FA+
Shop
5112 submissions
A Matter of Survival
A modern Spontoon Island story
© 2022 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
rabbi-tom
Seven.
The Spontoonie lawyer’s contact information arrived by email along with a link to a videoconferencing site near the close of business that day, and Twyford’s first reaction was “What the hell?”
Every fur knew that there were hybrids, but nearly all of those were between closely-related species. He knew of a liger that played for the NBA team in Dallas; his favorite team were still kicking themselves for not hiring him first. Still, the sight of a cross between a carnivore and herbivore was almost always a surprise. The whitetail buck ran a search on the fellow, and his initial skepticism was replaced by interest.
Stagg had been an attorney for less than ten years, specializing in criminal defense law. Well, that certainly explained why Golden Dawn was retaining him . . . what?
An archived newspaper article was part of the search results, and it related that the cervine/feline hybrid had been arrested for public nudity in San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury neighborhood six years ago. He had been fined and released on condition that he return to Spontoon immediately. Twyford stroked his chin, thinking about what he’d been told about public nudity in the island nation. Fortunately, the fine was in lieu of time in jail, and the offense itself was a low-level misdemeanor. Had he been in another neighborhood at another time, he would have escaped any notice.
It was noon, but he’d had an early lunch, and was ready when the video session started. “Can you hear me?” Twyford asked, looking at the Spontoonie.
Stagg glanced up at the camera on his computer and replied in accented English, “Yes, I hear you. You’re Kent Twyford?”
“Yes.”
“Frank Stagg.” He peered at the screen again. “I’m afraid there’s something wrong with the camera – “
“Three antlers, right?”
Stagg blinked. “Er, yes.”
“All natural, I assure you,” the buck said dryly. “Why’d you get arrested for public nudity in ’16?”
A blink, a flick of feline ears, and a wide grin. “Fiftieth anniversary of the Summer of Love. I thought it was appropriate.”
“The anniversary was in ’17.”
A chuckle. “I know, but,” and here Stagg affected a stereotypical ‘stoner’ drawl, “like, even numbers are for squares, man,” and the two of them chuckled. “Not the first time I visited San Francisco, though.”
“Oh?”
“I used to BASE jump, and I scouted the Golden Gate Bridge.” Stagg shrugged as Twyford stared at him. “Winds were too chancy, so I wrote it off. So, I’ll be working with you?”
“Yes. I’ll be informing the court and the police that I’ll be representing Wu, and filing a pro hac vice application for you so you can assist in the case.”
Stagg nodded. “I’ll be flying out tomorrow, after I wrap up any pending business here.”
***
“Hiya, Bob.”
The Alsatian turned and smiled widely at the sight of the three-antlered buck walking up to him. He met Twyford in the middle of the crowded hallway, the pair forming a small island as furs milled past them. “Kent, hi!” The two shook paws and Bob Kinney asked, “How’s the wife and kids?”
Kent smiled. “Alice is fine, Bob, and the kids are in college. They’re eating me out of house and home, but from a distance,” and the two shared a laugh. “How are you and Barb doing?”
“Fine, fine. What brings you down to the Courthouse?”
“Status conference in the Roberts case, and I just got hired on to defend a guy from Spontoon.”
Kinney’s ears perked. “Jasper Wu?” At Twyford’s nod the Alsatian grimaced. “I’m lead prosecutor.”
“So we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, then.” The whitetail deer knew, as well as Kinney did, that their friendship wouldn’t matter once they were in court. “I’m not going to ask about the charges they’re holding him on, but what about the murder investigation?”
Kinney glanced left and right before replying, “Between you, me and the lamppost, we’re a ways off from seating a grand jury. The police are still digging. Still, the porn charges will stick.”
“Ah. Makes it even better that I ran into you,” and Twyford fished a sheaf of papers from a folder and held them out to Kinney, who gave the buck a suspicious look before glancing at the cover sheets.
He looked up. “Motion to suppress the stuff on his computer?”
“Yeah. I didn’t see a damn thing about a warrant when they started questioning.”
Kinney gave a soft growl and flicked a paw at the sheaf of paper. “And a pro hac vice? You’re bringing in a ringer?”
