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Chapter 7: The Lost Bid
Yakko felt like he was in the middle of a rerun of a sitcom he hadn't enjoyed the first time around. The last two weeks had been a blur of packing and arguing. The packing was mostly done by himself, since neither sibling seemed to be able to get their act together on that front. The arguing was shared between all three of them: Dot arguing with him about moving and leaving her friends, Wakko arguing with Dot over whether or not her friends were spoiled brats and they'd be better off without them, and Yakko arguing with both of them in an effort to get them to stop arguing. And yet despite all of this, Wakko and Dot seemed to put up far less of a fight against moving back to Burbank than they had when moving away from it. Maybe they still missed Burbank. Or maybe it was simply because they were two years older now.
Somewhere in all the arguing they had managed to catch their flight this morning. Yakko spent most of flight 2620 to Bob Hope Airport sashaying between whether or not he had done the right thing in moving their lives cross country again. At the time of the attack it had seemed sane, prudent even – but after the fact and on the relative safety of the airplane, the idea of dragging his siblings out of school and thrusting them to life in the opposite coast seemed increasingly foolish.
He tried to rationalize it by forcing himself to believe California would be good for them again. They had friends here. Los Angeles had an excellent toon government and toon support system. WB Tooniversity was the best school for toons in the country. And besides, he had missed California. He missed the vibe of the city, the dry desert weather, and the underlying sense of self-importance possessed by most Californians. He could make fun of it all he wanted, but he was just as guilty as the rest of them.
He was also glad to be leaving uncomfortable questions from the police far behind him. The NYPD was utterly bewildered as to how those four weasels had been murdered. Moreover, they had no idea who had done it. They had no leads, no family members, no enemies to speak of…the only relationship the police could come up with was with Yakko and his brother and sister. The police had all but asked him if he'd done it, and Yakko had responded with an adamant and resounding no. But the police never seemed entirely convinced.
From the airplane they had gone straight into a taxi cab that took them to Buster's nice Toontown suburb. On the drive over Dot shocked Yakko by not whipping out her phone and dialing her friends. Instead she seemed placated by glaring out the window and trading a few barbs with Wakko, who mostly just played with the straps on his sling. Yakko ignored them for the most part, and struck up a conversation with their driver about Ed Wood films.
It wasn't long before the cab screeched to an abrupt halt in front of Buster's house.
"Nice place," the cab driver muttered, "Yours?"
"Eh, we're borrowing it," Yakko said as he handed over the fare. When he got out of the car, he noticed Wakko struggling to tug his own luggage out with one arm. He had one foot on the bumper and, using his tail for balance, was doing his best to heft the heavy suitcase out of the trunk.
Sighing, Yakko walked over to help him. "I got it Wak," he said.
"I'm fine," Wakko grunted in between tugs.
"Drop it before you bust your other arm."
"I can do it myself," Wakko said testily, and with one last mighty tug he yanked the suitcase free and it clattered to the ground.
Raising an eyebrow at him Yakko said, "Just let me do it next time, alright?"
Not replying, Wakko marched toward Buster's house with a stony face. Yakko rolled his eyes. Teenagers. As he watched his brother, Dot appeared by his side.
"Yakko, could you grab my suitcase?" she asked sweetly.
This time he directed a raised eyebrow down at her. "Both of your arms look fine from here, Dot."
She wrapped her arms around his waist and gazed up at him with wide, imploring eyes. "Please big brother? You did make me move all the way out here…"
They stared at each other for a moment until Yakko sighed dramatically and pulled her luggage along with his from the trunk.
"Thank you!" Dot chirped, and followed Wakko to the front door. Yakko shook his head, mostly at himself. He didn't think Dot was lazy so much as she just wanted to see if she could get him to do things. And it usually worked. Yakko noticed that he had problems saying no to girls in any capacity, especially his sister. Dot held top billing. And she knew it.
Hoping he hadn't done any permanent damage to her by being such a pushover, Yakko waved the driver off and joined his siblings on the front porch. Dot's finger was only inches from the doorbell when the door burst open. Wakko jumped back in surprise, colliding with Yakko in the process. Yakko stumbled into Dot and all three of them nearly went down as Babs stormed out onto the front porch looking furious. When she caught sight of them she barely paused; the momentum of her anger carried her forward, and she offered them a brusque "hi guys" before marching past them and flinging herself into her car. As she peeled out of the driveway, Yakko heard Wakko mutter an intimidated, "Whoa."
Yakko watched Babs' car tear down the road until he felt a sharp elbow in his ribs. Looking down, he realized that in the chaos he had accidentally pinned Dot between himself and the wall. She was glaring up at him and he was pretty sure she'd be shrieking right now if her mouth wasn't muffled by his torso. Smirking, he moved away from the wall and freed her.
"Next time you want to get cozy you better ask first!" she snapped, fixing her ruffled hair. Her scowl deepened when her brothers both snickered.
"What the hell Babs – "
Buster had appeared in the doorway, looking flustered. Locking eyes with Yakko, he asked, "Where did she go?"
"Down Windsor Street at what looked like mach four," Yakko answered.
"Damn it," Buster grumbled. "Seriously dude, what's wrong with girls? They're messed up in their freaking heads."
"Hey!" Dot said indignantly.
"All of them but you Dot," Buster conceded dryly, causing Dot to smile far too wide for Yakko's liking. Stuffing his hands in his pockets and trying to appear as though nothing dramatic had just happened, Buster said in a robust voice, "Well guys, welcome home!"
The unpacking process in Buster's home felt oddly routine, and it wasn't long before Wakko was moaning about starving to death. Buster offered him the contents of the kitchen and Wakko began busying himself with a quadruple-decker sandwich. Dot joined him, and within moments they were arguing over who got to use the mustard first. Astounded that they could find an argument in something so mundane, Yakko gave them a half-hearted, "Knock it off you two," before adding to Buster, "I'll pay you back for the groceries, I'll go shopping for the garbage disposal I call my brother tomorrow."
"Don't worry about it, my mom bought me that stuff," Buster said dismissively. He gestured for Yakko to follow and led him upstairs to his bedroom. Shutting the door behind him, Buster flung himself across his bed. The remote bounced up off the mattress, and Buster snatched it out of the air and clicked on the television in one movement. He steadily flipped through the channels without registering what was on them.
