January 12th 1988

Winter was particularly cold in north Idaho and we were right up against the border with Canada. Hotel stays without Charles were rough. But they were good pay, and that was what we needed most.

This was an old place. Cozy, hospitable, but definitely showing its age. Red brick exterior, three floors, seemingly of a pre-war design. Though it was well cleaned inside, airy and bright. I had a small room to myself on the third floor, with a telephone so I could call Charles before bed and in the morning, as well as a very nice en-suite bathroom.

On the eve of our arrival, myself and my partner for this mission, Don Harvey, made our way out of the hotel and into the small village opposite the hotel itself, consisting of a small restaurant directly opposite the hotel. Then a little further up the road, a small grey post office and a trade and commerce office alongside that. These existed just past a single-track railway line and a small station building.

We made a safe crossing over the railway to the other road and elected to have dinner at the restaurant. Don managed his usual trick of being underwhelmed by the quality of food and service, while finding the small place struggling to survive quaint and cute all at once. While eating, I noticed a rat in a yellow coat having an overt argument with someone on a telephone, though I was distracted from this by Don's constant complaining.

“Man, I can't tell if this steak is cooked too much or not cooked enough." He said, poking his vegan steak with a fork.

“Since when did you become a food critic?" I asked offhand, staring at the rat on the phone as he became more animated.

“Since Ma' picked up a spoon, told me it was an aeroplane and stuck it in my throat." Don chortled.

I blinked, remembering my youth, then wishing I hadn't. “Charming." I said, noting the rat had stormed out of the building, and turning back to my soup.

We'd been brought along to investigate an investment conference hosted by the Benzyme Technology Institute. Stank of money laundering, pyramid schemes, that sort of thing. Don had a lot of experience with the workings of large piles of money, legitimate and illegitimate. As such, to my disappointment, he was chosen to accompany me on this. He was with the police detective agency, hence had a firearm and was seen as a “trusted pair of hands" for big money jobs, I was just a reluctant contractor, getting my pay where I could. This background in cash, I begrudgingly admit, was an advantage. Not that you could call having a billion dollars “legitimate", of course. It was more money than me and Charles would ever see in our entire lives on this earth.

Having dined without excess incident, we returned to the hotel and checked into my bed. Tomorrow would be an early start and a long, long day.

Though not in the way I was expecting.

I woke up to my alarm as intended and clambered out of bed and headed for the shower. My fur was still full of shampoo when the old, ornate telephone began to ring. With dry hands, I took the call.

“Detective Tremblay?"

“Yes?" I replied.

“Due to the weather, I'm afraid we're having to suspend the event until things clear up. We can't get anyone down to the site safely."

I moved from the bedside table to the window and opened it. A thick, heavy flood of snow had coated everything in sight. Including Don's rather horrible Porsche he'd insisted on driving up here in.

“Understood, well, keep us informed and we'll let you know of any developments." I instructed, placing down the phone and getting dressed.

The badger was an utter grump about the whole thing.

“We can't even get the goddamn door open." He grunted, gesturing to the double doors at the front of the room.

“Planning to make some snow angels?" I enquired with a smirk. “You're a winter animal, this is practically your habitat." I teased. A lemur such as myself was far more susceptible to the cold of snow. We were capable of surviving fairly diverse habitats. But snow was somewhat of a challenge. Hence I had evolved to bring along a big coat.

Given that confence had been called off, and that we were stuck inside anyway, I made clear to Don that our best course of action was to get a cup of coffee, sit back in a chair and wait it out.

With coffee in paw, and a grumbling badger throwing a strop, I sat back in a wingback chair and waited for the snow to thaw.

“What do you mean, it's gone?"

“It's gone, it's just gone."

My ear twitched.

A pair of moles stood a few paces away, rummaging through a backpack.

The pair were both clad in outdoorswear, seemingly ready for rough weather and bitter cold.

I kept my ear trained on them for a while.

“Yeah I definitely had it." The one in blue whispered.

The one in yellow shook their head and silenced their partner, and they began to move past my position.

“Excuse me." I said, standing up. “Could I be any help?"

