Having taken a step forward, Terence took a step back. Keeping an eye on both would be best, but that wasn't possible. "Known or unknown?"

There was no response, and Terence needed one. "Willy."

A flick of the eyes. "Terence."

"You. As far as he's concerned. Known or unknown?"

Willy's baleful stare fixed itself back on the Ficklegruber. A purple sphere started small in his brain, writhing as it grew, like a giant defective candy balloon, filling every cranny, until with an excruciating pop!, it exploded in tatters. Scalloped-edged, multi-hued ice cream letters, melting at the edges, tumbled from the wreckage and fell into a word: KNOWN.

I want to be known.

No. Wrong. A flick of the wrist. Dismissed like a naughty child, the 'N' shamefully melted into gloppy goo. KNOW. That's right. Extraneous now, the remaining letters swirled into each other and whirled away as an all-day sucker. A sucker. All day. Me or him? This Ficklegruber— he should know…know how it feels to see his future sucked away, reduced to the shavings in a pencil-sharpener. Shredded hopes. Decimated dreams…yeah. How'd ya like that, sucker. With sprinkles? Anticipating a smile, the muscles at the corners of Willy's mouth twitched in spasm, but with a shake of his head, he let it go. This one wasn't that one. That one...knew better.

"Terence."

"Willy."

"Did you know, that 'know' spelled backwards is almost my name?"

Terence thought it over and cocked his head. "Eh?"

Willy flashed him a grin like sunshine, and stifled the giggles. "How 'bout that? Eeny-meeny, I pick unknown. This one is a late-model."

"Okay. Then I am going to push you."

Willy frowned at Terence bothering to say every word. It took forever. "You already do."

"No, I mean really. Hard. Ready?"

Willy's eyes widened and he stood taller, but if Terence had a plan that involved pushing, then he had a plan that involved pushing—which wouldn't have been his plan—but you had to plan on other people doing other than what you planned when you put your plan in their hands. Willy laughed at his thinking, but not so you could hear him. Following the permutations of the phrases was exhausting, but going along when you'd rather not is so much easier when you haven't the energy to object, or better yet, the energy to make yourself scarce. Not there though, yet. Pushing, prodding, poking…so be it, so be it, so bee it. The ghost of a sigh. I've bee'n here before.

This wasn't helping as much as he'd like, but it was, some, and Willy managed to resign himself to the deed, the process shrinking him back to a version he'd left years ago. More than years. Decades. Not decades of decades, but decades and dec…I must stop stalling. Oh well. This wouldn't be the first time, and what he had on was more than enough padding not to bruise. Black and blue on pale looked atrocious, and the yellow later was worse. Great colors for candies, though. With closed eyes, Willy nodded.

The transformation was alarming, challenging Terence to stay impassive. Willy was an empty chrysalis—fragile and withered looking—as if everything that made him 'him' had deserted him. A touch might crush him. Terence revised his plan, even as he put it into motion.

The two were at it again, and Felix licked his lips. James was haranguing the guy, with every word, his voice getting louder. Another decibel or two and he'd hear what James was saying. It sounded like gibberish now, but it must be good. The geezer was as old as time again, some nameless weight collapsing him like a telescope. Suddenly James's arm shot out and struck the dude on the shoulder.

"I don't give a rat's ass who you say you are, or what you think you're doing here!"

Felix could hear everything. The lightning blow sent the guy in the fur reeling into the Factory wall. He almost fell.

"Get OUTTA HERE. Go back where you came from!"

Felix imagined the dude cowering.

"AMSCRAY!"

The only thing that would make this better was popcorn. Felix fumbled for his pocket, grubby fingers in half-gloves digging out pencil and paper to scribble notes. Why the fuck hadn't he remembered his camera?

"YOU!"

The yell was close, startling Felix. Like a tank, James was halfway across the street, closing fast. Astonished so much had changed in so little time, Felix pushed himself to his feet. "You can't chase ME away, fuc…"

"SIT!"

The object James was carrying flew through the air, propelled with both arms from James's chest. It hit Felix square in his chest, paper and pencil flying out of his hand as he fought to control the thing. Losing his balance, Felix fell back on the bench, clutching whatever it was tightly.

"Move over. I'M HELPING YOU."

Felix tensed. Helping him? What was this about? James joined him on the bench, not too close.

