A/N: Why the upload function thinks 'oldCommemorationCemeterynear' needs no spaces is beyond me. IMO it needs at least three spaces ... four if you want to be really pedantic.
Fire Brigade
In daylight, Darkwing Duck drove the rat-catcher. He first stopped at the old Commemoration Cemetery near Morgana's place. He stepped up in front of the familiar large marble arch grave stone.
"Who are you?" He asked, staring at the words.
In Loving Memory
Drake Mallard Snr.
Devoted Husband, Father & Fire-fighter
The minute picture in the middle showed a helmet and crossed axes.
The words gave him no clue, he'd already read them hundreds of times before.
On the other half of the arch were the words he'd gotten them to inscribe for his mother.
Love Forever After
Eleanor Mallard.
Loving Mother, Wife.
"So here I am, mum." Darkwing crossed his arms, "I'm listening to you." The cemetery was silent as he rewound the stream of conversations with his mother.
He rubbed his face. "He had integrity, honour and accepted the call to duty. D'oh." The mallard could've cried. It was now that it came to his attention that he hadn't modelled himself on his real father. It was instead the ghostly idea of his father that his mother had impressed on him. That perfect shrine she'd shared with her son.
"I know nothing at all." He said sadly to the memory of his mother. "He might as well have been Super Pig, and you his Lois Dane."
He left the cemetery.
Darkwing's temper was permanently bristling at the very suggestion that he was a criminal. Seeing the S.H.U.S.H. lab disguised as a petrol station along his route didn't help his temper. "Witch hunt." He twisted the handle and drove on.
A few streets over, the Midnight Mallard parked the rat-catcher. He headed up the steps to the fire brigade depot, relieved that, unlike his old primary school, it was still standing.
He passed by the waiting trucks in the garage and knocked on the supervisory door. A grey haired bulldog greeted him. Darkwing recalled seeing this person from Playhouse Avenue the other night. A few more vague memories from long ago drifted across Darkwing's mind, suggesting to him that he'd found the right person to talk to.
"Darkwing Duck!"
He bowed. "Hi. It's Percival, right? I'd like to ask a few questions if you don't mind."
"Sure, anything we can do for youse. I wanted to thank youse for yeh help the other night."
"I'm only here to help." Darkwing smiled at him for a moment before he barrelled on with his questions. "I'm looking for someone who may remember a brigade officer that worked here about twenty years ago."
"Hey, I was here back then. Say, you not talking about Drake Mallard, are youse?"
Darkwing nodded. "As a matter of fact I am. Did he have any enemies?"
"Naw, he was a great guy. All the fellahs couldn't believe he died like that."
"Were you aware that he was murdered?"
"Only when the cops came and shook us down for information. You know: 'where was youse? Do you own a gun? Can we see it?' That sort'a gave it away. But none of us boys'd attack one of our own. S'hard enough to find a half decent officer and Mallard was the best."
"Why?"
"Huh?" Percival blinked at Darkwing.
"Why was he 'the best', Percival?"
"It's like I kept saying to his missus. Mallard had it up there. He knew fire. He studied architect'ral engineering at night school just for this job." Percival sighed. "He told me one time that walking into a burning building was easy after being on the battlefield."
"Stop! What? There's no record of him in the military in our files!" Darkwing trembled with excitement. 'Keen gear, this is the missing piece!'
"He said he only had one posting before he quit."
"Did he tell you where or when?"
"It had to have been Ducklehoff, because I went there a few years ago for a holiday and the buildings were just the way he described them."
"Did he ever tell you why it made him uncomfortable?"
Percival shook his head. "Sorry, Darkwing. One of the boys did ask him once but Mallard said he couldn't talk much because it was classified or something."
"Ducklehoff's still a good start. You've been a great help, Percival. Thanks."
"I don't see how it could be much help."
"Why's that?"
Percival shrugged. "Ghosts move on once the people they've haunted are dead."
Darkwing frowned. "I'm only interested in the living."
Percival raised an eyebrow. "I've heard that one before ..." He turned away from Darkwing and grabbed out an old album from the bookshelf.
Percival flicked through the front few pages of the ancient tome. "I know, that was-." He looked up and found that Darkwing was gone. He sat down in his chair, putting down the book. "Li'l Drakey Mallard." He gazed at the faded picture.
Two children were standing in the brigade's garage in front of the old fire engine. The boy was dressed sloppily in a jacket and a fire helmet while the little girl stood in long plaits looking on.
In the picture she was laughing but Percival knew from his memory of her that there were tear stains on her cheeks. The old bulldog didn't know the little girl's name but the one who made it his job to cheer her up was Drakey Mallard.
Percival slid the photo out of its sleeve and read the back.
My son's first mission.
Drake Mallard Junior - 5 1/2 yrs old.
Percival could hear his old friend's voice speaking those words. The dark gravelling voice brimmed with pride as he spoke the words 'My son'.
Percival slipped the photo back into its slot. Then he paused and continued to stare at it.
"Yep." He lifted the computer screen and sat it back down on the table. He grabbed the yellow pages directory that had been propping it up. "Let's see." He opened it out, "M, M. Mouser, Moose, McMouse, McMallard, McInquack, McDuck, McDane, March, Mallard M & B, Mallard N & Mouse R Gardening Specialists, Mallard K, Mallard D & McQuack L, Mallard A."
He pulled out the drawer and ferreted through the papers for an envelope. "I think it's about time you got this one back, kid." He pulled the photo out of the book again.