Mile eight.

It was a daily thrill for him to complete his runs. On good days they were a way to release the explosive energy that his positive attitude had manifested. On bad days they were a way to gain insight and clarity into whatever trouble life had trickled onto his path. And on every other day, his running proved as an outlet. All in all, it was one of the best things he did for himself.

He remembered that time those four or so years ago (has it been that long?) that the public eye began to turn a favorable gaze onto his diligent work as the city’s (and at times the world’s) vigilante. First came, dare he say it, positive articles about him in the front page of the newspapers. Then came news appearances, a demand for his face in the public eye, and eventually interviews. Opal Windbag was the first talk show host to demand his appearance, and although he feigned disinterest and hesitated in returning her calls (he was actually so deeply enthralled that he started doing back hand springs in his living room when he found out) he felt it an amazing way to enchant the public even more.

Drake rounded another corner and began to jog through a sparsely wooded park located in central St. Canard. He weaved in and out of people’s way, feeling the sweat trickle from his brow and run down his beak.

He remembered with ease at the news broadcasting that had incepted his dire need to get into shape. He was chasing down Negaduck, and although the villain wasn’t in any better shape, Darkwing had just about gotten so winded that he nearly collapsed. An interview with Tom Lockjaw later proved no relief when he realized, while viewing the news the next day, that he looked almost on the brink of (ach, he hated remembering it) fat. “I’ve got to do something.” he remembered muttering to Gosalyn, who became his personal trainer for the next few months.

Drake slowed for a moment to get a cold drink from a shaded water fountain. He was now at 9 miles, and he was determined to run the long way home to get 11 down. Yesterday’s workout with his Quack Fu master instructor was a brutal one, but he knew he could do it. He wiped the sweat from his face with the edge of his saturated tee shirt, and heard a familiar whistle. He looked up to see a young woman, dressed in tight workout gear, whistle at him as she jogged slowly by. He credited his six pack abdominals, and gave the woman a sheepish grin as she turned around and smiled at him. He laughed to himself and continued on.

He remembered that Gosalyn had to return to softball after their 3 or 4 months of working out together, and although she no longer resided as his trainer, he had learned so much from he about healthy exercising that he took it from there. It was amazing how much better he felt, for he could now outrun any vile villain that came across his path. His body had begged him to do it, beckoned even. He had answered the call and oh, how he reaped the benefits!

Drake eventually made his way back to Avian Way. The first thing he saw as the passed the comfortable Victorian-style homes of his neighbors was of the black Escalade that sat gleaming in the front drive of his home. He shook his head as he gazed at it. He still couldn’t believe he owned a vehicle so extravagant. It’s addition to the Mallard household came right alongside the simultaneous earnings that he had reaped from a successful line of Darkwing Duck-based apparel and toys, and of course, the fifth or so time that good ‘ol’ blue’ the station wagon broke down. He had allowed the almost-sixteen Gosalyn to talk him into trading them off, as well as buying her the BMW 3 series car she was dying for. He consented, only because he knew it would make her giddy and that he couldn’t care less what he drove. Let the Ratcatcher be in good shape and he would be content with the world.

Mile eleven.

He had done it, and although he felt that searing ache of exhaustion run up through his body, he felt triumphant. He walked from the Muddlefoot’s property over to his, where he greeted his driving age daughter outside of their home. She had the windows rolled down on his Escalade, blasting music that entitled a translator to alter into real words. She was dancing rhythmically as she washed her bright red car, stopping every once in a while to break into a contorted dance not fit for a circus sideshow.

“Yo, what up poppa D?!” Gosalyn slid her dark sunglasses down to the brim of her beak as she approached her, only to slide them back into place once more and continue singing, “ You know you want the goodies, bet you thought about ‘em, got you all hot n’ bothered, mad cuz I talk about it…lookin’ for the goodies, keep on lookin’ cuz they stay in tha jar…ohhh whoa, oh whoa, oh whoa oh whoa…”

Drake winced as he stopped in front of her. “Amazing, utterly amazing.”

“What?” She had to half-yell over the music.

“I’m amazed that you can’t fathom the concept of retaining a bit of your American history homework, yet you manage to decode and memorize this song with sterling clarity.” He smiled at her, a smile that he had hoped to keep hidden. He just thought her so hilarious as she swiped her car with the cleaning sponge, broke into dance, gave another swipe, and continued the pattern. She really was a comical kid to have around.

