“My father used to say,” Harry began, “be strong, and many will hate you.
And it doesn’t matter what reasons they have for it.
Envy.
Fear.
Malice.
Or worse.
Be strong.
That’s how children picture their parents.
Strong and powerful.
That’s how I saw my father too.
He was strict, sometimes even cruel.
When he punished, it was terrifying.
It hurt.
But he never punished without reason.
In his whole life he never laid a hand on anyone in the family or the staff in anger.
Or when he was in a bad mood.
Damn, I even remember when he apologized to the old mechanic who served in our garage.
They were arguing about something, and my father turned out to be wrong.
He accepted his defeat with dignity and apologized to old Terry.
The big bull was right, I don’t know how to lose with dignity.
Father only hit when it was deserved.
But before he struck, he would kneel down in front of me and explain where I had been wrong and what my fault was.
He believed it was better that he hit me than life did.
He knew that only life could hit you in a way that you never get back up.
I thought his words were strange back then.
I grew and got stronger, and the stronger I became, the more irresponsible I acted.
I believed that life would never break me.
Me, the big, cocky Harry.” Harry snorted ironically.
Judy sat across from him on the table and looked at him.
She listened to him attentively.
“You know, when my parents first moved to Zootopia,” he continued, “my father had only my mother and a paltry twenty-seven coins.
But within eight months, he bought a huge safe and put it in our house.
It was the first safe from the Granite company.
Very expensive.
With a seven-digit code.
He didn’t keep money in it; he kept the most precious things in it.
And he never told anyone the code to that safe.
Hard to believe.
But within five years, he owned three hotels.
And he started in a miserable shack.
Working eighteen hours a day, he believed he could provide for his family.
Mom used to tell how, coming back to the shack one day, she found him sleeping on the ground.
He didn’t have the strength left to make it home.
Only his perseverance and luck helped him become what he was.
And even then, having clawed his way up from the very bottom, he didn’t harden like so many do when they get their hands on money.
He didn’t forget those who were left behind, down in the pit.
He even set up some kind of foundation to help the poor.
You know, his dream wasn’t mindless charity.
He dreamed of something else.
He dreamed that every animal could live with dignity in Zootopia, regardless of their status and income.
He gave them a purpose; he wanted to keep them occupied.
Give them work.
Meaning in this life.
So they could feel pride coming home to their families with honestly earned money, not with what was thrown at them like scraps to slaves in the dirt.
They had to pick it up just to keep from starving.
He used to say — down at the bottom of that pit there’s a lot of filth.
A lot of bad things.
Things you’d rather not see, but can never forget.
And that once you fall in there, you never come back.
Even light doesn’t return from that pit.
And so he started buying land, lots of land.
To build factories, houses, shops there — everything that could be useful to the residents of Zootopia.
To those who’d been less fortunate in this city of dreams.
By that time we were very rich.
Our own mansions, lands, servants, cars, yachts, and planes.
We had many safes filled with money.
Our company flourished.
And our family grew.
Father, mother, two brothers, a little sister, my uncle, and me.
I won’t deny it, we had many enemies.
But we weren’t exactly the weak link either.
And we fought and struck our enemies down mercilessly.
So they would know, so they would fear the Drago family.
Gangsters came to us, and the mafia, and wild beasts, and hired killers, anyone and everyone.
They all learned how the Drago family strikes.
Our company, like a beast of prey in the business jungle, savagely tore apart its rivals.
Everything we desired became ours.
We were stronger than ever.
And just as blind.
We thought we were the predators, but it turned out Zootopia had ‘monsters’ far more terrifying.
Harry fell silent and lowered his eyes.
“What happened?” Judy said quietly, trying to piece together the whole picture.
Harry lowered his head and closed his eyes.
He seemed not to hear her.
Some time passed like this.
The rabbit heaved a heavy sigh and stood up on her paws.
Harry no longer paid her any attention.
He had retreated into his thoughts, remembering old times.
She understood he wouldn’t say anything more.
She quietly jumped down onto the chair, then onto the floor.
Approaching the door, Judy, before leaving, turned around and said: “I’m sorry.” She left the room.
No, she wasn’t justifying him; she was merely acknowledging that Harry’s father had been right.
Life in Zootopia can hit you so hard that even the most steadfast and strong will fall and never get back up.
The clouds that had so quickly covered the sunny sky, frowning, finally couldn’t hold it in and burst into a powerful downpour.
But it was already evening.
First, one drop of long-awaited coolness fell onto the asphalt.
It smudged part of the chalk drawing that had been made on the asphalt.
The children’s drawing was made with bright chalk; it seemed simple and unpretentious.
