Chapter Sixty-Six
In–terror–gation

The room was dull, gray and cold. A simple box with a stark desk and a basic, black lamp suspended over it from the concrete ceiling. The light which shone from it was harsh and reflected brightly from the one-way-mirror that one of the four walls consisted of. Sat before the stark table, the russet fox gazed levelly at the small fox, who fidgeted uncomfortably in his own hard, metal chair.

"Get off your arse, Wilde," Finnick grunted, pulling himself to his feet, "let's get outta here." Nick didn't move a response, didn't bat an eyelid, didn't beat an ear. He had to keep calm... he had to maintain his 'officer' standing and thus maintain his control. Finnick turned with a squint to the russet police officer, his obvious confusion growing. "Well get on with it, Nickey," he growled in motes of desperation, standing on his chair, "before d' Fuzz come."

"Sit down."

"Don't you try any of that on me, Nick," he shot, panic taking him, aware of what was going on, "don't you dare try none of that 'righteous cop' crap. I'm in this jus' as much as you are, and if you want me t—"

The table lurched as Nick's fist beat down upon it, the red fox glaring down at his short companion. "I said... sit down." He didn't know whether it was the mood of the interrogation-room itself, the brass badge on his chest or simply the dangerous gleam in his expressive, emerald eyes, but for once, Finnick was taking notice of him... real notice. Finnick blinked, his expression frozen, and lowered himself back into his chair. Nick watched him steadily for a few moments more, and then lowered himself down likewise.

Nick looked down at his paws and searched for his strength. "My name... is Nicholas Wilde, and I... am an Officer of the Law. Your name, is Finnegan Viola Depesdo, and you are formally charged with the following offenses: mass solicitation of a criminal organization, possession of a class A substance—"

"— Nick, what're you—"

"— possession with intent to distribute—"

"— Nickey, I—"

"— conspiracy to commit offense. And of Drug Trafficking and Distribution, under the Drug Abuse Prevention and Control Act of 1970, for the possession, supplying, dealing and production of class A substance on an industrial scale."

"Wilde," Finnick's voice was steady and calm, but the twitching of his ears and the clenching of his fists told Nick all he needed to know about how he was really feeling inside, "you can't do this to me. If I go to jail, you're coming with me— I'll tell Bogo everything I know about your past! So unless you want to be sent to Blackheath with me, you have no choice but to get me out."

Nick shook his head, his lip twisted in a grimace. "You will not sit there and dictate to me. You think you have an advantage over me? Sure, I admit it, you have. With all the time we spent working together after Scarlett died, with all the stuff you know about my past— yeah, you could have me chucked off the force. I doubt you have any real proof, but you certainly could point them in the right direction to finding it all out for themselves. But the problem is, I am guilty... being thrown in jail is nothing less than I deserve."

Nick inched forwards in his chair, his voice growing in strength, "You saw me and Hopps smooching when we arrested you the other day. I know you did. You know how much Scar meant to me and how very-very rare it is for a fox to take another mate after something like that. So you know damn well just how much I care about Judy. And why shouldn't I? She's a wonderful person. She taught me a fox really could be honest; really could make the world a better place. And I am not going to disappoint her. She deserves better that that, even if it means losing her."

Nick sat back into the cold metal of his seat, his paws crossing over his chest as he breathed. "I am a worthless crud without her. That's not me being blinkered, that's the truth. She means more to me than my life, and I am not gonna fuck her over. Not gonna drag the trust she put in me through the dirt… without something I can give to make up for it."

Finnick stared at his russet ex-companion. He had seen them kissing when they arrested him before, but the implications about Scarlet, his biology, the trust he must feel for her... "A femammle," he muttered, grimly. "It's always a femammle who comes between old friends." Nick's lip twisted in a snarl, while Fin bit down on his.

"You know," the small fox added, probing his options, "that's very honest and noble of you and all, but if I opened up about your past an' all... well, I doubt Hopps'll be happy to hear your're a mass-murdering Firm wo—"

Nick's fist hit the table once again. There was no force behind it this time, but his fist shook with something like nerves and something like fury, as did his voice when he spoke, "I have never... killed... anyone." Wilde's glare rose, his burning emeralds meeting Finnick's.

