II — PREPARATIONS AND CONFRONTATIONS
Neither Roddy nor I mentioned Montana's offer to anyone, or even to each other. In fact, several days later I began to think that he had forgotten his offer and that I had bagged myself $5,000 for not saying anything.
It was during one class, just before lunch, that Roddy got a call on his cell phone.
"What—? What, now—? Yeah, right, how are we supposed to get from here to there in 5 minutes—? What, really—? Okay, we can do that. Which room—? This better not be a setup, because if it is—I see. We're on our way."
As he hung up, I asked him, "What's going on?"
"It's time," he replied, standing up and grabbing my paw. I, too, stood up, wondering if it had been Montana who had called. Roddy then looked at the teacher and said, "Family emergency," at which the teacher just shrugged and thusly we were able to ditch class without any problem. The fact that it was nearly lunchtime probably helped, too.
"That was Montana?" I asked.
"Yes. We have to get to the Looser-versity right away. It seems he finally wants to discuss the procedure, and he needs all four of us to agree on it."
"Four?"
"Yes, it seems that looser green duck also wants a piece of that wetback. We'll discuss it during their lunch."
"Won't we be cutting it close?"
"Not really, their lunch hour is one period ahead of ours. Still, he was kind enough to send his limo here to pick us up and then take us back when we're done. And you know that his limo is FAST."
I ran with him to the entrance, getting rather nervous about ditching school AND sneaking in to the rival campus. I tried to convince myself that it was for a good cause, or as good as a Perfectoid can plan it, because we were going to get rid of an attacker, a foreigner, and we were going to get good money for it.
We ran straight out the entrance and into Montana's limo, apparently having arrived moments earlier and with a door held open for us. Again, Roddy dragged me in, and I nearly fell this time, if it wasn't for the fact that my stumbling made me end up sitting on his lap. I don't know if that was intentional on his part, but I guess I really didn't mind. Not that it mattered anyway, since I really didn't see how we could get in some snuggle time while in the middle of a hit operation.
The limo was fast, too. It seemed as if we had barely entered when suddenly the door opened again and Montana's chauffeur let us out.
"Now what?" I asked, apprehensive of actually being in the Looser-versity campus without having a reason that had to do with sports.
Roddy took my paw, "Room 117. It's on the ground floor, and since they're in the middle of class, no one should see us go inside. Come on!" He practically dragged me inside again, and I stumbled after him. Maybe it was the prospect of getting his money back, but Roddy had lately started becoming a bit impulsive. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, seeing we were in enemy territory and both of us were glancing left and right to make sure no one had spotted us. Suddenly he opened a door and we stumbled inside. And it was a good thing he was still holding my paw, because I nearly fell over a chair.
Or at least it sounded like a chair. The room wasn't being used for a class at the moment, and since there were no windows, it was completely dark. I felt Roddy releasing my paw and start fumbling along the wall looking for the light switch. "This had better be worth the money," I quipped. I was nervous enough as it was due to just being in on the "hunt", and now I was sneaking into a place I swore I would never set a foot-paw in.
Roddy found the switch and turned on the lights. There were a few computer stations, some drawing boards, a projector, several video and still cameras, and a table. Looking down I saw that I did almost fall over a chair. "We wait here," he said. "Montana will be here as soon as the next period starts. When we hear the bell ring, we turn off the lights and wait. In the meantime, he left us here some info about our target."
Emotionally drained, I slumped on a chair and leaned on the table, not really caring about the information for the moment. I tried to relax, reminding myself that this was all to get rid of an attacker. To my comfort, Roddy sat next to me. I guess I was more drained than I thought, because I took his paw and sort of leaned against him. Maybe he was exhausted as well, because he didn't cuddle back, or maybe he didn't think cuddling in this place seemed romantic at all.
Perhaps it was that the whole set up that was draining me. I live a very comfortable life without emotional roller coasters, and now I had been angry, shocked, and very nervous in a very short period of time. Maybe it was the fact that I was realising I had such intense emotions that were making me feel rather vulnerable, and dare I say it—
—afraid.
There were very few moments of my life when I felt truly afraid. Even when Babs made us—quit smoking—I don't think I was really afraid, just momentarily terrified and very annoyed. The fright was over in a minute or two, but this present feeling of fear had not gone away.
And I hated feeling vulnerable like this.
What was more, knowing that Roddy wasn't exactly Mr. Olympia, I wondered if he would stay by my side, should anything go wrong.
Roddy, however, had noticed a folder on the table that had the information Montana had gathered. He took it and read the notes to see just what we had to deal with. Since it was going to be a while until the loosers' lunch, I decided to kill time by reading up on whom I hoped was as chauvinistic as Montana had said he was.
