Marcus came out of the office and met Jake and Chance, both with arms crossed, right by the door.

"Well?" asked Chance.

"I thought I wanted a challenge, but..." Marcus glanced back at the door. "Whew. I think I can manage it..." He held up a finger. "...if you let me work full-time until I catch up."

With a glance over at Chance, Jake answered, "I think we can swing that, Mr Greene. How long do you expect that to take?"

"Ten, eleven months." Seeing Jake's eyes open wide, he grinned. "Seven, eight weeks tops. From here on out, just Marc, please."

Jake looked over at Chance, then back at Marc. "Uh...Marc...we have the Enforcers coming in to audit this place four weeks from tomorrow."

Marc leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms, frowning. "Well, that changes things a bit, doesn't it?" He thought for a second. "Any problem paying me overtime?"

Again, Jake and Chance exchanged glances. "If we have to," said Jake.

"Oh, you'll have to...if you want this done. You realize you have a stack of invoices to send out about yay high?" He held his thumb and forefinger about three inches apart.

"It's not like they're gonna get paid, anyway," muttered Chance.

"Yeah, you might want to save that part 'til last, Marc," agreed Jake.

Marc raised his eyebrows and waited for either of the twosome to say something else. When they didn't, he ventured, "Um, I'm guessing that at this job there's some stuff I shouldn't ask about. Is this one of those things?"

Jake shrugged. "It's just not important."

"Getting paid is not important," said Marc, wondering what was going on. After a paus, Marc sighed and said, "Hokey dokey. So how do you want this done?"

Frowning, Jake said, "Well, the accounts payable haven't been sent out in...heck, two months? If you can take care of that first..."

Marc shook his head. "It'll be murder trying to balance the books before I can find anything."

Waving his hands around , Jake said, "Then whatever. Make it as close to organized as you can make it."

Marc reached into his back pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "There's some things I'm going to need."

This time, the look between Jake and Chance lasted longer, and it was Chance who spoke. "What things, exactly?"

"Relax, sir, no company car or anything. Just some basic office supplies - files, labels, pens and a typewriter."

Chance narrowed his eyes. "What's wrong with the typewriter in there?"

"Oh, nothing at all - except it needs a ribbon, it keeps shredding the paper, and it has no N key."

Jake nodded. "I think we can shell out for those, Marc."

"Also, as I go through all these bills and parts orders, if I run into any...'miscellaneous expenses'..." Marc inclined his head towards the door that led to the hangar. "...you'll let me know?"

Jake shrugged. "Of course."

"Cool. One more thing. Could I borrow the tow truck to get this stuff? I don't think I can get back here on my cycle balancing a typewriter on my lap." Jake dug into his pocket, withdrew a pack of keys and handed them to Marc. "Thanks. Back in a bit." Marc spun around and headed out the door.

Jake walked back to the garage, but stopped when he noticed Chance wasn't behind him. Turning back, he saw Chance back in the same place he left him, staring at the door after Marc. "Chance?" he asked.

Chance blinked twice and turned to face Jake. "I still dunno about that kat, Jake."

"I know. Let's not go over this again." Jake went back into the garage, this time followed by Chance.

As Joke went back down under the Mazda, Chance opened the hood of a Volkswagen. After taking the air filter out, Chance stared at it in his hands for a second, then turned towards the Mazda.

"Hey, Jake."

Jake rolled from under the vehicle and looked up at Chance.

"What are we s'posed to do if Marc can't keep his trap shut?"

"Fire him, I guess."

"Well, obviously. But then, y'know, it'll be too late. Everyone'll know. What do we do then?"

Jake shrugged. "I always thought we could write a book."

"A book?"

"Yeah," said Jake, a little more excitedly. "We write one of those tell-all books, go on all the talk shows, make a million bucks, pay off Feral, pack up the TurboKat, and move to an island somewhere." He reached into the toolbox on the floor.

"Oh." Chance went in the back, got a new air filter, and put it in the car. He was screwing the lid back on the housing when he turned back to Jake. "So why th'heck haven't we done that yet?"

"'Cause I can't write worth crud." Jake found the socket he was looking for, put it on the end of his wrench, then shoved himself back under the car. "Besides," he said from under there, "our typewriter doesn't have an N key."