His eyes flicking across Nick's expression, the tan fox sat back, his head tilting to one side. "Either this is a very well-constructed bluff—"

"Yeah," Nick shot, "that's right. I got Hopps to agree to kiss me the other day on the off-chance you might wind up in a cell blackmailing me to let you out, so I could trick you into believing I've found someone I care for a heck of a lot more than staying out of prison." Nick snorted, pushing himself to his feet. "Get real, Fin. You want to spill my story? I can get Bogo over here right now."

"You just do that!" Fin shouted, throwing his whole weight into the cry and climbing to stand on the table. "You just go get that stinking chief of police and you tell him exactly what you used to be." The echoes of the yells stifled and what was left was the intense stares between the two foxes.

"So," Nick said, his voice slow... "you're calling my bluff?" Grimacing, Fin nodded, his poker face firmly in place. "Sure. Fine. Okay, whatever." Shrugging, he pulled his radio from his belt. "Chief Bogo? Erh, this is Officer Wilde. Would you please come down to the interror—"

"Nick, Stop! I... eyhhye!"

Cocking his head towards the frantically stuttering fox, a lazy smirk broke on Nick's muzzle. "Relaax, Fin. I flicked on the 'off' button right before I spoke." Finnick's expression slackened. Dropping his 'official police officer manner', Nick slid easily into the empty chair — aware he had already won, even if Fin still continued with his frail resistance. It was like that moment in chess, where you've taken the enemy's queen and their defenses are all ready to crumble. They can resist for a while yet, yes... but you know you've already won. It was only a matter of time before Fin broke.

Enjoying his little victory — even while Finnick was still trying to form a retort — Nick allowed his posture to become slack and lazy, raising his leg and resting his foot on the tabletop, while giving an examination upon his black claws.

"So, ughm— what..." The red fox glanced up from his claws, watching the smaller fox stood on the table before him. "What exactly do you want? From me, I mean." Nick tried to hide his grin, but made sure not to try too hard, and stared at his claws as he thought. A moment later, he pulled himself upright in his seat, his foot dropping back onto the floor.

"Information," he said, his voice still professional but not as cold as it had been before. "If you can tell me enough about what's going on with this drug gang, I can justify breaking you out to myself, and to Hopps. For instance: who put you up to this? Where do your orders from?"

Finnick grimaced, staring down at the stark tabletop. "Guy called Jacques set me up to this. He ain't head honcho. Ain't hardly anyone who knows that guy's name, but that's kinda the point. I played myself big like I always do, but I'm really not in a high-authority position. I know hardly nothin' about the bigger picture."

"The bigger picture?"

"Come on, Wilde, you've got as much a sense of the city as I have. You can smell something's up. We both can."

"We know that this was only one of a number of Hives hidden about the city, if that's what you mean."

"Narh, Nick. It's bigger than that. I dunno how big, but it's big alright."

"So what is the main plan? What is the end goal here?"

"Money, I guess... power too. Not dat I have to tell you that, you know better than me the shortcomings of mammal nature. But as to what the big boss is after in all this... I really can't say."

"Can't say or don't want to?"

Fin grunted. "Look, Nickey, I know I played myself big like I always do. But I really was bottom of the chain back there. I was in charge of a couple'a guys, sure, but that don't mean jack to these guys."

Nick thought for a moment, leaning forwards smoothly on the table. "If you knew you were 'bottom of the chain', then you must have had some idea of the structure of it. How many links does the chain have? What's it pulling?"

"I don't know."

"Well who are the kingpins? The main players?"

"I don't know!"

"But what're they planning? If you're saying it's bigger than we think, surely you must—"

"I don't know, Nick! Okay? I don't know nothin' about how this all works, I wus just brought in by some guy called Jacques to get a hold of some old company he could take over and run it for him! What more's there to know?"

Nick's brow furrowed. "A lot. For a start, what do you mean he asked you to get a company to take over?"

"Oh, that. That was an ole trick of ours. You came with it, I think, actually. I think it's in that old Husselers Gernal of yours. I looked about at some of the public, financial statements over in Registry House and found some company that was going down the slide—"

"Erkin?"

