pellets will cancel out the effect of the other, Dylan. Simply put, they're antidotes for each other. Hit someone with Nighthowler, an' they'll come right back to normal if ye give 'em the Morningmew."
Ohhh, that was at least a small relief. But then he said something so weird, I had to ask him to repeat it.
He wasn't thrilled. "Oi, what'd I say about paying attention? One more time, you are not to mention any of what I'm telling ye here to anyone—not even me uncle, or it won't go well for you." He sat back and folded his arms. "Did you hear me that time?"
"Loud and clear," I answered, quickly, nodding like a bobblehead. I had just been threatened with The Point again, something I'd never heard before, from either him or Danny T.
"Good," he said, lightening back up a little. "Needless t'say, you're to use them only in case of an extreme emergency—as a last resort, period."
"How am I supposed to deliver them?" I asked, genuinely puzzled. Okay, I'd follow orders like a good, little child-soldier—but what was I supposed to do with those stupid pellets, throw them at an enemy? And there was another, bigger problem, but I'd get to that in a minute.
Kieran sighed and rubbed his temple with his knuckles, "'Fraid, you'll just have to improvise, boyo. We can't have ye on a commercial flight, carryin' anything that looks like it might be a weapon."
Okay-y-y, that made sense, but still…
"Yeah…all right, but what if I get any of that stuff on me?" It was my worst-case scenario, squared.
For the first time that morning, Kieran actually smiled.
"No worries there, boyo. Neither one of those nasties will have any kind of effect on ye; you're completely immune—to both of 'em."
"Wha…HOW?" I wanted to ask. But before I could get the words out, an epiphany came over me like a tidal wave.
Dr. Winters, The Clinic…what she'd done when I'd seen her again at the Beach House. Somehow, her experiments had rendered me impervious to both of those drugs—but AKER had never found out because she'd been fired before she could check the results.
That is…until she'd gone to work for The Company.
Yes, yes…I understood now, the tests she'd run on me, down in Bulize, the way she'd acted after each of them. It all fit perfectly.
It also explained why Kieran had told me never to talk about it. Once again, The Mister wasn't taking any chances; he absolutely didn't want AKER to discover that Doctor Dormouse's experiments on me had been a success.
And for once, we were both on the same wavelength. If I'd known that to begin with, Kieran's little implied threat would have been totally unnecessary. I didn't want AKER to know I was immune to those bad boys either; who knew what they'd do if they found out?
"Ye know, don't ye?" Kieran's somber voice brought me back down to ground level. "Ye KNOW, it was Dr. Winters, made yer like that."
Yeah," I said, although…as much as I wanted to use that blankety-blank dormouse for stickball practice, I couldn't entirely blame her for my situation. My encounter with Crazy Wez in the Johnstone Campus had left me with more than just a crooked muzzle…a lot more!
And without that, Doc Winters would never have taken an interest in me.
"Right," Kieran slapped his knees and got to his feet, a sign that he had nothing more to say. But, before I could turn to leave, he proved me wrong, "It's the day after tomorrow, Dylan—in the late afternoon. Ye'll get yer final instructions then."
For a second, I was relieved. At last, the other hoof had dropped. Okay…day after tomorrow, Sunday…
That was as far as my train of thought went before it hit a major downgrade, rushing along at breakneck speed. Only now did I understand the gravity of my assignment. This would be my biggest job yet for The Mister—one that would take me to a strange city, about which I knew practically nothing. What if the ZPD caught me…or the MSA? I'd be on the fast-track back to Granite Point if that happen. even faster if I messed up and The Mister found out. The more I tried to suppress my thoughts, the faster they came; it was like I was caught in a game of Bop-a-Bunny…Ow!
What the heck was that for, Snowdrop? I didn't invent that stupid game; I never even played it.
Anyway…somehow, I managed to keep my worries to myself, no mean trick around Kieran McCrodon. He knew me really well by then. "Right…off y'go," he said, waggling his fingers at the doorway, "Back t' yer room."
I got up quickly, thanking God or whoever. I couldn't have held my anxieties back much longer. And what he told me next didn't make it any easier. "Get plenty of rest, tonight and tomorrow; ye'll be needin' it,"
Yeah, yeah… like I was EVEN gonna be able fall asleep after what I'd just heard—tonight or tomorrow. I turned and laid for the door, wanting to get the heck out of there before he could drop any more blockbusters.
He didn't…and as soon as it closed behind me, I bolted back to my room, as fast as my feet would take me.
Author's Note:
Kits for Cash was inspired by an actual event, Kids for Cash, which took place in Luzerne County PA in the late 2000's.
From Wiki:
"The Kids for Cash scandal centered on judicial kickbacks to two judges at the Luzerne County Court of Common Pleas in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania.
In 2008, judges Michael Conahan and Mark Ciavarella were convicted of accepting money in return for imposing harsh adjudications on juveniles to increase occupancy at a private prison operated by PA Child Care.
Ciavarella disposed thousands of children to extended stays in youth centers for offenses as trivial as mocking an assistant principal on Myspace or trespassing in a vacant building. After a judge rejected an initial plea agreement in 2009, a federal grand jury returned a 48-count indictment. In 2010, Conahan pleaded guilty to one count of racketeering conspiracy and was sentenced to 17.5 years in federal prison. Ciavarella opted to go to trial the following year. He was convicted on 12 of 39 counts and sentenced to 28 years in federal prison."
Like their counterparts in this story, the judges involved in the Kids for Cash grift repeatedly advised defendants to forego being represented by counsel. Since learning of the sandal, I've become a hardcore opponent of privatized prisons. However…
It should be pointed out that, unlike the events described in this story, it was the judges who were instigators of the Kids For Cash scheme, not the private corrections corporation.
You can learn more by Googling 'Kids For Cash Scandal.'
The idea of Conor and the other orphaned kids being used as test subjects for pharmaceuticals is entirely fictitious, and entirely my own. It has its origins in a conversation on the Discord Server, Zootopia Science Discussion—in which the question was posed that if non-sentient mammals don't exist in the Zootopia universe, what do they use for lab animals?