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 13 –Facts are Stubborn Things
(Continued…Pt. 4)

It would have been impossible to say who first recognized who… but no one could deny that it was Judy Hopps who was faster on the draw.

"McHORN! What the heck do you think you're doing?"

For a moment there was nothing, only those piercing red lights…and then finally, a befuddled voice rumbled out of the darkness. "Wha-Hopps…Wilde?" More silence and then a barked order, "Everyone, stand down!"

At once the laser lights either winked out or fell away. And then more lights bloomed, flashing bars of red and blue, and glaring spots in harsh, pitiless white.

And now the doe-bunny could see them, at least five ZPD officers, all of them big, all of them powerfully built and all of them decked out in tac-gear. Every single one of them was exuding wisps of vapor, like dry ice, left to evaporate on a hot pavement. Some serious stress was happening here.

Or…well, this WAS the Rainforest District, but Judy had little interest either way. She felt her foot begin to hammer against the ground while her brow straightened out into a hard, flat line. Dangit, somebody in one of the houses they'd passed had seen them after all. Okay, fine…but what the HECK…?

"What the heck, a SWAT team?" She stared upwards at the rhino-cop in smoldering disbelief. If she hadn't been choked up with indignation, it would have come out in a scream.

McHorn's response was a half nervous/half indifferent shrug.

"Someone called in a report of a fox with a…"

That was as far as he got before a venomous snarl cut him off at the knees.

"And when you heard it was FOX with a gun, you just couldn't wait to get your tac-gear on, right McHorn?

Gahhhh, Judy could have slapped herself silly; in her agitated state, she'd completely forgotten about Nick. And a quick glance to the left told her it had been a grievous error on her part. Her partner's ears had vanished backwards, his neck-fur was all in spikes, his lips had reeled back, exposing his fangs, and—maybe it was just a trick of the light, but it almost looked as if his eyes had turned red. Good God, you could get thrown in cuffs for giving a police officer a look even half as threatening; she'd made that move herself a few times.

"No," The rhino responded coldly, "Not a gun, a HOSTAGE…and the report also said 'shots fired.'" He reached with a meaty hoof and flipped up the visor of his tac-helmet, revealing deep-set eyes, glimmering with contempt. "Sorta raises the stakes a little, doesn't it?"

Judy grimaced and wanted to scream again. Yup, that raised the ante all right; shots fired + a hostage = a SWAT team rolling right now. Even so, she felt her anger start to cool a little. McHorn and the other SWAT team mammals were only pawns in the game here. What were they SUPPOSED to have done, ignored the call from dispatch? This wasn't their fault; the blame belonged to whoever had filed that bogus report.

Well, maybe so, but just try telling that to Nick; sweet cheez' n' crackers, she had never seen him this angry. Seriously, if Judy hadn't known any better, she would have sworn he'd been darted with Nighthowler. Luckily for her—and for everyone else—for the moment, he was too furious even to speak. When he did though, the doe-bunny had no doubt that his foot would make a beeline for his mouth. She could only hope that…

It was then that her long, sharp ears caught hold of something, a kind of…chittering? No, tittering; high-pitched, merry, and wicked, coming from the direction of the transit station's parking lot.

Judy looked…and saw nothing but indistinct shapes at first; it was impossible to make out anything definite beyond the glare of the lights. But then the lightbars all went out and the spots dimmed to half power.

Blinking like a semaphore to adjust her vison, she peered past the police vehicles with her nose twitching. Hmmm, still nothing. But then she realized the tittering sound was coming from somewhere down by curbside-level. Lowering her gaze, Judy saw them, swaddled in a circle of greenish-yellow light beneath a street lamp. They were gerbils, two of them, young, smart, and brimming with self-assuredness, leaning placidly on the fender of a rocket-red, rodent-sized Peltby Cobra roadster. The pair of them were clad in Docker slacks, golf shirts, and—in an almost shocking display of incongruity—had their foreheads wrapped in steampunk aviator- goggles. Even at a distance their smug expressions were as plain to see as whiteout on a blackboard. She felt her foot trying to thump again and stifled it. Trust-fund brats—she'd seen their sort a hundred times before. Write 'em up for speeding and they think it's a joke. Threaten to impound their vehicle, and here come the threats of legal action.

And that was why the machine on the flatbed trailer behind them came as no surprise at all. Even with the arms folded inwards, there was no mistaking it for anything but what it was, an RC drone aircraft.

