Chapter 21

"-and then they will kill my sister."

Judy stared at the vixen, still holding the imprisoning wrist strap and camera in one paw, her mind on overdrive. Time seemed to slow down, soccer balls drifted through the air, and the rainbows glittering from the fountain sparkled in Fennel's light green eyes.

So it wasn't just endangered animals that were being extorted, even kidnapped. Fennel, perhaps Peter, McHorn, and possibly unknown others, were being blackmailed into service. But why? Why go to all the trouble to virtually enslave these mammals?

Fennel's Findings.

Of course. She's a reporter. A wannabe reporter, with aggressive instincts but no institution to back her up or support her when she looked for trouble and found it.

"You stumbled onto this group a while ago." Judy blurted it as a statement, not as a question. "You were doing an investigation, you came across this organization, and then they've blackmailed you into working for them. This happened even before the arson fire."

Fennel stood stone-faced, but from her eye's corner, Judy spotted Peter leaning away from her slightly. Peter. A records specialist.

"And you, Peter. Did you stumble across this group as well? Some small record not quite right? Some numbers not quite matching?" Peter wouldn't look at her. "And you found out a little too much, didn't you? And now you're all puppets working for this… this extortion group."

"Just like you now, too," Fennel sighed, indicating her bracelet. "You couldn't be satisfied with a gift-wrapped suspect dumped into your lap, could you? But believe me, I understand."

Judy hardly thought the bat had been delivered "gift-wrapped" to her, as she had nearly lost her life in the process, but more important topics beckoned. She stroked her ear, a studying habit her mother had tried to scold her out of many times during her school days. "But why approach the ZPD at all? Fennel, why'd you actually help Nick and me? You came to us, and basically pushed me into Peter's path. And you-" she added, turning to Peter, "-you brought up the fact that all those coyotes were missing. Back at your office a few days ago. Were you ordered to put Nick and me on the coyotes' trail?"

Peter glanced sidelong at Fennel, who shook her head. Judy rushed on, like Clawhauser sniffing out a stale donut.

"That's gotta be it. This organization, whoever it is, wanted to find something. They wanted Sage, and somehow weren't able to do it on their own. Why Sage?" Her brow furrowed for an instant, but cleared almost immediately. "Wiley. They needed Wiley, but weren't finding him. That's why they set that fire in the first place. To terrify Sage into revealing her brother's whereabouts." She paused, holding her chin in thought. "Although—that bat had quite a few firebombs on him last night. Maybe arson is another extortion tool, or a side racket for this group as well-"

"Judy…" McHorn began.

"But then Nick and I showed up at the fire. And someone, somewhere, decided that you should keep tabs on us. They even told you to feed us tasty tidbits to keep us hooked on finding Sage and Wiley. And we merrily led you right to them." Judy frowned, angry with herself and how well she'd been played.

"Judy," McHorn rumbled, more insistently. "She wasn't kidding about my wife."

"Yeah, getting yourself killed by your lack of self-preservation is one thing, but I'll be damned if I let my sister get killed because you can't just shut up," growled the vixen. As if on cue, her phone buzzed, and she glanced down at the screen. Her eyes widened, her ears flattened, and her shoulders slumped, all traces of fire and anger extinguished.

"They've said to go ahead and activate her phone and let her messages through," she nervously told Peter.

"You sure?" the rabbit said, a tremor in his voice.

Fennel looked Judy straight in the eye.

"I was serious in warning you. I know you don't trust me, but trust me on this. These mammals are hearing and seeing everything that's going on here. They're even going to make you install cameras in your home and make you sleep with your lights on. And now it looks like they've decided to send you a message."

Peter fumbled around in his pocket and brought out a device that looked like a jacked-up CarrotPhone. He performed a set of intricate maneuvers on the device, and Judy's phone immediately stirred to life and released a series of small beeps.

"O.K., all her photos are deleted, including those sent to her by her partner," the young rabbit muttered. "Her incoming texts should be visible now."

"You see, Judy," said Fennel, "all your incoming calls and texts were blocked once it became clear that you were going to continue the case and enter the Nocturnal District this morning." She hesitated. "I know we don't see eye-to-eye on a lot of things, but I'm sorry this is happening. I hoped you wouldn't get caught up in this. I just pray the message isn't what I think it is."

VOICEMAIL. MOM.

Her mouth cotton dry, Judy lifted the phone to her ear.

