Page 19 / November 16th 1998
'MODERN DAY ROBIN HOOD' SHOT IN ATTEMPTED PRISON BREAK
By Elphadore Trumpet
At approximately 1:27pm yesterday afternoon, infamous conmammal/thief Robert 'Robin Hood' Wilde was pronounced dead as the result of two gunshot wounds to the back by the Shangri-Paw prison corner. Wilde had been transferred to Shangri-Paw after his long-time incarceration at Zootopia's own Outback Island prison had been met with extreme aggression from several inmates the fox had long, 'complicated' histories with. The Shangri-Paw prison board has yet to make an official statement, which leads this reporter to believe some desperate last-minute damage control is being attempted behind closed doors, but The Crime Gerbil managed to snag a few minutes with an anonymous source present at the time of the escape attempt;
"I don't know what caused it, but the fox suddenly went crazy. Sprinted off towards the the fence without warning and started to climb." At this point several guards moved to intercept the fleeing convict. Exactly who fired the shots is still unknown, but eyewitness accounts confirm that they all had their weapons drawn. "Look, I'm not proud he's dead, but something had to be done. That fox had ruined too many lives, there was no way we were going to let him leave. And he had every opportunity to stop". Our source went on to debunk claims of police brutality as "ridiculous".
Whether these circling rumors are true or not may never be known, but this certainly marks a bloody end to Wilde's impressive career. Although only charged for three counts of theft and grand larceny, those who have been following his trial with us here at The Gerbil will recall the dozens of other heists he has been linked to with all but solid evidence. Wilde earned the nickname 'Robin Hood' from his early days, when he rose to fame by robbing corrupt businessman Kyle Tusken of $30, 000, 000, distributing half that money among the victims of his fraudulent real estate company. However, this spurt of fame was short lived and Wilde soon faded into relative obscurity. Not only that, but recently it seems Wilde had lost his more noble streak too, as he was arrested at his home some 6 years ago after being implicated in a scam targeting the very same people he had helped with Tusken's money.
Shangri-Paw prison's resident medical examiner will neither confirm nor deny evidence of alcohol abuse, but after talking to several of Wilde's past acquaintances (who refused to go on record) I can see no other explanation for his irrational behaviour.I find myself saddened at the thought of this once great mammal, a criminal but great nonetheless, giving up on what he believed in. Wilde's wife and young son were unavailable for comment. No funeral plans have yet been announced.
...
Nick didn't know how long he hung there, suspended by only his tail, eyes closed and arms dangling uselessly. All concepts of time and space had been slowly eroded away until it was just him, hanging in the viscous darkness. And the pain. The ferocious, firey pain that arced its way up his spine every time he so much as twitched. His tail was going to tear right off, he knew it. And they weren't even asking him questions, that was the worst thing. Finn had just left him to stew in this bubbling cauldron of agony.
Time passed. He slipped in and out of conciousness so many times he lost track of what was real and what was -
Memory.
Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Dad had died, and Nicholas thought there must be something wrong with him. He hadn't cried. Not once. He'd laid on his back, tracing the cracks in the ceiling, trying to solve them like a maze. He'd laid spread-eagled on his front, face buried deep in his ratty pillow, waiting for the heavens to open. But the tears had refused to come. It had been two weeks of no school, no friends, no nothing. And definitely no crying. Not from him, anyway. Maybe he wasn't crying because Mom was doing enough for both of them. Enough for several countries actually; Nicholas was mildly surprised no one had issued an official flood warning, the amount of water she was pumping out. He shook himself mentally; that was a cruel, foxy thing to think.
He rolled onto his side, contemplating exactly why Dad kicking the bucket hadn't triggered the customary waterworks. After several hours of this, he finally hit upon the idea that he just... didn't care anymore. (Liar.) It wasn't as if he wasn't sad Dad was dead, perse, but the sadness he felt was far off and detached. Like when you lose a distant relative you'd never really known. In a way Nicholas had never really known his father at all; he'd just got tangled up in the intricate web of lies Dad had been weaving since the day he was born. How could he have been so blindsided? (Because Dad is your hero.) Taken in by those stupid kid's stories about foxes in green tights and the rights of a 'noble bloodline'. Honestly, the only reason the Hood had robbed the rich was because the poor didn't have anything worth stealing! Nicholas grunted and rolled onto his front again, his eyes boring into the cieling as if deciphering answers from the flaking paint. (You know them already, just admit it.)
In the end it just seemed so pointless. Why fight to make yourself heard when no one was listening? At least Dad had managed to teach him that last lesson by getting chucked in the slammer; eventually even he had given up. Gee thanks Pops, you braved prison food to teach me a life lesson. Accidentally. (You miss him already.) And when it all came down to it even Dad's death had been lousy; no blaze of glory or holding his head up high. Just two slugs in the back. Couldn't have happened to nicer guy.
...
Dear Mrs Wilde,
I regret to inform you that Nicholas has been linked to string of negative incidents this term, the escalation of which has led me to write this letter. Nicholas has always been quiet in classes, but recently he has begun debunking proven scientific theories as, and I quote, "sanctimonious bullshit". Seeing as Nicholas' biology teacher is himself a bull, you can see how this could cause offence.
Last week he was also removed from the school play due to uncouth behaviour. He had swapped out the lyrics for a central musical number, changing them from 'It's a good world after all' to 'It's a good world after all, unless you're a predator, in which case fuck you'.
