"So how did it go last night?" Multi asked, tuning his guitar. It was almost showtime.
"Unfortunately, great," Fluey said, groaning.
"Why is that unfortunate?" Coiley asked.
"Big D was impressed," Fluey said. "Phyllis said it was really hard to impress the chief, but this Raphael Caprezio guy did. I don't know, I just don't like that guy."
"What don't you like about him?" Multi asked.
"I don't know, I just don't like him for some reason!" Fluey shouted. "Phyllis said she was bringing him over for the concert, and she was gonna bring him backstage so you guys could meet him. She's going to introduce him to the girls first, though, considering they'll all be in the audience."
"Just don't do anything stupid on stage," Coiley said.
"Don't worry, I won't," Fluey said. "I'm a professional, remember?"
Coiley didn't say anything. Multi peered through the curtains to check the house. As usual, it was a full house, standing room only. Multi also saw Shawn, FG, Danalleah, and Phyllis talking in the front row (he couldn't hear what they were saying though). He noticed the guy sitting next to Phyllis.
"Is that him?" he asked. Fluey walked over and took a look.
"Yeah, that's him all right," he said. "Raphael Caprezio, the world's only six foot Ken doll."
"Come on, you guys, Coiley said, getting on the band's platform. "Show time."
Multi and Fluey grabbed their guitars, got on their platform, and waited for the curtain to open. Once it did, the only thing that could be heard was thousands of screaming teenage girls, and maybe a little bit of singing if you listened hard enough. Once the concert was over, Danalleah, Shawn, FG, and Phyllis went back stage to see the boys. And, of course, Phyllis had brought Raphael with her.
"Hey, guys," Phyllis greeted the trio.
"So this is him, huh?" Coiley asked, looking at Raphael.
"Yep, this is him," Phyllis said. "Raph, these are Franky's friends, Mark Mills and Calvin Collins. Fellas, this is Raphael."
"Hi," Raphael said, shaking Multi's and Coiley's hands. Multi's puppy, Skittles, walked over to the group, and began sniffing at Raphael, sort of sizing him up.
"Oh, I almost forgot," Phyllis said, and she kneeled down to pet the puppy. "Raph, this is Mark's puppy, Skittles."
"Does he bite?" Raphael asked.
"She," Multi corrected. "And no, she doesn't bite."
"She may growl and snarl at you if she doesn't like you," Fluey said. "But she doesn't bite unless we tell her to."
Phyllis, in response, swatted her brother in the arm. Fluey then turned his attention toward Skittles. She was a pretty good indictor when someone couldn't be trusted. Skittles usually only growled at crooks and the like. If she started growling at Raphael, Fluey would know he couldn't be trusted. He waited for her to react, but she never did. She didn't jump onto Raphael and barrage him with puppy kisses, like she usually did when she encountered a potential friend, either. As a matter of fact, she was looking at him as if she couldn't figure out what to think of him!
"Why is she looking at me like that?" Raphael asked.
"I don't know," Multi said. "I've never seen her do this before. I don't think she's made up her mind about whether or not she likes you, Raphael."
"As long as she's not growling at him, then it's okay with me," Phyllis said. She knew about Skittles's built-in bad guy detector, and she knew Fluey was hoping Skittles would start growling at him, or something. After some chit-chat, Phyllis and Raphael left the concert hall. Skittles just stared after them, her head cocked to one side.
"Well, Skits?" Fluey asked. "Can we trust him or not?"
Skittles just looked up at Fluey, and gave him a shrug, and a bark that clearly said "I don't know, I haven't figured it out yet."
"You're no help," Fluey mumbled.
A week went by. Phyllis was still going out with Raphael, and for some reason, it really bugged Fluey. Though he still couldn't figure out what it was he didn't like about this guy, other than the fact that he was too perfect. Nobody was that perfect!
