Maxwell Smart, Secret Agent 86 of CONTROL, was on the run, running for his life.
Well, not running, but certainly driving for his life!
Smart's expert handling of his sporty red 1965 Sunbeam Tiger sports car was the only thing keeping him alive as he dashed about at crazy speeds and turns through the streets of Washington D.C., while a black armored KAOS car filled with enemy agents chased him. Their driver was just as crazy, (not to mention not very pretty if his reflection in Max's rear-view mirror was any indication!), and even less sensitive to the Rules Of The Road than your average psychotic killer.
Max timed one changing yellow light after another, so that the red light should stop his enemies, but every time he tried that maneuver, the KAOS agents just drove right through a red light! How dare they flaunt the safety rules of this country! Smart yanked his steering wheel to the right, and sped north up 12th Street Northwest, leaving burnt rubber tracks on the street- the squealing heard behind him- a clear indication that he was still being followed.
More gunshots rang out, whizzing by Smart, and going in every direction near him, as well as taking out an eatery window, breaking the glass so that instead ofNICKY'S PIZZA, it read ICKY PIZZA.
"Boy, are they ever gonna be upset!" Smart mused to himself, spinning his wheels as his car fishtailed as he swung it west along G Street Northwest, and unfortunately into even more morning rush-hour traffic. "Where the heck are all these people coming from?" he grumbled to himself. "They can't be senators- those guys sleep in until 2 in the afternoon!"
More gunfire spewed forth, striking Max's bullet-proof car, but that didn't mean it wouldn't upset him.
"Heyyy! I just got my car washed and waxed yesterday! You're ruining the shiny surface!'
Seeing that the KAOS sedan was making even more insane, determined maneuvers to catch up to him, Smart decided that even though civilians might see him use some of his super-secret CONTROL anti-attack tactics, the other choice was an even nastier one- not making it to work, himself! Or not getting to the donuts before that slob, Larabee, dug in and took more than his share!
Max reached down, flipped open the secret weapon cover located by his gear shift, and tried to steer around traffic, screaming people reading newspapers, panicked people eating apples, shouting people walking their dogs, outraged mothers pushing baby strollers...hey, what the...? Realizing that he was now driving on the sidewalk, he veered quickly back onto thew street, bumping into a cabbie driving a little old lady somewhere, he quickly glanced behind him to see that the sedan was also now returning to the street, after scaring the beejeebers out of the screaming, freaked-out citizens on the sidewalk.
With the sedan lined up behind him, Max flicked Feature 3, without knowing what it was, even though he hoped it would be a formidable counter-attack measure.
It was...if you considered confetti a good counter-attack measure.
From out of the Sunbeam Tiger's flipped-open rear-left light came several pounds of colorful confetti that spewed out with jet-engine force, temporarily hiding (but not for long) the KAOS driver's view. Flying through the air and floating gently down like a day at a wedding, the confetti proved to be a lame distraction. 86 swung the sports car to the right, dashing up 15th Street Northwest, still followed by the KAOS agents.
"Heyyyy! No fair! You guys keep going through all those red lights and you're not getting a single ticket for breaking the law like that? Huh!"
Smart found that he had to drive like a maniac, himself, as the KAOS sedan got close enough to allow its occupants to fire their guns again, and now somehow he was tailing the cabbie with the old lady again, forcing the surprised cab driver to also increase his speed to 80 miles an hour like Max. Smart honked his horn, swerving a couple feet to the left and right, trying to get around him, but other cars were blocking them in.
"Aaiiieee! Kyeeeleeee!" the panicked taxi driver exclaimed, flooring his taxicab, and forcing the little old lady in the backseat deeper into her seat, as if she'd just experienced the g-force of a high-speed jet fighter.
"Ooooh, my! They don't drive like this in Albuquerque!" she exclaimed, clutching her purse with one hand and her flapping hat with the other.
Max was forced to race through a red light, and slammed into a hotdog vendor's cart, his sports car shoving it forward, creating sparks as its wheels dug into the street, as he raced down the road. The CONTROL agent looked about for the man he thought was pushing it across the crosswalk, but he wasn't in front of him.
"Ex-excuse me?" a nervous voice asked, tapping Max's shoulder.
"Where did you come from?" Max exclaimed, coming face to face with the Hot Dog Vendor, who was hanging on for dear life on the back of 86's car.
"New York Avenue! Way back there!" the Vendor complained
"Sorry about that, pal! Hang on!"
Max swerved again, and the Hot Dog Vendor went flying, as did his cart. The hapless civilian cried out as he became airborne, landed on top of his cart's umbrella, and rolled down it to somehow land on his feet at a new intersection. He gasped and held his chest from shock and a bad cases of nerves, noticing a moustached business man in a suit and horn-rimmed glasses approached him with a dollar bill offered to him.
"I'll have a hot dog and a Coke to go, please," he asked, oblivious to the action that had just taken place.
The Vendor just stared at him, and backwards to the car chase that had brought him to a new neighborhood.
With the KAOS car getting too close again, Smart activated Feature 1, which unlocked his rear-right light, flipping it open and shooting out a stream of oily liquid. Unfortunately, he and the other drivers had just reached the end of the street they were on, and were forced to take the advance left turn signal at the intersection, forcing 86 to turn wildly to the left, shooting out his stream of oil in a wide arc away from the KAOS car, and onto a traffic cop, the open windows of a bus, a group of hippies that were chanting hippie songs for money, a little dog on a leash whose owner realized his white cocker spaniel was now a black cocker spaniel, and a popcorn vendor and his customer. The customer made a face and returned his purchase, complaining,
"Too much oil and not enough butter, mister!"
Meanwhile, the bus patrons fell like a series of dominoes inside the bus, as the oil slicked up into the bus windows, forcing them to fall backwards onto each other,gagging, and smearing oil all over their faces, hands and clothes. A businessman fell on top of a pretty girl, who smacked him with his purse, crying out, "I'm not that kind of girl, you masher!"
Unfortunately, the oil ran out quickly, sputtering to a weak drip on the ground as Max raced ahead along the new street. Sighing with indignation that that tactic didn't work out either, he huffed, "Darn budget-cutting! You used to get 50 gallons of oil hooked up to your car, and now you only get 5! Sheesh!"
Max knew he was running out of counter-attack features (considering that the knob for number 2 was broken from a previous mission when Agent 13 sat on it, and number 4 had been used just last week on Sigfried and Starker in Kalamazoo. That left number 5.
"Five...five...what was number five?" Max mumbled worriedly to himself. If he used it now, it might be useless- if he needed alot of room to use it, or be near water or something. If his sports car turned into a canoe he'd be in really big trouble! He wasn't anywhere near the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool!
The KAOS agents began to fire at him again, bullets ricocheting off his bullet-proof car, as well as the metallic shield that was propped up behind his head (since he was driving his convertible with the top down). The panicked cabbie driver swerved amid his own rain of gunfire hitting his cab, and swung in between cars like a race car driver, forcing the little old lady in the back to slide to the left and then to the right, clutching her handbag tightly.
"Ooooh, my! This is just like that ride at Coney Island!" she chuckled, as she dug into her purse and produced her own pistol. She leaned forward, offering it to her driver. "Do you want to use mine, sonny? You could rub 'em out better than I could- arthritis is acting up on me a spell!"
The cab driver accepted the gun with a nod and a "Tank you, ma'am! Hey! Fire on me, will you, nasty menackiomookees? Take that! And that! I come to this country to get away from this sort of thing!" he shouted, firing back at the KAOS car.