His most recent transgression was getting into a physical altercation with star pupil Billy Ramberton, after his science project on evolution predicted most 'small' predatory species will become outmoded and extinct within the next ten million years. Nicholas branded Billy a "Speciesist asshat", but I must assure you that the project was well verified.
When confronted about his actions by Ms. Bonny Vine, Nicholas claimed he had inherited the responsibilities of his family. When Ms. Vine asked Nicholas who exactly he thought he was, he replied "Robin-freaking-Hood".
These delusions of grandeur are most disturbing, and unless they are dealt with at home we will be forced to suspend your son.
Regards, Mr Sheppardton
...
Funerals were depressing. Yeah, big surprise. But what really tipped Nicholas over the edge was how... Petty everything was. They'd had a fair turnout, all things considered (Dad deserves a hero's burial.), but the crowd was composed of faceless strangers. There wasn't enough noise, either. Nicholas got that funerals were meant to be subdued, but Goddammit, anyone would think the guests were the dead ones, not the guy in the coffin. (That's your Dad, asshole. show some respect.) They all seemed too eager to please too, tripping over each other to say the exact same things over and over...
"We're sorry for your loss... Terrible tragedy... A great soul lost too soon..."
Even Mom looked bored. (I'm not sure she's feeling too good.) She'd finally wrung herself out, but she still didn't seem all there. Not healthy. She was weary and strained, like a well run dry in drought.
The murmur of the guests scratched at his ears, buzzing in its endless circles. Nicholas resisted the urge to swat at it like an irritating gnat. Instead he just did what he did best; melded into the shadows and watched the pointless scurryings of the visitors. He wasn't marking anyone, not really. (Yes you are.) More like he was honouring Dad's memory, in his own way. (I think your ass is getting jealous of all this shit you're thinking up.) After all, it was Dad who had taught him the tricks of the trade. Subtly at first, oh so subtly. A lift here, a mark there, because when Mom caught wind of what was going on her fury could topple mountains. After Dad had gone up the creek Nicholas had turned his back on those dangerous games. He wanted to be a scout. (Thieving made you feel dishonest and unclean.) Playing with fire could get you burnt, but after... the Incident, Nicholas had decided he'd rather get burnt on his own terms than have others sacrifice him to the flames.(so basically suicide, dumbass).
Hang on. What was that wollfhound doing? There, the idiot in the opposite corner, sizing up Jackie from down the street like a piece of meat. Stupid mutt may as well have sent up a warning flare; Hi, I'm here to steal everything that's precious to you, please remember to call the cops! Way too overeager and - Nicholas supposed - too vulnerable. Surely it was his civic duty to straighten the kid out. Stop another poor schmuck falling victim to an officer's itchy trigger finger.(You're your own worst enemy, you know that?). Nicholas sidled over.
"You're doing it wrong." he whispered. The wolfhound, Nicholas had decided to call him Fido, political correctness be damned, jerked like he'd just been electrocuted. Honestly, Nicholas was surprised he hadn't launched himself through the roof. Fido was small, but he didn't have an ounce of fat on his body, and all that muscle was coiled up like a spring wound too tight. "You need to be more subtle." Nicholas continued softly, "Move around a little, act natural. And don't be a fussy eater; there are dozens of potential marks here, so don't focus everything on just one."
"You think you're a better con than me just 'cause you're a fox?" Fido growled. Nicholas bristled at the accusation (Don't sink to his level.) and part of him wanted to tell this fleabag to go chase a chew-toy, (Yep, that'll about do it.) but upon deliberation he decided to let it slide. It wasn't like he was doing anything to prove him wrong, and hey; if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. (... I seriously just give up at this point.)
"No. I think I'm better than you just 'cause I am. Now close your mouth and watch before you do anything else stupid. Like talk." Fido obviously didn't think much of this idea; Nicholas watched a vein throb angrily in his neck with a sense of almost parental pride; it felt so good to siphon off all his frustration into this new outlet. For an insane moment he wanted Fido to swing at him; at least a fight would end this infuriating quiet. But alas, it seemed it wasn't to be. The tension slowly ebbed from his knotted shoulders, and for a time the two of them stood there in silence, eyes skimming the crowd as they would a menu at a fancy restaraunt; pretty soon they were ruminating about the guests like commentators at a sports game.
There was a sultry looking vixen, dragging her heels reluctantly into middle age, hovering over the meager drinks table, her cheeks already flushed from her fourth glass of in the crowd called her Mrs Vulpezuela and Fido, overeager as ever, swooped down like a vulture on a fresh carcass.
"No wedding ring. Bet she's a widow."
"Oh come on, you can see the ring indent on her finger! She's just here to get drunk and nab some on-the-side action while her old man's away."
"At a funeral?"
"Best of luck to her. This place could use some livening up."
"Whatever. I wouldn't say no to a piece of that, anyway."
Fido sniffed non-commitally, like getting lucky with such a fine specimen of prepubecent street rat as himself was more than Mrs Vulpezuela could ever hope for. He was aggravating to say the least, but as they stood vigil together Nicholas couldn't help but think that this was the closest he'd felt to someone since... Well, since before the Incident. He was tempted to say something, and the words were on the tip of his tongue when something disturbing caught his eye.
"Mom's got an admirer." he grunted.
"What?"
"Polecat in the corner. Been eyeing her up for about ten minutes."
"Oh. Nah, that's Keith. He's got a thing with the girl in the grocers down Howlton and 9th. Visits her every week."
"I know. He's also got a weakness for a girl by the name of Kitty, lives about five blocks from here."
"A polecat called Kitty?" Fido snorted.
