Chapter Sixty-Nine
Firelight
A red flame sparked life in the darkness. In the shadows of his corrugated metal hut — unlit by the pale moon which hung high above — a dark shape moved. It drew the red flame, the light of a match, up to its pipe from where a long puff was drawn. The small and shoddily built shack was filled with thick, heavy smoke as the large, shaggy dog breathed his lungful out into the cold air. His fire had died to embers, and the chilling wind, which blew in from the lake surrounding the city of Zootopia, sucked away any slight heat that once resided inside.
Black Shuck sat in the cold darkness. He sucked again on his old, simple pipe, making the ashes within glow moodily. They reflected off the dog's single eye, making it glow red like firelight. He turned a little, towards the hole of broken glass where once his window stood, and sniffed the air that held the presence of the guard just outside the window, the armed polar bear.
He heard footsteps approaching from close by, through his torn and tattered ears. It was a new scent. It smelt, to Shuck, like dusty books and worn leather; like polished oak and ageless halls of study. Nyilas. The retired shiphand sighed gruffly, pulling himself up in his worn, felt chair and steadying himself for what he knew was to come, for there was another scent which approached with the professor. Shuck could hear the scent's boisterous and arrogant voice already. Clenching his pipe between his stained, barbed teeth, Shuck reached under his table for a small can of lighter fluid. He took it out and removed the lid as the billy goat and the coyote approached. He reached out for his lantern — the flame of which had been turned down low — and poured fresh fuel into it.
The door was pushed open suddenly. Shuck paused for a moment, but then set his old-style oil lantern down carefully upon the table, as though nothing had happened. The silence dragged on, the rugged dog feeling the coyote's gaze probing the darkness, seeking for him, yet not holding the guts to step into the darkness alone.
"I'm here, alright," Shuck muttered, reaching out to his lantern and increasing the flame. "No need't be getting yourself all worked up." As the flame in the lantern grew, a dull, yellowish light filled the small interior of the shack. Shuck sat back in his chair, his eye glinting red as he looked upon the coyote at the door who was holding Nyilas firmly before him. George glared back at the dog with an expression which was supposed to look tight and mean, but really just appeared nervous and edgy.
The dog crossed his thick, sailor's arms. "Usin' an archaeology professor as a living shield? What kind of a coward are you."
"No kind at all," George sneered, releasing the elderly goat and shoving him away, as though his presence insulted him. "And even if I was a coward, at least I'm not a dead coward!"
Shuck retorted nothing for a moment, but then he tilted his head, leaning forwards and cocking an ear sarcastically. "Sorry, were that meant to be some sort of 'punchy comeback'?"
"I'll show you 'punchy'," George growled, stepping quickly towards the dog and swinging a fist at him. Shuck rose, and suddenly the slouching, aging mammal was a tall and black mass. His shadow lurched gigantic in the lantern light, and his red eye shone with the sin of devils. The color drained from the coyote's face, but his weight had already been thrown into the first punch. It hit heavily — but in the same way a tossed stone could hit meaninglessly against the hull of a ship — and Shuck didn't even flinch at the blow.
The demon dog snatched the coyote's wrist and twisted, violently. George fell onto one knee, his voice rising to a high-pitched yelp of pain. A round of gunfire exploded into the wall, both dog and goat snapping with a start to the polar bear who was stood at the window, a line of bullet holes is the wall of Shuck's shack, the muzzle of his assault rifle now aimed directly at the dog. Reluctantly — his single eye fixed on the polar bear — the black dog released the coyote's paw and stepped back against the opposite wall, placing his paws up upon his head.
George climbed back up onto his feet, clutching at his twisted arm, his body hunched low and submissive through angst and through pain. He spoke to the polar bear through stuttered coughs, "Br— b-bring two m-memmle in here. They can deal with this scum. The bear nodded, turning over his shoulder and calling something out in a Germanic-sounding language. A reply was called a moment later, and then two memmle started closing in on the shack from some distance away.
"That, guh," George grunted, trying to catch his breath... "that wasn't a very smart thing to do, Mister Black. It would've been far easier on you if you'd held back." Shuck said nothing, but kept a wary eye on the polar bear — not trusting George's self-control enough to risk insulting him when all he'd have to do is say a few words, and he'd be peppered with bullet holes.
"Now, ugh, what I came to say: you've already been a great inconvenience to us over the past few days. In cutting off our drugs' drop-off prematurely yesterday, you forced us to return tonight to finish the shipment. Not only has the lost time wasted thousands of zeli of my master's money, but also you've forced us to sacrifice one of our Hives, a distraction for the ZPD to clear out the port while we made the drop off."
