The Toon Patrol - Dizzy's story

[psychoangel51402]

well, you asked for it! here it is, that fanfic I keep mentioning, starting at the beginning this time!

[psychoangel51402]

Prologue
Hey, you. Yeah, you with the face. C’mere. Aw, common, don’t be shy. Pull up a chair an’ rest your dogs. I won’t bite. Heh, bet ya ain’t never seen a Toon like me before – a rough-lookin’ weasel gal in gangster-type clothes an’ sportin’ a Brooklyn accent. Welcome ta Toon heaven. Don’t look so surprised – I been here long enough ta know a newbie when I see one. So, what do they call you? Hmm, not bad. Me? Call me Diz, or Dizzy. That’s what everyone used ta call me. It don’t really matter, call me anythin’ ya like so long as ya don’t call me late for a scrap (an’ I mean a fight, not some half-eaten piece of food). I can tell by the look on your face you’re wonderin’ how a gal like me got ta ride the escalator up when I went the way of the dodo. Well, I’ll tell ya. With Toons, it don’t matter whether you’ve been good or bad, ‘cause a Toon’s only as good or bad as their writer makes ‘em. No, with Toons, you’re judged by the audience’s reaction. See, the hero’s the one they root for, but there can’t be no heroes without villains, an’ the public loves a good villain. It’s kinda hard to explain, but here’s the way I see it. Some villains are so bad, ya love ta hate ‘em. Sometimes they got certain qualities, like a cute mug or a cool power or skill or somethin’, that help ya overlook the evil side. But I think mostly it’s personality. They can be so dang funny or persistent or somethin’ ya can’t help but love ‘em. Take my boss for example. He had an ego the size of Russia, an’ the audience loved it. Me, I never got shown ta no audience. My creator was some teenage homeschooled recluse livin’ a quarter of a mile back in the woods, on the outskirts of a teeny town ya can’t find on no map. Obviously, I never made it past friends and family. But my creator loved me (a real headcase, that kid) enough so’s I could still make the cut.
Now I bet you’re wonderin’ what cacked me. There ain’t many ways ta kill a Toon, an’ what happened ta me was a doozy. It’ll take awhile ta tell, but that don’t matter much, seein’ as how we got all eternity. Feel free ta interrupt. I ain’t too good at storytellin’. Oh, an’ one other thing. I hate ta spoil the endin’, but I gotta warn ya – I die. See, that was humor. I can be funny. But I digress. Do ya really wanna hear it? All right then, here goes…

[psychoangel51402]