A big rainbow of all colors arched over a huge tree.
In its crown, the faces of various animals were hiding.
There was a fawn, a small pack of wolf cubs huddled on a branch to the side, even a baby hippo and a baby giraffe fit in the tree.
They were all building a little house on it together.
Below, other little animals helped them.
The artist himself wasn’t around; his mother had called him home long ago.
Only the pieces of chalk scattered on the asphalt reminded of him.
In no time, next to the drop that had left only a dark spot, more and more fell.
The whole playground became dotted with raindrops.
They grew more and more numerous, until, as if on the command of an invisible commander-in-chief, the gates in the sky opened.
And from there, water hurled itself to the ground in a downpour.
The rain fell in a solid wall, so powerful that it washed away the drawing in a matter of pitiful minutes.
But that was only the beginning of the storm’s fury.
Night.
A flash of lightning.
It brightly illuminates the route.
Thunder.
Paddy, a big and powerful lion, involuntarily flinches.
A flash of lightning.
The light reveals three cars driving through the rain along a route that wound through mountainous terrain.
And again thunder.
The convoy advances along the slippery, wet road.
The road winds and climbs upward toward the mountain ridge.
The first car, having passed through the downpour, belonged to ZBI agents.
In it sat two tigers, agents numbered “eight” and “fourteen.” Eight calmly and confidently drove the car, which, flying through the wall of rain, raced forward.
“We’re falling behind schedule,” Fourteen says.
The tiger looks at the clock built into the car’s instrument panel.
“How much time will we have in reserve?” “No more than ten minutes.” “Does One-Paw know?” “Yes.” “That’s good.” Their car bounced slightly over a small bump.
Eight gripped the wheel tighter, and his huge paw pressed down on the accelerator pedal.
The car surged forward even faster.
Behind them came a huge armored truck from the prison guard.
In it sat two sturdy, stocky bulls.
They were dressed in the uniform of the prison guards of the “Utes” prison.
As soon as the bulls saw that the ZBI car had sped up and was starting to pull ahead, they had to speed up as well.
And bringing up the rear of the convoy was a Zootopia police jeep.
Inside the police car it was quiet; only the working of the windshield wipers, the quiet static of the radio, and the patter of rain on the jeep’s body — only these sounds broke the silence in the cabin.
Paddy, who sat behind the wheel, stared grimly ahead.
There, in the light of the headlights, he tried not to lose sight of the truck carrying the prisoner.
Next to him, in the passenger seat, sat the rhino Lars.
They had left the police station over half an hour ago.
Chief Bogo had wanted to send Keks and Zerni with them too, but then changed his mind.
The prisoner had been held at the police station almost until nightfall and only now was being sent to the “Utes” prison.
All this time they sat in silence, watching the road carefully.
“Paddy,” Lars broke the silence; he was clearly tired of sitting in the quiet.
“What?” Paddy responded, still looking ahead.
At this speed and in this weather, Paddy had to drive with intense concentration, using all his skills and abilities to keep the vehicle under control.
“I noticed the chief has a special interest in this case?” “What makes you say that?” “Well, I kind of heard he knew the father of this, what’s-his-name?” Lars paused, thinking.
“Harry Drago.” Lars remembered the prisoner’s name.
Their jeep tilted slightly to the right as they entered a curve in the road.
“I don’t know,” Paddy brushed him off.
They continued driving through the rain on the wet asphalt.
Only the police jeep’s headlights and the rare beams of streetlights lit their way.
“Is the surveillance camera broken?” the rhino Lars, sitting next to him, asked again.
He looked at the camera on the jeep’s dashboard; it was smashed.
They were installed on all police cars, along with tracking sensors.
“Yep,” Paddy answered dryly, “smashed this morning near the bank.” The convoy continued to race along the winding road, which climbed higher and higher up the ridge.
“And there are no cameras here either,” Lars remarked, looking at the poles out the car window.
A streetlight beam briefly illuminated him.
“Oh, don’t panic,” Paddy couldn’t help saying, “everything will be fine.
You know yourself, it’s not the first time.” “That’s true,” the rhino agreed.
The convoy slowed down as it entered a dangerous turn.
The truck skidded just a little, but the driver reacted in time and straightened out the multi-ton vehicle.
“Watch it,” Paddy noted the dangerous curve, “get on the radio, tell them not to go so fast.
The last thing we need is to get into an accident.” Lars picked up the radio and said: “Two, this is Three.
Respond.” Silence.
“Two, this is Three, respond.
Over,” Lars repeated.
The downpour intensified, and the wipers were barely coping with their task.
