Open Zann's Alley/Backyard Crossroads Detective Agency Follow the Bums

[Nycaria Blayre Lafrey]

A white shaft of streetlight filtered through a narrow window and onto a wall with flaking blue paint, just above an unmade bed. Muddy boots and a worn blue coat sat on the floor bedside, along with a half-empty bottle of Cap'n Dreadmain Rum.
Upon a small, roughly-carved Rustic desk with a matching chair, a candlestick, a matchbox, three sticks of charcoal, some papers, and what looked to be a journal bound in plantleather lay upon it.
Above the bed, a charcoal portrait in a Rustic wooden frame hung, depicting a heavy monitor lizard with an upturned nose and a top hat, alongside a squirrel with tufted ears and a visible scar under her eye. They posed together in the vein of a respectable married couple, the monitor standing and leaning against the chair the squirrel sat upon, the squirrel's paws folded in her lap and her big brushy tail fluffed. The monitor was dressed in a tatty suit and clutching a pipe while the squirrel was in a dress, a small smile playing on her lips.
On the chest of the blue jacket on the floor were stitched "Move-A-Lot Corporation" and beneath it, "P. Skelling."
The papers on the desk were all various charcoal pieces, some of the monitor lizard staring solemnly at the viewer, dressed in various worn suits and dress shirts, others of the squirrel, assumably, one Piper R. Skelling. The pictures of the monitor seemed like moody self-portraits, the artist staring into her own dark eyes and firm features, while the pictures of Piper were much more affectionate, her tail curled and ears at fine points, her fur neat with just a bit of charming scruff, her paws slender and gentle and the light in her eyes and in the brightness of her smile positively dancing.
While the sketches were likely Mayday's, the journal bore Piper's name emblazoned across its green cover- Piper Rasia Skelling.
Within it was a collection of her day to day life- her feelings as a stranger to the ways of Bully Harbor and her struggles as a woodlander, her slowburn romance with Mayday and her joys and trials of loving someone outside her species as well as someone of her own gender; her lousy, exhausting work as a dockworker for Move-A-Lot Shipyards, and her struggles dealing with her younger brother, Alpine, helplessly addicted to the party and often sharing poor company. She mentions wanting to crush her supervisor, a rat named Grainier W. Woodlaus, under a rack of canons, and making a habit of drinking and having pierogies after work at the Breadbasket, a diner in the Trenches, with a mouse named Peldrow P. Gamin. Her latest entry was brief and puzzled, reading merely: Thee untinkabl has ocured. An answer to Lyfe's problems? We shal see. I fere thee worst, & hope for thee best. Will updayt soone, if I can. Thanks diary.
It was dated Soggus 23rd. The day after was her first of three missed days at work that led to the missing persons case being filed.
A voice came then, from behind the weasel, cold and hard with a characteristic reptilian hiss and an added lisp atop it.
"Sstho... they ssthent you ssthniffing, just like she ssthaid they would. Good thing for that ssthtupid door... you're a quiet one."
The large monitor lizard was dressed in beaten blue top hat, a white apron adorned with stitched flower images, a pink shirt and gray britches, and bore a cat-o-nine in one of her big scaly hands. Her flat eyes were narrowed hatefully, and the floorboards creaked when she moved.

~ ~ ~

The ferret's grin only broadened in its size and delight at the vixen's suggestion. "Well, now that you mention it..." she said coyly. "I certainly wouldn't mind a certain Fogey captain getting caught with something valuable. Heh." she leaned back in her chair, poured another shot for herself and swirled it in her glass. "My detectives are all two-bit thugs looking for an easier living, whack Fogeys booted from the force, and ghosts like the one who just walked out past you while you were coming in. They've about as few morals as anybeast else here in this bloated fish carcass of an empire. They'll do what I sez, especially if Satira's pals are framin' their old enemies. Which, speakin' of-" The detective tipped her hat up above her brow and leaned in slightly then, eyes shining in the joy of conspiracy and lips pursed in pleasure. "Anything a fine woman like yous needs doin', Miss Furotazzi?"

 

[Marianna Furotazzi]

Bezine considered the portrait at length, unable to keep herself from smiling a bit ruefully. She'd been paranoid for so many years, refusing Eirene's repeated entreaties for them to have a family portrait painted, even just a small one. Anything that could suggest the true nature of their relationship, in Bezine's eyes, created the risk of being outed and persecuted once more. Now she found herself regretting that decision as she poured over the various sketches around the room and on the desk, the art done with a heavy but talented hand. The love for Piper shone through in every stroke, and, as Bezine moved on to the diary, she found emotion to match poured out in written form as well. She didn't know how long she stood there reading it, pouring over each page not just for clues to the squirrel's whereabouts, but to better understand and share in the emotional highs and lows of Piper's journey. By the end, there were tears lining her eyes, and as she closed the book, she hesitated, torn between taking it with her to protect the sanctity of the words, or leaving it in case Mayday should return.

The choice was made for her when the reptilian voice hissed behind her. Bezine started, turning to see the monitor had gotten the jump on her, sneaking in just as quietly - no, more so, given the door - as Bezine had. The weasel's eyes widened as she caught sight of the cat-o-nine in the monitor's claws. A weapon like that could do serious damage, and the reach of it, while not ideal for close quarters like these, would make dodging or parrying with her dagger quite difficult. Bezine decided to try a different approach.

