Paint the Toon Red

by A. J. Mayall

  PAINT THE

  TOON RED

  Paint the Toon Red

  © A.J. Mayall, 2019

  Cover image by GermanCreative

  Cartoon art assets by Theodora Solorio

  Edited by Aaron Fernandez

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

  To my husband, Glen, who deals with my strange worlds on a daily basis.

  To my best friend and editor, Aaron Fernandez, thank you so much for everything.

  To my other best friend, Stuart Porter, who knows exactly why.

  To Theodora Solorio, who got me out of a jam on a moment's notice with amazing artwork for the cover.

  Last but certainly not least, to Gary K. Wolf, creator of Roger Rabbit, whose blessing made this book possible. I would not have started this adventure without your kind words and thumbs-up. I know my work will always be in your shadow, but I hope to make ya proud.

  WARNING!

  Yes, this book has cute cartoons on the cover, but on the inside, it has violence, body horror, torture, very awkward sex, gunfire, and references to Guy Fieri*.

  IF YOU BUY THIS BOOK FOR YOUR CHILDREN, YOU ARE A BAD PARENT.

  * In all honesty, I have nothing but respect for the man and the unbelievable amount of charity he does, but, you know, low-hanging fruit…

  Chapter 1

  Nobody goes to Burger Circus. When you’ve lost control of your life and are in a handy downward spiral…you just end up at Burger Circus. However, the squirrel behind the register didn’t seem to mind my presence.

  “So, let’s see here. You had three chicken sandwiches, two medium fries, and a coffee. That’ll be $13.82.”

  The squirrel appeared to have been drawn as a gangly, gawky, late teenager—sort of universal code for high school to early college—with brown fur, blue eyes, and the multicolored polka-dot polo of the Burger Circus standard uniform. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the cup of change I’d brought from my car.

  “Yeah, sorry for being all in coin, but it’s been kind of a rough day. Please tell me I have enough.”

  He smiled at me and counted the quarters, setting them in stacks of four, moving on to nickels, pennies, and dimes. After a bit of quick math, he winced.

  “I hate to say it; you’re just shy of two bucks short.”

  I grimaced, looking down at it, and smacked my forehead. The five-dollar bill I had had on the top of the coins I had given to a homeless guy earlier that day, and I forgot to take my charitable donation into account when placing my order.

  “Okay. Get rid of one of the chicken sandwiches.”

  He nodded, took one out of the bag, and smiled as he rang everything back in.

  “Seventeen cents, your change.”

  Rent was due in three weeks; I had two orders of fries, two chicken sandwiches, plain, my coffee, and seventeen cents to tide me over until then.

  “Looks like things are going kinda rough for you, man. What’s going on?”

  I smiled at the squirrel and reached for the bag of food. “Let’s just say today’s been a very special episode.”

  The squirrel winced. “A VSE? Man, I’m so sorry. I really hope the moral lesson isn’t guided on you.”

  “No, I just spent all day doing a job for a guy who ended up stiffing me.”

  The squirrel looked behind him, then back to me. He reopened the bag and slid the sandwich back in, adding an extra order of fries. “On the house. Heck, they offer me a free meal every day. Company policy and all that. It’s not like I ever need it,” he said, reaching behind him and producing an animated hamburger, easily a foot tall, with all the fixings. He crushed it between his gloved hands and slid it into his mouth, swallowing it whole. He finished the performance with jazz hands.

  I couldn’t help but smile. After all, that’s what toons did: they made you smile. I thanked him, set everything at my side, and continued to sit up at the counter. I gave him a two-finger salute off the temple. “Got a name, kid?” I asked.

  The squirrel happily puffed up his chest and showed his name badge. It, unlike the rest of him, was real. Well, that’s not right. Toons are real. It just wasn’t animated.

  I leaned in and read the name: Screwloose.

  “Screwloose, huh?”

  “Folks generally call me Lou.”

  “Well, Lou, I’m Tyler, and you just made my night.”

  He segued into informing me about a survey on the receipt I could call to enroll me to possibly get free food later. I thanked him for his time and the little show.

  I gestured toward the counter. “Hey, do you mind if I just wait here a little bit?”

  He shrugged and walked off to handle some of the other customers in the diner. Burger Circus was an interesting place, especially at two in the morning. It was a glorified fast-food place—you know, dollar menu and all that—but they kept the lobby open 24/7. Mainly because it actually gave some of the less desirable people a safe haven.

  Every outcast in the city had a home at two in the morning at Burger Circus.

  I checked my phone, shooting a message to my boyfriend Kyle, knowing he wouldn’t get it until the morning. I let him know that the gig job I’d taken to help move some people’s belongings from one house to another had ended with them deciding to stiff me once everything was moved in. I don’t like to call out college kids for that sort of thing, but I had half-expected it, especially when I saw it was for a frat house.

  I’d contact the admissions office the next day to see what my options were, but for now, I had seventeen cents to my name.

