No More Heroes

“Look, Tony, you and I have been close friends for almost twenty years, suffice to say that you and I have history and go way back. Your son still calls me Uncle Shiro when we bump into one another at the supermarket for crying out loud.”

Kerry Shapiro offered the friendliest smile he could muster out of himself. He offered a smile that was meant to be filled with compassion, but, all in all, amounted to a smile filled with one too many teeth over capacity. Simply put, a sleaze ball lawyer was the fairest way to describe the man.

“These are the reasons that I took this case, because we’re friends, Tony, and, I mean, this isn’t your first go around either, after all. You know how these things work.”

Tony Rockwell, however, was not a shady lawyer, or, at least, he wasn’t, not when he was still in practice. Mr. Rockwell did it all completely by the book during his tenure, and that’s what made him feel so conflicted. He’d since allowed for his license to expire, opting for greener, simpler pastures, no longer craving the heavy lights and stress that unfortunately came with the occupation.

“I asked for your help in this because I believe you are the best suited for my current situation.” Tony remarked plainly, the first domino was in place, and now, he only had to see it through and let it run until the end of its course. That fact alone offered him some assurance, but not much. If anything, it gave him an iota of comfort.

“I’ll state the obvious for you then, your story blows, Tony. Activists aren’t even able to convince citizens to believe in global warming and you expect me to get them to believe this crock of manure? You can literally see the melted ice in Manala and they still cry foul, what do you expect me to do with this!?” Kerry pleaded.

Tony Rockwell drank a bit of the expensive wine that Kerry had poured for him, clearly, Kerry wasn’t doing this for funds, but Tony still wasn’t for certain he was doing it out of the goodness of his heart either. Kerry Shiro was a lawyer known for taking cases heavily weighted against the defendant and making something out of nothing for them. It was what made him such a famously hailed lawyer in Maharris, regardless of if his practices were balanced or by the books. An evolved shark with legs, Shiro was born with a birth defect: gills on one side of his body. This meant he had to lug around an inconveniently large H20 tank everywhere he went, which also meant he walked around with a long, thin tube patched onto the side of his face in plastic white bandages.

“Are you really sure you want to have this as the story you come out with, I can run crowd control and we can spin this around for ourselves somehow.”

“It’s the truth,” Tony responded grimly, taking another sip of wine, knowing it’d more than likely be his last, he tried to enjoy it.

“Then, come up with another truth! Say that a group of thugs came in and kidnapped Saldana, say that they hit you over the head, damn-near beat you blind, left you all loopy and telling ridiculous fables! Retract your story, tell them anything doesn’t make it look like you’re a total loon that kidnapped a man!” Kerry hadn’t touched his own glass once since he’d poured it. The wheels in his head were moving and trying to find a way to alleviate the situation.

Not yet under arrest, Tony Rockwell had stopped by his home and dropped his bombshell of a predicament on Kerry, a puzzle that even the cleverest couldn’t ever truly solve.

“What are our options, Kerry?” Tony asked, showing nothing in his inflection and making no attempt to sooth his worried acquaintance.

Kerry Shiro sighed, he really had his work cut out for him with this one. “The Police Department will want to interrogate you, your legal knowledge might have kept you away from questioning, but it’ll be a matter of days or even hours before they come after you. Alright, so, that’s a given. Maybe we’ll get some schmuck I can work over. Granted, you have no clearly useful information that would benefit the case, which means a plea bargain is something we’d have to really work for. Maybe I can find some way to grease the wheels on that when this goes to trial. Notice I said ‘when’ this goes to trial, because that’s also a given if no other information comes out, they’ll want to do a full-blown investigation. If we think ahead to the trial, we’ll try to keep any dogs off the jury, maybe use some of that goodwill you’ve earned with some of Urgway. All in all, though, with the way you’ve laid things out for me, all we have is the power of prayer on our side, and lemme tell you, that ain’t worth much.”

“I assumed as much.”

“And there’s no chance that Mister Saldana will throw us a bone and just ‘reappear,’ is there?” Shiro asked, feigning like he had actual hope, even though he knew Tony wouldn’t have been here if it could be as simple as that.

“That is unlikely.”

Shiro sighed again. “What are the odds that they’ll find the remains of Mister Saldana somewhere?”

“I don’t know.”

Shiro sighed a third time.

2.

Vulpecula sat in his newly minted old office, plucking at the stuffing that protruded from out the cushion of his hand-me-down computer chair. His mind still dwelled on Detective Barker and their interaction with one another. The way that the canine carried himself was confident and fearless of any repercussion that may come from that courage. It didn’t make a difference to Barker if he was completely despised, which, from Psittacus’ accounts, he absolutely was. Detective Barker stared into the eyes of all Urgway’s heart-ache and his bottom lip never quivered, and his hands never started to shake.

Vulpecula admired that about him.

The fact that nothing mattered to Barker except doing his job effectively and that he prospered because of it, and, more importantly than that, he was able to help more people as a result.

V stopped fidgeting with the fur on his chin and took to the station’s provided computer. It sucked, for lack of a kinder description, equipped with a bulky monitor and an outdated tower, as well as programs that hadn’t been updated once in this turn of the century. Still, the information is provided from the confidential server was more than fruitful. So much so that it took several seconds to even register movement of the cursor on the screen.

