The short, slightly chubby rabbit entered Tiny's Grill to be immediately assaulted by the smell of tobacco and beer, not to mention the shouting and laughing of the various customers. Back when he was still a mailman, he would've avoided Tiny's like the plague unless by some stroke of bad luck he'd been forced to deliver a package there. Now, after the airfield and the boarding house, Tiny's was the first place Jack Case visited after setting foot in Cape Suzette for the first time in five years.
Tiny, if Jack recalled, was the enormous polar standing behind the bar. Gathering his courage, and turning the collar of his jacket up, Jack approached the bar. Tiny was in the middle of pouring a drink for a thoroughly intoxicated-looking pelican, who upon receiving his mug of beer shambled away from the bar, sloppily consuming the beverage. Jack noticed that Tiny wore an eye patch over his left eye. Tiny, who wasn't tiny in the least, took instant notice of Jack, and after eyeing him said, "What can I get ya?"
Jack swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. "Actually, I don't want a drink. You're Tiny, right?"
"That's right," the polar bear said. "Now, if ya don't want a drink, then what do ya want?"
"Well, uh, I've come seeking some help with... something." Tiny raised an eyebrow at this, so Jack leaned in and whispered, becoming calmer the more he spoke. "I've heard the stories about your establishment are true. Word around the block is, you're frequented by a number of, shall we say, disreputable individuals looking for work?"
Tiny's manner changed instantly. He looked left, then right, and then signaled for another, shorter polar bear to come over. "Jimmy, take care of the bar for me for a sec. I've gotta talk some business with long-ears here." Jimmy nodded, and Tiny motioned with a sideways jerk of his head for Jack to head towards the back of the bar. As Tiny came out from around the bar, Jack saw that the large polar bear's injuries went beyond simply a missing eye. He hobbled on a cane, and his right leg had quite obviously been broken and had not healed properly.
Noting the rabbit's stare, Tiny said, "I had a little, uh, accident with some rowdy customers a while back. C'mon. We'll talk in my office." Nodding, Jack followed. He and Tiny walked to a door at the back, and the polar bear opened it, stepping inside. Jack followed and Tiny closed the door. The rabbit found himself in a small, messy office. Tiny, with some effort, sat on the edge of his large desk. He said, "So, what's the gag?"
"What do you mean?" asked Jack, genuinely confused.
Tiny laughed. "You don't exactly look like the sorta guy who'd wanna hire 'disreputable individuals', as you so smoothely put it," he said. "Whaddaya do for a livin', buddy?"
"My name isn't 'buddy,' it's Jack Case. I'm a mailman," Jack said matter-of-factly.
Tiny furrowed his brows and chuckled. "A mailman, huh? On second thought, maybe you are the type. But you sure don't look it. Anyway, business is business, right? Now, I ain't gonna why you wanna to hire some goons--"
Jack held up a finger. "Now, I never said 'goons'."
Tiny continued as if Jack hadn't spoken. "--all I'm gonna ask is, what's in it for me? I mean, pointin' a guy towards the services of half the guys out there ain't exactly legal, so, uh, I'll just ask for a small finder's fee, as it were." He brought his hand up, rubbing his fingertips against his thumb.
Jack sighed. Reaching inside his jacket he pulled a wad of bills out and handed them to Tiny. The polar bear grinned widely and thumbed through the cash for a moment, silently counting. "I basically need a couple of strong backs with small brains," Jack was compelled to add.
After "flipping" the bills with his thumb for effect Tiny stuffed them into his vest pocket. Wordlessly, he got up off the desk with a grunt and hobbled to the office door, opening it. Pointing out the door, he said, "You see those guys at that table there?" Jack joined him at the door, following the direction his finger was aimed in. He saw two large, muscular canines, a bulldog and a hound of some breed, sitting at a table talking and laughing. Jack nodded to indicate he saw them, and Tiny said, "I think they'll suit your needs just fine. But they don't come cheap."
Jack nodded again, glumly. He hoped he had enough money left to pay for the services of mercenaries. He asked, "So, uh, what do I do?"
"You really are new at this, ain't ya?" said Tiny. "Just walk up to 'em, and if they don't knock your lights out on sight, just tell 'em Tiny sent ya. That should get ya started. The rest is up to you, my friend." With that, he shooed the rabbit out of the office, shut the door behind them, and returned to the bar. On his own, Jack gulped nervously. Especially when that drunken pelican he'd seen earlier stumbled a little too close to the table of the two Tiny had indicated, spilling some of his beer into the lap of the bulldog.
Balling up his fist, the bulldog, Sparky, punched the pelican viciously in the beak, knocking him flat on his back. Jack approached, cautiously stepping over the unconscious drunkard, and stood before their table. He cleared his throat. They turned to look at him, glaring. "What do you want, bunny-boy?" Nigel, the hound, said threateningly.
Quickly, as though his life depended on it, and it probably did, Jack replied, "Tiny sent me." Sparky and Nigel blinked, looked at one another, and grinned. As with Tiny before, Jack observed, their attitude towards him changed the instant they realized there was something to be had.
