She paused a moment. Barker supposed it was hard for this woman to process information. If she couldn't scratch it out on her notepad it probably was lost in the messy swamps of her addled mind. She finally came to a conclusion, however, "Seems like it would be fair," she pranced off towards the kitchen.
Barker thought about hiding the burger in the trashcan before Mane showed up. He could pretend he had devoured the remaining portion, but he decided he didn't care that much to keep up this facade. Instead, he straightened his tie and sat back staring out the window.
The scenery in this part of the city was drab. Gray steel, gray roads, gray sidewalks, gray suits, and it just so happened this on this afternoon there were also gray skies.
"You had something to tell me?" Barker turned from his drab thoughts.
Mane stood a good foot taller than Barker was ever comfortable with. His surname fits him to a T as his mane circled his entire face. Today, it was in disarray. His meaty hands were pressed against the table and his claws were longer than Barker's canines.
"Well," Barker started, but a lump caught in his throat. So, instead of talking he had himself a coughing fit and then tried to wash it away with the brown cup of coffee before him. It was wretched and cold, so he had to put all concentration into not spitting it into the massive Mane's face.
The concentration turned out to be a good thing, as he ceased his coughing fit.
"Well?" Mane didn't seem like the kind of man you kept waiting for long periods of time.
Barker straightened his tie. He may have lost his dignity for a moment, but he wouldn't be seen doing so without a presentable appearance.
"Would you care to have a seat a moment," Barker flipped his paw out with as much grace as he could muster.
"I am working," Mane said, clearly with no intention of keeping Barker company.
"Yes, I know. However, I have some questions for you," Barker drew the small Polaroid picture from his coat pocket. The same picture that had brought Dotton into a vile state of mind, did nothing to Mane. Not even a flicker of emotion.
"Can't say I am too worried about this," Mane turned to walk away, clearly tired of the situation at hand.
"I know you were his Major for some time," Mane stopped, Barker wondered how much his military days still chafed him.
"So, what?" Mane's head drew a little higher, but he didn't bother to meet Barker's eyes.
"Just a few quick questions," Barker hoped the questions didn't turn into broken bones as well.
Mane turned and took two long strides for the table. Barker was ready to flinch, but Mane just sat down hard across from him.
"You have ten minutes," Mane's face was anything but sociable.
"Fair enough," Barker slid the picture to the middle of the table. No effect was the sign Barker was looking for. If he cared nothing for the man and the scene didn't bother him, then it was likely he could be the killer. Just as likely as anyone.
"You ever saw a thing such as this?" Barker asked. Mane looked to be a man who went to gruesome scenes for a stroll to clear his mind.
"I was a Major in the armed forces," that was explanation enough for Mane.
"Indeed, you were. Actually, as it falls you were the Major to one Captain Lucky," Barker pulled the picture away. There was no need to continue staring down the face of death. "What do you recall of the man?"
Mane scoffed, "Imbecile is what he was, looked at his feet more than the battle. How he got to be captain I couldn't tell you," he said.
These words rang true in Barker's ears. This was the Lucky he knew. Not a valiant helper of the weak. Lucky was weak. He was powerless. He had been the whipping boy of Psitticus, and yet the people loved him. People tend to forget your flaws when you died early enough.
"What else can you tell me about him?"
Mane's claws retracted and his paws curled. Barker decided he never wanted to be on the other end of a swing from Mane. If Mane was to be arrested, then the patrol would be doing the honors.
"His rise to Captain wasn't by an act of valor. Matter of fact, I never covered him after he attained the rank. Because I was kicked out on my hindquarters. Transferred to another squad, because Lucky had reported me for gambling with the cadets," Mane curled his fist even tighter.
"Was this true?" Barker was nervous, but he felt pressing was his best chance at this.
"Of course, it was bloody true!" Mane was ready to come up from his seat with the rage building inside him. "And something else, that little goody good was there the day I lost my Major stripes. He wasn't a Captain anymore, no, he was one of you," Mane uncurled a single fist and pointed a sharp claw at the chest of Barker.
Barker looked around. He and ten other customers. They would never pull Mane from his corpse before he was devoured whole.
"Lucky walked up in his fancy pressed suit. It was the first time I had ever seen his beady little eyes. He turned to his feet quickly enough as I got really angry, but he was there as they stripped me and took me into the squad car," Mane's hand dropped, but his anger did not subside.
"Lucky was the arresting detective?" Barker could not remember the case, it must have been too boring of a case.
"The entire gambling circle was rocked that day, but only I was able to be taken in," Mane had grabbed the edge of the table.
The entire gambling circle was rocked? Barker would have to look into those case files. He knew gambling circles, and he wondered what simple little Lucky had found.
"I went away for three years."
Mane had given Barker all the ammo he needed. Mane would be going away for far longer after Barker was finished today.
"Well, that is all I need," Barker stood from the table. It wasn't soon enough as the metal rim struck him in the chest. Mane had ripped the table from its tie-downs and threw it forward. Barker stumbled and fell, thinking the entire time not of hurting himself, but instead about that small stain of ketchup he would never get from his white dress shirt.
