A.N. To those patient readers who wondered about the hiatus in chapter postings for this story—a few months ago, my writing had to yield to the need to deal with two unexpected and devastating personal losses. Although it's taken more time than I expected to resume, I will see this tale through.
Many thanks to Gallowaychi, Old Goat, HawkTooth, memoryweaver, Panoctu, and a guest for their very kind reviews of chapter eleven!
Now that I'm back, where did we leave our fox?
Tinbuzzard11
Chapter Twelve:
Fox on the Run
It had been enjoyable while it lasted. That was a bucket list memory if there ever was one. He, Nick Wilde, former common street fox, had rubbed shoulders with a widely recognized ultravixen while cruising through town in a hot sportscar—and was likely the only todd on the planet that couldn't fully immerse himself in that fantasy.
They had relied on that to break down Finnick's defenses. Skye's presence for the rest of the afternoon would ensure his cooperation even if he did eventually realize that his van mural had probably been painted while she was still a kit. Upon further reflection, Nick realized he'd been able relax far more than if it had been a serious date with either of the ladies. Kristen and Skye would both be guaranteed finalists if someone ever decided to run a sexiest tail competition, yet the only one he was interested in was the pert little gray and white comma appended to his bunny mate.
Who had provided him with a better fantasy—Judy Hopps had transformed him, given him a purpose, professional respect, and then herself. Willingly, to me, he marveled. It was far beyond the acceptance so often denied by others to his species; it was...
"Love," Nick voiced aloud to himself, relying on the rumble and squeal of the railcar for privacy. It was no longer his bantering use of the word from two months ago that had revealed how far down this path he'd already gone, it now meant that he'd earnestly spend the rest of his life proving he was worthy of it to her. A genuine smile on his muzzle and a joyfully waving tail drew curious looks from passengers taken by the sight of an openly happy fox, rather than the usual publicly furtive one.
The truss structure of the bridge over the river flickered past to either side before they swung into the left turn that brought them to the station opposite the AblePaws plant. It was possible the others had already arrived, but he couldn't see the parking lot behind the now remembered buildings as they slowed to a stop. It did remind him that they all had jobs to do, so he pulled out his previously silenced phone to check for messages. There were two, the first was from ZPD dispatch; he opened it, but something about the formatting seemed off. His tail's lateral swish slowed.
Nick selected the ZPD's alert number and rapidly typed out his access code, then tapped 'send'.
Invalid authentication was the immediate return message. He was about to try again—then hesitated. It was second nature to check for alerts too sensitive for general broadcast—he knew his code had been correct. This dispatch notification had been different, was he being spoofed? He checked the number, and got one he didn't recognize.
So, a bogus notification, but what was the point since his blocked access wasn't directly linked to it. Invalid authentication? He thought the system was supposed to ignore those and not respond. Unless it had been altered for his benefit. His tail stopped, then drooped.
Someone with system admin access within the ZPD had wanted him to know he'd been blocked. That he was now likely a mammal of interest—no, you have to assume you're a fugitive, Nick realized. It's not paranoia, you and Skye have been set-up—you wrongly thought you had more time. They're moving way too fast, so you need to move faster. What would your new agent friends want you to do?
Not be found, arrested, and turned over to the ZBI personnel behind this. Found—Nick stared at the traitor in his paw as they pulled out of the station. He'd sent his code to the ZPD network. Assume your opponents are competent and have forced cooperation from the department, they now have a rough location ping on you—at least that you are on this ZTA line. Maybe several, phones can be tracked by number.
He momentarily entertained the idea of leaving the phone on the train for misdirection—but that might buy him an hour at most before they figured he'd done that. There was also a considerable amount of Carrots implicating data in it that he didn't have time to delete—which might not be effective anyway. Baobab Boulevard was the next station; in a minute the track would descend below grade and remain there for the next few stops. He turned his phone off when they entered the tunnel, then removed its battery. That was something he hadn't known until the academy, that a powered down smartphone still sent location data.
As they began to slow again, he had a bout of apprehension that this station was close enough to Savanna Central Plaza that there might be agents, or even some fellow officers, on the way to stake it out and intercept him. If you thought of it fox, they did too—act on it. You're prey now, don't be seen. Can't stay on the train, might be stopped and searched down the line. Need a bolthole—the tunnel behind—there has to be a security cam...where?
Most of the stations Nick was familiar with had one near the departure end of the platform that looked back along it towards arriving trains. Assume that here. He sauntered back to the rear car and made sure his sunglasses were secure in a pocket. Then he took the jacket from over his arm, knotted its sleeves around his waist, and pushed up the ones on his shirt.
The doors hissed open onto a relatively uncrowded platform. Nick stayed close behind the largest of the few mammals exiting—a white-tailed deer—stepped to the side and dropped to all-fours as soon as he felt most eyes were off of him. A quick dash to the back of the train—he snagged a lap joint at the corner with his claws and swung off the platform down behind the car to the track.
An abrupt jolt of panic twisted him hard enough to almost resprain his leg as he avoided contact with the closer rail. He held a tail up arched pose until a look reassured him that this train drew its power from lines above. He straightened, then took a couple of steps away to glance about for other cameras or any curious faces on the platform. Instinct sniffed to assess his surroundings; ozone and grease from the train dominated the pervasive olfactory background of mixed mammals. Nothing else significant—he seemed safe for now and would likely have time to lose himself.