"You're missing the point." Nicholas snapped impatiently, "Which is that he's already juggling at least three girls, when you factor in his Missus. So he still could be-"
"Nah, your mom's fine. See the way he keeps staring at the dresser? I think he wants to get his hands on her fine china more than her duds."
Normally Nicholas would've punched anyone's lights out at the mention of Mom's 'duds', but right now he was too busy feeling relived. Of course Kieth was after the china; how could he not have seen that? It was like Dad had always said; emotions were worse than quicksand. They could suck you in without you even noticing, not until you were three feet deep and struggling to breathe. (Or they could be your lifeline.) They clouded your judgement, so it was best to steer clear. (This is your Mom, asshat.)
"I'd pay to see the cat fight that goes down when Keith's little love triangle collapses." chuckled Fido. Nick blinked stupidly at the back of his head. Maybe he wasn't a total lost cause after all...
The guests were still droning on to Mom about sympathy and other hollow sentiments that really meant nothing at all. Nicholas about to switch off again when a rich, melodic voice cut through the air.
"I'd like to say I'm sorry he's gone, Mrs Wilde, but I don't like lying for no reason. Especially to the widows of old colleagues, even if they were scumbags."
Nicholas' head turned so fast he almost got whiplash. Standing in the middle of their dingy lounge was a lion, proud and majestic and apparently completely unperturbed by the full force of Mom's world-famous murderous glare. Nicholas had blabbed like a baby under the threat of that look more times than he'd like to admit, but this guy, this lion - like a real, actual lion with a mane and everything - seemed unaware he'd just signed his own death warrant. Seriously though, a lion? Lions belonged with the creme de la creme of high society, where animals bought billion dollar cars they'd never actually drive - don't be ridiculous - and took baths made of caviar instead of water. What the hell was he doing in a dump like this?
It didn't matter, anyway; Mom had the wrath of God behind her as she ordered the lion to "Get the hell out of my house now, before I shave that mane off your head and feed it to you through your ass!" She could be a real force of nature when she got worked up, and Nicholas was tempted to hide the fine china in case she started chucking it around the room. The lion just chuckled dourly and bade her good day.
He turned his gaze on Nicholas instead. For a second their eyes locked, clear sparkling green and a twinkling, almost appraising yellow. He beckoned, and for the briefest second Nicholas had the strongest urge to leave with him. Those eyes were drawing him in like a needle to a magnet. But then Fido beat him to it.
"See you around, fox."
Nicholas made an intelligent noise, something caught between a grunt and a moan.
"Wait. Where are you going?"
"That's my boss." This was the first time he had seen Fido's face and - well, that was unexpected. Fido's body language had boasted loudly of a hard-edge, no-shit pred with more street cred than he knew what to do with. Fido's eyes told Nicholas that his body had lied.
"You have a boss? But you're like six!" he said. Fido snorted.
"Shut up. Here," he fished around in his pant pocket for a second, then produced a dog eared business card, "if you ever get bored of leaving it at just marking mammals, if you want to make a difference for predators, give us a call. We could use someone like you." Nicholas took the card without comment, resolving to throw it in the trash ASAP, "You're not as dumb as you look, Foxy."
"Yeah, you too. Though, I s'pose if you were you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time. Name's Nicholas by the way."
"Finn. See you around, Nicky-boy."
Next second they were gone, Finn trotting along behind the lion like a good little boy on his leash, leaving nothing but the whisper of a smirk and twinge of something that wanted very much to be belonging in their wake.
...
They were going to talk to Simian Six, and that meant braving the lion's den. Metaphorically. No lion would ever be caught dead in the Nox, and Judy had a sneaking suspicion that her parents wouldn't be very receptive to the Nocturnal District's... charms, either. She and Nick had avoided the place like the plague for months. After what happened last time - well, this place was pretty much the fifth level of Hell for them. Still, Judy had promised herself a long time ago that she'd walk through Hell and back for Nick. He'd thrown it all to the wind to be with her, and now it was time to return the favour.
The Nox was a hollowed out dome deep underground. Open water pipes dotted the slimy walls like yawning mouths, dribbling acrid water onto the buildings below. One had been modified into a transport tunnel, a single lifeline between it and the rest of Zootopia, but the engineers had helpfully forgotten to stem the flow of water so it sheeted down over the entrance like a waterfall. Judy's cruiser burst through, the water parting like curtains on a stage. For a moment the entire district was laid out below them like a map, and Judy felt the view snatch her breath away. Hard to believe it'd gotten worse. Much worse than last time she'd been down here.
Spindly simulation trees bedecked in creeping vines snaked down from a roof too high up to see, like the ancient roots of the city proper above. Clumped around their bases were apartment buildings, block after block crammed on top of one another as if caught in a mad scramble upward and away, trying to escape the terrors of the dark. An old monorail ringed the entire thing like barbed wire on a prison wall.
Judy took the plunge, diving headfirst into the maze of back alleys and side-streets, swerving madly around hairpin turns and barreling down crooked shortcuts. She tried to block out the scenes flashing past the windows, but they wound their way through like worms into a rotting apple, engraving themselves in her memory like a chisel on stone. Mammal debris littered the sidewalk, animals wrapped in sleeping bags drifting along the pavement like plastic bags on the wind. A field of rubble three mammals deep lay sleeping by the overcrowded Savannah Mission.
Long ago in the days of yore, when TV was black and white and people hunted dinosaurs with sticks, the Nox had been associated with words like 'trendy' and 'fashionable'. Then hard times had hit like a breaking wave, flooding the streets with crime and general balls-out anarky. Residents had moved out. Businesses had shut up shop. Now the Nox was just the dark cupboard where Zootopia hung its skeletons.
