Chapter Fifty-One
Setting the Fuse

Awoken by the sound of raindrops clanging atop of his shack's iron roof, Shuck Black opened his eye slowly and found himself slumped, as though he had been sleeping, in his faded, green armchair. The dog blinked up at his ceiling, listening to the tiny sounds of the clanging above. It wasn't raining, but when the wind would pick up like it had now, a thin, damp mist would draw from the lake, surrounding Zootopia, and blow against the harbor. Half a mile into the city, it was unnoticeable, and the mist itself was never thick enough to cause actual raindrops, but it did coat the roof of the abandoned boatbuilders' yard with dew, and this dew would collect into droplets of rain. Those droplets would run off the roof and into the leaky drain that crashed onto Black's shack, making it tap, tap, tap as it did.

Adjusting himself a little, a buzz of raw, hot pain sizzled through Shuck's body, and the aging dog winced as he brought a paw back to rub at the pain in his head. Then he remembered what had happened and where he was — the blow to the head, the goat, the car — and his face slowly rose to look into the room, examining the unnerved billy goat, who was watching him uncomfortably from the other side of the small room. Their eyes aligned and took unrelenting hold. "Would it be pertinent to mention I am armed?" Victor asked with overflowing edginess.

The shaggy, black mammal rested into his chair and studied the billy goat for a long, calm moment. "I know you're armed," Shuck yawned eventually. "No prey mammal of your age'd fool enough to try an' hold an old mut like me hostage without a gun." Shuck twisted his head around in a wide arch with the entrance of the eerie silence. "That were a damn good clout with that bit o' lead pipe. Was that you who dealt me the shot?"

"I, aaah—"

"'Course not," Shuck cut in, "just look at ye. You're not the type to wield a lead pipe."

"I aah... I'm not entirely sure what I should say."

"Huh," Shuck grunted, picking his ear clean in distraction, "we ain't on a bleedin' date, you know."

"I know, I know. It's just, all this... it feels so—"

"Unnatural. You're not used to this. I could see that a mile off." Nyilas found just a nod to be the supply of his reactions. "Well, bor, you're in this about as deep as you're gonna get. So get used to it." Shuck watched with interest as the goat nodded sheepishly and then stared down at his hoofs, his face full of distant regrets. Shuck cleared the air throatily and softly cajoled, "You don't want to be here, do you? Not really."

For the first time, Nyilas looked at Shuck unflinchingly. "No, sir, I do not."

"Why you here, this ain't your scene?"

"If I were to tell you, you would not believe it."

"You got a family?"

"I do. I think."

Shuck nodded with the closing of his single eye. "It takes a faithful mammle to be willin' to lay down his life for his family. It takes an even more faithful mammle to be willin' to take the life of somebody else. What's your name, son?"

"Son? I am old enough to be your father."

"Hey, I'm older than I look, you know," the dog chuckled with a grin. "I know I may have the angelic face of a church soprano singer, but I really am a gnarled ole mongrel underneath."

Nyilas snorted accidently. "My name is Nyilas, Victor Nyilas. And you?"

"Shuck. Folk call me Black Shuck."

"I ahhh..." the billy goat chuckled pathetically... "I suppose you are aware, Mister Shuck, you could probably flee straight out of here? That I would not have the guts to fire on you?"

"Interestin' you should say that," Black noted slowly. "I have oft found, Mister Nyilas, that it's the polite, quiet types who are the more capable of pullin' the trigger on someone. It's usually the bold as brass types, who'd mock-up the act of havin' a pair, but wouldn't fire a weapon to save their own life. Your kind's more dangerous: the underestimated type."

The goat thought for a moment, then said, "And what about you? Have you ever fired a gun on another person?"

"Aye, once or twice. Been in a lot of bar brawls, knife fights... I've never wanted to kill the bugger, but I didn't have no choice most of the time."

Nyilas huffed sadly. "I know what you mean."

Shuck sighed with a scratch on his chin, "I've left quite a string of widows and orphans behind me. I've often thought, if there was any justice in the world, it'd be the lovin' father and husband who'd live, rather than lonely ole me. No-one'll care when I die."

