Chapter Seven -- Unsettled

In a neighbourhood like this 
You know it’s hard to survive
So you’d better come prepared 
‘Cos they won’t take us alive
 
Oh if you find the time
Please come and stay awhile
In my beautiful neighbourhood
                                   -- “Neighbourhood,” Space


     “I hate slide shows.”
     “Too bad, Maynard,” Ted replied without looking up from the slide
projector as he slid the carousel into place. “All set, Doug.”
     Doug flipped off the lights and sat down by Maynard in the
conference room as Ted turned on the projector. A large photo of Dale
was shown on the screen, during the chipmunk’s brief stint as Rubber
Bando.
     “Okay, let’s start with the obvious,” Ted announced. “This is the
Rubber Rodent, or at least that’s the name that the media gave him.”
     “I remember,” Maynard nodded. “They had a special on
‘Unsolved Puzzles’ about him.”
     “Right,” Doug agreed. “They weren’t sure if he was an alien, a
genetically-enchanted animal, or what.”
     Ted flipped to the next slide, portraying Seymore being hauled into
court for the thefts of the various national monuments. “Seymore here
was the guy that was picked up for robberies of landmarks. During the
trial, one of the things that came up was that the powers both he and the
Rubber Rodent shared were granted by the radiation of the meteorites
hanging from around their necks.”
     “Okay, with you so far,” said Maynard with a shrug.
     “So it’s highly probable,” Ted clarified, “and I’m willing to bet
that it’s actually the case, that this meteorite was found by just a regular,
normal chipmunk. Seymore didn’t gain any special intelligence or
self-awareness or what have you from being in possession of the
meteorite, so why would a chipmunk?”
     “Nice try Ted,” Doug chuckled, “but we don’t know for sure that
the radiation affected both Seymore and the Rubber Rodent in exactly the
same fashion. It’s entirely possible that the Rubber Rodent *did* gain
some self-awareness from the radiation, whereas Seymore didn’t,
because he already was in possession of it. In any case, there’s also no
proof that the meteorite wasn’t being worn by an alien, a genetically
enchanted chipmunk, or anything else that was proposed by the scientific
community.”
     Ted held up his hands in a surrendering gesture. “Okay, I admit,
this isn’t concrete proof. But just wait, and tell me if you don’t see a
trend.”
     He proceeded to flip to a slide of a newspaper clipping, narrating all
the while.
     “This is a clipping from The Stones Dispatch. A short, seemingly
innocuous filler piece about a small group of apparently gifted animals
that have been seen in numerous criminal investigations and crime
scenes. The article ends with the note that this small group seems to be
something of a modern-day caladrius, only their appearance seems to
herald a favorable outcome to a case, other than a disease; rather than
healing one person’s sickness, they heal society’s ills.
     “Working with the guys in research, and making some calls back to
officers Muldoon and Kirby, I was able to check up on all of these
incidents listed in the article. I didn’t have enough time to do a full
investigation, but I can say with certainly that the article was not entirely
truthful when the reported that these animals seemed to have helped out
in several cases of the police.”
     “I can imagine,” Doug chuckled.
     Ted grinned. “They actually helped out in *dozens*.”
     Maynard shifted a bit in his seat.
     “Unlike the Rubber Rodent,” Ted continued as the slides proceeded
to back up his statements, “who was here and then gone, this small band
of animals has been around our city for quite some time. Remember the
alligator that got on stage at the opera house a few years ago? The time
that Clarence Dudley abruptly quit and enrolled in medical school?
Sources spotted a small group of critters on stage with the gator --
apparently keeping it from attacking the audience by diverting its
attention. Here they are again, on stage with Irwina Allen when she tried
to unsuccessfully take over Iron Goose’s act at a concert years ago.
     “Even more conclusive to all of this is the testimony that I heard
from the police. Not only did officers Muldoon and Kirby mention, with
a chuckle, that they had always considered seeing those rodents as a good
luck charm, but Sergeant Spinelli has been trying to catch this one mouse,
the fat one, for years; it’s always eating up the cheese in the precinct but
is never caught. Sort of a rodent El-ehrahiah.
     “Even the crooks of this town have been blaming these animals for
years. Nimnul -- I’m sure you remember him from that Invention
Convention a few years back -- has always placed the blame on these
animals for his failed schemes. Only now, it looks like he isn’t nearly as
delusional as people thought. Here’s another one: that baby scam that
some midget called Thadiues cooked up was revealed as a fakery at the
Hancock estate, where he also blamed some rodents while throwing a
temper tantrum. Seymore did, as well, not to mention Ratso Ratskiwatski,
two thugs called Spud and Fry, and even that old, now-jailed king of
crime, Adrian Klordane.”
     Ted turned off the projector and moved over to switch on the lights.
     “Now I’ll admit,” he said as he walked back over to his
colleagues, “that there’s no concisive proof that these are always the
very same animals, nor any corroborating evidence that they really even
did anything in each of the aforementioned cases. But the unmistakable
fact remains that the three of us know as a scientific fact that some
animals, like Glyph, have turned out to be a heck of a lot more intelligent
than we ever suspected.”
     “And you think that these animals are also intelligent, possibly
sentient, beings?” Doug prompted.
     Ted took a deep breath. “I think it’s a distinct possibility. And I
also think that this phenomenon is not exclusive to our city. Glyph came
from South America, for crying out loud. I think that we may be sitting
right on top of a animal society right now.”
     Maynard frowned and glanced over at Doug, who was running a
finger along the bridge of his nose, a habit he did whenever he was
evaluating someone else’s hypothesis.
     “Yes, I know,” Ted added, sensing what his friends were thinking.
“It sounds ridiculous. But ask yourself *why* it sounds ridiculous. Is it
because science says isn’t possible? The same science that first scoffed
at ideas like a round world, airplanes, gene splicing, or even the
numerous things that Nimnul has cooked up, like the Gigantico-Gun?
The only solid reason that we have to doubt this fact is our own
preconceived notions of what is possible and not possible.”
     Doug grimly nodded. “I’ve always believed that the main goal of
science was to question; both the unknown and the established aspects of
life.” He stood up and shuffled through the papers that the three of them
had been going over for the entire day. He stopped on a photo that
showed Ratso Ratskiwatski’s destroyed home (and new site of the
city’s museum). A section of the sky had been circled and digitally
enhanced in a separate picture, showing a small, unknown aircraft type
with a small symbol on it.
