Chapter Nintey-Eight

Black and Wright

The solid bulk of the chief of police paced smoothly through the corridors of the ZPD HQ — the largest police building in Zootopia, the central hub of policing activity in all the country. He knew this place well, within these walls of steel and stone, and his legs guided him effortlessly to where he desired to go.

He broached upon the narrow staircase and stepped into the stairwell, which lead to the underground. Cold cooed from the concrete all around, his hooves falling upon the solid surface below, his fingers touching upon the bannister that ran along the wall. A crackle emerged from his radio; the Chief pausing to take it from his belt, as the voice of Howlitz the wolf came from the receiver, "Chief Bogo, Sir?"

"Speak."

"Officers Leopolde and Jefferson, Sir, with an update on their progress at the basement in Tundratown."

"Put them on," he nodded. There was a crackle for an instant as the frequencies were changed; then, with a wince an instant later, the Chief drew back from the device in his hoof, as a loud, sharp whining sound emerged from it.

Bogo glared slowly back to the radio and mused in flatness, as the person on the other end stopped whistling, and spoke, "Mork calling Orson, Mork calling Orson, come in Orson."

Shaking his head, Bogo raised the radio to his sneery lips. "Detectives can get parking duty too, you know."

"Yeah, sure," Jefferson scoffed. "We got pretty much done looking 'round down here. We'll give it another sweep, but we're pretty much ready to call in for the clean-up crew. Just calling in with an update of what we've found, as ordered."

"Radio back in ten, Officer Jefferson—"

"— Jeffers, please—"

"— I have a few things to get sorted out first."

"Sure thing, Chief, Leo and I can take on th—" Bogo didn't hear the rest of Jefferson's 'quip' — shutting off the radio's volume, his footfall slowing to a stop as he came upon the small, one-person room. It had a control panel and an electro-magnetic door, which stood between the cells and the rest of the PD. Bogo pushed open the first door and stepped inside the small room.

"Open her up," he bid, dryly; the officer beside him flicking a button on the control panel before which he was sat. The large door clicking as the locks disengaged, Bogo raised a hoof and pressed it against the solid surface; hence, swinging the door open into the prison cells beneath the PD — the silence of the nearby security room being flooded with the agitated chatter of the detainees inside.

"Alright," the Chief pestered, "quiet it down, you lot. Where is Mister Black?"

"Here, Chief," Snarlov answered. Bogo focused at the voice and saw the figure of the shaggy, black dog peering at him through his single, sharp eye. Bogo looked past him, turning towards the figure which stood alone behind the wall of intersected metal bars. He edges slowly towards it. It didn't seem to take any interest in him. The Chief faced up against the bars and investigated upon the creature who sat upon the floor, his back against the wall of blight. There were many chairs and many places warmer and more comfortable than where he had elected to sit, and yet sat there he did, staring down at the concrete floor, his paws and legs still cuffed together by the ruthless steel.

Bogo leaned closer and glared at the wolf, raising and resting his arm upon the metal bars between them. "You." The wolf turned slowly towards the Chief, and gazed at him through blankness. "You and I have got some talking to do. You hear?" If the wolf with the silt pupils had understood the Chief's words, he made no sign of it, and just continued to gaze blankly at the Chief. With a grunt and a grimace, the Chief growled away from the figure of the wolf and got over to join the bear and the dog. "He gave you no trouble, I assume?"

"None, Chief. Once he'd figured out those pawcuffs electrocuted him, he settled right down. Became very docile, actually. When we were bringing him down here, we all kept right on top of him, obviously. But, he seemed more than willing to just walk the way we lead him. Put up less of a fight than some sloths I've arrested."

"It's a curious creature we have here, Snarlov."

"The results from those blood samples alone got those chatterers over at Terminal Four in a big tizz about him."

"I'm not surprised. If this 'wolf' is, as it appears, under the influence of the Nighthowler serum then, as the research department that spearheaded getting a cure, of course they're going to get in a tizz about him."

"Eh, thing is, Chief, they eh..."

"Well?"

"They said they... 'want him'. Once you'd caught him, they wanted him."

The Chief's brow lowered for a moment in thought; then, realization striking, his shoulders slumped and his eyes rolled. "Just typical," he muttered. "Yes, I suppose. I can fill out an oh-seventeen form for him; let these 'tourists' take their pictures and their blood samples."

"I can contact them, fill out the forms, let them know. I still have their contact info."

