February 11, 2006 8:00 am
Restlessly the lucky rabbit paced in his brother's home office. He was still dressed in the same tux from the previous night. Ortensia sat on the white couch against the wall, nervously combing her fingers over her messy fur. Still wearing her magenta dress, she hadn't changed out of her party attire either. The constant repetition of his trek across the room kept Oswald somewhat distracted and silent. The piano, the couch, the desk, the door, on constant repeat, numbed his chaotic mind. A little.
Approximately nine hours prior, Oswald convinced Mickey to call off the party. It was done. His next request did not come so easily. The black rabbit insisted Mickey find a child custody representative for him. His lost ink was animated, breathing, and under lock and key of the Warner Brothers rabbit. But Mickey could hardly believe a word Oswald said. Even though he wanted to believe Oswald, Mickey only saw circumstantial evidence surrounding the Warners' physical appearance and Bugs' guardianship of them. But Ortensia defended her husband. She felt a strong parental instinct toward Dot, just as Oswald felt toward Wakko.
"A mother knows her child." Ortensia told Mickey. Soon the mouse gave in. He obliged Oswald, and promised to make plans in the morning.
"You're the mascot of the richest animation company in the world. Don't tell me you don't know a good lawyer." were Oswald's words.
Eventually the office door swung open. Ortensia stood up urgently. The mouse, sporting his trademarked red shorts, walked in.
"Morning Oswald, Ortensia." Mickey softly yawned. "Sorry to keep you waiting." He apologized. Oswald and Ortensia approached Mickey urgently.
"So do you know someone who can help us or not?" Oswald snapped to the point. Ortensia nuzzled against the rabbit's side to calm him.
"I know many." Mickey confessed. "But I think we should keep all of this private until we know the Warners share your ink. That means no humans... yet." The mouse rationalized.
"I agree." Ortensia voiced.
"So... Who did ya have in mind?" Oswald queried. Mickey moved to his desk, taking a thick leather business card organizer out of the drawer.
"Miss Bianca of the Rescue Aid Society." Mickey answered, strumming his thumb through the laminated sleeves. "She specializes in rescuing missing and exploited children." The mouse continued. He bookmarked the card organizer with his thumb, and looked to Oswald. "If you're ready, we can talk things over with her. See what she suggests?" The cat took the words right out of Oswald's mouth.
"Mickey, we can't stand to wait another minute." Ortensia pressed. Mickey nodded. He eyed a golden business card featuring an illustration of a mouse and a lion. He dialed the card's number on his desk phone. Through the speaker, the buttons' beeps repeated, followed by three low rings. Subconsciously, Ortensia held her breath.
"Rescue Aid Society. How can we help?" A male voice sounded.
"Hi there. I'd like to speak with Miss Bianca, please." Mickey greeted cheerfully.
"I am sorry. We can only connect you to detectives who are available. Are you or someone you know in immediate danger?" The voice redirected.
"This is Mickey Mouse. I'd like to speak with Miss Bianca please." Mickey tried again without changing his tone. All was quiet on the responder's end of the line. Suddenly a clatter crackled over the phone. Papers crumbled and doors slammed. Muffled voices dully roared amongst an orchestra of background noise.
"See why I asked you for help? You always get what you want." Oswald smirked. Mickey humbly held his tongue. Almost ten minutes passed before the mouse could get a useful reply.
"Hello?" Mickey tried for the umpteenth time. A soft Hungarian accented voice answered him.
"Mickey, darling. Is it really you?" Bianca crooned.
"Hi, Bianca. I could sure use a Rescuer's advice right now, and you're just the Rescuer I can trust. This is a very personal case." Mickey explained.
"Of course, Mickey. You can call for anything and I will listen. What is the trouble?" Bianca assured.
"Well, you see... three toon children may have been..." Mickey stammered. Instead of condemning Bugs, he thought of a kinder sounding word than 'kidnapped'. "Displaced." Mickey finished.
"I see. You need me to bring the children back to their family?" Bianca assessed.
