Blue Waltz

Chapter 10: Pensieroso

Sept. 21

The hockey rink was packed. As Gosalyn expected, there were kids running around, some in hockey gear and some in street clothes, perhaps siblings of those who were trying out for the team. The adults that were in attendance were fussing with their children or getting seats in the stands to watch.

It was the two pair of police officers standing on opposite sides of the arena that made everyone nervous. The uniformed men and woman may have warm, friendly smiles when greeting everyone, but she knew they were on the watch for bad guys. Specifically kidnappers.

Another kid had been snatched that morning, which had sent the whole school in a tizzy. Teachers barely could teach their lessons, and the students gossiped about the possibility of closing all the schools in St. Canard. Gosalyn was more worried that they would cancel hockey because of the missing kids. Instead, there were four cops to watch over the young, tender children who were targeted by this mysterious criminal mind.

Gosalyn adjusted her gloves, hating how they felt. Hockey was her element, but she was used to her own gear. However, to be in the tryouts, she had to borrow the school's pads, helmet and skates, which didn't fit her right and they smelled like mold and mouse droppings.

"Gosalyn!"

She turned her head to see Honker racing her way with a bag over one arm. "Did you bring it?" she asked.

"You were right. My parents were okay with me borrowing the camera," Honker said, unzipping the bag. "But are you sure that you should do this? You don't want to get your dad in trouble."

"He's not going to get in trouble," Gosalyn said. "We can't have any contact at all. You'll give him the tape tonight. Nothing illegal." She didn't explain that she had gotten the idea from Charity. The letters that the lovebird were writing had to be kept a secret.

"Okay then. At least this idea isn't leading us into anything dangerous," Honker said, joking for once.

Gosalyn was completely dressed for the tryouts except for the skates. She had tried them on, and out of all the gear, the blades were more than she could hope for. The shoe part was well worn, so they wouldn't hurt her feet, and she had gotten the blades sharpened. There wasn't any reason she couldn't do her absolute best in the borrowed gear. But nevertheless, her usual cocky attitude was gone. She felt nervous.

"Are you ready?" Charity asked, after talking to a few of the other parents.

"I think so," Gosalyn said, rubbing her gloves together. If only her dad was there. Usually he could give her a pep talk or some words of wisdom that always made her feel better. Unless he was feeling particularly verbose, then he would tell her some story or anecdote that was supposed to teach her a lesson.

"Who is this?" Charity asked, turning to Honker.

"This is Honker," Gosalyn said succinctly.

"Nice to meet you," Charity said, holding out her hand. "I've heard so much about you."

"Likewise, Ma'm," Honkey said as he shook her hand.

The coach blew his whistle and those on the ice rink started gathering around him.

"Gotta go," Gosalyn said, shoving her feet into the skates and her helmet on, sprinting onto the ice.

For the next hour, she was able to forget about the rest of the world and focus on hockey. There was little room for thinking of anything else while the coach directed them through drill after drill. She waited patiently for her turn to skate through cones, take shots at the net, and passing the puck to other players. She wasn't surprised that she was only one of two girls trying out for the team, and she could tell that some of the boys didn't like the idea. Well, she would show them.

While hockey is a rough sport, junior hockey tended to shy away from the more violent part of it. Nevertheless, Gosalyn was pushed around and shoved, which she easily gave just as much as was given without any feeling of guilt. That's why everyone wore padding.

However, just when the coach was pairing them off to see how they did against an opponent, the police officers waved their arms at the skaters, yelling them to stop. The coach went to the side and spoke to one before returning to the children.

"Try-outs are over," he said, frowning. "Good job, everyone. I'll post who made the team in front of the office in a week. All of you have impressed me with your efforts, and I want you to know that even if you don't make the team, you can still show up for practices."

Gosalyn followed the other kids to the sideline, pulling off her gloves and helmet as she went. As she sat on a bench and took off her skates, Honker approached her, putting the camera back in the bag.

"You did great, Gosalyn," he said, giving her a thumbs up.

"But it ended too early," Gosalyn said. "I didn't even get to show the coach my best moves. What happened?"
"I don't know. The police are just telling everyone to leave," Honker said.

