The Canes Files

by Nicholas McConnaughay

  "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 be
lieve 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.

  The Life and Crimes of Detective Barker

  Episode Four

  The After Shock

  1.

  Headaches, they had plagued him ever since Vivian Herms, the Director of Rescue, had given him the information on a group called The Shock. As it turned out, The Shock was a group of computer hackers causing havoc throughout several countries. Rescue hadn’t been able to pinpoint them and they were assembling a team to try a new approach.

  Barker had left the office without giving a definitive answer to Mrs. Herms. He wasn’t much for group efforts. As a matter of fact, he hated groups. People wanting to chime in with their crummy ideas, or trying to take over the role of leader; no one led Detective Sanec Barker.

  Barker sank back further into his newly bought couch and held his head with his paw. The headaches had been coming more frequently with the thought of this group. Every time a headache occurred, Barker imagined the face of Vivian Herms looking at him with a certain plea to her expression. She needed him, that, he was sure of.

  A knock at the door brought Barker from his perpetual daze. The voice accompanying that knock brought him to a sigh.

  “Get up,” said the squawking parrot from behind the door, “you are late for work for the third day in a row,” it finished.

  Barker didn’t need to be a detective to figure out that his boss, and head detective, Psitticus was staring at the peephole with a grimace spread across his ugly face.

  Barker thought about letting old bird brain knock his life away. He thought about sinking further into the couch and sleeping. Then, Psitticus knocked again, loud this time, and Barker’s headache flared even more.

  “Fine,” Barker started, getting up off the couch, “I am coming,” he yelled. Psitticus must not have been happy with the answer because he knocked again. Barker envisioned strangling the parrot but thought better of it. It is always messy killing someone in your own home.

  Barker reached his paw out and unlatched the lock, then the chain, then opened the door. Psitticus stood before him, dressed in a disheveled grey suit. The head detective was never much for dressing snazzy. Barker didn’t step out of the way; he had no intention of inviting Psitticus into his home.

  “What do you need?” he asked, still guarding the doorway like a nightclub bouncer. Psitticus didn’t try to struggle past him. He knew this game already; Barker wasn’t much for pleasantries or house calls.

  “I want you to return to work,” Psitticus started in a squeaking voice, “You haven’t been in for three days. Cases are piling up and the Mayor is on my tail.” Psitticus glanced over Barker’s shoulder into the living room. “What in the name have you been up to anyhow?” he asked.

  Barker wasn’t much in the mood to explain to anyone, let alone his boss, about the situation with Rescue. He didn’t feel like fumbling through some lame explanation about why he was so disheveled himself. Barker instinctively reached up to straighten his collar, only to realize he wasn’t even wearing a shirt.

  “Been busy,” he replied. Psitticus scoffed. He knew better than to ask twice what Barker already answered once. It would just become a verbal sparring match and Psitticus was at least smart enough to realize he would lose that battle.

  “Do you plan on returning to work anytime soon?” it was formed as a question, but Barker knew birdbrain had wanted it to be taken as a command.

  “Been busy,” Barker said.

  “So, you have said already, but that doesn’t answer my second question,” Psitticus countered.

  Barker grabbed at his head, it was in full throbbing mode now. He needed to get rid of Psitticus. He needed to return to the couch and sink into the cushions until he didn’t exist anymore. Instead, he did the sensible thing. “I will be in this afternoon,” he said. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just say tomorrow morning. It was probably something to do with the stern look on the face of his boss. Even if he didn’t respect the man behind the title, he at least had to pretend he respected the title.

  “We have something important to take care of…” Psitticus started. Barker stepped back and slammed the door. He wished it would have smashed the beak of Psitticus back into his throat, but it hadn’t, probably for the best.

  “I said I would be in this afternoon,” Barker yelled. He could imagine Psitticus’ face on the other side of the door. Scrunched and angry. It almost made his head feel a bit better, almost. Not enough so that Barker didn’t return to the couch, rubbing his temples and praying for a few hours of sleep.

  2.

  The office was just as Barker remembered it, crowded and stuffy. His headache had faded a bit, but his mood had failed to enhance. Barker trodden and a little disheveled plodded through the door.

  “Good of you to join us,” Psitticus was sitting at Detective Lucky’s old desk. What he was doing there was a mystery, one that oddly Barker didn’t feel the need to solve. Instead, he ignored the trite comment and moved over to his own desk. “There is a folder there for you,” Psitticus pointed with his skinny fingers, “Straight from the Mayor; the council is getting quite worried about this one, Barker.”

  Barker sat in his seat, not the comfy seat of Rescue, but the hard seat of the local Urgway Police Department. Barker didn’t ask Psitticus what the case was and he pondered on not opening the file at all, just to make the bird wriggle in his seat.

  “It isn’t a suggestion,” Psitticus said, pushing himself from Lucky’s desk, “You do the case or you find a new job.” The parrot walked over to where Barker was sitting and flipped open the file for him.

  Inside the first page was just a series of pictures. Several men and women staring star eyed out into nothing. Mug shots and quite a few of them littered the printed sheets. “All of them picked up within the last week. None of them competent enough to talk about what happened, but all of them showed the same symptoms. Glazed eyes, confused
expression, and the inability to communicate, but that wasn’t the end of it.” Psitticus flipped another page in the file. This series of pictures was much more grotesque than the first set.

  “This seems to happen if you lock more than one of them in the same cell,” the head detective stated.

  The pictures were easy to figure out. Bodies showed bite marks, missing chunks of flesh, and even one mutilated hand with missing fingers.

  “They are eating each other?” Barker asked, astounded it had taken Urgway this long to self-destruct into cannibals.

  Psitticus looked disgusted by the pictures. Barker was quite indifferent about the whole situation. People did grotesque things.

  “They seem to have no conscious left. One of the men was a lawyer on Monday and by Wednesday he was eating a lady’s face for dinner. It doesn’t make any sense,” said bird brains.

  Barker eyed the pictures a little more in depth. Teeth marks were aplenty. Some of the victims looked to have been held. Some showed prolonged restraint from handcuffs. The local police department was beyond their grounds on this one.

  “Drugs?” Barker asked. He flipped the next page with his claws. It was a series of toxicology reports from the lab. Seemed as if each victim had been tested for all known substances on the streets in Urgway.

  “All of them test clean for anything we know,” Psitticus added without need.

  Barker could clearly read that not a single one had shown signs of drug use. What was even odder is that most seemed to be respectable individuals. Not the scum of the earth you would usually suspect to eat one another.

  “What has been done so far?” Barker asked. He closed the folder. He knew that the work laid out before him wouldn’t help him a bit. Not a single police officer knew a lick about detective work.

  “All patients have been moved to the local psych unit. A Doctor named Doyle is watching over them now. None have changed since they started their rampage. No signs of getting better or worse. Not a single one of them is worth questioning.” Psitticus looked dumbfounded, or normal.