A Night On The Town.

Ron drove up to the parking structure—several Blocks from Bueno Nacho. Getting blindsided by good guys was bad—but what if they hadn't been good guys? This time, he'd case the joint. He looked around and didn't see anything, but then.

"Casing the joint, Stoppable?" Ron almost jumped out of his skin. Shego had somehow appeared behind him.

"Good idea, lousy application." Shego said. "You're standing and watching—and you aren't going anywhere. Anyone who looks at you knows that you're trying to see something." She shrugged. "I'm a softie, but listen and I'll tell you how it's done."

"Me and KP di-"

"Uh-uh—you and KP were running around as the fair haired babes of the public and cops—you never had to worry about cops coming after you, remember?" Ron shut up and nodded.

"Right—first of all, casing a joint is easier with a few people to help you, so you can just have several, unrelated people wander on through. If you can't, the next best thing is to know the location. If you say, know the average lunch crowd, you can tell if it's been added to, or subtracted from." Shego twitched her head at the interior. Ron followed it and saw people eating.

"This is a fast food place, Ronny, and that means most people are eating fast and leaving—watch for people who look like they're nursing drinks. Watch the workers-- they'rethere all day, so they are a good shot to either see if someone's coming in-- or if the place has people in it they don't know. Look for people with celphones." She gave a laugh, "That's one area where the business is more difficult—when I started, having a celphone branded you a movie star, crook, or spook—now everyone has them." She paused, "But there are still cues—tell me what they might be, Stoppable." Ron racked his brains...then.

"Not talking?"

"Good—it's an amateur screw up, but yeah, anyone with the celphone on, but not using it is a danger sign." She shrugged. "OK, quick lesson over, because we've got a full night—but remember this—in the business, you have to think both like a hunter and hunted—and both roles involve looking around for things that don't fit the natural pattern." She grinned, "And since I am so nice…" Several small flash data cards came out of a pocket of her overcoat. "Limited, this minute only engagement—the MI-5 tradecraft training files. Don't take 'em like gospel, but they have a lot of good info." She took off walking, and Ron followed her, coming to a small, non-descript car.

"Get in." Shego said, and they drove off into the busy traffic. When Ron had buckled up, Shego tossed a folder in his lap.

"Tonight's event." She said. Ron opened up the folder and looked at the pictures. It was a large building, with a number of small cubicals in it. Some of the pictures showed people being moved to and from shipping containers. "What's it look like to you?" Ron blinked and shook his head.

"Illegal immigrants?"

"Technically- but…" Shego said, concentrating on the road, "The accurate term would be slavery. This is a little transshipment point for kids who thought they were going to make their fortune away from the home village. Some of 'em came willingly, some of 'em were kidnapped, and some of them were sold by their parents." Ron blinked at that last. Sold by their parents. Shego caught his glance.

"If you have five kids, and only enough money to feed four of them, you can at least tell yourself that number five will be alive." She said, quietly. "here's the problem—these guys have bribed a lot of very important people…and provide a service some other people like a lot. That means no official investigation…and if you go through channels, they load up most of those kids into the shipping containers, sail off the coast and dump them off into deep water."

"That's…" Ron was about to say disgusting, but the word didn't even apply.

"Yeah. It is." Shego said, "And that's why we're going to shut it down."

"How?" Ron said. "There have to be lots of guards…"

"There are. But see, lots of cops don't like this little problem, and even if their superiors order them to not investigate…how can they fail to follow the international criminal Shego when she's attacking some innocent?" Shego got an absolutely devilish look on her face. "And if they just happen to have enough police to fight world war III, along with so many reporters you can't shove it under the carpet… well, that's not their fault." She paused, and Ron heard her speak under her breath, "And very important people who buy babies for fun deserve whatever they get…" She paused, "You got the location?" Ron, who had been listening to her, nodded, pointing to the map.

"Yes, Shego." Ron looked over at her. "So, you've decided to be a good girl?"

