Heya, Rocky!

I told you not to call me Rocky in this town!

Awright awright, calm down! If I can’t call you Rocky Jones, what’m I s’posed to call you?

Here I’m Red Jim.

Whatever. You got the piece or not?

They're twice as bloodthirsty as Cannibals! And wilder than animals-oh wait.

I got the artillery if you got the cash, oughta know that by now.

Man, you got us screwed both ways, don’t you? We pull a job, and you give us chickenfeed-

Hey, that rooster was real glad to get it!

-and then when somebody comes along an needs something, suddenly it’s worth somethin?

Petey, my old friend, you have just described the basis of the noble and timme honored calling of the fence. Now you need what I’m selling or not?

Fine, fine. You know, you should watch your stripey tail, uh… what’re you in this town again?

Red Jim.

Yeah, that. They say there’s a pretty harsh gumshoe around here.

You let me worry about that, you worry about handing over the dough.

I dunno… maybe if somebody feels like he’s not gettin quite a fair deal, he might accidently let slip to a certain fox detective that Red Jim and Rocky Jones and Reggie Jehosaphat and whoever else, they’re all the same person-

You are on thin ice Petey.

So’re you.

Fine, fine, you can have the gun if you just get out. But you ain’t welcome here no more.

C’mon Jimmy, did having to compromise just once really hurt that much?

Shut up.

Fine! Just gimme the gun and you’ll never see me again!

I know.

In other news, the body of a lapine male, in his late thirties, was discovered hidden in a drainage ditch this afternoon. Police have tentatively identified him as Peter “Petey” Adams, a small time theif and pickpocket. Cause of death appears to be gunshot wounds to the face and chest. Police say they are looking for suspects…

The clouds above the city are heavy and sulky, like a bar where there’s a ram one end, and a goat on the other, and they’ve both almost had enough to start something, but not quite. They’re only glaring right now.  But whether you’re talkin about the bar or the clouds, you can feel the thunder. Waiting.

Like the squad cars I’ve got lined up outside the office block. Lights off, engines dead, patrolmen lounging against the hoods.

There’re vans lining up other side of the barriers. Someone tipped off the press, looks like. Vultures just looking for someone to pick apart and squabble over the remains. Call it profiling it you want, you see a hell of a lot more scavengers in the media than anywhere else.

I don’t mind them today, though. The storm’s about to break, and it’s gonna be quite the show.

He Can Has Investment.

So’s as yah kin sees, see, dah watah is cooled tah supahcool temperatoise fer yer imbibacatory delight!

You wouldn’t have expected him here. Better take a second to step back and figure out what sorta con he’s hawking.

So dis revolutinairry system’ll make any drink a paradise a’ cool refreshin delight, see? Cool it right on down for ya!

A paw goes up.

An I see we gawt a question frum da audience?

Hnyess… N’ how cool, exactly, oozes the one in the shaggy suit, oilily, does this drink get?

Whoi, that seems to stump him for a second, she’ll getcha down ta 20 degrees, see?

That gets an excited murmur, which only confirms my suspicions that nobody in the room but me knows what they’re doing. In that case, squeaks the tiny one in the front, I’ll take it! I’ll take twelve!

You’re supposed to be innnvesting in the company, hnyes.

“Well, yeah,” I speak up, “But if we held everyone to that none of you’d get any business done, and then where’d we be?”

Feh! Whatcha doin here coppah? I done my time!

“Probably not the smartest thing to yell in front of potential investors, Shrew.”

Indeed! snaps one of them, jamming his hat on and turning on his heel.

He heads for the door, but Shady shrieks, Nobody’s goin nowheres!

“Yet,” I add, and clap a hand on his shoulder before he gets to the door.

Unhand me sir, you have no right to-

I give him a shake and stern look, and he quiets down. “So what’s the pitch, Shady?”

He’s turned Surly Shrew now. Cools down drinks.

“To twenty degrees. Nice trick. Then you drink em?”

Whaddya think ya do, copper, sit on em?

“You’d be better off trying to, seeing as how they’d be frozen.” I pause long enough for the confused and offended hubbub and the simultaneous grumble of distant thunder to die down.

He was trying to trick us?! The short one squeaks. It’s entirely possible that Max is shorter than he is, Get out the cuffs, arrest him!

“On a charge of ‘not being well informed about basic chemistry?’” I scoff. “Nope. Sorry, I’m not here for him.”

