Ch. 2 The Good, The Bad, and The Wilde
The Wilde
"I like big fat men like you. When they fall they make more noise"
-Tuco, The Ugly
15 years Later...
The early morning rays of the sun touch down on Zootopia's Sahara District. Through the years the district had grown, making buildings bigger and more diverse. The only thing that hasn't changed is the sweltering heat: the roads were still nothing but sand, dirt, and puddles of mud that would sink any wagon wheel.
That morning, the streets were empty, no wagons or mammals in sight. Only thing stopping the district from looking like a ghost town was a small posse of mammals, with rifles and shotguns in hand, making their way down the road.
Deputy Bogo, a water buffalo, in a thick gray duster coat and a large dusty gray Cattleman hat with both sides curved upwards for his horns to stick through. Watching the Swearengen Inn from the shadows.
The Swearengen Inn, the cheapest place for any traveler visiting Zootopia, serving all their wants and needs. Being only two floors tall, the little Inn had a mixture of all sorts of spirits to drink, a few gambling tables, and, for the right price, a harlot to help those few in need of company through the night.
Bogo's gaze never strayed away from the Inn. Following close behind him were a few of his trusted deputies and a Zootopia Ranger, a tall, skinny coyote wearing a blue scarf around his neck. Bogo hates working with these so-called "Rangers," but he could put up with their egotistic ways for the moment if it means accomplishing what they came here to do.
The Zootopia Rangers: appointed law enforcers, hand-picked by the Assistant Mayor and then approved by the Mayor himself. Those selected to be Rangers are to be the most law-abiding citizens. Though to Bogo, the chosen mammals represent only the worst law-abiding mammals. These "Zoo Rangers" have a wider range of freedom than any of the real law enforcement can do. Not even the Sheriff, his father, had the range of power that the Zoo Rangers do. He, along with his father, believes that these Rangers were only making things worse in Zootopia. Hearing reports of Rangers firing on and arresting mammals, with no evidence. The very idea filled Bogo with disgust and rage. He pushes the thought to the side, he can't think about that, not now.
A quick glance to his left. More of the Rangers surrounding the Inn, rifles and scatterguns at the ready. Good, he thought. Bogo has never been so close to capturing this criminal and he has no intention of letting the low life slip through his fingers.
Stepping into the Swearengen Inn, Bogo made a quick note of his surroundings. The Inn was not yet open to the public, the room was small and a zebra behind the bar wiped away any filth from the bar counter. Three heavy drunks lay passed out, when the drunks wake up, they will more than likely be suffering a hellish hangover.
The zebra turns his attention to Bogo and the posse behind him. Before the zebra utters a single word, Bogo holds a finger up to his lips. Rummaging inside his duster till he pulls out a small scroll. Bogo holds up a "Wanted" poster in front of the zebra, he glances back and forth several times from the notice to Bogo.
The zebra, with a scrap paper and pen, writes down a number for Bogo to see: room #105. Holding up the slip of paper, nods and rolls his eyes toward the staircase. Bogo nods in understanding.
Tucking the wanted poster inside his duster, Bogo pulls out his Model #3 Smith & Wesson revolver with an ivory handle. The .44 caliber, nickel coated gun made fit for Bogo's massive hands. He turns, looking back at his posse. The whole group does the same, removing their pistols and raising their scatterguns, primed their weapons, trying to be as silent as possible in the act.
The coyote Zoo Ranger, a devious grin on his face, whipped out his Peacemaker revolver from its holster and gave the gun a fast twirl. The Zoo Ranger cocked back the hammer on his pistol, with complete disregard of how much noise he made. Bogo gave the Ranger a disgruntled look. We are here to get the drop on him you fool, Bogo thought.
All were ready, as Bogo led the march up the wooden staircase. Tiptoed up each step, hoping to not cause any noise from the floorboards, slow and steady to room 105.
A door opens and a female mammal walks out into the hall. She was likely one of the female escorts that some mammals could buy for a good nights company. Too busy covering her undergarments and buttoning her blouse, she did not see the group of armed mammals, not until she stumbled into them.
The woman gave an alarming yelp when looking up at them. Bogo moves in quick, making the wooden floor give a loud creak. He covered her mouth with his free hand and pushed her up against the wall. Bogo used the barrel of his revolver like a finger, pressed the barrel against his lips, telling her to be quiet. Believing she had calmed down, Bogo let go of her mouth. The woman does and quickly flees.
Bogo continues his march down the hallway, arriving at Room 105. Putting his back against the wall on the left side of the door. He pointed the rest of the group to their places and aimed their loaded guns at the door. Knowing this criminal, Bogo assumes the criminal knew they were here, waiting. He gives the honor of kicking down the hard wooden door to the Zoo Ranger.
The Zoo Ranger, grinned and twirled his revolver. Bogo only shook his head and wanted to slap the mammal hard across the face. The fool still thinks this is all a game.
The Ranger shook his shoulders as if to limber up. He took a step back before he charged at the door. With a swift kick from the Ranger, the door busted open with the loud crack!
The door flew open, as a burst of flames exited, the Ranger used his arm to shield himself from the heat. Three loud gunshots came through from the fire. The Ranger's firing arm explodes in three different spots, each bullet sends a burst of blood spraying everywhere.
He falls backward, hollering in pain. His once white shirt was now splattered red. "The bastard, shot me!" The Ranger yelled.
He tried to raise his arm and fired. With damage to his arm, the Ranger raised the revolver only a few inches and squeezed off one shot before the arm went limp.
Bogo would love to rejoice in the Rangers misfortune, but his focus on the mission was more important. Bogo moved in, past the flames. He heard the loud sound of glass breaking. Clear of the smoke and flames, Bogo sees a naked vixen screaming in fear under the bed and a red fire tail of a fox escaping through the window. Bogo raised his Smith & Wesson and opened fire.