“Oh uhh, no, don't worry we've got it under control." The one in yellow briskly assured me. I took note of their appearance. Generally well-kept fur, though with a small scar on the back of the paw and some fur steadfast refusing to stay matted down.

I nodded and sat back down as they scurried back upstairs.

“You remember that vase they were talking about?" Don asked. “$70'000 for a damn vase. Absolutely insane."

I wrapped my head back over the check in. I vaguely recalled it, though the badger was quick to jog me. “C'mon Victor, call yourself a detective." He smirked. “Sapphire, dark blue, tall long lookin' thing. Was in the brochure when I picked this place. Sorta thing you'd want in your trophy cabinet. Hire some bikini babes to clean it for you." Don started to cackle, in that awful way he did.

My brain invoked his image. The modified idea of Charles with such a vase appealed, though then again that was because it was Charles. He could be holding an encyclopaedia of radiation diseases and it'd still be an appealing sight for him alone. Better yet of course, Charles owns the vase and I get to clean it in the bikini. Oh how the mind yearns. 

I'd completely gotten lost in how happy I'd be in such a garment that I failed to notice the pandemonium that had befallen the room.

The owner, a skunk in her mid thirties appeared, teeth and claws out.

“Not a single one of you is leaving this building until you find it!" She growled.

I stood up and approached. “What's gone missing?"

She gave me a glare. “The Alpha Vase." She took a look over my figure. “You wouldn't happen to be one of those…"

I took out my badge. “Yes, and my assistant, Don Harvey is also in residence."

“Oh! You were the uhh… Friend of Dorothy who checked in last night."

I went perfectly scarlet. “Uhhh…"

“Margaret Lanier". She said quickly.

“Did you call me your assistant?" Don grumbled belligerently once he'd got to us “I'll handle this, Tremblay."

“I'm sure Victor can handle it quite fine on his own." She assured him with a knowing smirk.

My blush turned into surprise, though how on earth she knew, I'd have to work out later.

“Yeah, you're right. It's only a vase, you can probably work that one out." The badger smirked, giving me a nudge with his elbow.

I nodded. “Of course, last thing we'd want to do is tax that supercomputer brain of yours." I grunted. “Where is the vase usually kept?"

“Top floor, centre corridor on the north side. In a glass case." She explained.

I nodded and briskly departed for the stairwell.

A little light excersize up to the third floor and I was soon faced with the debris.

A wooden stand in the centre of the corridor up against the back wall. Around it were shards of glass and the vase was missing.

Firstly to check for an implement. A smash-and-grab of this type would usually involve a primary weapon used to shatter the glass, then pick up the object with the paws. Though this seemed a shoddy job indeed. I couldn't see any primary weapon, but, upon closer inspection of the glass, I could see blood on it. This suggested it was either broken by hand or the thief hadn't used any hand protection. Perhaps an impulsive move, rather than a planned heist. Destroying the glass with a weapon could risk damage to the vase itself, although removing the case through detachment from the base would have been the best way for that.

I pulled on some gloves and took out an evidence bag, placing the glass shards within it, wrapped the entire thing in bubble wrap and placed it in my pocket again.

Something of this type would most likely come with an alarm system. Something to alert of a theft. In the base of the stand, I saw a small red LED and a tiny sensor. The LED was blank. It had not been triggered. Could be two reasons for this. Reason one was that the sensor was disabled prior to theft, though that would make smashing the glass somewhat pointless. Reason two, the one I was in favour of, was that the sensor simply wasn't functioning correctly, either from being broken or being of shoddy workmanship. The bottom section of the glass remained intact around the connection point with the stand. This might simply be what triggers it. Again, destroying the case by force would likely drop glass shards onto and into the vase, doing damage that a collector thief would be unlikely to want to cause.

I took a few preliminary photographs of the crime scene, then began to assess the hallway. Blood would be the big tell.

Once one was in possession of the vase, leaving the hallway as fast as possible would be the logical move. And a hotel room itself would be a good location to escape into, at least for a moment. I had been staying on the same floor as the vase, though at the north end of the floor. I moved up and down the corridor, before at last, I spotted a few drips of red on one of the doorhandles. I photographed it, collected a sample onto a swab and placed it into another evidence bag, and then entered the room.

