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 9)
Judy was back in Chief Bogo's office, along with Lieutenant Saw. And so far everything was following the script.
So far...
Her recap of the meeting with The Red Pig had been met with grunts and knowing nods, just as she might have predicted. The Lieutenant was of the opinion that she'd hit the nail on the head with her assessment of the Sahara Square Mob chief's motives. He had only agreed to meet with her so he could claim he'd at least been willing to listen to Mr. Big's truce proposal, (which he hadn't.) And although his reasons for cutting the meeting short had come as news to both the Bogo and Saw, they'd been anything but surprised by his actions. That answered a question the doe-bunny had been harboring ever since taking leave of The Red Pig; yes, they had known all along that Mr. Big's son-in-law was a made member of Cosa Nostra. If nothing else, it went a long way towards explaining why Lieutenant Saw had chosen to arrest him in public, (although in Judy's mind, that was still no excuse for having taken Fru-Fru into custody as well.)
When she told them about her 'other' meeting however—the one with Joey, 'The Shadow' Porcini—their' attitudes practically underwent a paradigm shift, especially when she informed them...
"Wait, what? Sheldon Camelson is planning to buy out the Palm Hotel?" Lt. Saw almost fell out of his chair and Chief Bogo's jaw nearly went crashing through his desktop.
"How is it we don't know this?" the big Cape buffalo demanded, blowing a note of vexation through his nostrils. Luckily for Judy, he was looking at Lieutenant Saw not her.
"Mmmm, can't say for certain, Chief," the sun bear replied, already having recovered most of his composure, "although from what little I've heard of Mr. Camelson, he's supposed to be a very secretive individual." The merest hint of a smile flitted across his muzzle and then vanished without a trace. "However, if he's seriously planning to make a play for the Palm Hotel Casino, he'll first need to obtain a gaming license. With that in mind, I'd suggest we get in touch with City Hall."
"Leave that to me." Bogo rapped the desktop with his knuckles as if trying to conjure good luck. "I know exactly who to talk to."
And with that settled, they once more turned their attention to Judy.
"Getting back to what you told us earlier, Hopps; do you know if Joe Porcini said anything to The Red Pig about someone else setting these fires?" It was Lieutenant Saw again.
"Yes sir, he did," the doe bunny answered, mouth feeling as if she'd just taken a swig of bitters, "or that's what he told me. And he also said it got him kicked off the Red Pig's yacht right before we sailed."
"Cor!" Bogo's eyes pinched shut and he turned away as if he'd accidentally walked in on an autopsy, "Peccari didn't even want to hear about it; that's not good, not good at all."
"Or maybe he just wants everyone to THINK he doesn't want to hear about it," Lieutenant Saw ventured, and then shaking his head, he muttered, almost to himself, "Never can tell with these wiseguys."
That was likely a fair assessment—but still not good enough for his boss. Bogo slapped a hoof on his desktop blotter causing several items to rearrange themselves.
"What, then? What possible reason could even a mobster have for wanting to do a thing like that?"
"Well, I'M no mobster," Judy piped up, surprising even herself, "But if I was Rocco Peccari—and I believed a third party was setting those arson fires—I sure as heck wouldn't want everybody to know I was on to them.
Bogo and Saw looked briefly at each other and then back at her.
"Good point," The Chief conceded, nodding his approval. Lieutenant Saw looked slightly nettled, as if the doe-bunny had stolen his thunder.
"About this, errr, third party as you call it," he said, "did Porcini have any idea as to who it might be?"
"Not a clue," Judy admitted, adding almost as an afterthought. "Mr. Rodenberg had some ideas though."
It was a postscript she immediately wished she could take back. At the mention of the rat-attorney's name, Lieutenant Saw's fangs unsheathed, and Chief Bogo looked as if he was getting ready to charge.
"We'll talk about him later," the big Cape buffalo informed her, in a voice like the tolling of a funeral bell—and was it her, or had it suddenly gotten colder in here?
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Three floors below, Nick Wilde was having just the opposite problem; dang, but it was muggy down here. Oh well, beggars couldn't be choosers; he should count himself lucky that Bogo was even allowing him to pursue this.
...Especially after he'd up and pulled that little fait accompli on his Chief.
If it hadn't been for his former partner's extended conversation with Vernon J. Rodenberg, Nick would have likely never have made it back to Precinct-1 ahead of her. As things turned out, he'd walked in through the front door a good half-hour ahead of Judy Hopps. Had he been able to observe the doe-bunny's arrival a short while later, he would have seen her waylaid by Benjamin Clawhauser and told to wait for Chief Bogo's summons in the police commissary, no reason given. As things stood, Nick was even now completely unaware of her presence in the building—although he'd unknowingly come close to finding out at least once. About 20 minutes into his report, Bogo's phone had buzzed, and he'd had to wait while the big Cape buffalo answered it. It had been Judy on the other end, asking permission to wait outside the Chief's office instead of downstairs. Without mentioning her name (or glancing at the fox sitting in front of his desk,) Bogo had flatly insisted she wait in the commissary, and refused to tell her why. The reason, had he chosen to divulge it, was because she hadn't known Nick was back in Precinct-1 either—and The Chief had wanted to keep it that way, determined to avoid even the slightest chance of an encounter between the bunny-cop and her former partner.
As for Officer Wilde...
