"That is easy. You weigh Turkey and Cheese and Pastrami and Macaroni."

"This food is problematic."

Alas. The feather of my hat denies! But they always come back in the end.

"Sometimes there is a rainstorm. And in the rainstorm is a castle. A castle made of pancakes. That is where they are watching."

Do you want to fly on the magical carpet and beg the potato king for forgiveness? It will cost you three billy goats gruff.

"I've brought my best foot floured."

Down the road I go. I am following my fishie. La la la.

"Aloha, lady in the dress."

Moons, know my plight. Release the game tonight, can-TRY ANYTHING YOU WANT RUN AS FAR AND AS HARD AS YOU CAN YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM USSSSSS WE ARE EVERYWHERE WE SEE EVERYWHERE EVERYWHERE YOU ARE THERE IS USSSSSSSSSS AND WE ARE COMING FOR YOU-spoopie go?

"No. No! Nooooooo! Oh, I should eat a pony-"

Sly, wake da crap up!

I lurch forward in my chair, gasping. "What? What is it? What's wrong?"

You wuz, uh, Max blinks at me, Ya fell asleep in yer chair after lunch, ya said da rain made ya drowzy, an next fing I know, yer moaning an thrashin like, uh, some moany thrashy ting! You ok?

"Yeah, fine, fine," I mutter, scratching behind one ear. Can just barely remember some of the stuff from the dream, but it's fading fast.

Max is looking at me like I've got three heads. Didja, like... get some premoanitition bout a crime er sumfin?

"I'm not a superhero."

Waaaall, didja at least solve a mystry in yer sleep?

"Yeah," I grumble, settling back in my chair and listening to the rain on the office window and tipping my hat forward over my eyes. "I solved the mystery of why Slylock Shouldn't Eat Pastrami Sandwiches Right Before A Nap."

As days go, today's was already down at the sewage treatment plant before the call even comes in.

Things started off with a predetation case. Usually those involve a lot of stalking and counter stalking and maybe kidnapping, but not this one. Seems the would-be killer simply told the victim that he was, in fact, a log, and the stupid monkey bought it even while the killer was putting on a bib, getting out the silverware, and turning on the oven.

That one was dumb, but at least it didn't take long to deal with. But then this Great Dane had to go smashing a through the window of a beauty parlor after a girl inside who was, quote, 'giving him the look.' He's damn lucky she didn't want to press rape charges. None of that's really out of the ordinary: sometimes when a guy's big, he gets the idea that he can just do whatever the hell he feels like without any consequences. What set my teeth on edge was that the whole time I was trying to get statements, the dog's buddy, or according to him, business partner, kept butting in to talk about the paranormal investigation outfit they were gonna set up.

I'm not even gonna talk about the woman who claimed an attacked superglued a garbage bag to the side of her face. A full garbage bag.

So it didn't exactly boost my spirits when my last call of the day turns out to be him again.

"Let me get this straight. The owner of this appartment let you borrow his candlestick."

Like, yeah man.

"He let you borrow his floor lamp."

Uh, yeah.

"He let you borrow a pearl necklace."

Totally.

"He let you borrow his antique cuckoo clock."

Like.... yeah.

"And you are not in fact about to go fence any of this stuff to feed the steroid habit that turned your hair pink last time."

Uh, no way, man.

"At this point, I shouldn't even have to say that you're under arrest."

Hey, no fair, you can't, like, take me in on no evidence!

I think I snapped a little. Next thing I know he's backed against the wall, and my snout inches from his face and all my teeth are bared. "You want EVIDENCE? Fine! How's THIS for exhibit A: I, Detective Slylock Fox, Am Not In Fact An Idiot!"

His mouth is mmoving but nothing is coming out.

I'm holding onto his collar so hard it's starting to rip. "So guess what," I growl, "You've got the right to remain silent. Say it!"

Say what?!

"Say you've got the right to remain silent! Now!" There's an audible thud as the back of his head bumps the wallpaper.

Oh holy shit- I, I have the right to remain silent, please man, let me go, I'll come quiet please I swear!

I let him go, suddenly very tired. Max cuffs him and I vaguely hear him say something about how he thought it was an ok cover story. Either he thinks he's playing good cop, or he's been reading those specist Rodent Power pamphlets he thinks I don't know abotu again. I don't much care, at this point. Just want this surreal, idiotic day to be over, have a drink or seven, and go to bed.

But a shower first. Can't beleive i touched him. Yuck.

Goes to show what can happen when you let your temper get away from you.

As Socrates'd say, like this one.

Dis is a flat owt disrace, I tell ya whut! Huh. Never would have guess Max had a thing for classic cars.

"Well, when you've got a little insight into who disgraced it, lemme know."

Hey, dat's yer job, Sly.

"And I was under the impression that it was your job to assist with that whole deal? Pretty sure that's what an assistant does."

Feh! He shoots a glance at the two suspects, which I'm pretty sure is the first time he's even looked at them. Waaaaaaahhhhhllll- dere's a feathah here, so I guess dat means it wuz da boid.

"That thing's a feather?"

I tink.

"Looks more like a banana peel."

Well you know whut dey say. Feathahs don't never look like feathahs.

"Max?"

Yeah?

"Nobody has ever said that, ever."

He stomps off to sulk. Fine den, you solve da case!

I always do. "It's only gonna take a couple minutes, too!" And exactly one minute and fifty-nine seconds later I've found the slime all over the steering wheel. Which means that unless a lot more eagles than I thought work in the vaseline business, "that whoever drove this thing last was all kinda of slimy."

I admit it! wails the toad But I can't help it! I love motor cars! I just wanted to take it for a little drive! But i couldn't steer right and... he dissolves in tears. Amphibians.

"Well, I wish they were all that easy," I remark as they lead him off in special slip-proof cuffs, "Hope you weren't bothered, birdo."

The execution of justice is never a bother to any honest citizen.

"Oh," I take my hand off him a bit too fast. "Well, I'll let you know when I see one, then."

Yes, quite, well, this time I'm not lying, you know!

"I guess that's the best I'm gonna get. Well, don't worry. I smell bubble gum, and I know you'd rather stick your foot in a blender than indulge in such a prole treat."

I say, what is this chewing gum, wot?

"Exactly. And I do know somebody who would be gnawing on a big old hunk of rubber while they were cracking a safe. Lucky for us, she's not the smartest, so she probably just stuck the blob of gum under a table, where it's just a matter of finding it and running a few DNA tests to prove it was her. So stay right there, touching the gum without gloves or even breathing on it heavily makes the evidence worthless-"

Yechk! I gawt it all ovah mah foot!

Oh bolloks.

"Never mind."

I can't. Because I just picked up another smell.

He's here.

Ahhh, you wish your fortune told, yes?

I... I don't... I'm not sure... I got a message, I mean... yes, I suppose so.

Ok, this next bit is going to be tricky. I'll have a few seconds before he catches on, IF I time this right. If I don't... best case scenario is I'm out of a job, worst case scenario my extended family finally finds out that I really did mean it when I said I wasn't ever gonna see them again.

It is a thing one must be sure of. Come, cross my palm with silver!

There's a long pause, but he sits down. The entire situation must just be itching, but he hasn't got a clue whether to try to scratch, or run. It's always these Chessmaster types that don't know what to do when the shoe is on the other foot.

Careful. Don't get foxy, detective.

That was a joke.

I want to know about this.

Hmm... This? Tell me more about... this...

...It's a pizza box. The top of a pizza box. It... says that you've got answers for me?

Myes... Madame Carmalita has all the answers, but I must know more... who gave you this message?

That's right. Play him, get him busy looking at you. I know you can.

There is a- person. He's been trying to get around me for quite a while. And I was winning, too, until he just vanished. I haven't been able to find a trace of him anywhere for weeks. And then just the other day, someone left this pizza box outside my front door.

Hmmm, yes. Let Carmelita see... 'Let's Settle This,' and then it has my address! How melodramatic!

Everyone's a critic.

You don't seem surprised.

She grins. I am a fortune teller.

Or you're in on this. Why else would he tell me to come to you?

She just grins again. I'm hoping he can't see the 'Hurry Up And Do Something I Can't Stall Him Forever' she pasted all over the grin for my benefit.

I don't understand. If you're in on... on the message, why don't you tell me what it is. If you're not, why aren't you-

Now.

"Cause she's just the distraction. I've got the message, and you'll find it on your wrists. It's called handcuffs."

You- No!

"Looks like I win."

Finally, I can take this ridiculous gettup off! Cassie gasps.

"Thought it suited you."

You'll never get away with this! He fumes, I've cut you off from the force, DETECTIVE! You're a fugitive! You don't have anywhere to go!

"Good. Cause nobody's goin anywhere." And I shove him in the trunk. "I'll have you know I was hiding in that thing for three hours waiting for you to get the nerve to show up! So enjoy."

Cassie is wiping off some of the extra makeup. So now what?

"Now you can tell my fortune."

She shoots me a look like she'd rather I got back in the trunk with the skunk. I foresee you owe me a drink.

"Really? You don't foresee a little guy with a silly hat barging in and ruining the mood?"

Ohmigawd SLY!

"S'okay, nobody can win 'em all."

