Chapter 11 – Missing People

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-September 14, 1966

For days, Spook was barely aware of the world around him.

Where this gap in the mind would terrify most, he for one had little concern or regret.

But he did remember the deafening explosion that rocked the ground underneath them, and brought the ceiling down with the force of a weapon unleashed from the belly of a warplane.

Through a haze of sickness, he saw cracks run through the old foundation pillars in the hellish room he was still imprisoned to. He saw the thugs and thieves and killers, screaming and falling and running in a blind panic as if they had suddenly remembered every death they were responsible for. He saw hands thrashing in desperation from beneath rubble, scratching at the concrete crushing them until their claws snapped off, and no one seemed to see them.

Spook knew the people were screaming; he saw their open maws and dilated eyes, but he heard none of it. The explosion was the last thing he heard. And then the world was silent.

Someone roughly pulled him up by the scruff of his neck from the corner where he'd been huddled. The filthy linen towel that was bunched underneath him was thrown over his body, and then he was on someone's shoulder as they ran like hell. Though he couldn't hear anything, the vibrations around him pressed against his fur and the very skin underneath.

He opened his mouth, and asked where the explosion came from. Nothing reached his ears, but he felt the heaviness of his own tongue, and the slur of his uncooperative lips.

If his salvager had bothered to answer him, Spook had no idea. He closed his eyes, and the person ran.

-September 20, 1966

Spook knew he was dying.

His body had put up a hell of a fight, but even an alley cat's resilience was finite.

In a remote corner of his feverish mind, he knew infection was ravaging through his bloodstream, and his body's defenses were slowly collapsing. Water was the only thing Bouncer could successfully force him to swallow, even when half of it was brought back up. And food was impossible; his stomach was out of commission.

"You're really gonna die on me," the dog said in dismay over the sound of his cold black nose sniffing at his ears, breath, and even his whiskers. "Damn this to Hell. Damn you, alley cat."

Spook drifted in and out of consciousness. His inborn sense of time was warped, and as the periods of unconsciousness lengthened and darkened, he rose from his comatose state to new, unfamiliar pain. Sometimes there a long, slender artifact or more, protruding from his veins underneath his thinning olive fur. He would feel burning in his side, in his abdomen, even in his throat. He didn't know where he was, and it didn't matter – too sick to think clearly, too lonely to stay awake.

-September 22, 1966

The next time Spook was in the waking realm he was on his back, gasping for breath with no intention or control. The sounds that came out of his mouth were cowing; hoarse, wheezing gurgles for air. Pain. His body was fighting without him; his chest constricted painfully, and his lungs burned. Something warm – not warm, hot…was moving against his cooling body, pressing hard against his chest, up and down. Up and down in rhythm.

"You're doin' great, lady," a familiar voice came from somewhere, but the words meant nothing to the feline. "Ya better keep doin' great."

Another person spoke. A high-pitched, pleading voice, "A'hm doing ma best! Don't frazzle me,– I can't just...please..ma kids are-"

"You'll get back to ya kids. We been over this," said the dog – (Bouncer..?) – impatiently. "Ya hear that, dripshit? Ya better pull through, for this poor lady's sake."

Spook turned his dilated eyes from the ceiling to a person next to him. He could not see beyond the white material that covered their chest and torso. Two red-furred arms moved in a flurry – leaving his burning chest be for the time being and moving to his neck. Something burned anew in his jugular. He heaved, and threw up nothing but bile.

"Oh come on, Alley. There are lives on the line 'ere – donya do a bitch move and die on us now."

It was not jovial or sadistic, but there was a kind of flippancy to his words that pulled on something deep down in the feline; a distant, familiar instinct bred from a lifetime of living on the streets.

The faceless person trying to help – (save?) – him was breathing heavily, movements rushing, shaking, burning, yet never abusing.

Taken to shock, he slipped into blackness. He heard loud words and mewling replies, but nothing had meaning.

-September 30, 1966

Spook had not the foggiest idea where G.P. was, and his sense of time was struggling to realign itself with the world. Where it did not matter during the past three weeks, as the worst of his sickness slowly subsided, fear came back to reside in his heart.

"Worried for your old pals? Don' worry - they're alive. That's all I know," Bouncer said one day, seated on a nearby crate with his nose back in his tomes, now that he was sure Spook wasn't 'gonna die on him like a lil' bitch.'

