Benjamin Clawhauser did not expect to have to come into work today – or for another two days, for that matter.
And that was fine; there are other dispatchers on the squad, some who, he thinks, might actually do the job better than he does, but the cheetah prides himself on one thing they cannot match: personability.
It is coming in handy right now. There is an influx of visitors at the station, more than the old building has probably seen during its evening hours in quite some time. A few officers he recognizes from the other precincts have not been to the station downtown – admittedly the largest by far but still not a common pilgrimage outside of those assigned to it – in a while if ever, and if there is a time the department needs a friendly face directly inside its front doors, it is this evening.
Plus, Judy Hopps is there too, and she could use a soul to talk to, especially one who has no trouble carrying on mind-distracting conversation.
"Hello there! The chief is in the bullpen right now. He'll see you soon," Clawhauser says, greeting an entering elephant who is higher up in the hierarchy of Sahara Square's main precinct. The cheetah turns to Judy, sighing. "Whew. Wasn't expecting this much interaction, even on my part. Need sleep like the dickens." He frowns, noticing the bunny's sullen look. "You OK?"
The bunny sighs, crossing one foot over the other as she leans against the front counter of Clawhauser's central desk, facing away from and dourly glancing out over the area of the station stretching to the front door. Officers file in and out of the entrance, and she watches each one with an air of vague interest, mostly to pass the time. She has found a hoodie in her work locker, and she has pulled it over her Gazelle t-shirt, despite the warm summer night that awaits her outside. It is a ZPD-logoed sweatshirt she purchased as part of a charity drive a year ago but has never actually worn before now.
"This whole thing," she groans quietly, "it's just… a little much."
"At least you have answers," notes the cheetah, resting his chin in his paws as he leans over the counter. "Chief still hasn't told me why I'm here. No one has." He glances out the front windows. "I just saw the fireworks. Smelled the roses after. But I didn't expect anything…" he grimaces, "…bad."
Judy, to be fair, had not either, even up to the point when Nick dragged her to the underground door leading to the alternate station entrance. Sure, he had been hilariously vague and ominous up to that point, but maybe things were not as bad as he put on. The fox had his moments of overreaction, that was for sure.
But she most certainly had not expected the story he told next.
xXxXxXx
Had Nick Wilde expected for his visit to the police station to come to this?
No. No, he had not.
In his year on the force, the fox had spoken in front of a group of his peers this large exactly zero times, and had hoped it would stay that way his entire career. Sure, he had aspirations of potentially climbing from his current junior officer rank to something more, but he kind of always assumed Judy would take the reins on much of the presentation aspects of the job while he laid back, gave her a thumb's up and otherwise did what he needed to do to get by.
Instead, Nick presently stands at the head of the bullpen where Chief Bogo normally conducts morning briefings, with the buffalo beside him but only offering occasional insight. It is Nick's floor otherwise, and he has it in front of a packed house of some of his own peers, plus a few on a much higher level of the ZPD than he has ever dreamed of attaining.
And all because of one childhood memory – though to be fair, it is quite the imperative memory.
Because it is the last time he saw his father alive.
A giraffe, one of the elder members of the ZPD currently in the room and, Nick assumes, comparable to Bogo's age, raises a hoof from where he sits at one of the front tables inside the bullpen.
"Yes, Captain Geoffers?" Bogo says plainly.
"So," the giraffe responds, unbending his neck to its full height, "you're telling us that what happened tonight, in no uncertain terms, is a sign that Roscoe Lawson, who has been AWOL for two decades, is back in Zootopia and has a bone to pick with us?"
Nick swallows before answering, inattentively smoothing the slightly-too-big khakis he has had in his work locker for the better part of a year. He still dons the sleeveless t-shirt, but he figures there are worse places to wear one than a police station. "Well, I don't know that. I don't know what he'd want. I only know what he told me all those years ago."
"I hardly think all that outside was for your sake, Officer."
"No, no, I agree. That's what I'm saying."