What are ya, how didja, Why didja-

"Max calm down!"

Calm down?! Ya go missin fer weeks wit no explanation! You drive off wit her! Cassie glares at him. An you send me some kinda cryptic message written on da bottom of a pizza box!

"Well, it was what I had."

An ya tells me ta CALM DOWN?!

"I'm glad to see you too, then. I got you a present, though. It's in the chest."

Watchu talkin bout - gah!

"What's the matter? Don't like kidnappers?"

Get me out of here right now you barbarians or so help me I'll spray everyone!

I close the trunk. "You do that."

But, but... this don't make no sense! You... ran off to get dis guy? Why couldn't you just, like, arrest him? And what was this even all about?

I hate to admit it, Foxy, but the lollipop guild has a point. Why was he even after you?

I smirk. This is the fun part. "He wasn't."

They both just look at me. Apparently that's not going to be enough of an explanation.

"He wasn't after me, he just wanted to make it look like he was so he'd have me out of the way. He worked this whole duel of intellects to get me out of the office and take my eyes off every other case. It was all a big red herring."

So... what did he want?

"Show him what you picked up yesterday, Cass."

And she pulls out this deep green rock from a paper bag, size of my fist. The candlelight splinters and coats the whole inside of the room with shimmering emerald light.

It was in a safe house, she explains, one of the best. In a box marked 'to be taken to client.'

"It wouldn't be the first time he'd tried. Most recently he tried hiring some middlemen with good reputations for getting out from under the law. But they also had reputations for double-crossing, and then I had to show up in the middle of everything, so that was no good. But it wasn't the first time I'd thrown a wrench in his plans to get this."

Whatta ya mean?

"Remember that dead baker?"

....whoa.

"And we assumed it was loose change in that loaf, I know! Well, that about wraps up everything, if Madame Carmel-whatever aint gonna read my palm-"

Cassie has her purse open and is making disgusted faces in her compact. The sooner I get out of all this fur dye the better. I'm going to find a bathroom.

"Then Max, take this beauty pack to evidence. The rock, I mean. See if they'll take my picture with it."

So how'd it go with you an--I mean, you, did ya... ya know?

Shit, I only just realized, how DID it go with me and...? Hell. What is this gonna do to me afterward? What if I have to bust her tomorrow? What if I never bust her again? What if I never SEE her again? Is there any way to go back to normal?

Max has hoisted the bag over his shoulder. Dis's loitah den I 'spected.

"Really?" I absentmindedly take the bag. "Funny, does feel light, it's-" Crap, look inside, quick! "-it's a compact."

I guess things do go back to normal.

"Nice try," I say. She stops halfway out of the lady's room window, sighs, and drops to the ground.

May I was just trying to keep you on your toes. Keep you honest, after your taste of the wild side.

"Uh huh. And this rock," I stuff it in my pocket, "is magic and will give me superpowers."

Then I'll hope you get some better manners with em, She sniffs, then smiles a little. Thanks for bringing back my compact, Foxy. Can't think how I forgot it.

"Well, accidents happen."

I guess they do. She winks and turns away. See you next accident, Foxy.

Max and that dog are stuffing the trunk in the back of the squad car. Ya get her?

"I didn't know the rock was a her," I quip settling in behind the wheel.

Uh... Sly? While ya wuz gone, I wuz kinda... dey let me drive, nd I wuz really good, so can I mebee-

"Shut up Max."

It's good to be back.

Hey, Dog.

See, dat's whut I talkin bout. Fox never did bother lernin mah name, jes call me 'sergeant" r whatev. Aint like I got a hard name t'member.

Hell, I'll be da foist one ta admit he can a joik. But... damn man, look at dis!

Is his case files. Whatabout em?

These aint gonna wait for im ta get back frum whereveh da heck he's vanished to! You can't stuff em in tupperwares and shove in da back o da fridge! Someones gotta keep up on dese or he's out of a job!

A snort. S'whut 'f he is? Shouldn't-a run off.

Den I'M outa a job!

Oh. Well, looks like you gon hafta pick up da slack.

Geez, I can' do dis job! Sly's like... he's like... somekinda knowing about stuff guy! Mosta da time when we're on a case I jus space out an wait fer 'im ta point at somebody an say 'you did it."

Dey aint no way you can do dis? I mean... lesse here, missin person on a rabbit, dat aint gone be too hard, right?

Says you... I bin workin on dis monstah all weekend. Figgered it'd be easy, roight? Feh. There's a nasal sigh.

You missin dat clown? Gaaaay.

Ahh, shu'up! I got woik ta do!

Long pause.

Mebee he treated me like doit, but dammit, 'e was... I needed him, Dog. I can't do dis coppah racket on my own, I got no freggin clue.

Dat a metaphor?

I don even know anymore! S'like I'm falling out of a plane wit no parachute, cept dis time he aint gonn, dunno, swoop by in some custom plane wit a big ol net. I'm jes fallin and it's only a matter a time fore I hit. S'like I'm knockin on-

Knock knock knock.

...

...uh, c'min?

Max... I...

Roz, what's wrong?

...there's a call for Slylock... and I think, I mean, it sounds like-

Give it here!

"Hello, is this a detective Slylock Fox? Particularly brilliant? Because I think I've got a tip on one of his cases."

Sly?! Ohmygawd where are you? What happened? What's going on?

"...I'm sorry, I must have the wrong number. You seem to think I am someone named 'Sly,' no doubt an intelligent and very handsome individual. If detective fox is not available, perhaps I should just go-"

No wait!

"Can you perhaps connect me to his assistant? I believe his name is Mouse."

Uh, speaking.

"What a coincidence."

Sly, if dis is all youre idea of a joke, let me tell you it so aint funny at all, why-

"I understand that this case involves a rabbit in his teens who had snuck onto private property, presumably to swim, seeing as how his clothes were found folded up on a log near the waters edge."

...yeah.

"And all leads have lead to precisely squat."

Holy Aslan, Sly! Why're we playin dis game? Why not jes come in an-

"That's because you've been following the leads the wrong way. The property in question belongs to a human runt, with, lets see... a physical handicap where his knees don't work, and he has to hop everywhere, and a real nasty inferiority complex to go with it. The assumption being that he snapped and did away with the kid somehow."

Yeah.

"But just cause it happened on his property doesn't mean a thing. After all, we're talking about a lake. Anybody with a boat or a pair of water wings can swim right up. Not leave any tracks, either."

...ya know somethin.

"Well, there is an alligator, lives down at the poor end of the lake, who's been suspected in several illegal predatation cases. Never enough evidence to indight. Maybe this time, though."

Wow, I... thanks, Sly.

"Why do you keep calling me that? Though it is, doubtless, the name of a very attractive and brilliant person who gets all the ladies daydreaming about him."

Ok, den, be dat way! But... f'ya see Sly, uh, Detective Fox 'fore I do... tell him.

"Yes?"

Tell 'im I got tings undah control.

There's a noise that could be a laugh or a snort. "Shut up, Max."

He hung up... did we trace dat?!

Oh... that would have been a good idea.

Gahh...

So watcha gon do? We go'n ta find him?

Mebee later. The mouse pulls on his hat and heads for the door. Right now, doh, I got a moider ta solve.

N-no!

Mos people's glad ta get dis stuff! Dere's dis one Coon what deliberately gets caught stealin food so's he can get a square meal in da holdin cell!

"Can't you shut that racket up? I'm trying to work!"

We seem tah be havin a problem wit dis one prisoner.

I w-w-won't eat unt-til m-my demands are m-m-met! I'm p-protesting!

"What are you protesting?"

He grins.

"Well, I can tell you right now, we're going to have a hard time meeting your demands if we don't know what they are."

Keep in mind, we dealin' with Count Weirdly here! says the sergeant ominously from over his paperwork.

"Which is why I'm mightily inclined to go back to my desk and do my best to ignore Max shouting?"

I think we need to be considerin' that he aint exactly natural.

"Well clearly he's put something in the water cooler, at least."

Ya mean... he's a ROBOT?! Max gasps.

"Yes!" I moan in a faux Vincent Price voice, "This is really an android duplicate, fashioned so cunningly that no one can detect the difference! But faced with the bodily functions of living beings, it cannot hope to counterfeit, so its flawless computerized brain decides to claim to be on a hunger strike to cover and continue to trick us that this is the real Count Weirdly!"

They look at me like I just announced that Aslan's descending from heaven and the Rapture is upon us.

"So! What we must ask ourselves is this: is this robotic duplicate Count Weirdly minion, or his Enemy? Is the real Count even now enacting some dastardly scheme, or locked in his own dungeon, feebly calling for help, while his soulless double plots to take his place?!"

...really? breathes Max.

"No."

They have enough time to give me dirty looks before Count Weirdly cackles Now my proud beauties! While they're distracted! Fly! Swarm them! I look over to seem him dumping black fuzzy balls out of his hat.

Wut are they? Max asks from on top of the desk, after a long pause.

"Purple pom-poms with plastic googly eyes glued to them. Didn't anybody think to frisk him when he was arrested?"

He Count Weirdly. Wouldju be friskin' him?

"Point."