     He held it up, studying the symbol; it was an ovalish circle, half red
and half blue, with two white R’s inside, separated by a lightning bolt.
     “That was the main piece of evidence I found that this was all done
by one group,” Ted explained while Doug studied the picture. “The
police have seen it on separate vehicles, most of which looked like
homemade toys, they said.”
     “And always the same types of animals?” Maynard asked.
     Ted nodded. “Two chipmunks, two mice, and a fly. At least, those
are the only ones caught on the pictures I was able to dreg up.”
     “So if Glyph was our first clue to animal intelligence,” Doug stated,
“this group must be our first peek at the answers.” He set the photo down
again. “I hope neither of you were planning on doing anything tomorrow.
We’ve got a lot more research to do.”
     “On what?” Ted asked, a bit puzzled. He had wanted to convince
his coworkers that their theory might be even more correct than they
suspected, but Doug seemed to be envisioning a bigger picture.
     “On these animals,” Doug replied. “We already found out that
animal intelligence may very well exist right under our noses, and we
found that out after only doing a general, broad search. If you’re right,
Ted, and these animals -- among others -- have developed some type of
society parallel to our own, then we are probably tripping over decisive
evidence without even realizing it.”
     He walked to the door and motioned for the others to follow. “This
time, we’ll focus our search on anything relating to this type of activity
by animal’s within the city. And especially,” he held up the picture of
the Ranger’s symbol, “on anything connected with this.”
     Ted and Maynard breathed deep; when Doug went into command
mode, overtime was about to rack up considerably.

*     *     *

     “Okay, Gadget,” Cyan announced as he hoisted Gadget up,
deceptively strong for his size. “Now, if you give me your word not to try
and escape on this walk, I’ll untie you, and you can just walk along with
us, rather than Strict carrying you over his shoulder the whole way.”
     “Hey, I wouldn’t mind,” Strict chuckled.
     “Your father wouldn’t have, either, Strict,” Cyan snapped.
     Strict’s mirth was gone in an instant, and his face glowed red
under his fur. Arc glared at Cyan.
     “Was that called for?” she said coldly.
     “Yes,” Cyan instantly replied. “He may think it’s just joking, but
if he says the same thing around the Count, he can kiss his tail goodbye,
and there’s nothing that I can do to save him.”
     Arc and Strict exchanged a troubled glance, took a deep breath, and
nodded in understanding.
     “All right,” Cyan said in approval, much like a drill sergeant to
unruly but promising privates. “And Strict, don’t worry. You’re
nothing like your father.”
     Strict snorted a bit, but the reassurance helped to ease the pain from
Cyan’s previous barb.
     “Now, like I was saying, Gadget,” Cyan repeated, “give me your
word not to run, and I’ll untie you.”
     “Okay,” Gadget nodded. “I promise.”
     Cyan quickly untied her arms, which she stretched out a little to get
the blood flowing smoothly again. She glanced around at her three
escorts. She knew full well that even if she had tried to make a break for
it, Strict would have caught her before she got a few feet. And even if he
didn’t, she didn’t know how to get back to the others. And even if she
*did* know, her curiosity was piqued about this whole encounter.
     Dimly, she remembered that the other Rangers had to leave in order
to make the exchange of Osiris for Foxglove and Dr. Speck, but she had
lost track of time by now. She was fairly certain, however, that they
would have most likely left by now in order to make the deadline. She
shuddered slightly as the word “deadline” reminded her of Dale’s
nervousness of its use when Foxglove’s life was being held in the
balance.
     But she had faith that her friends would handle themselves fine, and
get Foxglove and Dr. Speck back safely. In the meantime, she had her
own problems.
     She followed her escorts out of the shack, while Strict took a
moment to latch it closed.
     “Welcome to the Edge, Gadget,” Cyan stated bluntly and without
pride. “This is our home.”
     They were on the inside of a particularly long wall. No real ceiling
existed, but no obstructions such as rafters or air ducts were visable until
about eight feet up, to soon thereafter be lost in the upper shadows and
gloom. It was surprisingly wide for a wall’s interior, leading Gadget to
believe that they were somewhere within the ground floor or even a
parking level, given the generous distance of over five feet between each
wallside. The right side was made from cinders, while the one on the left
was an insulation-packed wooden frame. Behind the group resided the
run-down shack they had just exited, while sprawled out before them lay
a long, open stretch of wood, wires, and debris. A short ways ahead she
could see a cluster of objects of some sort, as well as some subdued
activity taking place within. The slight chill in the air added to the shivers
that Gadget was already feeling as they slowly proceeded down the street.
     The insufficient and faulty lighting that was present made it
problematic for her to see beyond a few feet, so she had no clue as to how
long this passageway was, or where exactly they might be taking her. She
did notice, however, as they approached the cluster she had spied a few
moments ago, dozens of homes and individuals, both of which looked
worse for wear, and ready to break down at any moment.
     The houses were closer to huts, and suddenly the shack she had
been in seemed to be the most stately one on the street, so to speak. Most
of the dwellings came closer to bare-bones nests and hovels, just a place
to sleep in privacy, more than anything else. Gadget had long used human
discards in her workshop, but the manner in which these people had
constructed their homes was an unnatural hybrid, rather than a melding.
Instead of blending the pieces together in a new synthesis, each building
seemed to be forced together unwieldy, resulting in a gaunt, dying visage;
one in excruciating and almost unbearable pain.
     What unnerved her most, however, was how aptly that seemed to
apply to the animals she passed by as they started off.
     Almost all of them were stained and dirtied so badly that Strict
seemed like a model for GQ. They ranged from mice and rats, to lizards
and birds, to insects and arachnids. It was hard to say how many of they
were actually aware of the passing small group, as over half of them
seemed lost in some other world. A elder female rat was quietly weeping
in a corner, soaking her tears with a tattered, threadbare shawl. A
salamander leaned listlessly against a ramshackle construct, eyes closed
and mumbling without pause to itself in a low, monotone voice. A
disheveled mouse, patches of its pelt shedding away, drilled her with an
intense gaze of madness, starting Gadget so severely that she jumped, and
Strict quickly stepped to interpose himself between the two, freeing her
from the other’s burning gaze.
     The three rodents that had been her captors moments ago were now,
obviously, her protectors.
     In fact, they had not gone one foot when their path was blocked by
a quick, large, wolf spider. Gadget swallowed slightly, but the others
actually seemed relieved to see the arachnid.
