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Nexus

Chapter Two: Into Exile

Ryan and Flynn spent the next two days straightening out the storeroom they had been assigned as an office and organizing the files. That is to say, Flynn spent two days filing and cross-referencing everything while Ryan read the files that contained information on Noah Gunderson.

Gunderson was one of the mayor’s biggest contributors. Gunderson was also believed to be linked to the drug trade and illegal gambling. It was believed that Gunderson had ordered the killing of a number of his underworld rivals, but such incidents were usually investigated by the detectives assigned to Gangs, Narcotics or Vice, and were considered a low priority, however Ryan believed that Gunderson had also ordered the murder of several witnesses to one such killing. Those victims were innocent civilians with no connection to the mobs, and as such their murders had fallen to the Homicide Division and had been assigned to Detective Sergeant Ryan.

Ryan had ignored the friendly warnings not to go after one of the mayor’s main supporters. He felt that he was getting close to proving Gunderson’s involvement but had been ordered to drop that line of inquiry by the police Commissioner, one of the Mayor’s appointees. Ryan took to pursuing his leads after hours and had finally convinced a low-level mobster that knew something to talk to him.

The meeting turned into an ambush. When the smoke cleared the contact was dead and Ryan had a hole in his gut.

Fortunately for him the bullet missed his vital organs, mostly destroying the layer of excess fat that had built up around his belly. He had managed to wing his assailant and the police caught the guy trying to get medical attention at a crooked Veterinarian that they had staked out. But the perp denied any connection to Gunderson or his gang, claiming that he was being robbed by the man Ryan had come to meet and that he feared for his life when he saw Ryan apparently coming to assist the robber. The DA, another crony of the Mayor, decided not to press charges, but did initiate an investigation as to what Ryan was doing there off duty.

It was the last straw for Ryan’s wife, who had hardly seen him in the months leading up to this incident. She had grown tired of the long hours, excessive drinking and constant grumbling as Ryan wallowed in self-pity over the internal investigation into his after-hours activities. Somewhere between being discharged from the hospital and landing in Rehab she had packed her bags and left him with nothing but divorce papers.

Meanwhile, Gunderson was still out there, living the life of an upright and outstanding citizen in public while his organized crime machine ground down the addicts and unwary gamblers.

That was why Ryan had hoped to be assigned to drugs or gambling, because he knew those were two avenues to get to Gunderson. Chief Fanning no doubt had anticipated that when he assigned Ryan to the Club and Cabaret circuit, but he likely had no idea that Gunderson was also involved with the sex trade. It made sense though, Ryan reasoned, what better places to run the gambling and narcotics out of than those dens of iniquity where nobody claiming to be decent and god fearing ever admitted going to?

Between reading and memorizing the details of Gunderson’s sinful but otherwise legitimate enterprises Ryan added a few personal touches to the office. He retrieved his badge and gun from the Desk Sergeant and had his personal belongings from his former office in Homicide sent up from storage. Soon the wall behind his desk was festooned with framed citations, photos of him with VIPs involved in his many murder investigations and newspaper clippings dealing with his biggest cases.

The photo of his wife that had once adorned his desk he threw in the trash, substituting another with happier memories in its place.

Flynn, who so far had not brought anything personal into the office, tried to engage Ryan in conversation on several topics. When she asked about his background he rebuffed her with grunts. When she asked about his career as a detective, he ignored her. When she asked what techniques would best suit the kind of investigations they were likely to conduct at the clubs and cabarets he told her that it didn’t matter, “… because none of it is important. We just need to keep our noses clean until we can get out of here.”

Flynn’s face did something that he assumed indicated anger.

“Listen Sergeant,” She said, “You may see this as a demotion that needs to be suffered through, but for me it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to do something for my people, and by doing so advance myself on the Force so that I can do even more for them.”

Ryan’s head tilted again. “You involved with the Anthro Rights Movement, Flynn?”

