Chapter Text
The overhead sounds of a helicopter directed Finnick’s ears like sunflowers at noon, so he spared a split second to glance up from behind his shades. Conifer District didn’t have much in the way of air travel, and such a small vehicle could only have originated from one place: Knotash. What it meant to the sandy-furred fox, he couldn’t say… he was never one for deductions; that was Nick’s spiel. Finnick dealt with numbers, data, facts… things he could calculate and manipulate to get probabilities and patterns. What those meant, he couldn’t always say either, but being around Nick for as long as he had, he picked up a few other spiels , nasty habits that he’d be crazy to do, and crazy to not do; gained methods that could not be unlearned, and witnessed logic that could not be unseen. That’s what it was like knowing the Wildes, one of the craziest families of foxes in the city… and all that entailed.
One of those ‘shroom-on-a-stick vendors was across the street, its pungent herbs and spices were like staring at neon to the sensitive schnozz of a fox, like Finnick… He saw a wolf standing in line for their turn to order, and he wondered why they -- whose nose far outclassed a fox’s -- could stand the stench, much less eat it. It was a trifle of no consequence, so Finnick instead arrived at his destination, and with a sigh far heavier than his small frame should be capable of, he read the sign: Suitopia. It was the suit shop of John Wilde, a fox who was like a second father to him for most of his life, and like a brother to his own dad, Shane Faire; honestly, he was probably one of the reasons they were both still kicking. Uncle John was just that sort of fox.
The flight of stone steps were behind him before he knew it as Finnick quite casually opened the shop door with a homely jingle, thus venturing inside and removing his sunglasses; it was just good manners to do so. His ears flicked again to a light-hearted conversation between the tailor and some clientele, but instead of stewing in his impatience Finnick busied himself with a collection of vests he’d not yet had the chance to peruse. It was that week before which Mr. Big, notorious crime lord of Tundratown, had finally decided to bring him in as a private technician and number cruncher, and also brought in John Wilde to suit him up, as was custom for all new hires of his inner circle. It was perhaps the most awkward situation of Finnick’s whole life, to not only make amends with the arctic shrew that at one time wanted both he and Nick dead but to do so without Nick and while he was out of town; that’s nothing to say of how he felt about meeting Uncle John before Nick had a chance to bury the hatchet. Presently, however, Finnick recalled all the vests the tailor purposed to have, and idly thumbed through them.
John’s voice clarified as the fitting room door opened. “And it was only then that she realized that she was standing on it!” he declared, promptly followed by the breath-catching laughter of an armadillo doubling over in merriment, begging for a ceasefire before he stood and wiped the corner of his eye. Their formalities of departure were brief (if between chuckles) with an estimated time of completion relayed; nothing out of the ordinary. John locked the door after walking his customer out, though, and from the sounds of it also flipped the sign for early closing. “Oscar,” came a paternal cordiality, “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Need some touch-up work done? That bowling shirt of yours could do with a stitch or three.”
“Nothing like that,” Finnick said and put back the colorful vest that was such a contrast to his purposefully unremarkable streetwalking duds of the aforementioned attire, an undershirt, and a drab pair of khakis. He permitted very few to call him by his first name, reminded as he was when it was bellowed at unnatural octaves and regular intervals in his childhood. Even with Uncle John’s easy-on-the-ears voice, its utterance still gripped his spine, if less and less as the years went on. “Can we talk?” he asked as he peered over a shoulder.
“Oh, certainly, right over here,” John permitted, flicking a thumb at the other fitting room on his way to it, already followed by his son’s best friend. He wore an off-white collared shirt with the unbuttoned cuffs folded back, a peppery-gray vest with charcoal pants and bowtie; all-in-all, the red fox looked pitiable but cheery, especially since his youthful athleticism and vibrancy had since succumbed to the onset of age-related bulking and silvering. “Go ahead and get comfy, I’ll be right with you,” he instructed while offering a chair near the door so that he might walk to the center of the room’s pedestal on which clients stood to be measured, and the adjacent stool. However, rather than troubling himself to bend over and grab it, he instead hooked an ankle around one of the legs to kick it once into the air so that it bounced off the ground, and tumbled along its three points before balancing on two in front of Finnick, and then promptly fell over. John stalked back to loom over the belligerent stool, before shrugging and smiling to calmly right it as his seat.
Truth be told, Finnick enjoyed Uncle John’s unique method of moving chairs and such about, and so allowed his mouth a quick smirk, “You’re losing your touch, old tod.”
“Uh!” he grunted in good humor, “I saw that smile.”
Finnick rolled his eyes and scoffed with a shove of his paw, “Just a reflex. Listen, John,” the fennec said, and scooted forward on the chair to lean in, bracing his knee with one paw and pulling out his phone with the other, “I need your help with something.”
John scooted closer as well, which amounted to rising up into a squat and shuffling a half-pace while guiding the stool along with his tail, all done in a single fluid motion, “Happy to be of service, but I’ll admit you’ve got me worried. My specialties are suits and bad jokes, so there isn’t much help I can be with your more… clandestine stuff.”
“That’s just the thing,” the smaller fox argued, “You knew I needed something under the table as soon as you saw me, didn’t you? That’s why you closed up shop.”
Dark ears flicked back as the older fox grimaced, caught by his own cleverness, “I mean… maybe ?”
“Normally I ask Nick for this,” Finnick admitted, unlocking his phone and then glancing up guiltily for an instant before focusing on the screen, “but he’s out in Bunnyburrow right now, so I don’t want to bother him.”
“When’s that ever stopped you?” John teased.
“ And I don’t want to drive out there,” he huffed, and then gave his phone to the older fox, “He had me look up someone today and what I found is either dumb or behind radioactive firewalls. There is one connection, but let’s say the digging can be more trouble than it’s worth without a starting point. This photo is the best I could find, which is usually enough for Nick to ballpark something I can use.”
“So,” the tailor mused, accepting the phone if not yet examining it, “you figured I could do the same, because ‘like father, like son’?”
“I know you can,” Finnick stated, and then he splayed his ears and bowed his head, glancing up as he kicked his feet a bit, his voice softening from its usual bass, “And… there aren’t a lot of mammals I’d trust on something like this. So… if you could do this for me, Uncle John, I’d really appreciate it.”