It soon became clear Nick wasn't the only one who found Judy's driving style... unorthodox, as attested to by the bevy of screams issuing from the backseat. She paid her parents no heed. It was their own fault they were here, and if it were up to Judy they wouldn't be; it was only after Stu had threatened to follow her on foot she had finally relented. They didn't seem to understand that a night time stroll in the Nox could have you wake up the next morning at the bottom of the river, wearing a lovely new pair of lead shoes.
Dumb bunnies. There it was again; the thought had risen into a frantic caterwall blaring in her ears. Her entire life Judy had poured herself into being all or nothing; she had deviated so far from what constituted normal... Had she pushed it too far? The idea that she'd unknowingly let such a core part of her identity slip through her fingers was harrowing.
She started playing the game again. The same one she'd been playing since she was four years old, after Gideon had attacked and there had been the white hot pain and the scars that had faded, but the other scars too, the ones that were still open and raw. The ones that had woken her in the Witching Hours of the night, bleeding all over the sheets and screaming for someone to save her. Daddy and Mommy would come, sit down beside her on the bed and hold her until the storm had passed. Then daddy would plant her on his knee and Mommy would dry her eyes with delicate strokes. But they wouldn't tell her she was safe. Because her fear was fickle but the truth was not. Instead they'd teach her a game; a simple, petty, stupid little game that was the most important thing in the world. There were no What Ifs or Maybes. There were Facts and there were Fairytales, and it was time she learnt the difference.
Fact: She was OK. Right there, right then. Snuggled in her mother's arms with a toasty mug of cocoa and a chocolate moustache.
Fairytale: Gideon wasn't hunting her. There was no monster coming over the hill, no demon lurking under her bed. They were just nightmares.
A fresh batch of wailing from behind warned her of impending doom, and Judy saw the lights change just in time to slam on the brakes. She could only imagine what Nick would have to say.
One time he'd shown her how 'real men' drive. Within ten minutes he'd tried to wrap her car round three different streetlights and a tree...
No. Eyes on he road, Hopps. Don't give them a real reason to scream...
Fact: Nick was still missing.
Fairytale: She had time to put her family problems before him right now.
They screeched to a halt partway down a dingy side street and Stu stumbled out, looking alarmingly green.
"So," said Bonnie over the delightful sound of her husband's retching. She glanced around apprehensively; this looked like the kind of place bums and junkies came to die. "Is there any particular reason we stopped here or..." she trailed off in befuddlement as Judy rapped sharply on what appeared to be an ordinary brick wall. The wall - not a wall at all, but actually a concealed door, Bonnie realised - slid back smoothly. An impossibly large ape, done up in a full monkey suit, loomed threateningly in the doorway, chewing a toothpick the approximate size and shape of a rabbit's thigh bone.
"Hi Mike!" Judy grinned winningly. The ape was not impressed.
"Unless you've got a warrant, shove off." he snapped tersely.
"I just need to talk to the regulars, I'm not going to touch any licenses or -" she coughed - "lack thereof." Mike's expression hadn't changed one iota. Judy leaned forward conspiratorially, "You notice how there hasn't been a raid on an interspecies bar in nine months?" She ignored the strangled mewling noise her mother made at the word 'interspecies'. This style of policing was more Nick's forte, but after watching a self proclaimed 'master' at work for so long she hoped...
Mike seemed to mull this over for a moment, then relented, ushering them through to the dingy corridor beyond. Bonnie heard the door slide shut with an ominous boom. "Now, don't freak out or anything," said Judy earnestly, "this place is a bit of an... acquired taste." Not for the first time, Bonnie noted how worn down her daughter looked: Her face radiated barely veiled hysteria, "just stay in the corner while I talk with who I'm here to see," she finished.
They entered a large, open space full of smoke and flashing lights. Bonnie had heard horror stories about interspecies bars back in the Burrows, but this place seemed scrupulously clean. The furniture was impressively varied, ranging from couches that looked big enough to swallow her whole to love seats the approximate size and shape of egg cups; there were even a row of moisturisers jutting out of the nearest wall for amphibian guests. It was one of those places that tried to cater for everyone, but it only succeeded in making Bonnie feel uncomfortable. A couple of scantily clad dancers twirled slowly on poles in the far corner. Was it her imagination, or was there a flash of recognition when their eyes alighted upon Judy? Surely not. If she was being realistic, Bonnie supposedthe only real problem with this place was the music; it was deafening her sensitive ears and the whole building seemed to bounce to its rythm. She was about to complain to Stu when the smoke dissipated slightly, unveiling the bar's patrons, and shock wrapped its clammy fingers round her throat, choking her into silence.
It was like that time she'd taken Mason and Georgia to the winter market; a city of tents that had stretched for miles in either direction. Animals of every size and creed had thronged the narrow alleys between the stalls. There were so many and they were so... different. The nightclub wasn't as full as the market, but that same boundless variety lingered; Bonnie couldn't even name half of the species in front of her. A sideways glance confirmed Stu was just as thunderstruck as she felt. Not Judy, though. Her daughter threaded her way through the jumble of tables, casually dispensing hellos to mammals a good twenty times her size. Bonnie felt something that just might have been pride kindle in her gut. Then the barman spoke and the pride (had it really been pride at all?) was swiftly extinguished.
