“What do we have here?,” inquired ZPD officer Wolfort. The cube-shaped room had only one window that faced the street. Below it, an old steam radiator that held the end of the sheet-rope. To the left of the window, tucked in a corner, sat a nightstand. It had a lamp on top, some scattered envelopes and papers, and a void area in the shape of a flashlight. Next to the nightstand laid the cub’s bed, stripped down to the mattress. A green rug covered the wooden floor between the bed and the dark closet (despite the room’s light). A bathroom flanked the radiator. Inside were the normal things: towels, soap bar, toilet paper, etc. Posters plastered over the walls of the room exhibited crafting and tinkering with toy cars. One poster stood out: a picture of a saluting Judy Hopps opposite of the bed with the line Change starts with you over her head. Below it a desk the cub used for school work, due to the homework and project pieces sitting on it. “Seems we’re dealing with a runaway.”

Another wolf, gray with a scarce hint of purple, standing besides the inward-opened door, responded, “Evidentially. We still don’t know where he went or why he left.” He paused, ears and face alert. “Something’s wrong here.”

“Eric,” replied Wolfort, “ You’re just bein’ paranoid.” Eric wandered near the foot of the bed. Wolfort continued, ”There is nothing danger-.” As Eric laid on the floor, a gunshot interrupted Wolfort with a resounding BANG. He then noticed a body collapse on the floor. “ERIC!,” he cried out. Wolfort almost called for backup and a coroner when Eric arose and said, “It’s ok Wolfort. I’m not a ghost.”

“Eric, what happened?!”

“I checked under the bed. Just as I got down, I tripped a wire and spun. Haven’t done that in a while. There’s a box under the bed with a gun on top. Also, don’t go into the closet anytime soon.”

“Why?”

“Need I explain? Help me lift the bed.”

They both got to the foot of the bed and heaved. Wolfort shouldered the weight as Eric both disarmed the box and dragged it out. Wolfort slipped out from his position under the bed. Eric took pictures and opened the box. Inside contained a composition book, which turned out to be a diary. Something dropped dust on his head. Eric stood atop the bed and started pushing the ceiling tiles. The cub’s father rushed up the stairs. He dashed inside, clothed with anxiety. “What’s going on here?,” he demanded.

“I’m sorry for scaring you sir,” calmed Wolfort, “but we found this box with a gun on top. Did you know your son had this?”

“No. I didn’t even know-. What is he doing?”

“Found something,” Eric called. He held a brownish-green jacket with a strange symbol on the left shoulder: A black train car overlapped with an enlarged, intertwined gold S and G. Wolfort and the father bemusedly stared. The father began, “What is that. . .” He scoured his mind. Eric was about to speak, but Wolfort found it: “Patch?”

“Something to be worried about. Homer’s son is involved with the Smuggler’s Guild,” Eric reported.

“There is no way that Connor would be involved with those rats!,” exclaimed Homer.

“Really? Who else would it be? His friend?”

“Eric,” rebuked Wolfort, “This male has lost his son. I’m sorry, sir. Eric can be a little insensitive and confrontational at times. What he is trying to say is ‘Does your son have any friends that come over?’”

The exasperated Homer replied, ”Only one, which I banned from ever coming back.” Eric got down from the bed and asked, “Do you remember the friend’s name, perchance?”

“Stacey!”

Eric raised an eyebrow. She hurried upstairs. The jaguar wife asked, “Did they find Connor?”

“No, but do you remember his friend?”

“Oh, Maxwell? He and Connor got along so well.” She shifted uneasily. “What does Maxwell have to do with. . . Wait! You don’t think-.”

Eric interrupted, “We are still not sure what happened with your son, ma’am. But we have reason to believe Maxwell may have been involved with your son’s disappearance.” Eric lifted the jacket and displayed it to her. “Does this jacket look familiar?”