Max frowned at the unexpected help, but this wasn't a good idea, either, as now civilians were getting mixed up in this chase. He had to get the KAOS car off the streets and preferably out of action, while he was at it! Pouring on the speed, Max raced passed the taxicab, even as the insane driver raced forward at crazy speeds, firing his gun back at the KAOS car until it clicked with an empty chamber.
By then, Max had lured the KAOS sedan off K Street Northwest and onto Connecticut Street, where the traffic opened up, allowing him to risk using Feature 5. From beneath his bummer a hidden compartment opened up, and out seeped a massive amount of paper that flew into the face of the KAOS car. For a moment, Max thought it was just paper again, but he soon realized that by the excited cries of passersby on the sidewalk dashing out into the road, that his car was shooting out hundreds, or even thousands of dollars in cold, hard cash!
Agent 86 made a tricky 360 in the middle of an intersection, burning rubber with his squealing tires as he made a circle several times,sending out the streams of cash in all directions for everyone to notice, bringing the KAOS sedan to a quick stop when too many citizens got in the way as they ran into the street to pick up their free money.
"Who says tax payer dollars are wasted by the government?" Max smiled, as he looked in his rear-view mirror, and made his escape down a quiet side street, as the KAOS sedan was left stuck in a mob of money-hungry citizens, their occupants arguing amongst themselves and slapping each other in the head like the Three Stooges as they blamed each other for their failure to kill 86.
Meanwhile, the still-panicked cabbie was still driving at a hundred and twenty miles per hour in the wrong direction with the old lady still humming to herself in the back, the taxi speeding out of Washington, already half way to New Jersey.
"What a nice man you are!" she smiled as her small body was squashed against the back seat. "Such courteous, fast service! And such a lovely picturesque tour of the countryside on the way to my doctor's appointment"
The wide-eyed, shaking driver continued to speed down the highway, not caring where he drove...just as long it was out of D.C.!
From behind a metallic blue door came rumbling, bumping, yelping noises.
Only when Agent 86 got close to the electric eye did the door open automatically, allowing the falling, stumbling secret agent to come to a stop at the base of the stairs. A second later he bounced up onto his feet, pretending it never happened, dusting off his suit jacket and scuffed pants.
"Either those stairs are too steep or I gotta buy shoes with some treads on them next time! Those steps are slippery!" he mused to himself.
Regaining his composure in the underground entrance to the CONTROL labs, Smart walked forward, and the first steel door, all dirty gray metal sporting huge metal rivets opened up for him, parting like the Red Sea. Door Two opened likewise before him, this one blue tungsten, each door sliding to either side with the grinding of squeaky gears, followed by Door Three, which was impenetrable iron of the highest grade, rising up into the ceiling. Smart paused as he looked down at a smiley-face with big ears and a scrawled message written beside it in red magic-marker that read, 'LARABEE WUZ HERE!'. Max continued on through Door Four, which was a gray-blue-black combination, black vertical lines painted on its indestructible adamantium surface, looking like prison bars, which always made Smart dizzy as they parted in the center, swinging to either side rapidly.
Too rapidly this time, as they just caught the tail of his jacket as they shut too quickly behind him, trapping him momentarily. Smart tugged at his stuck jacket, gritting his teeth as he gave a mighty yank, instantly tearing the material. He sighed in frustration, annoyed that his jacket had survived the KAOS attack, but not the attack of the CONTROL security jail-cell-like steel door.
Resigning himself to the fact that he was nearly inside the secret CONTROL facility, and could probably get a CONTROL seamstress to repair his ripped jacket, he turned around and expected to see the standard telephone booth elevator, but instead found yet another door. He counted on his fingers the number of doors he'd passed through, and made it to four, which was the usual for a Class One facility, like CONTROL Headquarters. If this place had a fifth door it must be a pretty important base!
Smart walked toward the fifth door, this one painted red with while stripes, and found it parting outwards, towards him. He quickly backed up, and the doors began to close, shutting with a thud. Smart tried again, getting close enough to trigger the electric eye, and prepared himself to dash through the opening doors. Again they slowly parted towards him, yawning open to show yet a *sixth* door beyond this annoying one, so Max backed up, almost squashed up against Door Four which remained close as the wide doors of number five swung open. Smart ran forward, his smooth-soled shoes slipping on the floor's surface, so that he ran into the seam of the closed, thudding doors.
Rubbing his nose from the bump, he sighed, and put his fists on his hips, grimacing with frustration. Who the heck made such big doors swing outward? Then again, it was a pretty good security feature- it was keeping him out! He took off one shoe, backed up against Door Four, and threw the shoe at the electric eye, which triggered the door mechanism. With a somersault across the cold metallic floor, Smart made it to the other side, and tried to scurry forward enough to get his shoe, only to have the swinging metal doors whack him on the head as they closed, sending him flopping backwards with another somersault.
He didn't jump up as fast this time, this time eyeing the Sixth Door suspiciously. It was a huge circle, perhaps six feet in circumference, with an iris-like shutter. He took a cautious step forward, and the shutters swung wide open like that of a camera, showing him the elusive telephone elevator beyond. He leaned down to enter it, sticking his hand inside and through it to test it. When it remained open, he put his head inside it, and sure enough the shutters began to close, forcing Max to back off and stand up.
"Close shave! Nearly took my whiskers off with my head attached!" he gasped. "Probably shouldn't be as cautious- make it quick."
He waved a hand to trigger the electric eye of Door Six, which shuttered him to step inside it...only to fall through a trap door on the other side. Smart yelped as he felt his body tossed down a curving shaft, and out of a hatch into a strangely-familiar compartment.
He was back at Door One! He'd been shot through a shaft that had sent him back to the beginning through a hidden opening in a side wall!
"This is the Automated CONTROL Security System," a voice, sounding suspiciously like Larabee, echoed from an overhead speaker. "Your initial entry in these secure facilities has failed. Please attempt to do so again to prove that you're a CONTROL operative, or else we'll be forced to imprison you and check your credit rating!"
"So that's the way it's going to be, huh?" Max growled, rolling up his sleeves, and getting into a sprinters stance, ready to run physically through all six doors if he had to.
Smart staggered into the laboratory sporting a bruise on his forehead, his suit ruffled and ripped in a couple places, limping on one shoe, and swung the door wide enough to smack a lady scientist in the bottom, pushing her forward, and landing in the arms of a chubby male scientist. He grinned down at her, happy to see that she was finally showing him some attention, until she pushed herself off of him, throwing him off balance. The big guy stumbled and landed with one foot stuck in a mop pail, soaking his foot in cold dirty water. Yelping from surprise, he staggered about, losing his balance and fell down an open stairwell door.
Max passed the ruffed lady scientist, and looked about curiously, as he heard a commotion and muffled swearing somewhere, but he couldn't locate it amid all the thumping and banging, so he approached the people that were waiting for him.
"Ah, 86! Did you find the new labs easily enough?" the Chief asked.
"Sorta, Chief. Those darn doors might need a bit of tweaking, though," he replied, rubbing his bottom.
"Well, it's standard CONTROL security procedures, Max, but I'll look into it."
"Thanks, Chief. Oh, and Carlson, thanks alot for all those gadgets in my car!" Smart said sarcastically, addressing CONTROL's Chief Scientist.
"You're very welcome, 86!" Carlson smiled, oblivious to the criticism.
"That wasn't a compliment! What were you thinking when you installed Feature 3?"
"'Feature 3', Max?" Agent 99 asked
"Yea, you know the one, don't you, Carlson? The counter-attack measure that my car uses during a car chase? In case you've forgotten, I'll remind you; does the word 'confetti' ring a bell?"
Carlson's eyes lit up, his face smiling from recall. "Oooh, yesyesyyesyes! How did that work out for you?"
