"You . . . called to gush about a piece of tail?" Jon asked through laughter.

Once she was safe inside the department store and out of his line of sight, Steelbeak found he could concentrate again. "Er -- no. Take a listen ta dis." He held the phone closer to the engine and revved it. "So whatcha hear?"

"Bring her in," Jon said. "Sounds electrical to me but I'll have to take a look to be sure."

Steelbeak nodded. "Yeah, dat's what I kinda figured. All right -- I'll see ya tomorrow den."

"I look forward to it. Don't go for any real long trips until I check out your ride, though."

"I won't." He groaned. There went the rest of his plans for the day.

Just as he hung up with Jon, another call came in. This one nearly made him lose his balance on the motorcycle -- it was High Command.

"Agent Steelbeak," a cold voice crackled on the other end of the line. Without a visual, he had no idea which shadow was calling, or if it was two shadows or even all three.

"'Igh Command!" He replied, opening the visor of his helmet to rub his eyes nervously. "I'm so glad ya called!" Steelbeak chuckled nervously, certain that his lie was painfully obvious -- even over the phone.

"Dispense with the false pleasantries, Agent Steelbeak."

He cringed, guessing that it was the vulture-esque shadow who had called. "Sorry. Um . . . Did ya need me ta pick ya up somet'in' at de mall?"

"Pick something up, yes. At the mall, no. We need a rare, ancient opal dragon carved by an Indonesian Monk."

"Why do I get de feeling dat you can't find dis dragon at de corner drug store?"

"On the contrary, Agent Steelbeak. This carving has found its way into the possession of one Wendsworth Quackmore, proprietor of St. Canard's Fourteen Karat Jewel Garden. You will find your target there."