     “Evening, Dominic,” Cyan said, in the first genuinely pleasant tone
Gadget had heard from the short chipmunk.
     “Good evening,” Dominic replied, nodding to them all, his voice
aged and gravelly. “I see you successfully retrieved the Count’s
requested guest.”
     “That we have,” Strict replied with a smug nod. “And how may we
help you this fine evenin’?”
     “If I may,” Dominic replied, rasing one of his four hands, palm up,
in askance, “I would like to help escort this young lady to the castle.”
     Gadget blinked. “Castle?”
     “You haven’t heard of the Castle Koo-Koo?” Dominic inquired.
     Gadget thought for a moment. “Is it made from soda pop cans?”
     “No, not to my knowledge.”
     “Oh. So why’s it called Castle Koo-Koo?”
     “They had thought about naming it after the Count’s last name,”
Strict piped up, “but Castle Castle really didn’t sound that dignified.”
     Arc grinned. “And Castle Koo-Koo does?”
     “Hold up, people,” Cyan cut in, once more business-like and
detached. He faced Dominic. “Why do you want to come along, Dom?”
His voice softened a bit to non-accusative tones. “It’d probably help
keep the worst of the riff-raff at bay, mind you -- I’m just curious,
here.”
     Dominic tsked. “Having rescued others in the past, such a lend of
assistance is merely the right thing for me to do, my good Cyan. We both
know that some of the locals here may not believe the Count’s decrees
to be law; goodness, they may not even remember they exist until it’s
too late. ”
     “Too late?” Gadget echoed, unsettled.
     “More importantly,” Dominic went on, choosing to skip Gadget’s
question, “her angel seems particularly agitated, and I would not want
him to worry.” Arc and Strict both silently shook their heads in pity at the
delusional wolf spider.
     “Is this the guy you mentioned before?” Gadget discreetly asked
Arc.
     Arc nodded. “He thinks he can see people’s guardian angels,” Arc
whispered back. “Fortunately, that’s the extent of his illness. He’s
operating left of center, but not so far out in left field that he’s paranoid
or whacko. You can trust him.”
     Cyan shrugged to Dominic’s assurances. “Welcome aboard.” He
turned to Gadget. “Gadget, this is Dominic. Dominic, this is Gadget.
Sorta like you, in that she’s a bit of a blind idealist.”
     “Hey,” Gadget said defensively.
     But Dominic merely chuckled as he settled into pace behind them.
“Whether he admits it or not, he paid you a compliment, Miss Gadget.”
     “Well, uh... gee, thanks,” Gadget replied uneasily. “I guess. But
does anyone know what the Count wants with me?”
     Strict eyed her in a sidelong glance, but wisely kept his trap shut for
a change.
     Cyan noticed this, and smirked.
     “Like I told you, sunshine, we don’t know,” Arc admitted. “The
fiber-optic cameras we’ve installed in the parking level caught you and
your friends snooping around. When the Count got a clear shot of you, he
basically went ballistically ecstatic, and ordered your immediate rescue.”
     “Wait -- rescue?” Gadget blinked.
     “That’s what he told us,” Strict responded. “Said that you
weren’t probably aware that you were kidnaped, or somethin’. He
offered a bonus for a fast retrieval, so I started huntin’, and that brings
us up to now.”
     “Dom?” Cyan asked over his shoulder as he lead the way through
the decrepit and crumbling homes along the walls. “You’ve known the
Count the longest out of everyone here, right?”
     “Back before his illness was this severe,” the old wolf spider agreed
with a touch of sorrow.
     “Any ideas what he wants with Gadget, here?”
     “Oh, I have my theories,” Dominic acknowledged. “But it’d be
fairly complicated to explain in such a way as to make sense to all of you.
And he’ll likely explain it himself once we arrive.”
     “Well,” Cyan prompted, “until we--”
     “The World Shall End!” a loud, grating voice called out, cutting off
their conversation.
     “Oh no, not him,” Cyan said in exasperation as a short, almost
instantly annoying cockroach bounded up to the group. He wore a
sandwich board exhorting messages about apocalyptic doomsdays and
similar agendas.
     “Good day, Daytona,” Dominic politely greeted the roach.
     “Why are you not taking refuge?!” Daytona greeted in return. “Do
you not realize that I -- I shall be the cause of the world’s demise, and I
am being gracious enough to give you all fair warning ahead of time?!
For it is at the stroke of midnight, on the eve of the year 2000, that I, the
millennium bug, shall destroy the world!”
     “That’s nice, Daytona,” Cyan managed in a civil tone.
     “Planes shall fall from the sky! Nuclear reactors will meltdown!”
     “We know,” Arc yawned.
     “Only fifteen percent of the government’s computers are Y2K
compliant!”
     “Whatever you say, pal,” Strict patiently waited out the tirade.
     Not pleased at this lack of response, Daytona drew back and
accused them with an outstretched fist. “Fools! You should be cowering
in fear! You should be spreading the news to everyone you know about
how unprepared the world is and to stock up on bottled water, spam, and
Roman Noodles, for when the clock strikes twelve and the world’s
power is shut off, and the riots begin, only those safely tucked away from
society in the massive concrete coal bunkers with generators and portable
stoves and a shotgun will survive! Then we’ll see who’s laughing at
whom!”
     He ran off, making more proclamations about how he would destroy the
world and all should be in a mad panic, rather than reacting with calm
and reason as they seemed foolishly determined to do.
     “Uhm....” Gadget started.
     “Don’t mind Daytona,” Strict said. “He does this every day. Sort
of a pest, but if you ignore him, he’ll go bug someone else. No pun
intended.”
     Arc grinned.
     “Is Daytona his real name?” Gadget finally asked.
     Dominic frowned. “No. It was given to him by the Count.”
     “Why Daytona.?”
     “Because he laps himself at a high speed,” Cyan replied flatly.
“C’mon, let’s keep moving.”
     Dominic sighed. “I’m usually lucky if I can remind him to eat. He
gets pretty wound up over it.”
     “How long has he been like that?”
     “Since we found him,” Dominic replied.
     Gadget turned to look at Arc. “I thought you said most people
didn’t even know that there’s an outside world.”
     “They don’t,” Arc replied. “I mean, not in the sense that we think
of it. This is the only home they really know. Even if they wanted to
leave, they wouldn’t survive out there. Not long enough to find some
place that cared enough to take them in.”
