Title: From the Desk of Detective Hoover: Mongooses, Magazines, and Murder

Author: KronksShoulderAngel

Setting: Zistopia AU (By Nicolas Wildes)

Disclaimer: This fanfiction contains some adult language, violence and sexual themes. It may not be suitable for all readers. Zootopia and its characters are © Disney. Zistopia and its characters were created by Nicolas Wildes.

Chapter 1: Into the Jungle

The night that I was given the Hareford-Gnuton case-file is one that I will never forget. I was sitting on my ass in my office as I usually do, while leafing through what I was told by a benevolent coworker would be the "most surefire way of improving my love life". Apparently the news of my wife leaving me for a wolf had circulated around my beloved workplace. Yeah, I know. A sheep leaving a sheep for a wolf. If that isn't ironic I don't know what the hell is. But I tried to keep it from putting a damper on my spotless work ethic. I had my legs propped up on the desk, resting amongst the sea of bureaucracy disguised as necessary paperwork that had been flooding my office for years. I was relaxing after yet another day of sifting through the shit that had arisen this week just as it had every week I'd proudly served in the dysfunctional jungle known as the Zootopia Police Department.

My job at that point was one that most would call "purely extraneous, for the sake of the poor, decrepit middle-age-has-been-police-sheep, kept on payroll out of the kindness of our charitable hearts". It was comprised of wearing a golden badge labeling me one of ZPD's head investigators, which to my greener colleagues, meant my time in the office would be made up of looking over the mountains of paperwork different cases and investigations yielded. After all, the old guy knows what he's doing, and it's not like he's got a family or anything to take care of. Now, you're probably thinking, damn, this poor old bastard's got it rough. I admit that at times I thought the same thing about myself, and wallowed in self-pity wondering bitterly where the glorious days of protecting the streets with my partner went to, but after a while, I realized something. They were right, my days in the spotlight were over. I had been replaced by younger and leaner officers, armed with shiny new smart phones and an unparalleled bigotry and hatred towards all predators. Zootopia no longer needed cops that would get caught up with unnecessary morals. I was a relic from another era, who understood "files and shit" and was often the subject of well-natured jokes about cave-mammals. Hoary Harry was what they called me when they didn't think I could hear them. That was my place, it was where I fit in, and I needed to accept it. So I did, pride be damned.

The magazine I had been gifted was proving to be a good distraction from the black and white pages illustrating crimes, suspects, damages and grievances. I guess you could have called it a tabloid. While the sections outlining outrageous fur-styles were really something I enjoyed casting judgment upon and generally just being a grouchy old guy at, I honestly found it more amusing to read through the screwy article headlines that had actually been considered "good enough for publication".

"Mayor Bellwether closeted predophiliac? Meet her lion lover! … The bunny that gave birth to only a single kit! 'I mainly blame my sorry excuse for a husband.' … Blueberries: popular with foxes, and great for your libido!? … 20 ways to style up your handicap without alerting the authorities."

As much as I would have loved to continue rotting what was left of my brain, my story-time was unfortunately interrupted by one of the Oryx-Antlerson brothers, who walked into my office carrying a manila folder. Both of them were officers in the same shift, and for that reason I've always loved pretending to confuse them for one another.

He knocked absent mindedly on my half-open door, before completely barging in without waiting for a response. "Hey Detective Hoover, I've got…" His voice trailed off as his eyes inevitably landed on the magazine I was holding.

"Top ten ways to improve your sex-life, learn to hunt mates like a predator… Uh, Detective Hoover, is this a bad time?" The kid lowered his voice to a frightened hush, as if he'd walked in on his mother and I were making love. I folded the magazine and tossed it on top of the piles of paperwork adorning my desk.

"Well, it sure as hell is a bad time for literature. What can I do for you, son?" I'd recently learned that the respect I once earned around the city for my years of service was already at the point of absolute zero thanks to my marriage crisis and, shall we say, advanced age, so I was sure that this little mishap wouldn't surprise a single soul in the department.

"Oh, uh, right. So, a gnu and a hare… They were uh…" He was still eying the magazine which I had unknowingly flipped to the even more embarrassing back cover. I believe it featured a tasteful photograph of a rhinoceros couple smiling, the male rhino holding a pill with the caption: "Horn not as hard as it used to be? Not anymore. Beat impotence. Get InstaErect!" Emblazoned boldly below their smiling faces. Thank God I was so respected around there, otherwise this would have looked really bad.

