5:17 pm, September 14th
Nick strolled lazily through the deserted streets, weaving his stride between the edges of the sidewalk in a contented drift. His blood red Hawaiian shirt clung to his form, and the fur on his head was slicked down by the rain that continued to fall. It was actually pretty cold, the September air having chilled the storm as it made it's way over Zootopia. Despite having issues actually seeing out of the sunglasses that continuously spotted with new droplets of water, his lopsided smile clung to his face without apprehension.
He could have easily taken the subway, the trip from Grass St. to Sousten St. station being nothing but a short five minute ride, but Nick had instead opted to walk through the city in the rain. Living the way he did had allowed him to develop a unique kind of resistance to the environments he traveled, and he seldom let go of a chance to be out in the open air, regardless of the conditions. Not that he had much of a choice most of his life.
Still, the thought of a quick subway ride out of the rain would seem rather convenient to most mammals, but not Nick. He didn't like riding the train anymore; it just felt wrong for him to do so. One of the first skills he had learned when he was forced onto the streets was pickpocketing, something he had showcased on Judy, and later on the ocelot waitress, less than a day ago. It left a bad taste in his mouth every time he remembered doing it, so he stuck to back alleys and empty streets most of the time.
His long life as a mammal of disreputable activity had changed his perspective on the world so much that it surprised him. Nick found that every time he walked into a building or alley, he just instinctively knew everything about it. The best hiding places, the quickest route that he would take if he needed to run, which direction to lose larger pursuers, where to sit or stand to give him the greatest advantage if he needed it, it all just flooded into his mind. He didn't see mammals of different sizes or shapes, he saw targets with varying potential of success. It honestly disturbed him, looking back on it.
The smile plastered across the red fox's muzzle tapered somewhat at the train of thought. He glanced around the street, trying desperately to see more than just the strategic qualities of the layout, but was disappointed once again. Knowledge is never a bad thing to have, but the thought that Nick knew exactly which garbage can had the greatest chance of something edible, which storm drain was the best if he caught a glimpse of a glossy black limo, and which storefront had the least security for the highest loot haunted his mind. Not because it was bad to know these thing, but why he knew them.
Could he really go straight? Could Nick trade in the mind of someone who has done nothing but take and start to give back? He glanced down at his hind paws as they sent small splashes with every step on the concrete. I have to try, he repeated to himself. I need to try. Slowing his pace, he came to a stop at the edge of a street corner. Still looking at his hind paws submerged in the water that flowed out onto the street, Nick felt restless. He couldn't place the reason, but the feeling was burning slowly in the back of his mind.
As much as he would like to think about what the feeling meant, he didn't have time for it. If Nick knew Big, he would send out word that he wants to have a talk with Nick right away, and that kind of word generally was for his henchmammals as a kidnapping order, rather than a nice invitation to the red fox. How much time he had, he did not know. Nick did not often just wait for the bears to catch up with him, so it could be anytime between right now and several days away. The sinking feeling in his gut told him it would be sooner rather than later, though.
Nick leaned into a new stride, going in a different direction than his destination. Having not eaten since the diner, he was feeling pretty hungry. It wasn't unusual for him to go several days without eating, but that did not mean he enjoyed the sensation of his muscles cannibalizing themselves for energy, so he opted to visit one of his stashes before taking the trip to his goal. Luck for him he was not far from one of the caches. A blue bag, no less, so it held all variety of equipment, including food.
As the fox made his way down a narrow alleyway, the thought gave him pause. If he was to truly turn a new leaf, then surely he couldn't continue living the way he did, hiding materials throughout the city in concealed alcoves, venturing to use them only when he needed to. More than that, he was going to have to do something about all of the red bags in the city. They were much more nefarious, and quite a bit more dangerous, to just leave lying around. Add it to the to-do list, Nick, he thought to himself, taking off his sunglasses to blow the water off of the lenses. One paw in front of the other.
Finally reaching the base of a decrepit looking apartment complex, Nick took the a moment to prepare himself for the climb. In this weather, it was still completely possible to shimmy up a drainpipe, since he had done it a number of times, but it didn't make it any safer. He rubbed the pads of his paws together for a moment before taking a firm grasp onto the slick metal. With one quick motion, Nick propelled himself upwards, weaving paw over paw as he climbed the side of the building.
Nick took several pauses on his way up to the roof, leaning hard into the face of the building and peering behind himself for any prying eyes. Even in normal conditions it was pretty easy to see him crawling up the city structures, but the muted light and colored brick contrasted pretty apparently with his almost neon Hawaiian shirt, which is why he mostly used this cache at night. Thankfully, the city was still mostly deserted, the mammals not taking part in the demonstration either taking refuge from the storm or seeing fit to not bother going out on the town.
Pulling himself up onto the tiled roof of the beaten down building, Nick took great care to have sure footing, sliding his paws into place and securing his balance around the rushing water that flew off the lip, hurtling down towards the hard concrete stories below him. He also only ever came to this cache when it wasn't raining, but today he felt almost invincible, so he couldn't bring himself to care about the treacherous path that led to his hiding spot. I already have a death wish, he thought to himself as he slowly made his way across the slick brick tiles. No point in pretending I'm being careful.
Nick leaped into an old windowed outcropping on the roof, tumbling out of the rain and into a bone dry attic space. The old wood had grayed in age, the beams and supports that criss-crossed through the dusty space giving the impression of ancient sturdiness. Nick shook himself off, twisting his form from his nose all the way to the tip of his tail, shaking away enough water to darken the wood around him considerably. He straightened out, taking his sunglasses off leisurely and placing them in his shirt pocket.
