The Fire Triangle, A Zootopia Fanfiction -- Part One: Fuel - 99

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 11 –The Fire Next Time

(Pt. 7...Conclusion)

"Yop! THAT'S what it takes to get you to write a song, fox?" Dana Alchesay was staring dumfounded at the computer screen—while all around the coyote-girl, other faces were similarly bewildered.

Typically, it was Mike Daehan who put words to the thought in the back of everyone's head. Though always a bit skittish around police officers, the young Asian black rat was the most levelheaded member of Conor's crew.

"Hmmm, I wonder what tune that would sound like, done electric?" he mused, stroking a whisker.

"We could find out," Jason M'beke offered, but Saad al-Zaqir immediately vetoed the idea.

"Non, not unless Conor is with us." The young sand cat insisted, unconsciously flexing his claws.

A pained look crossed Jason's face. "How is dat evah supposed to...?"

"Shhhh," Dana growled, "he's starting to speak again," and the room fell swiftly into silence.

"All right," Conor took a final gulp of air, and then went on. "To get back to the REAL reason for that graffiti thing, it's like one of my favorite song-writers Joe Jackal once said, '♪If my eyes don't deceive me there's something going wrong around hee-yer.' "♫

The edges of his mouth curved upwards into an ironic smile.

"And there's a LOT going wrong around here, isn't there guys? Right now, our generation is the first one in like 75 years that's looking at having a less decent future than our parents had. Yeah, it's true, look it up." Now his mouth reversed course, turning downwards in a hard frown. "Or...maybe you don't need to look it up, maybe you already know the score."

He paused for a moment, as if waiting for a reaction from the camera.

"What the heck is he up to?" Judy Hopps and Albert Tufts queried simultaneously, staring puzzled at their respective screens. No one answered either one of them, although Nick and Dr. Hind each had the glimmering of an idea.

As if in response to the question, Conor put his paws together, tapping the fingers in a slow, rolling motion. His expression was benign, almost beatific.

"Back in our parents and grandparents' day, if you wanted to go to college, you could nail down a student loan, maybe get a grant, and work off the rest while you were studying. And then afterwards, you could get started on a career, and in maybe three, four years get that loan paid off."

Without preamble, his face turned again to iron and flint.

"That's not how it is any more, right guys? If you want to get into college these days, you've gotta chain yourself to the oars; take on a loan so heavy you won't get it paid for ten or even twenty years...and then only if your give up a whole lot of other stuff—and that's only you're even able to stay employed for that long."

He waved a paw as if batting at a fly.

"Ohhhh, you can try to get a scholarship, but good luck with that. Those things ain't awarded on merit any more, maybe at ZAPA, but not anywhere else. Nah, the animal that gets a scholarship to an A-List College these days is the C-average kid whose dad made a big, honkin' contribution to the alumni fund. And that same principle goes for the acceptance process, too. Remember that story in the news last year, all those stinkin'-rich parents buying their kids way into top colleges; phony grades and all that? All the grownups were shocked; all the kids were like, 'Well DUH!' We always knew what was going on...just like we knew the parents who pulled that gig were gonna walk. Case dismissed, not even a slap on the wrist; we saw that coming from Day One."

"Ba-a-a-a-h, he's full of it." Cara Combs was waving a dismissive hoof.

"No, he's not, Car," a quiet voice disagreed from the other side of the bed. It was Jill Pepper. "My big sister Joanne, got turned down for a scholarship to ZSC even though she's a straight-A student." She pointed at the display screen. "The guy who got it was one of those rich-kid slackers Conor was talking about just now."

And that wasn't all that the fugitive young silver fox had to say on the subject.

"Here's another thing, when our folks graduated from college, they could look forward to a career; a career that might carry them all the way to retirement." His face became a mask of disdain; an effect only heightened by the makeup he was wearing. "What have YOU got waiting when you graduate? A job...a job that might move overseas at any minute; a job where you gotta commute from like thirty miles away to get there, coz it doesn't pay enough to cover the rent anywhere closer; a job where the slack-off who works next you to gets the promotion you busted your tail for—and why? Coz his dad belongs to the same stinkin' country club as the VP who runs your division."

He folded his arms looking more disdainful than ever.

