The Laugh Track

Italina is home to the Malane Museum, filled with decorative tapestries and fancy silverware, the whole twenty-seven feet. Not only that, but visitors and citizens also flocked to the Sanchi Tower. (Flock, an unfortunate word, as one time, Vulpecula recalled reading about a bird-brained eagle flying that flew right into it… A story for a different time.) It was known for Ollie’s Abil, a terrific and decadently scrumptious eating establishment famous for sushi and pasta. 

That’s what Italina is, a fancy and romantic setting. 

Meanwhile, however, Acera strives as the exact opposite of that. Laid-back and with a live and let live attitude. Hot-weather almost all year around, Acera is where Vulpecula, Apus, and Lacerta hang their hats at night. (or scarves, a green one for Vulpecula, meanwhile, the other two didn’t have the bravado for any trademark looks. Lacerta sometimes would shed his skin, and V would joke about wearing it and acting out his favorite scenes from an old eighties horror called The Laugh Track.) 

That was Acera. But as the Taxi-Driver sped onward, over the speed-limit to keep with the flow of oncoming traffic, Vulpecula wondered what Urgway was known for. 

Everything about it felt dark and gloomy, a dreary atmosphere that made it feel like a dark-cloud was cast over them. V perched his chin over his Shenai Stick, the top of his head leaned up against the back of the driver’s head rest. 

The city shouldn’t have been that big a departure from others, but it was. It wasn’t what was done, but how it was done, and it felt like everything had a gray-scale layer gleamed over it. Even the street lights shined with a certain bleak disparity. 

 The industrial world. The crime filled slums. That’s the legacy Urgway had for itself. 

That and the Water Lily, some kind-of religious artifact that had meaning at some time or another but had since been forgotten by most other major cities. 

The Canes Vinatici had been stopped all those years ago, but the residual effects laid wasteland foundations. Vulpecula had no interests in religion. Interest in the religious, but not the subject-matter. 

Urgway was a town built on shoddy frameworks and never seemed to fix itself. That much was apparent. In Hardan, the dogs ran rampant, bossing around everything and everyone, but besides constant reminding of their own superiority, that’s about where it ended. Rescue assured that. Urgway wasn’t the same way though, because it wasn’t Hardan. Urgway wasn’t about manipulation or having control, it was just about brute force. In-fact, it was more about survivalist mentality mixed with established social-trend voiding the chances of enlightenment. 

In layman’s term, Urgway was known as the home of stupid, thick-headed mutts. But that wasn’t politically correct to say, in-fact, that was a downright ‘no-no,’ and Lacerta had been slapped in the back of the head by Vulpecula many times for it. In many ways, Vulpecula felt sorry for many of the canines caught in the cross-fire of The Canes’ downfall. 

“I don’t even understand what we’re doing here. These dogs don’t want our help, they want us for breakfast.” Lacerta spouted off with that nasally tepidness that V loved so-much. 

Lacerta sat, his head mushed against the car-door window, admiring the littered cesspool around them. Apus was in the middle, his large eyes staring forward, sitting calm with a seat-belt over his waist. V, opposite Lacerta, fidgeted with his whiskers, his head up. The taxi-driver didn’t seem to enjoy V driving his skull into his headrest. Vulpecula brought his chin up and off from the walking stick. 

“Clearly,” Vulpecula started, “They do care about what we have to say, or they wouldn’t have asked up to make the trip. Besides, aren’t you at least enjoying the scenery?” 

“No, I’m not for that matter, and neither are you,” Lacerta fired back, an agitated inflection behind his words, “You haven’t even looked out the window once!” 

Lacerta’s nagging bothered Vulpecula. He couldn’t believe folk thought Lacerta was the normal one. 

“I did once. But nothing really keeps my attention that long, you know that about me. But I thought maybe you might enjoy it.” Vulpecula answered. 

Lacerta let out an audible groan for rebuttal, along with something about how Urgway looked like the setting for an over-the-top crime thriller. Vulpecula offered no retort, however. One reason was because he didn’t feel like arguing, the other reason because he saw a glare from the dog driver in the rear-view mirror that scared him. 

“I figured you’d be a little more uneasy about coming here, what, considering who your father is,” Lacerta commented. 

“I don’t believe the dogs around here are petty enough to carry grudges,” Vulpecula said, albeit sarcastically. 

“Your father basically helped dethrone the Canes Vinatici from power and considering how bad this city looks right about now, I think they might be a little bothered by the sight of you.” Lacerta said back. 

“Grasping at straws some, aren’t you?” Vulpecula asked, his comment, once again riddled with facetious tongue. 

“The Supreme Stadium isn’t far from here,” Apus said plainly. 

Ah, yes, the Supreme Stadium, thought Vulpecula. The Supreme Stadium was one of the only land-marked areas in all Urgway, that, some white church, and one or two factories owned by The Fluff. 