A possum patrolled outside of the Inn. He was a Ranger, hand picked, and enjoyed every bit of it. Though patrolling the outside of some dingy little Inn was not what he wanted to be doing so early in the morning. The only reason he found himself doing this was that the water buffalo made a promise of proper payment for the job.
From above him, came the loud sound of gun fire, three times to be exact. Next came a loud scream of someone in pain. The Ranger took a step back to get a better look at what was going on.
It seemed as though the sounds were coming from a window above him. Another shot fired, followed by the piercing of wood. The Ranger raised his rifle, readying himself for anything.
The window shattered open, the Ranger shielded his eyes from falling shards of glass.
There standing outside the window, trying to catch his balance on the slippery roof, was a fire-red fox. He wore a long sleeve button up shirt and black vest. Atop his head was a black Gamblers style hat. Though his upper half was, for the most part, dressed proper, he wore no pants, exposing his bottom half in his long underwear. He held his pants in a bundle in his hand, two gun holster belts, revolvers still holstered, slung over his arm, boots hung around his neck. Finally, a third holster was thrown over his other shoulder, the gun in his hand. The Ranger took a moment to get a good look at him. There he was, Nicholas P. Wilde; otherwise known as, Nick the Wild.
Nicholas P. Wilde, lay sleeping on the small rickety bed of room 105 at the Swearnenger Inn. A soft kick from another's leg woke him up. Opening his eyes, letting them adjust to the lighting of the room.
The room Nick rented for the night was rather small and empty, the bed placed in the far corner by the window, a small nightstand next to the bed with an oil lantern sitting on top of it, a low burning flame and enough oil to keep it lit. A table with a large oval mirror mounted on it pushed against the opposite wall. The desk even had a stiff wooden chair and was the only other piece of furniture in the room, other than a few hooks on the walls to hang one's clothes on.
Nick rubbed his eyes to the morning light, the tiny specks of dust dancing in the sunlight. Something he always found peaceful and captivating.
There was another soft kick on his legs. On the other side of the bed lay a pretty looking vixen, she was still asleep, her head and arm rested on Nick's naked chest. Her coat was a shade lighter than his own. What he found most intriguing was the white spots along her face and nose. Feeling the vixen pressed against him filled him with excitement, already becoming frisky.
Nick shifts his legs, hitting something hard that rolled off the bed, making a loud thud sound as it hits the floor. Looking over the side, he sees an empty bottle of whiskey. That would explain the pounding in his head, the memory of last night coming back to him in pieces.
He remembered how he slipped into Swearenger at its busiest of times, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. The Inn packed with mammals looking for a good time, whether that be drinking, dancing, gambling, or finding a gal they could buy for the night. Nick was there for none of those things, at least not at first.
Nick snuck into the bar last night, in hopes of overhearing any useful gossip, the type involving any wealthy stagecoaches that would happen to be passing through, or a big player he could swindle, or if any worthy shipments were arriving.
Nick wanted to keep a low profile that night, his hat tuckered down covering his face. He ordered a three finger shot of bourbon and spent the night wet nursing the one drink, a couple of working gals offered him a good night's rest, to which he declined in a kind manner. That was until this young vixen, who now resided in his arms, offered herself. Nick must admit, she was, is, very beautiful for a working girl of the night.
Valorie, he believes, was the name she gave him. Nick remembers her sweet talk, letting his guard down for a moment or two. She told him that he would be her first client ever since agreeing to such work. He has heard this line used by several other harlots that night; for all he knew, he could be her forty seventh first time. Though in all honesty, Nick wanted to pretend, for that night, that she was telling him the truth.
Given in to his vices, Nick glugged down the rest of his shot of bourbon and agreed to the vixen's offer. Besides, he still had a handy amount of money from the last job he and the gang pulled off. Most of Nick's gang acquaintances would, as quick as they can, spend their cut from a job before a night's end; Nick instead would save his money up and contribute only to what he needs. Though at times, making spending splurges himself. What's the point of being an outlaw if it was all work and no play?
Nick remembered taking the cute vixen by the hand, he paid for a room and a cheap bottle of whiskey, nothing too fancy. Pulled her into the room and uncorked the bottle, took a sip and passed the bottle to her, she did the same. They did this till the both of them were well liquored up.
Looking around the room, Nick can place how the events occurred from that point forward. The vixen's clothes bundled on the floor by the door. His long sleeve shirt and plain black vest hung off the desk mirror . Next to the bed in a bundled up pile was his long underwear, light fabric pants, and his boots tied together by a long leather strap.
Slung on the chair were two of his three gun holster belts, the last two items were his Gamblers hat and his main gun holster. Looking up he spotted both objects on the bedpost beside him. The Gambler hat he favors, was black with a silver color ring band on the hat's base. His main gun holster belt on the bedpost faced outward, he did this for the small probability of needing to make a quick draw for the 1860 Army Colt revolver it holstered.
The 1860 Army Colt had a smooth handle made from hard redwood, the revolver's cylinder was a shiny brass cover, almost making it shine like gold. The rest of the gun was made from tapered steel. As fine of a handgun as the 1860 Army Colt is, the gun was nothing more than the closest revolver to a placeholder for the holster. The reason Nick made the holster his primary gun was in respect to the gun's previous owner: his father.
His father tailored the holster specifically for his own revolver, forever lost now; the belt had an extra strap on the bottom, letting the wearer hang the holster low. This allowed the revolver's handle to be level with his hand. The holster's extra strap at the bottom, fastens around the wearer's thigh, making their draw faster. The thick brown leather was well crafted and oiled.
