Chapter 15: Friends and Enemies
"You would live a hundred years if I could show you how…I won't desert you now..." Yakko sang quietly.
Yakko's memories of life before his siblings were few and unhappy. He remembered his mother, a tall, inksplot toon with longer ears than his. There was another woman, one he could only assume was his grandmother, who spent her days hunched in the recliner like a gargoyle, staring at the television, with two tubes in her nose that fed into the loud breathing machine at her feet. She'd wheeze in time with the machine, and Yakko remembered thinking that one day he'd wake up and she would be a machine too.
His brother and sister were the first and only gifts he ever received while living with his mother. But he could not have asked for anything more. They were his ceaseless ray of sunshine, glowing brilliantly bright in his dark little world. He did not remember being taken to the orphanage, nor did he remember the last time he saw his mother. He'd always felt this was for the best. He remembered being content with his siblings at the orphanage until a casting agent noticed them on a field trip to the Griffith Observatory. They auditioned for Animaniacs and the rest was history. The Warner Brothers lot became their home, and he made friends, he met girls, he grew up. At some point or another, he took for granted the fact that they would always be by his side.
The longest Yakko had ever gone without seeing his siblings was a week. Wakko and Dot had gone on a retreat for JTAP and it was the longest week of his life. He had promised himself he'd never go that long without seeing them again.
So when the first week passed and he was still trapped in The Compound, it was all Yakko could do not to crawl in a corner and weep. He had failed them. Every minute that went by without seeing his siblings was a minute that had slipped through his fingers, a minute where he didn't know where they were or if they were safe or happy. His siblings were like a compass and without them he was without direction. He might be the oldest sibling, but he certainly wasn't the strongest or bravest or smartest. Without them, he was nothing but a lost toon. He missed Wakko and Dot so badly it was like an actual pain in his heart.
Worse was the fear that gripped him at the thought of what happened to them. If he escaped only to find that they were lost…or dead…he couldn't think about it. He would go insane. Yakko had to trust Bugs and his promise, that Bugs would keep them safe. But that hurt too, because he missed Bugs more than he would ever admit. If he could just say he was sorry, that he hadn't meant what he said, that Bugs had done more for him than he could ever, ever put into words, it would be enough.
When he wasn't thinking of Bugs or his siblings, he wondered hopelessly about Buster and Babs. Let them have escaped, at least give him that. They were involved in this mess mostly because of him, and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to either of them. Yakko routinely checked the barracks where Shirley and the others were held, praying that he didn't discover anyone else he knew there. So far there was no sign of Buster or Babs, which Yakko took as a good omen. But his mind would drift to Babs, and how Buster had probably protected her or done something equally impressive to make her fall back in love with him again. By now she must have gotten upset and Buster would have kissed her to make her feel better. These thoughts only served to make Yakko feel more miserable and he certainly didn't need anymore of that.
"Get up!"
Yakko felt the coyote's kick in his ribs before it happened. It was a response to his presence alone. He obeyed and got to his feet. Two weasel guards lined the door as Yakko and the other prisoners filed out of the cell. The coyote, clad in the ugly navy jumpsuit that the supervisors wore, sneered at them with what teeth he had left, hurrying them along with the butt of his gun. The stink that emanated from the gun made them move faster.
Yakko had a reasonable suspicion that the guns were filled with DIP, and he'd had that suspicion confirmed a few days ago when two weasels got in a squabble. He'd watched them scratch and swat at each other from his cell, babbling unintelligible but clearly angry gibberish at each other. Finally one of them raised its gun, cocked a strange pump device beneath the barrel, and squeezed the trigger. A bubbling, sickly green substance squirted out, dousing the other weasel's chest. Yakko had to hold back a scream. The weasel did not – it let loose an otherworldly shriek of pain as its skin smoked and fizzed, peeling back not to reveal bone, but nothing at all. Just holes of air. It collapsed in a writhing heap, choking on the ink that was gurgling up in its throat. A few other prisoners gathered at the doorway with Yakko, who felt like his feet had frozen to the floor, to watch while the rest cowered further into the shadows, covering their ears to the sound of death.
Mortimer was on the scene shortly after. He wrinkled his nose at the now still form of the DIPped weasel, kicked its remains aside, and grabbed the other weasel by the throat.
"Told ya not to pull shit like that," Mortimer hissed, "It's off to the Big Boss with you."
The weasel's eyes widened, and Yakko had never seen anyone in his life look so scared. Mortimer dragged him away, and Yakko never saw that particular weasel again.
After that Yakko had promptly gotten up and vomited into the hole they used as a waste receptacle. He was glad he did. It meant he was still sane.
They walked, and Yakko was not really sure who was in front of him or in back of him. It had become very clear why they had to keep their faces covered: it made everything impersonal. He couldn't make allies because he couldn't tell the difference from one toon to the next aside from a few differences in tails or size. It made him mistrustful of everyone; was that the same toon who had tried to steal food from him last week? Or was that the one who pulled him out of the path of a shot of DIP? It was impossible to tell. The only bright side was that it gave him time to keep his face relaxed. He didn't have to shapeshift, but as far as anyone was concerned, he was a nobody named Ears despite having one of the most recognizable faces in Toontown.
"Move!" the coyote barked, shoving him along.
Yakko braced himself as the line filed into a large room that he had dubbed "the sweatbox." He imagined there would be little difference between walking in here and walking into an oven. It reeked of an unpleasant combination of body odor and ink, which was only intensified by the oppressive heat, which hit him like a wall as he trudged inside. Yakko could already feel tiny beads of sweat popping up beneath his fur. The sack over his head was like a prison in itself, boiling him in a bubble of moist heat.
The heat emanated from the centerpiece of the room: the Machine. It was a massive compilation of metal and iron that tripled Yakko in height. A large, metal tank was settled in a nest of wires, pipes and tubes, with a large shaft leading out of the tank and into a room that Yakko and the others were strictly forbidden to enter. It was as though an inventor had concocted the piece out of a random assortment of objects he'd found at a yard sale. The parts and sheets of metal were mismatched, and tubes were held together by duct tape or tied up nylons. Some of the sagging pipes were supported by lawn chairs or, Yakko's personal favorite, a pink yard flamingo that was missing one eye.
