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…Part 5)
"There's no point in trying to soften it; you've been doxxed."
Albert Tufts was once more parked in a makeshift chair atop Chief Bogo's desk. Now, he sat back and pressed his fingertips together, the picture of a squirrelly sphinx. Someone who didn't know him better might have mistaken his demeanor for a display of flinty stoicism. Nick and Judy did know him, and so they also knew that what they were actually seeing was grim satisfaction; 'I hate to say I TOLD you so, but…'
But never mind; what the heck was this bushytailed, little geek talking about?
"Excuse me…doxxed?" Judy's left ear was standing three inches higher than the other one. A sideways glance at Nick revealed that he was equally perplexed.
Tuft's response to their confusion was a pained look, as if he'd just cracked open an envelope and found a subpoena inside. And…did that squirrel also look a tad...disappointed? Judy felt her eyes narrowing; yeah, that would be par for the course.
"Well, sorry to rain on your walnut-parade Lieutenant, but we're not here for your entertainment."
Unlike her partner, she had become aware that something nasty was up by way of her computer, rather than her cell-phone. Powering up her laptop, she'd found more than a hundred new emails in her box…all of which had contained more or less the same message; 'Pred and Prey – Keep AWAY!' She'd still been trying to process it when the call had come in from Chief Bogo.
Now the doe-bunny found herself once more in front of the big Cape buffalo's desk, with Nick Wilde seated on her right. This time she and her partner weren't sharing; Bogo had insisted they take separate chairs, a harbinger of rough waters ahead.
Craning slightly forward, they each listened closely as the head of ZPD Cybercrimes explained the term 'doxxed' for them.
"It means," the Kaibab squirrel said, lacing his gnarled fingers and working his incisors, "That someone released all of your fursonal information onto the internet."
Okay, NOW he got the reaction he'd either been expecting and/or hoping for; Nick yipped and Judy gasped in dismay. Ohhh, sweet cheez n' crackers! She'd been battening down her mental hatches ever since receiving that summons from the Chief—but this went beyond even her worst expectations.
"How…How mu…how bad is it?" The fox in the next seat over asked. His voice had risen by three octaves and retreated to the back of his throat; he was starting to gekker.
Tufts threw up his paws in frustration; he didn't seem to have a clue. Given his arrogant nature, it was probably a sincere display...or that was what Judy thought anyway.
"As of yet, we're not entirely sure," he said. "We know they got your ZPD passwords, your emails and your phone numbers. And that's pretty much all that we know at present; not having access to any of your fursonal information, we can't be certain of anything else."
There was a slightly accusatory flavor to his tone, but Judy pretended not to notice.
"H-How did they get it?" she heard Nick asking. His voice had dropped back down to normal pitch, but now it was quivering as if he were driving over a washboard road in a truck with bad shocks. Whether that came from anguish or outrage, the doe-bunny was unable to tell.
Tufts leaned back slightly in his chair again, the long, bushy tail plumped up behind him giving the impression of a king on his throne. It was an effect only enhanced by his long, spiky ear-tassels. "We'll get to that in a minute, but first thing's first."
"First thing's first, peasant, you mean," Judy thought, but didn't say. Buh-Rother, didn't this bigheaded little tree-rat just love to play the high and mighty whenever he was in his element? Tufts would answer the lowly fox's question when it suited him and not one second before. Even so, Judy had to admit that what he wanted to discuss instead was a matter of serious import.
"First I need your laptops and your phones," he said, waving to the desktop blotter beside his seat. "We need to scan them to see what other data's been compromised. In the meantime, you'll need to contact your banks and credit card providers and tell them what's happened."
Judy could feel her own incisors working. If there was one question she did not want to ask, especially of this this self-styled Mr. Know-It-All...
"What about our Zoocial Security numbers?" …The favorite toy of identity thieves.
"As far as we know, they haven't been compromised," the squirrel said, his first five words erasing any and all reassurance that the rest might have offered. Nonetheless Judy surrendered her phone and laptop; what the heck else was she supposed to do?
Another animal, apparently, had an idea or two on the subject.
"How am I supposed to call my bank if you have my phone?" It was Nick again, starting to sound peevish.
"Put it here, please," Tufts responded, nodding at the desk-blotter, his lordly air even more pronounced than before, "and the laptop." When Nick finally gave them over, the squirrel rewarded him with an airy shrug. "Use a ZPD phone."
"Not sure that's a good idea," Chief Bogo intervened, in his usual testy rumble. "Best use my cell for this; here y'go."
A simple enough solution, but hardly an elegant one; Bogo's cell-phone was of the large-mammal variety. For a bunny and/or fox, it was the size of a serving tray. Not only that, it had also been designed for use by hoofed species—which meant punching in a number required a lot more finger pressure than for an animal with furry digits. In order to use it, Judy was obliged to use both paws for every number she entered. And then, just to add insult to insult, as soon as the call connected, she was put on hold.