Her eyes beamed at it, searching through her memories, swiping like images on a phone. “It’s ok if you don’t ma’am,” consoled Eric. He put the jacket in a plastic dust-cover bag for evidence. “I know it must be stressful-.” Now it’s Eric’s turn to be interrupted. “That’s the jacket Maxwell gave to Connor before you banned him, Homer! Remember?” Eric studied the jacket. Homer pondered for some time and said, “Oh yeah! It was a gift Maxwell gave to Connor for ‘joining the club.’ I banned him after I overheard them planning to steal something.”

“Then it is as I feared,” Eric gravely said. “I have only two questions left. How long ago did you ban Maxwell from coming?” The frightened couple began to twenty question him, inquiring about Eric’s mental detective work. Even Wolfort asked, “What’re you thinking Eric?”

“Look,” stated Eric, “Don’t worry about me. Don’t worry about what I’m thinking. Focus. Focus on the day you banned Maxwell. When was that?” They both pondered, battling the urge to continue. The tension and silence broke when Homer said, “Two days before Connor ran away. Why? What does that have to do with him disappearing?”

“Sir, it’s gonna be ok. Just one more question and I can find your son. Do you know where Connor met Maxwell?” Stacey rummaged through her memory again. She replied, “Connor mentioned that he met Maxwell at school. They usually hang out down the street.”

“Thank you sir. Thank you ma’am,” Eric said. “I’ll go and find your son.” The officers gathered the evidence. Wolfort left first, thanking them for their time and patience. Stacey halted Eric, gripping his left paw with both of her’s, pleading, “Please bring him back. I don’t know what we’ll do if. . . “

“Have hope: I will find him.”

“You know, Wolfort,” Eric said as the patrol car parked, “It still bugs me that the sign for one of the most important and well-known buildings in Zootopia just says Police.” They both exited the car. Wolfort walked in tandem with him to the entrance. “I got used to it after some time,” he replied. “We don’t have the money to do anything about it, even taking it down.” Eric gave him a sour look. “That’s not what I meant, Wolfort.”

The bustle of the lobby made for a nearly claustrophobic feeling for everyone. Mammals, ranging from criminals to civilians, to even some news reporters and business folk, scurried around, hairsbreadth away from each other. The reporters buzzed around some security, asking about an interview with Judy Hopps. Mammals chatted about her heroics and solving the case. Business folks left bets on each other to see who’s letter she would read first. Criminals and some civilians mocked the cops, since the news obtained leaks that showed the police not assisting her on the case. Eric shook his head. “How would we ever manage to secure our lobby with this kind of crowd?,” he complained to himself. He wormed and wove his way through the crowd, getting some upset stares, but otherwise ignored. Eric went down the right hallway, past the meeting and briefing room, and into the cubicles. His was toward the back: a shaded part of the room, even in the broad daylight.

Eric activated his computer and was granted access. On his home screen, files grouped in a seemingly random order, with most following standard protocol. His background picture involved an overhead shot of the city. Some oddly colored lines fragmented the entire city. Strange symbols centered each fragment, with their circular borders to match the color of the fragment borderlines.

Before more could be noted about the symbols, Eric clicked the symbols, which, like a sponge, absorbed the files randomly, as if the symbol themselves were folders. He clicked on one symbol in the very center of the entire city: a ZPD badge, shrunk to fit with the overall picture. Using some special key combinations, he kept one file from reabsorption: “Link to Mammal database.”

Eric accessed the database and began searching for “Maxwell” and “Savannah Central.” The note below the search bar responded, “Thirty results were found.” He slightly grinned as he dug in and hunted through the files.

“Calling timber yet?,” joked a tiger officer that approached Eric. Unstartled, he kept searching. “If I did, then you would be seeing stars, Delgato. No, but I don’t think he’s on record,” Eric responded.

“Why do you say that? Did you even look at all of these results?”

“None match the description given. Cub’s careful. But he doesn’t know that I’m on the hunt.”

