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 5—Unintended Consequences
(Cont'd...Part 5)
They were within easy walking distance of Roarkefeller Center, but Detective Pennanti insisted on driving...and there was no denying that he had the car for it, a gleaming-black Heardst/Coltsmobile with a 442 under the hood and the weirdest looking shift array Nick had ever seen. Luckily for him, the fisher had the driving skills to go with his ride; he was especially adept at weaving his way through gaps between vehicles driven by large mammals.
Not everyone on the road right then was as proficient as him. On East 45th, they watched a Lepus came barreling out of a parking garage and nearly run a motorcyclist right into the oncoming traffic. When they came to the next light, the rhebok on the motorbike jumped off his machine, threw down the kickstand, and proceeded to stick his face in the Lepus' driver's-side window, screaming his head off. He was ten seconds into his tirade when a female jaguar broke from the sidewalk, leapt onto his bike and took off at full throttle, nearly creaming a FerEx driver as she sped through the intersection against the light.
The response from the crowd of onlookers was a mixed bag of applause and rolling on the ground, laughing. The response from Nick Wilde was wide eyes and an even more wide open mouth. "Uhhhh..."
The reaction from Martin Pennanti was half a sigh, and half a groan of resignation, "Welcome to Zoo York, Nicky." He pulled out his cell phone and began to scroll.
"You're...not going to go after her?" the fox asked incredulously. His host's reply was delivered with a glare and a snarl.
"With all those jerks uptown who'd just love ANY excuse to take away my driver's license? I don't think so, paisan...Ahhh nuts, there goes the traffic-light. Here..." he passed the phone to Nick. "Hit that third number on speed-dial and hold it up to my face, wouldja?"
The fox did as he was asked. A short pause followed and then the fisher began to speak.
"That you, Joey? Oh, good. Yeah, it's me...listen, I just saw some jaguar-chick jack a motorcycle on 45th and Bark and take off westbound, might be making for the Lincoon Tunnel. License plate's 28BH68, Kowasaki Ninja..." his lips pulled back, revealing a fang. "Yeah, I'm sure; what other bike comes in that ugly green color—hmmm?" His eyes darted sideways at Nick for a second. "Yeah, that's right...why?" Whatever it was, it caused the fisher's grip to tighten on the steering wheel and made his brows flatline. "Ahhh, let 'im; I don't care what that bum thinks any more. Yeah, yeah...thanks for the warning anyway; I appreciate it. Ciao! Uhhh, you can take the phone away now, Nicky."
"Okay," the fox complied regarding his host expectantly, "Uhhh, do I want to know what that last part was all about?"
"No, but you need to," Pennanti replied, keeping his eyes on the road, "Seems Commissioner Wagfing...Waghorn is aware that you and I made contact." He flashed that sardonic smirk again. "I'd tell you what he had to say about it, but I don't know if you can handle that kinda language."
Nick leaned back in his seat and spread his paws. "I can deal with it, but you don't need to tell me the details; I get the idea." His next words were like a mouse, venturing cautiously from its hole. "Ummmm, but is this going to affect our...?"
"Hey, didn't you hear me say I don't care what that guy thinks?" The fisher's eyes were still glued to the traffic ahead of him. Nick nodded, but he wasn't quite sure how much his companion had actually meant what he said.
It wasn't until they were on board another elevator, this one a brushed-steel box, that the red fox realized; he hadn't been told where they were going, not the exact destination anyway. Before he had time to ask, the doors opened and he found himself in a wide, brightly lit corridor with midnight blue carpeting and walls the color of eggnog. No numbers were visible on any of the doors, but Pennanti seemed to know exactly where they were going. About three doors down from the elevator, he paused before one of them, which, like the others, had no number, but which DID have a card-reader and an intercom. Nick watched as he pressed the button and a second later, heard a voice could have passed for a badly scratched old vinyl record. "Yes, sir...how may I help you?"
The fisher leaned in close as he spoke, "Martin Pennanti for Mr. Wolf."
