Chapter Ninety-Five

A Fox's Tale

"Wilde, when..." pausing for a moment, the Chief glanced over his shoulder, due to a sound echoing down the corridor. He stood waiting for a few seconds more, then turned back to the fox. "Whatever you did, whatever you're responsible... heh, I probably did worse in the cause of 'justice'. In peaceful days, such as this, the scales of justice are fair and ethical in their imparting of the law. At... other times, however, the sword of justice is prone to leaving a damn bloody mess. So don't be afraid of shocking me, I'm judging your motivations, your character… not the deeds you did."

"I..." Despite what the Chief had told him, the fox's tired legs were beginning to shake a little beneath him, the exhaustive fear and panic of last night, the minimal sleep, the anguish, the doubt wearing down at his strength. He plummeted himself from into the oversized chair, speaking, slowly, "I guess it all started out, this 'life' I used to live— it all came from how much of a... a 'disagreeable mammal' my dad was. He was an abusive drunk, basically, he'd smack me around, go after Mom, abuse her, break her down—"

"Cindy Wilde, yes?" Nick froze, and gawked softly at the tabletop. His eyes closed, he sighed deeply and softly and raised his paw to lean upon the tabletop.

"Yeah," he uttered, his eyes opening, his expressive jades shimmering as they gazed down at the surface of support. "Yeah, that was her. Wonderful vixen. Best I ever knew."

"So what happened?"

"You've read the report, you know what happened…"

"I want to hear it from you." Nick was at a loss of words for the drumming moments, the raw emotion of dislike about those memories simmering hot in his ears, but then he rubbed the space between his eyes and propped himself on his arm, with jades aimed at nothing in particular. The voice that followed was impassive and disinterested.

"Well... one night he got himself especially drunk, wanted to go down walking at the canal — think he had another reason, think he had friends down there, or whores, or something. Anyway, Mom was scared he'd fall in and get himself drowned. She was so damn in love with him, all she thought of was making him happy, never really saw what he was doing to her. He started beating her when she tried to stop him, beat her bad. Broke ribs, bl— ah, I can't remember all of what he did. I ran in to stop him, stop him hitting Mom, even though I was nine years old, I grabbed hold of him and pulled his tail, and he yelped and turned round an... and—"

"Struck you around the side of the skull with enough force to kill you," Bogo finished. Nick snuck a grateful smile towards him: Bogo wanted to hear it in Nick's own words, but he wasn't there to torture him over it. "Go on," the Chief encouraged.

"Well, eh... skip ahead, like, two years, and there was this... a— an 'event' with a couple of bullies. Couple of spiciest bullies. Ended up getting beat up a little, more the betrayal of it all than the beating got to me." Wilde sat back slowly, an air of inaccessible contemplation about him — distant, to keep away the growing emotional flares that would otherwise have been pressing upon his mind.

"Those two events— how dad was with me and Mom, why those bullies treated me the way they did— it... pretty much set up how the rest of my life was to come about. You had to watch what you said around dad, or you'd sure as heck get a smack. That got me to learn being careful about what I said, got me to learn how to make people feel like they were 'liked', even if I hated them to hell and back, and would've sooner seen them dead with a trowel in the back of their head than..." Nick trailed off at the raising brow of the Chief, calming himself, taking a shaking breath.

"It got me careful about what I was saying, that's what I'm getting at," he amended. "There was also a lot of time spent on my own, a lot of time just looking out the window, watching people, wondering who they were, what kinda life they lead. It wasn't much, but it started me off learning the ole Sherlock skill of deduction, or, at any rate, got me learning to properly 'look' at someone. It became a much bigger skill later on, but it was before I was even damn ten-years-old I started off learning the tricks of the trade."

"I know what you mean," Bogo said through an expression of understanding. "For my own part, for instance, I was born into a very religious family, who..." he trailed off, his lips turning to a thin smile as he reckoned, "sorry, Wilde, no distractions: your story first."

"Aside from dad, the other event, with the bullies. I used to believe in Zootopia's old slogan, you know, until that. What happened that day... it got me believing their speciesm, got me believing that a fox was good at tricking others, and that a fox was only good at doing such, and that I 'shouldn't' be good-natured or generous or truthful or honest... dad gave me the basic skills. Those bullies gave me the mental ability to do what I did for those nine years of my life."