"Well, if it isn't our own Angel!" guffawed the bulldog, "We've been mnissin' you these past few months. You here to dance, or will it just be the usual?" Judy's ears stood ramrod straight. Her usual, echoed Bonnie. Good God, she was a regular here. In this hive of... of... sin.
"Hi Tom!" Judy chirped, forced calm rolling off her like heat from a furnace. "Any idea where I might find Six?"
"AAAAAHHHHH!" A ball of black and orange fur came sailing over the heads of the crowd, scooting along the floor twice before coming to rest in a neat little heap at Judy's feet. "Ta dah!" it said in a slightly dazed voice, "say my name and I magically appear."
"Really, Six? Again?" Judy sighed like she saw furry little imps rain from the sky every day, helping him to his feet, "Who'd you piss off this time?"
"Wha- Unbelieveable!" the furball clutched his chest in mock indignation, bright eyes clouded with fake tears,"you just automatically assume the worst, don't you?" There was a general susseration and the crowd parted like a shoal of fish. A rhino roughly the size of a mountain stepped through the gap, cracking his knuckles threateningly. "It's him." said the furball, "And I don't think 'pissed off' really covers it."
Judy stepped forward, typically unfazed by this behemoth. Bonnie knew how this would end; she could see every step coming, one after the other. This rhino would gently scoop her daughter up, her little girl. And he'd snap her like a dried twig. The timid little prey animal in Bonnie's head was screeching at her to turn tail and flee. But not now. She'd be damned before she abandoned Judy to this city again.
"Hi. Listen, I'm really sorry for anything Six might've said-slash-done-slash-stolen, but I'm going to have to ask you to step away now, before anyone gets hurt." Judy's voice was bright and peppy, like she and the rhino were discussing this over sundaes in the park, and he wasn't about to squash her into grease spot.
The mountain looked slightly bemused, obviously wondering why the little bunny hadn't yet melted into a puddle of goo. Several cronies had spread out in his wake; all were making evil eyes at the imp. Their alpha spoke slowly, as if using words wasn't something he was entirely used to.
"No can do, cutie. This asshole has an appointment with the end of my horn."
"Raincheck?" the furball suggested weakly.
Judy's smile twitched involuntarily at 'cutie', but she held it together; diplomacy first. By now most officers would have the rhino in cuffs, but she really didn't want to cause a scene. The poor thing wasn't even sober.
"Oh, he's definitely an asshole." she agreed wholeheartedly, "But unfortunately I'm a police officer, which means that I can't actually let anyone - y'know die. The paperwork would be unbarable."
At this point the furball seemed to think it was a good idea for him to chip in again - it really wasn't.
"Oh come on, Hopp-along. He's not gonna listen to you! He's too distracted by the earthquakes he causes every time he moves!"
It was puny and pathetic and it pushed the rhino right over the edge; he lunged forward with unbelieveable speed. But his flailing arms swung wide as Six sprang up and clear, tail latching on to the lighting frame above. He swung there for a moment like bait on a hook, goading the animals to take a bite. The poor rhino squinted up at him, a growl rumbling in his throat. If he hadn't been so distracted, he would've noticed Judy. If he'd noticed Judy, he would've run away.
Because she had the Look on her face. That I-can-do-anything-so-just you try and stop-me look. Stu still had nightmares about the Look. Bonnie wanted to shout for the rhino to take cover.
Too late.
Suddenly Judy wasn't on the floor, she was on the rhino's back. Bonnie heard the sharp buzz of a taser and electricity arced down the rhino's spine. He swung his arm round as if to swat a fly, but you cannot hit what isn't there, and Judy had materialised on the floor again.
By now the cronies were closing in to protect their alpha. Judy darted through their legs like a hornet, dart gun in paw, stinging again and again until they all fell like dominoes. Now she was up the wall, using the moisturisers to heave herself up. She pushed off and pirouetted elegantly; Bonnie was reminded of those ballet lessons she had been so terrible at as a kit, and bored down on the rhino like a missile.
Bonnie heard the snap of a kick; the rhino made a noise and swung back like a sand bag. Judy was down, she was going for the head again. but he was ready now and her luck had run out and this was how it would end...
His fist fell on empty air, and suddenly there was an angry grey blur racing up the rhino's arm. Then the blur collided with his face, hard. Once. Twice. Three times. He crumbled like the statue of some ancient king. Judy got up and brushed off her hands.
Bonnie was vaguely aware that the furball, dropping to the floor with a showy little flip, was complaining about something or other.
"Show off... Could've just put him out of his misery with a dart..."
Judy's reply echoed as if coming from the end of a long tunnel.
"His skin's too thick... besides, I needed the excercise..."
Bonnie looked around, studying the audience. The expressions on their faces ranged from shock to awe to mild curiosity as to what was on the specials menu tonight. She felt Judy grasp her paw and pull her away, Stu and the furball in tow. They passed the barman, who was muttering dark things about kung fu bunnies under his breath. Bonnie blinked and they were in the car. Judy's police cruiser, where the light scent of fox and doughnuts danced around her nose. Everything was too slow, like they were moving through treacle.
It took time for the dust to settle. Only after would she try to work the enormity of what had happened into words.
"What the fluff just happened?"
...
Absolute silence clung to the cruiser like stink to a skunk. Six had taken the news about Nick virtually without comment, merely grunting out a few directions to an unkown destination. He sat hunched over on the passenger's side, staring moodily at his own reflection as if it was an old ghost that just wouldn't stay buried. In the two and a half years they'd known each other, he and Nick had never been particularly close, so Judy wasn't quite sure what had got him so riled up. His bad mood was infectious; she could almost feel a little thundercloud growing over her head.
