The case of the mind controlled moll – A Charles Maplewood story
Part 2
By: Stainless Steel Rat

As the point of the needle crept closer, Chip was furiously thinking. He had a way to escape once their attention was off him, but he had to have the free will to do it. It didn’t help that his muzzle and stomach were both hurting from Capone’s strikes… An idea formed, but it required very careful timing.

Just as the needle went into his thigh, he yelled and started to struggle. His vision started to fade again as they pushed on the plunger. He waited as long as he dared, and brought his head right forward only to slam it backwards as hard as he could. When it hit the support behind him, the pain was intense. He blacked out for a second, only to fade back in, feeling like the puck in a hockey game.

They were just taking the needle away, and he knew his desperate plan had worked. His personal experience was that you couldn’t remember anything while under the drug, but he still had control of his, albeit scattered, faculties. It was also his personal experience that a violent physical shock, such as falling off a ledge or nearly being roasted, would bring you out of the trance, as long as the drum wasn’t drumming. Rat Capone waved a hand at the big mouse by the drums, and Chip put on a zombiefied expression as Arnold started beating away.

Capone grinned. “So Chump, tell me, where do I find that mouse inventor?”

Chip stood silent. Think zombie. No initiative.

“Why aren’t you answering?” Capone started to get mad.

Chip knew he was taking a chance, but he was certain Capone hadn’t used the stuff this way before and wouldn’t know the exact effects. “You were asking someone called Chump. I am Charles Maplewood, sometimes known as Chip.”

Capone growled. “Great, he must have hit his head harder than I thought. Well as long as I’m around, your name is mud!”

“My name is Mud.”, Chip agreed in a monotone.

“Enough! Where do I find that mouse inventor, the one you always pal around with?”

This was another thing Chip didn’t want to do, but his only chance to fix things lay in doing it. “She is usually at her home in the junk yard on West 135th street, near St Nicholas Park.” He couldn’t risk giving a fake address, from the file he’d built up Capone was a native New Yorker, unlike Chip. He might well spot a phoney address and Chip didn’t have a realistic alternative. His answer was misleading, however; from what he remembered of when they transferred her stuff, plus other visits since, it would force them to travel the longest route through the yard to get to the area Gadget had staked out.

“Huh? I thought you guys all lived in the same place.”

“We did.” Chip allowed Capone to wheedle out of him a version of the Ranger break-up story, making it sound like Dale and Foxy were location unknown, just like Monty, and that his break-up with Gadget had been stormy, verging on force 5 hurricane. At the time he was thinking, ‘At least they’ll be safe if something goes wrong. If I’d thought they’d buy it I’d have made believe that I didn’t know about Gadget, but then they’d find out another way, and I wouldn’t control that info.’

Eventually Capone’s interest ran down, as Chip had hoped. “Okay, wise guy, you’re just going to hang there. Don’t call out, don’t move.”

Sugar Ray scratched his head. “But boss, ain’t we taking him with us?”

Capone shook his head. “I thought about it, use him as a decoy, but look at him. The guys a total washout, and he’s not tough enough for guard duty. Anyway you heard him, she’ll as likely kill him as say hi. Besides I like my new wall decoration.” He cackled, and glared pointedly at his goons, who caught on and joined in.

Capone detailed one of the two zombiefied rats to stay and watch Chip with the uncompromising statement. “Watch this guy. If he tries to escape, kill him.”

Chip had to fight hard to maintain his zombie pose. He’d hoped to have an empty room, this would make things tricky. It looked like Capone was getting cautious in his dotage. Capone and his remaining group headed off, and faintly, in the distance, Chip heard another sound that made his heart sink, the whine of a high powered radio control car, an RC. He’d hoped to be able to overtake them in the Rangerwing, but the nearest safe parking spot had been blocks away.

Since he couldn’t do anything about it right now, he simply started his escape plan, with a few elaborations to deal with the guard. “Hey, since I’m tied up, could you come over and scratch my nose?”

