Last month our friends were enjoying a night out at their favourite new 
bistro, Chung Sam's Steak & Clams (where the food is much better than it 
sounds) and Tim was graciously accepting Dix's and Rowan's compliments on his 
splendid performance at the Pasadena Playhouse benefit the night before.  
Let's listen in...

Dix [spearing a lively clam with her fork:]  I'm so glad you chose Porter for 
your two numbers, Tim.  You really do his music justice.

Rowan: Yes, he even tempered it with mercy, one might add.

Tim [buttering a French roll and looking modest:] Thank you.  I think.  

Dix: Be nice, Ro, or I won't tell you about the dream I had about you last 
night.  It was quite interesting, too...you gave me a huge box of 
chocolates...

Rowan: Did it work?

Tim: I've found that 'hello' works with Dix -- [ouch!!] (a French roll tossed 
by Dix grazes his eyebrow and continues across the room, landing in a soup 
tureen on a distant table).

Dix: New subject: what's the scoop on your upcoming sitcom, Tim?

Tim smiles and raises his eyebrows, dislodging a crumb of roll.

Tim: Now, you know that if I told you the details, I'd have to --

Dix and Rowan [in unison:] -- Kill us.  Yes, but tell us anyway.

Rowan: We do know that you'll be playing a butler again...

Tim: Villain!!

Dix: Uh, fellas...

Tim: He knows I'll be playing a villain.  

Rowan [innocently:] Quite...you'll be making the world unsafe for democracy, 
and handing round those nice little tea cakes.

Dix: Have they decided on your name yet?  Since The Riddler and The Joker are 
taken, how about something like The Fiddler?  At strategic moments you could 
pull out your instrument,--

Rowan starts choking on a clam and Dix pounds him on the back as she goes 
on,--

Dix: --your violin, and play something ominous like the Death March...

Tim: Uh, I don't play the violin that well...

Rowan: How about The Giggler?  You might break into uncontrollable 
glass-shattering laughter every time one of your maniacal plans came to 
fruition.

Dix: He needs something that would strike terror into the hearts of his 
adversaries.  Maybe a name like the Black Scorpion.

Tim: And my slogan could be, 'Best beware my sting!'

Rowan: That's a little too close to my Sensuous Serpent identity. Perhaps he 
could be the Vermilion Vampire.

Dix [dreamily:] Oh, yeeesss.  I can see it now.  He'd wear evening clothes 
and a long black cape lined in rouge-red satin...and lurk in the shadows and 
pounce on his unsuspecting victims...and sink his fangs into their throbbing, 
pulsating throats as the blood ran in crimson streams --

Tim: -- And he'd get a ticket for soiling the sidewalk.  You're closer to 
her, Rowan,-- pour a bit of ice water on her, would you?

Rowan selects an ice cube and drops it down the back of Dix's neck, breaking 
the spell.

A waiter comes to the table, attracted by Dix's piercing shriek.

Waiter: Are the clams all right?

Tim: Just fine.  May I have the bill, please?

As Tim signs the receipt and pockets his Gold Card (because they don't come in 
platinum), the waiter twitches nervously.

Waiter: Oh, so sorry, Mr. Curry, I meant to tell you that there is a phone 
call for you. You may take it in the manager's office (he gestures and Tim 
excuses himself and walks toward the manager's door).

Twenty minutes later, Dix and Rowan decide that Tim has been gone longer than 
necessary and go in search of him.  Rowan knocks on the office door, gets no 
reply, and opens it.  Before him and Dix is a dark alley...

        *              *               *

Tim having mysteriously vanished from the restaurant after having gone to 
answer a spurious 'phone call,' Dix and Rowan are discussing their immediate 
options...

Dix: That waiter must have been a plant!

Rowan: I didn't notice any unusual flora or fauna about him.  Unless you 
count the tattoo on his wrist: a red spider wearing a monocle.

Dix:  It's probably a sinister plot of some kind.  Poor Tim, perhaps even now 
in the foul clutches of a Faceless Fiend.  Or worse (lowering her 
voice),--crazed insatiable Timbos.