Um... D-d-detective? I j-just w-want to c-c-compliment you. T-that w-was a g-g-g-g-, uh, f-first-rate spooky m-monologue! I c-couldn't have done b-better myself, even if I had b-b-been pretending to be a r-robot!

"You'll excuse me if I don't take a bow," I mutter on my way out.

Uh, c-can I have th-that meal now? I'm actually p-p-pretty hungry.

Heck, no reason it can't be both.

Ok, I gotz dis wun. I been studjyin up on yer tekneek.

"This aint gonna end well."

There's a small agitated crowd gathered in front of one of the apartments: police, a frumpy rabbit broad, a heron in a Mr. Rogers tie and a doctor's coat, and a very angry duck. Max makes a beeline for it like a beat cop to newly-instated but not-yet-posted school zone.

Ok, ok, ok. He blats in like a drunken uncle at the wrong wedding, ok. Ok. So wus all dis den?

Everyone blinks at him. Except me. I'm too busy rolling my eyes.

No, I really means it. Whut wuz da crime?

"This young lady was spotted taking gold fillings from a dentist's office. There's really no mystery about it, so-"

Aha! Das whut dey would have us tink! He whirls away from the suspect and advances on the witness pointing threateningly. An I just bet I kin guess yer story, huh? I bet I can. I just bet I can!

"Well?"

Oh, right, well, see, she sez dat da duck here wen inta da dentist's office, and maybe you tought dat were jes a little percooliar. Course, she says she wuz dere to get her teef looked at, so you din tink anyting of it. But den da doc notices a diffren soit a cavity, where all da gold fillins is supposed to be! And only den does it dawn on you... DUCKS DON HAVE TEEF!

Something like that, um, officer? she mumbles.

An you! He jabs a finger at the doctor Here ya is, after havin summoned all da force a da law! But I guess it jes aint yer lucky day today, Docter-?

Reyzhon! Wow, he's got an accent you could ferment cabbage with. Doktor Raphael Reyzhon at your service. Except from the tone of his voice, he probably meant something more like 'at your painful death.'

An yew spect me to jes slap da cuffs on dis dame and waltz off?

Like hell! shrieks the duck. She was probably gonna go on from there, but the dentist squaks and hides behind an open door.

I- I haff a problem vith vimmen screamink.

Well, we'll try ta keep da volume unda leven, den. Don't worry miss, jus hold up yer arm where we can sees it, an I'll have yer name cleared before da next commercial break's ovah.

She's about ready to start screaming at Max, but she holds up an arm.

Ya see? Ya SEE?

"Oh, she has arms. Well, clearly, people who have arms can't have stolen gold fillings, so-"

No, look! Dose aint feathers, dey're fur! She's a Platypus! So what becomes o yer accusation dat she can't have been there innocent-like cause don't have teef?! He marches to the door Herr Heron is still hiding behind. Maybe dis was about shuttin up a broad what you wuz thru playin wit-

"Max..."

Maybe dis was an insurance scam-

"Max."

Maybe dis was even some kinda complex scheme to make some dough off yer secret Nazi past, it don't matter, I'll find out-

"Max!"

Jeez Sly, whut? Dis is my big moment!

"Platypuses don't have teeth either."

...shit.

If he's lucky, the dentist will still be too shaken to sue.

"Well, I didn't figure as you should, what with the living in hiding and all. How's witness protection been treating you?"

It sucks and you oughta know that. I can't go anywhere, can't do anything... can't go out for a drink! C'mon in, you're the first person I've talked to in weeks! The door clatters open with what sounds like a whole crate of handcuffs falling apart, but it's really the five security chains he's put on the front door. What's that? he says suspiciously.

"Something to take care of not going out for a drink." I hand him the package and he opens the brown paper trying not to look too nervous. "It's the brand I always get, so."

He hefts the bottle experimentally. Wow. Any good?

"Why don't we find out?"

"How's the kid doing?" I ask eventually.

Well, he hasn't seen a friend is almost a month, he's had to give up on college, and he's spending every second watching over his shoulder for Leopardman's goons, but hey, he's keeping fit. That's something, right?

"Where is he now?"

Mowin the lawn.

"Then why don't I hear a lawnmower?"

If you took everything he thought Leopardman'd do and added everything I knew Leopardman'd do, then maybe you'd come up with something close to how much he almost had a heart attack as we went flying out the front door. Only to nearly knock the kid flat on his tail like a postal worker.

Dad!

Son!

"You two!"

I just went to the garage to get the gascan and when I came back some creep was driving off with our mower in the back of his pickup. Then he blinks at me. Who's this?

"Nevermind. Show me where he went, kid."

What about me?

"You stay here, away from the thing that could be a freakishly obvious trap."

You think I'm gonna stand by while my son walks right into-

"You said he wanted to go out some place." I make tracks while he's busy spluttering.

The kid follows me for a block or so without saying a word. Then he skids to a stop and goes Who the heck are you?!

"I seem to recall your dad saying something about your almost going to college," I turn to him slowly, "So I assume that means you're smart. Smart enough to figure out when you have a mysterious accident and go into hiding. Maybe even smart enough to work out what's going on when a policeman is suddenly in your front yard. Now, I know you aint as smart as me, so I'm gonna give you a pass on not working out that on top of all of that, somebody doing something stupid, like stealing your lawnmower in broad daylight, has gotta be more than it looks like. Somebody like that is- right over there?"

What?

"Is that your mower?" I point furiously.

I suppose it might not have been necessary to run Shady Shrew off the road, but I needed to get his attention. I throw open the door.

Chyuh, whassanatta witchu dis time, copp-URK!

"Let's skip the brilliant impersonation of the dead end kids for once," I say, cracking my knuckles, "and get to spilling your guts on Leopardman!"

On who?

"Uh huh. Just tell me how much he knows."

Who?

Perhaps I should speak slowly and clearly, so as not to confuse him. "The person who hired you to steal this lawnmower. A big leopard. Wearing a big suit."

Ok, I seryusly dunno whatcha mean an I really dun wan you to hurt me! I wuz goin to da pawnshop an I saw dis lawnmowah an figgered I could always use a little cash! Don hoit me please!

I think it's a false alarm, detective.

"Keep yapping, kid, cause I love it when people break my concentration."

Course, the explosion breaks my concentration a lot more.

The house is a little scorched. It's the shed in the back that's a smoldering crater. And it's Max who's sitting dazed on the edge of it with little cartoon birds flying around his head.

"What happened?"

Wuz... the... gascan...

"Pack your stuff," I shout at the open back door and the stunned alligator looking out it.

What?

"Sorry, buddy. You're moving."

Which doesn't mean there's nobody trying to lie while a flood goes on around them, though.

It took a while to get all the way to the call: more than one of the streets we'd normally take were flooded. I figured that by the time we got there, everything would be long over. But no, there they were, screaming and pointing like everything had just happened two minutes ago.

"Alright, what's going on here?"

Offishah, that Toad tried to rob my hourshe! While me and all my little kidsh were home! I've never been sho shcared in all my life!

"He looks pretty calm for a burglar."

That's because I'm not, he gulps with a voice that sounds like he keeps it well-oiled to hide the fact that it's higher-pitched than most big fat ladies in viking helmets, I only asked if I could use her phone to call a wrecker. I have a flat tire!

Donchu b'lieve him, offishah! He'sh lying!

He gives an infuriating 'isn't she just too much folks' smirk and waves a flipper. Now why would I have stuck around just waiting for the police if I'd tried to break in?

"Mind if I have a look at this flat tire?"

Oh, it isn't flat anymore. I changed it when she wouldn't let me use the phone.

"That's awfully convenient, isn't it?"

He shrugs. I'm really starting to hate him.

"Open your trunk."

Officer, I really don't see why-

"Because you're a suspect in a home invasion and child endangerment case."

Sly, when did dis toin inta child endagament?

"When I said so."

The trunk contains a tire changing kit in some disarray, a spare tire, a collapsible bike rack, and a sandbag.

Unless your powers of deduction include the ability to tell whether a tire is flat just by looking at it-

"I'm still arresting you. The tire isn't wet, so unless your powers of unctuous diction include the ability to change a tire in the rain without getting any of the tools wet."

I've just put on the handcuffs when Max comes up. Dere's a problem. We can't get back ta da squad car, s'flooded.

So that was how I ended up in the beaver's living room, with a frog tied to a chair, an a bunch of kids staring at me like I was there to make them all into hats.

Stupid sewahs, Max is muttering Got no dependibidility.

I know what you mean, Mrs. Beaver natters as she comes in with a pot of tea, every time it shtartsh raining heavily, the shewahsh all back up! One of daysh they're going to get shtopped right up, and thish whole neighborhood will go under! I don't know what we'd do!

"Well, in all honesty, you'd be alright. Aquatic mammals and such, right? It's the neighbors that'd have a problem." She hands me teacup and gives me a tense look.

Yup. Dis flood goes big, an all dat'll be left here is your likkle brood an some fishs. Oh, an I spose dis clown over dere, all tied up and don't even get some tea. He takes a sip. Dang, lady, dats tasty stuff!

The pieces all click together in my mind just before Max hits the floor.

"So what's in the tea?" I set it down very carefully.

