Nick woke up, feeling refreshed and definitely at peace. And also cold. Someone has been playing 'thief of blanket'. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked over at the culprit: one Judith Hopps, now wrapped in a cocoon formed from his blanket and top sheet.
He sighed, settled back onto his back, and checked his watch. It was nearly six thirty. He'd not had as much sleep as he might have liked the previous night, but the exchange of sleep for "other activities" was well worth it in his opinion. I'll let Carrots sleep on – she needs the sleep likely more than I do. Court appearances are always a trial, he chuckled at the thought. That's a pun I'll have to remember and spring on Miss Fluffy buns when she needs a laugh – or a groan.
Nick was still chuckling when he sat down at his work desk and pulled out a stack of papers and his checkbook from a locked drawer.
#
Nick looked down at his watch after he sealed the last envelope. Nine forty-five. Carrots must have been really exhausted. He set the form filled envelops aside. Breakfast for the rabid rabbit.
He whistled while he prepared the salad. He looked over the mix when he was finished with chopping and dicing: watercress, green bell pepper, fennel leaves, carrot tops, and one finely chopped apple. Favorite foods, for a favored partner. No, not for "just" a partner anymore. She's much more, now. Now, what would be the perfect dressing? Thousand Island is just plain out – the egg yolk would be recognizable and, though my carnivorous tastes would enjoy it, the egg taste in my homemade mayonnaise would turn Judy's stomach. Continental dressing, that's the one!
He dug out the ingredients: vinegar, catsup, sugar, paprika, salt, oil, and Worcestershire sauce. Perfect, he thought. He whisked together the mix, adding salt to his taste. When the other ingredients were thoroughly mixed, he began adding a steady stream of oil, and continued until the mix was perfect. He added the dressing to the salad, tossed it, and put a Judy sized serving into a chilled bowl that he pulled out of the freezer.
Carefully balancing the bowl in one paw, he opened the bedroom door and backed in to stand beside the bed. He looked over at the still-sleeping rabbit doe, and grinned. There are some opportunities that are too great to pass up. Nick carefully set the salad aside in a safe place, and then took a deep breath, "OVERSLEPT! YOU ARE DEAD, COUNTRY-GIRL!" he bellowed, in his best imitation of their mutual night terror, the sow polar bear drill sergeant from the Academy.
The rabbit bounded out of the bed, the sheets and blankets flying; she began remaking the bed on automatic until she came fully awake. She straightened up, and glared at the gloating fox. "You. Are. So. DEAD!" she said, and lunged.
Nick stood still, and let the bunny "attack" him, mock cringing as the attacker attempted to find ticklish spots. "Not there…no…not there either…" he said, then laughed and arched his back as the rabbit finally found a sensitive spot. "Ok … there … is … sensitive. Point made," he finished, and broke up laughing.
"Ok, why did you wake me up that way?" Judy asked.
"It's after ten, and you weren't up. I thought you might like something to eat before lunchtime," he said, and pointed to the salad.
"Oh … you made breakfast?" She took a deep breath. "But I need a shower – after last night. Care to join me?" she said, and grinned up at the fox.
"Ah … I don't think I'd survive it. You shower, and I'll set the salad out on the coffee table."
"Good idea about the salad, bad idea about not joining me. Are you suure you wouldn't like to?"
"I would like to, it's just that I'm not sure I could survive another lapine-doe-attack like last night."
Judy's eyes widened. "I wasn't that demanding … was I?"
"It was fun at the time, but … let's just say that you 'do know how to multiply'," Nick replied, and reached over to rub the top of the rabbit's head. "If you don't cool down those ears they're going to burst into flames," he added, as he stopped to examine the doe's blood flushed ears.
"Ok, I can take a hint, foxie. I'll take a cold shower – and I'll just hog the fur dryer a bit longer afterwards to make up for it," Judy said, and headed off to the shower, tossing off her nightgown as she went.
#
"What is that horrible smell?" Judy asked, as she bounced into the living room, wearing one of Nick's Hawaiian shirts and a pair of tight jeans.
"My lunch, if you must know, Carrots. I eat …"
"Bunnies?" Judy interrupted, as she settled into the couch, and pulled her salad close.
"Meat, fluff-buns, meat! Get out of the gutter…"
"I'm blocking your snorkel? Care to unwrap the meat?" She asked and turned to face the fox.
Nick sighed. This was not something he'd expected. "You don't need to compete with your sister, Carrots. I did not find it that attractive from her – and I rather like you. A sometimes more aggressive bunny may be within my comfort zone, but…"
"Ok," she said, and sighed rather melodramatically. "I just suppose I'll have to save up my passions for another day when your ribs aren't bothering you as much. You foxes are just so fragile."
"Eat you breakfast, and I'll finish my lunch – it's ground turkey sausages, in case you're curious." Nick laughed; the lapine response was the bilabial fricative.
#
"Nick, what are these?" Judy asked, holding up the thick envelopes that had been on Nick's desk.
"Government forms."
"Ok, what government forms?"
"Amended tax returns."
"I thought you filed correct returns after you went off to the Academy. What are these?"
"They're for the three years before I 'went straight'. The government doesn't really care to put tax … avoiders …"
"Tax evaders, Nick," Judy interrupted.