Chance changed position on the sofa yet again, then finally reached over and turned the TV off. Something's really wrong, he thought. I can't even get into Fraidy Cat. He turned to see Marc emerge from the office, rubbing his eyes.

"What time is it?" Marc asked.

"Eight ten."

"Ah - no wonder I'm starving. Any place around here deliver?"

"No. The steak place down the street does take-out. Menu's up there on the wall."

"Thanks." Marc picked up the phone and dialed. "Yeah, I'd like to get an order for take-out...ummmmmmm...the shish kabobs...and could I get those without meat? Yeah, no meat...no, that's it...fifteen minutes? OK, thanks." He hung up the phone.

Chance stared at him. Veggie kabobs? This guy's weirder than I thought. He picked up a magazine as Marc sat down across from him.

"Where's Jake?" Marc asked.

"Emergency tow." Suddenly, he tossed the magazine back onto the table and leaned towards Marc. "Listen, what's this all about?"

"What's what all about?"

"You. I mean, what th'heck are you doing here? You've never been back there, have you?" he asked, pointing back towards the Turbokat. Seeing Marc shake his head, he looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "See, that seems awfully weird. You go to all this trouble to track us down, but then you don't bother to look around once you're here?"

Marc shrugged. "You're paying me to do your paperwork, not gawk at your plane. You know, when you get down to it, this is just a job."

Chance countered, "No, washin' dishes at that steak house is a job. This is something else."

Marc put his hands behind his head and smiled. "Well, yeah, I guess. It's a job, and it's something else."

"So what's your game, then?"

Leaning forward, Marc said, "Mr Furlong..." he began, waiting for the response, "Call me Chance." When he didn't get it, he went on.

"...Tell me about my life."

"Huh?"

"Tell me what you know about my life."

Chance furrowed his brow. "Uh...you're a college kat, you work in computers..." He paused, then shrugged. "I guess that's all I know."

"And almost all there is to know. My life hasn't exactly been one huge slab of adventure."

Chance bared his teeth and growled, "I see. So you're out to be honorary SwatKat."

Marc held up his hands. "Huh-uh. Not even close. Look, I have trouble making paper airplanes fly. And all I know about missiles is that they're long, skinny and made of metal. That's your territory, not mine."

Looking confused, Chance said, "So, then why're you here?"

Once again, Marc shrugged. "I wanted a second job, so I perused the want ads. I saw your ad in the paper, and when I saw where it was..." He smiled. "I thought it was too good to pass up."

"So you already knew who we were when you say the ad?" demanded Chance. When Marc nodded, Chance said, "How'd you know that, anyhow?"

"A lot of research, some educated guesses, a little dumb luck. I went back through every news story I could get my hands on, watched every bit of TV coverage I could on you guys. I started noticing this running theme. You seem to have this...love/hate relationship with the Enforcers." Chance made a face as Marc continued, "So I figured - wait a second. Maybe these guys were Enforcer pilots at one point. I checked some public records, and narrowed it down to you two."

"You make it sound easy."

Marc looked smug. "Well, it took a lot of time. In any event, once I had it in my head that it could be you two, I swung by the place

to get a peek."

"And you could tell just by looking," threw in Chance sarcastically.

"No, not really," said Marc, either oblivious or impervious to the sarcasm. "But two kats - one small and wiry, and one bigger and stocky - that fit well enough. Then, a few months later, I see this ad in the paper." Marc smiled. "How could I not come in and apply?"

"So you're not looking to...join on?"

Marc sat quietly for a second before answering. "Mr Furlong, I like what you guys do. You kick tail when the Enforcers can't, which appears to be most of the time. I...support your cause, you might say. So I figure, anything I can do to help out, y'know? Luckily, you wanted a bookkeeper, not a pinch-SwatKat. I can do one, but not the other." He stood up and stretched. "I'll help out you out wherever you need me to. Just don't go asking me to fly your plane or anything. I can't. I'm not the hero type. Not that you couldn't tell that just by looking." He looked up at the clock. "Better get my food...and when I get back, if it'll make you feel better, I'll let you show me your shiny plane. Deal?"

Chance thought about getting angry, but decided against it. He smirked. "Deal." He watched him walk out, and shook his head,

thinking, I just don't get this kat. He leaned over and turned the TV back on, just in time to catch the previews for next week.