The Fire Triangle, A Zootopia Fanfiction -- Part One: Fuel - 48

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-A Zootopia Fanfiction

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Part One:

Fuel

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Chapter 5 -Aftershocks

(Continued...Pt. 2)

All foxes have their secrets; when you're the animal other species tend to write off as shifty and untrustworthy, it comes with the territory. Why bother sharing your story with anyone if they're not going to believe it anyway? Nope, best to keep some things to yourself.

Nick Wilde certainly understood this. Look what happened when he'd tried to offer Judy some support after Renato Manchas mysteriously vanished from the light-pole where she'd shackled him. Chief Bogo had cut Nick off at the pass before he could utter even a single word, "You think I'm going to believe a fox?"

It was hardly the first time Nick had heard something to that effect...or the last. He had long ago lost count of the number of times he'd taken the witness stand against a suspect, only to have the defense counsel try to paint him as a flaming perjurer, courtesy of his species. (THAT was why hearing Jerry Guilford had entered a plea of Not Guilty hit him like an ice-bucket test.)

He glanced over at Finnick, seated behind the steering wheel and keeping his eyes on the road. Maybe so but Nick could tell that his former partner's mind was elsewhere, most likely already waiting at their destination.

But then Nick felt the corners of his mouth angling downward. There were secrets even now that he had never shared with the fennec fox-and more than likely some that Finnick had never shared with him. In fact there were a few things Nick knew about his former partner, that even the desert fox himself didn't know-and he strongly suspected that this was something else that cut both ways.

They had made it out of the Sheriff's Department yard without being spotted by the press...or, more importantly, by Judy Hopps. (Prudently, Nick Wilde had concealed himself in the back of the van until they were well clear of Courthouse Square.)

He hadn't liked making an end run around her like that, but as the red fox saw it, he'd had little choice. He had given his word to another of his species-among foxes that was almost a sacred trust-and the only way he could keep that word was to keep his partner Judy in the dark.

But what about his own secrets, the fox now wondered to himself. There was no rule saying he had to keep THEM to himself. More and more Nick Wilde was coming to understand that he could not; he must not make the same mistake with Judy that he'd made with Robyn.

These thoughts were interrupted by a low, rumbling growl.

"There they are." Finnick was pointing through the van's windshield at the roadside up ahead.

They? There should have been only one animal waiting for them. But when he looked at where the desert fox was indicating, he saw the Hopps Family Farm's produce stand. It was empty now-everything not nailed down had been moved to the Festival Grounds for Carrot Days and none of it would be back until Wednesday at the earliest. The stand was not unoccupied however. Nick could also see a pair of young mammals, seated on stools beneath a Buckeye tree out front.

The first was Conor Lewis, the kid he was looking for, but the other one...Hmmm, so this was where Erin Hopps had gotten to. Well...the red fox supposed he shouldn't be surprised; kids will be kids after all. Likewise, he wasn't surprised that the young silver fox had brought along his12-string. What WAS unexpected was that the kid wasn't even trying to play it; instead the instrument was sitting idle on his lap.

Then Erin tapped him on the arm and Nick saw the two of them get quickly to their feet.

Finnick meanwhile, had pulled up fast beside the produce stand, killed the engine, and now he was kicking the door open with both feet.

Even before they hit the ground, he was all over Conor Lewis.

"I just hope you appreciate this, boy." He said, leveling a finger at the younger fox, "I don't enjoy having to lie through my fangs to the cops like that-just to cover your sorry tail."

Conor looked at him for second and then reached up to make a minor adjustment on his cap. If Nick Wilde had known him better, he would have recognized it as a sign of guilt. Finnick recognized it of course, and nodded as if to say, 'Dang Straight!'

"I do appreciate it DF," the young fox told him, "and if you get hauled in for it, I'll give it up and tell the Sheriff everything that happened and why you covered for me."

His partner wasn't placated; he whipped off his sun-shades revealing a pair of smoldering brown eyes

"Yeah, yeah...that and two bucks will get me a pawpsicle, kid; the cops aren't gonna care why I lied to 'em, only that I did it..."

"Finnick, this isn't helping." Nick said, moving quickly between him and Conor. The little fox promptly silenced himself, but his crossed arms and the even more tightly crossed expression on his face meant that he was barely holding it in check.

"Okay," Nick said, focusing on Conor for the moment, "No one knows you were involved, kid. I kept your name out of it." He glanced sideways at Finnick who nodded sullenly, and then shifted his gaze to Erin Hopps, arching an eyebrow for emphasis.

