Reformation
Chapter Six
Despite sitting in the back seat of a luxurious, leather seated sedan instead of a squad car, the ex-villain remained incredibly anxious. His blue eyes stared out of the lightly tinted window, watching the buildings pass by and staring at the citizens that carried on with their every day lives on the street's sidewalk.
The car was lead by a black SHUSH SUV, and closely followed by another behind. Even though he was being carefully guarded in his transit, Drake couldn't seem to sit still. He kept expecting the hear the wail of police sirens at any moment. And not being aware of exactly where he was being taken only added to the anxiety he was feeling.
The vehicle slowed, lawfully stopping for a red light. The momentary stop allowed Drake to take in a deep, calming breath. But he instantly choked when he looked to his right. A police cruiser harmlessly stopped alongside the car, and Drake instantly sunk down into the leather seat, trying to make himself disappear from sight. In the seat beside him, Jacob's eyes shifted in his direction to notice his behavior and he couldn't help but smirk.
"If you keep doing that, we'll get pulled over for sure, boy," he pointed out but without an ouce of worry in his voice.
As soon as they moved forward through the green light, Drake cautiously sat up in his seat. "Can you blame me? I can't remember the last time I was out in sight of the public without the authorities on my tail." Then he grunted in discomfort. "And is this thing really necessary?" he asked, pulling up the right leg of his pants to reveal a metal band locked around his ankle. "It's too tight, and it hurts!"
"You'll get used to the electronic monitoring device," Jacob assured. "But it has to stay on, for your own safety if anything else."
The journey didn't last much longer. Five minutes later, they came to a stop to a small streetside apartment building in one of the less busy areas of town. It had to have been one of the oldest buildings in the city, and anyone who'd pass by would automatically assume it was abandoned. Jacob got out of the black car first, then rounded to the other side to open the other car door. When Drake climbed out of the car, he looked up at the building and blinked.
"This is it?" he asked, making a displeased face. "I thought you boys were made of money!"
Jacob slammed the car door shut and began to escort him inside the old brick building. "Even SHUSH is on a budget. Besides, it will be like a five star hotel compared to those abandoned warehouses you used to hole yourself up in," he pointed out. Drake only rolled his eyes and followed Jacob inside and up the stairs of the shabby building. The agent removed a key ring with a single key when they reached the first door on the third floor and used it to unlock the door. Graciously he opened the door and lead Drake inside.
The apartment was small, but not ridiculously so. It had one bedroom and a single bathroom. The kitchen area was attached to the dining/living area, and there was one window looking out to the street. The only furniture were necessities: a couch, a coffee table, a small dining table with two chairs, a refrigerator, and a bed and dresser in the bedroom. Drake wandered inside, taking in his new surroundings. He passed through the living area to take a quick glance out the window, and then continued exploring the small area. He looked mesmerized. The villain hadn't been inside of a living residence since he was a small child--unless he was robbing it, of course. It was like a whole new experience for him.
"You know, it's..." Drake began, taking a quick peek into the kitchen and then looked back at Jacob. "It's not too bad."
Jacob gave him a small smirk and leaned against the nuclear orange colored couch. "It may not be much, but it's a decent start, and it will feel more like home than a prison cell."
Drake brushed off the statement, even though he knew it was true. He stepped up to the white refrigerator and pulled the door open. "Hey, it's empty!" he informed with genuine surprise and looked over his shoulder questionably.
But the old mallard shrugged. "Guess you'll have to go to the store."
The ex-con stared at him as if he had lobsters crawling out of his ears.
Jacob reached into his jacket and pulled out a neatly folded stack of bills as he walked toward him. "Here's five hundred dollars to last you for a while--until you get yourself a job."
Again, Drake did a double-take. "Come again? A...job?"
"Yes, a JOB," Jacob repeated patiently and placed the money into his hand. "It's a prerequisite for becoming a contributing member of society."
Drake had no words to respond with, and Jacob could see the hesitation and self-doubt in his eyes. The senior agent wrapped his hand around his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. "Relax. It won't be as hard as it seems. Roam the city a bit, get used to the surroundings as a new man, go get yourself some groceries." Then Jacob added jokingly, "Just don't rob the place. That's what the money is for. If you need anything, you've got my card for emergencies only."
"Right," Drake said distantly, beginning to have second thoughts.
Before he could voice his thoughts, Jacob turned away and walked toward the door. He opened the door, and paused to look over his shoulder at the ex-criminal for a few last words of encouragement. "You're going to be fine, Drake."
He tossed the apartment keys to him. Then, he left.
But Jacob didn't go too far. In fact, he made it half way down the hall, looked over his shoulder, and then opened the door to the third unit away. Inside, SHUSH had set up an observation base, complete with radios, staff, and televisions displaying the pictures of the four hidden cameras inside of Drake's apartment. Jacob immediately stepped over to those, already curious to see what his test subject was up to.
"Well, he hasn't stabbed anyone yet, so that's a good start," Dr. Grodin pointed out a little more jovially than needed.
"Bellum, first chance we get, I want a serotonin analysis.," Jacob instructed, already too absorbed into his own observation to hear her acknowledge his request.
The surveillance filmed Drake as he wandered absently around the small apartment and looked out the window. Immediately, the young mallard sensed something. Like he was being watched. He turned around and let his eyes wander over every inch of the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Then he noticed a very small, nearly unnoticeable silver circle that looked like the top of a thumb tac on the wall near the ceiling, just above the couch. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he strode across the room to hop up onto the couch.
As he lifted his head to get a better look at the hidden camera, every brow of the agents in the other room raised.
"Looks like Negs took the 'hidden' out of 'hidden camera,'" Dr. Grodin muttered.
Drake waved into the camera. Dr. Grodin waved back. Jacob only groaned and shook his head.
That first day, Drake kept himself holed up in his new living environment. It wasn't until the following afternoon that he decided to face the society he had terrorized for many years. And even as he walked down the busy sidewalk through downtown Saint Canard, he couldn't shake the intimidation that overwhelmed him. He found himself looking at every face that passed him, many of which he recognized as victims of his crimes. He tried not to make eye contact, knowing that it would come back to haunt him in his dreams. Instead, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants and kept walking aimlessly down the sidewalk.
The dreams hadn't left him. The previous night was full of nightmares, the screams of his victims, and her face. Gosalyn. They were stronger than ever, and he was beginning to wonder if they would drive him to insanity. Well, he was never exactly sane to begin with.
Every minute he would look over his shoulder, expecting to see someone in hot pursuit behind him. As Negaduck, he couldn't show his face in public without gaining at least half a dozen police cruisers on his tail. In a way, it was unnerving. Still, his suspicions of being constantly followed were not entirely a result of habit or paranoia.
Parked on the opposite side of the street was a black van. A normal looking bulldog in civilian clothing was sitting in the driver's seat with a more spindly canine in the passenger's seat beside him. In the back of the van was a portable SHUSH surveillance set-up with two suited agents sitting at its controls in mounted chairs. Three television screens recorded Drake's movements at different angles as he continued down the street.
"What's he doing?" one of the agents asked suspiciously. "I thought he was supposed to be job hunting."
"The boss said to let him be for the first couple of days to let him ease into the surroundings," the other answered matter-of-factly. "We're just supposed to make sure he stays within the city and that he sticks to legalities."
The first grunted his opposition. "I dunno. I still think this whole thing will end up being a big mistake."
"Hey, give Mallard's experiment a chance. You can teach an old dog new tricks, you know."
"Yeah, but the 'old dog' is never a blood-thirsty, homicidal maniac who gets his kicks out of mangling kittens."
"Ladies, enough," the bulldog in the front interrupted, which earned him glowers from his associates. He put the van into drive, and the vehicle slowly rolled out into the street to discretely follow their subject.
Drake continued to look around himself in a sense of silent awe. It had been the first time he had actually looked at the city around him. Being constantly on the run and being chased by Darkwing Duck distracted him from taking in the details of the city which he called home. But then the situation at hand came back to him. He wasn't Negaduck anymore. He was just an ordinary, every day citizen of Saint Canard.
Right?
If so, then that meant he had to carry out with the conditions of Jacob's experiment. Drake stopped on the sidewalk, and he looked up just in time to see the black van park across the street from him. His sharp sense he had developed as a criminal were immediately on alert, and he eyed the van suspiciously out of the corner of his eyes.
There was a newspaper dispenser on the sidewalk. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out some change, and bought himself a newspaper. The agents in the van watched him curiously.
"Now what's he doing?" the suspicious agent asked.
"He's checking out the 'classified' section," the other said matter-of-factly as they observed the mallard open up the newspaper with their cameras.
Drake took a moment to scan over the newspaper. It was odd not to see himself on any of the headlines for a dishonorable crime, but the entire city still believed he was dead. He closed the paper, and then wandered over to a phone booth. After retrieving another quarter from his pocket, he picked up the receiver, slid the coin into the slot, and dialed a number. Meanwhile, the SHUSH van and its occupants stood by and watched.
"See? Give the guy some credit," the more sympathetic agent asserted.
But the public enemy wasn't calling in about a job.