"Mayday," she said softly, putting her paws out to her side to try to seem less a threat. "I am 'ere just for to 'elp. Piper's employers, they worried when zey non see 'er, so zey 'ire a detective. I only come to see she is safe. Please," she implored. "I am just 'ere to 'elp, zen go 'ome to my wife." She hoped the admission that they shared a secret would buy her a little bit of goodwill. She'd been 'roommates' with Eirene for thirty years, and had spent most of that alone, afraid to confess to anyone else their secret. Having any kind of community would have alleviated some of that fear.

~ ~ ~

Marianna considered the offer carefully. Telling too much too soon might undermine their relationship, especially once Detective Lafley realized the full scope of Marianna's ambition, but... "There is one thing," she allowed. "Among my near-term targets is an especially valuable diamond-studded choker - the Vermillion Choker, it is called, said to have been commissioned for one of the Vermillion Nobles. The combined weight of the diamonds is said to be nearly a hundred karats, and is valued at almost two hundred thousand gilders. Recently this piece was inherited by Carmine Vermillion, the current heiress of the family, and is likely housed someplace within her mansion in the Insanely Rich Area. My efforts to find a route into the mansion have thus far been stymied. What I really could use are the architectural plans filed with the Ministry of Niceties, but, well, a Furotazzi asking for those plans would rouse some suspicion. I thought that you might have some alternative approaches in order to acquire this valuable information."

 

[Nycaria Blayre Lafrey]

The monitor's ridged brow furrowed, and her grip on the cat-o-nine slackened slightly. "Wife?" She repeated.
The big lizard tarried there awhile in the doorway, uncertainty on her features and in the drape of her long tail.
Finally, after what felt perhaps like an eternity, she knelt to heave the door back up and slip it back into its hinges, blocking out the crooked city streets.
She heaved a heavy, rattling sigh, lit the lantern, and dropped down onto the old ciuch. The sitting room was messy, with chipped and fractured walls, bottles and trash crammed into the corners and a pan with old, blackened fish sitting picked at and unwanted on the small woodstove. "What do you know?" Mayday gruzzled.
The monitor rooted around until she found a half-empty bottle of 108th Brand Vodka and uncorked it, taking a swig.
She prodded a finger at Bezine then.
"You're lucky I've got a ssthoft spot for foolssth like us, missth detective, or you'd be a fresh coat of paint on the wall for breaking into my home. Ssthit."
She pointed to the weathered armchair. "And tell me everything you know about my missthing wife."

~ ~ ~

"Huh. A burglary job, eh?" Nycaria tapped her chin, looking thoughtful. "One of my newer hires used to run security at the Ministry of Commerce, a marten by th' name of Danzael A. Hewing. If he could convince Niceties to let him in to inspect their hallowed halls for weaknesses in security..."
She shrugged, smiling. "Especially given that bombing scare recently with that mad postmaster, and the various political troubles... Hell, I bet he could get those plans. I could have them in your elegant paws by week's end."

 

[Bezine D'Oiravere]

Bezine breathed our slowly as the monitor lizard came around. It seemed sharing her most closely guarded secret had been the right move, because Mayday replaced the door and sat on the couch for a drink. Bezine took a seat in the armchair, ignoring the mess in the room. She'd always been the messy one in her own marriage; Eirene was fastidious, a cultural trait from her Hanshiman upbringing that often put her at odds with a wife whose life on the road had accustomed her to throwing things wherever they were convenient. There was something in there about opposites attracting, but she didn't have time to dissect that at the moment.

"I know zat Piper 'as been missing for zree days," she noted, "and 'er employer was concerned enough to 'ire a detective, which tells me she either is very well-liked at work or zere is something uncouz at play zat ze employer does not want 'er speaking about. Given ze 'atred she expresses for 'er boss Grainier, ze latter seems more likely. You were listed as 'er closest contact after 'er brozzer Alpine, 'ose gambling problems could indicate some trouble zere. Now we 'ave zis Peldrow mouse 'oo was 'er frequent dining and drinking partner after work, down at ze breadbasket." She watched Mayday carefully as she said this last part. Infidelity was common in relationships of all kinds, and it seemed possible that the two may have run off together, much as Bezine didn't want to see that happen. She had to leave herself open to possibilities she didn't personally like.

"'Er diary mentions somezing 'unsinkable, a solution to all life's problems'," she quoted. "To me, zat sounds like eizzer an escape or a way to get rich quick. Ze latter especially sounds like 'er brozzer's kind of idea. She didn't say anyzing to you about what she was doing when she went out zree days ago?"

~ ~ ~

Marianna's mind flashed back to the bombing incident at the Opera House and she couldn't help but shudder. She still had nightmares where she threw her body atop that bomb, except that time her body was shredded by shrapnel in slow motion as the fragments of her cooked in the heat. She awoke every time sweating, and swore anew after each nightmare that she would never do something that reckless again.

"Thank you," she managed, her voice still slightly strangled. "I would actually greatly appreciate if, once plans are in paw, your jack Hewing would be available to consult with myself and Satira on a plan. His security expertise could be quite useful in dissecting the plans for any potential weak points. He and you will both, of course, receive a cut of the takings."

