Farewell, Urgway

When Vulpecula met with Detective Sanec Barker in-discussion about the Water Lily, he had admittedly expected the interim mayor to have a more hands on involvement in procuring the item. Instead of a straightforward, business-as-usual procedure, The Fox Detective had expected to leave Sanec Barker with the heavy-lifting.

Vulpecula closed the front-door of the Marybeth Police Station behind him, feeling a small amount of uneasiness from the scowl his former boss Detective Psittacus gave him as he left. The parrot pleaded with him, trying to bargain it so that Vulpecula at least stuck around until things cooled off, but The Fox Detective declined him. Even if he might have acted hurt, and even if he might have really been angry, Vulpecula knew Detective Psittacus understood his decision. Outside the Station, Urgway provided the dreary, gloom Vulpecula had come to expect. It seemed Urgway’s gray-scale color-aesthetic made no exceptions, not even for sentiment.

“Any other affairs you have to get in-order?” Lacerta asked, meeting Vulpecula at the side-walk, accompanied by Apus.

Vulpecula offered an etiolated smile, and, as anemic as it was, he meant it. Although it might have been a fleeting feeling, he couldn’t remember a happier time since entering Urgway than knowing he’d soon be able to leave it. “I have one more job to do before I leave.”

“I’m assuming it isn’t something you could delegate to someone else in the Marybeth Police Department?” Apus asked, showing a look on his face that said he too was looking to leave Urgway as soon as possible.

The Fox Detective had made an effort to protect his friends from the more chaotic and crowded conditions the Station had experienced in recent days. It was very early in the morning, at hours when everyone was unaccounted for at the Station, and therefore, the media had no reason to swarm the entrance. Everyone but Detective Psittacus, that is, who, after on-call officers barely managed to thwart an arson attempt against the Station, held down the fort at nearly all hours of the day. “I owe him this one,” Vulpecula said, lifting his chin-up and motioning behind him, “And besides, I have both of you to keep everything sane.”

Vulpecula’s choice of words wasn’t deliberate, but, as he said them, he only hoped they’d be ignored. Luckily, they were. “We should get started then,” Apus said, seeming more on-board with it than Vulpecula expected.

2.

Detective Sanec Barker’s written case-file established several vague back-of-the-napkin jottings and scribbled theories. It was clear Sanec Barker was, at least, on some-level, having trouble with finding any definitive information about the Water Lily. Vulpecula knew exactly how that felt, having to solve a case where the accused was adamant about their own guilt. The simple fact he was willing to investigate a case Psittacus would have deemed a lost cause, suggested his own uncertainty. Detective Barker had been the one to make the arrest after all. One name in-particular must have stuck out to him, however. Underlined and circled, the name “Gregory Holstead” was written in bold-letters.

“Everything seems like it has been a real mess in Urgway, even more than usual standards,” Lacerta said, looking out the car-window while Vulpecula drove them through the heavy-traffic.

“For a while, Urgway was a safe-haven for dogs in the post-Canes world, it seems the floodgates have opened and poured hateful prejudice into this city as well,” Vulpecula replied.

“It isn’t like everyone’s an animalist in Acera, or wherever else, and I mean, Urgway was never the friendliest of cities anyways.”

“Bigotry is a lot easier to mask when the animals you’re bigoted toward have been segregated into the dirtiest slums you can find, while you reap the benefits of Maharris’ best.”

Lacerta didn’t say anything at first, “I don’t know if you’ve watched the news, but Italina recently had a bomb-threat made against The Sanchi Towers, the terrorists were found out as Italina natives, demanding for Maharris to break off from Hardan and Urgway.”

