Gumshoe
by Amanda Rohrssen
Chapter Three
“When I said you owed me, I didn’t exactly mean ice cream,” Annie said with a toss of her red hair, “but I have to admit this is nice. I haven’t had an ice cream cone since I
was a little girl.”
“It was the least I could do, my dear,” I replied, watching her lick off a bit of her chocolate mint ripple. It was also the most I could afford.
“So what’s your deal with Mallard?”
“Beg pardon?” The bluntness of her question made me choke down the walnut bits from my cup of Rocky Road.
“I looked up your records and newspaper clippings. Seems the only cases you bother to solve involve getting at Jake Mallard in some way. So what, you have some sort of vendetta against him or something?”
“You could say that,” I replied cryptically, making sure to take a large mouthful of ice cream in case another question followed, which it did.
“Why?” She leaned forward with intrigue sparking in her eyes.
I let the chocolate, marshmallow, and nut concoction melt on my tongue and drain down my throat before I answered. I had always been a private person, more so now, and I didn’t like people knowing much about me. It gave me a sense of security to maintain an aura of mystery. I liked to keep others guessing.
But somehow I knew I couldn’t fool Annie.
“Is it something to do with your wife and daughter?”
Instantly my face darkened of its own accord, and she knew she had struck a nerve. To my surprise she reached her arm across the table and placed her hand atop my own. I stared at her blankly, for such kindness was both unwarranted and not altogether appreciated. I pulled my hand back and looked away from her, unable to meet her eyes for the briefest of moments. I hated vulnerability above all else.
But though I had looked away, I could feel her eyes still on me.
“I saw their obituaries, but…what happened to them?”
“They were murdered,” I said sharply, eyes burning as they darted back toward her.
Hers widened slightly. “How?”
“Jake,” I answered her darkly. The sudden change in mood drastically contrasted the cheerful pastel surroundings of the parlor. She opened her beak, but I cut her of before she could speak again. “I don’t wish to discuss it any further. I haven’t spoken of them for quite some time.”
She looked as if she wanted to press the issue, but thankfully she changed the subject. “So why exactly was it you needed to look at those files so badly?” She leaned forward conspiringly. “Have you found out anything new to link it to the Gryzlikoff murder?”
“You could say that,” I answered her smugly.
Again her eyes widened, and she asked me for the second time, “How?”
“I picked up a few incriminating documents from the crime scene that the authorities overlooked. They prove that Gryzlikoff was being blackmailed by Jake Mallard for information on the RMCD.”
She frowned. “Blackmailed? For what?”
“I’m not exactly sure yet, but I intend on finding out.”
“But Jake didn’t steal the RMCD…the Fearsome Five did.”
“Exactly. They must have learned of his interest in the weapon and beat him to the punch! The two mobs have always been rivals; everyone in the city knows that. What better way to get at your old man than to steal his plans right out from under him and take credit for them?”
She took a moment to let my conclusions sink in before giving me a skeptical look.
“I don’t know…why haven’t you turned in the evidence to SHUSH or the police?”
I scoffed. “Please. The police are a joke, and frankly I need to solve this little mystery solo so I can boost business.”
She smirked. “So you’re withholding evidence so you can get all the glory.”
I mirrored her expression. “Exactly.”
“Aren’t you afraid of being arrested? It is a crime, after all.”
I waved away her suggestion. “The only crime I’ll be guilty of is solving a case before the so-called authorities.”
“But aren’t you afraid Jake will send someone after you to get that evidence back?”
“He already has. I can handle it. Besides, I hid the papers somewhere he’ll never look.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Where?”
I rested my chin atop the back of my hand as I leaned in toward her with a cunning expression.
“In the fire extinguisher.”
Things had been going so well until that worthless, conniving double of mine murdered my brother. My empire had been growing strong, my men were ruthless but trustworthy, and I had the love of the most beautiful avian in Saint Canard. Funny how things change. My brother, Nicholas, was two years younger than I, and was always getting himself into trouble. He was too impulsive, too careless, but that wasn’t the reason he got caught. He had set a trap for him. My disreputable twin. It had been meant for me; Nicholas got in the way. And he paid with his life. He sent him to the electric chair.
