The Good Life

This chapter sort of took a different turn for me. I went down a specific rabbit hole, and I couldn't really get out of it. Maybe you'll figure out what I mean when you read it.

It's nothing bad, I swear. It was just something I didn't expect to do, liked it for some reason, and went along with.

I also had a guest reviewer ask if I would do something about the scar on Wolf's eyebrow? I'll admit I didn't even know about it until it was mentioned, but sure, I can figure something out for that.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Bad Guys or Zootopia.

Chapter Ten:

Since he'd gone to sleep pretty much as soon as he got back to the apartment, he ended up telling Snake the news in the morning. Then, they tried to figure out the best way to broach the subject when Wolf went into work tomorrow morning. It was funny, actually. Wolf remembered Viktor's remark about one of his employees probably getting killed while street racing, but he'd thought it was just that. And all the people bringing in custom cars asking for new body kits, paint jobs, and tunes? He'd thought that was just coincidence. Viktor did have the best shop for it that he'd seen, and he'd driven all over Savannah Central with Snake that day.

How had he not connected the dots?

Civilian life must be dulling his edge or something.

In any case, the drive into work on Monday morning was a tense one. He and Snake had tried their best to figure out how this conversation would go, and they'd come up with a list of potential problems. First, Viktor might wonder how Wolf even knew of his connections. If so, did he implicate Nick? Wolf was sure that a lot of criminals had gotten really nervous when the former hustler joined the police. If word got out that the fox was using his knowledge to sell them out, it'd paint a target on his back. Conversely, if the police department learned that Nick had told Wolf, a former criminal, how to set up a meeting with another criminal, his career would be called into question.

In either case, Nick would probably blame him for ruining his life...again.

Second, Viktor clearly didn't like the idea of street racing even if a good fraction of his clients were probably street racers. How then did he convince the bear to actually give him directions?

Third, and arguably the most important issue, was the possibility that even asking might cost Wolf his job. Would Viktor go to the cops? Probably not. But if the cops came around and started asking questions, it was likely that the bear wouldn't risk lying to the cops just to save Wolf. Maybe it wouldn't go that far, though. Maybe Viktor would fire him for simply asking. That was...less likely but still a possibility.

He pulled into the lot and shut his car off while taking a few calming breaths. This upcoming conversation was making him more nervous than the one with Nick on Saturday. His and Nick's friendship had shattered sixteen years ago, so there wasn't anything more to lose that night. This was different. He had a lot to lose if this talk went sideways.

Nothing had changed, though. The guys needed some fast cash, and it was up to him to get it. This needed to happen, whether he was ready for it or not. He got out of the car and headed into the building. Viktor was already here, but that was normal. He was always here about thirty minutes before the shop actually opened. Jaime wasn't quite yet, but Wolf had gotten here earlier than usual. Clock-in wasn't for another fifteen minutes, and since Jaime was now relegated to public transport after his parents came and picked up their truck, he wouldn't be here for at least another ten.

Viktor was in his office taking care of office things, and he was genuinely surprised to see Wolf here so early. When Wolf sat down in the visitor's chair and gazed at him with a serious expression, that surprise turned to wariness. "I was wondering why you were here early, but I think I'm not going to like the answer, am I?"

Wolf shook his head. "Probably not. I have to ask you a question, and I need you to know that I wouldn't ask unless it was important. I have friends on the other side of the country that need help. I'm asking for them, not for me." The bear studied him for a few moments before nodding. Wolf sighed, bracing himself for the worst reactions he'd predicted. "How do I get into the street racing circuit?"

Once more, Viktor looked at him in surprise. Then, he did something Wolf hadn't predicted. He laughed. He leaned back in his chair with a small grin and crossed his arms. "Street racing? And here I was worried you wanted pay raise! Ha!" He shook his head, and Wolf just stared at him in utter confusion. "What makes you think I would know? Sure, some of my clients are street racers, but they never tell me anything. Did you just assume, Wolf?"

"No..." he began carefully. This was the point where he could name-drop Nick. That conflict was quickly swatted aside when he realized he didn't owe that fox a damn thing. He'd apologized already. That slate was clean. Would he have liked it if they became friends again? Definitely. But Nick clearly didn't want to associate with him, so there was really no point in trying, was there? "I was told you knew."

Viktor snorted, clearly not believing him. "By who? Who told you I knew?"

This was the moment where things could either go really good, or really, really bad. "Nick Wilde." There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in his answer. His voice projected confidence.

Wolf watched as Viktor's grin slowly fell away. "Blasted fox..." he huffed, sitting up again. "Always knows more than he lets on." The bear's glare snapped to Wolf, showing equal parts anger and disappointment. "Why should I tell you? My last employee was idiot enough to get killed racing!" His gaze narrowed, and he leaned forward. "I like you, Wolf. A lot. You are good employee. You work hard and don't complain. I would rather not watch you be killed. You need money? Go to scrapyard and fix up a car. Sell it. You have money, then."

