Disclaimer: Zootopia stories, characters, settings, and properties belong to the Walt Disney Co. This story is written under Fair Use Copyright laws.


The Fire Triangle—A Zootopia Fanfiction


Part One:

Fuel


Chapter 11 –The Fire Next Time
(Pt. 2…Continued)

"So then, which one of you is making the report?"

This time, Chief Bogo had the sofa while Nick and Judy were standing. It was a little small for a Cape buffalo, but he managed by stretching out his legs. It gave him the appearance of someone just kicking back and taking it easy—which couldn't have been further from the truth.

"Either one of us," Nick Wilde said, although he knew it would be mostly on him. A clever bunny was Judy Hopps, and a close friend to Fru-Fru she might be—but she still didn't know Mr. Big the way he did.

While he hadn't been associated with the Tundratown crime boss for quite some time, Nick actually knew a lot more about him than he'd been willing to let on earlier. Mr. Big had always been an 'old skool' gangster…and that kind of wiseguy tended not to change his habits over time. When Kevin and Raymond had hauled him (and Judy) before the Big Shrew nearly two years ago, it was the first time they'd been face-to-face in more than a decade. And yet, except for those bushy eyebrows and a few extra tufts of gray, almost nothing had changed. The animal facing Nick across that desktop might have stepped straight out of a time-warp. His mannerisms, his way of talking, his paw gestures; all of it had been exactly the same as the red fox remembered.

If none of THOSE things were any different, it was a pretty safe bet that his attitude was still the same old, same old.

"Okay," Nick reminded himself, remembering Judy's advice, "Good news first, and then the bad…good news first and then the bad."

He said, "Before we begin Chief, Officer Hopps and I have a recommendation to make. Remember what I said yesterday about how the Red Pig has the cash to hire some serious outside firepower? Well, if he starts to bring in those guns, THAT'S when you'll know things are about to get real."

"We're already watching the airport and the train stations, Wilde." The Chief informed him, beginning to sound testy. (As if the ZPD would miss such a basic step.)

"Yes sir," the fox responded quickly, "but is anyone watching the Palm Hotel Casino? Out-of-town wiseguys can't resist that place; it's one of the things that used to drive Mr. Big crazy."

"And," Judy spoke up for the first time, "I don't think the Red Pig would have a problem with his new hires going bust before things even start."

"He'd love it," Nick said, raising a thumb, "They'd have to go to him for a bailout, and no wiseguy does that kind of favor without expecting a bigger one in return."

"Hmmm," Bogo nodded, looking satisfied…as if to say, 'this is more like it.' "All right then, duly noted. Anything else?"

"Yes, sir." Nick answered immediately, "as to where Mr. Big is likely to strike back…well, obviously we can eliminate Tundratown, but I believe we can also write off Sahara Square."

Bogo considered this for a moment, and then raised an eyebrow. "Too risky d'you think… or is there some other reason?"

"A little of both," the red fox replied, "Hitting the Red Pig on his home turf would be extremely dangerous all right…but it would also be an open declaration of war. Believe me; if it comes down to that, Mr. Big is NOT going to want everyone thinking he started it."

"But…he DIDN'T start it." Bogo was staring at him quizzically.

"That's right Chief, and that's how it looks now," Nick told him, "But if Mr. Big hits Peccari in his home territory it'll be a different story. What you have to remember is that you're dealing with La Cosa Nostra here; these animals play by their own rules, they don't think like you or me." He shook his head, "I never completely understood it sir, then or now, but that's the way their minds work."

He stopped momentarily and took a deep breath. Okay, now for the bad new; Bogo wasn't going to like this.

"And that's why—forgive me sir, but I have to say this—that's why the arson fire at the Interspecies Recycling facility feels completely wrong to me, like nothing Mr. Big would have ordered; it's just not him."

The Chief scowled deeply and his breathing became the angry rattle of a furnace bellows. Nick knew why of course; he and Judy were supposed to be trying to ascertain the future, not dwelling on the past. He could only hope that the big Cape buffalo would at least let him offer an explanation.

Bogo did, but in a manner that left no doubt; his clarification had better be a good one.

"And why's that, then?" he snorted, regarding the fox with a jaundiced eye and folded arms.

Nick looked over at Judy before answering; she nodded and motioned encouragingly with her paws.

"It's three things actually, sir," he said, ticking them off on his fingers. "Number one, the time frame; as I said yesterday, Mr. Big likes to wait awhile before he takes his revenge. Hitting back only a week after the Tux-On fire isn't like him at all."

Bogo said nothing to this, but for maybe half a second Nick saw him purse his lips; the first crack had just appeared.

He went on.