Citizens of Urgway loved their baseball, and their football, and their hockey, and basically all other sports, especially the ones that involved hurting each-other. 

Dogs loved their sports and that was a statement ringing true throughout both Hardan and Urgway. All different sorts of animal species showing up for the scheduled bouts wasn’t uncommon either. 

Vulpecula didn’t take much interest in them though. He didn’t take much interest in most things, but that didn’t stop the Supreme Stadium from becoming a point of interest. 

The traffic started thickening and becoming more populated, the road’s more encumbered, that’s how it was as they neared the roots of the town. 

Vulpecula noticed the lack of quality for most the cars, each often carrying a rustic and archaic look to them. Like the rest of the city, the vehicles showed a lack of maintenance. 

V looked around at each of them for some sign of inspiration and entertainment. The drivers of opposing cars sometimes stared back at the Fox Detective. With their sour-faced expressions that Vulpecula loved so much. Individuals showed so much more personality when they were angry or annoyed. Their discomfort was like bread and butter to him. 

“The traffic, the people, the scenery, everything about this whole city sucks, doesn’t it?” Lacerta asked, but Vulpecula chose not to answer him, figuring it was rhetorical. 

Seconds after, the cab started slowing down. Wheels turning. Turning. Turning. No longer. Stopped. 

By a curb on the outskirts of traffic, they were at a halt. None of them said anything to the cab-driver. They sat confused. 

“Urgway has some of the most divine culture in all of Maharris, my father grew up here, and my great grandfather grew up here. I don’t expect a stupid fox, birdie, or frog to understand that, but I won’t have anyone disrespecting it. Not in my cab.” The dog’s bark was loud. 

A dusty and worn cap over his head, and a stern and haggard look that sagged down. A pit-bull, most certainly. Lacerta started up like he was about to say something, but the dog ushered him out before that could commence. Lacerta opened the car-door begrudgingly and climbed out. 

Apus and Vulpecula both piled out as well. Prior to closing the door behind him, V plucked some coin out from the green-scarf around his neck and threw it in the passenger seat for the driver’s troubles. He closed the door, and sure enough, the cab-driver wasted no time to leave them behind; driving away from them and away from view in the blink of an eye, leaving only the distinctive scent of gasoline behind him. 

“Huh,” Vulpecula said and then added, “Usually it’s me that gets us kicked out of cabs.” 

“The DOG was an idiot!” Lacerta fired back. “Urgway is a joke of a city.” 

“I’d recommend holding your tongue about it in the mean-time. We are outnumbered, and the stick I carry is mostly for show.” Vulpecula responded, looking up at a street-sign trying to find out the damage done. 

His feet were damp in motor-oil, and he had no doubt it’d be a hassle washing the stuff off from his hind-legs. Lacerta looked over at Vulpecula with a defeated expression. 

“Birdie,” Apus mumbled with a glum sadness. 

The route to the Supreme Stadium didn’t take much brain-work, once they walked a couple of blocks on, they found 9414 Walton Rd., and everything else was self-explanatory. The walk was about an hour or so, what with finding the entrance, and soon after, they were going up the steps and let in by a dark-suited bulldog. 

The doors at the entrance were darkly tinted and showed nothing of what lay beyond them. The bulldog’s face was droopy and unpleasant looking, and although that was by default, some of it also had to be assisted by the nasty snarl he gave The Fox Detective. 

The carpeting on the inside was a puke green, an ugly color that made Vulpecula feel bad for the green-scarf his father left him. He stabbed his walking stick into the carpeting as punishment. 

Everything else wasn’t that shabby though. There was an empty ticket-booth with thick-glass separating the customer from what would’ve, any other time, been an employee. 

No Sporting Events were happening on this rare occasion, however. Lacerta led the way through the front of the stadium. Lacerta might have despised Urgway, but he enjoyed their sporting events well and good, especially boxing. Something about watching two dogs beat the life out of each other tickled his fancy. 

They came to a large entrance-way with two push-open doors at the front. Lacerta shoved them open and led the way to a set of metal stairs leading down on the other-side. The entryway went straight to the arena, and although Vulpecula couldn’t see the field because of some pillars obstructing his view, down the stairs, he could see a mess of chairs. The whole visual was enough to make him appreciate the sheer size of the stadium. And to make himself feel small because of it. 

“Vulpecula and friends!” a voice hollered out, way too happy go-lucky to be honest. V scribed the fact down in his intellectual blank chalkboard. 

The voice was from a medium-sized dog, a Rottweiler, if V wasn’t mistaken. After all, his chalkboard memory-bank never really delved that much into different breeds of dogs. 

He wore a beige-colored police outfit and was smiling wide like a jack o’lantern. “I must say, I thank you all for coming on such short-notice. I hope nobody bumped you too hard along the way, you know how some can be?”  

Vulpecula nodded his head, assuring the dog that he did in-fact know how some could be. The dog’s voice sounded enthusiastic and almost giddy with excitement. “I have to say I am a huge fan of your work!” 

