Coffee wasn't one of Abby's top five drinks of choice, but this Snarlbucks was thankfully willing to work with her on the additional fixins that it was at least palatable. Not nearly as good as a blue raspberry Jumbo-Slurp, of course, but the company more than made up for what her beverage was lacking.
"...but as much as I love Gerhart Richter's use of contrasting colors, I don't want to be considered 'derivative'. I mean, every artist has a... a..." He waved a paw in the air as he tried to find the right word.
"A language," Abby offered.
John jabbed a digit into the table. "Exactly!"
There was an ease to the conversation that the rat and rabbit had been having since they ordered their drinks, which she found refreshing. The pleasantries were mostly out of the way now, and they'd really started in depth discussion of the art scene, of creativity and creation in general, as well as how to balance life and work in a world that insisted on assigning dollar signs to every creative endeavor as an evaluation of its worth.
"I'm not trying to recreate someone else's masterpiece; I'm trying to create my own." He sagged slightly and looked into his miniscule cup. "But sometimes it feels like I'm trapped in my own derivative style; like I'm not allowed to evolve my own language out of fear of losing my own… niche? Is it strange to feel that way?"
Abby pointed her coffee stirrer at him. "I don't think so. Everyone who's ever been successful at something comes to a point that they're afraid to give new things a go, because what if it's not as good, right? But shouldn't art-really, any kind of creative expression-be transformative? Even if it doesn't become part of your own personal expression, there's a ton of merit in just experimenting, trying new things. I mean-!" She waved at him dramatically. "Not that I don't love what you paint! The expressiveness, and the extreme color contrasts, and the themes just… ugh, they are gripping. But that's not to say one day you won't wake up and find a different vein to pull your creativity from, right? Everyone's muse has gotta try new things. No one can eat cake every day and stay healthy."
John huffed and took a drink from his cup. "Tell that to my investors. To hear Dolly tell it, we'd be in the poor house in a month if I didn't use this brand of paint or that brand of palette knives..."
WoopWoop!
A notification from Abby's cell phone on the table stopped the conversation dead and their eyes simultaneously wandered over to it.
John pointed. "Do you need to get that?"
She huffed in annoyance and swiped it away without looking at it. "Ugh, absolutely not. I work the technical side of forensics: anything I work on that's time-sensitive, is also precisely timed. I'm sure it's nothing that can't wait until I'm done having this little moment to relax with a new friend. Everything can't be about work."
John chuckled and raised his cup. "You should talk to Dolly. She nearly had a meltdown earlier because I set a piece aside and took the afternoon off." He leaned back and looked out the window absently. "It's for the best really; I couldn't find the tool I needed to finish it anyway, and the paint would have dried too much by the time I got a replacement."
"But there, see? What if you just changed it up just a little at the end there, just to see how it would turn out? I could tell you tons of times when I was just humming along something and just had a moment of 'but why?' or 'well, why not?' and John, lemme tell you, sometimes-" she grinned wide and proud at him- "it turned out absolutely awful." She made an exaggerated face to replace her grin and John laughed at the silly expression. "And sometimes it turned out to be just what I needed to ask to get to the next level."
He reined in the laughter and leaned over the table, head tilted in inquiry. "Well, now I have to hear about one of the times it went absolutely awful."
She grinned again. "Oh, brace yourself, buddy… when Abigail Scutto fouls up," she jangled her ears meaningfully, "she fouls up hard."
John had picked up a toasted pine-nut and began absently chewing while Abby spoke when her phone went off again.
-Wow-wow-wow-wowow-wowow!-
He sniggered for a second. "So what does the fox say?"
Abby smirked as she picked her phone up. "You have to cut through all the snark to find out. Let's see now… the fox saaaaaaays…"
Her next words stuck in her throat as she read it over to herself. She was ready to do her best Nick impression, but this wasn't a text meant for anyone else but her.
Abbs, if you're with John Thimbul right now do NOT go anywhere with him. Stay in a public place, turn GPS on if it's not. Text back that you're okay.
"Is everything alright?" Abby's head snapped up with a jingle at John's question. Her nose twitched slightly as she considered his placid mien and concerned look. The last message she had sent to Nick and Judy was about the implement pried from Daniel Fields' corpse: a painter's palette knife, with traces of high-quality oil paint.
She looked back down at her phone and fired off a quick message, I'm fine here. What's wrong?, then set her phone on the table. "Unfortunately, it's work related; an update on one of the cases I'm assigned to just came back. It's nothing I can do anything about right now."
She kept her voice even and pleasant, with just a hint of annoyance. If what Nick was warning her about John Thimbul was in fact true, what she could and would do right now was keep the artist (or was it Artiste?) pinned here until he could give her direction on what to do about it next. Keep chatting, distracted… not hurting anyone while she was here with him, so that's where they'd stay.
John sagged in his chair slightly. "I take it our repast is finished then?"
"Oh no," Abby put on her best 'Annual Performance Review' smile. "I've already clocked out for the day, and you have no idea how hard Mammal Resources would come down on me if I tried to sneak in any overtime. Besides, like I said: it's nothing I can do anything about right now."
His face brightened. "That's a relief. It's been a while since I've had a chance to really relax like this and it's been… well, I'm really enjoying it."
