🚀 go-pugleaf

                             The Defense Squad          QUOTE OF THE DAY:
                                Episode 178         Boiler: "Tanby... Tanby.
                          The Last Turdian, Part 2    Hey Dolittle, what's
                                    or                Tanby's first name?"
                             All mobbed up and      Dolittle (thinks about it
                              no place to go          for a while): "What's
                                Written by            *my* first name?"
                                Bill Paul           -from a very weird movie
                        The man with two first names    called: DARK STAR

CONTINUED FROM PART ONE...

        The bureaucratic hubbub resumed while the lawyers and clerks
sorted through more documents. Wonder Grunion signed his name to anything
they put in front of him for no other reason than to get them off his
back. Just as he initialed what he hoped was the last of the papers, the
Superuser stuck his head into the room and cautiously looked around.
        "Oh! I see you're still busy." he said, "Sorry, I'll come back."
        "No no!" exclaimed Wonder Grunion, leaping from his chair, "That's
okay Bill: we're just finishing up here! What can we do for you?"
        "Actually, I need to have a word with you privately. Jenn, I
hope you don't mind, but this is sort of personal."
        "Sure. You guys can take off: I'll finish up here."
        "Thanks a million. You're the best."
        The Superuser led Wonder Grunion out of the meeting room and
into a secluded corridor where he hoped they wouldn't be overheard.
Ordinarily, Wonder Grunion would have sensed his concern and troubled
emotions almost immediately, but at the moment he was too overcome by
relief to notice anything else.
        "Bill, you have no idea how greatful I am that you got me out
of there."
        "Hold that thought, Wondy: you might change your mind when you
hear what I have to say. Remember when Liz left here? She said she had
some important things to do with the GInsu World Class armor?"
        "Yes?"
        "Well, thanks to Jake and a little electronic eavesdropping on
the armor's data recorders, I managed to find out what those things were.
The data I have is far from complete -- I got cut off before I could
finish he download, but there's no mistaking what I saw. She's joined
the Revolution."
        "The what?"
        "The Industrial Revolution! It's a collection of super heroes
from all over... They're out to get you!"
        "Me?"
        "No, not you personally: they're after mages! They've got this
plan to 'save the Earth from the threat of magic-induced destruction.'
I don't think anyone really knows who's behind it, and, like I said,
the details are a bit sketchy at this point. But what little I have is
undeniably accurate."
        "This is all because of what happened with Radian, isn't it.
They're worried it will happen again, and this is their twisted way
of preventing it. Those fools! Oh my... Elizabeth!"
        "Yes. I think she's out for revenge after what happened to her
in California."
        "And she intends to exact that revenge with the Ginsu World Class
armor, doesn't she?"
        "Not if I have anything to do with it. Jake and I managed to
work up a few leads about a resistance group that could be forming to
oppose the renegades. I'm going to check them out."
        "But... can't you just take control of her armor from here?"
        "I tried that. The armor isn't responding to my uplink requests
anymore. I think Liz may have detected my first intrusion into the data
recorders and locked off all the external access ports. Unfortunately,
I designed her systems to be able to resist outside tampering, and
being an expert in that area I may have done too good a job of if. There
might still be a way to be gain entry into the system, but I need to
hold that in reserve in case... well, in case push comes to shove.
So, are you coming?"
        "What? You mean, with you?"
        "Yes, I mean with me! Wonder Grunion, these are mages we're
talking about here. You're the Scaly Sorcerer Supreme: you have to help
them."
        "No. No I can't."
        "What? That's silly: of course you can. Wondy, what's wrong
with you?"
        "Bill, I'm sorry, but I cannot go with you. Please don't ask me
to explain because I don't think I can. All I know is that I cannot go."
        "Fine. I'll take care of myself then. If anything interesting
happens, I'll give you a call. I suppose I don't have to remind you not
to tell Smartman anything about this?"
        "I won't breathe a word of it to him. Good luck."
        "Yeah. You too."
