Disclaimer: Zootopia stories, characters, settings, and properties belong to the Walt Disney Co. This story is written under Fair Use Copyright laws.

The Fire Triangle

Part Two:

Oxidizer

Chapter 1—A Rock and a Hard Place
(Continued… Part 8)

If the answers Nick was receiving were merely surprising, the ones that Judy was getting were downright astonishing. A casino mogul was planning to buy out the Palm Hotel?

Sweet!

Cheez!

N' Crackers!

How the heck had that managed to slip underneath the ZPD's radar? Lt. Saw would have absolutely brought it up with her if he had known.

And that wasn't even close to being the doe-bunny's biggest question, a query made that much more difficult by sensation of a burning ball, inching its way down her throat.

"Wh-What does that mean for the Red Pig?"

The corners of Joe Porcini's mouth turned in opposite directions; so did his eyebrows.

"What it means," he told her, poker-faced, "is the chance of a stinkin' lifetime."

"WHAT?" Judy gasped so hard, the windshield fogged up for a second.

A hint of amusement brushed the black boar's narrow snout. Serious situation or not, he was thoroughly enjoying her discomfort; a stark reminder that this pig was not her friend; he was a mobster, a criminal.

"Yeah, that's right," he said, "You know what's every wiseguy's dream, Hopps?" It was a rhetorical question and she kept her silence, waiting for Porcini to answer it himself.. "It's the big score," he finally said, "The payoff that'll allow you to retire from 'the life' once and for all." And with that, the irony fell from his face, leaving behind a pair of eyes like black-iron bearings, "And you know what's the dream of every BOSS? To get out of the rackets and go 100% legit; do you see where I'm taking this?"

Judy didn't, not quite...but she nodded just the same, hoping the black pig wouldn't notice her twitching nose. Perhaps he did, but if so, he chose to ignore it.

"As the ZPD already knows, the Sahara Square Outfit controls every business that services the Palm Hotel and Casino." He had raised his voice again, presumably on the off-chance that someone was listening in on their discussion. "And, needless to say, a mammal of Sheldon Camelson's stature isn't going to find that arrangement …Mmmm, lessay he won't find it agreeable."

"No kidding Basil of Baker Street!" Judy thought but did not say. Cheez n' crikey, Porcini called this the chance of a lifetime? It sounded more like the Red Pig's worst nightmare to her.

But then the whip-thin boar laid his elbows on his knees and leaned towards her; the doe bunny's confusion had not escaped his notice.

"Yeah, I know what you're thinkin'. And yeah, he could force us out. Believe me…he's got the clout to make that happen." He nodded briefly over a shoulder, as if Camelson himself might be standing outside the SUV, "Only why bother with that garbage when it's a lot simpler—and a whole lot less messy—to simply BUY us out?"

Judy stared for a second, unable to keep her foot from thumping the floorboards. "D'ohhh, DUMB bunny!" She could have face pawlmed herself from here back to Bunnyburrow. Yes, of course! Being a rabbit she, of all animals, should understand the principle of carrot-and-stick; why the heck hadn't she thought of it before? That was when her inner voice decided enough was enough. "Knock it off Jude; you can beat yourself up later."

"Ahhh, okay," she said, folding her paws in her lap and hoping she looked cooler than she actually felt. "And may I assume that Mr. Camelson's offer was a generous one?"

"More than double what we could have gotten if we put everything on the open market;" The ironic expression had returned to the Porcini's face. "That guy wants the Palm bad—real bad. He's convinced that if he can get his hooves on it, he can triple the daily take." His hoof went up in a fast half-shrug. "And who knows? He just might make it happen: it wouldn't be the first time he pulled that rabbit out of his hat."

Judy gritted her teeth and said nothing. Had that slur been intentional? Noooo, she decided, this was just a boar being boorish. But that didn't mean she was going to let the remark just slide. Leaning back in her chair, she laid an elbow on the driver's-side window sill; time to show this Cosa Nostra big-shot that he wasn't dealing with anyone's dumb bunny.

"Don't tell me, let me guess; Mr. Camelson never actually said anything…but you know what'll happen if you REJECT his offer. And it won't be pretty, am I right?"

Porcini's eyes widened and his face fell halfway to the floor—but then it bounced back up again and he cocked a blunt finger in her direction.

"Now you're gettin' with the program, Hopps; yeah, exactly that." His face creased suddenly into a deep frown. "But that wasn't all his guy hadda say to me. Sheldon Camelson didn't get where he is by not knowing how to sweeten a deal—and he sweetened this one big time." He grunted and then belched; filling the cab of the SUV with a smell that made Judy glad she wasn't a canine species. Ah these wiseguys and their garlic. "For the last two years," he told her, "my boss has been trying to expand his recycling business outside of Zootopia—but no dice; no other city would grant him a license to operate. Camelson offered to help him fix all that—and to prove it, he already got us a license to set up a recycling plant in Macaow; a gesture of good faith, he called it." He let out another grunt, this one half amused and half awestruck. "That was what sealed it. When I told the boss about it…sheesh, he NEVER hugged me so hard." A hint of a smirk flashed across his razor-thin features, and then his mouth became a stark, flat line, "But now, with all these arson fires, it's not such a sure thing anymore. Mr. Camelson has made it very clear—to both the Red Pig and to me—that if we go to war with Mr. Big, we can kiss his offer buh-BYE!"

