This takes place roughly five months after the "My Daughter, My Life" trilogy. I kept the focus primarily on Darkwing and Gizmoduck, with less drama, more humor, and minimal angst. That being said, this is a mystery that takes a while to build up, since I started with a scene two days before the major event happens.
There were tons of ways I could have written this, but I hope I've portrayed the characters accurately and entertainingly. Best part is, you don't have to read my other stories to follow this one. So sit back and enjoy!
Darkwing Duck braked suddenly, spinning his trademark motorcycle 170 degrees on the street. He parked automatically, his attention entirely focused on the Jay Jeweler's store. Whipping out his gas gun, he reached the open door in a bound. He pressed his back against the bricks, ignoring the stumbling steps of his sidekick while he listened to the distinctive sounds of an on-going robbery. He counted three suspects from the different locations of tinkling glass and careless feet.
"Ready to back me up, LP?" Darkwing said in a low voice.
"You bet, DW!" Launchpad said a little too loudly. Darkwing elbowed him in the gut, but the thieves inside were making too much noise to hear him.
Darkwing smiled smugly to himself. He loved this part.
Swinging the door out of the way, he threw a smoke bomb inside and began his trademark speech.
"I am the Terror that Flaps in the Night! I am the silent alarm that ruins your heist! I am Darkwiiing Duck!"
By the time he finished his introduction, the thieves had made a break for the front exit. But Darkwing was an expert at stopping small-time criminals. He appeared out of a second poof of smoke directly in front of them, cutting off their escape. His thrown voice had driven them straight to him.
As he'd expected, the first two raised their crowbars at him; the weapon of choice for rank amateurs. He ducked and dodged their staggering swipes and easily brought both to their knees with a chop to the throat of the taller one and a sweeping kick to the other's leg. Cartwheeling, he flipped over them to land in front of the third robber.
This plucky fellow not only threw his crowbar at the crime fighter, but also his loot bag. Darkwing caught the bag, expecting to feel its contents shifting, but was surprised to hear it crackle with paper. He didn't take the time to ponder the significance, though. The guy was already out the door.
Darkwing quickly caught up to his target and raised his gun. "Suck gas, evil-doer!"
The canister of tear gas blinded and choked the ski-masked stranger.
Darkwing glanced back in the store to check that the other two were still incapacitated. Both were right where he had left them, with Launchpad handcuffing them.
The short guy was coughing hard, but he still managed to get to his feet and rush down an unlit alley.
Darkwing grinned. "So, it's going to be a game of cat and mouse, eh? Well, be on your guard, Buster, because this mouser is a tiger!"
Scrambling up a fire escape, Darkwing fired a grappling hook from his custom gun at the adjacent building. Climbing atop a drug store a block away, he scanned the street below and saw the figure he was seeking. He swung down to intercept.
"Though all may try, none can escape the might and mastery of the Midnight Mallard!" Darkwing gave himself a pep talk to hide his annoyance, and delight, at being challenged by a mere commoner. "You can outrun me; you can outmaneuver me; you may even outwit me, but every time you turn around, I'll be on your trail!" Darkwing announced as he glided down with his cape, landing behind another smokescreen.
The thief tried dodging around a corner, but Darkwing easily took him down with a kick to the back, sending him tumbling flat on his face. The crook groaned and stayed put.
"Eh, eh, eh," Darkwing brushed his hands together triumphantly. "Another scurrilous scum stopped by the stupendous stamina of the super sleuth!"
"Bravo..." a dark voice responded from the shadows, clapping his hands softly.
Darkwing immediately went on the defense, whipping out his gas gun and facing the unseen foe. "I'd know that voice anywhere! Show yourself Negaduck!"
The identical mallard stepped out from behind the drugstore dumpster, the moonlight and security light overhead illuminating his bright yellow jacket.
"Well, well. So you do have some gray matter after all. I'm impressed..." Negaduck's sarcastic tone needled at his purple costumed doppelgänger. "In fact, rather than killing you outright, I'm going to give you a chance, Dimwit! See if you can get that brain cell of yours to work! Later! Loser!"
With that last insult, Negaduck tipped his red hat and ran, quickly disappearing around a corner.
"Oh no you don't!" Darkwing pursued his villainous lookalike, forgetting his former target. The thief waited until Darkwing was out of sight before picking himself up with a soft groan and staggering into the shadows.