Nick remembers when deciding to leave home, wanting to take his father's gun and holster. In delight, Nick found the holster but remembered going into a fit of rage when his mother told him that she sold the revolver for extra drinking money. Nick couldn't believe she would sell his father's pistol. The gun that the holster was for, to keep her addiction up. Nick remembered how his mother gave him the news, as if she never cared for his father, her husband, at all. He remembered her sitting in the rocker on the porch in the slums of Zootopia. Smelling as if she had bathed in bourbon and drinking corn whiskey from a jug. The worst part of the whole experience was remembering how she never turned to look at him when Nick decided to leave for good.
Nick did not want to dread on such thoughts that envied with his father. 15 years since his father died and still finds it hard to think about. He wondered what his father would think of him, if still alive. Seeing wanted posters of his son's face plastered every two blocks. All was too upsetting to think about.
Looking over at the other two holster belts and making a note of them. The bigger of the two sashes on the chair holstered Nick's Single Action Army Peacemaker. The .40 caliber Peacemaker made from tapered black steel. The revolver's hand carved and polished black from oak wood. When worn, Nick would position the pistol closer to his left hand. He had a faster draw with his right hand, which is why he kept the Army Colt on his right side. But with the Peacemaker's light weight, accuracy, and less powerful kick than his primary weapon, Nick could draw the gun from its holster with his left hand almost as fast as he could with his right.
The last belt carried the smallest of his three guns. A .357 mag Short Stroke SASS r nickel plated revolver. Though the Short Stroke was small and only ever used as a last resort weapon, Nick liked the way the nickel plating gave it a beautiful shine, along with the well-crafted ivory handle. Since the Short Stroke was a last option weapon, Nick kept the gun holstered behind his back and close to his right hand to reach back and draw with speed.
The vixen, Nick paid a good night for, stretched out her body. Her fox claws poking out, scraped against his chest in a soft manner. She squints at the morning's light, looks up at Nick and gives a sweet smile.
"Morning, love." The vixen said. "Did you enjoy last night's endeavors?" The cute vixen asked. She scooched up closer to Nicks' face.
"Must admit, you did give me quite a workout last night. Several times in fact," Nick says. Both laugh at his simple-minded joke.
Nick stops laughing and jerks his head up toward the door. Nick's fox ears pointed straight up, in the sense of danger. Out in the hallway comes the quick yelping sound of some female, followed by the loud wailing of the wooden floorboards. He holds his hand up to the vixen next to him to silence her.
Nick could hear only silence. His fur stood straight up in Nick. Having this feeling more than once before, he knew something against his favor, was coming his way. Nick throws the covers off of himself and rolls off the bed.
"What's wrong," the pretty vixen asked, sitting up and letting herself become exposed. Confused by the whole situation, even as she watches Nick throw on his long underwear. "Was it something I said?"
"Be quiet," he said, a little harsh with his tone. "Quick, get under the bed," he says to the naked vixen. Nick grabs her by the wrist, pulling her out of bed, like a rag doll. Nick had no time to explain why he pushed her under the bed. "Stay there till everything is clear," he told her.
Nick, in a frantic state, scans the room, wanting everything that was his. He grabs his long sleeve shirt, puts it on and works two of the buttons, which come out looking crooked. Nick grabbed his plain black vest from the corner mirror and put it on, not even bothering to button it up. Nick grabs the two gun belts he left on the chair He takes the black gambler hat off the bedpost.
Nick couldn't think about the lack of time and the haste he was rushing. He still had no pants on, or boots on his feet. His fox ears twitched and pointed towards the door. Whoever, or whomever, was coming for him, was right outside the door. Nick grabbed his boots and hangs them around his neck. He can hear them outside, ready to barge in.
Thinking fast, Nick scans the room and looks at the oil lamp on the nightstand. Grabbing the lamb off the nightstand, he throws it above the door. The lamp shattered, creating a fireball that ignites the wood, from the top of the door all the way to the floor.
The fire broke out at the right time. The door burst open, letting in a backdraft, causing the flames to grow bigger and roar louder with heat. Nick could see someone, shielding themselves from the heat. He didn't know who it was, but that didn't matter. Nick, quickly draws the 1860 Army Colt out of his main holster belt and rapidly fires three shots into the fire. Nick knew he hit his target, from the wailing sound of someone in pain.
Nick grabs his father's gun belt, slinging it over his right shoulder. He grabs his pants in a giant wad of cloth. He looks to the window, wanting to get it open. From the flaming doorway, a shot rings out, piercing the wall to Nick's right. Outside in the hallway, he hears someone ready to charge through the fire. To hell within it, Nick thought and jumped through the unopened window.
Shards of glass from the window exploded outward as Nick jumped through. Landing on the shingled roof, he runs down the slight slope. The idea of him jumping off the roof and escaping diverts when he sees a possum raise his rifle to fire. Nick made a quick turn to his right, almost slipping on the shingle roof, as the possum fired. Nick can hear the bullet hit the roof behind him. He ran as fast as he could across the shingled roof, which was harder than it looked, being half naked as he ran. Also, with two loose gun belts around his left arm, and his father's around his right arm making running even harder.
Nick could hear heavy footsteps behind him. He dared not turn around. If Nick had to guess, it's more than likely deputy Bogo who has made capturing him a personal vendetta. Bullets whiz past him at a fast pace, followed by loud gunshots. More mammals start surrounding the end and take fire at Nick as he runs.
Unable to stop and catch his breath, Nick sees ahead of him a window to the brothel next door. Being his only chance, Nick tries to pick up speed. Having only one shot to clear the length between the two buildings and land through the closed window. Nick ran and jumped. Kicking his feet in the air, as if it will somehow help.
With a loud "CRASH!" Nick brook through the window of the brothel. He lands on the wooden floor, hard. A variety of different half-dressed female mammals scream at his entrance. Getting up off the floor, Nick takes in a breath. Feeling more relaxed as he does. The naked harlots in the room grab at whatever piece of clothing they can to cover their exposed self. Nick dusted off his vest, wanted to get any broken glass off of him, doing the same with his hat.
