Disclaimer: Zootopia stories, characters, settings, and properties belong to the Walt Disney Co. This story is written under Fair Use Copyright laws.
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The Fire Triangle
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Part Two:
Oxidizer
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Chapter 1—A Rock and a Hard Place
(Continued... Part 7)
In nature, there is always a price to pay. Whatever gift she gives; whatever blessing she bestows; they always come with terms and conditions.
For example, turn out the lights in any room and you'll see the species possessed of excellent night vision, (I,e. foxes,) taking longer to adjustment to the darkness than the animals not so visually endowed, (I.e, a bunny.)
And 'lights out' was coming up very shortly for Nicholas Piberius Wilde.
Fortunately, he was ready; when the sign he was looking for came into view—Exit 129, Nocturnal District, 2 ½ Miles—he immediately pulled out a pair of red-tinted sunglasses and snapped them open with flourish. It was a hack he'd originally picked up from Finnick, an old submariner's gimmick...used to get a jump on the transition when climbing topside for a nighttime torpedo run.
Fixing the shades into place on his muzzle, Nick started to whistle; an off-key version of 'Darkness, Darkness'—an obscure tune whose history he couldn't quite recall at the moment. Ah well, no matter; the song fit quite nicely into his current state of affairs. Mmmm dang, but it was good to be back in action again, better than he could ever have imagined.
He was seated behind the wheel of Little Sparky, one of three electrically-powered cruisers operating out of Precinct-1—and the only one small enough to accommodate a fox. Even so, the machine wasn't quite Nick's size; he'd had to sit on a cushion to see where he was going. That was bad enough; what was worse was having to crank the seat up nearly all the way to the dashboard in order to reach the pedals. It was a cumbersome arrangement, but also entirely necessary. In an underground zone like the Nocturnal District, exhaust fumes have nowhere to go but into the lungs of the local residents. And so, except for a few emergency service vehicles, only hybrids or electrics were permitted to operate down there. Everyone else had to park their cars as soon as they entered the district and switch over to either public transport or a short-term rental—rentals that, luckily, were readily available at a nominal cost.
Rolling through the Riverside neighborhood on the Z-205, Nick was fully aware of whom he had to thank for his current assignment. He dearly wished that he could thank her in furson, but that, of course, was a non-starter; he couldn't even speak to her over the phone right now, another unpleasant but necessary arrangement.
And that wasn't the only thing the fox had kept to himself on this fine Zootopia morning.
Upon learning that the Rafaj Brothers had been transferred to the Precinct 7 jail, he'd been a mite less impressed by The Chief's reasoning than a certain bunny-cop. No, the Red Pig wouldn't send any of HIS soldiers into the Nocturnal District—but with the kind of money he had to burn, it wouldn't be necessary. He could easily hire a couple of independent guns to do the job, animals that would be perfectly at home in the darkness of Zootpia's nocturnal zone—and also completely inconspicuous. (There are only about a zillion aggressive species that operate mostly at night.)
Nick had said nothing of this to Chief Bogo however. After finally getting called back to duty, he wasn't about to risk blowing the deal now. And so, for once, he'd managed to keep his fox-trap shut.
Okay, there was the exit, a ramp descending into the maw of a downward-sloping tunnel. He put on his signal and eased the cruiser over into the right lane.
The sunshades he was wearing turned out to be almost unnecessary—almost. Little Sparky wasn't plunged into an immediate darkness; the lights in the tunnel faded gradually, each one being just a little bit dimmer than the one preceding it. Emerging from the viaduct, Nick stowed the glasses, able to see almost perfectly in the eternal twilight of Zootopia's underground zone.
None of the animals who lived here ever referred to the Nocturnal District by its given name; to the older residents it was Nocturnia, while the younger generation, with their ever-present taste for the slightly macabre, knew it as Darktown.
It was something of a bedroom community; more than a few of the locals worked the night shift in one of the districts up above, and then returned here to rest during daylight hours.
Turning left onto Cereus Parkway, Nick skirted the shore of Lake Purrsephone, the almost perpetually placid underground reservoir that bisected the district's east side. Whenever he came near to the shoreline, the water swirled with a galaxy of blue sparkles; the light of more than a billion noctiluca organisms, disturbed into bioluminescence by the passing of the cruiser. It was something the fox had never gotten used to; not the infinite glowing pinpricks, but the fact that the air down here was always as still as a contemplative thought. There was there was almost never any wind to be had in this place.