Things got better when someone finally answered her. Her savings account had not been touched and there were no extra charges on either her credit or debit cards.
Then there came the not-so-good news. The Bank of Zootopia, would be happy to deactivate her cards and issue new ones. "They should arrive in three to five business days."
"Three to…five…" Judy sputtered, "What am I supposed to do until then?"
The response was an instant replay of what she'd just heard, "Three to five business days," the animal on the other end repeated, this time in a starchy voice.
It didn't get any better from there. When Nick's turn came, Judy twice thought she was going to have to restrain him from using Bogo's cell for a hostility toy.
Only after their 'banking business' was completed, did Albert Tufts finally deign to answer the fox's question.
"Someone hacked into the Police Union database," he said, putting special emphasis on the word 'Union'… as if to imply that the ZPD was not the responsible party.
And for once, he was right, they weren't. Like all good labor unions, the ZPU didn't enjoy sharing their secrets with the company managers; in their case the ZPD brass. Because of that, their database was a completely separate entity from the Department's database. In a way, that was good news; Nick and Judy's Police Union files weren't nearly as extensive as the ones held by the ZPD.
Maybe so, but the doe-bunny still felt violated. Who had it been; the gerbils? Could be, but somehow, she doubted it. Those jerks might have had the motive, but hacking into the ZPU database seemed like something way beyond their skill-set. On the other paw, the likelihood that they knew somebody who knew somebody, who knew somebody else, was not outside the realm of possibility.
Or, if Rock Hardesty had gotten wind of last night's episode at Fruit Market Transit Terminal—and more than likely he had—then grab yourself a Zootopia phone directory; the list of suspects starts on page one and goes all the way through to…noooo wait, scratch that. His radio show hadn't gone on the air yet…and knowing him, he wouldn't drop even a hint, much less a spoiler, on his web-page about last night's events. That hyrax liked nothing more than to hit his fans with a surprise straight out of left field.
"How did your guys find out about this, Lieutenant?" Nick Wilde asked, this time speaking with an air of deep, forced courtesy.
Judy's ears stood up and she felt her nose twitching. It was a good question and the fox had been absolutely right to go out of his way to avoid any show of antagonism. In theory at least, the ZPD was supposed to have zero access to the Police Union database—not unless they had either a warrant or written consent. And yet they'd let ZPD Cybercrimes into their computer, without any sort of outward fuss. Why had they done that? There were only about a hundred private firms they could have called for help.
Tufts' gaze fell elsewhere and his whiskers began to twitch up and down, like the needles of a seismograph. Was it Judy's imagination or did he seem just a little…uncomfortable?
Finally, he looked at Nick again.
"Ummm, through an anonymous tip," he said, tilting his nose upwards slightly, as if to include, 'And that's ALL you're going to get out of me.'
Judy saw her partner's ears prick up and felt her right foot trying to thump; an anonymous tip? Those things were only about a dime a dozen around Precinct 1; what the heck made this one so special?
It was Bogo who answered the unspoken question.
"Before he called us, the tipster took the Police Union database offline with a ransomware attack." He was folding his arms and frowning deeply.
"It's not what you think," Tufts added quickly, "First thing they did was give us the code...no conditions; we were able to unlock it as soon as we logged on." The tipster, whoever it was, clearly had the Kaibab squirrel rattled…and Judy had to wonder why. He seemed more flustered by this than by the fact the Police Union database had been hacked in the first place.
But when she thought about it for a second, she realized the unknown whistleblower's ploy had been almost fiendishly clever in its execution. By hitting the ZPU computer with a ransomware attack, he'd not only made certain he'd be taken seriously; he'd prevented the doxxer from uploading any more information. And then, by giving the unlock-code to ZPD Cybercrimes rather than the ZPU, he had forced the Police Union's paw. If they wanted their computer back, then like it or not, they'd have no choice but to give Tufts and Company full access.
It was brilliant…simply brilliant.
But who could have been behind it?
That was when Nick made a growling noise that might have been either clearing his throat or something else.
"Chief…Lieutenant, I know this is a long-shot, but I have to say it. There's one animal I can think of who'd have both the skills and the motive for hacking the Police-Union database and then doxing Officer Hopps and me. And that's The Phantom."
Judy's ears shot up and her foot began to quiver again…but it never reached thumping stage. Ever since the Lewis kid's escape, speculation about his puppet-master had been rife in Precinct-1. The latest conventional wisdom said, "Mark my words: that Phantom-creep's not going to let the ZPD off with a warning for busting his gofer. Sooner or later, he's going to hit us back."
Maybe so, but then why would he target her…or Nick? They no longer had anything to do with trying to apprehend the mysterious loanshark; her partner's theory was shaky at best.