Every day they lined up in front of the Machine and were counted. The coyote paced in front of them with a clipboard, glaring at them and tossing insults their way while shouting orders at his posse of weasels. Beneath his mask, Yakko rolled his eyes. The coyote was clearly on a power trip; he was in charge of a herd of illiterate toons who communicated through grunts and bodily noises. And he only had that position because he possessed the ability to count past the number five. Yakko sincerely doubted that he could make it past twenty-seven.
"All right, take your places you filthy soil-shovers!" the coyote snarled.
Sighing, Yakko marched toward the Machine along with the others. The prisoners began to disperse; some of them came to a stop at various tubes or wires, while others had to crawl up piles of scraps and parts to get to the various nooks and crannies they were assigned to. Yakko's place was at the intersection of two large pipes. He didn't know what they did or if they were even important, but his job was to not let the connector get loose. If it got loose, he tightened it. He was reasonably sure he could train a goldfish to do it if he found one that was strong enough.
The Machine surged to life with a roar that started softly and grew until the bass hummed in Yakko's chest. Steam hissed from the pipes and the heat pressed him on all sides, and it wasn't long before his jumpsuit was sticking to his body. The tank began to tremble and shake, and Yakko watched the pipes in front of him. Eventually the valves rattled loose, and he reached forward to tighten them again. He had to throw his whole body into it as it fought him, burning hot under his palms. He missed his gloves, sealed hopelessly away in his hammerspace.
The Machine gave a sudden, tremendous quake. The toon on the topmost tube was bucked straight off it, landing with a crash somewhere amongst the scraps. It shook so hard that Yakko was pushed backwards as the pipes trembled and sagged. Frowning, he glanced around for some kind of tool, anything to stop the pipes from breaking. If the pipes broke, the coyote might break one of his bones.
The pink flamingo stared at him forlornly from the ground. Shrugging, Yakko snatched it up and shoved it under the pipes, propping it up by the flamingo's head. The pipes shuddered, but no longer sagged.
There, he'd fixed it.
The thing of it was, he had no idea what he'd just fixed.
No one had breathed a word about what the Machine actually did. This was mainly due to the fact that you had the crap beaten out of you if you so much as asked, which led Yakko to believe that its purpose was not a positive one. All he knew was that the weasels seemed terrified of it. They wouldn't go near the Machine, and the very sound of it left them shivering in a corner. Even though Yakko couldn't understand what they were saying, it didn't take a genius to figure out what wide eyes and whimpers meant.
As Yakko gave the valve another twist, he vowed he'd never take plumbers for granted again. This manual labor business was hard. Then again, most plumbers probably didn't operate in a state of near starvation and constant fear. Yakko shook his head, feeling beads of sweat fall off his nose.
After more than two hours the Machine shuddered to a halt. Great bursts of steam billowed out from the base of the tank, and he scrambled out of the way with the others to avoid the burning heat. In reality, Yakko knew he couldn't get burnt. A Class A could do a dance in the steam and avoid injury. But he still, by some miracle, had Bosko, Mortimer and the others at the Compound convinced he was a Class C, and he wasn't going to mess that up now. He'd noticed that there were less prisoners in the upper Class than there were a few weeks ago, and for some reason that fact sent chills down his spine.
"That's right, run away you pathetic worms, can't shapeshift to save your lives. And I mean that literally," the coyote barked.
Yakko rolled his eyes. If he got out of here, he was taking the time to mallet the coyote to China before he left.
When. When he got out of here.
"Line up!" the coyote barked, even though they had already squirmed into a line. He slapped the leader upside the head to get the line moving, and Yakko inhaled deeply as they left the heated room for the cooler air of the hallway. Steam was actually coming off of their bodies, making it seem as though they were nothing but ghosts passing through the mist. Going back to the cool cell would be the closest thing Yakko would get to a relief in this place.
"No, I didn't to do it!"
"Shaddap, will ya?"
Yakko turned faster than the others. He recognized both voices. The first was the girl who had spoken to him when he was first captured. They'd talked a few times since then; she seemed okay enough, sane even, as though she hadn't quite been broken like the others yet. He enjoyed talking to her – he missed talking, and it was a comfort to be able to interact with another being. But their chats were always short lived: being threatened by a guard with a DIP gun was a real conversation killer.
The other voice belonged to Mortimer, who was currently dragging the girl by the back of her neck down the hall. She struggled, and he jerked her roughly.
"Enough a' that!" he snapped, "You're lucky I didn't DIP ya from head to foot, so settle down and I might spare ya some limbs – oh look, why, it's our little friend Gums! Gums, why don't you step over here for a second?"
Yakko watched the coyote, who he had no idea was named "Gums" until now and had just been previously referring to him as "Jerk with a clipboard." Gums eyed Mortimer hesitantly for a second before approaching the mouse. Yakko couldn't blame him – Mortimer had a wide grin on his face that did not look the least bit friendly.
"Little closer," Mortimer urged, wiggling his finger.
Gums stepped forward. Mortimer's grin shifted into a snarl as he pulled a police baton from behind his back and whacked Gums over the head with it. Gums howled in pain and Yakko bit back a laugh. He was already an idiot, but he was even more of an idiot for approaching Mortimer when he was grinning like that anyway.
"What was that for?" Gums wailed.
"You see this?" Mortimer growled, jerking the girl roughly into view, "What is this?"
"A worm," Gums answered.
He cried as Mortimer hit him again and shouted, "This is a worm who tried to steal food from the supply closet after she skipped Machine maintenance under your watch!"
"Ain't my fault she snuck out, I only got two eyes, I can't watch 'em all!"
"They're worms you idiot, they can't think they're way out of a paper bag. The only thing dumber than them is you, apparently. Now hold this chick still, I think a few good slaps oughta straighten her out."
The girl struggled against Gums' grasp. She tried to kick him but couldn't reach, causing Mortimer to snicker.
"I don't think the Big Boss will be too happy when he finds out you wasted his time," Yakko said, just loud enough for his voice to carry.
The room froze. All the sack-covered heads turned eerily towards him, Gums gaped while Mortimer regarded him shrewdly.
