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KOOPALINGS : THE TEENAGE YEARS

by Foxy Boy

CHAPTER X: BLIND EFFORTS

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

"Fall back a few yards. Don't give him to have any ideas."

Pretty tough to shadow an SUV on a twisty mountain road, but Morton's advice didn't do much for that.

"Further!", he almost shouted at Tom, prompting an eye roll for the trouble.

"If I back off any more we'll lose him. It's only a few miles until we hit Tweetersburg, and once we're into those square city blocks we could lose him in a second."

Morton started to rebutt, but stopped mid-breath. "But if-...*sigh*... Well, so we can't back off, and we can't really count on being anonymous from here. I guess we're sunk."

"Not unless you want me to get 'em pulled over in the next few minutes."

The rightful heir to the throne shook his head. "No, we should hold off from that. There's no saying what would happen if we pulled some kind of citizen's-arrest shit." He trailed off, rising back in a low mumble. "What are you mixed up in now, brother..."

"What's that?", Tom half-heard; his hands jerked the wheel around a particularly vicious curve.

"Nothing. I'm just tryng to... swim through this whole situation. With all of the shit Roy's garnered, there's only about a million guys that could want to hurt him, but it's cuckoo that Mouser's among the ranks."

"Oh. I've heard he's cuckoo, the mag's aren't kind to him. I guess you and yours go back a ways with him?"

"... Nah..." He paused, addled. "Well, not with us, but he had pretty big ties to Dad back in the day. Green-bastard sent him whole squadrons of troops so he could spend weeks training them to kill. He's an expert assassain, and 'jack' of all kinds of light and mid-tier weaponry. Also, a huge part of Sub-Con's resistance when Mario invaded, but he wasn't enough to save them. They supplied him with bombs and no guns... The entire thing's a shitpile of blame on all parties."

Tom's eyes and chin waggled, jerked around by a mindfuck. "That's a grudge under his belt, then, he's been gypped. And he's got Roy... I see why you're sweating."

"Yeah, yikes. God help us if he's done this for Dad, either way. Hate or help, there's probably a shallow grave with Roy's name ready."

"Well", Tom forced a smile, "I, for one, am NOT letting it get filled. I'll run them off the road if I have to, and from the look of things... Be brave if I do. I know the risk, but time's ticking."

Morton breathed gently, riveted, accepting what he knew with trust in Tom. He nervously watched more curves pass as Mouser unwittingly stayed in a two-car chase. After a zigzag - notably sharp, and throwing off Mouser's focus from the looks of it - another straightaway opened, and Tom sneered defiant.

"Hold onto something", he instructed, "I'm goin' for it." Morton barely could wrap his arms around his seatback before the pull of acceleration, coinciding with the car's fishtail into the empty oncoming lane. With the utmost push, coming up fast on the SUV's bumper.

It would be a tight squeeze to get them off the road before another corner; one lay visible an eighth-mile distant. Once Tom lined up with them, Morton glimpsed the rodent kidnapper clear through a driver's-side window, though the back was more clandestine through its heavy-tinted glass. Tom manoevered the car, smooth and ground-sailing rightwards; Mouser had to see them approach from the side... Blood drained from the big-eared face around his narrow ray-bans. Morton's heart skipped a beat; his own name crossed the contract-killer's lips. Then, some unintelligible screaming towards the backseat, and the SUV shot off like gangbusters, or like it ran on nitrus. Tom, hiding more beneath the hood than most, matched the effort, and pulled back into line and the lane behind them. A chase was on.

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

Meanwhile, ignorant of that fiasco, the rest of Koopa royalty had their own proverbial laundry. To Larry, a million things roasted within him as he head down the hall, heels 'nipped' by Wendy, Iggy and Ludwig. They knew that now was no time to expect words from him, and only absorbed his forlorn glance at servants he passed on the way. Little as he might think about any of them, it upset one to know that in a few hours, he would see none of them, not a face, for an indefinite period. This included Konner, who still had not seen the prince back, as he'd been called to the throne room en route to the infirmary. Though Larry didn't fully picture it, what he knew he'd miss was mental security they offered... A sum-part of his life since birth. He guessed Lemmy felt the same, stewing in his own room... No doubt, he would head that direction after falling out with Wendy.