The Officer seemed to notice his own star-struck angst, because he straightened his posture up soon after and went stone-face. 

Lacerta stepped forward in-front of Vulpecula, who wasn’t too taken by the dog’s words. “It’s funny you should mention it, because I am always telling Vulpecula how he should let me make a book out of these different cases we’ve been doing, but he won’t let me, says it’s too ‘derivative’ of other detectives,” Lacerta’s voice was back to that annoying neurotic sound that got them kicked out of the cab only about an hour ago, but Vulpecula held his tongue. 

The Police Officer laughed aloud, sounding as if what Lacerta said had been the funniest thing in the gosh darn world, and responded, “Well, I think what I’ve read in the newspapers and magazines about you guys is more than enough, my dear Watson’s!” 

Lacerta nodded politely at him. Vulpecula’s attention was thrown back toward the arena. His eyes darted out, making strides at piercing through the concrete columns just barely blocking sight of the arena. He wanted more than anything to discard of the ridiculous small-talk and welcome himself to the only thing that kept him entertained. 

“Oh, what we needed you for isn’t actually out on the field,” the Officer assured. “Hope you didn’t expect a macabre or something like that out-there.” 

Darn, Vulpecula thought to himself, but decided that wasn’t a good reaction to share with the rest of the class. 

“You didn’t offer us any details about what all of this was about, but I was assuming from what I read on Maharris News Online and what’s all-over television, it has something to do with the disappearance of Comet Fowley?” Vulpecula deduced, not making eye-contact with the officer. Eye-contact made Vulpecula uncomfortable.  

And so, when the Police Officer leaned his body to the left to try and rectify that, Vulpecula’s eyes simply traveled over to the right instead. 

“I see your detective skills outreach beyond merely case-work,” the Dog replied. “Follow me, and we’ll be able to get down to business with exactly why I brought you here.” The Dog turned his back away from them for a second before looking back, “And by the way, the name’s Officer Rofus,” he said with a confident wink. His eyes were a gold-color, as was his fur, except for down his neck, which appeared to descend into white. 

Lacerta chuckled quietly to himself at the officer’s exuberance, and the officer laughed with him, at a joke he believed he was in on. Officer Rofus stepped forward. Down his leg, beige khakis, and then, dark-black boots with laces that hung down to the floor. Badly tied. Rofus was taller than both Vulpecula and Apus by a hefty margin, but only a couple inches taller than Lacerta. 

They followed him through to another area of the arena. V noticed a stand with merchandise still out and scattered about. This included a t-shirt with the words, “Urgway Hounds,” scribed in bright green text, a silhouette of a large-dog was visible, completely black except for the white of his sharp-teeth. 

Vulpecula stopped in his tracks, admiring it all, like a kid in a candy store, except his candy was fresh data for his chalkboard, but he was tugged forward by Lacerta soon after. 

Officer Rofus unhooked a set of keys from his pant-loop before walking in-front of a door with the words, “VIP” written onto it in white lettering. 

The Officer kept rifling through his keys until he found the right one. “Wallah,” Rofus uttered beneath his breath, but Vulpecula was able to hear it. He shoved the key into the keyhole, opened the door, and stepped inside, welcoming them to do so as well. They obliged. 

The Very Important Place for Very Important People was even more extravagant and decorative than what Vulpecula could have expected. He hadn’t known Urgway for having much in the way of fashion or style, but this didn’t even look like the rest of the stadium. 

Everything looked more like what Vulpecula would’ve expected to see in the flashier Italina or Hardan. The carpeting went from a vile green to a velvet red and a long, dark-leather couch was in one-corner, and a large fountain was in the middle of the room with an angelic dog as the centerpiece, equipped with the typical angel-wings and halo overhead. The architecture was manipulated in such way that water slid down the wings and into the fountain’s containment. 

Vulpecula found himself mildly amused by how self-indulging all of it seemed but didn’t comment. The Officer seemed to read his mind, however. “The whole thing’s a little much, but what can I say, you know how the rich-folk are with their art-pieces.” 

“Lacerta, Apus, and I are more-or-less homeless gypsies that go from hotel to hotel, but I’ll take your word for it.” Vulpecula commented. 

“You and me both, brother,” Officer Rofus responded, before walking deeper into the room. 

Vulpecula didn’t say anything else. Rofus was a tool. The Fox didn’t need to be a not-so world famous private investigator to unravel that little mystery, but at the same time, he wasn’t too bothered by it. 

Maharris was filled with uninteresting types but Rofus was made up of certain ‘loveable buffoon’ traits. 

The Officer led them further and further into the room, the smell of air-freshener was intoxicating, like every ounce of the room had been bathed in the stuff. It was an aroma meant to resemble fresh strawberries but smelled like nothing of the sort. 

