I Bury my Heart in Peru

A young vixen of ten years old knelt over her latest customer’s shoe, old rag over her shoulder, black shoe polish in one hand and a small sack in the other. She set the sack down and reached for her rag, spraying some polish on it and getting to work on the man’s shoes.

The scruffy young girl had a greasy shirt a few sizes too big, and a pair of coveralls with one strap’s button missing, the strap hanging loose. Her blue/black hair was tied behind her back with a dirty piece of twine and her reddish/hazel and yellow fur was stained. Her eyes, an intelligent liquid-brown, concentrated on the task at hand. A birthmark sat below her left eye, giving her an air of distinction, despite her grubby appearance.

She finished the job swiftly, leaving neither mar nor spot on the portly badger’s shoe. He smiled, leaned down and patted her head before dropping two American dollars in her hand. Her eyes went wide upon receiving it.

“Pardon me, sir. This job is only two cents. I can’t take this much…” The little fox said.

The badger chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, little miss. You look like you need that money more then I do.” He said and walked off, cane tapping the ground in time with his newly polished shoes.

The ten year old smiled, looking at the two dollars in her hand and ran off towards home, sack full of the tools of her trade, that trade being a shoe shiner.

She rushed into her family’s shanty home, the Argentina sky turning rosy as the sun began to set.

“Mama! Papa! Look what I got!” She shouted excitedly, dashing through the door, tail and hair trailing behind her.

A smallish, red wolf and an even smaller fox looked up from a table as their daughter rushed in. The wolf smiled, a few of his teeth missing. “Ah, hello my beautiful daughter!” He exclaimed in Spanish.

The fox smiled as well, though something was on her mind, giving her smile a bit of dishonesty.

The wolf hugged the young one, smiling broadly. “How is my hard-working Carmelita?”

The young Carmelita smiled and showed her father the two dollars. “Look father! Two U.S. dollars!”

Her father nearly fell out of his seat. “Carmelita! Where did you get this? Please tell me you didn’t steal it…”

Carmelita huffed indignantly. “No papa! When have I ever stolen?”

He sighed softly. “Never, my dear. I’m sorry for thinking so. I just worry sometimes. This is a dangerous, dishonest world. The best way to live is by honesty, abiding the law and being generous.” He said, as if reciting a mantra.

In fact, her father had been an officer of the law not long before. Though when they had their child, his wife made him promise to quit to force and move somewhere isolated, irregardless of circumstances.

They’d gone to Argentina from their home in Peru, but had been robbed on the way there, losing their money and possessions, but thankfully, not their lives.

Now eking out a meager life amidst the dregs of the town, they were still a happy family. The hard, simple life kept them close.

The little fox repeated the mantra in unison, then explained how she came to have the money.

Her mother smiled. “See? Generosity has found us. Now we should have some kind of celebration for all the money she’s made.”

The father rubbed his chin. “Actually my love, I suggest we save it and take it to the bank tomorrow. We can get return from it and we’ll have even more money.”

The mother nodded, smiling. “Alright. That’s a good idea.”

Carmelita smiled brightly and went upstairs, leaving the two dollars on the table. “Call me down when supper’s ready, okay?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Her mother said, smiling across the table to her husband.

Carmelita’s father stood up, walked around the table to his wife and smiled. “May I have this dance?”

“You certainly may, good gentleman.” She said warmly.

The two danced happily, a small and warm celebration for their hardworking daughter.

Upstairs, Carmelita opened up her spartan toy box and got out a pair of wooden cars her father made for her, driving them on the floor. “Vroooom! Screeech! Vrooom vroom! You’ll never catch me, coppers!”

“Weeewoooooo!! SCREECH! Oh yeah? Just watch me! The Law shall always find you!” The little fox girl played, imagining a chase scene between a thief and an officer of the law, like her father.

“Oh no! A wall!” The ‘thief’s car’ cried and bonked into the toy boy as Carmelita thumped it. “Gotta get away!”

“Not so fast! Hands on your head, criminal! You’re going to jail!” The ‘police car’ shouted…


Outside, a tall, menacing, shadowy figure stood.

“Francwurst to Clockwerk.” He said into a cellular phone. “I’ve located the beacon we placed in the Count’s wallet, but it’s some dirty hovel.”

The figure paused. “No sir, I don’t think… Yes? It seems that way. No, the lights are out. If they even have lights, that is. No sir. Truly? Can’t say I blame you. You can be seen only so many times before the military get involved. What’s that? Locals hiding him, eh? Clever brute. Yes indeed. He’ll pay for helping the Cooper Clan. Consider it done.”