With his foot underneath the table, Sparky pushed a chair out for Jack and said, "Have a seat, buddy, and we'll talk business."
This was it. The moment of truth. If he went through with this, there'd be no turning back. Jack sat down, scooting the chair up to the table. He looked back over at Tiny, who was behind the bar again, and the polar bear nodded to him. Turning back and leaning forward and grinning for the first time in a long time, he lent his elbows on the tabletop and steepled his fingers before his face, and said, "Do let's."
Kit Cloudkicker, walking home from school, was suddenly aware that he was being followed. Ever since he'd left the schoolyard and started walking back to Higher For Hire, he'd noticed a large hound wearing a floppy-brimmed fedora and a blue trench coat was always about a yard or so behind him. Every so often he'd glance back, and the guy would stop and act like he was doing something else, like buying a hotdog from a vendor or even buying some flowers, but each time Kit looked away and continued he could tell that he was being followed again. It wasn't like he was unused to dealing with criminals.
But the young bear couldn't help but feel particularly ill at ease with this one, primarily because he had no idea who the guy was! If it had been one of the Air Pirates or one of Trader Moe's goons, that he could handle. This unfamiliar face that seemed so intent on stalking him worried him to no end. Suddenly, as he rounded a corner, a sedan pulled up to the curb and screeched to a halt with such force that Kit literally jumped and almost dropped all his schoolbooks. A bulldog, equally as huge as the hound, got out from behind the wheel. He was wearing a brown trench coat and a fedora, and a loosened necktie. He had "thug" written all over him. Kit took a step back. "Yo, kid. Kit Cloudkicker, right?" the bulldog said, pointing at him. A shadow fell across Kit from behind and he glanced back to find the hound in the blue coat towering over him, holding a half-eaten hotdog and a bouquet of flowers.
Turning back to the bulldog, he said carefully, "Uh, no. You've got the wrong guy..."
"Oh, I dunno about that," Sparky said, leaning lazily against the open car door.
Kit's heart leapt into his throat. "Look, I dunno who you guys are or what you want with me, but if you touch me--!" Kit said defiantly.
The two huge canines chuckled. "Aw, is the widdle-bitty bear cub gonna clean our clocks?" snorted Nigel with a mouth full of hotdog, raining crumbs down onto Kit's head in front of him.
"C'mon, kiddo," said Sparky, pushing off the door and stepping towards Kit, reaching out with an enormous paw. "We're goin' for a little ride."
"Forget it!" said Kit. "I know what THAT means!" He suddenly felt Nigel seize him by the back of his sweater. "I said if you touched me I'll scream!" He yelled and turned, and STOMPED his foot down onto the hound's with an audible crunching sound.
"OOOOWWWW!" Nigel screamed, dropping the flowers and the hotdog. Kit then slammed him in the gut with his books, making him grunt and double over in pain. With a snarl, Sparky dove at Kit, who hopped aside. Unable to stop himself, the enormous thug crashed right into his companion, sending the two muscular would-be kidnappers to the ground in a heap. Kit laughed, but then noticed how quickly they recovered, already getting to their feet. He figured now would be a good time to run, and bolted across the street.
Since a small crowd had gathered to see what the commotion was about, Kit had no doubts that the two goons would not give chase. Even so, he didn't stop running until he got home. A final glance showed that his stalkers were no longer behind him, and he felt instantly relieved. As he approached Higher For Hire, he could see Wildcat tinkering with one of the Sea Duck's engines. Baloo was lounging in a lawn chair nearby, his cap pulled down over his eyes. Wasting no time, Kit dropped his schoolbooks and ran to his adoptive parent's side, grabbing the larger bear's arm and shaking him awake.
"Hmm, huh, what?" gasped Baloo, sitting up so suddenly his hat fell off and he almost toppled out of the lawn chair. "Aahhhh! Air Pirates!" Turning to see it was only Kit; he sighed and chuckled, patting the cub's baseball cap-clad head. "Oh, it's just you. What's up, kiddo? You look like you've been runnin'..."
"I have," Kit admitted, panting. "I was followed from school by some guy in a hat in coat! He was big, and really mean-looking too, like he could break me in half with his bare hands! And then another guy got out of a car and they knew my name, and wanted me to come with them! I finally ran, and I guess I must've lost them..." Getting out of the chair, Baloo stooped down and retrieved his hat, replacing it on his head. Turning back to Kit, he scowled. He looked skeptical.
Nevertheless an hour later, they were down at the police station speaking to the alligator desk sergeant, Kit telling the officer his story. When Kit finished, Baloo told the sergeant, "Basically, we'd like to see Detective Thursday."
The desk sergeant said, "Well, I'm sorry, but Detective Thursday isn't in at the moment."