Or…maybe you could leave out the Radio Control; it was easily large enough to accommodate both rodents. Whatever the case, Judy knew in her gut that the oversize bug she'd heard swarming around the skytram hadn't been any insect; it was the aircraft she was looking at right now.

Oooo, she wanted nothing more than to storm over there and take that thing apart, piece by piece; it was strictly illegal for civilians to operate a piloted drone within the city limits of Zootopia, (and even outside of the city, you had to have a pilot's license.) That was all well and good, but not enough to stop any number of anarchic young rodents from thumbing their tails at John Law. Modifying an RC drone to carry passengers was simplicity itself. Throw in a couple of quick-mount seats, bolt on a quick release rack for the RC controls and you were good to go. And then be sure to pull the seats and control-mount as soon as you touch down. Coz even if the cops show up, as long as they don't find an illegal mod actually installed on your machine, tuff nuts for them, you walk.

With such an easy dodge, it was small wonder the practice had become a headache for the ZPD. Judy knew fursonally of at least two examples of V-For-I-Fought-The-Law graffiti that could only have been painted using piloted drones.

But that was neither here nor there. No way would this pair of smug, smarmy little rodents be hanging on the edge of a SWAT team unless that drone was above reproach. And even though Judy was certain that these were the sneaks who'd dropped a dime on her and Nick—good luck trying to prove it, bunny. There was nothing she could do except stare in impotent rage.

Then one of the gerbils spotted her, and cupped his paws around his muzzle.

"Pred and prey—stay away!"

Judy bit her lip, refusing to be baited. Unfortunately, she wasn't the one in need of restraint. From beside her, a furious fox-scream rent the air. Oh no, Nick had him too…and he too had figured out what that pair of little jerks was doing here.

"WHY, YOU…!"

"Nick, no!" Judy screamed, but it was too late; he was already charging full-tilt at the miscreant rodents.

But then a shadow darted out from behind officer Pennington, revealing itself instantly as it moved into the light. Ohhh, thank goodness she was here; Nick was fast, but nobody on the force was quicker than Kii Catano. Before he could manage even another yard, she had planted herself between him and the two gerbils, (who were wisely cranking their engine, just in case.)

"Easy Nick," Catano said, spreading her arms and crouching low, so he couldn't slip beneath her, "Come on, cool it; this won't help you."

"Help me?" his voice was a half-strangled screech, "Help me! What do I need help for? I HAVEN"T DONE ANYTHING WRONG!"

"No, but you're about to," the cheetah-cop was almost begging, "Stop it Nick…please. Think for a minute."

Nick didn't think, he feinted left and then went right. Catano anticipated the move and checked him.

"Get out of the way!" he was screaming like a motor about to fry itself.

"No, now back off fox!" the cheetah-cop snarled, no more Ms. Nice Big Cat, "I'm warning you Wilde, don't make me do something I'll hate myself for later."

"Nick, come ON!" Judy bounded up behind him and grabbed his tail; it was like latching onto a wire brush. "Don't you see; that's what those gerbil jerks want you to do!"

And that was what finally popped the fox's air-valve; he sagged like a leaky pool-toy.

"I-I'm sorry," he mumbled, turning forlornly to Judy…and it was the closest that night she ever came to hugging him. She might have anyway, if she hadn't noticed the gerbils exchanging a high-five.

"Yeah, good one, Jude," her inner voice admonished, "give those jerks what they REALLY want."

Then McHorn cleared his throat.

"Anybody see what almost happened just now? I must of missed it." He asked the question in a booming voice, more than loud enough for the gerbils to hear him.

The answers he got were swift and to the point.

"Sorry."

"Nope."

"I was looking over there."

"Not me."

"What almost happened?" Kii Catano's head was tilted, and her tail was ticking.

McHorn grunted in satisfaction and looked down at Nick and Judy again. He was trying to scowl but couldn't quite manage it; his face was much too weary and sad to make any show of anger believable.

"Now listen to me, because I'm only going to say this once. I don't care what's going on between you two. Whatever it is, far I'm concerned, it's nobody else's business, and that hyrax should go lay off." His left ear flickered, and now the corners of his mouth finally made a successful downturn. "'Cept when I get called out on a fake SWAT detail because of it; that makes it my business." He winced and shook his head slightly, at last giving in to his exasperation. "Good GOD, you two had to go and hook up now; you couldn't wait 'til things cooled off a little?"