Mane was over him in a mere second. The patrons were screaming all around him. Ten distinct high pitched screams. Not a one willing to save him from sure death.
Mane leaned down, grabbing Barker around the throat. He expected his life to flash before his eyes, but nothing cliché happened at all.
Instead, Barker waited a moment longer to really let the witness's feel the rage. Barker was lifted to his feet, but he refused to squirm, that was undignified.
Mane lifted him higher into the air. It was a good vantage point. Barker could see the crowd forming behind Mane. They would watch his murder. They would maybe be murdered themselves. If not, most of them would get the details wrong. Eyewitness testimony was a horrible thing to have to depend on.
Mane growled and started to squeeze harder. Barker wouldn't be able to take much more, so he acted fast.
His paw darted into his front pocket and he pulled the small device from his breast. With ten thousand volts under the arm, Mane's grip weakened.
Barker was impressed, terrified, but still impressed as Mane did not fall. Barker hit him again, another ten thousand volts. Mane stumbled and Barker was free. Barker hit him a third time and added a dress shoe to the chest. Mane stumbled backward, tripped over the table and slammed his head off the bench.
Barker placed the taser back into his pocket. He straightened his tie and jacket. Then, turned to the waitress.
"If you could kindly call the detective office and tell that mindless parrot I caught the man who killed Detective Lucky then that would be great,"
Barker stepped over the table and checked Mane's pulse. He was still alive, but there was no telling for how long he would be knocked out. Barker pulled cuffs from another pocket, they would never fit around his wrist.
Barker settled for using the waitress' apron string. It wasn't his first choice, but if Mane woke up Barker needed at least a moment to pull the volts from his pocket.
Unlike Lucky, luck was on Barker's side. Psitticus and the patrol squad arrived aft
er only about ten minutes. They loaded Mane into the car and drove him straight to jail, not passing go as they went.
Barker left the cafe as well. They could clean up the mess themselves, it had not been entirely his fault anyhow.
He had one last thing to do with Mane. Then, he could go home and relax, and shower that smell of Dotton from his clothes.
4.
The Precinct wasn't much grander than Barker's small office quarters. Matter of fact, it was colder and more unwelcoming with its concrete floors and windowless rooms. Barker shivered thinking about being stuck behind those bars.
Confined spaces never settled well inside his mind. He needed space and no clutter to work. He needed pastures to roam.
That is why he tried his best to always avoid these rooms. Lucky had been the interrogator. He had been horrible at it, but he did it without complaints. Usually, by the time Lucky was even needed, Barker had already solved the case, so Lucky could just do the paperwork and go home.
Today, Lucky wouldn't be here to do the cleanup work. Today, Barker would have to dirty his paws on the cold concrete floors.
"Good afternoon, Detective Barker," said the young street patrol, Barker couldn't remember his name. Which was odd because Barker was great with names. "Mane is ready in the third room," the patrol was eager. Barker could see it in his eyes, he would make detective one day, but he wouldn't be a good one.
Barker walked towards the third door. He wanted to steel his nerves a bit. Mane was a massive fellow. He was big enough to slay Barker without breaking a sweat. Barker reminded himself that Mane would be chained to the table and the table bolted to the floor.
The knob was cold. Barker was told as a rookie that the cold made people uneasy. The cold would make people talk faster. Barker figured it out later that the department was just too poor to run the heater down here.
The door squeaked as he pressed it open. Mane was sitting in shackles behind the small table. The rest of the room was bare. This was no fancy room. There was no two-way glass, the district couldn't afford those wonders.
That meant it was just Mane and Barker alone inside the concrete prison.
Mane lifted his head and showed his sharp teeth. In the cafe, Barker would have trembled at the sight, here it was as pathetic a scene as a broken man could get.
"Put them away," Barker stepped in and slammed his writing material on the table. "You are already beaten," Barker pressed the wrinkles from his jacket and sat down. "This whole scene won't take but a minute or two," Barker flipped open the book.
Nothing was written there, nothing of import anyhow. Scribbles and list of nothing. It was for show. A scare tactic.
"I won't be talking," Mane said.
Barker looked up, "Oh, but you already have," he closed the book, pretending to have read what was of worth.
The table wasn't all barren as it seemed at first glance. On the corner was a small recording machine. The machine would be all Barker needed to catch the killer of Lucky. He hit the record button.
"Did you kill Detective Lucky?" Barker traced the record button and clicked it off. Mane didn't seem to notice.
Mane lifted his head, "You think I killed the little rat?"
"He wasn't actually a rat," Barker smiled, sarcasm was his friend as long as Mane stayed in those chains. He didn't want to imagine what would become of him if those chains broke.
"I don't give a hoot what he was, I didn't kill the man," Mane was adamant, convincing even. It was a good thing Barker didn't really care.
"I see," Barker hovered his finger over the record button again. "But you do admit to hitting me in the cafe?"
Barker was already sure of the answer. Admit the lesser and deny the greater. It was to show the truth could be told. Barker hit the record button,
"Yes, I did do that..." Barker hovered over the button. He had his back to back answers. Machines were really easy. A full confession in a matter of minutes.