"So the years between the bullying incident and your father being released," Bogo summarized through a deductive tone, "did anything of influence happen between those times?"

"Uhh..." the fox turned off to the side, his voice raising in pitch as he looked at the wall... "No, nothing much. Nothing you'd be interested in hearing about, anyway. It was just me and Mom a lot of the time. Neither of us went out much, both of us had no real amount of trust for anyone outside the walls of our house. I kept going to school, I mean, got good grades, worked hard, even if I was pretty much friendless the whole time. Didn't mind that, though, wouldn't have wanted company if I'd been offered it, back then."

"Your forementioned skills were developing though, yes?"

"Yeah, oh yeah, it was something I picked up after the bullying. There were still bullies around like there always are, and as the social outcast, I was one of the favorites to pick o—"

"Social outcast?" Bogo repeated with an expression of pure surprise. "You?"

"Huh... I know I've always played the part of being super sociable, knowing everyone. The truth is, I'm just good at 'talking' to people, not so much adept at having 'friends', really."

"I think Judy believes otherwise," Bogo smiled.

The fox did the same, glancing sidewise and across at the Chief. "Yeahh, took a shine to me, she did – still don't know why, really. Guess it was just a matter of being the first guy lucky enough to get to her— naïve hick who didn't know who she was getting in with."

Bogo beamed a moment longer, but then his expression sombered and he cleared his throat, "And just... who was she getting in with, Wilde? Just what were you in those days of the past?"

"You've read the report about how my dad died, I'm sure," Nick said, looking at his obsidian claws absently. "You'll have researched Scarlett and that gun of mine just as you did Mom. I'll, eh... I'd rather skim over a few of the details about what happened to us once dad got out of jail, but, by the time I was nineteen, both Mom and him were dead."

"The reports suggested suicide, no?"

"I don't know," Nick noted, quickly. "Never left a note if it was. Never spoke about it."

"And your mother?"

"Even after all those years, even with how close she and I had become in those years, he still had the same damn control over her when he got back. She loved him, worshiped him and..." he sighed faintly, looking with a gloomy heart upon the bare tabletop. "He said some things to her, bad things, pretty much broke her in half. She stopped wanting to see me, believed she was the worst mother in the world and that I shouldn't be near her. When dad died of that drug overdose, she just, fell apart… died not long after. And I was alone in the world."

A moment passed of quiet contemplation, the Chief watching the fox carefully, even thinking of his own past and early life. "Were I in your position, I should have done something very similar, I judge. It was... two thousand and five? Tundratown must've seemed a relatively quiet place back then."

"Yeah, a place away from the larger hustle of city life, few cops walking around the place, and everyone being suspicious of everyone else… gave you breathing space, I guess. Nice change from the false formalities and empty smiles you tended to get everywhere else. I mean, sure, The Firm was the biggest gang in operation back then and then some, but they weren't the renowned, and prominent and ruthless organization they're known for being now," Nick said with a tone-serious and a defensive scowl that Bogo viewed as Nick's guilty side, he had to reassure his officer.

"With no support, no financial income, nowhere to live, no way of earning food to live of... you joined up with them, I'd wager?" Nick nodded, his unsure expression fixed upon the Chief. Bogo shrugged, gazing off to the side. "It's reasonable. You had to 'live', after all. Plus, I'm sure, The Firm did offer you some... unique opportunities."

The fox chuckled, softly. "It was luck that governed my choice, Chief, not smarts. I could've just as easily ended up working for the Moss Street Mob or for Ravensberg and his lot. Never joined The Krays thinking they'd grow to be as massive as they did— I wasn't the smart, astute fox I am today, never saw what they were planning."

"Knowing you, Wilde, I'd assumed you'd looked around, compared the gangs and signed up with the one which showed the most promise, The Kray's rise to power was hardly a surprise to those who were paying attention."

"Hah! You think I was always like this, Chief? You think I was born with a wry smile and a way with words that could outtalk a snake? That came in the years I worked for them. I hated guns, I was terrified of killing, worst thing ever… You destroy so much more than just the person when you kill."

"You picked up this dislike of killing from your father's demise, I take it?"