“What can I say, I guess I’m just an amazing person.” She gave another grin, one that exposed pearly whites that sacrificed thousands of his dollars plus the three or so years required to keep braces on, and then continued about her work.

Drake walked past her and up towards the house, the last of her song drowning out any post-run thoughts.

“Just because you drive a benz I’m not goin’ home wich you, you won’t get no nookie or the cookies…I’m no rookie…and still I’m sexy, independent, I ain’t wit it so you already know…I’m not bein’ too dramatic, that’s the way I gotta have it….OOH! You think you’re slick, tryin’ a hit, but I’m not dumb, I’m not bein’ too dramatic that’s just how I gotta have it!!”

*********************************************************************************************************************

Freshly showered, shaved, and in a gray tee shirt and loose khakis, Drake fell onto the spinning chairs and became enveloped in the florescent-white lights of Darkwing Tower. He opted not to don his Darkwing Duck persona yet, and he nearly skipped over to Launchpad as he was lying face-down under the Thunderquack.

Drake noticed that Launchpad had no idea that he had come across, and being innately fabricated in maintaining the element of surprise, looked at his sidekick with a silent smile. Launchpad was wheeled under the enormous plane on his back, with only his webbed feet sticking forth. Beside him was an old beaten radio, which was playing drastically different music than what Gosalyn was dancing to. Launchpad hummed and sang along with the music as he tinkered away, his exposed feet swaying gently to the music.

“It’s rainin’ men, alleluia it’s rainin’ men, amen!! Oooohhhh! ”

Drake had to fight to contain busting up laughing, realizing that Launchpad, the dimmer of the trio in intellect, was the proverbial Michelangelo of the mechanic world.

“Wow, Lp, had I known you were that good at singing, I would have sent you out a long time ago!”

Launchpad immediately wheeled himself out from under the plane, sitting up to expose a reddened face. “Oh, heheh, I didn’t realize you were standin’ there, DW.”

Drake smiled, in too good of a mood to do anything less. “Oh that’s cool, Lp. Whatever gets the job done.” He then motioned to the plane. “How’s it coming?”

Launchpad was eager to change the subject and said, “Oh, uh great! She’s almost ready for a night of patrolling.”

“Take your time, buddy. It’s only six o’clock. I’m going to go over to Morg’s for a couple of hours before we head out, so we’re in no rush. The city’s been quiet lately, so I’m sure tonight will consist of nothing more than preserving the streets of jaywalkers.” The mallard then added, “If you want to order a couple of pizzas for dinner, there’s cash under the cookie jar.”

Launchpad smiled, “Sure thing, DW.”

Drake nodded and turned to leave.

“Oh, DW?”

“Yeah, Lp?”

“Where, um…would you have sent me?”

Drake looked at his comrade curiously. “What?”

“You know, if you would have…ahem, ‘noticed that I was good at singing’ long ago?”

Drake gave a grin and said over his shoulder, “Vegas, Lp. Where else do grown men sing that kind of stuff?”

Launchpad’s face turned even ruddier as he watched Drake recline into a spinning chair and disappear immediately. Once he was gone, Launchpad thought about changing the radio station, yet thought against it. DW knew him way too well, and he felt such gratitude for that.

*****************************************************************************************************

J Gander Hooter, director the espionage agency abbreviated S.H.U.S.H., paced ditheringly in his office. He realized suddenly that his necktie had become all too tight on him, and he struggled to loosen the thing from around his neck.

“Damn Barbara and her nimble fingers.” he growled as he threw the fabric down at his feet with a rush of anger. He instantly regretted damning his wife, and took a few breaths to keep his cool.

What cool? Who could keep their cool at a moment like this?

J Gander sighed aloud, and walked over to a large window that overlooked the city. Since he was on an upper floor of S.H.U.S.H headquarter’s corporate building, he could almost see to the ocean. Summer beamed its dark red orb of a sun over the busy city, refusing to give yield to nightfall until nine o’clock or so. J Gander wished then for it to be nightfall. Night masks so much. He wished with all of his heart and soul that he could mask this from his mind.

Night. Mask. Darkwing.

