The first sign of danger was the sound of a hurtling body bouncing off the bulletproof glass window in the living room.
"Oh crap," Dean whispered and hurried twiddled with his wrist two-way communicator. "Dad! Pick up!" he prayed.
Hank dashed over to the fireplace and grabbed one of the tools there. He braced himself for the assault with ... a three foot long broom!
The front door crashed open and a half-dozen men in elaborate black and yellow costume with big yellow butterfly wings on the back burst through, seized the two boys and forced them into separate chairs. The men not holding the boys in place began looking around the room for something. Just what didn't matter because at that moment the Monarch sweep into the room and struck a pose, legs apart, finger in the air. "At last, I have you in my power!" he shrilled.
"Are you going to dance or kill us?" asked Hank Venture defiantly.
The Monarch frowned and looked down at his clothes in confusion.
"Because you look like that dork from Saturday Night Fever."
"I only dance with death!" the Monarch rejoined, pulling down his finger and pointing it at the blond youth. "Where is the one they call Gary Fuu?"
"He's in New York, with Dad." Dean said.
"Don't give information to the enemy, dorkous," Hank whispered.
"It's not like it's a secret, pinhead," Dean snapped back.
The Monarch facepalmed, then to give him a moment to think, demanded, "why aren't these boys tied up?"
"We couldn't find any rope, sir," one of the minions answered. The others cringed away from the fool.
"Why didn't you bring any?"
"We, uh, assumed there be something here. And, uh, besides there's no pockets in our uniforms.
"Here, use mine," Dr. Mrs. The Monarch leisurely strolled through the broken door. She tossed a coil of fine silk cord to the minion making the apologies. The Monarch looked at his wife, admiring as ever her tight-fitting tunic with the deep plunging neckline. He leaned over to her. "Where have you been keeping that, my dear?" he whispered.
"I've got a pouch attacked to the underside of my wings," she said. "I keep all sorts of things in it." Her wings were attached to the waist of her costume and draped on the floor, more a gauzy hint of wings unlike the rigid and occasionally working lifting surfaces of the henchmen.
"I never noticed," the Monarch said.
"That's because you're too busy ogling my ass."
"And it's a fine ass to ogle!" The Monarch turned to look at the Venture Brothers. Two chairs had been pushed together, back to back, so the boys could be tied together. No one dared suggest cutting Dr. Mrs. The Monarch's rope.
"Where in New York is this renegade henchman of mine? Answer me or feel the wrath of - The Monarch!" This time he clenched his fist and shook it at the boys.
"I don't know. Dad just up and says he and Gary have to go to New York and left this morning," Dean confessed.
"Dude!" Hank complained
"Gary said something about them going to loot a museum but he didn't say which museum or what they were going to steal."
"Some Boy Adventurer you are. Can't keep a secret or anything," Hank groused, folding his arms under the loops of cord that supposedly bound him to his chair.
"I'm not a 'Boy Adventurer'," Dean complained. "And never wanted to be one. Look, Mr. Monarch, sir, are you going to kill us or what, because otherwise I've really got to take a crap."
"It's 'The Monarch!'" he shouted, then deflated and added, "take him, take him. It's upstairs on the left. I ought to leave you dead in a pool of your own filth!" he started shouting again, 'but you're just not worth it."
A pair of minions came in through the broken door and saluted. "We searched the compound, sir. There's no one else here but the magician and his daughter, and they're in their residence unaware of anything."
"What a fucking surprise," the monarch snarled. "I'm all set to get my revenge on 21 for killing two of my minions and where is he? In New York probably watching some over-priced Broadway play! How am I supposed to have my revenge when no one cooperates!"
His wife joined him near the fireplace and reached up to massage his shoulders. He was always at his most dangerous when he worked himself into one of these fits - and had no one to lash out at. "We'll regroup, sweetie," she growled in her deep, masculine voice. "We'll get the Cocoon running and plan a proper assault on the place, By then 21 should be back here and everything will be all right."
