Barker exited the cab and was tempted to jump right back in. He had better things to do with his time. The Rescue had laid a whopper of a case on his plate. Something that he could actually sink his teeth into and use, but this case pulled him away. He reminded himself again that he needed the Mayor. He didn’t have to like the Mayor, but he still needed him to continue on.
So, with reluctance, he shut the cab door, “Wait, here,” he yelled through the window. He was going in, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be stuck here.
The Maxwell High school was decorated as if it were a museum of fine arts. It had cruddy paintings as you entered the door. To each side of the walk-in were statues that looked like they could have been made from play dough. Barker rubbed his temples; he wasn’t sure what caused the headache this time, the thought of the Shock or this school.
“Excuse me, sir,” Barker looked up, “Can I help you?” asked a cat in a grey suit. Barker looked around at the walls and figured he didn’t expect anyone here to be any classier than the décor.
“I am looking for any teacher who would have ordered an entire batch of Tily,” Barker replied. There was no reason to be coy or mysterious. Barker reached into his jacket pocket and whipped out his badge, for mere effect.
The cat’s eyes widened. The confidence he had portrayed scattered like leaves in the wind. “I wouldn’t be privy to that information, sir,” he said. The cat started to look around for anyone to relieve him of this conversation.
“Well, who would?” Barker asked.
The cat seemed relieved to have an excuse to walk. “I will go get the principal.” With that, he was off down the hall, leaving Barker to stare at the hideous paintings on the wall.
Only a few minutes passed before another cat in a grey suit waltzed into the entrance hallway. “May I help you, detective?”
Barker didn’t bother turning. He could see the reflection of the man in the painting. One of the best parts of being a detective was to make the normal people antsy. “I need to know who ordered hundreds of Tily flowers from this school,” Barker said. Barker moved his paw up to the edge of the painting and flicked a large chunk of crusted paint from the corner. Even the color was cheap.
The Principle didn’t step forward or make any reaction at all. “I see,” he said. He looked at the small piece of color on the floor. “Follow me,” he said, turning down the hallway.
Barker followed. They moved down a small set of stairs and into a wooden paneled crevice that surely led to the Principal’s office. The carpet under their feet was a bright red and contrasted horribly off the walls. It was a wonder anyone thought this place was worth the time.
The cat opened a small wooden door and they stepped into a medium-sized office. The cat moved around behind a sculpted desk. Barker opted to stay standing. Inside, the office was decorated with even more horrid paintings. These were presumably some of the better work of the students over the years. This was an even bigger indication that no one should bother with the school.
“Now, you said the flower, Tily, correct?” the cat asked from behind his computer.
Barker turned and looked at the Principle, who had put a large comical pair of glasses onto his face. “Yes.”
The cat feigned some extra typing. “Looks like that would have been Mr. Watson. Though Watson has been on paid medical leave for about three weeks now.” The cat lifted the glasses from his nose.
Barker didn’t have time to play cat and mouse with the man. “Where do I find him?”
“Well, I..” the cat was going to continue the charade, but Barker’s head pounded and he wasn’t in the mood to play this silly game.
“Tell me, now!” Barker said. Then, he slammed the badge on the desk. “Either that or you can come with me,” he said.
The cat stopped playing games at that moment. “Let me just print you his home address.”
Barker waited in the building just long enough to gather the paperwork he needed to find this Mr. Watson. Then, he happily moved from the school, intending to never visit again. As he walked towards the cab, he stopped for a moment to take a deep breath. His head was splitting and again the thought of Vivian Herms clouded his mind.
8.
Mr. Watson lived well above his means. Making salary at a high school could not have paid him to live so well. Yet, here he was living a modest dream life. A two-story home surrounded by a brown picket fence was where Barker stopped his cabbie. The car in the driveway screamed overpriced, but it seemed Mr. Watson was trying to live up to some image. Maybe he had sold a painting in the distant past and was still living off that dream.
Barker walked up the sidewalk and noticed that weeds had overtaken the flower beds. While Watson was clearly a man of image, he had let his lawn go. Barker made a mental note. Then, he knocked on the door. He heard a fit of coughing from the other side and then a low rumbling voice answer, “Be there in a moment,” it said.
