My thanks for everyone's patience while waiting for the new chapter. I hope it was worth the wait! And many thanks to readerjunkie, Katsumara, Sentinel103, Eddy13, Cajunbear73 and Reader101w for reviewing, and everyone else for reading.

The next morning, Sam walked up to the front desk of the Hotel Killigan.

"I'd like to speak with Professor DeNile, please."

While the clerk rang his room, Sam felt like he was being watched. He turned around and spotted a pair of shifty eyes glaring back at him from behind a newspaper. Those eyes belonged to the young man who'd been tailing him for the past two days. He didn't look much older than a boy, but he definitely had an attitude a mile long. Sam smothered a laugh when he noticed that his newspaper was upside down.

Sam walked over to him and asked, "So, where is he?"

The mysterious teen frowned. "What?"

"I said, where is he?"

"Who do you think you are, kiddin' me?"

"I'll tell you when I'm kiddin' or not. Global Justice dropout, aren't you?"

"Get lost."

"You'll have to talk to me before you're through, and you can tell Big Daddy I said so."

The teen growled back, "Keep askin' for it and you're gonna get it. I told you to get lost!" He continued with a smug grin. "I'm a highly trained professional, and an expert in 16 different forms of surveillance."

Sam gave him a dismissive wave of his hand. "Well, you may consider yourself an expert, but I spotted you two days ago. And I've already noticed about 15 of those forms, so I can't say I'm terribly impressed."

The boy was fuming by now. "Oh, yeah? Well, you're obviously just an amateur, so take a hike!"

Sam merely smiled back. "Say, people lose their opportunity for another guest appearance talkin' like that. If you want to hang around, you'll need to be more polite. Oh, and don't forget to give your boss my message."

The boy just glared back at him. Just then, Professor DeNile walked in the door. Sam smiled and approached him.

"Hi, Professor. Can we talk?"

DeNile appeared a bit disheveled and unsteady on his feet. "Guten Morgen, Herr Schtoppable. Apologies, but our conversations have not been such zat I am anxious to continue zem. Forgive my speaking zo bluntly, but it is zee truth."

Sam laughed, "Oh, you mean that business with the police last night? Hey, what could I do? I don't know where that statuette is, and neither do you. But Ms. Shego does. How'll we get it if I don't string them along?"

From behind them, the strum of a gentle guitar chord was heard. A flash of red hair could be seen as the female guitarist swiftly left the room.

Sam sighed as DeNile continued, "You alvays have a very smooth explanation ready, yes? Perhaps I should learn to act totally goofy, random and unfocused, just like you?"

Sam winced. "Uh, well, maybe that's not such a bad idea. So, did Hobble take you downtown for some grilling? And for how long?"

"Yes, until just a little vile ago."

"What'd they get out of you?"

"Get out of me? Nothing. I schtuck to zee explanation zat you indicated, but I vish you vould haf invented a more reasonable story. I felt distinctly like an idiot repeating it."

"Don't worry about the story's goofiness. A sensible one would have lost most of our readers. You sure you didn't tell 'em anything?"

"I did not."

"Well, you'll want to catch some shuteye, if you've been under a police grilling all night."

DeNile replied with a hiccup. "Actuvally, zey interviewed me at zee local bar und grill. Zey let me go after I said it is appearing zat zey are all out of zee buffalo wings…"

Sam then noticed that the Professor's hands were smeared with barbeque sauce, and a whiff of his breath carried the distinct aroma of German beer.

Sam smirked, "Yeah, it must have been rough. I guess I'll see ya' later…"

A few minutes later, Sam walked back into his office. Kimmie was talking to someone on the phone, and gave him a longsuffering look.

"No, not yet. Yes, I'll have him call you the minute he comes in."

She hung up disgustedly. "That's the third time Bonnie's called this morning asking for a date with you, Sam. Oh, and Ms. Shego's in there, Mr. Popularity."

He responded a bit sheepishly, "Heh-heh, thanks Kimmie. Anything else?"

