(Author's notes: Just a warning to all my readers, chapters may be late or pushed back a week due to the holidays being busy and stressful to me. On top of that, I've received news that there is a small complication with my pregnancy. My doctor may deliver my baby a month early through C-section. This is standard, and I'm healthy, so there is nothing to worry about. I just want to warn my readers that around March/April, I will be taking a hiatus.)

Blue Waltz

Chapter 9: Low-Frequency

Sept. 18

Drake stared at the TV. It wasn't on. He just stared at it. During the few times he spent at home, he usually lay on the couch staring at nothing until he couldn't stand being in the house anymore and went back patrolling the streets as Darkwing Duck. The house had gotten into a terrible state with fast food containers all over the kitchen and dining room, dirty clothes piled just outside the laundry room, and the trash cans overflowing in need of someone to empty them.

Launchpad lay in the recliner, snoozing loudly.

Drake should be doing the same, but he couldn't. He barely slept, and he could hardly eat with worry. Yes, he was able to see Gosalyn for a few minutes at night, but it wasn't enough. He was used to spending hours with her every day. He missed her. On top of that, he still didn't know anything new about why she was kidnapped and who was the mastermind behind it.

For the last three days, he had monitored and tailed the man Charity Loveatte had suspected as, perhaps not the boss, but someone who was definitely involved. He had bugged the man's phone as well as put a listening device in his apartment, and while he didn't hear anything incriminating or even a hint that he knew Gosalyn, the guy was definitely shady. There were a few suspicious phone calls, but Darkwing Duck hadn't been able to track them, which was the biggest clue that this guy was bad news.

It had been a week since Gosalyn had been taken away from him, and he still had no idea why. Were they after Gosalyn? Or were those photos of her with Darkwing Duck a clear indication that they were after him?

But they were the same questions he had asked himself over and over again. He was stuck. He wasn't progressing. What was he missing?

The mail slot in the door flipped open as several letters were pushed through. They landed in a skewed pile near the door.

With nothing better to do, Drake got up and picked up the letters, taking them into the kitchen where he either threw them out—junk mail—or left them unopened—bills. He sorted them, stopping on the last that had a hand-written address, the sender being Ms. Charity Loveatte from DCF.

Anger filled him, and he crumpled the letter with the intent of slamming it into the garbage. Whatever that woman had to say, it couldn't be good. But then again, the look on her face when he last saw her, that sadness in her eyes and how she breeched protocol to let him hug Gosalyn one last time, it reminded him that he wasn't really angry at Ms. Loveatte. It was DCF and whoever was trying to ruin his life.

Not to mention, Gosalyn seemed to like her. Oh, she pretended she didn't, but it was clear to Drake that his daughter was adjusting well due to Ms. Loveatte's gentle nature as well as a hidden playful side that her glasses, tight bun and stern facial features had veiled.

Uncrumpling the letter, he opened it to find a hand-written note talking about Gosalyn before asking if there was a reason why someone would want to kidnap her. Ms. Loveatte explained that Gosalyn's physical file at DCF was missing, although she did not give a reason why. But Drake could read between the lines. Whoever was interested in his daughter must have taken her file, which would more than likely have everything about her grandfather and Taurus Bulba.

What should he tell Ms. Loveatte? First off, as Drake Mallard, he wasn't supposed to know that Taurus Bulba was really alive and some sort of cyborg experiment from FOWL, and that he had used Gosalyn before to get to Darkwing Duck. Not to mention, even if it was Bulba that was behind this—which Drake doubted since this plot was far too subtle for the bull—the last thing he should do is tell Ms. Loveatte. She wasn't a detective or any kind of crime fighter. What good would it do to reveal anything to her?

But then again, she was Gosalyn's guardian. If Drake was wrong and this was Bulba's doing, she should be aware so that she could keep an eye out for anything suspicious and keep his daughter safe.

Taking out a pen and some paper, Drake set about drafting a letter back to Ms. Loveatte, keeping the details to a minimum. Even if Drake wasn't there at both incidents with Bulba fighting Darkwing Duck, he could pretend that Gosalyn had told him some of the details. Once he was done, he couldn't help but add a few questions to the letter. Was Gosalyn happy? Was she doing well in school? Was she getting into fights? Hockey season was coming up. Was she still going to try out for the team? Was there anything she needed?

