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The Fire Triangle
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Part Two:
Oxidizer
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Chapter 9: Conor's Story
(Continued...Part 6)
♪ Well, that voice might come when you're taking your pleasure
The voice might come when you're resting your bones
Seek you out when you're sad or smiling
Drags you down when you think you're alone.
Just when you think that your horses are running
Just when you think that you're fixing to win
There's that wandering deep inside you
Who's gonna save you from the rattle within? ♫
Richard Thompson - The Rattle Within
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Erin Hopps felt as if a pair of scales had dropped from her eyes; at last, things were becoming clear. Yes, Conor had poisoned that poor Okapi kid-but it hadn't been his fault; he'd been tricked into doing it. And even then, he hadn't offered up that can of pop to Chester Whatsisface; the big jerk had MADE him give it over.
And yet...after all that, after all this time, still he blamed himself for what had happened. And that, the young doe-bunny suspected, had been only the first of many more guilt-trips to come. At long last, she was beginning to understand what had motivated that crazy silver fox to come up with...a...
Well, you couldn't call it a loan-shark scheme, not anymore...not if that was all the 'interest' he'd charged. But even so...finally, she got it; the whole thing had been an act of atonement. While she didn't necessarily agree with Conor's moneylending op, at least now she understood the reasoning behind it.
To a lesser degree, the same held true for the way he'd drawn first blood in his fight with Judy. The more she heard about Granite Point, the more it sounded like the kind of place where if you didn't move first, you never moved again!
But still...
By rights, she should hate that fox-kid's guts for what he'd done to her sister. Truth be told, a part of her still did. Except...ever since the other night, when he'd come to her aid against Craig Guilford, her animosity towards him had been fading by degrees. And now it was rapidly disappearing. If the alternative to going on the attack against Judy had been going back to that horrible place...Ohhhh, she had never felt so torn.
"You don't know what kind of kid I am," Conor had told her once, and she hadn't-not then, anyway. But now, finally, she was beginning to get the idea.
Conor Lewis was a survivor, pure and simple; a fox who wasn't going down without a fight...all the way to the finish line. He'd do anything to protect himself and never think twice about it. The fact that he was here, with her, after getting his face broken, being sent to Granite Point, and then finding himself Shanghaied into The Enforcers by that psycho sea-mink, Wez McCrodon-that was all the proof she needed.
But...how had he managed to survive that place? Well, there was only one way she was going to get an answer to that question.
And so, the young, white-furred bunny once more settled down to listen, face cradled in her paws.
It took less than a week for things to fall into a routine...but it wasn't your normal routine, even for Juvie-not when you were running with The Enforcers. As I'm sure you know, Mr. Rodenberg, one of the biggest problems you have behind bars is just plain boredom.
Not in that crew there wasn't; we always had things happening. For starters there were our two main activities; troublemakers to be 'taken care of' and snitches to be silenced.
One thing I learned fairly quickly was that we didn't always deal directly with our targets. The thing Wez had me pull on that okapi kid was actually Standard Procedure with The Enforcers-and lemme tell you, our bag of dirty tricks ran deep. For example, if we knew that a search was coming up, we might plant a weapon in a guy's cell, in a place where he wouldn't think to look for it-but the guards would. Another favorite gimmick was to add an item to a guy's care package...one that would give him a nasty surprise when he opened it. Or...we might get one of the dudes who owed us a favor to start a rumor that this or that kid was a snitch. Even if we never acted on it, it was guaranteed to give the mark a whole bunch of sleepless nights. But our all-time favorite stunt was to lure the target into a trap. That was my job when I was first with the crew.
How...? Ahhh, I'll give you an example. This one time I was on my way down from the second level when I passed this brown bear kid, headed upstairs. As he went by me, he made a remark about my face. I waited until he was at the top of the steps and then turned around and yelled through my paws. "Hey PLUSHIE-bear, you don't talk to me that way!"
"What'd you call me?" he spun around, wide eyed, like he couldn't believe a fox kid would dare to diss him. It must have shown on my face, coz he let out a roar they could have heard clear down in Bulltimore, "You need some schoolin' broke-face!" And with that he came charging down the stairs at me, not realizing that there was now a trip-line between us, courtesy of Dave 'Stuke' Stuckey, the giant flying squirrel kid I mentioned earlier. Stuke had been clinging to the underside of the stairs the whole time, and when the bear kid hit the wire, he went tail over teakettle, all the way to the bottom step. He ended up with a sprained elbow, a broken ankle, and a minor concussion. The whole time he was in the infirmary he kept swearing to...uh, let's just say it was very graphic. And it was all the excuse The Mammal needed to toss both him and his cellmate in The Hole-before he was healed up enough to go there. When he came out though, nothing happened. By then, he knew I was with The Enforcers and that I'd been acting under orders from the guards.
We had other jobs besides dealing out pain, though. For example, we used to officiate at the Sunday Boxing Matches, I'll tell you more about them in a minute. And sometimes we'd mediate gripes between other gangs; we were the one crew you could count on to stay neutral.
Oh yeah, there were all kinds of gangs in The Point. The biggest one was the Ragers, a crew out of Zoowark. We got along with them okay though. I remember one time when their main guy Capper Lee, a Cape Buffalo, sat down for a talk with Wez.
"You may have heard, one my boyz, Lenzy, bin talkin' to the Mammal."
"I've been hearing some things," Wez answered, nodding, and looking a little surprised, "You want him handled?"
Capper immediately shook his head. "No, I know how y'all feel 'bout snitches, but I want you to leave this one be." And he then thumbed himself in the chest, snorting, "The Ragers takes care of our own."
And they did. I won't say how, but the upshot was that The Point was locked down for three days.
The Ragers also controlled most of the gambling in Granite Point. There was always betting going on in that place. And of course, with gambling comes loan-sharking.
Nooooo, Erin...I had nothing to do with any of that. The Jukes handled most of the moneylending. None of those side-hustles would have been possible, though, without the guards looking the other way. Like I said before, they were easy to bribe-and that was where The Enforcers came in, serving as their bag-animals and always taking a cut for ourselves.
