The glass partition was all that separated the attorney from her overly-animated client. As a lawyer, Maddy had heard every absurd alibi from every shady rodent, mammal and marsupial brought up on charges. Kevin was no different.

“Look, I’m just a regular, work-a-day squirrel,” the accused pleaded. “Whatta I need with a semi-truck fulla pistachios? They got the wrong guy.”

Ever the diplomat, Maddy laid out the evidence her team was facing.

“There’s surveillance video of you climbing into the engine,” she stated, matter-of-factly. “The gnaw marks on the brake line match your teeth and the driver positively I.D.’d you from a lineup of suspected sciuridae. We’re fighting an uphill battle here.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” the defendant countered. “I got no use for pistachios. What am I, some sorta chipmunk or somethin’? You want the Prairie Avenue Opossum Gang. This sounds like their work, see?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Maddy resigned as she gathered her paperwork.

“Oh, before you go,” Kevin interjected, “you handle finances, legal transactions and whatnot, don’tcha?”

“I do,” she nodded as her client became more businesslike.

“On a totally unrelated matter,” he queried, “would ya mind findin’ out who’s buyin’ Nutcoin? I got a burrowload of that I need to exchange.”