"Yeah, dad was a bastard and a jerk and didn't deserve so much as a smile from Mom. But when he died, it killed her too, changed my life forever. That showed me that killing someone, even someone who deserves death, can ruin so much more than just that one mammal. Ruins everyone they care about, and everyone that cares about the people who cared about whoever's death it was."

"So in more ways than one, it seems, your... father is the core reason to your present psychological abilities."

"Yeah. Yeah, guess so… guess we all learn something from our parents, be they good or bad at taking care of you."

The Chief chuckled, tenderly. "So, just how did you get signed up to them? I've heard many accounts of how people have signed up or have 'been signed up' by gangs such as them. What was your initiation?"

"Pff, there wasn't one, not a real one. It wasn't sexy and story-worthy. I just turned up at this bar, where I knew there was a kinda-Firmish atmosphere, spotted who seemed to be in charge and just kinda 'loitered' around him. Didn't have the guts to go over and say 'hi, I want a job'. The guy who hired me, some old cougar named Baskul, he seemed to get the idea though. Told me to sit down, had me frisked first, huh, just about crapped myself at his bodyguard, and asked me what a young fox like me was doing in a dangerous bar like that. Told him I was looking for work, any work, just something that'd get me off the streets and earn me some damn food at last."

"Sounds like you went through a lot," Bogo sighed, almost fatherly in his care.

"Yeah. It was, like, three or four months after Mom died, I went to them, spent a lot of it on the streets… didn't have drive, didn't have motivation to do anything. Spent up my few savings on food in the first couple of months, pawned off everything of value I'd inherited to keep myself alive..." The fox's expression turned distant, his eyes closing partly with tears resisted, glimmering up at the ceiling above.

"Wish I hadn't, Bogo," he managed, weakly, tears threatening to edge on his every word, his pitch rising, "mind was in a crappy place back then. Didn't care about what I was losing, what I was giving up for food… for my lack of drive to get an income. Gave away every-damn-thing Mom owned, every sentimental treasure I had of her, 'cept for a dumb pawkerchief no one'd buy."

His breath hitching, Nick took a slow, deep breath as he tried, and failed, to control his emotions. "An idiot, I was such a dumb, short-sighted idiot. We never had much, hardly anything of value, but... I'd give any belongings I have now to get some of that stuff back. A little blue vase she and I painted together, this cute little white comb she used to brush my tail with, an old, beat up book of fairy stories she used to read to me... worth more to me than all the gold on this earth," he muttered, gazing at the baskets of memories his mind still kept. His paw went to his pocket and, still gazing out at nothing, as though not even aware of what he was doing, he drew out an old, red pawkerchief, which he started teasing between his pads, feeling its softness against them.

The curtain of silence entered, the fox's expression unmoving, his paws scrunching and smoothing the flash of red, as he leered long upon the thoughts within his mind, the memories, the sadness, the joy... "So, uh... after pawning off all I had," he continued, pushing his mind away from that time, though the pawkie remained, unnoticed by the fox, in his paws, "I made the only reasonable choice I had out of 'join a gang or starve to death'. Baskul set me up, introduced me to a couple of guys, told me to do as I was told. I couple of years went past, slow years, and I eventually built myself from a nobody: to a somebody.

"Started out at the bottom of the tree, ran errands, got coffee and newspapers... eh, was given a little cash of drugs to keep an eye on, a little cash to keep watch over for them... built my way up from there. I wound up getting involved in a couple of actual 'crimes', being led by dumb-ass mammals, who didn't really know what the heck they were doing. Argued with them about how stupid their plans were. Heh, nearly got myself stabbed for the trouble, probably, anything like a dozen times. Then... I started getting noticed.

"Apparently I was spotted trying to give advice about how things might be done better, because suddenly, people 'higher up' had an interest in who I was. I started getting more... 'independent' tasks, tasks that relied on my own initiative and quick thinking than on mindlessly following orders. This was about... I guess, a year, into joining?"

"And your skill set was ever-improving," Bogo continued, "you were being fed well, had a roof over your head, had a sense of 'purpose' in life..." The fox nodded, looking down upon the calming shade of the piece of material in his paws. "So, you started getting independence, you were pushed higher up among the ranks?"