The first page began:
Name: WHO THE (CENSORED) CARES?
Age: A teenager, but see above
Gender: Male
Species: Panthera onça (jaguar)
Weight: Heavy…
There was a picture of our target as well. It was more a sketch than an actual photograph, and for a moment I wondered if the "artist" had exaggerated on making the feline look fierce and dangerous. He certainly seemed heavy, and the jewellery he wore made him look like a gang member. Being a rodent, I felt some fright at the sight of a feline, and a roaring one as well, but perhaps it was the fact that I was looking at a sketch, and not a photograph, that made me wonder if this cat was as fierce as he seemed.
We continued to read up on our target, learning how he travelled by bicycle, how he seemed to teleport over short distances, his apparent shielding against lightning, his apparent high tolerance against skunk spray, and how he had an interesting "sleeper" hold, a bit like the Vulcan nerve pinch. Montana had apparently used a hidden directional microphone to spy on this guy and his friends, as some of the info seemed to be transcripts of conversations. As I read on, I started to worry about the success of our project. The jaguar had been hunted before in Mexico, rather repeatedly, both with bullets and with tranquillisers. If he had, then it was possible that he would have tolerance against those drugs, which probably explained his tolerance against skunk attacks.
The next pages were computer diagrams of the proposed rifles, darts, and tranquillisers to use. There was a chart of several types of drugs that showed their reaction time according to the weight of the target. What worried me there was that some charts had incomplete rows of reaction times as the dosage increased. A footnote confirmed my fears:
"Overdose at this weight. May be fatal depending on tolerance."
Quickly looking back at the size of the darts and the amount they could hold, I checked to see if it was possible to give him an overdose. Comparing the capacity of the largest dart to the most potent drug, I sighed with relief when I saw that the dosage would be well within the safety zone, according to the estimate of the jaguar's weight.
"You'd think we were hunting elephants with what Montana wants to use," said Roddy.
"Or he could be making sure that he doesn't get away. I still wonder what he needs us for."
"Maybe to grab that cat as soon as he's hit? From these charts, it looks like he's going to put up a good struggle before he conks out."
"Ugh," I spat. "Is that what we have to do? Wrestle this cat to the ground?"
"That's one way of defeating a feline—and if there are witnesses, all they will see is two rodents defeating a panther—which will make us look good."
"If we END UP looking good," I retorted, "Look, Roddy, I just don't want to get feline germs on me! Who knows where he's been!"
"In the jungle, according to this info. Maybe Montana will provide HAZMAT suits so we can grab him without problems."
"I hope so. I'd hate to break any claws over this, even if we ARE getting big bucks." At this point, a cuckoo clock outside signalled lunchtime. Taking precautions, Roddy ran to the switch and turned off the lights, in case anyone decided to check this room.
We didn't have to wait long for Montana, or that green duck. As he entered, the human boy seemed rather ticked off at something, or someone, considering that he had bits of cake frosting all over himself.
Montana locked the door to the animation room once the two were inside. The duck looked at us, and though the darkness hid us somewhat, he seemed to recognise us.
"Now this was certainly expected of you," he told Montana, as he took out a disk from his body pocket and walked to a computer and projector, which were conveniently placed on one end of the classroom.
Montana wiped some icing remnants off himself as he sat down near the screen. "What were you able to find out?"
The duck ran the program, turned on the projector, and stepped up to the screen. It showed a computerised map of Acme Acres, which rotated and zoomed to where Acme Looniversity was located. He explained as he pulled out a long metal pointer, "Aerial recon—reconni—spying—revealed that the jaguar always takes this path from the Looniversity to the forest." A red line emerged from the Looniversity's main entrance and zigzagged through the city, until it reached the forest, stopping there. Another red line began from a certain restaurant and zigzagged its way as well. "He has an alternate path if he starts from Weenie Burgers, but it converges on his original path here," he pointed to where both lines joined. "Tree cover in the forest is very thick, and I couldn't get any information from there. The forest dwellers also heard and saw what happened on your first encounter there, Monty, so they refused to disclose any information to me."
"Looks like we'll have to do it in the city, then," said Roddy.
The city? Wouldn't that be risky?
"But how?" I asked, suddenly trying to see if this whole thing was actually feasible. "We'll always have an audience, and the way he keeps to the right side of the street, if we attempt a drive-by shooting, we'll risk hitting others. Even with a point-blank shot, the tranquilliser will take at least one minute to take effect, giving him enough time to fight back or call for help. And that's if he's not pedalling alone. And even if he was, anyone nearby with a cell phone could call the cops on us." Everything suddenly seemed like a bad idea. I don't know if I was chickening out or—
"Not necessarily," said the duck, to my disappointment. The image then zoomed in to a particularly long block. "The J.A.M.—" was that the jaguar's name? "—turns right on this street, whether he's coming from the Looniversity or Weenie Burgers. Here, he doesn't keep right, but instead moves next to the median." An even greater zoom showed the path as the duck described it. "That's because he has to take a left at the next corner. This particular segment of his commute is long, with a very wide street and scattered businesses near the corners. We'll have a very small audience here, if any."
