Chapter 9: Wallet

When one focuses on the quiet, dark portions of Zootopia, many mammals ease away from them. And frankly, anything can happen - robberies, theft, or murder. Any stir of sound can startle the toughest of mammals. And on one of these nights, Nick walks within these frightening streets. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, and he silently admits his fear to himself. It's okay to be afraid, he rationalizes, it's completely okay. They won't hurt me... besides, the theft rate is low, isn't it?

His rationalizations help somewhat, but he still fears for his life. Even though being a current, trained law enforcement officer, he still cannot overcome this specific fear. As a child, his parents or siblings obliged him to collect a certain toy or item from the upstairs bedroom, in which the light often malfunctioned. He would see shadows, and he would return downstairs as if nothing had happened. But occasionally he would curl up in his bed, sheets half covering his childish body, and silently weep to himself over his constant, urging fear.

He had long ago removed that house from his life, but the fear did not leave. It nagged at him every day of his life when he would walk into his dark bedroom, even as he reached adulthood. When he applied for the Zootopia Police Department, and an administrator interviewed him, asking for any fears. He lied and confidently informed them that he was fearless.

Big mistake. Now, those fears become stronger and stronger every minute in this creeping alley. With his car all the way across the block and an isolated Judy at home, he knows he must get home or he might as well curl up next to a stop sign and die. So, he confidently, but slowly, strolls up to the first alleyway. Here we go. First out of two. He slows his pace and looks forward. The first is a success, but he gives no celebration. He continues to pace past the second, faster than before, but not too fast to attract attention.

But he makes a mistake by succumbing to the urge to peer into the darkness. The temptation comes as almost enticing: hey, it's not bad for you to do that. Besides, who cares about you? Nobody does! Just look in there for a second and get out of there.

And yet another big mistake.

One of his own species, showing off an expensive leather jacket covering a simple black shirt, chainlike gold ropes hanging from his waist, and simple jeans, emerges from the darkness. His face curves into a formation that seems so foreign, so angry. Why'd he approach me? Nick asks himself, glancing again into the menacing eyes of the fox. Pretending not to notice his existence, Nick calmly strolls off.

After a moment, the figure speaks up. Nick now finishes three feet of walking. "Do you have any money?" His voice holds memories of yelling and injuring.

"Yes, I do, but it's not for you," Nick replies sternly, preparing to see himself off.

The menace quickly launches his paw forward and takes hold on Nick's shoulder. "Give it to me. Unless you want to feel what a real punch feels like," he threatens, curving his right paw into a fist and slowly tapping his open left with it. He slowly looms over Nick.

Nick nods quickly and pulls his wallet from his pocket, weaving it into his left hand. "Alright, here."

"Well?" the felon asks, slowly lurching toward him. "Give it to me."

Nodding, Nick extends his left hand, and the robber snatches it from his grasp. Nick closes his eyes, exhaling slowly. "Looks like you've made the right choice," the robber replies as he backs up, then turns and escapes from the victim's sight.

Nick glimpses at the robber for a moment, waiting. Waiting for something, a miracle, to happen. Nothing. He smiles wearily at himself and walks until he makes it to his car. As he enters the driver's side door, he wearily questions his tactics in removing the robber from his sight. Nick doesn't care if he lost his ID. He doesn't care that his entire wallet is gone. He fires up the engine and carefully maneuvers the car from the parking space, then drives off.

Memories come back to him occasionally throughout the drive. One moment, he focuses on the lyrics of "Can't Stop the Howling" by Justin Timberwolf, but the memories of the incident interrupt and send a chill down his spine. What if I hadn't given my wallet to him? Would I still be okay if I didn't?

Finally, after what seems like hours his house comes into view. He pulls it into park and steps up on the front porch and pulls open the door. The lights illuminate everything around him, his eyes nearly shut from the brightness. He accustoms to it and lets himself in. He looks across the room to look for Judy, who sits at the dining table. It surprises him to see that she did not notice him come in.

He walks over to her and taps her on the head. She jumps and looks back. A grin spreads across her face and she jumps into him. "Nick," she whispers, nuzzling his neck. He does nothing but stand and embrace the comfort of the rabbit almost pulling him to the floor. Eventually, she slowly lets herself off by grasping his shirt to break her fall. He looks down at the floor, his hands dug in his pockets, his foot digging into the tile. "Judy," he says, words coarse and blank.

