Date: Sun, 24 Aug 1997 11:18:30 -0500 From: Bonnie F Rutledge This story is dedicated to two people: The first individual is Nunkies. August 24th is what NA calls "Nunkies Conversion Day," and we're celebrating the anniversary of LC becoming a vampire fictionally. The second individual is Libby Singleton. This extraordinary Ratpacker's birthday will occur during the posting of this story. Virtual Bright And Shiny Thingees tew her! Thanks to the party guests for volunteering without asking questions: LIBBY!, Gaelin, Heidi, Jayne, Michele, Zebella, Shele, Laura, Tser, Gwendolyn, Mel, Heather P., Marie, Caren, Joni, Mariah, Cherri, Casey, Senara, Sharon Lee, Annette, Charl, Tracy, Robi, Kelly, Tammy, Kate, and Jesse Jules and Annie beta-read, so it's really their fault. DISCLAIMER: Forever Knight and its characters don't belong to us. They were created by James Parriott, et al., then copyrighted and owned by Sony/TriStar. They're fun tew borrow, though, and get yew neat stuff with `em at tha' swap meet. ******************************************************************* August Heat(01/24) By Patt Elmore and Bonnie Rutledge Event One: Pretty Please With A Heineken On Top???? Date: August 24th Time: Too Early The women wore sunglasses because they were not kindred spirits to the morning light. In fact, their lighting preference involved candles and matches, not a giant radiant ball of burning gases. Jules, Bonnie, Patt and Annie stood before The Only Warehouse In Toronto, three with coffee cups in hand (Jules had a mug of English Breakfast tea) and the sun shining diligently upon their sleepy heads. Bons was still in her pajamas and non-sensible slippers. "I cannot believe I am up this early," Bons complained as she stifled a yawn. "I cannot believe Monsieur Cabon forgot to order the alcohol," Annie countered. Annie had been very unhappy to find the Shrine's liquor cabinet naked and bare on the eve of the most important night of the Nunkies Anonymous calendar. A party without festive refreshment? Unthinkable! "Are you going to let Cabon *out* of the liquor cabinet before festivities get underway?" Patt asked. "I'm just wondering where we're supposed to put this stash until it gets consumed. I mean, there's no liquor on the shelves anymore. Maybe we should start calling it the `Louis the Fourteenth' cabinet instead," Patt laughed at her own quip and continued unabated, "seeing as how that's what's inside. We'll have to start up an official liquor corner in the bar or maybe just stick it all on a dolly and have a heap o' booze floating about the Shrine spreading spirits where it may..." Patt's voice trailed off as she noticed her compatriots were staring at her. Being one of the newest members of this illustrious group, Patt decided she'd best stifle her penchant for babbling before she found herself walking back to the Peach. "Very possible, if only we had some liquor." Annie slid her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose and looked sternly at Jules and Bonnie. "Where did you two say you found this alcohol distributor?" "We didn't," Jules stated. "Madame Kiki," Bonnie answered simultaneously, causing Jules to frown. Bons hadn't realized yet that there was a *reason* people didn't broadcast that they had old prison buddies. "Wine, women and song - I guess they all come under her territory," Patt mused. "By the way," Bonnie added. "I invited Madame Kiki to the festivities. She wants to get inducted." "Are you sure that was a good idea?" Annie worried. "Our bail money fund gets tapped often enough without adding someone of that.profession.to the entourage." "But Annie!" Bons exclaimed. "How can you even imagine throwing a party celebrating the destruction of Pompeii and Nunkies' induction into vampiredom without having at least one hooker in the house? It's tradition!" "I think `sexual entrepreneur' is a more polite turn of phrase, Bons," Jules said contemplatively. "Plus," Bonnie added with glee, "Madame Kiki promised to bring her personal posse of buff slave boys." The other three women suddenly became much more alert and enthusiastic. Wide grins spread across Annie and Patt's faces. Jules, always cool, sniffed slightly, but inside she chuckled with glee. "How soon can she get there?" Patt asked, silently wondering if any of the `slaves' might be attired in a Mountie hat. "Sometime before the eruption, I guess," Bonnie answered. "How many buff slave boys make a posse?" Annie wondered. "Hmmm..Jules - how many slave boys make up a posse?" Bonnie became distracted by the sight of an enormous unmarked truck backing up to where they waited by The Only Warehouse In Toronto. "From my experience, the number is usually between four and six," Jules replied absently. A grandfatherly-type man wearing overalls, chewing on a Cuban cigar and sporting a purple cap that read `Gallo Sucks Grapes' dropped from the cab of the truck and limped to greet them. When he was about a meter away, Grandpa shouted, "Are you who yer supposed ta be?" "Yes," the addicts replied unanimously. "Hyep!" Grandpa nodded gruffly. "I thought so." He unlatched and rolled up the rear door of the cargo space, exposing a jackpot of boxes marked with labels ranging from Moet & Chandon to Boone's Hill Farm. "Whaddya want?" "Where's that shopping list Heather drew up?" Annie said, looking at the other three women as she dug through her pockets to no avail. "I've got it," Patt announced. She brandished a wrinkled slip of notebook paper, then passed it over to Annie. "She included a few extra items so she could make some of her Granny McIntyre's secret recipes, too." "Okay," Annie began. She frowned at the loose-leaf, then peeked over the rim of her sunglasses for a brighter view. "First off, we need five liters each of Peach and Cinnamon Schnapps." "Hmph," grunted Grandpa as he sorted out a container of bottles. "You wouldn't happen to have any cinnamon-flavored straws on you, would ya?" Patt wondered, inspiring another grunt from the man. Patt leaned over and whispered to Bonnie, "Was that a `yes' grunt or a `no' grunt?" "Must've been a `yes.' He's winding up to throw a box at you," Bonnie whispered back. *Thwap!* "Ow!" Patt cried as the cinnamon-colored container bounced smartly off her cranium and into her waiting hands. "That hurt! Well, I *am* awake now. I guess there are side benefits to getting beaned with a box." "Sorry, missy," Grandpa said. "Used to pitch for the Blue Jays - sometimes the arm gets away from me. Arthritis - it's the joint, ya know?" "Yah," Bonnie nodded. "I heard Kennedy smoked pot for his back pain, too." "He doesn't mean that kind of joint, Bons," Jules sighed. "Next on the list," Annie continued obliviously, "is eighteen liters of grain alcohol." "Eighteen?" Jules exclaimed. "Are you sure?" "Do you think we'll run short?' Annie nibbled worriedly on her lower lip. "Make that twenty-four liters." Grandpa harumph-ed and formed a stack of boxes on the truck lip stamped `Everclear.' Annie called out orders for vodka, rum, scotch old enough to vote, gin, and a dozen magnums of Dom Perignon dated 1979. She followed this with requests for a dazzling assortment of liqueurs, grenadine, and four kegs of fermented cider. Bonnie and Patt began to heft boxes into the back of Patt's maroon Cheyenne pickup truck, while Jules picked out bottles of sherry and champagne `to keep them safe' in the Jaguar's trunk. "Can you think of anything else we might need?" Annie asked the group at large. "Hmm," Bons said. "Maybe you should add one bottle of that Boone's Strawberry stuff. Zebella likes that." "Hmph," Grandpa said as he threw a bottle at Bonnie. *Thwap!* "Ow!" "Remember to only ask him for large items that he can't pitch," Jules warned. Patt pointed at two large green cases in the corner of the truck. "How `bout some beer?" The addicts exchanged a knowing look. "You never know who might show up," Annie grinned. "How much do we owe you?" she asked, returning her attention to the old man. Grandpa gave a pair of thoughtful puffs on his cigar. "Kiki said to give you the Roman discount." "Roman discount?" the addicts asked, their expressions puzzled. "Yup," Grandpa chuckled. "She says it's on the General." ******************************************************************* End O' Part One See Part One For The Disclaimer. ******************************************************************* August Heat (2/24) Event Two: Cupboards Bared Date: August 24th Time: Mid-Morning The addicts frolicked about the Sacred Cold Pond as celestial harp music floated through the air from some undisclosed sound system. There were half a dozen women in the Greenroom, all clad in light blue sleepshirts that read, "I'm Nunkilicious!" Each had a white rosebud secured in her hair and a water balloon in her hand. *SQUISH!* Marie whooped enthusiastically, then screamed as she ducked behind a rosebush. Heidi twitched at the sensation of Sacred Cold Water pouring down her back. "Brrr-ah-ha! Mids, you are going to be sooo wet when I catch you!" "Uh-huh," Marie drawled. " `When' is the operative word there. I say it'll never happen!" "Oh, I'll get you," Heidi continued to rave, "and when I do, you'll be wetter than.wetter than.something *really* wet!" "What?" Marie asked. Both Senara and Heather had used this temporary distraction as an opportunity to sneak up behind Marie. Two giant balloons filled to capacity with icy water burst over Mids' head. "Looks wetter than aardvark spit to me," Heather commented. "Wetter than camel spit," Senara added between snickers. "Sppfffttt!" Marie squealed as the water poured down her face. Heather and Senara ran in laughing terror as she sought revenge by dripping on them. Meanwhile, Laura and Jayne were dodging between bushes as they faced each other, fluid bombs at the ready, desperately trying to get a clean shot. "You don't really think you can hit me, do you, Jayne?" Laura taunted as she tossed her liquid zeppelin from palm to palm. "I am far too old and powerful for that!" "Oh, yeah?" Jayne countered. "Well, I have met certain dampness this noon, and I have called its bluff. Here Bluff! Nice Bluff! Sit, Bluff, sit!" Jayne zigged, Laura zagged, then Laura threw her balloon. It was dead-on in aim, but, miraculously, Jayne managed to catch the water missile without popping the fragile shell. Unfortunately, Jayne had stopped precariously at the edge of the Sacred Cold Pond to do this. Her swift movements while playing water balloon receiver had thrown her off-balance, and she toppled backwards into the freezing pool. Laura walked confidently around the pond, just out of arm's reach. "Heh.heh. Bluffs can be so deceiving." Jayne raised one balloon-filled hand, followed by another. Waterfalls sluiced off her elbows and nose. "I'm getting out of this pond now. If I were you, Laura, I'd run. Fast." Laura did. She dodged the dripping Marie and raced into the Shrine, Jayne hot on her heels. They chased a circle around the altar, then leapt over one of the scarlet silk loungers. Laura paused long enough to drop a smacking kiss on one of the Lucius busts, then ducked into the private dining room. The members of Nunkies Anonymous had moved the hexagonal trampoline back to its original location immediately after the end of War Eight. As before, Zebella bounced happily on top, wearing her Winnie-the-Pooh toga, its hem echoing each bounce. Sharon, Gaelin, Casey and Joni sat at a nearby table playing poker for anatomically correct chocolate Nunkies. Laura raced past the table, swiping a Chocolate Nunkies as she went. "Hey!" Casey wailed. "That was my bet!" "You ought to fold," Laura replied cheekily as she bounced onto the trampoline beside Zebella. "Gaelin has a royal flush." "Why, you." Gaelin fumed. Pretty soon, she and Casey had pushed back their peach wingback chairs and joined Jayne in the chase. Sharon observed the ruckus calmly. "See, Joni? This is why we aren't allowed to have sharp objects in the Shrine. We addicts tend to be a vigorous bunch." Joni nodded. "I can see that. Bet you five Chocolate Nunkies that Gaelin is the one who catches Laura." "You're on," Sharon said, grinning. "My chocolate's on Jayne, though. She's the one with the Sacred Cold Water Balloons." "Count me in!" Zebella called as she executed a double-somersault front dismount. "I guess I'll take Casey, since she's the only one left." "Gee, thanks," Casey said sarcastically as she ran toward the trampoline. "Your confidence moves me." "I hope it moves you faster," Zebella quipped. "I want my Chocolate Nunkies!" Just as Jayne reached the trampoline, her toe snagged on the hem of the newly- dismounted Zebella's Winnie-the-Pooh toga. Both water balloons flew up in a high arc as Jayne stumbled. Laura bounced off the trampoline as the balloons bounced onto the stretchy black surface. They *boinged!* delicately into the air once more, where Gaelin and Casey each caught one. Jayne, balance recovered and balloonless, scowled. Laura sprinted from the Peach's private dining room back into the main Shrine. An entourage followed: Casey, Gaelin and Jayne in pursuit of revenge, Joni, Zebella and Sharon in pursuit of a winning bet. Laura zoomed another circle around the altar, then brushed past Annie, Jules, Bonnie and Patt just as they walked into the Shrine from the warehouse entrance. Seeing three more addicts racing their way, Annie exclaimed, "What's going on here?" Jules, slipping into High Priestess mode, growled, "Who left all this water on my spotless Shrine floor?!" No one had a chance to answer, because at that moment Gaelin and Casey simultaneously stepped into two puddles of the above-mentioned water that Jules found so messy and distressful. As they slipped onto their fannies, both Sacred Cold Water Balloons went flying through the air, aimed straight at Bonnie. The redhead reacted instinctively, catching both projectiles by clutching them to her chest. The balloons spurted open, dousing Bonnie with a liberal amount of frigid liquid. Patt was the first to speak. "Bons.You've wet yourself." Bonnie stiffened, and it almost appeared as though tiny shots of steam came from her ears. "Annie? Jules?" she said in a brittle voice. "Punish them. Please?" "You. You. You. You, you, you and you," Annie ordered, pointing to Zebella, Joni, and Sharon, as well as Marie, Tser, Heidi and Heather, who had just wandered soggily in from the Greenroom. "I want all of you to carry the alcohol into the kitchen." "Laboratory," Bonnie corrected. "Whatever," Annie shrugged. "Carry the bottles and boxes in from the vehicles outside the warehouse, and arrange them in alphabetical order." "Yes, NunkMommy." The group of addicts marched sedately out of the Shrine. "Patt," Annie added, "Could you go and bring Laura back in here? I think Jules has a project for her." "Yes, I do," Jules agreed as she shared a very scary smile. "Gaelin, Casey and Jayne can help, too. After all, we have company coming!" ******************************************************************* Annie and Jules entered the Shrine's bar and headed for the liquor cabinet. Observing as Annie unlocked the ash doors, Jules commented, "I think this stunt officially nixes any possibility of you winning a `Factional Employer Of The Year' award." Annie did not appear heartbroken. "Cabon's become terribly lazy since the war. He's forgotten that his job is to manage the restaurant, not play with the addicts. I'd leave him in here for another few hours if I didn't need him to oversee the restaurant chefs while they make the party nibbles." Jules nodded. "Good strategy. Addicts with food in their hands are less likely to break anything. I live in terror of someone smashing one of the busts while *HE* is making an appearance." "Don't even think of such things." Annie yanked the cabinet doors open, looking a tad green. Instead of finding Monsieur Cabon inside, Jules and Annie found a Ratpacker. "'ows the mates?" Libby greeted them. "Wot yew want tew un-cubby me hole like that, fer? I wuz snoozin', I wuz." "Libby!" Annie said. "'Ow did you.I mean, *how* did you get inside the liquor cabinet? Where's Monsieur Cabon?" The Ratpacker slinked to her feet, explaining, "Whiles we Ratpacker-types vacationed `ere last, we made scurry-paths connectin' ev'ry cab-ee-net in the Shrine `til it wuz nice and homey. Did it free o' charge, tew," Libby added magnanimously. Jules peered into the empty liquor cabinet, noting a Ratpacker-sized hole leading in between the walls. "So where did Cabon crawl to?" ******************************************************************* "I can't believe she gave us grout duty in the Sacred Cold Shower," Casey groaned as the tired foursome entered the Lab/Kitchen for a drink. "I hate tile," Gaelin said decisively. "I loathe tile. It is evil." "Mildew is an Anti-Nunklear Device," Laura asserted. "Ick." Jayne wearily opened the refrigerator. "I don't care anymore. I just want something cold to drink that *isn't* water.Aaaah!" Jayne gasped, gazing in horror at the fridge contents. "What is it?" Casey asked. Jayne waved her hand at a collection of bright red cartons on the top shelf. "Strawberries! What vile manner of creature put strawberries here!? I never want to see another strawberry again!" "But dip them in chocolate and they're great party food," Laura said innocently. "Eek!" Jayne screamed as she caught sight of the chilling bottle of strawberry wine that Bonnie had picked up for Zebella. "Strawberries! They're everywhere! They're after me!" "They aren't after you, Jayne," Gaelin said in a soothing voice. Aside, she whispered, "Next summer, she really needs to work somewhere other than the berry farm. It's too traumatic." "They are so after me!" Jayne insisted. She stomped over to the kitchen pantry, jerking the door open to reveal Monsieur Cabon seated on the floor, gobbling from a box of strawberry Pop-Tarts. "Aaah! See?! Keep the berries away from me!" "It's okay," Laura reassured, urging Jayne gently from the room. "How about I take you to see a nice picture of Lacroix? You'd like that, wouldn't you, Jayne?" Jayne had fallen into a strawberry-induced state of shock. "Nunkies.good," she said as she nodded numbly. "That's right." Laura smiled and patted Jayne's hand. "Nunkies doesn't look at all like a strawberry." Louis peeped at Casey and Gaelin from the pantry floor, then held up the box of shiny foil packages as a polite gesture. "Would you like zee Pop-Tart?" ******************************************************************* End O' Event Two See Part One For The Disclaimer. ******************************************************************* August Heat (03/24) Event Three: Let The Games Begin Date: August 24th Time: Noon-ish After finding and returning Laura to the scene of her crimes, Patt left the others and wandered back into the main hall of the Shrine. She was well aware of the fact that too much of her was like too much of any good thing - tiring. It was best to spread the wealth around. She passed a couch where Cousin Mel sat scribbling something into a notebook. A quick glance showed it to be the start of a rather interesting fantasy. Noticing Patt's interest, Mel froze, unsure whether to allow the other woman a view of her prose or clutch the paper to her bosom. Patt grinned. "Working on your acceptance speech, I see. Carry on.just don't make it too lengthy. We've got enough long-winded folk wandering around here as it is." As the mature addict continued her aimless trek through the halls of Nunkarageousdom, she began thinking (always a dangerous activity for the woman). Except for a brief appearance back in Louisiana to assure her employer that she was still alive AND able to continue her employment duties via the computer, Patt's home had been the hallowed halls of the Nunkies Anonymous Shrine for several months. That, and Jules' daybed. She had full access to the expansive NA Wardrobe Room, the Kitchen (or lab, if you will), a wonderful shower system and a Video Room without parallel. What else could a girl want? Freedom? Patt sighed. She was, in effect, under house arrest: free to come and go as she wished, as long as she stayed in Toronto and didn't venture out alone during the daytime. Such had been her fate since *the* War. Shortly after the rift sealed, Patt had been loading up the truck to head back to Louisiana when a shadow fell across her. It had been Jules, a worried look on her face. She'd handed Patt a short note in *His* cursive hand that read: "YOU will not leave Toronto without my permission." Though everyone had assured Patt that *He* had no memory of any occurrences during the war, the addict remained unconvinced. Too many people knew about the *incident.* Loosened lips, sinking ships, just too good a story not to tell around the old campfire.Patt shuddered as she recalled the events of that fateful night. "I need a beer,' the well-over-twenty-one woman muttered, turning in the direction of the secondary beer fridge, which had been conveniently located in an alcove off the Shrine's Right Anteroom. Patt quickly located the fridge and pulled out a chilled bottle. She moved to unscrew the cap and found it absent. On closer inspection, the small green bottle was open, empty, and had writing across its label. "Darned Ratpackers," Patt cursed as she put the empty on top of the fridge and reached for another brew. "Their penchant for `bright and shiny thingees,' " Patt said, mimicking Libby perfectly, "is very annoying when that shiny thing is a leftover beer bottle. The least she could do is take it out of the fridge. But," Patt mimicked Libs again, " `Whar else would yew keep a brewsky bottle, but in tha' fridge, mate?' Sheesh." Hand firmly on a full bottle, Patt twisted the cap and prepared to lift the contents to her lips. A sudden commotion down the hall halted her action. A squeal, then a *crash!*, then a groan and a series of yelps, shouts and snickers could be heard outside the alcove, in the Right Anteroom proper. Patt shook her head and went to investigate. "Oh my Gawd!" Patt's eyes flew open wide at the sight which greeted her. "Greetings!" Tser, buzz-cutted and wearing black, ran forward to embrace the older woman. Patt accepted the hug, but couldn't help looking over the Oregonian's shoulder to the visage in the middle of the room. Encircled by a number of addicts, was a burro. A small gray and black burro, resplendent in a black fringed blanket, stood before the secondary altar to Nunkies. It flicked its long ears and chewed a bit, then turned its head to look past its rump. Patt followed the donkey's gaze. Monsieur Louis Cabon was behind the animal, rising from a rather awkward position on the polished marble floor, rubbing his derriere, a miffed expression on his face. Cabon pushed through the line of giggling women and headed toward Patt and Tser, speaking loudly in French. He was understandable even to those who didn't speak the language. Stopping in front of the women, Cabon shook his fist at Tser. "Dees animal.ees not broken.!" Tser blinked innocently. "No." she said slowly, "she's not broken. She's very much in first rate shape." The circle of women began guffawing again, but silenced when Cabon turned and stared at them. Returning his attention to Tser, Cabon straightened his shoulders and continued. "Why did you tell me `e could be ridden?" Tser shrugged. "Because she can be.once trained." Tser smiled sweetly as Cabon threw up his hands and stalked out of the room, caught up in his personal tirade of French expletives. Patt heard a snippet about being better off left in the liquor closet, but that was about all her tender ears could translate. Tser assumed a wicked expression as she Turned back to Patt. "How you doing, Cuz? Wielded any mean beer bottles lately?" "I liked you better when you were being strangled," Patt sighed, but allowed Tser to throw an arm around her shoulders and guide the older woman into the room. "What is *this* all about?" "*This*?" Tser looked astonished at Patt's question. This is my personal project for the summer - a gift from the head of the zoology department at the University of Oregon, for whom I pet sit on occasion. He heard I was attending a `Palm Sunday' ritual and insisted that one could not properly celebrate the day without a burro in attendance." "Palm Sunday,' Patt repeated, looking dubiously at the donkey. "Pompeii Day, Palm Sunday.Can I help it if the poor old fellow had his hearing aid turned down low?" Tser grinned. "No matter.The burro needed a good home, and I like critters, so it worked well for all." "Speaking of which.Hello, Gwen." Patt looked down as the tortoiseshell cat stroked past her shins. The third cousin then looked up quickly. Eyes wary. "Where's the lizard?" "Back home,' Tser assured her with a wide smile. "These are the only two animals along for this trip. The others pretty much told me they'd had enough of `all this' from their trip back in June. They said they'd prefer `resting' in the Great Northwest." Patt looked at her friend, her expression serious. "You're unusually cheerful for one who's normally drawn to things `bleak and dreary,'" Tser grinned again and nodded. "Yup, quite happy m in fact. I've been looking forward to this celebration since I got the e-mail invite. The chance to see *Him* again, to know that he's safe, happy, surrounded by his family and living out his life.I'm pleased as Ribena punch." Then Tser's expression sobered. "Why?" she asked, suddenly worried. "Is something wrong with him?" Patt shook her head and clasped the other woman's arm reassuringly. "No, no. *He's* just fine. He's his old General-self." "Then what's the mat.?" Realization suddenly dawned on the woman from the Pacific coast. Her eyes widened in horror. "HE knows?" "I don't know for sure," Patt replied, moving away from Tser on the pretext of obtaining a closer look at the burro. "All I know is that I can't leave Toronto - per his order." "Bummer." Tser walked up and stood by Patt, who stood examining the animal. "Oh, well." Patt turned back on the cheerful mode and smiled at the now depressed-looking Tser. "I'm not letting it bother me. I have a party to attend!" "The mother, father and daughter of all parties," Tser agreed. The burro nickered, sending the NA attendees into a spasm of delight. "What's his.her name?" Sharon laughed and reached out to stroke the rough ridge which passed as the creature's mane. "She has a cute buzz-cut, by the way." "Her name is Lavalianna," Tser answered sternly. "And show her some respect. She's descended from nobility." "Oooooooooo," the addicts chorused. "Yup, Tser nodded matter-of-factly, a hand stroking the animal's withers. "One of this little burro's progenitors was the sole mode of transport used by a European Contessa when she made the trek west along the Oregon Trail." Tser continued to caress the little animal with obvious affection. "I also have it on very good authority that she has many cousins who were involved in the mining of the salt flats and desert areas of the southwest. Ever hear of Borax?" "Wonder if she knew Regan," Charl pondered. War clean-up had greatly expanded her appreciation for all-purpose cleaners and their history. "Uhhhh, Tser?" Mariah looked dubious. " Weren't those *mules* on those teams?" Tser gave the addict a withering look. "You live up to your name again, Windsock," she said sternly. "I guess I need to give you a quick lesson in biology. Take a donkey, take a horse." While Tser explained the more intricate details of the procreation of the hybrid, Cherri motioned Patt aside. "Whatsamatter, Munoz?" Patt said, noticing the look of unhappiness on the other addict's face. "It's all this talk about farm animals," Cherri said with a shudder. "It tends to make me nervous. Think it would be rude of me if I left without saying goodbye?" "I doubt that anyone would notice, but if it will make you feel better, I'll tell them `bye' for you," Patt said reassuringly. Cherri nodded and disappeared. Patt looked back toward the group which stood enraptured as Tser not only described the process of begetting a mule, but emphasized the finer details with a series of enthusiastic hand and arm gestures. Sharon, her face radiant with the awe of accumulated knowledge, looked at the burro with reverence. "And that's how she got the name Lavalianna," Tser said, completing the explanation. "How's that?" Patt asked. Ten eyes turned on the woman from Louisiana, including those of the cat. Some were narrowed, some were wide with horror. Tser, grinning, moved to block the exit to the hall. "Well, Patt, let me tell you all about volcanoes." ************************************************************************ ".And that is how she got the name Lavalianna," Tser completed the lecture some time later. Sharon and Mariah had drifted off to sit in a corner and had fallen asleep, their heads resting against each other. Charl had busied herself polishing the alternate altar. "It was either that or Pahoehoeianna," Tser concluded. "Aa," Patt said reflectively. "I think you made the wise choice, namewise. You call her Lava, for short?" Tser nodded. "I feel a poem in the making," Shele said softly, a contemplative look on her face. She had listened to Tser's entire speech.four times since Tser and company had arrived via the side Shrine door some hour-plus earlier. "I see fertilizer in the making," Patt remarked. Having spent her teenage years on a 75- acre farm in the Missouri Ozarks, Patt had experience with such things. She had noticed the sudden tell-tale arch at the base of the donkey's tail. "Tser, hon, is the burro Shrine-broken?" "EEEEEEEKKKKK!" The collective shrill shrieking of four addicts and a cat departing the Right Anteroom caused the burro to lay back her ears in alarm. In contrast, her tail did not descend. Tser grabbed the animal's halter and hastily led Lava toward the side door. Sighing, Patt looked around the now-empty Anteroom. She hadn't been in this part of the sanctum since the Scribe had redecorated. Gone were the visions which had made this area a haven for those addicts with the tendency to embrace that *other* guy. The room's contents were pure Nunkies now, and what a Nunkilicious delight it was. Ever since the addicts had learned that Himself had graced the hallowed halls of the Shrine, incognito, the place had been undergoing a facelift which would have made a potentate proud. Now that he was making his first *official* visit, the Shrine was so primped and polished that it almost hurt the eyes. Patt wandered over to the wall and reached out to touch *the* mural which caused so many addicts to stay `shower fresh.' She ran the tip of her finger up the sandaled leg, toward the exposed flesh of the thigh. "Patt?" The Louisiana addict jumped like she'd been shot. Heart thumping guiltily, Patt turned and saw Caren standing there. Caren had been recruited, well drafted, by Patt into the NA organization. Coming to Canada to bring Patt some work papers, Caren had felt herself pulled into this place where her fellow employee had taken up residence. Though not totally convinced that she was a true addict, Caren found herself unwilling to leave. The chocolate was just too good. "Patt," Caren said as she wandered into the room, examining all of the Nunkies tapestries in obvious amazement. "I think I'm lost." "Lost to Nunkies?" Jules entered the Anteroom after Caren and put a comforting arm about her shoulders. "We all understand that, Caren. Don't worry.we're here to help you." Caren nodded. "Thanks, High Priestess, but actually.I'm *really* lost. I was supposed to put soap in all of the lavatories, but I've gotten sort of turned around. I don't know where I've been, or where I'm going to." "That's quite all right," Jules consoled, shepherding the new addict toward the hall door. "The trick is the colored tiles in the floor. Gold is the main part of the Shrine. Silver is the Left Anteroom, and bronze is the Right. Copper marks the Kitchen - excuse me, Laboratory - and obsidian leads to the sleeping quarters. Aqua will take you somewhere that is water- related - including the Shower, the Pond, the restrooms, the Sacred Fire Hydrant, and so on." "Oh, okay! I see now," Caren said as she happily examined the floor. She readjusted the basket of mango-scented soap that she carried and quickly headed down the hall. With the other addict gone, Jules turned to Patt. The older woman stiffened: Jules had *that* look in her eye. "We need to talk," the copper-haired woman said sternly. Patt shifted uncomfortably. Patt had to admit that Jules looked impressive. She had changed from her walking clothes into full High Priestess regalia - a floor-length sequined gown of turquoise, accented with matching jewelry and dangly earrings. The color of the dress made Jules' normally hazel eyes reflect almost as blue as Nunkies'. Almost. Jules lifted her square chin and leveled those eyes on Patt. Jules looked her sometimes-roommate up and down. "Aren't we a little underdressed?" "Huhhhh?" Patt looked down at her own outfit, taking note of the scruffy jeans and Raven T-shirt which showed marked evidence of having been involved in manual labor. The stern expression on Jules' face flickered, her eyes suddenly dancing. "You'd better get to the Sacred Changing Room and put on that maroon silky thing with the burgundy lace wrap-around that you brought." Laughing now, Jules pushed a groaning Patt toward the hallway. "And you'd best hurry, Third Cousin, Because this party is about to *erupt*!" ******************************************************************* Time: About the same Place: Generic teaser scene location Mickey Hamlin had a problem. Mean people were chasing him, trying to steal his stuff. Very uncool. Very, very uncool, seeing as how his stuff was worth quite a pretty penny to the right customer. All Mickey had to do was make his appointment with the fence, and he was home free. He could make quarter of a million Canadian dollars easy with the right private collector. If he could lose his tail. Mickey ducked into an alley, slinging his large pack off his shoulder. They were too close. It would be better for him to stash the goods and come back after he lost them rather than hold on to the heavy item. Mickey shoved the pack behind a dumpster, then stacked a few empty crates in front. He scuttled back down the alley, peering around the corner, then stepped back out on the sidewalk. He'd taken a dozen steps when he sighted the goons who were after his merchandise. They watched him from a Ford Taurus across the street. Mickey dug his hands into his pockets and tried to blend in with the other pedestrians. It didn't work. The Ford swerved across the oncoming traffic, pulling partway onto the pavement because the driver was apparently not a close, personal friend to his brakes. Mickey was caught by surprise. He hadn't expected them to be so overt or desperate in tracking him down. he thought greedily before he took off in a sprint. A woman with faux-blonde hair and sunglasses leapt out of the passenger's side of the Taurus and pursued with an efficient stride. One block, two blocks passed, and she was nipping at Mickey's heels. She fumbled in her coat pocket, pulling out a rectangular black box. When she was close enough to touch him, the woman reached out an arm and brushed his back with the black box. It made a sizzling sound, much like a bug encountering one of those nasty porch zappers. Mickey grunted and stumbled face forward onto the sidewalk, twitching as if he was a freshly caught flounder. The woman bent over him with a satisfied grin. "Gotta love high voltage," she smirked, then began to drag him into yet another alley, out of view of the general public. The woman patted down Mickey's disabled form thoroughly and obviously did not find what she was hunting. She slapped him for attention, and Mickey groggily rolled his head from side to side. "Where are they? Where did you hide them?" Slap. Slap. Slap. No doubt this woman had been a mean kid on the playground. Mickey moaned and stammered. "Don't.have `em anymore." She slapped him a few more times for good measure. Unable to prompt Mickey into a different response, the faux-blonde became irritated. "If you don't have them, what good are you to me?" Her hand slipped to her side, then pulled free a good-sized knife. A collector would have been envious to note that it was a Case Bowie knife, not your average whittler. The woman pulled Mickey's head back by his hair and brought the blade down with cool precision. The freshly-caught flounder was gutted. ******************************************************************* End O' Part Three See Part One For The Disclaimer. ******************************************************************* August Heat (04/24) Event Four: Bubble, Bubble, A Volcano Of Trouble Date: August 24th Time: About 1pm "Do I really have to wear a toga?" Patt had grumbled all the way back to the main room of the Shrine. "I feel like it makes me look like a maroon mountain." "You look just fine in it," Jules had assured her. "It's very becoming on you." So, to make the High Priestess happy, Patt had changed into the off-red toga which she preferred to use as a nightgown. The material, a soft imitation suede, was wondrously cool in hot weather and warm in cold. To accent it, Patt draped a width of burgundy lace across one shoulder and pinned it securely with a heavy gold pinwheel brooch which she had borrowed from the NunkMommy. "I still think I look like a mountain," Patt muttered, going out to join the group of addicts already assembled, awaiting the festivities to get underway. "And, I need a beer." ************************************************************************ As she waited behind Jules for the ceremony to begin, Patt leaned over and whispered to Bonnie. "What's with the addicts over there?" Bonnie looked in the direction Patt indicated, noting a group of nine addicts, all wearing white or off-white togas. "I think they're the ceremonial guard," Bonnie replied, turning her attention back to Jules. "What do we need a *ceremonial guard* for," Patt looked puzzled. Bons shrugged. "Tradition, I believe. There was always a group of Praetorians guarding the Emperor. Annie felt we needed a group to guard Nunkies." "Annie's not among them. She's with us," Patt observed, taking stock of the solemn addicts set apart from the others: Jayne, attractively clad in her soft white toga with red and gold trim and cording; Laura, barely covered in cream-colored linen, her left shoulder bare, her face as sparkling as the sapphire broach which was the only thing keeping the ensemble aloft; Marie, layered in off-white gauze bordered with tiny hand-stitched perfect pictures of Nunkies and carrying a pillow; Cousin Cherri, dressed in a simple white toga, tied at the right shoulder with gold trim - Patt had to blink twice to make the black spots go away. Patt had to blink three times when she looked at Casey. The girl was wearing an exact replica of Divia's toga. Patt swallowed hard and allowed her eyes to move on. Next was Senara, serene in a lovely white toga with a Celtic design etched in green embroidery. Sharon Lee stood next to her, wearing the toga which Jules had picked out from the Toga Room. The gown was slightly too long for the addict, and Patt feared, knowing Sharon, that the girl would trip over it before the night was over. Tracy occupied the next seat. She sat straight and prim, her hands crossed delicately in the lap of her simple white silk toga. Kelly, ever practical, wore a white brushed cotton robe, fastened with Velcro tabs (for those disrobing emergencies). "Okay . . ." Patt said slowly, taking another long look at the white clad addicts. "I have a question. If that group is supposed to protect Nunkies from us, whose supposed to protect Nunkies from them?" "Shhhhhhhhhh," Bonnie whispered warningly. "We're supposed to be quiet to set the mood." Patt continued anyhow. "And," she said, poking Bonnie in the ribs with her elbow, "how come Heather isn't with them? She's wearing white." "Nunkies doesn't do plaid," Bonnie replied, giving Patt a sharp look. "Unless he's playing MacNunkies. Besides, Heather has an important part in the opening ceremonies. She doesn't have time for spear and shield duty." "Shhhhhhhhh!!" Half a dozen addicts leaned forward and hissed at Bonnie. Jules turned around and gave the tiny redhead an evil look. "See?" Bonnie whispered to Patt. "You got me in trouble! Now be solemn and still, or Jules will give us grout duty!" ************************************************************************ The Shrine To Nunkies became quiet. The lighting was bright and gleaming, for golden lanterns had been draped from the ceiling just for this occasion. Nine addicts in white formed a circle about the main altar, where the usual flame and incense burned. An unlit torchiere stood about head-height beside each of these addicts. Jules, in the role of High Priestess, waited at the north end of the Shrine. She had temporarily covered her turquoise finery with a black cloak for this spectacular: it was the eruption ceremony. No matter how boisterous and rowdy the later festivities might become, this one event was meant to be solemn. Behind Jules stood four more addicts in black cloaks. Heather, Patt, Annie and Bonnie all waited patiently, not a word, look or snicker exchanged between them. All of the remaining addicts, converts, employees, Madame Kiki and her buff slave boys were all poised expectantly atop the red silk loungers, not making a sound. Every person had their attention focused upon the same object. Directly before Jules stood an enormous replica of Mount Vesuvius. It was fashioned from papier-mache, using every ounce of Annie's pinata-making skills. Instead of hanging from the ceiling, this pinata rose from the floor, reaching its pinnacle at a point level with the High Priestess' chin. Annie had molded the structure after a wall painting of Mount Vesuvius taken from the excavation of the Cas del Centenario in Pompeii, remaining true to its colors and form. The silence became pendulous, so quiet that it seemed a sacrilege to risk drawing a breath and risk breaking the hush. Suddenly, Jules spoke in a loud, clear voice: "It was near one in the afternoon on August 24th, in the year 79 Anno Domini, when the earth burst forth from the mouth of Mount Vesuvius." There was the sound of tremendous explosion, and the light from the golden lanterns extinguished. Heather and Annie stepped forward and plunged their hands into the wide opening of the volcano model. They swiftly pulled up a cobwebbed mass of gray- black silk, raising it to resemble a cloudy bud above their heads. Jules continued to speak. "A cloud rose into the sky, the form of which I cannot give you a more exact description other than likening it to that of a pine tree, for it shot up to a great height in the form of a very tall trunk, which spread itself out at the top into a canopy of branches." Patt and Bonnie approached the silk that Annie and Heather held aloft. They held twelve-foot-long poles, hooked at one end. Pat and Bons each secured a section of the material, then held it aloft, gradually raising the poles straight to the ceiling above the non-dormant volcano, creating a column of swirling smoky colors. Once the trunk climbed as high as it could possibly reach, Bonnie and Patt began to walk away from each other, Bonnie to the western side of the Shrine, Patt to the east. Heather and Annie raised poles as well, stepping in front of the volcano and hooking the silky cloud flying from its mouth. As Bonnie and Patt reached opposite sides of the Shrine, Heather and Annie now elevated the shadowy mass and walked side by side through the audience to the southern wall. The tangled weave of gray-black threads now seemed to rise in a triangular curtain above their heads. From above, the rumblings of thunder and earth in motion grew louder, echoing throughout the room. The voice of the High Priestess rang out clear once more: "It appeared sometimes bright and sometimes dark and spotted, according as it was either more or less impregnated with earth and cinders." The only light to guide the straining eyes of the audience came from the flame that burned defiantly in the middle of the Shrine altar. The dozen addicts circled about the altar seized their torches in sudden tandem, and bent the tips to touch the lone flame as though each were the spoke in a wagon wheel. The fire burst into a ninefold light, then the addicts brought the flames to stand vertically at their sides once more. The flickering flames cast an eerie, pulsing glow reflected off the blanket of material above. Annie and Heather had reached the south wall by now, and began to separate toward the eastern and western walls as well. The volcano seemed to be spewing out an amorphous dark cloud that smothered the entire room. It looked alive, full and heavy, as though it would drop onto their waiting heads at any second. "The cinders," Jules announced, "which grew thicker and hotter the nearer one approached the mountain, fell into ships, over the houses and towns, together with pumice stones, and black pieces of burning rock. The fire of Vesuvius was felt up to forty miles away." The tiny pockets and crannies in the weave of the fibrous cloud let loose. The audience could see a wave of fragments travel up from the volcano before them, over their heads and through the cloud, then pieces began to float from above, some more wispy than tissue paper, others more substantial. Some of the ashes that tumbled onto their heads seemed to glitter with fire, others floated softly down to rest in their hair and clothing. The thunder continued to roar in the ears of the audience, but now lightning flashed from the cloud to the floor and sparks of fire soared overhead. The audience gasped in sudden fear, but the High Priestess continued to speak in calm certainty: "The houses now rocked from side to side with frequent and violent concussions as though shaken from their very foundations. The open fields, where the calcimined stones and cinders, though light indeed, fell in such large showers they threatened destruction. The very air stung the lungs with gross and noxious vapors." Fragments showered upon the audience in such a frenzy that they could no longer see their own hands extended before them. The room appeared to cloud with smoke, and the surrounding noise grew to an overwhelming crescendo. Jules had to shout now for the crowd to hear her words above the threatening din. "It was now day everywhere else, but there. A deeper darkness prevailed than in the thickest night!" Suddenly every torch, even the altar flame extinguished. In the same instant, all sound vanished, and Heather, Annie, Bonnie and Patt collapsed the poles that held the cloud aloft. It fluttered over the audience, burying every form except Jules in a layer of gray soot. Jules began to talk softly again, her voice barely above a whisper: "Pompeii perished.but as nature destroys, so does it create. Amidst the fire and blackened sun which damned the city's living into crypts of ash, one man became immortal." The lanterns hanging from the ceiling began to glow, once more bathing the room in a natural light. There was a whisper of movement as Heather and Annie began to roll the gray material that covered the assembly back to the volcano again. Audience members began to shake the flakes from their hair and garments with relief . "He escaped the fate of thousands. He escaped death eternally. He is our General, our Lucius, our Lucien, our Lacroix.Our beloved Nunkies!" The audience leapt to their feet with a round of cheers and hurrahs as they clapped their hands and stamped their feet. "FOREVER NUNKIES!!!!" Jules shouted as she pulled off her black robe, revealing her slinky splendor underneath. "VESUVIUS ERUPTED FOR NINETEEN HOURS - ANYBODY THINK WE CAN PARTY THAT LONG?!?!" "YEAH!!!!" the crowd roared. With the High Priestess' cue, the tournament of revelry began. ******************************************************************* "How did you make the eruption look so *impressive*?" Tammy pleaded to Jules minutes later. The new convert was still brushing pieces of ash from the folds of her short, maroon silk toga. Libby bounced forward, clad in a purple toga with a gold underdress of her own. Her party garb was accessorized in Ratpacker-ish style: she had a borrowed aviator cap on her head and sturdy black boots on her feet. A grungy satchel hung diagonally across Libby's chest, just in case the party guests left anything shiny sitting alone and in plain sight. "Aye did it! Bons set up tha pretty lights, an' I pressed tha buttons tew make `em go sparkly and shiny! Got me a sugarless ana-tom-toms-correct chock-lit Screed fer me trouble, tew!" "I'm just happy no one's hair caught fire from the pyrotechnics," Jules said with relief. "I had a fear of this ceremony turning into a soft drink commercial." Tammy's eyes widened at the suggestion that the audience had been in possible danger. Jules rushed to reassure her. "We have *tons* of accident, fire, and volcano insurance. Any necessary plastic surgery would have been covered." Heather burst into the Shrine from the direction of the Laboratory/Kitchen. Four buff slave boys marched behind her, each supporting a keg on one broad shoulder. "Alright, everybody!" Heather called. "Grab a glass of fermented cider and gather round! I'm leading the first drink, then it's an open bar!" "Woohoo!" some of the rowdier guests called in anticipation. "Settle down, now!" Heather retorted, straightening the garland in her hair. "Everyone ready?" She held up a glass of golden liquid with one hand, while gesturing to her outfit with the other. "As you addicts can see, I'm wearing the McIntyre tartan with my white toga today. This is out of respect to my Celtic ancestry, as well as my adoration of Lacroix. MacNunkies, as I like to call him, became a vampire at a very appropriate time in the Celtic Druid's year. August 24th falls in the ninth month, mythologically associated with apples. To the Druids, apples symbolized eternal life." "Hear! Hear!" Michele raised the hem of her black silk toga and climbed to a stand on one of the loungers. "I'll drink to that!" "And so you shall, Michele," Heather laughed. "So you shall! Let us all raise our cups in honor of MacNunkies and his eternal life!" With that, the crowd tossed back their cider in rapid succession. Madame Kiki looked up from her own, personal divan where two of the buff slave boys fanned her red toga clad form. With a sultry grin, she posed the most important question: "Did I hear someone mention an open bar?" ******************************************************************* End O' Part Four See Part One For The Disclaimer. ******************************************************************* August Heat (05/24) Event Five: The Floorshow Date: August 24th Time: Late Afternoon and beyond After Heather had finished with the Highland toast, Jules looked pointedly across the crowded room at Bonnie. Bonnie stared back at her. "Well?" Jules inquired "Well?" Bonnie replied. Jules placed her hands on her hips in a motion of exasperation. Bonnie threw up her hands in a gesture of confusion. The crowd of addicts began to shuffle their feet and exchange glances. Annie leaned across the group to stage whisper to Bonnie. "Dancing girls." "Dancing g . . ." Bonnie's confusion was replaced by the horror of realization. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered being volunteered for *skit* duty. One of the things that had been suggested was Roman dancing girls . . . or rather, Greeks dancing for the Romans. "Another tradition?" Patt quipped cheerily. Bonnie's look was cold fire. Patt had not yet been thoroughly convinced that making a redhead unhappy was a dangerous pastime. Bonnie stood, prepared to face the room of addicts with the confession that she had no entertainment to offer, but then she paused. Looking down at Patt, an oddly cruel smirk spread across the Scribe's face. "Stand up," she commanded. Patt didn't move. Bonnie leaned down, her nose level with Patt's. "You owe me. Remember the mustard and the clown face? Now . . . stand up!" Patt did as instructed. While her companion rose, Bonnie looked around the room, sighting various addicts. "You," she pointed at Tammy. "And, you, you, and you," Annette, Charl and Mel were all selected in quick succession. "Come with me to the stage, please." As slowly as possible, Patt trailed the end of the processional line to the front of the room. She looked back to the crowd, saw Caren smiling at her, and pointed at the petite brunette. "And you! Caren of Shreveport. Come on down . . .!!!" Once on stage, the seven addicts formed a sort of a line, staring at each other and down at their feet. Two of the addicts were wearing greenish togas and four had on outfits of various reddish shades. Bonnie, cute as a flower in her yellow toga trimmed in daisy motif, quickly arranged the group with two reds on one side, the greens on the inside and the other two reds on the outside. Then, the girl from North Carolina stepped out slightly in front of the main body and, with a sweep of her hands, announced, "I present . . . THE STOP AND GO-GOS!!" ********************************************************************* "I tried to warn you, Bons, I have no rhythm," Patt, through gritted teeth, hissed at the tiny woman beside her. "Quit complaining and move with the music," Bons giggled, snaking her arms and lifting her knees in a step aerobic move. "It's easy!" Bonnie waved her head enthusiastically, sending her long hair into spasms of motion. "Yea, right." Patt looked left, then right, watching the addicts execute some rather interesting steps to the tune being played. Sighing with resignation, Patt did the only 'dance' step she knew. Lifting her arms straight in front of her, Patt bent slightly at the waist and made a bowing motion with her limbs. "Do the WAVE!" she shouted. The audience sprang to their feet, imitating Patt's motion. Patt looked at the group, gratified by their response. She began to increase the fluidity of her motions. Pretty soon, she was springing around the stage with the same enthusiasm as her younger friend. Over in the guard section, Sharon Lee could not contain her enthusiasm any longer. She'd been tapping her foot to the disco music and now leapt up, intent on dancing her little heart out. The heal of her sandal snagged in the hem of her overlong toga, sending Sharon head first into the Sacred Portable Fountain. Being careful to not get her gown damp, Jules stepped forward to help Sharon out of the fountain. "It's alright, everyone! Stay calm! We have plenty of insurance!" Bonnie looked down the line of dancing addicts. She was especially impressed with Caren. The emerald clad newbie was gyrating seductively, caught in the strains of the music. She tossed her short brunette hair back, then brought her head back forward, her hazel eyes dark and looking steadily out over the crowd. A buff slave boy hooted, causing another to stand up and yell enthusiastically. Encouraged, Caren reached out and grasped the edge of a lace runner which topped a secondary altar piled high with Chocolate Nunkies. With a flick of her wrist, Caren snapped the cloth free, then pulled it through one loose-fisted hand like a coil. She lifted the lace high above her head, then allowed it to settle across her shoulders, which she arched, twisted and rolled. The woman then turned forty-five degrees so as to give the audience a view of her profile, snapping her head back to face the crowd. All the buff slaves were on their feet now, shouting and stamping their feet with pleasure. Caren shot them a radiant smile, then continued her seductive movements. "Hmmmmmm, Patt?" Bonnie leaned over to the waving addict. "Yep," Patt responded. "What did you say Caren did for the State?" Bonnie whispered. "She determines eligibility for certain medical programs," Patt replied. "But her real joy is her work in the response and recovery program." "Weeellll," Bonnie said slowly, watching as a particularly enraptured buffer tried to make his way to the dance floor, only to be detained by several members of the white toga-ed guard. "I'd say that she definitely has them responding, and if she keeps up those dance steps, they will need a recovery program." After roughly half an hour, Bons dropped into a curtsey, then gestured for the other dancers to join her in the bows. Charl, Mel, Tammy and Annette all filed sedately from the stage as soon as possible, while Caren graciously accepted multiple ovations. Patt sat down on the stage edge, dangling her feet off the raised platform, and gave thanks when Robi handed her an ice-cold beer. "I've done my part for the sake of entertainment," Bonnie told Annie firmly. "But it's not even dark yet!!! We need diversions!" the NunkMommy lamented. "What you need," Robi said absently as she toyed with the Holy Handcuffs that hung from her belt, "is a Vegas act - like one of those magicians. Perform a few feats of suspenseful escapism, and they'll be putty in your hands." "Suspenseful escapism," Bons repeated. "That sounds like the description of a Nunkies Fantasy to me. Sorry, I'm fresh out." "No, no!" Annie said excitedly. "I know what Robi means. It's like Nunkies said in `Francesca.' People are thrilled by strange things. You know, like Houdini had a nifty trick with handcuffs and a tank of -" Suddenly, all eyes were staring meaningfully at the object swinging at Robi's waist. Horror swept over her expression. "Oh, no," Robi protested. "Oh, no, no!" "Relax," Jules soothed. "We have *lots* of insurance." Robi wailed as Bons and Annie carried her onto the stage. "But I was trying to help - not volunteer! Eek!" ******************************************************************* There was a drumroll, and Libby wiggled the shiny, pretty spotlights all over the stage. "Not-So-Ladies and UnGentlemen," Bonnie announced over the sound system, "the Shrine to Nunkies is proud to present, for one night and one night only, the spellbinding feats of contortionism that only a Cousin could provide! Raise your hands and give a welcome to The Magnificent..ROBIDINI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Robi stumbled out from behind the stage curtain, looking suspiciously like she'd been pushed forward. She smiled stiffly and gave the clapping audience a brief wave. "Also starring." Bons continued, ".her HOLY HANDCUFFS!!!" The sounds of `ooh' and `aah' rippled through the crowd. "With the invaluable assistance of the lovely ALDEHEIDE!!!" Cousin Heidi stepped forward, modeled her best overalls to an encouraging chorus of hoots and whistles, then moved to pose elegantly at The Magnificent (and stage- frightened) Robidini's side. "And just because he looks good in a Mountie uniform.SLAVE BOY BIFF!!!!" A hulking mass of Canadian man-flesh wearing red serge joined the two addicts on stage. He bent down, and wrapping one arm just below each of the addict's waists, hefted Heidi and Robi to sit on his shoulders. The audience was suitably impressed. Annie and Jules had to restrain Patt from flinging herself on stage. "Lemme go!!" Patt squealed. "He's a slave boy, I'm a dancing girl - it's a match!" Jules handed the Louisianan another bottle. "Have another beer, Patt. Watch the show." As the opening applause began to fade, Slave Boy Biff let the two addicts slide back down to the stage. Bons stepped up and gave the pseudo-Mountie a wink as she passed the microphone to his waiting, strong grip, then scampered to join Annie, Patt and Jules. "For her first impossible feat," Biff began in a game-show host baritone, "The Magnificent Robidini will handcuff the lovely Aldeheide to a mahogany desk!" "I will?" Robi said blankly. "Wait a second!" Heidi yelped. "Bons said this job only involved standing around and looking slinky! How come I'm the one who always gets handcuffed to a table?! Hmmm?" "Don't pout," Biff murmured to Heidi with a mellow smile. "Let Robi shackle you like a good girl." Heidi was momentarily hypnotized by the whiteness of the Slave Boy's teeth and his bobbing adam's apple, so she grinned sappily and sighed, "Oh, okay." Robi was warming up to the spotlight. She presented the Holy Handcuffs for the audience's inspection with downright flourish. "Look everyone! Real handcuffs! Aren't they kewl?" Jayne, ever the handcuffing enthusiast, stood up and cried, "Woohoo! Go Robi! Go Robi!" "I will take the lovely Aldeheide's right wrist," Robi described aloud with growing excitement, "and cuff it, like so! Then I will pull her over to this solid mahogany desk, fastening the other circle around its leg!" Robi bent down, there was a firm *click!