Chip expected it not to work, the basic commands drummed into the guard had probably been something along the lines of ‘Follow only the orders of Rat Capone.’ If it had, he’d got a back-up. It was mainly stage setting, as he continued. “Well I can’t do it myself…” Despite the aches and pains, he started to twist and stretch.

Chip had taken as one of his maxims, ‘There’s always hope, as long as one can think.’ And in this case he’d thought ahead. If one of the crooks he went up against ever captured him, rather than just putting him out of their misery, he’d loose the fedora and jacket. He’d also have no back-up, so he’d have to make his own. While he wasn’t Gadget, he could put together basic stuff.

Some time ago, he’d started off with sewing up a thin elasticated cuff that covered most of one forearm. He’d carefully trimmed down the fur on the forearm until it was practically a buzz cut. Then the tricky bit, gluing hair back on to make a convincing fake. The result, a ‘pocket’ worn around his forearm that could carry a few key things. Even after the fur had grown back, some careful brushing of the real fur to cover the joins meant only the closest body search would find it. And what crook would look for pockets in a creatures fur?

Under cover of his movements, he twisted a forepaw down and reached into the pocket. He managed to snag the cut down piece of scalpel he’d mentally assigned as ‘ropes, for the cutting of’. With it concealed in the paw, he pulled off the plastic cover and started on the twine between his tied up paws. To cover up his case of the fidgets, he said out loud, “I itch all over, do you think Capone has fleas? Wouldn’t surprise me.”

An alert, capable guard would have gotten suspicious when Chip first started talking, but of course he was facing a mind blasted automaton. Who, nevertheless, would do his best to carry out his orders when Chip freed himself. Gritting his teeth against his pains, he dropped to the floor on all fours, sliding the blade over to a far corner as he did so. The guy was an innocent victim, and Chip was not that kind of fighter.

As the guard stomped forward, Chip made a quick mental calculation and focussed all his remaining reserves and sprang forward, shoulder charging him like a linebacker. His mad rush carried them both between two candles and over the edge of the dresser. They fell a about a foot and then crashed into the cardboard box underneath, exactly as planned.

Chip landed fairly softly, not that that made much difference. He was feeling Capone’s ‘love taps’, the back of his head was feeling very tender and the hole they’d put in his leg was oozing red droplets. However the rat was shaking his head and groaning. “What the heck...?”

Chip clambered up and over the crumpled cardboard, and started tearing paw holds in the cardboard wall. The rat came up behind him. “Hey! Where am I? Who’re you, what’s going on…”

“A trashy basement, Charles Maplewood and you were kidnapped and drugged by a gangster rat.” He used the handholds to drop down to the floor and the rat followed him.

“Uh… I don’t understand, I was minding my own business when this lizard came up and asked if I knew where the nearest bar was. I don’t remember… Wait up! Maplewood, you’re that guy who used to lead the Rescue Rangers… Rats you look beat up.”

Chip sighed. He’d done his best to promote himself, get by on his own talents, but to a lot of people, he’d always be ‘the guy who used to lead the Rescue Rangers’

“That’s me. The one who kidnapped you has this zombie making juice, that’s what he zapped you with. He’s an old enemy of ours and he’s back for revenge, for a start at least. He decided to give me some advance payback.” While giving the capsule explanation he was making his way back up to the dresser via various boxes and makeshift walkways, the rat trailing. “You were just a target of opportunity, sorry. Who’re you, anyway?”

“Jake Holeworthy. I work down by the docks, I’m a load master for Sea Duck Logistics.” He pulled himself up onto the dresser after Chip. He saw the pile of loot. “Holey cheese… Hey that’s my Kablammo Man limited edition collectors card…”

“Yep, he was using you guys to steal stuff.” Chip strode straight over to his discarded jacket and checked it over. They’d taken the few wedges he kept in his outside pockets and pulled out the grapnel line and catapult he stored inside the jacket, along with the pocket full of solid shot. But they hadn’t touched the hidden interior pocket where he kept his real wedge stash, and they’d missed the special ammo in his hat band. Sloppy. But then Mousenegger and Sugar Ray were hardly rocket scientists. He pulled out a chunk of sticking plaster from another inside pocket and slapped it over the needle hole as best he could.

