Sunderance: Chapter 26.1 - Night Terrors (Patreon)

   The silent cell phone was the only light in the grimy apartment and that light bounced in the unsteady hands of the lanky male as he stared at the silent screen. Fidgeting had become almost second nature to him since that little bunny bitch had come into town, asking her questions and looking at him as if she knew everything he’d ever done. It made his eye twitch just to think about it. But of course, she didn’t. If she knew half the things he’d done, he doubted she would have been so quick to attack him. ZPD be damned, he still intended to make her pay for insulting him. Pay bloodily.

Twitch.

   He would have already, if not for Nick being beside her twenty-four/seven. Sticking it to the soft, hot body under that lawyer’s clown costume, he imagined. No other reason someone like Nick would be involved, not that he could see. Weaselton didn’t think anyone could blame him for being afraid of the fox. His fight with the tiger might have been surprising to most of the city, but back in the days when he’d still been allowed at Wild Times, he had seen Nick ‘take care’ of all kinds of problems for the fennec fox. Size had never been an issue, had it? He’d even silently cheered once or twice himself, seeing some smug bastard in a fancy suit dragged out by the ears or carried out on a stretcher. That had been before the weasel had bitten one of the whores and was kicked out himself. Banned. All he’d wanted was a little taste.

   Just like he wanted a taste of that bunny.

Twitch.

   “Come on, come on,” he muttered at the still-silent phone, watching the minutes tick by as he sat away from the windows, away from the door, and made sure he cast no shadows. He wasn’t expecting it to ring yet. Just like every time he received a package with a disposable cell phone in it, there was always a time included with the delivery. Now he just wanted it to be time already so that it would ring. Sneering at the 8:59 pm on the screen, he snarled and glanced around at the inky blackness of the room. Every shadow in the roomy, uptown, but the unkept apartment was suspect in his eyes. While he was already a male whose personality sat on the edge of jumpy, waiting for these calls always enhanced that. Not that he expected a knife in the dark, but…

   The cheerful chime of the phone caused him to jump only slightly, his paws scrambling for a moment until he managed to swipe one thin finger over the screen to answer the unknown number.

   “They sent me a summons,” he said instantly once the phone was pressed to his ear, managing to stay seated even though the nervous energy made him want to stand up and pace.

   “Yes, I am aware,” was the calm reply from the voice that he had never been able to place. Male, but that was about it, which pissed him off to no end. “But your partner has not. Do you have an explanation?”

   “Why would I have an explanation?” he snapped sharply, frowning as his mind raced through the interview with the stupid bunny. He had given the same answers that he’d given when filing the report and when questioned in court the first time around. “I said exactly what we planned!”

   “We planned?”

   The haughty tone of very mild annoyance was enough to cause the weasel to shiver slightly, swallowing hard as he cradled the phone closer to his muzzle. “Uh, I mean what you planned. I said exactly what you wanted, both times.”

   “Luckily for you, I know you followed the script.” This time the voice was oddly soothing, even if the tone hadn’t changed in any noticeable way. “However, it has come to my attention that Miss Hopps paid a visit to the impound lot and that she spent a good deal of time searching Otterton’s car. I thought I was clear that you were to make sure nothing was to be left to chance?”

   “It was clean! I went over that car from top to bottom,” he pressed, his eyes darting from side to side for a moment as he tried to think of anything he could have missed. “It wasn’t even at the scene and I was nowhere near it until days after, so I don’t see how there could have been anything important anyway.”

   “Of course you don’t. Which is why you are working for me, and not the other way around.” The coldness of the tone was enough to keep the insult from rising into anger in the small mammal, though his paw flexed on the phone for a moment before the voice continued. “An item was recovered from the vehicle, but not by Miss Hopps. This minor detail managed to slip my attention because the one holding this item was smart enough to keep it hidden. That is, until recently, when it found its way into the paws of Miss Hopps’ surprisingly adept bodyguard.”

   “A-an item?” he said, swallowing hard as his mind raced, trying to think of anything at all that could be linked back to him. “What item?”

