Derrick let out a long, heavy sigh as he steps outside. He pushes the heavy metal door of the bunker shut, with the barrier making a loud clank. He steps away from the door and pulls out a rag to clean the blood off his talons, and that is when he notices that Lexia is gone, Jayson is in a tree, and Trafford is leaning against Lexia’s tree, playing on his flip phone.

“Heck yeah, new high score,” says Trafford. He looks up and sees Derrick staring at him, and he smiles pockets his phone. “What’s the news, champ?”

Derrick grunts and looks at Jayson, ignoring Trafford’s scoff and irritated mumbling.

“Jayson, why are you in the tree? And where's Lexia?” asks Derrick.

“Lexia took her mom to a popsicle stick building class and I like trees,” replies Jayson.

“It's true. He climbed it really quick. Very impressive,” says Trafford.

Trafford pulls out a large protein bar and takes a large bite out of it, and Derrick stuffs his bloody rag in his pocket.

“Well, Mortimer ain't talking. We need to fix that quickly,” says Derrick.

“Any ideas?” asks Trafford.

“The snake,” blurts Jayson.

Derrick and Trafford look at him.

“Mortimer and the snake are a thing. The other day he flipped out when he thought I hurt her. So, we use her for leverage. He tells us where Ramsey is, we give Ramsey to Trafford, and Trafford will go far away from us forever,” says Jayson.

Jayson finishes with a glare directed at Trafford, and the odd ram smiles.

“I like that,” says Trafford. He turns to Derrick. “You and Jayson get to work. I'll call my boss and have him prepare the money and erasing stuff.”

Trafford pulls out his flip phone and calmly walks away as he dials a number. Derrick's eyes follow the ram, his tall frame and confident gait displaying his lack of urgency or worry. Meanwhile, Jayson's descends the tree with ease, his limbs moving nimbly, and after hoping down, he approaches Derrick.

“Did that weirdo do something to you?” asks Derrick, his eyes still on Trafford.

“Not this time,” says Jayson.

Derrick snaps to Jayson. “What?”

Jayson waves dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Let's find Lexia. Do you know where they could have a popsicle stick building class?”

Derrick shakes his head. “No... But I know just the guy who does.”

*****

A little while later with flying and sore arms for Derrick from carrying Jayson, the pair find themselves at the Bliss County Police Precinct One.

Three stories of gothic architecture looms over them, its weathered stone facade streaked with grime and neglect.

The precinct's tall, pointed windows, once gleaming with purpose, are now caked with years of accumulated filth. Several panes are cracked or replaced with plywood.

Faded lettering above the precinct's heavy wooden doors proclaims "Bliss County Police" in peeling gold leaf. Stone gargoyles along the roof snarl down with eroded fangs and faded blue paint peels from the heavy wooden doors. The concrete stairs leading to the front door and the surrounding sidewalk are cracked and discolored, and in front of the station, surrounded by a ring of weak flowers, is a bronze statue depicting a heroic officer standing tall, one foot planted on a cowering criminal, his badge raised high. But now the bronze is streaked with green, and graffiti tags mark the stone pedestal with vulgar words and butterflies. Even the officer’s eyes have been painted blue while a smile is painted on the criminal’s face.

Derrick scowls at the statue as he and Jayson walk past it. "Place has gone to shit since the mayor and governor got on Mama Bear’s good side. Surprised the doors are even still open."

Jayson shrugs, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets as a breeze whips by, carrying the stench of stagnant water from the nearby canals and the hint of a brewing storm.

“Well, I voted for the other guy, so this is all on the retards that voted for those two," says Jayson.

Derrick grunts and they remain silent as they continue their walk. When they enter Precinct One, the heavy doors groan and creak, echoing off the withered gothic-style columns and faded wanted posters hanging crookedly on a corkboard. Dim, flickering fluorescent lights barely illuminate the decaying grandeur of the high, vaulted ceilings and ornate tile floor. A lone receptionist desk stands at the far end, reinforced with steel and bullet-resistant glass, its fluorescent lights buzzing and illuminating stacks of yellowed papers and ancient monitors behind grimy glass.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

When the pair reach the desk, Jayson wrinkles his nose, both from the musty smell of the station and the fact that behind the desk there is a familiar lop-eared rabbit with white fur and long brown ears that frame her face elegantly. Her curly black hair cascades neatly down her back, contrasting with her grayish blue eyes that hold a permanent bored expression. Clad in a snug police uniform that accentuates her small frame, every button perfectly fastened and badge gleaming brightly, she seems to blend seamlessly into the professional attire despite her evident disinterest as she absentmindedly attempts to balance on its tip.

“Are you kidding me?” says Jayson.

“Hello again, Jayson,” says Mariana without looking up from her pen, her cheek resting on her fist.

“Where don’t you work?”

“Heaven.”

Jayson recoils slightly, and Derrick clears his throat, bringing Mariana to look up at him while keeping her cheek resting on her fist.

“I need to speak to Detective North Nermal,” says Derrick.

“Why?” asks Mariana.

“Personal business.”

“Is it an emergency?”

“It is,” says Jayson. “We need his help with something.”

Derrick shoves Jayson back.

“I’m talking. Not you,” says Derrick. He turns back to Mariana and smiles sweetly. “Ma’am, it is important that I speak to Detective Nermal. He’s an old acquaintance of mine on the police force and I need his advice on something important. It’s a personal matter.”

Mariana grunts and picks up the corded phone receiver while pointing at a row of lump chairs.

