Dangerous Games: Recovering the Pieces
By Tinselcat
Rating: PG-13 for violence and language.
Disclaimer: All characters and terms referred to in this story except for Detective Rollins, Dr. Quack, Dr. White and Dr. Otis belong to Disney.
Author's Note: well, it's been a long time in coming, but I've finally finished this fic! I'm not sure when my next DWD fic will be, because I have some for other fandoms going on right now, but hopefully not long.
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Darkwing stood stiffly, waiting for the smoke to clear, fearful of what it would reveal when it did. Shapes gradually came into focus through the gray veil. Otis coughed. The dissipating smoke revealed Dr. Quack lying motionless on the floor, the gun a short way from her hand. Darkwing slowly walked up to her.
Otis's voice seemed to come from far away, "Hey! Get me out of here! She's dead, there's nothing to see! Hey, are you listening to me, asshole?"
Darkwing knelt by her body. There was a small, dark pool of blood beneath her head. Her eyes were closed. His fingers trembled as he pressed them to her neck. It was as if an ocean of tension suddenly flowed out of him as he felt a strong pulse. He gently lifted her head, feeling the back of her skull. The bullet had grazed the back of her head. The wound was still hot, but shallow. The smoke cartridge must have hit her hand and jarred it at the moment she pulled the trigger. He sighed. He heard sirens in the distance, steadily getting closer. Launchpad must have called the police.
Within ten minutes Darkwing was briefing the police and Dr. Quack was on her way to the hospital, being escorted by the police.
Darkwing sauntered up to Otis, who was sitting in the back of an ambulance, a scowl on his furry face. He plastered a wide smile over it as Darkwing approached.
"I can't thank you enough for helping me. I feel honored to be rescued by the renowned Darkwing Duck!"
Darkwing smiled back, leaning on the ambulance's doorframe. He tweaked the brim of his hat, "Yep, yep, yep. Just doing my job, like the best right- minded citizens, such as yourself." He scrutinized Otis's reaction from beneath his fedora.
"Well, one does one's best. It takes a very specific kind of mind to do my sort of work."
"Yes, about that. . ." Darkwing leaned closer to Otis, "A little birdy told me that your mind is specific to another kind of science all together." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "Like the science of crime!"
Otis looked at him sharply, his wide grin vanishing. For a moment, his jaw stiffened, and anger flashed in his eyes. He then composed himself and replied calmly, "I have no idea what you're talking about. I think you have me confused with-"
"-Someone else? I don't think so. Unless you're not as famous as you'd like to believe."
"I'm sure I don't know what you're getting at, but I assure you that-"
"We have videos."
Otis sat in shock for several moments before it sank in. "You're lying." He hissed.
"Nope. I have my sources. Didn't you know there were security cameras in most of the labs where you and Dr. Quack worked?"
"Your bluff won't work!" Otis growled, "I took care of all the security cameras in the building before entering her laboratory! Do you really think I'm the kind of fool who would let a detail like that slip? I told you I have a very specific kind of mind. If I wanted to, I could have stolen the research from all the four-eyed, lab-coated, fume-inhaling nerds in the building!"
"Than why Dr. Quack?"
"Because she was the most brilliant, you ignoramus! She had the most to lose, and I had the most to gain from bumping her off the ladder! I'm a genius, Mr. Darkwing, in every sense of the word. I do my work carefully and thoroughly, so you have nothing on me unless I hand you a confession!"
Darkwing leaned back, the brim of his hat hiding his face. He looked up at Otis. The phony scientist was confused to see that the duck was grinning from ear to ear. Darkwing reached into his jacket, "My dear Dr. Otis, you just did!"
Otis gurgled in shock as Darkwing pulled out a small tape recorder. He rewound it an pressed the play button. Otis heard his own voice come back to him: "She had the most to lose, and I had the most to gain from bumping her off the ladder!"
"You. . . you. . .!" he sputtered.
"Men," Darkwing turned toward the police, gesturing at Otis, "Arrest this man for fraud and attempted murder."
Darkwing sauntered away into the dawn, grinning at the sounds of protest coming from Otis.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
"LOOK OUT! IT'S OUT OF CONTROL!!"