Vulpecula continued to drive until he found the location, which wasn’t very difficult to pinpoint. Bellows Bridge could be found on the outskirts of Belleville where it went across side of the Fire River to the next, the name derived from an old Jazz musician who often played around clubs in the area before touring all across Maharris. The bridge had become a hotspot for homeless in need of minimal shelter, so much so that Urgway government even motioned to have the flooring underneath the bridge equipped with “spikes” to discourage homeless from sleeping under it. They decided against it, realizing if the homeless weren’t sleeping under the bridge, they’d be sleeping on the streets. If given the choice, Urgway always preferred to hide its ugly parts and pretend they didn’t exist, rather than fix them.

“It’s like a little community down here,” Apus commented while they ditched the car in a small lot and walked onto a wooden pier where boats were docked.

The Fire River eventually integrated into the Amisoic Sea, and from his current perspective, it showed exactly how big it was, but Vulpecula was more disappointed to discover the thick, greenish layer of algae cast over the water. They went down a rocky hill, careful not to take a plunge into the Sea, and were then able to traverse the disheveled path until they wound up beneath the bridge. Vulpecula sighed, it wasn’t a sigh about anything in-particular, it wasn’t a commentary on his surroundings or the day he was having, it was simply a sigh he felt he needed.

“This is where Urgway hides the things they’re ashamed of,” Lacerta commented.

“The people they’re ashamed of,” Vulpecula corrected weakly, feeling the guilt in knowing Urgway was in itself where “greater” Maharris hid what they were ashamed of.

An astute observation by Apus, it did, in-fact, look like a small community underneath the Bellows Bridge, with about one-hundred-something homeless folk roaming around. The décor was minimalist, the “fancier” living arrangements belonged to those with money to afford tents, whereas others had sleeping bags with heavy blankets over them.

“Gregory Holstead is a bandicoot, dark-gray fur and naked patches of skin on his face and arm that were deemed as self-inflicted in his case-file. The white in his eyes is a sickly yellow tint on-account of progressing liver-failure brought on by alcoholism,” Vulpecula said, reciting the information from off his blank chalkboard.

Several small fires were burning inside rusted, metal trash-barrels, and, from all the loud noises, the tables with Ramon noodles and crudely cooked insects, below Bellow Bridge looked like a town-square for impoverished Urgway townspeople.

“Doesn’t seem like the right target demographic, trying to sell food to those who don’t have coin,” Lacerta remarked under his breath, trying his best not to draw attention his way.

“People want things other than coin,” Vulpecula replied.

This was an unfortunate fact. Although it would have been heart-warming to think people at their lowest banded together with acts of kindness, it wasn’t realistic. Nobody did anything out of altruism in Urgway or any other place, and it was certain every person had an endgame behind the products they sold. According to Gregory Holstead’s case-file, his charges were thievery, heavy drug-use, and vandalizing The Church of the Water Lily.

Vulpecula flinched for a second, barely maneuvering fast enough to keep from bumping into a small-boy running from his mother. The child, a red-and-white furred fox, looked up at him with large, eager eyes, his fur was dirty, and his clothes looked like sewn together rags. Vulpecula offered a polite smile and nodded his head while his mother grabbed the child by the arm and tugged him forward.

“Maybe we can ask anyone if they’ve seen Gregory around?” Vulpecula inquired, scanning the area once, twice, and, then, a third time, realizing how arduous it’d be to find Gregory Holstead amongst the crowds.

“If anyone asks, I think it should be Apus or myself,” Lacerta said, “Ex-employee of the Marybeth Police Department or not, everyone’s sure to think something fishy when the white-furred fox from the newspapers turns up and starts asking questions.”

“Fair enough,” Vulpecula commented, doing an “after you” waving motion with his hand, then, walking away from Apus and Lacerta for the time being.

Although he knew they still weren’t the exception to the rule, V was surprised by the camaraderie on-display amongst some of the animals. Unfortunately, he felt too wired and beaten to appreciate it. Groups were gathered together eating food from off makeshift wooden picnic tables and, forgetting the malnourished, skinny frames or filthy clothing, some of people in the crowd found reason to smile. We make the most of what we have, Vulpecula thought, and truly realized the important purpose the Water Lily would serve. Even if he might not have shared the same religious beliefs as the Church, it was no doubt many found sanctum in the stain-glass windows and melodic hymns. Better yet, finding the Water Lily would not only help morale, but provide significant economic benefit. Maybe that, and Detective Sanec Barker’s leadership would be enough to make a difference in Urgway.

