Chapter 3: A New Suit
"Come on, Carrots, you've gotta know something!"
"And what exactly do you expect me to know about fine dining, Slick?" the rabbit's sarcastic reply came over the phone.
"I don't know, come on, don't you ever get… Invited out?"
"Not really."
"Well, you should. You'd be a catch."
"Well, thanks for that, but I still can't help you."
"Are you absolutely sure you don't know where I can get a suit?"
"Come on, really? Think about it. You're going to Cicero's, a place with a waiting list a mile long that'll turn you down if your shoes aren't shiny enough, and your first thought is to ask a police officer from a carrot farm in Bunnyburrow where to get a suit."
…
"Hello? Nick? Earth to fox, come in fox."
"… I hate how much sense you make sometimes."
"You know you love me."
"Do I know that, Carrots?"
He waited until he could hear her foot thumping impatiently in the background.
"Yes, yes I do. See you on Monday."
He hung up, let out a frustrated groan and sank back into the sofa. His phone showed 8:54 PM. It hadn't taken him very long after Nelle's call to realize he'd need more than a floral shirt and loose tie. Judy was usually his go-to when he needed help or advice, but realistically, he had to consider that wasn't exactly optimal for this. Maybe…
He quickly punched in another number and hit 'call'.
Ring ring… Ring ring…
"Who is this?" came a deep voice from the other line.
"Don't pretend you don't recognize my number, Finnick." The small fox had always kept his phone's address book empty, but had memorized Nick's number years ago.
"What you want, Nick? I was almost asleep."
"I need a suit."
"What for?"
"Dinner at Cicero's."
"Ain't your pops a tailor?"
Click.
Thanks, Finn… That was the one option he'd been hoping to avoid.
5 years ago
"You don't have to do that, Nicky," John Wilde said for the third time that night.
"I know I don't, but I want to." Nick was holding out an envelope with all the extra money he'd made over the last three months- everything that hadn't gone to Finnick or been used to buy dinner.
"I'm running a successful business here, have been for years. We don't need the help."
"Dad, I earned this for you, so you wouldn't have to work so hard, so mom could stay at home more, enjoy her garden rather than sell it."
"I understand that, Nick. I do. But I like my job. Your mother likes selling her flowers. We make Zootopia a nicer place. It's what we're good at. Your… scams are what you're good at. We're not going to stop you, you've got a gift for it, you're full of charisma. But keep your money, son, we don't need it."
"I don't need it either, I've got what I need."
"But-"
"I have extra, I want to give it to you."
"Really, Nick-"
"Just take it, dad,"
"I don't want your money, Nick!" the elder fox shouted, finally losing his temper.
For a moment, both foxes stood frozen, Nick's eyes wide with shock, John's brow furrowed with anger, paws clenched, breathing deep. Nick didn't know what to say; his father had never yelled at him like that before.
"…Okay… I get it," the younger Wilde broke the silence. Eyes downcast, he turned and went to the door, closing it forcefully on his way out.
John Wilde's head hung in shame, a few silent tears trailing down his snout. "I just want… My son…" he whispered softly to no-one.
At 9:21 PM, the cab stopped in front of the small two-story building on the outskirts of Savannah Central. The sign above the door read 'Suitopia', and the sign on the door read 'Closed', with a little clock indicating they'd re-open at 10 AM.
As the cab sped away, Nick just stood on the sidewalk across the street. The first floor was dark, and a single light was shining through a second-floor window. There was a slight flickering suggestive of images shifting on a TV screen.
Taking a few deep breaths to steady his nerves, and maybe slow his heart just a little, Nick crossed the street and approached the door. With a shaking finger, he pushed the button for the doorbell, which caused a buzz followed by a few seconds of silence. Then a window opened slid open above him and, without looking out, a voice called down, saying, "Read the sign!" before the window slammed shut again.
Nick closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then buzzed again. The window opened immediately and the voice said, "We're closed!"
Another deep breath. Buzz.