About that lighting, though:
At no time, and in no place, did Zootopia's Nocturnal District descend into complete darkness; the ambient light at any given moment could best be likened to a playhouse, after the lights dim. In times past, such illumination as existed down here had been supplied mostly by bioluminescence. To a degree, it still was, but with several added improvements, courtesy of the wonders of modern science.
The acronym for the technology was EABIL which stood for Enhanced Artificial BIo-Luminescence. As the name implied, it consisted of a synthetic bioluminescent organism which, with the addition of a low voltage current, could be 'stimulated' into producing a greater and more reliable light than its naturally occurring cousins. Already the technology was beginning to find its way upstairs, and into the greater Zootopia Metro area; it was especially popular with movie theaters and upscale restaurants. There was even talk of installing it in Animalia.
Of the several firms down here dealing in EABIL technology, the biggest and oldest was the Foxfire Corporation.
Foxfire...
That name never failed to slightly irritate Nick Wilde whenever he heard it. The title notwithstanding, there wasn't a single member of his species sitting on the company's board of directors. In fact, if you were a fox, it was difficult even to get a job there.
Annnd, speak of the Devil, there up ahead on the left he could see the intersecting domes of Foxfire's main manufacturing plant. Right next door were the sprawling hexagonal pyramids of Banano LLC. It was a strategic placement to say the least; EABIL was, after all, an offshoot of nanotechnology.
And that was the other thing about the Nocturnal District; it was also Zootopia's high-tech zone. Visiting tourists never failed to be surprised by the news when they heard it—although they shouldn't have been. An underground location is ideal for any business requiring temperature control. It was why the up-and-coming firm of Impawssible Meats was also based down here.
Ahhh, Impawssible; now there was a Cinderelka story for you. Founded two years previously by a nearly penniless Asian black rat, within six months the plant-based meat company had taken Zootopia's predator community by storm. Nick himself was enamored of their products, and so were most of the other preds he knew; Wolford and Grizzoli ate practically nothing else these days.
Founded by a rat...
It brought up another paradox of the Nocturnal District. Many of the animals living here belonged to species the average mammal would never think of as nocturnal. For instance, how many folks know that hippopotami are active mostly at night? Rivers are where they go to rest and dodge the heat during daylight hours; after dark is when they leave the water to feed. It was for this reason that there were more than a few hippos living down here—including Deputy Police Chief Isobel Hedjet, the officer in charge of ZPD Precinct 7; Nick had an appointment coming up with her very shortly.
Not to say there weren't plenty of species down here one would expect to come out only at night. And unsurprisingly, a great many of them hailed from regions with sweltering daytime temperatures; perhaps two thirds of the animals living here were either desert or jungle species. There were binturongs, jerboas, sugar gliders, kangaroo rats, kinkajous, fennec-foxes, (Finnick had been born here,) and the animals now flying over the fox's head in a what seemed like a never-ending aerial procession, the largest concentration of bats in the city of Zootopia.
Nick knew enough about their species to know that the seemingly aimless river of beating wings overhead was anything but random. The traffic patterns up above were as intricate and well defined as anything down here on the parkway.
Another thing he knew was that when it comes to being stereotyped, a fox has nothing on a bat. For instance, conventional wisdom has it that all bats are more-or-less the same size as rats. In fact they range in proportion from larger than a kit-fox to nearly as small as a shrew. But even that's not the biggest prejudice their species has to face; certainly not the most wounding.
Most bats, the majority of them, feed on insects, while the larger 'fox-bats' dine on fruit. At least one species of bat uses its echo-locating abilities to catch and eat fish; there are even bats that subsist largely on plant nectar. Of the thousands upon thousands of species of Chiropterans, there is one—exactly one—that feeds on blood. Yet, how many times had Nick seen it? A bat flying overhead and the animal next to him clutching almost instinctively at their throat; it was almost enough to make him fox-scream. Even if the animal up above HAD been a vampire bat, they never fed that way.
Passing directly beneath the stream of beating wings, Nick found himself immersed in a babel of what seemed like a million high-pitched conversations, inaudible to most mammals, but not to a fox's finely-tuned ears. And then, as he came out from underneath the throng, the chittering voices vanished quickly as they had come.
Approaching a traffic circle, he angled around to the right and turned onto Eclipse Boulevard, heading into the heart of the Nocturnal Zone.
Nocturnia, or Darktown if you prefer, was Zootopia's fourth largest district, after Savanna Central, The Rainforest District, and Tundratown. Shaped roughly like a crescent cookie, it extended from the edge of the Palm Hotel to the Vine Country neighborhood. With the possible exception of Old Growth City, it was easily the most 'organic' of the city's ecosystems. The district's engineers had made ingenious use of the district's myriad stalactites and stalagmites. Reinforcing and extending them, they had transformed them into floor-to ceiling pillars, and then filled in the space between with geodetic construction. In terms of square feet occupied, some of the biggest buildings in Zootopia were down here. (Until the completion of the Oswald Tower, the Nocturnal District's Luna Complex had been THE largest structure in the city.)