"Look everyone, the worm thinks he has something important to say," he drawled, "What is it worm? Why would lettin' the Boss deal with another one of yer worm friends be a waste of his time? Me thinks he enjoys it."
"Um…"
Yakko stared back at him. Honestly, he had no idea why. He'd spoken without really thinking, and now the girl's life and his were at stake unless an answer came to him. Quickly.
"Well…" Yakko began, feeling beads of sweat crawling down his neck and to his back, "what's the Boss gonna care about, what, a piece of bread being stolen? If anything he's going to be mad at you."
Crossing his fingers, Yakko prayed that it sounded plausible. He didn't know who the Big Boss was, let alone if missing food would piss him off. Mortimer wasn't helping – he was glaring, eyes narrowed, his snout pulled into an ugly frown.
"Gums, take the other worms back to their cell before I stuff my mallet down your throat. I want to have a little chat with this one," he said, nodding toward Yakko. "Leave the girl."
For once, Gums did not have a snide retort. Instead he barked a few orders at the other prisoners and hustled them down the dimly lit hall, glancing over his shoulder at them as he left. Mortimer grabbed the girl by the collar, and in the next second he had his free hand around Yakko's throat. He pushed Yakko so his back was flat against the wall.
"And why's he gonna be mad, worm?" he hissed.
"Because your socks don't match your pants. No, he'll be mad because you're the one who screwed up, not her."
Mortimer's fingers tightened around his neck. "Care to explain yerself, wiseass?"
Yakko struggled to talk against his constricted windpipe. "Think about it. It's not surprising that she tried to steal food. But you, you're the one he hired to stop her from doing that. You trained that genius Gums to stand guard, and he, in all his brilliance, allowed her to escape. So really it makes you look bad, can't even keep a bunch of under Class toons in line."
Mortimer watched him, contemplating this, and Yakko could almost hear the gears turning in his head. After several long moments Mortimer released Yakko's neck, offering him a moment of relief when the mouse grabbed at his hood. Yakko barely had time to shapeshift his face before it was torn off and he was suddenly nose to nose with Mortimer.
"You think yer smart huh? You think yer a real Einstein, dontcha? Well if yer so smart, think ya could match wits with me? Hell, think ya could take me?"
Yakko glared at him. Oh, if only…
Mortimer smirked. "That's what I thought. Just remember this, worm: I can mallet yer sorry, Class C ass straight to Taiwan and back before you can remember how to blink. Got me?"
Yakko's hand twitched, itching to sink into his hammerspace, but he remembered bitterly that it was glued shut.
"Why Taiwan? I'd prefer Tokyo, personally. More personality."
Mortimer's knee connected with Yakko's solar plexus and he doubled over, gasping.
"Keep jokin,' comedian, I'll give you a mouthful of DIP if it'll shut you up," Mortimer snapped, tugging the hood crookedly back over Yakko's head. His eyes shifted to the girl, studying her, deciding if she was worth it, before tossing her next to Yakko.
"Take these two back to the cell," he commanded to the weasels with a jerk of his thumb.
The weasels scurried forward, snatching Yakko by the arms. Their grip was firmer than he remembered as they dragged him and the girl across the rough floor. They were thrown back in the cell like cargo. Yakko laid still for a moment, still trying to get his breathing back under control after the hit to his ribs.
He heard the girl's body brush against the ground as she pulled herself toward him. "Thanks," she whispered, so close to his face that he felt her breath puff against his hood, "I really owe you one."
"Don't mention it. I've always had trouble keeping my mouth shut."
"No, really. Not many toons here would have stuck their neck out for a stranger…in this place, anyway. That was really brave – stupid, but brave."
Straightening his hood so he could see again, Yakko glanced at her. Even with the matching hood over her head he could tell that she was watching him intently. It grounded him; her focus meant that this place hadn't beaten her yet, and that was comforting in a very small way.
Oh God, for shame, I do not even know your name…dear mademoiselle…
"I think after that little experience I at least get to know your name," Yakko said, wondering if reciting random Les Misertoons lyrics in one's head was a sign of insanity.
"Um, Molly. My name's Molly."
Yakko quirked an eyebrow beneath his mask. Molly. Did he know a Molly? There was that girl from Talespin…maybe it was her? Could be.
"And yours?" she asked.
"It's Ears."
She tilted her head to the side. "Huh, that's…interesting."
"My parents had a real sense of humor," he lied, trying not to huff. What was so bad about Ears? Buster never seemed to mind.
"Do you think your parents are worried? Do you think your family's looking for you?"
Her voice had a layer of frenzied urgency behind it that cried out for reassurance, as though one affirmative word from him would help her sleep tonight. The truth about his parents was that his mother had died when he was twelve. He found this out through a coldly worded letter addressed to the studio. And his father, whoever he was, probably didn't even know the three of them existed.
So he thought of Wakko and Dot. His knee jerk reaction was to hope that they weren't looking for him – that they were safe, that they were hidden where no one could find them until he returned for them. But he was very well aware of the desire in his heart for them to be searching for him, that they wanted to find him as badly as he wanted to find him, that they still loved him enough not to give up on him.
And Bugs, wasn't he like family now? And Buster, and Babs? Did they still care about him? Did they even want to find him?
"Yeah," he said finally, "I think they're looking for me."
"Very good! Now, turn left here Wakko. Right here, turn left. Left. Wakko, turn left. Left! LEFT! FOR THE LOVE OF – oh, very good."
Wakko grinned as Scratchensniff pried his fingers from the dashboard. He couldn't really see what ol' Scratchy was so upset about – he hadn't topped 20-miles-an-hour and he had yet to see another car for the last half hour. Heck, he'd seen maybe five other cars over the last few weeks. Toons just weren't going out anymore. Even now, as he drove through Scratchensniff's neighborhood, half the houses looked abandoned. But then again, as the doctor had pointed out, there may be plenty of toons living there who put a lot of effort into making their home look empty.
