"You sure you're up for this?" Finnick asked.
Nick was wondering just that as he hauled himself up a leaky old drain pipe. The Rainforest District made everything slick and wet, with the odd bits of metal posing particular challenges. Finnick, with his tiny body and sharp claws, had little trouble climbing the massive kapok tree like a squirrel. The larger red fox (who kept his nails nice and trim) was forced to improvise, thus the slippery drain pipe.
By the time Nick pulled himself up to the ledge Finnick was sitting at he was well out of breath. It was wet and cold, but Nick slumped down against the sheet metal overhang all the same. Finnick was already starting his second ascent like a champ. It made Nick even more exhausted to watch his small partner.
This was not how Nick had been planning to spend his weekend. Usually he would be palling around Tundratown or spending the wee hours of the morning in one of Savannah Central's jazz bars. This type of work was an old fox's (or small one's) game. Nick had thought himself graduated from it. Yet here he was, heaving and puffing like an amateur.
He glared down his snout at Finnick, blinking away the drops of water now really starting to pelt him. "No, but I don't really have a choice," he said, answering his partner's earlier question. "Now shut up and keep climbing before this storm gets any worse."
Finnick shrugged and continued to monkey his way onwards and upwards. Nick pulled himself to his feet, only slipping twice, and tried to find a good footing. Again he had to make do with partially climbing on the network of pipes and air ducts that ran through the colossal tree like veins. Nick knew that most of the interior was hollow, like every other "habitat tree" in the district, but access from those inside homes was limited to only a few select units near the canopy.
Units such as the one owned by Samantha Supine which he and Finnick had been scoping for the last week. The well-to-do leopard was one of the top lawyers at Wolf, Ram, and Hart. She wasn't a partner, but word was that she would be considered for it soon enough. Word also was that she had a craving for anything glittery and shiny. Her collection of jewels was extensive and it was said she never wore the same piece twice.
The problem for Nick and Finnick, who both shared a kindred love with Miss Supine for her jewelry collection, was that the leopard also liked her high-rise apartment. Such digs had privileges like 24/7 security for the entire floor of well-to-do renters and the latest electronic security measures.
It was a pity for Samantha (and Nick) that hardly anyone bothered to secure the outside of an eleven hundred foot tree from burglars. The climb had taken four hours already, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel – literally. The top floors of the tree were always lit and those twinkling stars were right in front of their eyes.
Nick pushed himself to try and keep pace with Finnick. He shivered in the drizzle; without a tie or a droopy Hawaiian shirt he felt practically naked, even in his new "work duds". To Nick's consternation and embarrassment he hadn't been able to fit in his old black prowling gear he'd kept at the back of his closet and had to buy a new wardrobe. Another hundred quid that psycho rabbit owes me, he thought. The sharp pang of anger replaced some of the burn in his arms and he gained ground on the smaller fox.
Finnick's little white paw waved in the dark and Nick stopped. The little fennec put a radar dish ear up against the trunk of the tree and listened. Nick pressed his head against the tree trunk as well and heard various bumps vibrating through the wood. To him, though, he might as well have heard nothing at all. Maybe a decade ago he could have teased out some meaning, but those glory days of being a "cat" burglar were been behind him – had been behind him. Now he could only trust that Finnick knew what he was doing and keep an eye on the balcony a hundred or so feet above him.
A few moments later and Finnick started climbing again, but at a decidedly harder pace. Nick clenched his teeth and kept pressing. Twenty feet behind Finnick and the fox hopped onto the balcony. He grasped Nick's paw and helped pull him over the railing a minute later.
"You need to lose some pounds," Finnick whispered. "Remind me again why I brought your fat ass on this job?"
Nick wiped the rain off his muzzle, treating his still-swollen jaw with extra care. "Because I'm the only fox in this city still willing to work with you? Because I'm your friend?" He reached into his backpack and pulled out a small data pad and smirked. "Oh, wait, it's because I haven't pissed off Honey enough that she won't make me custom tools anymore."
Finnick snatched the devise and flipped Nick off. They both crept up to the double glass balcony door and the smaller fox held up Honey's security cracker to the glass. A few seconds after he switched it on there was a buzz from the lock.