The window didn't open this time. Instead, there was a sound of feet shuffling about upstairs, then a rhythmic thumping on the steps, accompanied by irritated grumbling. "Who the hell visits a tailor three-and-a-half hours past-"
The voice fell silent the moment the door opened, and the two foxes stared at each other. Forever passed by over the course of a few seconds as two pairs of green eyes locked, both trying to figure out which emotions had the most right to come to the surface. Just like their last meeting five years before, it was Nick who broke the silence. "Hi, Dad. I'm sorry. I-"
He didn't get any further before John Wilde rushed him with a hug that nearly knocked him off his feet. "Five years, Nick," the elder fox rasped, barely able to find the voice to speak. "Five whole damn years, you've kept me waiting, worrying, wondering if you were even still alive!"
"Yeah… I'm really sorry Dad. I… Thought you were ashamed of me."
"Nick, I could never be ashamed of you, son." Releasing his tight embrace around the slimmer fox, John stepped back, standing on the doorstep to put them at eye-level. "I thought you hated me for what I said," he stated, a few fresh tears rolling over his furry cheeks.
"I couldn't hate you, Dad," Nick replied, putting a paw on his father's shoulder. "I… Can't tell you how many times I've walked by here but couldn't work up the nerve to come in."
"You don't have to, Nicky," John chuckled, shaking his head and wiping the tears away. "You're here now, that's what's important. Now get in here, I won't have my son standing outside all night." He stepped back and waved his boy in.
The tailor's shop was almost exactly as Nick remembered it, except that at some point since he'd last been here it had been repainted. Wooden mannequins of a dozen different sizes lined the walls, each wearing a different suit, most with bits of extra fabric draped over the shoulders. One wall was entirely given over to cubbyholes holding more than a hundred different materials. There was a general sense of controlled clutter. 'A tailor who spends all his time tidying up doesn't put enough effort into his work,' John Wilde had said often in Nick's youth.
"Your mother's sleeping," John remarked. "I'd rather not wake her this late."
That explains the irritation at a late-night visit.
"So… I can tell you're here for a reason more than making amends. What do you need, son?"
"I… Have a dinner date tomorrow night. I need a suit."
"I'll say you do," John replied, looking over Nick's flowery shirt. "Where at?"
"Cicero's."
John's eyes widened in surprise. "You need a reservation just to get on the reservation list there. How'd you swing that?"
"I didn't. She did."
"So you are doing well for yourself," John observed with a sly grin. He put a hand between Nick's shoulders and guided him to a pedestal in the middle of the room. "Does she have a name?"
"Nelle."
"Nelle Vox?"
Nick looked to his father in surprise, before John grabbed his cheeks and forced him to look forward, wrapping his tape measure around Nick's neck to get his collar size. "You know her?"
"She's been in here a few times," John explained, measuring Nick's arms cuff-to-cuff, then shoulder-to-cuff. "How much do you know about her?"
"Well, she's gorgeous for starters," Nick joked, chuckling as his dad punched his shoulder, then drew the tape down along Nick's spine. "I know she's a private investigator with connections she tries to avoid talking about. Me and Judy are on a case with her, looking for a reporter. Robert Jacks."
"By Judy, I take it you mean Judy Hopps?" He measured Nick's waist, and wrote a few numbers down on a notepad.
"Yeah, that's the one. Guessing you know I'm on the force now. Hopps is my partner."
"Then you're in good hands, from what I've heard. Except where marmots are involved."
"Thanks. Agreed. Don't bring up the marmot. Anyway, that's about it for what I know about Nelle. I've got a few other guesses, stuff I'll be able to ask about tomorrow."
"Well, far be it from me to spoil any surprises. When's the reservation for?" John asked as he drew the tape from Nick's waist to his ankle, then around various points along Nick's legs.
"7:30."
"I'll have this done by 5, then." John stood up straight and rolled up his tape measure before slipping it in his pocket, and went along the wall of cubbyholes, using a ladder to reach and grab several sample scraps. He climbed back down and started comparing patterns and materials, with either a shake of his head or a nod, and wrote a few notes down, before the notepad joined the tape in his pocket. "Now, I'm not gonna send my son back out into the night without offering him a drink, am I?"