by Adam Skye
We got to the wall that was the first step up to Zoot’s rooftop. We ran along the wall, came to a busted-out building, half of it knocked down. We climbed it, jumped from there onto a balcony, went into the building, used the stairs, got to the very top, jumped through a window, an’ there we were: at the gig.
We’d got there towards the end. I could tell because Zoot was doin’ his blow-the-walls-in big last number, ‘It Ain’t Over (’Til The Fat Birdie Sings)’, an’ when me an’ Sam turned the corner we saw a whole crowd of birds, cats, bats an’ even a couple of rats, dancin’ in the moonlight.
The place was jumpin’. ’Nipped-up hepcats were jivin’ paw to paw, yowlin’. Rats were reelin’ an’ squealin’, rollin’ an’ squeakin’ along with the vibe, boppin’ side-by-side with cats. There were puffed-up pigeons struttin’ around, doin’ The Flap, chests puffed, heads goin’ peck to the beat, cooin’ along with the music. Bats was hangin’ around, a big line of smiles upside-down along the roof, swayin’ in time an’ clappin’ webby wings together. Maybe they couldn’t see what was happenin’ but they had a sense for the beat like nobody else. Ol’ Joe Crow was on the roof, croakin’ along way outta toon, but nobody cared — the music was too good. The band had steeeam comin’ off of it. My fur fizzed. Sam sat back, a smile on his chops like a week of cream, his eyes slitty with bliss, his tail pounding the tiles in time with the toon, his purring intense, deep and even.
Bobby ‘Rockin Red’ Robin cheepin’ “Breep deeby” in alto counterpoint to Zoot’s raspy-like-a-cat’s-tongue “Sha-za-za-zum.” Beautiful Diana Paloma was doin’ backin’, cooin’ “Prrooo, prrooo, prrooo, prrooo,” an’ right out front was Angel Nightingale, holdin’ notes clear an’ beautiful as the stars. An’ shoo-boppin’ at the back was Mr Fixit himself, Sax Pigeon, keepin’ the whole structure together with “Re-bop a doo-wop ah-shooby doo-wah!”, poppin’ his neck an’ hoppin’ from foot to foot, and I wondered if he was protectin’ a killer.
An’ then the toon built up to a crescendo: five birdsongs comin’ together so you couldn’t see the join, five voices in total harmony, holdin’ out the note ‘til there wasn’t nothin’ on the roof not hummin’, ‘til with a
Zoot brought the house down.
The crowd went wild. I was on my feet yowlin’ for more as the birds lined up wingtip to wingtip, took a bow and went off to the birdbath for a drink, everythin’ around them still cheerin’.
“Damn,” said Sam, gettin’ up, “we shouldda come earlier.”
I told him I was gonna try t’ speak t’ Sax. Sam said he was bushed an’ he was goin’ home. I watched him go, then looked over to the birdbath where Zoot and the crew were washin’ and drinkin’ an’ started to make my way over. The second I did, though, the band-members started flappin’, lookin’ jumpy.
“Aw, hey,” I said, “that was a great show. You’re great, Zoot. All o’ ya. Hey, Sax, can I talk to you for a couple o’ seconds?”
I was too pushy. Sax had a couple o’ hens with him, cooin’ at him what a great guy he was and strokin’ his wings. Sax gave me the bird-eye.
I thought about makin’ a jump for him, but gave that up as a bad idea and tried a desperate longshot.
“Say, Sax, do you know where I can find Louie? I got somethin’ for him.”
Sax turned away, tight beak. He hopped up onto the edge of the building.
“Hey Sax!” I said. “Where ya goin’?”
Sax jumped an’ flew away.
Schaeffer met Frr back in the alley by the plaza as the night was ending. They swapped what they’d got: Frr’s fluffed play for Sax, Schaeffer’s Houndtown skinny. Schaeffer reckoned Sax had flown the coop by now, but Frr said no: Sax was too much of a hen-fancier, and here in the city he was famous. He was a big name, so where else was Sax gonna go? Become a wood pigeon? No: they should figure Sax was still in the city. His ego wouldn’t have let him leave.
Frr asked Schaeffer what he’d got: a bit on Sax. He liked to hang out in another plaza, a smaller one across town. Then something struck Frr.
“Where d’ you say Sax hangs out?”
Schaeffer told him.