In any case, support was of the utmost need. He looked back, waiting for them to match his glance before speaking. "Iggy?"

"Yeah?", came the reply, as the science wiz sped up to stride next to his brother.

He cast a brief downward glance at the floor before continuing meekly. "I just want you to know, fear's not boss, I'm still gonna miss you like hell. I have no clue how this goes or if I'll even make it back, but if I don't, remember your places in my heart. And wherever we go. And that includes the two jackoffs that couldn't be arsed here." His mouth had a great deal of smirk, despite what eyes whispered of fear in denial.

Iggy wore alarmed sadness at the words' gravitas, and put his hand on Larry's shoulder. Both halted in their tracks, as Wendy and Ludwig gathered. "You'll be more than fine. There's no way Lemmy or anybody else will let this be the end."

Larry nodded ironically. "I wish I saw it like that. But no optimism's changing that I'm going after a man who's by-the-by a war criminal. He's a fuckwad, too smart and has the connections a rock star dreams of. I'm not Martin Sheen, and this ain't Apocalypse Now. There's a big and real chance I might not live to see these stone walls again."

Ludwig approached him, sincere to no end. "Thoughts like zat von't help anything. You know Dad vould never drop you in a situation he doesn't know you could handle."

Larry sighed. "That's even harder to stomach. I know he's wise, and some believe he's flawless, but he makes mistakes. Look what he used to do to Morton."

Wendy and Ludwig felt unspoken agreement.

"I know you'll all be thinkin' of us", he continued, "If you'd wonder whether I'm aware of that. It has to be this way, and could be worse."

"It doesn't-" Ludwig had a shot of confidence. "I'll go in your stead."

"And if he doesn't," Iggy added, "I will."

A melancholy smile ran Larry's lips. "Thanks guys, but there's a reason I didn't try to get out of this." Curious confusion ran their faces; he fessed up to them. "Wendy, you're happy with your job and friends, and just got into a relationship. Iggy, if Lemmy and I succeed against Kamek, you have the promise of a grand facility where you can live out your dreams. And Ludwig... Bro... Your wife and you live the most loved and envied life in the kingdom, or I'm gonna say anywhere. I mean... There's no room for any of you to lay in the line of fire, especially more than a sufferi-... A man whose life fell apart and needs honour. I don't want to go any more than you want that, but how little I'd be missed and for valid shit." He paused as he felt the lump in his throat tighten. "You mean a lot, more than you know. But if nothing else, think of it as atonement for the part I played for so long."

A bleak silence hung over them, only gone when a teary-eyed Wendy pulled the cell from her pocket. Instinct had her wanting to preserve this. "We're always here, keep us up to date.", she managed to choke out.

"I swear to. And... Thank you." He stared at the floor, couldn't look at any of them without losing it, this he knew. They were his sorrow to go, and at the same time the reasons he had to. No words here might convey the deathly silence, or range of their emotions as they watched their youngest walk away, bent on the solace of his room for an unfairly short time.

The minutes that elapsed before he neared his door went abuzz with memories; of many routes, of his family, of Kamek as well. In all years that magikoopa'd served the king, devoid of traitorous intentions by all claims. In fact he'd been a large share of raising them in younger years, running the spectrum from amusing a pre-school-age Iggy to helping Morton's homework, when and if Bowser was too busy or 'himself' to be bothered. A decade later and true colours come to light. But was it really a long-awaited vindication for the Benedict Arnold? Still on the table was elsewise; maybe a decision less pre-meditated, one of opportunity?

Impressions were that even if and when Kamek was dragged before Bowser again, they'd get no answer to that question, or a lie from a misguided man doomed; even so, it should not be overlooked. All too possibly it explained some enigmas, loose ends of the hierarchy, or a deeper issue or risk; this mission, this slinging-out was too primary and affecting to discard potentialities, the good of every Joe and Jane he and Lemmy were faced to protect.

