Disclaimer: Zootopia stories, characters, settings, and properties belong to the Walt Disney Co. This story is written under Fair Use Copyright laws.
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The Fire Triangle - A Zootopia Fanfiction
Prologue - Escape From Zoo York
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Chapter 4
Zeke Zinnemann was like a grenade with the pin pulled...20 seconds ago!
"COPS!" The Alaskan Brown Bear roared; he sounded as if he was trying to be heard over the rush of a speeding freight-train, "CAWWWWWWPS!"
The effect on the others was galvanic; everyone was instantly on their feet, with half the gang making fast draws inside their coats, (except for Denis McCrodon who paused to give his wheelchair-bound brother a look that could snuff out an oil-well explosion.)
The Mister either didn't notice or didn't care-or maybe he was simply too deep in denial to take notice of his brother. Whatever the reason, he was already halfway out of his seat.
"What?! That jerk wouldn't dare, he knows what I got on him!"
He pulled out his cell phone, punching in numbers with furious fingers.
Meanwhile Gerry McCrodon had Zeke Zinneman by the arm.
"How many, Zeke? How may cops?"
The bear shrugged and shivered and then answered him in a voice like a squeaky wagon wheel.
"E-Every cop on the force, it looks like."
The dance floor fell instantly into shocked silence; what, THAT many officers?
But then, above their heads, the billboard-size big-screen flashed to life and a multi-screen image appeared-Finagles' parking lot, deserted and empty, the only sign of life a scattering of papers, tumbling across the lower end of the screen.
Everyone looked...and saw that the 'cell phone' in the Mister's paw was actually the video remote, and that he was holding it high over his head, as if preparing to cast it down like Zeus hurling a thunderbolt.
"Don't, you'll break it," some started to say, but the sea-mink had already tossed the remote to one of his body guards and seized Zeke by the shirt-front.
"Cops?" he snarled, pulling himself nose to nose with the brown bear and throwing an angry paw upwards at the display screen, "WHAT cops? You see any cops up there, moron?!"
But when the sea-mink happened to glance sideways, hrm? Why were none of others sharing his anger at Zeke? In fact...why did they seem more horrified than ever?
Slowly, haltingly, The Mister turned to look up at the monitor again.
He nearly fell over sideways in his chair; the parking lot wasn't empty NOW, it was wall to wall police officers out there...all of them in tac-gear, and many of them fitted out with large-caliber weapons. Clearly visible behind the officers was a phalanx of armored vehicles.
"Where the heck did they get that stuff?" an incredulous Gerry McCrodon demanded, of no one in particular, "There ain't that many tanks in the whole, stinkin' Zoo York Lion Guard!"
Someone might have answered him but just then, as the gang-members all stared upwards in shocked amazement, the screen filled briefly with a flurry of snow, and when it blew away, the parking lot was once more deserted...and there were those same papers, blowing across the bottom of the screen like a scrolling newsfeed.
A half-second later the snowstorm returned, and when it was gone, the police line was visible once more.
...with one notable change; now the answer to Gerry McCrodons's question was plain for all to see; of the armored fursonell carriers ringing the club perhaps only a third were police vehicles. The rest were all done up not in police blue, but in stark, gray, urban camo. The biggest of them, a six-wheeled brute with a Bighorn sheep standing in the turret also bore a clearly visible logo on the front-not 'ZYPD', but 'ASM'
That was when The Mister finally realized who was really pulling the strings. (He knew that combination of letters; knew it all too well.)
He grabbed for his cell (the real one this time) and began to dial frantically, staring at the screen with teeth bared and paw trembling waiting for the connection.
After several more seconds he made a sound and began to dial again.
The room jumped as he let out a shriek and dialed another number.
...and another...
...and another...
...and another.
He tried to send a text message-nothing.
He tried to open his email account-no go.
...and then he was gazing dumbly into the display screen.
For a long moment nobody spoke, nobody moved; it was as if every member of The Company had looked straight into the face of Mewdusa
But then from somewhere to the west, the thrumming cadence of a helicopter became audible...faintly at first, but then it began to rapidly increase in volume, swelling upward outward until it echoed the length and breadth of the dance-floor. In mere seconds, the members of the gang were crouching in their seats and covering their heads against the din.