"Yes... yes, you see it done, Snarlov. Thank you," he sighed, his volume dropping. "You're a good officer, Snarlov, I..."

"Chief? Chief Bogo, you, eh..." clearing her throat, Snarlov glanced to the officers quietly talking around. "You okay, Chief? You look... exhausted."

Bogo held the polar bear's gaze for a few moments; then he waved his hoof towards the door, his gaze turning to the iron bars and the figure of the wolf. "Go sort things out with Term Four, Snarlov. The sooner we can get this lunatic out of the HQ, the sooner we can get this whole wretched business tied up."

"Is there any evidence that links this wolf with the drug gang?"

"Some," he sighed, "yes. Looking at his build, and how he targeted Hopps in particular, I'd say it more than possible this creature is the one that broke into her apartment and killed that armadillo. And I'd already wondered if that attack was supposed to be a hit, by the gang, to take out the officer who'd been leading the investigation against them."

"And he was there with the gang members picked up from the harbor too, yeah?" said Snarlov.

The Chief nodded, his broad arms folded against his chest, his gaze set upon the figure of the wolf. "Tell those techno-nuts over at Term Four. If they want this wolf, they sort out transport for him from here to Blackheath. If I have to get a wretched oh-seventeen, they can take the hassle of getting security and transport arranged. Chief's orders. Be about it." Snarlov waited a few moments more, looked between the Chief and the wolf, then turned and took her leave.

"Yes, Chief."

Bogo's eyes remained locked on the unwavering wolf, while the wolf's own did pretty much the same. "Mister Black," Bogo drew without turning.

"Eye."

"Allow me to apologize for keeping you locked in here so long," he said, diplomatically. "I hope it wasn't too uncomfortable for you."

"Ain't been too bad. What with me house getting kicked to pieces, don't be many places I could've gone what were dryer and warmer than this."

"Ah, your house," Bogo remembered, quietly. He turned towards the hound, his head inclining towards him. "Are you going to be okay finding somewhere to live? The PD can provide you with accommodation for a few weeks, while you get back on your feet."

"Won't be necessary. Built that place in three days with a half-dozen pieces of corrugated metal, couple of dozen screws and me tool box. There's always plenty of extra scrap metal in that old boatbuilders' yard I can use."

"The boatbuilders' yard— the whole harbor, in fact, is off limits to everyone but my detectives and the clean-up crew."

Shuck regarded the Chief steadily. "My belongings. What about my belongings? I got some valuable things in there. Black tobacco ain't easy to come by round these parts."

"And as soon as the clean-up and investigation is concluded, they will be returned to you."

"I don't want any teething git tea-leafing through my possessions, got some valu—"

"Black, Mister Black," Bogo cut in, turning towards the door and placing a hoof on the dog's arm, "you've been unduly locked up in this prison cell for far too long. Let me at least walk you outside." Shuck allowed himself to be led by the arm towards the door, his swaying-walking pattern naturally pulling him from the Chief's leading grasp. He followed behind as the Chief nodded to the officer in the window, and the officer pushed a button on the control panel before him with the click of the door between them.

"After you, Mister Black," the Chief said politely.

Shuck stepped past him, glancing back to the white figure of the wolf as he passed through the doorway. "What's he in here for, anyway? Attempted rape and murder?"

"Of Officer Hopps, yes."

"The rabbit ah met earlier?"

"That's right," Bogo muttered.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear it. Never like hearing of violence, not to those too small or too weak to protect themselves."

"Mister Black, we... or, at least, I have been thinking for... quite some time, about what you said to me earlier."

"Oh eye?"

"Just, step this way." The Chief pushed the door open, the locks clicking back as the handle turned. It opened onto a tarmac car park, enclosed all around by a high wall. Stepping down the small flight of black-painted steps, the Chief allowed the door to close behind him, while Shuck got an eyeful of their surroundings.

"It's what you mentioned about... the mammle 'in charge'." The gentleness of the Chief's voice instantly spiking his attention, Shuck squinted upon the larger figure of the buffalo beside him. "I mean, naturally," Bogo continued, his voice falling into semi-mutterings, "we've been looking for quite some time, for clues as to who might be in charge of this gang; who's at the top, arranging all these shipments and collections and... but— but, anyway, with what you're suggesting, if it's taken to be true —"

"That Principal Governor Zafearov is the paw behind this devilry..."