Seeing the females in a state of panic at his sudden appearance, Nick holstered his gun back in his father's belt, which still hung around his right arm. He raised his hands to calm the women down. "Sorry for the intrusion ladies. Not here for a free peep show, just passing through."
Walking past the women and exiting the dressing room. Nick doesn't stop. He walked up to the room across the hallway. Kicked in the door, Nick startled the two mammals taking residence in the room. To the left of the room was a female fox half dressed. Her name was Trixie, someone he had come to know quite well, especially when nights become too lonely for him. On the right side of the room a leopard, lying naked on the bed, using the beds blanket to cover his nudity. He curses in outrage at Nick's sudden entrance.
"Don't mind me, folks," Nick says. "Just passing through. Need to use your balcony exit. Hey Trixie, how you've been?" As Nick walks past her, he gives her a quick slap on her behind.
Trixie squealed and swung her hand down hard, knocking Nick's hand away. She scowls at the cheeky smile on his face. "God Damn you, Nick Wilde," she says.
"He hasn't damned me yet," Nick responds back. "But, I'm pretty sure he's working on it."
Nick walks out onto the balcony. He puts two fingers to his mouth and gives a loud whistle. Jumping over the railing. Nick lands in a giant pile of horse manure, with a loud "plop!" sound. "Shit," he says with aggravation. Looking down at the pile of ankle-deep manure. Lifting a foot, he gives it a shake as if that will make his foot clean.
Before he could do the same with the other foot, two Zoo Rangers turned the corner and spotted him. One was a hound dog wielding a rifle and the other a beaver with a typical revolver. They each wear a blue scarf, pinned with a badge, around their waist like belts. The two mammals took aim at Nick and opened fire.
Nick runs, as fast as he can. Hearing the bullets whiz by, made him only run faster. Nick puts two fingers to his mouth again and gives another loud whistle blow.
With all the commotion, more and more residents in the area were opening their doors and windows, to see what was going on. Nick dashes down a narrow alley and takes refuge behind a crate of boxes. Hoping he's bought himself enough time to put his pants and boots on at the very least.
With pants and boots on, all he had to carry were the gun holsters. Nick lifts his head up a little bit over the wooden crates, wanting a better look and hearing what's happening. He could see the Zoo Rangers running back and forth looking for him, cursing at their miss firings.
Nick had no worries about the Zoo Rangers. They were all trigger happy incompetent fools. The only one Nick had concerns for was the deputy, Bogo. That water buffalo is relentless.
Nick sneaks his way farther down the alley. Checking to make sure it was clear, Nick ran out. Taking cover between every other building. Every stop he made and took cover, he would whistle out loud. Whether he shows up or not, didn't matter. He had to get out of Zootopia as fast as he could. Knowing the Sahra district well enough, he knows the border is more than likely closed off, which couldn't be more than a few hundred yards from.
Mosing down one of the alleys, he sees the border of Zootopia. It was a good run to make, but Nick's been in worse odds than this. Taking a few quick deep breaths, Nick runs out towards the border. Stepping one foot out of the alley, a giant hand wielding a large revolver swings out, smacking him square across the face and sending him flying to the ground.
Nick could only see stars and black spots in front of him. Feeling two large hands grab him by the collar, lifting him off the ground. Nick feels his hat fall off his head, and still no idea who has apprehended him.
With his sight coming back, he stares into the dagger-like eyes of a water buffalo. Deputy Bogo, finally having him in his hands. Bogo smacks him across the face again, with the hand holding the revolver, making Nick taste blood.
Bogo, letting one hand grip tight to Nick's collar then grabs Nick's throat with a tight squeeze. Nick, finding it hard to breath with Bogo's grip around his throat. "I got you," Bogo says to the choking Nick. "I got you, you son of a bitch. No way in hell you're going to sleaz or talk your way out of this."
Nick mumbles something out of his mouth. Hard to understand what he's saying due to Bogo's tight grip. Bogo loosens his grasp to better hear him. "You're a pretty big mammal," Nick said. "I bet you make a big loud sound when you fall."
Bogo laughs at the amount of denial Nick seems to be in. Nick laughs alongside Bogo, which only angers him. "And you think you can knock me down, do you?" Bogo says, anger in his voice.
Nick shakes his head no. "Me? No." Nick says. "But I am hoping that he can."
Bogo sees Nick's eyes dart to the side. Turning, Bogo stares at the back side of a wild mustang. Without warning, the mustang lifted up its hind rear high up and gave a quick and powerful hoof kick to Bogo's forehead. The force of the kick makes Bogo let go of Nick, who falls to the ground, heavy breathing. Bogo, knocked all the way back into the alley. Hitting the ground, immediately unconscious.
Nick gets off the ground and stands tall on his own two feet. He grabs all three of his gun belts off the ground and his hat. He slaps his Gambler's hat across his leg, knocking off any dirt. Nick looks down the alley where the unconscious Bogo lay. Turning to the light brown wild mustang, with a thick black mane and long white lines of fur down the center of the horse's face. The white stripes always made Nick think the horse was in war makeup. "Where the hell have you been?!" Nick yells at Argo, the mustang.
Argo looks back at Nick and blows him a horse like raspberry. Nick rolled his eyes at Argo. He rubs his neck where Bogo was choking him. Put his hat, snug like, back on his head, Nick approached Argo. Grabbed a hold of the thick leather saddle strapped to the horse's back, he hoisted himself up and swung his leg over, mounting Argo.
Reins in hand, Nick pats Argo on the side of his neck. "We have to get out of here boy," Nick says. "At least for a good while, till things can cool down again." Argo makes a loud whine and turns his neck and head down the alley at Bogo's body. "Trust me, he's fine. That water buffalo is tougher than you would think," Nick said. "He might have a hell of a headache when he wakes up, but if we don't get going, we'll be in an even worse situation. Come on boy." Nick makes a clicking sound with his mouth and gives a slight kick to Argo's behind, getting him to move. They head straight to the border of the Sahara district, and out of Zootopia. Making them feel safe for the time being.