Judy wanted to tell him that wasn't the case—she and Nick had only been talking—except she knew he wouldn't believe her, none of them would. Her throat twisted as the bitter truth confronted her. Even the mammals who didn't have a problem with her and Nick in a romantic relationship would never be convinced that it hadn't yet gone that far. Ohhh, why hadn't she taken up Dr. Hind on his offer to moderate their discussion?

"If…we'd known anyone was going to SWAT us," she finally said, "we…never would have…uh, met up." Even to her it sounded lame, but McHorn only nodded tiredly.

"Well-l-l-l next time, think before you leap, huh?" He winced at his slip of the tongue, (was that a bunny stereotype?) and then crooked a finger over his head in a high, wide C-arc.. "Okay mammals, nothing to see here; let's move out."

As the SWAT team filed past them, Nick only stood there, staring fixedly down at the ground. To Judy, he seemed almost catatonic. Well, it was better than having him…

"Hope you two are liking your leave," a low voice, with Slavic overtones growled, Looking upwards again, Judy saw the blocky, white-furred, frowning face of Officer Snarlov, "Cause now, is probably extended indefinitely, yes?"

"Oh, lay off, Snarl; she feels bad enough already," another voice chided. It was Kii Catano. Snarlov grunted and moved on, but the cheetah-cop chose to linger for a moment. "Sorry guys, he didn't mean anything; he just hates getting assigned to the Rainforest District. It's no place for a polar-bear."

Judy knew that this was true, but it didn't help things. Catano must have noticed her expression because she quickly dropped down on one knee.

"You two guys okay?"

"Y-Yeah, we're fine," the doe bunny answered, forcing a smile. She actually had no idea as to how she was doing and for sure Nick wasn't okay; he hadn't moved a muscle since assuming that nose-down posture.

"I can't imagine what it's like for you two right now," Catano told her, shaking her head in sympathy. She almost said something else, but then stopped and bit her lip, as if suddenly changing her mind. "I just hope it all works out for you."

"Thanks Kii," Judy answered, trying to smile again, only this time with notably less success.

"Catano, come on!" McHorn's gruff voice called.

"Hold on," she answered, patting Judy on the shoulder. When stood up again, a fang was showing and the lines on either side of her muzzle had hardened as if frozen. "Give me just a minute, okay?" Her voice was like a wood-shipper, shredding a tree-branch. And then, without waiting for an answer, she strode off in the direction of the pair of gerbils.

Unbeknownst to the cheetah-cop—or Nick, or Judy, or the two rodents—or anyone else for that matter, another pair of eyes was observing the scene.

And they did NOT like what they were seeing.

Conor Lewis had come within an ace of a major cardiac infarction when the SWAT team pulled into the parking lot; especially when he'd heard them talking about a fox with a gun—because he was a fox and had something in his backpack that could easily be mistaken for a gun. It wasn't until he'd seen them taking up positions around the skytram station—a place where he hadn't been— and heard someone say the word 'hostage' that he'd taken his finger off the panic button. Ohhhh-kay, they weren't there for him.

Maybe so, but he'd still needed to get out of sight and stay hidden until they were gone. "And will you hurry up and get outta here, already?"

He was crouched in the shelter of an iroko tree's thickset, multiple trunks, maybe six feet down the line from the nearest stop on the pallet express, (which ran along the hillside above the transit station.) Like all good hiding places this one provided an excellent vantage point. From here, the young silver fox was able to see and hear almost everything transpiring beneath him, (although at the moment, he was more concerned with not being seen or heard.)

"Agggggh, grrrrrrr…I just HAD to go and scope out that mother-foxin' guitar!"

His original purpose in coming to Fruit Market had been for the same purpose as his visit to the Tundratown Grocery Ocelot—a cash drop. There were lockers inside of the Fruit Market Metro station, big ones, and very secure. Even better, the place was only a stone's throw away from the Peace Rock Guitar Co-operative. That was how he'd come to know that local musicians found it a convenient place to stash their gear.

Which meant no one would think twice about the appearance of an amplifier case in one of those lockers; a case that could hold a LOT more cash than an Amazoon shipping carton.

Not that the Metro station was without its drawbacks; the proximity to the guitar co-op also made it a location that the wanted fugitive Conor Lewis had been known to frequent prior to his arrest. As for the lockers themselves, they would never have been that popular, if they weren't under the constant scrutiny of three—count 'em—THREE security cameras. And last but not least, the only way to get from the Pallet Express stop to the Fruit Market Metro station was by way of a narrow, winding trail that was, in places, as slick as greased Teflon.