And then an amplified voice was heard, booming over the sound of the chopper blades, haranguing them in a badly-rendered Scots accent.
"You! Yes...YOU! Stannnnd stilllll, Laddie!"
The declaration ended in a high, maniacal laugh...and then the voice lost its accent and turned deadly serious.
"No one here gets out alive, McCrodon...and neither does his so-called LEVERAGE!"
The Mister recognized the speaker at once; though he had never met him face to face, he knew who it was all right.
And he also knew a sudden, sharp ache that seemed to take his breath away. He clutched at his chest as the chopper peeled away and the rotor noise faded to a dull drumbeat. Almost at once, a second amplified voice was heard, this one coming from ground level-not as loud as the one from the helicopter, but not muffled by any background noise either.
"Attention, inside the building! This is the Zoo York City Police Department! We have you surrounded. Throw down your weapons and come out with your paws and hooves raised. You have fifteen minutes to comply. Attention, inside the building..."
The first to recover was Muggs. "Mister McCrodon. What do we...?
The head of the table was empty. Not only was The Mister nowhere to be seen, but his bodyguards had also....no wait, the bears had stayed put, but all that was visible of them was the crest of their backs above the tabletop.
The other gang members exchange puzzled looks, and then Denis McCrodon dropped down on one knee and peered underneat the conference table.
His brother was curled up on his side in a fetal position, with one of the bears holding the oxygen mask over his muzzle. His eyes were like two glass beads, and when the bear removed the mask for a second, it revealed a slack mouth and lips the color of faded denim.
Denis slapped himself with a face-pawlm. He had wanted to ice Mr. Stupid himself.
Meanwhile, the loudspeaker continued its lethal warning: "Throw down your weapons and come out with your paws and hooves raised..."
------------------------------------
Down below, in the boiler room, Danny, Dylan, and Kieran could hear it too...faint, but still discernable
"You have fourteen minutes and thirty seconds to comply..."
Even though his uncle had not been able to get through to him, Kieran McCrodon had known what to do the instant the helicopter had begun its tirade. He was already logged onto Brenda, headset in place and fingers at the ready.
...while he stared, dazed and confused, at the display screen.
"What do you mean, 'they're gone!'" Danny Tipperin was gaping over the sea-mink's shoulder, looking even more bewildered than his partner.
"Oi mean they're gone, Danny." Kieran answered, typing feverishly and speaking in a half-choked voice. "Not just deleted, they're shredded...every file in the folder." He pounded his fists on the console, causing the keyboard to jump a good two inches, "Someone ran 'em though Earthmink Fine-Shred. Even I can't get 'em back."
"But you backed 'em up in The Cloud, right?" Dylan's young voice came from behind; he may not have known what was in those files, but you better believe he knew how The Druid operated.
"Right, I did that." The sea-mink acknowledged, forcing his breathing to slow down, "Trouble is I don't know if even I can retrieve 'em quick enough. They're ransomware-level encoded, only way t' keep anyone else from...AGGGGH! NO!"
He raised another fist, ready to punch out the monitor. Danny grabbed for his elbow, but Kieran was already lowering his arm, his voice both strained and hollow
"We've no internet boyo, the DSLs are down; somehow they got to every single line, even the backup."
Danny gasped and his dark eyes went wide with horror; even he hadn't expected THIS big a pre-emptive coup.
In a trembling voice he asked, "Okay, then what about...?"
But the sea mink was already shaking his head.
"No Wi-Fi either, I checked," he said, then added in a voice of quiet despair, "There's not even the dial-up, not that it'd help much anyways."
From somewhere up above they heard: "Attention, inside the building! This is..."
Danny sagged in defeat...but then he straightened up and snapped his fingers.
"Wai-ai-ai-aiiiiit a second, hang on Druid. Didn't you tell me something once-about how ya can use a cell-phone to make a fursonal hot-spot?"
The sea-mink reeled backwards, staring wide-eyed.
"Sweet mother MacCroon, Daniel. D'yer know how much the phone companies CHARGE fer that...?"
"Kie-RAN!"
"All right, all riiiiight!"
He waved his paws at the ceiling and then grabbed for his cell-phone.
