Fanfic: The Call, Under the Gun
Sep. 15th, 2016 08:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalThe polar bear’s paw shot out, grabbing Nick by the neck and lifting him up onto his toes. “Funny little fox,” he growled. “Why should I not kill you right now?”
Nick let out a garbled cry, tapping his claw against one of the polar bear’s fingers to indicate he needed air. “Bit public here, don’t you think?” he gasped, as the bear loosened his grip. “I know your boss is all about pissing folks off enough to start a shooting war, but it’d be messy to begin it with one of his soldiers immediately getting arrested for murdering a guy in front of a hundred witnesses.”
“Fine. I take you out to dock, and toss your body into water.”
“No, you’re going to keep me alive, for the moment at least.” Nick waved his arms, trying to stretch his toes to get more air. “C’mon, Volkov wants to have some fun, am I right? Why else would he bother kidnapping Officer Hopps’ parents, instead of just shooting them too? One of your guys got whacked trying to get to her. Betcha that’s who you were waiting, wasn’t it? You don’t think Volkov would just love having a chance to do that to the famous Officer Hopps’ partner himself, after that?”
The polar bear glared at him, fingers flexing against Nick’s aching neck. Then he lifted the fox officer up off the floor and set him on the edge of the table, shifting his grip to Nick’s arm to keep him from escaping. With his other paw he dug into his pocket to pull out his mobile phone, engaging in a rapid fire conversation in Russian with a voice at the other end. When he hung up his phone, he looked at Nick sourly. “You lucky, fox. Volkov wishes to see you.”
“And I want to see him. Everybody wins!” Nick said cheerily, rubbing his aching neck. The polar bear pulled him off the table and marched him out of the bar, where a black SUV was already waiting, the passenger door open. Nick was lifted up and shoved inside, the bear sitting beside him. He shut the door and pulled a black bag out from a pocket on the back of the driver’s seat, flipping it over the fox’s head. It smelled of sweat and fear, when Nick took a sniff. “Do you ever wash this?” he asked, voice muffled.
“Be shutting up now,” the polar bear order, giving a whack across the back of Nick’s head to emphasize the point, which left the fox with stars dancing in front of his eyes briefly.
The drive took twenty or thirty minutes, Nick estimated, though it was hard to keep track while he fought to breathe in the confines of the bag. No telling where they were going. From the way the SUV shifted and turned, Nick guessed the driver was trying to keep any tails from following them. Hell, we may just be heading back to the docks. Eventually he felt the SUV go down a steep ramp and into a structure. There was a clang of a steel door rolling shut behind them, and then the engine stopped and he was pulled out.
The polar bear pulled the bag off of Nick’s head and he looked around. It was obviously an industrial garage of some sort, where trucks as large as 18 wheelers could drive down into and be offloaded in security. Looking around he spotted a couple more black SUV’s, and a half-dozen anonymous, unmarked white panel trucks that practically screamed I am hauling illegal goods, to a cop’s, or a sly fox’s, view of the world.
It’s been thirty minutes, or close to it, Nick thought to himself, as the Russian bear dragged him towards a freight elevator. Finnick, if he did as Nick had asked, would be calling Chief Bogo soon. They hadn’t grabbed Nick’s phone out of his pocket either, not that he was able to call anyone at the moment. Whether it was an oversight on the bear’s part, or arrogance on his boss’s, Nick prayed it wouldn’t be corrected.
The freight elevator moved down, to a third level subbasement, deep enough that Nick felt his ears pop. The doors slid open, and he was ushered into a large concrete room, piled high with wooden crates marked in English and Cyrillic lettering, the overhead florescent lights not quite enough to dispel the shadows around the room. In his pocket, Nick felt his phone give a double warning buzz, letting him know he’d lost contact with the nearest cell tower. So much for calling for help, he thought.
At the back of the room was… well, a throne for lack of a better term. A chair was sitting on a dais made of a couple of wooden ballets and a large box, the whole thing partially covered with a blood red silk sheet. Nick felt himself let out a loud gasp of relief as he saw sitting in one corner of the dais a lockable wire and steel hutch, of the sort used by the ZPD to transport small mammal criminals. Sitting uncomfortably in it were Stu and Bonnie, who looked up at Nick with a mixture of hope and terror, their arms wrapped around each other for support.
“Hey, guys. Fancy meeting you here,” Nick said, grinning in his best I know exactly what I’m doing expression, even if he didn’t. “How you been?”
“No talking!” the polar bear said, cuffing Nick again.
“Would you please stop doing that?” Nick asked, rubbing his head.
“We’re okay, Nick,” Stu said from the cage. “Is Judy all right?”
“Yeah, they tried to kill her in the hospital, but Chief Bogo says they stopped the assassin.” Nick turned to wave a claw at the polar bear in warning, who had his paw raised again to strike. “And if you hit me again, I’m gonna bite your finger off.”
“Yuri, leave the nice officer alone,” a female voiced called from a dark corner of the room. Nick turned again in time to see three figures emerging from a steel door to the right of the throne. Two wolves, with white coats of fur under dark leather jackets, flanked a much smaller figure. Nick’s eyes popped open when he got a look at her. “There is no need to be rude to our guest.”
She was a vixen, a fox with bright white fur and ice blue eyes, perhaps a couple inches shorter than Nick. She wore a red silk dress, over which she wore a furry red coat made out of… Oh, dear God… fox tails. The vixen smiled, baring bright white teeth, settling herself atop her throne, looking down at Nick with an expression of hungry delight. “How do you do, Officer Wilde? Welcome, I am Volkov.”