Outside, vistas of boarded up clubs and dilapidated warehouses flashed by. The tension was palpable. Someone was bound to crack-
"It wasn't my fault." said Six.
It's always your fault, Six." All of a sudden Judy felt more tired than she ever had in her life. "I do nothing but defend you, and I always end up knee deep in shit because of it."
"I was just trying to do what you keep telling me to do. Y'know, look out for others. 'Show that I really care'." His tone was scathing, but that was nothing new. Always so angry at the world...
"How is picking a fight with four mammals at once 'showing you really care'?"
"They weren't regulars, Hopps. They were drunk and probably only came in as a dare."
"So?" Judy wanted so badly to just curl up and sleep. Maybe she'd wake up in Nick's warm embrace and today would only be a nightmare, like the ones she'd had of Gideon when she was a kit.
"So, they got the wrong idea. Started trying to muscle in on a couple of the smaller dancers. including Crystal." That woke Judy up. The memory of Crystal, a dewy eyed Siamese with her head in the clouds, was branded onto her mind from the last time she'd been down here. Crystal was sweet and kind and the first of the working girls not to treat Judy like some invading alien. "It's mammals like that who get the wrong idea." Six blurted. He'd never been one to hide from the truth of things. "They think interspeciesism is just some kinky thrill and try to take advantage of some species'... disadvantages. So yeah, that's how I was 'showing others that I really care'. "
Judy heard her mother shift uneasily on the back seat. Warmth seeped through her bones. Sometimes it felt so good to be wrong.
"Sorry."
"Nah, it's fine. I managed to get a few good hits in. Imagined it was McHorn I was punching in the face." Six tactfully ignored Judy's glare. He and McHorn had been playing cat and mouse for years, and old grudges died hard. "And incidentally, i forgive you too."
"For what?" Judy asked, bemused.
"That asshole comment. It was a little snarky for you, but I s'pose you're trying to compensate. Left up here."
"I was wondering 'bout that too," Stu suddenly piped up. "Why the sudden attitude shift, hun?"
"Wilde's gone, and he's like her other half." Six supplied, "He completes her. So now he's been taken away she's trying to fill this sardonic, fox-shaped hole in her soul by trying - big emphasis on trying - to be funny in his place. Or some mushy shit like that."
It was moments like this that gave Judy hope for him. Beneath his general irritableness, distaste for people and the many, many layers of grit and grime, there was a mammal who genuinely got people.
Of course, this went straight over her father's head.
"Look son, if you don't mind my asking, who are you?"
"Simian Six. I can't believe Hopps hasn't mentioned my awesomeness to you yet."
"And... What are you? If you don't mind me asking, only-I've-never-heard-of-a-small-primate-with-fur-like-yours-and..." Stu was babbling; he knew he'd crossed a line. In fact, it was so far behind him you couldn't even see it from here.
Six respectfully waited for him to shrink into silence, the same way you wait for someone to finish a eulogy at a funeral.
"I'm a lemur, if you must know. I grew up in a circus. I was helluva highwire act, no net or anything. But the ringleader was really a disturbed psychopath who kept us on leashes when we weren't performing. He dyed patches of our fur orange so he could hunt us down and kill us if we ever escaped and tried to tell the world the terrible truth."
Fact: Stu's face right now was comedy gold.
Fairytale: Pretty much everything Six had just said.
Over the years he had spun so many sob stories and tragic origins for himself Judy had lost count. They seemed to get more morbid every time; by now their combined death toll had to be in the hundreds of thousands. An experimental chemical weapon was used on my village when I was a kit and these are the scars; I was the only one to make it out alive, so thanks for that lovely trip down memory lane. Or, Oh, I'm a serial arsonist, didn't you know? I dye a new patch of fur orange for every building I burn down. They represent the fires of Hell I'm gonna roast in when I die. The problem was you never knew if there was a grain of truth hidden amongst the lies...
"Stop!" Six barked. The cruiser complained loudly as Judy slammed on the brakes, sliding to a halt in the shadow of one of the ramshackle tower blocks. "We're here." he announced, shoving the door open and scrabbling out, "Answers as to the location of dear old Officer Wilde are this way."
...
Mrs Wilde,
We regret to inform you Nicholas has been suspended from school for the next week. This is the culmination of three weeks of constant disruptive, often offensive behaviour.
The tipping point was this Monday; somehow your son got his paws on every Teacher's Edition in the school and grafitied them with 'facts' like "Did you know that predators are five times more likely to be stop-and-searched than prey?" And "Schools with all-prey teaching staff (like this shithole) report 30% more predator-related behaviour incidents than mixed schools."
When confronted about this crime, Nicholas protested he was merely trying to raise awareness about pred-prey inequalities. We don't believe him; his appalling grades in last term's finals attest that he's not smart enough for this to be a ligitimate excuse, and we have come to the conclusion he is stirring up trouble for the sake of it.
On the issue of predator representation among our staff, while it is true that we (like many other schools) have so far been unable to fill the newly mandated 10% of our positions with predator teachers, I assure you that this is through no fault of our own. Just last week we had to let our first pred teaching assistant go because parents like yourself were complaining about "threatening behaviour".
I understand you are feeling a little under the weather just now, but I hope you realise the severity of Nicholas' crimes.
Mrs Sheppardton
...