A lot of the questions he asked he could never get a straight answer from his daughter. She kept so much hidden away and tried to put on a brave face for him. Were there things she was telling Ms. Loveatte that she wasn't telling him? If Ms. Loveatte decided to write back, she could tell him what he missed.

Quickly putting it in an envelope, addressing and stamping it, he couldn't wait for the postman to come on Monday. He jumped in his car and took it to the post office. He didn't even grumble when Herb and Binky Muddlefoot waved at him, telling him that it was nice to see him for once. It was rare these days for Drake Mallard to be seen outside his home.


Sept. 20

As Charity took the stairs up to DCF, she felt a heaviness as she returned to work. Mondays were always a hard day after a relaxing weekend, but this Monday she felt especially depressed. It had been a long time since she had had so much fun over a weekend, but at the same time, she had never been so exhausted.

Gosalyn's mood had improved since the trial on Tuesday and had asked if she could go to the skate park to practice her hockey skills on Saturday. However, since Charity couldn't afford to buy Gosalyn roller blades as well as a hockey stick, pucks, helmet, and elbow and knee pads, going to the skate park would be useless. Instead, she took Gosalyn to a local roller rink that rented roller blades and equipment. The duckling's excitement was contagious and somehow convinced Charity to get a pair of roller skates and join in the fun.

She had been one of the few adults on the rink, but she enjoyed the exercise. The roller rink also had an impressive arcade, and Charity had splurged for dozens and dozens of tokens for the two of them to play. It was then that Gosalyn learned that Charity could be highly competitive, and relished in her victories whenever she beat the little girl in a game. The games had been even more challenging since they didn't take their skates off to play, and sometimes fell down at inopportune times.

After hours of skating and playing, they bought as much candy as they could with the tickets they earned before going back to Charity's apartment to watch movies.

On Sunday, Charity wasn't given a chance to recover from skating, which left her sore the next day. Gosalyn pulled her guardian outside to show her how she made hockey sticks out of dead branches from trees and shoe laces, a trick she learned in the orphanage. Using a ball, she had Charity help her practice her hockey shots in the parking lot until a group of kids had taken the lovebird's place.

The rest of the day, Charity sat in the shade of a tree with Bunny and a book while Gosalyn played.

It had been a long time since Charity had been around children for more than a few hours; the last time had been when she was in college and had been a nanny/babysitter for several families to pay for food and other necessities.

She hadn't realized she had missed taking care of a child until Gosalyn stayed with her. And now that she was back to work, her feet dragged more than usual.

Time went slowly as she went to one meeting after another, checking the paper work of the other social workers, signing papers and filling out dozens of documents. She checked the budget, and helped out when someone overbooked their schedule by going down to the courtroom to represent DCF in a custody case. By the time she could slow down, it was four o'clock and the mail was being distributed.

One more hour to go, she thought as she went through the pile of letters on her desk, most of which were official court documents that were sent to the office to be scanned into computers and put into storage. However, she jumped as she came across a letter addressed to her from Drake Mallard.

He had read her letter! And he answered!

She tore through the envelope. Her eyes gobbled up the words scrawled across the paper in spidery cursive, taking in the details that Mr. Mallard describe of an incident that happened almost two years ago when Taurus Bulba terrorized the city with a device that was so powerful that it could lift buildings into the air. Charity remembered the incident.

She had no idea that it was Gosalyn's grandfather who had invented the device and that Gosalyn was involved. She was even more surprised when Mr. Mallard described the possibility that Taurus Bulba was still alive, brought to life as a half-machine. Gosalyn had told him the story how the cyborg bull had captured her just to be used as bait for Darkwing Duck.

Saved twice from an evil villain by Darkwing Duck? It was no wonder Gosalyn hero-worshipped the crime-fighter. It was a lot to take in, especially since the story bordered on science fiction. Not to mention, if it was Bulba after Gosalyn again, how was Charity supposed to keep her ward safe?

