Chapter 2 

Palm View is tucked towards the south of Sahara Square, an oasis where Zootopia's upper class lives. Mansions lined the street between palm trees, their manicured lawns postcard-perfect. The cruiser stopped at a light, air conditioning struggling against the desert heat seeping through the windows. 

Judy's nose twitched. "Do mammals really need houses this big? You could fit multiple homeless families in each one!"

Nick snorted and adjusted his aviators. "Or one very large elephant family. Is it needed? Of course not. ‘Greed is good,’ as the saying goes,” Nick added. “How else would the 1% show us what being successful looks like?"

Her ears lowered as she accelerated through the green light. "I guess it's just the way the world works. Not much we can do about it. Also, that was from that old movie with, um... Michael Doglas."

Nick frowned at her unusual cynicism. "Yeah, Wall Street. You know, making the world a better place doesn't mean changing all the broken systems at once. Broken systems take time to fix. In the meantime, we can work with the mammals the system breaks. You know, the ex-con artists and whatnot." He glimpsed at her as they turned down another street. "Maybe you can't say you've fixed the world, but you fixed my world, and that made it incrementally better, right?"

Her cheeks warmed as she slowed the cruiser. "You're supposed to be the cynic, and I'm supposed to be the optimist. What's happening here?”

"You're right. Let's switch back. Optimism takes way too much energy. These mammals are awful and will never change." Nick crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back.

Judy pulled the cruiser up to an iron gate wrapped in wild jasmine. They walked the red brick path through the manicured lawn to the two-story mansion, the house modest compared to its neighbors.

A rose garden bloomed beside the house. She paused to admire them, soft buzzing from bees floating through the quiet morning, the scent of fresh-cut grass warm in the summer air. Nick peered through a side window, taking in the dark interior before pressing the bell.

Footsteps approached. The lock clicked, revealing a middle-aged ocelot in a black pantsuit, clipboard in paw. She tilted her head, opening the door wider. "Officers? Is there something I can help you with?"

 "Yes, hi. Judy Hopps, ZPD. This is my partner Nick. We were hoping to speak to Jack Savage about an ongoing investigation."

A voice echoed down the hall. "Sylvia, who's at the door? We need to figure out the filming schedule for—" Jack rounded the corner and froze. "Uh... "

The bunny stood slightly taller than Judy, black stripes marking each cheek, his ear tips ink-dipped. "Oh! It's you two! You're at my door!” His words tumbled over each other. "How can–how may–I uh, line?"

Jack laughed, embarrassed. "Sorry. We can leave that on the cutting room floor, as we say. You two are basically my inspiration since the Night Howler case."

Nick offered his paw. "Please, call us Nick and Officer Action Hero."

Judy smacked his arm and held up her phone, showing a photo of the coyote. "No, you can't. You can call me Judy or Officer Hopps. Mr. Savage, we're so sorry to bother you. We were hoping you might help us out. Do you recognize this coyote?"

Jack squinted at the photo, biting his lip. "Doesn't look familiar... It's possible he worked on one of my movies, I guess. We have hundreds of mammals on set. Thousands if you count catering and location staff." He shrugged. "If he worked with us, he wasn't someone close to me."

"Well, this particular coyote had a gun and your address in his daily planner. The meeting was listed here for 11 a.m. today. You sure you know nothing about that?" Nick asked. 

Jack recoiled, paw shooting to his muzzle. "Wait. An actual gun? How did he-why would he have my address?"

“You think he was coming for me?” His gaze darted between them. “Is that why you’re here? I mean, I get hate mail, sure, but no one's actually tried to harm me!"

Judy looked up from her notes, features softening. "We aren't sure yet, but we have him in custody. We're doing everything we can to keep everyone safe. Were you here at 11 a.m.? Any reason he might have that time written down?"

Jack tugged on his ear. "Well... it's Friday. I have a tradition. Friday mornings on my back patio with coffee, reflecting on the good things from the week. Keeps me grounded." He shook his head. "But not today. Got called in for an emergency reshoot at the studio. I wasn't even here."

"Notice anything missing or out of place since you got back?" Nick asked. "Maybe they were counting on you being gone."

"Nothing stands out." Jack glanced around. "If someone broke in, they were subtle. Doors and windows are still locked, nothing’s broken."

Judy tapped her foot as she thought. "What about enemies? Death threats?"