The Bad
"You're smart enough to know that talking won't save you." - Angel Eyes, The Bad
The morning sunlight shined down on a small farm. The farm had a chicken coop, a section with rows of vegetables, and a two-story house that was self-built. The house reflected the sun off its bright white clay structure. Though the house is two stories tall, and built to house smaller mammals. In this case a family of meerkats.
Outside, the man of the house was plowing rows to plant seed behind the house. A woman tended to the small patch of vegetables in the front of the house. She wore loose black and white sheets, to protect her from the sun. Last, a young meerkat boy, no older than thirteen, practiced training the horse they have in the small pin. The boy wore a thin cotton white shirt and pants. On top, his head was a straw sombrero, to his fitting.
The young meerkat kit looked up from the horse he was training, and out in the distance. There, he could make out a black rider growing bigger as he rode his way to him.
The young meerkat kit dropped the lead attached to the horse and hops over the pin, running to the house. Calling out to his father.
The rider approaching the house rode on a black stallion and wore all black, except around his waist was tied a blue scarf, and a silver star pinned to it. Riding atop the black steed was a weasel, and Weaselton was his name.
Nearing the white clay house, Weaselton led his horse, Shadow, to a trough filled with water. He slid off his horse and ropes the reins over a picket fence. Weaselton dusts off any dirt on the sleeves of his black coat. Right below the blue scarf, around his waist was the only gun belt he wore.
The leather of the gun belt was thick, and the oils used to keep it protected and not dry and crack, have dyed it black. The actual gun holster being placed in the center, where he would have to side draw the revolver from its holster. The revolver holstered in his belt was a .44 Remington 1858 New Army. The Remington dual toned, with a black cylinder and barrel, and a wild cherry polished handle with a golden brass oval trigger guard. On his face, Weaselton had a thin mustache that almost curled on the ends. Weaselton's last feature was his Stetson Black Hawk hat, with a round and flat base and a straight hardened rim.
Adjusting his hat, Weaselton makes his way to the house of meerkats. Approaching the house, the young meerkat boy came out of the house with a double barrel shotgun, pointing the barrels at Weaselton in fear. Weaselton did not stop, still approaching the house.
From behind the young meerkat, an older meerkat stepped outside and approached the young kit from the back. The older meerkat, putting one hand on the kit's shoulder and the other on the shotgun barrel, making him lower and let go of the gun. He whispered something into the kit's ear and directed him back into the house.
"Nice kit you got there, Baker," Weaselton said to the older meerkat. It was clear to Weaselton that the older meerkat, Baker, was the father to the young kit. The clothes Baker wore were white, loose, and thin weaved, to better breath and defend himself from the sun's heat.
"He will grow up strong in mind and body," said Baker. "But he still has a long way to go."
"Yeah," Weaselton chuckles. "Sure he will."
"I must admit, surprised to see you here, mí amigo," said Baker. "We usually agree on a location to meet. Never have you come to my house, where my wife and son live."
"Every time we meet. You always tell me how wonderful it is where you live. Decided I wanted to see the lovely place for myself" Weaselton said. "So far, your claims seem to be true."
Baker only nodded his head. "Well, I suppose you should come in then." Baker turned around and walked back into his house with the shotgun's barrels pointing down.
Weaselton followed behind Baker. Before entering, he stops and turns his head towards Baker's wife, who was harvesting some produce from the small garden. Weaselton stands there, watching. The female meerkat makes a quick glance up at Weaselton, locking eyes and sending a cold shudder down her spine. She turned back to tend her garden, scared to look back up at him.
Entering the house, Weaselton takes a look around. There was not much to admire. The house had a second floor, to which he could hear the young meerkat's footsteps above him. Baker offers him an empty seat at the end of their wooden table, which was across from the clay stairs leading up.
Baker placed the shotgun next to a built stove. Weaselton could smell the wafting aroma of food cooking. Baker opens the grill cage of the cast-iron oven, tossing in a few more splitters of wood, making the fire grow stronger.
"Are you hungry, mí amigo?" Baker asked.
"Famished" Weaselton says.
"My wife," Baker said, "is cooking one of her best dishes." Baker lifts open the top off the pot, and with a spoon, stirs the contents inside. "Unfortunately, I do not believe it is quite ready. But you are still welcome to some."
"A small plate will do," Weaselton said. "I don't plan on staying too long."
"Of course," Baker says.
"I've never seen your wife before," Weaselton says. "Now that I have, I must admit you are one lucky mammal. Because she looks like quite a gal."
"Gracious," says Baker. With the spoon, Baker poured a small sum of the pot's contents onto a plaster plate. Baker places the plate in front of Weaselton, along with two flat tortillas. Giving no thanks, Weaselton grabs and tears one of the tortillas into two, folding and scooping up the contents of the plate, like a spoon.
Baker takes notice of the blue scarf tied around Weaselton's waist and the silver looking badge pinned to it. "Since when did you decide to become a Zoo Ranger?" Baker asks.
Weaselton munches down on the tortilla. "I didn't decide," he says. "I was personally selected and offered the title, as a Zoo Ranger."
"I thought Rangers are to uphold the law?" Baker asks, with heavy sarcasm.
"And we do," Weaselton says. "We just prefer upholding the parts of the law that benefits us directly."
"I see," Baker says, laughing. Baker joins Weaselton, sitting at the other end of the table. "I hope your new promotion," Bakers says, loose use of the word promotion, "doesn't disrupt the relationship that we have?"
Weaselton smiles. "I am a mammal with many hats," Weaselton says.