Stunned by this news, Charity almost didn't read the rest of the letter. Mr. Mallard thanked her for writing and asked a ton of questions about his daughter. She understood his concern, but if she wrote back, she was leaning dangerously close to the darker side of the gray area she had stepped in. If anyone found out she had written to Mr. Mallard—it wasn't illegal—but it would certainly be frowned upon and even give Duncan a good reason to fire her.

But she couldn't leave the poor man in the dark, not when he didn't deserve this agony. However, she was going to answer one way or another. Just not at work. She tucked the letter in her purse to answer it back at home.

She had more work to do. More importantly, Drake Mallard's words had given her courage to act. If Gosalyn was in that much danger, than she should try to do something. Anything.

And what she needed most of all was a lead, evidence that could find Taurus Bulba. And there was only one place she could think of that would have that evidence.

Duncan Musman's office.

At quitting time, she lingered when everyone else was leaving. And even when the office was empty, she remained, organizing her desk time and time again, trying to look busy in case someone saw her. She waited until 5:30 before taking the elevator upstairs to Duncan Musman's office.

The reception desk was empty and all the lights were off with the exception of a few hall lights kept on for the janitorial staff. Testing the locked door, Charity pulled out her purse and looked through her cards. Bank card. Credit card. Driver's license. Library card. Which one could she stand to lose?

She felt like weeping when she pulled out her library card, hoping she wouldn't ruin it. She was waiting for the next book in her mysteries-romance series, and if her name was put at the bottom of the waiting list because her card broke, she would murder Duncan in his sleep.

Sliding the card through the door, she jiggled it around until she felt it catch against the lock and pulled down. Turning the knob, she felt a thrill that it opened for her. Yes, television didn't lie to her this one time.

She only felt safe turning the light on once the door was closed, locking it behind her. She didn't know what she would do if someone discovered her, but she couldn't worry about that. She had to find something.

The large, luxurious office looked exactly the same since Charity had last been in it weeks ago, which made her wonder if Duncan did anything. He had several paintings and prints of exotic, tropical places. The statues and knickknacks decorating his shelves and desk were minimal but in fine taste. The books on the shelves were in perfect condition and leather bound, most likely bought for the aesthetics rather than for reading material.

She sat in his chair—gosh, it was so comfortable—and opened up his drawers. The top one held a bottle of whisky with several shot glasses and a box of Cuban cigars.

"This is our hard tax dollars at work," Charity grumbled as she pulled the vices out to see if there was anything hidden in the drawer. Replacing them carefully, she checked the next drawer down to find nothing but vacation brochures and how-to books about golfing, wine tasting and speed boats.

The third drawer was where she hit paydirt. It held several folders, and right on top was Gosalyn Mallard's file. That creep really did take it.

She pulled it out and opened it. All the papers had been fastened or paper clipped in place, but a handful of photos spilled out. Charity picked them up, recognizing the photos that Duncan had showed her of Gosalyn and Darkwing Duck. Where had he gotten them? Who was the anonymous "citizen" that sent them to Duncan?

She looked over each of them carefully as if they would reveal all the answers and found nothing until she flipped them over. There was a phone number scrawled on the back of the last one.

Digging into her purse, Charity pulled out the pad of paper and a pen she always kept on her and copied the number. It must belong to the mysterious photographer. Or better yet, whoever wanted Gosalyn kidnapped.

Charity was tempted to take the photo, just to prove to the police that the phone number was a legitimate lead on the case, but hesitated. How was she going to present this to the cops? Tell them that she broke into her boss's office because she suspects him of being dirty? And what if she talked to the wrong cops, those who were on Duncan's side?

Leaning back in the comfortable chair, Charity sighed. The only person who would believe her and could possibly do something was Darkwing Duck, but it wasn't like he was easy to contact. How could she get this information to him?

She would just have to worry about that later. Taking out the rest of the files, she quickly looked through each one. It was one surprise after another. It was no wonder Duncan had so much power. Each folder contained damning documents and photographs in which he could blackmail the subject. The mayor's son. Police officers. Even someone in SHUSH. Each person had power or money, and probably would pay or do favors to keep these dirty little secrets hidden.