Barker stood there for much longer than a moment, but he heard the footsteps behind the wooden door. They were slow and labored. Much as if the man had broken a limb. Barker looked out around the neighborhood as he waited. The houses surrounding Mr. Watson’s were much the same. Barker guessed it was one of those committee neighborhoods where no one could paint, trim, plant, or itch without permission from the council. Barker shuddered to think of ever having to be so controlled.
Not that his accommodations were exactly freedom. He still did as he liked.
Finally, after over four minutes, the door opened. In the frame stood a large, furry bear of a man, or at least a once large man. Something had caused the skin to sag over what could have once been muscle. The fur which would have been a full brown and thick was now light and patchy. The bear drew his paw up to his mouth and had another coughing attack. Barker turned away, whatever it was he wasn’t keen on catching it.
“Sorry,” the bear sputtered. It was a pathetic scene.
Barker waited for another fit to pass before introducing himself. “I am Detective Barker, from the Urgway police department.” Barker pulled his badge from his jacket pocket.
The bear nodded. “What can I do you for?” he wheezed.
Barker flipped the badge and stuffed it back into his pocket. “Seems that you have bought an awful lot of a certain flower called the desert flower or Tily,” Barker pulled out a notepad. He didn’t need it, but it always made people more talkative to see him writing something down.
The bear wouldn’t be much more talkative. Mr. Watson coughed again and shook his head, “I haven’t ordered any Tily,” he stated.
“Would I be welcome into your home, Mr. Watson?” Barker asked. He would need to see the inside of the home before he decided. He was coming in with or without permission, but it was easier if the bear just agreed.
After yet another coughing fit, the bear waved Barker in behind him. “Sorry for the mess, been a little under the weather here lately.” Mr. Watson led Barker into a small sitting room. Here, Barker noticed several test tubes and small burners sitting around the edges of the room. He didn’t follow Watson as he sat in a large armchair. Instead, he moved towards the equipment.
“Those didn’t turn out too well,” Watson started, “Tried to find my own cure for the cough, but it turns out I am not much of a scientist.”
Barker thumbed a small beaker and sniffed his thumb. The paste was thick, but Barker doubted it would do much good against a cough. “Didn’t order any Tily to try and help with this experimenting?” Barker asked, still snooping through the supplies.
“Nope…” started the bear, but it turned into a coughing fit and, for a moment, Barker wasn’t sure he would breathe again. But, breath, he did, with a large swallow of air. He sat for a few moments, not saying a word. “Just stupid home remedies I saw on the internet, none of them worked as you can tell.” Watson took another deep breath and pressed further into the chair.
Barker could tell that these items hadn’t been touched in weeks. Whoever was making the dru
g that caused the user to eat another man hadn’t come from these generic supplies. It also hadn’t come from a man who could barely walk to answer his door. No drug dealer who was on his deathbed would make a good seller.
There was absolutely no way this man was faking for a show either. He had invested too much time and effort into his image just to let weeds take over his flowers, and his grass grow ankle high. This man was dying. Barker could smell it in the air.
Barker turned to look at Mr. Watson. The bear had closed his eyes and almost looked dead already, but his chest heaved with struggled breathing. Barker decided to let himself out. He didn’t need to disturb this bear anymore. It was enough that he wouldn’t make it through the month.
Once outside, Barker glanced at the road and noticed his cab had moved on. Barker cursed under his breath. He had explicitly told the man to stay put. It was a long walk back to Urgway from here. He had found nothing of use, had solved nothing, and now, he was stranded. Barker kicked at one of the only surviving flowers on his way out the gate.
Barker turned to start up the road, that was when he felt the touch on his shoulder and suddenly his knees went weak.
9.
Barker went to hold his temples, his head was pounding beyond belief, but his paws were tied down. He sat in an old wooden spindle chair, both his legs and arms tied. He didn’t bother to wiggle. Whoever had gone through the trouble surely wasn’t stupid enough to leave the ropes loose, and wiggling would only tighten them.
Barker sat calmly but still squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stamp out some of the pain. He heard the footsteps before he saw the people. He didn’t bother opening his eyes. It didn’t matter what they looked like. It didn’t matter what they held. They had the advantage, but Barker still had his mind.