She looks at him, her ears dropping to her back. Something's wrong with him. She ponders, and I don't know what to do.

They stand in silence for a moment, and she puts her hand on his back. "I'm here for you, Nick. You are a great friend. Please tell me what happened. You got here half an hour later than you said."

His gaze slowly shifts to her feet, but he doesn't look up. "Some guy robbed me on the street."

Her eyes slowly widen, but she too doesn't look up. "So, he took your wallet?"

He holds up his phone. "Just the wallet. But I did have some valuables in there. Anyway, Carrots, I think I should really hit the sack," he says, pausing, turning around, and lugging himself up the stairs.

About halfway up, Judy speaks. "Well, goodnight then."

He chuckles lightly. "Bye now, Carrots."

His eyes snap open, hammer open, and look up at the ceiling. His mind is completely blank. Moments pass and everything from the previous day replace the emptiness of his brain. He sighs, pivots to the side, and pulls on sweatpants and a black shirt. He walks from his room and enters the adjacent bathroom. The eyes he ponders in the mirror seem used and scared. He subconsciously loosens the clothing on his waist with his fingers and slowly strips them from his body. It leaves him staring at himself with a black shirt and a bare waist. He sighs and brings his hands up into his shirt and pulls it up over his head, then lets it drop to the floor. He maneuvers himself over to the shower and slowly turns it on, and after multiple temperature checks, steps into it.

Minutes later he leaves the shower and dries himself as quickly as possible. He pulls on his clothing, then looks at his dressed body. Sighing, he gathers his used clothes and drops them into the adjacent room, then travels downstairs for breakfast.

Judy stands behind a pan, which creates an insignificant amount of visible gases. She looks at him, smiling. "Good morning, Mr. Stylish," she says, laughing at the sudden nickname she gave him. He chuckles, finds an adjacent seat at the table, and focuses on her cooking techniques.

After a few minutes, she returns to the table and sits down next to him, setting a plate of eggs in front of him and herself. He nods and sets his phone face down on the table, then proceeds to take a bite of the egg. "I thought you were vegan or something," he says in between bites of egg.

She shakes her head. "I'm vegetarian, or as we call it, herbivore, but we still eat dairy and eggs. They're protein, not meat."

"Speaking of dairy, since you brought it up," he holds up his fork. "They raised the price of milk again. Just saw it in the grocery ad."

She sighs as she takes a bite. "How much?"

He looks at his fork. "Ten bucks a gallon. Can you believe it? They have better prices on deserted islands."

She rolls her eyes. Really, Nick? Could you go easy on the jokes? "Wow. That's higher than last month. It's nearly doubled."

He nods. "Yeah. I read that only sixty-four percent of cows donate, and only ten percent of those donate daily. So, this time, we actually do have a reason to cry over spilled milk."

She nods. "Hey, I never did realize that. Well, I don't cry that often, so could we say become frustrated over spilled milk."

He smiles. "In either case, we'd be in a 'dairy' bad situation."

She laughs. "And there's another one of Nick's world's lamest jokes."

When the conversations become uninteresting, Nick stands from the table and dismisses himself; Judy does the same following cleaning. Dressing follows, and the two dressed law enforcement officers arrive at the Zootopia Police Department just two minutes shy of roll call time.

"Good morning, Clawhauser," Nick greets, shoving his hands into his pockets and waiting for Judy to greet the obese cheetah.

Clawhauser gently leans over the counter, using his paws as support. "Chief just told me that he wants to see you in his office now."

Worriedly, Nick arrives at the front of Chief Bogo's office and looks to his partner. "Stay here, Carrots," Nick mutters as he pushes the door open to Bogo's room. He walks over to the desk and sits in the enormous chair.

Bogo stares down at the small officer but barely moves. He remains, staring patiently at the small fox. Finally, the water buffalo moves, slowly, placing his hand on the table. He lifts it and reveals a small leather object slightly larger than the palm of Nick's hand. Nick doesn't recognize it at first, but after studying it for a moment in silence he finally makes it out.

His wallet.

Bogo speaks before Nick even has a chance to take it. "How exactly did this happen, Wilde?"

Nick stares at the chief with bewilderment. "What do you mean? I didn't do anything."

