War: NA: Continuing to Catch Up (1/3)
By Patt Elmore and Caren Thomas
Takes place Monday, 11-8-04 evening
after "Catching up and Catching On"
All participants used with their permission

*** Flashback continued from "Catching Up and Catching On 3/3 ***
Meanwhile, another yellow vehicle was approaching the Canadian
border.

"We made good time, son," Monte noted, easing the Tracker into one
of the check lanes. "Knowing how the airlines are, we may just beat
your mother to Toronto."

Monte looked over at his son, knowing the young man was nervous
about getting his sword through customs.  "Ready?"
Paul nodded again, hoping for the best, but bracing for the worst.

A Canadian official approached the Tracker, scrutinizing the
occupants. "Vehicle registration, please."  Monte handed the
paperwork to the guard, who looked it over, then squinted at the
driver.  "You don't appear to be Caren Thomas."

"I'm her husband," Monte replied, offering the man a copy of their
marriage license.  "My wife flew, due to urgent business, and I'm
taking her vehicle to her."  The guard looked skeptical, and made a
note on the paperwork held by his clipboard.

"Where are you from?" the guard continued.

"Shreveport, Louisiana."

The guard raised an eyebrow, but only asked, "Where are you going?"

"Toronto, Ontario," Monte replied, then offered his best boyish
smile. "Love those Blue Jays."

The guard stared at the blonde American.  "How long will you be in
Canada?"

"Not very long." Monte sobered.  "Maybe a week?"

"Are you transporting anything into Canada which you need to
declare?"

Now was the moment of truth.  Paul spoke up.  "My sword."

The border official blinked.  "A sword?"

"Yes, sir," Paul responded.  He offered the man some paperwork.
"I
have a permit.  It's for a renaissance festival, and I had it
officially packaged for the trip."

"Very good," the guard said, returning the paperwork to Paul.
"Have
a pleasant visit and, remember, don't litter."  The guard waved his
hand, and the gate barricade began to rise.

Monte looked down to the gear, preparing to shift the Tracker into
drive.   He caught a sudden commotion outside of the corner of his
left eye, and noted that a large moose was moving across the
asphalt.  Several officials and young children appeared to be
chasing the moose. The animal bellowed, changed direction and began
loping toward the Tracker.

Monte stepped on the accelerator, while trying to shift into
reverse.  The gear refused to move, and the vehicle lurched forward,
still in drive.  Monte's foot sought the brake, but his reaction
wasn't quick enough.  The Tracker slammed into the plodding moose.
The looming creature stared down at the man.  It bellowed again, and
lowered its head, shaking its massive antlers in a warning manner.

"Jump, son!!" Monte yelled to Paul, who had vacated the vehicle
several minutes earlier.  Monte again attempted to shift the car,
without success.  The moose snorted, pawed the asphalt and charged.

Monte abandoned the Tracker.  As he fled, however, the barrier chose
to return to its down position, striking the elder Thomas on the
back of his head. Monte fell to the ground, motionless.

The moose sniffed at the prone man, bellowed his triumph, and was
last seen headed toward Ottawa . . .
*****************
The dropping of his chin to his chest jolted Paul awake.  He looked
over at his unconscious father, lying in a hospital bed.

Paul looked across the room.  A tall, dark-haired man occupied the
adjacent bed.  The man, who had said his name was Rob, slept
fitfully.  Paul winced as Rob moaned in his sleep, obviously in
pain.

While Monte had arrived at Her Lady of Mortal Souls in an ambulance,
courtesy of the Canadian Government, Rob had entered the emergency
room of his own accord.  The staff had immediately admitted the
American, not so much for the terrible case of frostbite the man was
suffering from, but for observation of mental status due to Rob's
having traveled so far in an open vehicle without properly clothing
himself for a winter climate.

"The damn top wouldn't go up," Rob had tried to explain, growing
angrier as the psychiatrist on call nodded and took notes.  "Then,
these geese kept flying over, honking and laughing at me . . ." the
doctor sniffed, frowned and continued to write.

Despite his protests that he needed to get on his way, the nurses
had slathered Rob with burn ointment and given him a sedative.  He
dropped like a stone, and was asleep before he was wheeled to the
elevator.

