...The next day, 6.00am
ZPD Officer Wilde, Precinct One.
ZPD's Precinct One building was unlike almost every other building in the sprawling metropolis. It was wide and flat, an orange plateau of concrete and glass that took up the whole block. Nick often wondered who the architect was and whether they were paid for it. They shouldn't have been. It looked like someone had taken Pride Rock from 'the Lion King' (Nick had watched it on the history channel, and yes it had been illegal cable) and given a troop of elephants free rein to use it as a trampoline. Any overtly large holes had been filled in with glass and explained away as 'natural lighting' before charging ten G's extra. And they called Nick a crook.
Regardless it had become Nick's home away from home in the last two months, so misgivings aside he walked in. He'd regret it. There were two new rules Nicholas Wilde would learn that morning; one was too never arrive early at the precinct, and two was to never give your honest opinion of Pop music to Ben.
The former wasn't because Nick was not a morning person. He wasn't, but that's beside the point. It was because so many other people were. Namely one Benjamin Clawhauser, the Precinct's mascot (Carrots had refused the title on the grounds that she wasn't cute. She was, but arguing the point with her was like arguing with a sleeping baby, it was counterproductive and you'd rather use the energy to appreciate the quiet), receptionist and dispatch. What the hell was he doing at work so early? It was as if the guy never left the building, or his ass was glued to that chair. Take your pick. Both were equally plausible. When Nick walked through the doors at 6am the big spotted fur ball was there, as flamboyant and chipper as ever. He exuded an aura that was horribly uplifting yet positively depressing at the same time. Or maybe only Nick felt that way, he wasn't so sure anymore. Regardless he was quickly roped into a conversation with the guy.
Which is where the second rule came into play; Benjamin had just downloaded the latest Gazelle single. As Nick walked past the reception desk, his feet moving like a zombie in a cheesy 80's horror film, the chubby cat called out. "Hey Nicky," Nick tried not to let out a groan as he lifted his head to stare wearily at Ben, "you're in early."
Besides Nick, Ben was Carrot's best friend in the ZPD. Heck, he was everyone's best friend in the ZPD. Except Nick's, he didn't hate the guy but they weren't besties. He tried not to ponder over that revelation. Nick decided that being snappy with the cheetah was only going to get him an earful from Carrots and maybe a punch in the arm. Instead, he plastered a fake smile and showed off too many teeth. "Sure am. I'm just so excited for another day at work."
The cheetah was jolly, not stupid. He raised a critical eyebrow which said the words 'you must be kidding me Nicky' without him ever having to move his mouth. Nick let out a sigh; he used to be better at lying. "I couldn't sleep. What about you Ben, how's your morning been?"
Benjamin Clawhouser's face flashed with sympathy for a split second before he lit up again. "Oh, I'm so glad you asked," he said in a voice so cheery that Nick knew he wouldn't be, "Gazelle's new single released last night. Have you heard it yet?"
"Don't think so." That was definitely the wrong answer.
"No matter, I've got it right here. Have a listen." Before Nick could object the big cat had turned the volume up on the computer and hit the play button. His ears were almost immediately assaulted by a staccato beat of electronically enhanced instruments.
Admittedly Nick was a little biased. He wasn't much of a Pop fan. Given the chance he would always choose Jazz; the smooth note of the saxophone, trumpet, and double bass was soothing to his ears. The fact that the songs rarely featured the singer repeatedly moaning into the microphone instead of actually singing was another blessing. Oh, oh, oh , oh Try everything? To Nick, there was nothing worse than what sounded like someone's climax being recorded and put through auto-tune. But he wasn't about to say that to Benjamin Clawhauser, the chubby cheetah who was currently swinging his head back and forth to the tune. Eyes closed, a finger of each paw joined his skull in the rhythmic sway, acting so much like a pendulum that Nick wondered if he'd have to physically halt the cheetah's movement even after the song ended. Thankfully it didn't last much longer, the song fading away with a few more repetitions that roughly translated to 'you were still a good person, even if you're not'. Seriously who bought this crap?
Ben did. He stopped moving as soon as the song ended; leaning forward to rest his multiple chins on his paws. His eyes were wide, animated as he looked at Nick expectantly. "So... what do you think?" he practically purred with enthusiasm.
None of the things he thought were particularly friendly. Or child appropriate, which meant they weren't Carrots or Clawhauser appropriate. Instead, he watered it down until it was the vaguest truth. Shrugging with his hands stuffed in his regulation blue trousers he said, "It's not really my thing."
Another wrong answer.
