Chapter 5

"…so yesterday was a complete waste of time, and today has about as much of a chance of going smoothly as the diet your mother put me on." Lucky sighed as he speared a piece of fried egg on his fork and dipped it in a cup of gravy to the left of his plate. "Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to request a partner for this case. Wait, let me revise that: maybe it wasn't such a good idea to request Bonkers as a partner for this case." The sympathetic eyes of Marilyn met Lucky's across the table of the greasy diner she'd met him in for breakfast. He gave her a sweet smile. "All the same, kid, I'm glad I got a chance to see ya. Your mom and I miss you like crazy. Haven't you ever thought of…you know..."

She rolled her eyes, a timid smile curling in the corner of her mouth. "Come on, Dad. You know there's no market for animators – "

" – in Washington. I know, kiddo. I know. But it was worth a shot." He laughed softly, a twinge of sadness in his voice. "Look, I want you to follow your dreams, but no matter how old you get, you'll always be my little girl. I just want you to be safe in the big city. And happy. And have enough money to eat and live in an apartment that isn't condemned and be able to go out with your friends sometimes and have a job you enjoy and – "

"Dad." Marilyn blushed. "I'm fine. And you shouldn't be so hard on Bonkers – he's been a good friend to me since moving back."

Lucky raised an eyebrow. "You mean you willingly invite that sort of chaos into your life? Thought I raised you better than that."

She shrugged. "But it's true, Dad. Whenever my clunker breaks down, he comes and picks me up. He buys me lunch when I forget to bring mine. Feeds my fish when I'm out of town. Scares off creepers by pretending to be my overly-protective feral cat with rabies – "

An ear-shattering rendition of the Hamster Dance suddenly erupted from Lucky's hip, interrupting Marilyn into a stunned silence. He clasped his hand to the cell phone there but couldn't avoid the incredulous stares from other customers in the restaurant. Lucky laughed feebly. "It's a classic!" he announced with a weak shrug.

Before Lucky could even get in a "hello" the voice on the other end immediately lit into a tirade that Marilyn couldn't quite make out, but by the increasingly pensive look on her father's face, she knew their breakfast would be coming to an abrupt end.

"Uh huh…uh huh…oh really…yes…yeah, I'll be sure…right…right away, Captain Grating." Lucky shot up out of his seat, the motion taking out half of the breakfast on the table before he realized that he'd used the tablecloth as a bib. "I've got to go, honey," he said frantically, tearing his "bib" away and throwing some money on the table. "The city of Toontown just granted a special warrant to search Gimblebee's office. I've got to get over there and see if any evidence was overlooked – "

"You'll take Bonkers too, won't you?"

Lucky threw his daughter an aggravated look until he noticed the woeful, large-eyed expression on Marilyn's face. He spoke somewhat more haltingly than he would have liked when he protested, "Honey, look. I've got a job to do, and I can't do it with a partner who's – well, who's a few crayons short of the box, all right? This is a high profile case, and – " Marilyn's gaze melted into something that looked to be on the verge of weeping, and Lucky cupped his hands against the onslaught. "Look, Marilyn, Bonkers – well, look, I can't just – " A tear danced on the edge of her left eye and Lucky sighed in defeat. He'd never been able to hold out against that expression on her face; she could have worn that look while asking him to go commit arson, and he would have immediately started searching for the matches.

He ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. "All right. All right. I'll call the little hairball and brace myself for the inevitable career-destroying fallout of our partnership. Ok? Now stop that, will you?"

Marilyn's face immediately snapped back to normal and she gave him a smile, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Have a good day, Daddy!" she chirped as her father begrudgingly grabbed his coat and stalked out of the restaurant. She sat back and took a deep, satisfied swig of her orange juice; Bonkers had taught her the Woeful Innocent Expression trick as a kid, and he was nothing if not a good teacher.

...

...

Lucky knew that his partner had beaten him to the mayor's office as soon as he stepped inside the lobby of Toontown City Hall.

"Barney, you gotta let me in!" a shrill, insistent tone boomed from the hallway that led to the mayor's office, momentarily stopping Lucky dead in his tracks. He couldn't see Bonkers, but that voice would be discernible from across a football field of stampeding rhinos. "Lucky and I have a warrant to search this office!"

"Well, I haven't seen it," Barney's disaffected drawl replied.