"And if you see anything dirty going on where you work, better keep your fox-trap, or whatever, shut up nice and tight." His voice became a bad facsimile of a mob enforcer. "Heyyyyy pal, see deez non-disclosure agreements youse signed? Awful shame if we hadda USE 'em, huh?"

He paused, smirked, and then reached downwards and off screen, coming up with a sports-bottle. He took a short a sip of water and then continued.

"And God help you if you want to become a doctor; that'll put your tail right into stinkin' debtor's prison. Only way out is to go to work for some corporate outfit that decides who gets treated by what's profitable, not by who needs it. What's even worse is if you got any kind of creative talent. Yeah, you'll find work—if you agree to sign over everything you come up with to the guys that hired you; they get the gold mine, you get the shaft. And if you leave and try to strike out on your own, they'll throw everything they have at you to make you tank."

He stopped again, a longer break this time, as if to let his words sink in.

Dr. Hind, however, knew better.

"Looks to me like he got a little carried away there, and he's not quite sure where to go next."

"You think?" Chief Bogo asked, still staring at the screen.

"Yep," the deer nodded, "and I think what triggered it was that little Goodfoxes skit he did. He went right for some water afterwards and did you notice how much louder and angrier he sounded when he started up again?"

"Hrmmm," Bogo rumbled, stroking his muzzle, "Y'know...now that you mention it..."

On the screen, Conor was pressing his pawlms together again. When he spoke, he came on as much more calm and collected than a moment ago.

"Now we all know that none of this is by accident; this is how The System wants it." He paused again, and this time it was for effect.

"The System's what I call it, but it has lots of different names, The Mammal, the Power, the Elite; old skool guys call it The Establishment, but it means the same thing. It's always been there, and it's always known something; the best way to put the puppet strings on somebody is to put 'em in hock; make 'em owe you for their survival. The System's always known that; it's just never been able to get away with running that little grift...not like it can now."

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

"THAT'S why you're out there spraying pictures all over everything; because while Zootopia is telling you, 'Anyone Can Be Anything', The System's tacking on some fine print, '...That WE Want You To Be.' You know this; every kid knows it."

Conor sat back again; his voice becoming soft and silky once more.

"Yeah, I know the ZPD is watching this—they'd be stupid not to—and I know what they're gonna say. 'Where does this fox-punk get off talking like that? You think he's got cred? Give it up; he got into the Zootopia Academy of the Performing Arts for crying out loud...and threw it all away to go run money for a loan-shark. And THEN he bit a cop. Since when did The System ever stick it to him? " he stared straight into the camera lens. "That right, officers?'"

No one answered him, but there were murmurs of agreement throughout the Precinct-1 bullpen.

As if he'd heard them, Conor snarled and leaned into the camera again, this time with a fang showing.

"Meh, when did The System ever stick it to me? Ohhhh, I dunno, how when that jerk-face prosecutor told me not to bother with a defense lawyer? The second I heard that, I knew something; guilty or innocent, my tail was going to Juvie—and not even the best lawyer in Zoo..."

His next words were cut off by the sound of Vernon J. Rodenberg's glass shattering in his paw.

"Uncle!" Missy Van Ratten's squeak was nearly a scream. What the heck?

"Son of a..." the grey rat turned to her, oblivious to the shards of glass on the floor—and the dark liquid oozing between his knuckles. His face was that of Marley's Ghost, his voice, a warped vinyl record

"He KNEW Missy. That zilberfuchs-kinder knew the score all along ... and I had no idea that he knew."

On the display screen Conor continued to speak, "....not because I was guilty—I never meant to bite that cop, he was another FOX for crying out loud. Oh, and by the way, before I did that, I saved another cop's life....but did that get me cut me any slack? Hah, does Little Rodentia have an elephant wallow? The System was never gonna give me a break, not because of that bite—not even because of my species. Nope, they wanted my tail in jail coz they thought I could give 'em the Phantom; I'm sure a few of ya know that name; if you don't, ask around. Yeah, that's who the cops thought I was working for."

He pounded his fists on his knees, and snarled; this time both his fangs were exposed. It was enough to make Judy Hopps draw back from the screen and cause the fur on the back of Nick Wilde's neck to stand up like hedgehog quills.

