CH. 1

“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.”