"Judy, it's Mom." Bonnie's voice was calm. Too calm. Judy began to shiver. She remembered this no-nonsense voice, the one that emerged when a brother had broken an arm, or her toddler sister had swallowed some insecticide. In a crisis, her mother somehow managed to detach herself from the immediate emotion, as if she could astrally project herself outside her body and observe the unfolding situation dispassionately, briskly shepherding family members into action and organization, directing resources like a general in battle. Emotional breakdowns would occur later, at a more convenient time. The calm tone frightened Judy more than any sobbing or hysteria could have ever achieved.

"You're father's had an accident in the truck while driving into town. He's alive, but he's going into surgery shortly. His tire either blew out or came off—they're not quite sure what happened. Anyway, there's plenty of family coming around to help with the kits, so don't worry, things are under control. I just wanted to let you know what was going on so you didn't hear from anyone else." There was some noisy shuffling in the background. "I may not be able to answer this phone for a while, but I'll have your sister Junnie keep everyone updated as soon as we learn how the surgery went. Love you honey, and pray for your Dad."

Well aware of the searching stares of the rhino, rabbit, and vixen, Judy fought to keep her face neutral as she cut off the voicemail.

"Who was hurt?" Fennel asked. "Your parents, I guess?"

Judy wasn't sure she'd be able to speak without her voice cracking, so she opted to glare at Fennel instead. The vixen returned her gaze with a hint of sympathy.

"They O.K.? Were they killed?"

Judy shook her head, and the three other mammals sagged their shoulders in relief.

"Why?" Judy managed to say.

"Probably to show you that they can," Fennel said simply. "I'm guessing that they anticipated that you weren't going to take them seriously and arranged this, um, demonstration, for you earlier."

"And then waited for the right moment to let me find out about my father," Judy said, in a slow hiss. Her shock was dissipating, being replaced with a quiet fury. Her phone beeped. Incoming text.

Looking down, she blinked in surprise. It was a photo. Of her mother. Bonnie was sitting in what looked like a waiting room, her head resting against a jacket, eyes closed. Judy could tell that the slightly blurred photo was taken from across the room. The message was from an unknown number, which was strange, since she thought she had every possible family member entered-

Realization hit her like a giraffe's car, and her fur bristled in fear. She almost balked in panic but forced herself to calm down. Intellectually, she had known that this group, whoever they were, meant business, but now she felt the emotional gut punch. She forced herself to concentrate.

The rabbit turned to McHorn. "You never forwarded my requests about the Vision Casino, did you?"

The rhino shook his head. "Sorry, Hopps. I got a message from this morning ordering me to monitor Dispatch. I guess when they learned you were heading back into the Nocturnal District, they wanted to make sure I was the one you'd pick up if you radioed in. No one else at the ZPD knows anything, as far as I know." He couldn't look her in the eyes. "I had to do it. They've already murdered my brother-in-law. You now know these mammals are serious,."

Judy turned to Fennel. "What was this organization going to do if I hadn't agreed to meet Peter just now?"

"I don't know," the vixen said, "and I'm not sure I want to know. I tried to head off things by suggesting that Peter contact you first, before they tried more, um, drastic measures."

"You talk with them?"

"It's all by text." As Judy bored into her with her stare, Fennel dropped her eyes for the first time. "Your hacked phone had already revealed Officer Wilde's past… transgressions, and I already had that information on paw. I'd a hunch that if Peter told you your partner was in trouble, you'd come running to him first, before heading to the ZPD. So I passed on the suggestion by text, hoping to avoid something more unpleasant." Fennel raised her eyes once more, and her muzzle carried the hint of a smirk. "Call it feminine intuition. And it looks like I was right after all, so you're welcome. Now, are you going to keep tempting fate and asking more questions? Even knowing that they're monitoring everything we say, and even after they've hurt someone in your family? I know you're reckless, but you're not that stupid, right?"

Judy remained silent, and switched her attention back to the wristband with disgust. "So you want me to wear this thing, and set Wilde up with this fake evidence."

"The poor fellow basically buried himself by not being completely honest on his ZPD application," Fennel sighed with disappointment.

"Why not just threaten or extort him, like you're doing to me? Why wreck his career?"

"You're a real piece of work," Fennel growled. "Stop asking questions!" Her teeth were now bared, and for the first time in their brief acquaintance, Judy felt the vixen might actually attack her. She fought to control the twitching in her nose, and tamped down ancient instincts to flee.

"You know me well enough to know I'm a terrible liar," the gray bunny growled back. "If these extortionists want me to set up my partner for a fall, I'm gonna have to be convinced there's no other option. If I'm gonna be lying to his face, I'm gonna have to believe it's for his own good."