And she wasn't the only one who thought so.
"You're right Slylock, it IS a longshot." Lieutenant Tufts chittered bitingly—flapping his tail and drawing a swift rebuke from Chief Bogo.
"That…will be enough of THAT Lieutenant. Now off you go; I need to have a word with Hopps and Wilde in private." His right eyebrow scrolled upwards until it almost reached his horn. "And if I were you, I shouldn't be making light of anyone else's far-fetched theories, yes?"
"Uhhh, yes sir," the squirrel nodded, getting shakily up from his seat. He recovered almost instantaneously, favoring Nick and Judy with the snarky smirk of an obnoxious kid brother, 'Whoo-boy…are YOU gonna get it!'
And then he leaped off the desk and skittered for the door.
Judy normally would have gotten it for him, but this time she let the Chief do the honors. (She was afraid that if she opened the door for the Lieutenant, she might not be able to resist slamming it on his tail.)
If she'd been honest with herself right then, she would have had to admit something. In actuality the Lieutenant had conducted himself with what, for him, had been a measure of civility. Maybe so, but when she and Nick had gotten here they'd already been tired and angry. Nor had the doe-bunny forgotten that Tufts had basically hijacked the Conor Lewis investigation out from under them—an investigation that, by all accounts, was going nowhere fast.
A creaking noise, from behind Chief Bogo's desk drew her swiftly back to the present.
Seating himself in his high-backed chair again, the big Cape buffalo laid his arms on the desktop and looked from Nick to Judy and back again.
"In case you're wondering, the Lieutenant is of the opinion that the animal who tipped us off is none other than The Phantom's young protégé."
"What, Conor?" Nick's ears were pointing at the ceiling and Judy could feel her own doing the same. "Why the heck would he have done that?"
"Because HE'S got a crush on a bunny, too," Judy's inner voice piped up unbidden. What the…? Where on earth had that thought come from?
"The Lieutenant says it's because the tipster's grammar and syntax—and that of young Mr. Lewis—are very close if not identical."
"Oh give me a break already," Nick was halfway out of his seat, rolling his eyes as if the Chief had just dropped a really bad pun. The squirrel's conjecture was seemingly too far out there even for him. "How the heck would that kid have even found out we'd been docked, uh…doxed?"
"Precisely what I said when the Lieutenant offered up that theory," Bogo snorted, and then waved a dismissive hoof. "However, that's not of any immediate concern." The corners of his mouth had angled into long, downward- pointing lines. And yet Judy couldn't help thinking that this was all window dressing; he wasn't really that angry—at least not with them. "Snarlov was right y'know," he finally said, sounding not just tired, but old, "Your leave will have to be extended indefinitely." He paused to let his officers mull that over and then went on. "I've spoken to each of the animals on that SWAT detail individually, and they've all agreed to keep mum about last night's incident."
While there was little, if any doubt, that this was true, Judy doubted that Bogo's motives were entirely altruistic. When words of what had happened at the Fruit-Market Transit Station got out it would be nearly as big an embarrassment for the Department as it had been for her and Nick.
But then his gaze became a blast of freezing rain.
"HOWEVER…there is nothing I can do about the two Maschay brothers. They, regrettably, are free to spread word of what they saw as far and wide as they wish." For a second, his brows knitted. "And the further that rumour spreads, the more embellishments it will acquire, I shouldn't wonder."
Judy knew that this was true; rumors are the cancer of verbal communication...and it brought up another still question that she didn't want to ask—and couldn't avoid.
"Do you know if they…got any video footage of Ni…of Officer Wilde and me?"
Bogo leaned across his desk until he was looming over her.
"Officer Catano reports that their drone was fitted with a Go-Pher Web-Cam. What do you think, Hopps?"
What the doe-bunny thought could be summed up in two words.
#1, We're
#2, Toast
What she said was, "Uh-huh, I thought so."
"Well, whatever they have on us," a sullen voice beside her ventured, "you can bet Jerk Hardesty will be showing it on his cable program." Before either she or the Chief could react to this, Nick made another noise, one that started out as a snarl but ended as something like a sob.
"Ohhh Carrots, it's all my fault," he was clasping his paws and looking at her with glistening, red-rimmed eyes, "Meeting at the skytram was MY idea. If only I'd used my head a little…"
"Okay, stop right there." Judy had raised her paw as if on traffic duty. "Yes it was your idea…but I don't recall you having to talk me into it; I said yes as soon as you made the suggestion." Her paw became a wagging finger. "So don't you dare go beating up on yourself, Nick Wilde, I have just as much responsibility here as you." She remembered then that they weren't alone and looked hurriedly in Bogo's direction.
His expression was once more unreadable, but had the doe-bunny noticed just the merest hint of sympathy in his eyes?