Drake dove sideways as what looked like a small, dense and very angry cloud whizzed past his head and out the door.
Morgana whizzed past him, tripped on her tight skirt, sprawled on her porch, and recovered just in time to send a glittering blast of magic at the retreating smudge of black on the horizon. Two pairs of eyes followed the wayward glitter until it intercepted the cloud, causing it to plummet to the ground, looking suspiciously like a perfectly shaped pink pudding.
"Dammit!" yelled Morgana, pounding a slender fist on the warped wood beneath her, "I give up! Weather spells are just not my thing!" she stood up and brushed off her skirt. "What brings you here, Dar. . . er. . . Drake during the day, right?"
"Right." Drake followed her inside, taking the proffered seat which gave out a small cloud of dust as he sat in it. He kindly refused her latest batch of cookies, which looked more like something an owl regurgitated. "I was in the neighborhood and I thought I'd stop by."
"I heard about Dr. Quack and Dr. Otis. Quite a mess, as I understand. Who is defending Dr. Quack?"
"Dr. Sarah Bellum from S.H.U.S.H.. Can you believe she has a degree in law?"
"How is the trial going?"
"Well, either she ends up in prison for years, or she walks, and neither seems likely at this point. How the jury decides it, and what her sentence is may depend entirely on me. I'm testifying tomorrow."
"What are you going to tell them?"
Darkwing leaned forward, massaging his forehead with his hands, "I don't' know. I mean, I know that Quack was the one who abducted Otis, in that huge machine. . . but. . . If I testify to that, she'll end up in jail for years, and I don't think she deserves that!"
"Do they have any proof that she was driving that thing?"
"No solid proof, only speculation. The only thing they know for sure is that she held him in the warehouse."
So, what you're saying is, the decision that the jury makes may rest entirely on your testimony. . .?"
"I'm afraid so." Drake massaged his temples, "The thing is, I know she's guilty. I just don't think she belongs in jail. The nuthouse, maybe, but not prison. . . ."
"So, what are you going to do?"
"I just. . . . don't know. . ."
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^6
Darkwing had to clasp his hands together in his lap not to fiddle with the bottom of his purple jacket. His eyes followed the defense lawyer's every move, as she paced back and forth, a manaiacal gleam behind her glasses. Ms. Bellum paced back and forth as if Darkwing were prey to be pounced upon and devoured. "Mister Darkwing, as the city of Saint Canard's trusted and intrepid protector, you have shrewd intellectual insights and access to quite exclusive information regarding the crimes committed, and the criminals, no less, that prowl this fair city. Therefore, your views concerning the crimes committed, allegedly by my client, Dr. Kamo Quack, may be very valuable. Based on your knowledge, what, exactly is Dr. Quack guilty of, if anything?"
Darkwing took a deep breath and sought out Gosalyn, Launchpad and Morgana in the rows of seats. Gosalyn gave him a thumbs-up, Morgana flashed an encouraging smile, and Launchpad looked confused.
"It seems to me that the only thing Dr. Quack is guilty of is threatening Dr. Otis, motivated by anger and resent after he stole credit for much of her work. That's all." "Thank you, Mr. Duck. That will be all."
Several minutes later, silence pervaded in the courtroom. The tension in the air could almost be cut with a knife. The jury filed out of the conference room. Dr. Quack masticated her bottom beak in nervousness, twisting her scarf about her fingers and nearly cutting off her circulation in the process.
"We have found the defendant guilty of conspiracy to kidnap Dr. Otis."
A few minutes later, the judge announced the sentence. "It's obvious to me that Dr. Kamo Quack is suffering from moderate mental illness that has impaired her judgement. This does not entirely excuse her from responsibility for her actions, however. She is sentenced to no less than two years resindence with a probation officer and a year of community service. I am also requiring regular visits with a psychiatrist and the taking of any prescriptions required by the specialist."
Dr. Quack stood up, and looked as if she were about to burst into tears of relief.