Monte stirred and groaned.  Paul leaned over his father, watching as
one eye opened, then focused.  "EGADS!" Monte yelped, sending a
startled Paul falling backwards in the chair.  "What manner of knave
are you?"

"Dad?" Paul said, picking himself up off the floor.  "You
okay?"

"Dad . . . what manner of word is this?" Monte sat up, winced and
touched his bandaged head. His eyes narrowed and he spat at his son.
"What mischief have you done?  Hark and know that you have assaulted
a Knight of the Scot Temple.  There shall be retribution."

"There always is," Paul sighed.  "I better get your nurse."
Paul
reached over to get the hospital call device attached to his
father's pillow.  As he pressed the buzzer, Monte shoved  the boy,
sending him hard against the wall.

While Paul was picking himself up again, a blonde nurse entered the
room, her expression inquiring.  "Did you need help in here?"  Her
name tag read T. Ninosev, and she looked remarkably like a character
from a famous science fiction television series.

"He woke up," Paul said, being careful to remain far enough from the
bed so that Monte could not attack him again.  "He's acting funny."

"Probably just the concussion," Nurse Ninosev said.  She took a
penlight out of her uniform pocket and began checking Monte's eyes.
"I'll give him something to help him sleep and he should be okay in
the morning.

"Now," she said, turning her attention to the younger man.  "It's

your turn to go get some rest.  You know he's going to be fine, so
you need to go into the waiting area and lie down on one of the
sofas.  You'll be called if anything changes, okay?"

Nurse Ninosev left the room with Paul, but returned shortly with a
paper cup and glass of water.  "Here," she instructed Monte, holding
the items toward him.  "Take this medicine."

Monte's eyes narrowed.  "I know of no women apothecaries.  Only
witches who ply dark arts."

Ninosev smiled.  It was a dazzling smile, lighting up the room.
Monte felt blinded.  He accepted the offered pill without further
argument, and popped it into his mouth.

"Good boy," Ninosev said, patting Monte's hand.  "Sleep
well."

She went round Monte's bed to check on Rob.  Rob stirred and opened
his eyes.  Seeing Ninosev, he gasped.  "Did I die?"

"I get that corny line all the time," Ninosev shook her head, but
smiled anyway.  "No, tiger, you're still very much alive  . . . not
even close to being *collected* yet."  She winked at Rob and walked
out of the room.

As soon as Ninosev was gone, Monte spat out the pill, sending it
skittering across the floor.

"Foul doings," the delusional Knight muttered.  He looked around,
saw Rob and asked roughly, "What manner of place IS this?"

"It's a hospital," Rob humored the other man, figuring that Monte
was there for psychiatric observation too.

"I know not that term," Monte replied.  He sat up and swung his legs
off the side of the bed.  "I have no time for idleness . . . I have
a quest.  I shall take my leave."

"I wouldn't advise it, dressed like that." Rob noted Monte's exposed
posterior.  "You'll get another thirty days added to your sentence."

"Ahhh, as I suspected," Monte whirled around, his features accusing.
"This IS a prison.  I'm being held captive by those who would sway
me from my quest.  They did not reckon, however, with the
determination and diligence born of a Knight of the Scot Temple.  We
will reclaim what is ours."

Monte strode toward the door, peaked out and slipped out of the
room.

"Good luck, fella," Rob said, lowering himself back into his own
bed.  "I think I'll just lie here and wait for that nurse to come
back and give me a sponge bath."
*****************
Monte stealthily made his way through the maze of passages, looking
for an exit from this odd castle.  In an open room, he found and
procured a pair of black sweat pants.  From a rack in a small
kitchen, he lifted a crimson smock, smiling at the heft and feel of
the material.  Disturbed at how cold his feet were on the tiles, the
KofST sought and found a crate of orange leggings and gloves and
collected a pair.

Finally, Monte saw what appeared to be a passageway to the outside.
As he moved toward the exit, Monte noted a woman sitting in a small
alcove, obviously sleeping.  Around the woman's neck was the symbol
of the Scot Temple . . . an ornate silver cross.  Monte tiptoed over
to the napping nun and carefully lifted the crucifix from her chest
and draped it over his own head.