"Yes, the District Attorney's office called. Dr. Director wants to see you. And a Mr. Jasper Fatgut called. He said 'Please tell him the young man gave me his message, and that I phoned and will phone again.' "

Sam scratched his chin. "Fatgut, huh? Thanks, Kimmie."

He walked into his inner office, where Shego was anxiously waiting for him. "Sam! Somebody's ransacked my apartment! I came over as fast as I could. Could that boy have followed you?"

"No, angel. I shook him off long before I ever went to your place. But it might have been DeNile. He wasn't at the hotel last night, and he told me just a little while ago that he'd been standing up under a police grilling."

He rubbed his chin. "Or was that standing at the grill with the police?"

Shego looked surprised. "You saw DeNile this morning? But why?"

"Because, my green angel, I need to keep in touch with all the loose ends of this bon-digetty affair if I'm ever going to make any sense of it. And when I finally figure out exactly what's going on, I'm sure I'll need to write a 500 word essay on it for Lt. Barkin. In the meantime, we've got to find a new place for you to stay, and I think I've got an idea."

He stepped back into the outer office and whispered, "Kimmie, what's your woman's intuition say about Ms. Shego?"

She frowned. "Does the phrase, '500 miles of bad road' strike a bell with you? I think it's her own fault for all the trouble she's in. But she's still a client, I guess. Why do you ask?"

Sam gave her a weak smile. "Uh, well, then I've got a big favor to ask. Do you think she can stay with you for a little while?"

Kimmie responded with a shocked look. "You mean at my place?"

"Uh, yeah."

She thought it over for a moment. "It depends. You think she's in any danger, Sam?"

"Yeah, I think so."

She tapped her chin as she thought it over. "Gosh, I think she'd scare poor Dad right into a hemorrhage, but Mom can do brain surgery on a moment's notice, so I guess so. But you know he already wants to launch you into the nearest Black Hole, and this won't be helping matters any. So I'll just say she's a surprise witness you're keeping undercover."

Sam sighed in relief. "Thanks. I owe you one, shweetheart."

He called into the next room, "Ms. Shego, Kimmie's offered to put you up temporarily. But you should start now."

He turned to Kimmie. "Go out the back: there's usually a cab parked by the alley. Have her switch cabs at least once just to make sure she's not followed."

Kimmie and Shego immediately left and quickly found the cab. The driver was a portly young black man, looking barely older than just a boy. He was calmly slurping on a soda.

Shego gave him the once over, then queried, "Uh, aren't you a little young to be a cabbie?"

He politely responded, "Why yes, yes I am. Where to, Miss?"

Kimmie gave the young man the directions, then went back upstairs. As the cab pulled away, Shego leaned over the front seat. "Okay, Cablinger. Change in destination. The Hotel Brotherson, and step on it."

Meanwhile, back in Sam's office, the phone rang. Sam answered it.

"Hello? Yeah, this is Sam Stoppable. Yes, Mr. Fatgut, I got your message. You'd like to meet? How about right now? Yeah, I agree, the sooner, the better. Say in about twenty minutes? And your boy will meet me downstairs to show me the way? Good."

He hung up and proceeded downstairs. Waiting for him was his tail of the last few days, who went by the name of Wilmer Crook.

Will snarled, "Come on, the Big Daddy wants to see you."

Sam wagged his finger at the young man. "Yeah, and I want to see him too."

He moved his hand back and forth just in front of Will's face, first moving it right, then left, then down under his chin. Just as Will looked down, Sam brought his hand up quickly, catching him painfully on the nose.

Sam happily exclaimed, "WHOOP-whoop-whoop-woo-woo!"

He followed up with a quick poke of his fingers into Will's eyes. While Will winced in pain, Sam swiftly relieved him of his weapons.

"Nyuck, nyuck, nyuck! Gets 'em every time! This'll put you in real solid with your boss. Ok, kid, let's go."