Soft thumps from the doors preceded a strained hum from beneath the train, the tang of ozone increased, and it started to move away. Nick dropped back down and galloped into the welcome dimness of the tunnel, timing his stride to hit the concrete crossties instead of the rougher, less stable ballast between them. He momentarily lost traction a few times, but didn't stop until the tunnel curved enough to conceal him from view.
Back on his feet, he was able to jog the rest of the way to the tunnel mouth before the next train came. As soon as he heard it, his inner voice cautioned him to retreat back into the shadows and stand in a shallow alcove by a signal box until it thundered past. He was invisible here as it riffled his jacket and exposed fur; outside in the day, the oddly dressed fox standing next to the track might be noticed. Even if someone decided to report that, he'd be long gone before any response; but survival required that you not ignore the small stuff.
The reversion had come so easily, his new life suddenly gone and right back out on the streets. Nick didn't feel a sense of loss, but one of resolve, he still had what was important—his mate and friends—they would fight with him to regain the rest. However, clarity of purpose wasn't enough to soothe the inevitable reduced or complete loss of contact with Carrots that he'd likely have to endure.
His immediate goal was obvious, get to ground in Soren's burrow. If he took the direct route, it was at least six miles away through the middle of the most densely populated district of Zootopia. There had to be an APB out on him—what had he been charged with? Had to be more than the supposed bribe to Skye or his previous back tax peccadilloes.
Nick walked out of the tunnel, reached to retrieve his shades and stopped as he saw his thoroughly filthy, greasy paws. "Oh sweet cheese an..." Well she is your mate now he thought with a brief smile. What was mine is now ours goes both ways. He squinted in the mid-day sun and tried in vain to find something to wipe off the train drippings with. He did scrape as much grime off his feet as he could on the edge of one of the crossties—no sense in leaving any more tracks for them than he had to.
To either side of the right of way concrete slopes led up to a chain link fence. He trotted along the now double track as their height diminished and they finally ended, leaving him on an empty cross street of light industrial shops and warehouses. Scuffing his paws in the dirt at the edge of the pavement rid himself of some of the lighter fractions of the greasiness but only served to grind the rest in. Dismayed at his state, he walked along with slitted eyes looking in vain for anything to clean himself with. It hadn't rained in a while so no water was in the gutters, and no trees, grass, or even litter seemed to be available along this street.
Figures that he'd be stuck like this in the nearest things he had to formal wear. He could be a snappy dresser when the occasion demanded—like earlier today—although he was more comfortable with his usual casual lack of fashion sense. That was likely one of the first things that his new mate would attempt to correct, as she'd already pointed it out more than once.
The real issue was that he couldn't stand to be grubby for any length of time. It went beyond his past need to appear clean for his several food related hustles—or the more recent standards to be met as a uniformed officer—he really was a fastidious fox. It had been one of his mom's standard admonishments—other mammals are going to call you many unfortunate things my young todd she'd said, but dirty shouldn't be one of them.
A good memory for the layout of the myriad twisting streets of Zootopia was important for any mammal, and Nick took pride in possessing far more extensive knowledge of them than most. Except for here. This area was outside of his normal haunts, too close to the waterfront and too industrial to have adequate and sufficient customers for most of his hustles. Familiar territory wasn't too far away—several blocks towards the towers of downtown was a more trafficked, exposed, patrolled area that would make it easier for law enforcement to scoop him up. He broke back into a jog down this street, and hoped that something would turn up before too many nosy drivers or pedestrians did.
The haven of the distant paleontologist's dig was far more desirous now that he had no easy means of getting there. His own place was equally distant and far riskier; a stakeout there was a certainty. They might already be inside gathering infor… His legs picked up the pace without regard to the warmth of the day. Their being partners in the ZPD was hopefully all that was known about the two of them—but there was enough rabbit related evidence in his apartment to totally compromise his Carrots. His only hope was that the chief would insist on the prior issuance of a search warrant; a delay that would allow him to get there first.
He shook his paws futilely as he ran, merely because he needed to feel like he was doing something. From any distance, no one would care about his dirty paws—but an anxious, hurried, panting fox in a white ruffled dress shirt with a jacket flapping around his waist and tail in the middle of the day would certainly attract unwanted attention.
The industrial area ended as the street reversed its gradual curve and came to an intersection with a traffic light—with a third tier service station and convenience store on the other side. Nick gritted his teeth in frustration—they were too small to be of much help. Busy Baobab and the transit stop entrance he'd skirted was now only two short blocks off to his right. He poked the signal button on the corner with a claw, and waited before he crossed at a casual walk—tail partially between his legs and jacket nearly dragging—to hopefully avoid attracting notice from that quarter.
Halfway across, the high remote whine of an air tool betrayed the existence of a garage behind the compact store. Nick's hope blossomed, as mechanics should have that paw cleaner goop! He carefully stepped around the store and pumps to crouch down outside a well-kept shop. Inside, a larger than average squirrel worked to remove a tire from a van almost too mini even for him. He spoke softly once the small mammal finished his task.
"Uh, excuse me?" He waited until the squirrel stepped to the front of the bay and looked up at him before slowly extending his paws with the pads up. "I really need some cleaner if you've got some. I'll pay for it." The mechanic flicked his voluminous tail while scrutinizing him slowly from head down to paws before continuing past to linger on his ankle spats. He then pointed at them and broke into a bout of laughter.