Then, with a frown, Monte realized he was weaponless.  As if God
heard his thoughts, Monte's attention was drawn to the glass
departure point, where a sullen looking man appeared to be arguing
with a uniformed official.

"Man, this ain't right," the fellow contested his treatment by the
officer, but placed the knife on the counter.  "It's just a pen
knife.  I use it to clean my fingernails."

"Use soap next time," the officer said, cutting the man no slack.
"No weapons allowed in the building."

While the two men continued to argue, Monte quietly slipped the pen
knife off the counter and palmed it.  He whispered a quiet prayer of
thanks, and, now armed, fled the medical center confines.
*************
Paul finally gave up trying to sleep on the hospital
sofa and returned to his father's room.  With a start, he realized
the bed was empty.

"He snuck out," Rob said.

"Why didn't you tell someone," Paul admonished the other man,
turning to leave.

"He won't get far, Junior," Rob said with a satisfied grin.
"He's
*baring* it all."

Paul shook his head.  "Dad's resourceful.  Somewhere in that fogged
brain of his, I know he's determined to get to my Mom.  Just like
I'm determined to find Shelly."

"Shelly?" Rob sat up straighter.   "Tall girl with light hair,
nice
eyes?"

Paul gave Rob a surprised look, then his eyes narrowed.  "How do you
know Shelly?"

"I think we may have been on the same flight," Rob said.  "A
really
feisty dark-haired woman was with her."

Paul nodded.  "That's my mom."

"Sorry," Rob nodded back.
**************

Rob suddenly realized the importance of his meeting the Thomas men.
They were his key to finding Christy.  "Errr, where in Toronto are
you going, anyway?"

"The Shrine," Paul said, already halfway out the door.  "Rather, the
Rubble-that-was-the-Shrine-to-Nunkies."

Rob stared after the departing youngster.  "Shrine?"

On the horns of a moral dilemma, Rob weighed his options.  Should he
show his concern for his friend and leave immediately to find her at
this Shrine, or did he hang around and wait for the nurse with the
great gams to come give him a sponge bath?  Friend sponge bath
friend sponge bath .  "Damn!"

Dripping lotion and already missing the rubdown he had contemplated
receiving from Nurse Ninosev, Rob angrily flung back the sheets and
slid off his bed.  Dressing as quickly and as gingerly as possible,
he fled the premises.  Christy might be the Queen, but the little
redheaded wench SOOOO owed him for this one! He'd better earn
Favored Status points galore!
**********
It didn't take Rob long to locate Monte, ducking in and out alleys.
"Need a lift?" Rob hollered at the delusional Knight.

"What manner of horse is this?" Monte looked at the car
suspiciously.

"Mustang," Rob replied.  "Pee-yellow mustang . . . but it should get
us to this Shrine place."

Monte's expression turned hopeful.  "Shrine?  You are on the quest
also?  I'm sorry I did not recognize you as a brother Knight, sir."
Monte hopped into the car and settled down into the seat.  "For the
Grail."

"Whatever," Rob replied, gunning the engine and speeding toward
Toronto with drum corps music blasting from his speakers.

****** End of Flashback ********

"So, where is your father now?" Caren asked.

Paul shrugged.  "Rob said he bolted from the car when they arrived.
Ducked into an alley."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Caren demanded. "We'd better go find him.
How bad was the Tracker damaged?"  She held out her hand, obviously
waiting for her keys.

Paul pursed his lips.  This was the part he had not been looking
forward to.  He fished into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys
bearing the Toyota <tm> emblem.

"Courtesy of the Canadian Government," Paul said, dropping the
unfamiliar keys into his mother's hand.  "You are now the proud
owner of a 2005 Rav4."

Caren looked at the boy icely.  "What color?"

"They call it 'Crawfish Red,'" Paul replied.  Caren's look softened.
"It has a CD player and a moon roof."

Caren positively beamed.  "Let's go."

"If you don't mind, Mom, I think I'm gonna stay here and look after
Erik," Paul said.