Roscoe Lawson, Nick had explained with as much detail as he could muster, was a former crime lord of Zootopia with a line of influence in the city as murky as Mr. Big's. After all, he had been the owner of Lawson's Fine Foods, a supermarket chain in Zootopia and its suburbs that, for all intents and purposes, seemed like an upstanding business – which is because it was.
However, Lawson's family had used the social influence gained from the once-modest family business to gain certain footholds in the city that put it toe to toe with an array of unsavory citizens throughout the city, be it via drug trafficking of rare, sought-after hallucinogens or a steady undercurrent of under-the-table meats provided to predators that were willing to pay a high enough price to satisfy their animalistic urges. Roscoe Lawson oversaw the latter rather than attend college, and once his parents either passed on or grew too old to continue in the day-to-day operations of the grocery chain, he was first in line to take over the family business – but the shady practices withstood the shift to legal business responsibilities, and before long, the Lawson name became synonymous in the city's underground with the type of family with whom one did not want to meddle.
Surely a cop worth their salary and then some could eventually take down that kind of crime, though, right? Well, there was one other thing.
"I'm going to tell you what I know, even though I'm sure some of you do by now," Nick announces, glancing over the room, which is filled to the brim with a variety of officers, some of whom stand around the exterior, many returning his glance with focused intent. "It's pretty well known nowadays that the Lawsons, especially Roscoe, were bad news. But at the time, they had enough friends around the city – City Hall, here at the ZPD," he waves a paw around the room, "everywhere. They didn't have to worry about getting caught, because no one was going to attempt to catch them. Being one of Zootopia's biggest charitable donors will do that."
"He's right," a gruff-voiced arctic wolf toward the rear of the room chimes in. "I was close to a bust on the meat-smuggling ring almost 30 years ago, back when I was new on the force. I upped it to my superiors at the time; I was stationed in the Rainforest District, Chief Crocton was my commanding officer." The wolf balls his paw into a fist and smacks the table. "I upped it to my superiors, and I was taken off the case and told the higher-ups would handle it." He grunts. "They never did."
"And how do you know about Lawson's criminal past?" Geoffers asks the fox, swiveling his head after listening intently to the wolf's recounting.
Nick shrugs and puts on the showiest smirk he can muster. "I worked for guys like Lawson," he says plainly, "before I came to the ZPD. Mammals talk."
He does not mention John Wilde.
"When I was a kid," continues the fox, barely missing a beat, "I was… I was on the streets a lot, y'know? Had a family, had a home, but I preferred being out there, in the thick of things. That's where I met Roscoe Lawson the last time he was in Zootopia… or as far as I know.
"I was out with a friend of mine, we used to bum around at night – kid stuff, whatever. We're in our usual hangout spot, this alleyway off the Hill Street station exit on the subway, when we ear this ruckus nearby. Someone yells out – some fox, I think, I dunno. He was wearing this old-fashioned trenchcoat, like he was a spy or a private investigator or something. And oh, he's dead. Super dead.
"Lawson killed him," Nick says, putting his paws in his pockets and looking up at the ceiling tiles. "He held the knife that did it. And he takes one look at my friend and I – I thought we were goners when he spotted us, but no, he just says one thing and then disappears back down the alleyway. He looks right at us, and he says, 'You kids like fireworks? Because remember the day they're practically streamin' out of the sewer grates every square inch of the city. 'Cause that's when Roscoe Lawson's back to claim what's his.'"
He takes his paws back out of his pockets and spreads his arms in a wide shrug. "Cheesy, if you ask me, but I never forgot it. And here we are now."
"Right after he disappeared was when all the allegations came forth," the wolf in the back of the room adds. "I remember that. I'd wager that fox you saw knew 'em already and was close to taking him in."
Chief Bogo steps forward, resting a hoof on Nick's shoulder – a gesture the fox is quite surprised to experience, but he figures the buffalo is putting on his best face in front of his fellow chiefs and commanders rather than letting his usual air of exasperation with the junior officer overtake him.
