Chapter IX: He Can (Not) Weasel Out of This
The central plaza was lit in flashing red and blue lights, with the occasional dash of amber as firefighters and medical workers evacuated the Twentynine Palms Tower and Hotel of guests and patrons. They were hardly pleased, offering the emergency workers sharp glances. The guests who were more imbibed had taken to swinging paws and claws at firefighters, leading the police to arrest a fair bit more animals than they'd originally been called to handle. The Sahara Ninth Precinct was keeping pace as best it could, but had to call for reinforcements from surrounding precincts to keep the peace. Police officers were lost among crowds of citizens, indistinguishable from the throngs leaving the tower's base. The scene could best be described as organized chaos, as news helicopters hovered overhead, offering viewers at home uninterrupted views of the panic, reinforcing a certain view that the city was in disarray and the police force was rapidly becoming overwhelmed amid a shrinking budget and growing population.
Amid the clutter of the plaza, Nick and Judy sat in slightly uncomfortable plastic chairs in Peter Hare's office inside the All Mammal Credit Union. The bank's employees loitered in the lobby, their ears erect and steady, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation taking place inside.
"Mr. Hare, does the name 'Benjamin Bos' sound familiar to you?" Judy asked, taking out her notebook and carrot pen. She could see Nick's foot tapping the floor rapidly in thinly veiled anxiety. The entire day had been nerve-wracking for all of them, most of all for Mr. Hare and his employees, but they couldn't afford to lose any more time on this case. Each second passed was a second that Mr. Bos's killers weren't brought to justice.
"Bos? Yeah, I do remember him coming by a few weeks ago. Tall-ish yak? Prim and proper suit?"
"Yes, sir. Could you positively identify him for us?" Judy asked, holding out a sheet of paper with the pictures of six different yaks on it. When Mr. Hare pointed out Benjamin Bos from the rest, she suspected that she'd been right in pursuing this lead after all.
"Can you tell us what he came here for? It certainly wasn't to open up an account."
"He actually came in and wanted to buy us out," Mr. Hare said, placing his paws in the air and shrugging. "He said that Goldman Yaks would purchase the credit union for two and a half dollars for every dollar in assets held, but I said no."
"Why did you turn him down? I'm sure your customers would have been thrilled to have that kind of pay off," Nick said, taking out a notebook of his own. Being a con-artist almost his entire life, his interest was instantly piqued whenever money came up, especially when real money started to get tossed around.
"We're one of the only credit unions in the country that offers comprehensive financial services to non-traditional species. Despite our name, All Mammal Credit Union serves non-mammals as well. Our name is a holdover from the days when predators used to be discriminated against in financial affairs as well. When a lion or an otter got denied a bank account from one of the bigger banks, they'd come to us and we'd grant the request with a minor account upkeep fee."
"Is that the business model you follow today?" Nick asked.
"Yes, it's a blanket policy. We serve rabbits, lions, lizards, birds – every animal, all for a small fee. Our non-mammal customers are grateful for a chance to open a bank account and our mammalian customers put up with the increased fees because we pay up to double the amount of interest for most standard account holders."
"So you turned down the offer because-" Nick barely said before he was cut off.
"Because it would've absolutely crushed the financial prospects of a lot of our non-mammal customers. I'm very proud in the business I run. Very proud of the business my father ran and his father ran. It's not explicitly illegal to deny an account solely on species, but there's no consumer protection either. I turned down the offer because I thought it was in the best interest of our clients," Mr. Hare said, putting his paws on his desk and crossing his fingers, waxing wisdom and professionalism.
"Do you think today's robbery attempt had anything to do with your refusal of the buy-out offer?" Judy asked.
"The robbery? No. No, not at all. Mr. Bos was very courteous and professional. Listen, we're both bankers, these deals happen all the time. I've been approached by a number of big banks over my career and I've always told them the same thing."
"But the robber said something to you about 'not listening'," Judy said, pressing further. "He said this was your fault for not listening."
"Ah, that." Mr. Hare said, leaning back in his chair, turning around to show them its back. She could tell from the position of his ears that he was looking at one of the many photographs hanging on the wall. Company picnics surrounded by colleagues and friends; Mr. Hare shaking hands with a bald eagle, both regaled in ready-to-wear suits; and Mr. Hare wearing khakis and a polo shirt, posing with a group of snakes and alligators. Quite the adventurer.
"Because of our client base, we often get targeted by mammal-supremacist groups every now and then. Last month we were hit by a DDoS attack that shut down our company's public website for several hours, but it didn't affect our customer's credit transactions, thank God. We've had bricks thrown through windows and assaults on our workers at other branches. In Meadowlands, Pasture Fields, Old Rodentia, you name a city a AMCU branch in it and there's more likely been an attack than not. Thankfully, this is the first time the Zootopia branch has seen any kind of violence."