Initially still angry over the fox's late arrival—and Judy's even later arrival—Bogo had quickly mellowed upon hearing his report. Clever species that he was, Nick had cannily cut right to the chase, beginning his presentation with the names of the Rafaj Brothers' current suppliers of blood diamonds, and filling in the details afterwards. By the time he was finished, The Chief was so thoroughly pleased, he couldn't have cared less that the interview with the two jackals had taken so long; THIS was information worth waiting for. He'd especially liked the way Nick had turned the brothers' own attorney against them. "Brilliant," he'd called it, clapping his hooves.
It was only towards the end that the fox had finally turned to the subject he wanted to discuss—the Rafaj Brothers' first shipment of blood-diamonds, the one they'd received from The Company. Once again using his head, he'd couched that part of his report in phrases such as, "It's probably not important, but..." and, "it may mean nothing, but..." Bogo had found what he'd had to say interesting if not imperative, and had even contributed a tidbit of his own.
"Y'know, if he were still alive, McCrodon would likely be a suspect in these arson fires. Yes, that's right; according to what Hopp...er, what Mr. Big had to say, both he and the Red Pig managed to incur The Mister's wrath, sometime before he died. Seems he went to each of them, asking for sanctuary following his indictment—and both of them turned him down flat."
"Really?" Nick's ears had snapped to confused attention. While that had certainly been grounds for taking umbrage on the sea mink's part, it had hardly been serious enough to justify provoking a gang war...especially since, with the help of Vern Rodenberg, The Mister had eventually walked. But then Bogo had gone on to explain; Peccari and Mr. Big had then each tried to claim separately that they had sent the rat-attorney to defend him. Hearing that, Nick had instantly raised his paws. "Say no more, Chief; that'd do it all right; from what I heard of that animal, he was more than crazy enough to threaten them both at once."
"And ruthless enough to possibly make good on that threat," the big Cape buffalo had amended, drawing another nod. Wrapping things up, Nick had swiftly decided that he'd earned enough points to make a request.
"Sir," he'd said, assuming his humble fox identity, "if you don't mind, I'd like to make a copy of my interview with the Rafaj Brothers and do some research into their connection with The Mister. Yes, I know," he'd added quickly, seeing the Chief raise a finger, "McCrodon's been dead for three years now. But something in that part of the report is still relevant."
"And that would be?" Bogo had asked, leaning over his desk; he'd been skeptical but also curious. Unfortunately, Nick hadn't had an answer for him—and so, with no other cards to play he'd fallen back on naked honesty.
"To tell the truth sir, I don't know—but something's there, something important, and whatever it is, it's refusing to leave me alone."
Bogo had let out a pungent snort, studied him for a second, and then let out another one. Nick hadn't needed to be clairvoyant to know what was going on in his boss's mind; he hadn't worked his way to the top without trusting his own instincts now and then. Finally agreeing to the request, he'd grunted, "All right, but if you find anything, I want you to bring it to me ASAP." The tone of his voice had said that he didn't expect the fox to find anything—but that he didn't dare refuse, and in any case, it couldn't hurt. None of that had mattered to Nick; a reluctant yes is still a yes.
"Thank you, sir. Um, I'll need to get into the database archives, though."
At this Bogo had frowned angrily; his officer should have made that request before he'd gotten the okay to do any digging. Both of them knew why he hadn't—because now that Nick had permission to do his research, the Chief could hardly deny him access to the archives, not without looking petty.
"Why do you need to...?" the big Cape buffalo had started to say, but then he'd stopped, flashing a ghostly smirk for half a second. "There's a workstation down in the Records Annex; you can access the archives from there."
"Thanks Chief," the fox had answered, expending nearly every ounce of his energy to keep from grimacing. The ZPD Records Division was located in the Precinct-1 basement; and the annex was situated almost directly adjacent to the boiler. Unless you happened to be a jungle species—and a nocturnal one at that—being assigned there was considered one step below parking duty. And that, of course, was the general idea. Even if he hadn't meant to do it, the fact remained that Nick had pulled a bait-and-switch on his Chief. Nobody pulled that stunt and got away with it!
Now, mopping the condensation from his forehead with a shop-towel, the fox reminded himself of something for perhaps the twentieth time. At least Bogo hadn't rejected his request outright. "Yeah, happy day!" he growled. As if to put a cherry on top of his sundae of miseries, Chief Buffalo Butt had pointedly neglected to mention that the workstation he'd had in mind was set up for large-mammal species. As a result, Nick had been required to prop a filebox on top of the task-chair and employ the 'two-pawed' typing method. To access the mouse, he not only had to use both paws but stretch himself halfway across the desktop. The only advantage was that he had plenty of table space on which to lay out his paperwork—and he needed all the space he could get right now. Not to put too fine a point on it, he had so many documents strewn about the cubicle; a casual visitor might have concluded that they'd stumbled into the lair of an overgrown gerbil.
So many documents...and so far not one of them had offered even a hint of the information Nick was looking for. (What WAS he looking for?)
Well anyway that thought would have to wait awhile. Right now, he had other business to attend to, waiting on hold and mentally rehearsing what he needed to say when the call finally connected.
Chief Bogo hadn't given him permission to talk to the First Bank of Sahara Square...but then he hadn't told the fox that he couldn't contact them either, (mainly because Nick hadn't bothered to mention it.) It was devious, but also entirely necessary...or that was how it felt anyway. Fox-on-the-rocks, what WAS the information he wasn't seeing in that report? Maybe this would give him a clue.