"Exactly. So later, I dressed myself up smart in a white coat, threw myself some fancy-looking papers together and a fake warrant, and went over to Erkin and asked to look at their equipment and the superstructure of the building. They didn't know I was a fake, so they let me in. About twenty minutes later, I goes up to the manager bloke and says 'you have a serious problem with your metal support beams' blah-de-blah, and fractures in this and warping in that. And that it wus gonna take x-amount of money to get it fixed or I'd have to register the building as 'condemned'.

"Sadly for them, the x-amount of money it was gonna take just happened to be twice that they'd earned in the past six months. I'd checked their income just to make sure they couldn't afford it. 'Oh what a shame', I say, 'fortunately for you, my associates would be willing to take over this building for you 'temporarily' and get it all fixed up. All you have to do is sign this document here and push-off out the way'. I didn't word it like that exactly, but that's the drift."

Wilde took a slow breath. "That was an ingenious plan: foolproof, so long as Erkin didn't pull your bluff. Free and technically legal on the surface, barring the forged documents..."

"And 'cause the change in ownership was only 'temporary' supposedly, I got the real manager of that place to agree with me that there was no need to 'officially legislate' the change by filling out the legal documents proper."

"Hence, why it wasn't immediately flagged up on the system when we checked." Nick shook his head, slowly. "It really is a brilliant plan. I can tell it was one of mine."

"Yup," Fin said, dryly. "I'm not gonna pretend I could've thought up somethin' like that. You always were the schemer of the two of us. I always remembered we never had the chance to pull that one of 'cause we never had an actual 'team' to step in and take over the 'pretend' repair-work. But obviously, with Jacques' input, I had just that."

"Jacques. Who is Jacques, anyway?"

"The guy who set me up for this. A kangaroo from down south somewhere. He approached me about a week and a half ago now, while I was out selling puff, ya know?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Anyways, he pulls out a wad of crack and asks if I'd sell it for him. I, suspicious of course, ask 'What's the catch?' 'No catch,' he says, 'just give sixty percent of anything you earn back to me.'" Leaning back, the small fox rested his arms on the back of the chair. "Well, I sold the load he'd handed over. You know how quick I can shift shiz like that. And he asked if I'd like to make a full-time income doin' that, so I says—"

"Woah, woah, woah... I thought you said it was Frank, your brother, who first put you on to that place?" Finnick stared at the red fox, the faint impression of confusion upon his expression. After a moment, something in the fox's memory clicked, and a thin, mean smile started to break across his face.

"Nickey," he jeered, in the arrogant, sly tones he had spoken with before, "you may have done a great job puttin' me on the spot an' squeezing me for info..." leaning forwards, the fox's voice dropped to a whisper... "but I still hustled you." Finnick suddenly moved back and started heaving with laughter. "I hustled you good, you double-dealing crook!"

Nick motioned to react to being called a crook, but his voice caught in his throat. Shaken, Wilde tried to collect his thoughts. "But your other brother—"

"There wus no 'other brother' you jerk!"

"But, Frank! The body we found?"

"He weren't nobody, Nick. Just some hobo we picked up off the street!" Nick sat back slowly, his eyes darting and his jaw clenched as he tried to fathom the implications. Finnick watched him with smug satisfaction. "Whas the matter," Fin shot patronizingly, "little Nickey all confused?" Wilde's elusive gaze flicked back. He held Finnick's smug grin, faintly, and his eye twitched between Finnick's cackle.

"Lemme spell it out to ya. So, as I wus saying, after Jacques and I were properly introduced, and he offered me work as a full-time-drugs-runner kinda thing, he told me ah could pick up my supplies of drugs. As much as I needed, at any time. From this warehouse full they had hidden in the city, called... Ladders and Ladders and Co."

"The whole place was abandoned before. Jacques simply went in with his people quietly one night, when all the workers had left, and filled it up brimming with crate after crate of drugs. One night, I'm on my way over to Ladders to pick up another couple'a bags of crack. An' remember, I'm keeping twenty percent of everything I'm earning. That's a lotta doe when you put it all together. But then something unexpected happens..."