Chapter 1
My story begins late in the spring of 1942. The place was Los Angeles, California. Now, when I say Los Angeles, you probably think of huge mansions where glamorous movie stars live. That ain’t the case. I’m talkin’ about the regular part of the city, where the normal, “average American” humans live. It’s adjacent ta Toontown, an all-Toon town (get it, Toon, town, Toontown? Creative, ain’t it?). even the buildin’s, flowers, an’ trees are Toons. Every place from city ta swamp existed in Toontown, so every Toon fit right in where he or she belonged. Me, I fit right into a little shack I built from scrap wood an’ metal, located in a scenic abandoned parkin’ lot between two apartment buildin’s in the lower-class part of Toontown. It was right near a dump, an’ I visited that dump every day. I got all kinds of things for my shack there, an’ one day I’d even found an ol’ broke-down motorbike. I dragged it home an’ cleaned it up. Over the next few months I gradually found the parts ta fix it, an’ after a while it was good as new. I rode it ta work every day. Hey, ya need real money for the real world, an’ Toon dough don’t cut it if ya need somethin’ in the humans’ world. I’d blown all my dough comin’ ta Hollywood from Brooklyn, New York, where I was born. Yeah, I know I said my creator was a hillbilly...ess, but there’s a difference between the place where you’re born an’ where you’re created, regardless of whether you’re a human or a Toon. Humans are created by God in Heaven an’ born on Earth. Toons are created where their creators live an’ are born wherever their parents live, but, unlike humans, Toons can reproduce only if their writers want ‘em to. Anyway, I’d come ta Hollywood hopin’ ta make it into a picture, but after years with no luck I found myself missin’ New York an’ started savin’ up ta go home. By late May of 1942, I was gettin’ close. I was a newsie for the Los Angeles Chronicle. I was the best paper hawker on the force. My co-workers called me “Dizzy”, or “Diz” for short, ‘cause I sold papers so fast I made their heads spin. I had a partner, a human kid named Toby Madison. He had black curly hair, an’ was the shortest human in the company at only at about 4 an’ a half feet tall (I was the only one shorter, but most Toons are around that height so I was considered normal), so we called him Shorty.
Shorty was only 10. He had no street smarts, no fightin’ skills, an’ he wasn’t any brighter than the average 10-year-old. That’s why they paired him with me, so’s I could watch out for him. I liked him – he weren’t nothin’ special as far as street skills went, but he was always game for anythin’, he had a good sense of humor (for a human), an’ he was pretty easy to get along with.
Anyhow, one mornin’ it was goin’ on noon an’ we’d sold almost all our papers as usual. Shorty was standin’ on a barrel outside the grocery, yellin’ his lungs out. “Extra! Extra! Bill for WAAC signed into law!”
I was standin’ next ta hi on the sidewalk. I took the second part. “Read all about it, only 5 cents!”
Just then who should walk up but Detective Eddie Valiant. He always bought his paper from us an’ always stopped ta chat for a minute, so we knew him pretty well. However, he hadn't treated me the same since his brother had been killed by a Toon. Oh, he tried to be decent enough, seein's how I wasn't directly responsible, but I could sense an air of hatred towards my race. I didn't blame him - I didn't have a brother (as far as I knew), but if I did, an' a human killed him, I think I'd prob'ly hate humans. “Mornin’ Eddie,” I greeted him.
“Thanks, Diz,” said Eddie, swappin’ me a nickel for a paper.
“Mornin’, Mister Valiant,” said Shorty, hoppin’ off the barrel.
“Mornin’ Shorty,” said Eddie. “How’s your savings comin’ along, Diz?”
I grinned. “I’ve almost got enough. I should be home in time for the holidays!”
Eddie forced a smile an’ gave me a nod. “That’s good to know. Good luck.”
He walked away. Shorty turned ta me, frownin’. “Who’s gonna help me sell papers when you go back to New York?”
I gave him a reassurin’ smile an’ patted his back. “Don’t worry, kid. I won’t leave ya stranded. We’ll figure somethin’ out.”
Shorty smiled. “Thanks, Diz.”
Shorty pulled himself up on the barrel an’ sat on it. I slumped down with my back to it. “So how’s your savin’s comin’?”
He shrugged. “You know, same old. At the rate I’m earning, I should be able to pay for Annie’s doctor bills by the time I’m a hundred and sixty-five.”
I sighed, feelin’ bad for him. Annie was Shorty’s little sister of four, who’d been diagnosed with some kinda disease (I can never remember those weird sickness names. It wasn’t the flu, that’s all I can tell ya) a few years ago. “That’s amazin’ly specific. You’re a good kid, Shorty. If there’s ever anythin’ ya think I can do for ya, tell me right away an’ I’ll do my best ta help.”