"...have you surrounded. Throw down your..."
...and immediately lowered it, emitting a pathetic twisted groan.
"Now what?" Danny demanded; the first notes of panic were starting to creep into his voice.
Kieran showed him the cell-phone screen. In the upper left corner, the words, 'No Service' were clearly visible.
"They've got us, boyo." He told the swift-fox quietly, "We're p*wned."
"You now have eleven minutes and thirty seconds..."
The warning droned on as a wave of resignation washed over the boiler-room, broken finally by the small voice of Dylan Yeats.
"Danny?"
The swift fox tried to wave him off. "Not now, kid."
"...Zoo York City Police Department!"
But the younger fox would not be deterred, not now.
"Danny, I don't wanna go back to Granite Point." He said. There was no fear in his voice, no anxiety, only an air of simple, quiet determination.
The swift-fox turned on him, ears back and fur spiking. He couldn't remember the last time he'd lost his temper with Dylan Yeats-but then, how often did you find yourself in this situation?
"Hey, what did I just say?"
In other circumstances the silver fox would have silenced himself at once. Not here, not now; he grabbed hold of Danny's coat sleeve, his voice firm and steady, (although Kieran could see that his tail was anything but.)
"I know it's a lot to ask...but please, don't let me go back there." He looked away, towards a corner somewhere. "I-I can't go back to The Point, not again." His eyes found Danny's again...plaintive, beseeching, even though his voice was as steady as True North. "Please Danny."
Danny jerked away from Dylan as if the young fox's his paw had suddenly become a glowing coal, his eyes and mouth both wide with shock. Beside him, Kieran was looking even more horrified. Did the kid really just ask his partner to...?
"...Throw down your weapons and come out with..."
But then Danny's mouth hardened into a thin, straight line, and his eyes became a mixture of flint and steel.
"You're not going back there, kid." He promised, "Because you're gonna be gone when the cops get here."
He laid a paw on the younger fox's shoulder, and looked at Kieran. "Need your help over here, Druid. Bring that." He pointed to the laptop case on the task table.
"Right!" the sea-mink answered with the same stony resolve. (He had already guessed what his partner has in mind.) He snatched up the laptop and tucked it back under his arm..
"You now have ten minutes to comply. Attention...!"
A moment later, Danny and Kieran were grunting and heaving, as they pushed a bank of steel filing cabinets away from the wall of a corridor. It seemed like a wasted exercise; behind the row of cabinets there appeared to be nothing more than worn masonry.
Or...was there? Danny felt around the edges of a brick, found something and pulled.
With a grinding squeal, a hatchway popped open in the wall, a set-up not unlike the door to Dylan's room but smaller; the approximate diameter of a small mammal oil-drum. Just beyond, the opening a passageway was faintly visible, sloping upwards and away. Danny gave it a quick inspection with a mini-flashlight and then nodded, and turned to Dylan.
"There, kid...there's your way out. It's not in any of the plans, so the cops won't know it's there." He said this while looking at Kieran who confirmed it with a quick, tight nod. And then he got down on one knee again and put a paw on the younger fox's shoulder. "That's not to say you're home free, kid. That tunnel comes right out in the middle of the parking lot. You might get grabbed by the cops the second you're outta there...but it still beats sittin' here, just waiting for it." His face became momentarily hard again, "And don't even think about asking me what you were gonna ask a minute ago. I swear, I'll turn your little, bushy-tailed butt over to the cops MYSELF!"
The young fox swallowed and nodded...but then he seemed to realize something; he looked at the escape hatch, then back at Danny, and then at Kieran.
"You're not...?"
"It's also too late for us, Dylan." Danny answered with a stoic sigh, "Even if me and The Druid could make it through that hole, we'd only be putting things off for a while." He gave the silver fox's shoulder a small squeeze.
"But it's not too late for you." He said and passed over the backpack. "Here, take it...take it and go make the trade. It's all yours now, kid."
He looked over at Kieran who nodded and picked up the thread,
"After yer've got the cash Dylan, dial that first number on your cell that I told you 'bout and follow the instructions. It'll get ye's to safety and tell yer how to retrieve the codes and passwords you'll need from the Cloud."