     Gadget frowned at Arc’s pessimism.
     “Not everyone can even move about like Daytona,” Cyan
mentioned, his usually emotionally dead voice slipping a bit, revealing
some traces of pity. He nodded over towards an elderly robin that was
sitting next to a run-down nest. The bird was resting on the floor, staring
ahead blankly -- his mind clearly as unfocused as his eyes. His total lack
of movement almost gave the illusion that he was stuffed, rather than
alive.
     “Is he okay?” Gadget’s compassion-filled voice surprising the rest
of group; they hadn’t heard anyone like that for years.
     “Nobody here is really okay, Gadget,” Strict mumbled.
     “Jar only moves from that stoop to his nest and back,” Dominic
answered Gadget, before she had time to question Strict’s comment. “If
I didn’t bring him his food each day, I have no doubt he’d die of
starvation.”
     “What happened to him?” Gadget asked, unable to tear her gaze
from the unmoving avian.
     “I’m not sure, really,” Dominic replied. “I think the lab that we
rescued him from had preformed some sort of experiments with his
wings. They’ve deteriorated to the point where they can’t even flap, let
alone fly. Jar was very embittered about it, and he just sunk deeper and
deeper into himself.”
     “Jar isn’t his real name,” Arc mentioned, not liking the trend of
the conversation. “Nobody uses their real name around here. Except
Dominic.”
     The aged arachnid nodded respectively.
     “So why do people call him Jar?” Gadget asked quietly.
     “Because he’s completely empty on the inside,” Cyan returned
with some difficulty.
     “Golly...” Gadget said as they walked on through the Edge. Then
she remembered something, and turned to look at Dominic (whom -- as
the others had assured her -- she had come to trust surprisingly quick for
a predator). “Hey Dominic? You said before that you’ve rescued some
of the people here, or something. Were you part of a rescue team? I am.”
     Dominic smiled. “I was not, no. Not directly, at least. But the Count
was. Before the madness slowly entrenched itself in him.”
     “You know,” Cyan said, bringing the group to a halt. “You never
did tell us what exactly happened before we arrived here. Or your theory
as to why the Count has such a fanatical interest in Gadget.”
     “I doubt he’s the first,” Dominic chided, to which Gadget actually
blushed. “But very well, if you insist.”
     He took the lead, walking a bit more slowly, but still heading
towards the far end of the Edge. “From what I’ve gathered in my several
years as part of this eccentric entourage, it was originally just the Count
and a small group of others. Nobody really knows anything about them
before that; it’s as if their lives started in that animal testing lab. Several
experiments were preformed on them, and, if I recount correctly, these
were not the kinds anyone would approve of today. But together, this
group of lab animals managed to escape, and take most of the other
animals in the lab with them.
     “Like Robin Hood and King Arthur, the actual event is lost in a
myriad maze of rumor, aggrandizement, and embellishment. Nowadays,
the tale may have them vanquishing the humans with swords of fire, or
some other dramatic act of heroism and bravery and impossibility.”
     Gadget would have objected to the impossibility part, but she was
too busy thinking about what type of dry cell she could install in a sword
for controlled spontaneous combustion.
     “After their successful escape,” Dominic continued, “they decided
to strike out as a group of liberators, lest other animals endure the same
cruelties that they had. Calling themselves the Champions, they started
working their way across the country, freeing animal test subjects
whenever and wherever possible. They were quite successful, but they
did had some complications.
     “The first was that sometimes they had arrived too late. Test
animals like Jar were too far gone already, but none of the Champions
wanted to leave the poor creatures behind in the lab, or just let them
wander off in the wilderness to be killed by some predator; these were the
animals whose illnesses had sapped them of any survival instincts. So, the
Champions took on the care of these animals, themselves. I joined about
this time, having also been freed by the Champions, and I was amazed at
their show of compassion for these mentally handicapped animals. I
eagerly signed on as a permanent health care provider. It was at this time
that I first met the Count.
     “He had been calling himself the Count for as long as I’ve known
him, and the rest of the Champions did as well. He was perfectly normal,
or at least appeared to be. It was the Count who first asked if we could
work our way to Stones City. He said that a certain lady was waiting for
him, although he never gave her name.”
     Dominic paused in mid-stride, the events revisiting themselves
upon him more vividly than he would have thought. “At some point, we
realized that the Count, himself, was suffering from
some delirium of his own, but we were never quite sure of the extent of
it. Truth be told, we all had-- *have* our own personality quirks that may
have been attributed to the experiments forced upon us, so it wasn’t as if
we could truly question anyone else’s sanity by using our own as a
template. In any case, we elected to head to Stones City.
     “When we arrived, we looked about for a place to set up camp, so
to speak, although it was originally in much better shape than you
currently see before you. The Malek Research Center was chosen because
they actually never ran any type of harmful tests on the small amount
animals they had in they labs. They were working more with tests to
determine the natural abilities of various animals. We tried to break some
animals out once, but they turned us down, explaining that they were
enjoying their vacation from the trails of the wild. What’s more, the
animals were cycled through, being shipped back to the wilderness after a
couple of years or so. So they never contended that they were really
imprisoned. A few wanted out, and we freed them when we could, but
most of them never found it to be a problem. We didn’t like it, but we
figured as long as we were just downstairs, all they had to do was give us
the word. If any of our own were captured -- and it did happen -- we were
just let go; the researchers only used the animals they personally
ordered.”
     “What about the Champions? What happened to them?” Cyan
pressed.
     “Yeah,” Strict added. “They were long gone before we showed
up.”
     Dominic frowned. “Nobody really knows what became of that
remarkable team, I fear. The last time I, or anyone else, ever saw them,
they had gone out for another rescue mission. The Count was the only
one who returned. He explained that things had gone horribly wrong, and
that they had been forced to split up, and try to regroup back here.”
     The spider’s gaze went to the floor. “That was quite a few years
ago. None ever returned. Most unusual, as they were all very capable
people.”
     “Golly,” Gadget said, “you mean they just vanished?”
     “More or less,” Dominic confirmed. “One of the darker theories is
that they sensed the battles with reality of the Count’s, along with the
rest of the Edge’s inhabitants. The rumor maintains that the Champions
were fed up with wet-nursing everyone else, and took off.” He got a
pained look on his features. “I’m afraid that speculation may be closer
to the truth than I would care to admit.”
     “How so?” Cyan asked through a strained voice.
