Nick watches his partner and remembers.
9 months ago
Fox and rabbit sit in Bogo's office, eyeing worriedly at each other as the chief examines two sheets of paper. The office is dim, and the image does not bleed through the other side of the pages. A dissatisfied electrical tune buzzes throughout the room. Bogo's daughter smiles through a picture frame from his desk—one of the few decorations in the otherwise spartan office. Snorting, the chief adjusts his glasses before pinning the papers to the table under his hooves.
"I need your help."
A pause stumbles into the room. The words linger in the air. Chief does not 'ask for help'. Assignments and tasks are always handed out with "I need you to look into something," or "This is your new case." Never has the chief used those four words in order. The water buffalo powers through the silence.
"As I'm sure you're aware, the ZPD has accepted a variety of smaller predator and prey over the past year and a half. While this has proven effective in interspecies communications with citizens, it has created a gap in the department. The veterans feel alienated by the new recruits. They've separated themselves from the rookies based on size and species."
Bogo lets his words sink in.
"And that," he says, "is something I cannot allow. I can't expect my officers to work as a team if they don't know who's sitting across from them in the mess hall."
The couple nods slowly. Nick is the first to respond.
"How can we help, chief?"
Chief's left ear dips—an involuntary and rare sign of discomfort.
"I've decided to take it upon myself to pair up officers—no more solo shifts. I'll also be rearranging the existing teams, including yours."
Their outcry is synchronized, but Judy's is louder.
"Chief, that'll cut the force in half! There has to be another way—"
Bogo leans over the desk, cutting the rabbit off with a glare.
"I trust that you know I didn't take this decision lightly. Combined, you make one of the most effective teams I've seen in a long time, but it's come to my attention that there are others who can benefit from partnering with you as well as the more experienced officers on the force. We need to start pairing the larger predator and prey species with smaller partners. Starting this spring, I will be making two person patrols mandatory until I can see a difference in the ZPD. I don't expect this to take long—less than a year—but I need the force to work with itself, not against.
An apologetic tone forces itself out of his mouth.
"I know what I'm asking you to sacrifice by splitting up like this. You two are the first I've discussed this with."
Nick and Judy nod, working through the chief's reasoning. They don't like the idea of being separated, and the thought of severing their two-year partnership weighs heavily on the front of their minds. They look at each other, their communication silent and brief. Nick faces the chief, nodding.
"We're in, chief. What do you have for us?"
Bogo taps the papers on the desk.
"These are your new partners."
Nick is drawn out of his memory by the soft patter of rain. Drops tick on the windshield like impatient fingernails. Nick turns the windshield wipers on, cringing as they make a screeching swipe over the glass. Leonard doesn't seem to notice as he runs a claw over his thigh, picking at loose threads. He stares out the window as lights cast pacing and worried shadows over the street. Something is bothering him.
"What's on your mind, kid? You called your parents yet?" asks Nick.
Leonard keeps his attention glued to the window.
"Yeah, yeah. They're fine. It's a little strange for them to without mist in the Rainforest District, but yeah, they're good."
Something else on his mind, thinks Nick as the panther runs a claw down dashboard until it hooks on the glove department. His claws slowly retract back into his paw.
"Nick, you think the Albino's got anything to do with this? I mean, he's probably out there right now enjoying this—fucking psychopath."
Leonard turns to Nick after a moment's silence, gnawing at his lip when he sees his partner's reaction to the taboo subject.
"Sorry, sorry." he mumbles.
Rain begins to pick up, smashing against the windshield. Sheets of water smatter the heavy vehicle as is rumbles down the street. Nick watches as drops creep down the glass, cannibalizing each other as they snake towards the bottom of the windshield.
"Just eat what's on your plate, alright? He's not our problem tonight."
Before Leonard can answer, their radio spits a muffled order for police presence requested at the corner of Tooth and Claw. Nick flicks the siren lights on as Leonard confirms their departure over the radio. The car speeds into the night, painting the sides of buildings red and blue as it hums over the asphalt, uncertain and alone.
Their route takes them near the northern border where the Rainforest District's vines and branches peek above the massive concrete wall separating the ecosystem from the city. Birds squawk loudly from the treetops. Moss and leaves force their way through cracks, threading organic veins over the hard surface of the wall. Water runs down in streams as rain continues to pour. Leonard stares at the structure, thinking of his parents.
Rows of high-rise apartments line the streets opposite of the wall, their stern architecture seeming to stand guard against the encroaching foliage. Nick spots the bright red lights of an ambulance as they round the corner. Two paramedics—a young otter and a ram—flank and old sheep who is sitting in the back of the ambulance. Small tribes of people are gathered at the entrances of their buildings, conversing in whispers as rain smashes into the pavement. Their attention turns to the squad car as it rolls up. Exiting the car, Nick and Leonard approach the ambulance.
The otter pads over to the pair while the ram shines a flashlight over the wide pupils of the old sheep. Nick catches the glimmer of the otter's nametag. Richard. His face is attentive, but his body seems to drag behind his head as he waddles through the downpour. His brown fur clings to his head and arms, soaked into a sleek coat by the rain. Up close, Nick sees the toll the night has taken on the young otter. He looks young, twenty-three at most.
Richard snaps off his latex gloves before shaking Nick and Leonard's paws. His voice is unusually hard for an otter—authoritative.
"Thank you for coming, officers. We could really use your help right now," he says.