*, and she jumped up to reveal Heidi attached to the table. "Taa-Dah!!! Thank you! Thank you very much!" Robi began to bow, as though she expected thunderous accolades. A new initiate, wearing a red toga fastened at the shoulders with brooches bearing Lacroix's face, called out in protest. Her name was Kate, and she couldn't understand why Robi was bowing. "That's it? That's the trick? What about breaking her free?" This suggestion distressed The Magnificent Robidini greatly. "What? And risk damaging my Holy Handcuffs? I don't think so." There were disappointed grunts from the audience. Slave Boy Biff argued over the microphone, "Remember: I said The Magnificent Robidini would handcuff the lovely Aldeheide *to* the desk. I never mentioned any escape attempts." "What?!" Heidi screeched. The crowd began to catcall and groan. "Hey!" Patt shouted angrily, waving her beer bottle threateningly at the crowd. "Quit booing my Mountie!" Robi and Biff began to look nervous. The crowd wasn't throwing things yet, because the only items they had on hand were their drink glasses, but it was only a matter of time before the fruit flew. "You'd better think of something magical quickly," Jules warned from stageside. "Oh, wonderful!" Annie sighed as she glared at Bonnie. "What a wonderful idea of yours this turned out to be!" Bons' eyes shot sparks. "My idea?! Excuse me, Miss NunkMommy, but it took *two* of us to drag her on stage, remember?" "Uhh.for my next trick," Robi stammered, "I'm going to make Mountie Biff disappear." The crowd paused their cursing. "That sounds kind of kewl," Kate said thoughtfully. Patt's expression became outraged. "No, it doesn't! Make someone else disappear! I want my Mountie!" "Get in the volcano," Robi muttered to Biff underneath her breath. "Do you know what you're doing?" Biff asked. "No, but get in the volcano anyhow. And take your costume off," Robi ordered, figuring the addicts would be so distracted by a less-than-dressed Biff, they would forget that nothing magical had happened again. Biff, smarter than he looked, caught on to her train of thought. "Yes, ma'am! Should I leave my hat on?" The audience watched patiently as the pseudo-Mountie stepped into the crater of the pseudo-mountain. Biff shimmied out of sight, much to Patt's sobbing despair. Libby the Light Girl wiggled the bright and shiny spots all around the stage again as she pushed play on the drumroll tape. The audience, led by Kate, began to chant in unison: "Ro-bi!.Ro-bi!.Robi!. Ro-bi!.Ro-bi!.Ro-bi!" Since she was the only addict standing right next to the volcano model, only The Magnificent Robidini heard the shuffling sounds of clothes-changing that came from inside, and only she noticed when the noises stopped. "Is everyone ready?" Robi called to the audience. "Yes, Robi!!" everyone answered. "Alrighty then! If anyone's still in the volcano, they'll come out on the count of three! One!.Two!. THREE!!!" "Taa-dah!!!!!!" The generous applause that Robi expected, the lustful hoots and hollers, never came. Out of the corner of her eye, Robi saw red serge. Robi thought. She turned toward the Slave Boy, prepared to scream bloody murder. It wasn't Biff in the Mountie uniform. It was. "Screed!" Libby exclaimed joyously. "Yew came!" Screed stood proudly before the stunned audience, as resplendent in his overlarge Mountie garb as a carouche could be. Biff had apparently held onto the official hat, for Screed retained his trademark aviator cap. Libby thought it was pretty splendid. She crawled over her light board, then over the heads and shoulders of the congregated guests toward her favorite Ratman. "Where's my Mountie?" Patt demanded, a forlorn tinge in her voice. "Yew came! Yew're here!" Libby sang as she reached Screed's legs. She hugged one ankle covered with overlong trousers and sighed, "Now it trewly *is* a party!" "Course I came, Libs-mate!" Screed replied. "Yew gave me the in-vee-tation, and I RV-escuched ya." Screed tugged at his overlong coat sleeves. "Aye. Even found me some festive-like dud-ups fer the occasion, I did." "And yew look bright and shiny, yew dew," Libby assured him. "Where's my Mountie?" Patt repeated. "Uhm, could someone uncuff me?" Heidi asked, still chained to the desk. No one heard her. "How did you get into the volcano?" Robi asked curiously. "Dug me a way from the kitchen," Screed answered. "Laboratory," Bons corrected. Screed snorted. "What-ever. Same kinda bubble-bubble." "So you came by the tunnels," Robi concluded, thrilled that she hadn't conjured Screed out of thin air. "I might've," Screed replied. "Wot I want ta know is who's the naked gent yew've got running between yer walls?" Patt suddenly leapt over to the volcano and dove inside. "What are you doing, Patt?" Bons demanded. "Don't you gals get it?" Patt explained with a lustful gleam in her eye. "Biff the Slave Boy is on the loose - and he really *is* buff! I gotta go get my Mountie!" With that, Patt dropped out of view. Heidi jingled the Holy Handcuffs' chain emphatically. "Hey! Somebody free me!" No one paid any attention. They were staring at the NunkMommy and the High Priestess. Annie and Jules looked very irritated. "Do you mean to tell me," Annie fumed at Libby, tapping a black heel angrily against the floor, "that you asked Screed to come to our *Nunkies* party?!" "How inappropriate," Jules tsked. "That's what I did!" Libby affirmed as she moved to stand at Screed's side. "Well, I won't have it!" Annie insisted. "It's bad enough that I'm always having to chase him out of my lingerie drawer, BUT I WILL NOT HAVE THAT CAROUCHE ON THE PREMESIS WHEN LACROIX GETS HERE!!!!" Libby's lower lip quivered sadly as she witnessed the looks of agreement on the faces of every audience member. "You mean he can't stay?" Screed clapped her on the shoulder. "That a fine ta-do! Screed-man's not about tew stay where `es not wanted. I'll see you malchicks un-later!" He stepped into the volcano once more, saying to Libby. "I'll check yew out, lil' squeak, when things are less crowded." Then the carouche popped out of sight. "Ooooooooohhhhh!" Libby squealed, stomping her booted feet. "Ever-ones always oppressin' tha Ratpacker, yew are!!! It's all Nunkies-this! Nunkies-that! I'm tellin' yew once an' fer all - I AM NOT AN ADDICT!!!!!" Annie opened her mouth to speak, but Libby cut her off, lost in a ratsie fury. "I don't want tew hear it! It'll jus' be more Rat-pickin'! I don't want to see any of yew ANY MORE!!!" Libby ran from the room, not stopping until she was curled up in her kitchen pantry cubby all private-like and settled down for a good round of self-pity. Back at the party, Heidi yelled at the silent crowd. "Yeah, yeah! We've treated Libby like dirt, and she's mad! She'll get over it! Ratpackers are used to oppression! Now, Robi, *get over here* and unlock these handcuffs!" Robi looked up blankly. "Did you say something, Heidi?" ******************************************************************* End O' Part Five See Part One For The Disclaimer. ******************************************************************* August Heat (6/24) Event Six: Is That A Nunkies At My Chamber Door? (a.k.a. The Plot Commenceth) Date: August 25th Time: After Midnight Natalie looked up from the body and asked, "Where's Schanke? I thought he'd be back from Memphis by now." Nick grinned broadly. "He had so much fun doing the candlelight vigil at Graceland, Schank took vacation until the end of the month. He said Myra isn't too thrilled about the sideburns or jumpsuit, but she's taken up the slide guitar." "Ooooh!" Natalie laughed as she scribbled a few notes into her casebook. "So you're working solo until he gets back?" "Unless the Captain gets a sudden urge to partner me with someone new," Nick replied, then gave her a knowing smile. "Somehow, I don't think that's going to happen." He nodded toward the body. "What do you have so far?" "His carotid artery and jugular were severed by a sharp instrument. The incision is pretty clean, so I don't think we're talking about an improvised weapon, like a piece of broken glass. There are minor abrasions on his right cheek and nose, perhaps from hitting the pavement or a wall." "Do you think he was knocked unconscious?" Nick began to examine the evidence bags that Natalie and forensics had collected thus far. "His shoes were practically new, but there are fresh scuff marks on the heels and soles as though he was dragged." "These are light scratches on the victim's face; they're not something that would remotely result in a concussion," Natalie said matter-of-factly. "I don't think he was alert at the time of the attack, though. The area is too clean. If he was standing when his throat was slit, a good deal of blood would have pumped over his clothing or the alley. Instead, we found the majority pooled behind his neck and head." "So he was lying on his back when he was cut," Nick concluded. Natalie nodded. "From the angle of the wound, it appears the killer was standing in front of him. One hand was used to hold the victim's head back, the other to wield the weapon. An alert victim would have clawed at their attacker's hands or back to fight them off. That would be a candidate for a PCR, but my guess is this fellow was incapable of struggling at the point when he was fatally wounded." Nick paused to stare thoughtfully at one of the items marked as evidence. "A passport?" "I didn't tag that piece," Nat said curiously. "Where's he from?" He handed the bagged booklet over. "You look." Nick crouched down to gingerly inspect the victim while Natalie opened the passport and read. "Name: Michael Piper Hamlin; Date of Birth: 7/23/68; He's Australian!" Nick murmured an interested, "Really?" but did not look up from the corpse. "Really. By the stamps, it looks like he flew from Sydney to Honolulu to L.A., then on to Toronto. The passport lists his place of residence as Hastings, Tasmania, though." "Hastings?" Nick had looked up abruptly at the name of the town. "You've *heard* of it?" Nat cried in astonishment. He frowned distantly, apparently displeased by the thought of the place. "I've been there." ******************************************************************* 1852 "I never pictured you as someone prone to catch gold fever," Nicholas jibed as he took a leisurely sip of blood. Aristotle looked outraged. "Gold? I did not come to Australia for the gold, Nicholas, I came for the new scenery. If I was after gold, I'd be in Ophir." Nicholas nodded in understanding. "I agree. This is a place full of novel landscapes." "Exactly!" Aristotle said enthusiastically. "Blessed anonymity, as well. I'm not sure how it came about, but it seems members in the Community are always coming to me for suggestions when they want a place to get away from it all. Now I have a new location to share." Nicholas smile cordially and raised his glass in a toast. "To Van Dieman's Land, then, and blessed anonymity!" "Van Dieman's Land!" Aristotle proclaimed exuberantly, then paused thoughtfully. "They really need to give the place a better name, though." ******************************************************************* Robi didn't mean to leave Heidi chained to the mahogany desk onstage; it just happened that way. Robi was walking in Heidi's direction, unfastening the necklace that secured the key to her Holy Handcuffs, with the earnest intention of unlocking the other addict. Then Jesse cried out, "I think I hear him! It's Lacroix!" An immediate stampede raced for the front door of the Jeweled Peach, minus Heidi, of course. Annie, Jules, and Bons remained stagnant as well, Jules sipping her dry sherry, Annie tasting her Flaming Diet Dr. Pepper, and Bonnie frowning into her newly finished Tom Collins glass. Patt was absent, still `en situ avec Mountie.' "I thought Lacroix wasn't scheduled to make an appearance until after Nightwatch With The Nightcrawler," Bons commented. "You're absolutely correct. He's not due for hours yet," Jules insisted. "Jesse probably heard the Peach's staff listening to him on the kitchen radio." "Can you blame her for being excited?" Annie said dreamily. "I'm all tingly with anticipation myself!" "What?" Bonnie exclaimed, looking reflexively at her left-wrist-without-a-watch- but-a-gold-and-enamel-daisy-chain. "You mean we're missing his broadcast?" "Well-gasped, Bons," Jules chuckled. "Shall we retire to the Sound room and listen to Nunkies?" "Oh, let's!" Annie agreed. As the trio wandered off, Heidi threw one of her Birkenstocks at their backs with her free hand. "Hey! What about me? I'm still handcuffed! How am I supposed to mingle like this?" she demanded to know, jerking the binding chain taunt. "Don't leave me here like a goat in a dinosaur movie!" Heidi's plea received no acknowledgment except frowning sneers from Marie's cats, Barnaby and Dache, as well as Cousin Gwendolyn. They were all trying to cat nap atop Marie's Nunkies pillow and found the handcuffed addict much too noisy. Gradually, with no Lacroix to be found, the crowd wandered disappointedly back into the Shrine, seeming intent on drowning their sorrows. Robi remained distracted and somewhere other than within Heidi's screeching distance. After about an hour, one of the non-Biff Buff Slave Boys began supplying Heidi with a fairly steady stream of tequila shots, so she soon mellowed out to the point of not particularly caring about her freedom. Jessie became The Addict Who Cried Nunkies. Every half hour or so, she would suddenly pause in her dance, chat, or participation in the limbo contest, and scream at the top of her lungs, "It's him! I know it's him this time! It's Nunkies!" These pronouncements initially drove the party-goers into a frenzied swarm of expectation, but after the third or fourth false alarm, they became blase. The crowd started to ignore any arrival announcements from the addict in the black velvet toga with red trim, and concentrated on debauchery, instead. The witching hour was nigh when Shele stumbled on stage, quill and parchment in hand, and announced over the microphone, "I've written a limerick for the occasion! Who wants a poetry reading?" Cries of desire rose up from the punchy audience. Many of them were getting downright tipsy; even `Mary Had A Little Lamb' would have sounded like a Shakespearean sonnet at this point. "Okay." Shele continued. "*Ahem*. Pompeii, a vamp playground was Divia's `Twas shadowed by great Mount Vesuvius When that mountain blew up On her Pop she did sup That's how Nunkies was brought o'er to-y us!" The crowd erupted in cheers, and someone suggested that they drink to the poem. More joyous shouts voted this idea into action, followed by the sound of several noisy gulps. Jesse grinned as she leaned against the doorway to the Peach's private dining room, then she took a sip from her slightly spiked Shirley Temple. A tall shadow appeared next to her. Jesse looked to her left, slowly looked up, then gulped. "Uhm, guys?" she called softly. "Guys. Lacroix is here." No one really paid attention. "I want to propose a toast to Lacroix!" Zebella shouted raising her close-to-empty bottle of Boone's. "To Lacroix!" the party shouted. Jesse peeped up at the vampire in question, who was looking smugly pleased with the congregation. "Good morning, sir," she said softly, then daintily wiped away the drool collecting at the corner of her mouth. Lacroix kissed her hand (luckily, the non-drooled one). "Hello, Jesse. You are the most alert guest at this soiree, I see." Jesse blushed. "Well, you *are* the guest of honor." "Quite." Michele raised her glass of champagne and made another toast suggestion. "Let's drink to Lacroix's toga!" CHEERS! .*Slurp!* Jesse stifled a giggle as she saw Lacroix raise an eyebrow. "Let's drink to Lacroix in that toga!" Kelly added. CHEERS!.*Slurp!* Jesse stifled a groan as she saw Lacroix raise both eyebrows. "Oh, yeah!" Mariah yelled. "Let's drink to getting Lacroix *out* of that toga!" Jesse's mouth dropped open, and she covered her eyes with her hands. "Oh, brother." "Jules assured me that she planned for a dignified festival," Lacroix commented neutrally. "She did!" Jesse assured the vampire. "The ceremonies were beautiful! That was before the bar opened, though." Lacroix thoughtfully looked over the crowd, then frowned. "Is that Cousin Heidi attached to a desk?" Jesse nodded happily. "Yes." "Hmm." "Me next!" Tser cried as one of the slave boys gave her a piggy back over to the bar. "I want to drink to Lacroix showing us his true self.by GETTING NAKED!!!!!!" "I think I need to sit down," Jesse said weakly. "Tser is going to *die* when Annie and Jules find out you overheard that comment." "I think she'll escape death," Lacroix murmured with a slight grin, "for a more permanent embarrassment." ******************************************************************* Bonnie bounced into the Shrine from the Greenroom in time to hear Tser yell `getting naked' at the top of her lungs. She, Jules, and Annie had changed locations just after the Nightcrawler's broadcast ended so that they could recover from the melt- inspiring sound of Nunkies' voice by enjoying the cool waters of the Sacred Cold Pond. Bons wanted to put another Tom Collins in her drool cup, but halfway to the bar, her Nunkies-radar kicked in full-force. She gasped. Lacroix was standing in the entryway to the private dining room, quietly conversing with Jesse. "Why didn't Jesse say anything?" Bonnie wailed softly, faced with a moral dilemma. She could either warn Annie and Jules of the General's arrival, corral the crowd into behaving themselves, or fall all over Lacroix. was Bonnie's first instinct, but then she thought of grout duty. The redhead turned around, but paused. Then Lacroix spoke. ******************************************************************* Bons rushed inside the Greenroom half an hour later (she got distracted by Lacroix, okay?) and clipped a bouquet's worth of white roses from the bushes. "Hey, NunkMommy! Your Priestessness!" Jules and Annie looked up from their tax forms. "I just thought you'd like to know that Nunkies is here, he's holding a costume contest, and Kelly just showed him how the Velcro tabs on her toga work." "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" ******************************************************************* Annie and Jules raced into the Shrine in time to witness Lacroix announce the winner of the `Best Toga' award. "Your competitive spirits are intoxicating, my addicts, and I regret that I can reward only one of you for your attire. I will tell you my decision," Lacroix promised, "but I want to first congratulate the runner-up - Tser!" The blushing addict stood and gave a humble bow as the crowd clapped. Tser hadn't been able to meet Nunkies' gaze as she modeled her silky, washable, wrinkle- resistant black toga. He'd called the gathering to attention almost immediately after her `naked' comment, causing Tser to let go of her slave boy and tumble to the floor in surprise. She wouldn't have competed in the contest by choice, but Lacroix had declared that everyone in a toga would automatically be a contestant, making Tser's participation a command performance. From the snickering going on in the audience, Tser guessed that everyone knew that Nunkies had heard what she said earlier. *Sigh* It was mortifying. "Thank you for showing us your true self, Tser," Lacroix said neatly, causing Charl and Sharon Lee to burst out laughing. They were hushed with a glare from Tser worthy of Cousine Moses, then Lacroix continued speaking: "I declare the addict with the best toga to be Light Cousin Annette!" Annette let out a thrilled squeal and tried not to melt as Bonnie passed Lacroix the bouquet of roses, and he presented them to her. "You know he picked her just because his profile is all over the coins making up her belt," Tracy complained. "But there are lots of us with pictures of him on our togas," Marie argued, pointing to the mini-Lacroixs on her hem. "I think Annette's victory had something to do with how she showed him her paper cut," Kelly said reasonably. "She bribed the judge." "And you didn't try to, Miss `Whoops! My Velcro Is Defective!' Green?" Tracy countered. "Shame on you!" "Sorry," Kelly drawled. "No shame here!" Meanwhile, Annie graciously welcomed Lacroix to the Shrine and suggested giving him a tour of the premises. Lacroix expressed his approval and offered one arm to the leader of the addicts and the other to Annette. As Annie linked her arm into LaCroix's and guided him toward the main hallway, Bonnie, eyes glazed, prepared to follow. "Bonnie!" Jules halted the petite addict with the sharpness of her tone. "What!" Bonnie turned, clearly irritated with the High Priestess. Out of the corner of her eye, Bons saw Nunkies disappearing with Annie, the Shrine Guards and most of the addicts trailing him. "I need your assistance," Jules said coolly. "I need Nunkies!" Bonnie whined. Jules sighed deeply. "He's rather busy right now, or didn't you notice?" "Tisn't fair!" Bonnie stamped her little foot with enough force to send a sandal sailing from it. From behind a pillar, an arm stretched out and caught the flying footwear. "How come Annie gets to hang on his arm like that? She had him all to herself, locked in the CERK studio. It should be *our* turn now." Bonnie pouted. "Trust me," Jules said, moving toward the kitchen. "This is a business appearance for him here at the Shrine tonight, not a romantic liaison. He's probably discussing financial matters regarding the Peach." From outside in the hall, loud laughter erupted. Bonnie glared at Jules accusingly. Jules shrugged. "Okay, go on then and join the herd . . ." Bonnie turned, ready to sprint, "but remember, I have the key to the liquor cabinet . . . and the chocolate bin." Bonnie froze in mid-step. Slowly she turned toward Jules, her shoulders drooped in supplication. "Okay, High Priestess. Lead the way." Jules smiled, then looked past Bonnie at the addict wearing a Mountie hat who skulked behind a nearby pillar. "Patt - you can come out of hiding now. I can use your help too." ************************************************************************ End O' Part Six See Part One For The Disclaimer. ********************************************************************* August Heat (07/24) Event Seven: Drink Up, Be Merry! Date: August 25th Time: The witching hour Once the trio stepped inside the laboratory/kitchen, Jules pulled a yellowed piece of rolled paper from her cleavage, since the tight sequined dress had no pockets. She unrolled the parchment and ran a well polished fingernail down a series of scribbles. Looking over her shoulder, Bons and Patt noted that the writing appeared to be of antiquity in nature, probably Latin. Bonnie, still feeling the effects of Heather's cider and the Tom Collinses, swayed slightly. "Can you read that, Jules?" Patt asked. "Not a word," the copper-haired priestess replied, never removing her eyes from the paper. "But I had it translated sometime back and committed it to memory. This is just a jogging technique." "Gonna be rough to jog in those heels, Jules," Patt observed dryly. "Shoo, shoo," Lacroix's personal assistant quipped back, waving a hand in Patt's direction. "Make yourself useful and fetch some of that grain alcohol we got this morning." Patt complied while Jules began reciting an ingredient list which would have made a liquor store owner cringe at inventory time. Bonnie and Patt each made five trips to the liquor cabinet, returning with their arms full of bottles, boxes, refrigerated bowls and some items they'd never heard of before. At Jules' instruction, they placed the items on the tabletop in front of the priestess, then stepped back and waited. "I need a punch bowl," Jules announced. Bonnie eyed the items on the table dubiously. "How about a kitchen sink - that's the only thing missing." Jules shook her head. "Nope - too bulky. I need portability for these potables." Patt, who had complied immediately, came back, lugging a super-sized cut crystal bowl. Jules nodded in satisfaction as Patt placed it on the counter. "What are you making anyway, Julsey?" Bonnie took another panoramic look at the table. Jules' eyes gleamed with an evil humor that Bons would never have dreamed she possessed. "Ambrosia," the priestess said. "Ambrosia?" Bons looked skeptical. "So, where is the fruit cocktail and the coconut?" Jules shook her head vigorously. "Wrong Ambrosia," she said sternly. "Surely you don't mean that blue stuff from the Woman Warrior TV show," Patt said, the doubt evident in her voice. Again, Jules gestured in a negative manner. "No, no, NO," she said, losing patience. "I can't believe that you two consider yourself followers of Nunkies and don't even know enough about his history to know what Ambrosia is!" Patt looked at Bons, then back at Jules. "We know what Ambrosia is *supposed* to be, Jules - the food of the gods that was in fashion during Uncle's mortal days. So, what does that have to do with all this?" she waved her arm over the table of bottles and such. "All *this* is the closest I can find to the ingredients described on this ancient scroll," Jules announced, then added with reverence. "The recipe for the true *Ambrosia*." "Oooooooooo," Patt and Bons responded correctly, winning a smile from Jules. For the next twenty minutes or so, Jules instructed Patt and Bons to uncork, uncap, unscrew, pop, tear open and pour ingredients into the rapidly filling punch bowl. At times, when an item was added, the mixture within the tureen would bubble, smoke or hiss, depending on its mood. Patt and Bons frequently looked at each other with concern, but Jules remained unperturbed, continuing to scan the scroll and give instructions. "Alright," the priestess announced with finality in her voice. "I think we have it. Time for the tester." "The tester?" Annie's voice came from the kitchen doorway. She walked over to the other three women and peered down into the punch bowl with interest. "Hmmmmm, this looks good. Is it spiked?" "Like a Roman Soldier's spear," Bonnie giggled. "Yummmy," Annie grinned, prepared to stick a finger into the liquid. Jules quickly grabbed Annie's hand and halted it. "Tester," she repeated, warning in her voice. Annie's pretty brown eyes opened wide. "Tester?" she repeated slowly. Jules nodded, echoed by Bonnie and Patt's bobbing heads. Annie looked back at the punch with apprehensive interest. "Tester," she said thoughtfully. Then, delight on her features, Annie snapped her fingers. "Munoz!!" Jules, Patt and Bons all nodded enthusiastically, sending Annie quickly to the kitchen door. The NunkMommy leaned through the swinging panel and sang out, "OH, CHERRI! I *need* you!!" Cherri, eyes bright with good cheer, curly brown hair permanently disheveled, bounded into the kitchen, grinning broadly. "Yea, you called!?" Seeing the other three addicts standing around the punch bowl, Cherri halted and looked from woman to woman, eyes narrowing slightly. "What?" Jules stepped forward, placing a hand on Cherri's shoulder. Cherri looked at the hand, then at Jules. "What?" she repeated. "NA Cherri," Jules said solemnly. "You have the privilege of performing a sacred duty which will be of benefit to all your fellow addicts assembled here for tonight's celebration." Cherri's eyes narrowed further. "What?" Jules smiled. "You have the sacred duty of experiencing, for the first time in centuries, the nectar of the gods. Then, based on your react . . . er, recommendation, the other addicts will be allowed to partake of this mysterious and holy intoxicant." Cherri looked down at the colored liquid. Her eyes were narrow slits when she returned them to Jules. "Got milk?" Jules shook her head. "Not a drop." Cherri immediately brightened. "Okay then, hand me a ladle!" The Quad watched as Munoz dipped the dipper into the punch and lifted it to her lips. Cherri puckered her mouth and took a tiny sip. She rolled the droplet around with her tongue, sending it first to each cheek and then to the roof of her mouth. Watching Cherri's act of savor-ence, Patt grew thirsty. She went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. Finished with her taste test, Cherri smacked her lips and made a pronouncement: "Somethin's missin'." A collective sigh of dismay went up from the four addicts watching her. Cherri smacked again, a thoughtful expression on her face. Patt twisted the cap off the beer and prepared to lift the bottle to her lips. "Ahhhhhhhhhh," Cherri yelled, reaching out and pulling the bottle from Patt's startled grasp. The addicts watched as Munoz poured the beer into the punch bowl, sending tendrils of amber light frothing through the liquid. Jules looked as though she might faint. Cherri grabbed the ladle again, sending it diving into the murky substance now percolating in the punch bowl. She lifted it to her lips and swallowed a generous spoonful. With a smile of triumph, Cherri prepared to make an announcement. "Perf. . ." Then hit the floor. Face first. Jules and Annie looked down at Munoz's prone figure, which had landed atop the crest of one of Jules' spiked heels. "Is she dead?" Jules wondered aloud, noting the slight ooze of foam which had begun to form at the side of Cherri's mouth. "Could be," Annie replied. "Poisoning was common among the Roman hierarchy and this," she indicated toward the punch bowl, "is supposed to be an authentic recipe reserved for the Gods." "If she is departed," Bonnie added, "then she gave her life for a worthy cause, joining many of her Roman predecessors who bit and sipped their way into extinction." Jules, Annie and Patt all looked askance at the red-haired addict. Bonnie swayed slightly and narrowed her eyes. "What'd I say?" Jules rolled her eyes while Annie and Patt exchanged looks. "Okay," Patt said finally, "it appears we need to determine if Cherri is dead or just alcoholically deployed. Anyone know CPR?" "I seem to remember that YOU took a class, didn't you Patt?" Jules said. "Me and my over-industrious fingers," Patt muttered, recalling that she'd posted that tidbit some time ago. "Okay, I did - but I never got certified. I could possibly puncture her windpipe if I pressed too hard looking for a pulse. I suggest calling 911." From the floor, Cherri stirred and moaned. Her face broke into a soft smile and she mumbled a single word . . . "Nunkies." "Good," Jules said with satisfaction, giving Cherri's body a slight nudge to remove it from her foot. Cherri obligingly rolled over and out of the way. "We know now that the potion is not poison, so on to the next test." Bonnie's eyes glazed over. "No, no - not another test!!!" Annie patted her reassuringly on the back while Jules shook her head. "No, no, Bonnie. No test. Promise. This is just an . . . exercise, to make sure the recipe is right." At the mention of the word `recipe,' Patt began whistling the Walton's theme. Annie reached out and *thwacked* her upside the head. Jules ignored them. She perused the parchment once again and announced, "I need a blown glass goblet." "Yea, right," Bonnie grinned. Jules gave her a withering stare. Bonnie quickly reached up into the cabinet, grabbed a wine glass, blew into it, then handed it to the High Priestess. "If this is right," Jules said, ladling a portion of the liquid from the punch bowl into the goblet, "then something will happen." Annie, Bons and Patt each took a step back. Cherri groaned and rolled further under the table. Jules held the full goblet aloft, eyeing it with interest. As the addicts watched, the ingredients began to separate, creating a layered affect. The bottom half was bright, dark red, followed by an orange layer. Atop the orange, a crystal amber coloration took shape, followed by a thin line of almost iridescent hue. Jules smiled with satisfaction. She reached into the fruit bowl beside her, secured a long stemmed cherry and placed it to float on the beverage's surface. "Ladies, and I use the term loosely," the priestess announced solemnly , "I give you -The Roman Candle!" ******************************************************************* Libby felt awfully sorry for herself. She grinned smugly at the thought. Libby tried to pat herself on the back for her good idea, but couldn't reach. It was the thud of Cherri's falling body which alerted Libby to the fact that somethin' was o-cur-in' outside her cubby hole. The abused Ratpacker tentatively pushed the cupboard door open and peeked outside. She was greeted with the sight of the bottom half of four Nunkies Addicts, two dressed in evening dress and two togged in togas. Libby leaned out further and squinted upward, noting the identity of the quartet. "If'n it ain't the Nunkies prime con-tin-gent," the Ratster muttered, moving back further into her lair. "Bettin' they be plottin' more nasty behavior regardin' the rat folk, I'd ee-ma-gin." She was about to close the cubby door when one of the addicts shifted position, giving Libby a clear view of the floor. And the fallen body of Cherri. 'Now thisin 'ere looks in-ter-est-in,' Libby took a quick visual inventory of the prostrate Cousin's condition. Cherri had rolled over onto her back and was snoring contentedly. Libby noted with slight disgust that the Nunkies addict was drooling in her slumber. Still, the sight of Cherri taking up floor space intrigued the Ratpacker. Carefully, quietly and cautiously, Libby extracted herself from the cubby hole and crawled across the tile to where Cherri lay. As Libby began to examine the sleeping Cousin more closely, Cherri snorted and coughed, sending spittle down her chin. "And those 'igh an mightie type find *me* and my kin dis-gus-tin," Libby grumbled softly. "I jus wish I had a photo-taker to record this touchin scene for pos-ter-i-ty," but of course, every camera which found its way into the Ratpacker's possession invariably ended up at the swap meet. This was one of the reasons why the Nunkies Anonymous organization had managed to remain *Anonymous* for so long. But, as membership grew, so did their reputation. Of course, loss of anonymity had its advantages, too. Consider Lacroix's attendance at tonight's conversion ceremony . . . As if on a cue manufactured by the Ratpacker's mind, the kitchen door swung open softly. From under her table cover, Libby saw the black trousered legs of *Himself* quietly enter the room. Patt sensed him first. She discreetly tried to shield herself behind Bonnie, but quickly discovered that trying to hide a maroon mountain behind a yellow flower was logistically impossible. With a moonwalk motion which would have made a certain entertainer proud, Patt began moving backward, hoping that she would be able to compress herself into the small alcove space between the refrigerator and the double-oven stove. Lacroix focused his eyes directly on her for just a moment. Patt stopped dead - then meekly lowered her head. Bonnie, alerted by Patt's change in body language, saw him next. Framed by the highly polished stainless steel kitchen door, Lacroix's appearance was almost radiant. Bonnie's face broke into a silly smile, her mucous glands beginning to salivate with no conscious bidding. "Nunkies," she breathed. This alerted Jules and Annie. Jules halted in mid-taste, the ladle at her lips, and watched as her employer moved smoothly to join the women. "Ladies . . ." "And I use the term loosely," Patt almost said aloud, but bit her tongue instead. Lacroix must have caught a whiff of the blood which resulted, because he turned and offered the Third Cousin a knowing half-smile. Patt cringed inwardly, but remained still. "Sir!!" Jules, Annie and Bons almost saluted the General with their voices. Libby clutched her hand to her mouth, muffling a snicker. Jules lowered the ladle as Lacroix peered down into the fermenting contents of the bowl. A slight flicker of remembrance crossed his features, but it vanished quickly. He looked at Jules, arching an eyebrow in question. Bonnie stifled a gasp of lustful ecstasy. "Refreshment," Jules said respectfully. "I trust it will have the desired affect, then," Lacroix smiled graciously. Bonnie felt her knees turning to gelatinous mass and reached out for something to steady herself. Unfortunately, the thing she grabbed hold of was Patt's arm, which promptly adhered to the law of gravity, sending the petite addict stumbling forward . . . Straight into the side of the table. The table creaked and wavered ominously, sloshing the contents of the punch bowl. The tidal wave of red liquid moved perilously close to the edge of its container, threatening to escape its boundaries . . . Which were perilously close to the general vicinity of where the General was standing. Gasping, Jules and Annie both quickly dived toward the table and punch bowl, intent on diverting disaster by steadying the bowl and its pedestal. Unfortunately, Bonnie chose this moment to try and right herself, causing the priestess and NunkMom to collide into the scribe. Patt and Lacroix each took a step backward, and found themselves standing side by side, his elbow lightly brushing her shoulder. Patt looked up at him, a sheepish grin forming on her face. Lacroix looked down at the addict, his expression unfathomable. Finally, he spoke, his lips curling slightly. "Lose the bottle." Aghast, Patt looked down and saw the empty beer bottle clutched in her hand. She vaguely remembered picking it up after Cherri had emptied its contents into the punch, but she hadn't realized that she was still holding it. She almost dropped the bottle, which had taken on a heated quality, but caught herself before it slipped from her hand. Patt moved gingerly away from Nunkies' side and dropped the bottle into a trash receptacle. Meanwhile, Jules and Annie had managed to right the punch bowl without a single drop of spilt contents. But, in doing so, Jules had planted one high spiked heel into the tender flesh of Cherri's splayed left hand. The addict under the table yelped and twisted slightly. For her part, Libby ducked further down, hoping that Cherri's body would continue to shield her presence. Much to Jules' horror, when she concluded her diverting-crash-of-punch bowl activities and righted herself, she discovered that a strand of her hair had loosened itself from her copper coiffeur and was dangling over her left eye. She blew at the offending wisp, but it did not resume proper position. As discreetly as possible, Jules tucked the lock back into the main body of her hairstyle and looked at the General, hoping that he had not been offended by her fashion faux-pas. He hadn't, for Lacroix's attention was on Cherri. "Intoxicated?" he asked, without moving his eyes from the passed-out addict. Bonnie began to nod enthusiastically. "Yup, drunk as a guppie, out like a 100-watt, boozed up like a . . ." "We get the message, Bons," Annie said, grabbing the chattering scribe by the arm and giving it a hard squeeze. Bonnie yelped slightly and turned to Annie, who gave the little redhead a warning look to 'hush, or else.' Lacroix had not acknowledged Bonnie's muttering, but instead had moved over for a closer examination of Cherri. Libby cringed down so low she felt her chin scrape the floor. "Cherri was performing a service for the NA's," Jules was trying to explain. "She graciously consented to sample the Amb . . . the Rom . . . the *punch* to make sure it was saf. . . right." Jules finished her speech under Nunkies watchful scrutiny. Lacroix looked back down at Munoz and nodded. "Hmmmm, yes. A taster." He seemed satisfied with the explanation, much to Jules and Annie's relief. "I have employed several of those myself, during my time," he concluded. As she watched from under the table, Libby saw Lacroix gently slide a foot forward to nudge the inebriated addict. At the feel of Nunkies' touch, Cherri moaned in pleasure. Before the other addicts could stop her, the fallen Munoz reached out with both arms and embraced Lacroix's lower limb. "Sweet . . ." she mumbled. Then, much to the horror of all of the observers, Cherri's facial cheeks began to expand and her mouth puckered with the promise of expulsion. "I believe that your friend may require assistance to the lavatory," Lacroix observed dryly, wriggling his leg in an effort to loosen Cherri's grip. Jules, Patt and Bonnie jumped quickly to pry Cherri's grip from the General's leg, while Annie ran to the kitchen door, seeking prior mentioned assistance. Unnoticed, Libby placed two hands on Munoz's rump and gave the woman a shove out from under the table. "TRACY! MIDS! TSER!!" the NunkMom yelled as she spotted addicts outside the kitchen. "We need *help* in here!" The three summoned addicts ran into the kitchen, quickly assessed the situation and went to work on Cherri. After Munoz had been removed from Lacroix's person, Tracy grabbed Cherri's upper arms while Mids grabbed the woman's legs. They began bodily carrying Cherri out of the kitchen. Almost as an afterthought, Tser grabbed a large red plastic cup from the counter and quickly dipped it into the punch bowl. "Hair of the dog," Tser said seriously, but her eyes were grinning. "Just in case." She ran after Tracy and Mids, who were already out of the kitchen. Once through the door, though, Tser's intended activity was disrupted when Kelly ran up, a concerned look on her face. "Tserisa, you'd best come quick. The burro is in the Sacred Pond, and her stomach is making really strange noises!" "Oh, gosh," Tser grumbled, heading off with Kelly in the direction of the Pond. "Doesn't anybody in this place know how to lead a donkey with the halter?" "Yes," Kelly retorted. "But we don't know what to do when she drinks!" ******************************************************************* End O' Part Seven See Part One For The Disclaimer. ******************************************************************* August Heat (08A/24) Event 8A: Drink Up, Join Cherri! Time: Still Partyin' Back in the kitchen, Lacroix turned to Jules. "Ambrosia," he began, noting the priestess' discomfort with no little satisfaction, "tends to be rather . . . potent. I would advise that you caution your membership to exercise some . . . restraint in their consumption of it." Jules nodded obediently. "Now," Lacroix said, looking from member to member of the assembled foursome. "For the reason that I sought you out. It is my understanding that a certain *book* of . . . fairy tales, if you will, exists. And, that said book relates directly to me. I wish to see it, please." Realizing what he was speaking of, the color began to fade from the faces of all the members of the quad. Jules recovered first, and turned to Bonnie. "Bonnie," Jules' voice wavered slightly, but she didn't choke. "Please go get the Fantasy Manual for the General." "The Nu . . . Fantasy Manual?" Bonnie did choke. Her throat was dry, her mind was racing, and she realized that she'd acquired complete sobriety in a matter of seconds. Jules and Annie nodded. "I . . . I," Bonnie tried to speak. Lacroix smiled patiently. Bonnie suddenly gained a whole new sympathy for fuzzy creatures caught in car headlights and living wills. "I . . . I . . . I don't know where IT IS!" Bonnie blurted out. The change in Lacroix was subtle, but noticeable. His facial features hardened, his cheerful mood gone. His blue eyes darkened like storm clouds, then drifted gold for a moment. "You have . . . *misplaced* the Fantasy Manual?" Lacroix inquired between tightly clenched teeth. Bonnie could only nod. Somehow, in the attempt to make sure that the Nunkies Fantasy Manual did not fall into the wrong hands during the previous war, it had fallen out of the right hands as well. It had supposedly been strapped to Libby's chest and carried to Merc Central for safekeeping, but this turned out to be a red herring devised by the scribe herself. In reality, it was hidden in an alcove behind the tapestry of Dr. Nunkies in one of the anterooms, an operation for which Bonnie was especially proud. Proud, that is, until, she found out that Annie had removed the Nunkies Fantasy Manual from the alcove and placed it among the hundreds of fake manuals kept in the altar cupboard. Then, to compound the problem, several of *those* manuals had been handed out, stolen, pilfered or used as kindling. Jules blanched when she remembered that she'd given a copy from the cupboard, perhaps the *real* one, to Knightie Bobbie to deliver to an unknown location. The Not-So-Vestal-Virgins had also placed a copy out of the altar, perhaps the *real* one, in the N-S-V-V Nat's Box, which was locked tight and would remain so until Cousin Gwendolyn, Tser's cat, coughed up the key. Lacroix was obviously not pleased. His eyes glittered dangerously as he turned on the quad. "Find the book," he said flatly. "If it is not in my hands by dawn, then someone's neck *will* be." He looked pointedly at Bons and growled low in his throat. Bonnie wasn't sure whether to faint from fear or euphoria, so she settled for instinctively clasping her hand to her throat in a defensive gesture. Jules and Annie watched as Lacroix stalked from the kitchen, throwing open the swinging door with such vigor that it crashed against the parallel wall with a thunderous clang of metal meeting wood. There was a brief cry of pain when the door impacted an addict who was standing a little too close. Lacroix gone, the priestess and the founder turned, as if in slow motion, and glared at Bonnie. "Find it," Jules seethed. "Find it before dawn, or you won't *have* a neck for him to handle!" "And *you*," Annie looked pointedly at Patt, who had moved away from the group, intent on visiting the beer fridge. Patt froze and turned toward Annie. "You help *her* find that manual." "Why're you pickin on me?" Patt protested. "Because *you* irk him, that's why," Annie replied. "And . . . because you're available." "Oh my gosh," Jules suddenly blanched again. "We let him walk out of here unescorted!! What will he think of our manners?!!!" She quickly scurried out of the kitchen, followed by a nearly as frantic Annie. Leaving Patt and Bons alone in the kitchen - or so they thought. "Well, here's another fine mess you've gotten us into," Patt looked down at the smaller addict. Bonnie squelched up her face as though to cry. Patt immediately felt sorry for her words and gave Bons a shoulder hug. "Do you need a drink?" Bons, sniffling, nodded. Patt found a glass, then decided to take two. She filled them both from the punch bowl. Bonnie looked at her quizzically. "Happy hour - two for one? Or are you trying to put me out of my misery?" "Neither," Patt replied, taking a sip from one of the glasses. "One of these is for me, 'cause I have a feeling this project calls for more than a beer." Bons nodded in understanding and accepted the glass which Patt offered her. "You're probably right. The altar cupboard?" "The altar cupboard. Lead on, Scribe." After the duo left the room, Libby pulled herself from under the table and stood up, looking around. She sniffed the punch, made a face and froze. The kitchen door was swinging back open. Libby quickly ducked into the alcove between the refrigerator and double-oven stove, her back pressed against the wall. Cherri, a cold compress pressed against her forehead, wobbled into the kitchen. She spotted the punch bowl and a crooked grin spread across her face. She walked right past the Ratster, not aware of her presence at all. As Libby watched, Cherri ladled a generous portion of the punch into her mouth, smacked with contentment, then appeared to pause in thought. Libby was quite impressed by the *thwack* that Cherri made as she hit the floor again. Tracy and Mids burst into the kitchen just as Munoz met the tile. They walked over to the spot where Cherri lay. "Must be good stuff," Tracy said, noting the smile on Munoz's face. "Uh-huuhhh," Mids agreed. Tracy suddenly grinned wickedly. "Share the wealth?" Mids smiled back. "Why not? This is a party, after all." Libby watched as the two addicts quickly lifted the punch bowl between them and carried it out of the kitchen. She emerged from her alcove cubby, sniffed the air, then scurried over to where Munoz lay. "This 'ole thing has been just too taxin'," Libby muttered as she looked down at the fallen addict. Then, her eyes lighted on the shiny gold threading which secured Cherri's toga to her shoulder. "Pretty, pretty," the Ratster smiled, leaning down and tugging at the cord. It came free fairly easily, and Libs tucked it into her satchel. A further quick search of Cherri's person yielded a gold chain and a bottle of off-red nail polish. These quickly joined the cording. Libby patted her knapsack with affection. A dull *thud* outside the kitchen brought a mischievous smile to her face. "Sounds like time to co-lect sum soo-ven-irs of this gran' o-ca-zhun," Libs smiled as she tippy-toed to the kitchen door and peeked over the top. "A few mementews fer tew remember me addict oppressers by." ****************************************************************** "Ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall . . . ninety nine bottles of . . ." Patt was singing softly in her screechy little voice as she thumbed through another Faux Fantasy Manual. She'd been pretty intimidated when Bonnie had first opened the altar nook, revealing the more-than-numerous volumes of the fake red-bound object in question. But, as the evening progressed, and her intake of the Ambrosia increased, Patt's confidence level became adequate for the task at hand. "You've had ninety-nine bottles on that wall for the past twelve verses," Bonnie whined. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, barely visible behind several stacks of books. "How about depleting your stock some?" "Seventy-seven bottles of beer on the wwwwaaaaaalllllll," Patt sang out in reply, tossing a manual over her shoulder to join the discard pile. "Seven . . ." An air-bound book bounced off Patt's forehead, causing the addict to temporarily desist from her serenade. "YOUCH!" Bonnie was again innocently perusing a volume, paying no heed to the glaring look which Patt shot her. "Hmmmmm, this one is interesting. 'How to Determine if Your Shoes are Sensible' by Dr. Shoells." "Heck, Bons," Patt grinned drunkenly. "They're ALL interesting. Just check out this title." The addict held up a volume, flipping open the cover page to reveal '1001 Uses For Marmite.' "Hmmmmpppff," Bonnie retorted, feeling no pain herself. She took a teensy, tinsy sip of the fiery orange drink in her cup. "Thas nothing. Check this out." She flipped a book, Frisbee style, toward Patt. Alerted, the Third Cousin caught the book easily and flipped it open. She snickered heartily as she read the title page, 'How To Tell If You Are A Vestal Virgin.' "And," Bonnie shouted as she sailed another book Patt's way, "the companion volume!" 'Lichens, And The Stones They Cling To.' "Hey, Red, check out this'n," Patt had taken a healthy sip from her own drink between Bons' windups. She held up 'Fabulous Facts about Milk Baths.' She set the book aside, saying, "I think I'll save this one for Cherri." "Cool," Bons said, lifting another volume for Patt's attention. "I've got one for Tser - 'Burros throughout History and the Butts that Rode Them.'" Bons took another sip from her cup and pulled back slightly in weaving shock. "Oopppps, my drink is changing color again." "Oh?" Patt leaned over and peered into Bonnie's glass. The Third Cousin began to nod, "Yup, looks like you've hit bottom." "I can't be bottom, 'cause I still have drink," Bonnie protested. "You're on the bottom layer of your drink, hon," Patt corrected herself. "The bottom row of the Roman is red, remember?" Bonnie grinned with delight. "Say that again, three times, real fast." Patt looked puzzled. "Say what?" "Bott'm row of the Red is Rome, 'member." Patt shook her head, as much to clear the drink as the confusion. "Sorry, Bons, but I don't `member no Red Roman, in retrospect." Then she grinned, too, a very silly grin. "I do 'member Biff, though. In fact, I 'member all his members." Both women screamed in delight at their own jokes. Tears were streaming down their faces, their bodies shaking, when Bonnie picked up another volume. "I FOUND IT!!" Bonnie shrieked, standing up and displacing the other manuals in her immediate vicinity. She clutched the tome to her chest, the tears now rolling down her face being ones of joy. "Let me see!" Patt clamored up to join the bouncing addict. She extracted the book from Bonnie's grip and opened it: 'Lettuces of the World' "Hmmmm, Bons," Patt looked at the scampering Scribe with concern. "This may be *your* fantasy manual, but it ain't *the* fantasy manual." "Whatcha mean?" Bons stopped dancing and glared at Patt. "Don't worry about it, little bit," Patt sighed, looking at the now mixed up piles of books which surrounded their feet. "I think this whole strategy was kind of hopeless to start with. The sheer volume of these volumes wouldn't have allowed us to complete this task before dawn, anyway." "Patt," Bonnie said reproachfully. "Haw com' yu can talk better'n I?" Patt looked at the smaller addict thoughtfully. "Physics." Bonnie looked taken aback. "Huhh?" she wavered slightly. Patt shrugged. "Mass versus volume capacity versus consumption ratio," she replied. Bonnie squinted at her, then shifted back. "Yur full of it," she slurred. Patt nodded. "Yes, but because of size and displacement, you are more full of it than me. Here, let me explain." Patt indicated for Bonnie to resume a seated position, which the smaller addict did. Patt fetched the two cups they'd been drinking from, sat down herself and put the beverage holders between them. "Now look, Bonnie: this is your drink and this is mine. See how they both have about the same amount of liquid in them?" Bonnie put her nose to the rim of the cups and nodded. Patt reached out, gave Bons' shoulder a little push, and the scribe tilted back upright. "Well, look what happens when I do this," Patt proceeded to peel an inch of plastic off the top of Bonnie's cup. "Now, tell me which glass looks fuller. When Patt sat the container back down, Bons noticed that the red liquid looked closer to the surface. "Hey! My drink is growin! How 'bout that!!" Patt shook her head, "No, no, there is no more liquid in the glass than there was before, it just looks fuller because the container is smaller. I.e., it takes less to fill up a small container than a large one." "EEEEYYYYYEEEEEE," Bonnie screeched in delight. "I jus' thought of a fantasy! Nunkies in a loincloth!" "I'm sure it's been done," Patt shook her head. "Now, back to what I was talkin' about." "You slurred," Bonnie pointed out with a grin. "Of cours' I did," Patt replied. "I've drunk as much of this concon . . . concoc . . . darn stuff as you. I just have more room for it to dissipate." "You been usin' that Thesaurus agin, haven't yu?" Bonnie narrowed her eyes accusingly, then hiccuped. Patt nodded. "Of course, and the spell check, too. Now let me continue. I want you to understand why you are about to pass out." Bonnie straightened and looked Patt directly in the eye. "I understand what you are trying to explain to me, Ms. Elmore. You are stating the theory that I, being somewhat petite, and you, being a woman of size, have a difference in tolerance for alcohol, based on our body mass." Patt blinked, then nodded. Bonnie grabbed her glass and finished the contents, then she turned to Patt and sneered, "I'm the one with the science degree, you twit. I know exactly wha' affect that this concoction," she grinned wickedly at the third cousin, "is having on me." Bonnie arched her back, turned her nose slightly upward, then fell backwards. She was snoring before her head hit the manual marked 'LaCroix's Party Guide--How to Throw a Successful Roman Orgy.' "We should have had that one out as a planning guide," Patt said aloud. She looked around at the scattered books and sighed. Reaching up, she removed her Mountie hat and placed it gently to the side, giving it an affectionate pat on the top, then Patt finished her drink, stretched out in a dignified manner, and passed out. ********************************************************************* End O' Part Eight A See Part One For The Disclaimer. ********************************************************************** August Heat (08B/24) Event Eight B: Addicts In Repose Tserisa had finished walking the burro and was heading back to the rear entrance of the Shrine. She had barely taken two sips from the red plastic glass she held, fearful that the results might wipe her out like they had Munoz. Tser thought. As she made her way along the alley, Tser couldn't help but remember another fated evening when she'd been walking through such a darkened place, sans burro. That particular evening had changed her life forever . . . "Let's get naked," she muttered to herself, shaking her head in disbelief that she could ever have done such a thing. Lava halted. The animal tensed and nickered softly, refusing to go forward when Tser tugged on the lead. "What'sa matter, girl?" Tser asked, but she sensed something wrong herself. The shadows near the dumpster looked too . . .dark. And they moved. Lava whinnied loudly and backed away, pulling against Tser's hold. Tser quickly put the red glass on top of a nearby lidded trash can and grabbed hold of the burro's halter with both hands. She turned quickly to face the shadow, but it was already upon her. Tserisa found herself looking into the open barrel of a handgun. "Money," a male voice demanded. "I . . . I don't have . . ." Tser stopped as the hand holding the gun faltered, causing the weapon to shake threateningly in her face. She gulped. "Jewelry." Tser shook her head, her eyes remaining on the gun's opening. She couldn't even see her assailant, her vision was so fixed on the weapon. She really must learn to stay out of dark Toronto alleys in the future, if she had a future, she decided. "Damn," the voice said. The barrel disappeared from Tser's sight, then she felt a sharp jolt against the side of her head, jarring her teeth and crushing her eyes closed. Tser fell to her knees, then toppled over on her side, unconscious. Lava, loose from her mistress' hold, kicked up her heels and bolted away. The would-be robber continued cursing as the black toga-ed addict fell in a heap. He stuck the automatic revolver into the back of his belt and looked around quickly for possible witnesses. He saw no one, but he did spot the red plastic cup. He took it, sniffed, smiled cruelly, then downed its contents. The assailant crumpled and tossed the cup, then knelt beside Tser. He began frisking her body. As his hands began their search over Tser's torso, the man suddenly felt a strong grip on the back of his neck. The hold tightened with fingers like iron. The man felt his body twisted and pulled back from his victim to become a victim himself. The robber didn't even have time to scream as Lacroix angrily sank his fangs into the man's throat. Lacroix dropped the lifeless body of the thief, without a second thought regarding the man. Wiping the blood from the side of his mouth, Lacroix's only thoughts were for the woman who lay injured on the ground. He moved to Tserisa and listened for her heart. It beat strongly. Lacroix smiled slightly, then touched the injury on her temple. She moaned slightly and stirred. Lacroix lifted the woman into his arms and turned toward the Shrine's entrance. As he rose, though, a strange sensation moved through Lacroix's body. He felt dizzy. Still holding Tserisa, Lacroix stumbled toward the door and managed to seat the woman against it before his trembling arms lost their grip. Something was very, *very* wrong, he realized. Remembering the fever, he became alarmed, shaking with anger as well as fear. He must leave and attend to this immediately. Lacroix pounded loudly on the Shrine door. Once he heard approaching footsteps, he grabbed the dead thief and bolted into the air. Heather opened the door a crack, cautiously looking through the narrow opening. She felt the weight leaning against the entrance, but couldn't determine its