Helping him? What was this about? The Factory wall was cold, and rough, and gigandiferous, and Willy welcomed it. With leather-gloved fingers spread, the flat of his hand supported him against it like a small child, clutching his mother's leg. Leaning, Willy looked up, not seeing the top for the gloom. The walls had to be tall or the Factory would dwarf them. They'd look silly. That'd be silly. So close was he, the breath he exhaled froze on the stone in a sheen of icy droplets. This side of this wall— it was the wrong one.

With his other hand, Willy cushioned his head, adjusting his peeking to the bench. Chummy-chummy they were— sitting like old pals, but that couldn't be so. Could it? Please, not again. Who do you trust? Moving the hand at his head away and up, Willy laid his cheek against the stoney points and knew if he moved he would bleed. Terence had made it impossible for him not to hear the helping part, and he hadn't pushed him. He'd pulled the punch at the last second, after spouting a crescendo of nonsense syllables. They'd been funny—Jabberwocky on steroids—and he'd relaxed. The last four sentences had been plain enough, and the soft guidance on his shoulder made his part in the scheme just as plain. Willy's own ice-skate like stutter steps had brought him to the wall, and this position. That'd been fun, too, and he'd smiled in his scarf as he'd danced them. He'd give almost anything to hear what they were saying now, but with the distance, Terence might as well be mumbling.

"You looked like this would do you some good, and I'm guessing you don't need that guy cramping your style any more than I do."

James jerked his thumb at the nutter. Felix squinted at the friendly, conversational tone, and the sleeping bag he held in his arms.

"Careful of the Cottonmouth inside. They don't like crushing."

Shit! Tricked! A poisonous snake!

Suddenly, the Ficklegruber twitched as if bitten, the sleeping bag went flying, and Willy almost cut his cheek with surprise. 'Kay, then. This worrying was silly. Terence was having his fun, and it was time to take his advice— slink away, and leave Terence to it.

Felix snapped open his arms. The bag would have fallen to the ground had Terence not scooped it up with his foot, tossing it into the air, catching it easily and plunking it down on the bench between them.

"You're not very good at this, are you?"

The look from Felix was pure flummox, with a pinch of pure venom. Damned if he'd answer, Felix turned away to see the chump against the wall shuffle into the shadows of the gates.

Terence followed Ficklegruber's eyes, but chuckled. "It's February, sport. I'm describing a reptile. If it went into hibernation stretched out straight, it'd be like a frozen tire iron tonight. No threat to you, or anyone." He leaned a little closer, his breath rising in wisps. "Why aren't you hibernating tonight? In your car. Stretched out. With your tire iron."

Ruminating on his options, Felix turned back and blinked a few times. Anger surged and answered for him. "None of your freakin' business shi…"

"AND that's what I'm talk'n' 'bout LOSER, because 'source' does not start with a 'ssshhi' sound. I am your S-O-U-R-C-E, as in the SOURCE of your information. Remember? Yesterday? So drop the attitude, and start treating me with KID GLOVES!" Gloves. Terence wiped the smirk off his face before Ficklegruber could see it.

There was a long pause as the cogs turned. "You don't know I have a car."

Folding his hands behind his head, Terence leaned back and stretched out a leg. "Sure I do. Your buddy told me."

Willy had cleared the gates and was moving slowly along the wall, leaning on his cane for all it was worth. It was some show.

"He told me he saw you get out of it. Said he followed you here."

"He's not my buddy," Felix protested. "He followed you, too."

"So aren't you glad I got rid of him?" Terence snapped.

Felix sized him up. James didn't look like he gave a shit what the answer was. He was staring after the weirdo, like where he was going was more important than the conversation. Felix crossed his arms and sat back.

Cursing his lapse in discipline, Terence dragged himself back from the mystery of the unknown Factory entrance Willy's course would reveal. "What is this? Surveillance?"

Felix nodded. The companionable tone was back.

"Not your usual schtick though, is it."

Still friendly. Felix shook his head.

"What is?"

Felix swallowed. "Obituaries."

"Ah." Terence acknowledged. One of a newspaper's entry-level positions. "Here for a scoop?"

"Yeah."

Terence waited. Ficklegruber was sullen, but he was relaxing.

"I figure if Wonka is moving some house, something's up. If I find out what it is, maybe I can get out of the basement quicker. Tonight seemed good, 'cuz the lights came on."

"Maybe," allowed Terence. "But this isn't how you do it. If you have a car, stay in it. It's warm, and it's protection. It's also a quick getaway. And it keeps people from sitting down beside you, like a spider." Terence winked. "Or a snake."

Ficklegruber grinned. "I thought I could react better doing it this way."

