Knights

"Wilde! Answer the phone!"

One bright green eye snapped open while its neighboring ear slanted away from the offensive sound. A deep breath was held partly in confusion and partly in anxiety. A few seconds passed in strange silence. He'd been sound asleep and wasn't entirely certain what had just happened. Had he dreamed that? Had something else happened that his slumbering brain had mistaken for a familiar voice? What time was it?

"Wilde! Answer the phone!"

That answered all his questions. It was a familiar voice calling for him. But the voice's owner wasn't there in his musty basement dwelling. It was coming from his phone. He'd foolishly allowed the small sand fox to 'set up' his new phone and now he was paying for it.

"Wilde! Answer the phone!"

"No," Nick grumbled. He looked up at the long, narrow windows set close to the dingy ceiling. An offensive amount of light was leaking around the blankets he'd used to cover them. That answered the question of the time. It was broad daylight and he was in no mood to venture outside unless he absolutely had to.

"Wilde! Answer the phone!"

"Nope. Not gonna happen." He already missed his old clam-shell phone. It was cheap, simple and easy to replace when necessary. It also had calm, easy-on-the-ears ring tones. Unfortunately progress had left his preferences for simple things behind. He'd seen lots of mammals with 'smart phones' but saw no reason to switch. Having the extra money to pay for one after a particularly profitable job wasn't enough to convince him. It was only the arguments provided by the voice hounding him to pick up said phone that had finally pushed him into agreeing. Less than a day later he was quickly becoming convinced it was a bad decision.

"Wilde! Answer the phone!"

"Shut up, Finnick!" Nick immediately regretted his outburst. It was stupid to let an annoying ring tone rile him up so much, even if it had been custom programmed into his new phone without his knowledge. It didn't really sound like the fennec fox anyway. The tiny speaker simply couldn't reproduce the staggering bass and cement truck growl of his partner's voice. With a sigh, he rolled over to face his cardboard box night stand.

Picking up the slim device showed a lit screen covered in another unwanted modification to his most recent purchase. It was a selfie of his partner, apparently taken during the phone's 'set up'. Finnick's smug muzzle filled the screen, framed at the top with cheerful white numbers that declared the time as 10:06 A.M. At the bottom was a single line of curvy text identifying him as 'Big Poppa'. Nose down and ears up, the sheer arrogance radiating from the exposed canines and half-lidded eyes was the perfect summation of Finnick's attitude toward the world.

"Wilde! Answer the phone!"

He gritted his teeth and looked at the slider beneath the picture. 'Answer' or 'Decline'. His thumb covered the red handset symbol with the white X over it. A twitch of his digit and his tormentor would be silenced.

Nick's thumb didn't move. Finnick had never been inclined to social chatting. He wouldn't be calling him without a good reason. He'd also mentioned having his own major purchase in mind after they figured out the profit margin from their last job. The sand fox had been saving for something; perhaps he wanted to stop by and show it off. Finnick wasn't a flashy fox but he was proud of what little he had. Nick could understand that much of his personality. He felt the same way for the same reasons.

Everything they owned they'd hustled hard to get.

With a grunt of irritation he mashed his thumb over the green handset with the white check mark and jerked it sideways. Bringing the phone to his ear he growled, "You're gonna show me how to change these settings."

"What?" Having the speaker sound off directly in his ear still didn't come close to reproducing the fennec's voice. Too tinny, too tiny. Nick suddenly smiled at the idea of replacing 'Big Poppa' with exactly that. "What you yammerin'?"

Enough brain cells were now functioning that portions of the infamous Wilde charm could make an appearance. "Oh, nothing. Just wondering what my bestest buddy could be wanting at such an obscenely bright and cheerful hour of the day. Did someone leave the cereal box on the top shelf again?"

"Can it, Red." Finnick sounded grouchy but that was only to untrained ears. His personality ran in a wide spectrum from 'not quite grumpy enough to draw blood' to 'oh god where did my fingers go'. Currently Nick would peg him as hovering around the 'mangy tail' mark. "I need you to meet me somewhere."

"Yeah, sure." He glanced again at the covered windows and the white slices of sunshine that promised to have him panting within minutes of leaving his basement home. "Can it wait until later? It's high summer out there and I let my Spontaneous Combustion insurance lapse. The premiums are outrageous."

"No, it can't!" There was something else in the voice now, a drop or two of anger that was pushing the fennec into 'scruffy carcass' territory. It sounded as if he really needed this favor. Playfully aggressive banter and insufferable ring tones aside, if Finnick was asking for help then Nick was willing to lend a paw. But no force in the world would stop him from being snarky about it.

"Fine. But if I turn into a greasy pile of scorched fur on the sidewalk, it's on your head."

"Whatever. The place is on Denning's street, just south of the old Lemur Brother's that burned last year."

Nick frowned. His mental map was mostly empty out that direction. Denning's was one of Zootopia's weaker veins. It threaded out of a poorer part of the downtown section and, as best he could recall, littered with the dried husks of bad business models. "What's out there? You find a mark or something?"

"No. It's a junkyard called Dingo Joe's." Finnick was mollified enough to drift back to 'mangy tail.'

"Junkyard? What did you find in a junkyard that-"

"Never mind! Just get your mangy tail out here!"

Nick smiled in spite of the misery those shiny slivers of sun promised him. "Bingo."

He managed to slip out of his basement 'apartment' without being spotted by his land lord. The rent wasn't due for another week and he had no desire to listen to the elderly porcupine ramble on about his estranged children's misguided lives. He hopped onto the Pack Street station of the ZTA's Inner Loop. It would get him out of the downtown area and to the Cactus Grove station in Sahara Square. From there he would have to leg it to Denning Street. No more than a mile or so. Maybe he wouldn't completely melt in the heat.

He was wrong. For him, summer wasn't a fun season in any of Zootopia's many districts except Tundra Town. Visiting Sahara Square in August was asking to become a walking barbecue. At least he'd had the prior half an hour to soak up the train car's air conditioning.

Nick was panting, his tail was dragging and he was repeatedly muttering a list of things he should have brought with him. "Shade umbrella, water bottle, moisturizer, portable fan, ice packs..." He looked up from the shimmering sidewalk which divided the mostly abandoned businesses from the practically empty road. Ahead he could see a large, partially collapsed metal sign made of car parts that declared Dingo Joe's automotive graveyard was hiding behind the high rusting fence and ramshackle office. Standing in front of that office was a diminutive beige fox with enormous ears and a frown that could be seen from twenty yard's distance. He found himself adding one more item to the list of things he wished he'd brought.

"Baseball bat." But then, despite his pads toasting on the sizzling sidewalk, he realized he'd aimed too high and chuckled. "Nah. Golf club."

"About time," Finnick groused when Nick approached. The little sand fox was oblivious to the heat, his breed giving him an immunity Nick envied. He was wearing his standard light shorts and a loose fitting button down shirt that sported a tiny antelope skull on the breast pocket. His little arms were folded over his small chest, underscoring his oval head and the radar domes he used as ears. If Nick had wanted to start a real fight between them at that moment he would have uttered the only word that could accurately describe the sight: adorable.

He wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. He just nodded and followed the fennec into the office. It wasn't quite possible to suppress a sigh of relief at having cool tiles under him and the murderous ball of scorch off his shoulders. He looked around the relatively dim surroundings, taking in the sight of cheap, broken down seating in a waiting area completely empty of customers. Tucked off in a corner was a beacon of salvation for the red fox. Without a word he snatched up a nearby paper cup from a dusty stack and held it under the water cooler's spigot.

Four cups later, Nick felt like he might survive the day after all. He filled his cup a fifth time and sipped at it leisurely. As he turned back to the rest of the office, he found Finnick had been joined by another canine. The hyena, obviously a mechanic, was wearing ragged coveralls that must have been unbearable outdoors. Both the mammal and his clothes were liberally dotted with stains that smelled of every fluid ever leaked by a car. The petrochemical reek that slithered into Nick's snout made his teeth ache and threatened to have him sneezing within minutes.

Still uncertain of his role in whatever scheme Finnick had cooked up, he silently watched as the hyena handed over a clipboard. It held a document bearing small lines of text and dotted with a few lightly greased pad-prints. Finnick signed it at the bottom and handed the pen back. With only a brief glance at the signature, the mechanic reached into his pocket and drew out a small object that glinted and jangled. He held it out to the sand fox. Finnick shook his head and pointed at Nick.