“Have a seat over there, I’ll call him down,” says Mariana.

“Thank you, ma’am,” says Derrick. He grabs Jayson’s shoulder and squeezes it hard, making the Hobo wince. “Have a seat, Jayson.”

The two sit down next to a dead potted plant, and Jayson shifts around a few seconds in a chair that feels like it is stuffed with broken rocks before deciding the floor is more comfortable. A few minutes later, Detective North Nermal enters the lobby. Mariana points towards Jayson and Derrick, and Nermal walks up to them, ragged and tired and holding a coffee pot with a metal straw in the steaming liquid.

“What are you two doing here? Shouldn't you two be wrecking the town with your vigilantism?” says Nermal.

“Well, maybe if the police did their jobs we wouldn't have to wreck the town,” says Jayson.

Nermal sips his coffee through the straw. “Then talk to the Mayor and the Governor. They make the rules. Or abolish them in this case. Now what do you want?”

Derrick and Jayson stand up, and Derrick extends his hand, which is shaken by Nermal.

“You're a bit grouchy, aren't you?” asks Derrick, keeping his hold on Nermal’s hand.

“I'm grouchy because someone, not naming any names, got into a fight that tore apart an alley and threw a dumpster through a wall of an electronics store which led to a string of thefts that people used to barter for Reel Sight pills. Also, anti-venom was stolen from the hospital,” says Nermal. He tugs his hand away from Derrick and looks at Jayson critically. “You wouldn't happen to know anything about any of those, would you?”

“Mortimer started the alley fight, and I have no idea about the venom thing,” says Jayson.

“Of course he did.” Nermal turns to Derrick. “What do you want?”

“We're looking for Lexia, and Jayson said she took her mom to a popsickle stick building class. I know you know where that is,” says Derrick.

Nermal sips his coffee. “You’re right. I do know just where it is, but I'm not driving. Sleep deprivation and all that.”

“And I don't have a car,” says Derrick.

“So, does that mean we're taking the bus?” asks Jayson.

“Yep. Good thing I have my bus pass.” Derrick yanks out his wallet and shows off his Bliss Town Monthly Bus Pass, grinning proudly. “I never leave home without it.”

Jayson cocks his head. “But you can fly.”

Derrick returns his wallet to his pocket. “Well, sometimes I don't feel like flying.”

Nermal scoffs. “You may have a monthly bus pass. But...”

Nermal dramatically pulls out a National Annual Bus Pass: Delux Class, and holds it up with a menacing glint in his eyes and predatory grin as the holographic bus shaped band on the pass glitters in the light like a jewel.

“What?” gasp Jayson and Derrick in unison.

“That's right,” says Nermal. “I have a nationwide deluxe bus pass. I can go anywhere I want in the country and have one person tag along. It's just like morning wood. Always there. Always reliable. Unlike my ex. Freaking Stephanie. What a bitch.”

Jayson grimaces, and Derrick rubs the underside of his beak.

“How'd you get it?”

“Department of Transportation hub in Red City. It only cost me nine hundred bucks. Rounding up,” replies Nermal as he puts away his deluxe bus pass.

“Ah, inflation. Always there to ruin our bank accounts,” says Jayson with a wry smile.

“Yep. Just like my ex, Sharon,” says Nermal. His face scrunches and his hand clenches into a trembling fist, leading to some hot coffee to dribble to the floor. “That money siphoning whore.”

Jayson glances at Derrick nervously, but the older eagle waves off his discomfort with a small wave. And as this happens, Nermal buts his way past the two.

“Alright, let’s get out of here. We have a bus to catch,” says Nermal.

The trio quickly exits the precinct. The overcast day dampens the already muted colors of Bliss Town, and chill wind tugs at their clothes as they make their way to the bus stop with Nermal in the lead, coffee pot in hand, slurping noisily from his metal straw. Their destination is located a block away; it is a graffiti-covered shelter with a rickety bench and a rusted signpost bearing a faded schedule.

When they reach the shelter, Jayson slumps on the bench, making it creak and groan. He pulls his coat tighter around himself, glowering at the gloomy sky. Derrick remains standing, eyes scanning the street with a wary gaze, and Nermal leans against the signpost, taking another long, obnoxious slurp of coffee. He smacks his lips, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Damn fine coffee. Want some?" He holds out the pot to Jayson.

Jayson wrinkles his nose. "I'll pass. Rather not get your germs."

Nermal holds his coffee pot to Derrick, and the eagle stares at it for a couple of seconds before sipping from the straw. He licks his beak and nods approvingly.

“Nice. What brand is it?” asks Derrick.

“Floggers. The flavor is Breakfast Blend,” replies Nermal.

“Very nice. I’ll have to try this brand more often.”

The group falls silent and minutes tick by, marked by the distant wail of sirens and the occasional gust of wind rattling the shelter. Then a bus rounds the corner, its green and white paint fading and chipping with graffiti desecrating its side. The breaks squeal and the engine hisses and pops as the bus grinds to a stop. The tinted door opens, and the group does a double take.

Mariana Cross is sitting in the driver’s seat, wearing a bus driver’s green and white uniform, looking bored.

“Okay, what the heck? Are you a clone?” says Jayson.

“No,” says Mariana.

“Then how are you over here when we just saw you over there!”

“I mastered time management. Are you getting on or not?”

Jayson sighs heavily. “Yeah, yeah. We're getting on.” He looks at Derrick and Nermal. “Which one of you two is covering me?”