“Thanks, Diz,” said Shorty, also sighin’.
A second later I spotted a young couple walkin’ up the street. I could tell by their gaudy clothes an’ the way they were gawkin’ at everything an ‘ takin’ a million pictures that they were tourists. “Look alive, Shorty, we got potential buyers,” I said. “I’ll take this one.. you just look as friendly as possible an’ don’t speak ‘till you’re spoken to. You know the drill.”
Shorty nodded. I stood up an’ watched the couple get closer. The lady was a blonde chick in a REALLY low-cut blue top an’ matchin’ REALLY short skirt, a matchin’ hat with feathers sprayin’ from one side of the band, matchin’ high-heeled shoes, a tiny matchin’ purse that was more for show than for carryin’ stuff, and dainty white gloves. Her husband had brown hair an’ wore an expensive-lookin’ light brown suit an’ brown shoes. He had the physique of a schmuck who’s never done any real work in his life, like a lawyer or a doctor. He was snappin’ pictures with a shiny new Kodak.
As much as I hate to admit it, most of the reason I sold so many papers was ‘cause most people thought a Toon weasel with a Brooklyn accent sellin’ papers was adorable. It brought in the dough, so I worked with it, turnin’ on the charm an’ broadenin’ my accent when necessary.
When the tourists got within hearin’ range, I stood on tippaw, wavin’ a paper over my head an’ callin’ cheerfully in the broadest accent I could manage, “Good mawnin’, folks! Have ya read da paypa yet dis mawnin’?”
I sounded like Betty Boop might've had she inhaled helium, an’ looked like a sloshed Goofy impersonator (an’ a bad one at that), but it did the trick. The lady put her hands on her knees an’ bent over ta get a closer look at me. “Oh, look, honey! Isn’t she the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” she gushed.
Her husband took a picture. “I’ll say, darling. I wonder if these’ll turn out?”
I offered the lady my paw to shake. She seemed kinda surprised when her hand didn’t pass through me like I was some kinda spook. I was used ta that kinda thing, so I didn’t react. “Pleased ta meet ya! My name’s Dizzy, an’ dis is my paatna, Shawty.”
Shorty, bless his little heart, gave ‘em a cute, innocent smile fit ta rival an angel’s. “How are you to-day?”
The lady literally squealed. “Oh, my gosh, you two are too cute for words!”
I kept up the act. “So where are you folks from? New Joisey? Mawntana?”
The guy kept snappin’ pictures. “No, we’re from Chicago, Illinois. Say, do you know where we can go to eat? Someplace kind of fancy?”
“Shawr!” I chirped. “Try da Ink ‘n’ Paint Club! Down da street, dat-a-way.”
I pointed. “It’s da poifect place for a classy couple like youse. Toon revue. Tell da big ape at da door dat Diz sent ya.”
“All right,” said the guy. “Thanks. Come on, hon, let’s go.”
“Not before we buy a paper!” the gal said, handin’ me a nickel.
I gave her a paper. “Thanks miss.”
The lady dug a pen outta her purse. “Will you sign it for me? I want to have a memento of you guys to show my friends!”
She gave me an’ Shorty this big, adorin’ smile like we was a couple of puppy dogs. I giggled. “Aw, shucks, miss, we ain’t nothin’ special!”
“You two are the most adorable newsies ever,” the lady declared.
“Thanks, miss,” I said, grinnin’ bashfully.
She handed us the pen an’ paper. I signed it first. I liked my signature – I thought it was bold an’ kinda artsy without makin’ me look like a ditzy teenager. It looked like this;

After scrawlin’ out my Hancock, I passed the paper ‘n’ pen ta Shorty. He signed his name, too. His handwritin’ was kinda spidery an’ a tiny bit sloppy, but he was only ten so no one expected perfection. It looked like this;

When he finished, he handed the paper ‘n’ pen back ta the lady. “Thanks so much, you guys!” she squealed.
“Thank you, miss!” I said, tippin’ my hat. “Have a great time in L.A.!”
She giggled, the airiest, ditziest giggle I ever heard. Then she took her husband’s arm an’ they walked away.
Shorty an’ me watched ‘em ‘till they were outta sight, then I ducked into the alley between the grocer’s an’ the clothin’ store next door an’ made noises like I was hurlin’. Shorty was holdin’ his sides laughin’ when I came back. I made a huge show of wipin’ my mouth an’ lookin’ sick. “Ugh man, I thought I wasn’t gonna be able ta hold it!”
Tears were flowin’ down Shorty’s face. “Hahaha! Diz, I thought you were gonna blow! Hahahahaha! How’d you do it?”
I shrugged, grinnin’. “I’m a Toon. It’s what we do. Common, kid, we got more papers ta sell.”

About two hours later, only two papers remained. I dropped Shorty off at his house before I delivered them by myself as usual. Shorty’s mother, April Madison, was standin’ on the front step waitin’ for us as always. She waved ta me as Shorty got off my bike an’ ran to the house. “Hi, Diz!”
I waved back. “Afternoon, Mrs. Madison!”
Once Shorty was with his mom, I took off for the Ink an’ Paint Club. I parked my motorbike outside, left my helmet on the handlebars, an’ went up to the door an’ knocked.
A spyhole opened up near the top, an a deep voice growled, “Password?”
A pair of glarin’ yellow eyes appeared. The second they spotted me they got much friendlier. “Diz! Sorry about that. Uh, come on in.”
The door opened an’ I found myself facin’ a 7-foot Toon gorilla, who was wearin’ a suit. “Afternoon, Bongo,” I said calmly. “Here’s y’ paper.”
I gave him the paper an’ turned ta leave, but he stopped me with a hand that was half as big as I was. “Wait a sec, Diz. The boss told me to thank you for sendin’ that couple from Chicago. They loved the club so much, they gave a huge tip and said they were gonna send all their friends here!”
I shrugged. “Wan’t nothin’. Tell your boss I said he’s welcome, thanks for buyin’ a paper ev’ry day. See ya tomorrow, Bongo.”
He waved as I trotted back to my bike. “Seeya, Diz.”
Then the door slammed shut an’ I drove off to my next stop – the Terminal Bar. It was always my last stop of the day. I was good friends with one of the bartenders there. Her name was Dolores, a real nice gal just barely outta her prime. She was a kindred spirit – like me. She was hurtin’ for money an’ had been forced to take a lousy job just ta make ends meet. I brought her paper right to her at work instead of at her house, so she’d at least have somethin’ ta read in between the rounds of scrapings-of-the-city’s-underbelly losers who came in ta get sloshed so they could forget about their problems for a while. (I don’t have a very high opinion of bar patrons, can you tell?)
Anyway, I parked my bike outside an’ went in. Dolores looked up from cleaning a glass as I entered. “Hey, Diz,” she greeted me. “I got something for you.”
I climbed up onto a barstool. It was at least a foot taller than me, so it was not as simple as it would be for the humans it was built for, but I made it without much trouble. I put the paper on the counter for her. “What is it?” I asked curiously.
One thing I forgot ta mention – I’m morbidly curious. Yeah, I’ve heard about the cat an’ all. I just can’t help myself.
Dolores reached under the counter an’ pulled out a bottle. She set it on the counter an’ slid it ta me. “My brother just visited New York. I asked him to bring this for you.”
I picked up the bottle an’ read the label. “Loganberry juice!” I exclaimed.
Dolores smiled. “I seem to remember you saying it was your favorite.”
I felt like squealin’ like a starstruck teen. “I ain’t had a taste of this in years!” I said, poppin’ the top off.
I took a big swig, savorin’ the taste. Yep, it was every bit as good as I remembered. “Thanks so much, Dolores,” I said, genuinely grateful.
“My pleasure, Diz,” she replied. “Thanks for the paper.”
“Y’ welcome,” I said, puttin’ the cap back on. “I’m makin’ this baby last as long as I can. Which will probably be ‘till I get home tomorrow at best.”
She chuckled. “Good for you. Next time I’ll have him bring back some bagel bites.”
I grinned. Loganberry juice was my favorite drink. Bagel bites were my favorite food. Dolores was now officially my favorite human friend. “Thanks, Dolores.”
“Speaking of siblings, how’s Shorty’s little sister?”
“Same old,” I replied. “Poor kid.”
Just then another patron came in. I glanced at him, then turned back to Dolores. “I better get outta here so you can work. Seeya tomorrow.”
“Bye, Diz,” she said as I climbed down an’ headed out.
I left the bar an’ headed home.
My house may not have been much, but I loved it an’ was pretty proud of it. Lemme tell ya about it. I’d furnished it with stuff I’d found at the dump, repaired, an’ cleaned up. I had a table an’ chair, cupboards, an’ a wardrobe. An old mattress served as my bed. My sink was a garden faucet on an extra-tall pipe, with a metal basin ta catch the water. A broken mirror hung above it. I had shelves for dishes an’ trinkets I found in the dump, an’ a wood stove ta cook with. There was an umbrella stand by the door, which was actually an old office trash can, an’ a welcome mat. There was probably only two thing in my house that had never been in the dump, an’ those were my picture of my house in Brooklyn, which was on the shelf, an’ a portrait of my mother, which hung on the wall. Oh, an’ my clock. I’d bought him.
As soon as I got home I headed straight to my window box. “Afternoon, gals!” I greeted the four flowers planted in it.
“Hi, Diz!” they chorused.
“Ya thirsty?” I asked.
“You bet!” said Pansy.
“I could drink a river dry!” Marigold agreed.
“Me, too!” said Vinca.
I smiled. “Okay, hang on.”
I got a cup from the shelf an’ carried it to the faucet. “Fill ‘er up, please, Squirt,” I said. “The girls need a drink.”
The faucet sighed. “All right.”
His handle turned and he filled the cup with water. “Thanks,” I said.
“It’s no trouble,” he replied, snifflin’.
I poured the water on the flowers. As they turned their faces towards the water amid exclamations of delight, I noticed somethin’. “Susan, again?”
The little gold flowers with two nasty shiners tenderly dabbed at her blackened eyes. “Those bees keep poking me when they drink my nectar!”
I gave her a little extra water. “Poor Susan,” I said sympathetically.
“How was your day, Diz?” asked a voice above my head.
I looked up at my clock, who hung above the window. He waved at me with a smile. “Good, thanks, Tickerton,” I replied.
“Oh, I’m not Tickerton anymore,” he said. “Now I’m Stanley.”
I chuckled. “Okay.”
I went to the cupboard ta look over my food. There wasn’t a whole lot – mostly cans o’ soup an’ sardines, some crackers, an’ some other nonperishable stuff. I pulled out a loaf of bread an’ a can of tuna an’ set ‘em on the table. “What, you’re not gonna cook?” my stove, Remy, asked.
“Nope,” I replied. “I feel like eatin’ a sandwich t’night, so that’s what I’m gonna have.”
After I ate I changed into my nightgown (bein’ made of ink an’ paint, Toons don’t stink unless their creator incorporated it into their design, so we don’t need ta bathe) an’ climbed inta bed. My nightgown was one of the few things I’d brought with me from Brooklyn. It was red silk with black straps, an’ although it was pretty sissy for my taste, it was REALLY comfortable.
I snuggled contentedly down inta my tattered an’ patched old blanket. “’night, guys.”
“’night, Diz,” a chorus of voices replied.
I closed my eyes. Suddenly a horrible off-key voice began bellowin’,
“Oh, we were thailin’ alonnnnng,
On-a moon-a light-a baaaaaaaay!”
I shot up. Kneelin’ on my pillow an’ lookin’ out the window, I saw Sylvester perched on the fence on the other side of the buildin’ next door, singin’ his lungs out.
“Oh-we could hear the voices riiiiiingiiiiiiing, clang, clang,
They theemed to thaaaaaay – ”
I stuck my head out the window an’ hollered, “Couldja keep it down out there? Some of us gotta get ta work at six tomorrow!”
Sylvester sniffed indignantly an’ flicked his tail, an’ stalked off with his nose in the air. I sighed as the song started up again a minute later, this time from several blocks away. Oh, well, I thought. It’s quiet enough for me ta sleep, at least.
I lay back down, an’ was dreamin’ in minutes.