She decided at once—for lack of a better way to put it—to take the bull by the horns.
"Chief, I know this may sound lame; I wouldn't believe it either if I were you, but the only thing Officer Wilde and I did last night was talk; nothing else happened." It was true enough, she reasoned. After all, what was that old saying? 'Close' only counts in ring-toss and paw-grenades.'
"What she said, sir," her partner added quickly, "there was nada romantic going on. I swear Chief; we were only having a discussion."
Bogo's left ear flicked and he regarded them each with a countenance chiseled in onyx. His response was not at all what either of them expected.
"And why would you think that I wouldn't believe you, then?" He had fixed his gaze on Judy.
On the surface it was a question without an answer.
Not so if you had been there, and the doe-bunny had been there.
"Well sir…last night, no one ELSE seemed to want to believe us." To emphasize the point, she offered him a pair of upturned pawlms.
Touché! Bogo's mouth fell slightly downwards, and then crinkled into a jagged line.
"Right, I'll give y'that," he admitted, and then his eyes squeezed painfully shut for a second. "But did you have to meet face to face...and so SOON? Y' couldn't have waited a bit and had your talk over Slype or something?"
"No sir, we couldn't." Nick Wilde's voice was as firm and steady as a stone monolith, "What we had to discuss couldn't wait…and it was something we could only have talked about, up close and fursonal."
Judy knew as soon as she heard him that he was right. No way could she have asked Nick how he felt about her without being able to look him in the eye.
She threw him a supportive nod, while Bogo blew an exasperated note though his left nostril.
"Right, but why'd you have to meet in public then? Good God, did it have to be on a blasted skytram?"
"No Chief," Nick's ears had turned sideways and Judy could see them drooping like soggy leaves, "You're right, we could have found somewhere else. And like I said, it's all my fau…"
"No, it's not!" Judy cut him off quickly. Ahhh, she did not want to have to bring this up either, especially not in front of Bogo, but what was the alternative? "I didn't mention this earlier Nick, but when I talked to Dr. Hind the other day, he offered to moderate our discussion." Her eyes turned downwards, studying the floor. "If only I'd accepted…we wouldn't be here right now."
The fox's reaction was a surprise to her and the Chief both. "Then you'd never have been able to open up to me the way you did, Carrots." He was speaking in that rock-steady voice again. "What we had to say to each other could never have been spoken with someone else listening—not even him."
Nick's words gave way to an immediate, awkward silence. Though he hadn't said anything outright Bogo would have to be as dense as a wrecking ball not to be harboring a few suspicions. Had the talk his officers had last night been of the intimate variety?
For a moment, Judy experienced an urge to put a foot upside her partner's head.
"Blankety-blank blabber-fox! Why don't you tell him about how you caught me after I slipped while you're at it?"
The urge passed almost as soon as it arrived. How could she feel that way, when Nick had just cancelled her guilt trip, once and for all?
Then he looked at Bogo again.
"It's the one thing I never thought of Chief—a drone, especially a piloted drone."
"We've no evidence those two were flying it themselves," the Chief responded archly, prompting a rare rejoinder from the fox.
"Sir, with all due respect, this isn't a courtroom. Come on, you know as well as I do that those gerbils were piloting that drone themselves—even if they can't be charged with it."
That might have been true, but it had no effect on the Chief.
"Piloted or not, it makes no difference," he snorted, drumming restless fingers on his desktop blotter. "It was there…and it saw you."
"Do you…think it may have heard us, too?" Judy felt her paws clasping and unclasping as she asked it. If that was the case, they were BURNED toast.
"No," Bogo answered at once, prompting her to let out a relieved breath of air, "We can be almost certain of that. We've tried installing microphones on our Police Drones several times, and they've never worked properly. In order to be able to pick up a conversation they had to move in so close, the suspect was able hear them too."
"Well, that's one piece of good news anyway," The doe-bunny said, offering him a half-hearted smile; one that faded almost immediately. The drone that had buzzed her and Nick last night HAD gotten in that close.
She hurriedly changed topics.
"Any luck on tracing that fake hostage-call?" she asked, expecting a negative answer.
That was exactly what she got.
"Fraid not," Bogo rumbled, "Turns out the call was routed through Furner using a disposable number…which has since been disconnected."
Judy winced and tried not to groan. was Cybercrime Incorporated's favorite call-forwarding app. If that was what the SWATTER had used to call in a report of an armed fox with a hostage, good luck trying to trace him, you're going to need it.
"What about Rock Hardesty, does he have that video yet, do you think?"
It was a silly question for Nick to have asked. YES, the hyrax had it...or he would very shortly if he didn't. Had the two of them been alone, Judy might have even needled him a little. The Chief, however, seemed to take the fox's inquiry in stride.