"See? Easy money," Nick muttered as he took in the lock. The alarm had been disengaged, but there was still the physical lock to deal with. Finnick kept a sharp eye on the darkened interior of the room while Nick went to work with his picking tools.
A decade ago it would have only taken him about thirty seconds to get the deadbolt open. Now, even after a week of refreshing, he wasted two hair-raising minutes teasing the tumblers until they slipped into place.
That was Finnick's cue to pull an unlabeled can out of his backpack and Nick's nose wrinkled when his partner started smearing his exposed fur with the special grease contained inside. It was the smaller fox's own mix and Nick had to admit it was very effective at making sure there weren't any stray fur fibers laying around that the police could identify, but it smelled horrible. He passed it to Nick and slipped inside to make sure Supine was actually gone for the night.
Nick watched him go with a sense of apprehension. It had been his job to pick the best day to hit the apartment; Finnick had never been very good at guessing how mammals acted. It's what made Nick such a good conman. Nick would feel pretty horrible if the lady of the house was still in and Finnick got himself arrested. Despite all the baiting and snide comments, they were friends. Friends didn't let each other fall on hard times.
And Nick had fallen. He was actually amazed by how much his personal stock had plummeted in a scant two weeks. He was no longer "Nick the Slick", preeminent conman in Mr. Big's outfit. They were calling him "Nick the Drip" now or "Nick, He's Slipped" instead (polar bears weren't terribly creative animals). Word of how he, a fox, had gotten thumped by some rabbit outside the Oasis had spread like wildfire through the circles Nick frequented. Now he was a joke – a predator that had gotten one-upped by his prey.
Never mind that his job had never been to crack heads for Mr. Big. Never mind that Judy Lops was some kind of super freak rabbit that could probably bench press a bus or something. Never mind that he'd given years to the organization. Oh no, none of that mattered. It just mattered that he had gotten roughed up by a bunny. A little cotton-tailed horror that only came up to his stomach. Who he'd snuck up on quoting corny movie lines to her own reflection in a dark parking lot.
Okay, so maybe he could understand it. Didn't mean he liked or appreciated that suddenly being mammalia non grata meant he wasn't getting any of his usual work and had to resort back to crime with actual risks. Nick knew that even he couldn't talk his way out of being caught with an armful of stolen goods, something he'd learned early in his career when he last had to do this sort of thing.
Finnick's face suddenly appeared out of the dark gloom of Supine's bedroom. "She's not around. I've fried the alarm on the front door and we're good to go."
The magic words. Nick finished slathering himself with the oily grease and boldly stepped through the balcony door. His partner was slinking around, but Nick strolled up to the leopard's dresser drawers and started opening all the little boxes on top.
"Could you be more careful? There might be something in here we've missed," Finnick hissed.
Nick sighed as he fished out a rather nice silver chain. "Finnick, my friend, after all these years you've still never figured animals out. Mammals like Samantha Supine don't invest in cameras or tape recorders. They think that their little treetop castle is deterrent enough. The guards, alarms, and checkpoints? Overkill." He flipped the necklace into his backpack. "Altitude over attitude. They assume they're safe. I'd be a lot more worried robbing some twitchy rat's house on the wharf than this place."
One of Nick's old rules from way back was that money tended to overrule common sense. If Supine had bothered to install a motion sensor light on the balcony, he would have turned tail and ran. Automatic lights such as that were everywhere in the middle class apartments in Savannah Central, for example, because of all the animals that could shimmy up a drainpipe. The problem was that you had to manually turn them off and on when you wanted to use your balcony – too much trouble for a wealthy woman like Samantha Supine. What animal could get all the way up here without being spotted? What animal would get through her top of the line alarm system?
Nick shook his head at the silliness and dropped a handful of rings into his jingling backpack. By now Finnick had been won over to Nick's way of thinking and he was carefully rooting through a trunk at the foot of Supine's bed. He pulled out a very expensive-looking camera that he dumped into his backpack. Finnick had always had an eye for good electronics.