  I stayed at Burger Circus for another half an hour, mostly people-watching, as a few homeless guys had come in off the streets to grab a late-night cup of joe. When they saw me sitting at the counter, clean-shaven even with a sweaty T-shirt and jeans, they came up to ask for even more cash. Then they saw that I, like them, had a cup with change, even if it wasn’t as full as theirs.

  I looked over, smiled to the raggedy man beside me, and upended my cup into his. He smiled and told me “God bless” shortly afterward, once coffee was served to him. We clinked glasses together and had a silent toast of reflection.

  At the far end of the restaurant, a group of toons sat around a large table, mostly milling about and keeping to themselves. They looked to be farm animal types: a couple of cows, some pigs, and an oversized chicken. See, that was the thing about toons: they’re always putting on a performance, always somehow on camera, but Burger Circus was a safe place.

  One reason was that the management was cheap and didn’t put security cameras anywhere but the kitchen, to make sure no one stole food when they were working. So, to them, it was one of the few areas in town where they could know that they weren’t being recorded. It was instinct for a toon to perform on camera.

  I looked over and waved Lou closer. The squirrel smiled and bounded over springing to attention with a salute. He literally sprung, reverberating boing sound and all.

  “Anything I can get for you before you head off?”

  “No, just want to say thanks, and I will be coming back, once I get paid for this job of mine. I don’t have enough for a tip, and that’s not really right.”

  He w
aved me off. “Dude, you said ‘very special episode.’ I totally got it.”

  I nodded and thanked him, gathering my food. The fries, or what was left of them, would have to be eaten tonight. I swear that’s the only food that has a half-life measured in hours. I hadn’t touched the sandwiches yet. Probably be best to cut them in half and eat them a half a day. With that extra one Lou snuck in, that would last me six days.

  I thanked Lou, shook his hand, and headed out to my car. It was nothing special, just a hand-me-down sedan that I’d driven for the past seven years or so. I got in and headed home, trying to figure out what I would do for the rest of the week and the days to come.

  I drove out of the downtown area toward the not-so-pristine urban sprawl where most of the toon population lived. Most people just called it Animætropolis. Humans did live there, considering, well, I’m human and I live there, but it was not where you expected to see a human living.

  Driving down the road, you noticed a few changes here and there. Some of the signage seemed a little perpetually bright and sunny, regardless of if it was dark and dingy. A few houses here and there were more of the cell-shaded variety than brick and mortar until pretty much everything looked like it was a three-dimensional matte painting of some animated feature you saw as a kid.

  Rent in Animætropolis was super low, but with the crazy antics that toons got up to, most humans didn’t want to have to deal with living there all the time. I, however, didn’t have the option. It was a studio apartment in the Ink District or the streets.

  My landlord, a gruff-looking mouse, was kind enough to accommodate having a human tenant. Living in a toon house usually means having toon appliances, and, you know, having to literally switch out every single electrical outlet for one that won’t complain when you plug the computer into it is kind of a good thing. Don’t get me started on the fuss the toilet made, let alone the arguments it was giving. I still have nightmares to this day.

  I headed up to my apartment on the fourth floor and stopped just short as I saw one of my neighbors, a rough-and-tumble badger, passed out against the door with a bottle of indeterminate alcohol; I could tell from the XXX label.

  I walked up to him and nudged him with my foot. He snapped awake, his eyes cycling through colors to show his level of intoxication.

  “Barry, get up; you’re in the hallway again.”

  “Tyler, is that you?”

  “Yeah, Barry. Let me help you up. Betty will be worried about you.”

  “Nah, she’ll be fine. I just…I just wanted to hit the bars,” he said before he hiccupped a large bubble with the image of him slugging back shot after shot. It popped when it hit my nose and I smelled something akin to whiskey but far more concentrated.

  “It looks like the bar hit you back. Your wife’s gotta be up waiting.”

  “Nah, she’s asleep. Hey, Tyler, how are you and that boyfriend of yours doing?”

  “We’re doing okay. It’s a little weird, but…”

  “Yeah? Weird how? I mean, I don’t see him around here much anymore. Used to come over all the time.”

  “Yeah, he did, but you know…Benny on the seventh floor got into an argument with his girlfriend and threw a piano out the window; it missed him by just a couple feet.”

  “Someone needs to reel those two in!”

  “It’s not like, you know, it actually would’ve hurt him.”

  That was the other thing about toons: they couldn’t directly harm a human. It just wouldn’t be funny. Now, that’s not to say it was impossible to do, even on purpose; it was just completely against who they were. There had to be something beyond motive, and considering a toon was effectively immortal, you know, it’s not like they could actually argue being afraid for their lives. Toons could shake off any level of damage, which was one reason so many construction companies used them for demolition.

  Plus, they just look adorable in those little hardhats.

  “Had Kyle gotten hit by the piano, truth be told, it probably would’ve shattered or somehow deflated upon impact, but he’s been uneasy ever since. Nevertheless, I’ll see if he can come over sometime.”

  “You totally should! We’ll make a big meal, invite you two over. I mean, heck, you’ve been helping me out so much. Hey, how’d that job turn out for you? I know that you were kind of looking forward to it. Doing some heavy moving.”