As if he sensed Spook's dark look boring into him, he glanced up from the corner of his eyes. "Don' believe me? I'm good at what I do, Alley. I find people. I had no idea where ya beloved fella heaters live, but I found out – It's jus' what I do."

"I..I don'-"

"Hoagie's Alley, ain't it called?"

Spook's words died on his tongue. He stared at the dog for a few moments, then hoarsely asked: "Why? Why were ya there..?"

"I was lookin' for someone else, and I found 'em."

At Spook's uncomprehending stare, he impatiently added: "Don' strain yaself. I can smell 'em on ya. I recognized 'em. This nose of mine can get annoyin' like that."

"That's..that's impossible," said Spook. "I haven't met them in a long time."

Bouncer rolled his eyes and turned back to his reading. "That ain' what ma nose tells me."

"..He set you up for this, didn't he?" hissed the cat, getting up suddenly. The movement sent a wave of sickness down his empty stomach. "To get back at me –! I swear, I swear if you even touch any of them-"

"Keep ya hackles on the bed, Alley," barked the dog. "I got no orders to go near any of 'em – it jus' happened. And while we're at it, my nose doesn' lie. Ya must've met one of ya old pals recently enough – I bet he's the same pal G.P. Boss attacked, ey? He carried the rest of the scents. I only need one bridge, kid."

Spook had fallen back on the bed like a lifeless marionette, what little strength that possessed him dissipated. His body curled into itself, and his pelt began to shake.

"What the..? Dayyum, no. Ya dyin'on me again? Hey, Doc! LaRue! Get in here! Where's that damn woman?!"

There was nothing Spook could've done to keep any semblance of control. He cried and cried.

"Dayyum. I'd almost rather you were dyin'. I can't do nothin' about this," was all Bouncer said. He sounded almost sad.

He was silent, and all that could be heard was Spook's heartbroken weeping.

"I tell ya what, ya need a change o' scenery." said the dog abruptly, as if he'd made up his mind on something. Spook didn't look his way. "This bunk's a shithole anyway and I was glad t'be leavin'.

"I'm goin' in a couple days, but what the heck, come along. G.P. ain' gonna be payin' attention to a little thing like that, an' I don' think you were gonna like ya new roomie, anyway. He's a pig.

"Get yaself together and clean up, before I hose ya down again. Gotta be presentable in front o' a lady."

-October 1, 1966

"I'm sorry you got dragged into this mess, Doc," said Spook as he lay down at the doctor's request.

The gentle-featured red feline shook her head at him and gave a smile, but it didn't reach her beautiful brown eyes. "Ah've nothing to say you don't already know. All ah care about is the safety of ma kids. If thay're safe and ah get to save someone's life, then maybe ahm at the right place at the right time..even if ah hate every minute of it."

"You'll go home," assured the olive-pelted cat.

"Ah better," she replied with force that did not match her tired face. She pushed a tasteless watery soup bowl into his paws and demanded he eat.

"You can start celebratin', Doc," came Bouncer's voice from outside the door even before he swung it open after a moment of keys in a rusty loud lock. "We're leavin' real soon. Can't tell ya when exactly – hope ya like surprises. That means you're goin' home, and we're disappearin'.

"Ya never saw us – a couple junkies kidnapped ya for ya bag and left ya on the other side of state and ya had to hike it back. Right?"

"Yes.."

"Of course. Just to make sure, Alley here will live?"

"Yes."

"He gotta – G.P. would run us both over if his favorite kitten died by any hand that ain' his," said the dog with a grin. "Sorry, that was in bad taste, huh…you're a good doc. Sorry for the abduction. I know I'm not the easiest guy t'get along with. Now I'll abduct ya back where ya came from. An' remember Doc…ya never saw us, and I in turn will never see you or your family. Understood?"

"Yes.."

"Atta girl. I envy people who don' talk much. Go shower. An' Alley after ya." was the offhanded comment before Bouncer crossed the room to the crates, and rummaged through his brown messenger bag that Spook recently noticed rarely left his person.

Within moments, the dog was settled back on a crate, with a torn old folder, and a jar of deep brown pelts. He sniffed at it for a moment, pushed up his glasses and buried his muzzle into the pages, his nose wrinkling just a bit at the smell of ink and old browning paper.

Bouncer had no straight face, and it unnerved Spook.

-October 4, 1966

"Oh, you're alive and eatin'. On ya feet. Wait wait, stand right there while I kneel to our Lord," said Bouncer as he walked into the cabin one evening.