A short time later they walked into a magnificently appointed hotel room and came face to face with Jasper Fatgut, otherwise known as the Big Daddy. To say that he was larger than life was an understatement. Dressed in a tailored leisure suit, he was nearly as wide as he was tall, and Sam estimated that he easily exceeded 300 pounds.

Sam began, "How do you do, Mr. Fatgut?"

He gave a gregarious, if oily response. "Come in, come in, please. Thank you so much for stopping by."

Sam smirked as he handed Will's guns to him. "Here. You shouldn't let your kid here wander around with these. He might hurt himself."

Big Daddy exclaimed, "Well, what's all this?"

Sam drawled, "A crippled Pixie Scout took 'em away from him, but I made her give 'em back."

Big Daddy began to laugh, his jowls shaking in pleasure. "Indeed, sir, you're a chap worth knowing. Sam Stoppable, I presume? Give me your hat and please have a seat."

Sam took the proffered seat, and immediately began to sink deep into the overstuffed couch.

Nearly smothering, he struggled to sit back up. "Wow, you could lose small animals in here."

Big Daddy grabbed a glass. "Soda?"

Sam nodded, and Big Daddy began pouring Sam a drink. He smiled as Sam let him fill the glass to the top.

"You begin well, sir. I distrust any man who says 'when'. He needs to be careful not to drink too much, because he knows he can't be trusted when he does. Well, sir, here's to straight speaking and clear understanding. Cheers."

Sam tapped his glass to Big Daddy's and responded in kind. "Here's mud in your eye."

Big Daddy replied, "Where?"

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

Big Daddy shot back, "Who?"

Sam began to catch on. "When?"

"How?"

"Why?"

Big Daddy continued to laugh heartily. "Ah, I see you've done your homework. I like to play games, and you just passed my first little test. Tell me, are you a close-mouthed man?"

Sam answered, "No, I like to talk. Most people actually find it hard to shut me up sometimes. Usually it's Kimmie, but more often it's Officer Barkin. Come to think of it, I think I really do it just to get his goat. I just love it when his temperature starts to rise, just like a thermometer. Actually, more like a tea kettle on slow boil…"

Big Daddy gave him a sidelong look and muttered under his breath, "Hmm. Perhaps he's a bit too talkative, however..."

But out loud he continued, "Better and better. I distrust a close-mouthed man. He usually picks the wrong time to talk and says the wrong things. Now, sir, let's talk, if you like. I'll tell you right out. I'm a man who likes talking to a man who likes to talk."

"Coolio! Can we talk about the black rodent?"

"Well, no beating about the bush with you I see. Direct and right to the point. So, let's talk about the black rodent, by all means. But first, please answer me a question. Are you here as Ms. Shego's representative?"

Sam replied cagily, "Maybe, maybe not. It depends."

"And what might it depend on?"

"Maybe it depends on Professor DeNile."

Big Daddy nodded in understanding. "The question is, which one do you represent? I assume that it's one or the other, unless there's someone else?"

Sam smiled, "Well, there's me."

"That's excellent, sir! I appreciate a man who tells you right out he's looking out for himself. Now, let's talk about the black mole rat. Mr. Stoppable, have you any inkling of how much money that figurine is worth?"

Sam shook his head. "Uh-uh."

"Well, if I even told you half, you'd call me a liar."

"Probably not, but you tell me what it is, and I'll figure out the profit."

Big Daddy looked surprised. "You mean, you don't know what that mole rat really is?"

"Well, I know what it's supposed to look like, and I know the value in gift certificates you people put on it."

"Shego didn't tell you what it is? DeNile didn't either?"

"No, but he offered me $1000 for it."

"A thousand dollars, mind you, not even pounds! So, what's your impression?"

"I'm sorry, I don't do impressions. But I can play the spoons, and play Home on the Range with my armpits."

Big Daddy rolled his eyes at the thought of that, as Sam continued.

"Ms. Shego said she didn't know much about it, but I assumed she was lying."

Big Daddy nodded. "Yes, not an injudicious thing to do."

Sam grinned back, "So, you know what it is. I know where it is."

"So it would seem. Well, sir, where is it then?"