"Second, that set-up was much too complicated for Mr. Big's tastes." He cleared his throat and changed his voice to a wheezy imitation of the arctic shrew. "Always keep your schemes simple; in and out, done and done. That Mission Impossible stuff is only going to get you pinched." His voice became his own again, "I must have heard him say something like that at least half a dozen times …and that's one thing about him I'm sure hasn't changed."

Again, Bogo remained silent, but now his brow was furrowed. Two more cracks had gone snaking up the façade.

Nick took another breath and laid down his ace.

"But the biggest thing wrong with it is, as we all know sir, Mr. Big is a Don from the old school, honor, respect, and especially tradition…and one of the oldest and most important mob traditions is 'an eye for an eye.' If someone takes out one of your shops, you have every right to take out one of his." He let out a small growl, "Fine, except it wasn't any shop that was torched down in the Canal District; it was a whole darn recycling plant, worth at least five times as much as Mr. Big's tuxedo store. That's not an eye for an eye, Chief, that's a whole stinking HEAD for an eye. As much as he hates Peccari, I can't see the Big Shrew ever signing off on something like that."

It should have been the clincher, but Bogo only snorted, "Yes, but you're forgetting something aren't you? Mr. Big's tuxedo shop wasn't the only business lost in that fire. As I've already said, that entire building's had to be condemned; six other shops besides Tux On lost, to say nothing of the offices upstairs." He folded his arms again. "And you should know better than I do Wilde, Mr. Big is also a firm practitioner of mob 'justice'. 'Burn my business if you must, but leave my neighbours out of it…or else.'"

Nick let out another noise, this one half a growl and half a sigh. The Chief was right, but…dangit, the Interspecies Recycling fire still felt like overkill to him; overkill on Nighthowler.

Well, he'd made his case as best he could, and now it was time to get to the heart of the matter.

"Yes sir, of course…but that being said, there was one thing about the Canal District fire that had Mr. Big's name written all over it. And it may give us a clue as to where he's liable to strike back."

"And what's that, then?" Bogo was now keenly interested, leaning forward with his hooves on his knees.

Nick puffed out his cheeks and blew a breath of air.

"Well sir, as I'm sure you're aware, the Tux On stores were Mr. Big's first legitimate business in Zootopia; started from scratch, before he was even a made mobster."

"And…?" Bogo was raising an eyebrow, still attentive, but becoming impatient.

"And," the fox replied, "I didn't realize this at first because it's a relatively new business, but Interspecies Recycling was the Red Pig's first legitimate venture—which he also built from the ground up."

Bogo's ears went up and he blew a note through his nostrils.

"Cor, are you daft, Wilde? He owns plenty of businesses older than that."

"Yes, he does," the fox responded quickly, "But all of those outfits were started by someone else; Peccari either bought them or inherited them when he became boss of the Sahara Square Mob. Interspecies Recycling is the first honest business he put together himself."

"Ah yes," Bogo was folding his arms and nodding, beginning to get it at last, "And that fits rather well with what you were saying about an eye for an eye, doesn't it?"

"That's right Chief, it does," Nick nodded, "and that's what may give us a clue as to what's coming next. Which of the Red Pig's business is the equivalent of Tundratown limo? Figure that out and you might have some idea as to where he's likely to get hit."

"You…don't know that y'self?" Bogo was thoroughly surprised.

"I'm afraid not, sir," Nick admitted, unabashed, "I may know a thing or two about Mr. Big, but Rocco Peccari's a mystery to me; I always tried to stay as far away from that hothead javelina as I could, back in the day. As for Tundratown Limo, that didn't come along after my time with the Big Shrew. I had no idea it was even his until Carrots…er, Officer Hopps and I were caught there by two of his polar bears."

Bogo blew another note; this time, one of surprise, "Huh, when was this, then?"

That brought Judy back into the discussion

"It was back before Officer Wilde joined the force, sir, when he was helping me track down that missing otter."

"Right, right, right, I'd…er, forgot about that." The Chief looked uncharacteristically embarrassed for a moment. Nick was almost amused…almost.

"So now you understand that I know very little about Tundratown Limo," he said, "But if there's anything unique about that business, something it shares with any of the Red Pig's enterprises, then there's your likely target."

Bogo slapped his knees and got up again, "Right then, anything else?" It was the same signal he'd given yesterday before taking his leave.

And it was Judy Hopps who answered him.

"Yes Chief, that first arson fire was in Savanna Central, the second and third attacks happened in the Canal District and the Rainforest District, which are basically the same ecosystem."

Once again, Bogo raised an eyebrow. "And…?"

Judy nodded to Nick, passing him the baton.