“Yeah... we get some nasty ones. Not many, but enough that I stopped reading comments." Jack forced a smile. "Part of the job, right? Most public figures deal with it. It's the inevitable part of being famous: adoration and animosity in equal measure. It comes with the territory. If you’ve got fans, you’ve got haters, as they say."

"Who's 'they'?" Nick's expression remained blank.

"Well, uh... You know. Like society? The internet? I don't know, just… them?" Jack's brows furrowed.

Sylvia frowned. "It's not an inordinate amount. Most mail is fan mail. When we spot hate mail, we pass it to the PR team. Usually, it's some predator upset that a prey animal is shown being tougher than they are. I can check if the PR team keeps copies?"

"I'm sure the idea of a bunny taking down a lion or bear seems ridiculous to some mammals, right, Carrots?" Nick smirked.

Judy rolled her eyes, jotting down a few more notes, then handed Jack a contact card. "That's all for now. If you notice anything out of place or recall any additional information, please call us. And if you can send any copies of that hate mail, that would help."

Jack studied the card, then backed up, clearly wrestling with something before blurting out, "Have you had lunch yet?" 

Judy's ears shot up. Nick smirked. "I left my tux in the other cruiser, but I can still be your butler if you wanna wine and dine Officer Hopps that badly."

"What? No! That's not what I meant!"

"I see. You don't think she's pretty enough for you?"

Judy facepalmed. "Nick, knock it off."

"I–she–no–I mean,  she's obviously attractive! That’s not what I..oh, forget it." He wrung his paws. "I was asking both of you! I play cops in movies. Thought I could pick your brains about the job, get some insight to elevate my acting, that’s all!"

Nick shrugged under Judy's glare. "What? Bonnie asked me to keep an eye out for potential suitors. He's a bunny with money—what more could you want?” He gasped. “It's a money bunny honey!"

Judy dragged her paw down her face, letting out a groan. “What even…” 

“Relax, Carrots, I know he's not your type.” Nick slung an arm around her shoulders. 

Judy frowned at her partner, leaning slightly into his side as she shook her head. “Anyway, as far as lunch goes, I don't know. We really should get back. We still need to follow up on the rest of the case.”

Nick waved dismissively. “And do what? Detectives are holding our perp for questioning, and Fangs and Wolfy are canvassing. Maybe a little lunch and conversation will jog Jack's memory with something useful. At the very least, free lunch!”

“I guess. Alright, Mr. Savage, we'll stay and answer a few questions, but no more than an hour. Also, I'm so sorry about him. He can be insufferable." Judy jerked her thumb at Nick. "You sure you want us to stick around for lunch? There'll be more of that."

“An hour is plenty! Right this way.” Jack’s ears flopped forward. "It's nice having someone who's not starstruck and who treats me normally. Usually, my life is just tabloids spreading rumors or tearing things apart. No one actually teases me anymore." His voice softened. "I kind of missed it."

They stepped through the doorway, following Jack and Sylvia through the foyer of the house. The cool air inside was a relief, carrying hints of lemon polish and fresh coffee. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow across the soft, green walls. The dining room held a dark oak table beneath an elegant chandelier. 

“Martha is a fantastic cook..." Jack headed toward what had to be the kitchen door. He returned a moment later, followed by a kindly-looking, elderly river otter in a simple apron, who was carrying a tray with their lunch.

"Martha, this is Officers Hopps and Wilde. They're helping me with something," Jack said.

Martha nodded politely, setting the plates down. "A pleasure. Please, enjoy." She then gave Jack a look. "And you, try not to cause any more trouble before dessert." With that, she turned and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Jack followed her through the door and returned, balancing several cups. He slid drinks to Nick and Judy before sitting beside Sylvia. "Wasn't sure I had any left, but there's half a pitcher. Homemade cold brew from this little roaster deep in the Rainforest District. Found it while shooting Operation Fangvine there."

Nick's eyes lit up at the first sip. He passed the cup to Judy. "So what do you want to know, Stripes? Are we as badass as the news makes us seem? Because yes, yes we are."

Jack tilted his head. "I've seen the news. I know you're a badass. What I need is how to convey the gravitas of an actual agent. Not just flash and flair, but something with heart."