Clicking Detective Barker’s name in the personnel alumni page, the newly employed Fox Detective perused the emptiness that was the Hound of Justice’s profile. The Hound of Justice, of course, being the nickname that Vulpecula had come up with in his head regarding Detective Barker. It didn’t have very much information about him at all. Never married, at least as far as the profile page was concerned. Barker had never attended college, but, according to this, he hadn’t attended high school or anything before that either. Blood-type, weight, height, eye-color, it had all of the technical information, at least. Still, it had nothing to with his upbringing or what led him to a life battling against injustice. It wasn’t because Vulpecula had searched an employee in the database either, as, when he searched Psittacus’ name, he was able to find information on him with no apparent gaps in the fields whatsoever.

He tried typing “Sanec Barker” into his browser’s search engine, able to find a plethora of links and articles regarding his recent promotion by the mayor, as well as dates for press conferences or other legal mumbo jumbo, but nothing personal, nothing about who he was. Detective Barker didn’t even have as little as a social media account for The Fox to stalk. Doing the math based on Sanec’s given date of birth, Vulpecula calculated the most likely date that he would have graduated and attached it with his name in the search engine. Again, he found nothing at all.

A knock is what eventually broke Vulpecula’s concentration away from the computer screen, which was strange because there wasn’t even a door to his office. A guy named Dean Sidkaricter stared at him. Sidkaricter was one of the many hirees that had made way to Bellville because of all the recent departures. The Head of the Department, Psittacus, cited the new recruits as more than welcome news, what, with Lucky’s accident and Barker’s departure, the department was in desperate need of some fresh blood. Not only that, but it had been almost criminally understaffed beforehand, with Psittacus, Lucky, and Barker at the reins, with only a handful of interim transfers and interns lending assistance on occasion.

Vulpecula made eye-contact with Dean, a bear that managed to do the unthinkable of looking lanky in his physique. Considered as the runt of the litter in his youth, Dean Sidkaricter had an inferiority complex he yearned to tackle head-on by enforcing the law in the most crime filled state of Maharris. Dean had a look of upright enthusiasm in his demeanor, a look that he always seemed to have, as if he was always having to contain himself.

“Psittacus wants us all to come to the main room for a briefing on current affairs,” Dean said, so fast that it took a few seconds for it to completely register with V, who, then, simply nodded and sent Dean on his way.

Vulpecula looked at the computer screen, on it, an image of Detective Sanec Barker stared back at him. Barker’s feigned smile as he shook hands with the mayor of Urgway at some banquet, Vulpecula asked himself again who it was he was looking at.

He exited the web-page and turned off the monitor.

* * *

“This is, what I call, a slam-dunk. Slam dunks don’t come often, at least not ones of this caliber.” Detective Psittacus began, unlike Dean whose enthusiasm was unwavering and needed nothing to support it, Psittacus was visibly trying to force it. Truth is, it was seven o’clock in the morning and, with a half-full coffee mug in his hands, he still wasn’t quite awake yet.

Vulpecula stared on, himself seated in an uncomfortable metal folding chair, his hands rested on a long, white plastic table. Seated to his left was Dean Sidkaricter, and, in-front of him, in a parallel table, were the other new employees, a middle-aged woman from Jalint named Cheri Outlet, and a considerably build individual by the name of Allen Winters. Their eyes all over to Psittacus, who stood in-front of a whiteboard that had photographs tacked onto it, most notably, a photograph of Tony Rockwell.

“Let’s say we have a therapist, not a lucrative therapist, not one that costs hundreds of thousands of dollars for doing nothing except listen to you complain for a couple of hours, but a small time therapist. A therapist with an office that you must go away out of the way to find, we’re talking, all the way out in the miles and miles of cornfield that separates Urgway from Jalint. In-fact, it’s only by a technicality that it is even considered in our state.” Detective Psittacus took a sip of his coffee, looking around the room to make for certain that he has everyone’s attention. He does. “The therapist sees a client named Finn Saldana, an unemployed gentleman, looking for work, let’s say that he has a lot to complain about and leave it at that. The therapist senses that this Finn character has some repressed memories he has stuffed down beneath the surface and decides he wants to try an archaic method of healing through hypnotism. Finn, who is seated in one of those black, leather chairs that therapists have, his head looking up at the ceiling, the therapist does what he does, using lights and fancy words, tells Finn he’s getting sleepy, tells him what will happen when he snaps his fingers, does all that mumbo jumbo, you know, the works.” Psittacus laughed under his breath, looking down to the floor and away from everybody, for a reason that is not readily apparent to The Fox Detective. Finally, after shaking his head in disbelief, Psittacus looks back up at them, “The therapist actually succeeds in his efforts, discovering an earlier trauma that Finn Saldana had been unwilling to see for himself. According to this therapist, Finn Saldana then realizes that he was murdered as a child and vanishes into thin-air.”

Laughter filled the room, Cheri Outlet’s squeaky outburst is the most notable, but it seemed everyone was particularly caught off-guard by the remark, Vulpecula, on the other-hand, kept a straight-face.

“You can’t make these things up, folks. The therapist relays this information to a police station in Jalint, it being out of their jurisdiction, it winds up on our doorstep. The kicker in all of this is that the therapist in-question, who we will be bringing in today, is none other than Tony Rockwell.”

That name is why Vulpecula was able to keep a straight face. Vulpecula’s father Henley Noel had always gone out of his way to throw praise toward the Tony Rockwell name and his accomplishments. When Henley Noel led the regime that ultimately led to the descension of The Canes Vinatici, Tony Rockwell was a behind-the-scenes man that helped with a great deal of the leg-work. As a lawyer, Rockwell was responsible for putting many higher-up Canes’ members behind bars for their crimes. The aptly named People versus. The Canes trial stood today as one of the most important in Maharris history, setting precedent for countless cases that came thereafter. The case established a Maharris federal law against individuals for racketeering and allowed the person who “called for the hit” in an organized crime syndicate to be tried just as if they pulled the trigger. In one swoop, Tony Rockwell more-or-less led to the confinement of nearly two-thirds of the whole Canes group.