Rowan [yawning:] Either way, I suppose it's up to us to attempt to rescue him 
from their slavering jaws...OR we COULD stroll down the block and I could buy 
you a REALLY LARGE box of chocs...

Dix: As if I could think of chocolate while Tim may possibly be in some sort 
of unspecified danger...I like the liqueur-filled kind.  And the truffles with 
nuts.

Rowan [taking her arm and walking purposefully toward the candy store:] I'm 
partial to the toffee caramels.
     *                  *                *

Two hours later, Dix and Rowan suddenly recall that their trio is one short.

Dix [sitting up suddenly on the sofa in the hotel suite and licking chocolate 
off her lips:] Oops.

Rowan [also sitting up drowsily as Dix licks the rest of the chocolate off 
*his* lips:] Hmmmm?

Dix: I feel guilty.  I think we should have saved a few of those truffles for 
Tim.

Rowan [plucking a melted toffee caramel from behind his ear:]  Look on the 
bright side -- we may never find him.  Then we could be an 'intrepid duo.'

Dix: Doesn't scan.  Come on, let's see if we can pick up his trail.

Just then there is a knock on the door of the room.

Rowan: Go away.

Dix opens the door and Christine Z stumbles in with a wild look in her eyes.

Dix: Christine?

Christine:  Oh, thank goodness!!  Are we alone?

Rowan: We *were.*

Christine: Tim's been kidnapped!!

Dix: Yes, we had an idea that might be the case.

Christine: But aren't you worried?!!

Rowan: With a world-wide net of vigilant Timbos ever on the alert, we knew 
that his whereabouts would soon be revealed.  Would you care for a toffee 
caramel?  This one isn't too squashed.

Christine carefully opens the door and peers out into the hallway...

Christine: I'm afraid I was followed -- I'll have to talk fast.

Dix: Fine, I'll listen quickly.

Christine: I happened to be in the neighborhood when you three went into that 
restaurant and I was just very casually loitering in the alley when I saw Tim 
step through the door.  He was pounced on by two masked figures!!

Rowan: Only two? Good.

Christine: They bundled him into a dark van and drove away...but fortunately 
I had noticed Linda F's motorcycle left unattended at the curb, so I followed 
them.  They've got Tim at a deserted warehouse on Baldwin Avenue...and I 
sneaked up to a broken window and heard them talking.

Dix: So far, I've only believed one word in three.  You, Ro?

Rowan: What?  Sorry, I had nodded off.

Christine: It's true!! -- All of it!! And two more masked people arrived 
while I was there and I overheard the password!! It's --- [whizz!! thunk!!]

Dix: Could you repeat that?

Christine's knees buckle, her eyes cross and she drops to the carpet.  A 
small feathered dart is sticking out of the back of her neck.

Rowan: Well, so much for that lead...

Dix: Help me put her on the sofa and we'll fold her hands 
respectfully...hmmm, she's still breathing.  Tch, assassins these days -- if 
you want anything done right, you have to do it yourself...

            *             *               *


To recap:     Tim has been mysteriously abducted (again) and 
Dix and Rowan naturally have gone into immediate action to 
retrieve their missing comrade, with a brief time-out as Rowan wishes to 
reaffirm the vaunted aphrodisiac qualities of vast quantities of chocolate.

The point having been copiously verified, they are about to leave in pursuit 
of their friend when Christine Z dramatically appears and manages to present 
them with a valuable clue before being brutally but not fatally 
poison-darted...

Leaving her in the care of the hotel doctor, Dix and Rowan plan their next 
stratagem.

Dix is checking distances on a Los Angeles street map.

Dix: It's only about ten miles from here.  And the way you drive your Austin, 
we could be there in a matter of minutes.

Rowan [looking at his wrist watch:]  True...but it's nearly midnight.  What 
say we wait till tomorrow? I'm sure that even Faceless Fiends require a 
certain amount of beauty sleep.

Dix: Now, Ro, you know what Tim's reaction would be if YOU were missing.

