(Disclaimer: All referenced materials and works are the property of their respective owner/s. Zootopia, original Zootopia characters and the Zootopia licence are owned by Disney. This work of fiction is owned by me.)
ONE
What's money got to do with it?
Finnick let the van glide slowly to a halt. It stopped just in front of the crossing, lurching backwards slightly as the squealing brakes died away. It stopped, lonely, in the middle of the four-lane avenue. No other traffic, no other movement and no other sound except the low rumble of the six-point-two diesel engine. Four story apartments lined each side of the road in regular blocks, but there was no light behind the windows. So, once again, alone, the van and the Fox waited in a black frown illuminated by the glowing red of the signal behind the wheel. The heavy-set amber eyes betrayed nothing except fatigue.
What's money got to do with it?
The Fennec sighed as he tightened his grip on the wheel. It was the hour where everything was shrouded in darkness. Shadows sprang from headlights that only slightly pierced the night. Black clouds hid the moon. There were never any stars.
He was tired, too tired, and couldn't think. All that played in his mind was that same line over and over. There was no change of expression when he pressed a small foot on the gas as the glow switched silently from amber to green. The engine rumbled into motion and carried him forward beyond quiet, sleeping homes. Finnick's eyes glanced down to the dashboard. Exactly three o'clock. The dead hour. He drove the van past side streets and parked cars, then swung left. He stopped again at a set of red lights. Any other day he would just jump the damn things, particularly at this time of night. But for some reason, he found small comfort in stopping at the signals. Maybe it was because of what was said to him just last morning. Gave him time to think.
"S'got everythin' to do with it." He whispered in his massive gravel-laden voice. Finnick never spoke to himself. Guess it was just one of those nights. The fox closed his eyes and slowly rested his forehead on the wheel. His ears twitched, but he remained unmoving. He picked up the screech of a bike in the distance and turned his ears to it. His head was still rested in between his arms. It screamed away through streets seemingly miles away, giving out low sputters when the gear changed and whined at a jarring pitch as it reached max RPM. There was a quiet rustling when the small body shifted slightly in the seat. He was wearing his favourite black bowling shirt with the red stripe and red diamond crest, but his usual khaki shorts were too dirty so he had small jet black jeans on instead. For a few seconds he rested his head there, ears protruding.
No, he can't stop.
He was so close to the lot. Left off central, and then follow 124th Street past the park. He was too close to stop. Finnick groaned deeply, then violently jolted his head up in an attempt to slip out of the creeping slumber. He did so just as the lights changed, and he pressed a small foot on the gas once more, ploughing on to find rest. Taking a sharp right down a similar street, he then slowly lurched right once more at the nearest crossroads to take him to within view of the garage. He could hear the bike all the way. It seemed to be getting closer, each whine and each sputter ever so louder.
In the last half hour, he'd probably covered only a couple hundred meters. At this rate, there would be no need to find a place to bunk up, he thought. It's not like that mattered anymore, though. As he raised his gaze, the Fox could see the lot ahead. It was a colourless mass of concrete five stories high, stretching above the apartments somewhat. Finnick stopped again at a set of lights, not caring whether they were red or not. It was almost a silent admission of defeat, a conceit of how exhausted he was whenever he stopped. When he halted, he wanted desperately to stay there. What was waiting for him around the corner? What would happen today?
He whispered to himself again. Definitely one of those nights. He let his head fall on the steering wheel once more, this time letting it land on the left side to allow his glassy stare to look out the right window. There, finally, was the empty park that stretched about two blocks north. The green grass, green trees and green trash cans were turned black by the night, and it was late enough that the lamps only emitted a feeble orange glow, like embers from a campfire in a vast empty cavern. A basketball hoop was shrouded in darkness, its chain net only slightly nudged by a passing breeze. For whatever reason-most likely the strange severance brought about by sleep deprivation-Finnick's mind wandered back to of high school, made him think of long recesses spent watching, arms folded, by the sidelines. He could hear the calls now, loud and unwanted as they echoed in his head.
"You're a pred? Can't you even fuckin' play?!"
"Yea, c'mon, Fennec! Dunk it!"
Just enough of that and his rage would boil over. He tended to bite the basketball or bite the kid. Sometimes both. Either way, he hated the damn sport nearly as much as he had hated high school. Most of those assholes were prey anyway. The scowl on the Fennec deepened. He spent a few more silent moments staring into that old memory, then, very abruptly, Finnick let tiredness better him, and he closed his eyes, finally ridding himself of the stinging they were causing him. He let his mind drift sweetly into oblivion, he let go of his environment and let his thoughts melt to darkness. His eyes were welded shut. Nobody was around. He'd let the angry commuters be his alarm in the morning. He wanted nothing more than to sleep.