Turning left onto Cricket's-Chirp Street, Nick spotted his destination directly upahead, the squat, ugly, wedding-cake of ZPD Precinct-7. Curiously, the main entrance was almost a carbon copy of the one fronting Precinct-1, (except rendered in black granite rather than limestone.)
"Now let's see," the fox thoughtfully stroked his chin, "The police vehicle entrance should beeeee...ah, there it is."
Presenting his badge at the reception desk, he was immediately directed to Chief Hedjet's office. Unlike Chief Bogo, her private sanctum was located downstairs rather than upstairs—and while her office was somewhat smaller than his; her personality was anything but. Bouncy and bluff, she shared the big Cape buffalo's straightforward manner...but not his perpetual grouchiness; this hippo had a sense of humor.
"Kissing a bunny..." she sighed, after she and Nick had exchanged greetings, "Ahhh, the things we do to keep this city safe, huh? Still...it's better than having one of my species all over your tail."
"Yep that was the choice," the red fox answered, deciding instantly that he liked this hippo. "I understand you've got...what's his name again? Oh yes, you've got Rashid down here too, right?" He was referring to another hippo, the Rafaj Brothers' former security guard, currently awaiting trial for assaulting a police officer—and, unlike a certain young silver-fox; HE had attacked with malice aforethought.
That thought quickly triggered another one, a sharp rebuke from Nick Wilde's inner voice. "Forget about that kid and stay focused on the Rafaj Brothers!"
If the hippo had caught his change of expression she didn't show it. Instead, she cocked a fat thumb at the door.
"Yeah, we've got him locked up over in the booby-hatch," (ZPD slang for the city's psych-ward jail, also located down here.) There was a measure of contempt in her voice, and Nick understood why almost immediately. She didn't like it when another hippo gave her species a bad name. The fox could relate; he felt the same way about miscreant members of his species—such as..."Heyyy, what did I just say? FORGET about that kid right now!"
Nick threw the thought back in its box and shut the padlock; that was a subject for another time and place.
"What about his bosses, the Rafaj Brothers," he said, "Heard anything interesting from them yet?"
Chief Hedjet slowly shook her head. For some reason, it ushered another thought into Nick's psyche. While she wasn't quite as big as Rashid, in a stand-up fight between them, you wouldn't want to bet on the bull hippo. Her lighter bulk notwithstanding, this lady looked like she had some serious muscle—and the moves to go with it.
"Not a peep," she said, "but then, they haven't been here that long, and their lawyer showed up right after they did; so far he's managed to keep a lid on things." She folded her arms and snorted, "Don't get any mistaken ideas though; now that it's out in the open that they're tangled up with The Red Pig, those boys can't wait to talk."
"Way to go, Carrots!" The thought bloomed in Nick's head before he was able to bite it off. "Aghhh....Grrrr! Where the heck did THAT come from?" Sheesh, his brain had a mind of its own this morning.
To cover himself, he said quickly. "From the tone of your voice, I get the feeling that Rocco Peccari is not one of your favorite animals."
"No, he isn't," the cow-hippo's voice had turned to ice-water, "When the Palm Hotel opened that underground annex down here last year, Peccari put the word on the street; 'this is MY territory; everyone else stay out.'"
"Whoa," Nick gasped and let out a low whistle. "I can think of a certain vampire bat who probably didn't like that very much." Holy foxtrot, no wonder the Red Pig was on her jerk-list.
"You're right, he didn't," his host snorted—but then, surprisingly, she shrugged and said, "But then all of a sudden, just like that, Peccari backed off and went sour grapes on the place. 'Ahhh, I didn't really want that joint anyway.' Nobody in the precinct could figure out why he did that...until we heard about his troubles with Mr. Big." A crooked smile snaked across her muzzle. "After that, it was a no-brainer; the Red Pig's one crazy stinker but even he won't take on two other crime families at once."
"You got that right." Nick's nod was stone cold, sober. "And right now, Carrots is going toe-to-toe with that...Dangit, STAY FOCUSED!" Clearing his throat he said, "If you don't mind, though..."
"They're in the interview room waiting for you." Chief Hedjet had caught his drift immediately, "I'll have someone take you there right away."