After weighing the risks versus the possible benefits—broken bones, and/or getting busted again versus the chance at pulling off his biggest ever money-drop—the young silver fox had settled down to tackle the difficulties, one by one. If things worked out, by this time next week, he'd have more than half his cash reserves converted into cryptocurrency.

The first problem had already been at least partially negated by his change of scent and appearance. And he could further reduce his chances of being recognized by showing up after hours—which was exactly what he'd done. As for the ZTA security cameras, he'd been dialed into their data-base ever since his arrival in Zootopia. So it was that while he'd been placing the amplifier case in one of the lockers, the CCTV display screens had been showing looped footage of an empty room.

Dealing with the final hurdle had been a cakewalk, the young fox had simply avoided it; exiting the Pallet Express two stops before Fruit Market and switching to a Metro train. In that part of town, the guerilla railroad line ran at the same level as the road—and was right across the avenue from the Pack Street Metro station. It had been an easy enough solution, but not without risks. Traveling openly, even for a short distance, there was always the chance he might be recognized, new fursona or not. And as if that weren't enough, a middle-school fox with an amplifier case in tow was not exactly unnoticeable. But it was better than killing himself by trying to drag it down that hillside…and as things turned out, no one on the Metro train had given him even a second glance, (and he'd been sure to keep his face hidden from the on-board security cameras.)

He probably should have boogied as soon as the cash was safely inside of the locker, except…dangit, there was Peace-Rock Guitar Co-op, practically within spitting distance. And he still had his key-card, and they still hadn't changed the access code, which meant he'd have no problem getting inside. It was no use; resistance was futile, and so he'd slipped in by way of the service door. He simply HAD to see it, just once before he walked away.

He'd found it hanging on a wall in the work-shop area; the 6/12 double-neck guitar he'd taken as payment for helping to fix Erin's bass. And oh, Mama…the Peace-Rock guitar-elves had outdone themselves on this one. They'd tightened the frets, added locking tuners, and replaced the knobs and bridges. The top, which had originally been fashioned from fiberboard, was now done up in swamp-ash, with a cherry-burst finish. Even the pickups and fingerboard had looked new, though they were among the few things on the guitar that hadn't needed replacing.

Conor had promised himself that he was only going to look, but—resistance is also useless—he'd immediately found an amp and a pair of small-mammal headphones. And then he'd plugged in the double-neck and then…

And then…ohhh, sweet sounds of sweetness; all right, that did it! When he finally left Zootopia, by hook or by crook, this axe was going with him.

Even then, he might have made it out ahead of the cops—except for a somewhat more reasonable decision on the young fox's part. Before he headed home, he should really go check on that locker, see if the amp-case had been picked up.

It had, but the price he'd paid for his peace of mind had been as steep as the hillside he'd ascended shortly afterwards. Literally seconds later, the ZPD had arrived on the scene, sirens whooping and roof-lights blazing.

Now, the young fox hunkered low behind a snaking tree-root, watching as Kii Catano strode purposefully up to the two rodents, who responded by regarding her with a pair of bored expressions.

"Is there a problem officer?" one of them asked, his voice suffused with an air of high-pitched smugness. Parked downwind from the exchange, Conor could hear him as clearly if he had spoken from only two feet away. Grrrrr, he knew that tone, he'd affected something similar during his police interrogation. It was the voice of a perp who knows he's guilty and is equally certain that cops can't do anything about it. Mmmm no, the young silver fox reconsidered, he hadn't come across as quite that oily while being questioned. Ah, but Junior though, the late less-than-lamented James McCrodon Jr. Yeah, THERE was who that gerbil sounded like

And anyone who'd channel that lowlife…he was beginning to like these punks less and less.

"Betcha anything they bring up their dad." His inner voice challenged, and it was a wager that Conor wasn't about to take.

Catano, meanwhile, was gesturing towards the drone the rodents were hauling.

"I hope you boys were flying that thing by remote." She said, folding her arms like a schoolmarm.

"Of course, Officer," one of the gerbils responded, with deep, exaggerated deference.

"We're law-abiding citizens," his companion chimed in, sounding positively smarmy. And then he nodded at the trailer. "Check it out for yourself; you won't find any illegal mods."

It was a dare, not an offer, and the cheetah cop wisely refused to take the bait. Instead she changed subjects.

"Are you aware of the penalty for filing a false police report?"

"Catano, come on!" McHorn blared. She pretended not to hear him.

"Someone filed a police report?" the first gerbil gasped, looking shocked…shocked, I tell you.