"Great!" Judy was unable to curb her enthusiasm…but then, why should she? If that was true, The Red Pig didn't dare retaliate for the Flora and Fauna blaze; the issue had solved itself.

Not…quite… Her visitor's face turned instantly peevish.

"Yeah, yeah…you're forgettin' a coupla things here, aren't' ya, Hopps? Number one, it wasn't us—or Mr. Big—that set up those torch jobs; somebody else gave the order." His voice became a low, menacing roll. "And whoever that somebody is, I-I-I don't think they care too much whether or not the Camelson deal works out. Heck, they may even want it to go belly up."

Yowp, it was as if someone had dumped a bucket of dirty ice-water over Judy's head. How the heck could she have forgotten about that—especially when it was what had started this conversation in first place? And what was it she'd said to herself a moment ago, that it was time show this pig that she wasn't a dumb bunny? Yeah, riiiiiight…she was just hitting 'em out of the park right now.

And Porcini was winding up with the biggest curve-ball yet.

"And that's the other thing, Hopps; if the Camelson thing tanks, my boss will have ZERO reason not to hit the mattresses. And then it won't be just war between us and the Tundratown mob, it'll be stinking Armageddon. And—trust me, I know this guy—if Rocco loses out on the Camelson thing, he won't care what Mr. Big throws at him…or the ZPD. There won't be NOTHING that can hold him back!"

Judy felt her teeth trying to chatter and a stuttering chill crawling up the length of her spine. Those were almost exactly the same words Mr. Big had spoken when she'd talked to him. "If another one of my properties goes up in flames…then I promise you, NOTHING will stay my paw."

Zootopia wasn't just sitting on a precipice; it was teetering on the edge of an abyss! More than anything else, she wanted to excuse herself and burn rubber back to Precinct-1 as fast as she could. Instead, she drew in a short gulp of air, counting to five as she slowly exhaled. The relief she felt was only minimal, but she'd take what she could get right now.

"Mr. Porcini, why are you telling me this?" she asked, somehow managing to keep her voice on an even keel.

He responded by straightening his tie and thrusting out his chin.

"As Consigliere to The Red Pig, it's my job to do right by my boss—even if he doesn't realize it, even if it means risking my…"

That was as far as he got before Judy threw up a paw, practically right in his face.

"Excuse me? If I want a snow-job, I'll go play in Tundratown." She folded her arms, regarding the black pig with eyes that were almost slits, "Why are YOU telling me all this?"

He stared for a second and then almost chuckled.

"In other words, what's in it for ME? Ahhh, you're a fast learner Hopps, I'll give ya that." he leaned towards her again, this time dampening down his voice to almost a whisper. "Let's just say that my boss wasn't the only pig to get an offer from Sheldon Camelson. Except that other one wasn't the kind you can't refuse—just one you wouldn't want to."

Judy started to raise her paw again, but then swiftly let it drop. There was no point in pushing it any further; that was all she was going to get from him—at least on this subject. Besides, it wasn't that important anyway, not compared to something he'd said at the beginning, "All right, but you agree that someone ELSE has been setting all these fires?"

"Probably it's someone else," the whip-thin boar corrected, hedging his bets.

"All right, probably," Judy conceded, not about to argue the point, "But do you have any idea who it could be?"

Porcini slumped in his seat, grunting in frustration. And then his thin snout dropped slowly in the direction of the floorboards, moving back and forth in a deliberate motion.

"No...but God, I wish I did. I been rackin' my brain about it all week…and I can't come up with nothin'."

"Urrrrgh!" The bunny-cop felt like slumping herself. This time, her visitor wasn't blowing smoke; he really didn't have a clue as to the actual arsonist's identity. Of course, if he'd wanted to he could have done a lot more than just rack his brain over it—but not without the Red Pig finding out. And for merely suggesting that the real arsonist might have been a third party, Porcini had found himself banished from the Sahara Square Mob chieftain's yacht. So, just imagine what would happen if he…nope, that wasn't an option.

These thoughts were interrupted when a high-pitched buzzing filled the cab of the SUV, a noise not unlike the rhythmic whining of a mosquito's wings. Judy's ears went this way and that, trying to pinpoint the source—until she noticed that her passenger was hurriedly examining his watch.

"Awrite, time's up; I gotta get outta here," he said, reaching for the door handle. "I told you all I could, what you do with it is up to you." He opened the door and got out, but then leaned back inside again, offering the doe-bunny a yellow slip of paper. "Almost forgot, here's your parking validation. Gimme five minutes before you take off…oh, and don't forget to see the rat before you're outta here."

"I won't," Judy promised, nodding. Porcini nodded back and then he was gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

There was one question she hadn't asked him—because he couldn't possibly have known the answer.

Right at the edge; Mr. Big and Rocco Peccari were right at the edge. One more incident, one more arson attack—aimed at either one's properties—and their cold war would instantly turn red-hot.

