Weekly update came a day early, oh dang.

I dunno how I feel about this thing as a finished product – it took a handful of rewrites – but I think I'm satisfied from a setup-for-future-things-that-will-happen perspective. At the very least, I think we're well over halfway through now. That's exciting! Halfway at the least, probably.

The Redemption of Gideon Grey

Ch. 7

The Bunnyburrow Fall Harvest Festival had a long, proud history of non-aggression. That was part of why the three-day festival held in a remote part of the countryside attracted so many visitors from the town and its surrounding areas. Even the occasional Zootopian made the hours-long train ride into town, even for just a day, despite the general understanding that it was a Bunnyburrow resident-centric event – not like they were going to check each and every person's ID, so long as you were not a predator. Not too many out-of-towners – the town had just one inn – but it was a spectacle all the same.

And why not? It was one of the few times of the year where some of the most succulent, delectable goods from the country's farmland could be sampled and even purchased fresh off the vine or from the soil. No one tended to complain about the food situation in Zootopia – in fact, its produce was actually quite good, propped up a bit by the fact that a chunk of it indeed came from a place like Bunnyburrow – but straight-from-the-source purchases could not be ignored as one of the most scintillating treats for a city slicker with a farm-to-table affinity, and the festival in Bunnyburrow was one of the best – granted you were a prey animal, of course.

That had been the main drawback. In older times, all such festivals were that way. The predators had their own, prey theirs. It was not necessarily dwelled upon too deeply – it just was. Tradition, certainly. Xenophobia, sure, though few would admit to it. Mostly tradition.

Things had changed, but Gideon Grey could not decide if it was for the better.

Initially, he welcomed the chance to attend the festival. The predators' local shindig in Foxgrove had lost its luster in recent years, though even in its heyday it paled in comparison to, say, Bunnyburrow's. More money to be made, certainly, but also a much better opportunity to expand the reach of one's business. The drawbacks, on paper, seemed limited, if even existent at all.

But Gideon had settled into a fine routine. His pies were mostly sold at the Hopps farm, meaning his relations with prey animals were curtailed significantly. He saw a few others, made some deliveries to the more accepting of the community and made it his business to be at least somewhat visible around town, but he did not kid himself: he lived near a town where half of its residents still carried fox repellent or at least kept a can or two around the house. He was a fox. He understood his standing in the community.

And anyway, predator admittance for the festival had set the fox on a path that led him to the outburst he figured may very well have sealed his fate as a ne'er-do-well in the eyes of Bunnyburrow for all his days, no matter how delicious he ever made his pies.

He had half a mind to pick up his things and leave, but Gideon had already decided to leave the fruits of his labor with Stu and Bonnie Hopps – granted, of course, they permitted it, which he did not foresee being an issue. It was how to tell them that presently worried him, because while they had not yet heard of what happened in The Icy Koala with his old friend Travis Ferris, they soon would, whether he told them or not.

However, Stu Hopps was nowhere to be found once Gideon re-entered the festival grounds. In fact, neither was anyone else.

The fox sniffed the air once. He turned to his left, then his right, and repeated the motion a few times over. It was true: the grounds were bereft of people, clearly occupied due to the abundance of tents, tables, booths and the like, but otherwise one would never guess a soul had been there all day – which Gideon knew was pointedly incorrect, because not an hour before, plenty had pulled their trucks into the nearby parking lot or walked in from town to begin unpacking. Shoot, he thought, festival itself starts in a few hours.

"What's goin' on?"

He hoped his voice, however whispered, might catch the attention of some wayward being in or near his presence, but Gideon soon realized two things instead.

One, he was alone. Completely. Utterly. Beyond all reason.

Two, may have been because of the growing din on the far edge of town, a cacophony Gideon sensed as a mix of raised voices and the purr of an engine, maybe two.

Finally, there was someone else: a bear, which he recognized from a brief foray over into their area as one of the vendors, loping toward the noise, which Gideon now realized was coming from off farther than even the main entrance, on its way to City Hall.

The bear noticed the fox's agape look and slowed her gait for just a moment. "What're you doing out here?" she panted, only slightly out of breath, wiping sweat from her brown-furred brow. "C'mon, this affects all of us!"

Gideon did not fancy himself a runner or really an athlete of any type, but he followed as closely behind the bear as he could in a brisk trot of his own as the noise grew louder, the unmistakable sound of an idling automobile engine swirling amid shouts mixed with more tempered conversation…

…and the mild crackle of a live flame.