Rowan:  Yes.  Uncontrollable giggling, followed by an immediate trip to the 
candy shop.
         *                  *                   *

A matter of minutes later, Dix and Rowan are stealthily approaching a large 
darkened warehouse near the waterfront.  As they stop beside the broken back 
window that Christine had mentioned, a dark furry shape scurries off, 
squeaking.

Rowan: Hmmm, a rat.  Nice touch of atmosphere.

Dix:  Or a small furry Timbo.  Some of them are masters of 
disguise...Listen...

There is a dead silence, broken only by the lapping of water against the 
nearby wharves.

Dix: This window's too small for either of us to crawl through,--

Rowan: I warned you against eating that last handful of chocs.

Dix: -- so let's find the door.  If it's locked, you can break it down.

Rowan [leading the way around the building:]  Au contraire.  Why do you think 
that the fine print in my contract strictly prohibits me from doing stunt 
work?  I have to save these sensitive yet well-shaped and infinitely powerful 
hands for important things like race driving.

Dix doesn't argue because the door to the warehouse is standing halfway open. 
 She takes out her pocket torch (spending so much of her time in the company 
of Brits, she has forgotten the term ''flashlight'') and switches it on.  
Inside the ancient interior of the building, large crates are stacked against 
the walls.  The words "Shanghai Imports, Ltd." are stencilled on the wooden 
boxes.  A folded piece of paper flutters unnoticed at her feet.  Rowan 
reaches for it.

Rowan: A ship ticket.  To Shanghai.

Dix: Uh-oh...Tim must have been,--

Rowan: Shanghaied?  Don't you think it's a bit too obvious?

Dix: It may be another plant,--don't say it,--but it's the only clue we have. 
 How's your Chinese, Ro?

Rowan: So Long Hang Fat Cow Chop-Chop, Ah So?

Dix: Impressive.  And that means?

Rowan: Would you like fries with your Happy Meal?
     *              *               *

Meanwhile, in the hold of a slow boat to Shanghai...

A group of jolly sailors are cluttering up the galley where a familiar figure 
is seated on the table playing the accordion.  It is Tim, his clothes 
slightly ripped from the earlier abduction incident; he is working on a 
cunning plan of his own.

Tim [playing a chord on the accordion:]  Any more requests?

Voice: Do the Drunken Sailor again!!

Tim: But I've sung it twelve times...don't you want to hear something else?  
*Anything* else?

Voice:  Belay that whining!!--And this time sing *all* the verses!! 

               *                 *                 *

Dix and Rowan, anxious to be reunited with their absent chum,--[Rowan: Speak 
for yourself...how about another helping of chocolate?],--have efficiently 
checked on the sailing lists and learned that the "Flowery City of the 
Orient" has already sailed for Shanghai.  By chartering a plane they plan to 
be waiting on the dock when it arrives.

Several days later, sitting in a sidewalk cafe' near the waterfront...

Dix:  That has to be the slowest ship in the Chinese flotilla.

Rowan [smiling:]  Oh, I hadn't noticed.  Another order of candied shark fins?

Dix: No, thanks...I'm already afraid to go into the water,--I might start 
attacking scuba divers.

Rowan [stretching and yawning:] Then I suggest that we follow that waiter 
climbing into the rickshaw over there.  He too has a red spider on his 
wrist...
              *                   *                   *

While Dix and Rowan follow up their new lead, let us travel ahead of them to 
a rather derelict part of the city.  Inside a decaying pagoda on the Street 
of the Tone-Deaf Nightingale's Music Teacher, Tim is confronting his captors 
-- a seedy-looking bunch of men in red masks and moth-eaten capes.

Leader:  You will admit, Comrade Vladakov, that it was fiendishly clever of 
us to have taken you from the ship and continued our journey by submarine, 
no?  Your foolish friends will never be able to trace your whereabouts.

Tim: Oh, I'm sure that Dix and Rowan won't have any difficulty in locating 
me.  They've been dealing with Timbos,--ruthless, devious, umm, *devoted* 
Timbos,--for years now.