Shady looks genuinely surprised. Yer nawt? Den, what-

“I’m here to take in this clown,” I grip tightly on the cat’s shoulder, and he groans, “on fraudulent accounting mumbo jumbo that even I don’t understand! Course, if he’d bought your stock, you’da been in on it too, and I would got to bring you in… oh well.” Let him have a grin. “Next time.”

Outside it’s started to rain. I’ve got my hat, but he doesn’t. I can turn up my collar, but his hands are cuffed. You ever seen a cat stuck in the rain? They aren’t happy. Course, I’m betting this guy has other things on his mind besides the weather. Like the flashbulbs going off, like the salivating press vultures, like the fact that his picture’s gonna be on the front page of every scrip tomorrow morning. Maybe tonight if they hurry.

I watch them load him into squad car, fur dripping. The flashbulbs are joined by a bolt of lightning, and the thunder crashes as the siren turnes on and the car vanishes into the rain.

“No.”

But he lazored my flowers!

We Knock In This Castle.

“No.”

He so did! He came up and he charged his laser, and-

“I don’t care. First, I’ve heard this song before. Second, he’s got his…” I swallow a shudder, “girlfriend in there, and my job ain’t worth that. Third, he is in the bath. My life ain’t worth that, kid, and neither is yours. Go home.”

But what about mah flowers?!

“It aint worth your flowers lives either. Go watch some cartoons or yell at cowboys or annoy doctors or pirates or whatever it is you kids do. Or just go get some more flowers, they sell them at the hardware store.” I go back to my newspaper. Eventually she’ll leave.

I’m not putting a child through that sort of trauma.

Can I have some money for the hardware store, mister?

I hand her a couple bucks. “If it’ll get you out of my fur.”

I stop the car in on the curb. I didn’t run the siren, I didn’t turn on the lights, and the place we’re going isn’t for half a block more.

Still, I want to play this carefully. I’m not exactly sure what I’m dealing with, here.

Blood-Flavored Toothpaste. For the Health-Conscious Carnivore.

For weeks now, I’ve been seeing the name ‘Dirty Dog’ all over. It’s usually someone on the periphery, someone who had a small stake in the job but not enough to be in charge, someone who got a key or a password, someone who was just there and nobody really paid attention when they left.

Someone that the police might not consider it worthwhile going after.

Someone who might have reasons for keeping a low profile.

But those aren’t the only reasons he’s got, whoever he is. Because this morning he was the driver for a knockover at a credit union. Everything points to it being a last second job, too: the muscles was yelling to eachother, not at the civilians, they spent time looking for the money, didn’t seem to know where it was. Didn’t take us long to pick em up afterward.

And when we did, then they were quick enough to give up their partners.

I considered not bringing Max, I really did. With the lengths that this guy’s gone to to not be noticed by the police, good money is on the arrest–if that’s what’s gonna happen here–getting ticklish. Max aint the type you want around when things are ticklish. But he’s still another pair of eyes. And hands. And legs, if need be.

One of the guys mentioned how they’d taken a sharp corner during the getaway, and the driver had cracked a tooth against the window. And I know a few dentists who do no-questions-asked work.

Here’s hoping he knows them too, and I open the door. “Alright, I’m looking for someone called Dirty Dog. So why doesn’t he just come quiet, and there doesn’t have to be any trouble.”

Everyone just blinks at me. Of course there has to be trouble. For starters, nobody in here is a dog.

Sly, Max hisses, nobody in here izza dog!

“Thanks Max. Don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t pointed that out.” Instead of listening to whatever he thinks worth saying in response to that, I glance around the waiting room. There’s an alligator, an anteater, a beaver, and baby rabbit. Obviously Dirty Dog was a nickname, so I just need to figure out which of those’d be most likely to-

Unless.

Suddenly this case seems earily familiar.

I catch the receptionist’s eye as I move closer to the patients. “Hey, does the good Doc do tongue injuries?”

Uh, no? she says, puzzled.

“That’s what I thought.” And I clamp down on the ‘anteater’s’ wrist.

Damnation, he says, and pulls off the mask. I almost reflexively release his wrist, in shock.

“You?!”

Indeed, growls… well, guess I never did find out his name. Till now.

“But, since when do you rob banks?” as I fumble for the handcuffs.

Someday, detective, I hope to have the satisfaction of watching you discover that getting married incurs certain financial outlay. The income which was sufficient to support a gentleman of my modest tastes suffices no longer. He looks huffy. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait to bring me in, though.

