Kim flew through the underground tube. While it was fun and exciting at first, she didn't much care for it anymore. It was getting old real fast. Not just the ride, the whole GJ thing. She reached her destination and popped out the bottom of the chute.
Right on cue, she could hear a "boooOOOOOOYAAAAHHHHA-HA-HA-HA!" and Ron landed right next to her. Exhilarated, he proclaimed: "Man, that never gets old! Hey KP!" He gave her an enthusiastic hug.
"Hey, bad boy!" Kim squeezed him back. "You and Felix have a good time?"
Ron held up his heavily bandaged thumbs. "You bet! You?"
"Great, until this. Happy to see you!" She kissed him passionately. They hugged tighter. "I can tell you're happy to see me, too..." she whispered. Ron blushed.
"A-hem!" Will Du coughed. "When you're finished..."
Kim looked at Ron and said quietly, "This had better be good..." They broke their embrace and turned to face Will Du.
"Agents Possible, Stoppable..." he said flatly.
"Wassup?" Ron beamed. Winding Du's tightly coiled spring even tighter was an endless source of fun.
Du rolled his eyes at Ron's impertinence. Some things never changed. "I appreciate your coming on such short notice. There is a situation developing that will require your attention. Follow me, please." Du led them down a corridor to the command center. Global Justice, usually bustling with activity 24/7 was unusually quiet. "I am sure you are aware of the recent riots in Europe and the Mid-East over cartoons of the prophet Mohammad?"
"Yes," Kim replied, "We watch the news."
"Perhaps you may have noticed that the violent reaction far outweighed the severity of the provoking incident," Du said. "We wondered about that too, and we have found what we think may be the source of the problem." He tapped a keyboard and on the view-screen appeared the image of a young man, about 30 or so guessed Kim, with glasses, a beret, and a neat goatee. He had a slightly crazed look in his eyes.
"A beatnik?" asked Ron. "Crazy, man..."
"Well put, Stoppable, exactly." Du continued: "This is Arthur Marker, Age 31, former performance artist, now apparently cartoonist provocateur."
"A cartoonist. Named "Art" Marker," Kim deadpanned. "You've got to be kidding."
Agent Du said solemnly: "I only wish that were true. It's not 'funny' at all. Take a look at these" Kim and Ron watched as Du projected a series of the nation's most popular comic strips: "The Bland Family", "Big Stupid Dog", "Bland Family 2", "Fat Obnoxious Cat", "Bland Family 3", "Conservative Duck", "Bland Family 4", "Obnoxious Cat and Stupid Dog", "Bland Family 5", "Aging Hippie Diatribe", "Bland Family ad infinitum" on the view screen.
Ron was impressed. "He draws all those? Wow! Yeah, they're terrible, but so what? I don't get it."
"That demonstration was only to give you a reference point. These are his cartoons." Du then projected some of Marker's best pieces.
Kim stood pale, in shock and horror.
Ron stood slack-jawed, unblinking. "Turn it off, turn IT OFF!" he finally pleaded.
Kim shook her head to regain her senses. "I don't get it either. What is it about him that requires our services?"
"How do I put this...You two seem to specialize in...weirdos? Freaky villains? He seemed right up your alley, and you handle them much more efficiently than we do. Besides, at this point he doesn't deserve the full resources of Global Justice." Du explained.
"Oh, I get it. You want us to do all the dirty work so you guys can come in and claim all the glory!" Ron surmised.
"Nonsense," said Du, "You are the experts, and have resources unavailable to us. There is a proposed international challenge to create offensive historical Holocaust cartoons. This, if anything, will draw him out..."
Ron winced at the pun.
Du looked perplexed. "Did I say something, Agent Stoppable?"
"No, man...I'm good. Keep going."
"What are we supposed to do about it now?" Kim asked angrily.
"Find out what you can about Marker. Discover where he is and what his plans are, if any. His last known address was in San Francisco, but that was six months ago. Your little computer friend is authorized to assist you." he added, patronizingly.
"Ooooohkaaay," Kim said, getting peeved. "Why call us in at this hour? Where is Dr. Director?" Kim asked. "
"She is dealing with an A-1 emergency priority situation right now, and can't be bothered. I am acting on her direct orders. She told me to call you in to advise and assist and said it was urgent." Du said haltingly. "You have your assignment. We expect a report by Sunday at 1300 hours."
"Oh, you do, do you?" Kim was beyond peeved. Ron, sensing the tension, decided to alleviate it.
"Hey, hey. That's good...Thanks Will, we'll get right on it, eh, KP? C'mon, lets go!" He led Kim back to the lift tubes. "Bye now!"