“Lumbar, two things. One: Stop saying ‘on the hunt.’ We’re not in the Stone Age anymore. Two: What do you mean ‘he doesn’t know you’re after him’? He likely knows that.”

Eric grinned at Delgato. Fear masked his face, taken aback by the expression. Eric retrieved his sorted but discarded gear and hustled out. Delgato chased after him, notifying Wolfort that they were moving out.

As Wolfort drove back to Homer’s house, Eric studied Connor’s diary. Delgato, riding backseat, asked through the bars, “Whatcha reading?” Eric replied, “Cub’s diary.”

Eric discovered some family troubles from the terrified cub’s perspective. Pity expressed itself on his face as he pictured the cub, peeking around the corner at night, watching his parents bitterly fight over finances and the friends he may or may not have (At least that is what he told the curious Wolfort).

They parked along the sidewalk of the side of the house, just as Eric recommended. What little wind present swayed the sheet-rope like reeds. Wolfort and Delgato went to the front door and knocked. Homer and Stacey both appeared at the door.

“Where’s our son?,” demanded Homer. “He isn’t-”

“Sir, ma’am, we are still looking for him. May we take a look at his room again?,” asked Wolfort. They both nodded. Stacey’s eyes teared up, and she buried her face in her paws. Homer came to her side. He hugged her and tried his best to comfort her as the officers arrived back at the room.

Both cops found Eric already in the room, reading over the half-finished homework and scattered project pieces. Before they could say anything, Eric noted, “5th grader. Tried his paw at tinkering, but failed several times.” Eric used a mini screwdriver to finish the creation of a small green sedan. He held it up, inspecting it. Eric continued, “I wonder if he learned the lesson of the light bulb.”

Delgato reprimanded Eric, stating, “We’re here to investigate a missing cub, not to play with toys.” Wolfort stopped the outraged Delgato before asking, “What have you found Eric?” He turned the swivel seat towards the officers. “You know me way to well.”

“Been with you long enough to know your shenanigans.”

“Diary noted that Connor saw Maxwell drive a car like this. Odd, because Connor also notes that he is around his age. They both enjoyed a few joyrides and chases by cops. We find the car” (Eric held up the toy sedan) ”we find them both.”

Delgato jumped in, saying, “That’s an entire city to search. How do you plan on finding him?”

“Simple. Drive down the road. It’s the only lead we got.”

Eric climbed back down the rope. Wolfort and Delgato went back to the car, thanking the married couple for their time.

“Hurry up!,” yelled the Overseer. “We have a deadline to meet. Boss’ll be lookin’ for this stuff.”

The squarish-rectangular room was filled with boxes of assorted things, ranging from scrap pieces to stolen goods. The sun was starting to touch the horizon, which forced the goons to illuminate the garage. Ten males, ranging in varying predator species, worked as bees, Connor and Maxwell amongst them. They loaded these boxes of goods onto a semi-truck’s compartment car.

Maxwell hastily tossed some car parts at Connor’s box. Most went in, a few missed, and one (the sedan’s engine) charged Connor’s muzzle. Connor snapped, “Watch where ya throwing that, Maxwell.”

Before Maxwell, a dark jaguar like Connor, could respond, the coyote Overseer stormed over and knocked the cub down. “Get to picking them up and fast. We don’t have time for these games.” Connor glared at the Overseer, but did as he was told. As he picked up the parts, and as the Overseer returned, Connor noticed a silhouette dash from shadow to shadow. He shook his head and got up; he stored the parts in his box. “Sorry pal,” apologized Maxwell. Connor didn’t respond, but gave an odd look at Maxwell. “What’s wrong?,” inquired he. Connor just shook his head, shrugged, and struggled to find the words.

“ZPD! PAWS UP!”

The police semi-circled the group of smugglers from the entrance. Connor froze in place. He could barely keep up with his scattered group, which pulled their guns. A standstill ensued between the two sides, centering Connor. He attempted to reach his gun.