I was blasted instantly with bitter arctic cold. The large double windows of the room were wide open and the curtains fluttered and waved from the wind and the snow. I grunted, tugging the door closed behind me and taking a few steps towards the window and moving to close it, then deciding against it and taking a long look down into the snow below.

I took out my camera and got a picture of the snow formation. It's possible the assailant attempted to escape via this window. Though, leaping from a third floor window, even with a snow bank below would be a fool's errand. The snow didn't seem that deformed, no evidence of an impact. It's possible that this was a considered plan, but one reconsidered, given the scope.

My blood went cold.

There was no reason why the thief couldn't still be in here.

I spun around.

The room door was open.

“Tabarnak!" I growled, storming out of the room.

Flash of fabric at the end of the corridor.

I broke out into a run.

Far wall. Left turn.

Yellow coat.

I didn't get any other features. That was enough.

End of the corridor. Left again.

A circle.

I was closing in.

I saw my chance.

I was a fool. A damn fool.

The figure in yellow paused just above the stairs. In this moment, I could have stopped. 

I could have thought. 

I could have been smart.

I was not.

Like a cheetah, I lept.

I tackled the yellow figure and hurled myself and them tumbling down the steps.

I felt each step smack against my body.

All I could see. Carpet. Rooftop. Foyer. Carpet. Rooftop. Stairs. Carpet.

At last we tumbled to a halt and I understood the true nature of my disaster.

I hadn't tackled one person in yellow. 

I'd tackled two. 

I staggered to my feet, aching as the crowd of people assembled and two figures in yellow, both winded from falling the staircase to the ground, scrambled to their feet. Both seemed to try and run, then realise what they were faced with and come to a halt.

One was a mole and the other was a rat.

“What on earth do you think you're doing?!" The rat grunted.

I stood, testosterone competing with embarrassment in my veins as I realised the mistake I'd made.

“One of you had taken the vase, then started to run when I spotted you." I explained, using up the last drops of adrenalin I had in my accusation, then letting my arms fall to my sides.

“So you elected to hurl both of us down a flight of stairs, potentially giving us fractures, concussions and all sorts on a hunch that one of the two of us is your culprit?" The mole grunted.

I gulped. “Yes, that's correct."

The mole snorted “Some detective you are."

I could do little more than nod.

The rat was clearly trying to remain calm, though I could see that he was trying to get away. Getting angry at me seemed to not be in the prime of his thoughts, even post-tumble. He had his paws in his pockets, shifting around on his heels, not meeting anyone in the eye.

“If I found out that you had something to do with this, I'm going to have you on a plate, d'you hear?" Margaret growled at him.

“I didn't have a damn thing to do with this!" He snarled. “I was just minding my own business when this oaf threw me down your stairs!"

The pair growled at one another and I resolved to think more than I acted, at least for the moment. 

My eyes returned to the mole. They were equally hunched up, equally on edge, and equally not making as much of a fuss as they arguably should be. They were both hiding something, that was for certain.

I remembered in a flash the conversation I'd overheard from this morning.

I addressed the mole formally. “Your name would be?"

“Sandra."

“Sandra, I overheard you and an accomplice this morning mention having lost something. Do inform me as to what that “something" was." I requested.

She flinched. “A… saw."

“A saw?"

“Yes, a hand saw, I'm a carpenter, I bought it at a trade show a couple of days ago." She explained.

“And you lost it?" I queried.

“Yes, we did."

“And did you find it?"

“No, we've still not located it."

“Do you have the receipt for it, or any documentation of the trade show?"

She grunted and began to rummage through her coat and her things, her associate in blue doing likewise.

Buying equipment from a trade show, if part of that trade doesn't seem unreasonable. I put my thought to the geography of the area. I certainly didn't think a small town like the one with the restaurant and post office would carry a trade event. Those events make money on the weight of attendees and weight of number so putting one here where there were few folk seems counter-intuitive. Though there was a much larger town a few miles away. Staying here wasn't impossible. 