Thus warned, he was able to shift slightly to one side as the object was casually tossed to him. He wasn't about to endanger his clean, if sweaty, palms nor his precious cup of water with whatever the grungy hyena had sent his way. The clattering racket that came from behind him as it hit the floor made it sound like keys. The matched pair of annoyed expressions didn't faze him a bit. He took another calm sip of water and stood his ground.

He was a bit surprised when the hyena spoke. "Careful with the brakes. They're kinda sketchy." Nick hid his confusion with a murmured, "I'm sure."

The hyena was plainly done with the both of them. He turned and walked through a door marked 'Employees only' without another word. That left Finnick to command, "Follow me. And bring the keys, junior." He turned and went through a short hall that led to the entrance of the main yard. A metal door screeched in protest and slammed shut behind him.

Glancing down at the keys, Nick noticed that there was a smudged yellow tag attached with a piece of string. Picking them up by the keys, since they looked cleaner than the tag, he held them up and squinted at the crude lettering on the small paper square.

'Make: Herd

Model: Econovan'

Underneath were lines for 'Year', which had been filled out and crossed out twice, leaving no room for a third attempt. The line at the bottom was labeled 'Mileage' and had been filled in with a large 'X'. That didn't promise anything good in his estimation.

So, this wasn't a hustle at all. Unless there was something going on of which he was uninformed, his partner had finally made his big purchase. Curiosity was never the solitary domain of felines so he followed Finnick's trail.

Nick hadn't been in a junkyard since his kit days, bringing in scrap metal for loose change. Dingo Joe's didn't seem to deal in recyclables, only in vehicles. And 'junk' was a kind word to describe the crushed, mangled and corroding heaps that once moved under their own power. There were a few mounts lined up along the road side fence that hadn't been chewed on quite as hard. Finnick was standing beside one of them, clearly unhappy with Nick's casual progress.

"What you waitin' for? Get yer fleas in the car!"

The sand fox disappeared around the side of a brown box that had a rusty gray door and oddly shiny wheels. As he stepped closer he noticed two more eye-catching details. One was a bulging circular window set high in the back. The other...

Nick's eyes widened and a grin split his muzzle until it hung open like a silent yawn. He took a step back to see all of it at once, bumping into some other decrepit pile of bolts. One paw rose of its own accord to point at the ludicrous mural slathered across the van's side. The silence didn't last long as his laughter came up like a rising tide.

It was another remnant of his youth: overly stylized scenes painted onto the sides of passenger vans meant to evoke wonder and awe. Finnick's new ride was adorned with an image that could only belong on a cheap sword and sorcery paperback. A heroic and rather dour looking canine that was likely meant to be a wolf was carrying a swooning female he guessed was related to arctic foxes. Both were dressed in the most impractical of outfits, unsuitable for adventuring or fighting. Behind them were suggestions of towering flames and jagged forks of lightning. Sprinkled across the darker portion of the sky were numerous stars twinkling as aggressively as any star ever twinkled. Perhaps they were the source of light for all the reflective sparkles on every bit of metal the pair wore. Even portions of the damsel's pelt seemed ready to blind the viewer. The oversized sword strapped across the wolf's back was probably meant to designate him as a doer of mighty deeds, an unstoppable force that would right wrongs, rescue scantily clad damsels and smite enemies with vigor and righteousness unparalleled by mortals.

When Nick could finally draw a whole breath, he stepped toward the driver's door to glance inside. He was about to ask why in the world his partner had invested in Zootopia's tackiest tribute to fantasy ever publicly displayed. Instead he found himself facing an imminent and possibly fatal mauling. The promise of a long hospital stay was glittering in Finnick's eyes and Nick felt it best to pause and reflect.

After a moment or two that didn't bring arterial spray and hopeless begging for mercy, Nick decided there was far more to this situation than he had anticipated. He'd learned grifting the hard way, had a few scars to show for the lessons he'd learned and become a pretty good judge of situations like the one he now faced. The fennec standing on the passenger seat of a ratty, overblown geek's dream ride was not about to tolerate any criticism of his purchase. Personal experience had shown him the child-sized fox was one of the most dangerous mammals alive when the need arose. Or when his quadruple-sized ego felt disrespected.