“Looking for this, son?,” asked Eric, who drew Connor’s gun, in an evidence bag, from a hidden purple satchel. Connor’s awkwardness became more apparent than the stalemate. “Connor, is that your gun?,” asked his bewildered friend.

“Maxwell, I presume,” said Eric. Maxwell silenced himself. “Thanks for keeping Connor close. After all, birds of a feather flock together.” Everyone, even the officers, turned their faces to him, puzzled by what just came out of his muzzle. Eric turned his attention back to Connor. He put up the bag and holstered his gun. “Connor, your parents miss you. They need you back.”

The indignant Connor snapped, “My parents don’t want me! I’m just a burden to them!”

“Connor, whatever burden you may have been on them is greatly overshadowed by your absence. Your mother was on the verge of mourning because you were gone. She is worried about you,” nearly pleaded Eric.

“Liar!”

“Ok then. When was the last time THIS ‘family’ of yours treat you well?,” questioned Eric. Connor glanced back. “Perhaps before you got your own jacket from Maxwell?”

The devil spoken about examined Connor again. “Where is your jacket, Connor? We’re supposed to wear them today,” stated he. Connor paled and slightly quaked. Tears overflew from his eyes. The outraged Maxwell berated, “You left it with your gun? You idiot! You led the cops here!”

“Now, now Maxwell,” responded Eric like a mother to a child, “Is that how we treat family?”

“He’s one of us, so we’ll handle him like one of us.”

“Let me guess,” hypothesized Eric, turning to the Overseer, “IF you get away, you’ll force Connor to take dangerous jobs, like smuggling things in front of the police or other gangs, to other mammals, through his rear entrance. Or you’ll probably stone him with all of your contraband. Or, more likely, you’ll pit Connor and Maxwell against each other, with only one to come back. Which shall it be?”

The gobsmacked Overseer turned his attention to the officer. Connor peered at the Overseer. “Is that true?”

The Overseer’s gaze became hotter at the officer, at least from the look of it. Maxwell took offense at the silence. He asserted, “They would never do that.” Eric retorted, “Wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve seen it before. The Smuggler’s Guild despises traitors more than anything else.

“Connor. I am willing to put aside all of what you’ve done. I am willing to have all the charges against you dropped. Come with me, and we’ll go home.”

Maxwell countered, “Connor. Stay with us. We’re your family and we’ll forgive you.”

“Remember what I said: ‘They despise traitors more than anything else’.”

“Come on, pal. Don’t listen to the copper. He’s lying.”

“Your Overseer begs to differ, Maxwell. You can’t save him. I can.”

“Connor, stay with us!”

“Connor, come with me. Come home with your real family!”

“SHUT UP!”

Poor cub, imprisoned by the incessant arguments from both sides within his ears and mind. He left the room dead silent. Seconds felt like hours as the impasse continued. The tide began to turn as Connor puppy-eyed the Overseer. “Will you forgive me?,” his voice quivered.

The Overseer just stared at the cub. A dilemma arose within. On one paw, he wanted to forgive him for the sake of the group. On the other, the Overseer had to make an example out of someone. He pondered the choices, but Connor took his silence as a clear answer. He turned away, joining the officer.

Maxwell vented his pent up outrage with a yell. Eric drew his gun, shooting Maxwell’s gun and four gangsters. This began the firefight. Eric tackled Connor into cover, spilling out the evidence bag. The muzzles of the guns flashed, briefly brightening the room. Bullets raced out of them, piercing opposing wielders. Lead filled rain darted back and forth, dampening each side. At first, the gangsters sent the cops on the retreat. However, more flashes and lead erupted from them. Unable to stand against the other side, the gangsters retreated into the semi.