It was also thanks to him that not long, after my wife was murdered, too. My perfect, beautiful, shrewd wife who matched my intellect and cunning on every level. Thanks to Jacob, I lost the best thing I ever had. My son always hated me for that, for not being a stronger man. He knows nothing of the real world – thinks it’s all a game to be played. It’s a lesson I’ve yet to teach him.
It’s a lesson I made sure to teach Jacob Mallard long ago. An eye for an eye, old friend.
“Are you certain?” I growled lowly amid my dark reverie.
“Yeah. Pretty little thing. She gave him a handkerchief an’ everythin’ before they was shot at.”
Instantly my interest peaked. Someone else wanted Mallard dead. “What?”
“Yeah. Guy up on the fire escape. I seen ‘im run away. Looked like a goat or somethin’.”
“And Mallard?” I demanded almost savagely. “Was he injured?”
My spirits sank the moment the lackey shook his head, and with a dismal wave I dismissed him. At least there was someone else who hated the P.I. as much as I did. It was a comforting thought…although I wanted to be the one who had the satisfaction of rubbing out that loathsome duck.
Agitated now, I picked up the receiver of my phone and dialed my best man. “I have a job for you…”
Tuxedos had never been an outfit I had taken a like to wearing. They were stiff and uncomfortable, in contrast to the casual business suits I wore in the office, but I’ll be damned if I don’t look absolutely smashing in them. The suggestive glances I received from women alone were enough to convince me to make them everyday wear. I’d opted for a top hat this evening, which elongated my already high forehead in a distinguished manner, and the long black coat I wore dramaticized the breadth of my shoulders. I knew I looked the equal of Cluck Gable in this get-up, and I was going to use it to my advantage.
“Ladies,” I said smoothly with a tip of my hat as I passed a small group of young women chattering amongst themselves. Giggles erupted from their clique, and I smirked. Even at 55, I still had the power to bring a blush to any woman’s face.
It was a quarter to eight, and the museum had pulled out all the stops in decorating for the gala event. A gigantic banner stretching over the thick red carpet proclaimed: Ethiopian Splendor, Featuring the Rock of Ages, and the towering marble columns were snaked with twinkling white lights. Standing just next to one of the columns was my date – well, really more someone of convenience than a date. A mallard wandering through corridors is less conspicuous with a partner at his side, and she hadn’t been doing anything despite the short notice.
“Miss McCawber,” I greeted her with a slight bow. I was many things, but a gentleman first and foremost.
She gave a small smile and curtseyed, and were I not preoccupied with a case I would have taken notice of just how lovely she looked in her glittering silver gown. As it was, I complimented her out of habit rather than meaning.
“You look fantastic.”
A faint rosiness climbed into her cheeks, but I was already heading inside. Masses of people swarmed through the museum lobby like bees in a hive, buzzing with inconsequential gossip and exchanging scathing criticisms of the lower classes. I was used to this sort of drivel, as I moved easily up and down the social ladder, and ignored the empty, tangled banter. Instead I scrutinized the throngs of socialites for Steelbeak or any other member of Jake’s gang even though I knew they wouldn’t be stupid enough to be seen in public. They were on every wanted poster in the city and, despite St. Canard’s lapse in justice, it would be an enormous risk to reveal themselves in the middle of an upper-class gala.
Miss McCawber sidled up next to me, her eyes wide as saucers. It was clear that she hadn’t been to anything like this before although she certainly looked the part.
“Are you sure there’s going to be a lead here on my sister? Do you think someone here knows what happened to her?”
All right, so I’d told her a little white lie to get her there. I’d make it up to her…eventually.
“Yeah, sure, kid,” I said distractedly, earning a glare from my date. Apparently she didn’t like nickname. “Try some of the hors d’oeuvres and some champagne.”