Once they were out of earshot, Kim confided in Ron, "They've got an A-1 emergency situation going on and they don't need us? Instead we get called in the middle of the night to track some demented cartoonist? What did he mean by us 'having resources' they don't?"
"They need Wade's mad skills, is my guess...Did the ranks seem a little thin in there to you?"
"Very much so. Ron, what's going on here?"
"My 'Fearless Ferret' sense tells me we're being played KP, but I don't know why."
"Your ferret sense is right on. I don't know either. But we're going to find out."
Shego arrived home about 3:00 am, and pulled into the garage, her heart still heavy, but her mind determined. She washed off what make-up her tears had missed. It wasn't much. She was going to miss being "Kellie Negra"; it was true that blonds have more fun. But now that persona was too dangerous to keep up. GJ had spies everywhere, and while it was highly unlikely, her little outburst in Lowerton might alert them to her whereabouts.
She had been successful in locating the Seniors, and they were looking forward to showing her their new resort. She had a flight from Upperton International to Mexico City booked for 7:00 that morning, and then a connecting flight to San José. Her bags were already packed and ready to go. Shego hadn't flown commercial in years, getting through airport security would be a nuisance, but nothing she couldn't handle. Shego decided to become a redhead. It seemed fitting.
Shego had paid 2 years rent up front on her little pad; she hoped to be able come back someday. But just in case her hideout was discovered, she entered a key code on her computer and activated a special Trojan Horse for the GJ forensic computer techs. If they tried to hack her hard drive, it promised them hours, if not days, of "fun".
The furniture covered, the car loaded up, dressed to the nines with a red wig and green contacts, Shego was ready to go. She pulled out of the garage, activated the security alarm (one more surprise for the unsuspecting GJ) and drove to Upperton International Airport.
Drakken was never a morning person. This morning even more so. Every hair on his body hurt. How that could be when he had no memory of the night before perplexed him. This nice, warm, expensive coat covering him confused him even further. He moaned as he came to. "Ohhhuuurrgggggg! Where am I? What happened?" he asked to no one in particular.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," said Bob, "How are we feeling this morning?"
"Like a human war zone..." Drakken replied. He gazed at Bob and remembered his sorry circumstances. "What happened?" he asked again.
"You got some rabid fans left over from your TV days," said Bob. "They either really like you or they don't."
"Wha..?" It hurt to move. "What are you talking about?" Drakken managed to sit up, painfully.
"You don't remember yesterday, do you? It's just as well, I suppose..."
Drakken tried. His brain hurt. He remembered the bus station and something about "The People's Court" and that was about it. "No, I...urrrrghhh!" He tried to stand and promptly fell back on his rear.
"Easy there, big fella! Baby steps..." cajoled Bob. Together, he and Chuck helped Drakken to his feet. They adjusted his new jacket over his shoulders, dusting it off, and made him look as presentable as they could.
Drakken looked down at the collection of empty and broken liquor bottles at his feet. "Did we have a party last night and I wasn't invited?"
"You could say that..." said Chuck, curtly, his voice raspy.
Drakken felt around in his pockets and discovered his remaining $33.49 was gone. "Oh, god! My money! Where is it? I got 'rolled' last night, didn't I?" he said in a panic. His mother had warned him about such things.
"Yeah," said Bob, not wanting to admit that it was he and Chuck that did the rolling. "It was bad. Me and Chuck got hit, too!"
Chuck shot Bob a look. "Some more than others,..." he said cryptically.
Drakken noticed again his luxurious new black overcoat, the pockets of which Bob was unsubtly searching, until Chuck slapped his hand. "Git outta there! No!" Chuck remembered his warning from the night before.
"Where did this come from?" Drakken asked.
"The angel must've given it to you," said Bob, "She sure was purty."
Angel? Drakken was totally lost. "What angel?"
"She was blond and blue eyed and gorgeous. I dreamed her..." said Bob.
Drakken reached into a pocket and found something. He pulled out a small and delicate rose. He looked at it quizzically. Bruises. Blond angels. Roses. It hurt to think. "I'm hungry," he said finally. "Let's get something to eat."
"The Lowerton Mission puts out a pretty good spread on Saturday," said Chuck, "Let's go there."
They headed to the Lowerton Relief Mission, Bob and Chuck assisting Drakken as they could. He concentrated on moving as painlessly as possible. Bob babbled on about nothing in particular. Chuck was strangely silent, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of blond-haired devils.
To be continued
DISCLAIMER: All characters herein are © Disney, except "Chuck", "Bob", and "Art Marker". They are sole creations of my fevered imagination. Thanks for reading. Comments, reviews, and suggestions are always welcome.