The Anthro Rights Movement, or ARM as it was known, was a group of Anthro and human sympathizers that advocated for equal rights for Anthros. Ryan did not know much about them but there had been some angry confrontations between ARM protestors and the police. The scuttlebutt around the Force was that they were generally considered bad actors.

“What if I was?” Flynn replied with her fists on her hips. “Would that be a problem for you ... or the Force?”

“Police Officers are free to associate themselves with any political movement providing that they do not hold leadership positions in said organizations.” Ryan recited. “That is the Force’s position. As for myself … I could care less so long as you do your job and don’t let it interfere with our work.”

“Okay them.” She said, relaxing a bit. “I’m not directly involved with them, no more than being an Anthro makes me involved. I’ve been on both sides of the line at their rallies, chanting with the crowd for our freedom one day and standing stoically alongside my fellow tactical officers to contain the crowd the next. So far there hasn’t been a conflict.”

Ryan’s head tilted to the other side. “What if things were to turn violent?”

“As a police officer on duty I would show restraint but use force if necessary to protect myself, my fellow officers and the public. As a protestor I would refrain from violence and urge my fellow protestors to do the same, but if violence broke out despite those efforts I would move away from there, guiding as many of my fellow protestors as I could convince to leave. The riot control protocols require the Tactical Squad to always leave one exit route so that the protestors have a way out, because if they feel trapped protestors tend to fight back en-masse, and there is no containing a large mob once it’s out of control.”

Ryan grunted. It had been a good answer, he conceded, but not aloud.

He thought a bit about their relationship. He had been planning on separating himself from her by sending her on routine inspections while he looked into Gunderson’s club connections, but on second thought it might be more useful if they worked together.

“Fanning said that you were familiar with the territory,” he said after few moments, “but he also said that you worked with the Tactical Squad.”

“He meant the neighbourhood,” Flynn replied, “not the Club scene. I grew up in that area and I know the streets and the Anthros that work those joints. I still live there.”

“Really? I didn’t think anyone lived in that district except addicts and criminals.”

Flynn bristled a bit at that, Ryan noted, but she calmed herself down before answering.

“Anthros live in the ‘rundown downtown’ because that is the only place that most can afford to live. When we were property our owners had to feed and house us, but after emancipation they traded roles from owner to landlord and began exploiting us in a whole new way. Anthros get paid to work, but equal pay rights do not apply to us. We receive much less than our human counterparts for the most part, and the club district is close to work for many of us.”

“You get the same salary as a human cop.” Ryan noted. He knew because he had checked when he opened up his supervisory file on her. “Why don’t you move out? You can afford it.”

Flynn shook her head the way parents of precocious children did when they asked something beyond their years. “No one outside of downtown will rent or sell to an Anthro, Sarge. Even Furries have a hard time, but they can take the landlords to court if they think that they are being discriminated against. Anthros can’t because it’s legal to restrict them with a ‘No Animals’ clause.”

“What about places that accept pets?”

“They limit the size allowed, nothing over 50 kilos sort of thing. Honestly,” she sighed in exasperation, “those little bichons and shih tzus people keep for pets are more likely to shit in the halls than any Anthro is. Then there’s the segregated washrooms ...”

Ryan had noticed those but had never thought of them. Maybe, he thought, I should. He was starting to feel some sympathy for the canine officer.

“They don’t have those here in the PD, do they?”

“No, but not all the cops are happy with it. The other day a Cheetah working the traffic division found a litter box with her picture on it in the ladies’ room of her precinct.”

Ryan winced. “I hadn’t heard about that.”

“I hear about all of them. We have sort of an Anthro network on the Force.” As well as all over town, she refrained from adding. “Which Precincts are Anthro Friendly, which supervisors are dicks …”

“Where do I fit in?”

“Well, you aren’t exactly friendly.”

“Ouch! Brutally honest. Not exactly a survival tactic here in the Detective Squad, but admirable all the same.”

“Maybe you can move up the charts.” Flynn said as she sat in her chair opposite him. “The Chief said that we should get to know each other, so, tell me about yourself.”

“You’re the detective. Tell me what you’ve found out about me so far.”

Flynn sat back, frowning.