The fox rounded the corner to the right of the festival entrance and beheld, at last, what appeared to be each and every person who had been at the Fall Harvest Festival for setup that morning, and perhaps then some, whether it be a vendor or festival organizers and volunteers. The latter could be made out only barely over the heads of spectating others, but through the hubbub Gideon witnessed Skip Clover, front and center, arms folded.

He did not want to push through, so Gideon found his way quickly to one edge of the crowd. From the corner of his eye he spotted two trucks – the idling noise, of course. One was painted a deep red, with the other a slightly faded jean blue. He wondered if the blue truck might, perchance, have a crudely-painted-on yellow stripe on its side, supposed to look like a thunderbolt but instead coming out as a messy zagged line that did not proclaim its owner as the tough guy he had hoped to be when a certain 16-year-old fox had painted it so many years ago.

Gideon shielded his eyes against the sunlight that beat unceremoniously down into his eyes, as many on his side of the situation had, too, done. Yes, there it was: the blue truck with the yellow stripe. It all made sense now. When Travis had left the coffee shop, the fox had barely registered the low purr of a truck that pulled away moments later and was completely gone by the time he, too, exited.

A blur of a rabbit brushed past him; Gideon, wits about him albeit delayed, recognized one of the fest volunteers, a bunny named Edmond, brandishing a fire extinguisher that was far too large for him but the only thing for the job anyway – well, except, apparently, the heel of Clover's boot, which had already done the job with which Edmond was tasked, it seemed.

"Told ya we didn't need it, Edmond," Clover said, spitting at the ground once. "Just some trash on fire. Nothin' more."

The rabbit unshouldered the great red cylinder, and it clattered to the ground, rolling across the dirt right to the feet of Travis Ferris, who barely registered its presence. The ferret had eyes only for Clover, and they were not pleasant.

The constable dared not bend over and pick up the now-burnt-up pieces of paper that lay in the dirt and grass around him – six or seven in all, but he motioned pointedly at them, and then to the ferret and his accomplices – most of whom Gideon acknowledged as old friends and acquaintances of his, there was Roland, Mike, Amy, yeah, gang was all here. "What," Clover boomed, and Gideon found his voice seemingly more focused, more determined, than it had any day prior, "are these?"

Travis stood astride a small collection of fellow ferrets, foxes, felines and the like, but he was centermost. His chest heaved; as he walked up, Gideon had seen him leap off the roof of one of the trucks, but there was more than slight fatigue in his movement. The scowl plastered across his face upturned into a grin, a little more than a sneer.

"You're right, probably won't do much good to try to read 'em now," glowered the ferret. "Those're some of the copies of that bogus rules sheet you sent around to all the predators selling at your festival this year." He spread his arms wide. "Wanted to let the good folks of Bunnyburrow know what we thought of 'em."

There was a little over a dozen predators in total facing off against what had become some of the rest of the town and even its visitors. It dawned on Gideon that two – Mike, the fellow fox who owned the blue truck, and then a jaguar from Serengeti Springs named Jarrod who had taken to hanging with their clique a little later into high school once he'd moved there – were holding wooden baseball bats, though both had stowed the long objects down at their side. He wondered what they had planned to do with them. Smashing mailboxes was one thing; they did that plenty as kids.

There were no mailboxes in sight.

Clover's eyes bore into Travis for a few moments longer in silence. "Don't see how that affects your ilk here," he rumbled. "Seeing as how you're not vending this festival."

"Preds gotta stick together. You understand, I'm sure."

The rabbit sniffed once. "If they don't like our rules, I hear that Foxgrove festival is just on the horizon. You might even break even."

"Yeah, because they aren't paying table fees, I bet," growled the weasel Roland, who flicked the lighter that had lit the projectiles on fire to begin with as though it was a personal tic.

Across the way, Gideon, still under shade of his paw, realized that Judy Hopps had appeared – she had come from the direction of the city hall, or so it seemed. Nick Wilde loomed behind her; his paws were in his pockets, frame relaxed a bit as he viewed the proceedings from behind his partner, who, in contrast, was dead set on the standoff. He watched her paw reach instinctively to where her belt might be, but pawed merely at fabric, there was nothing there.

Constable Clover remained cool, if not completely impassive. He spat once into the dirt and rubbed it into the ground with his boot. He glared again at the predators in front of him. "And settin' stuff on fire and bringin' baseball bats, that's sure gonna help your cause, ain't it?"