Then suddenly he was pulled out of the void.
Finnick whipped up, eyes wide and searching. The distant bike was suddenly very close. It had raced past him, screaming right by his closed window, and now the tail-light was turning out of sight down the nearest road by the parking garage. The Fennec followed the red light from the bike for a few moments, but he couldn't tell who or what was on it. He let a sigh out and furrowed his brow again. He didn't know how long he'd slept, nor did he care. The night was still black, and the ignition was still on, so he stepped on the gas with his small legs and drove directly forward. He heard the bike echo around a few blocks next to him, but ignored it and drove on to the entrance. When he got there, a barrier blocked his way. Finnick ground the van to a halt, then turned around and pulled a long metal rod, the kind used to pitch tents, out of the back. He used it as an extension for his arm, leaning over out of the now open window to make empty promises to the toll, when, in reality, he'd be gone before it would even be checked. As he carefully tapped the last few lies away, Finnick wondered at how much he'd probably get back if he could cash in all his unpaid parking tickets. But it was a stupid fantasy, so he quickly dismissed the thought. He drove the van quickly into the lot and up the ramp.
The ascent seemingly took forever, and he wondered if he would ever reach his level. He wondered if he would just keep driving around in circles in this strange concrete purgatory. He let a short breath out in relief when he saw the painted four light up under his headlights and pulled out of the ramp, quickly rounding the van into a parking space with a skilful one-armed twirl of the wheel. The van finally stopped, and as he pulled up the handbrake and wiggled the gear stick, the Fox reached around and pulled the keys out, letting the strained engine die away at long last. Then he stopped. He froze.
Finnick just sat there for a while. Staring.
It was absolutely silent now. Whether the bike had stopped or left he didn't care, all he knew is that it was gone, replaced by the nearly undetectable buzzing of the lights in the garage and the gentle background murmur of city ambience, lessened at an hour like this. He was staring out northwards, looking over blocks of four story apartments and empty parks, over twisting highways on which sparse little headlights still moved like meandering pairs of fireflies, over domes and massive structures that were the city's malls, theatres and concert halls. He stared right to the centre, where the downtown skyscrapers traced across the horizon line, their inescapably huge glassy surfaces giving out thousands of lights as people worked on through the night in their offices. Downtown was like a magnificent regal crown, and at night-time when the spotlights reared into the sky, and the city gave off its golden glow the glassy structures managed to look that much more... spectacular. The glowing city only partially illuminated Finnick's face and left the rest of the van in shadow, and the fox gazed on for a while longer then stood up slowly in his seat and turned around. He vaulted over the back of the chair and landed right on his couch, the springs creaking in protest. The position he crumpled into barely altered, and he didn't bother to change, rather just letting himself slip down the infinite black slope to rest. Fatigue took him quickly and quietly, and a few breaths later he was sound asleep.
Then there was a noise, some quiet noise very close. He'd probably dreamed it. Hopefully, he'd dreamed it. But then he could hear something very clearly. Something pulled him out of the slumber. Was it a rumbling? Had his van started again? Finnick opened his eyes slowly, then squinted them into a narrow, burning glare. An unchecked anger was building behind them. His large ears flicked in annoyance. It wasn't his van. The rumbling noise had a higher pitch. Suddenly, Finnick launched himself out of bed, the swelling exhaustion leaving him in place of boiling rage. That same asshole. Woke him up once and had the guts to follow him and wake up him up again. Finnick's fury rose steadily to the point where he took the rashest action possible. Maybe it was the time it took for him to find the lot, maybe it was that old memory of those prey in high school, or maybe it was what his old friend had said to him not a few hours before.
"S'got everything to do with it!" He hissed those words and made up his mind. The van door flew open with a huge crash as the Fox kicked it, and he launched himself down a height that nearly matched his. His feet slapped onto the concrete as frenzied amber eyes flicked to the figure on the bike about fifteen meters opposite him. His bat was poised as if he was about to hit a fastball.
"You wanna' wake me up one more time!"
The booming challenge echoed around the halls, and the driver remained stationary. The fox bore his eyes right into the black visor, and he quickly realised that he had no real plan of attack. Whatever. Too angry to care. The figure on the bike was wearing all black riding-leather. He had black knuckle gloves, both placed on the handles, and his left foot touched the floor as he propped up the stationary bike. It was a sleek blue thing, elegant but certainly extremely powerful. A rich asshole, Finnick thought. He dared not move, but his eyes studied all parts of the rider. There were the black riding trousers, jet-black zipped-up bomber jacket... He searched for signs of the figures' species. If it was a polar bear, he had some serious problems, if it was a panther he had some really serious problems. He caught a glimpse of a white and black tail swishing side to side behind the figure's back and internally breathed a sigh of relief. Some lone tiger bike-thief then? Weren't uncommon here.
