"In politics, nothing happens by accident. If it happens, you can bet it was planned that way." - Franklin D. Roosevelt
6:00 P.M ; Precinct One, Savanna-Central...
At the end of her shift, just as she was preparing to leave Precinct One for the day, Judy paused by Clawhauser's desk for a quick chat, as she often did. It was while she stood discussing a new rumor or five that a familiar voice called out to her.
"Hey, Carrots! Miss me?"
Judy whirled to find her husband sauntering toward her, resplendent in what was quickly becoming his signature beige suit. Lips pulled back in his familiar smug smirk, the fox opened his arms and tilted his head at her in invitation.
Judy obliged with prejudice.
"Nick!" She cried, wide eyed and grinning as ran forward to throw herself into his embrace. Nick's smile grew wide as he wrapped her up in his arms. Judy nearly disappeared into Nick as she buried her face into the thick fur about his throat and the fox draped his bushy tail about her legs. "It's so good to see you," Judy murmured just loud enough for him to hear.
"Oh, you bunnies. So emotional…" Nick complained with the usual joke, but he clung to her just as tightly as she clung to him.
From behind his desk, Clawhauser watched them, and began to fairly vibrate with the effort to contain himself. Eventually, the chubby cheetah could hold back his feelings no more.
"OH! EM! GEE!" He squealed while flapping his flabby arms. "You two are so-so-soooo cuuute!"
"Wilde!" A deeper voice came from above like thunder. The three looked up to see Chief Bogo glaring down at the entwined couple from over the balustrade. "What have I told you about fraternizing inside the building?!"
Judy opened her mouth to apologize, and tried to push out of Nick's arms, but the fox surprised her by wrapping his arms about her even more tightly.
Grinning like the cat that ate the canary or, perhaps more accurately, the fox that caught the rabbit, Nick looked up at Bogo and called back, "Actually, sir, fraternization policy only applies to active duty cops. I'm retired, remember? I'm nothing but a humble fox come to pick his wife up from work, which means I can do this."
To Judy's wide eyed surprise, Nick cupped the back of her head and dropped his muzzle to hers in a passionate kiss. At first, cognizant of her boss's eyes on her, she hesitated, but the raw heat of the moment quickly overwhelmed her meager resistance. Eyes slipped close and long ears fell slack as she gave herself over to her predator's fiery embrace. Above them, Bogo rolled his eyes in disgust and turned away, mumbling to himself about technicalities. Clawhauser was much less reserved as he squealed and giggled at the pair in undisguised delight. After a moment that felt like it went on forever but ended too soon, Nick pulled back just enough to breathe. It took a second for Judy to recover, but when she opened her eyes it was to discover her husband grinning smugly as he observed the effect he'd had on her. "I missed you." He whispered.
Judy tried for an annoyed growl, but to her embarrassment it came out low and husky, "You're lucky I'm off the clock."
If it were possible, Nick looked even more smug than before. "Speaking of getting lucky," the fox growled back, and Judy nearly gasped at the thrill it sent up her spine. "What do you say we get outta here and finally enjoy our well-deserved alone time? Enjoy a night in the den, just the two of us?"
"That's… a great idea," Judy said back, struggling to get through the words without her voice cracking. The two loosened their embrace enough to turn and wave goodbye to a still giggling Clawhauser, who waved back so enthusiastically he nearly smacked himself with his arm's wildly swinging flab.
The two were soon walking down the streets of Savanna-Central, leaning against each other and both with an arm about the other as they went. Mammals of all shape and size ambled around them, enjoying the day. The sun was beginning to sink closer to the horizon, adding a beautiful display of red and yellow to the sky above. It was a welcome sight to beckon the end of the day. Now that her mind wasn't being fogged over by Nick's charm, Judy began to remember where he'd been the last few days.
"Sooo, how was your trip?" She inquired.
Though Nick was still smiling, the way his eyes squinted and ears swept back showed his conflicted feelings. "About as well as we could have hoped. We actually did really, really well in the Marshlands. Even got some volunteers to set up their own branch of the campaign out there, which is great! Gonna need all the help we can get. But the Meadowlands…" The fox let out a burdened sigh. "Weren't great. Worse than we predicted, actually. It's gonna be a tough nut to crack. Sammy and I have a lot of work to do."
Judy frowned sympathetically. "I'm sorry it didn't go well. But, hey, there's always next time. You'll get it eventually."
Nick smiled down at her and rubbed her shoulder affectionately. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Carrots. I really appreciate it."
Judy just smiled back. The two lapsed into companionable silence for a bit. They were nearly to the train station when something else occurred to the rabbit. Ascending the steps to the lobby, she turned to look up at Nick as he easily sauntered beside her.
"You still on for that dinner-date we talked about before you left?"
Nick eyed her slyly. "Of course. How could I forget? It's been on my mind the whole time." He shot her with a finger gun. "You wanted that one on the waterfalls, right? In the Rainforest-District?"
"The Cascade!" Judy giddily confirmed, hopping up a bit in excitement. "Oh, I've always wanted to go there!"
The fox smirked, wincing a bit on the inside at the thought of the price (there was a reason they'd never gone there before, after all). But Judy's happy face was all it took to confirm to him that this wasn't just a good idea; it was a necessary one. He and Judy needed all the time together that they could spare, and this would certainly help with that.
"Whatever you'd like. We deserve it. Might need to wait a while, though," Nick cautioned. "Reservations there typically take a few weeks."
"I'm willing to wait as long as it takes! Eating there will take one more thing off my bucket list!"
"You have a bucket list?"
Judy shrugged as she reached the top of the stairs. "Not a very big one. I crossed off most of it after I first joined the force."
Nick chuckled. "Ambitious little rabbit, aren't you? Well, this'll be one more thing to scratch off… once we actually find a table."
7:00 P.M ; Tundratown...
Harlan O'Conall deeply regretted not owning a set of boots.
Shoes weren't a common apparel, but for mammals residing in Tundratown that weren't fully adapted to the cold, they were a lifesaver. After collecting his ninety-ninth parking ticket of the day, he collapsed into his meter mobile, a ridiculous contraption that looked like an outhouse welded onto a snowmobile, and lifted his aching feet from the frozen slush. With some difficulty, he curled and uncurled his trembling toes, just to make sure he still could. He had brushed off warnings to wear some kind of protection on his feet while on meter duty. After all, he'd crushed the tundra zone obstacle course at the academy without any shoes. Why would he need any now?
Well, now he knew better. As it turned out, no amount of fur could make up for an evening blizzard.