        His head lowered a little, the Superuser disappeared down the
corridor. Wonder Grunion once again found a disconcerting fuzziness
clouding his thoughs and fought to push it aside. Nothing seemed to
make sense to him anymore, including his own actions. Nothing seemed
clear except for the faint notion that he might be needed back at the
meeting, so he decided to return.
        As he walked unsteadily back towards the meeting room, he was
completely unaware that Smithers was watching him. It wasn't Smithers
the lawyer or Smithers the private secretary. It was Smithers, Smartman's
personal assistant, and it goes without saying that none of them were
related.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
        The men and women of the New York Police Department have been
hailed as the best the city has to offer. They are the cream of the law
enforcement crop. The bravest. The smartest. The finest. For every cop on
the beat, there are dozens of tales of valor and dedication waiting to be
told.
        This is not one of them.
        This is instead a story of New York's Luckiest, two cops so
inept they once tried to arrest a group of landfill workers for
littering. Two cops so stupid they habitually show up at stakeouts
with charcoal and lighter fluid. Two cops who were barred from desk
duty after they were caught playing Monopoly with evidence from a
counterfeiting case.
        The fact that they haven't yet been killed in the line of
duty could be called a miracle, though their captain insists it's just
his rotten luck. They are Detective Jack Honey and Seargent Al Dear.
They're armed. They're dangerous. They're wearing shades, and it's
dark out.
        "You know, Honey, I feel really silly."
        "Why Dear, because we're standing in the middle of Harlem at
three AM and we're wearing sunglasses?"
        "No, it's this stupid mohawk. It just isn't me."
        "Well of course it isn't you: we're supposed to be undercover here.
And it doesn't look that bad."
        "Sure, that's easy for you to say, Honey: you didn't have to
sit in that barber's chair and get your head sandblasted."
        "You couldhave had them give you a fake one, you know."
        "No. No, it's okay. I... I like it better this way."
        "I'm starting to worry about you, Dear. Look, I know you don't
like dressing up like punks, or hanging out on filthy street corners
in the middle of the night, or risking our lives making drug buys from
people who would just as soon kill us as look at us, but we have to be
tough! We're not Honey and Dear: Squad Room Detectives anymore! Now
we're Honey and Dear: Undercover Narcs!"
        "Shhh!! Why don't you say it a little louder, Honey! They might
not have heard you in Queens!"
        "Oh, geeze! Sorry!"
        "Listen Honey, you and I both know that Captain Sweetheart stuck
us with this crummy assignment because we got kicked off the bunco squad."
        "Yeah, and all because of one little misprint on a wanted poster.
I mean, 'Giuliani' with a 'G' and not a 'J.' Who knew?"
        "Really. And you saw the way that kid of his was jumping around.
For all we knew, he might have been dangerous. Besides, it was his fault
for not keeping his inspection stickers up to date. All he had to do was
fill out a form, for cryin' out loud."
        "Yeah, you'd think the mayor, of all people, would know that.
Well, look, what's done is done. Let's just do our job and go home.
Now, who are we supposed to be waiting for again?"
        "The name on the rap sheet they gave us is 'George Steinbrenner.'"
        "What? Are you sure?"
        "Yeah, says right here..."
        "Let me see that. Dear, you idiot: it's not Steinbrenner, it's
Steenbrinner!"
        "Really?! Boy, it's a good thing you caught that: we would've
looked awfully stupid arresting Marla Maples's husband!"
        "Dear, just shut up and try to look mean, okay?"
        A black Lincoln towncar pulled up to the corner of 135th street
and 7th Avenue, immediately opposite the corner where Honey and Dear were
trying hard not to look like cops, an effort hampered by the presence of
their badges and police gun belts which they wore over their otherwise
convincing disguises. The driver's black tinted window slid down with a
muffled hum and the car's two occupants scrutinized them closely.
        "That looks like dem, Mr. Steenbrinner." said one, an unnaturally
overmuscled buiser and Scorn addict.
        "Yes," Steenbrinner replied crisply, "they do indeed match the
descriptions given to us by our agents. Are you certain they're not cops?"
        "What makes you tink they might be cops, Mr. Steenbrinner?"
        "Well they are wearing badges."