Having seemingly no time to waste, Nick strolled over to the far end of the attic, passing nothing but lone beams and empty floor space, as the building had been largely abandoned for years now. He came to a stop in front of the inside end of a chimney, the chipped brick and mortar warped in age, sticking out at odd angles in every direction. Nick stuck his snout into the chimney, sniffing at the bricks thoughtfully. Tracing his nose over a number of broken bits of the structure, he took deep breaths to catch the scent he was looking for.
Through the pelting rain, which stirred up all manner of scents, Nick could smell the one thing that he could trace from across the city. Capsaicin. The word left a bone-dry feeling in the back of his throat, making him curl his tongue backwards to lap at the far reaches of his maw. He leaned back from the chimney to peer at the brick that wafted the smell in his direction, his blank expression never changing. At least it's still here, he thought, yanking the brick free of the structure.
Nick tore brick by brick down until there was a significant hole in the chimney, larger enough for him to stick his entire torso through, and he did just that. Allowing his eyes to adjust to the lack of light, Nick's ears perked up to listen to the metal covering at the top of the shaft, drumming ceaselessly with the force of the rain. Soon enough he could see inside the space, the darkness giving way to the grid of brick and mortar. Nick looked down, seeing the sliver of light from the first story reception area nearly forty feet away. Just below him, though, hanging on a jagged piece of metal, was a dark blue duffel bag.
You've seen better days, Nick thought, running the pads of his paw over the fraying nylon handle. He hadn't replaced this bag when going through all of his caches over the past couple months, though he was now thinking he should have. The space was starting to irritate his eyes, as the putrid stench of capsaicin billowed out from the bag. He may not have replaced it, but he certainly topped it up on fox repellant. With so many hiding places, the exact spot to start uncovering the cache was hard to keep track of. A problem the fox had solved by soaking travel tags in fox repellant, allowing his nose to do the remembering for him.
Pulling the bag off of the jagged metal and back through the hole, he tossed it haphazardly onto the gray wood. Nick spent almost no time at all rummaging through the bag for what he was looking for, already having cleaned it out of junk the month before. Triumphantly, he lifted out a can along with an accompanying can opener, and reached in to grab his metal spork, but found his paw brushing up against a padded cardboard box. Nick's expression furrowed as he looked at the box. Gingerly retrieving his spork, he also took the cardboard into his grip carefully, bringing it out of the bag like it could cut him.
Nick strolled back over to the windowed outcropping with can and opener in one paw, and his spork and cardboard box in the other. He sat down in front of the framed storm, crossing his legs as he listlessly stared out into the dark clouds and rain. Having placed off of the items he was carrying in front of him, he picked up the can first. Nick rolled the tin container around in his paw in muted distaste. The bright colors doing it no favors in looking any more appetizing.
'Bennett's Beans & Bugs' was written out in swirling font on the front of the tin can, a raccoon in a chef's hat winking to the beholder. To Nick, he really couldn't stand this stuff, but it was cheap and filling. You don't have much of a choice when it comes to food in this kind of life, but it was far better than anything you could find in the garbage. Well, most anything, Nick thought, cocking his eyebrow at an ingredient list he had read more times than he would like to remember.
It did not take him long to get the can open and start scarfing down the cold, gooey slop. If there was a title for being a "professional can opener", Nick would win it paws down he had opened so many of the damn things. The texture wasn't great, the flavor was worse, and the smell could kill, but Nick stuck spork-full after spork-full of the slop into his gaping maw. So he sat there, cross-legged and tail waving behind him as he watched the storm from the safety of an abandoned attic. I wonder if Carrots is seeing the same thing, he thought, watching the rain framed behind a wooden opening. I wonder if she's in the loft right now.
Nick paused his action, a pile of chunky slime hanging dangerously outside his open mouth, threatening to fall off the eating utensil. What had he even said to her last? What was the last words that she might possibly ever hear from him? 'I'll talk to you tonight'? He carelessly tossed the metal spork back into the tin with a wet impact and sat the can down. That would be par for the course, wouldn't it, he thought bitterly. I'd be made a liar from beyond the grave.
You're acting like you're already dead, Nick, he retorted back to himself. You still have plenty of time to run. Silently staring out at the rain, his mind wandered to what Judy might be thinking about if she was watching the same thing. Would she be thinking about last night as much as him? Is she glancing at the clock at the edge of her seat waiting for a washed-up fox to call her? Nick let out an exhausted sigh, leaning back into his arms.
His eyes felt like they were being weighed down as his snout slowly tilted to his right, giving the cardboard box beside him an impartial stare. Picking up the box carefully, he tilted it around in his paws, carefully looking for any markings or labels that he knew wouldn't be there. Nick used his claw to slice the packing tape down the center of the lid, giving him access to the contents. Pressed into the lid, laying carefully on the styrofoam peanuts that filled the cardboard, was a simple looking letter. The only thing on the paper was Nick's name, 'Nicholas Piberius Wilde', spelled out in neat longpaw handwriting.
There were no dates or markings, this Nick knew without having to open the letter. It could have been written a month ago, or it could have been written almost twenty years ago, and he already knew who it was from. He carefully tore one end of the envelope open, pulling out the folded paper with careless attention. Nick opened the folds of the paper and looked down at the incredibly neat longpaw handwriting scratched into the parchment without any guiding lines or mistakes. It was like a letter out of time.
Dear Nick,
It has been some time since I have written one of these. How long, I cannot say, but I know that this will reach you all the same. The last time I wrote to you it was winter and I was dying from the cold. I do not know how many months ago that was. If I have made it past another summer, then that is proof enough that all I told you is the truth. If a mammal like me can live forever, then you will have no problems.
I am here at the graveyard as I write this; I picked flowers all the way up the mountain path. By the time I finally made it up here, I was carrying so many flowers I could have broken my old back. It seems like it wasn't enough, though. The mammals buried here deserve far more than a couple measly wildflowers and bits of grass. I think it was a mistake putting them up in this graveyard. No matter how many times I look at them, it just seems wrong that they're in the dirt and not out here.