"But what do we do about the tranquilliser delay, duck?" I asked him, holding the charts up at him, now getting more and more nervous. "Even the most potent dose on the largest dart will give him at least a sixty second window of escape. Anything more potent will kill him on the spot, and we don't want a murder in our paws." Even if he was an attacker, or a foreigner, there were some things I just wouldn't do.
"Hold it," said Montana. "That sixty second window will work with just one dose, right?" That boy was clearly determined.
"Actually, that's an approximation," replied Roddy, going over the charts again. "He said he's been hunted before, so we don't know how much tolerance he's built up so far. We don't have his exact weight, either. It could be from two to eight minutes." And I wasn't planning on wrestling with him that long.
"From just one dose?" insisted Montana. What was he getting at?
"Yes. Are you saying we should shoot him repeatedly?" asked Roddy.
Now how would THAT be possible? Was there a machine gun that would shoot darts instead of bullets?
"Additional shots will draw attention to us," I said, hoping that they would ditch this plan. For some reason, the money didn't seem so appealing now, and I just wanted OUT of the whole deal. "And right from the first shot, he's likely to roar in pain and wobble on his bicycle, becoming a harder target." And should he be walking, it was possible that he could teleport immediately after getting shot.
"Not if we all shoot at the same time," explained Montana, standing up and walking to the computer. I looked at the boy with nervousness and fright. All these times we said "we", I assumed that someone else would do the shooting and then Roddy and me would wrestle the jaguar to the ground. Now, Montana seemed to want more than one person doing the shooting, and I hoped it would be him and that duck.
As he came closer, I could see more clearly the bits of frosting that clung to his hair and clothes, and could detect the slight smell of egg that it generated. He had apparently just been on the end of a toony gag, one that he obviously didn't enjoy. But as he typed furiously on the keyboard, his expression changed from tremendously annoyed to gleaming with the delight of genius.
"There," he said, pointing back at the projected image. The view of the street zoomed closer and shifted to the centre of the two blocks. "Here is the middle of that street. There is nothing but walls on either side. And the jaguar comes here:" A yellow dot blinked its way from left to right, near the dividing line. "Now, one shot will take too long to take effect, but if we put a sniper here, here, here, and here," he pointed to positions on the roofs on buildings on both sides of the street, and, I noticed, they formed a square, "and if they all fire at the same time, we can get a quadruple dose on him, which, according to the charts, will knock him out in ten seconds, at most. No amount of tolerance will be able to save him now." The view reset and the yellow dot blinked its way across again, only this time, four white dots on the buildings tracked dotted lines toward it. Then, when the dotted lines formed an "x" when the yellow dot was on the exact centre, they all blinked rapidly as the movement stopped.
That would be the moment they all would fire.
The "x" disappeared, and Montana continued, "A van will appear at that moment and haul him in." A black rectangle came in from the other side, stopping where the wobbling yellow dot was. The yellow dot moved into the rectangle, which then "drove" off the left side of the screen.
Montana stepped in front of the screen. "It's fool-proof."
"Maybe," said Roddy, "but how is driving a van going to make us look good? Or are we going to yank him inside?"
The boy looked at my boyfriend. "No, rodent. You're not going to be in the van. You're going to be on the roof, with me and Plucky."
Hold it.
This was NOT part of the deal.
Or was it?
"BOTH of us?" I asked.
"Yes," Montana whispered with delight. "Imagine that: two rodents successfully hunting one of the largest feline predators in the world."
So THAT was the catch of the deal. Twenty-five thousand dollars, if WE—if I shot the jaguar. True, we wouldn't use bullets, but even if we weren't going to do any permanent damage, I just HAD to get out of that deal somehow. "News flash, Montana," I hissed, hoping he wouldn't sense my fear, "I don't know about you or the duck here, but neither Roddy nor I have ever held a gun IN OUR LIVES. Do you actually expect to re-create the Kennedy assassination with OUR help?"
"And did you think that we WEREN'T going to practice for this?" he retorted.
"Practice?" asked Roddy.
"There are a few things that I've picked up here at the Loo that will help you build up your aim, AND help us practice the whole operation to make sure it proceeds without any problems." He chuckled, "Education works wonders, you know."
"And just WHERE are we supposed to practice this?"