        "Uh... it's probably just a gang ting, Mr. Steenbrinner. You
know, dem gang bangers, dey got real strange senses of humor."
        "Yes, and since I haven't fired you yet, so must I. You know,
it's a shame Scorn can't do for your brains what it's done for your
muscles. Come on then: might as well meet our new clients. And Bruno,
if it turns out that they are cops, I want you to crush them to kibble
immediately. Is that clear?"
        "Gotcha boss. Say boss?"
        "What is it Bruno?"
        "Do you tink you could get me tickets to the Yankees's next
game? I figger it oughtta be easy for you, since you own them and all..."
        "Bruno?"
        "Yeah boss?"
        "Just shut up and try to look mean, okay?"
        "Honey, look!"
        "What is it, Dear?"
        "Over there! The guy getting out of the car! It looks like
Steenbrinner!"
        "And the other guy with him! It looks like Mount Everest with
legs! Alright Dear, this is it! Remember, we're not cops: we're mean
gang bangers. You remember your cover name?"
        "Uh... I think so..."
        "Then let's do it."
        "Greetings gentlemen! My name is George Steenbrinner, and this is
my assistant Bruno."
        "My name's Sid Vicious." said Honey with an overemphasized sneer.
        "And I'm... uh... I'm..."
        Dear tried desperately to remember the name that had been clear
in his mind only moments ago, but it was no use. Only one thing to do
now: improvise.
        "Giuliani! Rudy Giuliani!"
        Steenbrinner arched an eyebrow.
        "Really? Having trouble getting by on a mayor's salary,
Mr. Giulliani?"
        "Uhm... well, I have this speeding ticket that I need to pay
off. See, I had a run-in with these two cops..."
        "Really smart cops." Honey added.
        "Yes, these two really smart cops. Really top notch. And really
though. Well, you know, what was I to do."
        "There's no need to explain. Well, as per our arrangement, I have
here with me in this case fifteen hundred vials of Scorn, worth a total of
$50 million on the street. You may inspect it, if you like."
        Steenbrinner flipped open the case to reveal the vials of green
liquid clutched firmly in styrofoam holders.
        "Uh, no, that's okay." said Honey, almost forgetting his fake
sneer, "We trust you."
        "I'm gratified to hear it. Now, may I see the money?"
        "Right! Give him the money, Dear."
        Dear gritted his teeth and glared angrily at his partner,
silently cursing him for blowing the cover identity he'd so cunningly
devised. Honey gulped, and they both sent their minds scrambling for
a way to salvage the situation.
        "'Dear?'" Steenbrinner repeated, arching both eyebrows this time.
        "Uh, yes, well..." stammered Dear.
        "Uh," Honey added, "you see, we... uh... that is, I..."
        "Gentlemen, please: there's no need to be embarassed. I'm not
the least bit concerned with your 'lifestyles,' as it were. Your money's
just as green as anybody else's."
        Honey and Dear found themselves frozen with mouths open and
fingers pointed accusingly at each other, struggling to figure out what
had just happened. Realization struck Honey first, largely because of
his slower reflexes.
        "*tsk* You see, Dear?" he said, combining a distinctly effeminite
voice with a few limp-wristed hand gestures, "I told you there was nothing
to worry about, you silly goose."
        "I'm sorry I doubted you. Honey." Dear hissed, as he handed over
a paper bag stuffed with cash.
        "I hope you don't mind if I count it." Steenbrinner asked over
a small giggle.
        "Oh that's fine by us." said Honey coyly, "It's not like
you'll ever have the chance to spend it."
        "I beg your pardon?"
        Honey and Dear exchanged confident glances before drawing their
guns and dropping into tightly coiled crouches.
        "Freeze!" snapped Honey, "You're under arrest for drug trafficking!"
        "You see," said Dear, "we're not really Sid Vicious and Rudy
Giuliani, gangster drug buyers. In reality, we're... Honey and Dear:
Undercover Narcs!"
        "Oh, gentlemen," said Steenbrinner, shaking his head, "I'm really
sorry to hear you say that. Bruno, destroy them."
        "You got it, boss."

CONTINUED IN PART THREE, IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING...