Vices, Virtues, and a Doppelganger

The smell of cigarette smoke from the muskrat behind him lingered into the fox’s nose. The muskrat puffed the nicotine into his lungs, and let the residual remainder spread about the room. Vulpecula knew it’d take days to get the diabolical odor off his fur. He didn’t care though, not now. Smelling like tobacco was the least of his worries. 

He dangled his legs down on the bar stool, they were not long enough to touch the ground. 

To his left, a grizzly bear wearing overalls and a snap-back hat, on the hat was the company logo for something called Fluff. V hadn’t heard of it before, but had some judgments based on the bear’s exhausted disposition and the way he tried guzzling down his weight in beers. He assumed he was just returning from the work-place.  

To his right, more of the same, a prodigious warthog that dwarfed him a few times over. The warthog wore a suit, which, in-theory would’ve suggested someone more aesthetically driven, but from the stains on his white undershirt, Vulpecula pegged him as a slob. 

And there, he sat, projecting his self-doubt and frustration by quietly judging everybody in the bar. Thy kingdom come, the self-righteous Fox Detective. 

A small fox between a bear and a warthog, the audacity of the fact wasn’t lost on him, but he was unwilling to be amused. He rested his head down against the table. Hardwood. Slick feeling. The kind that had been stained over with an added finish in-order to create an old-time visual. That was the theme of One Step Back, a local bar in Acera that modeled itself after a simpler time. Granted though, back then, a fox wouldn’t have been allowed into such an establishment, not on the watch of the Canes, but that was neither here nor there. V heard the bartender resting his drink atop a coaster in-front of him and sat up. The Fox smiled politely, though didn’t make eye-contact. Eye-contact wasn’t his forte, and neither was social-interaction. His eyes hurt. They felt blood-shot. But it had been ages since he looked in a mirror. He always hated mirrors, and his appearance, and his insecurities, but lately, them, and everything else felt amplified. It was easier not to look. 

The glass of alcohol felt cold in his hands and the condensation moistened his paws, as it came closer to his muzzle, the stuff’s taste was welcomed. Though, he couldn’t keep his own displeasure from showing on his face. The taste still hadn’t been acquired for him, even after the last hour and a half, he hated nothing more than the taste of beer, whiskey, or any of it. But it numbed the senses, and that’s all that mattered. 

“Aren’t you a Detective?” the bartender said from the other-side of the counter, a look of skepticism on his face. 

“You’re mistaken,” Vulpecula replied, with one-hand, fidgeting with the fur on his chin, and with the other-hand, starting a crescendo with his fingers tapping on the glass.   

“No, I don’t think I am,” he replied, squinting his eyes like it’d somehow jog his memory. 

The bartender looked like a nice enough fellow. Then again, the harsh reality that life’s not all sugar plums and gumdrops was still leaving aftershocks for Vulpecula. 

The bartender was a lizard, wearing a dark-green, buttoned shirt, green skin, and black hair that was slicked back. A wig, obviously. The lizard stared at him for a while longer, his index-finger jutted out and pointed straight like the Sanchi Tower, until finally, he snapped his fingers and said, “You’re Hensley Noel’s kid!” 

“Yes,” Vulpecula replied. 

V had a glimmer of hope that he’d be willing to leave it at that, but he wasn’t though, of course, he wasn’t. “I knew I knew you from somewhere, what brings you back to Acera, I thought you moved to Urgway? That’s where Lacerta said you guys were at.” The Lizard sounded curious and enthused, like a raving fan in-front of his favorite movie-star or musician, Vulpecula found that odd, but he was caught by what he had said. 

“Do you know Lacerta?” 

“Of course, all of us lizards know each-other.” 

“Huh?” Vulpecula stammered, bringing the glass to his mouth for another drink, the taste still not acquired for him. He forced himself to swallow. 

“All Lizards attend monthly meetings. We discuss milestone events, shed our skin, and just make sure to keep everybody else up to date on what’s happening in our lives.” 

“Oh,” Vulpecula replied, nodding knowingly. 

“I’m kidding,” the Lizard said, a smile on his face that showed his sharp-teeth. 

“I know,” Vulpecula lied. 

A loud snort came from the Warthog, who, even with his finely tailored suit, The Fox Detective found completely repulsive. He slammed his fist on the table and did so hard enough that Vulpecula could feel the glass in his hands vibrate. The bartender flinched. 

“Can we stop fraternizing with your customers and work on getting me my order!?” His voice sounded raspy and dry. It made Vulpecula think of a chain-smoker. The bartender reciprocated his demands with a polite smile and went to the back. “I mean, really, I’ve seen better service from a place that’s closed!” 

“There’s only one person,” Vulpecula quietly mentioned, but the Warthog didn’t seem to hear him. V did hear a small chuckle from the bear on his right, however. 

He didn’t try himself again, to make himself heard or known, he simply quieted. The situation was better off without his presence and he knew that. He wasn’t in the mood for confrontation, all he wanted was to sulk in his misery and woe and wake up someday and it to all be better. That wouldn’t happen though, because it wasn’t a daydream. He could close his eyes and wish it all away, but the minute he did, he knew he’d only see the bloody hand of Comet Fowley. A website called The Shock. A cult, maybe? 

The website was a precursor to something greater. A gateway. In the end, they didn’t do anything to Comet. They didn’t have to. Their diatribes and spouting were enough to make him fake his own death. The Shock scared him that much. Shocking. And frankly, those things scared Vulpecula as well. 

But for several reasons. They enticed him. He wanted more. To dig deeper. He wanted another chapter. “Well, we are on the wait-list for Detective Barker, but he deemed the case all too obvious,” said Officer Rofus. What an enticing life Detective Barker must have. 

The Shock scared Vulpecula because he wanted to find out more about them, and by extension, he wanted more chopped up hands and bloody bathrooms to make that happen. 

Alcohol is tantalizing for some, offering restitution from the woes of a long-day eclipsed, but no matter how much he drank, it didn’t offer Vulpecula what he sought for; escapism. That’s what being a detective was supposed to do, to forget the legacy left to follow by his father, as well as the worrisome intricacies encumbering him he couldn’t seem to avoid. It let him have purpose, and he was good at it, for some reason or another. It amused him. It was his own. Life’s boring, and the things that aren’t boring have an in-direct correlation with things that are evil, Vulpecula thought to himself. 

The bartender returned with a plate of food; a burger with ketchup and mustard dribbling down the side and fries with melted cheese dressed over them. The burger was tofu, obviously. The bartender had a smile on his face Vulpecula reckoned took all his energy to force. The warthog scoffed at the bartender, but that didn’t stop him from digging fast into the food. Vulpecula saw the burger’s condiments dribble down the warthog’s chin but tried not to stare. Instead, he went back to his self-loathing and dismay, oh, woe is me. But the bartender, free to pursue him once more, walked by him with a curious grin. 

“So, what brings you back to Acera?” he asked, leaning himself against the other-side of the counter. Both elbows on the table. Mama Fox Detective would not approve! 

“I live here.” Vulpecula said, hoping that would be enough to suffice, but the bartender stared at him, expecting more. “It’s where I like to stick around most, and since I am a small-time detective, I don’t usually get too many jobs outside Acera, at the very most, I visit Italina, but that’s only a couple hour drive.” He added. 

“Ah, I see, well, I read about your last case on Lacerta’s article on the Rescue Tribune. I didn’t think you and Rescue got along or were affiliated.” 

“We’re not,” Vulpecula said, somewhat bluntly. He let a breath escape from his lungs, cooling his temper, and began again, “We’re not affiliated, but we do co-exist and get along. They respect my decision not to work with them. Or, at least, they pretend to. Lacerta is always thinking of ways to ‘expand our brand’, and since I vetoed him creating a website for our riveting little ‘adventures’, I compromised and now he’ll be writing occasional articles for them.” 

“That’s good,” the bartender said, “It lets you get your name out there. The Supreme Stadium one was your most exciting yet!” 

“I suppose,” V said, the visual image of Comet’s severed hand on the tank of the bathroom toilet struck him hard, but he flushed it down. The image. Not the hand. 

“I never really pegged you as much of a drinker though, especially not the sound kind.” 

The bluntness of the statement caught Vulpecula off-guard, so much so that it made him make eye-contact with the bartender, whose face looked amused, V couldn’t help but show off a small smile. “I suppose I am a big cliché, the sad detective who has seen too much of the world’s underbellies.” 

“And I’m the bartender who cleans the inside of the glass cup with a wash cloth while you speak about your hard-times,” he said. “My name’s Red, by the way.” His voice sounded smooth, if a little too zealous for its own good. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Red, but I don’t think I really feel like venting about anything right now,” Vulpecula answered back. 

The lizard named Red nodded back, one of his forced smiles was spread on his face. 

“Thank God,” the Warthog exclaimed. “I don’t know why I can’t go to a bar and just drink and eat some grub without people whining all the time!” 

Following a brief pause, “I suppose I can vent a little.” Vulpecula adjusted himself in his stool, “I don’t really know how to though.” 

“You took a Step Back for a reason, what was the reason?” Bartender Red asked, muffling a small chuckle provoked by the displeasure of the Warthog. 

Vulpecula let a breath escape his lungs, “They didn’t write about it in the Tribune, but the reason Comet did what he did was out of fear. The fear of a group of people. What they’d do to him. What they’d do to his family. Whatever the reason.” 

“And this bothers you?” 

“It terrifies me,” Vulpecula said, and then stopped. He went to take another sip of alcohol from his glass and a realization came to him; it was empty. The bartender smiled, lifting a large bottle of whiskey and pouring it into the glass. Vulpecula nodded and took a drink. 

A vibration came from the fur-pouch on V’s thigh. His cellphone. Always on vibrate. The sound of loud noises bothered him. He checked it, on the front of his screen was Apus’ picture. Vulpecula answered.  

“What is it?” Vulpecula asked. He might have sounded more unfriendly than intended, but that was the mood he was in. 

“The Police are looking for you,” Apus answered. “Where are you?” 

“I went for a walk. Do you have any idea what they want?” Vulpecula stood up from the bar stool, using his walking stick as support while his drunkenness waged wars on his equilibrium. The Warthog beside him looked agitated and annoyed. Vulpecula took pleasure in that fact. 

“No,” Apus commented. “But it seemed urgent, after all, it’s four in the morning, a little late for a walk, isn’t it?” 

“It’s early depending on who you ask, and I didn’t want to wake up you or Lacerta.” 

“You never cared about waking us up at four in the morning before,” Apus jested. 

2. 

Vulpecula soon once more found himself acquainted amongst his friends, Lacerta Kerrick and Apus Yield. 

They met at the Sidian Inn, where they basically lived when in Acera. Which was most of the time. 

