Chapter Sixty-seven

Ninja Quest

"Billy. Billy, wake up!"

Billy's eyes reluctantly slid open. Conner, Ethan and Trent were clustered around him, staring at him with worried expressions. "What?" Billy groaned.

"It's Rocky," Ethan whispered.

Billy rolled over and sat up. Rocky was tossing and turning in Conner's bed, occasionally mumbling incoherently. "He's sleeping."

"Yeah. But every few minutes he sits up and starts screaming that he's a little teapot," Conner informed him seriously.

"A… what?"

"A little teapot. You know, the song?" Conner explained.

As if on cue, Rocky sat bolt upright and shouted, "I'm a little teapot, short but not really! I got a handle! I'm gonna spout!" before throwing himself back against the pillows.

Billy, Conner, Ethan and Trent stared at him in silence. Finally, Trent said dryly, "We're a little concerned."

Billy rubbed a hand over his face. "How long has he been doing that?"

"A while. That's at least the fifth time he's done it," Conner said. "Er… do you know if he's always like that?"

Billy shook his head. "I don't, but I doubt it. No normal sleep pattern, as far as I'm aware, would allow that on a regular basis."

"Can you make it stop?" Conner asked hopefully.

Billy frowned. "I'd need to know the cause. And I'd need to do some research… The only time I recall hearing about Rocky having unusual nighttime episodes or screaming about random objects, he was doped up on pain medication from a back injury," Billy said slowly. "But that was years ago. The reason for his current condition could be anything."

"Personally? I'm guessing head injury," Trent said.

"What about that alien water?" Ethan asked. "Maybe it's, made him, you know …"

"Touched in the head?" Trent suggested.

Billy sighed. "We'd all be afflicted if that were the case. Or at least, you would all be; I've been drinking Aquitian water regularly for almost a decade."

"Did he take anything else after we left the room the first time?" Ethan asked.

"Like LSD?" Trent added.

Billy smacked his forehead. "Beer. He drank alcohol. It must have combined to produce a negative reaction."

"He drank alcohol? No fair! How come we didn't get any?" Conner demanded.

"You're underage," Billy reminded him.

"That's no excuse," Conner insisted indignantly.

"Of course," Ethan said, realization dawning. "That's why Dr. O sent us back here to sleep but came and got Trent a half-hour later and didn't care that we weren't sleeping. They just wanted to kick us out so they could drink!"

"Not entirely," Billy assured him, blushing slightly. He got up, put on his glasses and went to peer at Rocky. "Hmm. I don't understand why I didn't notice any side effects earlier. It was quite a while after we stopped drinking when we came here. Whatever this is, it shouldn't have taken so long to manifest."

Trent frowned. "You said that Aquitians practice astral projection a lot, right?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, from what I know of astral projection, it's an altered state of consciousness," Trent said. "I've never tried it, but some friends of mine in art class said it involves accessing your subconscious—which is supposedly what we do when we dream."

"That's it!" Billy exclaimed. "Alcohol also alters one's level of consciousness. Aquitian water is drunk by a telepathic race of beings that practice all sorts of advanced meditative techniques. When Rocky started to dream, the alcohol and the water must have thrown him into some sort of subconscious delirium."

"So… Dr. O and the others are probably screaming that they're teapots, too?" Conner asked slowly.

Trent snorted. "If they are, I need to find my camera."

"Well, it would depend on their individual physiology and how easily they could access altered states of consciousness, but they very well could be engaging in similar practices."

"So back to the important thing—how do we fix Rocky so we can get back to sleep without worrying that he'll eventually become a homicidal teapot or something?" Ethan asked.

"I'm a little teapot! Hear me shout! Hear me roar! Hear me whistle and drink of my tea! Haha! HA."

Billy found himself trying not to laugh as Rocky fell back onto the pillows. Billy wracked his brains for a solution to Rocky's predicament. "Was Rocky awoken at any point after he lay down to sleep?"