“I assume I won’t need to explain to any of you how big of a player Mr. Rockwell used to be in Urgway, but all of this will be an important deal for our department. It will be a golden feather in our caps, an opportunity to prove our worth, so that next time we go asking for actual funding from the state, we’ll have some weight behind our demands. And, this one, like I said, is a slam-dunk. Tony Rockwell refuses to budge on his narrative and from all the tests we’ve had run, he wasn’t inebriated or unfit to make these statements. Vulpecula Noel will be assisting me in this investigation, I’ll be sending him to both Rockwell and Mr. Saldana’s homes to look for evidence and information. A warrant has already been fast-tracked given the prevalent factors of the situation.” Detective Psittacus nodded his head, then, stopped when he heard a coughing sound come from Cheri Outlet, a clearly deliberate outburst on her part.

The reason it could clearly be deliberate is because, when the parrot quieted himself, Cheri jumped on the opportunity to speak. “As I am certain you know from reading my profile, unlike the rest that fill out most of this table, I’ve been around the block more than a few times. I know you did it because you needed some actual experience in your department to compliment yourself, which makes me wonder why you’d decide to gamble with Vulpecula on such an important case as this. Maybe you see it as a political move? Tony Rockwell’s name is bound to stir up controversy, everyone will assume an immediate bias against him when his day comes to stand trial. Any smart lawyer will try and entice yesteryear’s paranoia, make individuals think this is a final blow from a dying era, that Tony is being setup by the Canes in some way. And, maybe, you think that, by having Vulpecula as one of the individuals to bring him to justice, because his father’s connections to Tony, that bias will be alleviated.”

Detective Psittacus didn’t smile or laugh in-response to Cheri’s comments, didn’t take it on the chin, but, rather, carried an ugly and serious grimace on his face that held with consistence. “Let’s make no mistake about it, Detective Outlet, I am choosing Vulpecula for this case because I believe he is the best suited for it.” Psittacus spoke with finality, though, conveniently and, Vulpecula assumed, intentionally, the head of the Marybeth Police Station chose not to disclose whether one of those characteristics Vulpecula carried was politically based. Nevertheless, Cheri Outlet’s face went sour and with a disenchanted inflection in her tone, she accepted Psittacus’ statement with politeness and respect.

* * *

Detective Psittacus wasn’t exaggerating when he said that Tony Rockwell’s place of business was difficult to find. In-fact, it was an understatement. Vulpecula pulled up slowly in the police car. On the bright-side, with Rockwell’s home being so far away from Urgway’s more robust areas, it meant traffic was almost nonexistent. Vulpecula could never bring himself to drive in the heavy streets of Urgway, afraid that he’d anger someone so bad that they’d press “triangle” next to his car and yank him out of the vehicle like in the video-games.

The Fox Detective had stayed for the entirety of the meeting, long enough to hear all the different cases that were assigned to each member of the department. Some of the grislier affairs made him more appreciative to be chosen on a high-profile case such as this, for, at least in this circumstance, at least the missing person was kind enough to disappear and not leave any remains. Or, at least, Vulpecula hoped there were no remains to be found. The case’s outcomes and reality seemed obvious from a faraway standpoint. Up-close, however, could very well have been another experience entirely.

Vulpecula walked around the room. One of Tony Rockwell’s rooms, to be specific. Tony Rockwell’s place of business also happened to be where he lived, and was only open three, sometimes four, days at the most. To be even more exact than that, it was the room that Finn Saldana disappeared in thin-air from. Assuming that, God forbid, the statement wasn’t actually based in-reality, it was possible that the room was completely useless. The Detective searched through his mind and reminisced his Blank Chalkboard, which currently had scrawlings of information sketched upon it. The first and foremost was how Rockwell described the events as they unfolded. This information was gathered in the initial statement given by Rockwell when police first arrived at the scene of the crime and he gave his account of what happened. Tony Rockwell said that Finn found out about his previous trauma and faded away. The keyword being that he “faded,” thereby, indicating a slow dissolution, one that wasn’t sudden and one that was clearly visible all the way through by Rockwell.

Assuming the statement was actually based in reality, this meant it was too pristine of a disappearance to have been faked as an illusion. The Fox thought back to the Magnets, an earlier case he’d experienced that involved a group of magicians, and while he wouldn’t have put it past them to pull something like this, the simple fact remained – magic wasn’t real, and people couldn’t simply disappear. Had Tony Rockwell described a white, powdery smoke, or something of that nature, it could have been chalked up to a simple magician’s trick.

Vulpecula crouched down, bending his knees forward, he looked at the leather chair where Finn Saldana had supposedly once sat, making note of the few strands of white hair he saw on the seat.

Tony Rockwell’s office was relatively small, though, in some respects, the room also promoted a homelier aesthetic that might have been visually comforting to some of his patients. Regardless of it that was the idea, the room was everything it needed to be, as was the small waiting room just outside the office where patients were seated until being called upon by … by his secretaries, one or two potential witnesses that Vulpecula would need to interview once he finished scavenging all the available evidence.

The carpets were dark-red, a maroon-color, and Tony Rockwell’s large desk was a light, oak-color, sprawled about on it were pages and pages of information, folders and documents, and, on one of folders, was a red-ring from a glass. Chances were that the mug or cup responsible for the red-ring would be found somewhere around the house or in the sink, if there was enough left for a sample, they could test it, even still, the evidence already came back saying that he wasn’t under the influence of any drugs when he made his statement.

