The Fire Triangle, A Zootopia Fanfiction -- Part One: Fuel - 32

Disclaimer: Zootopia stories, characters, settings, and properties belong to the Walt Disney Co. This story is written under Fair Use Copyright laws.

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The Fire Triangle-A Zootopia Fanfiction

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Part One:

Fuel

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Chapter 4 - The Wizard of Chaos

(Pt. 1)

Dangit, what th'...?

Jerry Guilford growled and pressed his paws tightly against his ears. It was a futile effort at best and the pounding in his skull continued unabated. Grabbing feverishly for...he didn't know what, the thickset coyote rolled over in bed, and tumbled onto the living room floor.

"Dangall!"

Jerry had fallen asleep on the couch (again!); he didn't remember crashing here, heck he didn't remember coming home—but that was hardly anything new. He stood up, bracing with his paws on the arm of the sofa and stretched himself out, first the legs, and then his back. On the latter, he felt the old, familiar snapping sensation, somewhere down around the small of his spine, the legacy of a crash landing in a turnip field some fifteen years ago.

Folks said that was when he had first begun to turn ornery—there'd be some serious head trauma to go with those cracked vertebrae—but then folks said a lot of things about Jerry Guilford...and they could all go take a flying leap off a steel-mill catwalk as far as he was concerned.

Slowly, carefully, he straightened himself out again. There, that was better...except for all that blankety-blank pounding. Funny, it didn't seem to hurt as much as usual.

That was when Jerry realized something, the noise wasn't coming from inside his head; it was coming from the front door.

All at once he tensed, felt his neck fur standing up. Oh for crying out loud, NOW what? He'd been a good coyote; stayed the heck away from the Carrot Days Festival, and the rest of the Guilford clan had done the same. Jiminy Christmas, did they think he was stupid along with everything else? He wasn't about tangle with any dangfool wolverine, much less three of them...no matter what those dumb bunnies back at the Festival might say.

Bunnies...the bane of his existence! For the hundred thousandth time, Jerry cursed the day he'd come to this stinking rabbit-hole.

It had seemed like a good idea the time, moving his crop-dusting service from Wapiti WA to Bunnyburrow. Up until Jerry's arrival, the nearest crop-service planes had been stationed all the way over in Podunk, at least an hour away, even by air. As if that wasn't bad enough, Triburrow Aerial charged extra for the fuel they spent getting to and from the Burrow—and if you didn't like, it tough carrots, they were the only game within a hundred miles.

Not any more thanks to the Guilford brothers, Jerry was sure he'd hit on a moneymaker if not exactly a gold mine

At first things had gone well enough. Oh sure, there'd been the usual complaints of unreliability and poor customer service, but when weren't there always whiners? Eventually, slowly but surely, Sky-Yote Crop Services had built up a steady list of clientele.

And then the bottom had dropped out.

It hadn't been a sudden fall; no one had sprung a trap door beneath Jerry Guilford's feet. It had been more like a floor that slowly rots out from under you; first there's creaking, then it bows, and then one day a foot goes through. That was how it had been for Sky-Yote Crop Services...and that was why they'd been caught completely by surprise

It had all started when one of those double dealing rabbits, a carrot farmer named Stu Hopps had elected to take his farm organic. At first Jerry had paid little or no attention. Why should he care? The Hopps Family Farm had never done business with Sky-yote; it was Triburrow Air's loss, not his. And if some dumb bunny wanted to go bankrupt, hey, it was no skin off his nose.

That is, not until the following year, when four more farmsteads in the Burrow announced that they were switching to organic farming methods; and these four WERE Sky-yote's clients...or rather former clients; with the changeover to organic, no pesticides or herbicides were needed, thank you very much. The following year, five more farms in the Burrow went organic, and then seven more in the year after that. In three seasons Jerry Guilford's client list had shrunk by more than half. The way things were going, two more seasons and he'd be broke and out of business.

What made it even more galling was that the previous year, a ray of hope had come into the coyote's life; Burrow County made him the proverbial offer he couldn't refuse. Over the past eighteen months, illegal catnip farms had been springing up like mushrooms in the hills surrounding Bunnyburrow—and the County Fathers had finally decided enough was enough. They would attack the illegal spreads from the air, destroying their catnip plants with defoliant...and that was where Sky-Yote Crop Services came in.