The judge gave her a scrutinizing look over the top of his spectacles, "however, I'd keep out of trouble, if I were you, Dr. Quack, I'd stay out of trouble. You're being given a second chance here. Don't blow it." He turned to the murmuring assembly, "Dr. Quack will be picked up by her probation officer at an undisclosed time and location."
Darkwing couldn't help but smile as Kamo gave Dr. Bellum a hug, tears streaming from behind her glasses. Launchpad, a bit confused as to courtroom protocol, began to clap as Gosalyn waved her "Go Darkwing!" pennant.
Morgana leaned over to Darkwing, placing a hand on his shoulder, "You did the right thing, Dark. And very sexily, I might add. . ."
"Yep, yep, yep. Just doing my duty for the common good. And sexiness. That too."
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
White rushed up the stairs, as fast as his considerable bulk would allow. He leaned heavily on the railing. He paused on a landing to mop his brow and regain his breath. He then continued up the stairs, periodically throwing furtive glances over his shoulder. The police were off his trail. They had to be. . . he approached the door to his apartment, fiddling with the key in the lock. He opened the door. It was pitch black inside, as usual. He closed the door behind him and flicked the light switch. Nothing happened.
"Ahem, shit." He swore.
"Ah, ah, ah. We can't be havin' any 'a dat doity language. It ain't proper fer one wid a proper education."
White shielded his eyes against the light that suddenly dominated his vision. When they adjusted, he lowered his hand to see Steelbeak, sitting in a lounge chair facing the door, a lit lamp on the table beside him. He wore a smug expression. He had a gun with a silencer in one hand, and a martini in the other.
"Doc, ya look un'appy ta see me!"
"How did you. . . ah. . . . how. . ."
Steelbeak took a sip of his martini, "I'm afraid youse made me very mad, Doc." He said, ignoring White's question.
"What do you, er, want?" asked White, fluttering his handkerchief. "I can get you money. I have, ahem, resources. Name your price."
"My price is pretty high. . . think youse can 'andle it?"
"Of course, just name it!"
Without so much as a blink, Steelbeak aimed his gun and fired.
White looked down, and expression of shock and dismay freezing upon his features. He raised a hand to the small, neat hole in his chest.
"I told youse my price was high. . ." growled Steelbeak, his eyes glinting as cold and hard as his metal beak.
White gave a last, shuddering breath and collapsed, motionless, on the floor.
Steelbeak very calmly finished his martini and exited the apartment, locking the door behind him and tossing the key out the window at the end of the hallway.
A small ringing came from his pocket. He fished out his cell phone and opened it, "'ello?"
"Steelbeak! Where are you? I've been worried sick! I. . . er. . . just remembered that you carried a cell phone a minute ago. . ." came the concerned voice of Bushroot.
"I been busy. . ."
"With what?"
"Killin' Doctah White, actually."
"Steelbeak, you didn't have to. . . I-I mean you shouldn't. . ." Bushroot trailed off.
"Y'know, I don' care about too many people, but if someone 'urts someone I do care about. . ." He left the sentence incomplete.
"I understand." Said Bushroot quietly.
"Put 'im behind ya now, babe. 'E ain't gonna 'urt anyone else."
"Okay. Are you coming home now?"
"Yeah. Be dere in a few minutes."
"Uh. . . Steelbeak?"
"Yeah, babes?"
"I. . . er. . . loveyou. . ." Blurted Bushroot.
Steelbeak could practically hear the plant-duck blushing. He couldn't help but smile, "Right back at ya babe, right back at ya."
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
"DAAAAD! DAD! HEEEEEY DAAAAY-AAAAAAD!!!" Gosalyn rushed in to the kitchen, dragging Honker by his wrist, "Mrs. Muddlefoot wants us all to come and meet the new neighbors. The movers came yesterday, and she thinks we should go as a community to welcome them. So come ON!!"
"Gosalyn, dear, can't you see that I'm busy?" Drake asked as sweetly as he could, being up to his elbows in soapsuds and dirty dinner dishes.
"But Mrs. Muddlefoot says-"
"Gosalyn!"
"Dad!"
"Gos!"
"Dad!"
They both clenched their fists and growled at the air.