"At the present, we've no idea—and we won't know for certain until Mr. Hardesty's radio programme airs this afternoon. If he's got a new video of Hopps and you, he'll almost certainly make the announcement then."
"Has anyone from the Department tried to contact him?" Judy queried, surprising herself. D'ohhhh, now she was the one asking dumb questions. But again, Bogo remained unfazed.
"We could, but what would be the point?" he said, offering a rhetorical wave of his hoof. "Mr. Hardesty refuses to take our calls and then he never returns them." He shook his head. "No, I'm afraid we won't know anything further until later today."
That, of course, only made it worse. Even though Judy was practically certain that Hardesty had that drone-cam footage, she didn't need the agony of waiting for the other foot to drop…not on top of everything else. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, his next cable broadcast wasn't scheduled to take place for another three days. Only then would they know exactly what he had; like any good showmammal, the hyrax never gave his game away in advance.
Bogo, who was apparently sharing her thoughts, seemed to have glimpsed a silver lining beneath the shroud.
"If he does plan to show any new footage of you two, we'll at least have time for some …errr, pre-emptive damage control."
If those words had been meant to reassure the fox and bunny, they had exactly the opposite effect. 'Pre-emptive damage control'; in so many words the Chief had just told them that their carrots were already cooked.
But it was the words he'd left unsaid that stung Judy the most. Before last night, Rock Hardesty seemed to have been losing interest in her and Nick. Not now, he wouldn't; if only she'd given it another week, might she and her partner have been able to meet without causing a stir? Probably not, but the possibility wouldn't stop gnawing at the back of the doe-bunny's mind.
Then Nick spoke up once again, looking and sounding like Oliver Kits, asking for more gruel. "Okay…what happens next, Chief?"
Bogo let out a noise that was either a grumble or a groan. He'd had obviously anticipated the fox's question—and had not been looking forward to having to answer it.
"Well, as I've already said, your leave of absence will have to be extended indefinitely. Likewise your applications to the detective bureau will have to be put on hold…also indefinitely."
Judy's eyes clamped shut and she nearly doubled over. It was the proverbial unkindest cut of all. She almost glanced at Nick again but only almost; she didn't need to look to know his reaction.
Bogo, meanwhile, had settled back in his chair, left wrist clasped in his right hoof, his expression that of an oaken figurehead.
"And again, I must remind you of something. While I haven't the authority to order you not to associate for the remainder of your leave…" he leaned suddenly forward again, scrutinizing each of them in turn, "if you should choose to ignore my recommendations a second time—and should the ZPD suffer any further repercussions because of it—then rest assured, there will be consequences. I've already got the Police Board wanting to know, why you were put on leave at full rather than half-pay. And so I'm asking…ASKING for your assurance that there will be no further repeats of last night's incident.
"You have it, Chief!' Judy answered immediately. "We'll stay away from each other this time, promise." And just to drive home the sincerity of her pledge, she raised her paw in a bunny-scout salute. She loathed herself for doing it, but what other choice did she have? Bogo's little non-threat just now hadn't been any idle non-threat.
A glance at the fox in the next chair over made her heart jump into the back of her mouth. His ears were back and his neck fur was spiking; he was that close to telling the Chief exactly where he could put his assurances and how far.
"Nick!" she hissed out the side of her mouth, expecting him to ignore her. He almost did, but then his gaze darted sideways for a second. There must have been something in the doe-bunny's expression because his eyes closed tightly and his ears turned forward once again.
And then he grimaced, gritting his teeth so hard that Judy could actually hear them squeaking.
"I promise Chief…we'll stay separated, like you said." His voice was barely audible, but Bogo nodded in satisfaction.
"Right then; I'll hold you to your word. Now off you go…no wait; on second thoughts… not both of you. You first Wilde, and by the back way, same as before…Hopps, you give it another minute before you go.
Judy assumed it was because he didn't want them to be seen leaving the precinct together. But then as soon as the door closed, the big Cape buffalo let out a long, rippling breath.
"Well done, Hopps."
Judy's ears went up and she stared with her nose twitching.
"Well done…uhmmm, for what, sir?"
The center of Bogo's mouth arched upwards like a longbow.
"My species may not be noted for having particularly keen eyesight…but that doesn't mean we're wholly blind. I saw just now how close Officer Wilde came to saying something that should have forced me to take harsh measures. I'm just glad you were able to make him reconsider."
"Honestly sir, I don't know how much I had to do with it," the doe bunny admitted, shaking her head, "But I'm glad he kept his cool, too." Yes, but for how much longer would he be able to hold himself in check? The thought of what might happen if he couldn't was like a dagger of ice in her heart.
Then Bogo cleared his throat again, more to get her attention than for any other reason.
"Right, that should do it, off you go, too."