Both mammals stared at nothing, while the only disturbance was that of the metallic tap of water upon the rooftop and the soft crackles of burning coal in the fire. The harbormaster sat back, picking up a bottle of ale, which was nearly empty, from the floor and taking it down in one swing that resulted in a stare at the castiron roof. "You really expect to get out of this alive?" Shuck asked in a voice devoid of compassion.

Victor's brows concentrated for a while, until he silently said, "No."

"You want some kind of vengeance on these bastards who kidnapped your family and blackmailed you into doin' their work?"

"If my family are dead, I would have the heavens open and let fire and death rain down upon them."

"You know what they're planing?"

"To some extent."

"You know who's in charge?"

Nyilas hesitated through the terror of his eyes, but his head huddled closer to his shoulders and he sent a whispered, "Yes…"

Shuck inched closer and glared intently at the goat, his single eye glinting red in the firelight. "Then you tell me everything you know. If the worst comes, I'll be sure they're left retching in the mud like worms."

...

Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps forged on through the short, narrow corridor, leading off from the receptionist's area and towards a large, wooden door at the end. The walls were all gray, there was no natural light and the door at the end of the hall was tall and painted red. The small officers stopped at the face of the door and shared an uncomfortable, mutual glance. They were in, sure... but they both knew they couldn't call themselves 'safe' until they were out again.

Nick reached out a paw and pushed his palm against the heavy wooden door; consequently, the silence broke out into the racket of industrial engineering. The body of building was wider and flatter than Ladders and Ladders had been. It had a rectangular floorspace roughly twice the size, but the building was only three-stories high, unlike Ladders which had been seven. And rather than having three floors, the three-story building was simply one-tall hall, filled with sealed crates, planks of metal and a number of various hardfacing and welding machines.

Judy got an eyeful in the pace of their entrance. "They're certainly keeping themselves busy."

"Yeah," Nick said, watching as a large piece of sheet metal was being lowered down towards a welding station on a system of pulleys. "I was hoping they'd be a little less effort into looking like a legitimate business. If it was just a warehouse full of crates, it'd be pretty easy to prove. But with all this 'real' equipment here, it's gonna make things a little harder."

"Did it ever cross your mind that the reason they look like a legit business is because they are one?"

"What do you mean?"

"The reason we're here looking for hard evidence is because we don't actually have any hard evidence that anything illegal is going on here!"

"Well, if that's the case, it's no fault of ours."

"It's not the risk of getting blamed that I'm worried about," she sighed. "It's the families and the lives being torn apart by this gang's continued resistance."

"Well then, Carrots, let's get to it." Hopps and Wilde stepped into the main work area. There were around twelve mammals in high-vis jackets in, a few of whom stopped working and turned to the disguised officers. There was a great deal of mistrust in their eyes — perhaps more than should've been expected from an honest laborer. Only about a third of the room was unoccupied — the rest blocked off by many stacks of wooden crates and manufacturing equipment, with a few parts sectioned off by wall dividers behind. There was no actual head office as such, but there was a mobile office trailer in the corner of the room which seemed to fill that role.

From a trailer marked 'office', a beaver emerged with a white, hard hat and approached the two, hurriedly, a look of restlessness on the brown creature's expression. The undercover officers slowed to a stop, the beaver still some way off, and Nick whispered harshly into Judy's ear, "Remember the plan?"

"Of course?"

"Stick to it. And if anything goes wrong, get the hell out of here."

"But, Nick—"

"Don't. If things go bad, get yourself out! Don't worry about me." Judy made to try and argue, but was cut off by the beaver, as he came to a stop directly before the undercover officers, with an unconfident glare that hulked over his crossed arms.

"I don't know what you two are doing here, but I want you out, now! This place ain't open to the public."

"And you are, sir?" Nick asked unphased.

"The foremammle. And what I say goes. And when I say, 'you go', so get out!"

"See these badges," Nick challenged, holding the 'visitor' badger the receptionist had given him. "We're here for a very important purpose. I need to inspect your machinery, pronto."

"You can't just come in here and demand to look at our machinery. What right do you have?"

"Every right. This is no longer a safe working environment!" Nick stated with a raise of pitch.