The 'interview room' was actually a geodetic hemisphere, one of several lined up inside a larger structure resembling a freight warehouse. It reminded Nick of a radar dome except that it was dotted with triangles, rendered in translucent glass.
Entering the enclosure, Nick noted that the walls were lined with egg-carton foam to help prevent any sound from escaping. Glancing upwards for a second, he saw a pair of trapeze-perches hanging from the ceiling, presumably intended for the questioning of any bats pulled in for lawbreaking. The lighting was bright but not harsh.
The bulk of the fox's attention however was reserved for the pair of jackals seated at a table in front of him, this time done up in orange jumpsuits. They had a donkey of some kind sitting on their right—presumably their attorney—annnd what was his name again? Oh yeah...Arsia, Frank Arsia, and his actual species was kulan.
At the sight of their interrogator, the jackals' faces tilted sideways in the classic canine expression of surprise and curiosity. Apparently, they hadn't been informed of the fursonell change.
"Where is the rabbit?" the one on the left asked—and dangit, which brother was he? With both of them clad in the same shapeless coveralls, it was difficult to tell them apart. Oh well, a quick sniff would solve that problem. Lifting his muzzle, Nick drew in a short breath. Ismael—it was Ismael who'd asked him the question.
"She's...busy," he answered, pulling up a chair and seating himself.
"Hmmm," a grin that Nick didn't like very much unzipped itself around the other jackal's muzzle. And then Ahmed turned and winked at his brother. "Well then, I guess we shall just have to settle for the fox that KISSED her," He said this and was rewarded with an uproarious burst of laughter from his younger sibling; even their lawyer couldn't resist smiling a little.
Nick, for his part, wasn't smiling—but only because he was forcing himself to stay serious. If the elder jackal had thought to rattle him with that remark, he had sorely erred in his judgement. In point of fact, the fox had been hoping to get the subject of 'that kiss' out of the way as quickly as possible...and now Ahmed had just provided him with a nearly perfect opening.
"Don't remind me," he groaned, removing a voice recorder from his belt pack and dropping it sullenly on the table, as if it was a losing poker hand. "I've taken soooo much heat for that."
That was enough to mellow things out a little—but not to change the subject.
"It's your own fault you know, calling the bunny who was supposedly your betrothed 'Carrots'," Ismael flipped a paw, and studied him for a second, no longer sneering but merely curious. "Not very sly for a fox, I must tell you; what on earth were you thinking?"
"What can I say, I've always called her by that name," Nick shrugged so hard his shoulders seemed to rise above his cheeks, "And she's so used to it that it doesn't bother her anymore." He regarded the brothers with his own head tilting sideways. "You know how it is; everyone has a nickname for a friend that they wouldn't dare use on anyone else."
"This is true," Ahmed responded, with a nod that was almost a bow.
Leaning back in his chair, Nick stifled another smile. Ahhh, things were getting off to an excellent start here; first rule of a good interrogation, establish a rapport with your subject.
But then Mr. Arsia, the brothers' attorney, snuffled and cleared his nostrils.
"Might we get down to business, then?" His words were both clipped and precise; he had guessed what the fox was up to.
"Yes, of course," Nick answered with equal formality, reaching out and pressing a button on the voice recorder. "This interview is taking place at the ZPD Precinct 7 detention facility, at 09:47 AM..."
From there he led the jackals and their lawyer through the usual litany; "State your names for the record." "Do you understand the charges against you?" "If you have freely agreed to cooperate with the Zootopia Police Department in this matter, please say so now." By the time he had finished, everyone in the room was feeling bored and listless—including him; such drudgery!
Well, he wouldn't be bored for very much longer. With the formalities finally out of the way, Nick was free to dive straight into the heart of the matter—which he did.
"All right let's begin with that lavender diamond you sold to my part...errr, my former partner and me. Where exactly did you get it?"
He thoroughly expected the question to be greeted with a nervous response; a squeaking of chair legs, a tug at a collar, a glance exchanged between the two brothers, and then one directed at Mr. Arsia.
Instead Ahmed only waved an airy paw.
"Ahhh that one...we received that stone by way of The Company."
"The cartel headed by James 'The Mister' McCrodon," his brother Ismael added needlessly.
"Ah I see." Nick fished out a pad and jotted a quick notation, surprised not at all by the jackals' indifference. Of course they weren't bothered; after all, they had no reason to fear The Mister's retribution. That was one mob boss who wouldn't be taking revenge on them—or anyone else—ever again. For a moment, the fox considered skipping over the subject...until something told him that if he did, it would come back to bite him later. He could already imagine the angry summons to Chief Bogo's office if he missed an important detail. Noooo, it was better to leave no stone unturned. Looking up again, he waited with his pen hovering over the notepad. "And...when did you receive the shipment containing that diamond?"