I am old now, Nick. I have been old for a long time now, but this does not fill me with regret. Everything I have taught you is the reason I am old, and they are in the ground. Sometimes, when I am writing useless letters with frostbitten paws, it seems like I may have beaten something that doesn't like being beaten, and it finds ways to enact revenge. This tells me nothing but the fact that I am winning, and the universe is just bitter about it.
I saw your mother's parents the other day. They are still right where she left them, stewing in their own hatred. All I did was wish her a happy afternoon, and she started at me screaming and waving around her trowel like it was a blade. She seems to think it's my fault that her daughter is gone, though I am not sure I know why she even cares. I guess we all realize what is truly important only after it has been ripped right out of our paws.
Sincerely,
Arthur Brenner Wilde
Nick stared at the paper for a long moment, drinking in the words. Despite the sentimental nature of it, they seemed hollow, almost formulaic. The careful calligraphy and perfectly symmetrical lines of words reflected nothing but the cold, calculating paw that wrote it. He couldn't know for sure what his grandfather's intentions were, but he equally couldn't trust seemingly apparent clues. Whether he really was at the graveyard, or if he really had seen his mother's parents, he would guess that was a lie.
Setting the paper down beside him, Nick moved to pick up the cardboard box again. He stuck his paw into the styrofoam peanuts, searching for a grasp on the jar he knew was inside. When his claws tapped against the metal lid, he took his time pulling out the glass as to not spill any of the peanuts. Finally free, he discarded the box carefully, never tearing his eyes from the mason jar in his paw, filled to the brim with a clear liquid.
Taped to the top of the metal lip, was a small paper card. Nick lifted it up so that he could read the caption underneath. Much to his expectations, the caption 'You can take the edge off, just don't make it round', was written in perfect calligraphy. He turned the jar over in his paw, impassively observing the faceless glass and metal lid.
"Here, Nick. Have some of this," he could hear his grandfather's words from so long ago, the memory coming back to the him as he sat in silence.
"What is it?" The young fox replied, looking up at the offered jar an old, graying fox was handing down to him.
"Something I made a little while back," the old vulpine smiled through his dark shades, a sick curl in his mostly gray maw mimicking a smile. "I'd say it's one of my best batches of lightning to date."
"Lightning?" Nick had asked, tilting his head to the side in confusion. "What's that?"
"Moonshine, Nick," he informed. Growing tired of waiting for the small predator to take the jar, he thrust it into his paws forcefully. "That there's one-hundred percent white lightning," he pointed with a deliberately sharpened claw at the glass.
"I can't have any of this, Gramps!" Nick complained, pushing the jar as far away from him as possible in his outstretched arms, though keeping it in his grasp. "I'm not even twelve!"
"Nonsense," the old vulpine waved. "That's your mother talking, boy. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but she isn't around much anymore," he spoke in a low hum, an edge settling into his voice as he pointed again at the jar. "Drink it."
"But-" he tried to interject, getting cut off almost immediately.
"No buts!" The larger predator hissed, sticking one paw on his hip as he wagged a finger at Nick. "You will mind me when I tell you to do something."
"I really don't want to," he shot up, his face scrunching up in distaste for the liquid in his hands. "I'm not supposed to!"
"I'm not supposed to make it, either," the old fox laughed. "Didn't stop me. Drink it."
Nick did not remember much immediately after that. He could vaguely recall the burning in his throat and stumbling around the city, vomiting what was left of his stomach every fifty feet. He could recall every minute detail of the morning after, though, even to this day. He woke up covered in blood, sprawled out on top of a pile of fish heads and cleaned bones, with a seagull picking at his fur.
The panic attack that followed had cemented itself as one of the worst mornings Nick Wilde had ever endured. Couple the sheer terror and dread of waking up that way, head pounding and nauseous with the aftermath of alcohol poisoning and badly bruised from head to toe, with the fact that he had to walk out of the fish packing facility covered in blood. The workers laughed at him all the way out, howling in joy at the little fox they had thrown in the chum pile.
He spent several hours in the bay water, scrubbing his fur raw while crying. It seemed like no matter how much he scrubbed, he could still feel the sticky blood matting his fur together. The smell of fish would not leave him, and the fright of his nightmare of a morning caused his hackles to stand straight all the way through the city, eyes locked on his hind paws as he walked dejectedly. When he finally made it to the street corner he knew his grandfather would be standing at, he only smiled at Nick.
"Oh, hey there, Nick," he chirped like nothing was wrong. Like he couldn't smell the vomit, blood, fish, and pure dread radiating off of the fox. "Where have you been all day? You're burning daylight."
"I hate you," Nick replied, never taking his eyes from his hind paws.
"Good," the old vulpine whispered back, taking his shades off to peer down at the fox with fiery orange eyes. "Tell me, Nick," he eased. "What did you learn?"
"I learned that I hate you," the young fox repeated. "You are the meanest mammal ever."
"Besides that, boy," he said, cracking a large, toothy smile. "Tell me what you learned."
Nick thought for a moment, trying to guess what sick lesson his grandfather was trying to teach him this time. Settling on the easiest guess, he whispered, "I learned that Moonshine is the worst."
"You're getting dangerously close over there, squirt," the old mammal said, narrowing his fiery orbs at his grandson. "Why is it the worst?"
"Because I feel awful and I hate it," Nick replied.
"Okay, straying from the point a little," the larger predator said, cocking his head to the side in annoyance. "What else?"
"I can't remember anything," Nick offered sadly, slouching his shoulders as he did so. "I couldn't control myself, and I didn't like it."
"Exactly," his grandfather snapped his paw at him, smiling widely at his perceived success in teaching Nick a lesson. "If you lose control for one moment, if you lose focus, you'll end up exactly how you ended up today, or worse. You'll be dead. What do we say about being dead, Nick, my boy?"