"Good," Baker says, smiling. "So you're to tell me that the job is done?" Baker asks. "The thousand dollar job, involving the situation with Stevens, and any information he had?"
"I did," Weaselton says. "But first, the rest of what you owe." Weaselton, holding out the palm of his hand, awaiting payment. Baker stared into Wesaselton's eyes. Examining those eyes and smile of his.
Baker laughed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a billfold. "Has anyone ever told you, you have the eyes of an angel and the smile of the devil," Baker says.
"We're all devil's inside," said Weaselton. "I'm just lucky to always get the upper hand with my, so-called, angel eyes."
Baker slaps five hundred in cash into the palm of Weaselton's hand. Weaselton took the money and pockets it. Now that he has paid, Baker urges Weaselton to share what information he learned from Stevens. "He informed me of a train heading into Zootopia in a few days, a week or two at the most," Weaselton says. "Stevens said that the train is to be a big one. At least seven carts long." Weaselton explains everything that Stevens told him to Baker, all which puts a smile on Baker's face. "The train will be carrying a mixture of passengers and fresh produce. But the biggest storage cart on this train will be carrying up to $500,000 in golden coins," Weaselton says.
"What about security?" Baker asks. "Vaults to crack, steel-plated locked doors on the cart, and any armed security?"
"Yes to all," Weaselton says. "But nothing that can't be handled."
"Sounds like a big job to pull off," Baker said. "Best to get Mr. Big and his men involved to help." Baker, smiling so wide, laughed with joy from this news. Weaselton chuckles along with his employer. Weaselton shifts in his chair, as if adjusting something.
"Oh. There was one more thing Stevens told me, or rather asked of me, I should say." Weselton says. Weselton lowers his hand under the table. "Before shooting him dead and fulfilling our contract. Stevens asked if I would come here and kill you. At the fair price of a thousand dollars. The same amount you paid me to kill him." Baker gives a nervous laugh to what Weaselton was saying. "Stevens even offered the entire thousand upfront," Weaselton said, staring at Baker with his angel eyes. "I'm sorry Baker, but I'm not one to turn down a contract."
A loud "BANG!" came from under the table. Baker jumps up, knocking his chair backward, after the feeling of hot metal that pierced his gut. Back against the wall, Baker looks down at his stomach which was now bleeding, turning his white shirt into a crimson red. Looking back up at Weaselton, who stands up out of his seat. Weaselton had his Remington revolver in his hand, which had swirling smoke coming out of the barrel. Baker grabbed and pressed down hard on the gunshot wound to his stomach.
"Papa?!" came a voice from upstairs. The rushing patter of feet heard above them. The young meerkat boy runs downstairs, but stops midway once seeing his father against the wall, bleeding. His eyes turn to Weaselton, who, without hesitation, redirects his revolver on the kit and fires.
The shot pierces the center of the boy's chest. Instant death. The young meerkat kit falls back against the white clay wall. With lifeless eyes the young boy's body slides down the staircase, leaving a red smear of blood on the wall.
"NO!" Baker shouts. Baker ran to the double barrel shotgun, stumbling over and grabbing the weapon. Weaselton was already on him firing another shot with his six iron. The bullet punched through Baker's chest. He pulled the trigger on the double barrel which only blew a hole through the roof. Baker dropped the gun and fell across the arch walkway. He crawled as best he could, Baker reached out for the gun. The hard sole of a boot pressed hard against his side, making him squeal with pain. The bottom of the boot gives him a hard push, turning him onto his back.
Weaselton stands on top of his former employer, pushing the heel of his boot hard against Barker's bleeding bullet holes. Weaselton, felt like this was a moment to share words, but he was never one for making conversation. Instead, Weaselton looks down at Baker, aims his revolver, and fires a shot into Baker's chest, causing a burst of blood to spray across the wall and onto Weaselton's coat.
Weaselton's attention goes to the open door as he heard the frantic yells of a female. Turning and standing at the doorway, was Baker's wife. She gives a fearful cry, seeing her husband dead on the floor and Weaselton standing over him.
Weaselton watched her. Waiting, and wanting, to see what she planned on doing. She looks up at Weaselton. Baker's wife covers her mouth with her hand and tears in her eyes. She takes a few steps back in the sheer shock of it all.
As quick as she can, she turned and ran as fast as she could. Wanting to escape the dangerous mammal in black. Weaselton extends his firing arm holding the Remington revolver and takes aim. With one shot, Weaselton fires and hits his running target, square in the back. The female meerkat fell face forward, on to the ground.
Weaselton lowers his gun but does not holster the weapon. He made his way out of the meerkat's house. Approaching the female meerkat, Weaselton can see a red blood stain growing on her back. Weaselton watches with his angel eyes, seeing that the female meerkat was still alive and breathing. As he walked around her, he heard her gasping for air. Weaselton wanted to see her grasp onto her last dying breath. Weaselton must admit, she was a very beautiful looking female meerkat.
"Such a waste," Weaselton said. Weaselton raised his revolver at the female meerkat. Cocked and primied the hammer on his gun, he took aim at her head. Then, Weaselton the Bad, pulled the trigger.
The Good
"Every gun has its own tune" - Blondie, The Good
A thick white mist encased the entire forest in the early morning. The fog lay thick closest to the ground. This would prove useful, and also a bit worrisome, for Judy as she marches as quiet as she can through the woods. The sound of crackling leaves and snapping twigs under her feet as she moves.
The thick fog would help provide her with the extra cover and hard to spot at a distance. Yet, encased in all this fog would make it harder for Judy to hit her target. There was too much on the line for her to not miss.
Judy reached her forest destination. A flatbed rock, sticking out the side of the mountain. The rock bed was big enough for her to lay down and take an aiming position. The foundation also had a clear line of view to the town's hanging tree.