Sitting closer, Finnick continued, his eyes lighting up at the memory, "A group of thugs, about eight of them, with clubs and knives heading towards Ladders. Well, you know me Nick," he added, shifting in his seat, roused by just the thought of a good scrap, "I can't resist getting me claws in the action. So when this gang of thugs made for the guards Jacques had posted looking after the place, I got stuck right in there in the thick of it."

Fin sat back, smugly. "The outcome was predictable, and after the last of them bolted and ran, the three of us still standing phoned Jacques. He came over directly, and started fussing over what to do. They couldn't stay there now when another gang knew where they were. They could come back with more, or worse still: the police. And they couldn't just move the crates somewhere else 'cause they didn't have anywhere to put 'em! That's where I stepped in. 'Jacques,' I said, 'easy. I can get ya something sorted out. I've got a few connections. I can get you a new place easy.'"

"'That's great,' he says, 'but what about the evidence?' I has myself a think and then, 'Let's torch it; burn the place to the ground!' An' that's exactly what we did! Jacques brought out a load of trucks and filled them on up with his drugs, and we went about burning the place to the ground. I realized, though, that that was gonna put you guys on the case and that you'd sure as heck smell my scent. So, I got a few of Jacques mates to go out to the street and find some random, homeless fennec. They dragged one in, knelt him down on the floor... and I shot 'im in the head."

Nick blinked, silent. He licked his lips, and then managed a stuttered response, "With... with the intention of saying he was your brother?"

"Yep. There was nothin' I could do about my scent, so I had to find some excuse for my scent bein' there. An' since cubs of the same litter always smell similar, I jus' thought that'd be the best excuse."

"So you... you are the one who murdered him?"

"Shot him right through the back of the head."

"With Scar's gun."

Fin's face flicked instantly towards Nick's, his expression suddenly anxious and fearful as he looked into the smoldering fury of red that bubbled in Nick's dead-set eyes. "Ughm... what?"

"The bullet was found and identified. Without doubt, it belongs to one of the two Ruger SR MEs in existence, and it sure as hell ain't mine." Leaning into the table, the red fox's hackles rose, his muscles bunched, and he closed into the small fox. "Scarlett's gun... where is it?"

"Nick, I... I don't have it, Nick!" Like a coiled viper striking, the red fox's arm shot across the table and gripped the smaller fox by the scruff of his collar, drawing Finnick's face close to his, as he loomed at him over the table.

His usually smooth and casual voice was really very different as he spoke next, "I want Scarlett's gun, Fin. I've been wanting it for over five years! I don't know what fuckfaced bastard stole it after Scar's murder all those years ago, but I am not gonna miss this opportunity to get it back. It meant so much to her. I will ask you once more: where, is it?"

"Nick, I..." Fin's body was stiff, frozen up by trepidation, as the almost feral fox leaned further over him, his expressive emeralds slightly slit as they bore down like poisoned daggers. "I... I don't know!" With a yell, Wilde tossed the small fox across the room with strength he didn't normally possess. Finnick fell badly, but managed to keep his balance and managed to snatch Nick's paw as it made to grab for him again.

"Nick," he shouted, his voice rasped, "listen to me, I don't know!"

"You do know," the red fox bellowed, batting aside Finnick's paw and grabbing him by the shoulders, shoving him against the wall and lifting him into the air. "You murdered someone with it. You murdered with my Scarlett's gun."

"I don't have the gun," Finnick gasped between his breaths of consternation, "I just used it to shoot the hobo. It's Jacques! He's the one who has your gun. I just borrowed it, that's all!" Nick considered this hotly, his mind spinning and his thoughts blurred. The only notion that was clear to him right now was getting Scarlett's gun back. He turned back to Fin with a start, holding him a little tighter against the wall — though starting to find his weight too much as the blinding fury had begun to leave him.

"Where do I find him, Fin, tell me?"

"I don't— how many times, Nick, I don't know!" With a snarl, the red fox dropped the fennec to the ground, pinning him against the wall with one arm while raising his fist with the other.

Then the metal door swung open, and Bogo marched in, holding his truncheon aloft...

The police chief and Wilde stared at one another, both gripped absolutely in place.

Author's notes:

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