The Bikini Break
THE BIKINI BREAK
by David White
Story Editor - Melody Rondeau
Music by - James Newton Howard & John Powell
Diving Supervisor - Mike Nelson, U.S.C.G.R.
Executive Producer - Ponsonby Britt, O.B.E.
Act I -Maniacal Concepts
A mouse and her tools can only go so far, and the time comes when even the best must rest. But even the prospect of time alone in her workshop up to her elbows in engine parts didn’t hold any enchantment. Gadget Hackwrench was just plain bushed. She left her bathtub with reluctance only when her skin began to feel as wrinkled as a raisin. She dried herself with her custom-made built-in fur-fluffer blow dryer and dressed in a fresh jumpsuit. Returning to her bedroom, she walked to her window, opened it and was rewarded with a gentle breeze, surprisingly cool and fresh for Los Angeles. She crossed her arms on the window sill and leaned heavily on her elbows, wondering if she could just wish her tiredness away.
She sat there a minute or two before she noticed the feeling. She had felt something like it before, and back then she had thought she was being studied like a creature in a laboratory. It had been an intrusive, repellent feeling. An effort to penetrate her emotions. This time it felt like a gentle touch, warm and soft and comforting. The touch of someone who cared. She searched the ground below her window, the limbs of the tree around her. And though she saw nothing, the feeling was so sure.
“Gary?” she said softly. “Is that you?”
There was a long moment before an answer came, just a short distance to her left. “I thought I was quieter than that.”
She looked hard and found him, standing on a nearby branch among the leaves, so still and well camouflaged she had missed him. The red-headed flying squirrel stepped into view, his aviator’s coveralls juxtaposed by his jaunty dark blue cavalry hat.
Gadget breathed a sigh of relief that she wasn’t imagining things. “At least you didn’t make me jump half a foot this time. I didn’t hear you, but could feel you watching me.”
“How’d he feel?” The voice was almost in her right ear. She jumped half a foot.
“Gordon! Don’t do that!” she scolded the dark-haired gray squirrel. Dressed in coveralls similar to Gary’s and a dark blue military beret, he had neatly sneaked kissing-close while she was distracted. “If you two don’t stop creeping up on me, I’m going to nail this window shut!” She took a moment to catch her breath. “Come on in.”
She stepped back from the window and the Two Scruffy Guys dropped smoothly and soundlessly through. Gordon, as was his habit, listened at her bedroom door for any movement in the hall. Gary tucked away his gold-lensed sunglasses and accompanied Gadget to her small writing desk, where she took a seat.
“It’s good to see you again,” Gary said warmly.
“It’s nice to see you guys, too.” she replied, forgiving their startling arrival. “I don’t suppose this is a social call?”
“We stopped by last week to be sociable,” Gordon said, “but no one was home. We guessed you were on a case.”
“Three cases,” Gadget sighed. “We’ve been on the go constantly for the last ten days. Even Chip is ready to take a break. I haven’t had time to work on my inventions. I’ve hardly handled a wrench or turned a screwdriver for a week. Dale didn’t even give me any breakage to fix.”
“Over ten days? Isn’t that a record for him?” Gary quipped.
“It is kinda spooky. He’s been like a different chipmunk. I keep wanting to check if the space aliens replaced him. They did once before, you know.”
“Has something changed around here lately?” Gary asked.
“Oh, that’s right. You wouldn’t know. A few weeks ago we moved his girlfriend in here. Foxglove Fabergé, the bat?” They nodded in acknowledgement, recognizing the name. “We fixed up a room for her in our attic. She’s been a marvelous help to the Rangers. Everyone’s been glad she’s with us.”
“And you don’t have to be the only female on the team,” Gordon smiled. “Is it nice to have another gal to talk to?”