"I never took you for the joking type, Bucky. But I don't think I've heard this one. Let me guess, did they walk into a bar?" I grinned, hoping to break the awkward silence, and keep him from formulating too many unsavory assumptions, or at least, too many more.

He shifted his eyes and attention back to me, and responded in an annoyed tone, "I'm Pronk… But that doesn't matter, I've got the beginnings of a case-file here with the location and initial details of a double homicide investigation. A gnu and a hare, confirmed dead. Officers have locked down the site, but they need you there, like, now."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Now you're really joking with me. You trying to tell me they want me to emerge from my cave and actually do something? And that something is investigate not only a homicide, but a double homicide? Please, Buck." I removed my legs from the desk and straightened my posture.

"It's Pronk, how hard is it to…" He shook his head and sighed. "Ugh, look, I'm just relaying the message because you never have your phone on and your radio-"

I raised my hoof to stop him. "I haven't carried a radio in years. Do I look like a field investigator to you? I'm a fucking pencil pusher, kid. And as for my phone, I'm not exactly a genius when it comes to technology. The damn thing hates me. When Bogo gives me back my landline, call me. Until then, it'll be face-to-face chats. Fucking wireless initiative my ass. If it saves them that much money, why not make the fucking cuffs wireless too? I swear to God these "smart phones" just make people dumber."

The kid looked stupefied from my admittedly misplaced rant. He stuttered incoherently as he attempted to piece together a sentence. "I-, you-, okay. You know what? This is for the best anyway. Here's your file, it needed to be delivered to you either way." He tossed the manila folder onto my desk, which scattered some loose papers.

"Anyway, you're the only investigator that's still here tonight and Bogo said you'd be fine, even if you are a little rusty. The address and details are in there, and you can borrow my radio since I'm going home for the night. Here." He unclipped the radio from his belt and outstretched his arm to hand me it.

I took the radio and turned it over in examination. It was more or less the same type I had used years ago. "Well I'll be damned. Long time no see, old friend." I murmured. "Alright, alright. But you better not be trying to pull wool over my eyes, kid. I'm a sheep. That'd just be cruel."

He laughed uneasily at what was perhaps the worst joke I'd told in my adult life. "Right, uh, I'm gonna head home now. Uh, good luck, I guess."

I chuckled and rose from my swiveling polyester throne. "Yeah. Thanks, Buck. I'll probably be needing it."

He sighed exhaustedly and began to leave the room, before stopping to turn and glare at me. "My name is Pronk... You know what? Nevermind. I'm going home. I'm fucking tired." Shaking his head, he turned around and exited, mumbling curses under his breath.

"Sleep tight, kid!" I shouted into the hallway, before picking up the folder he had left me. Opening it, I eagerly read through the single sheet of paper it held. The address of the crime-scene and names of the victims were listed, along with their species, age, weight, height, et cetera. I had all I needed to get started. Grabbing my coat and keys, I flicked the light switch by the door and made my way down the hallway. Finally, I was entrusted with another case, and it wasn't just the paperwork that arose from it, it was the real fucking deal.

"Watch out, Zootopia. Harry fuckin' Hoover's back." I mumbled excitedly as I entered the investigation department's reception area, not realizing that our secretary, Lacey, hadn't left for the night yet, and was unfortunately well within earshot.

She was a younger and easily excited ewe that was around an age that could pass for my daughter or a niece, and she tended to act as if she were such. Either that, or my drunken wingman. Lacey enjoyed nothing more than poking into the love-lives of every mammal inhabiting the ZPD, regardless of gender, age, species or position. About 3 months ago, she attempted to hook our only rabbit cop, Lieutenant Hopps, up with another rabbit, which was no surprise coming from Lacey. Everyone was shocked, though, when she happily announced that the lieutenant actually had accepted her offer. From what I heard, the only reason Hopps took the date was out of respect and affection for Lacey, only to find out the rabbit was, well, female. Needless to say, the office had been suffering her bunny rage since then. It really is a wonder why Hopps didn't fully release her terrible fury on Lacey. I like to think the lamb's got some divine blessing that keeps anyone from holding a grudge on her… That, and I guess it helps that her sister is the mayor of Zootopia.

Just as I attempted to sneakily dart across the small reception area, she spotted me. She poked her head up from behind another one of her wacky magazines, and her face became lit with such joy, you would think I'd said she'd won the lottery. Now, I admit, I've always felt a tad sympathetic for the poor girl. She always meant well and considered every inhabitant of the ZPD her friend, even if she were a bit quirky. For those reasons, most of the officers she adores like to avoid her at all costs (especially after the Hopps incident), leaving her to us investigators. So, I stopped in my tracks and immediately faced her with an admittedly feigned smile.