John pouted and cooed, “How can I say ‘no’ to that face? I almost forgot you were older than my son for a second there, what with those big eyes of yours,” he commended, and then sat up on the stool to examine the picture, “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got here…” A lingering moment passed before John tucked the phone and quirked a skeptical eyebrow, “ Who did you say Nicky wanted you to look up?”
It was Finnick’s turn to grimace, so he clapped his paws as he looked awkwardly away, “No, I don’t suppose it’d be that easy… it’s Magnus Hopps,” he said while rubbing his palms together, “Lots of his charitable stuff is all out in the open, and I can’t say for certain but I’m pretty sure he left some tracks in Underland… too…” he petered off, eyes returning to John to find that he’d gone stiff and his fur had puffed out in all kinds of ways.
“ Magnus Hopps,” John repeated, smoothing his fur out to re-examine the photograph on the phone, and then returned it, “ Huh… ”
“That’s it ?” the fennec challenged, gesturing to the digital picture of an especially fluffy, long-necked ungulate in an ensemble whose cost alone could easily put Suitopia out of business, “ This llama isn’t from the city, I can tell that much, but I figured you could know something from his get-up, at least.”
“Oh, loads,” a disinterested John responded as he finished unrolling the cuffs of his shirt and buttoned them securely around his wrists.
Finnick scowled, “ C’mon, you don’t just puff up at a name and expect me to ignore it. Who am I dealing with here? What does it mean ?”
“Oscar Faire, do not take that tone with me,” John reprimanded, removing his glasses so that a severe gaze could shoot down the fennec’s follow-up question. He stood to his full height, pocketed the eyewear, and then sent the stool somersaulting backward with a sharp kick of his heel so that it landed upright in the center of the room. John continued in a speculative voice while straightening his vest, “It means that Jackie and I need to bite the bullet and head into Bunnyburrow tomorrow. We should have plenty of time before he gets back…”
Sandy-furred ears skewed with an endearing cant to Finnick’s head. “Why not just call Nick if you’re worried? I did, and he sounded fine to me,” he suggested as politely and nonchalantly as possible, still remembering when his brother-by-bonds was kidnapped only that morning, and then heard from him again only that afternoon. Nick always caused him grief like that, and he wouldn’t want to pass that onto John any more than he already seemed to be… but more importantly, Finnick wanted to avoid any inevitable, awkward questions.
“Nicky isn’t the fox I’m worried about,” John soberly corrected, “More to the point, who you’ve got there is a member of an old, old family from far outside Zootopia’s borders that are the major suppliers of Night Howler pollen for most of the world. They’re also outlandishly untouchable, as far as criminals go, practically royalty.”
Finnick didn’t have much of a response, except a single twitch of his lower eyelid. “And how do you …?”
“You pick up a few things when you’ve worked around Mr. Big for as long as I have, even if only as a tailor for special occasions. Now then, Oscar,” John said and braced his knees to incline towards the flinching fennec, “I say this because I love you as though were my own kit, but make yourself scarce. Go to Mr. Big and tell him what we talked about; you’re one of his now and he’ll protect you.”
The fennec’s mind reeled with potential issues and consequences, gulping as he hopped down from the chair, “This sounds like gang-war stuff; you know, something the police should hear about?”
The statement rolled about behind eyes no less keen by the years they boasted, before at last glancing up and away, “ Yes, but not by the likes of us… and it wouldn’t do to bother my son with this, as of yet, considering he’s likely still dealing with whatever it was that got him into this in the first place,” was the response, “Use your channels and be as discreet as possible, Magnus has rather long ears, you know,” John reminded, and went about ushering the smaller fox from the fitting room.
“Hold up, so who is this other fox you are worried about?” Finnick stopped, quirking a brow upward and doing what he could to not imply that he knew about Gideon Grey and his kinfolk, the hitherto estranged extended family of the Wildes. It was an easy leap of logic to make, but Finnick immediately wished he had neither asked nor looked, further stopped at seeing his second father’s proud shoulders and tail sag as he closed the fitting room door with an echoing click.
A long, subdued sigh further deflated John. “I’m an idiot, always have been… never could see past my own nose and now it’s come back to bite me in the tail. His name is ‘Goliath Grey’ and he’s…” he said, and if the sound didn’t give away that the pelt on his knuckles pulled taut as he gripped the doors’ handles, his tensing shoulders certainly did, “No… I might’ve called him ‘brother’ thirty years ago, but not now…”
A sharp inhale straightened John’s back anew as he clasped both paws behind him. The old tod thusly turned on a heel, his tail and chin raised in stride towards the counter to retrieve a stowed jacket of ostentatiously rich indigo. “Nicky has a nose for trouble and secrets alike and just can’t help himself when they’re about, never could,” he laughed, eyes twinkling at the fennec’s set of quizzical, caramel orbs, and then said with a shrug of his coat, “Like father, like son.”
“And then I said, ‘Maybe you should’ve put the kickstand down’!” Nick recounted to a table of uproarious laughter. He’d since removed his pinstripe jacket and loosened his tie, even undoing the top button and rolling up his sleeves to return to his more casual demeanor. The night came and the backyard porch torches were lit for ample illumination upon him and his merry band of revelers.
“That one never gets old,” Judy snickered, still in her lily-white gown with silver lace but had entrusted into safekeeping the seven opals of the Carcanet, “Tears for a Sunset” (a nearly century-old artifact of rabbit history “gifted” to her from a… a potentially new friend), “Especially since it changes with each telling,” and shot an accusing smirk at the shrugging fox, of whom she sat on the immediate right of. She was careful not to get any of the dripping shish-kebab on the exquisitely expensive attire she boasted, lacking the time to change since Felix Oswald Lapis dropped her off. The head honcho of bunnies in Zootopia acquired a protective case for the historical jewelry, and then departed to tend to important Knotash business in Preds’ Corner, but only after exchanging some succinct discussions with those at the table (and grabbing for himself one of the vegetable-laden skewers).
