Part 4: Claw to Claw
Millie rushed into the library, ducking behind the desk. I followed, huddling close to her, smelling the scent of fresh pine waft from her fur. I'd never met a badger like her, but now wasn't the time to be thinking about that.
The sound of heavy boots echoed from the hallway—a deliberate, menacing tread that sent a chill down my spine. Rusty stepped into the doorway, filling it with his bulk, eyes gleaming with the kind of anger that doesn’t stop until something’s broken.
His flashlight cast a warm glow… directly onto my tail. I stood, meeting his gaze with a bold look.
“Well, look what the rain dragged in,” Rusty sneered, twirling his crowbar as if it were an extension of his paw. “Poking around your uncle's old house, Millie? And dragging along the town's worst private eye with you? Too bad you won’t be staying long. I've got business here, and I won't have you mucking it up.”
I stepped in front of Millie, claws flexing, but my nerves were taut. Rusty wasn’t just here to scare us off—he had work to do, and he wasn't going to let anyone get in his way. Certainly not us.
“Back off, Rusty,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “You don’t want to do this.”
He laughed, a rough, gravelly sound that echoed off the walls. “Oh, but I do. I have other business here, but taking care of you will be a nice little detour.”
Millie hissed, key clenched in her paw and eyes defiant. “This doesn’t belong to you, Rusty. Whatever’s in that safe, it’s mine.”
Rusty grinned, all teeth and menace. “Guess we’ll just have to see about that.”
The air was thick with tension, like a rubber band right before it snaps. Rusty lunged, swinging the crowbar in a wide arc. I ducked, shoving Millie out of the weapon's path, and flinching as the metal whistled past my head. It smashed into the wall and sent chunks of plaster flying. I grabbed the nearest thing I could find—a rickety chair—and swung it, but Rusty was quicker. He knocked it aside like it was nothing.
“Clawson, watch out!” Millie shouted as Rusty lunged forward again. To my surprise, he lurched past me, grabbing at Millie. She skipped backward, barely evading his clutches, but the abrupt movement sent the key flying through the air. It skittered across the floor and Rusty leaped toward it, but I managed to grab his coat and yank him back, sending both of us crashing into the bookshelf.
Books rained down, and I caught a glimpse of Millie diving for the key, but Rusty was already back on his feet.
Tossing the books off me, I leaped up in a cacophony of cascading books, just as Rusty swung the crowbar toward me once more. I dodged, and twisting around, managed to land a clawed punch to his side.
Rusty barely even flinched. He shoved me hard. I stumbled into the table, sending papers and dust flying everywhere. He was back on Millie in a second, ripping the key from her grasp, but I tackled him and wrested the crowbar from his paws.
The struggle was raw and chaotic, two badgers locked in a fight that neither was willing to lose. The safe loomed behind us, a silent witness to the madness, but we were too caught up to care.
And then, just as Rusty yanked back the crowbar free and raised it high, the sound of a whistle cut through the noise, followed by the wail of sirens and the unmistakable flash of red and blue lights spilling in through the broken windows.
Rusty froze, his eyes widening in sudden panic. The police. Someone must have tipped them off, or maybe the noise was enough to draw attention. Either way, we were out of time.
“You brought the cops?” Rusty growled, shoving me back, his rage now mixed with desperation.
“Not me,” I snapped, backing away. “But I’m not sticking around to find out who did.”
Millie grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the door. “We have to go—now!”
Rusty hesitated, glancing at the safe, then at us, weighing his options. He growled in frustration, tossed the crowbar aside, and bolted down the hall. We followed, ducking through dark rooms and cluttered corridors as the sirens grew louder.
We burst out the back door, rain pelting us as we sprinted through the overgrown garden. I glanced back, catching a glimpse of Rusty disappearing into the trees as the flashing lights of police cars skidding to a halt at the front gate.
We didn’t stop until we were a couple blocks away, breathless and soaked, hiding in the shadows of an old shed that smelled like mold and neglect.
“That was too close,” she panted. Her fur was mussed and her jacket askew. “We almost had it.”
“Yeah,” I said, wiping rain from my eyes, heart still pounding. “But now it’s a crime scene. And Rusty’s not going to give up that easy.”
"And the key! I don't have it! It must still be on the floor in the library!" A dark rage simmered deep in her eyes, but she turned and stormed into the night before I could ask any questions. All I heard was her harsh voice call out, "The old railroad bridge, tomorrow night!" before she vanished into the darkness.
I slid my hand into my pocket, the adrenaline still buzzing under my skin even as the cool rain sank into my fur. My claws curled around a cold metal object in my pocket.
We were digging up trouble, all right, and the hole was only getting deeper.
But at least, I had the key.