“Sort of,” she said uncertainly. Her tail switched slowly back and forth, betraying her unease. “She’s becoming a really close friend, but... Oh, I’ll admit it. I’m used to being the center of attention and I’m a bit jealous sharing the limelight.” She bit her lip in concern. “Is it bad for me to feel that way?”
“I don’t think so,” Gary assured her. “You can admit your feelings to us and to yourself, so they’re not hidden and festering. A bit of jealously is normal.”
“Thanks for the support,” she said. “What does bring you here? Has something awful happened?”
“Nothing really terrible,” Gordon said. “But we could use your help, if you can get away. It probably won’t even be dangerous.”
“We are here to offer a perfect winter vacation opportunity,” Gary said, waving his arms expansively and sounding like a T.V. ad. “An all expense paid trip to a magnificent island paradise and... Know Bikini Atoll?”
“I don’t own a bikini,” she said, plainly shocked. “And I’m not going someplace where you’re expecting no bikini at all!”
“No, no, no. Bikini Atoll in the South Pacific. What do you know about it?”
“Oh! Oh, right. Ummm, Marshall Island group, near Eniwetok. There was a lot of nuclear testing there in the Fifties.”
“On the nose,” Gordon beamed. “We won’t be on Bikini Island itself. It’s one of the other islands in the atoll that we’re concerned with.”
“An ocean survey team detected radioactivity above normal background in the waters off one of the rodent-populated islands,” Gary said. “There were activities back during the atomic tests that weren’t well documented. Dumping contaminated materiel; secret, off-the-books tests; that sort of thing. If an old source of contamination has been uncovered, an evacuation may be necessary, but it has to be confirmed.”
“You’ve got a lot more dive time than both of us put together,” Gordon said, “especially since you build your own submersibles. All of our seaborne assets are involved in the evacuation of animals from the Mountserrat volcanic eruption.”
Gary leaned in closer. “We fly out, we scuba dive with a Geiger counter and locate the radiation source. It’s most likely something that’s been sitting down there for over fifty years. If we’re lucky, it can be reburied. If not, it’s probably so decayed there’ll be plenty of time for an evacuation until it can be dealt with. Once we’re done, we just lounge on a beautiful Pacific shoreline until we have to fly home.”
“If we find something really hot, the island mice will lose their homes, won’t they?” she asked.
“They live on what they take from the sea,” Gary said quietly. “It’s better than leaving them there to die,”
Gadget considered for only a few seconds. “Okay. I’ll pack a bag and be right with you.”
“Oh. By the way,” Gary said, taking a paper out of his pocket with a suppressed smile. “we got this from the secure fax just before we left. You should see it.”
The paper had a header typical of official communications, much verbiage and little sense. She skipped down to the body of the message.
Gentlemen;
Since you seem determined to conduct your assignments in company with Gadget
Hackwrench, the change in the make-up of your team should be clear in field
communications.
Henceforth, when operating with Miss Hackwrench, you will use the callsign <Tres
Scruffi>. I recommend against assigning Miss Hackwrench a personal callsign
for reasons which should be obvious to you.
Proceed at once with your current assignment.
C.Omega
Gadget re-read the document to be sure she understood it exactly. “Does this mean I’m really part of the team?”
“That’s what it means. You are now officially stuck with us.”
“You’re also stuck with Chucky’s warped sense of humor,” Gordon added.
“Is there something funny here?”
Gary indicated the fax. “The callsign. It means ‘three Scruffies’ in Spanish...”
“And ‘very Scruffy’ in French,” Gordon concluded. “Only Chucky would make a bilingual pun into a callsign.”
“Why doesn’t he want me to have my own callsign?”
“You may not be aware of this,” Gary explained, “but you’re rather famous. If you show up almost anywhere, there’s a good chance you’ll be recognized. Calling you by another name would just raise suspicions.”
“And if the bad guys recognize Gadget the Rescue Ranger,” Gordon went on, “they’ll be looking for the rest of the Rangers, not the Two Scruffy Guys. That can give us room to work without being noticed.”
“Oh, swell,” Gadget huffed as she made the connection. “In other words, I’m live bait.”
“Not at all,” Gary insisted. “Just think of it as being a self-propelled target.”
“What are you going to tell the other Rangers about where you’re spending your holiday?”Gordon asked.
“I’m going to tell them the absolute truth,” she replied, smiling at their surprise. “I’ll tell them I’m going to the beach.”
* * *
Gary and Gordon slipped unseen out the window as Gadget picked up her sport duffel and breezed through the front door with quick explanation and a wave goodbye to her fellow Rangers. Minutes later she boarded the twin rotor helicopter belonging to the Two Scruffy Guys, which was perched on a branch of a nearby elm.
“Strap in tight,” Gary warned. “Gordon’s flying us this evening.”
“Don’t be mean, Gary. There’s nothing wrong with the way he Fliiiiiieeeeeeeees!”
The chopper took off straight up at alarming speed and immediately swooped under the trees to the south, the opposite direction Gadget had expected them to take.
“Aaaaacckkk! Gordon!” Gadget squealed, “Is someone chasing us?”
“Just staying in practice,” he answered. “Gary does most of our flying over the city, and I have to keep up my Low Flight skills.” He began a solemn recitation, sounding like the end of a T.V. station’s broadcast day.
Oh! I have kissed the surly bonds of Earth
And danced through weeds
On mud encrusted blades.
Earthward I’ve dived, and joined the blinding dust
My downwash raised,
And whacked a hundred things you have not dreamed of. Collided and clipped and
grazed,
In amongst the tree limbs. Hov’ring there,
I’ve blasted rocks and clods aloft,
I’ve mowed the shortest lawns with tail rotors
And sucked a dragonfly
Into my motors.
“Ohh, Gordo! That’s awful!” Gadget complained.
Down! Down amid the gopher holes I’ve trawled
And crashed through underbrush with easy grace,
Where never mole,
Nor even earthworm crawled.
And while with wincing, tight-shut eyes,
I’ve scattered fields of dandelion seed,
Put out my hand
And slapped a tumbleweed!
“Gordon,” Gadget warned, “somewhere there’s a poet who’s
going to meet you in the Pearly Gates’ parking lot.”
“Naaaw! John Magee was a fighter pilot, and I read he was a regular guy. I’ll bet he’d think that was a pip!”
“Awright, sky pirate,” Gary said, “Even I’m getting queasy.” He took the controls. “My ship.”
“Okay, your ship,” Gordon said, relinquishing the controls. “but I’ve got dibs on flying her home.”
Gadget relaxed as Gary aimed the helicopter higher in the sky. She sat staring intently at the instrument panel until Gary couldn’t ignore her any longer.
“Is anything wrong?” Gary asked. “Do you see something I don’t?”
“Oh! No, nothing.”
“C’mon Gadget. You’re boring holes in the panel with your eyes. What’s up?”
“I was just being amazed again,” Gadget said. “This helicopter is so perfect. It’s like you miniaturized a human helicopter. That’s not what you did, did you?”
“Of course not. It’s all built by rodents, just like we told you.”
“How do you manage to get your hands on all this high-tech equipment? I’ve had to hand-build almost everything the Rescue Rangers use.”
“You mean our other gear?” Gary said as he eased back the throttles. “The Nest Egg in the Tehachapis? It’s not as if we personally built all that. Some days I think of how long our supply lines are and I get the jitters. Especially when so much of it is made by humans.”
“Why would humans make anything for rodents?”
“They rarely do, directly. Even so, almost forty percent of dollhouse industry production goes to small animals. Clothing, furniture, housewares and the like. Even some prefab construction items like electrical and plumbing fixtures, doors and windows. There’s a whole lot that doesn’t make it to human hobbyists.”
“It can’t all be intended for dollhouses,” Gadget said. “So much of your stuff is too well made for that. What about all the tools you have at the Nest Egg?”