The bubbly, flamboyant and friendly animal he knew was suddenly rather intimidating. Nick only now remembered that this guy was a predator, and had the sudden urge to run. Like an alligator rising out of the murky swamp, the aggressiveness that hid beneath Ben's cuddly exterior made an appearance. From the happy brow arrived a narrowed eye ridge, and from his massive neck, Nick saw a strong jaw bone jut out, tightening as if it was a noose being slung around the fox's neck. He had a feeling any moment now the enraged cheetah would yell 'Heresy!' and the rest of the ZPD would jump out of their hiding places carrying pitchforks and torches, Judy front and centre.
"Not your thing? How is that even possible?" Ben's hands were a blur as they raged in front of him, "that doesn't make any sense!"
Nick held up his paws in surrender. "I think we just have different tastes in music."
Don't know when to stop digging, do you slick? If he ever hit rock bottom he was sure he'd ask for another shovel. The damn cheetah's eyes bulged as he froze mid-rant, turning to glare at Nick like he'd just spotted a succulent gazelle (the species not the singer), or possibly a donut. "Are you telling my Nicholas Wilde, first fox officer of the Zootopia Police Department, that youdo not like Gazelle?"
To be fair, Nick had liked her last song, 'try everything'. Well liked might be too strong a word. Tolerated, maybe? But that wasn't the point, and he had already hesitated too long because Clawhouser's was looking ready to kill. His eyes were dark beads of concentration and Nick suddenly wanted to tear his way to the bullpen or the break room. He had a sinking feeling that despite this cheetah's appearance, he could be fast when he wanted to.
He was saved by the bell. Well, technically the bull. His ears twitched and he snapped his muzzle up and around to stare at the third floor, where Chief Bogo had called his name. Jesus, does everyone live in this joint. If he hadn't physically seen proof that she owned an apartment, he'd expect Judy Hopps to be sitting at her desk, like the bright and energetic unofficial mascot she was (because she was cute), even now. The massive Cape Buffalo's arm was pointed towards the bullpen, and the offices, on the other side of which lay the Chief's little room. But Nick saw the situation as a ladder and used it as a way out of the impossibly deep hole he'd dug himself. He casually said the chief needed him as if the large cheetah hadn't heard it himself. Then before he could get a response, he scurried down the atrium to the bullpen like the frightened fox he was.
To be fair, he didn't know what the Chief wanted from him this time. Probably not to sing his praises and hand him a medal. But Nick hadn't done anything bad lately. Or at least he hasn't done anything worth mentioning, bad being such a subjective term. It was only once he was standing outside the old stained door that he realised it might be for the Thumper Burglary.
Nick had always wondered about the door. To him it represented the enigma that was Chief Bogo. It had a hard rough aesthetic, plain looking but the square window set into the top half of it was frosted. To prevent prying eyes. Or to keep a mysterious privacy. The only thing that marred the milky white perfection were the two words. 'Chief' and 'Bogo'. Nick being the curious fox he was, had asked everyone in the Precinct about Bogo's first name. Nobody knew. He'd found that hard to believe but his instinct told him that no one had been lying. He supposed he could hack the database to find out, but that was a mystery for another time. He knocked out a short three beats on the wood before hearing the usual response. "Come in."
The buffalo was already sitting behind his desk when Nick enters. It's a second before he realises the intercom light on the old phone that had probably been there since the Precinct's construction was on, indicating the Chief was talking to someone else. Nick wondered if he knew them. Another second for Clawhauser's voice to crystallize in his ear, "and he said 'it wasn't his thing.' Like how is Gazelle not everyone's thing? She's the greatest hero of our time."
Bogo looked up with a pointed eyebrow at the fox that slunk into one of the chairs. His voice was deep yet placating when he said, "Alright Clawhauser, I'll have a word with him."
He tapped a button with his hoof to end the call. Cracking his thick neck to the side loudly he focused unerringly on Nick. Despite himself, Nick gulped. Surely the Chief wouldn't be so petty, but he remembered the buffalo had attended Gazelle's last concert with Clawhauser, so he obviously was a fan. Then again, it wasn't like Nick and Bogo were on speaking terms, especially after Nick had taped the words 'CHIEF BUFFALO-BUTT' over his door. (It was a full day before the big guy noticed. The aftermath hadn't been pretty.) So maybe he would be so petty.
"Chief, I would like to explain." He started quickly, "I'm more of a jazz guy-."
He was halted with a single raised hoof. His voice was eerily calm and confident as he spoke, something that didn't put the ex-con at ease. "Officer Wilde, everyone is entitled to their own opinion." A beat later he added, "Even if it is a stupid fucking opinion. But that's not why I asked you here."