Fluey was thinking over the whole thing one Saturday while shooting hoops in the driveway, when he heard the sound of a motorcycle pull up. Fluey looked over, and saw a royal blue motorcycle pull up to the curb of the house. The driver wore a blue helmet that matched the color of the motorcycle perfectly, and he was wearing a mechanic's jumpsuit. The driver cut the bike's engine, and took off the helmet, revealing himself to be Mike Rogers.
"Mike, what are you doing here?" Fluey asked.
"Checkin' out the chief's engine," Mike said, pulling a tool box out of a compartment in the cycle. "He called this mornin' and said he was havin' engine trouble, and he asked me to take a look at it. He said he'd rather not bum a ride with Phyllis into work if he can't get his car started."
Fluey nodded. He kind of understood Big D's reasoning. After all, how would it look for the chief of a super secret organization (who was known to be tough as nails, and hard as a rock) to show up to work in a cotton candy pink convertible?
"But why doesn't he just drive his motorcycle?" Fluey asked, as Mike went up to the front porch.
"He keeps that thing at HQ," Mike said. "He told me he doesn't use it unless he has to."
Fluey nodded, and continued shooting hoops while Mike walked up to the front porch and rang the doorbell. Ten minutes later, the garage door opened, and Mike and Big D walked out. Big D popped the hood to his car, and left Mike to work on it.
"I guess being the head of a super secret organization, you don't have to pay for a garage to look at the car, huh?" Fluey said.
"And most of the time, whenever I do take it in, something else goes wrong with it shortly after I get it back," Big D said.
"Yeah, I know a lot of mechanics who are nothin' but con jobs," Mike said. "They fix the problem, but then they go and create another problem just so you have to bring it in again, and pay them more money. Before I was recruited at the SSHQ, I used to work in one of those types of places. They were also an undercover chop shop, but I didn't realize this until after I had left the joint. Best decision I ever made!"
Big D then went back inside the house, Mike went to work on the engine, and Fluey walked over to Mike's blue motorcycle and checked it out.
"Hey, Mike?" he asked.
"Yeah?" Mike asked, not bothering to look up from the hood.
"What's with the license plate on your bike?"
The license plate of Mike's motorcycle read MKL-CKL. It was an odd combination.
"Oh, it's a custom job," Mike said. "It's short for what I call my bike. The Michael-Cycle."
"I take it you tooled it yourself?" Fluey asked. Mike didn't normally name vehicles unless he built them himself.
"Yeah, my first custom," Mike said. "Not only did I need a job to pay my rent, I was also toolin' up this little beaut before Big D hired me."
"Why blue?"
"Why not blue?"
Fluey couldn't argue with that point. He just dribbled the basketball back to the driveway, and continued his one man game, all the while talking to Mike.
"So Phyllis still datin' that guy she rear ended with at the Park 'n Shop?" Mike asked, tightening a bolt in Big D's engine.
"Yeah," Fluey said. "She's hooked on him. I wish she wasn't though."
"Why's that?"
"I don't know, there's something about him I don't like. I just don't know what it is."
"Did Skittles meet him yet? You know she's got a built in radar."
"Yeah, but she didn't react to him. Unfortunately."
"Well . . . . . just 'cause the dog don't react to him doesn't mean he's trustworthy."
"Yeah, that's what I think, too. Personally, I think you oughta ask her out, Mike."
Mike finally looked up from the engine upon hearing that. He leaned against the car, and gave Fluey a weird look.
"Me ask her out?" he asked. Then he laughed. "Come on, why would I ask her out?"
"It's obvious you like her," Fluey said. "I can tell. Every time she has even the smallest problem with that cotton candy car of hers, you drop everything to help her with it. And I know she digs you, too. Why else would she hang out in your garage when you're not fixing her car? So why don't you ask her out, already?"
"Because," Mike said, going back under the hood, "I haven't quite worked up the nerve to ask her out yet, that's why I don't ask her out already, Fluey."
"Come on, man, why not? I think you two are perfect for each other!"