Hot engines and exhaust fumes of passing cars melted the snow on the street, then the tires splashed the filthy, frigid water onto the sidewalk. All of the locals knew to keep as close to the buildings as possible to avoid it, but Harlan's duties forced him near the street, where he would inevitably be splashed again and again by passing cars. His uniform took the brunt of it, but the water seemed supernaturally efficient at penetrating fur and clinging to the skin until a mammal was chilled to the bone. The only reason his tail didn't suffer a similar fate to his feet was because he'd tucked it into his pants after the first few splashes. As uncomfortable as that was, it beat losing the limb to frostbite.
Grunting and gasping with the effort, he forced his stiff legs into the vehicle and pulled the door shut. Sure, the vehicle was so small as to be claustrophobic, but at least the heater worked. He sighed as the warm air flowed over him. Now that the worst of his shaking had subsided, he brushed the snow from his meter-maid vest and reached for his ticket machine. He was a little heartened to see the counter standing proudly at 99. Just one more, and his quota for the day would be met!
Harlan's ears twitched as they picked up the now hauntingly familiar ding of a meter turning over. Raising his head, he saw the little red flag just across the street, stark against the snowy environment.
Now with the end of his suffering in sight, there was a little pep in his step as Harlan threw the door open and stepped out of his vehicle, back into the bitter winds. With a quick glance to check for traffic, he hurried across the street to the expired meter, dodging around a particularly large pothole filled with murky slush as he went. The wolf smiled even as he grit his teeth with the effort of forcing his frigid fingers to accurately punch all relevant information into his ticket machine. After the ticket printed out, he ripped it off and tucked it behind the windshield wiper of the unfortunate SUV with a little chortle of delight.
100! Quota met, and he could finally go home! Harlan was still smiling as he turned around to go back to his vehicle. Just then, a passing box truck jolted through the pothole Harlan had dodged around just a minute before. A wave of filthy, freezing liquid crashed up Harlan's front to coat him nose to toes.
Harlan staggered as the cold shock nearly knocked him from his feet. Then when he processed what happened, the fury set in. He snarled and cursed, and raised his ticket machine in one paw as though he was going to throw it after the offending vehicle.
If you let so much as a single hair out of place, you're done.
The memory of Bogo's warning stopped him, if only barely. Teeth bared in frustration, Harlan lowered his arm. Then he hurried across the street and practically leapt into his cramped little vehicle and slammed the door. With a constant stream of curses, he threw the vehicle into gear with one paw and frantically scrubbed the soaked fur about his throat and muzzle with the other in an attempt to warm up. Still cursing, he pulled into traffic and began to drive back to the vehicle depot.
A little while later found him walking down the street, head down, teeth chattering and paws tucked under his arms to keep them warm. Now officially off duty, the wolf was determined to make it to the nearest train station and get out of this frozen hell. However, a warm light drew his attention. It was a neon sign, set up in warm red and orange hues. Fireside Lounge: Hottest Bar in Tundratown. Another sign below it read: Warm Cocktails and Spirits.
Warmth? Alcohol? Yes, please.
As Harlan opened the door, a blast of warm air blew his fur back. Groaning with delight, he stepped inside and paused by the door. For several moments he stood there, eyes closed as he reveled in the warmth seeping into his fur until his skin tingled. When he finally adjusted, he opened his eyes to find a simple bar themed after the classic log cabin in the snowy woods, all decked out in lacquered wood and warm hued lights. There was even a real fireplace at the back, though it was barred and locked so only employees could tend it and no drunk patrons could fall in.
Harlan made for the bar and was pleasantly surprised to find the bartender to be an attractive she-wolf with snowy fur and bright blue eyes. She wore a classic black and white bartenders uniform. 'Delilah' was printed on a brass name tag on her shirt. She smirked at him knowingly, apparently having seen his behavior by the door.
"Not from around here." She pointed out, rather than asked. She had a noticeable old-world accent, like many in Tundratown, but it wasn't as thick as some.
Harlan tried for a smile, but after the day he'd had, it was barely a twinge of the lips. "Nope."
The bartenders eyes fell to his ZPD issued jacket, then back up to him. "What'll you have?"
Harlan reached into his pants and pulled out a five dollar bill. He placed it on the counter and said, "Something hot and full of booze."
With a sympathetic smile, the she-wolf swiped the five and quickly returned with a tall glass of amber liquid. Harlan nodded gratefully as she retreated, then pulled the drink closer and hunched over it. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Strong notes of crisp apple and spicy cinnamon, along with just a hint of sweet honey. The first sip was heavenly, pouring warmth into his being. The second was just as nice. After a day in the cold, it was all he could have asked for.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harlan noticed as a suited polar bear seated himself in the stool next to his. With how large the bear was, it was hard to miss. The bear stared ahead passively, thick, clawed fingers laced as they rested on the counter.
"We don't get many cops around here." The big pred spoke gruffly, but not aggressively. His accent was thicker than the bartender's. Harlan wondered why so many polar bears talked like that.
"Don't worry. I'm not gonna cause any problems. I'm not on the ZPD's nice list anyways." Harlan muttered crossly into his drink.
The bear twisted his thick neck to stare down at Harlan out of the corner of his dull blue eyes, like thawing glacier cores. "Having troubles, friend?"
"You could say that," was Harlan's sardonic reply. "It's a long story."
"I am Mikhail," the polar bear introduced himself. "Am good listener. Love good story."
Harlan sighed into his drink, which sent out a puff of cider-scented steam. "Why not?" He asked himself. Then he spoke louder, to the now-named Mikhail. "I'm Harlan. It all started with a shootout in an allegedly empty office building…"
7:30 P.M ; Unknown location...
The sharp buzzing stirred the boar from his sleep, creaking the cheap bed that supported his weight. Yellow eyes snapped open, wearily struggling to stay that way.
Mr. Boarton slowly sat up, his light-brown fur still matted into the shape of the sleeping position he so desperately wished to return to. His room was dark, small, and smelly. Glancing to the tiny nightstand next to his bed, he spotted the source of his rude awakening: his smartphone, vibrating distractingly against the stained wood. With a sigh, he leaned over and grabbed the device. Unknown caller. His exhaustion was quickly dispelled. There was ever only one unknown number he heard from, and whenever he called, it always came with something fun - the closest thing to real action he'd seen in years. And that drive was more than enough to rouse even him from his slumber.
Without any further hesitation, Mr. Boarton answered the call. "Hey boss." He greeted simply as he hauled himself from the mattress only to set foot in the collective pile of garbage that was his bedroom floor. He wore nothing but a large pair of striped boxers, displaying a patchwork of surgical scars on the right side of both his chest and thigh, devoid of any fur.