Honker stepped forward, scuffing his feet and staring at the floor, "My mom says that if you don't come, she's going to come over here and give you a lecture on the value of community and making everyone feel like they're part of a big family. . .She's got that look in her eye, again. . .." he mumbled.
"I'm there!" cried Drake, zipping out the door and across the street in record time, to catch up with Mr. and Mrs. Muddlefoot on the porch of the small and somewhat decrepit-looking two-story house.
"Oh, Mr. Mallard!" sang Mrs.Muddlefoot in a cheery voice, "how delightful to see you! I'm so glad you came!"
Mr. Muddlefoot swung a massive arm about Drake's narrow shoulders, "Looks like we may have another pal ta watch the big game with, eh, Drake-o old pal!"
Drake gurgled miserably.
Mrs. Muddlefoot knocked on the door and chirped, "Hellooooo! Anyone home? It's the neighborhood welcoming committee!" She giggled happily, completely in her element, bearing a casserole and gift-basket.
Muffled curses came from inside the door. Drake could make out two distinct voices. The door opened, and they stared into the haggard-looking face of none other than detective Rollins.
Drake tried not to let his eyes bug out in surprise by blinking a lot. Incidentally, he ended up looking like he had severe allergies.
Rollins, seeing Mrs. Muddlefoot's disapproving gaze gravitate toward his cigarette, hastily dropped it on the porch and stepped on it. "Hey. Uh. . . . so, you're the neighbors, huh?"
"Yes! I'm Mrs. Muddlefoot, this is my husband Herb, our son Honker and of course Drake Mallard from next door, and his lovely daughter Gosalyn." She beamed and held out her gifts. Drake thought they looked like peace offerings from a foreign nation.
Rollins took them gingerly, as if afraid they might blow up at any moment. "I'm, er, Mr. Rollins, from the police force, and this is, uh," he looked behind him and, seeing no one there, called over his shoulder, "Hey! Four- eyes! Meet the neighbors!"
A voice from inside called back, "there's enough bacteria in this kitchen to supply an entire eighth-grade science fair! Don't you ever use ammonia?"
"Quit being antisocial!" Shouted Rollins.
Drake gaped as Dr. Kamo Quack appeared beside Rollins, hair disheveled with a dishcloth in one hand and a bottle of window-cleaner in the other.
Rollins gestured toward her with an elbow, "This is my. . . er. . . friend, Dr. Quack."
Drake prayed that the Muddlefoots hadn't read about the trial in the paper. A criminal on probation wouldn't go over well among the local Gossip circle.
Dr. Quack's beak fell open as she saw Drake, but she recovered in time to nod politely Mrs. Muddlefoot's introductions.
"Hey, do I know you from somewhere?" Asked Rollins, looking sidelong at Drake as Mrs. Muddlefoot gabbered on to Dr. Quack about cleaning tips and domestic life in general.
"er. . . . I don't think so. . . " Said Drake, trying to avoid Rollins's eyes.
"I think he has one of those faces!" blurted Dr. Quack.
"Yeah, I guess you're right." Rollins grunted.
Drake eventually managed to extricate himself from the situation, but not after Mrs. Muddlefoot had managed to make them all promise to show up for a friendly neighborhood barbecue next weekend. He rushed back to the house and slammed the door, leaning against it, panting.
Launchpad wandered toward him, munching on a post-dinner sandwich. "What's up, Drake-a-rooney?"
Drake sighed, "We've got a disgruntled Saint Canard cop and an equally disgruntled scientist of questionable mental state living in our neighborhood."
"Well, whaddaya know?" remarked Launchpad amiably, "Oh yeah, I checked our messages at the bridge. Bushroot and Steelbeak have gone on vacation in Hawaii, Neptunia wants to lodge an official complaint with the city about rubbish being dumped into the river, and somehow Negaduck got our number. He said to watch out for him in the near future. Apparently he's got something up his sleeve. Crazy, huh?"
Drake sank slowly to the floor. As usual, life was getting less and less boring.
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/Sings/ THE EEEEEEEEENNNNND!! TA DAAAAA!! I do hope you enjoyed the flight, feedback is always welcome, have a nice day. ; )~
Rating: PG-13 for violence and language.
Disclaimer: All characters and terms referred to in this story except for Detective Rollins, Dr. Quack, Dr. White and Dr. Otis belong to Disney.
Author's Note: well, it's been a long time in coming, but I've finally finished this fic! I'm not sure when my next DWD fic will be, because I have some for other fandoms going on right now, but hopefully not long.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Darkwing stood stiffly, waiting for the smoke to clear, fearful of what it would reveal when it did. Shapes gradually came into focus through the gray veil. Otis coughed. The dissipating smoke revealed Dr. Quack lying motionless on the floor, the gun a short way from her hand. Darkwing slowly walked up to her.
Otis's voice seemed to come from far away, "Hey! Get me out of here! She's dead, there's nothing to see! Hey, are you listening to me, asshole?"
Darkwing knelt by her body. There was a small, dark pool of blood beneath her head. Her eyes were closed. His fingers trembled as he pressed them to her neck. It was as if an ocean of tension suddenly flowed out of him as he felt a strong pulse. He gently lifted her head, feeling the back of her skull. The bullet had grazed the back of her head. The wound was still hot, but shallow. The smoke cartridge must have hit her hand and jarred it at the moment she pulled the trigger. He sighed. He heard sirens in the distance, steadily getting closer. Launchpad must have called the police.
Within ten minutes Darkwing was briefing the police and Dr. Quack was on her way to the hospital, being escorted by the police.
Darkwing sauntered up to Otis, who was sitting in the back of an ambulance, a scowl on his furry face. He plastered a wide smile over it as Darkwing approached.
"I can't thank you enough for helping me. I feel honored to be rescued by the renowned Darkwing Duck!"
Darkwing smiled back, leaning on the ambulance's doorframe. He tweaked the brim of his hat, "Yep, yep, yep. Just doing my job, like the best right- minded citizens, such as yourself." He scrutinized Otis's reaction from beneath his fedora.
"Well, one does one's best. It takes a very specific kind of mind to do my sort of work."
"Yes, about that. . ." Darkwing leaned closer to Otis, "A little birdy told me that your mind is specific to another kind of science all together." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "Like the science of crime!"
Otis looked at him sharply, his wide grin vanishing. For a moment, his jaw stiffened, and anger flashed in his eyes. He then composed himself and replied calmly, "I have no idea what you're talking about. I think you have me confused with-"
"-Someone else? I don't think so. Unless you're not as famous as you'd like to believe."
"I'm sure I don't know what you're getting at, but I assure you that-"
"We have videos."
Otis sat in shock for several moments before it sank in. "You're lying." He hissed.
"Nope. I have my sources. Didn't you know there were security cameras in most of the labs where you and Dr. Quack worked?"
"Your bluff won't work!" Otis growled, "I took care of all the security cameras in the building before entering her laboratory! Do you really think I'm the kind of fool who would let a detail like that slip? I told you I have a very specific kind of mind. If I wanted to, I could have stolen the research from all the four-eyed, lab-coated, fume-inhaling nerds in the building!"
"Than why Dr. Quack?"
"Because she was the most brilliant, you ignoramus! She had the most to lose, and I had the most to gain from bumping her off the ladder! I'm a genius, Mr. Darkwing, in every sense of the word. I do my work carefully and thoroughly, so you have nothing on me unless I hand you a confession!"
Darkwing leaned back, the brim of his hat hiding his face. He looked up at Otis. The phony scientist was confused to see that the duck was grinning from ear to ear. Darkwing reached into his jacket, "My dear Dr. Otis, you just did!"
Otis gurgled in shock as Darkwing pulled out a small tape recorder. He rewound it an pressed the play button. Otis heard his own voice come back to him: "She had the most to lose, and I had the most to gain from bumping her off the ladder!"
"You. . . you. . .!" he sputtered.
"Men," Darkwing turned toward the police, gesturing at Otis, "Arrest this man for fraud and attempted murder."
Darkwing sauntered away into the dawn, grinning at the sounds of protest coming from Otis.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
"LOOK OUT! IT'S OUT OF CONTROL!!"