Darkwing ran hard to keep his terrible twin in sight. Realizing Negaduck was leading him somewhere, he extracted a pencil-shaped microphone from an inner coat pocket and spoke into it.
"Launchpad, tell the police the third associate from the jewel heist is on Victoria and Feather. I'll be needing the Ratcatcher. Darkwing out."
"Heh heh, right'o DW!" Darkwing heard Launchpad's reply. He gave his sidekick a few moments to contact the police as requested and get back to the motorcycle before lifting the mic to his bill again.
"Darkwing Duck to Ratcatcher. Code words: let's get dangerous!"
Forty seconds later, the motorcycle roared around a corner and bore down on his location. He also saw Negaduck waving his hat at him from a side street. He turned in pursuit of the villain and leapt in the air just as his enemy's similarly designed motorcycle charged him.
Darkwing flipped gracefully, carrying his momentum to where his own bike careened to a stop. He landed in the driver's seat and quickly exchanged his gray slouch hat for a winged purple helmet, shifting the bike back into manual gear.
Negaduck laughed and revved the engine, the bright colored Troublemaker placing some distance between it and the Ratcatcher. Focussed on the Troublemaker's tail lights, he hardly noticed his sidekick's greeting from his sidecar. He automatically interrogated Launchpad about the robbers' arrest and the police report as he skillfully maneuvered the streets, making lightning turns to keep Negaduck in sight. As he'd expected, his nemesis pulled a few tricks on him, dropping nails and shooting rockets.
Darkwing evaded the obstacles and projectiles easily and slowly gained on the fiend. He pulled closer, urging his beloved bike to give him just a little more power. Suddenly, the Troublemaker braked hard and the Ratcatcher plowed into it, sending Darkwing flying over both visors. He somersaulted in midair and brought his feet down on the beak-like hood of his foe's bike, wheeling around to face off his mortal enemy. He blinked in surprise. Negaduck was missing.
Looking around, Darkwing couldn't find a reason for either the sudden braking or the villain's disappearance.
"I don't get it! How could he vanish in midair? He was going sixty miles an hour! He couldn't just jump off! I'd have seen it!" he exclaimed.
Launchpad surveyed the damage to both motorcycles and paused in his examination of the Troublemaker.
"Uh, DW, there's something you ought'a see..."
"Not now, LP, I'm ranting... Maybe there was a line he grabbed while driving under it, or maybe there was..."
"But Negaduck wasn't driving!"
"Of course he was! He wouldn't let one of his gang drive it in his place! He's too possessive of his property!"
"DW, look! The Troublemaker was on autopilot! He controlled it by remote. He wanted us to crash!"
"Pah. Yeah right. As if Negaduck would sacrifice his own custom-built bike just to mess with me. There's something I'm not seeing here. Something that ties Negaduck's uncharacteristic arrival and disappearance with the robbery..."
Darkwing pulled out his magnifying glass and perused the crash, going over the Troublemaker with all the tools he could use, even taking a microscopic sample from the tire tread and the seat. Negaduck's disappearance was quickly explained. There was a spare cape and hat, rigged as a decoy to the Troublemaker's seat. While he was looking over the fine details, Launchpad continued studying the ruined bike.
"Hey, look!" Launchpad exclaimed. "I can peel the fender right off! It's like it's wearing a tarp or somethin'."
"Did you just say "peel off?"" Darkwing asked, finally giving Launchpad his attention. Examining the bike under his magnifier, he was startled to realize the vehicle was indeed wearing a plastic mold of the Troublemaker. It wasn't Negaduck's motorcycle after all. "Hold the phone! Launchpad, do you know what this means?"
"Uh, it means Negaduck was trying to pull the wool over your eyes?"
"It means he got away!" Darkwing's feet left the ground in his fury as he spat out the words. He pouted for a bit, before calming himself down. "Well, now that I know it's a fake, there isn't going to be much evidence on this thing. Negaduck probably had the Fearsome Four make the molding. I'll run down the serial number on the bike and see where it came from, or if it was stolen, but I suspect that will be a dead end, too…"
Darkwing stretched and yawned, glancing blearily at the brightening skyline. "It's getting past my usual bedtime, LP. How 'bout we call it a night and look into the details later?"
"Sounds good to me. Er, DW? How are we gonna get home?" he pointed at the crunched up nose of the Ratcatcher.