Maxwell was the last to get on. He called out Connor, verbally assaulting him and his family. Enraged, Connor took his gun from the bag next to him. He ran to the open garage door. Connor’s ears muted the shouts of both mammals and guns. One energized thought channeled into his paw; The fire within laser-focused on his once friend. The resounding BANG echoed his scream as the bullet drilled through the air. Maxwell’s cackling ended with a shocked face. The last of his enemy broke apart on the street as the truck escaped into the city.

Connor dropped his gun. His breaths grew weightier. The emotions overwhelmed his efforts to hold back tears. He fell to his knees and held back no longer. Eric put his paw on the cub’s shoulder. “It’s ok, Connor,” he said. “You did the right thing.” Connor shot up his face, rivers and all, at him. He could faintly hear the cops calling in for medics and backup.

The scene consisted of several scattered officers, medics, equipment, boxes of assorted goods, and gangsters. The ones who could move had to go through a maze to get from one side to the next. The walls and debris looked like Swiss cheese, not to mention the bodies. The floor had pools and spots of blood, either oozing from wounds or a couple sources, plus the shattered pieces of once whole things.

Delgato, Wolfort, Eric, and another officer were conversing near the doorway they had entered. Of all the attention he brought to himself, Eric possessed not one bullet hole, scrape, or bruise. “The leader and a few goons got away. Cowards, but some backup is keeping tabs on them,” reported Delgato. Wolfort, suffering several scrapes from debris and bullets, looked at Eric. “Nice shooting,” he complemented. “Where’d you learn to do that?” Eric smiled and replied, “Basic training, plus a great reaction time. Mix it with some skill and, well, you got your recipe.”

“What about the cub, Eric?” asked the other officer. The group turned to Connor, who sat next to Eric, staring at the mess. Not one motion he made since he sat down. Eric fixed his gaze on the cub, telling the others, “I’ll take him home. Be back asap.” He turned his talk to Connor. “Let’s get you home.” He held out his paw. Connor slowly gazed up at the officer. He took the paw and arose.

Connor sat shotgun and stared out the window. His silence and distant look told Eric all he needed to know. “I’m sorry that you saw what you did. No one your age should’ve seen that. I’m glad that you’re ok. I wish for a better future for you.” Connor was still quiet, but he turned his head towards the officer.

“How did you find me?,” he finally questioned. Eric pulled out the cub’s diary as a traffic light turned red. “Left a few clues in this book of yours. Also, Maxwell left the biggest clue, which you were fixing up.” Eric gave the diary back. He fished the breast pocket of the uniform and pulled out the finished green car. “For you.” Connor snatched them. He glanced at the diary, but was distracted by the finished car. He played with it for a bit. “How did you. . .” the cub began. “I tinkered at your age,“ responded Eric.

Connor, baffled for a bit, inquired, “Can you teach me?” The light turned green. “Teach you what? You know all you need to. Just persist in your efforts, and you’ll figure it out. Besides, you did all of the real work. I just finished it up.” Eric fished for something in his dark purple satchel. He reeled in the small screwdriver. “Have this. You’ll need it more than me. Also, there’s napkins in the glovebox.” Connor took the screwdriver and a napkin from the glovebox. He also tried to sneak a fat can of nuts. “No, no, no Connor,” stated Eric in a motherly tone. Connor looked up and asked, “May I have some nuts, please?” Eric replied, “Since you asked, yes. A pawful though. Will you please give me a pawful?”

Connor passed Eric a pawful of peanuts, which he ate in one bite. Eric turned on the radio as Connor put some nuts in his napkin. Bad Pups began to play. One by one, they slowly began to sing along. They took turns with the lyrics and the chorus, laughing at each other’s poor imitation of the singer. Connor looked up at Eric, a twinkle in his eye, and said, “Thank you officer. I owe ya one.” Eric glanced at the cub and replied, “Friends call me Lumbar. And you’re welcome.”

