Chapter Eighty-One
Bygone Knowledge

The Chief lain the fox back down in the darkness of the bed. Bogo noticed that after Nick's initial outburst, he had been quick to settle back into little more than quiet whimpers.

"Must be exhausted," Bogo muttered to himself; "probably had a bad dream, didn't know where he was..." With a sigh, Bogo turned away from the doorway, while Wilde grunted in weary relief as the Chief left him, satisfied he had prevented Bogo from finding out whatever information he had on him.

The Chief returned to his study and found his phone buzzing softly. He checked it, and noticed a text upon the screen, 'Got seen but managed to get away. Be at yours in 15 min. Claw.'

The buffalo gazed around at the dark gray of the unlit room, his thoughts altering in darkness, as he wondered what might come of Clawhauser's failure of remaining hidden. He'd wanted it completely in the dark — didn't want anyone suspecting anything, until he knew what steps needed to be taken. If word got around that Claw was looking up those old files, well... suspicions might be raised with uncomfortable questions being asked.

Bogo idled and then went back into the living room, flicking on a small table lamp and falling back into his large sofa as the wait for Clawhauser rolled in motion. There was nothing of interest that the Chief saw viable to distract him, due to his mind blighting with the insecurities of his confidence. All this new information, all these doubts, they were now creating imagery and possibilities that were making Bogo's fingers to twitch subtly in discomfort. If Wilde was 'the fox with the lightest touch', couldn't then this have been a scheme in the first place? What if The Firm was coming back and Wilde was the centerpiece of destroying the ZPD from within… Did Wilde want to end up in Bogo's own home? Had Jack been right all along… Was he going to get murdered amidst his sle—

A quiet knock ruffled Bogo's train of suspicions, to which his fists rose in defense to the unexpected, while his heart bashed against his ribcage. It took Bogo's awareness to cool down in order for him to come back to the real world and out of the tunnels of his thoughts. With a shake of head in a huff of irritation, Bogo got to the door and swiftly gave it a pull.

"Evening, Ben," Bogo murmured groggily, "thanks for coming so late."

"Sure, ehmmm… Officer Howlitz, he saw me."

Bogo nodded, taking the two large boxes of paperwork from the cheetah's paws and putting them just in the door. "Did you mention my name?"

"No, I managed to lie my way out of it."

"I'm not surprised," Bogo chuckled. "I still remember when you were the fastest, slyest damn field agent the ZPD had."

"Heh, yeah," the overweight mammal said in reply, "I remember the days before my... well, you know. Heh, I'll just go... get the other boxes." The Chief nodded, pushing the door closed as the cheetah paced away. He lifted the boxes and gave them escort to his study, where the lamp was flicked, and he began skimming through the first of the many documents within them, or more like trying to re-familiarize himself with the layout of the information within.

"Should've had someone type these onto computers," he murmured, and pulled out one of the files — one of the many old, thick files of yellowed paper which were badly stapled together with the pages all misaligned from one another. Bogo leaned against his reinforced chair and started the trek of reading. For the most part, it was reminding himself of the facts he had once held in his mind with perfect clarity — for the other part, it was seeking out a specific document on a specific member of The Firm, who was only ever rumored to exists: 'the fox with the lightest touch'.

The front door opened again, and the cheetah stepped through a second time. He moved slowly into the Chief's office — stepping as quietly as he was able past Nick's' resting place — and put the three last boxes down beside the other two.

"How is he?" Clawhauser asked in a hush.

"Came to a few minutes ago, screaming blue murder. S'why I couldn't phone the PD and distract the guard for you. My apologies about that."

"Ohh," the cheetah dismissed, "don't worry about that. I got away with the info."

"But you were caught doing so. And if Officer Howlitz reports your actions to someone of authority, then you'll be brought under suspicion of tampering with evidence, and I shall have to publicly state I injuncted you to get this information for me." Bogo turned back down to his papers, his voice muttered gruffly as he ruffled his pages. "Then there'll be a whole damn line of questioning about why I wanted this information. I don't want Wilde incriminated… Not if I can help it."

Clawhauser stood carefully silent and patient beside the Chief, aware of how edgy he could become when overworked and stressed as he was now. His initial reaction was to tell the Chief he should just lay down and have some rest, but Clawhauser also knew that the only reaction this would get would be a snappy comment or order.

Eventually, the Chief turned up towards the cheetah, the stress and fatigue of the day across his face, and said, "Go back you your bed, Claw. Take tomorrow off. I'll arrange someone to stand in."

"Chief, I think... you need tomorrow off, Harold. You've been going at it solid now for..." Sighing softly, Claw shook his head... "Knowing you, you've been up since six this morning, making final preparations for the raid. Then you had the problems with Nyilas' escape and his death, the raid, Wolfard getting shot up, Hopps and that... Jack? Was that his name?"

"Jack, yeah. Jack Savage… had him following Hopps for a while now. A little extra 'protection' against this gang I assigned to her, after the safety of her apartment room was compromised."

"Yeah, yeah. Seriously though," Claw continued, skipping over the mention of Jack's presence with no idea of its true meaning, "you've gotta have tomorrow off. You've been working for something like twenty-two hours straight by this point. Even if you go to sleep now and still go to work tomorrow, that's only going to give you four hours sleep to make up for it!"

With the blur of his vision, Bogo dropped the paperwork down upon the desk, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his eyes. "You think I should have tomorrow off? I am, Ben. I'm taking Wilde in to see Hopps and keep an eye on him. Check up on Jack too, see what his chances are."

"Oh, I can do that! You should be resting, not taxing mammals around."

Grunting, Bogo turned towards the wall that divided his office from the spare bedroom of the slumbering fox. "I'll do it. Gotta make it up to Wilde. I've screwed him over these past few days… should've been more open with him. I did what I had to do to find this out," Bogo mumbled, indicating the papers on his desk. "But now I've found what my subconscious was telling me to look for. I wish I was still ignorant."