origin. Then, Heather saw a loose Lava come trotting toward her and she grew alarmed. "Tser?" Heather shouted into the alley. Below her, Tser moaned. "Tser! Oh, Tser, why'd ya hav to pass out against the door? Marie! Laura! Come quick! We have another cider casualty who needs tendin' to." ********************************************************************** Jules and Annie never caught up with Nunkies. As they exited the kitchen, their pathway was blocked by Laura, who waved a plunger in their faces. "The ladies room is backed up!" the blonde addict informed them. Jules looked over the woman's head, frantically searching for LaCroix. She saw his back disappearing through the entrance which led to the hallway leading to the Right Anteroom. "So . . . call a plumber!" Annie seethed into Laura's face. Jules broke free and clicked rapidly across the marble floor in pursuit of Nunkies. Laura stepped sideways, obstructing Annie's intention to follow the priestess. "Do you have any *idea* what a plumber would charge us for coming out on a Sunday night house call?" Laura shook the plunger in a threatening manner, her face contorted. "We could buy a whole new Shrine!" "Okay, okay, already," Annie saw Jules vanish through the hall entrance. The NunkMommy gave her full attention to Laura. "Do we know what caused the backup?" Annie began walking toward the rest rooms. Laura was nodding profusely, "Yep. Someone stuck a pair of red satin jockeys down one of the toilets." "Oh, Gawd!" Annie cried, slapping her hand to her forehead. She looked quickly around the room. The addicts, the Buff Slaves and the Peach staff were all mutually cavorting around the premises in various states of inebriation, undress and unintelligible positioning. Annie finally spotted what she was looking for. She shrieked. Louis Cabon's head was the only thing visible above the rim of the giant Greek urn which he'd been stuffed into. Robi, Senara, Caren and Shele were skipping around the urn, each holding a white ribbon, the ends of which had been tied to the neck of the vase. They were wrapping the ribbon around the base of the receptacle, making a criss-cross pattern. "I am not zee May pole!" Cabon was crying out in anguish. "Of course not," Robi confirmed with a giggle. "You is zee August pole." "ARGGGGGG!" Annie shouted, heading toward the canned Cabon. A crash to her right averted these intentions. A pygmy goat met Annie's stare. The small animal was munching thoughtfully on the runner of the Sacred altar. As the cloth entered the goat and slid off the altar, more and more of the objects on said alter were falling to the floor - including the Roman General's helmet, the bronze goblet, and the jewel encrusted knife. The next object in line was the plaster bust of the General himself. "ARGGGGGGGHH!" Annie dived for the statue as it teetered on the edge of the altar. A passing addict blocked her way, bumping Annie into a spinning motion. When she stopped her turning, Annie was facing the arched opening which led to the hall which led to the Shrine's private soundproof recording studio. The mini-blinds covering the studio's windows had been rotated shut and Annie could swear she could *hear* sounds coming from within! Being some fifty yards from the room, the volume which *must* be achieved to result in Annie hearing anything from that area alarmed the NunkMommy to a grave degree. She blanched and rushed toward the room. Only to trip over a snoring Heidi, still handcuffed to the desk with Robi's Holy Handcuffs. Annie went sprawling, landing on Heidi with enough force to make both addicts grunt loudly. Annie rolled off Heidi and sat up, sobbing with anger. "WHO THE HECK MOVED THIS DARN DESK INTO MY WAY!!??" Two Buff Slaves held up their hands meekly, then they both ran over to where Annie was struggling to rise. The god-like males each reached down and clasped one of Annie's upper arms and helped her to her feet. "Thank you," Annie said, her dignity returning as she brushed at her clothing. She was fetchingly attired in a slinky, solid black dress and one of the Buff Boys whistled his appreciation of such. Annie looked up into his incredibly green eyes and noted the mass of his shoulders. Her "Mommy" instinct faded just a touch, replaced by the lustful woman inside. "You're kind of cute," she noted, and the young fellow smiled in return. "Lived here long?" Jules chose this moment to rush back to Annie's side. "Annie!!" the priestess sounded on the verge of hysterics. "Go away, Jules," Annie responded, her brown eyes never leaving his green ones. "Nunkies is GONE!" Jules gasped, clutching at Annie's arm. Annie just smiled. "Tell him bon voyage for me, won't you, dear?" "Bon Voyage," the Buff male smiled back. "What we need is a champagne bottle, don't you think?" "Hmmmmmm," Annie nodded her agreement to this suggestion. "ANNIE!!" Jules clutched at Annie's arm and tugged sharply. The NunkMommy turned and glared at the priestess. Jules swallowed sharply and tugged again. "Lacroix just disappeared out the back entrance, not saying a word to anyone. Don't you understand?!! He might be peeved at us. We've got to do something, NOW!" Annie turned back to her Buff babe and patted his arm consolingly. "Why don't I try and catch up with you later, dear?" He nodded, a mournful expression on his face, and watched as Annie walked away with Jules. In the right ante room hallway, Annie turned on the priestess. "Okay, Julsey, babe, this had better be mucho importante. Lacroix is gone, I got that much, and you think we ought to do something, right?" Jules nodded breathlessly. "Well, what do you have in mind? Rent a helicopter and *fly* after him?" Jules' eyes opened wide and her mouth gaped. She never had a chance to reply, though, because a general roar in the main Shrine annex shook the foundation of the building. "EARTHQUAKE," Jules and Ann cried out simultaneously, each rushing to grab at falling statuary. A second roar rocked the Shrine. "AFTERSHOCK!!" both women screamed, falling to the floor, face down and covering their heads with their arms. From outside the hallway, they heard the thud of falling bodies, the crash of falling objects and the bleating of a goat. Then . . . silence. Slowly, after moments of intense quiet, Annie and Jules both pushed up on their elbows and looked at each other. "This is not good," Annie said softly. Jules nodded in agreement. "Not good at all," she said, getting to her feet. She reached down a hand to Annie, who accepted it gratefully. "If that floor and I get any more intimately acquainted," Annie said ruefully, "then I'm going to have to announce that I'm engaged to a tile." Jules had reached the doorway to the main annex. She looked outside, gasped in shock and collapsed against the frame of the passage. Annie rushed to join her, only to collapse against the High Priestess in her own horrification. Not a single human occupant of the room stood upright. Not an addict, not a Buff Slave Boy, not a guest or various sundry visitor to the Shrine had access to their feet. All lay sprawled, stretched out, toppled over, spread out, or stricken on the floor. The center of the radius of this mass of flesh appeared to be a large cut glass bowl with a slight amount of innocuous red liquid floating in its bottom. "Meep," Jules managed to whisper. "They took too much." Annie just sighed. Hand in hand, the two women made their way across the room, stepping carefully over the prone bodies lying everywhere. They reached the punch bowl and stared down into the swirling contents. "Oh, my," Jules breathed heavily. Annie just sighed. "How much insurance did you say we have?" "I didn't," Jules replied. "But it's a lot." "Good," Annie nodded slowly. "Because we're on the brink of major liability claims right now." Jules, also having a legal background, nodded in agreement. Both women sighed. Annie looked around the room at the snoozing mob and sighed more deeply. She noted the prone body of her Buff Slave and sighed most deeply. She turned and looked longingly at the punch. "What time is it?" Annie finally said. Jules looked toward the Sacred Grandfather Clock and noted that it was just past four a.m. "Almost dawn," Annie commented flatly. Jules nodded. Annie sighed and continued. "I doubt that Bonnie and Patt found the NFM, or they'd have brought it to us by now." Jules nodded again. The women were startled by movement near the left annex doorway. Turning, they saw a maroon clad woman wearing a Mountie hat and a yellow clad woman wearing a bucket. Leaning against each other for mutual support, Bons and Patt staggered into the room. "I felt a dinosaur walk by," Bonnie asserted. "Yup I did." She looked at Jules and Annie through squinting eyes. "Like my helmet?" Bonnie tapped the bucket on her head, then immediately wished she hadn't. The dull thudding in her head increased twelve-fold, and Bons felt funny again. She did a little half- gainer, swinging down in front of Patt while holding on to the large woman's shoulder. Patt caught Bonnie easily and lowered her to the floor. "She wanted to ride the Brontosaurus," Patt explained as she placed Bonnie on the floor next to Shele. Patt straightened back up and looked at the NunkMommy and priestess. "No luck on that happenin', is there?" Jules and Annie shook their heads negatively. "Any luck on finding the Nunkies Fantasy Manual?" Annie asked pointedly. Patt shook her head negatively as she slid down to join the sleeping Bonnie. "Nada," she sighed. "Prob'lay have more luck catching a Pterodactyl taxi, fearless leaders." "Which means," Annie continued, "that we're pretty much walking corpses at this point, right?" Jules nodded again. "Is all you can do? Nod?" Annie asked hotly. Jules nodded again. "In that case," Annie said, returning her attention to the bowl of Ambrosia, "I'd prefer to choose my poison, if you will. What say we have a toast?" Jules nodded for a change. Annie picked up two glasses from the side board and ladled the remainder of the nectar into the goblets. She handed one to Jules, who accepted it gratefully. "To Nunkies," Annie grinned, raising her glass. "To insurance," Jules offered, raising hers as well. They clinked the glassware and downed their drinks in one swallow. And lay down side-by-side on matching red divans, waiting for the sun to rise. ********************************************************************* End O' Part Eight B See Part One For The Disclaimer. ********************************************************************* August Heat (09/24) Event Nine: Slackers And Ratpackers Date: August 25th Time: Late Afternoon to Midnight The doors of the battered, unused vestment cabinet creaked open. Screed poked his head out, and glanced around the de-consecrated church. "Vacho-netti? Yew round n' about?" Vachon's voice came from behind his dingy couch where the Triumph leaned. "Over here, Screed." Screed pushed the cabinet fully open to reveal his crouched form. The carouche stepped out, then climbed on top of the sofa, peering over the back. "Bikey! Fer a sec, mate, I thought yer voice was coming from the vroom." Vachon set aside a wrench and sat up from the floor. "No, I'm just working on my motorcycle," he explained, wiping his hands on towel. "Why are you dressed like a Canadian Mountie?" Screed patted his own chest proudly. "Like it? Found it in a volcano." Vachon pondered the geological formations of Toronto in general, then asked calmly, "Where?" "I've been to a pah-ty, I have," Screed declared. "Thought I festered meself proper- like, too - at least Libs-mate squeaked it wuz so," he added. "So why are you here instead of tangoing with your Ratpacker friend?" Vachon asked. "The toga chicks threw me out. Real unfriendlies, they wuz. Scooted me back down tha crater `afore I could whistle Howdy Doody." "Toga chicks?" Vachon quickly weeded out the information to arrive at the topic of most personal interest. "Yeah, a right hair-eem of monkey-luvers. That's why I got the high-heeled boots - Screed wasn't creeperly-crawly enough fer `em." At the mention of monkeys, visions of that time Screed planned to steal Davy Jones' Locker (it was a sailor thing) filled Vachon's head. That wasn't a good thing to remember. He shook his head and repeated his question. "Toga chicks? Anyone I'd know besides Libby?" "Un-likely. They'd make yew shave," Screed crowed. "I toldja, V-man - they all got the drool fer LaCrow right down tew the non-sensible shoes." Lacroix?.Non-sensible shoes?.Drool?.Vachon had another bad flashback to the time Knight threw him in jail with four women, two dogs, and an Italian with a good recipe for tiramisu last May. One of them had worn non-sensible shoes. "Hmmm." Vachon said thoughtfully, then realized that Screed had continued speaking. ".So Vegas is callin' me, mate. Dew fer a right pick-up, I am. Wanta join?" "No. I have to take care of something important." The Spaniard shook his head. "I need to replace the carburetor on my bike." "Hoo! Important, `e says! Yew'll tell me next yew need tew wash yer hair!" Screed snorted for several seconds at his own joke. "Well, since yer not doin' anything fer leisure, `ow's about spotting a few to yer mate?" "I'm *not* giving you money, Screed." "I'm not takin'," Screed said indignantly, "I'm borrowin'!" "You plan to gamble with it," Vachon corrected. "That makes the money non- refundable. Why don't you find something you can sell at the swap meet for cash?" Screed remembered all of the shiny pretties the toga chicks had worn back at the party. Maybe Libs-mate could float him some loons. If not, he could always `borrow' from her monkey friends. The carouche grinned in satisfaction. "Think I feel sum o' that entree-pray-nurial spirit comin' over me fingers, Vachonetti, that I do!" "Close the cabinet behind you on your way out," Vachon said as he picked up his wrench and started to work on the Triumph once more. ******************************************************************* Libby gazed at the unconscious addicts that littered the Shrine floor, giving a Ratsie snicker. The Roman Candle had left them all well and trewly lit. In fact, it appeared the only souls in all of the Shrine who hadn't imbibed of the ancient concoction were Libby and the cats, and the felines were napping anyhow. She clumped her way around the sleeping forms, not worried about being overheard any longer. Gaelin, Michele and Zebella drooped off one of the loungers, a buff slave boy sprawled across their laps. Casey, Mariah, and Charl softly snored nearby, with Marie tightly hugging her Nunkies embroidered pillow to her chest with a blissful sigh. The tiniest flicker of something glittery around Marie's neck caught Libby's eye. "Ooooooo.Pretties!.Come tew me, my precioussss..." The glint came from a gold chain with a heart-shaped locket secured around Marie's neck and tucked into her neckline (until Libby pulled it free). The heart was engraved with the sentiment, "Nick & Nat, Forever." Libby personally thought that "Screed & Natsie, Ferever" would have made a more decorative and fun emblem, but since when did anyone listen to Ratpacker sense? "That's why Aye's runnin' away frum the Shrine in the furst place," Libby muttered. She unfastened the locket and placed it gingerly in her satchel. "A goin' away giftee! - Thankee, Marie! Aye's touched!" Another golden object beckoned to the Ratpacker's greedy paws. Cousin Mel had a gold batwing clip that secured her toga in place and Cousin Joni had a wide gold belt with a unicorn etched into a plate at its middle. Libby added these items to her rapidly filling rucker of pretty n' sparkly mementos from all the Nunkies addicts. Pretty soon, the Ratpacker's satchel filled up. She decided to borrow Kelly's toga (the Velcro made it easy) and use the material as a makeshift sack. Libby replaced the toga by snatching the Mountie hat off of Patt's sleepy head and sitting it strategically on Kelly's chest. Skipping merrily from figure to figure as though she was some kind of Anti-Claus, Libby collected every Bright And Shiny Thingee she laid her eyes on, and then some. She plucked a moon-shaped clasp studded with emeralds and silver topaz off of Cousin Tammy. She whisked a light chain holding a teensy silver key from around Cousin Robi's neck. Belts, brooches, pearls, hairclips, mood rings, bracelets and hoops all ended up tossed into Libby's bags until there wasn't a pretty sparkle to be seen. Libby opened the Shrine altar and peeped inside, just to make sure she wasn't leaving anyone else's treasured bits behind. There, on the third shelf from the top, sat Annie's tennis shoes. "Oh, how could Aye leave yew behind, tennies?" Libby exclaimed with a sentimental sniff. "Annie luvs yew so, and she spends so much time lookin' fer yew! What would she dew if Aye left yew where yew belong?" The Ratpacker held the sneakers lovingly to her cheek(facial), then added them to her heap of trinkets. When Libby was ready to leave, however, she found there was a problem: she had collected such a tremendous load of gold, silver, pots, pans, precious gemstones and shoes that a Ratpacker alone could barely drag the sacks out of the Shrine. Libby slumped with frustration at a table in the Jeweled Peach's dining room. she thought huffily. The sound of Tser's burro, Lavalianna, nickering as she fed from a tub of Oatmeal Crisp (the Laboratory/Kitchen was out of plain oats) just outside the restaurant reached Libby's keen ratsie ears. She scampered from her chair to look at the donkey as it chewed dispassionately (cereal is fine, but it's not oatmeal!). "Lava!" The Ratpacker squeaked happily. "Yew can burden me Bright And Shiny Thingees! Yew're me best burro-mate, yew are!" The donkey burped. ******************************************************************* Screed popped his head cautiously out of the volcano, only to find all of the lazy toga chicks sleeping. He stepped from the crater and poked a few of the bodies, but no one stirred. He climbed on stage and did a fancy tap dance and shuffle, but no one woke up to screech or applaud. "Not so bad a pah-ty at that," Screed mused. "Looks like they had a round uh Rum- O an' lost." Screed walked into the kitchen and knocked on the pantry door. "Libby! Lil' squeak - yew `ere?" There was no answer. The carouche stepped over Cherri and opened the kitchen cupboards. Not a Ratpacker was in sight. None of the usual nice, reflective cookware that characterized the Ratpackers' vacation cubbies was there, either. Screed could've gotten a swell penny for those at the swap meet. "LibRat! Want tew go tew Vegas?!" Still hearing no reply, Screed returned to the main Shrine. "Libbums - Aye need some o' that lettuce yer addicteds `er always talkin' about!" The only sound was a deep snort-snore as Bonnie dreamily rolled onto her back. "Well, that's a fine how-to! Libby's havin' an out o' casa experience!" Screed rubbed his hands together in anticipation, muttering, "Guess Aye'll be collectin' tha Screed-Man's gamblin' fun meself!" The carouche's spirits sank as he realized that none of the shiny pretties that had so tantalized his vision for the brief moments before he'd been kicked out of the party were still around. Nothing with the least hint of gold or glitter hung from any body part, and Screed searched thoroughly. The only item of interest was a pair of chrome handcuffs, but there was a desk and a toga chick attached at either end. He spread his search into the other rooms, but even the metal towel rack from the Sacred Cold Shower had been unscrewed from the wall. The ladder at the side of the Sacred Cold Pond was missing as well, making Screed sit dejectedly at the water's edge as his dreams of high rolling in Nevada evaporated. Since he wasn't doing anything, the carouche took off his shoes and washed his socks in the freezing (not that he noticed) water. Carrying his lace-up boots as he wandered through the last of the Shrine chambers, Screed arrived in the Wardrobe room. Here, the carouche had a speck of luck. He found a large wooden box on one shelf with a big note full of scribbles on it (If Screed could read anything besides his name, he would have seen the writing warned, `This Is N-S-V-V Nat's Stuff. Open This Box, and Cousin Heather Will Hurt You.' Instead, he saw a bunch of squiggly lines.) The wooden container didn't open easily. Screed noticed that someone had forgotten to leave it unlocked for company. He had to break the box into two pieces before he could take a look-see inside. The carouche found some loose papers with more boring marks on the surface, a long piece of plaid material and a fireman doll that bore a suspicious resemblance to Lacroix. Screed threw these bits aside. The last and heaviest item was his prize. It was a book (and from what he could make out from the title, Screed suspected it was the biography of someone named `Manuel' - maybe Vachon would want to read it?) bound in red leather, but there were small rosebuds tooled in gold on the spine that shone and twinkled. The endpages were luverly , too. They shimmered in a pattern of gold leaf that Screed could tell, from the smell, was the real metal. Screed tucked the volume into his satchel, wondering if any blokes with a hankerin' fer a big book would be at the swap meet. He hoped so. ******************************************************************* Minnie White lived a simple life with few luxuries. It wasn't that she didn't like luxuries, it was just that she didn't have room for them. It was tough to find a place for non-necessities when you were homeless. The only extravagance she indulged was her love of reading. She had two pieces of property that she refused to sell no matter how hungry or cold she became. One was a first edition of `Moby Dick.' It was battered with creased pages, but Minnie treasured the volume for the story and history more than any monetary value. She'd gotten the novel in trade for her bicycle at one of the local swap meets. She'd tried to explain the importance of the work to the bald man who'd made the exchange with her. His only response was that it was fair for a fish story, but if he couldn't get something useful for the paper by swap, he'd just use the pages as napkins. Minnie couldn't bear that, so she eagerly handed over her two-wheeler for her very own copy of Melville. The other item was a comic novel, `The Faded Flower', signed by the story writer herself at a recent science fiction convention. It was Minnie's absolute favorite since the message was addressed to her personally: "To Minnie: A Good Mousie Fer Likin' Me Scribblins, Libby Singleton" For Minnie, the sentimental value alone was worth getting thrown out of the Convention Centre for gatecrashing. These weren't the only two works that Minnie had ever read, of course. Until recently, she'd borrowed a steady stream of books from the Public Library (you know, that building that kind of looks like a police station?). Her privileges had been revoked about six months earlier when she borrowed a new novel about a vampire/knight. She hadn't gotten to read more than half when, one night, a tall shadowed figure had stolen the copy from her. Minnie was thankful that she hadn't been harmed, but she didn't have the money to pay for the book's replacement. Until she saved enough, Minnie could only read on the library premises during business hours. The doors to the library had been closed for several hours, but Minnie still yearned for a story to pass the lonely night. She briefly considered walking over to the university, but decided what she really needed was something that she could trade for a book of her own or money to pay the library back. Minnie glanced down an alleyway as she passed, noting a dumpster in the shadows. She approached it eagerly. It was amazing how often people carelessly threw away used paperbacks, magazines and newspapers. Maybe tonight she would strike a lucky find. Minnie gingerly climbed inside the large bin, ignoring the noises of rats scurrying through the garbage in alarm. She tunneled in the pile for almost an hour, finding nothing but empty bottles, greasy food wrappings, and table scraps. She'd found dinner, but nothing to read. Crawling back out of the dumpster, Minnie's grip hit a stray grease patch, and she fell off-balance to the concrete below. Her right hand hit cloth, and there was a harsh *thunk!* of something heavy hitting the metal bin. Minnie pulled on the fabric, unearthing a canvas bag that had been concealed behind the dumpster. Whatever lay inside the fabric weighed several kilos. With tentative movements, Minnie freed its contents, finding an oblong object wrapped in what appeared to be a man's oxford cloth shirt. Curiosity quelled her caution, and Minnie ripped the shirt away and tossed it aside. Her mouth fell open at the sight of the item, and she held it up, turning it right and left, for a closer examination. It was half a meter long , the unmistakable green of tarnished copper, and shaped like a rodent. Round gems sparkled in the place of eyes and the bump of its tail, but Minnie was certain they weren't the real thing. It was a giant, tacky, and garish statue of a rat - it was stupid to think it was worth much. She hoped she might get enough money for the copper part to pay her library fines, so she packed the rodent back up again, and headed for the swap meet. ******************************************************************* Libby walked a couple miles alongside Lava before she remembered that she was supposed to eat. In fact, the Ratpacker suddenly felt droopy enough that it was very possible she was supposed to have eaten many, many hours ago. Unfortunately, she didn't have any addicts around anymore to remind her to munch at every opportunity. Libby had run away from the Shrine and her meal patrol. She let out a piteous sigh and crawled on top of Lava's back, letting her feet dangle beside her satchels of loot. That's when Libby realized that she didn't have any food, shelter or money. "Aye's a broke ratsie needin' a san'wich and cubby!" she wailed. The Ratpacker perked slightly at the thought of all her bright and pretty mementews. She could probably swap the Nick n' Natsie locket for at least a pack of crackers if she went to the meet! Libby's tummy rumbled in anticipation, and she hungrily urged the hot burro in the direction of The Largest All-Night Swap Meet In Toronto. ******************************************************************* End O' Part Nine Gentle Reader, Normally there would be a reference in this space to the story disclaimer that resides at the beginning of Part One. If you've been reading this tale, however, you are aware that a certain Ratpacker has robbed NA of their every valuable except the clothes off their backs. Come to think of it, she took Kelly's toga, too. Therefore, until further notice, Libby has the story disclaimer. If you are under any illusion whatsoever that we have rights to the FK universe, contact the Ratpacker. Libby will laugh at you until you realize your error in judgment. Sincerely, Patt and Bons P.S. Happy Birthday, Libby! :D ******************************************************************* August Heat (10/24) Event Ten: Why, That Dirty Rat! Date: August 26th Time: around Midnight Sometime after dusk of the following day, an addict stirred. She awoke, stood on wobbly legs and shook the ashes from her toga and tresses. Then she took a look around the Shrine. Then she took a good look around the Shrine. Then she screamed. During the next few hours, most of the addicts and accompanying party goers woke up and began shaking off the effects of the Roman Candle. Tracy and Mids finally staggered into the kitchen and found Cherri, stretched out on the floor, the jewelry from her hands and the shoes from her feet both missing. "Looks like she got burned at both ends," Mids commented dryly. Of course, the discovery was soon made that Cherri was not the only one whose belongings were missing. "We've been robbed!" Jayne and Zebella ran over to the divan where Jules lay in repose, a gentle smile on her face. Being one of the last to pass out, she was, naturally, one of the last to awaken. She rolled over and opened her eyes slightly. "Whatsa sayin'?" Jules smiled up at the raging addicts. "All our jewelry and personal stuff is *gone,* Laura ran up to join the group. "My sapphire and silver broach was taken, as well as my pale, pale blue sash," she wailed, indicating to her now sagging toga. "Hmmmmm," Jules acknowledged her understanding. She tried to lift herself to a more proper listening position, but her elbows slipped from under her. The priestess fell back on the sofa, giggling. Mel ran up next, tears of rage glistening on her face. "They took my gold batwing clip - my Janette, look-alike, rare and precious gold batwing clip!" Heather came up and patted Mel on the back, consolingly. "There, there, lass. We've all been robbed. They took my wee white flower ring and my strand of pearls." "Looks like they got the MacIntyre plaid, too," Jayne observed. "Your toga is looking mighty bare." "Dirty buggers," Heather shouted, shaking her fist. "This may call for a meeting of the clan!" She stalked off in search of a telephone. "Speaking of bare," Laura leaned over and whispered to Zebella. "Check out Kelly." The toga-less addict still lay on the tile, her more visible endowments barely covered by the Mountie hat. Her breathing caused the wide-brimmed fedora to rise and fall steadily. A barely-alert Biff was watching the hat's motion with much interest, wondering, probably, if he should retrieve the chapeau and return it to the Wardrobe room. Marie and Joni rushed up, both close to hysterics. "This thief must be found and punished," Joni demanded. She indicated her non-buckled belted toga. "They took my engraved unicorn plate!" "Whoever snatched our stuff is crazy!" Marie spat angrily. "Look," she swept her hands over her gauze costume, "They got my silver bracelet, my onyx and silver ring with the little box under the stone *and* my Nick and Nat Locket! But," she cried out in anguish, "they left all the hand-stitched pictures of Nunkies on my trim alone! Who could resist Nunkies??? This thief must be mental!! "How about your pillow?" asked Zebella. Marie looked stricken. She threw back her head and wailed. The other addicts clasped their hands to their ears. "That, I assume, was an affirmative answer," Annie rose up on her divan and looked at the group sleepily. "What else is missing?" That simple question opened a virtual floodgate of responses. Casey, Caren and Senara ran up, exclaiming about missing items. Sharon, Tracy and Charl reported nothing missing, because they hadn't been wearing anything portable enough to pilfer. Instead, they reported that every pot and pan was missing from the kitchen. Cabon heard this news from his urn and yowled. "Sheesh," Jules muttered, swinging her legs off the cushions and sitting upright on the divan. "This is getting major. We'd better start writing down an inventory. Bonnie! We need your scribing skills over here." When no one moved, Jules looked around, eyes narrowing. "Where is Bons, anyway?" The crowd parted slightly, offering Jules a clear view to where the little addict lay curled up in slumber. The NA Scribe was smiling contentedly, snuggling into the soft belly fur of the sleeping pygmy goat. Upon a closer listen, Bons was mumbling something which suspiciously sounded like, "Could you? . . . would you . . .?" Annie sighed. "Someone give the Scribe a shake, won't you? And, be careful with your fingers when approaching that goat." While Sharon Lee complied with the NunkMommy's command, Annette ran up, her face flushed with grief. "Someone took my. . . " " . . . belt made of gold coins stamped with Lacroix's visage," half a dozen addicts completed her sentence. Annette stopped short and stared at them. "How'd you know?" she asked, looking from face to face. "Because most of us got robbed of something," Jayne replied. "Oh," Annette blinked. "Do you mean we have a *real* thief at work? I just figured it was either Tracy or Marie, jealous 'cause I won the toga contest." Bonnie, assisted greatly by Sharon, made her way through the masses and scooted onto the divan next to Annie. "Okay, okay," the redhead mumbled, "I'm ready to do some scribing." She patted her hips and looked around in alarm. "Who took my tablet?" Jules instructed someone, *anyone* to get Bons some paper and a pen, which Caren ran off to do. Soon, Bonnie was being bombarded with descriptions of missing items, which she committed to paper as fast as her little fingers could move. Cousin Robi wandered up, and Bonnie, still hazy, eyed her questioningly. "You missin' anything?" "Well, she sure ain't missing these darned handcuffs," Heidi bellowed from the corner, snapping the chain and causing it to rattle sharply. The lovely Aldeheide was still bound to the mahogany desk. Robi muffled a giggle with her hand, then assumed a properly crestfallen look. She nodded and verbally gave Bons her list of items, including the key to the Holy Handcuffs. Cousin Tammy strode up, holding a Buff Slave by the upper arm. "I'm here to report a theft," she announced. Bons squinted. "Your silver topaz and emerald crescent moon shaped clasp, right?" Bonnie began writing when Tammy nodded. "Yep, that too. But, the most important thing I have to report is . . .," she moved closer and bent to whisper in Bonnie's ear. Bonnie's eyes flew open in suddenly sobered surprise and she looked up in shock at the Buff male. He hung his head shamefully. "Now that!" Bons made a note on her paper, "was beyond thieving. That was downright dirty pool playing . . . stealing someone's ba . . ." "It's MINE," all of the addicts recognized the piercing voice of the Third Cousin. The crowd of addicts turned as one to see Patt and Kelly, engaged in Mountie hat combat. Patt had the fedora by each edge of the brim, attempting to tug it from Kelly's grasp. Kelly clutched the hat to her chest, in either an attempt to be modest or a demonstration of the possession and nine-tenths of the law rule. "It's MINE," Kelly hissed back, pulling it back with all her strength. "Break that ruckus up," Jules ordered, pointing at the pair. Three Buff Slaves ran toward the two women, bent on offering referee services. Kelly suddenly planted her feet and gave her body a twist, successfully upsetting Patt's balance and sending the Louisianan spinning across the marble floor. Patt lost her grip on the hat, but received a round of applause for her rather intricate execution of a Zydeco step she'd learned at a Cajun crawfish festival. She finished her pirouette by landing in the waiting arms of Biff, who smiled down at her with unabashed admiration. "Found your way out of the woodwork, I see," Patt grinned up at him. Biff flashed his pearly whites at the woman and nodded. "Can you teach me to do that dance step?" "Honey," Patt grabbed the hunk and dipped him, "I'll be happy to teach you *anything* I know, if," she stood Biff back upright, "you'll help me get my hat back." "Done," Biff agreed. The couple dashed off after Kelly, who streaked desperately toward the Sacred Wardrobe room. "Hey, Kelly, it's okay!" Mariah called after the woman. "Don't you remember? It's legal to run around bare-chested in Toronto. That's what TO stands for - Top Optional." "Where's Lava?" the low, serious sounding voice of Tser caused all the addicts to turn and look in her direction. The black-clad addict was emerging from the hall which led to the Sacred Sleeping Cells. Her right eye was swollen almost shut and she had an unhappy expression on her face. "I went to the stable to feed her, and she's not there." Tser looked around at the wrecked Shrine, the barely robed addicts and the myriad of evidence pointing to drinking and general debauchery. Her eyes lit on Cabon, still yelping from the urn. Tser shook her head and faced the addicts again. "Gosh, I hope she's not in here." Marie stepped forward. "Last I saw of the burro, she was in the alley, where we found you passed out, Tser." "Passed out?" the buzz-cut addict looked confused. "I didn't even have anything to drink. How did I pass . . . ?" Her eyes opened wide as she remembered. "The mugger!" Jules stepped forward. "You were mugged?" Tser nodded, recalling more as her brain cleared. "Did you get a look at him, Tser?" Annie inquired. "He might be the one who stole our stuff." Tser shook her head, an action she quickly regretted. "I never got a good look at him, Annie. He stuck a gun in my face and then cracked me across the skull. That's the last I remember." "You were leaned up against the alley door when we found you," Marie explained to the addict. "We figured that the punch had whammied you. We found your empty glass out there." Tser shook her head. "I didn't have a chance to drink it," she assured them. "Maybe the mugger did." "Improbable," Jules said thoughtfully. "Everyone who drank the stuff passed out almost immediately. When Marie and the others found you, they probably would have seen him passed out in the alley if he'd done so. The burro probably knocked it over." "Lava!" Tser remembered her reason for getting out of bed, despite the headache which threatened to implode her brain. "Where is the beast?" "Out feeding?" Bons suggested, trying to be helpful. Sharon, still propping up the Scribe, sniffed doubtfully. Kate and Jesse, in an obvious state of agitation, emerged from the Left Anteroom passageway. "Looks like our thief went out through the service entrance," Jesse reported. "We found the door open, and this dropped outside." She held up a length of gold cording. "That's mine," Cherri emerged through the swinging kitchen doors and stalked over to Jesse. Holding her toga aloft with one hand, Munoz snatched the cording with the other and continued to stomp away without a look back at the other addicts. "We also found . . . evidence of the burro," Kate cast a furtive look at Tser before returning her attention to Jules and Annie. "There were hoof prints in the loose gravel out there, and . . . stool samples." "Oh, gllllppphhhh," Sharon Lee gulped. She cupped her hand to her mouth and rushed toward the Sacred Ladies Room. "Are you suggesting that someone *stole* Lava?" Tser said hotly. "Are you saying that the thief took my donkey?" "Either that, or the burro wandered off and escaped through the door that the robber left open," Kate said. "I suspect that it was the former," Jules said. "And, I don't think that an average mugger is responsible for this mess. Too much stuff that was taken indicates an abnormal theft. Not just our valuables, but all of our bright and shiny things." "And my burro," Tser sniffed. "I smell a rat," Annie concluded. "Or a Ratpacker. Where is Libby, by the way?" "THEY STOLE THE TOWEL HOLDER!" Sharon's lamentation floated loudly from the restroom. "That does it," Jules said. "Find Libby, NOW!" A quick search of the Shrine resulted in facts which appeared to support the suppositions of the NunkMommy and priestess. The Ratpacker and all her meager belongings had vanished. "Call the police," Jules instructed Robi. "Tis nary a telephone to be found in the Shrine," Heather reported as she returned to the main sanctum. "The bugger seems to have wiped us out." Annie looked exasperated. "Well, will someone go report the theft for us?" "I'll go," Tser volunteered. "I want to be sure that they realize that more has been stolen than trinkets. A life is at stake." "Please," Jules shuddered. "We don't use the word 'stake' in this Shrine, okay?" Tser nodded and left quickly, accompanied by Caren and Jayne. The other addicts began to disperse. The fanfic fairies would soon be arriving to clean up the mess, but they wouldn't touch a thing if anyone was around to observe their actions. "What's up, guys?" Patt wandered up, wearing her Mountie hat and a large smile. The other three members of the Quad noted that the Third Cousin had changed into jeans and a purple T-shirt. Patt, noticing their inquiring glances, explained, "Had to change. Biff got a lil' overzealous and ripped my laces." "Where is he now?" Annie asked, looking past Patt's shoulder. "He's helping Kelly pick out an outfit," Patt replied dreamily. "Biff'll make sure that it fits. He's such a considerate fellow." "You are aware, Patt, that the Nunkies Anonymous membership was robbed, and it appears that Libby is the culprit?" Jules said. "The Ratpacker packed up our stuff and vamoosed?" Patt was dumbfounded. "Most likely," Bonnie nodded. "Packed it up and packed it out on the pack mule." "Burro," Annie and Jules corrected the Scribe simultaneously. "Biff," the Buff male corrected, walking up to the women. He carried a large wooden case which had been rendered into scrap. "I found this in the Wardrobe. Is it important? Annie gasped when she saw it. "The NSVV-Nat-Box!" she cried. She grabbed it frantically and searched through its contents. The addict leader looked up at Biff, horror in her eyes. "Where's the book?" "The library?" the Adonis suggested. Patt patted him affectionately on his bare back. "Ain't he just the smartest lil' ole thing?" "There was a copy of the NFM in here," Annie cried. "And, it might have been the *real* one." The other three addicts paled with understanding. "Do we really want to depend on the Toronto Metro Police to bring our belongings back?" Jules asked worriedly. "And, do we want them possibly finding the manual and placing it in an evidence room?" The three other women shook their heads negatively. "Okay," Patt said. "Let's assume that it was Libby who did it. Where do you think she went with our stuff?" "She might wander for a while," Annie shook her head at Patt's rather ignorant question, "but sooner or later, she'll end up at the swap meet." "So," Jules nodded, "we need to get there as soon as possible, before she trades away all of our belongings." The priestess looked around the room and sighed with resignation, "But first, I must contact the insurance adjuster." Annie took charge, as NunkMommies like to do. "Patt, Bons - you two head for the swap meet, find Libby and hold her until Jules and I can get there. Make sure Libby eats something." As an afterthought, Annie added, "And, take a taxi - you two still look a bit 'under the influence' to me. We simply cannot afford bail cash outflow at this time, as I suspect our insurance premiums will be increasing." Patt and Bonnie nodded and headed toward the restaurant entrance, bound for the front door. Patt paused and looked at Bons. "You want to change first?" "Why?" Bonnie said, looking down at her bright yellow, still-intact toga. "I kind of like this." Using both hands, she twirled the material around her body and grinned, "It's comfy." "Okay," Patt continued moving toward the street entrance. "I'm sure that the citizens of Toronto have seen stranger things than an addict in a yellow toga wandering their streets. Outside, hailing a cab proved easy. The vehicle pulled to the curb and Patt opened the door and slid in, followed by Bonnie. The redhead looked forward and pertly instructed, "The Largest All-Night Swap Meet In Toronto, please." Through the rear view mirror, the driver eyed Bonnie with interest. When he spoke, he addressed Patt. "That okay with you?" Patt nodded. He continued to observe Bonnie, taking careful note of her Roman dress, cheerfully decorated with stitched blossoms. "She okay?" the driver asked, his voice wary. "Perfectly safe, as long as she takes her medication," Patt replied. She leaned forward and handed the cabbie a one-hundred dollar bill, which she always kept stuffed in her shoe for such emergencies. "We may need your services throughout the night. Consider yourself on retainer, okay?" "Okay," the driver said, pocketing the bill and turning the meter on. "I guess I be drivin' Miss Daisy tonight." ******************************************************************* End O' Part Ten Disclaimer: Libby `borrowed' it. We're trying to get it back, but there's a rumor goin' around about her birthday and a trip to some casinos. Let's see if the fanfic fairies prevail... ******************************************************************* August Heat (11/24) Event 11: Swap `Til You Drop Date: August 26th The Largest All-Night Swap Meet In Toronto was a bustling place. Boxes of old comics and records littered the aisles, so hopeful collectors had to hop from booth to booth. There were racks of polyester cabana-wear, cheap jewelry, dime-a-dozen baskets and posters of dogs playing poker. If you had an item that looked interesting, these dealers might give you actual money in trade. Screed wasn't having much luck in that department. Stan, the comic book man, wasn't interested in putting the carouche's leather-bound volume up for sale. "Nunkies Fantasy Manual? That's a catchy title, but look!" the dealer sniffed derisively as he flipped through the pages. "No pictures, except for those little white rosebuds all over the place. I only deal in books that have illustrations!" "So yew're not gonna give me a cut fer it?" Screed demanded. "Cut? I'm not even going to sneeze on you for it!" Stan sneered. "Well, thas' naw a fair traid, mate" the carouche commented as he surreptitiously discounted a stack of comic novels into his satchel, the five-fingered way. He scurried on to the antiques booth to try bartering with the muu-muu-ed matron there. "Oooo!" Maybelline exclaimed as she worshipfully gazed at the Manual's end papers. "I couldn't possibly buy this book. It's just too nice!" "Naw, it's nawt," Screed argued. "It don't have draw-rings. Yew could get it from me person real cheap-like, if yew fancy. Aye've got no sense o' refine-ments about schmancy paper. Make me an offer." Maybelline fluttered with dismay. "Oh, no! I couldn't take advantage of a nice boy like you! I simply couldn't pay you what it's worth!" "Ev'n if Aye did the pogo-stick onnit a bit? Aye could scuff `n shuffle tew help yer price." "No! No!" Maybelline appeared horrified. "Don't do that to your precious book! I can see how much you need the money, though. I'll pay you fifty for your Mountie jacket." Screed's face brightened greedily. "Cents?" Maybelline guffawed and slapped a flowery purple kneecap. "Heavens, no, sweetie! Fifty *dollars!*" She reached out and pinched Screed's cheek (facial) affectionately. "I told you - I wouldn't take advantage of a nice boy like you!" "In tha' case, missus, `ow `igh would yew go fer me britches?" ******************************************************************* Eagerness had overwhelmed Minnie as she arrived at the swap meet. The thought of getting enough money from the rat statue to reactivate her library card had her so excited that Minnie pulled the tarnished object out and gave it a thankful hug before entering the trading hall. Now Minnie did not feel so positive. "That is the *ugliest* thing I've ever seen!" the jeweler exclaimed. "Lady, you shouldn't be trying to sell it, you should exterminate it!" "But it's copper! You sell copper bracelets and earrings!" Minnie protested. "Yeah, but mine ain't turned green.yet!" the jeweler chuckled, holding his sides as he laughed at Minnie's expense. "That thing belongs in the trash!" Minnie hung her head and shuffled away. She wasn't about to volunteer that, while not exactly *in* the garbage, she'd found the rodent statue by a dumpster. Rethinking the situation, her spirits sank. The object had been discarded for a reason. She should take whatever she could get for it and thank her lucky stars that the hunk of metal was worth more than zero minus some change. ******************************************************************* "Deon?" The faux-blonde woman flipped down the make-up mirror on her side of the car and began to apply a coat of lipgloss. "Yes, Miss Prentiss?" The hulking driver looked uncomfortable, as though he knew he was in trouble, but he wasn't sure why. He glanced briefly at his partner, then thought better of making eye contact. "Tell me why I'm happy." Deon nervously rubbed the crown of his shaved head and stared steadfastly at the red traffic light up ahead. "Uh.you killed somebody?" Miss Prentiss smacked her newly shined lips together in satisfaction. "That *is* a plus. It was awfully naughty of that fellow to take our stolen property like he did. Shameful, shameful behavior. It was a good day's work to kill him." Deon nodded. "Yes, Miss Prentiss." "But killing our little bandit makes me unhappy, too, Deon. I acted rashly when I sliced him. You see, he told me that he didn't have the merchandise anymore. Now, I knew he was a nasty fibber, but I shouldn't have lost my temper and had whittling practice. That was very bad of me. Sure, Prince Charming didn't have the goods on his person, but that didn't mean he didn't know where our ratsie-watsie was, now did it?" Miss Prentiss fluffed her faux-blonde hair, then looked to Deon for a response. "So you're unhappy, Miss Prentiss?" Deon guessed. "No! I'm very happy! I'd even go so far as to claim that I'm giddy with delight!" At these words, Deon risked a good, long look at Miss Prentiss. She was slipping weaponry into her clothing from the glove compartment: garrote in the left pocket, stun gun in the right, Bowie knife in a boot sheath, and a menacing little .22 with silencer inside her black suede vest. Giddy? Absolutely. "Why are you so happy?" Deon dared to ask. Miss Prentiss tapped her makeup mirror emphatically before folding it up into the sun visor. "Because I just saw our future best friend walk into that building behind us, hugging a giant green rat to her chest. I'd say it was *our* rat. Our merchandise." Deon thought knowingly, "Hello, new best friend," he said aloud, his bright white grin in startling contrast to his darkly tanned skin. "And I know you hate to kill a friendship, Miss Prentiss." She opened the passenger door, stepped out, slammed it shut, then hung from the door frame as she stuck her head inside the rolled-down window. "Don't I though?" Miss Prentiss' smile was gravel-for-breakfast hard. "Let's hope she doesn't piss me off, shall we? Park the car and join me, eh, Deon?" "Yes, Miss Prentiss." ******************************************************************* Screed, divested of his Mountie jacket for a clinky pile o' shiny coins, wandered about the swap meet in his overlong trousers and a cut-off Mr. Bubble T-shirt. He still thought he could make a penny off the leather-bound book; he simply had to find the right customer. He wandered up to a grey-haired man carrying a box of pulp fiction and announced, "Name a figgur, mate, and I might part wi' me story book." The man huffed. "If'n ain't got a babe on the cover, I'm not interested." "Wha, it `as, tew!" Screed cried indignantly. "It's got them baby roses `ere-n-`ere!" "That's not the kinda babe I meant," the man growled. "Seein' tha right bit o' mud unner yer nails I co-ji-tated yew're of the flowery persusion," Screed cackled. "Hoo! Didn't realize yew were jes' a dirty ol' bloke!" The carouche giggled and hee-ed as the fellow stomped away unhappily. Suddenly Screed's laughter died as quickly as roaches in a Raid factory. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief, then blinked repeatedly. A floating chorus of `Sweet Mystery of Life' crescendoed in his head. "Gotta stop putting the bite on the lab rats, Screed-mate. They's givin' yew be- yewtiful visions," he said to himself. "Bu an' if it's real.yew gotta get tha' doorstop!" Screed had seen the rat statue. It was the prettiest bright green he'd ever seen, and its eyes sparkled and shone as though they'd been sprinkled with fairy dust. It was the greatest Bright And Shiny Thingee that the carouche had ever vay-o-ed, striking aesthetic sensitivities that he hadn't known he had to tweak. A ratsie like that was just what his hidey-hole needed to make it feel like home. It had Screed written all over it. Screed walked up to the Moby Dick lady carrying his future rat property and took it from her. He took her hand and emptied all the shiny coins from his pockets into her palm. "Fer tha ratsie." Minnie gaped in wonder at the hairless man she'd traded her old bike to for the copy of Melville. She attempting to rapidly count the pile of twooneys growing in her hand, but repeatedly lost track of the number. She knew it amounted to more than her library book fine and then some. Minnie almost fainted. This was too much! "But.but.you can't!" Screed looked stricken. "Aye've gotta have the ratsie!" He opened up his satchel and pulled out the pile of comic novels and the Nunkies Fantasy Manual. "Take everythingee! We-al call it a swap - tit fer tat, bit fer rat - right?" Minnie clutched at the comics, agape with amazement. <'Mighty Tyke'!