The unpublicized leader of the free world tapped his fingers impatiently on the window’s dark-stained oak sill. He could very easily summon the help of Darkwing Duck, but was this a job for him? J Gander never made it an option to involve S.H.U.S.H agents in the private affairs of his life, but then again, Darkwing Duck was no agent. He was in a league all his own. He could very easily help to uncover this huge, gargantuan problem for him, yet he didn’t know if that was out of line or not. Was it out of line to find whatever means necessary to aid him in resolving such a huge problem in his personal life?

J Gander sauntered over to his desk, called his wife, and informed her that he might not make it home that night. He assured her he’d be at the office all night, intent on getting caught up on some cases that pleaded for his attention. Once he tied that loose end up, he sat down at his desk. Everyone else in the building would be gone, give a few scientists who had nothing better to do than to uncover yet more tentative hypothesis on the scientific world. J Gander looked around his lavish office, thought of an idea, thought against it, thought of it again, and thought against it once more.

Giving into it, he pivoted in his leather chair, opened a cabinet that lay inconspicuous amongst his monstrous collection of hard-bound books stacked library-style, and resurrected a large glass bottle of scotch. He took a crystal glass that lay near it, blew some of the dust that had collected on it, and poured him a tall drink. He took a sip, and without even grimacing, sighed in utter misery.

***************************************************************************************************

The summer air smelt fresh, almost sweet down by the docks. The sun was setting, and mosquitos and other creatures of the night began to gather for their dusk feeding. It would be nightfall soon, and he would have to either get some bug spray, or return to his mansion and recline in the entrapments of a bug-proofed screen that covered his back yard.

He opted for the latter.

A smile crept onto his cleanly-shaven face, a smile of interest because he knew that his wife was still with her mother across town. That meant it was playtime. Playtime with Candy. He loved Candy, and how sweet she was to the taste. Just like the real stuff.

His lovely wife wasn’t a bother even when at home. While she was out on leave a few months back, he had a new basement put in under the west wing of the mansion, with a secret entrance only he knew about. That way, when she drank herself into a coma at eight o’clock, he could escape to his hideaway with his favorite sweet treat.

The slight sound of a motor boat cutting its engine cut his daydreaming short. He watched as several men tied down the large motor boat to the dock, and as two began to unload the crates with agile speed, a third walked up to the gray-feathered duck clad in a white suit.

“Jack Marshfield?”

He took a drag of a smuggled Cuban cigar he held in his hand and smiled. “Yesss.”

The younger goose, in black from head to toe, walked up to him. “We’ve got it all in.”

“All of it?”

“Yessir.”

“You packed ‘em where they-”

“Thirty-two thousand Missy Prissy Dolls.” The man interrupted, instantly regretting doing so. Jack Marshfield did not look happy to be interrupted, and the disdain in his voice gave the goose chills.

“I’ve got twelve trucks ready. Six stay in St. Canard. Three to Chicago, three to New York. Load them here, and be quick about it. We don’t want any Coast Guard assholes down our throats.”

“Yessir.” The goose made damn sure that Jack had finished his statement.

“I’ll stay here until you load up. I’ve got the paperwork in order. You have any trouble, call me on my cell. It’s on the shipping slip.” Another puff of the cigar and he turned to acknowledge three of his trusted truck drivers that had approached him. “My dispatchers have all of your info. Get into any shit, let ‘em search the truck. There’s nothing wrong with shipping toy dolls to toy stores.”

The truck drivers gave him greasy smiles before nodding and turning to leave. Jack watched everyone scurry about their jobs, a keen grin on his face. Once everyone finished and dispersed, he slipped into his black Porsche and sped into the dimming summer sun.

***************************************************************************************************************************

“…I want to make you feel beautiful…I don’t mind spendin’ every day, outside your window in the pourin’ rain. Look for the girl with the broken smile, ask her if she wants to stay awhile, ‘cause she wiiiilllll be loved, she wiiiillll be looovvved, she wiiiillll be loved, by me-”

Drake watched Morgana giggle at him-which in turn made him smile- as she turned her head towards him. She was lying there on her back, amidst crumpled silken sheets, bare except for her silken strands of hair that fell loosely around her. Her emerald eyes, which were seemingly sparkling in the candlelight, met his bright blue ones as he laid on his side, his right hand resting his head up while his left gently stroked her tight abdomen.

