by Gary K. Wolf
I pointed the business end at Louie Louie.
“You think I’m scared of that?” he said.
“You oughta be,” I answered. “I took a tip from your boss. He filled his squirt gun with DIP and shot his girlfriend in the face. On the off chance you might still be lurking in my shadow, I been keeping my squirter loaded with DDT. Guaranteed to kill any insect crawling the face of the Earth. Ants, flies, termites, roaches. Works especially well on lice.”
Louie Louie’s multiple eyes widened. “You wouldn’t kill me in cold blood. You ain’t the kind. I’m the louse in this story, not you.”
“You know something? You’re right.”
I lowered the gun.
I looked at the rabbit, his inky insides spreading across the deck.
Jessica was bent over Roger’s mangled body, sobbing her gorgeous eyes out.
The rabbit had died to save my dog!
“Who am I kidding?” I said. “I’m exactly the kind.”
I raised the squirt gun, squeezed the trigger and shot the dirty louse dead.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jessica took the boat’s wheel. She cranked the engine to full ahead. With Jessica at the controls, our powerboat leaped across the waves like one of Poseidon’s skipping stones.
“Hang on, Roger,” Jessica kept repeating. “We’ll save you.”
I sat on the deck, my legs stretched out in front of me. I cradled the rabbit in my arms. Roger wasn’t breathing. His pupils had rolled back far enough to let him see his own brain. He had a hole the size of a pie plate in his chest.
Jessica wanted to believe fast action could save her hubby. In truth, we had a better chance of resuscitating last year’s Thanksgiving turkey.
A med evac flying elephant met us at the dock.
The elephant wrapped Roger in his trunk. The pachyderm flapped his ears and lifted off, transporting the cold, lifeless rabbit up, up, and away to the Toontown Trauma Center.
As things turned out, my fear for the rabbit’s demise was premature.
The Toontown Trauma Center dealt with Toons who had been squashed, squished, squeezed, conked by anvils, clunked by falling grand pianos, and flattened by steam rollers.
Compared with those horrendous owies, a gunshot wound to the chest was the equivalent of a mosquito bite.
Roger’s Toon doctor, Squeegee Caterson, was Toontown’s premiere plastic surgeon. He wasn’t a plastic surgeon in the sense that he did nose jobs and face lifts, although I’m sure he did. Squeegee was a plastic surgeon because he was made entirely out of stretchy plastic.
Squeegee could extend his fingers, hands, and arms out so much that he could reach into his patients through any orifice, wind his way through their shattered bodies, and repair their damage from the inside out.
I found Squeegee in the hospital cafeteria. The doctor was eating an apple, a fruit which I thought was supposed to keep a doctor away, but I guess not.
“How’s Roger Rabbit doing?” I asked.
Squeegee stuck out his tongue and licked a piece of apple off his lips. He extended his tongue further and wiped off his chin. He finished his cleanup by using his extensible tongue to comb and part his hair and to ream the waxy buildup out of his ears. “The rabbit was touch and go for a while. I needed a hundred cc’s of oil paint to reanimate him. Even though that got him breathing, I still had to mend that huge hole in his chest. Luckily transplantations have come a long way. Us Toons aren’t flesh and blood like you humans. In composition we’re closer to wood pulp and glue. For repairs to woodland creatures like gophers, chipmunks, groundhogs, and rabbits, we use organic materials from their native habitats. I found a perfect match for Roger. I replaced his divot with a piece of turf cut from the fourth tee at the Toontown Golf Club. He’ll have to take anti-rejection drugs for the rest of his life or other Toons will reject him. Until the oil paint fully penetrates his body and works its magic, his chest will sprout creeping bentgrass instead of hair and he’ll have a ball hole instead of a nipple. Eventually, he’ll be fine. Good as new.”
Bouquets of flowers filled Roger’s hospital room. These flowers, being Toons, occasionally broke into happy, sunny, cheery songs. If I ever land in a Toon hospital I would have to remember to specify no flowers, only strong, silent booze.
Jessica was in Roger’s room. One of the nurses told me she hadn’t left her husband’s side since he arrived.
Roger was sleeping.
“How’s he doing?” I asked Jessica.
“You know him, Eddie. He’s a plugger. He’ll make it.” To keep the sound down, Jessica spoke using balloons. She touched my arm. “I want to thank you for what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I said. “You and Mutt saved the day.”
“I won’t argue with you. Not here, not now. Just be assured that if there’s anything I can do to repay you, anything whatsoever, just ask.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Cooper knocked softly on the door and came in. I hadn’t seen Cooper since the FBI sent Sands to the slammer.
“Eddie,” said Cooper, “Jessica.”
Cooper had given up on the leather jacket, torn T-shirt, faded jeans look. He was back to the Cooper we all knew and loved, the one who could have stepped straight off the cover of Gentleman’s Quarterly. He wore a tailored three-piece gray-striped suit, crisp white shirt, gold cufflinks, and polished shoes. He held his hat, a black homburg, in his hand.
“We square?” Cooper asked me.
“More or less. I’m still not entirely convinced you weren’t in on the deception with Sands.”
“Wasn’t,” he said.
“Why should I believe that?”
“Trust me,” he answered.
“I understand that’s a Hollywood euphemism for ‘screw you.’”
“Nope. Truth,” he said.
“If I find out you were part of this,” I said, “you’re gonna be doing time right alongside Sands.”
“Understood,” said Cooper.
“Eddie,” said Roger, waking up and seeing me. His balloon resembled the half-hearted ‘yip’ that comes out of sick puppies. “Thanks for coming to visit me.”
“Hey, you saved my dog’s life, and mine too. I owe you. I came by to thank you in person, but also to give you a warning. You know Chief Hanker went to prison.”