"You is doing very good Wakko! You handled that turn so smoothly! And you haven't taken to driving along the sidewalk today – not once! This is a big improvement over last Thursday. You are on your way to becoming an excellent motorist. Ease off the gas pedal here, yes, just like that, let the car do the work when you are going down a hill…"
For how wound up Scratchensniff seemed to get, Wakko was really starting to enjoy spending time with him. He treated Wakko like an adult, he was honest, and there was something comforting about listening to him ramble on from the passenger's seat. Maybe it was because he was so used to listening to Yakko for hours. He found comfort in the noise.
Wakko frowned and glanced out the window. He wondered if Scratchensniff knew he used their little driving lessons to keep an eye out for clues, anything, that would point toward Yakko or Dot. He was sure he'd recognize Yakko even if he shapeshifted, or if he heard Dot's voice, or if someone so much as mentioned their names…he wanted to be the first to know, he wanted to be with them again. There was a small part of him that hoped Yakko and Dot would pop out from behind a bush or a tree, hop in the car, and they'd drive back to Bugs' house like nothing had ever happened. But that was a bit of a long shot.
And so far, it hadn't happened. Most of their driving lessons ended at the sight of smugglers, and they'd drive discreetly home and Scratchensniff would hurry him back into the house and not let him out of his line of vision, which wasn't very far in the man's old age. Scratchensniff would make dinner, which was usually something involved noodles or beans or soup or anything he had on hand because it was hard to find a grocery store that hadn't been shut down or looted. Then Scratchensniff would go back to his office and work, and Wakko would read his comic book once through before following him to the study. Wakko would ask him questions about what he was doing, and Scratchensniff would ask him strange questions that Wakko supposed only a psychiatrist would ask (no, he didn't think his comic book was a replacement for his siblings. No, he did not contruct his identity through the book).
Sometimes Wakko yelled at him. More often, he would storm down into the basement and not talk for hours. But Scratchensniff was always calm, always patient, and always there.
"Wakko! Pay attention!"
Wakko's eyes snapped back to the road and he realized he was nearly on the sidewalk. Quickly jerking the wheel, Wakko grinned as he returned to the middle of the lane. "Uh, sorry."
Scratchensniff rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. "You are a little bit zany in the head, Wakko, you need to focus on the road, that is key. It prevents accidents on the road, and ulcers in my stomach."
Wakko rolled his eyes, but his heart jolted when he saw a horribly familiar pair of flashing lights in his rearview mirror.
"Oh man, the cops," he moaned, "am I really gonna get busted for that? We're the only ones driving!"
But Scratchensniff was suddenly sitting bolt upright. "Pull over," he commanded in a low voice. "Do not say anything, I will do the talking. If I tell you to run, you must do it, understand?"
Eyes wide, Wakko nodded. Stopping the car on the side of the road, Wakko's hands fumbled with the ignition. Were they pulling him over because he didn't have a permit? Why was Scratchy so nervous? How much trouble was he going to get in? Surely the police couldn't blame him too much, there were other things to worry about right now…
The police. Wakko's heart turned cold as he remembered Bugs mentioning they were most likely corrupted during the meeting. He inhaled but his breath shook, so he gripped the steering wheel to keep his hands from doing the same. The police car came to a stop behind them, and a large figure emerged from the car and lumbered toward them.
"Lower your window – just a crack, now," Scratchensniff whispered.
A shadow fell over them as the officer's bulk blocked out the sun. He leaned toward the window, and when he spoke a puff of cigar smoke floated into the car.
"We-e-ell, looks like someone got out of the water tower again! Out joyriding, huh? You even old enough to sit in the front seat, squirt?"
The smoke cleared, revealing Pete. He was larger than he appeared in his cartoons, and the fat around his cheeks was blotted and covered in a five o'clock shadow. A thick cigar was clenched between his broad teeth. The police officer's uniform was stretched over him so tightly that Wakko could see Pete's dark fur poking through the particularly strained button-holes. It looked ready to explode off of him at any second, and he smelled as though he had taken a bath in a tub of vodka. Turning away from him to hide a gag, Wakko whispered, "His breath reeks," to Scratchensniff, who shushed him.
"And look, the wild child brought his handler with him," Pete jeered, nodding to Scratchensniff.
Wakko whipped back around to glare at Pete, but Scratchensniff interjected. "It is wonderful to see you too, Pete. Are you an officer now? If you are, then kindly provide us our ticket, and we will be on our way – "
"Just steppin' up and doing my civic duty," Pete boomed. He stuck out an elbow to lean on the car, which groaned and shifted under his weight. "Officers are running away, tails in between their legs…someone's gotta stand up and protect this town. It's a temp deal."
Pete's fleshy jowls spread in grin, and Wakko had never seen anything less comforting.
"Speaking of which…" Pete continued, "I remember you kiddies having a bit of, eh, legal trouble a couple weeks back, ain't that right? A few honest toons murdered, ran out on the cops…looks suspicious, don't it?"
Wakko flattened back in his seat, but kept his eyes locked on Pete. Scratchensniff cleared his throat squeakily and said, "I remember that there was no arrest warrant, or any evidence for that matter. These are troubled times, if you have not noticed already. Now, if you'll please excuse us, we really need to – "
"Come to think of it," Pete said, placing a finger on his lower lip, "I believe it was the oldest Warner in the litter that got himself in trouble. Right, kid? Your big brother was the prime suspect, huh? Thinks he can talk his way out of anything, I heard."
His face stony, Wakko inhaled quickly through his nose but said nothing. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. Even though he hadn't kept up his end of the conversation, Pete seemed adamant about speaking to him and ignoring Scratchensniff.
"Now, your brother…where is he? I thought he always babysat you little squirts. And the bratty little one, where is she? Don't tell me you're all alone. I thought you three traveled in a pack like a bunch of stray pups."
Wakko let loose a growl he didn't know he had in him, but Pete guffawed loudly at this, letting more cigar smoke billow into the car. It was making his eyes water.
"Listen! He makes little puppy noises too!" he bellowed. Then he leaned in toward the car so fast that Wakko jumped back into Scratchensniff. He was so close that his breath fogged up against the glass as he hissed, "Why don't ya show me your teeth, pup?"
Placing a hand on Wakko's shoulder, Scratchensniff said, "Now now Pete, there is no need to frighten anyone. Surely as a police officer in the present situation you have plenty of other business to attend to. Besides, he is just learning."