Jarrod gripped his bat tighter.

"And what's the meaning of this?"

Nick and Judy had run to the scene, but Mayor Cotton, certainly not as sprightly as the officers, had taken a little longer to make it from the second floor of City Hall down to the scene in front of the festival's main entrance. But she was there now, as was Barney Thumper, Violet Lamberson and, not long after, Judy's dad. He and Gideon locked eyes, and the rabbit nodded and moved around the crowd toward the fox.

The mayor spoke again: "What in tarnation is the problem here? Travis? Roland? Anyone?" Her arms were folded across her shirt, her voice as raised as Gideon could ever recall it being – which was still quite the dulcet tone, sure, but with an edge to which he was not accustomed.

Travis swallowed hard. Gideon was beginning to wonder what had even possessed his old friends to come in the first place; surely, there would not have been much time in between the ferret's departure from The Icy Koala and the scene here now. And he seemed to be faltering now; when he spoke again, now in the presence of the mayor, his voice was weaker.

"Y-you see, Mayor," the ferret stammered, "we got a hold of the rules sheets for the preds this morning…"

"Ah. And this seems like a rational response."

"And then you threw Carl Pumaski in the slammer!"

"Carl Pumaski has been transferred to the county holding facility for questioning," Clover stated. "For a crime evidence suggests he most certainly committed."

"Him?!" the ferret gazed, almost pleadingly at the constable. "Him, though?!"

"Evidence don't tend to lie."

Judy was watching the scene with poise, originally expecting to have needed to handle the situation before realizing Constable Clover was already on the case. She watched the volunteers alongside the constable – and, too, the folks behind them, including even some of the predator vendors – shift uncomfortably, and she could understand why; in a situation in which predator animals were already being victimized, she thought, this was not a good look for change.

She considered briefly telling Nick just that, but when she looked up, he was gone.

Her eyes darted around – semi-quick movements of her head, too, but not so much as to perhaps startle those around her. This was not a time for quick motions, even though she was almost certain no one was carrying a gun or anything of the sort.

The first thing she finally saw of him was his paws and the lower legs of his pants on the other side of one of the trucks – she could not see the rest of his body, but that was unmistakably Nick, inching up, ever so slightly, toward the opposing predators.

And then she realized why, though it happened so fast: in one quick motion she had warned herself against, the fox leapt from behind the truck and snatched the baseball bats from Mike and Jarrod – one, then the other; they had been standing vaguely near each other, just behind Travis, but their grip on the possible weapons was loose, clearly, since Nick had been able to grasp both so easily.

Sly fox, she thought, smiling just a little.

Jarrod, the jaguar, threw up his paws at once in alarm and backed away, caught by surprise, but Mike the fox could not help but aim a particularly potent growl at his fellow vulpine creature, though he stopped almost immediately when he realized he was looking back into the triumphant eyes of someone like him, someone who gave an innocent shrug right back.

"We w-weren't gonna actually use 'em, honest," Jarrod called, head darting back and forth between Nick and the mayor. "Oh, jeez, please don't tell my parents!"

"Pipe down, jeez," growled Mike, his eyes still on Nick.

At the front of the group, Travis ran a paw against his head, right on the temple, massaging the point with his eyes closed. They snapped back open and he turned to the mayor. "No, no, he's right, we weren't," he entreated quickly. "For show. I promise. You know I'd never actually hurt anyone, Miss – I mean, Mayor Cotton."

The mayor shifted her weight onto her other leg. "That doesn't look too good on anyone, Mr. Ferris," she mused. "Especially not someone like yourselves. You had to know that going in."

Nick winced. Someone like yourselves. Not the word choice he would have gone with.

Travis blinked, mouth open. "You're sayin'… because I'm a…"

"It doesn't matter," Cotton said. "My office is always open, Mr. Ferris, but I've never seen you. Or any of you."

"Because you –"

"Mayor!" interjected Judy, stopping Travis, who closed his mouth. The rabbit whirled around to the mayor, her paws outstretched, palms down. "Can I… may I…"

The bunny mayor looked as though she might say something else, but seemed to think better of it, spreading her arms as though to permit progress.

Judy did not take the time to thank the mayor. Taking a deep breath, she, paws clenched determinedly, walked out into the dirt-and-grass space in between where Clover and Travis stood off.

Nick joined Gideon and now Stu Hopps at the other end of the crowd, two baseball bats in paw.

