Manfredi and Johnson.
Chapter 1 – Mexico.
…
Over the busy marketplace in a small town in Mexico, walked two strange short figures, hidden under huge sombreros. The people, who were too busy with selling and buying, didn't see them. And that was lucky for these two figures, because things would've gone horribly wrong if the humans suddenly saw two penguins in Mexico.
Johnson kept a keen eye on the humans. If anyone saw them, everything would be spoiled.
His emerald green eye was the only thing that could be seen in the shadow of his sombrero.
Manfredi was much more careless, and looked around happily, uncaring that his sombrero did not hide his face enough.
"Oh, look Johnson!" the younger penguins suddenly said. "They sell taco's over there. Can I have one?"
"No!" Johnson said. "were here on a mission, not as tourist."
Manfredi looked at Johnson with shock in his eyes. "But Johnson," he said. "we can't go to Mexico and not eat Mexican food!"
"You said the same about these stupid hats!" Johnson snarled.
"They do come in handy as camouflage." Manfredi said, shrugging. "And they're called sombreros, by the way."
"I don't care." Johnson said. "You're not getting a taco, and that's final."
"Please, Johnson," Manfredi said, looking at Johnson with huge, begging blue eyes.
Johnson rolled his eye. "Fine," he said. "You have five minutes."
Manfredi clapped his flippers enthusiastically and ran away to the tacos.
"Why do I still work with this idiot?" Johnson growled to himself.
He knew he was lying to himself with that. He loved Manfredi like he was his little brother. And he wouldn't want to miss his cheerful, naïve companion for the world.
Suddenly the penguin felt a paw on his shoulder and he quickly turned around, to see a female skunk with a red van standing next to him.
"Hola, siñor." She said with a heavy Mexican accent. "Can I help you with something?"
"No." Johnson, crossing his flippers over his chest.
"Are you sure?" the skunk said.
"Quite sure, miss." Johnson said, slightly annoyed.
"You look like you are looking for something," the skunk said.
"I don't need any help, miss," Johnson said, now very annoyed. "I'm just waiting here for my companion, and I'd like to be left alone."
"I am certain I can help you with something, siñor." the skunk insisted.
Johnson rolled his eye. She really was a tacky one.
"Maybe you are looking for a certain someone?" the skunk asked.
Johnson's annoyed face softened a little.
"Now you that you mention it," he said. "I'm looking for this fellow here."
He took a picture from under his sombrero. It was the only picture he could find of the next victim of O'Hara. He did not know his name. He only knew it was a shabby but young tabby cat with yellow eyes.
The skunk looked at the picture for a few moments. Then she nodded.
"I know him, siñor penguin," she said. "He's Antonio. He plays guitar in the pub called Siete Ratòn. It is right over there, at the end of this road."
Johnson hid the picture under his hat again. "Thank you, miss." He said.
"Anytime, siñor one-eyed penguin." The skunk said with a big smile.
Johnson turned his back to her, and shouted: "Manfredi! Come here!"
Manfredi appeared quite quickly, with half a taco in his flipper.
"What is it, Johnson?" he said with his beak full.
"We're going." Johnson just said snappy.
When they turned to walk to the pub at the end of the road, Johnson noticed that the female skunk had disappeared.
There were quite a lot of animals in the pub, but there wasn't much noise. Most animals were silently playing games like poker, or listening to the soft guitar music.
"What do we do now, Johnson?" Manfredi asked.
"Ssh!" Johnson said. "not so loud. We're supposed to blend in. Follow me and don't say or touch anything. Just act like you feel at home here."
"Okay, Johnson," Manfredi said.
He followed his companion through the half-darkened room. Nobody really paid attention to the two penguins. They just continued minding their own business.
Johnson stopped at the bar.
"What will it ne, Siñor?" the barkeeper asked.
"One tequila, amigo." Johnson said. He looked over his shoulder at Manfredi. "And a lemonade for my young friend here." He added.
The barkeeper turned around and got them the drinks. When he put a glass of simple tequila in front of Johnson, the one-eyed penguins casually asked: "Is that singer Antonio going to play anything today?"
"Why do you ask?" the barkeeper asked. "Do you know him?"
"I've heard of him," Jahnson said.
"Well, don't expect anything great from that guy," the barkeeper said. "he's a lousy musician. He never gets much glory for his songs. This is the only place where he's allowed to play. He's banned from all other pubs and music halls because of his lousy music."
"I bet he doesn't have much cash then, does he?" Johnson said.
"Not at all," the barkeeper said. "I let him work here out of pity, mostly. He's a nice fellow, and to see him eating from a garbage can just breaks my heart, amigo."