Apus seemed up and attentive, if a smidgen or two more groggy than usual. Supposedly nocturnal, even he wasn’t up in these late of hours. Lacerta, on the other-hand, looked exhausted and in a daze, rubbing the crinkles out of his eyes, his lids looking very heavy and difficult to keep open. It was about five in the morning, and not a lot of folk roamed about the lobby. Anyone up was headed to work and didn’t stay for very long. 

They sat about a small circular table. Wooden and plain, about like the rest of the ones scattered about the Inn’s built-in diner. 

Apus and Lacerta both ordered small breakfasts. Lacerta with a plate of eggs with a side of bacon, and Apus with the same. V opted out of eating and instead asked for a cup of coffee to go. His buzz was still readily there, and as a light-weight, it’d take some time for it to wear off. His friends didn’t seem to notice though, maybe they were too tired to, or maybe they were ignoring it out of kindness. Whatever the reason, he was glad. He could still smell the muskrat’s cigarette smoke and was insecure that his friends could smell it as well. 

“I wonder what they have that’s so urgent,” Apus remarked, twirling around a piece of egg with his fork. 

“Something that couldn’t wait until noon, apparently,” Lacerta commented beneath his breath, and while both heard him, Apus and Vulpecula made the decision to ignore him. 

“Whatever it is, they’ll be here in a few minutes,” Vulpecula replied, tapping his finger-nails on the table. Vulpecula looked around the diner’s walls, looking for a clock of some kind, but found none. 

“They actually agreed to come pick us up?” Apus asked. 

“They seemed overjoyed to do so,” V replied dryly. He continued tapping his claws against the table, appreciating the sound they made each time they hit. “It would have been easy for us to take the van, but I didn’t know if you guys would be up and at ’em, and I certainly don’t feel like driving.” 

“Little too early for that, buddy,” Lacerta blurted out, shooting a look over to where Vulpecula’s hand was at. 

“I think the time’s just right,” V replied, a soft smile on his face, and it provoked an aggravated and well-audible groan from his lizard friend. The Fox didn’t take to heart, Lacerta always became cranky when his sleeping schedule was adjusted. For his benefit, Vulpecula relented. He, on the other-hand, didn’t feel too bad about the lack of sleep. Sleeping was a mandated activity he often tried and failed to challenge. Try as he might, he had no doubts he’d end up knocked out in bed in a few hours’ time. 

“Where were you earlier?” Lacerta asked, no longer chomping at the bits of his food. “You said you were walking, who walks at four in the morning?” 

“I do,” Vulpecula answered, “I needed some air, that’s all.” 

“You haven’t been the same since that Shock website fiasco, you’ve seemed more ‘uppity’ than usual.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Vulpecula said, realizing how little his reply accomplished. He noticed himself once again tapping his fingers on the table, however. V stopped for a moment and soaked in the silence of the diner around them. The sound of the air-conditioner could be heard, as well as some very muffled words between the Inn diner’s waitress and a customer. Other-wise though, it felt very hollow and peaceful. He looked out the window, seeing various cars parked about, and white rocks lining the Inn’s driveway. Plants decorated the sides of the concrete steps leading to the entrance. They looked rubbery, but Vulpecula couldn’t say whether the flowers were real or not. A car pulled slowly into the driveway, a big purple rhino was driving the vehicle. The visual was quite the sight. As she came closer, Vulpecula could see that it was a police-car. The rhino wore an outfit as one would expect; a beige-colored buttoned-up shirt, long-sleeve, and a golden badge in-front of her heart. She stopped before the building, and both her and Vulpecula made eye-contact. 

She didn’t seem unfriendly. That wasn’t the word for what she seemed. Stoic. Serious. Those were more accurate descriptions. Vulpecula let out a breath of air. It seemed an awful lot like they needed him for a case. That wasn’t the problem. It was her mirthless expression. The whole look suggested something big, and as much as that set V’s teeth on edge, the other-side of him knew his malfunctioning moral compass couldn’t handle it. The Rhino stepped out from the vehicle. Her size was enormous, more than him and his friends combined, about as big as the Warthog from the bar. 

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance the rhino’s here for a totally different reason,” Apus quietly whispered. 

The Rhino opened the front-door of the Sidian Inn. The sound of the bell attached to the door-knob could be heard, and next came a friendly welcoming from one of the employees. The Rhino nodded, but said nothing, and didn’t change her stone-face. Vulpecula watched her every footstep. She walked without grace, clumsily even, stamping her feet down with every movement. At the very least, she walked with presence. Vulpecula could see murder in her eyes, which was the exact opposite of what he needed to handle in his state. Lacerta, on the other-hand, was more concerned with finishing his breakfast. V smiled as she neared them.  

“Have a seat, he commented, lifting up his walking stick and nudging toward an empty chair left for her. 

She shook her head, “That won’t be necessary.”  

Her voice sounded firm, but V detected something else, like a fish out of water, she seemed almost … artificial, like she was masking her own personality with somebody else’s more serious mannerisms. Vulpecula scribbled the fact down in his blank, slightly inebriated chalkboard. What was the severity of the crime committed to make her so on-edge? 

“I guess we’ll be going to the crime-scene then?” Vulpecula said, he noticed his hands were no longer tapping against the table, but they were shaking. He took a sip of his coffee. Caffeine would fix that. 

The Rhino looked at V with confusion, “Not exactly,” she said, then paused: “Vulpecula Noel, you’re under arrest for stealing the Sword of Charles Tertius from the Malane Palace.” 