"And by rights, Mr. Big should have retaliated for the Tux On fire by hitting The Red Pig in one of HIS Savanna Central business ventures." He said this and moved on quickly, before the Chief could object, "I can understand why he didn't, but now he may decide to correct that little oversight. It's a long shot I admit, but something we can't ignore."

"Hmmm, no, I suppose we can't," Bogo pinched at his chin, looking thoughtful for moment, and then seemed to make up his mind about something. "Right then, I'm off. In the meantime, you two keep at it."

For the second time in 24 hours, he turned and left without another word.

Nick waited until he was gone and then called through the door with a cupped paw, "What can we say, you're welcome!"

An angry bellow from somewhere down the hall informed the fox he hadn't quite waited long enough. He turned to Judy with a sheepish expression.

"Ahhh, heh…Anyone for parking duty?"

She didn't seem to notice…and now he noticed that she was thumping her foot.

"Um…what?"

She answered him by throwing up her paws.

"Keep at it? Keep AT it! We've been over these files at least half a dozen times already." She swept an arm over the coffee table, currently strewn from one end to the other with Manila folders. "There's nothing more to be found here; what the heck else does Bogo want from us?"

Nick coughed into a fist.

"Ahhh, I think what he wants Carrots, is for us to do some leg work."

"Leg work, what do you mean, leg work?" Judy squinted and her nose began to twitch. And then a light seemed come on behind her eyes and her ears slapped hard against the back of her neck. "Nuh-uh, no Fru-Fru. No! Way!" She was thumping her foot even harder than before. Nick, for his part, was aghast.

"For crying out loud Fluff, even Bogo wouldn't ask you that."

It seemed to cool her down, but only slightly, "All right, but then where else can we go for some information?"

"Think, Carrots," Nick couldn't help showing a foxy smile, "That last arson fire was at a branch of Tundratown Limo, and what other animal do we know who's familiar with that place?"

Judy stared for a second, and then the heel of her pawlm slapped hard against her forehead.

"Ohhhh, of course, Nick…Mr. Manchas!"

"Exactly," he answered, cocking a finger. "And with a little luck, he still isn't back from his guilt trip." The few times they had encountered the ebony jaguar in the past two years he had avoided their gaze and spoken hesitantly. Nick thought he knew the reason; Renato Manchas had once nearly torn both him and Judy to shreds—while in the grip of Nighhowler poisoning to be sure, but he'd never completely forgiven himself. Nick reasoned it might be good for prying some information out of the big cat.

But then Judy said something even more surprising.

"Mmmm, do you think you can handle him without me, Nick?"

His ears turned upward and pointed at the ceiling.

"Well, uh, I suppose I…why, Carrots?"

She made a sound that was either a sigh or clearing her throat.

"What you just said reminded me of something; there's another lead we can follow…but I'll have to handle this one myself."

Nick felt his head tilting sideways.

"Really, who?"

Judy said nothing for a moment, only thumped her foot in frustration again; it wasn't Fru-Fru, but it wasn't much better.


The first one was spotted in Sahara Square, on a wall, down by the Beach Promenade.

Anywhere else, it might not have been so noticeable; (in Happytown, it would have been practically invisible.) In this neighborhood, with whitewashed walls everywhere you looked, it stood out like bloodstains on linen.

Even then, it might not have been worthy of the ZPD's attention; just another piece of drive-by graffiti, as if that was anything unusual. However, with the city's new anti-vandalism policy in play, things were different. Letting such a high-visibility doodle just sit and wait for the clean-up crew was absolutely not an option.

Accordingly, the Sahara Square precinct sent two of its officers to investigate; Hakim Jerama, a Barbary sheep, and Alan Sartaq, a Gobi bear. Both of them were relative newcomers to the ZPD and more or less ambivalent about their new assignment. There were worse jobs; they could have been put on foot patrol, (a dreaded beat in this district, especially at midday, and in the heat of the summer.)

On the other paw, this whole thing was a fool's errand and both of them knew it. Conventional wisdom says, if you don't catch a graffiti artist right in the act, you're not going to catch him at all.

Still…you never knew; they just might get lucky.

"There it is," Hakim swung his finger off to the right, towards a structure down a winding concrete path.

"Where, I don't see anything," Alan squinted thought the cruiser's windshield. He was neither bothered nor surprised. Of course his partner would spot it first; a sheep's eyesight is much, much keener than a bear's.

"Over there, on the bathhouse wall, do you see it?"

Alan was tempted to inform his partner that what he was looking at wasn't a bathhouse, but instead he peered closer. Yep, there it was, next to the entrance, visible to him as only a crimson smudge, but definitely something that didn't belong there.