"No dice, Mr. Fatgut. Not until I know a little more about what this thing really is. You seem to be the man behind all of this, anyway."

"Yes, I'm the Brain behind the search for this precious object, Mr. Stoppable."

"Yeah? Well don't think that you can just wrap me around your Pinky. I have a badly wounded partner in the hospital, probably because of you."

Big Daddy tapped his fingers together as he considered this.

"Very well, then. Let's talk about the black mole rat. Let me begin by saying that I am a collector of rare objects. I had spent years searching for another rare item, the Spruce Goose. But the Maltese Mole Rat is worth so much more by sheer magnitude, that I've made it my life's goal to find it, and possess it."

Sam was intrigued, realizing he was finally getting to the bottom of the mystery. "Go on."

"This is going to be the most amazing thing you've ever heard, and I say this knowing a man of your profession must have seen some amazing things in his time. Tell me, what do you know of the Order of the Hospital of Saint Anne at Middleton, later known as the Knights of Rodigan?"

"Uh, Crusaders or something, weren't they?"

"Very good! In 1592, these crusading Knights persuaded Wallace I of Rodigan to give them the island of Malta. He made only one condition, that they pay him a yearly tribute of a naked mole rat in acknowledgement that Malta was still under Rodigan rule. Do you have you any idea of the immeasurable wealth of the Order of that time?"

Sam shrugged. "Pretty well, I imagine. They probably felt the same as I did when I got that $99 million check for inventing the Naco."

" 'Pretty well' is putting it mildly. They were rolling in dough, sir. For years they'd taken from the East who knows what spoils of gems and precious metals. We know that the Holy Wars to them were also a matter of pillage and plunder, and the Knights were profoundly grateful to Wallace I for his generosity. They decided to send for his first year's tribute, not a measly live mole rat but a glorious golden naked mole rat, encrusted from head to toe with the finest jewels in their stash. Well, sir, what do you think of that?"

Rufus popped out of Sam's pocket and proudly exclaimed, "Bon diggety! Uh-huh! Uh-huh!"

Big daddy chuckled. "These are historical facts, Mr. Stoppable. Not schoolbook history, not H.G. Wells' history, whereby an actor recently faked a radio broadcast about Earth being invaded by Martians and throwing the country into a panic, but history, nevertheless."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I heard about that. They were really Lorwardians."

Big Daddy offered him a very strange look.

Sam pulled at his collar. "Uh, never mind. Different story. Please continue."

"In any case, they sent the foot-high jeweled mole rat back to Wallace I in a galley commanded by a member of the Order, but it never reached Rodigan. A famous buccaneer, Black Eye Brown, captured the Knights' galley and the Maltese Mole Rat, then disappeared into history. Recently it reappeared in Greece, then in each of the eleven countries that Ms. Shego is currently wanted in. Lastly, it appeared back in Athens. By this time, it had acquired a coat of black enamel and looked like nothing more than an intriguing black statuette. In that disguise, it was kicked around for over three score years by collectors too blind to see what it was under its skin. Then a Greek dealer named Midas Goldentouchinides found it in an obscure curio shop. No coating of enamel could conceal its true value from his eyes, however. Perhaps you begin to believe me a little?"

Sam slyly offered, "Mmm, could be…"

"Well, sir, Midas re-enameled the bird. Despite this precaution, however, I got wind of his find. I packed a bag right away and boarded a boat for Europe. But on the boat I read in the Middleton Gazette that his establishment had been burglarized, and Midas had been murdered. After several more years of fruitless searching, I traced it to the home of an American general by the name of Sims, who had apparently picked it up as booty during the Great War. He didn't seem to know a thing about it. It was only a black enameled figurine to him, but his wariness kept him from selling it to me, when I made him an offer. So I sent him my accomplices to procure it. Well, sir, they got it and I haven't got it, but I'm going to get it.

Sam thought to himself, "You can say that again, pal."

Out loud he asked, "Then, the mole rat doesn't really belong to any of you, but to a General Sims?"