“So… just how much of that story is true, then?” Bo wondered aloud, not affording as much care to the state of his eating as Judy had (aside from rolling his sleeves up a bit further and tucking a napkin into his shirt in the event of any inadvertent mess-making), so evidenced by the corn-on-the-cob butteriness that dripped from his chin. Perhaps it was his combined state of supreme elation and abject anxiety -- for the return of his beloved “Juju” and being so near to the Felix Lapis himself for only the second time in his life, respectively -- which distracted him from the higher tier methods of table etiquette.
“Who cares ?” Gideon guffawed, setting his third skewer atop a mounting pile on a nearby tray, “We’re chowin’ down in all other’s company and sharin’ great times because; tha’s what matters right now.” He did smother his own features in a rigorous wiping after catching his sister’s steely-eyed glare from his immediate right and then muffled a belch into that same napkin rather than out of it.
“Perhaps we can, at last, get around to that ‘good night’s sleep’ I’ve heard rumors of,” Esther mused as she, sitting to Nick’s immediate left, also added to the collection of used skewers before having herself a sip of cider, “Goodness knows, there’s a nautical ton of ‘first thing in the morning’s lurking about… working with Lapis on this case we’ve built up, for starters,” she said, and lightly kicked her briefcase, but only enough for it to make an identifying sound.
“We should probably report to Bogo at some point,” Nick thought aloud.
“The sheriff would wanna know, too,” Gideon added.
“Oh, I have so many relatives to placate tonight…” Judy rued.
Bo looked down at her phone, still turned off. “ I haven’t heard anything from them, so I think it’s safe to assume that they haven’t heard about all the trouble today, yet,” he consoled, “but still, they’ll find out eventually, and it’s better to hear it from us than someone else…”
The bunnies shared a profoundly troubled sigh.
“Welp!” Judy declared, sitting upright, “No time like the present.”
“I mean…” Nick argued, “What difference could another five minutes make, right?”
“Could it make all the difference in the world? Yes, yes it could,” she answered to his rolling green eyes and daintily dabbed at her still made-up face with a napkin before turning to Esther, “How do I look?”
“Divine?” the vixen teased and then tapped the corner of her mouth, “You’ve got a little bit right there.”
“Here?” Judy asked, forgetting for a moment and using her thumb to catch the implied spot.
“No no, here,” she corrected and stood up to lean over the table with a quick lick of a napkin to gingerly clean the offending smear, “There you go, Sweet Tea, fit for court.”
Nick’s phone was already out and unlocked as he scrolled through his contacts, “Time to face the judge, then,” and first held out the device such that the speaker filled the area with an unmistakable surliness.
“Who is this?” Chief Bogo demanded.
“Hey Chief, is this a bad time?”
“Wilde!” the buffalo barked, “ How and why do you have my unlisted number?”
Nick laughed cordially, finger hovering over the video call button, “Sir, it’s a pleasure to know that, even after a year on the force, I can still surprise you. So-”
Bogo’s thundering nasal enunciations spoke volumes on his distaste for the officer fox’s antics.
“Sir!” Judy chimed in, catching the phone as it flew from Nick’s recoiling palm, “I’m safely back in Bunnyburrow,” she reported, narrowing her eyes at her shying and smiling partner.
Another snort, if one more sighing than grunting, deflated the buffalo’s audible ire, “ Well, at least that’s paperwork I don’t have to fill out, provided that helicopter the plainclothes spotted wasn’t stolen .”
“No, sir,” she answered squarely.
“Thank Heaven for little miracles,” he quipped, “Alright, you two are to stay put until further notice. How close are you to the Preds’ Corner clinic?”
Nick hawed as he confirmed from the locals that the building at which he pointed was, indeed, the one in question. “A stone’s throw, sir, as they say in these parts.”
“ Splendid,” Bogo cooed, and judging by the fox’s and the rabbit’s splayed ears and grimaces, it was a cheeriness of triumphant over the rookie cops, “Check in with Dr. Madge Honey-Badger ASAP. You can report for duty after she’s okayed your rehabilitation from a hallucinogenic drug.”
Judy’s head and ears collided dully with the tabletop and the phone slid from her palm in lethargy. Nick’s face had not yet recovered, but rather worsened into a thorough furrowing of the brow. “ Sir,” Nick groaned through his teeth as he picked up the phone again.
“Yes, Wilde?”
The silver tongue wagged and its accompanying jaw swayed, but the only thing he could think of was how glad he was that it wasn’t a video call, as he originally intended. “Gideon wanted to speak with you,” he recovered and grinned, holding out the phone to his frantically denying cousin.
“Oh, good, put him on.”
Esther readily passed the mobile device over, to which her brother reluctantly accepted with his own brand of hawing country drawl, “Good ev’ning, Chief Bogo, sir, how’s it-it findin’ you?”
“Well enough, Mr. Grey, I just learned that some of my best officers outwitted some of the worst odds I’ve ever had the misfortune to hear about, and I daresay have a solid chance of bringing down those responsible. Can I assume that Ms. Grey’s there, too?”
“I’m here, no worse for the wear,” Esther greeted, exchanging a blue-eyed glance with her sibling.
“That would be all three of you, then, substantially less kidnapped than you were this morning,” the Cape buffalo mused, “And after what Longmare told me, Gideon and a Mr. Bo Briar dealt with that whole drugged whipped cream mess today. I’ll be sure to exchange the good news with her. A successful Monday, all things considered. Now, I don’t normally say this, but I look forward to reading your report on this, Wilde .”
Nick groaned.
“In triplicate,” Bogo reminded, “as you promised.”
Nick groaned louder and laid his own face on the table, from which Judy raised hers after long ears perked at the “promise” as she vocalized a single smug laugh.
“You too, Hopps, and I’ll be expecting the attention to detail that you put in all of your reports.”
Judy promptly returned her face to the table.
“That’s… not normal police procedure, I’m pretty sure,” Bo doubted, earning a quirked brow from either Grey sibling.
“Except I don’t care,” Bogo casually retorted, thusly ending the phone call.
Either city officer sat up to support their face in either a palm or on a fist. “Why’d you promise triplicate, Slick?” Judy asked, extending her finger to prod at his cheek.