"You know shrink, you're right. I'm a busy man after all – I'm doing this policing gig in what little spare time I have! I've still got a business to run, them trees don't organize themselves."
"Trees?" Wakko blurted.
Blinking, Pete grinned and thumped his fist against the glass. "Congratulations mutt, you can speak! You heard me right, I've got my Christmas trees to sell."
"But it's after Christmas…" Scratchensniff murmured.
"I'll tell 'em they'll last 'til next year, poor saps will buy anything these days," Pete said robustly.
Trees. Sap. Pine needles.
Wakko felt as though a chunk of his brain had suddenly clicked into place. As vividly as the night it happened, he could see the pine needles stuck to his shirt after the weasel attack at Buster's house. He remembered the weasel they'd almost hit after Slappy's funeral – god, had that been a year ago? – staggering outside of Pete's tree farm. Pete was in on it. Pete had been in on it the whole time.
"What's the matter with you, kid? You look like you're gonna lose your lunch. You got a weak constitution or something?" Pete asked, looking ready to dive out of the way at any second.
The thoughts were rushing at him so fast that he was afraid to open his mouth and have them all spill out. Heart hammering in his chest, Wakko blinked up at Pete and tried to form his face into a grin. He had the feeling this merely made him look constipated.
"Yes, he is quite ill, which is precisely why we should get home," Scratchensniff said hurriedly, reaching to turn on the ignition.
Pete snorted. "How would you know if he's sick? I thought only real doctors could figure out that shit."
"Hey!" Wakko snapped, but Scratchensniff patted his head.
"Ehm, thank you for that Pete, but I'm afraid only real police officers can pull people over. Dressing yourself in a uniform does not make you any more important than you already think you are."
His head whipping back and forth, Wakko gaped at Scratchensniff then Pete, Scratchensniff then Pete, before finally full-on grinning at Scratchensniff. It was by far and away the coolest thing he'd ever heard Scratchensniff say. The doctor, to his credit, looked flushed but proud. For a moment Pete looked like he was fit to punch his boulder-like fist through the window, but his face suddenly warped into a smirk that was anything but pleasant.
"Good one doc, you're a real Jay Leno. You've got a point though – I've got work to do. A whole lot of work. So why don't you two uh, skedaddle on out of here. I'll tell all of Toontown to steer clear of the road now that this kid's behind the wheel."
He puffed a plume smoke into the car, making both Wakko and Scratchensniff cough. Then one last lingering look at Wakko, Pete lumbered back to the police car. Wakko glowered at Pete in the rearview mirror until he had had sped down the block before he turned to Scratchensniff. "Scratchy! Christmas! Trees! Needles! I think Pete – "
"Not now Wakko," Scratchensniff whispered, peering anxiously out the window. "Let's just go home. Quickly."
Frowning, Wakko pushed the gearshift into drive. In his excitement he pressed the gas pedal with a bit too much zeal and the car lurched forward, knocking them both back in their seats, before easing back onto the road. Scratchensniff's head swiveled to and fro the entire ride, and beads of sweat speckled his head. He looked terrified. Sucking in a breath, Wakko did his best to focus on the road, but his heart beat so loudly that Yakko and Dot must be hearing it, wherever they were.
"Go in the back way," Scratchensniff instructed as they pulled up to his house. Wakko had barely put the car in park when Scratchensniff was urging him out of the car and in the back door.
"Scratchy, what's wrong – "
"Wakko, we don't have a lot of time. There is not a doubt in my mind that Pete will be coming for us. He is no more a police officer than I am a grizzly bear."
Wakko's heart jumped into his throat. "What? Why?"
Scratchensniff rushed past him, closing the curtains on the windows. "I shouldn't have taken you out," he mumbled, almost to himself, "Now he knows you're here, I was supposed to protect you – "
"It's not your fault. Besides, we can take Pete. There's two of us, that makes two brains compared to none."
Scratchensniff stopped to stare at Wakko with a look he couldn't place. Then he rushed forward and grabbed Wakko by the shoulders. "Listen to me now Wakko, please. The smugglers and the police have been looking for you and Dot since Yakko disappeared – do not ask me why, I do not know. But he will be here soon, so you need to leave as fast as you can."
Ignoring the way his heart was pounding, Wakko pressed, "But what about you?"
Scratchensniff released his shoulders and dashed into the kitchen. Wakko chased after him, swallowing the panic. This was happening too fast…it was like when Yakko vanished all over again…
"Scratchy – "
"Here!" Scratchensniff cried, emerging from the pantry with an armful of food. "Put this in your hammerspace just in case."
"But – "
"I want you to take the car, drive quickly but please drive safely. Wear your seatbelt! Use your turn signals!"
"Scratchy – "
"Do you know the way to Bugs Bunny's house from here? I want you to go there, Dot is there, her and Yosemite Sam, he will watch out for you."
"But – wait, Dot?" Wakko cried, dropping a can of prunes.
"Yes, Dot. Now please Wakko, hurry, they'll be here any second – "
Wakko shoved his hands away. "Scratchy stop! What about you?"
Scratchensniff stared at him and then the door, wringing his hands. "I – "
BANG! Both Wakko and Scratchensniff jumped as they heard the front door burst open. "Yoohoo, anybody home?" came Pete's mocking voice. There were way too many footsteps for him to be alone.
"Go, now!" Scratchensniff hissed.
Pushing down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him, Wakko stepped defiantly in front of Scratchensniff. "No, I'm not going without you! You're my friend! They're gonna hurt you, let me help…and I've never driven by myself, I'll crash into a tree or something – "
With a glance over his shoulder, Scratchensniff stooped down to Wakko's level. Wakko tried to focus on him; Pete's heavy footsteps combined with the hustling scamper of clawed feet that could only mean weasels was distracting him from the sad smile on Scratchensniff's face. A crash echoed from the living room, and Wakko had the feeling that Pete was trashing the place looking for them. Anger flared up in his chest – this was Scratchensniff's home, the one that he had been kind enough to let Wakko stay in –
"Wakko, you do not know how humbled it makes me to be included as your friend. But do not worry about me, I have a few tricks up my sleeve you know."
"But – "
"Your sister needs you."
"But she hates me now."