Before either jackal could respond, their attorney intervened, (speaking up for only the second time since they'd started, Nick couldn't help but note.)
"I fail to see how this is relevant, Officer Wilde. The Mister's been dead for three years now and his organization is all but wiped out. Only two members of The Company are still alive, and both of them are in prison. Is there any point to this?" It was a pointed question...or it would have been if Mr. Arsia hadn't asked it in the dull, droning voice of a bureaucrat reciting statistics.
Hmmm, Nick wondered, was he still angry with his clients for not telling him about their connection to the Red Pig? Yes, possibly...and it might be something he could use later.
But, for now, "I'm simply being thorough, Counselor," he said, assuming the same poor-humble-fox fursona he'd used on Jerry Jumbeaux. "You'd be too, if you had my Chief for a boss." And then, pivoting to the Rafaj brothers he said, "Correct me if I'm wrong but if you received that stone from The Company, it must have arrived with one of your earliest shipments of blood diamonds; is that right?"
"Yes, that's correct," Ahmed responded, before his lawyer could speak up again. "It was, in fact, part of the very first shipment we received."
"Which was also the last shipment we ever had from The Company," his brother chimed in sardonically.
Nick said nothing to this; his only response was the scratch of his pen on the pad. However the note he'd just written ended with the underlined words, 'Get back to this later!'
Which he would, but right now, "All right, approximately when did you receive that first shipment?" Once again, he expected a vague response. After all, who can remember a detail like that from what must have been a long time ago...and right off the top of their head?
Once again the Rafaj Brothers surprised him.
"Three years ago, the fifteenth of April." It was Ahmed speaking.
Nick scrutinized him with a sharpened gaze. "You seem very certain of that date."
The response to this was a squeak for the jackal's chair legs as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. And then he sagged a little, letting out a weary sigh.
"How could I not be certain? It was the day after our mother's funeral."
Both brothers bowed their heads, while Nick jotted a fast notation, underlining it twice. 'Rafaj Bros—Mother's funeral—verify date!'
By rights, he should move on to something else now. As the jackals' attorney had already pointed out, the Mister was dead, long live the kingpin who'd supplanted him; that was the name the ZPD wanted, not his.
Yes, except...
Every single one of Nick's vulpine instincts was telling him he needed to continue with this line of questioning, that if he didn't, he'd miss something important. And then there was that expression Ismael was wearing. His features appeared to be set in marble—except for the eyes, which kept flicking upwards and to the left. It was a look the fox knew almost intimately; the face of a suspect who's hoping that you WON'T ask a certain question. Fine, except what was the question the younger Rafaj brother didn't want to hear?
Well, there was only one way to find out—and that was to keep on probing.
Nick decided to start with something easy...or rather, a set-up masquerading as an easy question.
"Three years, that's a lonnnng time to unload one, single diamond," he noted, creasing his brow and flicking an ear, "Or...is it? Correct me if I'm wrong here."
"No, you're quite right," Ismael's mouth rippled in a half-snarl. "After it became illegal even to own a lavender diamond, the bottom fell out of the market."
"We knew the demand for them would come back eventually," his brother added, looking equally disgruntled, "and that when it did, they would be more valuable than ever. But for the moment, all we could do was put them in the vault and bide our time."
Once again, Nick had to stifle a smirk; his gambit had worked almost perfectly. Ismael had said 'them,' not 'it.' There'd been more than one lavender diamond that he and his brother had been obliged to put away for later—and the red fox knew without asking what had happened to that other stone. For the moment, he would keep that ace in reserve.
"And...how much did you pay for that first shipment of blood diamonds?"
The two brothers regarded each other skittishly before answering. This wasn't 'the question,' they'd been hoping that he wouldn't ask, but he was definitely getting close.
Finally, Ahmed cleared his throat.
"I-I-I don't remember the exact amount...but it was something on the order of errrrr, two hundred thousand dollars."
Nick yipped and almost fell out of his chair, (while the jackals' attorney let out a bray of surprise.)
"That much?" the red fox gasped, staring goggle-eyed at the pair, "You accepted a first shipment of conflict diamonds worth THAT much money?"
"What can I say to you?" Ahmed's paws flipped upwards, in an expression of helplessness. "We were dealing with 'The Mister.' He was always the sort to—er, how does one say it?—to either 'go big or go home.'"
It was an enigmatic response at best; even so, the fox understood him. But still—where the heck...?