"Fop of a fox in a filthy fix," he got out once the chittering and chortling subsided. "This should be worth a good story—wait a sec." He walked to the back of the garage and poked at a small box. "Hey, Deena, see if we have another can of orange Pawsall and bring it out!"
Two more squirrels joined them, obviously he'd been observed from inside the store. The two female's common patterning and the younger ones, "what's he want dad?" comment, showed this was a family operation. The daughter stayed several steps back with her cellphone at the ready, although not quite pointed at him yet. Her dad stepped forward and quickly squirted several pumps worth of cleaner onto each of Nick's paws.
"Ok, rub and work it in, when it gets thinner I'll hose you off over there. I hope you can do that and talk at the same time, cause I want to know how and why you're here. Some mammals call us fox squirrels," he said as he twitched his tail, colored much like Nick's own. "And that's as close to a real fox as folks around here want to see."
Nick nodded and noted that the squirrel's paws were close shaved, as was the part of his forearms beyond his overalls—a serious mechanic who wanted to avoid snagging his fur or get it badly slimed like his was. This whole set up suggested a plausible cover story.
"One of those mornings," Nick sighed himself into character. "I was at an all night rave, overdid it and had to sleep it off; my ride decided not to wake me and went home. No biggie, I'll just walk to a bus stop and find some decrepit old lady armadillo and car stranded on the way. Did this gettin her restarted—she said it kept stalling—so I removed and banged out her air filter, put a paw over the carb, told her to crank it, and got it running. Dirtwise, way more than I expected. Course she took off as soon as I closed the hood."
"You're kidding fox. I haven't seen a carburetor in years. What was the car and why didn't she call roadside assistance?"
"It was either a Vincent Vagabond or Valiant, whichever's the uglier one. I asked her what happened and she let me help cuz I said I probably could. Friend of mine's a restorer, used to work for Stinky's, and I've helped out enough to pick up stuff. Although you might not expect it, some of us foxes will take any opportunity to overcome our stereotypes!"
"Well, you seem to know your old cars. Now you need to goop up again." Nick was re-squirted and tried not to smile at his success. He was now a fellow mechanic—who gave silent thanks to a new acquaintance and to Carrot's old landlady for their supporting roles.
"Where was the party and who came?" The daughter's eager voice drew a disapproving look from her mother.
"Back there," Nick used his muzzle to point. "It was for canids mostly, we rented an empty warehouse cuz it's cheaper than a regular party venue. Be a different spot next time."
"I meant who played! And how do I find out whe…" She ran down to an outright glare and flicking tail tip from her mom.
Nick raised a leg to show the spat. "It was a period party, mostly jazz." He earned a frown.
Forty dollars poorer, his aviators back over his eyes and the spats hidden in a jacket pocket; Nick asked his now cordial helpers where he could catch the 281 bus and continue on his way. The squirrels had only asked for twenty, but Nick pointed out that he had two paws to clean, and insisted. He felt it was worth it to further reduce the distrust of foxes they or their local neighbors had. It didn't escape him for long that as a new fugitive instead of a cop he'd still promoted good community relations.
Beyond, his street started a gradual upslope through an extensive, but somewhat rundown small mammal neighborhood that justified the squirrel's business location. The side streets there were all narrow enough to show he wouldn't be welcome to enter, and he kept his eyes forward as he walked by to allay the fears of any out-of-doors residents. It was likely one of the earlier attempts to blend neighborhoods of different sizes into one big happy community. The newer mixed size neighborhoods seemed to work a little better.
He'd mentioned a useless to him bus line as misdirection—but then realized that might still be the best way to make up precious time. He could take another that went in the general direction he needed and knock off a few miles from his trip. He knew ZTA notifications could be sent to the buses, but his adversaries might not have thought of that yet. He'd just watch his driver to see if he attracted any undue interest and would need to bail. That risk would only increase as they widened their search, so he'd better take the chance now.
It was only a ten-minute wait for the bus once Nick had found the right stop, but the brief enforced idleness was agonizing. There was more traffic here as he stood by the shelter, and he got the expected percentage of judgmental looks from others at seeing a fox abroad during daylight hours. That was lessened—somewhat—when he was by himself in uniform. But then the department would start to receive calls about a fox impersonating an officer—one of the things that made parking duty such an ordeal. It was only the combination of being in uniform and with a partner that provided some legitimacy for him to the rest of society.
The driver, a large red kangaroo, gave Nick just enough of a bored glance to acknowledge his presence as he stepped up and tapped his transit card on the fare box reader. He then took the first seat in back of the door—the smaller prey passengers behind him expected that, as they always preferred to keep an eye on preds, particularly a fox. Opposite him, there were marks on the floor that showed where the other first seat had been removed to provide extra room for the marsupial's massive tail and custom seat. Further back, several pairs of beady eyes peeked at him from the gallery under the larger seats as they finally got moving.
A couple of miles passed uneventfully before opportunity made Nick press the stop strip on the window post. He had to walk back a block to the second paw clothing store he'd spotted. The unconcerned young sheep at the register silently pointed him to the sidewall where his sizes were. Not surprising he thought, the near side of Happytown along with his mother's house were both less than a mile from here, so foxes should be regular customers.
Selections that both fit his frame and were aesthetically tolerable were in short supply—he had to settle on some medium blue shorts that were comfortable but clashed with his fur, and two somewhat loose shirts. He changed into the one that advertised some beach resort and put the other, adorned with a rock band he didn't like, into a shoulder bag with his fancier clothes. He managed it all in fifteen minutes, and for less than he'd given the squirrels. He'd taken extra cash this morning in case he'd needed to slush Finnick a bit, and it was certainly paying off. Already cooler, and decidedly less conspicuous, he returned to the bus stop.
