A/N: Psst. For those who have forgotten poor Marty, please see chapters 2 and 7 ;D
15
The floppy-eared bunny squinted at Nick through the gloom. "You—I know you. I've seen you on the news. You're that fox cop."
"And you are Marian's dear, dear friend, Marty Lop. Recently turned traitor."
"I am not a traitor!"
Nick raised an eyebrow. "But you are Marty Lop. I admit that had been a guess on my part. Thank you for making it so easy. Well, no need to ask if you're guilty. Not after that nice overreaction."
Startled eyes glittered at him through the darkness.
Propping a shoulder against the wall, Nick folded his paws in front of him. "You know, when Robin mentioned you the other day, there was a moment when I wondered. But then I told myself—nah. He would never do something like that. Not to Marian. The dregs of optimism from my youth talking, I guess. So much for that." Nick cocked his head. "Not the only question I have left is whether or not Cottontail is in on this with you. Or do I owe that annoying rabbit an apology?"
"Peter?" Marty scoffed. "Please. That rabbit wouldn't know how to find vengeance if it bit him on the tail. I practically gift-wrapped the Corsacs for him, and he still didn't take the bait."
"Peter?" Realization struck Nick. He was very proud of himself for being able to hold his casual pose against the wall. "I knew that fur color wasn't natural. So this is about vengeance for you?"
"It would have been vengeance for Peter. For me, it's justice."
"Against the Corsacs? Even Marian, your bestest fwend?"
Marty snapped his teeth at that. "She is not my friend. She used me, deceived me. Pretending that I meant so much to her. She said she loved me!"
The bottles wobbled beneath him. Marty caught himself on the glass rack and started making his way to a safer stretch of counter, uncluttered by alcohol.
Easing off the wall, Nick edged sideways, following him.
"Well, maybe she just lost interest. Did you try giving her clover?"
"Flowers?" Marty scoffed. "An amateur move. What I did for her, no one else could have accomplished."
"And that was?"
Having finally escaped the sea of bottles, Marty released the glass rack and faced Nick fully. Nick slouched back against the wall. Marty jutted out his chin, head held high. "I got rid of Peter for her."
"Well. Consider me impressed," said Nick. "And how did you manage to do that?"
Marty jabbed a thumb at his chest. "I found him one day after walking Marian home from school. He was crying out back, all pathetic. Apparently, he had gotten in trouble for another stupid stunt of his—like that was anything new. All it took was for Marian or one of her brothers to do something—pass a test he had failed, finish one of his chores before he got to it, compliment his mother on a new outfit first—and the dumb hothead would lash out like he always did, then whine that he was misunderstood after the fact."
Nick took a couple steps forward under the pretense of stretching his back. "Interesting. Go on."
"Apparently, his mother had gotten fed up with him and said some things. Peter was about to go groveling back to her, and I knew how it would play out. He'd apologize, she'd forgive him, and then a day or a week or a month later one of the Corsacs would do something that would set him off all over again and the cycle would continue, just like it always did."
"But you stopped that from happening?"
Marty puffed out his chest. "I convinced Peter to cut his losses and leave. Told him he was too smart and important to stay and be treated like some unwanted guest in his own home. The idiot was so starved for sympathy, he ate up everything I said. He even thanked me, and sought me out when he came back to town, giving me money and gifts."
"Nice of you not to take advantage."
Marty shrugged, unrepentant. "After all the years of terrorizing Marian, and me by extension, who was I to turn him away? Especially once I realized he wasn't going to help me like I wanted."
"Help you to get justice, you mean?"
"Of course! Here his mother has died, and he hasn't seen her in years, and what with it being all the Corsacs' fault..."
"Seems more like it was your fault to me," Nick said.
"But not to Peter," said Marty. "To him, I was and still am a treasured friend that all but saved his life. I have his best interests at heart, always. Marian, on the other hand, ruined that life. Doesn't it make sense that he'd want revenge for it?"
"Well when you say it like that..."
"But he did nothing!" Marty kicked a jar off the counter. Glass shattered and peanuts spilled out across the floor. "All those years, and when he finally got the nerve to face Marian, he just took those stupid recipe books and went! She's been working on her own recipes for years. Did he actually think that was going to hurt her? And when I convinced Marian that he had stolen her things and sent her brothers to confront him, he didn't even chew them out for it."
Nick straightened a toppled chair and pushed it back in. Now there was only a single table and the bar between them.
"Let me guess, you were the one who was stealing things," said Nick.
Marty held up a set of keys, jingling them before returning them to his pocket. "Being a childhood friend has its perks."
Nick circled the table, drawing curlicues in the dust with a claw tip. "And the breaking into his factory?"
Marty burst into giggles at that. "I got them to do it twice. Can you believe it? I told her I would try and talk to Peter as an peaceful intermediary. Then, after a few days, I came back and told her he wouldn't listen to me, but that I had found out he was hiding her family's things in his factory with all his new product. Idiots. Marian was so out of her mind by then, I could have told her old Mrs. Hopson was a ghost in her attic and she probably would have believed me."
Something tickled Nick's paw. He looked down and saw that he had started gouging the table, leaving a long, thin strip of wood curling upwards like an apple peel. He dropped his paw and moved away from the table, redirecting his focus back to Marty, who was still going strong. "I didn't realize that Peter had finally cracked and gone to the police. So I moved on to a different plan."
"You hired the raccoon."
"I needed someone to clean it all up. I knew Marian was hiding some of her things in one of my old burrows, and that she was likely to go there at some point. It should have been an easy catch. But she was no longer answering my calls. Finally gotten wise, I guess. And then your partner had to go and butt in."
"Tough break," said Nick dryly. "But there's something I still don't understand."
Marty waited. Nick pressed his paws flat onto the bar. "Why do any of this if you supposedly cared about her so much? No matter what she's done, it can't justify going to such extremes."
"Cared? Cared?" spluttered Marty. "I loved her! I thought after Peter left and things settled down… that we would finally become something."
He looked around the counter, and Nick wasn't sure if the sudden lost expression on his face had more to do with where he was or what he remembered.
"But time passed, and still nothing happened. So I decided to take the initiative."
Nick slid onto a stool in one fluid movement. "And let me guess, she rejected you."
"She thought I was joking. She laughed at me. But you're a bunny! She actually said that to me. Like that has anything to do with it."
Nick said nothing.
"And what was even worse—she went on acting like everything was fine! Like we were still friends after she had ripped out my heart and crushed it."
"And yet you went along with it," Nick pointed out. "For several years, if my math is right."
Marty stared down at the mess of peanuts. In a soft, sad voice he repeated, "I loved her."
"You really do got a Dr. Jackal, Mr. Hyde thing going on, you know that?" said Nick.
Marty looked up, and he seemed to realize just how close they were now, a few feet and a couple of bottles of alcohol the only things separating them. With a flick of his tail, he hopped to the other end of the bar. Nick ground his teeth but stayed where he was, letting the bunny renew the distance between them.
Marty skidded to a stop at the far end. "Don't pretend like you don't understand," he said. "Like you're not also angling for something with that bunny partner of yours. A fox becoming a cop? Please. It's obvious something's going on there. Why else would you take the job?"
Nick froze in his seat, paws clenching into fists under the counter. "You don't understand anything about me."
"No? Would you even be a cop if she wasn't around?"
Nick pushed away from the bar in one violent motion that had Marty startling backwards and tripping over the beer dispenser.
"This conversation is getting boring," said Nick. "If you want to keep blabbering on, at least say something helpful. Like telling me where the Corsacs are."
Marty straightened with a snort. "I don't think so."
"Figures." Nick started forward. "I'll just have to get it out of you at the station then."
"You won't."
Marty pulled something from his pocket. And it wasn't keys this time.
Nick went very still.
The tranquilizer gun gave off no reflection. It was visible only as a cold twist of blackness in Marty's paw.
"Ray gave it to me when I hired him," explained Marty. "For security or whatever." He squinted over at Nick's wary posture and smirked. "Relax. I'm not going to shoot you with it. I'm a terrible shot. And in the dark, from this distance? It would just be a waste of darts."
"Forgive me if I'm not reassured by that," said Nick.
Marty giggled. In a sudden move that had Nick flinching, he tossed the weapon into the air. It landed on the bar and skidded along it for several feet before sliding sideways and off, landing with a heavy clatter on the floor near Nick's feet.