"Shit, you were asking? Didn't know I had the choice." Nick was despite himself, smirking. Contrary to their dislike of each other, the Chief and Nick had their own type of banter. Probably not as friendly as his back-and-forth with Carrots, and definitely with a lot more cussing, but it worked. Nick could even say he didn't hate the guy. Sometimes.
"Hilarious Wilde, you should be a comedian." The buffalo was completely deadpan, "But enough with the pleasantries."
From the table, the buffalo picked up a plastic Ziploc bag. Nick recognised it, of course, he fucking recognised it. He was the one who'd bagged the evidence; a little tuft of red fur that he'd almost hidden from Judy. He'd actually contemplated destroying the evidence. Then again yesterday, when they'd returned to the Precinct, Nick had separated from Judy to take it to Forensics whilst she went to get them lunch. Again he'd been sorely tempted to accidently dispose of it along the way. But he'd quelled the traitorous thoughts and handed it over to the horse in the lab called Colton. The mammal had raised an appraising eye at him as Nick explained its connection to the case; even the horse had known it was fox fur. "What can you tell me about this, Wilde?" Bogo said presently.
He hesitated, was this some sort of test. Prove your loyalty officer, say the words. Most of them, at least. "It's fox fur, sir."
"And..." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. What more was there to say, for crying out loud.
"It isn't mine." The Chief raised an eyebrow, "And it was found at the Sahara Square robbery, probably left behind by the crook."
"Is that all?" The Chief knew, fuck he knew. Of course, it wasn't all. Nick knew almost everything worth knowing about the owner just by getting a sniff of the fur. Foxes were very territorial, hence, why normally you didn't see a whole lot of foxes in one neighbourhood(there were exceptions), and they were designed biologically to read potential rivals through the smells left behind. So yeah he knew more than he let on.
"The suspect is male. Young just reached adulthood. Non-smoker but frequently interacts with others who do. He also recently started courting a female that he sees regularly, but is not yet sleeping with. Oh and he works two jobs, or at least works a job and studies elsewhere. Regardless one is physical, I believe it's dishwashing, and the other involves extensive use of pen and paper." He said it all as unemotionally as possible. The Chief for his part looked neither impressed nor surprised, and Nick wondered (not for the first time) how much interaction he'd had with foxes previously. It was a little-known fact that foxes actually had a better sense of smell than dogs. Only wolves were on par with them but they could not distinguish the different scents the way foxes did.
Nick watched as the Chief picked up another item off the desk, the evidence report. Reading it over once, the Chief looked up. "Forensics confirms as much, although there is no mention of the love interest and the second job. Also, his DNA isn't on file. But my question is, if you knew about this, why didn't you say something sooner?"
Nick slouched a little in his seat, there was a reason. But it was not exactly something he wanted to let the Chief know about. "It's not exactly a science, Chief. I wanted forensics to confirm it before I spouting theories. They're hardly going to hand out a warrant based on a predators instinct, especially that of a fox." The last part came out bitter. But he wasn't going to apologise, even the Chief was biased against his species. The buffalo had been attempting to make amends since Nick joined but the memory of their first meeting in the Rainforest District was still seared into his memory like a brand. He remembered Chief Bogo telling Officer Judy Hopps that he was never going to trust a fox and ordering her to hand over her badge. It was a sour reminder that burned and festered and kept.
Carrots might forgive and forget but Nick wasn't her. He wasn't a saint like Judy Hopps, despite the fact he wore a uniform.
The Chief of the ZPD softened a little, by which his shoulders went from tense to merely up tight. "That's true." There was a moment's pause before he started again, he seemed to be hesitant. "When I was a rookie officer, I had a case like this. A new player to the scene was dealing narcotics on a scale unheard of at the time and my partner, another buffalo, and I were put on the case. Weeks were spent chasing down leads, and they kept coming up short. It was like they disappeared the second we started looking for them. I was so frustrated that I almost gave up, there were no more leads to follow. But there was this boar, an old face on the streets that was known to frequent the area where these deals were going down. He got word to me that he'd seen who was behind it all and set up a meeting."
"But then there was this boar, an old face on the streets that was known to frequent the area where these deals were going down. He got word to me that he'd seen who was behind it all and we set up a meeting."
Despite himself, Nick leaned forwards. This was the closest insight he had ever gotten regarding his boss. But he could sense the proverbial other shoe waiting to drop. "What happened? Did he get cold feet?"