The figure slowly walked towards the small house, cruel-looking serrated knife in hand…


Carmelita yawned, needing to get water from the barrel downstairs. She got her wooden cup and walked down, her oversized pajamas trailing her.
Upon descending the stairs, her cup hit the floor. Her parents were both tied up and in the corner. Carmelita would never forget the look of pure horror on their faces, the terror, the agony of heart.

The sound of the dropped cup made a figure dash from the shadows up at her. She felt a hand grip the scruff of her neck, holding her up by it painfully.

“Now, family Montoya Fox, I’ll ask again. Where are you hiding the rich man? Answer me, or I’ll force-feed you pieces of your daughter.” The figure said. Whoever it was, he was wearing pure-black and had black fur. She smelled… panther.

Her father, sobbing, looked up at the deadly stranger with tear-filled eyes. “No please! Anything but that! We know of no rich man!”

Carmelita’s ears pricked. “R-Rich man…? I-I shined the shoes of a really rich badger this evening…” She said shakily.

The stranger chuckled softly. “How wonderful children are. Always telling the truth when they know they’re in trouble. Why, withhold their cookies and they’re as honest as saints.”

Carmelita’s mother whimpered softly. “S-So you’ll leave us alone now…?”

The Montoya Fox parents could see two rows of teeth appear on the face masked by shadows. A predatory smile.

“I’ll leave you alone alright. But not alive. Oh, and don’t worry about the child. I was bluffing before. I like children.” He said with a smirk, hurling Carmelita into the water barrel, breaking it and soaking her. Dazed, she could only slump helplessly against the broken barrel.

“Look closely now child! Look at how easy it is to break into a simple home, gain information, valuables and corpses! Such are the abilities of the master thief!” The panther said, and with two swift motions, stabbed Carmelita’s parents in the stomach, the restraints keeping them from stopping the bleeding. “Ta-ta, little one. I hope you’ve learned your lesson about dealing with rich folk. They lead to thieves, and thieves lead to broken homes.” He said, rather proudly, then disappeared out the door, but before throwing a molotov cocktail in the corner filled with wood and straw, exploding and setting fire to the small home.

“Nooooo!!!” She screamed, running to the door with a rusty soup ladle, only to see the nighttime sky looming, not a trace of the mysterious killer to be seen.

She ran back to her parents, whimpering and fumbling with their wounds, trying to apply first aid she knew.

Her mother was already gone, her blood having drained out of her quicker. Her father, however, lifted his head slowly, eyes glazing as they met his daughter’s. “C-C-Carmelita… M-My little rose… Go now… money in cupboard… g-get to safety… l-love y-….”

Her father slumped over, his eyes no longer filled with life.

Carmelita shook her father and mother softly, not wanting it to be true or real. She even slapped herself, trying to wake up from this terrifying nightmare. “M-Mama! Papa! P-Please wake up… D-Don’t leave me… Oh please don’t leave me…”

The fire began to spread. Carmelita knew she couldn’t stay. Sobbing hard, she ran to the cupboard just as the base of it caught on fire. She snatched the breadbox with her family’s life-savings and ran outside to the grotto. She spun around, seeing the flames engulf her home… the place she’d been born in, learned to walk in, learned to read and write in. The little fox girl fell to her knees, clutching the box to her chest, crying hard and blinking through tears as she watched the house collapse under the violent flames…


Come morning, a group of young punks about Carmelita’s age came to the wreckage of the house, seeing Carmelita sitting down, leaning against a long-since-dead streetlamp, clad in damp, scorched pajamas.

The kid-thugs had always gotten on her case for doing honest work while they stole and begged, getting more money and nice things.

They spotted her and the leader, an ostrich boy, smirked. “Ha! Looks like your folks tried using kerosene lamps again! Hope they’ve got insurance! Haw-haw!”

Carmelita usually snapped back, made a defense and usually made a point with a swift punch. But she just remained there, slumped against the streetlamp.

A little tiger looked into the charred ruins and saw two skeletons, charred clean. “Woah! Carmelita’s parents got all burned up!”

The ostrich looked at the destroyed house, guffawing again. He walked up to Carmelita. “Say, what’cha got in the box? Anything you’d care to share with everyone else?”

Carmelita looked up at him, her eyes filled with hatred, anger, fury and rage. “Get… away from me… now.” She said, her voice shaky with malice.

