

The Canes Files

## The Life and Crimes of Detective Barker written by Scott Moore

## The Adventures of Vulpecula written by McConnaughay

# Thank you.

The Life and Crimes of Detective Barker

Episode One

The Water Lily

1.

The white building stood like a snowflake in a desert. It was so out of place, that it was always the first thing noticed about the city. Not that the city was known for anything else. It was unlikely the city would have ever been on the map, if not for the church of the Water Lily. It was still within memory, if you were older, a time that the city was only a town, and nothing more.

The white building was a symbol of growth. It was also the case for the most expensive religious artifact ever known; the Water Lily. The Water Lily was best known for being the last piece of God's gift. Which was supposedly a necklace given to his only lover? It was quite sad that the necklace remained, and was given a name, but the woman was never known.

It was this building that Sanec Barker stood in front of now. Looking into the high glass paned windows, sure that the shapes were supposed to be images, but unable to make them out. He glanced up the stairs and put his paw forward.

Barker was a detective and the only of his kind on the squad. Not quite the only dog, but most surely the only Doberman. This fact made him even more noticeable around the precinct, which settled just right with him. Better to stick out, lest you be lost in the shuffle of things.

Barker stopped a brief moment and fixed his collar. It was nothing fancy, but he had spent his first full paycheck on the suit. This act had been years ago, but it still fit him quite nicely.

He looked over the outside of the building again. He was sure he wasn't missing anything. He had viewed the building a hundred times, if not more. He was just being careful, it was better to leave nothing behind.

He started to move up the white stairs again. He wondered at the effort it must take to keep this building clean. He had played a part in that cleaning once before, but he didn't bother to think about that now. Instead, he continued to the two white doors.

At the top of the stairs, he could hear the voices of other detectives in his squad. He picked out Psitticus quite easily. His voiced squawked, which made sense, with him being a parrot and all. Barker put his paw on the handle of the door but stopped hearing a new voice.

"The room has no windows. It also has no real door." Barker held his pause. The voice was not one of the detectives. "What do you mean it has no door?" That voice was Lucky. "Well, it has another type of entrance," The other voice replied.

"I am not sure we are following," that was Psitticus again. "Well, come on it is easier if I just show you." Barker took the cue. He wasn't going into the room yet. He turned and plopped down on the top step.

It wasn't his style to go into the room with the other detectives. He liked to see things alone. To get a feel for the situation on his terms, plus the room wasn't that big of a secret.

Every year, thousands of people lined the street out in front of the church. They did so with hopes of being part of the chosen few. Every year for the past three hundred years the day of the Water Lily was celebrated by the church. And every year hundreds of families were chosen to be blessed by the Water Lily.

In a ceremony that would last most of the day, the gem was placed in a bath of water. It was then removed quickly, and placed back into the supposed impenetrable room. The water was transported into the main section of the church. The blessed families who had the fortune to have pew seats were then blessed. The word fortune here not meaning luck, but quite literally the funds to buy the pews, Barker wondered how holy this could really be.

Barker checked his watch. The families would be arriving with the sun. It was four in the morning. The police had less than two hours to figure this out.

"Nothing in there, we could stay here for hours, but there is nothing there." Psitticus was saying. Barker stood dusting the back of his pants. The doors to the church opened and Barker started to move up the stairs. "Morning gentlemen," he said to the two men.

Lucky looked down at his feet. The man had trouble making eye contact with anyone; especially Barker, who always held his head up high. "Well, you have missed the grunt work, Barker." Psitticus was never one for a greeting. His attitude matched his feathers; loud! "Good to see you too," Barker said while fixing his collar.

"There is nothing in there," Lucky said to his shoes. "Well, that would seemingly be the case. Which is why the church has called us in the first place," Barker said. Lucky kicked at something imaginary with the tip of his loafer.

Barker turned back towards the parrot. "Quit being cute, did you not get the call? Were you doing something more important than your job, Barker?" Psitticus had a gleam of anger in his eye, but that was always there.

Barker shrugged, "Just figured I could clean up what you guys messed up." Barker didn't stand on the pier any longer. He brushed passed Lucky, even though there was plenty of room. He then pushed open the white church doors. It was now his turn to evaluate.

2.

The inside of the church left nothing to be desired. The pews were stripped in a trim of gold. Barker guessed it was real. The men and women who paid to sit here funded their golden thrones. He moved out from the overhang by the doors. Here in the middle of the chapel, the ceiling rose at least fifty feet overhead.

Barker would have been amazed at the structure, but he had witnessed it all before. He didn't even bother to think on the mosaic above him. Instead, out of habit, he ran his hand across the back of a pew and moved towards the altar.

"Can I be of any assistance, sir?" Barker recalled the voice. Without turning he knew it must be the Priest. He noticed something else about the voice, it wasn't from the city. Barker turned and rearranged his collar.

"Of course," he said with an over-enthused voice. "I am Detective Barker." He held out his paw. The Priest was white-haired and thin. That wasn't what stood out to Barker though; it was that smell of cat that lingers in the air. Barker almost pulled back his paw but held a respectful professionalism instead.

"Detective? Not with the prior group?" the Priest asked. Barker shook his head, as the cat took his paw and shook. The handshake was brief, but Barker felt all the more disgusted for it. He thought of wiping his paw on his suit but refrained due to the white hairs. Instead, he mocked leaning on the pew and rubbed the stray hairs into the lining.

"You see, unlike those detectives, I will actually be able to solve the case." The Priest laughed like he had gotten an inside joke. Barker stood stone-faced because he was not a comedian. The cat laughed alone for only a brief moment, and then pulled on the hem of his sleeve, looking rather abashed.

"Yes, well, of course. You will want to see the room of the Water Lily then?" Barker restrained from walking past the Priest. He, of course, knew where the room was. Instead, he nodded and followed.

"Where do you originate from, Priest?" Barker asked with an emphasis on the last word. The cat did not turn from his stride. "Just over the mountains," he answered. To Barker this meant nothing. There were many mountains everywhere. Barker couldn't place the accent. Maybe Jalint?

"How long have you been here?" Barker put on a conversational prose. The Priest turned into a small hallway. "This will be my first celebration of the Water Lily. I have done many mock celebrations. This will be the first year with the actual gem." The cat sounded excited and nervous. "Unless the gem continues to be lost that is." The excitement had left his voice altogether with the last statement.

When they stopped in front of a small white panel, Barker knew they had arrived at the room of the Water Lily. He could have opened the panel on his own, but instead, he waited for the Priest. "This has never been shown to another population of people. You and the other detectives are the first aside from the church to ever see this panel open." Barker nodded.

He was unsure if the cat had meant to impress him. He hated to inform the cat, but he was not impressed. The door was a simple hatch lock. It wasn't even difficult to find. The off-white portion of the panel was a push spring. If you put the right amount of pressure onto the spring the door opened. If pressed too hard, or too soft, then the door would set off a silent alarm to the Priest's sleeping chamber.

The Cat pressed his paw into the small section. The panel clicked and the Priest moved it to the side. "Simple, really," he said. Barker nodded. To think this was their special guard. Oh, how lucky he must be to see it.

He pushed passed the cat. He would have to dry clean his suit later. Inside the room was much the same, very unimaginative. Barker ran his paw across the wall. His hand came back with more white hairs. Cat's shed like leaves in the fall, he thought.

The center of the white room produced a small pedestal. It would have normally been the home to the Water Lily. Today, it was as bare as the white walls surrounding it. Barker paused before it and gave the room another glance.

It really was a shame that the room was so dull. Barker had witnessed the breathtaking beauty of the Water Lily, and this room did it little justice.

"So, the gem was just gone this morning?" Barker asked, not turning from the stand. The cat had not entered the room with him. "Late last night or early morning, it is not allowed for a timepiece inside the church."

Barker turned. He had not known this small fact. That bugged him. He didn't like to not know the small details. "No way to tell the time?" Barker asked. He tried to remember any device on the walls of the church, but there had been none. "Why?" Barker asked. The Priest shrugged. "It is not in the cannon if you look for it. Rather it is a custom of the Water Lily. There is no time that the Water Lily is not the most important piece of our lives."

He wondered how many followed this custom. It seemed rather pointless to Barker. Then again, he had never been accustomed to any religion.

"I see, why don't you step into the room and show me where you were standing." Barker waited a moment for the Priest who looked nervous. "I am afraid I cannot do this." He said. "Do you not believe in the floor either? Can you not tell me where in space you were?" The cat shook his head. "Of course, we believe in temporal resolution even without a timepiece. We are also aware of spatial dimensions." Barker grew impatient. "Then?" the one word was enough to convey aggravation, Barker hoped.

He waited and as he did he adjusted his collar. The habit was old, but one he could not break. "I cannot enter the room with you." Barker dropped his paw from his neck. "There is plenty of room," he said and waved his hand. "I see the space. It is another custom. Only one person in the room of the Water Lily at any time," he said.

Barker stopped from sighing. This church was about as annoying as any other. "Fine, then just inform me with your words." The cat instead pointed and Barker stepped into the appropriate spot. This was all for show. Barker didn't need to know where the Priest had stood. How would that even help? It was just to give his madness a form. A method if you will. Something of substance; to sink one's teeth into.

He shook his head up and down. The cat would believe him to be in some deep thought. Barker moved around the stand. "Anyone else with you?" Barker leaned down and noticed brown hairs at the bottom of the stand. "No, like I said only one into the room at a time." Barker nodded. "Of course, just protocol." He looked up with sympathetic eyes to the cat. It was always good to have their trust.

"So, you came from the mountains? Lonely trip?" Barker asked as he stood and dusted his pants. "You could say," the Priest replied. "Where did they hold you up?" Barker asked conversationally. "Priesthood comes with its perks. I am staying in the eastern lot. They gave me the biggest house on the block. Those who praise the Wife of the Goddess are rewarded." Barker nodded.

He may not know the quirks, but he knew the cannon. He had made sure to skim it before arriving. It was part of the reason he trailed the other detectives. That and the night before had been a busy night.

"Well, I think I have seen what I came to see." Barker reached out his paw and shook the Priest's hand. "What do you think will happen?" the cat asked.

"I think we will find who did this. A gem worth that much leaves a trail. Many things leave a trail. You just have to have the nose for it." Barker gave the cat a wink. "If all else fails, we can just dig up a bone to put into the water. Those thousands of people wouldn't be able to tell the difference." The Priest looked at Barker with a nervous pretension. "I jest," Barker said and patted him on the shoulder.

Barker started to move alone down the hall. "I already have a plan, my dear man. Welcome to the city. I have a feeling you will be here a long time." He turned the corner and moved through the chapel. The sun had risen as he threw open the doors. The crowd had gathered. Soon they would be in frenzy. Barker soaked in the rays of the sun.

3.

The Priest hadn't been stretching the truth. The house that was allotted to him was gigantic. Considering the Priest had no family, Barker wondered what he occupied the space with.

Barker had left the church and made his way straight to the neighborhood. Those brown hairs were not from the cat. That meant someone was in the room the night before.

At first, Barker thought the hairs could be his, but on closer inspection, they were far too light. That meant someone was there before him; someone he hoped that the cat knew.

Barker stepped from the taxi and paid the driver. "No tip?" the cabby yelled towards him. "Go back to school," Barker said without turning around. He heard the wheels screech as the Taxi drove away. He paid it no mind.

The house was white with a grey roof. The church had a strange affinity with the color white it seemed. Barker moved towards the sidewalk and paused a moment.

He couldn't be sure what he would find behind those curtains. It could be anything, or it could be nothing at all. He adjusted his collar and started the trek up the path.

Instead of barging into the residence, he gave the bell a ring. He half expected no one to answer. The Priest was clearly still at the church. Probably pacing himself to death; in that white, dull room.

The door latch clicked. The handle turned from the inside. A maid? Barker wondered. The door opened half way. "Can I help you?" came a man's voice. Barker moved in closer. The man was clearly a cat as well. His brown fur struck Barker immediately. "A few questions," Barker stated and flashed his detective star.

The cat opened the door to full mast. He looked around the neighborhood. "About what?" he asked nervously. Barker motioned to be let into the house. The cat reluctantly moved to the side. With a second glance into the open world, he shut the door behind them.

"Somewhere we can sit and talk?" Barker asked. He wanted to scope the house a bit, but he could wait till later. "The sitting room," the cat motioned to be followed.

The sitting room turned out to be a small cozy room. It was lined with cushioned chairs along each wall. Barker wondered at anyone having this many guests. Then again, this was the Priest guarding the most expensive gem in the world.

"You can sit anywhere you would like," the cat said. Barker picked a chair overlooking the hall. The cat moved to sit as well but paused. "Would you like any tea?" he asked. An odd choice of beverage, Barker thought.

Tea was a southern appeal. He tried to locate a range of mountains in the south in his head. The cat stood nervously before him. "No tea," Barker said, motioning for the cat to be seated.

"I understand this to be the house of..." Barker realized he never caught the name of the Priest.

"Tiam," the cat said. Barker smiled and nodded. "Yes, the Priest." Barker did not like to be corrected. "Yes, it is indeed the home of Tiam, the Priest," the cat answered.

"May I ask what relation you are?" Barker flipped out a notepad. He didn't need notes. He didn't care what the cat had to say. He had other goals for this visit, but the book made for a good show.

"A friend," the cat replied and shifted with a nervous tension. "A live-in friend?" the cat looked around the room. Barker noticed the lack of eye contact. Something was making this cat very nervous.

"A comfort from home is all," the cat said. "I see, and what kind of comfort do you provide?" The cat stood. "I think I will get some of that tea. Are you sure you would not enjoy a cup?" Barker shook his head no. The cat slunk out of the room.

Barker stood and watched the cat from the doorway. He turned into a room further down the corridor. Barker turned the opposite direction. He had spotted stairs on his entrance to the home.

Taking them two at a time, Barker came to the landing. There were several doors to choose from; Barker did not know the layout of the home, so he chose randomly. His first choice was a poor one. A small single shower bathroom; he closed the door gently.

Moving down the hall he opened up three more room; all were bare of essentials. The fourth door though was something much better.

Barker peered into the room with a single bed. Along either wall was a small oak dresser. Barker moved in closing the door behind him. He moved closer to the bed. It was neatly made but was clearly slept in. The pillows were mashed by many nights of heavy heads.

Barker looked over the pillows. The revelation hit him like a ton of bricks. On one pillow was the white hair of the Priest cat. But on the other was the light brown hair of the cat downstairs.

This was more than a friend, Barker thought. An excitement he could barely contain crept over him. It was enough evidence to go on. He turned looking over the rest of the room. He paused on a single piece of folded notebook paper.

He unfolded it and read:

The journey will kill me. I cannot imagine a moment without you in my arms. A lifetime is not worth living if you do not follow me. I know it to be wrong, but what is right, if my heart breaks into pieces, I will not live a moment. You are the glue to my world. Please consider the journey.

Love Tiam,

Barker had found the pot at the end of the rainbow. He knew the story now. He tucked the note into his pocket. He closed the door gently and moved down the stairs.

The cat stood at the bottom waiting for him. He was holding a single glass of tea in his paw. "What were you doing, sir?" he asked, but never made eye contact.

"I had an urge to use the bathroom. I could not find one on the lower level," Barker lied. "I will be going now. I have everything I came for." The cat looked relieved. He dropped the worry from his face. "Oh, I am glad I could help," the cat said. Barker shook his head and stepped back into the open world.

The sun still shone in the sky, and Barker again found himself elated by its rays.

4.

The precinct was nothing fancy. They were sanctioned by the regular patrol by a partition. Barker on a busy day could still hear the scanner ramblings. He was accustomed to bringing in earplugs now. They also came in handy when Psitticus was rambling on.

Barker walked in through the side door. It jammed in mid-swing. "Hello?" he yelled in through the crack. "Sorry about that, Barker," Lucky said. He jumped up from his seat and moved the filing cabinet. "Just forgot to shut the drawer," he said and looked quickly away.

Barker didn't bother to talk with him. He looked into Psitticus's office. The Parrot was screeching into the phone. Barker moved towards the door.

He didn't bother to knock. Psitticus was the head detective, but only out of default. Barker sat down across from him.

Psitticus stopped in mid-sentence. "Can I help you, Barker?" he asked. Barker leaned back. "Oh no, at your leisure, sir, I am sure your mother has very important evidence for a case." Barker smiled.

"I will call you back," Psitticus paused and looked at Barker. "I love you too, mom," Psitticus hung up the phone. "This had better be good, Barker."

Barker adjusted his collar. It would be good for Psitticus to gather up some anger. Barker thought maybe a good heart attack, and he could just report to himself.

"Well, if you're not going to talk, then you can go." Psitticus started. Barker interjected. "I solved the case. While you were sitting in the office chatting." Barker propped his legs on the desk. Psitticus didn't look less angry. In fact, he was probably more flushed now.

"You solved the case?" Psitticus stumbled. His face didn't look very convinced. "Indeed," Barker said. He made sure to avoid eye contact. He knew how much Psitticus hated that fact.

"The case of the Water Lily?" Psitticus asked. Barker leaned forward. "Unless there was some other secret case, then yes, that one." Barker flashed his long white teeth. Psitticus grunted and leaned back.

"You know, Barker, you are unconventional. That would bother a lot of people. Your ego is bigger than deserved. You are insubordinate. These things would bother a lot of people." Barker tried not to smile again.

"I, on the other hand, see your work. You may put on a front, but you really dig down deep." Psitticus stood to his feet and moved around the desk. He tapped on the glass and motioned for Lucky to join them.

"Lucky, Barker here has solved the case." Lucky looked down with shame on his face. "I tried my best, sir." Psitticus wasn't listening to Lucky. No one ever did.

"So, let us hear the deduction. I want to know every detail." Barker could tell Psitticus still had no belief in him.

"I need two things from you, Psitticus." Barker slammed his legs down onto the floor. "One, I need time in the church alone. I need you to control the crowd. Because when I announce the culprit, there will be trouble." Psitticus nodded. He wasn't committing, he was still just pushing Barker's buttons.

"Two, I need you to file the paperwork to retire. Because I should be running this place," Barker stood and patted Psitticus on the shoulder. "Oh, and Three! The culprit is at the Priest house. You may want to gather him up first."

He didn't stick around to hear what Psitticus had to say. He would lay into Lucky. The poor guy was the grunt of the operation. Barker didn't care though, Psitticus was gaining on old father time, and soon Lucky could just stay at home.

Barker walked out the small precinct again into the sun. He was pleased with how nice the day turned out to be. He stretched his arms and walked up the sidewalk path.

He would meet the others at the church. Then he would solve the crime. It really was just a fantastic day.

5.

Barker had to wade through the gathering crowd. He was almost shocked no riots had started. Usually, by now the church doors would be swung open. The Priest would ramble about some nonsense. Then the gates would be opened to those whose pockets ran deepest.

Instead, the white doors stood closed. The white building vacant; aside from one scared Priest. Barker parted another small group.

They didn't bother with him. Their attention was on those doors. Rumblings were starting in small pockets, but mostly it was a calm wait.

Barker moved up the stairs and into the smallest section of the crowd. Here the crowd started to push back. This would be the section of individuals who had paid to enter. Barker pushed them back, flashing his detective star.

Some saw the badge and moved. Other's grumbled and stood their ground. Barker didn't care about their protest. He pushed on the handle of the church. It was locked from the inside. He pounded on the door with his paw.

"Open up, Tiam! This is Detective Barker." The crowd behind waited with baited breath. "Tiam, I need to speak with you now..." the door began to open. Tiam stood with stress apparent upon his face.

"Hurry in, detective," he said, not bothering to look at the growing crowd. Barker threw his paw into the air. "All will be explained soon," he announced and moved into the depths of the chapel.

"Have you found the gem?" the Priest looked disheveled. Barker thumbed his collar. "You have a nice home, Tiam," he said moving towards the golden lined pews.

"Excuse me?" the Priest said. Barker turned, running his paw across the backing. "Oh, I was just commenting on your living residence." Tiam looked confused.

"I am not sure why you are talking about my home detective?" he said, rightly confused. Barker nodded. He then reached into his pocket pulling out a small, folded paper.

"I took a trip out to your neighborhood. It is a nice place. Good neighbors, I assume?" he said, flipping the paper into his other paw. Tiam's eyes followed the paper.

"The neighbors are fine, yes. I am not sure what this has to do with the Water Lily?" he said. Barker closed his hands around the paper.

"The doctrine of the Water Lily church does not allow for marriage by a Priest, correct?" Barker asked. Tiam nodded his answer. "I thought as much. It also does not allow for relationships, correct?" again, Tiam nodded. "I see, and yet, I found something quite interesting in your residence."

Barker paused and opened his hand again. Tiam's face looked even more stressed. "How does your congression feel about same-sex relationships?" Barker asked. Tiam didn't answer. "You see, I am for them. I say to each their own. If one loves another, then love away." Barker fiddled around with the paper again.

Tiam was silent. His eyes glued to the paper in Barker's hands. "The people outside, do they feel the same?" Barker asked. He started to unfold the item in his hand. He could tell by the look in Tiam's eyes, that he recognized the writing.

"I do not know how you got that, but this is my personal property," Tiam said, his paw rising to grab the paper. Barker refolded the paper and placed it in his pocket.

"I thought as much. Now the way I see this situation concluding is one of two ways." Barker relaxed his shoulders and leaned against the pew.

"The first way and I do prefer this. The first is you go silently with me. You admit to stealing the gem. You go away into protective care. You live your days out in some remote location." Barker tapped his pocket. "Or two, and really this is gruesome. I walk out those doors and convince a thousand people you stole the gem. Because I don't need anything more." He patted his pocket again. "A foreign Priest, with a foreign lover; it is basic work. The crowd will be able to place the evidence together on their own."

Tiam shook his head. "I didn't do it." He said. Barker shrugged his shoulders. "No one ever does." He said. Tiam adamantly shook his head. "They will believe I didn't do it!" he was bordering hysterical.

Barker patted his pocket again. "I am afraid not Tiam. People are very unforgiving. Better to count your losses. I'll tell you what. You go in quietly I will even let the brown cat walk free. No one will be the wiser of your relationship." Tiam stopped his head shaking.

"You will keep silent about him?" Barker shrugged. "I can do at least that." Tiam paused a moment. Barker pushed off from the pew. "We can go through the back way. I am sure you will be wanting to avoid the crowd."

A few minutes under the twenty that Barker had asked for, Tiam the cat walked through the back door of the church. Waiting outside was detective Psitticus with a look of shock on his face. Barker passed the cat to the bird. "You will find him very open to questioning," Barker said. Psitticus nodded and took the cat.

"Remember your promise, detective." The cat said. Psitticus paused. "Promise?" he asked. Barker shrugged and turned away. "I will calm the crowd. Move them on their way." He said. Then he turned into the rays of the sun, walking back towards the front of the church.

6.

The Priest, Tiam, confessed to everything an hour later. Barker wrote up the report. Lucky was instructed to drive Mr. Brown Cat home. He would be leaving for the mountains by nightfall. The others were still confused how he fits, but Barker kept his word.

Tiam was taken off to some remote lockdown. Barker would never hear from him again. As for the Water Lily, it was long gone from the church. It would probably make someone a lot richer someday.

"Good job, Barker," said Psitticus. Barker looked up from his report. "When have you known me to fail?" Barker said. The parrot shrugged. "Like I said, Barker, if it wasn't for your track record, you would be a homeless beggar." Psitticus moved around to the other side of the desk.

"Lucky has not made it back?" he asked. Barker looked up again. He didn't keep track on the dopey fellow. He shrugged. "Do you see him?" he added.

"Just strange, that house isn't but ten minutes from here." He flipped open his phone. "No calls," Psitticus looked out the window. "Oh well, probably just traffic." He put his phone back into his pocket. "Good job again, Barker," he said and closed the door to his office behind him.

Barker sighed and leaned back. He had finished the report already. He was just not interested in the conversation skills of that yapping bird.

He looked back making sure Psitticus was comfortable in his chair. His head was down, and his eyes shut. That meant he wasn't moving for the next few hours. Barker stood and grabbed his hat. Fixing his collar, he stepped out into the night air.

The rays of the sun were gone. Barker had solved another case. Soon things would be different for this little hole in the wall. Barker swung his coat across his shoulders and walked off into the night.

7.

News Day Report:

A fatal car crash has been reported:

Detective Lucky was found in a single car accident this evening. His remains were identified by his Chief, Detective Psitticus. Any other details will be forthcoming soon.

The Adventures of Vulpecula

Episode One

The Grand Illusion

1.

Stillness befell the winds, and a settled, lukewarm temperature brushed up against the fur of nearby bystanders. Say what you will, the meteorologists yelled to the skies that this day would mark the end of Acera's frivolous weather patterns, and that seemed to be the case. Vulpecula Noel took complete refuge in these ideas of grandeur, taking a rarity and putting his faith in optimism. He had grown tired of the weather and its inconsistencies, being unable to decide between rain, misting, sleet, heavy winds, or even snow-storms.

Spring was upon them, and he and his friends welcomed it with open-arms.

Above all else, Vulpecula wanted to return to work on his cases. While still considered a rookie when it came to his detective work, because his father was Hensley Noel, it wasn't too difficult for him to get clientele.

However, in recent days, clarity came, and he found that the weather meant even criminals didn't feel like leaving the house. He did have one case though, in the rainy weather which he found to be an absolute experience. There is something to be said for the thinkers that did their work inside of small cubicles or bedrooms, but Vulpecula wasn't one of them.

He couldn't sit still very well, and it just wasn't for him.

Thankfully, the sun was once again ready to shine upon them and without further ado, the good fortune would continue as Vulpecula was even welcomed with a case.

"Everything feels so much merrier outside now, it's funny but one really does feel happier in the summertime." Apus confessed, beholding the scenery filled with trees beside houses and a steady number of vehicles carrying traffic on the roads. There was never too much traffic in Acera; after all, it is the smallest of the five major cities in Maharris.

"There is never anything to do when its wet out, just cooped in a cruddy room at a hotel all day," Lacerta retorted.

Vulpecula hardly thought that the hotels at the Sidian Inn were cruddy but cared too little to argue. Instead, Vulpecula stared down at the sidewalk before him, noticing all the cracks and crevices, while, at the same time, trying to approximate how much further they would have to go.

"I think there is probably something psychological about it, I mean, besides merely that someone isn't able to go outside. The obstruction of the sun probably induces a feeling of pessimism that carries itself in each person."

Vulpecula found himself once again throwing strong recognition over Apus' intelligence, citing it as a strong attribute in the trio's problem-solving capabilities. However, once more, he cared not about the discussions that they were having. And so, he spoke: "Where is this McKinley Halls, and are we getting anywhere closer to it?"

"It won't be much further now, it isn't far, and after all, we've only been walking for a couple of minutes." Lacerta responded at once, then, turned his head away from Vulpecula and back to the sidewalk ahead of them.

Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot ... Vulpecula took a moment to appreciate that all three of their footsteps had become synchronized. Noel was feeling admittedly antsy, wanting so desperately to have something to sink his teeth into.

"Apus, you received this email from Eric Leon, correct?" Vulpecula began and ended, before starting up once more without waiting for an answer. "Eric Leon messaged last night at around eleven o'clock at night and said, as follows, excluding formal salutations: 'I am writing this because I know that Vulpecula has proven dignified in his short tenure in dealing with unknown mysteries. While I have only read what the newspapers will share with me, I believe that you will likely find this one to be the strangest of all the cases that you have experienced. The sensitivity of this case is all too noteworthy to discuss the confines in a message over the internet.' Then, of course, it is followed by the closing remarks, as well as information about McKinley Halls, is that correct?"

"Amazing," Apus starts out before Lacerta interrupts. "You can remember word-for-word something that Apus read out to both of us, but can't name the mayor of Acera, a place that you have lived for all of your life?"

"Lacerta, I can't even remember what I had for breakfast before we left," Vulpecula admitted shamelessly. It was true, Vulpecula had the memory of an elephant, but the unfortunate truth is that the elephant had long been dead. What did the attentive detective say when the elephant tried to stealthily trample past him? He didn't say anything because he didn't even notice. And this was the biggest reason out of all of them that Lacerta and Apus were necessary elements in the Vulpecian formula.

"I didn't have an opportunity to acquire Rescue's Tribune, I'm afraid, so we'll be going into this blindly." Apus confessed.

"As I prefer, ... the Rescue Tribune is filled with propaganda in the same ways as the newspapers printed out by the Canes Vinatici were, the only difference is Rescue does the courtesy of actually trying to obscure itself."

"Rescue Tribune has written many articles about our successes so far, they did a full-page article telling about how we solved our first case, and since then, all of our cases have at least been given short-summaries." Apus pointed out confidently.

"In the same articles writing about our successes, they referred to yours truly as 'nonsensical and unnecessarily rebellious'."

They arrived at McKinley Halls after more minutes of small discussion and beheld the audacity that the building carried with it. Vulpecula hadn't really known what to expect, but for whatever reason, he never once gave thought to the idea McKinley Halls might be a fair-sized theater. There was a big sign at the top of the building that said 'McKinley Halls' with a sculpture of a human sitting in a chair eating popcorn on top of it. Vulpecula couldn't help but find some amusement in the idea of human sitting in a chair and watching a movie. Below the sign and the sculpture was a marquee which read as such:

Welcome to McKinley Hall Theater!

Home of the Magnets!

We Are Currently Closed.

While Vulpecula knew very little about theater, he had heard of the Magnets, a traveling troupe composed exclusively of Acera-born performers that specialized in various forms of entertainment. He recalled them being described as over-the-top, excessive, and bizarre in many of their methods of showmanship, oftentimes capitalizing on the spectacle of shock-value. Evidently, McKinley Halls is where they liked to perform most often. Before even being given the chance to attempt and see if the front-entrance door was unlocked, they were welcomed in by a doorman wearing an overcoat and top-hat. The suited penguin politely let them into the building and said that they had been expecting them.

They were swiftly introduced to a unique and small stature fellow with an ensemble which featured minutiae in its confines. He wore lavender dance shoes with noticeable sparkling silver on the laces; he wore an elegant-looking bright-red coat that had sigils and emblems scattered about, giving him the look of somebody of royalty. His leggings complimented the coat nicely in-color, but up-close, Vulpecula could see for certain that they were spandex, meant for easy maneuvering. With this, Vulpecula was easily able to assume that he was in the presence of an actor.

Upon inspection of his facial-features; the puffy-eyes of exhaustion emphasizing lack of sleep, an unkempt mane and the fact that his coat was messily unbuttoned helped Vulpecula realize that this lion went by the name of Eric Leon, the very same which had emailed Apus asking for help.

The fact that the doorman introduced him as Eric Leon might have also helped Vulpecula in making this assessment.

"Welcome," Eric said in a raspy voice, "I am happy that all three of you could come."

However, his voice indicated that he was feeling anything except for happiness. "I don't suppose that I can offer any of you a beverage before we start?"

"I would prefer it if we could get on with what you need help with," Vulpecula answered coolly.

"Very well ... I suppose that we should make way to the stage before we begin, I have no doubts that the scene will be invaluable to you."

Eric Leon turned his back to them and began to lead the way, the inside of the building looked exactly as Vulpecula imagined it would when he realized it was a theater. There was a counter to his right to buy tickets, food and refreshments. To his left, there were posters hung up on the walls for several different plays, some of them had dates for when shows might be, and some had ribbons pinned on with the names of awards that they had received. Eventually, as they continued following him, the rows of posters ended, and instead, there were doors with numbers on them, each leading to a different theater to watch a specific show be performed.

"Why don't you tell us what's up?" Lacerta asked rather abruptly, taking Vulpecula out of his thoughts.

Eric didn't answer him for a while, not until he opened one of the doors, this one had a big, red number "3" written on the top of it and walked inside. Vulpecula, Lacerta, and Apus followed him and were given the opportunity to behold one of the theaters. It wasn't enormous, capable of seating around one or two hundred people, but not enormous, medium-size, which made Vulpecula wonder about whether the other rooms varied in size. Between all the rows of chairs was a walkway leading to the stage which had a large, red curtain dangling over it.

"Two nights ago, ... one night before I asked for your assistance, we were doing a play called The Blood Lane Starlet, I needn't go in-depths about the play's contents, but I will tell you that the lead part went to a female named Molly Louise, a snow leopard that played the role of the starlet in her rise to fame." Eric Leon stopped momentarily, as if anticipating himself to become emotional. "She was kidnapped before the end of the second-half."

"So, what, somebody came and took her from her dressing room or something?" Lacerta inquired confusedly.

"No, they kidnapped her during the play!" Eric Leon announced.

Vulpecula may have only been listening halfheartedly before, but as those words escaped from Leon's lips, he had his complete and undivided attention.

"Elaborate," Vulpecula instructed plainly.

"While doing one of the scenes, she accidentally walked over one of the stages' trapdoors and triggered it. There was no scene in the play that called for the trapdoor, and so, obviously, she shouldn't have come down. A lot of the performers were taken aghast by this, as were the audience, however, nobody was in a frenzied panic. The audience thought it was nothing more than part of the act, whereas the performers thought it was a flub by the crew. They lock the trapdoor whenever it is not being used, so these kinds of things don't happen, but it didn't seem like a big deal. Molly would fall safely on a cushion, laugh it off, and we'd carry on, but she didn't come back."

Vulpecula felt his mouth becoming watery but didn't bother inspecting why that might have been. A kidnapping for Vulpecula to solve! It might as well have been his birthday, and while he succeeded at refraining from dancing the boogie-woogie in-response, he did notice his foot tapping graciously to the beat of his operatic enthuse. Eric Leon didn't notice, but Apus poked at V with one of his sharp nails to show his dislike for the gesture.

"Did you have a search-party for her?" Apus asked.

It was a question with an obvious answer, Eric Leon wouldn't have bothered requesting their help if he hadn't exhausted all other means. However, Eric Leon didn't point that out to him and instead, he only offered a nod as an answer.

"We informed the police, but they couldn't find anything, they are doing searches for her now, and promise that they'll find her, but I felt like there was more that I could be doing." Eric Leon walked up some of the steps leading to the stage and disappeared behind the curtains momentarily. Vulpecula found himself fidgeting with one of the theater chairs, rocking it back and forth for no reason at all whatsoever. Seconds later, Eric Leon revealed himself once more by opening the curtains with a braided rope from behind them. "And that's why I came to you."

"What was your relationship with Molly Louise?" Vulpecula asked.

"She was my partner."

"And does your partner have a family?"

"Yes."

"Where are they?"

"I haven't heard from them."

"Why is that?"

"She never really talked about them much, that's kind-of why she's a stage-performer. This life-style fits hers, and I mean, we'd always talk about one day being able to join the Magnets, that's a troupe for stage-performers. They say that it's like a big family there, and it just seemed like a way to get away from it all."

"Are you saying that she has no ties whatsoever with her family?"

"Yes," Eric Leon answered simply before elaborating. "She is from Hardan, and that is where her folks are. She hasn't spoken to any of them in years."

Vulpecula couldn't help learning more and more about Eric Leon with every word that he spoke. His disposition carried a certain eloquence and poise, but it wasn't enough to hide his roots. He looked and talked like a showman and tried to sound it, however, his scrambled composure clarified to Vulpecula that he was from the country. Of course, this by no means meant that he was lacking eloquence, but rather to say that he hid the accent he likely inherited from living on the outskirts of Acera.

"Everybody was taken by surprise, you say, but what steps were taken after everybody came to realize Molly's disappearance? The police officers were here before us, did they share any of their discoveries with you, and besides that, were there any witnesses, ones that might have seen anything suspicious?" Vulpecula walked up the steps leading to the stage and welcomed himself on eye-level with Eric Leon, but not actual eye-contact. Vulpecula's eyes browsed merrily at the trapdoor with the utmost of curiosity.

"A man reported that, as he was walking out of the theater, he saw a gentleman running outside to a car as if he was trying to flee. The man was carrying a darkly-colored suitcase and appeared to be in a hurry. Alongside him appeared to be a female, and the man identified her as being Molly. He said the man clutched her hand fiercely, and that she seemed to appear anxious. Besides this, there hasn't been a whole lot of anything leaning in any direction. I was hoping that you might be able to shed some light on the situation." Eric Leon's voice started to sound a little resentful and agitated near the end of his dialogue but regained his solemn disposition after seconds.

"What exactly did he see?"

"It's that simple, as he opened the door to leave the theater, having seen one of the other shows that McKinley Halls had that evening, the older gentleman saw two people leaving the theater. To be as specific as possible, he said that the gentleman leading the way was a medium-build gentleman, perhaps taller than average, wearing a leather trench-coat and black top-hat. The female fit the build of Molly Louise and he claimed that she was wearing the same outfit as described on stage earlier in the show. The gent was described as aggressive, pulling her toward the vehicle while she was apprehensive and weary. He pulled her with his left-hand and held a suitcase with his right."

"You believe this man abducted her against her will?" V inquired.

"I see no other explanation. I think I should offer a little insight into theater. The performing arts are a tough life, especially in a smaller city like Acera. There is a lot of competition, it's all about image, and it's easy to make enemies without even noticing it."

"I'll keep that in mind. Ah, well, then, if you may, please momentarily bid yourself adieu from me, I am up to task much more when I don't have an audience. And thank you for your time; I hope that I will be able to bring you information soon."

Eric Leon seemed disheartened by the request, but to his credit, he diligently obliged and left the trio to revel in their thoughts. Vulpecula didn't say anything to Apus or Lacerta, and they said nothing to him. Apus and Lacerta stood quietly starry-eyed while Vulpecula attempted to unravel the situation. He saw no reason for objection against Eric Leon's theorizing, but didn't find much realism in the transgression. There were too many dramatics and too much risk. Everything seemed too perfect for an idea of such audacity. Vulpecula's mind immediately thought to the idea of extortion or blackmail, but that didn't explain why the kidnapper would want to have such theatrics.

He wanted there to be showmanship and to send a powerful message.

"Do you think it's possible that Molly Louise was kidnapped?" Apus asked earnestly.

"Possible, certainly, but plausible, not quite," Vulpecula immediately answered.

"I thought I saw you biting your tongue while Eric was talking," Apus said sharply, a small smirk somehow visible from his beak.

"He referred to the man that allegedly saw the kidnapper and Molly Louise leaving into a car as an older gentleman. I noticed immediately but chose not to investigate, and while we certainly can't dismiss the witness, we might want to find the keenness of the man's eyesight. If I recall correctly, there would have also been circumstances that might cloud up some of what he said."

"What circumstances are you referring to?" Lacerta pondered aloud.

"He explained that it was two days ago in the afternoon when Molly Louise disappeared during their rendition of The Blood Lane Scarlet, and he told us that the witness saw them fleeing to a vehicle minutes later. Consider how dark it would be and think about how eccentric the weather has been recently. The witness would have had his view considerably obstructed by pouring rain, along with how dark it was and the off-chance possibility that he doesn't have the best vision." Vulpecula once more didn't make eye-contact with Apus or Lacerta; he continued to find himself transfixed on the trapdoor.

Vulpecula would probably never be mistaken for a fox of the 'theatuh,' but was curious to how the trapdoor worked. Fortunately, he had always found it particularly easy to skim through everything said once before. These capabilities of the fox worked to his advantage.

He closed his eyes and looked through the innermost confines of his conscious thought, his imaginary chalkboard, filled with all the notes regarding the case.

All the movements that he made; every mannerism composed by Eric Leon during their conversation was completely accessible to him for a short-time. Afterward, of course, the heavily filled chalkboard would be erased, and replaced by a new case, but now, it operated under his complete leisure.

"Elaborate," Vulpecula instructed plainly.

"While doing one of the scenes, she accidentally walked over one of the stages' trapdoors and triggered it."

The trapdoor was simple, unlike some other trapdoors that might have been lever-activated. This didn't rule out that there wasn't a kidnapper, however, because the latch to unlock the trapdoor was under the stage. Molly Louise could have certainly unlatched it before appearing on-stage, but she was the story's protagonist, therefore, she likely wouldn't have had the time alone to be given the chance. Then, there's the risk it could have been triggered by somebody else.

"Did you hear me," Lacerta called out before snapping his fingers in Vulpecula's direction in-order to get his attention. "Did you hear what I said?" He asked once again with such uncertainty.

"Not a word," V answered honestly.

Lacerta rubbed the temples of his forehead before repeating himself. "I said... do you believe that we should disregard the witness' account since there's a chance it is not authentic?"

"Quite the contrary, the testimony's relevance remains, but rather, I believe that we approach it with a grain of salt, not full-heartedly accepting, but not condemning either."

"What are your instincts telling you?"

"They are telling me that the solution to our little conundrum is unlikely to be discovered anywhere inside of this theater, but still, we should look under the stage, if for no other reason than for me to attempt at recreating the scene." Vulpecula answered.

Vulpecula looked around at the stage, appreciating the scenery; there were no backdrops and so, all the pulleys, sandbags, and props held a novelty to them. V headed uncomfortably one direction before turning to go the next, not entirely sure which side of the stage would take him to where he wanted to be. He eventually sought to stage right behind a white building prop with red hand-prints on the building meant to look like smeared blood. Apus and Lacerta followed him. While trying to find his way down the stairs, Vulpecula almost inadvertently tripped over one of the weighted sandbags but was able to keep his footing. Down the stairs, he beheld the spots dedicated to makeup. On the back-side, there was a row of spinning chairs each standing in-front of circular mirrors outlined by light-bulbs, as well as several cosmetic supplies that Vulpecula didn't recognize. Beside all of them, there was a door leading to the lobby that Vulpecula chose not to investigate. On the side closest facing the theater, there were racks with clothing, out-of-place ladders, and pieces of plywood leaned against some of the walls.

Finally, Vulpecula found what he was looking for, a small, red push and pull plate door with a sign that spelled out the word "storage". He pushed open the door and true to the words, there were plenty of boxes and props stored. It wasn't cluttered though, and the second that Vulpecula walked in, he could see the cushion directly beneath the trapdoor. Vulpecula could tell that the area wasn't finished as there were plenty of nails jutting out from some of the walls and wooden support beams placed sporadically throughout the area.

His eyes browsed the room frantically, not looking for anything, but merely looking for the sake of looking. He walked over to the cushion lying in the middle of the room. Fittingly, the cushion was a scarlet color and felt like nothing more than a large sponge wrapped in red clothe. Above him, he could see the bottom of the trapdoor as well as the latch that locked it from being triggered. There wasn't going to be anything of use in this vicinity and that fact seemed strikingly obvious. Footprints and fallen fabric meant absolutely nothing; there were thousands of feet which had walked under this stage and plenty of items which carried no significance at all whatsoever.

There was only one thing left to do in the theater. He directed one of his companions to ready a ladder to unlatch the trapdoor before returning to the top of the stage. He imagined the emotions which might be carried by Molly Louise, there was a play going on before her, only one-hundred or so watching her perform, would she feel anxiety? This isn't something that he could assume, after years and years on-stage, surely, she had been numb to some of the stage-fright. However, she could still be anxious, if Molly Louise anticipated the happening, she would be worried of being caught. If there were a second individual, perhaps the man witnessed leaving the theater with a woman described as congruent in size and shape to Louise, she might have been worried he wouldn't unlatch the trapdoor on time. Maybe he'd even unlatch the trapdoor to be triggered by somebody else!

A lot of things to consider, especially if there wasn't a second-person, she'd have to be swift but not obvious at keeping anybody else from triggering the trap. This is assuming, however, that this wasn't a straightforward kidnapping. This is assuming that she knew, when in-reality, she might not have.

Her feet stand over the trapdoor, and she is feeling either one of two things. She is feeling relief that everything has gone according to plan. She is feeling astonishment, as well as confusion. This wasn't in the script ... Vulpecula waited what he believed was ample time for Lacerta or Apus to unlatch the trapdoor before stepping upon it. There was serenity to his fall, no swish or swipe at the air, before landing on the cushion. He arose to his feet, lending his eyes to neither of his friends. He looked around, what did she do afterward?

A witness puts her end as entering a vehicle which certainly seems plausible, but he also says that the man was forceful and aggressive. Vulpecula's eyes looked around as he imagined a man grabbing at him. There was likely an anxiety at this moment, but it is uncertain what it could have been caused by. The witness describes the man as pulling her toward the car which implies that she was conscious. He did nothing to incapacitate her, if he did, he'd never be able to get her out without notice. Did she follow him for a reason, was this extortion or blackmail, a gun pointed at her? She could have screamed. In-fact, in this situation, silence would be essential. Vulpecula walked toward the door and opened it.

What would Molly Louise and the assumed kidnapper be seeing, outside of the storage area, it was dedicated mostly to makeup and cosmetics, would there be more witnesses? Likely, and so, why did nobody besides the man identify seeing her? A lot of the performers would be in the lobby, readying themselves to perform or stewing after their performance. There might not have been a lot in the room, but there would have been enough. They might have been distracted, but that doesn't mean they'd risk it. Vulpecula went back into the storage area beneath the stage, Apus and Lacerta both looking at him in confusion.