Spook only gave him a glance, the half-finished loaf in his paw. "You talk too much, anyone told ya that?"

"No one's ever dared b'fore," countered the dog jauntily. Spook was mildly surprised; Bouncer seemed more chipper today than what was normal of him – derisive comments and an odd fascination with murder.

"Ya took the doc back to her family?"

"You could say that," shrugged the dog as he locked the door. He turned and at the look on the cat's face, raised up his paws. "Oh come on, cat! What's with ya, I got her to her block safe and sound."

"Gee, I dunno. Catnappin' a woman?" Spook sneered. "Threatenin' to hurt her kittens? Like, wow dad. Absolute trust right there."

"Ok, now I know ya'll live," said the dog derisively as he made his way towards the crates stacked against the wall of what Spook now knew was an off-the-grid warehouse. "Doncha know how I had ta talk an' talk myself into leavin' ya alone here."

"What made ya?"

"I was thinkin', 'this cat ain' askin' to die, but ain' tryin' hard to stay alive either. Who knows what to do with ya – and G.P. off havin' fun bein' a gangster and no time for lil' ole you…' but then, maybe that's exactly why you're still alive. An' gettin' a kick outta pissin' me off. I'da said ya doin' it on purpose ta save ya skin, reverse psychology and all that, but nah that ain't yar abilities-"

"Yapyapyap," mocked Spook, knowing the effect the jeer would have on a dog. "So you wouldn't let me die because ya thought it'll be fun ta watch him kill me instead."

"Don' talk to me like that, Alley. I've been nothin' but good to ya."

Spook let out a raucous laugh. "Yeah, Pops! It's been a blast! My left ear busted, dyin' of infection, not knowin' where the hell I am or where my friends are-!"

"You got no friends in this place – only people who don' want to kill you." cut in the dog impatiently.

"Where the hell is that bastard?" hissed Spook.

Bouncer leaned back against one of the crates, pulling out his peculiar jar once more. "My guess is he's up to his whiskers in another gang leader's business." He slinked back amongst the towers of crates.

"What? Who, Fast Paw?"

"Not sure. He's been keepin' his people talkin' an' I got all sorts of wild conspiracies, most of which I know are baloney. The one who'd know exactly is the big cat and his flunkeys."

Monster, thought Spook. He held his gaunt frame and shuffled gracelessly to the thin, prison-like mattress.

"Now that I know you can take it, we can leave." said the dog after some time, voice slightly muffled as he moved amongst crates doing God-knows-what; Spook didn't really care to ask.

"Like hell I'm goin' anywhere with ya, dad. I'm done with this hellhole."

Bouncer's shuffling ceased. His freckled face poked from between two crates and he stared at the cat hard. "So you'll just go home to that alley? Ya really think ya'll last the week?"

"I've made enough mistakes to last me a lifetime," Spook spoke with deep bitterness. "I've screwed my folks. I've screwed the only people I call family next to them. I did nothin' right. I can't do nothin' on my own without – without gettin' –" Spook's voice failed him.

"Ya never told me why ya joined this shithole in the first place. Ya ain' the type," said Bouncer. He was definitely in a mood today.

"Nothin' I wanna talk about," said Spook. He hated himself. "I never think. And my family and friends keep tryin' to fix my mistakes. They end up dead. It should've been me."

Bouncer didn't comment or press, and instead said, "If you don't wanna hurt the rest of your family then, do as I tell ya. You're comin' with me. If ya don' want me listenin' to ya sob story that still doesn't mean you'd last without me."

"Like I don't see why you'd give a shit. Leame alone, man," was the cat's antagonistic reply.

"Again with the catty attitude. I guess..that's why you lot make good gang leaders," said the dog as if to himself, but Spook knew he was meant to hear it. "I guess every city has to have its tumors."

Spook bristled. "Arright, I'll bite – and I take offense to that, pops. What's a dog know about anything? You lot are like, the worst people readers out there."

"Don' talk about things ya don't understand, kid. You're no psychic yaself. No one in their right mind would ever think anythin' good could come outta workin' for G.P."

Spook gaped at him. The nerve of this dog!

"Dad. That. Is. Rich," he grit on the words, splaying his arms wide in mockery. Bouncer's naturally-smirking muzzle only infuriated him further. "You're a sick bastard! What are ya here for? To torture people and then watch that sick animal kill them? Is that what ya get off on? You're psychotic!"

