No Business like Show Business

The sun began setting quietly along the edge of the horizon. Various evolved creatures that inhabited the islands of N. Sanity were beginning to bunker down and prepare for the night's rest. However, there were those that were nocturnal beings who thrived at the dark of nighttime. A select few of these were presently sitting in a bar, dejected faces and liquor in hand. The name of said bar was Ace of Spades, or just "The Spades" to some, a place that was the largest hotspot in Wumpa City. However, when one of the main stage dancers quit, business declined greatly, and it left the owner in a pit of debt.

Pinstripe Potoroo, clad in his usual red suit, gazed at one of his few patrons with disdain. There he sat in the shade of the tavern, eyes full of disappointment. "Marty," he said, "I'm going to have to shut Spades down if I can't manage to get a good amount of customers."

Marty was a thin rat, and also Pinstripe's leading man. He was in charge of the mic during show hours. He wore a lavender open top and dark green pants. He too, was staring at the drowsy-looking patron nearest to them. "Yeah… but boss, how else are we supposed to get money?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Pinstripe growled. "We're losing more than we can make, you idiot!" To calm his nerves, he had another intake from his large cigar. "The only people coming in here are washed-up deadbeats like 'Skippy McGee' over there."

The now-nicknamed "Skippy's" eyes closed as his head drooped with sleep. Pinstripe and Marty groaned in unison.

"We need Tawna back," said the latter. Pinstripe frowned and curled a fist.

"No we don't. We can't rely on the tramp to feed us. We'll just have to find somebody else."

"Like who? Heidi isn't exactly as hot after she had that kid of hers."

"I know, I know. That's her own damn fault. What we need is a freakin' miracle."

Then, strangely as if on cue, the ancient bell to their pub rang. That meant someone was coming in. Pinstripe so desperately wanted a customer that he nearly sprang up in eagerness to meet the fellow. Nevertheless, he was able to retain himself. The two gang members watched with interest as a silhouette clad in a tan trench coat sauntered across the floorboards to a table. They couldn't decipher a face due to the sun's glare; and yet they made out a pair of yellow eyes.

The dark figure's eyes were at first distant, but then they quickly averted to the dozing vermin whom Pinstripe and Marty were partially concerned about. He walked over, heels belonging to snake boots clicking away. He flipped "Skippy" out of the chair, leaving the unfortunate rat to lay a groaning heap on the floor. He plopped into the seat with a sigh, kicking his feet onto the table. He took out a cigarette, and looked at Pinstripe.

"Your business is certainly booming," he chuckled in a dark, raspy Australian accent. Pinstripe furrowed his brow and snorted.

"Yeah? And just who the hell are you?"

The newcomer's head tilted directly toward the bar owner, and they could make out a crimson-and-cream face with a grin of sharp, pearly canines. "Name's Nega Bandicoot, mate." He inhaled on his cigarette, blowing out a stream of neat grey smoke. "I've been here once or twice before, but now I'm trying to get myself a permanent place here in the city. You might just be seeing me more often."

Pinstripe was oddly fascinated with this character. He looked like he had a harder past than anyone that had set foot in this bar before. Nega's eyes drifted downward in thought. "You know, I remember there being an awfully attractive blonde working here about two years ago."

"Yes, yes, we know Tawna," Marty grumbled. Pinstripe slugged his assailant in a signal to stop talking.

"You wouldn't happen to know her, do you?"

"Not personally," Nega replied. "Although I heard she was the life of the bedroom." He flicked the ashes into a tray, and gave a half-hearted smile. "Yet, I do know of a girl just as good looking, if not better."

"I'd like to see that," Pinstripe scoffed.

"I'm serious," Nega said. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a crumpled photo. He tossed it to the potoroo. Upon seeing the picture he wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"Well, she's not too shabby for a human, so help me God I've actually said that, but I can't have one of them dirtying up my bar."

"She's not a human anymore," Nega sneered. "She's gone full-out bandicoot. Don't ask me how; I don't have the slightest clue. But I do know that she's got much better looks than that now."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Pinstripe glared. Nega simply shrugged.

"Two reasons: your bar is going to shit, and I want her. Face it, gang leader; if we worked together, we could get what we need."

"Are you saying she wants to work here?" Pinstripe asked.

"No. She's too busy stuffing herself with that pretty boy. She wouldn't work here anyway." He tapped his clawed fingers on the table in contemplation. Pinstripe narrowed his eyes at him with a crooked grin.

"I bet I can get her to work here, with a little help from my friends of course. You'd have to lead the way my friend."

Nega's expression altered with curiosity. "Are you suggesting we kidnap her?"

"Only if you want to."

They were quiet for a few moments longer. By now, the sun was already setting and a dark purple lit the sky. Nega's eyes filled with zeal. "Then, let's talk about my end of the deal."

It was the average rainy night in the outskirts of Seattle, Washington. Pine trees were everywhere, and a stretch of highway cut the forest in half. A black cargo van sped quickly down the highway, windshield wipers at full throttle. Inside sat a young man with quite long, dark brown hair and similar eyes. His brow was in a constant rut in concentration. Behind him, computers and scanners buzzed with life, maps scattered everywhere.

It might seem that the lad with his straight, centre-parted to-the-shoulder hairdo was actually working with the government. Albeit, he doesn't. The man felt a vibration in his pocket, so he answered his global phone. "What do you want, Gary?"

"Andy, I—"

"Andrew," he corrected his caller in irritation. "I'm twenty-six years old, man."

"Alright, alright. I was just checking up on you."

"I don't believe there's anything to check up on."

"Have you had any luck yet?"

Andrew swallowed. His uncle was referring to the search of Kate Clark. It had been two years since the young woman disappeared so suddenly, and the only one who had a lead on her was her uncle Gary. Of course, it was quite a day when the stout old man called saying that a character by the name of "Jack" had run off with her.

"No, I haven't. I just came back from Germany, and the whole country couldn't even help me. I've tried everything."

"Oh. Well, I was just making sure you're all right, boy. I don't want to lose you too."

"Gary, I'll be fine. Don't worry about it. I'll find Kate, and then things can return back to normal hopefully."

"…okay."

"Later," Andrew said, and quickly hung up the phone. He chewed nervously on the bottom of his lip as he noticed he was approaching the city limits, and motel. He could use a few hours of sleep.