Fennel stared at her for a moment, then said out loudly and clearly, "I believe her. She needs to know why." A few seconds later, her phone buzzed. After giving it a quick glance, she said, "Fine. Unlike you, Nick Wilde does not have a bajillion relatives to provide leverage. Don't even know if he has living relatives." She glanced at McHorn. "Accessing ZPD personnel information is tricky, apparently."

"How'd you get mine?"

"Because you were trusting enough to download an unregistered app on your phone, and I'm sure there were a lot of "Hopps" and "Mom" and "Dad" entries in your contacts," she snorted. "Peter must have been so very charming." Peter blushed, staring resolutely past Judy. "You're honest and straightforward, Judy, at least in most things. You're like an open book. Unfortunately, when you're an open book, you're often easy to read." Fennel shrugged. "Now, Officer Wilde, he's quite the charmer and an accomplished flatterer, but that tod's book is clamped shut." She sighed ruefully, but with a hint of admiration. "I guess I'm not siren enough to get him to reveal anything about his family. I do hope,," she said, worried, "that he'll accept his upcoming suspension quietly and not raise a big fuss. Otherwise," she continued, with real regret in her voice, "they'll force us to destroy him."

Ninety minutes later…

It began as a general unease that permeated the corridors, but rapidly expanded into quivering whiskers, swiveling ears, and tails twitching up in interest. As Fangmeyer, McHorn, and Wilde marched in near-military lockstep down the long spiral staircase toward the great hallway entrance of the ZPD, chairs turned, heads peeked up over cubicle walls, and bodies leaned against door frames, coffee cups in hand. Rumor, that swiftest form of communication, flitted ahead of the trio down the stairway and across the main reception area. Nick's companions sensed the change in the atmosphere and drew themselves closer to the fox, the predator's large paw clamped gently yet firmly on Nick's shoulder. By the time the group reached the bottom of the stairway, it was as if the world's smallest parade was in progress, with every eye in the hall a bystander.

It was the pawcuffs that drew the attention, of course. Fangmeyer and McHorn had had a short yet furious debate as to whether Bogo's orders implied cuffing. The chief had actually not used the word "arrested," only "detained," after all. Fangmeyer had toyed with the cuffs on his belt, eyes fixed on Nick's wrists, clearly uncomfortable with the prospect of placing them on someone wearing the bright blue uniform of the ZPD. The large feline couldn't make himself take that last irrevocable action that would blare to the world that Nicholas Wilde, a ZPD officer decorated for heroism just a week ago, had just effectively been arrested on suspicion of welfare fraud, willful misrepresentation, and/or perjury on an official government document. Only McHorn's obstinate insistence had finally persuaded Fangmeyer to attach the cuffs. Nick hadn't resisted. He hadn't done much of anything. His eyes, and thoughts, had been focused on Chief Bogo's frosted doorway window, perhaps contemplating how in just a few minutes he had lost his career and his best friend.

While the cuffs were silent, their impact was the same as a blaring siren. Wolford and the other candids scrambled to get a clear view of the group, while trying not to appear to be scrambling. A herd of pronghorn antelope, standing near the reception, sniffed the air nervously, subconsciously restraining an urge to flee.

"Is something going on?" one of them asked.

Ahead loomed the nerve center of the ZPD gossip network, old Benjamin Clawhauser himself, looking at Nick like a spider eying a particularly juicy fly. No, scratch that, Nick realized with a sinking heart. The cheetah's ears were at full attention, but it was from shock, not anticipation. There were even hints of sadness at the corners of the dispatcher's mouth. Sadness and disappointment. In him. That hurt the most. Nick could deal with the smug I-told-you-so expressions on several of the officers loitering along the perimeter of the great hall, including the hippo sergeant-at-arms Higgins. He'd faced those attitudes from day one on the force; indeed, he had dealt with similar disdain and dismissiveness all of his life. It was the surprise and disbelief in the faces of Clawhauser, Wolford, Francine, and the other officers he had cautiously come to consider friends that ripped him up on the inside. Not that he'd ever let anyone see. So Nick sauntered up to the dispatcher's desk as if he were simply ending another shift. Just another routine day, nothing strange going on here, ignore the shiny cuffs on these wrists.

Higgins, who stood next to Clawhauser, arm leaning on the desk, wasn't fooled by the act. His impressive jaw hinged open slightly in amazement at the sight of the approaching group.

"Now what's going on here?"

"Chief's asked us to put Wilde in temporary holding," Fangmeyer replied.

The sergeant leaned forward, his beady eyes focusing intently on the fox.