“I understand that you’re familiar with why I called you here. Comet Fowley is missing, but what you didn’t know is that we have a little bit more to go on than what we let on to the press.” 

“What’s that exactly?” Vulpecula asked, not enjoying Rofus’ attempt at building suspense. The Officer laughed in an awkward, phony sort-of way and then led them into the male bathroom. 

Blood. 

Vulpecula stopped dead in his tracks. The red stuff. The bad stuff. Blood! 

Vulpecula didn’t like blood. 

Robberies in the Malane Museum or magic shows gone awry, that’s what V was comfortable with. But this, this wasn’t like that. This didn’t look like either of those two things, and in-fact, this looked an awful lot like something more conclusive. More fatal. Blood. 

Apus and Lacerta stopped as well. Lacerta stood off to the corner, his face looked paler than usual, blending in with the white wall behind him. 

None of them were accustom to the thick, dried-maroon globs that dressed the bathroom floors. V gulped. 

His attention was struck though. Felt enticed. Such a pity it cost someone so much to do it. He didn’t want a macabre. Not really. A blood riddled massacre. It made it all too real. It took the escapism this was meant to provide. 

But yet, his attention was aroused. Curious, Vulpecula stepped forward. He felt the coldness beneath his feet from the linoleum floor. 

He heard water droplets falling out a faucet onto the porcelain sink. The smell of urinal cakes. The smell of urine. 

He walked closer to the scene of the crime. Blood was smeared on the sink. Some blood was smeared on the window. A hand-print. Like someone trying to escape from someone else. 

The scene depicted desperation and ever-so clearly the scene of a man being dragged, his bloody hand sliding down the mirror, to the porcelain, and to the floor. All of it was nice and neat, wrapped up in a cute, little bow. Perfect. 

Vulpecula looked into the mirror, seeing his white fur and green-scarf. In his eyes, unsettled fury. His teeth felt sharper than usual. On-edge. That’s how the whole thing was making him feel. 

His eyes went down at the floor next. Bloody footprints. It looked like they belonged to two men. He couldn’t be for certain though. The size was the same. Looks could be deceiving, however. 

But it looked like the victim and the perpetrator. V followed the footprints toward a bathroom stall. The stall door was shut. The Fox Detective’s eyes peeked into the cracks and crevices of the door, but he saw nothing. 

The hygiene of bathrooms was disgusting. 

Vulpecula took his walking stick and poked it against the door, pushing it open. He stood, looking at what rested dormant on the back tank of the toilet. 

 What he saw, … Vulpecula knew he had seen one of them before, but he just couldn’t put his finger on where. Oh, yes, it’s a hand, a bloody hand. “Fetching,” The Fox said, although, he really didn’t know why. Just sounded like the right thing to say. That bloody, severed hand is downright fetching. The truth of it is he was in-shock and he knew it. 

“I know you were likely expecting something more grotesque and theatrical,” Officer Rofus said, scratching the back of his neck as he spoke. 

Vulpecula looked over at him. The Dog was being sincere. “No, I think this just about covers everything I was expecting in both those categories.” 

The hand looked cleanly cut. The marks didn’t seem jagged, and it looked almost surgical. But also looked just as much like it could have been cut off with a meat cleaver. 

Vulpecula made a note of this in his blank chalkboard. Dried blood leaked out from the hand and ran down the deck of the toilet, some dribbling down onto the toilet seat. 

“We had some of our men look at it. All of them seem to agree this wasn’t done postmortem, and blood-work has come back verifying the, ahem, hand belongs to Comet Fowley.” Officer Rofus hardly sounded shaken by his own words, which surprised Vulpecula. Rofus must have been used to the crimes in Urgway. An aghast disposition was on Apus and Lacerta by the Officer’s words though. 

“They cut off his hand!?” Lacerta asked, his voice sounded both disturbed and shocked by the revelation. 

“Yes,” Rofus replied. 

“What can you tell me about Comet Fowley?” V asked, his eyes looking over at the hand. Dirt and grime beneath his finger-nails. 

“Not much. I’ve maybe met him once or twice, and each was only for short intervals. The man was the coach for the Hounds for God’s sake, about the closest thing we have to a celebrity, minus the actual team, of course.” 

“You interviewed the family though, correct?” 

“Oh, yes, of course, that’s standard procedure. Fact is it took them a couple of days to even report his kidnapping. That’s the thing about Fowl, at least, according to them. They figured he could have been at the bar or the casino, or wherever else. Though, they said he had stopped.” 

“Drinking?” 

“Gambling. They knew better than to ever ask him to stop drinking, but after he nearly lost his home because of it, even he decided it was time to stop with that stuff.” 

“Does he have any enemies?” 

“Probably, the guy’s an alcoholic, and has been arrested once or twice for starting bar-fights. Though, it’s been said he didn’t start them. He chased after some cat who was looking at him funny, cat might as well been asking for trouble.” 