"The devil I'm not!" a voice said, making them turn to see Thursday walking into the police station, dressed in his usual attire of a fedora, bowtie and grey coat. He frowned a bit upon seeing Baloo and Kit but then smiled and walked over, tipping his fedora back up on his head with his thumb. "If it isn't Mr. Alphabet Bandit himself," the old hound said with a chuckle. He and Baloo shook hands. "Amazing," he said. "Would you believe they're finally starting to let me use the front entrance. Now then Baloo, what can I do for you and young Master Cloudkicker here?"
"Well, uh--" Baloo began.
"I almost just got kidnapped!" Kit blurted out, cutting his Papa Bear off.
Thursday raised an eyebrow. "I see," he said. "Why don't we go into my office and we'll talk about this."
Baloo and Kit nodded and they followed the shorter canine detective into the bowels of the police station, where his office was located in the basement. Along the way Thursday explained that the department recently had to discontinue use of the secret rear entrance after customers kept complaining about use of a certain dryer being interrupted, not to mention losing entire loads of laundry.
As they entered the office they were greeted by its only other occupant at the moment, the uniformed canine patrolman Gertalin. "Hi, sir," Gertalin said, tipping his cap.
"Hi, Gertalin," Thursday said in return, then had Baloo and Kit sit down and tell him the entire story. When they were done he sat stroking his chin. "And you don't have any idea who these creeps were?" he asked.
Kit shook his head. "No sir," he said. "I've never seen them before, but they sure knew me."
"Then they were obviously working for somebody you fellas wronged in the past," suggested Thursday.
Baloo took his cap off, scratching his head. "That's a long list of names if there ever was one," he said.
"Well, I think we can rule out the Air Pirates, considering we haven't heard anything about any pirate activity recently."
"Um, sir," Gertalin said, coming over, "isn't the lack of any activity the reason you suspected something was up with Heimlich Menudo?"
Thursday said, "That was Heimlich Menudo, Gertalin. He's a criminal mastermind. Subtle is his middle name until he's ready to make his move."
Seeing what the detective was getting at, Baloo said, "The Air Pirates wouldn't know subtle if it hit 'em over the head with a two-by-four."
"Exactly," said Thursday, then got a notepad and began jotting stuff down with a fountain pen. "All right," he said, "here's what we can do. I can check to see if any of my boys out on patrol have heard anything about the disturbance. Shouldn't be too difficult if there were as many witnesses as you say, Kit." He finished and tore off the slip of paper he'd written on, handing it to Gertalin. "Get this to Malarky," he instructed him, then hurriedly jotted something else down and handed this to the patrolman as well, adding, "and this goes to the boys down in files."
Gertalin briefly examined the two notes. "Yes sir," he said and then left the office.
Turning back to Baloo and Kit, Thursday noted their questioning looks and explained, "I sent a note to Glover and Gibson down in files to start compiling some mugshots of guys we know to be involved in kidnapping and murder-for-hire."
Baloo swallowed nervously, putting his cap back on. "M-Murder?" he stammered nervously. Kit looked equally horrified.
Thursday held up a hand. "For the time-being we have to look at every possibility. And as unsettling as it is, we have to at least assume that's what those guys had in mind."
Kit nodded sullenly. "How long will it take?"
"To get all the mugshots together? I dunno. But there's no sense in making you boys wait here. So, I'll tell you what. Why don't you two go on home and get a good night's sleep, and then come back here in the morning? Since there doesn't seem to be any indication that these guys know where you live I think it's safe, and by then my boys and I should have all the stuff compiled."
Kit sighed. As he and Baloo left the police station, Baloo to smiled sympathetically and put an arm around Kit. "Hey, don't worry, Little Britches. If those guys come 'round our place lookin' for trouble, I'll be sure and have a heart to heart with 'em." He smirked and punched his fist into his open palm.
"Thanks," Kit said, sounding relieved that Baloo at least was taking his fears seriously. After a moment, he said, "What about Miss Cunningham? Shouldn't we let her know about this?"
Baloo yawned and stretched. "Uh, sure thing, Little Britches. We'll give her a call first thing in the morning, all right?"
Jack Case was nervously pacing his room in the ratty flophouse he'd rented shortly after arriving in town. There was a knock at the door, making Jack jump. Being a rabbit, he nearly hit the ceiling. He went to the door, grabbing the handle but not opening it. "Who is it?"
"It's us," said the person on the other side. Sparky. Jack sighed and opened the door, admitting the two canine goons. Nigel came into the room and Sparky closed the door after him. Jack noticed that Nigel was holding a half-eaten hotdog in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.
"What in the name a'..." grumbled Sparky, also noting this. "You gettin' ready for a hot date or somethin'? What's with the flowers? I told you to forget them things, ya doof!" Nigel blinked stupidly, then looked down at the bouquet as though he only now noticed it even existed. "Oh, those," he said, throwing them down.
Jack rolled his eyes, putting his hands on his hips. "Where's the boy?" he said, raising one of his bushy gray eyebrows.
The two goons looked at one another. "Uhhh," said Sparky, scratching his head under his fedora. "Well, we followed 'im from school like you said, Mr. Case, but he kind of... gave us the slip."