Lucky took a quick look around and noted without surprise that the city hall of the most chaotic burg in the world certainly looked the part. As he passed, Lucky glanced into the glass door of the records department just in time to see a filing cabinet on the far side of the room explode into a fountain of legal documents spewing into the air, causing the secretaries don military helmets and deploy nets from the ceiling to reign in the rogue papers. In the water and sewer department, five fearless toon workers were busy wrangling a shrieking, green sewer monster who'd come up from the depths through the drain of the break room after being baited (the public works department having gotten several terrifying complaints about the creature), and as Lucky passed the clerk's office, he was glad to see that everything looked relatively normal – until he noticed that the rubber stamps seemed to be picketing around the interior of the office, each carrying a sign that read, "STAMPING HURTS. STAMP OUT STAMPING TODAY."

Muttering something darkly under his breath, Lucky quickly averted his eyes and soldiered on towards the mayor's office, which had its own corridor off the main hallway. This is where he found the mountainous form of Barney Klyser effectively blocking the entrance to the office, which was still cordoned off with police tape. Barney stood leaning against the door frame, a cup of coffee in one hand and a greasy breakfast sandwich in the other; Bonkers, however, was nowhere to be seen.

"Well, where is he?" Lucky demanded, turning in circles looking for Bonkers. "Where'd he go?"

"Beats me." Barney took a large bite out of his sandwich. "Said something about switching tactics - "

"EVERYONE STAY CALM." The piercing cacophony of a handheld loudspeaker immediately made Barney and Lucky clap their hands to their ears. "WE'RE GOING TO NEGOTIATE THIS IN A CALM, PEACEFUL MANNER."

"Bonkers what are you doing?!" Lucky bellowed over the noise. Bonkers, handheld loudspeaker in hand, suddenly appeared upside down, hanging by his tail from a rafter above them.

"Lucky! You made it!" Bonkers whispered with a grin. "I think I'm onto something here! Tell me what you think - just imagine me…as a hostage negotiator." He paused dramatically to let that sink in for a moment. Lucky stared back at him in horrified silence, momentarily paralyzed in terror at the thought.

"Bonkers - " he began when he regained the use of his voice.

"Hush!" Bonkers clapped his hand to Lucky's mouth. "This is a precarious situation that requires the skilled capabilities of an individual with years of experience in high-risk negotiation techniques." He pulled a wad of papers out from behind his back. "But I didn't have time for that, so I just Googled 'hostage negotiating.' Lucky, what does 'confabulation' mean?" He looked thoughtful. "Is it a compliment? You look confabulacious in that sweater vest - "

"Bonkers, may I point out to you that aside from the fact that we're wasting time, there is no hostage situation?"

"Not true, partner!" Bonkers proclaimed bravely, pointing towards Barney as though he were pointing out a flesh-hungry wild animal they were about to - well, not kill, surely, but perhaps one they would humanely tranquilize, transport to a wildlife refuge run by a darling couple originally from Minneapolis who had majored in animal husbandry and 18th century British poetry, and then release into the sanctuary under the watchful eyes of a documentary crew who just knew this wide-angle shot would totally blow the film festival judges away. Yes. Yes, let's go with that. "Barney is holding that office hostage, and I've got to negotiate into letting us search it!"

"Why don't I just show him the search warrant? That I have right here in my hand?" Lucky stated flatly, holding up the warrant.

Bonkers scoffed. "Lucky, it's called resume building," he replied, exasperated. "Employers want real world experience."

He leapt down from the rafters and stood in front of Barney, consulting the crumpled papers the secretaries in the accounting department had been nice enough to print off for him. "Right. First off, I have to determine if you are hostile." He pointed the loudspeaker at Barney's face. "ARE YOU HOSTILE?"

Barney dropped his coffee down the front of his shirt in surprise and gritted his teeth. "Get that thing out of my face!"

"Definitely...hostile..." Bonkers muttered, making notes on his paper.

Barney began fanning his shirt. "Land sakes, what is wrong with you?"

Bonkers' face brightened. "You're asking questions! You're opening a line of communication! This guide says that's a good thing!" Bonkers cheered. Again he pointed the loudspeaker at him. "THE IMPORTANT THING IS TO REMAIN CALM."

"I was perfectly calm until you - "

"WHAT ARE YOUR DEMANDS?"