The offer had fallen like a godsend on Jerry Guilford, and he'd accepted before even hearing the full proposal; the only problem was that the County's herbicide of choice was Quareline the brand name of the defoliant Harequateline. Jerry had never liked working with that stuff but hey, anything to save the family business, right?

Wrong; two months before the spraying was scheduled to begin, the program was suspended indefinitely, no warning and no explanation. Nearly frothing with agitation, Jerry had stormed into offices of the Burrow County Farm Bureau, demanding to know what the heck was going on. Finally, after being fobbed off on one minor bureaucrat after another, the coyote had been told to take it up with the Sheriff's Office,

The Sheriff's office had told him to take it up with the County Commissioner's office. When he got to the County Commissioner's office, he was given another runaround and finally told that he'd need to take it up with the County Commissioner himself, the honorable Childers 'Chip' Fielding, who unfortunately wasn't at the office today.

Fielding had never once returned any of the coyote's phone calls, and every time Jerry had paid a visit to the Commissioner's Office, he'd been informed that the beaver had just left for the day. By the time he finally caught up with Fielding at last year's Carrot Days, Jerry was long past the rational stage. The upshot was two months in jail for felonious assault (he'd pled down to menacing) and (finally) an answer to his question. The operation had been suspended not through any fault on the part of Sky-yote Crop Services. Commissioner Fielding had discovered (belatedly) that Harequateline had a rather nasty side effect; it was just as effective on fur as it was on foliage.

"No kidding, Slylock!" Jerry had raged when he found out. He could have told that to the County in the beginning—if anyone had bothered to ask him. WHY did they think he didn't like working with Harequateline in the first place? (Actually there was another, bigger reason, but never mind that for now.)

As it was, Fielding's Office hadn't made the discovery until a coalition of local farmers, led by that motormouth Douglas squirrel Levon Chatterton, had raised a stink. In the interim, the local Catnip growers had also gotten wind of the proposal and elected to move their operations elsewhere. With them gone, there was no longer any need for the spraying operation and it was called off for good.. That more than anything else was what had enraged Jerry Guilford; while he'd been languishing behind bars, Chip Fielding was being hailed as a hero, the beaver who had so cleverly gotten rid of the illegal catnip farms...and without even taking any action. (Or that was how he'd played it to the press.)

Upon his release from custody, Jerry had found a letter from the County Clerk's Office waiting in his mailbox, demanding the immediate return of the unused Harequateline with which the County had supplied him. Jerry had promptly refused to cough up the defoliant until he was paid back for the expenses he'd incurred, modifying two of his planes to carry the stuff. The Burrow Country Sheriff's Department had promptly sent a platoon of deputies to retrieve the unused herbicide, only to be stonewalled at the entrance to the Sky-Yote hangar—not by any physical threat but by a court order. (Not everyone in the Burrow was a Chip Fielding fan.) Burrow County could have their crop spray back only after Mr. Guilford had been suitably compensated for his efforts so far, and not one second before.

The smart thing to do of course would have been to pay Jerry off and be done with it, but by then Chip Fielding's blood was up. Instead, Burrow County had appealed the ruling; Sky-Yote Crop Services had immediately sued and the case had remained in limbo ever since.

In doubling down on the coyote, Fielding had moved more shrewdly that most animals would have given him credit for. He knew—and so did his adversary—that both time and public opinion were on his side.

And that was what had infuriated Jerry Guilford more than anything. Chip Fielding was NO hero, only one very lucky beaver—and as for Jerry himself, well...

All right, yeah...his family had 'liberated' a few items from their neighbors when they'd first arrived in town, but they'd never taken more than they needed...and they had always intended to pay for what they took when they could afford it.

And even if they hadn't, did that make it right, what was happening now? Now every time some local idiot suffered a theft or vandalism the whole stupid Burrow immediately blamed it on HIS family! Someone robbed your mailbox? It had to be one of Guilfords. A harrow turned up missing from your barn? The Guilfords took it, who else? Someone raided your strawberry field? Dirty, mangy coyotes! Crike, they'd even accused him of torching the Luckyfoot Farms produce stand, (as if he'd be such an idiot!) "Come and get me when you got some evidence!" the coyote had snarled, after overhearing some whispers while gassing up his truck.

