Judy barely remembered the sequence of events between reading the words on the slip of paper Priscilla had given her and being back in the Buchatti. Her excitement was so all-consuming that it had been little more than a blur of thanking the sloth and then grabbing Nick by the paw and pulling him as fast as she could go, past the rows and rows of cabinets full of punched cards, through the door to the lobby, and past the llama at the counter. She had spun past him, catching only the briefest glimpse of his startled expression as Nick nearly collided with him as they flew out the main door.

"Don't you see?" Judy said as she took the driver's seat, gesturing at the piece of paper forcefully before tucking it away into her purse, her paw suddenly clumsy as she dug the car key out, "This is it! Lionheart must have been involved. The police can get a search warrant and..."

Judy trailed off, as Nick had put his paw over the ignition right before she could get the key even halfway there. For the first time since receiving the piece of paper, she really looked at Nick. He didn't seem to share her excitement; in fact, he looked as though he was on the cusp of saying something but was struggling for the right words. None of his usual confidence was on display, his ears tipped back but not flat against his skull and his mouth set in a straight line. "Nick," Judy began cautiously, "What's wrong?"

Nick took his paw away from the ignition and let out a long sigh. "Just don't get too excited," he said at last.

Judy bit back her natural inclination to ask what he could possibly mean. They had, currently tucked away in her purse, evidence that proved that Lionheart had been involved in the Tundra Town Lanes shootings, and from there it logically followed that he was almost certainly behind the other murders, including that of Thomas Carajou. Instead, she waited for Nick to continue his thought, which he did with an incredible amount of delicacy. "Lionheart didn't get where he is by being stupid," Nick began, and when he saw what must have been the continued puzzlement on Judy's face he continued.

"He's got enough money to hire a great lawyer—a team of great lawyers—and if he is guilty—"

Nick cut himself off as he saw Judy's expression change, hastily adding, "Which he probably is," and continuing.

"He's not going to make this easy. The police are going to have one chance at making it stick and if they don't get it right..."

Nick was looking Judy straight in the eyes, and she could tell that he was being completely sincere. There was no guile in his expression, no sense of teasing or fun. As he grabbed her paw, gently squeezing it so that she could feel the cold metal of the car key in her palm and the warmness of his fingers around hers, she thought she saw concern in his eyes. "If he burned down your apartment because he thought you might pin this on him, what'll he do if you do and he walks?"

Suddenly no words seemed as though they would work. It was a chilling thought, made all the worse because Judy hadn't even considered it before Nick said it. Although she wasn't a police officer, Judy had read every book she could get her paws on when it came to the law, and Nick was right. It really was possible that if any kind of mistake was made arresting and charging Lionheart, he could somehow wriggle out of it. Even if the police didn't make any mistakes, there was no telling the lengths that the vicious gangster would go to in order to stay free. He might try his paw at tampering with juries or threatening witnesses or bribing judges; he could even try a jailbreak. However he did it, it definitely seemed possible that he could walk free, and if he did it seemed laughably naive to think he wouldn't be out for revenge.

"I don't know," Judy admitted, and Nick sighed again, letting go of her paw.

She made no move to start the car, though, even with her paw free. Judy looked at Nick carefully, trying to figure out what he was thinking, but he seemed to have closed himself off, his expression carefully neutral as he looked ahead through the windscreen. "What do you think we should do?" she asked.

Nick looked over at her, and she was relieved to see that a small smile was playing across his face. "I think there's no way that you're letting this go. Am I right?"

Judy nodded, and for a brief moment Nick's smile lit up his features before he continued. "So we do this the smart way. Maybe Bogo will listen. Maybe he won't. But we don't go poking the hornet's nest if you don't like his answer."

Judy had a sudden mental image of the Beevo logo, with Nick in the place of the poor fox in his brilliantly red pants and green Alpine hat, running away from a ferociously stinging swarm. She almost laughed, despite the seriousness of the situation, and felt a pang of guilt for it. Although Nick hadn't mentioned the danger that he would be in from a vengeful Lionheart, he would almost certainly be in equally dire straits with the lion. "Of course," Judy said, nodding, "We do this the smart way."

"That's what I like to hear, Carrots," Nick said, leaning back in his seat, "You know, you're lucky to have me along for the ride."

His tone was teasing again, and Judy supposed that she could have taken it as an insult about her intelligence and come back with a clever remark of her own, but she answered sincerely instead. "I know I am," she said, and as she started the Buchatti she was rewarded by seeing Nick shifting in his seat a fraction of a degree, perhaps touched by the remark.

