Chapter Summary
Optimists say the glass is half full, Pessimists say it's half empty, Realists want omelettes for breakfast.
Nick Wilde may have not paid his full share of taxes the last few years(decades), but he knew his way around the system. Really knew his way around it, you had to when you were a ghetto kit from Happytown. Those tower blocks that Happy Gunderson made from tax and charity purposes were run down and rotten, and they crushed a mammal's spirit, but when you want to claw your way out of that sort of hole, you learn all you can. You act when you can, and if you have to take advantage of another animal's misfortune...well...you did what you had to do.
Was how he moved his ma out of the projects and into a nice little brownstone off Central's edges. Some software gerbil didn't see what the sub-prime mortgage market really meant. Like now.
Kit Karson's was a dive bar in the old red brick of Central's downtown, probably family owned going back to when Foxes and Rabbits rioted in the Five Burrows over the draft during the Continental Civil War. Classic Central Zootopia, just a few miles off Precinct 1. The hard scrabble traditionalist in the family probably died, and the business started to tank. He looked around, the place smelled of smoke despite the already decade old smoking ban in food service buildings. The realtor was telling him how great a piece this place was, that it was a steal. Old Saul Holstein might have been a bit of a shark when it came to his clients, Nick knew that well given how many he steered the old bull's way, with interest and fat stacks of rolled cash(read hundreds covering stacks of newspaper). The neighborhood was shite, a off the highway ramp distrustful place. Where even so close to the premier Station House of the city, no one liked talking to the cops.
Nick's sort of neighborhood.
Though, it wouldn't be for long. Central Zootopia's edges were gentrifying. Precinct 1 had a remodel back in the 90s, turning into what it was now, that shining island in the sea of urban sprawl. Where "good cops" worked hard and kept the city safe. Central's Teaching Hospital was getting a new Trauma Unit, and was under going major upgrades. There were a few organic food stores catering to the few first in gentrifying residents. A couple medical dispensaries were getting their "recreational sale" licenses. Hipsters with their skinny jeans and lattes crowed for the architecture, and the few residents the recession hadn't scared off would be priced out. This would be a new hotspot, before it declined and the bubble burst in a decade. Just how Zootopia lived and breathed, like a immortal, cells born and cells died.
Was a shame, but it was his opportunity. Even when the hipsters left for the 'burbs to start families, and the neighborhood regressed, chances were with Precinct 1 right there, the place wouldn't really loose too much value. Maybe one day, if he held onto it long enough, some young hustler will look at this place the same as him...was a interesting thought.
The furniture would have to be replaced, the old pool tables were uneven and dented, the felt torn and worn. The tables and chairs wobbled from hard use. The bar top smelled like it had been soaked through with stale beer and froth. Would be expensive. Hmm...he'd have to ask Ratriguez to give him first dips on any City Auctions. Bound to be enough for him to deck this place out for cheaper. Would be gaudy as all hell, but the stuff. Yeah, all that stuff would be a ego stroke for his first wave regulars.
Squad 1, the Precinct 1 Units. Vice, Intelligence, Major Crimes, the Gangs Taskforce, Organized Crimes Taskforce, SWAT. Precinct 1 had a lot of big names, and a lot of them impounded a lot of expensive stuff that the city had to get rid off. Sure, might be a little behind the time, but it would be a ego stroke. What hard working cop wouldn't giggle while watching big games on the TVs they took off civil forfeiture. So many long hours looking at all those nice things the crims had and they didn't. Still...too bad about this place. It had character. Was of a old dying breed. Was truly a shame.
Nick Wilde smiled. Yes. It was a shame, but it was his opportunity. He could see it now...all he needed was a name.
"Saul. I'll take it."
"Beautiful Bubula, this place will have that Wilde Gilt in no time. I'll send over the paperwork tomorrow."