[psychoangel51402]

well, there it is! don't worry, the Toon Patrol comes in towards the middle of the next chapter ^_^
Note: I took some liberties as to when the Toon Patrol was formed, based on when Teddy Valiant may have died. I knew Eddie couldn't come in contact with the Toon Patrol before the movie, so he must've quit Toontown before they were formed. I hope my estimations were correct!

[Eternity]

This has got to be my favorite fic on the site! Good job.

[psychoangel51402]

wow, that was fast!!! thanks! ^_^

[Weasel Freak]

OMG This is the best fanfiction I have ever read AND IT'S ONLY THE BEGINNING!!! Yaaay! ^^

[psychoangel51402]

wow, thanks so much!!!

[Weasel Freak]

Ur welcome! ^__^

[Sodapop]

Nice start. You musta spent a looong time on that first chapter, 'cause it blows.

[psychoangel51402]

blows...?

[wifeofsmartass]

Oh my... I.. I'm speechless! Let me tell ya, it is FANTASTIC. Excellent work!!! (Yay! Somebody else besides myself says the word "sloshed!" ;D I don't hear people say it much, really.)

[psychoangel51402]

lol, thanks! i like the term 'sloshed' - i think it shows contempt for those who end up that way!

[psychoangel51402]

Chapter 2
The next mornin’ I arrived at work on time as usual. When I went in ta get my papers, I noticed Shorty wasn’t there. I thought that was odd, an’ I sat down on the bench outside ta wait for him. after a while my boss, Joseph Granden, came out. He was a short, fat, baldin’ guy who always wore a striped long-sleeved shirt. (He had a different color stripes for every day of the week.) He looked surprised ta see me. “Diz, why aren’t you out selling papers? Where’s Shorty?”
“He ain’t here yet. I’m kinda getting’ worried,” I told him.
My boss was a nice guy who cared about the safety of the kids he employed. He didn’t hesitate. “You’d better get on that bike of yours and look for him. His mother would’ve called if he wasn’t able to show up.”
I nodded in agreement. Then I jumped on my motorbike, put on my helmet, an’ drove off.
I sped around town, getting’ more worried by the minute. Finally, as I was drivin’ down an alley, I found him hidin’ behind a crate. He looked terrified when I stopped next ta him, then relaxed a little when he recognized me. “Diz! Ya gotta help me! I dunno what ta do!”
“Calm down, Shorty,” I told him composedly. “What’s that in your hand?”
He held up a fistful of greenbacks. Behind the visor of my helmet, my eyes got wide. “Holy smoke! Where’d ya get all that cash?!”
I noticed clean lines runnin’ through the dirt on his face an’ realized he was cryin’. “I stole it,” he whispered. “I stole a guy’s wallet, took the money out, and threw the wallet away. Now the cops are after me.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Why’d ya do it, Shorty?”
Shorty was about to burst inta tears. “last night when I got home, Mama said that Annie was getting’ sicker. She said if we don’t get the money to pay a doctor, Annie will die. She’s my little sister, Diz! I had to do something!”
I felt my heart sink. I didn’t know what ta say. Shorty’s eyes seemed ta look right into the softest, most emotional parts of me (go figure) as he said, “You said to let you know if I ever needed any help and you’d do whatever you could. Well, I’m letting you know. You gotta help me, Diz!”
I bit my lip. I knew it would be against the law, but I couldn’t leave the kid stranded. As sirens filled the air, I sighed. “Climb on, kid.”
I’d never seen anyone look so relieved. He clambered on an’ we took off as the cops, two of ‘em on motorcycles, came speedin’ ‘round the corner.
I pulled out onto the main street an’ steered towards the heavier traffic. As we wove in an’ outta traffic, Shorty clung ta me for dear life, screamin’ in my ear, “Where are we going?!”
“Toontown!” I replied, turnin’ my head slightly but keepin’ my eyes on the road. “I can shake these flatfoots there an’ hide ya at my house while we figure out what ta do next.”
I turned the corner so hard the bike was at a 45° angle to the ground. Glancin’ over my shoulder, I saw the cops almost skid off the road as he tried ta duplicate my stunt. I couldn’t help but grin. The adrenaline was rushin’ through my head. Suddenly I realized that if we got in an accident Shorty could be hurt or killed. I wasn’t worried about myself – I knew Toons couldn’t be killed, an’ that we can shake off nearly any injury in seconds. Takin’ one paw off the handlebars, I pulled my helmet off an’ handed it back ta Shorty. “Put this on!” I ordered.
He was too scared ta let go of me long enough ta take it, so I quick shoved it on his head an’ got back ta steerin’.
Soon the long, dark tunnel that connected Toontown to the rest of LA came inta view. “Close your eyes, kid!” I yelled.
“Why?” he yelled back.
“’cause it gets real bright all of a sudden after this tunnel!” I hollered.
When I glanced back at him, I saw his eyes shut tight under the helmet visor. We flew through the tunnel inta Toontown. I’d done it a million times, but never so fast. Colors burst across my vision when we entered the light, temporarily blindin’ me. The tunnel opened up in a meadow. All manner of Toons were everywhere, dancin’, singin’, an’ frolickin’. Even the trees were joinin’ in. Shorty was starin’ around wide-eyed when I glanced back. I saw the cops come screechin to a stop at the end of the tunnel. “They made it into Toontown! Call the Toon Patrol!” one of ‘em yelled.
“What the heck’s a Toon Patrol?” I hollered ta Shorty.
“I have no idea!” he hollered back. “I thought you’d know!”
He glanced over his shoulder, then reported, “He’s talkin’ on a walkie-talkie! He’s calling backup!”
We were just enterin’ town. “Don’t worry, kid,” I shouted as we turned a corner. “We’re almost there!”
Without warnin’ a big black patrol car came roarin’ up behind us, sirens blarin’. After glancin’ back at ‘em, I repeated the trick I’d pulled on the cops, weavin’ in an’ out of the various modes of transportation on the road. In Toontown, that means just about anythin’ that moves – vehicles, bikes, unicycles, animals, an’ pretty much anythin’ you can think of. Believe me, it’s a lot harder ta maneuver in that common traffic. I gotta admit, I was a little surprised when I glanced back an’ saw the patrol car not far behind. Spottin’ a break in traffic ahead, I made for it an’ turned a U-ie. This time the bike was almost parallel to the ground. As we passed the patrol car goin’ the other way, I looked back ta see what it would do. Almost immediately t did a U-turn, too, so hard its two left wheels came off the ground. It looked like it was gonna tip, but it didn’t. I shook my head in amazement at the driver’s skill an’ sped on.