Vulpecula didn't feel the need to explain his behaviors to them; they knew the drill by now. There were boxes and boxes stacked upon one another, neither looked any more peculiar than the other. Vulpecula grabbed one of the boxes and pulled it with all his might, successfully moving it away from the wall exposing ... nothing.

He lifted a smaller box and walked it over to the other side of the room. His friends evidently picked up on what he was doing because they began helping him move the boxes until they found what they were looking for.

A small door to the side of the stage, it hadn't been completely unexposed and hidden, but would be easy to miss if one didn't know what they were looking for.

Vulpecula climbed over some of the boxes covering it and opened the door. The inside led to a janitor's closet and from there, the side of the stage. There was an emergency exit on each side of the theater; this would be much more likely than the front-entrance. Vulpecula opened the door and sure enough, it led out the side of the building. The misdirection as well as the confusion would enable to means of escaping inconspicuously, although some attention might be drawn to the exit-door being opened.

Vulpecula admittedly felt discouraged at the rationalizations; there was a lot of assumption that came to the conclusions. Unfortunately, he could see absolutely no way whatsoever how two individuals could escape while everybody else remained oblivious. There was too much risk, somebody would have seen something. He noticed the alarm-system on the side of the door and lent thought to the fact that it didn't go off. It should automatically go off, if somebody is using the emergency exit for a just emergency, but it didn't. He walked outside feeling the warm air touch against his skin, but in his head, he was imagining it was raining, just as it was when she went missing.

Feet stamping upon puddles of water while rain dropped on them, they would continue before turning left, Molly Louise would likely remain anxious or fearful. She would either be trying to fight away from the kidnapper or not be. She'd fight back, or she would go willfully, but the man would be in a hurry, and therefore, he would probably be pulling at her hand and trying to make her be swift. Vulpecula walks fourth into the parking-lot. They make it into the car but not before being seen by an older gentleman that faintly sees them in the pouring rain.

Vulpecula walks around aimlessly, knowing that this is the range where the imagination takes over. And so, he falls to a seated position in the parking-lot, looking up at the entrance of the theater. And, all at once, the answer showed itself to him with astounding straightforwardness.

Welcome to McKinley Hall Theater!

Home of the Magnets!

We Are Currently Closed.

"I'll tell you the truth, V," Lacerta began bluntly out of the blue while they sat down at the Sidian Inn's dining hall.

Each eating their usual meals and sitting in their assigned seats designated to them by Vulpecula, who oftentimes found change to be more cluttering than innovative, at least when it came to things of such importance.

"I would certainly appreciate the truth over a lie," Vulpecula answered honestly, twiddling his fork around his food with little of an appetite.

"I believe that Eric Leon was bamboozled and tricked by Molly Louise. You saw the way that he looked when we talked to them. He was absolutely devastated, and I am assuming that there is a little more behind their 'partnership' than he is letting on." Lacerta explained.

"Are you suggesting that they were lovers?" Vulpecula inquired curiously.

"I am suggesting that one loved the other, I think that Molly Louise met somebody else, or maybe even somebody she knew while in Hardan. The life of a stage performer isn't very good, and I believe she probably wanted to spare Eric Leon's feelings. I am thinking that the person that the witness saw with Molly was that 'somebody else' and she hesitated because she didn't want to hurt Leon." Lacerta explained with a lot of confidence.

"Possible," Vulpecula said simply, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "What about you, my feathered friend?" He asked, motioning over to Apus.

Apus looked at him.

"Eric Leon wants to believe that it's a kidnapping, but this doesn't necessarily look like a kidnapping to me." Apus commented.

"Exactly," Lacerta called out smugly.

"And what do you believe it appears to be," Vulpecula asked simply, once more seeming neither convinced nor uncertain.

"Now, hold on, Lacerta, because while I think that your theory carries weight, I do have a thought for another. Well, uh, you know how Eric Leon expressed that it was all about reputation and image in theater? Granted, it doesn't look like a kidnapping, but that doesn't mean it couldn't be one with a different coat of paint. What if the kidnapper had dirt on Molly Louise, or somebody that she was close to like Eric Leon? Her acting might serve as a martyr for containment of something scandalous." Apus' voice didn't carry nearly the same confidence as Lacerta with his theory, and he made sure to add, "I'm just trying to make sure we see all the possibilities," at the end of his dialogue.

"Thank you, Apus, and extortion or blackmail is certainly a reasonable outcome to expect." Vulpecula stated warmly, a small but assuring smile on his face.

Silence befell the room, aside, of course, the chit-chatting that occurred outside their social-group, Vulpecula could hear the youthful conversing of a couple of young fellows only a few feet away from them, sitting in a booth. He could also hear teeth chomping down against their meal, an older couple that hadn't spoken much of a word since sitting down moments earlier. Vulpecula brought in a breath, taking in the aromas composed of various foods being prepared and the scent of the customers, most certainly. In the loving serenity of the environment before him, Vulpecula couldn't help but feel the callous stares of his acquaintances obviously wanting something that he hadn't yet gathered.

"Well," Lacerta eventually mumbled sternly, a little bit of annoyance befalling his voice, as if he had secretly sent Vulpecula the well-deserved power of telepathy.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" V asked, knowing full-heartedly the answer to his own query.

"Which idea do you think nailed it the most? Do you believe what I said about her running away with a lover or do you believe Apus' theory about her being blackmailed into an unwitting departure away from performing? You are kind-of the head-honcho on this," Lacerta asked.

Vulpecula wished Lacerta would brighten his vocabulary in such a way that discarded words such as "nailed," there was no nailing to speak of in this evening's endeavors.

"What is your favorite film, Lacerta?" Vulpecula replied casually.

"What!" Lacerta seemed shocked with the rebuttal, "What are you talking about?"

"I am talking about films, commonly called motion pictures, flicks, and about a million other synonyms. I watched The Red Lane Starlet recently, the screen-adaptation, I mean, as much as I would love to see Molly Louise's portrayal, I have little reason to believe she'll actually be returning to her role soon." Vulpecula's face momentarily wrinkled with despair at the fact, he really would have liked to have seen her portrayal. "There were a couple of minor changes that some critics ranted about upon the release of the film. However, I thought it was rather enjoyable, had a certain light-heart apathy on such heavy subject matter."

"We were talking about the case!!" Lacerta called out angrily, hence the second exclamation mark.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought that both of you had finished."

"Which one do you think is right?"

"Neither, of course," Vulpecula answered back honestly.

"Then, what did happen?"

"While I have already concluded, I believe that the answer will come out in due time."

"What is the answer!?" Lacerta called out. "Vulpecula, I swear, I just, you, ..." Lacerta stopped shortly after his ramblings. He couldn't find the words to verbalize his affection for the white-furred fox. Lacerta let out a breath, rubbing his love-filled temples to keep his infatuation under control. "What is the answer?"

"I've already cleared the chalkboard, the answer to the case has been found, and I don't believe there is any more reason for inspection. Molly Louise will come out of, ahem, hiding in due time." Vulpecula answered back, neither proud nor dissatisfied.

It was an interesting case to say the least, one with misdirection, flamboyance, showmanship, and intellectual turmoil. Vulpecula sat back in his chair looking at the distraught and dissatisfied Lacerta while also looking at the confusion in the eyes of Apus. He couldn't remember all of the ties that he found in the first place, once the chalkboard was erased, it was gone forever. He kept notes and information stored somewhere or another, as you are reading, but he rarely found sentiment in them. He kept one fact and one fact alone, the answer to the case was to be revealed by itself.

Eric Leon would find the whereabouts of Molly Louise as soon as everybody else and react with whichever emotion suited him. He'd likely feel hurt or angry, but it wasn't for Vulpecula to cause. Vulpecula merely took the time to put Eric Leon's heart at ease, informing him that Molly Louise was safe, and told him to go home and get some much-needed rest.

Molly Louise's Disappearing Act, Magnet's Newest "Attraction"!

Written by Michael Stiles of the Rescue Tribune

Less than two weeks ago, visitors of McKinley Halls, as well as citizens of Acera alike were taken aghast by the disappearance of actress, Molly Louise. Performing the leading role as Amy Sextant in the highly-acclaimed A Blood Lane Starlet, Molly Louise stepped upon and triggered a trapdoor sending her beneath the stage. The fellow performers dismissed this as an individual mistakenly unlocking the latch to the comical dismay of Molly Louise; however, they soon realized that Molly Louise was nowhere to be seen.

We have since learned that there was another story being told only known by Molly Louise and a very select few. "There was nobody on stage that knew about what I was doing, I couldn't see their reactions, but I am told by my friends that nobody knew what was going on," Louise tells the Rescue Tribune interviewer, Michael Stiles. Molly Louise fell safely beneath the stage before being helped to her feet by a member of Magnet, the most prominent group of performers in all Maharris. "We made special precautions to ensure nobody discovered us while making our escape. Everybody was looking at the stage, nobody knew what was going on, and we used it as a chance to go through the emergency exit. There were a lot of Magnet members blocking me from view also," says the newly established Magnet member.

Molly Louise did not go completely missed as one witness recalled seeing her flee in the parking-lot minutes after. Molly Louise has confirmed the validity of this statement and clarified that she was nervous about going through with the 'staged kidnapping'. Some might be uncertain as to why Molly Louise would have wanted to do such a large and controversial spectacle. Magnet has long-since established a name for itself by having the finest that Acera-born performers offered, and while Molly Louise has made herself prominent as one of the most known actresses ever to come out of North Rites, she was born in Hardan. "There are certain traditions that are upheld by Magnet. They rarely make exceptions, but I needed them to make one, badly. If you are not a member of Magnet, you might as well go home, and I couldn't accept that I wouldn't be allowed in by a technicality. They told me that if I did something extraordinary that they would let me into the group. And so, here I am."

Molly Louise revealed herself at the McKinley Halls' biggest available theater in-front of over ten-thousand audience members and was welcomed as the newest member of Magnet. She will be joining the troupe throughout this year, participating in various acts that have yet to be specified. "I realize that there are a lot of things that I had to do; I might have surprised a lot with my actions, but looking back at where I was, and looking at where I am now. I have no regrets about my decision."

The Life and Crimes of Detective Barker

Episode Two

Not So Lucky Now

1.

It didn't happen often, but there he was, sitting amongst the stuffy high bred folk. Barker walked past the twentieth mirror he had noticed in the place. It seemed to suit him well though. There was never enough time to casually glance at your own appearance. He straightened his tie. Powder blue, he had gone with. It was a symbol of respect for the armed forces.

Barker turned away from the mirror. There would be more. For now, he had to make all appearances of a concerned and appalled spectator. After all, it was the banquet dinner to commemorate the life of his fellow detective, Lucky.

Lucky, had passed on to a better life. At least the speaker had the room convinced this was the case. His car had mysteriously lost all four tires and crashed into an oncoming pole. Lucky had no chance to brake or swerve.

Sad for Lucky, who didn't seem to quite live up to the name in the end. Barker looked around, snapping out of his own thoughts. The people were clapping, the long-winded speaker must have been done. He put his paws together in a slow clap as well. Barker was not only a detective, but he was also a Canine. A very special kind of dog called a Doberman.

Barker checked the schedule for the events of the night. He really hoped eating was up next. However, at a glance, he quickly found it was anything but eating time. There highlighted in red marker was his own name, he remembered now, keynote speaker. Why had they chosen him?

Barker straightened his tie and looked in the twenty-first mirror of the night. He wasn't even great friends with Lucky. They weren't even good friends. They had merely been co-workers. Matter of fact, Barker recalled not even liking Lucky at all. The smug little bird. Always nudging up to Psitticus. He was what you would call the perpetual brown noser. Loved everything that squawking parrot of a boss had to say.

Barker stepped up behind the podium. He had notes, he always had notes. He fidgeted around in his pocket for them. He had originally started the speech off very simply,

I could not be prouder that Lucky is finally gone. No longer do I have to grin and nod at his stupid pandering. No longer must I play the third detective in an office of three. No longer do I have to listen to his pointless dribble.

Although that was the way Barker really felt about the situation. He thought it classier to start like this instead...

"Today we celebrate the life of a fellow detective, a soldier, and a great man. There are many things I could say about Lucky to those gathered here, but we all know he touched each of our lives. We know that he was charismatic, determined, and always ready to prove his worth. "Barker hated to lie, but appearances were everything. Anyone who told you differently was a liar.

"I could sit here and spew a few jokes about how the man was always ready to make you laugh. I could sit behind this wooden podium and tell you a tearjerker of a surefire lead detective gone too soon. What a great boss he would have made."

Better than Psitticus at least, but that didn't make him nearly as good as Barker. Barker held back the bile that was forming from these sickening words. His paw moved up to his neckline and straightened his tie again.

"I, however, will not be doing that tonight. Instead of making you laugh or making you cry. I decided to just say thank you to the man we have all gathered here to mourn. Thank him for his service to the country, to the city, and to the people. A friend is what he was first and foremost to us all. Remember him with his beak shaped in a smile and his wings spread in flight, for tonight he has risen above us all. We as those left behind can only hope that one day we too can join him in paradise," Barker took a drink of water. The words needed to be washed out from his pallet. Why did he write this crap?

Barker smiled and held his hand up for the applause. He then stepped down from the stage. The group gathered to shake his hand. Some even offered congratulations on the promotion to the second detective. These were the idiots of the group. There was no promotion. There was no second detective position. Barker had solved more cases than Lucky had ever dreamed of solving. It was only the constant sucking up that made people assume he was somehow more important than Barker.

Barker didn't inform the imbeciles. Instead, he nodded and smiled, continuing his way to the back of the hall. Behind him, he heard the call for dinner. At least if he had to be with these people he could get a nice meal from it.

Lucky was well liked in the community. He was a decorated soldier, a beloved detective, and a major donating force to the local charities. In short, the meal was overdone but downright delicious.

By his third plate, Barker started to feel that maybe he should slow down. By his forth, he was sure it was time to slow down. Then again, he had dessert to worry about. And what a dessert it was. A massive chunk of cheesecake covered in nuts, Barker devoured it like he was a starving child.

Then, he leaned back looking down at his belly. It was starting to show the signs of aging. His pant line was growing older with him, but that didn't bother him. Many distinguished men had a little something extra in the belly.

Barker straightened his tie and looked up at the ceiling, which just so happened to be the twenty-third mirror of the night. Even with a belly, he was the most tasteful man in the room.

"Barker that was a hell of a speech," the claws dug a little too deep into his jacket.

"Thanks, boss,"

Psitticus bent down to Barker's ear level. "I know most of it was drivel coming from you, but you keep on a show like this and maybe you do have a shot at taking my place,"

Psitticus laughed as if he had just told a hilarious joke. Barker chuckled to play along. It was all a game, it was always a facade.

The fun part of the night was over with. The food was cleared away by men in white coats. Barker wasn't sure if they expected a tip for their service, but he figured if they did the other rich type folks would cover it for him.

Barker maneuvered through the hallway ready to press for the doors. He would be the first to leave, gather a taxi and make it home. The evening wasn't quite over for Barker, he still had a few details he had to work out in the current case.

You see it was known that Lucky not only crashed without the use of his steering wheel but also that, try as he might, his breaks did not work either. This fact was already known to Barker far before the forensic type had gathered the information and saw fit to pass it along to the real detectives.

Barker stopped by the mirror on the wall and readjusted his tie for the last time of the night.

When he arrived home he would be pressing those combat papers of Lucky. Delving deep into his backstory. Finding the plaster that held up those walls around his life. He would find the holes and dig his snout into them. Barker had an uncanny ability to sniff out things.

The men and women gathered at the doors, peering into the night. Some patted Barker on the back and congratulated him on his assent. Others commented on his speech. Each would forget about him in the morning. He did not donate to their balls or attend their dinner parties. Barker did not fancy a sit down with any one of these people. It was just appearance that brought him here in the first place.

He was entirely content to have sat at home alone. Alone with his notes at least. Those notes that would help him solve the case of the unlucky crash of Detective Lucky; the rising star of the detective force dead so young. Psitticus's handpicked predecessor dead in his thirties. Barker wasn't upset by the fact, he would have hated to work for the idiot.

Barker was more than happy the crash occurred to be quite honest. This meant that when he solved the case he would skyrocket even higher into the annals of great detectives. He was already known, by the people who mattered, to be the best detective in Maharris. Maybe even in the world.

Barker hailed a taxi. "Take me to the corner of Watson and Holmes," Barker was loath to ever be dropped off directly at his apartment complex. He had a fear of people knowing where he lived. People were fickle creatures. They would stalk, destroy, and kill for the most whimsical reasons.

The trip home was unrelenting. The cab driver took it upon himself to assume that Barker cared one iota what he had to say. The truth could not have been further from the speculation. Barker hated conversations with people, especially cab drivers. They had made their lot in life and it was to be a boring, smelly driver. They had nothing of interest to say to him.

So, when the cab stopped Barker was quick to remove himself from the man's presence. He refused to leave him a tip, the man had made the ride most un-enjoyable by filling the cab with his useless banter.

Barker stayed planted on the corner until he could see the tail lights blink out of sight. Then he turned down Holmes street. The street lights in the neighborhood left something to be desired, but perhaps that was why Barker had chosen to live down here. The people weren't always honest and friendly, but neither was anyone else. It was just that this group chose not to put up the fake image of hospitality. It was much easier to see the danger if there were no hidden agendas.

Barker passed with no excitement to 228A Holmes Street. He fished his key from his pocket and entered his small hub. Papers were strewn across the floor, he walked over them, not bothering to check the envelopes of mail that were shoved through the slot. He would pay the bills at some point, but tonight he had other things on his mind.

Barker's apartment did not consist of normal items such as couches, chairs, or tables. Instead, he had an open floor and a bed in the corner. Of course, he had a refrigerator and a stove that worked; at least he assumed it would if he ever used it.

Tonight, Barker made his way to the only wooden structure inside his hovel. It was a misconstrued writing desk that had obviously seen the last of its better days years before. He saw no reason to chuck it out, as any flat piece of wood was just as good as another, no matter appearances.

Lucky's case file was already open. The pictures of the gruesome crash lay strewn out over the desk. Barker pushed them to the side. He had witnessed the crash first hand. He had the information he needed from it already stored in his mind. If he wanted the image, he had to but close his eyes and see it.

What Barker wanted was the list of Lucky's combat buddies. Those who had gone to war with him. Those who had slept near him as he screamed at night in terror. Those who had witnessed him killing helpless vagabonds in the hills. Barker wasn't sure any of that was actually the case, but he would soon find out.

On the morrow, he had already planned to walk to the corner of Watson and Holmes and hail himself a cab. From there, he would visit those on the list he had drawn up. There, he would find his victim... err his murderer. Barker traced the paper with his nail and landed on a name: Captain Dotton. Prime suspect number one.

2.

Barker imagined most Captains in the armed forces would have lived luxurious lives after the army. Spending their youth and prime fending off the bad guys. However, Captain Dotton lived as far from luxury as one possibly could and still actually live. Dotton opened the door with what seemed to be five years in-between shaves and maybe bathing.

His clothes were almost non-existent due to the holes and streaming strings of white thread hanging from every crevice. That at least was the clothes he did wear. What he was missing was socks, shoes, a shirt, and any sense of pride.

Dotton was a billy goat and he was definitely quite gruff.

"What do you want?" he asked as if that was a correct and proper greeting to a man at his door. Barker fished into his front pocket. No reason for moves to maintain a friendship, it was straight to the formal. He pulled out his detective star. It was really just a gold overlaid piece of metal, not even real gold.

Dotton sighed, "what did I forget I did this time?" the door opened a little further, but it was reluctantly. Dotton poked his head out and his eyes were lit by the sun, turning his pupils into small rectangular boxes. "Forget the trash cans again?" he was looking towards the curb, but Barker had cased the place already, there was nothing on the curbs. "There ain't even anything there this time," Dotton's breath smelt like strong liquor, which was quite prevalent with the army folk.

"No trash cans, Captain Dotton," Barker shoved the star back into his front lapel. Then he straightened his tie. No need to look shabby, not even in a place like this. "I am here about a former charge of yours in the army," Dotton nodded.

"Those folk always be getting themselves into some type of trouble," he replied. The door opened further and Dotton even took a step back. It was almost an invitation but not quite, he was still waiting for the flavor of the visit.

"Nothing of trouble in that sense, Captain, I am here about a murder, or a purposed murder, nothing specific yet."

The invitation was almost rescinded, Barker talked quickly before he lost the man for good. "It is about a man named Lucky, you may know him better as Captain Lucky, but I suppose when you knew him he was nothing more than a private first class," Barker said.

The door opened fully, "Oh no Lucky kill someone?" Dotton had real emotion on his face. A show of real friendship, he wasn't the one Barker needed. "On the contrary, he was himself a victim," Dotton's eyes sagged.

If the war didn't kill you and the reception didn't dampen your spirits when you returned, then life would hunt you again until it found you alone and cold. Here was Dotton alone and cold and life still grasped for his throat, ready to squeeze the last vestal of life from his lungs.

"I can't believe it, he was something," Dotton stepped away from the door. "You want a drink?" he asked. Barker could see this was going to be a waste of time. Dotton would provide him nothing in terms of a murderer. Maybe he could provide a path to someone who would be more viable.

"I will take water," Barker said and stepped up onto the small overhang.

The inside of the apartment matched the tenant to a tee. It was covered in old stains, presumably from the vomiting the alcohol induced. Barker was able to deduct this from the smell permeating the small enclosure. Sometimes it was a disadvantage to have such a keen sense of smell.

"Never mind on the water," Barker pulled a harmless looking seat over towards the door. The seat was bereft of a cushion and so Barker found it hard to believe that the vomit could have soaked into its metal frame. "Bring me the bottle of alcohol, do not bother with a glass."

The glasses Barker had seen were littered across the floor in various places and states. Some were covered in a green moss-like substance, others were half full of cigarette butts, and others were questionable even to the scrutinizing of the world's best detective.

Dotton fumbled over to the table and grabbed the brown liquor and took a long draught, before handing the bottle off to Barker.

Barker himself had no intention of partaking in the beverage, instead, he dipped his finger into the neck of the bottle and let the alcohol soak into his fur. Then he ran the dripping finger across the bottom of his nose. Alcohol wasn't the most pleasant of smells, but it sure beat the smell of old vomit.

Dotton didn't seem to notice the methods of Barker or if he did then he showed indifference to them.

"So, old Lucky is dead then?" Dotton sat down on the couch and Barker noticed a puff of dust trail behind him.

Barker pulled a picture from his coat pocket. He probably didn't need the gory details, but Barker was going to share them anyhow.

Dotton flinched at the scene of the crime. The picture landed a mere foot away from him on a small cluttered coffee table.

"Seems to me that such a gruesome death had to have harbored quite a hate," Barker let his nail trace the outline of the scene. "Don't reckon you are familiar with brake systems?" Barker could see that the vomit collection was seconds away from being added to. Dotton shook his head, even after the gruesomeness of war, seeing a friend dead still did something to people. "I didn't think so, but then again what do you have to know, more than where to snip the line."

Dotton recovered a little and shook his head, "Nope, not me Detective, I was the reason Lucky got that promotion to Captain," Dotton ran his hoofs together in a nervous fashion. He took his eyes from the picture but glanced back quickly with the sides of his eyes.

It was the fascination with death that had drawn Barker into the agency as well. Dotton was just showing normal behavior.

"I don't suppose you can fathom anyone capable of doing such a thing to poor Detective Lucky?" Barker had a list of names. He was bound to find one that fit the bill, but if Dotton could spew off a name or two it would surely cut his workload.

"I know of one or two who didn't like Lucky," Dotton grabbed the bottle from the floor and took another swig, and then glanced at the picture again.

Barker leaned forward and grabbed the picture placing it in his coat pocket. "Who?" just a simple answer could lead to such great things, Barker knew that all he needed was the name of one man to fit the deed.

"Major Blake Mane and General Plancer," Dotton shook his head as if the names hurt him to speak them aloud.

Maybe they did, maybe anything from that time in his life hurt him. If he hadn't planned to get drunk enough to spew this morning, after Barker's visit he was surely going to add to his planner.

"I do have both on my list," Barker tapped the side of his head. It was where he kept all important articles and details.

Dotton grabbed the bottle and cradled it to his chest, he would be of no further use.

"I will see myself out," Barker stopped at a dingy and dusty mirror and straightened his tie. It was back to the world.

3.

Barker found himself in a small quiet cafe. He usually ate at Sins Eatery, but today he had other things on his plate. It wasn't about the food in this subpar little joint. It was about the cook. Major Bane, a stand out in the armed forces, had been dishonorably discharged three years back. Going from Major too short order.

It seemed Mr. Mane had a thing for gambling. Gambling was always an easy fall back for the poor who became suddenly rich. Barker knew many of the same types. There were many gambling rings inside the city, you could find one just about anywhere, but there were only a select few worth noticing.

Mane had found himself a top-tier service, it was just too bad that the authority also found them. Now, Mane stood behind a greasy stove and flipped burgers, not the noblest of endings.

"What can I get you to drink, sweetie?" said the waitress.

Barker tapped on the menu with his claw. There in the fine print under was the word coffee. "You take any sugar or cream?" the woman wrote down the order on a small paper card. It was pitiful that she couldn't remember a single drink.

"I will take it black," Barker was in no mood for frivolities. He had a mission to achieve this morning. "Also, who mind you is the cook today?"

The woman stopped her scratching on the pad. "I believe we have Mr. Mane," she looked back as if she could peer through the walls. "He is an excellent cook, makes the best little burgers in town," she said.

Mane was here today, that meant all Barker had to do was wait for the man's morning break.

"That is great," Barker flipped the menu over. "Then I will take one of those," he said.

The woman paused a moment, "You don't want a moment to look over the menu while I grab you your drink?"

"No, I will take the burger, thank you,"

The woman looked disgruntled. As if no one had ever ordered food before their drink before. "If you insist, sir," she grabbed the menu that Barker pressed into her palm.

"Make sure the coffee is quite strong,"

The woman nodded and moved away, glancing over her shoulder as if he would change his mind before she made it to the counter.

The cafe wasn't overly busy. Barker could count ten people aside from him enjoying the services. He evaluated them each individually and made up his mind that each lived a rather boring and mundane life.

Most probably worked around the area, which was mostly a low-income suburb. Another one or two were from out of town, and no one had bothered to inform them of the better cafes in the city.

"Here is your coffee, sir," it looked lukewarm as the steam was not roiling over the lip. Barker thought to complain but changed his mind. It was of no matter, it was merely a stall tactic anyhow. He had his morning coffee before he had visited Dotton. The poor Captain who was probably at the moment swimming in a sea of vomit. Barker needed a shower after that hole, but first, he needed to speak with Mane and maybe Plancer, but first Mane, better to stay on track. "You sure you don't want to glance at that menu one more time?"

She was persistent. "I am fine," Barker looked up towards the order window. There was his ticket on the ledge, not on the spinning wheel. She had really expected him to change his mind.

She stood there at his table a moment longer waiting for him to say anything else, but he was silent. She finally moved off in the direction of another table.

Barker sat patiently, at least as patiently as he could, waiting for Mane to step away from the grill. Just a small conversation was all he needed. The only glimpse of the former Major was of his golden brown paw. The paw, however, was enough to inform Barker that Mane was no poodle.

His burger came out long before Mane showed his face. It tasted like grease. Barker could have floated the patty in the saucer. He barely finished the first bite. He would not be sending his compliments to the chef.

Barker pushed the plate away from him. This cafe was growing worse by the minute. He needed a way to hurry the process. If he still needed to talk with General Plancer today then he was running short on time.

Barker looked around the cafe again. Still the same people, an older gentleman had joined the counter group, but nothing seemed to be overly pressing for a cook. The waitress was lazily wiping down tables adjacent to him.

Barker looked back at the burger. The bun was soggy now with the juices, and his fries looked like tiny boats in an ocean.

"Waitress," Barker turned his shoulder to wave over the woman. She looked thankful to be done with the act of cleaning.

"What can I do for you, sir?" she glanced at the table, "more coffee?" she would busy herself with guessing if Barker allowed her the choice, but he did not plan to allow that.

"Actually, I would like to compliment the chef,"

Again, her eyes glanced at the table. She could clearly see that he had no more than touched the burger.

"I see," she glanced back at the pick-up window. "It is awfully busy at the moment," she said.

It wasn't busy. Barker counted ten people when he entered. Eight received their food before him and two moments later. Only the old man sitting at the counter was without a plate and Barker was aware that he had only ordered a cup of coffee.

"I will just be a moment," he could press the obvious lack of customers, but this type of person reacted better to a different manner. "I am amazed by the work you and he have done. I can tell you face to face and so it is only fair he receive the same," flattery. Barker wasn't fond of the tactic, but again he didn't have the time to fiddle with the ego of this woman.

She paused a moment. Barker supposed it was hard for this woman to process information. If she couldn't scratch it out on her notepad it probably was lost in the messy swamps of her addled mind. She finally came to a conclusion, however, "Seems like it would be fair," she pranced off towards the kitchen.

Barker thought about hiding the burger in the trashcan before Mane showed up. He could pretend he had devoured the remaining portion, but he decided he didn't care that much to keep up this facade. Instead, he straightened his tie and sat back staring out the window.

The scenery in this part of the city was drab. Gray steel, gray roads, gray sidewalks, gray suits, and it just so happened this on this afternoon there were also gray skies.

"You had something to tell me?" Barker turned from his drab thoughts.

Mane stood a good foot taller than Barker was ever comfortable with. His surname fits him to a T as his mane circled his entire face. Today, it was in disarray. His meaty hands were pressed against the table and his claws were longer than Barker's canines.

"Well," Barker started, but a lump caught in his throat. So, instead of talking he had himself a coughing fit and then tried to wash it away with the brown cup of coffee before him. It was wretched and cold, so he had to put all concentration into not spitting it into the massive Mane's face.

The concentration turned out to be a good thing, as he ceased his coughing fit.

"Well?" Mane didn't seem like the kind of man you kept waiting for long periods of time.

Barker straightened his tie. He may have lost his dignity for a moment, but he wouldn't be seen doing so without a presentable appearance.

"Would you care to have a seat a moment," Barker flipped his paw out with as much grace as he could muster.

"I am working," Mane said, clearly with no intention of keeping Barker company.

"Yes, I know. However, I have some questions for you," Barker drew the small Polaroid picture from his coat pocket. The same picture that had brought Dotton into a vile state of mind, did nothing to Mane. Not even a flicker of emotion.

"Can't say I am too worried about this," Mane turned to walk away, clearly tired of the situation at hand.

"I know you were his Major for some time," Mane stopped, Barker wondered how much his military days still chafed him.

"So, what?" Mane's head drew a little higher, but he didn't bother to meet Barker's eyes.

"Just a few quick questions," Barker hoped the questions didn't turn into broken bones as well.

Mane turned and took two long strides for the table. Barker was ready to flinch, but Mane just sat down hard across from him.

"You have ten minutes," Mane's face was anything but sociable.

"Fair enough," Barker slid the picture to the middle of the table. No effect was the sign Barker was looking for. If he cared nothing for the man and the scene didn't bother him, then it was likely he could be the killer. Just as likely as anyone.

"You ever saw a thing such as this?" Barker asked. Mane looked to be a man who went to gruesome scenes for a stroll to clear his mind.

"I was a Major in the armed forces," that was explanation enough for Mane.

"Indeed, you were. Actually, as it falls you were the Major to one Captain Lucky," Barker pulled the picture away. There was no need to continue staring down the face of death. "What do you recall of the man?"

Mane scoffed, "Imbecile is what he was, looked at his feet more than the battle. How he got to be captain I couldn't tell you," he said.

These words rang true in Barker's ears. This was the Lucky he knew. Not a valiant helper of the weak. Lucky was weak. He was powerless. He had been the whipping boy of Psitticus, and yet the people loved him. People tend to forget your flaws when you died early enough.

"What else can you tell me about him?"

Mane's claws retracted and his paws curled. Barker decided he never wanted to be on the other end of a swing from Mane. If Mane was to be arrested, then the patrol would be doing the honors.

"His rise to Captain wasn't by an act of valor. Matter of fact, I never covered him after he attained the rank. Because I was kicked out on my hindquarters. Transferred to another squad, because Lucky had reported me for gambling with the cadets," Mane curled his fist even tighter.

"Was this true?" Barker was nervous, but he felt pressing was his best chance at this.

"Of course, it was bloody true!" Mane was ready to come up from his seat with the rage building inside him. "And something else, that little goody good was there the day I lost my Major stripes. He wasn't a Captain anymore, no, he was one of you," Mane uncurled a single fist and pointed a sharp claw at the chest of Barker.

Barker looked around. He and ten other customers. They would never pull Mane from his corpse before he was devoured whole.

"Lucky walked up in his fancy pressed suit. It was the first time I had ever seen his beady little eyes. He turned to his feet quickly enough as I got really angry, but he was there as they stripped me and took me into the squad car," Mane's hand dropped, but his anger did not subside.

"Lucky was the arresting detective?" Barker could not remember the case, it must have been too boring of a case.

"The entire gambling circle was rocked that day, but only I was able to be taken in," Mane had grabbed the edge of the table.

The entire gambling circle was rocked? Barker would have to look into those case files. He knew gambling circles, and he wondered what simple little Lucky had found.

"I went away for three years."

Mane had given Barker all the ammo he needed. Mane would be going away for far longer after Barker was finished today.

"Well, that is all I need," Barker stood from the table. It wasn't soon enough as the metal rim struck him in the chest. Mane had ripped the table from its tie-downs and threw it forward. Barker stumbled and fell, thinking the entire time not of hurting himself, but instead about that small stain of ketchup he would never get from his white dress shirt.

Mane was over him in a mere second. The patrons were screaming all around him. Ten distinct high pitched screams. Not a one willing to save him from sure death.

Mane leaned down, grabbing Barker around the throat. He expected his life to flash before his eyes, but nothing cliché happened at all.

Instead, Barker waited a moment longer to really let the witness's feel the rage. Barker was lifted to his feet, but he refused to squirm, that was undignified.

Mane lifted him higher into the air. It was a good vantage point. Barker could see the crowd forming behind Mane. They would watch his murder. They would maybe be murdered themselves. If not, most of them would get the details wrong. Eyewitness testimony was a horrible thing to have to depend on.

Mane growled and started to squeeze harder. Barker wouldn't be able to take much more, so he acted fast.

His paw darted into his front pocket and he pulled the small device from his breast. With ten thousand volts under the arm, Mane's grip weakened.

Barker was impressed, terrified, but still impressed as Mane did not fall. Barker hit him again, another ten thousand volts. Mane stumbled and Barker was free. Barker hit him a third time and added a dress shoe to the chest. Mane stumbled backward, tripped over the table and slammed his head off the bench.

Barker placed the taser back into his pocket. He straightened his tie and jacket. Then, turned to the waitress.

"If you could kindly call the detective office and tell that mindless parrot I caught the man who killed Detective Lucky then that would be great,"

Barker stepped over the table and checked Mane's pulse. He was still alive, but there was no telling for how long he would be knocked out. Barker pulled cuffs from another pocket, they would never fit around his wrist.

Barker settled for using the waitress' apron string. It wasn't his first choice, but if Mane woke up Barker needed at least a moment to pull the volts from his pocket.

Unlike Lucky, luck was on Barker's side. Psitticus and the patrol squad arrived after only about ten minutes. They loaded Mane into the car and drove him straight to jail, not passing go as they went.

Barker left the cafe as well. They could clean up the mess themselves, it had not been entirely his fault anyhow.

He had one last thing to do with Mane. Then, he could go home and relax, and shower that smell of Dotton from his clothes.

4.

The Precinct wasn't much grander than Barker's small office quarters. Matter of fact, it was colder and more unwelcoming with its concrete floors and windowless rooms. Barker shivered thinking about being stuck behind those bars.

Confined spaces never settled well inside his mind. He needed space and no clutter to work. He needed pastures to roam.

That is why he tried his best to always avoid these rooms. Lucky had been the interrogator. He had been horrible at it, but he did it without complaints. Usually, by the time Lucky was even needed, Barker had already solved the case, so Lucky could just do the paperwork and go home.

Today, Lucky wouldn't be here to do the cleanup work. Today, Barker would have to dirty his paws on the cold concrete floors.

"Good afternoon, Detective Barker," said the young street patrol, Barker couldn't remember his name. Which was odd because Barker was great with names. "Mane is ready in the third room," the patrol was eager. Barker could see it in his eyes, he would make detective one day, but he wouldn't be a good one.

Barker walked towards the third door. He wanted to steel his nerves a bit. Mane was a massive fellow. He was big enough to slay Barker without breaking a sweat. Barker reminded himself that Mane would be chained to the table and the table bolted to the floor.

The knob was cold. Barker was told as a rookie that the cold made people uneasy. The cold would make people talk faster. Barker figured it out later that the department was just too poor to run the heater down here.

The door squeaked as he pressed it open. Mane was sitting in shackles behind the small table. The rest of the room was bare. This was no fancy room. There was no two-way glass, the district couldn't afford those wonders.

That meant it was just Mane and Barker alone inside the concrete prison.

Mane lifted his head and showed his sharp teeth. In the cafe, Barker would have trembled at the sight, here it was as pathetic a scene as a broken man could get.

"Put them away," Barker stepped in and slammed his writing material on the table. "You are already beaten," Barker pressed the wrinkles from his jacket and sat down. "This whole scene won't take but a minute or two," Barker flipped open the book.

Nothing was written there, nothing of import anyhow. Scribbles and list of nothing. It was for show. A scare tactic.

"I won't be talking," Mane said.

Barker looked up, "Oh, but you already have," he closed the book, pretending to have read what was of worth.

The table wasn't all barren as it seemed at first glance. On the corner was a small recording machine. The machine would be all Barker needed to catch the killer of Lucky. He hit the record button.

"Did you kill Detective Lucky?" Barker traced the record button and clicked it off. Mane didn't seem to notice.

Mane lifted his head, "You think I killed the little rat?"

"He wasn't actually a rat," Barker smiled, sarcasm was his friend as long as Mane stayed in those chains. He didn't want to imagine what would become of him if those chains broke.

"I don't give a hoot what he was, I didn't kill the man," Mane was adamant, convincing even. It was a good thing Barker didn't really care.

"I see," Barker hovered his finger over the record button again. "But you do admit to hitting me in the cafe?"

Barker was already sure of the answer. Admit the lesser and deny the greater. It was to show the truth could be told. Barker hit the record button,

"Yes, I did do that..." Barker hovered over the button. He had his back to back answers. Machines were really easy. A full confession in a matter of minutes.

"Why?" Mane looked at Barker for a moment. Barker hoped the question would prompt the right answer.

"Because I was angry," Barker flipped the record button off. That was a wrap. Admissible in court and with his own testimony Mane was as good as sentenced. Sometimes it was a good thing to die young and loved, it meant the people really wanted to avenge you.

Unlucky for Mane, however, "Well, thank you, Mane," Barker grabbed his notebook from the table.

"Wait, where are you going?" Funny how the ones who don't want to talk always have something more to say.

"Oh, I have what I need, Major," Barker grabbed that cold handle and opened the door. "Have a pleasant time," Barker wanted to add the jibe. It was classless, but Mane had tried to kill him. He straightened his tie, even with a low blow one must look their best.

Clean Up:

In the end, Mane was sentenced to life without parole. Barker was the key witness and did as he may say an impeccable job on the witness stand.

Mane roared and pleaded his defense, but you can't beat those who die young. After all, was said and done, Lucky was avenged, well, sort of.

The Adventures of Vulpecula

Episode Two

Hair

  1.

"Tell me, Vulpecula, do you have any wild ideas or hunches about, well, whoever could possibly be responsible for this?" Officer Pends, literally a sheep of the law, asked with curiosity in his voice that he couldn't disguise.

There was the distinctive smell of chocolate beneath the officer's breath, which only fueled the stereotypes regarding police-officers and their unhealthy infatuation with donuts. Thankfully, stereotypes weren't always negative, and a love for donuts was practical for anybody with a working brain. Speaking of donuts, Vulpecula recalled passing a stand earlier that looked to have been selling pastries. Alas, 'twas not the time for forbidden delicacies, but the time for work, which was something that Vulpecula enjoyed even more than sweets.

"What were you saying?" Vulpecula eventually inquired while pulling at some of the white fur on his chin. For better or worse, there were always a lot of fox-things bumbling about in his mind, and surprisingly, this included more than simply an unwavering desire to eat floor-roaming critters or birds.

That would be an example of a stereotype with negative connotations.

Vulpecula didn't have any problem whatsoever when it came to birds, in-fact, his dear friend Apus just so happened to be an owl that often helped him out on his cases.

"I was just asking whether or not you think you'll be able to figure out who stole it?"

Vulpecula commenced biting the nail of his thumb for a moment; he did not look forward to having to ask Officer Pends to repeat his question a third time. It wasn't Vulpecula's fault; he was a victim of his own imagination, for better or worse, things of such little importance generally failed at keeping his interest for very long. "I'm sorry, I swear that this time I'll listen, run that by me one more time," he said with an innocence that thankfully kept the officer from ignoring him out of shear (Get it?) spite. (Forget it.)

"Do you have anything?"

Vulpecula looked at him earnestly for a second, and then frowned. "No, that's not what you said," he retorted before beginning to walk forward toward where the sword once resided. There was a glass-case that once contained the Sword of Tertius. The sword got its name from Charles Tertius, a famous figure in Maharris history.

"Did you ever get a hold of Apus or Lacerta?" Vulpecula only waited for a moment or two for an answer prior to letting his eyes scan the area of the crime-scene.

The Malane Palace is amongst the artsiest places in all Maharris, and the go-to place for the country's history. If you are a tourist visiting Italina, you are usually there because you want to experience one or a mixture of three things.

There's the illustrious and beautiful Sanchi Tower that looks down at the rest of the city, which is arguably one of the most coveted landmarks in all Maharris. Then, there's the delicious rice, spaghetti, and aquatic foods, but other-wise, tourists came to Italina because they wanted to see the Malane Palace. Vulpecula, however, as he has grown accustom to being, was the exception to that rule, because he was a tourist exploring the city, but wasn't there to experience any of those things. Although, that's not exactly true because he was there on official business.

He was a consultant for some of the most bizarre criminal investigations across the globe, and in so, Vulpecula supposed that he was wrong, and was in-fact another example to that theory. He looked over to see the police-officer, who looked a tad haggard and, ahem, sheepish. If only he knew of the self-discovery Vulpecula experienced merely seconds ago. All Vulpecula knew for sure was that Officer Pends never answered his question, and so, Vulpecula decided to put his mind at ease, "No worries, I am sure that they'll find a way of getting a hold of me."

Vulpecula could see that his words didn't do very much to settle the police-officer's nerves, and he had no interest in making further attempts. He could only imagine the extreme amount of stress that must have come with the job. Then again, Vulpecula didn't find his job to be particularly easy either and so; the officer shouldn't have been pawning his negative energy off on him. "Please leave while I am working," Vulpecula blurted out at once.

"What?" The officer asked, as if he expected his constant annoyances to go unnoticed.

"You are being a distraction."

The officer's face sagged into an even greater frown, which reminded V of what it looked like when a grape was left under the sun for too long. However, to his credit, Officer Pends left without argument.

"Hey, wait," Vulpecula called out urgently. "I am assuming that the rules of no flash photography don't apply during the routine in my investigation?"

Ah, there wasn't even as much as a smile, what a party-pooper. Vulpecula couldn't say he wasn't at least a bit disappointed they couldn't end up as friends.

He could have used the company.

There wasn't anything in the world that he found to be more tedious than museums. If it wasn't a caffeine addiction that killed V, it would be disinterest and boredom. (or somebody choking him, ... V's vendettas were already becoming notorious in his long career.)

He had a very severe case of attention defi....

Vulpecula walked over to where a medallion laid comfortably inside of a glass case, below it was an excerpt explaining its historical relevance.

Vulpecula did not read it.

There was no challenge in history; it was a subject that had been studied repeatedly by historians. There was seldom something to discover for yourself, but you could certainly go where man has gone thousands of times before. (History: The Eternal Frontier)

All the other subjects carried the same basic principle, but at least they were a challenge. Vulpecula was a private investigator and was a good enough detective, but the reasoning behind studying things which have already been thoroughly studied was lost on him. The only thing worth studying to him was the latest past, and that's what they paid him for.

Italina's finest brought Vulpecula and his friends here because somebody broke into the Malane Palace at approximately two in the morning and stole a sword once belonging to Charles Tertius, not to lollygag and look at dumb necklaces.

The cameras successfully filmed the happening as it occurred but because the incompetence of the security guards, the culprit was able to make the escape. The immediate deductive analysis is that it was a ruse conspired between the two security guards and an unnamed third-party, perhaps even a co-worker. This theory could be backed when you consider the amount of knowledge that the thief seemed to have. The thief easily dodged all the lasers while repelling down where the sword lay dormant.