"Hah! Not on your life, Kid—the British Anti-slavery society is paying us a cool two hundred and fifty thousand pounds on completion. In case your math skills are rusty, with the exchange rate, that's better than twice what you got from that cheapskate Barkin—even after we split it between us. You on?" Shego finished. Ron looked at the pictures.

OK. Shego wants you to do this, and that's why she has so many pictures of little, scared kids with stuffed toys. And knowing he was being manipulated didn't change a thing.

"Yeah."

"Good. We're here—run away, towards, the target. It's about two miles away—that'll give the cops enough time to gather to 'save' you." She paused, "Here." Shego said and handed Ron a hood and ear plug. "Wouldn't want to make ID'ing you too easy, now would we, and It'll look odd if we're shouting to each other while we're trying to kill each other—you can subvocalize and it will pick up your voice."

"When do get-WHUFL!" Shego, without another word, fired up her plasma and blasted Ron through the side of the car. He hit the pavement with bruising force, only his training allowing him not to get hurt.

Badly at least.

"You want to put your hands There!?" Shego roared, jumping out of the car, green plasma wreathing her. "I'll show you a good time!" As she unleashed another bolt that incinerated a trashcan next to Ron. Ron took off, down the street, with patrons scattering in every direction. Shego missed with blasts that would have killed, and connected with blasts and kicks that were only bonejarringly punishing. Ron did the same, launching spin kicks that would break bones…and missing, while connecting with punches that would "only" leave bruises. To anyone watching, it was as if they were doing their best to try and murder each other.

Evidently, Ron thought, the fix was in—because the number of police and TV helicopters was way to large for the time they'd been fighting, Not to mention the number's of cops following them on the ground.

"Good job." Shego continued. "Remember, the cops have to arrest us if they catch us, so don't make the mistake of thinking they're on our side. They're clients—there's a difference." While she was talking to him she spun around and kicked him through a picture window into a department store. Patrons and greeters scattered as Shego chased Ron, unleashing bolt after bolt of plasma that did…far less damage then was apparent. Ron ducked one bolt and then saw a mother fall back, losing her grip on the stroller, which started toppling down the escalator.

"Shego-"

"Keep your eyes-oh for God's sake." He heard, as Shego, seemed to lose track of him and spent a few minutes threatening the crowd with death and destruction. Ron grabbed the kid en passant and handed her back to her wide eyed young mother.

"Finished, Galahad?" Shego's sarcastic voice came through the earphone.

"Uh, Yeah."

"Good, head for the objective—show time." She said.

At the cargo terminal, the guards were bored. Few fought—in many cases they had actually spent money to come into slavery, which was a better bargain then starving at home. Those who didn't know, mostly young girls destined for more…personal jobs, were easily enough cowed, by being in a nation where they didn't know the language and had neither Visa nor passport. In fact, the most exciting event of the week was watching the two strangers fight on TV—money was quickly exchanged, and lies were told about who had slept with the super criminal Shego…and nobody noticed where they were heading until the two of them burst into the building.

For a second, the guards were paralyzed with shock. And then they were paralyzed by the way that the two fighters suddenly, almost like it was planned, attacked them. Guns racked on the wall might as well have been on the moon, as Ron and Shego turned awake yelling guards into bruised, unconscious ones. But not all. One guard looked around. He'd been told what to do in this case… which was get rid of the evidence. The fact that their was no chance of any action doing that, as more and more police cars appeared on the scene, didn't register in his shellshocked brain. He could lower at least one cargo container into the water...

Ron saw one guard head towards the crane control cabin.

What is he doing? It was then that he heard the panicked screams as the guard reached his destination, and one of the containers, already rigged up for a lift, was swung out over the empty water. Ron moved faster than he'd ever moved before.

The guard was just preparing to drop the container, when suddenly something grabbed him by the back of the neck and slammed him repeatedly into the safety glass of the cabin. His face a ruined mass of blood and shattered bone, he fell back. Ron looked down, trying to puzzle out the controls, when he heard a scream in his ear mike.

