Fanfic: The Call, Glass Houses
Sep. 6th, 2016 08:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalKevin dropped Nick off back at his new place. One of the advantages of having a steady salary was that he could afford a bit better than “Box under a bridge” these days. One of the disadvantages was that it was the same lousy apartment complex as Judy, because a cop’s salary only went so far, especially when he was still sending half of it to his mom each month.
His call to Chief Bogo had been short, and predictable. Bogo didn’t like the idea of a gang war any more than Nick did, especially with the awkward complication that it might be triggered because one of the city’s most recently decorated officers had family ties to one of the gang’s in question. The chief had hung up muttering, after ordering him to get some sleep finally.
Nick was inclined to agree with that order, pulling himself into his apartment and sitting down at the little table near the kitchenette. Dinner first, he thought. He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t really felt like eating, since about ten pm when he and Carrots had grabbed coffee and pastries from Stardoes just before everything went to hell. Dinner then bed, because there was a female voice at the back of his head that was half his mom’s and half Judy’s, telling him that he was too skinny and needed to take care of himself.
He ended up nuking a fish patty and slathering it with horseradish, because using ketchup right now would remind him…
Okay, he just didn’t feel like ketchup tonight.
Nick shoved the patty down his throat without really tasting it, and chased it down with some blueberry fruit juice from the fridge. Then he took a hot shower, scrubbing himself down a bit longer than strictly necessary. He’d washed his paws clean of Judy’s blood and switched into a fresh uniform in the locker room before calling the Hoppses earlier, but he’d earned a lot of sweat today, especially during his interview with Mr. Big.
What next? Bed. Right. Because he’d promised Chief Bogo that he’d rest, and a Scout always kept his promises. After climbing onto the squeaky springs of his bed, he spent a half hour of staring at the ceiling, before he turned the light back on and shoved his dad’s old Best of Billy Vole cassette into the tape player he’d scrounged after getting the apartment, setting the earphones on his head, and laying back down in the dark to listen to the scratchy magnetic track.
What’s the matter with the clothes I’m wearing?
“Can’t you tell that your tie’s too wide?”
Carrots had laughed when she’d seen it. “What was that about Mr. Big still listening to CD’s?” she’d teased.
Maybe I should buy some old tab collars?
“Welcome back to the age of Jive.”
“Classic Rock, classic format,” Nick had told her with a grin. She’d let it pass and finished helping him move, which was fine by him. Dad was a… complicated subject, and he hadn’t felt like trying to explain him to her.
He kept listening, the long since memorized lyrics not soothing him at all. Dumb bunny, he tried to think, hopping ahead, eager to collar a suspicious bear eight times her size. What had she thought she was doing, anyway?
How about a pair of pink sidewinders,
And a bright orange pair of pants?
“You could be a real Beau Bunny baby
If you just give it half a chance.”
Yeah, and what had he thought he was doing over twenty years ago, trying to be the first predator in the Junior Ranger Scouts and expecting to be accepted? Well, in his defense, he had been eight years old at the time. Yeah, so what’s your excuse now, Mr. First Fox Police Officer? Think you’re going to be accepted by anyone at the ZPD after you let your partner get hurt?
Dumb fox. Slow fox.
They had to nail this Volkov fast, or the claws would be out at Mr. Big’s organization. Then things would rapidly spiral out of control, because while Mr. Big had this little bit of morality that said you should avoid getting civilians involved in your blood feuds, the damned Russian Mafiya had no such compunctions, and were bug eating crazy to boot. As in, “firing rocket launchers in the shopping mall,” crazy.
Oh it doesn’t matter what they say in the papers
‘Cause it’s always been the same old scene.
There’s a new band in town
But you can’t get the sound from a story in a magazine…
Aimed at your average teen.
They needed a handle on these guys. They had a name at least, that was a start, but that wasn’t enough if they couldn’t find out what this Volkov was up to, or where his base of operations was located. Once upon a time it would have been easy for Nick, he’d known everyone in town. But then he’d put on the uniform (god had he grinned, just like he’d been eight years old again, when he’d first seen himself in the mirror) and about half of his old acquaintances had suddenly found excuses not to talk to him. He didn’t have any contacts left that might be any help.
What’s a matter with the crowd I’m seeing?
“Don’t you know that you’re out of touch?”
Should I try to be a straight A student?
“If you are then you think too much.”
Nick blinked. Dumb fox. Then he flipped the light on again and slapped the stop button on the cassette player, reaching over to where he’d left his mobile sitting on top of the room’s little dresser. He brought up his contacts list and hit a certain number, praying he wouldn’t get shunted to voice mail.
“What the hell do you want, Nick?” answered a gruff, and way too deep voice for its size, voice on the other end. “Decided to see what the poor brothers are up to, now that you’re a fancy pants police officer?”
“Finnick, I’m sorry, but I haven’t exactly had a helluva lot of free time recently,” Nick replied.
“Yeah, because you got better things to do than help out your old friends,” Finnick said, sounding pissed.