It was something, Vulpecula supposed, rubbing a knot that had formed on the back of his neck. As he walked, once more, he saw the small red-fox on the loose again. The young boy ran toward the pier, running off and away from his mother, who Vulpecula was no longer able to locate.

Cornering a structural support pillar, Vulpecula winced when he saw the small fox slip from view, falling awkwardly down to the shore. The Fox Detective reacted instinctively, his heart beating fast as he ran in his pursuit. As he a cornered the pillar, Vulpecula was then hit harshly over the head with a slab of wood. Before losing consciousness, the last thing he saw was the mother fox looking over him.

3.

“Good morning, Detective!” A high-pitched voice hollered out, one that Vulpecula couldn’t recall having heard before.

“Is it?” Vulpecula said, his eyelids trying, and, at first, failing, to spread apart.

A crimson-red layer seemed to be glossed over his vision, and it was only after further exertion he was able to focus his vision on the man in-front of him.

“I think so, Vulpecula, I think so very much, in-fact. Very much, very much, very much, I think so,” the voice rattled, becoming deeper in some instances and higher in the next, unwilling to commit to a certain pitch.

Vulpecula smiled for a reason he wasn’t certain of. The voice belonged to Gregory Holstead, the alleged culprit responsible for stealing the Water Lily, but that didn’t explain why Vulpecula smiled.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Vulpecula asked.

The red-layer over his vision had been blood, now that he’d regained himself, he could feel it dried into his fur.

“Oh, but the pleasure’s all mine, Detective,” once again, Gregory’s voice cracked. “I’ve heard you’ve been poking your head around in places where it doesn’t belong.”

Vulpecula’s head felt like it might as well have been liberated from the rest of his body with a can-opener, the throbbing disorientation he felt. Surrounding him, the scenery didn’t have a lot of intricate details or distinguishable traits. Gregory Holstead likely wouldn’t have the time to take him very far before he regained consciousness, but, other-wise, it was difficult to pinpoint where exactly they were. It was a shed, and a cramped one at that, but judging by the heat spilling into the room, Vulpecula suspected they were at the side of Urgway closer to the Whispey Deserts than Jalint.

“How did you find about me, Gregory?” Vulpecula asked.

“I’ve been following you for some time, Detective, I know you’re looking for the Water Lily,” Gregory’s voice went from shrill to natural multiple times with each sentence he spoke.

“Are you adding that panic inflection with your voice because you think it’s intimidating, or because you’re ashamed of your accent?”

Gregory laughed. Vulpecula tried to maneuver himself free from his restraints. His hands were fastened behind his back with a zip-tie, while each of his legs was zip-tied to a leg of the chair. It wasn’t the most meticulous of imprisonments, but it was certainly effective.

“I ran your name in our database, Gregory. I’ve read testimonials and character-witnesses on your behalf, and I know that you aren’t the comic-book psychopath your hammed-up performance suggests,” Vulpecula continued. “If you have any information about where the Water Lily is, however, I can forget I saw you, I can say I received an anonymous tip. If you’ve tailed me for a while now, you know I don’t work for the Marybeth Police Department anymore.”

“Comic-book psychopath,” Gregory repeated, a small snicker at the remark. Nevertheless though, Vulpecula could help but notice the way he no longer masked his voice. Gregory Holstead turned his back from The Fox Detective for a moment.