"You're really testin' me," growled the dog, ducking back behind the crates. "What a lunk. I don' need to tell ya shit."

The withdrawal took Spook by surprise; his adrenaline was pumping, his fur was on end and his body was ready for a fight. Upon being denied even a response after the tension building in his frail muscles, he sank into the thin mattress.

"Who are you, exactly? Are you.." trailed off Spook in between heavy breaths, staring unblinkingly at where the dog had disappeared. "Are you here against –"

"No, that's why you're here, I'm thinking," said the dog with finality. "I'm exactly where I wanna be."

-October 5, 1966

CRASH!

Spook nearly jumped out of his fur with a startled yowl.

"Yo honey, I'm home!" said Bouncer cheerfully as he backed up a small white truck right through the door, now in sad splintered ruins under the tyres. "We're finally goin' on vacation! And don' even think 'amakin' a break for it – I was the champion of New York dog race events for five straight years," he added matter-of-factly.

Spook almost wanted to tell him he didn't need to be a star racer to chase him down; his legs could still barely carry him.

"Move it – don' keep our guest of honor waitin'. Hop in the back." If the dog was sore about Spook's degrading language the previous day, he showed no signs of grudge.

Spook slowly made his way around the vehicle, and realized the windows were tainted.

Bouncer saw Spook's back arch, and his fur stand on end. The cat's damaged ears laid even flatter, and the look in his eyes surprised even him – and he'd seen a lot of in his life.

"Relax, Alley. It ain' G.P, though with that kinda hate I sure hope it were," he laughed. "I love it when cats turn on each other; that woulda been one hella road trip."

As if to prove it, the dog rolled down the tinted window, and there sat not G.P., but a young human girl.

"Hey," was all she said. Her wavy strawberry-blond hair messily framed her face, coming mostly out of its hair tie. A black blindfold covered her eyes.

"Keep that cat curiosity ta yaself, Alley," said the dog with a smirk, and shifted gear. "We got a long way to go."

The girl slipped a finger easily under her blindfold, and pushed it up just enough to give the stunned Spook a wink.

oOoOoOoOoOo

-Present Day, November 14, 1966

Sergeant Murphy's aggravated voice resounded down the hall of the station house. All could tell he was again on the phone with someone from the governor's office and whatever was being said, he did not like it one bit.

Dibble, a self-proclaimed part-time office boy because of how often he's made himself and his colleagues coffee over their long sleepless days, held two mugs in his hands as he pushed Bristol's office door open with one foot.

"They're really layin' it on the Sarge, huh.. ya know, seein' him like this makes me grateful I'm just the cop on the beat."

"Please tell me there's arsenic in this coffee," grunted Bristol in response, sitting behind his desk, running a hand down his tired, unshaven face.

"Naw, come on, Jack. Ya know suicide's a felony," joked Dibble as he placed his drink in front of him.

"Not for me; for that dumb cluck," snarled Bristol, and Dibble knew right away he meant Saber. "I'm at my wit's end, Charlie, and I have half a mind to kill the bastard if you don't tell."

"I'm here ta hold ya back. Let Manson rattle 'im for a while."

"He's already there. And...let me tell you something, Charlie. Keep this between you and me.

"Manson could do a lot more than rattle. If that cat doesn't crack, Manson's gonna change things."

Dibble stared. "No. No way –"

"At this point, I think Sarge will look the other way," said Bristol, answering Dibble's question before he asked it, looking him in the eye.

"That ain't right! If he won' talk then he should stay locked up! Manson can't do that and if he does, someone's gonna whistle." Dibble said with conviction. Heck, he'd blow the whistle if that's what it came to.

But Dibble has known Bristol for a long time, and he knew the investigator never talked hesitantly; Dibble could feel the hole of despair growing in his chest.

"It can't come to this, Jack." said Dibble, his words coming out like a plea. Bristol was one of his superiors, and one of the most impressive and admirable policemen he knew. Surely he wouldn't stand for this.

"I wish I could say. But that's not gonna happen," said Bristol, leaning back in his chair and pulling out his cigarette pack. "The governor's office will make sure no one knows."

"God. You can't be serious."

"They'll go as low as they have to, that girl's got to come back. The public is pressing for answers – why it's been two months and no one knows anything. The only cat we have in custody won't talk, and he knows something, Charlie. The other's in Intensive and his story about being a new lackey seems to check out so he's of no help.