Dylan started to say something, but the sea-mink immediately raised a paw.
"Wait a minute, boy...Oi'm not done yet."
"...ten minutes to comply. Attention, inside the..."
He passed the laptop case to the young fox and then fiddled in his pocket for a second, producing the thumb-drive he showed to Danny earlier.
""Yer'll want this as well, I think." He said, pressing it into Dylan's paw with an air of great reverence, the Lady of the Lake entrusting Arthur with Excalibur.
The gravity of Kieran's act was apparently lost on Dylan. The young fox studied the flash-drive minutely for a second, and then looked up with a puzzled expression on his face.
"Wh-What's this for?" he asked.
Kieran sniggered and pointed with a crooked finger, offended not at all by Dylan's blankness.
"It's yer new identity, boyo. Made it up special. When yer get to where there's Wi-Fi, boot up the laptop and plug in that drive. All ye've got to do then is double click the icon and enter yer password. The app wizard will take ye's through the set-up."
Conor blinked up at the sea-mink for a second.
"New identity?" he asked, putting the thumb-drive away, VERY carefully. "What's my new name?"
The Druid winked at him. "Any name you want, boyo; weren't you once told you could pick yer own name when you got older?"
"We have you surrounded. Throw down your..."
"What he said, kid." Danny nodded. He pointed to the escape hatch and then upwards, towards the parking lot. "It's your life now, so go get that money and go live it,"
Dylan wasn't going anywhere, not yet. Instead he threw his arms around the swift fox's neck, hugging him tight.
Or that is, he tried to; Danny immediately pushed him off.
"Hey, heyyyyy, none of that kid," He growled, becoming once more stern as a vice principal, "You get your tail up that chute and right now, you hear me? MOVE!"
With Danny and Kieran's help, Conor slipped the laptop into his duffle-bag, then pushed it and the backpack into the chute and climbed in after them. As soon as he was inside, Danny closed the hidden door behind him and then he and Kieran pushed the file cabinets back in front of it.
"...your weapons and come out with your paws and hooves..."
When they were done, Danny's voice was trembling and it felt like there was a burning billiard ball caught in his throat.
"Ya know, I'm kinda glad it's over, Druid." He sniffed, "I was gettin' too soft for this stuff anyway."
"Aye, know what yer mean, Danny-boy." Kieran answered, also sniffing and wiping a paw across his eyes.
"...eight minutes and thirty second to comply."
"Yeah, yeah...we're comin', coppers." Danny Tipperin growled impatiently, reaching into his coat pocket while Kieran did the same.
-------------------------------------------
Outside Finagles, fifteen minutes earlier...
"Here's your lattes, Captain....Commissioner."
Captain Gilberto Anta, ZYPD took the cup and sniffed tentatively at the contents; good, they'd remembered the nutmeg this time.
He curled his long snout upwards and took an exploratory sip. Mmmph, darn...it had already begun to cool, why was there never microwave around when you needed one?
His displeasure over the coffee notwithstanding, Gil Anta was a happy tapir; today would see the end of The Company once and for all...and proof positive that the arrangement between the Zoo York City Police Department and Aker Security Management Corporation had been nothing short of a stroke of genius.
And HE would get a feather in his cap, a big, honking ostrich feather!
Of course, the lion's share of the credit belonged to the Aurochs bull standing beside him; more than any other mammal it had been Police Commissioner Ted Waghorn who had pushed the proposition through the city council and cajoled the mayor's office into signing off on it.
It had begun, as so many of these things do with a budget shortfall and a tax revolt. And in the wake of that perfect storm the ZYPD had found itself unable to meet its expenses. So acute was the crises that the Zoo York City council had been forced to convene in emergency session to attempt to resolve the matter.
What resulted instead was deadlock.
"Cut police services." One side declared.
"We can't do that." Said the other, "They've already slashed everything down to the bone."
"Well we can't raise taxes either." The first side rejoined, "They (the voters) will run us out of town on a rail."
No one wanted to argue with that, and so the session had dragged on and on and on...
But then lo, Police Commissioner Theodore Waghorn had taken the floor and offered a proposition.
"Okay, you think we can't trim our budget any more than we have already?" he'd said, flexing his massive shoulders and staring directly across the conference table. "Oh yes we can, and I can tell you exactly how and where make the cut."