So…why hadn't it already happened? If the real arsonist, whoever they were, was hoping to provoke a gang war between the Sahara Square and Tundratown mobs, their best chance had already come and gone. After the meeting at Mr. Big's house had broken up in a storm of animosity—that would have been the perfect time to hit him with another arson attack. He would have immediately blamed the Red Pig and it would have been ON. Instead, there'd been nothing…and why? It made absolutely no…"

"Wait a minute...wai-i-it a minute...yes, it DOES!"

The epiphany came to Judy like a thunderclap. When Mr. Big's...when whoever's polar bears had broken into the Flora and Fauna Flower Shop, they'd found an entire crew of Razorbacks waiting to greet them. True, the arsonist duo had ultimately succeeded in their mission and escaped with only minor injuries, but still…

The Red Pig had known they were coming and his pigs had caught them completely by surprise. Whoever they'd been working for—Mr. Big, or anyone else—that must have rattled his cage, but good.

But then the two polar bears, (only two polar bears,) had sprung a surprise of their own, routing the Razorbacks and sending them fleeing for their lives...and afterwards the flower shop had still gone up in flames.

THAT was why nothing else had happened as of yet; in their way, both sides had been caught flatfooted. And until their employers figured out what the heck had gone wrong, neither one of them could risk another move. (And the same thing was true for Mr. Big, even if he hadn't been involved.)

Great…fine, but that state of affairs wouldn't last forever. Whoever was attempting to set Mr. Big and the Red Pig against each other, they hadn't gotten this close only to walk away now. Zootopia had been granted a reprieve—but it was ONLY a reprieve. Sooner or later, there would be another arson attack; Judy could feel it in the depths of her bones.

And then…?

And then she shuddered, shook it off and turned the ignition key. The five minutes she'd been told to wait were up—and there was someone else she needed to see before heading back to Precinct-1.

When she caught up with Vernon J. Rodenberg, it was deja-vu all over again. There he was, leaning back against the fender of his car again; affecting the exact same pose she'd seen during their first encounter, earlier in the day. The only difference was the sunglasses, which he removed as soon as he saw her.

"Looks like The Shadow told you plenty, Hopps," he informed her by way of greeting.

"You could say that," she answered stiffly, in no mood for banter right now. Unfortunately, she couldn't just bid the rat farewell and get on back to Precinct-1. Even Lieutenant Saw would have had to admit, he had more than fulfilled his part of the bargain.

And now it was time to pony up. But first…dangit, her nose was just twitching up a storm right now.

"Why'd you take off before Porcini showed up?"

Rodenberg brushed at a shoulder. When he spoke, he sounded as if he was reciting from a legal brief.

"As chief legal counsel to Mr. Peccari—and his associates—I have certain obligations. Had I been present for your discussion, I would have been required to do everything in my power to prevent Mr. Porcini from revealing…ah, certain information regarding his employer's business transactions."

Judy's left ear and eyebrow cocked upwards and her mouth became a crooked line.

"That…and if you'd been there and The Red Pig had found out, Joe Porcini wouldn't be the ONLY animal sent to sleep with the truffles, am I right?"

Rodenberg spit out a squeak and folded halfway over, chittering with laughter. "'Sleep with the truffles', can I use that?" he stopped, straightened up again, and then threw up his paws; a perp caught in a police-cruiser's spotlight. "Okay copper, you got me—but everything else I said just now is also true." Something else seemed to come to him then, and he worked his incisors for a second. "You don't have anything to worry about though; no way would Mr. Peccari put out a contract on a police officer."

"Unless a certain business deal falls through," the doe-bunny retorted, folding her arms pointedly, "And after meeting him face-to-face, I'm not so sure he wouldn't anyway."

Rodenberg eyed her with his whiskers bobbing.

"You ever thought about Law School, Hopps? You're wasting your talents as a street cop."

"Thanks, but no thanks," the doe-bunny responded dryly, and then found that, for some reason, she no longer felt compelled to get on back to headquarters right now. "Mr. Rodenberg, I know the ZPD owes you a favor…but I get the feeling that's not the only reason you agreed to set up this meeting. Or should I say, these meetings; what else is in it for you?"

"Hmmm, you are a smart bunny," the grey rat studied her with keen interest. "Smart enough, I think, that I'd be wasting my time if I rattled off a list of lofty principles over here; that so?"

Judy nodded even more wryly, watching as the grey rat leaned back against the fender of his car again.

"Okay, straight up, no chaser. You've heard all the stories about me I'm sure…that I never really liked working for the wiseguys; that I only do it, coz it's the only way I can earn as an attorney."

"I heard," the doe-bunny answered simply, not bothering to add that what she hadn't heard was anyone saying they believed that story. The conventional wisdom around the Precinct-1 said that Rodenberg had gone to work for La Cosa Nostra as revenge for his wrongful murder conviction: "You punks took seven years off my life for something I didn't do. So now, guess what? I'm gonna get guys off who DID do stuff. Whaddaya think of THAT?"

Judy wasn't sure how much of the story she believed, but it was a very popular sentiment with the police force as a whole—to say nothing of the Attorney General's office. The one time she'd heard Chief Bogo expressing his feelings on the matter; it had been enough to bring a flush of color to her cheeks and lower ears.