Vulpecula sported some latex gloves while he searched through the pages of information, all of it seemed detailed and informative, although, nothing seemed pertinent to the case at-hand. Furthermore, most of the juiciest information regarding each individual would be on the large, expensive-looking computer he also had on his desk. Getting as far as the desktop didn’t require any login information, but, as Vulpecula expected, the folders involving his patients were encrypted. This was alright, had The Fox still worked independently, he’d have no problem digging through private information, specifically if it meant it could result in saving someone’s life, but, legally, he had no grounds to it. Urgway’s state law protected individuals like lawyers, therapists, or individuals in medical professions from having to disclose certain private information on their patients unless they were provided with a separate warrant altogether, a feat which would have been an easy task for V to receive should the situation beckon it. Instead, Vulpecula simply looked at all the names in the folder and marked the findings for a later inspection, his patient’s named included Zeke Braxton, Brian Mayweather, Leslie Morgan, and Christoph Finley.

Other-wise, however, the room was mostly bare in-terms of information. Keeping in mind that the room would still be available to him for later dissection should the situation demand it, Vulpecula left from Tony Rockwell’s office, heading toward Finn Saldana’s.

* * *

Finn Saldana’s abode was far from extravagant, it was also a great deal away from Tony Rockwell’s office. As a matter of fact, it took Vulpecula well-over an hour to make it from one house to the other, and that’s without the traffic had by the major cities. Whoever Finn Saldana was, he must have really craved for his therapy sessions. Then again, as Vulpecula unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out from his vehicle, it was clear that someone of Finn’s pay-rate wouldn’t have many other options to consider, still, someone of his pay-rate also wouldn’t be able to take an hour-plus drive to Rockwell’s office on a regular basis. The Fox Detective assured himself of this fact by looking in Finn’s file and discovering more about him.

Finn was a thirty-three-year-old mongoose that had traveled all the way through the Whispey Deserts from Zeal to a new life in Maharris. The mongoose had worked six months at a local clothing store called The Liz Kids, a family business run by the daughters of Elizabeth Myers, a fact Vulpecula only knew after he searched the name in his web browser. Since then, however, the mongoose had been unemployed.

Vulpecula etched down in his mind that he needed to contact the owners of The Liz Kids and find out what led to their separation, if Finn Saldana took the firing hard or not could help explain why he decided to seek therapy as an outlet. It also needed to be seen how often that Finn attended Tony Rockwell’s therapy and how Rockwell’s etiquette was with the rest of the patients he’d seen on a regular basis.

Finn Saldana’s front-door wasn’t locked, which came as no surprise, after all, directly in-front of The Fox Detective were the proud boys in blue from Scottsdale, a tiny district, much smaller than Marybeth, but every bit as underprivileged when it came to the states’ budgeting. For areas that failed to accrue a certain population, their police force usually wasn’t individualized and oftentimes doubled, tripled, or even quadrupled with other small districts, this one was no different and shared employees that were spread all many different areas of Urgway. Technically, Finn Saldana’s apparent disappearance occurred in the Marybeth district, and the fact that the one major suspect was from Marybeth kept them with complete jurisdiction. Scottdales’ men were simply spread about as a precautionary and procedural measure, have witnesses readily available to see how any evidence might have been gathered or attained. The reason that Vulpecula didn’t need anyone to accompany him into Rockwell’s is because the areas he’d searched had already been looked after by Jalint’s police force after Rockwell made the phone-call. Procedure wasn’t always as strict and specific, not in areas as low-budget and low-maintenance like Marybeth, but, with so many hands in the pot, it made things more technical and laid a path not unlike walking on eggshells.

Vulpecula smiled at the officers, who almost unanimously returned serious and stone-faced expression in-response, as he walked past them. Finn Saldana’s house wasn’t, actually, his house, but, rather, one of the rooms to an apartment complex. A small assortment called Suede Inn, Vulpecula walked up the steps leading to the next floor rooms. It wasn’t very difficult to figure out which one of the rooms belonged to Finn, as, the very second, he made it to the second floor, he spotted more policeman standing beside the opened door of one of the rooms. The Fox Detective didn’t bother smiling at any of them this time, and instead, he merely walked by them and stepped into Saldana’s apartment.

Once more, one of the most apparent questions that occurred to The Fox Detective was how an individual in such a small apartment, who was unemployed and had previously worked at a local clothing store, would be able to afford to pay Tony Rockwell to listen to his problems. Though, perhaps such a thing was beside the point, maybe Rockwell was particularly reasonable with his prices, perhaps Saldana had a rich uncle from Zeal, or coupons, it didn’t have any apparent importance to the subject at hand. Tony Rockwell called the police and informed them that Finn Saldana had disappeared in thin-air, and, ever since then, Finn Saldana had been unaccounted for. That was the subject at-hand, and that was what The Fox knew he needed to focus on, the rest was only speculative and circumstantial without actual evidence backing it.

Vulpecula brought his eyes around Finn Saldana’s apartment, the smell of cleaner was one of the first readily apparent traits the room carried, or, perhaps, simply the most distinctive. It smelled like several different scents, all artificial and meant to accomplish creating a delectable aroma. The smell of cleaner, as if the tiled-flooring had been mopped at least a few days back with a strong, lingering smell. The floor was tiled with an aesthetic that suggested hardwood, but clearly was not, in-fact, some of the tiles even looked as though they were beginning to pry themselves up from where they’d been situated. An air-freshener was on a nearby shelf, a battery operated cannister that shot itself off in scheduled intervals, it worked to complement the cleaner from the floors, but, really, it only conglomerated into what became a stuffy aroma. It wasn’t the only smells that radiated throughout the room either, as Vulpecula knew he could smell something had been sprayed in abundant, excessive amount on the furniture. So much so that Vulpecula had to really fight the urge to sneeze.

