ZOOTOPIA
(Parody of Chinatown)
Nick leaned in a wooden swivel chair behind a white oak desk, which was coated over with a brown sap-colored paint. The fox had his tail wrapped around his waist. The hot beating sunlight of California leaked through the cracks of the blinds that covered the windows of the office. Nick wore a white linen suit and looked up at the only other living being in the office. A middle-aged capybara, wearing a white tank top covered in sweat with overalls & the top of his hair buzzed cut, held a pile of printed photographs in their hand. Every time the capybara flipped through the stack, he let out a moan of anguish until he finally tossed the photos into the air and turned away. The capybara made a fist with one of his hands and punched the office's wall, implanting a dent as he did. He then turns to the blinds and sinks on his knees, weeping heavily now and is so upset that he actually bites into the blinds.
"Alright," Nick finally spoke, "Enough is enough. You can't eat the Venetian blinds, Curly. I just had them installed yesterday."
The fox then swung his chair around to face a cabinet beside his desk. He opened it and reached in and selected a cheaper bottle of bourbon amongst the more expensive ones. Curly got to his feet as Nick poured the drink into a shot glass and pushed it over his desk, offering it to the distraught animal.
"Down the hatch," Nick said.
The capybara got to his feet as the fan above whiffed overhead the two men. Nick produced a cigarette and lit it as his employer drained the beverage. The fox always worked in this kind of profession, get hired by somebody to do something they suspect, figure it out, get evidence, prove whether or not the client was right, and get paid. For this case, it was another affair ordeal. One lover thinks the others cheating and Nick has to prove it. And as the fox watched his client's motions, he certainly did his part. The capybara sank into the chair before Nick's desk.
"She's just no good."
"What can I tell ya, kid?" Nick said, his arms outstretched before collapsing back to his side. "You're right. When you're right, you're right, and you are right."
"Ain't worth thinkin' about." the capybara said, before he placed the glass back onto Nick's desk.
"You do you pal," the fox replied, his voice mimicking that of a somber tone.
"You know, you're okay, Mr. Wilde," Curly said, his tone a bit lighter than before. "I know it's your job, but you're okay."
"Thanks, Curly," Nick replied, a sly smirk formed on his face. "Please, call me Nick."
The two men stood up and Nick clasped a firm paw on the Capybara's shoulder. The fox guided his client out of his personal office and through the reception. As they passed by the receptionist's desk, whose occupant was a young, pretty-looking, mid-twenties, thin, cheetah, Nick only eyed her for a moment before returning his attention to Curly.
"Again, thank you Mr- Nick," Curly said, as he eased out the entrance, where on the pebbled door glass frame it read F.N. WILDE and Associates. DISCREET INVESTIGATION. "I'll pay ya as soon as I can."
"Aye, don't sweat on it, Curly," Nick replied, "Just be careful driving home tonight."
With that, the fox closed the door and his smile disappeared. Nick muttered a few swears under his breath before a soft voice called out from behind him.
"A Mrs. Hopps is waiting for you," the voice said. Nick turned toward the cheetah, who was called Cheera. "With Mr. Walsh and Mr. Duffy."
Nick only nodded and swayed his tail a bit before he turned and entered his counterpart's side office.
As the fox entered the side office, all eyes turned in his direction. Two desks and file cabinets stood in the room. Behind one of the desks with a typewriter in front of them, was a middle-aged wolf with a silver sleek fur, a name tag on the desk read "Mr. Duffy". On the opposite side of the room, behind the other desk, stood a middle-aged beaver with spectacles on his face, a name tag on his desk read "Mr. Walsh". Both men wore clothes that seemed like they were reporters for a newspaper company. In front of Mr. Walsh's desk sat a well-aged, wealthy-dressed, female rabbit. Her fur was dark gray, and her eyes a light green. She fiddled with the veil of her pillbox hat. Mr. Walsh stood up as soon as Nick had entered.
"Mrs. Hopps," the beaver said, "May I present Mr. Wilde?"
Nick flashed a warm, sympathetic smile to her before he sat in the seat in front of Mr. Duffy's desk. The fox glanced her up and down and guessed that she met a similar height to his, excluding her big ears.
"How do you do, Mrs. Hopps?" Nick asked.
"Mr. Wilde..." the rabbit replied, her voice a bit high yet low pitched.
"Now, Mrs. Hopps," Nick began, "What seems to be the problem?"
The rabbit seemed to hold her breath as if confessing a dark secret.
"My husband," she said, "I believe, is seeing another woman."
Nick looked mildly shocked and glanced at his partners for confirmation. His eyes seemed to say exactly what he said next.
"No, really?" Nick asked, gravely.
"I'm afraid so," the rabbit responded.
"Sorry to hear that." the fox replied.
Mrs. Hopps smoked on her cigarette for a moment before speaking.
"Can't we talk about this alone, Mr. Wilde?" she asked, eyeing the fox's counterparts.
"I'm afraid not, Mrs. Hopps," Nick answered, "These men are my operatives, and at some point they're going to assist me. I can't do everything by myself."
"Of course not," the rabbit agreed.