Drake dove sideways as what looked like a small, dense and very angry cloud whizzed past his head and out the door.
Morgana whizzed past him, tripped on her tight skirt, sprawled on her porch, and recovered just in time to send a glittering blast of magic at the retreating smudge of black on the horizon. Two pairs of eyes followed the wayward glitter until it intercepted the cloud, causing it to plummet to the ground, looking suspiciously like a perfectly shaped pink pudding.
"Dammit!" yelled Morgana, pounding a slender fist on the warped wood beneath her, "I give up! Weather spells are just not my thing!" she stood up and brushed off her skirt. "What brings you here, Dar. . . er. . . Drake during the day, right?"
"Right." Drake followed her inside, taking the proffered seat which gave out a small cloud of dust as he sat in it. He kindly refused her latest batch of cookies, which looked more like something an owl regurgitated. "I was in the neighborhood and I thought I'd stop by."
"I heard about Dr. Quack and Dr. Otis. Quite a mess, as I understand. Who is defending Dr. Quack?"
"Dr. Sarah Bellum from S.H.U.S.H.. Can you believe she has a degree in law?"
"How is the trial going?"
"Well, either she ends up in prison for years, or she walks, and neither seems likely at this point. How the jury decides it, and what her sentence is may depend entirely on me. I'm testifying tomorrow."
"What are you going to tell them?"
Darkwing leaned forward, massaging his forehead with his hands, "I don't' know. I mean, I know that Quack was the one who abducted Otis, in that huge machine. . . but. . . If I testify to that, she'll end up in jail for years, and I don't think she deserves that!"
"Do they have any proof that she was driving that thing?"
"No solid proof, only speculation. The only thing they know for sure is that she held him in the warehouse."
So, what you're saying is, the decision that the jury makes may rest entirely on your testimony. . .?"
"I'm afraid so." Drake massaged his temples, "The thing is, I know she's guilty. I just don't think she belongs in jail. The nuthouse, maybe, but not prison. . . ."
"So, what are you going to do?"
"I just. . . . don't know. . ."
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^6
Darkwing had to clasp his hands together in his lap not to fiddle with the bottom of his purple jacket. His eyes followed the defense lawyer's every move, as she paced back and forth, a manaiacal gleam behind her glasses. Ms. Bellum paced back and forth as if Darkwing were prey to be pounced upon and devoured. "Mister Darkwing, as the city of Saint Canard's trusted and intrepid protector, you have shrewd intellectual insights and access to quite exclusive information regarding the crimes committed, and the criminals, no less, that prowl this fair city. Therefore, your views concerning the crimes committed, allegedly by my client, Dr. Kamo Quack, may be very valuable. Based on your knowledge, what, exactly is Dr. Quack guilty of, if anything?"
Darkwing took a deep breath and sought out Gosalyn, Launchpad and Morgana in the rows of seats. Gosalyn gave him a thumbs-up, Morgana flashed an encouraging smile, and Launchpad looked confused.
"It seems to me that the only thing Dr. Quack is guilty of is threatening Dr. Otis, motivated by anger and resent after he stole credit for much of her work. That's all." "Thank you, Mr. Duck. That will be all."
Several minutes later, silence pervaded in the courtroom. The tension in the air could almost be cut with a knife. The jury filed out of the conference room. Dr. Quack masticated her bottom beak in nervousness, twisting her scarf about her fingers and nearly cutting off her circulation in the process.
"We have found the defendant guilty of conspiracy to kidnap Dr. Otis."
A few minutes later, the judge announced the sentence. "It's obvious to me that Dr. Kamo Quack is suffering from moderate mental illness that has impaired her judgement. This does not entirely excuse her from responsibility for her actions, however. She is sentenced to no less than two years resindence with a probation officer and a year of community service. I am also requiring regular visits with a psychiatrist and the taking of any prescriptions required by the specialist."
Dr. Quack stood up, and looked as if she were about to burst into tears of relief.