"How many times I gotta say it, huh? There Is! No! Phantom! The guy's an urban legend, he Doesn't! Stinkin'! EXIST! Got that? Did you hear me that time, coppers?" He looked away in disgust, holding out an arm in a 'talk-to-the-paw' gesture. "Ahhh, you heard me, but you're not gonna listen...not to a kid, and especially not to any fox-kid!" He spat out the last word like battery acid...and at the same time Nick Wilde let out a rough breath of air.

"Well, there it is," he muttered—so softly that if Judy had been practically any other species, she wouldn't have heard him.

"You knew that was coming, didn't you?" she asked him quietly, laying a paw on his arm. He flinched but didn't pull away.

"Yes, Carrots, I knew," he told her, resignedly, "sooner or later, he had to bring up his species."

Which was also NICK'S species, Judy knew but wouldn't say. It made her wonder; was he buying into the younger fox's rhetoric, at least a little bit?

"So I can kind of understand the reason for all that V-for-Vendetta He-Fought-The laws stuff. It's kinda related to me," Conor was talking quietly to the camera again, and then his voice abruptly hardened once more, "but there're a few things that folks kind of need to understand."

"Here it comes," Lt. Tufts chittered, and for once Dr. Hind was in complete agreement.

"First of all," the young fox said, "this stuff about, 'He Fought the Law and He Won,' while I appreciate it, I need to point out something. As long as there's a chance I might get caught again, I haven't won diddly-do." The corners of his mouth tilted, in two different directions. "I know a lot of you are gonna think that's a wimpy-tailed attitude, but it's the one I've gotta have. When you're on the run from the law, you can't ever let your guard down, not even for a second. You con yourself into thinking you've beaten 'em when you haven't and you better have a bail bondsmammal on speed-dial...coz babe, you're gonna need one."

He paused again, looking curiously at the camera for a second, as if trying to gauge his audience's reaction.

"But the main thing I want to talk about is this. Like the song said, and like I said, you've all got a righteous complaint...you got basically no future, not like your folks did. And if you gripe about it, you're called a slacker, a whiner, a loser and all kinds of everything else."

He shook himself as if trying to shed a layer of dust and then looked straight into the camera again.

"And if there's any older animals watching tonight, take this down. That's the same line The System was laying on YOU when you were our age. Was it true then? Then, why is it true now? In fact, like I already said, it's a lot less true now. No wonder your kids are out there playing Paint-the-Vendetta, they've gotta do SOMETHING to try and deal with all that frustration."

He took a deep breath and then went on, speaking rapidly as if expecting to be cut off at any second.

"But guys, I gotta say it; tagging graffiti all over everything is not how you deal with it. That's giving The System exactly what it wants; it LOVES having an excuse to crack down on anyone crazy enough to stand up to it. 'Why should we offer these kids anything better? All they wanna do is wreck stuff.' Yeah, that's what they're saying about you right now; that and, 'The future, our tails, these punks just like taking skateboards to store windows.'" He leaned back slightly, lifting a paw. "Yeah, I know that's garbage; it's STINKIN' garbage. The trouble is its garbage that sells."

He paused again, and then sat up straight, this time with his paws on his thighs.

"Listen guys...I've been to the Zootopia Juvenile Court and I know what that stinkin' judge'll do if he gets his grubby paws on your pelts...and trust me, that's something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, especially if it happens because of me. For having the nerve to smart off to the prosecutor, you know that bum did? He threw my bushy-tailed carcass into something that makes the stuff they put on Animal Leopter look like a pair of PJs."

Back at Precinct-1 Lieutenant Albert Tufts was chittering with outrage.

"You lying little...that was never the reason you were put in V3 restraint!"

"No," Chief Bogo agreed coolly, raising a sardonic eyebrow. "But try telling that to all the kids watching this."

Dr. Hind was about to nod in agreement when Conor's final words came back to him. 'It's garbage...but it's garbage that SELLS.'

"Right kid...and two can play at that game," the deer-buck thought with a smirk.

"Now, don't get me wrong guys." On the screen, Conor was raising his paws as if thousand voices were trying to shout him down. "It's not hopeless; I wouldn't be here if I thought that. But if you want to beat The System, the only way you'll do it is by playing The System. First thing, lose the 'he' and change it to 'we'. Not 'he fought,' but 'we'll FIGHT." Keep the V-for-Vendetta thing if you want, but quit spray painting it all over other animals' property. You won't help yourselves by messing up the store-front of some dude that's just trying to get by as best he can. All you'll get done that way is to sink your tails in a whole lot of trouble...because of me. Lemme tell you again that's the last thing I want."