"Now," Nick began, "What makes you certain he is involved with someone?"
Mrs. Hopps seems nervous to reply but answers regardless.
"A wife can tell," she replied.
Nick sighed and pondered on how quickly he could solve this issue.
"Mrs. Hopps," the fox said, Do you love your husband?"
"...Yes, of course," the rabbit answered, her tone shocked at the question.
"Then go home and forget about it," Nick said, deliberately.
"But..." she began.
"I'm sure he loves you too," the fox interrupted, staring intently at Mrs. Hopps. "You know the expression, let sleeping dogs lie? You're better off not knowing."
"But I have to know!" she exclaimed, with real anxiety in her voice.
Her intensity is genuine. Nick looked at his two partners.
"Alright," the fox said, "What's your husband's first name?"
"Hollis," she answered, "Hollis Hopps."
This time, Nick actually gave an expression of surprise.
"Water and Power?" Nick asked, his tail swaying to and fro.
Mrs. Hopps nodded. She clearly seems shy. Nick looks her up and down and noted her dress and accessories. Shoes, handbag, hair, etc.
"He's chief engineer," she said.
"Chief engineer?!" Duffy asked, his tone a bit eager.
Nick shot a glance to his canine friend, saying that he'd do the questioning.
"This type of investigation can be hard on your pocketbook, Mrs. Hopps," Nick spoke, confidently. "It takes time."
"Money doesn't matter to me, Mr. Wilde"
Nick sighed.
"Very well," the fox said, "We'll see what we can do."
It was morning. Nick sat in one of the pews in a council chamber within city hall. The fox wore a gold-cream-colored tux jacket, pants, tie, and fedora, with a white buttoned shirt underneath. At the front of the room, on a podium of some sort, stood former mayor Sam Rigby, an elder-looking elk who had just lost the reelection to a vixen not long ago. Nick once heard her name was 'Diane' or something like that. Besides the former mayor stood a huge map, with overleafs and bold lettering: "PROPOSED ALTO VALLEJO DAM AND RESERVOIR".
Some of the council members are reading funny papers and gossip columns while Bagby is speaking.
"Gentlemen," Bagby began, "Today you can walk out that door, turn right, hop on a streetcar, and in twenty-five minutes end up smack in the Pacific Ocean. Now you can swim in it, you can fish in it, you can sail in it but you can't drink it, you can't water your lawns with it, you can't irrigate an orange grove with it. Remember we live next door to the ocean but we also live on the edge of the desert. Los Angeles is a desert community. Beneath this building, beneath every street, there's a desert. Without water, the dust will rise up and cover us as though we'd never existed!"
The elk paused to let the implication sink in. Nick looked around to see only very few people present. Dirty farmers, businessmen, and city employees. One was not that far from the fox's side. Nick yawned and slowly inched away from the farmer.
"The Alto Vallejo can save us from that," Bagby continued, "And I respectfully suggest that eight and a half million dollars is a fair price to pay to keep the desert from our streets and not on top of them."
The other men, who had been listening with keen interest unlike Nick, nodded in understanding. Some farmers applauded until somebody shooshed them. Meanwhile, the council committee conversated in a whispered tone before one finally spoke.
"Mr. Bagby," one councilman began, "let's hear from the departments again. I suppose we better take Water and Power first. Mr. Hopps."
Nick looked up with sudden interest. A brown-furred rabbit, slender, in his sixties, who wears glasses, moves with surprising fluidity to the huge map with overleafs. He turns to a smaller, younger man, a dog of some sort, and nods. The dog turns the overleaf on the map.
"In case you've forgotten," Mr. Hopps began, "gentlemen, over five hundred lives were lost when the Van der Lip Dam gave way core samples have shown that beneath this bedrock is shale similar to the permeable shale in the Van der Lip disaster. It couldn't withstand that kind of pressure there." He referred to a new overleaf. "Now you propose yet another dirt banked terminus dam with slopes of two and one half to one, one hundred twelve feet high and a twelve thousand acre water surface. Well, it won't hold. I won't build it. It's that simple. I am not making that kind of mistake twice. Thank you, gentlemen."
The rabbit leaves the overleaf board and sits down. Just as he did, a sudden noise of whoops and hollers from the rear of the chamber erupted. A red-faced, Irish wolf, wearing clean yet poor farming clothes drove in a flock of several scrawny, bleating sheep. Naturally, they cause a commotion.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" the council president yelled, "Get those damned things outta here!"
"Tell me where you take them!" the farmer retorted, "You don't have an answer for that so quick, do you?!"
Bailiffs and sergeants-at-arms respond to the imprecations of the Council and attempt to capture the sheep and the farmer, having to restrain him as he looked like he's going to bodily attack Mr. Hopps.
"You steal the water from the valley," The wolf yelled, over the bleating of his sheep. "ruin the grazing, starve my livestock who's paying you to do that, Mr. Hopps, that's what I want to know!"
Nick only grinned at the sight. He couldn't help but feel like it were a weird circus of some sort. But as the fox looked back towards Mr. Hopps he saw the rabbit hang his head in shame before burying his snout and face into the palm of his paw.