Confrontation

The ears of the cat bandit perked up at the sudden tapping and the voice that followed it. Clutching the dynamite, Damien stood up and looked about, trying to pinpoint where those sounds came from.

“Right behind ye.”

Turning around, the burglar saw a peculiar sight. Standing in the middle of the dirt road was another fox. Leaning on a wooden cane, he was dressed in a white button shirt and black pants. What made the bomber slightly uncomfortable was the piercing green eyes that were staring straight at him.

“Ah’m hopin’ ye wise enough to take my advice. Save us both da trouble.” Rory spoke.

“Mmmph?!” The flattened deputy shouted in shock at the voice.

Damien, however, narrowed his eyes to him. “Oh goody, another fucking mutt. And a potato muncher at that. I swear you dogs breed more than rabbits.”

The Irish fox didn’t react to the slur and insult. Merely raising an eyebrow.

“Ye kiss yer mother with dat filthy mouth of yers?” He tilts his head, raises one hand to his forehead and sighs dramatically. “Acht, da poor dear. Here ye be, her darlin’ boy, speakin’ da devil’s tongue and threatin’ a lady. Disappointed in herself she’d be.”

The tabby’s eye twitched before narrowing them at Rory. “And who, pray tell, are you supposed to be?”

“Ah just be one of da concerned folks of dis town. Ah’m after breakfast and was havin’ a lovely craic ‘til ye ruined it.” Leaning forward on the cane, he eyed the thief. “So, again I say: How’s about ye stop da nonsense, leave da money and be on yer way.”

Snorting, the bomber casually twirled the stick of dynamite between his fingers.

“Well, I’m afraid that’s an offer I have to politely decline, my good man. This job is easy money and I’ve been delayed long enough.” Stopping his idle twirling, he points the explosive at the Irish fox. "Besides, I do declare, I must ask: What do you plan on doin’ about it?”

“Mmmph?! MMMmmmppphhh?!” The flattened vixen desperately tried to do something! Anything! She had gotten distracted and now Mr. Gilligan was going to get hurt because of her. All the while, words were being shouted within the confines of her mind.

Get out of there! Run! Don’t worry about me, you’re in danger!!!

Rory eyed the poor deputy and, though quick, gave a reassuring smile. Face returning to neutral, he looked at Damien with a measured glare. “Then ah suppose ye be needin' a proper lesson.”

To this, the tabby gave a loud, grating laugh at the statement. “Haw haw haw haw! Snrk, so the potato muncher wants to play, huh?” He gave a mocking sneer as one hand slowly drifted to his belt. “Then by all means my good man, let’s play.”

The two glared at each other, neither one making sudden moves. The Irish fox looked over the trigger-happy bandit, then down at the incapacitated deputy. Understanding that he had to separate them. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply and released it.

“Have it yer way.” He spoke slowly. Lifting his cane, he took a single step…

… and vanished in the blink of an eye.

Damien's smug look disappeared as he blinked. He shook his head and blinked again, thinking his eyes were playing tricks with him. One moment that fox was there, and the next, he was gone! Where did he go?! Stepping back, he quickly looked left and right, as though expecting a sneak attack or trick.

“Where’d he go? Where the fuck did he-GHURK!!!”

The cat’s words halted as he was yanked violently backwards, his shirt digging into his neck. His feet left the ground as the bandit was spun in a circle. Multiple rotations later he was sent flying through the air. Landing hard on the ground, Damien tumbled over himself before coming to a stop. Coughing violently, the cat gasping to regain his breath, spit and curses spewing from his mouth.

“I thought cats always landed on their feet.” Glancing up from the ground, he glared at the fox casually twirling his cane in the spot, which only a second ago, he previously stood. “Ye must be out of practice, lad.”

Struggling to his feet, hacking less frequently, Damien spat on the ground. “Y-ack, you dam-ack-n mongrel! How the fuck d’you do that! Ack. Ack.”

“Heh, heh. Sorry, dat’s a secret.” Rory chuckled, the crook of his cane resting on his shoulder. “My offer stands. Ye can still stop dis foolishness.”

Snarling, the bandit reached down and unclipped two of his ‘Stink-Balls’ from his belt.

“Oh, ack, but I’ve only begun to play.” Damien spoke, an unhinged grin appearing on his face as he pulled his arms back. “CATCH!”

With great accuracy, the bandit lobed the two objects straight at Rory. The mumbled shouting of the deputy persisted, trying to tell him to run. The Irishman, for his part, stood his ground. Bringing his cane in front of him, he began to twirl it. Slowly at first, the fox increased the speed until the walking item was a blur of movement.

The tabby’s grin remained, thinking how fun it will be when his little toys shattered, and the vermin will be engulfed in their foul payload. It grew as soon as he saw it reach him and…