Since the night of Raphael's proposal, the upcoming wedding was all any of the female population of the SSHQ could talk about (though there weren't all that many women on the staff, anyway). And it looked like Fluey was the only one not thrilled with the idea. Three days later, he stormed into the SSHQ garage. Mike was so engrossed in an experimental engine he was developing, he didn't even notice, until Fluey made his presence known.

"Mike!" he yelled.

"Ow!" Mike shouted, as he straightened up, a little too soon, and banged his head on the open hood.

"Sorry," Fluey said.

"What is it, Fluey?" Mike asked, rubbing the top of his head. "I'm busy here."

"I need an update on the Caprezio progress," Fluey said, as Mike went back to the engine. "Pronto!"

"Still nothin'. I can't find out anythin', and it's startin' to bug me. I know I've seen him before, but I can't for the life of me think of where!"

"Are you gonna drop it?"

"No, not until I find somethin'. Which is gonna be easier said than done by this point."

"Well . . . . you'd better hurry and find something before it's too late!"

"What do you mean before it's too late?"

"Phyllis and Mr. Perfect are getting married."

Mike stood up a little too fast once more, and banged his head on the hood again.

"Ow!" he yelled. "I gotta quit doin' that. Run that by me again, would ya?"

"I said Phyllis and Mr. Perfect are getting married," Fluey said. "Tying the knot. Getting hitched. The ol' ball and chain routine."

"Yeah, okay, I get the point. Are you sure about this?"

"Positive. Just as Multi, Coiley, and the girls. Heck, you can even ask Phyllis herself! We were all there! Mr. Perfect proposed in public, and there were at least fifty witnesses! She just can't marry this guy!"

"I know, but the trouble is, I don't think there's anythin' we can do about it. I need to do an extensive search in order to dig up the dirt on this guy, but the problem is I've got too much to do around here to do that."

"And by the time you do find something, it might be too late."

Mike nodded, and went back to the car engine. Fluey just sat there and watched him, thinking about the whole mess. After awhile, he went back upstairs to the chief's office, and found Shawn sitting at Phyllis's desk.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Hello to you, too," Shawn said. "The chief asked me to fill in as secretary. Phyllis is too preoccupied planning her wedding to concentrate on her job. I tell you, Fluey, she's really on cloud nine."

"Unfortunately."

"I don't understand what your problem is with Raphael, Fluey. He's a perfectly nice guy! He's sweet, he's charming, he knows how to treat a lady . . . . ."

"Yeah, that's the way it is with most serial killers. Then, when they least expect it . . . . . chk-k-k-k-k-k!"

Fluey made a slashing motion across his neck with his finger upon saying that, to prove his point. Shawn did not even reply. She just went back to the typewriter. Fluey flopped down on the couch and sighed. This was going to be a long day, he could tell.

That evening, Phyllis was making out several lists at the dining room table, and Fluey was watching her.

"You're not actually going to plan this thing yourself, are you?" he asked. "Coiley said his oldest sister tried that when she got married and she came extremely close to having a nervous breakdown."

"Fluey, I'm trying to concentrate," Phyllis said, ignoring the comment.

"Isn't it tradition for the bride's family to pay for the wedding?" Fluey asked. "You think Big D is gonna go for that? You know how expensive these things can get, and the chief may not want to pay for all of this."

"Don't worry about it," Phyllis said, not bothering to look up from her lists. "I can handle it."

"Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this thing? I mean, I know you're desperate and all, but getting married to a guy you smacked into in a parking lot . . . . . ."

"Fluey, please! I'm trying to get some work done here. The last thing I need is my baby brother trying to sabotage my wedding! Now would you please find something else to do? I'm busy!"

Without a word, Fluey got up, and left the dining room. He went out to the garage, picked up his basketball, and began shooting hoops in the driveway.

"Baby brother," he muttered. "Since when does she refer to me as her baby brother?"

Fluey tossed the ball toward the hoop, and it bounced off the backboard, missing the hoop completely. Fluey did this a couple of times, imagining the backboard was Raphael's face.

"The last thing I need is my baby brother trying to sabotage my wedding," he said, in a mocking tone. He dribbled the ball a little, and tossed it at the hoop. That's when he got an idea.

"Sabotage the wedding," he said. Then he smiled. "Yeah . . . . . yeah! That's perfect! If I can sabotage the planning, maybe Phyllis will get so frustrated, she'll call the whole thing off!"

Fluey didn't get a chance to start his little "project" (which he called "Operation: Sabotage") until a couple of weeks later. It was a typical Saturday morning. Phyllis was cooking eggs and bacon in a skillet on the stove, Big D was drinking his coffee and reading the newspaper, and Fluey was perusing the comic section of the paper while waiting for Phyllis to get finished cooking breakfast. It was pretty quiet, until the phone rang.

"Who would be calling at this hour?" Big D asked.

"I don't know," Phyllis said, shrugging. "I'll go answer it."