"Just a second," the voice replied, and then went away for almost three minutes. "He's not here yet, but you can wait; hang on, I'll buzz you in." A click and hum followed as the door unlatched. Stepping halfway through, Penannti held it open for Nick, and then followed, letting it close behind him. Looking around, the fox saw that he was inside a hexagonal antechamber, furnished with a pair of modernesque couches and not much else. The wall directly in front of him consisted of a steel-framed door, fitted with what looked like armored glass. Behind a window of similar construction next to it, a plumpish marbled-polecat was typing briskly away at a workstation, indifferent to her visitors.
Peering through the thick, glass door, Nick spied a septet of glass display cases arranged in a rough semicircle. Behind them, lining the honey-colored walls, he saw a wraparound row of more displays, featuring a variety of necklaces, pendants, etc. In the center of the room was a circular case that appeared to contain an assortment of wristwatches. The illumination came by way of overhead track lighting.
He smiled bitterly as a wave of déjà vu swept over him. The room beyond that door was basically a compact, minimalist version of Rafaj Brother's Jewelers...although even more upscale; in fact, a lot more upscale. Why else would there be not one, not two, but three security guards on duty, a tiger, a rhino, and a bighorn ram. The only other occupants were a pair of otters, currently engaged in what looked like a loud discussion.
"Nick, come here a second, wouldja?"
Turning around, he saw Pennanti seated on the couch nearest, gesturing to the space beside him. He went over and parked himself on the cushions, waiting.
"Okay," the fisher said, leaning towards him with a paw clasped in the other, "When my guy gets here, he's either Mr. Wolf, or just Wolfie. Whatever you do, don't ask him his real name. He won't give it to you and he might even decide to clam up on us; got that?"
"Yeah, okay," Nick nodded, attempting to hide his confusion.
His thoughts were interrupted as the door buzzed again, and then opened to admit an odd assortment of mammals.
There were three of them, a grizzly bear, a Tasmanian devil, and sandwiched in between the two, a rangy Saiga antelope. What made the trio seem strange was their mode of dress; long, black coats that draped almost to the floor, dark, broad-brimmed hats of thick felt, and snow-white shirts, open at the collar, no ties. The bear was decked out in gold-rimmed glasses, and the antelope had a briefcase cuffed to his wrist. Diamond buyers—or sellers; Nick couldn't decide which. As they passed by the fox, they gave him not even the briefest look, instead making straight for the armored-glass door. Another buzz followed and the bear pulled it open. As the trio entered the shop, the otters came around the counter with serious looks on their faces, behind them the three security guards had fanned out behind the display cases with paws and hooves on their holsters.
Taking no notice, the antelope bowed deferentially and lifted his briefcase, as if preparing to open it. At that moment, the bear flicked his wrists and a quartet of black, serrated, metallic eggs dropped from his coat and onto the floor. In practically the same instant, the Tasmanian Devil dived into a forward roll, coming up with an egg in each paw and tossing them behind the counters. All three of the guards screamed. Nick couldn't hear their words, but he could read their lips, "Grenade!" and he could also see everyone leaping for cover–except for the trio of interlopers. He almost did the same but was brought up short by a paw on his shoulder, "Easy, Nicky...just watch."
The fox didn't comply right away, but instead stared peculiarly at his companion for a moment. When he turned around again, he saw the security guards kneeling with their arms raised—under the cover of three pistols and a sawed-off shotgun. All of their holsters were meanwhile empty, and their weapons were strewn haphazardly across the carpet. The otters remained pasted to the floor.
Again Nick tried to move, making a grab for his cell phone, and again Pennanti restrained him. "Just watch."
The fox did—and what he saw was the thieves abruptly stashing their weapons and the Tasmanian Devil reaching down to offer the otters a paw up. At the same time, the antelope was motioning to the security guards and gesturing towards the door. It buzzed again and then all six of them came marching into the waiting room, the guards looking like they just wanted to go off and die somewhere.
As the door clicked shut again, the antelope reached up with both hooves and began to fiddle with the back of his neck. When he took off his hat, the antlers came with it—and so did his face. Underneath was a sharp, unmistakably lupine visage with chestnut fur. This, Nick realized, must be the elusive Mr. Wolf.