Vulpecula let out a breath. A lot of thoughts were running through his mind right now, but he wasn’t afraid, he felt his teeth on-edge, if anything. If he could convince Gregory to step away for a moment, it was possible his claws would be sharp enough to grind away the zip-tie, and he could escape. Before a second thought, V was blindsided by a swift kick from Gregory, who carried an angry-look in his eyes. The kick was devastating and destructive, smashing Vulpecula’s left-leg in on itself with enough force to break the left-leg of the chair as well. With momentum, Vulpecula fell forward, bending his ankle in ways it isn’t meant to bend. His body fell harshly against the dirt-floor, his head smacking the ground. It didn’t make a sound, but Vulpecula could feel the ringing in his head, nonetheless.

Gregory Holstead laughed in enjoyment of his inflicted torment. “I want for you to tell me who else knows about my involvement with the Water Lily? If you tell me that, all of this goes away. You leave Urgway and go back to Acera with your little friends.” Gregory lifted Vulpecula up some, balancing him on the only remaining chair-leg on the front-side.

“And the names I tell you?” Vulpecula asked, with the way he was positioned, he was able to watch as the blood dripped off from his fur to the dirt.

“I will kill them,” Gregory answered firmly, not masking his intentions.

“Then you’ll have to understand if I am not overjoyed about cooperating then,” Vulpecula said.

Vulpecula tried his best to irritate Gregory, but his heart wasn’t in it. Although his newly shattered ankle wasn’t a highlight amongst the things he felt, he found himself able to compartmentalize his own suffering in a way that made it feel like the least of his concerns. His head ached, and he felt a throbbing warmth in his body accompanied by the persistent desire to throw-up.

“You have a lot of fight in you,” Gregory said, a second before he grabbed the Fox’s ankle and twisted.

Vulpecula cringed in agony, clenching his teeth so tightly he thought they might shatter. Eventually, Gregory stopped, releasing Vulpecula’s ankle from his grasp.

“If you tell me who else knows, all of this ends, Detective,” Gregory said again, a sinister smile forming on his face as he spoke.

“I … can’t let you kill any one, … especially not to save myself, Vulpecula pleaded.

“Aren’t you a saint,” Gregory commended sarcastically, climbing up to his feet and turning his back to Vulpecula. “Have a goodnight, Detective.”

Gregory Holstead, then, flipped a switch beside the door and turned out the lights, a symbolic gesture more than anything else. A small crack from the ceiling kept it from being completely pitch-black, but the act told Vulpecula he wouldn’t be leaving any time soon.

* * *

“Why do you hate me, Vulpecula?” a voice called out, one that Vulpecula recognized, but hadn’t heard in over a decade.

Vulpecula slowly lifted his head up, if he maneuvered enough, he had no doubts he’d be able to break-free from his current predicament, but he didn’t have the will in him to do so. Instead, he merely made eye-contact with Hensley Noel. Except it wasn’t Hensley Noel. His father was dead. This was a stress and trauma induced hallucination, a fact Vulpecula repeated to himself again and again. Unfortunately, simply knowing that fact wasn’t enough to make the figment of his imagination disappear.

“If you would be so kind as to help me with the zip-ties, maybe go outside, go make a phone-call over to the interim Mayor of Urgway, tell him The Fox is in the Murder’s Shed, it’s a little game we’re doing, he’ll know what it means,” Vulpecula replied, for some reason, finding small satisfaction in smarting off to himself.

“You’ve never needed me to help you out of tight binds,” not-Hensley Noel spoke, circling around Vulpecula until he went out of Vulpecula’s view.

“It wouldn’t have hurt to have had somebody every now and again,” Vulpecula said.

“What information does your blank-chalkboard tell you?” not-Hensley Noel asked, as he fully circled the room and came back into Vulpecula’s view.

“Nothing,” Vulpecula answered weakly. “Just the scribbles of a madman talking to his dead father.”

“Then, talk to someone who isn’t dead yet,” the voice said, walking out of Vulpecula’s view, until, at last, returning to view, this time, the person speaking was not Hensley, but Tony Rockwell. “If you don’t escape this, then, what happens to me? What happens to Priest Tiam, rotting in prison for a crime he didn’t commit!?”

