Chapter 4

The imposing façade of Sugarfoot Studios towered above Bonkers and Lucky as they stood outside of it a few minutes later, after having been denied entrance to park in the lot itself when Bonkers mistook the diminutive guard – a short toon turtle with an overbite – for a decorative parking pass dispenser and punched the turtle's nose in the expectation that a ticket would pop out. The black Crown Victoria was therefore parked quasi-legally two streets over and they both held out hope that the broken parking meter standing in front of it might be pitiful enough for a traffic cop's mercy. Lucky scratched his head. "Sugarfoot Studios. Geez, I never even heard of this place back when I worked in Toontown. When did this monstrosity get built?"

Bonkers shivered slightly; there was something about the dark stone of the entrance gate that always gave him the chills. "That's because it's only been here for a few years. Sugarfoot got his start as an extra on the Woody Woodpecker Show back when he was just a kid. I knew him back when I worked in cartoons, and the guy always gave me the creeps."

Lucky threw him a skeptical look as they approached the guarded gate. "Really? How could you possibly be scared of a guy named Sugarfoot? Sounds like the name of a Valentine candy with frilly trim made of buttercream frosting and one of those irritating catchphrases that don't make any sense, like 'Awesomesauce' or 'Love Means Putting the Seat Down When You're Finished.'"

"You don't understand," Bonkers said quietly, shaking his head. "Sugarfoot was ruthless. He's one of those toons who didn't care who he stepped on to get to the top, and never made any secret about wanting his own studio someday – because then, he couldn't get fired and thrown off the set like he always did back when he was in cartoons!"

"Not that I'm anything of a toon connoisseur, of course," Lucky said as they both flashed their badges at the gate – the turtle gave them a look that could kill but waved them through – and began the trek towards the administration building. "But if Sugarfoot was famous enough to get his own studio, then he must have been some sort of a star, right? And I've never heard of him."

"Not exactly a star. More infamous than famous," Bonkers explained. "He specialized in violent cartoons, more violent than any of those old Loony Tunes cartoons with anvils or mallets, or with Daffy Duck shooting a Nazi in the face, incinerating him and then cackling with an unsettling amount of glee. Problem was, Sugarfoot was sort of like that off stage too, and…well, no director wants to deal with a violent star, do they?"

"So how did he even get a studio?" Lucky asked, still confused.

"Not sure," Bonkers answered, scratching his head. "But there were always a lot of rumors of blackmail. There are some toons who have a lot of skeletons in their closets, Lucky, and they're rich enough to keep them out of the press!"

"Hm. You don't suppose Sugarfoot blackmailed the mayor to get this studio up and running and that's where Toontown's money went?"

Bonkers shook his head again. "No way! Sugarfoot Studios opened long before Gimblebee was in office, and this studio can certainly support itself just fine now." He shrugged. "Violence sells. Who knew?"

"Let's get this over with. It would be like Christmas come early if we can get this case wrapped up before the weekend," Lucky said with a small chuckle, throwing open the door to the administration building.

"Say, you ever notice how joyous occasions are always compared to Christmas?" Bonkers mused as they both entered the building. "When someone commits a random act of kindness it's like Christmas, when Barney gives me his two-for-one burrito coupon, it's like Christmas…" He stopped suddenly, his eyes widening. "That's it," he whispered in an awe-struck voice.

"What?" Lucky frowned. "What, did you think of something? A clue? A connection we hadn't considered?"

"Everything is perfectly clear," Bonkers said in a steady, zen-like tone. "I can't believe I never thought of it before."

"Really? That's great work, Bonkers! I knew you'd think of something!"

Bonkers' eyes began to tear up as a proud, trembling smile spread across his face. "I suddenly know what I was drawn on this Earth to do!" He made a sweeping, dramatic motion with his hand. "I, Bonkers D. Bobcat, am and was always destined to be…a seasonal holiday character."