“Those came from Snap-On,” Gary explained. “They made a run of miniature tools for their overseas sales force, and some of our contacts arranged for the production line to keep running beyond their needs. It goes on all the time.”
“And the turbine engines you use in the aircraft?”
“They’ve only made jet engines small enough for us to use in the last ten years or so. But the critters at our supply depot rework them and kick up the horsepower considerably.”
“I know what I can do with a piston or electric engine as far as boosting the output,” Gadget said. “I didn’t know there was a whole industry doing it on the sly.”
Gary banked the chopper to the south and began to descend. It puzzled Gadget since their base was the other way, towards the mountains.
“The truth is, we forage our supplies and equipment just as you do, from the fringes of the human world. Our gear just looks more to our scale, more finished, more professionally built,” Gary said. “The two of us can handle basic maintenance and repairs, but Gordo and I can’t replace something that breaks. You, on the other hand, can fix the things you build yourself, or just build new ones. That’s what amazes me.”
“Guys,” Gadget said, “this is Downtown. Aren’t you heading up to the Nest Egg?”
“We have to make a stop before we head for home,” Gordon announced. “We’re going to need to pick up some specialized equipment. But I think Gadget should take our shopping list to Sol.”
Gary considered this a moment as she puzzled, then he said, “I agree. Gadget, you really should meet Sol.”
“All right, if you think it’s important,” she said carefully, still mystified. “Who is he?”
“He’s a provisioner,” Gary said. “He obtains some of our exotic gear, as well as everyday supplies. He’s done it for many years, and he’s very trustworthy. He’s also one other thing.”
“What?” Gadget asked. “A crook? Fence? Smuggler?”
“No. He’s a human.”
“You can’t be serious!” Gadget squeaked, her whiskers quivering in alarm. “I’m not going in someplace and try to deal with a human!”
“What’s the problem? Sol’s on our side.”
“Look, every time I’ve gotten near a human he either puts me in a cage or tries to kill me. Besides, how am I supposed to talk to him? Humans can’t understand us.”
“Ever try to talk to a human?” Gary countered.
“A child, once. I don’t think he was old enough to understand anyone. All the Rangers have tried to warn humans of danger by phone or radio. They just don’t understand a word we say.”
“There are a few who do. Most small children seem to understand us. There’s a very small number of adult humans that can. Sol is one of them. Just don’t get nervous and talk too fast and he’ll understand you just fine.”
“How is that possible?”
“We understand them perfectly well,” Gary said. “They could all understand us if they tried. But somewhere along the line, when they’re growing up, they lose their sense of wonder. They stop believing in anything outside the human-built world. And they just plain won’t listen. Do you remember the first time we brought you to the Nest Egg?”
“How could I forget? You virtually kidnapped me.”
“You warned us when we flew over Lockheed that someone would see us, and I told you everyone had seen us?”
“You never did tell me what happened.”
Gary leveled off among the tall buildings of downtown Los Angeles. He and Gordon were scanning constantly for power lines and other obstructions, and appeared to be looking for a particular building. Nonetheless, he continued the story without hesitation.
“We were flying back from a mission in the chopper one Sunday and took the Lockheed shortcut. We were flying between the buildings, real low as we usually are, when the winch hook broke loose. That’s dangerous. It could flip up and hit the rotors. Gordon was trying to snag it and snap it back down and I took a turn around the corner of a building to swing the hook inboard.
“And there were the humans, having a barbecue. There must have been four hundred of them in the street. They had decorations strung over the street, so I couldn’t go over them. I just made a panic stop and Gordon fell out the door and was hanging from winch hook.
“Now, picture it. There we are, at eye level with all these people, Gordo’s trying to climb back in the chopper, I’m trying to keep control. They can see all this. What do you suppose happened?”
She shrugged. “I can’t imagine how you got out of it,” gadget said, wide-eyed. “Did they panic? Stampede?”