Leader: Pah!! I spit upon your friends' meager detective abilities!! (suiting 
the action to the word)  You must join our organization (he raises a hand to 
point reverently toward the ill-printed banner over the fireplace) -- our 
beloved S.A.S.S.!

Tim: Sounds like a new salad dressing.  Or the latest thing in teenage 
unmentionables.

Leader [furiously:]  It means "Society to Avenge the Scarlet Spider."  Our 
fallen leader, Alexei Ivanovich Sergei Bodenheim, formerly World's Greatest 
Terrorist and Practical Joker Par Excellence!!

Tim: "Fallen?"

Leader:  Da!!  He was unfortunately beheaded after having been observed 
placing a whoopee cushion on the favourite armchair of Saddam Hussein...but 
his memory is an inspiration to us all.  Only you, the Second-Greatest 
Terrorist, can hope to efface this memory and return us to our rightful place 
as Enemies of All That is Good, Pure and Wholesome.

Tim: So you're headhunters then?

Leader [flinching:] Please!! This word conjures up unpleasant imagery.  We 
like to think of ourselves as an alternative to the noble, squarejawed 
clear-eyed so-called Super Heroes.  I spit again!! (doing so)

Tim: A bit touchy, are you?  Couldn't pass the physical, hmm?

Leader [turning as red as his mask:] Not at all.  A trifling matter of flat 
feet,--

Tim:...Weak chin...

Leader:...and the merest touch of astigmatism.

Tim: How many fingers am I holding up? (he keeps his hands in his pockets)

Leader [incensed:] Two!! No, six!! -- Guards!!--take Comrade Vladakov to the 
Meditation Room!!

              *                *                 *

Dix and Rowan have unobtrusively followed the spider-tattooed waiter to a 
certain dilapidated pagoda and watched him go inside.  Concealing themselves 
in some convenient shrubbery, they plan their next move.

Dix:  Wonder how many gang members we're likely to encounter in there?  Too 
bad that the other Timbos are mostly Stateside, trying to rent a hall for 
Tim's birthday celebration.

Rowan: The Dorothy Chandler Pavilion would have been ideal but for the little 
incident that put it off limits for the forseeable future.

Rowan has a sudden thought and takes out his cell phone.  He dials a number 
and speaks in Chinese.

Dix:  I didn't know you had friends in this country.

Rowan [resignedly:] "Mr. Bean" has friends everywhere.

Dix: Yes...but I prefer Blackadder.

Rowan: Most persons of culture would agree with you, but Bean's pantomime 
antics need no translation, so he sells worldwide.  Reinforcements will soon 
be at hand.
        *                   *                    *

In the pagoda's musty cellar, Tim is in the process of being excruciatingly 
bored by the would-be seductive efforts of an overweight belly dancer some 
years past her dubious prime.

Fan Soo [mopping sweat off her brow, discouraged:]  You do not respond to my 
blandishments, curly-haired foreign demon,--why is this?

Tim: I've been blandished by the best of them, Madam.  Perhaps I'm a bit 
jaded.

Fan Soo:  But you *must* succumb to my charms, O, Member of the Imperialistic 
soccer-playing fox-hunting stiff-upper-lipped wastrels who grind my unhappy 
country into the dust beneath your well-shod feet!!

Tim: Hang on,--we gave Hong Kong back some time ago.

Fan Soo:  If I please you not, I shall be forced to return to my former 
ignominious existence -- selling the fast foods at MacDonald's!!

Tim [folding his arms and leaning back against the stone wall:] That's not 
even British, so don't blame me.

The cellar door creaks open and the Leader hurries down the stair, rubbing 
his hands in anticipation.

Leader:  Well, Little Jade Wand, have you succeeded in convincing our friend 
to join forces with us?  I know that no man can fail to fall under the spell 
of your glamorous wiles.

Fan Soo [nervously:] In some cases one encounters these tiny pockets of 
resistance, Great One.  Only give me a little more time,--an hour, a week, a 
few brief months...