“I wouldn’t do that to you, Bob. His company hired me, and they also hired a Spontoonie lawyer to come and advise me.”
“Wonderful,” the prosecutor growled. “More the merrier. You been to talk to Wu yet?”
“I was headed there just now before I spotted you.”
“After he talked to the Consul, I’m told he’s clammed up completely.”
“He’s a lawyer, too, if the info I got is right.”
“Corporate,” Kinney amplified. “Again, this is between you and me, but he doesn’t fit the type for a foreign sex tourist,” he said.
“Is there a ‘type?’”
Kinney gave a grunt. “It’d make our jobs easier if there were. I have to get going, or Judge Gore will clip the fur off my tail. Catch you later, Kent.”
“Okay, Bob,” and the buck rejoined the crowd, headed for the jail.
***
Wu looked a little haggard, but the Shar Pei-wolf did a double take as Kent walked into the interview room. “You’re a Public Defender?”
The deer frowned and glanced back at the jail officer, who shrugged. “No, I’m not. I’m a private attorney, hired by your company.” He held out a small pasteboard rectangle. “My card.”
The card included the buck’s likeness, and Wu’s gaze flicked from it to Twyford several times before he put the card into a pocket of his inmate uniform. “My company hired you?”
“Yes,” and Twyford sat down facing the canine across the interview room’s table. “They’ve also retained a Spontoonie lawyer to help me defend you.” Wu’s ears perked and a hopeful expression crossed his face. “His name’s Frank Stagg. Do you know him?”
“Stagg? Good Lord,” and Wu muttered something in Spontoonie. “The company’s retaining the best.”
Kent smiled at the implication, and placed a blank pad on the table before taking a ballpoint pen from his jacket pocket. “Now I want to hear, from you, what was on your laptop computer.”
Wu sighed. “Family pictures,” he said in the weary tone people reserved for having to answer the same question for who knew how many times. “Pictures of my wife and children.”
“None of them in a sexual – please, Mr. Wu, I have to ask,” Kent said hastily, raising a paw as the canine across from him bared his teeth. “Look, I’ve filed a motion to suppress what was found on your laptop, since they didn’t have a warrant to search it. But, if the judge rules against me, I still need to defend you.”
“All right. I’m sorry,” Wu said. “No. None of the pictures have anything to do with sex.” Kent nodded, jotting a note, and the Shar Pei-wolf said, “We’re a churchgoing family.”
“I understand,” the buck said reassuringly. “This is why your company also retained Mr. Stagg. He can support your testimony.”
“I see that. It’s just hard, you know – being stuck in here, and helpless.”
“We’re working on it. All right,” and he drew a double line under his notes and asked, “What can you tell me about the police investigating you for a murder?”
***
Ordinarily, the old adage ‘train like you fight’ is a very sensible one.
But on a basement firing range, certain considerations must be allowed.
The air stank of smoke and gunpowder as Ni Lu cleared the QSZ-92 semiautomatic, set the pistol down on the bench in front of him, and removed his safety glasses and sound-deadening earphones before hitting a switch that brought the silhouette target to him. The target bore a tight grouping of ten shots, seven in the chest and three in the head, and the chubby red panda nodded approvingly.
Everyone called Ni Lu fat and assumed that he was slow and clumsy as a result. He cultivated that, keeping strong muscles hidden under a layer of fat and occasionally stumbling or moving slowly. But he trained constantly in three different martial arts. He’d even been granted the compliment of being almost as skilled as his esteemed great-grandfather, Ni Hao.
Of course, he could never hope to match the number of furs that Ni Hao had killed, but Hao had started when he was fourteen, and Lu had performed his first execution when he was twenty.
Changing times demanded other changes; Lu had a university degree and didn’t smoke. Few in the family did, citing Hao’s death from lung cancer as an example. Lu’s only real vices were old movies and American whisky, the latter he indulged in sparingly.
Ni Lu set up another target, sent it back to the ten-meter line downrange, and turned to the lacquered case resting on the bench. He opened it, revealing a lovingly well-maintained heirloom, Ni Hao’s Colt M1911 45-caliber pistol.
The red panda put his safety glasses and earphones back on, loaded his honored ancestor’s favorite weapon, and prepared to fire.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
A modern Spontoon Island story
© 2022 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
rabbi-tomSeven.
