Author's note: There is more action later in this chapter, but I included a scene between Scrooge and Launchpad here for two purposes. One was to have Scrooge meet Drake, and the other was to incorporate the show "Quackpack" into the "Ducktales" and "Darkwing Duck" time continuum. This means the nephews are older than Gosalyn, and as such, will not be making an appearance.
An hour later, Fenton straightened from sweeping up the glass and separating every grain of value from the shards. Dumping the glass in a bucket and placing the last speck of gold dust in a box containing all the displaced samples, Fenton turned and found his employer chatting with the curator at the opposite end of the room. Handing over the dustpan to the janitor, he moved to a polite distance and waited for Scrooge to finish his business.
"Ah, good evening, Sir. Here is your diamond." The curator handed over the black jewelry box. Scrooge accepted it and followed him to the Canard Diamond display case, watching him place the duck jewel on its stand.
"So, which one turned out to be bigger? My diamond or that one?" Scrooge asked.
"Yours, actually."
"Hee hee. That's more like it. I'll be sure to give it a place of honor in my exhibit."
"Of course, it is more common than the Canard Diamond…" the curator sniffed.
"Common! There's nothing common about where I found it!"
"Granted. But it lacks total clarity and the cut is less than perfect. I've seen better facets on costume jewelry."
"Clarity! Are you sure, man? Maybe your eyeglass is dirty!" Scrooge's tone said he was quite certain the curator was wrong.
"I assure you, Sir, my equipment is in pristine shape. You can see for yourself if you hold it against a black backdrop. There's a faint cloud in the center of the stone. Don't be too disappointed, Mr. McDuck. You could of course have the flaw cut out. It would make a splendid set of matched earrings…"
"Thanks, but I think I'll keep it as it is for a souvenir." Scrooge shook his hand, tipping his hat as he turned toward Fenton. The pleasant smile he reserved for customers faded into a scowl as he turned around.
"Well?" Scrooge asked Fenton irritably.
"Everything's accounted for, Mr. McDuck," Fenton replied. "The museum can reopen the exhibit once the display cases are replaced. And I've already checked your section, Sir. All there!"
"Good." Scrooge arched an eyebrow thoughtfully. "I don't suppose Giz'maduck saw anything unusual tonight either?"
"Aside from the incident, nothing. I was hanging out with Launchpad."
"Awk! I almost forgot! I was goin' to say hello after ma speech! I don't suppose he's hanging around the buffet still?"
"He headed home with his friends. I was planning on spending the night with them, but if you need me, I'll get a room at a hotel." Fenton offered, hoping that his boss would not choose the latter. Downtown St. Canard was not exactly on the cheap spectrum as far as hotels went. As he'd hoped, Scrooge was weighing the benefits of a free room versus hotel fare.
"Hmm. I was thinking of canceling my reservation at the "Drake." Do ya think Launchpad has room to spare for another visitor?"
"Uh, that's kind of a delicate subject, Mr. McDuck." Fenton sweated. "While I'm sure Launchpad would love to have you over for a visit, he doesn't own the house."
"Well who does?"
"His friend, Drake Mallard. And, well, Drake is a different sort of guy from Launchpad."
"Oh? How so?"
Fenton scuffed his toes on the coarse carpet.
"Well, he doesn't like me, for starters…" he admitted reluctantly.
Scrooge's response was brutally honest. "Who could blame him? I dinna like you at first!"
Fenton recoiled, but that revelation was nothing new to him, so he chose to ignore it.
"Plus Launchpad normally works nights…"
"A night job?" Scrooge exclaimed. "Why would Launchpad do that?"
"He pilots for Darkwing Duck, remember?"
"Why of all the... Ah. Now I remember. He told me so himself last year. So much happened, then, I had forgotten... I wonder, where does he land the plane...?"
Fenton saw Scrooge shake his head in remembrance, probably thinking of the many crashes he'd survived with the pilot and the damages he'd had to pay for over the years. Scrooge stared into the distance, tapping his cane thoughtfully on the linoleum, lost in the memory. Fenton could sympathize. They had both been part of a huge event last year, along with most of St. Canard's guardians. Being locked up in a semi by the most dangerous criminals in the world, reuniting with old friends, making new ones, and struggling to reclaim the city... Scrooge smiled, breaking Fenton's reverie.
"Ah, too bad Darkwing had to mess up in front of everyone tonight, of all nights. I can understand why the city has a poor opinion of him if he costs the people money every time he makes a mistake."
"Yeah," Fenton agreed. "Still, I can sympathize. It's hard work being a superhero, but it's even harder to keep people happy. Personally, I don't blame Darkwing for jumping to conclusions tonight. If I hadn't known better, I might have done the same thing myself."
"Aye," Scrooge said crossly. "And I'd be footing the bill for damages to half the museum. The suit isn't made to work in close quarters like this..." Gesturing with his hands at the narrow aisles weaving around free-standing displays and glass walls, his eyes landed on the Canard Diamond again. He stared at it pensively, until he noticed Fenton watching him.
He pressed Fenton for more information on Darkwing. "Just where do ya suppose the man came from? I dinna notice anyone present that mighta been him. Aside from Launchpad an' the wee lass, I'd have thought it a coincidence. Do ya think he was one of the guests?"
"It's a possibility, Sir. Gizmoduck probably isn't the only person with a secret identity."
"Aye." Scrooge straightened his hat and marched out of the room. "Come along, Fenton. It's been a long, disappointing day. Maybe I could get Launchpad to fly me home on his way out tonight..."
Later, at the Mallard residence…
Scrooge and Launchpad were catching up in the living room, with Fenton listening politely and Gosalyn chomping at the bit with questions. As it was a little after seven, Gosalyn was eager to milk every minute she could, hoping she could delay bedtime. Eight o'clock was way too early for weekends, especially for a ten year old.
Gosalyn was thrilled to have the richest duck in the world in her home and once she got a chance, she peppered him with questions. One of her first was "Do you like kids" and her last was "Would you be interested in a car wash? All the proceeds go to the St. Canard Elementary Hockey team for travel and equipment expenses..."
Scrooge took her seriously, unlike most adults, and he seemed to like talking with her. He politely answered her when he could get a word in edgewise, and commented on how she reminded him of his nephews. Then his expression got melancholy and he slouched into the cushions.
Fenton sensed that Scrooge wanted some quiet time, so he asked Gosalyn to show him her hero scrapbook. She offered to bring it down to share with all of the guys, but Fenton tactfully herded her to her room with the reminder that Scrooge wouldn't like to be reminded of Darkwing Duck so soon after the gala. Gosalyn sobered and agreed, although she reminded Fenton her scrapbook had news clippings of Gizmoduck, too. Fenton was more than happy to share the memories with her, especially the articles on Gizmoduck.