  “Yeah…about that, Barry. I know that you clued me in on it, but they kinda stiffed me. Between that and the gas,” I said, holding up the bag of Burger Circus, “this is pretty much the end of my food.”

  “Oh, no! Let me see what I can do. See if I can scrape together some money for you.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure something else will pop up.”

  “No, no, really! We can cook you some food or something.”

  “You know that humans can’t really eat toon food. Well, we can, but it just doesn’t give us any sustenance.”

  “Oh, yeah…sorry. It’s the booze talking. Listen, we’ll catch up tomorrow, okay?” he said, reaching around in his pockets for a key. He reached behind him into that void that toons seem able to produce anything from and pulled out a key three feet long. He jammed and squeezed it where it made an audible squealing sound as it tried to fit in the normal-sized lock before popping in. Barry gave it a spin and his door slowly opened.

  I squatted down, let him sling an arm over my shoulder, waddled him in, and set him on his couch. “Talk to you tomorrow, man.”

  “Okay, sure thing, Tyler. You’re one of the good ones, you know that?”

  I smiled. “I try to be. I just wish the world would give me a break now and then.”

  Barry grunted, “Be careful when you say that. Last time I asked for a break, I—”

  Without warning, the couch collapsed underneath him.

  “See what I mean? I gotta be careful.”

  I had to have a chuckle at that; comedic timing always popped up in any conversation with a toon. I left his apartment and closed the door, heading back to my own.

  The little tag on it said “T Fairfax, Apt. 413.” I reached into my pocket, pulled out a very normal-looking key, slid it into the very normal-looking lock, twisted it, and stepped in. I live pretty minimally; I’ve got a bed, some cooking stuff, and once I cut the sandwiches in half, I’ll have food for the next week or so.

  I’ve also got my computer. At the moment, my browser was loaded with tabs listing jobs from the local classifieds. People always needed, you know, a day laborer for one thing or another. A steady job would be nice, but it’s kinda hard to get in this economy.

  Nothing in the ads looked promising, and Kyle was definitely asleep, so I sent him another quick message letting him know that Barry had asked about him and if he ever wanted to come back over, he and his wife would be happy to host us for dinner. I made an addendum at the bottom that pianos would definitely not be included.

  I put my phone on the charger and collapsed back into my bed. It was 3 o’clock in the morning, but I would probably be up within a couple of hours anyway. As much I wanted to be a night owl, I generally did more morning work, and the early bird catches the worm with some of these jobs.

  I turned off the lights, closed my eyes and hoped to high heaven that none of my neighbors above me would start a pogo jumping contest.

  Fortunately, they didn’t.

  Unfortunately, they started a conga line instead.

  CHAPTER 2

  I was woken up at about 9 AM by the crowing of a rooster. Well, that’s what it would sound like to the untrained ear; I knew this was around the time my upstairs neighbor, Jacquerel Cockerel, took his singing lessons. He’s been trying to break into the local theater for quite a few years now. Unfortunately, he was never designed with that in mind. It’s kinda sad to spend years upon years training and never move forward with anything. Again, it’s just one of those things about toons. He was hoping to gain enough skill that he could find a small production that would take on his copyrig
ht, which was basically, in a way, a cartoon’s soul.

  Let me explain. When a cartoon takes a contract for work, the owner basically gets ownership over what that toon does. Now, everything is negotiated in advance. You know you can’t go around having someone designed to do kids’ parties doing work at strip clubs, and trust me, there have been plenty who’ve tried to do that stuff over the years, and it never turns out well for them.

  Jacquerel, though, was, if anything, a tormented soul. I didn’t have the heart to take my broom and bang it on the ceiling. Anyway, I had places to be.

  I rolled out of bed, peeled off my shirt, and checked my phone. Kyle got a kick out of my message and said that he would be coming over in the morning. I replied that I’d just gotten up; he responded “OMW” immediately. I told him I’d be in the shower and the door would be unlocked for him. I tried to mentally plan out my day as I stripped down and climbed in the bathtub

  It was one of the few appliances I hadn’t swapped out: the classic bathtub that stood on four little feet. Every now and then, I caught it trying to wander around the house, but I easily got it corralled back in the bathroom. I wasn’t about to complain to the landlord about it after he’d done so much already. Not to mention the fact that my rent was dirt cheap, but I still had little to show for it.

  I tried to wash off the grime of hard work from the day previous, as well as the realization that things just weren’t looking up for me. I just basked in the warm water, letting it relax my tense muscles. Now, I’m a big guy, about 6 feet tall and while I’m not overly muscular, I’m not chubby either…I think they call it “dad bod” these days. I’ll be thirty in a couple of years, so I’m trying to enjoy what remains of my youth while also setting a foundation for my coming life and responsibilities.

  The only thing I really had that was mine was that car, which was pretty much given to me when I was kicked out of the house after coming out. I haven’t talked to my folks since. It was my living space for almost a year.