“Oh,” Vulpecula replied. Almost sounding disappointed. “This really sounds like something we could have done over the phone though, doesn’t it?” 

The Rhino’s face remained unchanged. V’s eyes traveled around. Lacerta sat, jaw-dropped with a fork swinging about in his hands like a pendulum. Apus was looking at the Fox Detective with worry. 

In the end, Vulpecula didn’t resist arrest. There was no fighting stick action or scarf-strangling, he allowed himself to be arrested. Lacerta and Apus said nothing to him on his way out. The cuffs weren’t very tight around his wrists, but he made no strides of escape. There was no reason to. They left the Sidian Inn and V could feel the eyes of civilians judging him. He disliked it, burying his face in his scarf. The rhino, whose badge read Alicia Camél, spelled with a little angelic halo over the second-to-last letter, led him to the back of the police car. Vulpecula couldn’t look to see, but he had no doubts both his friends were heading to the van to follow them on their way to the Acera Police Department. 

3. 

It didn’t take long before Vulpecula unraveled a mystery. Not the most important thing though, not the thing that mattered. But the mystery of Alicia Camél. She wasn’t mean. It was an act, and one she was very bad at. She led him into the building, her stone-faced look maintained with such dedication.  

In the mean-time, The Fox Detective took in the scenery. He couldn’t quite remember the last time he was at ACP. It didn’t look familiar. He was being arrested for stealing the Sword of Tertius, a famous sword he became acquainted with on an earlier case, but what struck him as odd is that he wasn’t arrested by Italinian Police. 

The reason, he discovered, or assumed, was because Camél wasn’t with a specific department. She was with Rescue. Looking back, Vulpecula could recall Officer Pends being hounded (no pun-intended) by various Rescue workers when V was in Italina the first time. It wasn’t until night-time and in the pouring rain they went home, and Vulpecula was able to solve the case himself. 

Officer Camél, or would it be detective?, led him about the floor of the department, he saw one or two familiar faces. (1) Officer Watts, whom he became acquainted with in a much earlier case, for which, Watts seemed more annoyed than grateful for his help. Watts looked uncaring about Vulpecula’s current misfortune. (2) Officer Heathers, … the less said about her, the better. 

Camél brought him into a room, conveniently marked as Interrogation Room on the door in big-black letters. 

Vulpecula sat down in one of the chairs at the center of the room. The chair was metal and without cushions. But he was at ease once he started tapping his fingers on the table in-front of him. Alicia walked in as well, closing the door behind her. A small camera was in one corner of the room with a blinking red light below the lens. The Fox had to resist the urge to wave or smile at the camera. 

“Do you know why you’re here?” Camel asked. V could hear the distinct footsteps of her feet stamping onto the ground and as she turned her back to him, he could have also sworn he heard her knuckles cracking. It was all a show for his benefit. 

“From what you said, I am guessing it has something to do with me stealing the Sword of Tertius?” 

“And did you?” 

“Yes, I used my masterful know-how for the fine-arts of burglary, sneaked into the building and stole it. Six guards caught me in the act, but I showed them a fine assortment of jujitsu and left them unconscious and with no recollection of said events.” 

“Sarcastic confessions still count as confessions,” Alicia Camel commented. “I know all about you. Rescue loves you. It was only natural. The son of one of the greatest animals this world has ever seen.” 

“I haven’t had enough to drink for this,” Vulpecula mumbled beneath his breath. 

“BUT when I saw you on that video-tape, red-handed, it was like the veil came up from over my head. It all makes sense, you refuse every invitation to work with Rescue, you basically terminate any sort-of affiliation with them. You start proclaiming to the heavens you’re a private investigator, an independent detective that yearns nothing more than to solve little mysteries with his spare time. Kept a far distance from any major investigations, without monitoring, and you built a following. Enough of a following to get a call from the Italina Police Department asking for your help. Rescue would’ve even signed off on it! We loved you. Loved.” She ranted, a clear emphasis on that last word. 

“And I used my found knowledge gathered from the Hair Case to find out the nooks and crannies of the Malane Palace, re-stole the Sword of Tertius, but even with all that knowledge, I made a mistake?” 

“Do you know why I am purple?” Alicia Camel asked, both her arms leaning on the table, her eyes beamed at Vulpecula. A perfectly good seat across from her, she still didn’t sit. 

“I assumed it was just a lazy way of telling me you’re female?” Vulpecula answered, scooting his chair back in fears the table might collapse from her sheer size. 

“No,” she said; unamused. “It alludes to the bruising’s I give scumbags like you.” 

She pounded her fist into the palm of her hand with a stern expression, her jaw clenched so tight that it looked like her teeth might shatter. Vulpecula couldn’t help but feel delight at the mere sight of such theatrics, but Alicia kept her composure. “When does the good cop come into this?” 

Alicia Camel said nothing, but in a second’s notice, the door jarred open, catching both their attentions. The individual at the door? Vivian Herms. Alicia’s grimaced expression lightened at the sight of her. Vivian was lean and slender in stature, long, like a building, taller than Alicia, but thinner and wirier, she was intimidating in her own much subtler sort of ways. But Vulpecula wasn’t intimidated by her. Unlike everyone else. 