She sighs heavily. Damn. I think she knows I know. "Well, I didn't really know what would do the job, sho I put in shome Shomineksh and shome Nyquill and shome of the teething painkiller for the baby." Damn. She doesn't mind admitting that she knows I know. That means she thinks she's got an ace up her sleeve.

Well, so do I. Except it's more 'in a shoulder holster' than 'up my sleeve.'

"I have to admit, I didn't see it right away. But it's simple. You get this guy- is he your boyfriend? Is Mr. Beaver no longer in this world, or just 'on an extended business trip?'" She goes beet-red, and he shouts How dare you? so I'm probably close, "to wait outside the house with an obviously false story, wait for him to get taken in, then you use the sandbag in his trunk to plug the storm drain he parked over. With him in holding, there'll be nobody to move the car, so nobody will notice--or, heck, even be bale to get at--the thing that's blocking the one working drain. Then you mysteriously refuse to press charges, and you've got yourself your own private pond, without all those pesky non-aquatic neighbors."

How did you figure it out? he asks smoothly and shrilly from the corner.

"Oh, there were a whole bunch of little things. But the penny dropped when the kids weren't afraid of the man who'd supposedly just tried to break into their house."

And what makes you think, he rises to his, well, flippers, having of course been not tied to the chair at all, that you're going to be able to get out of here to tell anyone what you know?

I draw. "This."

Everyone stares for a moment. Then the Toad chortles Good bluff, fox, but you wouldn't use that with all these kids here! Your carcass is mine!

"Do you feel like testing that little hypothesis?"

Hmm. Looks like he does. Damn.

But then her paw clamps onto his shoulder. Wait. There are tears in her eyes.

The squad cars arrived in about thirty minutes, after the rain was stopping. They said that there had been some street flooding, but nothing anywhere near as bad as had been predicted.

The Toad was tight-lipped as the hauled him off, which was fine by me. The Beaver--kinda wonder what her name is--looks at me for a moment. Her face is blank. What'sh going to happen to my children?

"That's... not my department, ma'am. Foster care, probably."

I shee. She swallows. Try to undeshtand, offishah. I'm a beaver. I build damsh.

And that's the last I see her.

I drug Max home, and walked back to the office in the rain. Somehow, I don't trust it not to lie to me anymore.

Damn.

Not by ghosts. By crime. It's soaked into the sidewalks like water into a sponge. There's no part of this city that doesn't have it, like an unpleasant oily flavor in the back of your mouth. And sometimes it erupts, and when it does, it can be anywhere.

I can hear it now, just over the wall of washing machines.

She's stealing my laundry! Geez!

Oi! Dat's not kosher! Someone call da management, roight!

Oh, I thought this was my dryer! Just a mistake!

I could have you in jail for this, ya sneak!

Oh, I'm sure there's nooo need to bring the police into this!

No, not really, but that's never stopped me before. "Is there a problem here?"

To judge from the expressions on each of three faces, yes there is, and it's me. Interesting. But they all swallow that fast.

Even more interesting.

This fink was trying ta make off wit my laundry! The noive!

Honestly! Everyone is getting so excited about an honest mistake! If everyone would calm down for just a moment-

Don' you go creditin' 'er, mate! Oi sawr 'er!

"One at a time! Max, would you take charge of the, um, evidence?"

But s'all soggy!

"Ok, you first."

Well honestly I don't see WHAT the big deal is, all I did was take the clothes out of the wrong dryer, that's a mistake ANYONE could make, right? She's totally overreacting!

I'll overreact yer face, ya fink!

"Have you got something you'd like to add, ma'am?"

Dern straight I does! She's totally tryin ta mak off wit da laundry! Er else why aint she give it back yet, huh? I mean, like gai!

"Well, it's been what? Fifteen, twenty seconds since you started squeaking about it. Maybe she would have."

An maybe she woulda jus scarperred!

In moi poisonal opinion, the dog buts in, there's an offisah what'ld be much better off 'restin the littl' twoip roight 'ere an askin 'is quesshuns later!

"You make a good point. You're all under arrest."

There will be a brief intermission while we handcuff them and give them a chance to quit shrieking bloody murder.

"See, you all made really good points. You," the weasel looks ready to bite my finger off, "made it clear to me that there was something much more interesting in that dryer than lacy unmentionables. Why else try to hang onto it when you get spotted? You," the cat sulks, and I know I've seen that expression before, "proved that it was something worth stealing. Why else would you assume that that was what she was trying to do? And you," his face is as lifeless as a mask, "told me what to do about the fact that even though you were shouting for the police, not a one of you was glad to see me."

I don't suppose there's any chance you're going to leave me alone with the evidence?

"Ha. I was giving myself 1:3 that it was you."

Shaddup! Donchu dare say another word or I swear to gaih I'll never fence nothing for you again.

He sighs hard enough to shift the mask. Yes, you're doing a masterful job concealing your guilt. But I fear, my dear, you'll be doing very little fencing for some time. And you, Mz...?

If she were any more in over her head, she'd be coming out the other side in China. Uhhhh... Weasel. And it's Mrs, actually.

My apologies. But you really shouldn't have tried to intercept the emerald. The person from who I acquired it was reluctant to part with it, and I do not think they would be particularly inclined to make use of the police force in reobtaining it.

"Which pocket is it in, while you're feeling helpful?"

Valuables should always go in the front, to deter pickpockets. Max drops the pants like they're hot.

"And does this mean you're going to come quietly?"

He slips off the mask and grins. Why would I do that? And then several things happen at once.

The theif takes a half step backward.

Carla--I'm pretty sure it's really her under there--shouts something I don't have time to listen to.

Wendy sticks a foot out as Max steps forward, and he lands face first in a pile of wet laundry.

I'm reaching for my gun.

And the thief kicks the pants up at my face. Something hard in the pocket strikes me above the eye, and the world goes fuzzy for half a second. Long enough so that I think I see the thief falling apart, like his hands are coming off.

And when I get it back in focus, he's gone. All that's left is a fake pair of hands in cuffs.

I yank the shorts from my face, and grope in the pocket. It's a potato.

The backup is putting Lucy and Ethel in the back of the van. The cat won't shut up. Ah well. At least Cassie won't be pissed, it wasn't her brother. This time.

Ya want cooperation! she yowls in my general direction, I'll give yah co-freggin-operation! That doity splat ripped me off! He got a cool tree-hundred big ones off me fer that bit a pretty! You aint never seen a witness so freggin full o' co-operatin'!

"So tell me what you know," I say without looking at her, "because I'm guessing it'll take about three seconds."

I know he's married! Then the doors are shut and the car is taking her away.

I look up in time to see Mrs. Weasel in the other squad car. She's looking really calm.

Like she's just had something go exactly according to plan.

The faintest hint of a smile hits my muzzle.

The point of something being haunted is that there's something you're afraid of, and it's coming for you. If that's so, then this city is haunted. Not by ghosts, by me. Because they ought to be afraid. And I think I can get one step closer to them, now

And when I get him, it could be anywhere.

Whutsa matta?

"It's... really blue in here."

Th-that's m-m-my new blacklight lamp! Isn't it s-superkeen?

"I guess if you like glowing eyes and migraines, yeah."

"Look, I've got a piracy case that's been sitting on my desk like a pregnant hippo for a week, and a rash of bank robberies by a moose who can apparently be in five places at once--obviously identical quintuplets, but I have to prove it. So I'm gonna give you this ticket as fast as I can and get out of here, ok?"

Sly, whatta bout my-

"Not now!"

D-do you ever wonder, d-d-detective, why y-you and I must always be antagonists?

"No. No I don't. I already know. It's cause you're crazy."

B-b-but WHY am I c-crazy?

I ignore him. "You were apparently, uh," gotta check the citation, "'walking your Creepy Creature' with intent to cause a breach of the peace, so-"

And my-

"Shut up, Max. So were serving you this ticket, for just fifteen dollars or so, so the homeowner's association will get off our backs about you, ok? Just sign here and you can get back to your sketchy business with your creepy gremlin-having self."

D-d-don't you th-think it's p-p-possible that I'm only d-doing all this, he flaps his clammy arms around the room, bec-c-cause really, I'm lonely? It's j-just a w-way to get attention?

"Frankly, no."

Oh, good. I knew my th-therapist was f-f-full of sh-sh-sh-, uh, crap. He signs the ticket. Is th-that it?

"Yup. See you."

Out of curiosity, who called y-you?

"Promise you won't try to melt their house with Omega Waves or whatever?"

He grins.

I roll my eyes. Must look trippy, what with the day-glo mood lights. "The interspecies couple on the corner were camping in the front yard."

I kn-knew it! They will r-rue the d-d-day they aroused my wrath! He shakes his fist. Why I'll... I'll... T-tp their house!

"Whatever." I'm already halfway out the door.

But Slyyyyy! Max whines, whut about dat monster stealin an eatin my clothes?!

"We're not talking about that!"

Maybe make that the quick and the fired.

But that's not the whole story. It's not about being quick as much as it's about being able to know which assumptions you can make, and which ones you can't. They say when you assume, you make an ass out of you and me. But I happen to know a couple donkeys, in forensics, and judging by the work they do, assumptions aren't always such a bad thing.