"Possibly." Mickey replied. "It's a long story. So I'd like you to hear it first hand from Oswald." The mouse looked up from the phone's base, at the black rabbit. Oswald nodded readily.
"Tell Miss Bianca what you told me." Mickey coached.
"Miss Bianca. My name is Oswald the Lucky Rabbit. My wife Ortensia, and I are the parents of the 'displaced' children." Oswald stated boldly.
"I am so sorry for your misfortune. Can you describe the children for me?" Bianca requested.
"Their names are Yakko, Wakko, and Dot Warner. They resemble inkblot animals, aside from their red noses which actually make them hues." Oswald remembered. "But that's not who they were when they went missing. We lost them before they were animated and named." The rabbit continued. To Bianca, that had to be the most outrageous thing she had ever heard. The story would be no stranger if a human mother asked another human to rescue her missing miscarried baby.
"...Oh?" Bianca said politely.
"Yeah. You might wanna write some of this down." Oswald suggested, hearing the disbelief in her voice. "From the beginning Ortensia and I always wanted kids. Back when I was still making black and white cartoons for Universal, we bought a new inkwell from Ajax. We used a pen to donate some of our own ink to the inkwell. My faith in humans was very poor. But I confided in one new animator to make that mixture of ink our child one day. One thing I knew, was this human, Tex, was one of the good ones. He really loved toons." The rabbit narrated. "But... he was fired." The rabbit sulked. His brow furrowed at the memory. "Maybe I was selfish and paranoid back then, but I believed Tex and I were deliberately separated. I wouldn't trust another soul to animate my kit. I hated the humans I was stuck with. I lost all the ones I loved." Oswald hissed. He sighed, regaining his composure. "Suddenly I didn't feel like the kind of rabbit who should be raising kits. I wasn't happy, and I knew Ortensia wasn't happy with me. That was in 1935." The black rabbit paused for Bianca's sake.
"I am filled with empathy for you, darling." Bianca placated. "You must have felt so lost, to lose the people you rely on."
"I did, thank you." Oswald accepted. "In 1943 I was redrawn in color, and gifted two sons in my likeness. But that inkwell stayed preserved. Ortensia saved it, in case we ever got another chance." He continued. "Eventually Ortensia and I moved apart. She took the twins with her to live in Two Tone Town. I... traveled the world, never staying in one place for too long. Cut to 1983, when Ortensia's visited by my brother and a pale screwball rabbit." Oswald growled. "That day, Bugs Bunny broke into my wife's house and stole our inkwell." The lucky rabbit accused.
"By accident." Mickey hurriedly added. Oswald glared at the mouse. "Well I was there." Mickey defended. Oddly the toon who would have the most to say of that day stayed silent.
"Whatever you want to call it, Bugs still took our inkwell and never gave it back." Oswald huffed. "I don't care if he says he lost the inkwell. That's applesauce!" Oswald swore before Mickey could interrupt. He turned his attention back to the phone base. "Bugs Bunny stole our ink. Years later he was put in charge of three black and white animal hybrid toons that look just like my wife and I. Miss Bianca, I know that's not a coincidence." Oswald convinced. The facts ceased from there. He could prove nothing more. "I knew it from the moment Wakko spun his ears around like mine. When I looked into Dot's eyes I knew there was something special about her too. There's no chance that our ink isn't in Bugs Bunny's charges." Oswald testified.
"Miss Bianca, the point is..." Ortensia suddenly voiced. Though the agent could not see it, Ortensia pleadingly interlocked her fingers together. "Bugs Bunny withheld Yakko, Wakko, and Dot from us for years. Now we just want our children back." She softly begged. Every toon took a moment to silently breathe.
"Well, darlings. This is a very peculiar case." Bianca began carefully. "I wish to help you reunite your family. However, I am afraid there is nothing the Rescue Aid Society can do for you." She admitted downheartedly. "Unless you can find definitive proof that the children are yours, or prove there is abuse or neglect in their household, the Rescue Aid Society has no right to remove the children from their current caretaker."
