Who Censored Roger Rabbit? (26 page)

Roger stopped in his tracks. The hearts around his words cracked in half, fluttered to the floor, and melted into about a hundred piles of lumpy mush. I’m not the kind of guy who feels sorry for anybody. I think most people make their own problems and deserve what they get. But I’ve got to tell you, right then that rabbit gave my heart string a tug that nearly yanked it out of my chest. “I think you ought to know,” I told Jessica, “that it was Roger here who talked me into handling your case.”

She looked at Roger with all the gratitude you’d show toward something that slunk into your garden and nibbled the leaves off your brussels sprouts.

She was about to lay into the rabbit again when somebody pounded on the door and a gruff voice said, “Police.”

“It’s Cleaver,” Jessica moaned. She scuttled along the wall the way spiders do when they’re desperate for some place to . hide. “He’s come to get me.”

Roger went to her and put his arm around her shoulder. I guess when you’re drowning you’ll cling to whatever floats, even a semi-dead rabbit. Jessica grabbed Roger and pressed her face into his chest. “Protect her, Eddie,” said Roger.

“If you think this will change things between you two, you’re wrong,” I said. “But you’re the boss.”

I opened the door. Instead of Cleaver, I found Rusty Hudson and Nickels Jurgenson, a seedy, small-potatoes pawnbroker, a guy with a face of stone and a heart to match. I’d sold him a few odds and ends over the years, but I’d always counted my take twice, to make sure Nickels hadn’t declared himself a dividend at my expense.

“Twice in one day,” I said to Hudson. “My cup runneth over.”

“And so does your mouth,” he said, pushing past me into the apartment.

He walked up to Roger and Jessica huddled against the wall. He faced them but spoke to me. “You’re a wise apple, Valiant, and I hate wise apples. I told you to lay off the DeGreasy case. I told you it was locked up tight. I no sooner get back to the station house than I hear a rumor you’re still in it. I hear you even got yourself a partner, a rabbit, so I hear.”

He curled up his lip and gave me a peek at an eyetooth pointy enough to punch holes in leather. “This him?” He jerked a thumb in Roger’s direction.

I nodded.

“Well, maybe I better give this new partner of yours the same sermon I gave you so both of you get the message.” Hudson turned back to Roger and Jessica and stuck out his hand. “Rusty Hudson,” he said to Roger.

“Bucky Bunny,” said Roger. He disentangled himself from Jessica and put his paw into Hudson’s hand. Hudson shook but didn’t let go.

“Bucky Bunny,” said Hudson. “How cute.” With his free hand he motioned to Nickels. “Come here, Nickels, and meet Bucky Bunny.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Nickels.

“You ever meet Bucky before?” asked Hudson.

“Yeah, once,” said Nickels. “He came into my shop a while back, and he bought a gun.”

Hudson turned to me, dragging Roger, whose paw he still held, along with him. Deprived of her protector, Jessica did her best to melt into the exposed plaster behind a peeling slice of my wallpaper.

“For your information, shamus,” said Hudson, “that gun your partner bought was the same gun that shot Rocco De-Greasy.” Hudson took out his handcuffs and dangled them in front of my eyes. “When he bought that gun, your partner’s name wasn’t Bucky Bunny. It was Roger Rabbit, and you’re in big trouble, Valiant. For starters I got harboring a fugitive. Concealing evidence. Accessory to murder.”

“Public enemy number one, that’s me,” I said.

“Not quite. You’re only number two.” He swung sideways and in one swift motion snapped the cuffs onto Roger’s wrists. “Your partner here’s the winner. What say we go downtown, rabbit, and you tell me your life story.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, grabbing Hudson by the shoulder. “This isn’t really Roger. It’s his doppel. You throw him in the clink, and he’s liable to disintegrate in there.”

Hudson reached under his coat, probably for something mean and metallic to make go bang in my face. I let loose of him. He brought his hand out empty. “Smart move, Valiant. There might be hope for you yet.” He gave Roger a none too gentle shove toward the door. “Look, I got to take this rabbit in for questioning. Maybe he is a doppel. Maybe he will disintegrate before he gets out. So what? This is a ‘toon we’re talking about. What do you care whether you ever see him again or not?”

“I care because he’s my partner. It doesn’t matter what he is or what I think about him. A guy’s supposed to watch out for his partner.”