“I have been helping you, you just didn’t know it.”
“Since when?”
“Since I politely asked my fellow officers to turn a blind eye to a certain pint-sized fennec fox’s activities, as he is so very bad at trying to run scams without my help.”
“Yeah, well up yours too. Waddaya want, Officer Fox?”
“You heard about my partner Judy, right?”
There was a brief pause at the other end. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Finnick said, a bit less gruffly. “She seemed nice, for a cop. That was rough what happened to her.”
“Yeah, well, we got a lead on who might be holding the leash on the guy who hurt her. Fella named Volkov. Sound familiar at all?”
“The Russians? That’s who tried to whack her?”
Nick’s ears perked up. “You know him?”
“I’ve heard of him. My momma didn’t raise nobody stupid enough to try and run with the Russian Mafiya. Those muthas are crazy, Nick.”
“Don’t I know it. That’s why we need to find them. There’s gonna be a big rumble between Volkov and Mr. Big’s boys over this, unless we can find that Russian fast. I need a handle, Finnick, any kind of handle, so we can haul this guy in before things get out of control.”
There was a longer pause. “I might know a guy. I ain’t saying I do know a guy, but I might know somebody who might know somebody.”
Nick blew out his breath. “Do you think you could find him, fast?”
“He hangs out at this dive by the docks. Y’know the bar built into that old aircraft hangar?”
“Yeah, I know it. They built it back in the 30’s, when there was a seaplane service going between Zootopia and Cape Suzette. Think you could point him out to me if we went in there?”
“If he’s there, sure.”
Nick sagged in relief. “Thanks, Finnick. Bring your van around to my apartment, and make sure you grab a triple espresso for me along the way.”
“You better have money to pay for it, and cover my gas.”
“You know I’m good for it.” Nick hung up the phone and started stripping out of his police uniform and into his familiar slacks and Hawaiian shirt. He paused as he was slipping his tie on, looking down at the badge gleaming on the breast of his uniform blouse. If Chief Bogo found out he was involving himself in the investigation after being specifically ordered not to, Nick would be handing that badge over to him in a few days. Carrots would not thank me for that, if she lives through this.
Well, if she didn’t live through it, it wouldn’t matter, he reasoned. If she did live through this, he’d rather lose his badge than risk the Russians getting another shot at her.
“You’re just looking for justifications,” Nick told his reflection in the mirror. Then he shrugged. “Or maybe you were just a sneaky fox all along.”
Everybody’s talking ‘bout the new sound
Funny, but it’s still rock and roll to me.
* * *
Note: For those who really care about that sort of thing, yes I did reorder the lyrics a bit to fit the narrative.
His call to Chief Bogo had been short, and predictable. Bogo didn’t like the idea of a gang war any more than Nick did, especially with the awkward complication that it might be triggered because one of the city’s most recently decorated officers had family ties to one of the gang’s in question. The chief had hung up muttering, after ordering him to get some sleep finally.
Nick was inclined to agree with that order, pulling himself into his apartment and sitting down at the little table near the kitchenette. Dinner first, he thought. He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t really felt like eating, since about ten pm when he and Carrots had grabbed coffee and pastries from Stardoes just before everything went to hell. Dinner then bed, because there was a female voice at the back of his head that was half his mom’s and half Judy’s, telling him that he was too skinny and needed to take care of himself.
He ended up nuking a fish patty and slathering it with horseradish, because using ketchup right now would remind him…
Okay, he just didn’t feel like ketchup tonight.
Nick shoved the patty down his throat without really tasting it, and chased it down with some blueberry fruit juice from the fridge. Then he took a hot shower, scrubbing himself down a bit longer than strictly necessary. He’d washed his paws clean of Judy’s blood and switched into a fresh uniform in the locker room before calling the Hoppses earlier, but he’d earned a lot of sweat today, especially during his interview with Mr. Big.
What next? Bed. Right. Because he’d promised Chief Bogo that he’d rest, and a Scout always kept his promises. After climbing onto the squeaky springs of his bed, he spent a half hour of staring at the ceiling, before he turned the light back on and shoved his dad’s old Best of Billy Vole cassette into the tape player he’d scrounged after getting the apartment, setting the earphones on his head, and laying back down in the dark to listen to the scratchy magnetic track.
What’s the matter with the clothes I’m wearing?
“Can’t you tell that your tie’s too wide?”
Carrots had laughed when she’d seen it. “What was that about Mr. Big still listening to CD’s?” she’d teased.
Maybe I should buy some old tab collars?
“Welcome back to the age of Jive.”
“Classic Rock, classic format,” Nick had told her with a grin. She’d let it pass and finished helping him move, which was fine by him. Dad was a… complicated subject, and he hadn’t felt like trying to explain him to her.
He kept listening, the long since memorized lyrics not soothing him at all. Dumb bunny, he tried to think, hopping ahead, eager to collar a suspicious bear eight times her size. What had she thought she was doing, anyway?