“Oh?”

I have a dentist’s appointment. He goes back to reading his magazine.

Ah well. Guess he’s got a point there.

They’ve got a Phrase for situations like this: Too Convenient.

Ey, Fox, ya gimma hand with dis?

Yeah, Foxy. Looks like he mighta bit off more than he can chew with me.

“I’m…. just out here to get my mail, Mutt.”

I don't blame those birds for staring.

Well now that’s not a very nice way to talk to him, Foxy, she purrs, amused.

“It’s his name.”

Yeah, he taps the ticket book against his thigh, an he’d like ta know where yall been while dis little kitty been gone on a crime spree!

Yes, her tail draped over the top of the car door, I think I’d like to hear this one too.

I can feel my jaw stiffening automatically. “I’ve been busy.”

Rite, wit da infamous case of da stoned Walrus, scoffs Mutt, arms akimbo, Where was it he’d cunninly hidden da grass?

His back pocket! pipes up Max.

Mutt rolls his eyes. Yeah, took all yer energy to crack dat one. Cassie snickers.

“Ok, let’s do this without Joel and the Bots.” I pull Cassie out of the car, then shoo the other two off.

Oooh, getting rough already?

“Look, we both know why I haven’t been taking your cases.”

Was I that obvious?

“No, cause those two,” I nod at where the Mutt and the Mouse are giving me He-Man Woman Haters Club looks, “haven’t figured it out yet. But honestly. Setting up that whole tableau of nonsense to cover stealing an autographed baseball? You hate baseball. You told me after that was the first place I took you.”

Yeah, but I love money. So what?

“So where was the money in slipping my witness knock-out drugs at every bar he went to? Getting that bear back awake in the morning was a nightmare!”

Takes one to know one.

“Oh, you want this to get personal. Course, I already knew that, from when you decided Buford Bull tapdancing was good enough misdirection to pull a daylight museum theft? You know what that’s gonna remind me of.”

This might come as a bit of a shock, Foxy, she leans against the hood of the car and surveys her nails disinterestedly, but this thing you always do, where you explain the criminal plot before you arrest the girl? Isn’t exactly news to her, it was her plot first.

“Did her plot include the part where I obviously refuse to take the hint? Cause, if it gets to the point where you’re deliberately speeding in front of my house, then maybe you might want to consider-”

Well if you refuse to see me or talk to me what else am I supposed to do?!

“I have a PHONE you know! This might come as a shock, Cassie, but normal people manage to interact on a daily basis WITHOUT one of them having to commit felonies!”

Feh. Like I could get your attention any other way. Tell me, Foxy, how many felonies has SHE commited lately?

“Cassie, thin ice-”

And when was the last time you took her out, hmm?

I take a deep breath. Ok, Fox, think with your brain. She’s trying to play you, don’t get mad, don’ get jealous. She’s the one being unreasonable, right? Just remember that. “So, what do you expect me to do, here? Show up every time your paws got sticky, laugh it off, and take you dancing?”

She looks at me coldly for a sec. Maybe you’re right. After all, you’re not the only dog with a badge. Maybe I oughta broaden my business relationships a little.

“Except you already did, didn’t you?”

The smile only makes her look colder. Well, it’s kinda up to the cop where he pulls you over. Funny that Cheif Mutt picks right in front of your place. What’re the odds, right?

I’m just shaking my head slowly at this point. “See, this is why I was staying away. You never just talking, it’s always gotta be some game with you.”

Life’s a game, foxy. And a girl has to do what she can to get by.

“Or who.”

She shrugs, so icy she could feed cows vanilla extract, chocolate, and strawberries and have em give neopolitan. Well, if you don’t like it, next time I send you an invitation, have the sense to answer. Or you’re just gonna get left out in the rain again. Don’t think either of us want that, do we?

I don’t give her the satisfaction of watching her sunter off, look at Mutt through her eyelashes, say she wishes there was something she could do to get out of this ticket. Aslan, thought that guy was untouchable, too. I head back to the house, to think.

To think about where she’s gonna hit next, how I’d do it if it was me, where I need to be to head her off even before she gets in. One of these days that girl is gonna get too confident and put a paw wrong. They have a phrase for that: Too Bad. And as often as she’s stabbed me in the back, she doesn’t deserve Too Bad.

Not yet at least.

Next time I won’t leave her standing in the rain.

WHO are the overlords of the UFO?

Count Weirdly looks surprised to see I’m already here.