"It's gonna happen, Charlie. Whether or not the Sarge knows or approves. It's beyond him now."

Dibble remembered Benny's words to him, back in the Delicatessen. He felt sick to his stomach. This could not possibly happen here, not in New York –

Atrocities like this happened elsewhere – in corrupt countries under rotting leaderships. But New York? His own city? His colleagues?

He was being dragged into filth against his will. Except it wasn't.

If he stands for this – he's a part of it.

The coffee was no longer appealing, and its smell now felt putrid and invasive, but Dibble forced himself to take a mouthful.

"And you better hear this from me rather than anyone else – there's been rumors they want to remove Sarge from his position entirely."

Dibble spat his drink. "What? Where did ya hear this?!"

"Ah, darn," Bristol swore softly at the brown liquid now forming an interesting shape on the papers he had set aside to be signed. "Overheard Larry last Tuesday. It's not just the Sarge – a whole bunch of higher-ups. The governor's office is pushing – saying we're complacent and conveying that to the public. Bullshit about corruption and police leniency with criminals and street rats for benefits, and people are buying into this.

"If this case goes cold – not that it ain't already – there's gonna be some major changes across the board, not just in the NYPD."

Dibble swore. "This is…damn it. That wretch."

"He really is a piece of work, that G.P."

"I can't believe they're even remotely related," said Dibble, almost to himself.

Bristol looked genuinely surprised. "You can't? Now that I know about it, I kinda see the similarities."

"Come on, Jack. They're nothin' alike."

"How far they'd go? Yeah, I agree. Scheming to get what they want? They're hellalike."

"But what does he want? Why is he doing all this? I'm this close to losin' ma goddamn mind, and to top it off you lay this…sewage on me. What do I do?"

"Your job." said Bristol simply. The superior officer leaned back and closed his eyes, lines further exhausting his pale face. "There's nothing we can do about this now. I'll keep doing what I do and so do you. We'll see where this sewerpipe ends."

They were silent for a few moments, both lost in their thoughts. Dibble realized the Sarge's voice had quieted some time ago. He wanted to go in there and talk to him so badly, to ask him if he'd really step aside and let this filth happen, but he could not.

Mahoney came to mind; he had not seen the younger cop for nearly a month. He would have to call him soon. He needed to know this.

"..Oh, gee, I'm sorry, Jack. I messed up your paperwork," said the cop apologetically as he remembered the pile of work he'd sprayed his drink over.

"Ah well, no use crying over it." said Bristol without opening his eyes, leaning far back in his chair with his hands behind his head. "I'll get back to it when we're done. This is the work on that gas leak explosion down on the 18th, remember?"

"Oh, yeah…someone's gotta keep the paperwork straight – I didn't even know anyone lived in that building. I thought it was abandoned since '57."

"This is exactly what happens when people fall through the cracks in the system, Charlie." said Bristol, getting up and looking out his window with a new cigarette in his mouth. "You either end up dancin' with the law, or screwin' it. And you probably end up takin' a whole lotta victims with ya."

"I still think it was a hobo who broke a window an' decided ta stay."

"A whole bunchof hobos, please. And what's left of the place looked like a drug circle. What's the toll so far..around 27."

"Oh man. Poor fellas…"

Bristol shook his head and contained a smile. Dibble's face heated up in embarrassment, only realizing how he must've sounded to his serious, jaded superior officer.

This is all your fault, T.C.

He could hear the voice of his own mind laughing back at him.

Yeah, right.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The cold season was coming down slowly but surely on New York City, and it would not be long before the city is covered in a thick blanket of snow. Adults were already looking for the slightest opportunity to call in sick for work the minute they suspect coming down with a cold, but of course, children just wrapped up and went on with their games outside in the parks and side alleys.

One sweet kid in particular left out a blanket for the cat that frequented his block sometimes, and went by the name Fancy-Fancy. The kid's pet, a young calico female, pouted in disappointment as she watched Fancy through the window come at the door, and take the blanket without even ringing the bell to say hi.

He rushed around the corner and made his way up the road west. Taking up double-duty for Choo-Choo, who was away to see his sister, the brown tabby was grateful for his protective pelt, now a half-inch thicker and keeping him going despite the chilling gusts. He stopped by the backdoor of a bakery, and picked up the unwanted remnants of the day.

He finally waddled back into the alley, stumbling over the blankets as everything tumbled out of his arms like a castle of cards. Brain giggled as he came over to help.