He pulled over to the curb and the two of them got out.

As they made their way closer, more and more details of the graffiti became discernable. After another few steps, Sartaq made a noise that fell somewhere between a grumble and a sigh. Couldn't these kids at least come up with something original? As if he hadn't seen this design a thousand times…"

"What is that, then?" Hakim had stopped and was pointing at the wall.

"You have GOT to be kidding!" the Gobi bear groaned silently, turning to his partner with a bewildered look on his face.

"Wha…? Don't tell me you've never seen an anarchist's 'A' before."

"Of course I have!" the Barbary sheep snapped, and then pointed again, "But if that's what this is, it is upside down, yes?"

Alan looked closer, and saw with some chagrin that his partner was right; the bright red letter in the center of the circle was a 'V', not an 'A'. (He took some comfort in the fact that this was only a slightly less common piece of graffiti than what he'd thought it was.)

"That's the emblem from the film 'V, for Vendetta,'" he said. Being a second generation Zootopian, he was bit more familiar with the local pop-culture than his partner, a first-generation immigrant.

"Oh…Oh yes," The sheep said, nodding skittishly as the memory caught up with him.

But then he frowned.

"Noooo, I don't think that's quite right either. Go and look more closely."

Alan moved closer to the impromptu wall-art, and quickly saw that his partner was correct again. It WAS the V for Vendetta logo, but with a number of minor alterations.

Two downward slashes had been added to the ends of the V, turning them into a pair of pointed ears. Likewise a pair of eyes had been added, along with a crude smile. The text above the artwork, hastily applied, read, 'He Fought The Law.'

And underneath it was written, "And HE Won."

The two officers looked at each other and then at the graffiti again,

"What animal is that?" Hakim asked, pointing at what was clearly now recognizable as a face.

"I don't know," his partner admitted, "looks like a rat to me,"

He was wrong of course, but he had no way of knowing it. The unknown artist, aware of Conor Lewis's species, had left his design in the wrong location—near the entrance to the Small Mammals locker room. (The actual place where the law had made the young silver fox was in the Large Mammals facility, one building over from here.)

Hakim and Alan had heard something about that incident, but nothing specific. Certainly they were unaware of what had happened in Judge Schatten's courtroom the other day. They knew about the Lewis kid's escape from custody of course; their precinct had been alerted about it yesterday. Even so, they hadn't the slightest inkling that it might be connected to the kitsch-art sprayed on the wall in front of them. Certainly they couldn't know that a close copy of it was currently gracing a wall in the alley where The Phantom's courier had been taken down.

No; the two Sahara Square officers were privy to none of these facts. Neither, for that matter was the subject of this wall-art; cloistered away in a secret location, he was unaware even of its existence.

If he had been—if either he or the officers had known the full story, they might have realized that this was only the beginning—and they might furthermore have recognized the graffiti it for what it was…

...A declaration of war.


In times past, one of the favorite local hangouts in The Rainforest District had been Misty's-On-The-Vine—until the Zootopia Tourist Authority started writing it up in their guidebooks. The results had been predictable; Misty's had become a tourist trap, high prices and homogenized eats that the natives wouldn't touch with a ten-foot spoon. Since then, the residents of the Rainforest District had been keeping their favorite dining spots to themselves.

Of these, one of the most popular was, Cataranas del Paraiso a café featuring South American street-food; Buñuelos, Arepas, Tamales, (wrapped in banana leaves rather than corn-husks,) and Hormegas Culoñas, dry-roasted ants. The recipe for their private blend of coffee was one of the most closely guarded secrets in all of Zootopia.

Located at the corner of Steam and Fig streets, Cataranas del Paraiso was only a few blocks removed from the intersection of Vine and Tujunga. It went without saying that a certain dark-furred jaguar could often be found here on his off hours.

The place was built roughly in the shape of a Conestoga wagon, with rounded windows bisected by curving, asymmetrical lines and a roof overgrown with creepers; it took its name from a nearby waterfall, one of the local landmarks.

Nick spotted his quarry almost as soon as he walked in the door, seated in one of the back booths with his chauffer's cap parked on the table beside him. He couldn't help smiling; didn't it figure that Mr. Big's fursonal driver would be accorded a choice seat in here?

And lucky him, the table adjoining the booth was currently unoccupied; go for it, fox.

If it looked too good to be true, it was. The instant he began to move, Nick heard something that set his teeth on edge.

"Now some of these do-gooders may think that it's perfectly all right for the city to allow predators and prey species to…"

Aggggh, grrrrr…what the heck was the Rock Hardesty show doing, playing in here?(And dangit, that blankety-blank hyrax would be going on a tear about preds and prey-species NOW.)