Take this case.

Not like I want it or anything.

I didn't have anything better to do--Tiff was still out of town--when a shoplifting call came in. I assumed it'd be a simple matter of walking into a room, pointing, shouting 'You Did It!' and going back to the station for a smoke. Turns out there were a few more steps to it than that.

"So I hear that you little piggies went to market."

The interview, as it were, started off normally enough with the suspects lying.

We never went to the store, and that's the truth, says the one in the middle.

"What store didn't you go to?"

Uh, all of them? offers the one on the end.

"So you've never been to a store?"

Well, we sure didn't go to the one that was robbed! growls the one on the other end, sulkily.

"And how do you know you didn't go there, since I haven't gotten around to mentioning which one that is?"

The two blondes give eachother this sidelong look, and I know they're down. Easier than knocking over a couple of brushpiles. But the brunette narrows her eyes, and somewhere behind there I can see a brick wall. It's gonna take more than breath to knock her over.

"If you don't feel like answering that one, there's another one. If the couch cushion is under the end table, then what's your sister sitting on? Cause either she's really a lifelike blow-up doll, or your sofa is stuffed with cinderblocks."

When theirfaces fall, I made an assumption. I assumed this was over. Hoo boy.

Well, I guess you have... the advantage over of us, officer. I don't really understand what the black-haired one is doing, she suddenly looks like she's having trouble staying awake, and she's talking through her, well, snout. And in between the syllables she's making noises like a kazoo. The other two look just as confused. I suppose you're going to have to restrain us.

Oh! Yes, and what would happen to three helpless women like us, then! says one of the other two, as if they'd just caught on to something.

The third little pig and I share a glance. The kind that you might have with the only other person on the desert island who hasn't eaten the spotted mushrooms yet.

And then there's prison, the brunette remarks, getting up and leaning over for some reason, who knows what would happen to us in there!

Why, almost anything would be better than that.

Oh, don't tell me.

A girl'd do almost anything, officer, to get out of having to go to prison. She flutters her eyelashes at me. I could have gone my whole life without seeing that.

Well, I'd do almost anything more than she'd do almost anything!

Shut up! This was my idea!

But I saw him first!

Did not!

I'm torn between the urge to be sick and the urge to laugh. "Uh, ahem, ladies, while I'm sure you're more than willing to... consider alternative methods of repaying your debt to society, I think it'd be best for all concerned if you just came along quietly."

Ugh! the blond snarls, If you hadn't butted in, I could had him all to-

Shut up! The brunette is obviously the leader. Officer, when you say it's best for all concerned-

"'All concerned' pretty much means me, yeah. Sorry, girls."

They only barely fit in the back of the car. The last one in, the blonde who hadn't caught on to the plan, is still looking confused. What was all that about?

See, yer sistas wuz trying to put da make on Sly ter get outa doing time.

She looks more confused. What?

"Let's just say they made an assumption about me."

Bet yer gay, mutters the back seat.

"Because obviously that's the only possible reason I didn't jump right into your arms. Right, Margo Magee."

Well, ladies, if Sly here ain't interested in cutting a deal-

"Shut up, Max."

I'm way m-more of a threat than some monkey d-d-dressed as a p-pimp!

I've inf-fested the c-c-countryside with my p-p-peanut-butter flavored s-snake mutants!

I tricked the p-p-police with m-my devious cheesebomb!

I h-have psychic powers, t-t-too!

I turned S-slylock into an eggp-p-plant! F-for r-r-real!

W-w-who made a f-fiendish w-weather device t-t-t- uh... wh-what was I g-going to d-do with th-that again? I forget.

B-but I'll sh-show them! I'll sh-show them all!

I'll g-give M-max... THE SHIVERS!

Hehehehe, and w-what are THE SHIVERS, y-you ask? Th-they are a force th-that kn-knows n-n-neither friend nor f-foe! They are unst-t-toppable! THE SHIVERS w-w-will overwhelm all, and only I! I! c-can control their m-m-might!

Once M-max has THE SHIVERS he will be h-helpless to resist me! S-slylock will kn-n-neel before my power! And he can't rescue him, either! I h-h-have placed up-pon the door a c-cunningly crafted decoy lock, that seems to require a key, but can in r-reality only b-be opened with a c-crowbar!

Oh, there's m-my watch alarm! T-t-time to go g-gloat over my t-triumph!

What the?

"No, Max, it's called the first law of thermodynamics."

Well, he musta broke dat one too! S'high time we arrested dat punk!

"Oh, speak of the weirdo!"

H-how did you escape?! It should h-have b-been your d-d-d-doom!

Yeah, I wuz real scared of bein in a room wit a fridge! Oh, an yer outa cheese.

...y-you ate my ch-cheese!

I wuz hungry!

"C'mon. We can fight this out on the way to the station."

B-but... THE SHIVERS...

"Whoa! How'd you do that echo thing with your voice?"

"Max, you shouldn't talk about your relatives that way."

Whut? No really! See it right dere? It's like... some six-limbed 'orrible centaur ting! Wit skis on both the front and back legs! Is ridin in some kinda hang-glidin harness attached durectly to da lift!

"That is clearly a dog and a bird riding side by side on the completely normal ski-lift."

He squints. Ok, now dat someone's pointed it out...

"Was there something you wanted?"

Oh yeah. Cassie's 'ere. Thought ya oughta know.

"Yeah, nice try, M-"

Well hello there, stranger. Fancy running into you here.

"Oh."

"What do you want?"

Isn't it your job to figure that out? she says through her eyelashes.

If this were a cheap melodrama, this'd be the part where some suspicious stranger tries to listen in on our conversation, and we work together to outwit him. It's not. The only other person anywhere near earshot is Max, who just got himself stuck in a snowbank.

"Are we going to pretend you don't have an ulterior motive in coming here, or should we skip that bit and get on with double-crossing eachother?"

To double-cross you, you'd have to think I was on your side first.

"So this is seriously going to cut into my vacation, then?"

You? Taking time off? We aren't dead, are we? Because hell has got to be looking like a ski resort.

"Just goes to show, you don't know me. I take time off. I go skiing."

You look about as easy on those things as if you had banana peels strapped to your feet.

"I'm still a better skier than you, to judge by those crutches. Assuming, of course, that you really are hurt."

See, this is where you ought to be gentlemanly to an injured lady.

"Being gentle to you is an invitation. The next logical step is 'Being Surprised At The Absence Of My Wallet.'"

Flatterer.

If this were a cheap melodrama, this is where she'd slip me a note for a secret rendezvous late that night. She doesn't. She adjusts her grip on the crutches and says Your move, Foxy.

"Why are you really here?"

Same reason you are. I'm on vacation.

"Oh, right. In the isolated resort full of rich, absent-minded, and three-fourths drunk revelers."

Sounds like a good vacation spot to me.  But I could ask you the same question.

"Maybe I'm here keeping an eye on you."

And maybe I'm here following you.

We watch eachother for a long, careful moment.

If we have to spend every waking moment watching for a backstab, then we might as well do it in a more comfortable setting.

"Well, what would you suggest?"

Well, I could start by buying you a drink.

"So long as you don't touch it before I get at it."

Then you have to buy me one, same condition.

"Deal."

Deal.

The music in lodge bar is some bastardization of slow jazz and hooty alpine yodeling, but at least they have the sense not to play it loud. I have a bourbon and water. Cassie has a gimlet. I'll give her this much: she's got good taste. And the sense to pick a more expensive drink.

The crutches are propped against the barstool. Ok, Foxy. If you're so sure I'm not to be trusted, what's your working theory on why I'm really here?

"Tomorrow night, a Railway Baron from India is throwing a birthday party for his five-year-old daughter. Among this character's recent acquisitions is a run-down temple that'd been used as a hideout and factory by a ring of drug smugglers, until it got flooded by a rival gang in an attempted theft. Now he's ostensibly funding the reconstruction, but rumor has it that the number of not-quite-priceless jewels listed as missing in the flood has increased since the project started." I take a sip. This place has good cellars. "And who'd look in a five year old's jewel box, with the doll tea sets and the shiny buttons and the sea shells, for ancient hindu treasures?"

And you aren't worried you just gave me a potentially valuable tip?

"Either you already knew or you didn't. Either way, now I know where to watch for you."

My turn. She tips back her drink, signals for another one. Posh bartenders are always quiet, and it creeps me out. They don't seem sociable, and that just aint right. You're here tailing Paulo 'Plugger' Fortunato, because he's turned coat on every mafia in every major city, has got nowhere left to run to, and your bosses think he might cooperate on the witness stand. If Leopardman doesn't get to him first, of course.

"If Plugger's dumb enough to think he's going to blend in a place like this," I gesture with the empty glass at the gilt mirror, the wrought iron lights, the picture windows that let in the look of the snow but not the feel, "then I doubt we'd want him on the stand."

Well, now that we've both finished our drinks, what next?

"You're the one that suggested we circle eachother and show our teeth in comfort."

Then let's call dinner showing our teeth, and dancing afterward circling eachother.

"I thought your leg was hurt."

Funny. I thought you hadn't fallen for that one.