"What about?" the other one queried; a portrait of innocence etched in saccharine.

Okay, forget dislike; Conor's feelings about these jerks had just been upgraded to loathing. He quietly unzipped his backpack, feeling inside for his pair of mini-binoculars.

"Do you two have names?" Catano asked, and was rewarded with a pair of toothy smirks.

"I'm Darien Maschay and this is my brother Darius," the first one said and then leered at her. "Maybe you heard of our dad, John G. Maschay?"

Yep, there it was, just as Conor's inner voice had predicted. And by the way, loathing had just been upgraded to hatred. He pulled out his cell-phone and clicked on 'notes'. Darius and Darien…with dorky names like that no wonder these two were jerks. He only wished he had a proper spelling for their last name, but…their dad's name was John, middle initial, G, and his name was supposedly well known. Now, THERE was something a savvy young fox could work with.

Kii Catano, for her part, had decided to quit while she was behind and was stalking back to the command-car, muttering acidly to herself.

Watching her, Judy Hopps came to a sharp realization, and hurriedly nudged at Nick with her elbow. "Come on, let's get out of here."

He only looked at her with dull, listless eyes.

"Nick!" She reached for his paw and then drew back. Not with those gerbils watching—wait, what about his tie?

She grabbed it and pulled, hauling him back in the direction of the skytram terminal.

"We…" she grunted, gritting her teeth at the weight. Dangit when had this fox become so heavy? "We…need to get out of here, Nick…before the SWAT team leaves…or those two…little jerks will…be all over us."

That put a spark in Nick Wilde's step…barely, but enough. Judy felt his tie slacken and let go of it, moving swiftly aside to let him by, and then watching as he shambled towards the skytram station, back bent and arms dangling.

"He looks like something out of the Stalking Dead," she couldn't help thinking.

Shuffling through the entrance, Nick turned and offered her a limp-wristed wave, before disappearing around the corner. Judy didn't linger, but instead turned and headed for the Metro station, forcing herself not to run.

She was halfway down the steps when she heard the SWAT team pull out of the parking lot. And now, she did break into a run. Dangit, couldn't they have waited a few more minutes? What next, would the gerbils come taunting after her? Judy didn't know, but she knew that if they did, she was liable to do something that would put an end to her career in law-enforcement tout-suite...

Wait, hold it…a train was pulling into the station. It was going the wrong way, but any port in a storm. Judy bounded on board just as the doors closed. She didn't have a ticket, but if anyone asked she'd just show them her badge and…wait, nooo, she didn't have it with her. All right then, she'd just have to ride on hope.

From a far corner of the train-car, an empty seat beckoned and she hopped up and quickly took it, pulling herself into a semi-fetal position. That was when she noticed that the car was practically brand spanking new, pastel-yellow and shining steel, with seats that smelled faintly of vinyl. The windows were completely free of any scratches or mark; so clear, they might not have been there at all.

So why did this place feel so dirty and ugly?

She refused to let the tears come.

As things turned, out the pair of gerbils had made no attempt to follow her…or Nick. Instead they were indulging in a great deal of whooping and high-fiving, unaware that they were still under surveillance from above. By now, Conor had managed to get a line on the license plates of both their car and the trailer behind it...and he'd also jotted down the make and model of their drone. That had been easy-peasy, and he wondered why the jerky-bils had left it uncovered. All that money, and they couldn't afford one lousy tarp, (which, in their case, would have been no bigger than a fox-sized placemat.) It made less than zero sense.

Except heyyyy… maybe that was the general idea; maybe they'd wanted the cops to see they had a drone with them...knowing full well there'd be nothing the law could do about it. Yeah, okay, that worked.

But whoops; now here was the real clincher. One of them was slipping on a brightly lit headset. Whoa, these two came from some serious money; those rodent size bluefangs put the 'spend' in spendy. (Conor knew this from his rat-buddy Mike Daehan, who also had one.) He switched his smart phone over to internet function and waited.

He didn't have to wait for long; the gerbil immediately began to recite a series of numbers—and as he did, Conor entered them on Zoogle search. What he got back when he clicked was, 'The Rock Hardesty Hotline.'

"Got you, punks!" the young fox softly snarled, fangs gleaming in the darkness. Of necessity, radio talk shows keep detailed records of their callers…records that are easy marks for even a semi-skilled hacker. All he'd have to do is cross reference the time of the call the gerbil below was making…and he'd have the little jerk's phone number.