"Get serious, Fluey. She'd never go out with a guy who smells like motor oil and exhaust fumes all the time. I know her type. Phyllis is a lady, and I'm the tramp."
"Yeah, well, it's nothing a few weeks of personal hygiene improvement won't fix."
"Don't push it, fella."
Fluey went back to shooting baskets, when Phyllis came outside to see what was going on.
"Hi, guys," she said. "What's going on?"
"Nothin' much," Mike said, not looking up. "Just fixin' the chief's car. He called me 'cause he said he had engine trouble."
Mike then looked up at Phyllis, and nearly did a double take. He saw that she was wearing an old gray sweatshirt that had seen better days, faded blue jeans rolled up at the cuffs, white socks, and brown loafers, and her hair was up in a ponytail.
"What's the matter?" Phyllis asked.
"Uhh, nothin'," Mike said, clearing his throat. "I'm just not used to seein' you lookin' like . . . . . I mean, all I've ever seen you wear are those tweed skirts and sweater sets."
"You, and the rest of the agency," Phyllis said. "It took Fluey awhile to get used to me having the slob look outside the office."
Mike just nodded, and went back to the engine. Phyllis walked over to Fluey.
"So where are the guys?" she asked.
"Coiley's stuck baby-sitting his sister and I don't know what Multi's excuse is," Fluey said. "He's probably out with Shawn or something. He wasn't home when I called him."
"Can't be much fun shooting hoops by yourself."
"It isn't."
"How 'bout some one-on-one, then?"
"You any good?"
"I'll show you."
And with that, Phyllis took the ball, and began a one-on-one session with her brother, while Mike tinkered with Big D's engine. He just finished it up and shut the hood when a red Ferrari pulled up to the curb.
"Oh no," Fluey groaned.
"That the guy you've been datin', Phyllis?" Mike asked.
"Mr. Perfect himself," Fluey said. "What's he doing here?"
"I don't know," Phyllis said, shrugging. "Oh, Mike, do me a favor, and start calling Fluey 'Franky' around Raphael. And if Multi and Coiley are around, it's Mark and Calvin. I haven't told Raph about the SSHQ."
"Check," Mike said.
Raphael got out of his car, and walked up the driveway toward Phyllis.
"Hi," he said, as he gave her a kiss.
"Hi, yourself," Phyllis said. "What are you doing here?"
"I just thought I'd drop over and see if you were interested in a movie," Raphael said.
"Movie?" Phyllis repeated. "Oh geez, I'd like to, Raph, but I don't think I'll have time to pull myself together. I'm kind of a mess right now."
"I don't think so," Raphael said. "I think you look pretty no matter what the situation."
"Would that include stuff you'd find in Playboy?" Fluey asked. Phyllis glared at him for that one.
"Uhh, no," Raphael said. "Only because I haven't seen her . . . . . well, you get the drift."
"Unfortunately," Mike said. "Leave it to Franky to ruin the moment."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Phyllis said. "Raph, this is my friend, Mike. Mike, this is Raphael."
"You're her mechanic friend, right?" Raphael asked, shaking Mike's hand.
"What tipped you off?" Fluey asked, going back to the basketball hoop. "Come on, Phyllis, we were in the middle of a game!"
"Yeah, I'll have to take a rain check on the movie, Raph," Phyllis said. "I think Franky wants some 'quality time' as it were."
"No problem," Raphael said. "I'll just hang out and watch if that's okay with you."
"Only if it's okay with you if we pretend your face is the backboard," Fluey said.
"Franklin . . . . ." Phyllis said, in a warning tone.
Fluey didn't say anything, he just passed the ball to his sister, and they continued their one-on-one game, while Mike and Raphael sat and chatted with each other.
"You seem awfully familiar to me," Mike said, looking over Raphael. "Have we met before?"
"No, I don't think so," Raphael said.
"What high school did you go to?"