“You still wanna talk with the pigeon?” asked the dog.
Frr nodded.
“That ain’t gonna be easy,” observed Schaeffer.
Frr told him he had a friend might just be able to help them get a word with Sax.
Priscilla Pigeon was young an’ cute, pretty by pigeon standards — hey, not that hard, I know — an’ she owed me one cos I’d once saved her life.
It happened not long after my canary died an’ I was on a mission to help birds out: I figured that meant more than just not eatin’ them. I was away from the plaza one night, prowlin’ the streets, when I noticed an old smelly-coat two-legs rummagin’ in a trashcan. On the floor by the trash a pigeon was peckin’ crumbs. She wasn’t payin’ the two-legs any mind, an’ to tell the truth, nor was I. She looked real old an’ I reckoned she wouldn’t see the winter out. I was wrong: it was a scam. The old lady was all bent over an’ shabby an’ hobbling, but she was crafty like a cat. She faked engrossed in the trashcan. The pigeon ignored her, pecked crumbs. The two-legs shuffled nearer. The pigeon kept on pecking at the ground. Then a hand lashed out fast as any cat’s paw, grabbed the pigeon an’ tried to stuff her into a pocket. Luckily I was on it. I ran over, jumped at the hand an’ scratched real deep an’ made the old two-legs shriek. She took her hand out of her pocket to make a grab for me too, an’ the pigeon scrambled out an’ flew off. Later she found me and thanked me, gave me her name an’ said, “Anything I can do for you...”
So Priscilla owed me one an’ I’d never had a need to call it in, or least, never thought of a way she could help me out. Like, what favours can a pigeon do for a cat, y’know, ’cept for not poop on him? Turns out, she was exactly what I needed. I told Schaeffer what I had in mind. He said he didn’t like it:
“That’s entrapment, Frr.”
I said, “Whatever gets the job done.”
Schaeffer and Frr took different paths to the little plaza where Sax was reported to hang out because they couldn’t be seen together. That was Frr’s thinking, anyway.
Frr’s thinking... The cat was devious, Schaeffer had to give him that: an entrapment ploy followed by some serious strongpaw stuff with Schaeffer standing by to jump in with the good-cop routine post-snitch.
“Not nice,” said Frr, “just workable.”
Schaeffer got to the square before Frr, as they’d planned.
The square was just like the main plaza — big pigeon turf with buildings high up on all four sides, miles of ledges, trees scattered around, two-legs wandering through with happy, tail-wagging law-abiding pooches on leads — but no bars, no shops. Soft beat, thought Schaeffer, a pre-retirement posting... Look at that would ya? That old two-leg bitch carrying — I mean, carrying! That scrawnyass, pampered... sheeez...
He’d come trotting in off the street and positioned himself more or less right in the middle, in the sun, nice and visible. At first, all the pigeons pecking around flew away when Schaeffer sidled up. They made for the buildings surrounding the square and gave him the bird-eye from their perches. Once Schaeffer rolled over onto his side though, went floppy like he was going to have a doze, a few of them came down to the ground again, too hungry to put off breakfast. Schaeffer lay on his side, faking yawns, eyes slitty, but that was a fake too: he was watching everything, and what he couldn’t see he’d hear, or catch on the breeze. He made Frr slinking in the shadows, waited for the tail flick, the signal that the pigeon had landed.
Schaeffer had reservations about Frr’s plan, the most obvious being what if Sax didn’t show? Then there was what if Sax didn’t go for the lady and flap, eyes shut, into the trap? What if he saw Frr and split?
Finally, what if it all went right, and he still wouldn’t sing?
Frr’d told him to take it easy, it’d work. Sax was a musician, a toonhead. He had a two-track mind: music and groupies. Schaeffer grunte
d, not being a big off-duty music fan. He didn’t feel too convinced about it. Surely, Schaeffer was thinking, Sax wouldn’t be that easy.
There were lots of pigeons now, ignoring him but still wary. More were coming down to feed. Schaeffer lay on his side and looked through the pigeons. Across the plaza Frr’s tail lashed once, and the cat went belly-to-floor, tense.
Make that Sax, then.
Schaeffer pricked his ears up slooooow.
AHHHWHEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
here ah come
glidin in fo nother
spec
tac
yuh
luh
land’n’
YESSS!
Ruffle feathers. Look coooooool. Preeeeeeeeeeeeeen.