Nick let out a garbled cry, tapping his claw against one of the polar bear’s fingers to indicate he needed air. “Bit public here, don’t you think?” he gasped, as the bear loosened his grip. “I know your boss is all about pissing folks off enough to start a shooting war, but it’d be messy to begin it with one of his soldiers immediately getting arrested for murdering a guy in front of a hundred witnesses.”
“Fine. I take you out to dock, and toss your body into water.”
“No, you’re going to keep me alive, for the moment at least.” Nick waved his arms, trying to stretch his toes to get more air. “C’mon, Volkov wants to have some fun, am I right? Why else would he bother kidnapping Officer Hopps’ parents, instead of just shooting them too? One of your guys got whacked trying to get to her. Betcha that’s who you were waiting, wasn’t it? You don’t think Volkov would just love having a chance to do that to the famous Officer Hopps’ partner himself, after that?”
The polar bear glared at him, fingers flexing against Nick’s aching neck. Then he lifted the fox officer up off the floor and set him on the edge of the table, shifting his grip to Nick’s arm to keep him from escaping. With his other paw he dug into his pocket to pull out his mobile phone, engaging in a rapid fire conversation in Russian with a voice at the other end. When he hung up his phone, he looked at Nick sourly. “You lucky, fox. Volkov wishes to see you.”
“And I want to see him. Everybody wins!” Nick said cheerily, rubbing his aching neck. The polar bear pulled him off the table and marched him out of the bar, where a black SUV was already waiting, the passenger door open. Nick was lifted up and shoved inside, the bear sitting beside him. He shut the door and pulled a black bag out from a pocket on the back of the driver’s seat, flipping it over the fox’s head. It smelled of sweat and fear, when Nick took a sniff. “Do you ever wash this?” he asked, voice muffled.
“Be shutting up now,” the polar bear order, giving a whack across the back of Nick’s head to emphasize the point, which left the fox with stars dancing in front of his eyes briefly.
The drive took twenty or thirty minutes, Nick estimated, though it was hard to keep track while he fought to breathe in the confines of the bag. No telling where they were going. From the way the SUV shifted and turned, Nick guessed the driver was trying to keep any tails from following them. Hell, we may just be heading back to the docks. Eventually he felt the SUV go down a steep ramp and into a structure. There was a clang of a steel door rolling shut behind them, and then the engine stopped and he was pulled out.
The polar bear pulled the bag off of Nick’s head and he looked around. It was obviously an industrial garage of some sort, where trucks as large as 18 wheelers could drive down into and be offloaded in security. Looking around he spotted a couple more black SUV’s, and a half-dozen anonymous, unmarked white panel trucks that practically screamed I am hauling illegal goods, to a cop’s, or a sly fox’s, view of the world.
It’s been thirty minutes, or close to it, Nick thought to himself, as the Russian bear dragged him towards a freight elevator. Finnick, if he did as Nick had asked, would be calling Chief Bogo soon. They hadn’t grabbed Nick’s phone out of his pocket either, not that he was able to call anyone at the moment. Whether it was an oversight on the bear’s part, or arrogance on his boss’s, Nick prayed it wouldn’t be corrected.
The freight elevator moved down, to a third level subbasement, deep enough that Nick felt his ears pop. The doors slid open, and he was ushered into a large concrete room, piled high with wooden crates marked in English and Cyrillic lettering, the overhead florescent lights not quite enough to dispel the shadows around the room. In his pocket, Nick felt his phone give a double warning buzz, letting him know he’d lost contact with the nearest cell tower. So much for calling for help, he thought.
At the back of the room was… well, a throne for lack of a better term. A chair was sitting on a dais made of a couple of wooden ballets and a large box, the whole thing partially covered with a blood red silk sheet. Nick felt himself let out a loud gasp of relief as he saw sitting in one corner of the dais a lockable wire and steel hutch, of the sort used by the ZPD to transport small mammal criminals. Sitting uncomfortably in it were Stu and Bonnie, who looked up at Nick with a mixture of hope and terror, their arms wrapped around each other for support.
“Hey, guys. Fancy meeting you here,” Nick said, grinning in his best I know exactly what I’m doing expression, even if he didn’t. “How you been?”
“No talking!” the polar bear said, cuffing Nick again.
“Would you please stop doing that?” Nick asked, rubbing his head.
“We’re okay, Nick,” Stu said from the cage. “Is Judy all right?”
“Yeah, they tried to kill her in the hospital, but Chief Bogo says they stopped the assassin.” Nick turned to wave a claw at the polar bear in warning, who had his paw raised again to strike. “And if you hit me again, I’m gonna bite your finger off.”
“Yuri, leave the nice officer alone,” a female voiced called from a dark corner of the room. Nick turned again in time to see three figures emerging from a steel door to the right of the throne. Two wolves, with white coats of fur under dark leather jackets, flanked a much smaller figure. Nick’s eyes popped open when he got a look at her. “There is no need to be rude to our guest.”
She was a vixen, a fox with bright white fur and ice blue eyes, perhaps a couple inches shorter than Nick. She wore a red silk dress, over which she wore a furry red coat made out of… Oh, dear God… fox tails. The vixen smiled, baring bright white teeth, settling herself atop her throne, looking down at Nick with an expression of hungry delight. “How do you do, Officer Wilde? Welcome, I am Volkov.”