And once he had that, he'd have him… and his brother. Oh yes, there was going to be a reckoning…not for a while, but it was coming. You could cash that check at any bank in Zootopia.

It was exactly the wrong course of action right now and Conor knew it. Up until tonight he'd barely been aware of Nick and Judy's troubles over those videos. And what little he'd known hadn't concerned him; it was none of his business and didn't he have problems of his own?

Yes, he did…and no, he didn't care. The only thing that mattered at the moment was what he'd seen when the SWAT team hit the lights. Whoa, Nick and Judy, what the heck were they doing here? Just when he'd thought the night had run out of surprises…

That was when he'd seen the shattered look on their faces.

And it had gone through his heart like a frozen javelin; he'd known exactly how they felt. He'd been there, done that, more times than he cared to remember.

So, the heck with rational behavior, (it's overrated anyway!) Just the same, the young silver fox made a silent promise to himself. Dealing with those gerbil punks was as far as he would go; he would NOT allow himself to be drawn in any deeper.

"Yeah, right… suuuuurrrrre you won't… SHUDDUP!"

It would have greatly fortified Conor's resolve had he been aware of what was taking place elsewhere right then. Miles away from his hiding place—and getting further away by the minute—Nick Wilde was clinging to the railing of the skytram gondola as if hanging on for dear life. He had never in his life experienced anything like this, not even when those other kids had muzzled him. He couldn't remember ever feeling so...empty.

No-o-o, that wasn't quite true, was it? He HAD been here at least once before…when Robyn had walked out on him. Aggggh, grrrrr he should have kept to his vow of, 'never again' when he'd had the chance.

"Uh-huh, right…as IF you can turn off your feelings like a switch."

He lowered his head and tightened his grip even more.

Judy, at that moment, was in a quandary. Peak Street Station, the next stop on after Fruit Market on the northbound Blue Line, was also the final stop. Now, she paced back and forth across the station platform trying to make a decision. She could either A, get on a Blue Line train, and go back the way she'd come, or B, switch over to the Red Line. That would also get her home, but on a much more circuitous route and she wouldn't arrive there for at least another hour. On the other paw, if she went that way, there'd be no risk of running into those gerbils again.

"Oh, come ON, Jude!" she chided herself, "Those two jerks are long gone by now; and even if they aren't they have no idea where you went. Heck, they don't even know which train you took; stop being so dang para…"

"Excuse me Miss, do you need help?"

Judy nearly jumped out of her fur. Turning swiftly, she found herself face-to… face-to-torso with….

She tilted her gaze upwards and found herself looking into the magnified eyes of an elderly goat in bottle-classes, a navy-blue blue faux-woolen skirt, and a matching suit jacket. Had she not been a police officer, Judy might have mistaken the interloper for a civilian; but since she was a cop, she knew a social worker when she saw one. (The giveaway was the clipboard the nanny was carrying.)

Somehow, she managed a smile.

"Uh, I'm fine, but thanks for asking."

"Are you sure, hon?" the old she-goat queried in a skeptical rasp. "You don't look all right."

Oh, great! Judy could have screamed her head off, 'Don't call me HON!' Just her luck—this particular social worker would have to be one of those evangelical, busybody types.

"No, I'm fine really," she had to struggle to keep her teeth from gnashing. "I, uh….just had a fight with my boyfriend is all."

Oops, poor choice of words; at once the she-goat's eyebrows knitted and her expression shifted from compassion to curiosity.

"Boyfriend…boy…friend; hmmm…uh, do I…know you…?"

D'arrrgh, sweet cheez n' crackers on a skateboard! Judy didn't have to be Little Ms. Clairvoyant to know what was coming if THIS animal recognized her—a lecture if she was lucky, a tirade if she was not. But then a triple clang sounded behind her; another train was coming into the station. She had no idea which one, or where it was going and couldn't have cared less right now.

"Oops, that's me, gotta go."

She turned and bounded for her sanctuary. At least this time she'd had the presence of mind to purchase a ticket first—thank heaven for small favors.

The train car wasn't packed this time but it wasn't empty either. And at least one of the other passengers looked up quizzically as she came leaping through the door, a youngish Eurasian badger in chrome-studded biker gear.

"Hey-y-y, what's yer hurry, cutie?" His expression was a sharp-toothed smirk.

Oooo, now Judy really wished she had her badge. And not that she needed 'em, but a nightstick, Taser, and pawcuffs would also be nice. Bu-u-u-t since she didn't have any of those things—or anything even remotely like probable cause—she could only ignore him and hope he wouldn't take it any further.