He had thought about that, if only briefly. With the right car, he could get a nice chunk of change. There were two problems with that, though: time and money. It took a lot of both to fix up a car, and he didn't have a lot of either at the moment. "That takes money and time, Viktor. I don't have either at the moment. I need fast money. Otherwise, my friends are either going to end up homeless or in prison."

"Then get loan from bank!" Viktor argued almost desperately.

Wolf scoffed. "You think I've not tried that before? You know who I am! No bank is ever going to just give me money!" It didn't matter if he was 'reformed' or not. He was still an infamous thief and bank robber. That fact frustrated him, that no one was willing to give him or his friends a chance to be anything but what they were. "Look..." He sighed, trying a new angle. "Maybe I'm not the best on a race track, but if I can escape the entirety of the LAPD, then I can win a few street races. That's all I really need. A few races. I don't plan on making it an everyday thing. I just...need the chance to do what I have to do. And what I have to do is help my friends. You told me to hold onto them." Viktor's expression softened, and he looked away with a nod. "That's just what I'm trying to do."

Viktor was silent for a long time. In fact, he was quiet for so long that Jaime had arrived in the meantime, glancing at the two of them and their silent staring contest curiously before walking off to get ready for work. Wolf felt like he was sweating bullets the entire time, expecting to be denied but hoping for help. The fact neither of them had brought up the cops was probably a good thing, but there was still a chance they'd be mentioned. Matter of fact, the same could be said about him being fired. Just because Viktor hadn't threatened him with his job yet didn't mean he wouldn't.

Finally, after nearly fifteen minutes, the bear huffed in frustration but nodded. "Go to west docks, the old ones. Look for warehouse with ZRS sign. They hang out and organize races there."

ZRS was probably the name of a shipping company or something. The docks were big, but he should be able to find it. "And who am I looking for specifically?"

"Leo King runs the scene. Calls himself the 'Street King'." That definitely sounded like a lion. That wasn't ideal, but he was nothing if not a smooth talker. "Races only happen on Wednesdays after midnight. Less traffic to worry about."

Wolf nodded, relief flooding through him. He really had expected Viktor to not tell him, but he was glad to be proven wrong. "Thank you," he told the bear, his voice sincere. "I owe you one."

"Then come back alive," Viktor immediately responded. "Do that, and we'll be even." They both stood, and Wolf offered his hand, which Viktor shook. "Eight people I once knew were killed in these races. Make sure you don't make it nine."

There was no promise he could make to that. There were risks and fears involved with street racing that no words could assuage. So he just nodded.

The rest of that day was a mostly silent one, save for the normal sounds present in a full-service auto shop. Neither he nor Viktor really spoke much since both needed some time to process this new development. Jaime clearly caught on that something wasn't right, but he never said anything. Luckily, it was a busy day, so all three of them had a lot of work to get done. That was to be expected, though. Mondays were usually the busiest days. Cars broke down on the weekends, too, but they weren't open then, so Mondays were usually busier because of it. Because today was busy, Wolf's mind wasn't allowed to be idle, so he wasn't constantly doubting whether or not this was a good idea.

He'd use his Camaro, obviously. His Ferrari still wasn't done, but even if it was, the Camaro was more powerful. Plus, he was familiar with it. He stayed a bit later after closing just to make sure his car was in top shape.

Before heading home that evening, he drove down to the west docks. They were a massive industrial area with mammals galore. Cranes were lifting shipping containers onto the cargo ships or taking them off other ships. Forklifts were unloading stuff from the containers to put on smaller trucks, as in not semis. In other words, it was a busy place. The city across the street was newer and more lavish because the docks had a lot of wealth in them. This was clearly a very rich and relatively new area.

Further down the road heading north, things began to change. At first, the changes were subtle. The docks were a bit less busy. The buildings were a little dirtier, the sidewalks more cracked. But then, suddenly, he was driving through what was basically slums. Litter was all over the place. Graffiti was on every surface. The buildings all had bars on the doors and windows, though most didn't even have either anymore, the doors rotted away and the windows shattered. Weeds were growing in the street and on the sidewalks and up the sides of the buildings. Clearly, it was an unfriendly area.

It actually looked like the area was completely abandoned. He only saw the occasional homeless mammal on the streets, and all of the vehicles he saw, which weren't very numerous, seemed broken down. It was shocking to see that a place like this could exist a few miles away from new development. What happened to this place? Why did everyone just leave?

It was eerie.

On the other side of the street, the industrial area looked the same way. Metal buildings were rusted through, some having collapsed. Twisted husks of old shipping containers lay scattered about, providing shelter for naught but wasps. From what he could see from the road, most of the wharfs were underwater, the supports having collapsed. Had that happened before or after everyone left?

Less than a mile later, he spied a massive pile of debris—concrete, rotted wood, bricks, glass. The pavement around it was blackened, and there was a sign on this side of the collapsing fence. He stopped to read it; no one was behind him. The writing was faint and barely legible, but he saw something about a fire and 1957. That had to be the reason why this whole area seemed eerily similar to documentaries he'd seen about the Chernobyl exclusion zone—just nothing but an abandoned and overgrown urban area.