As she put all her gear into a duffle bag, Gosalyn looked for Charity. She finally saw the lovebird across the arena, talking to an officer. Lugging the heavy duffle bag over her shoulder, she raced over to her guardian, hoping to catch some of the conversation. However, the officer left right as Gosalyn arrived.

"What's going on?"

"They've decided to stop the tryouts early," Charity said in a hushed tone. "They're trying not to panic anyone, but another child has been taken."

Gosalyn was a little put out with tryouts, but hearing why, she grew somber.

"Honker, do you have a ride home?" Charity asked, looking around as if to find his parents.

"I can take the bus home," Honker said.

"You shouldn't be on your own," Charity said. "I'll drive you."

Honker sighed with relief. It wasn't until that moment that Gosalyn wondered if her friend had been worried all this time. Having had more than her share of kidnappings throughout her life, she may have been a little desensitized by all the hubbub, but when she thought about it, every kid must be a little scared that they might be next.

The ride back to Gosalyn's neighborhood was quiet, mostly because Gosalyn soaked up the memories she had acquired from the time living with Drake. She longed to be back home, and when they stopped at Honker's place, she couldn't keep her eyes off her house. It was dark outside, yet there were no lights on.

Was he patrolling St. Canard with Launchpad in the Ratcatcher? Or fighting some bad guys?

"Don't worry, Gosalyn. I'll give it to your dad," Honker said with a wink, indicating his camera bag.

"Thanks, Honk."

As Charity pulled out of the driveway, she looked to the back seat. "You know, you can invite Honker over on Saturday to play. He seems like a good friend."

"Maybe," Gosalyn said, feeling surprised by Charity's declaration. It hadn't occurred to her to invite a friend over to the apartment that was her temporary home. She wanted to, but at the same time she wanted to push everyone away. If Honker came to Charity's apartment, that would make the two bedroom feel more like home instead of a temporary placement.

As the old neighborhood disappeared, Gosalyn leaned forward. "What happened with the kidnapping? Who was taken?"

"The police didn't give me any details," Charity said, her beak tight. "I'm sure it will be on the news tonight."

"What about the connection with the missing foster kids? Did you tell the cops?" Gosalyn asked, feeling her blood stir at the thought of solving a case. It was similar to helping Darkwing Duck only less running and screaming.

"I did," Charity said. "I called them at work."

"And what did they say?" Gosalyn asked, wanting every detail.

Charity shrugged. "They said that they would look into it."

"Look into it? That means they don't believe you," Gosalyn said, leaning back and folding her arms.

"Not necessarily," Charity said, although her defense didn't have much heart in it. "This is a police matter. They can't release every pinch of information to the public. I'm sure they'll investigate things thoroughly."

Gosalyn wasn't sure of that. Having seen the police step aside for Darkwing Duck to take care of business several times, her opinion of the local law enforcement wasn't very high. And if the children of St. Canard didn't feel safe, then someone should do something about it.


Duncan paced the expensive Persian rug with an almost crazed speed, heading from one side of the apartment to the other. He couldn't help it. He was indecisive. What was he to do? Here he was, sitting on the hottest, tastiest bit of information that nearly anyone with power and/or influence in St. Canard would give their left nut for, and he wasn't sure which direction he should go.

On one hand, selling it to a newspaper or TV station would be the safest choice. They would keep his name out of it and pay him a great deal to know who Darkwing Duck's identity is. Nobody would be the wiser, and if some masked vigilante wanted to do something to the snitch, it wouldn't be hard to remain anonymous. All he had to do was ask for straight cash, and there would be no way to lead it back to him.

But the downside is that of all those who would pay for the information, the media didn't have as much as the rest of the list.

He could sell the information to the highest bidder as Steelbeak suggested. His old friend would take a cut, but it would still be more lucrative. The problem with that would be that if something went wrong, either Darkwing Duck would be after him or some villain who wasn't happy with how things went. Or maybe some ne'er-do-well wouldn't bother with the bid and just torture him for the information.

As greedy as he was, it wasn't worth the risk if it meant one whisker could be bent out of place. Besides, he had enough money. He liked his lifestyle; he wasn't about to get cocky and try to rise above his station. He was happy where he was.