Nick stopped and shook his head—and in that moment, someone brushed past him, a kinkajou and a tayra…headed right for the table he had selected; wonderful, just great.

He growled irritably to himself. "They should rename this place the Pour-Forest District—because it never just RAINS here."

Well-l-l, there was a way around his problem wasn't there? All he had to do was go over to the table, show his badge, and…

…And when Manchas saw it, he'd know that Nick was here on police business and he'd shut up tighter than a frozen oyster. Agggh, grrrr, a zillion catches in the world, and he'd just caught #22.

But then the jaguar leaned out of his booth, yelling something at the front counter.

"Raimondo, apaga eso, ¿quieres? Ya sabes que no soporto a ese idiota."

He was answered by a wheedling voice, coming from somewhere behind the counter. "¡Eh! A mí me gusta."

"Well, I don't," Manchas was out of the booth and on his feet. Nick could see that his fists were knotted, and now he could understand what the big cat was saying, "So change the station please; I'm asking you nicely this time."

An unhappy sound from some smaller mammal followed, and the radio switched over to a Latin Jazz station; much better.

Without thinking Nick said to the jaguar, "Thanks, I don't think I could have taken much more of that."

Manchas just waved a paw. "Ah, no problem; what's Raimondo trying to do anyway, lose every pred customer he's got?" He leaned forward slightly and his tail began to twitch. "Ohhh, Nick…don't know why I didn't recognize you. Yeah, you REALLY wouldn't like that pendejo hyrax, huh? Come on and sit down. amigo."

He took his seat again, gesturing towards the opposite side of the booth…while the red fox blinked in amazement; it couldn't possibly be this easy.

It wasn't; the booth was built for large mammals and even by standing on the seat-cushion, Nick was barely able to see over the tabletop. Oh well, he was here on business, not pleasure.

"Glad to see you're okay," he said, "Where I heard about the Tundratown Limo fire, I immediately thought of you."

"Ahhh, no problem for me," the big cat said, waving another paw "I don' work out of there anyway; still up in Tundratown, the Big Shrew's fursonal driver."

"Right," Nick nodded, keeping a close eye on his host; Manchas had been trying to sound nonchalant, but there was no mistaking the bitterness in his voice. He was more than a little bothered by that arson-fire. The question was, how best to play it?

The answer to this was another question; if this were just a chance meeting, what would he say to the jaguar next?

Well, for starters, "Whoa, I'm just glad I'm not part of that investigation. I'll never forget the time my partner went looking for Emmit Otterton and got caught inside The Tundratown Tundratown Limo yard. What a crazy scene that was."

"You did WHAT?" Manchas was staring slack jawed, "You lucky you didn't get iced, amigo."

"We almost did," The fox admitted, with a slight shiver at the memory, "If it hadn't been for Judy saving Fru-Fru's life the day before…"

"Oh, si…that I heard about," Manchas answered with a grin that quickly faded "Good thing; you two were loco go anywhere near Tundratown Limo Service."

In spite of himself Nick couldn't help feeling a little defensive.

-"Believe me…if I'd had even the slightest idea that Mr. Big was the owner, I wouldn't have—only how could I? He'd warned me to keep far, far away from him after I…uh, you know. And up until then, I'd done what he said. He must have opened Tundratown Limo only a little while before we were caught there; otherwise I'd have known it was his."

Manchas closed his eyes and tapped thoughtfully at the side of his head. "Yeahhhh, that business with the skunk butt rug; heard about that, too. Mmmm, lessee, when was this again?"

"It was right before…" Nick started to say, and then hastily changed gears, "It was the day of Fru-Fru's wedding." (He'd been about to say, "Right before you got darted with Nighthowler.)

"Oh, hokay, now I remember," the big cat nodded, "and you're right, it had only been open for few weeks back then."

"Wow," Nick let out a low whistle, "The place must have doing turn-away business to have grown that quickly; we must have seen a hundred cars in that lot." (This was an exaggeration and not exactly true; there was another reason for Mr. Big's underworld nickname—he never did anything small.)

"Si," Manchas nodded, "Even Señor Gran Musaraña was surprised at how well it did—though he shouldn't have been; I told him it was gold mine." He looked suddenly embarrassed and quickly walked it back, "Well-l-l, maybe not a gold mine, but still…"

"What do you mean?" Nick interrupted, very much interested in where this was going.

Before the big cat could answer him, an armadillo appeared at the booth.

"Is there anything I can…?" he started to say, and then his head jerked backwards and his face hardened. "Heyyyy, aren't you that fox who kiss….?"