-Wow-wow-wow-wowow-wowow!-
Abby grabbed for the phone again before the alert had even finished its obnoxious wail. "Sorry, just a sec…"
Iuytdsdfgiolkjuy
If she could have kept her ears up, they would have flopped in confusion at Nick's text. He was a consummate prankster and punster, but never about the job, so she didn't believe for a second that Nick was messing with her. Her fingers flew over the screen to shoot back at him, What's that mean? We're Snarlbucks on Maple Cross and MLK Boulevard. Stay here? Are you coming?
"Ugh!" Abby shook her head, the rings in her ears jingling cheerfully as she put the phone aside again. She motioned at the phone with exaggerated exasperation that she hoped would mask the nerves firing off in her brain. She flashed a saccharine smile at the rat sitting across from her. "I swear, sometimes I wonder how they ever got along without me."
He attempted a return smile. "Sounds frustrating. Are you sure you-?"
"Yep! I'm completely committed to this. We're not going anywhere."
"Okay, well… then I have effectively braced myself so…" He clasped his paws on the table and sat at what appeared to be rapt attention. "Storytime with Abigail Scutto still on the table?"
...
Consciousness was regained in pieces. Judy attempted to blink and immediately regretted it. Everything swam, whatever information coming through her five senses now broken and distorted like they were being strained through a sieve. Her ears rang, her gut roiled, churning and eddying and red like the taste of blood in her mouth…
She gasped and turned to the side just in time to throw up what little she'd had to eat for lunch. Her head felt like it weighed as much as an elephant, but by degrees she managed to lift it ever so slightly. There was a crinkling noise that wormed its way into her ears and she cracked one eye open tentatively for a little more context.
There was a sliver of bright light at her feet to see by. Beneath and over top of her were a couple of tarps and painters drop clothes, splotched all over with varying colors of paint and now the new addition from her stomach. Neither of her paws or her feet would move without the other and upon forcing her eyes to focus she could see why: her paws were cuffed, and her feet tied together with nylon cord.
She risked more movement, reached down around her waist for her utility belt to find it wasn't there. She edged the tarp up more, then put her ears into motion. There was still so much interference from the ringing and the drone of her racing heart, but her adversary didn't seem to be around for the moment. How long that would last, she had no way of really knowing so she had to make the best of this opportunity while she had it.
Judy wriggled down toward the line of light, all the while shifting her wrists this way and that. Whoever had put these on—and at this point she had a pretty good idea who that was—didn't know what she was doing. By the time the rabbit officer had reached the line of light, she had one paw free with the cuffs dangling from her other. That was enough mobility to work with for now.
She shielded her eyes as she turned and squirmed through the opening. Her head popped out from the little tarp cocoon she had been wrapped up in and she could see her broader surroundings better now. She was inside the truck that she'd been sneaking around earlier. The roll-up door was open and the bed was covered in these tarps and painter's cloths. The edge of the bed was just in front of her, bright late afternoon sunshine beyond it.
Bits and pieces from earlier were starting to come back as her injured head incrementally began processing faster, and Judy looked around in the mess quickly, hoping to find Nick there with her. Nothing vaguely fox shaped could be found in the few seconds she felt she had to spare. She bit her lip and crawled her way to the edge of the truck bed. A cursory look around the alley confirmed it was still empty for the moment. If she was going to get out of this truck of her own volition, it was now or never.
Judy swung herself over the edge and half tumbled out onto the dusty ground. Though she did her best to cushion the fall, it still knocked the wind out of her for a few additional seconds. Two deep breaths later and she had rolled and shimmied herself under a dumpster beside the gallery wall.
Just half a heartbeat from being caught.
An ominous mechanical whirring noise broke through the confines of the building she was now hiding behind. The scissor lift from the studio made its reappearance, wheeling along steadily toward the truck that Judy had just managed to escape from. She barely dared to breathe lest she give away her position. Where she was hunkered down there was just enough of a gap between the dumpster and the ground to see by, and the scene outside alone was enough to stop her breath.
At the scissor lift controls was Dolly Grainger, and in a heap at her feet on the platform was a trussed up red fox.
Nick…
Judy's mouth went desert dry as she watched Dolly raise the scissor lift up so the platform was in line with the edge of the truck bed. She locked it in that position and then bodily shoved her (she really hoped) unconscious partner from the lift to the truck bed. One roll, two, and Nick was amongst the tarps. Dolly hastily threw one over his prone form, and returned to the scissor lift. It rose up higher to the roof of the truck, where she grabbed a strap and then leapt off the platform. The momentum and weight from her fall brought the rolling door thundering closed. She locked the truck door latch, and then scrambled back up the crisscrossing structure to the controls to lower and wheel it back behind the gallery. No sooner had she parked it in the back than she leapt clear and scurried with haste and obvious excitement to the driver's side of the truck. She scrambled inside, started the engine, and pulled immediately out into the street. Another second and the truck, the perp, and her partner were all completely gone from Judy's sight.
The breaths now came in rapid succession, heavy from what she'd just witnessed and the knowledge of what was to come if she didn't do something soon. No telling how long she was out for, but surely the squad car she called for would be here any minute. If they moved fast and utilized their resources effectively, surely they'd be able to catch up with Dolly before… before…
Her eyesight turned wavy as she wormed her way out from under the dumpster. She brought her head down between her knees as she sat, partially to make the world stop swaying and partially to get the nylon cord around her feet between her teeth. Nibble nibble nibble and it snapped in short order.