"What is it Doctor?" Chief Bogo was asking. He had noticed Dr. Hind's ears had pricked sharply upwards

"I don't know, maybe nothing," the deer-psychologist answered waving him off.

While this was going on, Conor changed subjects again. For some odd reason, he was on a kick about the small-business owners he had referenced a second ago.

"...believe me, they're taking it from The System as hard as you; especially if they're one of the maligned species. "He growled and lifted his nose in contempt. "I could tell you some stuff about that and maybe I will someday. All I'll say for now is this: that loan-shark thing wasn't what the ZPD thinks it was."

"Congratulations kid; you just admitted to accessory to usury." Lt. Tufts' voice was like a scale model chain saw; "dumb fox."

That was good for an eyeroll from Chief Bogo.

"I-I-I think that's about the least of Mr. Lewis's worries right about now." he muttered caustically.

In fact, Conor's most provocative statement of the night was just about to leave his lips.

"You wanna impress me? Stop tagging other animal's property with graffiti and then bolting. Show me some guts, show THEM you got some guts. Wear that V-For-Vendetta-Fox-Face-Thing on your t-shirts; put it on your skateboards, stick it on your backpacks, put it on a bumper-sticker and slap it on your car if you got one. In other words, stand the heck up and be counted! No more tag and run, no more drive-by graffiti. Make it into a poster and put it on your wall. Make a wallpaper and put it on your computer screen, your cellphone too. Make a flag and fly it from your roof. Let every kid in the neighborhood know who you are. That's the first step...and the next step?"

To Erin Hopps' utter bewilderment, the fugitive young silver-fox bowed his head as if in defeat.

"I don't know, guys; I really can't say." His sigh was as heavy as a millstone around his neck.

211 miles to the south, Erin Hopps was sitting stunned on her pillow. What, now? Was THIS the same boy who'd helped Nick Wilde foil the Guilford brother's attack on the Carrot-Days Festival?

But then Conor raised his head, his burning-amber amber eyes locking onto the camera like a laser sight. With that, whatever shreds of disbelief Erin might have had were gone. This WAS the same young silver fox who'd stood his ground and conned Jerry Guilford into the trap that Nick had set for him. (211 miles to the north, Nick and another Hopps bunny had reached the same conclusion.)

"But I know what I believe," he said, speaking with quiet resolve, "I believe you guys don't need me—or anyone else, to tell you what to do next; I believe you're smart enough to figure that out for yourselves."

His voice rose just ever so-slightly and took on the edge of a growl. "And I believe you will figure it out. If that's what you believe, if you feel what I feel, if you're as sick of all the garbage as I am, then I invite all of you to join together this Saturday and make your voices heard. At exactly straight-up noon, I want you to throw open your windows and crank up, 'We're Not Gonna Take It' by Twisted Hamster. Play it on your car-decks, blast it from your boom-boxes, your laptops, your tablets, your cell phone, if that's all you got. And sing along with it, sing it loud and sing it proud; if you got a band, and you can play it live, that's the best thing of all. Kick it and let 'em know you're here!" He hefted up his guitar again. "You may not see or hear me, but I'll make you a promise—I'll be singing and playing it right there with you!"

His voice had risen almost to the level of a fox-scream; and now it slid back down again.

"Just one thing; keep it in your own space or a public space; your room, your car, a park, or the beach, that's cool. But don't go cranking in a grocery store or any place else like that; I don't want anyone getting busted coz of me."

"Doctor, WHAT then?" Chief Bogo was staring wide-eyed at Dr. Hind. So was everyone else in the Precinct-1 bullpen; the blacktail deer had just blown a note through his nostrils, loud enough to drown out the webcast for a second.

He only waved a hoof. "In a minute..."

In fact, a minute was all he was going to need; Conor was about to wrap things up. He looked suddenly exhausted, as if his peroration had used up all his remaining steam

"Annnnd that's about all I got. Maybe I'll do another webcast later, but for now, I think I'm good. I'll c-ya laters, guys. Don't ever stop believing in yourselves—coz I know I won't."