The 'scape-yoting' had finally reached a crescendo six months ago, when one of the resident ya-hoos, a two-faced jackrabbit name Rollie Carratine had dynamited his own storage silo and tried to blame it on the Guilford family; (insurance scam.) Luckily for Jerry, that had been too much even for the bunn-kissers down at the Burrow County Sheriff's Office. Whatever else he might have done Jerry Guilford had never fooled around with explosives.

But then, even after he'd been exonerated, had anyone apologized? What, are you kidding? Not a word, not a single word; it was that hard-case bobcat, Deputy Mac Cannon who had spelled out the prevailing attitude. "Maybe it wasn't you that took down the Carratine's silo Jerry, but you've done a lot of other things that weren't much better."

The hammering on the door abruptly ceased; a split second later the front doorbell rang.

Jerry Guilford relaxed a little. All right, it wasn't the Sheriff's Department (again!) The BCSD NEVER rang the bell; they just kept pounding away on the wood until they got an answer.

The bell chimed a second time, and a peevish voice spoke from behind the coyote. "Are you going to answer that or what, Dad?"

"Shut up and go back to your room Craig!" Jerry snapped over his shoulder as the bell sounded a third time. They younger coyote sniffed and then slunk away

"All right, all right, I'm COMING!" Jerry snarled, stalking in the direction of the front door and almost tripping over a discarded bottle. "This had BETTER be important," he added, grabbing the handle and flinging the door wide open.

It took a lot to make Jerry Guilford reel back in surprise; but there was a lot on his doorstep right now, specifically the biggest rabbit he'd ever encountered. (And living in Bunnyburrow the coyote had encountered plenty.)

No kidding the bunny on the other side of the security door had to be at least half a head taller than he was, and while Jerry wasn't especially large for a yote, he was by no means the runt of the litter...and powerfully built to boot. (He was almost burly for his species.) The bunny standing in front of him however, eclipsed him easily in that in that department; he looked like he squeezed blood out of rocks for fun. It made the coyote glad for a second that he'd installed that extra security door—until he remembered that it could only be locked from the outside.

It was enough to give him a rare moment of pause, and in the moment he realized something; he hadn't checked to see whether he was dressed before answering the doorbell. (He was; thank goodness for small favors.)

Jerry shrugged off his anxiety and felt his ears go back.

"You better have a good reason for waking me up at..." He suddenly realized he didn't know what time it was either and hurriedly checked his watch, "seven in the morning on a Sunday." (That was actually a lot later than he'd thought it was.)

The big bunny immediately raised his paws.

"Ahhh, I'm so sorry," he said, "When I used to live here, we were always up by six, even on Sundays. I guess I kind of took it for granted. Please ."

Jerry snarled something unpleasant and was about to slam the door in his (uninvited) visitor's face—but then something pricked his psyche; the rabbit had said...

"When you used to live here?" he queried, raising an ear and tilting his head to the side.

"Yes, this is the house where I grew up." The big bunny replied, offering a paw through the bars of the security door, "Jack La Peigne."

Jerry didn't take the paw, but he wasn't tempted to bite it either. Before he'd owned this property, it had belonged to the County and before that to a family of marmots, the Erfenns or something. But before that...yes, it had belonged to a family of rabbits once, what had been their names again? Jerry couldn't remember exactly, but recalled that it had sounded something like 'combine'. All right, close enough.

But not good enough; he curled up his lip and laid his ears bent backwards.

"Okay, fine." He growled, "Now, you mind telling me what you're doing here, La Peigne?" (Jerry already had a pretty good idea, but he was going to make the dumb bunny say it.)

"Well, I know it's kind of early and all," the big rabbit said, shuffling his feet and looking at the ground for a second. "But I was hoping I might come in for bit and take a look around...you know, for old time's sake."

"I knew it!" the coyote snarled to himself, and to his visitor he said, "Sorry, tour-guide's got the day off!" He was just about to slam the door again when he saw what the bunny was holding between his middle and index fingers.

Was that a...hundred?

No, it was two of them!

