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The Only Sensible Way

(part 6)

She's past the point of thumping by the time their shift is over and the night shift is on. Judy stares at the computer screen with baffled scrutiny like it's an ancient text. A digital scan of a transparent-orange, plastic medicine bottle takes up most of the monitor; the label is scratched up badly, leaving most of the information illegible save for a single first name. Various documents and prescriptions fill the rest of the screen space.

"Are you coming, Farmer Jude?"

"...ungh..."

Nick steps up to her desk, an olive green jacket thrown over his arm and a tired smile on his face. "It's quittin' time. Let's get out of here."

She doesn't look up at him. "...mmmm…"

"C'mon... I'll buy you a drink at The Thirsty Zookeeper."

"..."

"You know you can't say no to those carrot shakes. Let's go."

"Can you please take this seriously?"

Nick pauses. "...what?"

"We almost had a complete disaster on our hands today. Can you please recognize that, Nick, and take all of this a bit more seriously?" He raises both eyebrows in actual indignation. "I'm racking my brains here trying to figure out what to do about this case and you're not even—"

"Woah woah woah, time out." Nick holds his hands out and cuts her off. "First of all, look at me."

"I don't have time to—"

"Look at me, Judy."

She looks up to a very serious vulpine face.

"I am taking this seriously. I let a suspect escape today, and I know ..." Out of the corner of his eye, he spies Officer Wolford slapping a large paw onto Officer Delgato's back as their group of cops stroll out of the room laughing. "...I know how that looks, especially as a rookie. It's not the best, but I'm going to fix that."

Nick shakes his head. "But this isn't about me... You've been on edge these last few days, like really on edge, and I think something else is making you less determined and more… I don't know, blame-y? So what's really wrong here, Carrots?"

Judy hesitates. The interview with that lawyer raccoon flashes across her mind. "I… I… I don't know… I guess… maybe I got caught up in what Chief Bogo was saying to me yesterday? I didn't realize how… how far we were from being the best team we could be."

"Really?"

She shrugs. "I guess I feel bad about making assumptions."

He looks at her incredulously. It's true that it wasn't long ago when an assumption she made cut him to the very bone — when the city was under threat, Judy had doubted their partnership and assumed the worst of not only him but all predators. She'd made amends and they'd patched things up, but this just doesn't feel like the same issue...

Regardless, he shrugs it off. "Well, don't worry about it. I guess we should be making assumptions…" He squints at the image on Judy's computer monitor of the orange medicine bottle and the partial name visible on the torn label. "...about our friend, Robbie the dingo."

"I just can't figure it out," Judy answers, a little too eager to change the focus of the conversation. "There are no leads. We've got nothing from the criminal databases. We don't have a complete name or a good look from the cameras, so there's nothing to go off of. There's no pattern to the stores being held up, so we'd have to stake out every One Buck in Zootopia to catch anything, and Chief Bogo won't assign anybody else to help with this when there's a much bigger investigation underway. All we have is… 'Robbie.'" She sighs loudly, shaking her head of the pessimistic thoughts. "There has to be something here. We've cracked a case on less before..."

Nick smirks. "And this time, you're not even partnered with an amateur."

"Amateur..." Judy holds a pensive expression. "Hey Nick, can I ask you a question that might be a little… weird?"

"Well, this already got weird, so shoot."

"Would you have done what 'Robbie' did?"

His throat suddenly feels a little dry. He can't help but glance around at the precinct and be thankful for the weirdly empty time between the evening and night shifts of ZPD. "When I told you that I was familiar with all the One Bucks in Zootopia, I wasn't really saying that I'd… that I'd been casing them or anything. I'm not a… not a—"

"No, I mean…" Judy considers her words very carefully. "Do the robberies feel, I don't know how to describe it… sloppy? Dumb? Does that make sense?"

"No no, you're onto something. There's something definitely…" He pulls at his collar a bit before continuing. "There's two paths that lead an animal to… uh, 'work outside the law.'"

Judy's eyebrow rises, but she doesn't interrupt so he continues, gesturing with the growing emphasis of his words.

"One is the lifetime membership: you're born on the wrong side of the tracks; you barely fit in the bed with your six brothers and sisters; you start hanging out with the wrong herd for the right reasons; your old man takes you to Bring Your Kid to Work Day 'cause you're small and fit into tight spaces—" Judy fights her rampant curiosity and the urge to raise her eyebrows even higher at such specific scenarios. "—Whatever the sob story, you find yourself three miles down Guano Creek without enough money to rent anything at the paddle store. These kinda animals have a lot of things in common: a rap sheet reaching back to high school, friends in low places, and, if they're any good, safehouses and hideouts."

"Nick, as fascinating as that is," Judy answers, "I'm not really sure where you're going with this…"

"Hold on a second, Thumper, because the second path is the interesting part. Some people aren't career crimin—err, extralegal craftsmen. Some people just want or need something right there, right then. They're not looking to form a business, not looking to build favors or join a crew, just get at what they're eyeing from the outside and go back to being perfectly happy, goodie-two-shoes, law-abiding citizens of the great city of Zootopia."

"You think our frisky dingo Robbie fits in the second category?"

"I know it. He didn't have a solid plan for anything, didn't steal anything valuable, didn't go to a loaded place, didn't have a clean getaway, didn't have any safe places to hide."

"He hurt the cashier pretty bad. That doesn't seem very goodie-two-shoes."

"Eh, the cuts weren't deep, just fleshwounds, and probably an accident. The cat's statement mentioned they got tangled in the display case when he asked for the cash and it shattered on them. Plus, you saw how freaked out he was; I think he was more scared of the blood than getting caught. And he used the SUBWAY SYSTEM as an escape, and he hesitated to jump the turnstyle for the subway! He hesitated! Kiddie criminals don't even do that! Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't have any idea…"

"What is it?" Judy presses.

He pauses long enough that the peculiarity of the conversation turns a bit in her head. She's not used to so much deductive reasoning and detective work from her vulpine partner; it's… oddly invigorating, and she privately loves how quickly it makes her heart beat.

"I don't think he's a criminal at all. I think he's… I don't know, just some shmo caught up in something he can't handle. The cashier said he was really freaking out on her."

"The cat cashier. What did she say exactly? 'He was scared by…'?"

"'The blood,' I think, or something like that. I don't know. Sounds a little too delicate, not like anybody who would've made it ten minutes back where I grew up."

"No, it doesn't. I mean, he was freaked out by the blood. Not scared of the blood like most people, but scared by the blood. And then the medicine bottle…" Judy stands up from the desk. She moves deliberately, almost miming her thoughts as they churn in her small head. "I think… I think he's not just a regular schmo. I think he might be very, very sick. And… very, very desperate."

They silently mull over the possibility that hangs in the air of the quiet police precinct.

Nick breaks the silence with a resigned sigh.

"I know where we gotta go."