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  "Of course, I'll wear a disguise, too," Don added. "I tell you, I have this all worked out."

  Bernardo sighed heavily and shook his head. Despite his certainty that this latest venture was doomed from the onset, he also knew it was next to impossible to change Don's mind once it was set on a venture. Especially if that venture involved a new wardrobe.

  "So tell me," he said, "what name have you picked?"

  "Well," said Don, "I'm small, but I'm strong and stubborn. I was thinking I'd call myself El Burro."

  "I suppose it's better than 'Jackass,' " Bernardo muttered.

  "What?"

  "Nothin'. And the outfit you have in mind?"

  "I haven't completely made up my mind there," Don admitted. "Maybe something in a brown suede jumpsuit with fur trim and accents."

  "Oh that will blend right in with a crowd," Bernardo said, rolling his eyes. "Why not go all the way and wear shiny black ... with boots, gloves, and a cape?"

  "Hey! I like that!" Don grinned.

  "Donnie, I was kidding!" Bernard said desperately.

  "I wasn't."

  THREE

  Regardless of the impression youse may have gotten about the disregard Nunzio and me have of laws and rules, there are certain lines which we do not cross on a regular basis. One of these is lyin' to the Boss. We may omit certain details from our reports, but this is done more to spare him any discomfort. An out-and-out lie is something we both try to avoid like the plague. This is, in part, because bein' caught in a lie within the Mob does not involve perjury charges, but a much more violent and permanent fine.

  As such, I am not wild about havin' to get the Boss's permission for this new assignment without really lettin' him know what was goin' on. Such a task would require subtlety and finesse, two qualities I am not often called upon to resort to in my work.

  Realizin', however, that it was something that had to be done, and that, as the one who proposed this whole venture in the first place, it fell to me to do it, I applied myself to the problem as best I could. With Nunzio's help,

  I came up with a story that should stand up under all but the closest cross-examination, then had Chumley coach me on preparin' the necessary scroll for a hand prop.

  Finally, convinced that I was as prepared as I could be with the amount of time available, I knocked on the Boss's door.

  "Say, Boss. Can you spare a minute?" I sez, pokin' my head in.

  The Boss was sittin' at his desk with a goblet of wine in his hand and a full pitcher nearby.

  "Sure, Guido. Come on in. Pour yourself some wine."

  It seemed to me it was awfully early in the day for the Boss to be hittin' the vino so hard, but figured it was none of my business. When it came right down to it, I had little idea what the Boss had to do on a day-to-day basis while tryin' to straighten out the kingdom's finances or what kind of pressures it put on him. What he did and how he did it was up to him.

  "I never drink when I'm workin', Boss," I sez, "but thanks anyway. I just need to talk to you about something."

  I glanced around and pulled up a chair. Now that I was here, I wasn't sure quite how to start.

  The Boss seemed to realize this, and leaned forward with a slight smile on his face.

  "So, what can I do for you?" he sez, friendly-like.

  I took a deep breath and plunged in.

  "Well, Boss, It's like this. I was thinkin' ... You know how Nunzio and me spent some time in the army here?"

  "Yes, I heard about that," he sez with a nod.

  "Bein' on the inside like that, I get the feelin' I probably know a little more'n you do about the army types and how they think. The truth is, I'm a little worried about how they're gonna handle bein' tax collectors. Know what I mean?"

  I paused and looked at him expectantly.

  "Not really," he sez, with a bit of a frown.

  This was not goin' as well as I hoped, but I pressed on gamely.

  "What I mean is, when you're a soldier, you don't have to worry much about how popular you are with the enemy, 'cause mostly you're tryin' to make him dead and you don't expect him to like it. It's different doin' collection work, whether it's protection money or taxes, which is of course just a different kind of protection racket. Ya gotta be more diplomatic 'cause you're gonna have to deal with the same people over and over again. These army types might be aces when it comes to takin' real estate away from a rival operation, but I'm not sure how good they are at knowin' when to be gentle with civilian types. Get my drift?"