While the duck and girl were safely occupied, Launchpad and Scrooge sat in momentary silence, Launchpad in one of the blue chairs, Scrooge on the couch. Although Launchpad could make make light of any awkward social moment, he had spent too much time with Darkwing not to notice when someone was depressed.
"Anything I can help ya with, Mister McDee?" he asked gently.
"Sigh. Nothin' much. I'm just a tad lonely nowadays." Scrooge leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, holding his head.
"Awww," Launchpad smiled. "If I'd a known you missed me that much, I would have flown by and picked you up at home! Just like old times, heh heh heh."
"Flown...?" Scrooge looked up. "Ah, yes I'd almost forgotten. Could you fly me home tonight, Launchpad? I don't feel much like staying at a hotel."
"Sure thing, Mr. McDee. I'll fly ya back in no time! Just…ah, let me call Darkwing first. He'll want ta know what I'm doin' with his plane."
Scrooge looked puzzled by this. "But I thought you owned your own hanger."
"I did. Still do. Two, as a matter of fact. I'm looking after my sister's hangar too. But I know you want to get to Duckburg before the kiddies go to bed, so we'll need something fast. And there ain't nothing faster than the ol' Thunder Quack. Except military jets and all that..."
Scrooge sighed heavily at the mention of the kids and slouched further. "They're not stayin' with me anymore."
Launchpad broke off to stare blankly at his former employer. "Who?"
"The boys. They moved back in with their uncle Donald a while back."
Launchpad was flabbergasted for the moment. "But I thought they'd always be there..."
"I was just a temporary guardian, Lad. Never meant to be more. And Donald was discharged from the Navy with a comfortable pay check and a job in Mousetown. I believe Daisy is living with him, too. Makes a nice family environment for the boys. Huey, Dewey, and Louie are starting high school next year..."
"High school! Whoa! How did they grow up so fast? Why, I remember the first time I met them! Say, does that mean Mrs. Beakley and Webbigal...?"
"Aye, Lad. Though I see them most every weekend still. Webby's going to school in another town and Mrs. Beakley is working as a substitute teacher there. From what ah've seen, they're both quite happy. I'm just privileged they stayed with me as long as they did, since the boys dinna need them this last year or so. Awk, I miss them all. Especially Mrs. Beakley's cooking..."
"Gee, I'm real sorry, Mr. McDee. I wish I'd known sooner. Just say the word and I'll be over there visiting you any time you want. We could fly around the world..."
"No thanks, Lad. I appreciate the offer, but I've seen enough of the world already. And I dinna mean to make you feel sorry for me, either. It's just, seeing you again, and being 'round that little girl reminded me of how it used to be..."
"Say, what about Bubba and Tootsie? I thought they'd stay with you forever! And how's Doofus? Isn't he coming over anymore?"
"Bubba and Tootsie are living with their own kind now. Tootsie was fine when she was a baby, but now she's full grown, and a Triceratops that big needs plenty of foraging room. As much as Bubba wanted to be near me, he agreed that Tootsie would be better off in their own land and he stayed with her. The kids all said their goodbyes and parted ways... I was going to hire you to fly us then, but all I got was your answering machine..." Scrooge raised his brow. Launchpad shrugged. "I still see Doofus now and then, but he primarily hangs out with Gyro. And he's changing too. His voice is deeper, he's taller, and, believe it or not, he's gotten thinner too!"
"No way! Doofus, thin?" Launchpad rubbed his eyes, trying to picture the chubby duckling as an adolescent. The image evaded him.
"Aye. It seems Fenton, Gyro, Duckworth, and I are the only ones not doing any changing. Why, even you have changed over the years, Launchpad. You've gotten stronger. And more confident, too. It's like you've matured some..."
Launchpad blushed and chuckled.
"Gee, thanks, Mr. McDee. I guess hanging around Drake, Gosalyn, and Darkwing did all that. Being with them is hard work. Kind of like leading the Junior Woodchucks on a camping trip, flying across the ocean, and being a spy for the DIA* all at once! But I wouldn't change it for the world. They're my family, just as you and the kids are."
(*Author's Note: This references the DT episode "Double O'Duck," where Launchpad played a spy for the Duckburg Intelligence Agency.)
Scrooge smiled weakly. "Thanks, Laddie. I'm verra glad to see you happy, Launchpad. You deserve it, for putting up with me all these years if for nothing else. And I may take you up on that travel offer someday.
"For now, I'm content to just settle back into me ol' routine. Swimming in me money, taking a brisk stroll every morning, consulting me businesses, managing finances, coordinating fundraisers, counting me money, and talking to relatives. Though I was sad to see the boys go, they visit me often enough and I go to all their sporting events and fundraisers. And I've been in touch with my nephew Gladstone Gander, and my dear Goldie. She finally got a phone and has been calling me every night afore bed. I may be able to talk her into coming to Duckburg someday, and then, who knows what will happen?"
The lights started flashing suddenly. Launchpad bolted out of his chair. Scrooge stared until Launchpad seized his wrist and hauled him off the couch.
"Launchpad! What are ya doing?"
"Sorry Mr. McDee, but we...uh, you see that was the...burglar alarm! Yeah! And we need to get away from the windows..." Launchpad dragged Scrooge into the kitchen, out of sight of the living room.
"Burglar alarm?" Scrooge sputtered, craning his head under the pilot's arm. "Windows? There's windows in here, ya dunderhead! Now what's going on and what are you hiding? I can smell a lie a mile away!"
Before Launchpad could make things worse, they heard the slight hum from the spinning chairs. Moments later, Drake peeked into the kitchen.
"Launchpad? What..." Drake caught sight of Scrooge staring back at him and went momentarily slack-jawed. Catching himself, he held out his hand. "Mr. McDuck, what a pleasant surprise. I didn't expect to find you here..." he raised a meaningful eyebrow at his sidekick as the duck hesitantly shook his hand.
"Have we met?" Scrooge asked, his own eyebrow arched as he studied the large-billed mallard through his glasses.
"Huh? Oh, not exactly. I was at the gala tonight, but we didn't have opportunity to exchange greetings," Drake said.
"Yes, I remember you now. I never forget a face... You were standing with Launchpad and the wee lass, whom ah've already met..."
Drake smiled. "I apologize for anything my daughter might have said or done that offended you. She tends to get carried away..."
"Nonsense!" Scrooge retorted, puffing out his chest indignantly. "She did me a favor! She made me feel young again, listening to her spirited chatter... Reminded me of me own dear nephews..."