“I'm afraid I don't have anything on me, I'm sorry." She said.

I nodded.

Now I was less certain.

“I need to do more investigations, Don?" I announced, looking over to the badger. “Continue to question the suspects. I'll return shortly."

“Sir yes sir!" Don said sarcastically. “Do you want me to lick your boots when you return?"

A double Laserdisc box set's worth of sadistic power fantasies flashed through my brain. All at once.

“No. I'd like you to do your job. The one for which you are paid." I grunted, turning heel and heading back upstairs.

I was now looking for two objects. The vase and the “handsaw.". I got the room numbers of where Sandra and the rat were staying, as well as the rat's name, Toby Robinson. The first place I looked was nearby to where the vase was stolen from. I made my way across the corridor towards the room that I'd been in previously. Opening it, I was blasted with the bitter cold for a second time, but having to leave them open to preserve the evidence. I checked the number on the door. Sandra was staying in Room 302, Toby in 304, and myself all the way in 312, the other side of the building.  This was Room 306. Neither of theirs, though both of their rooms were in easy view of the vase.

Then begat the question of access. How did one gain access to this room? I would have assumed it to be locked when out of use, so would it be an inside job? Or a stolen set of keys, coercion of a staff member? Maybe just taking advantage of a mistake.

The window was open. Why? To dump an unwanted object, most likely. Or to transfer it out of the building without needing to use the front entrance or draw as much attention. Forget if the vase would survive, this didn't seem to be a particularly… smart theft.

A potential plan, as thus. The container for the vase is broken. The vase is taken and brought into this room. An accomplice on the ground is ready, the window is opened and the vase is dropped to a compatriot on the ground, who catches it and leaves with it.

First problem with this was the lack of footprints. The snow had stopped falling in the morning, and it was early that the loss of the vase was noticed. Henceforth, if an accomplice was there and received it, there would be footprints. But there was none, none whatsoever.

Potentially the snow itself had put a wrench in that attempt anyway. If the accomplice couldn't arrive, someone had an object that they couldn't get rid of.

I turned around and began to search the room. Whomever was in here had cut themselves, so I was expecting blood and glass. The former was evident, only subtly, a few smears on bedlinen and similar. I looked in the closet that my culprit had escaped out of it. It was now empty, but could have easily held a person.

I dropped onto all fours and peered under the bed. Still no vase. More pressingly though, I found a small note. In rough text, it said “The price is final. Get me the vase." I didn't recognise the handwriting.

While on my way to Sandra's room, I bumped into her accomplice, the mole in blue.

“Good afternoon. Any luck locating the handsaw?" I asked.

“Handsaw?" He replied.

I paused. “Yes, you had lost one and yet to find it." I said firmly.

“Errr."

“Or are you looking for something else?" I glared.

“Saw, y-yes that, that would be it."

“I'm being lied to, aren't I?" I probed. “What do you know about the theft of the Alpha Vase?"

“I know nothing about it!"

“Sure. Then tell me what you've lost."

“A saw!"

“Where did you get it?"

“From a shop in town."

“Not from a trade show?"

“A shop is like a trade show!"

“Tell me the truth!" I growled.

He flinched and squirmed. “No!"

“I am well aware that you and Sandra are up to something illegal. I have enough information to arrest the pair of you and have you formally investigated for an extremely valuable theft. This is your final chance. Start talking."

“Oh damn it all to hell." He growled, reaching up and unzipping his coat and showing me the inside.

Packets. Full of white powder, except for one notably missing.

I blinked.

“I don't know anything about your vase." He said. “We… we're just drug runners, sir." He sobbed. “We're working for a heavy in Idaho, smuggling in from Canada." He wept. Acting quickly, I reached behind him, opening the door into Sandra's room and guiding myself and him inside.

I closed the door behind us and sat him down on the bed, where he wept openly and severely.

I sat on the floor between him and the door. I took a long, deep breath and composed myself.

“Who's the heavy?" I asked at a near whisper.

“He'll kill us if we say."

I nodded. “I can help you get out of this."

“No, why should I trust a cop like you?"