Hopping onto the bed, Yakko sat cross-legged next to his friend. A glance at Buster swept him up in a strange moment of déjà vu – how many times had they gone through this same process when they were younger? Buster, storming up the stairs of his parents' house, sprawling across his bed and ranting about his latest drama. Then there would be Yakko, trying his best to sympathize and put in perspective while burying the thought of "try having two kids to feed" further and further back into his mouth.
"Trouble in paradise?" Yakko asked quietly.
Buster punched the buttons on the remote rather violently. "It's nothing," he grunted, but seconds later he followed up with, "You know man sometimes I just don't get girls. Or maybe I just don't get Babs. I don't know. I thought I got her, I mean, we've been dating since…God, what were we? Twelve? Thirteen? You'd think she'd start making sense by now."
"C'mon, I'm the black and white one," Yakko joked, pointing to his fur, "Babs is more confusing, she's multi-colored."
Buster shot him a glare before continuing, "She won't talk to me half the time, and when she does, all she talks about is this problem and that problem. I keep telling her how to fix it, and she won't listen. It's insane."
"What's she upset about?" Yakko asked, frowning.
Buster waved his hand. "Oh, you know, the normal crap. Her family, her job. I mean yeah, she's had some bad luck but that's no reason to take it out on me. I keep telling her to loosen up, she's Babs Bunny for Christ sake, she's a TV star, she can do whatever the hell she wants. Sometimes I wish…"
He trailed off, flipping through a few more channels before stopping on the news.
"Melinda and Barry Roberts have been reported missing," the brunette anchor said, "They were last seen on Wednesday afternoon. This marks the third missing persons case reported in Toontown in the last two weeks."
"Three missing persons cases?" Yakko repeated, his brow furrowed, "That's weird…"
Casting a glance at Yakko over his shoulder, Buster asked, "How many girls have you been with?"
Yakko slowly cocked an eyebrow at him.
"I don't kiss and tell."
"Bullshit. You told me everything when you lived on the lot," Buster countered.
"That's what you thought."
Buster smirked and punched him in the arm. "Ass. C'mon, how many since you left?"
"May I ask why my personal affairs are suddenly of your concern?" Yakked asked with mock seriousness.
"I just wanna know."
"Sorry Ears, I'm not going to provide fodder for your sick fantasies," Yakko said.
"Don't flatter yourself. Why won't you tell me?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"I'd tell you if I actually got to play the field," Buster griped.
Yakko rolled his eyes. "Jesus, I was only there for two years, I didn't exactly have a revolving door of girls."
"Oh come on," Buster drawled, disbelieving.
Yakko's tail gave an annoyed flick. "You know it's not like I'm dropping my pants every time I see something with two legs. I wish people would get that through their heads – "
"Dude, it's Max!" Buster cried suddenly, pointing at the TV.
Yakko looked up. Next to the news anchor was an image of a scowling Montana Max. Beneath it were two words in large letters: LOSES TOONGO.
"News broke early this morning that youth millionaire and former Tiny Toons star Montana Max has lost an industrial bid for the first time in seven years," the anchor reported, "Max lost his multi-million dollar bid for ToonGO, America's largest toon-facilitated petroleum operation, to none other than Oswald Rabbit. Oswald's last cartoon aired over sixty-five years ago and he has been unemployed until now. Montana Max has declined to comment."
"Oh man, this just made my day," Buster said, laughing, "let's leave stupid messages on Max's answering machine. You can still do Mickey Mouse's voice, right?"
But Yakko was staring at the television, his brow furrowed. "I don't get it…how did Oswald get that money? I thought he was broke."
Buster shrugged. "I dunno, domes in a back alley?"
"And you always said I was crude."
"Who cares Yak, if he got the best of Max I'm not gonna ask questions."
"But why petroleum?" Yakko mused aloud. Then something else clicked in his brain. "Have you been reading Shirley's columns?"
"I try to avoid them whenever possible, you see, I like it when my brain doesn't feel like it got trapped in a lawnmower," Buster replied.
"She wrote one the other day about Bosko buying a water gun factory. In Mexico. Don't you think that's a little weird too?"
"I think you're a little weird for reading her column."
"You're not helping."
Buster sat up. "Okay, you want to know what I think? I think that you've spent way too much time in the big apple getting attacked by crazies to come back to LA just to solve mysteries. I think that you, Yakko Warner, need to have some fun. Come out with me and Plucky tonight," he said.
Yakko looked toward the door. "I don't know, it's our first night back, I want to make sure the sibs are adjusted and not trying to disembowel each other."
"Might I suggest Silver's? They don't ask your age if you've been on TV," Buster said thoughtfully, ignoring Yakko.
"I don't think I should leave them alone on the first night, Wakko's arm is messed up and – "
"Yak," Buster said sternly, grabbing him by the shoulders and looking him straight in the eye, "What kind of friend would I be if I let my good-looking, eligible bachelor of a friend spend his first night back in LA sitting at home playing board games? You are going out, and you're gonna like it. How old are your brother and sister now? Fifteen? Sixteen? They'll be fine. Just go out and enjoy yourself, for once."
Raising an eyebrow, Yakko looked back at his friend, feeling his resistance fading. "I don't know…those weasels could be anywhere, I don't want them by themselves…"
Buster threw back his head with a dramatic sigh. "Look, I'll call Scratchensniff, he lives down the street. If he watches them, will you come out?"
"Yeah, because Scratchy's a regular bodyguard," Yakko said dryly.
"Well I called the National Guard but they were all booked this weekend," Buster shot back, "I'll get you Scratchensniff. Take it or leave it."
Yakko looked at his friend who was staring at him with pleading eyes. He saw a lot of things in Buster's face: he saw his best friend. He saw small traces of arrogance that were undetectable to anyone who hadn't known Buster before the age of sixteen. He saw the hopeful urge toward a night of debauchery. Yakko felt that urge too; he always had, but rarely ever got the chance to act on it. Perhaps it was okay to act his age this time.
"Fine," Yakko said, causing Buster to pump the air with his fist, "but I can't wait to see Wakko's face when he finds out he has a babysitter."