"Never," he meekly said, looking away from his hind paws, but in the opposite direction of the larger predator.
"That's right," he nodded. "You can't ever lose control. That's when it all comes back to get you. This stuff here?" The old fox questioned, pickup up the jar half full of clear liquid that sat beside him. "It's one of many things that'll take control away from you. The world is full of stuff like that. Most of it whispers sweet things into your ear until it's too late, and then you know how you didn't just lose control, you practically gave it away," he said, gesturing out around them at the bustling cityscape around them. "Ever vigilant, Nick. The world is a dangerous place."
Nick shot his piercing green eyes up to glare at his elder, abandoning any semblance of respect. "Because it's full of mammals like you?" He growled.
"Oh, Nick, I'm the least of your worries," the old vulpine said with a lopsided smile. "I'm small game to the bear. He's not one to beat around the bush. That's why you can't let go of control. You have to fight for it, with every breath you take."
"You drink that stuff all the time, though," the young fox hissed.
"You can take the edge off, Nick," he chuckled. "Just don't make it round."
Nick stared at the jar in his hands, the memory playing through his mind as he stared straight through the liquid at the gray wood on the other side. He sighed heavily, pulling the jar closer to him so he could twist the lid off. Bringing the lip of the glass up to his snout, he pulled a deep breath to have the acrid scent fill his nasal cavity. The powerful scent lingered in his nose like turpentine and made him want to sneeze, but instead he brought the jar away from his face again to watch the liquid sway impassively.
You can take the edge off, he thought to himself, tilting the container upwards to take a long drink. The liquid washed over the inside of his maw, and for a moment it did not taste like anything. Then his gums started tingling slightly, his tongue seemingly falling asleep cradling the liquid in his maw for a drawn out moment before swallowing. The back of his throat burned with the connection of the Moonshine, causing Nick to let out an exaggerated breath of air after it was all down. Just don't make it round.
He stood up abruptly, packing up his collection of items strewn out around him. He left the letter behind as he carried the rest back to his cache, taking the time to situate the mason jar back into the packing peanuts inside the box. Spending very little time in his supremely rehearsed movements, he placed everything back inside the dark blue duffel bag except the empty tin can. After he was done, he stuck a claw in a rip in the canvas, pulling it open slightly.
Inside the clandestined compartment was a small folded set of bills, pushed as far down as they could go to conceal them. Nick pulled the bills out and counted them. Only a hundred, he thought plainly, having only had to wave through the collection of denominations once. I'm sure that'll be enough. Straightening out, he stuck the bills in his shirt pocket before stuffing the duffel bag back through the hole in the chimney with one arm. He did not even have to look to hook the handle on the jagged piece of metal.
He straightened out and looked at the hole in the brick for a moment, wondering if he should just take the whole bag with him. Deciding against trying to carry it down a drainpipe in the rain, Nick went to work bricking up the opening. Taking the last brick only by cradling it by the tips of his claws, he carefully slipped it into place, completing the facade. Nick stared at his handiwork with his paws on his hips, looking for any tells that it was a hiding place that he may have left behind.
Finally satisfied, he turned to leave, picking up the empty tin can as he strolled back towards the windowed outcropping. Nick only slowed when he came back to the letter he left on the ground, bending over to pick it up. He only looked over the paper for a few seconds, not even reading any of the words, just observing the disgustingly perfect handwriting. Snarling to the empty attic space, Nick crumpled the letter up and tossed it out the open window. It was gone before he could even think about. It.
Nick stood still for a moment, drinking in the cacophony of sound produced by the rain hammering the tiled roof. He took in a ragged breath before letting out a slow, easing exhale. Snapping his jaw shut a few times and shaking his head, he was out in the rain again, perched on a rooftop overlooking an entire neighborhood. Nick moved slowly to the edge of the tile shingling, inching his way with the rushing water as to not slip.
When he could see the alleyway below, he caught sight of an open green dumpster all the way down, pressed up against the brick wall of the adjacent building. Pulling his arm back, he tossed the tin can gracefully down. He stared at the falling can impassively as he put on his sunglasses, watching it match the speed of the falling water as it plummeted down towards the alley until it landed in the dumpster with a crackling echo.
Letting out a snort through his snout, Nick inches his way over to the drainpipe that clung to the side of the building, his damp clothes soaking completely once again. When he finally reached the pipe, he abandoned his careful movements for deliberate grace, sliding off of the lip of the roof into a freefall before twisting to grab the pipe with both hind and fore paws. The metal tube sung with his decent, ringing with him as he passed the metal ties anchoring it into the building.
Nick landed onto the concrete with a small splash, sending water in every direction, and immediately started strolling back down the street. He came back to the street corner he had turned on not long ago, and returned his stride in the direction of his destination. It was a good thing, too, as his stomach started to radiate a low warmth as the liquor entered his bloodstream. Nick started humming to himself as he sauntered along, weaving his paws behind his back as he leisurely made his way through the mostly deserted city.
The mixture of a full stomach, albeit full of cold, canned slop, and alcohol did little to ease the feeling of anticipation that crawled its way under his fur. The alcohol helped, but the restless buzz still made his ears flicker. If anything, he was just concerned that the feeling might distract him from his important activities. That's rich, he thought. I think you should be worried about other things distracting you. Nick let in a hissing breath through his teeth, walking around a trash can that had been knocked over.
Another thing tormented his already distracted mind as he neared his destination, pulling his attention like a magnet. It was Judy. He couldn't stop thinking about the fact that his very last words to her would mark him a liar if things didn't go the way he hoped. Maybe it was a small thing to be worried about, given the concept behind the idea implied impending death, but Nick allowed his life to preemptively "flash before his eyes". Even with everything he had done, it all seemed like small mistakes compared to leaving her with nothing but a "I'll talk to you later."
