by
Cynthia "Sparky" Read
Chapter Four
"Turn left here."
"I can't believe this is happening," moaned Darkwing from his spot beside Honker in the Ratcatcher's sidecar. "How could I let such pertinent information fall into the hands of evildoers?"
"Dad," berated Gosalyn around Launchpad as she clung to his back, "I wouldn't call your supermarket club card pertinent information."
Darkwing looked up. "That supermarket club card has myDrake Mallard'sname and address on it!" he snapped. "This could mean big trouble!"
"Launchpad, stop here!" Honker shouted. Launchpad slammed on the brakes. Darkwing, who was the only one unprepared for a classic Launchpad Stop, went sailing out of the sidecar, across the street, and through an open manhole.
"Mr. Darkwing, are you all right?" asked Honker, clambering out of the sidecar and peering down into the darkness.
"No, I am not all right, I am in a sewer," responded Darkwing evenly. "Now will someone help me out, please? This ladder is coated with some slimy guck."
"Actually, sir, you'll have to help us down," said Honker, nudging his glasses up his bill. "The Hypno-Bear signal is coming from the sewers."
"What's with Quackerjack and sewers?" Darkwing demanded rhetorically. "Oh all right. GosalynOof!"
"Thanks Dad!" yelled Gosalyn, jumping off of Darkwing's chest. She looked up at the circle of sunlight above. "Okay guys!" she shouted. "You're clear to jump!"
"GosalOwf!"
"Sorry, sir."
"Okay, rule number forty-six: 'If the good guy pulls a weapon on you, always be prepared to pull a bigger one out from behind your back.' That's a good one, Negaduck taught us that."
Torpedo studiously scribbled in a notepad. "How do you like the Fearsome Five?" she asked conversationally.
"Huh?" Quackerjack looked confused for a moment. "Oh. Well, it's fun, usually. Those guys are pretty neat to hang out with. Except," he added, wrinkling his bill, "for Negaduck. He yells at us a lot."
"What do you think of...Megavolt?"
Before Quackerjack could answer, however, a cloud of blue smoke erupted from a corner of the Toy Workshop.
"I...am the terror...that flaps in the night!" announced the blue cloud.
"Bummer," muttered Torpedo.
"I am the cheap plastic part in your expensive new power tool! I...amBlind! I'm blind!"
Torpedo lowered her dripping water pistol. "You were saying?"
Darkwing screamed and ran around the room clutching at his eyes. "Gah!" he screamed. "What is it? Acid! Get me some base!"
Quackerjack, who had been blinking in surprise at the scene, suddenly collapsed to the ground in a fit of hysterics. Launchpad and the kids edged into the room.
"Uh oh," said Launchpad.
"Yeah it looks like Dad's put his foot in it again."
Darkwing finally had the brilliant idea of wiping off his face with his cape. When his vision cleared, he stared in shock at the discolored spot the chlorine had created in the purple fabric. "That does it!" he shouted, whirling on Torpedo, who feigned innocence. "You are paying to have a new costume made!"
Torpedo shrugged and pulled out a wallet. "Well I guess it's a good thing this guy made that donation earlier then," she smirked.
Darkwing gaped. "Give me that!" he howled, lunging forward.
"Huh? How come?"
Darkwing froze in mid-air. "Er, ah, umNo reason," he lied. "I'm just...concerned...about that citizen's stolen property. Now give it here!"
"Gee, so grabby." Torpedo shrugged. "Go get it, then." And she tossed the wallet several yards away.
"Ah-ha!" shouted Darkwing triumphantly, making for the wallet.
"Better look where you're going!" yelled Quackerjack, who had recovered.
"WhyWHOOAAAHHH!" yelped the crimefighter, slipping on some spilled marbles and skidding straight into a wall.
"Some hero," remarked Torpedo, rolling her eyes.
Launchpad, seeing that his companion was currently incapacitated, stepped forward and cleared his throat. "All right you," he said to Torpedo, "Give up now and there won't be any trouble."
"Oh, its no trouble at all," Torpedo assured the sidekick, and promptly squirted him with chlorine.
But Launchpad quickly slid his goggles over his eyes. "Nice try."