“I didn’t think I’d be the one to do the paperwork,” he answered, and then grabbed his cider, “A toast: to a ‘successful Monday’,” Nick announced, even standing in all due ceremony. Judy, Esther, and Gideon quickly followed suit, and Bo grabbed up his own in some amount of confusion quickly after.
“Bantering?” the brown rabbit queried in a whisper.
“Bantering,” the silver rabbit whispered in confirmation.
With the brewed beverages set down after a quick round of chugging, Bo spoke up again, “That chief of yours is a bewildering sort, isn’t he.”
“In his defense, we’re not normal police,” Judy responded, flicking a finger between herself and a newly seated Nick, “He’s covered our tails more than once because we get results while also working in the framework of the law.”
“It’s the loopholes that we exploit which bunch up his glittery undershorts,” Nick continued and then grinned at an innocently poised Esther, “Which, by the way, I’m beginning to understand you are, in part, responsible for.”
“A baseless accusation,” the older Grey fox dismissed, “I do have a habit of hypothesizing aloud, though…”
Bo’s face scrunched up as he listened, furrowed his brow, thought on it, and then smiled as endearingly as he dared, “Well, we rabbits do have excellent hearing, you know.” The local Burrow Watch member earned for his snippet of cleverness a round of golf-claps. Bo sat upright to continue, “Not that I approve of skirting the law and using its own system against it, but I didn’t think it’d be that… necessary,” and looked questioningly to both Judy and Nick.
Judy and Nick exchanged awkward glances. With a permitting gesture, he gave her the floor, “Gumption and good intentions only get you so far in the ZPD, and when there are officers that can subdue criminals single-handed -- literally -- us ‘little guys’ need to be cleverer and do a bit more than ‘observe and report’. I eventually learned it’s the reason Chief Bogo was so opposed to having someone easily stepped on in his charge.”
“Or sat on,” Nick told Esther and Gideon behind his paw, getting momentary snickers and snorts from either of his fellow foxes, along with a chuckling shove of rebuke. “I mean,” he continued to the rest of the table, “Bogo still doesn’t approve of our methods, at least outwardly, but he hasn’t written us up for them yet, and really, that’s the best we can hope for.”
“He’s actually a big sweetheart, worrying about each of his officers as if they were one of his own,” Judy revealed with a flick of her wrist, and then touched a single finger to her lips, “but you didn’t hear that from me .”
“Speaking of buffalo-dad and his wanting-only-the-best-for-us, should we check in with Dr. Misnomer tonight or tomorrow?” Nick asked, “I cast my vote for ‘tomorrow’; today’s been far too action-packed than I’m used to for a vacation.”
“Poor Blue, all tuckered out after a long day at the TBR,” Esther cooed and reached over to caress behind his ear, as though he were a kit.
“I didn’t even get to ride on the Roar-A-Coaster…” Nick griped, even though he leaned into the caress.
“We’ll check in tomorrow,” Judy agreed to her partner’s exaggerated sigh of relief, “My family will never forgive me if I don’t show them this ensemble, and I’d rather not put it back on if I can help it. So, let’s just try to relax tonight.”
“Tha’s what we did last night and look what happened,” Gideon doubted, “What makes tonight diff’rent?”
“ Last night was Magnus’s desperation showing,” Nick explained.
“He’s on the ropes right now,” Judy picked up, “With not only the ZPD but the Felix suspecting him he’ll stay quiet to rebuild his credibility, or flee the city if things are really bad.”
“On top of which, consider who he sent after us,” the taller fox pointed out, “Short of the real Gravedigger or Mr. Snatch, we just escaped one of the worst (or best) criminals in Zootopia. Granted, we practically caught him with his pants down, but he’s in lockup and that’s the important bit.”
“It still unnerves me somethin’ fierce,” Gideon commented, “I can only guess why he was even around my van at all, and it’s nothin’ good.”
“He likely wanted to hijack it and have you drive him out of town, whatever claims he made otherwise,” Nick dismissed with a knowing smirk flashed to his partner, “You were already under his cloven thumb, so all he’d need is put a gun to your head and you’d comply to almost anything.” When a defying huff jostled the air, the taller fox then argued, “Nothing to be ashamed of, Bangs, I’m simply saying you wouldn’t try something heroic because you know, firsthand, that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. That’s all.”
“And I was so hoping he really wanted to know more about ‘Dawson’,” Judy muse.
“I’ve got a weird question…” Bo admitted.
“The best kind,” Nick immediately said, “Ask away.”
“Why didn’t I get a ‘Dawson’? Is it because I didn’t actually digest any of the stuff?”
“Likely enough; it never had a chance to affect you,” Esther speculated, “I’m wondering why Giddy didn’t get any… ‘free-acting hallucinations’,” she said with no lack of cynicism, “ He actually tasted quite a bit when he made it, as I recall.”
“Nuthin’ out of the ordinary…” Gideon pondered, and then paused, “I mean… I have a his’try of lions poppin’ in-and-out of nowhere, but none recently or, ya’know, Nick-colored.”
“I suppose that’s something we could mention to Dr. Honey when we see her tomorrow…” Judy began to wonder, purple eyes turning to Nick with a thoughtful hum.
Green eyes glared back with an established suspicion. “No, no, there’ll be none of that, you hear me?” he then warned, leaning in to point a finger forwards and his ears away.
The silver rabbit grinned. “Too late,” she said in a sing-song tone, “Lion-Nick is now a thing.”
“Stop changing my species!” he demanded, paws thrown into the air, “Despite all the bad press, I’m quite happy being a fox, thank you very much, not a lion or a bunny.”
“‘A lion or a bunny’,” Esther repeated with another thoughtful hum, “I can actually see that, now that you mention it,” and couldn’t help but giggle at his disapproving glower, “Maybe in another life, I’d have been a doe… or a tigress …”
“ I’d be a lion,” Gideon chimed in, ignoring his cousin’s further frustration, and waved his paws about his neck, “With a big ol’ fluffy mane.”
“Too much upkeep,” Bo playfully scoffed, “If we’re talking big cats, I’d be a jaguar. Still strong, but also nimble.”
“Am I the only one here comfortable in their own fur?” Nick disbelieved.
“Says someone who still harbors fantasies of being a dragon …” Judy mentioned under her breath.
The city-fox feigned exaggerated indignation, “I told you that in confidence .”
Not long after the shish-kebabs were stripped and the cider depleted did a crew of bunnies answer to satisfaction Nick’s aloud query of who was to take care of cleanup… if to a lesser degree since he was “encouraged” to help. At Esther’s suggesting, Gideon agreeably tossed the keys of his van to Judy and Bo, thus allowing them an escape from the flocking admiration for the beauty of her dress and his proximity thereof. Judy grinned and bore it, especially when Bo reminded her in his kindest, most nonchalant manner possible, that “It’s only going to get worse”, along with his continued support and assistance in it all.
Both Greys directed Wilde to a shortcut that would shave significant time off their hike back to the homestead, but to their surprise instead followed him in skirting the town of Preds’ Corner, but not toward the clinic. Rather than even heading to Phil Octaves, the resident barkeep who reported to the sheriff’s office suspicious activity the night prior, Nick collaborated with Esther to pinpoint the building where Doug Ramses, disguised as the Gravedigger, snuck in to harass Gideon earlier that day.
“Multiple stories… clear shot of the farmhouses… the entrance has a direct line of sight from Phil’s bar…” Nick listed off and so he, with his fellow foxes, found themselves overlooking The Brambles Notary and Records, “A ‘charming little hub for red tape and other such bureaucratic whatnots’, I believe you described it as, Cherries,” he remembered.
“All you needed was one walk through town to recite anything I had to say on it,” she commented, a paw resting on her cocked hip while the other gripped her briefcase securely, and currently wearing Nick’s pinstripe jacket, “Color me impressed.”
“I like to know my surroundings,” he answered with a grinning shrug.
“We ain’t goin’ in there, right?” Gideon worried, eying the yellow tape still strung across the back door.
“Of course not,” Nick dismissed to a relieved exhale, “Every Knotash bunny is on high alert right now, so even though we three foxes are as pure as the wind-driven snow, we’d still attract attention if spotted sniffing about.”
“So, why risk coming down here?” the vixen inquired. Though they were not on the streets of the town, they could still be visible from them.
“Because I’d bet my tail that they haven’t found the metal gun case that Phil saw Ol’ Doug bring with him,” he said in a lower tone, “I wanted to get an idea of how he might’ve hidden it, except the tension down there is darn near palpable. On top of which, I don’t honestly believe that all the Lookers have yet cleared out, the sheriff’s ultimatum notwithstanding.”
“But I thought they already got his gun,” Gideon pointed out, “Lanny smashed it up and ev’rything.”
“That was something akin to a sidearm, Bangs,” Nick explained, “and unless I miss my mark, the front door of your parents’ house is far out of its range. He’s not going to hit a teeny cassette tape at that distance without a top-notch rifle, which would be bulky and long. More to the point, he also has a disguise to hide, including but not limited to a trench coat and a full wolf-suit, and probably some kind of computer that he can use as a spotter, since all evidence points to him acting alone in his sniping,” he explained, turning with a sweep of his tail towards the service road, “Remember: he was in Bunnyburrow before being hired to pressure our dear Giddy, meaning someone befell a fatal ‘accident’ and the evidence will be in his gun case; the target’s family has a right to know what happened.”
“Your brain can be really unsettling in all the right ways, Blue,” Esther complimented as she immediately followed suit alongside Nick.
“Did you know that Judy says the same? Not in so many words, of course, but I know she means it,” the taller fox reported with a smirk, “Anyway, it means that Doug had an accomplice in town that he could hand all that off to while he made his escape under the cover of the Prince’s Guard.”
“If he had help, then why couldn’t they hide him?” Gideon rebutted.
“No matter its size, hiding something is different from hiding someone, especially if they stand out in a crowd of bunnies.”
“One of the bunnies ?”
“Of course,” Nick said and glanced up one last time at the empty windows of the gradually farther buildings, “Remember what else Judy said about her visit with the city-Hoppses: Magnus has Knotash wrapped around his little finger. An assassin like Doug is a sizeable and risky investment, something not meant to be caught. On top of that, there would be operatives to ensure that all this goes smoothly; Grav would be one such bunny.”
The trio sobered at his mentioning with a different reaction from each, a span that seemed to stretch and envelope until it was almost tangible.
“ Was one such bunny,” Nick eventually corrected, if only to ensure that speech still worked in the world.
“I think it’s safe to say that the jury’s still out on him,” Esther dared, though under her breath and, perhaps, if only to ensure a balance of perspective.
Gideon felt it proper to break the iceberg with joviality. “Still… a knife-fight, high-speed chase, escape on a helicopter… he sure knows how to show a girl a good time-!” he laughed, but was promptly bushwhacked by his sister and so rubbed the spot where her tail hit.
“Judy’s adventure in Knotash is a very delicate situation,” Nick patiently admonished, “There is a lot more to churn before we can spread it about on the toast of Zootopia like the delicious butter that it is.”
Narrowed blue eyes shifted from one of his elders to the other as Gideon crossed his thick arms. “Legends have been built on less than what Jude went through,” he grumbled in a pout, “and she ain’t no porc’lain doll, neither.”
“It’s a bit more than that, Giddy,” Esther said, though not in rebuke. She stopped and unclipped her briefcase to reach in and pull out a small black book, one certainly not sized for a fox, and presented it. “Something spooked her in Knotash, something terrible, and I’m guessing it has something to do with this .”
“And what is that ?” the stouter fox suspected, features softening somewhat.
“Not exactly sure. First chance she got, though, she handed it off and requested that I read it for her,” the vixen said and then returned it to the briefcase before straightening her bangs, “While Judy’s come to me in the past for the heartless objectivity of a Zootopian lawyer, I cannot recall her ever requesting cliff notes of an entire text…”
“I only caught a glimpse of the exchange back when The Good Felix was talking with you and Bo about the pie-eating contest,” Nick explained to Gideon while once again traversing the night-shrouded farmyards, “And I’ll admit, it’s not often I see Judy distraught over much of anything, especially not if it means letting anyone else shoulder her troubles. So, it’s probably a good thing we can’t retell the story quite yet, at least until this all gets smoothed out, as they say, ‘proper-like’.”
The stouter fox quick-stepped to catch up. “Jude did look a bit… off t’night, didn’t she? You could tell because Bo was gettin’ it, too, which I guess was that spookin’ you talked about, Essy. I wonder how that coulda did it to her, though?”
“While not one-hundred percent certain, I have a hunch …” Esther muttered.
“Grav’s diary?” Nick stated matter-of-factly.
“Considering from whom it came and all she said about his… revelation, I guess? I can’t imagine what else could have such an effect on her,” the vixen confirmed, “Suffice to say, I’m both excited and terrified to read it.”
“Right, his diary, of course,” Gideon vaguely feigned, “I mean, I figured he was off his rocker, but findin’ out he’s forcin’ chicken down, and why… if I were a bunny, I’d go stir-crazy, too. I seen what happens when prey eats meat or tries, and it ain’t too pretty.”
“And poor Bo, finding out that there was another bunny he knew for so long with the same condition as him…” Esther endeared, “Who just so happened to be the same bunny that ran him over with a car yesterday…”
“My jealously guarded sympathy goes to Oswald,” the taller fox said, “Imagine how he must feel, the most powerful rabbit in Zootopia led around by the heartstrings like a puppet,” and grunted with a shake of his head, “Strictly speaking, I’m glad I wasn’t in the copter when Judy told him about Grav’s diet; I’m sure she downplayed his reaction a bit.”
As the silent farmhouses of vacationing Preds’ Corner families passed around the foxes’ idle chatter, the youngest of the three presented an observation about the older two as they entered into their front yard. “So, uhh…” he groaned, tucking the day’s post under his arm after retrieving it from the mailbox, “I can’t help but notice all that there paw-holding goin’ on since we left Preds’ Corner.”
Not missing a step, Nick examined Esther’s grasped paw and then let it swing again, “Police escort. Ms. Grey here is carrying valuable information in that briefcase of hers,” he said as she raised the aforementioned item, the both of them sharing a casual grin, “Wouldn’t want that or her disappearing two nights in a row. We at the ZPD have a reputation to uphold, you know.”
“And all that ‘crushin’ since you saw him on the TV was really ‘courtin’, huh Essy?”
“You caught us, little brother,” she confessed with a dramatic sigh, “A sordid affair between cop and attorney… ‘justice is blind, but so is love’, and all that.”
“Well, I’m jus’ glad someone finally hooked ya’,” he smirked, “Ma and Pa ‘bout gave up on grandkits years ago.”
“If only they had a son as a well as a daughter,” the vixen idly mused.
“This actually reminds me of why I agreed to come to Bunnyburrow in the first place,” Nick said, derailing the ambulant banter in smug nonchalance, and then promptly responded to the brilliant flash of red in Esther’s ears with the same easy wavelength of conversational tone, “And no , in addition to scoping out those closest to our dear Judy, it actually has to do with my dad.”
When Gideon finally managed to bite back several gut-wrenching snickers, he reached into his pocket for the keyring (sans van keys) with which the front door of the Grey homestead could be unlocked. “What’s this about Uncle John?” he giggled.
On were the lights flicked as the three entered; Esther stashed her briefcase at the kitchen table, and her ears drooped when she once more saw the patch job her brother did over the bullet hole in the front window, the one near the phone. Gideon didn’t seem aware that it existed.
“Oh, Cherries, remind me to ask you about your next-door neighbors. I heard from Bangs here that your nearest is none other than the Mallupes, a son of which I am actually acquainted with and curious about,” Nick requested as he slipped his jacket from her shoulders to throw it over an arm.
“Which one?” she asked, undoing the barrette holding half of her bangs in place to let the lot of it hang around her face.
“That’d be Mack,” he began simply enough, even though his demeanor took a nosedive as her eyes flashed silver and fur bristled at the name’s mentioning, “With whom I am only loosely acquainted and marginally curious about… I hardly know the guy, honestly, a real lone wolf.”
“Essy, I thought you liked Mack?” Gideon inquired.
“I did .”
“Hey, Bangs, about my dad…” Nick hurriedly ushered with a clearing of his throat, “As far as I know, he’s a native Zootopian, if not necessarily to the major city area of the time. By his and Mom’s own admission, along with sparse reports, he was first spotted somewhere between the Oasis Hotel and Dead End train stops.”
“So, only one of the major train hubs in the city, even back then,” a forcibly calmed Esther said, “But what do you mean ‘reports’, was he apprehended for some reason?”
The taller fox groaned in ambiguity as he took a seat at the table, and then leaned back in the chair, “Not as such, he was never actually ‘caught’, so to speak, but according to Mom, he was bloodied, punchdrunk, and half-sunblind after running afoul of a group of boars and winning.”
“Jumpin’ Jehowlsaphat…” Gideon muttered, plopping himself down to straddle the seat, “Not only are our mothers sisters, but they got a type .”
Esther cupped her mouth to fret, “I hate to say it, Giddy, but you’re right. Pa hasn’t raised claw or bared teeth since I was born, but now I’m a little concerned about the Wilde side of the family…”
“Hey,” Nick grunted, “Those boars were pummeled in self-defense, I’ll have you know; any fox worth his salt isn’t going to pick a fight with several hundreds of pounds of combined fat and muscle, and it’s not Dad’s fault they couldn’t walk-the-walk. Granted, he doesn’t remember exactly how he got off the train and into that brawl, it’s all a painful haze for him.”
“So how does Aunt Jackie work into all this?” Esther asked and began to ponder, “She also would be from Knottedwood, like Ma, so she must’ve come from Bunnyburrow, too.”
The taller fox grinned, “As you said, the Oasis Hotel was a major train hub, even back then, and it just so happens that to this day, it’s the first stop from Bunnyburrow into the city. It’s possible that they were on the same train that day, and could even tie into how they met,” Nick said, thumbing through his phone, “I’ve spent some time canvassing the many train tracks around the area and even a good ways down them, asking about ‘John Wilde’, but I only ever heard what I already knew from him being my dad, or about ‘Johnson’.”