   “A receipt, it seems. But much to my annoyance, I have not been able to find out exactly what the receipt is for.” Another brief pause before the voice continued. “Not to worry, Weaselton. There is nothing anywhere that can directly link you to the case as anything more than the responding officer. I made sure of that a long time ago.”

   “Then what’s the problem?” he asked, his tone one of uneasy curiosity more than demanding to know why he was being harassed about something he couldn’t be linked to anyway.

   “If you cannot see the main problem, then I don’t feel the need to explain it to you,” was the reply, which had the weasel grinding his teeth so hard that his jaw ached. “But beyond that, there is the simple fact that you failed me.”

   “How was I supposed to know about one stupid receipt?” he demanded, jumping off the chair and waving one paw in the air in annoyance.

   “I was very clear that everything was to be removed from the car. And have you ever known me to exaggerate?”

   “Fine, I messed up. What now? You gonna have me killed?”

   He desperately hoped that the fearless bravado in his voice hid the actual fear that had his fur standing on end.

   “Of course not,” the now-amused voice replied, the tone dismissive and almost jovial. “You do watch too many movies, Mr. Weaselton. Having you killed would open more investigations, draw more attention, and make it clear that someone is trying to silence you. However, our working relationship has come to an end. And you will no longer find yourself protected within the ZPD.”

   He stood in shocked silence for a moment, his ears pinned back against his head as he thought of how much easier his life had been since he’d become the inside mammal at the ZPD.

   “You can’t do that,” he said weakly, shaking his head quickly as he started to pace the room. “You need me in the ZPD!”

   “I assure you, I don’t need anything more from you.”

   “Yeah? Well, how about you keep me in the ZPD and I don’t let slip to the press who you are?”

   There was a short moment of silence from the other end of the line, followed by what could only be called an exasperated, amused sigh followed by an icy chuckle.

   “You don’t know who I am, Mr. Weaselton.”

   “Oh yeah?” he demanded, licking his lips nervously at the tone and the statement both. “How can you be sure?”

   “Because you’re still breathing,” the simple reply came, followed by an almost wistful sigh. “Let’s not end this badly, Weaselton. I don’t take well to weak threats and I don’t give them myself. I did mean what I said. I have no intention of killing you, unless you force my paw. So, since you are good at following scripts, follow this one. Write it down if need be. Are you listening?”

   “Y-yeah,” he said, trembling from head to toe as he stared down at the tiny red dot that glowed in the center of his chest. “I’m listening. Sir.”

   “Good rodent,” came the now completely business-like voice. “Whatever the outcome of the appeal, during which you will continue to adhere to the scripts I’ve prepared for you, you’re going to take an early retirement from the ZPD. Chief Bogo might even be so grateful that you could receive a minor pension, to help you on your way out the door. You will refuse to talk to the media. You will not write a book. You will stay off of social media. Much to my surprise, it seems that you have been smart enough not to spend the exorbitant amount I have been paying you, so you are sitting on a tidy sum. More than enough for you to live quietly, unnoticed, and unimportant for the rest of your life. Doesn’t that sound generous?”

   Weaselton said nothing, just kept staring at the tiny dot on his chest, the heart it targeted beating so fast that he felt light-headed. Finally, he nodded in agreement when his voice failed him.

   “I can’t hear a nod - even if I can see it - Mr. Weaselton. I’m afraid I need you to speak up.”

   “Yes, sir,” he said quickly in a raspy tone, feeling the fur on the back of his neck stand on end as, for the first time, he realized exactly how little power he had. “Yes, that is very generous of you.”

   “Good! I am not an unreasonable mammal, you see,” the voice now almost cheerful, a rush of breath escaping the small mammal as the red dot on his chest vanished. “You have been of benefit to me for a long time now, and I will not forget that. But I will forget that you exist, if you make that possible. Keep it possible, and this will be the last time you hear from me. Or my more skilled associates.”

   “I understand, sir,” he said, and when the call was abruptly ended, he slumped down to the floor. There he lowered his long muzzle into his free paw as he fought back to urge to sob out of basic, uncontrollable fear.