He put the thought aside and went back to his mental preparations. He needed to present his case using just the right words. Otherwise the response would likely be something on the order of, "I'm sorry, but that's privileged information; we simply cannot divulge it without our client's permission."
Of course Nick could obtain that permission any time he wanted; the Rafaj Brother could hardly refuse him if he requested access to their bank records. Maybe so, but he wasn't going to get that okay anytime in the next five minutes—OR without Chief Bogo finding out. However, if he played his cards right, neither one of those things would be a problem.
The line clicked and a voice spoke, formal, clipped, wee, and tinny, a rodent of some kind.
"This is Mr. Sands, how may I help you?"
Nick took a small breath, crossed his fingers and went into his pitch, keeping it every bit as formal as the animal on the other end of the call.
"Good afternoon sir, this is Officer Nicholas P. Wilde of the Zootopia Police Department. I'm hoping you can assist us with something. Recently, a couple of animals we took into custody informed us that, three years ago, they withdrew a rather large sum of money from your bank—money which was then used to purchase a shipment of illegal conflict diamonds."
"Who told you this?" Mr. Sands asked cautiously. "Was it the animals that withdrew the funds, or...?"
"Yes sir," Nick answered at once, "We know this; they've admitted it. And they have since agreed to cooperate fully with us in our investigation. Perhaps you've heard of them; Ahmed and Ismael Rafaj, the owners of Rafaj Brothers Jewelers?" It was a long shot at best; the story had made the news but had more or less been buried in what passed for the internet's back pages.
"Mmmm, can't say that I have, Mr....I-I mean Officer Wilde. What is it that I can do for you?"
"Well sir," Nick told him, adding a dash of chipper to his voice, "The amount they withdrew—against a mortgage they took out on their mother's home—was drawn in cash and well in excess of $50K. So, according to standard procedure, the money should have been issued in bills with sequential serial numbers..."
"Which we would have, I assure you, Officer Wilde." Mr. Sands sounded mildly offended; as if HIS bank would have done anything else!
"Very good sir," Nick responded, doing his fox-darndest to sound impressed. "Now I have a formal request prepared—we want to do this by the numbers—so if you could just give me the proper email address, I'll forward it to you tout-suite."
"Ummm," Sands hesitated for a second. Possibly he feared that he might be walking into a scam.
Nick moved swiftly to reassure him. "If you would prefer, I can send it by FAX rather than email."
That seemed to bring the banker to his senses. "Mmmm, no, that won't be necessary; send it to paymentinquiries ..."
Nick typed the address into the proper window and clicked 'Send,' nearly straining his back in the process. Dang this blankety-blank, way-too-big workstation!
"Okay, it's on the way."
"Very well," said the rodent on the other end, "May I put you on hold for a moment?"
"Certainly..."
And with that, Mr. Sands went away. What came back in his place caused Nick to grimace and yank the phone away from his ear; not music, but a silky robotic, feminine voice...
"If you're thinking about refinancing your home, there's no better time than right now. At First Bank of Sahara Square, we're dedicated to..."
"If I wanted to get spammed, I'd go surf the WEB!" the red fox growled, addressing no one in particular. He set the phone down on the desktop and pressed 'Speaker'. With the voice not right in his ear, he could at least partially tune it out.
Still, Nick had to admit, if you happened to believe in Karma, he had brought it on himself. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he gazed upwards at the labyrinth of pipes and conduits, snaking their way across the ceiling overhead.
"'...do this by the numbers,' 'tout-suite', did I really say THAT? Gah, but I'm a shameless little fox today."
Just then, Mr. Sands returned.
"All right, I have your request. May I ask you to confirm; you're asking for the serial numbers of the bills issued to Misters Ahmed and Ismael Rafaj on..." a short rustling of papers, "...the twelfth of April, three years ago. I-Is that correct?"
"Yes sir," Nick answered, smoothly, "That's all the information we require at this time," said while putting just a touch of emphasis on the word 'all.'
"Very well, I'll get right on it," the rodent answered, now quite happy to cooperate with the fox's inquiry. And why shouldn't he be? The whole point of a bank issuing bills with sequential serial numbers was to allow them to be tracked by Law Enforcement. AND...the ZPD hadn't asked for anything else, certainly nothing that could come back later to bite the First Bank of Sahara Square. "Should I forward them to the email address on your request form?"
"Please do," Nick answered, nodding in spite of the fact that the bank official couldn't see him. "Thank you very much for your help Mr. Sands; the ZPD appreciates it."
"Always happy to cooperate with our mammals in blue," the rodent responded, an even more canned response than the fox's. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I have a customer waiting."
"Yes, of course," Nick answered him with a smile in his voice. He had what he needed, and was more than happy to end this conversation. "Good afternoon, Mr. Sands."
"Good afternoon."
And with that, his cell beeped twice and disconnected, leaving the fox completely satisfied; everything had gone exactly as he'd hoped and now...
Nick Wilde was nowhere close to being a computer-geek, but there were times when even he had to appreciate them—such as right now. In years past, it would have taken days, or even weeks to locate those serial numbers; now they could be retrieved almost instantly and at the touch of a few computer keys. With a little luck, he'd have them within the hour. Thank you, Bill Goats...or Steve Jerboas, or whoever.
"Okay, back to the slog," the red fox muttered to himself, raising his arms high overhead and cracking his knuckles. Oh, how he wished that Carrots was here; document research had always been her cup of juice. Still, he'd managed to pick up a few pearls of wisdom from his former partner in the time they'd spent together. And one of the first of these had been, "If you hit a dead end, go back to the beginning and start over."