“And you never thought to hop the train and come down here for a look-see?” Esther posited, her fingers pointed in a generally centralizing gesture to designate all of Bunnyburrow.
“Plenty of times,” Nick waved away, “but ‘time is money’, as they say in the biz, and we -- Finnick and I -- were only just scraping by, so wild goose chases weren’t in the budget. But now, with a steady job and paid time off, I have a chance to continue looking. Burying the hatchet with my folks also helped in that regard, but I figured since I was coming out here, it wouldn’t hurt to see what I could see. And then this whole fiasco with the Night Howler monopolized my weekend,” he said, and thinking back to the start of the Pred-Scare a year prior, added under his breath, “ again .”
“Hold up, who's this ‘Johnson’ fox?” Gideon inquired.
“He’s… I guess he’s like an urban legend, more of an archetype, really. It’s a bit more prevalent in the city than out here,” the vixen explained, “Johnson’s usually male, sometimes female, old, young, whatever, but all-in-all, they’re what you would call the ‘uncatchable fox’. So, you can see how it’d be a false trail for Blue.”
“Oh! Kinda like Mr. Foxglove?” he suggested, “Except without the comic books, o’course.”
“ Hup,” Nick corrected, jutting a finger at his cousin, “Mr. Foxglove’s been caught before, there was an entire arc about him and Mrs. Foxglove escaping a foreign dictatorship.”
“I know that, Stretch,” Gideon argued, rolling his eyes, “and I got all those issues right here, read ‘em cover-to-cover,” he also said, tossing a thumb down the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
“You probably have the new Mr. Foxgloves, too,” Nick sneered.
“It’s how I got into ‘em,” Gideon harrumphed, sitting straight with arms crossed anew, “I went back and got the classic series later on, and those’re much better, obviously, but I still like the new Mr. Foxglove all the same.”
“Kits,” Esther said to garner their attention, “Off topic… although I’ve seen some webcomics with a ‘Johnson’-esque character; they’re not half-bad. Anyway, Blue, you mentioned that Uncle John had a ‘photograph’, didn’t you?”
Nick brought his phone out and set it on the table, face-up and boasting a sepia-toned picture, “I do, indeed. I’m sure you’ve both reached the same conclusion as I that my Dad spent some time in Bunnyburrow in the past. It would explain how he could meet Mom, being Auntie Ruth’s sister as she is. Now, both of my parents are foxes of mysterious origins in the highest degree, little is known about them aside from Grandpa Piberius, and the recent information about the schism between my mom and yours…”
“And how Ma’d say she ‘Lost her Jackie to that wild fox in the city’,” Gideon excitedly broke in, “Which we now reckon she meant ‘ John Wilde’.”
“Here is the photograph Dad held onto all these years,” Nick continued, gesturing to the phone, “I managed to swipe a snapshot of it when I visited them before I left (they’re none the wiser), and planned to use it to find that vixen he’s with. It’s not colored, unfortunately, but judging by their clothes, the shades of their fur, and how they’re loosely embraced, I would say that they’re either affectionate siblings or old-timey lovers. I’m leaning towards the latter, professionally speaking, since everyone is so surprised that I have family out this way. Along with the list of fox surnames that Travis gave me today, it’s something I can start with, provided this whole rehab thing with Dr. Honey doesn’t take too long.”
“Your show, Essy,” Gideon prompted, sliding the phone across the table to her, and then smirking at Nick, “I’m only good for faces; names weren’t always there, but faces? No problem.”
Not missing a beat, Esther put her sharp eyes to immediate use for some several seconds. “Well, for starters…” she began, “Young Uncle John has ‘farm-fox’ written all over him, astutely dressed though he is.”
“He was a bit rough-’n’-tumble for a city-fox, I don’t deny that,” Nick relayed.
She hummed and studied the picture further, “Hard to really tell from this old photo, though… Hold on,” she requested, and pulled out a pair of glasses from her briefcase, letting them slide to the edge of her snout before returning to cool re-examination. “Uh huh…” Esther grunted and slid it back over to her brother, “ You tell me .”
Surprised, Gideon hesitantly picked up the phone and eyed the patient expectancy of his elders. “Well, alright, I dunno what good I’ll be in identifyin’ who she is, but I’ll try my paw at it.” His brow furrowed and lip bit in concentration, also grunting as his blue eyes focused on the screen to deliver a slack-jawed verdict, “ Ayeup, tha’s Ma,” and returned the phone.
Nick retrieved his mobile device in a numbness akin to being a gut-punched, frowning his worst at the happy foxes in sepia monochrome. “Well,” he recovered, at last, “that… explains a few things, I guess…”
“Do you just stumble into this kind of thing, Blue?”
“I don’t usually find my own dirty laundry, but yes,” Nick mumbled, “You’d think after three decades I’d learn to take a page from the ferrets and ‘mind my own business’… Which this kind of is, so maybe it was evitable, I don’t know…”
“He might’ve rebuffed Ma to elope with her sister into the city,” Esther quietly extrapolated, removing her glasses to chew one of the end tips, “Which means she’s been holding onto that for these thirty-plus years…”
“I’m surprised you didn’t recognize her, Stretch, you’re supposed to be on the ball with these kinda things.”
“Forgive me; there weren’t a lot of reference points.”
“You saw her in that photo in my apartment, didn’t ya’?”
“ Yes , but it honestly wasn’t on my mind at the time with all the other things I needed to think about,” Nick argued, one paw flopping over his table-slumped head as he stared at the phone’s screen, “And it’s not like I have perfect recollection, or anything, sheesh, give a fox a break…”
“To be fair, Pa never liked having his picture taken, and she felt bad getting hers when it made him so uncomfortable,” the vixen expounded, “I do remember Ma had to twist both his arms into pretzels to get that one, though, especially so Giddy and I could have a copy.”
“We’re still tryin’ to figure out how Ma convinced him to go on this Caribouan Cruise,” Gideon chuckled, “I always figured Ma was the old-fashioned sort, thinkin’ the camera sucked out the soul or somethin’, but after you said that thing about Pa’s shady past, Stretch, I can’t help but wonder if he’s been hidin’ all this time…”
“Continuing that thought, it’s possible Pa figures there’s no need to hide anymore, but what’s for darn sure is that Ma and Aunt Jackie do have ‘a type’,” Esther mused, “Maybe the Greys need a no-holds-bar family ‘sit-down’ of their own,” she then suggested.
