Fat Tony -- Section Six

    When Fat Tony got back to the office, he found a solidly built woman in jeans wearing a T-shirt that shouted What the Elephant?  She was half sitting on Malcolm’s desk and laughing heartily enough to shake the thing.
    “Here’s the man himself,” said Malcolm.
    The woman turned and offered Fat Tony a firm handshake and a very large smile filled with unusually large teeth.  But Grandma, what large teeth you have?  The better to store magic with, my dear.
    “Nice to meet you,” said Tony.  “You must be Teeny.”
    “Most sane people call me Christine.  Either way works for me, though.”
    “I’ll go with Christine then.  You came to pick up the droppings?”
    “No need,” she said, picking up the packet and tossing it to Fat Tony.  “Just opening that packet was enough—good seal on that handkerchief, by the way.  When I opened it and saw them glowing blue, I was sure.”
    “Mind if I sit down?” asked Tony.  “I’m guessing I’m not going to be excited about what you’re telling me.”
    “Probably right.  These came out of your grandma’s basement?  She been arrested?”
    “Not that I know of.  Should she be?”
    “Depends on a whole lot of things, but unless she has a permit, then there’s a chance the Feds would think so.”
    “Okay, I’m definitely sitting down.  Then tell it to me slowly and leaving out words like ‘prison’ and ‘sentence.’”
    Christine turned back to Malcolm.  “You’re right, Twitch.  He’s funny.”
    “Shhh!” said his partner.  “Don’t say that out loud.  I’ve been keeping it a secret from him.”
    “Come on, Teeny,” said Fat Tony.  “I’m sitting.  Bury me with bad news like I’m an ombudsman.”
    “That one I didn’t get,” said Malcolm.
    “You up for a quick arcanozoology lesson?” asked Christine, settling back onto Malcolm’s desk.
    “If it weren’t relevant, I doubt you’d bring it up.”
    “Most creatures, like most people, have a weak latent magic, enough to keep them breathing and connected to the world, but that’s about it.  No abnormally large features, no abnormally big deal.  Nobody bothers to regulate them—well, except for the normal regulations.  I think hedgehogs are illegal here in Arizona.”
    “No kidding,” said Malcolm.
    “But it’s rare to have a creature or species that’s particularly magical.”
    “Sure,” said Fat Tony.  “I know the basic ones: dragons, gryphons, squirrels.”
    “Everyone knows those,” said Malcolm, “but those aren’t squirrel droppings.”
    “Nope,” said Christine.  “Livingstone’s Cottontail.”
    Tony gave a short laugh.  “Dr. Livingstone’s Cottontail, I presume?”
    “Exactly.”
    “Same guy?”
    “He found the things while exploring Africa.  Brought a few back to England, but that was all he could bring.  They’re extremely rare, and they only reproduce around once every thirty to forty years.  Good thing, too.  These things are extremely magical, but they’re unstable.  They scatter magic, making anomalies, bubbles of crazy around themselves.  On top of that, their magic stores itself as excessive cuteness.”
    “Get out!” said Malcolm.
    “I kid you not.  These little bunnies have nubly little horns and big eyes and they rip your heart right out.”
    “Figuratively?” asked Fat Tony.
    “Darn near literally,” said Christine.  “I’ve only seen some video of one, and I still get cravings to own one as a pet.  They made us learn about them in arcanovet school, though, because they’re the most heavily regulated animal on the planet.  Makes the rules and regulations the Chinese put around pandas seem like a welcome mat and a ‘Get Your Free Pandas Here’ sign.”
    Fat Tony had just eaten, but he was beginning to wish he hadn’t.
    “Out of curiosity,” he said, “how much do these things poop?  As much as rabbits?”
    “Hardly.  Part of their cute is how easy they are to care for, physically speaking.  Hardly leave any droppings, love to cuddle.  Feeding them can run to expensive, but I can’t remember exactly what they need.  I think the usual method is lots of chopped up…something.  Want me to get back to you on that?”
    KitchenAid, thought Tony.  Dollars to donuts Grandma got a food processor attachment.  And with all those droppings in the basement—He didn’t want to think about it.  “Nah,” he said, “I’m good.”
    “You don’t look good,” said Malcolm.
    “So,” said Fat Tony, “say you’re the sort of person who gets up in the morning and burns a few hundred-dollar bills for kicks, could you buy one of these?”
    “Hardly.  I only know of six in the US, and those are carefully sheltered and shielded.  Honestly, the Feds don’t know what to do with them.  They’re too cute and too endangered to kill, but they’re too unstable magically to be anything but a giant pain in someone’s tuchus.  Our zoo down here would never see one in a hundred years.  I think someone tried back in the thirties to find some practical use for them, but got nowhere.  If you don’t mind the possibility of waking up with a third arm or animate furniture, they’re the perfect pets.  Oh, or the possibility that they could mess up your city’s power grid or water mains.”
    “Messing up the power grid sounds bad,” said Fat Tony.
    “I’ve heard that it is,” said Christine.
    “Hey, big guy,” said Malcolm, “should we be asking any questions about your Grandma?  I mean, can we help?  If she’s got some of these Cottontails in her basement, she could be looking at real jail time.  Which, for someone her age….”
    Fat Tony leaned back and looked up at the fan spinning on the ceiling.  “I’ll—” he said, then stopped.  He’d do what?  The Livingstone’s Cottontails weren’t there anymore, or he would have felt them—and based on the number of droppings, he was betting there was more than one.  Also, it looked like Grandma’s house was blacked out magically, so the chances of anyone else sensing the Cottontails there wasn’t likely.  She was probably in the clear.  As long as they really, truly were gone.
    “I’ll ask Grandma some questions.  Probably.  And get back to you, if I need any help.”
    “That’s it for me, then,” said Christine.  “Lunch is over, and I have some squirrels to tag and squirrel tails to trim.  When their tails get too bushy they start to get cocky.  I heard that a crew in Boston knocked over a grocery store.  Got out with thirty pounds of shelled walnuts.”
    “Thanks for stopping by, Teeny,” said Malcolm.  “We’ll let you DPS next run, like I promised.”
    “Yes, thanks, Christine,” said Tony.  “And thanks for understanding.”
    “No worries.  If the Feds hear about this it won’t be from me.  You want I should get rid of these droppings?”
    “I’ll owe you.”
    “I’ve heard you’re a decent cook,” she said, smiling.
    “Malcolm’s been blabbing?”
    “I told her about Saturday breakfast.  Mind if she shows with her husband?”
    “You’re both very welcome,” said Fat Tony, “and don’t worry, there will be enough.  I don’t eat as much as it looks like.”
    She flashed her large teeth one more time and waved her way out the door.  Fat Tony waved back then rubbed his eyes with his hands.  It had already been a long day, and the rest of it stretched out in front of his imagination like the highway between Tucson and Phoenix: nothing interesting with a high chance of stressful boredom.  Also strip malls, but he couldn’t figure out how those fit in.
    “Tony?” said Malcolm.
    Fat Tony dropped his hands and looked over.
    “How much trouble is she in?”
    “None, if I can help it.  She’s my family.”
    “You want me to handle the afternoon appointments?  It’s light enough and just regular stuff.  Upkeep, maintenance.”
    “Please,” said Fat Tony.  “I’m going home.”