He shakes his head. His forehead seems to throb, like the veins within it are about to pop right out of flesh encompassing his skull. "You did something, Wilde. Otherwise this valuable of yours would still be with you."

This puzzles Nick so much he cannot think. He sits for a moment, trying to process the moments when the incident occurred - as if tiny, ingenious people inside his brain are scribbling down math problems and discussing situations for Bogo's statement. Finally, he shakes his head. "Sorry, sir. I can't confirm that."

Bogo pushes the wallet to the side. "Wilde, I brought you here because, quite frankly, Hopps really wanted you on the team. Before you even applied to the force, she'd always make comments about you in roll call to everybody. Nobody took note at first, but as the talking progressed, I started to understand something about you."

Nick nods. "What exactly, sir?"

"Well, she'd always say that you were a funny guy. I like that about you. Something else she mentioned almost made me rethink hiring you. She said you used to rip off mammals and earn money from it. She also mentioned that you were a slow learner, and that pushed me to the breaking point. Nevertheless, you're the last person I'd expect a robber to thieve. There is a clearer way to rid of a robber other than giving him your full wallet."

Nick starts to object. "Well, sir–"

Bogo raises his finger in the air. "But, we are here to make mistakes, so as early as possible, go buy another wallet and put a few dollar bills in it, in case a robber thieves you again," he holds up Nick's wallet and hands it to him. "Meet in roll call in twenty minutes," Bogo says, walking from the room.

The office is now empty. Nick scans the room and looks down at his palm, the large leather object now balancing on it. How did he get it? Nick asks himself. This makes no sense! The guy ran away. There was nobody there last night. Nick slowly stands and walks out, where Judy leans on the railing looking out to the main lobby.

He walks slowly up to her and gently rubs her ear between his paw. She smiles but doesn't look up at him. Moments pass and the same motions continue. Finally, he returns his hand to his side, and Judy looks up in disappointment. "You're done already?"

He shrugs. "I don't get any benefit from doing that," he replies briefly. "There's no use for it. I thought you needed a little cheering up."

She stares at him, her eyes glittering in eagerness. The emotion seems to fade, but her smile remains. "Um," she feels her cheeks redden beneath her fur. "Do you mind if I rub your ears? I mean, you did it for a while there, so..." she says, words apprehensive and brusque, twisting in odd ways.

He lightly strokes his chin with his finger. "Sure, why not?"

A wide grin spreads across her face, and she squeals. She jumps onto his stomach and reaches up to his head where his ears lay, and she repeats the same stroking pattern with her hand.

Thoughts race through his mind. First awkward, frivolous thoughts: What did I do? What is my problem? I really don't know - but what if someone finds us? After a moment, he accustoms to the feeling and excitement results. But as he lay on the ground allowing Judy to stroke his ear, frivolous, nonsensical thoughts start to rage yet again. He recognizes previous thoughts that raged. What is going to happen when someone finds us? Why did I let Judy do this? What exactly am I doing?

Eventually, these thoughts dissipate and he continues to allow her to massage his ear. After a time, after plenty of laughs and quiet moments, a firm, rude growl explodes from a part of the hall. The tickling and massaging stops, and both officers glance up at the source. Chief Bogo, towering over the pair, lets out another growl and firmly grinds his teeth. "Office," he shouts, pointing to the previously mentioned location. "Both of you!"

Moments later, Nick and Judy sit and Bogo seats himself. He alternates his angry gaze from the first to the second troublesome officers. "I understand I witnessed inappropriate behavior outside my office. Is this correct?"

Both the officers pause to exchange glances, but as if speaking with telepathy and desiring to end the meeting short, nod harmoniously. Chief Bogo's face remains the same but conveys an even deeper anger. "That behavior is completely unnecessary. Both of your jobs are to watch over one another and this community, unnecessarily effleuraging one another. The law enforcement guidebook obliges you to reserve that for other situations. Nevertheless, I required you to arrive twenty minutes after I released Officer Wilde from my meeting with him. It has been nearly twenty-five. If I see another case of insubordination from you two," he stands and opens the door. "You will see the consequences. Now, let us go to roll call before I deduct both your paychecks."

The thought of losing money seems like a life or death situation to Nick. He quickly rushes from the room, and Judy barely keeps up. Back behind, Chief Bogo smiles at the now pleasant obedience of his two best officers.