Now free to move normally, Judy walked on wobbly legs into the studio through the back door once again. The smell of turpentine had almost dissipated completely by now, though the remaining whiffs she caught here and there made her stomach turn all over again. She made for the now empty chair sitting out conspicuously by a half-finished painting. Around the chair legs was a tipped over water bottle and a pile of gear, both hers and Nick's shields sitting atop like cherries on a cake. She rummaged through the mini mountain and found both her cell phone and his just as the sound of sirens rose up outside. Her backup was nearly there.
She opened to the home screens for both, hoping one of them would have a message back from Abby, relief flooding her chest to see that she'd responded to Nick twice and not very long ago. She wasn't going to lose anyone else to this gruesome little art game these rats were playing at.
"ZPD! Open up!"
Sergeant Asstor's voice boomed through the gallery beyond, and then there was the sound of glass shattering. The rumble of many footprints, and all at once he was towering over her.
"Detective, are you all right? What happened?" he asked and when she didn't answer him, he hauled her up by her arm and set her in the chair. Deft hooves went to her paws to key open the remaining cuff and he tried to hold eye contact with her still wildly unfocused eyes. "Where's Wilde?"
"Taken," Judy managed to croak, and even just that word burned to eke out. She stared at Nick's phone in her paws and finally brought herself to look at the Sergeant. "I'll explain in a minute; head's still spinning. Just call forensics down here now, and send a squad car around to Snarlbucks on Martin Luther Kingfisher Boulevard. There are two mammals there I need to have a little talk with."
Abby flew under the police cordon and through the broken front door of the gallery. Normally, being in the same vicinity as so many of the works she had admired online would have had her in a stupor of awe. As it stood right now, though, she only had eyes for one mammal.
"Nicky Nicky Nick—!" She skidded to a halt at the back of the gallery where an opossum medic was examining Judy's head. The area was conspicuously fox-free. "Where's Nick?"
Judy waived off the medic. "Taken by the once gallery owner now turned lunatic serial killer. Dolly Grainger is the Artiste."
"What?" John Thimbul was in the midst of being escorted up behind Abby when Judy dropped the affirmation, and gave the blankest of stares at her. "How is that even possible? She's not… she can't be…"
"She knocked out my partner and clubbed me like a molting goose." Judy's glare was molten as she swung it from the aghast Abby to stare down John. "Got your business partner bringing your business off the canvas? Painting the sidewalks with blood?"
"Me?" His blank stare turned to panic, though backing up only put him against the legs of the wolf officer that was standing behind him. "I'm not… I would never…"
"But you let her, then, is that it?"
"No!" He looked around the gallery frantically, though there was no escape route through the throng of officers collecting samples and laying out evidence markers around them. "She handled the promotions and the cash exchanges, the marketing! I produced. That's all! That's all I ever did. I told you that, didn't I? Except when there were events I didn't… I hardly ever even…"
He searched and searched and searched the faces around him, trying to find some little bit of commiseration that was simply not present.
His voice turned to pleading. "Please. I never wanted anyone to get hurt for my art. Please believe me."
There was relative quiet for a few seconds before Abby put up her paw.
"For what it's worth, I kinda do believe him." Judy threw an expression of betrayal her way but Abby was undeterred. "I'm just saying. We talked for a long time. If I was supposed to be a target he could have spun me any old flattering garbage to try and go somewhere less public. After all, if I was going to be dead, what's it matter? Tell me sweet little lies. But this lines up with that, which just leads me to believe it's probably the truth."
"I can't believe that. Won't." Judy made the mistake of blinking and she could feel the red-hot resolve start to fizzle under the surface. "Because that… then that means that…"
She scrunched her face and threw her head back, taking deep breaths to quell the break that was forming. Because if John knew nothing, then she was at a dead end. If he wasn't in league with his partner and all her sick little art pieces, then however was she going to find Nick before it was too late?
A gentle pressure wrapped around her chest, a calming sensation of paws stroking over her wilted ears kept the crack from widening any further. One more breath and she felt like she'd reined it in enough to return the embrace.
"We're gonna find him, Judy." Abby gave her a quick extra squeeze and held her by the shoulders. "Big ol' case review, right here, right now. All the pieces, all of us together."
"And me too." John took a tentative half step forward, nose twitching a mile a minute but his back straight as a soldier's. "If it's true and Dolly…" He took a breath, looking for a second like he'd just taken a shot of sewerage. "I want to help stop her. Stop all this. Whatever I can do to help, I will. Just say the word."
Judy narrowed her eyes. "What do you even know about Dolly? You've been business partners for how long and she starts going on a killing spree, it didn't even send up red flags?"
"Objection," Abby said with a huff, crossing her arms. "A master manipulator manipulates everyone, not just their victims. You know that as well as I do. Don't badger the witness, Judy. Lead him. Start with the smoking gun. You were here for a reason, right?"
"Right, the knife," she locked her eyes on John, "your knife, I'm sure. There weren't any prints, but there was a brand name. Missing one from your studio?"
He nodded. "I only just noticed tonight I couldn't find it."
"It was embedded in the first murder scene," Judy told him. "Daniel Fields had it glued between his paws."
"There was almost no trace evidence on the Triumph recreation, but there was a ton in the ice sculpture of Preston Peary. The ice trapped so much it took weeks to get through it all, and the report was eighteen pages long."