Not knowing if this information was useful at all, she wrote down all the names. If anything, she could pass them on to Darkwing Duck—if she could talk to him again—and he would know what to do. If there was anyone who was guaranteed not to be corrupt in this city, it was him. She only wished she had brought her camera to take pictures, but she hadn't thought of that when she broke into Duncan's office. And taking the folders was out of the question. If anything went missing from these drawers, Charity would be Duncan's first suspect.

Putting everything back where she found them, she closed up the drawers before exiting, turning off the lights and locking the door behind her. She left the building, feeling a mixture of excitement for doing something so dangerous and illegal and dread that what she found might not be any help at all.


Gosalyn twisted and turned on the couch, doing her best to concentrate on the page she was reading. The Giver was no comic book, but it was interesting. Well, interesting for a novel that is. She was glad that Charity was forcing her to read a chapter a day, otherwise she wouldn't have been able to get through the whole book and write a report on it the day before it was due as was her usual procrastination protocol.

In the kitchen, Charity busied herself by cooking a dinner of stir fry and rice while listing to a radio station that played a mixture of music from the 70s and 80s. Gosalyn had taken a quick peak at the contents of the dinner and stuck her tongue out at the vegetables cooking in a wok, but the smells were quickly changing her mind. She felt so hungry, she was even tempted to eat the broccoli without complaint.

What would her dad say if he saw her now, reading a book with no pictures and contemplating eating vegetables?

Easily distracted, Gosalyn occasionally watched Charity as she danced around her kitchen, singing with the radio. However, sometimes, Charity would lean over part of the counter, pen in hand, and wrote something down.

Finishing her chapter as quickly as she could, Gosalyn put the book down and went to the kitchen. She had been so quiet that Charity hadn't notice her. And although she had little attention for the assigned book, she found reading what the lovebird wrote upside down to be easy.

"You're writing to my dad?" Gosalyn asked, more intrigued than before.

Charity jumped, her eyes widening. She pulled the paper away. "Uh…yes?"

Gosalyn knew that tone. She should have patented it. "Why are you writing to Dad?"

Grimacing, Charity lowered her head. "I'm not supposed to," she said in a hushed tone. "Well, it's not against the law…" Her tone held more information that she wouldn't say.

"But you'd get in trouble if anyone found out?" Gosalyn guessed, quite knowledgeable about this kind of thing. "Say no more. My lips are sealed. But what are you telling my dad?"

"I just wanted to know if there was anything about you that I needed to know. You know, allergies, medical history, a reason why someone would want to kidnap you," Charity listed with a wry shrug.

"And…" Gosalyn lead on, asking for more information.

"He told me everything that happened with Taurus Bulba and Darkwing Duck," Charity said. She looked worried and afraid. "Is everything he said true? Is Taurus Bulba still alive?"

Gosalyn knew that the rest of the world thought the villain was dead, but she and Darkwing knew he was still very much alive—at least, as alive as a cyborg bull could be. "Yeah, it's true." She lowered her eyes. "If you think I'm too dangerous to have around, I'll understand if you find another foster family for me." That hurt more than she thought it would. While it wasn't her actual home, she was feeling comfortable in Charity's apartment.

"What? I wouldn't do that," Charity declared, touching Gosalyn's shoulder. "I'm just concerned about your safety. The more I learn about you, the more I find out that this wasn't any ordinary kidnapping attempt. And you're no ordinary child, that's for sure." Charity gave Gosalyn a wry smile.

Gosalyn grinned. "So, now that you know, you're not going to make me stay inside all the time and wrap me a bubble, are you?" She said this as almost a joke, but she worried that Charity would be even more strict than she already was.

Charity frowned and shook her head. "As much as I'd like to believe I can make you completely safe, I'm afraid there's nothing I can do against Taurus Bulba. I just want you to be extra cautious. At least Darkwing Duck knows all this, but I wish there was a way to talk to him. I'd like to know if he's found any new information on your case. And I have some inf—" The lovebird stopped in midsentence, pursing her beak to prevent herself from saying anything more.