"Yeah. Relying on my own wits, spending most of my time with only myself to rely on, it was... heh, it was wonderful, actually. Like... freedom, you know? Sure I was working for somebody, sure I was still doing what I was told, but, I wasn't getting ordered about anymore. They'd say to me, 'Nick, get us 'this' info' or 'Nick, we wanna hoodwink a drug stash from 'this' rival gang'... and I'd see it done."

"You became more of a mammal they relied upon?"

"Relied upon, liked, trusted... I still hadn't reached my, eh... heh, my 'final form' by that point, I was still being given jobs of running around doing tasks and looking for things, but, a couple of years after meeting Scar... I was given the perfect job for my skill set."

"You do, indeed, appear to have had a rather individual, 'niche', and very honed skillset. A mammal like you, in the right place, could do wonders for any organization, I'm sure. Go on."

"Not gonna grill me over Scar?" Nick asked, his ear raising in curiosity.

"I doubt there's anything of particular interest to me in that, to be honest. I don't need to know how you met or what her role was in The Firm. You didn't kill her, Wilde, I don't for a second believe you did."

"Well, as I w—"

"Oh! But, here," Bogo interrupted, taking something from his pocket, "we did find this at the crime scene. Bogo pushed the photograph over towards Nick, the fox's brow furrowed, with his tail coiling in upon itself in suspicion, even before the image of the Ruger had reached him. He picked it up, looked at one, specific part closely for a few, intent seconds, then lowered the photo and turned to Bogo.

"This isn't mine. It's not mine, or Scar's."

The statement sank into the Chief's mind. "What're you saying, Nick," he bemused, with the same approach of caution, as any mammal had, when discovering the only 'simple' clue he had uncovered was as convoluted and mysterious as the rest of the case. "You're saying that... that this isn't an original?"

The fox shook his russet, cream-muzzled face. "It's the same model, the same design, but, of the two I had commissioned way back when... this is neither."

"But... but this is impossible, the people at Ruger never built a third!"

"And they had the only paperwork. And the design is copyrighted," Nick added to the pot of further frustration the buffalo was showing on his wrinkling forehead.

"Blast. I'll radio down to Officer Leopolde, have him send Jefferson on some enquiries," Bogo paused for a moment, his furious glare, towards the image of the intruding pistol, turning to an absent stare of confusion. He looked back up towards the fox. "How do you know it's not yours or Scarlett's?"

"They have matching inscriptions. Well, kinda matching. Mine says 'To Nick – Love Scarlett', and hers says, well... the same, but opposite. They're both along the left side of the muzzle and they're both pretty clear and easy to see."

Bogo brooded for several seconds. "Blast," he repeated solemnly, "and here I thought we had at least one loose end tied up."

"This has got me curious too, Chief," Nick mentioned, distantly. "Who made this copy of my and Scar's gun? What for? How did it end up at the harbor? All this and more in next week's episode, I guess," he deadpanned. Snorting at his dry humor, the Chief rested back in his uncomfortable seat.

"I wish this were a seventies-damn-cop-show sometimes, Nick. I'd write in and complain to the wretched producer, who keeps twisting up fate against the hooves of the police force. Anyway, that gun's for another time. Now, you were... two? Three years into joining The Firm when—"

"The twenty-fifth of June, two thousand and five," Nick asserted, "me and Scarlett were invited to dinner with one of the Kray twins. He asked us a lot of questions, dug into my history much like you are now, routed around in our motivations, our skills, knowledge, allegiances... and left, telling us pretty much nothing about why he'd come. Two days later, though, I got a knock on my door."

"And what did you get?"

"A promotion. Some young mammal, a feline of some kind, telling me I'd had new lodgings arranged for me, and a small team of support staff, and new duties and responsibilities , and that I was the new 'Chief Recruitment Officer' for The Firm. And that Scar was Deputy Chief of Analytics. Which, considering Reggie Kray himself was 'Chief' of Analytics... it was just about as high as she could've gone."

Bogo's expression didn't change for a few long seconds, but his head slowly tilted, and his brow lowered in thought. "And that role entailed?"

"Eh, I put advertisements in the paper, 'Wanted, ZPD Turncoats', put it out on the ZBC Radio announcements, went to the Job Center, looking for mindless thugs we could use..."

"Wilde."