Shelly agreed to go with Caren, and both headed for the door.  They
stopped dead in their tracks, however, as a muscular figure with
bright red locks entered the Jeweled Peach, followed by a contingent
of equally muscular fellows, who stopped short at the door.

Kriel looked back at his crew and growled, realizing that most of
them were new and, therefore, had to be invited in by a mortal
before they could cross the threshhold.   Kriel caught sight of
Christy and grinned in vicious glee.  Then, he saw Patt and strolled
over to the NunkWrangler.

"We got business to discuss," the G.R.O.U.T. foreman snarled, his
fangs distending.  "Important business."

Patt stood up, facing Kriel's chest.  "Do what you have to do," she
said, suddenly resigned to her fate.  "But, remember, LaCroix's
probably lurking around here somewhere, and he won't be happy if he
doesn't have me to chew on now and then."

"He's done without you for three years . . . why should he need you
now?" the vampire Foreman snapped, eyes glowing fierce yellow.

"Look around, big guy," Patt replied, waving her arms toward the
group in the room.  "Most everyone here is new.  And, the few
veterans we have on staff are not intimates of the big guy.  You're
right, he hasn't had use for me lately, but with War declared . . ."

"War?" Kriel didn't like the sound of this.  His fangs retracted
slightly.

" . . . LaCroix is going to be looking for his favored staff, all of
whom are currently missing.  I may not be favored, but a least I'm
here. Bite if you must, but where's the profit in that action?
Wouldn't you much rather just be paid for the use of your
tools?"

The vampires at the door began to murmor, especially having heard
Uncle's name mentioned.  Kriel turned toward them, hissing them into
silence.  Then, the Foreman turned back to the Mature Addict,
considering her thoughtfully.

"Ten thousand dollars - American of course - and extra for any
equipment damage.  Deal?"  He held out his large hand.

"Deal," Patt agreed, her own rather pudgy hand dwarfed in his. "I'll
have a check for you tomorrow."  Kriel's eyes narrowed.  The fangs
began to appear again.

"LaCroix is good for it," Patt promised.  Then, she smiled sweetly.
"And, I'll have Love Bunny personally deliver the payment."

This time it was Jackson that growled, especially when he noted the
smirk that crossed Kriel's face.  The Imp grabbed Christy by the
shoulders and moved her behind him.

"Done." Kriel nodded, throwing another glance at the Nunketeer, who
was tentatively peeping out from behind Jackson Hugh.  "But she
better leave slugger there at home."

"That wasn't very nice." Christy stepped from behind Jackson,
admonishing Patt after Kriel had stomped out of the restaurant.

The Nunkwrangler shrugged.  "You brought me back, kiddo.  Put me
back in charge.  If you had a better plan, you should have spoken
up."

Christy started to respond, but was struck into silence by the low,
softly malevolent voice which permeated the room.  "I consider the
situation handled quite efficiently."

All eyes turned as LaCroix stepped from the shadows.

"It's the General," Katherine sighed, her fondest wish fulfilled.
"He's in the same room with us . . ."

"Scary, isn't it?" Paul said, slipping his arm around Shelly's
waist.  "All these women fixing to go into meltdown.  Now you see
why I'd rather hang with Erik.  At least he just salutes."

LaCroix looked toward where Patt and Christy stood.  He was in front
of them before they could blink, staring down at both height-
challenged women.

"Do I detect unrest among my faithful?" he inquired, his eyes
deepening a shade.  Patt looked at Christy.  Christy looked at Patt.
Both women looked back at LaCroix and shook their heads.

"Good," LaCroix said, smiling in approval.  "Now, we can discuss
business. As you pointed out to Mr. Kriel earlier this evening,
Jules. Annie and Bons have declined to make a notable appearance
thus far.  That appears to leave you both as the ranking Addicts at
my disposal."

"How is he going to dispose of them?" Krista's eyes widened as she
sought Alyce's counsel.

"Very skillfully, I would presume," Alyce replied.  Then she found
herself feeling a bit giddy.  "At least it will leave room for
advancement in the organization."

"As such, I am leaving you with this."  As LaCroix reached inside
his jacket, most of the people in the room fell back a step,
suddenly a bit anxious.  Jackson Hugh, however, stood his ground,
watching the vampire closely.