“I can’t,” Vulpecula mumbled.

“What!?” Tony yelled.

“I can’t!” Vulpecula screamed in turn.

As Tony Rockwell burned to dust, The Fox Detective sulked in his predicament a moment longer, until he felt the zip-ties release him from his grasp. He stood his feet. It was all in his head, but, for a moment, he wasn’t confined to the chair and his ankle wasn’t in shambles. The room was complete blackness, all except for a large, blank chalkboard in-front of him.

“He ignored my question,” Vulpecula muttered, “about what tipped him off about my involvement with the Water Lily.”

The bullet-point formed on the chalkboard in burning letters.

“He hid his accent from you, … to scare you?” A voice called out.

Vulpecula turned his head, Sanec Barker stared back at him.

“And what brings you into my hallucination?”

“Perhaps I’m one-side of your conscience?”

“Right,” Vulpecula chuckled weakly, “so, you’re the angel on my shoulder then?” Sanec Barker shrugged.

“His accent was the same as the woman from the Suede Inn’s, that could have been his window to you then?”

Vulpecula shook his head. “That isn’t even the same investigation. That’s Rockwell, the Water Lily case is Priest Tiam.”

“They’re one in the same,” Sanec Barker said. “The answer’s right in-front of you, depending on which way you decide to stand.”

“Both Priest Tiam and Tony Rockwell confessed to crimes I don’t believe they committed,” Vulpecula said, watching while the bullet-point burned onto the chalkboard. “Both of them attend The Church of the Water Lily, one of them would be disgraced from the church if their homosexuality ever became public-knowledge. The other,” Vulpecula stopped for a moment, turning to the shoulder opposite Barker, looking to Hensley Noel, “the other lost his best-friend, and …,” as quick as he thought it, his mother joined Hensley’s side, “and anyone he knew as family. Outlived his brothers, his mother and father, all he ever had was me, and before all of this, I ignored him. Then, he had the church, he had God and his faith in the Water Lily.”

“Sounds like someone with nothing to live for,” Sanec Barker said.

“Or someone with only one thing to live for, and it was stolen from him. This is his way of getting it back.” Vulpecula replied. “This operation is bigger than some low-life like Gregory Holstead could fathom. He’s not where the tree begins, barely a twig on a branch.”

“But his bullets will pierce your flesh no less just as though it came from the top dog.”

* * *

The sound of the door being kicked open brought Vulpecula back to the land of the living, the light as it burned into the room was bright. It wasn’t a hallucination this time around, no blank chalkboard was shattered when the door was brought ajar, instead, the real interim mayor Sanec Barker stared back at him. He brandished a gun in his hand and had acquaintances with him, police officers at his side with bulletproof vests and heavy machinery, all of them canines.

“We’ve procured the Water Lily?” Vulpecula heard Sanec ask into a headpiece on his ear.

Soon after, Vulpecula felt himself being tended to. The zip-tie restraints were cut off of him, and his body fell flat on the ground thereafter, unable to hold himself up.

It sounded like Sanec Barker said, “We did it, kid!”, but The Fox Detective found himself to preoccupied with the searing pain to know for certain. Vulpecula felt himself being loaded up on a stretcher, brought out into the light.

Sanec Barker kept pace with the stretcher while they arrived toward the ambulance, Vulpecula only knew about the ambulance because of the loud, bellowing sirens. He could see the flashing lights of paparazzi snapping photographs. Sanec Barker did the courtesy of blocking Vulpecula from the shots, standing in-front of him while the photographs were taken. The way the flashes bled out from Sanec’s outline, Vulpecula could have mistaken it as an angelic glow.

4.

“Gregory Holstead was a scapegoat,” Vulpecula said, sitting on the hood of Sanec Barker’s vehicle. “You might have brought down The Shock, but there is a criminal underbelly that runs very deep beyond that. The Suede Inn, the whole situation with Tony Rockwell and Finn Saldana, if we’re being honest, the Water Lily might as well have been gift-wrapped for us.”