"Come now, you believe this is true? You three kiddies, you and your brother and your sister, you were not meant to be apart. I know this, I watched you grow. Now go to Dot, I promise everything will turn out alright. And do not worry about driving, because I will tell you the key: all you need is confidence."
With that Wakko jumped forward to hug Scratchensniff, who let out a startled noise before patting Wakko on the back. "You will be fine," he said softly, then pushed him toward the door while shoving the keys in his hand, "now go, for heaven's sake!"
Wakko staggered back, opening his mouth and shutting it again. He'd known the doctor for more than half his life, and he hoped more than anything right now that he'd get to see him for the next half of his life. He hoped that Scratchensniff, or Yakko if he ever found out, didn't think he was a coward for running now.
Clutching the keys so tightly they dug into his palm through his glove, Wakko dashed down the back steps and to the car. He looked to the door but Scratchensniff had already shut it. The sun was just beginning to set as Wakko's shaking hands fumbled at the ignition. A loud bang from inside the house made him jump. Followed by another. And another. Shouting. Wakko chewed his lip, wondering if he should go back inside.
But if he did, then Dot might be left without two brothers instead of just one. He felt sick with himself.
Thinking of his sister and praying that Scratchensniff was more capable than he gave him credit for, Wakko coaxed the car to life and hit the gas. It jerked violently backwards, sending trash cans flying before he slammed the brake pedal.
"Whoops," he muttered.
Great, he was supposed to make it all the way to Bugs' place and he couldn't even remember to take the car out of reverse. This was going to go swell.
But suddenly the back door flew open. He looked up excitedly, hoping it was Scratchensniff, but two weasels glared at him instead. The noise from the trash cans had given him away. Panicking, Wakko threw the car into drive and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. The weasels squealed in terror as he surged toward them and they dove out of the way. He swung around the corner, wheels screeching, and tore down the street toward the Bunny estate.
"There, that oughta do it," Yosemite said, dusting off his hands.
Dot stepped back, admiring their handiwork. If anyone so much as set one foot inside Bugs' front gate, they'd be swept up by a wire snare that was artfully hidden in the flowerbed.
"I'd like to see a weasel try to get past this," Dot said proudly. She thought for a moment. "Actually, I'd really like to see a weasel try to get past this, it'd be hilarious."
"You know girly, if I knew you were so dang skilled at settin' traps, we'd 'a nabbed that screwball rabbit years ago."
Dot grinned and gave him a high-five. "Never underestimate a girl's ability to catch a boy, Sammy."
"Sammy," Yosemite muttered to himself, rolling his eyes. Dot's grin spread.
"So now what?"
"So now we line the perimeter with traps. Snare traps, bear traps, box traps – "
Dot rolled her eyes. "Tough traps, sissy traps, traps who climb on rocks…"
Just then she heard a loud clang. The electric gate was sliding open in its calm way that was at odds with the enormity of what it meant. Dot only knew two people who had the code to open it – Bugs and Yakko. Her heart hammering, Dot dashed forward.
"Git yer tail back here, could be a trap!" Yosemite shouted, but she ignored him.
A figure stepped into view, and Dot recognized the long ears immediately. For a moment, her heart sank to somewhere closer to her stomach – he was not her Yakko – but she let loose an excited cry when Bugs waved to her nonetheless. It was a face she recognized at least, and right now, that was all that mattered. But he looked utterly exhausted; he was thinner, and the fur that lined his ears was ragged and unkempt. Worst of all were his eyes, beneath which were heavy, dark circles that suggested he hadn't fully slept in days.
Stepping casually over the snare, Bugs gave her a sad smile and held out his arms as she ran in for a hug.
"Bugs! I'm so glad you're okay, I missed you so much!" she gasped. Then, pulling back, she whispered, "Have you…did you find – "
Bugs shook his head sadly and his face fell. "Not yet sweetie. I'm – " the words seemed to stick " – I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."
Tears stung her eyes faster than she expected. Chewing her lip, Dot hid her face in Bugs' shirt, the ghost of Yakko's disappearance coming to life once more. She should be used to it by now, he'd been gone for weeks, why was a reminder of that any different…
Bugs patted her back in a way that was more than a cheap condolence. It was like he understood.
"Where have you been?" Dot pressed.
"We've been switching between looking for your brother and running from the people who are also looking for your brother. "
"Who's we?"
Just then Daffy turned the corner, heading straight for the snare.
Dot's eyes widened. "Wait, watch out – "
Daffy couldn't have stepped more directly into the snare if he tried. A spring snapped, the snare tightened around his ankle, and Daffy let out a startled wail as his feet jerked out from underneath him. In the next second he was head over heels, dangling fifteen feet off the ground, swaying back and forth like a metronome and swearing up a storm. Bugs applauded.
"I thought you were a duck, not a guinea pig. Thanks though, was lookin' for a' someone stupid enough to test the traps. Couldn't even get those weasel varmints to give it a shot." Yosemite said, "Lookit that girly, snare worked like a dang charm."
Dot raised an eyebrow at Bugs. "Sorta…Bugs missed it though. How'd you know there was a trap there? I thought we hid it pretty well."
"Yeah, I think we'd all like to know the answer to that," Daffy snapped. He had stopped struggling now, and settled for dangling upside down with his arms rigidly crossed.
"Practice," Bugs said. He smirked at Daffy before adding, "Sammy, why don't you release our captive so we can talk inside the house for a minute."
Yosemite loosened a single wire with a flick of his wrist. There was a moment where Daffy was suspended in midair before his eyes widened and he went crashing to the ground. After rearranging his beak, he muttered darkly, "Your delicacy is most appreciated. You see what I just did there? That's called sarcasm. I doubt you know what that it, seeing as how that mask of yours stops oxygen from getting to your brain."
"Say that to my pistol why don't ya – "
"Calm down ladies," Bugs drawled, tapping a few quick numbers on a keypad embedded in the wall to close the gate. "Like I said, let's take it inside."
Yosemite nodded toward Dot. "Reset the snare, girly, and cross yer fingers the duck trips it again on his way out."
"Shut up ya little dwarf."
"Stuff it feather brain."