He shuffled through archways as if more dead in flesh than Kamek would be in the ordained future. Time already passed much too quick for his liking; by all rights, the last while of happiness cursed him, by in a vapour. Reaching his door he hoped the next hours would foster his readiness for the coming trials. He placed a cold, damp hand on the knob and turned.

He met an unexpected visitor. Welcome as could be, smiling as Larry's countenance lit up.

"Konner!!"

"Yup, in the bruised flesh", the diminuitive koopa returned. "You shoulda seen the nurse that treated me." Putting on a brave face meant making a crack about her for the benefit of a grown dude. Larry snickered, and he said more. "All I need after all that is some bed rest. Lucky me, huh?"

Larry, as stoked as he was that the kid was hardly the worse for wear, didn't forget his station as an elder, and spoke wryly. "Then why aren'tchou in bed?"

"I... Well, I headed that way when the scuttle about you and Lemmy's new job got around. I saw KP in the infirmary, too. He looks bad, but me and the other wounded losers are crossing our fingers he'll pull through. I wanted to stay, just hang out so he'll be better, but I wasn't lettin' you off on an adventure without a goodbye. And I owe you mucho-thanks for rescuing me from that dungeon-prison-whatever. I'll never mess up and get put there again."

"No need to thank." Larry smiled, making his way over to bed and sitting heavily. "Consider it the right thing to do, for helping me cope with hellfire." He blinked through the weight of that inside him, then resumed with malaise. "Not that it does loads o' good when I'm tracking an all-mighty warlock with a score to settle. I wish I was only adventuring, but this shapes up to be a death march."

Despite his deep concern, Konner was unfazed in his response. "Well, my uncle's gone on more adventures than I'll ever count, and while he's never talked about a warlock he has been bit by a crocodile, stung by killer bees, pelted with stones by some far-out villagers and almost killed by a fifty-foot fall. If he survived all that, I know someone like you wouldn't break a sweat kicking a Magikoopa's butt." Larry's expression brightened. "And if you have doubts," Konner tacked on, reaching in his pocket, "Take this with you."

Pulling out his hand he produced a small book, leather-bound with no title. Larry took it, thumbed through it, finding it a journal of some kind. "It's my grandfather's," Konner explained. "Nothing in the world helps you see how good you may have it, the same as reading that. Grandpa was an explorer too, and had even worse luck than uncle Kolorado. At least now you'll have a pick-me-up for the hard times."

The Koopaling smiled as he gently dropped the worn journal into his pocket. "Thanks. I'll probably be using that constantly out there in God-knows-where."

Konner nodded; his gift had not been ill-placed. "Well, I should head back to the servant's rooms and take that nurse's advice." He politely bowed to Larry, and the latter returned this, something unheard of in the royal circles. "Get some good rest, and suck up to the guards this time."

The joke wasn't lost on Konner as he turned to leave. "How do you think I got back in here in the first place?", he quipped in adult-ness, opening the door back out to a departure and careful creeping.

Alone again, Larry carefully produced the book, ran his fingers down creases in the aged leather. Konner's gift meant more than he even intended. For the next few days, or weeks, or however long it be until Larry and Lemmy could return to their birth home, this book would be his lifeline, more than food or water or any double-edged methodone. It was proof positive the value and gratitude of all they went to defend: those he knew were so helpless against the evil beating on the whole land's door. Just before pocketing the journal back, Larry held it a few moments to his heart. His grip tightened, same with his throat.

Though how distant Bowser might be on mental fringes, there was merit in his fixation with the people.

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

No trace of Ludwig's highbrow demeanor was bared as he entered his lofty home. Limply draping his dinner jacket on the coat hanger, he headed to the den and found his spouse in repose on the couch, rose-painted nails pressed on her chin, fretting. Warmly he'd sit with her, wrap his arm around her bodice, but when he leaned in for a kiss on her cheek she leaned away, starting a clear scowl.

This didn't confuse him, but he wished it had. "You know, don't you?", he sighed.

"Wendy called while you were on the way here." She murmured, heart distant. "I heard just to ther point of learning the whole situation and hung up. I didn't go to pieces where your family could hear..."

He could feel the heaves between sentences, the telltale suppressed tears.