"So, did an animal approach you before this telling you to stop doing business with non-mammals?" Nick asked, furiously taking down notes, his ears betraying his full attention. It was odd to see Nick so invested in a case.
"We get hate mail on a regular basis, Officer Wilde. I suppose the robber was referring to one of the many hateful letters we receive and forward to the city's Center for Information Security. If you get in touch with them, I'm sure you'll probably find the most recent hate-mail that he was referring to." Mr. Hare said. He turned back to them, looking resigned, his head down and looking at a photo of his family sitting on the desk.
"Quite honestly, I don't know why you people don't track these guys down and arrest them before they target my banks and employees. We're a target every day."
"It's not illegal to send hate-mail, sir," Judy said, disgusted at how matter-of-factly she reported the obvious to him. He'd debased himself and sought to reassure Duke Weaselton that the only reason his rabbits were taking so long was because of their incompetence under pressure, throwing away several centuries of rabbit progress to lean on old stereotypes so that his employees could have a chance at living through the day. She wished things were different. She cursed the fact that she couldn't hold a hunting rifle herself and assault the bank with Nick instead of waiting for the weasel to make a run for it, but the job came with its responsibilities – and she came with her capabilities.
Mr. Hare sighed and mouthed "I know" before looking at Nick for some sort of sympathy. The fox shrugged his shoulders and motioned toward his partner.
"She's right, sir. Until these weirdos actually attack you, there's nothing the ZPD can do. You can file for mail screening from the Royal Post due to harassment, but otherwise, they're not violating any laws," Nick said. He tapped his notebook a little, seemingly lost in his thoughts, his eyes locked on an indeterminate spot on the desk. Judy looked on, unwilling to interrupt his concentration, before he raised his head, finding the words he was searching for. "Mr. Hare, have any mice spoken to you recently?"
"Mice? I don't see how that has anything to do with what happened here today," Mr. Hare said.
"We're pursuing all possible angles here, Mr. Hare. I assure you that any information you give us – anything at all – would be greatly appreciated."
"Our company has a number of rodent clients. I get mice in here every day from Old Rodentia looking to store their winnings from the casino."
"No, not any day-to-day consumer clients. Big clients," Nick said. Judy could see which track he was running on, but his phrasing was awkward. She interrupted him to ask the question herself.
"What Officer Wilde is trying to ask, Mr. Hare, is if you've have any institutional clients represented by mice recently. We think they may be linked to Mr. Weaselton in some way," she lied. They had no credible evidence linking anyone to the weasel except his statements indirectly linking him to the mammal supremacist threats on the bank. If Mr. Hare didn't take the bait, they'd end up nowhere.
"I do, but I can't exactly divulge their information," Mr. Hare said.
"The representative or the institutions?" Judy asked.
"The representatives. The institutions I have to report, by law. I can give you those freely."
"We would appreciate that," Nick said. The rabbit behind the desk nodded and turned to his computer, pressing a few keys and pulling up a spreadsheet from his files. The file printed out quickly enough from a machine next to his desk and Mr. Hare stood up to hand it to them. Judy and Nick stared at the paper for a few moments – Nick raised his head first.
"That's it?" he asked.
"They're all unions."
"We're fairly popular among the labor community because of our higher interest rates," Mr. Hare said. "They're another one of our niche clients that we strive to serve here at AMCU."
"Carrots, look at this," Nick said, putting his paws on the paper, pointing to several unions on the bottom of the list.
"Municipal Transit Workers Local 40, United Electrical Track Workers Local 19, Brotherhood of Underground Civil Engineers Local 1," Judy read. "They're all transit unions."
"All-mice transit unions. Mr. Hare, have the representatives for these unions contacted you recently?"
Mr. Hare seemed perplexed, raising an eyebrow at the duo. "Officers, I thought you were investigating the robbery?"
"We are, Mr. Hare. This information is also of interest for the tandem investigation of the murder of Mr. Bos."
"Oh my – you never mentioned that Mr. Bos was murdered."
"Your business card was found in his wallet. We were on our way here before the robbery – which is why we got here so early," Judy said.
"I see. Well, officers, I can tell you that there are no representatives for those unions. Just a representative. Singular. Being that they all do business at this institution and they all work in similar fields, the three unions you mentioned decided on a single representative. I'm afraid that's all I can legally tell you."
"But if we were to search the union leadership rolls-"
"You would find a single common name among them, yes."