Judy rubbed her aching head. "I remember. It made my eyes glaze then, but there didn't seem to be enough of any particular thing that would narrow it down to one specific area of the city over another."
"Well, maybe now that we know who dun it, we can back trace off her habits." Abby turned and yelled, "Someone bring me a mobile workstation!"
Judy winced and rubbed her head. "Ow ow ow, Abby, please, indoor voice."
She looked chagrined and lowered her voice. "Oof, whoops, sorry. Adrenaline's going, usually I'm in a heavy speed metal zone by now."
A loud clopping was followed by a shadow passing over the small mammals as Sergeant Asstor walked up to them carrying a Mobile Data Terminal and a Base Station Radio, likely from his cruiser. "I already brought up the case files. Just tell me where you want me to put all this."
"Over here." John walked past the Sergeant and motioned them to follow him into the back studio. He wheeled the enormous canvas and easel it was on away from the wall, unlocked one of the many adjustment gears, and pulled it down until it was completely horizontal. What was a canvas was now a table. He threw a splotched cloth over the defunct painting and gestured at their new workplace with a little air of 'ta-da' before resuming his more tentative stance.
"That'll work," Judy said as she stood from the chair. It took a moment to adjust her eyes from the unwanted swimming, but she was able to walk over beside Abby and the Sergeant without any assistance. He placed the gear on the impromptu table and stood back as Abby all but pounced on it and started cruising through their applications.
"Alright, here's mine and Ducky's report on the palette knife," she frowned and moved the file aside. "We already know the significance of that. Moving back, Bainbearidge: let's see, sealant used, placement of the... components, a tire casting." She looked over to Judy with an inquiring eye.
Judy nodded. "The service truck registered to the studio under Dolly's name has a tire patch on the left rear tire." She looked over to the Sergeant. "It was parked in the empty lot next door. Bare dirt, so they should be able to get an impression to corroborate."
Asstor nodded and headed over to his team before barking orders.
Abby nodded then turned back. "Okay, farther back we have Peary as Phoenix Rising. Same sealant as all the others, particulates trapped in successive layers of ice." She frowned at the screen. "She dipped him like a candle." Shaking her head, she moved on. "Significant third-degree burns, cause of death is 'smoke inhalation-"
"Locust," Judy blurted out. Everyone looked at her oddly. "When we found Peary, Nick said it smelled like he'd been, 'smoked over Locust wood'."
"Oooohhh, now that's something we can work with," Abby said, her fingers now flying over the keyboard. "That's not really a common lumber source, and there are only a few small areas where you might be able to collect that kind of wood naturally. A teensy place at the edge of the Meadowlands, two spots in the Rainforest District, and-"
"-the Canal District." John finished Abby's sentence and their eyes turned to him. He pointed at the map on the screen. "Dolly hosted an event once a long time ago, way out in the dodgy North Swamp area."
"My old stomping grounds," Abby said with an almost nostalgic gleam in her eyes. "I lived there as a kid, before I moved up to Shady Place to be closer to work."
Judy's ears drooped. "That whole area is a ridiculously complicated system of thoroughfares. They can't even keep traffic cameras operating there with the moisture and, well, lack of actual traffic. Not like airboats have license plates."
John nodded. "We took a paddle ferry and then an airboat to get to the place. I… I don't remember the address, damn it. But I do think I can sort of remember the way there, if I saw it again."
Abby grinned an almost predatory grin and cracked her knuckles. "Then all we need is to find the right place to start. Let's consult our eyes in the sky to tell us."
"Detective, a word?"
Judy turned to find Sergeant Asstor beckoning to her from the gallery. She motioned for Abby and John to continue and went over to join him.
"What is it, Sarge?"
He stared down his snout at her, forehead wrinkled with both aggravation and concern. "If Wilde is in the Canals we need to notify the 3rd."
Her face twisted up. "No way! They'll blow the whole thing and Nick will be a goner for sure."
"I'll remind you that they have the resources to navigate the swamps better than we do. And," he added, pointing at her, "there's no way I'm sending a concussed detective and a couple of civilians in against a wanton lunatic."
"Abby's on the force."
"She has zero field experience."
"And yet had a cool enough head to detain who we thought was the killer without giving herself away." Judy thumped her foot and then turned her paws out, a gesture of almost pleading. "I can't sit by and wait to see what happens to my partner, Sarge. Abby's his friend, and she knows the area better than we do. John knows the building's layout, and we… we won't even confront her, okay? We'll just get there and radio in for backup with the exact location. Finding Nick in time is the most important thing right now. We get him to safety, and keep tabs on her if she starts to leave. The rest we'll leave for the 3rd."
Sergeant Asstor glared the kind of glare that would have made Chief Bogo proud, but eventually it gave way to a resigned sigh. "Fine. First priority is securing Wilde, next ensuring the safety of the civilians. No theatrics, Hopps, got it?"
She gave the least ironic salute she was capable of. "Completely, sir."
He shook his head and cast his eyes around at the crime scene still in process. "I'll make sure this gets wrapped up nice and tight and alert the Chief. We'll make sure every single count sticks."