Turnin’ another corner, I headed further inta town. I saw two Toons – Spike the bulldog (from the Tom an’ Jerry cartoons, incase ya didn’t know) an’ Barnyard Dawg (from Foghorn Leghorn cartoons), carryin’ a plate-glass window across the street ahead. “Diz, look out!” Shorty screamed.
I just grinned. Kickin’ the bike around so it was skiddin’ parallel to the window, I hollered, “Comin’ through!”
The two dogs froze, still holdin’ the window at waist height.
That was good enough for me.
Throwin’ my weight (which wasn’t much, by the way) away from the window, I made my trusty motorbike do the limbo under it. The two dogs watched in awe, then once we were clear started cheerin’ their lungs out. I straightened the bike up an’ looked back in time ta see the patrol car smash through the window, as I’d expected. If only it’d been that easy for me, I thought.
But I’d done it much cooler.
Anyway, when the patrol car smashed through the window, the two dogs dropped on all fours an’ started barkin’ angrily. The driver of the patrol car obviously didn’t care an’ kept right on comin’. I veered right around another corner, then slammed the handlebars as hard as I could to the right again, sendin’ us squealin’ down an alley. When I looked back again, I was amazed ta see that dang patrol car do the same. “Shoot!” I hissed under my breath.
I was runnin’ outta ideas. As I was wrackin’ my brain, suddenly I heard a loud drakka drakka drakka drakk! My heart almost stopped as I realized that it was gunfire. I heard the sharp whines an’ pings of bullets ricochetin’ off the brick walls of the buildin’s on either side of the alley. My first thought was for Shorty. What kinda cop would open fire on a ten-year-old kid? I thought angrily.
Without warnin’ there was a sharp bang! like an amplified firecracker. I barely had time ta realize it was the front tire gettin’ shot out before we were spinnin’ outta control. Then we crashed into a stack of crates. We both flew over the handlebars an’ slammed into the wall. Bein’ a Toon, I didn’t pass out. I slid to the ground, dazed, then sat up an’ shook my head ta clear the stars dancin’ ‘round. When I opened my eyes, I saw Shorty lyin’ nearby. The helmet had split clean in two an’ fallen open so I could see his face clearly. His eyes were closed an’ a tiny trickle of blood ran down his face from his forehead. I crawled toward him an’ shook him gently. “Shorty? Shorty? Common, kid, get up!”
The patrol car screeched to a halt a couple feet away. I jumped to my feet an’ put up my dukes, ready ta go down fightin’. The doors of the car opened. I thought I was ready for anythin’, but I was completely surprised at what happened next.
The driver and two passengers that climbed outta the front of the car were weasels, like myself but males, or ‘hobs’ to those who are sticklers about specific names for male an’ female members of a species. (Us lady weasels are known as jills, in case you were wonderin’.). The first thing I noticed about the driver was that the zoot hat ‘n’ suit he was wearin’ were pink. Now, clothes say a lot about a character, an’ his said, “Yeah, I’m wearin’ pink. Wanna make somethin’ of it?”. The second thing I noticed was the way he swaggered ‘round ta stand in front of the car. Foghorn Leghorn couldn’t match the arrogance in that strut. You’da thought he owned the whole dang town, or state even. I could tell by his gold zoot chain, spats, an’ pink silk tie with a jewel pinned to it that he at least had a generous paycheck. His cronies looked slightly less well-paid. One looked like he’d came straight from the nut house – straightjacket, fur standin’ up straight from shock therapy, pale complexion, an’ a crazy look in his eyes, which were blue with white and yellow swirls. He carried a barbershop razor an’ had this high-pitched, insane laugh. The other was a fat guy wearin’ a red cap with a propeller on the top, a blue striped t-shirt, an’ sneakers. One huge fang grew outta his mouth down past his chin. He carried a baseball bat with a nail through it, an’ by the look of him it was entirely possible that his bat was smarter than him.
I had about two seconds ta take this all in before the leader spoke. Addin’ to my surprise, he had a Brooklyn accent, like mine but not quite as strong. “Paws in the air, doll,” he said coolly. “You’re outnumbered five ta one. Fork over the cash, an’ we’ll go easy on ya.”
I saw two more weasels saunter up from behind the car, where I guessed they’d been ridin’ in the back. One was Hispanic with long black hair. I didn’t know it was possible for anyone to have as much product in their hair as he did. He wore a green zoot hat an’ suit, a pink tie, an’ spectator shoes. He also had the strangest posture of anyone I’d ever seen: he walked leanin’ so far back it looked almost like he should fall over backwards. Also, his pants were hiked up ta his chest. The other weasel, a tall, blue-furred guy, was coughin’ an’ wheezin’ loudly as he chomped on three cigarettes at once. His fingertips were stained with nicotine, an’ the oversized, formerly white dress shirt he wore had taken on a grayish tone from the cloud of smoke around his head. He wore a loose black vest over his shirt, an’ a gray bowler hat with a black band, in which were stuck a bunch of cigarettes. He carried a Tommy gun, which I guessed he’d used ta shoot us.
These five guys were the kind your mama always told ya ta stay clear of, regardless of whether you’re another guy or a gal like me. I’d always been careful ta listen ta my mama, an’ here was no way I was goin’ down without a fight, especially havin’ Shorty ta watch out for. “Make me, flatfoot,” I snarled.
He an’ his cronies just laughed. “Looks like we got us a feisty one, eh, Boss?” asked the Hispanic guy, grinnin’ eagerly.
The leader took a few steps toward me. I stood my ground, ready ta lash out at a second’s notice. He spread his paws wide, tryin’ ta look disarmin’. He looked about as harmless as a hungry vulture with a bazooka. “Look, toots,” he said patronizin’ly. “The kid’s the one who took the money. He’s the one we really want. Make this easy on us, an’ I’ll make sure you get off easy, too.”
He sidestepped, tryin’ ta get around me. I followed, blockin’ his way. “Touch the kid an’ I’ll knock your lights out,” I growled.
“Take it easy, sweetheart,” he said. “There’s no need ta play rough. Just come quietly, an’ no one gets hurt.”
I glanced at Shorty. He looked pale ta me. I turned back to the guy in the pink suit. “I ain’t just gonna let ya take this kid an’ throw him in the slammer. He could be hurt bad. He needs medical attention from a real doctor, a human doctor.”