  The Boss was noddin' now, which I was glad to see.

  "I hadn't really thought about it, but I see your point."

  More confident now, I moved on to the next point in my plan.

  "Well, you know I don't care much for meddlin' in management type decisions," I sez, "but I have a suggestion. I was thinkin' you could maybe appoint someone from the army to specifically inspect and investigate the collectin' process. You know, to be sure the army types don't get too carried away with their new duties."

  The Boss is frownin' again.

  "Um ... I don't quite understand, Guido. Isn't it kind of pointless to have someone from the army watching over the army? I mean, what's to say our inspector will be any different from the one's he's supposed to be policing?"

  "Two things," I sez with a smile. "First, I have someone specific in mind for the inspector ... one of my old army buddies. Believe me, Boss, this person is not particularly fond or tolerant of the way the army does things. As a matter of fact, I've already had the papers drawn up to formalize the assignment. All you gotta do is sign 'em."

  I hand him the scroll I've been carryin', which he unrolls and scans.

  "Funny name for a soldier," he sez, half to himself. "Spyder."

  “Trust me, Boss," I sez. "This is the person for the job."

  Instead of signin' the scroll, the Boss leans back and looks at me hard-like.

  "You said there were two things," he sez. "What's the other?"

  "Well, I thought you could have a couple of envoys tag along," I sez, casual-like. "You know, reportin' directly to you. That way you could be doubly sure the army wasn't hidin' anything from you."

  The Boss stares at me in silence for a few beats before he responds.

  "I see," he sez at last. "And I suppose you have a couple specific people in mind for the envoys as well?"

  This catches me by surprise. His question is well in advance of when I had planned to raise this point, and I have to scramble a bit mentally to re-arrange my carefully prepared script.

  "Um ... As a matter of fact..."

  "I don't know, Guido," he sez, shakin' his head. "I mean, it's a good idea, but I'm not sure I can spare both you and Nunzio. If nothing else, I want Nunzio to do a little work with Gleep. I want to find out if there's anything wrong with him."

  We are now on the same page again, and I relax a bit. If this is the Boss's only problem with the proposal, I'm home free.

  "Ah ... Actually, Boss," I sez, carefully, "I wasn't thinkin' of Nunzio. I was thinkin' maybe Pookie and I could handle it."

  Nunzio and I had talked this out. Upon reflection, it didn't seem like such a good idea to have all three of the Boss's bodyguards away from him at the same time. In addition, it made sense for one of us that was familiar with the Boss's habits to stay with him, while the other teamed with Pookie. Now, I've been a bit taken with Pookie since she first knocked me flat, so when Nunzio suggested that he be the one to stay behind, I didn't argue much.

  The Boss seemed genuinely surprised by this suggestion, however, so I hurried on.

  "Really, Boss," I sez. "There ain't a whole lot to do here for three bodyguards. I mean, the way I see it, the only one here in the castle who might want to do you any harm is the Queen herself, and I don't think you have to worry about her until after you've made up your mind on the marriage thing. I was just lookin' for a way that we can earn our keep ... something useful to do."

  For some reason, this seems to make up
his mind for him, and he reaches for a quill.

  "Okay, Guido," he sez, signin' the scroll. "You've got it. Just be sure to keep me posted as to what's going on." That touches a bit of a nerve, as it is exactly what we don't intend to do.

  "Thanks, Boss," I sez, gatherin' up the scroll while avo-idin' direct eye contact. "You won't regret this."

  With that, I make my getaway, which is to say I leave the room.

  Pausin' in the corridor outside, I realize my heart is beatin' at a vastly accelerated rate for someone who has simply been conversin' with his employer. It occurs to me that I am lookin' forward to bein' out in the field again, as my normal rough-and-tumble pastimes seem to be far less stressful than this diplomacy stuff.