     Dominic sighed and shook his head. “The people you see around
you are those who can no longer, really, venture out into the world on
their own. All those who could -- the sane, the healthy, the capable, left
us one by one, over the week that the Champions disappeared. The Count
fears that those leaving blamed the rest of the Edge for putting so much
worry on the Champions that the team lost their edge. And that the
Champions broke apart from the stress of having to care for us and while
simultaneously actively fighting to free others.”
     A somber silence hung in the air for a few seconds. Cyan, in
particular seemed rather affected by the story; his breath came out in
shorter gasps, as if he was suddenly very nervous for some reason.
     “I can’t believe that the Champions would just up and leave....”
Gadget whispered.
     “To be fair,” Dominic said, “it’s difficult to say why they left.
Only the Count knows, and the testimony of a mentally unstable witness
is not viable in court. Perhaps,” he put on a weak smile, “perhaps they
went to find help of some sort.” The smile faded. “The sad fact that none
ever returned, however, does not bode well for that possibility.”
     “Is that when we arrived?” Strict asked. “I mean, we never really
wanted to know the exact details of this place’s past, y’know, but as
long as you’ve just sprayed it in the air now....”
     “No, you were not yet on the scene, Strict,” Dominic replied. “No,
you came after the Count lost his battle with the better half of reality.”
     “Uhm,” Gadget gulped.
     “Nothing major, like violent delusions or paranoia, I assure you,”
Dominic was quick to add, although Cyan’s face was still a bit pale.
“But do you recall how I mentioned that he said that a lady was waiting
for him here? Well, I fear that without the Champions’ own guiding
force to stabilize him, and compounded by the fact that I’m sure he felt
responsible for their failure on that last, possiblily fatal mission, he
slipped fully into a reality detached from our own. He was no longer just
the Count, but now he was Count Carl Von Castle, and that lady that was
waiting for him was suddenly here, and was his wife.
     “Beforehand, he had made a few trips into the city to try and find
her. Naturally, he never did, as she is not real, but he always took it as a
sign that she was merely ‘away’ and would return soon.”
     “So,” Arc said, picking up on it, “since, in reality, he knew she
never would be back, he had her return -- in his mind -- to keep the actual
reality from threatening to burst his own little private bubble.”
     “Exactly,” Dominic nodded. “But then, she took ill, and could not
be seen by anyone. Eventually, maintaining his delusions won out over
his original purpose as a Champion. He built a castle, declared the Edge
-- and later the entire building -- his domain, and considers all of us to be
his subjects whom he benevolently rules.”
     “That explains a lot,” Cyan grimly muttered. Gadget couldn’t tell,
but Cyan looked as if he had been sweating slightly.
     “So what’s this all got to do with her?” Strict asked, motioning to
Gadget.
     “The Count claims he has a wife,” Dominic responded, “but he
also has claimed to have children. Children who were snatched away in
the middle of the night by gypsies.”
     Gadget didn’t like the where this was heading.
     “And she,” Dominic said, confirming her fears, “is very probably
one of them.”
     Gadget swallowed.
     “Only in the Count’s mind, of course,” Dominic added.
     It did not help to ease her nerves.

*     *     *

     “Okay, mate, let’s rest for a bit,” Monterey said breathlessly as he
nearly collapsed on a rafter, sweat having matted his fur to the point that
it left water stains on the wood. The two Rangers had been searching
nonstop since Chip and Dale left over an hour ago, which wasn’t even
counting the time that they had spent before meeting up with the
chipmunks.
     The building was, frankly, too large for them to realistically handle
alone. Too many levels, nooks, crannies, and niches that they could easily
miss. Any one of them that might have the unconscious form of Gadget.
     “She was right bloody behind us!” Monterey growled again, his
frustration fraying his already short fuse down even more. “We turned
our back for a blinkin’ second, an’ she’s gone!” He pounded the
rafter forcefully a few times until his hand hurt and his anger ebbed.
     Zipper landed deftly next to the irate Aussie.
     Monty, his look seemed to read, save your energy for the search.
     “We’re goin’ about this all wrong,” Monterey replied offhand.
“Just runnin’ about like this, backtracking an’ the like, hopin’ we just
happen to run across her... blimey, Zip, we could have days to search and
still never find her.” He pulled his flight cap off, and rested his elbows on
his knees, his feet dangling over the edge of the rafter.
     Zipper chuckled, asking Monterey if that was a request for a plan.
     Monterey snorted without humor. “Yeah, I suppose it is, ain’t it?”
     Well, Zipper’s squeaks suggested, why don’t we really focus
again on the spot she was kidnaped?
     “We spent over an hour there, Zip,” Monterey returned gruffly.
“Why would we find somethin’ now?”
     Maybe, Zipper went on to explain, because we weren’t looking for
the right things.
     “Like what?”
     How she disappeared, Zipper replied.
     Monterey looked at his friend. “I don’t follow.”
     Look, Zipper sighed, Gadget disappeared within a span of maybe
fifteen seconds -- tops -- but we never heard so much as of a whisper of a
noise, right?
     “Right.”
     So it’s safe to rule out that she accidentally fell or anything, right?
Zipper pitched.
     Monterey considered and nodded. “Okay, yeah. If she did, she
would have at least given a yelp or somthin’ that we would’ve heard.”
He frowned. “So she was definitely kidnaped, that’s what yer sayin’
eh?”
     Zipper nodded.
     “Blimey, that’s that’s just bloomin’ perfect,” Monterey
grumbled. “Why, though?”
     That, Zipper squeaked, is what we need to find out.
     “We need to find her, first, mate.”
     Exactly, Zipper motioned. I say we head back to where we first lost
her. Ten to one there’s some type of clue back there we missed because
we were looking for signs of Gadget, not signs of an abduction; like
concealed or hidden doors.
     “Concealed and hidden doors?” Monterey repated, rolling his eyes.
“You’ve been talkin’ with Dale too much lately, pally.”
     Be that as it may, Zipper acknowledged with a grin, it’s our best
bet.
     “Can’t argue with you there, pally,” Monterey nodded.
“Randomly searchin’ all over this joint hasn’t gotten us anywhere,
anyways.” He pulled himself up from the rafter and followed Zipper as
they headed back down through the walls, towards the spot where Gadget
had vanished at. They knew full well that Chip and Dale may very well be
heading into a trap, and the sooner they found Gadget, the sooner they
could try and catch up with the chipmunks.