He had a freaking babysitter.
He was sixteen years old, and he had a babysitter.
He was going to kill Yakko.
Wakko glared at his older brother from across the table. Yakko was sitting next to Scratchensniff, chatting rapidly between bites of the pizza that he had ordered for them. Having already inhaled four slices himself, Wakko sat back and wished he didn't have the stupid sling so that he could give his brother a good slug. While Yakko got to go out with his friends and do whatever he wanted, he, Wakko, got to sit in the house with the old geezer like a chained dog.
Everything about his brother annoyed him right now, down to the way Yakko was picking the cheese off his pizza before he ate it. Why would you even bother eating pizza if you were lactose intolerant? What an idiot.
Noticing Wakko staring, Yakko picked up his plate and offered Wakko the discarded lumps of rubbery cheese. Normally Wakko would have eaten it all in one bite, but this time he just wrinkled his nose and looked away. Yakko shrugged and returned to his discussion with Scratchensniff. Meanwhile, Dot was openly flirting with Buster, who looked like he had no idea what to do about it.
Wakko shook his head. It sucked enough that he already wasn't allowed to do anything because of his arm. He could access his hammerspace, that was it – no shapeshifting, no squash and stretch, nothing. He couldn't do anything potentially dangerous. He couldn't go swimming. He couldn't even get his learner's permit, which was particularly devastating. The least Yakko could do was let him stay home alone.
But no. He had to be babysat like a five-year-old. By Scratchensniff.
Pushing himself away from the table, Wakko made his way to the living room. Buster had a sweet set up – a huge TV, great sound system and tons of video games. When they lived on the lot he and Yakko often went over to Buster's parents' house to play video games, even though Yakko refused to buy a console himself. He always thought they were "pointless" or something like that, even though he played with Buster every chance he got. To be honest, Wakko didn't really care for video games either. He usually got bored after about twenty minutes. But if Scratchensniff wanted to babysit, then Wakko was going to go out of his way to play the most graphically violent and grotesque game in Buster's collection.
Grabbing one that had lots of blood on the cover, Wakko tossed it in and began to play. This turned out to be incredibly difficult when one of your arms was in sling, but pride made Wakko power through it. A few minutes later Yakko came into the room with Scratchensniff.
"I'm heading out sib, I'll be back later. Try not to torment Scratchy too much," Yakko joked.
"We vill have a good time," Scratchensniff assured him, "maybe in a little bit I can take a look at your arm, yah?"
Wakko didn't look away from the screen. "What good would that do? You're not a real doctor."
"Wakko!" Yakko snapped angrily, but Scratchensniff put a hand on his shoulder and whispered something about being "normal for that age."
Buster appeared behind them, grabbing Yakko by his jacket and trying to drag him toward the door. Yakko, giving Scratchensniff a weary look, muttered, "If you want to analyze that brain of his, I can't be held responsible for what you might find." And with that, Yakko succumbed to Buster and was hauled straight out the door.
Like usual, the house seemed much quieter with Yakko gone. The only sounds were the ones of zombies dying violent deaths on the television screen and Wakko's thumbs pounding the controller keys. Wakko was aware of Scratchensniff standing awkwardly in the entrance to the sunken living room, but he ignored him. Scratchensniff clasped his hands behind his back, looked around, and hummed a annoying tune for a few moments before he finally spoke up, "So, Wakko, you like the video games?"
"Not really," Wakko muttered.
"Oh, well okay," Scratchensniff said. He observed Wakko for a moment and continued, "Playing zee video games with your arm looks difficult, you do not want to put any extra stress on it. Maybe you would want to play a nice board game instead?" He actually looked excited by the thought.
"I don't want to play a board game," Wakko said through gritted teeth. He was going to murder Yakko in his sleep…
Scratchensniff took a step forward. "You seem to be harboring some negative feelings. This is very understandable. You know, sometimes when toons injure themselves and lose their powers, they lose their sense of identity, it's quite common to – "
"I remember who I am, thanks," Wakko grumbled. He aimed and shot a zombie directly in the face, splattering its brains everywhere. Scratchensniff jumped.
"Good lord, that eez very disgusting," he said, grimacing at the screen.
Wakko resisted the urge to slam the controller down. Why wouldn't he go away? "You know," Wakko started loudly, "I think Dot might need some counseling."
Scratchensniff raised his brow, etching a field of wrinkles in his forehead. "Oh yah? How so?"
"Oh, teenage girl crap," Wakko said. "She's got all those, uh, feelings and stuff."
"I see," Scratchensniff said slowly. He regarded Wakko shrewdly behind his thick glasses. Wakko didn't look at him and shot another zombie in the chest. "Well, I suppose I vill go and check on her. Behave yourself, now. I vill be right upstairs if you should need me."
As he left the living room, Wakko rolled his eyes and muttered, "Yeah, okay."
He wondered why Yakko bothered finding a babysitter when he could just enrolled them in preschool.
Dot curled her feet beneath her and stared at her phone in her hand. By definition she should be talking on it right now, usually to one of her friends, preferably to a boy. So why wasn't the impulse striking her? Why wasn't she dialing numbers? Instead she stared, almost vacantly, at the little object in her hand.
A knock on the door startled her. The phone slipped out of her grip and bounced beneath the bed.
"Damn it," she muttered, then followed up in a falsely sweet voice, "Come in!"
Scratchensniff poked his bald head in the doorway and declared, "It's me, Dr. Scratchensniff!"
Dot raised an eyebrow at him. Seriously? She couldn't have guessed that when she saw him? But she smiled anyway – he couldn't help that he was getting old, and she loved the guy anyway. He was hilarious…mostly without intending to be.
"Hiya Scratchy!" Dot said brightly, "Welcome to my humble abode."
"It is quite lovely," Scratchensniff said, glancing at the cocktail chart Buster had pinned to the wall, "but I wanted to talk to you, Dot. How are you doing? You are almost fourteen now, correct? I'm sure that, as a teenage girl you know, you must be bubbling over with thoughts and questions."
"Oh ya know, coupla raging hormones here, some teenage angst there, it's all good," Dot said flippantly.
Scratchensniff clasped his hands together. "Don't be afraid to express your feelings now, it vill only do harm to keep these things hidden," he encouraged.