"Probably because you were too busy stuffing your ugly faces and buying flowers, you idiots!" Jack roared, slapping the hotdog from Nigel's hand in a sudden burst of rage that made the two huge goons wince visibly.
Looking down at the hotdog, Nigel whined, "Awww, not again..."
"That kid would've given us a lot of leverage," Jack added. "if I had Kit Cloudkicker as my prisoner, I would've been able to force that fathead bear to do whatever I wanted!"
"Sorry, Mr. Case," said Nigel, removing his fedora and nervously wringing it in his hands.
Jack sighed. "We'll just have to go to Plan B, then," he said at length.
The two canines nodded eagerly, then paused and exchanged confused glances. Finally, Sparky said, "Uh, what's Plan B? Are we gonna bump 'em off?"
"No, fool," said Jack as he walked over and retrieved a duffel bag from its hiding place behind the bed. Its contents were unknown to the two hired guns, as Jack had thought out Plan B long before he even set foot in Tiny's Grill. "Plan B is something I came up with while I was rotting on Bedeviled Island," Jack said, grinning as he patted the duffel bag gently. He'd dreamed about it for five long years. The contents made either hollow metallic banging noises or liquid sloshes, both muffled by the fabric of the bag. "We're not bumping anyone off," he added as he slung the bag over his shoulder.
The two goons looked disappointed. "Aw, shucks, Mr. Case," said Nigel.
Sparky said, "Well, if we ain't gonna be bumpin' 'em off, what's in the bag?"
Jack grinned darkly, heading for the door, treading on the dropped flowers as he went. "You'll see, gentlemen. You'll see. Now, let's go. I know of a dumpster we can hide in until nightfall."
He opened the door and walked out. Sparky followed. Nigel paused to grab the other pistol, and the hotdog from the floor, which he proceeded to stuff into his mouth. Hurrying out after the other two, he whined, with his mouth full, "But I don't wanna hide in a dumpster!"
Later that same night, Baloo was fast asleep in bed, when loud clanging sounds awakened him. Sitting up in bed and groggily rubbing his eyes, he looked around. Nothing was amiss in his bedroom, so he went to the door. Opening it a crack, he could see the light was on downstairs. His initial thought was that it was just Becky stopping by to do some late-night work. Miss Cunningham was, after all, a workaholic. This was quickly put to rest when he heard unfamiliar voices.
"No, you idiot, I said spread it liberally! Don't just dump it all in one puddle on the floor."
"Sorry, Mr. Case."
Case? Baloo tried to place that name, but couldn't. The first voice sounded familiar, though. Putting that aside for now, he quickly dressed, careful not to wake Kit, and then grabbed a baseball bat.
Down below, Jack Case stood observing his hired goons doing what they did best. Nigel stood pouring gasoline around on the floor from a metal gas can, while Sparky was using a crowbar on the enormous safe that sat to the right side of the room. After succeeding in wrenching it open he looked inside and discovered stacks bills. Grinning, the bulldog started grabbing handfuls of money and stuffing them into his coat pockets, muttering, "Oh yeah, come to papa!"
"Take what you can, then burn the rest," Jack instructed as he walked over to where he'd set the duffel bag down.
"Burn it, Mr. Case?" asked Sparky, looking confused, holding wads of cash in either hand.
"Yes, burn it!" Jack snapped. Unzipping the duffel bag he reached inside and pulled out another gas can, holding it aloft for Sparky to see. "This isn't about money. It's about getting even."
Chewing his lower lip, Sparky hurriedly stuffed the pockets of his trenchcoat to overflowing with the money. Jack tossed him the gas can, and he then began to pour the contents onto the remaining stacks of money within the safe. Between this and Nigel emptying his can around the room - liberally, just as Jack had instructed - the smell of gasoline soon filled Higher For Hire. It was this smell that caught Baloo's nose as he appeared on the landing overlooking the main room with the baseball bat in hand, his head swimming briefly.
He watched the two goons. He was so focused on them he wasn't really paying Jack Case much mind. After soaking the interior of the safe, Sparky began to spread the gasoline around on the floor, while Nigel tossed his now-empty can aside and retrieved another one from the duffel bag, dumping this one's contents onto Rebecca's desk. Deciding that he'd seen enough, Baloo snuck down the stairs, quiet as a mouse, until he reached the bottom. The three crooks were so preoccupied with their work they did not notice Baloo's presence until he loudly cleared his throat.
"All right," Baloo said, approaching them. "What's goin' on here? What're you two gangster movie rejects doin' in my business!" The goons suddenly whirled around, wide-eyed. Neither replied. They merely looked nervously at the bat he was holding and exchanged uneasy glances. Baloo stepped closer to Sparky, jabbing him in the chest with the bat and making him grunt. "Hey! I asked you a question! Why're you pourin' gasoline all over my floor?"
"It should be obvious even to you, Baloo," Jack said. Until this point he'd been obscured from Baloo's view by Nigel. But now the rabbit stepped out from behind the huge goon, and Baloo's jaw fell open. Jack stood beside Nigel, hands in his coat pockets.