"Where the HECK did you manage to find that kind of cash?" Nick could feel an ear flicking while the other one was standing straight up. "You didn't go to the Red Pig again, I hope." It was highly improbable; that would have made the Sahara Square mob boss an accomplice in their blood-diamond business—an unwitting accomplice to be sure, but still an accomplice. After that, it would have been only a matter of time before he discovered what they'd used his money for.
And when THAT happened...!
"Of course not!" Ismael snapped, his tail frizzing indignantly, "Do you take us for fools, fox?"
Nick was tempted to remind the jackal that he had already taken both him and his brother for fools...but he wisely chose to ignore the gibe. "All right, but where did you get that money?" No way would even an upscale jeweler have that kind of cash readily available, (and arms dealers never accepted anything but the cold, hard stuff as payment for blood diamonds.)
The response was that 'please-don't-let-him-ask-it' expression again—but this time on the faces of both brothers. He was definitely within shouting distance of whatever secret they were hoping to keep from him.
It was Ahmed who finally responded.
"We...had some of it available, but...the rest we got...eh, from our mother."
"It's not what it sounds like!" his brother Ismael blurted, leaping halfway out of his chair. "She took out a mortgage on her house—which we still had to pay off after she died."
Nick almost smirked at the jackal's anxiety. Fat! Chance! Whatever else he and his brother might be capable of, murder was definitely not on their playlist. But had he at last hit the mark? No, not yet, not quite.
A mortgage-loan, though...the money would have either been transferred electronically or paid by check, most likely the former option. But in either case, it would have been necessary to...
"Okay, but then you would have needed to convert the money into cash. How did you accomplish that?"
Bang! Ahmed and Ismael swallowed hard and looked at each other with tightening expressions. Nick could almost read their minds, "Dirty, double-dealing, blankety-blank fox...may ALL his species burn in perdition!" He had finally asked them the question.
"Well?" He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, focusing his gaze on their attorney, rather than the jackals themselves.
"Answer his question please," Arsia told them, curtly.
Ahmed winced as if he'd just been told, 'I'm sorry, it's malignant,' and then launched into a rambling discourse. "You must understand, our mother had just died and time was short. We had to..."
"Answer the question!" the kulan repeated, this time with an assertive note in his voice. Whoa, he really was still mad at them over The Red Pig.
Gooood...
Clasping his paws and wringing them, Ahmed looked in every direction but Nick's. "We...had to...transfer the money to our bank account and..." he coughed, "and draw it from there."
'O-M Goodnight, Irene!' The fox jotted the words almost without realizing it. Whoa, no wonder they'd been hoping he wouldn't ask it; Ahmed had just given the ZPD probable cause to examine his jewelry shop's bank records, something that could possibly tie him and his brother to the Red Pig de jure as well as de facto.
He was not about to bring that up right now, though. And besides...welcome to Amateur Night in Podunk!
"Do you have ANY idea how dangerous that was?" Nick's face was a mixture of scorn and disbelief. "When banks dispense cash in amounts of more than 50K, they almost always issue the money in bills with sequential serial numbers."
...which would have made it traceable, and that was something guaranteed to arouse the fury of any illegal arms trader. AND the Rafaj Brothers hadn't been dealing with 'just another weapons dealer,' their customer had been none other than the dreaded James 'The Mister' McCrodon. Holy foxtrot, how the heck had this pair of rubes gotten away with it?
The two jackals winced again, and then Ahmed's expression turned almost mournful. "Yes...we know that now, but we didn't know it then."
"Not that it mattered," Ismael observed; more sanguine than his brother, "by the time we finally retrieved the diamonds, The Mister was in no position to complain."
"In other words, he was dead," Nick thought, but didn't say. It wasn't surprising; Ismael had already hinted that the exchange had taken place right before the sea-mink mobster's demise. Nonetheless, he felt his ears pricking up again. He had no idea why, but his instincts were practically screaming that the younger jackal had just let something VERY important slip. Wait a minute; had he just said...?
"'Finally' retrieved the diamonds: what do you mean, 'finally'?"
Ismael's face was smeared with disgust.
"The courier, whoever he was, arrived late, very late. I went back to the drop several times after leaving the money. But every time I checked, it was still there—and no diamonds. And then...then there was the memorial service for our mother and I was unable to go back again until the next day."
"Hm, so you used a dead drop?" Nick asked him, the last two words echoing in his head, 'dead-drop', 'dead...drop'.
Dangit, why was that important?
"Yes, that's right," It was Ahmed again. "The Mister insisted, or else he would not do business with us."