"Yeah," Conner said. "When I came back from the bathroom, I accidentally sat on his hand. He woke up, but he went right back to sleep. I was almost asleep when he started thinking he was a teapot."

"I was asleep," Ethan grumbled.

"Well, presumably, Rocky wasn't asleep long enough to enter a REM cycle. Conner would have awoken him during stage one or two of his first sleep cycle. That means Rocky's mind has accessed his subconscious without entering a REM cycle. However, I'd imagine that entering REM sleep would fix this little… mishap. If we can avoid disturbing him, he should, theoretically, enter REM sleep and be fine."

"How long before he enters REM?" Trent asked.

"In the average person, it's about ninety minutes. However, given the side effects, it might take longer."

Conner picked up the clock on the nightstand and looked at it. "He's been out maybe thirty. That's another hour."

Conner, Ethan and Trent groaned. Billy sighed. "I'll stay up and watch over him, to make sure he doesn't worsen. The first REM period usually lasts only ten minutes, so if he makes it through that, I'll go to bed, too. If he doesn't, well… I suppose I'll have to wake Trini and ask her opinion. The two of us should be able to formulate a treatment or cure; if not, we can contact Aquitar."

"What about Dr. O, Jason, Zack and Adam?" Ethan asked. "Shouldn't we, you know, warn them?"

Billy shook his head. "If they're plagued by the same side effects, the best solution would be to allow them to enter the first REM period without interruption, then allow them to get a full night's rest. After the first REM cycle, one returns to non-REM sleep, which could mean—"

"Rocky will be a little teapot over and over again all night?" Trent demanded.

"Well, possibly. But one would assume that once he naturally accesses his subconscious, he won't return to this… state. If that is indeed the case, none of the others should be disturbed until they've completed all the stages of REM. I'd imagine that even after one REM cycle, they would be pretty disoriented if awakened, if not—for lack of a better term—teapots." Billy pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down. "You guys, try to go back to sleep. I'll handle it from here."

Trent returned to his bed and Ethan climbed back onto his cot. "Um, Billy?" Conner said tentatively. "Would you mind if we switched beds for the night? I mean, Rocky's cool and all, but I'm not a big fan of tea."

"Fine, fine," Billy said wearily.

Trent shook his head as he scooted over for Conner. "What is it with you people?" he wondered aloud.

"What's that supposed to mean, 'you people'?" Conner demanded.

"I'm the normal one, remember? I'm not supposed to get the chaos. You are."

Billy snorted. "Trent, I live on Aquitar. I'm in love with an alien. I'm a certified genius. I'm an ex-Ranger. And yet somehow, before we were Rangers, I was the last person to have anything exciting happening. It was always one of the others, not me. I used to be the normal one, Trent."

Trent sat up and stared at him in alarm. "You?"

Rocky jerked upright again. "When I get all steamy, tip me over and out!"

As Rocky fell back against the pillows, Billy arched an eyebrow at Trent and gave him a sardonic smile. "What? You didn't think Rocky was the normal one, did you?"

"…So then Tanya let me keep the key of Auric, and that was that," Jason finished.

Carrie shook her head. "Wow. That's… wow. I can't believe no one's realized that a star like her has a falsified background."

Jason shrugged. "People are more interested in the now than the when. Everyone knows Tanya grew up in Africa, moved to America, reunited with her parents and went on to become a singer. Other than that, well… how much does anyone really know about any one star's childhood? All anyone cares about is what they're doing and who they're dating, not if their life course was altered by a time spell and some aliens."

Carrie shook her head, still absorbing the amazing story. "It's so weird to think of time reversing like that and no one ever noticing."

"Yeah. I know I didn't. I remember a few days in elementary school when Billy wouldn't talk to us much, and then he stopped coming to school, but that was it; he came back and it was like nothing had happened, and he didn't know what we were talking about when we asked where he'd been. Me, Trini, Kimberly and Zack were confused as could be."

"Was your childhood strange?" Carrie asked.

Jason shrugged. "Not like Tanya's, no. It had its moments, but it was pretty normal. Until the day Rita appeared."