Vivian was one of the two hand-selected successors for Hensley Noel’s dynasty known as Rescue. Vulpecula was the second one. Vivian offered a weak smile at Alicia but said nothing and motioned toward the exit. It was clear Alicia wanted nothing more than to stand her ground, but she did not, and instead, with an utterly defeated stare, she walked out from the room and closed the door behind her. She was gone, but legend has it that if you listened hard enough, you could still hear her knuckles crackling alludin’ to the bruisin’ she laid on fools, Vulpecula laughed to himself. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol still lingering in his system, if he was exhausted, or if the whole situation was just downright hilarious, but he was amused. 

Vivian walked forward, she smiled at Vulpecula, “I would ask why you’re so amused by this, but I could smell the alcohol on your breath from outside the door. Even over that godawful smell of cigarette smoke.” 

Vulpecula let out a sigh. “Is it really that bad? That smoking muskrat’s the worst thing to happen to me since, I don’t know when.” 

“Your father made jokes too, a lot of them.” 
“But they weren’t as clever, right?” 

“No, they were just about every bit as bad.” Vivian replied. Vulpecula saw a slight smile on her face. “He also liked to drink,” she added. 

“Looks like I am a spitting image,” Vulpecula said; annoyed. “The greatest animal to ever live!” 

“I don’t know if I would say that. He had his own set of issues, but he was passionate. He knew what he wanted and knew what he wanted to represent. Do you?” Vivian pulled out a chair on the opposite side of Vulpecula and dropped a folder on the desk, having a seat, she opened it up. Her hand covered up part of a photograph, but V knew it was of the Malane Palace.  

“You are like him. You are a troublemaker and a nuisance!” Her voice sounded more disappointed than angry, not loud, not shouting, but stern, and for a moment, Vulpecula felt like a child again being lectured by a parent. Though, both his parents were dead. “Your father rebelled against normality, but he did it because at the end of the day, he knew it was the right thing to do. Back when you were a kid, … back before you were a kid, if you were anything other than part of the Canes Vinatici, you were nothing!” Vulpecula smiled and nodded sarcastically, once more feeling like a child that heard something he didn’t want to hear. He straightened his face. 

“Your father went against convention and made nothing mean something. But when you do it, all I see is someone trying to be different. You have chances to make real differences in this world, but you waste it on finding missing stage-play actresses or amputated football coaches.” 

Vulpecula smiled again, it was a fake smile; a facade. “You always know exactly what to say to make me feel better. I don’t know how you do it, after all these years.” 

“You aren’t in any predicament to be making jokes, Noel.” Her words were meant to be fierce. To intimidate. But in vein. She brought some air into her lungs and let it out, a gentle sigh. “In most circumstances, this would be an open-and-shut case, you’d go on trial, you’d likely spend time behind bars and that would be that but considering your affiliation with Rescue. By blood, that is. You are always considered a target. In your most recent visit to Urgway, you worked the case of Comet Fowley and caught wind of a website called The Shock. As you know, the website is a little more than what meets the eye. Rescue members have already long-since been working on figuring out who runs The Shock, and we’ve had middling results.” 

“Imagine that,” Vulpecula replied. He found a bit of exhaustion begin to reel itself over him, making him even less attentive than usual. 

Vivian ignored him, and simply continued: “We believe The Shock is the reason for your nefarious affairs, be it blackmail or something else. Upon thorough interrogation, Comet Fowley was unwilling to crack or offer us any leads on The Shock’s whereabouts or means of existence. He has since been migrated outside of Urgway under our witness protection program.” 

“It isn’t,” Vulpecula stated. “If I were to steal the Sword of Tertius, we would never be having this conversation, because you would never know I did it. And I highly doubt Alicia’s capable of being thorough about anything.” 

“Video-footage discloses your participation in the act,” Vivian stated, moving her hand off from the photograph on the table. 

… Of the Malane Palace, The Fox Detective gathered that much earlier, but what he hadn’t seen was the white furred fox and his green scarf. Vulpecula took the photo off the table, his hands still confined by cuffs, he held it near his face. It was him. Vulpecula reached for more photographs, each following him go nearer and nearer to the Sword. Until, at last, he made it to the glass container. His back turned to the video-footage, he slyly dislodged the sword from out of the case. An alarm went off. Vulpecula could gather that much from the red-tint layering the room. The Museum had improved its security some, but not much. A security guard came racing in. Vulpecula, or, well, not Vulpecula pointed the sword at the guard, who begrudgingly retreated. From there, the apparent doppelganger threw the scarf over his face and ran off from the shot. 

“It wouldn’t be hard to make a white fox put on a scarf, Vivian.” Vulpecula replied, his remark though didn’t sound very assured or confident, and that was because the small jolt of panic the photographs invoked. He felt his dearest friends, Insecurity and Paranoia knock on his door. He didn’t answer. But they broke the door down. Was it mind-control that made Comet Fowley sever off his own hand? Could mind-control do this? Or was it something different entirely, had Vulpecula’s own moral compass malfunctioned? Doing heinous acts and repressing them the following day? The whole dispute was lunacy, ’twas madness, but V couldn’t think of any other explanations for it. Maybe he really did have a doppelganger? 

“The photos aren’t of somebody that looks like you. The footage, upon inspection, shows your distinguished facial features. Your mannerisms. Experts have looked at all of it. It’s you in that photo, Vulpecula. What is your plan of action?” She sounded serious. She slid another photograph over to Vulpecula, one he had missed. The one showed a clear visual of the perpetrator’s face, for a moment, the perpetrator was fidgeting with the fur on his chin. Vulpecula paused for a moment, noticing he had been fidgeting with the fur on his chin as well. He stopped. But the damage was done. 