And so that was precisely what Nick had done, going over the history of the Rafaj Brothers first source of blood diamonds—the Zoo York gang known simply as The Company and the sea-mink who'd been their boss, James 'The Mister' McCrodon.
He had started by going to the Zoo York Times archives and found very slim pickings; The Times tended to concentrate more on national and international news than local stories. Now he switched to the Zoo York Daily News and had better luck; the Zoo York crime beat was practically their raison d'etre. From there, he moved on via Zoogle to a number of different websites, most of them dedicated to the history of organized crime. And, slowly but surely, he began putting together a picture of The Company and their first and only boss.
The animal that would one day come to lead that organization could have hardly sprung from more unlikely stock. Before he'd broken bad, James McCrodon had been, of all things, a commercial fishermammal, 3rd generation no less, and captain of his own boat. All that had changed the day he'd been recruited to run a load of weapons into Northern Ireland by the much-feared Pawston gangster James, 'Whitey' Bullgore. It had been the beginning of a fruitful but short-lived association, one that came to an abrupt end when Bullgore went on the lam, making his exit literally one step ahead of the law. It was from that incident McCrodon had learned an important lesson. Never wait until the cops are coming for you; always have something ready in advance. It was a lesson that the sea-mink had eventually forgotten. Years later, under indictment and facing an airtight case that could have put him away forever, he'd been reduced to begging sanctuary from Mr. Big and the Red Pig, both of whom had rebuffed him.
"So, what did you do then, McCrodon?" Nick breathed, as if the ghost of the deceased arms trader was right there with him in the cubicle. "Yes, Vern Rodenberg showed up and beat the case against you, but then what? You were smart...smart enough to know that wouldn't be the last time you'd be looking at 25-to-life. What was your next move?"
Putting the thought aside for the moment, he went back to his research
Following the loss of his mentor, McCrodon had relocated to Zoo York City and gone into business for himself. It was a sound decision on the face of it; he had retained all his contacts from his time with Bullgoar and they'd all been willing to do business with him. For the first year, things had gone well but then, six months later, disaster struck. The established Zoo York crime cartels had never particularly appreciated the upstart Pawston sea-mink's presence in their city—but as long as he'd kept to his own they'd been willing to tolerate him. That all changed when The Mister decided to supplement his weapons business by dealing in bootleg pharmaceuticals. NOW he was poaching on the big boys' turf—and they were not going to let him get away with it. On a frosty morning in November James McCrodon had awakened to find himself at war with not but TWO other crime families.
By rights, it should have been a slaughter. Either gang, by itself, had The Company outgunned by 3-to-1. McCrodon, however, had been made of sterner stuff than his enemies surmised. Refusing to back down, he'd fought like a fire-demon...and he'd also enjoyed some hidden advantages over his foes.
First of all, his two rival crime-bosses, one Russian, the other Albanian had loathed each other almost as much as him. As a result they had refused to even speak to one another, much less coordinate their efforts. It had allowed the sea-mink to take them on separately, and had led to some almost comical incidents—such as when two of their crews had mistaken each other for McCrodon soldiers and shot it out in an abandoned casino on the Cony Island boardwalk. Before they'd finally realized their mistake, three of their number had been wounded and a fourth was on his way to the morgue.
"How you must have laughed your tail off at that one, Mister." Nick thought to himself, shaking his head.
The other advantage McCrodon had enjoyed was his decision to embrace the then-nascent realm of cybercrime and embrace it hard. It was a judgment that had served him well in what had later come to be known as 'The Weapons-Shop Wars'.
For example...
Returning home from a late-night revel in his armored limousine, Naum 'Norm' Hehxi, the Albanian Mob's the chief enforcer, had found himself held up by the flashing lights and lowered gate of a railroad crossing...with no train anywhere in sight, (and with none scheduled, according to the police report.)
What had happened next was still a matter of conjecture. Either on his own initiative, or under Hehxi's orders, the driver had opened his door, possibly planning to exit the vehicle and investigate the delay. It had been the last act the brown bear ever performed. According to the coroner's report, he was felled instantly by a single shot from a sniper's rifle. As for the lynx who'd been his employer, he simply disappeared. The burned out-remains of the armored limo were found three days later in Sheepshead Bay but his remains were never recovered. The ZYPD's best guess was that his driver had opened the door with the engine still running, and that someone else simply had taken his place and driven away...with Hexhi still in the back. Why he hadn't leapt from the vehicle and made a run for it no one knew—or maybe he had, and hadn't gotten very far. In any case, he was never seen again.
It would take two more years of bloody conflict, but when the dust finally settled, James 'The Mister' McCrodon had emerged as the undisputed kingpin of the east coast arms trade.
"Whoof!" Nick fell back in his seat; cheeks puffed out and both paws clasping the top of his head. The idea of McCrodon threatening Mr. Big and The Red Pig, both at the same time, had just become a lot more plausible. For him it must have felt like deja vu all over again.
Sitting back up in his chair, the fox returned to his research.
From this point onwards, the information regarding both McCrodon and the Company began to taper off. None of the websites or news sources had anything to offer in the way of an explanation, but it wasn't hard to guess; in the wake of his victory in the Weapons Shop Wars, McCrodon had probably—and wisely—chosen to assume a low profile. (Mr. Big had done the same thing following his ascension.) It wasn't until Nick began researching the raid that had finally taken down The Company that the stream of information began to pick up.
