After his first interview a sort of routine came into Nick's day.
7:00 AM get up, report to base
8:00 AM be at bar
8:00 AM – 6: 00 PM work at bar and try to find a lead
6:00 PM – 7: 00 PM report to base
It was not really interesting, but he enjoyed to have something new apart of the ZPD. The job was easy. The bar did not have much customers anyways and when, then they were "champs". "Champs" were the main population of parts of town like this. Working class predators, mostly between the age of forty and seventy-five.
Mammals that started working in a factory at sixteen and never got another job.
"Champs" was an euphemism, a positive touch to the old insult "chomper". Probably to make the predators not feel that hated back when segregation was still a thing.
Predatory proletarians. Didn't know that still existed.
At least that was how Ted explained it. Ted and his annoying friend were the only people he'd see regularly. The "Boss" didn't leave the room behind the left door often. And if he did, only to get one of his workers in there to help him with a thing. Then there were days, when "Boss" seemed to be out of town. Usually at Fridays Nick and Roy would be alone. Sometimes just before those Fridays Nick had to help the others putting boxes into a car, which Ted drove away with. Unfortunately he never got a glimpse at their inventory.
Over all the work and friendly coworkers Nick – or Marty – never forgot what his main purpose was: Trying to find a murderer. And he had the intuition that whatever was behind that door would give him an idea, if not a lead.
Attempts to find out more about the bar, its workers, their private lives or the "Boss", who remained to be called "Boss", were futile.
Seems like they don't want to get too fond of me…
Nick focused on washing the dishes again. He was currently in the kitchen behind the right door. The left one was off limits, or so it seemed. He did not try to be too obvious about his intentions. But he hid his questions in well-constructed, casual small talk. Being a former hustler was useful after all. After a few weeks he already thought nothing would happen and he started to get bored. A lot. That was until the next Monday.
He had overslept. The chief shouted him out of bed over the radio. 7:45 AM.
"Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck."
He ran down the street while still getting his jacket on. He arrived at 8:10. When he opened the door, he would expect Ted to be angry at him. But Ted was not there. Neither was Roy. But the door on the left was open.
It can't be…
He casually put his weapon on a hook next to the door and tried to get a view of the room without being too obvious.
No it can't be this easy.
But "Boss" was not there. He was alone. Doubting the safety, he closed his eyes and listened.
Nothing.
He carefully looked around the corner.
Still nothing.
In the next second he stood in the room. And he was not sure what it was. Next to a dirty couch were computers, maps and shelves full of books. If he would have to compare it with anything it would have been…
An operation center.
Taking a closer look at the maps revealed their age. They were at least fifty years old and showed a plan of a city. At first he thought it was Zootopia until he read the title.
"Federal Districts of the City of Mammalia"
Mammalia was one of the first joined predator-prey cities, he remembered. The same ideals of peace and unity. More he did not know. And more he did not find out as something was pulled over his head and darkness embraced him.
Well I'm back with a shorter story (666 words to be precise). Big Thanks to Animallover1616, whose replies brought me back to my stories.