"Megatropolis High."
"College?"
"Harvard."
"Have you ever worked in auto mechanics?"
"No way. I don't have the slightest idea what the heck goes into a car!"
"Mind if I look over your car?"
"Be my guest."
Mike stood up, and walked to the Ferrari, just looking it over. He made a mental note to check the license plate number when he got a chance.
"This is a nice car," he said. "You got the registration papers to go with it?"
"What are you, an undercover cop or something?" Raphael asked.
"Ferraris don't come cheap, fella," Mike said. "I want to see some proof of ownership here. Unless of course you got somethin' to hide."
"What? You think I stole the car?"
"I didn't say that. Just let me see the registration, along with your license. And I ain't buyin' the old I left 'em it my other pants excuse."
Raphael said nothing, and he opened the glove compartment of his car. He took out the registration papers, and handed them to Mike, along with his driver's license. Mike looked them over, and nodded.
"Okay," he said. "Everythin' seems to be on the up and up with this car of yours. Just one more question."
"Okay," Raphael said.
"Are you familiar with Dusty's Auto Repair?"
"Yeah, I took a car there once. Not the Ferrari, another one. But once the problem was fixed, I found another one, and when that one was fixed, something else went wrong, so I sued the place. I later found out it was a chop shop in disguise."
Mike nodded. He figured that was probably where he had seen Raphael before, considering that was the garage he used to work at (that was the undercover chop shop), but somehow, he wasn't sure if that was right or not.
"Hey, Phyllis!" Raphael called. "How 'bout letting me in on the game?"
"Two against one?" Fluey asked.
"I don't think that's fair," Phyllis said. "Unless . . . . . Mike, do you play basketball?"
"Yeah, a little bit," Mike said. "I haven't played since high school, so I'm a little rusty. So what is this, two-on-two?"
"Yeah, you and me versus Phyllis and Mr. Perfect," Fluey said.
"I read ya loud and clear, kid," Mike said.
Within minutes, the game was underway, and Fluey and Mike were wiping up the court with Phyllis and Raphael. Mike knew all the moves, as well as some trick shots.
"Eat your hearts out, Harlem Globetrotters," he said, giving Fluey a high five.
"Yeah man!" Fluey shouted.
"Okay, okay," Raphael said, breathlessly. "You guys win. I'm wiped."
"Where'd you learn those moves, Mike?" Fluey asked.
"High school," Mike said, spinning the basketball on his index finger. "I was captain of the basketball team."
"How come you didn't tell us that?" Raphael asked.
"You didn't ask," Mike said, bouncing the ball to Fluey.
"Great," Raphael said. "Well, time for me to hit the showers. I'll call you later, Phyllis."
"Okay," Phyllis said, and she and Raphael kissed each other goodbye. Fluey made sort of a gagging noise in his throat at this.
"My sediments exactly," Mike said, giving Raphael the Evil Eye as he walked over to his Ferrari. "I don't like him at all."
"Finally!" Fluey shouted. "Somebody's on my side of things!"
"Oh, Fluey!" Phyllis groaned. "So what's your problem with him, Mike?"
"I don't know," Mike said. "He just seems so . . . . . so phony, that's all. I don't know why, but I just know I've seen him somewhere before, but I can't place it!"
"America's Most Wanted, maybe?" Fluey suggested.
"I give up," Phyllis said, and then she walked into the house.
"I'd better get goin' myself," Mike said, walking over to his bike. "This calls for a little investigatin'. Otherwise, it's gonna drive me bananas tryin' to think where I've seen this guy before."
"If you find anything, Mike, let me know," Fluey said.
"Will do. See you around, kid."
And with that, Mike put on his helmet, started up his bike, and practically roared down the street. Fluey started back inside himself, dribbling the basketball along the way.
"I still think Mike should ask Phyllis out," he said. "She's wasting her time with Mr. Perfect, who I bet isn't even all that he's cracked up to be!"