If this happened in 1957, it was long before his time, which meant this area was probably abandoned long before he was born. He'd never known about it, though. And he honestly didn't blame his parents for not bringing their child out this way.

The bars indicated that this place had tried to hang on for a while after the fire. It was probably a slow decay, over years or even decades. In the end, though, with this area of the docks in ruins, the city probably just expanded the current docks and let this area go to waste. It was creepy.

And he hadn't seen a single car driving down these streets yet. It was almost like this place didn't exist, or like everyone was too scared to come here. That was probably true. The amount of drug deals, gun deals, dumping grounds, meth labs, and trafficking operations in this area was probably through the roof.

He kept his windows up and doors locked...just in case.

If there was a place in Zootopia that you were more likely to be shot or stabbed, this was it. He actually parked for a minute, though he didn't shut off his car. In the center console near the bottom, there was a key. After rummaging through there and finding it, he unlocked the glove box. "Wait a minute..." Just to make sure he hadn't taken it out and didn't remember, he opened the glove box.

His gun was still there. It was a .45 long slide, without a laser sight, unfortunately, and it just barely fit in the glove compartment. It did fit, however, and that was the important thing. Most of the time, he didn't keep that in there. For years, it'd been in a box under his bed back in their LA hideout. And then, it'd been in a box under his bed at their apartment. He never even took it out for heists, but since he was going to be on the other side of the country, he decided to bring it with him when he left LA just in case.

The thing barely saw any use, but he kept it cleaned and maintained just in case. He also kept it loaded and ready to fire...just in case. Like the saying went, 'it was better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it'.

And it was best to keep it in the glove box and keep the glove box locked because lethal firearms were highly illegal in Zootopia. Nonlethal alternatives like tasers were extremely popular here, and the police presence was massive, so crime wasn't as bad as some places. Still, call him old-fashioned, but if someone was shooting at him with the intent to kill, he wanted an even playing field.

Luckily, that specific scenario had never happened, but still...just in case.

Wolf liked being prepared. It was as simple as that. That was sort of his job, to be ready for anything, and that .45 was his 'last resort'. He'd only use it if his life or one of his friends were in danger. And this place reeked of danger. He kept it in the glove box as he set off again, but he didn't relock it. It would be on hand if he needed it, but he hoped he wouldn't.

And he didn't. About four miles later, he saw the ZRS sign that Viktor had mentioned. The Zootopia Regional Shipping warehouse had definitely seen better days, but it wasn't as decrepit as the docks further south were. In fact, it was right at the edge of the abandoned area. Only a half-mile further up the road, life began returning to the city. There were still bars on the windows, but there were actually mammals walking around. There were actual apartments and stores, and the streets were actually made of asphalt instead of weeds.

A lot of them were staring at him, though, and they seemed wary—suspicious even. He supposed that not many cars came to this area from the direction he came from. He turned east on the first road he found going that way, and it wasn't long before he started seeing some more traffic. Just seeing actual traffic made him feel like he was in Zootopia again and not Pripyat or something.

Or Detroit. That was probably a better analogy.

Needless to say, he was quite late getting back home. And he made sure to lock the glove compartment and hide the key once he was parked. "Where've you been?" Snake asked as soon as Wolf opened the door. The reptile was clearly worried, and that made Wolf feel good. Not that he made Snake worry, obviously. Because Snake cared about him enough to worry.

"Scouting out street racer HQ." Snake's attention was piqued at that, but Wolf just had to tell him about the area. "Did you know the area around the old docks is completely abandoned?"

"No. Why would I know that? I'm not from here, remember?"

Wolf shrugged as he sat down. "Well, I am from here, and even I didn't know that. It was like driving through a ghost town. Everything was all falling to pieces. The road was overgrown. It was wild. And creepy."

"Dangerous, too, I reckon. Ya brought your piece, right?" Wolf nodded. From the description alone, Snake probably came to the same conclusions about that area Wolf had earlier. They were from the same stock, after all. Both of them knew what the shady underside of society looked like. "Good. So ya found the street racers?"

"Yeah. Viktor says races happen on Wednesdays, so I'll head out there Wednesday night and introduce myself. Hopefully, they'll let me in." Snake nodded, glad that they were making progress. He didn't say anything, but by his expression, Wolf could tell Snake was worried for their friends.

And Wolf knew it was why Snake was encouraging him to do this. Their friends were more important than staying clean. Besides, it wasn't as if anyone would find out about this. It was only a few races. What was the worst that could happen?

AN: The answer to the rabbit hole question in case you were still wondering was the whole Chernobyl analogy. Like why? Why did I do that? And why did I like it enough to keep it? It's weird, isn't it? It's not just me, right? Like, I know it was all to set a mood of anxiety and uncertainty. Wolf's about to do something there's no turning back from, and he's nervous and anxious about that, so I tried to make an environment to reflect what he was feeling during the chapter.

Was it necessary, though? I have no idea. Let me know what you think. Was it weird? Did it fit?

Until Next Time

AdmiralCole22