How about a pair of pink sidewinders,
And a bright orange pair of pants?
“You could be a real Beau Bunny baby
If you just give it half a chance.”
Yeah, and what had he thought he was doing over twenty years ago, trying to be the first predator in the Junior Ranger Scouts and expecting to be accepted? Well, in his defense, he had been eight years old at the time. Yeah, so what’s your excuse now, Mr. First Fox Police Officer? Think you’re going to be accepted by anyone at the ZPD after you let your partner get hurt?
Dumb fox. Slow fox.
They had to nail this Volkov fast, or the claws would be out at Mr. Big’s organization. Then things would rapidly spiral out of control, because while Mr. Big had this little bit of morality that said you should avoid getting civilians involved in your blood feuds, the damned Russian Mafiya had no such compunctions, and were bug eating crazy to boot. As in, “firing rocket launchers in the shopping mall,” crazy.
Oh it doesn’t matter what they say in the papers
‘Cause it’s always been the same old scene.
There’s a new band in town
But you can’t get the sound from a story in a magazine…
Aimed at your average teen.
They needed a handle on these guys. They had a name at least, that was a start, but that wasn’t enough if they couldn’t find out what this Volkov was up to, or where his base of operations was located. Once upon a time it would have been easy for Nick, he’d known everyone in town. But then he’d put on the uniform (god had he grinned, just like he’d been eight years old again, when he’d first seen himself in the mirror) and about half of his old acquaintances had suddenly found excuses not to talk to him. He didn’t have any contacts left that might be any help.
What’s a matter with the crowd I’m seeing?
“Don’t you know that you’re out of touch?”
Should I try to be a straight A student?
“If you are then you think too much.”
Nick blinked. Dumb fox. Then he flipped the light on again and slapped the stop button on the cassette player, reaching over to where he’d left his mobile sitting on top of the room’s little dresser. He brought up his contacts list and hit a certain number, praying he wouldn’t get shunted to voice mail.
“What the hell do you want, Nick?” answered a gruff, and way too deep voice for its size, voice on the other end. “Decided to see what the poor brothers are up to, now that you’re a fancy pants police officer?”
“Finnick, I’m sorry, but I haven’t exactly had a helluva lot of free time recently,” Nick replied.
“Yeah, because you got better things to do than help out your old friends,” Finnick said, sounding pissed.
“I have been helping you, you just didn’t know it.”
“Since when?”
“Since I politely asked my fellow officers to turn a blind eye to a certain pint-sized fennec fox’s activities, as he is so very bad at trying to run scams without my help.”
“Yeah, well up yours too. Waddaya want, Officer Fox?”
“You heard about my partner Judy, right?”
There was a brief pause at the other end. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Finnick said, a bit less gruffly. “She seemed nice, for a cop. That was rough what happened to her.”
“Yeah, well, we got a lead on who might be holding the leash on the guy who hurt her. Fella named Volkov. Sound familiar at all?”
“The Russians? That’s who tried to whack her?”
Nick’s ears perked up. “You know him?”
“I’ve heard of him. My momma didn’t raise nobody stupid enough to try and run with the Russian Mafiya. Those muthas are crazy, Nick.”
“Don’t I know it. That’s why we need to find them. There’s gonna be a big rumble between Volkov and Mr. Big’s boys over this, unless we can find that Russian fast. I need a handle, Finnick, any kind of handle, so we can haul this guy in before things get out of control.”
There was a longer pause. “I might know a guy. I ain’t saying I do know a guy, but I might know somebody who might know somebody.”
Nick blew out his breath. “Do you think you could find him, fast?”
“He hangs out at this dive by the docks. Y’know the bar built into that old aircraft hangar?”
“Yeah, I know it. They built it back in the 30’s, when there was a seaplane service going between Zootopia and Cape Suzette. Think you could point him out to me if we went in there?”
“If he’s there, sure.”
Nick sagged in relief. “Thanks, Finnick. Bring your van around to my apartment, and make sure you grab a triple espresso for me along the way.”
“You better have money to pay for it, and cover my gas.”
“You know I’m good for it.” Nick hung up the phone and started stripping out of his police uniform and into his familiar slacks and Hawaiian shirt. He paused as he was slipping his tie on, looking down at the badge gleaming on the breast of his uniform blouse. If Chief Bogo found out he was involving himself in the investigation after being specifically ordered not to, Nick would be handing that badge over to him in a few days. Carrots would not thank me for that, if she lives through this.
Well, if she didn’t live through it, it wouldn’t matter, he reasoned. If she did live through this, he’d rather lose his badge than risk the Russians getting another shot at her.
“You’re just looking for justifications,” Nick told his reflection in the mirror. Then he shrugged. “Or maybe you were just a sneaky fox all along.”
Everybody’s talking ‘bout the new sound
Funny, but it’s still rock and roll to me.
* * *
Note: For those who really care about that sort of thing, yes I did reorder the lyrics a bit to fit the narrative.
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