None of the mammals present had been particularly interested in hearing his idea; as far as they were concerned the Aurochs was a blowhard who'd already managed to rub more than half of them the wrong way. However after six hours of stalemate, they were willing to listen to practically anything and so assistant Mayor Freed had reluctantly told him to get on with it.
Waghorn's proposal had centered on the ZYPD SWAT teams and other emergency service units. On a day to day basis, most of them were superfluous, spending half their time in training exercises because there wasn't any need for them on the street.
"Yeah, but if this city ever faces a real crises, we're going to need every single one of them." Mel Jakoby, a civet from The Broncs had pointed out.
"Exactly!" Waghorn had bugled and laid out his proposal.
Two years previously, the State of Zoo York had opted to follow the lead of Zoo Jersey and privatize their youth corrections. The firm tasked with the job, Aker Correctional Corp, had performed brilliantly in that capacity, (at least according to the politicians who had signed off on the deal.)
"Aker Correctional is a division of Aker Security Corporation," the Aurochs pointed out, "One of the three largest private security corporations in the business; their officers are both highly trained and highly motivated-and they've got fursonell to spare. What I propose is that we go ahead and cut back on SWAT and other spec police operations-as council-mammal Berk suggested-and contract privately with Aker Security to provide us with emergency back-up fursonell on an on-call basis. That way we're only paying for extra paws on the ground when we need them."
Nobody applauded; the reaction for the others was lukewarm at best and arctic frigid at the worst. Aldermammal Jake Makai, a leopard and an ex-cop from Barklyn was foursquare against the proposal.
"No way!" he'd flatly told the group, "Those Aker Security mammals are trained in military operations, not law enforcement. Haven't we gone down that road far enough already?"
In the end however, Waghorn's proposal had passed by exactly two votes. Nobody'd liked it but nobody had been able to come up with anything better-and they needed to leave that meeting with something to show the public.
Even so, it was only the first hurdle; Waghorn still had to get his proposal past the Mayor's office and-even more difficult-the Police Union.
That was where Gilberto Anta had come in. Nobody would ever mistake him for a street cop; the last time he'd worn body armor had been at the police academy and the most lethal weapon he carried these days was a decades-old can of jaguar repellant. But what the tapir lacked in street-cred he more than made up for in political savvy. In the end, he'd gotten the Union to sign off on the deal, however reluctantly and made himself a dozen new enemies in the process-including one Zoo York City Police Detective in particular who'd been a thorn in his side ever since.
Looking over the rows of troopers waiting to go in, Anta allowed himself a smile of self-satisfaction; very shortly that thorn was going to be eating his words with croutons. Without the intel Aker had provided, this operation could never have come off. (It was only right their guys should be allowed to take the point.)
Of course the paw-wringers in the media wouldn't like it when they learned the ZYPD was sending in private contractors as the lead element on a police raid, but by the time they found that out, it would be all over but the shouting and The Company would be out of business...
His ear went up as he became aware that Waghorn was speaking to him.
"I like the way you have everything arrayed." The bull said pointing with his cup-hoof to the lines of vehicles and figures in tac-gear, "You can hardly tell that the Aker boys are set up to take point; only about half the front ranks are their animals."
"Yep," the tapir answered, "When the balloon goes up our officers are under orders to hold back and give them a two-minute head start." He did not bother to mention that the order of had been given at Aker's insistence, not his own.
"Good," the Aurochs nodded, and then suddenly he was pointing again, but this time with an angry finger. "You there, get those animals back behind the line!" He was speaking to an Elk in tac-gear and aiming his finger at a trio of raccoons who had just vaulted one of the concrete barricades. The elk nearly gave him an insolent look but then checked it when he saw who was hailing him. Instead he fired off a crisp salute and hurried to obey.
"Zoo Yorkers." Waghorn shook his head while nearly spitting out the words, "Wherever there's action, they just have to get in close and never mind the risk to themselves."
"And that's only the citizens," Anta agreed, raising his coffee-cup as if proposing a toast, "The press is something like ten times worse." And he thought, "but at least I don't have to worry about keeping..."
It was as if some dark trickster-god had overheard the tapir's musings and decided to have a jest at his expense. From over on his right, he heard Waghorn blow an irate note though his nostrils. "What the...! What the hoot is HE doing here?"
The tapir looked...and then his coffee cup was tumbling to the deck. Twenty yards away, a dark-furred figure in an overcoat was working his way through the crowd in their direction.
"Pennanti!" Anta muttered, coming as close to a growl as was possible for his species.
Waghorn snorted, turning angry eyes on his subordinate. "I though you sent him to..."
"I did!" the tapir rejoined. (With anyone of lesser rank he would have added, 'pendejo!')
He moved to the edge of the platform but the newcomer was already there, offering a cheery salutation with his own cup of coffee, which Anta knew would be a full-bodied espresso, black no cream no sugar.
"Morning Captain, morning Commissioner; nice day for a raid."
It was the animal's tone rather than his words that nearly set Anta off.
"You better have good explanation for bailing on your assignment Pennanti" he said, jabbing finger in the newcomers face, "or else I swear I'm going to flush your badge."
Detective Lieutenant Martin Pennanti, ZYPD looked profoundly injured.
"Shirk my duties, sir? Surely you of all mammals know me better than that." His face was a portrait, etched in innocence.
He himself was a fisher by species, the second or third largest member of the weasel family, depending on whom you asked-and certain one of the toughest; in the bygone days before they evolved, fishers were one of the few species to regularly prey on porcupines. He was dressed as always in a dark suit and a buff overcoat, the latter a present from his mother.
Like all fishers he had a short, sharp muzzle, small rounded ears and fur the color of brown sugar; his paws looked as if they were a size too big for the rest of his body.
Anta stared at him with one eye closed.
"Are you trying to tell me you made that prisoner transfer to the Zootopia PD...ALREADY?"
The fisher looked over his superior's shoulder at the Commissioner before answering, reaching into his coat pocket and removing a stapled document, "Dropped him off at their Precinct One yesterday, Captain. I was just coming here to give you my report, as per your orders to see you immediately upon completion of my assignment." He passed the paperwork over to the tapir, who scanned it with the expression of suspicious husband perusing a poison pen letter. When he looked up again, he seemed to have more urgent matters to discuss.
"You're not needed here, Pennanti." He told the fisher flatly.
"I can see that, Captain." The mustelid answered in a weary, but neutral tone, "and I'm not gonna raise a stink, not this late in the game."
"Glad to hear it, Pennanti," Anta nodded, not entirely convinced.
The sea-mink nodded back and raised his coffee cup, "So if you'll excuse me, it's been a long couple of days and I'll be on my way, Salud!" He flipped the lid from the coffee container, tilted his head back and slammed the contents in a single gulp.
Anta winced, and Waghorn grimaced; no matter how many times they saw him do that, it never failed to put their teeth on edge. By the time their jaws had realigned, the fisher was already walking away.
He managed about five steps before the Commissioner's severe, booming voice caught up with him.
"Lieutenant!"
Pennanti stopped and looked over a shoulder. Waghorn was aiming a warning finger in his direction.
"You say one word to a reporter-any reporter, about anything-and you'll be walking a riverfront beat in Preds Point." The Aurochs bull's voice was soft, almost consoling, but his features were those of an angry deity.
The fisher seemed to stop in place like a living statue, and then he nodded numbly and turned away with his head sagging, slinking away with slow shambling steps, like an extra on The Migrating Dead.
Captain Anta watched him go with an almost sunny smile; now he was satisfied.
The tapir might not have been so sanguine had he seen the expression on Pennanti's face-or watched him break into a sprint the moment he was out of sight.
------------------------------------------
Martin Pennanti might have been a bête noire as far as some of the ZYPD Brass was concerned, but to almost every cop on the street he was both a folk hero and a role model. His list of commendations and citations for bravery, if held at the level of an elephant's eye, would have unfurled all the way to the floor. Everyone in the Detective Bureau agreed that he should at least have been promoted to captain by now, maybe even made Chief of Detectives; more than a few of the ZYPD rank and file thought that HE should have been given Waghorn's job, (though none of them ever said so publicly.)
Unfortunately, the fisher was also...