"RON!"

BANG! The glass disintegrated, fragments of the glass being driven by the bullet that passed his ear with a flat whack, as pain burned into his shoulder. There was a scream, and Ron looked down to see Shego, one guard, unconscious, at her feet.

"Stop screwing with the crane—you're as likely to drop them in as move them back—the cops will know what to do—and we have 20 seconds to get out of here!" Ron nodded, and headed down, unable to disguise a wince.

"Great. You're hurt—let's get back to my crib." Shego said, "I stashed another care two blocks away. Can you make it?" Ron grinned.

"This isn't bad—no problem." He watched as the cops charged in "looking" for Ron and Shego, even though some of them had to have seen them. That didn't stop them from searching every box, every office with amazed expressions as they found what they'd known was there…and oddly "accidentally" forgot to secure the crime scene so the TV cameras were right behind them, recording the pictures of blinking, hysterical people being removed from shipping containers…and doing so in a way that made any attempt at cover up impossible.

Later, in a small hotel room…in a Ginza Love hotel (as the rhythmic thumping next door proved), Ron sat with his shirt off while Shego gave him an expert look, and bandaged the wound.

"Fragments from the glass. Won't even leave big scars. You were lucky—remember that next time you play hero." She said.

"What would you have done?"

"Let them fall." Shego said, "It wasn't part of the mission."

Would you? Suddenly Ron had a thought, You knew I wouldn't…and you could have used anyone for this, or nobody. The cops would have followed a rampaging Shego as much as they did us. There was a blip from a portable computer, and Shego got up and checked it.

"Great." She said, "How's it feel to make 125 thousand for a nights work?" Ron paused.

"Is that all it is?" Shego looked at him and sat down beside him.

"Yes." She said. "Because tomorrow, there will be another ship, Ron." Her voice became totally serious. "And one after that… and if you spend your entire life doing what we did today, the day you die, the day after that…there will be another ship. Keep it with the money." She finished, "Because that's what counts." Ron shook his head.

"No."

"No?"

"No." Ron said, "Maybe there will be another ship—but tonight, those people are free—and some of them will be able to find a life." He laughed, abruptly. "You know, you remember Sabbath school at the weirdest times."

"Huh?"

""He who saves one life is as if he had saved the whole world." It's from the Talmud." He shrugged, "Rabbi Katz quoted it to me the day we…left Middleton."

"Oh, Don't ask me then, I was raised a good Catholic girl, but I lapsed." Shego said. "So, I'm getting a Sunday school lesson?" Her voice tried, but didn't quite capture her typical cynicism.

"No. But rescuing those people was something I could do. I can't rescue all the people—and that's not my job. I'm not God." Ron said.

"So He sent you here for a mission, eh, Kid?" Ron grinned.

"No. You help me find those." He paused, and looked more serious. "But there's more to this than dollars and cents."

"Oh, c'mon!" Shego said, "I-"

"Than why did you go out on a limb for us, Shego?" Ron said quietly. The raven haired mercenary looked at him.

"Like I said, I thought you were getting a raw deal." Shego said. "No other reason." She said, defiantly meeting Ron's eyes… but it was Shego who looked aside first.

"So no dollars and cents about that job, then." Ron said.

"Hey, nobody's perfect." Shego said. "Besides, you and Kimmie make such a cute couple…even if you are probably going to one day turn into a disgusting middle class family with an SUV and 'my kids are honor roll students' bumperstickers." Ron laughed.

"What?" Shego said to his laugh.

"I'd figure that'd be hell to you, Shego."

"Yes, well it is—I like to party and be unattached!" She said, but Ron saw a flicker of something deep in her eyes. Envy…or despair… and again it was Shego who dropped her gaze. Her voice suddenly became much softer.