"Alright, alright. I hadn't been in Recruitment before… I was only vaguely aware that 'division' of the gang existed. Turns out it was guys in that department who'd keep an eye out for anyone who looked interested in joining up. That guy I first met when I joined, the cougar, Baskul... he wasn't in Recruitment and had to pass my name and info on to someone who was. They'd find thugs, safe crackers, forgers, even the odd informant— in other gangs, the ZPD, MI-Z, CED, you get the idea."

"And you were made 'Chief' Recruitment Officer."

"Yeah. Funny thing, but, as the 'Chief' of Recruitment, I had surprisingly little 'recruiting' to do."

"Huh. Unsurprising. As Chief of Zootopia's Police, the one thing I seem never to do anymore is real 'police' work. All damn paperwork and dealing with... wretched, Surveyors. What was the pay?" he asked, on impulse.

"Eh, it wasn't that amazing, actually," Nick said. "I mean, sure, it was, like… double? Double of what I earn here, but, when you compare 'Junior ZPD officer in his first year of service' and 'Chief Recruitment Officer'... you'd expect a bigger pay packet than fifty thousand Zev a year."

"Living in Zootopia, yes."

"But, it came with a lot of other stuff, too. They took real good care of me, actually. Nice cars, drivers— bodyguards. They threw in dinners at fancy restaurants, provided accommodation, and even gave me free casino chips every Christmas I could waste on whatever pointless game of chance I felt like. Hah, they even covered my dental care. Not that I wanted such," he muttered, "damn dentists, creepy places..."

"Wilde... you're yet to tell me your job description." The fox sighed, as he realigned his thoughts back on the moment. The matter of his recruitment of Jack weighted heavily upon his mind. He was egotistical and self-centered, and had done nothing for Nick but mess things up and threaten him, but... Nick grunted, making the motion of looking at his claws, as he had done before, as he often did when he needed to bide some time to think about his next move.

"Mostly," he started, "it was my job to find the right ingredients to the cake Ronnie and Reggie Kray were cooking up."

"The right ingredi—? Oh, the right workers."

"Yeah. See, as the 'Chief' of their recruitment, I was dealing pretty much directly with The Krays… or, through people who directly represented them, anyway. The Twins wouldn't want to waste their time figuring out the details of what they'd need. They'd just decide, say, they need to pull a bank job, or get to some politician to discourage him from passing a vote, or would need to get to some supply of weapons and make sure they were 'redirected' somewhere more 'useful'. They wouldn't give me a shopping list, you see, they'd tell me what kinda cake they were after, and it'd be down to me to find the right ingredients to make it work."

"And you knew where to look, what to look for?"

"Yeah. Though, in terms of actual 'recruitment', only very 'particular' mammals were recruited by me."

"Such as?"

"Well..." Jack Savage, for one. You know, Agent One of the MI-Z? He could say it. He could have Jack thrown in the deep end, down the creek with neither paddle nor canoe. Bogo was already uncovering Nick's past... hadn't the 'arrangement' between he and Savage been that one would spill what they knew of the other, if ever they were found out?

"Wilde," the Chief pushed, his impatience, and his caution in what the fox might be hiding, growing.

"Like... mammals inside the ZPD, some inside the Ministry of Intelligence of Zootopia."

"The MI-Z?"

"Yeah. Can get a lot of info out of your 'rivals' if you've got a reliable informant burrowed beneath their fur. Caused... eh, caused you no end of trouble, no doubt, though... probably, you had no idea we had people inside the PD and MI."

"Any still work here?"

"Nnn— no."

"Any still work in the MI-Z?"

"Mhmm... mayyybe?"

Bogo sat upright. "Who?" Nick's lips flinched, but the words that came out were less than a whimper. The fox felt all the tension and anxiety of the world building up like a ball of trepidation in the bottom of his throat. It rose slowly up through his neck, causing an aching sensation in the follicles of his coat.

"It... eh, I'm..."

"Wilde."

"Jd, Jh... Jack," Nick muttered, his voice falling, his face lowering to his paws in shameful regret.

Bogo glared at the fox — the word, that one word resounding back and forth across the room – though, maybe, it was just in the Chief's mind. He sat forwards, slowly, his hoof coming to rest on the table, his gaze one of disbelief, while he looked towards the russet figure of the fox. "Jack?"