"Oh he did, did he? I'm surprised he hasn't done it sooner." Nick bristled at the dismissive tone, but he and Higgins had never been on a first-name basis. Maybe 'dislike' was too strong a word, but Nick had always sensed an extra layer of skepticism in the hippo's dealing with him.

"Beats me," Fangmeyer continued. "I just heard the words 'part of a disciplinary and possibly criminal investigation' and then cleared out of there. Chief wasn't in a good mood, and I wasn't about to hang around and ask for details."

"What were his specific instructions?" Higgins asked briskly, looking up at McHorn, who had stood aloof from the conversation so far.

"Temporary holding cell for 24 hours," grunted the rhino. "Chief is concerned about flight risk."

"Flight risk!" exclaimed Clawhauser. "Nick, is this really happening?"

"It's happening," Higgins had a small grin now, the self-satisfied smile of one whose private doubts had finally been proven right by events. Nick met his sergeant's gaze with dead seriousness.

"I'm being accused of something I didn't do-"

"-which is?" asked Higgins, as the others leaned in slightly.

"I'm being held on suspicion of committing welfare fraud while employed as an officer of the ZPD."

"'While employed as an officer of the ZPD'-" echoed the hippo, stretching out the phrase. "Very precise phrasing. Something tells me that qualification is important, Officer?"

"I've had a colorful past, sir, as you know. Ten years ago, I did some things that I'm not exactly proud of now. But I've been clean since taking the badge." Higgins frowned doubtfully.

"So why is the chief snorting steam?" asked Fangmeyer.

"Somehow, someone must have gotten ahold of my bank account numbers to make it look like I'm still accepting unearned benefits, even after I joined the ZPD. I'm being framed, and I bet I know why." He was conscious of the various degrees of skepticism running across the faces of the four officers. "The arson case Judy and I've been working on. Someone's trying to stop us."

"But you've gotten a confession on that case, right?" asked Clawhauser. "I mean, I just showed you the picture of that bat you guys arrested less than an hour ago!"

"Judy and I don't believe it, and she was going to push further on it this morning. She must have uncovered something to provoke this distraction-"

"This is a lot more than a distraction, Wilde," Higgins said coolly. "This may be your badge."

"Speaking of Judy, where is she?" asked Clawhauser, looking around in a slight panic. "Does she know you're in trouble? I'm kinda surprised she's not already here threatening McHorn to take off those cuffs."

Nick pursed his lips in a grim line and said nothing. Fangmeyer rubbed the back of his neck and looked across at the cheetah. "She knows. She was in the chief's office. She might even have been behind… all this," he gestured awkwardly toward the uncharacteristically taciturn fox.

"Judy…. turned you in for misconduct," said Benjamin, incredulously, as if he had just heard Fangmeyer say that Gazelle's music was 'just OK'.

Nick could almost feel the pressure as the combined gazes of his fellow officers pivoted onto him. It was a hardening gaze, gazes of appraising cops, not companions. It was as if a flock of birds that had been fidgeting nervously on a fence had finally decided to take flight. He knew many of his colleagues liked him. Or at least tolerated him. But everyone trusted Judy.

Bogo's door closed with a soft 'click'. Despite the softness of the sound, all the officers jumped slightly. As one, they craned their necks to spot Judy, her long ears clearly visible above the railing as she peeped over the balcony down toward the front desk. With a jolt Nick realized that only a week ago, she and him had stood in that exact same spot, discussing how his recklessness during the arson fire had nearly gotten himself killed. At the time, he'd thought she'd never be that upset with him again. Fate must have had a good laugh at that. The bunny slowly moved along the railing, bypassing the stairway. As one, the officers realized that the usually spry comrade was actually going to take the elevator down for the first time in institutional memory.

"I've got to go with Judy to pick up a witness," McHorn rumbled, breaking a long silence. "You got this, Fangmeyer?"

"Yeah," said the tiger, all business now. "C'mon, Wilde."

"McHorn, talk to Judy," Nick said over his shoulder as the tiger shepherded him away from the desk. "Find out what she did this morning, and either let me or Ben know. Something's not right. I know you think so too."

The rhino snapped his attention back to Nick, as if he'd just been tasered. "Whaddya mean, fox?" he said with a gruff hostility. Fangmeyer stopped, startled, and Nick raised his ears to full attention. He looked McHorn straight in the eye, cocking his head curiously.

"Let's just say I've gotten pretty good at reading animals, and the way you've been standing, the way you've been looking everywhere but at my cuffs, and the way you're not saying anything. Something's bothering you about this, and I say, follow that instinct."