"I demand that you get away from me!" Barney bellowed, snatching the loudspeaker away from Bonkers gruffly and resisting the urge to hit him over the head with it. He smoothed his hair back down and took a few deep breaths. Anything that required action on his part - be it chasing a criminal, filling out paperwork, or simply sustaining an energy-sapping emotion like anger - offended his indolent nature and made him long for a nap in his office chair. "So help me, you're not getting in this office, Bonkers," he declared vehemently. "Toons have caused enough trouble on this case without one of them being the investigating officer."

Resentment instantly rose in Lucky's throat when he caught the small flinch Barney's words had inflicted upon Bonkers, who - even taking all of the moronic stunts into account - had still done more to try and solve this case - or any case - than Barney ever had.

"Well like it or not, he is an investigating officer, assigned to this case not only by your own boss, but by special request of an agent of the FBI - namely, me," Lucky piped up, striding over to where Barney stood towering over Bonkers. "And like it or not, I outrank you," he practically growled, face to face with Barney. Lucky shoved the warrant into Barney's pudgy palm and watched as the lieutenant's face fell. "Now, if you wouldn't mind getting the hellout of our way, Officer Bonkers and I have an investigation to carry out."

Bonkers slammed the door to the mayor's office behind him once he and Lucky were both safely inside and out of Barney's earshot a few moments later, and then grinned broadly. "Lucky, that was brilliant! I haven't seen Barney so awe-struck and speechless since they introduced that hot-dog-and-mayonnaise pizza down at the cafeteria."

"Yeah?" Lucky said a little sheepishly. "You really think so?"

"I know so!" Bonkers beamed. "Leave it to my partner to put that overgrown Twinkie in his place." He struck an impression of Lucky steaming up to Barney and snarled in a faux-brusque voice, "I outrank you! If you'll excuuuuse us, Officer Bonkers and I have an investigation to carry out!"Effect thus rendered, Bonkers collapsed in a heap of laughter, pounding on the floor with a fist. "Did you see his face when you said that? Didja?"

"Yeah, well," Lucky demurred with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck somewhat bashfully. "I guess it was pretty funny."

Bonkers wiped a tear from his eye, still giggling. "You know Lucky, out of all thirty-four of my partners, you and Miranda were always my favorites."

"Well, I'm flattered," Lucky laughed softly for a moment, then frowned as realization dawned. "Wait, you've had thirty-four partners since I left?"

"Oh, of course not!" Bonkers insisted casually, getting to his feet. "You were the first one, Lucky. I've only had thirty-three since then."

Lucky gave Bonkers a strange, half-pitying look for a few seconds before seeming to snap out of it. "Well. Well, we - we need to get back to work. Disappearances won't investigate themselves, after all," he said congenially with another small laugh. He put a hand to his chin. "But where to even start? For all we know, aside from the money being stolen, no crime's been committed. Maybe the money is even hidden in this office somewhere. Let's see now. The Toontown accounts books have already been examined, and they hold no clue as to where the money really went - "

"Hey Lucky, I've got an idea where to start," Bonkers interjected, holding a grey glove sporting a dark purple splotch on the end of a pencil. Lucky glanced over, caught sight of the glove and dove towards it.

"Don't touch that! It's got blood on it - "

"Blood?What, this dark purple spot?" Bonkers chuckled. "That's not blood, it's - "

"It could be Gimblebee's blood! Wow, this could change the direction of the case entirely! This might turn out to be a case of homicide! Careful, Bonkers, you might contaminate the evidence, and - " Lucky's rambling immediately stopped as Bonkers clamped a hand over Lucky's mouth for the second time that day.

"Good guess, Lucky, but you're wrong," Bonkers said, pulling his hand away.

Lucky crossed his arms in front of himself, appearing unconvinced. "Oh really?"

"Really. You've got to think like a toon! To a human's eyes, this piece of evidence points to murder, mayhem, and impeccably savvy fashion sense. But to a toon, this glove means something completely different! For one, grey gloves would only be worn when you're trying to impress someone because grey gloves are extravagant - otherwise, a toon would only wear the usual white gloves. So Gimblebee was someplace where he was dressed to impress. Secondly, this dark spot isn't blood because toons don't bleed blood, we bleed ink." Bonkers sniffed the dark spot, tasted it, and smacked his lips. "Besides which, this is red wine. And not cornershop swill, either."

"He spilled wine on his gloves. Thank God we were here. What a tragedy," Lucky noted sarcastically.