If this were a cheap melodrama, this'd be where I'd say something about how I knew what she really wanted. And she'd say 'You!' and that'd be where the scene would cut, because that's as far as you go when in writing.

But it isn't a cheap melodrama.

We had a nice dinner. We went dancing. Turns out she really had gotten a little hurt--bruised her ankle--so we only did the slow dances.

The next day she was gone. No thefts were ever reported.

Never did find out what she wanted.

"Looking for a blue monkey."

Dat's not funny.

"Good, cause it's not a joke. We're after an ape with a heavy addiction to crystal meth and a nasty habit of going on shooting rampages when he goes into withdrawal."

You always know howta fill a guy wit optimism. How's dat make him blue, dough?

"Well, it doesn't make him perky, spunky, or flamboyant."

Point.

"Right, how much are you gonna try to bilk me for one of these handkerchiefs on toothpicks?"

Ah, I see you are interested in my fine wares! Truly honored sir is a very connesiuer of tentmaking!

"I certainly hope not."

Might a lowly and wretched son of misery such as myself seek to know where illustrious sir is bound, that he requires one of these, the finest tents made these latter days since the ancients arts are lost in the shifting sands?

Max hauls on the lead rope apprehensively. Sly, dis walkin cigarette ad is gettin impatient, here.

"So am I. Look, Jaffar, just sell me a tent, ok?"

Ha! Honored sir would jest with me, a very dung beatle in the dust! But know that these tents are even as those carried by Grograman the Lion, in his pilgrimage though the haunted wastes! As those of the ancient nomad thieves to whom only one male is born every hundred years and whose females are of stunning beauty!

"You don't have to do that stupid voice with me, I'm not a tourist."

Oh.

"Well?"

Uh, yeah, that one's twenty bucks, I guess.

I'm barely through paying when Max is shouting HAAAAAAALP! because the camel's gone berserk and is dragging him through the market square.

I hate doing extradition work.

One of the lights, shorted right the hell out. The big ones, with the venetian blinds drawn on them. It would have made you look fantastic and made me look invisible, as usual.

"You're the one who took the role as the dim sidekick."

It's not my fault I'm a mouse! I like what I am! I am what I am-

"and that's all what you am, yer Popeye da sailor man. Toot-toot."

Ugh. Don't even joke about that.

"I should just give up trying to figure out how your mind works, shouldn't I?"

"Why can't we just go ahead?"

With no light? Film Noir isn't meant to be taken literally, you know.

"Well, it'd beat just sitting here. How long is it gonna take to fix, did they say?"

You know them. Hours, at least.

"Then we might as well get something to eat."

No thanks, I'm watching my figure. You gain weight so much faster when you're short. Besides, the cast of that retro action flick will be in there, it'll be bedlam.

"I could do some big game hunting."

Oh, cut out miming like you're cocking a rifle! You know how much the specist jokes bug me, even if they are just for atmosphere.

"Oh, go annoy the crew."

I was going to anyway.

Course, 'lonely' doesn't need to mean lonely. In my case, it's rapidly starting to mean 'where the hell is my partner, we're supposed to be on a drug-bust?'

The bust was a bust. They'd moved everything somewhere, before we even got the tip on their location, judging from the dust. Time to start over from square one, then, so I might as well get my mouse back before I do.

It's gotten foggy out on the lonely streets. There's a feeling of nothingness hidden under the fog, as if each object you pass by comes into existence as you approach and ceases to exist when you've gone. The streetlights are surrounded by almost solid-looking nimbuses of light that blind you when you're inside them and just look feeble when you're outside them, as if they're audibly apologizing for not being able to spread their halos out into the blackness a little further.

Max is easy to track. Here's how, in case you ever have to: just go to his apartment, say hello to the landlady who's seen you all the times you had to come wake him up out of a hangover, open the door with the duplicate key you have from the time he locked himself out, and don't let the door slam because the guy across the way works an early shift. If he's not asleep on the living room couch, check the kitchen.

Plastic grocery bags, empty. With a receipt for chips, dip, cheese, and beer.

He missed an arrest for a poker game. I'm gonna kill him.

I've got a pretty good idea who his poker buddies are, having arrested or at least warned most of them personally. Still, it takes me a few stops to find what I'm looking for: lights, the smell of cigarettes, the sound of frustration. They've got the game spread out on the lawn. Odd, I'm not gonna object; with the fog and the lantern, they won't be able to see me coming.

Dangit! Dis iz da woist hand since Manos!

I'd know that voice anywhere.

So fold already, Max, you been bellyachin' all evenin!

And I know that one too. This is looking to be more interesting than the drug bust.

Oi, Shady, get out'r 'is stew! You bin rollin in the mickey since we all got 'ere, roight? I don't recognize that one. Looks like he could be a badger.

Yeah man, like... you're, like... like... whoa man, yeah.

Can it, Bowzah! I'm startin ta tink dis schmo aint what he s'posed to be!

"He's not the only one."

I have to admit that it's fun watching them jump. Except the stoned turtle, but you can't have everything.

Sly, what're ya- how'dya- what're ya doin here?!

"See, that's what I'm supposed to ask you."

Whatchoo talkin bout?

"Cause I pay you to help me solve crimes, you don't pay me to watch you play poker."

Sly, dis is da big game!

Oi, roight, 'e's gort three large roidin on dis little round a whist!

"Shut up, Wat Tyler."

Roighto.

"Max, we're going. Now. Pay these bottom feeders what you owe them, and get your hat."

Aw c'mon, just lemme finish dis here hand! I leave now I lose tree months salary!

"You don't leave now, you lose all your future month's salary! Besides, you're not going to win. The game's fixed."

WHAT? says the whole table, minus the turtle.

Sh'up, I aint gonna take that from no copper! Snorts the shrew, Run off wityer big brudder if yer too scared to play wit da big boys! I'ma finish dis hand, win me three months a copper pay!

"I'd like to see that," I hear myself say, and the only emotion I can feel is puzzlement at how flat I suddenly sound, "And then maybe I can call the next hand." And so fast it surprises me, my hand's shot out and smacked the deck across the table. "52 pickup."

They all meet my eyes, angry at first, then something else. Cause I've got my other hand on my holster. When did that happen?

"Oops."

Geez Sly, Max says tentatively outside, why'dya hafta go an-- I mean, dey aint nevah gonna let me play wit dem again!

"Good. They're crooks, and the Shrew was cheating."

Really? I mean, I suspected him, yeah, police instincts 'n stuff, but... how d'ya know?

"Because!" I whirl on him, and suddenly with a cold shock I can feel again, and there's all the anger that must have been percolating in my brain since I went in there. It's as if I'd only just mislaid it for a moment. "Not because I saw him slip cards out of his sleeve! Not because I saw him deal from the bottom of the deck! Not because I counted two aces of spades lying on the floor! Because his name is Shady Shrew, Max! What more reason do you need?"

Max has backed against a lamppost. I'm just outside the radius of the light. I can see him just blinking at me, like a kid that's said a four letter word at a funeral but has no idea what it means.

"They're criminals, and if you want to be with the police, you've gotta pick a side."

Dat's rich, comin from you! You and... and your... Where d'you get off, talkin bout choosing if yer on the side of da law or aginst it!?

I shake my head heavily. He probably can't see, though. "That's not it. It's between being on the side of the law, and being against me."

I walked all the way back to the office. Even if I had looked back to see if he was following, I wouldn't have been able to see him through the fog.

So I don't bother.

"I'm not playing this, Max."

Aw c'mon Sly! I'm bored!

"It was your idea to come this way."

Jes cuz it's my fault dun mean I ain't bored! He fidgets like a kid on an airplane. How'd we get in dis mess, anyway?

"You sure you want to know?"

Why da hell not?

I shrug. "Ok, don't say I didn't warn you. See that guy up there?"

Da galinule wit the kid?

"Yep--let's call him Oliloplp--he started it. Oliloplp here isn't a very good father. Maybe he's divorced, maybe he just works really long hours, either way he doesn't get to see his kid as much as he should. But when he does, he doesn't really have very good judgment. So when the kid says that they should pull over, get out onto the median, and decide from there where to go next, Oliloplp doesn't argue."

An... how does that make dere be a traffic jam? Max blinks, trying to catch a hold of the only thing I said that made any sense to him.

"Cause the trucker in front of us--call him Rirorm--is indecisive about maintenance.  When he's on the road, he gets very nervous about breaking down, but when he actually gets into the garage, he gets lazy and never actually gets around to doing any of the maintenance. Which only makes him more paranoid when he gets back on the road. So when he sees a father and son pointing at his truck, he assumes there's some horribly obvious breakdown, stops, and gets out to have a look."

Which stops us.

"It does. And we stop everyone behind us."

So what're dey named? Utckr? Chatw? Maybe dat angry soccer ma back dere is called Drebgi!

"How would I know their names? Especially if they're that stupid."

Yer da woist story tellah evah.

"You asked."

He looks thoughtful. That isn't a good sign. Ya know, we are cops.

"And?"

So couldn' we get out an like... direct da traffic? Least enuff fer us ta get outta here.

"I DON'T direct traffic, Max. Not ever. Don't ever suggest that again."