Being suspended felt like failure. Which was weird, because the fact they were punishing him meant he was getting somewhere, right? (Right. You, my friend, are a lost cause.) Who was he kidding? They didn't give a flying shit about his little rebellion, and Mom would give him ten kinds of Hell when she found out. (If she gets better.) Nicky felt Ineffectual and out of his depth, like he was trying to fight a war with an actual bow and arrow. And then, just to rub his face in the dirt, they'd fired Mr. Grizzowski. The guy had sneezed the wrong way, it'd come out as a growl, someone had cried wolf - literally - and next thing you know he'd been kicked out so fast he'd be feeling the boot ptrint on his ass for months. The injustice of it all made Nicky's insides boil.
Not for the first time, his eyes were drawn to the bin in the corner. It was overflowing with scrunched up bits of paper and old candy wrappers, but he hadn't emptied it in weeks. Not since the funeral. Buried somewhere in that bin was Finn's card; his golden ticket to salvation (Or a one-way ticket to Hell).
Nicky scooted over and dug through the trash like a prospector looking for gold. There it was. The address was still legible. Dare he taste the forbidden fruit?
Mom moaned pitifully in the next room, pinning Nicholas' ears to his head. The pain was driving into her skull like an iron spike, and there was nothing he could do. (You're losing her.) The migraines came and went as they pleased; the doctor told him it was a physical manifestation of her grief. (She's losing you.) Some days she was fine, and it was almost like old times. Not that 'old times' had been all sunshine and roses. Other days she could get pretty bad, and pick him apart like lego. They'd argue for hours. About hs grades, his lack of real freinds, his rebellion at school (You realise all of this is breaking her, right? Your pathetic rebellion is chipping away at her more than anything.) Then there were days like today. Days where her world was the dark and the bedclothes and the pain. Nicholas wanted to hold on to her, but she was trickling through his paws like sand, and the meagre medicines they could afford were almost as useless as him. (Got that right.)
He heaved himself off the floor and went to her door, knocking softly.
"Mom? You OK?" Something expensive smashed on the other side. Probably another were going well already.
Nicholas slipped through quietly, taking it all in. The place looked was a bomb site, with bricabrac scattered across the carpet like shrapnel. The double bed loomed against the far wall, a crouching hunter waiting to pounce. His mother was curled up tightly in the centre of the duvet, breath whistling through clenched teeth. She looked so small. So lost. Nicholas picked his way over and perched himself on the edge.
"Leave," she choked out. He stayed rooted to the spot.
"Have you taken your pills, Mom?"
She rocked back and forth slightly, whimpering like a newborn pup. (Be strong for her. Be strong for her, now.) "If you don't take your pills, it'll only get worse."
She turned and stared right through him. Her eyes were like tunnels.
"If I take them now I won't be able to fight." she muttered, as if to herself. There was a hot lump in his throat that made it difficult to breathe.
"Mom, please-"
"NO!" she wailed, throwing herself on him. Her grip was tight but she was too light; a ragdoll with fur. When was the last time she'd eaten? Nicholas prised her off, each finger a knife to the heart, and for the first time she looked him in the eyes. Recognition bloomed across her face like the first rays of dawn. "Richard?"
All hope dissipated like a summer rainbow. Richard. She thought he was Dad.
"No." Nicky mumbled, almost pushing her off him. He backed away quickly, and something cracked under his paw. An old photo; the three of them, Mom, Dad and him, when he was just a kit. Dad had his arms wrapped protectively around them, grinning at the camera. The photo was faded, but Mom's eyes still sparkled.
"Richard, it's you! I had the most terrible nightmare; you were dead and Nicholas - Nicholas was as good as dying -"
Nicky stared at her like she was talking another language.
"Take your pills." he rasped, turning to leave. They'd looked so happy in the photo. He couldn't remember them ever being that happy.
"Richard, please. I'm lost without you. Don't - don't leave me again..."
He tripped over himself in his haste to get away from the photo, with its broken smiles. Away from the thing that used to be his mother. His jacket was off the hook and the door had slammed before she could hurt him again.
The card was clutched tightly in his paw. Fuck bows and arrows. It was time to go to war.
(Coward.)
...
New torture: Drowning.
A vat of icy water rose up to meet him. Nick bucked and shook for all he was worth, but goddamn Benny had a grip like a vice. The cold burned like fire, raking its icy claws across his muzzle and tearing his breath away.
His head was jerked back and the air stung his frozen lips. Nick needed to breathe, but God, he was so cold and everything was refusing to work.
Down into the depths again. The cold was everywhere now; trickling down his chest and into the pit of his stomach, where it formed jagged icebergs that jabbed and tore at his insides.
Benny jerked him back again. Nick's lungs had seized up like a frozen engine. He wanted to open his mouth, but if he did the water would get in again and he was sure, absolutely sure that this time it would freeze him solid.
Benny pushed down and Nick was powerless to resist. It was being patient now, the cold, content to sit back and watch the life drain out of him. Bubble by bubble. Second by second. Nick realised he'd stopped struggling. A detached sense of relief washed over him. Maybe this wasn't such a bad way to go, after all. The water didn't feel as cold any more. In fact, he couldn't feel much of anything now, except maybe an oddly relaxing numbness creeping up his spine.
Nick wondered what Judy would think-
Judy.
The cold came crashing back down on him and Nick roared in defiance, bubbles exploding out of his maw. Screw this. Dying was for wimps.
He broke the surface again; this time he managed to gasp a breath and held on to it for all he was worth, bracing himself for the next wave. It didn't come. Nick wondered briefly if, even after all that effort, he'd still managed to kick the bucket. He didn't think so. For one thing, he was pretty sure being dead wasn't this damn cold.