Stream...? More like a torrent; but then that was hardly surprising given the controversy surrounding that raid. Finagles' Nightclub had burned to the ground; only two members of The Company had made it out alive, and—worst of all from Nick's perspective—three members of Zoo York's Finest had lost their lives that day. (The ZPD, by contrast, had never lost that many officers in a single incident.) And that wasn't all; at least eight other cops had suffered serious injuries in the melee, including Detective Sergeant Claudia Nizhang. Left with a permanent limp, she had quit the ZYPD and was now a member of the Zootopia City Council.
In the aftermath of the Finagles raid, the Zoo York Press, being the Zoo York Press, had gone on a feeding frenzy, variously describing it as a 'fiasco', a 'debacle', and a 'disaster.' For all that, almost nobody had been able to agree on who was responsible for the failure. The Daily News blamed the Commissioner's office; The Zoo York Post blamed the Mayor, and the Zoo York Times, for once taking interest in a local issue, had blamed it on the fact that City Hall had recruited a private security firm, AKER, as backup. About the only thing on which the media could reach a consensus was that whoever was to blame, the raid had been poorly planned, and even more poorly executed. Reading over the details, Nick could only shake his head. Nooo kidding; what the heck had the Zoo York City Police Department been thinking? They'd conducted that raid as if it was a military operation; no wonder Finagles' nightclub had gone up in flames and only two members of the Company had walked out alive—including...
"Let's not think about THAT," the red fox admonished himself, returning his thoughts to the reason he was down here in the first place, that first consignment of blood diamonds shipped to the Rafaj Brothers.
"Mmmmnnng," he grumbled, leaning back in his chair, and studying the overhead pipes again. That poor sap of a courier, successfully exchanging those diamonds for cash and getting safely out of Zootopia—only to stroll right into a firefight upon his return to Zoo York, a firefight from which he hadn't walked out.
Or...HAD he?
Nick sat up suddenly, eyes wide and ears erect, unconsciously sniffing the air. Open on the display screen in front of him was a story from the Zoo Yorker, dated two years previously. The headline read, 'Terror! At The Disco,' And underneath it said, "One year ago last week, Finagles—then one of Zoo York's hottest night spots—became the 9th circle of Hell..."
Nooo, that wouldn't work; he needed something from the actual day of the raid. Stretching out over the keyboard and working the mouse, with both paws, he clicked on 'History.' When the list appeared, the second item from the top was a ZY-1 News story he'd read several minutes earlier, complete with video. "Live From Barklyn: Police Raid Becomes An Inferno." This time, however, Nick wasn't interested in the story or even the camera footage, but in something else entirely. Yes, now where was...? There! Right there in the upper-right corner. Okay, print that out and go check The Sahara Square Sentinel; three years ago, what date was that again? Okay, should be the day before....there, now check the obits; please let it be there, annnd...
"Holy...!"
Nick fell back in his chair with a fox-scream, the file box nearly shooting out from under his tail.
"Son of a...!"
There it was; the thing that had been gnawing at him practically all day. It had been right there to find all along—and he hadn't noticed it, not before now. He'd been studying all the right documents, but looking in all the wrong places.
But now he saw it, and whoa...was this going to blow away Big Chief Buffalo...
"No, it won't; get real, fox!"
No, it wouldn't, he realized. Not by itself; he'd need more than this before he took his findings to Bogo's office. Okay, fine...but what else WAS there? Nothing; this was all he...
At that very instant, as if in answer to the fox's unspoken prayer, he heard a low double-ping in his headset, informing him, 'you've got mail.'
Clicking on the email icon, Nick saw at once that the message had come from The First Bank of Sahara Square. Clicking on the attached document, he studied it for a moment, and pulled aside his headset, at the same time reaching for his cell-phone again.
"Clawhauser, this is Nick Wilde. If I wanted to put a trace on some bills with sequential serial numbers, who would I talk to?"
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Three floors above, Judy, Chief Bogo, and Lieutenant Saw were finally getting around to the prickly subject of Vernon J, Rodenberg; specifically, what did rat-attorney want for having set up that meeting with The Red Pig, (and Joe Porcini)?
To say that the doe-bunny's answer came as something of a surprise to the Chief and the Lieutenant would have been the understatement of the decade. Saw actually roared, and Bogo's reaction could have passed for a boom-box cranked up to the max.
"He wants what?" the big Cape buffalo demanded, staring open-mouthed.
"Why?" Lieutenant Saw asked, and for Judy the answer was like attempting to traverse a field littered with broken glass—walking barefoot and also blindfolded. On the one paw, she dared not lie in the Chief's presence, especially now; on the other, Vern Rodenberg had been 1000% correct when he'd said, "If you know what's good for you, you won't even think about blabbing what I'm about to say, not to anyone else."
What was she going to do? The answer came to her almost at once. There was nothing TO do except wing it and hope for the best; that, and resist the urge to cross her fingers behind her back.
"You'd have to ask him, Lieutenant," she said, "The only reason he gave was that with me back on the case, maybe they'll start to make progress; I know the suspect and I know how he thinks...or that's what Mr. Rodenberg said anyway."
There, she'd told the truth—technically. The grey rat had, after all, taken back his request for her to set up a meeting with Conor Lewis, (also technically.)
"But didn't he drop the Lewis boy as his client?" Bogo queried with a snort, "Why'd he suddenly decide to take up that fox kid's case again?"
Judy swallowed a lump and gulped a breath. Ohhh boy, this was going to be tricky.