The smaller fox heaved his backpack. It looked fairly weighty; he'd found a decent haul when Nick hadn't been looking. "Okay, let's bounce."
Nick frowned. "There's still plenty of good pieces left, and we haven't even seen the rest of the apartment."
"Yeah, and the more we take the worse the climb down is going to be. Or do you think you can carry a television down a thousand feet, in the rain, without slipping and becoming a read smear on the sidewalk?"
Finnick made sense. Nick hated it when Finnick made sense. Years of buried thief sensibilities were telling him to agree and leave with the nice clutch of jewelry he'd already gotten away with. Thieves didn't stay out of prison by sticking around, especially not after they'd been so fortunate so far. Years of conman sensibilities told him that was hogwash, though. Nick's gut was saying that he'd profiled Samantha Supine to a T. She would be wining and dining her senior partners all night.
Nick pushed down the voice that still anxiously whispered that he should get while the getting was good. "Go on ahead," he told Finnick. "I'm going to stay a bit longer."
He ignored Finnick's frantic whispers and walked out of the bedroom. It was a spacious, open apartment with a full living room, sunken into the floor, that opened up into a combined kitchen and dining area. Nick frowned at the massive bay window that offered an excellent view of the rainforest district. It was exactly the type of place he had imagined himself having when he was younger.
"Should have been a lawyer," he muttered. Finnick was, no surprise, creeping along behind him. Even though the little fox had just been in here to fry the door alarm his head was swinging every which way. He didn't have the conman's nerves that Nick had.
Nick plodded to the center of the room, between the nice silk sofa and the marble coffee table. A massive plasma television dominated the far wall. It probably costed a fortune all on its own, but Finnick was right. There was no chance of getting it out of the apartment, storm or no storm. No thief would even try.
Finnick tugged on his sleeve. "What the hell are you doing?! Anyone can see you through that eyesore of a window! We've got to get—"
Nick reached down and clamped the smaller fox's muzzle shut. "Shhh, I'm trying to think like a lawyer."
Samantha Supine, to be exact. She was a successful predator lawyer who had given a handful of interviews in local papers over the years. A quick trip to the library had told Nick everything he needed to know. She grew up in one of the old ghettoes downtown and had a burning desire to get as far from those roots as she could.
Nick let go of Finnick's muzzle and walked around the table. A childhood like that, though, never really went away. Your life either became an imitation of the one you wanted to get away from, you wanted to get even with the animals you blamed for it, or you dressed yourself up with enough jewels and flashy things that you could pretend you forgot.
Something like a giant television. Giving it a closer look, Nick could tell that it wasn't the newest model. It had been repaired over the years and there were claw marks on the edges. It looked like just the thing a poor girl from the hood would buy with her first big-time paycheck. Nick had done something similar when he'd moved out, only a fancy silk tie collection was easier to box up and move when you wanted to change apartments.
And then it all clicked. He almost let out an excited yip.
"Help me with this thing," Nick whispered. Finnick threw silent fit, cursing to himself, as he and Nick wrangled the massive television down. All of the little fox's cursing died off when he saw the large safe set into the wall.
Nick smiled and went to work. It was a simple combination lock that he had clinched in under a minute flat. It popped open on well-oiled hinges and Finnick actually pinched himself. "Still regretting bringing my fat ass on this job?" he asked, voice smooth as silk as he began pulling out the nice jewelry. Rings with every example of gemstone, mother of pearl bracelets, three big stacks of cash, and, the centerpiece of the collection, a necklace with an emerald the size of his fist. Finnick had to hold the thing with both hands.
All of it went into their bags. Nick shouldered his, but he didn't follow Finnick back to the bedroom. He headed toward the front door. The smaller fox looked absolutely stricken as he looked out the peephole. He opened the door, pulled out his phone, and gave Finnick a mocking little salute before boldly stepping into the hall.
The truth was, Nick didn't think he could manage a climb back down the tree. He had barely made it up without the material burden of a successful heist weighing him down.