His did something with his paw and his face vanished from the display window, replaced by an ice-gray back ground and two multicolored words,

LIVESTREAM ENDED

For a long moment afterwards, nobody spoke. Not in Precinct-1, not in the ZPD safe house, not in the M'Beke family den, and not in Cara Combs's bedroom

Then Lieutenant Tufts cleared his throat. But before he could say anything he was beaten to the draw by Dr. Hind, who was shaking his head as if he'd suddenly awakened from strange dream.

"I don't believe this; he's trying to STOP it."

At once, all eyes were on the deer-psychologist.

"What do you mean he's trying to stop it, Doctor?" Chief Bogo asked him, wary, but at the same time intrigued.

Dr. Hind responded by pointing with a pen at the now empty flat-panel display,

"This is either one very clever young fox, or else just fairly intuitive.," he said, "For the sake of argument, let's suppose he'd told everyone outright, 'Stop painting that graffiti on other animal's property, it's just wrong.' what do you think the reaction would've been."

"The other kids would have called him a sell-out and dumped him." one of the techs offered, a badger with fur dyed in green highlights.

Dr. Hind turned the pen in his direction, "Right...or else they would have written off that livestream as a fake, maybe even decided the ZPD was behind it. In any case, they'd have ignored it and kept right on up with those graffiti tags."

"Why?" another tech, a ewe with oversized glasses queried. "If they think the Lewis kid's a sellout, why would they post any more graffiti about him?

It was Chief Bogo who answered her.

"Not about him, but they'd still keep posting graffiti. Lewis or no Lewis, they know they're getting under our skin—and that's all a lot of them need to know, am I right Doctor?"

"Yes, exactly," the deer buck nodded, "Except that isn't what the Lewis boy said. He knew he couldn't stop those kids from what they were doing—they're too angry to stop—so instead what he did was try to channel their anger into a relatively harmless activity."

"Harmless?" Albert Tufts' chitter was almost like an alarm bark. "Harmless! Are you kidding me, Doc?

"I said 'relatively'" the deer buck shrugged, "And in any case, it's not illegal to paint graffiti on your own belongings, provided you don't create a public nuisance." His last words were spoken hastily, in anticipation of the Kaibab squirrel's next objection.

"All right but why, Doctor?" Chief Bogo queried. Unlike Tufts, he was convinced...except, "why should he want to stop it. Have you any sort of idea?"

"As a matter of fact, I have a very good idea." The deer-back answered, getting up out of his chair and moving to stand in from of the empty display screen, "Did you notice how the Lewis boy kept saying that he doesn't want anyone else to get in trouble because of him?"

"Awww c'mon Doc," another of the techs, a koala protested, "That was only a stinkin' throwaway comment, wan' it?" Judging by his double pierced nose and ears dyed electric-orange, he was one of the 'outside consultants' Lt. Tufts had brought in for the occasion.

"Yes, but did you notice how he repeated it three separate times?" Dr. Hind reminded them all. "I don't think he realized it himself, but that's what he did." He looked quickly over at Chief Bogo. "I know what you're going to ask me Chief, and sorry, I can't tell you why he feels that way, not without ever having talked to him." His brow flattened and so did his mouth, "I will say this much though; I noticed what looked like some very strong indicators for PTSD in that fox-boy. When he was booked into jail, was there any evidence of physical trauma present?"

Chief Bogo and Lt. Tufts exchanged a sardonic look—and then the Kaibab squirrel said, "That's like asking if the Hindenburrow was showing any signs of exposure to heat after her last flight. The kid's got some nasty scars, including a long one down his back." His tail shivered slightly, "And his jaw looks like it got in way of a wrecking ball and had to be rebuilt, almost from scratch. So, I'd say the answer to your question is 'HECK yes.'"

"I thought so," the deer psychologist, answered nodding and folding his arms, "And there it is." He looked around for a second and then his eyebrows rose. "Uh, is there an empty chair available?" Someone else had taken his when he'd gotten up to speak.

"Right, there's one over there," Chief Bogo pointed. Dr. Hind went over and sat down again. Behind him, he heard Lieutenant asking someone in the lackluster voice he'd used earlier, "any luck?"

The beaver he'd been talking to shook his head and the corners of his mouth dropped halfway to the floor.