"I would of course make it worth your while," La Peigne said, and instead of throwing the door shut, Jerry threw it open.

He did not follow suit with his arms.

"Thirty minutes, and don't touch anything!" he told the big bunny coldly, stepping aside to let him by.

"Agreed," Jack La Peigne said, moving past the coyote and thinking, "As if I'd even want to touch anything in THIS flea-bitten dump! Sweet cheez n' crackers, I knew it was going to be bad, but the old place looks like it's been stinking ransacked."

Even that was putting it mildly; there were holes in the walls, there were cobwebs in the corners, there were stains on all the rugs and debris strewn everywhere. Jack could hear the cockroaches scuttling in the walls, there were so many of them. It made him want to give the order to Gully and Racius right NOW.

Instead he put his paws behind his back and strolled easily through his childhood home, trying his best to blot out the present and recall the pleasant memories of the past, (what few there were.)

For the hundred thousandth time, he wondered why Bunnyburrow—and this house—held such an attraction for him; he had no roots here, no family. When his father had passed, the La Peignes had simply pulled up stakes and moved on. That had been two months after Jack had already left for college, but still...none of the other family members had ever returned. Heck HE was the one who lived nearest to Bunnyburrow, and that was a good 211 miles away. As for the rest of the family, the next closest La Peigne lived in Los Gatos Califurnia—or that was what Jack thought; he never talked to any of his siblings and they never called him either, (except when they needed a cash infusion, which of course they never got.)

He paused briefly in the kitchen, trying for a moment to recall the image of his mother standing at the stove, the smell of her homemade ratatouille. He was unable to bring back either memory and moved quickly back into the hallway.

Jack had better luck recalling his childhood when he got to his old bedroom. Even though it had been largely converted over to storage space, he could still remember it the way it had been; yes here he was, the bunny known then as little Jacky, the rabbit he'd been before...before he...

He exited quickly and continued with his tour.

Following along behind him, Jerry Guilford had shed whatever lingering doubts he'd held about this rabbit. Ohhh yes, he'd lived here once all right; the big bunny seemed to know the place like the back of his paw. And now that he was inside the house, Jerry was able to study him a little more closely...and he wasn't quite sure of what to make of his 'guest'.

The rabbit was dressed in canvas pants and a rip-stop shirt and, topped off with what might have been a safari jacket, except it was dark blue rather than beige, a real 'mammal-of-action' ensemble None of this was exceptional in and of itself, except...it all fit so perfectly, a little too perfectly, as if the big bunny had had it tailored to fit. And then there was that timepiece he was wearing, a mil-spec watch in solid platinum; Jerry had never imagined that such a thing existed. Wellll, he had known La Pinn, or whatever the heck he called himself was loaded even before he'd been allowed through the door; hadn't the big moron offered up a pair of hundreds for a 30 minute look-around?

But there was something else, something Jerry felt he'd missed, and try as he might, he couldn't put his finger on it now.

And there was another small matter as well, and it had as much to do with the coyote's house as with his visitor.

Like most residences in Bunnyburrow, the Guilford homestead was built into a hillside, half of it above ground, and the other half below; it might almost have passed for a scaled down version of the Hopps family warren, except the colors were much more muted—greys and earth-tones as opposed to pink and yellow—and there had also been far less 'gingerbread'. No wooden rabbit ears adorned the eaves...and Jerry Guilford hadn't removed them, nor had anyone else; they'd NEVER been there.

But that wasn't the odd part.

When the Jerry and his family had first moved in here, about half the doors had been too small to accommodate a coyote and had needed to be enlarged; that was half the doors, not all of them. Many of passageways had already been big enough for Jerry's species, but what he had never noticed until now was they hadn't been constructed that way; these doors had also been enlarged...at a much earlier date than the ones he'd converted, but they'd been modified from the original just the same. Jerry wondered why that seemed important and then shrugged it off; the only reason he'd even noticed was because of Jack La Peigne. Every door the big rabbit opened was one of the older conversions; he was ignoring the more recently enlarged doorways almost as if they didn't exist. What the heck was that all about?