With a mischievous grin, Dot hopped off the bed and latched her arms around Scratchensniff. "Au contraire, I prefer to get my feelings out in the open," Dot purred, batting her eyes and flicking her tail flirtatiously.
Sighing heavily, Scratchensniff extracted himself from her embrace and turned to the door. "You Warners, I vill never know quite what is wrong with you," she heard him mutter as he made his way back downstairs. Grinning to herself, Dot hopped back onto her bed. Whoever said that driving men away wasn't a talent had another thing coming. But her peace and quiet was short lived, as her phone buzzed a few seconds later. Dot flopped herself over the edge of the bed and stuck her hand beneath it, feeling around blindly. She grimaced when her hand landed on what felt horribly like an old pair of Buster's socks before she finally found her phone.
"Hello?" she said while wiping sock residue off her gloves.
"Hi Dot, it's Skippy."
"Skippy?"
"Are you okay?" Skippy asked, sounding alarmed, "I just heard about what happened at the park. Is Wakko okay? Dr. Scratchensniff told me about his arm…he said you guys are back. Are you really at Buster's now?"
"I – yes, to everything," Dot blurted.
"Oh, gee," Skippy said.
Dot squirmed guiltily. She had never even mentioned that they were coming back. Come to think of it, she hadn't talked to him in weeks.
"It wasn't really planned, Yakko kind of flipped out about the weasels and the next thing I knew he was telling me to pack my bags," Dot said.
"Gosh what happened? Did the police get them?" Skippy asked breathlessly.
"Well, the cops got them and tossed them in jail, but, uh, something happened," Dot said, fidgeting.
"What?"
Dot groaned inwardly, feeling incredibly awkward. "They, well, they uh, kinda…got killed."
"Oh," was all Skippy said. Dot banged her forehead against the wall a few times. Yeah, great job Dot, remind your friend whose aunt just died about murder.
"But tell me about you, Skippy!" Dot demanded hastily, forcing an upbeat voice out of her throat, "How are you feeling?"
He paused for a moment before replying, "Better, I guess. I try not to think about…it…too much. I go to school and then I go back to Nutsy's house. It's okay."
Dot didn't think that sounded okay at all. It actually sounded like it sucked. Suddenly she felt wretched for not talking to him, for not lifting a finger to help someone she considered a friend through the toughest months in his life. Before she had given the idea behind them much thought, words dumped out of her mouth.
"Stay there, Skip. I'm coming over."
"What? You're coming over here? Now?"
"Yeah, Nutsy's house isn't far from Buster's. It's only a few blocks I think," Dot pointed out.
"Are you sure? Yakko won't get mad?" Skippy asked, sounding skeptical.
Dot waved her hand even though he couldn't see it. "Yakko's out having fun with his friends, I can have fun with mine. Hang tight, I'll be over in a few."
"Uh, well, okay, see ya soon," Skippy said.
Hanging up, Dot slowly began to realize the gravity of what she had just promised. She was going to have to sneak over to Skippy's house and sneak back without getting caught, thereby breaking Yakko's number one law of the night: don't leave the house. There was no way she could back out now, she'd already broken enough promises to Skippy as it was. Besides, she stood by her own words: Yakko was out partying with his friends, why did that mean she had to sit around at home? Was he expecting her to do this every time he went out? Not a chance.
Feeling strangely bold, Dot pulled a piece of paper and a purple pen from behind her back. She quickly scribbled, "Getting beauty sleep, do not disturb" and slapped the paper on the outside of the door. Yakko would never buy that, but Scratchensniff, bless him, would eat it right up. She drew a heart in the corner for good measure. Shutting the door and locking it, Dot crossed the room to the window. She slid it open and stuck her head out, looking down. It didn't look too bad; she was on the second floor, it should be an easy jump down. She was fully expecting to take her Class A Candidacy test in two years anyhow. And, unlike Wakko, she wouldn't screw up her arm first. She, unlike Wakko, wasn't an idiot.
Hopping up onto the windowsill and slinging her legs over the edge, Dot pushed off, closing the window with her tail as she dropped. She hit the ground with a satisfying squash and promptly sprung back into form. Without hesitating she dove into the bushes and out of sight. Keeping her white face tucked low, she used her dark fur to blend into the shadows. Dot held her breath and lay still, watching the windows and the door. Bright light was streaming out from inside, but no sign of Scratchensniff. The coast was clear. Too easy, she thought with a satisfied smirk.
Crawling out from the shrub, Dot broke into a light jog down the street toward Skippy's. She passed familiar house after familiar house, ones that she had grown up with, including Buster's parents' house at the end of the block. Turning onto McKay Drive, she jogged past the tree-lined suburbia, she looked on to the manicured lawns with a hint of longing. She'd always wanted a backyard. Between the lot, Manhattan, and what she remembered of the orphanage, they'd never had one. She didn't think that most kids who had yards to call their own realized how lucky they were.
Dot slowed to a stop in front of a large, gnarled oak tree with two windows and a door embedded in it. It bulged in the middle before splitting off into twisting, knotted branches. Shoots of grass stuck up between the bricks of the sidewalk that led up to the front door. Dot didn't bother with it – she wasn't supposed to be here, so knocking on the front door wasn't exactly an option. Glancing up, she noticed that one light was on upstairs, which she hoped was Skippy's. She had to get his attention somehow…she didn't want to call again, or Nutsy might get suspicious. Or worse, he might get ticked off. Not that Dot cared that much – Nutsy was a miserable old man who seemed bent on making everyone else miserable too – but she didn't want Skippy to catch hell for it.
Gazing up at the window, Dot had a wild, momentary urge to hold a boombox over her head, but she suppressed it and opted for combing the ground for something to throw. She snatched up a pine cone and, after taking aim, chucked it at the window. It bounced off with a loud crack that cut through the quiet calm of the neighborhood. Dot yelped in surprise but quickly slapped a hand over her mouth. Great. She'd be lucky if Yakko hadn't heard that all the way from downtown.
She held still for over a minute, waiting for either Skippy to come to the window or for Nutsy to come barreling out the front door and threaten her with his cane. But neither happened. Frowning, Dot scooped up another pine cone and chucked it had the house, this time dinging it off the shutter. She waited in the darkness, but when no dark silhouette of Skippy appeared in the window, she crossed her arms. What, had Skippy gone deaf in the past ten minutes?