"Yeah, well…the truth's a little more complicated than that," Rodenberg sniffed and brushed at his muzzle. "I get along okay with Mr. Big; I even like him a little." His voice turned cold and he shivered slightly. "But the Red Pig? Forget it! Did you know that jerk had me thrown off his boat once? Yeah, and I mean the hard way; right into the drink, I nearly drowned." His incisors clicked and his whiskers went rigid. "If I am forced to take sides over here, it's the Big Shrew all the way." He seemed to have sent his train of thought down the wrong siding. No problem; Judy thought she knew exactly what to say to get it back on the main line.

"But…you don't want to take sides?" she prompted, hoping she had finally grasped the grey rat's meaning.

Not quite…

"Nooo, I don't; you're right there, Hopps...but what I really want is my freedom."

"Huh?" She felt her nose twitching again.

Rodenberg sighed and scratched behind an ear. "One thing I found out when I started this shtick is that being a mob lawyer is a lot like being a mob member. When you're in, you're IN; you only get to walk away when they say...not when you want."

Judy nodded and this time, she hedged her prompt.

"Would I be insulting you if I asked, is that what you want?"

The grey rat's eyes narrowed and his muzzle seemed to lengthen slightly. It reminded the doe-bunny of her former partner, whenever he, 'got his sly on.'

"No you wouldn't…and yes it is." He pointed at the ground…momentarily confusing her, until he spoke again. "I've made a number of investments over the years, mostly in the Nocturnal District—and I'm happy to say that many of them have paid off quite handsomely. If it was only a matter of money, I could have retired from practice last year." His eyes locked onto hers, "But, like I just said, it's not just about the money. As long as Rocco Peccari and Mr. Big continue to require my services, I'm stuck on this merry-go-round."

This time, he was the one offering a prompt…and Judy picked it up at once.

"But if they get out the rackets, they won't need you anymore; you'll be free to quit the law if you want."

Once again, she was close, but no carrot.

"Right, except I'm not planning to quit altogether, Hopps. I just want to stop working for the mob." He thrust upward with a bony finger. "With them out of the picture, I'll finally be able to do what I always wanted, concentrate full time on my pro-bono work. I even have plans to start a legal foundation, dedicated to helping animals who can't afford proper representation."

Judy didn't respond to this, not right away, but there must have been something skeptical in her expression because the grey rat's fur bristled slightly.

"Don't get the wrong idea, krolik." He was wagging the finger he'd raised, "This isn't me, trying to atone for past sins; I made peace with my decision to throw in with the wiseguys the day I walked outta the slam." His paw flipped sideways, becoming a throwaway gesture and his accent abruptly thickened. "There are worse things I could have done, y'know, than go to work for the mob."

"Such as…?" Judy challenged him, her skepticism out in the open now. And to herself, she added, "Whoa, no wonder Chief Bogo doesn't like this rat."

Rodenberg's whiskers went rigid and his paws went to his hips, "Such as becoming one of those corporate shtarkes, filing SLAPP suits against anyone who dares to hurt their employer's widdle feewings." His voice was dripping with acid. "Oh yeah, that happens all the time now."

"Uh, what's a SLAPP suit?" Judy asked him, momentarily taken aback. It was a term she didn't know.

The grey rat was only too happy to explain.

"Basically, it's filing an anti-defamation suit against somebody for the express purpose of sticking them with a big legal bill," He had softened his stance just a tiny bit, "a bill that'll send 'em to the poorhouse, even if the case gets tossed. If I ever get this legal foundation off the ground, I plan to have us take on a lot of those cases."

"Okay, I get it," Judy answered, feeling a trifle weary. While she still wasn't entirely sure of his sincerity, what did it matter? Rodenberg wanted to get away from La Cosa Nostra. Of that she had no doubt, and did she really need to know the reason why? No, but there was another question she needed to ask—even if she didn't want to. "All right, Counselor, I suppose I can't avoid this any longer. What is it that you want from the ZPD in exchange for setting up this…excuse me, setting up these meetings?"

Rodenberg's whiskers bobbed three times and his eyes seemed to take on a sparkling sheen.

"Ahhh,I-I-I don't think you'll have too much of a problem with this one, Hopps. What I want is, you back on the Conor Lewis investigation."

"What?" Judy was stunned. If there was one thing she had NEVER expected him to ask for…

Not that it mattered; Lieutenant Saw had been dead-bang wrong; this rat was demanding the impossible.

"Mr. Rodenberg…there's no way the ZPD would give ME…"

He immediately cut her off.

"Oh for peanuts' sake, rabbit; I don't mean they should put you in charge; I just want you on the team." his whiskers were flipping irritably up and down. "Give me some credit over here!"

Judy would, but she wouldn't give IN.

"Okay, fine…but didn't you say you were through with Conor Lewis as a client?"

"That was before I heard his pawcast." The grey rat answered, looking like…did he actually look a trifle unsettled? "The one where he sang that 'and then what' song, I mean. That changed everything…not the tune, but something else he said."

Judy was more bewildered than ever. "Wha…? How? What did he say?"

Rodenberg made a fist with his right paw, polishing it with the left. To the doe-bunny's eyes, he looked a little bit like a caricature of the village gossip.