At that instant, as if La Peigne had somehow overheard the coyote's thoughts and was determined to prove him wrong, he halted abruptly in front of one of the 'recent' doors...but instead of opening it, he simply closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Jerry cocked an ear and tilted his head once more. Behind him he could hear a hubbub of mutterings and murmurings; in the last few minutes at least a half dozen other family members had also joined the tour. "Well, is he gonna open it or isn't he?" his brother Joe (the testy one) asked, speaking to no one in particular.

Jack didn't hear him; he was bracing himself. Once upon a time, this had been the door to his father's private office, a room that no one else in the family was EVER supposed to enter, not for any reason...no excuses and no reprieve if you were caught. Many times, when he'd been a young rabbit, one of his brothers or sometimes even a sister had dared and double-dared him to violate this sanctuary. He'd never had accepted the challenge, and at first the teasing had been merciless. Later on the hazing had stopped or rather Jack had made it stop.

He had been kicked out of the La Peigne family warren for two weeks because of what he did....and he hadn't cared a whit; it had all been worth it. That was the last time any of Jack La Peignes siblings ever made fun of him, and it had been one of the most important lessons the young rabbit had ever learned. Make an example out of the first jerk that crosses you, and there won't BE a second jerk.

He grabbed the doorknob and pulled it open; he did not fling it open—not in front of this pack of 'idi'yotes.'

It was the first room he entered since arriving here that had not been re-tasked to another purpose; his father's old office was still an office, different furnishings maybe, but still with the same objective...and that was what brought Jack La Peigne to his moment of epiphany. Now he understood why he wanted to be here, why he needed to be here; THIS was where it had all begun. This place, this room, this office...this was where his father had made those two fateful decisions, one of them heavy with portent and the other of seemingly little consequence at the time. And yet the two of them together had started Jack La Peigne on the road to where he was now.

"This is the place," he thought to himself, "This is where the Fire Triangle was actually born; THAT'S why I'm..."

"Hey I thought I told you not to touch anything!" Jerry Guilford's angry voice came from behind. When Jack looked over his shoulder, he saw that the coyote was showing both his fangs.

He wheeled around, barely in control. "You scruffy little dirt-bag, with one word I could...easy, easy, not until you're out the door again."

"I DIDN'T touch anything," he protested, throwing up his paws.

"Then how'd my laptop get turned on?' Jerry demanded, pointing past him.

A glance over his shoulder told La Peigne that the coyote was right. The laptop computer was alight and a screensaver was showing; Feral's Duty, it figured with this backwoods bumpkin.

"I never..." Jack started to say, right before another voice spoke up, Jerry's other brother Dean, the level-head one, (relatively speaking.)

"He didn't touch it Jer, it was on when he come in here. I been watchin' the whole time."

"Then who...?" Jerry demanded, and pushed rudely past them both and into the office.

He typed two keystrokes on the computer and tilted his head to the side again. "What in the fool-heck is this?" he asked rhetorically, and then moved the mouse and clicked.

For the next few seconds the coyote just stood there, mumbling to himself and blocking Jack's view of the laptop screen. "Now what in the name of...? What're you doing there, Craig? What's that, a lighter? What are you... ? Whaaaaaa...YOU CRAZY, BOY?"

With the speed of a snap-spring, Jerry's muzzle shot upward and he started to howl. Almost instantaneously the others all joined in and Jack was obliged to cover his ears with his paws. Yeesh, these idiots were worse than wolves!

And then Jerry stopped howling and started hollering, "Craig! Where is he? Craig where are you, boy? YOU GET YOUR TAIL IN HERE RIGHT NOW!"

There was no response and the coyote slammed the laptop shut and dashed back into the hallway; Jack barely got out of the way in time.

From his angle inside the office, the big bunny was unable to see what was transpiring out in the hall, but what he heard from the kid's father was enough to paint a picture...and it was all he could do to keep from grinning wickedly.

"Craig, you stop right where you're at! Now, you hear? N... Don't even think 'bout it, boy! You KNOW you can't outrun me. That's better; now you git yer tail into your room. Shut up, I don't want to hear...don't MAKE me come over there! In your room...now!"

Jack looked at the ceiling and bit his lip. Now he was certain of what Jerry must have seen on that laptop screen. And ohhh yes, could the timing possibly be any more perfect?