Graceful like a eagle, Mr Sax, sir.
Ya think so?
Umhuh yesSIR!
Ya think they all saw me land’n’?
Sho thing, Sax.
YEAH!
Yo, suckers! here ah am... Yo star’s come down to th’ groun’ ’n’ mingle wi’ his fans, show he a pigeon’s pigeon, an’ no’ jus’ the doodiest dood in Birdlan’ heh heh.
Ah’m goan strut ’mong these or’n’ry folk... Talk t’ me, Sax.
WhaddyawannatalkaboutSax?
Mah vair favourite thing.
An what’s that, Sax?
Why, me, of course!
Happy to o-blige Mr Sax, sir.
I knew you would be.
So it’s a mighty fine day, Mr Sax, sir, how yo’ feelin’?
Why, today ah’m feelin’ GOOOOOD! Goan hop aroun’ the plaza goan get myself some fooood!
WOOAH!!!!!
BIG UGLY DOWG! Lyin’ in my square... Din’ see him ’hin’ all these or’n’ry folk. Ah’m goan give him a wide berth, yes ah am, plenny space t’ do his doggy thang in... Don’ wan’ no dog chasin’ me, no no... Ah’m watchin’ you, dog, leave me ’lone y’ big hairy thang wi’ fo’ legs or ah’m goan poop in your fur... Righteous bad doodoo mess you like voodoo...
peck peck
peckety peck peck peck!
Um hum, that ol bread sho do taste good an’ do my lil eyes spy corn?
Gots to keep my strength up fo’ the laydees, yes I do... scooby doo.
Say, Sax!
Yo! What?
Yo, Sax, yo knocked ’em dead last night at Zoot’s!
Sho’ did. Scoobendooby HAH HAH!
Heh heh heh, them lil hens jus’ can’t keep away from ma golden sy-rinxes.
Sho nuff. Heh heh. Tra la la.
A - WOAH - a - ROONY!!
oh HOT DAMN!
OH what a LAYDEE!
My heart is all of a fuh-luh-huh-huh-hut-ter!
Oh, she is soooo pretty an’ she is givin’ me the eye, o’ my name ain’t Sax Pigeon. Yo! Sax!
Say what?
What’s yo name?
Why, my name is ... SAX PIGEON !
Ah’m goan puff myself up so’s I look e’en mo’ go’geous.
Yo baby, can you hear my heart beatin’? Can you hear what ah’m thinkin’ hmmmmm...? Then bounce on over here an’ lay a lil kiss right here on ma beak!
Heh heh, I do believe I have that lil laydee’s eye...
Now ah’m goan hop over there on my dancin’ red feet an’ lay a tooooon on that lil lady, an’ ah’m goan win her heart an’ we goan go someplace
Make like lovebirds
Here ah go hoppin’ ’cross the square goan make that lil lady’s day...
Don’ needs to tweet cos ah’m fly on ma feet!
Life’s bitter, baby... let’s make it sweet...
Be cool, fool! Check it out!
Hush there, my natrul caution, y’all be needin’ t’ chill.
Big ol’ dawg ain’t payin’ yo ass no mind, he jus’ dozin like a big ol’ dumb dog’s s’posed to: act all nonch-lant, Sax... Oh that laydee, she is soooo pretty an’ ah’m homin’ in.
SHIT! He's movin!
Be gone, Sax, be gone an’ on the wing!
Get up an’ away an’ lay a big ol’ sloppy
poop on that damn dog f’ messin’ witcho moves!
Oh!
False alarm, Mr Sax, sir.
He’s jus’ about washin’ his bits...
HOT DAMN! I WISH I COULD DO THAT!
Me too Sax.
Jus’ don’ breathe on me, dog.
Here I goes.
Yo baby...
... come t’ Sax...
Hey!
Hey, where ya goin’!?
AARRGGHH!
Sax was so caught up in the loonytoon world inside his head, he never heard Frr’s footfalls behind him: Schaeffer and Priscilla sucked up all the pigeon’s attention as Frr crept up on him from behind, just as they’d planned. Priscilla saw it was time for her to be gone now that she’d paid back Frr for saving her life, having very good reasons for not wanting the connection between her and Frr known.
Frr was slinking across the square, getting nearer. When Sax was within range, and when he saw Priscilla bending at the knee to jump, he sprang.