"Terrible, Carlson! I was being chased by a KAOS armored car, not a bride and groom's limousine! They were shooting bullets at me, not throwing a bouquet!"
"Well, it was more of a distraction tactic, than a counter-attack measure," Carlson replied, his enthusiasm deflated.
"I should think so!" Max grumbled. "It distracted me!"
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry! It was left over from Agent 25 and Agent 51's wedding. I was going to load your system with brass tacks-"
Smart's beady eyes widened with surprise. "25 and 51 are married? I thought they hated each other? Especially after their mission in Greece?"
"Oh, no, Agent 13 got them together and they fell in love while they were stuck together in a stake-out at the D.M.V. in Peoria!" Carlson smiled. He looked at 99, and with undisguised pride, told her, "I gave away the bride!"
"The D.M.V.?" Max wondered, squinting suspiciously. "What were they doing there?"
"Most D.M.V.'s are run by KAOS, 86, I thought you knew that?" Carlson told him, making it soun d obvious.
"Gentlemen-" the Chief sighed, exasperated that they were getting off topic.
"Hey! Why wasn't I invited to the wedding? After all, I was the one that taught 25 how to use a sub-machine gun!"
"I heard about that. It probably has something to do with his grandma still being in the hospital!"
"She unlocked the safety! What kind of moron-"
"Gentlemen, please! Let's get back to work, shall we?" the Chief insisted.
"Sorry about that, Chief," Max nodded, paused, and then leaned across the Chief to ask Carlson in a whisper, "What kinda cake did they-?"
"MAX!" the Chief snapped, bringing the discussion to a close.
"But you made it here okay, Max?" 99 asked, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder to get them back on track, making 86 smile from the concern from his partner and friend.
"Well...yes. More or less. I was able to by jettisoning loads of cash for nearby citizens to pick up and keep the KAOS car at bay, until I made my escape. My car will need a couple dents worked out of it, Carlson, thanks to all those bullets bouncing off of it."
"I'll make it a priority, Max," the Chief assured.
"Thanks, Chief. And I'll need a fill-up. Escaping KAOS uses up a lot of gas!"
"Of course. Carlson and his team will get your car back up to perfect working condition."
"And no confetti!"
"No confetti, Max. Right, Carlson?" the Chief asked, actually sounding threatening.
The Chief Scientist shook his head, mumbling to himself, "I wonder if I could fit a centerpiece left over from the wedding inside the car?"
"And I could use a new coffee cup holder! And while you're at it, howabout a new stereo system? It gets boring on stake-outs, and if I could listen to some Johnny Cash while I'm waiting-"
"Don't push your luck, 86, that's a CONTROL car, remember?" the Chief warned.
"But, Chief, I hear Agent 33 has a whole hi-fi system in his Volkswagen Beetle! And I have seniority over him!"
"Max-"
"Granted, the guy only listens to Polka music-"
"Max-"
"-and Lawrence Welk is great, but if one agent has an advantage over the other-"
"Max!"
"-then how will I compete? I promise not to play 'Ring Of Fire' more than five times in a row-"
"MAX! Let's get down to business here, shall we? We're all here for a reason. Carlson was about to show us some of his new inventions."
"Like an exploding wedding cake?" Max mumbled derisively.
The Chief Scientist picked up a small device, even smaller than a paperback novel, and displayed his customary pride in his accomplishment. "I call this the 'Black Bear E.'
"Why do you call it that, Carlson?" 99 wondered.
"Well...it's black!' Carlson answered, making it sound obvious. "And the word 'Bear' is there because I think bears are neat, and the letter 'E' stands for...well, it's my middle initial."
"What does it do, Carlson?" asked the Chief.
With enthusiasm, the CONTROL Scientist answered, "It's capable of transmitting text communications across hundreds of miles, using this little keyboard, as well as being calling people in the same way your shoe-phone is, Agent 86, but much more efficiently. It has photographic capabilities, in addition to possessing computer linkage to NASA satellites, allowing you to find out data such as the weather, the news, the sports, maps of various cities...
Max interrupted, saying, "Hey, if I wanted to find out the weather, all I have to do is walk over to my radio, turn it on, and sit back for 5 to 25 minutes, until the DJ tells me what the weather's going to be. Or I can just leave my apartment, wait for an elevator, walk outside, and look up into the sky. As for sports, all I have to do is leave my apartment, wait for an elevator, go downstairs, walk three blocks to the corner newsbox, slip in a dime, pull out my newspaper, walk back the three blocks, enter my apartment building, wait for an elevator, walk into my apartment, fix myself a drink, sit down on my couch, separate the sports section from the rest of the newspaper, and find the box scores. Simple. And as for replacing my shoe phone..." Max and the others looked down at his missing shoe, still lying alone upstairs near Door Five. "Uh, well, if I still had my shoe phone, I could use that to make a call! Why would I want to text something, when I could verbability, verbalicate, verbaberba...eh, just say what I wanted to say? And don't get me started on how easy it is to open up a map and just find my point of interest! Face it, Carlson, that's the stupidest, most redundant invention you've ever come up with! Nobody would ever want or need such a piece of garbage! You'd virtually have to be a computer genius to work it!"
Carlson sighed, hefting the one-of-a-kind device in his hand, and admitted, "I suppose you're right, 86! Who needs something to replace perfectly good, simple ways of doing things?" He turned around and called out, "Hey! Blunkenhiem! We're junking this proto-type!"
Blunkenhiemcaught the Black Bear E in his hands, rolled it around with excitement and exclaimed, "Are you kidding me, Carlson? You're not going to use this thing, after the government spent millions on its development? Oh, well. Waitasec...! This is perfect! It's absolutely perfect! Thank you, Carlson, you've just saved our lives!", before he bent down and propped up his wobbly stool with it.
"Any other brilliant inventions up your sleeve, Carlson?" Smart mocked, picking up a nearby pen. "Like this? Does it write backwards or does it just fill out your income taxes?" A stream of blue ink shot out and splattered across the Chief's suit jacket. "Sorry about that, Chief!"
As Max set down the pen, Carlson yelped and barged forward, getting into a wrestling match with the Chief, who was suddenly worried that the Scientist had gone insane.
"Get off me, Carlson! Max, get him off-"
"Nonononono! You don't understand!" Carlson cried out, as Max pulled the panicking scientist back, pinning his arms behind him. "Take it off! Take it off!"
"Carlson, I'm shocked with you! The Chief isn't some kinda burlesque dancer that you can encourage to disrobe!"
"Nonono, you ninny! Chief, that's no ordinary ink! It's flammable!"
The Chief of CONTROL suddenly understood as he started to smell smoke frighteningly close to the lapel over his heart, and struggled with Agent 99 to tear off the jacket. Seconds later, the ink stain, that had become a burn mark, suddenly engulfed the Chief's jacket in flames. With quick-thinking, the Chief threw it into a near-by metallic waste-bin, releasing a relieved sigh, then a murderous look at Max, who sheepishly shrugged his shoulders, and released Carlson.
"Uh, yes, well, that's a pretty good weapon you got there, Carlson. No harm done. Good demonstration, Chief."
"My...wallet...was...in...that...jacket...86!" the Chief growled through gritting teeth.
"Oh..well...it was probably time to update that CONTROL photo of yours, huh, Chief? It was so old that you actually had some black hair on your head! You only have white now, after all."
"That photo was taken last year, 86! An I'll give you one guess why it's gone white in less than a year?"
"Too much coffee? Not enough vacation days taken? Would you believe chronic insomnia brought on by KAOS treachery?"
"Carlson...what's next?" the Chief asked, suddenly exhausted.