"You gotta problem with that?" Manchas asked him, in a low, unfriendly purr. In that instant, Nick was reminded that this jaguar was not just your regular, garden-variety chauffeur; he was the fursonal chauffeur to a mob boss. THAT job involved a lot more than simply driving his employer from place to place…and could occasionally get very messy.

Even so, Nick was practically dumbstruck by what he was seeing. Was this the same animal who'd been unable to meet his eyes when last they'd met? What the heck had happened with him since then?

"Uh, n-no, no problem," the armadillo was saying. He appeared calm enough, but his order pen was quivering like a seismograph in an earth tremor. Nick decided to cut him some slack.

"Bring me a house-blend coffee, sugar, no creamer and some patacones," (Fried plantain chips.)

"Coming right up," the armadillo replied and hurriedly departed the table.

Nick watched him go and looked at Manchas again. Ordinarily, he might have chided his host for coming down a mite too hard on that waiter—but not while he was trying to drum up some information.

He said, "I'm sorry, you were saying…about Tundratown Limo?"

"Ah si," the jaguar answered, warming to his subject, "What I was about to say was that I knew Tundratown Limo was going to make money because Zootopia was begging for a decent limousine service back then The other two limo companies in town were doing a terrible job; their drivers were always showing up late, making wrong turns, talking rudely to customers;. I tell you this mi zorro, nobody behaves like that if they work for the Big Shrew."

"Don't I know it!" Nick's response was practically a fox-scream. That was Mr. Big all over the place; a taskmaster who tolerated no shenanigans from his employees, but was notably generous with those that lived up to his expectations.

All right, he decided, enough dancing around the edges; it was time to get to the subject that had brought him here in the first place.

"Tundratown Limo must really be doing well, if the Big Shrew's been able to open up a franchise in the Rainforest district."

"Oh, he's opening branches everywhere," the big cat said…and there was the opening Nick was waiting for. He made his ears stand up and point at each other.

"Even…in Sahara Square?" he asked, pretending to sound incredulous.

"Uh, well…no, not there of course," the big cat admitted, not a little embarrassed, "But everywhere else yeah, Savanna Central, Outback Island, Old Growth City; he's even trying to open up a Tundratown Limo in the Canal District. That one'll use boats a' course; the Big Shrew says he's got it all worked out."

"Really, no kidding?" Nick asked the jaguar carelessly—but on the inside his mind was churning; something was telling him that he should abandon his intended line of questioning and move in a different direction.

He decided to trust his instincts.

"Even for Mr. Big, that's pretty ambitious," he said, not knowing exactly where this would lead him.

Manchas let out a laugh that was almost a snarl.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it, compadre. He's been expanding into everything; so much new business I can't keep track of it all."

Nick forced his ears to stay down.

"Really, how long has this been going on?"

"Mmmm," the big cat answered, flipping a paw, "about two-three months I'd say,"

"So not that long," the fox observed, trying to keep it casual. In truth he was eager to get out of here; but not yet…no, not quite yet. It was an old, established rule with Nicholas Wilde; NEVER take a walk as soon as you have the information you're looking for, it's an excellent method of giving your game away.

And besides, you never knew what else might happen if you hung around a bit longer. Even so, Nick had the answer to at least one of his questions—and possibly a few of the others.

"Maybe," he cautioned himself, "maybe. It all depends on whether Carrots is able to find out anything useful."

He mentally crossed his fingers.

At that instant, the subject of his musings was stepping through the door of a shop in Old Growth City, Zootopia's temperate forest district. Nestled between The Rainforest District and Tundratown, it was perhaps the 'greenest' district in the city, with many of the apartment and office structures built right into the trees. A good number of the signposts and traffic signal gantries were living trees as well. Even the bridges spanning the various waterways had an organic feel to them.

OGC, as the locals called it, was also the city's Bohemian enclave; what the Left Bank was to Purris, what The Village was to Zoo York City, what SoHo was to Liondon, Old Growth City was to Zootopia. Here you could find a cornucopia of artist's studios and artisan shops, offering for sale nearly every kind of craft imaginable. The trees of Old Growth City were home to the city's largest population of squirrels, and the riverbanks hosted the largest contingent of beaver…and also otters, one of whom was the owner of the floral shop Judy had just now entered.

As she came through the door, she was forced to suppress a wince. The chime sounded eerily similar to the one that had once adorned the threshold of Rafaj Brothers Jewelers. That was a place she preferred to think about as little as possible these days.

The flower shop's interior was set roughly in the shape of a half-moon, taking up one side of a big Sitka spruce's ground floor. The light was soft but not low and the interior smelled of blossoms, mist, and wood shavings; the display tables all appeared to have grown straight out of the floor, (and possibly, they had.)