Leader [angrily:] So!!  Then go back to your decadent "job" dispensing the 
"burger" composed of yak droppings, the grease-imbued turnip fragments 
masquerading as the misbegotten potato!!  And know this -- we offer no health 
benefits to failures!!

Fan Soo [pathetically:]  But, Heavenborn Likeness of the Great Buddha 
Himself, I have finally this week achieved an apppointment at my HMO after 
waiting two years, and was scheduled to speak with a physician about my 
unfortunate condition...

Tim: I hope that it wasn't anything urgent.

Fan Soo [blushing:] I have read in the medical journal the Reader's Digest 
that it is now possible to propitiate the gods of avoirdupois by means of a 
device that, as it were, inhales one's excess plumpitude.

Tim: Ah, yes. Liposuction.

Leader [swelling with anger:] Enough of this medical digression!!  
Go,--depart hence and take thy fat with thee!!

Fan Soo leaves by the cellar door as one of the gang members tries to force 
his way past here.  They are stuck for a moment, but the man manages to 
squirm by and hurry down to whisper urgently into the Leader's ear.

Leader: What?!  The *other* ear, bumbling fool--you are aware that I do not 
hear as keenly with this one.

Tim: Deaf, too?  No wonder you couldn't pass the Super Heroes' physical.

Leader:  So, it seems that your friends by some unforeseen fortuitous 
combination of miraculous circumstances that could not occur again in a 
millenium, --

Tim: So Dix and Rowan finally got here.  Wonder what kept them?  Wonder if 
Dix saved me any chocolate nut truffles....

             *                 *                   *

Yes, Dix and Rowan have fallen into the unsavoury clutches of this somewhat 
disorganized gang of evil-doers.  They find themselves, along with Tim, 
lashed uncomfortably to wooden chairs as the Leader taunts them:

Leader [tauntingly:]  You see, it is not so easy to walk out of the dragon's 
cave once you have entered, foolish ones.  And now, I think a bit of torture 
may serve to change Comrade Vladakov's mind about the advisability of joining 
our circle...

Tim [yawning:]  Torture doesn't bother me -- I've had a sitcom cancelled by 
ABC.

Dix: Say, that rhymes.

Rowan: It almost scans, too.

Leader: Silence!!  Not you, but they shall know the meaning of the Brand of 
the Spider!!  (turning to one of his masked henchmen) Wincing Frog, prepare 
the instruments.

Wincing Frog: Umm, I can't, Your Leadership.  Don't you remember, we had to 
pawn them to pay our MacDonald's bill last week?

Leader [thinking this over:] Damn.  In that case, we shall go direct to Plan 
B. (An oily smile spreads over his face as he takes a hari-kiri knife from 
the wall and walks over to Dix, who flinches.  The Leader cuts her bonds, 
then proceeds to do the same with Rowan's and Tim's.)

Leader [ingratiatingly:]  I had you fooled, did I not? We never, never think 
of stooping to violence when we wish to recruit...in fact, I invited you all 
here for a sentimental occasion.

Dix: You're getting a new chin?

Tim: A hearing aid?

Rowan: Contact lenses?

Wincing Frog [getting into the spirit of things:] A personality transplant?

Leader: Silence!!  Not you, my valued guests...if I mistake not, we have a 
Birthday Boy among us, and I have taken the liberty of ordering some special 
refreshments.

Another Henchman: Boss, I think the truck just drove up.

Leader: Ah, that will be the birthday cake.

The Chinese driver knocks at the door and Wincing Frog opens it.  The driver 
hands him a bill for the cake and he looks at it, then brings it to the 
Leader.

Leader: Well, pay him, idiot.

Wincing Frog: The landlord came by this morning,--there isn't a yen in the 
house...

At this point the Leader notices Fan Soo, sitting in a dejected heap on the 
sofa. He goes outside with the driver and holds a quick whispered 
consultation, then returns.

Leader: Fan Soo, you are still here?

Fan Soo:  They of MacDonald would not take me back.  They pretend that my 
meager complimentary meals have brought them to the verge of bankruptcy.