Nick made no move to reach for it. "Are you trying to hustle a fox, now, rabbit? because if you are, you're out of your league."
"I's not a hustle; it's a deal. The same one I gave Robin when he showed up with similar demands," said Marty. "You want to find Marian and her brothers alive? Well I want to get out of this without spending the rest of my life in prison. This gives us the chance to both get what we want."
"How?"
Marty mimed a gun with his paw and aimed it at his chest. "You'll shoot yourself."
"Ah. Well, as tempting as that deal sounds," said Nick, "I think I'll pass."
"You'll shoot yourself," repeated Marty, "Then, once you're out, I'll drop you off where I left Marian and the others. You'll have the opportunity to rescue them, and I'll have the opportunity to make my escape. If you manage it, then the Corsacs live and I'll be gone. If you don't—well, then I get what I want and still escape. Win-win."
'That's not how a win-win situation works."
"It's a fair shot for both of us."
"Fair, huh? Like going after Vixie was fair?"
"That Robin Swift came in and stole Marian away from me without so much as an apology. I was only returning the favor," said Marty. "Why are you bothering about that anyway? You don't even have anyone except your partner, and I no longer have the time or the means to go after her. Besides, the way that things are shaking out, she'll be too focused on Peter to worry about me." Marty gave him a nasty smile. "Do you think the odds are greater that she'll arrest him, or date him? I know Peter was well on his way to smitten the last we talked. I don't know if naming him as the prime suspect will put a damper on that. What do you think?"
"I think I know why Marian rejected you," said Nick, "and it had nothing to do with your species."
Marty snapped his teeth. "You can keep it up with your snarky responses for as long as you want. But the longer you put off answering, the slimmer the Corsacs' odds of surviving get. If you don't want to take the deal, then fine. Arrest me. Shoot me, for all I care. But then you'll forfeit any chance of saving the Corsacs. You might as well be killing them yourselves."
Nick rolled his eyes. "I'm not one of your gullible friends. You won't guilt me into accepting."
"If you say so. But it doesn't change the fact that this is the only way you'll have a hope of saving anyone."
"And how do I know that you're not lying? If I shoot myself, you might just leave me here and run, or finish me off, and the Corsacs will still die, if they're not dead already."
"I'm not lying," said Marty. "Of course, if you don't want to believe me then there's nothing I can do to prove it to you. But as a cop, isn't it your job to take risks for the citizens of Zootopia? Wouldn't a real cop do whatever it took to rescue who he needed to? And—bonus—impress his partner at the same time? Let's call it a test of your dedication to the job, shall we?"
Nick tried to stare him down, but it was hard being intimidating when he knew his quarry was only seeing him as a slightly redder shadow among a sea of shadows.
He retrieved the gun, keeping an eye on Marty in case the bunny used the moment to make a break for the door. But he stayed where he was, looking smug from his higher perch as he waited for Nick to make his decision.
Nick inspected the weapon carefully. It was indeed another tranquilizer gun. He was really getting sick of them. He checked the dart. It was a sedative. The dosage listed on the side told him it was a lower strength than what he had been shot with before. He shouldn't be out for more than a couple of hours, at most. Then again, if Marty was lying and planning on killing him, the bunny would only need a couple of seconds.
Reckless. Even Judy would have told him so. Then again, she had once tried to drive an out-of-commission train car full of drugs to the ZPD, exploding it and almost killing them both in the process. So really, she wasn't in a position to judge.
He looked up at Marty.
"If I do this, promise you'll take me to the Corsacs."
Marty covered his heart with one paw and with the other held up two furry digits. "Scout's honor."
Nick looked at the gun again. He took a breath, let it out, then brought the weapon up and aimed it at his arm.
"Vixie's not the only one who needs her fox back."
Sorry, Carrots.
Nick pulled the trigger.
He barely felt the needle penetrate. It was a tiny sting washed away by a rush of vertigo. The sensation hit him like a wave, knocking his head back and sweeping his feet out from under him. Pain shot up his shoulder and head as he hit the floor.
Outside, lightning lit the sky, and for a moment it was brighter than day. It illuminated the bar and Marty, who skipped over to him, completely at ease now. His arrival at Nick's side was punctuated by an equally dramatic clap of thunder.
"Thank you of making it so easy," said Marty.
Nick would have dearly loved to punch him, but there must have been lead as well as sedative in the dart, because he limbs had become too heavy to lift.
Marty leaned over him, and Nick strained to keep his eyes open as he felt the bunny start picking through his pockets. He unclipped his walkie, then fished out his keys from his pocket along with his wallet and cell phone, which he turned off by crushing beneath a chair leg.
He patted down his front pockets, and through the hazy blackness of oncoming sleep Nick saw him pull out something small and plastic and bright orange.
Panic surged through him. He shot out a paw, straining to reach before the bunny lifted the carrot too far away. But that two feet of distance might as well have been two miles. Already he could feel that little bit of adrenaline ebbing like the last rush of an outgoing tide. He wasn't going to make it. His whole arm was shaking from the effort of staying lifted.
Just a little bit further... Just a few more inches...
Fur brushed the tip of his claws. Nick gritted his teeth and reached.
"What—" yelped Marty, as Nick latched onto his wrist.
"Not... that one," panted Nick.
Marty eyed him and then the carrot with undisguised disgust. "You didn't strike me as the sentimental type."
Nick's laugh was breathless. "Shows what… you know. Sentimental… is my… ideal type."
Marty wrinkled his nose. "You're worse than I am."
Nick said nothing, too exhausted to argue another word. His heartbeat was slowing, his breathing evening out against his will as sleep dragged him under. He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. He let them close, let every muscle in his body relax until he was focusing every last bit of his remaining strength onto clinging fast to that furry wrist, desperate to hold on even as he felt his grip weakening… slipping away… He tried to rally, but he had nothing left. He was going to lose it. He was going to lose—
Marty snarled at him. "You want to keep it so badly? Fine. She can bury you with it for all I care."
He smacked Nick's paw away, and Nick felt the jerk as the bunny stuffed the carrot back into his pocket.
Good. Ok. That was all right. Now he could… Now he was…
"Dumb fox."
Nick sighed and let sleep carry him away.
Nick wasn't answering his phone.
Judy redialed, and redialed, and redialed, and every time it went to straight to voicemail. Why would he have his phone off? Was he in a place where stealth was paramount? Had the rain gotten to it? Or had someone gotten to him?
Answer, Nick. Come on. Answer.
Cottontail watched her, his expression grave. "He's not picking up?"
Judy shook her head and dialed again.
"It might not be what you think it is," said Cottontail. "I mean, I know what you said. But your theory doesn't make sense. Marty adores Marian. Always has. We were at loggerheads for years because of it."
"I don't understand what happened either," said Judy. "But there are too many coincidences for me to just ignore… Did you try calling Marty yet?"
Cottontail held up his phone so she could see. "His phone must be off too."
Judy looked at her own phone. Another failed call.
Enough of this.
She hung up and yanked open the break room door. She charged across the warehouse, ignoring the pairs of long ears that ducked behind trucks as she passed.
After a moment, Cottontail bounded after her.
"Where are you going now?"
"To find a carrot."
Cottontail looked confused. "Is this the time to be snacking?"
"It's not that kind of carrot."
"What other kind is there?"
Judy tapped on an app on her phone and a map of Zootopia started to load, a blinking carrot icon center on the screen. "The trackable kind."
"Is that supposed to be Officer Wilde?" asked Cottontail.
"Yes."
LOADING… LOADING…
"Service is terrible here," he said. "If we go back to my office—"
She didn't have time for that.
Spotting a side door, Judy ducked through it and found herself outside on a loading bay. Rain crashed down on the metal overhang and ran over the picnic benches like small, tiered waterfalls.
LOADING… LOAD—
Block by block the map began appearing around the carrot icon. White and white and more white.
Cottontail peered over her shoulder. She hadn't noticed him follow her out. "What's wrong with your map? Did the app crash?"
"No."
"But there's nothing on it. It's just blank space."
"That's not blank space," said Judy. She zoomed out, stomach dropping as the whiteness expanded, mile upon mile upon mile.
"It's snow. Nick's in Tundratown."