"But eventually you did find the diamonds?" Nick had his pen poised over the note-pad once again.
"Yes," Ismael nodded, "Though it was quite the surprise when I did."
"A surprise...how?" Yet again, Nick's ears were standing at attention.
"It was early the next morning," Ahmed explained. "We had just seen it on the news, the story about the police raid on...eh, whatever the name was, of that night-club in Zoo York." He waved a paw. "Eh, no matter, but one look at that burning building and we knew; there was no chance The Mister, or any of his gang, could have gotten out of there alive."
"Which he didn't," Ismael interjected.
"Yes," Ahmed nodded, "And so...well, we assumed then that the deal was dead," he lifted a paw as if trying to balance a tray on his fingertips, "But when I sent my brother to retrieve the money, he came back with the diamonds instead."
"I see," Nick scribbled a note and then looked up, "And...where was this dead-drop located again?"
"In Zootopia Central Train Station," Ismael's response was both curt and brittle; he was rapidly tiring of this subject. And his answer was completely unsurprising, Zootopia Central was a natural location for a dead-drop—or it had been before the new CCTV cameras were installed. In any case, it was time to wrap up this line of questioning. He jotted another note and then looked up.
"All right, just one more question before we move on. Which bank issued you the money for that payoff?"
This answer, too, came as no surprise, "Tundratown Savings Bank," the one financial institution beyond the Red Pig's reach.
"Right," Nick flipped the page on his notepad and kept his promise, shifting the discussion to more current affairs.
What followed next was a scenario the fox had witnessed many times before; the suspect who can't wait to start talking—until he finds himself face-to face with his inquisitors—at which point he turns into a clam. For the next ten minutes, that was how it went with the Rafaj Brothers; trying to interview the pair was like trying to extract an elephant's tusks with a pair of tweezers. Every question Nick put to them was greeted with a vague response, punctuated by either a shrug or an uncertain expression. The reason for the jackals' reticence wasn't hard for him to fathom; he wasn't asking about dead guys now. The brothers' current suppliers of blood diamonds were animals very much capable of bringing the pain to anyone foolish enough to cross them.
And Ahmed and Ismael already had one mob-boss gunning for them.
"Okay-y-y," Nick thought, squelching his frustration, "I tried to go easy on you; now, no more Mr. NICE fox."
And without warning, he laid down the ace he'd been holding.
"Oh, sorry—there's something I forgot to ask you earlier." He was clasping his paws and looking almost penitent, "When you sold that other lavender diamond to Mr. Big's son-in-law, did you know who he was?"
The result was as if a hurricane wind had just blasted through the interview room, both brothers nearly pitched over backwards. So...they knew. Maybe they hadn't known who Tad Dennison was when they'd SOLD him that illegal diamond—but you better believe they knew now. And that was Nick's cue to pull out his other hole card. He turned to the jackals' attorney, speaking quickly.
"Sorry Counselor, but I have to ask. My former partner managed to speak with Mr. Big recently and he's VERY angry about that blood diamond. Were you aware that when the ZPD arrested his son-in-law, they took his daughter into custody as well?"
No, Mr. Arsia hadn't been aware of that fact, but he was sure as heck aware of The Big Shrew's feelings for his one-and-only child. He brayed in horror and then started to shiver, probably imagining himself being 'iced.' Nick could have told him that he had nothing to worry about; the ice pit no longer existed and in any case, Mr. Big was nothing like his Sahara Square rival. HE would never take out his anger at the Rafaj Brothers on their attorney. The fox could have said that—but why should he? His words so far were having exactly the desired effect. Arsia's ears slammed backwards and he rounded heatedly on his clients.
"I would, going forward, most STRONGLY urge you to provide full and complete answers to Officer Wilde's inquiries."
'...Or else I quit;' the kulan never actually said the words, but Nick could almost see them, forming in the air. Okay-y-y he had given the jackals a short, sharp, shock, and gotten their lawyer to all but switch sides. Now he needed to put them at ease again. His next question was a slow-pitch softball.
"The prevailing wisdom around the ZPD is that you only started dealing in blood diamonds because you wanted to pay off your debt to the Red Pig and get free of him. Is that so?"
"YES!" both brothers cried in unison, grabbing at the question like a drowning mammal at a straw.
"We had to pay him every week, regardless of whether our business was good or bad," Ahmed looked almost as if he was going to burst into tears, "he would have ruined us eventually."
And then, bless his heart, Ismael provided Nick with the opening he'd been hoping for, ever since he'd sat down at this table.