"Yeah? You have some…information?" Gosalyn guessed, wishing that Charity was as loose with her words as Drake. She could get anything out of her dad with a little manipulation, but Charity was harder to break.

"Never you mind," Charity said, turning around to check on dinner. "Did you finish your homework?"

"Yeah," Gosalyn said. "Can I play some video games?"

"Dinner is almost ready, so not right now," Charity said. "Would you please set the table?" She bent over the paper and wrote something down before dishing up the stir fry in a ceramic bowl.

"What are you telling my dad now?" Gosalyn asked, not letting the subject drop. She grabbed two plates and forks to put on the table.

"I'm just telling him about the B you got on your spelling test last Friday and how I took you skating," Charity said. "He had some questions about you, and…I didn't think it would hurt to let him know."

Gosalyn turned her head to hide her face in case it revealed the fact that she talked to her dad every night. But she also felt guilty about the fact that she didn't talk about those things to her dad. Yeah, she was getting better grades than before because Charity had been tutoring her and checking her work every night, and Drake would be proud of that, but she didn't want to waste their precious time together talking about school. She also hadn't mentioned going skating. She didn't want him to know that she was having fun.

But somehow, the thought of Charity telling Drake about those things felt right.

"We interrupt your regular broadcast for an important bulletin," a deep voice over the radio spoke, sounding out of place after the upbeat disco music that had been playing.

Both Gosalyn and Charity paused, listening.

"Another child has been abducted in St. Canard, a young boy by the name of Bobby Bullion. He was last seen leaving his school, East St. Canard Elementary, wearing a blue jacket and brown pants. If you have any information about any of the missing children, call the St. Canard police immediately."

"Another one?" Charity said, her hand up to her beak. "His picture should be on the news." She moved into the living room where she turned on the TV.

Gosalyn followed, sitting on the couch's armrest.

They watched for a few minutes before the news brought up the story of the missing child, showing a picture of a boy not much younger than Gosalyn. The channel then showed the parents of the boy who repeated their child's description, what he was wearing, and where he was last seen, pleading to the abductor to release their child.

"This is the third child to be abducted this week. The police have yet to comment on this case or the other two, and refuse to say if the three are connected," the news reporter said. "If you have information on the whereabouts of any of these children, contact the police immediately."

"Not connected, my butt," Gosalyn said. "Of course they're connected. Even I can see that."

Charity turned off the TV. "The police can't comment unless they're absolutely sure. Releasing information too early can have drastic consequences. At least the press is making a big deal about these missing children. It'll make it more likely for them to be found." She turned back to the kitchen with a sad look on her face.

Gosalyn was reminded of all the foster kids that had gone missing lately. Charity had mentioned it several times throughout the few weeks the duckling had lived with her. "Hey, what if these three abductions are connected to the missing foster kids?" Gosalyn asked.

Charity regarded Gosalyn's words with some consideration. "I don't think so."

"But they have a lot in common," Gosalyn said. "Those three kids were taken while going to school or coming home. What about the foster kids? Didn't you say all of them were abducted while walking somewhere?"

Charity nodded. "But if this is the same person, why switch from foster kids to these three? The news channels and police are working harder to find them, which means a bigger chance of getting caught."

"Maybe…What if…" Gosalyn didn't have an answer. Normally, she would suggest any wild story that entered her mind from zombies to mutant aliens, but when she was talking to her dad, it didn't seem so farfetched of a theory. After all, Darkwing Duck had encountered stranger things than even the comic book industry had printed. But with Charity, it seemed foolish to say anything other than what could be plausible for the average person to believe.

"Maybe it never did matter where the kids came from," Gosalyn postulated. "Or they don't care about getting caught. I don't know, but the kids were abducted the same way. That's gotta mean something."

Charity nodded. "You do have a point." She was silent for a few minutes as she brought the stir fry, rice, and a bowl of canned pears to the table. "I'll talk to the police about it tomorrow."

"But the news says that if we have information, we should call immediately," Gosalyn protested.

"That's if we have anything about the missing children. I don't know if this theory is all that important or if the police will be interested in it," Charity said almost sadly. "Or they may have already made that connection."

"What about Darkwing Duck?" Gosalyn suggested. "We should tell him."