Big D nodded, and took over at the stove while Phyllis went to the phone. All Fluey could pick up was Phyllis's side of the conversation.

"Hello?" she said, once she picked up. "Sammi, hi! What are you doing calling this early?"

Fluey recognized the name. "Sammi" was Samantha Curan, one of Phyllis's friends. She was an up and coming fashion designer, and she had agreed to design and make Phyllis's wedding gown.

"Really?" Phyllis asked. "So soon? Oh, I get what you mean. So how close is it? Uh huh. Okay, I'll be down around ten or ten fifteen. Okay, thanks. See you then. Bye."

Phyllis hung up, and went back to the stove.

"Who was that?" Big D asked.

"Sammi," Phyllis said. "She needs me to come down to her place to make sure the dress fits."

"She's finished with it already?" Fluey asked.

"Not quite yet," Phyllis said. "That's why she needs me to come down and try it on, so she can make some alterations on it."

"The fact that she's done with it already is mind boggling," Fluey said.

"Well, she doesn't have a very busy schedule," Phyllis said, shrugging. "After all, she's not a famous fashion designer yet."

Fluey nodded, and that was about it. But what his sister said gave him an idea. Later that day, he went downtown with Phyllis to Samantha's "salon." After Phyllis introduced the two of them, she and Samantha got right down to business about the gown. They went toward a large folding screen where Phyllis got change into the dress (Samantha's shop wasn't big enough for dressing rooms). While Phyllis and Samantha talked over the dress, Fluey looked around the place. There were at least five dress maker's dummies, three sewing machines, an ironing board that folded into the wall, and large mirrors all over the place. Needles, threads, scissors, seam rippers, and the like were scattered on every table surface, and pencils and papers were scattered everywhere. Fluey picked up a few of the papers and began to look through them. They were sketches of outfit designs Samantha had drawn. And they were pretty good. It gave Fluey an idea. He, Multi, and Coiley had a lot of pull in the entertainment world. He thought maybe he could pull a few strings on a reality TV show he knew that was always looking for up and coming fashion designers.

"Hey, Sam!" he called out, placing some of Samantha's sketches inside his jacket. "Mind if I use your phone? I've got to make a phone call."

"Help yourself, Franky!" Samantha called from the back of the room.

Fluey then ran to Samantha's phone, and called the operator to get the contact information of this reality show. Once he got the phone number of the producer's secretary, he wrote it down. He wasn't going to make a long distance phone call to Hollywood on Samantha's phone. He'd wait until he got home.

Once home, Fluey made sure Big D wasn't around, and he grabbed the phone. To make sure he wasn't going to get caught red handed, he took the phone into the hall closet, and made a call to Hollywood.

"Hello, is this the production company of Fabulous Fashion?" he asked. "My name's Franky McAlister of the Impossibles, and . . . . ."

Before Fluey could go on, the person he was talking to let out a delighted (not to mention very loud) squeal. Fluey had to hold the phone away from his ear for a moment. Once the person on the other end calmed down, Fluey went back to his proposition.

"Listen, I've got the perfect up and coming designer for your show," he said. "I'll send you some of her sketches ASAP, and we'll see how it goes from there, okay? Oh, one more thing, don't mention anything about me, or my bandmates to her if she gets chosen. See, she's a friend of my sister's, and I don't want them to think she's only on the show because I pulled strings and like that."

Once Fluey hung up, he crawled out of the closet, and walked into Big D's home office. He fired up the chief's fax machine, and sent the sketches to the Fabulous Fashion people, along with Samantha's contact information. Now all he had to do was wait.

A week later, a letter came in the mail for Phyllis. It was from Samantha, bit it was postmarked from California.

"Phyllis, I'm so sorry, but I got a call from the producer of Fabulous Fashion," Phyllis read out loud. "They want me to be on the show. Can you believe it? It's my dream come true! Unfortunately, they needed me to bring a finished design, and the only thing I had ready was your dress. I know this is sudden, but I've got to follow my dreams. See you in six months, and I really hope you can forgive me for this. Sam."

"Problem, sis?" Fluey asked, acting like he didn't know anything about this.

"Yeah, Sam took off to Hollywood to be on Fabulous Fashion," Phyllis said. "And she took my dress with her."

"Oh, wow, that's too bad."

"I can't really blame her, though. I mean, this is her dream. It's not my fault she got chosen for the show and the only finished sample she had of her work was my dress. I guess I'll just have to go to a bridal salon downtown and look for another one."

"You do that, sis."

Phyllis went downtown the next day with both Raphael and Fluey in tow. Raphael wanted to do something a little different than a traditional wedding cake, so he decided to take her to a bakery he knew of. Fluey decided to tag along. When they reached the bakery, the girl behind the counter pointed out what Raphael had in mind.

"This is our signature item," the girl said. "A wedding cupcake tower."

"What do you think, Phyllis?" Raphael asked. "Is this hip, or what?"

"I give it an or what," Fluey said.