"Well I say it is safe," the foremammle shouted. "We have inspections every month, and I have the paperwork to prove it!"

"Well, paperwork is one thing, Mister, but when an employee loses an arm to a rogue saw blade, then what good is your paperwork!"

"Now, you listen to me," the beaver sneered, pointing at the fox, while a crowd of workers gathered around them, "we operate here under completely legal procedures. My workers are all highly trained professionals, and I will not have the likes of you say otherwise!"

"But don't you get it," Nick shot, his voice echoing all throughout the hall and making even the workers, who had been welding, to stop and come over to look, "we must check—"

"No ifs, no buts," the beaver rebuked, every worker in there now in a semicircle behind him. "You have no right to be here, and you have no authority to tell us what to do. Now kindly leave before we lock you in a crate and throw you out to sea!"

Nick glanced around at the room. As far as he could see, the eyes of every worker in there were now sourly on him. "But just look at this," Nick shot without relent, marching past the irate beaver and all his colleagues, all of whom turned to watch as he climbed to a large tank container in the center of the room, "this, ughm... this 'piece of equipment' is clearly not up to standards."

While the fox had sidestepped to the center of the room, Judy had remained exactly where she was... and was now idling, completely forgotten about, behind the line of the workers, who were each focused only on Nick and his argument with the foremammle. Unobserved, the rabbit focused to the trailer marked 'office', in the near corner of the room, and took a wobbly step at its direction. No one seemed to notice. She took another step, and another...

"Look at this?" the foremammle shrilled, "You don't even know what it's called! It's an electrolysis tank, alright? We use it to coat metal objects."

"And that is exactly why I'm worried," Nick said, rolling with the flow of words, "you see, after the recent electrical storm—"

"Electric storm?!"

"The one over Bullgaria yesterday. There's a chance the magnetic flux, caused by the storm, could have loosened some of the bolts of your equipment. I need to check each and every one." Nick and the foremammle continued arguing animatedly, every worker further enraptured with the display, while Judy came up square with the trailer in the corner.

Glancing over her shoulder, the rabbit reached out to the doorhandles and stepped inside with the agility of a cat. The office was furnished with a desk, lamp, rack of coats and a filing cabinet. The cabinet needed a key to open which Judy couldn't see. She could have forced the lock but that would obviously raise suspicion — they needed the workers to think they were just a couple of nutters. If the workers suspected they were investigating them at all, that risked them torching the place and destroying all evidence. Hopps closed to the desk and briskly searched through the drawers — aware Nick could only keep things up so long — but couldn't find anything beyond a few documents, which didn't look important, and a small key that came into paw and claw.

Moving back to the cabinet, she tried unlocking it with the newfound key. The key slid in, but only half way, and then it jammed and wouldn't budge. Groaning with a whimper, Judy pulled the key out and looked about at the small room in sizzling irritation. She could hear Nick still heatedly bickering with the foremammle. It sounded like the fox was on the back foot and the beaver was growing impatient. So was Judy. She was running out of time.

Deciding there was nothing incriminating enough in the office, Judy grabbed hold of the key and slipped out. The workers were all rallied around the strong cacophony, while the multiple wooden crates and pieces of industrial machinery, about the place, made traversing the location, unseen, relatively easy. Mapping out a route in her head, the rabbit crouched down beside a waist-high crate, close by to her, and started shuffling her way across the grounds. She came about a third of the way across the room, when she reached the point, where the semicircle of mammals had formed about, that brought her closer to the danger of being noticed.

Going extra slow, the rabbit held her breaths in and moved on silent steps. She was at no risk of being directly seen, but the figure of a bloodhound leaned against one of the boxes that she had to crawl past, which gave her the fuming cause for concern. Judy watched, her nerves shaking, as she grew nearer and nearer to the worker, wincing as his nose started to twitch. Making a snap decision, she sprang away from the crates, landed flat on her side and rolled swiftly beneath a large piece of machinery.

The dog's ear twitching, he spun and regarded the empty space behind him. His nose wrinkled further, as he glanced about at the disinteresting space behind the crate. But his confusion found no-one. If someone else had been looking at the crates, they'd have seen the rabbit appear over them for the brief moment when she was airborne. But if she hadn't moved, the dog would've leaned over the crate and seen her anyway, so she judged her decision well made. The bloodhound sniffed a few more times in the curiosity of his furrowing brow, but the intensifying bickering nearby was far more interesting; hence, he returned his attention back to that.