There was no part of Vulpecula that wanted the case to be solved so easily though.

The idea of conspiring co-workers wasn't worth the vivacious Acerian adventurer, and quite frankly, it wasn't very original. Thankfully, Italina's head-honchos were friendly enough to send him a clip of the thievery as it took place, as well as give him access to all the faculty information. The camera fully captured video of somebody repelling down to the sword, however, didn't capture footage on the perpetrator's entry into the building. The wiry frame, feminine stature, and the way that the culprit's hair was hugged by the ski-mask did all but imply the culprit was female.

There are only six security guards employed for the Malane Palace and not one of them is female. One other thing that may or may not be worth noting is that the thievery also fell on the "Night of the Dead," a Maharris holiday that is commonly celebrated by dressing up as a deceased figure in history. This, like most holidays, had lost its meaning, and had become merely an excuse for birds to defecate on vehicles as a "prank," chickens to egg houses, and for the heavy consumption of alcohol. After looking at both profiles for the fine, upstanding gentleman on-duty, V decided that it was reasonable to assume their negligence.

He didn't have the evidence to fully support that, but he had learned not to go against his intuition.

The only question is how the perpetrator could have known about the museum's short-comings.

Once again, there was an immediate answer, and it's that the lady was in cahoots with one of the guards and was thereby enabled means to get the "scoop" on security. The thorough (albeit brief) research that was done on each of the two security guards on-duty revealed that only one of them was married. He was married to a waitress at Ollie's which is open at all-hours of the day, and she just so happened to work on that night. In other-words, the dame had an alibi. As far as other family-members go, the athleticism and acrobatics applied by the thief suggested a female of youth, and as far as siblings went, the only one that had a sister was also a turtle, and there was no sign whatsoever of the female having a shell or bulky exterior.

These are the elements that are known about the case, and in that, with the attributes of the thief, there isn't too much to go on except that the perpetrator was a young, smaller-framed, and well-educated female. She'd need to be well-educated to pull off such a heist, even when considering the museum's short-comings.

There were so many questions, and with such little answers, Vulpecula realized these questions were the only thing getting him out of the bed in the morning. There was nothing that he envied more than the eternal sunshine of a thoughtless mind because for the life of him, he couldn't stop his eccentricities.

He didn't even know the species of the thief because there was no sign of a tail or other characteristics on her body. The mannerisms demonstrated cat-like abilities, but that was intuition more than fact. V had to credit this as being a commendable tool, and one that he used often during his cases. Somebody once said that hunches mustn't be allotted if they aren't fueled by logic. If an individual doesn't have the facts, then they'll find themselves distorting the initial truths in such a way that pieces together their theory. He took few inspirations from others, but those were examples of things that fitted into his self-implored guidelines.

The way of solving a case isn't through theorizing but through comprehension of occurrences and finding a mistake in what would perhaps other-wise appear to be a utopia of antics. Vulpecula inspected the case which had once confined the sword, it once rested inside of a black case with red-fabric lining the bottom. There was also an impression in the fabric showing where the sword had been. The black-case laid upon a chrome-podium that stood at approximately five-feet, and much like the medallion that V had looked at earlier, there was a small excerpt explaining the sword's history.

This time, Vulpecula admittedly skimmed through the paragraph, not because he needed to polish his knowledge over the famous sword, but because he deemed it as worthy to the case.

Next, Vulpecula looked upon the glass-lid over the case, looking for any signs of smudging. He knew he wasn't going to find anything because the video showed that the thief wore gloves, but it was a habit. Also, it was a long-shot, but if he found a lot of finger-prints from another individual, maybe a security guard, (excessive prints not seen on the other cases) that could imply there was interest in the item. "Not to be," belched the cruel hand of reality as it almost always did.

Wiped clean, but Vulpecula doubted it was done to erase evidence, more likely as something routine for the employees to do. Well, barnacles, thought V to himself, and not out-loud, because such harsh language wasn't to be spoken aloud!

Even still, there was a strong smell that kept entering his nostrils. An aroma smelling very reminiscent of perfume, could it have somehow belonged to the woman of the hour or was it simply the residue of a past tourist?

Click.

There was the distinctive sound of a door-latching from afar in the museum, but V heard it, and unsurprisingly enough, he found it to be inexplicably disruptive to his thought-process. He anticipated hearing the loud and unsettling sound of the police-officer's voice. He knew it was him as he recognized the pitter-patter from his furry feet with every step. Officer Pends carried himself like a lurch and dragged his feet as if they were especially heavy for him. Truth be told, they probably were, it was uncharacteristic for a sheep to be put in such a physical job, and the uniform and boots that came with it couldn't have been lenient to his small-stature. V felt for him, for he too, as a fox, was forced to endure his inefficient strength for a considerable number of tasks, but, then again, he was a private investigator, and didn't often need much more than his brain.

"Yes?"

He tried to come off polite as to hide his admitted irritation. There was nothing he hated more profoundly than sounds while he was trying to think but didn't want him to take it personally. Other foot-steps soon followed, clearly not belonging to the uncharacteristically loud sheep. Vulpecula easily identified them as belonging to Apus and Lacerta. "Good evening," Vulpecula called out.

"My friends! May I ask what kept you?"

He turned around curiously, and sure-enough, his hypothesis stood ground and could now be deemed as fact, it was them!

"It's raining cats and dogs out there," Lacerta answered at once which immediately drew a firm stare from Vulpecula. "Not literally," Lacerta assured.

And so, Vulpecula went back to looking at the empty-case, doing hand gestures welcoming them to come and make their own inspection.

"I haven't discovered any specific pieces of evidence. If we can't find anything to go on, we'll need to interview each of the employees to get a better read on them."

Apus and Lacerta both walked over to where Vulpecula had been conducting his inspections, ducking beneath the red-velvet rope that kept civilians from getting too close.

"Do you really think that any of the guards are actually capable of a heist of this magnitude?" Lacerta asked.

Apus, Lacerta, and Vulpecula had all three divided the work-load of conducting information regarding the employees. Vulpecula had admittedly done less than his fair-share, hence why Lacerta and Apus were just arriving. Perhaps humorously, Lacerta had been the only one imploring the hunt and peck technique to his laptop. "Looks can be deceiving, if you decide a book on its cover, there are so many library books that are going to be ignored on the shelves, but that doesn't mean they're bad books. In all honesty, if the individual only took advantage of flaws and happenstance in the system, it wouldn't have required very much, which is reason enough to believe that the guards are a possible candidate."

Vulpecula scratched at his nose. The scent of perfume felt aggravating and uncanny, but he couldn't seem to pinpoint its origins.

"However," Vulpecula began again. "I assume that this is not the case, but still, that doesn't mean there isn't a possible lead. Maybe they were asked a lot of questions by one of the visitors, in-fact, doesn't the Malane Palace conduct tours over the museum?"

Vulpecula's mind was racing with thoughts faster than a deer from a lion, but like the lion, until he caught his prey, he had nothing to sink his teeth into. (The heinousness of lions is also an unfair stereotype, but they are very proud animals, and gotta eat.)

There were so many routine questions of making something out of nothing. Really, it was a process of throwing things at the wall and hoping that one of them sticks. "I will ask Pends about the employees, maybe you're right and there are interns or volunteers," Apus answered.

There was always an uncanny metallic sound to Apus' voice that made him sound raspy and robotic. Vulpecula didn't know whether he liked or disliked that about him, but he was used to it. He was very intelligent, which Vulpecula knew was an asset, and was very computer-savvy. Apus just didn't much care for people, or the socialization that went along with it. That was the exact opposite of Lacerta, who was more of the loud-mouth and arrogant variety. He wasn't really the greatest fit for the mysterious incorporated style that they paid abidance to, but every once in a while, he provided a way to earn his keep.

More importantly, they were Vulpecula's dearest friends; their company was one of the only things that kept his sanity intact.

"That's a pretty aroma," Apus whispered beneath his breath, not particularly saying it to either of them, but Vulpecula heard it. Apus smelled it too, and at that realization, his eyes became transfixed on the multiple hairs to the left of where he was standing. They didn't need to be drenched in perfume for V to smell them, but Apus being able to smell them proved that they were. They were inside of the "No Trespassing" portion of the museum and too abundant to be coincidental.

"This doesn't belong to the guards," Vulpecula said before dropping to one knee and picking up the strands of hair with his paws. Eventually, after breathing in the aroma of the scent, he had them placed into a zip-lock baggie for safe-keepings. "Seven strands, lavender, about fifteen inches in length, it's inside the red-rope barricading the sword." His eyes went up to Apus and Lacerta. "This hair most likely belongs to our girl."

* * *

It was night time, both Apus and Lacerta had since left the museum, but Vulecula remained. He wanted to solve it, plain and simple.

A small couple of hairs could mean the difference between a criminal facing justice for their crime or getting away with it. Evildoers beware the fiendish claws of the tiniest detail with valid reasoning placed behind it! If they left behind even the smallest molecular trace pointing in their direction, then chances are that it would be found. Or at least, that's the mind-set that every good criminal should operate under.

Even still, something about finding the hairs didn't feel right to Vulpecula.

He watched the footage repeatedly, until it had become a file "Saved As" in his conscious-thought. It was a forced compulsion of his routine, but he was also looking for something.

He just didn't know what that something was.

The feeling of a case challenging him was the only thing that ever-kept Vulpecula's attention for long. It was the thrill of the chase, and there was something peculiar about this chase.

The view from the camera was obscured in the beginning of her heist.

Vulpecula didn't imagine that her methods of getting to the top of the Malane Palace were very elaborate; scaling the walls of the Malane Palace should have been easy enough. Even without the equipment that she undoubtedly had. (The footage showed that much.) The Malane Palace stood at around one-hundred and thirty-three feet in height, so it was doubtful that the dame would have taken the risk of climbing the building with her own wits alone. If she wanted to though, she probably could have.

The building had plenty of ledges, ridges, and cliffs. If somebody would have wanted to climb it, they could have. Vulpecula knew that statement to be a fact because he tried to climb the building himself.

He failed.

However, he had the sheepish Officer Pends do it, and he succeeded just fine after falling only three times.

And so, she scaled up the Malane Palace with relative ease.

The rooftop didn't have anything too particular about it; there wasn't a foot-print or any dandruff. Vulpecula insisted on recreating the thievery at night because that was when the thievery had taken place. He wanted to know everything that was going through her head. He wanted to feel the cool air blowing through her fur, or for her, the sweat-shirt and the ski-mask. There was the look of the dwindling traffic reinforced by the lit lamp-posts. Once climbing the building, there were only two clear ways of getting to the down-floor.

There was a door on the north-west side of the building, it probably would have been locked, in-which case, she would have had to pick the lock. Afterward, she'd go to the rafters of the building, look down at the Sword of Tertius, and use a rope to repel herself down. This way seemed like a distinct possibility; however, there was an alarm-system that would have sounded at the very minute the door was opened.

Even still, Vulpecula made certain to inspect the route for evidence, and found nothing.

After climbing to the building, there were five windows on each side of the Malane's walls; she selected the one closest to the sword. There wasn't an alarm-system to the windows, but they were old, and therefore, they were difficult to get open. She didn't want to take the risk of scratching or clawing at it as she had worn gloves to lessen the possibilities of leaving finger-prints. She used a knife, or some other sharp-object, and pried the door open. Vulpecula hung vicariously off the ledge of the building by his cane. (It was dark-brown except for the end which curved like a scythe with a dull blade. It was a cane that had once belonged to his father.) He began eye-balling the window, making a mental-note of the slits and cuts at the center of the window where it had been opened.

She opened the window, made her way to the rafters; descended, got the sword, and then she left the same way that she entered.

Vulpecula arose back to the top of the roof, and at last, acknowledged the vibration from the pocket of his leggings. "V," he answered simply.

"It's Lacerta, they found a match for the hair found at the Malane Palace, where are you?" Vulpecula's ears pricked at hearing Lacerta's words.

"I'm at the Malane Palace, who did the hairs belong to?"

Static on the other end, Vulpecula suspected that Lacerta wrote the name down somewhere, and was now looking for the paper.

"Harriet Collins," Lacerta answered.

"What is her address, or contact information? I need to set up a meeting with her. I will need Officer Pends and preferably both you and Apus for when I go talk to her. I don't have a full-handle on how dangerous she is, but David taught more than Goliath about underestimating others, if you catch my drift." Another long silence befell them, and before long, Vulpecula was starting to wonder whether he had been hung up on. (or worse, that he hadn't caught his drift.)

"I never do, but I'll work on getting the address," Lacerta responded.

The next morning, Lacerta had been courteous enough to do just as he said he would, and Officer Pends even arranged for a meeting with her. She lived only a couple of blocks away from the Malane Palace, and so, while Officer Pends offered to drive his cop-car out-there, Vulpecula assured him that it'd be less hassle simply to walk. He liked the cooling air on his fur, and the sheer simplicity of it all. It was one of the few times where he felt as if the world's loud disturbances weren't so bothersome to his conscious. As he, his friends, and Pends walked down the sidewalk, Vulpecula spent little time looking at the cars going by.

He watched the sidewalk, a blank and solid gray-color, which could act as a projector for all his thoughts to illustrate themselves. There wasn't very much information on file about Harriet Collins. She didn't have a criminal-record, and she didn't have anything else of regard.

"I know that you don't want it to be solved this easy, but you have to admit that it makes sense, right?" Lacerta said while he trekked behind Vulpecula, trying to keep up.

"Why wouldn't he want it to be solved easy, isn't that less work?" Officer Pends chimed in.

"He doesn't like it whenever a case is solved too easily, it bores him."

Officer Pends looked at Lacerta as if he couldn't grasp the thought that somebody might enjoy using their intellect for something other than twiddling their thumbs, Vulpecula thought, while walking, and ... twiddling his thumbs.

"She is a History teacher, and so, at least to a certain degree, the shoe fits. She could possibly carry the skill capable of such a heist, considering her level of education, but she hasn't shown as much as the slightest in criminal intent." Vulpecula spoke. He didn't know whether they were listening, and didn't especially care, but he found it easier to organize his thoughts when he articulated them aloud. "Why else would her hair be found at the scene of the crime? Apus checked to see if she might have volunteered at a point for the museum, but he found nothing." Lacerta pointed out.

Oh, and so he was listening.

"That's one of the problems, look at what the thief was wearing, there was no reason that so much hair should have been lost at the scene of the crime." At last, they met the drive-way leading to Harriet's abode, and Vulpecula's eyes began to frolic about it. The home was a polychrome styling in-which the dwelling stood, interconnected with several others. There was nothing too peculiar about the exterior of the home, which is something that Vulpecula's intuition had expected the thief's home to be. Rather, V led his acquaintances up the steps leading to the small, plywood porch. The wood had been painted over, poorly, with white, to match the building itself. There were clear footprints and dirt, and with that alone, Vulpecula knew that this wasn't the lady who stole the Sword of Tertius. He took a breath and readied himself to plead her case.

"There isn't a criminal-record to be found, no sign of wrongdoings, which surely wouldn't render Harriet as innocent. In-fact, the video-tape that we have seen details somebody, perhaps cunning enough to evade the law for all of this time. However, those footprints entail a hippopotamus, which is impossible. The frame of the thief's body described somebody much smaller." Vulpecula tried very hard to contain some of the intrigue that bumbled inside of him like the regular every-day bee, but he questioned his effectiveness.

"Are you saying that we're back to square-one?" Lacerta asked. He didn't have nearly the same enthusiasm that Vulpecula had.

If Vulpecula didn't know any better, he'd think Lacerta would much rather be sipping sparkling liquid in one of Italina's finest hotels with a view of the Tower of Sanchi.

"No," Vulpecula replied firmly, and without elaboration, he knocked on the red slab door and waited for a response. "Hold on, hold on," a high-pitch voice cried from the inside. Vulpecula rifled with the fur on his chin as habit commanded and tilted his nose to the ground. There was a loose-nail sticking out from the wooden-porch, and it admittedly bothered him to no ends. He didn't wear boots and was liable to step on it on the way out.

The door swung open, and Harriet Collins greeted them all with a smile. "Whoever you are, can we make this quick, my hair is an absolute mess!"

If Vulpecula were to go to the Watergate, a small book-store in Italina, then go to the "Mom" section, grab the first book about soccer, and look at the cover, he had no doubts that he would have seen Harriet Collins.

He was right in assuming her species, but hadn't anticipated her appearance, which only further proved that she wasn't the culprit. She had a silver complexion complemented by a blonde beehive-shaped head of hair, as well as a heavy amount of make-up. As far as her ensemble, she wore what looked to be an Italinian Blazers shirt; unfortunately, the several necklaces that she was wearing kept V from confirming that assumption. Besides that, she was also wearing yellow shorts that didn't do her tree-trunk legs very many favors. In-response, Vulpecula gave a face that would hopefully be misinterpreted as polite and not disgusted. There was also a strong smell of perfume radiating off her.

"Hello, Mrs. Collins, my name is Officer Pends, and this is Detective Vulpecula Noel, and his accompanying party is Apus Yields and Lacerta Kerrick. You may recall that I called you," Officer Pends began, a sound of ... shear ... professionalism in his voice that Vulpecula found to be pretty flocking dumb. (A baaaad pun.) Vulpecula never really appreciated the necessity of procedural introductions. "He called you because we thought you stole the Sword of Tertius on-account of evidence found at the Malane Palace linking you to the crime. However, at last your size and the clumsiness of your species has worked to your good fortune, and your name has been cleared," Vulpecula explained. "Congratulations."

Vulpecula's eyes dwindled away from Harriet long enough to see the look of terror in the eyes of his helpers, but he couldn't decipher why they seemed so afraid. His eyes returned to Harriet once more only to see the door slammed before him.

Vulpecula smiled dryly, and let out a sigh, the rudeness of the world was always lost on him.

"I will never understand how you are Hensley's son," Lacerta admitted with a smirk.

"Pshaw," V started up. "The lady didn't have the wits to keep loose-nails off her porch, let alone assist in solving this case, and yet, I do believe that she has."

Hours later, Vulpecula, Apus, and Lacerta all found themselves inside of Ollie's Abil, each having ordered their usual meal, and sitting in their usual spot. Neither Lacerta nor Apus cared very much when it came to the seating arrangements, but perhaps compulsively, Vulpecula found it pivotal to them enjoying their meal as much as the last time they ate there.

"Do you care to let us in on how exactly Harriet helped you further the investigation?" Lacerta asked with a startling amount of irritation in his voice.

Vulpecula noticed that Apus didn't seem as bothered with him withholding the information for as long as he had. Part of him couldn't help but wonder whether Apus was biting his tongue, and had, in-fact, figured out as much as he had. "There were seven strands of hair at around fifteen inches in length," Vulpecula began while Apus and Lacerta both sat at the table and stared at him, curious to see where he may be going with this. They hadn't even begun to touch their food, both with a delectable helping of spaghetti resting upon fancy-looking porcelain plates that complimented it nicely. Ollie's Abil was a restaurant mostly visited by tourists for the novelty of it all, but it also made some of the finest food in all Italina. Vulpecula himself had opted for a simple assortment of rice and sushi.

He didn't want to take the chance of some of the spaghetti getting on his fur.

Vulpecula waited for what he believed to have been an ample amount of time for his comrades to digest the statement and found himself bewildered when they didn't respond. He began to fidget around with his fork, stabbing at a piece of sushi until he could withstand himself no longer and looked up at them.

"So," Lacerta blurted out. "All this tells us is that you have a photographic memory whenever it comes to details."

Vulpecula let out a sigh of disappointment before he decided to continue. "My memory is more comparable to a blank chalkboard, as if to say I can roll my eyes in the back of my head and see data that I had deemed important. For example, I can't very well describe to you the face of Harriet Collins from memory, but I can tell you her age, blood-type, and a variety of details. Once this case is solved, I will erase the writings from my mind, and will create space for the next case," he explained.

Lacerta never really seemed the type to strain himself intellectually for the benefit of a case, he was keener whenever it came to companionship, talking to people, and articulating the latest trends.

Pity, however, while it might not seem it, all three of those things had already helped them on several occasions. He watched as Apus made a peck at his spaghetti before carrying on. "Lacerta, in-fact, this tells us much more than my capabilities because we had clearly seen from Harriett, her hair couldn't have been longer than eight-inches at most, and, not to mention, Harriet's hair was blonde. The hair that we found at the Malane Palace was brown, but did you notice the smell, a different scent entirely, both perfumes, potentially of the same brand, but not the same. So, to see what is learned, let's recite."

"We already knew that Harriet Collins' heavier stature made it impossible for her to have been the one who stole the Sword of Tertius. However, this doesn't explain why her hair would be found at the scene of the crime. While, she is a history teacher, none of the records indicate her ever being in a position where she would have authorization to be so close to the artifacts. How could her hair have possibly gotten there, well, now, we know that the hair found at the crime-scene isn't particularly fresh. The hair was brown, while her current hair-color is blonde; she could have dyed it recently, and most likely did, but had no reason to. And so, the question remains as to why her hair could have possibly been left there. I believe that the thief that stole the Sword of Tertius left her hair there to throw off the investigation, and/or to frame Harriet Collins' for the crime. Harriet's occupation as a history teacher merely assisted in condemning Collins." Vulpecula took in a breath of air, the rapid-fire speaking had taken the wind out of him, but he noticed that he had the full attention of both Apus and Lacerta.

"The next question in solving this whodunnit would be to ask how the thief got Harriet's hair in the first-place. Now, one theory would be that she snuck into her house, found it on a brush, and that was the end of that, but the thief demonstrated in the video carried a prowess much too careful and meticulous to take such a risk. And besides, the amount of hair could only be received from plucking it right off from her head. There would be something more unorthodox and diabolical, and with that, it brings us to the fact that the hair was longer than Mrs. Collins' hair. I am suggesting that Harriet Collins' hair was trimmed, approximately four or five inches, and then dyed from brown to blonde. Along the way, seven full-length strands of hair found themselves at the bottom of the barbershop floor. They were sprayed with a fragrance, to be more likely discovered, and that fragrance was from the same place that Harriet usually buys her perfume, the closest salon in Italina, - Miss Marion's Barbershop."

2.

By the time that Officer Pends knocked on the door, she didn't even try to deny stealing the Sword of Tertius and went away without much controversy. This was lucky because if she were to put up a fight, the evidence was circumstantial, and she would likely be freed on a technicality, but no, she confessed. A little bit of hurt pride in how quickly she had been discovered, but not a whole lot of arguing.

And so, the white-furred fox, Vulpecula, grabbed his walking-stick and with his friends, the lizard Lacerta and the owl Apus, he successfully solved the case behind the Sword of Tertius.

A month later, it was stolen again.

The Life and Crimes of Detective Barker

Episode Three

Gifting

1.

It was a dirty city. It was loud and obnoxious. It was ridden with crime and hate. That was the city Barker called home. It was everything you could ask for in his line of work. Yet, there was one single time of the year that it was even worse.

People from all around the city would decorate their filthy homes with lights. That only seemed to accentuate the dirt building up along the walls. The city would decorate its trees with ornaments that were clearly as old as the tree itself. It was a horrid time filled with petty theft, family slayings, greed, and lots of work.

Here in Urgway, it was called "The Giving", signaling the gift of life from whatever creator people believed in. For Barker, it meant horrible amounts of paperwork and job security.

Barker flipped another page in the large folder of documents before him. It was funny how this was supposed to be a time filled with joy because it seemed that crime only escalated as families got together for the end of the year.

It was as if families weren't meant to stay in close proximity to one another. Barker could have easily told them that long ago.

Barker flipped another note over having glanced over the case facts, but before it hit the desk he grabbed it again with his paw.

'Solved by Vulpecula' it read down at the bottom. A case involving an Urgway sports team and a missing hand. Who was Vulpecula?

Before he could look further into that there was a knock at the headquarter doors. The headquarters was more of a small den. The space was so narrow that the filing cabinet had to be shut before opening the door.

Barker gave a sigh. It was really a shame that Lucky wasn't here anymore because now he had no choice but to get up and answer the door himself.

"No need to hurry there, little furry boy," said a purple rhino.

Even without the tight compartment, getting that woman into the office was going to be a chore. Instead, Barker pushed through and stepped out into the chilly morning air. How long had he been strewing over those papers? He thought it only a few hours, but it must have been quite a few more.

"What can I do for you, Miss?" Barker left the question open-ended.

The woman didn't seem too interested in trading pleasantries.

"You are expected here," she thrust a small business card into Barker's chest.

Barker didn't move for a moment. Instead, he stared into the eyes of the pushy rhino woman. Who was she? He felt her fingers digging into his breastbone. He reached down taking the card, if for nothing else but to get her hands off him.

"What's it for?" Barker asked.

The card read: 'Rescue Director Vivian Herms', Barker had heard the name.

The rescue was a group out of Italina that liked to pretend they were elite detectives. Barker didn't give two cents to their views or ideas.

"What does she want?" Barker said and threw the card into the trash receptacle near the door.

The rhino didn't look pleased at all. Her voice came out even huffier, but Barker could easily see the outline of a rookie patrol cop. This woman hadn't been a detective very long and she wasn't a very good one either, hence why she was playing messenger.

"You will meet with Director Herms," she started then paused. She was flustered, Barker could see the evidence in her purple cheeks that looked more red than purple by now. After a few deep breaths, she started again, "You will respect the work she had accumulated. You will be at Rescue Headquarters in Italina in three days' time."

The rhino said nothing else and turned on her heel walking back to the waiting taxi cab. Barker stood there for a moment and waited for the cab to disappear down the road. He then turned and removed the business card from the bin. It would do well to know the animal he was to tame.

2.

Italina was only about three hundred miles west of Urgway; meaning that three days left Barker plenty of time to get to the city. However, Barker wasn't one for showing up to a situation without some prior knowledge of the situation.

It turned out Rescue headquarters was gigantic and also completely hidden. The building he stood in front of on the first day in Italina was not called Rescue. Instead, the front store facings read things like 'Mike's Dry Cleaners' and 'Franks Chili Wieners', which was surprisingly quite tasty.

Barker noticed right away it was a cover for their operation. He may not have noticed to be quite fair, but that purple rhino was a hard character to miss. Barker had avoided her pretend, stern gaze, but he had seen her just fine. She had walked in through the dry cleaners and not come back out for hours. It was safe to say that this is where he would be meeting this Herms character.

Herms, it turned out was a rather skinny woman with authoritative looks and fashion. She had been the handpicked director by a fox named Noel. She had been running with the title for quite some time, but she didn't have any big cases behind her credentials. Sure, Rescue was well known throughout the world, but Herms was relatively quiet.

Maybe that was by design, or maybe she just didn't strive for the attention, or more likely she was a second-rate detective, who just happened to wear a golden star above her name.

Italina aside from being one of the largest cities this side of the pond wasn't very exciting to Barker. People pushed along in packs like drones looking to get from point A to point B. There was no interaction, not like Urgway.

Urgway was full of character, most of it horrible character, but character none-the-less. There were no evident pickpockets, no shady vendors, and no questionable women. Sure, Italina still had your random homeless bloke, but really even they looked listless and deprived.

It was a wonder detectives even survived in this place. Barker had only been here two days and already he was ready to die of boredom.

Barker pushed into a small café. It wasn't anything special. Not like his rats hole back home, but they can't all be winners.

"Excuse me, sir," said a funny looking bird as he passed by. Barker watched him until he sat in a booth with a white-haired character, but Barker didn't see his face before being guided to a side booth.

Barker had picked this café to keep an eye on the storefronts. To know who was a part of this operation and who was just a decoy. He still wasn't sure what these people wanted, but he did know he wouldn't be caught off guard by them.

As Barker watched he continued to jot down notes. Descriptions of people he thought noteworthy. Different routes in and out of the buildings. He would see a man go into one building and an hour later exit another. That meant there were several doors and that Rescue tried to be careful about their business.

"More coffee," the waitress asked.

Barker had already made his notes on her. She was someone he would have to take care of before he left. Waitresses didn't do sixteen-hour shifts, and waitresses didn't wear thousand dollar earrings. She was materialistic or undercover, and Barker had been a detective long enough to know which it was.

"No more coffee. I will need a check," he said looking down at his watch. Best to feign needing to be somewhere else, it was a guaranteed way to be tracked and followed. She would do the job herself. She had invested too much time to be sluggish and give her glory away. Anyone who wore thousand dollar earrings liked to be the center of attention.

Rounding the corner, Barker stopped to pretend to tie his shoe. It was an easy ploy to look down and stop. The woman was down the street, exactly as he thought, trailing him to his faked meeting. It was almost too easy.

Barker stood and looked around with an air of franticness, before darting down a side alley. It was safe to bet no one would come down this way, aside from his tail. When she came not a minute later, Barker moved out from behind the small dumpster.

"Umm," was all she mumbled.

"Don't worry," was all the assurance Barker would give her.

He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into a tight embrace. Her eyes were panicky and afraid. He wasn't going to kill her though, that was far too messy. Instead, he inserted a small needle into her neck. Just enough to keep her asleep for a little while, long enough to store her away until this venture was over.

3.

The address on the card led him to the shop fronts. Barker could have gone in through the shops and patrolled the halls of Headquarters alone. He had evaluated and discovered much about the facilities. However, that would give his one advantage away.

This group of second-rate detectives wanted something from him. Barker reached up and adjusted his collar. He would wait for them to come to him. He would stand like a lost puppy and they would come to his rescue; just as their name implied.

"Detective Barker?"

Barker turned around and came face to face with a bright-eyed cat. She protruded her hand into his airspace, but instead of shaking it he used his own paws to straighten his collar. She seemed to get the point and dropped the pretense.

"You are to come with me," she said.

Their trip led them through the entryway of the dry cleaners. Inside, the woman gave a nod to the man at the front of the desk. The man was clearly no detective, and maybe he really did do dry cleaning. It was certain he knew what was going on around him though.

Barker was led through a rear door and then down a set of stairs.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

He didn't need the answer, but the illusion of confusion was needed.

The Cat woman did not answer. She just opened another door at the foot of the stairs and led Barker into a small elevator. Her claws tapped on the number six. It took a moment for the elevator to react. It seemed Rescue wasn't as lucrative as they seemed in the papers.

Barker found a reflective panel inside the box and made sure everything was up to appearance. It was best to always look your best. The cat gave a scoff behind him.

When the elevator stopped, the woman started up like she had been fired from a cannon. Barker almost darted after her. It was instinct, but he caught himself and with a dignified manner walked behind her.

They passed several small cubicles with what seemed like interns. They passed a wooly mail carrier who barked something at the cat, but if she could understand the words she was more in tune than Barker.

Finally, she stopped walking and pointed towards a small leather couch.

"Sit and wait, when Director Herms is ready, she will fetch you, boy."

It seemed that the handshake had really flustered that cat. Barker gave a smile and sat on the couch.

"Quite the impressive resume," said Vivian Herms.

Barker looked up as if he was bored. She hadn't made him wait as long as he would have suspected.

"I am sure it is," Barker said with a hint of snide.

His paw gracefully drew to his neck and he adjusted his collar standing up off the couch.

"I assume we are meeting in an office and not this dingy hall?" Barker asked.

Herms, if she was perplexed, didn't show it. Her face was still as stone and she waved him to follow.

Her office was right around the corner. It was impressive, but Barker would never admit that out loud. Her desk was bigger than Barker, Lucky, and Psitticus's desks put together; also made of real wood, not particle board. Her chair was leather and so thick with cushion that Barker was afraid when she sat she would meld into it.

"Please have a seat," she motioned towards an equally comfy looking chair. Barker noticed this chair sat lower and bore no armrest, however. It was a statement of power. Barker was not interested in it.

"I will stand," he replied.

Keep his head above his competitors. A king never bows and Barker was king detective in this room.

Vivian for her part shrugged and took a seat.

"Have you ever considered joining a detective unit?" she asked.

Barker feigned interest in her wall décor. It was rather expensive, not that he would decorate his own walls with the choice of paintings. Half of them he couldn't understand, the other half he was sure there was nothing to understand.

"Do you enjoy paintings, Mr. Barker?"

Barker turned his eyes to Mrs. Herms and adjusted his collar.

"I detest them. A frivolous waste of money, not to mention your taste is atrocious. A third point is that all but one of these paintings is a fake," Barker let that sit in for a minute. It seemed that Mrs. Herms was aware of the forgeries. "Your child can finger paint very nicely though," he said, pointing to a picture on her desk.

It probably wasn't her son. It wasn't good either. But Vivian did not correct him.

"You solved the case of the Water Lily quite astutely. You have solved many cases over the past few years just the same. In Urgway, you are called the great detective. You have potential, but you need guidance."

Vivian closed his file that had been open on her desk. She had studied him as he had her. The unfair part was that he was much better at it.

"You seem to have no records at all, Mrs. Herms. Retired before your prime? Director duties so piled that you do not participate in the activities of your firm anymore?"

Barker moved away from the desk. His back was turned to her. She could play her power card, but Barker refused to be cowered by it. Instead, he would frustrate her and let her make her grasp.

"It is my job to make sure this place runs to full efficiency, Mr. Barker. This is why you are here today. I see you are not interested in banter. You are not interested in Rescue, but Rescue is interested in you. You came to our offices under request, which can only mean that somewhere deep down you are at least curious."

Barker straightened his collar. She played it well. He gave her kudos for that much. He turned and walked over to the chair, placing his paws on its back.

"What is it that Rescue needs Vivian?"

He wanted to throw her off. Break her cool, but the use of her first name did not break her mold. She played the banter well.

"There is a case that has us perplexed. It should be something simple and yet, it isn't."

Vivian opened another folder that sat to the left of his own. She skimmed thru it and stopped somewhere in the middle.

"Read," she said and flipped the folder towards Barker.

He hesitated a moment. Did he want to get trapped into something? What was her play? He paused a moment too long and felt the heat rising in him. He stepped forward. There on the table was a simple heading.

'Someone stole The Giving and killed the Giver." Barker had no idea what it meant. But under the heading was a small checklist of clues. He scanned them. They were useless. It seemed that someone had killed the company Giver. But where Barker fit into the point of this charade he wasn't sure.

"I know you work in Urgway as a special case detective, Mr. Barker," she kept his title in the name, "I want you to do the same for Rescue. Someone in the facility is a murderer and I want you to find them."

Barker wasn't much for independent cases. Even in Urgway, he turned down hundreds of assignments. That, needless to say, really scoffed ole Psitticus. Something about this, though, seemed off already. Something about Rescue bringing in an independent contract seemed odd.

"Why not one of your detectives?" Barker asked.

"Easy, one of them is the culprit," she said.

4.

Vivian Herms had expected an answer of yes from Barker. Sadly, Barker could not disappoint her. Not because the initial case interested him. That wasn't it at all. He didn't care who the man in the Giver suit was. He didn't care about Rescue's rogue detective. What he cared about was something deeper in this plot. The Rescue was trying to test him and he wanted to know why.

That is the only reason Barker accepted the small cubicle, of an office. The perks were that even with a small cubicle Herms had okayed his request for one of those comfy cushions. Barker wondered now how he had ever sat in a chair before this.

He finally leaned forward and touched his collar. What idiot in Rescue committed a crime in their own headquarters? It was up to him to find that out he assumed. The folder wasn't very thick; it was only about twenty pages of notes.

Barker started at page one but soon got bored with the overview. Whoever wrote the reports was dryer than a dirt cake. He moved on to the crime scene report.

It turned out that the Giver had been found inside his dressing room. It turned out the dressing room was only actually a storage closet. Barker made a note to see the place. The next note said that the body was still in-house. Down in the morgue, he would have to see the body as well.

The next few pages were pictures of the body and room after the crime scene. He noted the blood pattern. If the Giver was killed there, he was killed by someone much shorter than he was. Barker made a note of the Giver's height. Only six foot, that only narrowed out the taller co-workers. Or it narrowed no one out, if the really tall folks understood blood splatter, then maybe they stabbed underhanded with the intention of deceit. Were Rescue detectives that clever? It was worth a jot in the ole notes.

The rest of the folder was suspects and motives. Someone had started the legwork before Herms got the bright idea to bring in private help. Barker would read those later. He would get his own facts first.

Barker shut the folder and put it in one of the desk drawers. Now, the hard part of the day, getting up out of this cushioned chair; no wonder Psitticus used the hardwood seats.

Barker pushed himself up with a sigh of displeasure. Working was his least favorite part of the job. Being a detective had its perks, but figuring out why people did things was not one of them.

People were complex creatures. They killed, stole, maimed, abused all for different reasons. These reasons rarely made sense to anyone but the actual culprit. To the outside world, it seemed like pointless violence or stupid decisions. Barker found it hard to argue with that logic, most criminals were stupid. That didn't mean they had to be though.

Barker's first stop was the storage room.

The storage area happened to be about as large as Barker's office back in Urgway. It wasn't a normal mop and bucket type storage either, it was mostly filled with hordes of old boxes. Barker thumbed through a few of them, finding nothing but old solved cases and evidence. There were probably hundreds of these storage areas throughout the buildings. This didn't seem like a particularly special room.

The murder had happened, according to the papers, two days prior to Barker arriving. Someone had already run through the room with cleaning supplies, ruining anything Barker would have gotten in terms of crime scene analyses. One thing was obvious though, these boxes were not splattered with blood at all. To have been so meticulous to change all the boxes in the room seemed odd. It also seemed like it would have taken longer to take each item from the boxes of previous and place them into these new ones. Barker made a mental note of it; just another thing to add to the odd case.

Finding nothing of note inside the storage area, Barker went to the break room. He had not had a chance to evaluate the suspects. He had only met a handful of employees for Rescue at all. He doubted Vivian Herms was a suspect; she had hired him after-all. The Rhino woman was to prude to wield a knife. Although, he wouldn't be surprised to learn she overzealously shot someone. However, he mentally marked them both off his list.

There was then, the cat who had guided him into the building. There was motive; they were sending her on errands. A gofer, when she probably longed to be an important detective. It was doubtful she would ever reach that pinnacle with her advancing age.

Barker had also passed a mail carrier, but he doubted that the fat beast of a man could have actually fit into the storage room, and he was much too tall, for the splatter pattern.

Barker poured himself a cup of coffee and stared at his reflection in the clean mug. He was the greatest detective in Urgway; he had no doubt about that. He was the most handsome as well; there was no arguing that fact. However, this building was new. Were Rescue detectives better than he was? Barker almost let out a laugh but held it in.

He was glad he had as two detectives walked into the room.

"You must be the detective Herms announced," said an ugly, mangy looking goat. "Surprising really, Rescue isn't too keen on hounds," he finished.

Barker let the comment move passed him. He wasn't going to have a verbal dispute with such a creature. The other individual was taller and sheepish. She gave a poke to the goat's ribs.

"Sorry," he added.

But he wasn't sorry. Barker knew that Rescue had their disputes with his kind. He knew that from the history he had read. That just added to the oddness of bringing him in. He said nothing to the two employees and took his coffee with him out of the room.

He didn't need to talk to them to realize they didn't have the brains or courage to commit murder. It took a harder personality and the goat was rude, but not brave. The sheep was too quick to not offend.

Barker took a sip of his coffee and threw it in the trash. Rescue had a lot of disappointments racking up.

The morgue was less than accommodating. Two guards had been posted at the entrance to a long corridor. The arrow directed Barker towards the morgue, but the two bisons of men wouldn't let him through.

"I have clearance from the director Vivian Herms," Barker said.

The two men traded glances. Barker thought that would be enough to get him through into the hallway, but he had been wrong.

"I do believe we have something for you," one of the bison's said. "I will retrieve it for you."

Barker didn't bother fighting with them. He couldn't take down two behemoths. Instead, he straightened his collar and tried to get a glimpse of anything through the pane of glass on the door. There was nothing to be seen. He wondered why Herms even had him on this case. Not a single other detective seemed to be alarmed that he was investigating the murder. Not a single one of them seemed to be out of the loop. The only confused detective in the building seemed to be Barker.

The bison returned a minute later holding a small folder.

"There is something in here that Mrs. Herms wished for you to browse over," he said and thrust the folder into Barker's chest.

Barker was tired of the Rescue employee's attitude. Not a single one of them had ever been outside this building it seemed. He made a mental note on the guards. If all else failed then he would just make sure that they committed the crime. It was a win, win situation that way.

Barker took the folder and returned back to his small cubicle. The item that had been important to Mrs. Herms turned out to be more photos. This time it was something that was useful to Barker.

The man in the pictures was the supposed victim. The victim that had died two days prior to Barker arriving and a day prior to Barker's investigation on Rescue from the diner. The man was without his costume in the photos. There were clear puncture wounds across his chest and arms.

But Barker wasn't interested in the pictures for their evidence to the supposed case. He was far more interested in the man's face. Barker closed the folder. There were a lot of weird things going on at Rescue headquarters.

One thing that was certain, however, Barker had just solved another case.

5.

Vivian Herms was dressed in a long grey skirt and matching button-up blouse. To Barker, it seemed she had stuffed herself into a too tight trash bag, but he knew enough about Italina to know this was supposed to emulate power.

"So, you said you had some important news to share with us?"

Vivian walked around to the corner of the desk and leaned back. Barker had indeed told Mrs. Herms to procure her important individuals and bring them into the conference room. He would enlighten them on his findings there.

Barker had solved the case last night. It had only taken a single piece of evidence. It was really quite sad that it had come to this. That Rescue would even bother with a charade on this level.

Barker fixed his collar.

"It has come to my attention," Barker stood to his feet, pushing the chair back into the table, "That this operation is run quite poorly." He let his eyes rove around to each of them in turn. He didn't know the others, but he didn't care to know them either. "This operation is left to amateur detectives, who find it amusing perhaps?" Barker let the question hang.

"What are you getting at, Detective?" Vivian Herms had stopped her lax posture. She now stood to her full height and puffed her chest in some attempt at grandeur.

"Do you assume, Mrs. Herms, that I am a simpleton?" Barker asked her.

Vivian's mask slipped for a moment, but she recovered quite nicely. "What are you getting at, Detective?" she asked again.

Barker walked around the table. Fixing his collar, he stopped at a painting on the conference walls.

"It seems that none of the art in this building is real," he said putting a claw to the canvas. "It follows that this council probably isn't real," he turned towards them. The men and women seated did not bother to proffer any evidence to the otherwise.

"I am not sure I like these accusations, Mr. Barker," Herms was getting perturbed, it was evident in her voice.

Barker turned and fixed his collar.

"I am not inclined to care what you think at all. You brought me here to solve a case. Do you want the conclusion or not?"

Vivian waved her hand in response. Barker concluded that she no longer trusted her own voice to give the message.

"Well, evidence led me to conclude several things upon inspection. One piece of evidence was that there was no murder at all here in this building." Barker tried to gauge the faces of those around the table, but they showed no emotion. It was all the response he needed, however.

Vivian Herms stayed unnaturally quiet.

"I witnessed your dead Giver, three days ago now, leaving the dry cleaners downstairs. It would be quite hard to walk with the unfortunate case of being dead he was supposedly suffering from," Barker paused to fix his collar, "It was easy to see that the closet where this supposed murder occurred was retrofitted to seem like an evidence bay, but you forgot to dirty up the boxes. It would seem like the first thing you would have done, but nevertheless. It wasn't the ultimate clue. The ultimate clue was the picture folder. The angle of the knife cuts did not match the blood splatter, and the face matched a man who I knew to be alive."

Barker stopped pacing, which he had not even noticed he started. Now, he stood, staring right into the eyes of the Director of Rescue, Vivian Herms. She stood stoically still. The others at the table did not meet the gaze of his eyes.

"That isn't the most damning thing about this whole charade though, is it, Mrs. Herms?"

Vivian Herms shook her head and put on a smile.

"They said you were good, Mr. Barker, but I had to assume they were just tooting horns. You have not disappointed, however. The board here is willing to offer you a place at Rescue due to your particular set of skills."

Barker interrupted.

"You assume that after trying to play the world's worst trick upon me that I would harbor any desire to attach myself to the name of Rescue?"

Vivian looked to start with her reply, but Barker held up his paw.

"That isn't all. Vivian, I know that this isn't Rescue headquarters. The place is a dump. I know that the detectives out there aren't detectives they couldn't act their way out of a wet paper bag. These board members may as well be cardboard cutouts. The only thing real here is you and that purple rhino who invited me."

Vivian's smile faded, "Well, you are good aren't you?"

Barker nodded his head. "I am the best, I would brag further, but I am no longer interested in this acting. Instead, I will assume you had a point for all of this and allow you a moment to gather your thoughts, before letting me in on the whole story."

