Lloyd adjusted his tie
and cleared his throat. “Ahem!” he
shouted, starkly refusing to use his inside voice. “I believe we’ve dilly-dallied enough for one
day, Miss Walters. Now is the time for
us to spring into action -- to defend this sacred burg from the malicious
clutches of evil.” He extended a hand to
Trixie. “I trust I can count on your
support?”
Trixie sighed. “Well, I wish ya wouldn’t use that flowery
speech o’ yers, but…” She nodded
quickly. “Don’t worry ‘bout a thing. I got yer back.”
“Excellent! Then let our advance begin!” He thrust a finger forward. “We will march onward, and act as the noble
sentry this town so deserves! Vile
villains, on your guard! For we come
with thunderous steps toward you, wherever you may hide! Be you north…” His finger spun around…along with the rest of
his body. “Or south! Or east!
Or west!” And he kept on spinning in a circle -- at
least until he twisted his legs and tumbled to the ground. “Or even the skies above…or at least the
highest roof in town!” he declared, pointing at the ceiling.
“Are we…are we really
gonna be okay?” Trixie asked.
“…I feel like I should
say somethin’ to try and answer that, but I dunno where to start.”
“Never you mind!” Lloyd
blared. “Our next course of action is
quite certain. While I would prefer not
to involve any innocents in this struggle, I suspect that we’ll need some
powerful allies if we’re to thwart Gaston’s plans in one fell swoop. As such, recruiting my father is our top
priority.”
“Finally, yer startin’
to make some sense, pal.” She folded her
arms and frowned. “Last time I saw him,
he wanted to split up; no tellin’ where he might be now.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry
about that too much, Miss Walters.”
Lloyd leaned past her and glanced at the hanging clock. “Hmmm, I see.
A bit past one o’ clock on a Monday afternoon, with one of his sons in
mortal peril…yes, I know exactly where he would be at this time.”
“Eh? Where?”
“Porbeagle has a sort
of…shall we say, ‘defensive array’ when it comes to handling my father in one
of his trademark fits of parental rage.
But I suppose you’d be better off seeing it with your own eyes.” Lloyd started for the door, waving the back
of his hand at Trixie. “Shall we be on
our way? Though I would prefer to keep
you out of this conflict, doubtless I’ll need your aid most of all.”
“Yeah, I’m right behind
ya. Just gimme a minute, okay?”
As Lloyd opened the
door, he turned towards her and smiled eagerly.
“Ah, of course! You need a moment
to attend to feminine ailments! By chance,
do you require assistance?”
“Am I gonna have to
throw somethin’ else at yer face?”
Lloyd leapt back, and
pulled his arms over his body in defense.
“I-I was only venturing a guess!” he wailed, standing bow-legged in the
doorway. “I would never have imagined that
you really --”
“Don’t even think about
sayin’ --”
“--had to poop! I thought that was an old wives’ tale!” Lloyd leaned forward and adjusted his
glasses. “Er…wait. We are discussing the same matter,
right? And if so, why is your face
reddening so rapidly? Are you well? Have you caught cold?”
Trixie -- as red as the
blood that she considered making flow from Lloyd’s broken nose -- pointed
outside. “J-just go wait in the yard for
a minute, all right? There’s some stuff
I need to do!”
Lloyd offered a quick
bow, and shut the front door behind him.
With the prince out of sight, Trixie pressed a hand to her
forehead. “Jeez…that guy sure is
exhausting,” she muttered, shaking her head.
“Just hope he ain’t pushin’ himself too hard…but, anyway…” She headed back to the den’s corner and
picked up the carving knife. She would
have put it away earlier, but she had a hunch that letting Lloyd see her with a
potential weapon wouldn’t be good for his heart. Or his bladder, for that matter.
“Crap. Where do these guys keep their knives
anyway?” Her eye roved across the
kitchen drawers, but not for long -- one of them had been slid out just a bit
farther than the rest. She walked
forward and opened it; sure enough, a cache of cutlery awaited her. As soon as she found a large enough slot, she
dropped the carving knife back in place.
And she would have
closed the drawer, if not for the fact that she kept staring at all the knives
-- and the knives stared back at her.
“They sure have a lotta knives,” she murmured -- but she barely noticed
she’d spoken.
For some reason, she
couldn’t help but…
*
The afternoon sun
started to bear down on Porbeagle’s infamous Triangle Square with gusto. Townsfolk and visitors alike knew, more or
less, why it was infamous; according to travel brochures it was the focal point
of a battle between an army of incensed crabs and the legendary fisherman, Wilfred
S. Triangle, and his comrades. As a
testament to his heroism, a statue had been left in his honor…ironically, atop
a circle-shaped swath of concrete.
Nevertheless, it had
become a focal point of the town. A
quartet of roads fed into the asphalt surrounding the swath; there was no
shortage of paint that should have directed traffic, but it begged for more
crashes than safe driving (the base of Triangle’s statue bore its fair share of
stony scars). In spite of that, rustic
shops and stands stood sentry over the square, with pastel hues -- and
fish-laden knickknacks -- that would have put a smile on the fishing hero’s
face. Even if they didn’t, he would have
found solace in the ocean on the eastern horizon, as well as the leafy hills
peeking over distant buildings.