“I read an interview from Rescue Alerts with the cat saying Comet Fowley and one of the Hounds’ football players beat him black and blue.” 

“I wouldn’t believe everything I read on the internet. Especially not anything from Rescue,” The Officer replied fast before stopping and adding, “No offense. I know your dad kind-of came up with that group.” 

“None taken. I only read it because I have a free subscription. Is there anything else you have to show me?” Vulpecula took his eyes off the severed hand and threw his vision over to the Officer’s general direction. 

“There aren’t any cameras in this room, and when games in-session, it’s easy for individuals to blend in. Some of the football players have speculated a rival group might have killed him to hurt the Hounds’ chances of winning the championship this year. The Labradors from Italina were here, and yes, they might not look like they’d do something that crafty, they are a sneaky bunch.” 

Vulpecula heard a small giggle from Lacerta. 

“Was Comet Fowley present for the match between the Labradors and the Hounds?” 

“Yes,” the Officer answered. 

“And did the Hounds beat the Labradors?” Officer Rofus didn’t say anything. 

Vulpecula finished washing his hands in the sink and reached for some paper towels. After drying his hands off, he threw the remnants away in a waste basket. 

“I think we can count off fear of inferiority as a motive for the Labradors, Officer.” Vulpecula said at last. “No, I don’t think any of the Labradors would have done it. A member of the Hounds, mad at their coach for not training them well enough, however?” 

“No member of the Hounds would do such a thing, all of us have too much respect for the sport. 

“Considering that Urgway has, by far, the highest crime rate in all of Maharris, I don’t think it matters at all how much respect one has for a sport.” V said plainly. 

The Officer offered no retort or comeback.  

“No, no, but that’s not what happened either. This was about sending a message, and this wasn’t about hiding anything. This was done hours after the football game, Rofus.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because nothing else makes any sense.” Vulpecula fired back fast. “Nobody in their right mind would’ve kidnapped Comet Fowley in such a crowded environment. They would’ve waited until it was less encumbered. But this wasn’t rushed, and it wasn’t hasty, this was methodical.” Vulpecula’s eyes looked down at the blood on the porcelain. The blood on the mirrors. “They would’ve heard him scream.” 

“Unless they muffled his mouth with something,” the Officer suggested. 

“And then they just walked him out of the arena with blood pouring out from his hand? Premeditated and meticulous, but it still doesn’t make any sense. There couldn’t have been anyone outside of this bathroom because they would have heard the commotion and the struggle. Maybe they shoved a tranquilizer in his neck. They could have walked him out of there and acted as if he was being his alcoholic self and they were helping him out of the arena to his car. That would’ve made sense since they just lost the game. But that doesn’t make any sense at all. That doesn’t explain the struggle. The bloody hand-print on the mirror. Why didn’t they clean up the blood? Because they wanted us to know he was kidnapped. Why would they want us to know he was kidnapped? Are they looking for a ransom? Does the hand mean anything? Is this a trademark?” Vulpecula uttered his words beneath his breath but audible enough to let everyone know his wheels were turning. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Vulpecula heard Officer Rofus ask, although, he ignored it. 

“About as close as he’s ever been,” Lacerta responded quietly, but once more, Vulpecula heard it and ignored it. 

“Who found the hand first?” Vulpecula finally said above his breath, his eyes still not directed at any of them. 

“Maintenance found the hand while they were cleaning the Stadium, as they do every time after a game,” Officer Rofus remarked. 

“How exactly did Comet Fowley treat them?” 

“The maintenance crew?” 

“Never mind, that doesn’t make any sense. It still doesn’t cover all the variables of this,” Vulpecula turned himself away from the mirror and looked over toward Lacerta and Apus. 

“Any alarms going off in that brain of yours?” Lacerta asked. 

“A few,” Vulpecula remarked. 

Vulpecula walked beyond Apus and Lacerta, out of the bathroom and back to the V.I.P. main lobby. 

His eyes frolicked around the area with an aimless precision. He didn’t have anything he was looking for. Just inspiration and entertainment. Neither of his thirsts were quenched by the scenery though. A large step acted as the distinction between the lobby and the entrance to the arena. 

“That leads to the private booth. Fowley would have no business being there, after all, he can see the show front-and-center.” Officer Rofus explained.  

Vulpecula hadn’t even heard him step out of the bathroom. 

“Right,” Vulpecula said. “Who was the last person to see Comet?” 

“The strangest thing about it all is that everybody we’ve asked says that they downright remember Comet Fowley walking out from the arena. They’re supposing that he must have come back or something.” 

“Either that, or he was brought back against his free-will. That would leave a message,” Vulpecula said, but he wasn’t convinced about it. “Did any of them recall anything strange about him that day, about anything that he did, or maybe any reason to believe that he was in trouble?” 

“No one said anything like that, far as I know he was his normal everyday self, nothing out the ordinary. A little glum about the Hounds losing their match, what with them having the home-town advantage and all, but nothing unreasonable. Some said he wasn’t even really all that sociable though, but that’s not really what he’s known for, and that he spent most of his time on his cellphone.” 