Judy slid out of the air and let Bogo get the door for her. All the way to the precinct's rear entrance, she caught herself scoping her surroundings, making certain that Nick hadn't lingered, waiting for her. She never saw him, but she DID notice many of the other officers watching her from the corners of their eyes as she passed—and turning hurriedly away. The officers of Precinct-1 might not know exactly what had happened at Fruit Market Transit Station last night, but they knew something had gone down up there...and that she and Nick had been at the center of it.
Well, the doe-bunny reasoned, as she exited into the daylight, at least she had a little breathing space…until Hardesty's radio show came on this afternoon, the rest of Zootopia would have no idea as to what had occurred between her and Nick last night. And even then, it wouldn't really hit the fan until the hyrax's cable-TV broadcast later in the week. After all, you can't show video over the radio
Not so fast; Judy was soon to be bitterly disabused of that notion…an incredibly naïve notion for her to have held in the first place. Had she forgotten already why she and Nick had been summoned to Precinct-1?
Reality came calling almost as soon as she was out the door. On an impulse, she decided to visit Equine-X Fitness on the way home. After all, it was a free membership, so no credit card required. And it was only good for another week, so get it while you can, bunny-girl.
As always, her plan was to warm up with some aerobics before moving on to the strength-building exercises. While most other club members favored the treadmill for that purpose, Judy had always preferred the Nordic Ski machine; it gave her the opportunity to jump-start both her legs and her arms.
When she approached the machine however, something odd happened. Before she could reach it, a meerkat jumped on and took it first. That wasn't so odd; she'd had to wait her turn before. But…was it Judy's imagination or had what she'd just witnessed resembled a kit rushing in to grab a swing ahead of another kit?
The answer came before she could take another step, when a wombat got quickly in line behind the meerkat. What now; member of THAT species…working out on a Nordic ski machine? Under a different set of circumstances, it might have been almost amusing.
Ah, but there was nothing for her to do now but get in line. This was the only machine of its type in the club geared towards a small mammal species.
As things turned out Judy never got the chance to use it. No sooner had she taken her seat than a shadow fell across her lap. Looking up, she saw a chisel-bodied caribou in a dark-blue shirt marked, 'Staff'.
His gaze was anything but affable.
"Excuse me, are you Judy Hopps?" His voice was as chilly as the region from whence came his species.
Judy felt her nose twitching, and she didn't like the sensation. Was that curiosity she was feeling—or dread?
"Uh, yes that's me. Is there a problem?"
The Caribou only crooked a finger. "Come with me please."
He led her back to the reception desk and an equally unsociable-looking female lynx, (who'd been all smiles when Judy had passed her on the way in; what the…?)
"Ms. Hopps, may I see your membership card please?" the feline asked, nodding at the lanyard around the doe-bunny's neck and the celluloid rectangle attached to it.
"Um, okay," Judy passed the card over the transom. Now, her nose was twitching in complete confusion…a confusion that morphed quickly into horror when the lynx folded the card back and forth in her paws and then tore it roughly in half.
"Wha…? What did you do THAT for?" She was staring wide-eyed at the lynx.
The feline receptionist responded by looking away—but not in shame. Instead her gaze fell downwards and to the left, presumably in the direction of a computer screen.
"Your membership has been revoked, Ms. Hopps," she said, in a voice as chill and flat as black ice.
Judy gasped and was about to demand an explanation, but the lynx had obviously been expecting such an inquiry. Her eyes quickly found the doe-bunny's again—and then hardened into small, black marbles. "For repeated violations of the club rules…rules which you agreed to abide by when you signed your contract."
"Violations? What violations?" Judy's voice had risen and her foot was thumping out a kettledrum solo. Several other animals were staring in her direction and the caribou looked as if he was making ready to grab her.
She didn't care…although she wisely chose to turn down the volume. "What violations? Nobody said a word to me about this before now."
The lynx turned sideways, looking down once more. "According to this, we've had numerous complaints about you from other patrons, specifically reports of inappropriate behavior, going back more than two weeks." She swiveled her gaze on the doe-bunny again, this time with a fang showing, "It also says you've been warned about it twice."
The scream that cried out in Judy Hopp's head never made it into the open, although just barely. It was the age-old story; who are you going to believe, me…or your computer screen? No matter what sort of defense she might try to offer, she knew she had already lost this argument.
Still…'inappropriate behavior'; wasn't that pretty darn vague?
"All right what sort of inappropriate behavior?"
The lynx responded by changing the subject.
"You need to leave Ms. Hopps, and right now."
Judy straightened up and thrust out her chin. She'd go—but not without her dignity.
"Fine…I'll leave, but first I'm going to my locker and collect my belongings." The club couldn't deny her that and she knew it.
"All right, just a minute," the lynx responded, and then nodded curtly at her co-worker. "Take over for me Ron?"
"No problem," the caribou responded, sliding in behind her to change places. He seemed more than happy to cover for her, as long as it meant getting this….this bunny out the door ASAP.
Entering the female's locker-room, Judy noted that they were all done up in gleaming faux-chrome. Hmmm, why had she never noticed that before? She'd been coming here for almost three weeks now. Never mind, it was tacky. As a matter of fact, this whole place was tacky; she was lucky to be getting out of here.
Her locker was tucked away in a far corner of the small mammal section—just her luck it wasn't closer to the entrance—but at least the place was relatively deserted. It was bad enough, being evicted from the fitness club. Even worse was being required to clear out her locker with an attendant hovering behind her like a vulture. And the worst thing of all would have been to have an audience watching the proceedings.
Fortunately, there was nobody even within earshot when Judy opened the locker. That turned out to be an especially timely turn of events; because the instant the door swung open, a slip of folded paper came fluttering out of the interior.
"What the heck?" Judy wondered, catching it with a nimble paw. "I don't remember putting that in here."
When she unfolded the paper, she found a message.
'I kissed a fox and I LIKED it.
The taste of his…'
The rest of what was written on the note sent a hot flush racing from the doe-bunny's cheeks to the base of her ears. Hissing through gritted teeth, she furiously crumpled it into a tiny ball.
"C'mon, let's move it." the lynx-girl growled, unmoved and uncaring.
"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying," Judy answered her. Abandoning all pretense of indifference, she began grabbing her things pell-mell.
'Never let them see that they get to you.' Nick Wilde always said.
Sorry, but it was a little bit late for that.
For the animal who had more or less coined that phrase, things took a little bit longer to sink in—and for a very simple reason. Being a fox, Nick was not unused to having waiters ignore him; prey parents scorn him, or security guards trail him when he visited a shopping mall. The first day following his interview with the Chief was for him, just more of the same-old, same-old.
That all changed on the following morning.
It was just after 10, and he was strolling down the sidewalk, on his way to pick up a few groceries. He was halfway up the block, when a car that had been going in the opposite direction made a slow U-turn and began to follow him. That should have set off every single one of his red-fox alarm bells, but for some reason Nick remained oblivious to the stalker. That was doubly surprising considering the vehicle, a tricked-out, neon-green Subearu Impredza; flames on the fenders, double- spoiler on the back, and a tail pipe approximately the size of a howlitzer. The engine song was every bit as loud as the paint-job.
It wasn't until he heard a sudden acceleration behind him that the red fox turned and looked backwards—and then it was too late. Something shiny and glassy was flying towards his head. He ducked in time to avoid the bottle, but the contents sprayed all over his left arm and shoulder in a thick, muddy rush; sugary-sweet and dark brown in color. Sniffing instinctively, Nick knew at once that someone had tried to peg him with a bottle of barbecue sauce.
So far, it wasn't anything he hadn't suffered before…but when he straightened up, he understood at last why his instincts had failed to warn him of the approaching danger.
The animal who'd pitched the bottle at him was leaning out of the Subearu's rear window with both her fangs showing. In her late forties by the look of her, she seemed a wee bit old to be running around in a vehicle straight out of the Fast and the Furryous. She was done up in torn denim, a tie-dye t-shirt and had piercings in both ears and also her nose. That nose was attached to a muzzle as sharp as an arrowhead, with ears to match and an ashen-colored face, trimmed in orange.
She was a fox; a grey, not a red, but a fox just the same. In fact every occupant of the car was a member of his own species. That was why he hadn't sensed their approach.
"Pred and prey, keep AWAY!" the grey-fox vixen jeered, while the animal seated in front her—another RED fox—fired a rude gesture in Nick's direction.
"Foxin' traitor!" he snarled, and then the Subearu screeched away from the curb, leaving in its wake the bitter-black smell of burnt rubber.
Nick could only stand and stare, ears limp and mouth agape, immovable as a vulpine pillar of salt. It was one thing to get that from a member of a prey species…but to get it from not one, but TWO of your own kind? There's a hurt you don't feel every day, Chauncey.
He decided at once that his shopping trip could wait.
Arriving back at his flat, Nick was halfway down the steps, when a chirping hoot hailed him from overhead. Peering upwards, he was greeted by the fuming face of Dexter Whistler, the hoary marmot who occupied the apartment directly above his own.
"Wilde, you get up here." He chittered, coming close to a bark as was possible for a large-rodent species
Nick felt his mouth falling open again. Ordinarily, if Dex said more than three words to him in the course of a week, that was a lot. And now here he was, giving orders? A rising sense of foreboding began to percolate in the red fox's throat.
"I said get UP, here!" Dexter hooted again, at the same time flashing his incisors. In another time and place it would have been almost painfully funny.
But this was not another time and place, and so Nick pushed with his paws in a placating gesture. "All right, all right, take it easy Dex."