"He must have been upset. Upset and nervous enough to be careless and spill nice red wine on expensive gloves, and upset enough to stick them in his desk and forget about them!" Bonkers continued to muse, beginning to pace on the desk. "They're ruined now and no self-respecting toon would let a stain set in a pair of expensive gloves - unless they were upset about something far more important than gloves."

"Yeah, maybe something like being just about to steal all of Toontown's money? Of course he was nervous. This isn't brain surgery, Bonkers."Lucky had turned and was starting to shift through drawers, looking for alternate accounts books or anything else that might be incriminating.

Bonkers sat down on the edge of the desk in silence for a few moments before whispering in a sing-song voice, "You won't find anything theeeere, partner!"

Lucky gave him an irritated look. "And why's that? Because you can tell his socks were on backwards by the impressions in the carpet? Because the lightbulb isn't screwed in all the way so that means he's in Argentina?"

Bonkers shook his head. "Because none of the places you're looking would be where an upset toon would hide anything! The truth of the matter is, a toon always hides things on the left side of anything when he's anxious or angry!"

"The left side? Look, I'd be willing to go with you on the 'stained glove means he was nervous' hypothesis, but I really can't believe – "

"But it's true! An upset toon isn't in his right mind, therefore, he hides everything on the left!" With this assertion, Bonkers marched to the left side of the room and threw open a pair of cabinet doors underneath a bookshelf. "Observe," he said. "The left side of the room, and the left side of the cabinet. If there's anything hiding in this office, it'll be in there!"

Lucky suppressed a self-satisfied smirk as he peered into the cabinet. "Empty. You almost had me going there for a second."

"Ah ah ah! Remember! Think like a toon!" From his pocket, Bonkers pulled out a toon tunnel – a floppy black disc that acted as a portal through solid material for toons – and grinned. He smoothed it against the back of the cabinet, reached into the portal and after fumbling inside for a moment, withdrew what looked like an old lockbox. Lucky's eyes lit up.

"A lockbox! Bonkers, that's great!" Lucky gave Bonkers a friendly slap on the back – that nearly sent the bobcat flying – and grinned. "Anything could be in there!"

Bonkers set the lockbox carefully on the desk and both of them peered down at it as though it were an ancient relic pulled out of a mountainside. The box itself was perhaps only twice as large as a regular lunch pail, but sported an enormous locking mechanism on the front of the box that was unlike anything either of them had ever seen. The lock had no keyholes or numbers; instead, dozens of what looked like the type bars of an old typewriter circled the gears visible inside the lock. On the right side of the locking mechanism was an ornate letter "C", but other than that, there was no writing – and certainly no clue as to how to crack the lock.

Lucky scratched his head. "Boy, I've never seen a lock like that. Looks homemade."

"You bet your fleshy patootie it's homemade," Bonkers replied in an awed voice. "It's one of a kind. See these type bars? They're off an old typewriter, the kind studios used to write scripts, and lookat this letter 'C' – the only times I've ever seen that sheen and that font was on old movie theater posters, cartoon theaters that is. Whoever built this built it to be one of a kind, and to put something very important into!"

"So…how we get it open?" Lucky ventured a beat later. "Having the boys at the lab analyze it and blow it open might take more time than we have, and I'd bet my next paycheck that no locksmith in this city has ever seen a lock like this one."

"Don't fret, Lucky! Remember the immortal words of our nation's greatest poet."

Lucky looked confused. "Whitman? Frost? Yeats?"

"Vanilla Ice. 'If there was a problem, yo, I'll solve it?'"

"Uh, right. Look – "

"You know, Lucky, you can take the toon out of the nineties," Bonkers reminisced with a sentimental look in his eye. "But you can't take the nineties out of the toon."

Be that as it may, Lucky soon made it abundantly clear that time was of the essence, and timely nostalgia had no place on the police force. As if in response, Bonkers whipped out a magnifying glass and a deerstalker hat from behind his back and began to scrutinize the area. He was halfway up the left wall of the room, very near to the cabinet where they'd found the lockbox, when he stopped on a framed animation cell of an ocean scene. Mickey Mouse, holding a beach umbrella with Minnie Mouse balanced on top, looked as though he was skipping across the shore with the water beside them.

He frowned. "I've seen that cartoon," Bonkers whispered. His eyes lit up. "Of course! It's an old Disney cartoon! And the song they sang in that cartoon was an old Vaudeville song! And just maybe…" Bonkers slid in front of the lockbox. "Over and under…" he half-sang as he depressed the key at the very top of the locking mechanism and the key at the very bottom.