"Thank you, Officer Wilde." The buffalo slowly glances around the room, ensuring he has the undivided attention of the whole attending force before proceeding. "Should this be true – and I think we all agree that the argument that Lawson is behind this is quite strong – then now is the time for a plan of action. We're all now aware, many years after the fact, what this mammal was capable of, both by himself and with those in his personal command. Whatever that hyena is looking to do to this city, whatever the scale, we need to find our way to him before anything else sneaks under our noses like it did tonight.
"Which is why all of you have gathered here; I know it's quaint, but until Lionheart sends one cent our way, it's the biggest conference room in the department we've got."
There is a ripple of slight laughter across the room. Nick looks around, stunned; Bogo actually got someone to laugh – and with something that was barely even a joke, no less.
The buffalo walks slowly to the door to the bullpen, which has remained shut the entire meeting. "As the seniormost chief in this department, I shall now request," he lays a hoof on the doorknob and turns the lock, "that we figure out a plan on how best to tackle this – and that no one leave until we do."
Nick sighs. If only he had used the bathroom at Judy's.
xXxXxXx
"So what do you think the roses were all about?"
Judy looks up at Clawhauser, who has finally spoken after a few minutes of silence between the two of them as they sit behind the precinct's front desk. The rabbit is not supposed to be back there, really, but it happens to have one of the comfier chairs in the station – and Bogo certainly is not there to stop her, anyway.
"Calling card, I think Nick said." The bunny rubs her eyes, sitting up. She had quite nearly dozed off amid homely black leather.
"Ah."
"I guess Lawson always smelled that way, or something. And the family stores had bunches of roses around the store." She stretches her paws over her head, continuing once she hears a satisfying crack in her left elbow. "I read sometime – at the academy, I think – that the rumor was they did that to hide the smell of the illegal meat in their cellars."
Grimacing, the cheetah turns up his nose. "Grrooooooss. Where'd they even get it from?"
"Don't know if they ever found out."
Clawhauser shakes his paws disgustedly. "Yeesh. Can't think about it too much." A click behind him diverts his attention, and he watches the bullpen door creak open and its occupants begin to file out. His ears perk up. "Oh! Finally, they're done."
Judy raises her head, which has previously been resting in her paws against the front desk, and immediately searches for her partner. She sees a flash of red in between the legs of a pair of briskly walking lions and leaps over the counter and onto the floor.
"There you are. I thought they'd never let out."
The fox shoots her a toothy grin. "Miss me?"
Judy waves her paws dismissively. "You kidding? I just need you so I can figure out what the heck just happened in there."
Shrugging, Nick leaps onto the counter by Clawhauser and sits on its ledge, Judy stopping at his dangling feet, paws resting on her hips. "Not much you haven't already heard, Carrots," he says, shaking his head. "Oh, and when we get into work tomorrow, we'll get briefed on it, but our little dynamic duo is about to get a tad crowded."
The rabbit's ears droop. "Uh… what?"
"Officer Wilde."
Judy's further questioning is stalled in its tracks by a voice to her right, Nick's left. They and Clawhauser turn; the older arctic wolf from Bogo's briefing, who had backed up some of the fox's claims about Roscoe Lawson, is walking up to them, slowly but surely. He is joined by a buff tiger, still wearing his uniform's hat despite most others having taken theirs off inside. The tiger does not speak, but his eyes search Judy and Clawhauser fixedly.
"Captain Colston," the cheetah effervescently greets the wolf, standing. "Good to see you again!"
The wolf smiles politely. "Benjamin. Please call me Artie. Surely we're on a first-name basis after all these years."
Noting Judy standing nearby, he bends over slightly and extends a paw. "Captain Artie Colston, precinct four – Tundratown, mostly." She takes his paw lightly in hers; she is surprised at its frigidity. "You must be Officer Hopps."
"S-sir," the rabbit stutters, her eyes wide. "Sorry, I'm flattered that the Icewolf knows who I am."
Colston chuckles, as does Nick. "OK, Carrots, you gotta stop being surprised when your co-workers know the bunny who helped save the city from the Night Howlers," the fox snickers. "Also… Icewolf? If that ain't a little on the nose…"
"It's a silly nickname, I agree," the wolf says, letting go of Judy's paw and straightening his back. "It's because I didn't miss a day of work for 25 years – no vacation, no nothing. The fact that I'm an arctic wolf who works in Tundratown was just icing on the cake for them."