He quickly donned his clothes and stowed the stuff, including the razor. Jake was making a mini-pile out of things he’d mentioned, a good sign that he was honest. Chip’s nerves were practically screaming at him to race off and protect Gadget, but he had a job here first. He picked up some things and called out to the rat. “Hey, Jake. Could you help over here. I need to make sure Capone’s juice doesn’t harm anyone else.

“Sure! Did you say Capone? Sweet Cheeezus! I’ve heard of him. You’re going up against him? Alone?”

“Unless you have a portable army you could lend me?” Chip had managed to hammer a wooden wedge under one corner of the barrel, enough to get a metal spar underneath. He shoved a building block under the spar to form a lever. “I’m going to tip this thing so I can roll it to the edge and tip it all into that box. Lets see them make zombie cardboard and newspaper… I could do with help here.”

Jake was agreeable, as long as he didn’t have to join in on the Capone hunt. Working together, it only took moments. Chip made sure every last drop of the filthy stuff was soaked up by the cardboard or newspaper lining. He turned to Jake, “Can you let the Port authority know about the loot? There are some other victims who may return as well. I have a crook to catch.”

While there was no parallel city government for small animals, there were some specific organisations, like the City Cheese Reserve, and the Port Authority, effectively a co-ordinating body for the various small animal run businesses of the docks. They could take care of returning the lost property, while he went after Capone.

It was a blustery, cold night for the time of year, and clouds scudded across the moon as if scared. Of course, from a height of five inches in a New York alleyway, you wouldn’t see much of it. The vent in the fronting that had acted as a garage door was easy to find, and so were tracks. A 1/10th scale RC most likely, probably a monster truck body from the wheel-base and turning circle. More than enough to carry four people Capone’s size. Unfortunately the crooked crew were long gone.

Using the most likely routes… he didn’t have much time before they got to the junkyard. He should have checked on this first, Capone had a history of using RC vehicles. A few loose, or cut wires and they’d have been on foot. They were not likely to use the only other method available because Capone was too cheap, and it’d rely on a third party. It was, however, the only possibility left for Chip to overtake them. The Rangerwing was a dozen blocks away, in the wrong direction.

He started scanning the sky, looking among the pigeons flying overhead for one with a the distinctive yellow and black scarf. There! He waved an arm and yelled out, “Taxi!” The grey figure suddenly pitched over as if shot and dive bombed down to land beside Chip. You could clearly see he was wearing a harness and a money pouch along with his scarf.

“Yeah Mac, where ya heading?” The bird asked in tones of purest Bronx.

“Scrap-yard, over on Manhattan, West 135th street.”, Chip replied, stepping forwards.

“Whoa there, cross the river, this time a night that’ll be 7.”

Chip pulled two 10 wedge notes from the hidden pocket in his jacket. “Make it march. I need a fast trip.” The pigeon plucked the two sheets of gold foil out of the paw with his beak, and pouched them even as Chip was swinging up onto his back. For those rodents and other small animals without a genius inventor or the means to acquire an RC vehicle, the New York passenger pigeon taxi was the fastest way of getting across town.

The bird beat down and lifted straight up, gaining height at a dizzying rate. New York bred a bigger, tougher pigeon than anywhere except maybe London. The pigeon gyred past a telephone cable, zoomed under a red stop light and swore the air blue at a short haul albatross that had got into the same flight path. “Get outta the sky ya big turkey!”

In moments they were out over the Hudson, and moments more had them power gliding over 5th Avenue. Chips instructions soon had them circling over the scrap-yard, and he saw something with his telescope that made him growl. An RC truck was parked by the main entrance and Capone and his three remaining goons were already heading into the yard, away from the lights of the street. The pigeon turned his head and asked, “Not friends a’ yours then?”