"Know what she's doin'?" Gideon whispered to the fox.

"Probably something either unnecessarily brave or unnecessarily stupid. Realistically, both. Not that," he glanced down at the bats he held, "I have room to talk."

Well, he thought, thinking back to the time spent on the road to the Thumpers, and that other thing, too.

And to be fair, Judy herself was not sure of what she was about to try to accomplish. Her mind raced a thousand miles a second, poring rapidly over scenario after scenario, popping possible responses into place like puzzle pieces. She felt almost naked without her utility belt, which might have held some sort of protection against something, but hey, Chief Bogo's rules.

Finally: "Hey, Travis. Been a while."

The ferret offered a meek "Hey," but nothing more. It had been years since they had been an arm's length or two apart from each other – not since high school – let alone spoken.

"How are things? How's the family?"

"They're… fine."

"Hopps, I don't –"

Judy turned on Travis and aimed a look at Skip Clover, who had begun to speak himself. He ceased, though with a begrudging glare.

"Travis…" the bunny started again, swiveling back around, "this whole thing sucks, doesn't it?"

The ferret swallowed, but said nothing.

"This whole thing, this whole situation, this is terrible," she said again, this time loud enough that nearly everyone around could hear. "It's just… no good."

She could feel Nick's gaze on her before she even looked toward him. His eyes said everything: what in the heck are you doing, Carrots? She had no answer for them.

"Everyone, do you realize how much of this sort of thing used to happen in Zootopia every day?" she questioned. "Predators vs. prey, prey vs. predator. Stupid rules, silly regulations. Nick," she called, "how many times did you try to get a jumbo pop from the elephants' ice cream place but were turned down because you weren't one of them?"

"Almost every day."

"And how fair was that?"

"Well, I absolutely, positively never got a jumbo pop, not once in my life, definitely not, so there's that."

She would have given him a sock to the side, but he was too far away.

Judy continued, "Here's the deal, though: we tried to get through it all. We tried to make that city a better place even though that sort of thing happened every day. And you know what?" she grinned. "We didn't fix it. We never will. But that's not the point.

"The point is, when this sort of stuff gets us down, pits us against each other, do we fight? Yell? Scream? Square off in some field? Pull out baseball bats and act like we're gonna hit something other than a mailbox with them?" She shot a look at Mike, who scowled back. "No. We fix our problems the right way, even if," and this look was directed at Clover, "someone might've started it off all wrong."

"Judy," Travis said at last. Whatever gusto he once had seemed to have been sucked from him, or at least had burrowed deep somewhere in his psyche. "It's not… the rules aren't… Mr. Pumaski wasn't supposed to…"

The rabbit officer stared. "He wasn't supposed to… what?"

Grunting, the constable took a step forward. "She's right," he said, and there was still that begrudging tone, the sound of a man who had clear discontent for the situation but at least valued its principles – or did not want to fight that very battle. "We oughta talk. Somewhere else."

The ferret blinked at the rabbit across from him. Their eyes met. He nodded sluggishly.

Clover nodded briskly to the other animals who flanked him on either side. Then: "Miss Cotton, let's discuss the rules for this year's festival, shall we?"

"Down to the wire," muttered Nick.

The next half hour went by quickly for Judy especially. At first she watched as the mayor announced to the crowd of festival vendors that they would consider changes to the rules sheet and to go about business as usual. Then came being whisked away to City Hall for no apparent reason other than to simply be there while Cotton, Clover and anyone else present from the festival council met within the mayor's office to pore over the vendor rules sheet – though not before she participated in, or really more accurately sat in on, a meeting outside in which, against many odds, Travis and his posse were allowed to leave, granted, of course, they did not return for the duration of the festival.

But why was she there? Her father she understood; Stu was on the committee that planned the festival, after all, and was even instrumental in allowing predator access to begin with that year. She, on the other paw, sat once again inside the city hall front office, in that same chair, waving those same legs eagerly while that same personal assistant thumbed through the same phone.

The rabbit felt queasy, sick to her stomach, as though something buried deep inside her threatened to rise up and spill forth in a completely unsavory manner. She had validated her current location based on the idea that perhaps her input would be necessary if the mayor allowed it, but everything else made little sense. She – Judy Hopps, the little police officer so many in her town had written off as some wide-eyed kid who, if she ever made it to Zootopia's police department would be little more than a meter maid – had successfully quelled what otherwise appeared to be open rebellion just hours before one of the town's biggest boons of each year.

But a few things bothered her.

First was the stare Travis gave her, and then Clover, before he climbed back into his truck to leave for the day. There was something in his look, his stern gaze that burrowed deep inside her, burning, as though it may pop out through the other end, that, frankly, unsettled her. It was not malicious, per se, but there was no friendliness either. The moment was made stranger by her father's declaration, as they climbed the path to City Hall, that Gideon had sheepishly told him he and Travis had gotten into some sort of fight right before the standoff, and that something certainly felt off about the fox.

Then, well, Belle Thumper was back.

Judy did not know why she was there; as far as she was aware, the Thumper family had never sold any of its produce at the Fall Harvest Festival, though perhaps times had changed. Regardless, she was the only Thumper aside from her uncle Judy saw, and it happened in what should have been – and initially was – one of the more relieving moments of her life.

Nick was beside her shortly after Clover's declaration to the mayor that they would work on the rules sheet. Her dad was there after. And then others, more, finally a small crowd of people – far from everyone there, of course, but a formidable number, perhaps a dozen and a half. Carrie Woolington, Larry Goatsby, all had a pat for her back and a few kind words for her pride – after all, Larry in particular said, she had done what even the town constable could not: diffuse some tension.

Yet through the teeming mass of mammals that surrounded her, and even among another larger group that had gone their separate ways, walking off in different directions here and there, back toward the festival or maybe to the parking lot, there was Belle, standing, staring straight ahead, directly at her.

Their gazes intertwined finally, and immediately Judy felt almost a burning sensation, a sting, a searing pain in her skull – that was how Belle Thumper's scowl affected her, from the profundity of its intense disapproval and sheer malevolence. Belle merely shook her head at Judy after a few seconds, somehow maintaining eye contact even as others occasionally blocked their view, then began to turn. Judy's dad stepped in front of her shortly thereafter to ruffle the fur atop her head lovingly, and by the time he had moved again, she was gone.

She heard the now-familiar creak of the front door to City Hall and her ears perked up, initially not realizing the incoming visitor was coming from outside rather than in.

Nick Wilde stepped inside, brushing down his green shirt and glancing around before spotting Judy sitting in the waiting area nearby. "Didn't expect to see you down here," he breathed, making his way over. "What's up? Why'd they take you away?"

The bunny could only offer a shrug. "What've you been up to?"

"What Bogo brought us down here to do to begin with," the fox said. "Or… were to do, I guess." He jerked his head toward the building's side parking lot. "Looks like reinforcements are here."

"What…?"

It was Nick's turn to shrug. "Dunno. County police, I'll tell ya that. Bet you someone called them down once stuff started hitting the fan. Or maybe…" He snapped his fingers. "Right, Pumaski, they were here for that already."

Judy cocked her head. "So you think they're staying?"

"Carrots," said Nick with a grin, "first a big ol' predator storms into the mayor's office and is arrested shortly after for theft. Then two mangy pickup trucks holding a couple highly pissed-off predators come rolling in wielding pitchforks – OK, no, not pitchforks, but they might as well have, you guys have those around here in bulk, right? Pitchfork store? Anyway, you think two cops from Zootopia are gonna cut it anymore in the mayor's eyes?"

"Should just make Clover actually do his job," she huffed.

"Then that would make three, which still probably isn't ideal to the casual observer. Let Sheriff Stick-in-the-Mud have the fun he supposedly has at these things," Nick scoffed, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "Besides, after the rules misunderstanding gets cleared up…"

"Maybe…"

"What?" said Nick incredulously. "You think they won't change anything?"

Judy stared up at the ceiling, where, above them, talks were undoubtedly proceeding. "I'm… not so sure. Have this feeling."

They stood and sat in silence for a few moments, before Judy finally spoke again: "Anyway, why are you here?"

Nick clapped his paws together. "Right! Right. Phone's still charging in here, remember?"

Shifting her weight against the chair, Judy finally spied the little white cord sticking out of the lone power outlet visible, which Nick was now disconnecting, phone in hand. He tapped the screen a few times, and for a fleeting moment Judy saw the fox's eyes widen, eyebrows raise, before quickly shrugging off the sentiment and returning to their usual dim-eyed setup.

"By the way," he called, still thumbing through his phone, "about earlier…" he stole a glance at Trevor, the receptionist, who had barely acknowledged them, "…forget I said anything, OK?"

"I…"

"Wasn't thinking right," the fox said, shaking his head, but still refusing to look up from his phone and its many diversions. "Probably the case. Now that that's done, I'm… I mean, look, I get it. Friends. Partners." He looked at her finally, and in his eyes Judy saw nothing but gravity. "That's what you meant, right? 'I don't know'? Caught you off guard, didn't it?"

A million things already weighed on Judy Hopps' mind, and this just added to the pile. The bunny had nearly been able to successfully push away the question , that thing from earlier, on the way to the Thumper farmstead, but here it was, back again – except now Nick was… changing his tune? Diverging?

Jettisoning the very thing he claimed had been building up inside him for the past few weeks, even months?

The fox took a few steps toward her, shoving the phone and its charger back into his pocket. "So, yeah." His voice was chipper. "I'm gonna go talk to these officers outside and introduce myself, see how this whole thing'll work out. Then maybe I'll pop over to the festival, see if your dad needs any more help. If there's time left over afterward, we can always go find that ol' Longfellow boyfriend of yours—"

He had not expected the kiss. Neither of them did, really, but least of all Nick. Rabbits were fast, he knew that, but the speed with which Judy lifted herself onto the chair, stood on its cushion and awkwardly grabbed his face with her paws caught even Zootopia's first fox police officer off guard.

Or maybe he had initiated it? He could not tell, or even recall much after the fact – little outside of, yes, this was happening, this was definitely a thing that was happening, and it was a thing he did not mind happening one bit.

It was not a long one, anyway. For once in their lives, Judy and Nick were on the same level, same playing field, same line of vision. He had to hand it to her, though, the bunny certainly went for it; it was no innocent peck on the cheek, not even a miniscule embrace in which their lips barely brushed. Judy Hopps, he decided, played for keeps.

A noisy thud broke them apart, and Judy scrambled off the chair and onto the floor, nearly tripping over one of the chair's arms in the process. Nick, relieved from his momentary stupor, reeled to his left.

Trevor had dropped his phone against the table. Quickly he had snatched it back up, though he was still fumbling with his grip on it once their eyes found him, concentrating hard to make it look like he had just dropped his phone because, you know, things like that will happen, clumsy me, certainly not because a fox and a rabbit just suddenly kissed in front of me, not that one bit.

In the months leading up to that day, Nick had not once seen Judy's nose twitch in his presence, certainly not while he was paying attention, but he could not avoid that, as his partner beside him absentmindedly smoothed out her clothing, brushing herself off, for whatever reason deciding to check for dirt on her shoulder in that very moment of all moments, the center of her face was practically contorting.

And for once in his life, Nick Wilde did not have a clever retort.

"So…" the fox started, still collecting his wits, "uh, guess I'll… go do that thing… with the officers… yeah. You'll be here?"

"Yeah," whispered Judy meekly in a tone even a predator with hearing such as Nick could barely register.

"Yeah. Good. Be here," he held out his paws. "Stay. I mean… no, not stay, I… oh, whatever." He turned on his heel, waving his phone in the air as he departed. "Text me when you get out. Or don't. Whatever. I'll have my people call your people, we'll meet up later –"

Nick had never been so relieved in any point in his life more than when he finally stepped out of the Bunnyburrow City Hall front door and heard it slam behind him. There were indeed cops out front, four or five – he could not quite remember because, though he had suggested otherwise, his mind was not quite yet on the prospect of making small talk with some county officers send down to get involved in a town with a possible prejudice problem.

For the last few years of his life, since he had obtained a smartphone, he had taken to checking it religiously when he was alone like a junkie needing his fix – even when there was nothing to see on the screen, no new update from a long-lost friend or acquaintance, no picture from some brand's social media account wishing he was there (wherever there was), no text from someone in town wanting something. And right then and there, the fox decided, was a prime time to rummage through his phone like he never had before – perhaps he would comment on each and every status update he could find, perhaps with emoji inappropriate for the situation, maybe not, the world was his for the taking.

Except once he checked his first item – his text inbox – he remembered the message he had seen just minutes prior, one that caught him by surprise since it was from a new number, one he had just entered into his phone not long before, and certainly from one he did not expect to see that day or any day anyway.

But there it was: "Hey, man. Can we talk?"

He did not even give pause to the situation, for any place was better than there, even as the nearby cops seemed to recognize the fox cop everyone had been talking about and were walking toward him.

"Sure," he texted Gideon Grey. "Where at?"