He was prepared, however, for this eventuality. It was amazing how much information an animal could get from a simple 'request for information' letter down at City Hall. For the last week he had been the proud owner of Tapir & Partner's original design bid for the building that had been submitted to the city zoning commission. Those blueprints showed all the best angles for security cameras, which Nick successfully navigated without being seen by keeping his nose pointed down at his smartphone.
His backpack was dropped into the nearest trash shoot, along with his black skullcap and gloves. Dressed in just black pants and a turtleneck, he looked like a typical upwardly-mobile fox walking to the elevator. He even waved to one of the capybara guards as they made their rounds.
And that was how Nicholas Pawelek Wilde left the Kalimantan Canopy a free fox, strolling from the parking garage retrieved backpack in-paw. Days later, when news of the robbery became public, the only description was of a red fox, indeterminate age, indeterminate face, and indeterminate characteristics. The one guard who had seen him couldn't give a reliable description and the only thing the cameras caught were the two black tips of his ears – a trait shared by most red foxes in Zootopia.
One thing was for sure, though. He had managed to basically walk out of the front door with over $80,000.00 in jewels, cash, and small electronics.
Kozlov let out a belly-shaking laugh. "Walked out the front door! Da chutzpah of this fox!" The polar bear's laugh was joined by nearly everyone within earshot. More than a few of the guests pulled up chairs to Kozlov's table to hear the story again. Nick, for the first time in what seemed like ages, was back in a positive light.
Kozlov's Palace had never been Nick's preferred hangout, but it was the underboss that had allowed Finnick to take him on the hit. For that Nick was more than happy to pal around with the heavy-hitters of Mr. Big's operation. These bears (except for Kozlov) were short on brains, but they made for good company. If you were on a roll there wasn't a nicer place to spend a Friday night.
Someone slid Nick a beer. He had three unfinished congratulatory drinks sitting nearby already, but he dutifully added another to his burgeoning six pack. Finnick was already three sheets to the wind across the table, but there was a very cute artic fox keeping what little sense he had left focused on her. Poor guy. She was going to eat up most of his partner's cut from the job over the course of a (very) pleasant weekend. Finnick just never learned.
Nick felt a fluffy tail trail across his leg as a few more artic foxes joined the group. No way was he falling for that trap again. Nope. He had been a younger, dumber fox.
Didn't mean he wouldn't smile and window shop, though.
A paw poked Nick on the shoulder. "Tell us again how you knew safe would be behind television," a bear asked in his thick accent.
"Well, it was pretty simple when I stopped to think about it," he said, winking at vixen that had tried catching his attention. "I thought of what I would do if I had somehow ended up as an overpaid lawyer after growing up in the slums. Would I put all of my hard-earned money and jewels in a bank or would I want to keep close where I could hold it all in my paws when I got antsy? Ergo, there had to be a safe. It was just figuring out where she stashed it. Where better than behind the first thing that I bought after clawing my way out of poverty?"
Claps all around. Nick held up his paws with mock humility. He even gave them a little bow. Truth was, he was rather proud. Even stacked against his days when he cracked safes for a living this had been a great haul. Even after Kozlov had gotten his cut as both boss and fence, Nick had walked away with a cool twenty grand. That was enough to pay up his rent for the year, buy a few extra amenities around the house, and still put a five-digit donation into his special savings account. The thought of that one left him with a warm feeling in his chest that only had a little to do with the way that one vixen was eyeballing him.
A door at the back of Kozlov's restaurant flew open and a little ball of white fur barreled out. "Nick!"
Nick was nearly knocked over when Kozlov's son, Morris, barreled into him. Even at ten the kid weighed more than Nick did.
"Morris! Be careful," Kozlov admonished, but his eyes were shining behind his glasses. "Remember what I taught you about foxes – they break." The little cub smiled sheepishly and eased off. Nick breathed easier and scooted over to make room for him at the table.
The future head of the Kozlov family had, Nick had to admit, grown on him. Morris was just as gregarious as his father, but without the edge that everyone knew Kozlov had. He was simply a fun, outgoing cub that nearly worshiped the ground Nick walked on. Nick ruffled the little guy's head until his downy white fur started to puff up. Morris giggled and fought to get it back under control.