 

[Nycaria Blayre Lafrey]

"You read Piper'ssth diary?" The big lizard shook her head in disapproval and took another pull on the vodka. "Her job don't give a damn about her. She'ssth a low-rung woodlander 'ire... they're a gilder a dozen lately..."
Mayday looked down with a hard glint in her eye, as if ashamed at her own words. "Piper'ssth ssthpecial. But not to them. She told me she wassth going away for a while, that ssthomebeasstht might come lookin' but to not sssthay a word. That... she had found a way out of th' Ssthlups fer ussth."
She shrugged her broad shoulders unhappily, took another drink. There was a great sadness in her flat eyes. "I guessth I care more about finding her now than keeping her ssthecretssth. She didn't ssthay anything about Alpine or Peldrow before she left, but I know Peldrow ssthtays in a shed outssthide th' Blue Crab a few blockssth down, near the dockssth."
Mayday looked up, studying the weasel quietly for a moment. Tears shimmered in her gaze as she rasped. "I think she'ssth in danger. An' I don't know what the Hell to do. I'm... very ssthcared."

~ ~ ~

Nycaria's lips sloped down a bit in concern, her head cocking quizzically at the vixen's distress. "Of course, Miss Furotazzi. I can send 'im straight over to yis, whatever spot you'd like to meet." she said, nodding, and then, "You alright?"
She pulled out a box of tissues with fishbone print on it and pushed them over. That's what you do when the femme fatale in your office gets all emotional, isn't it?

 

[Bezine D'Oiravere]

Bezine listened to Mayday's concerns, a pang of sympathy echoing through her heart. She'd been in situations where Eirene had been in danger, and it had nearly driven the weasel mad with worry. Being powerless to help the one you loved was a new kind of torture. "We will keep looking until we find 'er," Bezine promised. "We should speak to 'er brozzer and to Peldrow - if zey are not in on 'er plan, zey may 'ave some idea of 'er ambition. Ze Blue Crab is one of 'er brozzer's 'aunts; maybe we will get lucky and find 'im zere." If nothing else, it was worth a try. Billy Harbor was a big place, and one little squirrel could vanish into it easily. They'd just have to keep chasing these leads wherever they led.

~ ~ ~

Marianna accepted a tissue, daubing at her eyes as she tried to calm herself. "My apologies, detective. Mention of the bomber caught me be surprise is all. It is not publicly known, but... Well, Satira and her crew were all in the room with me when that bomber walked in. He attempted to detonate the bomb, and only by some very foolhardy actions did we all survive." Her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her. "You know," she mused, "explosives, in the right place, might be very useful for creating a portal into a secure room. We may want to consider the efficacy of such once we have the plans in paw."

 

[Nycaria Blayre Lafrey]

At the mention of "we", the monitor straightened in her seat with interest, eyes shining. "Alright." she said. "To th' Blue Crab it issth."
She stood and straightened the top hat over her head, and still wearing her flower shop apron, carefully slid the door back open to the wet, dimly-lit streets.
"Get out so I can clossthe this thing again," she said, her bright-blue tongue flicking with every syllable her lisp made difficult, "I'll bring you to th' Blue Crab."
It was a brief walk down the Slups' long, crooked streets, feet careful to avoid treading on the characteristic broken glass, foul puddles and potholes that made up the landscape. The buildings around were a wide variety of rickety, poorly-constructed dwellings seemingly designed without form and any one of them ready to topple at a moment's notice or crisp at the first spark.
Two foxes sporting scorpion tattoos watched hawkishly from a stoop as the weasel and reptile went by.
Soon, a squat building with a tall chimney and a tower jutting from its northerly side rose among the grunge and rubble, with a broad sign hanging over its door portraying a great blue crab, cruel pincers ready for pinching, and text painted beneath it:
"BLUE CRAB SALOON!!!" it said, as if the name were being hollered.
The tavern sported a huge blue shuttered window that took up half the wall next to the matching flaky swing doors, and inside, somebeast was screeching away at a fiddle, accompanied by an old accordion and a few merry voices.
"Ooh, what would you say if'n I was a ray,
Swimmin' in de great ocean blue?
Well if'n you was a ray I'd cook ya 'n' say,
'My what a good thing ta chew!'
Ooh, an' mate would ya laugh if'n I was a crab,
Swimmin' in de great ocean blue?
Well I'd boil ya an' have ya wid taters an' bread,
'N' say, 'My what a good thing ta chew!"

Mayday went around back, where, not far from an outhouse with a crescent moon window on the door, sat a small, squat shed composed haphazardly of scrapwood.
"Should be in there." she said.

~ ~ ~
"Stripes!" Nycaria said, brow knit as she shook her head in concern and sympathy for her client. "I'm dearly sorry, Miss. Satira did mention something frightening happening the last time we spoke, but didn't tell me all the details. I'll try an' be more careful of what I bring up around you. What a thing to be put through."
The ferret extended an arm to pat the vixen's paw with her own, wrapped in a soft fingerless glove. Then her expression went from concern to shock to amusement in quick succession as she whooped a laugh. "Hah! Ain't nothin' can stop you Furotazzis! Ya know anyone with their paws on some explosives, I can try 'n' keep the situation under control 'n' play peacekeeper while the fire show's in full swing."