Mrs. Herms gave a subtle clap, "Even I am impressed. I have worked with some of the world's best detectives over my time as Director, I am not sure they would have had the wherewithal to figure this out so quickly, or maybe they would have just lacked the gall to call us out in such a manner. Either way, kudos to you, Mr. Barker, you are correct in the assessment on all fronts." Vivian walked over to an empty chair and sat down. "You all can leave now, your checks will be deposited into the accounts as arranged prior." The council of actors stood and left the room, leaving Barker and Herms alone.

"Please do sit, Mr. Barker," Herms said and pulled a folder from under the table.

Barker yearned for that cushion on his backside, so he sat. He didn't do it to please anyone but himself, or at least that was his own personal excuse for the act.

"Have you ever heard of the group The Shock?"

The Adventures of Vulpecula

Episode Three

The Laugh Track

Italina is home to the Malane Museum, filled with decorative tapestries and fancy silverware, the whole twenty-seven feet. Not only that, but visitors and citizens also flocked to the Sanchi Tower. (Flock, an unfortunate word, as one time, Vulpecula recalled reading about a bird-brained eagle flying that flew right into it... A story for a different time.) It was known for Ollie's Abil, a terrific and decadently scrumptious eating establishment famous for sushi and pasta.

That's what Italina is, a fancy and romantic setting.

Meanwhile, however, Acera strives as the exact opposite of that. Laid-back and with a live and let live attitude. Hot-weather almost all year around, Acera is where Vulpecula, Apus, and Lacerta hang their hats at night. (or scarves, a green one for Vulpecula, meanwhile, the other two didn't have the bravado for any trademark looks. Lacerta sometimes would shed his skin, and V would joke about wearing it and acting out his favorite scenes from an old eighties horror called The Laugh Track.)

That was Acera. But as the Taxi-Driver sped onward, over the speed-limit to keep with the flow of oncoming traffic, Vulpecula wondered what Urgway was known for.

Everything about it felt dark and gloomy, a dreary atmosphere that made it feel like a dark-cloud was cast over them. V perched his chin over his Shenai Stick, the top of his head leaned up against the back of the driver's head rest.

The city shouldn't have been that big a departure from others, but it was. It wasn't what was done, but how it was done, and it felt like everything had a gray-scale layer gleamed over it. Even the street lights shined with a certain bleak disparity.

The industrial world. The crime filled slums. That's the legacy Urgway had for itself.

That and the Water Lily, some kind-of religious artifact that had meaning at some time or another but had since been forgotten by most other major cities.

The Canes Vinatici had been stopped all those years ago, but the residual effects laid wasteland foundations. Vulpecula had no interests in religion. Interest in the religious, but not the subject-matter.

Urgway was a town built on shoddy frameworks and never seemed to fix itself. That much was apparent. In Hardan, the dogs ran rampant, bossing around everything and everyone, but besides constant reminding of their own superiority, that's about where it ended. Rescue assured that. Urgway wasn't the same way though, because it wasn't Hardan. Urgway wasn't about manipulation or having control, it was just about brute force. In-fact, it was more about survivalist mentality mixed with established social-trend voiding the chances of enlightenment.

In layman's term, Urgway was known as the home of stupid, thick-headed mutts. But that wasn't politically correct to say, in-fact, that was a downright 'no-no,' and Lacerta had been slapped in the back of the head by Vulpecula many times for it. In many ways, Vulpecula felt sorry for many of the canines caught in the cross-fire of The Canes' downfall.

"I don't even understand what we're doing here. These dogs don't want our help, they want us for breakfast." Lacerta spouted off with that nasally tepidness that V loved so-much.

Lacerta sat, his head mushed against the car-door window, admiring the littered cesspool around them. Apus was in the middle, his large eyes staring forward, sitting calm with a seat-belt over his waist. V, opposite Lacerta, fidgeted with his whiskers, his head up. The taxi-driver didn't seem to enjoy V driving his skull into his headrest. Vulpecula brought his chin up and off from the walking stick.

"Clearly," Vulpecula started, "They do care about what we have to say, or they wouldn't have asked up to make the trip. Besides, aren't you at least enjoying the scenery?"

"No, I'm not for that matter, and neither are you," Lacerta fired back, an agitated inflection behind his words, "You haven't even looked out the window once!"

Lacerta's nagging bothered Vulpecula. He couldn't believe folk thought Lacerta was the normal one.

"I did once. But nothing really keeps my attention that long, you know that about me. But I thought maybe you might enjoy it." Vulpecula answered.

Lacerta let out an audible groan for rebuttal, along with something about how Urgway looked like the setting for an over-the-top crime thriller. Vulpecula offered no retort, however. One reason was because he didn't feel like arguing, the other reason because he saw a glare from the dog driver in the rear-view mirror that scared him.

"I figured you'd be a little more uneasy about coming here, what, considering who your father is," Lacerta commented.

"I don't believe the dogs around here are petty enough to carry grudges," Vulpecula said, albeit sarcastically.

"Your father basically helped dethrone the Canes Vinatici from power and considering how bad this city looks right about now, I think they might be a little bothered by the sight of you." Lacerta said back.

"Grasping at straws some, aren't you?" Vulpecula asked, his comment, once again riddled with facetious tongue.

"The Supreme Stadium isn't far from here," Apus said plainly.

Ah, yes, the Supreme Stadium, thought Vulpecula. The Supreme Stadium was one of the only land-marked areas in all Urgway, that, some white church, and one or two factories owned by The Fluff.

Citizens of Urgway loved their baseball, and their football, and their hockey, and basically all other sports, especially the ones that involved hurting each-other.

Dogs loved their sports and that was a statement ringing true throughout both Hardan and Urgway. All different sorts of animal species showing up for the scheduled bouts wasn't uncommon either.

Vulpecula didn't take much interest in them though. He didn't take much interest in most things, but that didn't stop the Supreme Stadium from becoming a point of interest.

The traffic started thickening and becoming more populated, the road's more encumbered, that's how it was as they neared the roots of the town.

Vulpecula noticed the lack of quality for most the cars, each often carrying a rustic and archaic look to them. Like the rest of the city, the vehicles showed a lack of maintenance.

V looked around at each of them for some sign of inspiration and entertainment. The drivers of opposing cars sometimes stared back at the Fox Detective. With their sour-faced expressions that Vulpecula loved so much. Individuals showed so much more personality when they were angry or annoyed. Their discomfort was like bread and butter to him.

"The traffic, the people, the scenery, everything about this whole city sucks, doesn't it?" Lacerta asked, but Vulpecula chose not to answer him, figuring it was rhetorical.

Seconds after, the cab started slowing down. Wheels turning. Turning. Turning. No longer. Stopped.

By a curb on the outskirts of traffic, they were at a halt. None of them said anything to the cab-driver. They sat confused.

"Urgway has some of the most divine culture in all of Maharris, my father grew up here, and my great grandfather grew up here. I don't expect a stupid fox, birdie, or frog to understand that, but I won't have anyone disrespecting it. Not in my cab." The dog's bark was loud.

A dusty and worn cap over his head, and a stern and haggard look that sagged down. A pit-bull, most certainly. Lacerta started up like he was about to say something, but the dog ushered him out before that could commence. Lacerta opened the car-door begrudgingly and climbed out.

Apus and Vulpecula both piled out as well. Prior to closing the door behind him, V plucked some coin out from the green-scarf around his neck and threw it in the passenger seat for the driver's troubles. He closed the door, and sure enough, the cab-driver wasted no time to leave them behind; driving away from them and away from view in the blink of an eye, leaving only the distinctive scent of gasoline behind him.

"Huh," Vulpecula said and then added, "Usually it's me that gets us kicked out of cabs."

"The DOG was an idiot!" Lacerta fired back. "Urgway is a joke of a city."

"I'd recommend holding your tongue about it in the mean-time. We are outnumbered, and the stick I carry is mostly for show." Vulpecula responded, looking up at a street-sign trying to find out the damage done.

His feet were damp in motor-oil, and he had no doubt it'd be a hassle washing the stuff off from his hind-legs. Lacerta looked over at Vulpecula with a defeated expression.

"Birdie," Apus mumbled with a glum sadness.

The route to the Supreme Stadium didn't take much brain-work, once they walked a couple of blocks on, they found 9414 Walton Rd., and everything else was self-explanatory. The walk was about an hour or so, what with finding the entrance, and soon after, they were going up the steps and let in by a dark-suited bulldog.

The doors at the entrance were darkly tinted and showed nothing of what lay beyond them. The bulldog's face was droopy and unpleasant looking, and although that was by default, some of it also had to be assisted by the nasty snarl he gave The Fox Detective.

The carpeting on the inside was a puke green, an ugly color that made Vulpecula feel bad for the green-scarf his father left him. He stabbed his walking stick into the carpeting as punishment.

Everything else wasn't that shabby though. There was an empty ticket-booth with thick-glass separating the customer from what would've, any other time, been an employee.

No Sporting Events were happening on this rare occasion, however. Lacerta led the way through the front of the stadium. Lacerta might have despised Urgway, but he enjoyed their sporting events well and good, especially boxing. Something about watching two dogs beat the life out of each other tickled his fancy.

They came to a large entrance-way with two push-open doors at the front. Lacerta shoved them open and led the way to a set of metal stairs leading down on the other-side. The entryway went straight to the arena, and although Vulpecula couldn't see the field because of some pillars obstructing his view, down the stairs, he could see a mess of chairs. The whole visual was enough to make him appreciate the sheer size of the stadium. And to make himself feel small because of it.

"Vulpecula and friends!" a voice hollered out, way too happy go-lucky to be honest. V scribed the fact down in his intellectual blank chalkboard.

The voice was from a medium-sized dog, a Rottweiler, if V wasn't mistaken. After all, his chalkboard memory-bank never really delved that much into different breeds of dogs.

He wore a beige-colored police outfit and was smiling wide like a jack o'lantern. "I must say, I thank you all for coming on such short-notice. I hope nobody bumped you too hard along the way, you know how some can be?"

Vulpecula nodded his head, assuring the dog that he did in-fact know how some could be. The dog's voice sounded enthusiastic and almost giddy with excitement. "I have to say I am a huge fan of your work!"

The Officer seemed to notice his own star-struck angst, because he straightened his posture up soon after and went stone-face.

Lacerta stepped forward in-front of Vulpecula, who wasn't too taken by the dog's words. "It's funny you should mention it, because I am always telling Vulpecula how he should let me make a book out of these different cases we've been doing, but he won't let me, says it's too 'derivative' of other detectives," Lacerta's voice was back to that annoying neurotic sound that got them kicked out of the cab only about an hour ago, but Vulpecula held his tongue.

The Police Officer laughed aloud, sounding as if what Lacerta said had been the funniest thing in the gosh darn world, and responded, "Well, I think what I've read in the newspapers and magazines about you guys is more than enough, my dear Watson's!"

Lacerta nodded politely at him. Vulpecula's attention was thrown back toward the arena. His eyes darted out, making strides at piercing through the concrete columns just barely blocking sight of the arena. He wanted more than anything to discard of the ridiculous small-talk and welcome himself to the only thing that kept him entertained.

"Oh, what we needed you for isn't actually out on the field," the Officer assured. "Hope you didn't expect a macabre or something like that out-there."

Darn, Vulpecula thought to himself, but decided that wasn't a good reaction to share with the rest of the class.

"You didn't offer us any details about what all of this was about, but I was assuming from what I read on Maharris News Online and what's all-over television, it has something to do with the disappearance of Comet Fowley?" Vulpecula deduced, not making eye-contact with the officer. Eye-contact made Vulpecula uncomfortable.

And so, when the Police Officer leaned his body to the left to try and rectify that, Vulpecula's eyes simply traveled over to the right instead.

"I see your detective skills outreach beyond merely case-work," the Dog replied. "Follow me, and we'll be able to get down to business with exactly why I brought you here." The Dog turned his back away from them for a second before looking back, "And by the way, the name's Officer Rofus," he said with a confident wink. His eyes were a gold-color, as was his fur, except for down his neck, which appeared to descend into white.

Lacerta chuckled quietly to himself at the officer's exuberance, and the officer laughed with him, at a joke he believed he was in on. Officer Rofus stepped forward. Down his leg, beige khakis, and then, dark-black boots with laces that hung down to the floor. Badly tied. Rofus was taller than both Vulpecula and Apus by a hefty margin, but only a couple inches taller than Lacerta.

They followed him through to another area of the arena. V noticed a stand with merchandise still out and scattered about. This included a t-shirt with the words, "Urgway Hounds," scribed in bright green text, a silhouette of a large-dog was visible, completely black except for the white of his sharp-teeth.

Vulpecula stopped in his tracks, admiring it all, like a kid in a candy store, except his candy was fresh data for his chalkboard, but he was tugged forward by Lacerta soon after.

Officer Rofus unhooked a set of keys from his pant-loop before walking in-front of a door with the words, "VIP" written onto it in white lettering.

The Officer kept rifling through his keys until he found the right one. "Wallah," Rofus uttered beneath his breath, but Vulpecula was able to hear it. He shoved the key into the keyhole, opened the door, and stepped inside, welcoming them to do so as well. They obliged.

The Very Important Place for Very Important People was even more extravagant and decorative than what Vulpecula could have expected. He hadn't known Urgway for having much in the way of fashion or style, but this didn't even look like the rest of the stadium.

Everything looked more like what Vulpecula would've expected to see in the flashier Italina or Hardan. The carpeting went from a vile green to a velvet red and a long, dark-leather couch was in one-corner, and a large fountain was in the middle of the room with an angelic dog as the centerpiece, equipped with the typical angel-wings and halo overhead. The architecture was manipulated in such way that water slid down the wings and into the fountain's containment.

Vulpecula found himself mildly amused by how self-indulging all of it seemed but didn't comment. The Officer seemed to read his mind, however. "The whole thing's a little much, but what can I say, you know how the rich-folk are with their art-pieces."

"Lacerta, Apus, and I are more-or-less homeless gypsies that go from hotel to hotel, but I'll take your word for it." Vulpecula commented.

"You and me both, brother," Officer Rofus responded, before walking deeper into the room.

Vulpecula didn't say anything else. Rofus was a tool. The Fox didn't need to be a not-so world famous private investigator to unravel that little mystery, but at the same time, he wasn't too bothered by it.

Maharris was filled with uninteresting types but Rofus was made up of certain 'loveable buffoon' traits.

The Officer led them further and further into the room, the smell of air-freshener was intoxicating, like every ounce of the room had been bathed in the stuff. It was an aroma meant to resemble fresh strawberries but smelled like nothing of the sort.

"I understand that you're familiar with why I called you here. Comet Fowley is missing, but what you didn't know is that we have a little bit more to go on than what we let on to the press."

"What's that exactly?" Vulpecula asked, not enjoying Rofus' attempt at building suspense. The Officer laughed in an awkward, phony sort-of way and then led them into the male bathroom.

Blood.

Vulpecula stopped dead in his tracks. The red stuff. The bad stuff. Blood!

Vulpecula didn't like blood.

Robberies in the Malane Museum or magic shows gone awry, that's what V was comfortable with. But this, this wasn't like that. This didn't look like either of those two things, and in-fact, this looked an awful lot like something more conclusive. More fatal. Blood.

Apus and Lacerta stopped as well. Lacerta stood off to the corner, his face looked paler than usual, blending in with the white wall behind him.

None of them were accustom to the thick, dried-maroon globs that dressed the bathroom floors. V gulped.

His attention was struck though. Felt enticed. Such a pity it cost someone so much to do it. He didn't want a macabre. Not really. A blood riddled massacre. It made it all too real. It took the escapism this was meant to provide.

But yet, his attention was aroused. Curious, Vulpecula stepped forward. He felt the coldness beneath his feet from the linoleum floor.

He heard water droplets falling out a faucet onto the porcelain sink. The smell of urinal cakes. The smell of urine.

He walked closer to the scene of the crime. Blood was smeared on the sink. Some blood was smeared on the window. A hand-print. Like someone trying to escape from someone else.

The scene depicted desperation and ever-so clearly the scene of a man being dragged, his bloody hand sliding down the mirror, to the porcelain, and to the floor. All of it was nice and neat, wrapped up in a cute, little bow. Perfect.

Vulpecula looked into the mirror, seeing his white fur and green-scarf. In his eyes, unsettled fury. His teeth felt sharper than usual. On-edge. That's how the whole thing was making him feel.

His eyes went down at the floor next. Bloody footprints. It looked like they belonged to two men. He couldn't be for certain though. The size was the same. Looks could be deceiving, however.

But it looked like the victim and the perpetrator. V followed the footprints toward a bathroom stall. The stall door was shut. The Fox Detective's eyes peeked into the cracks and crevices of the door, but he saw nothing.

The hygiene of bathrooms was disgusting.

Vulpecula took his walking stick and poked it against the door, pushing it open. He stood, looking at what rested dormant on the back tank of the toilet.

What he saw, ... Vulpecula knew he had seen one of them before, but he just couldn't put his finger on where. Oh, yes, it's a hand, a bloody hand. "Fetching," The Fox said, although, he really didn't know why. Just sounded like the right thing to say. That bloody, severed hand is downright fetching. The truth of it is he was in-shock and he knew it.

"I know you were likely expecting something more grotesque and theatrical," Officer Rofus said, scratching the back of his neck as he spoke.

Vulpecula looked over at him. The Dog was being sincere. "No, I think this just about covers everything I was expecting in both those categories."

The hand looked cleanly cut. The marks didn't seem jagged, and it looked almost surgical. But also looked just as much like it could have been cut off with a meat cleaver.

Vulpecula made a note of this in his blank chalkboard. Dried blood leaked out from the hand and ran down the deck of the toilet, some dribbling down onto the toilet seat.

"We had some of our men look at it. All of them seem to agree this wasn't done postmortem, and blood-work has come back verifying the, ahem, hand belongs to Comet Fowley." Officer Rofus hardly sounded shaken by his own words, which surprised Vulpecula. Rofus must have been used to the crimes in Urgway. An aghast disposition was on Apus and Lacerta by the Officer's words though.

"They cut off his hand!?" Lacerta asked, his voice sounded both disturbed and shocked by the revelation.

"Yes," Rofus replied.

"What can you tell me about Comet Fowley?" V asked, his eyes looking over at the hand. Dirt and grime beneath his finger-nails.

"Not much. I've maybe met him once or twice, and each was only for short intervals. The man was the coach for the Hounds for God's sake, about the closest thing we have to a celebrity, minus the actual team, of course."

"You interviewed the family though, correct?"

"Oh, yes, of course, that's standard procedure. Fact is it took them a couple of days to even report his kidnapping. That's the thing about Fowl, at least, according to them. They figured he could have been at the bar or the casino, or wherever else. Though, they said he had stopped."

"Drinking?"

"Gambling. They knew better than to ever ask him to stop drinking, but after he nearly lost his home because of it, even he decided it was time to stop with that stuff."

"Does he have any enemies?"

"Probably, the guy's an alcoholic, and has been arrested once or twice for starting bar-fights. Though, it's been said he didn't start them. He chased after some cat who was looking at him funny, cat might as well been asking for trouble."

"I read an interview from Rescue Alerts with the cat saying Comet Fowley and one of the Hounds' football players beat him black and blue."

"I wouldn't believe everything I read on the internet. Especially not anything from Rescue," The Officer replied fast before stopping and adding, "No offense. I know your dad kind-of came up with that group."

"None taken. I only read it because I have a free subscription. Is there anything else you have to show me?" Vulpecula took his eyes off the severed hand and threw his vision over to the Officer's general direction.

"There aren't any cameras in this room, and when games in-session, it's easy for individuals to blend in. Some of the football players have speculated a rival group might have killed him to hurt the Hounds' chances of winning the championship this year. The Labradors from Italina were here, and yes, they might not look like they'd do something that crafty, they are a sneaky bunch."

Vulpecula heard a small giggle from Lacerta.

"Was Comet Fowley present for the match between the Labradors and the Hounds?"

"Yes," the Officer answered.

"And did the Hounds beat the Labradors?" Officer Rofus didn't say anything.

Vulpecula finished washing his hands in the sink and reached for some paper towels. After drying his hands off, he threw the remnants away in a waste basket.

"I think we can count off fear of inferiority as a motive for the Labradors, Officer." Vulpecula said at last. "No, I don't think any of the Labradors would have done it. A member of the Hounds, mad at their coach for not training them well enough, however?"

"No member of the Hounds would do such a thing, all of us have too much respect for the sport.

"Considering that Urgway has, by far, the highest crime rate in all of Maharris, I don't think it matters at all how much respect one has for a sport." V said plainly.

The Officer offered no retort or comeback.

"No, no, but that's not what happened either. This was about sending a message, and this wasn't about hiding anything. This was done hours after the football game, Rofus."

"How do you know?"

"Because nothing else makes any sense." Vulpecula fired back fast. "Nobody in their right mind would've kidnapped Comet Fowley in such a crowded environment. They would've waited until it was less encumbered. But this wasn't rushed, and it wasn't hasty, this was methodical." Vulpecula's eyes looked down at the blood on the porcelain. The blood on the mirrors. "They would've heard him scream."

"Unless they muffled his mouth with something," the Officer suggested.

"And then they just walked him out of the arena with blood pouring out from his hand? Premeditated and meticulous, but it still doesn't make any sense. There couldn't have been anyone outside of this bathroom because they would have heard the commotion and the struggle. Maybe they shoved a tranquilizer in his neck. They could have walked him out of there and acted as if he was being his alcoholic self and they were helping him out of the arena to his car. That would've made sense since they just lost the game. But that doesn't make any sense at all. That doesn't explain the struggle. The bloody hand-print on the mirror. Why didn't they clean up the blood? Because they wanted us to know he was kidnapped. Why would they want us to know he was kidnapped? Are they looking for a ransom? Does the hand mean anything? Is this a trademark?" Vulpecula uttered his words beneath his breath but audible enough to let everyone know his wheels were turning.

"Is he going to be okay?" Vulpecula heard Officer Rofus ask, although, he ignored it.

"About as close as he's ever been," Lacerta responded quietly, but once more, Vulpecula heard it and ignored it.

"Who found the hand first?" Vulpecula finally said above his breath, his eyes still not directed at any of them.

"Maintenance found the hand while they were cleaning the Stadium, as they do every time after a game," Officer Rofus remarked.

"How exactly did Comet Fowley treat them?"

"The maintenance crew?"

"Never mind, that doesn't make any sense. It still doesn't cover all the variables of this," Vulpecula turned himself away from the mirror and looked over toward Lacerta and Apus.

"Any alarms going off in that brain of yours?" Lacerta asked.

"A few," Vulpecula remarked.

Vulpecula walked beyond Apus and Lacerta, out of the bathroom and back to the V.I.P. main lobby.

His eyes frolicked around the area with an aimless precision. He didn't have anything he was looking for. Just inspiration and entertainment. Neither of his thirsts were quenched by the scenery though. A large step acted as the distinction between the lobby and the entrance to the arena.

"That leads to the private booth. Fowley would have no business being there, after all, he can see the show front-and-center." Officer Rofus explained.

Vulpecula hadn't even heard him step out of the bathroom.

"Right," Vulpecula said. "Who was the last person to see Comet?"

"The strangest thing about it all is that everybody we've asked says that they downright remember Comet Fowley walking out from the arena. They're supposing that he must have come back or something."

"Either that, or he was brought back against his free-will. That would leave a message," Vulpecula said, but he wasn't convinced about it. "Did any of them recall anything strange about him that day, about anything that he did, or maybe any reason to believe that he was in trouble?"

"No one said anything like that, far as I know he was his normal everyday self, nothing out the ordinary. A little glum about the Hounds losing their match, what with them having the home-town advantage and all, but nothing unreasonable. Some said he wasn't even really all that sociable though, but that's not really what he's known for, and that he spent most of his time on his cellphone."

"Talking?"

Vulpecula looked over at Officer Rofus. Eye-contact seemed to completely throw Rofus off as he stammered for a moment or two before shaking his head, "He was just texting all night," Rofus said. His hands dangling off to his side, Vulpecula noticed the black-gun strapped at his waist.

"I see, and where, besides here in the Stadium, would Fowley be? Perhaps at the lower-sectors of the arena, maybe a locker-room or somewhere else?"

"Of course, there's a locker-room down below but nothing was of value to this, sweaty jerseys and empty water bottle containers."

"Have you been monitoring Comet Fowley's credit-card spending, made for certain that nobody has been using any of his money?"

"If somebody has been using his credit-cards, it'd more than likely leave a trail," Apus replied.

"I didn't know you could talk!" Officer Rofus cried out with that fake and phony hysterics he had mastered.

"Focus, Dofus," Vulpecula demanded, snapping his fingers as he spoke and not acknowledging what either one said.

"It's Rofus," The Officer cried out, sounding offended.

"They don't have cameras in the V.I.P. room, for reasons that I don't care enough to speculate on, but do they have them outside? More specifically, would we be able to see who left and who entered the V.I.P. room? If Comet Fowley left, we'd know it, and if he came back, we'd know it." Vulpecula said.

"They might. But it's a lot of footage. Comet could've come back even a day later for all we know, and it'd be easy to lose him in the crowd when the game was still going. Even in the After Party," Officer Rofus remarked.

"That's fine," Vulpecula remarked. "Lead the way..."

2.

Footage, footage, and more footage. That's what Vulpecula's life had been reduced to. Or, at the very least, that's how it felt in this instance.

The cameras were low-tech and didn't use cutting-edge technology. Low-quality and grainy footage that could very well not end up mattering, but at the same time, it made it a lot more difficult to point Comet Fowley out in a crowd.

V could remember very well how Fowley looked. The terrier had grayish white fur with two spots for each of his eyes, sort-of like a raccoon. His face sagged down some, but he didn't look like he was close to killing over.

That's what Vulpecula got from looking at his photograph in the newspapers and on television. On their way to the back-room, however, which was a hefty climb down a lot of stairs, Officer Rofus filled him in on some of the more intimate details.

Comet Fowley wasn't married, and he lived in an expensive apartment down on the outskirts of Urgway. That was a considerable drive away from the Supreme Stadium, and was done because, according to those who knew Fowley, he absolutely despised the thick, smoggy air that engulfed the main-parts of the city.

An esteemed bachelor that valued his personal freedom more than anything else. Which seemed almost contradictory to the fact he remained very close to his mother.

Fowley had two sisters, and his family was closely knit. In an interview conducted by Rofus, his mother recalled having a sit-down intervention for his addiction. She was not specific about which addiction that was, be it narcotic, alcohol, or something else.

Vulpecula sat inside a comfortable computer chair, his knees up by his chest, with his chin resting on his walking stick. It wasn't very comfortable. His eyes were glued to the screens in-front of him.

There were many of them, more than fifteen, each small and barely distinguishable, but his eyes were only on one. A black-and-white screen with numbers and times on the bottom and top. The door leading to the V.I.P room was clear and obvious, even with all the crowded folk running around.

Lacerta was to his left, leaned back in a computer chair of his own. His eyes were shut and he was leaned back against the couch.

Officer Rofus stood on his feet behind Vulpecula, and while V couldn't see him, he found it easy to allege Rofus' disposition. The Officer was likely uncomfortable. Very, in-fact. Like he wasn't comfortable in his own skin and was completely obsessed with making everybody not notice it.

Apus, bless his heart, sat beside Vulpecula in a chair, and his eyes were just as focused on the screen as V.

"You do realize that there's a fast-forward button on these things, right?" Lacerta said, sounding like he wanted more than anything to leave.

That's what Lacerta brought to their little outfit. A desire to leave and disinterest. That and keeping up with the emails and advertising their service online.

"If I fast-forward through the footage then I'll be more likely to miss him, and besides, we've narrowed it down to only about two hours' worth of material."

"Yippee," Lacerta said.

Vulpecula smiled, excited that Lacerta was finally getting in the spirit of things.

Everybody from an angled view made them all seem insignificant. Small pups walking around with their families, and kittens walking with theirs. The screen didn't really offer a clear view of any of their faces. It made them all seem like bricks in the wall. In this view it was as if everybody was in perfect harmony with each-other.

Everybody was One. And that was more like what Hensley Noel was looking for. What Vulpecula's father had been trying to achieve. Or, at least, what Vulpecula would've wanted him to want.

"I wish Urgway would've thought its one commodity was worth protecting with more than twenty-dollar cameras," Vulpecula said, scratching at the whiskers on the side of his cheeks.

Officer Rofus let out a breath like he was about to say something, but he didn't. That was likely for the best.

"Your medieval cameras have to have some sort-of zoom feature on them," Vulpecula said, readjusting his position and resting his walking stick on the carpeted floor below him. He fiddled with the remote control which had blank buttons without any indication whatsoever of what any of them did.

"There he is," Apus mumbled.

"Where?" Vulpecula said, his eyes beaming up to the computers and scanning the screens.

"There, beside the otter with the bright-yellow hat," Apus remarked.

Vulpecula studied it, "How do you know it's yellow?"

"Owls have terrific night-vision, Vulpecula."

"I, um, I don't see how that applies here."

"He's right there," Apus said, leaping out of his chair and throwing his wing up in some vague, general direction. "Do you see him?"

"Uh-huh," Vulpecula lied. "But how do you know it's him."

"You can clearly see the black spot over his eyes, and his thick, blue letter-man jacket is a clear giveaway."

"It's black and white," Vulpecula said.

"Night vision, Vulpecula."

"Insanity," Vulpecula remarked. "He just leaves? What's his demeanor? Does he look worried? If you can somehow tell the color of his jacket, I figure maybe you could tell me that."

"No idea, but he's pampering one hand, holding it protectively with the other." Apus responded.

"Interesting, that could be anything though, circumstantial and it could be a coincidence, but maybe not, and so he leaves," Vulpecula said, still not able to find him. "Do you really see him?"

"Yes," Apus said, grabbing Vulpecula's walking stick with his beak and positioning it to poke at a figure on the camera. It took Apus some maneuvering until he finally managed to make it to the figure, but once he did, that was that.

It was Comet Fowley. Vulpecula looked at Apus and nodded. Apus relinquished the stick out from his beak.

"I see him, and so, how did you really know his jacket was blue?"

"That's the jacket he was wearing in a picture I saw of him." Apus replied dryly.

"And the yellow hat?"

"Just looked like it should have been yellow," Apus said, showing no sign of amusement or emotion. Apus' deadpan humor was rivaled by few.

Spotting Comet Fowley the first time was the arduous task, him blending in seamlessly with the crowd, but him coming back would be easy to find.

As V fast-forwarded through all the footage, they were able to make it all the way up to the present-time without discovering Comet Fowley returning to the Stadium.

Vulpecula made a mental note of that in his invisible, intellectual chalkboard. He swung back in his chair over to Officer Rofus, who had his back leaned against the wall and was messing around with his phone. Once the Officer realized eyes were on him, however, he straightened his spine and poised himself like a statue.

"I was thinking about something," Rofus blurted out, seemingly uncomfortable about Vulpecula's eyes being on him.

"That's comforting," Vulpecula replied.

"Malar is the largest-gang inside of Urgway, and is one of the largest in the world. I was searching the database, and I realized that a lot of the time, they actually cut off the hand of their victim as a signature for their, um, handiwork."

"And exactly what would Malar have to gain out of killing a coach of a football team?"

"Sending a message, maybe," Officer Rofus shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't think so," Vulpecula said. "I think I almost have all the clues assembled to a conclusive statement about what I think has happened, however. Have you searched Comet Fowley's home?"

"His family has been in there, and they said they couldn't find anything on his whereabouts, but Urgway has laws in-place about this. We can't break into his house on the assumptive basis of a kidnapping without the permission of his kin."

"And you haven't gotten their permission?"

Officer Rofus shook his head. "They told us that there is nothing in there that will help us with the ongoing investigation."

"I see," Vulpecula said, snatching up his walking stick from off the floor where Apus had left it.

3.

After breaking into Comet Fowley's house, Vulpecula found things pieced together a lot clearer than before. All he needed was one thing to have the means to solve the entirety of the case: Mr. Fowley's laptop.

The search history told a lot about Fowley's habits and who he associated himself with.

V often opted against following the rules and restrictions applied by the law. One of the luxuries of being a private investigator is that he didn't really have to answer to anybody, and while whatever he found couldn't be used in the court of law, that wasn't relevant. After finding whatever it is he'd find, it'd be much easier to find it legally, and if that could save Comet Fowley's life, it'd be worth it.

After browsing Comet's computer for a couple of seconds, typing in certain keywords and looking through histories, Vulpecula found all he needed to convince himself.

The Fox Detective returned to the hotel room where Lacerta and Apus were also staying. They didn't need to know about his nefarious means of extracting information. Although, he didn't doubt that they figured as much. He fell asleep with intents of dreaming about gumdrops and sugar-plums, but that didn't turn out happening.

A dreamless sleep that took hours to meet. A purgatory between accepting the events of the present-day and moving forward into the next. Comet Fowley represented a darker-reality to Maharris. The realization that within the cracks and the crevices of everything he had come to know, there was enough violence and heart-ache to render everything else a facade. The scariest part of it all was how intrigued it made him.

The next morning, Vulpecula, Lacerta, and Apus all arose out of their beds. Crinkles being rubbed out their eyes and yawns and stretches being had. Officer Rofus waited for them at a local restaurant called Darrens.

The taste of the restaurants food was far from Ollie's Abil or even what was to be had at the Sidian Inn, but it was at least edible. Lacerta had a batch of pancakes with sausage on the sides, while Apus had bacon and eggs. Vulpecula, on the other-hand, opted out against the ordinance of nourishment. His appetite quenched by the engulfment of something much more delectable. Still, the coffee in his mug was appreciated dearly.

Officer Rofus sat behind an empty-plate on the other-side of the table. It looked like he had been waiting for quite some time. A waitress went over to take his empty plate and cup for which he responded with a large smile, bearing his teeth. She offered Vulpecula a refill on his coffee, but he declined.

"Have you solved the case?" the Officer asked, his eager, puppy-dog eyes through over to Vulpecula, but V had once more went back to not making eye-contact.

"Yes," The Fox Detective answered. Vulpecula saw Lacerta and Apus look at one another out the corner of his eye.

"Who kidnapped Comet Fowley?"

"Nobody," Vulpecula replied.

"What!?" Officer Rofus said, once more in that fake enthusiasm, but even he had to have at least some grasp on the reality of the situation.

"Comet Fowley has many addictions. You once told me of two addictions, one of them being gambling and one of them being alcohol."

"I remember that. Family said they knew better than to try and get him to stop drinking," Rofus said with a small chuckle.

"He couldn't stop any of his addictions. His family says he learned better about gambling when he almost lost the house, but I don't think that's the truth. In-fact, I know it isn't." Vulpecula said.

"How?"

Vulpecula stopped for a moment, choosing to omit finding a link to a gambling website in Fowley's search history.

"Fowley didn't stop gambling and in-fact, his addiction worsened. But he tried to keep in-control of it, or at least feel as if he was in-control. He betted against the Labradors in their game against the Hounds, and he did it because he thought he trained them well enough to win. He didn't. But this time it wasn't about losing his house or this and that. Comet Fowley betted more than he could ever hope to offer, and he associated himself with the wrong people. A website called The Shock is what I bet you'll find in his phone's search history," Vulpecula smiled slyly as the words escaped his lips.

"Wait, so you expect me to believe that Comet Fowley just chopped off his hand and staged his own kidnapping?" Officer Rofus' skepticism was clear.

"You said it yourself that one of Malar's trademarks is the removal of a hand. Comet Fowley didn't return to the Supreme Stadium. That isn't something up for discussion and in-fact stays as irrefutable evidence that he removed his hand and staged the crime-scene."

"But why would he do that? That seems very extreme."

"It does, doesn't it? From what I've deduced about Comet Fowley's character, based entirely on what has been presented to me, he seems to make off-the-cuff decisions. This wasn't premeditated at all, and with an extra boost of liquid courage to lessen the agony, Fowley was able to leave the Stadium without drawing too much attention to himself."

"Incredible," Rofus remarked.

"Terrifying," Vulpecula countered. "This means that whoever Comet Fowley buddied up with, he deemed dangerous enough to chop off his own hand. It also means they'll most likely find him."

"But not if we find him first," Rofus uttered out.

"Best of luck," Vulpecula answered, resting his empty-cup against the table and arising to his feet.

"Wait," Officer Rofus called out, "Do you have any idea of how to find Comet Fowley?"

Vulpecula stopped. His back to Rofus. He smiled. "Go to his apartment. Element of surprise, and a little luck, chances are that his family is protecting him. You'll find him. And you can act in whatever way you please."

"Thank you, Vulpecula." Rofus called out. His voice sounding reasonably awed and impressed. V liked it that way.

"What would you folk do without me?" Vulpecula asked jokingly.

He heard Lacerta and Apus walking behind him.

"Well, we are on the wait-list for Detective Barker, but he deemed the case all too obvious, I am very glad that you didn't." Rofus replied.

Vulpecula walked out from the restaurant without saying anything. He brushed past one of the waitresses and nearly ran into her because he wasn't watching where he was going. Joined by his lizard-friend and owl acquaintance, The Fox Detective closed the door behind him and left.

The Life and Crimes of Detective Barker

Episode Four

The After Shock

1.

Headaches, they had plagued him ever since Vivian Herms, the Director of Rescue, had given him the information on a group called The Shock. As it turned out, The Shock was a group of computer hackers causing havoc throughout several countries. Rescue hadn't been able to pinpoint them and they were assembling a team to try a new approach.

Barker had left the office without giving a definitive answer to Mrs. Herms. He wasn't much for group efforts. As a matter of fact, he hated groups. People wanting to chime in with their crummy ideas, or trying to take over the role of leader; no one led Detective Sanec Barker.

Barker sank back further into his newly bought couch and held his head with his paw. The headaches had been coming more frequently with the thought of this group. Every time a headache occurred, Barker imagined the face of Vivian Herms looking at him with a certain plea to her expression. She needed him, that, he was sure of.

A knock at the door brought Barker from his perpetual daze. The voice accompanying that knock brought him to a sigh.

"Get up," said the squawking parrot from behind the door, "you are late for work for the third day in a row," it finished.

Barker didn't need to be a detective to figure out that his boss, and head detective, Psitticus was staring at the peephole with a grimace spread across his ugly face.

Barker thought about letting old bird brain knock his life away. He thought about sinking further into the couch and sleeping. Then, Psitticus knocked again, loud this time, and Barker's headache flared even more.

"Fine," Barker started, getting up off the couch, "I am coming," he yelled. Psitticus must not have been happy with the answer because he knocked again. Barker envisioned strangling the parrot but thought better of it. It is always messy killing someone in your own home.

Barker reached his paw out and unlatched the lock, then the chain, then opened the door. Psitticus stood before him, dressed in a disheveled grey suit. The head detective was never much for dressing snazzy. Barker didn't step out of the way; he had no intention of inviting Psitticus into his home.

"What do you need?" he asked, still guarding the doorway like a nightclub bouncer. Psitticus didn't try to struggle past him. He knew this game already; Barker wasn't much for pleasantries or house calls.

"I want you to return to work," Psitticus started in a squeaking voice, "You haven't been in for three days. Cases are piling up and the Mayor is on my tail." Psitticus glanced over Barker's shoulder into the living room. "What in the name have you been up to anyhow?" he asked.

Barker wasn't much in the mood to explain to anyone, let alone his boss, about the situation with Rescue. He didn't feel like fumbling through some lame explanation about why he was so disheveled himself. Barker instinctively reached up to straighten his collar, only to realize he wasn't even wearing a shirt.

"Been busy," he replied. Psitticus scoffed. He knew better than to ask twice what Barker already answered once. It would just become a verbal sparring match and Psitticus was at least smart enough to realize he would lose that battle.

"Do you plan on returning to work anytime soon?" it was formed as a question, but Barker knew birdbrain had wanted it to be taken as a command.

"Been busy," Barker said.

"So, you have said already, but that doesn't answer my second question," Psitticus countered.

Barker grabbed at his head, it was in full throbbing mode now. He needed to get rid of Psitticus. He needed to return to the couch and sink into the cushions until he didn't exist anymore. Instead, he did the sensible thing. "I will be in this afternoon," he said. He wasn't sure why he didn't just say tomorrow morning. It was probably something to do with the stern look on the face of his boss. Even if he didn't respect the man behind the title, he at least had to pretend he respected the title.

"We have something important to take care of..." Psitticus started. Barker stepped back and slammed the door. He wished it would have smashed the beak of Psitticus back into his throat, but it hadn't, probably for the best.

"I said I would be in this afternoon," Barker yelled. He could imagine Psitticus' face on the other side of the door. Scrunched and angry. It almost made his head feel a bit better, almost. Not enough so that Barker didn't return to the couch, rubbing his temples and praying for a few hours of sleep.

2.

The office was just as Barker remembered it, crowded and stuffy. His headache had faded a bit, but his mood had failed to enhance. Barker trodden and a little disheveled plodded through the door.

"Good of you to join us," Psitticus was sitting at Detective Lucky's old desk. What he was doing there was a mystery, one that oddly Barker didn't feel the need to solve. Instead, he ignored the trite comment and moved over to his own desk. "There is a folder there for you," Psitticus pointed with his skinny fingers, "Straight from the Mayor; the council is getting quite worried about this one, Barker."

Barker sat in his seat, not the comfy seat of Rescue, but the hard seat of the local Urgway Police Department. Barker didn't ask Psitticus what the case was and he pondered on not opening the file at all, just to make the bird wriggle in his seat.

"It isn't a suggestion," Psitticus said, pushing himself from Lucky's desk, "You do the case or you find a new job." The parrot walked over to where Barker was sitting and flipped open the file for him.

Inside the first page was just a series of pictures. Several men and women staring star eyed out into nothing. Mug shots and quite a few of them littered the printed sheets. "All of them picked up within the last week. None of them competent enough to talk about what happened, but all of them showed the same symptoms. Glazed eyes, confused expression, and the inability to communicate, but that wasn't the end of it." Psitticus flipped another page in the file. This series of pictures was much more grotesque than the first set.

"This seems to happen if you lock more than one of them in the same cell," the head detective stated.

The pictures were easy to figure out. Bodies showed bite marks, missing chunks of flesh, and even one mutilated hand with missing fingers.

"They are eating each other?" Barker asked, astounded it had taken Urgway this long to self-destruct into cannibals.

Psitticus looked disgusted by the pictures. Barker was quite indifferent about the whole situation. People did grotesque things.

"They seem to have no conscious left. One of the men was a lawyer on Monday and by Wednesday he was eating a lady's face for dinner. It doesn't make any sense," said bird brains.

Barker eyed the pictures a little more in depth. Teeth marks were aplenty. Some of the victims looked to have been held. Some showed prolonged restraint from handcuffs. The local police department was beyond their grounds on this one.

"Drugs?" Barker asked. He flipped the next page with his claws. It was a series of toxicology reports from the lab. Seemed as if each victim had been tested for all known substances on the streets in Urgway.

"All of them test clean for anything we know," Psitticus added without need.

Barker could clearly read that not a single one had shown signs of drug use. What was even odder is that most seemed to be respectable individuals. Not the scum of the earth you would usually suspect to eat one another.

"What has been done so far?" Barker asked. He closed the folder. He knew that the work laid out before him wouldn't help him a bit. Not a single police officer knew a lick about detective work.

"All patients have been moved to the local psych unit. A Doctor named Doyle is watching over them now. None have changed since they started their rampage. No signs of getting better or worse. Not a single one of them is worth questioning." Psitticus looked dumbfounded, or normal.

"Well, okay," Barker said, pitching the folder into the waste bin beside his desk.

Psitticus stood by him for a moment longer and then sighed. "Just figure it out, Barker."

Barker reached up instinctively to adjust his tie but found his hand instead rubbing his temples. That damn Vivian Herms.

3.

One bad thing about being the best detective in Urgway was that Barker didn't get to take any time to himself. It was always case after case. So many files stacked with other files. Most of the time, Barker could thumb through and solve a case quite quickly. Other times, he would file them away and come to his own conclusions. Urgway didn't always need answers, sometimes Urgway just needed to move on. Barker was there to help them with this.

This case was different. At least in the sense that someone was targeting the rich and powerful. Someone was scaring the pants off the Mayor of Urgway. This meant that Barker had to at least put on his best face about the situation, even if he didn't give a lick about the case. The Mayor could make Barker's life a lot more difficult. It was best to be on his good side.

So, while Barker wanted nothing more than to figure out the case of The Shock. He instead found himself strolling the crummy medical district of Urgway. While a million dollar allowance had been set aside for a new hospital complex on the west end of town, the rest of the medical world was still in the dark ages. Any building that wasn't attached to the hospital was old and falling in on itself. This included Urgway's psych unit; which was aptly named Concave Corporations.

"The reports are all the same, Mr. Barker..." the doctor called Doyle slammed the binders onto the desk, "read them if you want," he finished. The good doctor didn't seem too interested in the case. It wouldn't get him a medal or any award. The man had clearly been an army doctor and had very little use for the mentally insane. "Druggies have no place in a psychiatry hospital," he continued.

