"Why can't we just go in and take him? Two wannabe tough guys and a woman that doesn't even want him there aren't going to stop us."

"Mr. Undergrove, I don't want to begin my reign in this city with a possible triple killing. What I do want to do," Don Parco stood and went to her purse, "is give you all a demonstration of the product that is going to make us all a lot of money." She turned, spinning the mask on her hand, and smiling at Max.

"This ain't Halloween, lady." Benjamin looked to Fletcher for support.

"It works for me, Benny. An old man snatches the nephew, and they could give a description right down to the nth degree, and it wouldn't mean a thing - the old man doesn't exist."

"This I'd have to see." Benjamin frowned and shrugged.

"You will, Mr. Undergrove. Just make yourself comfortable and I'll be back shortly." Don Parco left the room, still spinning the mask on her hand.

******

"I tell you, man, when she came back downstairs in that get up, I was friggin' blown away!" Benjamin sat shaking his head.

"Damn good, even if I do say so." Max grinned appreciatively, as they watched from the parked car, Don Parco climb the front steps of the house.

"Those two saw it in my shop that time they came there." Max said.

"I'm not worried about those dunces, The woman is the one who'll twig if any of them do." Fletcher cautioned.

"No way," Max argued. "It's perfect."

"I gotta agree." Benjamin added.

"We'll soon see."

Audrey heard the knock at the front door and went to answer, opening it up to see a weary, stooped, old man.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for a Wendell Dankworth? Does he live here?" The voice was odd, and Audrey frowned as she listened, peering closer at the man.

"May I ask what this is about?"

"Please, Miss, does he live here?"

"Yes, but--"

The gun appeared, and the weary stoop disappeared, as Don Parco pushed through into the hallway.

"Get him out here. Now!"

"Hey, just who do you think you are!" Audrey pushed back and took a nasty blow to the side of her head. She cried out, and Wendell's voice could be heard calling her name.

He stopped in the hall entrance, staring at the old man then at Audrey, who was holding the side of her head. A few seconds later, Jerome bumped into him from behind.

"What's happenin'?"

"I don't know, but this old geez hit Audrey."

"What! Hey, I know him - I mean . . ." Jerome's brow creased. "Yeah! That's the face that was on Shines work table."

"Both of you, back inside." The gun waved between them, and Audrey was shoved after them. "We can do this fast and easy or slow and hard. Where's Jesús Amano?"

"Who?" They both asked at once.

"Don't make me hurt your little lady. Jesús Amano."

"Your guest, Wendy." Audrey's voice grated angrily.

"Yeah, Wendy, your guest. Get him out here." Don Parco ordered.

Jesús struggled against being dragged into the room. His fingers clawing at the door frame and the backs of chairs, as he came to a quivering halt in front of the old man.

"Nephew, how nice to see you again."

"Auntie!" He fell to his knees, grovelling. "I said nothing. I told them nothing. I was shot, they kidnapped me."

"Auntie?" Jerome looked at Wendell.

He nodded slowly and a smile began. "Yeah . . . Audrey, Jerome, meet the broad they smuggled in from Colombia. Dumb Paco, was it?"

The insult brought an instant rage, and she grasped the mask, ripping it off, but catching it on the pins that held her hair, and her eyes were temporarily covered. Wendell grabbed for the gun, tripping on Jesús and falling onto Audrey. Jerome grabbed her other arm and yanked her free, letting his partner and Audrey complete their fall onto the sofa.

The gun fired into the ceiling. Jesús screamed. Don Parco's curses were muffled by the half-off mask, and Jerome did his best to grapple her from behind, keeping her gun hand raised.

******

"Shit! she shot someone!" The three men bust out of the car and down the street to the house, bumping and crowding one another as they crammed through the door.

"Parco?" Undergrove called, his instinct having him duck low and move to one side, as he entered the living room, gun raised.

"Aiyeeee!" Jesús screamed again, curling into a fetal position.

Fletcher followed, with Max holding his back. "Drop the gun!"

Jerome spun around, using Don Parco as a squirming shield, trying to pull her gun hand down to aim at Fletcher. "A little help, Wendell." He cried.

Wendell climbed off of Audrey and sank to his knees beside Jerome. Holding his own gun to Don Parco's side.

"You want your boss lady to come out of this, drop the gun - you too Underwear," he snarled, deliberately.

"I could knock you and Amos there off in a second. Want to chance that?"

Exhausted, and now angry at the slurs he had suffered, Jerome let out a jungle yell and shoved Don Parco ahead of him across the room. The three men hesitated, unsure, then fell back into one another as their boss lady hit them like a battering ram.

Gunfire. Curses. Cries of pain, and a lot of yelling took place before the skirmish ended with a loud command from Wendell. Jerome snatched up the firearms along with a recovered Audrey, while Wendell kept the intruders covered. Max had been shot in the foot, and was groaning and whining endlessly. Undergrove, was trying to reset a broken finger from when his gun was yanked from his hand. And Fletcher dabbed at a split lip, giving his captors a defeated look.

It was Jesús who crawled across the room to the body of his aunt, rolling her onto her back and peeling the mask off the rest of the way. Her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, and the seeping red hole in her neck told him his aunt was no longer a threat.

******

"Detective Sergeants Becker and Creswell interview, case file 398H. July 22, Time 8:42. Principals Wendell Dankworth and Jerome Weeble."

"I thought we were here to give statements." Wendell stated. "Why an interrogation room?"

"Gee, I don't know, maybe because you were arrested at the scene of a homicide." Creswell.

"There are some other things that need to be clarified." Becker smiled and opened the file in front of him. Creswell remained standing near the door. "By the way, I knew your dad. Great cop. Great man. Tough what happened."

"Thank you. What things need clarifying?"

"There seems to be a connection with the Metro Club Massacre. Care to explain?"

"What connection?" Jerome looked nervously at Wendell.

"Fingerprints?" Becker pulled a sheet from the file and slid it across the table. "They seem to match those we took tonight. These are from the bar at the Metro Club."

The partners both began at once with their version of an excuse, stuttering to halt when Becker raised his hand, palm toward them.

"One at a time. Dankworth." He rotated his hand, indicating permission.

"We went there in the course of our investigation, and we saw what happened, and uh, we helped the survivors."

"The course of your investigation . . . what investigation?"

"Ours. Dankworth and Weeble Private Investigators."