"Tell me more about you," Carrie urged. "How you grew up. What it was like to be a Ranger. What's your middle name?"

Jason chuckled. "It's Lee. But you know, I'm not just a Ranger, the same way you're not just a reporter. Don't think that just because I spent a couple of years doing, you know—"

"Saving the world?" Carrie supplied teasingly.

"Yeah. I mean, that's big, and I get that. But I'm still just a person. And so are you. So tell me about you. I only know what little I could find on the Sentinel's website—that you're a good writer, graduated from Angel Grove University with a journalism degree in May of 1994, and a sports fan. That's about it."

Carrie shrugged. "Well, I just turned thirty-three. I'm a Gemini. I never go to bed before four a.m. if I can help it. Moved here thirteen years ago because AGU has one of the best journalism programs in the country. Your turn."

"We were talking about you."

"Yeah, but you said it yourself—you're not just a Ranger. You're a person. So talk."

"Fine. I'll be twenty-five in October. I'm a Libra. I like motorcycles. I moved here three weeks before I started kindergarten because my father got a better job. How did you get into sports?"

"A friend of mine was channel-surfing, stopped on ESPN, and developed a crush on a tennis player. She got me into tennis—and into tennis players. From there I moved on to soccer, then swimming, then NASCAR. It wasn't until I started working for the sports department that I really got into other sports."

"So you're only in it because of good-looking athletes?" Jason asked, disappointed.

"No. That's just what got me into it. Now I love sports in general. Between watching them on the department TVs all the time and covering high school games and Jenny trying to show me how much fun it could be, I became a sports nut."

"Ah. Well, it's your turn for a question."

"Why'd you decide to become a Power Ranger?"

Jason was startled. "I… well, you don't really decide. I mean, yeah, it was a choice, but… I wanted to do it from minute one. Who doesn't dream about being a superhero? It was an amazing opportunity. Why'd you want to become a reporter?"

"I've always liked telling stories, and finding out what makes the world tick," Carrie replied. "I'm obsessed with knowing the why and the how. Let's see, um… okay, weirdest thing that ever happened to you."

Jason stared at her. "Come again?"

"Well, other than being a Power Ranger."

Jason laughed. "Oh, that really is not the weirdest thing to ever happen to me. In fact, I don't think I can actually single one moment out as the weirdest. Honestly, I'd have to say my life is the weirdest thing to ever happen to me."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Care to elaborate?"

Jason had intended to get to know Carrie better… but the moment she said that, all he wanted to do was rant. He stared at her thoughtfully, collecting his thoughts for a moment. Then he nodded.

"Let me walk you through my day," Jason said slowly. "It all started when Billy started yelling in the living room. My eyes snapped open, I heard the dog let out an annoyed bark, I spent a moment wondering where my wife was before remembering she was crashing with Kimberly, and then I leaped out into the living room to see Tommy's picture on the television above the caption "Black Ranger Revealed" and Billy's all paranoid and my dog wants me to either feed him or shut up and go back to sleep and my wife is very, very, very not home. From there, it gets emphatically worse."

Tommy's hand was starting to ache from pounding on the door, yet no one was answering. No one. He was alone. He needed someone to talk to, and all of his friends were asleep or missing or exasperated. His brain was still half-off, but the beginnings of real angst were starting to seep in. He wanted someone to comfort him. He wanted someone to say that he would never, ever be Orange. He wanted someone to say that he wasn't going back. That was all he needed. That, and a place to sleep; he no longer had a room key.

"Who is it?" called a sleepy, feminine voice, too groggy for Tommy to discern who it belonged to.

"Me! Let me in!"

"Me who?"

"Tommy!"

"Dr. O?"

"Yeah, Dr. O! Let me in, Kira!"

"Go away."

"What? Seriously, Kira, let me in!"

"No! I've had it with underwear theft and insanity. Go away."

"Kira—"

"Away you go, now."

"I can't, I—Kira? Kira? Kir-uh!"

Tommy sighed. She refused to respond. Or to open the door. What now?