The instant that the door closed a familiar cheery, sing-song voice called from behind the counter, "Hel-lo-o-o, how can I help you to today?"

Judy fought back the rising heat in her throat.

"Lily, it's me…Judy Hopps."

At once a head popped into view.

"Judy? Well, what a nice surprise. Hello."

Lily dropped down out of sight again, but only for half a second, and then she was around the counter and skittering in Judy's direction. Like all of her species, Mrs. Otterton moved somewhat awkwardly while walking upright, but was incredibly fast and nimble while moving on all hours. Before Judy knew it, she was right there in front of her with her arms wide open.

Somehow, the doe-bunny managed to return Lily's embrace without stiffening. And once more she was grateful that rabbits were incapable of puking. She hadn't felt so wretched since the Conor Lewis bust; no, on second thought, this was worse. Seeing the kid who'd saved her life being taken down in front of her had been anything but enjoyable—but at least it hadn't felt like a betrayal. Surreptitiously pumping a friend for information felt exactly that way.

And Lily was a very good friend; she had never forgotten who it was that had found her missing husband, hidden away inside the old Cliffside asylum. When Judy had left the force, in the wake of her disastrous press-conference, Mrs. Otterton had pleaded with her to reconsider—and come closer than anyone else to succeeding.

"Think of what a gang war will do to Zootopia," the doe-bunny reminded herself for the hundred-and-nth time.

"So, what brings you in today, aren't you working?" Lily tilted her head slightly, and Judy felt a layer of guilt peel away. This was one question for which she had a ready answer.

"Well," she grinned, "since when do police officers work regular hours…and why I'm here is, my kid sister Erin is auditioning for acceptance into The Zootopia Academy of the Performing Arts. And if she gets in—excuse me, when she gets in—I want to get something nice for her. She just adored that gift basket I sent her for her birthday."

Judy was able to say this without any taste of ash in her mouth because all of it was true; Erin had raved for weeks about that gift basket, according to what their mother had said. And wouldn't it be nice to get her something to help celebrate her acceptance into ZAPA?

"I-I-I think we can come up with a basket just right for the occasion." Lily smiled and turned, beckoning for Judy to follow, moving with the half-tottering gait of an otter walking upright.

Like most brick-and-mortar florists, Riverside Floral didn't just deal in flowers, (a necessity if you wanted to keep ahead of the online competition.) A Riverside gift-basket might contain chocolates, perfume, fur conditioner, massage oil, a manicure kit, even an item of jewelry. The one Judy had sent Erin for her birthday had contained an opal pendant that the younger bunny had cherished from here to Podunk. It had swiftly become her good luck charm—until she'd lost it and gone into a panic and then a weeklong funk.

One thing you had to say about Lily Otterton, she knew her stuff when it came to putting together a gift set. In practically no time at all she had a basket assembled that Judy couldn't wait to present to her younger sister.

"The big thing this year is electronic gadgets," Mrs. Otterton was saying, "and if Erin's off to the Performing Arts Academy, I'd suggest a wake-up-light alarm clock; they're all the rage with college students these days."

"Wake-up-light…alarm-clock?" Judy queried with her nose twitching. She had never heard of such a thing.

"Oh yes, they're amazing," beamed, "Instead of ringing, they work by simulating a sunrise—or they can ring too, if you want; and they have built in radios and Wi-Fi. You can even…"

"Okay, okay," Judy laughed and raised her paws, "you had me at 'simulate a sunrise'." Oh yes, something like that would be a perfect gift for a bunny. She should get one for herself as a matter of fact.

And that reminded her…

"Let's include that tentatively, but I'd better check with my folks first; make sure she doesn't already have one." Erin had always been something of a techie.

"Good thought," Mrs. Otteron replied, and at that moment, they heard a door snap open in the back of the store followed by the sound of wet feet on tile.

"Mom, we're here, can we go now?" a young voice called.

Lily turned and responded over a shoulder.

"Your father will be back any second Nelson; then we can leave."

"Mommmmm…!"

"There's plenty of time, and I'm with a customer," Lily answered sharply and the whining abruptly ceased. She turned back to Judy and lowered her voice, "Junior otter-polo league; they're crazy about it."

"Well, can they come and say hi?" Judy asked her, "I haven't seen Nelson and Alice in…oh, almost a year now."

"Soon as they dry off, it won't take long," Mrs. Otterton told her. (An otter's fur sheds water like a rain-slicker.)

It took hardly any time at all; in less than half a minute a pair of young otters appeared, their fur almost completely dry. Each of them was wearing a one-piece, brightly colored swimsuit with a number and a team-name printed on it—orange and blue, 19 and 55, Sharks and Water-Dragons respectively.