"Hello, Mr. Boarton," a warped voice replied, tone buzzing in multiple frequencies at once. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
"Nothing I do with my own time is ever more important than anything I do on your time," the boar assured. "Mission over mammal. I was just sleeping, anyways."
"At half-past seven in the evening?" The boss questioned.
Mr. Boarton shuffled nervously, accidentally clinking a few empty glass bottles with one foot. "Yeah, uh, you know. Just gettin' some beauty sleep."
Even past the voice modifications, the sigh was unmistakable. "This isn't productive of you, nor is it productive for our intentions. I can hear what's left of last night's drinking from here. Or was it this morning's drinking?"
A wet, defiant snort tore through the boar's snout. "You know I never let it get in the way of my job." He retorted, his gruff voice swift and defensive.
"I tolerate your vices because of your performance," the boss agreed. "I know that you channel your anger through them. That anger - focused, productive - is why I recruited you. But our vision can't be built if its visionaries can hardly stand. There's a limit I fear you're bound to pass, if you keep this up. And if you become a liability-"
"I'm no liability," Mr. Boarton growled, tossing his phone back atop the nightstand. "I know how to handle myself! And with all due respect, what I do in my own time isn't your business."
The other side of the line was completely silent to the count of three. "Perhaps not," it relented. "But I hope you understand that I care for your well-being. And not solely because you do what I say."
Mr. Boarton huffed, trudging over to a nearby wardrobe. "Whatever," he grumbled as he yanked open one of its drawers, revealing his gray trench coat and identically colored fedora. "Doing what you say is the only thing in this world that gives me purpose. If I wanna turn everything else into a hazy blur, take it as a compliment, not an excuse to dig into my life any more than you already have."
"It's been ten years since I found you in that bar," the boss remarked. "If you haven't rebuilt your life by now, I suppose you never will."
"Fine by me," Mr. Boarton scoffed as he quickly threw on a black bullet vest and gray cargo pants, nearly ripping them with his tusks before yanking his trench coat from the drawer and equipping it as well. "I've never been much of a high achiever anyways. So long as you keep giving me missions to do, I'll be happy. That's what matters most anyways, right? The plan. It's the only reason we even know each other."
"Your devotion is admirable. But there is more to life than the goals we make for it."
Mr. Boarton slowly nestled his hat atop his head, filmy yellow eyes narrowing harshly beneath its brim. "Not for me." He snarled as though it were an indisputable fact - something that could never be changed, no matter how hard anyone tried. "Besides, you're one to talk. Ten years and I know practically nothing about you except for what you want and how you wanna get it. For all I know, you live, breathe, and bathe in your own ambition."
A thoughtful hum buzzed from the nearby phone. "We are only what we choose to reveal," the boss said. "And I have revealed all that you need to know about me."
"You're such a pain sometimes. If I wasn't throwing your punches for you, I'd break in your sorry teeth."
"I'm sure you would," the boss agreed flatly. "I'd expect nothing less from a former mercenary. You're a warrior at heart. You take what's yours. It's time to make use of that."
Mr. Boarton nodded lightly as though reassuring himself, staring vacantly at the wardrobe in front of him. "What's the mission?"
"Rendezvous with Miss Capri-er, Miss Virginia," the boss corrected himself. "At Tundratown Central Station in one hour. Protect her while she gathers intelligence."
"Okay. Got it."
"She also requests that you take a shower beforehand."
One of the boar's eyes twitched. He was about to bite back, but stopped himself short before sniffing beneath one of his arms. His snout quivered with irritation. "I guess I could use one. Think it's been a few days…"
An exasperated sigh emanated from the phone. "Take my advice to heart, Mr. Boarton. Improving your personal life will benefit both it, and the goals we seek. I understand that when you've fought for so long, peace can be its own struggle.…"
Mr. Boarton gripped the rim of the drawer with his hooves, trying to resist staring around his ruinous bedroom. He was unable to resist glancing inside the drawer, however, at a fraying shoulder patch depicting a crowned ram's skull resting in the corner, half-buried beneath various articles of clothing. The boar gingerly nudged aside a stray sleeve that covered the patch, revealing a simple acronym threaded into its fabric: T.U.S.K.
"But I need you at your best." The boss continued. His words were reassuring, but his tone was as cold as ice, leaving no room for disagreement. "A warrior doesn't concern himself with his past. Or with his failures."
Mr. Boarton groped at the right side of his chest with one hoof, as though trying to feel for a heartbeat that wasn't there. Even past his thick trench coat, he could still feel the scars.
"A warrior only concerns himself with his mission." The boss concluded. "Because that's what it means to be one. And your missions have changed this city."
"For the better…" The boar murmured in agreement, eyes hardening with resolve.
"Without question. Now go."
"I'm on it." Mr. Boarton promised, shutting the drawer with a loud thud and then turning to face his nightstand. "Thanks… boss."
The other side of the line ended the call without another word. Mr. Boarton released another sigh, this one more of an accepting relief rather than a tired exhale. He looked around his sorry excuse of a home, and then leaned down, swiping a small silver flask from a pile of dirty laundry at his feet. A brief shake determined that there was still some alcohol left inside. He smiled and stuffed the can into one of his pockets.
"But I'm bringin' a little something for myself."
11:45 P.M ; Capricorn Tower, Downtown Zootopia...
Late work nights were the dread of most mammal's careers. Yet Rupert Clovestone considered them to be the source of his success in the corporate world of Zootopia.
Thousands of late nights filled with productivity, when the rest of the city slept (save the nocturnal types, of course) had given the markhor the time to outwork his competition, and build a real estate empire without rival. Countless forays in the sciences, from engineering and architectural design to technology, had further solidified his status as one of the city's most prominent visionaries. Over sixty years of business, and his habits had never changed - to the point where even a prey mammal like him could practically call himself nocturnal.
Sitting before his desk, the markhor's office was quiet, graced only by the gentle sound of violin music emanating from a hidden speaker, and the soft scritching of his pen against a stack of papers. Behind him, the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of his glossy marble office displayed the nighttime cityscape of Zootopia in a view like no other, though it was one the markhor had seen so many times that he barely cared for it anymore. Rupert silently went about his work, pleased that there were no more secretaries, or invoices, or board meetings to juggle for the day. Night had arrived, and with it, peace as well. And peace was all he needed to put his ambition to good use - working late into the night on his next big project. The lab coat that typically hung around his lanky body was now draped over the chair he sat in, fully exposing his brown vest and slacks, and graying hazel fur. His amber eyes strained past the glasses perched on his nose, absorbed in his efforts, that was, until a slight scuttling sound caught his attention.