"No problem. We'll just have the Thunder Quack pick us up and drop off the old Ratcatcher at the shop..."
"Great! So, uh, do you have the Thunder Quack transponder with ya, DW? Cause I kind of left it in my other jacket..."
"Why certainly, Launchpad! It's..." Darkwing patted his jacket and slowly turned to look back at his crumpled bike. He slouched. "In the glovebox..."
The glovebox was buried in the seat of the fake Troublemaker.
Darkwing sighed. "Figures. We'll have to call our 'special' tow service. Then we can call it a night. I'm sure I can talk J. Gander into saving the paper work for later…"
Later turned out to be much later than either duck expected. Vladimir Gryzlikoff was the agent who came to pick up the bikes in a beat-up tow truck and he shoved a pile of papers in Darkwing's lap to work on while he drove back to S.H.U.S.H. Darkwing started to protest, but the threat of being left behind to walk, in daylight, to HQ temporarily silenced him.
He filled out the files, but most of the lingo was a bunch of procedural mumbo jumbo that he neither understood nor appreciated. He enlisted Launchpad's help, but as the first one on the scene and the one who'd "contaminated" evidence, according to Gryz, Darkwing had to do most of the grunt work.
By the time he was halfway through, it was already 10am and Launchpad had fallen asleep on the desk across from him. Darkwing sighed and woke him. Both got a cup of coffee and a granola bar from the hall vending machine and ran into Gryzlikoff.
"Finished with paperwork already, Comrade? Must be new record."
Darkwing straightened his lapels with a disdainful sniff. "Setting records is what I do best, "Pal.""
Gryzlikoff crossed his massive arms, unconvinced.
Launchpad further spoiled things by scratching his head and saying, "Gee, I thought I saw only half the pile in the outbox."
Darkwing shook with fury, his fingers inches from his sidekick's scarf.
Gryzlikoff smiled smugly. "Vell, perhaps you can finish other half in record time, too."
"I've got a better idea!" Darkwing glowered. "Why don't you invest in digital filing software so those who don't get comp pay don't waste their valuable time! What is it with you people, anyways! Everything you have is cutting edge technology! Why don't you make robots or something to do the paper pushing?"
"Because our funding is directed toward defense," Hooter explained, coming around a corner.
Darkwing had been about to jump Gryzlikoff, but the director's calm voice immediately brought him down. Likewise, Gryzlikoff's fist unclenched.
"And our computers are constantly pooling data and scanning frequencies for possible threats," Hooter continued. "I'm sure you understand, Darkwing, that even S.H.U.S.H. is not immune to budget cuts."
"What about "hero" cuts? Surely the government doesn't expect volunteers to write damage reports after a graveyard shift!" Darkwing spouted off.
Hooter replied levelly. "Sorry, Darkwing. As the main operative on the scene, you are responsible for your actions. Thankfully there was no property damage to report after the initial break in..."
"Besides MY property..." Darkwing sulked with his arms crossed, thinking about his bike.
"And the company that owns the chain of Jay Jeweler's has no grounds to sue," Hooter continued over the sullen superhero.
"Sue!" Darkwing jumped, incredulous. "I stopped the crooks! I prevented damage and losses! I should be rewarded! Or at least thanked, not slapped on the wrist..." he gestured with his hands.
"Relax, DW. At least you didn't have to process the scene!" Launchpad said cheerfully.
Darkwing crossed his arms again and replied dourly.
"Hmmph. At this rate, I would have preferred photo documenting and micro-examining property over paperwork..."
Hooter smiled. "Perhaps Agent Gryzlikoff could be of assistance."
"Vhat?" the bear started.
"Heh. That'll be the day!" Darkwing muttered under his breath. Gryz still heard him and growled. Hooter held up his hand to still the simmering argument and continued.
"Agent Gryzlikoff, please ask someone from the, uh, "D" Squad to join you in the conference center. With their help, the rest of the report should be finished in no time."
"The "D" Squad?"" Darkwing asked with a hint of sardonicism.
Gryzlikoff glared at him before questioning Hooter. "Vhy are ve helping this incompetent oaf, Director?"
""Incompetent!" Why I ought'a...!" Darkwing rolled up his sleeves. Launchpad grabbed his arm.
"Gentlemen!" Hooter exclaimed. "Need I remind you we are all on the same side?" Straightening his coat irately, Hooter urged Darkwing and Launchpad back into the conference room. "Now Darkwing, finish what you can and I'll arrange for refreshments to be sent in."