If there was something that Duncan Musman couldn't get enough of, it was power. Pure, anonymous power. He liked the idea of ruling the city on the sidelines, the man behind the emerald curtain as a whimsical metaphor. But if one was short-sighted by such a giant secret, knowing Darkwing Duck's identity seemed to be nothing but trouble, a millstone around his neck. If anything, he wished he had never met with Steelbeak and never made the connection between Drake Mallard and Darkwing Duck. It was too much of a hassle.

However, even if foresight wasn't twenty-twenty, it sure had a lot more clarity than Steelbeak's vision. If he couldn't sell the information, was there some other way he could use it to his own ends?

And that's when he remembered who he was and what he did on a regular basis. He had files and files of dirty little secrets, the best kind of currency when dealing with politicians and the underworld. If it worked on the dark side, why not on a hero?

After all, who in this city could say that they owned Darkwing Duck?

Ending his pacing, Musman sat down in a leather chair, contemplating this plan. He felt more comfortable with this, it was more his style. But he had to make sure that everything went smoothly. He thought everything through, making sure all his bases were covered. Once he made plans and backup plans so that things didn't spiraled out of control, he could easily put the duck in his place.

And then he waited for darkness to fall, for a time when he thought that Darkwing might be listening.

Then he picked up his phone. Uncertain if it would work or if he had to call someone for the bug to transmit, he spoke into the receiver. "I want to talk to Darkwing Duck."


Darkwing Duck paced the warehouse yet again, looking at the empty space on one side and the stack of boxes on the other. "You're telling me that the thief stole hundreds of pairs of shoes, but left all these computers and televisions behind?"

The police officer and the owner of the merchandise both nodded.

"It's the darndest thang," the merchant said, a heavy Texan accent affecting his syllables. "Them shoes ain't worth much on the streets. Most of it ah got wholesale, so it ain't no skin off mah back. But the rest o' this stuff, I would have lost thousands. Good thang that there thief was perty stupid." He chuckled and hooked his thumbs in his belt, displaying a rather gaudy belt buckle.

"Yes, pretty stupid," Darkwing repeated, rubbing his chin. "And you're certain that only the shoes were taken."

"That's it. I had mah men taken inventory last night."

That did fit in with the thief's MO to steal only one kind of item at a time. It may have been the only reason the merchant hadn't lost thousands of dollars.

Darkwing asked a few more questions but didn't glean anything new. It was the same as the other places, the only difference was that this crime scene was relatively old. The merchant didn't live in St. Canard and had only learned of the crime spree recently. And he had no idea what night he had been robbed.

"Well, LP. Did you find anything?" Darkwing asked as he climbed onto the Ratcatcher, taking out a list which comprised of all the things that have been stolen. He wrote shoes at the bottom.

"Hmmmm," Launchpad said, and by the tone, he hadn't paid attention to the question.

"Launchpad. This is serious," Darkwing reprimanded. That's when he looked over at his partner. "Are you still reading that book?"

"No, this is a new one," Launchpad said, holding out a ragged copy of Peter Pan. "I finish Pinocchio days ago. It's a good thing I found this in the corner or else I would be bored."

"You found that? Here?" Darkwing asked, his voice rising. "Give me that." He snatched it from Launchpad, looking it over. He flipped through the pages and examined every inch of the cover.

"Aw, now you've lost my place," Launchpad said sadly.

"I'll get you a bookmark," Darkwing said, holding the book up to the light. "And you found the other book at a crime scene as well, right LP?"

"Yeah."
"They could be clues," Darkwing mulled.

"That's not what you said about the other book," Launchpad said.

"Well, I changed my mind," Darkwing said. "Besides, one book doesn't seem like a clue. Two is more than a coincidence. But what do they have in common?"

Before he could continue that train of thought, the alarm on the Ratcatcher beeped at him. But this wasn't the same alarm that told him there was a crime being committed or some other emergency. This one was telling him it was almost nine o'clock.

It was time to go see Gosalyn, something that was more important than the missing shoes.