> her thoughts reeled as she scanned the book titles. Minnie shook her head, unable to believe her good fortune. Screed interpre-tated the head shaking as a no-dealer. "Not enough com-pen-sashen fer ya? Aye's afraid o' that. Pretty ratsie like tha' is bound tew be worth a Screed's ransom. Tell ya what - Aye'll give ya tha shirt off me back!" Up and over his head went the carouche's Mr. Bubble T-shirt. "Me britches tew." The overlong uniform pants quickly joined the pile in Minnie's arms. "Tis all Aye `ave tew give other than me boxers!" He looked ready to slip the underwear cross-stitched with some kind of logo down over his hips, so Minnie yelped, "That's quite enough!" Screed left his boxers intact and beamed. "It's `ighway robb'ry!" He hugged the rat statue before slipping it into his satchel. "Thankee fer lettin' me take advantage. Yew ever need a faver, Screed's yer mate!" Minnie watched him strut off with a dumbfounded stare. What was that she had heard on the radio one night before she'd sold it? `One man's trash is another man's treasure'? Minnie believed it. Oh, yes, she did with all her heart and soul. Excitement swelled in her bosom once more as she pictured walking proudly into the library as it opened and settling her account with coins to spare. Until then, she had two whole, prized comic novels to savor! "Pardon me," a woman's voice said. Drawn back to her surroundings, Minnie saw a woman wearing an obvious blonde wig standing before her. "Y-yes?" "You look like you have quite a load there. Here - why don't I help you carry?" "Why, thank you. That would be so nice of you, Miss -?" The faux-blonde smiled. Rocks for breakfast stay crisp in milk. "My name is Miss Prentiss." ******************************************************************* Libby wasn't very alert as she rode Lava, the Hot Burro, into the swap meet hall. She didn't notice the tall, thin woman with faux-blonde hair that the donkey almost trampled in her rush to get through the doorway, or the threatening look she received. Libby needed to eat. Spotting a swapper opening their jaws for a snack, she slammed on the burro brakes. "Trade yew a dutch oven fer that cheese san'wich!" Libby offered weakly. The would-be san'wich eater hungrily considered the offer. "I dunno.it's jalepeno jack." "Mmm.. Aye'll add a tea kettle an' towel rack tew the pot fer it!" "Deal!" Libby handed over her borrowed cookware and bathroom accessory, then began to munch to her heart (and stomach's) content. After four or five bites, Libby slowed down. The sandwich's bread was sticking to the roof of her mouth, turning it into a sticky paste. "Bwech! Need wa-der," Libby announced with a goopy tongue. Lava snorted. More alert now, Libby scanned the vicinity with an eagle eye. She zeroed in on a woman in a polka-dot jumpsuit popping the top of a green and white soda can. The Ratpacker urged her mount forward. "Waydee!" Libby called. "Swap-yee-a phone fer `dat Fwesca! It's port-table!" The woman agreed greedily. Libby snatched up the drink and took a big slurpee swallow, then handed over a princess-style phone covered with white rosebud decals. The woman frowned at the bulk of the object, as well as the long cord that hung off the telephone's rear like a mutant tail. "I thought you said this was a portable phone!" Libby grinned cheekily as she turned the burro around while saluting the woman with her Fresca can, "Yew're carryin' it, ain't yew?" then broke into a round of snickers. Suddenly, the Ratpacker's frisky sounds halted. The chorus to `Three Blind Mice' crescendoed in Libby's head. A little dribble of drool trailed down her chin. She'd caught sight of Screed wearing nothing but the boxers she'd cross-stitched him for Valentine's Day with the FK logo on the rear. Well, the boxers along with his boots and aviator cap. Screed without his cap would be indecent. "Yoohoo! Screed!" the Ratpacker squealed as she bumped a huge, dark man aside with her mount's rump. "Screedie!" "Libratsie!" The carouche made his way to Libby's side, brushing against the dark man just as he caught his balance and sent the gent sprawling atop a display of antique milk bottles. Screed looked curiously at the donkey beneath her and asked, "What's with tha' burrito?" "Lava's me new packer-buddy!" Libby announced proudly. "Aye dee-scovered so many Bright and Shiny Thingees, Aye needed Lava to burden the load. Best burro Aye ever borrowed!" "Makes sense, that does," Screed agreed. "Burrito'd carry the satchels real nice - better than me bicycle." Libby nodded. "Trewly, she would!" "Not as much fun down the slanty streets, though," the carouche ran a hand over his leather cap. "Old Screed like tew feel tha' wind in `is `air, Aye dew." Libby tittered at Screed's charming repartee. "Shew're yew dew!" Screed gestured Libby aside, whispering in a low voice, "Seein' `as `ow yew're a mate, Aye'll share me con-fee-dentures - Aye found `er right prize `n swap tewnight, `an Aye'm readyin' tew cart the pretty `ome." The Ratpacker's eyes beaded with coveting fury. "Lemme see!" "Aye'll shew yew if yew come tew me place," Screed said as he glanced suspiciously from side to side. "Aye's lit by the bird o' fortune tew get this gemmy so cheap `n trade! Aye need tew be careful, Aye dew - there's a lot what would care tew slap paws on me beauty, Aye bet!" Libby nodded in solemn understanding, thinking of her Ratpacker brethren. They just couldn't be trusted around proper shiny, pretties. Neither, for that matter, could she. Libby rubbed her fingers together in material anticipation. "Let's gew!" ******************************************************************* "My, my. What a collection of items you have!" Miss Prentiss exclaimed. Minnie blushed, still unaccustomed to her newfound material wealth. "I guess you could say it all just fell into my lap!" "And then some," Miss Prentiss murmured. "Everything looks so heavy! I see my business associate - I'll wave him over so he can help, too." Minnie watched as the faux-blonde motioned with her hand to a linebacker-sized man at least twenty meters away. He waved back, distracted just long enough to miss a burro's rump as it approached him from the side. Miss Prentiss' friend toppled over upon impact, proving that while he looked like a linebacker, he lacked some necessary skills which might have enabled him to claim that status, mainly staying upright. "Oh, dear," Minnie fretted. "I don't want to be any trouble to you, Miss Prentiss. Your offer was nice, though." Miss Prentiss grinned with concrete teeth as she watched her partner crawl to a stand, only to tumble over a bowling-pin arrangement of old bottles when a slender man in boxer shorts and an aviator cap pushed by him abruptly. "Oh, it's no trouble. I insist. I just love it when people act friendly." The faux-blonde began to pull the items of clothing from Minnie's grasp, as though eager to help. "You must tell me where you got every little thing!" "Well, actually," Minnie said hesitantly. "Everything came from the same person. He's this strange fellow who's always wearing one of those old World War I flying ace style hats." "Hmm," Miss Prentiss said shrewdly. Deon arrived finally, looking a bit disgruntled as well as disheveled. "Making friends?" the blonde drawled. "Damn! Isn't there some law against donkeys in public places?" "I don't think a wide range wander around Toronto establishments as a rule," Minnie offered helpfully. "Neither do homicidal maniacs and dinosaurs," Deon growled, "but they have regulations!" "Now, Deon," Miss Prentiss' voice carried a warning note, "you know they straightened that dinosaur issue out before summer. We don't want our new friend thinking we're speciesist, now do we?" "No, we don't," Deon said humbly, then gave Minnie a little bow. "I apologize, ma'am, if I gave the impression that we dislike any species other than our own." Minnie tried to be gracious, but she was beginning to feel overwhelmed by so much attention from two complete strangers without badges. "That's alright. I confess, I'm not overly fond of whales." "Ooh!" Miss Prentiss exclaimed as she casually led Minnie to stand behind a clothes rack. Between the shield of garments and Deon's hulking form barring the path, none of the swap meet guests could see Minnie or the woman `helping' her with her treasures. Miss Prentiss had dumped the Mr. Bubble T-shirt and uniform trousers to the floor, then roughly yanked the large knapsack off of Minnie's shoulder. "What are you.?" Minnie gasped. "Hush," Miss Prentiss commanded. "Don't you know real friends share *everything*?" The bewigged woman tunneled through the contents of the canvas sack, pulling out an oxford-cloth shirt, then a handful of comics, all which joined the pile on the floor. Seeing her new Libby-mags bent and creased in such a manner made Minnie wail in distress. "I haven't even gotten to read these yet!" She fell to her knees and began to gingerly collect the abused artwork. Miss Prentiss made an ugly face as she unearthed a heavy volume with a red leather cover. "Um, hate to break your nails, but storytime is indefinitely delayed." Miss Prentiss used the corner of the volume to bludgeon Minnie twice in the face, leaving a sharp reddened imprint in the middle of the kneeling woman's forehead, and her lower lip cracked. "Ughh!" Minnie fell backward, sprawling atop the discarded clothing on the floor. Miss Prentiss tapped the bookcover emphatically. "Nunkies Fantasy Manual? What the *hell* is this? And, where's the rat?" "T-the.r-r-rat?" Minnie blinked several times with a stunned expression. The other woman impatiently brushed a lock of her faux-blonde hair away from her face. "Drat. I'm afraid we can't be buddies if you're that stupid. I *saw* you with the rat when you entered this circus. I saw you put it in this bag." Miss Prentiss shook the empty canvas sack impatiently, then threw it at Minnie's head. "Where's my rat - NOW?!" "I-I.sold it! I thought it was trash - not stolen! I have the money!" Minnie sobbed, pulling a handful of two dollar coins from her pocket. "You can have it, see?" Miss Prentiss appeared displeased. "You sold it? To whom?" "Like I said before - the man in the flight cap - he wanted it really bad!" The blonde nodded harshly. "I remember, dear, but what was his name? I need his name if I want to get my property back, now don't I?" "But I don't know his name!" Minnie panicked. "You aren't going to report me to the police for stealing, are you? I can't afford that. I've tried to stay honest! Really, I have!" "Oh, dear." Miss Prentiss shook her head as she slipped a hand inside her suede vest. "I hate to hear that. If you're honest, you might let your conscience sway you into visiting those police you're so worried about. I mean, if you're a fine, upstanding citizen, you might feel the need to report how Miss Prentiss and Deon assaulted you at The Largest All-Night Swap Meet In Toronto. Oh, dear. You know our names! I bet you could identify us, too." "But I wouldn't!" Minnie promised. "I'm inclined to believe you," Miss Prentiss mused, "But I'm not a betting kind of gal." The faux blonde swiftly placed one hand before Minnie's face and snapped her fingers. The sudden, sharp sound drew Minnie's attention, so she didn't notice Miss Prentiss' .22 with silencer until the barrel was pressed against her head. The bullet bounced inside Minnie's skull like a Mexican jumping bean. Ole. "I like the sure shot," the faux-blonde added as she pocketed her weapon and joined her cohort. Deon noted that his partner lacked company and the rat statue. "Are you unhappy, Miss Prentiss?" "Yes, I am, Deon." She tucked the Nunkies Fantasy Manual underneath an arm, appearing resigned to her displeasure. "I got this big, leather book and some nice, shiny coins out of the experience, but I just can't seem to hold on to friends anymore." "That's why I'm your business associate," Deon commented. "Wise words, partner mine," Miss Prentiss said, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "Do tell - have any ideas about tracking down that bare-chested gent in an aviator cap who knocked you down? I hear he's rather fond of rats." ******************************************************************* End O' Part Eleven Disclaimers: Snookered by the wily paws of a Ratpacker! We're still tracking her down.... ******************************************************************* August Heat (12/24) Event Twelve: You Must Be Joking! Nick Knight was reviewing the particulars of Mickey Hamlin's murder when the clamor in central receiving reached his ears. "I demand to speak with Detective Knight right now!" He vaguely recognized the woman's voice which was requesting his presence. With a sigh, Knight pushed back from his desk and strolled into the precinct proper. A woman with a buzz-cut hairstyle and clad in a black toga was verbally assaulting the station's desk sergeant while two similarly dressed women looked on. Knight could not suppress a smile, realizing who the women probably were. He did not recognize the two onlookers, but he quickly remembered that the speaker had once been pointed out to him. Knight strolled over to the desk to rescue the bewildered sergeant, who noticed him first. "I told the ladies that you only handle homicides, Detective Knight," the sergeant said as Nick walked over. "I tried to steer them toward missing persons, but she would have none of it." "Quite all right, Sergeant Parker," Nick smiled. "I understand why these ladies asked for me. Tserisa, isn't it?" Knight asked, extending a hand to the most vocal of the trio. "How may I help you?" Tser turned to Nick, a mixture of anger, concern and thankfulness mixed on features. He noted that her right eye was swollen, and a dark bruise was evident on her temple. Knight listened to her heart. It was beating steadily, but sharply. He straightened, realizing her anxiety was genuine. "Detective Knight," Tser said, her voice grave. "I'm here to report someone I believe may be in danger." Knight's brows furrowed. "One of the Nun . . . " he paused when he noticed Tser's eyes widen, " . . . your friends?" he finished. Tser nodded. "A very close friend. Her name is Lavalianna." "From what I can gather, Detective Knight," the desk sergeant interjected. "This lady's . . . friend," he looked pointedly as Tser before returning his attention to Nick, "disappeared from a party. There is no evidence, from what I can surmise, which indicates that the friend is in danger." "What makes you suspect that your friend is at risk?" Knight asked, pulling Tserisa's attention back to him. Tser's words rang with truth. "Because she's not the type to wander off. She was taken away . . . forcibly." "I see," Nick said thoughtfully. "Why don't we go to my desk, and I'll take down the facts, alright?" Tser smiled gratefully and nodded. Nick looked at the other two women, who had been watching the interplay without speaking. One of them, a shortish brunette in a striking green toga, was looking at him with keen interest. He gave her his best boyish grin and her expression turned awestruck. That smile caught Caren off guard. She had been noting Nick's golden locks and general bearing which vaguely reminded her of her husband back in Louisiana. The sudden flash of white teeth in such a gregarious manner was not what she would have expected, and a sudden thrill ran through her. Jayne noticed Caren's pending meltdown and caught her by the upper arm. "Anybody got a V-8?" Jayne looked around hopefully. Nick was already moving toward his desk area with Tser in tow. Caren, pulling Jayne along, quickly followed. They made a little parade, crossing the room, drawing the interest of several officers. Knight indicated the guest chair, then sat down in his own. Pen in hand, he smiled at Tser. "I guess we should begin with a description of the potential victim," he said. Tser nodded. "About forty-four inches at the shoulder, gray and black fur and ears about . . ." she spread her hands apart a length, " . . . this long." Nick was not writing anything down. He was staring at Tser, his face blank. A nearby patrolman snickered. Knight glanced at the officer, then back to Tser, who was eyeing the patrolman with a look which would have made Lacroix cringe. "Tserisa," Knight's voice was level as he reached forward and touched the Cousin's hand. He heard Caren's sharp intake of breath and smiled inwardly. Knight's eyes caught and held Tser's. "Is your friend . . . human?" "What does that have to do with things?" Tser responded. "I'm reporting a fellow creature in danger. You of all persons," she said pointedly, "should understand that." Knight nodded. "I do understand. But," he said firmly, "we do have certain protocols. What exactly is missing?" Tser took a deep breath and puckered her lips slightly. "A donkey." From across the room, someone made a braying noise. Tser stood up sharply, intent on doing bodily harm. As she rose, Caren slipped into the guest seat and smiled dreamily at Knight. "Lava is really a desert burro," Caren explained. "She's very sweet and we think the robber took her to tote the stolen loot." "Oh, gawd," the original snickering patrolman cackled out loud. "Get it, Knight? The donkey's name is Lava. These dames are reporting a stolen donkey - a 'hot burro' named Lava." "Robber? Stolen loot?" Knight said, ignoring the officer. Nick carefully extracted his hand from Caren's and gave her a puzzled look. "Perhaps we should go back, and you ladies can tell me this story again . . . from the beginning." *********************************************************************** The taxi pulled up in front of the well-lit ATM machine and Patt hopped out, leaving the driver and Bons alone in the vehicle. The man made eye contact with Bons through the rearview. He'd been listening to his passengers and had noted that the little yellow one didn't seem *quite* as strange as when she'd first climbed into his cab. "Costume party?" he inquired, deciding it was safe to engage the woman in conversation. Bonnie shook her head. "Conversion party," she replied. "What were you wanting to change?" the driver inquired. "Not what - whom," Bons replied. Her voice took on an eager note. "And, we don't want to change him, we were just celebrating the change which already took place, almost 2000 years ago!" "Oh . . . " the driver began to worry again, realizing he might just have two Millennium cultists in his cab. Those folk could be extreme. "All set," Patt slid back into the cab and shut the door sharply. "Let's head for the Swap Meet." "Are you really sure that's where you want to go?" the driver asked, pulling back out into traffic. "It's getting kind of late, and that place isn't exactly in the safest of neighborhoods." "We appreciate your concern . . ." Patt said, patting her pocket. The driver became alert, suspecting that the woman might have a weapon. To his relief, she pulled out a pack of breath mints and popped one into her mouth. The Third Cousin leaned forward and addressed the cabbie, ". . . but we have a mission. To the Swap Meet, James." "Dirk," the driver corrected her. Patt grinned. "Patt," she offered, and then indicated to Bonnie. "Bonnie." "Charmed," Bonnie smiled graciously. "Dirk?" "Yessum?" The driver caught Bons' eyes in the rearview. "Find a ladies room, please. I feel seasick." ************************************************************************ "Okay," Nick smiled as Tser finished the story of the party, the theft and the missing Lava. "Let me see if I have this all down correctly." Knight proceeded to run down Bonnie's list of missing items that Tser had presented him. Caren sat at the side edge of the desk, head supported in her hands, elbows on desk, nodding at the mention of each article. "This is quite an inventory," Knight conceded, leaning back in his chair and placing his hands behind his head. "I can see why the perpetrator might need a pack mule to carry it out." "Right!" Tser looked around in triumph. The other officers, who had been listening and jibing, turned away and shuffled about their business. Tser turned back to Nick, her voice urgent. "Don't you see? Once they're through toting the loot, they'll have no more need for Lavalianna. She'll be a liability - evidence of their crime. There's a very good chance that she'll end up at a rendering shop." As Nick watched, tears welled up in Tser's eyes. "Everyone seems to think this is some kind of joke, my concern for a donkey, but Lava is a sweet and loyal creature and deserves better than people's jeers. She deserves our help." A quick thought of Raleigh flashed through Nick's mind. "You're right," he agreed, taking Tser's hand. "I'll speak to the head of robbery and make sure that he gives this top priority." Nick rose, and the three women stood with him. "Now," he instructed. "Go home and let the police department do its job." He fished one of his cards from his vest pocket, which Jayne quickly snatched before Caren could. The Louisianan shot the white toga-ed woman a dirty look, but said nothing. "If anything else comes up, or you think of something which might aid in our investigation, please call me." "Knight!" Nick looked over to where the Captain stood at the office door, looking intense. Knight nodded and looked back to the women, shrugging apologetically. "No rest for the wicked," he grinned, winking. Tser smiled, Caren swooned just a little, and Jayne rolled her eyes. Caren noticed Jayne's reaction to her reaction and struck a blow. "Stick a berry in it," the hazel-eyed addict warned her companion. Knight turned and walked away, leaving the women on their own. Tser, Caren and Jayne were almost to the front door when Knight passed them, pulling on his jacket as he moved swiftly to the exit. "Something big must be up, for him to be rushing like that," Jayne observed. Tser's eyes went wide with horror. "What if it has to do with Lava!? What if she's dead!!? I'm following him!" "Tser, I don't get it," Jayne protested. "Why do you think Lava is in mortal danger? Libby's probably stole everything else, and she's not into burro abuse." "But what about the robber who knocked me unconscious with his pistol, hmmm?" Tser argued. "Everyone's so sure that Libby took all of the items, but what if the Ratpacker is innocent?" Caren looked doubtful. "I don't think they make innocent Ratpackers." "See?" Tser declared urgently. "Maybe we *do* oppress Libby too much, and it's clouded our judgment. Lava could be in the hands of a truly ruthless criminal! I have to find her!" Before Caren and Jayne could catch her, Tser fled after the detective. *********************************************************************** "A Mexican place?" Patt was still berating Dirk for his choice of bathroom stops. "You took her to a Mexican restaurant, knowing what condition her stomach was in?" "Hey," Dirk answered hotly, "I didn't know you guys overdid it last night. You didn't tell me, remember?" Patt sat back in the seat, glaring at him. "Well, you should have realized it," the Cousin said. "Do you think I'd be wearing a Mountie hat, and she'd be dressed in a toga if we *hadn't* tied one on last night?" Dirk shrugged his shoulders, but didn't answer. When Bonnie had returned from the lavatory, she'd brought a carry out with her and had been happily munching taquitos and frijoles before Patt could caution her about such consumption on a queasy stomach. Well, Patt's words proved prophetic, because Bonnie had already demanded three additional pit stops, and, from the way she was clutching her stomach, number four wasn't far behind. "At this rate, we'll *never* get to the Swap Meet, much less in a timely manner," Patt crossed her arms in exasperation. Bonnie, curled up in a little yellow ball and moaned. The sound of a siren came from behind the cab, quickly overtaking and passing the vehicle on the left. A classic green Cadillac, police lights flashing, sped past. "Hey," Bonnie suddenly brightened, "wasn't that Nicky-poo?" "Wonder where Metro's finest is racing off to at the speed of light," Patt commented. "Well," Bonnie said thoughtfully, "he's going in the same direction as we are, so maybe we'll find out." After a brief moment, the women looked at each other. Dirk observed through the mirror. "Do you think . . ." Patt started excitedly, but Bonnie cut her off by shoving her hands to each side of her head. "Thinking hurts," Bonnie confirmed Dirk's suspicion, "especially at *your* output volume! But, *I* think that you might be right." Patt leaned forward, placing a hand on the backrest of the driver's seat, but Bonnie interjected before the older woman could speak. "FOLLOW THAT CADDY!!!" ************************************************************************ Dr. Natalie Lambert had just finished her lunch break. For a change, she had chosen not to eat at her desk, instead sharing Chinese with co-workers in the lounge down the hall. When she entered the examining room to retrieve some paperwork she'd left on the desk, she was startled to find a body stretched out on the examining table. Not that it was unusual for her to find a body there as such, but this appeared to be unusual circumstances. 1) There was no body bag in evidence, i.e., he had not just been brought in, and 2) the corpse was fully clothed, so she was not coming in on an examination in progress. No, Natalie observed. This looked more like someone had just brought the corpse in and "dumped" it on the exam table. The tiny hairs on Natalie's neck stiffened and she looked around the room warily. She spotted the "intruder," masked by the shadows in the alcove leading to the supply closet. Natalie tried to keep her breathing regular, but her sudden increase in heartbeat betrayed her. Lacroix stepped forward, facing the coroner. "Dr. Lambert," he said simply. Natalie quelled the instinct to flee. Her scientific curiosity would probably be the death of her eventually, but perhaps this was not that day. "Are you responsible for this?" she indicated to the body on the table, indignation making her voice rise. Lacroix didn't move. He shifted his eyes to the corpse, then back to the doctor. "I want you to examine this body and tell me the nature of the illness that he suffered," LaCroix said without emotion. "Why?" Natalie questioned, her eyes hard although she was already moving toward the examination table. "May I depend on your discretion, Dr. Lambert?" Natalie shot the senior vampire a cold look while she pulled on a pair of plastic gloves. "Do I have a choice?" This caused a thin smile to ripple the General's lips, but it quickly faded. Natalie was looking closely at the corpse's face. "Now, tell me what you *think* might be wrong, so I'll have some idea of where to start." Lacroix sighed slightly and moved to stand by Natalie, who proceeded to loosen the victim's clothing. The attire was ordinary street issue - clean, but not ironed. Natalie guessed him to be in his late twenties or early thirties. The victim was not a street person, but not an executive either. Just an average person. Just an average Joe - with twin fang marks in his neck. Natalie looked up from the body. "I'd say that death was the result of shock trauma induced by massive blood loss." Her words were chilly. His reply was just as frosty. "I am aware of his cause of death, my dear Doctor Lambert. What I need to know is, what illness was he suffering from at the time of his demise?" Natalie blinked, suddenly realizing the import of Lacroix's question. "Are you ill?" she moved to examine the pale figure closer, but Lacroix stepped back. His body language was clear. Natalie halted and straightened, watching him. The gleam in Lacroix's eyes intensified as he focused on her. "Suffice it to say that his illness may prove dangerous to the Community, should it be contagious." Natalie turned back to the body, new determination in her actions. She began prodding with gloved fingers, turning the head from side to side, lifting and examining the hands. Not looking in the vampire's direction, she asked, "What are your symptoms?" Lacroix took a deep breath, as if undecided as to what to share. Natalie looked up, eyeing him critically. "Hey, remember: you came to *me*, not vice versa." "Yes . . . I did," Lacroix conceded. Then he grew thoughtful. "Headache, nausea, some disorientation, difficulty with vision and a trembling in my limbs." Then, something happened which Natalie Lambert never dreamed she'd ever witness happening: Lacroix burped. "Excuse me?" Natalie turned around in shock. "No, excuse me," the vampire smiled. Natalie watched Lacroix for a long moment, then returned her attention to the body on the slab. Using two fingers, she pried open the corpse's mouth and sniffed. Natalie released her hold on the corpse and turned back to Lacroix. "You're drunk." Lacroix weaved slightly. "Really, doctor, you must be joking. *That* is your scientific diagnosis?" Natalie shrugged. "You cannot begin to imagine the amount of alcohol that would have to be in a mortal's body to cause *any* affect on one of my kind," Lacroix fumed. "He would have had to be *dead drunk*, literally, for the necessary concentration to be present, if such a thing was possible in the first place." "Well, from all outward appearances, this fellow seems perfectly sound," Natalie countered. "There is a strong scent of alcohol on his tongue, and your symptoms would appear to correlate with inebriation. I can't be sure, though, without doing a blood-alcohol test, and," she waved an arm over the body, "he is depleted of test material." "So, you are stating that you cannot determine the true nature of my illness?" Lacroix sneered. "Unless you'd consent to my drawing a sample from you." Lacroix raised an eyebrow. "You'd love that, wouldn't you Dr. Lambert," he said scornfully, "having me bare an arm to your warped scientific research? Another test batch to be used in your pitiful experimentation to find a cure for dear Nicholas' 'problem.'" He tottered slightly, leaning in and hissing at Natalie. "Rat's chance." Then he was gone. Natalie cast a glance at the body and sighed. she thought. Then, the thought of a less-than-in-control vampire loose on the streets of Toronto really hit Natalie. Shaking, she ran to her desk, grabbed for the phone, and quickly began punching in numbers. ************************************************************************ End O' Part Twelve A Special Word From Patt: Before you read this next episode, I'd like an opportunity to discuss something which has come to concern me greatly over the past couple of days. I live in a state which is saddened at this time by the death of an LSU student. The young man appears to have died from alcohol poisoning sustained during binge consumption taking place in a party atmosphere. Because much of the plot at the beginning of this story, August Heat, centers around what might be interpreted as a binge drinking party, I would like to say something to the readers, especially the younger ones. August Heat is fiction. The humor portrayed by the plot device of a drunken party is fiction, taking place in a virtual world where all can be set right by the stroke of a key. In the real world that we all share, consumption of alcohol, especially in large quantities, is not usually funny. More often, it is debilitating and can even lead to death. Among minors, it is also illegal. Several years ago, I was in Baton Rouge and was the victim of a drunk driving accident. My dream car was totaled, and my passenger remains disabled to this day. I was lucky - I walked away with severe seat belt bruising and glass fragments in my face and arms. The scars healed. The memories of the crash took longer. I still have moments when my skin goes clammy, remembering the vehicle heading toward us, then the spider-webbed shattering of the windshield at impact. I don't drink and drive. I do consume alcohol - in the safety of my home, when I know I have a designated driver, and in moderation. And, that is the key to survival. Moderation. I want all of you around for a very long time, reading and writing and having fun. Take care of yourself, think before you do and remember, people care about you. Patt ********************************************************************** August Heat (13/24) Event Thirteen: Pit-stops, Knee Drops and Homicide Cops With expert skill, Dirk maneuvered the cab through the late night traffic of Toronto, keeping the flashing lights of Knight's movement visible just ahead. Bonnie seemed thrilled at the speed this chase required, while Patt held onto the 'Oh Heck' bar for support, her face alternating various shades of green during the experience. "And I'm the one who ate Mexican," Bonnie remarked, looking at her less-than-well- appearing comrade. "And," Patt retorted, through clenched teeth, "you're the one who's had several pit stops to expel said Hispanic cuisine. I, on the other hand, am now just beginning to suffer from the affects of last night's overindulgence. Another factor attributable to my having the increased capacity to process said overindulgence for an increased period of time, unlike my smaller companions." Bonnie blinked thoughtfully. "Yer full of it." "You repeat yourself," Patt replied, her face assuming a lovely lime color. Bonnie looked at the Third Cousin thoughtfully for a few more moments. "Don't matter," she offered, "'cause yer still full of it." "Not for long," Patt said, her face paling as Dirk did a sudden lane change. "PIT STOP!!!" Bonnie yelled, practice having perfected just the right tone to get an immediate response from the hunky driver. Dirk immediately switched his foot to hover over the brake, then hesitated. "If we do, we'll lose the Caddy," he pointed out. Patt responded with a noise which fell somewhere between a belch and a gag. Bonnie looked at the pseudo-Cousin with concern. "If we don't stop, we may have to lose the cab," Bonnie said finally. Dirk's reaction was instant. His foot hit the brake, and he swerved to the curb. After Patt had finished hanging out the taxi door, she sat back in her seat, her color returning. "How come you found a restaurant, filling station or all-night pawn broker for Bons to use the facilities, but just threw me a curb?" Patt reproached Dirk. Dirk shrugged, pulling the cab back out into traffic, "Because *that* was a better part of town we were in before. This is the warehouse district down near the waterfront . . . not too many reputable places for a lady to run into." "Bar fight . . ." Bonnie murmured, her eyes glazing over with a memory. Patt looked at the petite redhead in horror, then leaned quickly toward Dirk. "Step on it, dude, or the Daisy might bolt." Dirk nodded in understanding and floored the gas pedal. As the black cab lurched forward, a maroon Chevrolet full-size pickup sped past, emergency lights flashing. Patt's mouth flew open and she made little bubbly sounds like a fish gasping for air when it finds itself out of water. "M-m-y truck!" she gaped. The truck swerved into the lane ahead, barely missing contact with a large beige Lincoln filled with blue-haired ladies and a "Bingo All Knight" bumper sticker tacked onto the fender. Patt gave a tiny yelp, while Bonnie yelled "FOLLOW THAT TRUCK!" *********************************************************************** The night engineer at CERK looked up in surprise as Lacroix entered through the back door. "I thought you were doing a remote from the Raven tonight," the man commented as Lacroix brushed past. At the door to the sound studio, the night show host turned to the engineer. Lacroix smiled slightly, touched an index finger to his lips, then disappeared into the booth. A gentle *click* alerted the technician that the Nightcrawler had just locked the door. ************************************************************************ Dirk had no trouble keeping the flashing emergency lights of the truck in sight. The rather ugly white camper shell on the vehicle helped also. Patt watched blankly as her prized mode of transportation reached speeds of near seventy, careening in and out of Canadian traffic. She gasped dryly every once in awhile. Bonnie, who had been shouting "WHOOOPEEE" the last few minutes, suddenly grew quiet. Patt turned to her right and looked at the redhead, who in turn was looking out her passenger side window. . . . . . at the black Jaguar pulling up beside them. Simultaneously, both women bent, hugging their ankles as they'd been told to do in flight crash instructions. "They're passing in the wrong lane," Patt observed from her bent position. "So, you want me to sit up and shout out the window, 'Hey, Jules, that's illegal!'" Bons snapped. "Don't snap at me," Patt warned, "or I'll pluck a daisy." "You and what horticulturist?" Bonnie countered. "Jag's gone," Dirk announced. Both women sat up, watching the sleek black vehicle disappear ahead of them. "Damn," they both said. "Follow the Jag?" Dirk suggested helpfully. Patt groaned and buried her head in her hands. Bonnie glowered at Dirk, until his eyes met hers in the mirror. Seeing her perturbation, Dirk asked, "You all still want to go to the Swap Meet?" Patt groaned again, but Bons nodded. Dirk's eyes wrinkled in a grin. "Hold on, then. I know a shortcut." Two corners later, Dirk whipped the cab into an alley and pressed the gas pedal flush. Two cats screeched as the black vehicle flew by, but the only panic evident was that on Patt's face. She saw a brick wall looming swiftly up ahead, with no apparent directional alternatives. "B-B-Brick," Patt managed to gurgle as she began to see mortar. Bonnie patted her arm affectionately. "He's not here, Cuz', but we're catchin' up to him." Just as the wall became a definite impact possibility, Dirk swerved the cab to the right, passing through a narrow space which would have made Patt's hips take pause. The vehicle did graze a metal trash can, sending the container's lid flying. The circular object cleared a dumpster and a fence, landing at the feet of a passing donkey. Lava reared. While Libby held on to her halter, trying to calm the burro, Screed ducked and thrust his arms over his head in a protective manner. "De're bombin' us, Lib-mate, tryin' tew get de ratsie. Makin' a run fer it, Aye am!" Dirk's right foot changed position, pushing the brake down hard. The cab screeched to a halt behind a nondescript building, brightly lit from inside. "The Largest All-Night-Swap-Meet in Toronto," Dirk announced proudly. "Back door." ************************************************************************ Nick politely waded through the worried crowd, caught sight of a co-worker questioning the bystanders, and called for his attention. "Sergeant Pulte?" The young officer glanced up and nodded in recognition. He jotted one final thought into his notepad, then excused himself from the swapper to approach the Homicide detective. "Yes, Detective Knight?" "Have you found anyone who saw anything?" Nick asked. "I've found that the victim spoke to a couple people who run booths here, trying to sell them a statue. It wasn't with the body. I've got their names here, but there's another vendor here who says she saw the victim actually make a swap for the object." The men ducked under a cordon of crime scene tape as Nick replied, "I'd like to talk to them. Can you bring them here?" "Certainly. Our men haven't allowed anyone to leave the hall since we arrived on scene," Pulte mentioned. "Good." Nick let the officer go about his duties, then weaved between forensic techs toward a rack of vintage clothing. His face fell slightly as he noticed a medical examiner other than Natalie standing over the body. Nick soon followed his disappointment with a mental shrug. After all, Nat couldn't work on every homicide in the city of Toronto. She had to eat and sleep, too. The victim still lay as she had originally fallen, face down into a pile of clothing on the floor, comic books scattered around her legs. A slender, strawberry blonde stalked in a predatory circle about the corpse snapping crime scene photos. She bent, zoomed, and focused, then let out an exclamation, "Ooo! Our lady had a copy of DragonRoc #12 featuring `Mighty Tyke!' Luck-y!" The aged medical examiner sniffed haughtily. "Does she look lucky to you, Miss Donovan?" The photographer twisted her lips. "Not particularly," she admitted, then followed up insistently, "but it's still a raging comic!" The examiner finally acknowledged Nick's presence with a smug look, announcing, "It may be, but I suspect Detective Knight will be more interested to hear that *I* found a first edition copy of `Moby Dick' by the victim's right hip!" Nick gave him a non-committal stare. Schanke's nickname for Doctor Garrett Minton was `Minty,' as a token of the deep love they would share when hell froze over. Nick didn't particularly like the man, either. Dr. Minton didn't work with people as much as he worked over them. "So you think this murder wasn't motivated by robbery?" "No, I don't," Minty pronounced. "Why leave the book behind? While not in mint condition, it's still Melville memorabilia and worth a pretty penny!" The elderly man frowned in consternation as he walked around the body and found the photographer crouched in his way taking close-ups. "Out of my way, girl!" he snapped. Nick frowned, Donovan stuck her tongue out at Dr. Minton's back, but the old man was too enmeshed in sharing his own opinion to notice their reactions. "No, the victim was kneeling when she was shot in the head. There's no exit wound, so the caliber was probably small, like a .22. Someone should have heard normal gun report, even in this crowd. The killer must have used a silencer to muffle the sound." "You don't believe this was the work of an amateur?" Nick asked politely. "Haven't you been listening? No, I don't," Minty huffed. "What about these red marks on her face?" Donovan piped up as she leaned in for a picture of the wounds in question. The aged examiner's nostrils flared. "You, young lady, are paid to take photographs, not ask impertinent questions." "What about the red marks on her face? What caused them?" Nick repeated defiantly. Impertinent questions were part of his job, and every once in a while they were fun to pose. Doctor Minton's lips pursed in a lemon juice kiss as he picked up his medical bag. "I don't know. Any number of things, really. Doctor Lambert can figure it out back at the morgue." "You aren't working the rest of this case?" Nick earnestly tried to look disappointed. Minty raised his chin pompously. "I am a supervisor, as befits my vast experience. I'm only here because Doctor Lambert was on a dinner break. Apparently working for the provincial government is not equivalent to residing in a Turkish prison, only close." The examiner grumbled about budget cuts as he walked away. Donovan began to pack up her gear as well, as Nick studied the victim. "I am *not* impertinent," she insisted. Her expression became calculating as she gestured to the books on the floor. "Do you think anyone would mind if I `borrowed' the copy of `Mighty Tyke'?" "It's police evidence," Nick reprimanded firmly. Donovan casually slung her camera bag over her shoulder. "It was worth a shot." Nick glanced up, a teasing twist to his mouth. "And that's why you're impertinent." "Grrr," she laughed. "Hey! Are you waiting for Sergeant Pulte to stand on the other side of the yellow tape while wiggling his arms in your direction as he talks to a frantic gal with a buzz-cut in a black toga? `Cause he's doing it." The vampire detective looked in the direction the crime scene photographer pointed and saw that the young sergeant was valiantly attempting to placate Tserisa. He sighed, instructed forensics to hold off moving anything, then headed her way. "Tser." Nick delivered the syllable with a generous amount of irritation. *********************************************************************** As Jules pulled the Jaguar up in front of the Swap Meet hall, she noticed two things. First, she noticed the flashing lights of police and ambulance vehicles, pretty much barring the entrance. Second, she noticed a maroon truck with a distinctively ugly white camper shell. "I thought I told them to take a cab," Jules murmured, stepping out of the driver's side of the Jag while Annie climbed out of the right. While her mind was concentrating on taking in the facts as presented to her, a non-descript little man walked up and, doffing his hat, inquired, "Valet for you, lady?" "Hmmmmmm," Jules said absently, dropping the keys into his hand. Without a backwards look, she headed toward the Swap Meet entrance, Annie at her heels. A young police officer tried to prevent Jules from entering the building, but the priestess gave him a withering look and just brushed past. Annie followed in Jules' wake, smiling and saying, "I'm with the band." Inside, the occupants were milling around, speaking in hushed tones. Obviously, a crime had been committed. From the vantage point of her high heels, Jules looked around the premises, searching for Patt and Bons so as to find out what had occurred. Then, Jules spotted Nick. "Damn," the priestess said. She ducked down and pulled Annie with her. "Wha . . .?" Annie started to speak, but Jules muffled the NunkMom with a hand pressed to the other woman's mouth. "Knight," Jules whispered, gently releasing Annie. "I know it's night, Jules," Annie huffed. "That's why they call it an 'All-Night' swap meet." Jules shook her head. "Wrong Knight, dear." She grasped Annie's head and twisted it so that the NunkMom could see the homicide detective. "Nicholas B. Knight." "Ohhhhhhh," Annie breathed, ducking down further. "This is not good." "No," Jules whispered thoughtfully, "because if Knight is here, then it means murder." "But we haven't done anything!" Annie protested softly. "I know, in the past, we've done our share of Nick-picking, but *we're* the victims this time." Jules shook her head. "No, Annie. I mean, if Knight is here, then a murder has been committed, and he's here to *investigate* it." A sudden thought occurred to them both, and they looked at each other with alarm. "You don't think it might be Patt or Bons, do you?" Annie whispered harshly. "I know that I feel like killing them myself sometimes." "There's no way of telling," Jules answered, "without getting closer. Come on." Keeping low, Jules moved past a table laden with ceramic dogs and cows. Annie couldn't help pausing to look at a brightly painted Holstein statuette, so Jules had to go back and pull her away. They moved stealthily past the trading card exhibit and the natural foods booth. "Having trouble with your back?" the nutritional saleswoman looked down at Jules and Annie as they crab-walked by. "I might have something to help." Annie was intrigued, so she sat up to peek at the nutritionist's wares. "Hmm. Maybe Libby could use this. Oh, I hope she remembers to eat!" Jules sighed and dragged Annie away from the table. "We can come back later. Right now, let's concentrate on skullduggery." The women continued their low-altitude forward motion and were almost within hearing distance of the core of the investigation, when a black toga-ed figure rushed past. Jules watched the passer-by in dismay. "What's Tser doing here?" Annie was tugging at Jules' dress, demanding an answer. "Don't hang on to the sequins, dear," Jules said sharply. "This outfit cost too much for you to use it as a jungle gym." She turned back to keep sight of the buzz-cut addict, but dared not advance further for fear of being noticed. Her gown *was* eye-catching. After a moment, Annie nudged Jules. "So, what's happening?" "Can't tell for sure," Jules said, annoyance in her voice, "but it appears that Tserisa is conversing with Detective Knight." Actually, that was a mild description. Upon Tser's frantically rushing up to the crime scene, a young uniformed man had endeavored to prevent her from crossing the yellow-taped boundary. Seeing the buzz-cutted addict raising a fuss, Nick had approached her with a very stern expression. Tser appeared very upset, and made another desperate attempt to weave into the cordoned-off area. The vampire detective caught the woman and held her for a few moments, speaking calmly to her. Tser had then broken from Knight and was now obviously confronting him, the sound of her voice getting louder as her arms grew more animated. "Hmmmmmmm," Jules said thoughtfully. "What?" Annie repeated, because by now she could hear snatches of Tser's voice. "I have no idea," Jules admitted finally. "We have to risk getting closer." Jules moved out in commando fashion, knees bent as she scuttled forward. Noting that Nick was looking in the opposite direction, the priestess scooted across the open isle, taking cover behind a large display of framed prints and rubber stamps. Annie was still on the other side of the open walk, glancing Nick's way and waiting for an opportunity. "Can I help you, Miss?" Annie slowly looked up into the face of a Metro patrolman. Unlike the rookie at the Swap Meet entrance, this was a seasoned officer sporting sergeant's stripes - the policeman who had first waylaid Tser. Annie sighed and was about to stand up when inspiration inspired. She looked back down to the floor and began patting the concrete carefully. "Lost a contact," she offered, squinting back up at the policeman. "I see," the officer's stern look immediately softened and he stooped as if to help Annie in her search. "Soft or hard lens?" "Hard, definitely hard," Annie nodded, her thick brown curls bouncing attractively. The officer smiled, teeth gleaming from under his mustache. Sergeant Pulte began a tentative search of the floor, his hand moving ever closer to Annie's. From across the isle, Jules stood fuming. Jules thought bitterly, remembering Annie's liaison with the buff slave. "I WILL NOT GO HOME LIKE A GOOD GIRL AS LONG AS LAVA IS IN DANGER!" Tser's angry voice brought Jules' attention back to the purpose at hand. She moved quickly around the display and darted toward a long row of clothing racks, which would put her within easy hearing range. With apologies to Annie, the sergeant excused himself from the NunkMommy's side and went forward to see if his assistance was needed by the detective. Annie got up, dashed across the isle and dove into the apparel, following the priestess. Jules and Annie settled down to a nice bit of eavesdropping. ************************************************************************ At the rear of the Swap Meet entrance, Patt rattled a third window, but the result was the same. Locked. Irritation increasing, Patt moved to the fourth, and last, window, and gave the assembly a tug. It wouldn't budge. "Well, dropping us back here was a big help," Patt directed her comment at the taxi driver, giving Dirk a harsh look. "Hey," Bonnie said defensively, "don't look at Dirk so mean. He did his best!" "Huhhhh?" Patt looked questioningly at the redhead. Bonnie nodded. "He got us to the swap meet and avoided Annie and Jules, so they don't know that we were late getting here." "And, like, it's my fault we're late," Patt gave the window another sharp pull and was rewarded by a low creak, but no opening. "If you hadn't done `la cucaracha' all the way over here, we'd have been in there to greet them." "Hey," Bons protested, "I wasn't the only one tossing up kibble, if you'll recall." Patt turned sharply and held up her index finger. "Once," she snapped. "I got sick once." The Third Cousin then extended three more digits to join the first. "You were hugging the porcelain at least . . . quatro, senorita." "Hummmph," Bonnie retorted. "That's Senora, to you." She turned sharply and walked to the corner of the building. She tentatively peaked around the corner, noting the flickering of the emergency vehicle lights. "They're still out there," she announced. "And they'll probably 'stay' out there for sometime, if some kind of police investigation is underway. And, if this is where Nick Knight was heading, it's a murder investigation, to boot." Patt looked up and sighed. The building was a two story structure and, therefore, had another set of four windows above the four she'd tried, but reaching them appeared to be an impossibility. Until the light bulb went on. It was a 100-watt, her idea was so bright. "Bons . . ." Patt said slowly. "What . . .?" Bonnie returned, just as slowly, not liking the tone in the older woman's voice. "What kind of shoes are you wearing?" Patt said sweetly. "Are they designed for climbing?" *********************************************************************** End O' Part Thirteen Disclaimer: Still stolen. We're working day and night, though, to bring you fanfic disclaimer satisfaction in the future. We know how much everyone likes to be constantly reminded that they don't own any of these characters and don't have any rights to them whatsoever. :D ********************************************************************* August Heat (14/24) Event Fourteen: The Walls (And Clothesracks) Have Ears Patt stood by the back entrance of the Largest All-Night Swap Meet in Toronto building. She had her arms in the air, making careful "come on back" motions as Dirk continued to ease the taxi in reverse. When he had it positioned *just so*, Patt pressed both palms forward and he geared to 'Park.' "Platform," Patt indicated to the cab proudly as Dirk exited the vehicle and walked up to stand by Bonnie's side. The little scribe looked at the other woman quizzically. "I think she wants you to hop up on the hood of the cab and see if that window is open," Dirk said, trying to be helpful again. Bonnie glowered at him, but not too hard. "What if it's locked?" Bons said. "What if it isn't?" Patt replied. "What if it is?" Bonnie refused to give in so easily. Patt sighed. "Then we'll move the car to another window and try again . unless you just want to go around to the front and face Jules and Annie?" Patt narrowed her eyes knowingly at the redhead. Bonnie chewed her bottom lip a minute, thinking of the worst thing that the head honchos of Nunkiesdom could do to them. The picture wasn't a pretty one, and Bons shuddered. She looked back at Patt. "How come I have to be the one to go up there?" "Two reasons," Patt responded. Then she clapped a hand to each of her hips, patting the ample flesh with a grin. Resigned, Bonnie turned to Dirk and smiled brightly. "Give me a lift up, won't you?" Dirk had Bons around the waist and airborne before the woman could curl her toes in her non-sensible shoes. They fell off almost immediately, hitting the ground with a soft clatter. Bonnie looked down in surprise, mainly because they'd stayed on her feet for as long as they had. From the hood, Dirk gave Bons a hand to the roof of the car. She leaned against the building with one hand and reached for the window with the other. Even with the platform, her fingers barely touched the bottom sill. "Bummer," she muttered. Like magic, Dirk was suddenly standing beside her. With a dashing smile, he bent down, cupping his hands to make a stirrup. Daintily, Bons placed her bare foot in his palms and laid a feminine hand on his shoulder for support. "Thank you, gallant Sir," Bonnie beamed down at her dark hero. Patt thought from the ground. Once erect, Bonnie reached for the window and gently pulled at the latch. It turned slightly, but appeared stuck. Bonnie braced herself carefully with her knees pressed to the wall, and, using both hands, pulled the latch harder. With a heavy creek of protesting metal, the window holder swung free. "It's open!" Bonnie called down in delight. "Great!" Patt called up to her. "Now crawl inside, come down, and let us in through the back door." The petite addict looked back at the small opening. She was just eye level with the lower pane and wasn't able to see inside. "I don't feel very comfortable about this," Bons called back to Patt. "Why don't you knock on the back door, and maybe someone will come?" "Yea, like the police," Patt reminded her. "This is a stealth operation, Scribe. Now, hop on in there." Bons looked down at Dirk and smiled again. "Can you get me a little higher, Dirk?" "I'll take you as high as you'd like, Miss Daisy," Dirk grinned up at her, his smile dazzlingly wicked. For just a moment, a memory of North Carolina tugged at the Scribe's mind, but she quickly filed it away for future reference. She smiled back at Dirk. "Just a few inches will do me this time, darlin'." "Keep it PG up there," Patt scowled from the ground. Dirk grasped Bons' ankles and lifted her straight up. Bonnie let out a `WooWoo!' sound, then suddenly had clear access to the view inside the window. She saw an attic room full of boxes and junk, but void of people. "Looks safe enough," the east coaster called down to the Louisianan. "I'll go in for a look- see, okay?" "That was the plan," Patt growled up at Bons. Bonnie gave her ground-bound buddy a little wave then turned and pushed open the window. She grasped the sides of the sill with her hands, gave Dirk a nod and he gave an upward thrust. Bons toppled through the window. From the other side, a soft *thud*, an *Ommph!*, then a metallic clatter could be heard. Dirk cringed slightly, then looked down at Patt sheepishly. "I gave too much." "At least you didn't *take,*" Patt said earnestly. "Come on down and move the cab, so we can get in the door when she opens it." A few minutes later, the backdoor scraped open and Bons peered out. When Patt put her hand on the door to swing it open further, Bons held it tight. "What's the password?" Bonnie hissed, mischief in her eyes. "Now's not the time, Bons," Patt warned, tugging at the door. Bonnie held it fast. "Password." "Get out of my face, or I'll hurt you." "Bzzzzzztttt! Wrong answer. Go to the end of the line. Next!" Dirk stepped forward, shouldering Patt aside with a knowing look and sporting a grin that would liquefy a rock. "Hi there," Bons said, looking out at the driver. "Hi," Dirk cooed back, hunkily. "Gag a maggot," Patt groaned as she rolled her eyes. "Password?" Bonnie asked, seductively. "Daisy chain," Dirk replied smoothly. "How'd you know?" Bonnie purred. "Lucky guess," Dirk said huskily. "ENOUGH ALREADY!!" Patt shouted. "This is Libby's birthday fantasy, not an exercise in libido stimulation for the Flower Child. Let's get this show on the road, okay!? Before the Millennium arrives, if you don't mind." Patt gave Dirk's back a hard shove, and he stumbled through the door. Steering Bonnie in front of him, Dirk came to a stop at the far wall, the yellow clad addict pinned to his chest. Their eyes met. Music played. Go Tar Heels. Patt stomped through the door and grabbed Bons' arm, pulling her out from under Dirk's hold. "Which way to the main meeting room?" she whispered hoarsely. With a flip of her red hair, Bonnie indicated to a large wooden door at the far end of the access way. Careful to keep the Scribe in front of her, Patt moved toward the doorway, Dirk in tow. The wooden door had a small window. Up high. As Dirk was tallest of the three by almost a foot, Patt asked him to have a look through. "What do you see?" she asked as he gazed through the crusted glass. "People and objects," Dirk replied. "Police?" Patt inquired. Dirk nodded. "Anyone looking our way?" Bonnie chimed in. Dirk shook his head "no." "Okay, let's go in and check it out," Patt said. With a final searching look at Bons and Dirk, Patt pushed the door open and led the way in the Meet. ************************************************************************ "Alright," Nick told Tser firmly. "Don't go home. Worry yourself sick about your burro, even though Toronto's finest are doing everything within their power to return Lava to you, safe and sound, but don't do it here. There is no burro on these premises. There is, however, a murder victim, one who deserves a thorough and earnest investigation into the cause of her death. Your outbursts are hindering that work. Do you understand?" Tser gulped back a sob. "I'm sorry. I really am. It's just that Lava means so much to me, and I'm very worried." "Do you think we should go get her?" Annie whispered to Jules from their hiding nook near the cordoned off crime scene. The priestess hushed the NunkMom with a harsh look, then shook her head "no." "Knight seems to have the matter in hand," Jules' voice was barely audible. "And, if all else fails, he can probably just whammy Tser into going home. I don't think she's a resistor/er." "We'll have to work on her remedial training, then," Annie whispered thoughtfully to herself. Then she sighed, "But then again, sometimes it's nice not to resist." "You should know," Jules hissed back. "Now hush." Nick was patting Tser on the shoulder, promising, "The moment I hear anything about your donkey, I'll make sure you know. I'll even offer a reward, if you like." He nodded toward the young sergeant now standing at Tser's side. "Let Sergeant Pulte escort you from the building, and remember: think positive. I have a feeling things will work out." Tser smiled weakly. This was Nick Knight, eternal optimist, speaking. How many times had he had his happy expectations dashed to a pulp? Way too many for her to be consoled by his intuition in this circumstance. She thanked him softly anyway. Pulte directed Nick's attention toward two women and a man standing just behind him before leading the now quiet Tser away. "I have those witnesses you wanted to speak with right here, Detective. The victim tried to sell a statue to the first two vendors, but they weren't interested - apparently it looked like a piece of junk. The third vendor says she witnessed the victim successfully swap the object." "What was it a statue of?" The young sergeant was already out of the range of Nick's voice and did not respond. The witness in a muumuu, however, spoke out in vigorous dismay at his question, clutching at her generous, flowered chest. "My poor sweet boy! I couldn't believe it when I saw him give that woman good money for such a thing! Screed is such an innocent - someone was bound to take advantage of him!" Nick made a choking sound, then turned to the woman with foreboding, "Did you say.Screed?" From their hiding place within the castoff apparel, Jules and Annie had been listening attentively to the detective's conversation with Tser. Now, at the mention of the carouche's name, both stifled a small gasp and looked at each other. "Yes, Screed!" the woman fluttered her eyelashes, clapping her hands together enthusiastically. "He comes in here all the time - so polite - he's such a gentleman!" *********************************************************************** Patt tentatively peeked out from behind the slightly ajar door which led to the main hall of The Largest All-Night Swap Meet in Toronto. As she paused, the red-haired head of Bonnie appeared beneath Patt's, while the dark-haired head of Dirk appeared above. They made quite a handsome little totem pole. "See anything interesting?" Bon's inquired, looking up at Patt. "Nope, just junk. Anything?" Patt looked up at Dirk. He shook his head. Pall pulled back into the storeroom, followed by the others. The mature addict straightened her shoulders, assumed command and said, "Let's go." As stealthily as two addicts and a cab driver could, the trio moved into the main hall. Luckily, the crime scene appeared to be near the front of the building, and they were able to enter the patron traffic with little notice. Bons, Patt and Dirk made their way along the crowded isles without incident, except for a brightly colored Macaw which decided that Bonnie's brightly colored toga translated into a mating possibility. The bird screeched and flapped its wings, hopping from its perch to the Scribe's shoulder. It turned itself almost upside down, quirkily looking into Bon's face. Then, using its beak, the Macaw took a jab at a daisy embroidered on the bosom of Bonnie's dress. "Hey," Dirk said angrily, swatting at the tropical bird. "Back off. I saw it first." "You speciesist," Patt growled at Dirk as the bird fluttered away. Bonnie just tittered. They continued moving up the walkway, trying to conceal themselves in the milling crowd. Finally, they reached a point where going further would expose them to possible discovery. They halted. "What now?" Bonnie inquired as Patt tried to look further ahead while concealing herself behind a bookcase. Patt shrugged. "I'm open for suggestions, Bons? Want to crawl?" "How about a skylight view?" Dirk suggested. Both women looked up at him inquiringly. Dirk motioned for them to follow, which they did. Dirk stopped behind a massive sideboard which must have extended upward eight feet. He quickly knelt to his knees before Bonnie. Bonnie's eyes flew open wide. "Uhhhhh, I appreciate the offer, Dirk, but . . . we need to talk!" Dirk grinned. "Talk later, climb now." "Huhhhhh?" "Piggy back," Dirk patted his shoulder encouragingly. "Climb aboard." "Ohhhhhhhh," Patt and Bons bought a klew. Smiling shyly, Bons tucked her toga skirt between her legs and swung one of her limbs around Dirk's neck. She scooted into position, with one leg over each his shoulders. Placing his hands firmly on each of Bons' upper thighs, Dirk thrust upward. "WOOHOOOO!" Bons tried to stifle the whoop of ecstasy which escaped her lips, but it was out and gone before she had a chance to catch her breath. Giving a half turn, Dirk positioned the Scribe so that she had a clear view over the sideboard top of the entire Swap Meet floor space. "What you see, Bons?" Patt squinted up at Bonnie's radiant face. Bonnie began taking inventory and passing the information down. "I see about ten or so police officers and EMT's in uniform. I see Nicky-poo, talking with a group of folk over near the yellow ribbon area. I see a taffy booth." "Taffy?!" Dirk said greedily, giving the Scribe a little bump-up motion. Bonnie gasped with delight, burying her fingers in his thick hair. "I'll make a mental note of its location for future reference, okay?" Bons looked down. Dirk grinned and nodded. "Okay, okay - what else do you see?" Patt really was trying to keep the group focused, but it wasn't easy. Bonnie gave the area ahead a panoramic look-see. "I see booths, booths and more booths. I see the ladies room," Bonnie looked down at Patt hopefully, but Patt shook her head. "Any sign of Libby?" Patt asked. Bons took a quick look around and replied negatively. "Any sign of Jules or Annie?" Patt inquired. Bons shook her head, then turned back to take another look. She moved her head slowly from left to right, her eyes darting. Then holding. Bonnie leaned forward for a better look, pressing her abdomen against the back of Dirk's head. He grinned and gave her another little jump. "Hey, hold still!" Bonnie instructed him, grasping the driver's right ear and giving it a playful twist. He gave her a mock wince of pain, then a luminous smile. "What is it?" Patt asked. Focus, focus. "I'm not sure," Bons said as she frowned in concentration, "but I think it might be Jules and Annie. I just saw a flash of turquoise sequins over in the recycled clothing area." Another thought hit the Scribe, and she looked down at Patt. "Unless you think Jules would have sold the dress?" "No way," Patt replied. "If you saw Jules' dress, then I gaar-run-tee that the High Priestess was in it. Climb down off Mr. Mountain, there, and let's go say hello." As Patt led the little party toward the front of the Meet hall, she turned slightly and warned Bonnie, "Now remember, this is our story . . ." ********************************************************************** At Maybelline's words regarding an individual named Screed, Nick's expression was befuddled. "Could you describe this.gentleman...for me, Miss.?" "Maybelline! Ooo! You're polite, too!" The woman gave Nick a lusty smile. "Screed's about yay tall," Maybelline gestured with a hand, "has the prettiest green eyes, and the nicest smooth head! Not a hair to be found! Unfortunately, he usually wears an aviator cap.Probably to keep the ladies at bay!" she confided knowingly. "Of course," Nick responded with a bewildered grin. "And tonight, he had on a lovely Canadian Mountie uniform - he just looked so dapper and handsome! You can't imagine!" Maybelline insisted. "I'm having trouble," Nick willingly assured the woman. "So Screed had this book he wanted to sell," she continued, "Gorgeous! Gorgeous, I tell you!" Nick appeared bemused. "Screed?" Maybelline guffawed. "No, the book! The cover was rich, red Corinthian leather, with little rosebuds tooled along the spine." A sudden, gasping sound arose from a nearby rack of clothing. The muumuu-ed woman paused long enough to peer curiously at the seemingly vocal apparel, then dove back into her description. "The end pages were genuine gold leaf - you don't see that much anymore. The book was fairly large in size, you know, big enough to make a healthy thumping noise when you set it down. It was some kind of how-to guide, I think. I wasn't familiar with the title.'Fancy Manual' something." Another sound came from the clothes rack, this time an indignant squeal. "What does this book have to do with the murder victim?" Nick asked, trying to keep her narration on track. "I'm getting to that!" Maybelline promised. "You see, Screed wanted to sell me the book, but it was obviously worth more money than I had on hand, and I refused to cheat the sweet boy. I offered him fifty dollars in twooneys for his Mountie jacket, instead. Lots of people like a Mountie costume - there's just something about red serge." The woman sighed dreamily. "Go on." Nick prodded. "And then I saw Screed give the coins to that woman," Maybelline said as she gestured in the direction of the victim's body, "for the statue! Not just the money, but the lovely book and some comics, too! Even stranger, he added his pants and the shirt off his back to the deal - Screed must have really wanted that statue badly." A concerned look clouded the detective's features. "When did this occur in relation to the time her body was discovered?" "About half an hour before," the woman guessed. "She was a mousy-looking female. It was a real shock to see her dead so soon afterward. On TV, only the glamorous people are murdered." Sergeant Pulte had returned from his escort duty, and Nick waved him over. "Have you searched for the red leather book and the money the victim may have been carrying?" he asked the officer. Pulte nodded. "We haven't found the book anywhere, and these are the only three people admitting to seeing or talking with the victim before her body was found. If she spent any money or sold the book to someone, they're either lying or not in the building." "Or the killer took them," Nick murmured under his breath. "But why leave the first edition Melville behind if you're already willing to take the fifty dollars and another book?" "Maybe they grabbed the wrong book accidentally," Pulte suggested, then grinned. "Or maybe the killer was a disgruntled sailor with a thing against white whales." Nick didn't laugh. Instead he was planning a visit to Screed in the immediate future. .As was a certain High Priestess. Annie found herself having to bodily hold Jules in place. Fumes appeared to emanate from the priestess' ears, her face twisted in a mask of pure fury. "The 'fancy manual'?" Jules snarled in a deep whisper. Her voice rose an octave. "The *FANCY* MANUAL?!! That is a *sacred tome* she's jabbering about!" "Shushhhhh," Annie tried to quiet the copper-haired woman, but Jules shook her off. "Don't you 'shuuush' me, Evelyn Ann Raper!" Jules was gasping for air, her anger was so intense. "You can't tell me that you're not just as ticked off right now as I am!" "Yes, I'm ticked off, Jules," Annie whispered, placing her hands on Jules' shoulders. "In fact, the idea of Screed's hands on the Manual . . ." The priestess squealed again. Behind the women, in a booth of old 45 RPM records and yellowing albums, a chubby man snickered. Jules shot him a heated look, but the man didn't seem to notice. The priestess returned her attention to the NunkMom. "What would that Rat-eater want the Nunkies Fantasy Manual for anyway? Nesting material? Disposable placemats?! A hanky?!! Grrrrrrrrrr!!!" Jules release a very vampire- esque growl. Annie shuddered. "I doubt if he uses one, dear," she said placatingly. "No, I figure he just took it because it was . . . pretty." Annie shrugged. "Well," Jules said, returning her attention to the interrogation, "if I ever get my hands on the vermin, I'll 'pretty' him!" "What about the statue?" Maybelline was demanding insistently. "You wanted me to tell you about the statue, didn't you?" "Yes," Nick affirmed. "Can you describe it for me?" "You should let me do that," the male witness interrupted. "Maybelline only saw it from a distance. The lady actually tried to sell the crap statue to me." Maybelline put her hands on her hips, indignant at the other vendor's slur against her observatory skills. "I can see well enough to know a giant model of a rat when I see one!" Nick suddenly became intent. "It was a statue of a rat?" The man nodded. "Fairly big and as green as pistachio pudding. I've never seen so much tarnished copper in one lump before. I mean, who would pay good money for a big rodent?" "Did it have any ornamentation?" Nick asked urgently. "Any gemstones?" The man shrugged. "It had some rhinestone-y and sapphire-like bits for its eyes and tail. I don't do stones, but the thing was so tacky - there's no way they were worth a dime." Nick's thoughts had already slipped away. he mused to himself. ********************************************************************** End O' Part Fourteen ****Libby's Disclaimer Space**** Them mean ol' Nunkies Addicts won't let me get no sneak-peek at this 'ere story seein' az it is fer me b'day. 