"You!" Baloo cried. "No, it can't be..." Suddenly Sparky grabbed the bat while Baloo was distracted being shocked and managed to wrench it from the bear's grasp. Baloo had no time to react when Sparky swung the bat and hit him sharply in the back with it, pitching him forwards. He landed face-first on the gasoline soaked wood floor. He wheezed and coughed, the blow having literally knocked the wind out of him. Rabbit feet filled his vision as their owner stood over him, frowning down at him. Baloo suddenly remembered where he'd heard the name Case before. "Why are you doing this?" he stammered, fighting to keep himself conscious. What was Jack Case doing here, now, in Higher For Hire, in the middle of the night, after five years of not a word?
Jack laughed. It was an evil, hateful laugh. "Sorry," he said, grinning down at Baloo, "but that's on a need-to-know basis." His smile faded and he suddenly kicked Baloo in the side, making him grunt in pain. "All very hush-hush!" He snapped his fingers and Baloo felt himself lifted up by the two goons. Before one of them smashed him over the head again with one of the gas cans and knocked him out, he heard Jack instruct them to put him into the trunk of their car if he would fit, and then to get the matches. The last thing he could consciously take in was being dragged out the front door of Higher For Hire and being stuffed into the trunk of a waiting automobile.
Kit emerged from his room at this point, in time to look down and see Baloo being dragged from the building by the two massive goons. The same two guys who had tried to kidnap him earlier! He didn't know what to do. "What about the kid?" asked a first voice which Kit recognized as belonging to Sparky.
"Bring him, too," said a second voice that Kit did not recognize. Running back into his room, the bear cub threw his usual green sweater on and then threw a pre-made sheetrope out the window, and climbed down to the first floor. He knew that when the goons came for him, they'd see the sheetrope and know he had escaped, but he'd be long-gone by then. Sure enough, no sooner had his feet touched the ground outside than he heard voices upstairs in his room.
"He ain't here!" cried Nigel as he and Sparky burst into the bedroom.
"That's 'cause he escaped out the window, Einstein," said Sparky, pointing to the sheetrope tied to the bed. The goons went to the window and looked down, but saw no sign of Kit. They then headed back downstairs and out the front where Jack was waiting by the sedan. "No go," said Sparky as they walked up. "The kid must've heard us 'cause he slipped out the window."
Jack sighed, rubbing his temples. The goons tensed, awaiting another chewing out, wondering idly why they were putting up with this manic rabbit, but Jack simply shrugged. "Oh well," he said. "We don't need Cloudkicker now that I have Baloo." Grinning, he turned and patted the trunk of the car, then turned back to the goons. "And with him as leverage, I can get my revenge on good Miss Cunningham." The goons grinned and nodded, always happy to cause some mayhem and destruction.
Kit peeked around the corner of the building, watching them. He only caught bits and pieces of the conversation, and although he recognized the two goons he did not know who the rabbit was and was still no closer to fathoming what possible vendetta he could have against Higher For Hire. He watched as Jack then reached into his pocket and drew out a matchbook. Walking to the open front door he struck one, tossing it inside the building. It landed and immediately ignited the lake of gasoline, and Jack grinned maniacally as he watched it set fire. "Ashes to ashes," he said, backing up as the flames got bigger and bigger. Kit was forced to move away from the building, but this movement went unnoticed by Jack and the goons because of the roaring fire now taking place inside Higher For Hire.
"Burn," Jack said, clenching his fists, eyes wild. "Burn, burn, burn!"
Sparky approached and put a hand on Jack's shoulder, making the rabbit jump. He turned and smacked the goon's hand away reflexively. Undaunted, Sparky said, "We better get outta here before the cops show up!" Then he and Nigel headed back to the car.
Jack nodded, staying a moment longer to watch the fire rising to begin consuming the second floor of Higher For Hire, before laughing and dancing and twirling back to the car. Sparky and Nigel got into the front seats, Sparky behind the wheel. Jack got into the back seat, and a moment later the car started up and tore off.
Suddenly, none other than Wildcat came running, and before Kit could stop him and ran inside the burning building. A moment later, he re-emerged with his clothes on fire.
"Yeeeeeeeow!" he hollered. "Hot, hot, hot, hot!" He quickly fell to the ground and began to roll around to put out the flames.
After making sure the lion mechanic was still breathing - and he was, thankfully, not seriously injured at all - Kit shook him. Sitting up and rubbing his head groggily, Wildcat said, "I-I dunno. I think so. Some guys-- I saw 'em loadin' stuff into the car and I ran inside to look for Baloo, but I couldn't find him! I-I think they musta taken him with 'em."
"We've gotta get help!" Hurrying away from the swiftly-burning building, the bear cub ran, as fast as his feet would carry him, to the nearest telephone he knew of, to call the fire department.
The next morning, Rebecca Cunningham was fixing breakfast and waiting for Molly to finish getting awake, so she could send her daughter off to school and get to Higher For Hire and see whether or not Wildcat had finished repairing the Sea Duck. They had some important deliveries to make to Macadamia. She was just about to go and see whether or not Molly, in her reluctance to attend school, had fallen back asleep, when there was a knock at the door.