C-crap h-h-he’s alreadt H-HERE k-keep it tog-g-gether.

Maybe I ought to have a word with him. That photo is the most obviously fake ever.

J-just s-stick t-t-t-to the script.

I mean, I’m almost starting to be embarressed for the guy.

C-c’mon detective say it! I c-c-can’t do this without y-you-

Yeah, I should nip this in the bud right now. “Count? Is there something you want to tell us?”

“W-w-whatta you m-mean, detective?”

“About how your photograph is fake? Cause it pretty clearly is. Sorry”

“I’m glad you said that, because I’d like to take this opportunity to unveil my new fake-photograph technology!”

“…”

“Wh-what do you think, D-detective?”

“I think I’m leaving.”

Darn. I hurt his feelings.

Good one, Weirdly.

You have to understand, that’s not the easiest question for me to answer. It ain’t often that I have memorable days. They tend to blur. One day bleeds into the next, until all I can see is the thread of the clue tied to the event tied to the criminal, and what day it is can go hang. Like they used to do to criminals. Even kids. Even kids who just stole because they got in with the wrong crowd and didn’t have any other-

Sorry, lost my train of thought.

So most days aren’t really so much to me. Take today. Today I finally ran down an illegal streetfighting ring, that I’ve been tracking for months now. Pattern was always the same: we’d get a call about a disturbance, they’d describe a couple guys fighting, pretty vicious too, and a big crowd standing around cheering em on. Animals can get vicious when they want.

You ever seen a prison fight? Conventional wisdom says there’s two kinds: the real ones, private, unseen, over in seconds, and the ones that are about making sure everyone seems you can’t be messed with, the don’t-mess-with-me fights. But that’s not true. Nobody really keeps any secrets in prison, so both kinda end up being messages about what happens if you mess with whoever. The point is, I could tell that these weren’t like that. There wasn’t a message. These people weren’t fighting to tell anyone anything, you could see it in the scrapes in the dust and the splashes of blood.

They have these little clubs all over the country, but I have a friend or two in the bureau, and they handed me some evidence, unofficially of course. They were glad enough to have someone step on this before it got big, because judging from the files this was about to turn into something big. Lotta rhetoric about ‘change’ and ‘freedom’ and all that stuff, but that aint what the perp wanted. Same as the fights, there was no message. He just wanted to watch the world burn.

I have to admit, though, wasn’t looking forward to tackling him. We had a few partial accounts of what it was like when he fought, and it wasn’t pretty. They said he didn’t just strike, like you’d expect from a snake, he’d gotten some non-venomous to teach him how to constrict, too. He fought like he was two people.

Still, getting shot kills him just as much as anyone.

I also could have gone with 'who's grabbing Max's tail,' 'what that dog is doing up that tree,' or 'how that bear stuck a pop bottle in his back pocket.' All very mysterious.

Thing is, the day isn’t what I remember. I guess that as far as I can tell, it might have happened yesterday. Or the day before. I know that since then, there was one of those annoying little cases like mosquitoes–they’re almost more trouble to solve than to ignore. Shady Shrew stole the wheels off a car, then just hung around and blamed the first pedestrian who walked by. Idiotic, checking the alibi took all of five minutes, I swear, that guy is getting stupider all the time.

I guess next to the underground fights, it doesn’t look like much. So yeah, that’s how my day went.

You?

Awright-a Porcini, you’ve hadda enough!

Those Haggis Patties(tm) don't pay for themselves, you know.

Ey, da sign sez dey free! So I’ze samplin em, see?

You no-good-a hooligan! If-a your fadder could-a only have-a lived to see you!

Aw go boil yer salami! I’m eatin here, see?

You drive-a me outa my business! What am I gonna give-a my customers?

Pfft, like any ones a dem’ll wanna eat dis stuff!

You notta careful, I calla da cops on you! Den, den maybe we see how the water, she goes!

Shure, da cops’ll come right on down, dey got a squad dedicated just ta calls a people eatin’ all da free samples! Feh, ya ain’t gonna call da cops, you don’ wanna them find out bout da stuff ya keep stashed in da back room.

You threaten-a me?!

I aint threatnin yas, boss, I’ze jes sayin… lay off, huh?

If I did notta owe your fadder in-a heaven my whole life in dis country-

Yeah yeah, we bot’ know I runs dis place bettah you could, see? So lay off.

Hmmph. Al tornar de la mente, che si chiuse dinanzi a la pietà d’i due cognati-

Whatevah. Hand me mah apron, some-a us gotta back to woik.