The next bus was nearly full, and stares from several passengers made Nick stand next to one of the few empty seats rather than threaten someone's personal space by using it. There were a couple of other preds on board, but they'd already doubled up ahead of him. Well, he thought, you wanted to blend in as a scruffy everyfox so no surprise they're treating you like one. At least the hunch-shouldered mountain goat up front seemed unconcerned, so that was another break.
They made it up past Walnut Street and the Sousten St. station before Nick spotted any law enforcement—two likely precinct three cruisers that passed them and continued on ahead. No lights and siren, but in a hurry nonetheless. That was enough, he needed to disappear for the last two miles home.
Someone else pressed for the next stop, so he didn't have to call out for it. Unfortunately, it was far enough ahead to be within sight of the Grass Street station and the two cruisers now in front of it. That was the station he used most frequently to and from home, so they had to be at the apartment too. For Carrots sake, he still needed to get there on the off chance that they hadn't gained entry yet.
Nick followed a smaller stout mammal out the back door of the bus and realized it was a Coypu when he saw the white muzzle patch and small tail. Her presence pointed out that Soren's burrow, along with the home of so many of her own kind, was only half as far away as his apartment was—once you chose your direction up ahead. Annoyingly, she didn't go towards the station—but turned and walked back the way he was forced to go.
"Stop following me fox, I'm warnin ya!" the large rodent said, with a click of her yellowed teeth for emphasis. She pawed in her bag briefly and pulled out a canister with a flared horn. "I'll use this!"
"No Ma'am! I'm just going the same way you are, so let me go ahead." Nick stepped off the curb into the street to give her space and slowly raised his paws in a hopefully placating manner. She watched warily, air horn ready—the last thing he needed was for her to use it, they were close enough to the ZTA station for it to be heard clearly by those officers. The bus was already pulling away and would provide only another few seconds of visual cover—he took another step back as he circled faster around…
"AAAH!" Nick nearly jumped out of his fur as a loud horn blared behind him and he felt the pulse of air as a good-sized vehicle passed. He made an adrenaline fueled run for the alley a half-block ahead and took the turn into it at full speed—thankfully without any twinge from his leg. If he'd been directly noticed—have to assume that—he had maybe a minute to lose himself. If the officers paused to get a description from the nervous Coypu, add ten or twenty seconds. This alley backed mid sized apartments so was relatively open, and he knew it was offset at the end of the block after this one. If he could make that before being seen, it would conceal him long enough to get to the flood control channel just past Live Oak Trail.
Luckily, there was no traffic to impede him as he dashed across the intervening street and pounded down the next section of alley. He was spotted or heard as he ran; a wolf stepped out of a building shadow near the far end and turned to face him with a belligerent snarl.
The unexpected threat accelerated Nick's mind further into that enhanced state of simultaneous thoughts and near instant reflexes foxes were known for. One part calmly noted the wolf's gang colors and garb—he was Cliptail Brotherhood street pack—and outside their regular territory. Another part watched the heavier lupine gradually—to his sped-up perception—spread his arms and prepare to block the smaller fox from bypassing him. A blade extruded from his right paw. Screw that, Nick thought, there's no time for this crap.
Just strides away now, he didn't slow or veer aside as his adversary likely expected—but instead stretched his jaws wide to fully expose the fangs, with eyes locked on the wolf's throat. To his heightened senses, that dum-dum reacted like a sloth—pulled his arms slowly back in to intercept him, and let his muzzle open and drift down to shield the obviously crazy vulpine's target. At the last moment, Nick broke his gait to set his legs—his body leaned forward and dropped slightly before he kicked off hard and leapt directly over the wolf.
That loser Cliptail's muzzle came back up in time to watch him fly flattened out overhead with his tail stiffened and angled for balance. The paw and knife jabbed—a half-second too late—behind the fur of its tip. Nick worked his limbs and tail to set up for a full speed all fours landing and felt a sharp pain in both shoulders as he hit the pavement. He was still running, so nothing broken—he glanced back at the wolf as soon as he'd swept the street ahead for traffic. His adversary seemed momentarily torn between finding out what Nick had run from, or starting a long tail chase—which he'd lose due to his hesitation.
With the wolf finally out of sight behind him, Nick slowed, panting hard, and resumed his normal stance—shoulders still painful as he pushed himself up. Only then did he realize the clothing bag strap was hooked in his mouth. That was probably what the wolf had wanted—it must have come off his shoulder when he'd landed, and he'd reflexively caught it. If he could surprise himself, that wolf certainly had no chance to react in time to a flying fox.
He felt the academy's Major Friedkin would have been pleased with his performance; she'd taught cadets to practice and utilize their own individual natural abilities. Civilized mammals, she'd said, were slowly going soft and forgetting what other species were truly capable of. That's an advantage to a trained and aware officer. Nick proudly knew that a certain underestimated fuzzy bunny had reminded the polar bear of that the previous year.
Pity Carrots hadn't seen his feint and leap—she probably would have made him an honorary Hopps on the spot.
