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CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO NED

He'd barely made it out of the building when his voice vibrated_. Gee, that was fast, Arkady_, he thought, but when he extracted the phone, the ID said Garrett.

Briefly he considered how he should relate the morning's events. Best to tell all, perhaps? Maybe Garrett (or even Olympia) might have suggestions for how to handle it. Plus, he'd have to tell them that Senator McCracken apparently had some knowledge of their dealings.

"Hey, Baby."

"He can't talk right now."

Ned froze with his paw on the Ford's door handle. "Your secret's out" he hissed.

There was a brief pause. "Perhaps" the familiar voice allowed. "But, either way. I still have your coyote, Ned. Someone has to pay."

"Don't you lay a fucking paw on him!" Ned snarled, sliding the Ford's key into the ignition. "Where are you?"

"Patience, wuff" he could make out a slight chuckle. "We haven't made a deal yet."

"I-"

"...but first things first. If I hear so much as a whiff that you have other cops with you and are coming to arrest me, the next time you see your yote, he'll be in pieces."

"I'm alone" Ned whispered, heart pounding. Forget McCracken and Williston and the rest, the Prophet had Garrett, and-

"Now that we have those pleasantries out of the way." The tone was friendlier, now. Diplomatic. "Do you know the old abandoned shopping mall? Used to host a Nordstrom's, a Macy's, food stores and so on. Actually only a few miles from the Eloquence Hotel, where the gala was."

"I know that mall" Ned said. "Is that where you have him?" He switched on the engine, backed out, and started pulling out of the parking lot. How long would it take to reach the spot? At least this was the middle of the day, rather than the afternoon when everyone was getting off work.

"Be there, alone. Mall centre plaza works fine. Time to settle this between the two of ourselves, I think? No weapons, now."

The phone clicked off.

The drive to the mall was maddening. Logically, Ned knew Garrett could handle himself; he had probably dealt with enemies far more dangerous than the Prophet, and he had prepared for this anyway, but the crippling malady of fear gripped him nonetheless, and his tail did not de-bristle during the entire drive. This was the mistake McCracken and her allies had failed to realise; the Prophet wasn't done yet.

At least traffic wasn't too bad. Every time a traffic light turned red, Ned would be tempted to run it, but instead he'd grip the steering wheel, fangs clenched, ears pinned. Don't do anything stupid, Garrett. Not that that was likely, but still.

Ned had not been to the abandoned mall previously, although he had heard it mentioned as a favourite location for drug trades and as a hangout for teenage vandals and minor gangs; a place that the street cops and narcotics detectives were more likely to be called to than a homicide officer. It was a long, tall, multi-complex building, stained with rust, windows largely boarded over. At one time it had probably been one of the city's premier shopping centres, but now it was a ramshackle derelict, neglected to a slow decline into rubble.

Ned parked in the empty lot of what had once been a Macy's. Part of the big red sign was still clearly visible on the side of the building, although vandals had removed both the M and the y, leaving only the middle of the word. Stepping out of the car, Ned felt like a character in a post-apocalyptic movie; alone, the sky dark and over-cast and preparing to enter an empty complex where a heartless killer lurked.

The Macy's had once featured a double-glass sliding door, but that had been smashed at some point, so Ned stepped carefully among shards of broken glass, entering the store's lobby. He crouched low as his paws touched the once-smooth tiled floor, ears pricked. Somewhere, water was dripping, and the floor was damp beneath his paws. A thick dank scent of decay and deterioration permeated everything, damp and mouldy. Part of the floor, that underneath what had once been the men's clothes area, had been made of some kind of thin carpet, which hosted a healthy crop of mould.

Though his concern for Garrett had yet to wane, Ned found himself fascinated by the decay of the place. Fallen cases, clothes racks, and display shelves littered the store's floor, and here and there among them were odd pieces of clothing, these largely overcome by rot and moulding. The checkout area seemed slightly more intact; the cash registers still in their place, although clearly devoid of money. A stack of discarded shopping baskets lay scattered in front of one of them, amid random beer bottles, soda cans, candy wrappers, and other assorted debris abandoned by vandals. One wall had once featured an enormous photo of a smiling leopardess modelling a bikini, which vandals had beautified by attempting with spray paint to embellish the parts of the cat's anatomy which the bikini hid.

Ned left the ruined Macy's and wandered out to the balcony that formed the mall's centre, from where he could look out and see at least two lower storeys, and several others above. On either side of the balcony were the remains of more stores; jewellery stores and sports gear outlets, kitchen suppliers and tattoo parlours, Subways, McDonalds, and half-a-dozen other fast food outlets, and other various clothing wholesalers or representatives of fashion houses. The ceiling of the mall centre had once held a skylight, which had since fallen through; this, thankfully, let in enough light to make the centre area, at least, relatively easy to make out.