Wincing — still not daring to look the dog in the eye — George made a slow, wide arch with his arm, trying to sooth some life back into his almost dislocated shoulder. "I decided, as I've told you, it'll be best for everyone if you come back to our base of operations with us, and stay there quietly until everything's sorted out. The last of the vehicles have just left carrying the last of the drugs, and they're now being dispersed to our eight remaining Hives." The coyote glanced up at the dog, but Shuck's teeth glinted with his new smile. "When my memmle get here, you'll be hauled on board our tanker-vessel and shipped back over with us. There, you'll face trial and, no doubt, execution for your crimes against our cause."
"Trial," Shuck jeered flatly, "from criminals."
George again looked up into the face of the hound. This time, his gaze held firm. "And execution."
Shuck's arms sagged — the muzzle of the rifle still following him carefully as his raised paws dropped to his sides. "The condemned mammle," he surrendered as he heard two more memmle approaching his shack, "is usually allowed a final cigarette."
The coyote's lip twisted into a grimace, but he considered for a moment, and then, "Just don't take too long. Vaughn," George called to the two memmle now outside, "Botulf! Come in here."
As the two memmle — an alpaca and a cougar — entered the now-cramped shack, Shuck made a show of looking for his cigarettes. He glanced up to the billy goat stood awkwardly in the corner, caught his eye and then casually spoke, "Zustan za mnou. Bu'te pripraveni a kachna."
The goat's eyes widened with surprise as he heard the words, but quickly hid his surprise with an expression of indifference and nodded, following the dog's instructions with a slow slug towards the corner of the room behind him. Shuck was attracting all of the coyote's attention, as he animatedly searched for his cigarettes. "You're taking too long," George warned, his self-confidence restored now that he had two memmle beside him. "I want you ready to leave in—"
"Ah, here it be," Shuck beamed, showing everyone gathered in his small box the black cigarettes. The two new memmle, Vaughn and Botulf, turned and muttered to each other in a foreign language. "Right," he continued, picking up his oil lantern, his heart pumping faster and faster in his chest, his single eye flicking calculatingly between the coyote and the polar bear as he raised the lantern to his lips... "well, I'll just, huh—"
The muscles in Shuck's arm bunched, and he hurled the lantern towards the coyote. The glass broke against George's face. The lighter fluid flew out across the three of them. The flame took, and before they had a chance to do anything, all three were engulfed in a blazing fire.
The bear gawped, startled for half a second too long before shifting at the dog. But Shuck had already flung himself clean out of the window — with a speed and athleticism which didn't befit his age — and threw all of his weight upon the big bear.
They fought for the gun. The bear pulled the trigger and a rapid procession of bullets flew at the wall of Shuck's shack — a line of bullets flying over Nyilas' head as he threw himself to the ground, befit Shuck's words of guidance.
The shack door burst open, and two flaming memmle burst out, screaming in unimaginable agony as their flesh was seared from their bones. One fell to the ground and started rolling, but lay unmoving a moment after that. The other sprinted off towards the edge of the port and threw himself into the water below.
The polar bear grappled for the gun in his paws. The dog before him slipped his paw into his own pocket and instantly plunged that said paw at the bear with the speed of a lightning strike. There was a glint of steel in the moonlight, and then the bear dropped like a sack of rocks to the ground — his white coat stained red with his own crimson blood.
A crowd of a dozen memmle came sprinting towards the dog. Shuck kicked the bear's rifle up into his paws and shot out a stream of bullets into the air. The mob slowed but did not stop, and a number of them pulled out pawguns and made to open fire in return. Shuck swore and sprinted away from the crowd. He paused for an instant by the wall of his shack and made to grab Nyilas from outside. Bullets started ricocheting from floor and wall beside him, and he swore again and just gave leg to his escape, shouting to Nyilas' prone form, "Just stay down!"
The skeleton of the boatbuilder's yard was his only chance. Turning the corner into this dark, cramped space of half-built ships and outdated wood-working equipment, the black dog disappeared into the darkness, making his way swiftly through the shadows — a path he had discovered through the wreckage of industry a long time ago.
The memmle entered behind him, shouting and firing randomly, but they did not know the way through the abandoned factory building as Shuck did, so he was able to slip away into the second, abandoned boatbuilder's yard beside it.
He climbed up an old, wooden ladder, approached a window and dived into the frosty lake below. He swam with speeds befit only to sailors, while the sounds of desperation and rage shouted behind him with the fade to nothingness.
...
In the gloom of his office, Chief Bogo gazed levelly at Nick Wilde. His brow low and his expression troubled, the cape buffalo sat with his hooves clasped on the surface of his wide, sturdy table with the stare of thoughts.