"Very well, Chief, Come this way to the shooting range." The scientist led the trio to an area of the labs that occasionally rang out with the sound of gunfire, and opening a locked box produced a small, sleek pistol, with what appeared to be a silencer on the gun barrel and a double scope on top. "I call this the 'Mega Gun'."
"Who's Megan?" 86 wondered. "An old girlfriend?"
"No, 'Mega-Gun," Carlson corrected.
""Better fix that stutter, Carlson. 'Mega-gagan' sounds silly! Are you telling us that you've named your gun 'Megan'? because if you are, I think that's a little crazy!"
"Max-" the Chief sighed.
"Now, naming your car, that's okay!"
"Max, pay attention!" the Chief snapped.
"86, it's the 'Mega-Gun', as in 'mega', meaning powerful."
"Oh. What's so special about it?"
"What's special about it is it's firepower! Behold the first Smart Gun! Uhhh, pardon the pun- I mean 'intelligent gun'!"
Max frowned, wondering if he'd just been burned, and watched as Carlson lined the gun up against a clear plexiglass window with a hole small enough for just the barrel to enter, then watched with the Chief and 99 as he pulled the trigger. The pistol fired it's bullet into the bullet-proof room, and amazingly, just kept bouncing off the wall every time it hit a wall, passed through every piece of furniture it shot through, and just kept on travelling. A rack of meat wearing a black hat, dark sun glasses, and black sports jacket rose from the floor at the touch of a control by Carlson, and seconds later, as the bullet finally ricocheted into the meat, it stopped, finally embedded inside something that it couldn't pass through.
"As you can see, the bullet will just keep bouncing off surfaces until it makes contact with the flesh of an enemy agent! The bullet is programmed to keep ricocheting until it hits the intended target, that being a KAOS agent."
"How does the bullet know it's hit a KAOS agent?" 86 asked, suspiciously. "If it's made to search out bad guys, it might come to rest after hitting a nasty guy with a chip on his shoulder that's not a KAOS agent, or somebody just as bad as KAOS- like an IRS accountant!"
"There's a microchip built into the bullets, 86, of known KAOS operatives. If you fire at one, it'll keep bouncing everywhere until it strikes him!"
Max, 99, and the Chief looked on with dubious, unconvinced looks, but carried on with their tour of the CONTROL labs, anyway.
The next day the Chief summoned 86 and 99 to his office for their next assignment, but first they had to get through the Chief's secretary, Larabee. He leaped out of his chair, did an airborne somersault and landed on his feet, crouched in a fighting stance in front of the Chief's office door.
"Halt and be recognized!' Larabee shouted, looking like he was ready to make his own kung fu movie.
"Larabee, it's us- 86 and 99," Smart moaned. "What're you doing?"
"That was fabulous, Larabee! I never knew you were so nimble!"
Larabee stood up, straightened his tie, and returned to his bland, deadpan expression. "Thank you, 99. Just a little something I like to call The Larabee Maneuver!"
Max rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "'The Larabee Maneuver'!" he frowned, derisively. "What hogwash! At least use it on someone that's actually trying to harm the Chief!"
"Oh, okay. I guess so."
"And just what comes next after your Ringling Brothers Circus jumping jacks, Larabee? You throw a box of paper clips at me from your secretary's desk?" Max chuckled.
After 99 helped Max up off the floor from down the hallway, after Larabee had simply used centrifugal force and the palm of his hand to throw Max twenty feet, 86 dusted himself off, and changed his tone.
"Well, sure, you can get lucky with a surprise move like that, but as a trained CONTROL agent of the First Rank, you'd have to get up pretty early in the morning to try a stunt like that again, Larabee!"
After 99 helped Max up off the floor from another twenty feet down an adjoining hallway, 86 dusted himself off again, and started to get annoyed.
"Oooh, sure, Big Man On CONTROL Campus, with all your fancy kung fu secretary karate tricks, but I dare you to-"
"Max!" 99 warned. "We're going to be late with our meeting with the Chief!"
"Oh. Okay, 99. Are you gonna let us in, Larabee, or are you going to drop-kick 99 into the CONTROL Powder Room?"
"Never! I like 99!" Larabee said, making Max notice that he left out the part about 'I like you, too, 86'.
The Agents were waved through back into Larabee's adjoining office and then in the Chief's sanctuary. When they were inside, and the door closed, Larabee turned around and touched a secret button on his desk, opening up a private compartment in the wall. Inside were lit candles, photos, and flowers adorning a shrine devoted to 99.
Larabee sat in the chair that faced the shrine, propped his chin in one hand, and gazed forlornly at 99's lovely images, wishing that she'd notice him one day.
Inside the Chief's office, the controller of CONTROL got right down into business.
"KAOS has initiated a malicious attack on a number of our agents, and it's something we're still working to counteract. We're not even sure how they've performed this assault, which is where you two come in."
"What kind of attack, Chief?" Max asked, sitting on the edge of the Chief's desk. The older man gently moved his ash tray and a picture a few inches away from Max's behind, and continued.
"See for yourself," the Chief instructed, using a remote control to display a hidden TV screen. Seconds later, an image of a worried-looking man appeared on the screen.
"Hey, I know who that is! That's Agent 82; you know he could insert a whole deck of cards up his nose!"
"That's disgusting!" 99 frowned.
"Not as much as when he sneezed them out!" 86 assured.
82 began speaking on screen. "The pie was the Friday theater boat! The dog has his cheese car in front of the bouncy house." Max and 99 looked at each other confused. 82 added, "For a dollar the choo-choo train can be trained to see the cat show!"
The Chief touched a remote control, and a woman appeared, clearly in distress, and confused, saying, "Can this fish head grab the Scottish hammer? Science is a pretty hippopotamus that dances like the coffee table!" The Chief turned off the TV screen, looking concerned.
"That was Agent 75," 99 said, looking just as concerned. "None of what she said, or 82 said, made any sense!"
"Well, of course not, 99!" Max assured her, making it sound obvious. "New Age Poetry isn't supposed to make sense! Right, Chief?"
"I only wish it was poetry, Max. No, somehow, while on assignment, both 82 and 75 returned to CONTROL headquarters with their minds scrambled! They appear to think that they're making sense to themselves, but can't understand why nobody around them is making sense. Nothing they say makes any sense, and even when they try to write what they want to say it comes out as gibberish! They're completely nonsensical."
"Wow. I can't imagine that!" Max frowned.
The Chief stared at him, and replied deadpan, "I can."
99 asked, "What was their original assignment, Chief?"
"We'd sent them to spy on a possible KAOS facility disguised as a common corner restaurant. Previous stake-out teams had seen numerous KAOS agents frequent the restaurant prior to 82 and 75 being sent in to verify just what was so special about the restaurant."
"Well, maybe it was the soup and salad special, Chief," Max suggested.
"Hardly."
"How can you be so sure about that? Sometimes I get a soup and salad combo that doesn't go together very well! Sometimes the Italian dressing is too runny, or the croutons are too crunchy, or the Chef has too many noodles and not enough chicken in the soup or-"
"Max!" the Chief snapped, bringing the examples to an abrupt end. "I need you and 99 to go down to Baxter'sRestaurant."
"Are you hungry, Chief? Did you skip breakfast again?"
"No, I did not skip breakfast! I love breakfast! It's the most important meal of the day! For example today, I had-" the Chief began, until he shook his head, trying to get back on track, after Max had derailed his train of thought. "Max, Baxter'sRestaurant is the alleged KAOS front that 75 and 82 were investigating. Now, we suspect they were recognized and taken inside the KAOS section, either in the back rooms or below the actual restaurant, and subjected to whatever it was that corrupted their thinking processes. It could be hypnosis, drugs- we're not sure. That's what you need to find out, without getting your minds scrambled like them. We also need the cure to their affliction, if it exists, or else 75 and 82 will live the rest of their lives making no sense. And speaking from personal experience, we can't have that, can we, 86?"