“Gadget, they laughed! When I turned to get out of there, they applauded! I checked the company newsletter that week and they were still laughing about someone flying a remote control helicopter with two squirrels in it.”
“They couldn’t tell you were flying it?”
“They would never believe I was flying it. It’s the same with our clothing. It’s like humans can’t see it.”
“Hold it!” Gadget said sharply, holding up her hands in alarm. “Are you saying that when a human looks at me, he sees me naked?”
“Not quite,” Gary continued. “They just don’t notice the clothes. They either decide it’s a trick of light or that something’s stuck to our fur. It’s as much a cultural barrier as our speech. If I’d landed the chopper at Lockheed and tried to talk to those party goers, all they’d have heard was squeaking and chittering, because they can’t believe we could talk to them. Trust me, the language barrier is all on the human end. But there are a few who can understand us, either because they never forgot how, or managed to learn once again. Some of them we can do business with. Sol Gorsky is one of those, and that’s why you should meet him. It’s time you stepped into a wider world, Gadget.”
* * *
“This is the place,” Gary announced as he settled the chopper in a secluded back alley. “Solomon Gorsky; jeweler, engraver and watchmaker. The entrance is right over there.”
Gadget dismounted, alone. Willing but uncertain. “Are you sure this will be all right? Aren’t you going to come and introduce me?”
“The equipment list is all the introduction you’ll need,” Gordon said. “Sol will recognize my handwriting.”
Gadget found a rodent size door leading to an elevator that ran within the walls. It had no buttons for floors, just up and down. The elevator delivered her onto a corner of a workbench in the watchmaker’s shop. There was no one in the room, and Gadget took stock of her surroundings. Fading sunlight filtered in through the windows, but the main illumination came from gooseneck lights attached to several other workbenches. The workbench she arrived on had a series of boxes and containers of various sizes along the back and sides. There was nothing to give a hint of what they might contain. The walls were hung with pegboard and these and the other workbenches were covered with old tools, jewelers implements, watches, clocks, and an amazing variety of small parts. There was a faint scent of machine oil that Gadget found familiar and reassuring.
“Hello?” Gadget called. “Mr. Gorsky?”
“I hear a squeaky voice,” came the answer form another room. “A little customer at this hour? Next I’ll have to put on a night shift.” The voice was scratchy with great age, accented with eastern Europe and New York, and touched with the knowledge that came from both handwritten scrolls and hard experience.
Solomon Gorsky ambled slowly and carefully toward Gadget. She guessed him to be in his eighties, dressed in a white shirt and dark tie under a black sweater, slacks and soft brown loafers. Deeply wrinkled, his face had weathered much hardship. She could see his hands were smooth and without callouses, and he moved them with grace and certainty and without a tremor. His eyes were sharp, clear and had a look that spoke of secret knowledge. His thick-lensed glasses distorted the appearance of his eyes, and sported a pair of flip-down jeweler’s loupes. His gray hair had thinned to a few wisps. Gadget had usually seen humans up close only through the bars of a cage. To be approached so completely in the open was a bit intimidating.
“Oh, ho!” Sol said with delight. “A new customer. Welcome! I’m Solomon Gorsky. I’ll open the shop for you.”
“Ummm, my name’s Gadget. I’ve got...” Before she could explain, he began opening boxes and compartments around edges the workbench.
“What can I get for you, Miss mouse? Clothing? Jewelry? Shoes? Cosmetics? Fur care?” As he spoke, he opened even more containers, turning the bench into a veritable mouse mini-mall. The sheer quantity of goods overwhelmed Gadget. She had never seen so much merchandise on her own scale.
“Umm, I have a list,” she said, still dazzled.
“A lady who’s a model of efficiency,” said Sol, smiling. “If I may?” He took the list and flipped one of the small round magnifiers down in front of his glasses. He read the list, and his smile faded.