"…and then up for air," Lucky joined in, the tune as familiar to him now as when he'd first heard it as a kid at the cartoons.

"Now you're thinking like a toon, Lucky!"

Each giving the other a grin, they both sang, "By the beautiful sea!" and together pressed the key directly next to the beautiful 'C' on the right side of the box.

Something clicked within the locking mechanism and the lid popped up a half inch.

"Ha! We did it!" Lucky crowed.

Bonkers gave him a smug look. "Say it."

"Oh, come on – "

"Saaaaay it, Lucky."

"All right, all right." Lucky gave his partner a small smile and a pat on the shoulder. "I'll admit that was...an impressive bit of deduction, Bonkers." His expression immediately changed to one of puzzlement. "But why would Gimblebee leave the police clues as to how to open the box?"

"Lucky, they weren't clues for us, they were clues for him, in case he ever forgot," Bonkers explained.

Lucky again crossed his arms in front of himself. "Well, then he's an even bigger moron than I originally thought he was. Why would he do that?"

The bobcat stood on his tip toes and innocently asked, "Do you still leave your voicemail password taped to your cell phone battery?"

Lucky's countenance faded. "Point taken."

When the lid to the box was thrown open, both officers looked at the contents quizzically for a moment before Bonkers pulled the only item out of the box – an old, rolled up poster. He unrolled it crisply and frowned. "It's an old cartoon poster."

Lucky looked over his shoulder and mirrored his partner's confused expression. "King…Ring-a-Ding?" he read from the poster in befuddlement. "Who the hell is King Ring-a-Ding?"

The oversized poster had yellowed in age and cracked slightly, but the reds, purples and oranges still stood out in vivid relief. A toon lion with an oversized maw and skinny body grinned out at the world from the poster, holding an old rotary phone receiver to his ear, a mass of green jungle behind him. The font of the letters and the colors were similar to the 'C' on the lockbox from which the poster had come; the poster itself read in bright yellow font:

King Ring-a-Ding in…Call of the Wild! Starts Tuesday, limited run.

"Why would he keep an old cartoon poster locked up in such a secure location?" Lucky mused, leaving Bonkers' side and beginning to pace. "Gimblebee isn't a lion or an old cartoon star, so it can't be him." Lucky's face lit up and he snapped his fingers. "Got it. It's an antique, a collectible. You know what some collectors pay for old posters like that, especially if they're rare? They can go for thousands of dollars, hundreds of thousands. And Gimblebee's got that animation cell on the wall, so he must be a collector of old toon memorabilia. No wonder it was locked up so tight; we just stumbled on part of his collection, that's all." He chuckled in relief. "First thing that's made any sensein this case so far. Bonkers? You listening? You know, when you go this long without making a racket I start to worry – "

"Lucky, I don't think Gimblebee's an animation collector," Bonkers said in a voice that was tinged with anxiety. He turned the poster over and showed Lucky the back. Lucky frowned and struggled to make out the handwritten scrawl there in black ink that read:

Won't we have some fun, when Toontown finds out you're a One? – K

"Let me see that," Lucky muttered, snatching the poster and scrutinizing the handwriting. After a moment, he shook his head. "An autograph. So what? It just proves my point: this is a valuable collectible, and with an autograph, it makes it even more valuable. Why wouldn't he want to keep that safe somewhere?"

Bonkers jumped to his feet. "Something about this doesn't feel right. And it's not just because this new underwear I'm wearing rides up in the back. The glove, the lockbox, the poster – they must all mean something!"

Lucky's forehead creased in a frown and he rubbed his temples. "Look, we're here searching for evidence of wrong-doing. That's the case we're here on, not why Gimblebee's gloves are stained or why he collects old cartoon posters."

"Well I think it's a lead," Bonkers said resolutely, clutching the poster to him.

"Well I think it's pointless. And I'm the FBI agent."

"And I'm the toon that the FBI agent asked to help him because I'm a toon and he isn't."

Lucky's steely gaze held Bonkers' for a moment before he sighed. "I know I'm going to regret this," he muttered. "Ok, Bonkers, let's say this is a lead. But who is King Ring-a-Ding and what the hell is a 'One'?"

"Haven't a clue," Bonkers replied with a shrug. "But I do know someone who would know."