“I need the real footage, actual video,” Vulpecula answered, his words sounding shaky, “And I need my friends, they should be in the waiting room or outside.” 

“Bringing your friends in here would go highly against procedure.” 

“Arrest them! I couldn’t have done such an operation by myself, they are most obviously my accomplices!” 

4. 

Neither Lacerta nor Apus seemed very excited as they were brought to the Interrogation Room in handcuffs, but The Fox Detective didn’t care. He didn’t really need them to be excited, he only needed their company. Alicia Camél brought in several chairs and put them down, somewhat aggressively, beside Vulpecula. Lacerta seemed especially annoyed by the situation, whereas Apus seemed more confused than anything else. Bewildered, befuddled, and some other synonym to that, preferably starting with “be”. 

“What exactly is happening?” Lacerta asked, rubbing his wrists. 

“Rescue believes we are the culprits responsible for the stealing of the Sword of Tertius.” Vulpecula answered. 

“All of us? Why did they wait until now to arrest Apus and I?” 

“No idea,” lied Vulpecula. “But it looks bad for us.” He looked over to make for certain Alicia was out of the room for his lie. She was. She eventually came and wheeled in a small television set. It rested on a rustic metal stand that had one wobbling wheel at the bottom. A VHS player was below the television on a small shelf. For a second, V thought the whole stand might have tipped, with how much force Alicia had shoving it in there, but she managed to keep it steady. 

“Will you be needing anything else, Miss Herms?” Camél asked with a courtesy V hadn’t seen until now. 

Vivian Herms smiled warmly. “That will be all. Thank you.” 

Camél reciprocated the look, then threw her eyes over to V and her smile turned sour fast. She left the room, with the unmistakable sound of her feet stomping on the ground. Vivian slithered over to the television like a snake. She wasn’t a snake though, not quite, she was like one, but completely different. She was a weasel, whose stomach-region was disproportionately loner than the rest of her body. 

She fiddled with the television set, having an awkward time adjusting the cables in the back. During her struggles, Vulpecula almost felt the urge to throw her a line and offer his assist. Almost. But, given his predicament, his inebriation, and his exhaustion, he wasn’t in the mood to be helpful. Instead, he watched the middle-aged weasel try and tackle technology, like the Hounds tried to tackle the Labradoodles in the Supreme Stadium last week. Like them, she failed. 

But after Lacerta started spouting off some random technical mumbo jumbo at her, everything eventually got squared away and ready. 

“This is footage filmed directly off the video-cameras inside the Malane Palace, and only the most respected and well-trained faculty are allowed access.” 

“And if you’re any indication of how well-trained the faculty is, they’re certainly to be trusted,” jested the Fox Detective. 

“I don’t even know why I am bothering to help someone as childish as yourself,” Vivian replied. 

“Because, as childish as I may be, you know I didn’t do it.” Vulpecula reminded. 

“I know nothing.” 

“You said it,” said Vulpecula. 

“Given the situation, it’s probably best we take this with a certain level of seriousness,” Apus advised plainly, shaking the handcuffs around with his hands for V to hear the rattle. 

Vivian Herms smiled at that, meanwhile, Vulpecula only gritted his teeth. His feathery friend wasn’t wrong, and he could at least find the conscious wherewithal to admit it. Vivian stepped away from the television set and pressed play with the remote. The footage appeared on the screen. V considered himself far from being a tech aficionado, but it all seemed very authentic. There were little numbers on the side and a night-vision lens. He could see some blind-spots off memory alone, but the cameras caught everything important. The Malane Palace was dark at night, which meant the photographs he has seen earlier in Vivian’s folder must have been brightened or adjusted in some way. Still, everything ended up telling the same basic-story. Some seconds elapsed before it happened, before the ‘act’ struck, and for a time, it was seconds of only looking at the scenery of the Malane Palace. And even though the night-vision made for a green-aesthetic, Vulpecula perceived the colors as they were meant. The red carpeting and the black casings holding each item. 

The irony of the whole situation wasn’t lost on him. He hadn’t forgotten the last case he had. About having to find the Sword of Tertius. It hadn’t been very long ago. In-fact, he could still roll his eyes in the back of his head and see the information for it. All of it. Or all that was deemed important. He remembered how tedious and boring he thought the museum was, and how much he hated them in-general, but as fate would have it, he was now forced to attentively stare at footage of the Palace. 

Soon, the figure of a fox entered on the screen, the scarf around him, the disposition and way he trekked through the Palace, all of it was a spitting-image of the Fox Detective. 

Vulpecula heard a sound come from one of his friends, sounded like the gulping sound of fear, but he didn’t stop to investigate. 

Everything checked out, and as the alarm raised, the lights inside of the room illuminated, bringing the fox into clear-view. The scene of the guard entering the room, and the scene of The Fox Imposter threatening her with the Sword of Tertius. The guard backed away from the figure, whose head was cocked off to the side, facing away from the camera. From there, the Imposter left from the Malane Palace out the main-exit. 

“I can’t believe you think so low of me to do this,” Vulpecula said, his eyes piercing through Vivian. He was exhausted, and while many of his sensibilities waned, he was still very much able to feel annoyance and hurt. 

“I never pegged you a criminal, but under duress, many would stoop to such an act.” 