"Why?" Mane looked at Barker for a moment. Barker hoped the question would prompt the right answer.
"Because I was angry," Barker flipped the record button off. That was a wrap. Admissible in court and with his own testimony Mane was as good as sentenced. Sometimes it was a good thing to die young and loved, it meant the people really wanted to avenge you.
Unlucky for Mane, however, "Well, thank you, Mane," Barker grabbed his notebook from the table.
"Wait, where are you going?" Funny how the ones who don't want to talk always have something more to say.
"Oh, I have what I need, Major," Barker grabbed that cold handle and opened the door. "Have a pleasant time," Barker wanted to add the jibe. It was classless, but Mane had tried to kill him. He straightened his tie, even with a low blow one must look their best.
Clean Up:
In the end, Mane was sentenced to life without parole. Barker was the key witness and did as he may say an impeccable job on the witness stand.
Mane roared and pleaded his defense, but you can't beat those who die young. After all, was said and done, Lucky was avenged, well, sort of.
The Adventures of Vulpecula
Episode Two
Hair
"Tell me, Vulpecula, do you have any wild ideas or hunches about, well, whoever could possibly be responsible for this?" Officer Pends, literally a sheep of the law, asked with curiosity in his voice that he couldn't disguise.
There was the distinctive smell of chocolate beneath the officer's breath, which only fueled the stereotypes regarding police-officers and their unhealthy infatuation with donuts. Thankfully, stereotypes weren't always negative, and a love for donuts was practical for anybody with a working brain. Speaking of donuts, Vulpecula recalled passing a stand earlier that looked to have been selling pastries. Alas, 'twas not the time for forbidden delicacies, but the time for work, which was something that Vulpecula enjoyed even more than sweets.
"What were you saying?" Vulpecula eventually inquired while pulling at some of the white fur on his chin. For better or worse, there were always a lot of fox-things bumbling about in his mind, and surprisingly, this included more than simply an unwavering desire to eat floor-roaming critters or birds.
That would be an example of a stereotype with negative connotations.
Vulpecula didn't have any problem whatsoever when it came to birds, in-fact, his dear friend Apus just so happened to be an owl that often helped him out on his cases.
"I was just asking whether or not you think you'll be able to figure out who stole it?"
Vulpecula commenced biting the nail of his thumb for a moment; he did not look forward to having to ask Officer Pends to repeat his question a third time. It wasn't Vulpecula's fault; he was a victim of his own imagination, for better or worse, things of such little importance generally failed at keeping his interest for very long. "I'm sorry, I swear that this time I'll listen, run that by me one more time," he said with an innocence that thankfully kept the officer from ignoring him out of shear (Get it?) spite. (Forget it.)
"Do you have anything?"
Vulpecula looked at him earnestly for a second, and then frowned. "No, that's not what you said," he retorted before beginning to walk forward toward where the sword once resided. There was a glass-case that once contained the Sword of Tertius. The sword got its name from Charles Tertius, a famous figure in Maharris history.
"Did you ever get a hold of Apus or Lacerta?" Vulpecula only waited for a moment or two for an answer prior to letting his eyes scan the area of the crime-scene.
The Malane Palace is amongst the artsiest places in all Maharris, and the go-to place for the country's history. If you are a tourist visiting Italina, you are usually there because you want to experience one or a mixture of three things.
There's the illustrious and beautiful Sanchi Tower that looks down at the rest of the city, which is arguably one of the most coveted landmarks in all Maharris. Then, there's the delicious rice, spaghetti, and aquatic foods, but other-wise, tourists came to Italina becau
se they wanted to see the Malane Palace. Vulpecula, however, as he has grown accustom to being, was the exception to that rule, because he was a tourist exploring the city, but wasn't there to experience any of those things. Although, that's not exactly true because he was there on official business.
He was a consultant for some of the most bizarre criminal investigations across the globe, and in so, Vulpecula supposed that he was wrong, and was in-fact another example to that theory. He looked over to see the police-officer, who looked a tad haggard and, ahem, sheepish. If only he knew of the self-discovery Vulpecula experienced merely seconds ago. All Vulpecula knew for sure was that Officer Pends never answered his question, and so, Vulpecula decided to put his mind at ease, "No worries, I am sure that they'll find a way of getting a hold of me."
Vulpecula could see that his words didn't do very much to settle the police-officer's nerves, and he had no interest in making further attempts. He could only imagine the extreme amount of stress that must have come with the job. Then again, Vulpecula didn't find his job to be particularly easy either and so; the officer shouldn't have been pawning his negative energy off on him. "Please leave while I am working," Vulpecula blurted out at once.
"What?" The officer asked, as if he expected his constant annoyances to go unnoticed.
"You are being a distraction."
The officer's face sagged into an even greater frown, which reminded V of what it looked like when a grape was left under the sun for too long. However, to his credit, Officer Pends left without argument.
"Hey, wait," Vulpecula called out urgently. "I am assuming that the rules of no flash photography don't apply during the routine in my investigation?"
Ah, there wasn't even as much as a smile, what a party-pooper. Vulpecula couldn't say he wasn't at least a bit disappointed they couldn't end up as friends.
The Canes Files Page 6