…

…

"We should have called first," Lucky said nervously as he stepped up to the front door of the bright looking home in a well-to-do neighborhood in Toontown three miles from the mayor's office, Bonkers bounding along behind him. Lucky yanked at his collar and stared up at the portico that stood over them. "He probably isn't even home. Big star like him? Ha!" He gave an unconvincing smile and shrug while stepping down off the porch. "Guys like him have an army of assistants to keep people like us away! We're just wasting our time, Bonkers."

"Mickey? Naaah," Bonkers countered with a wave, grabbing Lucky's belt loop with his other hand and pulling his partner back towards the door. "Mickey an' me go way back! He'll be ecstatic to see us!"

"You said the same thing about Woody Woodpecker. Remember?" Lucky crossed his arms in front of his chest, his expression momentarily darkening. "I spent a month in a full-body cast after he kicked us out of his treehouse. Kicked me. Out of a tree. You know. Several dozen feet above the ground."

"Oh, pish. There's no reason to be nervous, partner," Bonkers explained airily as he rang the doorbell, which played the whistle melody from Steamboat Willie. Lucky grimaced. "You got nothin' to worry about. Everyone knows that Mickey's the nicest toon in Toontown!"

"Easy for you to say," Lucky muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously.

"Boy, what could be taking so long?" Bonkers wondered aloud, tapping his foot impatiently. "We haven't got all day! We've got a crime to crack! A nefarious no-goodnik to nab! Dry cleaning to drop off!" As if to illustrate his point, Bonkers began jabbing the doorbell impatiently, creating a shrill, obnoxious whistling cacophony that Lucky felt sure must be the soundtrack of Hell itself.

"Bonkers, stoppit!" he cried above the din, swatting his partner's hand away. "Let's just get going, all right?" He grabbed Bonkers by his collar and beginning to drag him back towards the car. "You said it yourself, we haven't got time for this - "

"Now wait just a minute!" Bonkers wiggled his way out of Lucky's grasp. Bonkers pulled the old cartoon poster of King Ring-a-Ding from behind his back - Lucky had never quite worked up the courage to ask how he did stuff like that - and thrust a finger into it pointedly. "Mickey is the only guy I can think of who might know anything about what this poster or the writing on the back means. He knows more about toon history than almost anyone else in Toontown because he lived it!"

Lucky threw up his hands. "Mickey would've had to be deaf to miss that racket back there. He's not home. Besides, I still say that for all we know, that poster means nothing."

"Or it could be something." Bonkers stood his ground. "Lucky, old cartoon posters mean a lot to toons. Humans have history books and old newspapers and museums - but toons only have old movie posters and cartoon shorts to tell us our own early history! Destroying an antique cartoon poster by writing this sort of note on the back - " here Bonkers pointed to the ugly scrawl on the back of the poster " - is serious! Lucky, you gotta believe me. It's a toon thing. I know this is important!"

Lucky sighed. "Look, even if you're right, it's a moot point anyway. Mickey's obviously not home, and - "

"Hey, what do you think my doorbell is, hm? A musical instrument?"

Lucky and Bonkers turned in sync to see an irate-looking toon mouse standing on the doorstep behind them, a towel knotted around his waist, soaking wet and dripping soap suds from his ears.

"Mickey!" Bonkers burst, rushing up the walk and throwing a friendly arm around Mickey's shoulders. "Long time no see, buddy! I love what you've done with your ears - "

Mickey gave them both an incredulous scowl. "Who're you guys? What's the idea of ringing that doorbell like you own the place? Can't a fella enjoy his shower in peace without tourists beating down his door? Listen, Disneyland's thattaway!" he barked, pointing off into the distance.

"Mickey, it's me, Bonkers! Dontcha remember?" Bonkers cleared his throat primly. "I made a few of those public indecency charges disappear a few years ago?"

Mickey's eyes widened. "Oh. Yeah. That." He put a palm to his forehead, a look of consternation crossing his face. "Boy, you'd think a guy who's worn the same red shorts in public for the last eighty years wouldn't suddenly be taken for some yahoo parading around in his underwear."

Now it was Lucky's turn to clear his throat, which he did with an ingratiating grin. "Mr. - uh, Mr. Mouse. I told Bonkers how busy you are and how you couldn't possibly have time for us - "

"Not at all! Anyone who can keep Bob Iger off my back is a friend of mine," Mickey interrupted, patting Bonkers on the shoulder. He seemed to suddenly pause, mid-expression, and studied Lucky carefully for a moment. "Say...don't I know you?"