She immediately drew an invisible 'X' across her chest.

"I already promised, I won't say anything about what Conor did either," she told him-but then to the young silver fox she said, "But WHY...why do you want to keep this a secret? You didn't do anything wrong, you're a hero. If it hadn't been for you, Nick never would have figured out that the Guilford brothers were planning to spray-bomb the Carrot Days Festival."

"She's right kid," the red-fox nodded, "and if you hadn't hustled Jerry Guilford into hitting us from the North Side, we'd never had been able to stop him and his brother. You are a hero, make no mistake about it. And maybe no one else knows what you did...but I know, and I'm never going to forget it."

He held out a paw; Conor took it, but warily.

"Okay, so why don't you want anyone else to know about it?" Finnick was practically seething with confusion.

Conor just shook his head.

"If I told you that DF, I might as well go marching into the Sheriff's office and tell them everything. Sorry, but I can't."

Finnick and Nick both seemed to accept this, (only grudgingly in the fennec-fox's case.)

Erin Hopps was another matter, she wasn't the same species as Conor and so she wasn't bound by any vulpine code of honor or whatever.

"What do you think is going to happen if you tell, dumb fox," the young bunny-doe demanded, staring as if he'd just won a lottery jackpot and refused to accept it, "you think the Sheriff's going to arrest you or something?"

"It's not the Sheriff I'm worried about." The young fox told her, deadpan.

"Then WHO?" she cried waving her arms in frustration. She was becoming almost as exasperated as Finnick had been.

Conor only clenched his jaw, as if to emphasize that this was all she was going to get out of him.

Maybe she couldn't...but Nick Wilde was another story

"Is it...Jack La Peigne?' He asked the young fox gently.

Conor said nothing to this, but his sharp intake of breath told Nick that he had hit the bullseye, dead center. He pointed away to the northwest,

"He already left, kid...went back to Zootopia; flew out of here maybe an hour ago on that helicopter of his." He looked over at Finnick for confirmation; the desert fox had mentioned it in passing on their way here.

"Yeah, I heard some deputies talking about it," he nodded, "Didn't sound too unhappy about that bunny being outta here either."

For a long moment, Conor looked from one face to the other. When he spoke again, his delivery was slow and deliberate; every word enunciated, as if he wanted to make absolutely certain that his message would be understood.

"You don't want to know about that guy Nick," he said, and then turned his attention to Erin Hopps, "and your sister needs to stay the heck away from him...as far away as she can get. That big jerk is poison kiddo, a gazillion times worse than that Harequateline stuff."

At once, the insides of Erin Hopps ears flushed crimson, and Nick could swear that he saw her neck fur standing up.

"How dare you, Conor Lewis; Jack La Peigne saved Judy's life." She looked over Nick, "and his life too."

The young silver fox was singularly unimpressed

"Yeah...I heard about that. After your uncle went savage, La Peigne held him off until they could get a trank dart into him, right?" he laced his arms and lifted an eyebrow, "Ain't it funny how Unk Whatever just happened to lose it right after Jerk Pine-eye showed up at the Carrot Days Festival?"

That brought Nick Wilde into the argument.

"Okay kid, now you're going too far."

Conor turned on him with amber eyes blazing

"No, now YOU understand why I'm not gonna say anything more about him. If you're gonna cut me off at the knees for only giving you that much, you sure as heck won't listen to the rest of it."

Nick could have kicked him himself clear across the carrot-field. The oldest fox trap in the catalogue, and he'd walked right into it.

"The rest of what, Conor?" It was Erin Hopps, "You haven't said anything yet."

"That's right, and I'm not going to," the young fox answered defiantly, and then abruptly he seemed to soften and shifted his gaze to Finnick. "It's like you told me once DF, there's always a few things you're better off not knowing."

"How about letting us decide that, kid?" Nick Wilde told him, getting down on one knee, the better to make eye contact.

"Ahhh, someday maybe big guy, but not yet," Conor was shaking his head again. "I'm sorry, but I probably said too much already."

For a long moment, they just looked at each other. Nick was seething with frustration-but not anger. The kid wanted to open up to him, you could see it in his eyes; he honestly wished he could say more. But now, for the first time, the red fox also realized that Conor didn't hate Jack La Peigne so much as he was afraid of him...a deep, almost mortal dread that made his own neck hair want to rise up in spikes. It was more than a little unsettling: before now he'd thought Conor Lewis was about the gutsiest young fox he'd ever met. What was it about Jack La Peigne that frightened him so much?