He sped a little, within reason. It wouldn't do for citizens to see their favorite hero breaking the law. He may be a vigilante, but he still tried to obey the laws. Coming up to the apartment complex, he parked his motorcycle in an empty space several building away from Charity's. After the stern lecture he had gotten from the social worker, he made sure to not be seen, even by the neighbors. It was dark but it wasn't that late. There were still people coming home and going for walks, especially since it was a nice night.

"I really wish I could come with you," Launchpad said with a frown.

"Me, too. Gosalyn really misses you," Darkwing said. But they couldn't risk Launchpad being seen by Charity. If she did, it wouldn't take a genius to figure out that Darkwing Duck was Drake Mallard.

Relinquishing control of the Ratcatcher over to his partner, Darkwing headed toward Charity's apartment, listening to the motorcycle zip away, most likely to the nearest Hamburger Hippo where Launchpad would "refuel" before returning. Using his grappling hook, the masked duck scaled the wall to Gosalyn's window. Taking a peek in, he saw that his daughter wasn't alone. Charity and her vicious attack dog were in the doorway, perhaps saying goodnight. Gosalyn was in bed, putting away a comic book on her nightstand.

Darkwing frowned. Why was it so hard for him to get Gosalyn into bed? On the off-night that he stayed home instead of donning his alter ego, it took him over an hour to get Gosalyn to brush her teeth, dress in pajamas and turn out the light. Part of him felt a little jealous that Charity not only got to go through this routine with Gosalyn, but she also did so with little effort.

Once Charity turned off the lights and closed the door, Darkwing waited a few minutes before knocking on the window. Only a nanosecond passed by before Gosalyn thrust the pane up with so much force, he was surprised the glass didn't crack.

Expecting her to throw her arms around him, Darkwing braced for the embrace, but instead was bombarded with demands.

"Do you know anything about all these kidnappings? Have you been investigating them? What are you going to do about all these missing kids? Huh, Darkwing?" Gosalyn said with hands on her hips.

"Wha? Okay, slow down, kiddo. First off, is that how you greet your old man?" Darkwing admonished, holding out his arms.

She did so, burying her face into his chest. She stayed there for a while before pulling away. "But I'm serious, Dad. There's a lot of talk about all these kidnappings and why haven't you solved it yet?"

Darkwing blinked. "Honestly, Gos, I…really haven't any clue what you are talking about."

"How can you not know? It's been on all the news channels, and it's all everyone can talk about," Gosalyn said, poking her father in the chest.

Darkwing thought back through the last couple of days. He had spent most of his time either watching Duncan Musman, researching DCF laws on seizing a child from a home, or looking for the master warehouse thief. He recalled hearing something about a kidnapping a few days ago, but usually the police only call him in on crimes involving the really dangerous criminals like Negaduck or Megavolt, or if they're completely stumped with a big spree like with the warehouse thief.

"I've been busy. It's been…weeks since I watched the news," Darkwing said. "Tell me about these kidnappings."

For the next five minutes, Gosalyn told Darkwing everything, including the wall of missing kids at DCF and how Charity had files and files of foster kids that had disappeared in the past couple of weeks. "And I bet the police don't even connect the foster kids to the other kidnappings, but I'm sure they're connected," Gosalyn finished her spill.

Darkwing reeled. Had he been so concerned about Gosalyn that he had been out of touch with the world? How could he miss something so big?

"So, what are you going to do about it?" Gosalyn demanded.

"I…I don't know. I'm not exactly an expert on tracking down kidnappers," Darkwing said. "I still haven't solved who wanted to kidnap you or why."

"What if they're related, too?" Gosalyn asked.

"Can't be," Darkwing stated. "All these kids have been taken while walking home, and there's been no witnesses. Your kidnapping attempt is completely different. I don't think they're connected."

"But still, there are kids being taken every day. You're Darkwing Duck. You can find the kidnapper," Gosalyn said, full of trust and confidence in her dad. "Those other cases aren't as important as this one."

Stroking his ego was enough to get Darkwing on Gosalyn's side. "Well…I guess a kidnapper is like any other evil doer. I can look in on it."

"Great. And I think you should ask Charity for help," Gosalyn said with a big smile.