The General extracted a rolled document from his inner pocket.  Upon
seeing the scroll, Patt flinched.  LaCroix extended the scroll
toward the NunkWrangler, their eyes locking.  "I'm sure you remember
these."

"How could I forget?" Patt muttered, accepting the 1999 blueprints
for the revised Shrine to Nunkies.   "I take it that we're being
ordered to rebuild?"

LaCroix smiled warmly.  Well, as warmly as he was capable of
smiling.  "Clever girl.  I knew that my confidence in your abilities
was not unwarranted."  He stepped back slightly, so as to address
all of his followers.  "As you all know, the various factions have
been summoned back to Toronto.  After three years of restless
anticipation, it appears that we are at War once again."

"Whoopee!" several of the newbies shouted.  LaCroix gave them a
chilling glance, and they immediately ceased their whooping.

"This faction is mine, and cannot serve my needs without proper
accommodations," LaCroix continued.  Therefore, I am authorizing you
to rebuild the Shrine.  And, I want it done immediately.  You have
one week."

Addict mouths dropped open in astonishment and disbelief.

"Do you feel inadequate to the task . . . that it cannot be done?"
The General's voice was veiled with threat.

Addict mouths closed quickly.

"Well, they do it every Sunday night on ABC <TM>, Dee pointed out
helpfully.

"Precisely," LaCroix smiled at the seasoned Addict.   Then he turned
and looked at Patt.  "I like her spirt.  I suggest a field promotion
for that one."

"Will do," Patt replied.  "I'll make her head of Shrine Portable
Privy Procurement."

LaCroix's smile faded, his eyes narrowing.  "One week," he growled.

"Errrr, one little problem," Patt said, hating to mention it.  "With
our faction pretty much being dormant for three years, our cash flow
has ceased flowing.  How are we supposed to fund this little
construction project?"

LaCroix reached back under his Armani.  The Addicts and Ala-Addicts
stepped back again, except for Jackson Hugh.  The Imp gnashed his
teeth, looking ready to pounce on something.

This time, LaCroix pulled out a small piece of plastic.  It was
silvery blue in color, with an irridescent sheen.  It also bore
Nunkies' holographic image.

Christy's eyes grew large as moon pies.  "That's a Titanium card,"
she drooled.

LaCroix, wisely, handed the credit card to Patt.  "This should be
sufficient to finance the rebuilding, and any other indulgences you
might find beneficial to the continued adoration of me."  He turned
and looked at Christy.  As if by magic, his hand produced a silk
handkerchief.  He wiped the tiny spot of dribble from the
Nunketeer's lips.  "Keep the card out of her reach, please.

"And," he continued, "have some of the Addicts inspect all of the
boulders that were moved from this site.  One of those rocks may
have been the stone that we are seeking."

Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, LaCroix was gone.
***************

"We need silver curtains this time, not just Peach," Christy said,
chattering excitedly as she followed Patt across the rubble to where
Kriel was commanding workers which way to go. Christy noticed their
direction and halted.  "What are you doing?"

"Employing our contracting firm," Patt replied, her face determined.

"Are you absolutely nuts?"  Christy jumped in front of the
NunkWrangler, her face white with shock.  Jackson Hugh, who was
following at a discreet distance, prepared himself to separate the two
women.

"They're the only firm around that has the vampiric speed needed to
have the Shrine up and running in a week," Patt said firmly, her pace
never slowing.  "Like I said before, if you have a better idea, I'm
open to suggestions."

Christy thought hard but, darn it, couldn't think of a thing.
Except for the quickest route back to Florida . . .

Patt halted just behind Kriel.  She reached out and tapped the massive
vampire on the shoulder. Kriel turned so abruptly that his red hair
danced as if on fire.  Seeing the Mature Addict, his eyes blazed amber.
 "What do you want now?"

"I'm here to pay our debt and engage your further services," Patt said.
 "We need a Shrine in seven days."

"I need a good Bloody Mary," Kriel replied, looking at Christy and
licking his lips.  From somewhere behind them, Jackson growled. Kriel
looked into the darkness and smiled.  "He's gonna be fun to
tangle with at some point, I suspect."  The Foreman looked down at
Christy. "He got the hots for you, Love Buns?"