Lucky's grin fell from his face so fast that one could almost hear it clatter to the floor. "What?!"

"You know! Seasonal holiday characters! Easter Bunny! Santa Claus!" Bonkers got a moony look in his eye and clasped his hands together excitedly. "I just know I'd make a perfect spring nymph!"

"Bonkers, we do not have time for your – your – whatever this little phase is that you're going through, all right?" He put a hand on Bonkers' shoulder. "We're about to see a studio head and just for once, I'd like to give the impression that my partner isn't a raving lunatic!"

The bobcat was lost in a daydream that, more likely than not, contained visions of sugar plums dancing in his head, so with a reluctant sigh, Lucky sauntered up to the front desk of the administration office and tried to appear more like a competent law enforcement officer and less like a homicidal maniac who was three seconds away from punting his partner clear into the next county.

"Uh – hello," Lucky stammered by way of introduction to the receptionist behind the desk: a gum-popping twenty-something with an apathetic expression and too much eyeliner. Her nametag read Deb. "Hello – uh, Deb. I'm special agent Lucky Piquel with the FBI. I need to see Sugarfoot immediately. The Sugarfoot."

"Mistah Sugarfoot's not here," Deb said in an automatic tone of voice, which told Lucky that this was a stock answer she always had in her arsenal.

He leaned across the desk in what he hoped was a slightly threatening manner as he pointed to his badge. "I don't think you heard me, young lady. I'm with the FBI. You know, the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"Mistah Sugarfoot's not here," Deb repeated, not looking up from the magazine she was flipping through on her desk.

Lucky forced a chuckle and brushed his nails against his chest. "Look kid, you don't want to make any trouble for your boss, right? Call up Sugarfoot and tell him a special agent from the FBI is here to speak with him. You don't want to impede an officer in the course of his duties. That's a crime."

"He ain't here, whaddya want me to do about it, eh?" Deb drawled, finally looking up with an annoyed look as she slammed the magazine down on the desk. "You think I can just conjure Mistah Sugarfoot up? Like just wave a magic wand and he's here, eh? Whatsamatta with you, anyway? You threatenin' me? Impedin' an officer of the – look, Mistah Pickle, I ain't here to make your life hard, all I'm sayin' is, Mistah Sugarfoot ain't here." She finally caught sight of Bonkers standing several steps behind Lucky. "Hey you. You, orange housecat with a funny hat. Who're you? Whaddya want?"

By this time, Bonkers' eyes were enormous and dreamy, full of either the magic of Christmas or a fairly severe stigmatism. "I'm the candy in your stocking! The warm fuzzy feeling you get from watching carolers! The festive headache you get when Aunt Claire puts too much Bacardi in the eggnog!"

"Oh, thank gawd!" Deb cried. She grabbed a plastic badge and marched over to Bonkers, shoving the badge at him impatiently. "Look, they've been waiting for you on set for, like, a half hour. You better get ya buns over there or Claude'll roast your chestnuts over an open fire, awright? Go!"

Before they knew it, both Lucky and Bonkers had been shooed out of the office. Bonkers began a strident walk towards the soundstage indicated on his badge when he was scooped up by Lucky and brought face to face with him. "And just where do you think you're going?" Lucky demanded.

Bonkers displayed his studio badge proudly. "To the set of Santa in Paradise. Sounds jolly, doesn't it?"

"It sounds like you're forgetting that we're on a case here," Lucky said through gritted teeth.

"Haven't you ever…dreamed a dream, Lucky?" Bonkers breathed melodramatically, clutching the badge to his chest. "I know you're not so heartless as to tell your own partner not to follow his heart. Because that's not the kind of guy you are. You're passionate and find joy in the hearts of those following their destinies, and – "

"Bonkers." Lucky's gaze turned icy. "The only thing I'm passionate about is solving this case and getting back to DC. Got it?"