That brought a wry smile as he jogged. He glanced back every few seconds to check for pursuit and started to slowly rotate his arms to assess any joint damage. Neither was of immediate concern, although he was certain he had ice packs and an uncomfortable night or two in his future. He stopped briefly in the alley to swap shirts before he stiffened up enough to make that difficult. The darker one with the mediocre rock band would make him less conspicuous for the rest of his journey home.
The chain link fence that bordered the flood control channel suddenly appeared as a more formidable barrier until he found that pulling with his arms wasn't nearly as bad as running on them. Once he'd dropped below street level, he relaxed and spent a minute standing in the shallow flow of cold water down its middle to scrub a bit more grime off of his feet and paws. It was pleasant to watch the last thin traces of oily contamination swirl away.
Refreshed, breath caught, and scent trail broken, Nick loped up-slope—slowing to let his eyes adapt when the channel turned into a tunnel under a commercial area. It opened again after half a mile or so, just within Oak Creek Park, which thankfully wasn't crowded on this workday afternoon. He used a maintenance ramp to regain the surface, then took his familiar route home, although he usually did that at night after his runs here.
Once close to the creek in back of his building, he dropped to the ground and crept through a dense part of the bushes lining the bank until he had a clear view of the property. No one was there, although there was a black trashbag on the ground right under his open kitchen window. Nick remained cautiously hopeful—it wasn't standard procedure for investigators to throw collected evidence out of second floor windows.
Movement inside—a second trashbag was tossed out to land lightly by the first, then to his relief his go-pack emerged and was lowered on its cord by Jack Savage. Obviously he'd been informed about Nick's fugitive status, and had also realized the implications. He wondered if Skye had been given that notification. A stone prized out from under a root and tossed into the creek got Savage's attention; the hare recognized and waved him over.
Nick picked his way across the stream as Jack climbed out of his apartment and awkwardly hung onto the drainpipe with his feet and the sill with one paw. He fussed with and held something inside with the other as he slowly slid the window down, then withdrew and banged it closed the last bit. He smiled in satisfaction and shinnied down the pipe.
"Glad you're here, she's around the side on lookout," Jack softly answered the question in his eyes as the hare hopped to the ground and stripped his latex gloves off. Nick turned in time to see the out of uniform pink and gray blur, but not quite prepare for the impact and gut compression. Carrots released him with a relieved smile, then looked at Jack.
"They all went back inside; I think they got tired of waiting for the landlord. You really think they'll force entry?" Her normal voice told them they were secure for the moment.
"They already would've if the ZPD hadn't been here with them. I think we owe your chief one," Jack told her, then turned to Nick. "How'd you find out about the warrant they issued? I got notified a little before noon. Don't know when the ZPD did. We assumed they'd already picked you up when you didn't respond to Judy's text. We really took a chance with that!"
"Someone at the ZPD," Nick said, "sent me a faked dispatch call-in notification, I called and found out I was blocked! What'd they pin me with?"
"Trafficking a controlled substance, with fourteen more counts as an accessory to bodily harm—and your back taxes. They always wanted you for messing up their old savage pred scheme—looks like they decided to tie you to it to get their revenge. No mention at all of Skye's bribe. We had to get here to clean up so they wouldn't implicate your partner too."
Nick reached out and put a paw on the hare's shoulder. "Thanks for having our backs, I thought I'd be too late getting here! Any good news from your meeting?"
"Yeah, you almost were—we got Growley to cooperate without too much trouble, how'd it go with your little street friend?"
"He's on board and on site with the ladies. He knew we were hustling him, but couldn't resist Skye's superpower." Nick immediately wanted to smack away the dreamy smile that grew on Jack's face after he heard the word 'superpower'. Carrots was perceptive enough to bump gently against him as a reminder he was equally fortunate.
Jack abruptly became all business again. He stuffed the cord in Nick's go-pack, then helped slip it onto his back. Then he picked up the two trash bags and headed for the creek. "Let's get to cover," he muttered.
When Jack paused in a secluded spot beyond the creek, Nick shook his head and took the lead. "Lots of folks will be home from work soon; we'd best be away from here before it gets busy." He led them along an unobtrusive route to his running park and chose an overgrown corner to conceal them. Jack set the bags down, opened one and pulled out the carrot cake box from his fridge.
"Thanks for lunch Wilde, we saved you a piece. This one's Hopps' stuff and some extras we grabbed for you. That's all trash. If you'll dump it, we'll go and de-fox her apartment and bring the rest by Soren's later."
"Why? I've never set foot in her apartment," Nick said, "Just met her there a few times on the way to work." He looked at his quiet mate—Carrots avoided his eye contact and her expression remained carefully neutral—enough to make him wonder what vulpine contraband she kept in her crackerbox.
Nick stuffed his clothing bag into the one with Carrots stuff, provided directions, and watched them walk away while he finished off the cake. He disposed of the trash in a dumpster by the groundskeeper's shed; then set off towards the nearby Rainforest district. It would take longer, but provide more separation from the surveillance around his place. Once he was past Pack Street Station, it would be closer to dusk, and somewhat safer for him to decide where to cross the divide cut and get to Soren's burrow.
Skye asked Kristen to make a brief stop at the hotel so she could change into more professional attire; then called the regional ZBI office for a pick-up as they pulled into the museum's parking lot. It was just four-thirty, and that's when she'd promised delivery.