"I'm sure the police keep him informed," Charity said as she filled her plate. Then her eyes locked onto Gosalyn. "Do you know how to contact Darkwing Duck?"

Gosalyn gulped, grabbing her glass to drink some milk. "I used to," she said. "But he told me not to contact him again."

Charity nodded but looked disappointed. "Well, it's good that he's setting boundaries. You seem to get into trouble enough without his help." She sounded as if this should be a joke but it came off flat.

Gosalyn faked a chuckle, but she was already thinking about what she should say to her dad that night.


Duncan peeked through the blinds of his apartment, sipping from a glass of wine that was older than his grandparents. And that cost more than their retirement fund. Yet he couldn't enjoy it. Somewhere in the night, he knew Darkwing Duck was watching him. The masked crime-fighter had been watching him for the past few nights. He knew this because he had found a bug in his lampshade. He hadn't removed it; it was better that his enemies not know that he knew he was being heard and watched. But now, he had to be more careful around his home.

Several days ago, he had made a call through a pay phone, and left a recording with a messaging service that claimed to be for a proctologist, but in reality, it was for contacting FOWL. Anyone who didn't know the right passwords could leave any number of messages and nothing would happen.

After that, Duncan waited. It could take days or weeks for his message to be answered, but he would be patient. In the meantime, he put on a good show for Darkwing Duck by following a strict routine and being as boring as possible. He cut back on his usual business and if anyone called him about favors, he immediately hung up. There might be a little fallout due to his rudeness, but he could explain once he was in the clear.

Whenever that would be.

He took another drink and stepped away from the window. What he really wanted to do was get drunk, but when one's enemies were watching, that was never a good idea.

Feeling anxious and restless, Duncan jumped when his doorbell rang. He never had guests to his house. He preferred to do all his socializing at restaurants or hotel bars, places that didn't involve others knowing about his private life. When his two goons showed up at his door a week ago, that had been a serious violation between employer and employee, and if he were a violent man, things may have gotten messy.

Walking to his door and peering out the spyhole into the hallway, he was surprised to find a man holding a greasy pizza box and wearing a cheap polyester uniform with colors that reminded him of a circus. He may have pretended not to be home since he hadn't eaten pizza since he was a teenager, but there was something about the man that caught his attention. The man was far older than anyone should be delivering pizzas, which made Duncan sneer at the thought of a thirty-something-year-old not being innovative enough to earn more than minimum wage. But then he noticed the man's haircut and a diamond-studded necklace and several rings adorning his fingers, and not the cheap, gaudy kind that wanna-be gang-bangers and punk teens wore. These were classy and genuine.

Duncan opened the door.

"Here's your pizza, sir," the man said, not making any eye contact as he passed the box over. "That'll be twenty bucks."

Without hesitation, Duncan opened his wallet and passed over two twenties.

"Thanks for the tip," the man said, nodding and walking away.

After closing the door and checking the lock twice, Duncan put the box on his antique table and opened it. Inside was a large, cheese pizza with two missing slices. Laying on top, soaking up grease, was a slip of paper with an address and a time. Checking his watch, Duncan tore up the paper and dumped the pizza in his garbage before grabbing his keys. Before leaving, he made sure to turn on his TV and find his usual channel before quietly leaving his apartment.

Taking the service elevator, Duncan slipped out the back of the building without notice, walking several blocks before hailing a taxi. It wasn't until the yellow vehicle pulled up to the bar in the seedy neighborhood that he wished he had taken the time to change his clothes. He didn't think there were many people wearing Armani suits and drinking martinis in that particular establishment.

However, if anyone noticed his lavish clothing or thought he was an easy target, they hid it well. When Duncan walked in, he only got a nod from the bartender and no other attention. Either the men leaning over their drinks were too immersed in their thoughts to look around or were inebriated.

Taking a table in the corner, Duncan barely looked at the waitress with a low-cut blouse and richly endowed bosom before ordering a "beer on tap." He knew better than to order anything that involved mixing anything fancier than whiskey and water, and he wasn't brave enough to try anything harder than hops. He needed to keep his wits about him.