"According to him, that's what he told the press, but he never formally took the step of resigning as Conor Lewis's attorney...and the kid never actually fired him, so..."
"So he still represents the kid," Bogo finished for her, "at least on paper; I see." He thoughtfully stroked his chin, "Hmmm, wonder if that wasn't his plan all along."
"Well it might have been simply for practical reasons," Judy offered, "After all, how do you quit on someone if you can't even find them?"
For the past two weeks, not a thing had been heard either from or about the fugitive young silver fox; he had seemingly vanished off the face of the earth. Speculation was running rampant in Precinct-1 as to what had happened to him, the prevalent theory being that he had fled Zootopia for greener pastures.
Judy didn't think so, although if anyone had asked her, she couldn't have said why. It was just...a feeling she had, that's all.
Oops, Chief Bogo was speaking to her again.
"Still, you've got to wonder, haven't you? The Lewis boy's escape from jail was at least as big an embarrassment to that little conniver Rodenberg as it was to the Department—and yet here he is, continuing to stick by that young fox. Why on earth should he do that?"
Judy felt herself pressing hard against the back of her chair, as if she was in a car that had suddenly accelerated to 100 miles an hour. She was trapped; there was no dodging this question. She would have to answer truthfully and hang the consequences.
She might have, but Bogo got there first.
"Well, I suppose we'll find out eventually," he sighed, rapping his knuckles on the desktop again and looking away for a second, "or not."
Judy let out a sigh of her own—one of relief. The Chief's query had been rhetorical, thank heaven.
Then Lieutenant Saw spoke up. For the past few minutes he'd been just sitting quietly, watching the exchange between her and Bogo. It was hardly surprising; the Conor Lewis investigation had almost nothing to do with Organized Crime, and therefore almost nothing to do with him. Vern Rodenberg, however, was someone he knew all too well. In fact, he'd been the one who'd approached the grey rat in the first place, asking him to help set up a meeting with The Red Pig.
"Well, I think the more important question is, should we comply with Mr. Rodenberg's request?" His dark eyes flicked towards Judy for a second. "And CAN we comply with it? According to the Precinct-1 grapevine, Lieutenant Tufts doesn't like Officer Hopps there very much."
Bogo answered the sun bear's questions in the order they'd been asked.
"Well something's got to change, Saw. The Lewis case has been going nowhere for far too long and—much as I hate to admit it—Rodenberg's right about one thing at least. Hopps does know the suspect...or at least she knows him better than anyone currently working the case. If it were up to me, I'd have had her back on that investigation already."
"But like the Lieutenant says, can you do that, Chief?" Judy asked the question perhaps a touch plaintively, "Saying Lieutenant Tufts 'doesn't like me very much' is like saying Nighthowler makes you edgy."
A burst of laughter greeted this statement, surprisingly coming from Lieutenant Saw, rather than the Chief. "Excellent way of putting it Hopps," he said, making it clear that he was no fan of the Kaibab squirrel either. Maybe so, but that still didn't answer her question.
"Won't he just get the Attorney General's office to overrule my appointment?" She was looking at Bogo again.
His face became a granite wall, "Two weeks, even a week ago, that might have been true Hopps, but not anymore. The AG'S office is getting sick and tired of that squirrel's excuses. At this point, I think even Rudy Gamsbart would be willing to have you back on that investigation," He let out a low sulfurous grunt, and then qualified his statement, "providing, of course, that it will improve our chances of recapturing the Lewis boy."
"Hrmmm, excuse me," Charles Saw was raising a paw, "but there's something I've always wondered. Why is the Conor Lewis investigation such a high priority, anyway? Yes, the kid escaped from jail, but other than that, all he did was carry money for a loan-shark; hardly the most heinous of crimes. Why's he such a big deal all of a sudden?"
"F' two reasons, Lieutenant," Bogo was clasping his hooves on the desktop. "Number one, he bit a police officer; number two, that loan shark he was working for was none other than The Phantom."
"Grrr-argh; say no more, Chief!" Saw snarled as his raised paw became two raised paws, "If the Lewis kid's the key to finally busting that animal, I can well understand the urgency." He began to stroke his chin, looking thoughtful, "You know, if he really was working for a loan-shark it puts him more or less in the Organized Crime Task Force's field of operation."
"You've got enough on your plate with a gang-war brewing!" Bogo informed him curtly, and then pointed a thick finger, "and don't think I've f'gotten what happened the last time you and Lieutenant Tufts tried to work together."
Saw made a noise that might have been a groan, "How many times must I say it? That was an accident!"
Bogo rolled his eyes diagonally, "Oh, certainly it was..."
Watching from the sidelines with a twitching nose, Judy would have dearly loved to know the nature of that 'accident.' She knew better than to ask, though. And besides...Bogo was speaking to her again.
"Hopps, you said a moment ago that Rodenberg had some ideas of his own about who might be setting these arson fires."
She glanced at Saw for a second and back again, quickly deciding to hedge her bets.
"This is probably something you and the Lieutenant already know sir, but...Mr. Rodenberg he told me we shouldn't waste our time looking into whichever enemies Mr. Big and The Red Pig have in common; the real fire-bug is much more likely to be one of their mutual friends."
Once again, the faintest trace of a smile flitted across Saw's muzzle and was gone.
"Yes Hopps, I do know that...but it's something that can't be repeated too many times." He frowned deeply, "Unfortunately, those two don't have any mutual friends...at least not that we know of; they despise each other so much that getting chummy with either one will likely make you an instant enemy of the other."