Tactfully intervening before Scrooge could wander too far down memory lane, Launchpad officially introduced his best friend to his old employer. Drake offered Scrooge a seat in the living room again and Scrooge stiffened.
"What about the "burglar" alarm? The lights were flashing a moment ago..." he asked warily.
Drake smiled sheepishly. "Sorry about that. I'm afraid I set it off by using the wrong key in the front door."
Although that was a good reply, Scrooge was still suspicious.
"Why rig the lights to flash just in that room? What good does that do ya at night?"
Unfazed, Drake smiled again and explained.
"It's not actually a burglar alarm so much as an alert for my daughter when somebody's at the door. Sometimes, when she's got her music cranked up, she doesn't hear the doorbell. The lights catch her attention even when she's napping on the couch."
Although the real reason for the alert was to give anybody sitting in the chairs a chance to move out of the way, Drake's explanation was truthful and Scrooge could find little flaw in the reasoning. Having had six teenagers running amok in his mansion, Scrooge well understood the use of a visual aid.
"So, what other measures have ya takin'? I'll bet you've picked up a thing or two from Darkwing Duck, bein' with his sidekick and all…" he stated matter-of-factly.
Drake blanched. "Duh DDDarkwing? Why would I have anything to do with him?"
Scrooge narrowed his eyes. "Because you're living with his two biggest fans! Surely you two have something besides that in common!"
"Heh heh," Drake tugged on his collar nervously. "Never met him."
"Really? How did you meet Launchpad, then?"
"I..." Drake glanced at the pilot, who shrugged in reply. "I crashed into his hangar."
"How on earth did ya do that?" Scrooge was still piqued.
"Well, I…" Drake fumbled.
"He fell out of a plane straight through the roof!" Launchpad supplied. It was the truth, even if it omitted a few details.
"And ended up hitching a ride back with him…" Drake supplemented. "Although at the time I would have preferred a taxi…"
Scrooge grinned. "Aye. It would have been safer…" Seeing Launchpad's feelings hurt, Scrooge amended his comment. "Safer taking a ride home versus going back in the plane you fell out of in the first place. I would have fired that pilot in a heartbeat!"
Drake chuckled nervously. "Yeah. Well, Launchpad got me back in one piece and we struck a chord. And both of us adore Gosalyn. So, he helps me out with babysitting during my work hours, and I provide room and board."
"Yep. And a bowling partner…" Launchpad added.
"Is that where you work?" Scrooge asked Drake. Drake fumbled for a moment.
"Um, no. It's what we do when Gos is spending the night at a friend's. I'm... More of a freelance writer…"
"Indeed. Seems to be paying the bills if you can afford to rig your electricity like that…" Scrooge pointed his cane at the lamp next to the couch.
"Well, I'm also sort of a neighborhood handyman and general electrician…"
"Electrician…" Scrooge stroked his bill thoughtfully. "How are you with security alarms…?"
"Heh heh. One of the best around," Launchpad bragged happily. Drake eyed him, warning him not to go too far, and cleared his throat.
"I can work my way around most circuit boxes, but I'm not a professional, if that's what you're asking…" Drake tried to steer the conversation away from his talents. The last thing he needed was for Scrooge to put the pieces together and figure out his identity. Scrooge had other ideas.
"I'm not asking. I'm requesting. I have Giz'maduck on patrol most days, but mah money is still vulnerable. I've hired the best electricians, inventors, and security technicians around, but the Beagle Boys and Magica DeSpell still find ways around my locks and traps. What I need is a fresh pair of eyes and ingenuity. Something nobody in their right minds would think up, but simple enough that it doesn't raise my power bills…"
"Sounds like you need a superhero, Mr. McDee…" Launchpad said, with a sideways glance to gauge Drake's reaction. Drake's fingers inched toward his scarf, but Scrooge was mulling over his words.
"What a brilliant idea, Launchpad!"
"Come again?" the pilot blinked. Drake's jaw dropped.
"That's exactly the kind of ingenuity I need! Heh heh! Why, with the right persuasion, I might not even need to pay him!" Scrooge was seeing dollar signs from the possibilities. "Launchpad. Call Darkwing and have him meet me at me money bin tomorrow morning at 8:30. Or, come to think of, make that at night. Let him get the feel of it. If he's as clever as I think, he'll make me money bin foolproof, without locking me out of it! And he'll be able to make it up to me for spoiling tonight's dinner."
Drake's expressions flashed between annoyance, pride, and, at the last remark, embarrassment.
Scrooge yawned and stretched. "Ahh. I think I'll take me room at the "Drake" after all. I suppose I'll get Fenton to drive me there..."
"No sweat, Mr. McDee. I'll drive ya..." Launchpad fished the key for the station wagon out of his pocket. Drake scowled, but Scrooge beamed.
"Why thank you, Launchpad." Scrooge doffed his top hat with a flourish at Drake. "It was nice meeting you... Mallard, wasn't it? Drake Mallard?"
"Huh? Oh, yes, that's me. Um, nice meeting you too, Mr. McDuck. Always good to see one of Launchpad's friends..." Drake followed them to the garage, watching to make sure Launchpad didn't break one of the side view mirrors while backing out. Once they were safely down the road, he sullenly paced the kitchen.
"Who does he think he is, ordering me around in my own home! So what if he has a few bajillion dollars to his name? I'm not a lap dog! I'm Darkwing Du..."
Drake froze with his hand poised in the air as he heard footsteps descending the stair case. He peeked around the corner and startled Fenton.
"Ah! Oh, hiya Drake! Just get back from somewhere? I didn't see you after the party..."
"Um, something disagreed with me," Drake fumbled, holding his stomach. "I went out to restock the medicine cabinet."
"Sorry I asked..." Fenton mumbled to himself. To Drake he said, "Well glad you're feeling better, Buddy. So, did Mr. McDuck talk Launchpad into flying him or is he staying at a hotel?"
"They just left for the hotel. McDuck changed his mind a moment ago," Drake said dismissively.
Fenton yawned. "Well, it's been quite a day. I think I'm ready to head up. G'Night, Drake."
Drake smiled lightly and replied likewise.
Fenton had just set foot on the landing when a phone started ringing. Both looked at each other and around the room, but it wasn't the house line. Gosalyn called over the stair rail.
"Mr. Crackshell, your briefcase is ringing!"
"Briefcase?" Drake arched an eyebrow. "Why would your cell phone be in there?"
Fenton hurried up the stairs, sweat gleaming on his brow. "That's my emergency number. In case Ma'ma needs to get a hold of me..." he called over his shoulder as he rushed into his room, slamming the door behind him.