Nick sighed, pulling his sunglasses off of his muzzle and rubbing the bridge of his snout. Stop it, he chastised himself. How many times have I warned you about thinking your way into a corner. Snapping his jaw shut a couple times again, in a rehearsed preparation to raise a mask he had cultivated through decades of hardship, he softened his features into a lidded, lopsides smirk. Nick wrung out his shades to free the larger droplets that clung to the dark lenses and replaced it back on his muzzle.
The brick factory building became visible after rounding a jutting urban lounge, umbrellas folded up even in the rain as the shop was closed. The factory looked just like the picture, and Nick glanced around the base of the building for an entrance to a lobby or reception area. Finding what he was looking for, he took his last couple steps in the rain before coming under a tiled brick awning just ahead of the door.
Nick too a moment to shake as much water off of himself as he could before entering, not feeling like being thrown out on account of waltzing in soaked and tracking a stream of water in his wake. Mildly satisfied, he pulled the glass door open, placing his shades back into his shirt pocket. "Hello?" He called out into the simple reception area, though no mammal was sitting at the monochrome desk. "Is anyone there?"
"One moment!" Nick heard from beyond a doorway that sat behind the desk. He could hear heavy machinery chugging away from deeper in the building, the grinding humm of conveyer belts and assembly machines making a cup of water on the desk vibrate. Just as Nick was admiring the small lounge of ratty looking couches, a beaver walked through the door, stopping when he saw the red fox. "Oh," he muttered with raised eyebrows.
Nick could see it was the same beaver from the picture. "Sorry I'm soaked," he apologized, spreading his arms out and looking down at his clingy clothing. "It's raining pretty hard out there."
The beaver's surprised expression shifted as Nick spoke, continuing his stride towards the fox. "It's fine," he waved. "It's not like this place can get any more water damage. What can I do for you?"
Smiling at the small mammal, Nick made sure to not part his lips. "I'm looking for VegPen Incorporated," he informed the rodent dressed in jeans and a dark blue collared shirt. "I understand this is where they manufactured their stuff?"
The beaver slowed to a halt in front of him, his blank expression narrowing. "I'm sorry," he started in a way that sounded rehearsed. "We don't handle any questions about the quality of their products anymore."
"No, I'm actually looking for anyone who worked for them."
He cocked an eyebrow at the predator, blinking at the statement. "Really?" the beaver asked curiously.
"Yeah," Nick nodded. He glanced around the reception thinking about his words carefully, as this wasn't just some hustle, he really wanted this. "Nobody has come around asking about them?" Nick eased, peering back over to the beaver.
He responded by curling his lip into a theatrical frown and shrugging his shoulders. "Not for months now," he said crossing his arms. "They cleared out of town pretty quickly."
Nick tilted his muzzle to the side, looking at the beaver at an angle. "Did you work for them?"
"No," he drew out, cocking his head. "We're a contract manufacturer, so we worked with them, you could say."
Starting to get the impression this was just another dead end like the phone numbers, his posture relaxed as he scratched the underside of his muzzle in thought. "Do you know how I can get in contact with them?" He finally asked?
"They're gone, as far as I can tell," the beaver shook his head. "The CEO, a whitetail deer, didn't speak a whole lot of english. I wouldn't be surprised if she up and left the country."
Nick let out a long sigh as his shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Well, thanks, anyway," he blew out. "Sorry to waste your time."
The beaver watched the fox turn to leave vacantly for a moment before stopping him. "Why are you looking for them?"
Nick turned his head and tilted his muzzle to look at the rodent with one lidden eye. "A friend of mine had one of their products," he stated simply. "She liked it a lot, but she recently lost it. I was hoping to get her a new one."
He stood there staring at the drenched red fox in front of him for a moment, looking down at his brightly colored shirt. "They left some stuff up in the office behind," he started uncertainly. "Paperwork and some random junk. You can look through it if you want."
Turning enough that he could point his head directly at the beaver, Nick brightened up immediately, though he quickly dropped back down to suspicion. "You're okay with that?" He said.
"Sure," he shrugged, turning around and waving for the fox to follow him. "Come on." He led Nick through the door and out onto a windowed office that overlooked the factory floor. Two dozen mammals stood on production lines as brightly colored orange objects moved in all directions around them.
"I don't owe them any favors," he started, handing Nick a hardhat and a pair of safety goggle as he put on a set of his own. "We had a contract to manufacture for them for a couple months as a trial period, and then they were going to sign on for a couple years," he continued, opening a door that separated the factory floor from the office, a wall of sound slamming into Nick's sensitive ears. He splayed them back under the hardhat, trying to pick out the beaver's voice as they made their way into the space. "When the contract was up, they hit the road and flushed the company. Strangest thing I've ever seen, and pissed me off pretty good, too," he finished with a raised voice to be heard over the loud machinery and clacking merchandise.
From the path they took, Nick could see they were making, or at least assembling, what looked to be utensils of some kind. It wasn't until they passed a bin of completely product did ne realize they were pumpkin carving packs, the cheap kind you saw in gas stations and grocery stores. "Do you know why they liquidized it?" He shot back loudly, turning to look at the beaver leading him through the floor.
"Couldn't tell you," he tilted his head back to say, keeping his eyes in front of him. "Those foreign types never liked the salt-of-the-earth type of manufacturing us Zootopians do. Probably just weren't making the returns they were hoping for."
"Nice place you got here," he trailed off, looking over the manufacturing facility. "What was your name again?"
"Roy," he chirped, spinning to walk backwards and sticking a paw out towards Nick. "Roy Platt. I'm the owner of this little place."
"Nick Wilde," he replied, shaking his paw without breaking a stride. It didn't even cross his mind to give him a pseudonym, surprising himself at his own name coming out of his maw. "Seems like you're doing fine to me," he quickly continued, brushing over the slip.
