CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

" . . . and I want it all up front, y'hear? Heh, great! Yeah, whatever. Sayonara." Negaduck slammed the phone down on its cradle, the abused appliance ringing in protest. If Megavolt had been in the room, he may have rushed to the telephone's aid. But, much to Negaduck's dismay, neither he nor Quackerjack had responded to his summons yet.

"Where are those knobs?" he growled, then turned his attention to the dripping dog splashing up to the table with a coffee mug in paw. "You did notify Quackerjack that I called a meeting, didn't you?"

"Of course," Liquidator replied nervously. "One-hundred percent guaranteed!"

Looking between the two present members of the Fearsome Five, Negaduck cursed. What good was having a supervillian alliance if half of those supervillians failed to attend meetings? However, the two missing members were also two of his least reliable lackeys; Megavolt with his constant whining and Quackerjack with his completely insane tangents. Of the other two -- Bushroot was loyal, and at least would never back-talk in his cowardice, and Liquidator was the only mentally stable villain out of the quartet. And that was being generous at times. His proclivity for rambling on like an informercial was downright maddening.

" . . . actual attendance may vary," the aqueous pup added, punctuating Negaduck's thoughts.

With little concern for the tardy attendees -- they would be dealt with later -- Negaduck looked at his agenda and started the meeting without them.

"Whatever. Meeting will come to order. Liquidator, we got you down here for a report on the stockyards district. How's everything going down there?"

"I'll read you the figures and let you tell me, Boss. We took over that territory from F.O.W.L. at the end of last March. And right away things got better. For example, beer sales for the thirty day period ending November second are up twenty-one point four percent. As advertised, when it comes to sellin' beer, those eggmen don't know their hats from third base."

Negaduck slammed his palms against the tabletop. It made an impressive pop that caused Bushroot to leap in his seat. "For Quack's sake! All I get outta you guys is talk! The rest of the time you're struttin' around with dollar cigars in your kissers like a bunch of bankers!" He paused to get a few wicked chuckles out. "Big shots!"

Bushroot cringed. "What, uh . . . What's wrong, Negaduck?"

Slowly, Negaduck turned to face Bushroot, his eyes narrowed and a scowl on his bill. "What's. Wrong?" He planted his hands gracefully on the table, this time to provide leverage to stand. Slowly, he started circling the table. "Did you guys just get off the boat or something, huh? Am I the only guy around here who knows what's going on in this town?" Negaduck paused long enough to pour himself a glass of water, glancing pointedly at his liquid lackey. "Now, let me give you some real facts. Not the kind of "lovin' kisses" we've been getting from our good pal, Liquidator, here. Nobody has to tell me we're makin' money in the stockyards or anyplace else on the south side or the west side of St. Canard. But what about the north side, Licky? I don't hear nice fact figures on that! Or maybe you figure that end of town ain't worth holdin' on to?"



go back | return to table of contents | continue