The ostrich snickered. “Oooh, shoe-shiner girl’s all pissy again! I think I’ll borrow that!” He said and snatched the box from the little girl’s arms and rushing back to the gang, opening it up, his back to the young fox he’d pushed over to get the box. “Hey! There’s fifty U.S. dollars in here! We’re rich!”

Had he a brain in his head, the bullying ostrich would have looked behind him when he heard the soft footsteps.

Feeling a tap on his shoulder, he turned to see a fist heading straight for his face. It impacted and he saw flashes of white and red before staggering back, the weight of the box now longer in his hand.

“That box belongs to me! It’s all I have left!” Carmelita shrieked, violently kicking the bully in the side while his friends watched in rapt awe.

Delivering one last kick to his head, the young fox stalked off, box under her arm, wondering what she was supposed to do now.

She was suddenly pulled back by a buff rooster boy. “You’ve got a lotta nerve walking away with all that dough! Give it here!”

Carmelita shook her head, glaring. “Go to Hell!”

The thuggish youth backhanded her across the face and snatched the box, running off with his gang of friends, leaving Carmelita on the ground, too weak to follow. “I-I’ll bet papa was saving all that to send me to school…” She sobbed to herself.

Painfully, she got to her feet and walked to the shoe-shining stand, curling up at the base of the chair, her head in her hands.

Her life, as she knew it, was over. She knew she had to begin a new life, but she had no idea how. She got to her feet, heaving a deep breath, and started to walk, just to think.

“You there! Young lady!” She heard a familiar voice.

She spun around to see the same rich badger who she had shined the shoes of the previous day. She glowered, feeling hostile, knowing that it was all his fault, albeit indirectly. “You stay away from me! That bad man looking for you did something horrible! Leave me alone!”

The badger looked shocked, then saddened. “What did this bad man do, little one?”

Carmelita looked away, eyes downcast. “H-He… He…”

The badger came up behind her, gently setting a hand on her shoulder. “He what?”

The little fox slapped his hand away, spinning around with her teeth bared, her eyes full of tears. “HE KILLED MY MAMA AND PAPA!! THEN HE BURNED OUR HOUSE DOWN AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT! HE WAS LOOKING FOR YOU AND KILLED THEM BECAUSE THEY DIDN”T KNOW!!!”

The rich old badger’s expression became stricken. “No… oh Lord. You poor thing… I’m so terribly sorry…”

Carmelita, having screamed at him, collapsed in a heap, sobbing into her arm until she had no breath left, coughing and choking.

The badger knelt down, softly placing a hand on her head. “Shhh, it’s alright little miss. I… I owe you a debt that can never be repayed… but I can help you. Anyway you wish, I’ll help you.”

Carmelita looked up at him, eyes bloodshot from crying, voice wracked with sorrow. “C-Can you… give me a future…?”

The old badger nodded slowly, looking skyward. “Perhaps I can, little one. Perhaps I can.”


For the next eight years, Carmelita lived with the enigmatic badger who would insist on being called Landon, rather then his long, drawn-out full name. She was mostly happy, living in his mansion on a pleasant estate. She studied law, worked out in Landon’s private gym, ate healthy meals, occasionally went out with friends she’d made with Landon’s help, and took to reading all manner of police stories. The factual ones, not fictional.

Landon got the sense that she’d never really forgiven him for indirectly causing her parent’s deaths, even though she had avidly made attempts. She eventually got over, but the old badger never felt that way, blaming himself for what happened.

A few days after her eighteenth birthday, Carmelita, now an athletic, lovely young woman, announced to her foster-father that she would leave the island to join the FBI.

Landon, having known of her passion for law and order, as well as a hatred of criminals and thieves, suggested that a different law enforcement agency may be up her alley…

“Interpol?” The young-adult Carmelita asked, her eyebrow cocked upward. “Oh yeah. I know what you’re talking about. In 1923, Johann Schober, the police chief of Vienna, Austria, invited a number of police organizations from other countries to send representatives to a conference in his city. Schober was concerned about a new kind of crime in post-war Europe: an increasing number of individuals and organizations were using telephones and automobiles--the high technology of the day--to operate across national borders. Lacking any mechanism for sharing information and cooperating in investigations, national police agencies had no way to deal with these international criminals.”

Landon nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”

“The outcome of the Vienna conference was the creation of the International Criminal Police Commission (ICPC). Based in Vienna, it was funded by the Austrian government and staffed by Viennese police officers. Although the ICPC was intended to be a central repository for information about crimes under investigation anywhere, it focused primarily on central Europe. When Germany took over Austria in 1938, the ICPC fell under the control of the Nazis, who moved its headquarters to Berlin. After the war, the organization was reconstructed at an international assembly in Brussels, Belgium. It was decided that the new ICPC would be based in France, where it was generally treated as part of the French civil service.” She continued.