Bonkers nodded fervently with a maniacal grin and somewhat reluctantly, Lucky lowered him back to the ground. As soon as he let go, Bonkers hooted, "I'm a toon following a dream, Lucky! You can't stop me! Seasons greetings!" and shot so fast towards the soundstage that fire erupted in his tracks. Lucky screamed an obscenity to the sky, deeply offending the sensibilities of a flock of pigeons who happened to be perched on a window ledge, and began to stomp towards the building that Bonkers had disappeared into.

"Typical," Lucky muttered, pushing open a door and striding inside. "Should have known better than to get roped into this, why I ever left Washington, I'll – "

"SHHHH!" someone shushed at Lucky pointedly. Lucky gave an impatient huff, but stayed shushed. A backdrop of a tropical ocean suddenly unfurled from the ceiling, several very plastic looking palm trees were hurled on set and a ton of sand, courtesy of a dump truck, crashed onto the floor. In less than three seconds, a beach scene – albeit an unconvincing and cheap looking one – was created. Somewhere, a deep voice shouted, "Action!" and Lucky's jaw dropped as Bonkers, decked out in an oversized Santa suit, flip flops and clutching a ukulele, was lowered totteringly from above in a cardboard sleigh fronted by rickety plastic reindeer.

Bonkers began hammering – Lucky refused to call it strumming – on the ukulele and proceeded to caterwaul:

"Let's get away from sleigh bells, let's get away from snow

Let's make a break some Christmas, dear, I know the place to go

How'd ya like to spend Christmas on Christmas Island?"

"Bonkers!" Lucky hissed, hoping his partner would hear him and return to his senses. Alas, Bonkers had found his muse and was fully in character as a very ardent (if badly dressed) Santa Claus on a beach. One of the plastic reindeer came untethered from its harness and hung precariously by one antler from the reins.

"How'd ya like to spend the holiday away across the sea?

How'd ya like to spend Christmas on Christmas Island?

How'd ya like to hang a stocking on a great big coconut tree?"

Bonkers continued to make sounds with the ukulele (sounds which could not be said to resemble anything close to music) as he leapt from the sleigh and splashed onto the sand with a flourish, beginning a frantic dance born either of hot sand or zero talent for dance – perhaps both.

"How'd ya like to stay up late like the islanders do?

Wait for Santa to sail in with your presents in a canoe,

If you ever spend Christmas on Christmas Island!"

The plastic antler on the rogue reindeer snapped.

"You will never stray, for everyday – "

The plastic beast, with its beady eyes aglow with a glint that almost suggested sentience, began to fall towards the ground.

"Your Christmas dreams come true – "

It happened to fall directly on a standing light, causing it to spark and fizzle. Bonkers threw both arms in the air for his big finish.

"On Christmas Island your dreams come true!"*

And with that, the entire set exploded into flames.

...

...

"I suppose if you had meant to do it, I might be saying 'Good thinking, Bonkers' right now," Lucky observed as he and a crispy-looking Bonkers sat outside of Sugarfoot's executive office waiting for Sugarfoot to invite them in. "But since you were entirely in earnest, I just have one thing to say about this entire mid-life crisis debacle – are you done yet?"

Bonkers coughed. A bit of smoke escaped. "Actually, I'd say I'm well done."

"Honestly. Everything's a joke with a toon," Lucky muttered.

"We are the physical embodiment of merriment, Lucky," Bonkers reminded him, shaking himself off and returning to his normal, orangey self.

Lucky scoffed. "And you wonder why Barney thinks toons can't do policework? This is why!"

"Aw jeez Lucky, who said I wasn't doing policework, hm?" Bonkers said, knocking the last bit of soot out of his ears. "I got us in to see Sugarfoot, didn't I? You and me are going to crack the case, just like we always do!"

"Yeah, well I wish I could be so sure," Lucky muttered to himself.

A short, tiger-striped toon cat wearing round spectacles suddenly appeared on the threshold and gave them a nervous smile. "Mr. Sugarfoot will see you now, sirs," he said in a timid voice. "Neither of you has a heart condition, do you? An aversion to loud and violent verbal outbursts? A bladder control issue? No? Excellent! Come right in!"