"Oh, Bugs would never hurt those kids. I know he wouldn't. He's a close friend of mine." Mickey testified. A second time, Oswald gave his brother an evil eye. Mickey noted to be more mindful of what he said about Bugs, and the case in general. He hated feeling torn between two sides.
"If that is so, I suggest you call our sister agency; the Rescue Rangers." Bianca advised. Mickey frowned, feeling disappointed. The Rescue Rangers were a resourceful and determined bunch, but they were more experienced in finding lost toys than cracking down on actual crime.
"We'll give it a try. Thanks, Bianca." Mickey said quickly.
"Don't mention it, darling. Good luck to you all." Bianca signed off. Mickey forcefully hit the 'END' button on the phone. He paused thoughtfully. Mickey knew rougher, cutthroat crime fighters. If Mickey set them loose, those double-dealing detectives would have Bugs arrested and convicted by the end of the day. He hated to do this to a friend. But maybe for his brother, Mickey could stand to work with the likes of them.
"All this to call Chip and Dale?" Ortensia breathed.
"No. We're not calling Chip and Dale." Mickey declared. "The Rescue Rangers may be willing to help anyone in need. But Chip and Dale's specialty is smaller crimes that Toontown police don't prioritize." Mickey explained. The inkblot couple looked disheartened. "Don't worry. We're not through yet. I'm sorry if ya think I let ya down, Oswald. I promise I'll get you the greatest, toughest, craziest, detectives in Toontown." Mickey vowed. Oswald gradually smiled.
"You didn't let me down. Sorry I gave ya a hard time." Oswald apologized, rubbing his tired eyes.
"That's alright. You two should get some rest while I go talk to the detectives in person." Mickey decided. "But first Oswald, I need ya ta write a few things down." He requested. Oswald nodded faithfully.
"You already have new detectives in mind?" Ortensia wondered.
"Uh-huh." Mickey answered confidently. He hid his discomfort well. "They're just the right fellas for the job."
February 11, 2006 9:05 am
Mickey parked his red toon car on a fairly quiet Los Angeles boulevard. For a minute he sat motionless, holding the steering wheel and staring blankly ahead. Despite what he confidently promised his brother back home, it was still a painfully tough choice to get out of the car. Was there really a choice? Mickey opened the door, and planted his yellow shoe on the pavement. He crossed the street to bring his family justice at all costs.
A red brick three storey building stood in the shadow of newer business establishments on the block. The first floor's windows and front door were dome shaped with a lighter red brick arches over them. The second and third floor's windows were rectangle shaped and topped with triangular sun shelters. A sign on the teal green door read 'LA Toon Patrol'. Mickey gulped, acknowledging the sign. This was the place. The mouse pushed on the green door. Inside, the walk space was divided into two staircases; one to the preceding floor and the other presumably to the basement. Mickey climbed twelve steps up to the front desk and very little more. The main floor was barren and deserted. A pale blonde mustelid toon, reclined in a computer chair, and rested her bare feet on the front desk. Her red collared blouse was unbuttoned scandalously low, and her long lush tail draped over her lap. Her eyes fluttered at her open magazine in hand. While the receptionist blatantly disregarded her job, Mickey cleared his throat.
"Excuse me, ma'am." Mickey spoke up. The mink flipped another page. "Your supervisor, is he in?" Mickey asked more directly.
"You got an appointment, Shorty?" Minerva sneered, not caring who the famous mouse was.
"I've got a case for him. It's really important." Mickey replied.
"Sure it is." Minerva muttered. She slid a sheet of paper Mickey's way. "Fill this out and we'll see how important your case is." The mink dismissed. Mickey didn't touch the paper.
"Please, ma'am. I need to speak with your supervisor privately." Mickey tried once more.
"We all need something." Minerva sighed indifferently. "Either take the form or take a hike. The detectives are very busy." Mickey scowled and crossed his arms.
"Good to know somebody is." The mouse inferred with contempt. The mink's magazine loudly snapped as she shielded her face further.