  FOUR

  It is a well known fact that events do not always follow anticipated plans when occurring. This is particularly obvious to one in my own chosen line of work, as it is the main reason that a peace lovin' individual such as myself finds it necessary to stock what has become known as 'tools of the trade,' which is to say an assortment of blunt and not-so-blunt instruments. Ninety percent of the situations requirin' violence occur when things do not go as planned and priorities shift from profitability to survival.

  But I digress.

  I had figured that the biggest difficulty involved with our sub-rosa scoutin' mission would be gettin' the Boss to go along with it without actually lettin' him know what we was doin'. As it turned out, this was very easily accomplished, partially because he was distracted tryin' to figure out what to do about the kingdom's finances, and partially because he had started drinkin' early that day ... somethin' which seems to go hand in glove with workin' with numbers. In any case, with a minimum of verbal duckin' and weavin', I emerged with a scroll reassignin' Spyder as Royal Investigator and his approval for Pookie and me to tag along as his personal envoys. Piece of cake.

  As to the actual scoutin', I figured it would literally be a walk in the country. A stroll around the kingdom away from hassles and jealousies of the palace and court. Un-fortuitously, as Nunzio is so fond of pointin' out to me, I am not the swiftest or most detail-oriented person when it comes to such calculations.

  What I had overlooked in my assessment of this assignment was who I would be workin' with: to wit, Spyder and Pookie.

  Now, I must hasten to qualify that by sayin' that I have nothin' against either of these two. I've always had a soft spot for Spyder since our days in the Army when she kept mouthin' off to the Drill Instructor who was easily three times her size, taking the best he could dish out in the way of backlash, and still keep givin' him attitude. (Okay. So it wasn't real smart, but it showed a never-say-die spirit that is not all that easy to find these days.) As for Pookie, everything I've seen about her marks her as a seasoned pro, starting with our first meetin' when she knocked me cold but didn't kill me when she thought I was attackin' the boss.

  All of which is to say that I like Spyder and I respect Pookie. As such, it never occurred to me that there would be any problem with the three of us workin' together as a team. I still maintain my reasonin' was correct as far as it went. The factor that I didn't take into consideration was that we had set up a team consistin' of one male, which was me, and two females ... both of whom had what might be politely referred to as 'highly competitive natures.'

  This oversight rapidly became apparent soon after our tour had started. We had stopped for our first rest break, which was really Spyder and me restin' while Pookie roamed on ahead a little "to look things over."

  "So tell me, Swatter," Spyder sez, starin' after Pookie, "why is it we need three people for this scouting mission?"

  Now, right away I don't like the sounds of this, but decide to play it straight at least for the beginnin'. I mean, on the off chance Spyder is on the level, it is part of the duty of the old guard to help the newcomers gain experience by answerin' their questions so's they don't have to learn everything by trial and error.

  "The main reason is that there's safety in numbers," I sez. "Seein' as how we are not sure how many of the opposition there may be, much less who they are or what level of skill or arms they might have, we have a better chance of dissuadin' them from doin' anything foolish with a substantial show of strength on our side. What is more, should we fail in said dissuadin', that same strength increases our odds of survivin' said foolishness once they commence the doin'."

  "I'm not quite sure I got that," she sez.

  I sigh, realizin' once more that a goodly percentage of the population does not share my command of the language.

  "Simply put, three of us will make anyone think long and hard about jumping us... and if they do, we can probably make them wish they hadn't."

  "Oh. Got it," she sez.

  She lapses into silence for a while, and I congratulate myself on my abilities as a teacher.

  "But why her?" Spyder continues suddenly.

  "Excuse me?" I sez, momentarily caught off guard in midself-congratulatin'.

  "You have a fairly good-sized crew back there at the palace," she sez. "Why did you have to insist on dragging along the lizard lady? For that matter, you and I could probably handle things on by ourselves."

  Now, I have a clear recollection of Spyder bein' at the meetin' when Pookie volunteered to come along with us, but no memory at all of my insistin' on that point. Rather than arguin' this, however, I decide to cut to the chase and go after the main issue at hand.