A moment later, Lucky eased himself down into what had to be the least comfortable chair he'd ever sat in, right in front of a large wooden desk that seemed to tower over he and Bonkers, all the while being scrutinized by an enormous black toon cat smoking a large cigar and scowling at them. "Well, Mr. Bonkers, you certainly made a first impression today," the cat noted crisply, eyeing Bonkers up and down.

"Just wait 'til you see the sequel," Bonkers offered with a nervous chuckle.

The black cat regarded him seriously for a moment, and then stood. "You're a funny guy. You make me – Sugarfoot – laugh. You make Sugarfoot laugh." He swooped down next to Bonkers and gave him an oily smile that didn't reach his eyes; the familiar creepy feeling Bonkers always felt in the presence of Sugarfoot returned, as though it had been no time at all since they'd last met, even though it had been more than a decade. Sugarfoot made a sound deep in his throat that may have been a laugh or a growl – Bonkers couldn't be sure. "I always said that there ain't nothing funnier than a toon on fire, a toon dismembered, a toon in traction, a toon smeared all over the sidewalk, a toon – well, you get the picture, right?"

Bonkers swallowed hard and sank deep into his seat, not daring to break Sugarfoot's gaze. "Loud and clear," he squeaked.

Sugarfoot stood and walked back behind his desk. "And I always think it's the funniest when the toon doesn't know it's coming."

"But – gee – w-when we toons don't know it's c-coming, then it actually h-hurts," Bonkers pointed out quietly.

Sugarfoot folded his hands gently across his lap. "Exactly," he purred.

Lucky did his best to hide his expression of disgust. While he didn't particularly like toons, he certainly didn't derive any joy from actually watching them in pain.

"On the up side, the video of the explosion has already gone viral, sir," the timid tiger cat offered from the corner, staring intently at his computer screen. "BelieberGurl4Evah calls it 'da funneyest thing I ever saw, lulz.'"

Sugarfoot gave a forced, unconvincing laugh. "That little dried up piece of vomit over there is my personal assistant, Mr. Ott. Don't pay any attention to him. I hired him because I felt sorry for him. That's why they call me Sugarfoot – because I'm so damn sweet natured."

"Then what's with the 'foot' at the end?" Bonkers ventured.

"It's to crush you with after I've won you over with my endearing personality!" Sugarfoot roared, slamming a fist down on his desk and rising, his demeanor changing in an instant to one of unbridled rage. "I want you out of my studio. You'll never work here again, or anywhere else in cartoons for that matter!" he bellowed at Bonkers.

"That's ok!" Bonkers responded brightly, digging his police badge out of his pocket and proudly holding it up for Sugarfoot to see. "I already have a job!"

Sugarfoot's eyes widened. "So it's a sting operation, is it? Let me tell you something, just try to prove thatI've got unsafe working conditions from one lousy out-of-control electrical fire – "

"Actually, we're here about Mayor Gimblebee's disappearance," Lucky interjected in a voice he hoped did not betray his anxiety. "We got a tip that Gimblebee auditioned for you here at the studio shortly before his disappearance."

Sugarfoot slowly seated himself again, puffing on his cigar. "That's right, he did. What of it?" he replied with a shrug, as though Lucky's question was the most ridiculous one he'd ever heard. "He auditioned, he was terrible, we sent him packing."

"Well, from our understanding, there was some sort of argument between you after the audition." Lucky studied Sugarfoot's face carefully for a reaction – there was none. Lucky leaned forward slightly. "Something about having some sort of a deal with Gimblebee. About not going back on a deal, about breaking him for this." Lucky leveled his gaze with Sugarfoot's and raised an eyebrow. "Any of that jog your memory by any chance?"