Around Schaeffer, hundreds of pigeons suddenly panicked, and jumped into the air, deafening him with their flapping, obscuring his view with their sheer number. When the cloud had lifted, and the pigeons were flying away or back to their window-ledge perches, Schaeffer saw Sax flattened out, face down on the ground, wings pinned: Frr’s plan had worked. Schaeffer could hear the pigeon’s heart thumping, he reckoned not entirely on account of Priscilla: Frr’s jaws were in his face.
“Hi, Sax. Y’know, y’really shouldda spoken to me last night. Then I wouldn’t’ve had to come all the way across town t’ see you an’ I wouldn’t be so hungry. Where’s Louie?”
“Whooooooooo?”
“Louie. Your friend the black rat. You know the one - likes music, likes climbing. Likes canaries.”
“Don’ know whatchoo sayin’ to me, cat. Don’ know no Louie, no no.”
“Tell it to the birds, Sax. I seen him at Zoot’s shows, I seen you talkin’ to him. Word is, you two’re real tight.”
“Don’ know whatchoo talkin’ ’bout, cat.”
Schaeffer listened in, waiting for his cue. Frr growled, “Sax, either I leave here knowin’ where I can find Louie, or I leave here with feathers round my mouth.”
Sax shivered but kept his beak shut.
“Spill it, Sax.”
“Damn cat wanna get me a snitch jacket! You know what happens to bird-snitches?”
Frr knew. It was the big thing he had on Sax. It wasn’t nice.
When it was known that a bird had ratted another bird out, it got the peck treatment. One bird at first would peck hard on the snitch’s back, fake an apology, Oh, sorry, pal, thought it was a fly, then another bird would do it, and another and another. Once someone drew blood every bird who passed would have a peck. The snitch had one chance and that was to get away. But if blood had been drawn the cut usually went nasty in the filthy city, and death came long and slow, up on a ledge all on your own.
Frr pushed it as far as it could go.
“Sax. I’m gonna find Louie with or without your help...”
“So do it, fish-head!”
“... an’ when I do I’m gonna scoop out his heart an’ leave it in the plaza t’ get trodden on. Then I’m gonna put it out that you told me where to find him...”
And Sax folded.
“No! Louie ain’t done nothin’ to no-one, cat! Leave’m alone!”
“He snuffed my friend, Sax, a little canary in a cage.”
“No...”
“YES!”
“NO!! Louie’s a innocent rat didn’ kill no-one, fool! He jus’ saw who did! Louie ain’t no killer.”
“Convince me.”
“He’s hidin’ from them that did kill tha’ bird: Marcus’ mob. He tol’ me.”
“What if I heard different?”
“Chump cat don’ know shit.”
Then Frr froze, a late take on that name.
“Marcus did the canary?”
; “Not Marcus, fool! One a his rats. Lemme go, dammit!”
“No. Where’s Louie now?”
“Take a swim, chump! Y’all stone crazy jus’ wanna kill somethin’.”
“Not me, Sax.”
“Huh.”
“Hey, thing’s change. I’m tellin’ you Louie ain’t my guy now. But I gotta talk to him.”
“How’m ah goan know you won’ kill ’im?”
“Cos you say he didn’t do it. Cos you say someone else did. Cos Louie’s gonna tell me who an’ I’m gonna kill that rat instead. So tell me or I’ll kill you.”
Sax sang. It came out choked, lump-in-the-throat tight.
“He’s inna sewer. Underneath the plaza.”
Schaeffer took his cue, leapt up.
“Freeze! Undercover police dog!”
Frr jumped up, back arching, hissing. Sax saw his chance, and flew off.
They watched him fade to a tiny dot and disappear.
“Nice work, Frr,” said Schaeffer. “Y’got what we wanted.”
“Yeah,” drawled Frr. “I told you it’d work. I told you he’d stool.”
Schaeffer was grinning.
“Yeah, y’must have had him pretty scared, Frr, I gotta hand it to ya. So scared he stooled twice.”
“Huh?”
Schaeffer was showing teeth, smiling. Frr looked down — black and white, in his belly fur.
“Aw, sh...”
Schaeffer was barking with laughter. Cats’ MO — they have to be clean, but they won’t touch water. If dirt gets in their fur they lick it off. They can’t help it. They lick it off, whatever it is. And then they swallow it.