The lion squinted.
Cats see well in the dark, but not when that darkness is blurred by water.
“Two here,” the radio suddenly crackled back.
It was the prison guard speaking.
“Slow down.
There’s a dirt road coming up ahead.
You’ll roll over!” Lars said.
“Can’t, we’re falling behind schedule,” came the reply.
“It’s fine, we’ll make it, don’t rush,” Lars objected.
Meanwhile, the convoy turned off the paved route onto a dirt road.
It was a short stretch that connected two main routes.
When choosing the route, it had been decided to take a shortcut here.
Otherwise, they’d have to go around the mountain on the main road and make a big loop, which would add an extra hour and a half of driving.
The road became rougher.
Now every bump was felt more noticeably.
After the prolonged downpour, it had been washed out, making the vehicle harder to control.
“Yeah, it’s pitch black,” Lars said again after a while, looking around.
The streetlights had disappeared.
Their car was jostled by the uneven surface and high speed.
The dirt road slowly curved to the right and led forward.
To its right was a dolomite mountain, to the left — a small cliff.
Below, in the gorge, flowed a river, beyond which stretched a forest.
It was a picturesque place, and sparsely inhabited.
But the night and the pouring rain didn’t let our police officers enjoy the beauty.
The light for communication with the station went out.
Now they had entered a small zone where there was no signal at all.
And their tracking sensor went dark, indicating they were invisible on the radar at the police tracking center.
This situation had been discussed in advance.
To get through this stretch, they needed to spend thirty minutes.
If they didn’t make contact within thirty-five minutes of entering the dead zone, an alarm would automatically be raised in the police tracking department.
“Well, we’re in the dead zone,” Lars said, looking at the extinguished light on the tracking device.
Paddy didn’t answer, only nodded almost imperceptibly.
It was clear that controlling the vehicle was getting harder and harder.
“How do you like the new guy?” Lars started talking again out of boredom.
“The fox?
Seems all right.
He’ll settle in and become one of us in time,” the lion answered.
“They say he has a dark past.” “Yeah, I heard.
If it weren’t for Hopps and her taking him under her wing, they wouldn’t have taken the redhead on.” The police jeep was sharply yanked to the right, then to the left, instantly cutting off their conversation.
Ahead of them, due to the rain-washed road, the armored truck also began to fishtail sharply, sliding into a skid.
“I told you to slow down!” Paddy swore.
He braked hard to avoid crashing into the truck, which caused the police jeep to be thrown even more violently from side to side on the muddy road.
Trying to keep the car under control, Paddy wrenched the wheel and hit the gas.
Swerving to avoid a collision with the multi-ton vehicle, the police jeep spun around wildly.
The multi-ton truck itself, at that speed, was rocking from side to side, threatening to tip over onto its side.
First the right wheels lifted off the muddy ground, then the left side did the same.
Inside the truck, which was being tossed from side to side, a chained crocodile sat quietly in his cell.
He was more focused than ever.
Harry heard the rain hammering loudly on the roof.
He knew where he was going.
But in his soul, he held onto hope, that small chance that he would succeed.
Fate had been cruel and kind to him, changing his life many times.
And now, emerging from the world of his memories, he begged it to give him one last small chance.
The car with Paddy and Lars stopped, having skidded along the roadside.
To their right was a huge dolomite cliff, to their left was a gentle slope, at the bottom of which flowed a river.
“Well, damn it,” Paddy said.
Through the windshield, in the light of the headlights, they saw the huge truck with Harry slide sideways along the cliff.
Then it spun around, and with its other side began to approach the slope, at the bottom of which flowed the river.
Lightning.
It brightly illuminated the body of the truck, which had stopped a meter from the edge.
It swayed.
Thunder.
“It’s going to go over,” Lars whispered.
The huge multi-ton machine rose onto its two left wheels and, like a tightrope walker who had lost his balance, threatened to topple over.
If it went over, it would roll several times, be badly deformed, and tumble down to the river.
And again lightning struck.
And again a peal of thunder.
The truck swayed one last time and settled back onto all four wheels.
It hadn’t fallen off the cliff.
The hazard light was blinking in the police jeep.
Its crackle sounded quietly.
“Well, that’s it, we’ve arrived,” Paddy said grimly.
Without turning off the hazard lights, Paddy slowly drove up to the prison truck, which was frozen three meters from the precipice.
The bright headlight beams of the police vehicle illuminated the van; behind it, not far away, the ZBI car had stopped.
The headlight beams of the police jeep also illuminated a huge black limousine.
It stood nearby.
It had been standing there for a long time, waiting for them.