"I— I don't want anything bad to come against him," Nick blathered, a change of heart taking him with the same flushing heat as that same blush of shame, "I don't want him thrown out or charged or— or anything. It's my fault he is how he is. It's me who made him who he is, twisting his views on right an— and wrong, making him reliant on validation and achievement, bigging up his ego to make him thirsty for promotion, pushing him higher and making him want more, until that 'thirst' was all he knew. I, there..." the fox trailed off, his will and train of expression broken by the unsureness surrounding him.

Bogo's mind lingered on one specific extract: The reliance on validation and achievement. The words of Wright entered his mind anew and, as he stared at the fox, or, perhaps, as he gazed through him... the creature known as 'Jack' suddenly became far clearer in Bogo's mind. "Nick, I thin—"

"If... if it changes your views at all, Bogo, it... I think... it was pretty much because of what Jack knew about The Firm that ended us in the end. As... well, as well you know, better than anyone, you started a massive strike against The Firm and all its safehouses. First of January, twenty eleven. It was Jack Savage himself who came to you, I think, and sold out all the locations of those safehouses, yes?"

"Well... yes, yes, it was. But I'd always thought it'd been through observation work."

"Yeah. And I only joined The Firm for the dental cover..."

"Huh. Alright, so," Bog began, but then his confidence faded, and he arched forwards upon the table, a look of deep discomfort taking him as he rested his hoof upon his forehead. "Alright..." he muttered, "so..."

The fox knew that what he'd exposed had probably been the biggest bombshell Bogo had ever heard, that one of his personally trusted friends, and the top agent of the MI-Z, was, or, 'had been'... a criminal informant for The Firm, and, what's more, that he'd been recruited by one of his very own ZPD officers... "Don't worry, Chief," the fox mumbled, dryly... "As far as I know, Judy's whiter than white when it comes to crime. Well, eh... except being the godmother of... well, actually, nevermind..."

Nick cleared his throat, glad to see Bogo being too engrossed in thoughts about Jack to properly notice what he had partially said. "Talking of Judy, though," he shifted, more clearly, "I, eh... would like to get back to her? Soon?"

"Ehm..." the Chief managed, distantly. "Yes. Yes. Right... right."

The fox smiled, weakly, at Bogo's condition. "I'll just summarize the rest, Chief," he said. "After The Firm fell apart, me and Scarlett fled. She managed to get her paws on some of The Firm's cash, but, I guess they found out, cause... well, you know what happened to her. Guess one of the last things the Kray Twins did, before killing themselves, must've been to send a hitmammal after her for taking their cash, which is why I couldn't give a proper reason as to why someone might want to kill her, and why I was suspected of being her mrd— her... attacker for a while.

"After that... well, I guess, it was like the last nine, ten years of my life had been undone. I was back on the streets again. Alone, no food, not a roof over my head. Huh... could've put 'Chief Recruitment Officer for The Firm' on my CV, and I'm sure that would've gotten me a couple of job offers, but... heck, I was just glad I had gotten out of it alive, from the PD and from The Firm. I'd, eh... that fennec fox you've got next-door: He worked for me once or twice, though, I never actually recruited him fully… more just used him as freelance help."

"I remembered him, and liked him, and had his number so... once I'd gotten over— got over Scarlett's death— I got in touch with him. The two of us stayed together, supported one another, financially, emotionally, helping each other out, thinking up and carrying out cons to earn enough to live by... Young Hoppsie the Fluffish caught me and him selling pawpsicles one day, and... the rest, as they say, is... well, social and economic science, or something."

"And do you regret what you did?" Bogo asked, drawing his voice back from the distant depths of his broodings-deep.

The fox just stared, just sat there with a squint into the Chief's face, his look of exhaustion phased with distant irritation. "Regret it? Do I regret it? I used to regret everything, Bogo, used to blame myself for everything crappy that'd happened. Until I met Judy. Now... heh, even, just in the last few weeks, after opening up to her about Scarlett— something I honestly never thought I'd openly talk to anymammal about— I've realized... I've been able to be easier on myself for what happened. There's wounds there, sure, but... it feels like the wounds are 'healing' now. Not just... hidden or covered up like they were before."