"Yeah, I don't know, Raph," Phyllis said. "I kind of wanted to go with something more traditional, you know?"

"I know," Raphael said. "But everybody goes with the traditional wedding cake."

"Well . . . . ."

"Okay, let me level with you, Phyl. My parents are insisting they pay for the wedding cake, and they want us to go with the cupcake tower just to be different. Truthfully, I'd rather go with the traditional myself. It's cheaper."

"Why is it cheaper?" Fluey asked.

"Our cupcake towers are custom made in advance," the girl behind the counter said. "But it's worth it, I think. With a cupcake tower opposed to a traditional wedding cake, there's more room for more flavors and more creativity."

"And less leftovers," Fluey commented.

"Besides," Raphael said. "This one we're looking at now is ours. I ordered it the night I proposed, after you accepted.

Phyllis let out a mix between a groan and a laugh, and she gave in. Besides, it might be kind of fun doing something that wasn't traditional. As Raphael showed off the cupcake tower, Fluey glanced around the bakery. He managed to sneak a peak into the kitchens, and saw giant mixers and bowls, and huge fans. By the fans, he noticed a sign:

Turn Off Fans Before Mixing Flower

And that gave Fluey an idea.

Late that night, when he was sure his grandfather and his sister were asleep, Fluey used his transformer to switch over to his superhero alter ego, and slipped undetected out of the house, and to the bakery, by converting to liquid and sneaking out underneath the crack in the front door. Once he reached the bakery, he converted to liquid again, and flew up to the roof of the building. He snuck inside through a pipe, and made his way into the building through the plumbing. Then, he made his way into the kitchen, staying in his liquidized state for the time being, just in case the bakery had a security camera hooked up or something. Though completely converted to liquid, he managed to open several large bags of flour, and then, turned on the huge fans. Once he turned the fans on, Fluey immediately shot into the sprinkler system, and watched the action from there. It was a regular blizzard inside the bakery as the fans blew the flour all over the place, covering every square inch. The walls, ceiling, floor, and every last baked good in the store was getting a good dose of this flour shower. Once the bags were empty, Fluey went down, and turned off the fans. Then he made his exit through the sprinkler system, and back home.

The next morning, Phyllis was back at her desk typing up some reports (and thinking about the upcoming wedding), when one of her phones rang. It was the one the chief had installed when the singing Impossibles got popular. That way, anyone calling to schedule a gig wouldn't think they ended up with the wrong number if Phyllis picked up and answered with "Secret Security Headquarters."

"Impossible Records," she said, picking up the phone. The Impossibles had walked in after busting a bank robber to check in with the chief just as she picked up the phone. Fluey stopped in order to catch the conversation.

"What?" Phyllis shouted. "But how did . . . . . well, how long do you think it's going to take to create another one? I see. No, it won't be ready by the wedding date. No, I will not reschedule the wedding! I've waited too long for this! All right. Yes. I'm sorry, too. Goodbye."

Phyllis hung up the phone, and practically growled.

"Good news?" Fluey asked, leaning against the desk.

"Who was on the phone?" Multi asked.

"The bakery," Phyllis said. "Somehow or another, they got bombarded with a blizzard of baking flour, and the entire store was covered, and that included the cupcake tower Raphael had ordered. They said it was going to take at least six months to clean it up, and re-make the cakes and stuff other people ordered before they got around to recreating our cupcake tower."

"Sheesh, that's what I call rotten luck!" Fluey shouted.

"I'd better call Raph and let him know what happened," Phyllis sighed. And wit that, Phyllis picked up the phone and began dialing, while the Impossibles left.

Two down, one to go, Fluey said to himself.

That afternoon, Fluey placed another long distance call to Hollywood.

"Is this Stefan Spritzburgh?" he asked. "Franky McAlister of the Impossibles here. Listen, I read in Scoop Magazine that you were having trouble finding a suitable street location for your latest picture. I've got the perfect place for you to work with, right in my hometown of Megatropolis."

Fluey then gave Mr. Spritzburgh the details. The location Fluey was talking about was in the heart of downtown Megatropolis, and it happened to be where the florist Phyllis had chosen was located. Fluey knew if he could get a movie crew to close down the businesses on the street for awhile, Phyllis wouldn't be able to get her flowers for the wedding. He hated to resort to this, but he just had to stall for time in order for Mike to dig up something, anything, that would prove Raphael Caprezio wasn't to be trusted.

A week later, Phyllis found out about the movie shoot, and she was just about ready to lose it. Thankfully, Big D was able to calm her down.

"There are other florists in town," he said. "As well as other bakeries and other places where you can get your wedding dress. I know it's upsetting right now, but it's not the end of the world."

"Right," Phyllis said, taking a deep breath. "I'll just have to go to another florist, another bakery, and another dress shop. No problem at all."

Not if I can help it, Fluey said to himself. He had a feeling he was going to be in for another round of Operation: Sabotage.