Mickey waited for the mink to fully immerse herself in her reading. Then he dashed around her desk to a half room and a narrow stairway. The handrailing and balusters lined the right edge of the next floor. Mickey paused on the first step. The wood creaked under the mouse's feet. Surely the mink heard him moving behind her, but she didn't lift a finger to stop him. Mickey walked on when he realized he wasn't being followed. The old stairs continued to wail and moan. Just when Mickey got his first glimpse of the office upstairs, a screaming bullet shot between his ears. Suddenly the mouse ducked with incredible toon speed. The bullet punctured the wall where Mickey once casted a shadow. The earthshattering noise left a faint echo in the atmosphere. Mickey's rapid heartbeat boomed up to his head, and his shallow breath stung his throat. Meanwhile the detectives reacted to a misfire in the usual course of action.
"Darn! I missed." A plump weasel muttered, holding a smoking tommy gun. He proceeded to stare down the gun's barrel, trying to figure what went wrong.
"Give me that!" A blue toned weasel demanded, taking his own weapon back. What followed was a violent hacking fit from the blue weasel's lungs. "C'mon." Another cough. "Let's see who you blew up this time." Mickey regained his posture. Then the two detectives appeared, puzzledly looking down on the mouse.
"Hiya, fellas." Mickey greeted with a slight smile. Stupid chuckled and waved his hand. Wheezy gave a smoky huff.
"If it isn't the boss mouse himself." He rasped. "You're not on a social visit." The blue weasel assumed.
"No, I'm not. And I could really use your help." Mickey confessed. Wheezy nodded.
"Get up here. The boss'll wanna see ya." The blue weasel ordered indifferently.
"Yeah. Thanks." Mickey replied. The mouse hurriedly climbed to the second floor, and Toon Patrol's center of operations. The detectives' work spaces were much better kept than the lobby. Each capable detective had their own computer desk with few customizations. Detective Wheezy's desk was of course vacant, in the back left corner of the room next to an open window. In front of which, was Detective Psycho's station. The unstable weasel fervently keyed away at an archaic index typewriter. His lengthy straight jacket sleeves did not seem to hinder him. Detective Greasy's desk in the center had the most desk space for the most paper towers. For the time being those columns were not his concern, while he rearranged evidence photos on a corkboard mounted on the right wall. The right corner near the stairs' balusters, was unmistakably Stupid's space. Nothing but a table, a box of crayons, and a paper shredder to keep him busy.
"MICKEY!" Psycho squealed, causing Greasy to turn his head. Hastily the unhinged weasel leapt from his computer chair, and dashed across the floor to give Mickey a bone crushing hug. Mickey reciprocated with a pat on Psycho's back. Greasy snorted at the display indifferently.
"Get the boss, Greasy. He'll wanna hear the news." The blue weasel huffed.
"The boss don't wanna hear nothin' from nobody right now." Greasy disagreed.
"Grease, you don't want to see another toon's case slip through the cracks... along with your pay of Disney bucks." Wheezy bargained teasingly. Annoyed, Greasy left the evidence board, while muttering curses under his breath. The Latino weasel leaned against the wall a few meters behind his desk and knocked on a glass paneled door.
"Hey, Boss. Looks like we got el cliente." Greasy informed nonchalantly. The office door violently whipped open with a cracking sound. The sergeant weasel, face half shrouded by his pink fedora, punched his detective square in the nose as if by reflex.
"Yeah, I'll see about that." Smarty disregarded. Greasy flashed his yellow fangs accusingly to Wheezy. Smarty adjusted his pink suit lapels, and looked down on the new client. Mickey stood plainly and silently. But his pleading 'puppy eyes' spoke volumes.
"The dame tell ya ta take a hike?" Smarty questioned.
"Yes." Mickey replied.
"I'd fire her if I could." Smarty muttered. "Whaddya want? Make with the chatter." He snapped.
"I've got a job for you." Mickey announced. "I need you to prove a kidnapping."
"Who's the kid?" The sergeant asked.
"Three kids actually." Mickey clarified. "I believe they're my niece and nephews. Here. This is my brother's testimony. It'll explain everything." The mouse grabbed a paper from his hammerspace, and handed it to Smarty. Four weasels huddled over Smarty's shoulders. The boss weasel socked Stupid in the nose to make him back away.