Kozlov lazily waved a massive paw. An otter waiter was at their table before it had even stopped moving. "I'm getting peckish. Get me ukha with salmon, cod, and perch. Get Nicholas whatever he wants."
Nick knew the menu here by heart. He usually erred on the side of vegetarianism for the sake of being as non-threatening to the majority of Zootopia's population as possible (you had to trust a conman, after all), but a fox could not live on bread or berries alone. "Lox on a bagel, if you don't mind," he said, smiling when Kozlov's muzzle crinkled. "And an extra portion for the usual plate thieves." That brought a grin back to the bear.
As the otter swiftly moved off to prepare the meal, a polar bear plodded over to the table. He was carrying a phone which he handed off to Kozlov. The affable bear shifted and angled his body away from the table with a hint of annoyance at having his night interrupted with work.
That lull in the conversation left the floor open. "So, how many locks did you pick for this one job? I've heard that you were one of the best at it." That vixen again. Nick gave her an exaggerated shrug and leaned back into the cushions of the booth. Morris giggled again behind his paw and Nick gave him a sideways look. That kid was sharper than most thought.
"I've been away from this kind of game for a long time. Maybe when I was younger, but now it takes some concentration." He showed her the pads on his paws. "It's all about practice and having a steady paw."
The vixen cooed. "You don't get as much practice with those digits of yours these days, Mr. Nick? That's a shame. Maybe you should visit my massage parlor. My sisters and I would love to have you as a custo-"
Kozlov slamming his fist down onto the table put an end to the playful back-and-forth. Drinks and food scattered everywhere. The bears all stood, but the smaller animals scattered for cover, including Nick and Finnick's admirers.
There was a cold fire in the eyes behind those coke-bottle glasses. His massive head swung around to the wait staff. "Out," he growled. The assortment of otters, working-class bears, and one walrus chef did not need to be told twice. Even before the back doors slammed closed, Kozlov was growling the same to the other patrons. There was an implicit order when he glanced about at those remaining at his table that they were to stay. Even Finnick seemed to sober up a bit.
Morris moved to slide off the booth. "Not you, Morris. Stay. Learn." He cozied back up against Nick real quick.
Two great steam clouds bellowed out of Kozlov's nose as he slumped back down. "The Oasis was raided by the tuchas licking police. Three made mammals, up da river."
Nick could have been pushed over by a feather. The Oasis hadn't been seriously raided in years. Once or twice the police had combed the place for animals with active warrants, but if they had arrested Pinyon then this was more than the usual roundup. Nick glanced at Finnick and found his partner struggling to process the information. He had been much more a regular there than Nick.
Kozlov pushed his glasses up behind his ears and pinched the bridge of his snout. "Da big man in da office is angry. His feygela was fond of da place."
"What charges did the cops have for raiding the bar? Pinyon has been running a tight ship for months now."
"What didn't they get him on? Extortion, racketeering, money laundering – da whole bag. Oy, diz whole thing is fakakta." Everyone was quiet as Kozlov drummed his thick claws on the tabletop. "Iz okay. Porcupine has made bail." He turned to his assistant. "Get car."
Finnick pushed back from the table to leave with Kozlov. Luckily for the drunk little fox, Nick was there to catch him before he plowed into the floor snout-first. "Don't give me that look," he muttered. "I'm fine. Just get me to the car."
Nick quickly counted how many drinks the fennec had downed. Too many to not make a scene at the ZPD. Kozlov could handle himself, but Finnick had never been subtle. Nick helped him back up into the booth.
"Look, just cool it here until we get back," he said. "Eat something and get this out of your system. We'll be back in a few minutes with Pinyon. You heard the big guy, he made bail. There's no trouble."
Finnick probably had an argument ready to go, but the words just came out as a deep groan of pain. His head flopped down onto the table and he tugged his massive ears over his head. Nick shook his head and clapped Morris on the shoulder. "Watch him for me, will you?" A happy nod. "Good kid."
Nick was out the front door about the same time as Kozlov's limo pulled up to the curb. The bear gave Nick a look, but his driver waited on the fox to get in. "Cozy," Nick said as he claimed a small space for himself between the far window and one of Kozlov's hulking head-thumpers. They were packed three on the row with the boss taking a bench seat for himself.