For once, lady luck had the doe-bunny's back. The badger only squinted at her for a second, and then went back to fiddling with his Games-Bok, thank heaven again. Looking around, she saw that the back of the car was mostly unoccupied and headed straight for another empty corner-seat. Hunkering into it, she heard a familiar, matronly, robotic voice. "The doors…are closing."

As the doors whisked shut and the train began to ease forward, Judy glanced up and saw the old nanny goat through the window, mouth working and… was that a book she was waving? There was no way to make out the title or hear what she was saying… but there was no mistaking the look on her face; 200 proof righteous indignation.

Judy pulled even deeper into herself, remaining that way until the robot matron spoke again. "Fruit Market Station….Fruit Market Station."

She had gotten back on the Blue Line train.

For the next few minutes, she was a tense as a bridge cable…but when the train stopped and the doors opened, just as the doe-bunny's inner voice had predicted there was no sign of the gerbil jerks. When it pulled out again, she at last sat up again laying an arm on the windowsill, and letting her thoughts wander.

So...she and Nick had finally opened up about their feelings for one another. But not all the way and not nearly as much as they could have — or should have; so much had been left unsaid. And even now, she wasn't entirely sure of the red fox's feelings for her; he had never once spoken the 'L' word, at least not in context.

"And…let's be honest Judy, YOU didn't say it either."

Touché, no she hadn't but…WAS that how she felt about Nick? She didn't know that either, and the excruciating part was that if it hadn't been for those gerbil jerks, she would have had an answer to that question, but now…?

Now, she just wanted to get back to her apartment.

The train emerged from the underground and onto the elevated section of the line. She turned and looked out at the passing scenery. Three more stations and home again, home again, jiggity-jig.

The most incredible kiss she'd ever experienced; why had it felt like that? And…and did ONE kiss qualify as…as…?

Ohhhh, forget trying to say it; she couldn't even bring herself to THINK the word.

When Judy finally made it back to the Crying Pangolin Arms, she caught herself trying to tiptoe up the stairs; a teenage bunny, sneaking in late on a school night. It was ludicrous when you thought about, but not enough to dissuade her from continuing with that stealthy approach. And ahhh, it was maddening; every creak of the floorboards sounded to her like the yowl of a wildcat. Reaching the landing across from her apartment, she crouched low behind the bannister for a moment, peering into the hallway. Nobody was there but she knew—she just knew that as soon as she broke cover, either her landlady or her neighbors would pop up out of nowhere.

As it turned out, Judy was halfway correct about the second possibility. Yes, Bucky and Pronk were around...but inside their apartment. And if by chance, the kudu and gemsbok had heard her, they were, as usual, too busy with each other to take any notice.

"You BROKE it!"

"You told me to turn it to the left!"

"You shut up!"

"No, you shut up!"

"No, YOU…"

Judy slipped into her apartment, throwing the deadbolt behind her, and leaning with her back against the door.

She stayed like that for a number of long minutes, chest heaving and nose twitching. Gradually, very gradually, her breathing began to return to normal and she straightened up, flicking back the ear that had fallen across one eye.

"Never let them see that they get to you," she muttered, the voice coming from somewhere deep inside of her. That said, she strode into the apartment with a determined step, a gait that was nothing like the concrete shuffle she'd performed after her first encounter with…with…

Nick.

Her eyes fell sideways, alighting on her bed, and the collection of stuffed bunnies, lined up around the perimeter.

"Never let them see that they get to you," they seemed to be saying, "But who's going to see you NOW?"

Nobody…

Judy rushed for her bed and flung herself onto the mattress, seizing her pillow in a crushing grip, and burying her face deep in its fluff, this time pulling herself into a full fetal position.

And then she began to cry, shaking the mattress with her sobs.

In a basement flat, in another part of the city, Nick Wilde was sitting with his elbow on his kitchen table, gazing through a knot of dingy, gray pipes at a tiny slit-window, set at the juncture of the wall and the ceiling—and seeing nothing at all, his mind as blank as bleached snow. He did not sob, he did not sniffle; his chair remained immobile. The only thing betraying his emotions were the dark, wet rivulets, coursing down his checks.

He knew—and so did Judy—that tonight had been only the beginning.

What happened next started even before they awakened next morning…although neither one of them became aware of it until later.

It was Nick who got hit by it first. After finishing an extra-long, extra hot shower, he had attempted put on a pot of his favorite dark roast brew—and now, as usual, his stupid coffee maker was refusing to follow orders.