She sulked, looking every bit the young woman just out of her teenage years that she was, until she caught sight of the large chocolate fountain at the end of the elegant buffet table. Noting that her attention was elsewhere, I resumed my analysis of the lobby, deciding in which of the museum’s six wings I would most likely find my informant. I immediately ruled out the newest exhibit, because it would not only be the most crowded but also the most heavily guarded.
“Mallard, old boy!”
I cringed and tried to slink into the shadows. No such luck.
“What are you doing here?” A burly, mustached gander lumbered toward me and slung an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a side hug that resulted in a temporarily constricted airway. “Up to your usual antics?”
I managed to worm my way out of his grip and regain some of my dignity. “You know me, Mayor West. Always up for a good time.”
“Up for some free booze is more like it,” the major chuckled.
I smiled placidly, his comments rolling off of me like candle wax. I was used to such comments. The police force and many SHUSH agents insinuated the same of me, that I was a washed up detective turned alcoholic. In some ways, they were right.
“Yeah, thanks for that. Although next year why not skip the formality and have an open bar?”
While the city official tried to come up with a clever comeback to cover his dumbfounded expression, I weaved through the assembly toward my young companion.
“If anyone asks for me,” I whispered to her as I lightly touched her elbow, “I’m drumming up business anywhere except the Industrial Revolution exhibit.”
She turned her head, catching my insinuation almost immediately. “You’re meeting someone there? With information on Morgana?”
“Not exactly,” I said.
“I’m coming, too.”
I blinked, taken off guard. This woman didn’t mince words, at least where her sister was concerned. She was beginning to cramp my style.
“Miss McCawber, I really think you would serve a better purpose if—“
“And I think, Mr. Mallard, that no matter what you say, the only reason you have a case is because of me. I hired you to find my sister, and I’m not going to stand by any longer waiting for you to do your job. I’m coming with you to make sure you do what I paid you to do.”
While the mayor’s words hadn’t phased me, hers prickled my feathers. I could see that my powers of persuasion would have no affect on this blonde beauty. She was more trouble than she was worth; however, she was right. I was indebted to her for paying in advance a month’s rent for my office. And, being the gentleman that I was, I decided to even the score.
“Very well,” I muttered gruffly with a slight smirk. “As the lady wishes.” I offered her my arm, and after a moment’s hesitation she took it.
I paraded her across the flawless marble floor and up the wide staircase to the second level, from which there was a magnificent view over the ornate railing. As inconspicuously as we could, we strode toward one of the roped off sections.
“Uh, excuse me?”
We paused, and our heads turned in unison like children with their hands in the cookie jar.
“Sorry folks, you can’t go back that way. It’s closed for the evening. You can view the new exhibit if you’d like, or you’re welcome to return downstairs for refreshments. The curator’s speech is about to start in a few minutes.”
“Is there a restroom up here, my good man?” I inquired in my most formal tone. I believed that if I bluffed enough, I could persuade the young official to let us past. “The lady is quite in need of some relief.”
The man hesitated for a moment, then recognition sparked on his face. “Hey…aren’t you that drunk ex-cop?”
My eyebrows quickly shrouded my black irises. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about…”
“Yeah, you were in the papers a while back. Didn’t you almost run a kid over ‘cause you were driving a squad car drunk?”
“That’s enough.”
“Sorry about your wife and kid…”
The increasing tenseness in my body didn’t escape the notice of Miss McCawber, and she intervened not a moment too soon.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but…the restroom?” She shifted her weight from foot to foot, feigning a full bladder.
“Oh yeah.” The young man blushed. “You can go ahead and use the one right around the corner there.”
She smiled appreciatively, and his blush deepened. “Thank you.”
I put my arm around her shoulders and led her away while the museum official moved toward the top of the stairwell to oversee the proceedings about to begin.
“Impressive,” I complimented her.