"No, sirree, we can't!" Max agreed, and paused, wondering if the Chief had just made fun of him, but the Chief wasn't smiling. Letting it go for now, Max got off of the edge of the Chief's desk, and began to leave with 99, when he stopped her. "Oh, uh, just a sec, 99." Max picked up a lamp from the Chief's credenza, and unplugged it.
"Max, where're you going with that?" 99 asked.
"Larabee thinks he can attack me by surprise when entering the office, so he'll probably try it when I leave, but I'll put a stop to that!"
"Ohh, Max, don't hurt him!"
"Not gonna hurt him, 99, just distract him!"
"Max, come back here with my lamp!" the Chief snapped.
86 ignored them, tiptoed up to the door that adjoined to Larabee's office, and with the stealth of a cat, got close enough to the electronic eye to open up the door. Nobody came dashing through, even as Max threw the lamp into Larabee's office, thinking he might blindly hit him with it as Larabee did his fancy kung fu flip, but all he did was shatter the lamp against Larabee's desk, striking a small hidden control panel, and silently closing the door to Larabee's hidden shrine to 99 with him inside it, unseen by Max and the others in the Chief's office. The Chief covered his eyes with a hand and an aggravated sigh. Max looked around the corner, and found an empty office. He even looked up towards the ceiling, but Larabee wasn't present. "Hm. That's odd. I thought for sure he'd try and jump me again."
"Just...go," the Chief grumbled, a fist shaking at his side that he desperately wanted to connect with Max's head.
"Sure, Chief. Hey, you should do something about your nerves, Chief! Do you want us to bring you back a hamburger from Baxter's?"
"Go! GO! GGOOOO!"
Max got the picture and ushered 99 out of Larabee's office, stopping momentarily in the hallway, as the Chief's door closed.
"Do you smell smoke, 99?"
99 just pulled 86 into the hallway and away from the office, even as Larabee's silent calls for help went unheeded in his locked shrine, wisps of smoke gently wafting outwards from behind the secret compartment.
Baxter'sRestaurant was your average diner, looking for all intents and purposes an average city restaurant of average quality, with plain tables and chairs, a counter with a row of stools to sit on, and a radio playing soft jazz. Max and 99 found a seat easily at a table, while noticing that there were a pair of men on the stools, a man and a woman in a booth, and an old man sitting alone in another booth.
"We'll take a seat at this table, 99," Max instructed softly, pulling out a chair for her. "Ordinarily I like to sit at a cozy booth, but since this is a stakeout we need to observe everyone around us, while keeping our presence discreet." 86 sat down in his own chair, and adjusted its direction so that he could observe every angle, and tested his line of sight by leaning back. Unfortunately, he leaned back too far and went flying backwards to the floor, his airborne feet kicking upwards, and knocking the table on its side, and making the metallic napkin holder, salt, pepper, and sugar dispensers fly into the air and crash to the floor.
86 jumped to his feet and dusted himself off, trying to look nonchalant about it all. The owner behind the counter just stared at them, incredulous. Max covered his tracks, but propping the table back onto it's legs, as 99 recovered the salt and pepper shakers.
"Just play along with me, 99, and disguise your voice with an Italian accent! These kinds of places will understand how foreigners can be clumsy!"
"Max, I really don't think-"
"That'sa okay, Ninetya-nine-a, I'vea gotta ita alla undera controla!" Max said in a loud, exaggerated Italian accent.
"Max! You just said '99' and 'control'!" she quietly admonished.
"I know," he whispered back, "but I think I hid it completely in my Italian accent! They'll think I'm speaking Italian words!"
"Max, let's just speak English? Even Americans can be clumsy, sometimes."
"Oh, yea? Name one!" he challenged, pulling her chair out for her, and paused as he knew who she'd say. Instead, he dropped the matter, sat down, and picked up the menus, handing her one.
"We should be able to find out something from this vantage point," 99 commented, quietly.
"I'll say!" 86 agreed, perusing the menu. "$1.50 for a Philly cheese steak? They're outta their minds charging that much!"
"Max-"
"I'll bet it's not even imported from Philadelphia!"
A tough-looking man in a white shirt and deli hat, sporting a greasy apron approached them with an order pad.
"What'll ya have?" he growled with a gravelly voice.
"Whatta youa havea fora luncha, honeya?" Max asked, returning to his bad accent.
99 blushed, and suggested, "Maybe we should just order coffee for now...dear. I'm not sure what I want."
"Shea saya thata shea wanta-"
"I heard. Two coffees coming up," the waiter mumbled and left.
"99! She understands Italian! Who'da thought it possible!"
"Max, we agreed to drop the accent, remember? And that was a 'he', not a 'she'!"
86 cast a glance back at the tough-looking man who could have fit in just fine at a boxing match, considering how big and nasty he looked. Max told 99, "We'll that makes more sense! The apron threw me off- I'm used to dealing with waitresses, not murderous, psychotic waiters!"
"I should think so!"
"Yea. You only find those kind of waiters at your average Olive Garden! But, boy, 99, he's so ugly he looks like he does push-ups with his face!"
"That's not very nice, Max," 99 said.
"What I mean is, he's so gruesome and mean-looking that he'd fit right in with KAOS! Oh! Sshh! Here he comes!"
The big man returned with two cups of coffee on saucers. "Two coffees."
"Thank you, my good man. I think we're ready to order."
"Oh...whoopee," he sneered. He pulled out his order pad and a pencil.
"Er, yes, I think my lady will have the chicken soup and garden salad, and I'll have a tuna on rye."
"Don't got rye. Try something else."
"Howabout marble rye?"
"No, no rye of any kind. Pick again."
"Oh, all right, I'll have a tuna on Italian bread."
"Ain't got Italian bread, try something else."
"French bread?"
"Whadaya think this is? The United Nations cafeteria? No foreign bread here."
"How about a tuna on a kaiser?"
"Kaiser? That's German, ain't it? Ain't got kaisers, try-"
"-something else," Max finished, grimacing. He looked up at the owner and asked, "Do you got any whole wheat?"
"No."
"Sourdough bread?"
"No."
"A hotdog bun?"
"No."
"Multigrain bagel?"
"No."
"Baguette?"
"No."
"Cottage loaf?"
"No."
"Pumpernickel?"
"No."
"Foccacia bread?"
"No."
"Raisin bread?"
The owner paused, looked over his shoulder, then back down at 86 and 99. "No."
"Australian kangaroo multi-national outback baked grain bread?"
"Maybe."
"Really?" 86 asked.
"No."
"Okay. What kind of bread do you have here?"
"Corner store-bought plain white bread."
"Fine, fine," Max sighed, handing back the menus with defeat. "I'll have a tuna on corner store-bought plain white bread."
"Ain't got any tuna," the owner admitted,.
"No tuna?" Max repeated. "Then what was all that about having no bread? Why not just say 'no bread, no tuna'?"
"Didn't want to confuse ya, " the owner admitted with a shrug. "We got fish heads. Ya wanna fish head sandwich on corner store-bought plain white bread?"
"A fish head sandwich? No, thanks!"
"Howabout a fish head casserole?"
"No."
"Fish head soup?"
"No."
"Fish head pie?"
"No."
"Fish head taco?"
"No."
"Fish head lasagna?"
"No."