"Didn't expect you to come." Away from the judging eyes of his son, Kozlov fished a bottle of vodka out of the car's miniature refrigerator and poured himself a glass before passing around the bottle. "Not after da ting with da rabbit."
It took Nick a conscious effort to keep his tail from bristling. "Pinyon has always been good to me and Finnick despite this bad taste in staffing. I'm just the more sober us at the moment."
Kozlov nodded. "Porcupine iz good earner." He waved disgustedly at the speaker inlaid in the frame next to his head. "Listen to nafke politsiya congratulate themselves on radio. Fercockt!"
Nick hadn't noticed the low hum of the radio over the bouncing of Kozlov's limousine. He leaned and twisted the nob until the practiced voice of a veteran newsman crisply broke the angry silence.
"…and Mayor Lionheart was personally on hand to congratulate members of the ZPD on recent wave of police raids across Zootopia today. Police Commissioner Hager Bogo today hailed the more than forty arrests as the culmination of many months of police work. Several businesses were confiscated as material evidence to several felonies, including money laundering, illegal gambling, and counterfeit rings."
The damage was tallying in Nick's head as the reporter kept reading the laundry list of animals arrested, properties seized, and major outfits gutted. They weren't naming names, but the fox was certain that heads big and small were rolling in the organization for this.
"My fellow Zootopians," the mayor began, "Today is a momentous day for our fair city. I have been told that seventy-two arrests have been made in sweeps carried out across Zootopia. Criminals of all stripes have been brought to justice by the men and women of the ZPD." There was enough canned clapping after every pronouncement to fill a half-hour sitcom. "And, leading the charge, was none other than ZPD's first rabbit officer, Judy Hopps! She is an officer that, thanks to my Mammal Inclusion Initiative, was given the chance to shine and to prove that in Zootopia a mammal can be anything. It is my pleasure to present to her, on behalf of the city and the ZPD, the ZPD Medal for Valor."
"Did he just say a rabbit officer?" Nick asked, stunned. Most of the other bears were just as confused and incredulous. Who had ever heard of a rabbit police officer?
The microphone crackled and someone small cleared their throat. "Thank you, Mayor Lionheart." The rabbit, Hopps, had a surprisingly chipper voice. She sounded like the type of cop that wasn't even phased by the crowd or the press that was obviously clamoring around her. "I am honored for both the commendation I've received as well as the opportunity to serve the animals of Zootopia. My life could have gone down a very different rabbit hole. Today, I met a rabbit who had grown up no more than ten miles from me. We share a background, a hometown, even a first name, but instead of being someone who took pride in her community she was someone who only took. I look at that bunny and I think about how blessed I am to serve in the country's greatest police force. With the greatest chief and the greatest mayor and the greatest animals. Together, if we try, we can regulate crime to the dustbin of history. Thank you."
Thunderous applause all around. The reporter cut back in with, "And that was Judy Hopps, latest Medal of Valor recipient. ZNN has exclusively learned of the identity of the rabbit Officer Hopps mentioned in her acceptance speech. A source at City Hall has revealed that Judy Lopps, arrested on two felony counts of burglary, resisting arrest, and assaulting a police officer, is the rabbit in question. When asked to comment, Police Commissioner Bogo only said that, quote, he is pleased to have gotten a Hopps instead of a Lopps."
Kozlov reached over and flicked the radio off. His massive head swung around the cab of the limo until his eyes settled on Nick. "Da boss wants us to post bail on all animals from Oasis. Politsiya are problem and we need solution. Nu?"
Nick nodded. His jaw throbbed, but he nodded. "Da."
He could play nice. It was up to the rabbit if she could do the same.
Author's Notes: So! Here we are again! This time we switched perspectives, which the story will do once in a while. Kozlov makes his big entrance (I try to channel a mix of Woody Allen and Ivan Drago when I write him) as well as a bit of confusion at the end. I will endeavor to keep up this update pace, but I am in the mood to write more Loyalty so we'll see how it all pans out.
Until next time!