Well, Nick knew wasn't going to find that out right now; another thing every fox has is a place to go where you're not going to get any more out of him. Nick had been there plenty of times himself, back in his street-hustling days, and he could see that Conor was 'in the zone' himself right now.

He stood up again.

"Okay kid, but if the time ever comes when feel you can talk about..."

"Hey wait a minute, it's NOT okay." Erin Hopps had locked eyes with the young silver-fox, her voice like a scythe through a flower-bed. "You can't just trash-talk Jack La Peigne like that and then not tell us why."

Conor's ears went flat against his neck.

"Oh yeah, whaddaya gonna do if I don't, Snowdrop?"

"All right that's enough, both of you." Finnick had decided it was time to intervene; he started with Erin, "You already forgotten what Conor did on Saturday, giving you his spot at the talent show, getting your guitar fixed after he stopped you from breakin' it?"

"No, I haven't forgotten that!" the young bunny protested, but there was an undercurrent of contrition beneath her words.

"Oh, is that so?" the desert fox demanded, lifting both an eyebrow brow and the right side of his upper lip, "Then you ain't forgetful, you're just ungrateful, is that it?"

"Uh, no." Erin's gaze had dropped to ground; now she was 100% repentant.

"All right then," Finnick nodded, satisfied, and then shifted his gaze to his partner. "As for you boy..."

"Yeah, I know ," the young fox answered, also looking at the ground. "I'm sorry Erin that was out of line. Please forgive me." It was one thing to call her Snowdrop when they were alone, but quite another thing to do it in public.

"I'll think about it," she said, folding her arms and thumping her foot...but Nick could see that she was forcing herself not to smile. Ahhh, bunny-girls.

"But you still won't say anything about what Conor did last night?" He prompted.

Erin gave him a look that was half weary, and half irritated, "No, I won't Nick; a promise is a promise." She swiveled an angry gaze on the silver fox, "But YOU better stop talking that way about Jack La Peigne, Mister!"

Nick Wilde nearly face-pawlmed himself. Just when he'd thought the situation was defused...

Conor's features darkened like a thunderhead, no mean feat for a fox with a black facial-fur...but then his eyes crinkled and a long, sly, foxy grin zipped open along the length of his muzzle.

"Isn't he a little old for you, kid?" he queried, looking just oh-so-innocent.

"Hey!" Erin cried, and Conor pounced like a fox-cub on a rug-toy.

"Your sister's not gonna like it kiddo, SHE saw him first y'know." He was waving an admonishing finger.

The young bunny bunched her fists, and Nick Wilde was amazed; he had never seen a rabbit thump with both feet at once. How the heck was she managing to keep from falling over?

"Oooo, you creep..."

"Okay that's..." Finnick started to say, before his words dissolved in a fit of bass-drum guffaws.

Erin, meanwhile had thrust a finger under the young fox's chin, as if preparing to drive it straight through his skull like a dagger.

"One more word out of you and you're toast, silver-boy."

Nick realized then that Conor's barb had sunk deep; Erin really did have a crush on the big bunny, nothing serious to be sure, but there it was.

And that was when he noticed something else; by rights, Conor Lewis should have been wearing a look of smug insouciance. Instead he appeared almost...bitter.

"All right kid, let's see how you like a shot of your own medicine," the red fox thought to himself, and then folded HIS arms and smirked.

"Jealous much?" he said and now it was Conor's turn to looked like he wanted to rip someone's lungs out.

"Wha...? Jealous of Jack La Peigne, are you kidding me or something? I HATE that jerk."

"Why's that fox?" Erin Hopps had picked up on the thread and was running with it, "Is it because he's my species and you're not?" She was almost purring.

But Conor only let out a yip of harsh laughter. "Maybe he's your species, Erin...but he sure as heck ain't your age. I got NO reason to be jealous of that guy, regardless of anything else."

Without warning, he wheeled on Nick Wilde...and in so doing turned the tables on him, "No such luck for you though, huh big guy?"

Nick felt his ears folding swiftly backwards. He knew where this was going, and ohhh no, it wasn't!

"Hey watch your mouth kid. Judy's my partner and my friend, that's all."

Conor waved a paw is if batting away a mosquito, "Yeah, riiiight; keep telling yourself that, big guy."

Nick's ears went back even further and his index finger came out.

"Now you listen to me, you snotty little..."

It was as far as he got before Erin butted in.

"Feh, as IF my sister would ever have a thing for...!"