Ears flicking, Rupert raised his head, causing his gigantic, corkscrew-like horns to swish through the air above him. He pressed a button on his phone, silencing the ambient violin music he'd been playing overhead. No one else seemed to be present in the dark office.
But Rupert knew better. A disgruntled sigh escaped his teeth. "Next time, I'd prefer it if you at least knocked."
An albino flying squirrel peeked his head out from near the top of one of the office's giant white columns. "How boring would that be?" He groused as he glided down into the chair in front of Rupert's desk.
The markhor's face twitched irritably, though he refused to look up from his work. "You shouldn't have come here. There's a reason our operation meets in nondescript locations."
"Oh, it'll be fine," Peter assured with a wave of one wing. "No one saw me! I'm quite the seasoned sneak, you know! Besides, I needed to speak to you personally. No need to involve the others."
"I hope you're here to report something promising this time," Rupert grumbled, voice feathery and condescending in spite of his age. "I have no patience for failures."
Peter laced his palms behind his head, though he was too short to kick his feet atop the massive glass desk to add to the display of confidence. "I admit that results have come a bit slow, but I can assure you that our goals are in sight! I've been tracking Lucy Sang, but my trail ran cold in Tundratown. Pun intended." He added with a humorous smile. "The war has come with the consequence of the Nocturnal-Mob laying extra low. I don't know how familiar you are with them, but they're easily the most secretive criminal organization in Zootopia, except for maybe our little team, of course," he casually examined his nails. "Point being, Lucy is out of our reach. I need your help flushing her out."
"And why would I do that?" Rupert scoffed, gaze unmoved from the papers in front of him. "Need I remind you, it's your job to track her down, not to mention that this blunder is your fault to begin with. The plan wouldn't be in jeopardy of a witness if you had just killed her back at my office, as we'd hired you to. Don't make me question your competence."
"You should hear me out. You might just like what I have to say! Even wise old codgers like you can learn a thing or two from the youngsters." Peter insisted.
Another sigh siphoned through Rupert's nostrils, and although he didn't look happy about being called 'old', he cooled his temper. "Fine." He firmly set down his pen. "Talk."
The grin that spread the flying squirrel's lips was nothing short of delighted. "Excellent choice! Now, remember that office you supplied in Savanna-Central to be our kill-zone? I believe we can use your real estate empire to our advantage again. Do you happen to have a property in the Nocturnal-District large enough to host an art gallery?"
Rupert narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "An art gallery? I do, yes, but why?"
"My little protégé is quite the art enthusiast! You see, I happen to have an old painting of hers - a gift from when we were on closer terms - and believe it can serve as the perfect bait. If we set up an art gallery at this venue of yours, throw together a batch of fake paintings for the bait to blend in with, and market it throughout the Nocturnal-District, Lucy is bound to catch wind of it eventually. The key is to make sure the bait is visible in the marketing, perhaps under a different name. And when she discovers the gallery, she'll be eager to steal back her work, or at least come to admire it. She's very fond of her paintings, and won't stand by over a lost masterpiece. Either way, I'll be waiting for her."
Rupert stroked his enormous beard, pondering over Peter's idea with a cruel sort of curiosity that twisted his mouth into a thoughtful smirk. "Yes. Ingenious! And supplying fake paintings will be as easy as slapping some colors onto a canvas. Modern art is nothing more than money laundering in disguise, after all. This idea of yours just might work."
"I knew you'd like it, you diabolical old goat," the flying squirrel cackled. "Get that venue prepared ASAP, and when it's ready, you can leave the rest to me."
"I can have it ready within a fortnight. I do hope, for all our sakes, that you can deliver on your promises." The markhor warned, his earlier enthusiasm having disappeared.
"I've been known to pull rabbits out of hats before," Peter assured. "With your help, it'll be even easier." His pink eyes drifted to the stack of papers that Rupert was mulling over, eyeing one open manilla folder in particular. "Speaking of rabbits, Virginia and her tusky teammate haven't been keen on sharing info about the plan's bigger picture, and I'm quite the curious mammal. Does Project Everest have something to do with it?"
Rupert immediately flipped the folder closed with one hoof, glaring at his guest with cold intensity. "That's none of your concern. In case it hasn't been made clear, you aren't trusted - you're a mercenary rogue we hired as additional aid now that our plan is coming to fruition. Nothing more. If you want further information, you're going to have to earn it. You've proven your worth collecting intelligence, now prove your loyalty by eliminating your former student. Fix your mistake. Then I'll consider it."
Peter's paws spread assuredly. "You won't be disappointed, good sir. Results will be soon to come. That I promise."
7:00 P.M ; Two weeks later, Tundratown...
As was becoming habit, Harlan made a beeline for the Fireside Lounge after his shift was complete, though this time he seemed in considerably higher spirits, if his smile was any indicator. As the door closed behind him, he paused to stomp the snow from his new boots, then kneeled to thumb some grime off the shiny silver buckles. Still smiling, he rose and headed for the bar. This early on a Monday afternoon, the place was practically abandoned.
"Delilah! It's great to see you!" The young cop crowed as he took his usual stool.
The snowy she-wolf smiled back at him. "I saw you Friday, but you act like it's been a lifetime."
At first, Harlan would have said the lovely Delilah's accent was the least attractive thing about her, but over the weeks his opinion had changed. He'd come to appreciate it, even looked forward to hearing it after work. It helped him get through his day of filthy slush-slogging misery.
Delilah was already mixing up his usual drink, simply called Hot Cider, when Harlan responded, "Without seeing you, it felt like a lifetime."
The pretty she-wolf laughed as she set his drink on the counter before him. "Aw, you keep trying, sweety," she grinned good-naturedly at Harlan even while she batted down his attempt at a flirt. Then her head tilted as she stared at him curiously. "Although, you are much more handsome when you actually smile, you know. Why so happy today?"
Harlan ducked his head a bit, feeling a flush over the compliment. "Oh, well, I think I've finally adjusted to working in Tundratown. Today was the first day it didn't feel like I was gonna freeze to death."
A deep, accented voice called from over Harlan's shoulder, drawing both of the wolves' attention. "I hope my gift helped."
To Harlan's surprise, Mikhail the polar bear was standing within arm's-reach behind him. Rather than feel nervous in the presence of a larger predator, Harlan's smile actually grew. "Mikhail! There you are! I was wondering if you were here. And yeah, these boots are amazing! I can't thank you enough for the hook up! I never could have afforded these on my own."
Mikhail smiled as he moved to sit on the stool next to Harlan. "Think nothing of it. Am always glad to help friends."
"Well, I don't want to be some moocher. Anytime you need some help, you let me know."