"Nah," he dismissed, waving his paw over the floor and turning around to walk normally. "Halloween is an easy market to manufacture for. There's plenty of contracts out there for festive stuff, but we were trying to break out of it with the VegPen deal. The holiday stuff is only good for half the year, and we wanted something a little more steady than that."
"Everyone needs cheap holiday merchandise, Roy," Nick offered back cheerfully. "Where would we be if we didn't have a hundred million new pumpkin carving sets every year?"
"I imagine we'd be in the same place we are now, just with less carved pumpkins," Roy shot back with a smirk. "I never understood it. Kitchen knives and regular spoons work just fine."
"Are you trying to rationalize yourself out of a job over there?" he quickened his pace to fall next to the beavers stride, leaning over to glance at him with one eye and a wide smile. "You should be advocating to ban kitchen cutlery if you want to sell more of them."
"Ha," Roy exhaled, almost inaudibly over the noise of the factory. "I guess you're right. First thing in the morning, I'll head over to City Hall and put in my request."
Nick straightened out, weaving his paws behind his back while he fell further back from the beaver. "I'd mail it in if I were you," he said.
"Right again," the beaver nodded, giving another theatrical frown. "If you don't mind me saying, it's a strange day to be looking into a boarded-up pen company, what with the riots on top of the rain."
"Can't let the sentiments of other mammals stop us from being productive, now can we?" Nick answered. "There's no such thing as tomorrow."
Roy clicked his tongue off his buck teeth enough to snap the sound above the machinery. "Don't I know it," he laughed.
Nick followed the beaver through the crowded floor, passing mammals of all sizes, predator and prey, hard at work carrying boxes or shifting through the conveyer belts in quality control. It always impressed Nick, how mammals, most of whom didn't even know each other's names, could work harmoniously when it comes to pumpkin carvers, but anything to do with actually getting along out in the world was a lost cause. He couldn't stop his snout from waving side to side as the thought reached its way across his mind.
They came to a set of stairs running parallel to the wall, long punched steel steps climbed upwards in a steep sixty degree angle. The wooden door at the top had a foggy glass top panel with the word 'Offices' written out in bold letters across it, and several windows broke up the solid face of the floor wall, though the office behind them had been impenetrably hidden by a number of closed window blinds. The pair of mammals climbed up the stairs, Roy took a keychain from his belt and unlocked the door, pushing it open and flipping a lowed switch on the opposite wall.
He ushered Nick into the room and shut the door behind him. It looked like nobody had used the office in some time, as the the whitewashed office held nothing but a number of empty desks over its flat, blue commercial carpet. Nick resisted the urge to put his shades back on as he squinted through the florescent lighting, stepping to the side as Roy passed him on his way into the middle of the room.
Disappearing under a desk for a second, he came back dragging a large cardboard box behind him. "Okay," he huffed, pulling the cardboard to a stop in front of Nick. "This is it."
"This is all of it?" Nick cocked an eyebrow, looking down at the taped-up cardboard as he kneeled down.
"Yup," he nodded, crossing his arms as he looked at the cardboard himself in thought. "They didn't leave much. Just some random junk from one of their people that had a desk here."
"Personal items, then?" Nick glanced up at the beaver quizzically.
"Some of it," he affirmed. "She took all of her pictures and stuff in a filebox one day I wasn't here, but she left most everything else."
Nick blinked at that, not really knowing why someone would wait for the owner to not be there to clear out their stuff. "Huh," he said lamely, turning back towards the box and slicing the tape with a claw. This company, he exasperated to himself. I swear... Carrots need to buy sentimental stuff from easier brands to replace.
Rummaging through the file folders and stacks of paper, Nick dug his paws into the box searching for anything that could help him in his search for a replacement: a rolodex maybe, or possibly an address book. "What are you looking for, exactly?" Roy questioned, peering over Nick's shoulder.
Nick was about to respond when he caught a glimpse of a number of clamshell packages, brightly colored paper framing little carrots with huge 'recorder' and 'try me' stickers across the front of the plastic. "These," Nick sung triumphantly, pulling the clamshells out of the box and giving them a toothy smile. His mood had brightened tremendously at the success, forgetting he was next to a prey animal that might not like the sight of his teeth.
He shuffled through the three packages estatically, finding the last one wasn't shaped like a carrot at all, but a fish. Sitting the two carrot pens down on the top of the box, Nick turned the fish pen over in his hands, admiring the little electronic. "I didn't know they made ones that looked like fish," he murmured, reading the label to find it was also a recorder.
"Didn't make many of those," Roy replied, straightening out and crossing his arms. "Must have made a hundred carrots for every fish."
Nick glanced up at the beaver hopefully, forcing his joy down so he could fall back into his lidded smirk. "How much for all of them?" he questioned, setting the pens aside to search through the box for any more, with no such luck.
"Well, I suppose they're incredibly rare now," he said, a smile creeping across his face to reveal his enormous buck teeth. "Probably the only ones on the market."
Looking up from his fruitless effort, he cocked an eyebrow at the beaver. "Did that little bit of business advice turn you into a haggler?" He said hesitantly, wondering how much Roy was going to get out of him. He was liable to give the beaver all of the money he had on him if he felt like he had to, but he still didn't want to. "I should just keep my trap shut, shouldn't I?"
Roy chuckled at the fox's expression, waving his paw at the box. "They ain't going anywhere in that box," he replied, shaking his head. "Take them."
Nick stood up, looking down at the beaver in front of him. "It's a present, Roy," he drawled out. "You're going to take the sweet satisfaction away from just giving them to me."
The beaver snorted at him, shaking his head with a wide smile. "You tracked them down in the rain when the city was up in arms," he soothed. "I think you can hold onto the idea that you put some work in for them."