"I'll tell you—but this part is for your ears only, agreed?"

Judy wanted to say no, but knew it wasn't an option. She sighed again

"Okay, Counselor…agreed. Now, what did you hear on Conor's webcast that made you change your mind?"

He clasped his paws in front of his nose, tapping his forefingers against one another, as if trying to decide how best to put it.

Finally he said, "Forgive me for answering your question with another one, but there's something I need to confirm first. That first time the Lewis Kid was questioned, I wasn't there—but you were. Is that right?"

"I was there," Judy frowned, wondering how the heck this was relevant.

"Right," the grey rat nodded, "Remember when he pulled that 'Usual Suspects' gag on Mr. Gamsbart? I chewed him out good for that later on...and yet I always felt that wasn't just him being a smart-mouth; in fact, that's what he said to me himself later on. He never gave me a reason, but I knew without being told that it wasn't anything spontaneous; something had triggered the kinder. And it wasn't until I heard his pawcast that I finally realized what it was." His whiskers jumped upwards for a second. "Or at least that's what I..."

The thumping of Judy's foot cut him off at the pass; her impatience was rapidly giving way to exasperation.

"All right, yes, I get it. Now, what did Conor say?"

"He said," Rodenberg responded, speaking in fits and starts, as if trying to recall the young silver-fox's exact words. "When did the system ever stick it to me? How about…when that jerk prosecutor told me I didn't need a lawyer? I knew then that I was headed for Juvie no matter what I did…guilty or innocent."

Judy thumped her foot again, this time capping it with a groan, "Oh come on already, Mr. Rodenberg; that was just him blowing smoke."

The grey rat's finger shot up like a bottle-rocket.

"Was it? Do-n-n-n't be too sure about that, rabbit. There's a whole lot going on here that you don't know…and one or two things you just aren't thinking about."

"And they are?" Judy asked him, a small quiver in her voice. She was taken aback but not all the way back.

So was Vern Rodenberg, he seemed to have only just now realized he was being a mite too theatrical.

"First of all Conor Lewis isn't his real name, remember? He's living under a fake ID. We don't know who he is, not really; he could be anybody." His eyes narrowed and his whiskers stiffened. "And I think that anybody is a kid who's been through this before; sometime in the past, he got told to forget about a lawyer by a different prosecutor. Only that time he agreed—and he ended up getting burned for it."

Judy didn't know whether to laugh, groan, or change the subject. Whoa, if that wasn't the most far-fetched thing she'd heard today, (and she'd just finished talking to the Red Pig and Joey 'The Shadow' Porcini!)

And yet…something inside the doe-bunny was telling her to pay attention to what Rodenberg was telling her.

"All right Counselor, may I assume you have some evidence to support your claim?"

He looked away for a second with his jaws working, and then back at her.

"Nothing that isn't circumstantial I'm afraid. But first—forgive me Hopps, but I need to ask one more question before we go any further; was that the moment the Lewis boy turned snarky on Rudy Gamsbart, when he was advised not to seek legal counsel?"

Judy cupped a paw around the end of her muzzle, thinking back and thinking hard. When had that happened; had there ever even been a sudden turning point? Yes…yes, there had. And yes, 'the moment' had been when Conor was advised to waive his right to an attorney. It wasn't anything the doe-bunny remembered as much as felt—but she felt it as strongly as the pull of gravity.

"Yes, that was what triggered Conor to pull his Usual Suspects troll," she said.

Rodenberg clapped his rat-sized paws together; the sound was like a wheat-straw snapping in two.

"Hah, I knew it! That wasn't the first time the kid was advised to waive counsel. "

Judy was about to ask him how he could be so certain when a sudden awareness overrode the question; her look hardened and she zeroed in on the rat-attorney's eyes. "All right Mr. Rodenberg, what is it you're not telling me?"

As she had already found out several times, this rat could play the hard-case too. He fielded the look and threw it right back at her; "Something that you absolutely better not blab about if you know what's good for you, rabbit."

Oooo…that really made her ears lay backwards. "Are you threatening me, Mr. Rodenberg?" She was leaning over the rat and pointing at herself with a pair of quivering fingers.

Once again, he was completely unfazed, tilting his head and looking up at her with a wry smirk. "Don't need to, Hopps. If you talk about this and the wrong animal hears about it, you're gonna make your OWN trouble—more than you ever want to think about." The irony dropped away from his voice, and he altered his gaze a little, regarding her in all seriousness. "So...do you still want to hear it?"

Judy bit her lip and swallowed…and then nodded. "Go ahead," her voice was barely audible, even to her own ears.

Rodenberg looked away towards the trees for a second, muttering to nobody in particular, "More guts than brains!"

"Hey!" Judy's ears went back again. One thing she was not going to take from this grey-furred little so-and-so was the 'dumb-bunny' routine.

However, that wasn't what he had in mind.

"Relax, Hopps; I'm talking about myself over here." His paws were up in a placating gesture and his expression had gone from wry to rueful. When he spoke again, he seemed mostly to be talking to himself. "What a shmoe; if I had half a brain, I'd never have started this. Okay…" Shaking off whatever doubts he had, he looked straight up at her.