 

[Bezine D'Oiravere]

Bezine shivered as they passed the foxes with the scorpion tattoos. She recalled the graffiti on the door and the sign they'd tagged on it, and she suspected that the two were related. She waited until they were past the Blue Crab Saloon to put a paw on Mayday's arm and stop her in the shadows. "Before we go in," she murmured, keeping her voice low and glancing behind them to make sure they hadn't been followed. "Ze foxes wiz ze tattoos of... come si dice, scorpione. Zey are a gang? Suprematisti della volpe?" There had been vulpine supremacists when she'd left the Harbor last, though they'd been dramatically weakened first by the Winter War and then by the events of Mayor Freedom's attempted attack on House Ryalor. The Bloods, Bezine thought, or had that been the Skulls? She'd always mixed up the two. Given the threats they'd already demonstrated toward Piper, Bezine couldn't rule out that they'd been responsible for Piper's sudden disappearance.

~ ~ ~

Marianna nodded, half of her mind turning over the possibilities while the other half was just relieved that the unseemly display of vulnerability on her part had passed. She'd learned from Vito's example that one couldn't display weakness too often; a little here and there among trusted friends and allies strengthened those bonds, but too much, or too publicly, undermined confidence in one's abilities. "I'm sure there's someone around who has escaped the Ministry of Innovation's attention," she mused. "A little bit of searching and we might well have our expert. In the meantime, we have enough to go on to get started. We'll likely need a few more members of the crew, but I already have a grifter for the operation and a whole team of pickpockets. If you run across anyone qualified and with the right attitude toward acts of dubious legality, please, do let me know."

 

[Nycaria Blayre Lafrey]

The lizard paused uncertainly in the shadows of the tavern, peered past Bezine's shoulder into the partially lit gloom.
There was a fog falling over them from the sea, damp and cold. Mayday shivered, though whether it was the weather or the mention of the foxes was uncertain.
"Criminy." she muttered. "I missthed them. So focussthed on finding my wife..." she shook her head, a hollow, frightened look on her scaly face.
"They are bad beassthts, have threatened me and Piper before. If they hurt her..."
Her big clawed hands clenched into fists, her blue tongue slithering. "I'd ssthlay them dead, ssthlowly, and bury them in my garden."
There was a cackle, and Mayday nearly jumped.
The two foxes had slipped behind them, as easily and silently as the fox.
One was a smaller, sharp-faced male, the other a lean, scarred female with a milky, blind right eye and a baleful looking left one.
They both carried Fogey-issue truncheons, the female even wearing the gray Fogey jacket with the sleeves rolled up to display the red scorpion sitting poised on her bicep, mounted atop a fox skull missing its lower jaw.
"Oh," said the vixen, as the male backed her up, smirking cruelly and spinning hid truncheon. She grinned, flashing a fearsome set of yellow teeth. "I'd like to see ya try."
The male suddenly swung the truncheon and smashed out a lantern hanging nearby. Deeper darkness fell over the small yard they stood in as little glass shards fell tenderly to the ground and the lantern swung groaning in protest.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Can do, Miss Furotazzi." The ferret sat back and drew out another couple cheap cigars, offered one to her guest. "It's a pleasure doing business with a professional. So what other benefits can I expect as a member of the Furotazzi crime family, eh? Do I get a vacation package? Maybe a pension?
She chuckled at her own joke and lit her cigar, before waving toward the door. "I assume our current business as it is is concluded, so do feel free to depart at your leisure. I'm just appreciating the company of a fine woman. Don't get mucha that here, as you can imagine."

 

[Bezine D'Oiravere]

Bezine felt the fur all down her back stand on end at the chuckle behind them, and even before she turned, she knew what had happened. Her eyes went to the truncheons they carried - a nasty, brutal weapon. Her dagger would be ill-suited in a fight against their longer reach. The weasel's eyes scanned the streets around them, looking for anything she could use - a pile of rope, an empty crate, anything that could create an advantage. Finding nothing, Bezine's paws went to the buttons of her vest, which she quickly undid. As the fox smashed out the light, she shrugged out of her vest, catching it in one of her paws, and brought it to her front as she stepped back-to-back with Mayday. "We need to disarm zem," she muttered under her breath. "We are boz better in close quarters zan zem. When you see dem, try to get in close." Her eyes scanned the darkness around her, looking for any hint of movement.

~ ~ ~

Marianna sipped at her liquor, considering the offer of a cigar. She had tried smoking a number of times; among the Furotazzis, it was practically a tradition, one her brother had kept up for both of them. She'd never particularly enjoyed it for its own sake, but the social aspect of it had been pleasant enough. A cigar and good conversation, plus a bit of whisky, could make for a pleasant evening. "The company, or the fine women?" she remarked, accepting one of the cigars and a light. She was surprised at how quickly she remembered the trick to smoking, halting on the draw just as the smoke started to tickle her lungs, before it could grow uncomfortable. She exhaled, letting the smoke blow back out between her teeth, a small rush striking her as she did so. "Somehow I can't see you lacking for either, given a neutral setting. Maybe it's the venue that's the issue." She considered the ferret, weighing whether or not she wanted that sort of entanglement. She'd had a number of lovers over the years, mostly males, but a few femmes as well. Nothing serious had ever come of either, mainly because, as she'd been told repeatedly, her devotion to the Family left her emotionally distant. Her few entanglements within the Family had also taught her the danger of mixing work and play.