"You gonna' need more than just that fancy bike if you wanna' take my shit!" There was a slightly mocking tone in that shout. That re-ignited some ferocity in the Fox, and he balanced himself, feet shoulder width apart, bat poised and ready. He had a deep frown and bore sharp teeth, growling loudly. What he heard next, however, made him stop growling. It made him look uncertain, even anxious, even made him raise one quizzical eyebrow. The figure was chuckling. It was quiet at first, drowned out by the noise of the engine and muffled by the helmet, but it grew until the animal was near to laughing out loud. The voice was deep, very deep, and Finnick could've sworn he'd heard it before. Then, suddenly, he took his gloves off the handle and reached upwards. Finnick regained his balance and was a microsecond away from launching an attack, but all his anger quickly drained away when the face under the helmet revealed itself. It was a Siberian white tiger, and it called out across the empty space in a booming, jovial tone.
"Moy Bog!" He called in Russian, and then he said in English, "You are fearless, my friend!"
Finnick let the bat down as the last bits of anger died away. He took a long gaze at the tiger, who was beaming a toothy grin, and called tiredly across the space.
"Hey, Vlad."
A few moments later the tiger had dismounted his bike, and they were both leaning on the barrier that faced out towards downtown. Their size difference was certainly a sight to behold; one broad-shouldered hulking big cat that had a body built like an oak, one tiny fennec whose ear tips only just came to the same height as the others knees. The barrier had a concrete border that stood to Finnick's midriff, and the rest of the way it was a combination of metal bars and mesh. The Fox leaned with folded arms on that border, peering over through the mesh, while the tiger leaned in the same position, except on the top of the metal barrier. Finnick gazed out towards nowhere in particular, his brow furrowed in deep thought. The tiger, however, had a seemingly permanent grin, and his eyes were wide as the pupils flicked about in awe at the scene.
It was a minute or two before the tiger broke the silence. "Beautiful." He spoke softly with a heavy accent. "...you think?". The fox grunted in indifference. A couple more seconds of silence drifted by.
"How'd you find me?" Finnick growled, still looking forward. He asked the question when he already knew the answer. Or lack thereof.
The tiger turned and looked down. "Ah." He smiled and tapped his bandaged nose lightly with one finger. "Is secret."
Finnick expected as much. He knew what the tiger was involved in. Pressing him would get a whole load of nothing. To his credit, he definitely knew how to be stoic when he wanted to be.
Vlad chuckled and pressed on, clearly eager to avoid the subject. "But, it was not easy. Looking through all of the city in search of a..." He paused and gestured to the vehicle behind Finnick.
"Van," Finnick grunted.
"Da, that's it." He smiled again, glancing at the vehicle. "It is the small ones we forget, yes?"
Finnick hesitated a moment, then smiled slightly. "Yeah." There was more truth in that than Vlad probably knew. The smile went.
The tiger gestured to the van, which was to the right of Finnick. "Nice paint," he said.
Finnick lazily turned a head to look at it. "Yea, ol' band used to use it..." He trailed off, frowning, then looked away for a few moments. He then turned his head over his shoulder towards the bike that was propped up. It was sitting quietly, the screaming motor silenced.
"Ain't nothin compared to that, though." The fennec nodded towards it, mild admiration in his voice. The tiger grinned, sharp white teeth etched across his face.
The features were neat and his jaw was well structured, but there was white tape over the bridge of the nose. Black-stained white tape, no less. Above that, however, were bright blue eyes that glinted from time to time, showing some limitless reserve of wonder that most mammals lost when they grew to his age. And if not for age, they would've lost it after seeing what he'd seen.
"You like it?" He gazed over, making no attempt to cover the pride he felt on his face. "She's new. A beauty, I call her Kolesnitsa." He stared for a few seconds more then turned back down to the fox. "She keeps me safe."
Finnick glanced up and raised an eyebrow. "Funny..." he said, "because I seen animals die ridin' bikes."
He held up a finger. "Ah, but they die only if the rider is unworthy. You must trust the bike, or else she will not trust you, and she will kill you." He spoke passionately, even through a smirk. "I step off that bike and thank her always for not killing me."