“So. It’s the Two Scruffy Guys. Those two birds can’t do their own shopping anymore?”
“They thought I should meet you,” Gadget said nervously. She waggled her fingers in a shy wave. “Hi.”
“I’ll have to check my stock room for these,” Sol said brusquely. “Go, shop around.” He stood and stepped into another room.
Gadget indulged in something she rarely did. Shopping. There were household goods of every description, but nothing she couldn’t have built herself. She looked through the variety of clothes. Very few had enough practicality or simple beauty to attract her notice. Jewelry was merely a curiosity to her. Then, standing alone on a tiny dressmakers model, she spied it.
It was a slim, elegant evening gown, made of blue silk with white lace trim, lavish and gorgeous. For some reason, this one dress had struck a chord beyond sense or sensibility within her.
Sol returned and took his seat. He followed her gaze to the gown. “So, you like the extravagant. Would you like to try it on? You look to be a size M-5.”
“I am an M-5. But I really couldn’t. Or at least I shouldn’t. Could I?”
“It’s not often I get to see these fancy gowns modeled. Go ahead.” He gently pulled the gown from the stand and handed it to Gadget. “There’s a dressing room in the back.”
Gadget changed as quickly as her eager fingers allowed. There was a pair of dancing slippers with the gown, and they were just a bit large, but she happily put up with the uncertain footing they offered in order to complete the ensemble. Returning to where Sol was waiting with a mirror, she turned and looked herself over. The dress would have put Monterey Jack in the running for the Mouse America Pageant. Gadget couldn’t quite believe the girl in the mirror was any relation to her.
“Now, that’s perfect,” Sol said as he gently brushed the wrinkles out of the back of the dress with one finger. “Lovely. Just the thing for your big date.”
“I don’t have a date, Mr. Gorsky.”
“Show that to your boyfriend and you’ll have a date. Sometimes a fella needs a nudge. That dress is a hit over the head.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said softly. “Not really.”
“No date, no boyfriend?” Sol said quizzically. “As pretty as you are you should have the fellas lined up outside your door. Don’t you want to have a family of your own?”
Gadget didn’t take her eyes off the mirror. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at raising a family. And, besides, I have a lot of work to do. Important work.”
“You don’t have a clue what’s important,” Sol said quietly. He handed her the shopping list. “I can have all of these delivered by morning.”
She pulled her attention away from the figure in the mirror. “Mr. Gorsky, what’s the price for all of this stuff?”
“Price?” he said sharply.
“Um, yes,” Gadget was surprised at his change of tone. “I don’t have any money, but I suppose Gary and...”
“A price?” Sol said angrily. “Are you the sort that always worries about the price and doesn’t know a thing about value?”
She began to back away from him, hoping to get a head start. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gorsky. I didn’t mean...”
She had accidentally backed herself into the corner of the display. Sol brought his face within inches of her, glaring with an eye the size of her own head. She could have sworn the scent on his breath was the same as a cat’s. Fresh kill. She couldn’t run in the poorly sized slippers and restrictive gown, at least not far or fast. He had her trapped.
Sol abruptly slammed his palms down on the bench on either side of her, the impact stinging in the soles of her feet. “You want a price tag!” he said, his voice screeching like nails on glass. “Fine! The price is your life!”
“Whatever you’re going to do with me,” Gadget said with a shudder. “Be sure those supplies get to my friends. They’re badly needed.” Then she closed her eyes, waiting.
“Don’t close your eyes,” Sol said with surprising gentleness. She opened them and focused on him. “Never close your eyes in the face of death. You may miss something important. And you should ask questions. If you’re worried about the price of a few tchachikas, why don’t you ask the price of your life?”
“Does my life have a price?” Gadget asked, grasping for the straw that may save her.
“Aren’t you the one who’s worried about work and prices?” Sol said, resting his head on the workbench. “A life has value. And you should learn the difference between price and value.