"Nothing vill go wrong vith zem out zere," he assured. "Don't burden yourself vith vat could be, I know zat's vat you're doing."

He felt her tremble; he'd tried, but she would not be comforted.

"I'm less sad than just... Angry," she went defiant. "... He's in a hotseat, I understand, but there's no argument to place his own sons in peril when he feels servants can't be trusted."

"He doesn't have a choice, love. Kamek made it clear zat his allies are among us, and-"

"I don't want to talk about it," she interrupted. "Venting isn't a debate. And don't defend something that... That... Frosthearted."

Hearing this, a momentary fire was sparked in Ludwig; if he'd disagreed it would be belligerent. But loyalty to king or the like would not block that which he held for her, and thoughts of rebuttal were cast off. His eyes were sad and to the floor. "Zen I von't," he intoned. "It's not turmoil I vant. Not ever."

She heard the honesty; her heart eased for that piece of a second. He, in turn, flashed a meek smirk. "I don't have ze delusion he's perfect", he explained. "He does vat he thinks is right, and I respect how it's focused, but I'm not my father's fan club. And I vouldn't support him if you don't, your thoughts here are mine too." His attention turned to her eyes. "I may even have more doubts."

This satisfied her local fears, coaxing a smile below her lovely nose, a liking of his. "Good, I finally see I didn't marry a purebred daddy's boy."

"Oh, you deviless," he playfully objected, leaning softly on her as his arm cuddled. This time she'd not resist; she found her grin and awarded him a peck on his lips.

If intents were to take this further, they went unrealized, as both heard the door from the lower castle close moments after their mouths parted. No knocking, no voices. They were joined in the living room by Lemmy, a man intensely troubled as he sank to a seat on the recliner across from them.

"Hi" he finally mumbled, as Esmerelda's jaw all but dropped. No courtesy and a lack of the pep he was know for.

"H-hi," she stammered, "How are you tonight?"

His eyes cut narrowly to her, then away even quicker. "Fine. Peachy, I'm walking on air right now.", he returned sarcastically.

His behaviour incensed her, but Ludwig saw through it, and spoke in her ear. After this it fell to Lemmy, his second appeal.

"Forget about her, brother. Vendy is her own type."

Lemmy's head perked up, and for the first time at this visit he met eyes with Ludwig.

"She'll do as she vill", the eldest continued, "And your cares right now are vorth more zan to include her choices."

Lemmy exhaled heavily, unable to hide his letdown. "Ignoring a gut feel this damned strong's easier said than done. Trust me when I say I wanna leave it behind. 'Cause nothing's worked there."

Ludwig's brows lay high to express condolences. "Maybe zis helps: Dad shares your concern, and came up vith a vay for I and Esmerelda to get to ze bottom of who Morie really is."

All at once the skater prince was a different, happier man. "The frick didn't you tell me before?"

"I-*chuckle*-felt terrible about it. Ze plan involved lying to her, I'm ashamed to admit. But, if it helps, especially right now of all times, zen I can bear zat. It's vy - by ze vay - I took your place in fetching her uniform some nights ago."

Lemmy's troubles dissolved momentarily, but returned with his frown. "Glad to know, but that's just one battle in a war for me. At the most there's three or four hours left, then I leave all of here behind for parts-unknown, no help from Dad besides a crash course and his halfhearted blessing."

Esmerelda, listening, put her thoughts forward. "You can always count your blessings. Unlike you, Larry's biggest obstacles go with him the entire way. He'll need your mental and emotional presence. No less."

"... Y'know, you're right", Lemmy conceded. "Heh, me and him really are the worst shmoes in the world to send after a retch with royal ambitions... Though I got myself to blame for volunteering." He paused, head shaken as if mathematizing the scope of things. "And I owe some to Dad, ignoring my obligations as a prince for so long."

Ludwig frowned, a little jilted by the assessment. "Having a childhood isn't ignoring your obligations. And among we seven, you and I do ze most to support him all zese years. I do hope you didn't sign yourself up zinking you owed it to anyone."

"Nah, I didn't," Lemmy provided, fidgeting a good bit. "Well... I'm pretty sure I didn't." He then whipped back with nervous scowl. "Hell, I don't even know anymore. No telling what was on my mind when my hand went up."