They both returned to silence again. Finnick's deep-set features had now moved beyond mere tiredness. Something else, some other kind of exhaustion you get when your body passes the threshold of night, starved of sleep and moves on into day again. His internal clock wanted to keep ticking, but the hands were broken and the time was all out of sync. The fox was still, only flicking those bright amber pupils about through half-closed eyelids to search the scene in front of him.
He rested his gaze on the flickering lights of an airliner in the black sky. Its body wasn't visible from so far away in such weak light, but Finnick could hear the near-silent whine of the engines in the distance. The red and white lights on the wing tips and fuselage flashed at intervals across the sky, silent and small. Finnick watched it for a while, the shifting of the tiny flashing lights the only indicator of the plane's progress.
"I ain't never flown before," he grumbled, nearly quiet enough as if it was to himself, but the tiger's ears turned.
Vlad looked down at him and raised his eyebrows. "Ah? What?"
Finnick saw the confusion on the tiger's face and slowly lifted his left arm flat out like a wing, leaving the right on the concrete. He was too drained to use both arms, but when he made a, albeit faint, whooshing noise of a jet engine through his closed teeth the tiger seemed to understand.
"Ah, Da, I know." He held his arms out like wings too. "Samolet," he said in Russian. He put his arms down. "What did you call it?"
"Plane," Finnick replied, putting his arm back on the border and leaning on it.
"Plane," he tested through a thick accent. "The small words..." Vlad smiled again, putting his massive arms back in the same position. "You said you, uh, have never flown?"
The fox nodded, then paused. He still could see the lights flicker, though they were becoming increasingly distant with each flash. "Nah, but what's it like though? Looks scary, I mean I dunno, but you're so high up in such a tiny thing." The Tiger had found the plane too and was watching it as he spoke.
"Uh, is not too bad. Bit uh..." He hesitated. "Nerovnyy..." he said in Russian, searching for the English equivalent. "Bumpy?" He shrugged as he watched it.
Finnick frowned in confusion. The lights slowly disappeared in the distance. "Why's it like that? Ain't nothing to hit up there."
Vlad shrugged again. "Is uh, the air? Or something?" He too watched the plane disappear, then leant on the barrier and carried on. He looked down along the shadowed street below as he spoke. "I don't really know." He chuckled "But Revy, oh, she loved it. Some other small ones were crying, but she loved it. At the bumps..." He held his paw flat and Finnick turned his head slightly over to watch. Vlad moved his hand up and down, smiling behind bright blue eyes, "... she would jump up and down. "Eto veselo dyadya!","This is fun uncle!" He laughed deeply in between words. Finnick began to smile. "She ran the plane, and I had to follow and say sorry. She said it was a ride at the park, going up and down. They came over and told her to sit still..." He paused, grinning. "... four times? I think so." He chuckled. "Crazy." Then he said softly in Russian, "no kravisyy."
They both turned and looked out again. Finnick smiled, partly impressed with how well Vlad's English had improved, but mostly just entertained by the image of Revy running up and down a plane, screaming in her excited, jumbled Russian. He stared out a while longer.
"How's she doin' by the way?" Finnick asked. That same rare softness that was in his smile was now in the way he spoke. Just a hint, though; it was hard to make anything sound soft with a voice that deep and rough.
Vlad turned when the fox spoke. "Yes! yes. She is good, doing good," he said enthusiastically. He chuckled. "She says to me often, she say: "Uncle, when I see that confox again it better be with the money he owes!"
Finnick couldn't help but smile. That six-year-old cub was on his list of I.O.U's and was also at the top. "Tell her she can quit worryin'," he responded. "Jus' need to scratch some cash together first..." Finnick ended in a murmur, the humour leaving him.
The city was through the crucible of a dark, yellow-lit night and now the faintest hint of blue began to stain the eastern horizon. Side streets and alleys were still bathed in shadow and blackness, but the faintest bit of light in the sky had arrived, and dawn was only an hour or so away. Finnick saw this and wondered whether should he even bother sleeping now.
"So where is the other?"
The fox closed his eyes and sighed deeply, and any bits of humour left in his face were now fully gone.
"You know, uh, the red fox. " He held a flat paw just above his waist. "Uh, this tall."
Finnick's eyes opened. He rested his snout on two folded arms, themselves rested on the same grey concrete border. "He's gone." That hung in the air for a while.
The tiger twitched slightly, the smile fading from his face for the first time.
"Dead?" he asked gravely.
Finnick waved his paw. "Nah, nah." He stopped and thought for a second. "Chose a new career or sommin'..." He pulled a dismissive face and shrugged, still staring forward, trying to show a lack of care for the question. Anyone watching closely enough could've seen the way he flinched when it was asked, seen the forced nonchalant tone when it was answered. Anyone could've, but the tiger didn't.