"Again... Why would it be in a briefcase...?" Drake asked no one in particular.
Gosalyn heard him and shrugged.
Drake glanced at his watch. "Well, it's after eight. You know what that means...," he raised a brow at Gosalyn.
She pointed to her pajamas to show she was already prepared. Drake smiled appreciatively, glad he wasn't going to have to chase her to bed tonight. He went up to tuck her in, overhearing a few words from the guest room down at the end of the hall behind the last door.
"You've got to be kidding!" Fenton practically shouted. "Alright, I'm on my way."
Fenton peeked in at Gosalyn and Drake a few seconds later.
"Sorry. Gotta run! Don't know when I'll be back. Night, Gos. Thanks for everything, Drakeroonie!"
With that he was gone, stumbling down the stairs with his luggage bumping along behind him. Drake and Gosalyn stared after him until they heard the front door slam. Drake grimaced at the noise.
"Wonder what that was all about?" Gosalyn said curiously.
"I don't know and I don't care," Drake said. "As long as he's out of my feathers. Imagine, inviting someone like Scrooge McDuck into my house without asking permission, or giving a heads up. The nerve of some people..."
"Actually, it was a quite a compliment to us..." Gosalyn piped, obediently pulling up the covers when Drake stared at her. "He brought the richest duck in the world to our house without doing a security sweep or anything like that. He trusted us. And Mr. McDuck was cool. We got along swell."
"You're right. It was an honor, even if it was a bit of a surprise. And Launchpad got him out of the living room in time for me to arrive. Although, if I had been a little less tired from our exceptionally loong day, I would have checked home surveillance before barging in like that."
Momentarily forgetting that her dad's day was continuing on the tail of last night, and thinking of tonight's fiasco, Gosalyn smirked at him.
"Yeah. Busting a fake robbery. Real tiring."
Drake smiled back with forced patience.
"Thanks, Ms. Optimism. Good night, Dear." he smooched her forehead and hugged her. She returned the hug.
"Night, Dad. Love you."
"Love you too, Kiddo. Sleep tight."
Drake closed the door partially, as he always did. He was very tempted to go straight to bed, but he knew rest would evade him as long as his mind was running full steam. And, between his observations of Fenton and his concerns over Negaduck, he had plenty to occupy him. He went to his concealed office behind the living room wall and ran a few searches on his computer. He frowned at the results and filed the info. away for future pondering.
While he was sitting there, an alert from the tower crime monitor and police scanner popped up on screen and he sighed. It was almost ten but there had already been another jewelry store theft. He thought about letting the police handle it, but remembering last night's encounter with Negaduck, he chose not to chance fate. The police were helpless against the master criminal and Darkwing still had to figure out what his dubious doppelgänger was up to.
Running upstairs to grab a spare costume, he noticed Gosalyn peeking out of her room. He told her he was going out, and to call Morgana or the Muddlefoots if she needed anything. He also reiterated the importance of going to school on time, forgetting tomorrow was Saturday and traditionally his day off with Gosalyn. She asked to go along, as usual, and he refused.
Darkwing Duck was off in no time, parking the rebuilt Hoverquack in front of the jewelry store. The police were already there.
"Good evening, Officers. What seems to be the problem here?" Darkwing said haughtily, as though he already knew the answers and had asked merely out of amusement.
The detective in charge scowled. "Just the average break in. Hardly a matter of interest to you, Darkwing."
"I'll be the judge of that, Detective. For example, I detect the faint essence of an expensive cologne. Similar to English Feather." Darkwing cruised the counters with his magnifying glass in hand, back stooped so that his beak was mere inches above the carpet.
The canine detective was unimpressed. "So? Lots of people come here every day, and the store owner wears that stuff."
"Not this particular cologne." Darkwing sniffed and followed the faint cloud to its highest concentration over the ravaged wedding band display. He inhaled slowly, sifting through the scents as carefully as a hound and smirked. How he loved showing off.
"You see, Gentlemen, while the average nouveau riche show off their accoutrements and ample accounts with expensive, imported Eau de Toilette, the true tycoon seeks to develop his own signature scent. This particular fragrance has a hint of a plant I recognize (from my extensive travels abroad) as wild mountain thyme. My keen nostrils also detect strong hints of wool, pipe smoke, and whiskey in the mix. It is too recent to be from a customer, as I see the store closed two hours ago." Darkwing nodded toward the sign in the window. "And I see from the photo on the business card, the owner is of Oilrabia descent. Not someone who would typically be inclined toward a cold weather shrub. And I may be mistaken, but I believe I also detect a hint of woodbine, heather, and feather conditioner. Again, these elements would be of little to no interest to our canine owner... Now, take all these peculiar odors together and what does that tell you?" Darkwing didn't wait for the detective to reply. "The wearer of this cologne is none other than an avian of Scottish descent!"
"Like me?" Scrooge McDuck's voice called from behind him. Darkwing spun around and saw Launchpad and Scrooge standing in the doorway. Gizmoduck was nearby questioning an officer. Darkwing scowled at sight of the superhero. Scrooge ignored him and entered the store.
"What do you make of this, Detective? How much did I lose?" Scrooge pointedly asked the detective in charge.
"You!" Darkwing started, interrupting the officer. "What do you mean you lost? I thought your interests here were vested in McDuck Jewelers..."
In answer, Scrooge pointed his cane at the McDuck insignia on the carpet. Glancing around, Darkwing saw other examples of Scrooge's ownership from a certificate on the wall behind the empty desk, the trademark dollar sign in the name of the store, plus the business cards scattered on the floor. Darkwing tugged on his collar uncomfortably.
The detective smirked and dutifully gave his report to Scrooge. Darkwing tuned them out by turning to Launchpad.
"I thought you were dropping him off!" he hissed, gesturing to Scrooge's back.
"Sorry DW, but Gizmoduck called us just as we were pulling up in front of the hotel. The bossman ordered me to turn around, so I did. So, what did you find out?" Launchpad changed the subject cheerfully, hoping that Darkwing wouldn't stay mad.
Darkwing raised an eyebrow, but obligingly filled him in with his observations. Launchpad praised his keen senses, carefully inflating his ego. Darkwing might have gone on with his tale, but he was distracted by Gizmoduck zipping back and forth across the premises. Unable to ignore the sound of Gizmo's motor buzzing past him every couple of seconds, Darkwing confronted him.
"What do you think you are doing? The racetrack is the next town over!"
"Sorry Darkwing, no time for chitchat," Giz replied as he once again zipped by. "I'm fixing the place up so the manager can open shop tomorrow."