"Fish head salad with a nice Raspberry Vinaigrette with a pinch of pepper, bacon bits, and the crouton-of-the-day?"
"No."
"Man, you're hard to please!" the owner/waiter grumbled.
"Listen, I'll just have a cup of coffee."
The nasty-looking owner stared down at him, then at the two coffees that Max and 99 had already ordered. "Ya already got a coffee!"
"Yes, for an appetizer," Max said, making it sound obvious. "But I also want one for my lunch! Is there a problem with that?"
"No. No problem," the big man growled, and wrote the order down on his order pad, grumbling as he turned away, "Probably won't get a decent tip from such a cheapskate!"
Max gave the owner a dirty look with his beady eyes from behind as he left, then said to 99, "I think it's going okay, so far, 99, but watch what you say to the owner- I think he's having a bad day!"
The tough guy left the eating area, and entered the kitchen, where a lovely woman of Eastern European descent waved him over to a doorway leading downstairs.
"You took order from woman?"
The man nodded. "And her boyfriend. Mister Moneybags Cheapskate just wants coffee!"
"Never mind that. I see woman from here- she is agent of CONTROL!"
The man looked through the narrow opening of the kitchen entrance, and could just make out a portion of Max and 99's table. He looked back at his accomplice, and asked, "Are ya sure? They're not usually that pretty!" The raven-haired KAOS woman smacked him a few times in a jealous rage, making him wince and shrug, adding, "Notasprettyasyou! Notasprettyasyou, Marsha!"
"Fool! Of course I know she is CONTROL! Is Number 99! I know her from previous meeting!"
"I see. Did ya have a run-in with her at that Stockholm Incident?"
"No. She come to hotel room in Prague 4 years ago dressed as Girl Guide- tried to make me buy Girl Guide cookies, but I too smart for her! I know they were actually CONTROL Guide cookies! Is same woman! Looked too old to be Girl Guide back then, anyway! Cookies were stale, too! Blah.""
"Okay, okay. We'll deal with her. What about that cheap punk with her? Think he's a CONTROL agent, too?"
Marsha looked through the opening and squinted at the clean-cut man with 99. He was looking about absent-mindedly around the restaurant, pouring in far too much sugar into his coffee. Unfortunately, as he drank from the cup, he gagged and chocked on it, as he realized that he'd poured salt and not sugar into his coffee.
"No...eempossible. Ees too shtupid to be CONTROL!"
"Are you sure?" the owner asked.
She sneered at him with blood-red lips. "Fool! If he CONTROL, then KAOS would have world domination by now! No. Beady-eyed cheapskate is just boyfriend. Or brother of 99."
"Then, we might be okay," the owner suggested.
"Why?"
"Well, if she's here with a boyfriend or brother, then she can't be on a mission- that'd just endanger them!"
Again, Marsha smacked the owner again and again, reducing his tough-guy image down to the level of Jerry Lewis. "Fool! Ees perfect cover! 99 is expert gunslinger! Could protect man and fight us at same time!"
"All right, all right. What do you think we should do?"
"CONTROL has sent third agent here; third agent will get same treatment as one and two. Make lunch for her- special CONTROL lunch. yes?"
The owner smiled with sadistic pleasure as he understood her, and got to work preparing the meal.
Too bad he couldn't off-load all the fish heads he'd ordered...
Meanwhile, Max and 99 were carefully observing the other patrons in the restaurant, both wondering if any of them were KAOS agents or simply more civilians.
"I'm a little suspicious about that one guy back there, 99," Max quietly revealed, tilting his head towards the old man sitting alone in a booth.
"Anything in particular, Max?"
"I remember reading in the CONTROL newsletter that KAOS is so unwilling to allow its operatives to retire, that they frequently station them as civilians in harmless locations. They stick 'em in restaurants as dishwashers, in parks picking up trash, in underground parking booths, and keep them on the payroll, so they'll keep reporting anything of use to KAOS."
"That's terrible," 99 frowned.
"I'll say! Who wants to spend their retirement stuck in an underground parking booth! Even if it's down in Miami or somewhere else sunny, it doesn't matter- they're still stuck in a dirty, dingy scary place! They might as well be in Pittsburgh!"
"Well, so far he hasn't made a move," 99 noted. "He's just been sitting there quietly eating his fish head stew."
"Just the same, I don't trust him. And I like the looks of that couple in the other booth even less!" Max revealed, tilting his head in the other direction towards the man and woman.
"Do you recognize either one?"
"No. But my CONTROL-trained spy-school mind has taken note of one glaring, illogical fact that establishes them as exceptionally-high risk individuals that should be treated with the utmost care if we're to avoid a catastrophic incident right here, right now!"
99 looked at Max with great concern, and slowly reached into her purse beneath the table, her fingers lightly wrapping around the handle of her gun inside her handbag. "And what's that, Max?" she asked, watching the man and woman warily.
86 leaned in closer after a quick confirming glance back at the couple and said in a hushed voice, "He's barely touched his food, while the woman is stuffing her face. He's just staring at her, probably incredulous that she has such a big appetite! I think he's not eating because he wants to be prepared to fight on an empty stomach!"
99 checked out the couple for several seconds, and watched as the man smiled at his companion, and gently wiped a bit of food off her cheek. "Oh, Max, they're not KAOS agents. I think they're just a couple in love. He looks like he's just so smitten with her that he can't take his eyes off of her, and doesn't feel like eating!"
"'In love'?" he repeated, incredulous. He looked over at them, and added, "I think she's only in love with her sandwich! Look at her wolf that thing down!" He looked at 99, paused, glanced back at the couple and then down at his two cups of coffee. "Hey, wait a minute! That owner had a kaiser for her and not me?"
The mean-looking owner returned with their lunch on a platter, setting down 99's soup in front of her, and her salad off to the side. He paused, and slammed Max's coffee roughly down onto the table, making it slosh and spill some of its contents onto the table, adding a sneer for good measure.
"Enjoy," he growled, not meaning it as he left them alone again.
Max took a couple napkins, and dabbed the hot liquid off the table, before wondering where to put all the wet napkins, so he absent-mindedly shoved them into his suit jacket pocket, only to realize a second later that that wasn't a very good idea. He took out more napkins from the dispenser and dried off his sticky fingers,.as 99 began to sip her soup, lost in thought.
As she ate her chicken noodle soup, she thought about the owner's near-obsession with getting rid of his supply of fish heads when he suggested meals for Max. Her eyes widened as she recalled something.
"Max! I just remembered something Agent 75 said on the TV screen. One of the confusing things she referenced was 'fish heads'!
86 frowned, and stopped getting the salt inside the pepper shaker, and the pepper out of the salt shaker. "Again with the 'fish heads'! All right, okay, 99, I'll have a fish head salad if you think such a crazy vegetarian diet is good for me!'
"What I mean, Max, is that it's a very big coincidence that 75 was able to mention such a item and here we are hearing it again in a restaurant that's an alleged KAOS front?"
"I think you've got a point, 99. We'd better keep an eye on that owner. And the shifty couple in the booth! In fact, maybe you should excuse yourself and go into the restroom with the lady in the booth to get a good look at the back area of this restaurant!"
"Max, she's a total stranger! I couldn't do that!"
"Don't you ladies frequently excuse yourselves to go to the powder room in groups?"
"Well, yes, sometimes, but usually from members of the same party or table! I don't think I should ask her."
Max nodded, and said, "Okay, 99, you keep eating, and I'll go in the back to the restroom."
"Okay, Max, but be careful."
86 smiled a 'thank you', stood up and walked towards the back of the restaurant, passing the couple in the booth, at which point Max tapped the lady on the shoulder, and asked, "Excuse me, but would you care to join me in the restroom?"