Claw looked carefully between the Chief and the papers. "I don't get it. What's Wilde got to do with The Firm?" Bristling, the Chief sat back from the papers he was leaned over and hung his forearm over the documents, as though trying to hide what he was reading, even though the cheetah already knew.

"It's nothing," Bogo said, his face wooden. "No connection, just... remembered a specific crime from years ago. Nothing major, but something Wilde said reminded me of something about something. I'm looking into that."

Bogo turned uncertainly at Clawhauser, and the cheetah opened his mouth for a brief moment, which made Bogo fear that the line of questioning would begin about that issue, however, the opening of Claw's mouth turned into a long yawn, and it left the cheetah's expression vague and sleepy after his lungful was emptied.

Bogo hoarsely chuckled. "Go get some sleep, Ben. I'll probably come by with Wilde in a day or two. I'm not sure how long it'll be before I'm comfortable with his mental condition enough to let him go out on his own."

"I understand, Chief," Clawhauser said. "Take whatever time you need, I'm sure the others will understand. Are we putting McHorn in charge of operations in your absence?"

"No, I've taken special disciplinary action after what happened at Hopps' briefing before the raid. Snarlov's next in seniority next to him."

"Right. I'll send her a message and make sure she's aware, Sir." The Chief nodded, and Claw turned and made from the room, while Bogo got back to the yellow paperwork, not forgetting to send a small wave in Clawhauser's direction, when he shifted at the front door to glance back.

Claw returned the courtesy in a lazy manner, stepped out of the darkness of the Chief's living room and into the lit corridors outside, with the door closing behind him without a speck of sound.

...

"— an' with the hull breached and water flooding in though the lower levels, we thought we were done for. Then there came this 'nother great ol' flash and a bolt oh lightning struck down on the mast an' burnt a hole in the sales, whole thing up in flames. Now luckily, when the flash oh lighting hit an' the sea lit up, I saw land not far off, so I calls an' shouts out to all them workin' on the ship and tells them to get on the lifeboat. Well, the Cap'in came up to me an' said that were I were doing was mutiny. I told him it were 'new-to-me' as well, but he didn't much like the joke I don't think, 'cause he started havin' off about putting me to death and that he'd be having no one leave the ship while it were still afloat."

"Luckily now, an ole friend of mine: Reznov Achternal, a great ole brown bear, massive great creature. He were close by, an' he picked up the Skipper an' threw 'im into the life raft, helped me get all the men on board, cast as off and got everyone back on dry land safely!" The assembled group listened in awe to the shaggy, black dog's tales, both cops and criminals alike taken in by his stories of adventure and courage.

One of the assembled shook his head in wonder. "And what happened to the ship? Did you recover the cargo?"

"Pah," Shuck laughed, explosively, "did we ev'r! Whole thing sunk down that night in the chaos of the storm, but next morn', we set back out to the wreckage and found a dozen of the crates floating all about. A lot of the tobacco was washed out to sea or spoilt by the salt, but there was enough left salvageable that we were able to pay for the expenses of the trip and enough for the Cap'in to have himself a new ship. Not quite so good or large as the one he had before, but there y' go."

"And it were in the off-time there I took a real liking to the black, Ynien cigarettes, it were. Course, by the time that were done, I'd found myself another vessel to serve on," Shuck continued, his engaging and excited tones of voice drifting into mildness. "Never one to stick around for long. Always jumping ship so I were, always moving from place to place."

"And what of that friend of yours," asked one of the detainees, "the bear, Reznov?"

"Achternal? Oh, he came wi'h me for a while after that. Taught him a lot o' things I did, closest thing to I son I've had, I guess. Were but a lad when I met him; could't even speak English 'til I taught him."

"You speak Russian?" one of the officers asked.

"Семья моей матери приехала из России; она научила меня." The small handful of present criminals who could speak Russian briefly chuckled. "He didn't stay with me 'til I retired, though," Shuck went on." It were about... oh, five years or so after I met him? I took a little time in the Army, the Merchant Navy. Went back to it. I started off at sixteen that were. Didn't take a liking to it much this time 'round though. Don't hold with all uniforms an' parading and smart suits and stuff— but Acktanal, he took a liking to it so he did. Haven't heard from him since we parted back then, but last I knew he were being contacted by the ole Russian Navy to be a— 'eck, what were it now— a... 'Praporschik Michman', it were, a Midship Warrant Officer. Good lad, damn good lad, will've gone far he will."

Behind the iron gates of the ZPD cells, Shuck Black leaned away with a grin, all eyes and all attention upon him and his intriguing stories. Some of the detainees had given him malicious glances, as he'd first been led in, and a few had muttered threatening words that were only just loud enough for him to hear — but all that had stopped once he'd got his yarns spinning, and now what all of them were thinking about was another story, due to the boredom of the constricted space.

Like bleedin' children at story time… Shuck chuckled to himself. Ah, he could spin 'em another one then. He sat forwards suddenly, every one of the detainees that were around him jolting back in anticipation — even the most hardened amongst them clearly intrigued to hear more; with only the ones who didn't appear to speak English showing no outwards interest.

"Now," Shuck said, landing a large, strong paw on his knee, "shall I tells you about the strongest o' the sailors?"

"Yeah," replied everyone around him.

"He's one tough gazookas, which hates all palookas, which ain't on the ups and square."

"Go on!"

"He biffs em and bops 'em and always out-roughs 'em, and none of them gets nowhere."

"Who?"

"He's strong to the finitch, 'cause he eats his spinach: he's Popeye the Sailor Mammle."

Author's notes:

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Grooms decision thus chosen blind.

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