Well, there was only one logical course left. The balconies.

Tommy turned and headed back down the hall. He was almost to his room when Billy emerged from room 603. "Hey, Tommy! I thought I heard you yelling."

"I need a hug," Tommy told him, somewhat hopefully.

"Uh… that's nice. Um, I just thought I should let you know that while I'm unfamiliar with the effects of Aquitian water in combination with alcohol, Rocky isn't doing so well. He keeps waking up, babbling, and then going back to sleep; I've been observing him for quite some time but I think he'll eventually be fine. I thought I'd warn you guys. I personally feel fine, but I adjusted to the effects of Aquitian water years ago. Conner, Ethan and Trent are nominal as well, but they didn't ingest alcohol in addition to the water like we did."

"Billy, I kind of need to go get my hug," Tommy said impatiently.

Billy sighed. "Yeah. I just… I wouldn't try going to sleep, if I were you. If Rocky is any judge, the side effects manifest when one tries to sleep."

"Not sleeping. Finding hug."

"Will you warn Zack and Adam?"

"Yeah yeah sure."

Billy looked at him suspiciously, but his personal exhaustion was starting to take priority over the strangeness that might or might not be affecting the others. Between Earth's gravity, sleep deprivation and the day's events, Billy was starting to feel like he'd lost a game of chicken with an M-728 Combat Engineer Vehicle; he wasn't sure how much longer he could feasibly stay awake. "I'll prop our door open, in case one of you needs anything."

"Uh-huh. G'bye, Billy."

Billy disappeared into the room after setting the doorstopper to stay open. Tommy headed for his door and pounded on it. And pounded. And pounded some more.

"Great," Tommy moaned, trying to remember what to do in this situation. He went and saw… someone. For a key. Someone had a key. No, wait, balcony. He needed to go to the balcony. But he couldn't do that if he didn't have a key. So to get a key, he had to… wait. Wait. He wasn't the only person on this floor with an accessible balcony. He'd just have to find someone who was awake in the middle of the night and didn't mind letting a random half-dressed stranger use their balcony.

He moved down the hall, pressing his ear against each door. Silence, silence, moans, silence—aha! Music! Laughter! Night owls!

He banged on the door. A girl in her late twenties opened the door, looked him up and down, and turned to face the gaggle of girls behind her. "You guys! I told you not to get me a stripper!"

"What?" Tommy demanded, that one word seeping through the haze clouding his mind.

"We couldn't resist!" said another girl. "How else are we supposed to celebrate the loss of your status as a free woman?"

"Hank is gonna kill you, Brandy!" the first girl scolded.

"Lighten up, girl!" The one called Brandy approached the door and looked at Tommy appraisingly. "You're not wearing a whole lot to take off, you know."

"He's not even wearing shoes," the first girl pointed out.

"I just need the balcony for a second," Tommy told them firmly.

"What's your name?" Brandy asked.

"Tommy."

"That's a pretty bland stripper name."

"No, it's really Tommy. I'm not—"

"Where's your music?" Brandy asked. "And I thought you were supposed to have an outfit. I requested… I think the cop. Or the firefighter. Maybe it was the ninja. I can't remember, but I know you're supposed to have an outfit."

"Um… I left it in the elevator," Tommy said finally. "I'll, uh, I'll be right back."

"What kind of crack head stripper did you order?" the first girl demanded of Brandy as Tommy pulled the door shut in their faces.

Tommy went back to putting his ear against doors. Silence, moans, silence, silence, silence, Kimberly's room. He pounded on it for a minute. Then he pounded on his own door. Growling, he checked the other half of the hallway, stretching from his door to the elevator. Silence, silence, silence, silence, silence, silence… aha! Laughter! Conversation! Night owls!

Bang! Bang! Bang! "Excuse me!" Tommy called. "I need to use your balcony, but I'm not a stripper!"

There was a long pause. Then a voice slurred, "Go away or I'm calling security!"

"But—"

"I mean it! You'd better leave, or else!"