Judy could only nod her understanding. In the last few days, she had fursonally heard the two mob bosses giving their opinions of one another. And it hadn't been pretty; their mutual hatred really was that strong.
"Anything else then, Hopps?" Bogo was asking her.
For a second, the doe-bunny hesitated. There probably was, but she couldn't think of it right off the top of her head.
"Not at the moment sir."
"All right then," Lieutenant Saw stood up and brushed at his shoulder. "In that case, I need to get over to Precinct 2. The word around the canals is that Sam Sayanong just opened up another illegal Pachinko barge; high rollers only this time, two dollars a ball, fifty dollars minimum." His eyes narrowed slightly, "and if I know THAT palm civet, he's not running an honest house."
Bogo snorted in disgust. "Huh, less than six months out of prison and he's already back at it. Little idiot; he never learns."
"Tell me about it," the sun bear snarled, showing a fang, and then nodded in Judy's direction. "Satisfactory job, Hopps," he said, and then as was his habit, he slipped out the door before either she or Bogo could say anything else.
Judy felt her face drop to the floor. After all her effort, after all she'd learned, after all she'd accomplished THAT was the best he had to...? Wait a minute; was someone playing a tuba solo in here? No; it was Chief Bogo; and was he...laughing?
"Don't take it too hard, Hopps," the big Cape buffalo finally said. "Lieutenant Saw calling your work 'satisfactory' is like anyone else singing your praises from the rooftops."
"Yes sir," the doe-bunny answered, feeling worlds better and unable to suppress a grin.
"For myself, I think you've done an exemplary job." Bogo leaned forward with his elbows folded on his desktop, nodding slowly and appreciatively, "What you've discovered may not be enough by itself to head off this gang-war, but it should certainly be a big help; well done." And then, to Judy's utter astonishment; he stretched out even further, proffering a hoof. Sweet cheez n' crackers, was this actually happening? He'd never once offered to shake with her before, not even after she'd foiled the Savage Predator plot.
"Just doing my job, sir," she said at last, putting out a paw and watching it get swallowed up in the Chief's grip like a gnat in a Venus Flytrap. Oh well, it was her own fault anyway for giving such a lame response. "So, uh, what would you like me to do next?"
Bogo sat back in his chair and made another rumbling noise.
"F' now, just go home, Hopps. I'll call on you again in a day or two."
"Yes, sir," the doe-bunny answered, sliding down out of her chair. There was something about his response that was decidedly UN-satisfying, but she couldn't even begin to put her finger on it.
...That is, not until she was halfway down the concourse; only then did it come to her. The matter of her unauthorized visit to Mr. Big was still unresolved. And while Chief Bogo might be inclined to think that, given the results, her actions had been justified, there was still the Police Board to contend with. What would they have to...?
"What the HECK?"
Ten yards down the ramp, Nick Wilde had just come flying around a turn and was running full tilt in her direction—and why was he running on all fours?
Judy threw up her paws as if to hold back a great flood.
"Nick, no! You know we're not...supposed...to..."
The remaining words died in her throat as the fox streaked past her without even so much as a sidelong glance and disappeared around the next bend. What the...? What the heck had lit a fire under his tail? And what had he been carrying in his mouth? It had looked like... was that a file folder?
That was when she heard the hammering. Now what? Was Nick...pounding on Chief Bogo's door?
It was almost too bad she wasn't there to see it. The fox was banging so hard on the door, he was leaning into it. Perhaps he'd been expecting Bogo to simply bellow out a response, as was his habit, "What the DEVIL...?" Instead the door swung suddenly inward, causing him to pitch face-first onto the carpet.
Now he heard it. "Wilde! What the Devil d'you think you're DOING?"
Springing to his feet, Nick spoke rapidly as he brushed himself off.
"Sorry sir, but you told me to report to you ASAP if I found anything."
"Found anything...where?" the Chief demanded, scowling like a Roman mask. But then he seemed to remember, "You mean about the Rafaj Brothers' first shipment of blood diamonds?" Nick nodded and Bogo turned on his heel, beckoning for the fox to follow. "You'd better have learnt that Zootopia's on the edge of an apocalypse!"
He went back to his desk and sat down again.
"Well at least he didn't tell me to go away," Nick thought to himself. To the Chief he said, "Well, it's not THAT serious sir, but..." He held up the folder—or tried to; he didn't have it any more. Oh no, where had it...? Wait, there it was, lying on the carpet, the documents scattered like autumn leaves. He hurriedly scooped them up, all too aware of the big Cape buffalo's smoldering gaze and the impatient tapping of his hoof.
"Well, I didn't find anything like that, sir," he finally said, hopping up into the chair in front of the desk, still barely able to curb his enthusiasm. "But I DID find something that just about blew me straight through the wall."
Bogo's frown became almost impossibly deep; he was in no mood for drama right now. "Right, what is it then?"
Ahhh, dangit. Nick didn't want to cut to the chase a second time; it would greatly lessen the impact of what he had to say. On the other paw, if he didn't keep it short and sweet, Bogo was liable to show him the door before he could finish.
In the end he decided to split the difference.