How did he manage to bend the BACK wheel?

Ok, here’s how I see it. We start with a shot of a park, right? All serene and whatnot. And then over the hill comes this guy on a bike in slow motion! And WHAM he crashes right into a tree. People come running and yelling and whatnot. Then you get up and start telling the guy that’s only what he gets for stealing the bike in the first place, and while you’re taking–wait for it!–the camera moves around so that now you’re TALKING TO THE PERSON WATCHING THE COMMERCIAL! Brilliant, huh?

“You came up with this yourself, right chief?”

Oh, I forgot to tell you the best part! The guy on the bike’ll be someone under sentance! Like, we’ll do a deal where we give him time off for good behavior if he’ll be in the thing and whatnot!

“…you arrange this sorta deal often?”

Now and then.

“That explains a lot. Ok, look chief, there’s a whole smorgasbord of bad idea goin on here. I don’t know if I should start with the part where any judge’ld call it cruel and unusual, the part where the script reads like it got written by Tiffany’s class on too much ritalin, or the part where the moral seems to be ‘If You Commit A Crime You Will Fling Yourself Uncontrollably Into A Solid Object.”

Aw, c’mon Fox!

“But on top of all that there’s a bigger problem.”

What now?

“I don’t do public service announcements.”

Huh. Well, ferget him. Howbout you, Max, you wanna shot at this?

Waaaaaaaaaall, I dunno, Chief, las time some a dose extras started gettin grabby, birds, ya know? I aint interested in goin through dat again. I’m out.

Dammit!

Sawry.

I look up when Max gets back to the office. “So?”

Looks like he’s either gonna have ta do it hisself, or fergit da whole ting.

“Good. Maybe now he’ll learn how humiliating it is. Because if you know what it’s like to hurt… then you can stop hurting others!”

…don do that.

“Sorry.”

“Didn’t we bring her in on a poisoning charge about a year ago?”

Mebee she got off onna insanity d’fense?

“What, and that means they just let her go? Do I look like Batman?”

Yeah, loik our uddah regulars aint out on da street quick like-

“Shut up, Max.”

40% Fewer Calories Than A Pina Colada From Trader Vic's!

The Old Bag’s just started up her sales pitch again. While I’m sure it’d be very colorful to listen to, I’d rather deal with the fewest possible number of poisoning cases. Best to cut her off. “Ok, can it, Auntie.”

She gives me this look through her eyebrows, impressive ones, too, that’s half like she doesn’t know what I’m talking about and half like I don’t know what I’m talking about and all hopped up out of her mind. I only sell it in bottles.

“Well, stop selling it in anything and come along quiet now.”

She’s still looking at me like she doesn’t speak English and I’m yelling at her about where to find a hotel. Why would I do that?

“Because I’m arresting you!”

Blank stare. “Din’t I turn you into a fox a year ago?”

The big guy behind in the nice suit her clears his throat. Allow me to handle this, if I might. My associate is involved in a most lucrative business, Officer….?

“Detective Doesn’t Have A Lot Of Patience With Snake Oil Salesmen.”

A man who cuts right to the chase, a man after my own heart sir, yessir. Let me assure you that my associate’s methods, while slightly unorthodox are nonetheless genuinely effective! Indeed sir!

“Because I’m obviously gonna just take your word for it, right.”

I might.

“Shut up, Max.”

I would too, the old bag mutters.

“And you.”

It’s all true sir! Because sir, this very morning I weighed a full one hundred pounds more than I do as I stand before you! Swear by the paw o’ the sweet Lord Aslan Hisself!

“I’ll do you a favor and not book you for perjery too, then.” Then I’m on familiar ground, what with the cuffs and the reading of rights and the putting people into squad cars. It’s almost done when the crone pulls at my sleeve.

It’s all true, she wispers conspiratorally, the potion doesn’t make you lose weight.

“Really.”

She nods. The only reason he lost a hundred pounds is cause he’s a werewolf. He’s much fatter normally.

Uh, ok. “I’m… sure that’ll be taken into consideration.”

Wha wuz dat about? Max asks as they drive off.

“Nothing important. Just had to fill her quota of deranged muttering for the day. You get the evidence?”

He swishes a bottle of I don’t want to know what. I wonder f’this reaaaally woiks-

“Max, even if it does, you already weight less than a hundred pounds.”

…so?

Nevermind. “So get in the car, we’re going.”