"We would never have gone to the Red Pig in the first place, except not a single bank in the city Zootopia was willing to lend us the money to open our doors."
"Not one!" his brother echoed bitterly. He turned as if to spit on the floor, but thought better of it when the fox across the table growled a warning.
"None of them said it was because of our species...but we knew." Ismael spoke rapidly, covering for him
For a long, awkward moment, silence reigned in the interview chamber—and then Nick nodded gravely, looking slightly embarrassed.
"I...understand," he finally said, "My late father had dreams of opening a tailor shop—but he couldn't get a bank to underwrite him either."
The upshot of this revelation was everything a hustling fox could have hoped for, surprised looks on the faces of Ahmed and Ismael, followed by an exchange of knowing nods. When they turned to face him again, their expressions were wholly sympathetic.
Frank Arsia's expression showed that once again, he knew exactly what Nick was doing. But after hearing the story of that other lavender diamond and who his clients had sold it to, he wasn't about to intervene a second time; instead he folded his arms and sat back to enjoy the show.
"Did your father...ever consider going to..." Ahmed ventured cautiously, "well, not the Red Pig, but did he ever...?"
"I don't know." Nick cut him off with a shrug and a head-shake, "He passed before it got to that point."
That, needless to say, was only a half-truth; John Wilde wouldn't have borrowed from a loan-shark if the future of Zootopia had depended on it. Okay, it was time to get this train back on track. He picked up his pen once more.
"But...that was then and this is now," the red fox muttered softly, almost to himself. And then, clearing his throat, he looked from Ahmed to Ismael and back again. "Right now, I need to know about your current source of blood diamonds; how about it?"
Whoa, you'd never have known these were the same closemouthed jackals he'd been speaking to a moment ago; this time they opened up like a pair of floodgates.
It had taken them almost a year to find a new supplier. Actually there were two of them, one based in New Orlions, and the other in Bulltimore, Mareland, the latter being their main source of conflict gems. Like The Company, both outfits were illegal arms traders who had obtained their diamonds as payment for consignments of weaponry. Most of the stones they'd sold to the Rafaj Brother had come from Afurica with a few originating in South Amareca. "Those were always emeralds, never diamonds," Ismael explained—as if that made the slightest bit of difference.
Most of what Nick learned, however, came from the elder jackal—who turned out to be a walking treasure-trove. Ahmed al-Rafaj had an almost photographic memory when it came to dealing gemstones—legally or otherwise; he was able to recall even the minutest details. He was going to be gold on the witness stand if the ZPD—or some other agency—decided to take down either one of his blood diamond suppliers.
The interview continued for most of the day, with only a half hour break for lunch.
By the time the Rafaj brothers were taken back to their cells, Nick had a lot to consider...and not all of it was related to conflict diamonds.
As part of the pact he'd made with Ju—with his former partner, it had been agreed that one or the other would have to transfer out of Precinct-1; so, why not him, and why not here? True, foxes are a crepuscular species rather than full-on nocturnal—but other than that, he had all the necessary requirements, excellent night vision, sharp ears, and a keen sense of smell. He could work here, and he could certainly work with Chief Hedjet. He genuinely liked that hippo.
It was definitely something to consider—for another time. Right now, something else was gnawing at the fox.
The Company—that first shipment of blood diamonds the Rafaj Brothers had received; that wasn't just important, it was immediately important. Nick had no idea why but he knew. It was like that moment when you dump a picture puzzle out on the table; however impossible the task may seem, you know there's a completed picture hiding somewhere in all those pieces. That was how this felt, something was here, something he'd missed—or hadn't seen yet—but what the heck...?
These thoughts were interrupted by a buzzing at his hip. Nick groaned, having guessed who was calling, and when he looked at the screen...yep, there he was, Big Chief Buffalo Nickel in all his sulfurous glory.
"Where the Devil are you, Wilde?" Bogo demanded, as soon as the call connected, "Haven't you finished yet?"
"Oh swell, he's in one of THOSE moods," the red fox thought to himself, putting on his most tactful face. "Sorry sir, it took longer than I expected to get those two to open up."
The Chief arched an eyebrow and grunted. "Well...did they tell us what we wanted to know, then?"
"Yes, SIR," Nick answered smartly, almost beaming. "I've got the names of both their blood-diamond suppliers, together with all the juicy details." There, that should satisfy him.
No, it didn't; Bogo snorted so hard, if fogged up his phone-cam lens. "Right then, what are you waiting for? Get back here and make your report!"
He disconnected without another word. And as Nick slipped the cell-phone back in its holster, a transfer to the Nocturnal District was looking even better than it had a minute ago.