Looking at the room itself, it was reasonable enough to think Saldana was the type of person that’d might try and suffocate himself with air-fresheners or cleaners, as the room itself was just about free of any speck of dust or dirt whatsoever. A small rectangular rug was at the center of the room, it depicted dark-green vines with blossoming flowers, on top of that was a beige-colored couch with brown pillows on the arm-rest that had pinkish flowers on them as emblems. The Fox Detective noted how neatly organized all of it seemed, finding it more than a little peculiar a sight.

Zeal was a very large area, almost as large as Maharris after all, but, where Finn Saldana was from, Tuncid, it was heavily based in agriculture and rugged simplicity. Vulpecula walked forward, looking around the area. Leaving the living room, V found himself in the kitchen, which was every bit as neat and orderly as where he began. On the kitchen table, however, he found something of significance, a calendar with a date circled for a session with Tony Rockwell. Vulpecula scrolled through previous dates and found that Saldana had circled numerous others as well, writing down times, it seemed as though he had sessions with Tony Rockwell bimonthly.

The little information that the apartment told Vulpecula didn’t have very much apparent use to the case itself. It told that Finn was obsessive compulsive as far as living arrangements were concerned, but, much more importantly than that, it at least showed evidence that Finn had indeed scheduled himself an appointment with Tony Rockwell for the given time of his disappearance.

As far as Vulpecula could see, Detective Psittacus was right in referring the case as a slam-dunk.

3.

“How do you think it went?” Tony Rockwell asked, waiting only until a few seconds after the loud bird left his line of vision out from the interrogation room.

Kerry Shiro wasn’t very quick to answer him, instead, he walked over to the camera resting on the tripod only a short distance away from them wasn’t still recording their conversation. The shark rubbed the back of his neck, bringing his fins to back of his neck and rubbing the knot he could feel forming as a result of his current predicament. Kerry wasn’t very quick to answer him because such a question was ridiculous in the given situation. The question was laced with a dryness, the kind-of inflection that made it perfectly clear that Rockwell knew exactly how everything had went.

“Do you have an agenda against me, Tony?” Kerry let out an audible sigh, “I once looked at you the wrong way and you decided you wanted to make me into a laughing stock, is that it?”

“You knew what you were getting into before you took this case, Kerry. I made it perfectly clear to you that I would not be changing my stance on this, that I knew I was fighting in a losing situation, hoping only for a plea bargain or a reduced sentence. This wasn’t a conspiracy made to punish you.” Tony Rockwell answered plainly, he felt the chains of his handcuffs rattle across the metal table beneath him while he tried to deliver hand-gestures, it wouldn’t be long now until he saw the inside of a prison cell.

“Why is that, exactly?” Kerry asked after a brief pause.

“Why’s what?”

“Why do you refuse to change your story? That owl ate us alive just now because of it.”

“Parrot,” Tony corrected.

“Whatever, that doesn’t answer my question, why do you refuse to change your story? And, don’t give me that bologna that it’s the truth, you and I both know that story is something straight-out of a science-fiction novel, and a particularly outrageous one, at that!”

“What do you want me to say, Kerry?” Tony asked, completely depleted. The whole situation had been exhausting for him, it was only through grit and a small slither of hope he had managed to see it through as far as he had.

“This isn’t the truth. Nobody in their right mind would believe something as ridiculous as the manure you’ve spewed. Nobody in their right mind! And, you know what, maybe you’re not in your right mind, and if that’s the case, I’ll order a psyche evaluation, maybe get you off on the insanity defense. But you know what? I don’t believe that, I think you’re as functional as you’ve ever been. That leaves me with nothing except to ask why you’d put yourself in this situation. The only thought I can come up with is that you murdered Finn Saldana. That doesn’t explain why you’d put yourself in this situation, so, then, I thought, maybe you felt guilty about it, afterwards, had second-thoughts. Maybe your conscience wouldn’t let you let it go, and you decided you wanted to confess. But, then, why didn’t you confess? The way I see it, if you killed him and wanted to get away with it, you’d spin me a realistic and plausible fable, keeping your name clear. If you didn’t kill and were sincerely attempting to see the person responsible brought to justice, you’d tell the truth, and the truth is not that the man disappeared into thin-air.” Kerry Shiro shook his head as he spoke, too enraged and irritated to even make eye-contact with his client. “I don’t think that I can help you unless you tell me something more than what you’re telling me.”

Tony Rockwell sighed, he knew that trying to make Kerry see things from his perspective would never be fruitful, all he could do was stay the course and remain firm. “I stand by my claims and my statement. I would never do anything to force you or any other lawyer into defending me, because, I know that accepting this case is accepting a definite tally mark in the loss column, I know that if Finn Saldana is found, it will likely only make matters worse, I know that if he isn’t, I will be vilified as the man responsible. The only thing I can tell you, with absolute honestly behind it, coming to you as a friend, is that I never laid my hands on Finn Saldana. Whatever happened to him, wherever he ended up, it was from the doing of somebody else and not by my hands.”

Kerry Shiro made eye-contact with Tony, a somber look on his face that was reciprocated, Shiro simply said: “You may not have killed Finn Saldana, but, when the dust settles, it’ll be like you might as well have.”