It was the day before yesterday when Judy found this spot to take a position. She would come to this spot and practice taking up aiming posts using only a long stick of wood as a rifle, on the flat solid rock. Judy wanted to familiarise herself with the area and wanted to make sure she could pull off what she wanted to do. For in her hands, Judy held her father's 1860 Henry Rifle.
That morning, Judy got up extra early. Hours when it was still dark outside, and her family won't wake for another few hours. Upon waking up she slipped on her boots. From her pantry closet, Judy grabs a few blankets and two leather straps, laying them all on the bed. As quiet as she could be, Judy sneaks into her parent's room and takes her father's rifle off the wall mount without proper permission. Carrying the rifle back to her room, Judy places it in the center of the blankets. Folding the sheets with the rifle inside. Using the two leather straps to tie the blankets closed, she now had a makeshift rifle case that she could sling over her shoulder.
Before leaving the house, Judy also grabbed her father's coat. The coat's thick fabric would help protect her from any thorns and sharp branches, not to mention cover up the fact that she was still in her nightgown. The jacket's coating would also add an extra layer of cushion for her while lying on the rock bed. Wearing her father's coat, Judy couldn't believe the jacket is a little too big for her. Judy was no longer some little kit anymore. She was a grown Bunny, the oldest of her siblings. Yet, here, wearing her father's coat, Judy still felt like a little kit bunny playing dress up. The last item of clothing Judy grabs is her ivory colored Brick hat. The very same hat the store-keep gave her, on her first visit to Zootopia. After 15 years she finally has grown into the hat, fitting her as close to perfect as the hat could. Folding her long gray rabbit ears back and placing the hat on her head. She tightens the leather strap under her chin.
The last item Judy took with her, before leaving the Hopp Ranch was a single bullet. Most would see it impractical, taking only one round to fire. But, Judy knew if she had to fire more than one shot, then all would be lost. Firing another shot could give away her position. Shooting more than one bullet would mean failure, and all would be for nothing.
With the rifle in hand, Judy could not help but feel a knot of guilt twisting in her stomach. As far as she knows, no one knew she was out in the woods this early. Taking a deep breath, Judy takes her position on the flatbed of rock. Shifting her position till she felt comfortable and let the end of the barrel rest on a large broken tree branch, which would also help her prop the barrel up for a better aim. Judy digs in her father's coat, searching for the one bullet she has. Feeling the round head lead and brass shell casing bullet with the tips of her fingers. Pulling the bullet out of her pocket and loading it into the 1860 Henry. Judy flips up the rifle's Iron Sights to help calculate the distance from her target. Her aim has gotten better since shooting glass bottles with her father. With practice, she's had luck shooting over a hundred yards with the rifle. Her target today was more to the liking of a hundred and fifty yards, give or take.
She ignored the knot feeling in her stomach. I can do this, she thought. Judy props up the blue tapered barrel of the rifle on the log. Burying the walnut polished butt of the gun into her shoulder. Adjusting the Iron Sights on the Henry Rifle and taking aim. Looking down at her target, Judy can see the local law enforcement of Bunny Burrow, preparing another execution on the hanging tree. Watching as one raccoon tossed a noose tied rope over a branch.
The criminal sentenced to be hanged, a young male bunny, like herself, caught stealing food for his family. Though Judy can agree with the law that the rabbit has committed a criminal act. But sentenced to hang, till death? The dumb rabbit only hoped he could get a little more food for his family. How can anyone blame him? Any other mammal with their backs against the wall would do the same if put in such a position.
Judy watched down at the law enforcement. Coming into view, she could see a pig lead a horse towards the tree. Riding atop of the horse, hands tied behind his back, was the convicted rabbit.
Once under Bunny Burrow's Hanging tree, the raccoon slips the hangman's noose around the rabbit's neck. With a firm tug on the rope, making it tight around the rabbit's neck. Watching, Judy cocks the rifle's lever and takes aim a little above the rabbit, and at the rope around the young rabbit's neck.
She has to time her shot just right. Which would be before one of the law officers slaps the horse's rear, making the horse gallop away and leaving the young bunny hanging, that would be her only chance to fire and help the young rabbit escape. When Judy shoots the rope, and the horse gallops off, the young rabbit will stay on and be given a second chance. From there, whatever decision the rabbit makes would be none of her concern. Judy takes in a deep breath and lets half of it out, exactly the way her father taught her.
The pig that led the horse to the hanging tree approaches the rear of the horse with a leather riding crop. Judy, with gentle care, places her finger on the trigger. The pig raises the crop whip over his head. Judy, the Good, sees her chance and squeezes the rifle's trigger.
The gun fires, giving a hard kick and bellowing a blast of fire out of the barrel. The pig's crop whip slaps down hard on the horse's rear. By that time, the officers were just now hearing the gunshot from Judy, turning their attention in her general area. If they bothered looking up, they might have noticed that a segment of the rope was now severed. Or, instead, seeing the rope segment bursting into tiny little fibers.
The horse made a loud whine feeling the leather crop hard on its behind. As predicted, the horse gallops off. The only difference being the rabbit still stayed put on the horses back. It took the BunnyBurrow law enforcement a minute to realize what had happened. They draw their pistols, not sure if they should open fire, or not.
For Judy, she did what she hoped to do. She has no intention of sticking around to see what happens. Getting up from her spot, rifle in hand, heading her way back. She makes her way through the woods with haste.
Bending under a few thick branches, Judy walks into an open area of the woods. Tied to a tree branch, was a beautiful cream colored mare. "Luna," Judy called out, not wanting to be too loud. Afraid any louder would draw unwanted attention.
Luna, a cream-colored Arabian horse with a white diamond shape on her forehead. Luna turns her head to Judy's call and gives a horse like whine, and shakes her head. Judy approaches Luna and runs her rabbit hand across Luna's back. Judy has always taken care of Luna. Ever since she was born by her family's old mare.