The polar bear smiled, but there was a glint in his eye as he responded, "There is something you can help me with, but I don't want to discuss now." He gestured to Harlan's drink, which stood on the counter, untouched. "Enjoy drink while still warm. Favors can be discussed later."
"Sounds like a plan. Oh, what are you drinking? Delilah?"
The she-wolf glanced curiously up at Mikhail, who nodded his assent. Without having to be told what he wanted, she began whipping up a cocktail.
Harlan grabbed his drink and took a long sip, then let out a long, satisfied sigh. "Ahhh. Nothing like a hot cider after a long shift in Tundratown."
Next to him, Mikhail smiled as he grabbed up his own freshly delivered drink, a mysterious yellow-white concoction in a tall glass. The bear held it up in a toast. "To friends and favors."
Harlan held up his own drink in agreement. "To friends and favors!"
An hour and three hot ciders later, a buzzed Harlan had retreated from the bar to Mikhail's private booth at the larger predator's suggestion. The wolf sat slumped, elbows on the table, staring mournfully into his nearly empty glass. "Two more weeks in the icebox. Probably longer. Gonna turn into a copsicle…" the wolf muttered to himself.
Across the table sat Mikhail, his first drink only half empty in his big paw, though he seemed to pay it no mind. No, he was looking at Harlan, dark eyes contemplative. "You told story of how you came to troubles," the polar bear suddenly said, interrupting the wolf's muttering and drawing his gaze. "You never told story of why."
Harlan stared, nonplussed, trying to work out what the polar bear meant. Due to his inebriation, it took about twice as long as it should have. Finally, he asked, "You mean why I did what I did?" When Mikhail nodded confirmation, the wolf dropped his gaze back into his glass. "Oh."
Lifting his glass, Harlan swirled the last bit of his drink and mulled the question over while he stared into the spiraling gold-red of the cider. Finally, he lifted the glass to his lips and threw back his head, imbibing what was left of his drink in a single gulp. The wolf thunked the empty glass onto the table and blurted out, "I couldn't stand the thought of that damn goat getting away with another crime. Not one. Not so much as a parking ticket. I knew he was up to something… and I just couldn't let him get away!"
The wolf grew more agitated as he spoke, until he nearly snarled the last few syllables. Mikhail nodded sagely, as though he understood completely. "Yes, but why could you not let go?" He asked philosophically.
"That dirtbag's spent his entire career ruining predators' lives, done everything he can to make it harder for us. It's prey like him that killed my father and left my mother to raise three pups on her own without so much as an apology!"
With a huff, Harlan leaned back into his seat. He froze there, eyes widened in shock that he'd confessed something so personal - a tragedy that he despised sharing with anyone because he absolutely hated the pitying looks he'd receive in return. He was not a pitiable creature. He was not. Harlan was far more used to receiving wary glances on the streets, given his intimidating build. He glared down at his empty glass, silently blaming it for his loose lips.
But the damage was done. The words were out, and there was no putting them back. He stared warily at Mikhail, waiting for the inevitable empty platitudes, the meaningless 'oh, I'm sorry' or perhaps 'that must have been so hard for you.'
Instead, the big polar bear just nodded his head and said, "I see," like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Harlan snorted in disbelief. "That's it? You see? What does that even mean?"
"When I was small cub, my father work in warehouse. Illegal things there, he knew, but pay good cash, so he kept head down. Worked hard for family. ZPD raid warehouse. While arrest, elephant cop kneel on back. Crush spine. Cop say because father resist. No trial, no justice. So, I see."
Harlan blinked slowly, digesting what he'd just been told. Then Mikhail gestured at him, as though it was his turn to share. The words slipped out before his brain could stop them. "T.U.S.K raid. Trumped up charges. The pups were home when it happened. My dad tried to get between us and them. The razorbacks shot him, then cuffed him and left him to bleed out on the floor. It took nearly an hour for an ambulance to get there, but he was already dead." His paw tightened around the base of his glass, knuckles flexing under the pressure. "Only silver lining was that my dad put a few bullets in one of 'em too. I was there when it happened, all of it." The wolf swallowed hard. "I remember every detail. I just… wish I could forget."
Mikhail nodded somberly, allowing a moment of silence before responding. "Then we understand each other."
Harlan nodded slowly in return. "I guess we do."
The two stared at each other, eye to eye, gazes level. Then Mikhail spoke. "You understand, then, that predators cannot become great in Zootopia, unless break rules, because prey make rules."
The tangent was unexpected, but Harlan was intrigued. He nodded his agreement. "Yeah, for sure."
"I am part of… organization," Mikhail explained, speaking even slower than usual as he carefully picked his words. "One that works to make predators great. The help of police officer," he waved his empty paw, indicating Harlan. "Would be great help, indeed. Great favor." The polar bear emphasized the last word, giving Harlan a significant look.
The severity of what was happening sobered Harlan up quicker than a bucket of cold water to the face. Months of police training tried to assert itself, whispering in his ear: get up! Get out! Call in backup!
But he didn't. Harlan's yellow eyes flitted across the bar, making sure none of the few patrons that had trickled in were paying their conversation any mind. Then he gazed at Mikhail and leaned forward onto the table. His voice was low as he asked, "What kind of favor?"
Mikhail fished in his pocket and retrieved an old fashioned flip phone, just the sight of which caused Harlan to blink in surprise. They still made those?
The polar bear placed the device on the table and slid it across to Harlan. "For now, put this in safe place. Check messages every day. Do not make call." Mikhail warned very sternly.
After another furtive gaze about the bar, Harlan snatched the device up and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. "You still haven't told me what these favors will be." He reminded the larger predator as he sat up straight and smoothed the front of his jacket with both paws, trying to look inconspicuous.
"Do not worry. Nothing bad," Mikhail said simply. "And do not think we ask you favor for nothing. You will get reward. Bigger favor, bigger reward. Information. And soon, justice against Clovestone."
Harlan swallowed. Though he didn't deny the offered phone, or the intention of checking it, he felt a strange feeling of guilt settle over him. Maybe that was why he felt it in the first place. But he couldn't bring himself to decline. Something inside him, deep down and angry, kept him from acting on his ethics as a ZPD officer. All the conflicting emotions seemed to boil his mind in its skull, and he felt a strong desire to escape. "I should be going." He suddenly declared.
Buzz now entirely gone, and suddenly feeling like a million eyes were watching him, Harlan pushed himself out from behind the table and made to leave.
Mikhail snagged him by the arm as he passed, pulling the wolf up short. His grasp was tight to the point of discomfort. "Is there problem… friend?"