She went to answer it, and found a pair of uniformed police officers.
"Miss Rebecca Cunningham?" Officer Gertalin asked.
"Yes?"
"Rebecca Cunningham who owns, uh," Gertalin paused and looked down at a scrap of paper with something hastily jotted down on it that Rebecca couldn't really make out, "who owns, uh, Higher For Hire?"
This didn't bode well, Rebecca realized. "Yes, that's me. What's this all about? Who are you two?"
They exchanged glances. Officer Malarky said in his thick Irish accent, "Miss Cunningham, I'm Officer Malarky, and this my partner Officer Gertalin." He gestured to Gertalin, who gave a small nod, stuffing the scrap of paper into his pocket. Rebecca finally recognized Gertalin as being one of Detective Thursday's men, while Malarky was the pig officer who had once mistaken Baloo for a member of Babyface Half-Nelson's gang.
We've got some terrible news," said Gertalin.
"Well, quit stalling and tell me," Rebecca snapped.
Once again, the pair exchanged uneasy glances, and finally Malarky said, "Ma'am, we're going to have to ask you to come with us. Higher For Hire burned to the ground early this morning."
Rebecca fainted dead away, thudding to the floor as the two policemen looked on.
Higher For Hire was still smouldering by the time Rebecca Cunningham drove to the docks. Officer Malarky had insisted that she accompany him and Officer Gertalin in their car, but Rebecca had insisted right back that she drive herself, so instead she followed the officers.
They were waiting for her with Detective Thursday when she arrived. Molly was in the car with her; Rebecca had let her come as she knew there was no way she'd be able to convince her daughter to attend school on a day like this. Likewise, her efforts to persuade Molly to remain in the car were futile, so the 11-year-old followed close at her mother's heels as she approached Detective Thursday and his officers, who were conversing. They were whispering, and although Rebecca couldn't make out what they were saying, she could see that Thursday was gesturing to Kit and Wildcat standing nearby as he spoke.
All conversation between the three halted as Rebecca arrived. As Rebecca spoke, she tried her best to keep her gaze focused on the police officers and not look at the ruins of Higher For Hire, the business she'd worked so hard to get off the ground and had run for more than five years.
Finally, Detective Thursday spoke. "Miss Cunningham," he said, "I'm so sorry."
Rebecca nodded and hugged him. It was all she could do to fight back the tears she knew were struggling to break free.
Thursday removed his fedora as Rebecca let go of him. Gertalin and Malarky did the same with their officer's caps. All three of them looked like mourners at a funeral. Which was appropriate, Rebecca thought, seeing as how her business was now pretty much dead. Thursday said, "Well, the fire department got the call at about six this morning, and got her as soon as they could, but..."
Rebecca nodded as Thursday trailed off, finally forcing herself to look at what was left of Higher For Hire, which wasn't much really. The building itself was almost completely gone. She could see some fire fighters investigating the wreckage. Rebecca asked Thursday, "Do they know what caused the fire?"
Thursday returned his fedora to his head as he became all business once again. "Well, the fire chief said it was definitely arson. The fire started real quick, and was so big that even though they got here in time, there was nothing the firemen could do."
"Arson!" Rebecca gasped. Her mind reeled so much she actually had to reach up and place a hand to her temple, and she felt faint. Sensing this, Detective Thursday immediately came forward and gently took her by the arms. "Oh, God..."
"Miss Cunningham, do you need to lie down?" asked Gertalin. Warm sympathy flowed from the officer's mouth.
"No, you idiot!" Rebecca snapped, making Gertalin jump back in surprise and slam into Malarky behind him. "How could I possibly lie down at a time like this!"
She suddenly felt something tugging at her pants leg and look down to find Molly looking up at her with wide eyes. "Mommy," she said, "please don't yell at the nice men. They only want to help."
Rebecca immediately regretted shouting at Gertalin. The officers were showing her nothing but kindness and understanding, and she had no right to snap at them this way. "I-I'm sorry, Officer Gertalin," she said to the uniformed canine, who nodded to let her know he understood. "It's just that, I can't believe someone could do this!"
"It's all right, Miss Cunningham," Gertalin replied, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. Malarky, peeking out from behind his partner, was rubbing his snout and scowling.
"Anyway," said Thursday, bringing them back on-topic, "you may have noticed us deep in conversation when you drove up? Well, the news keeps coming, as it turns out. Young Master Cloudkicker back there claims he saw the guys who did this. He says he got a real good look at 'em, too." Rebecca swallowed, looking over at Kit who was still standing alongside Wildcat, looking on as Rebecca was speaking with the three police officers, and suddenly she began to wonder where Baloo was.
"Now," Thursday continued, taking a notepad and pencil from inside his trenchcoat, poised to begin jotting stuff down, "here comes the fun part. Since the fire chief said it was deliberate arson, Gertalin, Malarky and I need to know... do you have any enemies? The kid saw the goons, but it'll help our investigation immensely if you could help us put names to those faces."