"From what I can see, Nicholas Wilde. Were I in the same position you had been I, I should have made very much the same decisions and mistakes you did. You've been dealt all the worst cards in life, it seems. Yet, somehow, time and time again you've managed to turn things around to your own advantage." The fox watched quietly as Bogo readjusted himself on his chair, his gaze raising to the ceiling as he continued, his voice low and resolute.

"The Administrators of Zootopia held a Convocation about me once before, you know, to decide if I was a hero or a warlord for how I'd dealt with cleaning up The Firm. They let the law-breaking, I'd done, slip away for the result of my actions, because what I did was the only thing I could have done to clear away that filth. And while, it seems, you are, or were once, one of the key players keeping The Firm informed and sharp, you acted only under what options life presented you. My judgment, then, is this: Why can't you have the same grace, if you, now, are living a life of repentance? An officer and a gentlefox. And... the loving mate of Judy Hopps." The last words came with a faltering of strength, and the Chief's eyes turned away from the fox. Wilde wondered, as he looked upon Bogo's face, if it was a hint of sorrowful regret that had passed across his features.

"Love's a rare thing, Wilde," Bogo broke the fresh ice, his voice calm and lacking its 'boom'. "Love is... I wish the two of you the very best of fortunes with one another, it's a wretched affair trying to sustain a relationship as a cop. Damned impossible as Police Chief… but you're lucky enough to be dating another officer, as she works hours as unpredictable as yours, and knows, as you do, how a serious case can eat away at one's personal life. I mean I'm not saying your career should come before your partner," he continued, now, quite clearly having partly forgotten Nick was even there, talking over some old argument to his mind, "but it is an officer's duty to see the law carried out. It is just, and right, for an officer to take on as many extra responsibilities as I need t..." he glanced up at Wilde, then turned back down to the table.

"I'm feeling there's a story behind that, right, Chief?"

Bogo cracked a thin beam on his mouth. "You want to hear a real heartbreaker?" Bogo asked. "Go talk to Claw sometime."

"Wait, Ben?"

"Take him out for dinner and drinks," he nodded, "give him a little alcohol to help soften the injury, then ask him about how he came to be the ZPD's fine receptionist. He likes and trusts both you and Hopps. If you ask, he'll probably tell you."

The fox stared down at his paws, as he made a note of the Chief's words, trying to make a guess as to what had occurred to the jolly, overweight mammal who he'd greeted, with barely a second glance, every morning for the past nine months or so. "So, eh," he muttered, carefully, "you mentioned your past a while ago?"

Bogo's brow fell, and he scrutinized the fox for a few, hard seconds. Then his expression lifted a little, and a low chuckle escaped him. "I suppose it's only proper," he muttered, leaning back upon the desk as he eyed the fox, warmly. "Sure, Wilde, sure... though know that Clawhauser is, currently, the only other mammal to know this story and that, aside from Miss Hopps, perhaps... I should prefer it to stay that way." The fox nodded, readily.

"As I started saying before, I was born in to a really-rather religious family. Like you, I suppose, much of how I come to be now, can be attributed to what happened to me in my early days of my life. I reached 'that' age, such as you did, where bullies tend to be in their prominence, and being the child of a religious family, who preached against and abhorred violence, they wouldn't stand to hear of me standing up for myself and fighting back. It was their faith and belief in the Quangasa, no doubt, that initiated my own desire for justice, and for doing what is 'right'. Except... I would have no issue, none at all, in breaking both legs of a lawbreaker, while my parents seemed to believe that active pursuit of justice, in 'this' life, was uncalled for, as such justice would be delivered in the next."

"Yeah... I get what you're saying, Chief. I see it."

"I do not blame them for what they believed, and there is something 'noble' about such beliefs, though, personally, I found delivering justice in 'this' life, is the most 'just' thing a mammal can do. As I said, they always preached against fighting back, or even defending myself. This made me an easy target, despite my size, and the only level of... 'comfort' I received, the only 'action' my parents took was to remind me, time and time again, that those mammals would pay for their crimes in the afterlife.