"For who, Nick...or Jerkface La Pinhead?"

"You are this close to getting my foot in your...!"

Finnick said nothing to any of this; for the moment he was occupied with rolling on the ground and laughing his tail off.

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At that moment, the subject of their discussion was sitting in his office, having left instructions with his assistant that he was not to be disturbed. "I don't care if the building's collapsing, no interruptions, period, not even if it's Seth Whitepaugh," Jack had said to Polly Walters, before shooing her out the door.

Now, he leaned back in his chair, watching the replay on a flat-screen monitor, mounted on the opposite wall; footage from a recent police surveillance video that he wasn't supposed to have in his possession.

He watched Nick and Judy in silence for a moment, and then reached over and opened a desk drawer.

Everyone has an exercise that helps them to jump-start their thought process; Basil of Baker Street, the Great Mouse detective had liked to play the violin. Jack la Peigne's method wasn't nearly as elegant, but it worked and that was what mattered. His version of a thinking cap was to toss an old squash-ball in the air.

For a second or two, he studied the object, dark-grey in color, fading rapidly to a lighter hue, with most of the rubber surface having gone rough to the point of being almost fuzzy. It was the first-and only-squash ball that he'd ever used for this exercise; he couldn't remember when or how he'd acquired it. After weighing it in his paw for a second, he tossed it upwards and then snatched it out of the air.

The mixed reviews that Jack was getting from the mammals of his home town didn't bother him all that much. There were animals right here in the city whose opinions of him were more far more negative than what anyone in Bunnyburrow might be thinking right now...and that was just Zootopia. Mentioning the name of Jack LaPeigne in certain Zoo York City watering holes was a good way to find yourself thrown out by the seat of your pants.

He tossed the ball upwards again, snatching it a second time.

No, if you really wanted to know what was gnawing at him, it was that...that fox. Almost a pariah as of yesterday morning, Nick Wilde had somehow magically morphed into the media's darling-and also Bunnyburrow. Even the animals who were grateful to Jack for having rid them of the Guilford family were putting him one row behind the fox, the heroic fox that had stopped a terror attack and saved them all.

Oh, puh-LEEZE!

The ball went up and he snatched it again.

Somehow the press had completely forgotten Nick Wilde's earlier faux-pas, when he'd tried to turn that firehose on Judy's uncle after he went savage-and ended up hamstrung and helpless along with her, after which it had been Jack who'd saved them both. And how much attention was that story getting? The only mention of it on ZNN hadn't even come from a reporter; an otter had brought it up during a mammal-on-the-street interview, and even he hadn't gone into any detail...much less mentioned the big bunny's part in it.

Toss the ball, grab it, repeat. Blankety-blank press; Jack La Peigne didn't like having his thunder stolen-by anyone, much less a fox, and especially not THAT fox.

One thing he knew for certain was that he had been absolutely right to get out of Bunnyburrow as soon as he was done making his statement to the Sheriff's office. Normally the big bunny might have found it a humiliating experience, forced to leave the field while the ball was still in play. Not this time; Jack had refused to think of it as a retreat, but rather as a strategic withdrawal. There was nothing he could have done to salvage his reputation vis-à-vis Nick Wilde had he chosen to remain in Bunnyburrow, (with one bunny in particular.) No, the smartest and wisest course of action, the only course really, had been to cut his losses and head back to Zootopia. Only here, could he properly assess the situation, and formulate a plan of attack.

Besides, as Simon Gurajee had so curtly informed that sorry excuse for a redneck Sheriff, Burke Sauer, Jack La Peigne WAS a busy rabbit. Already he had enough unattended business to fill two in-boxes.

Simon Gurajee...Polly Walters had dispatched him to Bunnyburrow the second she'd heard about the attempted chemical attack. ("Never mind driving, take the helicopter." She'd insisted.) Gah, what would he do without that opossum? She was definitely getting something extra in her paycheck this month.

Chip Fielding meanwhile had been keeping his distance from Jack ever since the attempted spray-bombing. Curiously, the big bunny didn't hold that against him, nor was he in any way surprised by the move. In fact he had to admire the way the beaver had handled himself when the press had come to call. "Why didn't we take back that Harequatiline when we had the chance? As a matter of fact we tried, but we were stopped by a court order. Yes that's right. Well, if it had been up to me..."

Of course it HAD been up to Fielding, or much of it had been anyway, but somehow he'd managed to avoid having that factoid pointed out. If the beaver somehow managed to emerge from this unscathed-a possibility but by no means a certainty -Jack might still have to consider backing him in his bid to become the next Sheriff of Burrow County, (discreetly of course.)