Seeing his reaction, Esmerelda tread lightly. "You might benefit from digging deeper. There's still time to address your father and your doubts."

"Yeah, if I want my ears to burn from hearing some choice new words." He paused, staring straight ahead, a world away in thought. "I'm going to go... I've committed myself and it can't matter why. This all should pass, and I'll do what it takes to make that happen."

With that, he planted hands on the armrests, pushing up off the seat. A bewildered Ludwig and wife watched Lemmy turn and start towards the door.

"You're leaving now?" Asked the astonished eldest.

Lemmy glanced back, his face profoundly stoic. "I'm talkin' to Larry before we both get thrust in mortal shit. On top of that there's loose ends to tie up. Too odd to be open about." He took a deep breath. "G-goodbye."

Unable to forge a good reponse, they returned with "Bye" as he departed. The door closing behind him changed the mood of the room, their bewilderment at his quick-leave heralding a sad, resigned loss. Ludwig, ever-aware of his mate, resumed assuaging her, a dutchess visibly gripped by despondency.

"Everything vill vork out," he cooed. "His is a stress ve don't even fathom right now. I trust his judgement."

"So do I," she spake soft, almost whimpered. "It's his spirit I fear for."

"Afraid he'll lose it out zere?" he asked, gently rubbing her back.

She shook her head. "More that it'll be outright crushed... Especially if Larry slips his battle. Bodily, you know."

Ludwig sighed. "Let's not put ourselves through zat again, love." He picked up the pace massaging. "It's only heartache vith no benefits."

She turned to face him down; he knew he'd made a mistake. "It's heartache that deserves to be. I had an uncle who was borderline-slave to sleeping pills, and nothing clouds the memories of how far he slipped before they killed him."

Somewhat shocked, he pulled back from carressing her. "You... Never told me about zat."

She sniffled; lights from above reflected from a point in her welling tears. "Papa's oldest brother. He bounced me on his knee, taught me how to Cat's-Cradle. He bought my first show horse when I was five, I loved it, I loved him. Four years later our family physician filled a script for him after bouts of insomnia. Before I was thirteen," she choked, "I spoke at his funeral, wearing the dress he bought me his last Christmas with us."

Ludwig sat dumbfounded. She continued. "I've had nightmares... How he looked just before he passed. Face pitted, just... Lifeless. His emaciated frame. I don't want to see that in anyone else, ever."

"... Dear," he began, warmly to remand her. He planned to say how atypical any addict's case can be from another's, but he thought of nothing right to say. Her point was made, and all too valid. Chilly moments passed before he gave a replacement, and in the process resumed carressing her. "Vat do you propose ve do?"

Her answer was armed. "We hope, and pray, and offer what we can all the way. Treat these advantages like weapons. Exposure, wealth, our people... They MUST have applications..."

Now they heard a knock at the same door Lemmy'd practically stormed out of. Two sighs from a couple frayed at the ends.

"Impeccably timed," he muttered as he rose to answer. Reaching the door, it opened to his sister and a wide-eyed panic.

"Vendy?", he asked. "Vat's wrong? Are you looking for Lemmy?"

She shook her head firmly, lips white for her biting them. "I was- down in the c-courtyard, heading t- towards my car, a- and-"

"Slow down," he broke in to advise, seeing signs of hyperventilation. "Start from ze beginning."

Distraught, she still complied. "I... Was heading out to Le Baron to tell my boss why I wasn't there this morning. I'd got to the the gate when I saw this hanging from it."

Her hand dove into her shorts pocket, then back out with a small patch of fabric. Ludwig took it and examined closely... Four seconds, and he determined its origin.

His eyes opened wider than hers.

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

"Fucking bastard!!"

Mouser snarled as he took hairpin turns at well over fifty MPH, his abductee gripping the passenger-side armrest, holding on for dear life. By now, it had been established who was tailgating, threatening the SUV. Roy winced as Vinnie's pistol grazed his neck after a bump in the road; he thirsted for hope for the situation, despite overcoming the odds just by being found. If Mouser's driving didn't kill him, they could waste him anyway at any time to save trouble; or, if Morton and his mystery driver did stop them, they courted a trained killer and his armed, immortal assistant. The two were in a good place for any counterthreat.