“Okay. You’re Antonio Brendan Ryan, Tony to your friends … if you have any left. Your father came from a long line of Irish immigrants and your mother was first generation Italian American. You became a cop because kids from your neighbourhood either became cops or crooks. You distinguished yourself on the streets and made detective early in your career. You did well there too and became the star of the Homicide Division, but you put more effort into your work than your marriage. I won’t bother with the most recent events … that mess was splashed all over the papers. You’re off the sauce but still tempted, and you’re hoping to find some way to ride this assignment back to where you feel you belong.”

Ryan was secretly impressed. “Most of that you got from reading the articles and citations on the wall, but what makes you think I have domestic issues, or an alcohol craving?”

“You left the divorce papers visible in the storage box when you brought them here.” Flynn said. “And ‘Irreconcilable differences’ don’t happen overnight, but at least it’s better than domestic violence. Plus, you tossed her picture out, so you know it’s over too. As for the drinking thing … your hands shake whenever someone that has had a beer or three at lunch passes our office. I can smell the booze on their breath because of my nose,” she tapped her long snout for emphasis, “but it takes a real alkie to pick up that scent with a little nose like yours. I admire your restraint though; most guys would have a bottle stashed in their desk after what you went through.”

“The joy of breaking in a new partner keeps me going.” He said in a deadpan voice. “Speaking of which,” his head tilted in curiosity, “other than your personnel file you haven’t brought anything in to give me a clue about your background.” He swept his hand across his desk to indicate some of the trinkets he had collected over the years.

Flynn stood up and came around the desks to get a closer look at the commemorative pens, conference passes and coffee mugs from allied police forces Ryan had occasion to work cases with. She also saw the lone, framed photo on Ryan’s desk. It showed a boy of about ten or twelve squatting in front of a lake with his arm around a large Labrador retriever. Both the boy and the dog had big smiles on their faces.

“Nice looking dog,” she commented, “but who’s the ugly kid with him?”

“The kid,” Ryan replied, “is me. The dog was our family pet, Rex.”

One of her eyebrows went up critically. “Rex? Not very original.”

“Actually, his full name was Timothy Rex … I called him T-Rex for short. I was … ah … into dinosaurs then. I wanted to be a paleontologist. Turns out you actually have to be smart and study to do that.”

“T-Rex, that’s better.” Something resembling a smile came over her face. Ryan did not reciprocate, and she resumed her neutral expression.

“So …,” he fumbled for a topic of conversation, “what’s it like … being a Furry?”

“Anthro!” she said rather sharply. Then she continued in a more even tone. “Furries are humans that have been altered with animal traits. Anthros are animals that have been altered with human traits. The distinction is important on our detail because Furries count as humans when it comes to the vice laws; they can’t engage in the hard sex trades like the Anthros can. Some of the clubs try to pass them off as Anthros, but there are ways to tell the difference.”

Ryan’s head tilted; he was interested. “Such as?”

“The most obvious difference is the feet. Furries have human feet with five toes; giving them animal legs and feet never really worked out. You know anything about skeletal anatomy?”

“I still remember some from studying dinosaurs as a kid.”

“Well, humans walk on their phalanges and metatarsals. Animals walk on their phalanges and stand on their metatarsals.” She stuck out her foot and pointed to the long bones between her paw and the joint that connected it to the lower leg and knee. “Furries have human feet, even though they may be covered with fur. Anthros have paws and this extra joint instead of an ankle.”

“Why couldn’t the geneticists give you human feet too?”

“I’m not an expert, but it has something to do with the number of bones. My canine ancestors had a thumb-like structure connected to the front dew claw to assist in running; a few could even climb trees with them. But the back paws only had four digits, the back dew claws weren’t connected to anything substantial. There was nothing to convert into a big toe, or to convert a big toe into. It was just easier to leave them as they were, I suppose.”