Nick felt like his whole mouth was full of sand. The lingering scent of turpentine still clung to his nostrils. There were other smells mingling with it now, such as oil, wet canvas, low tide and locust tree blossoms. This last one made him sneeze and that sent his head reeling anew. He attempted to bring a paw up to rub the ache only to find he couldn't. Both were tied behind what was apparently a chair; legs were in a similar predicament. He cracked one of his eyes open and saw the last mammal he remembered seeing, though the venue had apparently changed.
She scurried back and forth across an enormous plastic tarp scattered with a variety of materials, from broken wood boards to repurposed corrugated metal to bits of broken colored glass. Overhead was a low chandelier draped in chains and rope that she dodged as she ran about meticulously arranging the pieces of refuse around an enormous wading pool; he could guess what that was for, though a quick look showed that it was empty. He was glad it appeared that wherever he was, his partner was not.
What looked like a fish tank was set off to one side of the pool, a flatburner beneath it heating some clear resin substance within. The gleeful rat hummed to herself as she moved about her work, almost as though she were dancing. Nick simply could not help himself.
"Well, hello Dolly."
She started and spun around. "What? You're awake already?"
Nick shrugged as best he could. "One of the very few benefits of a misspent Wilde youth is a greater than normal tolerance for, shall we say recreational substances. I meant what I said, that was some top shelf stuff. It must have cost you a pretty penny."
Dolly regained her composure. "Merely a promise of an invite and introductions at the studio's next major business event."
She shrugged casually as if she hadn't just admitted to acting as a go-between for a drug dealer. Of course, it paled in comparison to the list of other crimes she was also guilty of. Still, Nick was nothing if not thorough; Judy would have his tail if he didn't get every speck of dirt on Dolly while she was feeling talkative.
"Quite the shrewd entrepreneur you are," he said evenly. "Very resourceful."
She actually beamed at the disingenuous praise. "Yes, well running a business I need to diversify and ensure I have repeat customers, and that sort of networking guarantees my studio events are a hit. You'll even be the star attraction at the next one, once I've finished my Magnum Opus!"
"Front row seat. Lucky me."
Dolly turned to face him again. "Yes, you are."
Nick felt the first twinge of fear since waking up; not from any overt threat, since he knew she intended to kill him. Rather it was the completely guileless look and genuine smile on her face. Nick was looking into the eyes of madness so complete, that it couldn't even recognize its own wrongness. He gave up the staring contest with the abyss and instead looked past her, taking in more of the decaying space. He noticed a vaguely familiar porcine profile lying forgotten in a corner, though the rude creature from Dolly's gallery was now little more than a mutilated toy.
Dolly glanced to where Nick was trying not to stare. "Oh, never mind that," she waved at the corpse dismissively. "I was trying something new; but while my muse was willing, the palette was inferior."
Nick swallowed, but turned the charm in his smile up a notch. "Only the rarest and most exquisite of materials for a Magnum Opus, I imagine."
She turned away with something that almost resembled a pout. "Not that your vulgar Fillystine partner would understand that, of course."
Nick rallied his nerves to keep Dolly talking. "Now now, no need to disparage; just because her 'Folk Chique' style doesn't appeal to you, that's no reason to start casting stones."
Her eyes turned steely. "A stoning would be an appropriate end for someone like her, trying to sully my John's perfect artistic genius. She should have been grateful I chose to give her the chance to atone for that, and what does she do? Spits in my face."
Nick had to snort at the image that came to mind. "I have to assume that's some hyperbole; the worst thing I've ever heard her call someone was 'a meanie', and that was me. You're nowhere near as obnoxious as I can get."
"I am an absolute rutting delight," she said with complete sincerity and turned to resume arranging the bits and pieces that comprised her current canvas, "and not just because I have party connections. I'm witty, and smart, and I can see business savvy at a glance. I can discern the magnificent from the mediocre. Do you know how frustrating it is to watch the lackluster achieve fame while a true prodigy wallows in obscurity?"
Dolly shoved a twisted piece of rebar just a little too hard against a precariously arranged pile of reclaimed wood and they toppled to the ground. She gave a furious squeak and leapt to recreate the arrangement all over again. Nick watched, waiting.
"Was that when you decided to go the extra mile, then?" The question caught her off guard and the little pile toppled again. "Elevate John's paintings to the next level? Settle a few grudges at the same time?"
She scoffed. "None of them deserved to even breathe the same air as him. They debased his work, pushed him out, trampled on his vision. They were the perfect materials to bring his magnificence into the light."
"But what about Daniel Fields? He was so good to John-"
"That worthless little junkie was poison to John!" Dolly rounded on Nick with fire in her eyes and a blade in her paw. "Just like your lop-eared trollop of a partner; they distract him from what matters!" The rage was washed away from her muzzle as a manic smile split her face. "The love of the art is the only thing that is true. And it's for the love of the art that I had to kill him: the pain of loss is what drives the truly great artists like John."
"I see." Nick reset his internal character settings, tilted his head with a smile and softened his voice. "Well, I suppose it takes one to know one, doesn't it?"
Dolly's expression wavered with just the slightest hint of uncertainty, unsure if that was to be taken as an insult or a compliment. But Nick had no intention of further antagonizing the unhinged murderer while tied to a chair awaiting his own demise. Every minute he could delay was another minute Judy had to find this place. In that regard, flattery would hopefully net him the time he needed.
"What?" he said, and turned up the charm another notch. "I can't commend an artist such as yourself for showcasing your own obvious talent?"