Suddenly, the captive prince felt tremors in his pants, strong and audible. In a manner like reflex, Mouser's right hand left the steering wheel and opened palm-up.

"Give it here," came the casual malevolence. Roy would've been stupid to argue, and so promptly handed over the cause, his vibrating cell. He looked down emptily, to nothing, as the rodent flipped the faceplate and held it to his ear.

"Start talkin'... Oh, it's been a while, yeh?... Sure, he's here. He can't talk right now, though. Heheh..." A short pause. "Who, me?... Now you know better than to think an upstanding man like myself ever... Whoa... Not sure I like your choice of words, buddy... Reconsider real quick, for someone's sake."

'Cold-blooded rat-bastard,' Roy thought. 'Removin' me from the gene pool's one thing, but to threaten me through him is grounds for a shallow grave. And two round, ugly ears stickin' up like daisies.'

Feeling rise in adrenaline, he discreetly clenched fists as the shit-talking went along.

"No, your brother's hot on my tail." Roy heard... Brother? So it wasn't he who followed; he listened hard as ever. "Go on, call him and spread the word that every inch he gains on me is another inch I'm closer to blowing Ozzy The 2nd here's head off. So do us all a huge favour and have him drive somewhere else... Like down the ravine on my left. And then get back on your fucking piano bench."

Another extended break, as Roy's rage only grew.

"-Really? Well, if you can get here that quick, by all means join the party. What's a li'l triple execution between friends?"

After the last sentence, he lowered the phone, flipped it closed and pocketed. "I gotta hand it to Ludwig," he seethed, "He's got spirit for a stuffy dweeb. Sunuvabitch wants me to believe he can find this car in ten minutes, startin' from the castle."

Roy, still brooding with knuckles pale, couldn't stifle a protest, and glanced in fury at his kidnapper to deliver it.

"If he says he can, he will. Did'jou or your boss ever stop to think how easy it is to find an all-terrain carriage on an empty mountain road, cornerin' like a ferret on speed?"

Anger possessed Mouser's face; his foot slammed the gas pedal, bumping the spedometer from fifty to seventy in this thirty-five zone. Roy had no way to see through the blackened mirrors, but Tom and Morton quickly lost ground on them.

His closest hope of rescue couldn't outdrive an auto built for power and traction, which Mouser well-knew. It was prevalent in the choice to go with that particular model, and a big part of Vinnie's fury from Roy subsiding shortly thereafter. All at once he broke into laughter.

"Looks like your options narrow, badass. Shame you have to go out this soon in your shitty life, but we all have a destiny, you know what I mean?" He did the unthinkable; dragged the gun's barrel sideways on a skull broiling-mad, petting the prince cold as ice. "It's for a good cause. The boss has a certain 'standard of living' he's accustomed to, and he can't take full advantage with you not out of the picture. I can say it matters more and mean it; you've made me right."

Upon this, Roy's anger clouded, in with shock and puzzlement. Seeing that incredulous sneer, Mouser condescended. "Oh, don't look so surprised. You don't owe him that much dough by a long shot. You didn't honestly think you weren't studied durin' your deals with him, did you?"

"Mouser", Vinnie called from the back, scoldingly. "That'll do. He'll know the whole shebang when we stop in."

A tense silence followed, but nothing came of it. They cruised down the road at breakneck-speed.

Though Roy sat poised to attack, even the gamut of raw negatives inside didn't erase reason; superceding them all was how suicidal it would be to try.

'If only the gun's not trained on me', he thought. If Mouser'd been the one guy here his neck would be broke long ago, and I'd be on the way back right now to make sense of this tripe.'

A few hundred yards behind, The Corvette's gas pedal touched the floorboard; Tom tried to tune out his lover's panicked yells at every screech of the stressed tires.

"Faster on the straight sections!! We've GOTTA catch up! " Morton went ballistic, kicking the floor in vain as another curve passed with no sign of gaining on the miscreants.