She stopped and stared at the ceiling for a moment before continuing. “Hoofed species have it worse. Most only have one or two rudimentary digits and the genetic modifications to turn them into something resembling hands had to split those up. Without the proper bones other species ended up with ‘hands’ that are more like flippers. Like, I can use a gun, but the horses on the Force can’t handle the finer movements required to fire one. They are restricted to carrying clubs and shields, so they have few opportunities other than the Tactical Squad.”

“Are there a lot of different species of Anthro out there?”

“Canines and felines mostly, plus horses and oxen for the labour force. Foxes and rabbits were popular with the sex breeders, as were red pandas, sheep, racoons, mink … and skunks, strangely enough. They never could breed out the smell, but whatever turns you on, I guess. The furries are mostly canines, foxes and felines; domestic breeds like Siamese and Persians are popular. You do see some deer, sheep, squirrels, pandas and the occasional lemur. Whatever their parents thought was cute when they commissioned them, really.”

“What is so cute about a wolf?”

“Well, those were more about family image, I suppose, like the tigers some Asian gang leaders had their sons designed after. I saw a couple of them in Korea Town. Seriously scary guys. Easy to identify as gang members though.”

“I guess.”

There was a momentary silence in the room. Flynn broke it.

“I’ve finished digitalizing filing all the old By-Law reports and cross referencing them against known criminals like you asked.” She told Ryan. “I’ve also summarized their inspection schedule and posted it to your desktop.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So … I guess that we’re ready to get to work checking them out.”

Ryan reached over and turned on his computer terminal. “Just let me check out this schedule first.”

Flynn sat back impatiently, shifting her butt frequently to try and find a comfortable position, while Ryan sighed in and examined the fruits of her labours.

She had done a good job, he had to admit. All the files were named and organized as he had instructed and by digitalizing them she had been able to cross reference them automatically, saving a considerable amount of time. Moreover, she had somehow managed to find the time to read the files on the connected criminals and comment as to their likely role in the organization over and above their official title. Lenny “the Snake” Pleskin, for example, was listed as “Employee Relations” at one club, to which Flynn had added “Enforcer”, because that was his role in the mob that was behind that particular club.

Ryan skimmed through the entries, stopping here and there when a familiar name caught his eye. He lingered longest on the Kit-Kat Klub, where Flynn had annotated Noah Gunderson’s name with “SR” between question marks.

Ryan sighed. It did not take a genius to figure out that “SR” stood for Sergeant Ryan. He had been investigating Gunderson off the books, which was why there was no official file on the gangster, but Flynn had obviously heard about what had happened to Ryan, and why.

He quickly moved on through the list, but his mind was occupied by the implications. Flynn wanted to get ahead in the Detective Bureau, did that include spying on him for Chief Fanning? Maybe, maybe not … but tipping his hand by immediately focusing on Gunderson’s club would put the astute German Shepherd on her guard at the very least.

No, he thought, I need her trust … at least enough so that when I go off on my own she won’t immediately report me to Fanning.

He checked the schedule she had provided. The Kit-Kat Klub was halfway down the list. It would be a couple of weeks at least before they got around to visiting it. That was good; he could use the time to learn the layout of the club scene and work on building Flynn’s trust.

“Good work.” He said, almost choking on the unfamiliar words. “We’ll follow the schedule they left behind while we get a feel for the territory. You have all the paperwork we need for the inspections?”

“Yes.” She said as she got up quickly and grabbed a stack of forms from a basket on her desk. “The By-Laws give us the authority to inspect the premises for obvious violations on demand, including employee records. We present this form,” she held out one that was covered in fancy type with the seal of the city, “when we go in an we use this one,” she presented another with many blank spaces on it, “to record and report any probable violations.”

“And if we see a violation we can search the place for more, I assume?” Ryan asked, anticipating finding a lot of violations at the Kit-Kat Klub.

“No. Not really.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because we are not there investigating a crime. Most of the violations we will see are not criminal in nature so there is no probable cause to justify a search. Most any follow-up will require a warrant, and those will be very restrictive.”

Ryan’s brow furrowed. “How so?”

Flynn leaned back against the filing cabinets and looked to the ceiling as if she was reciting something from her law school text.