The guy feigned surprise. “Oh, is that all? Of course we’re gonna take him to a doctor. You can come along ta make sure he’s alright…if you promise ta behave.”
I glanced at Shorty again. I knew he’d probably be mad at me when he found out I’d just let ‘em take us without a fight, but I had a feelin’ these guys were just lookin’ for an excuse ta start pumpin’ metal, or worse. Besides, if I pushed my luck they might change their minds an’ take Shorty ta some quack in the big house. Shorty’s safety was my first an’ foremost concern. Slowly, reluctantly, I lowered my fists. The guy in the pink suit grinned. “Wise decision.”
He signaled two of his cronies. “Put the kid in the back.”
The dumbbell and the smoker came forward an’ walked around me. I watched ‘em as they picked Shorty up an’ carried him past me to the car. I felt my heart sink inta my toes. I knew I’d let the kid down.
The Hispanic guy stepped forward, interruptin’ my thoughts. “You want me to search her, Boss?” he asked, grinnin’ an’ rollin’ up his sleeves.
His leader held up a paw, indicatin’ he should stay where he was. “Nah. She ain’t gonna try nothin’. ‘cause she knows if she does, we’ll have no choice but ta shoot the kid. Ain’t that right, dollface?”
I glared at him for a minute, then reluctantly turned my face away, noddin’. He grinned again. Lemme tell ya, that grin of his was doin’ absolutely no good as far as easin’ my mind went. He jerked his head towards the car. “Get in the back.”
I obeyed, walkin’ cautiously past the Hispanic guy. I could tell he was enjoyin’ the whole thing. He grinned lecherously, lookin’ me up an’ down. He whistled. “Esta bueno!”
I used ta know a Hispanic guy, so I could understand an’ speak a little Spanish. I glared at him. “Cállate!” I snapped.
He just grinned even wider. He looked like a soused hyena (which, by the way, are not even distantly related to weasels. They’re actually more closely related to cats. Don’t believe me? You’d think a WEASEL would know, wouldn’t ya? Fine. If you’re so smart, look it up for yourself.). Anyway, the smoker an’ the idiot were already in the back. The crazy one was ridin’ shotgun, still laughin’ like the whole thing was a huge joke. Shorty was lyin’ on the floor in the back. I jumped in an’ crawled over to him. Sittin’ cross-legged an’ ignorin’ the other weasels, I held the kid’s head in my lap. The Hispanic guy started ta climb in, but the leader grabbed his shoulder an’ yanked him out, landin’ him flat on his tail. “You’re drivin’,” the leader ordered, jerkin’ a thumb towards the driver door.
The Hispanic guy bared his teeth at him, but he obeyed. The leader slammed the doors of the back shut, trappin’ me in with the idiot an’ the smoker. No turnin’ back now, I thought ta myself as the motor started.
I expected the two guys in the back ta be tormentin’ me an’ roughin’ me up the whole way ta the hospital, but they didn’t even look at me. The smoker sat on the bench on the back wall with his gun of across his lap, puffin’ away on his cigarettes as he looked through the division to the front. The idiot was playin’ with the propeller on his cap, laughin’ like a baby with a shiny new rattle. They both ignored me an’ Shorty completely. I felt as though I were completely alone as I sat in the dark, smoke waftin’ around my head as I wiped some of the blood offa Shorty’s face. I wished I could see out, but the smoker’s head was in the way.
After what seemed hours, the car came to a stop. I heard voices outside, then the back doors flew open. The sudden light after sittin’ in the dark again blinded me with color bursts for a second. I held up a paw ta shield my eyes. Two humans in hospital uniforms took Shorty from me an’ put him on a stretcher. I started ta get up ta follow, but the smoker lunged forward, grabbed my arm, an’ jerked, makin’ me overbalance an’ fall back inta a sittin’ position. I glared at him, yankin’ away. He just gave me a cautionary look outta the corner of his smoke-reddened eye. The guy in the pink suit was standin’ by the door an’ saw him. “Let her come,” he said, givin’ me a what looked like a triflin’ smile. “She’ll behave, won’t ya, sweetheart?”
Again I scowled at him but nodded. His smile widened. He turned to the Hispanic guy. “Keep a close eye on her. If she tries anything, you have my permission ta use your imagination.”
The Hispanic guy’s face lit up with deviant pleasure. “You got it, Boss. I’ll watch her like a hawk.”
I stood up an’ came ta the doors. The Hispanic guy offered me his paw like I was some kinda blueblood. I ignored him an’ jumped out on my own. I looked around for Shorty. I soon spotted him. The two humans were pushin’ his stretcher through the hospital doors. I tensed my muscles ta start runnin’, but the Hispanic guy grabbed my shoulder. “Not so fast, muñeca.”
He twisted my arms behind my back an’ handcuffed me. I gritted my teeth – I’m no wimp, but he was hurtin’ me. He put his mouth close to my ear, speakin’ in a low voice, “This should help rein in la fiera, eh?”
He snapped the cuffs shut hard. I winced, both in pain an’ alarm. “You’re sick!” I hissed.
He “tsked-tsked” provokin’ly. “Is that any way to talk to a law enforcement officer?”
“Get movin’ already!” his leader barked.
The Hispanic guy rolled his eyes an’ kinda pushed me through the hospital doors. His boss followed, along with a cop who’d just arrived on the scene via a patrol car. “Bring her into the waitin’ room for questioning,” the guy in the pink suit ordered.
I noticed he now had an unlit cigar hangin’ outta the side of his mouth. Then the Hispanic guy brought me into a waitin’ room an’ pushed me into a chair. The cop started askin’ me questions.
Big surprise.
I had nothin’ ta hide, an’ I knew Shorty well enough ta know that he didn’t have nothin’ ta hide, either (yeah, that was a double negative. Sue me.). I told him everything. My only regret about it was that the Hispanic guy heard all of it. Fortunately, they didn’t ask where I lived (Toontown’s good enough for most humans), but the story did involve my occupation an’ by boss’ name.
Just as I was finishin’, Shorty’s mother, April Madison, came in with another cop. She had tears streamin’ down her face. I felt like I got hit in the stomach with a soccer ball made of ice. My own eyes were brimmin’ with tears when I saw how worried she was for her kid. I was worried, too. Shorty was like a kid brother ta me. “Diz, what happened?” April asked.
“This Toon and your son were in a motorbike crash while trying to evade the police,” the cop who’d came in with her said.
