“Nobody move!”
Rembrandt’s voice cracked slightly, and seemed pitifully weak in the wake of the senses-shattering din, but no one chose to challenge her.
Ironically, considering the gaping hole in the wall, someone had to open the door from the inside to let the troops in.
As some disarmed the shaken criminals, including relieving Maxine of her sleeve pistol, others opened the drapes and waved at the crowd below.
“We got him! He’s okay!” they called, and a faint cheer answered them from below.
Maxine tipped some debris off one of the chairs, then sat down on it, resting her arms on the table as a host of Legionnaires watched her carefully.
“Well, Captain,” she said, “it looks like I underestimated you again.”
“Actually I believe you underestimated my troops,” Phule corrected, winking at the Legionnaires, who grinned back at him. “Them … and Beeker, of course.”
“Of course,” Max said, sending a dark look toward the butler. “I certainly shan’t forget his role in this. Well, I’ll know better next time.”
“Next time?” The Legionnaire commander frowned. “I really don’t think there’ll be a next time, Mrs. Pruet. I believe the charges against you will keep you out of circulation for quite a while.”
“Nonsense, Captain,” Maxine said, favoring him with a superior smirk. “Do you think it’s accidental that I’ve never been arrested? Laverna! Please fetch me some paper and a pen.”
“Do you really think you can just walk away from this?” Phule said, shaking his head in disbelief. “There’s no one you can write to with enough authority to keep you from going to jail.”