     And their unappreciative passenger.
     
*     *     *

     “I hope you can sleep with yourselves at night,” Osiris growled. It
was the first time he had spoken since they had taken off over twenty
minutes ago.
     Dale glanced at Chip, his look asking if they wanted to listen to the
crook -- he held up the gag to empasize his point. Chip slightly shook his
head to the suggestion; they still weren’t entirely sure what was going
on with Osiris and Raset. Osiris might be able to fill in the blanks, maybe
even willingly.
     “How do you mean?” Dale replied, feeding a line to the suspect,
just like the detectives did on “Paw & Order.”
     “Knowing that my blood will stain your paws,” he answered
tersely. “And I don’t care how much you shed, your fur will *always*
carry my death on them. Just like Lady MacBeth, it will drive you to
insanity.”
     “Are you claiming to be an expert on guilt, Osiris?” Chip asked
over his shoulder. “All those crimes you pulled catching up with you?”
     Osiris mentally wrestled with some emotion neither Ranger could
identify. “Just one.”
     “Guilt for only one crime?” Dale snorted. “Out of what? Twenty?
Fifty? A hundred?”
     “I only stole,” Osiris snapped. “I never *killed* anyone, like
you’re about to.”
     Chip frowned. He hated to admit it, but he believed Osiris’ claim
of sticking to non-violent crimes. The hypnotist was a two-bit annoying
petty crook, not a murderer. He didn’t have the nerve or the guts for
something that heinous.
     Raset, on the other hand....
     “Why are you so sure Raset wants you dead?” Chip craftily asked.
“He never said to us that he was going to kill you.”
     “Because he knew you wouldn’t cooperate then,” Osiris replied
dryly.
     “He has two innocent hostages that he’d kill if we didn’t bring
you,” Chip countered. “He had us over the barrel and he knew it.”
     Dale remembered something from Raset’s conversation. “He said
you two used to be partners. Didya cheat on him or somethin’?”
     The mouse looked out over the edge into the night sky.
     “You did, didn’t you?” Dale said irritably as he turned to face the
criminal. “You did something that ticked of the reptile, and now he wants
revenge, right?”
     Osiris looked throughly uncomfortable.
     “You jerk,” Dale accused in a low voice. “It’s your own stupid
fault for getting yourself into this mess, and now you’re trying to blame
it on us!”
     “You know, Osiris,” Chip piped up, “it might be in your favor to
tell us what happened between you and Raset.”
     “Why? You want to help me?” Osiris replied sardonically.
     “As a matter of fact, yes,” Chip answered steadily.
     Dale seemed as surprised to hear this as Osiris. “We do?”
     Chip nodded. “We do. Come on, Dale, do you really want this poor
sap to die?”
     “Well, no,” Dale reluctantly admitted. He had been hoping to do his
tough cop routine, but just didn’t have the heart for it.
     “Why would you want to help me?” Osiris said guardedly.
     “We’re the Rescue Rangers,” Chip replied, a bit confused why
Osiris would even have to ask that. “We help whoever is in trouble.
Maybe you discriminate who’ll you’ll help, but we don’t.”
     Osiris thought for a moment, then accepted it. It certainly couldn’t
hurt him, he knew.
     “Raset and I had formed a small criminal ring,” he explained,
“several years ago. We basically stuck to small time gigs for a while;
mostly burglaries and robberies. You know, standard fare. Raset and I
met each other through our own studies into hypnotism; he was a sight
man, I was sound.”
     “Come again?” Dale asked.
     “Raset hooked his victims into a trance mainly through his skin
coloring alterations,” Osiris explained. “His voice could hold their
attention, but he needed the colors to fully put them into a state of
divorced consciousness.”
     Dale was about to ask a question, but then decided that the answer
would probably only serve to confuse him even more, so he skipped it.
     Osiris continued. “I could hook the victims into a trance through
my voice alone, so I soon became the frontman for the small group. For...
‘publicity’ purposes, we all took on the identities of various Egyptian
deities.”
     “Wait,” Chip suddenly interjected. “How many other members
were there?”
     “At our height, we had about thirty or so henchmen,” the mouse
answered. “But the group was only run by four of us. Isis, Horus, myself,
and Ra -- better known to you as Raset.”
     “Actually, Tore,” Dale corrected.
     “What?”
     “Never mind,” Chip advised. He chuckled over the appropriateness
of the chameleon’s actual name. “Although, it looks like you might
want to call your old partner ‘Set’ instead of ‘Ra.’”
     “Huh?” Dale questioned, starting to feel out of his league. Again. If
he wasn’t used to the feeling, it probably would have bothered him.
     Osiris didn’t answer; he was too busy swallowing -- hard --
through his constricted throat.
     Chip supplied the answer to Dale’s question with a wry smirk.
“Set was, at first, the brother of Osiris in Egyptian mythology, Dale. But
over time, he became the hated enemy, going so far as to kill Osiris. A
couple of times, no less. He even ripped apart Osiris’ body and scattered
the pieces across the Nile.”
     Dale paused as this sank in. “Oh.” Rather than dwell on that
particularly grisly scenario, he elected to follow-up on something their
captive had said earlier. “Hey, Osi, didn’t you say that you had two
other partners?”
     Osiris thoroughly detested having to be so truthful for such an
extended period of time, but the small glimmer of hope that by coming
clean might somehow save his skin quickly won out. “Yes. So what if I
did?”
     Chip caught on to where Dale was leading with this, and made a
mental note not to bonk Dale when the urge next struck him; his
long-time friend actually had made a logical connection before he had,
and that deserved a reward.
     “A female mouse, and a falcon?” Dale prompted, watching Osiris
for a reaction.
     He wasn’t disappointed.
     “How did you....” he trailed off, mouth agape in disbelief.
     Chip and Dale exchanged knowing glances. “Looks like your old
group is back together again,” Dale remarked. “That female mouse, her
real name is Lady--”
     “Vitae,” Osiris mumbled, still in shock. “Impossible! She’d never
work with Raset -- not to kill me! Neither would Horus!”
     “The falcon?” Chip asked.
     “He was like a brother to me,” confirmed Osiris, his face twisted in
denial at this information.
     Dale blinked. “He’s a falcon. Wouldn’t you look like a Ritz
cracker to him?”
     “Foxglove’s a bat, Dale,” Chip surprisingly interjected. “But she
gets along with Zipper rather well. I doubt she looks at him as a future
snack more than a close friend.”