"Sir, please bear with me," he was putting on his humble-little-fox act again, "But this can't be explained in two sentences." He fished hurriedly in his file folder. Dangit everything was out of order. Where the heck were those...? Oh wait, here they were. He withdrew a pair of documents, one of which he slid across the desk in Bogo's direction. "If you recall Chief, the Rafaj brothers took delivery of that diamond shipment from The Company on the 15th of April, three years ago. And they were absolutely certain of that date; it was the day after their mother's funeral." He pointed at the document he'd laid on the Chief's desk. "There's a copy of the death certificate, and this..." he added the other document, "is her obituary. It confirms that her memorial service took place on the 14th of April that year."
Bogo studied the documents briefly and then raised an irritated eyebrow, "So?"
"So..." Nick pulled another document from the folder, "The courier who delivered those diamonds was a member of the Company, remember? Now, take a look at this." He slid the document across the desktop. The Chief took it and immediately blew a note of disgust. "'...Police Raid Becomes An Inferno'? Why are you wasting my time, Wilde? As IF I wouldn't already know..."
Nick thrust out a finger. "Sir, sir...look at the DATE on that story, the 14th of April the same day as Mrs. Rafaj's funeral service...and the day before those blood diamonds were delivered!"
Bogo stopped in mid tirade, sitting up ramrod straight, eyes widening with a dawning realization.
Nick waited until they were just the right size, and then delivered the clincher.
"Up to now, we've always assumed that The Company's diamond mule, whoever he was, went back to Zoo York after making the exchange and was killed in the raid on Finagles. Ehhh, wrong; he was here in Zootopia at the time—there were THREE survivors of that raid, not just two—and that third guy walked away with a $200K payoff in his pocket. A nice haul, except a whole lot of that money was in bills with sequential serial numbers; he'd have had to launder it before he could spend it. And since he didn't know anybody here in Zootopia, what was he supposed to do?" Settling back in his chair Nick pressed his fingertips together. "Well, as we all know, there were some master cybercrooks earning with The Company. Sooo, how about becoming an online loanshark...?"
That was all he managed before Bogo cut him off at the pass.
"Oh, come off it, Wilde!" The big Cape buffalo had reverted back to vexed mode, standing with his hooves braced against the desktop. "If that courier'd had half a brain, he'd be long gone from Zootopia by now. And even if he is still here, are you seriously suggesting that HE'S The Phantom?"
Nick felt the smile unzipping around his muzzle, sly, wicked...foxy.
"I'm not suggesting anything of the kind sir...because I don't think; I know!"
He pulled another document from the file folder. This one, however, he didn't slide across the desk, instead slapping it down in triumph like the Ace of Spades. "I took the liberty of asking Fraud and Extortion to run a trace on those serial numbers..."
"Wha...? I didn't authorize you to...!" Bogo's mood had gone from irritated to infuriated.
"I think you'll find it was justified sir," the red fox interjected quickly, pointing at the document. "Three, count 'em, three of those bills were deposited in a local bank account only a few months ago—and guess whose account they landed in?"
The Chief glared at him for a second and then scanned his way down the page. When he got to the last entry, the paper dropped from his fingers and his eyes went wider than ever. His voice, when he spoke, was like the breath of a departed spirit.
"Cor...Ian Shortal."
"That's right, sir; The Phantom's last known customer." Nick stood on his chair and leaned across the desk, his finger tapping the document like a telegraph key. "One of those bills might have passed through a few other paws before Shortal got hold of them, but three? No! Way! That money could only have come from the cash the Rafaj Brothers used to pay for that first shipment of blood-diamonds." He allowed himself the small luxury of directly meeting The Chief's gaze. "We may not know who The Phantom is sir, but at least now we know where he came from and how he got here. And I don't think I need to tell you how much closer that'll bring us to finally unmasking him."
He sat down again with a satisfied growl; a satisfaction that was destined to be short lived. Wearing no expression at all Bogo was taking the documents and laying them in a neat stack. That done, he held out a hoof in the fox's direction.
"D'you have anything else then?"
Nick felt his enthusiasm quickly dampening. There was something about the way he said it...
"Uh yes, but it's all pretty much more of the same sir." He passed over the file folder, marveling at how quickly the Cape buffalo had recovered his composure...and even turned the tables. Now HE was the one with the fidgets.
Bogo took the folder and slipped the remaining papers inside. "Off y' go then...and not a word of this to anyone, especially not..."
Nick felt the bristles on his neck standing upright, and started to raise a finger. "What the heck? I NEVER planned to share this with Judy!"
"...especially not Clawhauser," The Chief concluded, and the fox's protest died stillborn. Oops, he'd come that close to stepping in it. Feeling like a pool-toy with the valve popped, he slid halfway out of his chair with his tail sagging—but then stopped when Bogo spoke again.
"And one more thing...?"
"Yes sir?" Nick asked him, looking up...and then he was the one with big, wide eyes. Bogo was offering him a hoof across the desktop. Momentarily struck dumbfounded, it took the red fox several seconds to respond. When he did, he too saw his paw overwhelmed by the Chief's grip.
"Well done, Wilde...very well done. You can expect a call in a day or two. In the meantime, good work."
"Uh, thank you sir," the fox responded, unable to think of anything else.
When he was gone, Bogo tilted back in his chair, with his arms folded, studying the overhead fluorescents and reciting a little ditty under his breath. "♪When constabulary duty's to be done, to be done ...♫"
Over the course of the last hour, he'd been hit by not one, but two bombshells—and what was he going to do about it? He knew of course; he'd known his next move even before Nick Wilde had left his office.
And he also knew that certain animals WEREN'T going to like it, not one little bit.
"♪...a police chief's life is not a happy one.♫"