Once they had parked in the same garage as before, it didn't take very long to retrace their steps back the Blind Tiger. This time, though, there was no question that the club was open. The soaped up window of the Blind Tiger glowed feebly with the club's internal lighting, and Judy could hear the faint sound of music as they approached the building.
Inside, the club didn't look too much different from how Judy thought it would, judging from the rough exterior. The lights were low, even on the stage where she could just make out a gazelle and two tigers playing something fast and lively. A haze of cigarette smoke made the interior of the club even dimmer, the cherry-red embers of lit cigarettes standing out like fireflies in summer from tables that were barely visible. The floors were roughly-finished wooden planks and the walls had been sloppily plastered, the unevenness of the surface and cracks visible even in the gloom except where the walls were covered with an assortment of advertisements for soft drinks and jazz records. None of the chairs in the club looked like they matched, running the gamut from straight-backed chairs that could have been stolen from the dining room of any middle-class family to rattan chairs that were falling apart. They were all different sizes, too, but no effort had been made to put either the chairs or the tables at the same level, although they had been ordered so that the shortest and smallest tables were closest to the stage and the biggest and tallest ones were furthest away.
Perhaps three or four dozen mammals were squeezed into the space, the open area for dancing a crush of bodies where mammals of all different sizes jostled each other. A pair of rhinos madly doing the Snarlston, the floor shaking with each syncopated kick, dominated the center of the dance floor, while smaller couples spun in their orbit, quick stepping as they avoided squashing even smaller couples or being squashed themselves.
On the other side of the room, separated from the stage by the dance floor and the broad swath of tables and chairs, was the bar, which looked completely out of place. In dramatic contrast to the rough surroundings it was a massive piece of polished mahogany, fine floral engravings covering the side of it facing the room. Behind the bar was an array of cheap shelves covered with empty bottles of all different sizes and colors, from a delicate little bottle of blue glass not much larger than an acorn to one made out of green glass that Judy could have fit inside if the mouth had been larger.
The bartender was a tigress who looked to be in her mid-thirties, and while she seemed unusually lean and no more than the average height for a tiger, she still absolutely towered over Judy and was far more powerfully built. The tigress wore a simple black dress that exactly matched the color of her stripes and made the white and tawny parts of her fur stand out in sharp relief. Despite the low lighting in the club, she wore a pair of sunglasses with perfectly circular lenses of glass so dark a green that they were nearly black surrounded by tortoiseshell frames. Although Judy knew that many felines had excellent night vision, it still seemed like an odd affection until she saw the edge of a thick scar protruding just beyond the edge of the left lens of the tigress's sunglasses and made the connection to the name of the club. The only possible conclusion was that it was called the Blind Tiger because it was run by a blind tiger, and when Judy jumped up on a bar stool and tried to catch her attention by saying "Excuse me," the tigress's reaction confirmed it.
The bartender's ears had shifted in Judy's direction before she swiveled her massive head, but while she was facing in Judy's direction her gaze would have been at least a foot or two too high to look her in the eye. "What'll it be?" the tigress asked; her voice was almost masculine, quite deep with a rumbling undertone that it seemed as though Judy could feel more than she could hear.
"I'm not here for a drink," Judy replied, and pulled her badge out of her purse and pointed it in the bartender's direction before realizing how pointless the gesture was.
The tigress hadn't reacted at all, as she obviously couldn't see the badge, and Judy hastily continued, "I'm Agent Hopps, with the Bureau of Prohibition. I'd like to ask you a few questions about someone who might have come here in the past few days."
The tigress leaned down on the bar, bringing her head closer to Judy's. Up close, Judy could see that the edge of the scar she had seen wasn't the only one on the bartender's face; although the lighting in the club was too dim to actually see through the dark lenses of her sunglasses, Judy thought that the bartender might not have eyes at all, as there were several other thinner scars that were only mostly hidden by the sunglasses. "I can assure you, Agent Hopps," the tiger said solemnly, "I've never seen anything illegal going on in this club."