It was a race between 99 and the woman's boyfriend as to whose jaw dropped to the floor in astonishment first.
"Heyyy? What're trying to do here?" the guy asked, throwing down his napkin in a challenging act, staring daggers at Max.
"Ladies don't usually go to the restroom alone, so I just thought-"
The man shuffled out of his booth, stood up, and began to pound his finger against Max's chest. "I don't care what you thought, buster, but that's my girl!"
Max looked down at the shocked woman, and asked innocently, "So you're not up for it?"
99 stared at Max as he returned, covering her mouth as she watched his lower lip swell from the punch.
"Okay, 99, change of plan; I'll go in the back by myself."
"Hey, cutey, I'll go in the back with you, if you want?" asked one of the guys sitting at the counter, giving Max a wink, but the secret agent shook his head, and straightened his tie..
"Max, I-"
86 raised a hand silencing her. "It's all right, it's all right, 99. I got this under control."
She watched as Max calmly made his way into the back area of the restaurant, ignored by the gruff owner who was now chopping something in a plate, his back turned to the customers. Max was allowed a quick glance inside the kitchen from the vantage point of the alcove where the men's room was, but it didn't look unusual, other than the woman that was aiming her gun at him, crouched behind a preparation table.
He nodded nonchalantly at her, turned around and entered the nondescript men's room. It looked like any restroom he'd ever be in- a little unkempt, toilet stall, urinal, sink with no soap available, scribbled graffiti in a couple places, and a finger-print-laden mirror. He turned on the faucets and washed his hands quickly, leaving the water running as he dried them off, and then started to examine every nook and cranny of the tiny room.
He grimaced and put his hands on his hips. "I think I'm missing something here," he mused, wracking his brains for a clue that he couldn't quite grasp. He charged into the stall, thinking he might trigger a hidden entrance, but all he did was fumble and land on top of the toilet tank, the door to the stall sliding inwards and whacking him on his behind. 86 whipped out his pistol, and fought for control of his destiny with the door, which seemed to want to keep him prisoner on the inside. 86 kicked and punched it, and finally spilled out onto the grimy floor, rolling on his shoulder across the restroom floor into a kneeling shooting stance, only to bonk his head against the porcelain sink.
Silently mouthing the word 'Ooowww!', he examined his environment, saw that there were no hidden dangers, and stood up, returning his gun to his hidden holster. Turning the water off, Max exited the men's room...
...and found the woman's gun pressed up against his nose, with the woman's finger attached to the trigger, the woman's hand attached to the gun, and her hand and her arm attached to the rest of her body. She'd been waiting for him outside, after she'd watched him enter the men's room, after she'd pointed this same nose-poking gun at him!
"That's what I was missing!" Max thought out loud.
"Eento the keetchen. Quietly," she ordered.
"Sorry, I don't speak Italian," Max admitted, but understood her head toss towards the kitchen. He shuffled his feet a little at a time as she kept her gun stuck to his nose, and directed him into the kitchen where the tough-looking owner was, and took notice.
"Not another complaint about the food?" he grumbled, throwing down his knife as he made a mess of a roast chicken. "I'm doing the best that I can! I never went to KAOS Culinary School, after all"
"Not a food complaint, you fool! Ve are going to question thees man."
"Don't bother, sweetheart, 'cause I don't know nothing!" Smart told her with smugness.
"'I don't know nothing' implies that you do know something, because you're saying that 'nothing' doesn't apply to you!"
"Huh?"
"Never mind! Who are you?" Marsha asked, finally stepping away from Max to allow him to rub is nose and straighten his suit jacket.
"Well, for one thing, a dissatisfied customer! This guy said you didn't have any fancy bread or tuna, but I can see them right over there!"
"I vant a name!" she snapped.
Max counted on his fingers as he replied, "Well, I mentioned rye bread, whole wheat, pumpernickel-"
"No, shtupid, I vant your name! Vhat ees eet?"
"I've had many names. As a child my mother used to call me 'Down-Boy-Down'! Don't really know why-"
"He's stalling!" the owner accused.
"-and you don't know what my father used to call me as a teenager! Man, was he a grouch!"
"Ve know that the woman you're vith ees CONTROL agent! Does that make you agent, also, or just bystander that needs to be eliminated?"
"Uh, speaking from my perspective, I'd go with the 'bystander' part, not so much with the 'eliminated' category."
"Like I said, just a goof out with his girlfriend," the owner sneered.
"And too nosey for his own good. Not to mention seeing too much. Thank you for your patronage, but lunch time ees over for you, 'Buster'!"
"Waitaminute, waitaminute! Would it help if I said I was a CONTROL agent?" 86 wondered.
"Then she'd shoot you, and then I'd stab you for good measure!" the owner grinned, maliciously.
"Oh, well, in that case..." Max shrugged, looking defeated, until his fighting skills kicked in, and he karate-chopped the gun out of Marsha's hand, grabbed her wrist and twisted it, so that he could push her at the owner. He caught her, and shoved her to one side so her could throw the knife at Max, who ducked it, allowing it to fly past him and impale itself into the wall behind Max.
The Owner was ready with his own gun, swinging it out and firing in one fluid motion, which Max was able to dodge as it was a wild shot without aiming. 86 rolled across the floor to the far side of a preparation island, and came up with a frying pan, which the owner shot at, denting it with a bullet that ricocheted off it and shattered an overhead light. Max threw the damaged pan at the owner, and suddenly realized that he was armed, and it would be a good idea to return fire.
Amid more shots from the owner and kitchen utensils thrown at him by Marsha, 86 knew he was under siege, which would garner 99's attention, and hopefully even the odds. 86 fired off a couple shots over the prep table, forcing the two KAOS agents to get to their own cover. One shot upset the owner greatly as it shattered a bowl on a table.
"Heyyy! My cake batter! That was for Table 5, you dirty-!"
86's eagle eye noted that the woman was lined up with the fire extinguisher, and fired a shot at it, allowing the contents to spray at her, forcing her out of her cover momentarily, and then in a surprise move, grabbed from behind and monkey-flipped by 99 out of the kitchen and into the dining area.
"Good work, 99! I've got this guy!" The owner fired off his own shot and scored a lucky shot that sent Max's gun flying out of his hand and into the sink's garbage disposal drain, where it was promptly grinded into bits. Max grimaced, and muttered to himself, "Hmf! That's the third time that's happened to me this month! The Chief's gonna kill me for losing another gun!"
"Not if I can beat him to it!" the owner roared, firing off more shots inside his kitchen, shattered cupboards and dishes and narrowly missing 86.
Out in the dining area, 99 and Marsha were in a cat fight that involved karate and good ol' American punches thrown. Whatever 99 tried, Marsha somehow was able to counteract, blocking her martial arts moves. Marsha defiantly screamed in rage as she dove for 99, who tried to wrestle her to the floor, but instead was forced back in a nasty hair-pulling struggle, as Marsha slammed 99 onto her back across the table where the man and woman were dining.
"Look, Helen! It's just like the day our mothers met each other for the first time!" the surprised man noted.
"Thomas, really!" the woman tutted, lifting up her plate of french fries, as the two women rolled off the table. "My mother wouldn't be caught dead wearing such awful shoes!"
99 and Marsha continued to struggle and wrestle and pull each other's hair, scoring the occasional slap or kick on the other, as Max sent one plate after another smashing over the owner's head in a vicious attack of killer Frisbees, but nothing could stop him from keeping 86's head low as he fired off shot after shot, further destroying his kitchen.