She looked at me searchingly as we turned down the corridor, heading toward the early 1900’s display. “You’re an ex-cop and an alcoholic?!”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing…” I joked lightly, though my attention was on the approaching exhibit.
“But…but, but…” She sounded so distressed and so utterly confused.
I stopped abruptly, no longer able to suppress the annoyance I was surprised to find had been growing. “Listen, I’m the best detective in St. Canard. You want me off the case, that’s your decision, but good luck getting any of those badge-wearing boors to –"
“Mr. Mallard,” she interjected her voice so soft it caught me off guard, “I’m not ready to fire you just yet…” Her gaze grew very sincere, and in looking at her – really looking at her – she had to be one of the most genuine people I had met since my late wife. “I have faith in you. All I ask is that you show me that that faith is warranted.”
I gave her a hard look that was neither cold nor friendly. “Stay here by the steam engine. I need to speak with my informant.”
She raised a questioning eyebrow, but did as I bade her. With little effort my uneven footsteps fell silent on the shining marble floor as I moved through the exhibit, my senses heightened for any sign of the metal-mouthed cock.
I had passed into the Roaring Twenties before I turned and began heading back, just as cautiously. There was no telling what Jake’s lackey had in mind, or if this was all some kind of an elaborate plan to draw my attention away from…
I stopped short. In coming around a wooden platform that explained Edison’s electric bulb, I had a clear view of the steam engine display. Miss McCawber was not there. I frowned slightly, but didn’t think much of it. Perhaps she had grown curious and gone to look at the new Ethiopian exhibit. Or perhaps she was busy fending off that young museum official that had been so obviously taken with her. I inched forward, analyzing every nook and cranny before continuing.
“Miss McCawber…?” I murmured into the empty space.
The moment I heard the hammer click into place, I knew exactly where she was.
“Awww, miss your little goilfriend? Eheheheheheheheheh…”
“Let her go, Steelbeak,” I snarled. With a swift turn I laid eyes on the braggart pressing an M1911 to her temple. Flanking him were a few more members of Jake’s sin squad, whose firearms were aimed squarely at my chest.
“No can do, compadre,” the rooster sneered. “Da boss has big plans for dis one.”
“Her?” I blurted out before I could stop myself. It didn’t add up. “What does Jake want with her?”
Steelbeak scoffed. “As if I’m gonna tell you.”
“Which is just another way of saying that you have no idea,” I offered with a knowing smirk.
His beady eyes glowered at me for an instant before he suddenly swept the blonde up in a fireman’s carry and took off running, leaving me to deal with his armed posse.
“Can it, you nobs!” I hissed. “If you blow our cover, I’ll blow off your heads! Idiots…” More choice words seethed through my teeth as I led the rest of the Fearsome Five through the side entrance. A string of drugged guards trailed behind us, and I made sure Megavolt cut every alarm wire in half before we moved on toward the correct wing.
It would have been so much more entertaining to crash the fancy party and hold the social elite for ransom, but I had a goal that couldn’t be compromised. There would be time for fun later…
“Right through there. You nobs cover me. I’ll get the rod.”
While my less-than-skillful lackeys fanned out across the room, their eyes bulging greedily at the ancient treasures worth millions just gathering dust behind the displays, I made a beeline for our quarry. It was solid gold, and flecked with rubies, emeralds, sapphires, diamonds, every type of valuable gem that made my mouth water. Those Romans didn’t mess around.
I had watched Megavolt disarm the silent alarm, but I was certain that considering how priceless an artifact it was, there would be more to its security. Using extreme caution, I eyed the rod and its display from every angle. It seemed simple enough; nothing I couldn’t handle.
It was with practiced precision that I pulled a glasscutter from my jacket and stretched it toward the transparent casing that barred me from my prize. Each inch brought me one step closer to my goal, one step closer to ruling St. Canard, one step closer to ending my father’s pathetic reign.
“Negaduck.”
The voice shattered my thoughts and caused me to jerk, sending the glasscutter on a tangent. I felt the feathers on my neck bristle instinctively, and I bared my teeth as I whirled around, expecting my old man.