"Charity? Whoa, wait. I don't think we need to get her involved," Darkwing said, shaking his head.

"But she knows more about the foster kids than anyone else," Gosalyn reasoned. "And I bet the police don't even think the foster kids are connected to the kidnappers. She might have some leads."

"Have you talked to her about this?" Darkwing asked.

"Kind of. She tries not to talk about this at home…er… I mean at the apartment," Gosalyn said, correcting herself. "Not to mention, didn't you say her boss might be connected to the two who tried to capture me? She could be your spy or something."

Darkwing massaged his head. "I don't think it's a good idea to involve citizens. And she would discover my identity if she saw Launchpad."

"But she might be able to help," Gosalyn said. "And if she is helping, perhaps I can come, too?" She grinned.

And then Darkwing saw that this was a hard sell so that Gosalyn could spend time with him. "I don't think that's likely," he said with a smirk. "You should have heard the lecture she gave me for those pictures."

Gosalyn pouted. "Well, it doesn't hurt to ask. She might have some ideas."

"Maybe…" Darkwing said noncommittedly, but the more he thought about it, perhaps Gosalyn did have a point. At least about Duncan Musman. "I will take a look into the kidnappings. I'm surprised that the police haven't asked me to get involved."

"Yeah, Darkwing is on the case. And once you solve it, there won't be any reason to shut down the hockey team," Gosalyn cheered before remembering she needed to keep her voice down.

"The hockey team? Did you make it? When was try-outs? Why didn't you say anything?" Darkwing bombarded her with questions.

That's when Gosalyn told him about hockey try-outs that evening and how they were cut short. "If more kidnappings happen, they might shut down all school activities. That's what some of the kids at school are saying," she said with a worried look.

"Don't worry. I'll hut the evil-doers down. I've taken on Bushroot and the Liquidator. These kidnappings are done by mere mortals in comparison," Darkwing said while puffing out his chest.

"Yeah, it's not like the kidnappers flew down and snatched them up to take them to Neverland," Gosalyn laughed.

Darkwing smiled before something about her words clicked in his brain. "Neverland?" he repeated.

"Oh, uh…We're reading Peter Pan in Literacy," Gosalyn said. "Hey, and that reminds me, why didn't you tell me that Charity wrote to you?"

"Peter Pan. Pinocchio," Darkwing said, ignoring her question. "They're both children's books."

"Uh, yeah," Gosalyn said with a shrug. "And your point?"

"They were both found at warehouses that had been robbed," Darkwing said, feeling a chill run through his body. From his pocket, he pulled out the list he had looked at recently. "What if there's more to the kidnappings?" The more he looked at the list, the more it made sense. Carefully sitting on the window ledge next to his daughter, Darkwing took out his pen and wrote another item on the list.

Children.

"What does that mean?" Gosalyn asked.

"It mean that my criminal mastermind might have a lot more sinister motives than I initially thought," Darkwing said. "It's no wonder that none of the missing merchandise has been seen in pawn shops or on the streets or the black market. He's not stealing things to sell. He's using them."

"But why? And if he is the kidnapper, why is he taking all the kids?" Gosalyn asked.

"I don't know," Darkwing said. "If I did, I could find him in an instant. But this is the best lead I've had in weeks." He kissed his daughter's head. "Thanks for the hint, kiddo. This changes everything."

"What does it change?" Gosalyn asked.

"It means that I'm not hunting a thief, but a kidnapper," Darkwing said. "I have a lot to do tonight, Gosalyn. I'll see you tomorrow night."

"What about that letter that Charity sent you?" Gosalyn asked, leaning over the window sill. "And you wrote her back. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Huh? Oh, that," Darkwing said. "I just told her about Taurus Bulba. I'm sorry, but she asked, and if he's involved, then I felt that she had the right to know."

"Is it him? Is he back?" Gosalyn asked, her eyes flashing with fear.

"I don't think so. But I'm looking into it," Darkwing said. "He hasn't been seen since he flew off, so it's hard to track him down."

"So, you aren't going to write anything embarrassing about me to Charity next time she writes to you?" Gosalyn asked.

Darkwing looked up. "She's writing back?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Gosalyn said with a shrug. "Just don't tell anyone, okay. I don't want her to get into trouble."