"Quit gawkin', Stupid. Ya know ya can't read." Smarty growled. After reading over the testimony, Greasy gave his verdict.
"Talk to Warner Brothers. Tell 'em you wanna trade somethin' por the copyrights de los niños' series. Looks like that's the best you can do." He advised sternly. Mickey furrowed his brow in frustration. Another business trade? Walt knows it took too many years for Oswald to be approved of such a deal.
"I'm advocating for my brother, not the Walt Disney Company." Mickey declared sternly. "Besides I can't expect Warner Brothers to cooperate with us. Bugs loves those kids too much to give them up." Mickey said.
"Eh, looks like your brother doesn't have any legal standing anyway." Wheezy grumbled, punctuating with a cough. "If anyone can say who is..." Another cough. "in charge of those kids, it's a human. Never a toon."
"You know this." Greasy lectured bitterly.
"I know!" Mickey admitted sharply. "Listen," He began again. "I know challenging toon custody laws will be a struggle. I know the odds are against us. But my brother is too proud and stubborn to let that stop him. And if it makes him happy, I'll be just as proud and stubborn as he is." The mouse vowed. "So you don't have to worry about us. I'm not paying you to have faith in my brother anyway." The mouse reasoned. That seemed to strike a nerve. Wheezy, Greasy, Psycho, and Stupid gave each other uncertain looks. "So what'dya say, fellas?" Mickey asked.
Meanwhile Smarty wordlessly handed off the paper to Greasy and sauntered to his second in command's desk. Mickey perceived the casual silence as a bad sign. Smarty whipped out a brass key, unlocking the top drawer.
"Oye! What are you doing?!" Greasy protested. Wheezy placed a hand on Greasy's shoulder before the Latino weasel got the bright idea to challenge the boss. Smarty dug out a box of polaroids and dumped them out on the desk. Greasy's stash of toon porn (or a small piece of many stashes, one can presume) was splayed out for all to see. Naturally Mickey averted his eyes. After all, Mickey Mouse was a gentleman. He didn't want even a hint of Greasy's collection lingering in his mind. The moment couldn't come soon enough when Smarty finally found what he was looking for. The head weasel shoved a single photo in Mickey's face.
"You mean him?" Smarty questioned. Mickey cautiously studied the picture. The polaroid captured an angry white rabbit in black overalls reaching for the camera, clearly to protect a toon woman's privacy. The white rabbit's eyes were pie pupiled. His facial features were rounded, but detailed. Unlike your average inkblot, this rabbit looked reminiscent of a Silly Symphony bunny.
"Yes. That's Oswald." Mickey answered. Not one of the lucky rabbit's favorite redesigns, but it was a familiar one nonetheless.
"This guy, who got fired from 'Who Framed Roger Rabbit' for pickin' fights with Bugs Bunny?" Smarty pointed out.
"Oooooh." Psycho tsked
"...That's right." Mickey confirmed. The detectives glanced between one another. They had nearly forgotten about that incident.
"Well dis just got 'investing'. I believe we've got a case after all." Smarty sneered. The sergeant tossed the photograph over his shoulder. "Give us seventy-two hours tops. We'll match the kids' ink and cells ta yer brothers' easy." Smarty boasted. "And even if we don't, you still pay our fee. Thirty-five Benjamins. Half up front." The weasel ordered. Mickey sighed, and slipped around to the opposite side of the desk. From his leather pocket, Mickey laid down a large green stack and shuffled it like playing cards. The mouse dealt out the dollars evenly between Smarty and himself. Once he finished, Mickey swiped the remaining cash back into his wallet.
"You've got a deal." Mickey agreed. Smarty nodded, pocketing the money.
"Look sharp, boys." Smarty snapped. With purpose, the sergeant already began marching towards the stairs. The detectives followed closely. "Greasy, you're with me. We'll interview our clients in person. Wheezy, Psycho, search Warner Brothers' archives for the kids' animation certificates. Even ones that are incomplete. And find witnesses to those documents." Smarty assigned.