“Well,” I growled with a deep chuckle. “Look who’s come out to play…”
“Where is she?” he asked me in a dark snarl.
“Who??” I snapped. He ignored my question.
“Where’s Steelbeak??” The geezer was agitated now, and barreling toward me as best he could with a limp in his left leg.
In the shadows, his silhouette evidenced the lean limbs of a lifetime of excitement, danger, and regrets. His shape easily gave him the visage of the old crime lord, but as soon as he stepped forward, I knew. And I ground my teeth together. He wasn’t my worthless father but his counterpart, the private investigator Jacob Mallard, with whom I’d had a few unmemorable run-ins.
Instantly I was raving mad. “What?! That prissy prick is here? Probably sent by ‘dear old dad’ to steal the staff before me. Well it’s mine, ya got that? I got here first, and I’m going to use it to power the machine before him!!” I could feel the blood in my veins boiling as my feathers turned bright red underneath my mask. I didn’t have time for this bullshit. A slow grin quickly spread across my face as I calmed. “And you, old man…you’re our ticket outta here…”
Glass exploded over him and me as my fist plunged through the cracked display. I grabbed the rod and called to my men. “Get’im, boys!”
The old man was so hell-bent on Steelbeak that he hadn’t realized the rest of the Fearsome Five had steadily been closing in on him. The expression on his face was priceless; I wish I’d had a camera. It would have made a much more fitting portrait than that stupid one hanging in The Old Haunt.
Quackerjack was the first to pounce. “It’s plaaaaaytime!”
That got more and more annoying the more he said it, but I was too busy to be bothered. While they had the so-called detective occupied, I was about to slip away unnoticed… until an idea hit me.
The joker batted the widely known alcoholic around like a paddleball, then passed off the fun to Bushroot. Jacob sucker punched the plant-duck with an uppercut, and a couple dozen roots shot up through the museum floor to wrap around his limbs in retaliation. Unable to move, all the old bird could do was stand there and take it while Quackerjack batted baseballs into his gut and Liquidator smothered his face in a mass of water, nearly drowning him. I laughed gleefully as I watched. Sometimes those nitwits proved to be useful.
Suddenly a loud hissing sound filled the air, momentarily interrupting the assault, and a cloud of blue smoke appeared at the wing entrance. I glowered at the smog, knowing exactly what pestilence it brought.
“I am the terror that flaps in the night!” that insufferable voice announced.
“Move it, you nobs!” I snarled lowly. Instantly they backed off of the has-been cop, and he collapsed onto the floor, puking water.
“I am the gum on the shoe soul of crime!”
I ignored Darkwing Dolt; his presence fit perfectly with my plan. Chuckling, I pulled Jacob roughly to his feet. He tottered on his bad leg, but I only made him stand long enough so I could plant my fist square in his lower abdomen. As he jerked forward with the force of my blow, I landed another one on his jaw, and he toppled backward right through a large display case. Glass cascaded around him in a shower of deadly needles, and I knew the noise would bring security.
As he lay there amid a sparkling sea of debris, I leaned forward and hissed into his ear. “A little something to remember me by.”
A few minutes later I heard voices combined with racing footsteps. I knew it was the interior guards that had been patrolling the other wings.
The smoke was finally clearing, allowing that idiotic avian a chance to scope the room, and I barked to the Fearsome Five to hightail it out of there. Frantic flashlights became visible, and as we charged back the way we’d come, undetected, I couldn’t help but allow myself a bit of evil laughter. Not only had I come away with the rod I needed to power the RMCD, but I had planted a successful diversion for the authorities while I initiated my plans for the takeover of St. Canard. Once that was complete, I would FINALLY nab the title of Public Enemy Number One from Dr. Slug.
I must not have been out for long. As the world came back into focus, I could decipher three voices chattering over my throbbing head, which only served to make it worse.