Forcing his smile to fade to a light grin and clearing his throat to let Finnick know his warning was being properly heeded, he quietly asked, "So, what's my part in all this?"

The promise of dismemberment dimmed in Finnick's eyes. He pointed to the driver's seat. "Need you to drive it to my mechanic. Ain't set up for me yet."

Poking his head through the window to look at the seat, Finnick's need became obvious. Without modifications to the controls, the fennec couldn't possibly reach either the pedals or the steering wheel, to say nothing of seeing out the windshield. Nick opened the door and sized it up. It would fit him rather well. It didn't look to be too comfortable, though. The seat had several gashes in the cracked vinyl covers and he thought he spied the rusty end of a spring poking up on one side. He'd have to be careful to avoid that.

"Gotcha. Where's your boy?"

Further mollified by Nick's attitude and lack of teasing, Finnick's tone lost most of its growl. "Out in the Meadowlands, near Haymarket. I'll navigate. You just concentrate on not wrecking it."

Now it was Nick's turn to be annoyed, though he merely frowned. "Oh, please. One little kiss on a bus' bumper and you have to blow it all out of proportion. It's not like I have an actual driver's license or anything."

The glitter was back; limbs would part ways if he pushed any more.

"Fine," he groused. He plunked himself into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut, almost hoping it would break loose and hit the ground. He looked around and didn't find what he wanted. "No seat belts. Terrific." He glared at Finnick. "When we get pulled over, and we will get pulled over, I'm pretty sure the plates on this thing, assuming there are any, will be decades out of date."

Finnick waved the sheet of paper he'd signed. "Bill of sale, signed, dated and time stamped. Stop whining and drive."

Unable to come up with any more immediate concerns, Nick jammed the key in the ignition and twisted it. There was a heavy clunk followed by a tortured mechanical grinding sound. The starter was slow and obviously labored under the weight of considerable neglect. It surprised him all the more when the vehicle suddenly jolted to life. Having managed to get the engine started didn't give Nick any more confidence in the van's reliability. The motor loped and chattered, squealed and smoked. There was even a high pitched whine that sounded to him like the vehicular version of a pained scream. He looked at his passenger. "And what did the yeena say about the brakes? 'Sketchy?' Yeah, this sounds more and more preferable to sitting at home in the air conditioning, watching TV."

Finnick just pointed forward. At that exact moment the van backfired, blasting the fence behind it with sooty black smoke. Nick glanced at the side view mirror and watched the cloud dissipate, only to be replaced as the van burped again. He stared grimly at the metal corpses that surrounded them and yanked the gear shift. Just to be certain Finnick understood how unhappy he was, Nick mumbled, "Didn't even get breakfast before I left."

From the corner of his eye he saw the fennec's ears swivel in his direction. "Fine. We'll stop at a Bug Burga on the way."

It was nearly noon when they stopped at the fast food joint. The lunch rush filled the drive through lane but Finnick insisted on staying in the vehicle. "I hate their counters. Too tall and no steps for smaller mammals like me."

Nick didn't argue. Being extra careful of the 'sketchy' brakes, they spent a good ten minutes creeping around the building to order, pay for and receive their food. Finnick was generous enough to buy Nick's lunch for him. As they headed back to the street, he gestured to the right and said, "Take a left at the light. I know a place."

The road took them toward the Rainforest District, which they had to cross to get to the Meadowlands anyway. But Finnick pointed them toward a slight detour that ended just inside the Rainforest's border, near a little suburb called Fruit Market. The fennec directed Nick to a cluster of undeveloped lots with several large shade trees. They parked beneath a healthy elm that kept the summer sun well off them.

Finnick jumped off his seat, bags of food in one hand, and went to the back of the van. He reached up to pull a handle and kicked open the rear doors. The temperate air was humid but comfortable. He sat on the edge, dangling his short legs over the rear bumper and setting the bags down beside him. The view was quite nice; the denser forest off in the distance sprouting brief, random rainbows when a gust of wind would send the spray from the sprinklers misting up above the canopy. The trees thinned where they were, close to the edge where Zootopia's downtown butted up against the heat of Sahara Square.

Nick sat beside him, a little surprised by his friend's choice. He wouldn't have thought having a picnic lunch was Finnick's style. He was hungry and there was a Cicada double stack sandwich with his name on it so he kept his opinion to himself.