"Me? No! No, absolutely not!" Lucky did his best to give an earnest-sounding chuckle. "In fact, I don't even live around here. I mean, I used to live here, long time ago, you understand, and well - that is, I mean, I'm on special assignment, see - I live all the way across the country, I don't - "

"All right, all right. I don't need your life story there, Dickens." Mickey leaned into Bonkers. "Boy, where'd you pick him up?"

"Civil service. Heh." Bonkers caught the deadpan look on Lucky's face and coughed into his fist dryly. "Anyyyywho, Mick – can I call ya Mick? – we could sure use your expertise on case we're working on. Mind if we come in?"

A moment later, Lucky found himself sitting gingerly on a sofa that was entirely too whimsical for his tastes. Pictures of toon legends with an arm around Mickey lined the wall, as well as a few pictures of Minnie, one of Donald and Mickey that looked like it had been taking in the midst of a wild party (a pair of pink panties hung capriciously from one of Mickey's ears and Donald looked like he was one margarita away from soaking the room in puke), and a few framed newspaper articles.

"Oh gee Mickey, I'm such a big fan of yours," Bonkers was rambling in the doorway of the bathroom where Mickey stood in front of the mirror cleaning his ears with an enormous Q-Tip. "Why, do you know that you and I have both done Christmas movies? I just wrapped on a little number called Santa in Paradise, and – "

"Hey Bonkers, that's great," Mickey broke in in a disinterested voice. "How about giving me a minute, huh?"

"Sure thing, Mick!" Bonkers bounced into the living room, as light as a feather. "We're at Mickey Mouse's house!" he hissed to Lucky ecstatically. "Can ya believe it?"

"Look, let's just not take too much of his time, Bonkers," Lucky warned. "He's got to be busy, you know, doing whatever it is that Disney mascots do all day."

"A lot of meet and greets, heh," Mickey replied with a smile as he strode out into the living room, now fully clothed. "Just last week the Chinese ambassador's son threw up all over me at a Disney-sponsored banquet."

"That's too bad!" Lucky murmured sympathetically, in what he hoped sounded like a genuine tone.

"Oh, that wasn't even the worst part. I didn't have time to get changed before my song and dance number. When You Wish Upon a Star isn't nearly as moving when its being sung by someone covered in vomit." Mickey glanced at his watch. "I can only give you guys ten minutes. My favorite afternoon cartoon show start in ten minutes."

Lucky rolled his eyes; he should have expected that.

Bonkers obligingly smoothed out the poster of King Ring-a-Ding on the coffee table in front of all of them. Mickey took one glance at it and his expression darkened. He balled his fists. "Gee, where in the world did you ever get something like that?" he demanded.

"You know who King Ring-a-Ding is?" Lucky asked, pulling out a pad of paper and a pencil.

"Know him? You mean knew him. No one's seen that low-down, gosh-darned creep in decades, and good riddance! I hope Toontown never sees him again!" Mickey burst.

"Who is he, Mick?" Bonkers chimed in.

"Aw gee, I s'pose I'm gonna miss my cartoons after all," Mickey pouted, putting his chin in his hands. "King Ring-a-Ding was a cartoon star back in the forties and fifties," he began. "From what I remember, he was first animated in 1948. In all his cartoons, the gag was that he was the king of the jungle but spent most of the time gabbing on the phone – that's where his name came from, ya see – and he never noticed some crisis until it was almost too late. There was a fire in the jungle, or they were being attacked by jungle tribes or big-game hunters, and he didn't realize it until the last minute because he was talking on the phone. Everything always turned out all right, of course – there weren't any unhappy endings in cartoons back then – and he always used the phone to call for help; to the cavalry, or armies of stinging ants, or to plumbers to stop a flood in the jungle, whatever was funniest. Anyway, audiences back then loved it; they ate it right up. King Ring-a-Ding was rich, he was popular, and he was toon royalty – he knew everyone, he was friends with everyone, and he moved in all the best social circles. He was on top of the world!