Dammit Sly! I'm about to go outa my mind here!

I lean back in the seat and close my eyes. "Go talk to Oliloplp."

G-gnyaha! N-now I have you, S-sl-slylock! Now n-n-none shall stand between me and my n-nefarious g-genius!

"You want to run that nefarious genius by me once, before you go?"

Yes.

He's so predictable.

Witness the unstoppable might of my p-p-plan and tr-tremble!

"We'll get right on that!" I shoot Max a significant look and point at the screwdriver.  He blinks blankly. Dammit.

Have ye heard of s-such a thing as a c-c-c-cow? A c-cow, mind?

"Let me think--yes, I have."

Ah, but did you know that a y-y-young c-cow, also known as a c-calf, is sometimes f-fed a m-m-magnet to protect it f-from pieces of metal it m-may inadvertently c-consume?

I'm waving my arms frantically at Max, who still hasn't grasped the whole 'use the screw driver that's three inches in front of your face to take the hinges off the door' scheme, but I'm still paying enough attention to say, "Go on," and make it sound halfway interested.

I shall aq-quire just such a b-b-beast, and it's powerful m-magnetic field will allow me to steal s-so m-m-much spare change that I w-will finally be able to fund my D-d-doomsday Device! And g-get broadband.

That's actually not a new scheme. This small-timer called Buford tried it once. We didn't bring him in because he didn't succeed in stealing anything: magnets don't work on money, even I know that. It was good for a laugh, though. Especially since he was attracting scrap iron and had sucked a nail up his butt. Course, I don't let on right now. I'm a bit busy demonstrating picking up the screwdriver to Max and putting it into one of the hinges. He still doesn't get it.

W-well, detective?

"Uh," I scramble for something to keep him talking, "Won't people notice you leading around a magic money-attracting cow?"

Aha! I shall s-send my m-monster on ahead, you see, he pauses and some purple thing flaps at the side of the window, to t-t-terrify the p-populace into submission! They will be s-so frightened th-that they will not even notice!

I've got two of the hinges removed. I'm not sure at what point I stopped trying to show Max what to do and started doing it myself, but I've learned to ignore that distinction. "What monster, that?"

Y-y-yes, w-why?

"That thing looks like a paper plate that you scribbled purlply all over and then pasted googily eyes to. This is a city where people regularly see sharks driving down main street. Hairless pink ape-gremlins wander at large. Nobody's gonna be scare or even interested in your after school arts and crafts project!" Three screws to go.

Well then, l-let's s-s-see them f-face my m-most fearsome c-creation ever!

"And that would be?" Two to go.

A unholy h-hybrid of a b-broom and a m-m-mop! I call it the Broohemopth!

I can't answer that. I just can't.

Because, it sounds l-like 'B-behemoth,' see?

What is there that I can possibly say to something like that?

F-from y-y-your silence, I assume y-you are s-stricken with t-t-terror?

"No, I'm wondering if you mean the wet drippy broom locked in here with us."

...Sh-shit, hang on. I hear the bolt shoot back, but as I've just removed the last screw, there's nothing holding the door up. That's a pretty heavy door, as Count Weirdly finds out when he yanks on it and it falls on him.

Not much of an arrest, I have to admit. But at least I've got something to make Max clean the office with.

I have to agree, but I'm not gonna tell him that. Instead I shush him and we take cover behind the ubiquitous white picket fence. I don't know when this job is supposed to go down, but we've got to be ready when it does, so that means maybe hours of silent patience.

And I only now just realized what a horrible idea it was to bring Max.

The night is heavy with the smell of cut grass and housepaint. All around me, there's people deeply asleep, not one of them thinking about what might be moving around in the darkness outside. Like partygoers on a cruise ship, passing over some tentacle monster, or some deep-sea fangly fish, that doesn't happen to be hungry right now so it just swims past, and so none of them ever guess how close they came to being wet sausage.

Or being burglarized. Cause those are basically the same thing, right?

Ya still ain't told me how you got dis tip, Sly.

"Just- It was just over the grapevine."

It was just by chance that I went through the tank--I wanted to check if Lupo had one of my files--and I only happened to see something out of the corner of my eye.

Speaking of which, the corner of my eye is just what I can see some movement out of right now. Someone's coming up the empty space between the next two houses over.

Lupo was in the interrogation room with the lights off. And in the with him, was her.

I can't get a good look at the perp, they're staying out of the streetlights. Careful, this one.

I'd been in these situations often enough to tell in a flash that whatever was happening in there, it wasn't an interrogation. Cassie looked too nervous, too upset, and Lupo looked hungry. I'd always thought I'd be glad to see him showing an emotion for once. Guess I was wrong.

The perp just turned into the yard of the tiny shack with all the newspapers out front. I knew it.

I don't really know what I was thinking. Maybe I thought Lupo was about to get rooked. Maybe I thought Cassie was about to bite off more than she could chew. Maybe I was jealous. But I found myself tossing the door open, and almost shouting 'Hey Lupo they said you were in here!' like the stupid roommate in a trite sitcom.

Max and I are rounding the house as quietly as we can. But then I don't think it matters so much--whoever this is isn't taking much trouble to keep quiet. Definitely amateur.

Thanks, Foxy, Cassie had said, with a sort of catching-her-breath and composing-herself beathiness.

"What happened?"

She shrugged. I thought I was in control, and I wasn't, he was. She gulped. Thought he wasn't gonna go for it, he never did before, but then he was coming on too strong, and I was really getting scared, and-- That's the last time I try to put the make on him, I guess. She hit me with this half smile, the kind that's got 'Not now. Later maybe, but not now, please' written all over it.

We whirl around the corner of the house. Max shouts Freeze, police! And my flashlight beam hits the perp's face.

As a token of my gratitude, she said as soon as we got out of the station.

"You don't need-" I said, but she cut me off.

Yeah, I kinda do. Side's, I've done a lot more for you before, and this time I guess I really do owe you.

I was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Alright. What'ya got?"

I should have known there'd be a catch, some angle that even when everything benefited me, it benefited her more.

I should probably expect her whole family to be in crime.

I should probably keep it quiet to Carla here who tipped me off. Dad always said never get involved in a catfight.

"Max, you're not gonna go any faster on that thing than if you walked."

Yer jes jealis dat I look so much more extreme dan you!

"I've wished I was a lot of things over the years, but 'as extreme as Max Mouse' ain't never been one."

Oh garsh, you guys're finally here!

I'm stuck for a second wondering what my high-school coach's wife is doing there, but then I realize that this must be the lady who made the call. How can I describe her? You know how they say some girls have an hourglass figure? With her, I'm gonna have to go with saltshaker. Saltshaker with big teeth, that is.

Ya know, I just can't think whata guy'd want with stealing a purse! Oh, that's just different!

"Why don't you just calm down and tell us what happened?"

You bet. Well, I was goin down to da pond ta get little Bobby, ya know, and he was skating around. A lotta guys are in to the skating, you know. And it's such good excercise, though. It's really important, you know, to get the exercise in the winter cause if a guy's stuck inside for months and months and months then you just get all flabby, you know?

I blink. "So, you went to that pond, over there?"

Yep, you bet.

"The one six feet away?"

Oh yeah. It was time to start headin home, doncha know, cause there's lotsa baking ta do for the holidays, and Bobby was getting pretty tired anyway. It's real convenient to have the pond so close, though, you know?

"...and therefore you called the police?"

Oh, yeahbut when I came back my purse was gone and I just can't believe it! I mean, what would possess you to take somebody else's property?

In the moment when I'm lost for words, Max slips past my guard and pipes up, It's ok lady, I knowz who took ya poise!

Oh thank heavens I was just so worried, doncha know!

Dere's no footprints in da snow, see? So dat means dat the wily theif musta stood somewhere and reached!

"With six foot long arms?"

Naw, he grins, but dere's more dan one way ta skin a poise! Like with a fishin pole!

He and the Coach Z Appreciation Society head across the ice. From here, I can't much more than an occasional 'doncha know,' and 'you bet,' but they look like they're doing fine. After all, why should I have any doubts about the ability of a woman who leaves her purse unattended and a mouse who thinks he can snowboard on level ground to take care of themselves?

I content myself with digging around in the snow a little.

Having apparently struck out with the fisherman, they're now attacking the hockey players. I guess a hockey stick would do, in theory. Judging from the way Max is getting all flustered, however, practice is a completely different matter.

Hmm, there's something heavy buried under the snow.

Max is backpedaling as they return. Maybe dey hid it somewhere, like-

"Under the snow, after covering up their footprints," I say "right next to the place they stole it from, which was the last place anyone would think to look." Except me, of course. "Clever, huh?"

So Mrs. Beaver and Mrs. Beaver's Son seem pleased, even if they never found out who took it. I'm satisfied with a job well done, though I'm probably gonna have to do it all again tomorrow. Max's the only one doesn't seem so pleased, for some reason.

Lotta guys wouldn't be, though, doncha know?

What was left of the dome, I mean. Not what was left of nothing.

Careful where you step, sir.

I ignore him. "Anything up there, Max?"

Naw Sly, jus summore broken glass, but I dun tink we need any more o dat.