She pulled his face onto hers for a slow kiss.

“You sure are cute right now.” She whispered to him, as she watched the beads of sweat running from his chest glisten like dew drops in the dim light.

“You sure are beautiful right now.” He said in return, watching her watch him closely. She couldn’t help but notice how his muscles gleamed in the light. He was by no means built, but he was exceptionally toned. She thought him so sexy right then that she felt an overwhelming desire to do to him what he’d just done for her. And she would, before the night was over. Yet it was times like these that she enjoyed talking to him so much. She rarely ever got a chance to just put all of his energy and attention into her. He always had so much more to worry about. Yet this was her time. These five or so hours were hers, and no one was to take them from her.

“Sometimes, I think that I need to just lock you away in the tower, where I’ll have you at my disposal.” He said to her, and she grinned at him.

“What would I do there?” She asked curiously.

“Be my love slave.”

She laughed as she took his hand and threaded his fingers through hers.

“Am I not that, already?”

Drake adored the feeling of her feathers against his, and found it impossible to resist taking her and pulling her closer to him.

“Yes, but you’re also a smart, independent, adept business woman/entrepreneur with style, and class….” he nuzzled her neck and added, “and who also has a boyfriend who is soo gorgeous.”

She giggled at his words. “So you want me to just stay locked away until you need me.” She tsked tsked him. “How eighteenth century of you.”

“Well, you know I’m a classic kind of guy. But, alas, I couldn’t pull that off, even if you were compliant.”

“And why not?”

He kissed her along her neck gently before adding, “Because you’d beat the hell out of me.”

Another earnest laugh from her. He wrestled playfully with her a moment before kissing her gingerly. She loved how good of a kisser he was. He was addictive, almost like a wonderfully hypnotic drug.

They separated enough for her to look him in the eyes. The playfulness was gone from her voice, and as she looked up at him on her, she whispered with tears threatening her eyes, “How is it that you have made me so in love with you that I cannot even see straight?”

Drake supported himself on his elbows as he looked directly at her. He didn’t say anything at first, for he was still taken aback by emotion. Taking a moment of silence, time to take an index finger and brush a tear from her cheek, he allowed her to wrap herself around him completely. “Just please, Dark, don’t ever hurt me.”

He was close enough to tears himself, but he luckily pushed a smile through. “I never will. I promise.”

He kissed her again, and she felt a need to lighten the mood. Afterall, time with her superhero lover was limited.

“Okay, Darkwing Duck. I think it’s time to put that 10 mile stamina to the test.”

Drake laughed and said, “I am always ready for a challenge.”

*********************************************************************************************

“Katherine Marshfield…Ka…Katherine Mar…Marrrrrr…MMMMMMMMMaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrsssssssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh……ahh, to hell with it.” Katherine slurred as she looked at herself in the full length mirror in her bedroom. She took another drink of her dirty martini and watched as her left eye lid drooped even lower. Damn eye lid, to hell with that, too. She got a boob job, might as well get that fixed.

Katherine turned from the mirror once she decided that she had had enough with herself. Every night, same old stuff. Four or five, or was it six? Whatever, six dirty martinis and a few hours of self-loathing and she would be passed out in the king-sized sleigh bed with imported Irish sheets. A bed meant for two that almost always slept one.

Katherine turned once more towards the mirror, and ran back to check her complexion. She’d only been drinking heavily for about the past year and a half, and her skin was still firm, her feathers were still glowing, and her eyes were still blazing with life when she woke up every morning. Morning….noon…..whatever. Of course, she did frequent the spas for expensive skin detoxes every couple of days, but so what? She still would look good. Besides, it’s not the effort you put into it, it’s the benefit you reap….or is it the effort you put into it that reaps the benefit….or the money? Ahh hell, too much thought. Katherine sauntered back over to her side of the bed and climbed haphazardly in. She always walked around to her side and crawled in. She didn’t know why, really. He never slept with her, anymore. She even kept to her side of the bed like she was instructed to do, back when he actually would come in at 2 or 3 in the morning. That was back when she really didn’t drink enough to loose all conceptions of time. Boy, those were the days. Back when, if the house burned down, she’d actually give a damn. Lord, lord, how life flies.