"Strange attracts attention. This isn't Miami, and it isn't August. Camping on a night like this is kinda creepy." He gestured to the Factory. "It's bound to alert them. Put them on their guard. Stick to the car. Better yet, stick to someone with an 'in'. I went to school with Mr. Wonka."

Ficklegruber puffed up. "Oh, yeah? Big deal. My dad worked for that piece of shi… I mean, Wonka."

Now he was getting somewhere. The mystery of The Ficklegruber Effect— Willy sure wasn't gonna tell him. Terence hid this smile, too. "So your dad's got an 'in'. Ask him to ask Mr. Wonka for your scoop."

Ficklegruber crumpled. "It was only part-time…"

"Speak up."

"My dad had his own shop." The puffery was back. "He sold ice cream. Ice cream that never melted."

"Wow," drawled Terence, seizing the sleeping bag to mask the flinch he couldn't stop. This slob was the son of one of the spies. "Didn't Mr. Wonka sell that?"

"Yeah, but my dad's…"

Terence leaned forward. Rat-a-tat. "What's your dad's name?"

Felix went smart-ass. "Ficklegruber."

Terence's scowl looked dangerous.

"Freddie," Felix cringed away. "Wha' d' you care?"

Rat-a-tat. "What's yours?"

"Felix."

"Your dad still sell ice cream?"

The questions were bullets. Answering felt like dodging them. "No. He sells used cars."

"Here?"

"Yeah."

"For long?"

"For years."

Terence doubled over in a fit of laughter, dragging himself off the bench, the sleeping bag still in his hands. The kid was an idiot and Willy was a marshmallow. Terence had what he wanted, and this was over. "Time to go, Mr. Felix Ficklegruber, old chap. There's no scoop for you here tonight, or any night, ice cream or otherwise. Do yourself a flavor, I mean favor, and go back to your car. Do yourself a bigger favor and take a page out of your father's book— forget about Willy Wonka, and hope he forgets about you."

Ficklegruber was on his feet, seething. "You can't make me!"

Terence stepped back. A fuming Ficklegruber wouldn't do. "You're right, I can't, and you'll have to decide for yourself what you do. But I am telling you, in all niceness, to go back to your car, and forget any plans you may have to get back at Mr. Wonka, whom you obviously dislike. They won't end well— for you."

"Says you."

"Says me. And probably your father."

Ficklegruber looked away, struggling with himself. His father had all ready said all the same things. "He's a wimp."

"I didn't catch that, but don't repeat it. I'm thinking you thought you'd do Mr. Wonka in somehow with this, but if you have anything else in mind, I'll be happy to help you, and I'll start with this. Next time, check what you're told before you print it. There's no park. At least, not at this second."

"But you told me…"

"I made it up. You're supposed to check. How do I know you wouldn't? That's Journalism 101. If you got it wrong, it's your own fault."

"But you said: 'Not at this second'."

"Mr. Wonka's considering the suggestion. It will depend on who owns the land and a host of other things."

Felix considered that. He might not look like a jerk after all, but it would be Wonka bailing him out. That only made him madder, but still… "If I could get a big enough story, I could blow this two-bit town."

"Then I think we're in agreement. I'll help you blow this two-bit town any way I can. Now run along, so we can all get some sleep. You know where to find me, I'll be down the hill at the Bucket house. That is being moved."

Felix stood in the cold, not wanting to look like that other turkey— like James was hustling him off. "That dude had bats in the belfry," he confided, looking up at the dark Factory, running the sight through his mind. "He was standing at the gates, swatting imaginary flies."

"Were the lights on?"

"Yeah."

Terence nodded. "That's bizarre all right. If you see him again, let me know."

Feeling that balanced the scales, Felix grunted, and left for his car.

Terence sat back on the bench, waiting to see the car drive out, one way or the other. In a few minutes it did, the Factory suffering the bird Felix flipped its way in silence, Terence returning the phony wave flipped his way with matching enthusiasm. The bluish puffs spewing from the clunker's muffler disappeared with the tail lights as the car headed down the hill, one street over.

Terence stood. Now what? Best to get home. He walked to the corner and pivoted left. Behind him, the Factory wall lights, and only the Factory wall lights, snapped on. 'If you hadn't turned off the lights, you'd know it was me…' Terence had said that, and the lights were now on. It was an invitation he wouldn't refuse a second time.


I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in any of its many forms, and there is no copyright infringement intended. Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think. dionne dance: Thank you once again for your insights, they are always appreciated. Ifwecansparkle: Thanks for joining the party with your kind words.