"No, sorry. We got it traced it as far as the third server, somewhere in Mammila, but that was it.

"Okay," said the squirrel, shrugging as if he'd expected no less. For the benefit of the non-techies in the room he added. "Hackers are never harder to catch than when they know you're onto them; it's when they're un-aware of your presence that you make a bust." There were murmurs of agreement all around, and then he turned to Dr. Hind again.

"Is there anything else you can tell us?" he asked, flipping his tail as if signaling in Mourse Code, '...that will help us CATCH this punk?'"

"Well there is one-thing," the deer buck answered, and was instantly the center of attention once more. "As I stated earlier, Conor Lewis is a very smart kid...but he IS still a kid and as such, he's also a little naïve."

"Really?" Albert Tufts was leaning forward with his paws clasped, as if his nose had just detected a particularly tasty nut, buried directly in front of him. And why not, he might finally be getting something he could use.

"What I mean to say is this," Dr. Hind told him, "this boy seems to be pretty sharp at reading individual animals...but when it comes to gauging groupthink, that's where I think he's lacking."

"Hold on, Doctor," It was Chief Bogo, nodding in the direction of the now-empty display screen "Are you saying that the Lewis boy's livestream was a waste of time, then?"

"Not a complete waste of time, Chief," the deer-buck answered him, "But it won't be a total success either, at least not to the degree I think Mr. Lewis is expecting or is hoping for." He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "Here's how I think this is going to play out. When Saturday rolls around you're going to see a gazillion kids pumping up the volume on 'We're Not Going To Take It', just like he told them to." A wry expression creased his features, "But, if you'll pardon the quote, 'and then what?' The next day, I predict you'll see a lot fewer cases of that V-For-Vendetta graffiti than before—but it won't stop altogether, and then the numbers will begin to slowly creep back up again. You see, there's one thing Mr. Lewis either didn't think about or doesn't realize. Not everyone tagging property with that graffiti is doing it because they're mad at 'The System'; some kids just like to cause trouble—period."

"As it was in the beginning, so it now and ever shall be," Chief Bogo intoned, with somber irony.

"Do you think that might prompt the Lewis kid into giving himself up?" Lt. Tufts asked, a faint thread of hope in his voice. Dr. Hind cautiously shook his head.

"Noooo, but it might prompt him to stick out his neck again...maybe even get careless if any of the kids that decide not to listen to him get busted."

Later—much later—the blacktail deer-buck would have cause to regret his final words.

Meanwhile, not all that far away, Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps were also saying things that might later come back to haunt them.

"I swear Nick, have you ever heard such hypocrisy? 'The System is rigged,' Where the heck does Conor get that stuff?" She looked at the empty computer screen thumping her foot in contempt, "I honestly can't believe this. He gets into ZAPA on a scholarship and then has the nerve to complain about a rigged system? I'd like to slap some sense..."

Nick let her go on like this for a few more minutes, regarding her with folded arms and a cool gaze.

"...and don't remind that he saved my life; that doesn't entitle him to a free pass."

She paused to catch her breath and that was the opening the fox had been waiting for

"I never said it did," he told her, arcing a brow and feeling his ears turn backwards, "As matter of fact, I haven't said anything in the last ten minutes. How could I, when you haven't stopped talking long enough for me to get a word in edgewise?"

"Sorry," Judy said, sounding anything but.

Nick gave it a second to make sure he'd be allowed to speak, and then he said, "Carrots, did you hear what Conor said back when he started? 'It's not about me; it's about everyone.' Yes, he got into ZAPA, but do you remember their school motto, 'Many are called, few are chosen?' Maybe Conor doesn't like the idea of getting to ride the magic carpet while his friends from the neighborhood end up as wage-slaves for the rest of their lives."

Judy blinked, and then stared.

"Are you...defending him?"

Nick immediately shook his head.

"Not at all; as an escaped fugitive, he's not exactly in a position to preach from a soapbox. Just the same, he did make a few good points. Kids these days really don't have a whole lot of choices—especially—I'll say it; especially if they're one of the maligned species."

He was answered by a thumping foot and laid back ears.

"Says the fox who's now a police officer," Judy seemed unable to believe what she was hearing. As if Conor's hypocrisy wasn't bad enough...