     “Oh, well... yeah, I guess you’re right,” Dale nodded his head.
     “Osiris,” Chip said over his shoulder. “You said that they
wouldn’t be working with Raset. Why not?”
     Osiris took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. “Because we all
betrayed Raset together.”
     Dale frowned. “That wasn’t very nice.”
     Osiris glared at him. “You’re a regular Sureluck Jones, aren’t
you?”
     While Dale attempted to decide if that was an insult or not, Chip
spoke up. “What did you three do to betray him?”
     Osiris tugged absent-mindedly at his bindings. “Our little group had
been doing pretty well with the straight crimes; you know, robbery and
the like. But then we wanted more of a challenge, so we started getting
into the infiltration and espionage business. Isis -- I mean, Lady Vitae --
was a natural double-agent.”
     Tell me about it, the chipmunks thought in unison.
     “Raset’s natural blending let him do the secretive work,” Osiris
continued, “I handled the hypnotism of guards, heads of security, and
whoever else I felt like. Horus worked as our escape transport and scout.
The thugs took care of any muscle that we may have needed. Our last
case together was the big one. Over in Russia, we were hired to slip in
and snatch some blueprints from one of the rodent industries over there.”
     “Blueprints of what?”
     Osiris shrugged. “We weren’t sure exactly what it was for. Our
bosses said it was a need-to-know basis job. And at the price they were
playing, we didn’t need to know anything beyond the basics. I think it
had something to do with siphoning power from pre-existing sources. At
least, that’s what Raset said.”
     “I thought you said you guys didn’t know,” Dale pointed out.
     “We didn’t,” Osiris replied tersely. “I mean, only Raset seemed to
know. We had all gotten into the building, and Raset using his natural
ability to sneak into the room with the actual plans. But someone
must’ve spotted him on the way out or something, because the alarm
was raised, and the rodent guards started pouring out from all over the
place.
     “Raset said that those blueprints were worth more than what we
were being paid, and was just going to take off with them.” Osiris
paused, and looked out over the side of the Plane. “I knew we’d get
caught by our bosses. And probably roughed up a lot before they just
killed us all. So... I blindsided Raset. Hit him with a piece of metal lying
nearby. But he wasn’t knocked out, just down. He knew I did it, but I
didn’t have time for his accusations. The guards were coming. I grabbed
the blueprints and ran, leaving him and his vows to kill me.”
     “All for one,” Chip commented, “as long as that one is you, right
Osi?”
     Osiris bristled. “Raset thought he was so hot; the king of brains and
all that. Okay, fine, I admit it. His attitude had been grating on me for
more than a bit. I had been looking forward to dumping him along the
line, somehow. He was always so patronizing; he planned most of the
heists, but only because he never thought we could function without
him.”
     “Could you?” Dale bluntly asked.
     If Osiris had teeth, he would have been grinding them. “We got
split up in the confusion that night, I guess. I never saw Horus or Lady
Vitae on the way out. I made it back to our fallback point, but nobody
ever showed, and I had to leave in order to get the blueprints delivered on
time. After I got the payment, I figured I might was well head back to the
States and start a new crime spree--”
     “Wait a minute,” Chip interrupted. “So the others never knew
about what happened?”
     “Well, no.”
     “So the others never betrayed Raset, just *you*. In fact, Horus and
Vitae never even *knew* what transpired.” He smacked a paw on the
steering wheel in a sudden burst of anger over Osiris’ star-quality
stupidy.
     “What’s wrong with you?” Dale asked in surprise.
     “Yeah, what?” Osiris echoed.
     “Osiris, you idiot!” Chip snapped. “Did it ever occur to you that
now your old partners are working with Raset, who has undoubtably
given them *his* account of the events that transpired that night?” He
turned to glare at the hypnotist. “Do you think that they’re still on
*your* side, right now?”
     Osiris gulped audibly. “But... but surely they know... Horus and I
were like family. And Lady Vitae and I were... close.”
     “Close,” Chip nodded sardonically as he turned back to his flying.
“So close that you never even attempted to find out if they were still alive
or not. You clobbered Raset from behind, grabbed the blueprints and ran,
leaving them *all* behind. To top it all off, you went a step further into
the realm of outright ignorance and took all the money for the job, then
left the country. Yeah, that’s a real display of affection and team
mentality if there ever was one.”
     Dale was equally disgusted. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to really
work to keep this poor sod alive or not, now.
     As Osiris sunk back into a state of self-pity, Dale leaned over to
Chip.
     “Now what?” he whispered to his friend. “I mean, any ideas how to
keep the Boy Scout back there alive?”
     Chip’s dour frown was all the answer Dale got.
*     *     *

     “I’m tellin’ ya, were wastin’ our time!’ Monterey fiercely
objected at Zipper’s suggestion that they search, again, the duct Gadget
was working her way up when they last saw her.
     Zipper waited a moment for Monterey’s frustration to ebb, then
pointed out that it was the only real lead they had to go on. He explained,
patiently, that given the time that Gadget was out of sight, compounded
by the lack of signs of a struggle or any noises, she must have been
kidnaped from that area.
     “But where to?” Monterey asked with his arms outstretched, taking
in the innumerable hiding places, crevices, and niches that someone could
have slipped into.
     Zipper stroked his chin, then flew out over the top of the ventilation
shaft again. Monterey, on the crossbeam above, grumbled, but followed
after his trusted friend. The fly carefully tapped along the duct, hoping to
perhaps discover a trap door of some sort. It made sense logically, but he
couldn’t find any type of suspicious cracks or other signs of an opening
anywhere on the surface of the duct.
     Monterey was grumbling all the while, but for lack of a better plan,
slowly traversed the top of the duct, looking for anything that might give
them some sort of a break. He was so caught up in looking for some
hidden entrance, that he tripped right over one of the large boltheads near
the corner of the duct. He stumbled a bit, but managed to regain his
footing before he tumbled down over the edge.
     His foot was still in pain, though, and Monterey welcomed the
excuse to curse freely.
     “Monty?” Zipper squeaked as he returned to his apparently
grievously injured friend.
     Monterey took a breath and mumbled something, then spoke up as
he sat down. “Aw, sorry, Zip. I jus’ tripped over one of those blinkin’
duct bolts and stubbed me toe a bit, is all. It was just a blasting cap for me
frustrations.”
     Zipper blinked. A duct bolt; that was it? He gestured. 
