A fox’s red paw raised the phone higher.
“Come on, where are you?” Nick said with a nervous edge, trying to catch a signal.
The car jolted on the rails, and Nick was thrown to the side; he barely held on, continuing to look at the phone screen with hope.
In his everyday clothes, he was no different from any other animal in the morning metro car.
With one paw he held onto the handrail, in the other he clutched his phone, and a bag hung on his back.
The signal still refused to connect, and the metro driver announced the next stop.
For Nick, this was the final stop and a kind of signal that it was time to stop his useless attempts to get through.
He sighed resignedly and put the phone in his pocket.
The cars swayed from side to side, and beyond the glass, the gray walls of the metro tunnel flashed by, covered with a huge number of comlinks hanging on them.
In the glass, like a dim mirror, Nick was reflected.
His face was tired and sad.
He looked at himself from the outside and couldn’t understand where his life was heading.
The train continued on.
The reflection in the glass showed the entire car, packed almost to capacity with various animals, but it seemed to Nick that he was riding alone in an empty car.
Time passed.
And when Nick heard the name of his station, he hurried to the exit.
Once on the surface, he snorted dismissively at the full signal bar.
The metro station was located very close to the ZPD.
The very one where, due to a recent turn of events, he had the honor of working.
However, Nick was in no hurry to show up at the precinct; instead, he hurried into the nearest quiet alley.
It was the very height of the start of the workday, and an unimaginable number of different animals were scurrying through the streets.
Getting lost in the crowd at such a time and in such a place was a piece of cake.
A couple of moments — and the clever fox was standing next to Finnick’s dark truck, parked in the alley.
A fist quickly knocked three times, then two, then three again.
“Come in,” came the voice from inside the truck.
Turning the handle, Nick got inside and was already watching the expression on his former colleague’s face as he unpacked his bag.
From the bag, Nick carefully took out a police uniform in a clear plastic bag.
“Hey, listen, Nick, I read recently that over time a fox can develop schizophrenia, turning into complete paralysis of the brain,” Finnick began.
“Didn’t know you could read.
What’s your point?” Nick replied without paying attention, continuing to unpack.
“Ha.
I’m saying you should get checked out,” Finnick continued.
“I had a friend, a normal fox, then he got sick and became like a vegetable, or like a cactus.
You know?” Finnick sat in the driver’s seat, his feet up on the steering wheel, and seemed to be talking to himself, not paying attention to Nick.
But Nick knew that through his sunglasses, Finnick was looking into the cabin’s rearview mirror, watching him.
“Poor guy,” Nick snorted.
“Well, what’s that got to do with me?” Nick spread the police uniform all over the van and quickly began to change.
A green shirt and tie flew to the side.
“I’m saying, you blockhead,” Finnick took off his sunglasses, turning half-toward Nick, “that you, damn it, are that very crazy fox.” “I’m not crazy!” Nick replied, buttoning his police shirt and adjusting his tie.
“Sometimes life changes.” “Changes?!” Finnick couldn’t contain himself.
“Damn it, Nick, look at yourself, you’re a cop!
A real cop!” Nick’s trousers flew to the side, and he replied: “I’m not crazy, and I repeat — this was the first and last time, Finnick, I won’t bother you again.
And I’m glad you helped me out of old friendship.” “We weren’t friends, Nick, not then, and certainly not now,” Finnick replied coldly, watching Nick hop on one hind leg, trying to shove the other leg into a pant leg.
“Then why are you so worried about me?” Nick asked, trying to keep his balance.
“Lecturing me, calling me a cactus…” “Nick, do you even understand what will happen to you if you show up in that uniform on the streets in our neighborhood?” “Yes, and that’s why I asked you to help me, and you helped me out of friendship.” “For a hundred,” Finnick reminded Nick of the terms of the help.
Nick finished changing and quickly tossed his civilian clothes into his backpack, opened the van door, and jumped out onto the street.
Finnick was already standing next to him in the van.
“Rumors are already going around,” he said.
“Sooner or later, the truth will come out.” “Here,” Nick replied and handed Finnick a bill.
Finnick looked Nick over and took the money.
Having paid for the services, Nick turned and quickly walked out of the alley.
“Hey, Nick,” Finnick called after him.
“Don’t call me again.” Nick hadn’t gone far and heard every word perfectly.
He stood there hesitantly, said nothing, and moved on.
Nick often thought about the decision he had made, whether he had made it consciously or had become a victim of circumstances that, like a fast river, had carried him along its course.
Everything had happened so quickly.
He hadn’t just changed his profession — he had changed his lifestyle.
But Nick was already beginning to understand the full complexity of the situation, having found himself in it up to his red ears.
Only now, standing near the main entrance to the ZPD, did Nick realize that the past wouldn’t let him go so easily.
He looked at the situation soberly and, for the first time, was frightened by not knowing what awaited him in the future.
This feeling burned him, turning him into a lump of fear and uncertainty.
His palms were sweating, and his pinky finger began to twitch almost imperceptibly from nervousness.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so indecisive.
Another second, and he was ready to bolt and run away.
When suddenly he heard a cheerful, familiar voice behind him: “Hey, Nick.
Glad to see you!”