Sugarfoot didn't move for several seconds, his face as blank and expressionless as ever. Finally, he put his cigar down. "Let me guess," he began quietly. "This – this source of yours is a toon, am I correct?"

"We never reveal our sources!" Bonkers piped up bravely.

"He's right, we don't, when it might put that source in danger," Lucky concurred in a steely voice. "And I don't see what difference it would make anyway."

"Oh you don't?" Sugarfoot's tone and facial expression became patronizing. "Because it does, officer. It makes a world of difference. And I think you know that." He gave Lucky a smugly expectant look. "Don't you?"

Lucky shifted in his seat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh come on!" Sugarfoot burst cheerfully. "If there's one thing I've learned in this business it's that you can't put much stock in anything a toon says."

"But you are a toon!" Bonkers cried in protest.

"Sure! But then I freely admit that my tooney brethren are morons, cowards and exaggerators. I have nothing to gain by lying. And lest you think me one of those morons, cowards or exaggerators, I ask you – would I be where I am today if I were any one of those things? I think not." He stood and began to pace. "Look, human officer – whatever your name is – your source was right about one thing. Gimblebee did come and audition. But he was terrible. And I threw him out. That was it. That's the whole story. As to where he is now and what he's doing, your guess is as good as mine. But I will tell you one thing, if you spend all your time chasing down leads you got from toons, then Gimblebee is as good as gone."

"Hey, a lead from a toon led us to you, didn't it?" Lucky spat, also rising to his feet.

"Yes, but a cursory glance through the mayor's appointment book would have told you that he was here in the weeks leading up to his disappearance, correct? And without having had your partner blow up a soundstage, humiliate you in front of a studio head and waste an entire afternoon, right?"

Lucky's heart dropped. Sugarfoot was right.

Sugarfoot smirked. "You should be a little more careful in whose opinion you trust, officer. Toons have a lot of things rattling around in their heads – the truth very often isn't one of them." He turned his back to them. "Ott, show them out."

Ten minutes later, Lucky stalked out of the front gates of Sugarfoot Studios, with Bonkers close behind him. Bonkers had managed to keep silent during that time, but now that they were out of earshot of anyone, he jumped in with, "Lucky, look, don't listen to that guy – every toon in Toontown knows he's crazy – "

"He is crazy," Lucky said.

Bonkers breathed a sigh of relief.

Lucky shrugged. "But he's right."

Bonkers' shoulders slumped. Lucky turned and began the slow lope back to the Crown Victoria parked two streets over. The bobcat watched him for a moment before his face lit up with an idea, and he bounded after his partner, calling, "Say Lucky, let me take you out for dinner tonight, hm? You remember that place over McDougal that served bacon-covered doughnuts and how it used to be your favorite and you used to say that if it ever went out of business then there was no reason to live on the West Coast? Well, it went out of business, but there's this other place a couple blocks over that serves chocolate covered bacon on frosted doughnuts, and I was just saying to Barney the other day that my old partner Lucky would love this place and then Barney said would he love having to sit here listening to you yammer away about the eating habits of some person you never met and I said yes he most certainly would because Lucky has a big heart and Barney said I bet he's got a big midsection too if this is the sort of place he'd frequent and I pointed out to Barney that his physique isn't exactly lithe, and – "

Lucky stopped in his tracks and held up a weary hand against the rambling onslaught. "Bonkers, please. Look, I'm – " Lucky scratched the back of his head and avoided eye contact. "I'm tired, all right? I'll see you tomorrow down at the station."

Bonkers' face fell as Lucky turned and walked away. "Yeah. Ok. Sure thing, partner," he mumbled quietly, taking off his hat and wringing it in his hands. He squinted slightly in the sunset, threw another look at studio behind him and heaved a sigh before turning the opposite direction that Lucky had gone in and began the trek home.

*Author's Notes: Christmas Island is an actual song – like someone actually paid to have it recorded – that was written and performed by Jimmy Buffett, who is probably a terribly kind and talented man in every other way.