She decided a change of topic was the safest play here. She'd only just entered into a partnership with Nycaria, after all; jumping straight into bed with her might set the wrong expectation. That wasn't the sort of partnership she was looking for, at least at this point. At what point, then? a voice in her whispered. You're not getting younger. Not many beasts out there looking at femmes in their thirties for wives. She pushed away the intrusive thoughts, trying to center her attention on the beast across from her. "Did you have much opportunity to study under your father's tutelage?" she inquired. "I can hardly imagine the civil war years as being peak for business."

 

[Nycaria Blayre Lafrey]

"C-corkssth..." Mayday muttered, pressing her back to her new ally and putting her fists up in a boxing stance. "Alright."
The male suddenly leapt forward from out of the shadows, swinging his truncheon downward for a blow to Bezine's face whilst attempting to grab the vest with his free paw. "Hhyyaaarrr ahaharr!"

~*~*~*~

Nycaria chuckled, white smoke slipping from her muzzle as she did. She knocked some ash off her Wordsworth cigar with a dainty flick of one of her clawed fingers. "I meant the fine women." she said, grinning slightly as her half-lidded eyes studied the vixen before her. "Though yis, I could definitely use a nicer-lookin' main office. Let me know when ya find someone willin' to finance it."
She smirked and took another puff, clearly enjoying looking at her client.
That smirk slid away when the ferret's father was brought up. "Oh." she said. "So we're doing this, are we? Nope, dad took his last swim when I was just a tot. One, two. I've got one vague memory of his face, his voice, the rest are just sketches and paintings."
Nycaria pursed her lips in an O and produced two small, neat smoke rings, one after tye other, that drifted slowly through the cold air between them before fading away.
"But I know he was a good man, at least as good as yis can be in Bully Harbor. He took on all sortsa crooked jobs, killed all sortsa folk, but he made this muckhole a better place. Maybe that's what finally did him in."

 

[Bezine D'Oiravere]

There. Bezine saw the truncheon whistling through the darkness just barely in time to lean away, the blow falling on her shoulder instead. She yelped as the truncheon struck her square in the shoulder, pain lancing through her upper back, and she felt the vest go taut in her paw as the fox seized it. That was the moment: Bezine yanked the vest hard out to the side, throwing the fox off balance for a moment, and she slid within his arms. His truncheon would be of little use with her so close, but she had a weapon that would be far more effective at such a range.

Bezine fumbled for the knife at her belt, her arm screaming in pain as her injured shoulder protested the movement, but she found it. She began stabbing blindly at the fox's torso, aiming for the unprotected sides of his abdomen.

~ ~ ~

Oh. Guilt flashed across Marianna's face as she took another long draw of her cigar. Well, that had certainly succeeded in killing the mood. "My sympathies," she said quietly, "and my apologies. I suppose I, more than most, should understand the complicated legacies that our parents leave."

In her teenage years, Marianna had developed a fixation with trying to understand her birth parents. There had been very little written about Julia Freedom that wasn't just gushing platitudes from colleagues or fawning obituaries; the most interesting tidbits about her had come from some of the more scathing biographies of Anithias instead. Even then, in terms of scandal, it was rather tame: a foiled elopement together at 16, rumors of a miscarriage in the year following while in her parents' captivity, the suicide of her elder sister due to a broken engagement with Anithias's older brother in the wake of Anithias and Julia's elopement. Much of the rest of her life, by comparison, had been quite prosaic, up to and including Marianna's own birth.

Her father had been the more complicated figure, and, no matter how far Marianna dove into his life, she came away feeling like she didn't understand the man. She'd read through biographies both doting and damning, and even had gone to the municipal archives to read through his notes and papers from his time as an officer, captain, judge, and mayor. They revealed a beast who was obsessed with proper order, who, as an officer, had been nicknamed "the Walking Handbook" for constantly quoting from naval regulations, who kept his papers fastidious, almost as if he wanted to leave a paper trail for future biographers to follow... And yet, Marianna had found the actual character of his writing to be disconcerting. His behavior as a captain, particularly toward his crew, smacked of favoritism and animus in equal measure. His legal opinions as a judge were, frankly, hardly the peak of jurisprudence; many seemed to be post-hoc justifications of rulings that satisfied his own biases. As a mayor, he was even worse; his fixation on a supposed threat from the Ryalors bordered on the paranoid, and the choice of allies he recruited in his quest left Marianna sick to her stomach. Eventually she'd put away everything she'd found on the todd and had tried her best not to think of him again.

Marianna took another draw, making a failed attempt at a smoke ring. Nycaria made it look so easy. Marianna tapped the ash off the end, contemplating whether or not to ask the question on the tip of her tongue. "Why follow in his footsteps?" she inquired, her voice more gentle than she'd expected. "You're certainly smart enough to get far easier, or at least less hazardous, work that would pay just as well - and this line of work clearly doesn't give you the most luxurious lifestyle. It's quite the intriguing commitment to make."