"And then what!? ", Tom returned, his 'cool' wearing thin. "We're in a sports car behind something twice our size! We can't even keep up without rollin' this thing at a curve, and here that mean rollin' two miles down the bank to doom!!"

The ring of Morton's phone caused its owner a rage boost.

"HORSE SHIT!!!," he screeched. Tom winced as his partner removed the infernal thing from the visor clip it attached to and answered in a hand's anxious quake.

"Who the FUCK do you... Ludwig?" His tone softened immediately and completely.

"Mhmm, 'tis me," came the male from a cultured living room, his wife and sister looking on worriedly from the couch. "I tried to get a hold of Roy but got Mouser instead. Zat madman has commandeered ze only vay to reach him vocally."

"I was afraid of that," Morton's voice echoed. "I didn't even try to ring him myself. Maybe good for him I didn't, because if I'd heard that rodent instead I'd say things that end bad for Roy. I swear, if I get my paws on him they'll be nothin' left but gristle and bone-powder."

"I know exactly your meaning, but ve've got to keep our heads. Ve vade through enough right now, and I'm trying not to bring Dad in if it's attainable. You know how he gets."

Morton felt at once queazy. "Don't remind me. But how did you know to call me?"

"He let me know you're in pursuit. Harmfully." He was pacing, holding his forehead, every so often casting bloodshot eyes at the women whose very sanity succumbed like his. "I don't know if you've had a good look at zem, but zey have guns on Roy. He said he'll give Roy an exhaust hole for his brain if I don't tell you to back off."

"Rrrghhh... I already have, without meaning to." Hot sweat ran down Morton's cheeks. "Tom can only take these turns so fast without a wreck, and they're outdriving us in that tank of a getaway they've got. I'm tapped for ideas." There was silence for a few seconds. "I won't lose him, Ludwig. Especially to some snide-ass punk, for God knows why. Roy wants to change, and he deserves to have the chance to."

"He vill, brother. Ve'll both make it so."

"I hope... More than I've hoped for anything." He took a long breath to lower blood pressure, as Tom whipped around a hard right. "I really can't tell if there is a gun in there or not; the back windows of their SUV were tinted too black, and we're just now back sensibly close."

Ludwig's brow furrowed. "Zat's a very bad sign. But, ve'll have found out the score soon enough. I told zat long-eared cloodey to expect me in ten minutes, and I meant it. He doubts zat, and I depend on zat."

"You? How you gonna pull that off? Aren't you at the condo right now?"

"Yes." He overcame the mind's detriment just long enough to grimace, stable and cocksure. "I have an idea. You'll hate me a bit, since I'll go through Dad to pull it off, but right now it's ze best theory."

Morton hesitated, the warm sweat fricasee'd at his collar. Then, begrudgingly, acceptance came. "Go ahead," he sighed. "Just, do whatever before it's too late. I don't have shit in the way of reaching him myself, let alone pulling an Indiana-Jones."

Ahead, the nightmare lived on. "Five more miles," Mouser growled, "And we hit Tweetersburg. That car'll have an easier time flying than it will tailing us through there."

Roy gulped hard; he stared out the passenger window to the blur of roadside trees. Hard to dwell on anything besides instant and certain death that remained pressed to his temple. Not an hour before, Vinnie showed what seemed at the time like a flicker of honour by the land's forgotten origins... He'd done so in a way like Roy was entrusted with this to carry on; now, hopes of that were long-since shattered, making the magikoopa's menace all too suitable.

It... Didn't add up at all, for a man that in sincerity did more than called-for to even dispense that history in the first place, then sank back to a stoneface so swiftly. Roy would be a lunatic to assume it meant nothing... But now, it was the least of all cares. Several minutes elapsed; Morton came close enough to bother his chauffers, and for all Roy knew, Tweetersburg could be the bleak last stop in his short life.

What hurt him the most was to be robbed of goodbyes to Ludwig, Larry, everyone, sitting silent. His imminent murderer disrespected the lot, those whose motives were the safety of a bro not even worth crying over. Roy might cry, if hearing much more of this: "That's where they went wrong, pal, wantin' you back. They can't be your Pop, and he's a cumbersome cunt, all-talk and no sack. They're the bare rocks around a dyin' star."