"That's *Bunny,*" Christy corrected Kriel, then cringed at her own
words.   "And, we're just friends."

Patt looked at a blushing Christy, then glanced back into the shadows
toward the Imp.  Deciding now was not the time for analysis, Patt
turned back to Kriel.  She extended LaCroix's Titanium card and
said, "We're solvent.  When can you get started?"

Kriel took the offered card, sniffed it, then bit it sharply.  He spat
it back at Patt.  "Card's no good."

Patt's eyes widened.  "You're kidding?"

"I don't kid about cash," Kriel said.  "Unless you got something better
to offer, " he looked meaningfully at Christy, "we have nothing further
to discuss."

"Wait here," Patt instructed.  She ran back into the Peach and asked
Louis to swipe the card.  Mon. Cabon complied, then advised her that
the card was being denied.

Patt went back to where Kriel was waiting.  Or, rather where he was
finishing up instructing his crew to head home.  "You were right.
Nunkies' card was no good."

"LaCroix's card?"  Kriel grabbed the plastic and looked at the
shimmering imprint of the General.

"Yep, and imagine how upset he's going to be when he finds out that HIS
construction project was abandoned because someone thought HIS credit
was no good," Patt said, sighing deeply.  "He's going to be so teed off
that he'll probably take it out on the whole Community . . ."

Kriel frowned, then slipped the card into his pocket, much to Christy's
relief.  "Okay, let's work this out.  We'll do the construction, if you
promise to have our payment within fourteen days.  Payment in full in
two weeks or," he gave Christy a fierce
smiled, then turned the same smile on the Mature Addict, "BOTH of you
belong to me."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"How could you make a deal like that?" Christy was horrified as she
followed Patt back to the Peach.

"What choice did I have," Patt said, just a hint of anger in her voice.
"He had us between a rock and a hard place.  Speaking of which, go grab
some the Addicts,to do our Nunkies' bidding and find
that Rocky Horror message for him.  I'd start at the landfill, if I
were you, since that's where most of the rubble was hauled off to. Take
the young ones with you.  They should be able to lift and carry
better than us old girls."

"And, just what are YOU going to be doing?"  Christy asked.

"I'll be Trying to rustle us up some temporary lodgings," Patt replied.
 "How do you feel about tents?"
********************
Caren found herself on her own as she struck out to hunt for Monte.
Christy had come back to the Shrine, commandeering all of the Addicts
and had asked for Shelly's help, saying that young and strong was
required for the job at hand.  Paul had volunteered and been assigned
to sit and watch Erik, who appeared to be suffering some vegetative
malady.

"And, perhaps it's best that I do this solo," Caren said aloud to
herself.  "He can be a little shy at times, and having a bunch of women
chasing him might cause him to bolt."

She settled into the red Rav4, turned the keys and roared the small SUV
to life.  It purred like a kitten.  Smiling happily, Caren put an Eric
Clapton CD into the console, and headed in pursuit of her
husband.

Caren had obtained some reports though Jesse's intelligence agency that
an oddly dressed blonde man had been seen wandering the streets of
Toronto, swinging a pen knife at people. From the description,
Caren wisely concluded that this HAD to be Monte.  She headed in the
direction where the reports said the man had last been seen.  What she
found was an extremely angry male from Ohio.

As Caren turned left on Carlaw, she wondered what was going through
Monte's head.  Paul had said that his father was acting stranger than
unusual, and had been muttering something about being a Scottish
Knight.  Well, at least he wasn't saying he was from Belgium, or that
would have probably sent a lot of the Knighties into a tizzy.

Caren's destination was an Afghan restaurant on Danforth Avenue. The
reports had said that the proprietor had called the police, complaining
about a man coming into the establishment and stealing
salt shakers, claiming they were part of his quest.  Oddly, that did
sound like something Monte might do.

The Cajun arrived at her destination, and pulled into the parking lot
adjacent to the eating place.  She parked next to a yellow convertible,
and shook her head that the driver had been careless enough to leave
the roof down on such a foggy evening.