"Let's go home, girl," Judy says. Judy slips the Henry rifle into the makeshift rifle case she made with the blankets and slings it over her back. Untying Luna from the tree branch, Judy hops on top of Luna's back. Judy didn't have the time to properly saddle Luna this morning. All Judy could do was grab Luna's reins and ride her bareback. Holding tight to the reins, Judy gives Luna a gentle kick with her boot, in the direction of home. Luna, rearing her head, gallops towards the Hopps family ranch. Judy only hopes that they make it there before anyone wakes, specifically her father.
Judy didn't know how long it took her and Luna to get back to the ranch. When arriving, there didn't seem to be any activity inside the house. Jumping down off Luna, Judy grabs her makeshift rifle case and the reins off Luna.
When it came to relationships, Judy cared very little of the male bunnies in her hometown. The tightest relationship she has, other than with her family, was with Luna at her side. Judy didn't need to walk Luna to her pin. Luna knew what Judy expected her to do.
Judy makes her way inside the house, as quiet as she can, hoping not to wake anyone. Inside, Judy takes her father's coat off and hangs it on the hook by the door. Leaving Judy to stand there in her nightgown. Tiptoeing down the hall, she pulls the Henry rifle out of the bundle of blankets and tossing into her room. She continues down to her parent's bedchamber. Opening the door as slow as she can. Judy winced at the squeak sound the door made.
Poking her head in the room, there in bed slept her mother and father. Judy was glad to hear the loud snores from her father. Makes things easier knowing that he's in a deep sleep. Sneaking in, Judy tiptoes to the homemade gun rack on the wall and places the 1860 Henry Rifle back onto the display.
A loud shuffle comes from the bed. Judy stops cold. Fearing that she's caught in the act. Her mouth felt dry. Any moment she would hear the bellowing voice of her father in anger. Only, nothing happened. Turning her head to the bed and seeing her father still asleep. Judy felt a wave of relief wash over her.
Mounting the gun on the wall, Judy makes her exit. She tiptoes back to her room and closes the door. Kicking off her boots, she looks into a mirror to her right, reminding her that she still wore her ivory Brick hat atop her head. Releasing a sigh of relief, Judy walks to her bed, taking off her hat. Before placing the hat on her bedpost, she looks at an old blotchy stain on the hat. A stain from the blood of a particular Fox, from a long time ago.
Placing her hat on the bedpost, Judy slides under the covers of her bed. Turning on her side and plopping a pillow under her head. Laying there, she can't help but smile. Judy almost couldn't believe what she had pulled off. Though, the mammals of this town will see it as a heinous criminal act, making her a criminal. The thought made her lose her smile. Judy pushed the notion out of her mind. Once everyone wakes up, Judy would turn back into the daughter of a farmer, and nothing more.
The day came to an end. The sun's rays were gone, and the only source of light came from the illuminating moon and the stars across the night sky. Nick Wilde and his mustang Argo, took refuge under a dogwood tree. He built himself a small fire and a pale to fill with water for Argo, pouring half his canteen into.
Although Nick would much rather be back in his secret bunker hidden in Zootopia, he always found a way to make due. In his lap, Nick looks through his sketchbook, like the one his father used to draw up his sketches for holsters, saddles, gun cases, and leather embroidering. Nick has spent the last few nights trying to draw up a model sketch for a rifle case. A rifle case made with thick boiled leather, yet flexible for any type of rifle and have a lite weight to carry anywhere. The only trouble was figuring out the dimensions to use, not knowing what mammal would cater to the case. Nick uses his own dimensions or the aspects for other mammals close to his size.
Nick pulls out his whiskey-filled flask from his trench coat. Taking a swig from the flask, he shakes his head both at the alcohol's burning sensation sliding down his throat and at his sketching. Raising the tin flask to take another shot of whiskey when he's stopped by Argo giving him a firm nudge on his shoulder. Nick knew what Argo wanted or was asking for, to which Nick complied. Nick pours half of his whiskey-filled flask into Argo's pale. Argo buried his head into the pale, gulping every last drop of the sweet intoxicating elixir. Looking back at his drawings, Nick shakes his head and tears the sketch from his book. It needs to be better, thinking Nick.
Taking the torn paper, Nick tosses it into the fire. Every failed sketch drawing he tears up or sets on fire, makes him wish all the more that his father was alive. His pictures were not even close to how great his father's skets were.
Nick puts his sketchbook away and leans back on the dogwood tree. He lets the fire die out and bundles up under a blanket. Using Argo's saddle as a pillow, Nick pulls his Gamblers hat over his eyes and tries to get some rest, all the while keeping a loose grip on his 1860 Army Revolver.
In Zootopia, Weaselton sits in one of the luxurious Inns, admiring the line up of whores, rolling a silver dollar over his knuckles. Trying to decide which one, or two, he'll take for the night. As these were high-class harlots, a night with them would cost a pretty penny which Weaselton could only laugh about. The good thing about being an enlisted Zoo Ranger is that he had no intention of paying for a great piece of ass. Only if they wanted him to use his powers as an upholder of the law on them.
Weaselton smiles. Soon, this whole city will know the power and destruction that happens when he doesn't get his way. Starting tonight with the line up of these harlots.
Miles away from Zootopia, at the Hopps Ranch. A hard day's work on the ranch had come to an end. The produce they harvested would be leaving for Zootopia in the morning. To Judy's disappointment, she would not be traveling with her father this time. Instead, as the oldest Hopps sibling, she would be overseeing the farm. A boring, yet essential, task that falls on her shoulders. Looking up at the stars in the sky, Judy couldn't help having the feeling of hope. Hope that something special will come to her one day, and soon. Hope to leave this mundane life, and pursue something greater in this world; whether it be in Zootopia, or someplace beyond Zootopia, it will be something magnificent.