Judy crawled out from her hiding place beneath the piece of machinery. Low to the ground as she could be, she got back up to the crates and lifted herself onto paws and knees. She crept on, until she was around halfway across the room, where she was met with the end of the crate line. Nowhere to go from here, she dove out from behind cover and landed behind the large piece of sheet metal that had been lowering prior their entry with Nick. She lay on the floor, with bitter pants for a moment, and then decided that no-one had seen her, thus, she fused more effort into herself.

On the other side of a large shipping container, which ran across the center of the room, the rabbit could now stand up and walk freely without the risk of being seen — so long as she was quiet, that is, and so long as she didn't take too long. Her eyes looked around as she tried to find out which box first to try to pry. This part of the working hall had a great many small crates in it, but due to the fact that the workers, currently not in the vicinity, appeared to actually be doing welding and metalwork here as well, that meant that only a few of these would actually contain illegal substance — the rest harboring the actual, real metal components and tools that were being used to make the company's cover as a legitimate business, and appear such to anyone who should come looking.

There were far too many crates here to search them all, and opening one up at random left far too much to chance, given the time she had left. She needed a marker, some kind of signal or sign that'd indicate that she was looking in the right place, something that'd set an area off from everything… Then she spun around to the large shipping container she was stood beside. It was like the ones, which would have been unloaded from the ship, Shuck had earlier described; subsequently, queasiness rolled around the taste of her tongue. She got to the container's doors that were padlocked, but they came unlocked rather easily with the key she had swiped from the beaver's office, and she slid the bolt open slowly with only a soft clunk; before, she pulled the door open and tip-toed inside.

There was no lighting, and she couldn't risk just leaving the door so invitingly; thus, she pulled it nearly closed and took out her phone, scrolled through a short list of functions on the backlit screen and flicked on the light. The small officer focused on the stacks of wooden crates which were identical to the ones outside. She snapped a photo and then lifted the lid of one of the dozens of boxes stacked upon one another. She expected to see more parts and other disinteresting components of the company, but what she got was a racing flash of excitement that got her to almost drop her phone to the steel floor.

Bags upon bags of cocaine. Her furry finger tapped the touchscreen and a photo was snapped. She lowered the lid and opened up another box that contained more of the same, unsurprisingly. She took a second photo, and then, she lifted up a third box... and her expression froze to the last muscle.

"Sweet cheese and crackers," she breathed in shock and wide eyes, staring at the content of the box. Her paw shaking and breaths trembling, she saved a picture of the awful contents and rushed back out, closing and locking the door behind her with the quick pocketing of the key. She emerged from the container and raised an ear intently — she had to tell him. Nick had started to monologue. That was detectable through her knowledge of how he lied, and she knew the system he followed. When he was going on his rant, it was because engaging, with whomever it was, no longer worked, and all he could do now was talk and talk, until he was exhausted and could talk no more. She didn't have long.

Crouching down onto all fours, the rabbit made her way back to the other side of the work area by the same route she had taken before, while listening to the words of her partner in law. "And so, I put it to you, that at the end of the day, all things considered upon mature reflection, looking at it by and large. What with one thing and another as a general yearly average: calendar, of course, not financial. Then I would say that the overall systematic functionality of the entirety of the company would be, not to put too finer points on it, more or less sufficiently inclined towards being of that opinion, which one so often follows in these industrial circles: that the greater degree of efficiency obtained by the countable and uncountable force and magnitude of the individual—"

Judy passed behind the bloodhound, who was still leaning against the crates, a second time, this time just hurrying past him, while his nose gave renewed efforts. "— would be as such to require no more than the prominent external and ministerial stimulation, as put down in the foundations and workings of the general company as a whole. As to thereby free the greater works of the overlings: not to state that the so-called 'underlings' would be of sufficiently less character. That is to say, they are not unworthy of gratuitousness merit just because they are of inferior rank. In such a manner to allow said overlings the overseeing authority: not to mention the time and energy, and notwithstanding the laws and ordinances regarding overworking and the results of administratorial stress in these circumstances."