"What do I get to do, boss?" Stupid asked.
"Go sit in a corner!" Smarty barked.
"You got it!" Stupid complied, darting to his barren workstation. As the four competent weasels hurried off, Mickey lingered behind them. No one acknowledged his presence after Smarty gave his orders. Mickey didn't know what he expected to feel. But he supposed he didn't expect it to be this... bad. For all his headstrong speeches on Oswald's behalf, Mickey had no courage to face Bugs with what he had done. Mickey's stomach sank from guilt weighing down on him. He could hear it now; Bugs' spiteful voice calling him a rat, in every sense of the word. Afterward, Mickey would be lucky if the bunny ever spoke to him again.
"I'm sorry, Bugs." Mickey whispered.
February 11, 2006 9:24 am
Downstairs, Smarty stalked behind Minerva's desk. There she was, brushing her long blonde hair, her mind as far off in Dreamland as ever. The Sergeant had half a mind to kick the chair out from under her. Instead he summoned a mallet from his coat pocket and slammed it down on Minerva's tail. The mink rocketed out of her chair with a loud shriek. Her head flattened against the ceiling. She held that rigid position for a second, then dropped like a rock into Smarty's arms. He looked over her suddenly frazzled fur.
"You're a mess." Smarty insulted. He threw the mink back into her office chair. "We've got a new case. Run a background check on a Mr. Bugs Bunny. Anything you find on his dependents, you report directly to Wheezy." Smarty ordered. Minerva raised her eyebrows.
"You're investigating Bugs Bunny?" Minerva wondered curiously.
"Yeah, and it don't mean nothin' to you! You do this job without prejudice, or I throw ya in the clink for obstruction of justice!" Smarty warned. Minerva adjusted her posture and let out an irritated huff.
"Your wish is my command." Minerva bitterly complied. Satisfied, Smarty and his detectives filed out of the lobby. That is, save for the green suited weasel who loitered in the doorway.
"Enjoy dirt digging on your mentor, Bombancita. Call me if you need something. Or if you don't." Greasy teased.
"Please, Pepe Le Pew was my mentor. And trust me when I need you... you'll know it." Minerva countered with a grin. "Now go be desperate somewhere else." The weasel shrugged and left.
The weasels filed down two flights of stairs to the building's semi-basement and garage. The dimly lit garage housed the Toon Patrol's non-animated vehicles; a sleek black panel truck and two shapely black and white Kawasaki motorcycles. Each vehicle was decaled in Toon Patrol's insignia.
"You mugs know what to do! Move out!" Smarty barked at the detectives. Psycho gleefully swung a wooden mallet and smashed the garage door opener. The door immediately rolled up. Psycho and Wheezy mounted their motorbikes, while Smarty started up the paddy wagon with Greasy riding shotgun. The weasels rocketed from the garage and peeled out the back lot. Two headed for Warner Brothers studio lot, and two headed for Mouseton.
The motorbike duo made record time recklessly speeding from Los Angeles to Burbank in under five minutes. Their sirens blared their right of passage. Clearly the detectives had no intent on making a subtle investigation. The bikes charged Gate 4 of the Warner Brothers studio lot and shattered the striped barrier on the security booth. The weasels skidded around to grill their first victim; the overweight security guard bumbling after them.
"Duh, hey yous crazy bikers!" Ralph yelled, pointing an accusatory finger.
"That's crazy detectives to you, Jumbo." Wheezy rasped. He showed his badge pinned inside his black vest, and Psycho dug his badge out of his jacket's collar. "We're looking for... hack!" Wheezy suddenly coughed uncontrollably. He quickly lit up another cigarette to cure his attack. "The bigwig. S'that steamed potato Plotz still in charge?" The blue weasel growled.
"Duh... yes!" Ralph pondered.
"Where is he-ee?" Psycho giggled lightly.
"His office is in the tall building just wests of the water tower." Ralph supplied. The weasels revved up their bikes, and turned their backs on Ralph and the scattered barrier pieces.