Tommy kicked the door indignantly and moved on. The two remaining doors were also silent. Tommy slammed a fist against the wall in frustration. What now? He could either go up to the seventh floor and scale down—but climbing down from top to bottom was bound to be a lot more obvious than going from one balcony to the next, and there was no guarantee he'd find anyone who wasn't asleep, producing moaning noises, scared to open the door, or expecting a stripper on the seventh floor.

Tommy sighed heavily. There was really only one option left.

He scanned the hallway for cameras. There was only one, placed halfway down the hall, rotating so that it was only viewing one half of the hall at a time. He waited until it was swinging away and yelled, "Ninja Ranger Power!" and swept his hands through the familiar motions. He didn't often use the Ninja Ranger morph, because it was technically no longer a Power Ranger power but his own ninja abilities, but the loss of his Power Coin meant that the suit looked slightly different from that of the actual White Ninja Ranger, which meant less chance of getting caught. Besides, he didn't have his Zeonizer on him, and it was the only other power he had left. Taking a deep breath, Tommy marched down the hall and knocked on room 628.

The door opened promptly and Brandy's eyes widened in surprise. "That was fast. But remember, I paid for a full hour, so the reverse process had better take longer."

"Brandy!" the first girl admonished. "Leave the poor guy alone!"

"Yeah! If you'd stop yelling at him, maybe he could do his job!" another girl called. Someone else wolf-whistled.

Tommy cleared his throat and pulled his hood off. "Hi. I'm, um, Ninja Man."

"I thought ninjas wore black," Brandy said.

Tommy stared at her for a moment, lost the irony of that statement. "Actually, they come in a variety of colors," Tommy said seriously. "They're practically Skittles. Anyway, someone stole my boom box from the elevator. Got a CD I can borrow?"

"I suppose," Brandy said, rolling her eyes. "Come on in."

Tommy stepped inside. The door shut behind him just as the door to Kimberly's room opened. Kimberly came out into the hall and darted into the nearby stairwell, intent on getting a room key from the front desk, completely unaware that Tommy was no longer sleeping peacefully and waiting for Kimberly to smite him.

"I can't believe she ditched me," Jenny grumbled to herself. Carrie had been gone for roughly an hour—long enough for Jenny to claim her half of the Chinese, which she ate, even though she was full and the food was cold, simply to prove her point to Carrie. She knew she wouldn't stay mad at Carrie for long, but she figured eating Carrie's food—especially when Carrie had sprung for dinner to partially return the favor Jenny had done about that Tommy Oliver guy—would give her a sense of justice about the whole thing.

"Excuse me."

Jenny looked up. A short, pretty brunette in an extremely oversized green shirt was standing in front of her, smiling charmingly. "Yeah?" Jenny asked, feeling a little too annoyed with the world to muster up a more polite response.

"I need a spare key for room 618."

Jenny was already reaching for the box full of keys waiting to be programmed when she paused, frowning. "618?"

"Yeah. 618."

"That's your room number?"

"Yeah."

"That's not your room number. That's Tommy Oliver's room number."

"He's my… boyfriend," the brunette replied, a sour look on her face.

Jenny cocked her head at the girl. "You're Kimberly Hart."

"You've heard of me?"

"Yeah. You're the girl who almost got her purse stolen."

Kimberly's expression hardened, as though she found being known for this somewhat… insulting. "Yeah."

"And you need a key to Tommy Oliver's room, even though you're staying in room 640."

Kimberly's eyes narrowed. "Boyfriend, remember? It's not like he wouldn't want me in his room."

"Why can't he come get the key himself?"

"Some nonsense about being embarrassed. He said he had to come down here half-naked yesterday. You know how insecure some guys can be."

Jenny was about to reply when the phone went off. "Excuse me, just one moment." She punched the button for line one and put the receiver to her ear. "Angel Grove Inn."

"Hi." Jenny automatically recognized that the caller was male, young, and drunk; in the customer service business, it helped to be able to figure out just who you were dealing with as quickly as possible. "Um… I don't know what you can do about this, but… we're in room 604, and…"

"Yes?" Jenny asked impatiently.