"To observe and to locomote, with all due care and foresight to whatever degree is therefore available to them. To be in a position whereby they might refrain another worker of lesser status from impeding or, indeed, overthrowing the collective, and not unduly important: cost and monetary effectiveness and efficiency of the company as it therefore stands."

The room stared at the fox without a single wobble of word. After the storm of monologue had passed, Nick evidently panting under his breath and tired frame, the beaver spoke up, "What...?"

The fox sighed airily and crossed his arms as he clarified, "Taking the collective and non-collaborative ingoings and outgoings of any company opening under Zootopian law, as set down in category five, subsection three, clause two, one, four of the Engineering Precision act eighteen seventy-nine. It is stated that any and all company who holds—"

"Woh, woh, woh! Fox!" the badger shouted, desperately trying to cut Nick off, "stop with the administrative jargon talk and state it plainly. What are you trying to say?"

"Well... you see..." tilting to the side a little, Nick looked at the doorframe, where he noticed Judy, who was frantically trying to get his attention without anyone's suspicion or knowledge of her existence. He quickly got the gist from her mask of worry. "What I'm saying is," he huffed towards the finish line, "you employ other people to do the work, so you have the time to supervise them. Simple."

The fox jumped off and turned to leave, while the workers gawked at him in befuddlement, as he rejoined the rabbit, whom they assumed had just been waiting there the whole time. "Wait," the foremammle exclaimed, "that's it?"

"Pretty much."

"What about the equipment? Don't you want to examine it now?"

"Nah, you've convinced me. Come on, Cottontail, we're out of here."

"But... but, wait! That was what you came in for? To tell me I hire people to work for me?!"

"It's a wonder what you can learn," Nick said smoothly, pulling open the door and making his way out. "Ciao!"

The large door swung shut on the room of workers, the foremammle taking-off his hard hat and wiping his brow with a glazed look of crooked confusion on his face. "What the world in all of god's names, the heck do you think that was all about?" he muttered to himself.

...

"Alright, Nick, listen," Hopps gushed breathlessly, while skipping alongside the fox as they made back up the corridor. "Cause this just got real."

"It's been real a long time," Nick snorted with her lack of reaction, "but go on."

"I mean, really real. And very dangerous for all of us."

Nick nodded with professionalism entering his blood. "What did you find?"

"I went into that large container; I think it was one of those from the ship. I managed to get inside and there was crates of cocaine everywhere."

"You get pictures?"

"More than enough."

"Okay, but that wouldn't be enough to scare you like this. What else did you find?"

Opening her phone, the rabbit flicked to an image. "This."

The fox took the phone, stared down at it for a long while and then whistled in disbelief, "SMGs?"

"A crate-full."

"Look pretty state of the art, too. Must've cost a pretty penny to have these made."

"What does it mean, Nick," she asked, desperately.

Growling, the fox marched on. "You know as well as I."

"But they seemed so genuine. When you were talking to him about equipment and all, they knew what they were talking about and what they were doing."

"And when we went in, before we interrupted their work, they actually were doing what they're legally supposed to be doing," Nick clarified in approval to her thinking.

"But that doesn't make any sense, Nick! If they're members of a criminal organization—"

"Carrots, we still don't exactly know just how big this is. But from what I can see, they are super professional. And if they've burnt down a building and been armed with a crate of submachine guns, it isn't much of a push to believe these people have actually been trained in mechanics so that they can pass themselves off as a legitimate business to the outside world."

Judy kept to herself, while they approached to the end of the corridor. Nick paused by the door, back to the main reception area, when she finally spoke, "So what do we do?"

"Tread carefully, and keep an ear to the ground."

"That's it?"

"It's all we can do. It kept me alive, and getting us out of this alive is the most important thing for me right now, drugs and police raids aside."

Hopps remained at a distance and reminisced for several lengthy breaths, amidst Wilde pushing the door open, stepping by her and into the receptionist's area. Her nerves were whinging at the uncertainties that were stalking her future, but she shook her head and took the rightful step at the right direction.

Author's notes:

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