"I won't," Darkwing said. He gave her another kiss on the cheek. "Now it's time to for bed, young lady." He tucked her in before singing her usual lullaby. As he was closing her window, she stopped him.

"Oh, and tomorrow, talk to Honk. He has something for you," Gosalyn said with a grin.

"What is it?" Darkwing asked, hoping his daughter hadn't come up with another scheme that would get someone—most likely him—in trouble.

"It's a surprise," she said with a wink.


After Launchpad returned, the two swung by the Audubon Bridge to refuel the Ratcatcher and do a little research on the kidnapping case before heading out. They checked the police scanners, helped catch a couple of purse-snatchers before heading to the high-rise apartments where they could listen in on Duncan Musman's apartment. Expecting a long and boring night before the bureaucrat would go to sleep, the pair wrapped huddled against the motorcycle and brought out the snacks for their stakeout. However, not five minutes into their wait, they heard something unexpected through the bug in Musman's phone

"I want to talk to Darkwing Duck."

Darkwing looked at Launchpad. Launchpad looked at Darkwing.

"So?" Launchpad asked. "Are you going in there?"

Darkwing looked up the building, able to pick out the exact balcony that Musman owned over twenty stories above ground. "If he's calling me out…" he said, pushing his hat tighter on his head as if he were a cowboy readying to kick his horse into a gallop.

His grappling hook didn't go that high, so he used his patented suction cup hand and knee pads, climbing up the side of the building.

"Couldn't you use the elevator?" Launchpad called out when his partner was at the fourth story.

"Darkwing Duck doesn't use the elevator if he can get a more dramatic entrance," Darkwing replied heroically. However, he started to rethink this declaration around the twelfth floor.

Panting and sweating, Darkwing dragged himself onto Musman's balcony and gave himself a moment to recover from the climb. He had worked hard for that dramatic entrance; he wasn't going to ruin it by being out of breath. It was a good thing that the September night was cool.

Composed and ready to face the dastardly man, Darkwing pulled on the balcony door, only to find it locked. "Who locks their balcony this high up?" With a heavy sigh, he knocked. If he knew this was going to happen, he would have definitely used the elevator.

Musman, dressed in a silk bathrobe and carrying what looked to be a dry martini, stepped up to the glass balcony door and simply raised an eyebrow at the sight of Darkwing Duck. "You know, we have an elevator," he said when he opened the door.

"I know," Darkwing grumbled and stomped in. With his cool entrance completely ruined, he was in no mood to be civil. "What do you want?"

"I was just mixing me a nightcap. Can I offer you one?" Musman said, looking smugger than Negaduck in a room full of chainsaws.

"No. What do you want?" Darkwing repeated.

"First, I want all your bugs removed from my apartment," Musman said, stirring his drink with the toothpick with three skewered olives. "It's terribly rude to infringe on a person's privacy."

"What bugs?" Darkwing asked, folding his arms and leaning against the wall.

"Really?" Musman asked in disbelief. "You answered my request which I made over a phone without dialing a number. You really think I'm that stupid. Now remove all of them. And don't pretend you miss one because I'll know."

Grumbling, Darkwing removed the devices SHUSH gave him from the phone, the lamp, the TV remote and one from the light fixture in the bathroom.

"Thank goodness you didn't put in any video recording equipment," Musman said sardonically.

"If that is all, I'll be going," Darkwing said, tucking the devices back in his belt and heading for the balcony.

"That's not all I want," Musman said with an oily snear. "Drake Mallard."

Even if Darkwing was a 40-ton rampaging dinosaur—which at one point in his life, he had been—those two words would have been enough to stop him on a dime.

"I'm not one for theatrics or to gloat or anything so villainously ostentatious. I'm not like the regular rogues you deal with; I'm a businessman at heart," Musman said, all humor now gone. "At the heart of the matter, I have information that I can very easily give to some powerful and unsavory people, the least of these being inmates of St. Canard Penitentiary, if you get my gist. And if you get any ideas about silencing me or anything like that, just to let you know, I have contingencies in place in case something happens to me." He said this so matter-of-factly, he might have been telling a handyman to fix his sink and not leave any dirt on the carpet.