Dot had her hands on another pine cone with the front door opened, spilling light into the dark yard and causing her to jump in shock. Skippy was framed in the doorway, gazing at her with his head cocked to one side.
"Dot, why are you throwing stuff at my uncle's house?" he asked.
Dot squinted at him through the light. "I, uh, was trying to get your attention."
"You coulda just knocked," Skippy pointed out logically.
"Well jeez Skip, I didn't want your uncle to know I'm here!" Dot said defensively, starting to feel stupid.
Skippy shrugged. "He's asleep on his chair. A nuclear bomb wouldn't wake him up. Come on, we'll go upstairs."
He guided her through the foyer and the living room. Unlike Slappy, Nutsy hadn't wallpapered and just let the natural wooden walls show through. The walls themselves were covered in dozen's of taxidermy, mostly of various sea fish. Dot grimaced at this – who wanted to decorate with dead animals? A loud, grinding snore made her jolt; Nutsy was asleep in the recliner, his head was back and his mouth was open, revealing mostly gums and a few last yellow teeth. With his head back it gave Dot a great view up his nose, which was full of hair.
"Nutsy looks like a real lady killer," Dot muttered.
"I don't think he likes ladies," Skippy said, chewing his lip and glancing at Nutsy, "actually I don't think he really likes anything."
Not knowing how to answer this, Dot followed Skippy up a staircase that wound around the trunk. No pictures lined the walls like they had at Slappy's, or even Buster's. He led her to a small room in the front of the house, the same one that she had been throwing pine cones at earlier. It was a was a strange combination of familiar and alien; Skippy still had the same bedsheets, same furniture and posters that he had at Slappy's, but they had all been transported to this unfamiliar, battered-looking guest bedroom. It would be like seeing Wakko's favorite hat on a stranger's head, or spotting someone on the street wearing Yakko's jacket – friendly for a moment, but oddly uncomfortable in the next.
It threw her off so badly that Dot wasn't quite sure what to do when she entered the room. In the past she had always thrown herself on the bed and happily chattered away. But now she no longer knew what was normal, what memories wouldn't upset him. Skippy, for his part, seemed more held together than the last time she'd seen him – at least he wasn't sobbing – but it all seemed forced. Artificial. Hollow. Like was acting calm just because he knew he had to. The usual warmth and lightheartedness that usually accompanied Skippy was gone.
Determined to force normalcy back into situation, Dot planted herself on the edge of Skippy's bed, thought not with nearly her old amount of casual flair. Skippy followed suit and sat on the opposite side with a small sigh. Dot felt her ears droop slightly. He just looked so…empty.
"So Skip," Dot began, her voice hesitating a bit, "talk to me. How are you…how are you doing?"
Skippy, whose tail was laying flat on the bed instead of perched happily erect, didn't look at her. He looked out the window for a moment before staring at his feet. "I don't know. I'm okay, I guess. I don't remember a lot, to be honest."
"What do you mean?"
"It's like the last couple weeks are a blur, like I was just moving through it without really being there, you know?" Skippy said, looking at her.
Dot thought back over the last two months. "Uh…sort of. Have you at least been doing fun stuff? You know, to get your, uh, mind off of…"
Skippy shrugged. "Dr. Scratchensniff comes by to talk to me every week. That's nice."
Yeah, sounds like a real blast, Dot thought to herself.
"Honker and Gos stopped by a few weeks ago," Skippy continued. "Other than that, I just try to find stuff out."
"Like what?" Dot asked.
"I've been trying to figure out who killed my aunt," he said in a low voice, looking at his feet again.
Her eyes widening, Dot couldn't help but let out a little gasp. While Yakko or anyone else hadn't actually confirmed it, Dot had more or less guessed that something bad had happened to Slappy. Why else would no one have told her anything? But it was shocking to hear it come out of someone's mouth, even more so from someone like Skippy. It wasn't him. It was too dark.
"Are you…are you sure that's what happened?" Dot whispered. She had no idea why she was whispering. Maybe it was so she herself couldn't hear it.
Skippy stared steadily ahead. "Sometimes when he's done talking to me Dr. Scratchensniff tries to talk to Nutsy too. I heard them say something about it."
"What did they say?" Dot breathed, her voice hushed.
"Not much," said Skippy, speaking quicker now, "Nutsy asked if Bugs had heard anything yet, and Dr. Scratchensniff said something but I couldn't hear him. Nutsy got really mad, and said he wasn't going to pay his taxes anymore if all his money was just going to go to a police force that couldn't find out what…w-what killed Slappy, let alone who…"
Skippy's face got tight as he trailed off, but he didn't look away. That was another thing about Skippy – he had never been ashamed to cry in front of her. Dot didn't know quite what to make of this. She wasn't used to boys crying; she had never seen Yakko cry, and the last time she saw Wakko cry was years and years ago when he had broken his ankle. Maybe Skippy just thought they were that close. Or maybe Slappy had just brought him up that way.
"Maybe you should think about something else," Dot said, stumbling over the words, "let Bugs take care of it, don't let it bother – "
"Those weasels," Skippy said as though Dot hadn't spoken, "the ones that went after you. What did they try to do? Did they try to really hurt you? Like really bad?"
"I don't know, I remember them trying to take Wakko somewhere, but I didn't really see, I had gone to get Yakko," Dot said, shrugging.
Skippy looked at her steadily. "Dot, I think those weasels are the ones who did it."
"You think they killed – er, you think they…you know…"
"Yeah."
"How do you know?"
Skippy's brown eyes were suddenly hard and intense as he leaned toward her, causing Dot to lean back. She had never seen him this way. "C'mon, think about it – right after…after it all happened, we started seeing those weasels everywhere. You just got attacked – you guys – all the way in New York. That didn't happen to anyone else."
Dot wrung her tail. "Skippy, I really don't think –"
He cut over her, "And I've seen them around here too, they leave footprints. Black ones."
"Black ones?" Dot repeated, curious in spite of herself.
"Yeah, like they're made of ink. I can show you."
Dot blinked. "Wait, what?"