Judy and Nick looked at each other, smiling. Finally. If they knew who represented the workers responsible for the transit cameras, they'd be able to find who kept tampering with the cameras. Judy looked over at Mr. Hare, taking her patrol cap in her hand.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Hare. We've got to go interview Mr. Weaselton now," she said, beaming. Nick almost fell over himself jogging to the door, holding it open for Judy. Mr. Hare simply stood up and bowed, thanking them for their service and their time.
As they exited the credit union and got back to their car, Nick threw his paws into the air, accidentally hitting the roof as he did so. They were still smiling at each other.
"Judy! You were right! This is excellent!"
"If we get in touch with the union rep and get them to agree to hand out duty logs, we'll be able to figure out who's been messing with the cameras," she said.
"And if we bust them, we find the algorithm they used to loop the camera footage, use that to restore the original data, and we have our evidence for the assaults, the location of our witnesses, and the identity of who dumped Mr. Bos's body!"
"I told you this lead was worth it! I told you!" she screamed, reaching over to hug him. Stunned, he returned it, breaking apart and looking forward at the crowd still gathered in the plaza, paying them no attention and equally ignoring the orders of the police. The wolves dressed in black assault gear, standing guard by the entrance to Twentynine Palms, however, had a sizable section of the plaza under control, their presence much more dominating and authoritarian than that of the police.
"Look at the mess you caused," Nick chided, picking up the radio. Judy scoffed, leaning back in her seat to let her partner work his magic.
"Ninth precinct dispatch this is Unit 07-11. We need the location of the suspect from the robbery at Twentynine Palms for an interrogation interview."
"Unit 07-11, the suspect is being held at ninth precinct. Come on down. He's all yours."
Nick switched the radio off, clapping. "You heard him, Carrots! Let's go."
She couldn't stop grinning. Starting the car, she switched their emergency lights off before gingerly pulling out of the plaza. As she entered the avenue surrounding it, she'd noticed the damage to the curb she caused when they got to the scene. She was sure that the repairs would come out of her paycheck, but right now, she was determined to bring this case to a close. He heart began to race as they approached the ninth precinct, just a few blocks away from credit union. Pulling up to the garage, they presented their credentials and pulled into the visitors parking. Nick, for his part, has abandoned the aviator sunglasses, deciding to look the part of professional cop as they entered the elevator to the lobby. She helped him straighten his tie while they were waiting.
"Come on, Nick. You don't want to look like such a mess at the end of our second big case together," she said, pulling the tie closer to his neck and wiping the dust off of his shirt.
"First. And I was wearing a ballistic vest and a rifle for a good minute there, Carrots. I'd like to see you look this good after that," he said, smiling. He was hoping that the interview with Weaselton would go over much smoother than their last encounter two years ago. They didn't have the backing of Mr. Big to "ice" the weasel this time, and he knew how uncooperative he could get.
As they exited the elevator and walked into the lobby, what few officers that still remained in the building started clapping their hands, hooting at the two of them. The front desk officer – a polar bear whose last name was Snow – stood up and welcomed them.
"Well, well, well – if it isn't the hero cops from central plaza. You've earned yourselves a fine reputation here in the Naughty Ninth already. Leave some glory for those of us who work here, will you?"
"Hey, sorry about that. Central's just got higher standards, you know. If we pulled that off back in Savanna Square, Clawhauser would barely break a yawn," Nick said, repressing a laugh. Judy couldn't, and leaned on her partner as the polar bear chuckled at them.
"You just called in about interviewing that suspect, right? He's in holding cell four, right through those guards," the polar bear said, pointing to a thick steel door behind him leading to, from what they could see, was a drab gray hallway with steel cages inside. The hallway door itself was guarded by two uniformed officers, both of them rhinos.
"Thanks, bud. I'll buy you a coffee when we're done," Nick said, taking the lead and walking over to the door leading to the holding cells. The officers anticipated their movements, unlocking the door before they arrived so they could walk straight in. Another rhino officer on the inside of the hallway led them to holding cell four, unlocking it for the two of them, before locking it behind them. Duke Weaselton sat on a bench inside, holding his head.
"Why did it have to be you two. Here to almost kill me again?" the weasel said, despondent. Nick's ears immediately twitched.
"No, we're just here to talk," Judy said, leaning against the wall. "Why'd you rob the bank, Duke?"
"You might as well kill me. I'm a dead animal anyway," Duke said. Nick's innate suspicion seemed to be correct. Before Judy could even open her mouth, he held up his paw to silence her, walking over to sit down on the bunk next to the weasel.
"What do you mean, Duke?"
"Nick, I'm dead. I'm so dead. I'm dead and you're a cop. You can't help me."
"Helping people is precisely why I became a cop. Believe it or not, it feels a lot better than scamming people – even if I don't make as much money," Nick said, placing his arm around him. Duke looked up, between Nick and Judy, before burying his face in his paws again.