"Ok, can you tell me what happened here?"

Well, I was doing my rounds with my flashlight, and I started hearing things. Just echoes, but I couldn't tell where they were coming from. This old building is like that--someone makes a noise anywhere inside, and wherever you are it sounds like it's coming from right behind you.

There's a loud thunk right behind me. "Max, be more careful with your flashlight, would ya?"

Sorry.

"Skip the effects, Fritz Lang, you're creepin out my mouse. Just get to the bit with stealing."

Yes sir, sorry sir. I came around the corner, and there were these three guys hauling bits of stuff out the dome with a rope. They freeze when they see me, and then they go up the rope and vanish.

"I see. Why was the rope tied to this big ol' statue here?"

I guess they were gonna steal it, but it was too big for em? And then they just left it when they dropped the rope.

I look around carefully. There's more glass on the floor than could have come from the dome. Some of it's from the exhibit cases. Someone sure wasn't worried about neatness. "So they did get away with some things?"

I think so, sir.

"I'd assume they pulled them up with a rope, like they were looking to do with that big old cat?"

That's what it looked like was happening.

I turn and look him in the eyes. "Then I've got two questions. How did they climb up the same rope, and why isn't anything missing?" There's a soft crunching sound as he suddenly shifts his weight on a small fragment of glass. "All the cases are smashed, but everything that was in them is on the floor. But that just makes sense, as they had no way to get it out. If they climbed up this rope, then why isn't it tied to anything up on the roof?"

He makes a sound like he swallowed one of the bits of glass. Are- are you trying to imply- that I? But why would I do this? Why would I smash the window and all these cases, if there's nothing missing?

"I said there was nothing missing from these cases," while I'm scooping Max's flashlight off the ground, and then before he can make a move I hit the lightswitch. The beam into the clouds vanishes. I play the flashlight over the debris on the floor. It sparkles and flashes, like ice breaking up on a river in early spring. But then the beam hits one corner of the room, and there's this burst of rainbows in a sort of halo.

"Pretty clever, I have to admit," I announce to the darkness, "stage a robbery, not so you can steal the stuff yourself, but just to have an excuse to litter the floor with broken glass. Because who's gonna notice a diamond in all this?"

I lift the flashlight just in time, he's charging. But he skids to a halt when the light hits him right in the eyes.

Don't think you can get out of here! He snarls, trying to blink his eyes back into operation, I can hear every step you take!

He's right. There's already glass crunching under my shoes. Doesn't matter, though.

"Yeah," I say as I club him from behind with the flashlight, "but they'll all sound like they're right behind you."

Sly? Sly?! You ok down dere?

"All clear, Max." I hit the lights. Now that I know where to look, the diamond is obvious. "Thanks for the flashlight. Came in handy."

Kin I have it back, den? It's gettin decidedly creepy up here!

"Sure." Once backup gets here, our work'll be done anyway. I take a last look around the room. The former guard is all scratched up from the glass. Funny, breaking all this, just for the sake of the one bit of glass he can't break.

An derefore... wut?

"You can't swear at them. You can't make any lewd or specist jokes. You can't take in any weapons or booze."

He mutters something and takes the flask out of his pocket.  Dis is a big fat waste a time! We got nuttin to say to some brats!

"No argument here, but I owe Tiff a favor."

Pffft. Dat skirt aint doin nuttin fer you dat you gotta worry bout repayin.

"Shut up, Max."

Least when ya owe Cassie a 'favor,' it don't drag me inta da mess.

"Shut up, Max!"

Wuttta ya owe her for? Lookin da other way while-

"Max! Shut up! Now!"

I'm gripping the steering wheel so hard I'm leaving claw marks. Not as if that's anything new, there's plenty of those gouged into the fake leather. But thinking about steering wheels makes me calm enough to talk again. "We're gonna go in there. We're gonna talk to some kids about being cops. We're going to leave. And we're not going to say anything about it afterward."

Pause.

"You got that, Max?"

Yeah, sure thing, Sly.

The kids are all waiting for me, so there's no chance to talk to Tiffany. I give them a few of the tamest cops and robbers stories I can think of, all the while trying to ignore Max pretending he thinks that Tiff is part of the class.

Das right, little goil, dis is a 'A-pul!' 'A-pul!'

I know that Max. I brought it.

Can you say 'A-pul?'

"So yeah, kids," I raise my voice to talk over them, "That's what being in the police force is like. Any questions?" Hopefully they won't ask, and I'll have time for a word with Tiff before I go.

Do you ever shoot people? says the adorable little waif in the pink frilly dress.

"Um--we do everything we can to keep that from happening."

Oh. She looks really disappointed, but the smug-looking koala to one side is waving his hand.

"Yeah?"

Are you not aware, he sniffs hard enough to collapse his nasal cavity into a black hole, that to make an arrest, he blows his nose in reverse again, without fully reciting the suspect's, snort, rights is completely, snark snuff sniffle sniffle, is completely unconstitutional?

"Uh, yeah, I kinda did know that."

Oh good, because, hideous sounds that should only occur when there's a live rat blocking a sewage line, if you arrested someone and didn't-

"Would you like a kleenex, kid?"

Nuh-uh. Looks like I touched a nerve there. Long as it shuts him up.

How come you never shoot anyone if you're a real police? asks a rabbit suspiciously.

"Uh, any more questions?"

I have one, says a disturbingly unctuous voice from the doorway, can you solve a little mystery for the likes of me?

"You're the principle?" I ask the hitleresque dog looking in, while feeling my chances of saying anything to Tiffany vanish like water down the drain.

Yes indeed, and I've got quite the puzzle for you, detective! If you could join me out in the hall for a moment? I shoot Tiffany a glance. She looks none too happy about it, but nods.

"Ok, what's the enigma?" I say as the door shuts.

One of the little gremlins in there defaced my plaque for third place in the district-wide paper conservation project! I want you to tell me who, so they can be punished!

He has got to be kidding me.

"How was it defaced?"

Someone wrote 'Poop' on it with a permanent marker!

"And where in your office was it hanging?"

In pride of place beside the window, so that anyone who comes in or goes out has to look at it!

"Then it wasn't any of these kids. They couldn't reach, and I'd be willing to bet they can't spell 'poop.' Try the secretary." Though I can't say I blame her. I'd probably be writing worse than poop on stuff if I worked for him.

He's still busy looking stunned when Tiffany steps out of the room for a minute. "We all done?" I ask without turning, watching him wander off.

Yes, she says, it's naptime now.

"Oh. Good, they... need their sleep. Where's Max?"

He said he needed to find a restroom. There's this little quaver under her voice, that says that she knows what I'm thinking, and she wishes I wasn't, but she's not going to say anything about it. And that's what keeps me coming back, I guess, even if it gets harder and harder each time.

C'mon Fox. Say something. Anything.

"Well, I guess I got a lot of work back at the department."

Of course.

"Um... will I see you tonight?"

I don't know. I've got homework to grade, and-

"Nevermind, it's all right."

Sorry.

"Me too."

Max is already in the car when I get there.  I'm fuming, but I'm not sure about what.

My fingers slide over the claw marks in the fake leather. "Man, that was a nightmare of-"

Unh-uh, Sly. You said we wuzn't gonna talk about it.

So we head back to the office in silence.

Me, I'd say good riddance, but someone wanted him found. Even though we had no leads, or clues, or evidence, or frankly anything at all. I was for calling off the case, but the chief just said they were 'pretty damn determined' and wouldn't look me in the eye, so I took a hint and kept the file on my desk.

We finally got a lead when some pirates got taken in in the south seas, who had in their possession clothes that included a uniform from the place the guy worked--some tech shop or something, I forget. It took some doing, but we got them to tell us they dug them up. Apparently somebody'd buried all this guy's clothes on a deserted island, which was just weird enough to get me interested again.

The south seas are a big place. If you want the lowdown on them, you have to know who to ask. So when the birds turned up nothing, I put out the word that I wanted to talk to fish.

So that morning, a gull turned up on my doorstep with a very out-of-breath herring. Wanted compensation for him, too, because apparently this particular fish was something of an escape artist, in the criminal sense. I told him to shut up and get to the point, which turned out to be that while making his getaway from a pelican, he'd seen the missing pink thing.

I'm not sure if you can call a whale and a human running away together an elopement. I am sure you can call it downright appalling, especially when the human throws away all his clothes, just as if we wanted to see even more bare, clammy skin. But I'm also sure that there's no crime going on here, at least not that I've got jurisdiction on, so I closed the case.

Needless to say, I was tired, so needless to say, I wasn't pleased to find my house full of snake eggs.

And I really really really don't want to know how Count Weirdly talked some poor snake into breaking in and laying eggs all over.

I kinda tiptoed over to the phone to call CPS or an exterminator or both, when Max yells from the kitchen Ey Sly, whered'ya keep da toaster?

"You want a toaster?"

Yeah I'm famished. I'm-a make me a scrambled egg sammich. Though ya sounldn't be leavin yer eggs just lying around the house like that, dey mighta gone bad.

By the time my brain had processed what he'd said, gone 'Oh shit,' and screamed at my mouth to warn him, I could already hear frying.

So that's why I don't eat eggs anymore.