4.

“Tony Rockwell hasn’t wiggled an inch from what he said to the officers from Jalint in his initial statement. Every question I have, the man answers with a calm, perhaps, even bored, tone behind his voice. I ask him to describe what he and Finn talked about, the man can recite the information back to me as if it has been rehearsed a dozen times on his end. Tells me that Finn is heart-broken because he misses his family back in Zeal, talks about the rough-patches the man has had with trying to find work in Urgway, and get this, tells me he thought it’d be easier in Urgway than it turned out as.” Detective Psittacus said, smiling from the audacity of such a remark.

Vulpecula nodded blankly as an effort to humor his parrot employer, but truth is, it wouldn’t have been far-fetched for someone to leave Tuncid, anticipating better treatment in Urgway. Urgway might have been seen as one of the scummier states where crime-rate is the highest, but Tuncid was known for particularly harsh working conditions, with most the fruit of their labors being taken from them and brought to the neighboring state of Jerleak. Urgway would have seemed like an escape for them from that situation.

“Says he can’t look through the photo albums and he has trouble speaking, can tell me all this information. What sticks out to me above all of this, is that Rockwell never blinks an eye the whole time he says it. This man looks as though he premeditated his attack and is ready to deliberately mess with the police force along the way to incarceration.”

“Tony Rockwell fell on the borderlines of sainthood in the Noel household, my father spoke of his generosity and motivation, about how he always put others ahead of himself and had a determination to bring equal treatment amongst all animal groups,” Vulpecula started, it was a fact he’d chewed on for the entire time he’d spent covering the case.

“The human-mind is a complicated machine, I’ve seen families defend their husbands, their sons, and their brothers, tooth and nail. They’d claim them polite, thoughtful, and sincere, and you know what, I truly believed every one of them believed what they said. The truth is you can never know exactly what is going on behind a person’s eyes, they can say all the right things and play the role with no mistakes, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a role, it could simply be that they’re a great actor.” Detective Psittacus said, resting the clipboard he’d been holding on the white table they’d spent the morning for the debriefing, he walked over to the rectangular donut box and fumbled through the leftovers until finding the one he wanted.

“Finn Saldana’s vehicle was mostly bare-bones, wasn’t it? The filed report before it was compounded said that all it had was a mp3 player attached to the car through an auxiliary cord. They found a pair of shoes in the trunk, a spare tire and a crowbar, but, other-wise, that’s all they noted, correct?”

“Ah, yes, your memory is astounding, just because I can’t remember what I had for breakfast this morning doesn’t mean you should brag about it,” Detective Psittacus said sarcastically.

“You had a coffee,” Vulpecula replied, a matter-of-fact tone, intentionally teasing the parrot, “I was with Scottdales’ men the whole way while they dug through Finn’s apartment, we didn’t find a photo-album.”

Detective Psittacus shrugged his shoulders.

“Actually, in his apartment, none of us were able to find a single photograph of his family members, weren’t able to find any letters either.”

“Do you remember Adrian Spade, Noel?”

“I don’t think anyone could forget about a man like Adrian Spade, the man was one of the most heinous serial killers in Maharris history.”

“And, do you remember what he kept of his victims?”

“Photographs.”

“I am hoping that we find Finn Saldana alive, or, at the very least, I am hoping that we can at least find remains we can send to his family in Zeal. However, poking holes doesn’t get us any closer to doing that. It’s textbook for murderers to keep mementos or trophies of their victims, far as we know, Rockwell confiscated the poor guys’ photo album. As far as him not receiving any letters, everything is electronic these days.”

“We weren’t able to find a computer either,” Vulpecula countered dryly.

Detective Psittacus sighed. “I realize you admire Tony Rockwell, I do. But, the rabbit-hole you’re trying to go down doesn’t lead us any closer to finding out the motive Rockwell might have had, or establishing a history, did you contact Rockwell’s other patients?”

“I did,” Vulpecula replied. “All of them praised Tony Rockwell’s etiquette, saying he always appeared as warm and affectionate, they’re completely baffled about what has been reported on television. They also said he never spoke about any of his other patients, and, with the way appointments were scheduled, it was rare that they’d have a chance to interact with any of his other patients.”

“And, Saldana’s neighbors?”

“Finn Saldana’s neighbors in the adjacent apartment complexes had nothing but kind words to say on his behalf. They referred to him as generous, a middle-aged woman who is detailed further in my report even shared an account where he assisted her in putting together a wooden television stand. The stand might’ve been disfigured, looking like something out of a horror show, but she was still very grateful to him. I knocked on the door of another gentleman’s apartment and he said that the only run-in that he had with Finn was regarding him playing his music too loud, said that it wasn’t until he threatened to call the police that Finn obliged with his requests and turned it down.”

The Fox Detective failed to add further details he’d discovered while he questioned them, understanding the likelihood that Psittacus would simply provide scrutiny if he found out that Vulpecula had indeed delved further down the rabbit hole. First and foremost, some characteristics that were omitted included what he’d seen when he was conversing with the middle-aged woman. Her demeanor provided nothing out of the ordinary, it was what he saw inside her house that struck him as different. Her apartment had the same cleanliness and scents that Saldana’s suffered from, also, and while it could have been somewhere else in the room, over her shoulder, the television stand looked far from disastrous. The other obvious detail Vulpecula observed was regarding the man, who stated that Finn’s music was abundantly loud. The issue is that Finn’s apartment was at the opposite side of the apartment complex, and that, when Vulpecula and the Scottdale officers searched his apartment, they also did not find a radio.