“Talking?” 

Vulpecula looked over at Officer Rofus. Eye-contact seemed to completely throw Rofus off as he stammered for a moment or two before shaking his head, “He was just texting all night,” Rofus said. His hands dangling off to his side, Vulpecula noticed the black-gun strapped at his waist. 

“I see, and where, besides here in the Stadium, would Fowley be? Perhaps at the lower-sectors of the arena, maybe a locker-room or somewhere else?” 

“Of course, there’s a locker-room down below but nothing was of value to this, sweaty jerseys and empty water bottle containers.” 

“Have you been monitoring Comet Fowley’s credit-card spending, made for certain that nobody has been using any of his money?” 

“If somebody has been using his credit-cards, it’d more than likely leave a trail,” Apus replied. 

“I didn’t know you could talk!” Officer Rofus cried out with that fake and phony hysterics he had mastered. 

“Focus, Dofus,” Vulpecula demanded, snapping his fingers as he spoke and not acknowledging what either one said. 

“It’s Rofus,” The Officer cried out, sounding offended. 

“They don’t have cameras in the V.I.P. room, for reasons that I don’t care enough to speculate on, but do they have them outside? More specifically, would we be able to see who left and who entered the V.I.P. room? If Comet Fowley left, we’d know it, and if he came back, we’d know it.” Vulpecula said. 

“They might. But it’s a lot of footage. Comet could’ve come back even a day later for all we know, and it’d be easy to lose him in the crowd when the game was still going. Even in the After Party,” Officer Rofus remarked. 

“That’s fine,” Vulpecula remarked. “Lead the way…” 

2. 

Footage, footage, and more footage. That’s what Vulpecula’s life had been reduced to. Or, at the very least, that’s how it felt in this instance. 

The cameras were low-tech and didn’t use cutting-edge technology. Low-quality and grainy footage that could very well not end up mattering, but at the same time, it made it a lot more difficult to point Comet Fowley out in a crowd. 

V could remember very well how Fowley looked. The terrier had grayish white fur with two spots for each of his eyes, sort-of like a raccoon. His face sagged down some, but he didn’t look like he was close to killing over. 

That’s what Vulpecula got from looking at his photograph in the newspapers and on television. On their way to the back-room, however, which was a hefty climb down a lot of stairs, Officer Rofus filled him in on some of the more intimate details. 

Comet Fowley wasn’t married, and he lived in an expensive apartment down on the outskirts of Urgway. That was a considerable drive away from the Supreme Stadium, and was done because, according to those who knew Fowley, he absolutely despised the thick, smoggy air that engulfed the main-parts of the city. 

An esteemed bachelor that valued his personal freedom more than anything else. Which seemed almost contradictory to the fact he remained very close to his mother. 

Fowley had two sisters, and his family was closely knit. In an interview conducted by Rofus, his mother recalled having a sit-down intervention for his addiction. She was not specific about which addiction that was, be it narcotic, alcohol, or something else. 

Vulpecula sat inside a comfortable computer chair, his knees up by his chest, with his chin resting on his walking stick. It wasn’t very comfortable. His eyes were glued to the screens in-front of him. 

There were many of them, more than fifteen, each small and barely distinguishable, but his eyes were only on one. A black-and-white screen with numbers and times on the bottom and top. The door leading to the V.I.P room was clear and obvious, even with all the crowded folk running around. 

Lacerta was to his left, leaned back in a computer chair of his own. His eyes were shut and he was leaned back against the couch. 

Officer Rofus stood on his feet behind Vulpecula, and while V couldn’t see him, he found it easy to allege Rofus’ disposition. The Officer was likely uncomfortable. Very, in-fact. Like he wasn’t comfortable in his own skin and was completely obsessed with making everybody not notice it. 

Apus, bless his heart, sat beside Vulpecula in a chair, and his eyes were just as focused on the screen as V. 

“You do realize that there’s a fast-forward button on these things, right?” Lacerta said, sounding like he wanted more than anything to leave.  

That’s what Lacerta brought to their little outfit. A desire to leave and disinterest. That and keeping up with the emails and advertising their service online. 

“If I fast-forward through the footage then I’ll be more likely to miss him, and besides, we’ve narrowed it down to only about two hours’ worth of material.” 

“Yippee,” Lacerta said. 

Vulpecula smiled, excited that Lacerta was finally getting in the spirit of things. 

Everybody from an angled view made them all seem insignificant. Small pups walking around with their families, and kittens walking with theirs. The screen didn’t really offer a clear view of any of their faces. It made them all seem like bricks in the wall. In this view it was as if everybody was in perfect harmony with each-other. 

Everybody was One. And that was more like what Hensley Noel was looking for. What Vulpecula’s father had been trying to achieve. Or, at least, what Vulpecula would’ve wanted him to want. 