"Oh boy!" Launchpad rubbed his stomach in anticipation.
Hooter sent in Agents Deer and Donkey, from the short-lived "Darkwing Squad," to take notes for the rest of the report while Darkwing settled into story-telling mode, casting himself as the epitome of glory. Gryzlikoff dutifully asked the remainder of the questions that needed to filled out and refrained from commenting as Darkwing answered. Agents Deer and Donkey asked for further details as they were needed and soon the report was done.
Everyone shook hands (Gryz and Darkwing both squeezed too hard and parted only when Launchpad and Agent Donkey intercepted their silent challenge) and finally the tired ducks departed the facility. They left the S.H.U.S.H. compound around 2pm and crashed in bed, changed and fed, thirty minutes later.
Gosalyn got home half-past three. Ignoring the blatant "DO NOT DISTURB" sign posted on Drake's door, she jumped on her sleep-deprived superhero to loudly announce she was home.
"Subtlety and courtesy escape you, don't they, DEAR!" Drake grumbled with both eyes stubbornly sealed.
"You're the one who's always saying you're glad to see me no matter what time it is, and that you want to know that I got home okay."
"Be that as it may, I have had exactly…" Drake cracked an eye to glare at the clock. "An hour's sleep since noon yesterday. I'm running on fumes at the moment, so please be so kind as to shut the door on your way out and refrain from making a commotion."
"A commotion! Come on, Dad, don't you remember what today is?"
"My mind isn't exactly running full throttle," Drake snapped, sensing his drowsiness lifting and grouchily refusing to let himself wake up any further.
Gosalyn glared at him and resorted to the next best thing there was for waking him up. Her fingers raced across his ribs, tickling him mercilessly through the covers. He couldn't ignore it. He bolted upright in a fit of helpless giggles. Finally giving in to the fact that he was fully, albeit reluctantly awake, he looked straight at his darling daughter.
"What is it, Gos? Was a new "Whiffle Boy" game or another "Mutants from Mars" dvd released? Or did I promise to take you to a baseball game or the arcade or the movies or something?"
Drake loved his precocious charge more than anything in the world, but her demands had a knack for demolishing his personal schedule and wavering his needs.
"What! No! It's way more important than that!" Gosalyn waved her hands in front of her, her bright green eyes full of urgency.
"Seriously?" Drake raised an eyebrow. "What could be more important than your entertainment ideas?"
"Dad! Launchpad's friend is coming over in less than an hour!"
"Oh, is that all…" Drake stretched and yawned before widening his eyes. "Wait, which friend?"
"Dad! How many friends drive all the way out here from Duckburg? It's Fenton, remember?"
"Oh right, Fenton…FENTON! Oh perfect. The one guy in the world that annoys me more than that ridiculous Gizmoduck is invading my space and my sanity, on what is already shaping out to be one of the worst days of my personal life! Oh, the irony of Fate…" Drake slumped back on his pillow and put a hand over his eyes. "I feel a migraine coming on…"
"Come on, Dad, he's not that bad."
"No? Maybe that's because he didn't go through Your wardrobe and wear Your robe or slippers, or use Your shampoo and aftershave, or clean out your favorite, not to mention difficult to find, ice-cream. On top of it all, nearly discovering the route to My "SECRET" hideout!"
"Chill, Dad. I was just giving you fair warning. I wanted you to have time to wake up and take some aspirin before he got here." Gosalyn reached into the nightstand drawer to pull out the pain pills that were always close by. "And secure some of Darkwing's super secrets."
"Thanks, Sweetie." Drake muttered appreciatively, accepting the pills and dragging himself out of bed. "Give me ten minutes before you wake Launchpad, Gos. I don't want him to see how paranoid Fenton makes me."
"Too late. He already knows. And besides, he's on the couch. What were you guys doing last night anyways? The school kids were talking about an accident involving the Ratcatcher…?"
Darkwing scowled.
"I'll tell you about that later, Kiddo. For now, suffice it to say that Darkwing's patrols will be on foot or by air for the next week while Negaduck is terrorizing the locale…" He dragged his feet toward his closet. Even though he was awake, his body was not quite ready to fully operate.
Gosalyn agreed to drop the subject for now and hurried to her room to drop off her backpack. This was going to be an interesting evening.