"Another lesson, Kid…" She paused, "There aren't always takebacks. Take the wrong job, and you end up on the INTERPOL most wanted list…and nobody's going to give you a pardon. Take another job, and you end up with a head full of information that people would love to get—or eliminate….and they're patient about it. If you don't keep moving…you're dead then." Ron looked at her, and Shego suddenly busied herself with unplugging the computer.

This is your home, isn't it, Shego. Whatever hotel you happen to be in…whatever lair you have. Ron was suddenly aware that even in the hotel room, Shego hadn't stopped scanning the door and windows.

You were a hero once, the teen thought. Then she would have been out there taking questions from reporters, about her heroism. Now, she was hiding, and if anyone had even asked about it…well it was the money, of course. Just another mission for a world famous criminal. And she was right. She couldn't come back. Nobody would ever trust her, or even want to give her the benefit of the doubt. Then Shego was looking at him, with the same devilish smile, all other moods save glee banished from it.

"Now, we party!" She said. Ron looked.

"Well, I'd better get back—"

"You're not married Stoppable." She grinned, "And I'm not going to make you fall—we can have a nice dinner, and hit the Ginza…and drive right back."

"I, ah, don't drink-"

"Good. I can drink like a horse, and the comet burns it right out. You can't. Drunk is stupid, and stupid is dead…not to mention messy, like the time Dr. D decided to celebrate and horked all over my dress."

"You're kidding? Oh man."

"Nope—and if you're really good, one day I'll tell you how he lost his virginity."

"I can do without that."

"trust me, it's funny and you'll never think of Tijuana in the same way again."

Later, much later. Ron ended up at the foot of the mountain again. They'd gone out on the Ginza, Shego wearing a blonde wig to make certain nobody noticed them, and Ron, to be honest, had loved dancing in clubs that wouldn't even have let him in the front door before. Shego was right—she'd knocked back drink after drink, and stayed perfectly steady….and spent most of her time dancing with him. A few big bruisers tried to cut in, and if they were polite, Ron let them. Those that weren't suddenly found themselves staring into a pair of steady brown eyes, and decided to go elsewhere.

The one negative had nothing to do with the party—it had to do with the fact that Ron was coming back to the school at 4:30 AM. Shego had laughed.

"You were dealing with the aftermath of a human smuggling ring…and aren't you happy I didn't let you drink—so there isn't any incriminating evidence to the contrary… I didn't even book the room at the Love Hotel in your name, and think what a priceless piece of blackmail I gave up." Ron frowned, then smiled. She was joking. Shego had her own motor bike (or at least he hoped it was—she had the key at least) and they'd had an impromptu race back from Tokyo.

"Nice…day… Shego." Ron said.

"What, Don't I even get a good night kiss?" Shego said, a mock pout on her face. "Never mind—go on up to school and try to pretend you just got out of a desperate mission—so that you don't get grounded." Ron grinned.

The walk up the stairs was long—and Ron prepared any arguments he might need for Sensei—But he probably wasn't going to get punished for this. It was in a good cause, after all. Ron quietly slid the door open, and looked inside. Then he blinked, and his face turned pale.

The TV was on.

Had Kim had a relapse? The NHK early morning edition was covering the battle in Tokyo, showing Shego and the "Masked fighter" charging through the streets, and the aftermath. The announcer stated that just over 500 children had been recovered and several ministers of the Diet was under arrest, as well as two police officials who had taken their own lives while in custody. It was assumed that Shego had stumbled on the operation accidentally—or had deliberately arranged it at the behest of another smuggling ring.

They never will believe anything good about you… Ron thought. Then Rufus poked his head up on the pillow and looked at Ron.

"Hey guy." Ron said, when the rat started to point frantically behind him. Oh boy.

"Sensei, I can-"

"How did your date with Shego go, Ronald…." The voice dripped with icy annoyance. Ron turned. There was Kim. Kim in her robe. Kim with her arms folded.

Kim proving that her temper looked to be recovering with the rest of her.

I am so dead.

To be continued.