Underbox: Twelve
© 2021 by Walter Reimer

Thumbnail art by  capt_hairball


“ . . . So, here we are, and we’ve raided this guy’s house up in Oranienburg,” and the doors to the office area banged open to reveal a thin feline with gray, close-clipped fur in a slightly darker gray suit, holding forth while several others trailed behind him, listening avidly. “Guy was born stupid; he had half a kilo of synth in his house for his own use!” He guffawed, and a few others laughed with him.

“Real idiot, huh?” one of Hamo and Joachim’s fellow detectives asked.

Franz Nunemacher poked him in the shoulder. “Damned right. Marten, mangy character too. We get him in cuffs and we’re going through the house, right, and we see one of his goons sitting by a door. Dumb canine doesn’t even flinch when he sees us. We take his gun, and while he’s getting cuffed I ask him, ‘What’s behind the door?’”

“Herr Idiot just shrugs, so we search him and get the key . . . and here’s the owner’s father in the room, chained to the bed!”

Hamo got up and poured themselves another cup of coffee. They’d heard the story before.

“Why was the guy’s dad chained up?”

Nunemacher shook his head. “The old man started getting a little, you know,” and he tapped the side of his head, “and the jerk didn’t want his dad getting loose and maybe telling someone about his son’s drug operations.” The feline shrugged. “Pretty far gone, so we put him in a hospital. He’s doing okay, last I heard; Sonny’s still in prison.” Nunemacher sniffed, ears swiveling, and finally caught sight of the cross-fox. “HILDA!” he shouted. He held out his arms. “C’mon, give us a kiss!”

Hamo suppressed a sigh. They and Franz had gone through the police academy back when the transgender vulpine still used their old name. “Good morning, Franz. It’s Hamo now, by the way. As if you didn’t know.”

“Yeah, I know, but you’ll always be Hilda to me – and Andreas,” the feline said. His smile had a certain gleefully malicious edge to it.

“That’s hitting below the belt,” Joachim muttered.

Hamo smirked and put their coffee mug down. The feline was with the Organized Crime Division, based on the other side of the Spree; the mystery of what he was doing here could be solved later. Right now, though, the gauntlet had been thrown down at their feet.

Hamo gave their fellow detectives a wide, friendly smile and threw a long arm around Nunemacher’s shoulders. The feline was an inch or two shorter than the cross-fox. “Friends, in case he didn’t tell you, this is Franz Nunemacher, one of the best in his academy class – nun, best for the lower half, that is.”

The cat’s eyes went wide, and one detective winced.

“Yes, yes,” Hamo nodded, keeping Nunemacher trapped up against them. “I never get tired of listening to that story of yours out of Oranienburg, Franz. But there’s always one bit you never tell.”

“Huh? Well – “

“You must’ve forgotten it,” the cross-fox declared, and raised their voice slightly. “The guy’s father got combative when they unchained him, and he went straight at Franz here and started boxing his ears like an errant kitten. Took two officers to pull the old man off him, isn’t that right, Franz? Or was it three officers?”

A few people started to chuckle, and Nunemacher’s ears went back. He pulled free of Hamo’s grasp and growled, “I need to talk to you and your captain, Hilda.”

“You could’ve done that a lot quieter, and saved me the trouble of embarrassing you,” Hamo replied in the same tone. They smiled. “So, let’s go see Captain Eisler, shall we?” The cross-fox gestured to his partner, and Joachim joined them and the feline as they headed for the raccoon’s office, where Eisler was standing by the open door, his banded tail swinging back and forth idly.

As soon as the door was closed and the captain had sat down Nunemacher and Hamo sat. Joachim stood by the door. The feline said, “Organized Crime wants to know why the Butterflies case hasn’t been given over to them yet.”

Well, that explained why the feline was here.

Eisler flicked a glance at Hamo. “What did you find out?”

“Not much,” Hamo admitted, “but it’s my judgement that the Butterflies had nothing to do with it.”

Nunemacher raised an eyebrow. “Based on what? Your prior associations with them?” he asked in an insinuating tone.

“My captain’s right there,” Hamo said. “If you have an accusation, Franz, make it now.” The feline glowered at them, and the cross-fox said to Eisler, “My report states that the former leaders of the Butterflies haven’t been seen since they began talking about how the entire gang should commit suicide. The current leaders are able to finance things legally.” Their ears flicked as Nunemacher snorted contemptuously. “Cryptocurrency mining’s not illegal, and there are signs that the leaders, and maybe a few others, were planning on leaving.” While they explained that the dead prostitute and the current leaders seemed to be getting ready to move to China, Joachim’s phone rang. Muttering an apology, the boar slipped out of the office.

“So,” Eisler asked, “where does that leave us?”

“The Finance Ministry,” and heads turned as Joachim came back into the office. “Or, at least, Lobel’s part in it.” The boar looked down at the cross-fox. “That cyberway Lobel was wearing? The smart folk finally cracked it. Despite its looks, it’s aftermarket straight through, with a lot of very interesting code wrapped up inside it.”

“What kind of code?” the raccoon asked.

“Some of it had to do with what they called ‘somatic response,’” the boar replied. “Might be how whoever the hacker is managed to give both of them heart attacks, by using the cyberbahn link between Lobel and Gerstein’s jackglove.”

Eisler nodded and looked across the desk at Nunemacher. “I think we’re done here.”

“But – “

“Have Captain Zagorski call me if you have objections, Detective. For now, all of you get out of my office. Suleymanoglu, Schmidt, start pulling on every string you have Downstairs, and talk to the smart folk.” The raccoon’s expression was stern. “I don’t want any more murders.”

“Right,” Hamo said, and the cross-fox and the boar left the office.

The feline trailed after them. “See you around, Hilda. We’ll talk again.”

“Uh huh.” Hamo watched Nunemacher head for the door, before walking up beside him and whispering something in his ear. As Joachim watched, Nunemacher looked shocked, and then angry. He bared his teeth at the cross-fox, ears straight back and tail bottling, before turning away and stamping out of the office area.

Hamo walked back to their desk, chuckling, and Joachim said, “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

The cross-fox sat down, picked up their coffee mug and gazed dolefully at its contents. “Hang on a moment, and I’ll tell you.” They got up and got a fresh cup of coffee, and after returning to their desk said, “I asked him two simple questions.”

“And?”

Hamo took a long sip at their coffee. “First question was,” and they lowered their voice so that their partner had to sit forward to hear, “’When you fuck your wife, Franz, do you touch the sides?’”

Joachim almost choked and clapped both paws over his mouth until the urge to laugh passed. After several moments he asked, “And the second question?”

The transgender vulpine showed the points of their teeth. “My second question was, ‘And if you do, does her nose light up and a buzzer sounds?’”

The boar dissolved into a fit of silent giggles as Hamo took another sip of their coffee and added, “Not, I point out for the record, something that Karin and I need concern ourselves with.” Their face suddenly morphed into an almost stereotypical ‘shifty fox’ expression. “Unless she wants to, of course.”

Joachim finally got himself under control and gasped, “That was evil, Hamo.”

They nodded. “I know. He deserved it, though. He’s not overtly transphobic – nothing that can get him written up, you understand – but it’s small things.”

“Like your old name?”

“Hm, exactly. That, and introducing me to Andreas,” they muttered. Hamo took a breath and changed the subject. “Tell you what: Let me finish my coffee and we’ll drop by Information Tech and see what the smart folk have found.”





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