Leader [soothingly:] It is their loss, Little Moonflower of Infinite Delight, 
for I have a better offer for thee.  Wouldst enjoy working with pastry?

Fan Soo [brightening:] The poppy-seed rolls, the shortbreads, the 
cunningly-shaped hors-d'oeuvres?

Leader [leading her toward the door:] And much cake of indescribable richness 
and savour...

Fan Soo: ...and icing?  Would there also be icing?

Leader: Of a certainty.  But sign this small document and the Gates of 
Culinary Paradise shall open unto thee.

Fan Soo signs on the dotted line without bothering to read the document, 
which indentures her services to the Smiling Lotus Bakery and Grog Shop for a 
ten-year period.

Leader [to his followers:]  And now -- bring in the cake!!

          *                   *                  *

Moments later, our friends and the members of S.A.S.S. stare in disbelief at 
the truly monumental icing-covered confection on the dining room table.  It 
is nearly four feet tall, topped with a Chinese temple, covered bridge and 
weeping willows made of cunningly tinted spun sugar.  There is also an 
inscription in Chinese characters.

Rowan: Are you sure that this is the cake you ordered?  It says 
"Congratulations on grand opening of Wi Sing Low Mortuary."

Leader [flying into one of his customary rages:] No!! (drawing a pistol) 
Someone shall pay for this insult!! No more Mr. Nice Terrorist -- you are all 
doomed!!

The top of the cake suddenly lifts up and a smiling Chinese gentleman in 
black tee-shirt and karate trousers jumps out.  He leaves the table in a blur 
of motion, disarming the Leader with a flying kick as the other gang members 
half-heartedly reach for their weapons.

Dix: Jackie Chan!

Jackie has leaped up, grasped the chandelier and is wreaking havoc among the 
henchmen with more well-placed kicks.

Rowan [smiling:] I have friends in high places.

The Chinese bakery truck driver has been watching the melee'; he now removes 
his cap and white jacket and plunges into the fray, taking out three 
adversaries with one brilliant spinning maneuver.

Tim: Jet Li,--I'd recognize that footwork anywhere.

Jet Li turns and smiles at our friends.

Jet: It is not written that Jackie should have *all* the fun.

He turns back as two gunmen nervously try to sneak up on him from behind -- 
[slash!! kick!!] -- they join the others in an untidy pile against the far 
wall.

Jackie [to Rowan:] Only twelve antagonists?  You said that you were 
outnumbered, my friend.

Rowan [putting an arm around Jackie's shoulders:] I knew that you woldn't 
even break a sweat.  I thought that you two might like to join us in 
celebrating Tim's birthday.

Leader [groaning head-down in a corner:]  Mr. Chan, I've always been one of 
your biggest fans...

Jackie: That's nice.

Jet Li: I also.  (He whispers in Jackie's ear.)

Jackie: We are filming just up the street an epic to be called "Claw of the 
Black Dragon." If you and your men would like to work in the crowd scene, 
give the director my card (handing it to the groveling Leader).

Leader: Such unexampled kindness!!  It has always been my dream to be in the 
show business! (He tries to kiss Jackie's hand, but Jackie is too quick for 
him.)

Jackie [smiling:] Well, it's a living.
		*                 *                  *

After a slap-up binge at the Celestial Gardens Tea House banquet room, Tim, 
Dix and Rowan say a fond adieu to Jet and Jackie and board a California-bound 
plane.  They catch up on their sleep during the lengthy flight, so are 
feeling almost human again when the cab drops them off at Tim's home the 
following evening.

Tim: Say, I don't remember leaving all the lights on when I left...

Dix: And those look like Chinese lanterns in the back garden.

Rowan: I thought that this was a security-ridden neighborhood,--"Armed 
Response" and all that.

They walk around the house and are greeted by --

Dix: Oh, nooooo,--*hundreds* of Timbos!!!!!

Timbos [singing:] "Happy Birthday to you..."

Tim: And look...there's a huge CAKE on the coffee table...

The End

Y(can't even look at another cake right now)FT,
Dix

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