"C'mon," Skippy encouraged, "It's outside." He was incredibly focused on her, he had gotten so tall…for the first time Dot was painfully aware that she was alone in a room with a boy. Many times in their childhood Dot had hung out with Skippy, completely alone, but it had never been as awkward as it was at this moment. Dot gave her head a quick little shake. Get a grip. It wasn't a boy, it was Skippy. Well, Skippy was a boy, but not that kind of boy. He was her Skippy. Right?
"I, um…" Dot stuttered. Jesus. She had never stuttered in front of a boy. Let alone Skippy. What was wrong with her? He wouldn't look away. His intensity was scaring her.
But Skippy seemed to notice this, and he backed away quickly. "I'm sorry Dot, I didn't mean to force you or anything. You're probably still freaked out by those guys, I get it if you don't want to go out."
From Wakko that statement would have been a challenge, but from Skippy it was nothing but earnest. Nevertheless Dot, giving herself a mental slap, crossed her arms and proclaimed, "Who are you kidding? I came all the way over here, didn't I? I'm not scared. Let's go." She jumped up and walked briskly out to the room. It was a relief to escape it – sitting in there with Skippy had been almost as unsettling as the weasel attack.
They tiptoed downstairs and past Nutsy, whose snores were causing the fish on the walls to rattle on their hooks, and out the back door. They stepped out onto a small patio that was lined by a chainlink fence. Two trash cans sat in one corner, and a rusted, pathetic-looking barbeque grill sat in the other. Skippy led Dot to a gate on the opposite side.
"Look," he whispered, pointing to the gate. Dot squinted in the dim porch light. There were dark splotches on the twisted metal that looked like uncomfortably like ink – or, in a toon's case, blood.
"And on the other side," Skippy said, flipping open the latch and stepping out into the yard, "there's footprints. Look."
Dot did not have to look very hard. Mixed with the leaves and grass were large, dark spots in the shape of pawprints. Skippy continued, "Nutsy caught one digging through the trash. He called the cops, but they said it was just a homeless guy and we shouldn't worry about him. But I followed his footprints…they went straight down to my Aunt Slappy's house, right through that little alley between her house and Minerva's. Some of them even look like they went into Minerva's, but Minerva's fine so I guess that's just my imagination. They went further down the road, but that's as far as I went."
Squatting down on her knees, Dot touched one lightly with her finger. It was dry. Flakes of black stuck to her glove. And then she remembered the awful way the weasel's saliva had been mixed with ink, and the way their eyeballs rolled, and their snapping teeth…she shivered.
"I should go home," she said, standing up abruptly.
Skippy nodded, though he didn't look thrilled about the idea. "It's really dark out, I'll walk you back to Buster's."
"Thanks," Dot said appreciatively.
She was glad Skippy offered to join her. The idea that she had even come over here by herself suddenly seemed ludicrous, especially since now she felt like she could see the weasels peering at her from every dark corner and behind every tree.
"Drinks are on me Yak, consider it a welcome back to LA present!" Buster roared above the din.
With his two years in New York Yakko had nearly forgotten what clubbing in Los Angeles was like. Luckily Buster had chosen to remind him. The club was a giant wall of mostly toons and a few humans packed so tightly together Yakko felt he could pick his feet up and he wouldn't fall. Music – terrible music, in Yakko's opinion – was pounding out of the speakers, the bass crunching with every beat. The crowd on the dance floor moved in a broken unison in what Yakko assumed was meant to be "dancing" but was really just a bizarre half sex, half jumping up and down combination. The bar wasn't much better – toons were practically crawling on top of each other to get the attention of the rather well endowed bartender.
"Thanks Ears," Yakko replied as he accepted a tall glass of beer. He was immediately elbowed in the back by a rowdy, drunk toon, causing him to lurch forward and spill some of his drink on his toes. He turned to glare at the toon, then remembered that he was nineteen, not forty, and that this sort of behavior was supposed to be fun for him.
Yakko gazed around the club. He spotted a few familiar faces here and there. Babs, who Buster had finally convinced to come, was on the dance floor and laughing as she danced with Shirley. Yakko watched her body rock and sway with the music. She didn't move like everyone else, he had never seen anything quite like it. It certainly wasn't a bad thing. But Buster called out to her, waving for her to join them, and the rocking and swaying stopped.
Buster slung his arm around Babs and clinked Yakko's glass with his own. "To Yakko Warner's triumphant return to the west coast! Cheers man!" Buster yelled, and took a giant gulp of his Corona.
"Cheers," Yakko muttered, and followed with a tiny sip of his own.
Buster shook his head as he finished his massive gulp. "C'mon, you call that a swig? I think there's more booze in that cup now than when you started! You drink like a girl!"
"How progressive of you, Buster," Babs commented, then turned back to her conversation with Shirley, who was shoulder to shoulder with Plucky. The green duck had grown, but not much. He was still shorter than Buster, though his beak had certainly stretched out. Yakko smirked. Big beak for a big mouth.
"Schhhirley, hold schtill!" Plucky slurred. He was trying his darnedest to put his arm around Shirley but kept missing, despite the fact that she wasn't moving. Geez, how was Plucky that bad already? He must have been pre-gaming since breakfast.
Toons and alcohol were very complicated when they were combined. The drinking scene in Who Framed Roger Rabbit was a much more layered piece than most humans realized. Because toons had ink instead of blood in their veins, alcohol affected them much more quickly and potently than it did humans. Their drunk was more like a high, a thick and wonderful synthetic feeling that appealed to those who were dissatisfied with their realities. On top of that, Toontown had no age restrictions on alcohol. Because there were toons who were created immortal and thus had no age, it was deemed unfair to impose an age law. The practice was outdated and there had been many movements to amend it, but they were all vetoed…mainly because the mayor himself was immortal.
Many human bars wouldn't let toons drink unless they could prove they were twenty-one, and toon families often instituted the same rule. Most toon bars wouldn't allow minors into their premises. But it still did not curb Toontown's most prominent problem: alcoholism. How could it, when it was so easy, so cheap, so legal? It was one thing to have fun, but a whole other to revolve your life around it.
If there was one thing toons understood both very much and very little of, it was self control.
