A Tale of Two Nemeses

It was just Monk and Sharona. They had both woken up early, and gained time on Disher who chose to sleep in, somewhere in the stone tower at the top of McDuck manor. A. K. A. The unwelcome guest room.

Flintheart's mansion was a stately, yet very crooked building in the country immediately outside Duckburg. It was surrounded by dead trees, which gave it the persona of a haunted house. Of course it was not haunted, and Monk wouldn't have believed it if it was.

"Adrian," suggested Sharona. "How are we going to get in?"

"I'm a professional," Monk told her.

Sharona mouthed something, rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms.

A servant opened the door.

"I have an appointment. I'm a representative of Dale the wh. . . . Biederbeck."

Monk coughed this up with much chagrin, and silently apologizing to Trudy for the deception.

Sharona was impressed, and said as much.

"But why Dale the Whale? I thought he was your nemesis?"

"This is real life. I don't have a nemesis. He's just . . . my worst enemy."

"Trust me. He's your nemesis."

The servant came back and demanded their credentials.

Sharona looked pointedly at Monk.

"He lives at San Quentin Prison . . . his former residence was 1938 Boris Place, his number was (905) 388-4389. Besides that, we know his name and we know what he does."

It was a short time later that Scrooge's nemesis, an old duck in pancake hat, kilt, and full beard greeted them coldly in his office.

"So Whale sent you," scowled Glomgold, in his low, rough voice. "The fool ate himself into being an invalid, and got himself in trouble with that San Francisco judge murder case. What could you possibly have to offer from me?"

Monk was wracked by indecision, however Sharona remembered something she heard from Scrooge about Glomgold.

"It's not what we're going to offer you," Sharona explained. "It's what we may offer Scrooge."

Glomgold started.

"Bah!" he exclaimed. "Whale knows what Scroogie's like. He's not going to deal with the likes of him. Makes his money square . . . blah blah blah. If You Can't Beat Them, Cheat Them!"

"This is an honest venture," Sharona explained. "By way of a cousin. Scrooge will go for it. We'd rather have his capital."

Glomgold had his doubts, but he was more wary of losing a deal to Scrooge. He leaned forward.

"Scrooge doesn't have the capital to invest," he hissed.

Sharona gave a rather good fake laugh. Monk gave a very bad one.

"He has three cubic acres in the money bin alone," Monk said, hesitantly.

Glomgold snickered.

"You'll soon find that I'm the richest duck in the world. Between Scroogie's . . . losses, my new banking complex, the new improved Air Glomgold, the floating island resort hotels, and my new diamond digger machines, Scrooge is a poor second."

The servant returned.

"A representative from Dale Biederbeck to see you," he announced.

It was Disher.

"How do I know you're also an associate of the whale?" Glomgold asked, suspiciously.

"I'm not," said Disher. "San Francisco Police Department. I have some questions to ask you."

"Are these people with you?" asked Glomgold, gesturing toward Sharona and Monk.

"Of course," said Disher, benevolently.

The three of them were unceremoniously booted out.

"Nice going," spat Sharona, rubbing her lower posterior.

Monk brushed himself off. He was somewhat dusty, but otherwise undamaged. Disher, on the other hand, had landed into a mud puddle.

"What'll we do now?" he complained.

"We see Gyro Gearloose," said Monk. "I think I know how Glomgold did it."