Jack tapped his fingers on the marble countertop. "You know how some mammals say a bunny cop isn't believable? You roll your eyes, take down a tiger with one kick, prove them wrong." He punctuated with a karate chop. "But when someone says my performance isn't believable, they're right—I'm not an agent." He tapped his temple. "The way an agent thinks, the way he moves and speaks... It's not just bravado. There’s a specific…I dunno, walk and vibe? That's what I'm chasing."

Nick opened his mouth to respond when a plate appeared before him, the aroma of garlic and butter making his stomach growl.

Judy's plate held watermelon and cucumber salad with mint, raspberry vinaigrette, and a hint of lime.

Without a word, Nick placed a piece of salmon on her plate and stole a forkful of her salad. She ate the fish, nodding. "I need that recipe.”

“Did you just eat his fish?” Jack asked, staring along with Sylvia, mouths open, as the rabbit went for a second bite. Nick swatted her fork away. "You have your own food, rabbit."

"What's your point?” She pointed her fork at Jack. "So you're just looking to make everything more authentic?"

"You two aren't normal..."

"One too many refrigerators dropped on our heads." Nick shot back, tapping his forehead with his fork.

Judy raised an eyebrow. "What refrigerator?"

"It's from Rodger Rabbit, now can we go back to the bunny eating fish? Not just eating it, but going back for more?" Jack's palms splayed out, pleading for an explanation.

Judy picked at the salad sheepishly. "I know, it's weird. A few months ago, at the precinct cafeteria, I grabbed what I thought was a caprese salad. I was so deep in thought about a case that I didn't realize until halfway through that it was the predator version. You know, with shrimp."

She stared absently at her plate. "I didn't...hate it. It felt wrong at first, maybe just a bit of guilt. Maybe a lot of guilt. But my doctor said it wasn't a big deal! He told me that with the physically demanding job, getting extra protein from seafood would even be beneficial." She lifted her head, her nose twitching. "Turns out I like some of it. I just–I need to not think about what it is and that it used to be alive."

Jack stared for a moment, then chuckled. "Well, if it works for you, it works. Not everything needs to make sense on paper." He sat up and snorted. "As long as your advice for playing a convincing agent isn't 'eat fish,' we're good."

"I think..." Nick sipped his coffee. "You play it well, mostly. You're not going for true realism. I mean, real police work is boring. Even a super cop like her has parts she doesn't enjoy.” He nodded towards the bunny beside him. “Paperwork, canvassing, digging for information while drowning in files and folders." He waved his paw around lazily. "The key is getting the training right. How you hold a weapon, how you move in a fight. Which you already do pretty well." He pointed his fork at Jack. "So, who's your police consultant?"

"Police consultant? We don't have one. Should we?" Jack tilted his head, one ear drooping. "Sylvia, email the production company. Ask them to look into that."

"You don't? Huh. Then you're doing excellent work. We love spotting movie mistakes—cops taking on ten guys without backup, entering without a warrant or probable cause... even if they can creatively find probable cause." Nick winked at Judy. "Right, Carrots? We'd never do that. Especially not at, say, a limo service."

"A shady lowlife is a probable cause. No idea what you mean." Judy stared straight ahead, holding up her chin as she ignored Nick's gaze.

"My point is, your movies don't have many mistakes. Sure, some stuff, like shooting the getaway driver and hoping he crashes into the other bad guy? It isn't realistic, but damn if it isn't fun to watch." He leaned forward. "What do YOU want from these movies, Stripes?"

Jack lifted his glass, pausing. "First off, that was my first movie playing a spy, and we were still trying to figure out the character fully."

Nick guffawed as he elbowed his partner. "I said that. Didn't I say exactly that?"

Jack continued, "As for what I want, I guess fun. That's the goal. Something mammals can watch and just enjoy. But if it moves someone as well? If it can be the catalyst for belief in themselves, even a little bit… that's what I want."

Judy's ears perked. "You'd be surprised how many kits see your movies and think, 'Hey, that bunny looks like me.' That kind of thing matters."

 Jack looked away briefly. "Thanks. That... actually means a lot."

Nick finished his salmon and pushed his plate away. "Well, Stripes, if you ever want real-world consulting, we charge by the hour."

"What's that buy me? Tactical expertise or sarcastic commentary?"

"Mostly sarcasm." Judy snagged the rest of Nick's salad.

Jack laughed. "Figures."

"Seriously, though, you've got chops. Some of those moves are pretty accurate. We usually rip these movies apart," Nick said.

Judy wiped her muzzle and nodded in agreement. "We would have ripped more into yours if there was more to rip into." 