"Yeah? No, you don't know of me, but I know of you. I got your name from Butch, at the Old Haunt," Drake spoke into the phone. He even went so far as to disguise his voice, bumping the tone up half on octave so that he sounded more like his do-gooder double than Negaduck. "Look, all I can spare is $250. Why? Because I've gotta buy groceries, that's why! Alright, in half an hour then. Fine."
He hung up the phone and let out a deep exhale. For a split second, he regretted what he had just done. But he quickly reminded himself of why he was doing it, and stepped out of the phone booth. With a final glance in the direction of the ominous van to his left, he continued on his way down the sidewalk.
Half an hour later, Drake was wandering through the Golden Goose Corner Market. The last time he was in this place was many years ago, just after he had come to the Normalverse to begin his reign of terror. He had robbed the store on a couple occasions when he became bored and just needed something to do. The old clerk was even still working the register. But this time, instead of having a gun in his hand, he had a grocery basket.
There were already a few items in his basket as he continued to wander down the aisles. He was searching for one more thing, but it wasn't bread or milk. Drake found what he was looking for when he spotted a short, grungy looking pelican in a brown leather jacket in front of a shelf of canned vegetables. In one of his hands was a small paper bag. The mallard's blue eyes shifted back and forth suspiciously before he made his way down the aisle and stopped directly behind the pelican with his back to his.
"You got what I want?" Drake muttered while he pretending to be occupied with the decision of whether to purchase the whole grain or wheat bread.
The pelican lifted his head, but didn't yet turn around. "You're late."
"I had to walk," Drake retorted with a sneer. He turned around and looked down at the pelican, who also turned to meet his client. Drake reached into his pocket and removed $250 cash, which he swiftly exchanged for the paper bag. The pelican greedily pocketed the money, and Drake opened up the bag with his eyes gleaming at what was inside.
A pistol and a box of bullets.
"You know, you remind me of someone I've seen inside the big house before," the pelican observed.
"Yeah?" Drake humored as he closed up the bag and moved past him as if nothing had occurred. "Must not have been me then..."
Late that night, Drake lay wide awake in the dark on his bed. It wasn't the most comfortable, but it was certainly an improvement form the one back at SHUSH. His arms were folded behind his head, and he stared blankly up at the ceiling. The green glow from the a neon sign across the street shone in through his window, contributing to his insomnia. Finally, he turned his head to glance at the digital clock, which read 3:47 a.m.
Drake got up out of the bed, and wandered into the other room in his boxer shorts. He found a marker and a pad of paper, on which he wrote down a quick message.
In the room down the hall, Agent Terry was pouring himself his fifth cup of coffee during his shift when he saw thei mage of the mallard wander up to one of the hidden camera. He held up the piece of paper.
'CAN'T SLEEP'
A few minutes later, Drake opened the door to his apartment to the agent.
"Nightmares again?" agent Terry asked as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
Drake gave a tired sigh and nodded. "Yeah. They're not easin' up."
The agent handed him the small paper cup, which the ex-villain was becoming conditioned to, and inside were two insomnia pills.
"I can only give you two, you know. Jacob's orders to--"
"Hey you wanna hang around and play some cards or something?" Drake asked harmlessly as he took the cup from him. "It's gonna take these things twenty minutes to kick in."
"Sorry, can't," Agent Terry answered apologetically. "Mallard says I'm not supposed to do anything that could affect your environment."
Drake laughed as he headed for the refrigerator. "Yeah, right! Like a hand of cards is really going to destroy my new life!" He opened the refrigerator and leaned toward it, reaching for two glass bottles but also blocking the agent from seeing what he was doing. "Come on! I got this kick ass root beer you've gotta try. You guys won't let me have any alcohol so I sprang for the good stuff!" As he spoke, he opened the two soda bottles slipped the two sleeping bills into the one on the left.
"Wish I could, Drake. But I really can't," Agent Terry insisted as Drake turned around and approached him. "I've got orders to follow, you know."
Then Drake shrugged in defeat with one bottle in each of his hands. "Alright, sure. No problem." He held out the soda bottle in his left hand toward him. "Here, take it. It's already opened anyway."
Thinking of it as only a harmless gesture, Agent Terry took it from him. "Thanks," he said before taking a swig and then licking the remnants from his lips. "Alright, get some sleep," he concluded with a nod.
"Will do," Drake responded and escorted him to the door. And as he closed the door after the agent left, a devious smile slid across the bill.
Forty-five minutes later, Agent Terry was passed out on the desk in front of the surveillance monitors. The cameras watched as Drake pulled on his slacks and black turtleneck. The last thing he grabbed was the brown paper bag from the table before he swiftly left the apartment. There was only one way to get that red-headed girl out of his dreams...