     “Yeah, right behind you. Sorry.”
     Turning around, Zipper chuckled as he spotted the culprit. He could
guess which of the bolts that Monterey had tripped over, since there was
only one in the center of the top of the duct; the other two were on the top
corners and out of reach. Zipper frowned as he remembered that Gadget
was probably right around that area when she vanished.
     That was when Zipper heard it.
     He cocked his head, trying to pinpoint the very faint noise. He
wished that his old friend Orkin was around; the ant had spent his whole
life underground, and was an expert at being able to discern faint sounds
in the background, and where they were originating from. Zipper settled
down on the duct to better orient himself -- and then he felt it as well.
     Chip had once told him that the best detectives were subconsciously
processing clues at a constant rate, so when the time came for immediate
action, the solution almost seamed to effortlessly leap from the back of
the mind. Zipper grinned as he got his first real taste of that euphoria.
     In a single bound, Zipper was by the bolt; had he been a
split-second too late, he never would have known for sure, but he arrived
just in time to hear a soft *click* underneath him, within the duct. It had
been quiet, and steady, reminding Zipper of a modern VCR motor, or a
clock.
     “Zip?” Monterey asked, hoisting himself back to his feet and
walking over to join his friend. “You find somethin’?”
     I think so, Zipper motioned, but I’ll need you to hit this bolt again
before I know for sure.
     Monterey shrugged, but nodded, and pounded on the bolt soundly.
     They both listened intently after he stopped, hearing a slight, faint
whirring while they felt the ever-so-minute vibrations through the metal
of the duct. After a several seconds, the whirring ceased, and all was still
once more.
     “Blimey,” Monterey whispered. “Felt like something was
adjustin’ under there.”
     Zipper nodded, then explained that he was positive that the bolt had
something to do with it.
     Upon further inspection, the two Rangers noticed that the “bolt”
wasn’t entirely metal. A thin casing of glass was the outer layer; metal
may have been underneath, but as Zipper pointed out, why would anyone
want to coat metal with glass?
     “I dunno, mate,” Monterey said, his earlier irritations blown over
from the wind of this recent discovery. “But I betcha cheese wedges to
curds and whey that this has somethin’ to do with Gadget’s
disappearance.”
     Zipped nodded his agreement. He glanced about the surface of the
duct again. Gadget could have easily been smuggled out from under their
noses if the perpetrator kidnaped her through the inside of the duct. It was
the only thing that made any sense. But absolutely no signs of any sliding
openings or other hidden entrances could be found anywhere on the
surface.
     Unless, of course, the entrance used cracks already in existence.
     Zipper flew over to one of the corners of the duct. It appeared to be
solidly welded. Wait -- he wasn’t in the central heating business, but he
didn’t know of many workers that welded their ducts in place. Made it
difficult to replace the parts in the future.
     He directly Monterey over to the other side, and they experimentally
pushed, pulled, and rattled the duct face that connected with the top face
of the duct where Gadget would have been  standing when she was
grabbed. To the Ranger’s delight, the connecting face swung out. Zipper
could now see that the welds were only on that particular face; when
closed, it gave the illusion that the two duct faces were firmly attached
together.
     But in reality they weren’t, and so Monterey and Zipper hinged the
movable face back and hopped inside, closing it behind them.
     It was dark, but someone had set up a small light further up the
way, allowing them to see well enough. Monterey glanced over his
shoulder at the yawning maw of the awaiting duct which led down,
deeper into the building, and shuddered. It reminded him too much of the
chasm back in Japan where he thought Chip and Dale had perished. Still,
at least this one had notches scratched on the inside wall for a crude
ladder down.
     But... why would someone take the time to crawl inside the vents
when it was easily to move about outside of them?
     “Aha!” Zipper called out as he flew up to the ceiling directly under
where the “bolt” was. In actuality, they saw that it was some type of
surveillance device. Sure enough, a small, electric motor was attached to
the ceiling to maneuver the small, fiber-optic cable within the sizable
head of the bolt facade -- similar to the types of cameras used in
department stores, only this one was on the “floor” of the outside vent,
rather than protruding from the ceiling. They realized that Monterey’s
inadvertently stubbing of the toe must have momentarily knocked it out
of alignment, and the motor automatically took over to reposition it.
Numerous wires snaked out from it, going both up and down the duct
itself.
     “But what is it?” Monterey said as he approached.
     Zipper poked his head around. He was familiar enough with
Gadget’s own inventions to harbor a guess.
     It looks like some kind of camera, Zipper buzzed, probably a
fish-eye from the shape of the glass out there. The metal underneath is
just the shutter for it.
     “Some bloke’s takin’ snapshots of the interior of a wall?’
Monterey asked, a bit disturbed at the proposed hobby.
     But Zipper shook his head.
     More than that, Monty. See? There’s no place for any type of film.
These are fiber-optic cables. I bet there’s an eyepiece covered up around
here for direct viewing.
     “Cameras?” Monterey balked. “Zipper, are you tellin’ me that this
place has got Big Brother sittin’ around?”
     I’d bet my last apple core on it, Monty, Zipper nodded solemnly. 
     “So...” Monterey said, walking it through, “Some guy spots Gadget
while he’s here. He opens up the back door, swipes, and then takes off.”
     Certainly looks that way, Zipper nodded
     “Okay,” Monterey nodded. “I’m with ya, mate. Heck, I can’t
think of a better explanation.”
     The only problem, Zipper frowned, is that there’s no way to tell if
he went up or down after he grabbed Gadget. Any clues?
     Monterey thought long and hard. “Blimey Zip, it’s a tough call.
We don’t know if he even left with her right after he got his filthy paws
on her....” Unbidden, thoughts of what Gadget might be going through,
and might have gone through, assaulted Monterey’s brain mercilessly.
She was going through Heaven-knows-what while they were chasing
their tails around!
     Zipper noted the raising rage in Monterey, but remembered
something which saved them both from the mounting explosion.
     “Wait!” he announced.
     Monterey blinked, snapping out of his building horror. “What?” he
asked weakly.
     We can find out, the fly grinned as he pointed further up the duct,
because judging from the wires going up, he probably has a number of
cameras rigged up, like a series current. If one of the electric connectors
goes out, none of them will work; he’ll know the minute he tries to use
them remotely. He’ll have to come and check each one to repair it.
     Monterey grinned. “And we he shows up here, we’ll be waitin’
for him.”