“Generally speaking, to find probable cause justifying a warrant, we require a “nexus” between the place to be searched and the evidence sought, i.e. probable cause to search a person, place, or thing. Probable cause to believe a person has committed a crime is not necessarily probable cause to search a particular location. If, for example, you see an illegal casino chip fall out of someone’s pocket while they are retrieving their identification it may be probable cause to search that individual for more gambling paraphernalia, but there is no obvious connection between the chip and the club we found them in. We couldn’t search the club, or even ask for a warrant to do so, because there is no ‘nexus’.”

“What if I think that he won the chip there?”

“He could just as likely have won it somewhere else and gone to visit the sex club afterward. Any halfway decent defence attorney would challenge the validity of the nexus successfully and that would result in the suppression of any evidence found in the search.”

Ryan frowned. Early in his career he had seen enough of that due to sloppy detective work, but it was different on Homicide, where a bloody scarf hanging out of a Perp’s trunk likely meant only mean one thing, and that was enough to lock them up and seek further warrants if there was even the slightest connection to a victim.

Seeing his disappointment, Flynn added, “You could ask him if he won it there.”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “They would just claim that they found it on the street, right beside where he parked his Nexus.” He sat up and flicked off the computer. “Let’s go inspect some bad guys.”

They had been assigned an unmarked car. It was not the newest model or in the best condition, but it ran and Ryan was relieved to see that it had a mobile communications and data-link system, so they could access and add to their files on the road, as well as access other files restricted to the Detective Bureau.

After inspecting and signing for the car they synchronized their wrist units with it so that no one could drive off with it, even if they left it in a hurry with the doors open. The wrist units served as communicators, trackers and health monitors and they were coded to each individual’s DNA, confirming it through skin contact. Ryann noted that Flynn had a shaved patch on her arm where the device sat, and that made him wonder if some of the hairier human cops needed to shave their wrists too in order to ensure good contact.

Wearing the devices, which also made an audio recording of everything they said and of events around them, was mandatory while on the clock. One could set them on standby mode when off duty but turning it off or removing it during an active situation was forbidden. Ryan’s also had a tie tack camera linked to it which he activated whenever he was away from the office, not because he needed help remembering what he saw or what was said, but it did come in handy in court when sassy defence lawyers challenged his memory of events.

He didn’t bother activating the camera. There would be time for that if and when anything interesting happened on these routine inspections.

They started with some human strip clubs near the docks, simply because they were next on the schedule By-Law had left them. They were sad places, Ryan thought, mostly run by motorcycle gangs that also ran the drugs and prostitution around the docks. The human dancers were young, tattooed and listless. The clients were sullen, low-income labourers and low paid clerks from the nearby shipping companies, wasting their afternoons watching the dancers gyrate on poorly lit stages to music that was too loud.

There was a bit of a stir each time they entered, pausing just inside to let their eyes adjust to the dim light before flashing their badges and paperwork at the bouncers or doormen. Flynn drew a few stares, but to Ryan’s surprise there were a fair number of Anthros and Furries among the clients.

Flynn saw his head tilt and answered his unasked question.

“Anywhere where they need cheap labour you’ll find Anthros and some of the poorer Furries. They have all the same vices as their fully human counterparts. Someone that likes a beer or a shot after work and a little lustful fantasizing is the least of our problems.”

Ryann suspected that by ‘our problems’ she was referring to her Anthro community and not the Police.

“Don’t they have places of their own to go to?”

“We’ll see some of those later this week,” Flynn assured him, “where you’ll be the one drawing all the stares of resentment. But Furries and Anthros alike can develop a taste for bare flesh.” She tilted her muzzle toward the stage where the stripper had removed the last of her clothing and was half-heartedly displaying her shaved pussy for the patrons in the first rows.

“They find it fascinating.” She added. “There’s even a segment of the porn industry dedicated to totally hairless men and ladies being ravaged by fur-bearing studs.”

Ryan felt his skin crawl at the thought and noticed that Flynn seemed equally disturbed by the idea. He filed the fact away rather than ask her about her feelings toward interspecies sex at this time.

