Chapter Summary

When you police a city of over twenty million animals, you must be ready for anything, as Probationary Officer Nicolas P. Wilde is going to find out today.

Chapter Notes

Warning: Written quickly, not beta'ed, and edits are not in depth. Will continue to edit and refine if I spot problems.

Busted tail light. Probably a failed smog check. It was nothing serious. Should have been nothing serious.

Probationary Officer Nicolas Wilde tugged slightly on his sleeves, he wore a Service Set A uniform while his Training Officer Riverwatcher wore the usual High Vis Street Patrol gear. Riverwatcher was sixteen year veteran, traditional Grizzly Bear who probably got a cut of that tribal lands casino money if his name was any indication. Nick never asked, it was something for a rainy day, and not that it mattered right then and there. As Riverwatcher flanked around, to get eyes on the shotgun seat, and what appeared to be a sleeping passenger in the back. Covered under blankets, and a bit too still. Nick held the ticket machine, he was making his bones with Officer-Citizen interactions today...and now he was making his bones surviving the mean streets of Zootopia while wearing those dark blues.

Long sleeve blues, spats, no pads. Tie and cap. Duty belt, concealed vest. It was Nick's preference, a combination of approachability, his grooming habits, and that it made animals unconsciously put him in categories. Less militarized, desk jockey, neighborhood beat cop, nostalgia trip...soft. Inattentive. Naive. He smiled slightly as he leaned in towards the driver's side window, the junker sedan smelled of Nip and Paint Thiner. The blood shot eyes of a ocelot met his, shaky yellow orbs with that frenzied confusion that characterized addicts coming down and slowly crawling into withdrawl. There was many things to worry about.

"Sir, I hate to tell you this, but your left tail light is broken. Can I see your license and registration please?" Officer Wilde asked kindly, like it was his fault that the tail light was broken. Sound soft, sound kind. Most thought foxes were trickesters, and it influenced how they acted with him all his life...but he knew what power a uniform was, a symbol, a tone of voice. A glance and a smile. The impression you were newer than a newborn's cry and you could be tricked. The ocelot's teeth clicked together as he nodded.

"S-s-s-s-s-s-ure." Ocelot had a stutter, was that nervousness? A personal tick? Or a life of drugs? Other things to worry about, many things to worry about...license and registration.

'Look concerned' Nick thought to himself. Give him a edge, criminals loved to take a mile if it looked like they were given a inch...though with addicts, you never really knew. Either they were too stoned to notice, or they were paranoid, or any number of things.

Surprisingly enough that was not something to worry about just then.

The cheap ass Saturday Night Special half concealed under a newspaper was the biggest worry, Riverwatcher didn't have a angle with his height and his literal angle. Second was the Ocelot just speeding off and clipping him. A trip to the ICU and broken bones. Drugs had ravaged this cat, patchy black and grey fur and rashes, probably meant brittle bones and compromised muscles. Claws were probably as strong as crackers. Nick Wilde smiled, violence was a last resort, and triggering violence was not something he wanted on his second week riding shotgun. Third was the passenger, passed out get high friend or was there some hopped up crook with a sawed off under there ready to blast?

Nick Wilde grew up a petty little snot nosed kit with delusions of grandeur, after the first few beatdowns, he grew up a cautious hustler. Building himself up, he graduated to White Collar work well before he met Judy. How to work the system, rather than do what foxes were known for. It came in useful in his life as a cop, even if he was still a baby cop. He knew how to memorize number and letter sequences, and read upside down. There was a phone number written on that newspaper, 144-555-0909. This ocelot's name was Vance Rounds, License Number ER435667, address 1212 Stoney Street, Apt #12B. Tenement in one of the Rainforest District's low income neighborhood. A tiger by the name of Khan ran a book out of the bar on the corner of that street, and the neighborhood belonged to the Dye Alliance, small time street outfit with weird ideas about color. It paid to know various territories, and getting access to the daily police bulletins and flash alerts just rounded out Nick's knowledge base.

If he ever made detective and got a password, why...later, not now.

Nick made a show of considering his ticket machine. He milks it for all his noob worth, some weak willed copper who doesn't want to ticket some poor stuttering charity case...he ain't jaded yet and working off a qouta.

Nick wonders if it is even worth it, can the ocelot even notice?

"Everything seems to be alright, now, I can give you a ticket, but seeing as I don't want to spoil a good day. If you promise me you'll get that looked at today, I can let you off with a warning." Officer Wilde said softly, giving a smile he had been working on. He called it the Earnest Carrot. The ocelot licked his chops, before he nodded. Nick felt his inner tension release, hustled. With that, he stepped back and Riverwatcher gave him an appraising look. Nick merely returned with a sure nod, and a thousand dollar smile. Riverwatcher as TO led the way. They walked back to the car, careful not to turn back.

"Any reason you let that tweaker go Fox?" Riverwatcher asked conversationally as he climbed into the driver's seat, and Nick climbed into shotgun.

"Didn't want to risk the gun coming into play Sir, he had one under a newspaper on the front driver's seat. He's definitely shady, and escalating would have put lead in the air. He lives in the RD, and the car's a sore thumb, we should call it in and get some backup sir." Probationary Officer Wilde replied to his Training Officer.

"Obviously, given the DB smelling up the backseat. Hmm...good job, Fox. Last rook I trained got his eye slashed first time he tried to bust a tweaker on a routine stop." Riverwatcher chuckled slightly at that.

Nick didn't pale at it, one didn't sell a skunk butt rug to Mister Big without knowing how it was on the streets.

The junker pulled away, and Nick sighed as he tugged on his sleeves and adjusted his tie. Four more weeks, he'd get assignment into District One patrol. That was all that mattered.

He wondered if Judy knew how she had missed out on these experience? He barely made the lower end of Medium Predator, she had been Small Prey. And a MIP darling. She didn't get a training officer. There wasn't time to find one before the Night Howlers and the Missing Mammals case.

Introspection came with success or failure, it was something that came to Nick always...his first real bust...hopefully it would be a success.