"At least take fifty," Nick countered, putting his paw into his shirt pocket and pulling out his collection of denominations and pulling out two twenties and a ten, handing them over to the smaller mammal. "Get your kit something nice."
Roy's eyebrows raised high as Nick mentioned his kits, hesitating for a moment before taking the bills from the fox. "How did you know I have kits?" He asked suspiciously.
Nick pointed at the beaver's shirt, where a uneven tie clip that had the words 'best dad' spelled out in colorful beads kept his black and white striped tie in place. "Tie clip," he smiled.
Roy looked down and his eyes widened, though when he looked up, his smile was just wider. "Oh, that's embarrassing," he chirped. "I didn't even remember I was wearing this."
"It's supposed to be embarrassing," Nick chuckled back. "I made my mother a woven bracelet when I was young, and she wore that ugly thing for years-"
The red fox was cut off when the door to the office was opened, a wall of noise that had been muffled up to this point pulling the attention of both mammals towards the door. A female aardvark knocked redundantly on the door with a worried expression on her face, stepping halfway into the office. "Boss?" She asked fitfully.
"Yes, Mary?" The beaver asked, his brow furrowing at the aardvark's demeanor. "What's wrong?"
"There's a couple of polar bears outside," she replied with a shaking voice, pointing towards the front of the factory. "They came in a limo five minutes ago and they're just standing there."
"What?" Roy mumbled, taking several seconds to comprehend what his assistant was saying. His eyes widened at the realization of who the bears probably work for. "What do they want from us?" He asked, distressed.
Nick sighed heavily, pulling the packaging of a carrot pen open. "Not you, actually," he murmured, turning the pen around in his hand. "I'm sorry, Roy," he calmly continued, looking up at the beaver blankly. "But those white-furred Ursidaes are here for me."
Roy looked over at the fox horrified, bringing his arms up closer to his chest in a show of building tension. "Oh, no," he stammered out. "We've got a back door, I can go tell them you left ten minutes ago and-"
"Now, hold on there," Nick waved a paw at the beaver, tossing the thermoformed plastic that held the carrot in place in a garbage can next to one of the desks. "I have no intention of running from them," he said, giving the pair of smaller mammals an easy smile. "I'm just glad I got my paws on one of these before they caught up to me."
"But-"
"Say, Roy," he said, cutting him off like he wasn't even talking. "I don't suppose you could give me a little privacy?" Nick questioned, moving his gaze between the two prey animals, waving the pen in the air. "I need to put a message on here."
Roy seemed to think about it for a minute before turning towards the door and starting to move past Mary. "Okay," he said in a worried tone. "We'll be at the front door. Mary?"
"Oh!" The aardvark caught on, turning to follow her boss. "Okay, yeah."
After the door shut, and the room settled in a muffled clamor, Nick tilted his snout down, looking at the pen in his paw. He turning it over a few times, admiring the sleek plastic finish of coming right out of the package, not like Judy's pen. He had spent a lot of time just staring at that carrot after the press conference, familiarizing himself with every worn edge and scratch. He found that he liked having it in his paw again, in a weird way.
Carefully, he brought it up to his waiting maw, which was parted slightly in anticipation. He clicked the button down twice, holding it down after the second press. "Hey, Carrots, it's me… Nick," he started lamely, scratching the back of his head with his free paw. "You know, as confident as I was about recording this thing, I don't actually know what to say. If you're getting this, then I guess that means I missed our phone call. I didn't mean to make myself a liar, I just didn't think through the promise. Truth is, I guess I might have bitten off more than I can chew this time."
Nick let a long breath out through his nose before continuing, "I gave up control of the situation. I showed them my hand, and now it's their move," he composed slowly. "I've never been afraid of dying, despite how much energy I've put into staying alive. It's just this time I feel like I've got unfinished business, like I don't want to leave." Nick looked at the pen dumbly, pausing in his pursuit of formulating the perfect words. "I'm glad I met you, Carrots. If nothing else, you made it all worth it for this old fox. None of it seems so bad anymore if it means I got to meet you."
"I-" Nick started, cutting himself off with a exasperated exhale. He pulled his padded finger off of the record button, cutting off his own thought. Nick stood there for some time, looking at the pen, wondering if he should try again. If he should put it some other way to reassure her, or apologize more sincerely. In the end, Nick did nothing. He just stuffed the other two pens, still in their clamshell packaging, in the back of his pants. He wasted no time walking out into the cacophony of sound and down the flight of stairs onto the factory floor.
He made his way past all of the full bins of pumpkin carvers, glancing apathetically over at the mammals hard at work. When he walking back into the separating office, he hung up his hardhat and glasses with littler reservation. It wasn't until he made it almost all the way out of the front door that he slowed his pace, watching the aardvark cower behind her boss as he looked out into the parking lot.
Roy turned to see Nick approaching. "We can still tell them you left," he told the fox, his expression unreadable.
"Not for my sake," Nick replied, looking out of the glass door to see two polar bears standing stiffly next to a sleek black limousine, their faces slightly obscured by large, black umbrellas. "I'm done running, anyway."
The beaver's eyes seemed to soften somewhat, though his face didn't move. "Good luck, Mr. Wilde," he imparted, sticking his paw out towards the fox.
Nick smiled down at the beaver with lidded eyes as he fastened his dark shades over his muzzle, taking the mammal's paw with his own and shaking it. "Don't worry," he breathed. "I make my own luck."
With that, Nick turned abruptly and walked straight out the door, striding confidently towards the two heavy predators that stood in the rain. Their postured stood as solid as rocks as Nick approached them, smiling broadly at the two polar bears.
"Raymond! Kevin!" Nick called, opening his arms to the two bears in greeting. "How's my favorite pair of polar bears doing?"