"Oh yeah, spoilsport?" Quackerjack produced something resembling a brightly-colored bazooka out of his back pocket. "How about this, then?" He pulled the trigger, and a barrage of alphabet blocks shot out of the bazooka towards a surprised Launchpad. Launchpad yelled and, in an amazing show of dexterity, managed to dodge every block.
"We've gotta do something, Honk!" cried Gosalyn, watching her father slowly pick himself up off of the floor.
"I'm working on it," Honker reassured her. He was fiddling with his Hypno-Bear tracker. "I think I can alter the bears' signal..."
"Ha!" Torpedo was taunting Darkwing. "What a waste of a perfectly good costume!"
"Oh...yeah?" Darkwing straightened his hat. "And what kind of costume is that, anyways?" he demanded, gesturing at Torpedo's wetsuit. "Who are you supposed to be, the Dive Team Marauder?"
"My name," hissed the teen, "is Torpedo! Got it?"
"Oh yeah, I got it all right," growled Darkwing, pulling out his Gas-Gun, "and now you're gonna get it! Hands up, you devious delinquentAckpth! Will you quit that?" he demanded, wringing chlorine out of his now discolored sleeve.
Torpedo suddenly realized that she needed more weapons.
"Psst!" hissed Quackerjack to the tern, "Rule number forty-six!"
Torpedo glowered at the clown. "I can't," she hissed back, "I don't have another weapon!"
"Ha!" gloated Darkwing.
"Here," said Quackerjack, snapping an attachment to the bazooka and tossing the whole thing at Torpedo. "Catch."
Torpedo caught it and quickly fired it at Darkwing before the vigilante could dodge. A barrage of cream pies covered Darkwing in seconds.
The crimefighter wiped off his face. "What is this, 'Destroy Darkwing's Costume Day'?" he wailed. And with that he fired his Gas-Gun into the middle of the room.
A thick black cloud filled the chamber, as well as shouts of confusion and people bumping into things.
"Way to go, Darkwing!"
"Thanks for your support, Gos."
"Where's the exit?" cried Launchpad. There was the sound of something breaking. "OopsI stepped on something." Launchpad groped. "Oh, it was just one of those bears."
"Argh!" wailed Quackerjack. "You'd better plan to pay for that!"
"Oh give it a rest, won't you?" Torpedo picked up a bear and frowned at it just as the smoke cleared.
Quackerjack grabbed up a bear too. "Don't you have any concept of cost absorption?" he demanded. He looked anxiously at the bear he held to make sure it was undamaged.
Darkwing picked Honker, who he had knocked over while blinded by the smoke, up off the ground and set him on his feet. "You all right, Honker?" he asked.
"Yes sir," replied the boy. He picked up the broken Bear-Tracker. "But I wasn't quite finished with..."
Suddenly Quackerjack and Torpedo, still clutching their bears, shoved their way past Darkwing to exit the chamber. They ran off down the sewer.
"They're escaping!" shouted Darkwing, reloading his Gas-Gun.
"Uh, DW," said Launchpad, putting a hand on the crimefighter's shoulder, "Maybe you should let them go."
Darkwing shrugged. "Well, that's that," he said, putting his Gas-Gun away. "Too bad the villains got away. At least I got this back." He picked up the wallet and opened it. "Yep yep yep, reunited with my ToyBank Automated Teller cardHey! This isn't my wallet!"
"Hey Dad," said Gosalyn. "My babysitters are turning to crime! Guess you have to take me with you every night from now on."
Darkwing rolled his eyes.
"This was a great idea," Torpedo snapped irritably.
"It was a great idea!" insisted Quackerjack.
"Yeah well," grumped the tern, "remind me not to tag along with you next time you decide to build toys that hypnotize people to pickpocket Negaduck!"
Quackerjack sniffed. "It's not my fault he had that tank behind his back."
"Shut up and help me figure out a way off of this skyscraper," Torpedo grumbled. "I have school tomorrow."
Story copyright 1998 Cynthia A. Read. All characters are copyright Disney, except for Evelyn/Torpedo, who is copyright Sophie Dean. Oh, and the cartoon 'Samurai Goat' and all the characters in it, those are copyright both Sophie and I. This story may be cloned as many times as the world can stand it as long as these credits remain intact and attached.