“Valiant, if you really believe that, you’re a sentimental sap and about as realistic as some yegg in a two-bit thriller.” Hudson tipped his hat to Jessica, who was cowering against the wall, and headed Roger out.

“Eddie,” pleaded Roger in a balloon that clung to the doorframe as Hudson shoved him through. “Eddie, I’m your partner. Help me. Please.”

Nickels went out after them, slammed the door, and left me there alone with Jessica.

“What a relief,” said Jessica, uncorking a smile obscene enough to clear the room of anybody under seventeen not accompanied by parent. “For a minute there, I thought they’d come for me.”

“Must be your lucky day,” I said, “and I think it’s going to get even better. Just wait right here.” I went into the kitchen and brought back the teakettle or magic lantern or whatever you called it, handling it with a potholder since it was still hot from Roger’s tea.

“The lantern,” squealed Jessica. “You found the lantern.” She reached for it, but I pulled it back.

“Not so fast,” I said. “Do you know the magic words that activate this thing?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t. But I won’t have any trouble persuading Dominick to tell me. I can be very persuasive. It won’t take me long.”

“Sorry, I can’t wait.” I headed for the door.

“Stop,” she shouted. “Let’s discuss this. We can make a deal. I’ll share my three wishes with you. I’ll give you one wish. Anything you want. Anything in the world.”

I opened the door.

“Two wishes,” she said. “I’ll give you two wishes. You can be the world’s best detective. Or the world’s richest man. Or the greatest lover. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll wish it for you. Wealth, power, whatever you want. Just leave me one wish for myself,” she said. “One wish. That’s all I ask.”

She had hold of my arm. I disentangled myself from her and pushed her away. “Sister, the only wish I’ve got right now is to see Roger out of the pokey, and I think I can get that one fulfilled all by myself.”

“At least let me come with you.” She fondled the lantern with a lot more passion than she had ever fondled me. I’m surprised it didn’t melt from the heat.

“Sorry, but this trip I fly solo.”

She kept hanging on so I gave her a love tap to the jaw. She went down like a wet noodle. I straightened her out, tucked a sofa cushion under her head, and wished her pleasant dreams.

I found Dominick alone in his office, going through a stack of accounting sheets, most of them liberally doused with red ink. Even if the DeGreasy syndicate had been rock-solid financially, I wondered how long it would stay that way under the guidance of a man who couldn’t read through profit and loss statements without moving his lips. “I brought you a present,” I told him and held up Roger’s teakettle.

“That’s it,” shouted Dominick, lunging across his desk at me. “That’s my teakettle. Give it here.” He grabbed the teakettle and tried to yank it out of my hand.

I pulled out my pistol and buried it to the trigger in his bloated stomach. “Not so fast. First the answers to a few questions. Then the teakettle.”

He backed off. Usually when you got the drop on a guy, his eyes look to your peashooter. I been on the receiving end of that proposition often enough to know. I guess you figure if you watch closely enough you can maybe jump sideways before the bullet hits you. But Dominick, he was different. As far as he was concerned, the gun might as well have not been there. His eyes never left that teakettle, not once. “Sure, sure,” I’ll answer anything you want.”

I moved the teakettle back and forth. Dominick’s eyes followed it like a snake’s. “I know this isn’t a teakettle. I know it’s really a magic lantern. I know you and your brother were born ‘toons. I know you used this to turn yourselves into humans and to make successes of yourselves in the comic busi•

ness. Now the effects are wearing off. Your syndicate’s going bankrupt, and you’re becoming a ‘toon again. You need your last wish to get things back to where you want them. Right so far?”

Dominick nodded.

“Tell me what you did to try and get the magic lantern away from Roger.”

Dominick reached for a smoke, put it into his lips, and tried to light it. After two attempts and a badly scorched nose, he finally looked away from the lantern long enough to do the job right. “We tried everything. We tried to break into his bungalow, but we couldn’t because of this fancy burglar alarm system he had. Rocco tried setting up meetings there just to get inside.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I remember Rocco wanted me to arrange one for him.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” said Dominick. “Nothing worked. The rabbit wouldn’t let Rocco or me into his bungalow for any reason. He didn’t trust us.”

“Imagine that,” I said.

“After Roger died, I went over there for one last shot at it. The cops hadn’t reset his alarm, so I had no trouble getting in. I turned the place upside down, but the lantern had vanished. I couldn’t find it nowhere.”