It was obvious to Darkwing that Musman not only had this all thought out, but he had left no wiggle room. Darkwing was more insulted that Musman insinuated that the hero would actually result in killing to keep his secret in the shadows over the tone the mouse used on him.

In a more resigned voice, Darkwing repeated his question for a third time, a heaviness in his voice, "What do you want?"

"Now we can get down to business," Musman said, sitting down and crossing his legs. "And despite me having this proverbial noose around your neck, there's no reason we can't be civil about it. My demands are simple, and if you follow them, then there isn't any reason why we can't get along."

"And what are they?" Darkwing asked through gritted teeth, starting to hate the sound of the man's voice.

"It's simply this. Leave me alone," Musman said with a cultured growl in his throat. "You are to remove yourself from the vicinity of my apartment and stay out of my business. If you are on a case and you find that I am involved, then you move on."

Darkwing remained silent, keeping any sarcasm or snark to himself. He had a feeling that his usual attitude would only anger the mouse.

"I also would like to keep you on permanent retainer to do jobs for me here and there," Musman said, sipping his martini. "I've made my share of enemies, and I may need you to remove a threat or two here or there. Oh, don't make that face. My enemies aren't exactly the good guys. I'm not talking about the police or SHUH, not that they have any idea of half of my business. Believe me, if I need someone to go to jail or leave St. Canard permanently, it's because they rightly deserve it, so we'll basically be on the same side of the law on most things."

If Darkwing ever met the Devil, he was certain he would talk just like Musman.

"I have no intention of putting you in a moral dilemma where you would risk your secret getting out over compromising your standards. But just in case you get any ideas, you know what kind of power I have. I was able to take your daughter away from you, and I can make that permanent," Musman said, his smile as sweet as if he were smelling flowers.

That's when Darkwing's temper boiled over. So, it was Musman who was pulling the strings behind DCF. And ipso facto, he must have arranged the kidnapping. "If you do anything to my daughter, you'll find out just how dangerous I can be."

"I'm trembling," Musman said, brushing aside the threat. "If you follow my few instructions, your daughter will be fine and will soon be returned to you. That is, if you reassure me that you can be trusted. And if for some reason you get it in your mind to seize your darling daughter early, well…just so you know, she's under the supervision of one of my people. I'll know if you try anything." Musman smiled as if thinking of a secret.
Darkwing's eyes narrowed into slits. Charity? Charity was working for Musman? Well…she did say he was her boss, but she was in on everything? But that didn't make sense. He may not have liked the social worker, but she had been direct and honest with him the whole time. She had sent him a letter, risking her job to get information about Gosalyn. She had risked her life to keep his daughter safe from the kidnappers. And Gosalyn seemed to like her.

Musman was lying; Darkwing was certain of that. But it was a bluff that he wasn't going to call out. At least for now. It meant that Musman didn't know that Darkwing and Charity had talked to each other and that the social worker had been the one to send the hero on the mouse's trail. He would keep quiet until he could use that information to his advantage.

Looking defeated, Darkwing slumped his shoulders. "Fine. I'll do what you say," he said, the words tasting bitter. Not that he had any intention of doing anything Musman wanted.

"Good." The mouse smiled, drinking the last of his beverage. Leaning forward, Musman grabbed a large block of plastic from a crystal coffee table and tossed it to the masked duck. "Here's a cell phone. I'll contact you if there's anything I need. And make sure you answer. I don't like to be kept waiting."

Darkwing shoved the device into his pocket, grumbling.

"You should be saying 'Yes, sir,' or something like that. I need to know that my words are getting through those feathers of yours," Musman said smugly.

"Yes, sir," Darkwing growled. "Is there anything else, sir?"

If Musman didn't like his tone, he let it go. "No, that's it. You may go."

And like that, he was dismissed like a butler or a servant. Musman's secret was like a collar around his neck as if he were some animal that someone had tamed. But he was Darkwing Duck. Musman may think that he had a vigilant as a pet, but he would eventually learn that Darkwing would never give in to an evil man like him.

He just had to make sure Gosalyn was safe before he did anything drastic.