Big Daddy harrumphed, "Well, sir, you might as well say it belonged to the Governor of Colorado. I don't see how you can honestly grant anyone a clear title to it, except by right of possession. And now, sir, before we start to talk price, how soon can you produce the item?"

Sam thought quickly. "Maybe a week. But with luck I might have it in seven days."

"That would be satisfactory. Seven days is much shorter than…"

He put his head in his fat hand and heaved a small sigh, but then perked up with a laugh. "Very good, sir, very good! You're learning to play games with me. I'm impressed! So here's to a fair bargain, and profits big enough for both of us! I will give you $50,000 when you deliver the mole rat to me, and another $50,000 later on, plus all the gift certificates your heart could possibly desire. Or, I will give you one quarter of what I realize on the mole rat. That would amount to a much greater amount."

Sam cautiously asked, "How much greater?"

Big Daddy chuckled, his large girth jiggling with pleasure. "What would you say to $99 million?"

Sam's eyes bugged out. "Holy guacamole! That would make up for all that money I lost after inventing the Naco!"

With an evil twinkle in his eye, Big Daddy gleefully rubbed his hands together. "So, I ask you again. Where is the Maltese Mole Rat hidden?"

Sam remained evasive, however. "Well, that's a really coolio story, Mr. Fatgut, but I think I'll keep its location a secret for the moment. I think that might just keep me alive until I can retrieve the statuette and, uh, conclude our business, don't you agree?"

Big Daddy heaved a small sigh and refilled Sam's glass, which Sam gratefully drank. "Very well. How about another game then? Charades, perhaps?"

"Sure!"

Big Daddy began by giving some air quotes.

Sam responded, "Uh, a saying?"

Big Daddy nodded and held up four very fat fingers.

"Ok, four words."

He next held up one finger.

"First word."

He pointed at Sam.

"Me?"

He shook his head and turned his hands over.

"Oh, the opposite. You?"

He stretched his hands slightly.

"Ah, a longer word. Your?"

Big Daddy touched his nose to indicate Sam was correct, then held up two fingers.

"Second word."

He began to pantomime guzzling a beverage.

"Um, drinking?"

He squeezed his hands together.

"Oh, shorter. Drink?"

Big Daddy again touched his nose. Ron suddenly began to feel rather strange, but still tried his best to concentrate. Big Daddy held up three fingers.

Sam's speech began to slur. "Uhh, thhird word?"

He squeezed his thumb and forefinger together.

Big Daddy's huge form began to swim before Sam's eyes as he desperately tried to focus. "Ssmall wword. It? The? Is?"

Big Daddy broke out in a smile and once again touched his nose, then held up four fingers.

"Yyeahh, Fffitthh wworrd."

He gave a quick stabbing motion as Sam began to sway unsteadily. He felt as if he were about to pass out.

"Er, pierce? Poke? Shtab?"

He beckoned with his hands to indicate Sam was on the right track.

"Spike? Spiked! Your drink is spiked!" Sam grinned giddily. The last thing he saw before he passed out onto the floor was Big Daddy touching his nose and laughing heartily. From the other room, Prof. DeNile and Ms. Shego appeared.

"Vell, vat are vee going to do now, Big Daddy?"

Shego crossed her arms and smirked, "Yeah, good going, Fatgut. He can't tell us very much if he's in La-La Land."

Big Daddy waved a fat condescending hand as he pulled out a newspaper with the shipping news circled.

"Patience, my friends. A certain ship from Greece is docking in port even as we speak, upon which may be the very item that we seek. So let us be on our way: our destiny awaits!"

In the distance, police sirens began to wail. They all began to look apprehensive as Big Daddy continued.

"New game, ladies and gentlemen: hide and seek. We run and hide as quickly as possible, and hope that the police don't start seeking us until after we reach the docks, and Mr. Stoppable here has regained consciousness."

As they left, Will snickered as he turned back to the unconscious Sam, unable to resist one last parting shot.

"Amateur…"

To Be Concluded…