Barker wanted to zone him out, but the doctor had one of those painful screeching voices. The kind like nails on a chalkboard made even worse by Barker's already pounding head.

"No changes since they arrived," Barker didn't bother to look at the files. He supposed the doctor told it straightforward, very boring case files. If this man couldn't diagnose and figure it out, he would sweep it under the rug. It was a lot easier than looking incompetent.

"Honestly, I grew tired of them after the first day. We padded their rooms. It is rather archaic down there now. Most of them are in padded rooms, strapped to their beds, and dosed with the highest sedation I can prescribe without killing them.." the doctor tapped his thumb and forefinger together, "though, technically it would be a service to them if I just squashed the disease from them that way."

Barker didn't disagree. He wasn't so respectful of life that he didn't know when a rabid needed to be put down. This wasn't his call, however. This was the call of the Mayor and he wanted these people back on the streets, not in coffins. It was a pity really, be a much easier case if the victims were already dead. Then, Barker could have focused on the case from Vivian Herms.

Not that he was so eager to help her. He was just eager to lose this beating in his brain. He reached up and pulled loose his collar. It was hard to presume decency when your head was splitting and your mind was about to bulge through your eyes.

"I presume you will want to speak with them, Detective?" the doctor asked. "It will be a sad waste of time, but I know how your type are."

Barker didn't have the energy to trade jabs with this white coat. He would let him have the day, because clearly if Barker couldn't figure this out he would have just jumped to the number one suspect.

4.

The basements of these kinds of places were never clean. They smelled of cleaning product and ammonia – or urine – mostly urine. Then, there were the noises. People with debilitating disorders of the brain never seemed to stay quiet long. They had to make noises at all times. Even random noises, that didn't make a lick of sense. They just couldn't abide by the stillness without noise.

"I assume you're Detective Barker?" asked a middle-aged otter in a purple lab suit. Her mouth and eyes were covered as if scared she may catch the crazies.

"Just point me in the direction of the face eaters," Barker replied.

The lady tapped her pin on the clipboard. She knew where they were, but everyone was in theater these days. "They are the forth door down. Looks like they are all strapped and sedated. Won't be getting much from them."

Barker didn't bother replying. He was getting even less from her than he would from the patients. He didn't need their testimonial anyhow. He only wanted to see their reactions. Wanted to see if any semblance of who they were was left inside their hollowed minds.

Unsurprisingly, the answer was no. Sedated would have been one way of putting these former high standing citizens mental state. Another would have been to say their brains were flushed in an industrial sized toilet. The majority drooled down their cheeks. Their eyes were rolled into the back of their heads. Bodies were limp and unusable. Whatever they had these people on was the equivalent to death.

All except one, that is. One of the patients hadn't even been fitted for their gown yet. His eyes were not alert in the sense of a normal person. However, he wasn't drooling and bleary-eyed either. Whenever this patient had come into the unit, it had been recent enough that they hadn't killed what was left of him yet.

Barker moved slowly towards the man. He was tied down, but better safe than sorry when it came to facing eating people. The man, who was a suit-wearing otter, stared blankly towards the wall. He showed no emotions at all as Barker stood ten feet back from his tied down body. Barker made to step a few feet closer. The man still sat as if he had no cares in the world to give. Barker moved a little closer and the man lunged forward. His eyes moved from nothingness to full on rage. His teeth clashed hard against one another, in what Barker would have thought was enough to break his jaw. The straps held, but Barker still stepped back. Barker's paw went up and readjusted his tie and then wiped the sweat from his brow.

With his heart pounding rapidly, Barker moved in a circle much slower and further away from the man. The otter had stopped pulling against his ties, but he continued following Barker with his eyes. The eyes that promised to rip Barker to shreds if he was given the chance. Barker wouldn't get close enough for that.

"What did you do to yourself?" Barker didn't expect an answer. He moved behind the patient and watched as the man turned back forward and went still again. It was almost as if the man had forgotten Barker was there. The man's body went limp again and the tenseness fell from his muscles.

Barker moved quickly out in front of the man again and again the man lunged to try to attack. Barker jumped behind the stretchers and out of view and the man went slack again.

"So, it is all about sight," Barker thought out loud.

Two nurses came into the room. One was carrying a large syringe filled with a yellow liquid. The other must have just been there for moral support. The man started to go rabid again as the nurses came into sight, but with a quick stick of the needle, he was gone from the worries of this world.

"Medication works quickly," Barker said.

The nurses turned as if just noticing the detective was standing in the room. "It works quickly but doesn't last as long as normal. Something about their state awakens them in only about an hour."

Barker had presumed it was something strong. He doubted all of these people being lawyers, doctors, judges, and businessmen had found the same low life dealer. So, that just left the method of administration. How had each of these men and women gotten the same substance and suffered the same effects?

Barker followed the nurses out of the room. There was no need to bother with questioning the comatose corpses. He thought again about just pinning it on the doctor named Doyle but figured he would hold it off as a last resort. Then, he left the hospital. He had the names of the people; the next step was finding the cause.

5.

The best thing about the patients being immobilized and incapacitated was that their homes were now empty. This meant Barker wouldn't have to go through all the extra work of getting a warrant to search them. He could just as easily walk up to the door, finagle the lock, and then walk in.

Like the people, the homes were rich and fancy; not at all the picture of man-eating habitats. The first home Barker visited belonged to a lawyer named Steve Honest. He doubted the last name was a good indicator of his nature.

The man lived in a two-story, blue home. He lived alone with a small pet fish. An odd choice for accommodation since the man's cleaning skills indicated there would be no women coming over anytime soon.

Barker poked his nose into the front hallway and called out to make sure he hadn't been wrong about anything. When no one gave a returning answer, he walked in further. Clothes littered the front room couch and chair. The television still blared some old western program. Barker didn't bother walking into the room; clearly, the man wasn't sitting in there often.

Barker made for the stairs, as it was likely that the man slept somewhere on the second story. Barker found the room easily enough and just like the living room, it turned out to be a mess. The pillows and blankets were strewn across the bed. Old cans of soda and beer littered the side table. A few prescription bottles laid on the edge of the dresser. None of them were interesting or would cause him to eat another man.

Barker rummaged through the drawers. Most of them were empty. The clothes were all down in the living room. A second doorway led into the bathroom, which smelt like day old death. Barker covered his nose and flushed the toilet a few times to disperse some of the smell. It didn't work all that well.

Barker rummaged around on the counter. There was a soap bar with matted hair, a toothbrush that was well past its best by date and several mounds of change.

Nothing indicated that the man would soon be running full steam ahead off the deep end. Barker left the room and returned downstairs. He rummaged through a small pile of mail; which turned out to be boring. Then, he moved into the kitchen and rummaged through the bare cabinets. The only item of real food Barker found was a small takeout box of Chinese that had no logo or name. Barker threw it back into the fridge and closed the door. He left disappointed.

The second home was the home of a big-time corporate CEO. Her name was Lucile Goods and she was filthy rich it seemed. The home was so large that Barker could have camped in a room for several months and he doubted the woman would have even noticed.

It turned out this woman did have a husband, but the man was rarely home. Lucile didn't look like the most hospitable person. This made it even stranger that she would purposely impose madness on herself.

Most of the pictures on the wall were of Lucile making some type of business deal. She was always dressed in a power suit and heels. Her face always screamed prune. The men in most of the pictures almost seemed cowed into making the deals with her. Even Barker felt like he was adjusting his tie more and all he had witnessed of the woman was pictures.

The rooms were a lot cleaner than that of Lawyer Honest. Barker presumed that Mrs. Goods had a maid or two to help her on that accord.

Barker rummaged through the living rooms and found nothing but expensive paintings, furniture, and china. He went through two rooms, as it seemed the happy couple didn't bed together any longer. The rooms had plenty of gold, silver, and diamonds, but nothing that would induce people eating madness.

Barker double checked his notes. The husband had not gone mad, so whatever it was that had occurred the husband had not partaken. Barker moved through any room that seemed to show evidence of life. He found nothing at all interesting.

Like the home of Mr. Honest, he went to the kitchen last. It was least likely that the patrons would be doing their drug of choice in their eating area. But, at this point, Barker was getting a little hungry.

The cabinets had a lot of food, but Barker hadn't heard of most of it. He moved to the refrigerator. Inside were the basic condiments and lunch meats. Barker flipped through the contents on the shelf and grabbed a plain white Chinese box. It had no logo or name, Barker opened it up and looked inside. It was just plain noodles, but he was hungry. Barker started to rummage through the drawers for a fork; he had never mastered the use of chopsticks.

He was almost ready to eat as he recalled the same strange box inside the home of Steve Honest. Barker lowered the box and looked it over again. There was nothing special about it. It was odd that a restaurant would send out a box without a logo or a name. Barker folded the box back up.

Barker found he wasn't quite as hungry as he had believed.

Barker visited three more homes that day. In each of the homes, he found that same white Chinese box. The food wasn't always the same, but wherever they had gotten the food from was clearly the same place. Barker took all the boxes and even doubled back to Mr. Honest's house and grabbed the box his home.

The only way to know for sure was to take them home and do his own test.

6.

Barker didn't fancy himself some super science man. However, he knew enough to get the job done most of the time. He hated using the lab at the police station. First off, it was old and out of date. Second, it meant dozens more people fiddling with your evidence and chancing it being bungled.

Barker had bought the instruments he owned slowly over time. There was no need to build a superstation. He mostly used it to manipulate the evidence, not test it. Evidence was easy to come by if you made it yourself. That was Barker's little secret. One that Psitticus, Urgway, and Rescue need not know.

His paws released the container of cheap Chinese food onto the counter. He squeezed his eyes shut. The headache had returned about an hour before. It was about that time Vivian Herms had crawled her way back into his thoughts. Like a worm, she had planted an idea into his head and now it pounded at the walls to be free. Barker leaned back and let out a sigh.

The headache reached a pinnacle and Barker leaned over, vomiting into the trashcan beside him. He tried to blame it on the smell of chemicals in his mind, but it was hard to fool your own brain.

Barker reached forward and grabbed some water, swishing it around in his mouth. The taste of one's old food was never a pleasant one. He had been working now for over two hours to split the compounds in the Chinese food. He had come up with the basic ingredients to Chinese noodles, orange chicken, and a couple other basic dishes.

Barker stood up and walked away from the container and back to his tools. The things Barker had left after the food was taken out were simple things really. Most were normal household wares. The only thing that stood out was a chemical found in a plant far to the south of Urgway, a plant that grew mostly in the high heat of the desert. Tily, it was commonly called. Tily had been attributed to a mass suicide hundreds of years ago. It was said to have convinced hundreds of people that the sun had set them on fire and they jumped from a high ledge into a shallow ravine to their deaths. It is unclear who lived to tell the story, but it did the job of scaring people away from the desert flower.

Barker was unsure how the flower had gotten into Urgway. It wouldn't cause people to eat one another at least it never had those effects before. Something it had been paired with could have triggered a reaction, but Barker couldn't figure out what that pairing could be.

He went through the tubes again and tried to match something to the Tily, but it was useless. Without trying it out on something, he really had no shot at figuring out what the combination was. The process was intriguing and doable, but it could take weeks to figure out. Barker didn't have that kind of time with the Mayor breathing down this case's neck.

Psitticus had already called his phone seven times in the last two hours. Barker hadn't bothered picking it up. He had nothing to report and it made him feel better that Psitticus was squirming in his seat. Nothing made Barker happier than putting a grimace on that bird beak.

Barker, instead, tried to figure out where he could buy that much of the desert flower. There had been several more people reported to have gone insane over the last day. The Mayor had been on television proclaiming that his men were well on their way to having it under control. It was a bold-faced lie. As far as Barker knew, he was the only man even looking for a solution.

No flower stores around the area claimed to sell Tily. It wasn't a surprise, no one wanted to be associated with such a plant. That left Barker in a tougher situation, however. He tried miscellaneous shops, but none answered to the flowers either. Barker checked in with the local mail carriers. Someone had to have delivered the flowers.

That was when he hit the nail on the head. Maxwell District High School, Some small time arts high school in the center of the Maxwell district of Urgway.

Maxwell was a small time section of the city. It housed those who had mostly made their livings in the arts; painters, musicians, writers; all small time bits. Barker very rarely had to visit the district unless it was due to theft. Most of the time, it turned out to be nothing, no one really wanted to steal second-rate art.

Barker gathered up his files. He wouldn't need them, but it was always better to look official. He threw on an overcoat, it wasn't cold, but he liked the effect. Then, he shut the door on his apartment and started off towards the end of this case, and the beginning of being able to focus on this Shock business.

7.

Barker remembered why he hated the Maxwell district before he even had to enter the suburb. It smelled oddly of disappointment and failure. The trees were all imported and looked fake, surrounded by the highlights of the city in the background. Even the grass was fake with an extra spring when you stepped.

Barker exited the cab and was tempted to jump right back in. He had better things to do with his time. The Rescue had laid a whopper of a case on his plate. Something that he could actually sink his teeth into and use, but this case pulled him away. He reminded himself again that he needed the Mayor. He didn't have to like the Mayor, but he still needed him to continue on.

So, with reluctance, he shut the cab door, "Wait, here," he yelled through the window. He was going in, but that didn't mean he wanted to be stuck here.

The Maxwell High school was decorated as if it were a museum of fine arts. It had cruddy paintings as you entered the door. To each side of the walk-in were statues that looked like they could have been made from play dough. Barker rubbed his temples; he wasn't sure what caused the headache this time, the thought of the Shock or this school.

"Excuse me, sir," Barker looked up, "Can I help you?" asked a cat in a grey suit. Barker looked around at the walls and figured he didn't expect anyone here to be any classier than the décor.

"I am looking for any teacher who would have ordered an entire batch of Tily," Barker replied. There was no reason to be coy or mysterious. Barker reached into his jacket pocket and whipped out his badge, for mere effect.

The cat's eyes widened. The confidence he had portrayed scattered like leaves in the wind. "I wouldn't be privy to that information, sir," he said. The cat started to look around for anyone to relieve him of this conversation.

"Well, who would?" Barker asked.

The cat seemed relieved to have an excuse to walk. "I will go get the principal." With that, he was off down the hall, leaving Barker to stare at the hideous paintings on the wall.

Only a few minutes passed before another cat in a grey suit waltzed into the entrance hallway. "May I help you, detective?"

Barker didn't bother turning. He could see the reflection of the man in the painting. One of the best parts of being a detective was to make the normal people antsy. "I need to know who ordered hundreds of Tily flowers from this school," Barker said. Barker moved his paw up to the edge of the painting and flicked a large chunk of crusted paint from the corner. Even the color was cheap.

The Principle didn't step forward or make any reaction at all. "I see," he said. He looked at the small piece of color on the floor. "Follow me," he said, turning down the hallway.

Barker followed. They moved down a small set of stairs and into a wooden paneled crevice that surely led to the Principal's office. The carpet under their feet was a bright red and contrasted horribly off the walls. It was a wonder anyone thought this place was worth the time.

The cat opened a small wooden door and they stepped into a medium-sized office. The cat moved around behind a sculpted desk. Barker opted to stay standing. Inside, the office was decorated with even more horrid paintings. These were presumably some of the better work of the students over the years. This was an even bigger indication that no one should bother with the school.

"Now, you said the flower, Tily, correct?" the cat asked from behind his computer.

Barker turned and looked at the Principle, who had put a large comical pair of glasses onto his face. "Yes."

The cat feigned some extra typing. "Looks like that would have been Mr. Watson. Though Watson has been on paid medical leave for about three weeks now." The cat lifted the glasses from his nose.

Barker didn't have time to play cat and mouse with the man. "Where do I find him?"

"Well, I.." the cat was going to continue the charade, but Barker's head pounded and he wasn't in the mood to play this silly game.

"Tell me, now!" Barker said. Then, he slammed the badge on the desk. "Either that or you can come with me," he said.

The cat stopped playing games at that moment. "Let me just print you his home address."

Barker waited in the building just long enough to gather the paperwork he needed to find this Mr. Watson. Then, he happily moved from the school, intending to never visit again. As he walked towards the cab, he stopped for a moment to take a deep breath. His head was splitting and again the thought of Vivian Herms clouded his mind.

8.

Mr. Watson lived well above his means. Making salary at a high school could not have paid him to live so well. Yet, here he was living a modest dream life. A two-story home surrounded by a brown picket fence was where Barker stopped his cabbie. The car in the driveway screamed overpriced, but it seemed Mr. Watson was trying to live up to some image. Maybe he had sold a painting in the distant past and was still living off that dream.

Barker walked up the sidewalk and noticed that weeds had overtaken the flower beds. While Watson was clearly a man of image, he had let his lawn go. Barker made a mental note. Then, he knocked on the door. He heard a fit of coughing from the other side and then a low rumbling voice answer, "Be there in a moment," it said.

Barker stood there for much longer than a moment, but he heard the footsteps behind the wooden door. They were slow and labored. Much as if the man had broken a limb. Barker looked out around the neighborhood as he waited. The houses surrounding Mr. Watson's were much the same. Barker guessed it was one of those committee neighborhoods where no one could paint, trim, plant, or itch without permission from the council. Barker shuddered to think of ever having to be so controlled.

Not that his accommodations were exactly freedom. He still did as he liked.

Finally, after over four minutes, the door opened. In the frame stood a large, furry bear of a man, or at least a once large man. Something had caused the skin to sag over what could have once been muscle. The fur which would have been a full brown and thick was now light and patchy. The bear drew his paw up to his mouth and had another coughing attack. Barker turned away, whatever it was he wasn't keen on catching it.

"Sorry," the bear sputtered. It was a pathetic scene.

Barker waited for another fit to pass before introducing himself. "I am Detective Barker, from the Urgway police department." Barker pulled his badge from his jacket pocket.

The bear nodded. "What can I do you for?" he wheezed.

Barker flipped the badge and stuffed it back into his pocket. "Seems that you have bought an awful lot of a certain flower called the desert flower or Tily," Barker pulled out a notepad. He didn't need it, but it always made people more talkative to see him writing something down.

The bear wouldn't be much more talkative. Mr. Watson coughed again and shook his head, "I haven't ordered any Tily," he stated.

"Would I be welcome into your home, Mr. Watson?" Barker asked. He would need to see the inside of the home before he decided. He was coming in with or without permission, but it was easier if the bear just agreed.

After yet another coughing fit, the bear waved Barker in behind him. "Sorry for the mess, been a little under the weather here lately." Mr. Watson led Barker into a small sitting room. Here, Barker noticed several test tubes and small burners sitting around the edges of the room. He didn't follow Watson as he sat in a large armchair. Instead, he moved towards the equipment.

"Those didn't turn out too well," Watson started, "Tried to find my own cure for the cough, but it turns out I am not much of a scientist."

Barker thumbed a small beaker and sniffed his thumb. The paste was thick, but Barker doubted it would do much good against a cough. "Didn't order any Tily to try and help with this experimenting?" Barker asked, still snooping through the supplies.

"Nope..." started the bear, but it turned into a coughing fit and, for a moment, Barker wasn't sure he would breathe again. But, breath, he did, with a large swallow of air. He sat for a few moments, not saying a word. "Just stupid home remedies I saw on the internet, none of them worked as you can tell." Watson took another deep breath and pressed further into the chair.

Barker could tell that these items hadn't been touched in weeks. Whoever was making the drug that caused the user to eat another man hadn't come from these generic supplies. It also hadn't come from a man who could barely walk to answer his door. No drug dealer who was on his deathbed would make a good seller.

There was absolutely no way this man was faking for a show either. He had invested too much time and effort into his image just to let weeds take over his flowers, and his grass grow ankle high. This man was dying. Barker could smell it in the air.

Barker turned to look at Mr. Watson. The bear had closed his eyes and almost looked dead already, but his chest heaved with struggled breathing. Barker decided to let himself out. He didn't need to disturb this bear anymore. It was enough that he wouldn't make it through the month.

Once outside, Barker glanced at the road and noticed his cab had moved on. Barker cursed under his breath. He had explicitly told the man to stay put. It was a long walk back to Urgway from here. He had found nothing of use, had solved nothing, and now, he was stranded. Barker kicked at one of the only surviving flowers on his way out the gate.

Barker turned to start up the road, that was when he felt the touch on his shoulder and suddenly his knees went weak.

9.

Barker went to hold his temples, his head was pounding beyond belief, but his paws were tied down. He sat in an old wooden spindle chair, both his legs and arms tied. He didn't bother to wiggle. Whoever had gone through the trouble surely wasn't stupid enough to leave the ropes loose, and wiggling would only tighten them.

Barker sat calmly but still squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stamp out some of the pain. He heard the footsteps before he saw the people. He didn't bother opening his eyes. It didn't matter what they looked like. It didn't matter what they held. They had the advantage, but Barker still had his mind.

"The famous Detective Barker," a rough voice said. Barker nodded his reply. He indeed was everything that man had stated so far. "I would lie and say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I am not one much for false statements. I hope you understand."

The man left a moment for Barker to reply. Barker knew better, it was a trick he would have used. The man was trying to trip him up and make him look stupid. It was too bad for the man that Barker was smarter than him, even if he was currently trapped in a chair.

"Quieter than I expected," the man continued. Barker could hear him pacing. He had intended to scare Barker. He had not suspected that anyone could sit with their eyes closed and be so calm in a situation such as the one Barker found himself in. "No matter, I intended to do much of the talking anyhow." The footsteps stopped right in front of Barker's chair. Barker could hear the man's breathing. He also knew three others stood in the room with them. They were probably there for muscle purposes. None of them would be talking with Barker this evening.

"You are a canine. You are within the age of forty to forty-five. You haven't worked much in your life, but when you did you were a salesman for I am guessing a small firm. Your accent puts you from out of Urgway, but you fit in nicely here with your petty crime. I am going to go out on a limb and say that you didn't take kindly to Rescue coming to me. You are more worried than you would admit, but you won't say it out loud in case these three other gentlemen hear you utter fear. You aren't a big man. You probably have never killed another man in your life. You are more of a behind the scenes type, but this is important. You have to be seen as a leader in this. So, you hired these thugs and you gathered some nerve to confront me. You need for me to be scared away. But you failed to realize that I am not a coward, nor am I a runner. You can continue when you like," Barker leaned his head back. He feigned boredom, even if his head was pounding and his heart ached to know more about this man.

"You are as good as they say. I didn't doubt that. I won't be killing you, Barker. You hit the nail on the head. I don't need to kill you to succeed in my endeavors. All I need to do is pacify you. Or I could continue to keep you too busy to look for me. Ordering a hundred Tily flowers under a name like Mr. Watson is only the tip of the iceberg as to what I can do. Making respectable men and women eat one another isn't usually what I do, but I make exceptions from time to time. You're right, I haven't killed a single soul, but I do doubt those people will ever be the same again. What you can do with a few clicks of a button on the internet is amazing. Make your own Chinese restaurant. Cater to the rich. Hell, I even delivered it myself. Those idiots ate it up and then ate each other."

The man started to pace again. Barker could tell he was nervous.

"It is all in my power to destroy you. To destroy the Mayor, or to take down Urgway's communications. I can do it with the click of a button. Rescue can't stop me. That's why they came to you. No one can stop me, Barker. It isn't a matter of being caught that has brought me to you. It's the competition you represent."

The man placed his own hand on Barker's nose. "It is what you want, is it not?" he said and ran his claw down Barker's chin. "You don't want to destroy the Shock. You want it for yourself."

Well, the man wasn't completely wrong. Barker let a smile creep onto his face. "Fear is often a man's own undoing," Barker said.

The man stepped back. "I do not often exchange words with people. I am, as you said, more of a behind the scenes type of man. So, do excuse me if I grow tired of this conversation. I will do what I came to do then I will leave. You will have been warned. You will have been informed. The Shock is mine. Urgway is mine. Soon enough, Acera will be mine. You can keep your nose out of my business and survive. Or, you can continue to meddle above your pay grade and be put down."

Barker felt two sets of hands grasp his head. He didn't bother to fight. Again, he was strapped down and fighting was useless. The two sets of hands pushed his head forward and covered his mouth. Barker drew in a breath through his nose and figured out too late that powder had been placed before him. His head instantly swam and then again his body went weak.

10.

Barker awoke on his couch. His head still pounded. He rolled over and grabbed an old bottle of water from his stand. He took a few large drinks. Then he rolled up and placed his feet on the ground. The Shock had struck and tried to sting him. Rescue had set him into a fury of pissed off bees.

Neither of them realized what they had gotten themselves into. Barker put his hand on the cushion of the couch and pulled out a small notebook. He flipped open the cover and grabbed the pen from the spindle.

He put a check mark next to the first item on a small list.

-Find Them-

The Adventures of Vulpecula

Episode Four

Vices, Virtues, and a Doppelganger

1.

The smell of cigarette smoke from the muskrat behind him lingered into the fox's nose. The muskrat puffed the nicotine into his lungs, and let the residual remainder spread about the room. Vulpecula knew it'd take days to get the diabolical odor off his fur. He didn't care though, not now. Smelling like tobacco was the least of his worries.

He dangled his legs down on the bar stool, they were not long enough to touch the ground.

To his left, a grizzly bear wearing overalls and a snap-back hat, on the hat was the company logo for something called Fluff. V hadn't heard of it before, but had some judgments based on the bear's exhausted disposition and the way he tried guzzling down his weight in beers. He assumed he was just returning from the work-place.

To his right, more of the same, a prodigious warthog that dwarfed him a few times over. The warthog wore a suit, which, in-theory would've suggested someone more aesthetically driven, but from the stains on his white undershirt, Vulpecula pegged him as a slob.

And there, he sat, projecting his self-doubt and frustration by quietly judging everybody in the bar. Thy kingdom come, the self-righteous Fox Detective.

A small fox between a bear and a warthog, the audacity of the fact wasn't lost on him, but he was unwilling to be amused. He rested his head down against the table. Hardwood. Slick feeling. The kind that had been stained over with an added finish in-order to create an old-time visual. That was the theme of One Step Back, a local bar in Acera that modeled itself after a simpler time. Granted though, back then, a fox wouldn't have been allowed into such an establishment, not on the watch of the Canes, but that was neither here nor there. V heard the bartender resting his drink atop a coaster in-front of him and sat up. The Fox smiled politely, though didn't make eye-contact. Eye-contact wasn't his forte, and neither was social-interaction. His eyes hurt. They felt blood-shot. But it had been ages since he looked in a mirror. He always hated mirrors, and his appearance, and his insecurities, but lately, them, and everything else felt amplified. It was easier not to look.

The glass of alcohol felt cold in his hands and the condensation moistened his paws, as it came closer to his muzzle, the stuff's taste was welcomed. Though, he couldn't keep his own displeasure from showing on his face. The taste still hadn't been acquired for him, even after the last hour and a half, he hated nothing more than the taste of beer, whiskey, or any of it. But it numbed the senses, and that's all that mattered.

"Aren't you a Detective?" the bartender said from the other-side of the counter, a look of skepticism on his face.

"You're mistaken," Vulpecula replied, with one-hand, fidgeting with the fur on his chin, and with the other-hand, starting a crescendo with his fingers tapping on the glass.

"No, I don't think I am," he replied, squinting his eyes like it'd somehow jog his memory.

The bartender looked like a nice enough fellow. Then again, the harsh reality that life's not all sugar plums and gumdrops was still leaving aftershocks for Vulpecula.

The bartender was a lizard, wearing a dark-green, buttoned shirt, green skin, and black hair that was slicked back. A wig, obviously. The lizard stared at him for a while longer, his index-finger jutted out and pointed straight like the Sanchi Tower, until finally, he snapped his fingers and said, "You're Hensley Noel's kid!"

"Yes," Vulpecula replied.

V had a glimmer of hope that he'd be willing to leave it at that, but he wasn't though, of course, he wasn't. "I knew I knew you from somewhere, what brings you back to Acera, I thought you moved to Urgway? That's where Lacerta said you guys were at." The Lizard sounded curious and enthused, like a raving fan in-front of his favorite movie-star or musician, Vulpecula found that odd, but he was caught by what he had said.

"Do you know Lacerta?"

"Of course, all of us lizards know each-other."

"Huh?" Vulpecula stammered, bringing the glass to his mouth for another drink, the taste still not acquired for him. He forced himself to swallow.

"All Lizards attend monthly meetings. We discuss milestone events, shed our skin, and just make sure to keep everybody else up to date on what's happening in our lives."

"Oh," Vulpecula replied, nodding knowingly.

"I'm kidding," the Lizard said, a smile on his face that showed his sharp-teeth.

"I know," Vulpecula lied.

A loud snort came from the Warthog, who, even with his finely tailored suit, The Fox Detective found completely repulsive. He slammed his fist on the table and did so hard enough that Vulpecula could feel the glass in his hands vibrate. The bartender flinched.

"Can we stop fraternizing with your customers and work on getting me my order!?" His voice sounded raspy and dry. It made Vulpecula think of a chain-smoker. The bartender reciprocated his demands with a polite smile and went to the back. "I mean, really, I've seen better service from a place that's closed!"

"There's only one person," Vulpecula quietly mentioned, but the Warthog didn't seem to hear him. V did hear a small chuckle from the bear on his right, however.

He didn't try himself again, to make himself heard or known, he simply quieted. The situation was better off without his presence and he knew that. He wasn't in the mood for confrontation, all he wanted was to sulk in his misery and woe and wake up someday and it to all be better. That wouldn't happen though, because it wasn't a daydream. He could close his eyes and wish it all away, but the minute he did, he knew he'd only see the bloody hand of Comet Fowley. A website called The Shock. A cult, maybe?

The website was a precursor to something greater. A gateway. In the end, they didn't do anything to Comet. They didn't have to. Their diatribes and spouting were enough to make him fake his own death. The Shock scared him that much. Shocking. And frankly, those things scared Vulpecula as well.

But for several reasons. They enticed him. He wanted more. To dig deeper. He wanted another chapter. "Well, we are on the wait-list for Detective Barker, but he deemed the case all too obvious," said Officer Rofus. What an enticing life Detective Barker must have.

The Shock scared Vulpecula because he wanted to find out more about them, and by extension, he wanted more chopped up hands and bloody bathrooms to make that happen.

Alcohol is tantalizing for some, offering restitution from the woes of a long-day eclipsed, but no matter how much he drank, it didn't offer Vulpecula what he sought for; escapism. That's what being a detective was supposed to do, to forget the legacy left to follow by his father, as well as the worrisome intricacies encumbering him he couldn't seem to avoid. It let him have purpose, and he was good at it, for some reason or another. It amused him. It was his own. Life's boring, and the things that aren't boring have an in-direct correlation with things that are evil, Vulpecula thought to himself.

The bartender returned with a plate of food; a burger with ketchup and mustard dribbling down the side and fries with melted cheese dressed over them. The burger was tofu, obviously. The bartender had a smile on his face Vulpecula reckoned took all his energy to force. The warthog scoffed at the bartender, but that didn't stop him from digging fast into the food. Vulpecula saw the burger's condiments dribble down the warthog's chin but tried not to stare. Instead, he went back to his self-loathing and dismay, oh, woe is me. But the bartender, free to pursue him once more, walked by him with a curious grin.

"So, what brings you back to Acera?" he asked, leaning himself against the other-side of the counter. Both elbows on the table. Mama Fox Detective would not approve!

"I live here." Vulpecula said, hoping that would be enough to suffice, but the bartender stared at him, expecting more. "It's where I like to stick around most, and since I am a small-time detective, I don't usually get too many jobs outside Acera, at the very most, I visit Italina, but that's only a couple hour drive." He added.

"Ah, I see, well, I read about your last case on Lacerta's article on the Rescue Tribune. I didn't think you and Rescue got along or were affiliated."

"We're not," Vulpecula said, somewhat bluntly. He let a breath escape from his lungs, cooling his temper, and began again, "We're not affiliated, but we do co-exist and get along. They respect my decision not to work with them. Or, at least, they pretend to. Lacerta is always thinking of ways to 'expand our brand', and since I vetoed him creating a website for our riveting little 'adventures', I compromised and now he'll be writing occasional articles for them."

"That's good," the bartender said, "It lets you get your name out there. The Supreme Stadium one was your most exciting yet!"

"I suppose," V said, the visual image of Comet's severed hand on the tank of the bathroom toilet struck him hard, but he flushed it down. The image. Not the hand.

"I never really pegged you as much of a drinker though, especially not the sound kind."

The bluntness of the statement caught Vulpecula off-guard, so much so that it made him make eye-contact with the bartender, whose face looked amused, V couldn't help but show off a small smile. "I suppose I am a big cliché, the sad detective who has seen too much of the world's underbellies."

"And I'm the bartender who cleans the inside of the glass cup with a wash cloth while you speak about your hard-times," he said. "My name's Red, by the way." His voice sounded smooth, if a little too zealous for its own good.

"It's nice to meet you, Red, but I don't think I really feel like venting about anything right now," Vulpecula answered back.

The lizard named Red nodded back, one of his forced smiles was spread on his face.

"Thank God," the Warthog exclaimed. "I don't know why I can't go to a bar and just drink and eat some grub without people whining all the time!"

Following a brief pause, "I suppose I can vent a little." Vulpecula adjusted himself in his stool, "I don't really know how to though."

"You took a Step Back for a reason, what was the reason?" Bartender Red asked, muffling a small chuckle provoked by the displeasure of the Warthog.

Vulpecula let a breath escape his lungs, "They didn't write about it in the Tribune, but the reason Comet did what he did was out of fear. The fear of a group of people. What they'd do to him. What they'd do to his family. Whatever the reason."

"And this bothers you?"

"It terrifies me," Vulpecula said, and then stopped. He went to take another sip of alcohol from his glass and a realization came to him; it was empty. The bartender smiled, lifting a large bottle of whiskey and pouring it into the glass. Vulpecula nodded and took a drink.

A vibration came from the fur-pouch on V's thigh. His cellphone. Always on vibrate. The sound of loud noises bothered him. He checked it, on the front of his screen was Apus' picture. Vulpecula answered.

"What is it?" Vulpecula asked. He might have sounded more unfriendly than intended, but that was the mood he was in.

"The Police are looking for you," Apus answered. "Where are you?"

"I went for a walk. Do you have any idea what they want?" Vulpecula stood up from the bar stool, using his walking stick as support while his drunkenness waged wars on his equilibrium. The Warthog beside him looked agitated and annoyed. Vulpecula took pleasure in that fact.

"No," Apus commented. "But it seemed urgent, after all, it's four in the morning, a little late for a walk, isn't it?"

"It's early depending on who you ask, and I didn't want to wake up you or Lacerta."

"You never cared about waking us up at four in the morning before," Apus jested.

2.

Vulpecula soon once more found himself acquainted amongst his friends, Lacerta Kerrick and Apus Yield.

They met at the Sidian Inn, where they basically lived when in Acera. Which was most of the time.

Apus seemed up and attentive, if a smidgen or two more groggy than usual. Supposedly nocturnal, even he wasn't up in these late of hours. Lacerta, on the other-hand, looked exhausted and in a daze, rubbing the crinkles out of his eyes, his lids looking very heavy and difficult to keep open. It was about five in the morning, and not a lot of folk roamed about the lobby. Anyone up was headed to work and didn't stay for very long.

They sat about a small circular table. Wooden and plain, about like the rest of the ones scattered about the Inn's built-in diner.

Apus and Lacerta both ordered small breakfasts. Lacerta with a plate of eggs with a side of bacon, and Apus with the same. V opted out of eating and instead asked for a cup of coffee to go. His buzz was still readily there, and as a light-weight, it'd take some time for it to wear off. His friends didn't seem to notice though, maybe they were too tired to, or maybe they were ignoring it out of kindness. Whatever the reason, he was glad. He could still smell the muskrat's cigarette smoke and was insecure that his friends could smell it as well.

"I wonder what they have that's so urgent," Apus remarked, twirling around a piece of egg with his fork.

"Something that couldn't wait until noon, apparently," Lacerta commented beneath his breath, and while both heard him, Apus and Vulpecula made the decision to ignore him.

"Whatever it is, they'll be here in a few minutes," Vulpecula replied, tapping his finger-nails on the table. Vulpecula looked around the diner's walls, looking for a clock of some kind, but found none.

"They actually agreed to come pick us up?" Apus asked.

"They seemed overjoyed to do so," V replied dryly. He continued tapping his claws against the table, appreciating the sound they made each time they hit. "It would have been easy for us to take the van, but I didn't know if you guys would be up and at 'em, and I certainly don't feel like driving."

"Little too early for that, buddy," Lacerta blurted out, shooting a look over to where Vulpecula's hand was at.

"I think the time's just right," V replied, a soft smile on his face, and it provoked an aggravated and well-audible groan from his lizard friend. The Fox didn't take to heart, Lacerta always became cranky when his sleeping schedule was adjusted. For his benefit, Vulpecula relented. He, on the other-hand, didn't feel too bad about the lack of sleep. Sleeping was a mandated activity he often tried and failed to challenge. Try as he might, he had no doubts he'd end up knocked out in bed in a few hours' time.

"Where were you earlier?" Lacerta asked, no longer chomping at the bits of his food. "You said you were walking, who walks at four in the morning?"

"I do," Vulpecula answered, "I needed some air, that's all."

"You haven't been the same since that Shock website fiasco, you've seemed more 'uppity' than usual."

"I don't know what you mean," Vulpecula said, realizing how little his reply accomplished. He noticed himself once again tapping his fingers on the table, however. V stopped for a moment and soaked in the silence of the diner around them. The sound of the air-conditioner could be heard, as well as some very muffled words between the Inn diner's waitress and a customer. Other-wise though, it felt very hollow and peaceful. He looked out the window, seeing various cars parked about, and white rocks lining the Inn's driveway. Plants decorated the sides of the concrete steps leading to the entrance. They looked rubbery, but Vulpecula couldn't say whether the flowers were real or not. A car pulled slowly into the driveway, a big purple rhino was driving the vehicle. The visual was quite the sight. As she came closer, Vulpecula could see that it was a police-car. The rhino wore an outfit as one would expect; a beige-colored buttoned-up shirt, long-sleeve, and a golden badge in-front of her heart. She stopped before the building, and both her and Vulpecula made eye-contact.

She didn't seem unfriendly. That wasn't the word for what she seemed. Stoic. Serious. Those were more accurate descriptions. Vulpecula let out a breath of air. It seemed an awful lot like they needed him for a case. That wasn't the problem. It was her mirthless expression. The whole look suggested something big, and as much as that set V's teeth on edge, the other-side of him knew his malfunctioning moral compass couldn't handle it. The Rhino stepped out from the vehicle. Her size was enormous, more than him and his friends combined, about as big as the Warthog from the bar.

"I don't suppose there's any chance the rhino's here for a totally different reason," Apus quietly whispered.

The Rhino opened the front-door of the Sidian Inn. The sound of the bell attached to the door-knob could be heard, and next came a friendly welcoming from one of the employees. The Rhino nodded, but said nothing, and didn't change her stone-face. Vulpecula watched her every footstep. She walked without grace, clumsily even, stamping her feet down with every movement. At the very least, she walked with presence. Vulpecula could see murder in her eyes, which was the exact opposite of what he needed to handle in his state. Lacerta, on the other-hand, was more concerned with finishing his breakfast. V smiled as she neared them.

"Have a seat, he commented, lifting up his walking stick and nudging toward an empty chair left for her.

She shook her head, "That won't be necessary."

Her voice sounded firm, but V detected something else, like a fish out of water, she seemed almost ... artificial, like she was masking her own personality with somebody else's more serious mannerisms. Vulpecula scribbled the fact down in his blank, slightly inebriated chalkboard. What was the severity of the crime committed to make her so on-edge?

"I guess we'll be going to the crime-scene then?" Vulpecula said, he noticed his hands were no longer tapping against the table, but they were shaking. He took a sip of his coffee. Caffeine would fix that.

The Rhino looked at V with confusion, "Not exactly," she said, then paused: "Vulpecula Noel, you're under arrest for stealing the Sword of Charles Tertius from the Malane Palace."

"Oh," Vulpecula replied. Almost sounding disappointed. "This really sounds like something we could have done over the phone though, doesn't it?"

The Rhino's face remained unchanged. V's eyes traveled around. Lacerta sat, jaw-dropped with a fork swinging about in his hands like a pendulum. Apus was looking at the Fox Detective with worry.

In the end, Vulpecula didn't resist arrest. There was no fighting stick action or scarf-strangling, he allowed himself to be arrested. Lacerta and Apus said nothing to him on his way out. The cuffs weren't very tight around his wrists, but he made no strides of escape. There was no reason to. They left the Sidian Inn and V could feel the eyes of civilians judging him. He disliked it, burying his face in his scarf. The rhino, whose badge read Alicia Camél, spelled with a little angelic halo over the second-to-last letter, led him to the back of the police car. Vulpecula couldn't look to see, but he had no doubts both his friends were heading to the van to follow them on their way to the Acera Police Department.

3.

It didn't take long before Vulpecula unraveled a mystery. Not the most important thing though, not the thing that mattered. But the mystery of Alicia Camél. She wasn't mean. It was an act, and one she was very bad at. She led him into the building, her stone-faced look maintained with such dedication.

In the mean-time, The Fox Detective took in the scenery. He couldn't quite remember the last time he was at ACP. It didn't look familiar. He was being arrested for stealing the Sword of Tertius, a famous sword he became acquainted with on an earlier case, but what struck him as odd is that he wasn't arrested by Italinian Police.

The reason, he discovered, or assumed, was because Camél wasn't with a specific department. She was with Rescue. Looking back, Vulpecula could recall Officer Pends being hounded (no pun-intended) by various Rescue workers when V was in Italina the first time. It wasn't until night-time and in the pouring rain they went home, and Vulpecula was able to solve the case himself.

Officer Camél, or would it be detective?, led him about the floor of the department, he saw one or two familiar faces. (1) Officer Watts, whom he became acquainted with in a much earlier case, for which, Watts seemed more annoyed than grateful for his help. Watts looked uncaring about Vulpecula's current misfortune. (2) Officer Heathers, ... the less said about her, the better.

Camél brought him into a room, conveniently marked as Interrogation Room on the door in big-black letters.

Vulpecula sat down in one of the chairs at the center of the room. The chair was metal and without cushions. But he was at ease once he started tapping his fingers on the table in-front of him. Alicia walked in as well, closing the door behind her. A small camera was in one corner of the room with a blinking red light below the lens. The Fox had to resist the urge to wave or smile at the camera.

"Do you know why you're here?" Camel asked. V could hear the distinct footsteps of her feet stamping onto the ground and as she turned her back to him, he could have also sworn he heard her knuckles cracking. It was all a show for his benefit.

"From what you said, I am guessing it has something to do with me stealing the Sword of Tertius?"

"And did you?"

"Yes, I used my masterful know-how for the fine-arts of burglary, sneaked into the building and stole it. Six guards caught me in the act, but I showed them a fine assortment of jujitsu and left them unconscious and with no recollection of said events."

"Sarcastic confessions still count as confessions," Alicia Camel commented. "I know all about you. Rescue loves you. It was only natural. The son of one of the greatest animals this world has ever seen."

"I haven't had enough to drink for this," Vulpecula mumbled beneath his breath.

"BUT when I saw you on that video-tape, red-handed, it was like the veil came up from over my head. It all makes sense, you refuse every invitation to work with Rescue, you basically terminate any sort-of affiliation with them. You start proclaiming to the heavens you're a private investigator, an independent detective that yearns nothing more than to solve little mysteries with his spare time. Kept a far distance from any major investigations, without monitoring, and you built a following. Enough of a following to get a call from the Italina Police Department asking for your help. Rescue would've even signed off on it! We loved you. Loved." She ranted, a clear emphasis on that last word.

"And I used my found knowledge gathered from the Hair Case to find out the nooks and crannies of the Malane Palace, re-stole the Sword of Tertius, but even with all that knowledge, I made a mistake?"

"Do you know why I am purple?" Alicia Camel asked, both her arms leaning on the table, her eyes beamed at Vulpecula. A perfectly good seat across from her, she still didn't sit.

"I assumed it was just a lazy way of telling me you're female?" Vulpecula answered, scooting his chair back in fears the table might collapse from her sheer size.

"No," she said; unamused. "It alludes to the bruising's I give scumbags like you."

She pounded her fist into the palm of her hand with a stern expression, her jaw clenched so tight that it looked like her teeth might shatter. Vulpecula couldn't help but feel delight at the mere sight of such theatrics, but Alicia kept her composure. "When does the good cop come into this?"

Alicia Camel said nothing, but in a second's notice, the door jarred open, catching both their attentions. The individual at the door? Vivian Herms. Alicia's grimaced expression lightened at the sight of her. Vivian was lean and slender in stature, long, like a building, taller than Alicia, but thinner and wirier, she was intimidating in her own much subtler sort of ways. But Vulpecula wasn't intimidated by her. Unlike everyone else.

Vivian was one of the two hand-selected successors for Hensley Noel's dynasty known as Rescue. Vulpecula was the second one. Vivian offered a weak smile at Alicia but said nothing and motioned toward the exit. It was clear Alicia wanted nothing more than to stand her ground, but she did not, and instead, with an utterly defeated stare, she walked out from the room and closed the door behind her. She was gone, but legend has it that if you listened hard enough, you could still hear her knuckles crackling alludin' to the bruisin' she laid on fools, Vulpecula laughed to himself. He didn't know if it was the alcohol still lingering in his system, if he was exhausted, or if the whole situation was just downright hilarious, but he was amused.

Vivian walked forward, she smiled at Vulpecula, "I would ask why you're so amused by this, but I could smell the alcohol on your breath from outside the door. Even over that godawful smell of cigarette smoke."

Vulpecula let out a sigh. "Is it really that bad? That smoking muskrat's the worst thing to happen to me since, I don't know when."

"Your father made jokes too, a lot of them."  
"But they weren't as clever, right?"

"No, they were just about every bit as bad." Vivian replied. Vulpecula saw a slight smile on her face. "He also liked to drink," she added.

"Looks like I am a spitting image," Vulpecula said; annoyed. "The greatest animal to ever live!"

"I don't know if I would say that. He had his own set of issues, but he was passionate. He knew what he wanted and knew what he wanted to represent. Do you?" Vivian pulled out a chair on the opposite side of Vulpecula and dropped a folder on the desk, having a seat, she opened it up. Her hand covered up part of a photograph, but V knew it was of the Malane Palace.

"You are like him. You are a troublemaker and a nuisance!" Her voice sounded more disappointed than angry, not loud, not shouting, but stern, and for a moment, Vulpecula felt like a child again being lectured by a parent. Though, both his parents were dead. "Your father rebelled against normality, but he did it because at the end of the day, he knew it was the right thing to do. Back when you were a kid, ... back before you were a kid, if you were anything other than part of the Canes Vinatici, you were nothing!" Vulpecula smiled and nodded sarcastically, once more feeling like a child that heard something he didn't want to hear. He straightened his face.

"Your father went against convention and made nothing mean something. But when you do it, all I see is someone trying to be different. You have chances to make real differences in this world, but you waste it on finding missing stage-play actresses or amputated football coaches."

Vulpecula smiled again, it was a fake smile; a facade. "You always know exactly what to say to make me feel better. I don't know how you do it, after all these years."

"You aren't in any predicament to be making jokes, Noel." Her words were meant to be fierce. To intimidate. But in vein. She brought some air into her lungs and let it out, a gentle sigh. "In most circumstances, this would be an open-and-shut case, you'd go on trial, you'd likely spend time behind bars and that would be that but considering your affiliation with Rescue. By blood, that is. You are always considered a target. In your most recent visit to Urgway, you worked the case of Comet Fowley and caught wind of a website called The Shock. As you know, the website is a little more than what meets the eye. Rescue members have already long-since been working on figuring out who runs The Shock, and we've had middling results."

"Imagine that," Vulpecula replied. He found a bit of exhaustion begin to reel itself over him, making him even less attentive than usual.

Vivian ignored him, and simply continued: "We believe The Shock is the reason for your nefarious affairs, be it blackmail or something else. Upon thorough interrogation, Comet Fowley was unwilling to crack or offer us any leads on The Shock's whereabouts or means of existence. He has since been migrated outside of Urgway under our witness protection program."

"It isn't," Vulpecula stated. "If I were to steal the Sword of Tertius, we would never be having this conversation, because you would never know I did it. And I highly doubt Alicia's capable of being thorough about anything."

"Video-footage discloses your participation in the act," Vivian stated, moving her hand off from the photograph on the table.

... Of the Malane Palace, The Fox Detective gathered that much earlier, but what he hadn't seen was the white furred fox and his green scarf. Vulpecula took the photo off the table, his hands still confined by cuffs, he held it near his face. It was him. Vulpecula reached for more photographs, each following him go nearer and nearer to the Sword. Until, at last, he made it to the glass container. His back turned to the video-footage, he slyly dislodged the sword from out of the case. An alarm went off. Vulpecula could gather that much from the red-tint layering the room. The Museum had improved its security some, but not much. A security guard came racing in. Vulpecula, or, well, not Vulpecula pointed the sword at the guard, who begrudgingly retreated. From there, the apparent doppelganger threw the scarf over his face and ran off from the shot.

"It wouldn't be hard to make a white fox put on a scarf, Vivian." Vulpecula replied, his remark though didn't sound very assured or confident, and that was because the small jolt of panic the photographs invoked. He felt his dearest friends, Insecurity and Paranoia knock on his door. He didn't answer. But they broke the door down. Was it mind-control that made Comet Fowley sever off his own hand? Could mind-control do this? Or was it something different entirely, had Vulpecula's own moral compass malfunctioned? Doing heinous acts and repressing them the following day? The whole dispute was lunacy, 'twas madness, but V couldn't think of any other explanations for it. Maybe he really did have a doppelganger?

"The photos aren't of somebody that looks like you. The footage, upon inspection, shows your distinguished facial features. Your mannerisms. Experts have looked at all of it. It's you in that photo, Vulpecula. What is your plan of action?" She sounded serious. She slid another photograph over to Vulpecula, one he had missed. The one showed a clear visual of the perpetrator's face, for a moment, the perpetrator was fidgeting with the fur on his chin. Vulpecula paused for a moment, noticing he had been fidgeting with the fur on his chin as well. He stopped. But the damage was done.

"I need the real footage, actual video," Vulpecula answered, his words sounding shaky, "And I need my friends, they should be in the waiting room or outside."

"Bringing your friends in here would go highly against procedure."

"Arrest them! I couldn't have done such an operation by myself, they are most obviously my accomplices!"

4.

Neither Lacerta nor Apus seemed very excited as they were brought to the Interrogation Room in handcuffs, but The Fox Detective didn't care. He didn't really need them to be excited, he only needed their company. Alicia Camél brought in several chairs and put them down, somewhat aggressively, beside Vulpecula. Lacerta seemed especially annoyed by the situation, whereas Apus seemed more confused than anything else. Bewildered, befuddled, and some other synonym to that, preferably starting with "be".

"What exactly is happening?" Lacerta asked, rubbing his wrists.

"Rescue believes we are the culprits responsible for the stealing of the Sword of Tertius." Vulpecula answered.

"All of us? Why did they wait until now to arrest Apus and I?"

"No idea," lied Vulpecula. "But it looks bad for us." He looked over to make for certain Alicia was out of the room for his lie. She was. She eventually came and wheeled in a small television set. It rested on a rustic metal stand that had one wobbling wheel at the bottom. A VHS player was below the television on a small shelf. For a second, V thought the whole stand might have tipped, with how much force Alicia had shoving it in there, but she managed to keep it steady.

"Will you be needing anything else, Miss Herms?" Camél asked with a courtesy V hadn't seen until now.

Vivian Herms smiled warmly. "That will be all. Thank you."

Camél reciprocated the look, then threw her eyes over to V and her smile turned sour fast. She left the room, with the unmistakable sound of her feet stomping on the ground. Vivian slithered over to the television like a snake. She wasn't a snake though, not quite, she was like one, but completely different. She was a weasel, whose stomach-region was disproportionately loner than the rest of her body.

She fiddled with the television set, having an awkward time adjusting the cables in the back. During her struggles, Vulpecula almost felt the urge to throw her a line and offer his assist. Almost. But, given his predicament, his inebriation, and his exhaustion, he wasn't in the mood to be helpful. Instead, he watched the middle-aged weasel try and tackle technology, like the Hounds tried to tackle the Labradoodles in the Supreme Stadium last week. Like them, she failed.

But after Lacerta started spouting off some random technical mumbo jumbo at her, everything eventually got squared away and ready.

"This is footage filmed directly off the video-cameras inside the Malane Palace, and only the most respected and well-trained faculty are allowed access."

"And if you're any indication of how well-trained the faculty is, they're certainly to be trusted," jested the Fox Detective.

"I don't even know why I am bothering to help someone as childish as yourself," Vivian replied.

"Because, as childish as I may be, you know I didn't do it." Vulpecula reminded.

"I know nothing."

"You said it," said Vulpecula.

"Given the situation, it's probably best we take this with a certain level of seriousness," Apus advised plainly, shaking the handcuffs around with his hands for V to hear the rattle.

Vivian Herms smiled at that, meanwhile, Vulpecula only gritted his teeth. His feathery friend wasn't wrong, and he could at least find the conscious wherewithal to admit it. Vivian stepped away from the television set and pressed play with the remote. The footage appeared on the screen. V considered himself far from being a tech aficionado, but it all seemed very authentic. There were little numbers on the side and a night-vision lens. He could see some blind-spots off memory alone, but the cameras caught everything important. The Malane Palace was dark at night, which meant the photographs he has seen earlier in Vivian's folder must have been brightened or adjusted in some way. Still, everything ended up telling the same basic-story. Some seconds elapsed before it happened, before the 'act' struck, and for a time, it was seconds of only looking at the scenery of the Malane Palace. And even though the night-vision made for a green-aesthetic, Vulpecula perceived the colors as they were meant. The red carpeting and the black casings holding each item.

The irony of the whole situation wasn't lost on him. He hadn't forgotten the last case he had. About having to find the Sword of Tertius. It hadn't been very long ago. In-fact, he could still roll his eyes in the back of his head and see the information for it. All of it. Or all that was deemed important. He remembered how tedious and boring he thought the museum was, and how much he hated them in-general, but as fate would have it, he was now forced to attentively stare at footage of the Palace.

Soon, the figure of a fox entered on the screen, the scarf around him, the disposition and way he trekked through the Palace, all of it was a spitting-image of the Fox Detective.

Vulpecula heard a sound come from one of his friends, sounded like the gulping sound of fear, but he didn't stop to investigate.

Everything checked out, and as the alarm raised, the lights inside of the room illuminated, bringing the fox into clear-view. The scene of the guard entering the room, and the scene of The Fox Imposter threatening her with the Sword of Tertius. The guard backed away from the figure, whose head was cocked off to the side, facing away from the camera. From there, the Imposter left from the Malane Palace out the main-exit.

"I can't believe you think so low of me to do this," Vulpecula said, his eyes piercing through Vivian. He was exhausted, and while many of his sensibilities waned, he was still very much able to feel annoyance and hurt.

"I never pegged you a criminal, but under duress, many would stoop to such an act."

"Not that," Vulpecula snapped indignantly. "If I would have stolen from The Malane Palace, I wouldn't have walked out the front-door, I wouldn't have tripped the alarms, and I wouldn't have left any incriminating footage about me. Miss Marion, do you remember Miss Marion? I do, and she had to take precaution. She took immense precaution and she was still caught, albeit, yes, because of the cunning brilliance of a master detective, but she was still caught. By working that case, I should have been equipped with said knowledge of certain eccentricities about the museum, the blind spots, for example, but this figure in this video is an amateur. Not even that. He has absolutely no grasp of subtlety or discretion."

"He didn't know what he was doing, at all," Lacerta agreed. "Vulpecula would have robbed you all blind!"

"Be that as it may, inability doesn't refute evidence," Vivian replied, sounding annoyed.

"This isn't inability, do you really believe anybody in their right mind would walk into the Malane Palace and steal, with no care whatsoever about the consequences."

"No, I think no right-minded animal would do that."

Vulpecula smirked. "Did you find my paw-prints at the scene of the crime? The figure clearly touched the glass-case to retrieve the sword."

"We did not."

"The individual wanted it to be clear I was the perpetrator, and that I am criminal, and that I should be locked away. But who do I know that would do that? No, that's not important, that isn't crucial here, because, one can be worked on when the other is answered, the question that is important is the 'how,' like, how I am in this footage when it is so-ever clearly not me. But, it is me, it means all the mannerisms, all the features, the appearance, the look, things that couldn't be captured with a make-up crew or someone playing dress-up," Vulpecula could feel his words; shaky and unkempt, the sanity of his dialogue wearing thin. "For starters, when was the crime committed? I need to have a timeline of events." He looked over to Vivian Herms, who seemed caught off-guard by a chance to speak.

"The crime was committed within the last thirty hours, as you might expect, we were in shock that the son of Hensley Noel would commit such an act, so we wanted to make for sure we had all the facts and information at our disposal."

"Thirty hours," Vulpecula repeated. "Thirty hours isn't specific enough. The footage makes it obvious the act happened at night. You said thirty hours though, that rules out last night, and only leaves the night before, which is the very same night Lacerta, Apus, and I arrived back from Urgway, which means, depending on when it was, exactly, in that thirty hours, we might very well have an alibi."

"You would not have an alibi. The Rescue Tribune did an interview with Lacerta Kerrick after your arrival back to Acera. The crime happened shortly after."

Vulpecula bit on his nail. "I don't think I am here because you think I stole anything. Sure, you had to be for certain, so you gave me that speech, had your Rhino friend try, quite masterfully, at the art of intimidation, but now it's the fact of why I am here. You can't solve it." He declared. "You know it's not me. But you don't know 'how' it's not me. Because, by the looks of it, it is me." V sprung up to his feet and out from his chair, walking over to the television screen. He felt a hot-boiling amount of vivaciousness in his blood. He squinted at it, ... like it would somehow jog his memory.

"Then, who did it?" Vivian Herms asked, sounding neither amused nor frustrated, but maybe a little intrigued.

"I ...," Vulpecula began. "Do not know."

His eyes went back over to the television screen. He speculated, but the speculation felt aimless. The immediate thoughts – the security-guard, visual allusion, and betrayal. That is, the security guard betrayed the trust of the Malane Palace by working with The Fox Imposter who used visual allusion to emulate V's demeanor and appearance. But the whole thing didn't seem right. It seemed too complex and too elaborate, and worst of all, "It looks too much like me." He held the remote-control in his hands and skimmed through the footage, pausing on his face. "It's like they copy-and-pasted me onto the video."

Vulpecula paused the footage. "Oh."

"You think the footage has been tampered with, with you somehow chopped into it?" Apus asked.

"Is that even possible? I mean, this looks more than just professional, this looks dead-on." Lacerta said. He still sounded as cranky as he did at breakfast.

"Comet Fowley chopped his hand off because he was afraid of a website, a website called The Shock, ran by a group evidently too cunning for all of Rescue's finest to catch." Vulpecula made eye-contact with Vivian for that remark. "They're so capable and comfortable with technology and have so much power at their disposal, they could accomplish what is really a rather simple editing job. Look at the instances where the figure snatches the Sword of Tertius or threatens the body-guard. His face is turned. They found enough photos and videos of me on the internet to make my appearance and demeanor, walking and leaving, but they didn't have enough to do everything. A vicious looking Vulpecula going for the kill? They opted to turn his face or obscure it."

"What exactly are you saying, that there was no crime at all? That's ridiculous," Vivian declared.

"Pshaw ... that isn't at all what I'm saying. The crime happened. A white fox with a green-scarf came and went. The Sword of Tertius stolen. All these variables are accurate. But that face you see on the screen, tacked on. They might have even redone some of edited some other discrepancies to make it all look more authentic. They studied me beforehand, found some of my features, and acted them out because they knew you'd notice them."

Vulpecula walked away from the television set and presented his hands to Vivian Herms, or more specifically, showing her the cuffs still clasped around them.

"You have to be drunk to think something so far-fetched could prove your innocence." Vivian denounced.

"Ask your 'experts'," Vulpecula did air-quotes, "To look at the videos again, this time with questioning in-mind about the integrity of the video. But do it separately, individually, and without any outside influence. Somebody had to have adjusted the video-tape and likely, that's a member of faculty with access to the video-tapes. In-fact, ask the security guard who was threatened, ask her if she remembered seeing my face in-particular." Ask Her. She Remembered. Her? Vulpecula stopped, he looked at the ground. White tiles with bleak swirls of gray. In his head, however, he searched about himself. The Malane Palace had six guards, and not one of them was female. Vulpecula had etched that exact fact on his blank chalkboard during his thirteenth case file.

"She's new," Vulpecula announced, a satisfied grin on his face. "In the small window of time between me solving the mystery of the Sword of Tertius, and now, a new security guard has been hired. She would have direct access to the footage, and she's the one that tampered with it."

5.

It wasn't long before Vulpecula and his friends were freed of all charges. Vivian Herms didn't seem too thrilled about it, but Vulpecula liked to think she was relieved Hensley Noel's son wasn't a criminal. Vivian was dear friends with Hensley, ... some would say more than dear, and it was by association that The Fox Detective received some fondness from the Rescue battalion's head of command. The Lady Security Guard confessed. They arrested her, but Vulpecula expected clemency for her. After all, she was under duress. The Shock contacted her by telephone and threatened violence against both her and her loved ones. About then, The Guard was like putty in his hands.

They met. She described him as wearing a black overcoat with a hidden face, his voice altered by a modulator. The smell of him was of peppermint chewing gum, which she recalled him chomping on for their whole encounter. The figure introduced himself as Lepus but didn't attribute a surname for himself. His words were unfriendly, as one would expect from such a man, and he spouted obscenities when The Guard showed apprehension. Once the cards were in-place, everything went well. A White Fox, evidently a member of The Shock entered the Malane Palace. The Guard described him as having claw-marks and scars abundant on him, and that he had a slightly grayer fur than Vulpecula's, which was hidden by the darkness of the room, then the red-lights after the alarm was triggered. She didn't alert authorities. Not at first.

First, she and Lepus took to the Security Room, and Lepus tweaked the footage to his liking. She described his prowess as keen and fast. He had the whole fiasco done in less than ten minutes, and that's including the few minutes he spent yelling at her for not looking believable enough.

This wasn't a lot of groundbreaking information. It certainly wasn't enough to discover the identity of Lepus, but it was a lot more than what they had. Sketch artists worked with the Security Guard on developing a rough drawing of the White Fox. It should be appearing on the Rescue Tribune sometime soon.

As Vulpecula left, he looked at Vivian Herms. Watching as his friends went on.

"I'm not a bad person," is the last thing he said. They made eye-contact. And she nodded. No embrace. No handshake. He left.

6.

One Step Back was the same as he left it. It was uncanny how much it hadn't changed in the few hours they'd been separated. Even the cast was the same, no star-studded cameos or anything else out of the ordinary. The muskrat was there, smoking his cigarette. And the Warthog and Bear were in-front of him.

Vulpecula smiled. It was like the entire day hadn't happened. He walked over to the chair in-between them. He sat down. A glass of alcohol was there. He didn't know for sure, but he wanted to say it was his glass from earlier. He took a sip of it. The taste was foul. Just as he remembered it.

"Where is that bartender with my order?" the warthog exclaimed, banging his hand over and over against the counter. "This is ridiculous!"

Where was the bartender? A good question. As V looked around the room, he didn't see him. Over by the tables with the muskrat? Empty. Behind the counter? Empty as well. But the Detective thought it better to ease his mind. The whereabouts of his new bartending acquaintance wasn't the reason for his presence. He wanted to forget. To forget about, just about everything. It was a pity. Explaining the Doppelganger would've been a riveting and exhilarating experience any other time. But it all felt cheapened somehow. He took another sip of alcohol. A scream came somewhere off to the side of him.

The noise caught him off-guard. His glass of alcohol spilling out from his hand and spreading its contents all-over the counter.

He anticipated complaints from the warthog, but they never came. Vulpecula looked over at him. Frozen in-place. His fork held in one hand. His mouth jarred open. The warthog made no movements at all.

Vulpecula swayed the stool around and hopped off to his feet. The stool was much taller than him, so he had to be careful not to fall. He looked around. The smoke from the muskrat's cigarette frozen in the air, and the ceiling fan no longer spun. A second scream came. This time, The Fox Detective was able to pinpoint the whereabouts. It was coming from the bathroom. He followed it. Not really knowing the purpose. Curiosity?

He touched the door, and it swung open. He gave it no force. And as he walked inside, the bathroom looked all too familiar. Familiar, but in a way he couldn't disclose. It looked different, but not, somehow.

In-front of the sinks, it was Bartender Red. Holding a knife. Sharp. Vulpecula didn't assume, instead, he seemed to know. Red looked at him. They made eye-contact, and a sinister smile spread on Red's face. Soon after, he dug the knife into his hand. Vulpecula tried to look away but couldn't. He found himself pulled to it. Inclined to step forward. He walked nearer to Red, who continued carving into his hand. Vulpecula continued to come fourth until he was behind the Bartender, and in the mirror, he saw himself.

It wasn't him though. Grayer fur? No. It was him. Plain and simple. But the Fox's face looked sinister. It's muzzle; smiling. Teeth; sharp. A whisper came next, "Yes," the Fox in the mirror said. Cheering for it? Cheering for this!? Wanting this!? Vulpecula yanked the knife out from Red's hand. But the damage was done. Blood allover the sink. Red ran toward the bathroom stall.

"You can solve it, you can solve it, you can solve it," the voice chanted. My Moral Compass is broken, who am I?
The Life and Crimes of Detective Barker

Episode Five

Step Two

1.

Fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard. His paw darted back to the mouse and clicked frantically. Pulling away he left a smear of sweat. Nerves grated on him. He typed, again and again, commands that he had trusted throughout the years. His paw darted back towards the mouse and he fumbled. How was this happening? It wasn't supposed to be able to happen. He clicked again and again.

More boxes opened and he tried to escape them, but they flooded his screen. He took in a deep draught of air. It felt like he had been running through the streets. It was like a race that only him and the man on the other side of the computer were privy to. He typed some more and then flickered back to the mouse.

His paws were wet. Dogs weren't even supposed to sweat, but he wasn't following any normalcy at the moment. Nothing was going his way. Everything was falling apart before his eyes. The things he had worked so hard to see come to fruition were crumbling like bricks in an earthquake.

Who had the wits to match him? Who had the audacity to even try? He hammered away again. He was quicker, he had always been quicker, but the screens kept changing. It didn't matter how fast he was if the screens kept changing. Someone was trying to wear him down. Someone was playing a game with him. He could beat them if they would just stop changing the screens, but they kept changing.

He clicked passed them. His jaw hurt from clenching so hard. He was afraid he was going to break off one of his canines. What kind of crime lord would he be then? Knocking out his own teeth in a battle that wasn't even physical. His mind was wandering. This was the plan of the man on the other side of the screen.

He tried to refocus his thoughts. His hand clicked out of two more screens and then the rapid typing. He would win he just had to stay on top of his game. He tried to unclench his jaw, but his nerves were unwavering in their attack.

His paw instinctively grabbed for a glass of water next to him on the desk. Nervous shaking caused his hand to slip and the water crashed to the floor. It wasn't until then that his mind also started to concentrate on the dryness of his mouth. Four more pop-ups came to life on the screen.

He was falling behind. A split second lapse in thought and he was already losing. Whoever was on the other side of the screen was ramming a hole into his defenses. He clicked them out, quickly, before seeing that each of them was now filled with words.

Before they had been blank boxes, just put up to distract and deter him. Now the boxes were filled with little black text. If he stopped to read them he would fall even further behind. If he didn't stop to read them his mind would nag him till the end of time. He clicked furiously out of two more that popped up. The writing was growing longer, but he tried his best to continue to ignore it.

He had to work. He had to win. The writing didn't matter if he lost his mainframe. If the entire system was compromised his venture would fail. He would be reduced to nothing. All that he had previously worked for would be gone. He had stolen millions. He had gathered resources from all across the world. He was building an empire. There was nothing in the entire world that was supposed to be able to stop him. He had sealed all the cracks.

Now, he was chasing pop-ups, filled with text he had to ignore. He felt the regret of dropping the water even more as his tongue lolled out from his mouth in a nervous habit. The air-dried him out even more and the anxiety let him think of nothing but those little black letters.

Did one of them say surrender and survive? Was the man on the other side just toying with him now? He clicked several more. Not paying attention to the words. They didn't matter. Just the words of a man who was trying to take over his game, words that he wouldn't let put doubt into his mind. He was going to finish the journey he had started so many years before. He was going to be everything that he had told himself he was going to be. He typed a few more lines of code into the computer.

That was when he noticed the text of the letters was getting bigger. He paused a brief second to consider this. That was when the screen flooded.

2.

Barker had never taken a vacation for pleasure. "One margarita," said a toucan pushing a yellow drink into the outstretched paw of Barker. Barker took a sip. Then he looked down at his colorful button-up shirt and his ugly, khaki board shorts. He took another sip of the drink. It tasted horrible. He wasn't much of a drinker. He wasn't much for the beach either. Yet, here he was, sipping on a margarita, prancing around in ugly board short. Barker placed the drink back on the counter. Barker wasn't much for vacations period.

It had not been his intention to travel so far when he told Pssitticus that he would be going on a leave of absence. He had intended to travel back to Rescue's headquarters. His plan was to waltz into the office of Vivian Herms and have a discussion with her. A discussion that would help alleviate the last tendrils of his headaches. She was the next step in his domino effect.

Instead, he was here hundreds of miles from Urgway. He was forced to listen to the excited screams of children and adults alike. People who pretended to not hate their purposeless lives. People who pretended for a day or two to have the funds to participate in a rich man's life, but Barker wasn't fooled by any of it. Each of these people hated themselves, their lives, and their children. Barker reached up to push up his sunglasses.

He scanned the beach looking for the sign he had been waiting for all morning. He just needed one glimpse of his target and then he could move. He could get away from this stupid bartender, who hassled him about drinks all morning. Who drinks at ten in the morning, Barker had thought. It turned out; many people drank at ten in the morning.

"Not enjoying your drink, sir?" the toucan was back in Barker's ear. The beaked man reminded Barker to much of the parrot Pssitticus. Barker continued to scan and made out what he was looking for. In a bikini that was ten times too small was just the purple creature he was looking for. He stood up without replying to the bird. He didn't bother pushing in his chair or paying for his drink.

Instead, he made a beeline for the hippo who would lead him right where he needed to be.

The oversized animal didn't notice as Barker fell into line behind her. She didn't notice as she left his part of the beach and traveled to a more secluded area. Barker passed the security with a nod as it didn't occur to them that Barker would be able to follow this close to the hippo without her permission.

Once in the small marked off portion of the beach, Barker cleared his throat. The hippo stopped and twirled around. Barker fiddled with the top button of his button-up shirt. "Let us make this simple for the both of us. You know where Vivian Herms is. I need to know where Vivian Herms is. Seems you are the key to my locked door. Now, won't you be a good little key and open it for me." Barker let his paw drop to his side.

The purple hippo didn't look none-too-pleased with her new arrangement. Her eyes bulged and her lower jaw clenched. Barker guessed she wasn't too happy at being followed. She had to be even less satisfied that her skills as a detective were pathetic. Barker didn't mention either of these thoughts to the woman. He wanted one thing from her and that was a location. The rhino gave a huff.

"What makes you think I would help you with this?" she asked.

Barker noticed the same attempt at being something she was not as their first meeting. He ignored it. He also ignored her question. "Let us not make this any more uncomfortable for you than it already is," he said, his hand trailing to his sunglasses.

Barker noticed several other people walking around the beach. Some of them looked to be security; others seemed to be Rescue detectives on vacation. The hippo clearly was the gofer for them all. Her hands were full with a tray of drinks, and some of the others were looking at her impatiently with empty glasses.

"I have important business," she said and turned away from Barker.

Barker didn't chase her. He wouldn't chase her. She would cave. She knew Vivian had needed Barker for something, even if she wasn't quite sure what it was.

The rhino didn't turn back to discuss her actions with Barker. She didn't need to. He knew she would guide him to Vivian Herms with no more banter between them. So he fell in line and watched the rhino pass off drinks to men who pretended to care.

3.

Up a small wooden staircase and onto an expensive wooden deck. They passed a few swimming pools, to which Barker would never understand the use of. The waves of the ocean sounded close, lapping off the nearby rocks when they approached a grand sized beach table. Atop it sat an oversized beach umbrella, blocking the rays of the sun. Yet, Vivian Herms, Director of Rescue, still wore dark sunglasses upon her long nose.

"Sit the water down on the table and you can go," she said, without bothering to look up. Vivian Herms still pounded on the keyboard to her small laptop computer. She worked even on vacation it seemed. The rhino placed a small glass of water on the table. Barker pushed passed her and pulled a chair opposite to Vivian Herms. He thought mostly then of the headaches she had caused him and instinctively his hand rose to his temples. Mostly subsided he reminded himself and adjusted his sunglasses instead.

"Beautiful weather," Barker stated.

Vivian looked up and over her glasses. She didn't look shocked. Barker remembered her poise. Her hands quit their typing and she reached out for her glass. "You may still go," she told the purple rhino.

Vivian waited until the woman was out of earshot and then took a sip of her water for dramatic effect. Barker could see past the outward portrayal. He wouldn't have been much of a detective if he couldn't see the annoyance. Herms was tense in the shoulders. Her lips were drawn back and exposed the tips of her sharp teeth. Her eyes gave nothing away, but it was hard to control all facets at all times.

Herms sat the cup back on the table. Barker sat back, crossing his legs. "Beautiful, or so they tell me; I am not much for vacations myself," Barker said.

"What are you doing here, Barker?" Herms was being direct. She was trying to impose some semblance of power. It was hard to do in a bikini.

"I have pondered your request. Even did some digging of my own. It would seem this Shock of yours is quite the ordeal. Millions in exchanged betting funds, toppling of a few minor corporations, and a thorn in the side of Vivian Herms," Barker fiddled with his glasses. "All that is no matter to me I must confess. What really drew me in was the fact that a simple meeting with you drew me inward much further than I would have supposed."

Vivian stopped her pretense of displeasure and leaned forward. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Barker thought to the headaches. It wasn't about the horrible attempt at kidnapping him. It wasn't the power of this group as it was. The headaches came from the vision of what could be, but Barker couldn't quite tell Vivian Herms the truth.

"The Shock tried taking me hostage. Tried and succeeded. However, with some form of error, they let me go again. Now here I am sitting across from you, halfway across the world. Aiming to do exactly what they warned me not to do." Barker drummed his fingers on his knees. He found it hard to sit still today. "I do need something from you, however, Vivian," Barker looked back up into those oval eyes of Vivian Herms.

She had lost the annoyance in her posture. She now sat with a curved spine, reaching her body closer to the presence of Barker. "What is it Rescue can provide?" she asked him.

Barker didn't need anything from Rescue. In fact, it was quite the opposite he needed. "I need to be the only detective on the case, Vivian," Barker started, "I do not play well with others. I need to do things my way. So if I am going to do this for Rescue, then I do it on my own. When I am finished you can have the information you seek."

Barker waited for the answer from Herms. She looked deep in thought. She was clearly turning over the options in her mind. She needed Barker that was clear from her request. However, how bad did she actually need him?

Vivian picked up her phone and made a few swipes with her paw. Then a few more; before putting it back on the table. "It is done, Barker," she said.

Barker sat up in the chair and uncrossed his legs. He had nothing else to say to Vivian Herms. He would hopefully never have to see the woman again. This was a one-off case for Barker and Rescue.

"Anything you find," Herms started, but Barker put up a paw.

"I already told you, the credit is all yours, Vivian."

4.

Barker had done his research on The Shock over the last few weeks. Vivian Herms had felt she was the authority on such matters. It turned out Barker could easily link this notorious hacker group to many cases she hadn't even begun to see.

Barker had connected the dots to two million dollar cases. One such case was that of the sports betting world. Urgway was popular for its soccer team. Barker wasn't much for soccer himself, but it had some appeal to the dirty, criminals in the city. Mostly due to the betting aspect of it all. You see soccer has many different tiers to bet on. Most sports you can bet on the score or the winner. In soccer you can bet on score, winner, shootouts, saves, just about anything you could wrap your mind around there was a place for it. The other appealing aspect was that coaches all over the soccer world seemed to be willing to be bought and paid for.

Where The Shock came into this array of betting was the case of the million dollar soccer coach named Crowley. Who just so happened to lose a hand over the whole ordeal. It turns out that he didn't win a dime either and owed quite a few pennies to none other than, The Shock. Who it would seem had hacked most major betting sites in the country and taken millions of dollars from accounts that were supposed to be untouchable.

Rescue had at least deemed this case as a case pertaining to the hacker group. However, they had failed to see that Crowley's hand had been extracted as means to appease The Shock. A certain fox detective, Vulpecula, had either missed this as well or not bothered to check into it due to lack of interest.

Several other cases had to be attached to this group. Two minor business corporations had sprung from the ground and built towers higher than the Jalint Mountains. Their fame had literally bloomed overnight by hitting the highest rate of stock exchange in Urgway history. The telling part was that not a single stock was sold the day before to constitute the sudden rise. However, that didn't matter as millions invested the next day. Then the companies vanished again overnight. Rescue hadn't bothered to check the files, but Barker saw the same scheme as before. Get the money and disappear without a trace. All without a physical record.

Barker had scrounged hundreds of cases. He had found the smaller cases; which would have started it all. The cases where the group had been testing the waters, merely wetting their toes. Now their signature was all over the internet. They could easily track any man and their whereabouts. Explaining how it had been so easy for them to find Barker.

Their ultimate mission was simple. Become the greatest crime syndicate in the history of the world. The problem was the competition for that title was quite stiff. It would be a good guess that Vivian Herms had felt a special interest in that group as well.

5.

Once upon a time, long before The Shock, was a group favored by the name of the Canes Venatici. Canes was a group of like-minded criminals who populated the entire world. They were a network of like-minded hounds, who wanted one thing, domination.

Some called them strong-armed. Others called them the criminal bullies of the world. Most didn't call them anything for fear of drawing attention. One man had been too stupid or headstrong to know better. The man's name was engraved into everything that Rescue was because without him there would be no detective group.

The fox who had taken on the world largest group was erratic and simple-minded. Yet, he had done what no other detective could have imagined doing. He had taken the world's largest crime syndicate and built a detective unit out of its fall.

It hadn't been a simple process for the fox, not by any stretch of the imagination. It had taken him countless years. He had taken out his hammer and pic and chiseled for over a decade. In the end, he had sculpted his masterpiece and called it Rescue. Rescue was an idea that no one would ever fall prey to such a group of men again.

Around that time hounds had been shunned from most major businesses. They had been repressed to the dark ages. No one would hire a hound for any wage and many of them migrated to far corners of the world. Barker was a young pup then. He didn't remember much of the struggle his family went through. He didn't remember his father's long nights. He didn't remember his mother's scrapes and bruises. He did remember the bottles of rum on the carpet. Even as a young pup he couldn't enjoy the smell or taste.

Barker had crawled into his own world back then. He had made his own path and led himself along it without worry of others. He had other ideas. He knew there had been a time when hounds were revered. A time when they had ruled the entire world and that was Barker's destiny. He wasn't a servant. He would not beg a single man for his bread. Barker would earn all that he had and it came to him that it didn't matter how he earned it.

In the end, it was eat or be eaten. Vivian Herms had grown up in the loving arms of a fox, who discovered Rescue. Barker had grown up in the shadow of the largest crime group the world had ever known. Two different beginnings and it would surely be two different endings.

6.

Barker felt the wheels beating against the ground. The plane landed safely back in the city of Urgway. He had used most of the flight to catch up on his sleep and do absolutely nothing. He had eliminated a major thorn in his side by extracting Rescue and Vivian Herms. The residual headache he was feeling would hopefully be his last. Barker gathered his bags and exited into the crowd of people. Each was busy with something that made them feel important. Each was heading towards the direction that they felt would best make them happy. Barker knew happiness was a fickle mistress, however. So he didn't head in the direction of joy. Instead, he headed in the direction of necessity. It had been a long time since the itch had compelled him.

He had been such a small pup the first time he read a book on the Canes. His father would have dissuaded him from such actions. Barker did it anyhow, just under the guise of reading something else entirely.

"Taxi," Barker waved down one of the dull yellow boxcars. It would take him home. He had done the deed of eliminating Rescue, now he had the even bigger deed of finding The Shock. He supposed it wouldn't be as easy as finding a purple rhino, however, he assumed it couldn't be much more difficult.

Barker was, in fact, the greatest detective to ever grace the name.

Barker hadn't really needed to give it too much thought to be fair. He was just going to steal the idea from a certain Fox founder. The way the Canes came to fall was not a very well executed, ingenious plan. Instead, it was a simple miscalculation on the part of Canes. Psychologically speaking every man has a lust for power. When that power is claimed they never fail to show it off to the world. Canes ended up being no different. Without a clear reason why they fell into a trap that could have easily been avoided without the lust of fame. The fox had simply laid out a heist that would draw acclaim to the group. The group opened their jaws and bit the hook. All that was left to do was reel them in and flay them for supper.

Barker would do much of the same. It was obvious that The Shock liked their funds. They had hit many major groups for millions of dollars. Something they didn't have, though, was fame. While known in Urgway and clearly followed by Rescue, The Shock wasn't a major player in the crime game, as of yet. What they needed was one big score to put their name on the map. Barker was planning to give that to them.

It would be simple. Barker opened his front door and walked into his front room. It was simple enough and he liked it that way. Nothing to draw attention to himself that was his own personal motto. Barker discarded his suitcase and bags. He checked the mail at the foot of the door. There was nothing there of import.

The plan would start with a heist. Much the same as the plan to take down Canes. It would be something that was too alluring to pass by. Something that no thief looking for renown could bypass. Barker moved to his own secret compartment. Just a simple safe behind a simple picture on the wall. He input the codes with practiced ease.

Inside, he only kept one item. As he opened he could already see the shine from the gem. Once the door was open it was easy to see that the jewel inside was priceless. It was an artifact older than most written history. Barker reached in and grabbed the Water Lily in his hands. He loathed having to sacrifice such a thing, but if all went well he would have it back soon enough.

7.

Barker had opened up his laptop. It would be easy enough to make The Shock bite. All he needed was an unprotected forum to post his thoughts upon. He would go through all the small details. He would block his IP with a proxy. He would change his location. It would all be futile. If The Shock was worth its weight he would be found out within the hour.

Barker opened the janky webpage. The layout was putrid, but he wasn't there to rearrange the aesthetics. He was there to lay out a simple message.

Attn: It has come to my awareness that an artifact of great import has come to light. If anyone is interested in finding the Water Lily meet me in the Urgway lumber district at 8 pm tonight. We will become rich together.

The message didn't have to be elaborate. It just had to catch the attention of anyone looking. Barker didn't have to guess that The Shock had hacked his computer, he already knew they had. The small steps were to throw them off and make them believe he didn't know. The rest was up to them.

Barker closed the computer. He had only a few more small steps to finish off the product of his plan. Barker had no intention of ever seeing the men The Shock would send. Nor did he believe the man who had kidnapped him would show up. The men who came to the yard would be hired thugs and nothing more. They wouldn't have access to the inner workings of the group, but they would still have undying loyalty.

Barker waited for the yard to close for the night. The workers were never keen on sticking around after their shift and most were gone by six.

Barker made his move and walked into the small shack used for breaks in the middle of the shack sat a wooden table. Barker figured it would work as well as any other surface. He placed the jewel on the table and then left the shack. It was as simple as that.

The next step was waiting for the bait to be taken. Barker posted himself on a small stack of lumber south of the small shack. He had posted there to see the entrance. He would know exactly when The Shock had taken the jewel.

It took until about midnight for anyone else to come onto the grounds. By then it was much too dark for them to pick out Barker on the small stack of logs. Barker could see their outlines clearly, however, illuminated by the lights in the shack. Two canines, both beefy, tore into the shack with authority.

They must have been surprised to see the place empty as Barker heard shouts for someone to show themselves. Nerves can get to even the biggest of thugs in the dark. Barker waited for the shouts to quiet down and then listened for other movements. The two had by now clearly seen the Water Lily sitting on the table. They would have already made their move to claim the jewel.

Barker wouldn't be surprised to hear them arguing over who was going to be the one to give it to the leader of the Shock. Thugs were always looking for favor with their employers. What they didn't realize is that with the Water Lily they wouldn't ever need an employer again. It was best to make sure your thugs weren't both strong and smart. Clearly, these two fit the bill of good mobile thugs.

The two bickered for a few minutes and one of them must have made a valid enough argument because they both left the shack in quiet. Barker waited a few more minutes to move from his hiding spot. He made his way back to the shack and smiled seeing the Water Lily was definitely gone from its previous location.

Barker too left the shack and closed the door. No one would ever be the wiser he had ever been there. Even The Shock would be confused as to how Barker had lost such a prize. They would be even more shocked once they realized why.

8.

One thing Barker realized, that most others did not, was that if something was too easy then it was a trap. Nothing ever came to you on a silver platter. You were never presented with gold, but rather gold wrapping on junk items.

It was good for him, however, that it seemed that no one else prescribed to this philosophy. The Shock seemingly had thought they stumbled onto a jackpot. They had eaten all the fixing and brought home the meal. Whoever the leader of The Shock was didn't ask many questions. He had taken the Water Lily and placed it right where Barker had needed it to be; right where Barker could walk back in and take it back.

All Barker had to do was wait. Patience was a virtue. Barker was supplied with an ample amount of patience. He had waited for a very long time for his moment. He had waited since he was nothing but a young pup. Growing up in Urgway and hearing the chatter behind his families back. The whispers of how dogs were no good. How his family was probably thieves or looking for handouts.

Barker had never taken a handout. He would never take a handout. Barker would take what he wanted, but no one could say he didn't work for it; even if his work wasn't always quite so honest.

Barker waited in his apartment the rest of the night. He slept like a baby knowing its next meal was coming soon. He awoke with a new vigor. A vigor that said he had completed his goal. He stretched out, got dressed, and left the apartment in the cool morning air.

He followed the GPS signal on his cell phone. The Water Lily was real. There was no doubt that any of them could have sold the jewel and became rich beyond belief. But that wasn't the way of large crime syndicates. They would flaunt that they had stolen the jewel. They would want the world to know. The man behind it all would probably even keep the jewel, never selling it for monetary value.

Well, if Barker had planned to let him keep it. Barker, however, planned to walk right back into the hideout and take the Water Lily and The Shock. It turned out the two thugs, from the night before, had taken the jewel back to a warehouse. Probably the same warehouse Barker had been kept in the night of his kidnapping.

Barker watched for any sign of movement from the premises. There seemed to be no guards standing at the door. This group wouldn't think anyone would be coming. For all outward appearances, this was just an old warehouse. Barker knew better, or at least his GPS knew better.

Barker reached up and adjusted his collar. It is best to take these things slowly. Barker moved down into the gravel drive of the facility. He still heard no movement. There were no windows to peer into, so, Barker moved towards the door and pressed his ear tightly against it. He heard the low hum of electrical equipment but no movement. He pressed his paw to the door and gave it a slight slide on its track. He stuck his eye to the crack and saw hundreds and hundreds of computers, but not a sign of a moving soul anywhere. He pressed the door open a little more and slid into the warehouse, closing the door behind him.

Barker would never go as far to say he knew all there was to know about computers. He did know enough to know that this was a computer heaven. There were so many mainframes and networks that any nerd would have been in paradise. Whoever controlled these machines controlled a lot of power. The Shock may not have been known throughout the world, but if this was anything to go by they soon would. Well, would have at least.

Barker ran his paw over the humming machines. Each had wires upon wires running through them. Barker knew this wasn't where he needed to make his move. This was all the pretty bits. The bits that showed the power, he needed the controls, not the body.

So, he moved further into the warehouse. Down a small set of stairs and into what looked to be a sitting room. Barker had been here before. This was where he had been placed during his mock interrogation. He had sat here in this chair and been surrounded by dogs in mask. Barker hadn't seen the room then, but it all felt right. Barker moved passed the room. There was no sentimental value keeping him here to mope about.

Barker came to another door. He stopped, again to listen, he heard nothing moving. He cracked it open slowly and saw three dogs lying on separate couches, each asleep. Two of them had been the thugs from the night before. The third Barker didn't know, but it didn't matter. This wasn't the room he wanted anyhow, so he slowly reclosed the door.

Barker turned down a small pathway that led him to a narrow staircase. The humming of the hardware was muffled here. He took the steps slowly. It would be a shame to get this far and be betrayed by one creaking stair. So one foot at a time he trod up the staircase. At the top, he slid open another door. In this room were three small computers, a desk full of papers, an ashtray with a recently put out smoke. Barker looked around; whoever had left the cigar was gone now.

The pinging on his GPS led him to the desk and into the top drawer. Whoever had stolen the jewel from him had wrapped it nicely in cotton and placed it into a metal box. He would worry over the lock mechanism later, for now, Barker just slipped the box into his pocket. Then he sat down in front of the three monitors.

It took him a few minutes to implant the bug he had brought with him. A bug that would make it seem like the Shock had been upstaged and hacked. A bug that in reality was nothing more than a window. Barker would be able to do the damage he needed from the comfort of his own home.

9.

Barker took another sip of his water and glanced at the Water Lily sitting safely on his table. He leaned forward and made a few more swipes with his paw. The pop-ups closed quickly, but it wasn't about the pop-ups. It is about the fear that Barker had instilled into the brain of The Shock leader. He didn't want to totally destroy the man. He could still use him down the road.

Barker reached up and adjusted his collar. He had played long enough with the man. He wrote in big letters a message: You are mine now.

Then, Barker shut off The Shock's system. With a simple click, he took down their entire system of networks. He destroyed everything they had worked for. He destroyed their power, their syndicate, and their confidence.

Barker smiled and leaned back. He pulled out the small envelope containing a small list. He looked at it and with his pen, he checked the second step.

Destroy them

The Adventures of Vulpecula

Episode Five

The > 100 Theory

1.

"Aren't a lot of guarantees in this world. Only death, constant irritation, and a glimpse of happiness a single blink can miss," Vulpecula said, watching his feet stamp down into the snowy plains of white Urgway, "Daddy dearest said that."

"Bet he told the best bedtime stories," Lacerta remarked, following him close behind.

In the wintry weather, V's scarf at last served more purpose other than a fashion statement.

The holidays. Snow. The gift that kept on giving. "The Giving" was one more thing about Urgway Vulpecula didn't understand.

Celebrations. Those made sense to him. Though, they were unenjoyable for him. But a celebration commemorating the gift of life and a God of some sort. Celebrating "All this," Vulpecula said beneath his breath, marveling at the vast arrays of nothingness and ever-immaculate depravity.

"At least the snow hides the streets," Vulpecula commented, without a sun in the gloomy sky, the tranquil dreariness matched The Fox Detective's disposition.

"A cynical silver lining," Apus said, his feet traveled on a small way ahead of Vulpecula, who stared down at his owl-friend's footprints.

"The best kind," Vulpecula replied, then added: "We've been called by the Head Detective of the Homicide division of Urgway's Marybeth Police Department ... to a cemetery. Hardly easy to carry oneself with utmost optimism in such grave settings."

"You'd think so, but you've been more uppity in the last hour than I've seen you since the Doppelganger incident last week."

Apus wore a thin jacket, specially made for an owl, the sleeves cut in such a way that freed the feathers of his wings. The color scheme resembled almost a rainbow and looked like something closer and more suited for a professional wrestler than someone's winter clothes. Vulpecula often chose not to comment on such wardrobe decisions.

Instead, he only smiled, and quipped: "I like a challenge, and for the Head Detective to ring me up, they must have something that's suited more for me than their layman's."

"You've spent the last five days looking nonstop in a math book, solving pointless algebraic equations," Lacerta jested.

"They're like little mysteries," Vulpecula mumbled self-consciously as they departed from the sidewalks, crossed the street, and neared the cemetery entrance.

"Oh, look, at last!" Lacerta said, "People with less of a life than you." He laughed, and in that moment, Vulpecula contemplated making his Lizard Friend a permanent resident in Alo Cemetery, but didn't, because with the barbarism brought from Maharris' ugliest city, they'd all be there soon enough.

"But you'll be around to solve his murder!" Vulpecula's most recent example of psychosis whispered in his mind.

Alo Cemetery was nothing extravagant. A large rusted gate with blood-red, chipped away paint stood before them, with a sign at the top in large-letters titling it.

Between the bars of the gate, Vulpecula could see tombstone upon tombstone, epitaphs of all different sorts marking them. Before that, The Fox Detective looked on at the "Police Line Do Not Cross" yellow police barricade tape in-front of it.

The only one he saw inside the cemetery was a parrot. Right at the beginning of the rather large cemetery. The Head Detective, Psitticus, he presumed. The parrot wore a heavy black jacket, one of those nylon jackets that said "Police" on it in white letters.

In-front of him, Vulpecula saw at least three dead bodies, propped up and positioned in a vertical stance. He sighed.

"Lucky you," Lacerta said, "I don't know what you'd do with yourself if you didn't have another crime to solve."

"Lucky me," Vulpecula said, a small, quiet chuckle, walking in-front of Apus. V climbed beneath the yellow-tape and began to open the gate, "What ... indeed."

2.

"You've become a very loyal customer in a very short time," the Bartender of One Step Back commented, filling Vulpecula's cup of alcohol for the second time in only minutes.

Since his last visit, he'd since acquired a taste for it. And it was good.

The bartender's name was Red and in the few days they'd been acquainted, The Fox had come to enjoy the lizard's friendship. If you could call it that, "friendship," that is.

Because, of course, Red only had a friendship with Vulpecula because an unwritten law that dictated bartenders befriend the drunk sad sacks they poured the drinks for.

Vulpecula tried to make note of that in his blank chalkboard, but his blank chalkboard seemed these days more like a notebook scribbled with the paranoid ramblings of a madman lost it.

His hands shook at the thought, his own morality blurred like a blood smeared mirror. Onto happier things, V took another chug of the cold alcohol in his glass.

"You'll end up barfing in the men's room if you keep drinking with that tenacity, slugger," Red said, a concerned look on his scaly face.

"Long as I am not slicing my hand off in the bathroom," Vulpecula countered, though, only to himself, as he felt, "I'll be careful," was a more civilized comment to say aloud.

Bartender Red soon returned to Vulpecula with an interested smirk. If Red was feigning intrigue, he did it well. "What was on your agenda today, Detective?" Red asked on the opposite side of the counter, sitting atop a bar stool.

"I solved a case," V answered. "An important one, I think."

"That sounds like something worth celebrating then," Red commended, cleaning an area on the counter where a man had spilled his food at an earlier time. "Where are your friends then, are they not feeling festive over your most recent success?"

"They're away with their families," Vulpecula replied, fidgeting with the fur on his chin as he looked off to the side at one of the customers sitting a few chairs down from him.

"Why aren't you?" Red asked.

"My father's dead, my mother has been unaccounted for since his death," Vulpecula replied.

Red nodded, and uncomfortably said, "Well, I am happy to spend the holidays with you!"

3.

As Vulpecula walked further into the graveyard, he found himself readjusting his scarf and gawking at the names etched into each tombstone. It was all stalling and attempted obliviousness, a charade that wouldn't be allowed for much longer, and in a way, V didn't want to keep his head buried in the sand.

The Fox Detective wished to look at the bodies. To begin.

"You rang," Vulpecula said, lifting his head to make contact with the parrot, but as he did, the bodies were what his eyes transfixed themselves on.

Three dead bodies. All of them. All of them, what? Positioned. Positioned with significance, with significance. With significance! Vulpecula felt the sudden need to vomit.

The bodies were propped up and stood like lively beings, but their deteriorated and mangled appearances suggested only the opposite of that. It took Vulpecula only a moment to infer the bodies weren't murdered. Or, at least, not today, or even yesterday, but rather, someone had brought them out of their plots.

This was evidenced by the left one's heavily decomposed disposition, more-or-less, a skeleton.

The remainder had more meat on them than that and had faces intact.

Vulpecula made eye-contact with one of them and felt the same vulnerability and fear he did when he first found sight of Comet Fowley's hand. The Fox Detective looked away for a moment, looking in time to see Lacerta and Apus' reaction to the findings. Terrified as well. This wasn't a stolen sword at an Italinian museum.

"Well," a seasoned, but sparingly high-pitch voice called out, "That's what we're dealing with."

Vulpecula looked at Psitticus, who seemed unbothered by the whole ordeal and simply paced about with a mirthless expression. Vulpecula could hear the light footsteps of his boots stamping down on the snow.

"What do you know so far?" Vulpecula asked, his muzzle down south, unable to look back at the corpses.

"Not a whole lot, but what I do know doesn't offer much assistance," Detective Psitticus began, "A middle-aged woman came, feeling in the holiday season, looking to make amends with her abusive father for all those years of playing black and blue with each eye of hers, comes to find this. God, if that ain't the world sendin' signals..." Psitticus' remarked, a sour-look on his face that never seemed to fade, and never waned, never changed, but always seemed the same curmudgeon-look.

"Go on," Vulpecula said, not amused by him, but not annoyed either, he was finding it hard to work up the nerve to inspect the bodies.

"Isn't much else, as you can see," Psitticus stopped for a moment, "Or, as you would see if you stopped hiding in your scarf. Each corpse has been desecrated, for lack of a better term, and the one consistence between them all is they are each pointing toward their respective grave plots."

"Why did you ask for me? Of all, everyone, with the entire Urgway Police Department at your disposal, why me?" Vulpecula asked. A serious question.

"Marybeth has been thinned down some in recent weeks, and frankly, besides Barks-a-lot, I don't have anyone I really can put up with enough to help me on this," the Parrot squawked.

"Most detectives usually do their own detective work and don't look for outside assistance."

"Look, kid, can I call you kid? I'm gonna call you kid. I don't need your help with this, but Vivian Herms called me on the phone the other day and told me to throw a case or two your way and that's what I did," and at last, the truth was revealed.

"How do you know Vivian Herms?" Vulpecula asked fast.

"You think any of the Urgway higher ups would give someone like me a spot, even in a hole like Marybeth, without a gun to their head? Vivian Herms was the gun." Detective Psitticus said, "You are Hensley Noel's kid, and that instills name-value and semblance to what you do."

"I am not interested in working for Urgway's Police Department."

"We're not interested in having you. But, Vivian had a favor and I fulfilled it." His voice was stern and matter-of-fact. "But if I knew you were too queasy to even look at the bodies, I might have told her she was asking a little too much."

Vulpecula chuckled nervously to himself and brought his chin up. Walking forward, in-front of Psitticus. Truth be told, he didn't want the Detective to see how bloodshot his eyes had become.

The comforting hand of Apus over his shoulder did little to reassure him of himself. He knew it was Apus, for Lacerta was never one for empathizing, they were alike in that way, Vulpecula supposed.

The Fox Detective walked nearer to the corpses. This was a deliciously morbid scene, and one that was entirely meant for theatric value. The middle corpse's mouth was exaggerated, pried open somehow, forced into the smile resembling a wonderland cat. The body was that of a fox, and upon closer inspection, Vulpecula unraveled that it wasn't the mouth being pried open to show the deceased fox's teeth, but rather, the perpetrator shoved a set of novelty dentures into the dead animal's mouth.

In a storybook, this same act might have drawn laughter from The Fox Detective but seeing the empty and lifeless stare of his own kind, desecrated and indignant, he only felt a mixed-matched conglomeration of depraved sorrow and nothingness.

Vulpecula walked around him. The Fox wore a finely tailored suit, likely bought specially for his death. It, and his thinning red-fur, coated and caked with dry mud. The body was sat up using wooden stakes, hidden from view under the victims' pant-legs, that stuck down into the dirt. His arms were adjusted with similar technique, and as Psitticus described, the fox was made to gesture toward his grave-site, only feet away from him. His other arm at his stomach. It created the aesthetic of a fox holding his side, pointing and laughing.

"Welcome, welcome to the ride of a lifetime," Vulpecula mumbled, circling the dead fox, "In the dead center of town, never livelier, ... what are you trying to tell me?" He marveled at it, looking for a message to appear in-front of him. "Gesturing hands, go-lucky smiles." The dead fox's tombstone listed his name as Steven Fosbis, and on his epitaph read:

Useless is it, a time without love, no sense planning or premeditating.

Vulpecula walked off, venturing toward the body on the left.

A decomposed canine skeleton. The dog wore a suit as well, though, it was much more decayed and battered. His body had been six feet under a considerable time longer than the fox. In his hand, a wooden cane with a shiny finish. His body was arched back slightly, and his jaw was open. The visual here was also meant to be perceived as laughter, and once more, the dead pointed at their grave site. This dead animal's tombstone listed his name as Harris Woof, and his epitaph read:

Living life without hesitance is the only worthwhile formula.

"Have you called in for profiles of each of the, uh, cadavers?" Vulpecula asked, finally feeling secure enough to look in Psitticus' general direction. "Someone doesn't dig up three bodies and stage them up like this without a reason."

"I called it in an hour ago and am expecting a file for each at any moment."

"Do you think it is someone exposing himself, saying, I killed these men?" Lacerta suggested, if only because he needed to say something.

"If all three of these deaths were a homicide, perhaps. But the likelihood of three victims of the same killer being buried adjacent to one another isn't likely. Though, that isn't to say the victims were random." Vulpecula walked toward the fox again, he wore a wedding band on his ring finger. "Grave robbers wouldn't have left a wedding ring, and of course, certainly wouldn't broadcast themselves."

"Then, why do it? What's the motive?" Lacerta inquired.

Vulpecula smiled for a second, then readjusted to a frown. It wasn't appropriate to smile in such a situation, whether he found himself compelled to or not.

He walked over to the body on the right-hand side. A second dog, his body not completely decomposed, a Great Dane by V's deduction. The smell is what V found himself taken by first. He didn't know why he hadn't noticed it prior, perhaps because his mind was lent elsewhere. The smell was of rotting flesh. The smell of death went inside Vulpecula's nostrils; his sense of smell never more enhanced.

Once more, the Great Dane was posed theatrically, his name was Benjamin Sexton, and his epitaph read:

Honey, never EVER forget to feed and water the humans.

Vulpecula chuckled, only some. The morbidity of a Great Dane in a suit with a denture smile made it less than a laughing matter.

Behind him, The Fox Detective heard a rustic iron gate coming open. Instincts forcefully jerked his head in that direction. The individual was an officer of the Urgway Police Department, V was easily able to infer such. The Fox looked back at the corpses in all their splendor.

"It looks like Benjamin Sexton and Steven Fosbis both died of natural causes. Harris Woof wasn't as lucky, however, and died from a house fire." Psitticus announced.

Vulpecula looked back over and saw the other officer leaving, and that Detective Psitticus now held a manila folder in his hands. "That's hardly a pattern," V remarked quietly under his breath.

"Benjamin Sexton was a well-esteemed lawyer but died six weeks ago from kidney failure, mid-forties. Steven Fosbis was a banker and died only a few days ago, well into his sixties. Then, at last, twenty-five-year-old Harris Woof," Psitticus chuckled a second, "He was a firefighter."

"Two of the three are dogs," Vulpecula began.

"What about the middle-man?" Psitticus interrupted.

"Cut the middle-man? He is a banker, after all. I know we cannot. Two of the three are dogs, the other a fox, which rules against the idea of a hate-crime. The coroner evidently suspected nothing out of the ordinary, and I don't think this is something as meticulous as that." Vulpecula investigated the six-foot holes that'd been dug out. "This is a message, this is meant to be legible as pertaining to something else."

"Oh, and what might that be?" Psitticus blurted out, his voice not sounding very impressed with V's reasonings.

Vulpecula, however, feigned being aghast by his interruption, offering the parrot a confused look. "I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to myself, and I find it rude for you to eavesdrop." The Fox Detective looked back to the tombstones, mild amusement in his gift of inducing irritation.

"I am gonna head back to the station," Marybeth's Head Detective stated. "I'll leave the profile folder with your friends here and if you happen to find something significant, don't hesitate to call me. You have my number, correct?"

"No, what is it?" Vulpecula pondered, looking at the corpses like he expected them to whisper a clue at any moment.

"716..." The parrot began before being waivered off by V.

"Stop, I have it. I didn't think I did. Thought I erased it. But I have it." Vulpecula reassured. The Blank Chalkboard led assist on various details about cases, on numbers, and the occasional algebraic equation. And in time, all was erased, filed, and forgotten. Blank again.

Psitticus said nothing, instead, Vulpecula simply his footsteps walking through the snow. Soon after, the iron gate was opened, and his character was written out for the time being.

Vulpecula walked over to the skeleton canine and reached in his front-pocket.

"Don't you think you should buy him dinner first?" cracked Lacerta, and for the first time, perhaps more comfortable now that the Head Detective was out-of-sight, walked toward the bodies.

Vulpecula didn't laugh. He felt around in the skeleton's pockets in hopes of finding something significant. But found nothing at all. No matter, he walked over to the decomposing fox and did the same.

"At the very least, don't you think you should be wearing gloves while tampering with a crime-scene?" Apus suggested.

Vulpecula stopped for a moment, looking over to Apus, and smiled. "I'm not of the law, if Psitticus trusts us unsupervised in an investigation, that's his problem."

Eureka! Or at least, a partial eureka. An "Eka" without the "Eur," Vulpecula held the deceased fox's pocket-watch in his hands. Pocket watches were such foolish contraptions. Why have a pocket watch when you can simply wear a watch on your wrist? Useless. (He thought, while knowing full-well he'd be checking his phone for the time in a matter of minutes.) Vulpecula held it in his hands. It had nothing peculiar about it. Nothing out of the ordinary. The watch was a yellowish gold color, but V's detective skills couldn't decipher whether it was metal or the real-thing. Either way, it was an item a grave-robber would have stolen.

Vulpecula opened the watch and smiled big. Almost as big as the dead fox standing beside him. A clue.

"What is it?" Lacerta asked.

"Watch out!" Vulpecula said at once, tossing the watch at him as if it were a bomb that could detonate at any moment.

Lacerta flinched like he was terrified, but Apus' levelheadedness allotted him the means to catch it before it fell on the snowy ground.

"That's interesting," Apus commented.

Once realizing himself made a fool, Lacerta had an offended look on his face that lasted only seconds. "What is it?" The lizard asked.

"Happy Givings," Apus answered, turning the watch over, facing Lacerta, allowing him to see the sticky-note closed within the pocket-watch. Besides the early season's greeting, a crudely drawn smiley-face was also visible, written in black permanent marker.

"A playful message," Vulpecula said.

"Heavens, Vulpecula, we've contaminated the evidence! This could have had the man's finger-prints on it and now we've smudged it up with these shenanigans!" Apus fired back, sounding legitimately bothered by the revelation.

"Yes, there's a one-and-a-million chance the perpetrator was stupid enough to leave fingerprints on the pocket-watch but smart enough to stage this whole spectacle," Vulpecula agreed. "But where would the fun in that be?"

"You have that look in your eyes," Apus commented.

Vulpecula waved him off and looked once more toward the corpses. He meant his comment. About not wanting to catch the perpetrator off such a lackluster detail. This was a display that was meant to be unraveled, and for some unknown reason, The Fox Detective anticipated the clue was already available to him. Glaring at him. Vulpecula let out a breath, easing his disposition, and like that, his stressful tension returned.

"Hand me the folder," Vulpecula barked, walking over to Apus and taking it from his hands.

The folder's confines held ten-pages in total. Photographs of all three victims, criminal records, medical reports, but none of it seemed significant.

Vulpecula dropped his walking stick into the snow and perused the folder with both paws, skimming through the pages like an editor proofreading for typos. "All three of them are squeaky clean, neither of them with as little as a single parking ticket. Nobody would dig up three bodies and set them up like this, just for the sake of it!"

4.

"I couldn't wrap my mind around it. Every case I can remember, I had an idea of what to do next. Like a loose string from a fabric, I always had something to pluck and help unravel whatever it is I was stuck on. This was like trying to find a loose string on chain-mail." Vulpecula vented, another sip of alcohol came and went. He hadn't ever been fully drunk in his life, but there was a first time for everything.

"You solved it though, how did you do it?" Red asked, only half of his attention offered to Vulpecula, the bar had become busier and more crowded.

"I called Psitticus and admitted defeat, I didn't want to do it. It was the last thing I wanted to do. My head ached so badly, I don't know if it was the case or something else, but I couldn't string anything together. I wasted an hour-and-a-half pacing around those three corpses, eventually more of the Police Department arrived, they took an album's worth of photographs of the scene and brought the bodies into body-bags. You'd figure they'd knock the bodies back into their holes and bury them, but instead, they stretchered them out." Vulpecula chuckled a second, adrenaline coursing through his veins just by the thought of it. The thought put his teeth on-edge.

"What did Psitti...The Head Detective say?"

"He laughed a little at my suffering but reassured me. Told me that he already investigated the whole scene and couldn't find anything, said the only way they'd be able to find anything is if the perpetrator tries it again and makes mistakes."

"They don't have surveillance cameras or security guards that look over the cemetery?"

"This is Urgway," Vulpecula replied. "The city can't afford any of that, filled with greaseballs that would rather feed their own selfish agendas rather than something of worth."

"A bar filled with greaseballs, V." Red reminded, feigning the look of someone scared.

"Waiting," Vulpecula continued. "Waiting isn't something I can do. It isn't how I am programmed. Lacerta, Apus and I soon arrived at a small diner called Beagle's Bagels. To wait."

5.

"I don't think the other customers are fond of us, Vulpecula." Apus commented quietly, looking around at the old dogs beaming at them.

"Dogs from different times, I'm afraid, not the most tolerant," Vulpecula quipped fast, "Anyways, why is it that Psitticus sent a crew of officers to take the crime scene away from me!?"

"Maybe he thought you'd contaminate the crime scene." Apus answered plainly.

"That's ridiculous," cried the offended fox.

"You contaminated the crime scene."

Vulpecula laid the manila folder atop the wooden table they all sat, brushing aside the menu and rolled napkin of eating utensils.

"I really think we're better off waiting and not obsessing about this one, V." Lacerta said, then began looking through his menu with the same intensity Vulpecula offered the victims' profiles.

"You and I both know that won't happen."

A waitress walked over to their table with a grumpy glare and a smell that wreaked of oldness. A stuffy smell that's inherited when life's expiration date's coming up on the calendar, but not yet spoiled. Exhaust fumes, in a way. The somehow distinct odor of plainness. "Uh, fellas, we're gonna have to ask you take your business elsewhere," She began. Looks weren't deceiving, her tone had the rasp of a long-time smoker and her disposition carried an entitled sass.

"I can't believe this," Vulpecula mumbled.

"This isn't really an area for your kind," the waitress answered.

"Why would that stupid parrot ask me to be involved in a case that's such a dead-end?"

A sigh from the waitress as she walked away from their table. Vulpecula was well-aware of her annoyance, but he didn't really care. He needed to solve the three bodies mystery but couldn't.

"Look, Vulpecula, I know you're feeling irascible about this, but it isn't worth obsessing over." Lacerta answered, by now, he understood his chances at obtaining food were slim to none. Instead, he began playing the word search puzzle available on his menu, circling two across.

Vulpecula ignored him. "This is what we know, ... Three bodies have been dug out from their graves, stood up and positioned like mannequins. Their features made to look as though they are gesturing toward their own grave-sites and laughing at them. A woman discovered them in the Alo Cemetery as she was visiting her deceased father. None of the three victims have any known criminal records, no affiliation through work, no family ties. Inside the fox's front-pocket, I discovered a watch with a holiday greeting inside written on a sticky note." Vulpecula stopped, taking the pocket-watch out from his fur-pouch and inspecting it.

"You kept it!?" Apus questioned.

"What am I missing?" Vulpecula cried out, flipping the pocket-watch open and shut again and again like he thought he'd uncover a secret compartment or a second clue.

"Vulpecula," Lacerta said calmly.

"Maybe there's another message written on the inside of the dentures, I should call the Department and ask them."

"Vulpecula!" Lacerta shouted, his annoyance unable to contain itself, slamming his hands against the table. It'd have drawn eyes on them too, had all eyes in the diner not already been on them.

V hesitated. Caught off-guard by his friend's disturbance, but then reacted stoic. "I can't stop, Lacerta. It isn't a choice, I have to do this."

"Why?"

"Because I am alone in my head when I don't." Vulpecula's eyes ventured off to the floor, fidgeting uncomfortably with the fur on his chin.

Lacerta sighed, "Well, you're going daft, mate."

"What am I missing, Lacerta?" Vulpecula said, and at that moment, out the corner of his eye, he watched a large dog step out from the men's bathroom.

He watched the door swivel about, and before it shut, his eyes could have sworn seeing Comet Fowley smiling at him devilishly as blood spurted out the hole made from his severed hand.

The door shut, its momentum opening it one last time, Vulpecula saw the porcelain sinks and part of the bathroom stalls, but no Comet Fowley. "I am much crazier when I don't occupy my mind."

Lacerta slid the manila folder away from Vulpecula and began thumbing through it. The folder now had, not only the profiles of the three victims, but photographs and details regarding the findings at the crime-scene. "Isn't really a whole lot to talk about." Lacerta stopped a moment, reading. "Honey, never EVER forget to feed the humans. That's funny," Lacerta said, a small laugh.

Vulpecula stared at him blankly. "How is that helpful?"

"Well," Lacerta said, "I mean, Our Man seemed to like it. I mean, he has Benjamin Sexton pointing at it."

"He is pointing at the gravesite," Vulpecula affirmed.

"Don't think so," Lacerta argued, turning the photograph over to where V could see it.

Vulpecula waved him off. It wasn't like it mattered. "Anything else?"

Lacerta squinted at the pages and shook his head, "I don't understand why you're so certain this person would leave a hint. Hasn't the theory about serial-killers wanting to be captured been disproven?"

"Yes, but this isn't a serial-killer, this is a man committing a petty crime because he wants to scream something to the heavens. Wants everyone to see it. Wants them to know it. To reach out and bring them to his level. Nobody does something like this without reason," Vulpecula reaffirmed, and at that moment, he could hear a voice in the inner-most of his psyche whisper to him, "Unless they do."

"You're petty," was Lacerta's retort. "What would you do if you dug up bodies like this?"

"Why would I do something like that?" Vulpecula asked, concerned.

"You tell me?"

"I wouldn't."

"But, what if you did?"

Vulpecula stopped. Closing his eyes, as if to imagine it. A second later, his eyes opened, looking at the photographs in the folder. "I'd taunt everyone in sight. A million intricately embroidered red herrings all leading to the same conclusion – Nothing."

"And why would you do that?" a voice asked The Fox Detective, but the voice was not Lacerta's.

Vulpecula lifted his head up and made eye-contact with a grey fox. But not a grey fox. Himself. Depleted of all enthuse and empathy. His teeth dripped blood. "If it were you. And we BOTH know it COULD be you. Why would you do it?"

"I wouldn't do it," Vulpecula replied; bloodshot eyes, staring at his reflective monster.

"You can lie to them, but you can't lie to me." The Grey Fox said, his teeth spread wide. It reminded Vulpecula of the deceased fox back at the cemetery. But somehow deader inside. The Grey Fox reached over the table and grabbed Vulpecula by his scarf, bringing him close. "WHY WOULD YOU DO IT!?"

"Boredom," Vulpecula calmly said. Lacerta's face looked confused, asking Vulpecula to elaborate without having to say a word. "This isn't a message, no rhyme or reason. This is a scream of suffering, 'look at all I had to do to make you see,' a normal man gone astray from convention in search for intellectual nourishment. Something of substance," Vulpecula laughed a little to himself, though, nothing he said was funny in the least.

"Vulpecula...?" Lacerta asked, snapping his fingers in-front of The Fox Detective with worried eyes.

"I'd hide a puzzle," Vulpecula answered. "An inside reference only I could understand. Nobody would find it because they'd have no reason to think it exists. A trick or riddle, perhaps," he continued, digging his claw into Lacerta's Beagle's Bagels menu, spinning it to face toward him.

"Right, but where, exactly? I know you want to solve this, but I don't think grasping at straws is, ..." Lacerta began, until being interrupted by V.

"What if I told you our next clue has already been said, many times? A puzzle has already been said?" Vulpecula asked.

"We would have found it by now, V. If he left anything we missed, surely the Department would have found it and said something," his voice sounded depleted of enthuse, no longer enjoying his furry friend.

"Benjamin Sexton, Steven Fosbis, and Harris Woof, not counting their predicament have one really significant thing in common, what is it?"

"They're smiling and pointing at where they were dug up?"

"You were right the first time."

"The tombstones?"

"The epitaphs all, do you recall? I do, but I look at them with new found eyes and open-minds, I look at them from left to right and discover a message from them. A small one; insignificant at first inspection. But first, let's stop and look at each quote etched onto them. Each is a cliché, neither particularly clever nor particularly profound. The epitaphs offer no indication or hindsight of the carbon footprint left behind by each person. I am suggesting the etchings weren't chosen by loved ones, supported by the profiles on each of them; unmarried, no real families. Nobody would notice a small alteration or completely unique epitaph."

"That seems a little far-fetched, don't you think?"

"Living life with hesitance is the only worthwhile formula. Useless is it, a time without love, no sense planning or premediating. Honey, never EVER forget to feed and water the humans." Vulpecula read from his Blank Chalkboard. "Reading these, first and last letter of each sentence, a double acrostic, tombstones left to right, what do you find?"

6.

"Laughs," Vulpecula answered, sounding unimpressed by the revelation. Too much had happened in too short a time, and his respect for such things had dwindled. "It was logical. The whole act was inspired by such an action. Each body, of course, adjusted to resemble laughter."

"Seems like a lot of planning must have went into it," Bartender Red commented.

Several hours had went by since Vulpecula first entered One Step Back, much of the customers there when he entered had been replaced by a new cast. The glass Vulpecula spun around in his hand was empty, as it would remain. Bartender Red having since cut him off.

"What you must understand though, is that they weren't methodical. They weren't driven by anger or by frustration, or bitterness. They were driven by the entertainment-value of it all. That's what's heartbreaking about it." Vulpecula explained, somehow with a complete knowingness of how the perpetrator's thought.

"Heartbreaking?" Bartender Red said, his full-attention on Vulpecula, now that the bar had died down.

"Give me a man who does bad things because he's bad, I'll find you one who does good things because he's good. But a man, weighted down in neither spectrum, driven by a want, nay, a need for mental stimulation."

"Sure we're still talking about the Cemetery Man?" asked Red, a raised eyebrow and a half-smile. Vulpecula offered no quips or comment. "Alright, well, now you know the epitaphs spell out this acrostic, how exactly does that help with finding him?"

"Them. And do you know who etches in all those tombstones for Alo Cemetery?"

"No?"

"Neither did I."

7.

Cascade provided all the supplies needed for funeral preparation. Once a family owned operation, the business became corporate when a couple suits bought the company with a deal the original owners couldn't refuse. That's what the trusty old internet said. Rumor has it Cascade was on the brink of bankruptcy and all this and that, but Vulpecula chose not to concern himself with such trivial details.

The important matter is Cascade stood larger than ever as one of the primary funeral parlors in all Urgway. For convenience, practically all funerals in the Alo Cemetery were conducted by the neighboring business.

Vulpecula chose to not bother calling Psitticus with the little unraveling, after all, his involvement would be more bothersome than helpful.

Instead, The Fox Detective, Lacerta, and Apus arrived near Cascade with well-groomed suits and attempted watery eyes.

They walked up concrete steps, V's left-paw wrapped around a metal rail that reminded him more of a pipe than what it was meant as. Vulpecula flinched at first, the gelid winter made the rail cold to the touch, and the frosty snow hid most of the painted white concrete stairs, like flakes of dandruff on an albino's head.

The whole building reminded Vulpecula of a cross between a church and a retirement home. Likely, Water Lily churchgoers were the target demographic. Though, individuals in retirement homes were equally valuable, albeit, in a separate way.

A stained-glass door at the front-entrance depicted nothing descript, a repeating circle pattern with an array of colors outlining each.

As Vulpecula walked inside, the smell of distinguishable plainness, the smell of that waitress at Beagle's Bagels, that smell lingered and encumbered the room. Reminded Vulpecula of a hospital in that respect.

The floors were carpeted, dark-red, complimented by the decoration of orange flowers spread about in a tiled fashion. In-front of them, the first thing visible was not a service desk, but two large wooden chairs, each with arm-rests and dark-red cushions, same color as the floor.

Between them, a bouquet of flowers filled up a long, narrow vase. The flowers were tightly packed, with no room to breathe, in that melancholy funeral-esque style, a plain white and red that looks so bleak Vulpecula thought he was looking at a photograph from a grainy film in the sixties. Depressing tackiness rubbed down on every crevice, nook and cranny, like ointment on a wide-spread rash.

Vulpecula walked forward. For a strange reason, he didn't feel uncomfortable with it.

Hospitals had always bothered him, the smell of ammonia and urine, and the knowledge that someone most likely died in the small interval of his visit. In Cascade, he reaped a great benefit from knowing the deed was already finished. To the left of the chairs, Vulpecula walked up the spiraling staircase, but not before taking a moment to adjust his collar; haphazardly. The suit was all a part of the act.

The wooden steps creaked with each stamp down onto them, and Vulpecula made note of the homeliness of Cascade. Hardly a corporate professionalism, The Fox Detective pondered whether they'd made any modification to the abode's confines and aesthetic.

"Excuse me," a voice called out, "Excuse me, yes?"

Vulpecula's head peeked over the staircase's rails and made eye-contact with a small brown feline, the top of his head encroached with hair-gel; fur slicked back. "Oh, hello, maybe you'll be able to offer us an assist, we're looking for Akil Somali, can you help us?"

"I'm Ajou Somali, his younger brother. This is both our establishment, what can I do for you?" Akil spoke with proud-stature and waivered poise, a cat of class, and yet, the crowded and cramp funeral parlor suggested neither.

"You and your brother run this, by yourselves? We read it's owned by Cascade Corporations." Vulpecula said, a speculative tone that waned once he realized his 'sister had just died'. "My sister recently, most unfortunately, expired, and my friends and I, both of them very close to her, were looking at a smooth and hassle-free burial. I believe you recently buried my half-cousin, Steven Fosbis?" The Fox Detective's act was far from extraordinary, and he knew it. His voice spoke rapid-fast and without delay, unable to enunciate the proper inflection.

Still, Ajou Somali seemed calm and unabashed, a man who ran a funeral parlor was used to all varieties of grievance, a stuttering buffoon in shock was one of them. "Ah, yes, where do I begin with that? Let's see," Ajou said, his hand-gestures miming as if he was skimming his finger through a paragraph in the air. "First, my brother and I own Cascade Corporations, yes, that is very accurate, yes, indeed. And, while I certainly recall the name Steven Fosbis, I can't with complete confidence recall us working on him. All of our work is kept on a database, however, and for chances' sake, let's say my brother Akil worked on that one." His words were faster than The Fox Detective's, but with so much more comfort. "And finally, I am most sad to hear about your sister's death." Ajou finished, adding a final "Awh" cry that couldn't have sounded faker.

"I think about her sometimes," Vulpecula said, "What I'd say if I could, if I knew," He stopped, with his best attempts at squeezing crocodile tears.

"But we mustn't dwell on if's and could's, my friend, I know exactly what you're feeling and in-fact, it isn't uncommon. You know," Ajou said, stopping for a brief second, "If you'd step inside our office, I'd be more than happy to square you away and make this, as you said, a smooth and hassle-free burial." The cat smiled, bowing his head as he made small glances to Lacerta and Apus.

Vulpecula nodded his head graciously and followed as Ajou led them to a door, opposite the staircase, a wooden one with a mahogany finish.

"As said, I am very saddened to hear about the loss of your sister, was she ill?" The Cat inquired, leading into the office-space and motioning toward the two chairs sitting in-front of the desk. "I can fetch a third chair if you'd like?" He asked, turning his attention back over to the three.

Vulpecula had no doubts Ajou could fetch a third chair for them. That wasn't much up for discussion, but rather, looking at the stuffy encumbered room, he wondered whether a third chair could even be wedged in. A hyperbole, but not too outlandish of one. The room was a tinsie tiny space eight-by-eight at most, with a desk that more-or-less engulfed it all. In-front of that desk, was a chair for Ajou, a window peeking outside, and a bulletin board with various nondescript dates and addresses that meant nothing significant to Vulpecula.

The Fox Detective shook his head at Ajou, allowing Lacerta and Apus to take the two vacant chairs while he stood.

Ajou smiled politely before walking over to his desk, which was, almost every bit as wide as the room. In-fact, a small metal trash-bin sat beside it, and Ajou had to step over it in-order to reach the front-side of the desk.

"Ah, yes, and so, was your sister ill prior?" The suavely dressed cat asked again, curious wide-eyes directed at them, sitting in his desk, his hands together like a man delivering a prayer.

"She was run-over by a drunk driver," Vulpecula responded.

Ajou cringed, "That sounds like a tough one, closed-casket then? Either that, or my brother and I do offer restoration services and will do our best to bring her back to a pleasant light."

"Do you offer a lot of services like that, restoration services, do you conduct the ceremony and offer other items as well? Caskets, and the like?" Vulpecula asked.

"Cascade offers all funeral arrangement services. My brother and I inquired the funeral parlor with that fullest intent. The Cascade website features all our different caskets, the type, the size, so on and so forth. Other-wise, we offer restoration services, tombstones, and the decoration for the ceremony. It is also your choice whether your sister's ceremony will be upstairs or in an outside tent at Alo Cemetery, which is where the bodies are oftentimes buried." Ajou didn't have the empathetic stare of a man attuned with conventional emotion, he seemed like an actor offering an audition, like Vulpecula claiming the loss of his sister. Only difference is Ajou was a good actor.

"Do you also etch in the epitaphs?" Lacerta interjected, not abruptly, calmly, but unwanted by The Fox Detective.

Vulpecula resisted the urge to glare at his lizard acquaintance, if only because his eyes knew to glue themselves to Ajou's reaction. The reaction didn't disappoint. And while, Vulpecula would've most certainly preferred to keep such a specific question out of Ajou's mind, the look on the cat's face told all he needed to see. A soft-smile, a smile that wasn't just or reasonable in such a situation, but still very real. Even a knowing look to Vulpecula from Ajou told him he understood the connection they were making, but instead of confronting them, the younger Somali sibling said plainly: "Yes, epitaphs are included with our work on the tombstones."

8.

"We had them," Vulpecula announced firmly, "But it doesn't really matter whether somebody did something or not, now does it?"

"Not really," Bartender Red admitted.

One Step Back might as well have been closed by this juncture. Nobody frequented it. A ghost-town, aside from Vulpecula and Red, of course. It had been a long time since Vulpecula first entered it, and by now, his light buzz of intoxication had left him.

"What you really need is evidence that someone did something, and that's fair, I mean, it wouldn't be fair if a prosecutor's basis was a smile and a stare, but at that moment, I knew Ajou at least, was responsible for what happened at Alo Cemetery."

"Yeah, I understand," Red said, pouring himself a drink of his own, and Vulpecula found himself wondering how much of a nuisance he was being to him, "How did you find a way to prove it?"

"Those nondescript notes on their bulletin board? Those weren't as nondescript as I originally thought. But, luckily, my mind made a mental note of them. Turns out they were circled names of deceased that'd been worked on by Cascade. I knew the dates were intended for a continuation of their magnum opus." Vulpecula lied, his acting having improved so much in such a short-time, but at least this had sprinklings of the truth.

In truth, Vulpecula considered himself above the law in that respect. Choosing against an aimless plea to Detective Psitticus of his suspicions, instead, Vulpecula did what he had done only sometime earlier with Comet Fowley, and broke into Cascade after-hours, under the nose of his friends.

Upstairs, beyond the ceremonial room with aisles and rows for seating, through the curtains of the altar, he discovered a second staircase descending. A chill overtook when he made discovery he was walking toward their morgue.

The Fox Detective yearned very much not to run into the vision of a lifeless corpse, and instead, had the benefit of finding a small desk first. A computer sat on top of it. On it, no passwords or barricades, in-theory, nothing worth hiding was on the laptop. Still, Vulpecula easily discovered the database equipped with all the Somali family's previous efforts. This included Harris Woof, Stephen Fosbis, and Benjamin Sexton.

Evidence was much easier to obtain when one didn't have to play with unfair limitations. By the book, Urgway's Police Department would ask about this, and would most certainly come up with nothing.

The story of circled dates wasn't an entire lie, but it wasn't on the bulletin board. A calendar beside the desk had them. Marked with smiley-faces. The next date circled was the day of The Giving.

9.

Days later, Vulpecula found himself invited back to the Alo Cemetery by a phone-call from Psitticus. The day of The Giving as one would have it.

The Fox Detective had informed Psitticus of the same lie he'd feed Bartender Red later on in the day. That Akil and Ajou Somali had intentions to act again on the night of Urgway's big-holiday while everyone was nestled into their beds commemorating the winter solstice.

Lacerta and Apus had since gone off to their respective families for the holiday-season, whereas Vulpecula had opted to stay in Urgway for the time. And in that time, Vulpecula only delved deeper into his stupor of befuddled principles and shattered will. Like an alarm-clock going off in someone's brain, but instead of turning it off in the morning, Vulpecula simply decided to go on about his day with it on.

The Fox Detective made his way back to Alo Cemetery again, a big cemetery, one of the biggest in Urgway, it took him some feet before he ran into Officer Psitticus. Psitticus glanced at him only for a second, standing in-front of a tombstone with somber eyes and a downward beak.

Vulpecula walked beside him, once more awkwardly fidgeting with the fur on his chin. As the fox arrived as the parrot's side, he stared down at the tombstone:

Lucky Prescott

"A friend of yours?" Vulpecula asked, plain-face. He felt his body shivering within his fur with every minute.

"Hardly such," the parrot answered, still wearing his big black-coat, "He always hated his last name, hated it. Got a lot of comments at his expense for it, so he demanded to be called Officer Lucky."

"How'd he die?" Vulpecula asked.

"Ironically," Psitticus replied, and continued: "He lived from 1992 until 2016. Or, not until, that isn't what the big-rock says. It says 1992 dash 2016, and it's strange, the smallest detail of a tombstone is the one with the most significance. That little dash is his life, his existence in Urgway, in Maharris, ... in this world, and now it's over. That little dash is everything, until inevitably it's nothing."

"Was he a good man?"

"Good is subjective," Psitticus smiled, walking away from Officer Lucky's grave, "But yes, I'd say he was one. So many on the force, so many are here for the wrong reason. They take on this job because they want the respect that comes with the badge. They want money or power or anything else. And when they discover how little respect is given, how little wealth, and how oftentimes they'll feel powerful, they become corrupt. But I can say, at least for the most part, Lucky really did want to make a difference."

"I wonder if I am in it for the wrong reason or not." Vulpecula said, following where Psitticus led.

"I can smell the alcohol on your breath every time I am within a couple feet of you," Psitticus said, a small chuckle, "That tells me it gets to you. Tells me you care."

"I am not so certain," Vulpecula admitted.

"I can also smell doubt and fear, negative thoughts, always the worst of yourself. Vivian Herms made the same deduction."

"I don't think negatively about myself," Vulpecula said, defensively. He wondered if it sounded as weak and desperate to Psitticus as it did to him.

"You don't have to. Those thoughts are already there, etched into your subconscious. Like chalk drawings inside a cave."

"The blank chalkboard," Vulpecula mumbled to himself beneath his breath, but Psitticus eavesdropped.

"Either that chalkboard isn't as blank as you thought, or there's a suicidal whiteboard a few rooms down from it," jested the parrot, who laughed at his own joke.

After a silence, Psitticus sighed, "In this world, you have a limited amount of time, all of us, a limited amount of days, a limited amount of years. Most of us, less than one-hundred. Ask yourself if this is who you are, if you believe in it, and if you can live with it. Because that alcohol I smell on your breath, that's the beginning of something. Decide for yourself if it's worth it, decide for yourself if the reason you do it is worth it. The real reason you do it, not the reason you wish you did it."

Vulpecula made a mental note of Psitticus' words in the blank chalkboard, and smiled, "Why did you call me down here? Did Akil and Ajou Somali show up last night?"

"They did," Psitticus answered. "In the dark, I had some of my men wait around for them. Sure enough, your evidence ended up being accurate," Psitticus walked further out into Alo Cemetery, until, at last, Vulpecula saw a pile of wooden planks and a zipped-up bag lying indented in the snow.

Several members of the Urgway Police Department stood by the scene with dejected looks. One in-particular, a dog whose face seemed oddly amused, who adjusted his collar every once in a while, like some sort-of compulsive twitch. Vulpecula stared at him for only a moment, fidgeting with the fur on his chin.

"Akil and Ajou were taken aghast but managed to escape. At least now we can identify them as the perpetrators and we have their bags and equipment as evidence."

"They'll be on the run," Vulpecula commented.

"Indeed." Psitticus said, shrugging his shoulders, though, The Fox didn't have to also be a Detective to sense how dissatisfied he was with the results, "Can't understand why they'd even bother doing something like this anyways."

"Some do the right thing for the wrong reasons, some do the wrong thing for the right reasons, and others do the wrong thing because they're bored."

10.

"At least you solved the case," Bartender Red assured. "They'll be snatched up in a day or so's time."

"Maybe," Vulpecula admitted, turning the glass of alcohol upside down for no reason in-particular, "But maybe I don't want them to. Because I'm like them."

"No, you aren't," Bartender Red assured a second time. Vulpecula knew for certain the bar was meant to be closed by now, which meant for certain that Red allowed him to stay entirely for his sake.

"I don't do the bad thing, but I cheer the bad thing on, because it's the only thing I have. Only thing I wake up for, only thing I must live for. Apus and Lacerta, they don't have the same stake in this." Vulpecula said, his eyes making contact with Bartender Red. A rarity for him. "Aren't a lot of guarantees in this world. Only death, constant irritation, and a glimpse of happiness a single blink can miss."

"Your father's a smart man," Red said.

"My father didn't say that. I did," Vulpecula confessed dryly, "My father gave nothing to me. My father wanted to save the world and he let it kill him, at the expense of everyone else in his wake. And I always liked to tell myself he did it to make the world safer for me, because it was a sacrifice that needed to be made. But if sons become their fathers, I know Hensley Noel did what he did because he wanted to run away from responsibility and escape reality."

"What are you saying?"

"I am saying I won't become my father. I won't escape reality. And that I'll live, in the world as we know it, without distractions. I think it's time I move on from this. To live." Vulpecula arose to his feet, though, watched as Bartender Red poured him a final drink. The coup de grace to a wounded detective. And as Vulpecula looked in his eyes, he felt a loving affection he had never left for another individual. It was so nice of him to pour more alcohol.

"To The Giving!" Bartender Red said, holding his own glass of alcohol in his hands.

Vulpecula bowed his head, the curtain call, the show has finished. The Fox Civilian clinked his glass of alcohol against Red's, "To The Gave."

The Life and Crimes of Detective Barker

Episode Six

The Canes Vinitici

1.

It was a horrible taste. The pressing need to show flattery. He hated the gratuitous words he was expected to speak. He hated them more than he hated coming to these events. The Mayor had requested his presence at an election dinner. A request was usually just that and, nine times out of ten, Barker would ignore it. A request from the Mayor was the one time in ten he would go, or be forced to go.

"I know we all know, Detective Barker. He has solved many cases. Got me out of a couple binds myself," the Mayor paused for the nervous laughter of those there to flatter him, "most recently, he solved the case of the group previously known as The Shock. Now, he is here tonight to be awarded his own division of Urgway Detectives." The Mayor stopped and let his flashy grin spread across his face.

Barker had indeed put an end to The Shock. Not quite the way the Mayor here thought Barker had. Barker had lined up the pins and knocked them down, at least nine of the pins. The last pin, the front pin, he kept standing. The Hacker, who he later learned was named Buntly, was still swiveling around Urgway. He was now under the complete control of Barker, but this crowd didn't know that.

Barker put his fork down on the table. He hadn't actually been eating. He was just using it to keep his hands busy. He hadn't prepared for anyone to call him out this evening. He had assumed this was another story of come pat the Mayor on the back with useless drivel. He pushed out his chair and stood to his feet. His shoes were much nicer than they had been a month ago. They were so black and shiny he could almost see his reflection. This wasn't the benefit of being a detective. This was the advantage of having a hacker in your back pocket.

Barker passed old bird face, Pssitticus, as he moved towards the Mayor and the podium. His boss, or is it, former boss, now, didn't look too pleased with the announcement. That meant he hadn't been informed either. Was Barker ahead of Pssitticus now? It didn't matter to him, he had bigger fish to fry than bird brain.

Barker felt several palms flat on his back, "congratulations! some of them said. None of them actually cared, they were here for self-glory, this announcement didn't affect them. It just meant that now Barker was on the favor train. These rich snobs would come to him with outlandish request. Follow my cheating wife, find my missing runaway daughter, yadda yadda.

"Congratulations, Barker, I bet you didn't see this coming did you," said the Mayor, flashing his corny smile. He grasped Barker's hands and turned to the well-placed newspaper cameras. The bulbs flashed, blinding Barker. He supposed his distorted scowl would be front and center on the paper the following morning. He hated the attention.

The Mayor sidestepped and allowed Barker the microphone with a flamboyant gesture. Barker stepped forward and cleared his throat. He suddenly wished he had brought his glass of water. It would give him a mere moment to connect his thoughts. He didn't want his first words as a new lead detective to be rubbish. He straightened his tie and fixed his collar.

"I appreciate the gesture of consideration," he started, this drew applause. He waited for the buffoons to simmer down. "It is with great regard that I stand here before you. Honestly, I just thought I had to come say nice things about the Mayor tonight," Barker turned to the Mayor and gave a wink. This drew laughter from the crowd. The Mayor showed his humor by clapping. "As it turns out, I get to hear nice things about me and that's always a nice turn of events." Barker actually hated flattery. Not that he didn't like for people to know he was better than them, on the contrary, he loved that, but what he hated was... well, people.

"As the Mayor eluded to, I had no prior knowledge of this honor. I still don't even know what it entitles, but I am privileged and honored to have the respect of such an esteemed crowd and city." Urgway was a dustbin of cities. It was a cesspit and it was decrepit. These people were much the same. Barker was a good liar, you had to be to do what he did.

"I have every intention to live up to the expectations and standards that this city has come to expect. I will lay my gratitude at your esteemed feet this evening. Then, tomorrow, I will put back on my detective coat and make sure that this city is safe." This drew the biggest applause of the evening. The Mayor stepped forward and grasped Barker's hand again. The flashes went off and Barker gave his cheesiest smile for the reporters.

2.

It had already been established to the remainder of The Shock, be it a very small remainder, that this was Barker's show. This wasn't a scenic walk where everyone held hands and enjoyed a merry time. This was a very strict one-man show, with side characters that were allowed to operate at the whims of Barker.

Barker had done the whims of others. He had been on the detective force under Pssitticus for over ten years. He had grown up being ridiculed for being a hound. He had watched dogs everywhere being sequestered to nothing. That was a time after the Canes. A time when everything started to become bleak. His father lost his livelihood and quite possibly his mind during that time. Barker wasn't going to let someone ruin what he had worked for.

That was why he reminded the men he had left behind of The Shock that this was a transition. They were no longer The Shock. They no longer diddled in money scams. They would stay off the Rescues' watch list. They would hunker down and become ghosts. Ghosts to be used when Barker needed a haunting. That was it, nothing else. They lived for Barker and they were free because of Barker.

After watching their comrades marched off to police cars and then to prison, very few of them spoke against their lucky predicament. Even the former leader, Buntly, relented his seat of power and groveled at Barker's feet. For this, Barker made sure Buntly was still able to live very nicely for himself. Barker needed henchmen and brutes, but he would also need to keep men with brains at his side. Buntly, for the all the stupid acts he had done, was a very smart man.

3.

With the promotion to his own detective branch, Barker hadn't expected too much. This was why he was surprised when the Mayor handed him the address to his new office. It was in the Mayor's own building. Actually, if Barker had read right, and he had, then, it was an entire floor to his own unit.

The dinner had been on a Friday evening. That meant Barker wasn't exactly expected in office until Monday, but Saturday morning he had hailed a taxi to take him to the building. The taxi smelled like dirty gym shoes. Barker had to hover his feet to avoid the gum embedded into the floorboards. The driver had an accent that said he was probably from somewhere around Maharris.

"I want to get to 4th and Hester," Barker said. The taxi driver nodded and started to try to make small talk with Barker. "Actually, if you could just turn up the music that would be great," Barker interrupted. The taxi driver didn't seem pleased, but he would be counting on a tip at the end of the drive. A tip he wouldn't be getting, but Barker wouldn't tell him that until the ride was over.

Barker thumbed through his pocketbook. He had to focus a lot of his attention on the gum, however. It seemed the driver didn't have an admonition against potholes. It was hard to do, Barker would give him that, in Urgway the roads were potholes, but it still annoyed Barker.

"We are here 4th and Hester, as requested." The taxi driver seemed overly proud of himself. The way the words rolled off his tongue was as if he had won something. Barker fished in his front pocket for his wallet. The driver turned back towards Barker. He was cross-eyed and had a gap in his front teeth. "Fourteen eighty-three," he said, opening the barrier window of the taxi.

Barker grabbed fifteen from his wallet and handed it to the driver. The driver took the money and turned. He noticed Barker wasn't moving to exit the taxi.

"Not the right place?" he asked.

Barker hated the expectations of people. It was only seventeen cents, but it was the principle of it, not the sum.

"Change," he said.

The driver's eyes grew wide, which really defined his lazy eye. He waited a moment more, waiting to see if maybe Barker was joking. Barker was not joking. Then, he rummaged in his ashtray compartment and drew out a quarter.

"Umm, I have a quarter," Barker grabbed it and exited without fishing for a dime, it was the interest he owed.

The taxi sped off down the street. Barker stood under the towering office of the Mayor. The front of the building was mostly made up of tinted glass. It was the tallest building in Urgway and housed all the divisions of the city. It also housed an executive suite for a large stockbroking company. It left an imposing impression on those who stopped to look at it.

Barker walked through the revolving doors. The building was never locked. The ground floor was a museum of Urgway's history. Not many people cared about Urgway's history on a Saturday it seemed. Barker made his way to the elevators. His office would now be on the twenty-second floor.

Barker found himself thinking of the tiny police department twenty minutes away from this building. He saw the two small desks in the detective department. Both of which would be sitting empty now. Lucky having bit the bucket, so to speak, and Barker having moved up in the world. It would now be just Pssitticus. Old feather head would be opening that door on Monday morning, banging the filing cabinet, and then, slunking off to his cupboard sized office. Barker almost felt bad for the parrot. He had nothing now. No subordinates, no connections to the outside world, and nothing to show for his life. The feeling faded fast from Barker, he didn't have time to care about the old bird.

The elevator dinged and Barker stepped out onto wooden floors. Not the cheap, generic wood, but the real hardwood. The kind that was professionally stained by someone who knew what they were doing. Nothing like the old carpet down at the police station. Barker walked by two cubicles, larger than Pssittcus's office. This would be where his team would work. Outside each cubicle was a desk, where assistance would type up notes in every case. Barker had never had an assistant.

Barker moved down the aisle way, which was bigger than the entire detective headquarters down at the PD. He stopped in front of a glass door. Already printed, in bold black letters was his name: Detective Senac Barker. Under it was his new title, head of Urgway's detective units.

Barker opened the door and looked at the room. The only defining feature was the oak desk in the middle of the floor. It was large and sturdy. Behind it was a large cushioned, swivel chair; like the one from Rescue. Barker stepped into the office and shut the door behind him.

4.

After taking down The Shock, things had changed for Barker. He was rallied as a hero. One news publication even went as far as putting a cape on a stock photo of Barker. Pssitticus had a really good time making a joke of that one.

Barker didn't have a lot of time to worry about the jokes. He was invited to interview, after interview. He didn't want to do them, but breathing down his neck was the Mayor. He told Barker this was a career launching pad. After helping him with the drug outbreak and now conquering The Shock, his words, not Barker's, he was a money detective now.

Barker had just wanted to be left alone. He had his own plans. Things he needed to get done. Things that the publications couldn't know. Things that the Mayor of Urgway could definitely never know.

Barker had just enough time to shore up The Shock during the first hectic week. He had sent Buntly off to a penthouse somewhere in Acera. He had instructed him to start building a new system, something much better firewalled than the last system. He had kept the brutes of the group back in Urgway. With them, he started to secure some of the small gangs of the city.

He wanted the cutthroats to know they had a new boss. Even if they didn't know the face of the boss. He had high instructions that any gangs, not of the canine variety, be shut down immediately.

Those were his first street orders. These gangs would see what it felt like to be hunkered down. They would see what it felt like to be scared and in the world alone. Although, they were criminals. Barker wouldn't stop with the criminals, however. They were just the easiest place to start. You had to get your foot in somewhere. Then, you wedged the door open and the possibilities would become endless.

5.

Barker put his paw out and touched the mahogany walls. Much more delightful than the cold concrete of the PD. He imagined the warmth in the winter surrounded by proper insulation. Barker used the back of his knuckles to tap on the well placed wooden desk. Real oak, he had suspected as much on his first visit. This desk alone was probably more than his previous salary. It was also properly dusted. He wasn't sure that a cleaner had been through the PD since it was first opened fifty some odd years prior.

Barker noticed that a picture of him and the Mayor was now hanging on the wall. He looked at his own cheesy smile. He adjusted his tie. It was his second Saturday on the job and his second visit to the office. It wasn't an official work day for him. Technically, this office didn't even open until Monday. All he had done so far was interviews and smiles. Yet, he felt the pressing need to be seen as he saw himself.

"I had it added as a welcoming gift," Barker turned. Standing behind him, in a suit of his own, was the Mayor. The difference was that the Mayor's suit was a little snug at the shoulders. It had to be a pressing job to find a suit big enough for a primate of his size. "It is the first step to making this place a little more homey for you," he said. The Mayor stepped in to join Barker. He looked around and smiled. "I hope it meets your imaginative standards?" Barker doubted he cared.

"It is perfect," Barker said. Best to keep the flattery running at all times, Barker thought. This man may not be his favorite person, but he was a very important figure, with lots of important friends.

"It isn't finished, of course," the primate swung his meaty arm through the air in a show of emptiness. "Still needs a few amenities, but it will be ready for you Monday morning." The Mayor turned and headed back towards the door. "Until then, why don't you join me in my office for a drink, Detective," it wasn't a question and Barker knew that.

Barker would have sighed, he would have refused, but he didn't do either. No matter how much he had just wanted to sit in that cushioned chair and look out the window, he couldn't now. Now, he would have to go make banter with the Mayor of Urgway. He was sure there was a ploy in it somewhere. There was always a ploy with people like the Mayor.

6.

The Canes hadn't formed overnight. It had been a process. Barker couldn't pinpoint all of the nuances of development. He was sure there were many back alley deals. He was sure there were nights when things didn't look like they would ever come to fruition.

That was why on his nights of struggle, he chalked them up to labor for the prize. He had taken many cases that meant nothing. As a rookie, he was so green that he messed up more cases than he solved. It wasn't anything to do with smarts, it was learning how to manipulate the scenery. It was easy to connect A to B. The hard part was taking A and connecting it to K and then back to B.

That is what set him apart from different detectives; not only his will to right a wrong but also his ability to manipulate without sticking his own hands in the mud. There were many detectives who went in on the wrong side of the case. Too many crooked detectives and cops actually; especially here in Urgway. The difference, Barker used them to do his deeds and they were willing to do them.

When things had gone south, Barker was always upwind of the debacle. He had benefited and rowed up the stream. Those who still stood were those he had planned to stay.

That would be the way of the new force of Urgway, as well. He would put into place what he wanted to put into place. Those surrounding him would be there out of necessity. Those who fell would fall under his accord. He was the ultimate. He was the end all be all.

Barker was raising the dead. The hounds would growl again.

7.

Floor number sixty-two, the floor of the Mayor's offices. That was where Barker and the Mayor stepped out of the elevator. Unlike Barker's new office, this office area was only split into two sections. Along the walls, were books. It reminded Barker of an imposing library. In the center was a hand-carved oak desk. Today, being a Saturday, there was no secretary behind it. On the lip of the desk was a nameplate: Linda Wetherby.

Barker noticed the floor plan was different as well. Whereas Barker's office was floored by wooden planks, the Mayor's was an imposing red carpet. It exhumed power, Barker even had to note it was a nice touch.

The Mayor led him through a wooden door with a large golden nameplate: The Mayor, it read. Come to think of it, Barker wasn't even quite sure what the Mayor's real name was. For so long, he had just been the Mayor. He was the Mayor long before Barker was a detective. He was the Mayor long before the Canes was caught and dismantled by that fox from Rescue. He had been the Mayor so long, that may as well have been his real name.

The office door swung open to a massive oak desk of auburn color. The real perk of this office, however, was the view. Behind the Mayor's desk was a massive three-pane window. Where Barker's office was secluded and closed, the way he liked it, the Mayor's was open to the world. Well, open to at least the flying world. Being sixty-three stories off the ground and looking out into the city of Urgway was imposing. Match it with the red carpet, and the towers of books, you had a statement of power and respect.

"Sit," the Mayor motioned to a cushioned chair. He walked over to a corner and popped open a globe; which doubled as a bar it seemed. The Mayor pulled out two small glasses and a decanter of what was probably whiskey. Barker wasn't a big fan of drinking, but he would imbibe, from time to time, in the right situations. Now ,seemed like it would be one of those situations.

"How long have you been a detective, Barker? Ten, fifteen years?" The Mayor opened his top left drawer. Inside were some of the most expensive cigars Barker had ever witnessed. Barker wasn't much of a cigar man, but his father had been. At least before the Canes was caught and dogs everywhere were made to suffer.

"Thirteen years," Barker answered, waving off a cigar.

The Mayor shrugged and leaned back, propping his feet on the desk. His shoes were shiny and very likely out of Barker's price range. "Do you mind?" The Mayor asked, already lighting the cigar.

"No," Barker said, even though he hated the idea of smelling like a smokehouse.

The Mayor took a long pull. His lips curled around the base of the cigar and smoke sprouted out either side. Barker realized at that moment the Mayor was a very crude looking man. Very brutish in his features.

"I like the idea of working together Barker. I hope we can become more than two men who share an office. Did you know I knew your father?" The Mayor glanced to Barker, gauging reaction.

Barker didn't show any outward reaction, however, on the inside, his mind exploded. He had changed his last name at twenty, before enrolling in the detective academy. He had gone out of his way to distance himself from his family name after his father died of a massive heart attack. He had taken the steps, but he supposed the Mayor had steps to uncover, it shouldn't have been a surprise that he would know. Barker thought about pounding the rest of his small glass of whiskey but instead took a long slow sip, to buy some time.

"He was a good man," the Mayor continued, saving Barker the trouble of a reply, "Very reliable," the Mayor blew a cloud of smoke into the air and watched it swirl for a moment. "You know I met him when we were both around twenty-three. He was just a factory worker then. I was a young upstart, straight from graduate school, a fresh face in politics. It's really embarrassing how we met," the Mayor stopped and looked at Barker. "Need another glass?"

Barker looked down at his empty glass. That sip had turned into a chug. He held it out and the Mayor leaned forward, pouring it to the rim with a smile, teeth biting the butt of the cigar.

"I wanted to run for city council. I didn't even know what city council did. Sounded fancy, I didn't know it was a crapshoot. Anyhow, I was walking around with fresh pressed general store khakis and a button up that could have passed as a flannel." The Mayor paused, taking a drink of his own whiskey.

"Your father was the first man to laugh in my face. I remember his exact words being something like, you have a face that looks like you just popped out of your diapers yesterday and you want my vote?" The Mayor laughed.

Barker had paced himself on the second glass of whiskey, how much damage could his father have done anyhow?

"Your father sat down with me, called me about one hundred names, not one of them suitable for general conversation then gave me his number. Over the next few weeks, he talked to me, told me some secrets of the city. After those two weeks, he shook my hand, and was the first name on my petition."

The Mayor pulled the stub of a cigar from between his teeth and stubbed it out in the ashtray Barker hadn't noticed him pull out.

"To this day, I remember your father with respect and awe. You know how many people signed after seeing your father's name? Practically, the entire city, I was the Mayor within two years. Your father put me in this chair, well ,not this chair, but one similar." The Mayor slammed down his whiskey.

Barker took a sip of his that, again, turned into a long drink. This would be the payoff of the story; the butt of the story if you will.

"Barker, I hope to all hell that you are half the man your father was. If you are, then you will be fantastic in this position. If you are half the man, we will get along just fine," The Mayor opened a drawer on the right side of his desk. "Your father died when you were, what, thirteen?"

Barker thought back to the day his father died. The district he lived in still held his father in some revere, even if his father had fallen on some hard times. Barker's father lived, well away from home. When he died, Barker got the message at school. He hadn't seen his father in almost four months. A massive heart attack, they told him. He didn't cry, he didn't know the man enough to cry. The district he grew up in cried. His mother cried. She went into such a state that Barker never really knew his mother again either. That was what the world had done to hounds everywhere.

The Mayor pulled out an envelope. He pushed it towards Barker.

"Your father would have wanted you to have this," he said.

Barker leaned forward and placed his still half full cup on the table. His hands were a bit shaky.

Barker was almost in his mid-thirties and he felt like he was a child reaching for that envelope.

He grabbed it and pulled it off the desk. He slowly opened it. Inside were two sheets of paper and a small envelope. He pulled out the papers. One was the clear marks of the bank of Urgway. An account number, a deposit box, and a name, his name.

"Your father left that with me before he went to the big house. I would have stopped it, if I could you know that, right?" He almost sounded sad.

"Nothing anyone could have done," Barker said.

"I wanted to pardon him, but it was just too big, even for me," he said.

Barker knew it was too big. It was the biggest news in over a decade. The Canes Venitici had been household names, and now, the leader had been caught by a fox. Barker pulled the other sheet from the envelope. It was a letter. His father had written him a letter. Barker put it back into the envelope, he wasn't going to read it here. He dipped into the envelope one more time, pulling the smaller envelope out. He opened it and saw it was filled with index cards, hundreds of them. Each card had a name. Each name had a title and a debt owed.

"Your father was caught, jailed, and sentenced, Barker," The Mayor leaned forward. "But the Canes didn't die, it just took a long break, waiting on you."

8.

The Canes had been something so large before it died that it wasn't even a crime syndicate so much as a culture. People lived and died by the name. Families were made and torn apart. Entire cities depended on the Canes. When it fell, the entire ecosystem fell. It went from day to night.

Sure, half of the world celebrated with Noel the fox king. The other half, the canine half, was thrown into the shadows. They were stomped on. Even those that had not met a member of the Canes a day in their lives. Dogs were thrown into the streets. City's infrastructures were tumbled over.

So many hounds were taken out back and metaphorically put down. Homeless rates went up, but the numbers were pushed down on media sources. Thousands of dogs starved to death, others froze in the winter, and the media only talked about the vindictive ways of hounds everywhere.

They failed to spread the word of how they had eaten large chunks of the proverbial pot. They had downed wine, hip to hip with those they now sentenced to death.

Hounds everywhere in the world were sentenced right along with the Canes. The same group of individuals who had sheltered, raised and provided for an entire generation.

That was what drove Barker. That was the image he promised to never see again.

9.

Barker had drunk another glass of whiskey before excusing himself from the Mayor's office. He wanted nothing more than to make the trek to the elevator and back into his own office, forty some stories below.

The elevator ride was longer than he remembered coming up. The alcohol was coursing through his body now. Barker didn't drink much and now that he had, he remembered why. It made the brain foggy. Would he feel like this if it wasn't for the drink?

The elevator dinged and he stepped back onto the hardwood flooring of his own headquarters. This was his. Under the ever watchful eye of the Mayor of Urgway. The Mayor had given him this information. The Mayor had lined him up a spot in the office. He had promoted him. He had given him the story of his father. However, Barker wasn't gullible enough to believe the pretenses.

He knew that the Mayor didn't do this from love. The Mayor may have been scrawny, baby-faced boy once. His father may have elevated him to the power he now enjoyed, but that wasn't why he had given Barker all of this.

He hadn't given him the mahogany desk as a gift, he had given it to him as a leash. Telling him to stay in place like a nice little doggy. Don't overstep your bounds. This is a nice cushioned spot you have here, and now, you can curl up and nap.

Barker walked back towards his own office. It was a nice little office. It provided everything that he would need to be a detective. Sadly, for the Mayor, that wasn't the final idea of Barker.

He hadn't promised himself that someday he would be a detective. He hadn't promised himself that someday he would work under a primate's every watchful gaze.

Barker had promised to eradicate those who had pushed him down. He had promised to see hounds put back into their rightful place in the food chain. The Mayor had thought to appease him by placation. Instead, he had given him another avenue to the throne he sought.

Barker opened his large wooden door. He moved around to the other side of his desk. The cushion of the chair was just as soft as he remembered. He sat there for a moment, in silence. Without letting a thought escape his mind. This was peace. This was the calm before the storm.

Barker pulled the letter from his father from the envelope.

Dear Son,

It started that way with endearment. His father, the most powerful man in the world at one time, showing some unknown affection. Barker crumbled the letter. He wasn't his father. Barker threw the letter into the trashcan. He opened the envelope with the index cards. The first name on it was Tom Poodles.

Barker picked up the phone on the side of his desk. Time to make some calls.

The Adventures of Vulpecula

Episode Six

The Black Dot

1.

People fear the unknown around them. Most people will toast a cold one to that sentiment. It's become a hackneyed theory that might as well be fact. Vulpecula didn't fear the unknown, however. Or, at least, not the unknown around him. Because, simply put, he knew the unknown.

The unknown was filled with groups like The Shock, groups that would induce the kind of fear to make someone like Comet Fowley amputate his own hand to purge himself from their wrath.

Vulpecula Noel made a toast to that, sipping from the glass bottle that shook around in his hands.

Purging oneself from The Shock only welcomed a reckoning from someone else. Every door closed was a door open to another, meaner monster.

Alcohol had such a delectable taste to it, and one that The Fox Detent had since, invariably, acquired. Not at One Step Back, his pub of choice, however. In-fact, it'd been many weeks since he'd tossed one back with his lizard friend Red.

"To The Gave!" Vulpecula mumbled to himself, though, with no emotion behind it, raising his half-empty glass of alcohol to the heavens, even though it, The Devil, he made a toast with. Or, who he wanted to make a toast against.

V made a proclamation the very night he met Red. The same day of the events that befell him in the Alo Cemetery, he promised not to follow his father's footsteps through the darkness. The very darkness that consumed his father, that led his mother astray, rendering her absentee in her son's life forever after. That night, he vowed to avoid the underbellies of a world propped up and perpetuated by plain badness and cruelty. That night, Vulpecula made a promise to live.

It took seconds of searching amongst the contents of a once cleanly assorted hotel room, now, horrid, to realize his fatal flaw was he didn't know how to live.

Horrid was not an understatement, but a statement of fact.

The room was neat and tidy as he arrived, spotless when he left the hotel key on the hook by the door, and immaculate when he hung his scarf on the rack beside that. Through time and exertion, the former Fox Detective's sloppiness prevailed, however. Strewn about were empty beer cans and used Styrofoam plates, and a vast, surprisingly definitive collection of DVDs he'd bought, blowing through his own inheritance. Happy stories, the silly ones, like animations where humans were given animal characteristics, walking and talking and frolicking about like it was no big deal, those were his favorite. They were simple and ignorant.

In the days after the morbid happenstances in the Alo Cemetery, V made himself accustom to One Step Back, visiting his dearest friend Red daily. The therapeutic gain of his companionship, however, had diminishing returns when the nightmares began to worsen. The dark thoughts were always certain to target the ones he loved. The machete that split through the camel's back was one he had about Apus.

He'd wake up yelling in the night, and, at last, decided it best to exile himself from Lacerta and Apus.

Nay, Vulpecula did not fear the unknown around him. He feared the unknown that was inside of him. For, inside of him, the Gray Fox continues its eternal journey through the pitch-black cave of his psyche, and he did so without the light and with a broken compass.

V's thoughts became mangled and depleted as his mind deteriorated. It was no longer the household of cognitive thought, but, rather, a house after moving day. A house being moved from, that is. Empty, with only the residual ghost of what once inhabited it, the only things left were the appliances the old homeowners left. The instinctual needs, like the need for sustenance and the need for alcohol to keep the monsters at bay.

It was an everyday mission, his only mission, to provide for himself, only the bare minimum. After all, it was what he deserved.

His own man now, apparently, the newly alcoholic fox arose to his feet, dizzily wobbling about the hotel room, stepping over and spilling food and drinks, staining the carpets. He used his walking stick as a cane to keep himself from taking a tumble down into the filth. The aroma of vomit in his fur was not lost on him, but he couldn't bring himself to give a damn about it. Shakily pawing at the doorknob, trying to figure out the contraption in all its splendor, he was, at last, able to make his leave.

He might have shut the door behind him, though, the second his back turned from the door, his mind was too far gone to really turn again and make for certain.

The surroundings of the hotel were much more glamorous and enticing than the confines of his room would have suggested. It had a shiny chandelier on the ceiling and dark-red carpeting that was much too blurry for him to articulate for himself. The walls were embroidered with decorative flowers and a brown trim at the floor. Beyond the scent of puke, Vulpecula smelled the scent of an air-freshener that reminded him of the great outdoors, for lack of a better description.

The Fox hiccupped and attempted to fidget with the hairs on his chin, though, every time he made the reach, he found his hand on his ears instead. The stairs had a nifty rail, a safeguard to keep his drunkenness from sending him down the steps and out of consciousness. And, with that, Vulpecula took careful steps, one, two, and three, four, five, then, six. In time, he made it to the end of the staircase, entering the main lobby of the hotel, behind a desk, a finely dressed clerk stood, not far from him.

Vulpecula didn't make eye-contact with him. Looked away from him, in-fact, and while he heard formal greeting on the store clerk's behalf, he ignored it. It was a matter of personal safety.

The crowds of men and women about the exit discouraged him, he had half a mind to try again a later date. He had gone at night-time, assuming less people would be about, and perhaps there was less, but the unease didn't subside. He knew that he needed food, that he was running low, and so, he mustered the courage to continue fourth through the exits.

The store wasn't very far, across the street and a couple of blocks. The highway scared him a lot, the only thing that scared him more was the lady at the counter of the small general store, her name was Marissa, V had a hunch she wanted to murder him. He had tried to schedule himself on the times when she wasn't there, but he found that the other cashier-person, Rob, was probably a pedophile. Rob being a pedophile didn't really pose much danger to The Fox, but he didn't really like the idea of the guy being near his food. Marissa was the flip of the coin choice, really.

The store was called Bucks and had a creepy fake human head on the sign, it sold the essentials, like soda and chips, booze and small microwaveable dinner trays.

Vulpecula entered with his muzzle pointed down toward the slick, white linoleum floor.

"Good evening," the woman, Marissa commented, but Vulpecula couldn't bring himself to return the pleasantry.

Vulpecula knew, on some level, the chances of Marissa being a murderer or Rob being a pedophile were slim to none.

They were small jokes for his entertainment that only ended up perpetuating his own paranoia. They were his over-the-top reason for feeling how he felt, which was, quite frankly, reclusive and afraid. And, while he knew the concepts were his own fabricated narrative, when he thought them, he couldn't seem to un-think them. At the sight of them, he felt, ... terrified. Terrified of what skeletons they made have hid in their closets, terrified of what he might, one day, prove himself capable of.

He walked about the aisles of the grocery store, thinking over all the things he needed to survive the next week or so. His blank chalkboard being reduced to a makeshift grocery list in his head, written in chicken scratch.

Vulpecula met the back of the store shortly, that's where they kept the alcohol after all. He reached in the pouch on his scarf to make certain he had his I.D., and then, pulled open the cooler doors to grab a box. It was then, through the opened glass door, he made eye-contact with Lacerta and Apus.

They stared back at him. They had worried looks on their faces. Vulpecula felt the box drop out from his hands and onto the floor, he could hear a broken can spitting beer out like a sprinkler system.

"My God, V, what happened to you? Where have you been all this time?" Lacerta asked, an exasperated expression on his face that illustrated his concerns.

"Are you okay?" Apus asked next, a somber tone.

Vulpecula looked at them and didn't feel a sense of comfort in his friends, didn't feel a sense of shame in them seeing him in his current state. The Fox felt anger, in-fact, he felt a rage brewing inside of him, blisteringly so, it refused to relent. The Fox felt his teeth on edge, and with no control, ran in their direction. He made a lunge toward Lacerta, who attempted to block the attack with his forearm, instead, V drove his teeth into the Lizard's flesh. Lacerta flinched instinctively, pulling away and falling on his bottom, bringing down an assortment of stocked items off the shelves as he did so.

Vulpecula's body felt the warm embrace of madness, and the white hotness of rage, but in his mind, he watched on, screaming at his lack of control. As if, somehow, he had been demoted to the passenger seat of his own self. Shoving Apus to the ground harshly, Vulpecula dragged him by his talons through one of the aisles, until, at last, snatching up a knife from a rack. In seconds, and without thought, in his mind, still screaming at the top of his lungs, Vulpecula brought the knife down into his friend's chest, piercing him as the blood left Apus' body.

The sound of his friend's plaintive screams did not fall on deaf ears, Apus shouted and hollered, begging for mercy, but The Fox did not oblige to his requests. Instead, he continued, carving the owl up like a jack o'lantern. With blood staining his white fur, The Fox looked down at what he'd done. A dead friend by his hands.

"You still with us, V?" A voice asked, a voice that Vulpecula recognized as belonging to Lacerta.

Vulpecula's eyes shot open the very second they were permitted to do so, the second the dream's clutches released him. His body shook fiercely, and he searched about his environment with hopes of explanation. His head ached, presumably from his hangover. Lacerta looked on at him with an unpleasant gaze. Around him, Vulpecula soon realized he was in the lobby of the hotel. He could hear quick footsteps, and saw a paramedic walk in-front of his line of sight. He looked down at his hands and saw they were covered in blood. A feeling of shock and fear jolted in him, and he tried to spring to his feet.

"Careful, V, why don't you just sit there until the paramedic has his say, okay?" Lacerta said, putting his hand on V's chest and pushing him back down into his chair.

Vulpecula felt his breathing speed up, his eyes roamed about crazily, until finding Apus. He brushed Lacerta away from him and ran toward his owl-friend. Apus stared back at him with a wide-eyed look. Vulpecula grabbed him and hugged him in an embrace. "I'm so sorry for what I did, I'm so sorry," Vulpecula confessed, feeling the tears rush down, dampening his fur. "I would never hurt you, ... wouldn't hurt you," he rambled repeatedly, "Wouldn't hurt you." Vulpecula felt Apus' arm over his head.

"I know, you wouldn't," Apus said, though, it did little to calm Vulpecula's nerves, in-fact, it might have worsened it, because The Fox only cried more profusely.

* * *

Vulpecula felt his eyelids spread by the doctor, a bright light was flashed in his eyes that stung, still, he did his best to remain compliant. Afterward, the doctor, a penguin, handed him a towel to wipe the blood off his paws and from his fur. A more thorough cleansing would be needed to fully remove the discoloring on his white fur, however.

"What exactly happened?" Vulpecula said, pulling the stained scarf from off his neck. He still felt light-headed, but his intoxication had been greatly slept off.

"The amount of alcohol in your body made a flight of stairs more complicated than open-heart surgery. On the way down, you hit your head and knocked yourself unconscious. You were responsive a few seconds when the hotel employees moved you, for long enough to hit the speed dial on your phone, and then, your friends came as soon as they could," the paramedic said, seeming neither amused with himself or concerned, just a by-the-books professional disposition.

Vulpecula didn't respond to him, simply sat quietly while he did his procedures. He looked around the hospital room, looked at the informative posters on the walls, the little brochure-shaped literature on what to do if you or a loved one is experiencing chest pains, and dug his claws into the paper sheet thrown over the small examination bed. Lacerta and Apus sat in chairs not far from him, themselves, also quiet. They barely said a word to him the whole ambulance ride there, though, he was far too out of it to be sociable anyways.

"Today's your lucky day, Mr. Noel. Your head was hard enough to keep yourself from having a concussion. Some moderate-to-severe bruising, but you'll only be sore for the next few weeks, at the most."

"He's free, then?" Lacerta blurted out, both Vulpecula and the doctor, Doctor Nash is what it said on his name-tag, looked at him.

"I have run a few other tests as well, but we won't find those results out for a few days. Other than that, all I can advise is that you take it easy for the next couple of days. I'll prescribe some ibuprofen for you, for if you experience any pain. I would also recommend not drinking heavily with it, assuming you care more about your stomach lining than your liver." Doctor Nash smiled at himself, clearly amused.

"Yeah, yeah, you're a penguin and you're sassy," Lacerta started, then, took Vulpecula's hand, "Come on, V, let's go!"

Vulpecula obliged, following Lacerta and Apus out from the doctor's office, walking haphazardly with each step. A small amount of paranoia overcame him with each nurse, doctor, and patient they past, but something about being amongst his friends made it easier for him.

"Where are we going?" Vulpecula said, a somber tone behind his words.

"You left the door open to your hotel room, amongst that tornado aftermath of garbage you left, it dawned on me you're in need of a decent meal. There's a small diner that isn't far from here, we'll have some coffee and food, and we'll talk." Lacerta replied, a calm tone.

"Okay," Vulpecula answered, following close behind them, his eyes pointed down, watching their feet for his guide.

Lacerta stopped in his tracks and let out a breath, looking up at Vulpecula, The Fox returned his gaze. "I'm very happy we found you, friend. I don't know where your head is at, but we'll get through this, alright?"

Vulpecula felt the tears swell up in his eyes, and nodded his head, a weak smile that he couldn't hold for very long.

"But first, might I recommend a shower?" Apus interjected.

* * *

The diner's sign introduced itself as My Place, an on-the-nose name for a restaurant, Vulpecula thought. The restaurant was small, a mom and pop's store by all definitions of the phrase. They opened the door, sounding a small bell at the entrance and heard the warm, gracious greetings of the host. Lacerta reciprocated, meanwhile, Vulpecula twiddled with the fur on his chin while he walked. Lacerta was very kind to a woman that was mostly definitely a terrorist, Vulpecula jested to himself.

They had seats at the table and began searching through the menus, which were hand-written and lamented. The area had a certain charming coziness about it. Plain beige carpeted flooring and plastic colored tables that didn't really seem to have a clear pattern or theme about them. It felt like someone's home in that sense. The waitress left them at their table, giving them time to decide on what they wanted to eat. He started them off with some drinks, however, bringing them coffee. Vulpecula usually took his coffee with milk but couldn't find it in himself to ask.

"I feel like we've seen less and less of you as of late," Lacerta said, blowing on his cup of coffee, readying it for when it came time to take a sip.

"I've been preoccupied, life outside the case work is a busy one," Vulpecula replied dryly, though, he knew his thinly veiled lie could be seen through.

"I bet," Lacerta concurred, "You worked a real number on your hotel room."

"The hotel will be reimbursed in full for the damages I've caused," Vulpecula replied, looking at his black coffee, reaching for one of the sugar packets at the side of the table.

"But, what about you? I mean, you don't exactly look your best, friend." Lacerta said.

"I'm not my best," Vulpecula seconded. "I'm far from my best. I am my worst, a million times over, I have fallen further than I have ever fallen before."

"And, how are you going to get up from it all? What will you do about it?" Lacerta asked, the waitress returned, Lacerta smiled at him and explained they'd need a little bit more time. After the waitress left, however, his attention went back to Vulpecula.

"I don't know," Vulpecula said, he felt a warmness in his chest that told him the water-works were about to rush in again. He fought them back. "I don't know what I'm going to do about it, Lacerta."

A couple of moments passed of silence, Vulpecula used it as a chance to rifle through the menus of food. He figured it best that they had a clear answer the next time the waitress came, or else she might be mad at them. The next time the waitress came by, Vulpecula asked for a BBQ veggie burger, seasoned with peppers and spices. It also came with a side of fries. The waitress asked him to spell his name, meaning to write it on the Styrofoam box as was, apparently, customary for the restaurant. However, he found himself unable to remember how. Lately, the nervousness caused by social interaction with a stranger made him light-headed and forgetful, he'd forget to breathe which caused the light-headedness ... which caused more forgetfulness. He had the waitress write "V" instead.

"Do you remember the first time I met you?" Lacerta said, at last, looking over at V.

"You called me Vulva Noel and took my walking stick and shoved it in the exhaust pipe of the Principal's car, knowing she'd find me and give me detention for a month," Vulpecula said, chomping down on his burger.

"Yeah, but do you know why I did it?" Lacerta asked.

"Because you had a mean, alpha father who instilled feelings of deep insecurity in you and your lack of masculinity, and so, you felt the need to overcompensate by harassing someone weaker than yourself." Vulpecula answered, a weak, but sly smile on his face as he did so.

"Hmm," is all Lacerta said, at first, "I also did it because I was envious of you. You were Henley Noel's kid, that guy took down The Canes, and everyone loved you. But then, when I met the real you, I realized that you didn't really like you. You didn't like your father, and, at first, I thought it was ego. That you didn't like him because, no matter what you did, you'd never be anything but Hensley's son. But, then, I realized it was the exact opposite, and that you empathized with, well, everybody. Even the Canes."

Lacerta chuckled some at the thought, "After all they'd done, you stood up for them. I remember one kid, something Russ, you," Lacerta continued.

"Emmett Russ," Vulpecula corrected.

"He was being bullied and you went out of your way to befriend him, the son of Henley Noel, the king of foxes, the guy that brought the dogs back to their place, was a dog lover!" Lacerta explained.

"Emmett wasn't part of The Canes, but by association, was vilified. His Dad was an angry man and lost his job when The Canes fell from power, Emmett came to school with black-eyes and bruises. Nobody cared," Vulpecula said.

"Everyone was busy celebrating their freedom, and celebrating that dogs were finally getting what was coming to them, but you saw things differently. And, in the years after, I only saw more of that from you. I found that you were pure," Lacerta smiled, biting into his food, "And, that, the only time you liked you, was when you felt like you actually helped somebody or stopped an individual who was bad."

"I don't think I am as good as what you think of me, I'm not that person. I'm bad. I have these thoughts and I don't know what," Vulpecula started to confess, defiant against Lacerta's false claims.

"But, I learned that, with extreme highs, come extreme lows, and soon, I realized how bad it could take its toll on you. And, it does take its toll, doesn't it?" Lacerta interrupted him.

".... Yeah," Vulpecula said, "Yeah, yeah, it does."

"The ability to empathize with so many, in so many situations, when you see cats like Akil and Ajou, it takes its toll because you try to understand them and that hurts."

"I didn't expect it. I walk hand-in-hand with good and bad, on a path, and it all works out, but doing what I do, it makes a fork in the road. I venture into the darkness to make myself understand, I venture on, but lately, I'm having trouble finding my way back. And, it seems like, now, I've went beyond the point of return, I can't forget what I've already seen. Alcohol helps with that."

"That's no way to live though, is it?"

"I don't know how to live, all I know is how to solve cases, and if I keep doing that, it will probably kill me." Vulpecula said, resting his hands on the table.

"But if you keep up like this, it will kill you too." Lacerta countered.

Vulpecula laughed. "So, either way, I'm a martyr, it's all about the cause I choose."

"No, you can choose to join a Twelve Step Program, nip alcoholism, Apus and I will stand behind you with that. You don't ever have to solve a case ever again and have your whole life ahead of you. Your inheritance left you enough to pursue a plethora of opportunities to help people. You can walk away from all of this. This doesn't have to be you, if you don't want it to be. Just don't stand in the way of yourself and choose happiness, choose the life you know you deserve."

2.

Vulpecula arose from his bed and headed down the stairs, it was time for a new day. His fur better kempt than it had been in weeks, he wore a suit and a hollow smile. He hoped that one day the smile would be something more than simply a facade. Holding his phone in his hands, he thumbed through the text messages he'd been given by Psitticus. He had been ignoring them in recent weeks but was surprised that the parrot's offer remained on the table.

With many events befalling the Marybeth Police Department, they had been in search of new blood. Vulpecula fit the bill in that regard.

The texts gave him an address, advising him that Urgway's Head Detective (the man standing even above Psitticus) had requested to personally conduct the assessment and oriental period of his replacement.

Vulpecula did his best to feign sociability when he entered the taxi driver's vehicle. It was one of the many missions that found itself written on his black chalkboard. In the hope that he'd one day be able to find himself co-existing with everyone around him on a happier level. Part of him didn't believe it, but the other part of him did. He wanted it to work. To find happiness and do what needed to be done. He really wanted it to work.

As they arrived at their destination, The Fox Detective smiled at his taxi-driver, who reciprocated the grin. Vulpecula handed him a mess of coin, letting him keep the change.

Up the stairs he went, until, at last, meeting the entrance into the massive building, one of the biggest, most likely the biggest, building in all Urgway. It was the building where all the taxpayer's money had evidently been invested. How the rest of Urgway looked like an eye sour, this building had a marvelous integrity about it. The aesthetic stood out like a sore thumb.

Vulpecula walked about the building, smiling and nodding at everyone around him, faking it up with his finely tailored clothes and upright disposition. In due time, he found the elevator, it was Floor 22 where the Head Detective's floor was located.

Vulpecula pressed the button and let out a breath as the doors closed before him. He knew what he was signing up for. People like Akil and Ajou that would pose dead corpses for their own entertainment, and groups like The Shock that would terrify people like Comet Fowley into amputating themselves. He was signing up for more of it, and likely, a lot worse things than that. But, if nothing else, at least he was working among the same group of people that brought The Shock to justice, people that could make a difference. It was the life he knew he deserved, after all.

The elevator doors opened, a feeling of anxiety came over The Fox Detective with every footstep he made. He wasn't certain if it was the worrisome kind or the excited kind, but he walked forward, looking about the Head Detective's enormous office.

The office was mostly bare bones, with renovations surely to come in later days.

Vulpecula took a seat in-front of the oak desk. A mirror stood behind it, one where Vulpecula was able to get a good look at himself.

Vulpecula adjusted his collar but found that it wasn't himself staring back at him in the mirror. It was the familiar face of the gray fox, more vivid than ever. V took in another breath and let it leave him, he closed his eyes, and looked again.

At last, he saw himself in the mirror. Things were going to get better. To set himself on the proper path and find light within the dark or risk the yin and yang of himself turn completely dark, a black dot.

He turned when he heard the dinging elevator. The elevator opened.

"Hello, Sanec Barker."

Every door closed is a door open to another, greater opportunity.