When they arrived at the Precinct One police station, the sheep who had been behind the reception desk the previous night was gone, her shift apparently over. In the ewe's place was the same moose who had been somewhat aloof and condescending the very first time that Judy had visited the station with Nick, but his demeanor was entirely different. Although the moose had been glancing at the contents of a folder that Judy strongly suspected had a magazine hidden inside of it when they arrived, seeming not to have a care for anything going on around him in the station, he had dropped his folder the instant Judy cleared her throat to catch his attention and his expression had rapidly gone from mild irritation to something that was either respect or a decent imitation thereof. "Agent Hopps," he said, and even his voice sounded warmer than it had before, "Chief Bogo is waiting to see you."

Judy exchanged a brief puzzled glance with Nick that the moose caught, and he coughed delicately. "He had a message sent to the Bureau of Prohibition. I'll... I'll let him know you're here."

Considering that Judy hadn't returned to the Bureau office in some time, she supposed that a message she hadn't seen made perfect sense and she waited while the moose used the intercom to buzz Bogo's office. While she waited for the chief to respond, she looked around the lobby of the building she had always dreamed of working in. On her previous visits, first after being arrested and then with Nick, she hadn't taken the time to appreciate it, and she tried to do so. Even though it was relatively early in the morning, the Precinct One station was a hub of activity, with some uniformed mammals obviously leaving to go on duty as others came off. The cacophony of noise filled the space without echoing, and Judy could only catch snatches of conversations rising above the dull roar of voices. The lobby was well-lit by both electric lights and by skylights set high in the vaulted ceiling that let in natural sunlight that formed golden pillars dancing with particles of dust. Although the ZPD obviously saw an incredible amount of foot traffic, everything was clean and well-kept; the dark wood of the reception desk had a few scratches but it had been polished to a mirror shine, and the doors spread out around the lobby all looked study and secure with gleaming brass plaques identifying what was behind them. Judy caught a glimpse of the very same booking room that she had been to as a pair of pigs marched a scrawny female wolf through one of those doors, her paws cuffed and a muzzle fitted over her head.

Nick had been looking in the same direction and turned away when he saw the wolf, an expression of obvious distaste on his face, but Bogo answered the intercom before Judy could say anything. "Bogo," came the tinny voice; it was remarkable just how much power the buffalo's voice retained even when it came over a speaker.

"Agent Hopps is here," the moose responded, and Bogo's answer was almost immediate.

"Send her in," he said, and then the line clicked off.

The moose helpfully, although unnecessarily, pointed them in the right direction; Judy remembered exactly where Bogo's office was but thanked him all the same. To be polite, Judy knocked on the chief's door, waiting for his answer before opening it, and what she saw looked much the same as it had been before.

Bogo's office was still a model of efficiency and organization, and the buffalo was once again poring over paperwork when she entered, a little pair of half-moon reading glasses perched atop his blunt and massive snout. At Judy's approach to his desk, he removed his reading glasses and delicately folded the thin wires of their legs before putting them atop his desk. "Agent Hopps," he said by way of greeting.

Judy didn't think his tone sounded exactly warm, but there was something to it that she didn't think had been there before, and it stood out all the more by the way he greeted Nick. "Mr. Wilde," he said blandly, his voice gravelly, "Have a seat."

"I received your message," Bogo continued, and he held up the envelope that Judy had left with the ewe the previous night.

The string keeping the envelope shut had been broken, and Bogo obviously must have read it if he wanted to speak with her. Although she desperately wanted to explain the progress that she had made with Nick only that morning, she was curious as to what Bogo had to say and waited for him to go on. She took one of the chairs in front of his desk, despairing again at how short it was, and Nick took the other, his paws on his knees and his legs primly crossed while his tail moved slowly back and forth behind him through the space in the chair.

Bogo allowed the envelope to fall to his desk. "I am very interested in hearing how, or from whom, you learned about Theodore Scursly," he said.

Bogo's tone was even, without so much as a hint of emotion to it, although he had very deliberately looked from Judy to Nick on the word "whom." Judy thought back to what she had written in her note, which had been fairly general. "We," she began, emphasizing the word, "Went to the address on the matchbook that was in Carajou's pocket. There were witnesses who reported seeing Carajou with another mammal, a gazelle with silver-plated horns. From their description, Nick thought the gazelle might Scursly."