About five or so floors below Katherine walked a guest that, if Katherine had any say, would be a very unwelcome one. Luckily, Candice knew with a type of sick pleasure that Jack’s wife had absolutely no knowledge of her nightly appearance to their humble-and huge-abode.

Candice walked steadily and rather confidently down through a long hallway, determined to get to the entrance to the new basement area. She passed some of the house helpers as she went, who all gave her a slight smile and allowed her to pass without so even a snicker.

They knew why she was here.

Jack had gotten them all together before and told them that if any of them makes so much as a peep in any way, shape, form, or fashion to make Candice uncomfortable, that he’d string them up by their feet and beat ‘em like a piñata.

So none said a word, but it still didn’t help Candice’s feeling of inadequacy to gurgle in the depths of her conscience as she slipped into the doorway and began a trudge down a set of marble stairs.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she heard a voice coo to her as the staircase fell away and a room that resembled a voluptuous castle opened up in front of her. She saw Jack approach her, eyes dimmed a little from the alcohol, and she gave him a smile. “and you know how I hate to wait.” He added.

“Well, I’m here.” She allowed him to take her into a savage embrace and kiss her thoroughly. The taste of cigars and Crown whiskey never grew old to her.

He released her long enough to take a drag of a cigar, and then ushered her back into his ‘Lair of Love’ as he called it.

“How was work?” She tried to make common chat as they walked. They hardly ever did that around each other and she began to yearn for a relationship that had at least a ‘how ya doin’?’ pasted into it.

Jack looked back at her curiously. “What’s it to you?”

“Don’t get defensive, I was just curious.” She gave a smile. He nodded, a little of the defense-laced paranoia draining from his eyes.

“Uh, shit. Plain and simple. But hey, it pays the bills.”

‘And what bills that must be.’ She thought to herself curiously. Luckily he and Katherine had no kids together, or else there would be added expense. She always wondered, since they had started their secret affair a year and a half ago, why he didn’t just kick the broad out. She then reasoned there must be underlying motives for him to keep her at his side.

Hey, don’t we all have underlying motives? Candice had one: take this guy and let her sport her blonde ass from here on out.

Candice didn’t have time to finish her internal thoughts before she was picked up, heaved on the bed, and given merely a few minutes to start doing what she did best.

The blonde-haired beauty rolled over to find her lover gone, and as usual, she was completely alone. She looked around for a clock, and saw one that blazed an almost evil 5:30 a.m. She sighed and rolled back over.

It was always times like this that she questioned her existence to God. What has her life come to? She knew that Jack was either working or upstairs in bed with his wife. Furthermore, his departure left no ‘I love you’s’ or anything else for that matter, in his wake. Not even complimentary breakfast!

Candice sat up and gazed around the place. She could be his wife, she thought. She could be that woman that made his heart soar. Hell, what else did she have to do? She was a hotel janitor that had met him while he was staying at the St. Canard Ritz. He was originally there with another woman, but once he and Candice met down in the men’s bathroom (she was in her blue uniform and was mopping the floor) it felt like firecrackers igniting; well, to her at least. He told her he had to see her again, and then ran back up to whatever suite he had reserved for whatever broad he managed to finagle into his schedule.

Candice suddenly felt angry with herself. Was this what her life was reduced to? Playing mistresses to business tycoons for spare change? Being the thing they could call on at their disposal?

“You know what, I once had a dream!” Candice spurted out to no one but the gold and marble-plated walls. “I once wanted to go to college! I once wanted to get a degree! But nooo! I had to get knocked up at eighteen by some punk who ran his car off into the bay….” She immediately slapped her beak shut, as if she had exposed something to the lifeless statues of naked women that sat posted all around.

She didn’t mean it. She didn’t mean to resurrect that old memory. That damn memory still tormented her to this day, and would forever. She actually loved him, and she was so heartbroken at his death. She hated thinking about him to this extent, because….oh shit….right on time….here comes the tears.

Dabbing her eyes on her petite forearm, she slide out of bed to find her cloths. She had to be at work at 7, and this would give her just enough time to run home and change.

As she walked out through a DIFFERENT secret stairway that would lead her out onto the street, she felt so depressed that she nearly collapsed. Life was a bitch, she reasoned, and then you die.