"As what?" He smiled once more. " A cop?" he joked.
The fennec's eyes widened momentarily, and he whipped his head up to look at his friend. Just for a moment, the fox looked surprised, even exasperated. He then quickly recognised it as a joke and, just as quickly, regained his composure, turning his gaze back across the border slowly. The tiger didn't see, and for a while longer, the two returned to brooding.
Vlad then slapped the barrier with a big gloved paw. "Yes, well," he said."I did not find you just to talk. Though that is good. No, I found you for a good reason. I came to give you an offer." Part of Finnick had expected this, but he made no change of expression as the tiger explained. "Kolesnitsa." He pointed across the hall. "She was paid for by my boss. Revy can go to the school and have the health care, she can live a life with a future to see. Da, and my boss, he helped me escape from the east. He took care of my small family when we needed most. He saved us. Then, well, then he took us too..." He gestured to the scene, admiration in his voice. "Ray," he said in Russian. "And safety. Revy has not known safety such as this all her short life. She knows it now, because of my boss and what he has done." He turned and looked at the fennec, who was still staring onwards. "Fin," It sounded more like 'Feen' in his accent, "if your friend has left you, you need safety. My boss will help."
Finnick kept his gaze forward. "I been good so far."
The tiger beamed. "Well, what about better than good? What about great work and proper living. Of course, the pay is good. It will be with a man to trust. A good man." He paused. "My father always said to me, pochemu v odinochku?" Finnick turned his head and raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Why go it alone?" the tiger explained. "You join us and you join a business." He put a paw to his chest. "And, moy drug, I swear it is just that." There was earnest in his voice, and Finnick realised that Vlad was genuine. This wasn't some corner street thug recruitment. This was an honest request. Still, join a 'business'? He turned to the expectant face. They locked eyes for a moment, those light blue's were searching and bright.
Finnick shook his head and shrugged slowly. "Sorry," he said, a tinge of regret in the words.
The tiger sighed. "Vse v poryadke... just an offer. If you ever need us." He unzipped the bomber jacket slightly while speaking and reached into a pocket, pulling out a postcard that looked tiny in his large gloves. Holding the piece of card down towards his knees, the fennec reached up and took it quietly. He turned it over, large and cumbersome in his own paws, and revealed a postcard of a vast illustrious dining hall, complete with white linen cloth set tables and gleaming chandeliers. On the front was written 'Welcome to luxury' in an equally lavish font and probably what Finnick assumed to be the same phrase in those strange Russian letters below that. He folded it twice, stuffed it in his back pocket, and looked at his friend.
"Uh, on the back. That is the information. On the back," Vlad said as he zipped his jacket back up.
"Thanks," Finnick murmured, then quickly averted his eyes back to the ground. He turned slowly and walked back to the Van.
"So we will see you soon? My boss can wait, but he is a busy mammal," Vlad said expectantly.
Finnick had pulled the grey driver door ajar and, still holding the handle, turned and smiled flatly at the tiger.
"I'll think about it, Vlad. No promises." He turned, mumbling, "Ciao," as he scrambled up into the driver's seat and slammed the door behind him. The metallic thump echoed all around the concrete walls and back into the foxes' large ears. He gave one final glance as the tiger turned and, rather dejectedly, walked back to his bike. "Tell Revy I'll get her the money soon," he called. The tiger twisted and opened his arms while walking backwards.
"Moy drug, you can get it by Sunday if you meet my boss. It is a real business, my promise!" He gave one final grin and turned back to his bike. Finnick watched as he reattached the black helmet and straddled back onto Kolesnitsa. The bike purred softly when Vlad cycled the engine, then began to growl and roar as he twisted the handles. The figure gave one final wave towards Finnick and then was off in an orchestra of screeching tires and screaming acceleration, rocketing himself back down the ramps of the parking lot. The fox stared in his wing mirror for a while where the bike once stood, and listened for a good few minutes as Vlad sped down the cavernous lot and through the city blocks until the noise died down to nothing. The blue stain in the east was giving way to a new brilliant orange light, and the darkness in the west was slowly being chased away. Clouds could now be seen forming ghostly shapes along the rising light, and streets and alleys that were once gripped by the night were relinquished into the new pale glow. Finnick glanced down at the clock. Exactly five.
Behind those amber eyes was more than exhaustion. So much more, in fact, that when Finnick accidentally blinked longer than he should've fatigue grappled him and pulled him down. It dragged him beneath the waves before he could even react, and within a few short moments, the little fennec slumped down in the driver seat and slept.
Thankyou to hmwealsey for betareading this chapter