"They're gonna kill me, Nick. And they're gonna kill you if you get anything out of me. Doesn't matter that you're a cop," Duke said, the angst in his voice growing. His voice started to break as he leaned further down, he face almost touching his knees. "
"No one's going to kill you, Duke. I swear on it."
"Last time you swore an oath you became a cop."
"Duke, you see her over there," Nick said, pointing to Judy. She pointed at herself, as if to ask "why me?". Duke looked over at her.
"Yeah? What about her? Last time I met her she stuffed me in a donut and almost had me put in a freezer."
"Yeah, well, she's quite aggressive for a rabbit. But I'll tell you what: I trust my life to her every single day I come into work. She might be small, but she's got the heart of a lion. We'll keep you safe, Duke, but you have to talk to us. Who's going to kill you?"
Duke looked up at them again, leaning back onto the wall behind him, tears falling in controlled pairs off his face. His face contorted in a mixture of anger and disgust, each emotion filling him, directed entirely at himself. Sighing, he seemed to have made his answer.
"Rickey Mouse."
"Rickey Mouse?" Nick asked, tilting his head.
"Rickey Mouse hired me for this job. He's the local union boss for BUCE Local 1. He told me I could keep everything I got from it as payment. The only thing I'd need to do was rob the place and say what they told me to say."
"So you're spiel about those rabbits having to listen up?" Judy asked.
"All scripted. All planned. He told me that me saying those things fulfilled my end of the job and all the money I got would be his end of it. I thought it was easy money, but, Nick, you don't understand these animals, alright? They're on another level, alright? Like, you fail them and they bury you in concrete under a railway tunnel kind of level."
"The unions haven't been violent like that since the dot-com crash and the crisis afterward," Nick said. "Why would they kill you? Or even offer you this job?"
"It wasn't them. Not entirely. They contract me out, but I'm pretty sure Rickey's being hired by someone else, too. I'm just the last one in a long line of people being hired to do stuff like this, Nick."
"What do you mean when you say 'it wasn't him'? I thought you said you'd been hired by Rickey Mouse," Judy asked, her paw moving faster than she could write. Her carrot pen slipped from her grasp and landed on the floor more times than she was comfortable with. At this rate, it would be easier to just record the conversation and call it a day.
"Rickey hired me to rob the bank, but the order came from up higher. Much higher. Like, we're talking someone Rickey said 'yes ma'am' to on the phone – and Rickey never says that. He's old school rough-and-tumble from the south side of the canal district, yeah? Alright, animals like him just don't say 'yes ma'am.' It's not in his nature."
"Do you know who he was speaking to?" Judy asked.
"No, he always told me that by the time I needed to know, I'd know. That wasn't the only animal he acted strange around. He'd say 'yes, sir' on the phone, every now and then, but I've never seen him jump and stand up straight while talking on the phone. Rickey was terrified of this gal."
"Any reason why they had you rob this bank? Specifically this bank? Why they had you say those things in there?" Judy asked. Nick had left the questioning to her, relegating himself to rubbing Duke's back to make sure he was alright.
"It was retaliation. The rabbits over there defied an order, so this was payback. We'd hit them hard enough and throughout their branches so that they'd eventually declare bankruptcy and they could swoop in."
"Defied what order?"
"I don't know the specifics, but the guys Rickey worked for wanted to buy out the bank to use it for something. When they refused, the order came down."
"When did the order to rob the bank come, Duke?" Judy asked. She had stopped writing notes, engaging the weasel with her full attention. She needed to know the time line to sort through the increasingly tangled criminal web weaving itself through her brain.
"Last Monday, right before things got really intense. After that, there were phone calls off the wall. Honestly, there was more contract work than I knew what to do with. There's an entire criminal network operating all over Zootopia right now and you two have no idea."
Nick and Judy locked eyes, registering mutual panic. "Last Monday," Nick wanted to be sure, reaching into his pocket, looking for his phone, again forgetting that he had broken it and had yet to buy a replacement. He frantically searched through his notes, being beaten by Judy, who had hers in her paw.
"Last Monday was the Central Station Incident," Judy said.
"Yeah, that's when everything took off," Duke said.
Judy had the officer outside unlock the door, racing Nick to their patrol car, a sense of accomplishment and pride being replaced by a deep-seated fear. Duke's words echoed in both of their heads: "there's an entire criminal network operating all over Zootopia right now and you have no idea." If everything started taking off for the bad guys after the Central Station Incident and they'd only investigated these two crimes, then that must mean that there were more related crimes occurring throughout the city that they weren't event picking up. Jumping across the hood of the car, Judy started it and screeched out of the garage, not bothering to wait until Nick was buckled in. They needed to get back to Central Precinct fast, for everyone's sake.