Yakko had burnt himself out early and now hardly ever drank himself. When he was younger and unencumbered by parents he'd taken it to an excess. But to be honest, he didn't really like beer (Buster was right, he did "drink like a girl") and a severely bad experience with tequila followed by one epic hangover had made him gun shy of getting completely smashed again. And of course, there was the overriding fact that he had two young children to take care of. He could hardly list the reasons for why he shouldn't be making a drunken fool of himself when he had Wakko and Dot.
But clearly-sibling-less Buster did not seem to have these concerns. As Yakko watched, slightly amazed, his friend was already finishing his second beer.
"You promised, Buster!" Babs shouted to him, struggling to talk over the noise.
"Chill out, I'm only having a couple," Buster said dismissively.
Yakko smirked at them. "This is starting to remind me of a certain Tiny Toons episode," he said.
Plucky collided with him, slurring, "God, don't remind shmee! It'sh all like, Plucky, do Batduck! Plucky, water go down the hole…hole, holey holey hole…" He trailed off, repeating the word 'hole' and giggling.
"You are going to have one memorable morning, I can you tell you that right now," Yakko said, ruffling Plucky's feathers.
"Whazzat? I can't hear you when you're touching me!" Plucky retorted sloppily, swatting Yakko's hand away and spilling some of his drink.
"Well done Plucky," Yakko commented. He turned to crack a quick joke to Buster, but was startled to find him almost nose-to-nose with Babs, both of them arguing loudly.
"You promised me, Buster, you promised! Just slow down already, it's not like the bar's going to run dry in the next five minutes!" Babs cried.
"You remember you're supposed to have fun when you go out, right? You know that's the point!" Buster retorted.
Yakko watched them in uncomfortable surprise for a moment. He cleared his throat and said, "Okay, while you two chat I'm going to…go over here."
Realizing that had sounded awkward but assuming they hadn't even heard him, Yakko squirmed through the crowed to find Shirley and Plucky. When he did, he found them practically fused together at the beak. Plucky was squeezing her against him and swaying back and forth, and Yakko couldn't tell if that was meant to be romantic or if Plucky was just that drunk. Deciding to leave them to their thing Yakko navigated away from them. There was bound to be someone here he knew…if not, it looked as though there was no shortage of attractive twenty-somethings.
No sooner had he thought this when he pushed his way through a particularly thick mass of people and bumped into something vibrantly purple. The purple toon turned around and it only took Yakko a second to realize he was face to face with Fifi. Her face went from placid to blank with shock in a millisecond. He gulped.
"Of all the clubs in all the towns in all the world," Yakko muttered to himself.
He watched as Fifi's face morphed from blank to outraged. As if in slow motion, he saw her jerk her martini glass at his face, the rosy liquid flying toward him. Without thinking Yakko ducked, grimacing as he heard the tinkling splash when it connected with someone's face behind him. His ears and tail went limp, however, when he heard a very angry, very deep grunt of someone who sounded extremely large. Yakko turned around slowly. Pink martini was dripping from the face of the beefiest gorilla he had ever seen. The ape's left arm was thicker than Yakko's entire body and he was currently giving Yakko a look that made it clear that his fist and Yakko's face were about to become acquainted.
Yakko cast a panicked look at Fifi who only gave him a smug smile in return. Yakko scowled. She threw the drink, she should have to deal with the angry, drunk monkey…then again, he probably had this coming. The ape gave him a rough shove with its barrel chest. Blinking up at him, Yakko smiled nervously.
"Here ya go Kong, drink's on me," he said quickly as he thrust his beer into the ape's mammoth hand. Before Fifi or the ape could react Yakko darted into the crowd. He ducked between toons, hoping that the crowd, the blinking strobe lights, and the visible stupidity of the ape toon would disguise him from view. He pushed his way through the heat of skin and fur that reeked of sweat, alcohol, and weed. The bass from the speakers was thudding in Yakko's chest, and everything was so dense and loud that it was pressing on him, making him exhausted. He squeezed through the bodies, desperate for an open space, a chance to breath.
"Hey handsome," cooed one girl he brushed up against.
"You here with anyone tonight?" called another, rather attractive human toon.
Yakko remembered a time when this had been appealing. Heat and sweat mixed with music, girls and dimly lit corners. At Buster's persuasion he had abused this when he was younger. The bouncers had a habit of pretending you weren't a minor when you were a television star. Toontown's loose morals had offered him the briefest of escapes from his own life. He had made up for the whole of his teenage years in short, debaucherous bursts.
Yet this seemed to have aged him terribly in the social department. Here he was, nineteen and tired of the way bodies bumped into him, the way the music pounded, and perhaps most shockingly, tired of the way girls threw themselves at him. Their come ons were boring and expected. He'd even accept something that bordered on clever, but it never came. Nothing he hadn't heard or seen before. What was the point of having a million plastic coins when what he wanted was one gold piece? But his primal side won, again, and part of him recognized this as failure. His resistance to such a pathetic allure was so laughably weak.
So Yakko grinned at both of them and opened his mouth to respond. At that same moment a bear, who was dancing exuberantly, collided with him and sent him sprawling. He stumbled into a small table surrounded by tall stools. Glaring at the bear for disrupting his mojo, Yakko was about to give him a piece of his mind when an obnoxious voice snarled, "Unless you're gonna pay for that seat you better find your own goddamn table!"
Yakko spun around. Montana Max was seated alone at the table, nursing a cocktail. He was, unsurprisingly, clad in one his finest Italian suits. But his hair, which was normally so slicked back it looks like it could deflect projectiles, was mussed as though a hand had been run through it several times.
"Rough day at the office?" Yakko asked.
"Shut your hole Warner. Why don't you go stick it to your blue boyfriend – that's why you moved back, isn't it? To do it every night instead of once every couple of years?" Max shot back.
"I came back so we could have more of these fascinating little discussions," Yakko replied.
"Get your hairy ass out of that seat," Max seethed.
"Why, is this where your date's sitting?" Yakko asked sarcastically. He made a show of looking around the club and then at the empty table. He turned back to Max. "I think she left!" he said in a stage whisper.
"I said shut that fucking fly trap of yours Warner," Max snapped.