Meanwhile there was silence in the hallway...for about three seconds and then Jack heard a door slam about fifteen feet away. It was a completely unnecessary gesture, the big rabbit knew. Jerry Guilford was shortly to have bigger problems than an errant son.

MUCH bigger problems...

Jack watched for a second as the coyote stood fuming in the hallway, and then turned towards him again.

"Tour's over, you can go now."

"I understand." Jack answered, nodding. He had seen everything he'd wanted to see. On the way back to the front entrance, he never so much as glanced at his surroundings.

When they got to the front door, he stopped and turned around again. Jerry started to lay his ears back, but then stopped when he saw the big rabbit proffering another fifty.

"You know, I never thought I'd miss this place." Jack La Peigne mused, in as close to a regretful voice as was possible for him, "The time I spent here was not a happy one, and yet...this was my home, the place where I grew up."

He passed the bill to an only semi-grateful Jerry Guilford—and at that moment, shed all pretense of amiability, throwing it to the floor like an assassin's cloak.

"That's why it hacks me off so much to see this place trashed by a pack of worthless, mangy flea-bags."

For a hint of a second, no one spoke; Jerry's head tilted sideways again as he attempted to digest the words he could not possibly have heard just now.

Before the coyote could complete the process, Jack La Peigne jumped into the breach. He smiled, more of a leer actually, and waved a finger in a 'tut-tut' gesture."

"I-I-I wouldn't do that if I were you, Guilford. Remember what the honorable Judge Lamar J. Peters told you last time? He said, and I quote, 'Next time son, it won't be jail, it'll be prison...and it won't be days, it'll be years. So just you think about it.'"

Just as he'd known they would, the coyote's ears reversed course, turning forwards again and then standing up straight in astonishment.

"And that was only your last assault charge." Jack went on in an almost merry tone of voice, "You've also been convicted on three counts of destruction of property, two counts of burglary, and no less the six counts of petty theft. Oh, and that's just you, let's not forget the rest of your family." His face split open in that leer again, "Oh yes Guilford; in my business I can get access to just about any police records that I want...and also a few other things." His manner became velvety...and also etching. "What was it on that laptop that got you so upset, I wonder? Could it have been, by any chance, a video of your kid, firebombing a produce stand?"

That finally did it. Jerry Guilford's jaw snapped shut and he snapped instantly out of his trance. He let out a snarl that was almost another howl and then took a step in Jack's direction. But then, perhaps remembering the big bunny's words of warning, he checked himself just in time.

"How the HECK did you know about...?"

Jack felt the corners of his mouth crinkling and his eyes narrowing devilishly. This fool was behaving exactly as he expected.

"Your super genius son posted it on Ewe tube," he informed the coyote genially, thoroughly enjoying the look of horror that spread instantly over his host's face.

He went on. "Or rather, his girlfriend posted it. It was up for less than half an hour, but that was long enough." He folded his arms and winked, "Like I said, I have resources."

"Get off my property!" Jerry screamed hoarsely, taking another step forward... and then back again. Normally such a feeble rejoinder would have prompted Jack La Peigne to laugh his tail off.

Not this time; the big bunny couldn't have asked for a better opening; he turned to go but then stopped, snapping his fingers as if he had just remembered something.

'Mmmm, nooooo...thaaaaaat's not quite right." He said, feigning a sheepish look as he spun around slowly to face the coyote again...or more properly coyotes, there were at least three others crowded around Jerry now, "You see...this isn't your property anymore." The big bunny told them, "Or it won't be, very shortly."

"What do you mean it ain't ours?" Joe Guilford snapped, lunging forward and then stopping when brother Dean threw an arm in front of him.

"Yes, what do you mean, it's not ours?" Jerry also asked him, in a voice like a lead brick. He seemed to have sensed what was coming.

"I mean," Jack informed him, smirking again, "That two months ago you defaulted on another mortgage payment. By the terms of your contract, that gives the holder the right to repossess this property."

Now it was Jerry's turn to leer.

"Nice try DUMB bunny. Lem Carey down at Burrows Trust already gave me an extension."

He said this with his paws on his hips, tilting his head from side to side like a kit on a playground telling another kit, "So there!"