“When I was a little child in the old country, they came for my family in the night. My mother pushed me out my bedroom window and said, ‘Run! run!’ So I ran and ran. I never saw my family again.
“I hid in the woods outside the village, and who do you think found me? The little animals, the mice, the squirrels, the birds and all the others. They led me in relays, one little group to another, by paths no man could have known. Clear across the country. They showed me where to hide and how to get food. Finally, they led me across the border into Denmark. There, the Underground smuggled me to Sweden. From there I went to Canada, then to New York, and finally here.
“And here in Los Angeles I opened two businesses. One for humans, and one for the little creatures. I met a girl, and she married me and has endured me all these years. And I have children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, now. Two of my grandsons are in the trade with you little ones. And when I am gone, my grandson David will inherit this business, and carry it on. Look closely at the dress you’re wearing. See how fine the stitching is? It’s mouse-made. For what a doll collector will pay for that dress, I can stock the whole shop around you with goods for mice. Do you think I fret the price of a few trinkets when the little animals gave me the chance to have such a grand life?
“And that’s the price of your life, little Miss Gadget the Rescue Ranger, as if I wouldn’t know who you were. The price is that you live your life, whatever it brings. That’s what gives life its value, and makes it worth the price. One day, you find a nice fella. Make a home somewhere. Have children and grow them up to be strong and wise. I know you’re one who won’t miss a chance to do something good for someone. That’s a mitzvah. It’s as good for you as for the one you do it for.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gorsky,” she said, grasping his gnarled finger with both hands. “I’m very glad to have met you, even if you did scare me out of my wits.”
“If I scared you, good!” he answered. “A lesson that scares you is a lesson that sticks with you. If you’re going to travel with Gary and Gordon, you’ve entered a difficult school with some very hard lessons to be learned, but you can trust those two birds. Whoops! I hear someone in the front. Tell those fuzzy buzzards they’ll have this stuff by morning. And come back and shop when you have some time!”
“I will, Mr. Gorsky. I promise.”
Gadget stepped back to the dressing room and changed out of the gown. She placed it lovingly back on it’s form in the shop. Mr. Gorsky was nowhere to be seen, and she took the elevator back to the street and boarded the helicopter.
“Well,” she told the Scruffies, “you were right about my not needing an introduction, or having a callsign. Even Mr. Gorsky recognized me.”
“Did he scare the bejabbers outta you?” Gordon asked.
“He most certainly did! Did you know he was going to do that?”
“He didn’t scare us until we’d been coming here for months. He must have taken a liking to you.” Gary started the chopper and lifted off. “Did Sol have the equipment on hand?”
“He said it would all be delivered by tomorrow morning.”
“Good. Do you want us to drop you off back at Ranger Headquarters?”
“No. I’m not expected back. Chip is quietly taking in a police detective’s seminar in San Diego, and Monterey Jack and Zipper caught a flight up to the Wine Country.”
“I didn’t know they were wine connoisseurs,” Gary said.
“They don’t go for the wine. They’re after the all the cheese they serve with it.”
“What about Dale?” Gordon asked.
“Believe it or not, Foxglove talked him into taking in a symphony series at the Hollywood Bowl. I think his heavy metal music hurts her ears.”
“The right girl can always talk you into making changes,” Gordon smiled. “You’re sure you don’t want to head home? Sounds like it’ll be nice and quiet.”
“A little too quiet for me. I’d just as soon camp out at the Nest Egg, if that’s all right.”
“Could be hazardous?” Gary warned. “We were going to spend this evening performing an opera by Wagner.”
“I’ll chance it,” Gadget smiled.
“In German,” Gordon pointed out. “Out loud.”
“That’s okay,” Gadget insisted, refusing to rise to the bait.
“Acapella!” they chorused in unison.
“As long as you don’t make me sing, I’ll survive,” she laughed.
“Well, if you’re that crazy,” Gary said, “you’re welcome any time.”
* * *