“I'm not a cop. I'm a private detective." I said. “I've done contract work for the Seattle Police Department before, but we're not in Seattle and I'm not on one of their contracts so this isn't any of their damn business."

He kept sobbing but nodded. “I didn't want to get into this." He said.

“I know." I assured him.

“We were going to leave here in the morning, get an early start on getting further down, but the snow set in and we were trapped here. One of the packets got lost between us checking in and the morning. That's what we were looking for when you asked if you could help."

I nodded.

“If we arrive at the heavy with anything short of the full load, he'll… he'll…"

I nodded. “The cut on Sandra's hand." I began. “That wasn't from glass from the vase stand. It wasn't fresh enough to be."

“She got that the last time we failed the heavy. If we fail again…"

“I understand." I said, keeping my voice as soft as I can. “Tell me, do you know anything about the vase at all? Did you see who damaged it?"

“I noticed that the vase was missing and the case was smashed by morning, and at that point we realised we needed to get out of here, and quickly before there was any heat." He explained. “Guess we're too late."

“Did you notice at any point a rat in a yellow coat?"

The mole pondered. “Yes, yes I did." He said. “He checked in not long after me. I saw him in the hotel when we checked in and again going into the post office."

“Post office?"

“Yes, the one across the railway line, all but next to the restaurant." He explained. “You can't miss it."

“Did he have anything with him when he entered?"

“No, and the only thing he had when he left was a foul mood."

I nodded. “Thank you." I said, standing up and heading for the door.

“What do I do now?" The mole asked at last.

I paused. “What's your name?"

“Francois."

“Well Francois, I recommend you keep that jacket zipped up first and foremost and then head downstairs with the others."

“And after we get out of this?"

“Well… I'll need time to think of that one. Just… trust me."

Francois nodded and sighed. “You don't exactly give me much choice."

Wishing I had something better to say, I turned and departed.

I arrived back in the hallway, where I found Don grilling both the rat and Sandra, though the mole was suffering it worse it seemed.

I approached the rat, his hands still in his pockets.

“Toby, did you visit the town across the railway line at anytime since you checked into this hotel?"

“Yes, yes I did." He said gruffly. “I had some dinner in the restaurant last night."

“Ah yes, I remember you having an argument in there."

He grimaced. “Yeah, that was to do with a deal I had going south."

“A deal?" I asked. “In what?"

“I was going to buy the vase you see." He explained. “For a third party client. I was around here in person, she wasn't. So I came to broker the deal."

“I see, the deal went bad and you had to deliver the bad news?"

“Yeah, Margaret wanted more money than my client was willing to offer."

“And thus you rang them up in the restaurant to voice your displeasure."

“Yeah, that's right."

“Strange, there was a telephone in your hotel room."

“Well, I… didn't want to uhh… be overheard."

“So you went to a public restaurant to do it?"

“Yeah, in a building not containing the person who owned the thing I was trying to buy." He growled. “Seems pretty smart to me, wouldn't you think?"

“Alright, well, who was the buyer?"

“Sally Briggs, collector from New York City"

“How much was she willing to pay for it?"

“$70'000"

I had heard that number before. 

I turned to the badger. “Don. The price of that vase, you told me it this morning, what was it again?"

“$70'000, why?"

“Where'd you get that number from?"

“Sally Briggs."

“Oh you know her?"

“Ha, well, not in person." He chuckled, pulling out a newspaper from the nearby desk. “I read her columns, y'know, high society living and all that."

“Ah, of course." I mused. “And so how does she know how much it's worth?"

“Well, she said she'd bought it for that price."

“She said she'd already bought it?"

“Yes, she did." Margaret said, stepping up to us. “She did so to apply pressure. She's got the rest of the vases in the collection. The Beta and Gamma, it's one of three. First I heard of this was in the paper, then this guy turns up and says he's here to complete the transaction."

“I was told you had already agreed to the purchase!" Toby objected.

I logged his objection silently, and kept my eye on Margaret “I take it you said no?"

“Absolutely. I'm hoping to fund the refurbishment of this entire building on the back of selling that thing." She concluded.