  “Not that,” Vulpecula snapped indignantly. “If I would have stolen from The Malane Palace, I wouldn’t have walked out the front-door, I wouldn’t have tripped the alarms, and I wouldn’t have left any incriminating footage about me. Miss Marion, do you remember Miss Marion? I do, and she had to take precaution. She took immense precaution and she was still caught, albeit, yes, because of the cunning brilliance of a master detective, but she was still caught. By working that case, I should have been equipped with said knowledge of certain eccentricities about the museum, the blind spots, for example, but this figure in this video is an amateur. Not even that. He has absolutely no grasp of subtlety or discretion.” 

“He didn’t know what he was doing, at all,” Lacerta agreed. “Vulpecula would have robbed you all blind!” 

“Be that as it may, inability doesn’t refute evidence,” Vivian replied, sounding annoyed. 

“This isn’t inability, do you really believe anybody in their right mind would walk into the Malane Palace and steal, with no care whatsoever about the consequences.” 

“No, I think no right-minded animal would do that.” 

Vulpecula smirked. “Did you find my paw-prints at the scene of the crime? The figure clearly touched the glass-case to retrieve the sword.” 

“We did not.” 

“The individual wanted it to be clear I was the perpetrator, and that I am criminal, and that I should be locked away. But who do I know that would do that? No, that’s not important, that isn’t crucial here, because, one can be worked on when the other is answered, the question that is important is the ‘how,’ like, how I am in this footage when it is so-ever clearly not me. But, it is me, it means all the mannerisms, all the features, the appearance, the look, things that couldn’t be captured with a make-up crew or someone playing dress-up,” Vulpecula could feel his words; shaky and unkempt, the sanity of his dialogue wearing thin. “For starters, when was the crime committed? I need to have a timeline of events.” He looked over to Vivian Herms, who seemed caught off-guard by a chance to speak. 

“The crime was committed within the last thirty hours, as you might expect, we were in shock that the son of Hensley Noel would commit such an act, so we wanted to make for sure we had all the facts and information at our disposal.” 

“Thirty hours,” Vulpecula repeated. “Thirty hours isn’t specific enough. The footage makes it obvious the act happened at night. You said thirty hours though, that rules out last night, and only leaves the night before, which is the very same night Lacerta, Apus, and I arrived back from Urgway, which means, depending on when it was, exactly, in that thirty hours, we might very well have an alibi.” 

“You would not have an alibi. The Rescue Tribune did an interview with Lacerta Kerrick after your arrival back to Acera. The crime happened shortly after.” 

Vulpecula bit on his nail. “I don’t think I am here because you think I stole anything. Sure, you had to be for certain, so you gave me that speech, had your Rhino friend try, quite masterfully, at the art of intimidation, but now it’s the fact of why I am here. You can’t solve it.” He declared. “You know it’s not me. But you don’t know ‘how’ it’s not me. Because, by the looks of it, it is me.” V sprung up to his feet and out from his chair, walking over to the television screen. He felt a hot-boiling amount of vivaciousness in his blood. He squinted at it, … like it would somehow jog his memory. 

“Then, who did it?” Vivian Herms asked, sounding neither amused nor frustrated, but maybe a little intrigued. 

“I …,” Vulpecula began. “Do not know.”  

His eyes went back over to the television screen. He speculated, but the speculation felt aimless. The immediate thoughts – the security-guard, visual allusion, and betrayal. That is, the security guard betrayed the trust of the Malane Palace by working with The Fox Imposter who used visual allusion to emulate V’s demeanor and appearance. But the whole thing didn’t seem right. It seemed too complex and too elaborate, and worst of all, “It looks too much like me.” He held the remote-control in his hands and skimmed through the footage, pausing on his face. “It’s like they copy-and-pasted me onto the video.” 

Vulpecula paused the footage. “Oh.” 

“You think the footage has been tampered with, with you somehow chopped into it?” Apus asked. 

“Is that even possible? I mean, this looks more than just professional, this looks dead-on.” Lacerta said. He still sounded as cranky as he did at breakfast. 

“Comet Fowley chopped his hand off because he was afraid of a website, a website called The Shock, ran by a group evidently too cunning for all of Rescue’s finest to catch.” Vulpecula made eye-contact with Vivian for that remark. “They’re so capable and comfortable with technology and have so much power at their disposal, they could accomplish what is really a rather simple editing job. Look at the instances where the figure snatches the Sword of Tertius or threatens the body-guard. His face is turned. They found enough photos and videos of me on the internet to make my appearance and demeanor, walking and leaving, but they didn’t have enough to do everything. A vicious looking Vulpecula going for the kill? They opted to turn his face or obscure it.” 

“What exactly are you saying, that there was no crime at all? That’s ridiculous,” Vivian declared. 

“Pshaw … that isn’t at all what I’m saying. The crime happened. A white fox with a green-scarf came and went. The Sword of Tertius stolen. All these variables are accurate. But that face you see on the screen, tacked on. They might have even redone some of edited some other discrepancies to make it all look more authentic. They studied me beforehand, found some of my features, and acted them out because they knew you’d notice them.” 

Vulpecula walked away from the television set and presented his hands to Vivian Herms, or more specifically, showing her the cuffs still clasped around them. 

“You have to be drunk to think something so far-fetched could prove your innocence.” Vivian denounced. 

“Ask your ‘experts’,” Vulpecula did air-quotes, “To look at the videos again, this time with questioning in-mind about the integrity of the video. But do it separately, individually, and without any outside influence. Somebody had to have adjusted the video-tape and likely, that’s a member of faculty with access to the video-tapes. In-fact, ask the security guard who was threatened, ask her if she remembered seeing my face in-particular.” Ask Her. She Remembered. Her? Vulpecula stopped, he looked at the ground. White tiles with bleak swirls of gray. In his head, however, he searched about himself. The Malane Palace had six guards, and not one of them was female. Vulpecula had etched that exact fact on his blank chalkboard during his thirteenth case file. 