Although Nick didn't actually laugh, instead making a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a cough, Judy could see the beginning of a wicked smile that matched the one on the tigress's face. The tigress continued, her tone far lighter than before, "But I don't see anything these days, legal or not. Name's Ethel, by the way."
Ethel offered Judy a massive paw to shake, and when Judy accepted the tigress gave it a single delicate pump. "No pads," she observed, "Guess I'm right about you being some kind of bunny."
She turned her sightless gaze in Nick's direction. "So what's a fox doing with a bunny prohi?" she asked.
Judy was impressed that Ethel had been able to identify her species as well as Nick's, and especially in Nick's case without even touching him. If Nick was similarly impressed, he gave no sign of it. "I'm helping," Nick said with a winning smile that was presumably entirely wasted on the tiger.
"Uh huh," Ethel replied, crossing her arms across her chest, "What's she got over your head?"
Judy looked down, her heart sinking. She couldn't blame the tiger for her assumption, because she was right. She had blackmailed Nick, and it didn't matter that she never would have been able to follow through on her threat. He had thought she could, and that was all that mattered. Nick briefly glanced in her direction before turning back to face Ethel. "Nothing, if you can believe that," he said.
Ethel leaned over the bar even further than she had when Judy introduced herself, bringing her nose within an inch of Nick's, her breath visibly moving the fur of his face.
"Are you sure?" she asked, her upper lip peeling back from her massive fangs in a grimace that she probably meant to be intimidating.
Nick didn't flinch from her proximity, and simply said a single word. "Yes."
"I'll answer your questions," Ethel said abruptly, straightening herself up and turning her attention back to Judy, "Who are you looking for?"
Judy wasn't sure what it was about Nick's response that had convinced the bartender to cooperate, but she wasn't going to question it. "His name was Thomas Carajou. He was a wolverine, about forty years old, with part of his right ear missing and a big scar on the same side of his face," Judy said.
"It doesn't do me any good, you describing what he looked like," Ethel replied, her voice full of good humor.
"Carajou usually smelled like cheap cologne and he had breath like he ate a box of Den-Den a day. Slurred his words a little on account of that big scar and he was pretty touchy about it, when he felt like talking," Nick said.
"Oh, him?" Ethel asked, and Judy felt a sudden surge of optimism, "Yeah, I know who you mean. He came in here last week. Wednesday or Thursday, I think."
"Did he meet someone here?" Judy asked.
Considering that Carajou had been carrying a matchbook with the address of the Blind Tiger written on it at the time of his death, it seemed likely.
Ethel nodded. "He did. I would have tossed the pair of them out if they didn't leave."
"What happened?" Nick asked, and then he turned to Judy to add, "Crazy did always have something of a temper."
Surprisingly, Ethel shook her head. "Wasn't him who was the problem. It was that pal of his. He was hassling Isabel."
Judy exchanged a blank look with Nick, who simply shrugged, apparently unfamiliar with anyone named Isabel. Ethel jerked her chin in the direction of the stage, adding, "She's the one playing the piano and singing. Pretty good, don't you think?"
Judy hadn't paid much attention to the singer when she had entered the club, but she turned her attention to the stage. The gazelle was playing a scuffed upright piano, her dress of silver sequins reflecting what little light there was in the club as she moved. Judy had never heard the song that she was singing, a brightly optimistic piece about trying even in the face of adversity, but she had to agree with Ethel's assessment. "Anyway, I only caught the end of the whole mess," Ethel continued with a shrug, "Your Carajou's friend was a... pretty nasty fella."
"Nasty how?" Judy asked.
"Ask Isabel," Ethel said, and then she pulled a pocket watch from underneath the counter of the bar.
When she flipped it open, Judy saw that it didn't have any glass protecting the face, and Ethel delicately touched the hands. "They should be taking a break in about five or ten minutes," she said, and then flipped the watch closed and put it back under the counter.
"Any other questions?" Ethel asked.
"No thank you, you've been very helpful," Judy said as she jumped off the bar stool.
"Mmm," the tigress replied, "You watch yourself. Wouldn't want to be stepped on, would you?"