“Alright, that would explain the phone call." I said, finally turning back to Toby “So you rang up Sally Briggs and told her you had been turned down."

“Correct." He said.

“Then what happened."

“I tried to see if Sally would pay more for it, and she wouldn't. That was her upper limit."

“So then what happened?"

“I stayed the night and was ready to leave when the snow came in. And now I'm being accused of having stolen this damn thing." He grunted.

“When did you last see the vase?"

“Last night, it was in it's container and then this morning, poof, gone." He grunted.

I grumbled, turning away and looking to go up the stairs again, but noticed something on the floor.

On the marble of the steps where we had tumbled as the smallest droplets of blood.

I looked over to Toby and Sandra and gestured them over. “Excuse me, the pair of you." I said. “Hold out your paws."

“What? Why?" Toby grunted, while Sandra held out hers. I saw the cut on her paw immediately, old, starting to heal but… pretty severe now up close."

“Because someone dripped blood down onto those steps after falling down them, and there was blood all around the door knob and the glass case."

He floundered and I my gut shivered as I realised I had caught him.

Reluctantly, he held out his paws, facing downwards at first.

“Other way up." I added.

He squirmed and did as asked.

Fresh cuts.

“Toby Robinson, you are under arrest for the suspicion of the theft of the Alpha Vase."

“That cut coulda come when you hurled me down those damn steps!"

“There's no sharp edges on those stairs, Toby." I grunted, reaching for my handcuffs. 

I didn't see him lurch.

But I felt the knee when it connected.

I growled and crumpled to the floor.

Don did the one thing he was truly good at, sprinting off after the rat as he galloped back upstairs.

I gathered my faculties and pursued back upstairs.

Up was the only escape path he had. A first floor window, jump out, hit the snow and keep running.

Gunshots.

Don was shooting him! 

The rat reached a first floor window, clattering his body weight into it, but the window stood still. Don slid to a stop, gun drawn right at him.

“You move one inch and you're dead!" The badger growled.

“Esti de câlice de tabarnak!" I snarled, right in Don's face. “Why the fuck did you pull a gun on him?!"

“He's a wanted fugitive and he assaulted an officer."

“I am not a cop!" I snarled.

“You ain't, but I am."

“He know's where the vase is and if you threaten him he won't tell anyone anything."

Don lowered the gun and looked at me. “Listen kid I-"

Toby bolted.

“Esti d'épais à marde!" I barked again, ripping the gun from Don's hands and chasing after Toby myself. We were this close! This close! And Don had to make things difficult.

I sprinted after the rat, my rage blurring my vision. I wasn't a natural predator, if I had been a fox like Charles, I'm sure a hunting instinct would have given me unlimited precision.

We ran back up to the third floor.

Where the vase had been.

He stood by the glass, shifting, unable to decide where to go.

No.

A trap. 

I slid to a stop.

“Shit!" 

“Marde!"

He bolted back towards the room with the open window from before.

I heard him scream, watched him trip.

He fell forth, tumbling out of the window.

I ran over.

Leaning out.

He was clinging onto the side of the building with all his might, hands bleeding and faltering.

“Help!" He begged. “Don't let me die!"

I reached out my hand.

He reached.

Slipped.

I leaned further.

Grabbed.

Got him.

I began to haul him back up into the building, lifting him across the windowsill and around, before I pressed my knee to his gut and held him firm against the bedpost. He didn't resist as I handcuffed him behind his back.

Don finally appeared, though thankfully he'd kept his gun put away.

“We're going to have a talk about this back at the station." He grunted.

I ignored him for now. Instead focusing on the job.

“Where is the vase?" I asked Toby firmly.

He grunted and gasped. “I was supposed to hand it to Sally when she turned up, drop it out of the window to her, but she didn't show." He spluttered. “Then I'd jump out after her and we'd make our escape that way." 

“And she left you hung out to dry, and with huge cuts in your hands. Not wise to punch a glass container is it?" I said. “So where is the vase now?"

“It's on the ledge outside."

I furrowed my brow and poked my head out of the window. I could see the ledge, the concrete ring around the base of the windows. But I couldn't see a vase.