 

[Nycaria Blayre Lafrey]

The todd fell easily for her trap, gasping as he reeled off balance only to fall into the weasel's blows that drove the breath from his lungs and dampened his shirt in blood. He uttered a groan of pain, his eyes wide, as the truncheon slipped from his paw. "Ohh, f-ffff..." he managed, as he slumped into her.
Mayday, meanwhile, deflected one of the tall vixen's blows, slammed a balled scaly fist into the fox's belly, and then swung to the side as the truncheon connected with her jaw, sending a tooth flying out of her mouth and nearly knocking her off her feet.
The big monitor lizard staggered a moment, corrected, spat a curse of "Bloody daisies..." and then slammed her hands into the vixen's throat, clamping down.
The vixen choked and dropped the truncheon, her brush swinging and eyes bulging as she choked and hung there, several inches off the ground.
Mayday rammed the vixen into the tavern's wall as the drunkenly-played music continued cluelessly on. "Oh, frick!" the vixen gasped. "Codswallop!"
"What th' Hell do you want?" Mayday snarled. "What'ssth your bussthnessth in all thissth? Where issth Piper!?"
"I-I don'-hgghh- c-crabs, mate, I don'-hhghh-!"

~*~*~*~
"Yeah..." Nycaria shrugged her shoulders as she leaned back in her chair again, the cigar burning slowly between her fingers. "Let's just say there tend to only be a few moments in my life when something makes sense. I was in the Navy for a decade, aboard that massive hunk of junk you've probably heard of... the Smelt called her an 'achievement in Imperial engineering' and also an example of 'overindulgent MinoWar spending.' The Tarquin Supership. All those years aboard, and I never felt like I belonged there. Never felt like I fit, like I was just burning time."
She took a puff of her cigar as she thought, her eyes somewhat veiled. "Then I thought about my dad's dream. The stories I'd heard about it. I read some articles, read some of his old papers... read his stories. Suddenly, life made a little more sense. I'm here to continue what he started."
Her eyes flicked back up to the vixen's face. "Like father, like daughter. Sometimes we can't get out from under our parent's shadow. Sometimes, I think, that's where we belong. What about yis,"
She knocked some cigar ash into her empty shot glass. "Why the life of a Furotazzi?"

 

[Bezine D'Oiravere]

Bezine felt the splash of hot blood on her paw and up the cuff of her sleeve, some of it getting on her shirt at her waist as well. She recalled her Misanthropy training from that awful vixen, Dawn Mistrunner: "The sides are one of the best places you can stab a beast. Unprotected by the ribcage, but with plenty of essential organs that, while less immediately lethal, will kill slowly and painfully nonetheless. If you need to get information from an attacker, get in close, go for the sides, disable them and extract what information you can before the end."

Bezine caught the todd and lowered him to the boards, the thick iron tang of his blood in her nose. She had to act fast. If anyone saw the scuffle and ran to the Fogeys, a patrol would be upon them in a few minutes at most, and then she and Mayday would spend the rest of the night at the precinct, answering questions and being processed - time she couldn't afford to waste. "I can get you 'elp," she lied, her paw going to the fox's torso, holding him down with just enough pressure to keep the wound slightly aggravated. Torture without seeming to intentionally torture. "Where is de squirrel Piper? You targeted 'er, why? Where she goed?" She could hear Mayday interrogating the other fox, though it sounded like she was unlikely to get any answer with her current methods.

~ ~ ~

Marianna nodded along to Nycaria's explanation of her time on the Tarquin Supership. Vito had angled hard to get Obsidian in on the supply chain for that monstrosity, though he'd been unsuccessful. A shame; massive government projects like that were a prime spot for corruption, grift, and money-laundering, if you could get in on it. The Ministry of War was a corrupt official's dream: minimum transparency and oversight, closed books, and bosses willing to approve any amount of cost overrun to get their product delivered.

She listened with interest to Nycaria's recollection of finding purpose in stories of her father's work. She envied that sense of certainty and belonging; whether because of inclination or knowledge of the life from which she'd been quite literally snatched, she'd never seen it as destiny to be working for Vito. His reticence to treat her and Falun as true children to him only cemented that barrier in her mind. She sighed at the mention of 'like father, like daughter'. Was that ever true for us?

"Some of the same, I suppose," she admitted. "Vito raised me to run his accounts, so that's what I knew how to do. There was a bit of sunk cost fallacy as well; I had spent so many years building the enterprise that, when he died, it seemed a waste to walk away from it. More than that, though..." She considered long and hard before she finally stated, "I suppose there's a certain amount of ambition and maybe egotism that kept me trying, even without his support. Vito always treated what we do as a dirty business; he tried to keep his paws clean of it, especially at the end." He was fine with me and Falun sullying ourselves to do his bidding, though. "I don't see it that way - or, at least, I don't want to. We operate in a market with the same forces as any other: supply, demand, competition, capital expenditures, losses, and so on. All of those can be accounted for to maximize profit. Common thuggery can be counterproductive; approaching crime as a business, instead, can lead to more efficiency. My goal is to build a new enterprise that not only fulfills the needs of the market, but which will be indispensable for that purpose." It was ambitious, but as she saw it, someone had to impose order on the chaos of the underworld. Why not her?