"So this went on for... some months, perhaps a year, before one day came, and I struck back." The Chief chuckled, a twisted grin appearing upon his time-hardened face. "It was like surfacing for air. I never knew what strength these hooves could give. Two of them were hospitalized, hah, and the other two fled like mice. My parents were, naturally, disgusted by what I'd done, but I had ceased to give the slightest of damns. I trained weight lifting, running, swimming, boxing... I left my parents, spent several years working mediocre jobs and saving up the desired cash to go to college.

"While my faith in what my parents had believed in was now very much absent, there was, it seems, many questions in my mind about what was 'right' and 'wrong' for when the time came. When I'd saved enough to go for further education, I took up ethics, and from there, discovered a deep interest in law. I shifted course after the first year, met a young cheetah by name of Benjamin Clawhauser, finished my studies, joined the PD, and my life worked onwards from there." The Chief rested, the room glowing with his pride, the last, brassy tones fading like the last notes of a trumpet call, echoing around the small corners of the room.

"At college?" Nick asked with surprise, when the Chief's tale had come to rest in his mind. "You've know Claw that long?"

"My second year at Stollheart College, so... `nineteen ninety-six I met Clawhauser: twenty years ago. But enough of my past, Wilde, people will start talking, thinking we're 'friends' or something." The comment came with a thin-lipped smile, a small upwards-turning of Nick's own lips mirroring the Chief's own.

"So... Bogo," Nick probed, softly... "about me, about Jack..."

The Chief sighed, standing slowly from his seat. He paused, thinking long and hard: about who Nick was, what he'd done and... what he was going to do if he, as the Police Chief, had his way. "Aiding and abetting, appears to be your only crime, Wilde. And that, Nick," he drew, soothingly, "is not all that much a very serious crime."

Nick squinted. "Eh, it is, it was me who paw-picked th—"

"No it is not, Wilde," Bogo interjected, warningly, with a look of twisted steel. The fox knew the meaning: 'shut the hell up', yet even through the obviousness of the danger sign, Nick's spite, towards acting shifty and cunning, made his tongue to drench in the bitter taste of rot. His partner believed in him, he believed in himself, hence he was going to stand by what his badge represented and show that he wasn't the Nick Wilde of before. He was going to show himself, Bogo, the world, and most importantly, Judy.

"Chief," Nick pressed harder, again, "the mammal I was, I... I'm deserving of being punished, Bogo, I'm deserving of th—"

"Oh, my dear Aunty Sandy," Bogo muttered, "do you want your freedom or not?" Bogo paused a moment, then spoke through the fox's attempt of further digging his hole. "Nick, what I believe in— what I truly believe is that 'just' and 'right' in this world, it is a mammal's intention, a mammal's deeper drive. This world in which we live is corrupted with such selfishness, arrogance and greed that it is a wonder any good mammals still exist. You were pushed into being the mammal you became— you never had the option to 'Advance to Go and collect a Good Life'. Who can judge you for being forced into that life? And what's more, when given the opportunity to change yourself, to improve you and your very way of living, you did what millions of others would not… You committed to improving yourself and your life. You improved yourself, Wilde, no one did it for you."

"But, Judy-"

"Judy was the instigator of your change. She did not, and could not, force you to face up to who you were and change yourself. She helped, yes... but, for the most part, you did that on your own." The fox gazed down at his own feet in slow contemplation, but pulled himself upright from the stark, metal chair at the sound of Bogo clearing his throat. "Come on, Nick," the Chief put his massive hoof lightly upon the fox's shoulder, "I'll get some Auxiliary to drive you back to Saint Bernard's, I'll finish up with the fennec and then, well... we'll see what fate has in store for us."

"What about Jack?" Nick asked in a haste of hearts, while Bogo led him away.

"Nothing, Wilde. Even if he lives through his injuries, it wouldn't be right to do anything against him until he was back to reasonable health. And that's even if he ever gets back to being anything like the mammal he once was. There's a slim chance, I grant, he'll make a total recovery, but... doubtful, Nick, very doubtful..."

With a gentle push of the hoof, Bogo sent Nick walking, on his own, back up towards the ZPD reception. He heard, behind him, the Chief pulling out his radio and ordering some Auxiliary Officer to meet Nick at the reception and take him back to the hospital. Then, he heard a metal door swinging open, and the brief sound of Finnick's voice booming in echo through the still corridors of the Zootopia Police Department's Headquarters.

Author's notes:

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