Bogo's looked slowly upon the figure of the hound. "Yes," he said, his voice dry and close. "Yes, just what gives you that impression?"

"Got a light?" Shuck asked, producing a cigarette case from his pocket.

"No, of course I haven't."

"Been twelve hours since my last smoke. Paws getting twitc—"

"Mister Black, please."

Shuck sighed, fidgeting with the cigarette case in his paw — opening it with a claw, then snapping it shut again. "Nyilas, that well-meaning ole goat, who blew his brains out over your nice reception last night..."

"Yes?"

"Knew the Lord, knew Zafearov, went to Zistopia just—"

"The 'Lord'? Come now, there has been already a significant number of investigations into Zistopia and its management. And I am telling you—"

"Don't... tell... me." His glare steely, Shuck's impassive voice rose in resentment. "Don't you dare try an' tell me what Zistopia is and ain't like. I grew up in there, grew up there right in— well," he declined in a mutter, "I guess not 'right in' where the Tower is, but it were close enough."

"Where?"

"That ain't important, what's important is—"

"Where..."

"Alright, fine. Grew up in Happytown, not far from east border. " The Chief cleared his throat. "Zistopia gets most of its food and stuff delivered from there, driven over. Happytown's a harbor-town, y' see."

"Mister Black, I am aware of Happytown. I think every officer who didn't completely fail the academy is aware of Happytown. And it has long been known as being an area of... civic unrest. Zistopia may not be as well run or well-funded as Zootopia, but aside from that—"

"If you're already so against the idea it's an autocracy, ya can—"

"I am not 'against it', I'm just doubtful. Very, very doubtful. And worried, perhaps because, most of all, I just hope and pray it isn't true. If he's a lord or a governor of Zistopia is one thing. If he's the head of a massive drug-shipping organization... that's something different altogether."

"Don't have to tell me that. But someone's got to be up the top; someone with a lot of power and influence an' all."

"Yes. You were saying about Nyilas?"

"Went to Zistopia just before he retired, got told he'd be privileged to an archy'logical dig round the ole tower. Went over there, took his wife and kids. They were kidnapped, lives held to ransom. Nyilas was used partly as a 'honest cover', who could be a mediator for other criminals working in that area. Mostly, he were just a scapegoat."

The two memmle settled out at the sky above, the glistening city smiling down all around them in the warm glow of the sun. Eventually, the Chief broke the deep silence, his voice following a low and troubled sigh. "It'll be one hell of a wretch to prove."

"Oh yes."

"I mean, if I even start to pursue this lead, I..."

Shuck turned to the buffalo as he trailed off. "What?"

"My job's hanging by a thread as it is. On the edge of a knife. It's hanging by a thread being rubbed up aside the edge of a knife. My rank, my... name, won't have a shadow of the weight it had behind it in a few days."

"What differences does that make?" Shuck snorted. "You get a lead, you follow it."

"Convincing people, the people 'up there'. 'I am the chief of the Zootopia Police Force,' I used to be able to say, 'I have a hunch of this and this, I know it sounds crazy, but trust me, I know what I'm doing.' I try that again now... 'Chief Bogo here, that's right, the one who's suffering from depression and an inferiority complex. I've got a hunch about the governor of another country on the opposite side of Zoophon selling drugs in Zootopia.'"

"There gotta be more evidence 'gainst him than just all ah said."

"If he is what you say he is... he's going to take every wretched procuration that can to stop the likes of me finding out."

"But you just got your paws on a tun'f stuff. Go through the records on their ole ship, ask questions to the criminals you've just caught down. Go throttle that wolf for info."

"It's not as easy as— it's an issue of time, as well. If the Administrators decide that I'm to be... then the..." The Chief lowered his eyelids, raised a hoof and pinched his snout. "If you find any further information— or have any ideas or even just damn advice, by this point… You know where you can find me." Turning from the hound, his arms dropping to his side, Bogo stepped back inside the halls and corridors of his headquarters. "Sorry again about keeping you locked up. If you want to complain or send a bill for damages or something, just address it to the Remuneration Division, third building in the Finance Department, The Ringroad."

The hound watched the figure of the buffalo, as he made back inside the darkness of the PD. Shuck took a slow breath, inclining his head up towards him; watching him, silently, until the door pulled shut with an assertive clack.

"Damn idiot," he grunted, turning to the high wall, which ran all around the car park, "how's I meant to get out of this soddin' place?"

...

A figure walked across the city streets, upon the clean stone pavements and among the noise and activity of the center of the city center; a figure with a brass and ruby necklace, which glinted in the fruity daylight.

A pair of very well-polished, glass doors opened noiselessly before her. The glass was shatter-resistant, heat resistant, impact resistant and bullet proof. Above it hung the metal cover of a trap door, above which hung a slab of reinforced metal with the weight of a portcullis. That metal could drop down at a moment of need or at the push of a button, from the reception inside, or if the sensor on the door detected that the glass had been smashed.

It was a low building, when compared with the high-risers which stood all about. The domed roofs were nestled close and compact in with one another, designed to imitate the softly rolling hills in the more western parts of the country of Zootopia — up where the land became harsher and more beautiful with the art of nature's paint.

Surveyor Director Wright made her way proudly towards the reception desk, her footfall slowed by depth of thought. "Morning, Wright," said the otter-receptionist. "Did... everything go okay?"

"Yes... yes, as well as could be expected," she answered, not pausing in her slow, deliberate steps as she moved past the receptionist. "Send a lavender tea up to my office, would you, Jeremy? I have a report to... carefully word."

"Certainly, Miss." Built during the Fifth Reformation of Zootopia, 'Surveyor's Burrow' was the home of the discerning and omnipresent Surveyors of Administration. Birthed in the year eighty-seven forty-five BA, its prevue: to search for and terminate any and all 'corrupt behaviour' present within the Administrators of Zootopia, or any of its sub-departments or offshoots.

The Administrators once held utter and unconditional control over the country of Zootopia, and could pass any decision or edict they deemed necessary. And while it was never reported that a Principle Administrator had behaved 'selfishly', and while it was and is encoded into the Administrator's ruling — and ruling of the holy Quangasa itself — that the Administrators are only to act in the interests of Zootopia, the opportunities for embezzlement and exploitation for personal ends were massive. A cunning-spoken conmammal could overthrow the whole country.

The Surveyors of Administration then were created with the same directive as the Administrators: to protect Zootopia and its interests. However, kept entirely separate from the Administrators, and given no direct influence over any decision they made, all the Surveyors could do was watch and listen. The Surveyors were kept completely out of the way of being able to 'do' anything for their own personal gains, and every Surveyor was watched by every other Surveyor, just as the Surveyors watched everyone else.

It was only when they'd find evidence of corruption, of exploitation or embezzlement, that they could step into play; and when they'd do, they'd be able to strike with more force and influence than any other organization in the world. A single Surveyor Director — if they were to find bona fide proof of a misuse of power — could nix the combined voices of all eight Principle Administrators of Zootopia combined. A discovery of corruption on such a scale, of course, had never happened. There had been countless minor branches, or associated businesses, who had been found guilty of embezzlement, or simply of not operating to within an adequate degree of efficiency, but...

"The chief of the Zootopia Police is probably the largest to date," Wright noted to herself; then added, with a sigh, "no doubt the Administrators will be keen to call it a result of stress and overworking on the Chief's part, than label it 'corrupt behaviour'. Wouldn't want to throw doubt on the whole department. Well, I've done my bit, had my fun. Hopefully he'll put up enough of a fight that the Convocation can't settle it quietly, and they call me in to authorize his removal."

She chuckled, dryly, mounting a small flight of stairs to the first, and top, floor and pacing down the dimly-lit, warm corridor. She paced almost to the end, then turned at a wooden doorway, with a brass plaque and her name engraved upon it. She took a brightly-polished key from her pocket, clicked open the door and stepped inside.

A smile of brilliance entered her — the room within bright and open, the ceiling domed reassuringly, not flat and unnatural like in most buildings; the wooden furniture was well-spaced around the room, while her curved desk sat within the middle like a sun.

Sliding her bag from her shoulder, the red deer let it drop onto a crimson-padded chair by the door. Moving to the wall-to-ceiling windows, she lowered the blinds, dimming the brightness of the sunlight bouncing off the neighbouring high-riser, she lowering the voice of the light to a soft yellow.

Finally, easily, she allowed herself to slip down at her desk. Her feet found rest for a few seconds, then she leaned across to the telephone, pushed a button and rose the receiver to her ear. "Jeremy? Yes. Put me through to Convoy Delta, the ZZ officers dispatched to Blackheath."

Author's notes:

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