Gizmo's gadgets were busy hammering nails, cutting a new sheet of glass to size for the displays, and vacuuming the floor. Darkwing blew up.
"Have you gone crazy! You're destroying evidence! You can't just mop up a crime scene! The police..." he looked around to see if anyone agreed with him and, to his surprise, found that the police were driving off. Even the crime scene tape had been removed. Darkwing's rage was forgotten in his confusion. "What? Nobody processes a scene that fast! They couldn't have just up and left! It's...it's..."
"Criminal!" Launchpad said.
"Right! It's criminal! And completely unfair! Why do my cases take hours or days to process when..."
"No! I, I mean "criminal!"" Launchpad pointed out the door.
A figure in a black ski mask was peering inside, but the moment Darkwing looked at him, the stranger fled. Darkwing's eyes narrowed.
"Oh no you don't!" Leaping the distance to the door, Darkwing whipped out his gas gun and knelt to steady his aim. "I've been up over forty hours and I am not going to sleep soundly until I've seen at least one scoundrel in the slammer!"
The stranger looked over his shoulder and changed direction just as Darkwing fired. The canister flew harmlessly past the figure, but it bounced off a wall and landed at the person's feet. He started coughing and waving his arms, his voice deep and raspy. He lifted his ski mask just enough to clear his bill.
"I have you now, villain! Surrender, or face the wrath of the Winged Wonder!" Darkwing easily caught up to the black-clad duck with a cartwheel and landed gracefully on his feet a yard away.
The duck tried to flee but Darkwing cut off his escape. The avian held up his fists and Darkwing had to laugh. This guy left so many openings in his stance, it was pointless to engage. Drawing himself up to fold his arms across his chest scornfully, Darkwing looked down his long bill at the stranger.
"If you're looking for a boxing match, go find a ring. I have better things to do than entertain your pitiful notion of self defense."
Instead of exchanging banter with him, the duck lowered his head and charged, bowling into Darkwing's stomach and stomping on both his feet. Darkwing yelped and hopped in place. The attack was nothing like he had expected. The stranger further complicated things by straightening abruptly to head-butt him in the jaw.
Darkwing shook off the ensuing dizziness brought on by the hit and collected himself quickly. Before the trespasser could escape, Darkwing's broad foot connected with the duck's back. The stranger gasped and fell on his face, wheezing from the impact. Darkwing brushed his hands off proudly.
"I love it when they fall like that... Let this be a lesson to you, Stranger! None can match the might of the Masked Mallard!"
The fallen fiend was too busy coughing to reply.
Gizmoduck drove up. Darkwing didn't bother to lift his head up from his triumphant pose.
"Ah, you're just in time, Giz. I don't suppose you've a spare set of handcuffs on you..."
"Plenty," Gizmo opened a compartment to reveal about a dozen manacles on pegs. Bending to bind the duck, he turned to Darkwing. "Did you gas this poor miscreant or do they always cough like this?"
"Eh, eh, eh," Darkwing straightened his jacket. "Lets just say, he's had a small sampling of my expertise."
The duck was still coughing, his gasps rattling in his chest.
"I think this man needs a doctor," Gizmo said with concern, abandoning the handcuffs in favor of propping the duck upright and holding an oxygen mask over the gasping thief's bill.
"He'll be fine," Darkwing said dismissively, although his brow wrinkled with a little concern. Scrooge and Launchpad jogged up.
"Should we call 9-11?" Launchpad asked.
"Ha! Perish the thought! We'll take him to the police for questioning in the ol' Rat..." Darkwing grimaced. "I mean the Hoverquack, and inform them I solved the case they so readily abandoned. This is the thief responsible for the robbery."
"How did you come to that conclusion so quickly?" Scrooge asked warily. "For all we know he was just taking an evening stroll and his beak got cold..." he pointed to the thief's mask.
"Easy," Darkwing said lightly, his tone indicating that he was enjoying himself immensely. "I can place him at the crime scene with this..." Wrapping his hand in his cape to avoid leaving prints, Darkwing drew a screwdriver out of the fiend's pocket. "Observe, this Phillips Head is precisely the same size as the bolts on the door frame, which was the thief's point of entry. And it's also likely this same screwdriver was used to break the glass of the display cases. Plus," Darkwing sniffed delicately in the thief's direction. "This man smells exactly like the cologne and cigar smoke I identified in the store."
"Whoa! I'm impressed!" Launchpad said. "I wish I could smell that good..." He frowned as he imagined what it would be like tracking something by its scent. It would come in handy for finding food, but he was pretty sure he didn't want to smell criminals on the run.
Darkwing bowed to an imaginary applause. "Thank you. Thank you. And now, let us unmask this unworthy underdog and find out what bandit is beneath all that black."
Darkwing approached Gizmo and the suspect. The duck glared at the good guys and jumped to his feet. He grabbed the oxygen mask from Gizmo and twisted the cord around Darkwing, Scrooge, and Launchpad, fleeing as they fell. Gizmo grabbed the fiend with an extended arm.
"Stop! Before I am forced to use force!"
The duck jabbed a pen into the glove, tripping some of the circuits in the gizmo, and took off, disappearing down a dark alley. He coughed a couple more times, each one sounding further away.
Darkwing struggled underneath Launchpad. The cord was too tight for any of the three to slip out of without cutting it. Darkwing saw the thief run and yelled.
"He's getting away! Gizmoduck! Do something!"
"And so I shall!" Gizmo said triumphantly, removing the damaged limb and tucking it into an empty suit compartment to work on later. A satellite dish popped out of his helmet and the computer console lit up with radar. "I've activated my sonar tracking device. No one with a cough that bad will be able to escape my hearing."
"I meant help me out of this mess!" Darkwing growled, trying to get Launchpad's elbow off of his face. Scrooge was likewise squirming and complaining on top of Launchpad, making it impossible for the larger duck to move without hurting one of his friends.
Gizmo easily snipped the thin plastic tube with scissors and helped Scrooge up. Without waiting for Launchpad to move, Darkwing wriggled out from under him, kicked off the rest of the cord, and sprang into the Hoverquack parked nearby.
"Hey DW! Wait up!" Launchpad cried as he grappled with what was left of the cord.
Darkwing ignored him and punched the gas pedal, roaring around a street corner.
Gizmoduck helped Launchpad up. "Sorry, gentlemen, but my fellow hero needs backup, and I intend to help whether he wants it or not," he said courteously to both ducks.
Scrooge dusted off his sleeves. "No apologies needed, Lad. Just bring him and the blighter responsible for all this back in one piece."
Gizmo saluted and sped off.
Scrooge turned to Launchpad. "I suppose you need to be going now, too."