“She’s new,” Vulpecula announced, a satisfied grin on his face. “In the small window of time between me solving the mystery of the Sword of Tertius, and now, a new security guard has been hired. She would have direct access to the footage, and she’s the one that tampered with it.” 

5. 

It wasn’t long before Vulpecula and his friends were freed of all charges. Vivian Herms didn’t seem too thrilled about it, but Vulpecula liked to think she was relieved Hensley Noel’s son wasn’t a criminal. Vivian was dear friends with Hensley, … some would say more than dear, and it was by association that The Fox Detective received some fondness from the Rescue battalion’s head of command. The Lady Security Guard confessed. They arrested her, but Vulpecula expected clemency for her. After all, she was under duress. The Shock contacted her by telephone and threatened violence against both her and her loved ones. About then, The Guard was like putty in his hands. 

They met. She described him as wearing a black overcoat with a hidden face, his voice altered by a modulator. The smell of him was of peppermint chewing gum, which she recalled him chomping on for their whole encounter. The figure introduced himself as Lepus but didn’t attribute a surname for himself. His words were unfriendly, as one would expect from such a man, and he spouted obscenities when The Guard showed apprehension. Once the cards were in-place, everything went well. A White Fox, evidently a member of The Shock entered the Malane Palace. The Guard described him as having claw-marks and scars abundant on him, and that he had a slightly grayer fur than Vulpecula’s, which was hidden by the darkness of the room, then the red-lights after the alarm was triggered. She didn’t alert authorities. Not at first.  

First, she and Lepus took to the Security Room, and Lepus tweaked the footage to his liking. She described his prowess as keen and fast. He had the whole fiasco done in less than ten minutes, and that’s including the few minutes he spent yelling at her for not looking believable enough. 

This wasn’t a lot of groundbreaking information. It certainly wasn’t enough to discover the identity of Lepus, but it was a lot more than what they had. Sketch artists worked with the Security Guard on developing a rough drawing of the White Fox. It should be appearing on the Rescue Tribune sometime soon. 

As Vulpecula left, he looked at Vivian Herms. Watching as his friends went on.  

“I’m not a bad person,” is the last thing he said. They made eye-contact. And she nodded. No embrace. No handshake. He left. 

6. 

One Step Back was the same as he left it. It was uncanny how much it hadn’t changed in the few hours they’d been separated. Even the cast was the same, no star-studded cameos or anything else out of the ordinary. The muskrat was there, smoking his cigarette. And the Warthog and Bear were in-front of him.  

Vulpecula smiled. It was like the entire day hadn’t happened. He walked over to the chair in-between them. He sat down. A glass of alcohol was there. He didn’t know for sure, but he wanted to say it was his glass from earlier. He took a sip of it. The taste was foul. Just as he remembered it. 

“Where is that bartender with my order?” the warthog exclaimed, banging his hand over and over against the counter. “This is ridiculous!” 

Where was the bartender? A good question. As V looked around the room, he didn’t see him. Over by the tables with the muskrat? Empty. Behind the counter? Empty as well. But the Detective thought it better to ease his mind. The whereabouts of his new bartending acquaintance wasn’t the reason for his presence. He wanted to forget. To forget about, just about everything. It was a pity. Explaining the Doppelganger would’ve been a riveting and exhilarating experience any other time. But it all felt cheapened somehow. He took another sip of alcohol. A scream came somewhere off to the side of him.  

The noise caught him off-guard. His glass of alcohol spilling out from his hand and spreading its contents all-over the counter. 

He anticipated complaints from the warthog, but they never came. Vulpecula looked over at him. Frozen in-place. His fork held in one hand. His mouth jarred open. The warthog made no movements at all.  

Vulpecula swayed the stool around and hopped off to his feet. The stool was much taller than him, so he had to be careful not to fall. He looked around. The smoke from the muskrat’s cigarette frozen in the air, and the ceiling fan no longer spun. A second scream came. This time, The Fox Detective was able to pinpoint the whereabouts. It was coming from the bathroom. He followed it. Not really knowing the purpose. Curiosity? 

He touched the door, and it swung open. He gave it no force. And as he walked inside, the bathroom looked all too familiar. Familiar, but in a way he couldn’t disclose. It looked different, but not, somehow.  

In-front of the sinks, it was Bartender Red. Holding a knife. Sharp. Vulpecula didn’t assume, instead, he seemed to know. Red looked at him. They made eye-contact, and a sinister smile spread on Red’s face. Soon after, he dug the knife into his hand. Vulpecula tried to look away but couldn’t. He found himself pulled to it. Inclined to step forward. He walked nearer to Red, who continued carving into his hand. Vulpecula continued to come fourth until he was behind the Bartender, and in the mirror, he saw himself. 

It wasn’t him though. Grayer fur? No. It was him. Plain and simple. But the Fox’s face looked sinister. It’s muzzle; smiling. Teeth; sharp. A whisper came next, “Yes,” the Fox in the mirror said. Cheering for it? Cheering for this!? Wanting this!? Vulpecula yanked the knife out from Red’s hand. But the damage was done. Blood allover the sink. Red ran toward the bathroom stall.  

“You can solve it, you can solve it, you can solve it,” the voice chanted. My Moral Compass is broken, who am I?