Leonard kneels, hunching over on one knee to match Richard's height. His ears perk and stop twitching. He rests a paw over his knee and one on the ground—a strange cross between a sprinter setting up at the starting block and a knight ready to be sired. Nick chuckles inwardly.
Leonard's main strength on his rookie information sheet was interspecies communication—and he shows it. Nick sometimes finds himself envious of how the panther can compress his body to talk to the smallest rodent, or expand his presence in the company of bears and hippos while remaining comfortable.
"That's what we're here for, sir. What do you need us to do?"
Even in the red wash of the ambulance lights, Nick swears he can see the otter blush at the word 'sir'. Richard coughs and turns his head towards the people sitting in the stairways.
"Someone called in when they heard the old man banging around in his apartment—said they thought he was having a heart attack or stroke. Turns out he was having a panic attack. Something spooked him pretty bad, and right now he's too riled up to talk, so we have no idea what happened. Otherwise, he seems fine.
"But these people," he says, gesturing with a webbed paw, "these people are just as scared as he is. All any of us have heard about this is that there's been some sort of electrical failure. They need to hear from someone with a badge."
Leonard and Nick nod, water shaking loose from their fur. Nick looks down at the otter.
"Do you think I could try and talk with the old man? See if I can make sense of what he's saying."
The otter shrugs.
"I don't see why not. Just don't push him too hard. I'm going to look around and see if these people need check-ups. Thank you again, officers."
Richard waddles through the rain towards the ambulance, where he picks up another set of gloves before heading to a group of weasels. Nick signals for Leonard to follow Richard's lead. He doesn't need to remind him of chief's orders.
Nick sighs, shaking a drop of water off his nose as he walks over to the ram. Her wool is steel gray, bursting from her frame in soft curls. Small, rigid horns jut from her skull. Air hisses as she squeezes a blood pressure cuff around the old sheep's arm. She doesn't seem to notice as he stands beside her. Nick introduces himself.
"Officer Wilde, ma'am. I was hoping to ask this gentleman a few questions if it's possible."
The ram continues through her mandatory list of check-ups. She takes the sheep's hooves, spreading his arms and rotating them in small circles. Nick watches as the old sheep's oblong eyes wander aimlessly over the interior of the ambulance as his head rocks back and forth. Yellow, rotting teeth look ready to fall out of his mouth as it opens and closes in soundless words. Nick finds himself avoiding eye contact. Jesus, he thinks, what happened to this poor bastard? The ram clicks her hooves together in front of the sheep's face. He continues to stare into space as she makes a second, more aggressive series of clicks. The ram shakes her head. Nick tries again, this time placing a paw on her shoulder. She shuffles away from him. Her voice reminds him of Judy's mother.
"Officer Wilde, who told you that this man is in any condition to be questioned?"
Nick points to where he thinks Richard went.
"The other paramedic, Richard."
The ram scoffs, glaring in the direction Nick pointed.
"That boy. Sometimes I swear…" she says, trailing off.
A radio call sounds from the front of the ambulance, requesting paramedics for a minor injury. The ram looks at her patient, and then back at the radio. She glances at Nick.
"I have to take that. You're trained in basic first aid, correct?" she asks.
Nick nods as he takes steps further into the vehicle to sit beside the old sheep.
"Make sure his head doesn't tilt back too far, and keep an eye on his breathing patterns. Otherwise, he should be fine. Holler if anything changes—this shouldn't take long."
Nick waits beside the old man as the nurse clambers to the front of the ambulance. He finds the way the old sheep sways and rocks unnerving. Nick coughs as he catches a whiff of the old man. He smells terrible.
"I told mamma when sister was gonna get sick."
The voice is so quiet that it takes Nick a second to realize the old man is talking.
"I said, when we were on the farm-I said to her, 'Sis' is gonna catch it bad out there.'"
Nick's jaw slackens. Just as he regains enough sense to call for the nurse, the man latches one of his hooves onto Nick's wrist. The grip is feeble, but it is enough to give him pause. Nick shivers as the old sheep's stretched pupils bore holes into him.
"Same happened with brother, too. Told 'em the little ones would get 'em. And you know what?" says the old sheep, drawing him close. Grease stains and holes pepper the sheep's clothing. His breath is rancid—it reeks of rotten vegetables.
"I was right," the sheep whispers, his tone vindicating.
Nick realizes that he's breathing hard.
"Sir, how long have you been living by yourself?" He asks, but the old sheep keeps going.
"Found him in the cornfields, tongue swollen so big you couldn't get a finger past his lips. Bees, the goddamn winged devils. Ma and pa took me a li-ttle more seriously after that. Even said I had a sense for misfortune. And let me tell you, young man, there's somethin' comin' like I never seen before. Somethin' bad."
The old sheep goes back to lolling his head around, staring blankly at the roof of the ambulance. Nick hears the clop of hooved feet as the ram scoots back into place beside the old man. She looks at Nick, and asks what's wrong.
"He talked," Nick replies. The ram raises her eyebrows.
"Did he say anything important? Was he coherent?" she asks.
Nick watches the old man twist and turn lazily in his seat like a child.
"No," he says, against his gut, "nothing important."
AN: Thanks for reading the second chapter of this. I'm excited to see this actually going somewhere, seeing that I had no plan after writing the first chapter. I'm going to try and update on Sunday's now because I've realized that I need a schedule if I actually want to get anything done. This update is still unedited, so I'll be going back to change a couple of things later in this chapter and the first.