They hurried inside to get Kristen a lab coat and carry Wesley's fiberglass casket to the back door. When the pair of agency zebras showed up shortly after in their unmarked van, the paleontologist started a bitter complaint barrage directed mostly her way. After one zebra checked the seal on the fossil's case and the packet of photos taped to the lid, Skye lifted it carefully onto the back seat, got in beside it and slid the door closed with a bang, cutting the skunk scientist off in mid rant. She allowed herself a smile of relief once she made sure the zebras weren't looking.
Once they arrived at the federal building, Skye insisted on carrying the case and was escorted up to the fifth floor. They entered it into secure storage; then she nodded her thanks to the dour equines and went to see her ZBI operations manager.
The ram administrative assistant waved her in, and station chief Tarija subjected her again to a few seconds of scrutiny from on high. The llama was a striking mammal, well over twice Skye's standing height even when seated. A styled white patch on the top and back of her head transitioned to an equally coifed thick brown mane down the long neck. The rest of her visible fur was all black. Appropriate Skye had thought at their first meeting; our temporary placement under the llama's supervision couldn't have made it more obvious what side she was on—she may as well have had the word 'Villain' shaved into her fur someplace.
Skye worked to maintain her professionalism to conceal her part of the mutual animosity held with the station chief. She could excuse that as it was shared not only by her Jack, but apparently by several other less involved mammals within this station, pred and prey alike.
"On time, but later than I expected, agent Winter," the llama said in an artificially pleasant voice. "I assume they did everything possible to make things difficult for us?"
"Yes, chief Tarija. I had to give Doctor Alder the court order before he would relinquish the fossil. He and his staff still argued with me after I reminded them their national museum charter legally superseded their transfer agreement. Then he insisted on photographs as they packed and I sealed the case. They all said that they wouldn't be held responsible for damage to the specimen. They printed copies to accompany the fossils, and gave me the files for our records." Skye showed her a memory stick and the llama smiled.
"Excellent! I assume you placed a backdoor? That should make your new assignment much easier. It shouldn't take more than a few hours overnight, so won't impact your flight out Friday. And don't you worry about them having photos of one of our agents, since you're already plastered on a hundred million cans of cheap beer."
Envious, aren't we? Skye thought. Quite the character flaw in someone whose position requires a certain level of anonymity. She knows I haven't done clandestine work; so that shouldn't be a concern for either of us—she must be frustrated by her own obscurity.
"We have the fossil and we're not concerned about their having records of it, so what more do you want me to look for there?" Skye tried to look innocently curious. "I'm not the breaking and entering kind of investigative agent!"
"You are now, agent Winter. This just came up, is time critical, and may be very serious! You're familiar with the museum now, you're the right size, and you have the data retrieval skills we need. You're also the only one available at the moment that meets those criteria, so consider this a career opportunity." Tarija passed over a small envelope that contained a key and a note with a passcode for the museum's alarm. "At least you won't have to lockpick the building. This should be good for most of the ground floor."
Jack has the skills but Tarija didn't want to involve him, Skye noted. That meant she was expendable as soon as she returned to Concordia. At least she was about to find out how much the conspiracy would risk revealing about Fairfield.
"Recently," Tarija said more firmly, "several rather inflammatory packages of pictures and analysis have been sent to a number of prominent researchers and institutions. They appear to show the discovery and excavation of an uncomfortably recent mass-murder site. The numerous victims span the range from mid-sized mammals to large rodents. The perpetrators and reasons for this are unknown, as are the motivations of the anonymous discoverers beyond inciting interspecies strife, and even the location of this find.
"At first, we considered this might be an elaborate hoax, but the experts now agree this seems to be quite real. In the aftermath of last year's predator crisis, we can't take any chances of this being exposed to the public by these persons unknown without an ironclad explanation for it." Chief Tarija paused to apparently arrange her thoughts.
More to make sure she gets the false narrative right, Skye knew.
"The packages are not identical, but share commonalities," Tarija continued. "Here are a few photos and a brief introduction shared by all. These are what you're looking for."
Skye looked at the three photos—she'd seen them before from Dr. Alder's package. They were overviews of the site that showed some remains—but not closely enough to reach any real conclusions. They also appeared to have been cropped to disguise their location.
"If you find these, delete them and all related files. Then check e-mails and other postings to see if these academics shared this with anyone! Ideally, find and retrieve the original package—it may be the last one unsecured. Get it all, so any complaints of theirs become baseless fabrications. We have to keep the public ignorant until we understand this!"
"I appreciate your faith in me, chief Tarija," Skye said deferentially, as she looked up at the llama and tried to keep her teeth hidden. "I may be out of season for it now, but I think I can still be an excellent ghost for you. Will I have back-up?"
"If you decide you want it, otherwise I'm happy with my ghost."
Skye took the dismissal and left the office, certain they'd try to monitor her regardless. It had been rather painful to remain obsequious in front of that disingenuous cud-spitter. Unfortunately, a deep sense of foreboding enveloped her as she walked to the elevator—she worried that her corrupted superiors might decide to change her retirement plan to the one used for redundant agents in lurid spy novels.
She would be vulnerable as soon as she stepped off the plane. Her Jack would be upset by this development and try to be protective, but shouldn't otherwise mind having a clingier than normal fox on his paws while they were still together.
Skye concentrated on that last thought and about how she'd like to be comforted, as she returned to the hotel to dress back down. An overpriced snack in the lobby restaurant partially made up for her missed lunch, and gave her a chance to see if she was under surveillance even now. She failed to detect anyone there, and they would need to be a lot better than she was to maintain contact with her on the way to Kristen's neighborhood.