"Whoof, am I glad to get that thing off," he said, indulging in a brief canine shake and then tossing the mask onto the empty couch. Turning ten degrees clockwise, he held out a paw to the Tasmanian devil, who obligingly passed him one of the grenades. Holding it up like a trophy, he pivoted ten more degrees, addressing the three security guards.
"Okay, first thing; when you pull the pin on a grenade, what that does is start a powder-train burning—and burning powder has an odor." He waved the grenade under the noses of the three security-animals. "Do you smell anything here? No, you don't, because this is a dummy grenade." He tossed it back to the Tasmanian Devil and then put his paws on his hips. "And it's a good thing too, because if those things had been real, we'd all be dead right now." He paused for effect, "ALL of us—including me, Mr. Shark, and Mr. Piranha." He gestured towards the bear and Tasmanian devil. "In a confined space like that, even one of those babies would probably be enough to do the job." Having made his point, he leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at the security mammals. "So, let me ask you this; how many thieves do you know that are going to blow themselves up before they even make their first demand?"
It was obviously meant as a rhetorical question, but the ram raised a finger just the same. "I..."
"That's right, nobody!" the wolf nodded as if the sheep had just wholeheartedly agreed with him. "Not then, not after they make their demands, not even if the cops show up and corner them. Forget about, 'you'll never take me alive,' just forget it. That stuff's for terrorists, not professional thieves."
He spent a moment looking over the trio, and then, apparently satisfied that they'd been properly chastised, he softened his stance a bit.
"I'm not doing this to be a jerk, you understand," he said, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms, "I just want to make sure that if someone tries that gag on you for real, you'll be ready." His jaw set into a hard, flat line and he pointed at the armored glass door once again. "And it just might happen. Over in Ewerope, that scam we pulled in there is the hottest new trend among jewel thieves. Only a few months ago, a crew in Antlerp got away with nearly a cool million in precious stones using fake grenades. But, uh..." He lifted his muzzle slightly. Nick thought at first he might be scenting the air but then saw it was eyes, not his nose that was engaged. He was looking past the guards to the armored door, where one of the otters was gesturing with a paw while pointing behind him with the other. "Uhm, it looks like one of you needs to get back to work, sooo," he reached into his pocket and pulled out three business cards, which he handed in turn to each of the security officers. "Go ahead and get in there—whichever one of you is still on duty; the rest of you can go take off. We'll meet at 7:30 at the address I gave you and go over things in more detail...and yes, you'll be paid for your time, and yes I'm buying. It was the last three words that finally brought a smile to the faces of the trio of guard-mammals.
For the next few minutes, Mr. Wolf remained silent, declining to speak again until the tiger had been buzzed back through the armored-glass door—and his two compatriots buzzed outside. Even then, he reserved his remarks for his companions; the most attention he was willing to concede to Martin Pennanti was a sardonic yellow eye. For all the attention HE was getting, Nick Wilde might have been the Invisible Fox.
"'Kay, I have a little business to discuss with the Lieutenant here, so why don't you guys head on back downstairs and I'll see you there after I'm done."
"Okay, but can you hurry it up?" the bear pleaded, in a surprisingly whiny voice for his species, "I haven't eaten yet."
No, wait...that wasn't him; the petition had come from somewhere beneath his overcoat. And as Nick watched in amazement, something dropped to the floor beneath the grizzly...not another grenade, but a member of Duke Weaselton's species, only slightly larger and a LOT less scrawny.
Seeing him, the Tasmanian Devil sniggered. "You ALWAYS haven't eaten yet, Snake."
At once, the weasel turned on him, "HA! Look who's talking, Mr. Walking Appetite." He had more to say, but was interrupted by a whistle that would have done a factory proud—and that also caused Nick to slap his paws over his ears.
He apparently wasn't the only one in that frame of mind. Just as Mr. Wolf was taking his fingers from his mouth, a cell-phone buzzed inside his pocket and then connected—all by itself, going immediately to speaker-phone mode without his intervention.