The judge gave her a scrutinizing look over the top of his spectacles, "however, I'd keep out of trouble, if I were you, Dr. Quack, I'd stay out of trouble. You're being given a second chance here. Don't blow it." He turned to the murmuring assembly, "Dr. Quack will be picked up by her probation officer at an undisclosed time and location."
Darkwing couldn't help but smile as Kamo gave Dr. Bellum a hug, tears streaming from behind her glasses. Launchpad, a bit confused as to courtroom protocol, began to clap as Gosalyn waved her "Go Darkwing!" pennant.
Morgana leaned over to Darkwing, placing a hand on his shoulder, "You did the right thing, Dark. And very sexily, I might add. . ."
"Yep, yep, yep. Just doing my duty for the common good. And sexiness. That too."
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
White rushed up the stairs, as fast as his considerable bulk would allow. He leaned heavily on the railing. He paused on a landing to mop his brow and regain his breath. He then continued up the stairs, periodically throwing furtive glances over his shoulder. The police were off his trail. They had to be. . . he approached the door to his apartment, fiddling with the key in the lock. He opened the door. It was pitch black inside, as usual. He closed the door behind him and flicked the light switch. Nothing happened.
"Ahem, shit." He swore.
"Ah, ah, ah. We can't be havin' any 'a dat doity language. It ain't proper fer one wid a proper education."
White shielded his eyes against the light that suddenly dominated his vision. When they adjusted, he lowered his hand to see Steelbeak, sitting in a lounge chair facing the door, a lit lamp on the table beside him. He wore a smug expression. He had a gun with a silencer in one hand, and a martini in the other.
"Doc, ya look un'appy ta see me!"
"How did you. . . ah. . . . how. . ."
Steelbeak took a sip of his martini, "I'm afraid youse made me very mad, Doc." He said, ignoring White's question.
"What do you, er, want?" asked White, fluttering his handkerchief. "I can get you money. I have, ahem, resources. Name your price."
"My price is pretty high. . . think youse can 'andle it?"
"Of course, just name it!"
Without so much as a blink, Steelbeak aimed his gun and fired.
White looked down, and expression of shock and dismay freezing upon his features. He raised a hand to the small, neat hole in his chest.
"I told youse my price was high. . ." growled Steelbeak, his eyes glinting as cold and hard as his metal beak.
White gave a last, shuddering breath and collapsed, motionless, on the floor.
Steelbeak very calmly finished his martini and exited the apartment, locking the door behind him and tossing the key out the window at the end of the hallway.
A small ringing came from his pocket. He fished out his cell phone and opened it, "'ello?"
"Steelbeak! Where are you? I've been worried sick! I. . . er. . . just remembered that you carried a cell phone a minute ago. . ." came the concerned voice of Bushroot.
"I been busy. . ."
"With what?"
"Killin' Doctah White, actually."
"Steelbeak, you didn't have to. . . I-I mean you shouldn't. . ." Bushroot trailed off.
"Y'know, I don' care about too many people, but if someone 'urts someone I do care about. . ." He left the sentence incomplete.
"I understand." Said Bushroot quietly.
"Put 'im behind ya now, babe. 'E ain't gonna 'urt anyone else."
"Okay. Are you coming home now?"
"Yeah. Be dere in a few minutes."
"Uh. . . Steelbeak?"
"Yeah, babes?"
"I. . . er. . . loveyou. . ." Blurted Bushroot.
Steelbeak could practically hear the plant-duck blushing. He couldn't help but smile, "Right back at ya babe, right back at ya."
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
"DAAAAD! DAD! HEEEEEY DAAAAY-AAAAAAD!!!" Gosalyn rushed in to the kitchen, dragging Honker by his wrist, "Mrs. Muddlefoot wants us all to come and meet the new neighbors. The movers came yesterday, and she thinks we should go as a community to welcome them. So come ON!!"
"Gosalyn, dear, can't you see that I'm busy?" Drake asked as sweetly as he could, being up to his elbows in soapsuds and dirty dinner dishes.
"But Mrs. Muddlefoot says-"
"Gosalyn!"
"Dad!"
"Gos!"
"Dad!"
They both clenched their fists and growled at the air.