The Monarch kneaded his head for a moment. "Yes, yes, revenge later," he murmured. he pointed to one of the minion, "Tell those two upstairs we're leaving. But not!" he turned to the bound Hank, "before the Ventures feel the wrath of the Monarch!" He looked around for a moment, then seized the TV remote laying on the couch. He flipped on the TV and ran through the channels until he found the Oprah network. He threw the remote on the floor and shot it with a bolt from his wrist cuff. "A couple hours of that should turn you into a drooling morons. A-ha-ha-ha! Oh, and I think I'll take this!" The Monarch grabbed a brightly colored, sealed ceramic vase from the fireplace mantle. "Mark my words, Hank Venture, I will have my revenge!" And he stalked out.
The minions fell in line and followed him out one by one. The minion standing next to Hank growled, "You got lucky kid," as he left. He was bumped on the shoulder by the minion in line behind him. "Don't talk to the vic!" The man scolded. "First you talk to them, then you give them names and the next thing you know you think they're family. Family you have to kill!"
"Sorry," the minion whispered back. "I'm new here. This is my first mission. I didn't know." The older minion grunted and pushed the newbie ahead. As the last minion left, Dr. Mrs. The Monarch. took one last look around, shook her head and followed.
Dean came wandering down the stairs a few minutes later. "I've read where terror had turned men's bowels to water," he said conversationally, "but until now I didn't think it was literally true. Oh, man, it came gushing out like Niagara Falls. I must have crapped a gallon!"
"Thanks for sharing. Now will you untie me," Hank said.
Dean knelt behind the chair. "So they just left?" he asked.
"Yeah. After breaking the remote to the TV and stealing one of the urns off the fireplace."
"One of GrandPop Venture's urns?"
"Yeah. he must have thought it was valuable or something. Won't he be surprised to find that all it has are the ashes of some dead guy."
There was a loud "whoomp" and a cloud of sulfurous fumes billowed across the room. "Unhand those boys, you fiend!" a stentorian voice declaimed. "They are under the protection ... " as the clouds thinned they could see a tall bearded man dressed in an ornate velvet jacket, "of Dr. Orpheus?" He sentence ended on a questioning note. "Where is everybody?" he asked. "I came as soon as I sensed you were in trouble."
"You're a little late," Hank snapped. "Dean, how long is it going to take for you to untie that rope?"
"I think I broke a nail."
"Stand back!" Dr. Orpheus commanded, then gestured mystically at the ropes binding Hank to the chair. It fell in a pool at his feet. Hank got up and walked over to the TV. "I am not going to listen to that all day," he said turning off the TV.
Dr. Orpheus looked around the house, frowning. "So, everything is alright?" he asked.
"Yeah. The Monarch came around looking for Gary but he and dad are in New York. So he left after breaking the remote and stealing one of Grand-pop's funeral urns." Hank explained.
"I almost crapped my pants!" Dean added.
Dr. Orpheus sniffed the air, wrinkled his nose and questioned, "almost?"
"Then if you boys are Ok I shall be on my way!" he said a moment later, before disappearing in another cloud of sulfurous fumes.
The cloud had barely begun to disperse when Dean's wrist communicator buzzed. "Dad!" he shouted into it.
"No, it's just me," Triana answered. ":Look did my Dad just teleport over there?"
"Yeah."
"Is he alright? - Oh, there he is, back already. Thanks..."
"Triana!"
"What?"
"Aren't you going to ask if I'm alright?"
"You answered your phone so I knew you were alright. Besides, he's my dad. I worry about him a lot more than I do other people."
"Oh," Dean sighed, and broke the connection.
"Hey, dork-for-brains," Hank called from the doorway. "Help me prop this door back in place, then let's go to bed. "I've had enough excitement for one day."
[]
Gary Fuu could have used some excitement about then. "The Heist" as he thought of it was turning into a crushing bore.
After reviving Dr. Venture and finalizing some arrangements for security for the X-1 with airport authorities, Gary had headed off in the direction of the car rental booths, but Dr. Venture had stopped him.
It was cheaper to take a cab anywhere in New York he argued, Gary explained that when planning a caper he preferred to have his own conveyance and not rely on public transportation. "There's no parking where we're going," Venture had declared. "You'll spend more time looking for a place to leave the car then it will take to find a cab. And where ever you do park it will be miles from where we want to go." Considering that Dr Venture had been in New York before while Gary hadn't, he decided to go along with the little man. Watching the meter rack up charges as they were taken to their hotel Gary wondered if it might not have been a lot cheaper to have rented a car after all.