"Give it up, mister! By my count you're out of bullets! That model is only loaded with 10 bullets, and I've counted your tenth and final bullet!" He stood up, and ducked as his cat-like reflexes saw the bright flare of discharge, milli-seconds before the bullet discharged. He added, "Okay...now you've used up ten bullets!"
"Fool! This is a KAOS gun! We don't play by the rules, so you'll have to avoid fourteen bullets!" He laughed at this news, then rolled his eyes as he realized he'd just told his quarry how soon he'd run out of ammo. For his troubles, he had to hide from several more plates and cups from Max, who was coming closer and closer with his aim. Suddenly, the kitchen was quiet (although there was a skirmish in the dining area that was causing a racket), which made him think that his enemy was out of firepower. "Aahhhh, so all that big talk about my gun, and you're outta ammunition yourself, huh?"
86 hated to admit it, but he was out of ammo- there just wasn't any more stuff to throw at the Owner that was within easy reach! He searched his person for anything he could use, and came up with a small metallic object in a breast pocket, and pulled out Carlson's proto-type 'megan's handgun'...or was that 'megan's mecha gun'? 'Meganangan gun-gun'? Whatever the thing was, it was supposed to be fired once and find the KAOS agent! He checked the weapon, and was disappointed to find out it only had one bullet, so he had to make this good!
As luck would have it, the KAOS agent fired off another shot, shattering a jar of tomato sauces, which splattered across Max's suit jacket. He was about to complain that that was going to cost him a bundle to get dry cleaned, until he realized it was the perfect trick. Crying out in fake pain, Max grunted,
"Ooooh! Ya got me! I give up! Don't shoot- I-I surrender!"
He slowly got to his feet, holding the wet tomato stain in one hand, as he held his special gun in the other behind his back. He was taking a chance that the KAOS agent wouldn't just shoot him out in the opening, but fortunately the owner was curious and cautious, but not so trigger happy. When he saw the red mess on Max's jacket he lowered his weapon, pleased that he'd injured his enemy, until he saw Max whip his arm around. Instinct told him he was about to be shot at again, so he slammed himself behind his cover at the edge of the kitchen door, even as Max fired off his single shot.
86 dropped to the floor and covered his head with a frying pan, even as the special bullet began its non-stop trek around the kitchen, bouncing off walls, pots and pans, a tea pot and cups and a jar of pickles at a ridiculous speed, impossibly hitting objects and continuing to travel at the same speed. The KAOS agent ducked inside his cover, confused, sure that Max was firing multiple shots.
"HEYYY! My lasagna!" the owner cried as the mega-gun bullet struck and shattered a flat dish containing a pasta dish the owner hadn't finished preparing. "That was my dinner with Marsha!"
The mega-gun bullet just kept on bouncing about the kitchen, breaking stuff and altering course until it hit something soft and mushy, eliciting a scream of, "AAARRRRGGGGHHH! Ooooooh, NOOOOO! Not down there! I give up! I dooooo! Arrrgggh!"
Max peered up slightly, still covering his head with a frying pan, even though he could hear that his mega-gun bullet had stopped ricocheting around the kitchen.
"Honestly?" he challenged.
"Yesyesyesyes! Oooh, I need a doctor! I give up!" the KAOS agent literally cried.
86 stood up, and kept the owner covered (no sense letting him know that he was unarmed after the first and only shot), and found the tough-looking man slumped on the floor in a fetal position, holding his legs tightly into himself, a puddle of blood beneath him. KAOS agents were nasty criminals, but sometimes 86 felt a twinge of pity for them, even if they had plans for world domination and didn't like baseball. He bent down to examine the whimpering enemy agent and find out where the bullet had struck him. The owner parted his shaking legs and let Max examine his inner thigh.
"Missed it by that much!" 86 said, holding his index finger and thumb two inches apart.
"Oh, thank God!" the KAOS agent sighed, then stared hard at Max. "Are you sure you're not the bad guy here? That's playing dirty!"
Max stood up with a shrug. "Blame Carlson, not me, mister. I just shoot 'em- it's your own fault for standing where you are!" He saw someone approach from the corner of his eye, and swung around to point his gun at...99! He smiled and lowered his weapon. "Oh, good, 99, it's you! Did you deal with Marsha out there?"
99 nodded and replied, "Chicken hippo."
Max nodded and paused, unsure what 99 had meant by that, then a little light popped up in his head, as he said, "Ooh, of course! You're using CONTROL Food Code Number 4! Let me just check what 'chicken hippo' means, 99," he said, pulling out a code book from his jacket.
99 gasped and gently touched Max's tomato stain, saying, "Race car taxicab!"
86 paused as he flipped through his code book, and said, "Huh? Oh, you want to use the CONTROL Automobile Code instead? Just a sec." Max tucked the Food Code book back into his jacket and pulled out a new one.
"Race car, taxi cab...race car...taxi cab. Huh. That doesn';t make sense, 99. According to that code, you just told me that Frank Sinatra is selling flat tires to the Eskimos!"
99 shook her head, looking confused, "Chicken hippo hotel has the big bongo drums!"
"The chicken hippo has bongo hotel chicken drums what?" Max asked, his beady eyes squinting at his partner in confusion. "Now you're just mixing up too many codes, 99! I don't have every code book on me, and you're covering too many categories now"
99 shook her head, and began to look around the kitchen. "Ham and baloney and salami and turkey and chicken and roast duck-"
"Whoawhoawhoa, 99! You can't eat all that! You'll be as fat as Larabee in no time!"
"The ding-dong is in this flapper dingle!" 99 said excitedly, as she pointed at a dented pot of chicken noodle soup.
"I don't know what you're-?"
Exasperated, 99 said, "The twitching bus driver has the post office for breakfast!", even as the injured KAOS restaurant owner yelled from the floor,
"Oh, for gosh sakes, she's trying to tell you that she ate the chicken noodle soup! The same soup Marsha and I served to your other CONTROL agents to scramble their speech centers! We used it to infect your agents with a chemical that scrambles their speech patterns, rendering them completely incoherent!"
Max frowned, "Oh, well, any decent brand of scotch could have done that! So what's the cure?"
"More chicken noodle soup! The ordinary uncontaminated kind."
"Of course! How diabolical!"
"Thank you!" the KAOS owner smiled, gritting his teeth through the pain.
It was the next day when 86 and 99 entered the Chief's office, who gave them an appreciative smile. "How're feeling, 99?"
"Much better, thank you, Chief. It's such a relief to be able to speak proper English! The gibberish I was uttering must have been so confusing to you, Max, even though it made perfect sense to me!"
Max shrugged. "It was nothing, 99. Although you had me going up until you told me about Sinatra and the Eskimos!"
"86, you...you just uttered gibberish!" the Chief noted, his tired face gaining a look of concern for Max.
"I'm okay, Chief! It's the 'chicken hippo playing the drums' that'd sound silly to the 'race car taxicab' driver, huh, 99? "
"Oh, Max, you didn't...?" 99 asked with frustration, thinking Max had sampled the contaminated KAOS soup.
"He has, 99, he has," the Chief sighed, standing up and pulling Max out of his office by the arm. "Let's go down to the medical lab, Max, and get you fixed up!"
"I fine, I tell ya! I'm making perfect sense! I never ate the soup, but I did have to use Carlson's Megan mega-gun-Megan. Mega meega mooga gun? Megan and the gun? Me and gun?"
The Chief let go of Max's arm, and sighed with despair as he watched Max try to get the gun's name correct.
"He really didn't eat the soup, Chief," 99 ascertained, with a sad smile. "That really is Max's mind in proper working order!"
"...Mega-mechnical goober gun? Megan Flaggen...?"
"Yes, yes, it is, 99...Unfortunately!"
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