It was nearly dark when she arrived at the stairs into the cut. Skye curled her tail, flattened her ears, and duck walked down to their safe house. Faint cracks of light showed around the window shutters and she could barely hear a voice within. The door's handle yielded to her touch, so she slipped through and quietly closed it behind her.
"Okay, we've finally got our fox," Jack said with some urgency. "You need to do a quick extraction Winter, they pulled the trigger on Wilde, they're combing the city for him."
Eyes wide, Skye mutely pointed at a damp-furred Nick Wilde sitting next to him.
"No, it's my mom," Nick said on the edge of panic. "They might take and use her to force me out, and I can't allow that. Please, I won't leave her behind again! You'll need this to identify yourself, just give it to her and she'll go with you. Her name's Vivian!" She was given a folded red cloth with hemmed edges, which she tucked in her pawbag.
"We're agreed on this, time is everything!" Jack urged. "Get going, we gave Soren directions, she'll wait with the car while you make contact—we need a fox and using Wilde is too risky. We're hoping you'll beat it, but watch for any stakeout."
Kristen was at the door in a worn dark overall, her tail twitching fitfully. They were shooed out right after Judy quickly said, "We did okay today too! Good luck Skye!"
She was led a couple of doors further down the path to a bare concrete tunnel that led deep into the bank. The infrequently lit passage deposited them in an underground parking structure on the other side of the street above—an ideal hidden access. Kristen snapped back that she didn't think like a secret agent when asked why she hadn't mentioned this to them. She went silent again until she'd driven the beast up the ramp and onto the street.
"We're trading this for a loaner at the garage," the skunk eventually growled with clenched teeth. "Savage says this is too conspicuous. Where we're going isn't too far from there. Then it's all up to you agent fox!"
She was terrified. Of course, right now all of us are, Skye knew. "I realize you're nervous about this Kristen, but Jack's confident we can do it. And remember, I work in the IT department and do field interviews. You're not alone, this is my first covert mission too!"
"That's supposed to make me feel better?" Kristen groused at her. "You're all trained cops—you knew what you were getting yourselves into. It won't exactly help my career if I'm the first paleontologist sent to prison!"
"You're just a first time accessory, you'll get probation. Maybe a fine." Her deadpan delivery teased a sigh out of Kristen as the skunk pulled around the back of a large and still busy auto shop and parts store. She left the keys in the beast and within a minute they were on their way again, stuffed in a faded beige sedan that was considerably less fun.
"Crappiest car we have, it'll fit right in where we're going. Happytown isn't the Heights."
Their surroundings deteriorated until they skirted an outright slum for a few blocks. The itinerant mammals she saw there were all predators, including to her chagrin, several shabby foxes. Fortunately, Kristen soon turned away from the worst of it, and the neighborhoods improved again with run down apartment blocks slowly yielding to streets of single homes.
"Took the back way in," Kristen said. "Should be next block on the right, the tan and brown one near the end. Savage said to drive past first, then park out of sight."
"Good, don't slow down near the house, just at the corner. Let's see what we find."
Vivian Wilde's modest home was neatly kept and not crowded by its neighbors or by much low vegetation—so not a lot of cover, Skye saw. As they came to the intersection, she caught slight motion ahead and gave Kristen a curt, "Left." She then held up a paw to gain time to think. This street was straighter, with more lights further ahead, a good exit.
"Okay, this is far enough, find a spot off this street and we'll come to you. Just watch for us without showing yourself—there was somebody behind the hedge on the far corner back there. Didn't see what they were, but I saw movement in there. I think there's just one so I have an idea! I'll need to get around and approach from the way we drove in, so it might take me a while." To Skye's surprise, Kristen leaned over and gave her a quick silent hug before she could open the car door.
The location of the presumed rogue ZBI agent gave them a good view down all the streets and of the front of the target house. That required Skye to sneak past the back of several others and jump a couple of fences before she arrived at the hidden side of Ms. Wilde's. She laid low to watch and listen until she was sure she'd been unobserved—the conspirators must be stretched thin, with only the one available to see if Nick came here. She doubted the ZPD would have provided officers for a low probability stakeout like this on short notice.
There was one small window on this wall; Skye found enough of a gap in its curtains for her flashlight to reveal it as a bathroom with a closed door. The back of the house was more exposed—she had no choice but to crawl along the base of the wall, then stand close to what was the kitchen window. Closed and mostly curtained of course.
Her initial idea of tapping out a cadence on the side window to attract attention was out; it might be heard from here since she was nearly in line of sight to the agent across the street. The kitchen was dark, but there was warm light further inside from the room in front, so Skye guessed Ms. Wilde was at home—everybody had just assumed that! She pointed her flashlight inside and oscillated it hoping the flicker would be seen.
It became intensely frustrating after just minutes. How do you get someone's notice when they're out of sight and you have to be quiet! And how long would it be before the other agent moved and spotted her? Skye kept wiggling the flashlight in vain and turned her muzzle to press an ear against the window in the hope of hearing…anything!
Skrrrick! "Who are you?" The words hammered into Skye's ear and her whole body recoiled. She almost dropped the flashlight and would have fallen if the house weren't in the way. Stifling a gasp, she turned to find the other vixen's face inches from her own, the curtain pulled aside.
Desperation made Skye turn the light to her own face and shakily put a finger to her muzzle. She got her breath under control and made motions inviting Ms. Wilde to open the window—she didn't, but continued to watch her. Skye then reached into her pawbag to get the cloth and made sure she could be seen doing that. She carefully shook it open and held it up—then illuminated it from behind.