Meanwhile, Molly wandered over to where Kit and Wildcat were. Kit was sitting on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest. He wasn't crying, but Molly could tell he had been recently. Wildcat patted the youth's head. "Hey don't worry, Kit," he said, "I'm sure that Baloo's fine."
Kit nodded absently as Molly approached. He felt miserable, to say the very least. Today was the day he was supposed to go and get his pilot's license, and instead he was wallowing in misery having lost both his Papa Bear and Higher For Hire. What bothered him the most about the whole situation, though, was that he had no idea who those three men were or why they would possibly want to burn down Higher For Hire. He, Baloo and Miss Cunningham had their fare share of enemies, but none of them would ever be so bold or callous as to deliberately do something like this short of Don Karnage and the Air Pirates. And not only were those idiots incapable of making it past the cliff guns except for once every blue moon, but Kit had been a member of the Air Pirates and knew them all by name, and neither the rabbit last night nor his two canine companions from before looked familiar to Kit.
He briefly entertained the notion that perhaps Don Karnage had hired mercenaries, but quickly changed his mind. He knew Karnage, and Karnage did everything by himself and with his own men, or not at all. Kit finally decided not to dwell on it for now; seeing as how none of them had any clue who could want such horrible revenge on Higher For Hire, the best thing to do for the time being was to let the police handle it.
"Kit?" Kit looked over to find Molly standing beside him. She hugged him. "I'm sorry about Baloo," she said. Kit nodded and returned the hug.
At this point, Rebecca walked over with Detective Thursday. "Kit?" she said. "I've given Detective Thursday the names of anyone who might want to hurt us, from Don Karnage to Trader Moe to that creep Covington. But since you and Wildcat are the only ones who saw them..." She paused, trailing off, her arm going around Molly and gently pulling her daughter to her. Kit knew what she was getting at anyway. Besides, he was supposed to return to the police station to look at mugshots today anyway. He'd hoped they'd have gotten done before it was time to take his flying test, but sadly...
"All right," he said. "Let's get this over with."
Later, at the police station, Kit was busy going through dozens and dozens of mugshots of various criminals. He looked at the clock. It was almost noon; had everything gone smoothly, he would've been in the middle of his pilot's license test by now. He mentally scolded himself for being sad about THAT at a time like this, when Baloo was gone and poor Miss Cunningham had lost everything.
Wildcat, meanwhile, was going through the mugshots with a little more gusto than Kit. He had s stack of about twelve of them in one hand. He'd look at one, toss it aside, examine another from every conceivable angle, and then discard that, until he was pretty much just digging through the photos and slinging them all over the place, going, "No. Nope. That's not him. Nuh-uh."
"Mr. Wildcat," said Officer Malarky. The pig officer was sitting across the table from both him and Kit, sans his cap, lazily sipping on a mug of coffee. "Could you please be a little neater? Detective Thursday will have my head if he comes in and finds the office looking like a mess."
Wildcat paused in the middle of his work, then turned and looked at all the mugshots on the floor, and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry," he said, rubbing his head. "But anyway, none of these ugly pictures any of the three guys I saw last night." As he said "three," he held up four fingers, making Malarky roll his eyes.
Detective Thursday walked in at this point, wearing his fedora but not his trenchcoat. He, too, sipped on some coffee. "How's it going, guys?" he asked. No one answered, Thursday stood there in the doorway, looking at the mugshots strewn all over the office and the disappointed expressions on the other three. "That bad, huh?"
Kit nodded. "I'm sorry, Detective Thursday," he said.
"Hey, don't sweat it, kid," Thursday said, walking over to Kit and patting him on the shoulder. He took his fedora off and put it on the young bear's head, and then sat down beside Officer Malarky across from them. Kit smiled, pushing the brim of the hat back with his thumb just as the detective had done the other day.
"Well," said Thursday finally, "it was worth a shot. But I guess that not every single scumbag you guys have tangled with in Cape Suzette is on our list, unless your forgeting somebody. Thanks for coming down anyway, you two. Even though we haven't got a clue who we're supposed to be looking for, you can tell Miss Cunningham that my boys and I will do our best to get to the bottom of them."
"We don't want to trouble you boys any more," added Malarky. "So why don't you run along home?"
Kit nodded, getting up and removing the fedora and handing it back to Detective Thursday.
"Uh, hey Mr. Detective, sir?" Wildcat asked suddenly. "What about this guy?" He held up a mugshot of a scowling bulldog. Kit instantly recognized him.
Kit leapt forward and snatched the mugshot from Wildcat's hand and looked at it more closely. There was no mistaking that face. "This is one of them!" he said excitedly.
Thursday and Malarky were already down on their hands and knees gathering up the multitude of discarded mugshots. They stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him.
"Malarky!" Thursday suddenly said, and the pig officer dropped what he was doing, literally, spilling mugshots all over the office floor once more as he rushed to the elder detective's side. "Take this down!"
"Okay, okay," Malarky said, patting himself down in search of his notepad and a pencil. Finding one, he then got poised to write anything down.