"Well yes," Jack admitted, feigning that awkward look again, "except welllll...Burrows Trust doesn't OWN your mortgage anymore; it now belongs to the firm of Waters and Downes Private Equity."

He gave Jerry a moment to let that sink in, and then the tentative manner was gone for good.

"We acquired it last week," he said, making sure to give the 'we' just the right emphasis as he reached into his jacket. This time, he extracted not a bill but an envelope, which he held out in Jerry Guilford's direction, "and we are foreclosing."

For a long, tense moment, nothing happened. Jerry just stared blankly at the envelope while the big bunny refused to budge. If Guilford wanted to know what was inside the letter, he'd have to come to Jack to find out. (This was not in order to humiliate the coyote, but to bring him into the door-frame.)

Finally Jerry took two steps forward and snatched the envelope out of Jack's grip, a well-practiced move; (this was hardly the first time he'd been served with papers.)

"You have twelve days to vacate the premises," Jack told him, cutting directly to the chase. He'd had his fun, now it was time to get serious, "And If I were you, I'd make good use of it, because you're not getting one extra minute of time to make your preparations." He paused for just a second, listening to the voice of Gully inside his earpiece.

"I have him locked on, sir."

That was all Jack needed to hear, he leaned forward, his face a kabuki-mask of contempt...and at the same time moved his paw discreetly behind his back.

"So noooo...YOU get off MY property!" he sneered, and then tensed and braced himself.

But Guilford only stared at him.

"It's still my property for the next twelve days." He said, and then stepped back and slammed the door in Jack's face.

Had he bothered to leave it open, he would have seen the big rabbit's features perform a side-shift from high disdain into unbridled fury. What? This was it; this was all? That mangy flea-bag wasn't even going to...? Arrrrrgh!'

He turned and stalked away from the Guilford's front door, fumbling in his pocket for his bluefang. Wait the belt-holster...! No worries, it was hidden beneath his jacket, where it couldn't be seen. All right then...

Pulling out his ear-piece, Jack replaced it with the bluefang; he didn't care if Guilford saw that.

"Gully...Racius. Pull back and meet me at the rendezvous. We're done here. "

"Yes sir." He heard the wolverines respond in unison.

Something detached itself from the side of burrow and was gone...Racius. Jack had no idea where Gully was, but that was the point, wasn't it?

He could have screamed his head off.

So could Joe Guilford.

"I don't believe this." the coyote raged, "I simply do not BELIEVE this; that bunny walks in here, dumps trash-talk all over our family, serves us with an eviction notice and you just let him walk out of here without so much as a how-de-do."

"I got to agree with Joe on this one," his brother Dean said; even he could take only so much.

"Right, are you done?" Jerry asked, leaning forward with an elbow on the table where they were gathered, (He had dismissed the other family members back to their respective rooms.) "Then you got to ask yourselves a question, why would a guy who's smart enough to know near everything about us be DUMB enough to come here all by hisself and make a move like that...even a bunny?"

The two younger coyotes just looked at each, while Jerry nodded grimly.

"That's right, he wouldn't; that boy had something up his sleeve when he come in here. I don't know what it was, and frankly I don't give a hoo-hah, but I wasn't gonna fall for it, that's number one. Number two, did you notice anything weird that first time when he turned 'round to leave? Well I did, it was something that'd been messing with my head ever since he showed up here. Where the dangall was his CAR? There weren't anything parked in the driveway, or out by the road. So what'd he do, hike all the way from town? Not hardly. That's why I let that bunny go. There was something not right about him from Jump Street...about him, OR his routine."

Jerry leaned back again, causing his chair to make a sound like a parrot squawk, "Now to answer your other question, the one you ain't asked yet, no I'm NOT just gonna let this go...but when I deal with that big bunny, it'll happen when and where I decide, and on MY term, not his."

He pulled out the envelope Jack had given him and slapped on the tabletop like an ace of spades.

"They want us out of here? Fine, we're gone...but not in any twelve days, we leave tonight." His lips pulled back in a wicked, feral grin, showing every single one of his sharp, canine teeth, "But first, we're gonna give that fancy-pants jerk a little something to remember us by; him...and every other dumb bunny in the Burrow!"

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Easter Egg: If you didn't spot the (obvious) reference to Wile E. Coyote, I really can't help you