Harlan felt a chill run down his spine. Though the tone was friendly, there was no mistaking the threat in the words, or the strength of the grip about his arm. After months of combat training with Major Friedkin at the academy, Harlan knew better than most how dangerous a polar bear could be, even for as strong as he was.
"Sorry, Mikhail. There's no problem. I'm still on probation. I can't be late to work tomorrow, so I have to get going is all," Harlan hurriedly explained. "I'll be back tomorrow. Will I… see you then?"
Mikhail stared him down, gaze cold and appraising. After a long moment, he released Harlan's arm and said, "Yes. See you tomorrow."
"We… can talk more then. Give me… time to think it over."
Harlan offered a quick nod and then hurried off without another word. Delilah tried to call out to him as he exited the bar, but if someone asked him what she had said, the wolf honestly would not have been able to remember.
As he hurried through the snow towards his bus stop, Harlan felt like his luxurious new boots were now lead weights about his feet, and he'd just been thrown into an icy sea.
7:10 P.M ; Precinct One, Savanna-Central...
"Officer Hopps, please report to Chief Bogo's office!" The intercom on said officer's desk crackled to life with Clawhauser's voice, echoing throughout her cubicle.
Judy lifted her head from the papers before her, nose twitching curiously. She was just mere minutes from leaving the precinct for the night. What could have prompted such a summons from the chief? Regardless of what it was, the bunny thumbed down a button on the device and replied, "Copy that. I'm on my way."
Upon reaching the chief's office, she paused as her sensitive ears picked up on several frustrated voices emanating from inside. After that, it was impossible not to eavesdrop.
"-An unashamed mockery of justice!" Chief Bogo's deep voice rumbled in Judy's eardrums.
"Your personal feelings on the matter are irrelevant," A haughty, upscale voice retorted. "Our client leaves no room for debate, and neither do we. We expect those papers signed by tomorrow, or else we'll be seeing you in court. Good day, sir."
The door suddenly swung open. Judy stepped back as three mountain goats paused in the comparatively massive doorway, each staring down at her with rectangular black pupils. All three of them wore deep blue suits over their stark white fur, and carried matching briefcases in their hooves. Past them, Judy spotted Chief Bogo sitting at his desk.
"Ah, Officer Hopps," he greeted, tone sounding none too thrilled. "Just in time."
"You summoned me, sir," Judy acknowledged, edging into the room and causing the three mountain goats to step back. "What's going on?"
Chief Bogo's scowl somehow twisted even deeper. He lifted one arm, harshly raising a thick ream of papers printed with fine typing. "A cease-and-desist order," he growled before carelessly tossing the papers onto his desk with a light thump. "From Rupert Clovestone."
"What?" Judy gasped, jogging up to her superior's desk. She immediately leapt atop the chair in front of it to get a better view at the papers.
"That is correct," the mountain goat in the middle confirmed, stepping forward and glaring sternly at the rabbit. "We represent a legal firm that has filed a temporary restraining injunction against the ZPD on behalf of Mr. Clovestone. Any and all investigations into our client must be immediately suspended or else legal action will be taken."
Judy glanced over the papers for herself. Legitimate as could be. She then whirled around to lock eyes with the lawyer. "My case is perfectly within the realms of the law!"
"We would counter," another of the mountain goats stepped forward. "That an open-ended, unrestricted surveillance such as this amounts to stalking and police harassment of a senior citizen. It has taken a toll on our client's mental and physical well-being, and will be discontinued effective immediately."
Judy looked to Bogo with exasperation, silently begging for some shred of hope. The cape-buffalo deeply sighed, frustration masking his face. "Thanks to Officer O'Conall's little joyride," his snarl indicated that he was already beginning to regret having not fired him. "Mr. Clovestone has every right to seek legal protection… even against the ZPD."
"Indeed," the third mountain goat interjected. "As mentioned, you have until tomorrow to sign and submit the papers to our firm. Good day, sir."
The lawyers all promptly shuffled out of the office, leaving Judy alone with the chief. A tense silence was left in their wake, broken only by the rabbit's strained sigh of disbelief.
"This can't be happening." She muttered to herself before looking to Bogo with imploring eyes. "There has to be a way around this!"
"Hopps…" Bogo began, voice firm and non-negotiable. His beefy arms were crossed against his chest, flexing with suppressed anger, and his hazel eyes were shut tight. "We can't beat this. That traffic accident has buried any possibility of further investigation. And you know better than most how powerful Rupert is. A lawsuit is the last thing the ZPD needs right now. I'm shutting down the case, and my decision is final."
"But, sir-"
The cape-buffalo opened his eyes and leaned forward over his desk. "I'm not finished, lieutenant," he added sternly, interrupting her before she could continue. "The ZPD may be unable to officially investigate him now, but there's nothing stopping a concerned, off-duty citizen from compiling evidence for submission on their own time."
Judy blinked as his words registered. "Sir, are you… giving me permission to continue?" She asked softly.
"As discreetly as possible," he confirmed with a resolute nod. "Nothing invasive. Do not interact with Rupert or Clovestone Industries directly. I don't care what kind of paperwork he hides behind," the cape-buffalo grumbled, jutting a chin toward the injunction on his desk. "That tyrant needs to be brought to heel. It's clear he's hiding something. Something important and secret enough to go through all this trouble to mask. I'm giving you permission to shake a few trees and see what falls out. That's all."
The bunny returned her own determined nod. "I understand, sir. I'll see what I can do."
"Keep using Officer Ewever," Bogo added. "You'll need her help if you're going to be operating alone. Start a broader investigation. Search for the victim. Go through the suspect's history and see what pops up. And do it quietly. I fear that if we're right about this, then we'll be digging into something more sinister than a simple office shooting."
Meanwhile, in City-Hall...
The fox was on his game that night.
With the debating period starting in only two days, his campaign team had been putting in the hours to prepare for the next step in their path to the mayor's office. An afternoon schmoozing with investors and supporters alike at City-Hall had proven an eventful challenge, though. After Niel and Olivia had returned home for the evening, Nick and Samantha had chose to stay to fit in some additional speech practice. Hours later, Nick stood before a window overlooking the watering hole in the middle of Savanna-Central.
He breathed in deep, arms akimbo. "Ya know Sammy," he began, gaze unmoved from his view. "I've earned this. We've earned this."
The meerkat was lounging on a nearby couch, and glanced to Nick as she registered his words. "And what would this be?" She asked, flicking a speck of dust off her pure white business suit and skirt.
"Just… everything, ya know?" Nick replied as he turned to face her. "We've been working really hard to make this whole mayor thing actually happen. We have endorsements! Volunteers!" He gestured to the room around them, which was luxurious in a clean, minimalist sort of way. A massive black-screen TV was mounted to one of the walls, displaying news coverage of their own campaign from throughout the past few weeks. "They even got us this room! Right in City-Hall!"