“We got him, we got him! I can’t believe it, Bruce, our first robber! Should we call the cops yet?”
“No!” A duck wearing a purple mask retorted indignantly. “I’m the one who got here first, I’ll handle it!”
“Hey!” The guard named Bruce cried, eyeing me. “That’s the guy I saw snooping around earlier! Only…” Bruce started looking around the room warily.
“Only what?” Darkwing asked hurriedly.
“Well,” Bruce faltered. The hero was inches away from his face, staring at him intently. “Uh…I saw him up here before, only it was across the hall by the Industrial Resolution exhibit.”
“Yeah, so?”
“There was a lady with him.”
“So where is she now, hmmm?” Darkwing spat critically.
Bruce shrugged, but didn’t allow Darkwing’s impatience to get to him. Instead he began walking slowly around the room, surveying in shrewdly until he noticed the missing scepter.
“Maybe they got into an argument…”
“And what, pray tell, does a lover’s quarrel have to do with anything?”
Bruce didn’t answer for quite some time, and the intensity in the air was thick. He bent down to study the shattered glass, then walked back over to look down at me.
“She got the goods and made a break for it so he would get all the rap.”
“An interesting theory,” Darkwing said after coming out of a flabbergasted stupor. The kid had a solid idea, and there was no evidence to disprove it. At least, not until the police could come and sweep for fingerprints…if they even bothered to do that. It was clear even though I was still in a daze that the vigilante was impressed, and even a bit bothered that he hadn’t come up with it first.
A pair of solid hands landed on my shoulders, and for a second time that evening I was yanked roughly to my feet. My mind was finally clearing, and I was met with the face of Darkwing Duck. It was the first time in a very long time that I looked my son in the eyes.
There was so much depth to them that I couldn’t even begin to grasp any certainties to his character, but in the seconds I saw into him I watched the color darken with the flash of abhorrence that came with recognition. As he shoved me around and twisted my arms behind my back, I felt air pass over my face, and it was only then that I realized there was blood trickling over my features. It was no wonder the boy hadn’t recognized me until then.
Bruce tsked as Darkwing fitted me with handcuffs. “What a shame, these ex-cops. You just can’t trust anyone anymore.”
I would have argued the arrest with my son, tried to fight for my innocence, but I knew my reasoning would fall on deaf ears. There was no room in my son’s life for me anymore. This I had learned years ago, after the murders of my wife and daughter.
The sound of the waves crashing relentlessly against the wharf drifted through the splitting wood that made up the old warehouse I was currently using as a base. My pathetic lackeys trailed behind me as I practically ran through the maze of hallways and down flights of uneven stairs to where we’d stashed SHUSH’s top secret weapon.
The golden staff felt like an extension of my arm; the weight of its power coursed through my veins and spurred me forward toward the glory I so aptly deserved.
“Wait here!” I snapped.
Alone now, I pushed through the doorway into my private office and strode to the dilapidated closet, where I had been keeping a certain SHUSH employee detained. Her eyes shrank to slits as the light that filtered into the room invaded the small space she’d inhabited for weeks.
“All right, ‘Doctor,’” I sneered, forcing her to her feet. “We’re going on a little field trip…”
Reaching around her head, I pulled down a lever that stuck out of the wall and heard the gears begin to grind. Slowly the back wall of the closet slid sideways to reveal yet another staircase. I dragged her after me; I wanted her with me when I brought the RMCD to life...
“Let’s see if you were a good girl and told us the truth about your little invention,” I taunted her, gripping her upper arm until I could feel her quickened pulse beneath my fingertips.
It wasn’t until we reached the grimy floor of the basement that I stopped short, choking on a malicious snigger. The place was empty. Completely and utterly void of the weapon that was the centerpiece to my glorious domination of this pathetic metropolis.
Rage bubbled up into my throat, and as I clenched my fists together a roar that shook the foundation of the warehouse loosed itself from my lungs. I knew exactly where my weapon was.
“DAMN YOU, JAKE!!”