"Going home early, Mr. Hoover? That was fast! I didn't think that you'd be able to pick up a date that quickly! I told you the Pred Press works even better than our prey magazines, especially when it comes to romance!" She enunciated the last part with rolled r's and staccato consonants.

"Not to mention," She went on with a devilish grin. "They like to make my darling big-sis look like a complete jackass."

Without even giving me a moment to respond she continued enthusiastically, standing from her chair and wringing her hooves, as if she'd just risen me from the dead. "Sooo, who's the lucky lady? Will it be another sheep, or have you decided to take passionate revenge into your own hooves and pair up with a pred? A lady wolf, perhaps? Ohhh, don't you worry, Mr. Hoover, I won't tell a soul! I promise! Well, maybe I'll write a bit about it on my blog, but, other than that, not a single soul!"

"I'm sure you wouldn't, sweetheart, but I'm actually still on the clock," I tapped my watch and held up the folder with the same hoof. "And, regrettably, still single. Bogo's supposedly got me on a double homicide case."

After a very short-lived moment of sadness at my mentioning of the words "still single", her face lit up again. "Wait, like, a case-case? Like, you're going outside to investigate something? For real, Mr. Hoover? That's fantastic!"

She ran out from behind her desk and wrapped me in a hug that would make any onlooker sure that she was related to me by blood. "I knew they'd get you back out! I just knew it! You know, Detective White and I were always quietly rooting you on. After all, you work the hardest out of anyone in this office."

Releasing me from her surprisingly secure embrace, she patted me on the back and gave me a mock salute. Smiling proudly, she lowered her voice and attempted what I assumed was a Bogo impression. "Go catch those criminals, Detective Hoover."

I chuckled and headed for the double doors leading to the parking garage. Pulling one open, I gave her a wave with my free hoof and quickly bid her farewell. "We'll see, Lacey. Be a lamb and hold down the fort for me, alright?"

As I walked into the cavernous garage I heard an echoed "Aye, aye, captain!" coming from the double doors, which squeakily swung shut.

"What are we, a naval crew now?" I shook my head with a laugh and pulled a packet of smokes from my coat as I made my way to my car.

It's a dirty habit, smoking, but there was always something amusing about watching the expressions of others when a goody-two-shoes government sheep stuck a cigarette in his mouth. During my years as a uniformed officer I found that carrying a pack on me at all times ensured I had at least one way to coax even the most dangerous predator, assuming they smoked, which, in most cases, they did. That may seem like a rude generalization, but it really was an observation that I made during my salad days at the ZPD. I assumed initially it had to do with the calming effects nicotine provides the body, and how that would be pretty damn useful when you get a painful shock every time you get too stressed about something. Eventually, though, I discovered that the main reason predators were the dominant smoking group in Zootopia was because it gave them a sense of identity. Having to slowly poison their bodies just to live somewhat comfortably, hurting all those around them with secondhand smoke, it was tragically poetic.

Eventually I reached my car, an older grey sedan manufactured for medium sized mammals like myself. Holding the cigarette in my mouth and placing the folder on the roof of my car, I dug around in my coat pockets for my keys.

"Damn things, really don't have time for this…" Finally grasping them, I unlocked my car, grabbed the folder from the roof, and took a seat.

"Now then," I mumbled to myself. "Where are we heading…" Opening the manila folder to check the address, I immediately recognized the place. 121 Marsh Avenue was the location of a popular car dealership, and was in fact where I had bought my ride when I first became a detective.

"Well, at least I know where I'm going." Turning the key in the ignition, I glanced at the radio clock as the car started.

"Half past ten, huh? This is probably gonna be a long night." Taking a puff of my cigarette and shifting gears, I sped out of the now empty parking garage into the dark streets of a Zootopia I hadn't truly explored for years.

Author's note: 08/16/2016

Howdy y'all! KronksShoulderAngel here. I really hope you enjoyed this first chapter of From the Desk of Detective Hoover: Mongooses, Magazines, and Murder! As I mentioned on my profile, this is my first creation on FanFiction. I worked pretty darn hard on it and right now I'm hard at work on chapter 2, which I promise will be more detective-y, less boooooring, and possibly a tad bit longer. Please stay tuned, and if you really enjoyed, consider shooting me a PM with feedback! Thank you so much for taking the time to read my little story, it seriously means a lot to me. So, uh, that's it for now. See you in the next chapter!