Dolly stared and then quirked just the tiniest of smiles. "So nice to find someone who recognizes the skill of the craft. It really is quite a challenge, you know. To recreate his paintings to even a fraction of their depth."
"Boy howdy, do you deliver on that. Tell me, because we have just been stumped about it… just how did you manage to create the candle effect on Preston Peary?"
Her smile widened and she smoothed back her ears with self-satisfaction. "Oh, that was really quite clever, wasn't it?"
"Striking. It must have taken hours."
She waved her paw at him. "Not nearly so much as that, really. The trick to ice effects is constant, consistent water application…"
And then she was off talking through all the grisly and obscene methods she used to create the monstrosities she called art to him in excruciating detail. A few times she would stray from what she'd already done and wander to what she had planned for the piece he'd play a starring role in, how the resin would keep his blood bright and not to worry about his tail, it was so lovely, she'd ensure it was separately prepared, she'd gotten quite good at separating the musculature from the flesh...
Nick nodded and gave all the appropriate conversational cues as though he were listening to her enthusiastically recount a slew of her most treasured recipes. Gleaning as much as he could from the ramblings, letting her reverie distract her, doing his best to buy precious seconds more, and praying Judy was already on her way.
…..
"ABBY, SLOW DOOOOWN!"
Judy wasn't certain if the Swamp Rabbit heard her over the jangling of her multitude of ear piercings, much less the roar of the air-boat's pusher fan as they slalomed through the bayou just south-west of the Rainforest District.
"Nothin-doin, Country Bun," Abby's voice was barely audible over the cacophony. "Lose any momentum in all these weeds and we'll never pick back up again."
"Turn there!" John's voice rose above the tumult, backed with unwavering confidence. Abby negotiated the sharp shift to the right that he'd indicated with ease, though the airboat rocked enough to throw Judy off balance in her seat. It was a good thing she'd already thrown up previously, otherwise she had no doubt she'd have done so then and there.
"Are we getting close, John?" she asked him, trying to focus on what was to come after this hell-ride was over and the next challenge met them.
"Yes," he pointed at a flash of white visible through the blur of green. "That's the grove of locust trees on the island."
Judy nodded and called to Abby, "Cut the motor. We'll coast the rest of the way in so we don't alert Dolly."
Abby gave a nod and immediately pulled the throttle down. The motor noise died instantly, leaving only the sound of the lapping wake the airboat made as they coasted toward the shore John had indicated. There was a short, wooden dock jutting out from the edge with another airboat tied alongside it. The dilapidated building was set back from the dock and barely visible through the hanging white flowers and crawling purple blossoming vines. Judy felt an involuntary shudder before she reminded herself the 'Nighthowlers' were a Perennial, not a vine.
The trio stayed silent in the thick stillness that followed, half afraid that any noise they made now would give away their approach. The sound of the airboat knocking against the dock bumpers rang in Judy's ears, like they'd just announced their arrival over a bullhorn.
"I... I don't remember it being this overgrown," John whispered.
Abby gave a soft snort. "That's kudzu for ya. Mom used to call it Devil's Ivy, it smothers everything it touches. Judy?" The detective looked over at Abby. "I know your ears are probably still ringing, but can you hear anything?"
Judy fought down the urge to snap irritably and just listened for a moment. She heard lots of bugs buzzing, small birds, something splashing in the swamp, and ever so faintly, she could hear Nick's voice coming from inside the dilapidated shack. "I hear Nick. Talking… normally. We're not too late." She motioned at the dock. "Come on; tie this cockamamie thing down while I call in our location, and let's find a way in."
A minute later, with the airboat secured, they padded their way up to the house. Judy was subconsciously cataloging the building code violations of the structure she was certain was only being held together by the vines that were devouring it. It was no wonder no one knew the horrors that these walls bore witness to. No neighbors for miles, couldn't smell anything but the kudzu and the flowering locust trees. Secluded, isolated… once Dolly had her victims here there was no help to be found, and no way back to dry land except in pieces.
Judy's stomach turned and her pace quickened.
"We can't just waltz in the main entrance," she said, her words barely louder than a thought. "There must be another way in, either as part of the floor plan or as part of Mother Nature's plan. John, can you remember if… John?"
She turned to where she expected to find him on her right side only to meet the eye of a Great Heron instead. Both she and Abby looked back down the overgrown path. The painter looked like he was rooted into the earth alongside the weeds, shaking like the leaves overhead, and staring at the destination now only a few meters away from them. "Just... just gimme a minute," he murmured.
"We don't have a minute," Judy hissed as she and Abby hurried back to him. "Come on, focus. Ways in, where are they?"
Silence.
"John."
"We had a party here," he mumbled as he stared blankly. "The caterer served Canapes on Garlic Toast Points. It was the first showing that had any real turnout. Dolly broke her back setting it up. It was… nice."
Abby's face softened while Judy's screwed up in mounting panic. Her eyes darted back and forth between the stricken rat and the place she knew her partner was still alive, for now. She was about to bolt off on her own and leave them there consequences be damned when she felt her coworker's paw come to rest on her shoulder. The other paw took a firm hold of John's. He blinked out of the thousand-yard stare to glance down and then back up at her.
"I can't imagine how you must be feeling," she said softly. "She was a friend and confidant, someone who believed in you and the message you were trying to send with your art. Then she turns around and does something like this."
Judy's mind flashed back to the earliest days of her career, and to the one mammal who seemed to believe and support her.
