After the unfortunate demise of his police detective father, Wendell Dankworth and his friend Jerome Weeble take up the roles of private investigators and begin a search for the criminals responsible.
Their inexperience and bumbling leads them into...
Jerome stood with his hands out, shaking his head. "What the hell is that?"
"Don't start with me, Jerome. I did the best I could. Look at the size of the guy."
They both looked at Donnie, sloppily rolled up in a painter's drop sheet, his eyes burning holes in his two captors.
"Now what?"
"Now we have to get rid of him."
"Get rid- you mean kill him?" Jerome backed away, hands waving in the internationally recognized - no friggin' way!
"No! Don't be an idiot . . . just- just take him somewhere." Wendell saw the dilemma. If they dumped him and nobody found him, or he didn't escape, that could be considered killing him. If they dumped him and freed him as well, he would be back, and that would be killing them!
"I'm waiting."
"I'm thinking."
"Your skill set at work?"
Wendell knelt down beside Donnie and peeled the duct tape away from his mouth. Before he could even speak, Donnie railed about what he was going to do to both of them, spittle flying like a lawn sprinkler. Wendell slapped the tape back in position.
"You're not being very reasonable about this." Donnie's eye grew huge. "After all, you broke in here and threatened me--"
"And our office," Jerome added, his confidence seeping back.
"Right. So, I think a change of attitude is in order. I'm going to remove the tape again, but if you open your mouth before I say so, my partner here will fill it with more detergent."
"I will? Uh, yeah. Yeah, you bet I will." Jerome slipped on his sunglasses and sneered at Donnie.
They propped Donnie up with his back against the wall, actually less comfortable than before, and Wendell repeated his threat while he frisked the thug, and he peeled away the tape. Jerome hovered threateningly with a scoop of soap granules. His mind reached for the interrogation lessons again, and this time he tried the compassionate captor.
"Look, there's no need to continue with all the discomfort and anger, just tell us who you are, who you work for and why you are after us.
Donnie bared his teeth, "I'm your worst nightmare, and I work for someone who is worse than me."
"Okay. Good, that's a start. And why us?"
Cords stood out on Donnie's neck as he strained against the bonds under the drop sheet. His eye grew wild and appeared red.
"What's he doin'?" Jerome asked.
Wendell reconsidered his tactic and grabbed Donnie by the cheeks. "I gave you a chance, sucker, now it's no more nice guy. Why us?" He jerked the cheeks back and forth, and Donnie's face grew wilder.
"I don't think that's working, Wendy. Let's just feed him the soap."
Wendell sat back on his haunches and contemplated Donnie. "Is that what you really want, a mouthful of soap? Will that make you behave?"
The response came in the form of a loud roar as the drop sheet was kicked open, and Donnie's freed hands shot toward Wendell's throat.
******
The rental car pulled into a truck stop, coasting into cover beside a large tractor trailer. One man got out and walked around, looking in all directions before waving to the car. At the edge of the lot entrance, the trio of followers watched the group head inside to the diner.
"Was that Don Parco? Man, that is some nice." Lonny ventured.
"They're still being cautious," Walter pointed out. "We're gonna have to be smart about this."
"I could get into their car and you and Lonny could come from behind that trailer. We'd have them cold between us." Gus said.
"Here! In a busy truck stop?"
"Better than a busy highway, Walter. Stuff two in their trunk, one in ours, and Lonny can drive the rental. We'll take the broad in our car with us."
"Sounds good, Walter. Then we could go anywhere and take care of business." Lonny agreed.
"Alive, Lonny. Remember I told you Hardy said alive."
"Unless they're the hitters, he said."
"Right, so we get their names. Alright, let's do it this way. Get goin', Gus."
The plan worked to a tee. The surprise took them completely off guard, and soon the two cars were back on the road, trunks full of unhappy men, and a leggy Don Parco ensconced in the passenger seat beside a distracted Gus.
******
Gary Fletcher nursed his third shot of scotch, looking morosely into the bar mirror. Max was nuts if he thought Hardy gave one hoot about him doing what he was asked, he thought, swirling the liquid in the glass. Trouble was, Max had a perfect disguise if he needed to use it. He had nothing. Maybe Popeye wouldn't have been a bad idea. He swallowed the drink and pushed off the stool, taking a huge breath, and headed for the men's room.
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He stared inattentively at the graffiti scratched into the green finish of the stall door, his mind struggling to find a plan. After a moment, his attention focussed on the main word, and he suddenly had an associative thought - the two private eyes. Hardy was worried that they might have something dangerous to him, and if they did he might make a deal, or get hold of what they had for himself as insurance.
The more he thought, the better it sounded. With renewed confidence, he pulled the paper from the dispenser - one square . . . "Shit!"
******
Wendell screamed and flew backwards, hitting the wall, as Donnie launched himself forward. Startled, Jerome showered them both in detergent and threw the little plastic scoop at Donnie. The few seconds it provided were enough to send Wendell scurrying down the hall on his stomach, like a lizard. Donnie made a grab for his leg and Jerome jumped on his back, one hand on his collar, the other in the air for balance - it was pure rodeo.
Wendell rolled over and began kicking wildly at the advancing apparition, his throat raw from the non-stop scream. The narrow hall was a war zone, with bodies writhing and bouncing, profanity peeling the paint from the walls, and only grew louder when the front door opened.
"What the hell!"
Audrey took in the efforts of Jerome, slamming from side to side against the walls, while hanging on to the back of some huge man. And in front of him was Wendell, on his back like flipped turtle, bellowing like a moose. She grabbed Jerome by the belt and hauled him off then leaped onto the big man's back herself, wailing away with her purse.
The roaring suddenly ceased, and Donnie went down in a heap. Wendell stopped yelling and Jerome applauded.
"Aud, you da man!"
She turned and shrivelled him with a glance. The wall was covered in scuff marks. There was blood on the closet door, the floor, and the drop sheet, which she kicked aside angrily.
"This had better be the best excuse the world has ever heard."