"Nah. DW doesn't need me right now. Besides, the Hoverquack is only built for one person. I'm not sure what he'll do when he catches the crook."
"You really believe that masked duck was the thief like Darkwing said?" Scrooge asked.
"Well, DW always says the amateurs and the master minds like to return to the scene of the crime, so yeah. I believe it." Launchpad leaned closer to confide in Scrooge's ear. "It's the ones who don't that you have to watch out for, 'cause they could pop up anywhere. Anyway, I'll take ya back to your room and catch up with DW later."
Meanwhile, Darkwing was getting ready to tear his feathers out.
Shortly after Darkwing caught up to him, thief left the sidewalk for a parking garage. Darkwing followed him as far as he could, only to find that the duck had jimmied the door and slipped inside an office complex. Darkwing went around to another entrance and lost him.
No amount of backtracking led to further clues. Even the thief's tracks on the sidewalk were of no use. The shoe tread looked like any number of tracks left by passersby. The only other lead Darkwing might have been able to follow was an audio one, but the tell-tale coughing and wheezing had stopped, suggesting the thief had gone into hiding.
Darkwing didn't mind searching for clues, but he hated it when there was nothing to start with. If the thief had had the foresight to leave a set of civilian clothes easily accessible somewhere, and gotten his cough under control, he could walk right under Darkwing's beak and the crime fighter would be none the wiser. Although, Darkwing was pretty sure that smell would give the thief away. It was distinctive enough, he could pick it out in a crowd. Not that he would want to walk around smelling a crowd... Phew! Not everybody was as meticulous and conscientious as the Midnight Mallard. Darkwing winced at the thought of unwashed underarms and halitosis. Yech!
As Darkwing pondered these insignificant things out loud, he continued to impatiently wander the sidewalks with his eye glued to his magnifying glass. Then he became aware of another distinct smell... Ugh! Garbage... And, was that motor oil?
Moments later, he heard the undeniable sound of an approaching headache.
"Gimme a break...!" Darkwing groaned. "Can't you take the night off?" He spun around to face Gizmoduck. The titanium titan held up his hand to ward off the oncoming insults.
"Hold on a sec... My sonar is picking up something coming from this direction..." Gizmoduck veered away from the apartment complex toward the shopping mall.
"Oh yeah?" Darkwing raised his brow sarcastically. "Getting the weather report, perhaps?"
"I got it, I got it! It's him! He went this way!" Gizmo sped down the street.
"Hey, wait a second! I'm the hero in this town!" Darkwing protested. When Gizmo showed no sign of halting, Darkwing hooked onto his suit with his grappling iron and reeled himself onto the shoulder bars. "Let me make myself perfectly clear! I don't need your help, but if you're going to continue getting in the way, you will do as I say or else go home! Do you understand!"
"Of course, Darkwing. I was going to suggest... Uh, something along those lines..." Gizmo stammered before using his hero voice and straightening. "Stick with me, Wingy, and villains everywhere will quake in horror!"
"Or laughter..." Darkwing muttered softly to himself. He still didn't see Gizmoduck as the hero type. Just an ordinary Joe, with no extraordinary intelligence or skill set, wearing a robot suit. And, although Darkwing didn't have much to go on besides a few similarities and coincidences, he had some suspicions about who his rival/fellow patriot was beneath the armor.
Gizmo screeched to a halt in the mall parking lot, sending Darkwing catapulting over his head.
"Thanks for the warning, Giz..." Darkwing growled sarcastically as he peeled his beak off the pavement. Gizmo held his hand up in a silencing gesture. His antenna stopped rotating and focused in one direction.
"I think he's in here..." Gizmoduck whispered, pointing to the back entrance of the video arcade.
"Ooh, you think?" Darkwing hissed back at him. "It's the only door open!"
Darkwing zipped to the wall and pressed his back to it, his gun in hand, every sense on high alert. He could just hear a hint of coughing further in. His hand brushed the door aside, but as he sorted through potential tag lines for his speech, his concentration was rudely interrupted. Gizmoduck, also preparing to barge in and announce himself, had driven right over Darkwing's foot. Darkwing stared down at it for a moment.
"I hate it when that happens..." he groaned. Yanking his imprisoned limb out from under the tire, Darkwing hopped up and down, yelping.
"Whoopsies..." Gizmo grinned nervously.
The commotion alerted the thief to their presence. He flew outside, slamming the door in Darkwing's face. Darkwing forgot about his hurt foot as he dizzily straightened his beak. Gizmo helped steady him. Darkwing shook off the disorientation and the pain, glaring up at the well-meaning hero.
"Don't just stand there! Go after him!" he snapped.
Gizmo saluted hurriedly and zoomed after the fleeing figure.
Darkwing stared after him. "Great. There goes my ride." He looked around.
Being around elven pm, the parking lot was deserted except for two cars: mall security and a custodian. Darkwing considered, briefly, highjacking a vehicle, but shoved the thought aside. Just because he went after law-breakers on a daily basis didn't mean he was free to steal.
His gaze shifted up to the skyline and he smirked. "Well, I'm not known as the "terror that flaps" without cause..."
With his grappling hook's help, he reached the rooftop and swung, Tarzan-style, to the next building. In this mode of transportation, he was able to pinpoint Gizmoduck's location. He also caught sight of the thief, who was using a stolen Segway to keep ahead of the hero.
Darkwing passed both ducks and waited until the Segway was under him before pouncing. His timing was perfect. He slammed on top of the thief's shoulders and rolled them both off the scooter. Gizmo pulled up in time to witness the aerial maneuver.
"Well done, Darkwing. I'll take it from here," he said, clamping handcuffs on the thief's wrists.
"Oh no you don't! I caught him, I'll deliver him to the police!" Darkwing bristled, seizing the thief's sweater and ignoring the duck's struggles to get free.
"I was just trying to help..." Gizmo backed away from both the criminal and the angry crime fighter.
"Yeah, you were real helpful," Darkwing pointed to the tread marks on his right foot from Gizmo's tire. "Just go away! I don't ever want to see you again!"
"Now, Wingy, I admit I was a tad too hasty in my entry, there's no need to overreact to such trivial matters..."
"Overreacting! I am NOT overreacting! I have been on the job since noon two days ago! In that time I've been humiliated, ignored, underestimated, punched, stomped on, and run over in pursuit of amateurs like him!" Darkwing pointed at the duck he had been holding, but stopped and stared.
All he had in his hand was a black sweater. The thief was gone, manacles and all.
"How the...? What is this? Did I cross a black cat or something? The past couple of nights have all ended like this so far!" Darkwing tugged hard on his hat brim, itching to tear something apart in his frustration.