“No, darn it. Can you go a bit lower?” As they came round he saw Arnold and Sugar Ray were both toting blocky shapes, which he immediately recognised. The Action Guy Repeating Rocket Launcher had been part of one of last Christmases hottest toys. Eight foam rubber missiles on a rotating spindle, and a stock with a top mounted bolt that cocked the overly powerful spring and spun the next round into line like a revolver. The ease with which the missiles got lost, due to the aforementioned overly powerful spring, and the advent of the new ‘Multimorphic Megatrons’ had meant a number had ended up on the trash heap.

Some small animal technical type with and fewer scruples than Gadget had reconditioned a number of them. They’d found that an inch section of jumbo drinking straw would fit the launching mounts, and by adding a small lump of hardened clay, with a one inch nail sticking out you had a nasty weapon, an repeating spear rifle which could be fired about 8 feet. They’d made their way into the small animal underworld over the last few months, and he’d come across them before. How Capone had got his hands on some so quickly was likely to remain a mystery.

This Chip hadn’t counted on. He needed to reduce the odds. “Uh, could you do a close flyby of those guys?”

However the pigeon had seen them too and was not having any of it. “Uh uh! No way Mac, they’re packing serious Spring! My cousin almost got his tail perforated by one of those droppin’ things.”

Chip grimaced, in another twenty seconds they’d be into the piles of junk and out of a clear path. “I’ll make it worth your while, another fifty.”

The pigeon was sheering away. “Get yourself another pigeon Mac, I ain’t no combat flyer.”

Chip had one last card left to play. “Well I guess a proper dive attack is pretty tricky. I guess only a raptor could do it properly.”

The pigeon spluttered. “Wha! Those droppin’ stuck up prissy pants flyboys couldn’t holda candle to… okay, one pass and that’s it. But the price is one hundred. In advance.”

“I only have 80 on me, but I can get the rest.” Chip pulled out the bills and waved them at the birds beak. They disappeared into the pouch and the pigeon called out. “Okay, make sure your harness its secure, and your tail is in its full, upright position, cause we’re going in!” It dived.

Chip had secured himself into the harness with his legs and made sure his hat was firmly on. He pulled two special ammo balls from inside his hatband. He’d quite literally have only one shot at this. He put them into the catapult and drew the elastic back, just as the pigeon dived. Screwing up his eyes to sight along the line of his draw, he focussed on the four figures. They still hadn’t seen the plummeting bird, and Chip was waiting till the last possible moment to release.

He finally let go, just as Sugar Ray looked up and pointed, yelling. If the lizard had aimed instead he might have had a better chance. The two balls smacked into the ground, one right at Sugar Ray’s feet, the other between Arnold and the zombie goon. They both exploded in pillars of white smoke, one that engulfed Sugar Ray, the other catching the zombie goon. Arnold had dived out of the way with surprising nimbleness for someone of his size and fired a shot at the retreating bird.

When the smoke cleared Sugar Ray and the goon were slumped peacefully on the ground. Capone yelled and picked up Sugar Ray’s weapon, firing off two shots wildly. The pigeon was heading away at speed, grabbing altitude for all he was worth and doing a full set of dodging and jinking. Arnold’s shot whiffed past a foot away, and Capone’s came nowhere near.

“Wahoo! Lets see a raptor top that!” The pigeon exclaimed. He circled, well out of range, and keeping to clear sky. He saw the slumped figures, “What’n’heck did ya use? Poison?”

Chip wrinkled his nose. “Not this chipmunk! Powdered sleeping pill and the stuff they put in those kids friction poppers. Non-lethal and very effective.”

The pigeons mood seemed to have improved. “Just the same, remind me never to get on your bad side, Mac.” he quipped. “So where d’ya want to land?”

Chip got himself landed well inside the junk yard, having seen some things he could use. With just Capone and Mousenegger, and some shots fired, the odds were long, but much better than they had been. The other two would be out for hours. It was entirely possible that Gadget’s own, anti-salesman defences might take care of the remaining hoods, but then again… besides they didn’t need to go in and get her, just light a fire nearby and she’d probably come out to help put it out.

At the very least, she’d know about them, and he didn’t want that. He’d long since resolved that all the Rangers, Gadget in particular, had given far more as Rescue Rangers than any creature could expect. Time, effort, risking their lives to make the world a better place, he personally owed them peace of mind. That was his reason, yes. Nothing else. He conveniently suppressed the other times he’d visited this junk-yard, hoping to ’drop in on Gadget and discuss old times and new inventions.’ He’d never actually managed it, always thinking of something else to do. In a way it was a good thing, he knew this end of the junk-yard well.

As he worked, he sighed to himself. Who was he kidding? He was scared of seeing her again, making things worse by not letting her go her own way. She’d left because she couldn’t handle the fact that Chip might even be considering trying to become more than friends. He was not going to turn into some creepy stalker. But just because he couldn’t see her, didn’t mean he couldn’t protect her. He gave the final rope a vicious tug.

Capone and Arnold had been exploring methodically and slowly, wary of another attack. They would reach this area in about a minute and a half, and hopefully his preparations would make them use up more ammo.

&&&

Capone was advancing slowly, Sugar Ray’s weapon clutched like a life preserver. This part of the scrap-yard was intermittently lit by the streetlights outside and a couple of scattered flood lights. That still left enough shadow to hide half an army. What’s more, the lighted parts were messing with his natural low light vision. Arnold slipped on a slick fragment of metal and the rat hissed. “Keep it down, ya lugnut! He’s around here somewhere…”

“But boss, I thought we were looking for a girl.” This got him another slap round the back of the head. His launcher almost launched another missile into Capone’s foot.

“The chipmunk, dummy! It was him on the bird, I’d recognise that hat anywhere!”

“Huh? We shot him full of juice and left him back at base, with a guard. How could he be here?”

“He musta been faking somehow.” Capone continued in a falsetto version of Chips voice. ‘My name is Charles…’ Wuss!”

“But your name is Rat Capone, not Charles Wuss. Besides he got the juice, I saw it go in. If he could throw of that much of the stuff, he just ain’t normal, and he ain’t right neither. Maybe that was some kind o termulator like in the movies, and it only looked like the chipmunk.”

“Don’t be a dummy… dummy…”, Capone trailed off. Unlike his punch-drunk minion, his brain worked, even if it was on a skew. It was adding genius inventor, to boyfriend with hazardous occupation and multiplying by robot double. Most people would have dismissed this even so, but he’d heard of some of the things Prof Nimnul had done. Uh oh… This whole thing might be a trap, a set-up…

Maybe it was for the best, that at this point, a soft voice came out of the darkness, echoing aroud the walls.

“So Capone, or should I call you Jasbrowski, it’s just you and one goon.”

Chip’s research had brought to light some interesting facts. With Capone out of the way, people had been willing to talk.

“We’re coming for ya wise guy!” Capone fired a shot into the darkness.

There was a momentary silence. Then the voice started up again.

“You couldn’t stop me at tattoo parlour, and you won’t stop me now.” A figure popped up from behind a low box about 3 feet away and to one side. There was nothing wrong with Mousenegger’s physical reactions and he spun and shot two missiles, even as he yelled to warn Capone, who launched another one.

There was a thunk. Only one of the missiles had hit, the other two lost in the darkness but it looked to have hit the figure dead centre, now slumped over the box.. Mousenegger gave a rebel yell and ran forward. As he reached the box, a white cloud burst into being on his chest and engulfed him. He toppled forward to lie next to the figure. Capone stepped up, carefully looking around.

Arnold was sawing logs like a trooper. Next to him a ‘Timmy the chipmunk’ plush toy was starting to leak cotton padding from where the missile had torn through it. Capone could also see the top of the decayed box, ‘Acme Mousetraps’ and the two samples of it’s wares laid out behind it. One had flipped the Chipmunk doll upright, the other had probably launched the sleep round at anyone stupid enough to run towards it. But how was the puzzle? He suddenly started scanning the surroundings. The chipmunk could be anywhere.

Chip pulled in the threads that had held the trigger pins the rest of the way, quietly grinning, and then wincing as it hurt his face. That diversion had worked even better than he’d hoped. The three sleep shots loaded on the second mouse trap had been hurled more or less at an area. But one had been a direct hit. Now Capone was looking in completely the wrong direction. He’d grabbed Mousenegger’s weapon and scuttled off, head low and scanning from side to side. Now he ducked behind some cover, presumably to transfer the remaining shots to his own weapon. At least that’s what Chip would have done in his place.

“Give it up Capone, and I may let you live.” Chips voice was clearer from where Capone was huddled, less echoing and louder, and he looked around carefully, using his naturally acute hearing to pinpoint the source. Behind that pile… A perfect place to hide, but if you kept to those shadows over there and hugged the wall, you could get right up to it without them being able to see you. He suited action to thought.

Rat Capone might usually use his minions for all the dirty work, but he still remembered all the tricks of sneaking a rat called Alfonzo Jabrowski learned in the sewers all those years ago.

“This plan will fail just like all the others. I still owe you payback for slapping Gadget during that business with the model boats.” The snotty tone in the chipmunks voice was really getting on his nerves. He reached the corner and waited until…

“I’ve taken down bigger animals, bigger men than you Jab...”

He pushed the front of the weapon around the corner first, slamming out half his ammo before he was properly round, and yelling, “Then take this!” The voice stopped after the third shot replaced by the sound of a missile hitting plastic and penetrating. He slammed two more in the same direction before he took in the scene. A dicta-phone with three nails driven through the speaker was standing against a box. There was a sound from above and a load of paper ribbon waste dropped from above, weighing him down and tangling his weapon even as he shot a missile upwards.

He ended up half buried under the ribbons and some heavier pieces of wood that had come after it. He tried to pull himself free, launcher forgotten. Maybe he could get back to where he’d left the other one. There was still one shot left…

He slumped as he saw the real chipmunk, abseiling down the side of the pile on a line. The chipmunk landed, gave the rope a flip and it came loose, dropping to the ground with an open safety pin attached. This area was reasonably well lit, and Capone saw Chip clearly as the chipmunk approached. The bruise on the side of his jaw was visible even through his fur, and there was a plaster on the leg where the needle had gone in, though it hadn’t seemed to affect his movement. In short, he looked the way Capone felt, which gave the gangster a momentary glow of satisfaction, until he remembered he was now at this guys mercy.

“You were shown the door once, and you didn’t take the hint. You kidnapped innocents and used them for your own ends. You tried to harm a girl who’s worth a hundred, no a thousand of you.” Chip stated coldly, as if laying out facts for a jury.

Even in his current state, Capone could be surprised. “That’s all that matters to you? Those yahoos and your girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend. But yes.”

He remembered his earlier thoughts. “What are you, some kind of machine?”

Chip remembered a quote from one of Dales favourite movies. The fatigue poisons in his blood suddenly made it seem like an irresistible combat quip. “Well I do have detailed files… I might say goodnight sweetheart, but I don’t like you that much.” He stepped forward, raising a hand with a small object in. It was pure coincidence that from Capone’s point of view, Chip’s eyes caught a reflection of the red power LED on the dicta-phone across from him. The battered figure with glowing red eyes would haunt Capones dreams for a long time, as would the words, “Hasta la vista, Caponey.” The world faded to white.

As Capone slipped into unquiet slumber, Chip sagged. He was never going to show a spot of weakness while the gangster was still conscious. But now… He wanted so much to stagger back to the Treehouse and crash into bed, or even see if Gadget might allow him to stay. For a moment he stood there, looking longingly in the direction of Gadget’s workshop, but then he turned away, no, it was late and he still had work to do.

&&&

Rat Capone woke up with the smell of sea air in his nostrils. Unfortunately, responses from the rest of his body were somewhat less promising. His hands were tied together and held over his head by some sort of line. His feet were stuck in some sort of solid block. Finally he could see and hear he was on a dock of some sort under a main human one, and there was the chipmunk who was the cause of it all.

“What the heck d’ ya think ya doin’” he yelled out.

Chip had cleaned himself up, but his bruises and leg wound were likely to be there for a week. “I thought since nothing else worked, and you style yourself a gangster, it was quite obvious. I’ve dealt with your goons already, but I thought you deserved special treatment.” His paw touched the side of his face. “So I’ve given you concrete overshoes, and I’m going to send you to sleep with the fishes. Well modelling clay, but the principles the same.”

Capone blanched. “You wouldn’t do that, you’re one of the good guys! We can make a deal…”

“No deals Capone, this town doesn’t want you any longer. And I have to ask myself, just how good am I? Let’s find out.” He shoved the block out and off the ledge, leaving the gangster suspended by his arms. He stepped over to a rodent sized cotton reel winch, watched by the increasingly frantic crook and released it. The gangster gave a yell of pure fear as he dropped, about six inches to land with a thud on a wooden deck. A human fishing boat sat there at anchor, with it’s deck just below the pier.

Chip stepped up to the very edge of the dock. “Better than you, it appears. Welcome to the Swedish trawler Herringbrot, just finished with repairs here in New York harbour, and now heading home. I believe they intend to do some fishing on the way, which is lucky for you, as you’ll be in the main hold the whole time. I hope you like seafood.” His tone suddenly changed from jovial to deadly. “This is it, last warning. Come back to New York and I _will_ kill you. Try to come within a thousand miles of Gadget Hackwrench and I will hunt you down and kill you as painfully as possible. No rat hole will be deep enough, my eyes and ears are everywhere.” The sincerity shone through.

He waved and a pair of burly field mice in jerseys came up.

“Is hokay, we take from here.” One of them hollered.

Chip nodded, then looked as if a thought had struck him. He called over to Capone. “Oh yes, I made sure to take care of business back at the tattoo parlour.” He turned to the Swedish fieldmouse. “How are his friends finding the bottles of Runcorn I provided?”

“They find, 2-3 hours ago, none left.” Was the reply and Chip suppressed a smirk as Capone did more addition, and got a sum that displeased him. There was a yell of rage as he was carried below.

Jake walked up. “Wasn’t that a bit overdone? No-one would have cared if you had simply dropped him in the ocean.”

Chip sighed. “I’ve never killed anyone, no matter how dire the situation, and I won’t let him force me to. If I had, it would have been a bigger dose of anaesthetic. He would just never have woken up. Thanks for setting up using the dock, and putting me in touch with those trawler-mice.”

“After what you did it’s the least I could do. So why all this?”

“Look at Capone’s fancy clothes, his flamboyant attitude, that ridiculous throne set up. He’s a person who sets great store by symbols. That may have been my mistake last time, we just dumped him aboard the first boat to somewhere far far away without any ceremony. It’s like we didn’t really mean it as far as he was concerned. This time I loaded that little scene with all kinds of symbolic references and hopefully it scared him enough to make him realise it’s the real thing. It had to be overdone, because there was no other way around his admittedly tough will.”

“I thought you were a detective now, not a psychiatrist.”

“Psychologist, I’m not trying to cure him, just understand his thinking. I audited the course on profiling at the police academy, and you can’t really get the benefit of that without reading up on some psychology. He’s a fairly well documented type, the real Al Capone, who he probably chose as his role model, was much the same way. But maybe he can still reform. He won’t be able to run his usual scams for a long time that’s for sure.”

“I doubt it. It sounded like you meant that last threat…”

Chip’s countenance darkened. “Everyone has limits. Threatening Gadget is mine."

"This Hackwrench girl must be something."

Chip nodded. "I guess she is. Which reminds me…” He pulled out a vial, no more than half an inch long, containing green goo. However this one sparkled in a way the normal stuff didn’t.

“What’s that?”

“Something I have to destroy.” He opened the the vial and poured it onto the planks, letting the sparking fluid sink into the wood. Then he hauled back and threw the empty vial as far as he could. It hit with barely a splash and vanished.

He turned on his heel, thanked the load master again, and walked back up the dock.

Back to the stories