Bugs sighed wearily to Dot before following the bickering crew to the house. She watched them for a moment, then rushed to the snare. It took her a few times to hook the wire back into the spring – she had to stretch her arms an extra foot to reach the end of the wire while throwing the rest of her body against the spring to pull it into place. They finally hooked together and she released it with a twanging noise. She then scurried around the looped wire on the ground, covering it back up with grass, leaves, and dirt from the flow bed. She stepped back to admire her work. Any intruder would have to really look before they saw the vague circle outline in the grass. Satisfied, Dot ran back to the house.
She followed their voices to Bugs' living room where the fireplace was. They were talking in low tones, Yosemite and Daffy bent close to Bugs, who was slumped on his chair and rubbing his face. This made Dot pause, hidden by the doorway. She'd never seen Bugs looks so defeated. Never. She didn't think it was in his ink to look like he did. And it scared her more than almost anything had.
"They're everywhere Sam, absolutely everywhere. And if they're not looking for Yakko they're looking for me, or Daff, or Dot and Wakko or you or Sylvester or just about everyone else. They want us, bad. No sign of Babs or Buster neither, and believe me when I say the smugglers are looking just as hard as we are. We'll be out trying to find them, and the next thing you know we're dodging DIP left and right."
"You see this?" Daffy cried, turning and pointing to his tailfeathers. They were torn and charred looking, as though they'd been burnt. "That's just from the spray. The spray! This is the jungle juice of DIP we're dealing with!"
Yosemite rolled his eyes. "Aw, poor little duckling got his tail feathers mussed. Trust me duck, it still won't be the reason why the ladies ain't chasin' ya."
Daffy opened his beak in outrage, but Bugs clamped it shut with his fingers. "I don't think I'd be sittin' here if it wasn't for Daff," Bugs said quietly.
Frowning deeply, Yosemite regarded him for a moment before asking, "Why do they want the kids so bad? Who's water trough did they spit in anyway?"
"I have no idea. They haven't stopped looking for Yakko since the day he disappeared," Bugs said as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Daffy glanced at him sideways. "Maybe they're after him because you're after him. Maybe if we spent more time trying to stop them instead of going after Warner we'd stop the problem before it gets worse."
"I can't do that. He's my kid – "
Daffy threw his hands in the air. "There he goes again! My kid, my kid…damn it Bugs, he's not your kid! You don't have a kid! He's just a fanboy, and I'm not getting myself killed for some pup! We've got bigger fish to fry here!"
"It ain't like that," Bugs said, deadly serious as he stared Daffy straight in the eye, "he's just like me Daff, he's exactly like me…when I talk to him I see myself, what I would have been like if I hadn't been drawn. You know what it's like not having any family, and he's the closest thing I'll ever get. He's special, doc, because he's special to me. All three of them are. And Wakko and Dot…he needs them like they need him, you have to see that. Even if he doesn't want to talk to me, I at least have to bring him back to them. You understand?"
Daffy looked at him coldly. "No, I don't. I don't understand why you would just throw yourself in front of DIP for some kid who just likes you 'cause you're famous. Find a new little pupil to dote on, a hundred toons would die just to kiss your freakin' tail."
They stared at each other with looks that Dot found oddly familiar. And then it hit her – Bugs was looking at Daffy the same way Yakko had looked at Buster after they'd fought.
There was a pause before Bugs spoke again. When he did, his voice was low and quiet. "There's no reason to be jealous, Daff."
"Jealous? Who's jealous?" Daffy shrieked, his voice jumping several pitches and bordering on hysterical.
"You, by the sounds of it," Yosemite said.
Daffy reeled on him, fury spreading from his face and into the tenseness of his shoulders. "Whadda you know, crook? Did we mention we saw Rocky? With a gun full of DIP? You wouldn't happen to know how he got it, do ya?"
"Daff…" Bugs muttered warningly.
Staring at Daffy as though he'd eaten something rotten, Yosemite sat ramrod straight in his chair, unmoving. Dot clenched the doorway tighter.
Ignoring Bugs, Daffy continued, "No? You two are buddies, ain't ya? Call each other on the phone every night – "
And suddenly Yosemite was on his feet, blindingly fast, and he shoved the end of his pistol against the soft spot where Daffy throat met the bottom of his beak, making Daffy gag.
"Say that again," Yosemite hissed, "'Cause the way my ears heard it, sounded like you was askin' for a mouthful of lead!"
"Do it, you had enough practice with your pal Rocky – "
"Shut yer damn beak ya talentless hack – "
Bugs shoved his way between them. "Knock it off you two! Everyone here's had enough guns pointed at them for one lifetime."
"I'm only doin' this 'cause I owe you, rabbit!" Yosemite bellowed, his face red, swatting away Bugs' outstretched hand. "Not for the kids, not for the town, and especially not for this sorry sack of feathers that was drawn to play second fiddle!"
Daffy fixed Yosemite with a malicious stare. "Better second fiddle than a toon killer," he growled.
The color drained from Yosemite's face. Pistols shaking, he spluttered, "You – I'm gonna – you don't dare – "
"That's enough!" Bugs roared. He turned to Daffy. "That was low, even for you. Real nice."
"Just calling 'em as I see 'em," Daffy shot back. He tugged Bugs' hand away. "I'm gonna wait by the car. Try not to have a paternal meltdown with the criminal while I'm gone."
Daffy stormed toward the door where Dot hid. She thought about moving, briefly, but her hands seemed to have adhered themselves to the doorway, and Daffy all but ran into her.
"What are you looking at?" he snapped at her before disappearing down the hall and slamming another door.
Bugs and Yosemite both looked up, noticing her for the first time.
"Dot," Bugs breathed, then hurried toward her. "Listen, sweetie, I know that wasn't lighthearted tea talk you just heard, but we'll talk about this. All of this. Don't go thinking things until you get the facts first. But I have to go right now. I'm sorry, you have to understand."
Dot nodded, too numb to speak. This made Bugs frown, but he scooped her up in a hug.
"Stay safe for me, promise? We're going to check on Wakko, and then…well, we're going to find Yakko."
"Promise?" Dot managed.
Bugs eyed her for a moment. "Yeah. Promise."
"And can you say something to Wakko for me?"