Oh yeah, we had our own side hustle going; dealing in prohibited electronics. Y'know...cell-phones, portable game consoles, that kind of thing. Burner phones were a huge item. Wez used to have them brought in with the food shipments...and no one ever saw a thing. I don't think he used bribery, though, not entirely anyway. Though he never said, I was fairly certain he had some dirt on a few of the guards. Later on, I was 100% sure.
Heh, have to admit, that gear-hustle was quite the racket. None of the items we sold came with chargers. You had to bring them back and have us charge 'em up again...for a price. And...oh, you need some more batteries for your Game-Kit? Welllll...let's see...
Scorp, the honey-badger kid, was the guy mostly in charge of that gig. Cutter, Krat, and Jawbone, the hyena-kid, served as our crew's muscle. Stoney, the red kangaroo guy did some of that too-most mammals don't realize it, but 'roos are one seriously strong animal. He was also our interceptor; if a target saw us coming and tried to make a break for it, it was his job to cut them off-and pity the poor fool who thought he could get away from THAT kid. Stoney could jump from the ground floor clear up to the third level walkway in a single bound; I saw him do it. Stuke Stuckey, the flying squirrel kid was our message-guy and go-between. If The Mammal wanted us to 'take care of' a detainee, they would usually send word through him. He was also our go-to guy for setting traps and planting contraband in other kids' cells.
I never did learn the real names of those shrew-kids, but their nicks were Needle and Thread and they served as our eyes and ears, they could go places nobody else could go, and they knew Granite Point like the back of their paws. They were also short-tailed shrews, which meant they had the ability to echolocate. And THAT meant they had super-sharp hearing. If Wez found out some kid had been talking to The Mammal, 90% of the time it was Needle. and/or Thread that brought him the word. In fact, they were the ones who'd told him Beale was snitching.
And me...? Well, obviously my gig as bait-fox couldn't last forever. Eventually the word would get around that I was The Enforcers' set-up guy. When it finally did, I could have hit another kid with a rock and he wouldn't have come after me.
Okay, I'm exaggerating...I wasn't completely untouchable. The rule with the Enforcers went like this, if another kid JUMPED you, the rest of our guys would be all over him in a Zoo York second. But...if he challenged you to a fight-"All right jerk, let's go to The Yard and throw down!"-in that case, you were expected to stand up for yourself, no help from the outside. That rule went double if YOU were the one who had issued the challenge...and it applied to every single one of us, even Crazy Wez himself.
Heh...and that was where that sea-mink really lived up to his name. He'd take on anyone, regardless of size or species; even apex preds, who'd claw him or beat the snot out of him. But he never backed down, and never took revenge when he lost. That earned him a lot of respect from the other kids. Even Bug-Juice, who couldn't stand the sight of him, had to own up to a grudging admiration.
Now, getting back to something I mentioned a minute ago. In Granite Point there were two ways you could challenge a guy to a fight. Number one, just duke it out right then and there. Or...number two, you could dare him to 'Fight you on Sunday.' On paper, these were supposed to be regulation boxing matches, run by the Olympic rules. In practice, the only thing regulation about them was that they were held in an actual boxing ring. Other than that, they were tooth-and-claw street fights by any other name. No gloves, no head protection-and no breaks. You kept going until one or the other of you either quit or was incapable of continuing any further.
Heh, you've heard, no doubt Mr. Rodenberg about how this or that prison is a gladiator school. Ah, Lemmingworth was like that? Uh-huh, I can imagine, but for all practical purposes, Granite Point was an officially sanctioned gladiator school. The guards just loved those Sunday fights. Seriously, we'd have guys show up to watch even when they weren't even on duty. They liked to bet on those matches too. On rare occasions, they might even step into the ring themselves...like the time this bighorn sheep, a guy named Block, accused this other bighorn ram, Gordon, of messing around with his girlfriend.
Nah...all they did was knock heads for five minutes. What a stinker! They got booed out of the ring, and it was one of the few times the guards and the kids agreed on something.
No...I didn't get into any fights myself, not for a while anyway. I watched myself very carefully, and thanks to my role as bait-fox, guys were very leery of taking me on. For all they knew, they might be walking into an ambush if they went after me. As for the Sunday Fights...it just plain never happened, and I had no idea why. Part of it was that if you wanted to fight another kid on Sunday, the rule was that the two of you had to be more or less evenly matched. That was the guards' doing. Like I said, they enjoyed betting on those fights, and who wants to lay down their cash on a tank job?
Another reason, I thought, was that if another kid challenged an Enforcer to fight them on Sunday, the usual response was, "The heck with Sunday, let's go NOW!"
And, of course, our crew did the officiating at the Sunday matches. In the event that one of our guys did end up in the ring, we'd recuse ourselves, but even so...I never saw an Enforcer in a Sunday fight where he wasn't the one who'd issued the challenge.
Usually that was Cutty, and in all the time I knew that leopard-kid, I never saw him lose. As for me, the need to issue 'the challenge', simply didn't happen.
That is...until this new kid arrived at The Point.
He was a Binturong...or Bearcat, depending on who you ask, and his name was Arch Overloon. Along with me was the youngest kid in the place, and he was...
Well-l-l, I wouldn't say ANYONE deserved to be sent to Granite Point...but, like a lot of other kids I met while I was there, he for sure belonged in a maximum-security lock-up.
Glad you asked, Erin. Seems this girl he liked-but had never spoken to-was being picked on by the Mean-GurlZ at his school. Soooo, Arch decided to settle the issue, once and for all...by showing up for class one morning with a sawed-off carbine and 300 rounds of ammo. Unfortunately for him-but lucky for his classmates-his next-door neighbor saw him leaving the house with a gun-barrel sticking out of his backpack. When he arrived at school, the cops were waiting, and they took him down before he could do any damage.
What got him sent to The Point, though, was his behavior in court. Every time an officer touched him, he'd tell them...uh, to put it in more civilized language, "Get your blankety-blank paws offa me, mother-blanker."
And did I mention that this kid was just starting middle school? Yep.
Normally, I would have had nothing to do with a psycho-jerk like that...but like I already said, this punk was anything but normal. And, just my luck, the ringleader of the Mean GurlZ at his school had been, wait for it...not just a fox, but a silver fox. You can guess where it went from there; Arch started harassing me non-stop. He'd knock my food onto the floor in the chow hall, try to trip me up in the lavatory, or step on my tail when I walked past him. I could have gone to Wez and told him I was having trouble, but I knew that if I did, he'd start to look at me funny. Was I capable of handling myself...or not? He'd protect me, but my standing with The Enforcers would suffer a major hit.
So, the next time Arch, the Loon-that's what I called him-the next time he stepped on my tail, I grabbed it with both paws and yanked it out from under him, giving myself a nice sprain. As for binturong-boy, he fell over backwards and came up with his claws and fangs bared. "You blankety-blank, I'll murder you!"
"Then that's what's gonna happen, jerk!" I snarled, returning the gesture. I was ready to go right now, but then someone took hold of my shoulder and pushed past me.
It was Wez McCrodon.
"What do YOU want, blank-blank?" Arch demanded, paws on hips, and still showing his fangs. Holy foxtrot, did this moron not know who he was talking to...or did he just not care? In any event, Wez didn't seem to hear him.
"Hey Loon-Boy...what's this I'm hearin', that yas been talking to the Mammal 'bout one of my guys?"
That was enough to make even this head-case back off. The one thing you NEVER wanted to hear from Crazy Wez, was that he suspected you of snitching Just the same, Loon-boy never stopped showing his fangs.
"Who the blank told you that?" He growled, "I never, blankety-blank, snitched on nobody!"
"Good," Wez lifted his nose as if sniffing the air. "And if I were you, I'd keep it that way. Stay away from my crew and keep your stinkin' mouth shut...or else." And with that, he grabbed me around the shoulders, and began to whisk me away, pausing only to shoot a finger back in Arch's direction. "And I better not find out you're lying!" To drive home the point, he pulled a thumb across his throat.
And then we left.
As soon as we were out of earshot...I just couldn't keep from asking.
"That punk's been snitching on me?" Holy foxtrot, I knew I was on his list...but THAT high up?
Wez just frowned and shook his head, "Nahhhh."
Wha...? I wondered, but then I remembered. He'd accused that binturong kid of squealing on one of The Enforcers, not me specifically.
"Okay, who was it?"
Wez gave me a lopsided look. "Nobody; I just said that to get you out of there."
I felt my ears go back and my neck hair spiking. I couldn't believe... Was this the same sea-mink kid who was always making speeches about fighting your own battles?
"What the...? Why'd you do that for? I can handle that jerk!"
"Nope," Wez rubbed at his nose, and half shook his head, "No, you can't."
Whoa, I was that close to telling him what he could do with his stupid Enforcers-and how far.
But then he laid a paw on my shoulder. "We gotta toughen you up and teach you some things first."
I cooled down at once. Okay...so he didn't think I couldn't take care of myself, he just thought I wasn't ready. All right, THAT I could live with.
We started the next morning, with Cutty overseeing my training. That first day, he basically ran me ragged-a lap around the yard, 100 sit-ups, another lap, 100 push-ups, one more lap, and 100 deep knee bends. By the time I was done, I was ready to crawl back into my cell, and my tail felt like it was going to crack and break off at the base; remember that sprain? Cut, who'd been matching me rep for rep, and step for step. wasn't even breathing hard.
But as time went by, I got stronger and stronger, until I was able to do 1000 reps of each exercise plus a hundred laps around the yard. Only then did Cutty take me into the gym. "We built up your wind; now we got to build up you strength." By then, I had learned to trust that leopard-kid's judgment without question.
'The gym 'barely fit the definition. A few donated items, and the rest of it jury-rigged. The barbells were paint-cans of varying sizes, filled with cement, and the kettle bells were rocks, with holes drilled through them and handles attached. And, of course, there were tires with drag chains.
I remember that there was usually a guard on duty, at least when it was crowded. And there had to be; it would have total chaos otherwise. Guys were always getting into arguments and there were only about a zillion different items lying around that would have made dandy weapons. Anyone walking in or out of the place had to submit to a search if a guard was hanging, and that included The Enforcers, too. I saw more fight challenges issued in there than anywhere else in The Point.
And on the subject of the Sunday boxing matches, Wez started putting me in as the referee for some of those fights.
Heh, gotta admit...that sea-mink knew what he was doing; I saw all different kinds of fighting styles and tactics, up close and fursonal. Afterwards, I'd go over what I'd seen with Cutty, and he would explain to me why this guy had won and that guy had lost, and what he should have done instead. After a while, I was able to anticipate this or that fighter's next move. I also got good at spotting cheats-and there were always cheats. One favorite trick was to smuggle in some of that flea-powder in a toilet-paper tube-and then blow it in your opponent's face.
I remember one time-when I wasn't officiating, lemme make clear-this jackal kid and this bobcat kid pulled that dodge on each other at the exact same moment...and then insisted on going on with the fight. Hoo boy, I never saw the guards laugh so hard, watching those guys stumble around the ring, throwing claw-swipes and punches at empty air. Even Lurch was practically rolling on the ground.
Of course, it wasn't funny, not really. Both of those kids nearly went blind....and even when their sight came back, it was never as good as before.
Yeah, right...sorry. What...?
Yep, you're dead right, Mr. Rodenberg. My diet was not 'conducive to putting on muscle.' Wez, however, was one step ahead of the game. he started having these hi-potency insect-protein bars smuggled into The Point.
Ewwww, those things tasted sooo awful. Cutty practically had to stand over me with a pipe to get me to eat them. They did the job though; my strength and stamina shot up big time after I started munching on those bad boys.
In the meantime, I was also learning how to use different kinds of weapons, knives, chains, and whatever. Crazy Wez's favorite toy was a thing he called a shalmin; a pipe, wrapped in newspaper to prevent cuts. Ooooo, he was a master with that thing. He could beat a target half to death with one of those bad boys, and never leave a mark.
And that brings up a related subject. One day, I was sitting in my cell, reading a book I'd borrowed from Stuke, when I heard someone rapping on the bars.
It was Crazy Wez
"Put it away, Z-Face...you got work to do."
I immediately felt my tail start to frizz. 'You got work' was Wez-speak for, "There's someone who needs a tail-kicking."
Whoa-boy...I had known this day was coming from the moment I'd been recruited into The Enforcers. Sooner or later the job of administering pain to another kid would fall to me. And try as I might, I couldn't hide my distress -not from this sea-mink.
He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head "You got a problem with that?" His voice was like a chip on his shoulder.
Lucky for me, I had an escape hatch.
"Well," I shrugged, "Didn't you tell me yesterday that I still wasn't ready to fight in the ring?"
"Oh, right," he said and snapped his fingers, "Forgot about that. No worries, you'll be able to handle this, no sweat. It's a couple of rodents."
If that was supposed to boost my confidence, it had exactly the opposite effect-especially when I found out who the target was-the Mearns brothers, the two grasshopper mice who'd come in on the bus with me.
But at least now I was able to keep my feelings under wraps.
"Okay...is this for the guards, or...?"
"The guards," he answered quickly, and then proceeded to give me the lowdown. Normally, he never did that. He'd tell you the name of the target, maybe say what he wanted done, and that was it. Why he made an exception this time, I have no idea. Maybe it was because this was my first assignment...or maybe it was because he seemed to find the story so amusing. And I have to admit, if it hadn't been me who was supposed to 'take care' of those mice, I might have enjoyed a chuckle or two myself.
One morning, someone spotted a tarantula in the commissary. Everyone immediately freaked out-everyone that is, but the Mearns brothers. They not only didn't run away, they rushed to the attack. They jumped that spider and killed it, and then they threw back their heads and howled.
And then they took it back to their cell-and ate it. Like I said before, grasshopper mice will chow down on just about anything venomous.
Unfortunately, what the Mearnses didn't know was...that particular tarantula had been somebody's pet, and it had belonged to one of the meanest guards in The Point, a puma by the name of Ravenclaw. Wez sniggered as he related how Blackbird-that's what the kids called him-how he'd cried like a baby when they'd brought him what was left of his beloved Boris. After that, he'd had no trouble tracking down the culprits. The Mearns brother hadn't exactly been discreet about killing that tarantula, and why should they? They'd had no idea their dinner belonged to anybody.
Yep...you're 100% right Mr. Rodenberg. It was strictly against the rules for Ravenclaw to have brought that thing into Granite Point-and it was only by threatening to have him canned that Lurch was able to persuade him to let The Enforcers handle it.
"Okay," I said, figuring the best thing was to get this over with as soon as possible, "where are they now, in the gym?" I used to see them in there all the time, when Cutty brought me in for my training sessions. For barbells, they used rocks glued to lollipop sticks; they were both way strong for their species.
"Yep," Wez nodded, sighing...and for the first time, I realized that he didn't care much for this assignment either. Nonetheless, "Go take care of it," he said, pointing me in the direction of the gym.
What happened next felt like the longest walk ever. With every step I took, I was praying that The Mearns Brothers wouldn't be there when I arrived...or that at least there'd be a guard present.
No such luck; I spotted them as soon as I walked through the door. Ben was doing bench presses while his brother Bob spotted him.
And there was no sign of a correctional officer anywhere.
For some reason, I got angry right then. I had no idea why...but I knew where to go with it. I raised my head and fox-screamed. At once everything screeched to a halt, and everyone was staring at me.
"All right, clear out; I got business in here."
Yep Erin...yes, they did. Surprised me too, when I saw it, though it shouldn't have. By now everyone in The Point knew what had happened to Boris the tarantula...and it was also common knowledge that I was with The Enforcers. Soon as I gave the word, everyone laid for the door, including...
"Not you!" I snarled, waving the Mearns brothers back, "You stay here."
They didn't make it easy for me. As soon as the others were gone, they drew themselves up to their full height, tails straight, arms folded, and looking me right in the eye. There wasn't so much as an ounce of fear in either one of them.
"This about the spider?" Ben asked me, simply.
"You know it is," I growled. Aggggh, grrr...couldn't these mice have sniveled just a little bit?
"Ah well," his brother shrugged, "better you that moron, Blackbird I guess. Do what you have to do, fox."
And I did, I found a piece of rope and laid into them. I won't say exactly what I did, but they took it like alphas, both of them. They screamed bloody murder, but they never begged, never tried to run away. Heck, they never even tried to dodge me. And when I was finished, they stood up and howled as if they had just kicked MY tail. When I left the gym, it was the closest I came to tears since my arrival at Granite Point.
But I wasn't quite finished yet. I still had to go and inform Wez that the job was done. When I described what had happened with Ben and Bob Mearns, he surprised me by nodding sympathetically.
"That's how it is in The Enforcers, Z"-it was the first time he ever called me that-"A lotta times we have to do work we don't like or even that we hate. It's lame, but there it is."
It went from lame to ludicrous, when the guards tried to question the Mearns brothers about what happened in the gym. They insisted they'd gotten their injuries in a fight with each other and never once mentioned my name. They also described for Ravenclaw how delicious his pet tarantula had tasted, and it had taken Lurch, plus two other guards to restrain him. THAT little stunt earned those grasshopper mice an extra five days in The Hole. Brother Bob later told me that he didn't care; it was worth it.
And when Wez heard the story, he nearly laughed himself sick. "Whoa-ho! If we had an opening, I'd bring those guys into The Enforcers right now!"
Yep, Mr. Rodenberg...I did say that. Eventually the Mearns boys did join our crew. But that's a story for later and...
Listen Erin, I have to say it...if you think what I told you so far is disturbing...
Ohhh-kayyyy, have it your own way, bunny girl...but don't say I didn't warn you.
What...no, they didn't send the rest of the brothers' crew to The Hole-for the simple reason they didn't belong to one, not yet anyway. And that was another reason for the collective punishment policy; to keep kids from wanting to join a gang. Didn't work, but they never changed it.
I should mention here that while the collective responsibility rule didn't apply to The Enforcers, there were zero restrictions against punishing us individually. Even Crazy Wez got sent to Total Isolation from time to time; it was The Mammal's way of letting him know who really ran The Point. That, and they never did learn to tolerate his 'anti-snitch' policy.
As my training continued and I got stronger, I got tagged more and more often for 'work.' But always as back-up or-if we were dealing with an informer-as lookout; I never again flew solo. Not because Wez didn't trust me, but because none of those gigs involved kids I could have handled alone. I picked up a lot of other skills, as well. How to tell when someone was carrying a weapon, how to pick a mark's pocket, or-vice-versa-how to plant something on them. My main job with the Enforcers though was serving as our resident hunter.
You see, like in most joints, there were very few secrets in The Point. If a kid was marked as snitch, or fingered by the Mammal, he'd often know it even before Wez got the word. And then the next thing he'd do was try to keep from getting what was coming to him. He'd trade cells with another kid, find himself a hidey-hole, and just generally try to keep moving. If it was The Mammal who'd put the mark on him-and if he was in a crew-his buds would sometimes band together to keep him out of sight.
That was where I came in. If our target up and pulled a vanishing act, it became my job to track him down. This was another place where my skills at Ringolevio came in handy. Eventually I got so good at it, the guards used to take bets on how long it would take me to find a guy. Once, they even targeted a kid who hadn't done a darn thing wrong, just to test me
Nope, I never even thought about refusing, not after Wez put his stamp on it...uhmmmm...
Ohhh-kayy, I guess now is as good a time as any to say it. And I might as well tell it straight up. The Enforcers were more than just your average jailhouse crew. In fact, you really couldn't call us a gang at all, we were actually more of a cult.
Don't laugh, Erin. I'm serious over here. The guys in that outfit would walk over hot coals to get an attaboy from Wez McCrodon...and yeah, that included me for a while. When I told him that guards were sending me to hunt down a guy just for the heck of it, all he said was, "Okay, what are you waiting for?"
That was it...Wez McCrodon had given the word, and it was all I needed to hear.
And I wasn't the only one in that category. Krat, the rhino kid, was easily the biggest and toughest animal in The Enforcers...but he once told me, "Every time Crazy Wez gives me the look, it feels like he TOWERIN' over me."
It might have gone on like that forever, except...well, that cult thing was a two-way street.
What I mean Mr. Rodenberg is that it was having as much of an effect on Wez as it was on the rest of us. Every day, in every way, he was becoming more and more full of himself. You know...'Wrong...ME? Don't be ridiculous!' that kind of thing.
Yes, exactly...and yeah, eventually it did. You are soooo right about that.
Anyway...one day I went to the gym for my regular workout, and instead of Cutty, I found Wez waiting for me, just outside the door. As I started to go in, he stopped me with a paw on my shoulder.
"Arch Overloon is in there-and you're ready, Z." That was all he said-and it was all he needed to say. I knew what was expected of me.
Not that I would have needed much prodding; this was a day I'd been itching for. I stormed into the workout room, and there was that binturong kid, in the middle of doing some bench presses. It was the Mearns Brothers all over again-except this time, I was up for it. For a minute, I thought about pulling a favorite trick of The Enforcers on him-tickling his ribs to make him drop the weights on his chest. If this had been a job for The Mammal, I might have, but it wasn't, it was fursonal. And so, I waited until he was done with his reps before confronting him.
"Get up, punk!"
All around me, everything stopped. A few of the smaller mammals made for the door, but most just gathered around to watch.
"What'd you call me, boomerang?" Arch sat up so fast, he almost tipped the bench over.
I showed him my fangs and all of my teeth.
"Out," I snarled, "I'm calling you out, loon-boy," Just to make sure he got the point, I stuck two fingers in my chest, "You think I've forgotten about all that scrap you laid on me when you first got here? Ehhhh, wrong! You and me, jerk-this Sunday-in the ring!"
He literally flew off the bench, and for a second, I thought he was going to go for me right then. But then he glanced over my shoulder, and stopped in his tracks. I didn't have to look to know who was there.
Arch didn't stay stopped for long, though.
"You got it, fox...and I'm gonna blank you up! "
Yep, you're right; the only reason Loon-Boy held back was because my crew-chief was there. If he had decided to go after me right away, Wez would have been perfectly within his rights to jump in to help me-he wouldn't, but he could have. Sunday, on the other paw, was a whole different thing. If you ran into the ring to help a guy during one of those fights...forget it! You and the guy you were trying to help were both on your way to The Hole, and if you were part of a crew, they'd all go with you. It happened twice while I was refereeing, although that second time, the kid trying to help was stopped before he got even halfway to the ropes. Because of that, he was the only one who got sent to...Okay, okay!
When Sunday came...well, obviously none of the guys in the Enforcers were gonna be able to officiate my fight. I wondered who the heck they'd get...but I was gonna have to wait to find out. My fight against Arch the Loon was second to last on the card.
Cutty served as ref for those first three fights, all of which were total slugging matches; he was known to allow any tactic, short of bringing a shank into the ring. That was another thing that could get you and all your buds sent to...
Okay, okay-y-y...I'm getting on with it. But I wasn't rambling.
When my turn came and I climbed through the ropes...Oh, foxtrot! The guards had tagged none other than Bug-Juice as the ref.
Bug, as I mentioned before, was head of the Southside Jukes. He was a marine otter, not to be confused with a sea otter, a much larger species, and like I also said, he and Wez McCrodon got along famously-like the famous Ratfields and McCoons!
The question for me was...did Bug's animosity towards my crew-chief also extend to me? It didn't help much that the moment he stepped into the ring, Wez was on his feet, screaming for the guards to 'get that punk OUTTA there!' It was only when Lurch told him to shut the heck up that he finally put a sock in it.
What's that, now? Did I think...?
Geez, make up your mind, willya Mr. Rodenberg? One minute you're telling me to get on with it and the next, you're interrupting me.
Okay...yeah, the thought did cross my mind. Since when is there NOT the occasional fix when there's betting on a fight? I never saw it happen when I was playing ref, but I'd heard about it a few times.
But before I tell you the rest...you need to know something. My fight with Arch the Loon did NOT go the way you think it would have gone. I'm looking at you, Erin Hopps, you follow what I'm bringing out? Sorry, but I promised to tell you everything...and that's what you're going to get. Look, I meant it over here; even your worst case scenario is nothing like what actually went down in that ring. Are you sure you want to...?
Ohhhh-kayyy...
There was no bell. One of the guards would blow a whistle to start a fight. While we waited for the signal, Arch and I kept laying trash talk on each other, mostly about my face on his side of the exchange. I remember telling him at one point, "Hey, at least I wasn't born ugly!"
That got me a round of laughter and even some applause. Binturongs are not noted for their good looks.
And then the whistle blew and it was game on!
Arch threw the first punch, a hard-right that would have knocked me senseless if he'd connected. A few weeks earlier, it would have-but thanks to my training, I was ready. I slid underneath and swiped with my claws, raking his midsection. Arch doubled halfway over, clutching his belly. I jumped up in a classic fox pounce and came down on his head with a double-fisted hammer-blow, driving him face first into the canvas. For a second, I dared to hope that I'd knocked him out, but he was up again after less than a second.
And then he turned and ran from the ring; jumped over the ropes and just kept going. Everyone was booing, even Bug Juice-who finally just grabbed my arm and raised it, and then left the ring without even...
Whoa, incominnnng!
Oops, missed me...hee-hee-hee! What's the matter Erin? Didn't I WARN you to expect the unexpected? And really, Snowdrop...no offense, but you throw like a bunny and-OW! Hey, that hurt!
Okay, seriously...Even I couldn't help thinking that I'd won that fight a little too easily-and I wasn't the only one. For days afterwards, I heard kids grumbling that Arch had only bailed coz Wez had threatened him. Even without asking, I knew it wasn't true. That sea-mink kid had a lot of problems, but he was never a cheat. Heck, if he'd ever found out who started that rumor, he'd have ripped their lungs out. Just the same, he came to me afterwards, swearing up and down that he'd had nothing to do with what happened. And it hadn't been coz of any interference by the guards either. I later found I'd been the 2-1 favorite in that fight; by then it was pretty much common knowledge that I'd been training under Cutty.
Nope, it was all legit...and my first exposure to a principal I've seen play out time and time again since that fight. All too often, the guy with the most mouth is the one with the least guts. Two days later, Arch Overloon was shipped off to The Clinic. The word around the yard was that he was practically a vegetable.
But, as I soon discovered, there are other kinds of courage besides physical.
The kid's name was Marc Shevaldo, he was a pygmy hippopotamus whose family had come to Zoo Jersey from Pattes-au-Prints, Haiti when he was a cub...and then abandoned him. He showed up about a week and a half after my fight with Arch.
Marc was like no other kid in The Point. I knew that from the moment I got my first look at him. He had this...air of dignity about him that I'd never seen in any other detainee. He was also seriously skinny for his species, and I soon discovered the reason. Back at the Johnstone Campus, he'd led a hunger strike in protest of the inadequate medical care and the AKER guys had reacted predictably. They'd tacked another full year onto his sentence and scattered the hunger-strikers to different facilities, reserving the worst of the worst for the ringleader...meaning him.
That made him the ONLY kid in Granite Point who'd been sent there for a non-violent offense...during my time, that is.
I had very mixed feelings about him. His little gesture had accomplished exactly nothing, but on the other paw, no way had he not had a legitimate gripe. Nobody knew better than I did about the rotten medical care at the Johnstone Campus-and I had the face to prove it.
Wez McCrodon however had no such reservations. As a rule, he didn't like kids who made waves, they had a habit of getting everyone in trouble. In fact, the word had already come down from the Warden's office. This hippo-kid was to be told, in no uncertain terms; if he even so much as thought about pulling any of his shenanigans in the Point, the Enforcers were going to come down on him hard, 'with both feet and both paws;' that was how Lurch put it. He was to be given one warning, and that was it.
We drew straws to see who would deliver the message. And, just my luck, I got the short one...though these days I'm honestly not so sure if it was bad luck or good.
I found Marc in his cell, reading from a book with a title I couldn't make out, by some guy named Thor-something.
Yeah, yeah...I know what it was now, Walden by Thoreau...but I didn't know it then.
Anyway...Like I said, he was a pygmy hippo and he was small even for that species, no bigger than your average pig. It made him look younger than his actual age. I pegged him to be around fourteen, or maybe fifteen. I later found out he was actually two years older than that.
He was also alone at that particular moment...something that pleased me to no end, though I couldn't say exactly why. I was there to deliver a message, not a tail-kicking; didn't matter if anyone saw me, or not.
I rapped on the bars of his cell and growled.
"Hey...Marky-Marc."
He rolled off the bed and stood up...with a big smile on his face.
"Ah...you are Al Murphy, yes?" He spoke with just the barest hint of a creole accent. "I am Marc Shev...valdo. Sorry, I have trouble getting used to it. Pleased to meet you," he said and stuck out a hoof.
That had the effect of shifting my brain into neutral; what the fox?
I shrugged it off and growled again, ignoring his hoof. "Hey stupid, this isn't a social call!"
He didn't seem to hear me. "But then Alain Murphy isn't the name you were born with-any more than Marc Shevaldo is my birth name." His eyes narrowed, and he gave me a penetrating look. "Is it?"
Bang! I forgot all about the reason I was there. Wez had told me that there were other kids in the Jersey Juvie system who'd had name changes forced on them, but I'd never met one face to face.
...Until now.
"Then you don't have any family either, am I right?" I sneered. Just to let him know I wasn't some rube he could mind-game.
Oh yes, I was...the next thing he told me nearly blew me right through the bars.
"Correct. And I might also guess that you also are here on a sentence you did not deserve?"
What the FOX? How the heck had he...?
Before I could finish the thought, he was already answering me.
"You et moi are the only two of our kind here in-how do you call it-Le Point...eh, THE Point...at least that I know of so far." He folded his arms and drew himself up to his full height. Geez, all of a sudden, he wasn't a pygmy any more but a giant. "But there are many more of our kind in the other Zoo Jersey youth-jails. I met at least three others in Johnstone, and three more in the Training School."
The Training School was the State of Zoo Jersey's minimum security juvenile facility. It was quite the fall this hippo kid had taken, starting out there and ending up here.
And...how had he ended up here again? Agggghhh, grrrrrr...riiiight; for the reason I'd been sent here to deliver that message-which I still hadn't done. Oooo, Wez was not gonna be pleased with me when he heard.
"Yeah, whatever...listen, hipster..."
That was as far as I got; he burst out laughing. "Ehhh good one, silver fox!"
Oooo, now this smart-face was really starting to get under my pelt. I let out my best fox-scream...and that finally made him sit up and pay attention.
"That's better," I snarled, laying my ears back, "Now listen up...MARC! I came here to tell you that The Mammal isn't gonna put up with any of your troublemaking-like you pulled back at the Johnstone Campus-here in Granite Point." I leaned in close, thumbing myself in the chest, "And that goes double for The Enforcers, got that? You try any funny stuff, here and you'll be answering to Wez McCrodon." I hissed and showed him all my teeth, "and believe me, he doesn't ask easy questions."
Marc didn't even flinch.
"Very well," he shrugged, and then flopped back down on his cot and resumed his reading, dismissing me with a wave of his hoof. Oooo, if I'd only had one of the heavies with me.
"What, that's all you got to say?"
He only shrugged again. "I heard you, Alain...and you may tell Wez McCrodon that I understand what will happen if I 'make trouble,' as you say it."
Ohhh, heck...was that a yes, or a no? I felt like I was arguing with an echo chamber. I decided to cut my losses and get the heck out of there. I'd completed my assignment and there was no reason for me to hang any longer.
"Good...and if I were you, I'd keep it in mind. C-ya. Hipster."
I turned to go...but if I was done with him, he wasn't quite finished with me.
"Before you go...were you also dissuaded from demanding a lawyer?"
Yep...I reacted exactly the same way as you, Mr. Rodenberg-froze up like I was paralyzed or something.
...until I heard him say, "That is another thing we share with many others in the Jersey Juvies...kids who were also told...."
That was as far as he got before I bolted. Whoa, now my feet couldn't stop moving. I was halfway back to my cell before I started to slow down. And it was only then that I finally realized something. The whole time I'd been talking to that hippo kid, he'd never once mentioned my face, never even stared at it the way everyone else did when they first met me.
Ahhh...I knew you were gonna ask me that, Mr. Rodenberg. And I'm sorry, but I never spoke to him again. When I told Crazy Wez what happened, he blew six different kinds of gaskets.
Yes, Erin...yes, I told him; he'd have found out for himself anyway. He always found out.
And God only knows what would have happened then. As it was, he was halfway ready to take my head off. No kidding guys, Scorp later told me that they heard him clear out in The Yard.
"YOU DUMB FOX, letting the punk hippo jerk you around that! What's matter with you; did the guy who wrecked your face do a number on your brain, too? You had one job, Z-Face...ONE! STINKIN'! JOB! Ahhhh, I knew I shoulda gone myself!"
He went on like that for maybe ten more minutes and then issued a proclamation.
"Listen fox, and listen good...from now on you're to have NOTHING to do with that sawed-off hippo punk. You don't talk to him, you don't look at him...you don't even think about him, got that? As a matter of fact..."
He turned and spoke to Cutty, Thread, and Needle, who were also there at the time.
"Nobody in our crew is to get within a hundred feet of that guy-except to kick his tail. Anyone who does is out of The Enforcers; spread the word!"
"Yeah, Wez!" they answered in unison and then took off, glad to be gone.
He watched them go and then looked at me again.
"As for you-get outta my sight!"
I was more than happy to oblige him.
Worried though I was that Wez might kick me out of the Enforcers-even without any further mess-ups on my part-I was a whole lot more confused. Holy foxtrot, I had known he'd be torqued at me, but I'd never expected a stinkin' conniption.
But if it was strictly taboo for me to talk TO Marc Shevaldo, there was no rule that said I couldn't talk about him...which I did, making inquiries all over The Point; just what the heck was this hippo-kid's story? I asked everybody I could think of, even one of the guards. But my biggest source of info turned out to be his cellmate, a sheep named Bobby Merino.
"You tell Crazy Wez...I got nothing to do with that fool. I've been begging to be transferred to another cell ever since they put him in with me. He's gonna cause majorly trouble one of these days...you just watch."
He then went on to tell me that Marc had first been arrested for posting an online expose on the foster-care facility where he'd been living.
I know, right? Since when is that a crime? Well, the state sure thought so, they called it disinformation and online harassment and gave him three months detention at the Training School. But if they thought that was gonna shut him up, they were seriously mistaken. A month later he was pinched for trying to organize a sit-down strike. Something about the learning programs at the Training School being basically a joke; I don't know the details. He had six more months tacked onto his sentence, and got kicked up to the Johnstone Campus-where, like I said, he organized that hunger strike.
"He's gonna pull something here, too," Bobby insisted, "He never talks about it, but I can feel it in my bones." He was so terrified at the thought; his wool was actually standing on end.
No, Erin...Wez didn't come down on me for my 'fact-finding mission' as you put it...ha-ha, really cute. You see, everything I learned, I passed to him as soon as I picked it up. He was so happy for the intel he even forgave me for my earlier mess up. "Now, you're gettin' the idea, Z."
What he didn't know was that I'd picked up a lot of other tidbits...stuff I didn't share with him-or anybody else.
But I'll tell you, Mr. Rodenberg, coz you're going to want to hear this. Marc had been dead right; the Zoo Jersey juvenile detention facilities were full of kids who didn't belong there; first offenders, minor offenders, kids who'd done stuff that should have been good for probation at worst, even kids who hadn't committed any crime. Time and again, I heard about kids getting sent to Jersey Juvie just for watching another kid vandalize a fence, or steal from a store, or whatever.
Sorry, no...I didn't get any specifics. I never met any of those kids face to face...they almost never ended up in The Point. The only ones there during my time were me and the hippo-kid-who-shall-not-be-talked-to. Everything else I picked up was second-paw, and nobody ever named names. That being said, I heard it so many times, and from so many different kids. I just plain had to believe that there was something dirty going on.
But what I DID hear directly, and from two other guys, was that they had also been told not to bother with a lawyer. And I had to believe them, coz they were none other than the Mearns brothers, the most straight-talking pair of rodents I've ever known...uh, back then, I mean.
No, Wez never did find out about the other questions I'd been asking. Mostly that was dumb luck. He might have heard, but then...
It started one morning, right after breakfast-which for once, was a decent meal, much to the surprise of just about everybody. When we were done, they marched us out to the yard and assembled us in rows. It was cold out and it had rained the day before. All of us desperately wanted to get back inside, but they kept us like that for a good half hour.
And then the guards began walking down the lines, passing out brooms, mops, buckets, sponges, and other cleaning tools-I was given a long-handled squeegee.
When that was done, the one-armed wonder, Warden Argyll came out to speak to us. Whoa, now we knew something serious was about to go down. That Marco-Polo sheep almost never put in an appearance with the detainees. Seriously, there were guys in that crowd who had to be told who he was. And what he had to say to us was...that today was the beginning of clean-up week, and that if we knew what was good for us, "By Saturday evening, Granite Point had better put the spic in span."
I know, right? What a dork...straight outta South Bark! I never heard so many kids trying not to groan.
We did a lot more groaning before the day was through; they worked us like stinkin' galley slaves. No kidding, they even made periodic announcements over the PA, telling us to 'put our backs into it-as if we weren't already.
The real surprise came just before the noon break, when a cleaning crew from FurPro showed up. We hoped against hope that they were there to relieve us, but sorry kids...as soon as lunch was over it was back to the salt mines. Even so...whoa, it looked like The Mammal was seriously serious about getting that place cleaned up. I wanted sooo badly to know what the heck was going on, but none of the kids I was working with had any more clues than me.
It wasn't until I caught up with Wez after we were done-five minutes before lights out, I might add-that I finally got my answer.
"There's only one reason this ever happens, Z," he gasped, almost completely out of breath. Sheesh, what the heck had they had HIM doing all day? "There's an inspection coming up, and they want The Point to look decent before it gets here."
Ahhh, okay...that made sense. So did what he told me next.
The bad news was we could expect more work-days like this one for the rest of the week. The good news was that we could also expect some decent food, and plenty of it, for the duration, plus clean sheets and bedding, and fresh coveralls. The best news was we-meaning The Enforcers-would get a day off on the day before the inspection.
"The Mammal wants us rested, coz on the day it happens, it'll be our job to make sure the other kids keep their mouths shut." It was another thing that made perfect sense. "And if we pass the inspection, we'll get another week of good eats."
Yep, there it was again...the old Carrot-and-Stick routine.
Unfortunately, this time there was also a wrench...
It was nice outside when we reported for work the next day...but I couldn't help feeling uneasy. One group of about twenty kids was standing separately from the rest of us, maybe ten feet off to the left...and front and center of that group was none other than Marc Shevaldo.
To this day, I have to wonder why the guards didn't break up those guys and make 'em stand with the rest of us. They knew that hippo-kid's reputation...didn't they see what was coming?
Or...maybe they did and they welcomed it.
Things started off pretty much as they had the day before. After being issued our tools, we were treated to another speech by the warden...who spent five minutes telling us what a good job we'd done the day before, and then another fifteen, telling us that it hadn't been good enough.
When he finished up, Lurch took over. "All right, you heard The Superintendent...get to work."
Everyone didn't get to work. All the kids with Marc Shevaldo threw down their tools and refused to move.
That brought Lurch stomping over, along with two other guards.
"Hey, you little snots, I thought I told you to get to work."
They just stood there, not even looking at him. You can guess what he thought of that.
"HEY...WHAT DID I JUST SAY?
Someone rapped me on the shoulder; it was Crazy Wez, along with Stoney and Jawbone. "Come on Z, we gotta get over there. On the way, we picked up the rest of the crew, but it turned out to be an unnecessary gesture. When we got there, Lurch just waved us off with his stick.
"Back in line; I got this."
Meanwhile The Warden had just shown up...and he was not a happy camper.
"What's going on here? Why aren't these boys at work?"
It was Marc Shevaldo who answered him, stepping forward and thrusting out his chin defiantly.
"Bad enough that you abuse us and make us live in filth," he said, speaking loud enough for the rest of us to hear.
"Now, you listen, you little..." Lurch snarled, waving his stick. He might as well have been brandishing a stalk of grass for all the effect it was having. Marc raised his voice even further.
"But if you want to cover it up, you can do it yourselves! WE WON'T HELP YOU!" And then he looked right at Wez McCrodon. "Some of us have our pride!" he bellowed...and it took me, Cutty, and Scorp, to hold him back, plus a guard, blocking the way.
As for Lurch, it was a good thing he wasn't packing anything lethal; I can only imagine what would have happened. Warden Argyll, on the other paw, didn't look bothered at all.
"All right, let's discuss this" he said, stepping forward and putting a hoof on Marc's shoulder. And then glancing sideways for just the barest of second, he gave the polar-bear on his right an almost imperceptible nod.
At once, Lurch's finger shot out, "Knife!"
In a move I would have missed if I'd blinked, Argyll threw his good arm around the back of Marc's head and slammed him in the head with his horns...full-force and right between the eyes. At the same time, I saw a knife go tumbling to the ground...a brand new, bright, shiny K-Bear. I didn't see where it came from but no kid in The Point ever walked around with a shank like THAT.
Marc, meanwhile, went down without even a grunt, out cold.
"You just never did know when to let it go." Argyll sighed and shook his head, more in sorrow than in anger. And then to Lurch he said. "Better send him to The Clinic, Sergeant. It doesn't look good."
They made us stand at attention until he was taken away...and then Lurch stood up in front the rest of the refuseniks and kind of smirked. "Does anyone else have a weapon they want to pull?"
No one answered and his growl became a roar.
"Then pick up those tools and GET YOUR TAILS TO WORK!"
I wish I could tell you that they all stood firm...but I'd be lying if I did. For a second or two, it seemed as if they might. But then this deer-kid-the same one who'd come in on the bus with me and mouthed off to that polar bear-reached down and picked up the broom he'd dropped. That was the ice-breaker. Within half a second, all of the others were following his lead. None of them moved quickly and I thought I saw two of them crying.
Uhm, no actually... that wasn't the last my last encounter with Marc Shevaldo. There was one other...
Oops...someone's at the door. You wanna get that Erin?
Hi Doctor...what brings you...? Whoa, it's that time already? Sorry guys...we'll pick this up again when he's done with me.