A. a member of the weasel family and...
B. known in the upper echelons of Department for 'not being a team player', a polite, bureaucratic euphemism for someone who refused to 'go along to get along'.
Pennanti found the van parked two blocks away at an empty construction site, a boxy panel truck in primer gray, of the type used by parcel delivery services. It was built for larger-mammals and looked as big as a tractor trailer to a smaller species like him. He rapped twice on the back door, calling out simply, "Open up, it's me."
The door rose upwards immediately, revealing a rhino the side of a blockhouse in a linen suit, who took one look at the fisher, blew a note and reached grumbling into his pocket, extracting a bill which he passed to the Cuban Kinkajou in the Guayabera shirt behind him.
"Toldjoo he'd make it." Said Detective First Grade Alejandro 'Pepe' Guerrero to Detective First Grade Ronald 'Spike' Bush.
"Oh ye of little faith." The fisher grinned and hopped up into the van, to be greeted by a chorus of high fives, backslaps, fist bumps and a bagel pressed into his paw.
"So are you gonna keep us all in suspense schmuck, or you gonna tell us how you pulled it off?" queried Detective First Grade Ruth Aronberg, a European Bison in a baseball jacket.
"I hitched a ride on a military flight," Penannti answered taking a bite of his bagel, and immediately throwing it away, "Pteh, day old!"
'Hey what do want for nothing?" queried the red panda in the pants suit, seated at the workbench to his left, "Rubber biscuit?" As always Detective Sergeant Claudia Nizhang's expression was unreadable whenever she chose.
They were collectively known as the Full House, three kings and two queens-the toughest squad of detectives in the Five Burrows; together they had taken down some of Zoo York's most vicious gangs, including the dreaded OX 13.
"So, silly question," Spike the rhino was asking. "You get permission for us to go in?"
"No," Pennanti admitted looking coy, "But Commissioner Wagfinger didn't specifically order me NOT to go in either."
"You know our tails will be in a sling anyway." Ruth reminded him, playing the Greek chorus, "Especially if this raid goes off as planned."
"And with the kind of firepower they got out there, I don't see how it can't come off." Spike Bush poked a thumb in Finagles' direction, even more pessimistic than Ruth.
"I know," the fisher nodded seriously looking from one of his detectives to the other, "I won't lie to you guys; if we do this, it'll probably be the last game the Full House ever plays. If anyone wants to opt out, there'll be no hard feelings." He looked towards the door and then at his watch, and then up again, "But I need your answers quick mammals; the clock is ticking."
None of them hesitated in their response and it was Claudia Nizhang who set the tone. "Oh, what the heck, Gil Anta will probably be made Chief of Detectives for this...and who wants to work for that tail-kissing jerk?"
"All right fine," It was Spike Bush, "But how are we supposed to get into Finagles when we probably won't even make it to the perimeter before they turn our tails back?"
By way of response, Pennanti looked at his second, "Show me the magic, Claudia."
The red panda flipped open the pair of laptops and a grid of police cam images appeared. She clicked on one, enlarging the frame; it showed an overhead view of Finagles' employee parking, on the opposite side of the building from where the patrons parked their vehicles.
"There," she said pointing to the screen, "See that little, crescent-shaped shadow? What's in that location? Anyone remember?"
Pennanti let out a rush of air, so did Pepe Guerrero. "The Mister Private steam-room," they breathed in chorus.
"That's right." Claudia nodded, "just below ground-level. She clicked and zoomed in on another part of the frame, showing a narrow grey rectangle, jutting from the wall of the club.
"And that is...?" Pennanti asked her.
"That," the red panda responded allowing herself a small, dramatic pause, "is a wheelchair ramp."
"Wha...?" said Ruth Aronberg looking confused, "Why would you put a wheelchair ramp where there isn't any door...? Oh, riiiiight." She groaned, giving herself a face-hoof."
Claudia nodded and then pointed at the screen
"The bad news is that the space between the steam-bath and that ramp is in a clear line of sight from three different angles. The good news is that the space between there and the boatyard fence is hardly being watched at all. If we can make into that steam-bath we'll have to hold until the balloon goes up, but then we'll have a good thirty yards on everyone else." She pointed to the wheelchair ramp, "and I bet you those Aker jerks don't have a clue about that hidden door."