Upon entering, Caren felt a bit uneasy.  She found herself to be the
only woman in the restaurant, surrounded by bearded men with clean
shaven mustaches, all speaking various Persian dialects.  Caren asked
to speak with the owner, was escorted to a private booth near a window
and offered a menu.

Reading the fare choices, Caren had to admit that her mouth began to
water.  The meals leaned heavily on meat and basmati rice. While
waiting, Caren decided to sample a basket of warm house-made flatbread,
which came with coriander dipping sauce. Delighted with her decision,
Caren said aloud, "I have to tell Patt about this place."

In front of her, a head popped up from the adjacent booth.  Rob turned
around, staring at the Ala-Addict.  Caren quickly choked down a nibble
of flatbread, and stared back.  Rob left his booth and
slipped into the seat opposite Caren.

"YOU!" Rob whispered accusingly.

"Yes?" Caren replied calmly.

"You left me stranded in *frigging* cold Nova Scotia and took my
clothes!  I got FROSTBITE!" He shook his reddened limbs at the Cajun
woman for emphasis.

"I really regret having done that," Caren responded quietly.  "I was
under a lot of pressure and needed to get to my friend as quickly as
possible.  You would probably have done the same."

Rob considered this, then nodded.  "Yup, I would have."

"Flatbread?" Caren offered the man the basket.

"Actually, I'll settle for some sweaters and comfortable jeans," Rob
replied, but he took some of the bread anyway.  "I take it we're both
here because of Christy?"

"Christy and Patt," Caren corrected.  "You're one of Christy's Disnoid
friends, Rob, right?  Sorry I didn't know who you were when we were
traveling together."

"Well, that's my fault," Rob admitted.  "I figured out who you were,
listening to you talking with your son's fiance.  I didn't want you to
know who I was, because I figured you'd shut down and not share
any information with me.  Something weird happened to Christy's plane
on the way to Memphis, and she won't tell me what it is."

Caren gave the man a sympathetic look, but didn't answer his unspoken
request.  "I'm sure if Christy has anything to share with you, she will
in her own time."

"Yeah, probably," Rob agreed, but his face indicated impatient
consternation.  "I just don't like having to wait to figure out what's
going on.  She's my Queen and buddy, and I want to be there for her."

"Like I want to be there for my friends and family." Caren nodded.
"Right now, my husband is my priority.  I understand that you drove him
to Toronto and he took off when you arrived."

Rob looked surprised. "That Scot Knight is your husband?  Of course,
Paul is your son."  Understanding spread across Rob's face, replaced
again by irritation.  "Well, this must run in the family.  That
Templer, or whatever he is, stole my wallet.  I wouldn't even care that
much, but it has my Disney Annual Passport card in it.  That's
grand larceny, you know.  That's why I'm here looking for him."  Rob
held out a note to Caren.

The Cajun woman took the paper and read the message, written in Monte's
neatest hand.  Caren frowned, knowing that it was not like Monte to
write neatly.

"Friend and Companion, I regret that I find myself in need of revenue
to continue our quest.  Therefore, based on your prior willingness to
assist me, I have taken your purse.  Trust that your generosity will be
rewarded by our Lord, once the quest is accomplished.    Mungo Gunn,
Knight of the Scot Temple."

"He left that in the car," Rob said.  "He must have lifted my wallet
while we were enroute to Toronto.  Talented guy."

"You have no idea." Caren smiled.   Then her expression sobered. "How'd
you know to come here to look for him."

"I'm rather resourceful myself," Rob smiled back.

Before Rob could elaborate, a tall man in flowing robes approached
their table.  He bowed slightly, and introduced himself as the owner.
He explained that a man in a red smock and black trousers had been
raiding restaurants up and down Davenport, stealing
condiment containers. The owner pointed toward a small hotel on the
corner, saying that the strange blonde American had been seen hanging
around there.

Caren and Rob thanked the man and, together, left the restaurant,
headed toward the hotel.  As soon as they reached the front door, Caren
caught sight of Monte, ducking out the back exit, sprinting down an
alley.