 

[Nycaria Blayre Lafrey]

Blood flecked the todd's fluttering lips as he was lain down, his eyes wide as blood stained his Fogey uniform.
"Oh, oh, corks!" he said. "I never shoulda... agh... my ma warned me 'bout dis... I..." he turned slowly to look up at the weasel, shaking as he reached a black paw up to touch her face. His paw tightened about her collar briefly, and then slipped away again as he turned away, face twisting in pain. "Yore... yore gonna git me 'elp..?" he muttered. "I- I'm sorry... I'm 'urtin so bad... we... we ain't got nuffin to do wid no piper... we wuz just... fish...in'..."
Finally getting ahold of herself, Mayday released her hold on the vixen, who slid down the wall and onto her tail, coughing and holding her throat in her paws. Her blind eye glistened wetly as she looked up at the monitor, and she darted her good eye toward the weasel behind Mayday too.
"Ahh c-criminy, koff koff, I c'n... I c'n tell yas what I know, jes' so long as I can walk away arter this... Piper... koff... Piper's that bloody treejumper, right?" she grinned as Mayday loomed. "Heh heh, koff, I mean... squirrel... well, we ain' touch't 'er... we was jes' paid ta stop anybeast... anybeast lookin'."
She rubbed her throat, which had begun to visibly bruise whenever a streak of streetlight fell over it, and nodded over to the shack.
"We ain' touch't 'im neither, 'case yew was... angry 'bout that too..."
The monitor lizard's toothy muzzle curled into a frown. She turned, big tail swinging, toward the shack. "Peldrow?" she said. "What-"
Worry passed over her features. "What- what happened?"
The vixen's smile was smugly wicked. "Go check it out." she wheezed. "Me 'n' Lowse check't... heh heh. It ain' pretty. Them boys really know 'ow ta silence a nosy mousey, I tell ya's that much. Hehehehehkoffkoffkoffkoff!"
Mayday's face blanching under her scales, the hefty reptile turned and ran for the shack.

~*~*~*~*~

Nycaria's lips quirked into a bit of a smirk at the vixen's businessbeast treatment of her occupation. "Hell, ya do sound just like every other businessbeast stumping around the Trenches and Zann's Alley, prowling the Market. Losses and capital expenditure..." the ferret shook her head, somewhat fondly.
"You make it sound so simple, in a way, even with all the business jargon. Everywhere I look meanwhile, every bit of my business..." she touched her paw to her chest. "All I see are cases. You want me to fetch the Vermillion Choker? I'll get it for ya, so long as yis can keep me and my humble little agency on retainer. Gotta be a gildzillion things troubling your business, let me and my detectives sort it out for ya. Hell," she put out her cigar and turned to sort through some files. "I could probably get it for ya tonight. Satira knows a burglar who knows a burglar who knows one of the finest house robbers this side o' Damnation. If they can slip in and out of the MinoJus mansion unharmed, they can do the same here."
She pulled out a file, slapped it on the desk between them.
On it was a courtoom sketch of a bat with a snaggle-fang and a darkly amused expression, dressed in prisoner rags, manacles over their wrists and ankles, and ropes over their wings, as a fox judge howled and ranted and rows of onlookers stared.
The name on the file was "NIGHTFLYER, CREEDENCE: MASTER BURGLAR."
"Yis know the Manifold Manor job? How about the quick, quiet, thorough, and practically invisible Pretzla Stagecoach Robbery in Zann's Alley? You know, when witnesses later told the Smelt ghosts had robbed them? Howsabout when 500,000 gilders in funds disappeared from the Longtooth Corporation coffers overnight, right before their corporate Giftsgiving party when all the high-tier bonuses would've been dished out?"
She tapped the file. "All them. Never slain anybeast on the job as far as I know, neither. Quick and clean. And I bet if I can get in contact with 'em tonight, you'll have the Choker in your pretty paws before daybreak. They just don't run cheap," she smiled as she gestured to herself. "And neither do I. I think I'd also like a coffee date out of this later, if you'd like."

 

[Bezine D'Oiravere]

Diamine! Bezine felt her spirits crash as the foxes revealed that they were just hired to foil any investigation into the missing squirrel. This was swiftly getting complicated, and dangerous to boot. She looked toward the shack, tempted to just run in... but she had promised to get help. She ran to the front of the Blue Crab, picked up a loose chunk of brick, and, with all the might she could summon, chucked it at the window. The sharp peals of breaking glass would surely draw attention and bring beasts outside to look. She, however, could not afford to be standing around. She darted back to the shack to join Mayday, bracing herself for whatever grizzly scene awaited.

~ ~ ~

Marianna examined the sketch, recognizing the name, at least, by reputation. Flyer was a master at his work, one who could surely get in and out unaided without issue - and that was the problem. First, he was expensive, and Marianna couldn't afford to pay someone like that upfront. Second, he worked alone, which meant that he would have little reason to stick around. She wasn't looking to steal the choker merely as a matter of convenience; she wanted to build a crew that would be capable of working together on more jobs in the future. Besides, she'd promised work to the Cravat Crew, and she intended to deliver.