'Owever, there ain't NOONE drivin' drunk in it. (An' note fer me health reasons, I don't drink, even in this virtual reality.) See, drivin' ain't a right, it iz a privi-a- ledge type thing. Yew should show respons-i-bility an' only drive when yews ain't im- paired by drugs or drink or worries. Princess Di's driver wuz drunk - there wuz udder factors involved, but iffen the driver hadn't been drinkin, a tragedy might 'ave been avoided an' two young men might still 'ave their luvin' Mum. An' it ain't jest drink, but worries o' any kind wot keeps yew from drivin' well. Ol' Lib 'as been in two car wrecks where udder drivers weren't payin' no mind an' now she's in constant pain in 'er back. Pain so bad she sum-times kin't write. So show responsibility. Drink iffen yew wont, ain't nuthin' wrong wit a bit o' funsies if yewr o' legal age, but don't drive and don't drink in excess. Dew it fer me, if not fer yourself. Okay? --Libby (Who ain't ready tew give back the real disclaimer 'til the Nunkies types quit pickin' on 'er) Missclaimer: Bons made the flashback accurate (considering she hasn't read much concerning what she's talking about). Her little Tassie maps really did mark a town named 'Hastings,' and that pretty much caused this brickload o' trouble. *********************************************************************** August Heat (15A/24) Event Fifteen A: Flashback Fever 1852, Van Dieman's Land (Tasmania) Nicholas hiked through the brush toward the rendezvous point that he'd arranged with Aristotle. It was a small settlement, not much more than a collection of buildings, that the newer residents referred to as `Hastings.' The aborigines had a different name for it, but Nick hadn't quite mastered their native tongue well enough to think of the area in a different way. Suddenly, the sounds of angry shouts and fighting arose from nearby. Nicholas stilled, surveyed his surroundings intently, then pushed through a bank of bushes in the direction of the commotion. He quickly picked out a collection of figures struggling by firelight about fifty meters ahead. There were two men of darker complexion and native dress fending off half a dozen hardened-looking colonists. Of the two men being attacked, only one seemed to be concentrating on the battle at hand, while the other guarded a large, oblong object wrapped in rugged cloth. Nicholas doubted that these citizens attacking the aborigines were the type who had been lured to this continent with promises of land and gold claims. They were a rough-looking lot, more like the sort of criminal that had been transported across the sea in lieu of a jail sentence until just recently. The number of dangerous Vandemonians spreading south from Port Arthur and through the island was legion. They were called bushrangers, bandits out to steal anything of value and likely to kill anyone who stood in their way. Like the highwaymen of their native England, some became surrounded with romantic legends, but most were common thieves and murderers, destined to die in the same violent manner in which they lived. Whatever it contained, these bushrangers appeared dedicated to taking the material- bound package which the aboriginal men protected, even if it meant bloodshed. Two thieves stood by with torches, while two more swiped at the free-handed native with knives. A fifth man struggled with the fellow carrying the object and tried to restrain the native for his partner's attack. Instead of punching or stabbing his victim, the partner reached into his coat and freed a pistol. Nicholas prepared to intercept the sixth bandit's shot, but a flash of movement from behind the group of men signaled that another vampire had beat him to the rescue. Aristotle seized the gunslinger, twisting his neck with a harsh snap. Nicholas hung back to watch as his associate grabbed a second would-be thief and threw him overhead. While Aristotle's back was turned, one of the bandits, armed with a knife, grabbed the vampire from behind. The bushranger grunted in satisfaction as he repeatedly stabbed Aristotle in the shoulders, then stomach. Nicholas leaned against a tree, grinning with amusement as he waited for stunned expressions to appear on the bandits' faces when they observed Aristotle turn around, unfazed by the attack. The native who held the blanketed prize had backed away from the fray, but his companion continued to fight. The aborigine managed to disarm a third attacker, taking his blade weapon and knocking the bushranger unconscious by striking him with the hilt. Aristotle, just as Nicholas had expected, had completely astounded the remaining three bandits with his show of invincibility. They immediately transformed from aggressors bent on destruction into men reacting out of fear. Aristotle struck the closest thief with a fist, knocking him to the ground. As the vampire leaned down to drag his prey to his feet, one of the remaining bushrangers took an unexpected advantage. The bandit was one of the two who carried a torch, and he swung out, hitting Aristotle with the fiery end. The vampire screamed in agony as the flame touched his skin, igniting him as though he was made of dry brush. Seeing that Aristotle was in peril, Nicholas sprang into action. He flew forward with a growl, rapidly slamming the remaining pair of thieves aside. With a hiss, the vampire then turned to the aborigine guarding the swaddled object. "That cloth! Give it to me!" The native numbly complied, quickly unwrapping the thick length of wool from his treasure and offering it to the man with demon eyes. Aristotle was flailing in the dirt, in terrible pain, as his body burned. Nicholas covered him with the blanket, then wrapped his arms about the other vampire. Using his own weight combined with the tight weave of the fabric, Nicholas managed to smother the flames that threatened to char Aristotle into ashes. As the injured vampire quieted, Nicholas watched him with concern. "Can you stand, Aristotle?" One of the bandits struggled awake, then began to crawl to freedom. Aristotle reared up like a wild animal and tackled the mortal, drinking from him as though he was starving. "I'll interpret that as a `yes,' " Nicholas murmured, before turning his attention to the two native men who remained diligently off to the side, calmly observing these events. "Aren't you afraid of us? You may be in more danger from myself and my friend than the men who tried to rob you." The fighter spoke in his native language, and Nicholas struggled to translate, gaining only words like `dead,' `protect' and `rescue.' The man gestured to his companion, who, for the first time, held the object he carried out in open view. Nicholas examined the prized object with curiosity. It was molded in the form of a giant rodent out of copper. The metal gleamed brightly, as if the element harnessed some sort of energy. The copper itself wasn't worth much compared to the gold deposits being discovered daily elsewhere in Australia, but Nicholas understood the bushrangers' desire to steal the statue as he evaluated the stones decorating the rat's eyes and tail. The gems were real, of excellent clarity and pure color, though the cut was slightly rough. The statue's pupils were formed from two yellow diamonds, each roughly five carats in size. These center stones were surrounded by a ring of smaller sapphires, perhaps one carat each. A curved line of white diamonds trailed along the statue's side in representation of a tail. Nicholas stretched out both hands, asking politely, "May I hold it?" The aborigine nodded, as though he expected the question, then eagerly handed the figure to the vampire. Nicholas gingerly turned the statue around, noting that the rat wasn't in completely perfect condition. Traces of green tarnish had accumulated in the crevices forming the rodents paws, ears and whiskers. He glanced Aristotle's direction to see if the other vampire had observed the peculiar representation. His friend had recovered slightly from his burns from his first feeding, but Aristotle had latched onto the throat of another bandit for good measure. Nicholas turned away, unconcerned with the fate of the criminals, and studied the rat some more. He tested the weight of the object, commenting awkwardly in the unfamiliar tongue, "This is hollow - not solid." Within the etched detail that created the illusion of fur on the statue's back, Nicholas picked out a continuous line. It was a tiny hinge. He flipped the rat over to inspect its stomach and discovered a delicate catch. Nicholas moved a thumb forward to release the closure and see what the rodent concealed inside, but the aborigines protested in alarm. "No! Don't!" they shouted. The blonde vampire frowned with incomprehension. "Why? What is inside?" Nicholas did not understand their reply, blankly shaking his head with confusion until Aristotle spoke at his back. "They're saying that the rat carries a soul inside, and if you open it, it'll be lost." "A soul?" Nicholas gave Aristotle an intrigued look. "What's the legend behind such a thing? Can you translate for me?" "Of course, I can. I rather owe you for that skirmish just now," the goateed vampire shrugged. He wiped the corners of his mouth free of any traces of his recent meals with a handkerchief, then fired a string of syllables at the natives. They replied excitedly, their words making Aristotle's brow furrow in concentration. "Apparently that block of change you're holding isn't simply a rat, Nicholas - it's a spirit totem. They say the soul of a lost man lives inside, and they are charged with protecting it until the soul finds a new home." Nicholas peered at the statue with new respect. "Fascinating," he said, then offered the rodent back to its owners. The aborigines shook their heads, issuing an emphatic round of protest, and Nicholas looked to Aristotle for explanation. "They think that our fortuitous assistance in their time of need was a sign that we are meant to be the new protectors of that bit of magic vermin," Aristotle said with a grin. "Oh, dear. Now one of them is giving me a grocery list.What?!" Aristotle frowned, and the two mortals began to walk away with a wave. "Hmm.that was odd." "What did they say at the end?" Nicholas asked inquisitively. "It sounded like a bunch of nonsense: first they described some sort of recipe, then they said, `Whoever bathes with the rat in the paste will return to their original state.' It sounded disgusting to me. I mean, really! What person in their right mind is going to take a dip in a vat full of sediment skimmed from a brewing vat? It's insanity!" Aristotle shrugged once more, then began to inspect the fallen bushrangers that still littered the area. "I'm still feeling peckish - would you like any, Nicholas?" "No. Help yourself." He stared at the rat totem in wonder, his mind reeling at the implications of Aristotle's translation. <'Return to their original state'? The statue was supposed to carry the soul of a lost man inside.> Nicholas felt a wave of exultation come over him. ************************************************************************ "It's gotten awfully quiet out there," Annie tugged at Jules sleeve. "What's going on?" Jules slapped an Annie's hand and gave her a warning glance, then turned back to her view through the cotton. "Looks like Knight is doing one of his 'zone-out' things." "Oooooooooo," Annie pressed against Jules to get a better look. "This must be getting serious." Jules nodded. "Went blank when he heard something about a rat statue," Jules processed the information. "There must be more to this `tail' than meets the eye." "Rhinestones," Annie corrected her. Without looking back, Jules reached behind her and *thwopped* Annie on the top of her head. "OUCH! That hurt!" Behind them, the chubby music man snickered again. This time Jules turned and addressed him angrily. "Just what is *your* problem?" "Huhhhhh?" the man looked startled at being addressed by the woman. "Whatcha talking about?" Jules stood up straighter, knowing she was hidden from Knight's view by the clothing rack. "Well, you seem to be amused by the plight of my friend and I, so I thought I'd ask you what you find so particularly funny." "Lady," the man waved her concerns away, "I ain't even paying no attention to you and your friend. I'm listening to the radio here." He pointed down at a pale green plastic set which offered AM/FM selections through its static speakers. "That NightCrawl dude is on a rampage tonight. It's plum hysterical." "Huhhhhhh?" Jules and Annie said simultaneously. "Here," the fellow said obligingly, reaching for the volume knob, "have a listen." As the sound became audible, Jules and Annie heard the ending chorus of "Dancing Queen." Relieved, Jules turned to Annie and smiled, "This cretin is mistaken. He's tuned to the wrong cha . . ." An unmistakable baritone voice, slightly cracked, suddenly blared from the airwaves, singing along with ABBA. Jules froze, her face going deathly pale. Annie's eyes were as wide as saucers. "It *can't* be," she whispered, then she looked at the stricken Jules, "can it?" Jules just shook her head. Slowly. Trying to clear it. "I'm back, my dark children," the voice came clearly as the last strains of the music died. "Back to bring purpose and love into your lives. Did you miss me?" Jules told herself. "I've always thought that this broadcast was too gloomy," the unmistakable velvet tones continued. "I tried to liven things up once by suggesting everyone get naked, but that didn't work. Works for that other shock jock dude, but not for me. Wonder why? Oh well. Never mind. Tiddly doo, and Nunk Nunk, too. The lines are open now, and I'm taking *your* programming suggestions. Call the Nightiecrawlguy, and tell me what's what." Jules was shaking badly now. Annie reached to comfort her, but the priestess shrugged her friend off. "Oopsie, doopsie. Too many flashing lights. Can't figure out which one to push. Oh. Hello there?" LaCroix's voice turned seductive. "And what is your name?" "Bob," a distinctly masculine voice answered. Jules reached out and clutched the side of a table to steady herself. Annie backed off some and began looking around frantically, as though searching for help. "Well, *that* wasn't any fun," LaCroix remarked, disconnecting 'Bob' with a quick click. "Guess we'll just have to make some fun of our own. How about a limerick?" Jules opened her mouth as if to protest, but no sound would come out. "There once was a maid from Tangier, Who left home without her br . . . " "NNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" In a flight motion that would have made Superman proud, Jules launched herself across the record vendor's table, killer instinct in her hazel eyes. She grasped the plastic radio, and, raising it high above her head, brought it down and dashed it to pieces on the concrete floor. In the process of which, she also tipped over the vendor's table, spilling two stacks of rare Dino Martin and polka albums. Some of the records broke, but many of them slid across the concrete, creating a ripple effect of destruction. A lady in flip-flops stepped onto one of the vinyl pressings and fell and fractured her hip, bumping against another table on her way down. This table, containing dressed stuffed bears and wood carvings, lost one set of its legs, collapsing the structure on one end. The wood slid to the floor while the bears flipped into the air. One bear landed in a cage containing Hermit crabs. As the owner tried to extract the stuffed animal, one of the poor little crabs, scared beyond normal behavior, snapped hold of the proprietor's finger and bit - hard. The man, in shock and pain, yelled out and flung the crab across the room. It landed in the middle of an elderly woman's plate of nachos. The plate of nachos, of course, immediately turned into a missile. It arched, gracefully, and headed down. Landing on top of Annie's head. As the NunkMommy froze in shock, cheese dripping down her face, the clothing that had been concealing her presence parted to form a window in the fabric. Nick Knight was there, staring straight at her. Knight stood there: framed by linen, looking at Annie, his expression inscrutable. Then, just as quietly as he'd come, he let the clothing fall back into place, his face vanishing from view. "PULTE!!!" ************************************************************************ End Of Part Fifteen A ***Libby's Disclaimer Space*** Az long az I'm still 'oldin' the disclaimer until the Nunkies droogs give me lots o' shiny, pretty thingees, I thought I'd get on me soap box a'gin. Wear yewr seatbelts. This simple lil' actsie may 'ave very well saved me life twice, an' did save me from much more serious-type owies. -- Libby ************************************************************************ August Heat (15B/24) Event Fifteen B: Live! Female Tag-Team Wrestling! Nicholas B. Knight was being barraged on all sides by screaming people, birds and crustaceans, or whatever species crabs hail from. "Arrest that red-haired harlot," the recorded music vendor was screeching. Jules was standing where she'd landed, still holding half the broken shell of the radio. The chubby little seller thrust a finger into the facial area of the pale priestess and cried out, "She abused my AM!" As the finger waggled in her face, Jules' eyes went blank. A primal memory surfaced , and she clasped hold of the man's wrist and began to twist it. She had him in a successful tag-team position in four seconds flat, mentally congratulating herself for suggesting the Greco-Roman wrestling seminars held at the Jeweled Peach the month before. "IIIEEEEEE! The wench is breaking me!" the vendor hollered, struggling to free himself. Jules brought her free arm around and popped the man across the throat. "Want me to add 'physical assault' to the charges?" Nick asked dryly. He reached over to grab Jules' arm. When he did, she lifted her eyes to his and, without relinquishing her hold on the man, growled. "Threatening a police officer," Nick had to grin a bit. "Keep this up, and I might just be able to make the charges stick this time, no matter who your lawyer is." Jules released the vendor. Rubbing his 'clothes-lined' throat, the little man quickly ran away to hide behind a stack of decorated brooms and vacuum cleaner cozies. "Take a few deep breaths, and tell me what happened," Nick instructed the priestess. Jules did as told (because she felt like doing it anyway, *not* because Nick was ordering her around), sucking in deep, all-the-way-to-the-bottom-of-your-lungs gulps of air. As the stale, stagnant air of the Swap Meet hall collected in her body, she felt ill. Knight grabbed her upper arm as Jules' knees buckled, helping her to a nearby wooden foot stool. By this time, Annie emerged from the muslin and ran to join Nick and Jules. Correction: to join Jules - Nick just happened to be around. If Detective Knight had been the only one standing there, without a traumatized High Priestess seated at his side, Annie would have sprinted the opposite direction as fast as her non-tennis shoes would allow. She held up a wet napkin with traces of cheddar clinging to it. "Need a compress?" she asked Jules urgently, pressing the sticky tissue to the other woman's forehead. Jules moaned and slumped forward. "How about a cup of tea?" Annie suggested, not that she had one to offer, but it was The NunkMommy Thing To Do. "Annie Raper," Nick's tone caused the NA founder to stiffen slightly. "Long time, no torment. I thought you'd gone back to Arkansas with the other raptors." Annie turned slowly toward Knight, her best cheesy grin on her face. "Hello, Detective. Lost any good remotes, lately?" Knight winced slightly. He had sequestered Annie at his loft last May as a murder witness and potential next victim. Her visit had not been pleasant. `Destructive' was a better word for it. "Do you know what's going on here, Raper?" Nick suddenly became all business, though it was hard keeping a straight face when the person you were talking to had melted yellow paste clinging to their cheek, and you really wanted an excuse to laugh at them. Annie looked at Jules with concern, then back at Nick. "I'm not entirely sure of the details, but I know it had something to do with the Nightcrawler's broadcast." At the mention of Lacroix's radio show, Nick's expression went from passive business to impassioned business, his eyes narrowing. "What to you mean?" he demanded. Annie looked back down at Jules, not sure how much to share with the detective. Noting Annie's hesitation, Jules looked up and nodded, then returned her head to her lap. Annie met Nick's urgent stare. "Something seems to be wrong with Lacroix," Annie explained, her voice quick with excitement. "He was singing along with ABBA, giggling on the air, and reciting dirty limericks!" Jules groaned again. About this time, a trio of rather surly looking individuals elbowed their way through the milling throng and broke into Knight's investigative circle. Nick didn't know the tall man who accompanied them, but he recognized the two women immediately. Nick groaned, too. Bons and Patt started to ask questions in raised, excited voices, running the gamut of the five "W's" and the "H." When they began repeating themselves, Knight raised two fingers to his mouth and whistled sharply for silence. The babble hushed. "How'd you do that?" Patt marveled. "I've tried for years, but . . ." Nick gave the Third Cousin a look and she obediently hushed. "How'd you do *that*?" Bonnie and Annie both marveled at the meekly quiet Patt. Jules raised her head, gave them a round of looks, groaned, then dropped her head again. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't arrest the lot of you, thereby making the streets of Toronto a safer place for sane people everywhere, if only for a few days," Knight challenged the four women. "Because you really do like them," Dirk suggested amiably. "You just don't know that you do." Nick had just begun to glare at the tall dark stranger when his cell phone rang. The vampire took the device from inside his jacket, flipped it open and announced sharply into the mouthpiece, "Knight, here." His face immediately softened when the caller began speaking. Patt, Bons and Annie all looked at each other knowingly, simpering little smiles flooding their faces. "Natalie . . ." they crooned. "Who's Natalie?" Dirk wondered aloud. Bonnie giggled and childishly taunted, "That's Nick's girl-friend." Nick shot them all a menacing look and spoke into the receiver in a low voice. He then covered the mouthpiece, ordering, "Stay right here. I have more questions for you." Then, he moved away, shielding himself from their eyes by stepping behind a latticed display of wooden plaques with cute sayings. With Nick gone, Jules spontaneously recovered, then lit into Patt and Bons. "Where have you two been?" she hissed. Bonnie pointed to the left back corner of the hall, while Patt pointed to the right. Noting that they weren't indicating in the same direction, they both switched sides. Seeing that they were contradicting each other again, both women pointed at Dirk. The driver accepted Jules' cold stare with a shrug and broke into a sheepish grin. "We've been in the back, looking for Libby," Bonnie began chattering, while Patt nodded her head in agreement. "We've been doing exactly what you told us to do." "For how long?" Jules said pointedly. Bonnie stopped chattering and Patt stopped nodding. Both looked guilty. Jules sighed. "Just as I suspected. You've been playing with the hired help again, haven't you?" Jules looked meaningfully at Dirk. "That's irresponsible behavior for a crisis situation, even if help in question would look smashing in a Zorro costume." "Julsey . . ." Patt began, but the priestess cut off her explanation with a raised hand. "I'll have to listen and pass judgment later, *Patricia*," Patt cringed all over at the use of her full given name. "Right now, I have more serious considerations to ponder into a pulp." "And Lacroix is definitely one of them," Knight announced as he stepped from behind the lattice, returning the cell phone to his pocket. "According to . . . " he looked at the women challengingly, "Dr. Lambert, Lacroix appears to be suffering from the effects of. inebriation." Jules gasped. "Wha . . . What did you say?" "He said this Lacroix fellow is drunk," Dirk translated, earning an unhappy glare from Jules. The High Priestess did *not* want to hear that word used to describe her employer. It made her feel.homicidal. "Drunk?" Annie repeated that horrible word, causing Jules to grit her teeth and shake all over. "He's not *drunk*!" Jules wailed. "Lacroix is too couth to be *drunk*! He may be acting excessively, he may be ill or poisoned, but he is not *drunk*!!" Patt leaned over and whispered to Bonnie, "Denial . . . first stage." "How could this have happened, Nick?" Annie's concern was clearly genuine and Nick was touched. He knew that she'd spent some 'quality' time with his sire several months ago, just after he closed the Leotta murder case. Though Annie had done some nasty things to him while staying at his loft, he tended to have a soft spot for those who Lacroix held in good standing, and when they got into trouble because of affection for his sire, Nick couldn't help but sympathize. "And is it even possible?" Patt added. Nick turned his attention to the short woman in the purple T-shirt. Now this one . . . this was a whole different game. "You're the Beer Bottle Brouhaha lady, aren't you?" Nick looked the Third Cousin up and down, noting the woman's color fade. "I vaguely remember locking you up for disturbing the peace back in May, so I guess the rumors must be true." Patt put her hands behind her back, shuffled backwards and hung her head without saying another word. "You didn't answer Patt's question," Bonnie sniffed defensively. Nick noted the yellow toga with the daisy embroidering, then focused his attention to Bons' feet. When he saw that she was shoeless, he looked up again and grinned. Bonnie lifted her little chin and looked at him reproachfully. Nick grew serious again. "I don't know," he admitted, shaking his head. "I didn't think that vampires could contract an illness, either, but we all caught the 'Fever,' didn't we?" The women nodded. "I suppose it might be possible," Knight finished. Jules stepped forward. "As his personal assistant, I feel obligated to go check on him." Nick shook his head. "Sorry, but you're not going anywhere, Ms. Stafford. You're under arrest for destruction of personal property and inciting a riot. He's," Nick indicated to the chubby vendor peeking out at them from behind a smocked pillow collection, "insisting on pressing charges, so I have no choice." His voice *almost* sounded apologetic. Nick was even considering calling up her lawyer before Jules was booked. He just happened to have the attorney's number programmed in his speed-dial for those times when he needed to meet her for.legal consultations. "Then you have to go to Lacroix," Jules insisted next. "He's your father." "And old and wise enough to take care of himself," Nick answered, his brows creasing together. "He's been in much worse predicaments before, and Lacroix survived perfectly well without my help. You forget, Ma'am, that I have a murder to investigate. I don't have time to wrestle with a sot, even if he is playing disco records." `Sot' was another word that Jules didn't appreciate hearing in connection with Lacroix. It made the High Priestess feel.physical. In a flash of motion, she raised her arm as if to strike Nick for his poor vocabulary choice. "LOOK!! A DINOSAUR!!!!" At Bonnie's shout, the entire crowd inside the Swap Meet Hall took flight, screaming and heading for the front entrance of the building, intent on escaping any marauding paleo- beasts. Annie grabbed Jules raised arm and pulled the woman away from the now-distracted detective (riots do that, you know). Dirk grabbed Jules' other arm and bodily began to pull the struggling woman toward the back door, while Patt and Bons ran ahead, explaining that they knew another way out. Dirk finally had to hoist Jules up over his shoulder to get her to the rear location, a move which caused Bonnie just a tinge of jealously. "And, how did you know about this back exit?" Annie wheezed as they all piled behind the opposite side of the wooden door which led to the back alcove. "Lucky guess?" Patt suggested, struggling to catch her breath. "And the 'Fire Exit' sign," Bonnie offered, watching to make sure that Dirk was putting Jules down as soon as possible, which he did. Jules looked around and dashed for the alley exit. Outside, she gulped air and looked around. Jules sighted the parked cab and looked back at Patt and Bons, her suspicions confirmed. "I'll deal with you two later," she said. "Right now, Nunkies needs us." All five of them piled into the cab, with Jules instructing Dirk to pull around to the front "as discreetly as possible." She wanted the fastest transportation available to get to CERK, and she didn't have much confidence in the big Metro cab. The women ducked down, hoping that Dirk would draw less suspicion as a lone driver. Using Jules' directions, Dirk pulled to the curb, across the street and caddie-cornered to the front of the Swap Meet. "We're here," he announced. The four addicts sat up, and Jules looked around. "This is not the spot. You've made a mistake." "This is the place you told me," Dirk said defensively. Across the street and caddie- cornered in front of the Swap Meet." "Well, there must be another caddie-corner," Jules countered, "because the Jaguar isn't here." "Didn't you give the keys to the valet to park it?" Annie reminded the priestess. "Don't be silly," Jules turned on the NunkMom with just a touch of disdain. "*This* kind of place wouldn't have valet parking. The people who patronize a 'swap meet' probably don't even know what valet means. Val . . ." Jules' hazel eyes dilated from a sudden flashback, and she soon appeared ill. "He's going to kill me," she said quietly. "I am a dead Texan." "You'll make an attractive corpse," Dirk offered her with a grin, much to Bonnie's chagrin. "I take it that we need to report a stolen vehicle." Jules nodded slowly. "The Jaguar is important, yes, but Lacroix is our top priority. We need to get to CERK immediately." "We also need to find the Nunkies Fantasy Manual," Bonnie argued, touching her neck lightly. "According to what you told us, Screed was the last person to have had it before the murder victim. Perhaps he can give us a clue about where it is now." "You're suggesting we go visit the Ratster?" Patt said. Bonnie nodded. "Bonnie's right," Jules agreed. "Screed might know something about the manual, plus our third worry, Libby, might have gone to see him. It sounds like we need to break into two teams: one goes to assist Lacroix, and one goes to interrogate Ratboy." "Well, I'm not going anywhere until I wash the goo out of my hair," Annie announced. Jules smiled sweetly at the NunkMom. "I'm sure that would be a determining factor when facing an audience with Lacroix, but it hardly matters when you're going to RatCentral. In fact," Jules' smile widened, "Screed might just appreciate your eau-de- cheddar look." "How come I get the rat and you get Nunkies?" Annie pouted. "Because I have a key to CERK," Jules announced proudly. "Where?" "On the chain with the Jag ke . . . Oh, damn." "Annie," Patt began. "It makes sense, Jules going to Lacroix and you after Screed. Jules is his assistant and knows his quirks better than you. Also, you tend to get . . . involved whenever you're with him. And, time is of the essence. We know you don't want to go see him with cheesy hair, and if we waited long enough for you to wash it, he'd be sober." Annie gave Patt a look of consternation, but then nodded in agreement. "You're probably right, but the point is moot. With the Jag missing," Jules groaned again, "we only have one vehicle, so how do we split into teams?" Patt grinned and pointed across the street. A maroon, full-sized Chevrolet pick-up truck with a distinctly ugly camper shell was parked a short distance away. "I thought Tser was driving the truck," Jules commented. Patt nodded. "I'm sure she is. And, if I know the girl, she's sitting over there, planning to tail Nicky-poo when he leaves, in hopes that he will lead her to Lava. I think, though, that it's time I reclaimed my property. Whatcha think?" "Okay," Jules said with resignation, climbing out of the cab. "Patt and I are headed for CERK. Annie, you and Bons go to Screed's and see if he can help you locate the Manual." "Uhhhhh, Jules," Patt hesitated. "LC isn't exactly fond of me. Why don't I take Annie to the Rat's nest?" Jules shook her head. "No, Bonnie is the better choice to go with Annie. She is the scribe, after all, and will know the Manual if she spots it. Besides, if Lacroix is playing ABBA records, Bons just might *encourage* him," she said with disapproval. "Now, come on, and let's go get the truck before Tser decides to take off with it. Everyone has their assignment- let's do it!" ************************************************************************ End Of Part Fifteen B ****This Space Fer Hire**** ---Libby's Disclaimer Emporium ************************************************************************ August Heat (16/24) Event Sixteen: Turn the Radio Off "Turn here," Jules indicated right at the next intersection. "I know the way to CERK, Jules," Patt responded, flipping on the truck's blinkers and preparing for the turn. "Now calm down with the back seat driving stuff, okay?" "I'm not in the 'back seat,'" the priestess retorted. "This is not an extend cab, and you have a bench style." Tserisa rotated her head from right to left, and back again, as the conversation between her two fellow passengers progressed. She'd been surprised when Patt had opened the driver's side of the truck and taken the keys from her, advising Tser to move over. When Jules had climbed into the passenger side, Tser had been flabbergasted. Something big was afoot for the priestess to be riding in the truck, rather than the Jaguar. No one had spoken since Patt had driven the truck away from the Swap Meet. Until now. With the sudden realization that they were headed for the broadcast station, Tser had an bad premonition. "What's going on?" Tser asked, fighting panic. "Why are we heading to CERK? Is something wrong with the General?" "We're afraid he might be . . . ill, dear," Jules was trying to remain calm and comfort the young addict, but her eyes were focused on the street ahead, her thoughts minutes away. Patt's answer was more pragmatic. "Flip on the radio, and hear for yourself." Tser moved her hand toward the radio's power button. As soon as she indented the relay, the sound of Lacroix's voice flowed into the truck's cab, in stereo. "This is so much fun," the velvet voice was giggling. Tser looked quickly at Jules, alarm making her eyes wide. The priestess just moaned and looked out the passenger side window. "Okay, let's see if we have this right," Lacroix's voice continued. "The challenge, Tammi, is to give us a description of something and we're to guess what it is, right?" "Yes," a youngish female voice answered, obviously from a phone connection. "And what, pray tell, is your description, sweet one?" "Okay. What has long ears, a tail and brays?" "Detective Don Schanke," Lacroix answered matter-of-factly, disconnecting Tammi as he spoke. "Next?" Jules moaned, Patt chuckled and Tser looked horrified. "What is the . . . *matter* with him?" Tser managed to stutter. "We suspect that he is twenty-five sheets to the wind," Patt replied. "I thought the expression was 'two-sheets' to the wind," Tser corrected the Third Cousin. Patt looked at the girl from Oregon and smiled. "Have you ever known Lacroix to be mediocre? If he's 'sheeted,' so to speak, he would definitely not settle for just two." Tser sat back against the truck seat, processing all the information she'd just received. On the radio, they could hear Lacroix humming along with a Wham! tune. Jules responded by smacking her forehead against the glove compartment door, repeatedly, groaning softly with each *thwack.* "He's *drunk*?" Tser said with incredulity. "How could something like this have happened?" "Don't know," Patt replied, honking her horn at a stray dog which was threatening to cross the street in front of her. The animal slinked back as the truck sped past. "That's why we're heading for CERK now - to try and find out what's wrong and help the General if we can." "One of my fav-o-rite groups," Lacroix was saying as the song ended. "Now, I have a special request to fulfill. A special listener called in earlier and requested that I recite a Haiku, of all things. Well, Red, how's this? - "People are fodder Meant to be eaten, that's all, Grain of the food chain" Lacroix commenced to giggling again. Jules reached for the power button and pressed it. The copper-haired woman wore a pained expression. "I don't know think I can handle anymore right now." "Get a grip, Jules," Patt's voice was unnecessarily harsh. "If you can't handle listening to the man on the air, how are you going to deal with his . . . 'condition' in person?" Jules looked at the older woman, her pain slowly giving way to anger. "I'll deal with it the way I deal with everything else, AS IS NEEDED," she retorted, the disdain evident in her voice. "After all, I am the High Priestess of Nunkies Anonymous and you are a mere . . . acolyte." "Say kewl!" Patt grinned. "I finally have a title!" Tser and Jules both turned to look at the smirking driver. "What's so amusing?" Jules snipped. "Just another example of what I get paid the big bucks for," Patt continued grinning as she executed the truck around another curve. She turned briefly to Jules. "Got your adrenaline going again, didn't I? Feel ready to walk into the lion's den? 'Cause we're here." Patt pulled the truck to the curb in front of CERK, the brakes protesting the quick cease of forward motion. Jules was out of the truck and running toward the station building before Patt had shifted from 'drive' to 'park.' Tser was about to follow the priestess when Patt caught her arm. "Not a good idea, Tserisa," Patt said slowly. "Jules is nervous enough right now and doesn't need more of an audience than necessary. Wait here, watch the truck, okay?" Tser was obviously unhappy, but consented to Patt's request. Patt tossed the keys to the girl, then took off after Jules. The copper-haired woman was rattling the locked booth door when Patt arrived. "General, please let me in," Jules pleaded, tapping lightly on the glass. From inside the windowed enclosure, Lacroix noted her, then turned his back, hovering over the microphone. Jules' tapping increased in strength, until she was pounding on the door. "Let me in, Lacroix, NOW!" The tone in the woman's voice must have intrigued the General, for he spun in his chair and looked at Jules with interest. With an odd smirk, he reached under his control panel shelf and pressed a hidden button. A soft *click* announced that the door was unlocked. Jules pushed into the room. Patt moved quickly to put her foot into the jamb so that the door couldn't close, but did not go inside the booth. "Well, gentle listeners, it looks like our prospects for enjoyable entertainment have increased tenfold," Lacroix looked at Jules and smiled. "My assistant has just arrived, and I believe that she's brought us some reading material. How would you kiddies like NC to read you all a bed time fantasy?" He covered the mike with one hand and extended the other. "The Manual, if you please," he instructed. "We haven't found the Manual, yet," Jules admitted, watching as Lacroix's eyes narrowed. He leaned back in his chair and addressed her. "Then what are you doing here? Isn't it past your bedtime, Ms. Stafford?" Jules straightened herself and spoke, "I'm here to help you, sir." "Oh, how magnanimous of you," Lacroix smiled wickedly. "And what makes you think that *I* need *your* help?" The pretty woman took a deep breath and addressed her employer. "I don't think that you're feeling well, Sir. I think you're suffering from an illness and need rest. I'd like to take you home now." "I bet you would," LaCroix said knowingly. He leaned forward now, leering. "Have you finally come for that 'private session' that you've been dreaming of for so long?" Jules was stunned by his words, unable to respond. He watched her, seeming to enjoy her confusion, her loss for words. Then, he noticed Patt at the door. With the speed of a creature of the night, Lacroix was on his feet, clasping Jules' arm. With a twisting motion, he had the priestess pinned, her back to his chest. "Want to take care of me, soothe my fevered brow and give me contentment, Julsey?" Lacroix murmured into the woman's hair. "Want to take the pain away?" He caught Jules' head with his free hand, shifting it slightly so that her neck was exposed. His lips touched the soft curve in her throat and she gasped. "Nibble, nibble," he cooed. The movement of the other woman alerted him. Without removing his lips from Jules' skin, he looked up through half-closed lids and caught Patt with his eyes. The Third Cousin froze. Lacroix ran his eyes up and down the mortal, searching for hidden bottles. "Unarmed, I see." Patt was afraid to take her eyes off the vampire. She stood there, desperately trying to think, knowing that the only way she might be able to help Jules escape was by providing a diversionary tactic. Lacroix solved the problem himself. With another twist of Jules' arm, he had spun and released the woman from the death hold. He still held her hand, though, and as he sat back down in his chair, he pulled her into his lap, both their faces toward Patt. "Lambert has alerted you to her theory," he said softly, gently stroking Jules' hair. She shivered at his touch. "And as my . . .worshippers, you've come to my aid, correct?" "Dr. Lambert didn't have to tell us anything," Patt replied. "It's pretty obvious that you're 'under the influence' from the stuff you've been spouting over the airwaves tonight." "Everyone's a critic," LaCroix sighed. "If you have any programming suggestions, put them in the box outside labeled 'trash.' " "Not until you let go of Jules." Lacroix looked amused, but his hold on the priestess eased just a bit. "Finally found your backbone again, ehhh, Elmore? Not afraid that big, bad Uncle will put the bite on you?" "Scared shiftless," Patt replied, never taking her eyes from his. "Then why, pray tell, are you here, harassing me as such?" Lacroix sneered, his eyes flashing gold. "Can't a fellow have a little fun without everyone giving him a lecture?" "Who's lecturing, General?" Jules spoke softly, finding her voice. "We're just concerned and wanted to help, if we could." "By taking me home and tucking me in? Yes, you've already expressed that desire, my dear." He snuggled into her hair again, his long fingers squeezing her hand. Patt recognized the symptoms as Jules, despite her best efforts, began to liquefy. She looked around for an Anti-Nunklear device, but the room was pretty bare. Instead, though, she spotted something which caused her to pale. Lacroix was immediately interested. "What?" Patt pointed to the console. "You left the mike keyed." Lacroix looked down at the small switch, clearly hovering in the 'on' position. "Oopppps," he said, releasing Jules and pushing her from his lap. Patt caught the faint priestess and pulled her across the room. When Jules recovered her senses some, she began slapping at the Third Cousin. "Why'd you mess that up?!!!" Jules roared at Patt. "It was just getting good!!" "And so, gentle listeners, we, the Midnight Players, hope that you enjoyed that little drama - our playful interlude for the amusement of the masses," Lacroix was speaking softly into the mike, his voice as honeyed as ever. "Perhaps we'll be able to invite the ladies back for an encore in the future," he looked at the women and smiled, "but for now, we've exhausted our time slot. So . . . until tomorrow evening, my children, I must leave you. But, always remember . . . I am the Nightcrawler . . . so GO FISH." The General hit the off switch and stood up to face the addicts, towering over both of them. "I'm tired," he said quietly. "And I consent to your escorting me home." With some relief, Jules took Lacroix's offered arm and began walking him from the station. Patt followed at a discreet distance, watchful. As they exited the building, Patt went ahead, leading toward the truck. Upon seeing the conveyance, Lacroix stopped abruptly. "What is this? Where's the Jag?" he turned to Jules, his eyes hot with questions. "It had a flat?" Jules offered. Lacroix shook his head. "My vehicle wouldn't *dare* have a 'flat.' Try again." "Dinosaur incident?" Lacroix nodded, thoughtfully. "Now *that* makes sense." He walked toward the truck, then lectured Patt. "Have you ever considered going to a car wash, my dear? Mortality is no reason for grime." "When's the last time you gave me free time enough *to* wash it?" Patt retorted. "Your revenge and control tactics tend to keep a person busy." Lacroix laughed. "I see your point." He had reached the truck by now and saw that Tser was inside the cab. "We don't have enough room for all of us, do we?" "Don't worry about Tser," Patt remarked. "She's just a delusion, remember?" Jules was more practical. "I can sit on your lap again," she offered. Lacroix looked at the woman, arching an eyebrow. He was preparing to open the passenger side door and climb in, when he overheard Patt whisper to Jules. "Phase one almost complete. Tuck him into bed and then we'll head for Screed's." "Why would you be planning to visit the carouche?" Lacroix said, apparently unable to conceive of a reasonable excuse for any of his followers to visit Screed on purpose. Patt peeked at Jules, who glared at Patt like she'd like to kill her. Jules turned back to Lacroix. "We think he might have information on the location of the Fantasy Manual. " "Why would Screed know anything about *my* manual?" Lacroix asked in a clipped voice. "Oh, he had it before he bought the giant rat statue from the murder victim," Patt blurted. Jules gave a short, horrified whimper. Lacroix wasn't supposed to find out that Screed actually *touched* the Nunkies Fantasy Manual. She waited for the General to explode because the sacred tome had been blemished by carouche hands. Lacroix's eyes glittered with fury, but for a reason different from what Jules expected. "A giant rat statue? From a murder victim?" Lacroix eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "Let me guess - Nicholas is investigating this murder and knows of the statue's existence, correct?" Jules and Patt nodded. "Then I'm afraid I must say farewell. I have a rat to catch," Lacroix announced, and with a soft whoosh, he was gone. "Wait! We'll come with you!" Jules shouted skyward. "Just tell us where Screed lives!!" She caught the fragment of a street name before Lacroix's voice was swallowed by the darkness. "I wonder why Uncle knows where Screed lives," Patt mused, mouth agape. "It's a time-saving plot device," Jules explained. "It's a good thing, too. Otherwise, we would have been forced to harass Vachon into telling us the location." Patt nodded her agreement. "I pity the poor suckers who have to do that." The two women clambered into the truck and, with Tser driving, proceeded to break the city speed limits of Toronto. ************************************************************************ "So, Ladies," Dirk asked politely as he sped his cab away from The Largest All-Night Swap Meet In Toronto, "where are we headed?" "Tell him, Annie," Bons called to the woman in the backseat. "Tell him what?" Annie was zealously occupied with scrubbing the last of the cheese sauce out of her curly hair. The streaks of orange were gone, but a tell-tale odor of jalepenos continued to waft from her head. "Screed's address," Bonnie stated as though it should have been obvious. "I don't know Screed's address," Annie informed the redhead impatiently, then tapped Dirk on the shoulder. "Do you have any more tissue, please?" He gave her a polite smile, then handed Annie an entire box. She glowed at the sight, as if the Kleenex were really the Holy Grail or, at least, a pair of pantyhose that didn't sag. "Oh, thank you! You know, I've been thinking that NA needs to have a driver on retainer. Some of our members aren't old enough to have licenses, yet, and I've observed most addicts have an alarming enthusiasm for high-speed chases." Dirk nodded. "I've noticed." Bonnie wasn't interested in tissue, and she wasn't overly thrilled to imagine seventy other addicts asking the hunky cabbie for lifts. What she wanted to know was, "What do you mean, `You don't know Screed's address'?! That's where we're going! You have to know where he lives!" Annie shook her head. "Nope. Can't help you there." "But you've lived in the same house as Libby for months! Don't you pick up that kind of stuff?" "Not without washing my hands with disinfectant," Annie promised, "and I don't do osmosis." "How are we going to go to Screed's place, then?" Bonnie wailed. "Would he be listed in the phone directory?" Dirk suggested. "I doubt he *has* a phone, and even if he did, I doubt he has a jack," Annie reasoned. "Hmm. I wonder - is Screed his first or last name?" "Ooo.What if his first name was `Reginald'?" Bons laughed. "Or `Ferris.'" "Or `Dewey'!" Dirk rolled his eyes as the addicts giggled convulsively. "Where am I driving?" Annie sobered somewhat, and after a moment's pause, dictated an address. Bonnie protested. "But that's the church! Vachon is not going to help us." "Why wouldn't he?" Annie argued. "I got along with him fine during my birthday story." "That's because you were the heroine. Nothing bad gets to happen to the heroine. It's a birthday rule. No, the sidekicks - they're the ones who have to be careful. They always get handcuffed to desks or thrown in jail." "What are you talking about?" Annie demanded. "You're a perfect example of what I'm talking about," Bonnie said, "In your birthday story, you ended up locked in a sound booth with Lacroix `in flagrante delicto.' Now that you're the sidekick in Libby's story, your hair is `a la cheese taco.' The gist of my spiel is this: since you're no longer the heroine, Vachon doesn't have to be nice to you anymore. I guar-un-tee he'll be difficult." Annie scowled. "That is *so* easy for you to say - you're writing this stupid scene! You could have us arrive at the church in two seconds if you wanted, even though we're miles away!" The cab slowed to a halt. "We're there!" Dirk announced. "See?" Annie fumed. "Now make Vachon behave!" "You've written fanfic, Annie," Bonnie said as she got out of the car. "You know it's not always that easy. These characters have a way of taking over, sometimes subtly, sometimes not." Annie mulled over that statement as she exited the cab as well. "Okay, say I agree with your idea. What can we do to protect ourselves from character intervention?" "Hmm," Bons frowned. "I don't know. Maybe we should leave Dirk in the car. He distracts me." "Okay," Annie nodded, "Dirk stays in the car. Make sure you have him crack the windows some - we don't want him overheating." "Check," Bonnie said as she started walking toward the church. "What else can we do?" Bons shook her head. "I'm not sure. The outline plan never seems to work. No matter how strict you try to be, something always deviates from the plot you painstakingly mapped out before." Annie grimaced. "Ick. I know that feeling. First it's a little thing, like Janette wanting to wear red shoes instead of black. Next thing you know, Nick's started an ostrich farm in Missouri and Nat's the Prime Minister." "Yeah," Bonnie said sympathetically as she opened the church door, "I hate it when that happens." The first sign of trouble came when they found the Spaniard relaxing on the couch and playing his guitar, all while watching the door as though he expected company. Bonnie glanced at the Triumph, still waiting for Vachon to install a new carburetor, and frowned. "Aren't you supposed to be fixing that?" she asked the vampire. He fingered a few laid-back arpeggios on the Gibson, then answered casually, "When I read that you were dropping by, I figured - why bother?" Bons froze. "Uh-oh." "Uh-oh, what?" Annie whispered. "He said that he `read' we were dropping by," Bonnie said under her breath. "That's a very bad sign." "Ack! You mean he already has some control over the story?" "I always had some control over the story," Vachon informed them as he plucked out a few chords. "Who do you think got Screed to go to the Shrine and take the Fantasy Manual?" Both addicts gasped. "I thought that was Patt's idea," Bonnie argued. "Patt thought it was your idea," he countered with a grin. "Guess you were both wrong." "If you have story control, Vachon," Annie said in a daring tone, "why haven't Tracy or Urs shown up yet?" "Because I can't introduce characters or kill them off," Vachon explained. "Only the real writers can do that. I can, however, manipulate the characters on hand. For example: while you two were busy entering the church, I flew outside and whammied your driver into cruising East York until dawn." "Why, you." Bonnie growled and curled her fist up in rage. "The way I see it," Vachon continued smugly, "if you two ladies, and I use the term loosely, want to continue participating in this piece of fanfic, you need to find out Screed's address. Otherwise, you're stuck here." Annie put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot in her most NunkMommy-ish manner. "And you're just going to tell us the address, right?" "Certainly." Vachon pulled a piece of paper out of his leather jacket and held it out to the addicts. "All you have to do is accede to my list of demands." ************************************************************************ End O' Part Sixteen ****Libby's Disclaimer Space**** "Mighty Tyke" coming in Tandra's DRAGONROC #12, www.tandra.com Check intew it or yew'll never see the disclaimer again! ************************************************************************ August Heat (17/24) Event Seventeen: Because There Has To Be A Chase Scene "Oh, Deon," Miss Prentiss sighed, "I was afraid this would be the case. Are you certain?" "I told you," Deon insisted firmly, "I looked for any sign that this Screed guy exists through all the regular channels - I can't find any driver's license, birth certificate, criminal or work record associated with that name. He's not listed in the phone book, either. It's as if he's