Licking his lips, Wilde shifted uneasily in his seat. Trying to avoid the Chief's lingering gaze, Nick's head flicked out the open window which looked upon the city of Zootopia. Pulling himself up a little in his own seating, Bogo made to speak, "Mister Wilde —" he trailed off and returned to the prior staring at the fox, his hoof moving against the surface of the table, his fingers tapping slowly — ever so slowly — on its surface.
Upon finding the fox in the interrogation room, Bogo had been able to ascertain, quickly, what needed to be done. Forgoing his own interrogation with the fennec for now, he returned Finnick quickly to the cell he had been taken from before marching Wilde directly up to his office. No one had seen them — Bogo had been careful of that — and, upon entering his office, the Chief had locked the door and pulled up a chair towards his desk, placing it on a raised platform so he and Nick were more at eye height with one another.
Everything that needed doing had seemed so clear to the Chief to start with: his course of action had been obvious. But now; however, things were unsure... and his mind was as misted with unease. Clearing his throat in hesitance, the Chief tried again, "Mister Wilde, how long have you been with us now?"
Of everything Nick had been expecting, this wasn't even the last question that Nick knew existed of possibilities. "Ughmm, almost... almost nine months now?"
Bogo's head nodded, slowly. "And in that time you have proved to be a competent and valuable member of the force."
Weary of where this line was going, the fox licked his lips. "Yes, Sir?"
"You have worked selflessly to uphold the law and order in this city. True, I judge you primordially did so for the sake of Miss Hopps' approval, rather than for the upholding of the law. But either way, your intentions were honorable."
"Yes, Sir."
Bogo's fist smashed onto the poor desk. "So what in damnationwere you doing with Banes!? I mean," he added, his voice suddenly softer again, though strained and with stress and confusion clearly written across its notes, "you're a smart mammle, Wilde. A good mammle. So why— I don't understand… Why did you have to go doing something like that?"
"I, ughm... I was just trying to help. See, I heard you saying you were having a job to get the fennec to talk. So I thought, since I was the one who pulled him in, I might try doing it for you."
"Oh, Wilde," Bogo sighed, his voice muffled and his face hidden behind the hooves he had raised to bury his head within in fatigue, "whatever are we to do with you?" After a long sigh, the room was silent. Nick blinked, looking about himself in the unlit office. He turned up towards the ceiling, down towards his paws and then back at the buffalo sat before him with his head in his hoof. The room was still completely silent.
Sitting forwards slowly, Nick softly placed a paw upon the desk. "Sir?" The Chief didn't move, his face still hidden, the room still silent. "Bogo?"
"I'm gonna have to fire you for this, Wilde." Nick flinched back at the words — but not because of what he said — but at the tone of voice as he said it: so distant and delicate, and so tinted with emotion, with his face still concealed and his back still hunched. "You really leave me no choice… As the chief of police, it is my duty to ensure justice is carried out… in my own ranks as well as in the public."
"Couldn't you just... give me a warning?"
The Chief's icy glare locked with the fox. "Not... if you keep... lying to me."
Nick felt incredibly small in his seating, despite the raised platform and levelled height. "Chief?"
With an infuriated sweep of his arm, the chief of police sent his papers flying across
the room. He stood and shouted down at the fox, "Tonight was going to be the end of it, Wilde, damn you! I was planning to come clean with you about our suspicions and our putting a tail on you. But now I've caught you 'physically interrogating' a criminal without permission. There's a whole new damn line of questioning and investigation and suspicion I am legally forced to open up about you!" The chair thumped against the floor with the force with which Bogo sat down again.
"But— but what if I'm not lying?"
"Then it sucks for you!" he shouted. "You're right, though. In a court of law, I wouldn't be able to prove if you were lying or telling the truth. But I can still fire you if my suspicions are strong enough, and I can still fire you for being caught attacking a criminal."
"I never laid paws on him!"
"It's still grounds enough to have you stripped of your badge. And if you don't open up and tell me honestly what you were doing in there, I am going to take this pencil and ram it up your—" The ZPD erupted into lights and noise. Wilde leapt out of his chair in fear and in anxiety, while the focus of Bogo's dark glower was diverted from the fox and to his radio.
"Clawhauser," he snapped into the device, "what's happened?"
"We just got a call from Shuck, Sir. He's been attacked. The harbor's under siege!"
"What?" Bogo bellowed and instantly sprung to his feet.
"It's the drug runners— they're back!"
Marching towards the door, Bogo threw all thoughts of the conversation to one side, shouting to the fox as they marched past and down the corridor, "Wilde, with me. Clawhauser, get the memmle assembled and put in an emergency requisition order for our raid gear. I want everyone armored up and in the main hall now!"
Author's notes:
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Grooms decision thus chosen blind.
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