He risked opening an eye. Finn was there, looming over him like the Reaper himself. Well, shit.
"The way I see it." Finn said, "There are only two reasons that you'd still be holding out on us. One, the most likely to me, is that you think you're safe because your new Filth friends are coming to rescue you. That's cute."
Nick smiled nonchalantly, trying not to let on that his head felt like it had been through a blender.
"I try." There was a hurried knock on the door; Benny shuffled over and opened it a crack. There was the sound of muffled arguing and something else - was that a fox whimpering? "Hey, if you're busy, Finn, I could always come back another time."
Finn scowled.
"That's plan B." he snapped, "A last resort for if this doesn't pan out. If you don't see how stupid trusting cops is. Because it seriously is a whole other level of stupid. Like, beneath even Benny's level stupid." The returned Benny grunted noncommitally, as if he wouldn't put money on Nick being quite that bad. Finn sneered, "Unless of course you've already told them your little secret?"
"Yeah... Yeah." Nick grimaced, "I'm sorry man, but it's too late. The cops already know all about... Benny and your mom."
Benny actually stopped breathing. Even in his stunned state Nick knew he'd just let loose the literal dogs of war. Not his mom, you stupid asshat-
Finn was on him in an instant, fangs delicately brushing his left ear. When he spoke his vioce was silky, almost loving. It made Nick want to crawl out of his own skin.
"Now, you might've heard how in their last moments people show you who they really are. In that final moment of reckoning their true personality shines through. I'm here to tell you that's bullshit. In my experience there is no 'true self' because once all the layers have been peeled back everyone's the same." Finn's jaws drifted up and down Nick's ear, up and down, up and down, like a cat playing with a little mouse, "Death isn't something romantic or enlightning, Nicky. It happens. The end. So know it doesn't matter how long you hold out from us. You won't be 'proving your mettle' or some shit like that, because I already know what I'm going to see when you die. A savage beast backed into a corner."
"Is that supposed to scare me?" Damn right it scared him. Ever since the Nighthowlers... How did Finn do this? How could he have seen the What If that had been hanging over Nick's head since that night at the museum?
"Oh no, Officer Wilde, of course not, sir. Because you're above all that, aren't you? You ZPD types, you hold yourselves to higher standard. Protect and serve and all that shit. Gimme a break, Nicky; you've got enough skeletons in your closet to fill a graveyard. Some of them already have. You thought becoming a cop would magically clear them out?"
Finn bit down on Nick's ear.
He screamed. Pain literally blinded him for a second; everything was just agony and fire and points of light...
Something hot and sticky rolled its lazy way down his cheek.
A question rolled around Nick's head. Why? He gasped and hissed and tried to blot out the pain so he could tell them the truth. Because they needed to know. He needed to know. The question had been there every minute of every day since Judy had first pinned on the badge. Every time he got shot at, every time he snapped on the cuffs, every time he wrote a goddamn parking ticket.
Why?
"It's not-" Nick sucked air in and out. Come on. "It's not about making up for my mistakes. It's ab-bout making sure no one else repeats them."
He braced himself for the laughter. The jeers. Instead Finn slumped where he stood as if deboned. When he spoke again, his voice was not his own. It was thin, and frayed around the edges. The voice of an old miser, laden with regret.
"You know I think you were right, Nicky. About me getting out of the game. I've been swimming with sharks all my life, and you can only stay afloat so long. Problem is I've got no idea what I'd do with myself." he chuckled sourly, "Guess it's true what they say about old dogs and new tricks. Do you ever wonder...?"
For a split second Nick saw him; the young wolfhound at the funeral. Green as grass and bursting with ego and energy and life - his whole life was ahead of him. Was that really the same creature that stood before him now, so angry and grey?
Then the image flickered and died. Finn shook himself and the scars leapt out from his muzzle again. "Option number two." he said, almost reminding himself. "The only other reason you'd be holding out is because you lack the proper motivation. Which means we've been wasting our time torturing you for the last six hours. You're making us look like idiots, Nicky-boy."
"You guys do that without my help."
Finn gave a lecherous grin.
"Oh you'd be surprised at how big we're getting Nicky. Our benifactor's a hardline bastard, but not un-generous."
"Yeah," Nick agreed, watching a long strand of swamp slime ooze its way down a wall, "I can see that from your classy supervillain lair. Tell me, has the city health inspector been round here yet?"
Finn seemed not to hear, marching over to the door, gripping it the way one would the pin on a grenade.
"Last chance. Tell us what you know or else."
"Go to the crows." Nick spat.
"Fine. Can't say I didn't warn you. Boys, bring her in!"
Blind panic flooded his system. Her. Oh shit, Judy. They've got Judy-
The two llamas from the car entered the room, holding another mammal between them.
Nick's brain went into shut down mode. Dr Wilde isn't here right now, but if you'd like to make an appointment...
It wasn't Judy. She was a fox. It had been over twenty years and Nick had changed so much, but she had barely aged a day. She still held herself with the exact same, almost regal confidence. The only sign of the intervening years were the crows feet at the corners of her eyes.
The words found him at last.
"... Mom?"
A/N: Hello again. I've been working on this little by little for over a month, but revision and exam practice has been crazy, so shoot me. I hope it was decent, and if anyone could review and give me opinions and pointers on my OCs and the Nox location (which I imagine as a kind of underground favella, like they have in Brazil) please let me know. Was the writing OK?
Above all, I hope you enjoyed it, and tanks so much for being pacient.