"A guy just banged on our door and said he wasn't a stripper and needed to use our balcony."

"…What?"

"A guy just banged on our door and said he wasn't a stripper and needed to use our balcony," the young drunk guy repeated firmly.

Jenny put a hand over her eyes, then hopped out of her chair and headed into the back room. "Sixth floor, you said?"

"Yeah."

That's where all the action seems to be, Jenny thought wryly. Jenny turned to face the bank of VCRs. There was a camera on each floor in each wing of the hotel, plus two for the elevators and a few more in places like the restaurant, pool and behind the front desk. She scanned the wall for the one labeled "sixth floor." Jenny ejected the tape and put the tape for the sixth floor into the combination TV/VCR. "I'll check it out," she told the caller. "I'll go through the tapes, find him, and send security."

"Thanks," the caller said. "We're pretty sure he left when we told him to go away, but we'd feel a whole lot safer if we knew for sure. When he's taken care of, can you give us a call back? We're planning on being up all night anyway. Room 604."

"Sure thing, sir. Sorry for your inconvenience."

Jenny walked back out to the desk and hung up the phone. "Well, Ms. Hart, I—Ms. Hart?"

Jenny scanned the lobby. Kimberly was gone. Sighing, Jenny grabbed the box of room keys; there weren't many left, given that the hotel was booked solid, though a few rooms were empty and under reservation. Jenny quickly counted the remainders. Sure enough, she was one short.

"Damn it," Jenny growled. She would have to watch the tape of the front desk, too, to make sure that Kimberly was the one who had, in fact, stolen the key, as Jenny hadn't counted them since her shift started. She'd presumed they were all there, but keys had a tendency to disappear; customers were always losing them or accidentally checking out without returning both keys, and the idiots on first and second shift screwed up the count a lot. She was pretty sure it was Kimberly who'd taken one, though Kimberly probably just figured since Jenny was busy Kimberly could go ahead and take the key and let Tommy into his room, then return it… unless the crazy not-a-stripper guy banging on the door to 604 was some sort of distraction to get Jenny to turn off the tape on the sixth floor.

Cursing, Jenny realized that she hadn't put a fresh tape in the VCR. She hurriedly went and stuck one in, hitting record and praying that Kimberly hadn't had enough time to do anything illegal to Tommy's room. She really shouldn't be able to, as the key hadn't been calibrated, but if Kimberly was truly out to do something malicious she might've been able to calibrate the room key while Jenny was in the back. Sighing, Jenny rewound the old tape of the sixth floor for a few moments and sat down to watch, periodically pausing to glance back at the current tape.

She forgot all about the current tape, however, once she saw the old tape. None other than Tommy Oliver burst out of his room, ran over to the door at the end of the hall, banged on it, shouted at it, then dashed back down the hall. A good-looking blond man appeared. He looked kind of like the description of the guy who'd drop-kicked that biker in the elevator, but Jenny was too busy watching him talk to Tommy Oliver. The blond guy soon retreated into room 603, while Tommy ran back to his room… and couldn't get in. Jenny breathed a sigh of relief; that meant Kimberly's luckless boyfriend really was just locked out. Good to know, considering Jenny couldn't have Kimberly ejected from the hotel without explaining that Jenny had purposefully, wrongfully altered the registry to her rather unforgiving boss.

Jenny watched impatiently for the random guy to appear and bang on room 604, only to see Tommy Oliver start smashing his head against doors up and down the hall, listening at each one. The fact that the camera rotated along the hallway meant he came in and out of view, but she was able to see him chatting to someone in room 628, then, a few moments later, closing the door to that room himself and turning around with a rather disturbed look on his face. He went back and listened against the other doors, then shouted at room 604. Jenny rolled her eyes, wishing the cameras had sound as well as picture; now she'd have to call Carrie before she called Al, the night security guy, to see if Carrie had any sort of… explanation. Even if Tommy was just locked out of his room, he shouldn't be yelling about strippers and balconies…

The camera had swung away from Tommy again… and, when it swung back, Tommy was no longer there. Instead, a guy in a white ninja suit and hood was standing in his place.