"What do you want me to say?"
Dot chewed her lip, then reached for her pocket. "Um, actually, give him this."
Bugs quirked an eyebrow at what she'd handed him. "Your cell phone? That's eh, a nice gesture and all, but don't ya think you'll need it?"
"No, not really. I left messages on it, for him and Yak…Yakko. For them to listen to in case something happened. Wakko can listen to his, since I can't talk to him."
This made Bugs frown harder than ever, and for a moment Dot thought she'd upset him. But then he nodded and stooped down to hug her one last time. He held her for a minute, then finally stood to Yosemite and muttered, "Don't listen to him, doc. We ain't exactly livin' the dream lately and you know him – no filter between his beak and his brain."
"None of us are livin' no dang dream. When are you gonna stop makin' excuses for that second-rate blowhard?"
Bugs gave him a sad little shrug. "He's my best friend."
Yosemite stared at him until Bugs turned to follow Daffy. Dot barely noticed him leave, as she was too stuck to the moment, staring hard at Yosemite.
"What?" he barked, not looking her in the eye.
"What was Daffy talking about?"
"Who the hell knows, duck babbles more than a brook."
"I'm serious Yosemite Sam. What did he mean when he said 'toon killer?'"
This made Yosemite snap back to her face. He fiddled with his guns for a moment, sticking his finger inside the barrel absently.
"Now uh, now listen here, ya can't take what the duck says at face value – "
Dot crossed her arms. "Oh, so toon killer is a metaphor?"
"Quit jumpin' to conclusions – "
"What other conclusions can I make?" Dot cried, her voice jumping like Yakko's did when he got worked up. Her heart was pounding, each beat making it harder not to cry. "Daffy said you were friends with Rocky and you didn't deny it! You didn't deny anything! I've been living with you for weeks, I deserve to know what he was talking about!"
Yosemite took a cautious step toward her, but after seeing the way her fur bristled he took two steps back. With a sigh, he muttered, "Okay, now listen, I never killed no toons – "
"That's not what Daffy – "
"Would ya just let me finish? Damn it, yer worse than an old maid! Now, listen…I ain't proud of what I did. But I never…I never killed no one, but I may as well have. Back in the seventies I was on a bit a' hard luck. No cartoons, blew my funds away on gamblin' and my other vices…it was rough times. Now, Rocky, he comes into the picture. We'd always been on good terms. So when he strolls in, offering me a cut of a job, hell, what was I gonna say? I didn't know what he was up to at first, ya gotta give me that one."
When Dot did nothing but glare at him, he continued, "He just told me he needed three things: metal scraps, ink, and a place to hide. I done found him the metal and the hideout, but ink was always the hardest. Ended up stealin' it from the animation studio and, well, and the uh, the toon hospital."
Dot made a noise of disgust.
"I asked Rocky, I says, 'Rocky, what are you up to?' And then he done told me. He was making toons. Dozens of them. And sellin' 'em. I wanted to be upset – hand to heart, I did – but all that damn money did me in. It started to get hairy. Next thing I knew drugs were involved, then too much money…but the worst was when the toons went bad. Ya see, they weren't drawn that well. Out of work animators worked on them, but they never lasted long. They went bad. They'd start biting themselves, rippin' off their tails, losing their minds…so, when they were too broke to do their job, Rocky destroyed them."
"How'd he do that?" Dot pressed.
"That ain't important – "
"Just tell me, my opinion of you can't get that much lower anyway."
He glowered at her. "Fine, you asked. He had Mugsy and Pete bludgeon them…they couldn't squash or stretch, ya see. Rocky hated that. He hated any lower Class toon. It disgusted him. Now, I never killed 'em, but it was my job to find places to hide the bodies. We burned 'em."
Bile swelled in Dot's throat. She swallowed, fighting it back.
"I was…I was disgusted by myself. Didn't know who I was no more. So when the feds busted the joint, I didn't run. I turned myself in and did fourteen years. When my parole hearing came up I thought I was done for, but the rabbit…Bugs, he stood up for me. Talked them into giving me another chance. Gave me a part in that harebrained Space Jam nonsense. I've been tryin' to make amends ever since. Bugs Bunny's the only one who's trusted me since I came clean."
Yosemite was pleading with his eyes, begging her to believe him. But Dot felt like she didn't recognize the toon before her. He'd created false toons, he'd let it happen, let them be murdered, hid the evidence…all for what? Money? And if he'd done it once, what was to stop him from doing it again? Was he pulling a fast one on them? Was he the reason she couldn't be with her brothers?
"I trusted you," Dot said, the bitterness seeping through the cracks in her voice. She hated that there were tears in her eyes.
Yosemite flinched. It was as though she'd struck him. "And you can trust me now! Haven't I been good to you?"
Dot looked away from him. "And I heard that 'not for the kids' part…"
Yosemite blanched. "Listen to me, damn it! It ain't like that, I – I like ya, ya little squirt, I'm a good guy now – "
"How do I know that?" Dot challenged.
Yosemite opened his mouth, but at that moment a buzzer sounded throughout the entire house.
"The traps!" Dot gasped. Something had been sprung. Someone was here.
"Probably that idiot duck…hey, where are ya off to?" Yosemite cried.
But Dot ignored him as she sprinted down the hall and into the foyer, out the door, across the lawn. It felt good to run, and she didn't care if it was weasels that had set off the trap. She wanted to stop the bad guys now, she wanted to show Yosemite that she'd never be like him, she wanted to stop all of the darkness instead of feeding it.
Rounding the bend, Dot took cover behind the trunk of a thick maple. To her shock, the entire front gate had been leveled clear off its hinges and was now laying on the ground, bent and broken. A station wagon sat in the entrance, its fender crumpled from the impact with the gate. Her brow furrowed – if she didn't know any better, she'd say that was Scratchensniff's car.
A short distance from the fallen gate, dirt and leaves were scattered everywhere – the snare had clearly been set off. Dot's eyes traveled up, searching for the weasel that had tripped it. But dangling in the air, looking absolutely shocked, was no weasel. Dot felt as though her heart had jumped clear out of her chest.
There, hanging in the air and waving at her sheepishly, was Wakko.