"I always suspected it wasn't the Lewis kid's first time," he said, whiskers twitching like antennae, "But I KNOW it wasn't that stinking ground-hog Judge Schatten's first—OR that dirt-bag chamois, Rudy Gamsbart."

This time Judy didn't ask him to clarify; she knew that he'd explain himself shortly and without any prompting.

He did.

"What I mean by that is, if a kid gets brought before the Honorable Judge George Schatten, the chances they'll be sent to Juvie—instead of getting probation, or community service, or whatever—is something like 70%; that's more than three times the average." His expression turned almost deathly grim, "And if Rudy Gamsbart happens to be the prosecutor, the percentage goes up to nearly 100%."

"What?" Judy's paws flew up to her face before she could stop them. That wasn't just excessive, it was insane.

"But wait, there's more." Rodenberg's voice had become a mocking imitation of an infomercial pitch-mammal. "Why are they sending so many kids to Juvie you ask? You tell me bunny...coz nothing seems to make a difference; violent or non-violent, habitual or first-timer, loving or dysfunctional family, it's all the same to Schatten and Gamsbart. If you're a juvenile, and you're brought up before them—for any reason—you can kiss your freedom buh-bye."

He paused here, whether to allow her to digest his words or to give her an opportunity to respond, Judy didn't know. What she did know was…no way; how could they possibly hope to get away with it?

"And no one's objected to any of this?" she demanded, incredulous, "Nobody filed a complaint?"

Rodenberg let out a low, sharp squeak

"A few of these kids' parents yeah, but other than that…are you kiddin' me, rabbit? Gamsbart and Schatten are like one step below super-heroes with the 'get-tough-on-crime' crowd. Ask anyone who got their property vandalized last summer what THEY think of those guys. Your little buddy, Rock Hardesty, thinks they're the greatest thing since the microwave oven. "

At the mention of that particular hyrax's name, Judy's ears went back and her teeth locked. Just the other night, she'd had a wonderful dream about her less-than-favorite talk-show host. In it, she was back on parking duty and had just come upon his car…illegally parked in a handicapped zone and also in front of a fire-hydrant.

She shook it off and asked another question.

"How did you find out about this, Counselor? Was one of the kids they sent to Juvie a client of yours?" That was the most likely avenue she figured, and once again, she was close but not dead on target.

"Not exactly," the grey rat told her, "I don't normally take on juvenile cases. I first heard about it through a friend of mine from Temple, Benny Gruenberg, a raccoon. One of those kids sent up by Schatten and Gamsbart was his daughter, Becky. I didn't find out about it until after she came home or I would have offered him my services, pro bono. Nice kid that girl; never been in any trouble, 3.8 GPA…but that punk woodchuck still gave her 60 days in youth corrections." His incisors began to gnash as if he were preparing to bite somebody. "And now, it's gonna be on her record for the rest of her life...and you know what that means; just wait'll she tries to get into college." His whiskers went rigid and began to quiver. "But you want to know what really bugs me over here, Hopps? It's not the quantity, it's the quality. Judge S and Mr. G have shipped kids off to Juvie for some of the most petty stuff imaginable; stealing a candy bar, skateboarding on private property, writing graffiti on an abandoned building. Wanna know what Becky Gruenwald did to get herself thrown in the big J? Trashed out her school's vice-principal on Snapcat."Okay, now Judy felt she had to speak up…even if it was only two words.

"You're kidding!"

All right, THREE words…

"Why?"

Rodenberg squeaked like a rusty hinge and threw up his paws. "I don't KNOW Hopps, and that the most frustrating thing of all. Something's going on here that isn't kosher...and I got no stinkin' clue as to what it is." He lowered his arms and looked straight at her, speaking quietly and evenly, "But Conor Lewis does…or at least he knows a heckuva lot more than I do."

Judy had no answer to this, but in any case it hardly mattered, because she still had a lot of questions.

"All right Mr. Rodenberg, assuming I agree to this…"

"You already agreed to this," he interrupted smoothly, "it's a done deal."

Counting quietly to three, she tried again, "all right, but why me, why not Ni…my former partner? He knows Conor at least as well as I do and they're also the same species." She said this and then added silently. "And he'd JUMP at the chance to get back on the Lewis case."

Once more the grey rat was a step ahead of her. He folded his arms and clicked his incisors.

"Because there's no way that bushy-tailed schmuck Lieutenant Tufts is ever going to let him join his merry band. You, maybe…but not Nick, not after he said he's about certain the Lewis kid didn't MEAN to bite him. There's about as much chance of now of that fox being allowed to rejoin the Lewis case as there is of a blizzard in the rainforest district. From what I heard, Tufts went straight through the ceiling when he heard about it; and you don't wanna know what Rudy Gamsbart said."

Judy winced as if she'd just stepped on a LEGOAT piece. She wasn't surprised only frustrated. Yes, Nick had said that to her in confidence, but she knew her fox; no way would she have been the only one he told. And in any case, that had to come out eventually—secrets in a police station have extremely limited shelf lives—but dangit, couldn't it have held up a little while longer?

"Well okay, but what makes you think Lieutenant Tufts will ever take me back?" She said, "We didn't exactly part on good terms the last time I saw him. AND Conor saved my life, don't forget; by rights I should have even more sympathy for him than my…oh, the heck with it, more than NICK!"