The fox and tiger continued moving down the hall, and Higgins slapped the desk and walked away. Clawhauser turned his attention to the two rather confused antelope loitering uncertainly nearby, after having cast a last worried glance in Nick's direction.

McHorn's phone beeped a text message. His lip trembled in mute terror.

Temporary holding was intended to be just that—temporary. Just whitewashed walls with toilets and bars, and definitely not intended to make one feel at home. A hard wooden bench lined the walls of the largest enclosure, while the smaller cells had fold-down beds of various sizes, the next smaller built into the previous one. All had mattresses designed for cost-effectiveness and space efficiency, not for comfort.

Nick sat in one of the smaller cells, shoulders slumped. He was undersized for the mid-sized bed folded down from the wall. This, combined with his hunched posture and unfocused stare at the concrete floor, made him look small and vulnerable. The fluorescent bulb cast a harsh light off the bricked white walls, whose monotonous pattern was punctuated only by the occasional security camera. A drunken camel glanced curiously at the still figure while being transferred to the main cell, but otherwise the fox was left alone with whatever thoughts were running in his head.

His ears pricked up as he heard a familiar wheezing down the hall, and Clawhauser appeared at the barred door.

"Heeeeey, Nick," he said awkwardly, rubbing his neck. "No word yet on your status; haven't heard anything from Bogo." He whipped out two pieces of paper. "But I have two letters for you. One was just handed to me by Judy, when she came back from her errand, and the other was dropped off half an hour ago by some vixen. She said her name was Fennel, and that you'd know her. Somehow she had gotten word about your… situation." Clawhauser seemed to realize that his words had been tumbling out in a heap, and fell silent for a moment. "Am I right in guessing she's your blogger fan?"

Nick took in a deep breath, stood up, and with a smile reached through the bars to grab the letters. "Yeah, she's the one. Thanks, Ben."

"Hang in there, Wilde," said the cat. "I'm sure you'll get released on bail, and then there's a whole formal process for you to defend yourself and explain the situation. And looks like Judy's willing to talk with you after all," he added hopefully, gesturing the sealed letter Nick was inspecting. Nick paused and cast an inquiring eye at his friend. "Yeah, I was really, really tempted to peek. But I didn't break the seal. Hope the letters help."

"I'm sure they will. And thanks, Ben, for delivering them to me in person. It means… a lot… to me right now."

The cheetah patted the bars a couple of times, winked, and turned to leave. Nick watched his friend's spotted tail disappear up the stairs at the end of the hall, then sat back down and glanced at the two letters before seizing Judy's and ripping it open, revealing one sheet of single-spaced paw-written sentences:

Dear Nick,

I'm writing this because I can't bring myself to face you now. I'm too overwhelmed, and writing is the only way I can sort out my feelings at the moment. You at least deserve a hand-written note. I guess I'll start by saying goodbye. You've been one of the most important mammals in my life. You rescued (and really started) my career. You've saved me, I've saved you, and I've shared parts of myself with you I've never shared with anyone else, and may never share with anyone again. In a sense, I thought you were my soulmate, and you've made life at the ZPD feel like a pleasant dream over the past couple of years, even with all the paperwork.

Which makes it all the harder for me to write these next words.

I'm still in shock at how quickly a friendship we've built and solidified over the years could break so quickly, just in a matter of days. When you told me about Sage being your former girlfriend, I was fine with that, even though I was a little bothered you didn't reveal this relevant information immediately at the start of an investigation. Then I had to discover on my own that you were married to her as part of a welfare scam, and then I had to basically force you to admit that point. I began to wonder how well I knew you after all, but after what I thought was our full "confessions" at the Last Dance the other night, I was still ready to forgive you. But this latest, Nick! Running this scam for years, even after you've taken an oath to protect and serve! When 'integrity' is one of the words on your badge! Especially when you looked me in the eye with an honest face and swore that you'd told me the full story! I've told you, I can't be forced to make a choice between you and my life's focus of upholding the law. I know you've said you're innocent, and I can't comment on an ongoing investigation, but Nick-there's hard, documentary evidence against you, and I'm at the point where when I have to choose between the evidence and your word, I have to believe the evidence. You might say that your scam hurt no one, but you must have suspected that it would hurt me, because you never told me. And it has hurt me, Nick, it really has. I'm an emotional wreck, but don't dare show anyone. Even if you manage to talk your way out of this situation and by some miracle remain on the ZPD, I'm afraid the trust we've shared is gone, and I can no longer in good conscience be your friend. You might not have any idea how much of my world you've shaken down with this stunt, but I need to move on and rebuild. So please, don't try to text, call or otherwise contact me, even if you are released. I'm serious about this, and have asked Bogo to reassign me permanently with another partner. I've contacted Fennel as well; she may have more of what you need than what I'm able to give from now on.