That got Ms. Wilde to slide open the window—her paw demanded the cloth and raised it to her muzzle, where she sniffed deeply.
"Who are you and why do you have this?" The older vixen thankfully kept her voice down. Her momentarily half closed eyes reopened and bored into Skye's. They appeared the same shade of vivid green as Nick's. Skye put her badge holder on the windowsill along with the light and waited long enough for the other to get a good look at it.
"Nick is fine, missus Wilde." Skye saw her face immediately soften. "A lot has happened today and he, you, and myself are in considerable danger. You're under surveillance right now and I need to take you to him."
"Nicholas gave you this? And why am I being watched?" A suspicious look returned to Ms. Wilde's face and her paw tightened to retain Skye's identification.
"Yes, he's in a safe location with officer Hopps and a couple of others. He's under a false arrest warrant issued by rogue elements within the ZBI and federal government. Last year's predator crisis isn't over, its been reactivated by those elements. We're afraid they might use you to flush him out of hiding." Skye had hashed over what to tell Nick's mother on the way over, and now could only await her decision.
"What does Nicholas call his partner?"
"I call her Judy; he calls her Carrots—but don't spread that around," Skye said quickly. There was a slight pause; then she got her ID back with a nod of acquiescence.
"What do I need to do?"
"Act normally. Right now I'm sure they're watching for Nick to show up here, and won't follow us. I need to go away unseen; I'll come back to your front door in ten minutes or so; greet me as a friend! While I'm gone, pack something with necessities."
"I have that, my Nicholas insisted," Ms. Wilde said steadily. "I'm Vivian, officer Winter."
"Skye. Secure your house and grab whatever else you might need, loose cash, another change, you might be away for awhile." The window closed and she retraced her route away, then circled around to come back up the street that passed in front of the lurking agent. Skye walked slowly with a bit of a slouch along the other side and avoided looking at the hedge as she went by. She rounded the corner and went up to Vivian's door.
"Vanya! So nice." The taller vixen stepped through the door to lean in and give her a hug. "I'm ready."
Skye took advantage of a passing car to whisper, "look at me, not the hedge," before they linked arms, walked to the corner and crossed. Once a couple of houses down the other side, they heard a faint rustling behind them—Vivian stopped, turned to stare, and held up Skye's flashlight with her thumb on top like it was a can of pepper spray.
The shape back on the corner in the nocturnal friendly street lighting was nearly Skye's height and build, a smaller mammal than she'd expected to be there. Round headed and earless, it looked at them before turning to walk nonchalantly up the side street. Long ears were draped behind a short muzzled head. It had to be a hare; a darker furred version of her Jack! It was disappointing to see one working for the other side, but probably inevitable at some point. There weren't too many in the agency, Skye knew they should be able to ID this one. He'd be back at his post as soon as they were gone.
"You said to act naturally," Vivian commented with some amusement in her voice as they resumed walking.
"That I did. Our transportation's a couple of blocks further." Skye was proven wrong when Kristen made her presence known at the next corner.
"Oh good! I parked a couple of streets closer, couldn't see very well from back there. Hello Ms. Wilde, I'm Kristen—secret paleontologist!"
Unfortunately Skye didn't get a good look at the expression that crossed Vivian's face. The good doctor ushered them into the car and asked Vivian to remove her phone battery as she explained Nick had wanted. Her course back to the parking garage gave Skye plenty of time to provide Vivian with some background information on the conspiracy.
"I hope you don't mind leftovers for dinner," Kristen told Vivian as they walked through the tunnel. None of us have eaten yet and I'll just have to warm up from last night.
"Actually I've already…" Skye stopped Vivian with a paw.
"You might want to reconsider, she's really good," Skye told her. Their exchange visibly relaxed their newest member before Kristen checked outside the mouth of the tunnel, then led them to her home. A faint murmur of voices stopped when she unlocked the door.
As soon as they were inside, Nick managed to silently scoop all three of them into a brief group hug, then had a much longer one with his mom. Skye knew that Jack had likely admonished him repeatedly to be quiet when they arrived. The six of them found places at the dining table and on Kristen's sofa, then exchanged smiles of relief.
Jack introduced himself and gave Ms. Wilde some background on his involvement with the conspiracy, while Kristen busied herself in the kitchen bulking up the leftovers.
Four firm knocks sounded from the front door. Silence fell and Kristen turned towards the door with a look of surprise. Vivian and Nick exchanged nervous glances—Judy, Jack, and Skye froze. Four more raps came…
"Doctor Soren, please excuse the late hour. I'm agent Hartley from the Zootopia Bureau of Investigation. May we talk?"
Notes
I know. I should have titled this chapter Foxes on the Run, since at least three of our vulpines had a good day turn sour to varying degrees.
APB: All Points Bulletin
Back in the Jurassic period of automotive technology, an old quick fix for a car stalling from fuel starvation was to remove the air filter and put a hand or rag over the carburetor inlet to block it. Crank the engine, and the greater suction would pull some fuel through a clogged line filter or ports and clear them enough to get you home. I did that twice for people back in the 1970s; one of them was a non-armadillo old lady in a Chrysler.
Nick being repeatedly accused of impersonating a cop—an idea from Old Goat.
Our next fur raising installment—Chapter Thirteen: Breaking up is hard to do-hopefully within the month!