Honker stepped forward, scuffing his feet and staring at the floor, "My mom says that if you don't come, she's going to come over here and give you a lecture on the value of community and making everyone feel like they're part of a big family. . .She's got that look in her eye, again. . .." he mumbled.
"I'm there!" cried Drake, zipping out the door and across the street in record time, to catch up with Mr. and Mrs. Muddlefoot on the porch of the small and somewhat decrepit-looking two-story house.
"Oh, Mr. Mallard!" sang Mrs.Muddlefoot in a cheery voice, "how delightful to see you! I'm so glad you came!"
Mr. Muddlefoot swung a massive arm about Drake's narrow shoulders, "Looks like we may have another pal ta watch the big game with, eh, Drake-o old pal!"
Drake gurgled miserably.
Mrs. Muddlefoot knocked on the door and chirped, "Hellooooo! Anyone home? It's the neighborhood welcoming committee!" She giggled happily, completely in her element, bearing a casserole and gift-basket.
Muffled curses came from inside the door. Drake could make out two distinct voices. The door opened, and they stared into the haggard-looking face of none other than detective Rollins.
Drake tried not to let his eyes bug out in surprise by blinking a lot. Incidentally, he ended up looking like he had severe allergies.
Rollins, seeing Mrs. Muddlefoot's disapproving gaze gravitate toward his cigarette, hastily dropped it on the porch and stepped on it. "Hey. Uh. . . . so, you're the neighbors, huh?"
"Yes! I'm Mrs. Muddlefoot, this is my husband Herb, our son Honker and of course Drake Mallard from next door, and his lovely daughter Gosalyn." She beamed and held out her gifts. Drake thought they looked like peace offerings from a foreign nation.
Rollins took them gingerly, as if afraid they might blow up at any moment. "I'm, er, Mr. Rollins, from the police force, and this is, uh," he looked behind him and, seeing no one there, called over his shoulder, "Hey! Four- eyes! Meet the neighbors!"
A voice from inside called back, "there's enough bacteria in this kitchen to supply an entire eighth-grade science fair! Don't you ever use ammonia?"
"Quit being antisocial!" Shouted Rollins.
Drake gaped as Dr. Kamo Quack appeared beside Rollins, hair disheveled with a dishcloth in one hand and a bottle of window-cleaner in the other.
Rollins gestured toward her with an elbow, "This is my. . . er. . . friend, Dr. Quack."
Drake prayed that the Muddlefoots hadn't read about the trial in the paper. A criminal on probation wouldn't go over well among the local Gossip circle.
Dr. Quack's beak fell open as she saw Drake, but she recovered in time to nod politely Mrs. Muddlefoot's introductions.
"Hey, do I know you from somewhere?" Asked Rollins, looking sidelong at Drake as Mrs. Muddlefoot gabbered on to Dr. Quack about cleaning tips and domestic life in general.
"er. . . . I don't think so. . . " Said Drake, trying to avoid Rollins's eyes.
"I think he has one of those faces!" blurted Dr. Quack.
"Yeah, I guess you're right." Rollins grunted.
Drake eventually managed to extricate himself from the situation, but not after Mrs. Muddlefoot had managed to make them all promise to show up for a friendly neighborhood barbecue next weekend. He rushed back to the house and slammed the door, leaning against it, panting.
Launchpad wandered toward him, munching on a post-dinner sandwich. "What's up, Drake-a-rooney?"
Drake sighed, "We've got a disgruntled Saint Canard cop and an equally disgruntled scientist of questionable mental state living in our neighborhood."
"Well, whaddaya know?" remarked Launchpad amiably, "Oh yeah, I checked our messages at the bridge. Bushroot and Steelbeak have gone on vacation in Hawaii, Neptunia wants to lodge an official complaint with the city about rubbish being dumped into the river, and somehow Negaduck got our number. He said to watch out for him in the near future. Apparently he's got something up his sleeve. Crazy, huh?"
Drake sank slowly to the floor. As usual, life was getting less and less boring.
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/Sings/ THE EEEEEEEEENNNNND!! TA DAAAAA!! I do hope you enjoyed the flight, feedback is always welcome, have a nice day. ; )~