"Uh, Fancy? You forgot the water bottles and earmuffs for Benny," the orange cat pointed out. "Uuh, there's somethin' else..but-duh my brain can't remember it."

"Gee, this leader gig is a piece a' cake," panted Fancy sarcastically, shaking his pelt and mussing up his fur even further. "Is T.C. back yet?"

"Nope."

That was strange. T.C. should have been able to get out of that 'check-up' pretty fast. He had no intention of stepping back into the hospital any time soon (and by 'anytime soon' he meant 'dead and gone'), and the only reason it happened was because the gorilla nurse had pounced on him when she recognized him in the street a couple days earlier. Top Cat had yelled for Dibble, who was right there on the other side of the crossing, but the cop had watched him be dragged away and gleefully waved toodaloo.

"Well, at least he won' have to watch me make a fool of myself. Again. He's got enough t'deal with." sighed the brown feline. Even though Top Cat was back, Fancy still took it upon himself to settle the gang in, even though his leader facepalmed at his antics so often Fancy was worried he'd rub his whiskers clean off his face.

Just how does T.C. do it all?

"I'll ask Officer Dibble if he's seen him," said Fancy, looking over the fence for any sign of the familiar police cap. "Though he's been lookin' really distracted these days..doncha think, Brain?"

"Gee..I dunno, Fancy, I've never talked to 'is brain before."

Fancy snorted with a roll of his eyes. He reached and rubbed his friend's head affectionately. "Neva ya mind...I brought this extra pillow for when Choo-Choo gets back. Put it in the box."

"I miss Choochie already," came Brain's sigh. "It's been like a week now."

"Five days, but yeah, me too. An' T.C. won' say, but he's startin' ta get antsy about it – walks out a free cat and right the next mornin' Choo-Choo jumps on a train."

Fancy knew Choo-Choo had wanted to visit his sister and their frial mother – who stayed with her – for quite some time. He had been trying to arrange with truckers he'd known since kittenhood to hitchhike the way to Nebraska, but he hadn't wanted to leave without seeing T.C. walk away free.

In the end, their pink-furred friend had settled on taking the coal train to Chicago, and trying to get a ride from there.

Stuffing the blankets in everyone's sleeping space where they should be, Fancy had half a mind to run out and try to get the earmuffs for Benny before it got too dark when his whiskers picked up familiars. "Hey, I think T.C. and Benny are coming. Finally."

Brain jumped up on the trash lid to look over the fence.

"I want 'im to settle down. I know he won't, but at least he won' worry about the winter supplies –"

"Whoa, they musta given 'im somethin' good at the hospital, Fancy. T.C.'s leavin' Benny in the dust!"

"What? What are ya talkin' ab-"

Top Cat burst into the alley through the loose plank next to his trash can and pushed it roughly, letting it swing back behind him and nearly smash Benny's nose in. Fancy noticed his feet first, and realized the yellow cat had run all the way back.

Fancy's eyes shot up in worry to his panting, sweating face. "T.C.-?"

Top Cat's face was livid.

"Hey, are you okay?! Did somethin' happen-?"

"Oh somethin' happened, alright! Like where the hell Choo-Choo's at!"

Fancy was taken aback, confused as to why this was a question, and why Top Cat looked on the verge of doing something violent. "He got on the coal train to visit his sis-"

"Don't you dare!" spat the cat, fury in his eyes. "Ya think I'm stupid, Fancy? Ya take me for an imbecile?"

"The hell?! No! What are you – "

"I called up his sister, Fancy. Guess what, he ain't in Nebraska. Where is he?"

Fancy's utterly bewildered face only upset him further.

Dibble's concerned face appeared over the fence "I saw ya fellas runnin' all the way from downtown. What's goin' on?"

Fancy, guilty and disturbed, moved forward to touch Top Cat. He didn't expect the paw that shoved him away.

"Please, T.C.," implored Benny.

"T.C., it's okay!" said Fancy, mind scrambling to understand just what kind of situation was at hand. "He's probably just held up lookin' for someone to hitch a ride with-"

"His sister doesn't know he's coming," came Top Cat's difficult response. "He didn't tell her. He didn't tell her. What did he tell you?"

"That…he's goin' to his sis," said Fancy weakly, feeling they were running around in circles.

"That's what he told ya."

"Yes!"

Top Cat said nothing, but the look in his eyes drilled through Fancy. Benny began to inch so that he was partially wedging himself between the two cats.