*****************************************************************************************************

“Director Hooter…….Director Hooter….DIRECTOR HOOTER??” A female-turned-banshee screeched over the intercom. J Gander Hooter, who had fallen asleep in an expertly-direct face plant on his desk, woke up with a disoriented snort.

“Wha…huh?” He looked around, his perception distorted by the fact that his office seemed to be doing the wave….was he at a baseball game?

< “Director Hooter, Darkwing Duck is here to see you.” J Gander didn’t even realize his right hand had pressed the button to receive the secretary’s call. Giving an unintelligible grunt to the speaker, he slid his arm off of the machine and began to rub his eyes.

A filter of blue smoke seemed to curl out from under the door as the masked mallard exploded through, doing an expert somersault that landed him squarely in the seat across from the Director’s desk.

“I am the terror that fl-””. Darkwing halted once he saw what the man before him actually looked like. Taking a whiff of the air around him and sensing the noticeable, Darkwing gave him a concerned gaze. “J Gander, forty year-old Scotch does not make for a good midnight snack.”

The small director grunted in agreement. “Yes, I am very aware, Darkwing.” He opened his eyes to see a blur of purple and white stare back at him. “Wha-what brings you here, m’ boy?”

Darkwing cocked his head a little to the side, a half smile on his face. “J Gander, you sent the Flashquack to me last night, with a message that read ‘URGENT: BE IN MY OFFICE AT SEVEN A.M. SHARP” or, at least that’s what I made it out to be. There were a lot of extra letters in that statement that didn’t need to be there.”

“Oh.” He replied, shaking his head at his own sense of self-loathing. Placing his elbow on his desk, he cradled his head in his hand, only to have his elbow slip and throw him face-first onto his desk. A loud ‘bang!’ erupted throughout the office. The old owl merely moaned.

Darkwing adjusted himself uncomfortably in his seat, feeling a dire need to say something but unable to decide which way to employ it. With a clearing of his throat, he began, “I would ask if something was bothering you, but that would be a waste of breath…..so, I’m now merely inquiring WHAT on earth is going on here.”

The director looked up to see the undeterred duck waiting patiently for an answer.

With a gargled sigh, J Gander sat back in his seat. “Darkwing, have you ever….have you ever had a problem that….well, that you just can’t solve on your own? I….I….” He murmured until he trailed off, and Darkwing became even more concerned at the man’s inability to articulate even a half-intelligent statement.

“J Gander, whatever it is, let me know. Is it…international terrorists? A sweep of insurgent-duced viles of smallpox that will override the country and eventually lead to the demise of every leader in the U.N.?”

J Gander Hooter looked at the duck across from him with a face of wonder, or at least to Darkwing, a look of wonder shining through a film of nausea.

“Uh….drug sweep.” J Gander mumbled. Darkwing looked at him skeptically.

“Drug sweep?”

The director sighed as he managed to stand from the chair he spent the last 8 hours in. “Yes. I have evidence that gives me reason to believe an owner of a local truck brokerage business has been smuggling in illegal substances from outside the country-” Hooter scooted a manila folder over to Darkwing. “-and shipping some up to other major cities in the U.S.”

Darkwing snatched the folder and opened it, revealing an array of shipping slips, consignee forms, and various other papers that are required when shipping and brokering loads.

After a moment of reading, Darkwing looked up and asked, “Wouldn’t drug trafficking be a problem the F.B.I. would be more apt to tackle? I would think S.H.U.S.H. has more things to be concerned with besides that.”

J Gander nodded, consenting as he swallowed a few aspirin and followed it with some water. “In most cases, it would be. But I requested that I put some of my best agents on this, and the director of the F.B.I. consented to it.”

“So you want me on the case, then?”

The shorter owl returned to his seat, leaned back, and steepled his fingers. “Yes, I do. I want no one else on this case but you.” The director then cleared his throat nervously, and Darkwing knew there was something that he needed desperately to say.

“Darkwing, you’ve always been a good….friend to me….” he trailed off and waited to see Darkwing’s expression, almost making sure that it was okay to say that. When he realized it was, he added, “and I’ve always been concerned about you, almost as if you were my son. And in establishing that, we have come to understand somewhat a little about each other’s personal lives. You’ve become acquainted with my wife, and I of your daughter and girlfriend.”