Gizmo didn't help matters with his calm tone. "Don't worry, Wingy. You get some rest while I will track down that conniving canard. And just to make sure you get the glory you deserve I'll inform the police of your part in the thief's capture."
Darkwing threw down his hat. Who did this tin turkey think he was dealing with? Gizmo would get all the credit when Darkwing had done all the sleuthing and taken the hits. And Darkwing would get blamed for something inconsequential, like reckless driving or hitting the culprit too hard. It wasn't fair!
"That's it! I've had it! Just go home or back to your hotel or wherever it is you came from! I'll handle the bad guys!" Darkwing yelled, already walking away.
"But Darkwing, don't you...?" Gizmo started but Darkwing cut him off.
"I'm not interested!"
With a swirl of his cape and a puff of smoke, Darkwing ended the discussion. He was going to catch that thief if it was the last thing he did. And he wasn't going to share with some overdressed glory hound who couldn't even scope out a place without messing up. Within a few minutes, Darkwing was racing across the city in the Hoverquack.
Gizmo coughed until he remembered his suit's functions and activated his fan to blow the rest of the smoke away. He looked around and sighed.
No sign of Darkwing. Just an empty parking lot and dumpsters filled with the night's leftovers and a few stray cats. Gizmo scanned the ground and found Darkwing's tracks, but the duck's trail ended too soon to determine his whereabouts, or the thief's.
Great. What a nice way to end the night.
Just as Gizmo was about to head back to the house, his elbow phone started ringing. He forced himself to answer cheerfully, though he knew his night wasn't over.
The call was from the Duckburg police commissioner. There was a break in at the McDuck Museum. The police were on the scene, but they hadn't found anything missing. They wanted Gizmoduck to scan the building while they combed through security footage. If their combined efforts didn't turn up anything, they were going to call it a flaw in the alarm system.
Gizmo asked why they wanted him to investigate when his job was mainly catching thieves in the act, not detective work. The commissioner replied that they had been informed by Scrooge to call if anything fishy came up involving one of the museums. They were following through with orders.
Gizmo sighed and took to the air. After tonight, his suit's battery was going to need to charge a whole day.
Arriving at McDuck Museum about an hour later, Gizmo found that his services were not so urgently needed. The police had just decided that the alarm had been a system malfunction after reviewing the video footage. The video showed no changes before or after the alarm went off.
Gizmo was asked to do a perimeter sweep for good measure and call it a night. He sighed heavily. All that flying for nothing.
However, his security scan produced a set of footprints that fluoresced under his black light. Curious, he followed the tracks to the Nope Diamond display case. The aqua green gem was bigger than and just as precious as the Canard Diamond. Gizmo illuminated the diamond, expecting to be dazzled by its reflection. He had spent enough time with Mr. McDuck's valuables to acquire a bit of a financier's eye. However, the flashes of light only came from the facets directly under the light. The rest of the diamond remained peculiarly dull.
Gizmoduck wasn't renown for his observant eye or keen mind, but even in his state of fatigue, he recognized something was wrong. He asked the curator to take a look. Just as he had feared, the curator saw the same problem and he quickly opened the case to hold it up to a light. It was nothing more than a glass paperweight.
The Nope Diamond was gone...
His failure weighed more heavily on his shoulders than the suit. How was he going to face Mr. McDuck now? He'd lost the most valuable piece from Duckburg's exhibit, and the thief, and he had no idea where to start looking. He wasn't a detective.
Gizmoduck reluctantly admitted to the detective in charge that there wasn't much he could do. The detective accepted his defeat with a raised brow, but said nothing in reply. The forensics team took over the investigation, finding evidence that the security cameras had been remotely shut off prior to the robbery. Whoever was responsible for the jewel switch had been well prepared.
Gizmoduck felt he should at least try to solve the case somehow, but he could only think of one person with enough forensics know-how. Someone not a part of the official justice system, who might be willing to work outside of his jurisdiction. Unfortunately, Gizmoduck knew just how busy that guy had been today and that he would not take kindly to being given more work. Although Gizmo had half a mind to barge into Darkwing's lair at the bridge with his observations and theory that this was related to the other diamond heists, he suspected the crime fighter was still tailing the thief from Della's Diamonds.
Gizmoduck took to the air. He might as well head back to the Mallards. He knew Ma'Ma wasn't expecting him home tonight and he hated to wake her. Not that she had anything better to do than watch soaps all day, but she got pretty cranky when her rest was interrupted.
Besides, he had to go back to St. Canard in the morning to pick up his car and employer, and say "Bye" to Launchpad. He owed his buddy that much, even though he'd already said farewell to Drake and Gosalyn. He just hoped he could find the spare key Launchpad had told him about and sneak in without waking Gosalyn. Otherwise, he'd have to find a hotel for what was left of the night. He didn't look forward to that idea.
He didn't want to get caught on a traffic camera resuming his alter ego, so he took to the air and flew back into St. Canard until he deemed he was close enough to walk the rest of the way. Thankfully the Mallard's suburb was in a quiet part of town. He landed at the end of the street and, double-checking to make sure nobody was watching, he muttered the code words. The suit detached itself from his body and shrank into a small briefcase.
He picked up the valise and walked around to the side of the house.
The security lights came on and were quickly followed by a light inside the house. Fenton panicked for a moment, before remembering that Launchpad worked all hours of the night. Drake had probably rigged the place to provide Launchpad light when he got home, and to discourage potential burglars.
His hopes that all the lights were security measures were quickly dashed when a window opened and a pool of light landed on the grass next to him.
"Alright, you slugsucker!" Gosalyn shouted from an upper story window. "Step into the light where I can see you and put your hands up or I'll drop you like a hockey puck!"
"It's okay, Gosalyn," Fenton called up as he complied. "It's just me. Fenton."
"Oh yeah, right, like I'm supposed to trust someone rooting around my yard after midnight! Prove it!"
"Uh..." Fenton fumbled with his pockets. He had his driver's license, but that was about it. Then he thought of something. "Okay, you showed me your scrap book a couple hours ago after talking with my boss, Mr. McDuck, and Launchpad. Your dad was out getting stuff for an upset stomach, and I was about to go to bed before my...er briefcase rang."
Gosalyn leaned out the window to play a flashlight across his face, temporarily blinding him.
"Hmm... Well, good enough for me. I'll meet you up front," she said.
Rubbing the spots out of his eyes, Fenton retrieved his valise and walked back to the entrance. A few moments later, Gosalyn swung open the door and stepped back to admit him. She peered around him to make sure nobody was with him, and quickly locked up.