"For the love of Mike, Wolfie," a high female voice trilled angrily. "SOME of us like our ears the way they are...still working."
"Oops, sorry," the wolf rolled his eyes, avoiding the gaze of his other two compatriots. Down below, Nick could see his tail, curling between his legs. "Go ahead and shut down, I'll see you outside in a minute."
The unseen speaker didn't seem to hear him. "Wait, who's that in there with you? Oh, my Gaw...is that Pennanti? What the heck does HE want?"
She was cut off by a low growl from Mr. Wolf.
"Uh, what part of 'shut down', did you not understand Ms. Tarantula?" No longer contrite, but irritated, he powered off his phone before she could get in a rebuttal, and then turned to speak to the rest of his crew. "Out please...now," he purred, pointing stiff-armed at the door. When his companions were finally gone, he walked over and flopped down on the couch opposite Nick and Martin Pennanti. "Well Lieutenant," he said, clasping his paws like a maître d', "to what do I owe the honor of your presence?"
"Oh for the luvva..." The fisher looked at him with a pained expression, "How many times have I gotta say it, I'm not a cop anymore!"
The wolf spread his arms as if offering an embrace. "Awwww, but you'll ALWAYS be a cop to me, sweetie."
Pennanti snarled, and looked away, "Ohhh, shaddup!" And then he was drumming his fingers on his knee and grumbling, "I could have stayed away from your parole hearing, but noooooo!"
Sensing he had reached his limit, the wolf at last turned his attention to Nick, "Annnd I don't believe we've been introduced."
"I'm Detect...G'hum," Nick coughed and tried again; he had spent the last few seconds struggling to keep from laughing, "Detective Nicholas Wilde, Zootopia PD."
He stretched out a paw and the wolf took it.
"Wellll, someone finally had the brains to give a fox a badge; nice to meet you, Detective. You can call me Mr. Wolf or just Wolfie."
"Yes, I know," Nick answered, aiming a thumb at the fisher sitting next to him, "The Lieutenant already explained."
Pennanti's head snapped sideways. "Hey, don't you start!"
"Sorry." the fox coughed again. Anymore of this and he'd have wring his tail to stifle his amusement. And since a good trick was always worth repeating..."So Mr. Wolf...Mmmm, maybe I better just tell you the story from the beginning."
The report came out as a collaborative effort, with Nick delivering most of it and Pennanti filling in the blanks. When they had finished, Mr. Wolf immediately raised a triplet of fingers.
"Okay, gentlemammals...three words; wrong, wrong—and wrong!"
He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, while his visitors exchanged bewildered glances.
"What do you mean 'wrong'?" Detective Pennanti sounded profoundly insulted—and Nick felt a little affronted himself. Who the heck did this animal think he was?
"I mean," the wolf spread his paws open, "if THAT'S who you think your diamond mule is, good luck trying to nail him; you'd be better off chasing ghosts."
He sat back and laid his paws in his lap, a lupine guru waiting to see which animal would be the first to respond, the fox or the fisher. After a second or two, Nick cleared his throat.
"All right...how about enlightening us poor, unwashed mammals and explaining why you think we're wrong." He could get smart-mouthed, too.
"If you insist," the wolf stretched his arms over his head. "I never muled precious stones myself, you understand—but I stuck up enough guys that did. And, no offense to our fine, upstanding officers...and former officers, but running into to a guy like me was always their biggest fear, not the cops."
"Okay-y-y," Nick drew the word out slowly. Though he couldn't say why, he seemed to understand that this was an important point. "So you know the business, I get that. But again, why does that make you think we're wrong?"
"Yeah, why?" Martin Pennanti echoed.
"Several reasons," Mr. Wolf replied, getting up from his chair and gesturing to the wall behind him as if it was a blackboard. "First of all, your courier was transporting conflict diamonds. As a jewel thief, I always made it a point to stay away from those things; too hard to unload. And I especially made it a point to avoid boosting lavender diamonds—even before they passed that law, making it illegal to own them, those things were tougher than heck to get rid of. And because they were so rare, they were also a whole lot easier for the guy you robbed to trace back to you."