Despite all that's happened, I sincerely do wish you luck with the next upcoming chapter of your life, whatever that may be. I do hope that one day, you can be truly free of your past.

All the best,

Judy

Nick stared at the letter for a long time, especially at the signature. He silently rubbed an eye, then placed the letter on the bed next to him. He opened the next letter, which was a double-spaced printout.

Dear Officer Wilde,

Officer Hopps texted me about the situation you're in! I honestly have no idea why she informed me (Sly fellow that you are, you've probably figured out by now that there's no love lost between myself and your partner). Anyway, I called her back right away and we talked for a bit. She is very upset with you and feels no desire to be in contact with you right now. I don't know whether this attitude is fleeting or permanent—my impression of bunnies is that they are rather fickle things when it comes to emotions, but Officer Hopps has always struck me as different from other rabbits—as if I have to tell you that! But despite her feelings toward you, she feels you need someone on your side, and for whatever reason she chose me (maybe she has also told others as well?).

I can only imagine what's going through your mind at the moment, but I'm sure your thoughts can't be pleasant. Sorry if I sound like a broken record, but I'm sure if you were any mammal but a fox you wouldn't have been treated this way. Judy (forgive me if I'm being informal; I'm tired of typing 'Officer Hopps') says you claim you're innocent, and I believe you absolutely. This situation that Judy described to me seems too obviously staged; maybe you think it's related to your current case?

So I typed out this quick message just to let you know that at least someone is on your side and still believes in you, and I'm trying to figure out what else I can do to help. Of course I'll be writing some blistering blog posts to try to offset whatever official version the ZPD will spoon-feed to the mass media. It's hard to fight fake news, especially when it confirms a mammal's inbuilt prejudices, but I'll carry your torch for you! As you have probably surmised with your big brain and (may I say) handsome nose, I carry a torch for you in more than one meaning of the phrase, if you can read between the lines.

If you need help with bail or other assistance to at least get you released, don't hesitate to give me a call. You have my number. Please don't think I have any expectations about us after your release. I just want to see justice done and you free to defend yourself.

Fond, fond regards,

Fennel

Nick studied this letter much longer than he had examined Judy's, stared up at the fluorescent lights, and then placed her note next to the handwritten one on the small bunk. He sat there for nearly an half an hour, alternating his gaze between a handwritten note closing a door on his past, with one offering a possible new future.

Bogo, it seemed, did not need 24 hours to decide what to do with Wilde; he only needed four., The wheels of bureaucratic justice cranked forward with alacrity that Peter Hodges would have admired. Within four hours Internal Affairs released a formal recommendation to file charges, and Nick was marched out of his cell to stand in front of a mid-sized touch screen panel on the side of the holding cell. The formal charges were listed on the screen in front of him. After a pawprint scan and a breathalyzer test to confirm he was of sound mind, literate, and fit to plead, he entered 'not guilty'. A synthesized female voice of a vixen repeated his entry verbally, earning curious looks from the stoat and pig sitting in the main holding cell, as well as from the bobcat, Crance, who was his attending officer. Nick hadn't had much interaction with Crance before now, so he endured the skeptical look the short feline gave him with aplomb.

Next came the matter of bail, and one (expensive) credit card transaction later, Wilde was being escorted up the stairs, temporarily a free fox.

"As of now, you're suspended without pay," Crance said officiously. "I will escort you so that you can retrieve and turn in your taser and tranq gun to the armory."

"Can I go by my workspace to get some items?" Nick asked, examining the LED lights ringing the stairway with some frustration.

"I can give you a few minutes there to retrieve personal items only. Because of your suspension, you are not permitted entry into ZPD facilities unless escorted by an on-duty officer. Why do you keep looking at the lights?" he added in some exasperation, as the pair went through a doorway that accessed a cubicle farm.

"All the lights these days are so darn efficient," muttered Nick. "Hardly enough heat off them to warm a mouse."

The bobcat shrugged off the non-sequitur as they reached Nick and Judy's shared cubicle. Nick cautiously looked in, as if hoping Judy were sitting there. Empty. He glanced at the clock. 11 PM? He now thought he knew what Judy had felt like the day he had pranked her at the DMV. He winced at the memory, which now seemed to belong to a different past.