"MJ!" Caren shouted, running after the fleeing man.  "Come back here!
MONTE J!!"  She raced down the alley, Rob hard on her heals. Rob
quickly passed the woman, determined to catch the thief.

However, Monte had equal determination and a good head start. Feeling
himself being outpaced, the Scot Templer shot to the right and ducked
down a subway entrance.  Rob swiftly followed, with Caren not far
behind.

Upon reaching the landing, Rob and Caren stopped, looking in all
directions.  Monte had vanished.

"Well, crud."  Rob looked around in frustration.  "There's no way of
telling which way he went."

"It's obvious that we're not going to find him in this labyrinth,"
Caren agreed unhappily.  "We'll need Beverley's tracking and
directional skills for this task."  She sighed wistfully, and looked
around for her husband.  "I hate to leave him like this, but what
choice do I have?  This is War, and Patt's writing the story."

Together the pair returned to the surface.  Caren headed toward her new
Rav4, but stopped when she noticed that Rob wasn't following. "You
coming?"

"Remember," the man said snidely.  "I'm not welcome."

"Christy's a bit distraught right now," Caren said, sensing the man's
feelings needed stroking.  "Come on . . . as my guest," she coaxed.
"Things will be better in the morning.  Besides, you need to come get
your things."

Rob didn't look convinced but, since he had no place else to go, no
money and he desperately wanted his favorite Santa Clara Vanguard
hockey jersey and a comfortable long sleeved shirt, he nodded and
followed the woman back to where their cars were parked.  He got into
the yellow convertible and was about to gun the engine, when he noticed
Caren looking disapprovingly at him.

"No wonder you got bitten," Caren said, starting her own vehicle.
"You need to put that top up."  She drove away, unable to hear Rob
shouting about the "damn pee-colored defective car."
**********

Back at the Jeweled Peach . . .

Patt shut the phone directory with a loud, emphatic thump.  Her
index finger was tired of punching in the numbers for area motels,
hotels, hostels and stables, trying to find adequate housing for the
Addict and Ala-Addicts in residence.  The search had not only been
unproductive, but some of those she had tried talking to had
actually laughed in her face before hanging up on her.

"I got your first work orders here," Kriel stalked into the
restaurant, waving a stack of invoices in Patt's face.  He stopped
when he noticed the Nunkwranger's morose expression.  A slow, evil
smile spread across his face.  "Ready to give in already?  I can
make it quick and almost painless for ya."

"I thought you wanted the Love Bunny to suck on," Patt looked at the
vampire through tired eyes.

Kriel shrugged.  "I can do twosies."

Patt considered the offer, then shook her head.  "Not just yet.  I'm
homeless, but not defeated.  I still have the tent option."

Kriel raised an eyebrow in question.  "I figured you were all gonna
stay at that Madame's place."

Patt shook her head again. "Kiki turned us down . . . said our new
males weren't *buff enough* and that she couldn't risk taking the
hit on her reputation.  Personally, I don't see the problem, but . .
."

Kriel looked thoughtful.  "Maybe this will work out.  I was gonna
tell you that, in order for us to cut down on coming and going time,
I'm gonna move in house trailers for my crew to stay on site.  We'll
only need them during the day, and I'm agreeable to your people
staying in them at night, for a fee, and as long as *I* get to
choose who stays where."

Patt considered this offer.  It was a dismaying idea, but better
than ten to a six-man tent in pre-winter Toronto.  Finally, and with
the utmost regret, she nodded in agreement to Kriel's proposition.

"Good," the Foreman almost licked his lips in hedonistic pleasure.
"Give me a list of your people, I'll make up a roster, and get back
with ya."

"Can't wait."  Patt handed Kriel the list of names that she had
already prepared for making hotel reservations.  "I guess there's no
use asking you not to put Christy in YOUR trailer, right?"

"That's why you're leader, 'cause you got smarts," Kriel replied
with a feral grin.  "Besides, she can't gripe.  She'll be sharing
the *best* trailer of the group.  Just remember," the Foreman said,
his voice low with threat.  "Have your people out of the trailers by
sunrise, or I can't be responsible for what happens.  My crew is
always tired and hungry after a hard night's work and breakfast IS
the most important meal of the day."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The end -- for now