When his drink arrived, he sipped it as he pulled a pen from his pocket and doodled on the disposable napkins. He did this to keep busy and to look as if he were a frequent patron.

"You have some nerve," a voice told him, stressing the "e" in "nerve."

"So do you," Duncan said, taking another drink. "Sending a pizza boy to my apartment?"

"I thought you'd get a kick from that." A rooster in a black and white suit sat in the chair opposite Duncan, looking just as out of place in the dive. "But I thought we'd agree that we'd never contact each other."

"Desperate times…" Duncan said, leaving the saying unfinished. He pushed the rest of his beer away, no longer needing to pretend.

"If youse looking for Taurus Bulba, then you must be desperate," Steelbeak said, grabbing the mug and downing the rest.

"So, you know where he is?" Duncan asked.

"Not currently." Steelbeak whistled to get the waitress's attention and pointed down to the empty mug.

"And he works with…your organization?" Duncan asked.

"Not now and not ever," Steelbeak replied. "Good riddance, too. And if youse was smart, you'd stay out. He's crazy."

Duncan raised an eyebrow. That didn't fit the calm voice on the phone. "I'm not certain, but I think he's brought me into his business."

Steelbeak frowned. "I don't know 'bout that. F—My organization has been keeping a close eye on him, and he hasn't been in St. Canard for months."

"I've been in contact with someone over the phone. And they sometimes mail things to me," Duncan said.

"Like what?"

Duncan pulled out one of the photos of the girl and Darkwing Duck and slid it to the rooster.

"Oh, have these two been givin' ya trouble?" Steelbeak said with a knowing nod.

"You know her?"

"Anyone who has tangled with Darkwing Duck knows her. Or at least of her. Who she is is the real mystery," Steelbeak said. When the waitress came by with the refill of beer, he took a glance at her cleavage before giving her a winning smile.

The girl, who looked barely of age if not old enough to drink, beamed as if Steelbeak had given her a huge compliment.

"I was told by the man on the phone to find her," Duncan said. "All he sent me was a few photos and a phone number. He told me to find her and capture her."

"I hope he offered you a big enough payout, because that girl's information is a mint," Steelbeak said.

"What do you mean?" Duncan asked.

"I mean that if you found out this girl's identity, almost anyone in the criminal underground would pay top dollar for that information," Steelbeak said, tapping the photo.

Duncan mulled over this. If Steelbeak was correct, he was sitting on a gold mine and hadn't known it until now. He also realized that the man on the phone most likely had played him for a fool. He had found Gosalyn Mallard and told the man everything, but he didn't pay Duncan a cent just because he hadn't captured the girl. Had the mysterious man laughed with glee at getting the information for free? Was he going to auction off the information himself, having used Duncan to do all the hard work?

"Have you found the girl?" Steelbeak asked, taking a sip from his mug and looking at Duncan over the rim.

"Why is the girl so important?" Duncan asked. Why would FOWL be so interested in a kid?

"You've looked at the photo, didn't you?" Steelbeak asked. "Can't you see it?"

Duncan picked it up and studied it. There didn't seem anything special about the girl. Her file didn't contain anything interesting other than being Dr. Waddlemyer's granddaughter, but since the ramrod was destroyed, she wouldn't have any information worth kidnapping. Or was there more to the story than that?

No, Steelbeak said to look at the photo. Whatever made the girl important was in the photo?

"Geez, Louise, pal. I thought you had smarts," Steelbeak joked. "Look, you said you were given a bunch of these photos, right? What do they all have in common?"

"Darkwing Duck?" Duncan guessed, feeling idiotic that he hadn't seen it before.

"Bingo," Steelbeak said, leaning back in his chair.

"So you think this girl knows his secret identity?" Duncan asked.

"Not only that, but he's got to be close to her, right? A daddy or an uncle, cousin, next door neighbor, something like that. Who else would tolerate some brat following them around?" Steelbeak said.

Why hadn't Duncan seen that before? It was obvious to anyone who was looking for Darkwing Duck, but he hadn't come to that conclusion. He had thought it was the girl the man on the phone wanted, not Darkwing Duck.