Nick's ears went back ever further than hers.

"Says the fox that still has Security following him everywhere, if he walks into a store out of uniform; heck, I've even had that happen when I WAS in uniform. Ever had that happen to YOU, Fluff?" His gaze was like a gauntlet cast to the floor.

Judy picked it up immediately

"No," she answered, jutting her chin defiantly, "But I do get store clerks trying to short-change me all the time—because a dumb bunny wouldn't know any better."

In spite of himself, Nick felt his expression turn impish.

"Really? Don't they know how good you are at multiplying?"

Judy managed to hold her angry expression for three more seconds before she broke.

"Ohhhh, you!" And then she was hugging herself and sniggering.

"You never could stay mad at me, Carrots," the red fox grinned, and then he turned serious. "Look Judy, if Conor had been urging the other kids to go out and cause more damage, I'd be just as angry as you are. But he wasn't; he was trying to get them to QUIT it with all the graffiti. If that's the case, who cares what else he said?"

That was what finally broke the tension. Judy looked up with a half-rueful expression.

"Ahhh, when you put it that way, yeah...."

Her voice trailed off as her gaze shifted once again to the display screen on the opposite wall, now nothing but a glossy, blank slate.

"What?" Nick asked her.

She turned to him. "I was just thinking, there's no way my sister Erin would have missed that webcast. I wonder what she thought of it."

At the moment, Judy's younger sister was keeping her thoughts to herself, staring in wide-eyed incredulity at Terri Blackburn...along with every other girl in Cara Combs' bedroom.

It had started with another furious argument, this one between her and Terri. No sooner had Conor's face vanished from the display screen, than the angry young ewe had launched into a take-no-prisoners tirade against him.

It was more or less the same things Judy had said, but with even more vehemence...so much so that Erin had felt compelled to come to the young fox's defense.

But then, to her and everyone else's utter bewilderment, Terri Blackburn had gotten there first—with a vengeance.

"No Cara, he's right...and you're wrong, Conor's not exploiting anyone."

"Not exploiting anyone?" Cara had asked, staring goggle-eyed, "Get your head out of ...the clouds, Ter. He muled for The Phantom, for heaven's sake."

"The Phantom? The Phantom...."

"Yeah, I know, he doesn't exist...because CONOR..."

"That's not what I was going to say!" Terri snapped, cutting her off. "Yeah, The Phantom exists...or someone like him does. But whoever he is, he's not who police think he is; Conor was right about that."

That had been good for a round of derisive sheep-laughter.

"Baahaahaahaaa, and how would you know that, Terri?"

"I know!" the young ferret-girl had shot back defensively.

"Oh yeah, surrrre you do."

"I know!"

"Yeah, sure...what'd you use, a crystal ball?"

"I KNOW!"

"Yeah, how do you know?"

"Because that's where my family got the money to start that river-guide service!" Terri's voice had risen almost to a scream.

And then horrified, she'd thrown her paws over her eyes, shivering and snuffling.

As bombshells go, that one had been a daisy cutter, blowing the room into a total, shocked stillness—where it had remained ever since; Cara Combs looked like she could just die right now.

When Terri's paws fell away from her face, they revealed red, moist eyes and a trembling lower lip.

"Please guys," she begged, "Promise you won't tell; my folks will kill me if they find out, I'm not even s'posed to know any of this."

That brought Erin Hopps instantly to her feet.

"C'mon girls; pinkie swear," she said, raising her little finger, "What Terri said never leaves this room. Who's with me?"

They all were...none more than Cara, who apologized profusely to the ferret-girl when they were done.

Erin and the others would have probably been willing to let it drop after that—except Terri seemed to think that as long as the secret was already out, she might as well tell them everything.

It had begun when her stepdad Wilson 'Will' Trask, had gone seeking a loan for his fledgling river-guide/whitewater rafting service.

"Every place he went turned him down, even Burrow Savings and Trust; mom had done business with them for years, but they still wouldn't lend him any money. Will couldn't understand it; he'd always had good credit and paid his bills on time."

As time passed and frustration had built upon frustration, Terri's stepfather had finally given voice to the suspicion he'd kept hidden up until then. Was he being continually rejected for a loan on account of his species; a mink, a member of the weasel family?