Detective Barker was quiet for a moment, “Some residuals, but The Shock is dead, like ripping the head off a grasshopper, its arm and legs may still move, but not for very long.”

“Who the hell rips off a grasshopper’s head?” Vulpecula asked, looking over at Barker with a bewildered look.

Barker shrugged his shoulders, “Gregory Holstead looked like he considered ripping off part of you,” he replied, motioned toward Vulpecula’s injuries.

“A bad leg and a head injury are nothing compared to what awaits Urgway. The riots, the corruption, do you think you can save it?” Vulpecula asked.

“I wouldn’t say no to a little help,” Detective Barker replied.

Vulpecula chuckled weakly, “I’m not the help you need. I couldn’t even tail Gregory Holstead without nearly getting myself killed.”

“But I was keeping an eye on you. I had my men watch over you, and personally made certain your safety. Maybe you just need someone to guide you,” Detective Barker suggested.

“I think I need to take control of my own direction.” Vulpecula smiled some at the thought. His leg was bandaged heavily, and he found himself barely able to maneuver without the assistance of crutches.

“I heard from Gregory’s ramblings that he tried to make you confess my involvement in the investigation, heard you wouldn’t cooperate with him. I appreciate your will and discretion.”

“It was never an option. Gregory said he would kill anyone who knew about his involvement with the Water Lily, I couldn’t let that happen.”

Detective Barker nodded his head knowingly, then, spoke: “I actually have something for you.”

“Oh,” Vulpecula asked, not particularly interested.

For a second, Detective Barker walked behind him, opening his driver side door in-order to open his trunk. When he came back, Vulpecula couldn’t help but laugh.

“I had noticed you weren’t carrying it around any more, and I checked the incident report regarding the Nicholas Meyers’ case, heard old Bird-Brains went full-on action hero.” Detective Barker explained, holding a walking stick in his hands.

“Looks like I finally need one,” Vulpecula commented.

“Certainly, wasn’t imagining you would get such a use out of it,” Barker admitted, “but it doesn’t hurt, I suppose.”

Vulpecula slowly climbed off from Detective Barker’s vehicle and held the walking stick in his hands. The shaft of the cane was ball-shaped, a white-color with purple swirls embedded into it. The color-scheme and appearance closely resembled the Water Lily.

“That way, every time you look at the walking stick, you can relive this moment,” Detective Barker explained, then, pointed his hand forward.

Vulpecula looked. Across from where they’d parked was the large chain-link prison-gates, now brought ajar as the former Priest, Tiam, walked out.

“There’s a lot of bad in this city, but changes are on the horizon,” Detective Barker said, adjusting his collar for a moment before he began walking to his vehicle.

“I hope you can do the same thing for Tony Rockwell that we’ve done today for Tiam,” Vulpecula said, using the walking stick to support himself.

“I can promise you that I will do whatever it takes to make sure justice is brought to Tony Rockwell.”

“Thank you, Mayor Barker.”

Sanec Barker nodded his head and flashed a smile, opening his car-door and preparing to make his leave.

“Not going to stay to talk to Tiam?”

Sanec shook his head. “I’m the one who arrested the guy, he’s not going to want to see me.”

Vulpecula nodded understandingly and waved Sanec Barker off as his vehicle let from view. Looking back at Tiam, Vulpecula watched as the Samuel, who’d been waiting just outside the gates, embraced Tiam, holding him tightly. Tiam, who other-times, surely, would’ve been apprehensive about such forms of public affection, allowed the embrace to happen, unable to hide his own emotions as they came to the surface.

It didn’t make everything better. Urgway remained a mess and Tony Rockwell was still on death-row. Maharris still had animalists willing to torture and set small children aflame. But, for a fleeting second, Vulpecula thought, perhaps, not all hope was lost.