The Spontoonie lawyer’s contact information arrived by email along with a link to a videoconferencing site near the close of business that day, and Twyford’s first reaction was “What the hell?”
Every fur knew that there were hybrids, but nearly all of those were between closely-related species. He knew of a liger that played for the NBA team in Dallas; his favorite team were still kicking themselves for not hiring him first. Still, the sight of a cross between a carnivore and herbivore was almost always a surprise. The whitetail buck ran a search on the fellow, and his initial skepticism was replaced by interest.
Stagg had been an attorney for less than ten years, specializing in criminal defense law. Well, that certainly explained why Golden Dawn was retaining him . . . what?
An archived newspaper article was part of the search results, and it related that the cervine/feline hybrid had been arrested for public nudity in San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury neighborhood six years ago. He had been fined and released on condition that he return to Spontoon immediately. Twyford stroked his chin, thinking about what he’d been told about public nudity in the island nation. Fortunately, the fine was in lieu of time in jail, and the offense itself was a low-level misdemeanor. Had he been in another neighborhood at another time, he would have escaped any notice.
It was noon, but he’d had an early lunch, and was ready when the video session started. “Can you hear me?” Twyford asked, looking at the Spontoonie.
Stagg glanced up at the camera on his computer and replied in accented English, “Yes, I hear you. You’re Kent Twyford?”
“Yes.”
“Frank Stagg.” He peered at the screen again. “I’m afraid there’s something wrong with the camera – “
“Three antlers, right?”
Stagg blinked. “Er, yes.”
“All natural, I assure you,” the buck said dryly. “Why’d you get arrested for public nudity in ’16?”
A blink, a flick of feline ears, and a wide grin. “Fiftieth anniversary of the Summer of Love. I thought it was appropriate.”
“The anniversary was in ’17.”
A chuckle. “I know, but,” and here Stagg affected a stereotypical ‘stoner’ drawl, “like, even numbers are for squares, man,” and the two of them chuckled. “Not the first time I visited San Francisco, though.”
“Oh?”
“I used to BASE jump, and I scouted the Golden Gate Bridge.” Stagg shrugged as Twyford stared at him. “Winds were too chancy, so I wrote it off. So, I’ll be working with you?”
“Yes. I’ll be informing the court and the police that I’ll be representing Wu, and filing a pro hac vice application for you so you can assist in the case.”
Stagg nodded. “I’ll be flying out tomorrow, after I wrap up any pending business here.”
***
“Hiya, Bob.”
The Alsatian turned and smiled widely at the sight of the three-antlered buck walking up to him. He met Twyford in the middle of the crowded hallway, the pair forming a small island as furs milled past them. “Kent, hi!” The two shook paws and Bob Kinney asked, “How’s the wife and kids?”
Kent smiled. “Alice is fine, Bob, and the kids are in college. They’re eating me out of house and home, but from a distance,” and the two shared a laugh. “How are you and Barb doing?”
“Fine, fine. What brings you down to the Courthouse?”
“Status conference in the Roberts case, and I just got hired on to defend a guy from Spontoon.”
Kinney’s ears perked. “Jasper Wu?” At Twyford’s nod the Alsatian grimaced. “I’m lead prosecutor.”
“So we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, then.” The whitetail deer knew, as well as Kinney did, that their friendship wouldn’t matter once they were in court. “I’m not going to ask about the charges they’re holding him on, but what about the murder investigation?”
Kinney glanced left and right before replying, “Between you, me and the lamppost, we’re a ways off from seating a grand jury. The police are still digging. Still, the porn charges will stick.”
“Ah. Makes it even better that I ran into you,” and Twyford fished a sheaf of papers from a folder and held them out to Kinney, who gave the buck a suspicious look before glancing at the cover sheets.
He looked up. “Motion to suppress the stuff on his computer?”
“Yeah. I didn’t see a damn thing about a warrant when they started questioning.”
Kinney gave a soft growl and flicked a paw at the sheaf of paper. “And a pro hac vice? You’re bringing in a ringer?”
“I wouldn’t do that to you, Bob. His company hired me, and they also hired a Spontoonie lawyer to come and advise me.”