"Anyway, in the 1950's, the Toontown newspapers began to publish huge exposés on some of the biggest toon stars at the time – all of the private stuff that no one was supposed to know about! Lucky, humans like you might not like to admit it, but plenty of toons have skeletons in their closets they don't want anyone to know about, just the same as a human being. There were some toons whose reputations were totally and forever destroyed by some of the stories coming out – and what's worse, not all of the stories were even true. Everyone in Toontown went berserk looking for the Toontown Mole, which is what we called the traitor who'd been selling our private lives to the press. The only common denominator was that all of the toon stars being slandered were friends of King Ring-a-Ding. After a lot of pressure, King Ring-a-Ding finally admitted he was the Toontown Mole – apparently Toontown newspapers were paying him a whole lotta money for juicy tabloid stories about toon stars, and the guy went ahead and told him all of his friends' secrets! And when he ran out of secrets that were true, why, he just made some up, just so the money kept coming! Heh, Toontown was out for that guy's ink after that – they ran him outta Toontown, and no one has seen or heard from him since!"

"Until now," Lucky said darkly, flipping the King Ring-a-Ding poster over and pointing to the threatening message on the back.

Mickey's eyes widened as he read over the text. "Gee," he muttered.

Lucky set his jaw. "It's signed K – for King Ring-a-Ding! Bonkers, this guy has come back to Toontown and has been blackmailing the mayor! That's where all the money went!" He stood up. "Thanks for your help, Mickey. We'll get going now."

"Gee fellas, uh, you sure about that?" Mickey shot to his feet, looking a little anxious. "I mean, that's one way to interpret that message, of course – " He stopped suddenly, then frowned indignantly at Lucky. "Hey, now I remember you – you were the officer that raided the House of Mouse!"

Lucky broke into a cold sweat and laughed humorlessly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, it was all just a big understanding – "

"You raided the House of Mouse?" Bonkers asked with no little amount of awe. "And you didn't even bring me back a t-shirt from the souvenir shop?

"Well, it – it turns out we were acting on information that – that – " Lucky cleared his throat gruffly, clearly uncomfortable. " – that perhaps wasn't one hundred percent accurate – "

Bonkers patted Lucky's arm affectionately. "I had to wait months to get a reservation there but you took the proactive route, partner – a battering ram! That's one way to get inside!"

"Gee, what was your first clue that the House of Mouse wasn't a secreted drug den?" Mickey put his hands on his hips. "Was it the total lack of drugs? The total lack of customers saying it was a drug den? Or was it the total lack of evidence?"

"Look, the department might have gotten a little carried away – "

"'A little carried away'! Fifty armed guys in swat uniforms rushed the stage during Minnie's routine, put her in a headlock and ordered full-body cavity searchers for everyone in the audience! It was days before anyone could sit down without wincing – "

"I think we've already established that it was a big mistake – "

"Get out of my house!" Mickey ordered piercingly, already beginning to shoo Lucky towards the door. "That's right! You heard me! Get out!"

Lucky skidded out of the front door under his own power, but threw a scowl over his shoulder and muttered, "'Nicest toon in Toontown' my a – "

"Wow Mickey, it was sure great to spend some time with ya! Think we could do lunch sometime?" Bonkers babbled as he followed Lucky outside. "Anywhere you like! My treat! Eh…as long as it would be within the purchasing power afforded by the salary of a mere public servant, you understand – "

Mickey caught Bonkers sleeve and pulled him close. "Listen, Bonkers," he whispered. "About that message written on the back of the poster – "

"Bonkers, are you coming?" Lucky called.

"Just a minute!" Bonkers called back. "What is it, Mickey?"

"Well." Mickey threw a quick, nervous glance at Lucky and then turned his attention back to Bonkers. "Toon to toon, Bonkers. Dontcha think that 'One' could mean something…eh…different from what your partner might think it is?"

Bonkers' eyes widened.

Lucky sat impatiently in the car, tapping his forefinger on the steering wheel, and watched indignantly as Bonkers headed back inside with Mickey. "Guess I'm the only one doing any work this afternoon," he muttered as he threw the car in reverse and began to speed out of Toontown. Just as he was about to hit the city limits, a sight met his eyes that immediately made him throw on the breaks and stop dead in the middle of the road. Lucky climbed out of the car, squinting in the sun, and looked up at the billboard above him.

A beaming picture of Sugarfoot grinned down at Lucky, along with words that immediately struck terror into his heart: Sugarfoot for Mayor – Restoring Trust and Prosperity for Toontown.

Lucky gritted his teeth and muttered, "I think things are about to get very interesting around here…"