The hotel was old, small and shabby. Gary wondered what made the doctor choose to book here. His question was answered when, after they had checked in, dropped off their bags and gone out and around the corner to flag down a cab. Off in the distance he could see the marquees of several theaters. Broadway! Gary hadn't known about the doctor's interest in theater.
The cab they engaged seemed to double-back a couple times before dropping them off at the Museum of Coiffure Culture. Even so, as the doctor was counting out exact change for the fare, Gary had to nudge him and whisper, "tip him." Reluctantly Venture added a couple dollars.
The museum was housed in an old brownstone, three stories tall and crammed next to other tired, old brownstones. From the cramped and labyrinthine layout Gary guessed it once had been an apartment building. A girl in a tiny room just off the vestibule looked up when they entered. She looked college-age, with thick glasses, hair pulled back in a ponytail and a T-shirt that read, "I'm up here," with an arrow pointing up. Considering how flat-chested she was it seemed like an unnecessary command.
"Two," Gary said, only to have the doctor begin arguing that he deserved a special pass because he was the son of Jonas Venture, whose hair was on display here. The girl stared at him with cow-like complacency, placed a marker in the chemistry book she had been reading and picked up the phone. "I'll have to call the director," she explained.
Gary grabbed his boss and spun him around. "We do not want a confrontation with any one here!" he explained in as low a voice as he could manage. "We don't want them remember that we were here, got it? Just pay the girl."
"This is coming out of your salary," Venture grumbled before paying the girl the $15 admission fee. As they drifted into the first room Gary shot back, "you don't pay me. OSI does."
The first room displayed barbering tool from down the ages, razors, combs and scissors. One display claimed to feature an actual razor owned by Sweeny Todd but Gary noticed that the handle was made of bakelite, a product invented well after the days of Todd. From there they wanted into a room full of wigs, crossed the hall into another room full of busts displaying various hair hair styles and finally a room filled with bizarre creations for some kind of extreme hairdressing competition. None of the rooms had any samples of Jonas Venture's hair. By the time they mounted the stairs to the displays on the second floor Gary was calculation how much C4 it would take to wipe the whole building off the face of the earth. A lot depended on how much damage he was willing to inflict on the adjacent buildings.
The second floor had all the celebrity hair samples. They were organized in no apparent order so the two had to shuffle along the cases looking into each one to see if it was the one they wanted. They found the Jonas Venture display eventually, It was not exactly the last display to be checked but it was close. The display was in a flat, glass toped box roughly four feet long and thirty inches wide and four inches deep. There was a lock on the front of the case and along the side, near the back a discrete magnet based burglar alarm. Gary squatted to look at the lock better. It was a simply key set up, only a couple of wards.
"I could open that with a paper clip," he accidentally said.
"Then let's do it," Dr. Venture said. I happen to have a paper clip in me,"
"Put that away," Gary ordered, glancing around to see if there were any cameras monitoring the room. There weren't. At least none visible but Gary well know that spy cameras were easy to install so no one could see than. "There's still the burglar alarm. We've got to get a magnet to fix that, and I want my set of picks to spring that lock. I doubt that that case has been opened since your father's hair was put in it. I bet that lock is rusted tight."
Gary took a last look at the case before they moved on. In keeping with the low rent nature of the museum there were a couple faded picture of the elder Venture, including one of him having the lock cut. There was a brief typewriter written essay on the life of Jonas Venture, all surrounding a thin loop of wire holding some reddish hair, maybe two inches long. It sort of matched the younger Venture's beard, but beard hair often differs from scalp hair, Gary knew. It seemed strange to think that all that remained of the great man was this handful of thirty year old hair.
They finished browsing the displays so it wouldn't look obvious what they had come for. Gary make mental notes of escape routes and hiding places. Both places where they could hide if necessary and where security might be hiding. Gary seriously doubted that the place had any kind of security, not even a night watchman, but it was always wise to plan for the worst.