He walked along the edge of the balcony for a few minutes, passing a bookstore and a grill café, ears pricked for sounds, but nothing rose above the faint dripping of water, and the debris disturbed by his paws. The Prophet had said to meet him here, at the mall's centre, but no sign-

His paw had just been fishing in his jacket pocket for his phone, thinking he'd redial the number, when his eyes picked out something unfamiliar amid the debris of the bottom story. Was that - yes it was, Garrett, kneeling near some ruined kiosks, head bowed. Fuck, was he - no, the Prophet wouldn't have hurt him, Garrett was too clever for that. His head urged him to act carefully, watch for danger, but as he ran to the nearest stairs and trotted down them, avoiding bits of glass and plaster, his heart said "run to Garrett, he needs you," and as often happens, emotion proved more powerful than reason.

When he had reached the floor Garrett was on he saw that there was no blood on the coyote, and his nose caught no scent of it either, or of death or injury. Garrett was barely moving, kneeling with paws behind him, tied with a thick zip-tie. Ned barely dared to breath, tail poised, ears pricked, as his eyes searched for the Prophet. He took one step away from the stairs; watched one of Garrett's big ears swivel in his direction.

"Ned Parker. I've been waiting for you."

Ned froze, head turning just as Garrett's did, and he watched Jared Joel Maxwell walk from the shadows, where he'd apparently been lurking outside what had once been a woman's sportswear retailer. The fox raised a paw - the one that was not holding a raised pistol - and smiled, white fangs ghostly in the dim light. "All those experienced detectives and you, a rookie, were the one leading the case. I really am impressed."

Not daring to move lest Maxwell shoot, Ned started the fox in the eye. "Spare me the flattery, fox. You make yourself out to be a hero for gay folks, leading the fight for equality, and yet on the side-lines you're living a nightlife as a serial killer of gay people? That's a personality complex if I've ever heard of one."

The lawyer's expression soured into a pout, but overall he still seemed relaxed, calmed, his ploofy tail maintaining an easy swishing. "I knew I could not expect you to understand." He shook a claw at Ned. "Can you not see that my actions have painted the anti-gay crowd as exactly what they are?" His claws clenched. "Stupid, childish, hating fools..." the words hissed from his muzzle, half mumbled. Ned found himself further doubting whether, for all his perfect acting and avoidance of being discovered, Maxwell was entirely sane.

He glanced at Garrett, who'd said nothing but was watching their exchange. Seeing that Maxwell was looking at Ned, he winked. Ned sighed. Time to lay down things as they were. "I know who you really are," he growled at the fox, slowly raising his paws to make quote marks in the air, "JJ."

"You must have found that name I used with Joey" the fox shrugged.

Ned shook his head, finding himself filled with a strange calmness despite the gravity of the fact that Maxwell was armed and he was not. "Let me tell you a story, JJ. This story happened in 1999. That year mean anything to you?"

To his surprise, the fox's answer of "no," and the head shake, seemed genuine. Still, he continued. "On May 4th, 1999, a family of foxes sat down to dinner in their suburban Chicago home. There were Bill and Nan Rosgen, the parents - a lawyer and a PTA president; Bradly Rosgen, a college kid on a basketball scholarship at Hancock University in Pittsburgh, just home for the weekend with his Italian fiancée, Francesca Locatelli; Michael Rosgen, a teenager still in high school, and Amy Rosgen, just eight. These names mean anything to you?"

The ear flick was unmistakable, just as was the way the fox flinched at every name, especially the second-to-last. He licked his lips nervously. "No."

"I think you're lying." Encouraged, he hurried on, hearing Garrett's unsaid words of reassurance. "That night, a group of thugs came in and shot up the place. The official story was that every member of the Rosgen family, including Miss Locatelli, was killed that night. That is what the official police report said. Blame was placed upon a local street gang who'd vowed revenge after Bill Rosgen got one of their buddies convicted."

Maxwell was clearly shivering now, and his eyes were on the ground. "Stop talking" he hissed.

"I think the real story is a bit different" Ned stated. The scent of fear, or something close to it, was beginning to drift in from Maxwell. "I think one of the Rosgen sons survived. It wouldn't be Bradly - I saw the photos of his body, and even if he was alive, he'd be close to forty by now." He cleared his throat and lifted a claw, like a judge preparing to deliver a verdict. "But Michael was a different story. First, there was no photo of his body. Second, the report said he was still alive when medical assistance arrived at the scene. It was stated he then died en route to the hospital, like his mother did, but no details are provided."

The fox looked like a ghost, jaw shaking, ears askew, eyes wide, shivering. "Want to know what I think?" Ned asked him. "I think Michael Rosgen didn't die. I think he survived his wounds, and was placed in the witness protection program in case the gang tried finishing what they'd started. I think he grew up, assumed a new identity as Jared Joel Maxwell, and attended law school just like his father did, before moving to California."

He fixed his eyes on Maxwell, wanting him to meet them. "Tell me, am I that far off?"

For a moment he thought the fox hadn't heard up, and then Maxwell's head jerked up and he screamed "You're lying!" He pointed the handgun above Ned's head and fired, making Ned instinctively drop to the ground and flatten his sensitive ears. The gunshot, mixed with the sounds of shattering glass from a window the bullet had struck, mixed with the fox's insisting of "They're all fine! They didn't die." He lowered the gun, so it was pointed directly at Ned's chest.