They had finished the docks by dinner time. Ryan suggested a Diner popular with the detectives.

“They don’t allow my type in there.” Flynn snapped.

Ryan was flummoxed. Thinking back, he had never seen any of the Anthros on the force in there, but he had not realized that it was their policy. His mouth opened and closed several times as he struggled for something to say.

Flynn looked at him and studied his face for a moment before deciding that his suggestion had been an innocent mistake.

“There’s a place called Smitty’s nearby. Cops of all sorts from the Tactical Squad go there all the time. The food is good, and no one will stare at either of us, except to wonder what a couple of Dicks are doing slumming it.”

He smiled at that. Cops were cops but there was always a bit of rivalry and jealousy between the ‘uniforms’ and the ‘Dicks’ of the Detective Bureau.

He could smell that the food was good a block away, but contrary to her prediction the place fell silent, and everyone stared at them as they made their way to an empty booth. The tension soon broke though as members of the Tactical Squad recognized her and came over to congratulate her on her promotion.

“Great work, kid.” Another German Shepard in tactical gear said as he pumped her hand. “It’s about time someone made it.” The canine added with a sidelong glance at Ryan.

Ryan could feel the resentment in the dog’s tone, as well as from the rest of the room. Even though some of the human officers had also lined up to congratulate Flynn he felt out of place. Tactical officers considered themselves special, as did the Detectives, but transfers between the two were rare. He felt like he had just walked into the wrong bar after a game between two rival teams, only to realize too late that he was wearing the wrong colours. Even Flynn looked a little uncomfortable.

“You know, there are some nice pubs on the fringes of downtown that cater to a mixed clientele.” She said as the food came. “They would be closer to our territory … more convenient, really.”

The food was as good as it smelled, and the others had left them alone to eat.

“Sure.” Ryan agreed. Anyplace without cops, he added to himself.

He pressed his thumb on the pad offered by the feline waiter, who made a show of wiping the print away after the sale went through so that no residual DNA would remain. Genetically authorized transactions were fairly secure, but DNA theft and subsequent unauthorized transactions were becoming more common. Ryan had activated two-step verification with his wrist device signaling him whenever a transaction was made. By squeezing the sides furtively while pretending to adjust his sleeves he had confirmed that the charge was authentic.

“What’s next on the schedule?” He asked.

Flynn looked at her wrist where the list was displayed.

“We have some Anthro Clubs opening up soon that cater to the ladies … human ladies that is.”

“Really?”

Flynn gave him a quizzical look. “Homicide Detectives really don’t get around much, do they?”

“Murderers tend to stick to their own species.”

She bristled at that, literally. The fur at the back of her head rose up as her face hardened.

“The murders that the Homicide Squad investigates, maybe. When a human kills an Anthro it isn’t usually classed as murder, and when they think an Anthro has killed a human they don’t investigate at all. Everyone just assumes that the animal is guilty; the cops, the judge …”

“The jury?”

“What jury?” She snapped, visibly agitated now. “Anthros don’t have human rights, remember? Their cases are decided by magistrates. No juries, no defence lawyers, no evidentiary rules. ‘Did you do it?’ ‘No, your Honour.’ ‘Bullshit, fifty years hard labour!’ That’s what Anthros get for justice.”

“Jusus, Flynn, calm down. I didn’t mean to start a debate on civil rights or nothing, I just never heard about sex clubs for ladies before. It’s not like I ever went to one.”

It was not entirely true. He had heard of strippers for ladies, had overheard some of the female cops talking among themselves about them to be exact, but he had never imagined that they would feature non-human strippers.

Flynn clenched and unclenched her fists as she fought to control her breathing.

“Sorry Sarge. I forget sometimes that you grew up with a different frame of reference than me.”

“Sure, sure. I, uh, got a lot to learn.” Ryan scratched his head as they stood outside the diner. “So … what do they do in these places?”

A sly grin came across Flynn’s face.

“Oh, you’ll see, Sarge. You’ll see.”