"You know, like real investigators would," Nick added; he had obviously noticed the slight at his expense from the chief of police.

"That's a remarkable story," Bogo said, and Judy couldn't tell whether or not he was being sarcastic, "Did you know Scursly well?"

The full force of the buffalo's gaze was focused on Nick now, and while Bogo seemed calm enough Judy thought that he might be moments from snapping at the fox. "Not particularly," Nick said, appearing unintimidated; he was casually inspecting the claws of one paw rather than looking directly at Bogo, "But I've got a good memory."

"I've seen how good your memory is when it serves you, fox," Bogo said, and at last there was real heat in his voice; he had nearly spat the last word.

He stood up to his full height and leaned across his desk, one massive finger pointing at the dead center of Nick's chest. "I have no patience for your little games," Bogo continued, and he started getting louder and louder, until he was nearly shouting, "What do you—"

Before Bogo could continue, Judy jumped out of her chair and positioned herself between his finger and Nick's chest. "He hasn't left Podunk for two years," she interrupted, "You can't think that he's involved."

Bogo glared down at her, his chest and nostrils heaving, but she forced herself not to flinch. "He's helping me," Judy said, more quietly, and Bogo slowly eased himself back into his chair, not taking his eyes off of her as his breathing slowed.

"Helping," Bogo repeated, and the word seemed to hang in the air.

Mercifully, Nick chose not to say anything, although since Judy was standing right in front of him she had no idea how he was reacting. "Yes," Judy said, and then hastily added, "Sir."

"You don't report to me yet, Agent Hopps," Bogo said wearily, rubbing one massive hoof across the bridge of his muzzle.

There was a long silence as Judy retook her seat, and Bogo took in a deep breath. "I might be able to use that," he continued, "Your… partner was right about something the last time you were here. At least half of my officers are corrupt in some way or another. I can't trust that these investigations will go anywhere if the culprit knows what we're doing. Mr. Quill's refused to talk and it seems my officers refuse to do their jobs properly."

Suddenly it seemed as though the weight of the world was on Bogo's shoulders, and despite his outburst at Nick Judy found herself pitying him. Although it had clearly been the wrong point to prod, Nick had been right when he had commented that the two of them had acted like real investigators. Someone from the police should have followed the same lead that they had, and even if they hadn't been able to make the connection to Scursly like Nick had, they would have had something. Instead, it seemed as though they hadn't bothered to look beyond Zoya Medvedeva.

Nick shot a look at Judy, rolling a paw in mute encouragement for her to respond. "We're going to see this through," Judy said, as firmly as she could.

Bogo inclined his head. "I'll tell the coroner to expect you," he said, and put his reading glasses back on as he turned back to his paperwork.

"The coroner?" Judy asked, her stomach falling as she realized what it almost certainly implied.

"Theodore Scursly was found dead in a stolen car alongside a Mr. Richard Bauson. The car was pulled out of the river this morning," Bogo said, looking at Judy over the top of his glasses.

That probably explained why Bogo had been so suspicious of Nick; leaving aside their earlier involvement when Nick had arranged to betray Mr. Big, she supposed that it must have seemed improbably convenient to Bogo that within hours of leaving a note for him about a potential suspect, that suspect had been found dead. Then again, there was no telling how many police officers could have read that note before it made its way to Bogo. Or, of course, it could be a coincidence that Scursly had been found so soon afterwards; until she knew when and how he had died speculation wasn't going to be much help. Judy knew what the answer to her question was going to be, but she asked anyway. "Was it a 1927 Camellac Series 314 Imperial Sedan registered to Henry Vanderbeaver?"

Bogo simply stared at her a moment, appearing stunned. "How," he managed at last, "How could you possibly know that?"

Nick answered, although he ignored the question. "Vanderbeaver reported it stolen a couple of days ago, didn't he? That's why there were cops looking for one."

Before Bogo could respond, Nick added, "Lionheart also owns a 1927 Camellac Series 314 Imperial Sedan, you know. The only other one in the whole city."

"There was a witness who saw that exact model at the Tundra Town Lanes shooting," Judy added to Bogo by way of explanation, "We went to the DMV and Nick's right. There are only two in Zootopia."

She pulled the piece of paper from her purse and set it atop Bogo's desk, rotating it so that it was facing the right way up for him. Bogo regarded the piece of paper thoughtfully, and then pushed it back across his desk at Judy. "Hold onto that, Agent Hopps," he said, and then he turned to Nick.