"Lieutenant Tufts will take you back," Rodenberg coolly informed her, "Because he's starting to get desperate. His investigation's been stuck on the treadmill for weeks now and the folks upstairs are finally beginning to lose patience with him. Even Gamsbart's starting to get on his tail. He won't be a happy camper about taking you back, but in the end he'll agree to it—especially if Chief Bogo gives the order. Like it or not, he needs someone on his team who knows how the Lewis kid rolls." He cocked a finger, "And that's YOU, Hopps."

"And also Nick Wilde," the doe-bunny pointed out. She still wasn't ready to give it up completely.

Unfortunately for her, neither was Vern Rodenberg.

"Yes, and like I already said, that idea's a non-starter; if Bogo tries to force Nick on that whiney-tail squirrel, he'll run straight to the Attorney General's office and we'll be right back where we started."

"But not if it's me?" Judy's voice was as close to a growl as was possible for a rabbit. She was rapidly approaching the point of complete exasperation.

"But not if it's you," the rat-attorney agreed, nodding slowly and solemnly before dropping yet another bombshell, "You're not another fox." Seeing her expression, he quickly raised a paw. "It seems that Lieutenant Tufts—and also Mr. Gamsbart—are of the opinion that your former partner made that statement based not on his actual recollections, but on a sense of loyalty to his own species."

"WHAT!" Judy's ears went back and she thumped her foot so hard it rattled a nearby vehicle's wiper blades. "Nick would NEVER…!"

"I know, I know!" the grey rat interjected. Now he had both paws raised. "And I couldn't agree more; that's wrong and completely out of line. But it is what it is, bunny…and that's why it has to be you and not him."

"Okay," she nodded quietly, "I'm in." But even as she did, she had to wonder why she'd been so resistant to the idea in the first place; didn't she want to get back on the Conor Lewis investigation? Heck yes, she did; maybe not as much as her former partner, but…heck yes she did.

However, there were still some hurdles to clear…and one more question she had to ask.

"I'll pass your request on to Chief Bogo, Mr. Rodenberg, but I hope you understand that he makes his own decisions; I can't guarantee he'll agree to your terms. Same thing for Lieutenant Tufts

"Fair enough," The grey rat replied, clapping his paws together as if to seal the bargain, once and for all.

Judy, however, didn't see it that way.

"All right, assuming I'm allowed back on the Conor Lewis case, then what do you expect from me?" her brows flattened and her ears went back. "If you think I'm going to be your…your spy, or whatever..."

Rodenberg cut her off with a cry of surprise and disgust. "And end up with Internal Affairs all over you? Oy gevalt! I'd never ask you to do that." He spat out the words like a mouthful of bad seeds.

"Then what do you want?" Judy demanded, leaning over him again.

He didn't answer right away; instead polishing his muzzle with his paws for a second. When he looked up again, his eyes were gleaming darkly and his voice had become still and small.

"What I want," he informed her quietly, "is to help my client."

"Huh?" Judy reeled back as if someone had pulled a hidden wire. "But I thought you quit as Conor's legal counsel." She'd said this already, but it was worth repeating

"That's what I told the press," the grey rat looked sideways, patting his paws together, "but I never formally gave the kid notice that we were done—and he never actually fired me—so technically, I'm still his attorney." His eyes found hers again, no longer uncertain, but firm with resolve. "I admit Hopps, I almost dumped him; I was as mad as a stinkin' murder hornet when I found out that silberfuchs kinder had broken out of jail. 'A meshugener zol men oyshraybn, un im araynshraybn!' I said."

"Uhhh…" The doe-bunny's nose was twitching again.

"They should free a madmammal and lock him up," the translation rolled easily off Rodenberg's tongue before he once more grew serious. "But if it's true that the kid made a run for it because he thought he was gonna get railroaded…again, well, I'm still not happy about what he did, but I can forgive him for it. After I got pulled in for that murder I didn't commit, I had a chance to make a break, too. I never took it—and I spent a lot of nights afterwards wishing that I had."

"Well, it's a good thing you didn't," Judy was tempted to remind the rat. At the end of the day, he'd ended up in a better place than if he had signed on for that escape.

She wanted to tell him that—but by now she knew better, holding her tongue and nodding solemnly.

And then she repeated what she'd said earlier.

"All right, Counselor…but you still haven't said what it is that you expect from ME."

Rodenberg's's face became a blank slate.

"What I expect from you is…nothing," he said…and then his whiskers stiffened slightly and his voice became a murmur so soft that only a bunny could have heard it. "What I'm hoping for here is some possible quid-pro-quo."

He said nothing more, and that was all Judy Hopps could take. Thumping her foot like a kettledrum solo, she slapped her paws against her hips. Here he went again.

"Mr. Rodenberg, this isn't a courtroom; will you please cut it out with all the drama?"

He waved a paw and grumbled, looking and sounding eerily reminiscent of her former partner.

"Ahhh, you're no fun, Hopps. All right, here's the lowdown; I set up a meeting for you, so if you get the chance—IF you get the chance—I would like you to do the same for me."