"Thank you," she responded to the first offer, "though I'm not sure that Nightflyer is exactly what I had in mind. While working with established elites in the field may be a quick path to accomplishing an end, my goals are a little more long-term than simply acquiring the choker." The corner of her mouth twitched as she added, "A coffee date, though, sounds quite delightful. I so rarely get to venture out of my office to find intelligent conversation with interesting beasts." Nycaria was certainly that - ambitious as well, a quality that Marianna admired. She considered the ferret, weighing her appearance, her confidence, the prospect of perhaps some form of companionship. She'd been with other femmes in the past, and, while a slight preference for todds won out for aesthetic reasons only, she could certainly appreciate the ferret jill's many fine qualities. Still, an apprehension lingered in her gut, one that warned her of danger ahead. Nycaria, it was clear, was well-positioned in the criminal underworld of Bully Harbor, with enough contacts of her own to be able to conduct an enterprise to rival the Furotazzis, should she so choose. What happens when she discovers that you're the redundant piece on the board? She'd had too many beasts use and discard her over her life; she wasn't ready to risk entanglement with someone else quite yet, someone to whom Marianna ultimately would not matter.

 

[Nycaria Blayre Lafrey]

As soon as the brick smashed through the window- one of the few that still had glass in it- the rowdy music screeched to a halt and someone big, loud and angry barked out a "Aaargh, my winder! Dat glass been in dere since '42! I'm killin' da beast 'o did dat! Killin' em dead!"
Footpaws stomped out, lanterns shining and grimy, drunk faces peering. The light fell over the todd, who lay bleeding out on the ground, lips moving silently, and the vixen, who, still rubbing her throat as she lay hunched against the wall, rasped. "Get th' bleedin' Fogeys, tell 'em one officer's down, an' th' other's wounded! Twenny gilders ta whoever nabs th' cowards wot did this!"
She pointed toward the shack, and a particularly fat, rumpled stoat in an apron scowled darkly. "Busted me winder but stapped some Fogeys... I dunno 'ow ter feel. Go fetch de udder truncheon-draggers, Kelpo, at least twenny'll repair some o' de damage."
A rat nodded and raced off down the street.
Meanwhile, a small, scrawny weasel in a frumpled suit and spectacles knelt by the todd and inspected him. "Ah, thees one ees a goner!" he declared, and took the dying fox's wallet and flask.

Inside the shack, the small one-room was trashed. Clothes, books, plates and other belongings were strewn about the floor, the supper table, chairs, and a small cabinet smashed to pieces, bedding and curtains slashed. Near the ruins of a mattress, a small black figure lay sprawled in a pool of dried blood, lying with one arm splayed like a discarded marionette, half the mouse's face pressed to the cold floor, eyes wide and unseeing, lips slightly parted.
Mayday issued a sharp gasp, and doffed her hat, digging her claws into the brim. "Oh... oh 'Gatessth..." she rasped, the air pungent with the smell of days-old decay. "Oh, I'm sstho ssthory, Peldrow..."

~*~*~*~

The detective shrugged and put the folder away. "I get it. Not everybeast likes a free agent, and they certainly are that. I imagine Satira's dramatists could use the burglary practice, given they're more suited to pickpocketing and you owe them. I'm happy you're interested in my other offer, though." She winked. "You're not the sort of femme fatale to use a good detective's attraction against me though, are you? I'd hate to think I'm having coffee to make better acquaintance with a lovely dame, only to get absorbed by the Furotazzis further down the line. Though..." she grinned roguishly as she leaned forward, her muzzle just in range of the vixen's. "Maybe I like the danger."

 

[Bezine D'Oiravere]

Bezine's eyes swept over the body of the mouse, a twinge of regret going through her. There was nothing you could have done, she had to remind herself. The mouse had been dead for days, judging by the state of the body. Still, as she looked about the place, the violence of the scene struck her. This wasn't just about tossing the place; if it was, there would have been no need to smash the table set and shred the curtains. This was meant to sent a message of intimidation. Whoever was behind this had an agenda of hate that they wanted to be understood by their victims.

"Mayday," Bezine murmured, putting a paw on the lizard's shoulder. "We no can linger. Ze Fogeys will arrive soon, we will need for no being 'ere. 'Elp me search quickly, any evidence before ze Fogeys arrive." She moved about, carefully peering around the floor for any scraps of writing or drawing that might have escaped the destruction. She pressed carefully on each floorboard as she went, testing for any loose boards that might conceal a hidden stash.

~ ~ ~

Marianna smiled a bit coyly at the detective's flirtatious teasing. "Maybe I like the danger too," she remarked, leaning in, only a scant few inches between them. She could feel the heat of the detective's breath on her face, smell the cigar on her breath. "After all, in so many stories, the femme fatale winds up dead in the rogue detective's arms. Maybe I'm the one who's playing with fire." What arms they were, too. Her past experience as a sailor, as well as her active lifestyle, had clearly left its mark; while Marianna found thin, waiflike femmes to be boring, more athletic ones with the build to show for it got her heart racing. Conversely, she seemed to prefer slimmer todds, those closer to her own build. What that contradiction meant, she couldn't quite unravel.

"Still," she remarked, resting her chin atop her paws, "I need to be careful myself. An ambitious detective, one looking to make a name for herself? Taking down the notorious 'Tazzi crime family is a heck of a way to build a reputation... And you seem like somebeast who is very talented at getting others to share freely." Her eyes briefly graced down to Nycaria's lips, then back up.