The Canes Files

by Nicholas McConnaughay

  “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 i
n 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 co
uldn'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.”