"Another of those irresponsible types," Johnson muttered to himself. "it always happens to them, doesn't it?"
"I'm sorry, amigo?" the barkeeper asked.
Johnson shook his head. "Nothing," he said. He put some money on the bar.
"Thank you, siñor," the barkeeper said. "ah, look. That there is Antonio."
He pointed at the stage, and Johnson's eye followed the direction of the finger. The shabby cat from the picture appeared in the stage. He had a guitar in his paw. He seemed uncertain.
Antonio nervously sat down, cleared his throat a few times and started playing. He was so nervous that he kept making mistakes, and his voice was trebling when he sang.
Not that the audience cared. They were still minding their own business.
"That poor man," Manfredi said. "life must be very hard for him."
"No time for pity, Manfredi," Johnson snarled. "we need to look for O'Hara now."
"But how do we recognise him?" Manfredi asked.
"I'll take care of that," Johnson said. He leaned against the bar, drank his tequila and listened to Antonio's lousy music. He looked completely natural, as if he belonged there. But Manfredi could see his green eye spying across the room, looking for anything suspicious.
"Have you seen him already?" Manfredi asked. He felt a little nervous.
"Sssh!" Johnson hissed at him.
"Sorry, Johnson," Manfredi whispered.
And then is happened. Antonio's song was finished, and he left the stage. And at the moment that he left, a dark figure stood up from his table. He wore a had that made a dark shadow on his face. In the dim light, Johnson could see something that looked like a knife.
"Code red," he said to Manfredi.
At the same time, the penguins took off their hats and grabbed the weapons that they had hidden in them.
Everybody looked at them. The dark figure knew his cover had been blown. He ran towards the stage as fast as he could. Johnson, with a gun in his flipper, followed him. Manfredi, who's weapon was just a baseball bat since he couldn't shoot a gun, followed. But he wasn't so certain of himself as Johnson.
The figure disappeared behind the curtains. They heard Antonio scream.
"Oh no you don't!" Johnson snarled. He pulled the curtain from the ceiling, to see the dark figure holding his knife on Antonio's throat.
"Let him go or I'll shoot," Johnson said. "and I won't miss, trust me."
"Shoot, and I will kill this cat," the figure said.
Johnson's eye widened in surprise. "You… you're not O'Hara," he said.
The penguin in front of him took off his hat and cloak. He was much bigger than O'Hara, Johnson noticed now. He had a scar on the top of his head, as if someone had broke his skull once. He was most certainly not O'Hara.
"I am Otto," he said. "O'Hara is my master."
"So, he has new henchmen, is it?" Johnson said.
"No new henchmen," Otto said. "Just some survivors of the war."
"There were no survivors," Johnson said. "just me and Manfredi. And O'Hara."
"You're wrong," Otto said. "True, I was almost dead. But I got better. But now we have a different matter to attend to." He turned his attention back to Antonio. "You owe my master a lot of money, cat." He said to the singer. "And you know what happens when you don't pay."
Antonio started blabbering in Spanish. He sounded terrified.
"Johnson, do something!" Manfredi said. He felt pity for the cat.
Johnson pointed his gun at Otto and shot.
Too late. There was a flash of light, reflected from Otto's knife. There was a scream, and next Antonio fell on the ground. He was dead.
Manfredi gasped. Then he looked at Otto.
Johnson's bullet had hit him in the shoulder. But he seemed strong enough to grab his hat and cloak and run away. Johnson threw his gun away and followed the penguin.
Manfredi kneeled next to Antonio.
"Poor guy," he said. "he must have been very scared."
"That's the life," one of the men in the pub said.
Johnson returned, panting and sweaty from the running.
"I lost him," he growled. "for a wounded guy he runs fast."
"Oh, Johnson," Manfredi said. "it wasn't your fault, you know. Your flippers were tight."
Johnson cleared his throat.
"We have to leave, Manfredi," he said. "we have nothing to do here anymore."
Manfredi stood up. "Okay, Johnson."
"We'll find a place to sleep for the night," Johnson said as they left the pub. "tomorrow we take the plane to Alaska."
"Yes, Johnson," Manfredi said.
Suddenly, Johnson felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Do you need a place to sleep, Siñor?" a voice said.
Johnson turned around and saw the female skunk that he met earlier that day.
"Oh, look who it is," he said, not exactly pleased to see her.
"I know an empty house where you could spend the night," the skunk said. "all the hotels are full. Shall I take you and your friend there?"
Johnson and Manfredi gave each other a look.
"Alright then," Johnson said. But he thought to himself that he would keep an eye on this skunk. She wasn't what she appeared to be."