Landon started on his salad, nodding. “Go on.”

“It was in the 1950s that the ICPC acquired the name Interpol. Originally just an abbreviated telegraphic address, the name was picked up by journalists and then popularized by a television series aired under the titles "The Man from Interpol" and "Interpol Calling." In 1956, the organization formally changed its name from the International Criminal Police Commission to the International Criminal Police Organization (ICPO)-Interpol. Membership in Interpol grew rapidly through the 1950s and 1960s with the breakup of the old colonial empires. Soon European countries were in a minority, and in the 1960s Interpol began conducting regional meetings to address the needs of countries in different parts of the world. As it grew, it became increasingly independent of the French government. Interpol's staff took on a more international character, and the organization acquired its own building in the Paris suburb of Saint-Cloud in 1964. Its stature was enhanced during the 1970s and 1980s as Interpol played an increasingly crucial role in international efforts to combat drug trafficking and terrorism.” The Latin vulpine said in between munching her food.

Landon nodded.

“In the mid-1980s, recognizing the significance of the revolution in information and communications technology, Interpol committed itself to modernization. Now, operating out of its state-of-the-art headquarters in Lyons, it helps countries around the world to keep up with the ever-changing challenges posed by 21st-century criminals.” She concluded.

The old badger blinked, astounded at her historical knowledge of the association. “You know quite a bit about it, Carmelita. Do you think you’d be interested?”
The vixen let her cheek press to her fist as her elbow propped on the table. “I dunno… that’d imply a lot of traveling.”

The rich badger smiled. “You did say before that you wanted to see the world for yourself. Also, know that criminals of the worst kind will be your targets in Interpol.”
Carmelita let a finger swirl some hair around it, a habit she had when she was thinking.

“You know Landon, you might just be on to something.” She said, grinning and finishing the steak she’d been picking at since dinner began.

“So you’re going to send in your application, are you?” Landon asked, smiling.
Carmelita smiled. “I will.”

Landon grinned broadly. “In anticipation of your career choice, I went and had something made for you to commemorate the occasion.”

Carmelita rolled her eyes, hiding a blush. “You shouldn’t have, old man.”
Landon chuckles softly, getting up from his chair and came over to her, a small black box in hand.

“Aww what’d you get, you coot?” She asked as he stepped behind her. She saw something shiny and metal pass down before her eyes, settling below her neck. She then felt black velvet tenderly wrap gently around her neck, a metal clasp being put on.

It was a golden necklace with a bright star inlaid in a circle, her favorite symbol. A symbol of law, authority and justice. “Is this alright? I… I hope it isn’t too gaudy…”
Carmelita smiled brightly, getting up from her chair and hugging the old badger softly. “It’s perfect! Thank you, Landon!” She exclaimed, again, expelling doubts of her forgiveness from his mind.

A few weeks later, after exchanging one last fond embrace, Carmelita set foot on the island’s boat, bound for the shore. From there, Carmelita would take the airport to Lyon in France to join Interpol.

The fox found herself standing outside the great, pristine building that was the Interpol headquarters. “Well… Mama… Papa… I’m here. I hope you’re both proud of me. I’m going… to make up for failing to save you both. Criminals everywhere are going to have their sprees cut short… on your names do I swear…”

Years passed, and Carmelita became more and more formidable, able to catch criminals of all kinds from drug runners, to political terrorists, to international thieves. During her time in the force, her heart became more and more steeled against thieves and their ilk. All criminals, no matter how light the crime, deserved to be punished, and she was the one who was going to round them up for punishment.

Her temper, however, kept her from making many friends. Most other women co-workers were either jealous or turned off by her aggressive attitude and her great success, and her male co-workers either avoided her or talked dirt behind her back.

Despite the hostile work environment, both on the field and in the offices she visited on Interpol business, she was rapidly promoted and reached Inspector early on, becoming Interpol’s greatest rising star. It wasn’t long before she was assigned to the Sly Cooper case, and frequently came close to catching him, yet never succeeded. The press was always on her case about never catching Sly Cooper, and every time they shoved a camera in her face, she’d tell them to get lost in a combination of English and Spanish.

It wasn’t until later that Carmelita discovered that the thieving raccoon was on a mission of mercy, rather then of profit. But that’s another story entirely…