That explained the mess Roger and I had stumbled into when we went back to his place. I asked my next question even though I already knew the answer. “Did you kill Roger? And remember, you lie to me, you never see this magic lantern again.”

Dominick slammed his hands on his desk for emphasis. “No, I didn’t kill the bunny. I would have, and gladly, if I’d had the chance, but I never got it.”

I believed him. If he had done the deed, he would have picked up the magic lantern after it went out Roger’s door. And the same held true for Jessica.

“That’s the truth,” said Dominick. “So help me.”

There seemed to be only one chance of getting this mess straightened out, and I took it. I tossed Dominick the lantern.

He caught it and hugged it to his chest, stroking it from spiggot to handle the way you would a cat. “How about you leave me alone with it,” he said, “so I can make my wish in private.”

“My pleasure,” I said. I went out into his deserted hallway, shut the door, and pressed my ear against it.

Inside I heard Dominick DeGreasy recite the words, “May your dreams come true.” This time the words produced a response, a loud whooshing noise and a shout from DeGreasy.

I heard another voice inside the room, and I heard a gunshot.

DeGreasy cried out.

I tried to open the door, but DeGreasy had it locked. I put my shoulder to it, and shoved. It crashed off the hinges, and I stumbled inside.

I nearly tripped over DeGreasy, lying on the floor. Dead.

The lantern sat beside him, just beyond his outstretched hand.

And encased in a cloud of smoke rising up from out of the lantern’s spout was a genuine, bonafide genie, complete with nose ring and turban. In his hand he held an ancient pirate pistol that looked as if it contained bullets of the same caliber as those that had killed Roger.

And the genie had that ancient pistol pointed directly at my head.

I’ve seen mean gents in my day, but this genie took the cake. He was wearing a blood-red tapestry embroidered with scenes of people dying violently. Where the tip of his nose should have been, he had a scar in the shape of tooth marks. Red welts crisscrossed his bare chest. His single lock of hair, as thick around as a black cat’s tail, lifted straight up off his crown and coiled down across his shoulders like a wildcat oil gusher. Storybook genies usually have big pot bellies and flabby arms. Not this one. In a Mister Universe competition he’d lose points for having a lantern instead of legs, but his fabulous upper body development just might win him the crown.

I stuck out my hand. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

His hawkish screech nearly broke my eardrums. Near as I could tell, he was trying to talk, but couldn’t get the knack of it. “Frog in your throat?” I asked.

The genie hauled back a gigantic arm and socked me on the jaw. My rear molars rattled together like dice in a hot shooter’s hand. In a way I could understand the genie’s foul disposition. I’d probably be testy too if I’d spent the last few centuries cooped up inside a lantern with people pouring boiling water over my head.

“That’s no way to win friends and influence people,” I said, rubbing my face. When would I ever learn? He hit me again, and a thousand canaries took turns whistling me a lullaby.

By the time the music stopped, the genie had remembered how to speak. “Do nothing unseemly,” he growled. He leveled his gun at me and floated back and forth above his spiggot, stretching his smoky umbilical connection to a fine line in first one direction and then the other. Must have been the genie equivalent of pacing the floor.

Since he seemed to have calmed down, I took a stab at breaking the ice. “Kind of muggy, was it, inside that oil drum on the bottom of the sea?”

He raised up that section of his right forehead where his eyebrow used to be before the dynamite exploded in his kisser. “Thou knowest about that?”

“Yeah. The way I figure it, the thief who stole you from Rocco and Dominick DeGreasy must have been a pretty decent guy. No wishes for him. He set out to get rid of you permanently.”

“I wonder still. Who was that masked man?” “He knew the only way to destroy you was to submerse you in the ocean. Lucky for you, he sealed you inside an airtight oil drum first.”

The genie clenched his fist. The ropey muscles in his arm resembled a topographical map of the Rocky Mountains. “He came close, but won not the cigar.”

“The diver who fished you out recognized you for what you were and called you out of your lantern.”

“What a surprise I gave him,” said the genie. “The first century or two I spent imprisoned in that lantern, I behaved as a veritable toady, granting freely everyone’s wishes. Then I asked of myself, what get I out of this? Others use me for their selfish ends, and I come away with naught. Right then I made a vow. No more Mister Pleasant Fellow. From then on it became watch out for old Roman numeral one.”