“The famous Detective Barker,” a rough voice said. Barker nodded his reply. He indeed was everything that man had stated so far. “I would lie and say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I am not one much for false statements. I hope you understand.”
The man left a moment for Barker to reply. Barker knew better, it was a trick he would have used. The man was trying to trip him up and make him look stupid. It was too bad for the man that Barker was smarter than him, even if he was currently trapped in a chair.
“Quieter than I expected,” the man continued. Barker could hear him pacing. He had intended to scare Barker. He had not suspected that anyone could sit with their eyes closed and be so calm in a situation such as the one Barker found himself in. “No matter, I intended to do much of the talking anyhow.” The footsteps stopped right in front of Barker’s chair. Barker could hear the man’s breathing. He also knew three others stood in the room with them. They were probably there for muscle purposes. None of them would be talking with Barker this evening.
“You are a canine. You are within the age of forty to forty-five. You haven’t worked much in your life, but when you did you were a salesman for I am guessing a small firm. Your accent puts you from out of Urgway, but you fit in nicely here with your petty crime. I am going to go out on a limb and say that you didn’t take kindly to Rescue coming to me. You are more worried than you would admit, but you won’t say it out loud in case these three other gentlemen hear you utter fear. You aren’t a big man. You probably have never killed another man in your life. You are more of a behind the scenes type, but this is important. You have to be seen as a leader in this. So, you hired these thugs and you gathered some nerve to confront me. You need for me to be scared away. But you failed to realize that I am not a coward, nor am I a runner. You can continue when you like,” Barker leaned his head back. He feigned boredom, even if his head was pounding and his heart ached to know more about this man.
“You are as good as they say. I didn’t doubt that. I won’t be killing you, Barker. You hit the nail on the head. I don’t need to kill you to succeed in my endeavors. All I need to do is pacify you. Or I could continue to keep you too busy to look for me. Ordering a hundred Tily flowers under a name like Mr. Watson is only the tip of the iceberg as to what I can do. Making respectable men and women eat one another isn’t usually what I do, but I make exceptions from time to time. You’re right, I haven’t killed a single soul, but I do doubt those people will ever be the same again. What you can do with a few clicks of a button on the internet is amazing. Make your own Chinese restaurant. Cater to the rich. Hell, I even delivered it myself. Those idiots ate it up and then ate each other.”
The man started to pace again. Barker could tell he was nervous.
“It is all in my power to destroy you. To destroy the Mayor, or to take down Urgway’s communications. I can do it with the click of a button. Rescue can’t stop me. That’s why they came to you. No one can stop me, Barker. It isn’t a matter of being caught that has brought me to you. It’s the competition you represent.”
The man placed his own hand on Barker’s nose. “It is what you want, is it not?” he said and ran his claw down Barker’s chin. “You don’t want to destroy the Shock. You want it for yourself.”
Well, the man wasn’t completely wrong. Barker let a smile creep onto his face. “Fear is often a man’s own undoing,” Barker said.
The man stepped back. “I do not often exchange words with people. I am, as you said, more of a behind the scenes type of man. So, do excuse me if I grow tired of this conversation. I will do what I came to do then I will leave. You will have been warned. You will have been informed. The Shock is mine. Urgway is mine. Soon enough, Acera will be mine. You can keep your nose out of my business and survive. Or, you can continue to meddle above your pay grade and be put down.”
Barker felt two sets of hands grasp his head. He didn’t bother to fight. Again, he was strapped down and fighting was useless. The two sets of hands pushed his head forward and covered his mouth. Barker drew in a breath through his nose and figured out too late that powder had been placed before him. His head instantly swam and then again his body went weak.
10.
Barker awoke on his couch. His head still pounded. He rolled over and grabbed an old bottle of water from his stand. He took a few large drinks. Then he rolled up and placed his feet on the ground. The Shock had struck and tried to sting him. Rescue had set him into a fury of pissed off bees.
Neither of them realized what they had gotten themselves into. Barker put his hand on the cushion of the couch and pulled out a small notebook. He flipped open the cover and grabbed the pen from the spindle.
He put a check mark next to the first item on a small list.
-Find Them-
The Adventures of Vulpecula
Episode Four
Vices, Virtues, and a Doppelganger
1.
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. Hardwo
od. 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!”
The Canes Files Page 14