"I aspire to break your record, Chief, I hope you know that," says Judy, positively starstruck.
"Ah, Fluff, aren't you just full of surprises," Nick teases. She ignores him.
Smiling genially, Colston nods to Judy. "Well, best of luck to you. Send me a postcard indicating your success once you reach it; I'll be long retired to the islands by then, with any luck." Snapping his fingers, he turns to Nick. "I appreciate your show in there, Officer. I don't know if I'd've associated the fireworks with Lawson if you hadn't offered the information. Though," he sniffs the air, as though the smell would still somehow be lingering, "the roses might have been a giveaway."
"Well, sir, I try to put in work worth my paycheck on occasion," retorts the fox, leaning back on his elbows atop the counter. "Now they'll be forced to keep me around another six months at minimum."
He glances over at Judy, who is still glaring at him expectantly, and quickly recalls where their conversation had previously left off.
"Oh, and it'll be an honor to work with a member of your team for a few days while we get to the bottom of this. I was just telling ol' Carrots here about it."
"Between you and me," the wolf folds his arms behind his back and leans forward, closer to Nick and Judy, eyes scanning the room momentarily before continuing, "I had a hunch we'd be joining forces across the department. I wanted to ensure my best was grouped with Bogo's best – he and I, we go back, you know – and I can think of no one better than the pair that tossed Bellwether behind bars."
Judy cuts to the chase. "Who're we working with?"
"His name's Wolfie – well, I think it's actually Glenn or something, but heck if I know for sure, that's all anyone at the station has called him since he got there, and it's my secretary's job to keep track of their real names, in my humble opinion." He nods to himself. "But Wolfie, he's good. Great nose for this sort of thing. You'll like him."
"Quite the co-sign," Judy remarks, noting internally that of course a wolf would say that about another.
"Eh, he's at least better to talk to than ol' Tigoro here," he points a paw at the tiger who still looms behind him with a face of stone. "Sometimes I think he still resents me for insisting he was assigned to Tundratown. Still isn't completely used to the cold, eh, bud?" He jabs the tiger in the ribs. The big cat does not flinch.
"It's late, sir. Shall we head back?" are his only words.
Colston pulls up his coat sleeve and checks his wristwatch. "I suppose so. Bright 'n' early start tomorrow, gotta find some big-time meat smuggler before he finds us." He sends a two-finger salute to Clawhauser, who regards him briefly but has shifted to a conversation with the dispatcher from one of Sahara Square's precincts who was sent as one of its representatives that evening, and grins at Nick and Judy, white teeth positively shining in the well-lit foyer. "I'll be letting Wolfie know he'll be working with you tomorrow morning. Expect him around here before 8, I'd wager. He's a bit of a morning person, that one."
Affording the pair the same salute as he gave the cheetah, Colston turns on his heel and exits toward the front door. Tigoro offers a curt nod and a hardened stare before following suit.
Judy leans against the front counter, crossing her arms as she and her partner watch them leave. "I still can't believe the Icewolf knows who I am," she finally blurts out with an infectious grin, punching Nick's dangling left leg. "And we get to work with one of his best officers. I'm super excited to tackle this."
"Hrm." Nick's slightly sunnier disposition he has worn for the last while in the presence of the other officers has receded. "Glad someone is."
The rabbit's ears droop and she touches a paw to the fox's leg, looking up. "Nick. C'mon, we talked about this in Bogo's office. I know you're scared – you saw this guy kill someone, that must have been traumatic as a kit – but the entire ZPD has some of its best officers working this starting tomorrow. And Lawson certainly isn't going to remember you."
Nick grimaces, clicking his tongue. "Right, yeah," he mutters, leaping down from the counter and leaning against it himself alongside Judy. "Except… that story I told Bogo isn't exactly what happened."
"Oh, sweet cheese and crackers," Judy groans.