They took a cab from the museum to a hardware store where Gary found the kind of magnet he wanted, and then it was back to the hotel. Gary took a nap while Dr. Venture browsed a theater guide. He wasn't surprised when later Venture announced that he had got tickets for one of the evening shows. He was surprised that Venture had picked up two tickets since the man was chronically tight fisted, but considering how poor the TV reception was in the room, Gary was glad to go out.
[]
Since the museum wouldn't open before 10 the next morning, Gary didn't make an effort to get up early. Dr. Venture was still snoring gently, a copy of playbill laying next to him on the bed where he had been read and re-reading it before falling asleep. Gary didn't wake him up.
There wasn't much you can do to disguise a heavy-set dude with an amateurish buzzcut. Some of Gary's disdain for the hairdresser's museum stemmed from his own do-it-your styling. Every couple of month's he's unpack the Flowbee and take a whack at his hair. But he could dress different. Instead of the usual light blue Venture Enterprise jumpsuit he dressed in jeans and a button down shirt. He stuck a cheap disposable camera in the shirt pocket and fitted a brand-new "I heart NY" hat on his head. It wasn't much but it made him look like a tourist, and who pays attention to a tourist.
Dr. Venture had wanted to come along when they heisted the lock of hair but Gary had been adamant about him staying at the hotel. After the scene he had made the day before, trying to get in for free, Gary feared he'd been too easily recognizable if anything were to go wrong. He slipped the gear he's need into a pocket and went downstairs and started walking. He wasn't trying to confuse any trail he might make. He just felt the need for some exercise. and he had some time to kill since he wanted to get there around noon when people would be thinking more about lunch than one fat guy with a bad haircut.
After a mile or so he caught a cab and rode the rest of the way to the museum. The same girl as at the counter, wearing a "Why am I standing here when there is science to do" T-Shirt. She took his money without showing the least evidence of recognizing him from the day before. She had switched to history today. Her book was marked up with highlights in at least three colors. Either she like history a lot or had the most trouble with it. Gary held a GED from the Guild of Calamitous Intent because he had been expelled from high school during his senior year.
He drifted through the rooms again, seemingly randomly. When he got upstairs someone was already in the room with Jonas Venture's hair. He loitered looking at a curl that was said to be from Madonna. He looked to see if there was a cutting from Van Halen, but there wasn't. Pity Gary liked Van Halen a whole lot more than he did Madonna. Finally the other visitor left and Gary got to work. He broke off a little tab of sticky putty and pressed it onto the side of the bar magnet he's bought the day before. Then, with the care a golfer take to sinking a long put, he brought the magnet straight onto the wooded case, sticking it next to the upper burglar alarm magnet. Separating the upper and lower magnets would trigger a signal, but with the new magnet stuck next to the sensor magnet there wouldn't be a change in the magnetic field when he opened the case.
He got out a couple of his picks, carefully slide them into the lock, so they wouldn't leave scratches on the face of the mechanism, he felt out the wards, pushed them out of the way and carefully lifted the glass cover. A glance at his wrist communicator told him he's been at this for all of five minutes. From his pocket he took out a glassine envelope and with a pair of tweezers took hold of half the clipping, teased it loose from the wire holding it in place and dropped the hair into the envelope, taking care all the while not to touch it with his fingers. Dr. Venture had been emphatic about that. Even a little bit of the oils from his fingers could screw up the DNA sequencing.
He stuffed the envelope back into his pocket, carefully rearranged the remaining hair so it didn't look like anything had been taken, then just as carefully used his picks to turn the lock back to the engaged position. He left the magnet on the side of the display case. There was as much risk removing it as attaching it in the first place. In time the putty would dry and the magnet fall down on the table the case rested on. Maybe some day they'd find it, and wonder what it was doing there. As long as he could get out of the museum without triggering any alarm (personnel or mechanical) he didn't care when or if they found it.
He waved at the girl at the front desk as he went out. She lifted a hand and fluttered it at him without looking up from her book. He was whistling as he tripped down the steps to the sidewalk, turned east and started walking. It warmed the heart of a former henchman when a mission falls in line perfectly. he was already looking forward to getting back to the Venture Compound and taking up where he's left off with his damaged old buddy, Texas.