He somehow managed to sneak us off campus, and he drove the four of us to his mansion, where he had the holodeck-type simulator. We didn't try it right away, since he and the duck had to program it with all the necessary data.
Instead, he gave Roddy and me the rifles we would be using, complete with telescopic sight. I held the weapon in my paws, a bit surprised that it was lighter than I thought it would be. Thinking about it, I realised that this was because the rifle shot darts, not bullets, so it didn't need that much weight to counter the annoying recoil. Still, as I held the metal in my paws, it felt strange, foreign, alien, as if it had nothing to do with me, almost repulsive, like Buster and Babs. I just wanted it away from me.
"You can start by getting the feel of it, and you can practice out here today. And remember, be ONE with the gun," smiled Montana, in an attempt to be Zen.
Yeah, right, be ONE with something you wanted nothing to do with. Still, Montana had set up two bull's-eyes out on his back yard, and a wood "rampart" 10 metres from it. His butler led us to the area and provided us with darts and lemonade, as well as the instruction booklets of the rifles—
—and two wads of 100 Ben Franklins, the second bulk of our payment. We snatched the money and stuffed it in our pockets, now looking forward to completing this "hunt".
There were no chairs, and the "rampart" came up to our waists, so I assumed we had to kneel on the grass. At first, that repulsed me, but looking at the good condition Montana kept his lawn in, I tried to convince myself that it wouldn't be a big deal. Following the instructions, I half-kneeled, wishing I had worn pants, and tried to load one dart.
I was clumsy at first, naturally, trying to find the safety, the chamber, loading the chamber, shutting the chamber, and then trying to get comfortable as I aimed at the target. My first shots didn't even hit the bull's-eye, but I smiled inwardly because Roddy's aim was also very terrible. I hated the telescopic sight because it showed perfectly well what an unsteady paw I had, and the image in it barely stayed still as I tried to aim. Montana had obviously considered this and had the darts loaded with water, and the "yard" was actually a very large field, and there was no one behind the targets, so any stray darts would not harm anyone.
The booklet had interesting techniques for controlling breathing, as well as relaxing just before firing. I guess Hollywood got it all wrong again, considering all I had seen in movies and television, well, at least those that had sniper scenes. It all seemed a bit complex at first, but as we continued practicing loading, aiming, breathing, and shooting, the rifle became less and less alien and more comfortable to handle, and my grip became more and more steady. Eventually, we got the hang of shooting at 10 metres, and then 20, and then up to 50 metres, which, I later learned, was much longer than the distance we would be from the jaguar.
I quickly lost track of time as we continued practicing, though I did wonder if Montana or that duck had already sharpened their aim. Roddy and I then started a little contest to see who could hit the dead centre of the bull's-eye the most times, which did wonders for my aim, and yes, I beat him by one shot, and yes, I cheated (as was expected of a Perfectoid) by "accidentally" caressing his tail with the tip of my tail, and then keeping my tail away from his on the final shot.
We were completely exhausted by the end of the day, so we told Montana we'd come back tomorrow, which we did. Roddy and I spent more time on the field, gradually improving our steady grip and our aim, and a few hours later Montana came out and told us that the simulator was ready.
A surprisingly realistic simulator, I noticed. Maybe it was a heat lamp on the ceiling, but the "sun" generated the heat that we would be encountering when we went to hunt the jaguar. Since we were rookies, Montana had decided that the hunt would be on a clear and calm day, with no wind gusts to ruin any shot. We just couldn't risk missing a single shot, unless the guys at the van didn't mind a thirty-second mauling from the jaguar.
The simulator helped us synchronise our shots, as well as see just how far we'd have to aim. Also, the roofs of the buildings were more or less re-created from what they really were so we'd choose a comfortable spot and position to make our shot.
Everything was very business-like, to the point that I stopped thinking of that jaguar as a toon, and started thinking of him as a moving target; just something to put the cross hairs on and pull the trigger on once Montana gave the signal.
Still, there was something about the rifle, and the way it felt in my paws, that was making me uncomfortable. Maybe it was the fact that it was my first "hunt", or maybe it was the fact that it would be the first time I ever pointed a weapon at someone, even as deserving as that attacker was. The point was that after every session in the simulator, I would practically fall into Roddy's arms, emotionally exhausted.
Was it the fact that I was a female? That duck had been eyeing me with slight contempt; perhaps he just WANTED to say something sexist or chauvinistic concerning my role in this operation, and perhaps he didn't because he couldn't risk Montana getting angry at him if I should quit the whole mission, much less getting Roddy angry at him.
I wonder how much Montana was paying him?
On and on we practiced, until finally we were able to pull off the operation smoothly and without a hitch.