But never mind that for now, the big bunny hadn't brought out his 'thinking ball' for Chip Fielding's benefit. Our subject for today was Nick Wilde; how should he deal with that fox?

The ball's movements became shorter and more rapid; La Peigne was no longer tossing it up and snatching it, but simply juggling it up and down in his paw, a sign that he was drawing some conclusions in his mind.

First, there would be no such thing as running a full-court press with that video, not yet, not while Nick Wilde's star was still on the rise; that could only backfire in the worst sort of way. Look what had happened when Jack had tried to slip some Nighthowler to the red fox; things had gone every which way but the one he'd expected. "That's what happens when you act on impulse," Seth Whitepaugh would have reminded him had he been here.

And speaking of how...how about what had happened with Jerry Guilford? Though the big bunny would never admit it publicly, privately he had to concede that he'd botched it; he should have considered the possibility that the coyote would strike back at a time and place of his own choosing. What was it Napolion had said? The worst mistake a commander can make is to assume that his opponent will act in a certain way. Jack La Peigne had made that assumption and now Nick Wilde was occupying the place of honor that only 24 hours ago had rightfully belonged only to him.

He looked over at the wall again.

The video playing on the flat-screen, there was his weapon, but as the Wicked Witch said to Dorothy, "These things must be done dehhh-licately." Jack couldn't simply throw it out there for all to see, especially not the day after Wilde had foiled the Carrot Days herbicide attack, it would be recognized immediately for the spiteful move that it was.

And that wasn't going to happen, he would not repeat his mistakes from the day before; this time he would lay his plans carefully and move discreetly. And in fact, the big bunny wasn't completely incapable of taking any immediate action; he could always lay the groundwork for later.

Nor would he need to keep that video completely under wraps, even at this early stage he could make known the fact of its existence in certain unsavory quarters. That would be a good first step, but word of mouth only; there would be no letting anyone else actually view the footage...yet. Okay, that was a start, now what else?

Next, the big bunny decided, he should gather more ammunition. That surveillance camera footage was good, but was there any more dirt out there? Was what he was seeing on the flat screen right now the only indiscretion Nick Wilde had ever committed with Judy Hopps? Jack would find out soon enough. In fact, come to think of it, what were the odds someone had shot a video of that fox's epic fail with the fire hose? Probably better than even, who didn't have a camera phone these days? If that video was out there, his mammals would find it; he'd have Whitepaugh put someone on it right away. Meanwhile, they would need to find a patsy, someone to take the fall when the vid hit the fan, so to speak. That shouldn't be any kind of a problem; every police precinct has its gossip-monger.

"Most of them have more than one, The big bunny snickered, wryly to himself, "Hrmph, some stations houses are staffed entirely by blabbermouths."

He looked at the flat-screen display once more and spoke aloud.

"Cease playback."

The image of Nick Wilde about to kiss Judy Hopps vanished from the screen-and then the screen vanished into the wall. The big bunny leaned even further back in his seat, lacing his finger behind his head and smiling up at the ceiling. Actually his expression was more of leer; a look that (nearly) all who served the big bunny came swiftly to dread after seeing it for the first time.

He began tossing the squash ball and snatching it again.

"Enjoy it while you can, Wilde," he said to the absent Nick, "You're about to find out what Claudia Nizhang already knows, that there's no more fickle mistress than public opinion. The mammals of Bunnyburrow may love you now, but once the novelty wears off, that's when you're at your most vulnerable. Believe me, I know. The higher you climb the more animals there are who will want to see you laid low. For the moment you're a hero to some-heck, maybe even to most-but you're still a fox; there will always be at least a few animals out there that will never see past your species." He flashed that leer again, "That's another thing I know."

The leer became a frown when something else occurred to Jack La Peigne. Dealing with Nick Wilde could not in any way, shape, or form be permitted to become his top priority; that space was reserved exclusively for Operation Fire Triangle...and if it came down to a choice between that and prying Judy Hopps away from the fox, then so be it, he would let her go. He would do so with deep and infinite regret, but he would make that choice without any hesitation.

He snatched the squash ball one final time, and slipped it back into his desk. Then he sat up in his chair and spoke aloud once more.

"Intercom, Polly Walters. Ms. Walters, I'm ready for my first appointment."

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Easter Eggs: A very obvious mention of one of Disney's 'other' mice masks a much more subtle reference...to a character from Walt Disney Comics and Stories