Several seconds of nose-twitching silence followed. 'Quid pro quo?' 'Do the same for him?' What the heck did he mean by… "Oh no...ohhhhhhh, NO!"

"You mean set up a meeting between you and Conor?" Judy stared down aghast. "No way, Counselor; the Chief would never agree to it...much less Lieutenant Tufts or, God help me, Rudy Gamsbart." Rodenberg started to raise finger, but she got there first with a raised paw. "And don't even think about that; I'm in enough trouble with The Department already for seeing Mr. Big without clearing it first. I am NOT going to go behind Chief Bogo's back a second time. And didn't you just now say that you'd never ask me to do something that'll get in trouble with Internal Affairs?" She clenched her fists and steeled herself. Things were about to get ugly

But the grey rat only grimaced and let out a squeak that was more of a groan.

"Ahhhh, yeah… Sorry, sorry…yeah, that's right, I wasn't thinking," He lowered his gaze and waved his paws about his head. "Forget I said that, Hopps…just forget about it, okay? It'll be enough to have you back on the Lewis case. With you on the team, they might finally be able to make some progress. As for that other thing, just forget it."

"Okay," Judy folded her arms, feeling not entirely mollified, "Is there anything else Counselor? I need to get back to headquarters." Already at least an hour overdue, she could imagine Bogo's reaction when she finally walked in the door, "Where the Devil have YOU been, then?"

"Just a quick piece of advice, Officer Hopps," he said, "not about the Lewis kid, about Mr. Big and the Red Pig."

"Are you even allowed to do that?" Judy asked him, feeling her nose starting to twitch again. 'Officer Hopps'...that was the first time he'd addressed her by her title. Did he feel that contrite for his little quid-pro-quo suggestion…or was there another reason?

"Yes, as long as I don't name names or get into specifics, it's all good." he said, and then regarded her with a penetrating eye. "Okay, now I'm guessing you think that the real perp torching these properties has to be an enemy of both Mr. Big and Rocco Peccari. Am I right?"

"The…thought did cross my mind." Judy answered him slowly and cautiously.

His answer came with a cocked finger, "Ahhh, thought so. Hate to tell ya, Hopps, but you're looking at this thing through the wrong end of the telescope. Forget about that 'keep your friends close but your enemies closer,' garbage; the real Cosa Nostra is nothing like the movies. And I should know," he thumped himself in the chest, "I been around wiseguys since even before I went to the slam. And in all that time, I never saw anyone get whacked or snitched out by an enemy—but I saw plenty taken down by their closest friends. That's who ends you in the mob, the animal you've hung with all your life, the one that'll slap around anyone they catch insulting you, the stand-up guy that's taken a pinch for you...or even a bullet. If you want to figure out who's really setting those fires, don't look at The Big Shrew and the Red Pig's enemies, look at the paisan they have in common. It's like Rafael Porcini once told me. 'The animals you think you can trust the most are the ones you should trust the least.'"

Judy knew she shouldn't allow herself to be distracted, but... "Rafael? I thought his name was Joe."

"It is," Rodenberg told her, his expression becoming slightly caustic. "I'm talking about Joey The Shadow's father over here; he was Boss of the Sahara Square mob before the Red Pig took over. And before you ask...Joey never wanted to be boss, and it's never been a hereditary title anyway."

"Right," It was all Judy could think to say. Whoa, he had known exactly what she was going to say next; little wonder that every cop's greatest fear was being cross-examined by this rat. His insight was almost mind boggling.

…As he was about to demonstrate yet again.

"Okay, that's all I got to say…and now I'll let you go; your Chief's probably about ready to blow a gasket, wondering why you're not back yet."

"Right," Judy answered again, and then, much as it pained her to say it, "Thanks, Mr. Rodenberg."

"Ahhh, what can I say, you're welcome," he said, and then got in his car and drove away.

Judy was about to do the same when she stopped, yanked the key from the ignition and pounded the steering wheel with her fists. After ten or perhaps fifteen reps she stopped, jamming her palms into the horn and sending up a long, extended 'Eeeeeaaap!' All the while she continued to let loose a steady stream of frustration, "Dangit, dangit…no, nooo, NO!"

Laying back off the horn, she threw open the door and leaped out of the Montarpan, alternately thumping her foot and kicking furiously at the tries.

"No good…little…scaly tailed…manipulative…little…JERK!"

"Just forget about it," Rodenberg had said to her; just forget about trying to arrange a meeting between him and Conor Lewis.

Judy kicked the tires again, "As! IF!"

In the next lot over, she thought she saw a giraffe looking in her direction.

She didn't care; she couldn't forget about Rodenberg's request, she wouldn't forget about it—and that stinking little rat-fink had KNOWN she wouldn't forget about it, even as he'd said those words. And then, of course, he'd thrown in that little nugget of advice at the end; not really a nugget, more like a seed—of guilt!

"I…do…NOT…need…this...right...N—OWWW!"

Her last kick had missed the tire and hit the rim instead; she spent the next half minute performing a one-legged war-dance around the SUV, yelping in pain and frustration.

And then, at last, Judy heaved herself back into the Montarpan's driver seat, slamming the door behind her.

"All right," she breathed, laying her forehead against the lower edge of the steering wheel, "all right."