It should have been a
peaceful area -- a quiet memorial to such a momentous figure. And normally, it was. But for the moment -- for yet another moment
-- it played host to a mob of raging townsfolk.
They clogged the streets with their melded bodies, each one shouting
more than the last. Even the children
seemed ready to bathe in their enemy’s blood.
What sort of
enemy? Who else but a Hoigleheimer?
Patton groaned, with
the low rumble strong enough to make the buildings tremble a bit. “You know, I don’t mind you folk going to
town on me,” he said with his best poker face.
“But when you start messing with steaks, you’re crossing the line.”
“And you haven’t?” a
businessman asked.
“Last time I checked, I
never did anything as dirty as stuffing a steak full of tranquilizer
darts.” He glanced aside. “How did you all even do that?” Of course, he probably should have spent more
time worrying about his state of affairs -- propped up on a girder-formed
podium, and shackled like a shaved King Kong.
Not the most welcoming of positions, but at the very least, no one had
asked for him to be burned at the stake.
“Burn him! Burn him alive!” old Mrs. Nickleworth
yelled. She waved her cane through the
air. “He’s a menace! An enemy to the elderly!”
“I wouldn’t be if you
old bags of bones had the sense to stay the hell out of my way,” Patton
growled. But he shrugged it off -- at
least, he shrugged as well as he could with his wrists cuffed; as much as he
loved looking like a flexing bodybuilder, he’d had an itch on his ankle for the
past half-hour. “So, what’s it gonna
take to get you all to let me go? ‘Cause
if it’s another discount on some of the Hoigleheimer wares, we can settle this
easy. Dolls, dollhouses, doll
accessories -- and now, the family business has branched off into plating and
tea se-”
“Don’t think you can
buy us off!”
Patton glanced aside,
ignoring the growing rabble. “Still need
to work on my sales pitch, JP,” he mumbled.
But before he could start wondering when he’d go to the next convention,
an armored truck strolled up the street and dispersed the crowd. A trio of hefty men poured out of the back,
flinging the doors wide open -- doors, Patton noticed, that had steel bars
built into the windows. He probably
didn’t want to go in; getting out of there -- or from his cuffs, for that
matter -- would likely do more harm than good, given his current reputation.
Mrs. Nickleworth
flashed her most malevolent grin. “Now
we’ve got you right where we want you.”
“Not if I can help it!”
The crowd’s heated
rambling dulled for a bit as they searched for the sound’s source. But they didn’t have to look for long. Someone placed a hand atop the armored
truck’s edge…two hands, and nothing more.
“Curses! Foiled by my
arch-nemesis -- the dreaded pull-up!”
The hands quivered, and then slipped off the edge. “M-Miss Walters, an assist, if you would!”
Ka-PRODDING SHOVE OF A
BOOT!
Lloyd’s body flopped
atop the roof of the truck before he could even say “My fragile derrière!” and
crashed face-first into the metal. But
rather than burst into tears, he leapt to his feet and spread out his arms,
like a clergyman ready to preach a great gospel. “People of Porbeagle, I implore you -- free
that man! He has done no harm but sought
to save his kin! Would you persecute him
merely for his earnest spirit and love?”
“YES!” the mob shouted.
Trixie rested her chin
atop the truck’s edge, and tugged on Lloyd’s pants. “Ya sure ya know what yer doin’? ‘Cause things ain’t exactly lookin’ their
best…”
“I should be able to
dissuade their fury with a heartfelt appeal,” Lloyd whispered. He turned back to the matter at hand. “Citizens!
Fair admirers of the sea! For
what reason would you treat your brethren so?”
“He kicked my cat
across a block!”
“He left a hole in my
shop!”
“He hurt my
self-esteem!” The crowd turned inward to look at the
baker. “A-and he ruined my fresh batch
of bread! And kidnapped my wife!”
Lloyd raised his
eyebrows and looked at Patton.
“Really? You’re ready to start
dating again?”
“He’s lying,
Lloyd. Nobody likes that baker anyway.”
The baker burst into
tears. “See? There he goes again!”
Nobody paid attention
to him, of course. They just looked back
at the armored truck -- not at the idiot who stood atop it, but the
gruff-looking Neanderthal that clambered out of the driver’s seat. “Now what’s all this about? Can’t a guy earn some dough in peace?”
Lloyd gasped. “You…Rosco!
Mammon’s finest agent -- we meet again!”
He thrust a finger at Rosco (forgetting the lesson he’d been taught the
first time). “Foul cretin! What grudge d you bear against all I love?!”
“I ain’t got a grudge
against nobody , kid,” Rosco announced.
“I’m just doin’ my job and gettin’ paid.” But even as he spoke, that didn’t stop a
sleazy grin from spreading across his face.
“And right now, my job is makin’ sure you never see your old man again.”
Trixie tugged at
Lloyd’s pants. “Lloyd, why is yer family
so good at makin’ enemies?”
TO BE HEARTINUED…
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