Jessica

[0000000]

When Mickey threatened my life, my first instinct had been to jump into the painting with Misty and hide, but I thought that wouldn't be fair to her, since it would reveal her position.

Besides, on TV shows, the enemy always reveals their biggest secrets to their prisoners, either by taking them to the secret lair, or by giving them a `Since you're going to die anyway' speech.

Plus, I could always try using my feminine charms on him.

"All right," I sighed. "I surrender."

Hearing the baby crying, I mean, hearing Isosceles crying, I quickly covered by pretending to be sick, coughing, moaning and clutching my stomach.

It worked. I guess Chad silenced the baby after these antics, because nobody looked at the fiberglass Baloo again.

"Frisk her," Mickey said.

The guy with the makeup gave me a regular pat down. "She's got nothing. She's in a bikini."

"Idiot!" said the mouse. "You're doing it all wrong."

With an impatient growl, he reached into my cleavage.

"Hey!" I cried. "Keep your mitts to yourself, buster!"

From Hammerspace, he pulled out an enormous mallet, my phone, a pistol, a machine gun, a bundle of TNT, a pair of nunchucks and a copy of the Mystery Date board game.

"With the exception of my phone," I said, "I can swear with one hundred percent honesty that I have absolutely no idea those things were in there. Especially Mystery Date."

And then he pulls out my vibrator.

"Okay, so maybe I knew that was in there. But the other things - no clue."

Mickey looked rather smug and satisfied. "There. Put her in restraints."

They cuffed my hands behind my back.

With real handcuffs.

I smirked, pretended to be upset. If they were too dumb to figure out their own gag, that was too bad.

I mean, if I could pull it off...

I got led to a six seater golf cart designed to look like Goofy with a hat. The thing seated two per row, but I couldn't just roll out the side because I was stuck between Goofy's fiberglass ears, and the rear was blocked in as well.

My guards all picked up mouse ears from their seats, putting them on their heads, as one, by law, would put on a hard hat at a construction site.

As we rolled down the corridor a few yards, I noticed a gun handle hanging out the pocket of the black polyester uniform next to me. Makeup Guy.

I thought it would be funny to slip my hands out of the cuffs and grab the gun, so I made the attempt.

The moment my hand popped out and reached that way, Mickey spun around in the front passenger seat, pointing his death ray at me. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

I gave him the finger with my free hand, then slid it back into the cuff.

The Goofymobile sped down a confusing maze of tunnels, arriving at a plain gray security door labeled `WDPD HQ.' The Samoan let us in with her badge.

The place looked more like the set of a science fiction movie than a real police station, the entry area like one of those movies where people go to a creepy corporation to buy androids, cloned babies, or the souls of poor people. The angular gray sofas added to the effect.

I stared at the glass windowed offices, the forensics lab that reminded me of Bones, a place that looked more like something out of Star Trek than what you'd really use to investigate crimes.

Their reception desk was huge, with a mouse logo, and a giant rotating metal Mickey head a few feet behind it.

A grumpy looking woman in a gold Beauty and the Beast style gown occupied their reception desk, typing something on a computer. I noticed she had a conferencing phone, a set of ticket machines and a jar of suspicious looking candy in front of her.

Mickey led me into an elevator with ceiling to floor monitors displaying everything from the old style ducks and cows from the dawn of Walt Disney's empire, to Big Hero 6 and Marvel's Avengers.

Their Muzak system played that Part of Your World song from Little Mermaid ("What's the word?...Dumb!"). I imagine they used that same music to force Noriega out of his compound.

"If you're going to kill me," I said. "Just get it over with. Don't torture me with this drivel."

Nobody responded.

We stood inside this elevator, no one speaking to each other. Unless you count Mickey mouthing the words to the song as `speech.'

A minute later, the elevator came open again.

When I stepped out, I literally found myself on the bridge of The Black Hole. Since they were the ones who produced it, and owned all the rights, they had repurposed the actual set for use as a surveillance hub.

Instead of showing readouts of space, planets, life support or engine data, they had a bunch of camera views from inside the various gift shops, restaurants, rides, employee stations and bathrooms.

Employees in red robes and silver face masks sat along the outer banks of monitors, one of them flipping their mask back to slurp from a large fountain drink.

On the inner row, a station lower than the rest of the room, covered in radios, park controls and conferencing equipment, they had a bunch of guys in dresses.

I'm still not sure what that was about. I know that Walt Disney once refused to fire a gay guy because he did good background paintings or something, but this was ridiculous. It was like they had a dress code.

They all wore red and white spots, you know, Minnie Mouse pattern, with short skirts, mouse ears (complete with bow), black leggings, and red pumps.

A taller guy, one with an eyepatch and a beret, in a black dress, leggings and black boots, snapped to attention and saluted Mickey has he passed. "Herr Maus!"

Mickey nodded. "Commandant."

"This is cute," I said. "Who's your tailor? Ru Paul?"

"You're right," said the guy with the girly eye makeup. "She is a spy."