“You're sure?"

“Certain. When I heard footsteps, I placed it there and hid in the wardrobe. When you leaned out the window, that's when I left and ran."

I looked directly down towards the ground and blinked as light shone right into my eyes.

“Aha." I said, turning around.

I was about to suggest Don wait with Toby, but realising Don'd just put a bullet in him, I grunted.

“We'll bring Toby downstairs and look for the vase after."

Don simply grunted and nodded.

We lifted up the handcuffed rat and brought him downstairs, where he was taken into custody by the police that Don had no doubt called. An excessive amount of them for something as trivial as a vase theft, but then that was the nature of the police. Perhaps they needed those guns to get through the snow… Fortunately for Sandra and Francois they had elected not to bring sniffer units in, just regular officers.

While Don interfaced with the police, I took Margaret outside.

We departed out of the back door, the snow having thawed enough for us to be able to push it open, and walked around to the snow bank just below where the open window was.

“There." I said, gesturing to the glinting object buried in the white snow.

“The vase!" Margaret confirmed with relief. She stepped forth and picked it up by the side-handles, one hand on each.

As she lifted it clear, there was a small crack. I didn't know if she'd heard it, I was too scared to ask.

Then, as it was held in the air, it cracked clean in half, the bottom component hitting the snow and fracturing into a couple hundred pieces, leaving the top half in the skunk's paws, utterly speechless.

I didn't want to say that I had my doubts it'd support a fall from that height. The best thing I could do was hold the skunk as she wept.

We gathered up the pieces and brought them inside, gathered them together and reported their destruction to the officers. They wrote it down, gave a grumble, and that was that.

From the front bay window, I watched Toby get loaded into a car and the vehicles depart down the ice track towards the town below.

“It's time we packed up and got a move on." Don said. “Got a call from the Benzyme Conference, they're ready for us."

“I agree. Let's get out of here."

“Maybe you are capable of listening to other people…" The badger mumbled.

I ignored him as he walked back upstairs, then approached the two moles.

They'd done a more thorough search of their rooms and on their paths from there to the foyer, but couldn't find that missing packet. Likely it'd been pinched by another guest or dropped somewhere. It's certainly something I'd done in my youth. And my not-so-youth.

I gave them what advice I could, get the drugs to the heavy, then get across state lines as fast as possible, the further away the better. Though ultimately, I wasn't sure if the advice was good or would work. It was just better than giving them nothing and just waiting for the system to crush them.

They thanked me and made their departure off into the snow and I went back upstairs to pack.

A few minutes later, I handed my key back to Margaret.

“Thank you." I said, paying the bill.

“No, thank you." She said, visibly devastated. “The vase is a lost cause but… you did what you could."

I nodded. “What happens now?"

“This place closes down I suppose. I was banking on a good sale of that thing to keep the place going but… I guess I'll have to find something new."

I struggled to meet her gaze. “Do you have something in mind?"

To my surprise, she nodded. “I do, yeah." She said with a hopeful smile. “I got ambitions of opening a saloon down by the restaurant and post office across the railway." The skunk leaned into my ear. “A little rainbow in the dark, if you will."

I smiled. “Uhh, I meant to ask… how did you… know?"

“I met a sweet fox named Charles at a motor race down in Portland. Had a few drinks and he told me all about how happy he was with his Quebecois lemur boyfriend." She grinned.

I became unnaturally flustered. “Oh well… I… uhh… Thanks very much." I said. “And good luck with the saloon."

We parted with a wave and I headed out to the front of the building where Don was loading his suitcases into the Porsche.

“C'mon, we ain't got all day." He grunted.

I put my suitcase and bags in the trunk and climbed into the passenger seat.

“Set course for the Benzyme Technology Conference." I grunted. “We've got some pyramids to excavate."

Don nodded and steadily drove off down the icy road.

“So, uhhh." He began. “About the gun thing."

I twitched an ear. “Go on?"

“You disarmed an officer on an arrest."

“I did, yes."

“You wanna apologise for that?"

I leaned back and got comfortable in my seat. “Absolutely not."