"You're the last thing I'll ever buy on Stagslist," he growled, toggling a switch for something like the twentieth time.

Just then he heard a hum and a buzz; his cellphone that he'd left on his bedside table, still set on vibrate from the night before.

Nick ignored it for the moment, it was too far away to reach in time, and he knew it wouldn't be Judy. He'd ring back after he finished dealing with this blankety-blank piece of junk.

The phone ceased its vibrations and he waited for the double buzz, signaling that it had gone over to voicemail. The sound never came and so he didn't worry about it; the call had obviously not been very important.

But then his cell began to buzz again…and again it stopped before the fox could get to it. And then just as he was about to set the phone back down, it buzzed a third time. Now what the…? Well at least this time, he wouldn't miss it and thumbed the 'connect' button.

"This is Ni…" he started to say, before a jeering voice cut him off.

"Pred and prey…keep away!" and then the caller immediately disconnected.

Nick yanked the phone from his ear as if it had stung him and stared in bewilderment at the display screen. "Who the heck?" he wondered aloud, pulling up the 'recent calls' list.

The call he'd just received had been from someone named, 'No Caller ID,' and so had the one before.

…And the one before that.

…And the one before that.

…And the one before that.

At least two dozen calls from that same animal had come in since 1 AM…and when Nick checked his voice-mail, he discovered that the box completely full. And every single new message was from 'No Caller ID.'

He felt his ears begin to pull backwards again, plastering flat against his scalp, while his lips drew once more apart to reveal his fangs. With a guttural snarl, he began deleting the new voice-mails, not bothering to listen to any of them; he knew what they said. He was about to clear his recent calls too, when he saw that his text box was also full, every message from an unknown sender and all of them saying more or less the same thing…

Pred and Prey…Keep AWAY!

A few of them had come in with some very nasty footnotes. Snarling even more viciously, he began to delete them too, no mean feat with his paws shaking like St. Vitus.

He was half way down the list when the phone buzzed again, another call from 'No Caller ID.' Nick didn't answer it; he had a better idea and stalked back into his bedroom, growling under his breath.

"Think you can harass ME, huh? Agggh, grrrr where is that thing? I know I have it in my uniform some…Ah-haaa, success!"

Unsnapping the police-whistle from his service belt, Nick held it aloft like a war-trophy. The next phone jerk that tried to troll him was going to get an earful—literally!

And looky there; his cell was buzzing again. Tsk, tsk…poor fool.

Nick took a deep breath and pegged the whistle into his mouth, clenching it so tightly between his teeth he could feel the metal starting to bend. "It's called a payback, jerk!"

And then he clicked the green 'connect' button.

Instead of blowing the caller's ears off, he gasped and inhaled loudly…in the process sucking the whistle into his mouth. It was halfway down his throat before he gagged, choked, and coughed it up again.

The name on the display screen wasn't 'No Caller ID,'

It was 'Big Chief Buffalo Nickel.'

"Wilde, are you there?" Bogo demanded sounding characteristically irritable…and also uncharacteristically worried.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here, Chief." Nick answered in a raspy, retching voice, wiping his mouth on his forearm.

"All right, now listen very carefully." The big Cape buffalo told him, dispensing with any small talk. His voice was cold and level as a basketball court on a frosty winter's morning. "You need to get down to the precinct right away. Don't wear y'uniform and come in through the rear entrance. And then come straight to my office and don't stop to speak to any other officers. Straight here and not a word to anyone else; do you understand?"

Nick felt his ears moving back and forth. He had no idea what was going on, but whatever the situation, it wasn't giving good vibes.

"Y-Yes Chief, but what…?

"Good, now pay attention," Bogo rolled right over the top of him, "As soon as I've hung up, turn your phone OFF and leave it that way. And do NOT attempt to call Officer Hopps first, I've already notified her." He stopped and Nick thought he heard a high-pitched, chittering voice in the background. What now…who was that…?

Then the Chief came back again.

"Wilde, d'you have a computer?"

Nick's eyes shifted sideways, in the direction of his battered old teacher's desk.

"Um, yeah, a laptop, but…"

"Is it on right now?

"Um…no, but…"

"Right; bring it with you when come in, and whatever you do—what EVER you do—do not attempt to boot it up, am I clear on that?"

"Um," Nick swallowed down something that felt like another whistle, "I understand, but what's this all about?"

"Not over the phone Wilde," Bogo's voice had flattened out again. "Now shut down your phone and get over here right away."

He disconnected without another word.