Dibble was unnerved by the absolute silence that followed. Top Cat and Fancy were both as still as statues, staring unblinkingly into each other's soul. The only movement was Benny's twitching tail and the growing look of dismay on Brain's face.

"I'm tellin' ya the truth, T.C.," Fancy finally said firmly.

"Then what the hell were ya doin' while I was konked out?" the yellow cat snapped. The fur along his back rose. "How can ya let this happen – where in the flyin' brain curdles were ya!"

Fancy had never been on the receiving end of Top Cat's anger before. He could feel the fur on his own back stand. Angry and upset, he said. "How – do ya really expect me to figure somethin' like this? How is it that-"

"He played ya, nitwit. Choo-Choo's gone and I have no clue where he's gone because I was in that goddamn hospital!" roared Top Cat.

Fancy shrank back, ears laying flat against his head. "I – I wouldn't know…but T.C.-"

"I don' wanna hear it! Get outta here!" spat Top Cat in utter fury. "I don' wanna see ya face around here again!"

"What the hell?! What the hell?!" gaped Dibble and took off around the alley fence. Fancy stood there, speechless.

"Did ya not hear me? Get. Out."

"Cut that out, Top Cat!"

Dibble made to grab the cat by the scruff, but the latter moved out of the way with unexpected, adrenaline-driven agile. Benny tried to step in front of his best friend again, but Top Cat shoved him out of the way and proceeded to intimidate Fancy. He shoved him bodily towards the alley exit with both paws.

Fancy finally snapped out of his shocked stupor, and smacked Top Cat's paws off of him. "Donya talk ta me like that, Top Cat! Have ya flipped? What were you doin' before any of this happened?!"

Dibble never moved so fast in his life. He caught Top Cat's swinging arm an inch before it collided with Fancy's astonished face. "Stop this idiocy right now!" he snapped, pulling the flailing cat clean off the ground. He seized the other wrist and had to lean away when a claw nearly hooked through his nose hole. "Cut it out!"

"Stop it, already, you're just gon' hurt yaself!" cried Benny. "It ain' Fancy's fault and you know it!"

"Listen to your friends, Top Ca – will ya stop squirmin' –!"

Top Cat twisted around and hissed at Dibble, and the cop had half a mind to smack him to his senses, but he could not bring himself to – not when the cat was in that position. Not with all that emotion barely concealed underneath the anger in his eyes.

And it was impossible to hold on to a writhing, flailing cat without cuffs anyway – cats' bodies were like liquid.

"Ey, if ya don' cool it, Offica Dibble's gonna run ya in," said Brain with dispirited evenness in his voice. He sounded very disappointed.

Top Cat wrenched himself free from Dibble's grasp, fur on end and ears flat back. "I don' deserve this! Fancy how could ya do this to me?!"

"Stop blamin' Fancy. Choo-Choo knew what he was doin'." said Brain again.

Top Cat swerved around to the young orange tabby. "You know anythin' about this?"

Brain shook his head, and Top Cat grabbed his shoulders. "Brain, think! What was the last thing Choo-Choo said to you? To anyone at all?"

"Top Cat, leave the kid alone."

"He-uh..he said he's goin' to visit his sister and her kids, and mom because she's sick. Fancy told ya that."

"Brain are ya sworn to secrecy? Ya know ya can't an' shouldn' hide anythin' from me."

"Brain can't keep a secret from you and you know it, T.C.," said Benny. "He doesn' know."

"..This is what happens when I'm outta commission," hissed the cat, miserably. "Things start fallin' apart. I can't even trust ya ta look after each other."

"T.C…" Benny shook his head, at a loss.

Fancy, who proved to Dibble over the past weeks that he was far gentler than he let on, pulled one of the blankets from the cardboard box and tried to calm his leader, who was looking less angry and more distressed by the second.

"Hey," he said calmly to convey that he was not upset. "Just rest in ya bin, ok? I'll go handle this, I promise. You jus' wrap yasself in this blanket and Benny can get ya a bite. Look, it's real wool-"

Top Cat grabbed it and shoved it in his face hard enough to make him stumble. Anger flared once more to cover the fear threatening to overflow from his eyes.

"I don' want it. Take it and go to Hell."

Fancy's face was beet red. He got up and opened his mouth with intent to scathe, but in the end, he deflated. His fur began to lie down, but the adrenaline still pumped into his veins. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the alley.