"Mr. Whistler to you."
"All right…Mr. Whistler." Nick turned and mounted the steps again, feeling almost as if he was mounting the scaffold.
When he got to the top of the steps, Whistler was there, arms folded and tapping his foot like a telegraph key. Beside him…oh, foxtrot! Nick felt as if that bottle of BBQ sauce had hit him after all—right in the gut.
The door to the marmot's apartment had been redecorated with hot-pink spray paint, a misspelled message reading 'Pread and Prey – Stay AWAY!'
Nick didn't have to be a police officer, or even a fox, to know what had happened. Dex Whistler lived at 1904 Sterling Hollow Way, while his address was 1904-B (for basement.) On more than one occasion, he had received mail and/or packages meant for the marmot living upstairs, and the reverse had also occurred once or twice. Now there had been another mix-up, only this time with much more serious repercussions.
"Well," Dexter demanded, showing his teeth again, "What are you going to do about this, fox?
Nick felt his self-control slip a notch. In all the time they'd been neighbors, Whistler had never once referred to him by his species, certainly not in that tone of voice. He quickly tamped his ire back down. The marmot had every right to be upset after all.
"Ohhh, I'm sorry about this Mr. Whistler."
"Never mind sorry," his upstairs neighbor chittered, and then stopped abruptly with his nose pinched curiously upwards. "Wha…? What the heck happened to you? You smell like a molasses factory."
"Someone threw a bottle of barbecue sauce at me just now." the fox responded, pretending to brush himself. He hoped it might be good for at least a small measure of sympathy but he didn't really expect any.
He was right not to; Whistler's paws went straight to his hips again and this time his incisors weren't just showing, they were grinding. "So what are you going to do about this?" he demanded for the second time.
The first thought that came into Nick Wilde's head was something on the order of, "How do you WALK with a chip that big on your shoulder?" The one that followed sprang from his sensible side. "Easy…Eeeeasy, you have enough troubles as it is without asking for more."
He bit back on the first thought and almost bit his tongue.
"I'll take care of it, Mr. Whistler," he said, although had no idea as to how he was supposed to make good on that pledge. In the end, he just punted. "When you get your door repainted, just go ahead send me the bill."
The response from the marmot was a screech not unlike the sound of claws on a chalkboard. "Repainted? Repainted!" he pointed towards his apartment entrance with a finger sheathed in ice. "Forget that, I want my door replaced."
Nick felt his neck fur spiking…and this time he didn't fight it. Okayyy, he had tried to be civil about this; now no more Mr. NICE Fox.
"Mr. Whistler," he told the marmot crisply, "As I'm sure you're aware, I happen to be a police officer…."
"Something that should never have happened," Dexter tried to cut him off, "Dumbest mistake the city ever made."
"And being a peace officer," Nick went on, refusing to be diverted. "I know a thing or two about the law. For instance, I know that technically, I'm not beholden to you in any way, shape, or form for what happened to your door."
"WHAT?!" Whistler's voice was nearly a shriek, but the fox was already raising a paw.
"Look at your door again Mr. Whistler; do you see my name written there anywhere? No? Then you have no way of proving that graffiti was aimed at me." He flashed a quick, sly smile. "You see, that paint-job is nothing special; it's been popping up all over the city for several days now. For all that you, I, or anyone else knows, you could have been the target of a random tagging." Nick had no idea if this was true; in fact, most of it was patently false.
But didn't it feel good just to say it?
"I'll pay to have your door repainted—but that's it." He folded his arms and tilted his muzzle just ever so slightly upwards. "And if you try to get pushy with me again, the deal's off and you get nothing. Don't forget what I said just now; you have no legal recourse here."
Whistler responded to this by showing the fox the full length of his incisors. If he'd been a predator species, he could have been muzzled for such a display.
"Ohhh-kay…then maybe I'll pay to have that door repainted myself—with a sign that says 'Nick Wilde Lives One Floor Down From Me.'"
"You do that and I'LL be the one calling a lawyer," Nick's answer was an almost silky purr; this time he was sure of his standing. With that in mind, he decided to quit while he was ahead. "Good afternoon, Mr. Whistler," he said, offering a hybrid wave/ salute. And then unable to resist, he added, "and by the way, that's OFFICER Wilde to you, not 'Wilde' and especially not 'fox!'" With that, he trotted back down the stairs again, never once looking up—but at the same time keeping an ear cocked, in anticipation of a parting shot from the marmot.
He never heard it, not from Whistler anyway; his inner voice, however, was another matter.
"If this is what it's like now, what's going to happen when Hardesty broadcasts that drone- cam video?"
At once, Nick dropped to all fours and was literally flying down the steps to his flat. Once he was safely through the door, perhaps then he might find sanctuary from his tormenting thoughts.
"Fat chance, Slick!"