“I know I’ve got plenty to bring to the table,” Gideon said, and with a craning of his neck he looked across the living room at the hanging family photo of the Savages, “and of course, there they are as kits with all their siblings. Guess we can try to figure out which one is Aunt Jackie.”
“Yeah, I saw that yesterday, if briefly,” the taller fox politely sighed, “Well, that concludes everything I had planned for Bunnyburrow,” he continued with a clap and a rub of his paws, “Got quite a bit more than I expected, too,” and gestured to either Grey sibling in a broad grin.
The pairs of blue eyes exchanged a glance before Gideon spoke up, “So… what happens now, then?”
Nick rose and stretched his back, “ Sleep; a lot of it.”
“No, I mean, what about your folks? You must’ve been after something like this for as long, if not longer than Essy has, even if you didn’t know you was both lookin’ for the same foxes,” Gideon said.
“Didn’t think I’d say it twice in the same day, but Giddy’s right. To have kept something like this secret for your whole life…” Esther began, and grew softer the more she spoke, “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now.”
“I’m fine,” Nick assured with an easy grin, pausing a full beat to allow the Greys to build their individual skepticism before saying, “because my folks and I have already agreed to reveal everything to each other the next time we meet, and I will hold them to it.”
It was well past midnight, and Nick was still awake. Gideon was asleep in his bed, and from the looks of it, already established a habit of not wearing a shirt while doing so, although the balmy night likely helped with that. Esther was probably up reading that book Judy thrust upon her, what with the light peeking out from under her bedroom door. As for Nick, he claimed the couch and stared at the ceiling with his arm wrapped around one of the throw pillows. Just like when he was a kit, when he had a pillow he’d hold, drag around, chew on, and was tucked into bed with…
After kicking off the blanket and vaulting from the couch, the fox stalked across the floor in his underclothes, bringing the pillow along in his huff to sit down and stare at a framed photograph on the wall. He didn’t sit on the pillow, though, but instead squeezed it to his chest as he beseeched the monochrome family of foxes.
“Foxes don’t lie or keep secrets from each other” is something drilled into the head of every fox kit from the moment they could hear it. Nick knew… he figured his parents tried to uphold that solemn vow… but they didn’t. Not that he was blameless, which he also knew. It’s why they agreed to a sitdown of full disclosure, to wipe the slate clean and start fresh. Except he jumped the gun and found something about them before they were ready to tell it… not that he meant to uncover so bad a secret as it was, apt though he might be at sniffing such things out… And yet it still felt like he was missing something… he wanted something to be missing, at least, some rationale, some reason, some excuse…
Nick sprung up and approached the framed photograph with his neck craned. Goliath hung it, he noticed, raised on his toes but barely able to touch the bottom edge, tall though he was for a fox, and still cleans it, too, judging by those wiping streaks. He set the pillow down and went to drag a chair over and so continue his examination, bracing the furniture’s sturdy back with his tail swaying behind him. Which little vixen are you, Mom? Nick wondered, bright green eyes scanning those present before landing on one almost completely obscured by persistent, aged grime on the glass, There you are, the one that Goliath’s rag keeps missing because he’s also holding a grudge… Too bad about that brother you’re standing in front of, though; the grime’s so thick I can hardly see him, but I suppose he can’t be blamed for that.
That’s got to be Grandpa Pib up there… Nick sighed as he hunched his shoulders, lips smacking to study the oldest fox in the picture, With both eyes and both paws, too… I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but it would’ve been really cool to see a photograph of the Scarlet Hook. Which would make her Grandma Clawdia… Nick then smirked at the proud vixen, whose bearing projected both boldness and timidity in masterful balance, I guess pirate stories really do have kissing, but I can forgive Dad for that one. Still… a litter this size, I wonder why Mom never mentioned them, even if she had bad blood with Ruth… His ears flinched and tail sagged to frown a bit more as his eyes went over the entirety of the picture, According to Esther, Goliath was welcome to stay in the Knottedwood, but with such a traditional-looking family I can’t help but think there’s more to it…
“You tease,” Esther remarked.
Every spring-loaded muscle from Nick’s toes up along his spine launched him through the air in a full axel to land and balance on the back of the chair. His loud, solitary bark turned into a series of rapid gasps that further exaggerated his puffed-out pelt and vibrant green eyes, staring into the cool, grinning blues. Nick cleared his throat, and then stepped down into the seat to assemble a casual front by crossing one leg over the other and folding both paws in his lap, “I really need to get a bell on you, Ms. Grey.”
“That wouldn’t help in the slightest, Mr. Wilde, and you know it. And, why’re you moving furniture about in the dead of night, anyway?” she asked. A swift paw batted at his knee so that she might sit on the newly uncrossed legs, adopting his previous posture in a side-saddle position, “But honestly, I’d say something’s eating you, Blue, judging purely on precedence. Want to talk about it?”
He sighed, lightly grasping her shoulder and waist in a hug, earning a warmness in her ears and a dart of her eyes to those paws’ positions, “I should, shouldn’t I.”
“Might help,” she quietly responded, “Especially now that Giddy’s asleep, no one else will hear you except me.”
A low hum conceded to the sarcasm, “I spent half my life despising my parents for stupid reasons, Cherries, reasons that I wanted more than anything to toss away like candy wrappers, but now… now I feel justified in them. What does a fox do with something like that?”
Esther leaned against his chest and nestled her snout to his neck, before she vocally pondered, “As a fox, I’d say there must be a tremendously important reason for your own parents to keep such a secret for so long, and I’d actually be a bit nervous to know what it is. We’re taught as kits to not lie or keep secrets when it comes to other foxes, while as tods and vixens we figure out that sometimes we can’t always tell the truth immediately or in totality… and yet we’re still beholden to it and its weight. Now, as your girlfriend …” she paused, and then brushed her nose to his with a tender lick, “I’d say your rocketship undies are quite adorable.”
“So true, so true…”