His will faded; every section of asphalt passed was one less uncertain moment... One less measure of time they dictated less than flat-out owned. Now, he only wished survival to learn their 'boss', the man who wanted him dead; the nameless identity whose goals putting this into motion were inconceivable and intrigue to his cargo. If it wasn't for money, then what? Envy? Revenge?

Maybe just to make a name for himself by felling one of the mighty?

Versus this, it was clear what Mouser's stake in it was, cash and a paltry way avenging the loss of his metal pets... That is to say, if any of that held water. Roy knew no matter what the rat had said, no way would Bowser commandeer a private stock of arms from anyone, including a burned-out hired gun who'd outlived usefulness. Why would the king not have an army with weapons.

Cutting eyes at the ratfink, Roy saw him as something of a charicature, leaning with the steer as they careened down the road, a classic tough-guy sneer etched on his pocked lips. The drinks purchased at the station sat untouched in the cupholders, forgotten when Morton made himself known. Seperate, none of this would matter to a doomed hostage, but together made a sign of ineptitude on their part. He didn't suffer by professionals so much as desperate, lucky thugs. How easy could it be for him - given the right chance and a shitload of luck - to turn an upper hand?

At once, he saw it. A burst of confidence gave him a smirk, despite everything. He began to wait, needing certainty of just the right moment.

Some more twists and turns, and he was gifted opportunity. In haste Mouser oversteered a sharper curve, sending them into an uncontrolled spinout. Tires blackened the road in a coil-pattern; rodent and gunman panicked. Roy fought the G-forces to grab one soda, twist off the cap and throw it straight at Mouser's head, hard as he could. It connected, showering a startled mouse with fizz. The driver wiped his grey fur, temporarily blinded; Roy whipped a hand over his seatback, grabbing Vinnie's gun while it dangled in a reeling hand. Many chaotic moments both struggled for the weapon, and it started to appear Roy might win, but before he was able a set of furred fingers shot from Mouser, gripping his chin with the force to halt his ballsy ways instantly.

The SUV had quit spinning, thankfully on all four wheels. The hand that could break his jaw now turned it forcefully toward its owner's face, dripping wet and with the grudge to melt stone with a stare.

"Get out of the fucking car," he hissed. Vinnie's gun dug like a nail into Roy's scalp.

This was it. They'd meant the threats about no hang-ups, free to do away with him whenever, and nothing in the world could sway them. 'Oh well,' he mused, his ego dilapidated. 'Time was kinda good while it lasted.'

Heavy arm and hand pulled his door handle; Vinnie did the same in order to stay targeted. Morton was nowhere in sight; for so long inescapable, now AWOL. If there was compassion in whatever force guided them, he hadn't wrecked in efforts to keep up with them, as Roy feared. Now, Mouser jumped out, shoes heavy and stomping. His pointer directed them to curb-grass, his backup and a terrified and humbled Roy. Vinnie, man of few words, only waited for permission to inevitable deed.

"You been more trouble than your home's worth," Mouser taunted through scowl, "But it ends now. Here's your last rites: in your little corner of hell, you'll be seein' MY face forever."

The doomed druggie shut eyes tight, steeled for what awaited, this and on the other side. Drops of sweat stung his eyes; wet trails of theirs reached his chin. 'Goodbye, everyone. Don't remember the truth. Forget what I really was.'

The first thing he knew: a dubious, whipping sound. Then he slowly opened eyelids, and saw he stood a few feet from the SUV. Only Mouser wasn't watching him, but instead tracked the sky, gape-mawed. No longer feeling a revolver on his neck, he turned to the other thug. Vinnie was equally transfixed.

Finally, he bit, and looked up to see what ruled their moment.

The flat, open top... Smooth and rounded bottom, affixed with large propellor. The front's accoutrements were a nose, a painted smile with sentience. And above, two heads of hair, one parted and wavy, the other wide and untamed. Roy's tongue aired out, but no words crossed his lips; none defined the way he felt.

His end would wait.

To be continued...