Somehow, Judy thought that she wasn't just talking about the dance floor, but she nodded. "We'll be careful," she said, and she grabbed Nick's paw and pulled him away.
"Well," Nick said once they were away from the bar and standing by an empty table, "You could go up on stage, pull out your badge, and demand that they answer your questions right now. I'm sure they'd be real cooperative and none of the mammals here would mind."
His tone was light, but the sarcasm was plain; although Judy had no idea how the musicians would react to being interrupted, she doubted that the rough-looking audience would be very understanding. "Or we could wait for them to finish their set here, with that little bunny foot tapping impatiently," Nick continued.
He glanced down at Judy's feet as he said it, giving her a wry smile. "Or..." Nick said, trailing off.
"Or?" Judy prompted him.
"Or I could teach you how to dance while we wait."
Judy did her best to imitate Nick's own customary look of smug aloofness, cocking her head to the side as she looked up at him with her eyes half-lidded. "What makes you think I don't know how to dance?" Judy asked.
Nick smiled, seeming delighted that she was playing along with him. "I didn't think you knew how to have fun, Carrots," he said, "I saw your apartment, you know."
Judy didn't have a ready response to that. When she had been living in her apartment, she had always told herself that the sacrifices she had made for the sake of her dream were worth it, that she would have time to enjoy herself in the city later. She realized, though, that she had nothing to show for the time she had spent in the city. She hadn't gone to any museums or movies or even just explored the city; she hadn't bought anything but food and law books. "I'll have you know my roommate in college took me along to a dance, once or twice," Judy managed at last.
"I'd put more money on 'once' than 'twice,'" Nick said dryly, and he was right.
Although Judy's roommate her first year of college had also been a bunny from the countryside, she couldn't have been more different than Judy. Rachel's primary goal in college had been to find a buck to marry her, and to that end had devoted far more time to parties and dressing up than she did to any of her classes. It had only taken her until the middle of their second year to succeed in her goal, and she had then dropped out when she had been pregnant for four months and married for two. Rachel had indeed succeeded in getting Judy to go to one party, but the experience had left much to be desired and Judy had flatly refused to attend any others. She was too concerned with her grades, and Judy realized that it wasn't just her time in the city that had left her with little to show for it; she had earned her degree, it was true, but that was about it. "And you're a floorflusher and not a four-flusher?" Judy said.
"Me?" Nick asked, putting a paw to his chest and giving her a half-smile, "Why do you think they call it the foxtrot?"
With that, Judy had allowed him to pull her onto the dance floor when the band went into their next song, which unlike the previous one Judy actually recognized. "Someone to Watch Over Me" was also, thankfully, a much slower song, which seemed like it would lessen her chances of embarrassing herself in front of Nick.
She told herself that no matter how badly she danced, it wouldn't be embarrassing. Nick was right that she could be impatient, and it didn't mean anything, after all—it was just a way to kill a few minutes. "How's your foot?" she asked abruptly.
"Getting better. You're not getting out of this that easily," Nick said, and she thought it was the truth; it had seemed as though his limp had slowly improved somewhat as the day went on.
Standing in front of him only emphasized how much taller he was; he could have easily put his chin on the top of her head if he had wanted to, and probably would have had to stoop a little to do so. "Come on," he said, "It's simple. Just follow my steps. Look: slow slow quick quick."
As he spoke, he grasped her right paw with his left, holding it straight out, and then positioned his right paw so that he was lightly touching her back right below her shoulder blade. Although Judy had never danced a foxtrot before, as Nick started going through the steps she realized that she knew them from that one singular party she had attended in college when an overenthusiastic buck had taught her the dance as a rather flimsy pretense to get closer to her. "This is just the bunny hug!" she blurted.
Nick looked down at her, one eyebrow raised. "The bunny hug? Really?"
They slowly drifted across the dance floor, Nick seeming to effortlessly avoid the other couples who had also switched to slow dances. His touch was warm, and she could feel the slight roughness of the pads of his paws in her own and on her back. Though his paws were much bigger than hers, his grip was gentle, seemingly without pressure, and it barely seemed as though he was the one leading. "That's what we called it," Judy replied, trying not to sound overly defensive.