Vulpecula watched while Detective Psittacus chomped down on his donut of choice, a glazed apple fritter, and then, finally asked: “Does it not seem uncommon to you? If Rockwell wanted to get off free from his crime, he could have lied. The man locked up almost all The Canes Vinatici, if he wanted to get away with this, he surely would have something better than this. The man would’ve woven something that would have pointed away from him, instead, he weaves something that deliberately does the opposite?”

“A second chance at the limelight, we still don’t have any real evidence to charge him with, if, at any second, he decides he no longer wants to play ball, he recants his story and he goes home free. You’ve heard the saying that killers want to be caught, and I am certain you’ve also learned that is a giant load. Killers don’t want to be caught, killers want everyone to know what they’ve done, without consequences to their actions.” Detective Psittacus finished his donut and wiped his face with a napkin that was near to the box of pastries, “If you want to talk to him, you go on ahead and talk to him.”

5.

The Fox Detective took Detective Psittacus up on his offer, having Tony Rockwell brought from hold-up, they stared eye-to-eye with one another from across opposite sides of the steel table. Tony Rockwell’s hands were fastened to table in cuffs, Vulpecula stared at him without saying a single-word, simply fidgeting with the fur on his chin. Tony looked haggard and worn, a far-cry from the image that Vulpecula had engraved into his head of him. Still, a slight flicker came in Rockwell’s eye when they first made contact with each-other.

“You look a lot like your father,” Tony said plainly, he brought his hands up to his face, making the shackles rattle as he did, “You even do that nervous fidget with the hair on your fur like he did. Henley didn’t do it much though, later in life, it was mostly as a kid. Always doubted himself, but, somewhere down the line, looking around, seeing everyone rally behind him, his confidence went up and his apprehension dissipated.”

“Like how Finn Saldana dissipated?” Vulpecula said, it was a cheap retort, meant to not-so-subtly remind Tony Rockwell that he hadn’t brought him out of hold-up to discuss who his father was.

Rockwell’s demeanor didn’t change in a particularly blatant way, clearly, he had never forgotten why he was where he was at but was trying to distract himself from it. Vulpecula could relate to that fact in some respects, he tried to distract himself from what all the signs pointed toward.

“Like how Finn Saldana dissipated,” Rockwell concurred tiredly. “The man was distressed and troubled, it seemed like he might have been under a form of duress, coerced someway into a state of confusion. All of our therapy sessions had resulted in little to no progress on his behalf, I felt as if I had no other way to help my patient than to try hypnosis. I did as I had been taught, he was comforted and then, in his relaxed state of mind, memories surfaced from the innermost sanctums of his mind, the type of repressed memories that are locked with no intent of ever being opened and looked at again.”

“And, when you did that, you found out that his grandfather murdered him when he was a child,” Vulpecula finished, feeling ridiculous for having to utter such a concept.

“Correct,” Tony Rockwell said.

“Not correct, you said in your testimony that it was his father,” Vulpecula said, correcting only one of the many ridiculous parts of the concept he’d stated.

Tony Rockwell smiled. “Yes, but, as I said, it was his memory, not mine, and thereby, I’d have no reason to remember its intricacies.”

“Except, when I went into your office earlier today, I went through all of your password encrypted files, I wasn’t able to view their contents, obviously, but what I did observe is that of all the patient therapy sessions you had documented, Finn Saldana’s file was completely unaccounted for.” Vulpecula added.

“It looks as though Finn took a few things with him after his disappearance,” Tony jested. “Either that, or I deleted the files from our interviews in a knee-jerk reaction out of fear.”

“Files remain on the hard-drive after they’re deleted, if there were files to find, we’d have dug them up,” Vulpecula lied, knowing full-well that such measures had not been taken.

“Like a ghost,” Tony said, wiggling his fingers around to indicate something disappearing in thin-air.

“I don’t think that,” Vulpecula said, keeping his stare firm as he looked Tony in the eyes. “The Canes mistreated other animals, devalued them, brought them down from an economic and moral perspective. They brought them down so much that all other animals might as well have been domesticated pets for the Canes. My father wasn’t a perfect man, sometimes I’m not even certain if I think he was a good man, but the things he did amounted to a greater good. Through his advocacy and speeches, and through your know-how of the law, the domesticated pets were able to find themselves on a higher playing-field. I valued you for that. I valued you for that, more than my father, because you didn’t lobby for rioting that segued violence, but, instead, when my father was out getting my mother and himself killed and leaving bodies in his wake, you were there to pick up the pieces and try and mold it into something practical. I value you for that, and for that, I follow this case under the assumption that Finn Saldana really did vanish in thin-air, and I won’t stop until I find out how.”

Vulpecula stared intently in Tony Rockwell’s eyes, looking for something, of what, he knew not. The blank chalkboard filled with nonsensical theories of what the outcome could have been.

Tony Rockwell looked down at the table for a prolonged amount of time. Then, at last, he looked back up at The Fox Detective, a smirk on his face as he looked back at him. “Finn Saldana came to my office that afternoon as he always did. The man ran his mouth about losing his place of employment, some clothing store, the man couldn’t even keep employment at a clothing store for crying out loud!”

“What?” Vulpecula said, his breathing calming down as he listened in on Tony’s words.