“I wish Urgway would’ve thought its one commodity was worth protecting with more than twenty-dollar cameras,” Vulpecula said, scratching at the whiskers on the side of his cheeks. 

Officer Rofus let out a breath like he was about to say something, but he didn’t. That was likely for the best. 

“Your medieval cameras have to have some sort-of zoom feature on them,” Vulpecula said, readjusting his position and resting his walking stick on the carpeted floor below him. He fiddled with the remote control which had blank buttons without any indication whatsoever of what any of them did. 

“There he is,” Apus mumbled. 

“Where?” Vulpecula said, his eyes beaming up to the computers and scanning the screens. 

“There, beside the otter with the bright-yellow hat,” Apus remarked. 

Vulpecula studied it, “How do you know it’s yellow?” 

“Owls have terrific night-vision, Vulpecula.” 

“I, um, I don’t see how that applies here.” 

“He’s right there,” Apus said, leaping out of his chair and throwing his wing up in some vague, general direction. “Do you see him?” 

“Uh-huh,” Vulpecula lied. “But how do you know it’s him.” 

“You can clearly see the black spot over his eyes, and his thick, blue letter-man jacket is a clear giveaway.” 

“It’s black and white,” Vulpecula said. 

“Night vision, Vulpecula.” 

“Insanity,” Vulpecula remarked. “He just leaves? What’s his demeanor? Does he look worried? If you can somehow tell the color of his jacket, I figure maybe you could tell me that.” 

“No idea, but he’s pampering one hand, holding it protectively with the other.” Apus responded. 

“Interesting, that could be anything though, circumstantial and it could be a coincidence, but maybe not, and so he leaves,” Vulpecula said, still not able to find him. “Do you really see him?” 

“Yes,” Apus said, grabbing Vulpecula’s walking stick with his beak and positioning it to poke at a figure on the camera. It took Apus some maneuvering until he finally managed to make it to the figure, but once he did, that was that. 

It was Comet Fowley. Vulpecula looked at Apus and nodded. Apus relinquished the stick out from his beak. 

“I see him, and so, how did you really know his jacket was blue?” 

“That’s the jacket he was wearing in a picture I saw of him.” Apus replied dryly. 

“And the yellow hat?” 

“Just looked like it should have been yellow,” Apus said, showing no sign of amusement or emotion. Apus’ deadpan humor was rivaled by few. 

Spotting Comet Fowley the first time was the arduous task, him blending in seamlessly with the crowd, but him coming back would be easy to find. 

As V fast-forwarded through all the footage, they were able to make it all the way up to the present-time without discovering Comet Fowley returning to the Stadium. 

Vulpecula made a mental note of that in his invisible, intellectual chalkboard. He swung back in his chair over to Officer Rofus, who had his back leaned against the wall and was messing around with his phone. Once the Officer realized eyes were on him, however, he straightened his spine and poised himself like a statue. 

“I was thinking about something,” Rofus blurted out, seemingly uncomfortable about Vulpecula’s eyes being on him. 

“That’s comforting,” Vulpecula replied. 

“Malar is the largest-gang inside of Urgway, and is one of the largest in the world. I was searching the database, and I realized that a lot of the time, they actually cut off the hand of their victim as a signature for their, um, handiwork.” 

“And exactly what would Malar have to gain out of killing a coach of a football team?” 

“Sending a message, maybe,” Officer Rofus shrugged his shoulders. 

“I don’t think so,” Vulpecula said. “I think I almost have all the clues assembled to a conclusive statement about what I think has happened, however. Have you searched Comet Fowley’s home?” 

“His family has been in there, and they said they couldn’t find anything on his whereabouts, but Urgway has laws in-place about this. We can’t break into his house on the assumptive basis of a kidnapping without the permission of his kin.” 

“And you haven’t gotten their permission?” 

Officer Rofus shook his head. “They told us that there is nothing in there that will help us with the ongoing investigation.” 

“I see,” Vulpecula said, snatching up his walking stick from off the floor where Apus had left it. 

3. 

After breaking into Comet Fowley’s house, Vulpecula found things pieced together a lot clearer than before. All he needed was one thing to have the means to solve the entirety of the case: Mr. Fowley’s laptop. 

The search history told a lot about Fowley’s habits and who he associated himself with.  

V often opted against following the rules and restrictions applied by the law. One of the luxuries of being a private investigator is that he didn’t really have to answer to anybody, and while whatever he found couldn’t be used in the court of law, that wasn’t relevant. After finding whatever it is he’d find, it’d be much easier to find it legally, and if that could save Comet Fowley’s life, it’d be worth it. 

After browsing Comet’s computer for a couple of seconds, typing in certain keywords and looking through histories, Vulpecula found all he needed to convince himself. 