"Right, okay," Pennanti conceded. And then it was his turn to lean forward. Getting his Devil's Advocate on, he asked, "But then why not just rob the courier after they make the exchange? As the saying goes, 'cash is king.'"
"Yeah that's right," the wolf replied with a sardonic smirk, "King Henry the stinking Eighth! Dinero in the raw carries a lot of weight and takes up a lot more space than most mammals realize". He pointed at the armored-glass door. "If we'd really been robbing this place, we could have fit all everything we wanted in that briefcase I brought, and still had room for the watches. On the other paw, if we'd been trying to steal the cash equivalent, it would have taken either two trips, or two more guys, to get it all downstairs." Seeing Nick about to raise a finger, he moved swiftly to outflank the fox. "I know, I know; your diamond courier wasn't picking up nearly that much cash. But there's another, much bigger reason why I wouldn't have gone near him."
"And what's that?" his visitors asked in unison.
Taking his seat again, the wolf scratched at his muzzle with a foot. "Well, that's going to take some explanation—but trust me, it's all important. Now," he focused his gaze on Nick, "That jewelry store you mentioned, Rafaj Brothers...As a matter of fact, I know that outfit. A few years ago, a weasel out of Zootopia came to me with a proposal to rob the place; said it would be the easiest score ever. I checked it out, and what do you know, he was right, it would have been easy...a little TOO easy. And so I dug a tiny bit deeper and found out the owners were paying protection to none other than The Red Pig. Soon as I heard that, I told Mr. Weasel thanks but noooo thanks. He was none too happy about it I can tell you. Mr. Snake finally ended up giving him the bum's rush; he didn't LIKE being talked to that way by a member of his own species."
Nick just had to ask it; almost certainly it hadn't been that animal, but how could any fox resist? "Hmmmm, a weasel from Zootopia huh; his name wouldn't have been Duke by any chance, would it?"
"Ah, so you know that loser?" Mr. Wolf smirked, and then grew entirely serious, "But the point is this, Wilde." He poked himself in the chest with a thumb. "Given the choice between having either the Sahara Square Mob or The Company on my back, this big bad wolf would have gone with the little pigs any day of the week." He leaned forward again, even further than before. "But NOW do you get it? No jewel thief, period, was going to mess with one of The Mister's diamond shipments—not if he liked being able to breathe without a respirator."
For a moment, Nick was more bewildered than ever—until the pieces began to fall into place in his mind.
"Sooo...what you're saying is, knowing that his diamonds were safe from any thieves, the Mister could have concentrated all his efforts on keeping the police from intercepting them."
The wolf winked and cocked a finger at him, "Give the fox a kewpie doll, that's exactly what I mean." He shifted his attention to Martin Pennanti, "And as you know, Lieu...Detective, with that in mind, his best course of action would have been to go full on meek-and-helpless with his courier, am I right?"
"This is true," the fisher agreed, nodding—at Nick, not at the wolf.
"All right," the fox agreed, still not quite certain of his footing, "And what are some of the ways he might have done that?" He had a few ideas of his own but wanted to hear Mr. Wolf's thoughts on the matter.
"Oh there's all kinds of possibilities," the lupine jewel-thief suggested, "Crippled is always good; just make sure that whoever it is, they're handicapped for real and not faking."
"Riiiight," Nick nodded, drawing out the word into a growl. He was not inexperienced in that regard and knew that one careless moment is all it takes for a bogus disability to be exposed. "And of course, they wouldn't hide the stones in their crutches or a wheelchair."
"Nope, never, ever in anything you're carrying on with you," the wolf replied, "always with the checked luggage...and the best place to hide 'em is in something you're bringing in gift-wrapped. The only way MSA will open a gift-wrapped package—especially if it's addressed to a kid—is if they've either been tipped off, have probable cause, or if something shows up on the X-rays."
"And The Mister's guys would have made sure of that," Pennanti observed with caustic sniff. "Those dirtbags never skipped a detail."