"Tax avoiders, Judy, into jail. The Feds – and the State – would just as soon get their tax due – plus interest and penalties – rather than put people who weren't quite as good at keeping accurate records into jail."
"Were you honest, Nick?"
"Well … as honest as I could be. I don't have absolutely accurate numbers for every day I worked my little hustles. Nothing I did ever involved either W-2s or 1099s."
Judy shook her head. "Didn't you even … no, of course you wouldn't have kept books. But where did the money come from to pay off the taxes, penalties and interest? And why…"
"The statute of limitations only runs three years on taxes – I've filed totally legitimate returns for the last two years and those forms are the amended returns for the three years prior to that. So I'll have five years of legitimate returns – that's two years more than needed to clear me of any legal liability."
"But where did you get the money to pay all those taxes plus penalties and interest?
"Gambling. All properly reported in this years' earnings. I got the W-2G forms for winnings quite legitimately…"
Judy glared at the fox.
"Really! I did!"
"Where did you gamble?"
"At the Palm Casino."
"But doesn't Mister Big…"
"Run the casino? No … not exactly. But he is the majority shareholder. And I did report my winnings accurately…"
"How much did you lose?"
Nick sighed. "About twenty percent of what I bet – but every time I won, my winnings went into a separate 'bag' and I didn't bet any of my winnings. But when I won, I reported it. And I…"
"So Mister Big laundered the money you made over twenty years of not reporting your income and now you think you're even with the suits in the capital?"
"Well … I've played by the rules. I 'delayed' payment on my taxes, but I have made good."
"With laundered money?"
Nick sighed. "With … gambling winnings. And I've gotten the 'urge to gamble' out of my system. I'm not addicted, see? I can quit any time – and I have. It's been six months since I so much as walked by the Palm Casino, let alone walked in."
Judy shook her head. "Just how much money is left out of your twenty years of cheating the government?"
"Honestly?"
"Of course, honestly, Mister slippery!"
"Not much."
"How much is 'not much', Nicholas Piberius?"
"Well … I can afford to take you to a Gazelle concert, and maybe – just maybe – I might be able to afford a VIP backstage pass. Or I might be able to get us tickets to the next World Cup game – if you don't mind sitting in the nosebleed seats. But … that's about it."
"So you've pretty much wiped out your ill-gotten gains?"
"They weren't 'ill gotten'. It was just a bit of deferred taxation management."
"So you sold the Feds a rug made of the fur of a skunk .. a skunk's butt," Judy said.
"No, this wasn't a skunk butt fur rug. Just the softest ventral fur rug this time. No guard hairs."
"You're incorrigible."
"No, only un-indictable, once I mail those envelopes."
"I'll walk you to the post office."
"Deal. And we can eat over at that place near your apartment … what was it called?"
"Berry-Berry."
"Right – Berry-Berry – after we mailed these. Your treat."
"What!?"
"Well, after these go out," Nick lifted the envelopes, "I'll be down to living solely on what a patrolman makes. No more dipping in to the reserves from earlier better paying days."
"Then how can you afford this place? Will you have to move?" Judy asked.
"This is a rent controlled apartment. I only pay $180 a month. There was a parking place, but I don't have a car and the added $10 a month seemed like a needless…"
"I spend a heck of a lot more for my hole-in-the-wall apartment with my crazy neighbors! Sweet cheese and crackers! How did you ever get this apartment?"
"When someone I knew passed on, they left the lease to me…"
"When they 'passed on'? Did you have anything to do with it?" Judy shuddered.
"No, she died of lung cancer. Her name was Sandra Getts – she was a gazelle who used to run a grocery near my mom's place. I helped her out after she was diagnosed – it only seemed fair." Nick took a deep cleansing breath. "She used to have the best fresh fruit, and I always bought from her store until she got sick. Then I helped her with her rent, and her medical bills."
"Why was Mister self-centered willing to do this for a prey animal?"
"You wound me, Judy," Nick said, his voice growing noticeably colder. "She was nice to me when I was a kit – I could always count on a small basket of blueberries or raspberries or something sweet in season. She cared about kits – all kits. And I was never that self-centered. All I said was that you should never let them know when they got to you – not that you can never let them get to you."
"I'm sorry, Nick. I guess I misjudged you … again. You're trying to 'make good', and I guess I should be more appreciative," she said, and reached out to cover the fox's paw with hers.
"I'd say you were appreciative enough last night – anymore and I'd be needing defib," Nick said, his tone lighter, and the trademark smirk back on his muzzle.
"You're incorrigible."
"You wouldn't have me any other way. But … let's get those envelopes posted before the next pickup, shall we?"
"OH SWEET CHEESE AND CRACKERS! WHAT TIME IS IT?" Judy pulled out her phone and checked the time. "Gottarun – havetogetLizzietothetrain. We'vemissedthemorning-express,butIshouldbeabletogethertothethreeo'clockexpress," Judy shot gunned out, and made a mad dash for the door. "Catchyoulater! I'lltextyou!"
Nick chuckled, picked up the pile of envelopes, and followed the rabbit out the door. I'll have to find out just how bad Judy's court day was … later. With these posted, he thought, as he hefted the multiple ounce envelopes, registered and return receipt requested, my past will be a source of legal worries no longer.