They ate in silence for a time, Nick humming in pleasure at filling his empty belly and taking occasional loud slurps from his iced tea. Finnick ate his Beetle Poppers with uncharacteristic daintiness. Eventually he glanced down at the styrofoam container in his paws and sighed. He closed it and set it aside.

Nick noticed. "Not hungry?"

Finnick shrugged. "Eh. Can't hold a candle to Aunt Junie's cricket fritters."

Nick paused in his chewing to glance at his friend and partner. Something was definitely off. First he bought a van with laughable artwork. Then he got murderously defensive about Nick's reaction to that artwork. And now he mentioned his Aunt Junie, something he'd only done twice before to Nick's recollection.

After fishing a piece of carapace from between his teeth and flicking it away, Nick said, "All right. You want to explain what's going on?"

The question annoyed Finnick but he didn't look up. He waved his empty palms at the world in general. "We're taking my van to get worked on. What's to explain?"

Nick considered his friend's evasion and thought a moment on how to express his thoughts. "Setting aside your much appreciated generosity in buying me lunch, which you never do..." He hesitated when the fennec's ears dipped briefly at the slight dig. "There's the little matter of this..." The ears snapped down and Finnick half turned toward him, a clear warning to tread lightly. "This... purchase of yours. I'm kinda puzzled on why you'd pick this over something a little easier for you to deal with."

A casual wave of one paw was meant to dismiss his concerns. "We talked about this. If we want to work bigger scores we need storage and transportation. I've been thinking that maybe we should set up a silk screening rig and make a bunch of shirts that tie in with that Hakuna Matata movie the cubs are all nuts about. Do the work in the back, drive around and sell them near the theaters. We could make some serious Z real quick. I know a guy-"

"Finnick, you know what I'm talking about. The shirts are a good idea, sure, but why this van? And why so snarly about that-"

The sand fox's head whipped around so fast his ears literally couldn't keep up. His expression absolutely dared Nick to say what he'd intended.

Nick pointed right at Finnick's snout and continued with, "THAT! Why the silent promise to snack on my nose if I say something about rolling around in a van that everyone in the big Z will instantly recognize? You taught me a good con needs a certain amount of anonymity and a plain panel van would do the job just fine. This thing-" and he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder "is begging to get noticed by the cops or by previous marks."

Finnick's expression clouded over, an unusual softening of his features that Nick rarely saw. The smaller fox's gaze wandered over the back doors, the bumper, the ratty carpet covering a likely rusted floor panel. Finally his eyes settled on his paws where they gripped his thighs. A light sigh barely met Nick's ears. He remained silent a few more moments before he asked, "What do you do with most of your take?"

Nick blinked. "What?" No response. "You know what I do with it." He suddenly felt uncomfortable with the question, though he wasn't sure why.

Finnick nodded. "Yeah, I know you send it to your mom." His muzzle rose a bit. "Know what I do with most of mine?"

This was territory Nick wasn't sure he wanted to explore. But he'd asked the question and if it explained things then he'd let the fennec go where ever he thought he needed to. He said nothing, only spreading his fingers wide in invitation.

"I send it to my Auntie." Finnick grimaced slightly, as if catching himself in an embarrassing situation. "My Aunt Junie. She and Uncle Wes raised me after my folks split." He continued staring at the ground behind the van. "My cousins used to play this game. 'Knights.' Had some plastic swords and cardboard shields and stuff. You needed three to play. A good guy, a bad guy and a victim. I was the youngest so I was usually the bad guy or the victim."

Nick nodded. "Cubs in my neighborhood weren't that inventive. We just had 'cops and robbers.' Or, you know... preds and prey."

"Sometimes I'd get to be the good guy. Sounds weird, but I liked those times the best. It made me feel strong, you know? Like I was bigger and stronger than I really was, even if it was just a stupid game. Like nobody would mess with me or pick me up by my..."

Nick's eyes widened a bit. His own ears splayed in sympathy.

A momentary snarl lifted the fennec's lips. It took him a moment to compose himself.