"Sir," one of the Minnies said to Beret Man, pointing to his monitor. "We've caught a little girl shoplifting."

"Send her to the dungeon of the Haunted Mansion," Commandant said. "Show her no mercy."

"What about the mother?"

"Place here in the room with those things at IASW."

"But that's inhumane!"

Commandant didn't care. "They shouldn't have shoplifted."

"What's IASW?" I asked.

"It's A Small World," said Mr. Mascara. "It's more expedient to use acronyms."

"Sir," said another Minnie. "The peeping Tom is back at the ladies' dressing room."

"Don't bother me with trifles, ensign," Commandant said. "They're grown women. Let them take care of themselves."

I whistled. "I'm glad I don't work here! And I always thought it would be the best job ever."

"Come with me," Mickey said gruffly, leading me down an angular corridor set, also from The Black Hole, the one the faceless guys carried corpses through.

I was taken to a Mickey Mouse interrogation room. Literally.

I'm pretty sure they recycled the honeycomb patterned holding cell from Agents of Shield. Differences: It had silver mouse ears on the walls, a steel table embossed with Mickey and all his friends, and a giant sign on the door showing the mouse with a police hat.

The guards shoved me into a metal chair with a mouse logo on it, cuffing me to the type of handcuff bars they have on all those cop shows.

Mickey waved two of my escorts out. The other two stood sentry at the door.

And then Mr. Eyepatch came in.

Not as cute as Chad.

"Who is this?" the man asked.

"That is why she is here, Commandant," Mickey said. "This is the blip you found in the employee access tunnel."

Commandant stared at me. "She's animated!"

I crossed my legs, and I turned human.

Mr. Eyepatch frowned. "...Mostly."

The mouse pointed a lamp in my face. "Who are you?"

"Jessica Buckthorn." I could have given my real name, but I wanted to protect my credit, my mostly spotless court record, and my good name.

Commandant propped one boot up on a nearby chair. Not such a great thing to do in a skirt. Through the mesh of his sheer nylons, I could tell he shaved his legs. In between that and the fact I couldn't see any activity going on under there pretty much told me what I needed to know: My feminine charms wouldn't work here.

"What are you doing here?"

Glancing down at my outfit, I realized I would have to be very creative with my lies.

Mickey took out an Iphone, texting someone. I could guess what that was about.

"I...I was making out with a guy in the bushes, and about halfway into it, the rat stole my clothing and ran off somewhere. I was so pissed."

Mickey rolled his eyes. "And all you could find to wear was that cape."

"Yeah," I said. "Your souvenir shop is overpriced, so I thought I'd swipe some costumes from your `employees only' store. Those red dresses, though...they're really designed for someone less bosomy."

Mickey reached across the table, grabbing me by that collar thing that I normally wear for sexier purposes.

He was stronger than I expected him to be. Of course, I had turned animated when he grabbed me.

"Can the crap. Animated people don't just waltz into restricted areas of Walt Disney resorts."

"I know how to pick locks," I said. "And I really wanted clothes."

He squeezed my collar tighter. "How did you get into Tinkerbell's Tunnels!"

I chortled through my nose. "I snorted some magic dust."

Mickey slapped me across the face.

"It's not nice to hit a woman," I said.

"That's exactly what Minnie told me."

"Before or after she slept with goofy?"

He slapped me again.

"Gosh! Touchy subject!"

Slap. "How did you get into Tinkerbell's Tunnel?"

"With my fingers," I purred. "Mmmm...I just reached under her skirt, and..."

Another slap to the face.

The Samoan lady marched into the room. "We checked credit card accounts, license plates and hotel registries. No record of any Jessica Buckthorn anywhere in the system."

Commandant narrowed his eye. "What is your name!"

"Your boss, who incidentally is animated, answers to the name `Mickey Mouse' and you question what I say? Talk about a double standard!"

That earned me a slap.

"Name," Mickey growled.

"I'm a fictional character!" I cried. "Maybe I don't have a name or credit card or anything!"

Mickey shook me, yelling in my face. "How did you get into the tunnels!"

"I picked the lock!" I yelled back.

"Name!" Commandant hollered.

Slap!

"What are you doing in Disneyland!"

"I wanted to see The Pirates of the Caribbean!" I said.

Slap!

"Try again!"

"Okay, okay. I really came all the way to California to see E.T. The Ride."

Slap! "This is Florida!"

"No wonder the place looks funny!"

Slap!

"Name!"

Commandant stepped out of the room, returning with a small portable stereo. He pushed a button, and I was blasted with A Whole New World.

And slapped.

"Fine!" I shouted. "You want the truth? I found a portal into a cartoon universe, and one of the animated characters I met there opened a portal to your stupid tunnel. Can I go now?"

Commandant just shook his head, cranking up the volume. "What were you doing in the tunnel?"

"Name!" Mickey yelled.

"You are clearly part human," said Commandant. "And humans have identities."

Mickey slapped me. "Why are you here!"