"Well, I research when I can, but half the time it's more instinctive. Basically, ‘that didn't feel right, let's reshoot’ kind of a deal.'"

Nick smirked. "Well, seeing as we're already doing unpaid quality control, might as well get our names in the credits."

Jack laughed. "Would either of you seriously consider it? Consulting for a film?"

Judy tilted her head. "Depends on the movie, but if I had the time, I don't see why not."

"As long as it's not some cheesy musical where cops sing about justice, I'm in." 

Jack leaned forward. "You joke, but... now I kind of want to make that movie."

Nick's eyes narrowed. "You make me sing, we're no longer friends."

"So you admit we're friends now?"

"I admit nothing. But in a hypothetical way, I'm the cool older brother. You're the weird younger one who's really into swords or something."

"I can work with that." Jack raised both paws in surrender.

Nick checked his phone and shrugged. "As much as I hate to say it, we've got paperwork waiting and should probably head out."

Jack and Sylvia stood, walking them to the door. "I'll look for those letters," Sylvia assured them as she walked them to the door.

"Thank you. And Jack, call if you think of anything else."

Nick's paw hovered above the cruiser handle. He glanced back at the house, squinting in the sun. “I like him. But something about this doesn’t sit right. I don't mean with him, just… the timing, maybe? I can't quite place it.” 

“Something isn't adding up, although I don't feel like we have any more information than we had when we first got here.”

Nick slipped on his aviators as they walked to the cruiser, his lips twitching to a slight frown. "It may not be much of a lead, but Wolfy'll be jealous for weeks. Should I call your mom to discuss wedding plans now?” 

Judy stepped up to the cruiser door, grinning across the hood. “Nick Wilde, is that jealousy I hear? I know he has my number-” 

"It was your work number, that doesn't count."

“-but I promise he won't replace you.”

As Nick drove away from the mansion, Judy was scrolling on her phone. "After seeing that place, our apartment search feels even more depressing. My landlord just sent a notice that they're 'testing the fire alarms' all next Tuesday."

"Let me guess, by yelling 'fire' at 3 AM?" Nick snorted. "I got another address. I’m trying to be hopeful. The area is decent, and it's on our way back to the precinct."

"After the last six, I'm starting to wonder if his definition of 'livable' involves four walls being optional," she said, before looking up. "Okay, let's do it. Seventh time's the charm, maybe?"

Nick jiggled the key and pushed the door open, sighing. The faint smell of paint couldn't mask the old-carpet-and-regret vibe, the air thick and stale. Judy scanned the living room. "It's... technically better than what we've got."

"Technically." Nick peered through the blinds at a sad balcony overlooking an alley. A trash bin labeled "organic only" completed the view. He let the blinds fall. “It's better than the place we saw a few days ago. The one that was above the subway station and shook every 15 minutes?”

“We've looked at so many places, I'm starting to wonder if there's any decent place to live in the city in our price range. Or if maybe my definition of decent is too high.”

He leaned against the yellowed wall, muttering softly. “This is why mammals resort to bank robbery. Honestly, I thought this would be the one. The others all came from a sleazy, skunk real estate agent I used to know. And no, being a skunk doesn't make him sleazy. Being sleazy makes him sleazy. This place specifically came from Finn, though. Usually, he has a pretty high standard for places.”

“Finnick? The same Finnick who lives in a van with that awful painting on the side? That Finnick?” 

“Okay, so maybe his standards for himself might be a little… Nonexistent. But he promised me I'd be surprised at the place. Said he knew the landlord or something? I figured he meant I'd be surprised at how good the deal was, not surprised at how disappointed I am.”

A knock startled them. A broad-shouldered tiger walked in, clipboard in hand, panting slightly. "Sorry, traffic was a nightmare. I'm Marcus, property manager."

He froze, eyes locking on them. "Wait a second... I know you.”  He groaned and thumped his forehead against the door. “That little furball…” 

Nick tilted his head, an easy smirk sliding into place. "Do you? Can't say I recall…I’m hoping Finn hasn’t set us up to be killed in a nondescript apartment. I didn’t hustle you out of money, did I? If I did, it wasn’t me, it was Finnick's idea, I swear."

"What? No, not that. You wouldn't remember me. Last time we met, I was, uh... drugged. Locked in an asylum. Snarling a lot. It was a whole thing."