"Uh hey! Someone's gots ta pay for this, or Mr. Plotz will be awfully mad." Ralph said worriedly. The motorbikes roared back to life, and blasted Ralph with a black cloud of exhaust. Wheezy and Psycho drove off, laughing.
"We'll put it on our client's tab." Wheezy cackled.
February 11, 2006 9:24 am
In his office overlooking the Warner Brothers studio lot, a stout toon CEO griped over the phone to the human President of Warner Brothers Animation. On the quiet end of the line, the human waited patiently for Thaddeus Plotz to hear his plea.
"You're a failure, Schwartz!" Plotz burst. "I've given you too many chances to fix this cartoon, and it's still mediocre.
"I understand, Thaddeus. I had the best intentions for everyone. Alas, things haven't turned out at all like I hoped." Sander Schwartz admitted mournfully. "Still I'm willing to continue working on the project; this time with stricter involvement from the Looniversity. They have the potential. If I could have... another year, to work with these guys..." Schwartz proposed. Words failed Plotz for a brief moment. Was his business partner suggesting another season to this Saturday morning atrocity? This human was delusional.
"Now see here, you over glorified yes-man!" Plotz exploded. "Those looney rejects' careers can't be saved! Just finish this season with a bang, then get them off our hands. Lucky for us, sugar rushed pre-teens will still tune in to colorful movement and flashy gunfire! That's what's keeping the studio afloat right now, Schwartz! Not your furry friends' feelings!" The office door clicked open, when Plotz' secretary walked in unannounced. "What is it?!" The CEO barked at her.
"Sorry for the interruption Mr. Plotz, but the police are here to see you." The secretary stated plainly. Suddenly Psycho sprang from the drawer in Plotz's desk, and landed in the man's lap. The crazed weasel held his signature knife dangerously close to Plotz's face.
"I-I'll call you back." Plotz stammered, hanging up the phone. "W-what do you want fr-from me?" Psycho let go of his interviewee, and settled himself on the desk.
"We just want a friendly chat." Wheezy rasped, stepping into the office. The secretary let them be, and closed the doors behind her. Wheezy took a drag from the multiple cigarettes resting between his teeth, then puffed out smoke clouds in the shapes of Yakko, Wakko, and Dot's white faces. "You remember these faces, don't ya?" Wheezy taunted.
"The Warners?!" Plotz gulped. "Whatever they told you was a lie. I am an outstanding citizen in the toon and human community." He insisted. "It's those hellions who are real criminals! Do you realize the physical and financial pain I've suffered because of those three?" Psycho laughed maniacally in response. The weasels knew of the Warners' reputation. Frankly they were impressed.
"We don't want your hide. We want every file ya got on the Warners' creation." The blue weasel revealed. Finally Plotz felt like he could breathe again.
"Oh, of course! Ms. Hoffelmeyer will show you to our toon employment records." Plotz assured. He called his secretary back in, and instructed her to escort the two detectives to Records. But not before having second thoughts. "Say, aren't you supposed to have a warrant for those documents?" Plotz wondered. Psycho immediately leapt for Plotz's throat with his razor drawn. Plotz flinched and threw his hands up defensively. "Okay! Okay! Never mind the warrant! Carry on!" Plotz yelped.
February 11, 2006 10:00 am
The Bunny mansion was somber and quiet. The air was completely absent of the usual laughter, chatter, and Saturday morning cartoons. Despite Bugs typically being a morning person, the master bedroom remained undisturbed. Inside the golden room, the rabbit laid eerily still on his king sized bed. His face planted in his pillow, with ears sprawled horizontally. Slowly, Bugs' gloved hand reached for a glass bottle on the floor. He rolled over to examine the well nursed bottle of burnt orange drink. It was the only thing that got him to sleep last night. A foggy memory from last night passed Bugs' mind. The dim candle light, the carrot cocktails, and the most gorgeous gray haired doe's warm company. Daisy Lou never gave a reason for calling Bugs after eleven years apart. But her feelings were sincere, that much he could tell. Guilt bubbled in Bugs' chest. She needed him last night and he ran; ran to bring his wayward charges home.