Which meant only one thing: The guy who adopted Gosalyn, he must be Darkwing Duck. Duncan was certain of this. The masked duck had been all over the incident with Taurus Bulba. It was only a few days later that a man—a single man—had adopted her. And Duncan had recognized the signature on the adoption certificate as J. Gander, the Director of St. Canard's SHUSH. He had thought it was odd that SHUSH was involved in an adoption.

"You're awfully quiet," Steelbeak noticed, looking suspicious.

"You've given me a lot to think about," Duncan said, suddenly feeling more relaxed than he had all week.

"Well, I'll give you something else to think about," Steelbeak said. "If you do find out who that girl is, contact me again. FOWL will pay more than this other guy would for the information. I'll make sure you get a good deal. And maybe even a position at FOWL. We could be partners again, just like the old days."

Duncan was tempted to reveal that he knew about Gosalyn Mallard, but kept quiet. He wasn't going to jump into things without sleeping on it. He could always take up Steelbeak's offer. Just the money. He had no desire to ally himself with a terrorist group. The old days needed to stay in the old days. It may have been fun blackmailing teachers and ripping off ATMs when they were teenagers, but he had worked too hard to get into politics just to end up on a bunch of wanted posters.

"So, you think the guy who contacted you is Taurus Bulba?" Steelbeak asked, connecting the dots.

"Maybe," Duncan said. "The accent might match, but I've never met him."

"Don't. And I'm pretty sure it ain't Taurus Bulba," Steelbeak said.

"How do you know?"

"Because, he's found the girl once before. I'm sure he can do it again if he wants to," Steelbeak said. "I don't know where he's been all this time, perhaps waiting for the right moment to strike."

"So, he must know Darkwing Duck's identity," Duncan said, barely remembering to leave out "too" in the sentence.

"Maybe, but I doubt it. He may be a criminal mastermind, but the guy is too hot-headed to make the connection," Steelbeak said, keeping the details obscure. It sounded like there was more to the story. "He's also been a little…out of touch with the world, almost being dead, you know. He doesn't know that this girl and Darkwing Duck are like BFFs. If he had stayed with FOWL, Darkwing Duck would be better known as Deadwing Duck." Steelbeak laughed.

"If I wasn't contacted by Bulba, then who could it be?" Duncan asked. "He had an accent. It was European; it sounded Russian to me."

Steelbeak shrugged. "Do you still have the phone number?"

Duncan nodded.

"I could take a look in the matter. For old time's sake."

Grabbing another paper napkin, Duncan jotted the number down. "He said that the number would no longer be in service."

"I've got guys. We'll find something," Steelbeak said, folding the napkin twice before tucking it inside his jacket. "Who knows? He might be one of my guys."

Duncan doubted that. FOWL was high on the list of "Best Villains," but they were flashy and liked to make a headline. This guy, he was secretive and had connections. How else would he know to use Duncan—a corrupt man with connections to DCF—to find the girl? And why the secrecy? If FOWL wanted him to do something, they wouldn't use subterfuge. No, the mysterious man definitely didn't work for FOWL.

But Duncan didn't say any of this to Steelbeak. They may have been buddies once before, but Steelbeak was loyal to FOWL. He wanted to be king of the world and would do anything to get there. Duncan only had loyalty for one person, himself. If he just revealed everything to FOWL, he might as well resign himself to conscription into the ranks.

"When can I expect an update?" Duncan asked.

"Don't expect anything soon. This guy covered his tracks well," Steelbeak said, finishing his drink and standing up. "I'll contact you."

Duncan stood up and pulled out a couple of bills from his wallet—much more than two beers was worth—and left it on the table. What Steelbeak gave him was worth more than that.

"In the meantime, keep looking for that little brat," Steelbeak said, his words snapping so hard, each syllable was punctuated by metal grinding together. "If you do, you could ask for any price. I guarantee it."

Funny how that came with so many attachments. Duncan merely nodded before leaving the bar, grabbing a taxi and retracing his steps back to the comfort of his apartment.

He had a lot to think about. Mainly, as one of a few people on the Earth who knew Darkwing Duck's secret identity, what was the best use for this information?