Big Jack's pickup truck was fire-engine red. It was well polished, without a spec of dirt on it. A harsh contrast to the rest of the vehicles in the parking lot. Even the Mystery Machine had seen less wear and tear than his truck, despite the truck being a good deal older.

"Take a picture, it lasts longer," grunted Jack, opening up the back seat and pawing around for something.

"Sorry," Shaggy said, embarrassed. He wasn't the type of person to get caught staring but this old pickup was clearly a work of love. Shaggy barely knew how to change the oil on the van he'd lived out of for months but something told him that Jack had taken this car apart and put it back together more than once.

"I take good care of her," Jack said, his voice muffled from inside the car. "It's my hobby. Keeps me going."

"Literally and figuratively," Velma chimed in. Shaggy smiled. Jack didn't laugh.

Jack emerged from the back seat with a cardboard tube in hand, several inches in diameter.

"Step back," he said, and opened the back of the truck. He tilted the tube on its side and out of it came several large rolled-up reams of blue paper.

"Construction blueprints?" Velma asked, reaching out to touch one.

Jack swatted her hand away brusquely. "Don't touch. Only I get to touch 'em." Velma glared at him but Jack was too busy smoothing out the blueprints to notice.

When he'd gotten them straightened out, he pointed one big finger down at them and gestured for Velma to lean in.

"Take a look," he said. "Tell me what you see."

Velma leaned forward with exaggerated care, making a show of touching absolutely nothing. Shaggy watched her face, hoping to glean some kind of insight; as far as he could tell, the papers were covered in angles and shapes that vaguely resembled buildings but he couldn't decipher anything else. Velma pored over the map for a minute looking increasingly confused.

"I don't understand," she said, looking up at Jack. "It looks just like the fair you guys are setting up."

Jack let out a long sigh. With great care, he tapped what looked like a diagram for some kind of fun house. "That should tell you everything you need to know," he said, a hint of impatience in his voice.

Velma leaned in closer and scrutinized the spot he'd tapped. This time, Shaggy saw a variety of expressions play across her face. She looked away towards something else on the paper, then back to that spot. Her brows knit furiously and she put a hand on her chin.

"You see it," Jack said. Not a question, but a statement.

"These angles, they don't add up at all," Velma said. She pointed to a different part of the paper, drawing Shaggy over to her. "Look, whoever wrote this up has a forty-five degree angle connected to a fifty-degree angle, yet it's supposed to be the corner of a building. And over here - the two opposite sides of this square stage are different lengths. This can't be right!"

"It ain't right," Jack agreed. "It's all sorts of screwy. When Lillard handed this t' me, I thought it was a joke."

"Lillard wrote this?" Velma said, astonished. "He's an architect?"

Jack scoffed. "Obviously not. I don't consider anyone who plans like this to be an architect. I consider them an embarrassment. We had to fight with him to make changes to it. We've been at each other's throats about these blueprints all week. You saw us having a screaming match about it this morning when you pulled in."

"So that's what that was about," Shaggy murmured. "And her I thought it was just because he was a jerk."

"Oh, he is," Jack said with a grin, "but I'm a jerk too. A big one. Plus I can bench press his weight in iron. And I'm about a foot taller than him. With a weasel like him, that tends to matter."

Velma scratched her head. "Well, if you told him the plans for all these stands and stalls didn't make any sense, why is he putting up such a fuss about it?"

Jack let out a deep sigh.

"One: You might'a noticed I don't come across as the most agreeable guy. Some people just dislike me."

"Agreed," Shaggy and Velma said at once.

"Two: He said this came from Agnes Fairbrook himself. Said his hands were tied. She told 'im not to change it."

"Agnes Fairbrook," Shaggy mused. "I feel like I've heard that name a lot lately."

"She's the one who runs this whole operation, right?" Velma asked.

Jack shrugged. "Beats me. She's just the boss's boss, as far as I know. Never met her myself."

Shaggy put a hand to his chin. "Like, this might sound like a weird question, but have you met anyone who actually has met her?"

Jack crossed his arms and leaned back, thinking.

"... No," he answered after a moment. "No, I can't say I have."

Shaggy and Velma shared a look.

"Okay," Shaggy said, "like, this is definitely helpful."

"Yes," Velma agreed, "this is the most useful conversation we've had with anyone since we took this case, I'd wager."

"Hmm," Jack grunted. "Is that right? Well, glad ot hear it. Now, make yourself scarce. I've got a metric boat-load of work to get done and I just wasted half an hour of my day talking to you two."

"Sorry to keep you," Velma said, pulling at Shaggy's arm. "C'mon," she whispered, "let''s get out of here before this guy changes his mind."

Big Jack made a startled face, then slapped a hand down on Shaggy's shoulder before he could pull away.

"Wait," he said in a deep voice, "I need to talk to string-bean here for a moment. Alone."

Velma looked from Shaggy to Jack and back again, concern in her eyes.

"Shaggy…?" she whispered.

Shaggy, worried as he was, didn't want to to worry Velma.

"Don't worry," he said, "I'll be fine. I'm sure this will be quick."

Velma, eyes still full of concern, nodded and stepped away and began walking towards the fairgrounds. Shaggy turned back to Jack.

"Like, what's up, man?"

Big Jack studied Shagggy for a moment before responding.

"How," he said slowly, "did you know I wasn't going to deck you right in the face for your disrespect last night?"

Shaggy blinked, surprised.

"You weren't going to hit me," he said, a little confused by the sudden change in tone.

"Yes, I know that. And you clearly knew that. But my guys? They ain't know that. So I'mma ask you again - how the hell did you know I wasn't gonna break your face bones into hundreds 'a tiny pieces?" Jack's accent became thicker the closer he leaned to Shaggy's face.

Shaggy shrugged.

"Man, do you know how many times I've been threatened by some big guy with an axe to grind? More than you can count. Maybe more than Velma can count, even. Here's what I know, from years of experience and survival:

"The people that want to scare you always talk a big game about how tough they are, or how weak I am. I get that. It's part of, like, a social ritual. It makes sense. But the people that just want to hurt you?"

Shaggy looked Jack in the eye.

"They just hurt you. No talk, no big speech, no blowing smoke in my face. The ones that really want you dead will do everything they can to kill you. Someone with a gun or a knife doesn't need a speech - they just do it. Everyone else?" He shook his head. "You'll live. And sometimes that's all you need to do."

Shaggy held Jack's gaze for as long as he could. A few silent moments passed between them. Jack was the first to break eye contact. His eyes darted away, down towards his shoes, and the ground.

"Alright," he said. "Alright. I get you. Now, get outta here."

Shaggy turned around and rejoined Velma, who had been patiently waiting near the entrance of the fairground.

"What did he want?" Velma asked, curious. "That looked pretty intense."

"Oh, just some macho stuff," Shaggy said. "He wanted to freak me out, or something. Like, spook me."

Velma laughed. "You know, I get the impression he's not as tough as he seems. That macho persona of his seems too... fake. And that accent! Did you notice it go in and out?"

"I sure did, Velm," he said.

"I think half the things he does are just to put on a show," she mused.

Shaggy grinned. "You know, you might be right, man."