"Here's to you, Doll. May you never have kids." Bugs toasted. He guzzled down the rest of the drink. Lethargically, Bugs pushed himself out of bed, and ambled to the hallway. Suddenly Bugs became alert, noticing that all of the children's bedroom doors were wide open. He peaked inside each bedroom, finding four empty beds. The sight disappointed him. Clyde, he wasn't concerned for. But if Yakko, Wakko, and Dot weren't observing any restrictions of being grounded when he found them, Bugs swore he'd lock them in their rooms and confiscate their ACME everything. The rabbit dragged his feet downstairs, muttering to himself.
Thankfully when Bugs found his charges, they were actually behaving themselves. In the family room connecting to the kitchen, the Warners sat quietly in their beanbag chairs. The T.V. was off. Wakko and Dot read their respective comic book and magazine, while Yakko rhythmically beat his paddle ball. Bugs sighed.
"Mornin'." Bugs greeted gently. Wakko and Dot began to mumble a response, when Yakko turned his head and interrupted.
"Whoa... You look like something Furrball dragged in." Yakko commented. Bugs weakly smiled. True, dark bags hung from his eyes, his whiskers were bent crooked, his fur stuck up unevenly in some places, and his ears still refused to perk up straight.
"Ehh, my disheveled appearance is da least of what happened ta me last night. What a nightmare." Bugs complained, rubbing his forehead. The Warners' eyes shifted guiltily. "Where's Clyde?" The rabbit asked.
"Shower." Dot answered simply. Bugs decided the four of them could afford to discuss a thing or two without Clyde present. He dropped a couch cushion on the floor, and sat cross-legged in front of the Warners.
"Okay. I said we'd talk in da mornin'. So let's talk." Bugs addressed.
"How long are we grounded?" Wakko questioned tentatively.
"Two weeks. No T.V., no games, no music, stay in yer rooms as long as I say so, and most impoinantly no leavin' da house wit'out my supervision." Bugs listed. "Oh, and on Monday you're comin' ta Acme Loo with me." The Warners' faces lit up with joy.
"We get to watch you teach?" Yakko hoped.
"No, ya get ta sit in detention all day with Yosemite Sam." Bugs clarified. The Warmers collectively whined.
"I wanna see them again." Dot stated.
"Me too." Wakko agreed.
"Docs..." Bugs sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyelids. He knew this topic was inevitable.
"C'mon, Bugs. They're our parents." Dot pleaded.
"No, they're not. Dat's just da human in you talikin'." Bugs argued, slightly raising his voice. "You're not a blood pumping mammal, Dot. Whatevah ink you're made of don't make ya Dot Warner. Tom, Sherri, and bunch of uddah humans make ya Dot Warner. They're yer parents. And dey trusted me ta look after ya. Dat's da way it is. No maternity test required." Bugs concluded. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Dot's eyes glistened and her lower lip quivered. "Oh Dot, sweetie." Bugs began to apologize. Abruptly Dot squirmed out of the beanbag chair and left the room in a hurry.
"Good going, rabbit." Bugs chastised himself. "Go check on yer sister, please. Den it's back ta yer rooms for th' day. I'm callin' a sittah, n' goin' back ta bed." Bugs requested of the brothers. Wakko complied. Meanwhile the eldest Warner handed something to Bugs.
"Here." Yakko said.
A note reading:
Apology List
We are sorry for...
Scheming behind your back
Lying and hiding our suspicions
Using your computer without permission
Locking Clyde in a room
Stealing your phone book
Leaving the house at night without permission
Tricking Tinker and Speedbuggy
Attending a party without permission
Lying to Minnie Mouse
Lying to Mickey Mouse
Backtalking and causing a scene
Making you flake out on your date
Causing you to worry and have a heart attack
-Yakko, Wakko, & Dot
"That's very good, Doc. I appreciate it." Bugs thanked, patting Yakko on the head. "Now off ya go." The rabbit dismissed.