The Fox Detective returned to the hotel room where Lacerta and Apus were also staying. They didn’t need to know about his nefarious means of extracting information. Although, he didn’t doubt that they figured as much. He fell asleep with intents of dreaming about gumdrops and sugar-plums, but that didn’t turn out happening. 

A dreamless sleep that took hours to meet. A purgatory between accepting the events of the present-day and moving forward into the next. Comet Fowley represented a darker-reality to Maharris. The realization that within the cracks and the crevices of everything he had come to know, there was enough violence and heart-ache to render everything else a facade. The scariest part of it all was how intrigued it made him. 

The next morning, Vulpecula, Lacerta, and Apus all arose out of their beds. Crinkles being rubbed out their eyes and yawns and stretches being had. Officer Rofus waited for them at a local restaurant called Darrens. 

The taste of the restaurants food was far from Ollie’s Abil or even what was to be had at the Sidian Inn, but it was at least edible. Lacerta had a batch of pancakes with sausage on the sides, while Apus had bacon and eggs. Vulpecula, on the other-hand, opted out against the ordinance of nourishment. His appetite quenched by the engulfment of something much more delectable. Still, the coffee in his mug was appreciated dearly. 

Officer Rofus sat behind an empty-plate on the other-side of the table. It looked like he had been waiting for quite some time. A waitress went over to take his empty plate and cup for which he responded with a large smile, bearing his teeth. She offered Vulpecula a refill on his coffee, but he declined. 

“Have you solved the case?” the Officer asked, his eager, puppy-dog eyes through over to Vulpecula, but V had once more went back to not making eye-contact. 

“Yes,” The Fox Detective answered. Vulpecula saw Lacerta and Apus look at one another out the corner of his eye. 

“Who kidnapped Comet Fowley?” 

“Nobody,” Vulpecula replied. 

“What!?” Officer Rofus said, once more in that fake enthusiasm, but even he had to have at least some grasp on the reality of the situation. 

“Comet Fowley has many addictions. You once told me of two addictions, one of them being gambling and one of them being alcohol.” 

“I remember that. Family said they knew better than to try and get him to stop drinking,” Rofus said with a small chuckle. 

“He couldn’t stop any of his addictions. His family says he learned better about gambling when he almost lost the house, but I don’t think that’s the truth. In-fact, I know it isn’t.” Vulpecula said. 

“How?” 

Vulpecula stopped for a moment, choosing to omit finding a link to a gambling website in Fowley’s search history. 

“Fowley didn’t stop gambling and in-fact, his addiction worsened. But he tried to keep in-control of it, or at least feel as if he was in-control. He betted against the Labradors in their game against the Hounds, and he did it because he thought he trained them well enough to win. He didn’t. But this time it wasn’t about losing his house or this and that. Comet Fowley betted more than he could ever hope to offer, and he associated himself with the wrong people. A website called The Shock is what I bet you’ll find in his phone’s search history,” Vulpecula smiled slyly as the words escaped his lips. 

“Wait, so you expect me to believe that Comet Fowley just chopped off his hand and staged his own kidnapping?” Officer Rofus’ skepticism was clear. 

“You said it yourself that one of Malar’s trademarks is the removal of a hand. Comet Fowley didn’t return to the Supreme Stadium. That isn’t something up for discussion and in-fact stays as irrefutable evidence that he removed his hand and staged the crime-scene.” 

“But why would he do that? That seems very extreme.” 

“It does, doesn’t it? From what I’ve deduced about Comet Fowley’s character, based entirely on what has been presented to me, he seems to make off-the-cuff decisions. This wasn’t premeditated at all, and with an extra boost of liquid courage to lessen the agony, Fowley was able to leave the Stadium without drawing too much attention to himself.” 

“Incredible,” Rofus remarked. 

“Terrifying,” Vulpecula countered. “This means that whoever Comet Fowley buddied up with, he deemed dangerous enough to chop off his own hand. It also means they’ll most likely find him.” 

“But not if we find him first,” Rofus uttered out. 

“Best of luck,” Vulpecula answered, resting his empty-cup against the table and arising to his feet. 

“Wait,” Officer Rofus called out, “Do you have any idea of how to find Comet Fowley?” 

Vulpecula stopped. His back to Rofus. He smiled. “Go to his apartment. Element of surprise, and a little luck, chances are that his family is protecting him. You’ll find him. And you can act in whatever way you please.” 

“Thank you, Vulpecula.” Rofus called out. His voice sounding reasonably awed and impressed. V liked it that way. 

“What would you folk do without me?” Vulpecula asked jokingly. 

He heard Lacerta and Apus walking behind him. 

“Well, we are on the wait-list for Detective Barker, but he deemed the case all too obvious, I am very glad that you didn’t.” Rofus replied. 

Vulpecula walked out from the restaurant without saying anything. He brushed past one of the waitresses and nearly ran into her because he wasn’t watching where he was going. Joined by his lizard-friend and owl acquaintance, The Fox Detective closed the door behind him and left.