"We do not know what it is that is your game, fox," One of the bears spoke in a deep, accented voice from under his umbrella, the golden crown logo embroidered on his track jacket's breast shining the the dim light. "But you will know that it will not work," he scowled down at the fox, matching his partner's hatred with dark rimmed eyes.
"Don't have a game this time, Kevin," Nick smiled up at the bear.
"I do not believe you," Kevin replied coldly. "You have never made it this easy for us to find you."
"What makes you think I was trying to make it easy?" Nick said, looking at the bear over the top of his shades.
"You know that Henry can see everything you have done on his computer," the other bear informed him, his golden dollar sign chain swinging as he leaned closer to the fox. "Last webpage that you have visited had address on it. We arrive and can smell you from here."
Nick smiled at Raymond, not showing any signs of being intimidated by the gesture. "Then why didn't you come in and say 'hi'?"
"Because we know you are playing game," the bear snarled back, hooking an enormous claw towards the vehicle behind him. "Get in limousine."
"You know you never have to coerce me into getting in one of these bad boys, Raymond," Nick chirped, strolling around the pair of enormous predators like they were just objects, and not giant killing machines who work for a shrew that more than likely wanted Nick dead. "I could live in one."
"You could live in anything," Raymond flatly responded.
"Anything like rabbit burrow, apparently," Kevin added.
Nick's smile tapered, though his mask did not fall. "Tough crowd," he muttered playfully, climbing through the door that Raymond opened.
"I do not know why you have done this, Nicholas," Kevin began, landing next to the fox on the bench seat heavily, Raymond slamming the door closed for him. "You have grown too confident or you have now a death wish, I can not tell which."
Nick watched the other bear walk around the back of the vehicle until he lost sight of him. "Every dog has his day, Kevin."
"You have been very good at not having that day," Kevin observed, leaning forward to tap on the glass window that separated the driver's cab from the back. "I think maybe that you have hit your head."
"Oh, yeah?" he asked as the door to his right opened and Raymond flopped down next to him on his other side, closing him in between the two heavy bears.
"Yes," Kevin continued, settling back into his seat. "When I see you months ago, crawling in limousine with rabbit, I must confess my first thought was you wanted a private place."
"Wow," Nick rolled his eyes, no longer surprised by the perception other predators were getting from their friendship. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, pal," he finished sarcastically.
"I am not done," Kevin glared down at him. "I thought this because it would only be woman that could make you so stupid as to get caught in one of the limousines. It would seem that I was not all too far to truth, as I can smell you now."
Anticipating the comment, Nick clicked his tongue at the bear dismissively. "Wrong again," he hummed. "Our relationship isn't like that."
"You misunderstand. I am not far from truth as I am not wrong when thinking it was woman that made you stupid. I do not like you Nicholas-"
"Thanks, buddy," Nick cut him off bitterly.
"But I must respect mammal that can, how do you say, leave bears in dust for months," he finished, not breaking stride in Nick's interruption. "I am disappointed of this."
The limo lurched into motion, making Nick lean back into the seat as he took off his shades and ineffectively tried to clean the lenses with his soaked shirt. "The fact that you're disappointed fills my heart, Kevin," he mused. "It really does."
Raymond snorted at him, his brow never having relaxed from its dangerous furrow. "Whatever your game, Nicholas," he started with a hard edge to his tone. "Do me favor?"
"What's that?" Nick asked, smiling up at the bear in a tracksuit.
"Shut up."
Nick couldn't help himself but to laugh coldly at the toneless response. "Whatever you say, big guy," he smiled.
On the inside, Nick was not smiling. The restless feeling was back, and it brought with it the anticipation that ate its way through his fur. He glanced out of the tinted window, watching the rain drift across it at increasingly horizontal angles as they sped up towards the freeway that took them to Tundratown. Despite everything, he wasn't afraid, or at least, not by what you'd expect. Whatever Big had to say, Nick felt more sure of himself than he had ever felt before.
The only thing that made him pause was the building pit in his stomach that called out to him, making him regret not calling Judy just as soon as he returned to Zootopia. The rapidly vanishing warmth that radiated from his stomach was making him wish he had done more that take the edge off. Dying wasn't the scary thing, it was leaving something behind.
Author's Notes:
So, this was supposed to be out two days ago. Can you believe it? Two chapters in a row where I almost take a week to finish each of them? So much for my lead on my schedule, I'm nearly behind! Anyway, I just wanted to say It's been a slog these past few chapters, and I really think it's starting to show. I wish it all came more naturally to me, but I guess we'll all have to deal with my apparent shortcomings when it comes to writing.
Eh. Ignore all of that, let's talk about something cool. Some of you may remember me saying "I don't expect this story to ever get more than a dozen or so people following it." Well, I think it's pretty safe to say that I'm wrong now. Less than ten chapters in, and I hit one hundred people following. I honestly don't know what to say. If anything, it makes me even more worried I'm not doing a good job, but above that it's what motivates me to keep writing. If I was writing for myself, I guess I would just keep my fluffy stories bottled up in my head and maintain my macho demeanor, like I'm not secretly writing furry fanfiction on the sly.
Really, this story would never have gotten off the ground if it wasn't for you guys. Every review is appreciated, and it bums me out when people leave one as a guest so I can't reply to them, and talk to them about the story. But don't worry, I take all of it to heart. I even take a look at every profile that follows my story, trying to get a grasp on how well I'm reaching out beyond just the die-hard members of the fandom, that read every submission. Sometimes it's daunting to see mine up there in people's small list of followed stories with some of the biggest names of the fandom, but I try my best to fit the shoes.
As always, leave a review. I know this one is a pretty boring "down chapter," but the next two should be better. And the two after that will be better than that. It's my goal that every chapter is better than the last, and while I may not achieve it all the time, I do the best with what I'm given… That's a lie. I'm a lazy little shit sometimes. Here's this instead: I will try better to try my best with what I'm given. So, there.