Chief Bogo let out a chuckle, "No, he was there. In a dumpster with a bullet through his skull. The dealer got to him first." Nick's ears slunk back but he wasn't overly moved. He'd heard so many stories on the street of people being whacked because they knew too much that it became a fact of life. If you got involved in the wrong shit, you were going to get shot. Sure it was unfortunate, but it was also practical. It was why so many foxes, weasels, and hyenas (the three most common species of criminal), are so sure of themselves. Because if they over-estimate their abilities they wind up dead, if they under-estimate themselves then they get nowhere. The only alternative is to be confident without being boastful. "But that in turn gave me the break I needed to catch the guy."
"You traced the bullet?"
A nod. "To a .38 police standard issue snub-nosed revolver. Customised to be operable by hooves."
"It was a cop?"
Another nod. "There were only two ungulate police officers on the force at that time. Me and..."
It clicked home like the hammer of a pistol, sending the answer shooting out of Nick's mouth like a bullet. Fuck it was, "Your partner."
Another nod, this one was accompanied with a tightening of his jaw. "Yes, Officer Caffer was behind the murder and the drugs. He and I grew up together. Went to the same school together. We'd been best friends for as long as I could remember, were even in the same class of the police academy. And suddenly I knew that he was dirty, that he was a murderer."
"So what did you do?" He knew the Chief was waiting for the question. He reckoned he already knew the answer.
"What needed to be done." There was no bravado in those words, no boasting. It was the hard truth; he didn't want to do it, but he'd done it anyway. "I arrested him and four months later he got the chair."
"Jesus fucking Christ." Nick couldn't hold back the grimace, his ears pulling back against his skull at the thought. But he didn't say he was sorry for what Bogo had to do, he wasn't the sort to offer false apologies. He had a feeling the buffalo wasn't the thought to accept them. But it was a fucked up situation, choosing the job over your friend, your species. Nick didn't envy him, he wasn't sure he could make the same call.
Suddenly it dawned on him. His face betrayed that fact.
Bogo put his hooves down on opposite sides of the bag and report, framing them in between the unbreakable will of the ZPD. "Exactly. I have one question for you Wilde, and I'm only going to ask it once. Can I count on you to do what needs to be done? Or do I need to pull you off the case."
Nick's anger flared like a flame doused with gasoline. How dare he? Did he even know what he was asking? For Nick to go against his kind. He'd been this fox six months ago, willing to do anything to make a buck and survive another night on the streets. Now he was meant to turn tail and collar that which he'd once been. He wanted to snap at the buffalo that he had no idea what he was asking, that if it wasn't for ZPD Officer Judy Hopps he would be the exact same.
Then he calmed down almost instantly, of course, the chief knew. That's what this little jog down memory lane had been about. The Chief understood completely. Fuck, the buffalo had probably already guessed why Nick was in early, why Nick couldn't sleep; the nightmares that plagued him. Nightmares that reminded him how he was nothing but a crook playing dress up. The dreams that tell him how easy the roles could be reversed. That's why the Chief asked, because he was the only one who could? The only one who understood fully when he asked whether Nick would hunt down another fox.
Would he though? When they found the fox in question, would he be able to arrest him. Sling the cold metal cuffs and throw him in jail for a crime that Nick could have been guilty of less than a year ago. It was the lowest form of hypocrisy, turning traitor and attacking your own for the things you had also done. It made him sick to his stomach. But he'd sworn an oath. Not an oath to the city. No, when he gave his pledge to become a cop, it had been to Judy. The one person to believe in him since his mother.
He owed it to her to be a good cop.
"I'll do what's needed." He grunted, every word feeling like a weight had been placed on his shoulders.
The Chief didn't give him a thumbs up or a 'good work Wilde', but just nodded. He knew it wasn't something to celebrate. "Then I have no further questions, you're dismissed."
As Nick stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind himself, he had an epiphany. He thought he understood Chief Bogo a little better now. It wasn't about having a private office or eating lunch with the mayor or yelling at green rookies. Staring up at the golden letters hanging above him, they didn't look so much like laurels. Now the word 'Chief' was the albatross around Bogo's neck. This is what it meant to be Chief. You had to make the tough decisions, ask the tough questions and bare the consequences. You had to test your people's integrity, honour and commitment even if they were your friends. Especially if they were your friends. If they fell short, you were the one who put them down.
And maybe that was why you didn't put your name on the door. Didn't call them by their first names. You couldn't allow the intimacy that such a thing provoked. Because you didn't want to make friendships if you lived every day knowing you might have to break them, and your heart along with it. Maybe it was easier not to have friends when that was the alternative.