"There is one problem I see with using a disabled animal to run contraband." Nick tapped at his chin, looking thoughtful, "Everyone keeps offering to carry your bags for you. Not much of a problem when you're bringing in the diamonds but later on, after you pick up the money, it might be a different story...especially since the weight may be a bit much for a handicapped animal to handle."
"Mmmm, good point there," Mr. Wolf mused, regarding Nick with what looked like an increased measure of respect. "Ahhh, sorry but I have to ask; you're sure it was cash money...not cryptocurrency?"
"Yep, 100% positive," the fox answered, slapping his thigh to emphasize the point, "I can't tell you how we know this, but those diamonds were definitely paid for in cash."
"And keep in mind that this was three years ago," Pennanti reminded them both, "before crypto really caught on."
"Oh, riiiight," Mr. Wolf's ears fell slightly downward...and Nick decided that this was as good an opening as he was going to get.
"Yes, and that brings up something else; I know this doesn't happen much anymore, but again, this was three years ago, and so... well a few seconds back you suggested that the best place to hide those diamonds would have been in a present for a kid. In that case, could our courier have been a kid himself?"
To his considerable surprise, the wolf's answering nod was both vigorous and immediate.
"Ohhhh yeah, good thought, Wilde. If I remember correctly, there was this one young fox kid that..."
"Forget it, Wolfie," Pennanti interrupted, glancing sideways at Nick for a second, "I know who you're talking about and that's strictly a non-starter; he's dead."
"Ahhhh," Mr. Wolf half groaned, half growled, "back to the drawing board."
"'Fraid so," the fisher agreed and then turned to Nick again, "Too bad, really; if that particular fox-kid was still alive he'd be your prime suspect right now. He was tough, street-smart...but you sure wouldn't have known it to look at him, not with that busted-up muzzle of his. Most pathetic looking thing ever." he shook his head, nose wrinkling in disgust, "And The Company practically owned him. Without those guys, he'd have had no place to go but the street, and maybe worse. If The Mister had given the job of running those diamonds to that kid...well, he didn't."
Nick forced himself not to grimace. Dangit, he didn't want to drop the subject, but now he'd have to. Otherwise his companion would get suspicious; and he wasn't quite ready for that, not yet.
The next twenty minutes were spent reviewing some of the other possibilities.
A female with a baby, "But make sure it's a real kid."
A pregnant female, "THAT you can fake, though I wouldn't recommend it."
An injured military service-mammal, "Those are always good. A guy on disability leave bringing presents home to the folks; what could be more natural? And you better believe the MSA won't be in a hurry to search their bags."
"Ahhh, I don't know about that." Pennanti was looking dubious. "It's all fun and games until you run into another service-mammal and they start asking questions that you can't answer. Next thing you know, you've got the MPs all over you. And if you're in a military uniform, even a fake one, it puts you under military jurisdiction. What that means is, they can pull you off your flight, any time they like, and have both you and your luggage strip-searched, no explanation required."
Feeling his ears rise up again, Nick studied his companion with a tilted head; the fisher seemed to be speaking from experience.
The rest of their conversation was more or less a rehash of ground they'd already covered. No, Mr. Wolf agreed, the courier probably hadn't been one of Kieran McCrodon's hacker crew.
But with one qualification; "unless he volunteered for the job without being asked—and that could have happened. The Mister might have been a dangerous animal to work for, but he always paid good money and sooner, rather than later. In that case, your guy Kieran couldn't have said no—not unless he wanted a mutiny on his paws."
In regards to the other likely culprit, however, his views were considerably dimmer.
"Nope, a professional smuggler wouldn't have hung around in Zootopia after picking up the money; he'd have been long gone."
"Maybe...but what if he was based there already?" Pennanti countered.
"Yeah," Nick agreed, "And wouldn't it be a plus to have someone carrying those stones who knew his way around the destination?" He had already made a note to discuss this with Lieutenant Saw the next time they talked.
"Well yes," the wolf nodded, seemingly ready to concede, "Except I never heard of a professional smuggler quitting the business to become a loan-shark, did you?"