“So I heard. He’s been sentenced to remain there for as long as it takes him to Toon over a new leaf.”
I put a hand on the rabbit’s scrawny shoulder. “My prison sources tell me Chief Hanker blames you for him going away. He says that when he gets out, he’s coming for you, he’s coming armed, and he’s not coming alone.”
“Gosh.”
Jessica reached forward and grabbed her hubby’s hand. “A vicious felon has sworn to return and kill my bunny boo.” She grabbed Roger’s other hand and looked him straight in the eyes. “What will you do if he shows up? You’ll have to run. Leave Toontown. Go far, far away. Someplace where he’ll never find you. Someplace where you’ll be safe.”
“Me? Run out? Har de har har,” said Roger. “I’m a hardy, heroic hare. I’m not the least bit scared. Let him come for me. I’ll cross that bridge when the water runs under it. I would only worry if I were torn between love and duty. Supposin’ I lost my red-haired beauty?”
Jessica gave Roger a big, juicy smooch. “Oh, Roger, you need never fret about that. You are the bravest rabbit I’ve ever met. One thing you can count on,” she said. “I won’t forsake you, oh, my darling.”
Cooper contemplated the words on Jessica’s gossamer balloon. He took her balloon and Roger’s, folded them up, and put them in his pocket.
Me and Cooper stopped by the Toontown Bus Station.
Honey Graham was leaving Toontown. She wanted to see us bo
th, me and Cooper, to thank us she said, before she headed off. Even though, the way I saw matters, the resolution of this case had been completely my doing. Cooper hadn’t done squat to help Honey or anybody. Nevertheless, at Honey’s request, I included Cooper in her finale.
I had asked Squeegee Caterson to do what he could for Honey.
Squeegee had used bits and pieces left over from other of his artistic restorations to return Honey’s face to a level of normalcy. Honey Graham would never be the knockout she had been before. At least she wasn’t going to scare kids on the street.
“I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused you,” she told me.
“You more than made up for that,” I said. “You helped make the case that took Willy P down.”
“I wonder,” she said, “if I could trouble you for one small going away present.”
“Whatever I can do,” I told her.
“I know I’m not pretty anymore.”
I started to argue, but she stopped me by holding out her hand. “I’m resigned to my new, ordinary look. I know how my life will play out. I’ll go home, get a waitressing job, marry a sweet farm boy, and spend the rest of my life feeding chickens and raising a parcel of kids. Before that happens, one last time, I would like to kiss a really handsome man.”
“Like I said, whatever I can do.” I puckered up.
“Not you. Him.” She pointed at Cooper. “Mister Cooper, could you give me one glowing memory that can last me the rest of my life? Could you kiss me goodbye?”
“My pleasure,” he said.
Cooper gallantly obliged.
Honey Graham boarded a Greyhound headed back to her home in Indiana. The Greyhound galloped off with Honey straddling the big dog’s back.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I went with Roger to the section of Toontown known as Actors’ Acres, an area off Star Turn. Human movie stars like Clark Gable, Cary Grant, and Mae West kept summer places here. They came to Toontown strictly for the laughs.
We met Cooper for lunch in Lala Land, a touristy theme bar done up to resemble Los Angeles. Lala Land featured no place to park, gauche furniture, healthy food, unhealthy air, and Toon birds coughing their tiny lungs out in the branches of plastic trees.
Cooper was waiting for us in the lounge.
“Hi, Mister Cooper,” said Roger.
“Howdy,” said Cooper.
A short, squatty man with more oil on his hair than I had in my jalopy, sat beside the star. “I’m Buck Buckley, Gary’s agent.”
I could have guessed that. Buckley wore the Hollywood agent’s uniform—smartly pressed tan gabardine slacks, a blue polo shirt, and tasseled loafers.
“I thought we had better get together just so there’s no misunderstandings about what happened when Gary went to Toontown,” he said.
“That’s gonna be near impossible,” I said. “Roger misunderstands everything.”
“I sure do,” said Roger.
“I’ll put our conversation in writing later.” said the Buck. “We’ll all get a printed copy. Here’s the bottom line. I never wanted Gary to make that silly Hi, Toon! movie. That was entirely his idea. Now that Barney Sands is out of the picture, I’m canceling Gary’s contract.”
“That’s too bad,” said Roger, totally misunderstanding as expected. “Who’s gonna replace you in our movie?”
“Nobody,” said Cooper.
“I cancelled the entire project,” said Buck. “There will be no movie.”
“No movie?” said Roger.
“No movie,” said Cooper.
“So I’m out, too,” said the rabbit.
“Correct,” said Cooper.
“I have told Gary repeatedly,” said Buck. “He isn’t cut out for comedy. He should do what he does best and leave the screwball stuff to fellows like William Powell and Cary Grant.”
“What exactly do you do best?” I asked.
“Oaters,” said Cooper.
“I’m returning Gary to the type of movie that gave him his start in the business,” said Buck. “A Western.”
“I thought you wanted to broaden your horizons, widen your vistas, expand your boundaries,” said Roger. “You’ll never do that with a shoot-’em-up. Saddle soapers are strictly for kids.”
“Adult Western,” said Cooper.
“Gary’s gonna make a Western for grownups,” said Buck. “A Western dealing with psychological motivations and ethics.”
“Hi ho, psycho. I can’t go in that saloon. I’m too Jung,” joked Roger. “I’m not so sure I get the concept. What would the story be?”
“I got a team of scriptwriters working on that,” said Buck. “I see Gary playing a brave marshal standing alone against bad men sworn to kill him.”
“What do you intend to call this grown up Western of yours?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” said Buck. “Let’s toss titles around over lunch.”
“That time?” asked Coop.
“Sure is,” I told him. I showed him my wristwatch. “High noon.”