"Right where the action is!" Sammy agreed, perking up in her seat. "They've been making good use of it as an HQ, but it certainly makes a nice little refuge, huh? A place to get away from all the action."
"Speaking of," Nick checked the time on his phone. "I've got my dinner with Judy in half an hour." He couldn't stop himself from smiling proudly. "I've been looking forward to this for weeks. We both have. It'll be the perfect end to a mostly perfect campaign trail. It's been a productive past few nights, but I'm ready to enjoy myself a bit. I should probably get going."
"Rest up and make the most of it, because the debating period won't be a cakewalk!" Samantha reminded him, vivacious voice filling the room. "You'll have to use that smooth tongue of yours to defend yourself at every turn."
Nick smirked at his campaign manager. "Are you kidding? That's the one thing I'm good at."
Turning his gaze back to the window, Nick allowed himself a moment of peace to look over Zootopia's entrancing nighttime skyline. With the campaign going well, and his relationship with Judy rebuilding, Nick couldn't have asked for anything more. Everything felt to be going his way.
That was, until Samantha looked to the TV.
"Nick…" She uttered softly, breath stalled with disbelief. "When was the last time you talked to Bradley Stagnew?"
A thoughtful hum escaped the fox. "Uh, not since we got the data from him two weeks ago, though I have chatted with him a few times over the phone since then. Why do you ask?"
Samantha sighed, and reached over to a glass table beside her. From atop it she retrieved a remote, and turned the volume up on the television. As the volume rose, Nick turned to face the screen. In hindsight, he wished he hadn't. The articulate voice of ZNN's Peter Moosebridge spoke into the tense silence.
"-and with the debating period just under two days away, the race for the mayor's office has thickened with contenders. Newest among them," across the screen, a professional photograph of a familiar deer materialized into view. "Bradley Stagnew! Join us at eight as ZNN hosts an exclusive video interview with the mysterious new candidate!"
The TV blinked off with a flick of Sammy's finger. For a moment, she looked unable to formulate any words, before she swallowed down her apprehension. "I knew he was up to something, but this is bad." She shook her head and then stared up at the fox beside her. "Nick… he's your competition!"
Nick let loose a shaky exhale, face twitching wordlessly and eyes falling to the ground as though his brain was still processing what he'd just seen. "You've gotta be kidding me."
Sammy groaned, vibrating in place as though holding back a fury of pent-up energy. Finally it burst loose, and she flung herself from the couch and to her feet. "This is really bad, Nick. When you first talked to him, what did he actually tell you?"
"He just told me about City-Hall…" Nick trailed off slowly, ears dipping as the realization hit him. "And… that… I should drop out of the race."
Samantha quirked her head in an 'I-told-you-so' kind of way, paws disapprovingly gripping her hips. "See? I told you not to trust him! Now look where we are! You gave confidential campaign information straight to the competition!"
"Oh, no…" Nick grabbed at his ears, anxious fingers wringing them like rags through a washboard. "I gave up on the Meadowlands vote because of him…" the fox groaned, pulling at his fur a little tighter. "He told me not to worry about trying to convert them…" Nick forced himself to look at Bradley's smiling face on the TV as he reached his dread conclusion. "He was trying to get them for himself."
The meerkat sighed, calming down at the sight of her friend's anguish. "Nick…" Sammy murmured as she tried to reach up and put a paw on his shoulder, but the fox stepped out of reach, eyes set shamefully on the ground.
"And I just let him have it all. I…" He shook his head irritably. "I need a minute."
Without waiting to hear her response, Nick left the room. He stormed down the corridor until he reached the main branch of City-Hall's spacious, terraced foyers. Samantha didn't try to follow, and that was fine with Nick. Right now, he couldn't bear to look his campaign manager in the eye knowing that he'd jeopardized everything they'd been working for. Instead, he forced himself to take deep breaths and put one foot in front of the other, calming down as he marched deeper into Zootopia's capitol building. Once his heart had steadied in his chest, he scanned down each branching hallway he passed, looking for any signs of Bradley Stagnew's office. But when Nick passed by the cafe where he'd met the deer in person, he realized that he didn't have to. Sure enough, sitting at a booth in the corner of the establishment, was Bradley himself.
The shop looked just minutes from closing down, with its single gazelle employee wiping down the empty tables and stacking chairs, but Bradley idly chatted over his phone as though he had all the time in the world. A half-empty cup of tea sat in front of him, and from its lack of steam, it was safe to assume he'd been there a while. Nick's expression hardened, and he immediately marched up to Bradley. As he approached, he noticed that his typically blue suit had been replaced with a gray one. His antlers had spread a little wider too, since the last time Nick had seen him - now sporting eight sharp points rather than the six that Nick had grown accustomed to.
Bradley spotted Nick, and smiled amiably. For the second time, Nick noticed that the grin failed to reach his intense blue eyes, but only now did he understand why. "I'll give you a call back later," Bradley declared before setting his phone down and focusing on the approaching fox. "Hello there, Mr. Wilde," he greeted cheerfully. "Pleasure to see you again. I was just taking some calls over a late-night cup of-"
"You can drop the act, Bradley," Nick growled, halting in front of his table. "I saw the announcement."
Something changed in Bradley. The deer's smile gradually slipped away, until his face rested in a tired, emotionless expression. A sigh siphoned through his nostrils, sounding almost as though a painful pressure had been relieved from inside him. "I see." Bradley muttered, cheerful voice gone and replaced with a bored indifference. He glanced away from Nick, staring into his teacup. "There was no denying you'd find out sooner or later. For what it's worth, I am sorry."
"Oh, you're sorry," Nick repeated flatly, paws on his hips. "Sorry for taking me for a ride, huh? I thought you were a good mammal. I thought you were my friend."
"I tried to warn you right here, two weeks ago," the deer swiftly remarked, knocking a single hoof against the tabletop. "But you didn't listen. I didn't want to trick you, but it had to be done. This is politics, loathsome as it is. But necessary - always necessary."
Nick chuckled with disbelief. "I-I don't understand. How could you do this?"
"You understand nothing, so I'm going to explain it to you very simply," Bradley quickly agreed, tone as bitter and cold as a glacier. "City-Hall is not a place where friends are made. It is not a place where being the nice guy gets you anywhere. And it most certainly is not a place where a mammal looking to change the world is welcome."
Nick's jaw lowered and raised itself, unable to expel the words that often came so easy to him. "You… so it was really all an act?"