a ghost!" "Hmm. Perhaps Screed is a nickname, " Miss Prentiss mused. "A title. He *must* be a professional. It's incredible - the rogue must have shadowed us from the moment we arrived in Toronto to intercept the rodent with the skill he did. We never even suspected!" The faux- blonde's brown eyebrows raised in admiration. "And his associate - she was so confident of their escape, she dared to announce his identity right in front of you! They are larcenous masterminds! Geniuses of intrigue!" Deon grumbled at her reminder. "Screed and Libratsie - why haven't we heard of them? Even professional thieves have reputations." "Because they are virtuosos of their craft, partner mine," Miss Prentiss said knowingly, "just like us. We eliminate anyone who can connect our names with our faces or our work. We don't have reputations, and we have never been caught or even brought in for questioning. We are master criminals, as are Libratsie and Screed. " "Our Nemesis." Deon's face thundered with malice, and he punched one hand emphatically with his other fist. "They made a mistake with the burro, though. They were overly confident and ignored the fact that the donkey will leave a trail behind. As our late friend Minnie shared: there isn't a wide range of burros roaming the streets of Toronto. I wager that if we follow the dung, it will lead us straight to them." Miss Prentiss rubbed her pointy chin thoughtfully. "I suppose it's possible. These two are clever, though, diabolically so. Just think - a burro for a getaway vehicle? It could be a trap." "Then we just won't bother making friends," Deon suggested. "We'll kill them, take the rat package, then be done with it, Miss Prentiss. It will be for the best. See? Just thinking about them is putting little wrinkle lines on your forehead. You don't need this kind of aggravation." The faux-blonde flipped down the shade's makeup mirror and inspected her features in growing horror. "Oh, dear. This can't go on! Libratsie and Screed *must* die immediately! They're making me appear drawn and wilted. Please, Deon, get our burro hunting equipment, and hurry! I want to end this before I acquire under-eye circles!" ************************************************************************ Screed helped Libby carry her sacks of borrowed shiny pretties inside with one hand, while he carried his ratsie-filled satchel with the other. Lava was left in the alleyway, tethered to Screed's bicycle, because they couldn't squeeze her through the grate. "Yew have a homey squat," Libby said enviously as she took a deep breath of its cool, underground air. "Ev'ry toime Aye get tha' hint o' mildew in my Shrine cubby, Annie has it scrubbed." "If'n yewr Munkie House was sub-te- rranean like me place, Miz Annie couldn't scrub it all!" Screed suggested. "It'd get all dark an' earthy - be a nice bunch o' tunnels with those por-tee-cows and tiles. A prime Rat's palace, I give me word. The lil' buggers'd love tew curl up in the tapis-trees and swim in yew're pool. Yewr Monkey Mum jes' don' see the poten-shell." Libby considered the odds of Annie agreeing to dump a few tons of dirt over the Jeweled Peach for the sake of underground ratsie atmosphere. She'd have better luck convincing the NA founder to expand her lingerie drawer so Screed could sleep in it better. Nope, the Shrine would be staying above ground for the near future. Libby grinned with a happy thought: next year on Nunkies Conversion Day, Annie and Jules might decide to dump ten feet of volcanic ash on the roof. That would almost transform the place into a sub-ground lair. Then Libby frowned. She'd run away from the Shrine, taking all the shiny mementews with her. Even if the addict had fun burying their joint the next year, she wouldn't be invited. Screed tapped her skull with his knuckles. "Yewhew, lil' squeak! Yew `aven't gone off on one o' tha' Defective's dream weaves, `ave yew?" Libby glanced up at Screed and noticed with disappointment that he'd thrown on a new shirt and britches. Thinking about her friends among the Nunkies Anonymous group made her miss it, too! The Ratpacker put on a reassuring smile. "Aye's here. Aye was jes' memberin' `ow Aye've left the Nunkies gals fer good! No more toga pah-ties fer me!" Screed nodded with understanding. "Aye know it - thinkin' makes me face squinch funny-like, tew." "Right," Libby agreed. "Aye don' miss `em at'all! They're tew bossy! Jules an' Annie never lets a body jes' keep `er bright bits o' paper an' coin on tha' floor like a normal droog - they got offi-she-al shrine shelves, holy organizers, sacred trash cans an' tha' like. A Ratsie never gets tew put `er stuff where she kin see - they call it bein' messy or litterin'!" "Dunno `bout that," Screed argued, "Aye got a system of organ-i-fication, meself. Lookee `ere." The carouche gestured for Libby to follow him in a tour of his home. "See? Aye keep me boxes so yew `ave tew step over `em like this." Screed demonstrated by hopping up on a knee-high crate and giving her a bow. "This `elps ole Screed if'n Aye drop a squeaker while Aye'm workin' so's they don't crawl tew far." "Sounds Stratego tew me," Libby praised. "Keeps yewr dinner nice n' `andy." Screed jumped off the crate and took Libby by the hand, pulling her over to his rat collection. "Aye `ave a habit fer me ratsie strings and pile-ups, tew." He gestured to three different clotheslines of rodents hanging by their tails, and their matching discard heap. "Yew see? Aye got black, brown an' fancy, each wi' a sec-shun fer ladies an' gents - makes an easier time of it tew babyjar a connie-sewer vintage." Libby was only half-listening, lost in the enjoyment of the fact that she was curled up next to her Ratman, still holding hands. The LibRat recalled a roll of pilfered duct tape she'd tossed in her rucker - maybe she could tape herself to Screed! A silly grin spread over her face, which the carouche interpreted as admiration for his rodent abattoir, causing him to beam with pride. Screed motioned Libby over to his sleeping spot next, where his bed was cubby-ed off from the rest of the place by walls and a curtain. He flipped the fabric back, exposing his mattress. Libby's thoughts immediately plunged lower than the gutter, and her smile widened even more. "Aye keep me ir-ree-placeable bits `ere. Some Bright And Shiny Thingees don't `ave a price, yew know," Screed confided. "Right," Libby nodded. "Yew put `em in yewr pockit fer free!" "Naw! Aye'm attached tew them sent-tee-mintilly! Yew won' catch this sailor `andin' `em over fer any chunk o' loons!" Libby gasped in surprise. "Not even fer a trip tew tha' casino? I don't believe yew!" "Not fer a bon yoi-vage tew Vegas on tha Queen Mary," Screed declared. The Ratpacker was amazed to hear her favorite carouche owned things more important than visiting slot machines and taking boat rides. "Yewr thingees must be *very* shiny." "Give `er take," Screed grinned, then his voice grew cautious. "Since yer a primo mate, I'll give yew a vay-o, but no yappin' to tha' other rat droogs! It'll be our secret!" Libby's chin bobbed up and down in agreement. Screed first pulled out a plush animal shaped like a mouse. It wore a starched white dress with a sailor collar, hat and high heels, all trimmed in navy blue. "Baby shoes gave me tha'as a get-well present after tha' fever. Gives me mousie dreams, it does." He handed the doll over to Libby for a closer look, who wondered if Screed would like someone bigger to cuddle up to during the day. The next prize Screed unearthed from his sleeping space was a three-masted galleon, reproduced in painstaking detail within the shell of an empty rum bottle. "This was me first lady," he announced, "the `Silver Campagnol.' She was a fine ship - a bit creaky up top, but fine in tha' bottom." Libby's eyes widened with glee. she thought, then noticed Screed had produced a stack of official-like papers. "These are me stockie shares. Aye buy me a few when Aye `ave a winnin' streak at tha' tables, n' squirrel `em away." With insatiable Ratpacker curiosity, Libby snatched the pile of legal papers and scanned them for company names. "But Screed! These folks all dew pest control. They're ratsie bangers!" "Aye know. Breaks me `eart tew see a tasty drip kick up its tail `afore we `ad a chance tew be ack-quain-ted, an' tha' arse-nick cheddar jes' makes a ratsie intew a bitter bite," Screed explained. "When Aye get tha' lion's share, Aye'll shut down the rodential competition." "Ooo! Then more droogs could `ave the joy o' ratsies in their walls! Yew're so thoughtful!" she complimented. "As long as Aye get most of it," Screed said," sharin' tha' wealth is fine by me." The carouche ducked into the satchel at his side pulling his swap meet find into view. "This is me new addi-shun tew me collec-shun - Tha' Ultimate Ratsie!" Libby's mouth opened agape and her eyes sparkled like a disco ball as she took in the statue's shiny splendor. "Ooooooo..precioussss. shinies.." "'Ey!" Screed complained as he began to scrub at the totem with his shirt sleeve. "Git yewr drool offa it! This is a No Salivay-shun area!" Libby reached out her paws toward the beauteous ratsie beacon. "Lemme `elp! Yew kin put yewr stat-chew in me satchel tew keep it dry!" Screed gave the Ratpacker a suspicious look. "Naw. Aye noodle Aye'll keep tha' Ultimate Ratsie in me bed-nook - where Aye kin keep me `ead onnit." Libby pouted as she watched Screed restore all of his favorite thingees to their proper corners in his sleeping cubby. Her attention began to wander (as a Ratpacker is wont to do) to the right, then left, and she discovered another pile of interesting odds and odders. There was one copy of `Peter Pan' on video, two cans of super-glue solvent, a pair of brown wingtips, a sport coat, Harvard tie, four boxes of legos and an assorted collection of tango, Charo, and flamenco guitar albums. "Screedie! Wot's this stuff `ere?" "Them bits belongs tew Vachonetti. `E parks `em `ere so nobody blonde sees `em." "Dew yew think we could borrow a tango tune er tew?" Libby asked excitedly. "If'n we dew tha' type o' borrowin' where yew act-tually give it back - no problem, matie!" Screed motioned for Libby to take his arm. "Wot say we dew some double-dip dancin', lil' squeak?" Libby chattered with pleasure as she prepared to dance cheek-tew-cheek (facial). "Dip me, dew!" "I'll shew yew later how tew dew tha' Macarena," Screed promised. "and anudder jig Aye picked up through me travels." "Wot one's that?" the Ratpacker asked eagerly. "The lambada." ************************************************************************ "I saw that," Vachon said. "Saw what?" Bons blinked innocently. "That little dig about Charo." Vachon set his guitar down beside the couch and folded his arms sternly across his chest. "A Harvard tie? Super-glue solvent? Come on! You're only making it worse for yourselves." "Yeah, Vachon?" Bonnie drawled. "Are you sure you don't have any fascinating adventures as a tax accountant you'd like to share with us? You're the one who started playing dirty by sending my cabbie away." "Our cabbie," Annie inserted. Bonnie cast the NunkMommy a territorial side glance, then decided to let Annie's comment slide. Vachon noted Bonnie's distinctly unhappy look, grinned and filed the information for later. "Uh, yeah.our cabbie," Bonnie repeated. She returned her attention to the dark-haired vampire. "It's not nice of you to be so uncooperative, Vachon. What have we ever done to you to deserve this? You know, besides the cow suits, vandalizing your church, and getting you thrown in jail." Annie was perusing the list of demands that Vachon had handed over earlier. "Uhm, Bons? I think this might have something to do with it. He doesn't like the way we've been writing about him in fanfic." "No, I don't," Vachon confirmed. "You two have left a lot to be desired, and Jules and Patt haven't written about me at all." "But -" Annie protested. "But you're Cousins. I realize that," Vachon nodded, "and I've decided to not hold it against you. It's better to start in baby steps, and only worry about fixing the story in progress." The redhead let out a groan. "Everyone's a critic." "Now look at my list," Vachon instructed, "and I'll tell you what I want changed." ************************************************************************ Deon peered with unrestrained dismay through his magnifying glass at a portion of the donkey deposit left on the sidewalk by Lava some time before. "Miss Prentiss! What on earth have they been feeding that burro!?" The faux-blonde shook her head, delicately wafting a palm in front of her face to disperse the odor. "I don't know, but it's definitely *not* oatmeal." *********************************************************************** After a couple hours worth of The Forbidden Dance, Libby realized that she was hungry. "Aye's feelin' a mite tucked," the Ratpacker said as her tummy yodeled. "A spot o' cheese would be nice." "Aye got a few moldy bits in tha' corner fer comp'ny," Screed offered. "Wot kind?" "Er, green with white crusties n' black with some fuzzy stuff. Naw, wait - tha' black one's movin' - must nawt be cheddar." Screed glanced at the wilted Libby with concern. The Ratpacker looked to be running a quart below empty. "'Ow `bout Aye visit tha' Thai Burger Palace down tha' street? Aye could borrow some o' der cheese soup." "And some spicy squid rings?" Libby asked hopefully. "Don' see why nawt," the carouche said, giving her a wink. "Ole Screed needs tew keep `is lil' squeak plump n' juicy, eh?" Libby gave a happy sigh, watching as Screed exited through the grate. Content, she curled up into a ratsie ball for a nap. Heehawing woke her up a tad later. Yawning, the Ratpacker scrambled to her feet and shuffled sleepily outside to check on her burro-mate's problem. "Wot's up, Lava-lass?" Libby inquired of the noisy animal. The donkey ducked her head down and nudged a rolled up hose (that looked suspiciously pilfered from the fire department) hung on the building wall by an outside spigot. "Yew thirsty, eh? Aye think Aye am tew." Libby located the ends of the hose, one left as a screw for attachment into the water outlet and the other accessorized with a spray nozzle labeled `Tsunami In Your Hand .' The settings on the handle ranged from `Total Drip' to `Typhoon O' Doom.' The hose was too large for the building spigot, so Libby located a conveniently-placed hydrant for her fluid needs. The Ratpacker turned the spray setting to `Babbling Brook,' then offered Lavalianna the chance to slurp. After the donkey tired of lapping at the stream of water, Libby bent her head to take a drink. *Gulp*.*Gulp*.*Click* Libby felt cold steel press into her temple. She peered upwards, and saw two strangers: a woman with hair that looked phonier than AT&T and a clean shaven dark man with hulking shoulders wearing a Charlie Brown shirt. The lady with faux cheveaux held a gun to the Ratpacker's head in a very unfriendly way. Libby swallowed a gulp of water, then cleared her throat. "Aye don't mind sharin' me water wi' yew, if'n yew just ask," Lib said, then another thought hit her. "Yew tew ain't Enforcers, are yew?" "No," the woman replied. "Nick and Natpackers upset o'er me luv stories?" "No," the man answered. "Anarchist Against Continuity?" "No." "JADFE Web searchers?" No answer. "Homicidal maniacs?" "Maybe," the woman cocked her revolver and gave Libby an evil grin. "You could also say we're from the Rat Fancier's Association. My name is Miss Prentiss, my partner is called Deon, and we believe that you have a rat we'd fancy associating with." "Hmmm." Libby thought really hard, tapping her thumb against the control knob of the spray hose as she pondered. "Yew know we `as all ratsie sorts `round here.It's kinda a ratsie HQ. We got big ratsies, lil' ratsies, brown ratsies, black ratsies, live ratsies, dead ratsies, sleepin' ratsies, fat ratsies, skinny ratsies, exotic ratsies frum Belize, A Ratsie Wot Almost Kilt -" "Enough!" Miss Prentiss snarled. "Hand over the statue, Libratsie, or you're dead as a dormouse!" "'Ey! Yew know who Aye am?" Libby cooed. "You *and* Screed," Deon said smugly. "Where is he?" "He went on an errand wi' tha' ratsie," Libby fibbed. "He should be back any time - Ooo! Lookee! Thar `e is now!" The Ratpacker assumed an alarmed expression and pointed in the direction of the alley entrance. Both Deon and Miss Prentiss turned, not because they were stupid or extremely gullible, they simply wanted the rat statue *very* badly. Libby took advantage of this momentary diversion by clicking her spray hose up to full force. The sudden jerk of the hose caused by the rushing water momentarily threw Libs off balance, but Deon and Miss Prentiss fared much worse. The blast of water knocked the air out of them both, sending them crashing into the pavement, cracked a few ribs, and sent the gun flying into the air. Libby gave a jolly laugh and shut the water off. She hopped onto Lava's back to make her escape, trampling the two no-good-nicks on her way out of the alley. She and the burro had traveled down the street about ten meters when Libby noticed a *thunk-thunk* sound coming from alongside them. Peeking below, she spotted Screed's bicycle, trailing behind them by the tether Libby had used to hitch the donkey. "Ooops." Seeing no signs of pursuit as she glanced over her shoulder, the Ratpacker dismounted, and proceeded to untie the dead weight from the burro. The moment the leather was untied, however, Lava decided to continue down the road at full speed, sans Libby, destination unknown. "Wait fer me, burro-mate!" Libby cried. The Ratpacker intended to run after the animal and leap on the donkey's back real hero-like, but she tripped over the bike littering the sidewalk, scuffing her knee until it bled. Upset over her boo-boo, Libby sniffed piteously for a second, then realized the baddies had recovered and were now running out of the alley after her, gun in hand. Libby hopped onto the bicycle and began to pedal away furiously as bullets whizzed past her. "I knew it was a trap!" Miss Prentiss cursed from the alley entrance, her wig still askew from the water attack. "Deon! Get the car! She can't pedal far!" Soon the Taurus was vrooming down the street in hot pursuit of the cycling cyberrat. ************************************************************************ Screed hummed a naughty drinking tune as he skipped home from the Thai Burger Palace. Turning into his alleyway, he noticed a large puddle blocking his way. The carouche peered curiously up into the cloudless night sky, muttered something about `Mum Nature being a wacked skirt,' then supernaturally hopped over the offending water. Then Screed noticed both Lava and his bike were missing. "Well, `ow dew yew like them pluckins? The burrito pulled a shady hoof an' went ridin' wi'out a by-yewr-leave," he sniffed. He paused and sniffed again. There was something in the air: the eau-de-donkey, his own scent of Old Spice and Irish Spring and.blood. Ratpacker blood (evidenced by a low tolerance for sugar, ie., the opposite of Nick & Natpacker blood). The carouche dropped his taken bag of take-out and followed the smell. A fierce glint formed in his eyes as he found the smear of Libby's blood further down the sidewalk. He stood, then ripped open his shirt to reveal a blue bodysuit with a large red and yellow `S' cross-stitched in the middle of his chest. As he flew off into the night sky, citizens of the metropolis could hear his cry: "Never fear, Screed-Man is `ere! Faster n' a win' stalled gal-ee-on, more pow'rful than a hunk o' lim-burter, able tew leap o'er mole hills, Aye'll be bound! Tew tha' rescew!" ********************************************************************** End O' Part Seventeen ****Libby's Disclaimer Space**** Eat more fiber - but Aye still ain't givin' up the disclaimer `til Aye git shiny pretties!!! ************************************************************************ August Heat (18/24) Event Eighteen: Headed For A Fall Libby whooshed down the hill, her hair flying in a waving flag of brown behind her. All around her, she could hear honking and screeching tires. Someone was driving recklessly, but it wasn't the Ratpacker. She was observing all of the bicycle safety rules, except she lacked a helmet. Running back to Screed's for her safety gear would have been very unsafe, so she pedaled furiously and obeyed the traffic laws, while hoping she didn't fall on her head. Libby heard a *BOOM-CRASH!* sound, as though some automobile behind her had just executed one of those gravity-defying, chassis-shaking leaps through the air that, due to the budget of this fanfic, we aren't allowed to show you in text. Just pretend, okay? Anyway, the Ratpacker looked over her shoulder, only to see a sensible, yet stylish, Ford Taurus barreling down of her at full speed. Yep, it looked like certain doom for the Libmeister if the car hit, certain doom and cosmic back trouble. So Libby got out of the way. She veered sharply around the oncoming traffic, narrowly bypassing a Metro cab, then wheeled her way through the entrance of a community park. There was a big sign next to the gate that read, "CARS AND MOTORCYCLES NOT ALLOWED. BICYCLES AND PUPPIES WELCOME." Deon slammed on the car brakes, just barely avoiding contact between the Ford's fender and the park gate. "Damn! Look at the sign! What should we do, Miss Prentiss?" "We are master criminals, Deon. Murderous, larcenous folk," Miss Prentiss fumed. "What do we care about little rules precluding tire marks on the lawn?" Seeing her partner's pout, the faux-blonde sighed. "Alright, forget it! Let's steal something!" Both baddies hopped out of the Taurus and ran into the park, then waylaid a romantic couple who glided by on a bicycle built-for-two. Pushing the pair unceremoniously to the ground, Miss Prentiss and Deon took their places atop either seat, and began to pedal after their Ratpacker quarry. It was the wee hours of the morning, but that meant that the most enthusiastic and dedicated of joggers had just now arrived at the park so they could fit in a marathon before work. It seemed that nine out of ten of these joggers had taken the park entrance's sign to heart and brought puppies. Lots and lots of puppies. Libby had a rough time weaving in and out of the low-riding dogs. They would bounce and yip and do playful puppy things, distracting her into slowing the bike down to a crawl so she could observe their antics. A Basset Hound puppy waddled directly into her path, then rolled over to show Libby its Basset belly. The Ratpacker completely forgot to pedal. The lack of forward motion caused the bicycle to teeter, then topple over. "Oooff!" Libby grunted as she fell and went *boom!* She crawled to her knees and surveyed her surroundings, zeroing in on the unpleasant pair cycling toward her on a two- seater. "Uh-oh." The Basset puppy bounded over to Libby, making little noises and nuzzling her hand. The ratsie forced herself to stand and, with nerves of steel, hopped back onto her bike. "Must.ignore.puppies," she gasped. "Must.escape.'omicidal maniacs." The Ratpacker wheeled in the direction of a large ornamental pond that had a small dock and shed used for storing paddle boats. As the bad guys were close on her tail, Libby pedaled faster and faster, heading straight for the water as though she was a kamikaze pilot. Deon and Miss Prentiss sped up, too, the latter pulling her revolver out of her vest once more. She aimed at Libby, but the bicycle-built-for-two hit a rock as Miss Prentiss pulled the trigger, causing her to shoot a maple tree, instead. "SYRUP'S UP!!" a tanned jogger with west-coast leanings shouted. Several starved- looking runners made a bee-line for the plugged tree, using their caps to catch the flowing sap. The faux blonde cursed. She was leveling the gun, prepared to shoot once more, when a figure suddenly dive-bombed them, knocking the revolver out of her grasp. Deon and Miss Prentiss looked over their shoulders and watched with amazement as Screed bent the gun in half while singing a chorus of `Besame Mucho' and doing the cha-cha. Mesmerized by the carouche's feat of strength, neither baddie noticed Libby make a ninety-degree turn. Their two-seater cycle continued to roll swiftly forward, straight for the pond. Deon realized their destination a split-second before the bicycle-built-for-two slammed into the knee-high stone wall that bordered most of the pond's edge (to protect the puppies). It was just enough time for him to yelp, "Ah!" in surprise before the impact tossed both Deon and Miss Prentiss over the handlebars and into the neck-deep water. Screed borrowed a good stretch of rope anchoring one of the paddle boats to the mini dock and used it to tie the baddies up with some very tricky sailor knots. He then bodily hauled Deon and Miss Prentiss into the paddle boat shed, where he locked them in a trunk normally used to store life jackets. Libby cheered him on enthusiastically, squeaking, "My `ero!!!" The carouche brushed his hands off as he finished the job, then flew to Libby's side. Taking her in his arms, Screed dipped the Ratpacker tango-style, then claimed a smooch for his reward. Libby dazedly wiped her drool onto her sleeve, while Screed suggested with a lascivious wink, "Wot say we take a boat fer a moonlit paddle?" Libby nodded, then drooled some more. ************************************************************************ "Now see?" Vachon complained. "Why is it that every other vampire in this story gets to be heroic, while I have to stay at home and repair my motorcycle?" Annie raised her hand as she continued to peruse the Spaniard's list of demands. "I have a question. Are we discussing Section No. 1, `Plot Demands', Subsection C - `Put me in at least one scene without the guitar or the motorcycle,' or is it Section No. 3. `Transportational Demands', Subsection B - `Fix my bike'?" "Both of those," Vachon instructed, "plus a little of Section No. 2, `Costume Demands,' Subsection A - `I want some leather pants.' That one isn't negotiable." "I can do the clothes and the bike," Bonnie offered reluctantly. "Consider your carburetor replaced." Vachon glanced down in satisfaction at the new, tight black leather pants he wore, then a frown crossed his features as he looked up accusingly at Bonnie. "There you go again." "What?" the redhead protested. "They're very *nice* pants!" Annie nodded in agreement. "Yes, I wish Nunkies had a pair. You should do something about that, Bons." "Ooo, Annie! That's a great idea! We can write that in." "Uh-huh," Vachon said knowingly. "And when you write the scene where Lacroix gets *his* leather pants, I bet there will be a horde of addicts watching him change. Am I right?" "Oh, my, yesssss." Annie sighed dreamily. "Wait and make sure I'm there, Bons," the NunkMommy ordered. The Scribe saluted. "Yes, ma'am!" "This is just the sort of treatment I'm talking about." The Spaniard began to pace around the church floor as he lectured the two addicts. "You'll show Lacroix changing clothes, Screed will run around a swap meet in nothing but his cross-stitched boxer shorts, and from the hints you've been giving, it looks like Nick is going to have a bath scene later. But me," Vachon said irritably, thumping his chest for emphasis, "my clothes *poof* on!" "Hey, Anniebug," Bonnie giggled as she elbowed the other woman, "Vachon just said he was poofy." The vampire in question growled. "Well, you did!" The redhead sighed in defeat. "Okay. I concede that you have a point.*and* pointy teeth." Bons collapsed into a fit of hysterical guffaws. "Boooon-niiiiie," Annie groaned as she shook her head in disapproval, "I agree with Vachon. I think it's only fair that you promise to treat him like the other lead vampires and make him into a sex object in the near future." The Spaniard gave the NA founder a respectful nod. "Thank you, Annie, for being so reasonable." Annie nodded back, minding her manners. "You're welcome, Vachon. I'm sure once Bonnie realizes we are on a tight schedule here, and she remembers just how much tile always needs scrubbing back at the Shrine," the NunkMommy said, her voice sweetly threatening, "Bons will agree, also." The Scribe immediately sobered from her laughing spree. "When you put it that way, I guess I'll just have to exploit the slacker, now won't I?" the redhead grumbled. "Excellent. Ladies, I think we are making progress," Vachon congratulated. "Now, what about my heroic endeavors?" Annie and Bons exchanged a sinking look. They'd both hoped, with the fuss over the leather pants, that the Spaniard had forgotten that one. After reading the above sentence, Vachon shook his head and tsked, then pointed to his temple with an index finger. "No way," he said. "I've got a vampire memory." *********************************************************************** Nick parked the Caddy at the curb a short distance from the entrance to Screed's alley because he didn't want to step in the large puddle collected on the sidewalk and street when he got out of the car. Checking to see that he wasn't observed, Nick flew over the water and landed by the grate opening to the carouche's lair. The detective ducked inside and cautiously inspected his surroundings. Deciding that Screed was not on the premises, Nick casually began to search through the dim hidey hole. Almost immediately, he came across Libby's rucker and the makeshift sack fashioned from Kelly's toga. Reaching inside the Ratpacker's knapsack, Nick pulled free an aluminum pot filled with jewelry. The detective pulled a piece of paper from his inner coat pocket - a photocopy of the list Tser had given him of all the items stolen from the NA party. The satchel and the sack appeared to hold almost the entire list, with a few missing pieces and a couple extra. For instance, there was a familiar-looking, slightly chewed lab rat in one of the bags. Nick couldn't quite place where he'd seen it before. he thought. There was also a book bound in red leather, but rather than gold leaf, its end pages were stained with cheese dip. The volume's title proclaimed it to be `Dreams O' Screed.' Nick shook his head wonderingly, then looked at the third unlisted object. It was a simple piece of paper marked `Disclaimer:,' followed by an acknowledgment. Nick grinned. Nick's face collapsed into a frown. The vampire continued to search through the carouche's things, searching for the still- absent pots, telephone, and towel holder, as well as anything else that looked potentially stolen. He found a stack of albums, a videotape, a striped tie, and several items which appeared strange for Screed to have lying around, then added them to the two sackfulls of `borrowed' goods. Nick branded the piles of dead rats as definitely Screed's property. He swished open the curtain to what looked to be a sleeping cubby and found a child's mouse doll, a stack of stock shares, and a ship in a bottle. The detective added these to the collection of bagged items as well. Nick was preparing to close off the sleeping space again when his hand bumped into the pillowcase, making a *thunk* sound. His eyes narrowed, concluding that the pillow was not stuffed with goose down. Peeling back the open end of the material, Nick experienced a surge of triumph as he uncovered the tarnished copper green of the rodent statue. Nick thrilled silently. He picked up the pillowcase and tucked it under his arm, grasping a sack of pilfered items in either hand. Ducking back out the grate, Nick floated over the water puddle once more, landing by the Caddie's side. Both sacks took up residence in the backseat of the car, but the detective placed the rat statue lovingly next to him in the passenger's seat. He rested one hand over it protectively as he drove the aqua convertible away from Screed's haunt and out of sight. ********************************************************************** "Okay, there's one of my transportation issues," Vachon commented. "I want a car." "But you have a motorcycle!" Annie protested. "It even works now!" "And when it rains, my hair gets wet," he countered, as though he was stating the obvious. "Make the car something predatory, like a 900 series Porsche - black." Bonnie shook her head. "No. Lacroix already has a black Jaguar." Vachon gave her a sarcastic look. "When does he ever actually drive it? It seems to me that Jules practically lives in the Jag." Annie grimaced as she recalled the valet-parking incident at the swap meet. "Not anymore, she doesn't." "I don't care," Bonnie argued, then turned to the Spaniard. "Let's try for some variety - how about a silver Porsche?" Vachon thoughtfully rubbed the stubble on his chin, then shrugged. "Alright. I can live with silver. Come on, let's go look at it." "Now?! Can't it wait?" Bonnie exclaimed. "We're on a tight schedule!" Annie insisted. "But this is important. I have to make sure Rutledge writes the car in with tires and brakes. She's not exactly trustworthy, you know," Vachon added, causing Bonnie to pout and Annie to nod reluctantly. "Consider what she just did to Libby and Screed," the dark- haired vampire continued as he followed the addicts down the church stairs. "She just let Knight walk off with their most treasured possessions and *my* flamenco guitar albums. Was that really necessary?" "I did it for the plot," Bonnie explained. "It was important." "Just like leaving Heidi handcuffed to a desk was important to the storyline, I suppose," Vachon said doubtfully. Bonnie still had enough conscience to look guilty at that statement. "Weeeell, she's more like a running gag. I intend to reward Heidi for her patience - I swear!" The Spaniard did not look convinced. "I hope I live to read it." Bons turned to Annie and whispered indignantly, "He's being sarcastic again, isn't he? I hate that!" "If you would stop being so difficult," the NA founder hissed back, "we might actually be able to get Screed's address and ditch him before sunrise! Now give Vachon what he wants!" "But -" "Do it!" Annie ordered under her breath. "Oh-kay." Bonnie padded barefoot across the church parking lot toward an automobile shrouded in a protective cover. She unveiled the vehicle with a swift flick of the wrist, revealing a gleaming silver sportscar. "There. Are you happy now?" Vachon counted the tires, then stuck out a palm in the redhead's direction. "Hand over the keys." Bons fluttered her eyelashes as she handed over a shiny pair hooked on a chain sporting the FK logo in black and white. "As if *moi* would forget to give you the keys!" "Ummm-hmmm," Vachon murmured as he slid into the driver's seat. "Hop in, you two. We'll continue this discussion on the road." "But it's only a two-seater!" Bonnie protested. "Annie can take the passenger's side. You can squeeze behind the seat," the vamp reasoned. Annie didn't have a problem with that plan, probably because she actually got a place to sit. Bonnie, however, whined. "Why me?" Vachon gave her a wicked slacker grin. "Because you can." ************************************************************************ Nick parked outside the police precinct, then turned his attention to the Caddie's back seat. He pulled out Tser's list once more, sorting through the items to separate those objects stolen from the addicts from the pieces no doubt `borrowed' from someone else. As he set the mouse doll aside in the `non-addict' pile, Nick failed to notice how a thin necklace holding a tiny key had become attached to the back of the toy's dress, thereby causing him to mis-file the jewelry. Otherwise, the detective's classification of the loot was accurate. Nick then stowed the addicts' property in the Caddie's trunk and gathered the other items into one bag. He kept the copper statue inside its pillowcase and tucked under an arm. The other sack, however - the one containing tango albums, a chewed rat, a ship in a bottle, stock shares, a doll, a necklace holding a key, the `Dreams O' Screed' book, a sports jacket, Peter Pan video, Super-glue solvent, and one Disclaimer - ended up at the precinct's evidence locker, where Nick had them catalogued as stolen goods. ************************************************************************ "Now," Vachon announced as he vroomed down the expressway, "what did you have in mind for my heroic deed?" "Well.uhm.nothing springs to mind immediately," Bonnie said, her voice muffled because her face was pressed up against the back of a headrest. "Do you realize how many characters we've planned heroic deeds for?" "So get rid of some of them," Vachon suggested calmly. "That's why we have fiery plane crashes." "Oh, sure!" Bons derided. "Take the easy way out.you slacker!" "Actually, that isn't the most slack method for ditching extra characters," Annie said helpfully. "It's even easier when you make them fall down a well - and there are no added costs for pyrotechnics!" Bonnie groaned. "A well?" Vachon mused aloud. "I kind of like that idea. It worked for Mark Twain, didn't it?" "Exactly," Annie agreed, "He completely filled a well with characters he didn't like anymore to get them out of the way." "Leaving room for me to perform heroic deeds," Vachon finished. "This is definitely the way to go. Rutledge - install the well! I want you to dump a couple of pieces of dead weight before this story part is over." "I hope you two know what you're getting into here," Bonnie warned. "Just do it!" Annie ordered in fierce Nunk-Mommy tones. "Oh-kay," Bonnie sighed. Suddenly, a giant Well O' Doom opened up in a random Toronto location, awaiting the arrival of unsuspecting characters. "Now that problem is taken care of," the Spaniard said smugly, "have you come up with any content for my heroism?" "I'm thinking! I'm thinking!" Bonnie muttered. "These things take time!" Annie appeared fretful at this declaration. "But we don't have time! We're on a tight schedule! We only have six episodes left to conclude this thing!" Vachon parked the Porsche and got out. "While you two make plans for me, I'm needed for a brief appearance elsewhere. I'll be back at this location in a few parts - put the time between to good use, okay?" There was a flash, and the dark-haired vampire was gone. "Good riddance!" Bons growled. "Annie? Can you help unfold me?" The NunkMom grabbed hold of one wiggling hand and pulled with all of her might. There was a popping sound, and Bonnie slid into the driver's seat, where she immediately checked the car's ignition. "Vachon took the keys," Annie informed her. "Drat!" Bonnie pounded the steering wheel, then turned to her friend. "I told you that slacker would be trouble!" "It just occurred to me," Annie said brightly. "Vachon isn't the only person in this story we could learn Screed's address from!" "Yeah," Bonnie agreed morosely, "but Nick isn't going to cooperate, either." "No, no," Annie corrected. "Not Nick.Natalie!" "Ohmigawsh! You're right! Nat went to Screed's place during `Fever'!" Both addicts piled out of the Porsche and ran for the nearest public phone booth. "We can call the morgue," Annie cheered, "take the subway, and get there lickety spliiiiiiiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh..*boom!*" Bons shook her head in confusion. "I didn't quite catch that last part, Bug. Could you say it agaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh...*boom!*" They were enshrouded in darkness and a small echo of trickling water sounded in the background. "Uh-oh," Bonnie whimpered. Annie didn't whimper. She shrieked. "What do you mean `uh-oh'? Do you know where we are?!" "Yes, Annie. I think we fell down the well." ************************************************************************ End O' Part Eighteen ATTENTION: This space tagged as Metro Police Evidence Packet #79.1228 *********************************************************************** August Heat (19A/24) Event Nineteen A: Friends, Romans, Donkeys.Drive Jules To Tears! It soon became apparent that Lacroix's flight to Screed's habitat appeared canceled. Approximately two blocks from CERK, the occupants of the truck were startled by an odd sight. Just ahead, gravity had come to bear on the ancient vampire. He drifted down from overhead, his face reflecting amused confusion. Lacroix touched earth with one toe extended daintily. As his descending continued, he lost his balance and began falling forward. Jules gasped in horror. The priestess was clambering out of the pickup before Patt's swift braking had brought the vehicle to a full halt. Jules ran toward Lacroix, her arms extended as if to catch and aid him. By this time, the General had caught and righted himself, with no damage to the pavement or his ego. When he saw Jules running toward him, he cocked an eyebrow in bemused consideration. Then, quite suddenly, he broke into a tap routine reminiscent of Gene Kelly's famous 'Singin' in the Rain' number. "General," the priestess panted as she ran after her spinning employer. She finally reached him, clutching at his arm on the pretense of offering him support. Lacroix, feeling her touch, smiled broadly and took a step backward, catching the copper- haired woman as *she* lost balance. With one arm around her waist and another enveloping her tiny hand, Lacroix spun Jules faster and faster along the asphalt runway, causing only minor traffic mishaps and irate blaring of auto horns. "That dress just *screams* to be danced in!!" the vampire shouted into the night. Patt and Tser caught up to the frolicking pair as Lacroix was seating a breathless Jules on the pavement. The priestess' hair was disheveled, her dress was wrinkled, and she was gasping as though she would go into cardiac arrest at any moment, but she had the most syrupy of smiles on her face, and her eyes were completely glazed over. "Quick," Patt shouted at Tser, throwing her the ATM money packet and pointing toward an all-night convenience store half-a-block away. "She's gotta have a V-8!!" "Drinks are on me!" Lacroix added, holding one arm, forefinger extended, into the air. As Tser rushed away, the vampire lowered his gaze to Patt, his eyes glittering with dark amusement. "Or *in* me. What do you think, dear, distant relative? Is it din-din time?" Patt had been moving to help Jules, but she now stopped, wary. Lacroix straightened himself, every bit the foreboding image that he'd carefully nurtured during his almost two- thousand years of existence. A foreboding presence suddenly stood in front of the Third Cousin, so close that she could count the fibers in the fabric of his shirt. Patt slowly raised her face, so that she could see his. Lacroix waggled his fingers in Patt's eyes and smiled, "Surprise!!" Before she could step back, Patt found herself in the vice grip of his powerful hands, one clamped around each of her upper arms. Lacroix made a lifting motion, bringing the mature addict up on her tip toes. He leaned forward, his lips a caress in her ear. His voice low and throaty, Lacroix uttered one word. "Bud." Then he was gone, tripping down the sidewalk in circular motions, arms outstretched. Patt ran to Jules, who was already lifting herself from the sidewalk, brushing simultaneously at her clothing and wayward hair. As Patt reached for her, Jules slapped at the Third Cousin and pointed toward Lacroix. "GO AFTER HIM!" "WHY?!" Patt responded. "He's nuts! And he's a *dangerous* nut!" "He's not *NUTS,*" Jules was shouting at the Louisianan as Tser ran up. "He's ill and needs our help." Jules grabbed the proffered V-8 and began shaking the can fiercely. "Go after him! He's ducked down that alley. You follow him, I'll go around the building and Tser will keep the truck parallel along the main road. Now MOVE IT!!" "You sure have gotten bossy lately," Patt grumbled, but started moving in the direction she'd been instructed to go. The Third Cousin paused at the mouth of the alley. It was dark in there. Patt adjusted her bifocals, but it didn't help. The alley was still very, very dark. She took a tentative step inside, hoping that it would be less menacing within the black envelope. "Odd," Patt thought, peering for the end of the alley, where light should be evident. "Not really," a sexy male voice whispered close beside her. "This is fanfic, and nothing is odd." Startled, Patt whirled to see the long-haired vampire step from the shadows. Vachon grinned at her. "Blinking might help - clear the vision, that is." "What are *you* doing here?" Patt asked, startled and a bit peeved. "Aren't you supposed to be with Bons and Annie right now? I don't write about you in my fiction -remember?" "Yea," the Spaniard leaned casually against the brick facing and squinted at the Third Cousin. "I've been meaning to ask you - why is that?" Patt shrugged. "I don't know . . . you've just never come up in a storyline I've considered. I think it's the age thing. You just look too young for me to have a 'relationship' with, so I just haven't been too interested in projecting characters to interact with you." Vachon blinked. "I thought it might be brunette prejudice," he finally said. Patt laughed. "Nawwwww, I like tall, dark and handsome, as a matter of fact. Dirk, the cabbie, is a prime example." The Third Cousin released a dreamy sigh, then reassumed her mature addict demeanor. "I *do* like your character. Really enjoyed the hand thing in 'Black Buddha.' Gore works for me, if done tastefully and not to extreme." Vachon rolled the words 'gore' and 'tasteful' around in his mouth for a moment, considering. "Nope, truth is," Patt went on, her words rushing from her mouth (like, duhhhh, that was unusual?). "I like your character. Very under-utilized, in my opinion. There's a ton of room for character and plot advancement in the future. Remember, I've just been writing one major fanfic offering a year. I already have plans in the works for a Lacroix story, but I'll consider you in 1998-1999. Have your agent give me a call, okay?" "Okay," Vachon nodded, his Basset eyes endearing in the darkness. "I'll let you go for now, but I will be watching." He snapped his fingers and the alley suddenly flooded with normal night-hour lighting. Patt returned the vampire's nod and gave him a smile, always one to encourage self-worth among young people. Then, she took off down the alley, in pursuit of Lacroix. Only to run smack into Jules at the end of the corridor. "Where is he?!" the priestess demanded. "Isn't he here?" Patt answered. "He wasn't in the alley." "Damn," Jules said, her eyes going skyward. "You don't think that he's trying to fly again, do you?" "I sure hope not," Patt joined Jules' scanning. Overhead, a soft *thwack* then a frantic fluttering of wings was suddenly heard. "DUCK" both women shouted, stooping and covering their heads with their arms. "No . . . goose," Lacroix spiraled downward, a Canadian gander tucked under his arm. He gently placed the fowl on the ground and gave it a gentle nudge with his foot. The bird honked angrily and waddled away. Lacroix looked at the two women. "Had a small collision," he simpered. "Must speak to the Royal Air Traffic Control folk about the crowded sky lanes. I never used to have all these problems." Then his smile broadened, and he shrugged, "I shouldn't complain, I guess, as it could have been much worse. I might have collided with a penguin." Jules and Patt both dove at the vampire, intent on wrestling him into subservience. Lacroix, of course, had other ideas. He turned, wrenching himself from their grasping fingers, and vaulted into the air. He bounded down the main street, looking much like a kangaroo taking giant leaps. "We need a portable trampoline to keep up with him," Jules puffed as she ran after the hopping General. "And a net," Patt agreed. Lacroix ran ahead of them, arms outstretched, flapping in bird-like fashion. "You know, I could fly more efficiently when I had my cape," he called back over his shoulder to the addicts, "but someone purloined it. Any idea who?" Remembering several pictures in the Sacred Photo Album, both women slowed down their pursuit. But, then remembering none of the photos were of them, they increased their stride again. It appeared that Jules and Patt might be gaining on Lacroix. With a sudden burst of energy, they ran down the side street, approaching the main thoroughfare. Ahead, the maroon truck was visible, blocking the intersection. Tser must have seen them coming, because the horn suddenly blared. Lacroix looked up, focusing on the truck. "Oopps, time to run the blockade." He sprang into the air, landing on the vehicle's hood. He bowed at the waist and looked through the windshield at a startled Tser. "Feeling delusional again, my dear?" Lacroix drawled, then stood erect, looking around. Assuming a stage-like presence, Lacroix addressed his three-addict audience in his most resonant vocal tones. "A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse." It was at that moment that a car horn honked, causing a burro to bray. Lacroix looked toward the sound, then quirked an eyebrow. "Not exactly what I had in mind, but one cannot be choosy on such short notice." Like the vampire, Jules and Patt turned in the direction of the donkey, while Tser jumped out of the truck and began running. "LAVA!" the girl from Oregon shouted joyously. "Did she forget to wash her hands?" Lacroix watched the fleeing girl with interest. Then, noting what Tser ran toward, the vampire fairly brightened with amusement and purpose. "GRAB HIM!!" Jules shouted, noting LC's body language indicated his intention to fly again. Patt managed to grab hold of his pants cuff as Lacroix prepared to bolt. He looked disdainfully at the Third Cousin and said, "Wrinkle the Armani, and you're tonight's main course." Patt let go of the black cloth like it was made of fire. "PATT!!" Jules shouted as Lacroix fled down the street after Tser. "WHAT??" Patt shouted back, crowding into the priestess' comfort zone. "WHY'D YOU LET HIM GO??" Jules screamed, her face red with anger. "BECAUSE HE WAS GOING TO BITE ME!!" Patt screamed back, her own face crimson. "AND THAT'S *BAD*??" Jules screeched, her hands clutched in tight little fists. "IF YOU HAVE TO KEEP YOUR 'DAY JOB' TO MAKE ENDS MEET, IT IS!!" Patt screeched back. (Patt, you see, despite a foolish streak of imagination, is of an extremely practical nature.) "LET GO OF MY BURRO!!" Tser's voice snapped the two women out of their verbal contention. They looked toward the new shouting, watching as Tser ran toward the spot where the vampire already stood with the burro. "Sure wish I had that speed on the dog agility course," Patt thought woefully. Lacroix was in front of Lavalianna, a hand clasped to each side of the animal's halter, staring deep into the creature's large brown eyes. At this invasion into her brain matter, the donkey snorted. Seeing that her verbal instructions were having no affect, Tser made contact with Lacroix via a full body slam. "Those darned wrestling lessons again," Jules couldn't help but smile, but it soon faded. She found herself wishing that Tser had exercised better discretion when picking an opponent. Lacroix let go of the donkey and grabbed Tser by the waist, lifting the young woman and dodging her pummeling fists. Lava, free again, galloped down the street, intent on putting mucho distance between herself and the fray. "Sorry, must dash," Lacroix said as he dropped Tser and took off after the burro. The three women, two from running positions and one from a heap on the pavement, watched as the vampire, coat tails flying, placed both hands on the running animal's rump and lightly jumped onto Lava's back, executing the maneuver which Libby had tried (and failed) to do. "Hi ho, Silver . . . err, Obsidian, AWAY!!" Lacroix shouted as the donkey and vampire sped off down the street. "That's LAVA!" Tser shouted at the vampire while struggling to her feet. Jules and Patt reached her, but Tser shook their hands off, and began chasing the fleeing burro and rider. "Talk about your Asses to Asses," Patt quipped. She was short on breath, but that didn't stop her from punning. "Truck," Jules gasped, bent over to catch her breath. Patt, likewise, was grasping her knees and wheezing now, trying to force air into her overtaxed lungs. Patt turned and looked back the quarter mile (how much is that in meters? This is Canada, you know) where the vehicle was parked. Then, still panting horribly, Patt looked back at Jules. "Kidding?" the older woman gasped. "Truck," Jules demanded firmly, through wheezes of air. Patt looked back at the truck, then at Jules. "Kidding, please?" the mature addict whined. "TRUCK NOW!!" Jules managed to screech, then doubled with a coughing fit. Resigned, Patt turned and began walking toward the truck. "FASTER!" the priestess coughed. Patt broke into a trot, firing the copper-haired woman a dirty look over her shoulder. Jules didn't see it, though, because she had already started moving, painfully, in the direction in which Lacroix, Lava and Tser were rapidly disappearing. The Louisianan was about one-third of the way to the pickup when a familiar voice called out, "Hey, friend, need a lift?" The large black Metro cab pulled up alongside Patt, and Dirk offered the addict a grin. "I love you," Patt proclaimed, throwing Dirk a kiss and reaching for the door handle. The driver's smile broadened and he reached back to unlock the door. Patt climbed into the cab. "Okay, sweetheart," Dirk addressed the heavily breathing woman. "Truck or trio?" he was looking ahead to where Jules' turquoise ensemble was melting into the night. "Wheels is wheels," Patt replied. "FOLLOW THAT ASS!" they said simultaneously. ********************************************************************** "DID YOU SEE THAT?" Dirk yelped in an obviously provoked tone of voice. "That stupid cyclist just about rammed into us, and that doubly stupid Taurus just about cost me a tail light!" "Your tail is just fine, dear," Patt murmured absently, her focus on the street ahead. "Just keep your eyes on the road and Jules on the horizon." "She sure can move in those heels," Dirk admitted, coming back to the task at hand. "I wonder where she works out." "Not sure of the location," Patt responded, "but I do know who her personal trainer is. In fact, that's him on the donkey." "Cool," Dirk grinned. "So this is actually roadwork that we're observing, right?" "Just drive, hon," Patt reached over and patted the driver on the back, never taking her eyes from Jules' diminishing form. "We're losing them." Dirk applied more pressure to the gas pedal and honked the cab's horn for emphasis. Traffic was increasing again, as the early morning commuter types were invading the streets. Dirk weaved in and out of the sleepy travelers, counting spilt coffee cups like trophies as he went. "Whooohhh, one Burger Barn Giant Refill Mug to the floorboard -five points!" "Keep going," Patt urged, clutching the driver's arm. "I think we're gaining on them." Then Jules disappeared. "Damn!" Patt muttered loudly. Her eyes searched ahead frantically. "Where'd they go?" The cab shot forward along the thoroughfare, but there was no sign of the priestess, much less those with a greater lead - Lava, LaCroix and Tser. It was as if the ground had swallowed them up. Well, perhaps 'ground' was not the appropriate word, in this case. Unnoticed by Patt and Dirk, the cab had passed a massive drainage opening, the circumference of which would have easily allowed the passing of a donkey and rider through its granite enclosure. As Jules splashed through the stagnant free-flow retained by the drainage ditch, she felt the first soak, climbing up the hem of her dress. "Eeeyyyeeeeewwwwww," she retched inwardly, increasing her stride to include hops, side steps and tiny kicks of disgust. From the raised rock sidewall, an umber rat squeaked at the invasion of his home turf. "Shut up!" Jules yelled at the rodent. "I know someone who would love to invite you to sup!" The rat scurried away, tail low. Jules fussed to herself, brushing wayward tendrils from her face as she ran. she began a mental arithmetic exercise so as to keep her mind off what she was stepping in, A momentary pang of memory made her shoulders sag, but she braced herself and ran on. Jules smiled. She reached the end of the tunnel, pausing slightly to look around. To her west, she saw Tser vanishing up an incline. A steep, grassy incline. Jules sighed. Reaching down, she broke off her heels and slipped the now-flat running shoes back on. Puffing and grasping at non-existent bushes for support, Jules climbed up the hill. Reaching the crest, she paused again and looked around. She was rewarded by the sight of Tser, entering a cluster of majestic older trees. More rewarding, she saw the distant image of beast and rider passing through the grove. Jules vaulted across the open grassy area toward the wood. About half-way across, the tell-tale *whoosh* of vampiric company passed over her head, the backdraft force of the movement enough to knock her down. Jules fell to her knees, only to discover that a puppy had preceded her to this spot. "EEEEEWWWWHHHHHHEEEEEE" Jules was livid when she stood up. She looked down in horror, inspecting the grime on her radial cap. The priestess quickly hiked up her skirt and rolled down her panty hose. She disposed of the nylons in a nearby receptacle, thus eliminating the most pungent of her problems. the priestess vowed, continuing her race toward the trees. Up ahead, Tser was silently thanking anyone who was listening for all those days of mountain climbing and lifting feed sacks. She was keeping up with Lavalianna and Lacroix, if not overtaking them. The addict from Oregon watched as Lacroix and the burro reached the perimeter of the trees. Several hundred feet later, Tser burst onto open ground. In front of her, down a slight slope, was a small ornamental pond that was surrounded by a raised rock rail. Lavalianna stood at the rail, her neck extended over its top, slowly sucking in the quenching liquid. Lacroix was leaning forward, stroking the animal's neck and speaking softly. "Don't let her take too much!" Tser shouted, running toward them. "She'll colic." Lacroix acknowledged the girl by looking up, then gently pulling the halter so that the burro raised her head. Tser slowed her pace to a trot, so as not to frighten Lava by her approach. As she drew closer, the Oregonian was able to make out the vampire's words. "'--canst thou make them creatures of thy will? -- to know thee? to come at call? to go, if thou sayest it, to the last extreme of breath and strength? and then, in the perishing moment, out of the depths of thy life, thrill them to one exertion the mightiest of all? . . . the kings of their kind; of a lineage reaching back to the broods of the first Pharaoh; my comrades and friends, dwellers in tents, whom to their instincts have added our wits and to their senses joined our souls, until they feel all we know of ambition, love, hate, and contempt; in war, heroes; in trust, faithful as women . . .'" Tser beamed, recognizing the words from "Ben-Hur" describing the chariot horses. The young woman's eyes were filled with tears as she reached the donkey and rider. She placed a hand on the creature's neck and looked lovingly up at Lacroix. "Meltdown?" the General inquired with amusement. Tserisa nodded. "I can't help it. This happens everytime you do something warm and fuzzy," the girl explained the obvious. "Add warm and fuzzy actions with warm and fuzzy critters and what do you expect? I'm molten at your feet." Lacroix nodded understandingly. "Nimium calidus ad tracto," he said. Lava nickered, flattening her ears to her head. Between his legs, Lacroix felt the burro tense. Looking around, the vampire and the mortal girl spied Jules coming over the crest. "She looks bent on ruining my fun," Lacroix said sadly, tightening his hold on the donkey's halter. "And, she's usually such a joy to be around. Perhaps she could do with a holiday." "I think she's just concerned about you, sir," Tser defended the priestess. "Wants you around for "fun" for a long, long time." "A more permanent playground, ehhhhh?" Lacroix smirked slightly. Tser tried to hide her own amusement at his comment, but the mirth spread across her face. Jules was shouting and waving her arms now, rushing them. "Dear me," Lacroix sighed. "This just won't do." Before Tserisa could react, Lacroix reached down, clasped her forearm and pulled her up behind him on the