"John," the rat looked up at Judy, "I'm sorry. I realize you're probably hurt and reeling right now. You trusted Dolly. She was a friend, and she betrayed that trust you put in her. I really do know that pain, and the only way I know how to deal with it is head on. I won't make you go, but I need you to help me or I will lose my friend. Will you help us stop Dolly from twisting your artistic vision; from killing someone else in the name of your art?"
John took a shuddering breath, then pinched his eyes closed. His shoulders sagged as he let the breath go, and looked up at the two does with sadness, but also with determination. "There's a chute near the back of the building that leads into the basement. I think it used to be for coal, but Dolly rigged it up for loading and unloading large art pieces. It'll be on the west side of the building. There's a Dumb-Waiter that leads into the main dining area; it's the only room large enough for," his voice squeaked as he fought for control, "for what she's done."
CRASH!
A sound of breaking glass accompanied the much louder and more frantic voice of Nick Wilde and the three exchanged silent nods to one another. They picked up their feet and surged forward as Judy started doling out instructions. "Okay, when we get in there, this is what we're gonna do…"
...
Nick was hoping that the drone he thought he heard wasn't just a particularly loud blood-sucking insect in his ear. It was a fleeting sound that had risen to the foreground during a brief lull in Dolly's rambling, there and gone again within a breath. His ears swiveled hopefully, but there was nothing. He tuned back into the "I love Dolly" show as she started pulling loops of rope down from the chandelier overhead.
"Just out of, shall we say morbid curiosity," Nick surreptitiously tested his restraints, "What exactly is the piece my debut is based on?"
"Based on?" Dolly froze for a moment, a jagged piece of mirror in her paw. "What exactly do you mean based on?"
Nick easily recognized the venomous tinge to the rat's otherwise benign question. He knew that goading her was dangerous, but he also knew she was almost ready to start, and he needed to stall for time. If he could wind her up just right...
"Well, yeah; I mean, every single piece you've put together so far is just a three-dimensional reinterpretation of one of John's earlier pieces." He saw her tail lash once. "Aside from the medium, they're all exact copies with no original elements. Which, understandable, of course, seeing how close to perfection they come, am I right? I'm just curious which piece I'm going to be made into."
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!
The obnoxious ring of an old-fashioned egg timer chimed from across the plastic wading pool pit, and it turned Dolly's attention immediately. She abandoned Nick's inquiry and shot over to the enormous fishtank filled with the now crystal clear, molten resin. She ended the ringing alarm and stared at the gelatinous substance intently as a single bubble rose up from the bottom. The mirror piece she held was tossed aside, shattering on impact with the ground and she clapped her paws together.
"Well, no time left to paint you a picture, as it were," she chuckled maniacally as she hurried over to a low-loader cart and wheeled it toward him. "Don't worry, it'll take a while to get to the vital bits, so you'll get a guided tour of the process as we go."
Well, time was clearly up; no reason for pretenses anymore. Dolly wheeled the cart around behind him, keeping well out of his reach. He tried snapping his teeth in warning, but she was in no way intimidated, completely confident she was in no danger of what little movement he could make in his current position.
"Oh, that's the perfect face!" She fairly tittered in glee as she wedged the edge of the cart under the chair legs. The agonizingly slow roll toward the pit began. "See if you can hold that for the rest of the session; I can always fall back on making adjustments with nylon fishing line for small details, but nothing beats a genuine expression."
Nick was on the verge of panicking when he heard a faint, but very familiar jangling sound. The edge of the pit was just ahead, the loops of rope hanging ominously all around. He fell back on the one thing he could trust himself to recite with this much adrenaline pumping through his veins.
"You want the Genuine Nick Wilde, Dolly? You got it. Dolly Grainger, you are under arrest on five counts of Murder in the First Degree, with Malice of Forethought, five counts of desecration of a corpse, six counts of kidnapping, and if I understood your rambling earlier, two counts of Assaulting a Police Officer."
"Not to mention Illegal Transport of a Cadaver, and Drug Trafficking if Sergeant Asstor has anything to say about it," an echoing voice filled the hall.
Both Dolly and Nick looked up to a ruined transom window to see the backlit silhouette of a lapine, fists planted firmly on her hips. Nick noted a number of odd details about the striking figure, but kept his peace for the sake of his partner's plan, not to mention his own hide.
Dolly gave an impossibly loud screech in defiance. She abandoned the cart and ran around the pit toward it, shaking her fists. "Hopps! At least this will save me the trouble of tracking you down; you can join your partner as a part of my Magnum Opus!"
"Ha," there was a slight delay between the word, and the movement of the mammal in the window. "Magnum Opus are original works, and you don't have an ounce of originality in you."
The figure pointed at Dolly, while Nick felt the faintest tugging against his wrist restraints. He twisted his head as far as he could and from the corner of his eye met the eye of a clearly-on-the-razor-edge-of-losing-it John Thimbul.
"Shhhhh," was all he could articulate while he continued to claw and gnaw at the bonds. Nick snapped his head back forward in an abundance of not wanting to screw this up, fists clenched and ready to add leverage when the opportune moment presented itself.
"You just ride the tail of better mammals while patting yourself on the back for your cleverness. Is that why you carved those mammals up? You don't have a creative bone in your body, so you chop others up to see if you can find one?"