"After a while, mom and he were starting to get desperate," Terri was saying. "They'd sunk like all our savings into starting Trask River Adventures—including my college fund; I didn't find that out until later. Anyway, if they couldn't manage a loan, they'd have had to give it all up and take big loss.

But then, just when it seemed that Terri's folks would indeed have to tap out, an e-mail had arrived from out of nowhere, offering to lend them the full amount, no questions asked.

"My stepdad almost deleted it when he saw," Terri told them, "but mom talked him out of it...barely. If it hadn't worked out, we'd have lost everything, even the car." She stood up and spread her arms. "But it did work out, and now here we are. Will just bought two new rafts, and next year he's planning to open a franchise, up in Grunt's Pass Boaregon. And I not only got my college fund back, there's even a little extra in it now."

Erin Hopps barely heard her.

"Oh my Gaw," she breathed to herself, remembering when she'd taken Conor on that river-rafting trip. Was it possible? Had her guest for that day been the very fox who'd helped plant the seed to make it happen? She felt almost dizzy.

"If you don't mind my asking, Terri," Lisa Chatterton was querying, "how'd you ever find out about this, I mean if it was such as big secret and all?"

Terri made them swear again before explaining.

One afternoon, when the young ferret girl's laptop crashed, she had gotten permission from her mother to use the family desktop to finish a school project. ("Thank God I had it backed up.")

While she'd been online, an email had arrived and, forgetting which computer she was on, Terri had opened it.

Part of it had read "Glad to hear your river guide service is doing so well. Yes, you can accelerate your payment if you wish."

"You figured it out from that?" Tawny Lloyd asked with her nose twitching.

"Not all of it, Tawn," Terri admitted, "I kind of picked up the rest in bits and pieces, but that e-mail explained a lot of stuff I hadn't been able to figure out until then."

"Like...?" Jill Pepper prompted.

"Like...how every Sunday, Mom would take the afternoon train to Zootopia," Terri informed her. "She never stayed, always came right back—and she never let any of us kids go with her. Until one day, when Will brought the whole family down to Bunnyburrow station to meet her. Soon as mom got off the train, she ran to him, and whoa, I never saw them hug so hard. Then he started dancing all around the platform with her, saying over and over, "We've got, we're done, it's all paid up." Then he took us out for dinner to Arabella's and that was the last time mom ever took the Sunday train to Zootopia. Like I said, the rest of it I figured out later."

Erin was about to ask 'how' when Terri started speaking again

"Mom never thought it was The Phantom we'd been borrowing from..." she stopped and cleared her throat, "uh, actually, his name didn't come up until like a year later. Anyway, Will thought it was him, but she didn't. She thought The Phantom was only an urban legend—just like Conor said—and it was someone else who'd lent us the money. I don't know either way, but I DO know that whoever it was, he wasn't any loan shark." Without warning, she looked directly at Cara, "Do you know how much he charged us for that loan?"

Caught off guard, the young ewe thought for a second, and then shrugged.

"Uhmmm, I don't have any idea Terr."

"Take a guess," the ferret girl insisted, refusing to let her go.

"Uhhh, all right," Another shrug, "Ummm, fifteen...twenty percent?"

Terri folded her stubby arms and smirked. "Nope; try five hundred."

Everyone gasped and Cara gaped.

"Wha... Five hundred percent!"

"Nope again." Terri looked almost smug, "Five hundred DOLLARS. Five hundred more than the amount we borrowed and we were all paid up."

Now everyone was staring at the young ferret girl...and the first one to say it was Lisa Chatterton.

"But...but that's nothing, Terr. Why would anybody lend you enough money to start a business and then only charge that much?"

Terri's mouth pulled inward, becoming a taut, straight line.

"I don't know squirrel-girl...and I don't care either. All I can say is if the animal who lent us that money is the same one Conor was working for, I wouldn't turn him in, even if..."

She stopped again, seemed to realize something and then looked over at Erin.

"Sorry, Err...I-I know your sister's a police officer and all, but if that was the case and I knew where Conor is right now, I wouldn't turn him in for anything—not even if it meant getting dragged off to juvie myself."

Another long silence filled the room. Trying not to think about what her friend had just said, Erin Hopp's mind latched on to something else entirely—trying to compose a bass-line for 'And Then What.'