April stared at me in disbelief. “What did you do?!”
I heard my handcuffs clink an’ realized I was cringin’ under her stare. “Sh-Shorty, I mean Toby, stole some guy’s wallet. Said it was ta pay for Annie’s doctor bills. He asked me ta help him outrun the police, so I did. Then they opened fire on us…an’ we crashed.”
April whirled around to the doorway, where the weasel in the pink suit was leanin’ against the doorframe, chompin’ on a cigar an’ watchin’ the whole thing. Great, I thought. He musta heard the whole thing too.
Before I had time for further thoughts, April yelled at him. “You opened fire on a ten-year-old boy?!” she said, her voice risin’ almost to a scream. “How could you?!”
The cop who’d come in with her tried ta calm her down. “He was just doing his job, ma’am.”
“Which is what, to murder kids?!”
“No ma’am. They had no choice but ta use force.”
April paused for a moment, then rounded on me, pointin’ accusin’ly. “You! You took him on that motorbike of yours! I would think you would know better!”
“What was I supposed ta do, turn him in?!” I asked, tears runnin’ down my cheeks.
“Yes – no – I don’t know, but you could’ve gotten him killed!”
She turned to one of the cops. “He is all right, though, isn’t he?”
“He’s got a concussion and internal bleeding,” the cop replied. ”He’s in surgery now. Do you want to see him?”
“May I?”she asked, her voice suddenly soundin’ small an’ tremblin’.
“Yes, ma’am. This way.”
April left with the two cops. The weasel in the pink suit watched ‘em go, then turned ta his companion. “Go wait in the car. I’ll be right out.”
The Hispanic guy nodded, put down the Spanish magazine he was readin’ an’ left. When he was gone, the guy in the pink suit came over ta me. I rubbed my face on my shoulder, as if I thought wipin’ the tears away would make hi forget I’d been cryin’. I don’t really know what good it did. He took hold of my arm an’ pulled me up, then turned me so my back was to him. Lemme tell ya, I did not like that. I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw a five-ton boulder (in case you’re wonderin’, I never have been an’ never will be able ta pick up a five-ton boulder, let alone throw one very far. Just clarifyin’.). But ta my surprise, he unlocked my cuffs an’ took ‘em off. I turned ta face him, rubbin’ my wrists an’ watchin’ him suspiciously for any sudden movement. He jerked his head towards the door. “Come on, you can come, too.”
I followed him out into the hall. He looked around for a second, then bawled at a passin’ nurse, “Hey, where’s the Observation Deck?”
She pointed. “Down the hall, up the staircase on the right, turn left, and it’s the fifth room on the left.”
A short while later I was lookin’ down over the Operatin’ Room. I don’t know exactly what they were doin’ ta Shorty down there.
But lemme tell ya, there was blood.
April was there, too. She stood about five feet away from me, accompanied by one of the cops. She didn’t say nothin’ ta me, or even look at me. I kinda understood. After a minute the weasel in the oink suit pulled the cop aside. I could hear ‘em talkin’ just outside the door, but I couldn’t hear what they were sayin’. Then the cop came back an’ asked April if he could talk ta her outside for a moment. They left the room. I heard the door close an’ smelled smoke. The weasel in the pink suit came an’ stood a few feet behind me, puffin’ on his newly-lit cigar. I wanted ta tell him ‘no smokin’ in a hospital’, but somethin’ told me he already knew that. So I kept my mouth shut. After what seemed hours he took his cigar outta his mouth an’ said, “Too bad about the kid. Don’t know how his mother’ll be able ta pay for this.”
He waited for me ta respond. When I didn’t, he went on. ‘Listen, doll, I got a little preposition for ya.”
I didn’t turn around. “Ya mean a proposition?”
He looked at me like I was an idiot. “Yeah,” he replied.
His expression changed to one of sly interest. “you’ll probably be lookin’ for a new job when ya get outta the clink, right?”
“What’s it to ya?” I challenged, glarin’ over my shoulder at him.
“I can help ya,” he said.
He stuck the cigar in the side of his mouth an’ offered me his paw ta shake. “The name’s Smart Guy, Toon Patrol Sergeant.”
I ignored him. He withdrew his paw an’ adjusted the collar of his suit. “I’ll pay the kid’s doctor bills, an’ his sisters’. Then you can pay me back workin’ on my patrol.”
I know my eyes widened. This guy was handin’ me the answers to my problems on a silver platter! Then I frowned, turnin’ my head ta look at him again. “What’s in it for you?”
He widened his eyes, spreadin’ his paws wide. “I need an excuse ta help a fellow weasel?”
I just gave him a look, an ‘I-can’t-believe-you-expect-me-to-fall-for-that-load-of-crock’ look. He grinned. “All right, all right,” he said, shruggin’ as he swaggered up a few more steps. “I contess. I’ve taken a bit of a shine to ya, sweetheart. You’re tough, brave, street-smart, an’ ya got a cute mug.”
I raised one eyebrow questionin’ly. He just grinned again an’ went on. “You’d be the perfect addition to our little group. Whaddaya say?”
I didn’t answer right away. I looked down at poor Shorty, layin’ sedated on the cold steel table, his face pale. I bit my lip. I’d been around the block enough times that I knew better than to trust a stranger, especially one who’s a guy, an’ especially one who says he’s interested in you. But Shorty an’ Annie were far more important ta me than my own safety. Smart Guy pulled a small white card outta the breast pocket of his suit an’ presented it ta me with a flourish. “Tell ya what,” he said. “Promise me you’ll think about it, an’ I’ll make sure the kid gets off scot-free. I already talked to the cops an’ told ‘em you were innocent, so ya get ta go home tonight instead of bunkin’ in the stony lonesome. Deal?”
I stared at the card in front of me, for a second, then slowly took it. What did I have ta lose? Smart Guy grinned an’ adjusted the collar of his suit. “I’ll be looking forward ta hearin’ from you,” he said, tippin’ me a wink. “Seeya, doll.”
He left the room. I just stood there, starin’ at the card in my hand, thinkin’. There was no tellin’ what could happen ta me if I got mixed in with those guys, but, like I said, here was the answer to my problems. I lifted my eyes ta watch the operation for a few more minutes. Then I left.

[psychoangel51402]

hurrah! the Toon Patrol enters!
ok, please note that i checked Greasy and Dizzy's Spanish with a Spanish-speaking friend. however, she's not Hispanic - she's taking a class. so if i messed up, PLEASE let me know!