Now in the roll call room, a voice scatters throughout it. "Quiet," Bogo yells at the group. They quiet and quickly turn their focus toward the instructor. "I find it pleasing to find that you comply with my instruction. Anyway, we have no serious issues, but we did have a minor theft to one of our officers - who shall remain unnamed," he eyes the officer in question. "All of you but Wilde and Hopps return to your previous assignments. If you forgot, consult with me in five minutes. Dismissed."

After all the officers file from the room, Bogo pulls the two officers to the side and look them sternly in the eyes as he grasps the door handle and dons his small glasses. "Wilde, Hopps, you both are to patrol Savannah Central, full day shift," he shoots out his index finger and hovers it over them. "Absolutely no romantic or inappropriate interaction between you two on shift. Hopefully I have emphasized this enough. I see this again on shift and you will be severely prosecuted."

"Just to clarify," Judy says to her partner as she heaves the glass door at the front of the ZPD. She gently gestures inside with her head. "Do you need to use the bathroom? I do not want any 'inappropriate interaction' when you complain about-"

He chuckles. "Carrots, stop - just stop, okay? I stopped the diuretics two weeks ago. I'm back to normal. I can actually hold my bladder longer than ten minutes at a time."

"Just being helpful," she steps onto the asphalt of the parking lot. "Considering an eight-hour shift ahead of us," she continues forward and enters the police cruiser, using the steering wheel as support as she heaves herself onto the seat. She waits for his entrance and then starts the engine.

Now after considerable time on the street, Nick places his paw on the dashboard and stares out the window in boredom. "Carrots, we've gone down this street at least three times and drove through this city for two hours. Should we just message Bogo and get something else?"

"Nick, you remember what he said, right? Full shift?"

"I know, Carrots. But wouldn't you consider this probable cause for a shift change? I mean, I'm watching you retake your driver's exam."

"Oh, shut up," she smiles.

Judy looks up at him when Nick taps her head. "I would consider that inappropriate interaction," Judy acknowledges. "How about I turn it on live speaker so Bogo can witness it for himself?" she says, threatening to turn it on by reaching her paw forward.

"Alright, I'll stop. But can you at least turn the radio on?" He looks forward haphazardly and leans back as much as he is capable. Suddenly, a huge, explosive sound replaces the quiet music playing on the radio. He looks at the radio, but nothing seems problematic.

"Uh, Nick?" Judy says frantically.

"What?"

"DUCK!"

A large stone, close to a foot in diameter, hurdles towards the bullet-resistant windshield of the large SUV. Instantly, the shield explodes, hurling glass shards into the small cabin. Remarkably, the rock whizzes right between the two front seats and hits the back seat, inches away from harming either officer. Judy manages to slow the car to ten miles an hour, looking at her friend. He wearily holds his arm up and points ahead of him. Judy fails to notice the pole ahead of them. Even though traveling at a slow speed, the impact sets off a series of reactions. The airbag on the passenger's side explodes and smashes into Nick's awkward pose in his seat, and hits him forcefully in the head. His head, which previously laid comfortably on the seat, now hangs over his body, and his neck allows a two-inch gap from his chin to his chest. Judy quickly notices and she instinctively reaches out to support his head. She sighs with relief to find his neck straight and rigid, meaning his neck is unharmed. She leans over to him, placing her two fingers on his throat, checking for life.

Her hope rises as she feels a weak pulse in his jugular vein. She moans and looks ahead, finally realizing the busy sounds emitting from the communicator, barely functioning. She picks it up and holds it to her mouth. "This is Hopps, Savannah Central Patrol, unit 23, over. We have an issue."

No response.

She repeats the same phrase, and another officer replies. "Fangmeyer, Savannah Central Patrol, Unit 4, over. State your issue."

"We have experienced a critical collision with a large projectile. Officer Wilde is unconscious, seems stable. Send help."

"10-4. Additional units, report. Unit 23, state your location."

Silence.

Fangmeyer tries again. "Unit 23! We need your location, over. Do you copy?"

More silence.

"Unit 23, state your location, over."

A reply is no longer possible because, in the small street in the demolished Unit 23 police SUV, Nick Wilde lay unconscious next to her friend, who had no time to protect herself from the incoming, delaying reaction of the airbag. She now lay unconscious, oblivious to the frantic questions and statements emitting from the nearby communicator.