She tried not to look down at her feet, which slowly seemed to start feeling as though they knew what they were doing as she went through the simple pattern of the steps. Instead, she looked up into Nick's face, and found that he seemed completely at ease. "Is that right?" he asked, "No foxes to show you how to really dance?"
"No," Judy said, not pressing the point that so far as she could tell, there was no difference between the bunny hug and the foxtrot, "You're the first fox I've ever really known."
"And you're the first bunny I've ever really known," Nick replied, "There aren't a lot in the city."
Before Judy could respond, Nick led them into a sudden side-step, his tail curling around her as he avoided having it stepped on as an awkwardly dancing couple of beavers lost their balance and clumsily stomped as they tried to regain it. He pulled her about three inches closer, the already small gap between them narrowing until it seemed as though his presence filled all her senses. His faint musk seemed to be all that Judy could smell, and the sudden press of his tail and his body made the fur on her arms stand on end. She stumbled half a step herself, and Nick's grip grew marginally tighter as he helped her keep herself upright and then pulled himself away back to the proper distance.
"Sorry about that," Nick said, "But you're stiff as a board. Can't you relax a little?"
Judy swallowed and tried to force herself to loosen up. "I'm not much of a dancer," she said.
"Oh, don't sell yourself short," he said, "You're not stepping on my feet, which is more than I can say for some of the other partners I've had."
He gave an amused chuckle and shook his head, and Judy could only imagine what kind of dance partners he was remembering, and how long ago it must have been. She doubted he had done any dancing in Podunk, but maybe there had been someone he had left behind when he had left Zootopia. He hadn't mentioned anyone, and the slim file that the Bureau of Prohibition had on him certainly hadn't referenced any sort of girlfriend, but Judy suddenly wondered just what that file was missing.
"You're really something special, you know that?" Nick asked.
Judy looked up into his face, but he didn't seem to be teasing. "You have your own moments," she said.
"Is that right?" Nick asked, a slow smile spreading across his face as he leaned in, his nose almost touching hers. Judy could feel his breath against her as he carefully pulled his left paw free of her grip and slowly brought it up until it brushed the side of her face.
The touch of Nick's claws against Judy's face was feather-light, but his expression changed in an instant as he made contact, any trace of playfulness evaporating. "I did this, didn't I?" he asked.
It took Judy a moment to realize that he must have seen or felt the claw marks he had left on her face when he had been blindly panicking, trying to free himself while her apartment burned around them. "Nick—" Judy began, but he pulled himself away entirely, standing up straight and taking a step backwards.
"I'm sorry," he said, standing completely still except for his tail, which lashed back and forth in apparent agitation, "But why didn't you say anything?"
It was impossible to read anything in his face but hurt, and Judy realized just how guilty he felt about knowing that he had hurt her.
"It wasn't your fault," Judy protested, "You couldn't help yourself. Besides, I'm the one who got you into this whole mess."
"I couldn't help myself?" he repeated slowly, and Judy fumbled for words.
"You were panicking, right? I mean, I'm sure it was just..."
She trailed off, unsure of how to finish the thought. "I know you didn't mean to do it. I... I didn't want you to feel bad."
Nick sighed. "You have a real way with words, don't you?" he asked, shaking his head, "You're not going to keep me safe by lying."
Judy looked at the ground. It hadn't even occurred to her until he said it that there was absolutely something that Bellwether could get Nick for without Judy's help if the ewe had noticed the scratches across Judy's face. Bellwether probably dreamed of pinning something major on Nick, but she would probably be happy if she could get him for assaulting a Prohibition agent. She'd have no qualms about pressing for the harshest punishment the law allowed, and the courts weren't likely to be lenient. "I'm sorry," Judy said, "I should have told you."
There was a pause that seemed to stretch into eternity as the last notes of the song played, Nick regarding her in silence.
"Song's over," Nick said, glancing up at the stage, his ears flat against his skull, "Come on."