The Otterton children had grown a little since Judy had last seen them; hmmmm, and how old would they be now? Nelson must be about 11 and Alice had to be pushing 9. The boy's mood was slightly sullen, while his sister was as chipper as a game-show host.

"Hello, Judy," Nelson said, looking immediately at his mother as if to tell her, 'Okay, I said hi; NOW can we go?'

His sister was much more cordial—if not particularly tactful.

"Hi Judy, did you really kiss a fox?"

"Alice!" Lily looked as if she wanted to dive under the floorboards…and Judy wasn't feeling much better. Oooo, if she ever got her paws on whoever had posted that video …

"What, mom?" Alice Otterton looked thoroughly confused, "The whole team knows about…"

That was as far as she got before her mother came back to her senses…and then came down like a hammer-fist.

"I don't care WHO else knows about it; you apologize to Judy this instant."

"But mommmmm…."

"Now, young lady, or no more otter-polo for the rest of the month; I mean it."

Alice sniffed and looked up mournfully at Judy. (Over on the sidelines, her brother was rolling his eyes and mouthing, 'sisters!')

"I-I'm sorry, Judy." Alice's paws were clasped and her ears were wilting. She looked almost the same as her mother had, that time she'd barged into Bogo's office, begging for his help in finding her missing husband.

…Which why all that Judy could say to her was, "It's all right, sweetie."

Alice nodded and Judy saw her shoulders relax. The little otter-girl's mother, however, seemed only partially satisfied; they'd be having another talk about this later.

Just then the front door chimed again, and another familiar voice called out.

"Back…sorry, there was line-up at Zoo-PS."

Lily's features tightened with concern.

"Oh dear, did the shipment make the cut all right, Emmit?"

"Yep, it's on the way, no problem," her husband assured her, coming into view around a store display. He looked dapper today in twill pants and a checked vest. That was when he saw he had a visitor.

"Well, hello Judy, what surprise," he said, before going over to kiss his wife.

"Hello Emmit," the doe-bunny replied, suppressing the urge to shake her head in disbelief. She had never met a more sweet-tempered soul than this otter. Who could ever believe that he had once nearly torn off a jaguar's face?

"What am I thinking of that for, all of a sudden?" she wondered to herself.

"So, have the kids been behaving?" Mr. Otterton was asking Lily.

Nelson smirked and Alice looked as if she'd caught a sudden chill, but their mother only said, "They've been fine," (while giving her daughter a sideways glance.)

"Good, good," her husband said, and then looked at his watch, "Okay then, you three better get moving …and sorry again for taking so long."

"It's all right Emmitt," Lily told him, and then beckoned to her children. "Come on kids, let's go."

"About time!" Nelson mouthed as soon as her back was turned, and then followed her into the rear of the store. A moment later, Judy heard the access door snap open and shut again and saw three dark shapes, streaking through the water, headed downriver.

"So what brings you here today?" she heard Emmitt asking from behind her. "Let me guess…Fru-Fru, am I right?"

Judy's ears went up and she turned from the window with her nose twitching.

"Uh, no actually; I came in to order a gift-basket for my sister. But what's this about Fru-Fru?"

"Oh didn't you hear?" Mr. Otterton asked, looking pleased that she hadn't, "Fru's expecting again…a boy this time."

"Well, finally," Judy answered, forcing a smile and swallowing a lump. Like it or not, this was the opening she'd been waiting for. "Her father must be thrilled to death." (Mr. Big was old school in more ways than one.)

"Oh he's over the moon," the otter-florist told her, "His grandson hasn't even arrived yet, and he already invited me to the christening."

"And no doubt he'll be ordering flowers for the occasion," Judy suggested, with a slyness that would have done Nick Wilde proud.

Otterton laughed and spread his arms. "Practically ready to buy out the store," he said.

"Okay, here we go," Judy thought to herself, and mentally crossed her fingers. She felt as if she were about to ride a bike without training wheels for the very first time in her life. "It's good hear he's been getting some good news, I mean what with all the um, other problems he's been having."

"Yes, I know," Emmit Otterton answered, grimly shaking his head, "Especially now; just when he's trying…" He stopped, seeming to have suddenly realized that one of the display vases was out of place, and hurriedly reached up to fix it, "Ahhh, but it's really not for me to say, Judy."

"No you shouldn't," the doe-bunny agreed, hiding her disappointment, "But anyway, I should get something for Fru myself. When is she due?"

And to herself she said, "Dangit…SO close."


Author's Note:

Thanks to voleitor drakeru for assisting with the Spanish translations.