"Mind if I take a moment?" Nick asked, turning to Crance. After a slight but noticeable hesitation on the part of the bobcat, Nick added, "Seriously? You have to stand there and watch me grab some pictures?"

"Rules are rules, Officer Wilde," said the officious little prick. "Gotta follow the rules."

"Guess we gotta," grumbled Nick, and grabbed a couple of photos (most of which had Carrots present, either photo-bombing or grinning wickedly by his side), his spare phone charger, and an old-fashioned desk lamp with an incandescent light bulb.

"That's it?" asked the bobcat, eyeing the lamp oddly.

"Family heirloom," growled Nick. "I'm the sentimental type."

Five minutes later, after yet another escort to the locker room to change into civilian clothes ("You gotta stand there looking at me?" "Rules are rules, Officer Wilde."), Nick walked through the nearly empty entrance hall, attracting attention only from Clawhauser's nighttime doppleganger, a young buck named Terrance. The herbivore's open stare informed Nick that the story of his situation had truly spread to every corner of the ZPD. He ignored the stare, nodded curtly to Crance, then exited the hall into the cool night air of the Great Plaza, trying not to trip over the electric cord dangling from his desk lamp.

Within minutes, he'd found a hole-in-the-wall diner that only a step above an actual hole-in-the-wall, but he hadn't chosen the place for its atmosphere. He had chosen it because it had an electrical outlet next to one of the Formica booths. He hastily ordered a coffee, plugged in the lamp, switched it on, and pulled out Fennel's doubled-spaced letter.

If you can read between the lines…

His ancient desk lamp let out a loud hum as the bulb threw out a faint light and a lot of heat. The tired-looking possum waitress that brought his coffee in a chipped cup looked curiously at the lamp sitting on the small table.

"Getting some studying done, hun?"

"Something like that," Nick smiled gently, and sipped his coffee until his hostess had returned to the cash register. Looking around, he only saw a goat with red eyes and matted fur reading a newspaper in the far booth, a cheap cigarette smoking in an ashtray by his hoof. He held Fennel's letter an inch or two above the naked bulb of his lamp.

In just a few seconds, handwritten brown lines appeared between the double-spaced typewritten text. Nick grinned. How could a young thing like her, in these days of digital encryption, have known anything about invisible ink?

As you have probably surmised with your big brain and (may I say) exquisite nose, I carry a torch for you in more than one meaning of the phrase, if you can read between the lines.

bitely/8dj72l;s8a FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

If you need help with bail or other assistance to at least get you released…

Nick was glad he had picked up his spare phone charger. He snapped a photo of the letter, then painstakingly entered the sequence of digits into his phone browser. It appeared to be a photo-sharing site, and a photo of a plain white piece of paper appeared, with a paw-written note hastily scribbled in stark black ink:

THEY HAVE MY SISTER AS A HOSTAGE. EVIDENCE YOU NEED AT PO BOX 1864, SAVANNAH CENTRAL POST OFFICE, ACCESS 579201. THIS IMAGE WILL DELETE AFTER YOU READ THIS, SO COPY NOW.

Nick noticed a timer counting down in the upper right corner of his screen. 1:30, 1:29, 1:28, …

He scrambled out of his booth and ambushed the waitress, who was sitting on a stool watching an echidna, a porcupine, a shrew, and an ocelot (the token predator), chittering together excitedly on The Scent about the latest fashion fad: Curly-Q tails, Rad or Bad?

"Excuse me," he panted, "do you have a pen or pencil?"

"I think so, hun, let me just take a look around here…" The possum reluctantly tore her eyes away from the screen and leisurely looked over the small objects littering the scratched countertop. Nick glanced at his phone.

0:56, 0:55, 0:54, …

He gritted his teeth as the waitress squinted around the cash register, and was on the verge of leaping over the counter himself when she announced, "Oh, here ya go-". He snatched the pen from her paws and wrote down the numbers quickly on a paper napkin.

"Thanks, ma'am," he said, dropping the pen and a few bills on the counter while hurrying out the door, under the astonished stares of the possum and goat.

He paused, considering his next steps. He stared at his phone again.

IMAGE DELETED.

He still had his photo of Fennel's original letter, and he messaged it to Judy, along with a comment that she should call him for further explanation. After pausing for a moment, he tried calling her. After two rings, it went to voicemail. He listened to her upbeat voice and even lingered over that awful Gazelle music soundtrack a bit longer than he usually did.