"What the hell?" Jenny demanded of the television set. "Where the hell did he get a ninja costume?"

Jenny stared blankly at the screen. How had he gotten changed so fast? Was that even him? Same height, same build … but no way he could dress up like a ninja in ten seconds flat. And if that wasn't him, where was Tommy Oliver? And if that was him, why the hell was he dressed like a ninja?

The possibly-Tommy ninja walked back to room 628 and knocked. He exchanged a few words with whoever answered the door. Then the ninja yanked off its hood. Though she couldn't see his face, his hair was the same as Tommy's, only now with a white headband around it. He walked into room 628, and the door shut behind him.

Jenny rewound the tape and played it again, but she failed to get a different result. The only new information she gleaned was that Tommy hadn't been carrying anything in his hands; other than the cell phone clipped to the waistband of his shorts, he didn't appear to have anything other than his T-shirt and shorts. She watched the tape four more times before finally consoling herself to the fact that Tommy had magically dressed up like a ninja faster than Jenny could lace up her running shoes.

Jenny let her head fall forward and thunk against the TV. "Carrie, what the hell have you gotten me into?"

"Where'd he go?"

"I have no idea."

"Did he fall?"

"Surely we'd see him splattered on the pavement."

"Yeah, he couldn't have jumped all the way into the pool."

"Maybe he's a real ninja."

"Yeah, right."

"I don't believe this. What kind of stripper runs out on the balcony and disappears?" complained Brandy.

"This is why I didn't want one," the bachelorette said. In the three minutes Tommy had spent in that room, he'd learned her name was Taylor.

"Hey!" Brandy yelled down to the pool. "You there! No, not you, the cute guy in the green swimming trunks!"

"Hey baby!" said guy yelled back. Several others hurried to stand by him as they all looked up at the cluster of girls on the balcony.

"Did you see a guy in a white ninja outfit jump off the building?"

"Uh, no. I think I would've remembered."

"Are you sure? Our stripper went out onto the balcony and vanished."

"Your stripper?"

"Yeah. We're having a bachelorette party. And our idiotic ninja stripper apparently made a suicide leap or something."

"You need a new stripper?" the guy called hopefully.

"No!" Taylor said firmly.

"Yes!" Brandy yelled.

"No, we really don't!" Taylor insisted.

"Speak for yourself! Not for your unmarried friends!" one girl exclaimed.

"Guys, this is Taylor's party," another girl reminded them.

The girls all groaned. "Sorry, boys," Brandy called. "Some other time."

"We'll be here if you change your mind!" one of the guy's friends yelled.

"Any of you wanna bail on your party, we got one going on down here!"

"Yeah, but we don't have anything to make us hallucinate suicidal ninja strippers, so bring us some of whatever you're on!"

"Would you people shut up and go to sleep?" shouted someone from a few floors below the girls' balcony.

"Lighten up, man!" one of the guys complained.

"Sorry!" Taylor called, ushering the girls back into the room.

Tommy breathed a sigh of relief as the girls' balcony door slid shut. He'd escaped. He was safe. Relatively, anyway. And he'd managed to make seventeen dollars. Not a bad haul, for an amateur doing the Tootsee Roll to a Shania Twain song. (He was definitely going to send Shania a rude letter for releasing the single "Man, I Feel like a Woman.") And here he'd thought people only put dollars in strippers' waistbands at clubs, not private shows.

Tommy sighed, wishing he had his Black Dino Gem; it accessed the only suit he'd ever worn that wasn't brightly colored. He was currently crouching three balconies away from 628, which was as far as he'd been able to get before the girls realized that side-stepping out onto the balcony and shutting the curtain behind him meant he wasn't coming back. So he only had three more balconies to go to Kimberly's room; he could only hope that she'd left the door unlocked, and that the guys down by the pool wouldn't be watching too closely for suicidal ninja strippers.