Four thirty came far too soon for Drake's comfort. Fenton worked for the world's richest duck and could accurately count anything at a glance. That fact didn't bother Drake, but the fact that he was a number one fan of Gizmoduck, and a clumsy chatterbox, drove Drake crazy.
Fenton was right on time, greeting Launchpad with that strange exchange of hoopla and wiggling that looked like a cross between a chicken dance and a child's impression of a train. The display made Drake want to hit his head against a wall. Gosalyn politely greeted the accountant and ushered him into the living room. Fixing her scowling guardian with a pointed stare, she silently reminded Drake to at least attempt to be civil.
Slipping into the kitchen, Drake grabbed a couple bags of snacks and bowls, putting on the air of the gracious host. Before he could so much as extend the chips and pretzels, Fenton snatched the bags right out of his hands with a chipper exclamation.
"Oh thanks! Here you are, Launchpad!" Passing off the pretzels to the pilot, Fenton plopped back on the couch next to Gosalyn and popped the chip bag open, holding it so she could reach in. "Got any dip, Drakearoonie?" Without giving Drake a chance to reply to either the question or the despised nickname, Fenton continued, his eyes glued to the television. "While you're at it, could you toss in three Koo Koo Kolas?"
"That's not all I'd like to toss..." Drake grumbled through grit teeth. As he went back to the kitchen, he eavesdropped on the light hearted chatter in the other room.
"So, Mr. Crackshell," Gosalyn started off in reporter mode, "Launchpad said you're here for work?"
Fenton leaned back on the sofa to begin his story, potato chip crumbs spilling out of his mouth. "Well, Mr. McDuck has launched a new traveling exhibit featuring some of the stuff he's found all over the world. Mr. McDuck wanted me to be present at the premiere to make sure everything is still accounted for at closing. So I took the liberty of getting tickets for the opening gala this evening for all of us. You'll get to rub elbows with high society and enjoy a free buffet, along with seeing firsthand what my ol' buddy Launchpad here used to do in the old days!"
"Oh puhlease!" Drake growled to himself in the refrigerator as he dug around for one of Launchpad's bean and cheese dips. Wrinkling his beak as he found the plastic-wrapped bowl, he tucked it under his arm and sulkily grabbed the soda. "As if some moldering mounds of termite trash, and rusty jewelry from forgotten civilizations are going to impress us..."
Launchpad chuckled as he finished chewing his snack. "You had me at "buffet." Hey, do ya suppose Mister McDee will be there tonight as well? Gosh I haven't seen him since... Heh heh, I don't know when! Must'a been the last time he hired me to fly him someplace. I've still got the lowest rates around..." he added as an aside to Gosalyn.
"Make that last year, Launchpad," Gosalyn reminded him. "We met Mr. McDuck during Negaduck's takeover of the city*..." (Refers to "The Villain's Revolt")
"Oh, right. Still, we didn't have much of a chance to catch up then..."
Although Launchpad had nothing to hide about his former life, the lack of respect he'd received from Scrooge had tempered most of Duckburg's opinion of him personally. He'd jumped at the opportunity to start anew when Darkwing literally fell into his hangar out in the countryside. He'd left a note on his old shack in Duckburg saying he was going to be out of town for a few months and since then, he'd only gone back for Junior Woodchucks meetings and to fly Mr. McDee on a few more missions.
Of course, flying for Mr. McDee meant he had to take some vacation time from DW, but he was never gone for more than a week and DW knew how to contact him in emergencies. Other than recounting his latest adventures when he got back, Launchpad only shared details about his former life in Duckburg if he was asked, or when something reminded him of a previous adventure.
During this momentary lull in conversation, while Fenton and Gosalyn watched TV and Launchpad mulled over his memories, Drake returned from the kitchen with his hands full. Launchpad jumped up to help him, taking the serving tray while Drake passed out the sodas.
"Um, Fentonito," Drake said as he sat in his chair. "Not to sound too ungrateful, but is this by chance a formal event?"
"Well of course! There's going to be a band at the opening ceremony and entertainment throughout the night! Plus Mayor Minya was invited, along with the Rockefeathers and of course Mr. McDuck, and Ms. Windbag..."
Drake cleared his throat. "Don't you think all this is a little "over the top"? I mean, you seriously don't expect Gosalyn to sit back and listen to all this hullabaloo?"
"I'd bet Honker would enjoy it..." Launchpad piped in, grinning submissively when he saw Drake's glare.
Fenton was too deep in thought to notice. "I guess I could get some more tickets...Mr. McDuck did say I could invite as many friends as I wanted..."
"Oh, don't trouble yourself on our account, Fenton, ol' pal." Drake said with heavy sarcasm. "You and Launchpad can "rub elbows with high society" all you want. Gos has homework I need to help her with."
"But Dad...! Tomorrow's Saturday!" Gosalyn whined, not so much because she wanted to look at antiques but because she didn't want to hang out with her obsessive father when he was clearly in a foul mood.
"No buts, young lady," Drake shook a finger at her. "Besides, the sooner it's done the more time you'll have this weekend to do what you want!"
"Aw, homework can wait another night," Fenton waved his hand dismissively. "This is a chance to brush up on some real live history..."
""Live" being an overstatement..." Drake grumbled.
"And who knows? You might get a chance to talk to a celebrity!"
"Oh joy. I can hardly control my enthusiasm," Drake rolled his eyes.
"Sounds like a pretty big deal! I'm ready whenever you are, Fenton ol' buddy!" Launchpad said.
"Aren't you forgetting something, Launchpad?" Drake pointed at Launchpad's attire.
The pilot looked down at his jacket and grinned. "Oh, right. Formal is as formal does. Guess I'd better change..."
Five minutes later, Launchpad reemerged in a brown suit similar in color to his regular clothes, minus the scarf. He still sported an aviator cap, but the goggles were spotless and the leather polished. Launchpad finished adjusting his tie and frowned when he saw Drake standing there with a stubborn look on his face.
"Aren't you coming, Drake?" Launchpad asked, his tone hinting that it would hurt his feelings if Drake refused.
Drake didn't catch the hint. "Me? Go to a shindig for traveling junk? No thankyou..."
His voice trailed off as he caught sight of a vision descending his staircase. He must be dreaming. There was no way his Gosalyn would ever willingly dress up without major hounding and argument first. Yet there she was. Wearing a dark blue dress and Mary Janes, dragging a brush through her uncooperative pigtails, she hurried down the stairs. Pausing in front of her father, she gave him her brightest smile.
"It would be shame to waste such an opportunity for furthering my education on history, Dad."
Gosalyn pressed her brush into his hands and turned her back to him. As she'd expected, his hands automatically began smoothing the fiery locks. By the time he jolted out of his trance, Gosalyn had retrieved Drake's suit coat and tie from his closet and proffered it to him. Sighing, he went up to change, defeated.
Half an hour later, both father and daughter were regretting the decision. Not that the jewels, jewelry, coins, books, suits of armor, shields, tiki torch, stone idols, and such archaic junk wasn't interesting to look at. And the jar of Malaysian relish was certainly worth puzzling over.
Nor was it a waste of time admiring the extravagant company they were with. The men were decked out in gold watches and jeweled cufflinks, and the ladies were wearing all their fancy bling. However, after ten minutes of gawking, everything began to grate on Drake's hyper-sensitized nerves. The bright lights, heady perfumes and colognes, the loud constant drone of conversation, the loud music, and especially the constant motion of the milling crowd.
Gosalyn was itching for something to do. She'd had more than enough pats on the head from strange ladies remarking how adorable she was. She was even more disgusted when those self-same ladies, upon finding out who she was with, turned their noses up. None of them bothered to venture polite conversation toward Drake, Fenton, or Launchpad.
Drake, of course, was already miserably looking for a reason to leave. But moving Launchpad away from a free meal was like herding cows off a street. Every time Drake thought he was making progress, Launchpad found another morsel he had to sample. And Scrooge had yet to make an entrance, thereby insuring the pilot stayed put.
By the time the mayor stepped up to the podium to announce Scrooge McDuck, Launchpad had already gone through three plates of hors d'oeuvres.
After the polite applause, Scrooge began his speech and took in his audience with a smile. His smile brightened when he spied Launchpad and he included the pilot in his introductions. After the audience applauded Launchpad's accomplishments, Scrooge got back to business. Launchpad elbowed Drake.
"Boy, Mr. McDee sure is somethin', eh Drake?"
"Yeah, something," Drake agreed unenthusiastically, jealous that his sidekick had more fame and accord than he did.
It rankled him even more that the audience listened to Scrooge with more than feigned interest and politeness. Scrooge was the shrewdest business man in the country, with a fair number of enemies, yet everyone acted like he was a movie star. For that matter, everybody in the room was treated with mincing respect and fawning flattery. About the only person in the room who wasn't at the receiving end of any attention was Fenton, and he at least had some social standing as McDuck's employee. Drake sighed.
Launchpad leaned over and whispered to Fenton.
"Hey, do ya think Mr. McDee will have time to chat after his speech?"
"Sure! He'll make time for you, old buddy! You might even catch Mr. McDuck back here at the buffet."
"Sounds good to me! I can always find my way around there! heh heh"
As Drake rolled his eyes, he caught a glimpse of someone sneaking away from the crowd. His suspicions aroused, Drake leaned close to Gosalyn.
"Cover for me if anyone notices. I need to check on something..." he whispered.
"A case?" Gosalyn brightened. "Hot dog! Where do we start?"
""We?" We are going nowhere! I need you to stay and keep an eye on things here in case he makes a break for it." Glancing back to see Launchpad scarfing yet another appetizer, he gestured his thumb toward his sidekick. "LP is too busy to watch my back at the moment and I may need crowd control."
Gosalyn had been about to object until she realized she'd been given a job to do. A boring one, but not without potential.
"Right. Keep my eyes open. Gotcha!" She gave a thumbs up and moved to a vantage point where she could watch the whole room.
"Well, that went over better than I thought. I'll have to remember that one for the future." Drake murmured to himself as he slipped around the crowd, veering toward the restroom.
Checking that there was no one in the stalls, Drake shed his suit coat and tie, stashing them carefully in a sealed bag and hiding it in the janitor closet in an apron pocket.
He wasn't wearing his teal turtleneck, but he had brought the rest of his costume in a pocket pouch. The only things he hadn't been able to carry were his bulky arsenal, such as the gas gun. He still had his cufflinks and microphone, which would summon... Oh. Right. The Ratcatcher was still in the repair bay at S.H.U.S.H.
No matter. He had all he needed with brains and brawn. And the mic would come in handy if he needed to call the authorities for major backup. Which hopefully wouldn't be necessary. Although he wouldn't mind a disaster of epic proportions, so to say, he'd prefer to handle this alone.
Already envisioning the headlines, Darkwing nearly missed his target. The cautious creeper was on the move again, nearly obscured behind a cave duck replica. Darkwing crept closer, taking care to stay out of sight from the crowd behind him. Nobody would know he was there until he revealed himself. Not even the crook would detect his presence until it was too late.
Darkwing smiled to himself. Let's see what ol' Scrooge had to say about HIM after he saved the crowd and the precious exhibit singlehandedly.
Following the tuxedo-clad avian into the Hall of Gems, St. Canard's yearlong exhibit, Darkwing spied the perpetrator eyeing the Canard Diamond. It was a stone as big as his fist, cut in the shape of a duck, and rumored to be the second biggest diamond in the world. The very same diamond Tuskernini had tried to steal over a year ago. Not exactly the smartest thing for a criminal to go after with literally a hundred people just in the other room, but who says criminals are intelligent?
The thief put on a glove and reached for the latch on the display. Darkwing made his grand entrance.
"I am the terror that flaps in the night!" he set off a smoke bomb to veil his approach.
A smoke alarm went off and the museum's marble halls echoed with voices. The perp spun around, but failed to find the source of the voice.
"I am the curator who spots a forgery a mile away! I am Darkwiiing Duck!"
Darkwing plowed a foot into the tuxedoed duck's stomach. The thief fell back into a glass display case. Darkwing caught him before he could fall through the glass, but the case was bumped nonetheless. It reeled side to side and slowly tipped into another.
Realizing his mistake, Darkwing ran a rope around the tilting cases and tried to pull them upright, but the stones and precious metal had rolled off their shelves, shifting all the weight to one side. Darkwing strained against the rope, visibly sweating in his battle against gravity.
Taking advantage of Darkwing's distraction, the thief got back on his feet and ran for the exit opposite from the galleria.
Darkwing lost his concentration.
"Hold it right there, Fiend!"
His palms slipped on the rope and the cases crashed to the floor. Security alarms added to the ruckus. Curious onlookers and guards rushed into the exhibit to see what the commotion was about. Darkwing had just caught up to the crook and brought him down with a flying web kick when Scrooge McDuck's infuriated voice rose above the rest.
"What's the meaning of all this!"
Darkwing smirked smugly and held the dizzy duck up by his collar.
"I believe this answers your question, Mr. McDuck. Behold, the foiled felon who's foul plans were flustered. I caught him going after the Canard Diamond!"
Although the news was met with some smiles among the crowd, Scrooge was not the least bit placated.
"You imbecile! That's the curator you've apprehended! I asked him to compare the Canard Diamond to the one I found at the center of the world!"
Darkwing blinked at his victim, finally seeing the id badge clipped to his pocket.
"The curator...?" he echoed hesitantly, wilting.
"Here's my identification, and the key to the display, Sir," the placid duck proffered the said items. "If I had known you were here, I would have gladly shown my credentials before all of this..." he gestured to the toppled cases, "could have happened."
"But why did you sneak away from the party? Anyone would have suspected you were up to no good from the way you skulked around the crowd!" Darkwing protested as he helped the man up to his feet. He was uncomfortably aware of camera flashes going off, indicating his mistake would be plastered all over the late night news and morning papers by the reporters covering the gala.
The curator simply shrugged. "I didn't want to interrupt anyone. Mr. McDuck was adamant that no one was to know I was in possession of the diamonds. He didn't want anyone questioning me before I had the results of my measurements."
"Oh," was the only response Darkwing could think of. "Well, please accept my apologies, good citizen and carry on with your duties while I..." he looked around, hoping to find something useful to do. "I..."
"While you take your things and go!" Scrooge gestured to the still smoking canister on the floor with a handkerchief he promptly pressed on his bill.
"You sure? I could help straighten up a bit..." Darkwing offered, wanting to present a better face for himself. He had met Scrooge once before, on much friendlier terms, and didn't want to lose Scrooge's respect. For the moment, though, Scrooge was all business.
"GO!" Scrooge jumped up and down in a fit.
Darkwing backed away automatically. Seeing outrage, mockery, and shock on thirty faces staring at him from the hallway, Darkwing deflated. Obediently retrieving his rope from under the broken glass and his dying smoke bomb, Darkwing jogged to the emergency exit, adding another alarm on top of the two already blaring.
He was half way to the station wagon in the parking lot when he remembered he had arrived as Drake Mallard. Sighing, he went back to the main entrance and, after strategically placing several smoke bombs in front of the security cameras, he ducked quickly through the lobby. Grabbing an over coat from the cloak room, he crossed to the rest room and retrieved his coat and tie from the janitor's closet. Taking advantage of the distraction the alarms provided, he rejoined the crowd and tapped Launchpad' and Gosalyn's shoulders.
Understanding Drake's gesture toward the door, Launchpad maneuvered through the crowd to seek out his pal Fenton. The accountant was in the gem exhibit, making sure every ounce of precious metal and every stone was present, with Scrooge hovering nearby, making apologies to the gentry. Fenton said something in reply to Launchpad's question and the pilot rejoined his family.
"Fenton said he'll catch a taxi, so we can go on home," Launchpad said cordially.
"How thoughtful," Drake grouched, marching to the cloak room to retrieve everyone's overcoats.
They drove home in silence, Gosalyn and Launchpad wisely keeping their thoughts and questions to themselves as Drake nursed his hurt pride. As soon as they got back to the house, Drake took the chairs to Darkwing Tower, where he could seethe in peace. Knowing he would be alright for a little while, Gosalyn and Launchpad went to their rooms to settle in and wait.
Meanwhile, back at the museum, the curator sat behind the locked door of his office, the lights dimmed and the phone off the hook. After weighing and measuring both diamonds as Scrooge had requested, the duck tucked Scrooge's diamond back in its velvet lined box. The other diamond was settled into its own box and slipped into the waste basket under his desk.
Surreptitiously glancing out the window and at the crack under the door for shadows, the duck pulled out a Go phone he had purchased with cash from some street vendor on the other side of town. Dialing a number from a slip of paper he produced from his pocket, the duck waited for the call to go through, then left a message.
"It's time to take out the trash."
Hanging up, the duck tossed the phone in the waste basket and covered it with several wadded up fliers announcing Scrooge's traveling exhibit. Packing up to leave, he retrieved the Canard Diamond from his desk and locked his office behind him. Nobody could tell the difference between the glass facsimile and the original, now waiting for pickup.