Louie bit his lip, watching the RV sputter to a start from across the parking lot where he sat, handcuffed in Gus' passenger seat.Where is he? What was I thinking? I barely know the kid and, on top of that, he's a KID! And a dysfunctional one at that.

Gus shifted in his seat, flexing his hand on the wheel. "He's still not back yet. This was a stupid plan. The kid's gonna defect on you and we'll both be back in prison before you can say-"

"Give him some more time." Louie's eyes glued to the RV as it rumbled away. His stomach dropped. At least if the kid defected, his brothers would know where he was and at least try to save him. Even if he did get stuck with Uncle Scrooge, it would be better than trying to dodge the authorities with Gus' hairbrained scheme. But what if the kid just ditched them altogether?I shouldn't have gone with my gut. I know better than to trust random kids. For all I know maybe he actually was an alien. Me letting him go just gave him free reign to enslave the world.

A shiver ran down his spine. He shook the thought out of his head.Bleh. That kid really did get to me. I'm starting to think like a wacky conspiracy theorist.
"That's it. They're leaving which means they probably caught him." Gus started up the car and threw it in drive.

"Would you just give it a-"

knock* *knock*

The two of them looked up to see Philbert with a smug little grin peeking through the sunroof.

"Hey, that's the stuff, Cheesesteak!" Louie opened the sunroof and took the violin case as he lowered it down. He waggled an eyebrow at Gus who just rolled his eyes and huffed. "Did anybody see you?"

Philbert squeezed through the sunroof and sprung into the back seat. "Never in a million years. They were too busy talking about chili dogs."

"I can believe that." Louie smirked and leaned back in his seat, noting that the kid had his yellow stocking cap back on. The one he painstakingly complained about losing because of its mind control blocking abilities, or something dumb like that. He narrowed his eyes. "No one will know that you were there?"

Philbert avoided his gaze and instead focused on the violin case. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, what's with the violin? Is there actually some fancy doohickey in there that'll convince the doctor to help us?"

Smirking, Louie popped the case open. "Oh yeah, if you consider a violin a fancy doohickey." He pulled out the instrument and picked at the strings.

The kid sagged back into the seats. "You've got to be kidding me. So, I went through all that work for a literal violin? I thought we were doing big stuff here with high tech scientists and freaky serums."

Gus turned in his seat. "I'm with the brat on this one. Why'd we go through all the work of getting a dumb instrument?"

Louie leaned back, tuning each string with care. "I could go through the work of telling you every little nerdy detail, like my brother would, and bore you both to death, or I could show you and give you the real satisfaction of seeing genius in action." He pointed his bow towards the road. "Since we don't have time for the long version and, Gus, no offense but you're a little dense for the scientific terms, let's just get going, shall we? Trust me. I have a plan."

109th Journal Entry of "The Life of Dewey Dingus Duck - Doing Life Like the Dew Do."

Well, readers, here is a nasty, rotten truth for you. People admire honesty from their heroes, right? Well, if that's the case, I have a juicy tidbit for this entry. Here it is. I gave my own dad food poisoning… well, dad and brother.

APPARENTLY, their stomachs weren't trained enough to handle the best gas station chili dogs in the world. Only real junk food connoisseurs can handle that combination of greasy heaven, I suppose.

I know what you may be wondering. Does it put a strain on my newfound friendship with Dad? … ….

Dewey lifted his fingers from the keys and took a deep breath. It only took one, miserable, guttural sound from the back of the RV to guess the answer to that question. He closed his eyes and slammed the laptop shut.

"Dewey, it's not your fault."

He glared at Webby as he stuffed the laptop into his backpack. "Oh really? It was literally my idea. I made you serve off the interstate for it."

"But you couldn't have known it was going to happen."

Dewey folded his arms across his chest and groaned. "How was I supposed to know he was a vegetarian?" He sank into the passenger seat. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"He probably didn't want to let you down. You were pretty excited about it." Webby smiled over at him. "But, hey, it probably wasn't just the meat. I mean, Huey-" She got cut off by more awful sounds from the back. Cringing, she continued. "Huey is just as sick so it was probably something in the chili or the hot dogs that just didn't sit right with either of them. You can't blame yourself."

He puffed a sigh, blowing hair against his forehead. "Curse my iron-clad gut…" he muttered, poking his stomach.

Webby raised his eyebrow. "You wish you were sick with them?"

"Well it would be less mortifying than chilling out here while they're both back there puking their guts up." Dewey shook his head.

"We're honestly pretty lucky that you have the gut you have. There's no room in that tiny bathroom for the two of them, let alone all three of you!"

He turned to watch out the window, resting his chin in his hand and trying to block out all the sad, sick groans coming from the back. "Yeah… lucky."