“I stopped being a lawyer because I was tired of always being run-down by paparazzi, but if I’d known how tired I’d grow of listening to people’s problems, I’d have dealt with those blinding lights instead of this. Finn Saldana was the worst, always complaining about how much he hated Urgway and missed the family he’d apparently once been so eager to leave.” Tony looked Vulpecula dead in the eyes, speaking with a hardly controllable anxiousness in his voice, “I had a concrete statue in my office, one of a fox, a memento meant to remind me of your father, in-fact. I took it and my smashed Saldana’s head in with it. I did it over and over again, even though I could tell he was dead after only the first hit.”

Vulpecula looked at Tony with a shocked expression on his face, himself at a complete loss for words.

“You’re likely to find his body eventually, maybe then you’ll have a little less faith in my good natures.”

Tony Rockwell smiled, then, Vulpecula watched as he waved his hand, The Fox Detective turned around, seeing that Rockwell’s lawyer, Kerry Shiro was at the door.

“That’s nice, very nice,” Shiro began, walking inside the interrogation room, wheeling in his tank of H20, “Trying to talk with my client without his lawyer present, you sneaky sneak, you might as well be a shoe, but let’s go ahead and see ourselves out of this room so I can talk with my client. Out, out, out, you go,” The shark said, shooing Vulpecula away, “Ah, yes, we’re all very proud of you, Vulpecula, white fur, just had to be different, couldn’t have gone with red like the other foxes.”

It took The Fox Detective a moment to acknowledge the shark’s existence, his ears were ringing and the reoccurring image of Rockwell in the act of murdering Finn Saldana played in his head in an endless loop. At last, Vulpecula obliged, “I don’t think I’ll need to talk with him any further.” The Fox climbed to his feet, staring back at the confused Kerry Shiro, and made his walk of shame out from the interrogation room.

The look of Detective Psittacus, however, who had been watching the encounter from a television in his office didn’t share his sentiment of failure though. “We’ve got him,” Psittacus said, a look that said he was satisfied in the outcome.

6.

Kerry Shiro rubbed the back of his head while he paced around the interrogation room, circling around the table that Tony Rockwell was shackled to. “And exactly, what did you tell that fox!?”

Tony Rockwell looked at him, his eyes bloodshot with tears, “What I needed to.”

7.

The young fox roamed the halls of the strange building, familiarity was mostly long-gone as far as surroundings were concerned. It would be fair to say though, that, right now, this strange building was, in-fact, his home. Ever since his Father had taken to traveling through Maharris for his marches, it had become less and less often he found himself staying at the same town for more than a couple of days. Vulpecula wore his green blanket around his head like a hooded robe, the sound of conversation was readily apparent. Each step fourth made the voices stronger and more distinctive, which told him he was heading in their direction.

“All I’m saying is, at what cost!?” a voice yelled out, Vulpecula recognized the voice as belonging to his mother.

“At all the costs! I am trying to start a revolution that will improve the standard of living for everyone in all of Maharris, Clarice.” This voice, Vulpecula was able to easily recognize as belonging to his father.

“Everyone in all of Maharris!? That dog’s jaw was ripped in half, stores have been set on fire, have you even been watching the televisions!?” Clarice Noel pleaded, the anger radiating loudly in her voice.

“Centuries of The Canes oppressing anyone that doesn’t look like them, you’re mad at me that some of them would want revenge?”

“Revenge!? When has this ever been about revenge, Henley!? Let’s ignore the fact that our son hasn’t been to a school in six months! That you’ve received death threats! I’ve received death threats!”

“And, we’ve been looking to have him home-schooled, have we not? You have a bachelor’s degree, chances are you can teach him a lot more than any yahoo in a public school can. When he’s older, he’ll thank me for it, and when you see the world I have in mind, you’ll thank me too.” Henley Noel stopped yelling back at her and began talking to her like he always did, in an argument he most likely started out of stress or fatigue, he had now positioned himself as the levelheaded one.

“Careful, little guy,” a voice called out, making The Fox Child flinch. Vulpecula felt the man’s hand rest on his shoulder, Tony Rockwell stared back up at him, himself carrying a warm and reassuring smile on his face. “Your mother and father are having adult conversations, the kinds of boring conversations you wouldn’t what to subject yourself to. Don’t worry about them, they’ll work it out, even superheroes have their weak moments, your parents are no different.”

Vulpecula felt Tony’s hands go over his shoulders and lift him up, Vulpecula didn’t try and fight out of his hands. They headed back to Vulpecula’s bedroom, where Rockwell rested him gently onto his bed, removing the blanket out from around Vulpecula and placing it over his stomach, tucking him into bed.

“I miss my friends,” Vulpecula said, repressing a yawn, “I don’t feel like I have anybody anymore.”

“Oh, son,” Tony said reassuringly, “You have your Father and your Mother, and they both love you very, very much.”

“I only see them as they’re getting ready to leave in the morning, Mom sometimes reads me stories, but I never see Dad at all. It’s like he’s vanished.”

“People don’t just up and vanish, Vulpecula. Your father’s always there, and he’ll always love you, even if he might not always be around.”

Vulpecula smiled weakly and Tony reciprocated. “Let me help with that,” Tony said, taking the pillow out from behind Vulpecula’s head and fluffing it.

Then, as Vulpecula watched on, Tony’s face changed in some way, his smile became less friendly and more wicked. Tony pressed the pillow down over Vulpecula’s face with great force. Vulpecula tried his best to fight out of it, he squirmed and flailed his arms.

The Fox Detective sprung out from his bed, his body shook with fear as he turned on his bedside lamp, looking at the room around him. The fear he felt was in its purest form, worse even than when he’d look under the bed as a child for monsters, which made sense, because, after all, there were no heroes, not anymore, but monsters were easy to come by.