"Yeah, about that," Ruth Aronberg queried with her ears flapping, "Where's that door lead to anyway?"
It was Martin Pennanti who answered the bison.
"Either down to the basement, or there's a way down there close by," he said, "It's on the opposite side of the club from The Mister's Office-so either he takes the underpass to get there or he rolls across the dance floor-and the second one's not an option, at least not during business hours." He paused, frowning and stroking his muzzle. "We'd still need a distraction to make it to the steam bath without being spotted."
"You wanna distraction, Boss?" Pepe Guerrero was grinning from cheek-tuft to cheek-tuft.. "How's this. D'joo know that homeless camp under the boa'yard pier? Well, nobody cleared it out yet."
"What?" Martin Pennanti demanded looking shocked...shocked I tell you, "Captain Anta allowed some civilians to remain that close to the line of fire? Tsk, tsk."
"Oy, oy, oy! Waghorn will have a fit when he hears," Ruth Aronsen chimed in, trying not to grin.
"Sorry, but we have no choice I'm afraid," The fisher told her raising finger and looking funeral-director solemn. "As fine, upstanding police officers, it is our sacred duty to inform our superiors of this situation." He looked of at Claudia, "Discreetly, of course."
"Of course," the red-panda echoed, slipping on a headset.
"There gonna be enough space in that steam room for all of us?" Spike Bush the Doubting Thomas inquired while the red-panda went to work, "Some of us are little bigger than a sea-mink Lieutenant...or a fisher."
"Don't worry, there'll be plenny a' room," Pepe said, offering the rhino's knee a hearty fist-bump. "The Mister never goes anywhere without at leas' two of his bodyguards these days, an' joo know how big they are."
The rhino started to reply but then Pennanti clapped his paws for attention.
"All right, I want flash-bangs, smoke, and stun grenades; Tasers and trank darts, night-vision gogles and laser sights. Skip the body armor."
"Wha...?" said Pepe, holding up a tac-vest as if it were a trophy fish Pennanti had just suggested he throw back, "Against The Company you don' want no body armor? Ai, Joo know what kinda firepower they got inside a' Finagles, boss?"
"Yes, and that's WHY we don't want body armor, booby." It was Ruth, "They'll be loaded up with rounds that can get through whatever protection we put on anyway, so we might as well save ourselves the extra weight." She looked for conformation to Pennanti, who nodded tersely.
"Okay," the kinkajou conceded, then turned towards the fisher again, "But you still haven' tol' us what you hope to accomplish in there, Jefe. Why we doing this, huh?"
"Yeah, why?" said Spike, for once in complete accord with Pepe.
By way of response, Pennanti walked over and typed a quick set of instruction on one of the laptops. The view changed instantly to an overhead shot of the police lines drawn up in front to the club.
"Because I recognize that order of deployment;" he said, "those goombas aren't going in to take prisoners, this is a search and destroy mission." He turned back to his detectives, "But maybe...just maybe if we can get in there first, we can get one or two of those Company guys out alive. I...Ruth, what the HECK?"
The bison had just face-hoofed herself and was starting to laugh.
"Oy...M...Goodness; if anyone had ever told me that one day I'd have to save The Company from the COPS..."
They all started to laugh, but just then, a helicopter passed overhead, winging low and causing them all to duck.
"Mother of..." Martin Pennanti hissed as he stood back up again. "I knew they were playing for keeps out there, but that was no news or police chopper, it's a large-mammal gunship!"
A second later they heard the crackling sound of a PA, coming from the aircraft.
"That's it, the countdown's started," Pennanti growled, stoned-faced and grim, "Everyone, get your gear on, we're moving out."
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Author's note:
Not to be confused with any domestic breed, the aurochs was a species of large wild cattle that once inhabited Europe, Asia, and North Africa. Currently extinct in our world, the species survived in Europe until the last recorded aurochs died in the Jaktorów Forest, Poland, in 1627.
Completely forgotten now, the aurochs figured prominently in the world of antiquity. The Minotaur of Greek mythology was sired by an aurochs, and the Golden Calf of the Book of Exodus was almost certainly a representation of one.