“Lighten up, Spence,” sighed Moe Strickland.
“Why aren’t you shitheads up top in rehearsal? Everybody’s supposed to be there.”
“Because we’re boycotting,” said Jeremiah-Dumpling. “We’re not going to be in the damn show.”
Mooher’s mouth twisted. “Yes, you are,” he said. “This is the Summerfest Jubilee!”
“I don’t care if it’s the second coming of Christ,” said Jeremiah-Dumpling. “We’re not performing.”
Moe Strickland added, “It’s a labor action, Spence. Nothing you can do.”
“No?” With one hand Mooher grabbed the veteran character actor by the throat and slammed him against a row of tall lockers. The actor elves could only cry out helplessly as the muscular security officer banged Uncle Ely’s head again and again, until blood began to trickle from his ears. The racket of bone against metal was harrowing, and amplified in the bare tunnel.
Finally Spence Mooher stopped. He held Moe Strickland at arm’s length, three feet off the ground; the actor kicked spasmodically.
“Have you reconsidered?” Mooher asked. Moe Strickland’s eyelids drooped, but he managed a nod.
A deep voice down the passageway said, “Let him go.”
Spence Mooher released Uncle Ely and wheeled to face…a bum. An extremely tall bum, but a bum nonetheless. It took the security guard a few moments to make a complete appraisal: the damp silver beard, braided on one cheek only; the flowered plastic rain hat pulled taut over the scalp; the broad tan chest wrapped in heavy copper-stained bandages; a red plastic collar around the neck; one dead eye steamed with condensation, the other alive and dark with anger; the mouthful of shiny white teeth.
Here, thought Spence Mooher, was a bum to be reckoned with. He came to this conclusion approximately one second too late, for the man had already seized Mooher’s testicles and twisted with such forcefulness that all strength emptied from Mooher’s powerful limbs; quivering, he felt a rush of heat down his legs as he soiled himself. When he tried to talk, a weak croaking noise came out of his mouth.
“Time to go night-night,” said the bum, twisting harder. Spence Mooher fell down unconscious.
With a slapping of many oversized feet, the actor-elves scurried toward the slack figure of Moe Strickland, who was awake but in considerable pain. Jeremiah-Dumpling lifted Moe’s bloody head and said, “This is the guy we told you about. The one in the dumpster.”
Skink bent down and said, “Pleased to meet you, Uncle Ely. I think your buddies better get you to the vet.”
Charles Chelsea tested the door to Francis X. Kingsbury’s office and found it locked. He tapped lightly but received no reply.
“I know he’s in there,” Chelsea said.
Danny Pogue said, “Allow us.” He produced a small screwdriver and easily popped the doorjamb.
“Like ridin” a bicycle,” said Bud Schwartz.
From inside the raccoon costume came a hollow command. The others stood back while Joe Winder opened the door. Upon viewing the scene, he clapped his paws and said: “Perfect.”
Francis X. Kingsbury was energetically fondling himself in front of a television set. On the screen, a dark young man in a torn soccer jersey was copulating with a wild-haired brunette woman, who was moaning encouragement in Spanish. Other video cassettes were fanned out like a poker hand on the desk.
Kingsbury halted mid-pump and wheeled to confront the intruders. The boxer shorts around his ankles greatly diminished his ability to menace. Today’s hairpiece was a silver Kenny Rogers model.
“Get out,” Kingsbury snarled. He fumbled for the remote control and turned off the VCR. He seemed unaware that the Amazing Kingdom’s stalwart mascot, Robbie Raccoon, was pointing a loaded semi-automatic at him. Joe Winder tucked the gun under one arm while he unzipped his head and removed it.
“So you’re alive,” Kingsbury hissed. “I had a feeling, goddammit.”
Bud Schwartz laughed and pointed at Kingsbury, who shielded his receding genitals. The burglar said, “The asshole’s wearing golf shoes!”
“For traction,” Joe Winder theorized.
Charles Chelsea looked disgusted. Danny Pogue tossed a package on the desk. “Here,” he said to Kingsbury, “even though you tried to kill us.”
“What’s this?”
“The files we swiped. Ramex, Gotti, it’s all there.”
Kingsbury was confused. Why would they return the files now? Bud Schwartz read his expression and said, “You were right. It was out of our league.”