  "Why, Spyder, I am surprised at you," I sez, shakin' my head. "For a minute there you sounded just like a jealous female."

  "It isn't that, Swatter ... well, not entirely," she sez. "It's just that having someone else along is like saying that you don't think I'm good enough to cover your back. And then when you make it her... I guess it's hard for me not to take it personally."

  "Now I want you to listen to this close," I sez sternly, " 'cause I do not want to have to go over it again. You are a good kid, Spyder, and I have liked you since the first day we met in boot camp. You are tougher than any three army types I have met, exceptin' maybe me and Nunzio when we was in, and I would never worry if you was coverin' my back. You're smart, and you got great potential and a good future at whatever you decide to apply yourself to. In contrast, though, Pookie is a professional. She has made her decision and already done her developin'. What is more, from what I've learned about Pervects like her and Aahz, she's been a professional for longer than you've been alive. She is good at what she does, and we are lucky to have her along on this caper. Don't let the professional respect I have for her detract from your knowledge of the affection and admiration I hold for you. Instead of sulkin' and feelin' bad, you should be takin' advantage of this chance to watch her in action. You can maybe learn a few things, which is what I am hopin' to do myself."

  At this, Spyder sort of grunts and pulls into herself. I am not completely able to ascertain if this is because she is considerin' my words or merely sulkin'. In part, this is because Pookie has reappeared and I am slightly distracted watching as she approaches us.

  As she promised back at the palace, Pookie has changed her appearance by the use of a disguise spell so she will not upset or frighten the local populace, most of whom are not used to seein' a demon strollin' down the road. To this end, she has replaced her normal green scales, yellow eyes, and pointed ears with skin and hair similar to those of us who normally dwell in mis dimension. That, however, is as far as she has gone with her disguise.

  What she has not changed is the fact that she is noticeably a female type. I had considered suggestin' to her that she might be less noticeable and more authoritative if she had disguised herself as a male type, but upon further consideration felt that it might be detrimental to my continued good health to attempt to argue the male/female thing with her.

  Further addin' to her current image is that she has retained her normal workin' clothes, which for her consists of a sort of skin-tight leather jump suit with assorted straps and slash pockets for carryin' her arsenal. Not onl
y does this outfit fail to hide the above-mentioned fact that she is female, it also clearly marks her as someone who is not normally from these parts.

  Last but not least, the disguise spell has done nothing to change the way she moves. Now if this latter piece of information does not mean anything to you, then you have never spent any time in a profession or situation wherein your survival depends on an accurate appraisal of the violence potential of those comin' toward you before the actual action starts. For most people, movin' consists of little more than puttin' one foot in front of the other. In this manner, they manage to propel themselves from place to place without fallin' over, but that is about the extent of it. Trained athletes and those such as myself who have developed their muscles for use beyond normal walk-a-day necessities are more smooth and balanced when they move, but still tend to be a bit on the heavy-footed side. Pookie is one of the rare types that do not move so much as they glide. Not only are they always balanced, but each gesture and movement flows into the next like it is some dance that only they hear the music to. When you see someone who moves in this manner, as pleasing as it is to the eye, I strongly advise that you do not enter into a hassle-type confrontation with them, for they are likely able to tag you three hits to your one and from directions you did not consider possible to be hit from. Movin' as she does, it is clear to me that, disguise spell or no, Pookie will not exactly blend into the crowd wherever we go.

  As I said, however, it is pleasin' to the eye (professionally speakin', of course) and I allow myself this pleasure as she walks up and plops down next to me.

  "So, have you managed to settle things with your little girlfriend?" she sez, shooting a glance over at Spyder's back, as that individual has chosen to walk away as Pookie approached.

  Now havin' just played this scene with Spyder, I am in no mood to treat such banter lightly.

  "Pookie," I sez, "meanin' no disrespect to your age, the exact numbers of which you have not chosen to share, I must ask if you can still recall bein' young?"