"What's up, Mr. Crackshell?" Gosalyn asked around a mouthful of a PB n' J sandwich. Apparently she'd been awake before the floodlights alerted her to his presence.
Seeing peanut butter smeared on her cheek reminded him that he'd only snacked lightly at the gala and had burned off most of his energy with the robberies. Still, he was a little concerned as to why Gosalyn was the only one up. He knew Launchpad might still be busy, but surely Drake would have seen the lights and come down to investigate by now.
"Hey Gosaroonie. Where're the guys? Shouldn't one of them answer the door this time of night?"
"I keep some burglar repellent close by," she replied and reached toward an umbrella basket by the door.
She produced a baseball bat, pepper spray, Silly String, and a hefty umbrella as proof, plus a pair of ice skates that would make a formidable weapon in a pinch. Fenton admired the arsenal, trying to imagine what good Silly String would do, but he was still unconvinced.
"Still, most polite visitors would call first... Of course, it would help if they had a phone..." Fenton turned his pocket inside out as explanation for why he hadn't followed his own advice. He also forgot about his comment moments ago about his briefcase ringing, but Gosalyn didn't question him. She just gave him a funny look and shrugged. Ruffling Gosalyn's hair, he headed toward the living room, setting his briefcase by the couch.
"So, where is everyone?" he asked.
Gosalyn's eyes widened. "Uh, Dad called it a night earlier. He has, uh, a meeting tomorrow and he wanted to make sure he got plenty of rest."
Fenton tilted his head suspiciously. "I don't hear any snoring."
"Oh, well that's because he probably took one of those sleep aid thingys," she shrugged.
"Oh. Okay. So what about Launchpad?"
"He's at Hamburger Hippo. He'll be back in a minute." Gosalyn hurried to change the subject. Fenton knew otherwise, but he couldn't let on that he knew Launchpad's secret. Admitting that he had seen Launchpad just a couple of hours ago was basically admitting that he was Gizmoduck.
"So, what do ya wanna do?" Gosalyn interrupted his reverie. "Play video games? Watch TV? Have a snack? How 'bout some pistachio prune ice cream? Or maybe you'd like a bubble bath..."
"Whoa, easy there little buddy." Fenton held up his hands, his voice dropping to a deeper pitch.
Gosalyn stared at him suspiciously. She knew that voice.
Fenton realized his mistake and cleared his throat. Before he could offer an idea of entertainment, the lamp started flashing next to the couch.
"Hmm. Looks like you could use a new bulb," he commented, having missed the earlier episode between Scrooge and Launchpad.
"Um, right!" Gosalyn improvised. "The replacements are in the kitchen pantry."
Gosalyn shoved Fenton out of the room. Before they crossed the threshold, Fenton felt a faint breeze behind him and heard a strange humming. He tried to turn around, but Gosalyn was surprisingly strong for her height and she pushed the duck flat on his face.
"Gosalyn, what are you doing?" he protested as she clambered over his back into the kitchen.
"Oh sorry, I tripped. Here, let me help you up..." she grabbed his arm and hauled him upright.
Brushing off his sleeves, he stared at her suspiciously. "You know, I could have found the pantry on my own..."
"Yeah, but I remembered something else I wanted to grab, and you know me. When I get in a hurry, I tend to get a little pushy. I'm real sorry, Mr. Crackshell. Um, I'll go to my room now..."
Gosalyn started to scoot away, but Fenton grabbed the back of her shirt.
"Hold on a sec! What was that noise?" he asked.
"What noise?"
"That whirring sound. And don't tell me it was your dad's snoring!"
"Oh thaaat... That's just the air conditioner, no big deal."
"Air conditioner? It's fifty degrees out!"
"Well, whatever you call the fan thingy in the attic that's always on. Like I said, no big deal. It always does that."
Fenton thought that over for a moment.
"Well I'm pretty good with electronics. Maybe I should take a look..."
"NO!" Gosalyn held up both hands. "No, don't trouble yourself on our account Mr. Crackshell... It's already been fixed."
"Then maybe your ductwork needs some cleaning. Something doesn't sound right."
"What doesn't?" Launchpad came into the kitchen, startling them both. He was empty-handed.
Gosalyn took opportunity to shrug out of Fenton's grasp while Fenton greeted his pal.
"Hiya Launchpad. When did you get back?" he asked.
"Uh, a moment ago?" Launchpad's brow was arched in confusion. Fenton pressed for further information.
"Didja bring back milkshakes or an extra burger?" he asked enthusiastically.
"Huh?"
"You know..." Gosalyn hissed to Launchpad. "From Hamburger Hippo?"
"Oh! Sorry about that, Buddy. Heh heh. Didn't know anyone else was hungry."
"That's okay. I don't need the calories. Say, what is that blinking light thingy?" Fenton pointed at Launchpad's jacket pocket. A green light was flashing on the communicator Launchpad usually carried when he was separated from Darkwing. Launchpad glanced down at his pocket and started sweating.
"Whoops. Gotta go! See ya later, Fenton!" Launchpad waved as he turned on his heel to leave.
"Hey, you just got back!" Fenton protested. "And it's after midnight! What gives?"
"Well, I've gotta fly for someone..."
Fenton frowned. He had a good idea who Launchpad meant.
"Can I come along?" Fenton asked eagerly. "I've alway wanted to fly in the Thunder Quack."
Both Launchpad and Gosalyn shot him a look.
"How do you know about the Thunder Quack?" Gosalyn asked suspiciously.
"Easy. I work for Mr. McDuck, and occasionally meet Gizmoduck. They told me about Darkwing's plane, and your night job, Launchpad."
"Oh. I guess that makes sense," Launchpad shrugged. "Still, I don't think DW would care to have a civilian under his nose right now. From what I hear, he's on a big case..."
Fenton crossed his arms and muttered under his breath. "Yeah, tell me about it..."
"...And he doesn't like distractions, so how 'bout a raincheck, ol' buddy?" Launchpad asked anxiously.
"Yeah, sure, fine. Go ahead. I'll make sure Gos gets back to bed."
"Great! See ya around, Fenton!" Launchpad waved and headed back to the hall. Gosalyn made sure Fenton didn't follow him by asking for help reaching a glass up in a cabinet.
Fenton got it for her and put his hands on his hips.
"There goes that noise again! Something's gotta be wrong with your ductwork, unless that's the garage door..."
"Could be..." Gosalyn shrugged innocently. She faked a yawn. "Well, time to hit the snooze button. You come'n up or what?"
"Well it is late," Fenton looked at his watch. "I'm not very sleepy yet, but I guess now's a good time to catch up on my reading... I'm right behind you..."