Yakko gasped theatrically. "My, my Montana, you certainly are cranky…let me guess, butler forgot to lay you down for your nap today?"
Max slammed his glass on the table. Apparently he was a belligerent drunk. "You never knew when to shut up, you little ink shit," he growled, "you're not gonna be joking when I'm through with you. You wanna tell me why you did it, or am I going to have to have my lawyers sue it out of you?"
"Why I did what? Come over here and talk to you? Unexplained masochist streak," Yakko shot back.
Max squeezed his glass so tightly with his thick hands that his knuckles turned white. For a moment, Yakko thought the glass would break. Max practically shot venom out of his mouth as he spit, "Don't play stupid, even though I know that's easy for you. Why the hell did you help that inkblot rabbit out? You guys related or something? You've got to be, there's so much incest with your kind I'm surprised your brother hasn't knocked up your sister by now."
The fur on Yakko's back stood up. Doing his best to keep his voice level, he replied, "I think a lot of things would surprise you, Max, namely that you can't see five feet in front of you because your own lack of character gets in the way. You'd probably also be surprised to know that no one wears a three piece suit and enough grease to oil a Nascar race in their hair to a club. Speaking of oil," Yakko said slowly, with the air of a wolf going for the jugular, "where did you get all that to put in your hair, anyway? It couldn't have been from ToonGO, right? Didn't you lose that bid?"
In one movement Max smashed his drink on the floor and jumped to his feet, causing a few people to look in their direction. Yakko remained in his chair, unimpressed. Max was one of the few people who got less intimidating when he stood up. Especially when he staggered a bit.
"Don't give me that bullshit you inkstained, orphaned reject, I know you helped out that has-been and I'm going to bury you hard for it!" Max spat, slurring only slightly.
"Calm down Max, I'm sure losing ToonGO is just a tiny bug on the windshield of your millions," Yakko drawled.
A vein was bulging on Max's forehead, and in the dim light of the club Yakko could tell that his face was tomato red. He kicked a chair and people scrambled as it clattered to the floor. "Don't tell me what to do, gutterpup. You have no idea what this is going to cost my company!"
"You're just mad because this is the first time money couldn't get you what you wanted. Grow up," Yakko said evenly.
"And your fat mouth is going to get you what you deserve!" Max roared, but seconds later he was overtaken by two bouncers who wrapped their bulging arms around his neck and chest. Max struggled, writhing and kicking, and the bouncers tightened their grip so that Max's face flushed a shade of eggplant.
"Whoa guys, lighten up, he's just drunk," Yakko said, feeling slightly bad for the toon.
The bouncers loosened their grip only slightly, but enough for Max to open his big mouth again. "I heard about what happened in New York, about how those weasels tried to make paste out of your little brother and sister," he hissed.
"Shut up Max," Yakko snapped, suddenly not feeling very bad for him at all.
Even in the poor lighting of the club, Yakko could see a strange, malicious glint in Max's eyes. "And I heard about what happened to those guys in prison…heard all they found was a bunch of ink splots."
"Congratulations Max, you can read the news," Yakko jeered.
"Know what else I heard?" Max asked, his voice taking on a slick, sinister tone, "I heard the cops think you did it. They're just looking for one little thing, one little clue to link you to the crime and they'll be nailing an arrest warrent to your ass so fast your head will spin."
An icy cold swept over him as Yakko's heart started to beat at double time. "Where'd you hear that? Or is just something that sounded good in your head and you thought you'd share?" he asked quickly.
"I'll save it for another 'fascinating discussion,'" Max drawled, shrugging off the bouncers and walking away.
"Hey wait a second – " Yakko started, lunging after Max. This time it was him that the bouncers half tackled, crunching him in between their thick bodies.
"Back off slick, we're keeping you two separated," one of them grunted. They hefted Yakko backwards and he staggered a few steps. "If we see you go after him we're taking you straight to the cops," the bouncer warned, and with one final glare they left him and disappeared into the crowd.
But Yakko barely heard him. His ears were ringing. His tail was quivering. Was it true? Were the police still on him about the weasels' deaths?
No. That was ridiculous. He was innocent, he had nothing to worry about – besides, it was Max. It's not like it was out of character for him to say something to deliberately upset someone, especially himself. In fact, Yakko would be more worried if Max didn't do that. But then again, Max had been right about Slappy, and it was no secret that he had more sources than the FBI…
A hand suddenly ran up his spine and he yelped and jumped in shock. Spinning around he found himself inches from a powder white face: Minerva Mink. For a wild second Yakko thought that she was completely naked. It only took him a second more to realize that she was simply in a skin tight white dress that blended with her fur and left little to the imagination, but a millions thoughts managed to fly through is mind during that second nonetheless. She had a drink in one hand and was using her other hand to gently rub him from elbow to shoulder.
"Wow, jumpy, aren't we?" she cooed, "Or is that just what you call dancing?"
Yakko struggled to regain his composure. Whether he was more ruffled by what Max had said or the fact that Minerva Mink was tracing circles on his bicep remained to be decided. "You just surprised me Minerva. That was a sneak attack," he nearly coughed.
She smiled, revealing a row of white teeth. The colored lights of the club painted her fur. Minerva leaned in close to him, her knee bumping his.
"You don't like it when girls come up behind you?" she asked coyly.
"I didn't realize you were that kind of girl," Yakko quipped.
Minerva bounced a sharp eyebrow at him. "One of these days that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble," she said. She slid her hand from his arm to his neck and pulled him in close to her face. "I hope it's with me," she added in a velvet voice.
Yakko felt as though a jolt of electricity had just surged through him and he quite nearly fell over. Minerva turned away but still gave him a sultry gaze over her shoulder. "Call me if you're lonely," she said, and she dragged her tail beneath his chin as she strutted away.
Yakko stared after her, slack-jawed, part of him wondering what just happened and the other part screaming at him to stop drooling in public. His brain seemed to have shut down, but the rest of his body was quite focused and quite determined to get him to follow her. But Yakko only made it a few steps before something pink blocked his path. It was Babs.
"We need to get Mr. Oktoberfest home," she said darkly.
Yakko wasn't quite sure what she meant until Buster appeared beside them, grinning stupidly. "Great party!" he roared. Then he vomited at their feet.