His reference to the personal understandings perked Darkwing’s interest immensely, and he continued to nod in agreement as J Gander continued.

“So, whenever you uncover this man’s ploys, please do so in a more smooth fashion. Your knock-‘em-in-the-head-as-he-shoots-at-you-while-the-buildings-explode route is effective, but not so in this particular case. This case is two-fold. Not only do we need to unravel this miscreant’s workings, but we also need to um, rescue his wife.”

Darkwing, who had been leaning back in his seat with his arm thrown over the back, leaned forward and studied J Gander’s spectacle-encased eyes. “His wife?”

J Gander Hooter took a deep breath and slid him another manila folder. “Katherine Marshfield. Thirty-two, shoulder-length brown hair, hazel eyes. She married Marshfield back when she was twenty-three, and then left for the air force, serving full time until she was twenty-six, and then turned and went into central Africa into the peace corps until she was thirty. She now resides with Jack Marshfield in his mansion-estate here in St. Canard.”

Darkwing read down through the woman’s credentials, not bothering to peruse the files until he was able to do so thoroughly. “So why do we need to ‘rescue’ her?”

J Gander found himself up and pacing before Darkwing could manage to get that question out of his mouth.

“Well, she was inherited money. Lots of it, from a late uncle on her mother’s side. But the money inheritance was not really given, but sat in a life-insurance account held in her name as a little girl. Her uncle knew the insurer, and they wanted the money to remain duty-free-”

“Dirty money and Tax evasion?”

“Right.”

“So, let me get this straight..uncle puts drug revenues in an account under his niece’s name as opposed to a deceased person, made up person, yada yada….because doing so prevented any red flags from being thrown up.”

J Gander nodded, relieved that Darkwing was quick enough to finish the situation for him.

“But before he could get the money out, he died-”

“Killed. By, who I believe, was a team who work under Jack Marshfield.”

“-so Marshfield knows how much this girl is worth, but she doesn’t?”

J Gander fell into his chair and placed his palm on his forehead. “Has no clue. Her parents didn’t either. Marshfield only knows because he got into drug smuggling with her uncle, and then things got too hairy and they offed him before he could take the money back.”

Darkwing’s eyes narrowed a little and he continued, “But Marshfield couldn’t get the money out himself, unless he becomes the beneficiary in this life insurance policy by becoming her husband.”

J Gander seemed too close to tears to verbally respond. He took in a shaky breath and nodded.

“So you’re telling me this girl married this guy thinking that he loved her for her, when in all reality he’s merely in for the money.” Darkwing didn’t need to see J Gander nod to know that he was correct. “Damn pig.”

“The worst part is, I know her life is in danger. Jack is going to grow weary of her soon, and since she survived years of combat in the Air Force and two years in central Africa, I doubt she’s going to go anywhere else on her own. People as intolerant and short-tempered as Jack Marshfield will stop at nothing at getting what they want when they want it.”

“So we’re talking a total brainwash here. She’s got to be aware of this man’s ulterior motives and convinced of getting the hell away from him before he gets to her first.”

The director nodded and met eyes with the only man he knew that could successfully multitask in such a complex way. “Do you see why I called you?”

Darkwing flipped through the manila folder even further. He scanned pictures, old passports, and various photos before his eyes fell onto a piece of information that made his breath catch.

The baby blues clad in purple looked up to meet a wise pair of eyes that were blurred by a prism of tears. J Gander Hooter, director of S.H.U.S.H, looked at him desperately, and with a quaking voice confirmed what Darkwing had just read. It was not a misprint.

“You have to save her, Darkwing Duck.” The wise owl said to him. “You have to save my daughter before it’s too late.”

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This is the end of pt 1. It as kind of a "set up". Please bear with me, I've got much more excitement to come!
This story is copyright Lesley Hall in June 20, 2005. I do not own any sort of Disney/Darkwing Duck, it would be cool if I DID because you’d be seein’ a lot more of him. I did make up Katherine, Candice, and Jack so far, and Disney is the only one that can use them without permission ?. I used Petey Pablo’s “Goodies”, Maroon Five’s “She will be loved”, and a song labeled “The Tie That Binds” by a band called Squad Five O. I have never heard the song but I saw the lyrics and immediately saw that they were perfect. I know you think me weird, but I believe that music is the way to express every feeling imaginable.