Thursday took the mugshot from Kit and studied it a moment. "Oh, I know who he is. His name's Sparky," he said. "His partner is a fellow by the name of Nigel. We've never had too much trouble with either of them, since it's rare they pull off anything big. They mostly deal in kidnapping and extortion-for-hire. They're professional mercenaries."
As Malarky hurriedly jotted down this information, Kit scratched his head. "How does that help us find Baloo?" he asked.
"Easy," said Thursday, grinning. "Sparky and Nigel hang out down at a rotten joint called Tiny's Grill."
"Tiny's Grill?" gasped Kit, remembering the grill from before when he, Baloo and Miss Cunningham clashed with Babyface Half-Nelson. "I remember that place."
"Bingo!" Thursday said. "Now, if we can just find out who their boss is, we'll really have something to go on. To do that, though, we're gonna have to head on down to Tiny's!" He jumped up and said to Wildcat, "Come on, I'll get my coat. Come on, we'll go over there."
"Oh, boy!" squealed Wildcat, clapping his hands. He then paused, blinking. "Uh, where are we goin'?"
"To pay Tiny a visit," said Thursday, throwing his trenchcoat on. "Malarky, take young Master Cloudkicker home or wherever it is he wants to go. Don't leave his side whatever you do."
"Right," said Malarky.
"I wanna come, too," said Kit.
"No way, kiddo," Thursday said as he headed for the exit. "It's too dangerous. You stay with Officer Malarky no matter what, you understand?"
Kit sighed and nodded. "Yeah, okay."
"Comfortable, Baloo?" These were the first words Baloo heard when he finally regained consciousness. The first thing he noticed was that he was sitting in a wooden chair, to which he was being tied by Sparky and Nigel.
"Tell me if the rope's too tight," Sparky said, and deliberately tightened the rope enough to make Baloo wheeze in slight pain.
"Wh-where am I?" the bear asked, dazed. Looking around, Baloo could see they were in a cheap motel room or boarding house of some sort. Once the two goons were finished tying him securely to the chair, giving the pilot some unwelcome flashbacks to the last time he was kidnapped, the stepped back to reveal Jack Case lounging comfortably in an identical chair opposite.
"You're safe," Jack said, sipping on a bottle of soda pop. "For the time being."
Baloo growled. He remembered this two-timing rabbit from five years ago. The one who'd lied about being a spy, and gotten them into all that trouble in Thembria. "What are you doin' here, Case?" he snarled, pulling uselessly at the ropes which bound him to the chair. "Last time I saw you, you were still tryin' to deliver that stupid box of expensive fishing worms to the High Marshall."
Jack took a long swig of his soda before setting it aside on the nearby table. Rising from his chair, he motioned to the two goons. "Out," he said.
"But Mr. Case," began Sparky, looking at Baloo nervously. It was obvious he didn't like the idea of leaving his employer alone with the bear, who was at least as big and strong as he was.
"No buts! Wait for me outside," Jack growled, grabbing the two hulking canines by the scruffs and shooing them out the door, slamming it shut after them. "Sorry about that," he said to Baloo. "They're not the brightest crayons in the box, especially Nigel. Now then, what were you saying?"
"I said, what are you up to, Case?" Baloo demanded, still glaring at the rabbit.
Jack laughed. "I've hired some vicious criminals to assist me in taking my long-delayed revenge against you, Miss Cunningham and Higher For Hire. Which burned to the ground, by the way." He shook his head, clucking his tongue. "Tsk-tsk-tsk. What a shame."
"R-revenge?" snarled Baloo, incredulous. "Revenge for what? We never did anything to you!"
Up until this point the gray-furred rabbit had been civil, but at Baloo's outburst his expression darkened considerably, and with a snarl uncharacteristic of rabbits, he lunged forwards and seized Baloo by his shirt collar, shaking him roughly. "Don't you dare say that to me! Don't you dare! Not after I spent five years rotting in Bedevilled Island Maximum Security Prison, all thanks to you and that she-devil Rebecca!"
Baloo blinked. "But, we didn't--"
"You told them I was a spy!" Releasing Baloo, Jack added, "No matter what I told them, nevermind that the box had fishing worms and not a bomb, I was locked away, caged like an animal!"
"Look, Case-- Er, I mean Jack. Yeah, Jack. Look, buddy, there's gotta be an easier way to do this..."
"Sorry," said Jack, opening a drawer in the table and removing a bottle of clear liquid and a white handkerchief. "But it's already gone too far. You and Miss Cunningham took away five years of my life, and now it's time to pay the piper." Jack proceeded to lightly soak the handkerchief in the clear liquid. "Now then, my associates and I have to go and pay Miss Cunningham a visit. I need both of them to assist me, so I can't leave anyone to guard you. Hence... it's naptime again for Baloo."
He walked over and covered Baloo's mouth and nose with the soaked cloth, and instantly the room began to spin and Baloo passed out for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. This was shaping up to be a really, really bad day.
To Be Continued ...