burro's back. Then, applying subtle pressure to the beast's flanks, Lacroix slapped the halter lacings slightly and pressed Lava into forward motion. Jules fingers had a brief encounter with donkey hide before the travelers bolted up the opposite side of the incline. "Nooooooooo!" Jules cried out in frustration. "It's not fair! She gets polyglot and I get . . . *poop*!!" Exhausted, the priestess fell to the ground and watched the vanishing hindquarters of the trio. ************************************************************************ End O' Part Nineteen A Due To A Computer Error, This Space Has Been Reassigned To Metro Police Evidence Packet #1228.79 Please Refile. ************************************************************************ August Heat (19B/24) Event Nineteen B: The Roman Goes Greek Dirk had just finished topping off the gas tank when Patt emerged from the filling station/food mart. "Feel better?" he inquired with a grin. "Much," Patt responded, then she shook the brown paper sack which she held. "I do have a complaint, though." Dirk responded by lifting a questioning eyebrow. "The food," Patt replied to his unasked question. "Fish and chips just don't make the grade when compared to fried crawfish tails and boudin balls." "I'm a tostada man, myself," Dirk offered, rescrewing the cap and letting the license plate fall back with a *clunk*. Patt handed Dirk a canned soft drink, which he popped and consumed in one long gulp. The Louisianan uncapped her bottled water and took a healthy swig herself. The cabbie tossed his empty into the trash container and looked across the vehicle roof at Patt. "Any ideas?" Patt considered leering, but remained mature and just shook her head. "No. I'm open to suggestions. Have any?" Dirk considered leering, too, but assumed professional demeanor. He looked around, noting their location. "This is the university district," he said thoughtfully, "bordering the city parks. Perhaps if we cruise the campus outskirts, someone may have noticed a donkey in the vicinity." "Good an idea as any," Patt agreed, getting into the passenger seat as Dirk placed himself behind the wheel. "Let's cruise." They had navigated approximately one-third of the east side of the campus when Dirk looked off to his right, past Patt. He pointed at a rather bedraggled figure limping along the jogging path. "Isn't that your pal from the swap meet? Miss Work-Out?" Patt followed his point, saw Jules, and couldn't decide whether to groan or whoop for joy at the sight of the priestess. "It's either her or a well-dressed street person. Pull up, and let me go take a look-see." Dirk stopped the car. Patt exited and ran toward Jules. Seeing Patt, the copper-haired woman waved the Louisianan away and instructed her to get back into the vehicle. Patt complied, and Jules soon joined the Third Cousin, pulling herself into the back seat and collapsing. Patt turned around in her seat, beaming happily at the priestess and prepared to offer greetings. The Louisianan paused, though, upon detecting a faint aroma. Jules eyes threatened death when Patt innocently asked, "What's that smell? It's familiar." Patt sniffed and suddenly her eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh, yea - Rice and Lamb formula. Kewl!" Jules leaned forward and placed a hand on Dirk's shoulder. He flinched slightly as the feminine hand retracted into a claw. "Listen to me, driver, and listen well. Your mission, whether you like it or not, is to find that donkey. I don't care how you accomplish it, but you *will* find that beast. Do I make myself clear?" Dirk nodded. Jules released him and caught Patt in her grasp. "And you," the priestess' voice was beyond threat - it was promise. "If you utter one word, breathe one syllable, during the next few moments, I promise you a hell that Lacroix has never dreamed of in his worst nightmares. Do *you* understand?" Patt nodded. Satisfied, Jules sat back in the seat and began examining herself. "I look a fright, don't I?" she mused. Then she addressed Dirk. "Hand me some tissues, please." "Sorry," Dirk responded, "The headcheese . . . errr, cheese-head . . . errr, Anniebug," Dirk shrugged when Patt glanced sharply at him, "got the last of them." Then, his voice brightened at another idea. "I have some wet wipes, though. Would that help?" Jules assented, silently praising Handi-wipes as one of the ten greatest inventions of modern civilization. They cruised another few miles when a telltale token of Lava's passing appeared on the horizon. Patt got out, examined the droppings, then got back inside the cab. Noting that Jules was looking at her inquiringly, Patt used her fingers to spell out ' F R E S H .' Then, the farm-educated addict pointed northwest. The campus was still fairly quiet, as it was not yet dawn and school was not yet in session for the fall. Some of the buildings showed signs of occupancy, but for the most part, all was still. Until they rounded a corner and spied *the* house. It stood off to itself - a massive, two-story structure of brick and masonry with huge pillars and a balcony across its entire front. Every light in the place was on, and loud rock music wafted from within. Hanging from the balcony was a makeshift sign proclaiming "We Eat Freshmen," and attached near the double doors were large black letters proclaiming an affiliation. "A frat house," Jules noted. "But, which fraternity?" "Greek to me," Patt responded without thinking, she was so busy examining the lettering. "Of course, it's Greek, you nit," Jules reached up, thwapping Patt's head. This action upset the Mountie hat, which toppled off the Third Cousin's head onto the floorboard. Patt grabbed the hat and began brushing it off, cradling it protectively. "Roll down the windows," Jules instructed Dirk. "I want to hear." Dirk complied, and the sudden increase in volume caused the cab to vibrate. Even over the hard rock pounding, they heard it - the sharp bray of a burro. "Looks like the place," Patt said happily, hopping out as Dirk stopped the cab. Dirk climbed out also, opening the door for Jules. Jules pulled herself out of the cab and limped toward the fraternity house stairs. As they approached, two rather large young males came out of the front door to stand on the porch. They were wrapped in white sheets and wore ball caps stenciled with the Canadian maple leaf crest. The young men didn't notice the advancing women, choosing instead to walk to the end of the porch and take the side steps down. "A toga party!" Patt was enraptured. "Think they're celebrating Conversion Day, too?" They were at the base of the steps now. Jules paused and turned to Patt. "Give me that hat." "What hat?" Patt said innocently, but her hand was already moving possessively toward the Mountie stetson. "That damned Mountie hat!" Jules hissed, causing Patt to start back some. "I'm not going into a fraternity toga party without a hat on - it's not civilized." "How about me?" Patt whined, once Jules had placed the purloined topper on her head. "You're not civilized anyway," Jules responded, "so it doesn't matter. Come on. And bring Dick with you." "The name's Dirk," Dirk corrected. "Drat," Jules replied, because, when she'd gone to use the knocker, the door had swung open. Party crashing, you see, was not her style. She would have much preferred ringing the bell and receiving an invite to come in. Instead, she was now facing an open doorway filled with a throng of male pulchritude that would dazzle most young females. "BABES!!" was the universal cry from within the frat house. Dirk looked at the mass of males, his expression stern. "Reiterate, please." "BABES AND A BULL!!" they responded. Dirk nodded his head in satisfaction. "Okay, ladies," the driver said, sweeping his arm as indication to enter, "ole'." Once inside the fraternity house, the three visitors began looking around. A tall young man of muscular build separated himself from the crowd and walked over, hand extended. "Seth Foster," the young man smiled. "I'm the president of Alpha Sigma Sigma. May I help you? "Yea," Patt spoke up before Jules could respond. "I'm curious. What kind of frat is this?" "Athletic," Seth replied. Even his face rippled with muscles. Patt thought sadly, but then she noted the drink in his hand. "Ginger Ale?" the Third Cousin said suspiciously. Seth nodded. "This house is on campus grounds," the young man explained. "And even if it weren't, we're proud of our no-alcohol policy. Most of our members are under the legal drinking age, as it is, and we all believe that football is a game best played cold - sober, that is." Patt smiled approvingly, "Wish I'd thought of that - we wouldn't be in the mess we're in now. Rugby, you say?" Seth grinned broadly. "Why, yes. Are you familiar with the game? "No," Patt replied truthfully, then she grinned shyly, "but I can be taught." "We're here for the burro," Jules broke in. "And her riders." "Ohhhhhh," Seth nodded in understanding. "You're looking for the General. He's in the main parlor, recruiting soldiers." "Whaaaaa?" Jules looked in dismay toward where Seth was pointing. The bray of a donkey suddenly echoed above the music, and Jules, direction confirmed, took off toward it. "I guess we better go for a look-see, too," Patt said. Both Dirk and Seth offered her an arm. Delighted, the Third Cousin linked with both and walked toward the parlor, taking in the view of man-flesh as she strode. The parlor was festively decorated with plastic garlands, which had seen at least three too many such parties, and various articles of women's lingerie. Patt mused, brushing past the strap of a VF offering. Then the Third Cousin smirked wickedly A group of burly young men were standing in a group, roughly positioned in parallel lines, their backs to Patt. Behind them, sitting in an armchair which had been placed on a high table, was Tser. Patt looked sideways and up at the buzz-cutted addict. Someone had added to Tser's black toga ensemble. She now had a dark maroon silk sheet draped across her left shoulder and an artificial leaf tiara atop her head. In one hand, she held a roll of paper towels and in the other, a pair of tongs. When she saw Patt eyeing her questioningly, the Oregonian mouthed, "I'll explain later." Patt nodded and turned back toward the front of the room. Being just over five feet two inches tall, Patt could see nothing but male torsos. She looked up at Dirk. "What do you see?" "Backs of heads," Dirk responded, peering forward. "What else?" Patt queried. "Any sign of Jules or Lacroix?" Dirk squinted, then nodded slowly. "I see a flash of turquoise glitter. It seems to be snaking through the throng." Patt clasped Dirk's hand. "Follow the leader," she instructed. Dirk and Patt wound their way through the mass of bodies. As they grew closer to the front of the assembly, they heard the sound of a familiar velvet voice, speaking in lecture mode. Patt nodded to Dirk in satisfaction, and they both picked up their pace. Only to freeze when Lacroix shouted, "TAKE HER!" There was a surge of movement at the front of the group and a sudden cry which sounded suspiciously like Jules caught in a moment of panic. Patt tried to thrust forward, but Dirk caught her arm and held two fingers to his lips, a sign for caution. "But I'm the defender of the Juled Crown!" Patt argued with the cabbie, her voice a low whisper. "It's in my sig!!" "Significant, I'm sure," Dirk whispered back. "But right now, I don't think she's in any immediate danger of irreparable harm." He moved his fingers to point upward. Patt's eyes followed his indication. Overhead, Jules was being passed by many hands across the heads of the crowd, quickly being moved to the rear of the gathering. The priestess was struggling, yelping, emitting little *oompfing* grunts, but generally was not making much progress at slowing her passage. Patt gave the copper-haired woman a little wave as she went by. Jules noticed and opened her mouth to yell something, but was handed off before she had a chance to make her feelings known. By now, Patt had wormed herself through the menfolk until she was within easy hearing range of the General. As Seth had told her, Lacroix appeared to be addressing the troops. Patt peaked out from under the armpit of one of the front liners and caught a glimpse of her objective. Lacroix was strutting in front of the young men, his voice resonant with command. His usual black clothing was draped with white muslin, still bearing the tags of the bedding manufacturer. The vampire held a child's plastic broadsword, which he brandished with vigor, occasionally poking a frat member for emphasis. The jocks seemed enthralled with Lacroix's performance, nodding and murmuring in affirmation to what the General was saying. Then Lacroix saw Patt. They locked eyes for just a moment. The Louisianan tried to duck back under the arm and into the crowd, but Lacroix pointed the sword in her direction and uttered the dreaded words, "TAKE HER!" again. Many strong hands were suddenly clasping the Third Cousin's body, some in locations she didn't mind, but mostly in a restraining fashion. Patt found herself pushed bodily out of the crowd to stand face to face with Lacroix. "Release her," LaCroix instructed, his glittering eyes fixed on the addict. He reached forward, catching Patt himself, and pulling her toward him. "I will deal with this one personally." "General, please," Patt wasn't above begging at this point. "I'm just here because I'm trying to help Jules, and Jules is trying to help you. You respect loyalty, don't you? You can understand that, can't you?" "Of course," Lacroix grinned warmly. "That's probably why you're still among the living. In fact, little Cousin, I have a special treat in store for you." His voice turned to a low purr which only Patt could hear. "Ever heard the phrase 'roll out the barrel?'" "Let me through!" Dirk's shout sounded like chimes in Patt's ears. She turned slightly within Lacroix's grasp and watched as the cabbie broke out of the group, his face moist from the exertion. "She still owes me for the fare!" Patt suddenly felt weak, and, without realizing what she was doing, leaned into Lacroix's hold. Unfortunately, Lacroix chose that moment to slacken his grasp, and the Louisianan found herself face down on the floor at the vampire's feet. Lacroix squinted at Dirk, who squinted back. "Lydon?" the vampire inquired in puzzlement. "Lydon?" Dirk responded, equally puzzled. "Don't argue with him," Patt hissed up at Dirk. She patted the parquet and said, "If he wants you to lie down, lie down!" Dirk shrugged, then dropped to the floor. Patt raised her eyes slightly, taking a chance at looking at the General. Lacroix was looking at Dirk, his expression dismayed. "No, Lydon," the vampire said softly, extending a hand in the direction where Dirk lay. "You are no longer a servant in my house, no longer my slave. I released you, remember?" Dirk looked at Patt. "What's he ranting about?" the driver whispered. Patt shrugged, "Not sure, but I advise you play along with him." "Play along how?" Dirk asked. "Well, I figure that the togas set the time period," Patt was thinking quickly just how and how much to explain so that Dirk would be satisfied. "He's . . . delusional," Patt could almost feel Tser's eyes on her, "and he thinks he's a Roman general, I'll bet." "And he thinks that *I* was his slave?" Dirk said, looking up at Lacroix incredulously. Then his eyes creased with anger. "I ought to bop him." "Not advisable," Patt reached over and stayed Dirk with a hand on his shoulder. "I suggest you just think *theater* and play along. There's a big tip in it for you." Dirk didn't look convinced. "I'll throw in a date with Rutledge." "Like I couldn't get that anyway," Dirk mumbled back. "True," Patt nodded. "But what if I promised an all expense paid date in Paris?" Dirk's face softened a little. "Make it Madrid and you have a deal." "Done." "Mon General," Dirk nodded to Lacroix from the floor. Lacroix extended both arms toward Dirk. "Rise, Lydon, and let me view you." Dirk rose to his feet, then looked down at Patt. "May thy other servant rise also, Tribune?" "I suppose," Lacroix made a dismissing gesture as Dirk held down a hand to Patt. Patt scrambled up and leaned in to Dirk, "Don't push it too far, buster." "You had to be a servant," Dirk blinked innocently at the woman, "or else you wouldn't have been on the floor, now, would you?" "Silence," Lacroix commanded. He came forward and placed a hand on each of Dirk's shoulders, looking approvingly at the man. "It's been much too long, my friend. I've missed your companionship and counsel." "But I was a mere slave," Dirk reminded the vampire. "My counsel was one of silence only, General." "In your silence I found wisdom, Lydon. Now that you are a freedman, I expect your counsel to have voice." Lacroix turned Dirk so that they both faced the young fraternity members. "What do you think of my new army? Are they not fine specimens of young, noble manhood? Eager to go forth and carry the eagles into battle, to clean the decadence from this city of Toronto, for the glory of Rome?" "Gladiators all," Dirk responded cautiously. "To capture the traitorous Nickius, who would return our empire to the plight of Republicanism?" Lacroix continued, his face passionate. "To wrest from that ignoble person the vermin with which he means to pollute our fair lands?" Dirk looked over at Patt, his expression quizzical. "This is getting out of the range of my BBC tutoring," he whispered to the addict. Patt shrugged and mouthed, "Just agree with him." "Yes, General," Dirk replied. Lacroix nodded with satisfaction. "Yes, they will carry my standard well." He raised the toy sword above his head and shouted, "What say you legion? Will you follow me into battle? Will you aid in my struggle to free this country from the yolk of Republican tyranny!?" "HURRAHHHHHH," was the universal shout from the throng. "Separatism lives," one particularly enthusiastic student yelled from the midst. "Indeed," Lacroix's return to normal voice quieted the gathering. He eyed his 'troops' carefully. "Who among you will volunteer for a sacred mission?" At least ten well-built young men stepped forward, eyes shining with purpose. Lacroix smiled approvingly. "Then, chosen ones," Lacroix proclaimed, indicating toward where Tser sat, "take the fair not-so-vestal back to the Shrine, for she is needed there to make sacrifice for the success of our pending battle. Guard her with your lives, for her survival may well be the key to our eliminating the scourge of Nickius." Another shout from the floor as the chosen picked up Tser's armchair and hoisted it up on their shoulders. As they carried her from the room, the addict shouted "Wait!!" Lacroix looked at the girl. "What, pray tell, is the problem, fair not-so-vestal?" "Lava!" the girl pointed toward the burro, which was munching on a vase of elderly straw flowers. "What about my donkey?" "Take the beast also," Lacroix instructed the young men. "This fine steed has done its duty by me and deserves the rest." One of the ten fetched the burro and, leading Lava by the halter, followed Tser's divan caravan from the room. "May I go, too?" Patt decided to ask, since Uncle seemed to be in a `letting go' mood. Lacroix grinned wickedly. "Not a chance." "General!!" Jules called from the back of the room. She had climbed up on Tser's now- empty throne table. The Juled one stood atop it, waving her arms for attention. She took the Mountie hat off her head and swung it back and forth like a signal lantern. "Listen to me . . . pppllllleeeeeaaassseee!" Lacroix sighed. "She really could use a wash before her excursion to the unemployment office," he said, clicking his tongue for emphasis. The vampire looked down at Patt. "Bathe her." "Not a chance," Patt replied, shaking her head. "Defiance?" Lacroix inquired, raising that infamous eyebrow just a notch. "Absolutely," Patt responded firmly. "Even fanfic activity has its limits, and I draw the line at giving the priestess a shower. And," Patt continued, shoulders firm and eyes recalcitrant, "I want my hat back." "Fetch the RCMP chapeau," Lacroix ordered, pointing in Jules' direction. "The woman, too?" a young athlete inquired. Lacroix shook his head and uttered a simple, yet all encompassing, "No." One of the jocks caught hold of Jules left leg. She tried loosing his grasp with a knee jab to his chin, but it was deflected by another young man's shoulder. Several hands were reaching for her now and one of them caught the brim of the hat. "Easy with my property!!" Patt shouted from the front of the room, emphasizing her frustration with little hops to see over the crowd. The hat was finally wrested from Jules, who had been bodily hauled down from the table during the struggle. The Mountie topper was then passed to the front of the room, past Patt's eagerly extended hand and placed into Lacroix's grip. Looking down at the short woman, Lacroix dangled the hat playfully out of the Third Cousin's reach. "Darnnit, I've paid ten times over for that darned bottle incident," Patt snarled, jumping to clutch for the hat. "Give me the darned hat, or I'll use a keg next time . . . and a wooden one, at that!" Lacroix looked dangerously amused. With a sudden movement of his free hand, he caught the Louisianan across the breastbone and shoved her across the room. Dirk caught and held the ticked off addict. Lacroix, noting that Patt was firmly restrained in Dirk's grasp, took hold of the hat brim with both hands. Smiled coyly at Patt. Then growled into the bowl of the hat. Stunned, Patt just stared at the vampire. Lacroix pulled his arm to his chest, then flung the hat, Frisbee style, across the room and out an open window. "ARRRRRGGGGGGG," Patt yelled, shaking loose of Dirk and flinging herself after her flying hat. "Two down," Lacroix murmured, then turned his attention toward the back of the room. "One to go." *********************************************************************** End O' Part Nineteen B End O' Part Nineteen This space was mis-filed as Metro Police Evidence Packet #1228.79. It has been re-tagged D-1228.79 for 'Disclaimer.' ***********************************************************************August Heat (20/24) Event Twenty: Destination - Chez Screed Lacroix looked at his 'army' and picked out a particularly muscular young fellow with short blonde hair, hazel eyes and a stubbling of manly fur on his chin. What attracted Lacroix most, though, was the single stud earring in the fellow's ear lobe. Lacroix placed a hand on the sheet-clad young man's shoulder. "What is your name, soldier?" "Buford, General," the young man replied, saluting with his voice. "Buford," Lacroix's expression was stern. "Deal with the meddling priestess for me, won't you?" Buford looked skeptically at Jules, who was back on the table, shouting and waving. "Can I use a hose?" he finally said. "Your discretion," Lacroix replied. Buford retreated to the back of the room. At the table, he looked up at Jules and said, "I've been ordered to deal with you." He reached up a hand to the priestess. "Come on down, and I'll show you my hose." "I beg your pardon," Jules' response was negative, punctuated by a jab at Buford with her heel-less shoe. "Clean up time," Buford explained, ducking the blow and smiling what he hoped would be a winning smile. "If you cooperate nice-like, I'll let you use the shower." "HERE?" Jules said, incredulous at the suggestion. "ME - step into a men's fraternity shower? Do I look addled?" Buford cocked his head, thoughtfully. Infuriated, Jules kicked at him again. "Look, I'm trying to be friendly, here," Buford said, ducking again. "I'll even hunt you up a clean towel . . . if we have one." "Get lost, Buford," Jules snapped. "My friends call me 'Buck,'" the young man replied, giving the priestess a dazzling smile. "If you come upstairs, I'll show you why." Jules arched a disdainful eyebrow. "Why in the world would I be interested in coming upstairs with you? To change your didee, perhaps?" "You've been peeking under the togas, haven't you?" Buck chided the copper-haired woman. "Hey, but whatever turns you on." Before Jules could react, Buck reached up and clasped her legs together. He hoisted her over his shoulder and took off toward the stairs. Meanwhile, Dirk was heading in the general direction of where Patt had leapt out the window. "Where are you going, Lydon?" Lacroix caught the driver's arm. "I need you by my side." "And that's where I will remain, General," Dirk responded, pulling away, "as soon as I get my money." "Yes," Lacroix nodded. "Go get your booty. I must instruct my army, then I will join you outside." Dirk dashed to the window and took a quick survey of the situation. Patt had landed on the porch without much damage and was now on the ground outside, brushing off the Mountie hat. Dirk stepped through the window onto the veranda and then hopped down to join her. "I sure hope he didn't get spit in it," Patt said unhappily, using her elbow to wipe out the hat bowl. Noticing Dirk, the addict slammed the hat on her head and asked, "Where's Jules?" "Catching another ride," Dirk offered without elaboration. "We're supposed to wait here for the General." "Gads," Patt moaned. "Can't you just drive me to Toronto International. I have my hat, now I want to go home. I'm tired of this adventure." "Sorry," Dirk said, looking toward the front door of the frat house. "Looks like my prior commitment has arrived." Lacroix, shed of his white sheet, came bounding out of the house and down the stairs. He raced toward the cab, Patt and Dirk hot on his heels. Lacroix tried to take the wheel, but Dirk pushed him into the passenger seat, rather firmly. "Not fitting," the driver said, "and . . . you're not union." Lacroix nodded at this logic and acquiesced. Patt climbed into the back seat and just barely got the door shut before the cab was in motion. Lacroix squinted at the eastern sky. "Not much time," he mumbled. "We'd best go directly to the carouche's." "Carouche?" Dirk asked curiously. "Is that some sort of Middle Eastern potentate?" "NO," Lacroix and Patt answered simultaneously. "What about Jules?" Patt asked, while Lacroix gave Dirk the street and number, to which the driver wrinkled his nose. "I'm sure young Buford is capable of handling my ex-personal assistant," Lacroix replied, then turned to Patt, eyes glinting just a hint of gold. "And you'd best start remembering just who I am, distant cousin. Your mortality may well be in jeopardy." Patt sat back in the cab seat, and assumed, for her, a distinctly unnatural state - quiet. ************************************************************************ "'Put a Well O' Doom in the story,' she says," Bonnie mimicked. "'It worked for Mark Twa-ain,' she says." "Well, it did! It was just this kind of situation, too," Annie said emphatically. "He started out writing about a pair of extraordinary twins. Next thing you know, Sam-I-Am had more characters than you could shake a stick at, much less write about, so he made a slew of them fall down a well in the backyard and renamed the story `Puddin'Head Wilson.'" "Ah. Tell me, Annie. What exactly happened to those folks who fell down the well in the backyard?" "Er.they were kind of dead, Bons." "I see. You and Vachon thought this was a *good* idea?!" "Well," Annie admitted as she slapped at what felt like a spider crawling up her leg, "I am beginning to have sincere doubts." "I think it's very lucky that we're only stranded at the bottom of this well, in complete darkness and without cable, instead of crunched into itty-bitty pieces from the fall," Bons mused. "Hmm, yes," Annie agreed. "Why do you suppose that is?" "It's in the rules. Nobody dies, nobody ever dies." "But, Bons! You've out and out murdered two characters in this tale already, or have you forgotten poor Mickey and Minnie? That's not even counting the bushrangers Aristotle supped on in the flashback, *or* the arachnid I just squished to a fare thee well on my shin!" "Yes, but none of those folks were FK canon, Annie." "*We* aren't FK canon! We aren't even minor artillery!" "But we're based on real-life people, so nothing permanent can happen to us. We can't die, we can't be brought across, and we can't lose organs or get student loans," Bonnie explained calmly. "So basically, you're saying that we can't starve to death in the forgotten depths of this Well O' Doom, but we can get really bitchy and pull each other's hair out, because that won't be permanent?" "That about covers it," Bonnie confirmed. "Good," Annie said with false sweetness. "I'll keep that in mind. Now how do you propose to get us out of here?" Bonnie gritted her teeth. This well hadn't exactly been her enthusiastic idea, but now *she* was responsible for getting them out of it. "I figured we could just wait until Vachon comes back. This takes care of that heroic thingee the slacker wanted to do. Kind of convenient, in a round about, pull-your-fingernails-out-and-eat-rocks kind of way ." Annie sighed. "Sure, Bons." Suddenly, a paper airplane bonked Bonnie in the head, followed by a short, plastic cylinder. The redhead fumbled around the cool well floor until she located each object. The cylinder turned out to be a small flashlight. Bons clicked it on, aiming the beam beneath her chin so she could make a spooky face. "Muahahahahaha!!!" she cackled. Annie glared. "You're silly." "Well.yah!" "Why don't you unfold the paper airplane, Bons, and read what it says?" Annie instructed. "It might be something important." The Scribe did as she was told. "It's from Patt! She says she thought up something heroic for Vachon to do for a switch, so he'll be delayed returning to us. She also has a reminder here that I'm supposed to do another flashback scene soon." "Oh, great." Annie's voice was not peppy. "What'll we do in the meantime?" Bonnie shone the flashlight against the stone wall and placed her hand strategically in front of the beam, creating the silhouette of a bunny rabbit. "Shadow puppets?" ************************************************************************ Vachon rolled his deep brown eyes in exasperation. The Spaniard shook his head as he strolled casually over the rooftop. The dark-haired, delightfully stubbled vampire paused at the edge of the roof and stared out at the city's skyline. Vachon thought, a smug smile gracing his features. The sound of screeching tires drew his attention to the street below. The noise came from a black Jaguar that swerved through traffic, then ran a red light. Vachon paused for a moment of tranquil reflection. He floated down to the sidewalk in order to catch a glimpse of the automobile's license plate. It read, `NITECRWLR.' Vachon wondered. The non-descript young, blonde fellow in a valet-style jacket had made a miscalculation when he chose to joyride with the Jag's windows rolled down. The Spaniard effortlessly slipped through the opening and into the passenger's seat (all at very impressive, high speeds). The driver stared, mouth agape, at his new company, who grinned casually and said, "Cement truck." The non-valet didn't understand. "Huh?" "You're going to run into a cement truck," Vachon repeated calmly. The non-valet looked at the road. "Eaaaaahhhhh!" His eyes bugged, and his face screwed into an expression of unabashed horror as he narrowly maneuvered around the giant barrel of an E-Z-Mixer. "Slow down," Vachon instructed. The driver, still panting with near-death experience panic, complied, easing the Jag into a grandmotherly cruising speed. "Now open the door and jump," Vachon said, his tone still blase. "Are you out of your freakin' mind?!" Mr. Non-Valet exclaimed. "Would you like me to push you, instead?" Vachon offered. The young man held his breath, pulled on the door handle, then rolled out into the street. Vachon took the non-valet's place behind the wheel. "Apparently not," he said as he pulled the door shut again. The dark-haired vampire flipped the radio dial, hunting for a nice guitar solo to serenade his trip to the university. After all, he'd been keeping an eye on the story and knew just where to take the Jaguar for its heroic return. ************************************************************************ Libby sleepily opened her eyes and peeked up at the sky. She was happily curled up in the crook of her Screed-man's arm, while he pedaled the paddle boat repeatedly around the ornamental pond. "Ooo! Screedie!" the Ratpacker sighed in disappointment. "It looks as tho' the day is breakin'." The carouche began to navigate toward the small dock. "Yew're right, lil' squeak. We best call it a night `afore Aye sizzle and pop." Screed let out a wistful sigh. "It was a cruise `long tha shores o' memory lane, `avin' water below me bum like that again - we'll `ave tew come back `ere sometime." He helped Libby out of the boat and onto the dock, which the Ratpacker thought was right gallant-like. She wondered for the hundredth-millionth time why none of the addicts ever realized that they should build a Shrine to Screed. The Ratpacker and carouche scurried through the sea of joggers and puppies toward the park entrance. "It's getting a wee warm fer tha likes o' us flammable types," Screed said as he pried open a grate in the sidewalk. "Aye know of a darker shortcut back tew me squat." Both figures disappeared through the opening, just missing the first rays of morning that bathed the sidewalk. *********************************************************************** Sometime later, a slightly cleaner Jules, clad in a much-too-large black Alpha Sigma Sigma sweatshirt belted at the waist with a tired green plastic vine, fled from the fraternity house. She searched in vain for the cab and, upon assuring herself that it was absent, wailed. "Need a ride, Red?" a recognizable voice filtered through her anguish. Jules looked down, and her heart skipped a joyful beat. "My Jag!" she ran to give the vehicle a loving hug. "Correction," the person in the driver's seat drawled. "Lacroix's Jag . . . which I rescued for you, by the way. Quite heroic, wouldn't you say?" Jules sighed then offered the driver a brilliant, but very fake smile. "And I thank you very much for returning it, Vachon. Now, take a flight." Vachon looked hurt. "Is that any way to talk to a hero, Julsey? Bet you wouldn't address one of the main stars in that manner." He did some mental calculations. "Nope, never have in the past and probably never will - unless Patt or Bons get *you* inebriated." "They'd regret it," Jules looked outward from the PC, toward the writers in question. "Just as they may regret hooking me up with the slacker." "Get in, Red," Vachon laughed, patting the black leather of the passenger seat. "Patt even dressed you to match the interior. It's kismet." Resigned, Jules got into the Jaguar with Vachon, but not before firing another withering stare at the fanfic authors. Vachon gunned the engine and looked at the priestess. "Where to?" "Don't you know?" Jules looked at him. "Sure," Vachon replied, grinning and reaching for the shift. "I've been reading. Just letting you have a feeling of control, is all." His hand bypassed the shift and slid across Jules' knee. She looked at the dark-haired vampire, then at the authors, and yelled "CUT!" "Hey, it's okay," Vachon grinned, shifting the correct stick this time and putting the Jag into drive. "Your virtue is safe for now. It's almost dawn and we'd better get to Screed's, before I do the toast thing." "That's better," Jules said, leaning back into the rich leather seating. It felt ssssoooo good. "But, I insist on one thing," Vachon said sternly as they pulled out of the fraternity circle. He looked at the writers and then at Jules, smirking. "Since I'm your hero now . . . you must call me Javier." "In your dreams, flyboy," Jules retorted. "The only hero in my stories is Nunkies." "Ahhh, but this isn't your story, is it?" Vachon grinned. "And you'd best remember that. Somebody I know needs my help getting out of a 'low spot,' and if you're not nice to me, I'll have her punish you." "Just drive, will you?" Jules responded, noting the first signs of red on the horizon. "Or you won't be around to write about." "A kiss for luck?" Vachon leaned toward Jules, lifting his eyebrows Groucho-style. "Take a raincheck, Romeo," Jules replied. "It's two minutes to dawn." "We're here!" Vachon announced, pulling the Jag into the alley behind the parked Metro cab. "How'd you do that?" Jules asked, trying to hide that she was impressed. "I have friends in looowwww places," the dark-haired vampire crooned as he got out of the vehicle. "Don't give up your day . . . err, night job, Vash," Jules shouted as she sprang from the Jag. The priestess hesitated at the grate entrance, but, with Vachon's gentle guidance, she was nudged through the metal and into the darkness of the carouche's lair just as the first rays of the sun hit the alley. ************************************************************************ "Booonnn-nnnniiiieeee!" Annie yelped. "Did you read that? Did you read what Patt just wrote? That's it!" The NunkMommy stomped her foot for emphasis. "She's got grout duty!" "Don't panic, Anniebug," Bonnie soothed, still playing with the flashlight beam. "Calm down and show me how you did that shadow velociraptor." "Hello? Aren't you paying attention?" Annie said, knocking on Bons' skull as though it was a door. There was an echo. "Have you been writing on auto-pilot again?" Bonnie bit her lower lip and appeared guilty. "I knew it! You had a story outline, didn't you?" Annie demanded. Bonnie slowly bobbed her chin up and down. "Uh-huh." There was a maniacal gleam in Annie's eyes. "But you haven't been paying attention to that outline, have you?" Bonnie shook her head. "Uh-uh." "And because you let yourself get distracted, instead of your normal, run o' the mill, slightly Mary Sue-ish NA fanfic farce," Annie continued, poking the Scribe in the collarbone to punctuate her remarks, "we've got a slacker in leather pants running part of the show!" Poke! Poke! Bonnie covered her face with her hands, overwhelmed with the shame of it all. "Uh- huh...Waaaaaahhhhh!..I'm sorry!" "Well, sorry isn't going to cut the cake with me this time," Annie huffed. "You said Vachon was going to rescue us from this Well O' Doom, but now he's at Screed's place, and day has dawned! Lacroix is going to tear into that larcenous, lingerie-drawer-rolling, manual-stealing carouche any minute, and we're going to miss the action!" "Not necessarily," Bons mumbled, "we could..rescue ourselves." Annie raised an eyebrow in an Uncle-esque manner. "And be mistaken for modern, Cosmo-reading, `I-don't-need-a-vampire-to-save-me-from-certain-doom' women of the Nineteen Nineties? Why would we want to do that?" "Er.because I just noticed something in the well wall with my little flashlight beam that looks like a door to a secret underground passageway?" Bonnie suggested hopefully. "Maybe it leads straight to Screed's." "Ooo!" Annie exclaimed happily. "That would be convenient!" The NunkMommy pried the door open, revealing a dark tunnel that she peered down with satisfaction. "Nice save, Bons." Bonnie shrugged meekly. "I try, Bug, I try. ************************************************************************ End O' Part Twenty This Space Has Been Tagged Metro Police Evidence Packet D-1228.79 Do Not Fold, Spindle, or Mutilate ************************************************************************ August Heat (21/24) Event Twenty-One: Together, At Last Nick entered the morgue with a buoyant expression on his face. "Nat! Take a look at this!" He set the pillowcase down on the examination table and gently pulled the fabric back to reveal the rat statue. Natalie frowned at the bright green figurine. "I think it definitely falls under the classification of strange and unusual, but what *is* it, and why do you have it?" "It's a Tasmanian Rat Totem, Nat! This is it! This statue can make me mortal again!" Optimism shone from the vampire's features like a beacon. Nat stared at the metal rodent, gave Nick a perplexed glance, then stared at the rodent again. "I can see where the rat's color might make you seasick if you look at it too long - but mortal?" she said, then frowned suspiciously at the detective. "Have you been drinking what Lacroix's been drinking?" "No!" Nick replied indignantly. "The totem can help me. I'm certain of it! You see, I encountered this statue once before." ************************************************************************ 1852, Van Dieman's Land (Tasmania) Nicholas stepped back from the unappetizing vat of brownish goop, eyeing it warily. He deliberated a moment, then straightened his bathrobe-covered shoulders resolutely, turning to pick up the copper rat totem with a determined expression on his face. But the statue was missing. Nicholas searched beneath the scuffed table where he'd left the precious rodent, but found nothing. He assumed the rat had fallen off the table, then rolled elsewhere, so Nicholas fell to his knees and began to crawl around the plank floor. Dust mites collected under his hands and shins, and he repeatedly tore his luxurious silk robe on exposed nails (it's a good thing vampires don't get tetanus), but to no avail. The totem had vanished. "Looking for this, Nicholas?" A familiar voice drawled from above. Nicholas raised his head with growing dismay. Lacroix leaned against the wall, a superior smile on his face. Nicholas' sire had the copper rat balanced in one hand, for display purposes only. "I see that I've caught you unawares," Lacroix said smugly, noting his offspring's stunned expression. "You must know, by now, that I am never far away from you. I want to witness all of your minute victories, Nicholas," Lacroix paused, as though noticing the other vampire's kowtowing posture for the first time, "and your abject defeats. I must say, subservience suits you." "My kneeling has nothing to do with respect for you!" Nicholas said defiantly. "I want the statue for the cure - give it to me!" "The `cure'?" Lacroix began to chuckle as he inspected the statue with disdain. "You really haven't a klew, have you, Nicholas?" "Give the rat totem to me, Lacroix," Nicholas demanded. He stood and held out one palm expectantly. "Or I'll take it." Lacroix couldn't resist another laugh. "Oh, this is going to be amusing!" Nicholas furiously charged his sire. At the last moment before impact, Lacroix stepped aside, and his angry offspring crashed through the wall, creating a new, amorphous entrance to the room. The younger vampire recovered and leapt back into the room. Nicholas snapped up a wooden plank and brandished it menacingly at his sire. "Vas au diable!" he cried, then ran at Lacroix with murderous intent. Unfortunately for Nicholas, an exposed nail snagged the hem of his bathrobe. The younger vampire tumbled face-first into the floor, once again at his sire's feet. Lacroix set the rat totem nonchalantly aside on the table. "I think you need to soak your head," he said as he lifted Nicholas, then dunked his offspring's upper half in the tub of goop. Lacroix strolled back to the table and reclaimed the statue. He watched as Nicholas pushed free of the vat, his head and shoulders now sodden with a brownish paste. "You're never going to get this rat!" Lacroix said triumphantly as Nicholas wiped the gunk from his eyes. Before the younger vampire could look up, his sire burst through the ceiling and flew off into the night sky. ************************************************************************ "So Lacroix prevented you from taking a bath with the statue?" Natalie concluded at the end of the detective's tale. Nick nodded sadly. "I thought he had destroyed the Tasmanian Rat Totem, until I heard about it at the swap meet tonight." "And you just dropped everything, including the homicide at the swap meet that you are *supposed* to be investigating, so you could run off and find it again!" Natalie said harshly, a bitter twist to her mouth. "What about justice for that woman, Nick? Someone murdered her, maybe because she once owned that rat, or is that too trivial when compared with regaining your mortality?" "Don't you see, Natalie?" Nick pleaded. "The aborigine said if I bathe with this totem in a mixture of yeast extract, salt, vegetable extract and various spices, I'll return to my original state! I'll be human again!" "No!" the coroner argued sternly. "Even if, through some fantastic corruption of chemistry, you actually became mortal again by having a rub-a-dub with a rat in a tub of.*Marmite*!.it can't restore your humanity. *You* have to do that on your own, Nick." Nick had on his `little boy lost' expression. He couldn't understand why Natalie wasn't happy for him. "But -" "No, Nick!" Natalie said, shaking her head dismissively. "I don't want to hear it!" "Does this mean I can't borrow your bathtub?" Nick pouted. "The loft only has a shower." Natalie gave him a withering look. Nick glared back, then wrapped his precious rodent back in its pillowcase and stormed out of the morgue. Climbing down the stairs of the Coroner's Office, Nick noted the sun had already risen to an alarming degree. He didn't have enough time to fly, much less drive home to safety before he spontaneously combusted. Nick sighed and unlocked the Caddie trunk, closing the rat totem in with him. His bath would just have to wait until tomorrow night. ************************************************************************ Jules was not a happy person. After being 'escorted' through the grate opening by Vachon, she had found herself in pitch darkness with her only comfort being the Spaniard's guiding hands on her waist. Cold comfort, indeed. The sound of things being tossed and the usually velvet voice of her employer growling angrily caused Jules to pause prior to her entering the main section of Screed's abode. "Damn the carouche," Lacroix was shouting, punctuated by a clanging of metal. "Where did he hide that blasted totem?" "Maybe he took it with him," Patt's hopeful voice filtered through the darkness. Another growl, a scurrying sound and then silence. From behind her, Vachon faced the same direction as the priestess and now leaned toward Jules, placing his chin on her shoulder and staring ahead. "Sounds like LC is ps'd." "If he is, he probably has reason to be," Jules replied. "And, kindly remove yourself from my person." "Okay, Red," Vachon said, planting a quick kiss on Jules' neck before he pulled back. "Anything for my heroine." Jules sighed and started moving forward again, slowly. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could see three people moving around in the area ahead. Upon further adjustment, she could make out Lacroix raging around the room, Dirk examining the mortar on the wall, and Patt standing in a corner. Dirk began to tap curiously on the wall and was rewarded by a series of hollow sounds. He planted his ear next to the cement blocks and listened for a few moments. "Hey! I think I hear something!" He rapped out `Shave and a Haircut,' and `Two Bits' echoed from the other side. "There's someone there!" Vachon ceased petting a nearby live, warm and fuzzy rat (or, at least, a realistic prop version thereof) then moved to Jules' side, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Well, I didn't see that coming," the dark-haired vampire drawled sarcastically. "Hush!" Jules said as she impatiently tried to divest herself of the Spaniard's arm. "For all you know, Mr. Smarty-Leather-Pants, Bons or Patt stuck a dinosaur in there! Better yet.Divia!" At this remark, Vachon backed up a step, effectively breaking contact with the High Priestess. Jules also earned a deadly glare from Lacroix. As she nibbled on her lower lip with growing horror, Jules began to wonder if unemployment was necessarily a bad thing. Vachon, meanwhile, shrugged off the priestess' comment. "Nah," he said cockily, "Patt and Bons wouldn't do that to us." "Well, *I* wouldn't," the Third Cousin assured the group, "but I can't vouch for Rutledge. Get the Scribe riled up enough - you know, force her to comply to unreasonable contract demands and such - and she can get as mean as a snake. A really, really socially- maladjusted-and-petty-gratuitous-violence-inclined mean snake. Just think of some of her other fanfic." Vachon froze as visions of vampires incinerated in autoclaves, buried alive, gnawed on by undead rodents, ripped to shreds by zombie mutants, staked by rabbit chew toys, injected with bleach for the fun of it, pierced with cocktail umbrellas, and impaled by burning building timber ran through his head. And the mortals were even worse. Vachon thought. "One of her more sterling qualities," Lacroix commented as he tore down the rat-laden clotheslines. "I certainly don't keep her around because of those non-sensible shoes.Bonnie wouldn't dare mention my daughter in this tale." Nunkies coupled this statement with another displeased stare at Jules. "Of course I wouldn't, General!" the Scribe's muffled voice sang through the mortar. Dirk, who had continued to pry at the hollow wall during the discussion, hit a hidden catch that caused a secret door to spring open. Bonnie tumbled out, falling oh-so conveniently into Dirk's waiting arms, while Annie exited the passageway with grace and decorum. Demon daughter averted, Vachon smugly nudged Jules with an elbow. "I knew it was them all along." "Well, duh!" Bonnie said, still happily cradled in the cabbie's arms. "As if Annie and I wanted anything to overshadow our escape from the Well O' Doom! No thanks to you, Vachon - you slacker! We did it all by ourselves! No vampire intervention for Annie and me - uh-uh, no way! We don't need men to rescue our mortal bacon, period!" Annie leaned in closer to the Scribe and murmured, "You know, Bons, while I applaud your show of fanfic feminism, I think it would be just a tad more effective if you said it while standing on your own two feet rather than when you're being carried by a strapping bohunk." "Oh, darn! You're right, Annies!" Bonnie fluttered her eyelashes at the cabbie and cooed, "Thank you, Dirk. Could you put me down now so that I can declare my womanly independence?" "Sure thing, hon," Dirk replied. "Wait a minute!" Jules shrieked at Annie accusingly, effectively cutting off Bons' lecture in Women's Studies (complete with Helen Reddy tunes). "You've had a costume change!" "Certainly," Annie said as she patted her immaculately-styled, now non-cheesy curls. "I wasn't about to appear in a scene with *HIM,*" the NunkMommy said as she sent Lacroix, who was busy crushing every wooden crate in sight, a dreamy look, "without taking a shower first. I said so earlier." Annie eyed the priestess' Alpha Sigma Sigma sweatshirt. "I don't see what your gripe is, Jules. You've had a costume change, too." "But look at it!" Jules fumed. "I am wearing *fleece*! You have on a tailored, black silk crepe Armani pantsuit with cleavage!" "I'll say," Vachon murmured, ogling. The priestess gave him an icy glare, which earned Jules a wink from the Spaniard. "Lucky for you, I'm a leg man, Red." Jules scowled. "What I'd like to know.*Patricia*." The Third Cousin cringed as her given name was spoken aloud, ".is why you didn't write that I had a lovely change of wardrobe? Hmmm?" The High Priestess' expression promised dire retribution for this slight. Patt ducked behind an exposed pipe and mumbled, "Dunno." She worriedly rubbed her neck, and, feeling suddenly dry-mouthed, added, "Anybody got a beer?" Bonnie sidled up to the pipe and whispered, "Hey, Patt! Still looking to expand your stock portfolio with sure things?" Patt nodded. "I'd look into Lysol Basin, Tub and Tile or Dow Scrubbing Bubbles if I were you," Bonnie advised. "Who be tossin' me crib?" Screed hollered angrily as his head popped up from the floor grate. Looking around, Screed spotted Lacroix coming at him. "Oh, diddly-damn, it's the monkey, an 'e looks bent on trashin' me, as well. Drop, Lil' Squeak, I'm commin' back down." Screed disappeared through the manhole just as Lacroix leaped. Finding himself clutching air, the General snarled angrily, kicked at the metal cover and turned on the others in the room, his eyes fully golden. "Does he have cataracts, or something?" Dirk whispered to Bonnie. "Or something," Bonnie affirmed quietly, nodding her head for emphasis. "Just hope the something ain't us." Lacroix bent, pushing his fingers through the holes in the cover, lifting and tossing the metal across his shoulder effortlessly. Dirk was impressed. "Has he ever thought of competing in the Olympics? He's a natural for the discus throw." "Do they have night games?" Patt asked innocently. Both Jules and Bonnie groaned. Annie held up three fingers. "Okay, Elmore," the NunkMommy declared. "That's scrubbing all the toilets added to your new permanent Shrine duties." "Wha'd I do?" Patt moaned, large droplets forming in her eyes. Dirk acted as if to move toward the mature addict, prepared to offer her a shoulder to cry on, but Bonnie stepped in front of him, shaking her head. "Sorry, Dirk," Rutledge announced, "but when we're in the same scene, your hands only go on me. It's in the rules." "Where?" Patt was leafing through some papers, scanning for information. "I don't see it in the outline." Her reply was a diskette bouncing off her forehead. "Hey!" Patt grumbled, rubbing her bruised temple. "Rewrite!" Bons beamed at her co-host. "Ah-hah!" Lacroix shouted triumphantly. He had been flush to the floor, his arm extended downward through the grate, his fingers reaching. The senior vampire now pulled back, lifting a struggling Screed by the nape of his neck. Lacroix pulled the carouche from the underground passage, hefting the flailing figure high. "Lemme dowwwwnn," Screed cried, his face twisted with a combination of fear, humiliation and comic acting ability. "Yew dern Nunk-Monk ain't got no rite to treat a bloke this way - tis' a crim-e-nail act-tiv-i-ty, it is." "Let go of my Screedy!!" Libby thrust herself from the floor tunnel and grabbed hold of Lacroix's legs. The General moved backward, pulling the Ratpacker along with him. Once she was free of the grate opening, he grabbed the girl, pried her loose and threw her onto the carouche's cot. Lacroix returned his attention to Screed and growled. "Where is it?" Screed stopped struggling. "Whers wha?" he blinked curiously. "The totem." "Aye ain't got no poppertarts 'ere," the carouche looked genuinely confused. "Does this look like a bloomin' supper-mart?" "The rat, you idiot," Lacroix growled again. "Where is the rat statue?" "You mean me door stopper? Me bee-yoo-ti-ful bright and shiny pillow? Me Ultimate Ratsie?" Screed's eyes grew large. "Are you tryin to steal me pro-per-tee, LaCrow?" "Looks like 'e already 'as!" Libby cried from the bedding. Her hands were frantically patting the lumpy mattress. "The Ratsie's naw here!" This news threw Screed into such a state of alarm, he actually pushed past Lacroix to search his sleeping space himself. "Me treasures! What about me girlie mouse dollie?" Libby shook her head sadly. "No girlie mouse dollie!" Screed dug through his nest of padding. "Me ship n' a bottle?" "It's gone tew!" Libby moaned. "And me stockee shares?" "Missin' " the Ratpacker wailed forlornly. "And tha' Ultimate Ratsie's not `ere! Even tha' pillowcase `as been plucked! What kind o' bleedin' world is this that a bloke can't leave `is valuables just lying around a squat wi'out a grinch borrowin' tha' booty?" "It's a Ratpacker world," Libby said sagely. Screed launched into a string of curses, describing his unhappiness with this turn of events, his general sense of bad will toward the thief, and his concern over the growing world energy crisis, worthy of a sailor - a sailor on the `Def Comedy Jam.' Bonnie took copious notes for reference the next time she ran out of coffee, and even Lacroix's ears turned red at the raw content. "Hey! Where are those Charo albums you were keeping for me?" Vachon asked, then glared angrily at Bons. "I told you to lay off the Charo bit. Quit making me say things like that." Bonnie blinked innocently and shrugged. Libby zipped desperately around the room, peeking in each corner and under every bit of litter (of which there was plenty, thanks to Lacroix) strewn about the floor. When the Ratpacker stopped, she let out a wail of horror that made every ratsie tittering about Screed's place scurry for cover. "Aaaaaaaaoooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!! Me shiny pretty thingees! They've been swiped!" Then Libby promptly tucked up her heels and fainted. Both Annie and Screed rushed to the supine Ratpacker's side. "I knew it!" the NunkMommy said sadly. "She forgot to eat!" "If the rat totem is missing, Nicholas evidently paid a visit before our arrival," Lacroix reasoned, his eyes furious. "I am trapped here, powerless for the course of the day, while my son could be using the statue as I speak!" Lacroix stormed off by himself to a far corner and, after looking in disdain at the spot he'd chosen, sat down. "He looks tired," Jules said, to no one in particular, but Vachon happened to be the receptacle of her comment. "Maybe I should go talk to him." "He doesn't look in the talking mood," Vachon noted. "I doubt if he's fed in awhile. What if he decides to 'do lunch' when you walk over there?" "If I can be there for him," Jules said, her eyes blazing with purpose, "then I would be honored." "Got it bad, huh?" Vachon looked at the priestess seriously. Patt, Bons, Annie, Libby, Screed, Dirk all nodded their heads. Jules just smiled slightly. Vachon shifted his attention to Bonnie. "Hey, Rutledge. You'd better remind Red, here, of the provisions of Section No. Four, "Neck-Of-The-Week Demands" Subsection A - the 'two-timing' clause." Bonnie gulped. Patt's eyes flew open wide, and she stepped back a bit. "'Two-timing' clause?" Jules repeated, looking at the two authors. Bonnie shuffled her feet, while Patt looked around for a means of escape. "'TWO-TIMING' CLAUSE?" Jules repeated, raising her voice. "Yea, well, your Anunkiataness," Bonnie explained, her voice extremely soft. "It's like this . . ." "I DIDN'T DO IT!" Patt shouted suddenly, pointing at the redhead. "It was all her doing!" "Tell me," Jules instructed edgily. She had suddenly became aware of the Spaniard's smirk and was not happy. "According to Vachon's new contract," Bonnie started slowly, but then the words began pouring out of her, "if the person chosen to play his heroine two-times him with another main character prior to the epilogue of this story, then he retains the copyrights to our four characters," Bons finished by pointing at Patt, then Annie, then Jules and then herself. "So . . . you're telling me, that if I go comfort Uncle, then Vachon will `own' us?" Jules glared at the Scribe. Bonnie nodded. Jules face began to glow a bright purple. Vachon, ever vigilant to his lady, wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her tightly to his chest. "Trouble breathing, Red? Need some mouth to mouth?" Jules crushed her elbow into the dark-haired vampire's ribcage, causing him to loosen his hold with an "ummph." She then stalked away, but not in Lacroix's direction. Rubbing his chest, Vachon looked at Bons and grinned. "You'd better remind her of Subsection C, Rutledge. The one about 'providing . . .'" "I know the clause," Bonnie said, cutting the slacker off. She looked at Jules with a pinched expression. "Just give me a minute, okay?" While Jules, Patt and Bons had been dealing with Vachon, and Screed had seen to resuscitating Libby in his sleeping space, Annie had wandered over to where Lacroix had slumped down. The NunkMommy was now coming back to the group, her expression odd. "He wants to talk with someone named Lydon," Annie informed the waiting group. "That would be me," Dirk responded. "Excuse me, ladies." As Dirk went over to where Lacroix sat, Annie looked at the others in puzzlement. "Lydon?" "Don't mind if I do," Bonnie said happily, bounding over to Screed's cot. She hopped onto the mattress, joining the huddling carouche and Ratpacker. Putting her arms around Screed and Libby, the Scribe smiled, "How's everyone doing? Having fun?" "Tis a rite un-natural way tew be spendin' me birthday eve," Libby moaned. "I should be sharin' me cubby alone with me Screed-man, not holed up with the NA's which turned me out." "We didn't 'turn you out,' Libs," Patt said, wandering up. "You ran away." "And robbed us of our jewelry and stuff," Annie walked up too, chiding the ratgirl. "I didna steal nothin," Libby replied firmly. "I simply accepted your pretties as a goin' away gift - such was owed me for puttin' up with you all." "You *all*," Vachon grinned with delight. "Hark, I hear a Southern Belle in there." All eyes turned on the Spaniard. "STOW IT," a chorus of voices directed at him. Vachon blinked. "Isn't there something in our contract addressing the 'abuse' thing?" Bonnie shook her head. "Nope, that's never in any of the contracts. No one has a freedom from abuse clause in fanfic. Like death, it doesn't exist." Vachon shook his head. "I'll have to talk with my agent about that." ************************************************************************ End O' Part Twenty-One This Space Has Been Tagged As Metro Police Evidence Packet D-1228.79 Do Not Fold, Spindle, Or Mutilate Use Only In Case Of Emergency ******************************************************************** August Heat (22A/24) Event Twenty-Two A: Just How Big *Is* Screed's Place, Anyway? "I'm hungry," Annie said. "I haven't eaten anything since we left the Shrine." "You had that mint at the Swap Meet," Jules corrected her from the corner. "That doesn't count," the NunkMommy replied. "And it wore off." "Sure wish I'd bought that taffy before we had to run off," Bonnie commented, her tummy rumbling in consensus. "If we have a cell phone, we can call for pizza," Annie said brightly. She looked around, "Anyone?" When no one answered positively, Annie stomped her foot and muttered, "I can't believe it. All the techno-heads in this room and no one has a cell phone. Why don't we just slide back into the nineteenth century or something." "Suits me," Vachon said languidly. "Times were simpler and your supper didn't draw overt notice." "Right now, I'd settle for pepperoni notice," Patt joined in. "My fish and chips done swam away." "You've eaten?" Bonnie said accusingly. "Just fast food," Patt shrugged. "And it went fast." They sat in silence for a moment, then Patt's expression became thoughtful. She moved away to a nook and motioned for Bons to follow her. With a sigh, the redhead left her perch on the mattress and joined the other addict. Annie quickly assumed Bonnie's seat. "Tell me something, kiddo," Patt said to her fellow addict. "Anything in the outline that says we have to stay here? The vamps are trapped by the sunshine, but we have no reason to remain in the hole, do we?" Bonnie looked around the room, then back to Patt. "If you want to try and leave, I guess you can, but I wouldn't recommend it. I don't think Lacroix would be too thrilled at your jumping ship, and I know the slacker is reading ahead, so he'd probably be blocking the exit before you got there." Patt looked quickly toward the grate closing, and there, leaning against the wall, was Vachon. He waved at the mature addict and grinned. "Wish I'd bopped *him* when I had him in the alley," Patt muttered. *********************************************************************** The curator of the paddle boats appeared around noon. He was surprised to open his trunk full of life jackets, only to find two people inside. Where were his flotation devices? Hoping the trunked individuals could answer his question, the curator cut the man and woman free of the intricate sailor knots that had them bound into pretzel shapes. The curator was ripe for disappointment, though, for the moment Deon and Miss Prentiss had free use of their arms and legs once more, they thwapped the paddle boat man upside the head and dumped his body in the trunk, a.k.a. their recent domicile. "Deon, I'm feeling a great deal of emotional pain over this incident," the faux-blonde said stiffly as she straightened her wig. "I'm feeling some of that physical kind of pain, too, Miss Prentiss," Deon replied, massaging a crick in his neck. "I think I need an adjustment." Miss Prentiss tripped a lunch time jogger as he crossed her path for her own personal amusement. "I sympathize, Deon. I could use a facial. My pores are stressed." A couple rollerbladed past Miss Prentiss, and she grabbed hold of their waistbands from the back. The faux-blonde grinned evilly as the pair's feet flew out from underneath them, causing the skaters to land roughly on their tailbones. Deon and Miss Prentiss reached the park entrance after stepping on a few puppy dog tails, then slid into the seats of their illegally-parked Ford (after littering the sidewalk with a wadded up traffic ticket, of course). "I suggest," Miss Prentiss said as she sternly evaluated her appearance in the Taurus' rear-view mirror, "that you stop by a chiropractor, while I recover with a quick spa treatment. We'll be better able to show Libratsie and Screed no mercy once we've been properly refreshed." ************************************************************************ Sometime during their discussion of dietary needs, Dirk had wandered over to join Bonnie and Patt. "How's Lacroix?" Bons inquired, looking over to where the vampire lay still. "Dozing, I think," Dirk answered. "He mumbled something about 'blight' and 'tyranny,' then kind of nodded off. He's had a bit of a rough go of it, so I figured he could use a sleep." The addicts nodded in agreement. "Besides," Dirk said, "he was punctuating stuff with Latin phrases, and I wasn't sure what I was agreeing with. For all I know, I've promised him my firstborn." "Need help with that obligation?" Bonnie looked up, batting her eyelashes. Dirk smiled down at the redhead. "How about we discuss it on holiday, in Madrid?" "Oooooooo," Bonnie said dreamily. She had a sudden vision of Dirk dressed in Zorro garb, carrying her up the stairs of a hacienda overlooking the Mediterranean. The Scribe felt as liquid as the sea . . . "Bons," Patt suddenly shook the girl's shoulder. "Let's finish this story before you go out in left field somewhere. Our readers are getting restless. Cherri threatened me with bodily harm the other day." "Sheesh, let some of them try writing an epic," Bons tossed her hair, coming back to the reality of Screed's domicile. "I do have a 'life,' you know." "Yea, I know," Patt nodded, "but we have a commitment to this epic, so let's try to keep it on track. You also have to finish up `'Thankless Child' sometime before the new millennium kicks in, and Jules is angsting about the other story I'm working on. Dripping off with Dirk somewhere will just have to wait, okay?" "Grrrrrr," Bonnie said, but she was resigned to Patt's logic. Geesh - Patt logical. Now *that* was a concept that could only be applicable in fiction. Annie got up from the mattress and came over to where Patt, Bons and Dirk were talking. The NunkMommy glanced back toward Libby with concern. The Ratpacker had begun to look very wan. "I know we're all hungry," Annie announced, "but it is imperative that we find something for Libby to eat." "Is she into rice cakes?" Jules asked, joining the group. Vachon tagged at her heels. "I think I might have one in my purse." "Where's your purse?" Annie asked. Jules thought for a moment, then sighed. "Either at the Shrine, in the Jag, at the Swap Meet or at the fraternity house, I suppose. I don't remember where I saw it last." "Did you have credit cards?" Patt asked with concern. "Do we need to report it stolen?" "No," Jules reminded her gently. "This is fanfic and virtual theft can be resolved without police intervention." "Too bad you didn't think of that before you sent Tser to report your stolen stuff to Nick Knight," Vachon said. Libby looked up from the mattress. "You reported to the coppers that your shiney thingees was stolen?" Patt slapped her palm to her temple in frustration. "We got to get the slacker out of the hard drive," she whispered harshly to Bons. Screed had perked up too. "Yew turned me Lil' Squeak in? Ratted - not usin' tha term litely -- on 'er? Told De-fec-tive Nicky tha she was a thief?" "We weren't sure that it was Libs at the time," Annie stepped forward to explain. "We just knew Libby and our stuff were gone. It was my duty, as NunkMommy, to do my best to try and get everyone's valuables back." Libby looked like she might cry, more because she was tired and hungry than because of the seeming betrayal. Screed put a protective arm around the Ratpacker and pulled her close. "There's a fine howdy-do-do," the carouche huffed. "An yew wonder why the lil' wun left yewr highty-tighty Shriney. Yew are all jus' a bunch o' fair weather mates, yew are. Sock 'er first time the chips `r down." "Chips!" Patt said brightly. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a grease stained paper sack. "I just remembered, I didn't finish all my dinner. Here Libs!" The Louisianan tossed the bag toward the Ratpacker. The thin woman caught it, opened the bag, sniffed and paled. Screed caught the swooning Ratpacker and laid her gently on the mattress. "That does it," Annie announced. She pointed at Bons and Patt. "You two. Go get Libby food. NOW!" Patt pulled her empty pockets inside out while Bonnie began patting her toga. Both women turned soulful eyes on the NunkMommy. "Here," Dirk said, pulling out his wallet. "I'll just add it to your tab." He handed Patt a twenty. When he saw the look Bonnie gave him, he grinned. "Maturity," he explained. "And, she thought me up, remember? I owe her my life." "Yea, but I expounded on you," Bonnie argued. "If it weren't for me, you'd still be an incidental character we dropped behind the Swap Meet. You really *owe* me." "You really *OWE* me," Annie broke in, determined to end the squabble. "If it weren't for me, there would be no *Nunkies.* No Nunkies, no NA. No NA, no list, no list . . ." "If you really want to get technical," Jules inserted. "He owes the General. If Lacroix wasn't so fascinating, so charming, so irresistibly attractive, Annie wouldn't have started NA, and -" "Okay, okay. We get the message," Bonnie conceded. "Come on, Patt. Let us lowly little foot soldiers go fetch the grub." "Speaking of foot soldiers," Patt said, looking in the direction of where Lacroix still lay quietly. "What if he wakes up and finds us gone? He might not be pleased." "We'll handle him," Vachon promised. "Just don't take too long." "Thas' rite," Screed added. He was sitting on the mattress with Libby's head in his lap, stroking the Ratpacker's hair. "Yew best `urry afore me Lil' vermite 'ere fades away per-ma- nent-like." "On our way," Bonnie announced firmly. She quickly ducked out the grate, followed by the Louisianan. Once outside, the bright sun nearly blinded them. "Summer sun is a killer," Patt remarked, shielding her eyes and blinking to orient herself. "Literally," Vachon's voice reached them through the grate. "Now, get a move on you two. We only have three episodes left to finish this turkey." "TURKEY!" Bonnie puffed up like a Bantam chicken. "Why I ought to . . ." "We'll get even with him the next story, Bons," Patt said, catching her arm and pulling the girl along the sidewalk. "Right now, the objective is food. And," she said, her nose in the air, "if I'm not mistaken, there's Au de Thai Burger Palace in the atmosphere." *********************************************************************** "And, pray tell, co-author of mine, how far does that atmosphere extend?" Bonnie remarked, stopping for the thirtieth time to pick a pebble from between her bare toes. Patt stopped and sniffed again. "Must be a good breeze blowing, Bons, 'cause I really could have sworn it was right around the corner." "Which is the same thing you said twelve corners ago," the Scribe complained. "Fact is, I haven't seen anything but warehouses and stray dogs since we left Screed's." "Isn't it nice that the puppies know they're safe in this neighborhood," Patt said happily. "You all keep drooling, fellows!" As Patt and Bonnie rounded another corner, they were rather surprised to see a Jack Russell Terrier and a Whippet standing in front of them. As they approached closer, they saw that one dog held in its mouth the handle of a bucket from a local fast food chicken place, and the other carried a garment bag. "Watson? Devo?" Bonnie said with delight as the women ran up to the dogs. Watson placed the bucket gently on the ground and replied with a 'woof'. Bons immediately began to give Watson belly fur rubs, while he rolled on his back in doggy delight. "What are you boys doing here?" "Rarf! Errrrrrrrr-row! Errrr-arf!" Watson told them as he bounced around Bonnie's feet. "Watson and Devo have been reading the story, Patt!" Bons translated. Devo, still carrying the handle of the garment bag between his jaws, followed with a series of throaty exclamations. "Ooooooo! Rrruuuuuh? Ip!" "Hmmm," Bonnie said thoughtfully. "It seems the boys saw that Jules wanted a wardrobe change, so they brought their Mom a new outfit to wear. Isn't that sweet?" "Darlin'," Patt agreed, scratching Devo under the chin while the dog closed his eyes in bliss. "What's the chicken for?" "Erf! Raf!" Watson answered, nudging the bucket forward with his snout. "Why, it's for us!" Bonnie exclaimed. "You boys thought of everything!" "Good dogs," Patt said, giving both animals' heads a pat. "I'll take the luggage, if you like, Devo." The canine allowed the Third Cousin to take the garment bag's handle from between his teeth. Bonnie picked up the chicken, preparing to grab a leg for nibbling. Watson growled. "Okay, okay," Bons said, dropping the drumstick back into the bucket. "Libs gets first dibs. We'd best be getting back to Jules and the gang, huhh, boy?" Watson resumed his tail wagging and licked Bons' bare toes, which made her squeal. The Scribe's feet were very ticklish. "Are you guys coming along?" Both dogs shook their heads, then Devo let out a chain of yips. The redhead nodded, and whispered secretively to Patt, "They're going to a special showing of `The Manchurian Candidate.' We're not supposed to tell, because Jules says it'll give them nightmares about politicians." Bonnie waved at the dogs, turned around, then prepared to return the way she'd come, when Watson growled again. "Now what?" the Scribe asked. Watson turned his nose down the alley, as Devo said, "Rworrr-ip!". "What're they trying to tell us?" Patt said, looking down the passage. "Heck, Elmore, you watched Lassie when you was a kid, same as me. They're telling us that going down the alley is a shortcut back to Screed's." "I don't like alleys," Patt said. Both Watson and Devo barked in a commanding fashion. "Then again . . ." Patt said, her feet already heading toward the alley's mouth. ************************************************************************ End O' Part Twenty-Two A Continued In Part Twenty-Two B This Space Has Been Tagged As Metro Police Evidence Packet D-1228.79 Do Not Fold, Spindle, Or Mutilate Use Only In Case Of Emergency Do Not Open While Operating Heavy Machinery ************************************************************************ August Heat (22B/24) by Bonnie Rutledge and Patt Elmore Event Twenty-Two B: A Sobering Plot Advancement Two seconds later, the two women were sliding through the grate entrance into Screed's lair. "Finally!" Annie stalked toward them, grabbing the bucket. "What did you all do? Have to go pluck the darned bird?" Annie ran over to the mattress where Screed was lifting Libby to a seated position, murmuring to the woman, "Yewr weak, Squeaker, an' need tew feed. Sit up pretty now, and take a bit o' cluck n' doodle fer yewr Screedie, rite?" Patt and Bonnie sat down simultaneously, watching Screed feed Libby. Satisfied that Libby was regaining her strength, the other human sorts all helped themselves to a piece of chicken. "This is for you," Patt told Jules as she handed the priestess the garment bag with her drumstick-less hand. "Why, this is a piece of my luggage! Where did it come from?" Jules wondered in amazement. "Courtesy of Watson and Devo," the Third Cousin explained. "Your pups wanted you to have your costume change." "Awww.those dogs," Jules sighed happily, then asked sternly. "They weren't driving the Jeep again, were they?" "Nope," Bons replied. "They were traveling by paw." "Good," Jules said. "They are always getting tickets because they like to park next to hydrants." "Hey, Red," Vachon asked mischievously. "Do you need any help changing?" "Not from you, I don't," the High Priestess retorted primly, pulling Patt and Annie toward a dark corner. "You too, Bonnie," Jules called. "You'll be my human shield." Jules resurfaced from behind her barrier of addict-flesh a few minutes later. Clad in her slinky black cocktail dress and matching heels, she appeared up to her usual High Priestess wardrobe standards. Patt hungrily helped herself to another piece of chicken as she sat down again. The Third Cousin was licking her fingers and preparing to exclaim how good it was, when she felt someone staring at her. Turning slowly, a finger still between her lips, she saw Lacroix's eyes were open, watching. "Oh, feathers," the Louisianan choked. "Uncle's up." All eyes turned toward the General. With total dignity, Lacroix stood up, brushed his clothes into place and walked toward the group. "Supper time, hmmmmmmmm?" the vampire said, looking down into the now almost- empty container. Patt flinched. Bons stood still. Annie flexed an eyebrow. Jules moved toward Lacroix, but was held back by Vachon. Dirk looked confused. "General," Jules said respectfully, shrugging off Vachon's hands and giving the dark- haired vampire a haughty look. She returned her attention to Lacroix. "Are you . . . all right?" "Of course, my dear," Lacroix said, offering the priestess a slight smile. "Why wouldn't I be? Tell me.the totem . . . it has not been found, I take it?" "Naw," Screed answered. "Stolin from me fer sure. A rite dirty thief wud take a rat frum 'is keeper." "The statue itself is almost worthless, unless you are the sort who likes diamonds and sapphires," Lacroix said. "That's me sort, it is," Screed affirmed. "But," the vampire continued, his voice heavy, "what the rat totem represents . . ." The General grew quiet. Bonnie poked Dirk in the ribs. "He likes you . . . get him to tell us, okay?" "General," Dirk said, addressing Lacroix. The vampire looked disinterestedly at the mortal. "Do I know you?" Dirk glanced at Bonnie, shrugged and fell back. "Next." "Raticus," Lacroix breathed. "My foulest enemy." "I know tha moniker," Screed said, rising from the mattress, letting Libby totter to the side and fall. "Is tha nawt the ratsie wot . . .?" Lacroix quickly held up his hand, thumb out, forefinger extended upward. "That . . . Never . . . Happened," he snarled at the carouche. "Wot'er yew say, gov'ner," Screed sat back down on the mattress with a plop, his behind making contact with Libby's head. The Ratpacker's muffled voice and flailing got him off quick enough, but her glasses were bent just a bit. Lacroix looked at the expectant group, then sighed. "It is enough to say that the totem was made in Raticus' image -" "It con't be - tha' ratsie's nawt got a flaming popsicle stick gnawed tew a fine, sharp point!" Screed protested. "But it *is* Raticus," Lacroix repeated, giving the carouche such a threatening look that Screed hugged Libby close for comfort (seeing as how his girlie mouse dollie was missing). "The statue was used as an object of worship by a primitive people in the wilds of Australia," the General said. "The vermin must have roamed Tasmania at some point, making an impression on those particular aborigines. They crafted graven images of him to hold the souls of their departed. I destroyed most of the totems, melting some, throwing others into the Tasman Sea, but one of them must have escaped." "Just like a rat to avoid the trap," Vachon commented dryly. Lacroix shot him a look, but the Spaniard just smiled. "We don't have many Australian aborigines in Toronto," Annie mused, biting her lower lip. "Who would want to steal such a thing?" Lacroix sighed. Vachon grinned wider. "Go ahead and tell them, big guy. If you don't, I will." "Nicholas," Lacroix conceded. "I remember you saying something about that before," Jules said, "but I thought that Rutledge had just messed up the dialogue." Lacroix shook his head. "Yew mean tew say tha De-fec-tive Nicky broke into me crib and took me ratsie?" Screed hopped up again and, again, Libby teetered and fell, her glasses bonked askew across her nose. "Why? Aye thought Knightie was supposed tew be straight an' arrowed." "He thinks that the rat totem . . . holds healing powers. It's total foolishness on Nicholas' part, of course," Lacroix hedged. Patt and Bonnie looked at each other knowingly, until they noticed the General eyeing them. Bonnie began whistling softly while Patt looked off into space. "So, after learning at the Swap Meet that Screed had the rat statue, Knight probably broke in here to take it, right?" Jules said, her eyes bright with understanding. "And, he probably confiscated our stuff and took it, too." "That would be my assumption," Lacroix nodded. "Excellent deduction, my dear." Jules flushed at the compliment and smiled. "So, the totem is probably at Nick's place, right?" Bonnie asked, because it was part of the script, even though she knew better. Lacroix shook his head. "Insufficient to evoke the . . . healing powers," the General said. "He needs more space." "Natalie's?" Patt said hopefully, but she also knew better. Lacroix shook his head again. "The YMCA?" Annie conjectured. "Get real," Lacroix snarled. "I think not," Lacroix lifted an eyebrow at the NunkMommy's suggestion. "Come on, come on, addicts, cut to the chase," Vachon stepped forward. "We all know where Nick is headed, so I suggest we head there, too." "And, where would that be, flyboy?" Jules said sarcastically. "Oh, yea, forgot. You're not privy to the outline are you, Julsey? Sorry," the dark-haired vampire chided her. Everyone waited, looking expectantly at Vachon. "My line?" he inquired innocently. "VACHON!" Everyone but Lacroix yelled. "THE SHRINE!" the Spaniard yelled back. "He's gone to the Nunkies Shrine!" "Why would he go THERE?" Jules said, her expression aghast. Annie looked nauseous. "Well, he's actually headed over there to return your stuff," Vachon turned to look at Libby. "You know, the bright and shiny, pretty thingies. But," Vachon turned back to the main body of the group, "once he's there, he'll discover something that will make him want to stay and play awhile." The startled addicts exchanged glances. "Such as?" Annie finally demanded, thinking of several addicts who had slight Knightie tendencies. "Can't say," Vachon said smugly, "because of the spoiler clause. You are familiar with that one, aren't you?" "We're all familiar with the spoiler rules, yes," the NunkMommy was growing impatient. "Now, tell me why Nick is planning a soiree at the Shrine." "Okay," Vachon said confidentially to the head NA. "But, it's for your ears only." He leaned close to Annie and began to whisper. S P O I L E R "There now, you happy?" Vachon said as Annie, face caught between cookie tossing and grim, pulled back. The NunkMommy looked at the other members. "It is imperative that we get to the Shrine, ASAP." "What about the S.U.N outside," Bonnie argued. "Dusk is near," Lacroix broke in. "I see no reason why the mortals here should be detained any longer. I suggest that you ladies . . . . . . return to the Peach as quickly as you can. The rest of us will follow as soon as it is dark." "What about Dirk?" Patt asked, already heading for the door. Lacroix looked at the driver, contemplating. "Since he's a minor character and expendable, I thought he might make a nice appetizer, until we can restock properly." Bonnie thrust herself in front of Dirk and cried, "NYET." Vachon shook his head. "You and that darn language thread, Rutledge." "Lo siento, mucho," Bons shot the slacker a look, then returned her stern visage to Lacroix, "but you ain't snackin' on mi macho." "Means a great deal to you, hmmmm?" Lacroix looked down at the petite redhead. Bonnie nodded her head fiercely. "All right," Lacroix assented. "Take the cabbie with you to the Shrine." The General looked around, examining the rat carcasses strewn on the floor. "Don't suppose you have any catsup, carouche?" "Character error!" Patt and Bons both held up their hands in stylized 'time out' formation. "That's a Nicky line!" "Sorry," Lacroix said, grinning wryly. "Hereditary defect." His face grew severe again. "Now, you'd best all leave before I am no longer responsible for my actions." "Like you've been responsible up until now?" Patt called out a parting shot, before Jules bodily pushed the addict through the grate. "Yew'd best go tew, Squeekums," Screed whispered to Libby, planting a peck on her forehead. "Aye can salvage me somethin' frum the mess tha the Munkey left on the flur, but Aye'm not so sure Aye can keep the other vamps off yew." "But Aye don' want tew leave yew," Libby said, reaching a hand up to tenderly stroke Screed's cheek. "And those NA ninnies don' want me around, no ways." "You're wrong, Libby," Annie said quietly, while Bonnie nodded gravely. "We love you and want you to come with us. Life without a little rat-pelleting wouldn't be the same." "Dew yew mean that, Annie?" Libby said, her eyes misting. "Dew yew really mean that?" "Group hug!" Bonnie sniffled. The three women embraced. Dirk let out a big sob and put his arms around the three of them. "Barf," Vachon said. "Drabble," LaCroix minced. "Time to go!" Patt yelled from outside the lair. "Sun is setting and the supper bell has rung. Let's get a move on, okay?" "Let's go," Annie agreed. "The end of this is in sight!" *********************************************************************** Nick's internal alarm went off as the sun began to set. He climbed out of the Caddie trunk, the Tasmanian Rat Totem at his side, then drove to the nearest market. He found the Marmite with the condiments, and loaded the store's entire stock into his shopping cart. This only amounted to a few kilograms worth, though - hardly enough Marmite to bathe one of Nick's feet, much less his entire body. Rather than make a run of every grocery in Toronto, Nick decided to speak with the store manager. "Excuse me," the detective said politely, "but would you have larger quantities of Marmite stored somewhere else?" "Why, yes, we have a place in the warehouse district that supplies all of our store locations," the manager volunteered helpfully. Nick thanked the man, then headed for The Only Warehouse In Toronto. Sneaking inside, the detective found vast quantities of Marmite, twenty-four jars to a box. He filled the Caddie's trunk with boxes, shoving the addict's property aside, then stacked several more containers in his backseat. Now it was time for Bathtub Plan B. Nick pulled up outside Chez Schanke and noted a familiar sedan in the driveway with dismay. They were back from their pilgrimage to Memphis! He rang on the doorbell, but there wasn't any answer. Stymied, Nick floated to the second floor and began to peer in windows. Jen was in her room, playing on her computer and wearing earphones. Myra had already gone to sleep and was snoring softly beneath an electric blue relaxation mask. Nick moved on to glance in the bathroom window. And sighed. Schanke was in the tub, up to his armpits in bubble bath. The sideburns were back, and his partner was singing, "I'm just a hunka-hunka Schanke love!" at the top of his lungs. There was no way Nick was getting in that tub anytime soon. Getting back in the Caddie, Nick pondered a Bathtub Plan C. He needed to stop by the Jeweled Peach and return the addicts' valuables. He recalled hearing about some kind of `Sacred Pond' used by Nunkies Anonymous . ************************************************************************ End O' Part Twenty-Two B End O' Part Twenty-Two This Space Has Been Tagged As Metro Police Evidence Packet D-1228.79 Do Not Fold, Spindle, Or Mutilate Use Only In Case Of Emergency Do Not Open While Operating Heavy Machinery Caution: Flammable ************************************************************************ August Heat (23A/24) Event Twenty-Three A: A Different Kind O' Shriner's Convention Miss Prentiss was enjoying a seaweed wrap and guacamole face mask at the Wispy Pines Spa just outside of Maple. The drive had been a bit long for a criminal who had rats to steal and people to kill, but her relaxed pores proved that the trip had been worth the while. The time came for her rinse down and massage, and Miss Prentiss decided to pass the time by perusing the strange book she'd plucked from her dear pal Minnie just before shooting her. Minnie had sworn she'd acquired the red leather-bound volume from the master criminal Screed. While Miss Prentiss had already proved the book worked wonderfully well as a bludgeoning instrument, she hoped that perusing the pages would give some insight in tracking down the rat statue. Even better, the book might help to lead Deon and her to some form of leverage they could use against Screed and Libratsie. Perhaps, they could arrange a trade for the statue, *then* kill everyone. Eyeing the first few pages of the `Nunkies Fantasy Manual,' Miss Prentiss surmised that the content revolved around a person named Lacroix. There were multiple mentions of togas, chocolate and rosebuds. Miss Prentiss shrugged and flipped ahead several pages. She noticed that someone had inserted a bookmark that proclaimed `Kickstart the Knight' at this particular spot. Miss Prentiss read with growing interest about exercise routines and gardening with the mysterious Nunkies man, then her mouth fell agape as she learned nouveau uses for lettuce and other produce. Miss Prentiss thought. She cut her massage short in favor of a long, cold shower. Rising from the massage table, another bookmark slipped out of the manual and fluttered to the floor. Miss Prentiss noted with curiosity that it advertised a restaurant called `The Jeweled Peach' located on Queen Street. she thought, flipping back through the book's contents once more. ! This restaurant bears investigation.> Miss Prentiss rinsed off quickly in icy water, reapplied her makeup and wig, then drove back to Toronto to fetch Deon. "I wasn't finished!" Deon complained as they left his chiropractor's office. "I had to wait all afternoon to get worked into the schedule, then you show up halfway through my adjustment!" "Don't irritate me, Deon," Miss Prentiss warned. "Frown lines make me violent." "Excuse me, but I am in pain, Miss Prentiss. Pain sabotages my normally professional behavior, making me hot-tempered and unsociable, therefore a cause for frown lines. I hope it was something urgent that caused your interruption." "Of course, Deon. I found a lead in that big, red book I lifted from Minnie that may help us regain our stolen property." "New friends? Well, then, Miss Prentiss.lead on." ************************************************************************ "That's really sweet of you guys," Tser called through the Shrine's entrance to the Peach, "but I'm capable of cleaning up without an entourage. Everyone just help yourself to some supper, okay?" The buzz-cutted addict flattened herself against the wall just inside the door and sighed heavily. "What's the matter, Tser?" Caren walked up, looking concerned, but rested. "You seem to be draggin'." "I am draggin'," Tser responded, casting a glance back toward the restaurant. "Draggin' around a bunch of fraternity brothers who have been ordered to guard me with their lives. Took them most of the day just to get me here. They insisted that I perform a 'sacrifice' at the water fountain downtown." "What kind of 'sacrifice'?" Caren asked, her eyes widening. "Oh, nothing all that bad," Tser said dismissively. "It just involved soap bubbles, magnets and panty hose. Quite tame, really - just time consuming." "Too much," Caren said, taking a peek outside into the eating establishment. "Jock nirvana, if you're into that kind of thing." "Let me see," Jayne said, walking up and looking over Caren's shoulder. "Ooooooo, check out the hunk with the red hair." "He's available, I'm sure," Tser said, trudging toward the Sacred Stairs, determined to shower and catch a nap. She remembered something and turned to the other addicts, a sheepish grin on her face. "Sorry." "For what?" Caren replied, while Jayne just looked confused. "For stranding you two at the police station," Tser apologized. "I'm really sorry." "Ohhhhhh, it turned out all right," Jayne laughed. "That nice desk sergeant saw to it that we were safely escorted back here by a couple of extremely nice, young police officers. They stayed for milk and cookies, and we played Monopoly for awhile. Had quite a nice time." "Uhhhh, huhhhh . . ." Tser said skeptically, looking hard at the dreamy faces which Jayne and Caren projected. "Did you find the burro?" Caren asked, a smitten smile still spread across her face. "Yes," Tser nodded. "I've tucked Lava safely away in a rent-a-stall where no one can bother her until this story is over. But she wasn't too happy with her food rations. She kept whinnying something about not wanting plain oats." Tser looked around the clean, but empty, Shrine. "It's getting dark outside. Where is everybody?" "Our company has depleted somewhat since the Conversion Ceremony ended," Jayne explained. "Gaelin, Michele and Zebella have all headed back to their home towns. Shele went to the park to write poetry and called awhile ago to tell us she had gotten a pet sitting job while there. Laura is in the kitchen . . ." "Laboratory," Tser corrected. "Whatever," Jayne responded, " . . . cooking chicken. Cousin Gwen is helping her by catching splattered pieces of meat. Mel, Heather, Marie and Mariah have gone to the 24- hour bookstore to hunt up a new novel which is supposed to be published this month. Said they weren't coming back until they had a copy." "How about Joni and Cherri?" Tser asked. She'd reached the stairs with Caren and Jayne following. "Joni signed up for a continuing education class at the University of Toronto and is probably knee deep in Roman philosophy by now," Caren explained. "None of us have seen Cherri since she went upstairs on the morning after. We're not sure if she's still alive or not. If she isn't, then we have plumbing problems, 'cause we hear a lot of flushing coming from her room." "I see," Tser said, ascending the stairs. "Casey, Sharon Lee and Kate?" "Not for sure, but I think that Senara took them sightseeing," Jayne said. "I know where Annette is!" Caren announced brightly as she remembered something. "She's in the Sacred Projector Room watching Star Trek reruns." "Charl?" Tser inquired. "Brady Bunch marathon downtown," Jayne responded. "Kelly?" "Taking sewing lessons," Caren chirped. "Said she never wanted to be caught 'strapless' again." "Tammy and Jesse?" "Here or there," Jayne shrugged. "Not sure." "Cousin Robi?" Caren brightened. "I know the answer to that, unless it is a trick question?" Tser shook her head. "Robi is hiding from Heidi," Caren smiled. "Why?" Tser said. A rattling of chains was Tser's answer. The Oregonian looked down toward the Shrine's alter and saw the massive desk with Heidi still attached to its leg. "Evening Heidi," Tser called down to the main floor. Heidi responded with an expletive. A gong suddenly sounded, echoing through the room. "What the heck is that?" Tser yelped, clutching her hands to her abused cranium. "Cabon," Caren said. "He installed a doorbell thingie so that he could formally announce arriving guests to the Shrine. Sounds pretty neat, doesn't it? Also can be rung from the service entrance, but has a different tone. Our 'visitor' is coming in by way of the Peach." As if on Caren's cue, Nick Knight appeared stage left and entered the main Shrine. When he saw who was in attendance, he smiled. "Good," he said, looking up at Tser, who reversed her direction and came back down the stairs. "I was hoping I might find one of you here, and not those other four," Knight shuddered playfully. "What can we do for you, Detective?" Jayne asked casually while Caren began to eye- flirt with Nick. Knight shot Caren a grin, then turned his attention back to Jayne and Tser, his expression serious. "I believe I have some items which you reported stolen." "You found our stuff?!!" Jayne and Caren both bounced happily. "Where is it?!" "In the Caddie," Nick smiled. "I'll bring it in a minute." "No need," Tser responded, then looked at the other two addicts. "Go get a couple of those strapping young men and have them bring our possessions inside." Caren and Jayne nodded and then scampered into the restaurant to recruit helpers. Tser noticed that Nick was looking around the Shrine, an interested expression on his face. "Your first visit to the Shrine, Detective?" Tser smiled. Nick returned the grin. "Not exactly a place that I'd be prone to worship, is it?" Tser laughed. "I see your point," she agreed. "Would you like the guided tour?" "Why not?" Knight replied. "This is my night off and I have no pressing plans. Just one request." "What would that be?" "I really don't think I can handle any Lacroix tapestries on an empty stomach. Can we skip that anteroom?" "That might be a problem," Tser laughed, taking Nick's arm and escorting him toward the more technical rooms of the Shrine. "As you can see - he's EVERYWHERE." ************************************************************************ While Tser gave Detective Knight a tour of the premises, Caren and Jayne sifted eagerly through the addicts' returned valuables. "My jewelry!" Caren exclaimed happily as she clutched several gold items to her chest. "What about the key to the handcuffs?" Heidi wailed. "Look for that!" "Ooo!" Jayne cried. "Annie's tennies! She'll be so relieved." "Yeah, uh-huh," Heidi inserted, "but what about the key to the handcuffs?" "And here's two of the Shrine telephones," Caren commented. "Funny. The princess phone seems to be missing." "You're right," Jayne agreed. "I don't see our towel rack or stock pot, either." "But the key to the handcuffs?" Heidi prompted. "Do you two realize the physical improbabilities of surviving three days chained to a desk?" "I'm sure it's no Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, Heidi," Jayne said good-naturedly, "but the Holy Handcuffs' key just doesn't seem to be here." "Ack!" Heidi sputtered. "Let me look!" The imprisoned addict searched through the items with minute detail, finding no sign of the precious key. "Aaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!" As Heidi continued to shriek and moan, Caren leaned against the stage and said, "You know, Nick sure had a ton of Marmite loaded into the Caddie. I wonder what it's for?" Jayne shrugged. "Maybe the precinct is having another night picnic." "Weird." ********************************************************************** A short time later, Tser bade Knight goodnight at the service entrance of the Shrine. Once Nick was assured that the addict had retreated back into the sanctum, the vampire lifted himself and surveyed possible entrances to the building via the second floor. He was rewarded by an open bedroom window. Looking inside, he saw a dark haired addict laying across a double bed, snoring contentedly. Nick floated to the roof and found a comfortable place to sit and wait. Once he knew that all the addicts were asleep - assuring privacy - he would return to the Caddie and fetch the rat totem and needed bath additives, then the cure would be his to take at his leisure. Nick smirked a little, thinking again of where his cure would take place. ************************************************************************ Tser finished her shower and got dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt bearing the logo of the zoo where she did volunteer work. She had planned on napping immediately after the shower, but the visit with Nick had gotten her adrenaline going again, and subsequently, her appetite. The Oregonian decided to check out the chicken which she'd been told that Laura was frying. As she pushed open the swinging doors into the kitchen, Tser was surprised to find the barrel of a pistol suddenly become attached to her nose. A woman, with the fakest blonde wig imaginable, was at the business end of the gun, beaming at the buzz-cutted addict. "And people freak out at my hair," Tser said, tilting her head slightly past the metal, so that her view was less obstructed. "Close out sale at Eva's?" Beyond where Miss Prentiss held the gun on Tser, Deon seemed to have Laura restrained in a bear hug. "They broke in on me through the back way," Laura cried. "I thought they were the olive oil delivery people." The blonde waved the gun in Tser's face for attention. "How many more of you are in this," she looked around disdainfully, "mausoleum of yours?" "A bunch," Tser said non-committally. "Numbers, please," Miss Prentiss instructed, smiling sweetly while she pressed the cold metal against the addict's cheek. "Err.well, Heidi's handcuffed to the desk in the main Shrine, and Jayne and Caren are running around somewhere." Tser decided to not mention the sleeping Cherri, the trekking Annette, or the hiding Robi, and if Cousin Gwendolyn stayed out of this conflict, so much the better. ".So that would be three more people." "Deon," Miss Prentiss ordered as she nodded at Laura, "Tie her up and dump her, then grab these Jayne and Caren people. I don't supposed Handcuffed Heidi is going anywhere." The faux-blonde let out an evil little snicker. Deon dug through the kitchen drawers for useful bondage supplies. After trussing her up like a turkey and slapping a piece of duct tape over her mouth, he tossed Laura into the kitchen pantry (a.k.a. Libby's cubby), locked the door, then went addict hunting. "Tell me," Miss Prentiss said to Tser as she waited for Deon's return. "Do you have the rat?" The faux-blonde was tapping the barrel of her gun against Tser's temple, and the Oregonian found it very distracting. "Uh.we have a Ratpacker.er, Libby! Yeah, that's her name!" Tser's expression fell into a frown. "Oh, wait. We don't have Libby anymore.she took our valuables and ran away. Everyone misses her, though," Tser swore earnestly. "She did the best trampoline stunts, and no one could touch her in the Sacred Cold Pond Cannonball Competition." "Isn't that nice?" Miss Prentiss drawled. "While we're sharing, tell me where all the valuables are right now." "The police brought everything back!" Tser said brightly. Deon hulked into the kitchen/laboratory once more, carrying Caren under one arm, Jayne under the other, and a huge white sack between his teeth. He dropped the bag on top of the counter island, saying, "Look what I found, Miss Prentiss." The faux-blonde corralled the three addicts into a corner with her revolver. "Are these the valuables?" she demanded. The addicts nodded slowly. Deon hunted through the sack's contents, shaking his head. "The statue's not here, Miss Prentiss!" "Damn!" the faux-blonde seethed. She considered shooting her prisoners to release some tension, but decided that they might still be useful. "Metro Police caught up with our friend Libby and confiscated all her stolen goods, Deon. If the rat totem isn't here, the police must be holding it as evidence for further investigation." Tser nodded. "I guess you'll just have to break into the property room and leave us tied up here." "I don't think so," Miss Prentiss said menacingly. "I think you three are going to break into the police evidence locker as a favor to my associate and myself." "And if we refuse?" Tser said nobly. "Well, then," the faux-blonde murmured as she began to tap the barrel of her automatic against the buzz-cutted addict's temple once more, "I'll just have to terminate our relationship." Tser gulped. "Who wants to drive?" ************************************************************************ End O' Part Twenty-Three A Continued In Part Twenty-Three B This Space Has Been Tagged As Metro Police Evidence Packet D-1228.79 Do Not Fold, Spindle, Or Mutilate Use Only In Case Of Emergency Do Not Open While Operating Heavy Machinery Caution: Flammable Ages 12 And Up ************************************************************************ August Heat (23B/24) Event Twenty-Three B: Stuffed Addicts and the Death Knell "You know," Caren said in a miserable voice, "this could go on our permanent record. We're sneaking into the Police Evidence Locker with the intent to take stuff. That's *criminal* activity!" "You might have noticed, Caren," Jayne retorted, "the `lady' holding Tser at gunpoint and the fellow glowering at us are not exactly fine, upstanding, law-abiding Canadians." "Yes," Tser agreed. "We are officially acting under duress." "Shut up and start acting furtive before I get unpleasant," Miss Prentiss hissed. "She's been showing her pleasant side?" Jayne whispered. *Thwap!* Miss Prentiss struck Jayne upside the head with the butt of her revolver, and the addict slithered into an unconscious heap on the floor. "Deon, could you escort Miss Leitch to a file cabinet? Perhaps `Q' for Quiet," the faux- blonde mused wickedly. She eyed the remaining two addicts smugly as Deon dragged Jayne's body away. "You two don't have anything clever to say?" Caren and Tser gulped, then shook their heads. "Excellent," Miss Prentiss concluded, "now. sneak!" *Sneak*.*Sneak*.*Sneak*.*Peek*.*Tiptoe-Tiptoe*.*Crrrrreeeeaaaaakkkk!* Miss Prentiss and the two addicts glanced around the contents of the evidence locker. The statue wasn't immediately evident. "All right, where's the totem?" the faux-blonde demanded. "Uhm, what does a rat totem look like exactly?" Caren asked curiously. *Thwap!* "A rat, you twit! It looks like a rat!" Miss Prentiss fumed, then noticed that she'd knocked another hostage unconscious. "Ooops." The faux-blonde looked expectantly at Tser. "Well, have you got any bright ideas?" "It looks like the evidence packets are tagged alphabetically," Tser said helpfully. Miss Prentiss nodded and proceeded to stuff Caren's sleeping form onto the `C' shelf. "Hmm," Tser announced, "There aren't any artistic representations under `R' for `rat,' but there *is* a slightly gnawed-on, dead rodent. I don't see any rat figurines under `T' for `totem,' or `S' for `statue, either." The buzz-cutted addict continued her search silently, noting that there were no other ratty items listed, other than a plush mouse under `D' for `doll.' While perusing that shelf, Tser came across `Evidence Packet D-1228.79.' the Oregonian thought with jubilation. Tser softly hummed the melody to `Ain't Misbehavin',' as she surreptitiously slipped the plastic bag into her pocket. Miss Prentiss conducted her own search of the shelves, then turned accusingly toward the addict. "The rat isn't here! You lied to me!" The faux-blonde resumed holding Tser at gunpoint and yanked her out of the Evidence Locker as Deon approached. "Our property isn't here. Our funky-haired friend has been trying to pull a fast one by getting us to come to police headquarters. The rat must still be back at the restaurant." "Excuse *me*," Tser said indignantly. "Monsieur Cabon may tolerate many things, but vermin in his establishment is a no-no. He has a monthly pest control service." Tser was about to continue her protest, but fell silent as Miss Prentiss began to tap the automatic against the addict's temple again. "Deon, could you find the circuit box and shut off the lights for me?" Miss Prentiss drawled. "I have a special farewell planned for our friend here, then we'll return to The Jeweled Peach." "Sure thing, Miss Prentiss," her partner in crime said with a snappy salute. When the lights came back on, Deon and Miss Prentiss were long gone. Officer Pulte did a double take as he rushed into the bullpen. Tser's body had been stuffed into the base of the watercooler, a giant jug of natural spring water crammed over her head. Miss Prentiss' intention had been to drown the addict. Little did the faux-blonde realize that life-threatening situations made Tser thirsty. "Well, at least that explains why the watercooler isn't working," Sergeant Pulte said with an affirmative nod. ************************************************************************ Patt burst through the Peach's front entrance, followed by Jules, Annie-pushing-Libby and Bonnie bringing up the rear, protectively pulling Dirk along. The hunky driver looked around the restaurant in interest, but as he was dragged past the fraternity eating frenzy into the main entrance to the Shrine, he dug in his heels somewhat. "I'm not too sure about this," Dirk said, catching the scent of incense and the sound of piped-in mood music. "This looks like some sort of harem, or something." "Nope," Bonnie assured him, giving Dirk's arm a gentle tug. "The harem is on the other side of town - this is a Shrine." "What kind of 'Shrine?'" Dirk narrowed his eyes as he looked around. Then, he saw the main alter and the large oil painting which graced it. The shock of recognition flooded the driver's face. "Wait a minute - you shrinize 'HIM?'" Dirk resisted Bonnie's pulling, upsetting the redhead's balance. She fell, conveniently, back against Dirk, turned quickly and smiled upwards. "But of course," Bons piqued her face into radiant sweetness. "We all do - with our hearts and souls. Look at him," she turned lustful eyes on the portrait. "Isn't he divine?" "If you say so," Dirk shrugged. "Patt worships him too?" "From afar," Bons said, then grinned wickedly. "I'd say from at least an arm's length away." "Hmmmmm," Dirk continued to look around, watching as the other addicts came running back into the main complex from a hallway they'd just disappeared into. "Well, so far, so good," Annie reported as the small group drew together into a huddle. "The Sacred Pond does not appear to have been polluted, so maybe we made it here in time to foil any plans that someone had to do so." Annie looked pale just thinking about the idea which Vachon had whispered into her ear. "We need to post guards, though, in case the plan is to take place later." The other addicts nodded. "This place looks a mite quiet," Libby commented, looking around. "Where be yewr Nunkienon members, Annie?" "Lurking, I'm sure," Annie responded. "Spread out and round them up. Patt - take the sleeping quarters. Bonnie and Jules - check the anterooms and the specialty areas. Libby - you come with me to check out the kitchen - we'll get you something to eat while we're in there. Everybody MOVE!" The women scattered, leaving a perplexed Dirk standing alone. He wandered over to the Shrine's altar and looked up at the portrait. After a moment of contemplation, the driver shrugged and mumbled to himself, "I still don't see what all the fuss is about." "You want fuss, fellow?" an unfamiliar voice assaulted Dirk's ears, accompanied by a cacophony of metallic punctuation. Dirk turned and found himself witness to a wild-eyed young woman who appeared to be shackled to an oversized piece of office furniture. The woman was in an obvious state of disrepair. Her clothing was in need of laundering and spittle was evident at the corners of her mouth, further enhancing the distemper element of her appearance. "Hi, how ya doing?" Dirk said, sitting down opposite Heidi and offering the woman his best smile. "You appear to be the only sane person in this place. Have any idea what's going on?" ************************************************************************ While Libby munched on some chicken that she'd found conveniently waiting on the stove, Annie poked into every crook and crevice which the kitchen area contained, starting at the left and making an arc. She was about two-thirds way around the room when Patt burst through the swinging door. "What did you find?" Annie said, her nose buried in a broom closet. "Not much," Patt responded. "Most of the sleeping cells are empty. Cherri's door is locked, but I think I heard the plumbing flush." "This just doesn't feel right," Annie said. "There's always supposed to be some of the Not- So-Vestal-Virgins on guard duty. It's as though they were kidnapped or something." A muffled clamor near the cabinet area caused a pause in conversation. "What was that?" Patt asked. "Probably nothing," Annie said. "Libby carved out some tunnels leading from her cubby to various points of interest throughout the Shrine." The Ratpacker, mouth full of poultry, nodded happily. "Yea, I remember," Patt said, touching her Mountie hat and zoning just slightly. "Anyway," Annie continued, her face slightly perturbed at the interruption, "probably just one of her 'little friends' come up for a visit." "Yew think so?" Libby beamed. "Shud Aye check on 'im?" "No," Annie asserted. "You sit and eat. Patt, check the cubby for visitors, okay?" Patt walked, slowly, over to the cabinet, tentatively putting her hand on the latch. The door quivered slight, causing the addict to pull back quickly. "Nothing here," Patt reported. Jules and Bonnie rushed through the door. "No sign of *anyone*!" the Scribe reported. "Except Heidi," Jules corrected, "but she didn't look coherent enough to talk. Nasty what bathroom deprivation can do to a person - even in fanfic." "Looks like someone may have been in the Sacred Projector Room watching Trekker stuff, but they must have beamed out or something," Bonnie corrected herself. "The donkey's even gone." "I smell a rat," Annie said. "'Ey now," Libby sulked, picking a piece of meat from her teeth. "Les naw get personal- like." "I smell a skunk," Annie placated. "Patt, check the phone log and see what's gone in and out." Patt saluted and took off, glad to leave the shaking cubby hole behind. A gong rang loudly. All four of the individuals in the kitchen clasped their hands to their ears in pain. "What the *!@@$%* is *that?!*" Jules yelped. "A cosmetics person calling?" Bonnie suggested helpfully. Jules glared at the Scribe. A rapping came from behind the closed door which exited the kitchen into the alley. The addicts looked at each other, but no one moved. The rapping stopped, replaced by a voice saying, "Knock, knock." "Who's there?" Annie replied, because she was closest to the door. "Olive oil," the voice answered. Annie looked at the other women then back at the door. "Okay, I give up. Some demented sailor cartoon?" "Naw, naw," the voice sounded exasperated. "I'm Luigi - I got the oil you ordered." "Oh," Annie pulled the latch to deal with the delivery person. Meanwhile, Jules and Bonnie were startled by the dull thudding of hard plastic against particle board, which sounded like it was coming from inside one of the lower kitchen cabinets. "Me buddy is back," Libby said excitedly, pointing at the cubby with a wing. "Wold yew be sa kind as tew open me door and let me say 'ello." Bonnie and Jules both looked at the quaking door with concern. "Did you hear any squeaking?" the Priestess whispered to the Scribe. "No, but I did hear skittering, I think," Bonnie whispered back. Both women turned sugary smiles toward Libs. "False alarm. Nobody home." Dirk strolled casually through the swinging doors into the kitchen just as Annie finished paying for the ten large bottles of virgin olive oil. As he walked up to Bonnie and Jules, he noted the clunking from behind the cabinet facing. "Sounds like you have a varmint in there," the driver observed. "Want to do a hero bit?" Bonnie said, taking his arm and batting her eye lashes. "Anything to further this plot along to its conclusion," Dirk replied. Without further ado, the cabbie walked over to the cubby and pulled on the door, which proved to be stuck. A muffled yell and increased pounding came from within. Dirk grabbed a heavy-duty shish-kabob skewer and used it as a lever to pry at the cabinet door. With a great deal of exertion, the latch finally snapped and the door flew open to expose the bound and gagged Laura. "Muuummmmpppppfffff," Laura muffle-shouted in greeting as Dirk and Bonnie helped her uncurl from the cubby. "I told you there was a skunk!" Annie cried, vindicated. "Hold still, Laura, and I'll pull the tape off," Bonnie said, grabbing hold of the end of the filament. "Ouch, this is going to hurt." "MuuummmppppfffFFFUDGE!" Laura cried out as the tape was pulled from her lips, leaving little cracked pieces of flesh where dark lipstick had once been. "We'll get you some chocolate later, dear," Jules promised. "Right now we need to know what happened to you." "Big guy, fake blonde," Laura gasped. "Good gosh!" Jules and Annie said simultaneously. "Good chicken," Libby chimed in, then froze in mid-bite. "Tha' sounds lik' the blighters tha' chased me down at Screedie's!" "Took Tser, Caren and Jayne prisoner!" Laura continued gasping. "Took them to the police station - looking for a rat statue." Wheeze. "Me Screedie's ratsie statew!" Libby jumped up, clearly infuriated. "It's at the coppers?" Laura nodded. "That's what they think, anyway." "I thought that Knight had the statue," Jules murmured. "But the bad guys don't know that," Annie reasoned. "And, when they find out it's not at Metro headquarters, there's no telling what they might do to our addicts. We'd better call the police and let them know that something is going down." "Spoken like a true detective show addict," Bonnie said. "Dirk and I will take care of it. Come on, Dirk, let's go plug one of our phones back in." They dashed from the kitchen just as Patt rushed back through the swinging door. "Hey, Laura! Good to see you!" Patt clapped the addict across the back. Then, turning her attention to Annie, the Third Cousin reported, "Nothing on the phone log except a couple of long distance psychic calls." Annie sighed. "Give them ten free minutes, and they want a lifetime. Sheesh." "It's all right, Patt," Jules said, bringing the addict up to date. "Laura told us that we have a couple of psychos loose . . ." "Okay . . . I'm here and Bonnie just left, but does that constitute 'loose?'" Patt, who was getting a way overdue beer out of the cooler, looked toward the kitchen door for her compatriot. " . . . who have kidnapped three of our addicts and forced them to do dastardly things," Jules finished, ignoring Patt's interruption. "Outrageous!" Annie yelled. "That's my job!" "Gulp!" Laura and Libby both made the sound. "Well, I'll admit that might have sounded a bit harsh," Annie conceded, "but it's important to maintain discipline." "I couldn't agree with you more," an unfamiliar female voice breathed close to Annie's ear. Unseen by the NunkMommy, because Annie had her back to the door, Miss Prentiss and Deon had entered the kitchen. The addicts had a problem. ************************************************************************ End O' Part Twenty-Three B Continued In Part Twenty-Three C This Space Has Been Tagged As Metro Police Evidence Packet D-1228.79 Do Not Fold, Spindle, Or Mutilate Use Only In Case Of Emergency Do Not Open While Operating Heavy Machinery Caution: Flammable Ages 12 And Up If Rash Or Irritation Develops, Discontinue Use ********************************************************************** August Heat (23C/24) Event Twenty-Three C: 1002 Uses For Marmite "It's the bad guys!" Laura wailed. "Waaah!" "Quiet!" Miss Prentiss bellowed. "Hush, or I'll boil you in olive oil!" "You can't. We still don't have a stock pot, and I won't fit any of the saucepans," Laura sniffled. "Deon? Didn't you tie up this noisy creature and lock her in the pantry?" Miss Prentiss asked with false sweetness. "Why, yes, Miss Prentiss, I did. Whatever is she doing out?" Deon agreed as he opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a roll of duct tape. "Everything's okay!" Bonnie burst back into the kitchen. "The police found Tser, Caren and Jayne and they're fine. A swat team is on the wa . . ." The Scribe pulled up short as she noticed the faux blonde offering her a smile and a gun barrel. "Oops." "Move over to join your friends, please," Miss Prentiss said as she gestured with her revolver. "Deon, please continue what you were doing before we were so rudely interrupted." Deon tore a long, grey strip loose and advanced menacingly in Laura's direction, causing Jules to protest sternly. "Speaking of rudeness, I think it's the height of poor taste to use *our* duct tape for your fiendishness. We were saving that for an emergency," Jules informed the thieves. "Obviously you aren't remo