The world was changing quickly, and the Zootopian Post Office knew that as well as anyone. E-mails, texting, online banking, search engines and digital media were gradually drying up the river of paper flowing through the ancient agency. Thus, despite being the central routing facility for the ZPO, the Savannah Central office diffused a slightly worn, unused ambiance as Nick keyed in the entry code to the post office box hallway. The faint smell of dust and antiseptic caused his nose to wrinkle as he opened the door and hurried to P.O. Box 1864. Tapping the same code into the digital keypad rewarded him with a faint click as the door opened. Empty. He looked closer. A small claim ticket sat in the back of the box.

It was past midnight when Nick finally arrived at Savannah Central Train Station, but since Zootopia never slept, the heart of the transportation network never slept either. Storage lockers had been abandoned years ago due to a never-ending series of panics about terrorism, foreign and domestic, but with rising anticipation, he saw that the left-luggage facility was still open. He presented the claim ticket to yet another possum (your go-to nocturnal animal for menial night-shift jobs, it seemed), and a minute or two later, he was handed a brown, paper-wrapped package.

Now what to do? Despite his attempts to lower his expectations, his heart was racing, and he didn't have the patience to take the package to his house. He texted a quick photo to Judy.

MESSAGE FAILED TO SEND.

Cursing silently to himself, he hurried outside to one of the benches lining the railway platform entrances and sliced through the tape impatiently with one claw. A cautious sniff here, a careful listening for a ticking bomb there, a check for a trigger there, and-

"Please step away from the box, Wilde. Move slowly and keep your paws visible."

Nick looked over his shoulder. Officer McHorn and… Judy… stood there in full uniform, in a stance he was trained to recognize that meant trouble.

"Fancy meeting you two here! Where's the rest of the flash mob?"

Judy didn't smile. She looked strained and stricken.

"He's not joking, Nick. Please keep your paws up and back away. Leave the package there."

Puzzled, Nick shook the sleeves of his windbreaker so that they slid away from his paws. He stood up slowly and sidled to the edge of the bench. McHorn loomed over him.

"Secure."

"Examining scene," responded Judy, gently opening a flap of the box with her telescoping pointer. Nick drank in every detail of her uniform and bearing. There was no trace of mud left on her from this morning, and she looked as crisp and professional as she had been every day for the past two years. Her face, however, had an expression that was far less familiar. She seemed to be fighting a mixture of anger and despair.

"Oh Nick," she said, despair definitely ascendant in her voice.

"What?" he replied as he saw her draw tiny latex gloves over her paws. From inside the package, she lifted out a sealed plastic vial encased in a small medical zip-lock bag. A computer-printed label was affixed to the clear bag, and the fox's heart cratered.

"That's not-"

"-drugs from the evidence locker," Judy completed sadly. She looked over at her former partner. "We checked…" she had trouble finishing the sentence.

"Hopps thought she'd check if you were pilfering supplies from the evidence locker, given your recent, um, activities," rumbled McHorn. "Turns out you'd logged entries into the locker a lot over the past ten months. And when we took inventory-" he nodded toward the now open box, in which Nick could see a veritable rainbow of pills, vials, and powders. And, to his dawning horror, he also saw an all-too familiar dark blue pellet.

Judy straightened her shoulders and turned to face the fox, her face a portrait of agony. "Nicholas Wilde, you are hereby under arrest-"

The stoat and pig were still in the main holding cell as McHorn escorted Nick back to his original cell. They both stood up and stared at him.

"Welcome back, dude," grinned the stoat.

"Whoa bro," slurred the pig. "That was fast. Not sure if I should pity you or admire you. Fight the system, man." He raised a hoof in fraternal solidarity and then hurried to the stainless steel toilet to puke again.

Nick sat down. They had taken the lamp and pictures away from him. They had even taken his two letters.

He waited for the dawn and the reckoning he knew was coming.

I had intended this section to be one chapter, but as I hit 12,000 I realized I should make it two chapters for three reasons. First, it'd make the chapter length match the others in this fic. Second, it would be sneaky and cynical way to increase hits and (maybe) reviews. I'm sure no one has ever thought of that before! Finally, one of my beta readers advised "I was just so overwhelmed reading this whole thing, so I think it'd be best to post the first half soon and then the second half as the next chapter in about a week or so, just so other readers can have time to digest the first chapter and not have to endure a 12-thousand word chapter full of pure angst, drama and some genuinely frustrating moments (but in a good way!)."

Just so you know what's coming. In a good way.

Thanks again to TinBuzzard and DrummerMax64 for beta-ing!

"True love requires sacrifice." – Francis Chan