"Anyway, my point is... I'm almost forty. I've seen a lot of stuff. Run a lot of cons, parted a lot of fools from their money. I didn't get this far by being soft or staying safe." He looked up at Nick, meeting his eyes. "But that ain't who I am." He thumped a fist against his chest. "Not in here, where my Auntie did her work." His left hand pointed at the center of Zootopia, beyond the open doors and the environmental divider. "What I do, I do to get by. In here-" Another thump on the antelope skull adorning his chest, followed by a finger pointing to the side panel of the van. "I'm him. The good guy. A guy who would help a mammal in need."

The red fox began to understand a few things that he had silently wondered about for years. Such as why Finnick would occasionally refuse to back down from a physical fight with someone much larger than him, even other predators. And he usually won those fights by being frighteningly ruthless. Yet there were frequent moments when he would abandon a con midway if his victim appeared to be particularly vulnerable, either emotionally or financially. Finnick simply called it his 'code of conduct' for keeping the police from taking notice of his activities. Now, however, it was clear there was another explanation for his actions.

"Like a fox cub that had lost his father and felt targeted just for being a fox." Nick's words were quiet, not quite a whisper. Finnick's eyes softened just a bit as he heard the understanding in his partner's words.

"Yeah." The fennec nodded, then added, "The world can try telling you who you are, but they don't get a say unless you always do what they expect. You stay true to yourself inside, you'll be on the right side of things." He paused, reflecting on their mutual history. "Usually."

Nick nodded. "Gotcha. Yeah, that... that makes sense." The gravity of the moment became just a bit overwhelming and he cleared his throat, looked out at the city. "That's... that's good advice." He scratched absent-mindedly at his knee. "Sooo, that guy on the side is you." A light toss of his head indicated the fantastical hero saving his damsel of choice. "I can see what drew you to him."

Finnick gave him a faint smile. "I saw it being towed in and knew I had to have it, soon as I laid eyes on the paint job."

Nick lightly clawed at an ankle. "Not much family resemblance, though." The sand fox's expression darkened immediately and he had to resist his impulse to chuckle. "He doesn't look nearly dangerous enough to be from your bloodline."

A mock snarl lifted lips beneath eyes that sparkled with a perilous sense of humor. "Can't be death and taxes all the time. He's got his babe to look after."

A sharp sensation on top of his foot distracted Nick. "Ow! Blast it Fin, I think your crate is infested!"

"What?!"

Nick kept scratching at his foot. "You're paying for my dip if I'm carrying passengers!"

Frowning, Finnick jumped out the back of the van. Nick immediately followed and watched as his partner clawed up the worn out shag from the door's threshold. He reached down to help and together they lifted it as far as they could. They scrutinized the crumbling remnants of carpet padding and the rusty metal floor. Slight movement confirmed Nick's accusation. Finnick waved it off with a casual, "Eh, don't shred your ears over it. Not enough of 'em to need more than a good shower."

"Easy for you to say. "Your blood's too sour for them to want to chew on you."

"Whatever." Finnick slammed the doors shut and walked toward the passenger door. "We've stalled enough. Time to get moving."

Nick agreed. As he walked past the mural once more, he spent a moment to really study the hero figure. He couldn't argue with his partner's words. He knew Finnick to be a better mammal than his chosen 'profession' would suggest. 'Knight' was stretching the point a bit, but then so was the mural.

A sudden idea struck him. He fished out his phone, took several moments to find and figure out the camera feature. Aiming it at the side of the van he snapped a few pictures. That would make a much better icon for Finnick, once he figured out how to access that feature. Looking up from the screen he grinned suddenly, only now seeing a similarity that bore pointing out.

"You know, if he had curly horns he could be Baanold Sheepzenegger from Conan the Vegetarian.

When he opened the door, Finnick was staring at him. The look wasn't quite hostile nor was it particularly forgiving. "What was that?"

Nick grinned. "Just wondering which direction we go from here, oh mighty devourer of beetle biscuits."

Finnick eyed him a moment. "Left, then right to the main causeway." He sat down, his head tipped back as he relaxed. "And stay away from any busses."

"Yeesh," Nick groused. "It was one tiny little accident! Let it go already!" He was silently pleased to see the fennec's muzzle curl slightly in a smug grin as they headed back into the sunshine, polluting it somewhat with a black puff of smoke out the tail pipe.

(c)Wirewolf 2016 "Zootopia" and all attendant characters are copyright Disney Animation and used without permission