Nick had to admit that no he hadn't—and neither had Pennanti—but that didn't mean he was ready to yield yet either.
"Well don't forget, he needed to find a way to launder that cash."
Mr. Wolf looked at him for a second and then threw back his head and howled. No, not howling, he was laughing. "Oh, puh-LEEZE; if anything, that proves your courier wasn't a pro. I could have had that money changed over in two, three days tops, and I don't know any other professional who could have gotten it done at least as quickly."
He had precious little more to offer in regards to the diamond mule's identity...but he was far from finished.
"The only thing I don't understand is why those diamonds ended up being delivered so late. Correct me if I'm wrong, but the way I heard it, The Mister liked to run a tight ship. He would have wanted his courier to make the exchange as soon as he left the airport and then head straight back to Zoo York, no overnighter in Zootopia, and no kidding." He was looking at Martin Pennanti.
"Also true," the fisher nodded, "But you have to remember what else was going on at the time. Maybe when the courier heard about the Finagles raid, he hesitated."
"Noooo, I don't think so." It was Nick, not Mr. Wolf. "If that had been me—when I heard about Finagles, I'd have wanted to get to Zootopia right now, before the buyers had time to get wind of that raid. Otherwise, there'd have been nothing to stop them from just taking the diamonds and not paying me."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Pennanti was sitting back and making stopping motions with his paws, "I hadn't thought of that, you're right Nick. Only...if that's the case, why did that exchange happen so late?"
Nick, in fact, had a theory as to why that had happened—but wanted to keep it to himself until after he'd done some research.
In any event, he wouldn't have had time to bring it up now. Just then, Mr. Wolf rocked forward on the sofa and stood up. "Gents, I hate to run out on you but...sorry, I've got to run."
"No problem," Martin Pennanti said, getting up as well. "I think we pretty much covered everything important." He held out a paw to Mr. Wolf. "Thanks for your help, I appreciate it."
The wolf took the paw and shook it, "Think nothing of it," and then he winked, "Lieutenant!"
Pennanti yanked the paw away. "Everybody's a comedian!"
When Nick's turn came he was equally grateful—and also curious.
"If you don't mind Mr. Wolf, can I ask you fursonal question?"
"Well, you can ASK," the wolf replied, regarding him with a smirk and a jaundiced eye. In the background, Martin Pennanti was frantically trying to wave him off.
Glancing sideways at the fisher for a second, Nick took in a short, deep breath.
Where the idea had originated the fox had no idea...or even when it had hatched in his mind. But there was no way he wasn't going to ask the question. Somehow—he didn't know how—he felt a kindred spirit with this wolf.
Or...maybe it wasn't so odd. In another life, they might have ended up working together. Heist crews were always on the lookout for a good hustler to fill out the roster. And who was to say that, with a clean record, Mr. Wolf might not also have ended up in law enforcement? He was certainly working on the side of the angels now.
And so Nick had to ask him, "Okay...one former grifter to another; what was it that finally made you decide to turn it around and go straight? I mean, for good."
The wolf smiled and winked at him
Ahhh let's just say it's amazing, what meeting the right lady can do for your attitude...if you know what I mean."
"Right," the red fox answered, nodding somberly. He knew exactly what Mr. Wolf meant...although, at the moment, he wasn't sure he wanted to.
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Author's Note:
Usually I make it a point to avoid including characters from other franchises in this story, except obliquely. The thinly disguised version of Porsha Crystal from the Meet on the Ledge arc is about as far as I've gone up to this point. However, in writing the current chapter, I happened to be in need of a former jewel thief going into the process. I had originally planned to create an OC for the part, but after seeing The Bad Guys, resistance was futile, as the saying goes; Mr. Wolf was absolutely perfect for the job.
However since there are no sentient fish, reptiles, or arachnids in the Zootopia Canon, at least not yet, it was necessary to change the species of at least three of his compatriots to something mammalian. The exception, of course, was Ms. Tarantula, since we never actually see her in the chapter; she's obviously a mammal too, but her exact species is something I leave up to the reader's imagination.