"Politics is about appearances," Bradley declared, rising from his seat and gazing sternly down at Nick. "And the results that those appearances bring. This isn't a game of chance, Mr. Wilde. This is a game of legacy. I have only one goal: to protect the sanctity of this city and its government. Were the office of the mayor to fall into the wrong hands, Zootopia would be doomed. I have no reason to believe you are anything other than the wrong hands."
"But…" Nick trailed off, caught in one of those rare moments where he was unable to think of what to say. "I…"
"But what?" Bradley contested. "When we first met, you didn't even know what an election chairmammal was. How do you expect to win the race, far less run this city without even knowing who manages the voting process? How do you possibly hope to hold office? Did you even anticipate that the majority of the city's population doesn't relate to your idealistic policies? Have you considered that most mammals are perfectly satisfied with the way things are now?"
"Well, I-?" Nick stammered, but Bradley didn't give him time to retort, speaking swiftly and with a stern disapproval in his voice.
"Do you understand the economics behind Zootopia's domestic industries? Do you know anything about our trade agreements with other cities? Do you have the faintest comprehension of the responsibility of being mayor?" Bradley derided, walking up to Nick until the fox could see the disgust in the blue eyes staring down at him. "You can't just waltz into City-Hall with nothing but a vision and a smile, expecting that alone to win you the office. You're a naive, glorified little activist who thinks they have the answers to every problem."
"And you do?" Nick bit back, forcing himself to speak through his shock.
Bradley's snout twitched. "I understand the inner workings of this city better than anyone. Anyone."
"Yet you still had to resort to lying just to get the upper hand. The advice, the data packet, all of it - you were just trying to squeeze info out of me. Is the data even real?"
"It is. Do you want to know why I gave you that data, Mr. Wilde?" Bradley asked, glare still firmly placed on Nick. "I gave you that data because with or without it your campaign will never succeed."
"You told me that I had a chance. Was that a lie too?"
"I don't recall lying. A mere chance is hardly the same thing as feasibility. There's a chance I could somehow drown in a bathtub. There's a chance the wind could blow a winning lottery ticket across my path. That doesn't make it feasible, far less realistic." Bradley snarled that last word intensely. "Data science taught me that difference. I've been crunching City-Hall's numbers for forty years. I understand how Zootopia thinks. More than you ever could."
"That sure is a fancy way of saying you're a manipulative little-"
"I take the world as it is, not as I'd like it to be," the deer interrupted. "And this world requires mammals with the will to act. To do the unpleasant thing. The necessary thing. It's like I told you: being the nice guy won't get you anywhere. Not in City-Hall." Bradley picked up his cup, admiring it for a moment before drinking the remaining liquid. "My advice to you still stands: you don't belong in politics. Quit while you're ahead. Otherwise, you'll be setting yourself, and Zootopia, up for disaster. Think on that, Mr. Wilde."
Bradley then set his cup down and walked away without another word, leaving Nick alone with his thoughts. The fox sighed, for the millionth time in his life wishing he'd had Judy's pen recorder with him. Nick stared at the empty seat that had been left abandoned by someone he had hoped to be a friend. Bradley had given him a verbal beatdown akin to the one he'd given Judy on the day they'd met, and all he could think about was how much he wished she were here with him - to reassure him and help remind him of what he was fighting for. But all he had was his aching leg and Bradley's business card, which he promptly crumpled in one fist.
In that moment, Nick realized how alone he truly was.
But even under such circumstances, he knew there was a solution. Head heavy atop his neck, he retracted his phone from one pocket, and called Samantha's number.
She picked up within moments. "Hey, Nick! Is everything okay?"
The fox sighed. "You were right. I got hustled. I'm sorry."
"Oh, Nick…" Samantha exhaled wearily. "I don't know what to say. This is politics."
"Yeah… this is politics," Nick repeated as though the mere words made him sick to his stomach. "And I don't think it's for me."
"What? No!" The meerkat objected. "Nick, you messed up, sure, but this is not the end of the world."
"I let myself get hustled. Everything he said was right. I'm not cut out for this."
When Samantha replied, her voice was swift and frantic. "You say that after everything we've been through. After everyone you've inspired! Think of Judy. Think of how much you both have sacrificed for this. Don't let Bradley take that away from you! Do you hear me? You're better than that! Better than him!"
Nick breathed in deep, silently weighing over his options. He knew that Sammy was right, but it still took some real effort to push away Bradley's doubting words from his mind. Finally, his breath broke with an exasperated sigh. "Okay, okay." Another deep breath followed, and when the fox opened his eyes, a renewed determination filled them. "Sammy, next time we're at the office, I wanna run through our speech practice packet again. As many times as it takes to know every response like the back of my paw."
"That's the spirit, Nick," Samantha praised in a soft voice. "We'll make that jerk eat his own words."
"Darn right we will," the fox agreed before taking a look at the time on his phone. "But we'll worry about that later. I've got a date with my wife that I can't afford to miss, and honestly, I could use the distraction after this." A vision of Judy's smiling face popped into his mind, and with it came a new decision. "Thanks for the advice, Sammy, but I've gotta run. I'm gonna give Chief Bogo a call. Put in a special request for the debate. I feel like having Judy there will… make things easier."
"It'd be great to have her," Samantha agreed, pausing for a moment. "Have a good night, Nick."
With that, the call promptly ended. The fox breathed in deep, and then exhaled slowly, internally reminding himself that the future could still be as bright as he hoped.
This dinner-date would at least be a good start.
Tough break for both Nick and Judy, huh? Don't worry, they'll get some time together to make up for it in the next chapter. But past the moments of comfort, you can be sure that the crime war will continue to rage on, Judy's investigation will spread into interesting new territory, and the dramatic debating period will begin at last! It will be a climactic, subversive series of chapters, and I cannot wait to reveal them all! You can also expect to see some interesting flashbacks soon too, particularly for Mr. Boarton, Harlan, and Rupert.
In the meantime, feel free to tell me what you think of this one! I enjoyed writing it a lot, with all its sudden twists, and you can be certain that more, even greater ones will be unveiled in the future. No Vladzotz and Lucy this chapter, but they'll be returning in chapter 11, "Respites," coming your way soon! Stay tuned. :)
PS: I'm considering writing a NSFW scene for both Nick/Judy and Vladzotz/Lucy later in the story, with the former coming as early as next chapter. Both would most likely be posted exclusively to the AO3 version of the story. However, given that they aren't 100% necessary for the story (even though both will have ramifications - you'll see), I'm considering not writing them for the sake of time and convenience. So I'll leave it up to a new poll that I've posted to my profile here: would you like me to write them or not? Hearing some opinions might help with the decision.