The sun was almost gone; just a slight orange glow over the horizon marked it’s fading presence. Eric pulled in the driveway of the Stole’s house. He told Connor, “Go ahead; I’ll catch up with you. Don’t forget about the falling trap in your closet.” Connor gleefully unbuckled, tucked his taken apart car within the napkin (which he had put in his pocket), and got out. His parents were on the porch, beckoning him. He charged at his parents, who accepted his rough hugs. Eric got out, putting a phone-like device in his satchel, and stood between the street and the porch. Stacey’s eyes welled. She noticed the officer and stated, “Thank you for bringing him back.” Eric gave an affirmative nod. He got back into the car and went back to the scene, the family waving as he departed.

Upon arrival, the officers were relieved. They managed to move some boxes and debris to form a short path through the maze. Eric got out and reunited with the others. “Cub’s home?,” asked Delgato. Eric nodded. “Now that you’re done babysitting, help us get these guys to jail.” Eric took a gangster, cuffing and storing him in the backseat. The gangster smugly stated, “You won’t make me talk.” Eric glanced at the gangster and off-pawedly responded, “Why would I need to waste my time with a locked-wrist?” The stupefied gangster made no further noises, other than an occasional groan in pain as the car made some sharp turns.

When Eric arrived, the media were all over the cops. They clamored about the shooting, some wanting all the gory details. Of course, they had to be asking the only officers who had to handle other responsibilities. Eric lowered his cap and got the criminal out of the car. He went behind the officers who were questioned stubbornly by the media. Some took pictures of the place. Only a few ever had Eric in it: In the background with a covered face and name tag.

Eric got in the somewhat dead lobby. A few officers and civilians roamed the place, likely due to the media frenzy outside. He tossed the criminal into a cell on the second floor, leaving him cuffed, and locked the cell door. The officer got a burning glare from the gangster. He met it with a cold stare. Only a few seconds passed before the criminal shivered and fell down. He then got to Chief Bogo’s office to turn his report in, and left the ZPD, off the clock.

Later that night, as stories and headlines circulated throughout the city, a rugged-looking, chocolate-colored coyote snuck into a building. He entered a dark room, with only one spotlight shining in the middle. Two chairs stood in the middle of the spotlight’s eye. He anxiously took his seat.

A cowled silhouette appeared. He stood in front of the seated coyote. He leered at him with his blue and green eyes, the only things distinct from the black. A sudden baritone voice vibrated throughout the room: “I’m disappointed in you, old friend. More than you are at your failure of a transport team. Should I take this as a start of slacking?”

The brown coyote quickly cried out, “Sir! W-w-we were r-r-r-running on schedule, bu-but-.” The black wolf’s glare silenced the paling coyote. The silhouette shook its head. “Excuses, excuses, excuses,” the figure scolded. “I provided you that car station for the sole purpose of that team’s use. They had important parts I ordered from you, but you FAILED in your delivery.”

The indignant coyote responded, “Sir! It wasn’t our fault! A wolf officer came in and crashed the party. They were about to load things in on time when the police came in. He also got backup on our tail faster than any other cop he knew.”

The black wolf, cape turned against the coyote, stood on the edge of the light. “Tell me more about this officer, Michael.” Stunned for a bit, he went on to say, “Uh-of course, sir. I’ve never seen him before. Daniel, the Overseer, said that he came looking for a worker, Connor Stole. He told about how the officer convinced the cub to go with him, even got him to shoot at his own friend. The officer himself shot the gun out of his paw and nearly killed four other workers before anyone thought to shoot. Never even heard of anyone who could draw like that since the West!”

“Name.”

“Daniel doesn’t remember. None of his boys remember his name, but definitely the persuasiveness and shot of that guy.”

The black wolf subtly smiled. After some time, he turned to Michael. “Do you know where he lives? The route he takes to the ZPD?,” he inquired. Michael simply said, “No, sir.” The black wolf chuckled, startling him. “I think I know what we should do about this, old friend. Contact the other leaders and give them this message:

I’ve got an ace in the hole.