“Wonderful,” the prosecutor growled. “More the merrier. You been to talk to Wu yet?”
“I was headed there just now before I spotted you.”
“After he talked to the Consul, I’m told he’s clammed up completely.”
“He’s a lawyer, too, if the info I got is right.”
“Corporate,” Kinney amplified. “Again, this is between you and me, but he doesn’t fit the type for a foreign sex tourist,” he said.
“Is there a ‘type?’”
Kinney gave a grunt. “It’d make our jobs easier if there were. I have to get going, or Judge Gore will clip the fur off my tail. Catch you later, Kent.”
“Okay, Bob,” and the buck rejoined the crowd, headed for the jail.
***
Wu looked a little haggard, but the Shar Pei-wolf did a double take as Kent walked into the interview room. “You’re a Public Defender?”
The deer frowned and glanced back at the jail officer, who shrugged. “No, I’m not. I’m a private attorney, hired by your company.” He held out a small pasteboard rectangle. “My card.”
The card included the buck’s likeness, and Wu’s gaze flicked from it to Twyford several times before he put the card into a pocket of his inmate uniform. “My company hired you?”
“Yes,” and Twyford sat down facing the canine across the interview room’s table. “They’ve also retained a Spontoonie lawyer to help me defend you.” Wu’s ears perked and a hopeful expression crossed his face. “His name’s Frank Stagg. Do you know him?”
“Stagg? Good Lord,” and Wu muttered something in Spontoonie. “The company’s retaining the best.”
Kent smiled at the implication, and placed a blank pad on the table before taking a ballpoint pen from his jacket pocket. “Now I want to hear, from you, what was on your laptop computer.”
Wu sighed. “Family pictures,” he said in the weary tone people reserved for having to answer the same question for who knew how many times. “Pictures of my wife and children.”
“None of them in a sexual – please, Mr. Wu, I have to ask,” Kent said hastily, raising a paw as the canine across from him bared his teeth. “Look, I’ve filed a motion to suppress what was found on your laptop, since they didn’t have a warrant to search it. But, if the judge rules against me, I still need to defend you.”
“All right. I’m sorry,” Wu said. “No. None of the pictures have anything to do with sex.” Kent nodded, jotting a note, and the Shar Pei-wolf said, “We’re a churchgoing family.”
“I understand,” the buck said reassuringly. “This is why your company also retained Mr. Stagg. He can support your testimony.”
“I see that. It’s just hard, you know – being stuck in here, and helpless.”
“We’re working on it. All right,” and he drew a double line under his notes and asked, “What can you tell me about the police investigating you for a murder?”
***
Ordinarily, the old adage ‘train like you fight’ is a very sensible one.
But on a basement firing range, certain considerations must be allowed.
The air stank of smoke and gunpowder as Ni Lu cleared the QSZ-92 semiautomatic, set the pistol down on the bench in front of him, and removed his safety glasses and sound-deadening earphones before hitting a switch that brought the silhouette target to him. The target bore a tight grouping of ten shots, seven in the chest and three in the head, and the chubby red panda nodded approvingly.
Everyone called Ni Lu fat and assumed that he was slow and clumsy as a result. He cultivated that, keeping strong muscles hidden under a layer of fat and occasionally stumbling or moving slowly. But he trained constantly in three different martial arts. He’d even been granted the compliment of being almost as skilled as his esteemed great-grandfather, Ni Hao.
Of course, he could never hope to match the number of furs that Ni Hao had killed, but Hao had started when he was fourteen, and Lu had performed his first execution when he was twenty.
Changing times demanded other changes; Lu had a university degree and didn’t smoke. Few in the family did, citing Hao’s death from lung cancer as an example. Lu’s only real vices were old movies and American whisky, the latter he indulged in sparingly.
Ni Lu set up another target, sent it back to the ten-meter line downrange, and turned to the lacquered case resting on the bench. He opened it, revealing a lovingly well-maintained heirloom, Ni Hao’s Colt M1911 45-caliber pistol.
The red panda put his safety glasses and earphones back on, loaded his honored ancestor’s favorite weapon, and prepared to fire.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 82 x 120px
File Size 47.5 kB
Comments