7.01: Raccoon City

ANGEL PASTA: PART ONE

Angel sighed, flicked some of her long orangey-red hair off her shoulder, and leaned back against the nearby wall. “He was abusing animals,” she pointed out.

She hated this. It was coming down to a case of he-said-she-said, and she prided herself on her honesty. If only there were some easy way for a simple French citizen to record their own personal evidence, unobtrusively, to back up their side of the story.

Still, she supposed having such a technology would carry with it a field of new problems. For now, this situation was merely a minor inconvenience.

“This woman needs to be arrested, immediately. She might have killed me,” her nemesis of the moment continued.

Angel glanced around the small police station to get a sense of how much attention they were garnering from the locals. She couldn’t see the entire back of the police station from this side of the counter, but a couple desks were visible from her vantage point. The cops seemed interested enough to look their way, but not interested enough to stand up out of their chairs.

Conversely, the policeman at the front counter had become interested enough to put out the cigarette he’d been smoking upon their arrival.

Angel was pleased by that, at least. She’d never seen the point of deliberately inhaling smoke, particularly indoors. When she had occasion to be roughing it in her travels across the country, she generally avoided sticking her face directly above a campfire. For good reason.

No amount of feeling relaxed was worth the difficulties one could experience in breathing.

“Eddy, can you explain?” counter cop requested of the other individual standing near the front doors.

Angel looked to the policeman who had brought the both of them in.

The rotund man shook his head. “I went to investigate a noise complaint and found the two of them in a standoff,” Eddy explained. “Angel here insisted that we come down to the station to resolve it, and Jacques didn’t disagree.”

“Of course. Because she should be arrested,” Jacques reiterated, gesturing at Angel.

Counterman tried to wave off Jacques. “Let me get the facts here. Did Angel have a gun?”

“I pointed a water gun at him,” Angel piped up in her defence.

“Non, it was a real firearm that you swapped out as soon as the police showed up,” Jacques argued.

“STOP, both of you,” the man behind the counter said. “Eddy?”

“She had in her possession both a water gun and a handgun,” Eddy admitted.

“Fully licensed handgun,” Angel added. “Which I did not draw.”

“And why,” Jacques insisted, “would anyone carry around a water gun as well as a real gun, except to use the water gun to disguise the fact that they are a dangerous, good-for-nothing gun bunny?”

Angel clenched one hand into a fist. This was reaching her breaking point. “Ta gueule,” she sniped, making a point of speaking to Jacques rather than the policemen. “First, the water gun was for the raccoons. Second, the handgun is good for getting me out of trouble with people who are genuinely evil, as opposed to merely idiotic. And finally, it’s veterinarian bunny, thank you very much.”

The bunny ears hairband she constantly wore was an affectation from her youth. It was less to impress these days, and more to distinguish herself, as well as put people off their guard around her. Even if it did invite questions that she would just as soon not answer.

[caption id=“attachment_3502” align=“alignright” width=“207”] ANGEL RUSEE
(image of Charlotte Yeager of Strike Witches)[/caption]

Besides, the ears were cream coloured and went with her lab coat, when she had occasion to wear it. Today, of course, she had elected to go with a simple white blouse and dark pants, not wanting to potentially tear any of her other outfits while dealing with Jacques’s shenanigans.

Eddy was looking at her now in puzzlement. Angel idly reached up to make sure neither of the bunny ears was overly drooping.

“Wait,” Eddy said. “You’re not from around here. How did you know about our raccoon problem?”

“I hear things,” Angel said, finally pushing back off the wall. “As I travel. In fact, it is why I decided to stick around and help you gentlemen out.”

“Don’t meddle in affairs that don’t concern you,” Jacques cut back in.

It was Eddy’s turn to attempt to wave off Jacques. “Angel, have you seen any raccoons behaving this way elsewhere in France?” he asked.

“Non,” she answered. “After all, to be causing disruptions in only a small area, evading capture and then seemingly vanishing, it would require the assistance of humans.”

“We suspected as much, but all our suspects in the region have alibis,” Eddy explained.

“Cages can be remotely triggered for release,” Angel stated. “As simple as a pin held in place with melting ice, or as complicated as an electronic device. And if one has an accomplice, it provides a chance for misdirection at an appropriate time.”

“Oho! And you think that’s what happened here,” Eddy realized, looking impressed.

“Non,” Angel corrected. “I was merely suggesting lines of inquiry for your future investigations. In this case, I believe the problem is that Jacques Barbier was never properly considered as a suspect in the first place.”

“What? Me, a suspect?” Jacques sputtered. “You’re crazy, lady. The raccoons have been targeting my properties. As the landlord, I’m a victim here too.”

Angel glanced at her watch. She supposed the time had come to pursue this to its logical conclusion.

“Are you?” she continued. “They are your properties, meaning you could set up things in advance. Ensure there was something on the premises the raccoons would find interesting, before releasing them. Ensure that the traps would malfunction, even as you tracked and recaptured the poor animals elsewhere later on, keeping them locked up in a basement until the next time they would be needed.”

“You dumb bunny,” Jacques yelled at her. “Why would I do all of that to devalue my own properties?”

“Aside from the hope of paying less property tax?” Angel mused. “There’s the fact that you do not like your current tenants, as they have recently created a tenants association. Yet you face a stiff penalty if you kick them out. One that does not apply if they choose to leave of their own volition.”

Jacques froze, looking to her now like a deer caught in some headlights. “You have no proof of this.”

“Don’t I?” Angel said, smiling.

Jacques stared at her, then quickly turned to slap his hand back down on the countertop yet again. “Arrest this woman already for pointing her firearm at me.”

The man at the counter looked back up from some papers that he had been signing. “Sorry, are you all quite finished? Are we back to including me in this discussion?” he asked.

“Philippe, Angel Rusee has a fascinating theory about the raccoon case,” Eddy noted. “Much better than Jules' theory about animal zombies.”

Angel’s eyes went wide at that, and she shuddered at the very thought of it. Though she supposed credit was due for creative thinking, whomever Jules was.

“I was mostly listening,” Philippe said, resting his cheek on his palm. “I must say, I’m becoming inclined to arrest the both of you, to let someone else sort this all out later.”

“That could prove to be an issue,” Angel cautioned. “I do have some friends in high places.”

“She means she’s friends with birds,” Jacques snorted.

“Them too,” Angel admitted.

Alas, as tempting as it might be to mention her assistance with the mind control device affair in Paris, or the orichalcum affair in Greece, Angel knew both were highly classified. Not to mention unlikely to be of interest to anyone living in one of these smaller French cities.

Fortunately, Pierre chose that moment to arrive.

The sixteen year old had been very interested in Angel’s investigations, and she had decided that befriending one of the residents of Jacques properties was in her best interests. His assistance had been invaluable the previous night.

“Officer Philippe? I have evidence that Jacques is behind all the damage the raccoons are doing,” Pierre stated breathlessly, slapping a manilla envelope down on the front counter. He shot Angel a wide grin, which she acknowledged with a small smile. His timing was excellent.

“Ridiculous,” Jacques scoffed. “What could you possibly have in an envelope that might incriminate me?”

“Photographic evidence,” Pierre clarified. He looked again to Angel. “The pictures from last night turned out real good.”

Jacques got a deer in the headlights look again. “Impossible,” he gasped. He rounded on Angel. “Last night - the lights turning on and off, that was no accident?”

“Correct,” she agreed.

“You set me up and then took a photograph of me when I went to check on my raccoons,” Jacques continued, aghast.

“Non,” Angel clarified. “Pierre here took the photos. This is technically his fight, not mine.”

“But then, when you came to my place this morning, that was a ruse,” Jacques extrapolated. “You wanted us both at the police station now. In fact, you’ve been buying time all morning, waiting for the photos to be developed.”

“You have finally made a valid accusation of me there, yes,” Angel affirmed.

Jacques looked stunned for a moment. He looked at everyone present, glanced towards the door, and then at the envelope on the counter. “Th-This is inadmissible evidence,” Jacques said, pointing at the folder, his arm shaking.

“Had you kept the raccoons on your private property, rather than in a more public location, perhaps,” Angel remarked. “But even if, for some reason, the photos are not accepted? I would think your blurting out the equivalent of a confession in front of the police here would be enough to incriminate you. Yes?”

Jacques looked around again, then bolted for the door.

Eddy, it turned out, could move surprisingly fast for his size, quickly grasping Jacques by the arm and twisting him around to pin him against the wall. Jacques slumped as the fight immediately went out of him.

Angel shook her head. “Imbecile,” she muttered in French.

Eddy turned to Angel. “Thank you for your assistance,” he remarked. “Both of you,” he added, looking to Pierre.

Pierre dropped into a crouch with one leg out, and thrust his arm into the air. “Yes, Pierre rocks! Thanks Angel. I’ve got it from here,” he added.

Angel fired off another smile his way, then looked towards Philippe. “As you local police seem to have things well in hand, I will be on my way. Or do you require me to stick around to deal with a gun charge?”

Philippe rubbed his forehead. “Gun charge? What gun charge, it was only a water gun. Just, don’t leave the area for twenty four hours, all right?”

“Acceptable,” Angel agreed.

Under his breath, she heard Philippe add, “My daughter would never forgive me if she found out I arrested a woman who talks to animals. She loves Snow White.”

Angel’s opinion of the officer went up several notches. The 1937 Disney film had indeed been an influence on her. Not many tended to pick up on that.

Of course, she had only seen the film after the more sobering occupation of France during the Second World War. Which she had experienced at an age even younger than Pierre. And it had left its own impact, meaning Angel was not inclined to actually leave the police station until her handgun had been returned to her and tucked away again in its holster.

Angel was back on the road with her van the following afternoon.

Her original destination upon leaving Paris had not been “raccoon city”, after all, but rather the seashore. She had simply made the small detour, once she’d heard about their issue in a neighbouring town.

If only the seashore trip had been for a vacation.

No, she had received a phone call that a particular coastal city was having a serious problem with jellyfish. There were far too many near the shore, causing problems for humans and sea creatures alike. And someone had heard of Angel’s area of expertise, and given her a heads up.

She now made a point of phoning ahead, so that she would not be wandering aimlessly around the town trying to find someone who knew anything about the situation. The gentleman who was involved in city tourism had seemed to be her best bet, and indeed he was only too happy to agree to meet with her, once she had explained who she was.

They met at a small cafe in the early evening, an hour after her arrival in town.

“I do not understand. This is so bizarre. I am so confused,” said Jules as he stirred his coffee. “I do hope you can help get people wanting to use the beaches again.”

“I am more concerned with the sea life,” Angel admitted, “but we will see what I can do.” She took a sip of tea. “Now, how did this all begin?”

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