"What would you know about it?" Dolly sneered up at the window, and stomped her foot like a toddler having a tantrum. "You think I didn't see your face, you turning up your nose at true artistic expression like you're better? What have you ever made? What gives you the right to pass judgment on genius?"
"You're half-right," the doe shrugged. "I don't like John's style; it's too morbid. Farm life can be hard enough without wallowing in nihilism. But then I didn't live John's life, and he didn't live mine. As for Genius, I hardly think you qualify. After all, you can't even tell a fake from the original," the doe leaned forward causing her heavily pierced ears to jingle and flop over her shoulders while winking, "when it's right in front of you!"
Dolly blinked. "What in the--oof!"
The rat was still unraveling her confusion at the rabbit who was clearly not Judy Hopps standing there when the actual Judy Hopps came and blindsided her. The tackle sent them both rolling clear over the side of the plastic wading pool pit. The end over end tumble ended abruptly as they slammed into the side, and Judy realized a bit late that jostling her still mildly concussed brain about was a mistake. Her vision started to swim slightly, and though she moved quick enough to get one cuff around Dolly's wrist, she wasn't fast enough to secure the other before the rat rolled and elbowed her in the jaw.
Judy saw the rat roll away and come up with a knife; not of the palette variety, but the fileting kind. "I had grand plans for you, you know. I gave you the chance to be part of a real legacy. You insulted me, my work. I can't wait to dip my brush in your blood."
Judy tried to stand up, but only managed to wobble and get her ears upright. It was enough as just before Dolly lunged, a black claw-tipped paw grabbed her ears and pulled her to safety. She squeaked in distress as Nick scooped her clear while Abby shoved the vat of resin over. The molten substance spilled out onto the floor between the cops and the raving rat.
For how crazed Dolly was up to this point, staring across a hot lake of liquified resin at three adversaries tempered her confidence. This was her battleground, but being so outnumbered limited her ability to use it to her advantage. The only advantage she might still have left would be to escape.
She gripped the knife and turned on the balls of her feet, aiming directly for the dumbwaiter in the wall. She didn't even take two steps toward it before it was blocked.
"Dolly, stop."
She gawped while brandishing the blade at the mammal in front of her. "John! What are you doing here?!"
"Trying to understand what you're doing here." His voice was soft, almost resigned rather than stressed or angry or fearful. "My art was supposed to give form to the pain I felt, not visit that pain on others." He walked towards her with purpose, if not confidence. "Bridget Caracaille was just a socialite who never hurt anyone; Preston Peary painted landscapes for a living; Bainbearidge inspired me to be true to myself. They were being themselves, just as I was being myself."
She took a step back, and another, knife wavering. "They were nothing compared to you. Nothing! But they insulted and stood in the way of your success. I had to do something about that, John, don't you see?"
"In my way?" he repeated, and his voice grew shrill. "Do you think me so incapable of handling a little criticism? A little competition? A little conversation? Danny was… he wasn't even…" He clenched his paws and looked like he might just throw a punch, but they remained at his sides as he shouted at her, "He was my friend! You killed my friend, Dolly!"
She shook her head with an almost pitying smile. "But you don't have friends, John. You have me. Right? You've always had me, and I'm all you need. I'm all you'll ever need."
"No!" John barked out, the pain in his voice startling Dolly and causing her to take a step back. "Everyone always needs people in their lives. If Nathanial hadn't pulled me aside to explain why he chose Corpus, I'd have become Preston. Danny was… he grounded me when I felt things coming apart from all the marketing and events and appearances."
"He was ruining your style!"
"He was helping me evolve my style!" Another step toward her, and she backed another step away. "Did that scare you? The possibility that I might outgrow it one day? That I might find new subject matter, new techniques and be better for me, but not better for you?"
"What's better for me is better for you, John, you have to know that," Dolly pleaded before scowling and pointing at the three ZPD officers. "It's her, isn't it? She's poisoned you against me. But I can fix this; once I finish my piece, you'll understand I was right, and she was wrong!"
"If anything they've just opened my eyes and given me the opportunity to step out of the little box I've been stuck in so I have the chance to grow." He shook his head. "I've heard you saying how you did all this for me and for my work, but that's not true at all, is it? You didn't do any of this for me, for art, for the enlightenment of the world, for anyone but yourself. You perverted my work for your own selfish wants."
A sudden blare of sirens and the sound of many heavy paws and hooves caused Dolly to start and stumble one more time, right into the hardening resin pool. One of her feet stuck in the resin and she braced herself with her paws. With the terrible angle she had fallen at, she had no leverage to free herself from the cooling resin.
"It's over, Dolly." His shoulders slumped as Nick, Judy, and Abby came up behind him. Nick put a paw on his shoulder and Abby set a light paw against his arm in support. He took a deep breath. "It's done, and we're done. I wash my paws of you forever."
Judy focused on Dolly just as a half-dozen 3rd Precinct officers came into the battered building. "Don't worry too much about losing touch with the art world; I understand the Pen has Art Classes as a part of their rehabilitation program."
"Considering you'll be looking at back-to-back life sentences, you'll have plenty of time to hone your own skills," Nick added. "A little dedication and you'll be teaching those classes within a decade or two."
Judy gave her partner a mock glare. "You just couldn't let me have the last word, could you?"
"Ah, come on, Hopps," he said and ruffled her ears. "You know that's not my style."