Judy's eyes widened. "You were one of the missing mammals. From the night howler case."

Marcus nodded. "Yeah. It took a long time to put things back together. Still working on it. Therapy helps. So does work. Managing this building keeps me busy." He cleared his throat. "Anyways, I'm told you're looking for a place?"

Nick and Judy exchanged glances. "Something like that,” Nick replied. “Looking to split costs, have a bit more space, and fewer screaming neighbors. How do you know Finnick?” 

Marcus grimaced. "The grubby little bastard works at my brother's bar.  I play poker with him every Friday night. A few nights ago, I had him dead to rights. He had lost everything, but said he wanted to play one more round for a favor.”

Nick's ears shot up at that. “For a favor?”

Marcus nodded. “I know about foxes and their favors. No way I was passin' up on that!  You know what the bastard did?”

Nick leaned toward Judy, voice dropping. "It’s our old move. We got banned from multiple casinos for it." He turned back to Marcus. "The little hustler changed his tell, didn't he?"

“He changed his tell! I didn’t even know you could do that!”

“I taught him that,” Nick whispered to Judy.

“Anyway, he won the pot and immediately cashed in on his favor. He wanted a private showing for an apartment big enough for two, but said it wasn't for himself." A lopsided smile appeared on his face. "He wasn't kiddin’ when he said I'd be surprised by who would show up. Anyway, you two are gonna want the penthouse."

Judy blinked. "We're... not really penthouse mammals. Or, you know, on a penthouse budget."

"I'm offering it to you both at this unit's price. No strings. You saved my life, it’s the least I can do. Plus, I can use it as leverage at the next poker night."

They stared at him.

Nick blinked first. "Are you serious? I know Finn plays a mean hand of poker, but he's also a cheat. You don't have to honor his bet."

Marcus shrugged. "I'm not rich. I'm not famous. But thanks to you two, I'm not gone either. You gave me my life back. The least I can do is give you a decent place to live. I'll get that stupid little asshat next time we play. He thinks he's good at cheating. I let him think that and take his money."

Nick decided not to comment on the fact that Finnick had already beaten him.

 Judy tapped her foot, glancing at Nick. “Thank you. It’s extremely generous of you to offer.” Nick stopped next to the tiger, winking up at him. “Also, Finn has a harder time counting cards if you play pop music in the background. He says it's annoying and distracting, but really, he knows every word and can't help but sing along in his head.”

A quick elevator ride later, the penthouse door opened onto an expansive room. Rich wood floors gleamed beneath massive windows that bathed everything in golden light. Beyond the glass, Zootopia's skyline stretched like a painting, the setting sun swirling deep oranges and purples in between the skyscrapers of downtown. A cool breeze drifted through an open window, carrying the distant sounds of the city below. Horns, voices, life, all provide a comforting backdrop to the pristine views.

Judy whistled low. "It's... gorgeous."

A sleek kitchen gleamed across the open floor plan, separated by a marble island. Potted plants thrived on the balcony, with a decent amount of room to expand the small garden.

"Are you sure about this?" Judy whispered.

Marcus nodded. "You gave me a second chance. I can do the same."

Nick paced the living room, taking everything in. He walked over to the middle of the room, staring at the far wall, a soft, distant look playing on his muzzle. "All right. Yeah. I can already see it. We can get a plush black couch, the kind with reclining seats. Big screen right there, and maybe even a decent sound system. Movie nights upgraded. The kind of home theater my dad always wanted. He would have loved a setup like that.”

Judy stared out the window, ears high, tail still. "I could plant blueberries on the balcony. We can eat them and toast to your dad." She leaned against the window, eyes on the little garden below. "Maybe even grow carrots again.”

"Ugh. So domestic." Nick rolled his eyes. "What's next, 'his and hers' towels?"

"Don't tempt me."

"Paperwork will be ready Saturday,” Marcus interjected. “Just bring pay stubs and the first month's rent."

Judy hopped down the front steps of the building. "I think we just leveled up."

Nick slid on his aviators. "We’re full-on player characters now."

At the cruiser, Judy checked the time on her phone. "Still hungry? It’s not too late to grab some food."

"Always. But you're ordering your own garlic noodles this time. I’m not getting yelled at again."

"You stole half my lunch."

"It was a wolf-sized portion!"

"Excuses."

Nick pulled out his phone. "Speaking of wolves, I’m texting Wolford. He's gonna die of envy."