"Mr. Vanderbeaver reported his car stolen three days ago," Bogo said, "He was very insistent it be found as soon as possible."

Judy did the math in her head; that was the day after the shooting at Tundra Town Lanes. She frowned thoughtfully, considering the implications. "Maybe Lionheart's car was used in Tundra Town and Vanderbeaver's car was stolen to make it look like it wasn't."

"Or maybe Vanderbeaver's an inept criminal mastermind," Nick replied dryly, but he seemed to be considering Judy's suggestion.

Bogo motioned at his door. "You can see yourselves out," he said.

With that, he turned back to his paperwork, without so much as a threat or a promise or even an apology. Maybe, Judy thought as she followed Nick out the door, That's how Bogo shows trust.

Author's Notes:

The title of this chapter, "Stealin', Stealin'," comes from an American folk song of indeterminate age, although it was first recorded in its current form in 1928 by the Memphis Jug Band and it's probably best known now for a cover by the Grateful Dead. As this chapter involves a brief discussion of the theft of a car, and because the chorus involves the singer going back into old habits (which reflects Bogo's suspicion of Nick), I thought it appropriate.

I received an anonymous question on the last chapter about the plausibility of there being any kind of racing scene around in Chicago of the 1920s, and I figured that I'd include some more historical context as part of the notes for this chapter as I don't have any other way to respond.

It's true that Chicago isn't exactly a hub of motor sports today, but it was a pioneer in the fledging automotive scene. In fact, the very first automobile race in the United States took place in Chicago in 1895. This was so early in the adoption of cars that the word for them hadn't been agreed upon yet, so after a fair amount of debate the race was called a Moto Cycle Race in Chicago Times-Herald articles. The Chicago Times-Herald was also the sponsor of the race, putting up $5,000 in prize money.

Leaving Chicago aside, one of the longest-running automotive races in the world, the Indianapolis 500, started in 1911 and runs in nearby Indianapolis. In the 1920s, the Indianapolis 500 was part of F1's precursor, the AIACR World Manufacturers' Championship. In the early days of automobiles, there were a large number of races that eventually fell by the wayside, sometimes because of how dangerous they were. As an aside, one of my favorite movies, which I highly recommend, is Rush. It's based on the real life rivalry between two F1 drivers: the charismatic, handsome, and brash James Hunt and the introverted, rat-faced, and highly technical Niki Lauda. Set in the 1976 F1 season, it shows the incredible lengths that both men will go to in order to win. Even if you aren't a fan of racing, I think it's a really well-done drama, and the dangers of racing are very apparent. For a little context, in the 1970s a total of 12 F1 drivers died during races, which means that it was expected for there to be about a fatality a year. In fact, in 1970 Jochen Rindt became the first and currently only driver to win the F1 World Championship posthumously, dying in the Italian Grand Prix after having scored enough points that season to win after no one was able to catch up in the final three races. Although the details of the 1976 F1 season are a matter of historical fact (which the movie takes a few liberties with), I won't say anything more to avoid spoilers.

I also got a question from Cimar of Turalis WildeHopps about how much time has elapsed in this story, and thought I'd provide a brief timeline. The shooting at Tundra Town Lanes occurred on Sunday, August 28, 1927. The murder of Thomas Carajou at the Thief of the Night occurred on Monday, August 29, 1927. Judy accepted the case, with a deadline of one week, on Tuesday, August 30, 1927. As of this chapter, the date is Thursday, September 01, 1927, meaning Judy is three days into the seven she has.

Intercoms are basically as old as telephones are, and some early intercoms were essentially just hard-wired telephones on an isolated circuit. More modern intercom systems are commonly integrated into desktop telephones so that they can also do everything any other landline can do.

There really isn't anything else for me to comment on from a historical perspective in this chapter. The pieces are all starting to come together, both minor and major. I figured that this was the point where Bogo's dislike of Nick and frustration with the case would boil over, and things probably wouldn't have gone nearly as well without Judy. I won't comment on anything else that might be a spoiler, but I hope that you enjoy how things come together. I will, though, once again offer a fabulous no-prize to anyone who can name the species of a character who has been named but not described yet. If you can correctly identify Richard Bauson's species, I'll give you a nod in the author's notes of the chapter in which his corpse appears.

Thanks for reading and, if you celebrate it, Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy your holidays, and I'd love to know what you thought of this chapter.