The audience burst into polite applause as the musicians made their way down the short staircase off the stage. In that instant, surrounded by mammals all joined by their appreciation of the music, with Nick just a few feet away, Judy had never felt more terribly alone.
Author's Notes:
The title of this chapter, "There's Yes! Yes! In Your Eyes" comes from a 1924 Henry Burr song. The lyrics are about what the singer's love interest says not matching up with what he sees in her eyes.
Ethel was briefly mentioned in chapter 1 and now finally shows up in the story. Her sunglasses are true to what would have been available in the 1920s. Glasses of any sort at the time would have been made out of glass, and the technology available for tinting lenses meant sunglasses were typically a dark gray or green. Tortoiseshell frames were also quite popular in the 1920s.
Rabbits and hares don't have pads on their paws the way that cats and dogs do, hence Ethel's observation following her shaking Judy's paw. In real life, tigers don't rely on their sense of smell very much for hunting, but their sense of smell is still much better than a human's. Considering that Ethel is blind, she'd have to rely mainly on her sense of smell and her hearing when it comes to identifying mammals; as previously mentioned, real foxes do have a pretty distinct scent so it makes logical sense that she'd be able to tell that Nick's a fox by smell alone. When she leans in close to Nick and peels her lip back, she's exhibiting the Flehmen response, which many mammals exhibit to transfer pheromones to the vomeronasal organ, a sensitive olfactory organ that appears to be either entirely missing or nonfunctional in humans. Ethel's not trying to intimidate Nick, but rather is trying to get a better sense of how he smells and draw conclusions from that.
The song that Gazelle and her band are playing when Judy and Nick are talking to Ethel is, of course, supposed to be "Try Everything," which is presumably also the original song that they played for the record label agent in the first chapter of this story. I think the song could work pretty well as a jazz song, and there's really nothing in the lyrics that explicitly ties it to the 21st century. "Someone to Watch Over Me" also appeared in the first chapter as the song that the agent actually enjoyed, and it seemed thematically appropriate here as well.
Ethel's pocket watch is actually a real design that has been used for blind people. Since a blind person can't see the hands of a watch, designing the watch in such a way that the hands can be touched allows them to read the time. The downside of this design is that it leaves the delicate hands of the watch exposed, so most watches of this style will have a flip-up cover to protect them.
"Four-flusher" is a bit of slang that comes from poker, referring to a hand of cards that's one short of a flush, and means someone who makes an idle boast or bluff. "Floor-flusher" is 1920s slang derived from that term, and means someone who loves dancing.
I could hardly have a story set in the Jazz Age with so many stops at clubs without having some dancing, now could I? The foxtrot is a real dancing style and was quite popular in the 1920s, although it hit its peak popularity around the 1930s. Vernon and Irene Castle, a married couple who were professional dancers who were popular on Broadway and in silent films, are generally credited with popularizing the style with their appearance in Irving Berlin's first Broadway musical, Watch Your Step, in 1914.
The way the dance is described in the story is, to the best of my ability, accurate to the way the dance is really performed, and the "slow slow quick quick" description is frequently how the fundamentals are introduced. In one of those coincidences that was simply too perfect not to reference, the style was indeed originally called the bunny hug.
Dancing in general was quite popular in the 1920s, and the foxtrot at its core is a very simple dance, which probably helped contribute to its popularity. The Snarlston is my bad pun on the Charleston, which was a real dance also popular at the time. The dance could be much faster and more demanding than the foxtrot, with flashy kicks and flourishes. Importantly, though, the Charleston can be danced in place, which means it's also fairly considerate for the rhinos to be dancing it rather than something that would take them across the dance floor where they could be a danger to smaller mammals.
Nick accidentally scratched Judy all the way back in chapter 8, and in this chapter he appears to be the first to actually notice it. Prohibition agents were, in actuality and for legal purposes, considered federal officers, and the penalties for assaulting such an officer can be quite severe.
This chapter has something of a downer ending, but I think it's an important piece of the overall story. As always, though, I'd love to know what you thought.