Part Nineteen
The lobby of Blucher Memorial seemed drowsy, even the nurses and techs ambling through the halls moving at a just-woken-from-a-nap pace. The Newsman, by contrast, couldn’t keep still as he waited for the elevator. He glanced over at the large bronze of a woman posed with a fiddle upraised on her arm, her aged face frozen in a disturbing sort of smile as she forever paused in the middle of a song, a cigar clamped between her teeth. Shivering, Newsie shifted from foot to foot, holding tight to the enormous arrangement of fall mums, red daisies, and asters he’d picked up at the florist on the way here. His aunt had always been fond of her flower gardens, both the tiny one at the house she and Joe had shared in Jersey and the more rambling one up at the lake house. He wondered what that must look like now; he doubted anyone had tended to it for a long while.
He continued to fuss with his tie and cuffs and glasses, and to adjust his hold on the flowers, all the way up to Ethel’s room. Fortunately he hadn’t encountered that skeptical nurse again, and after he’d signed in at the front desk nobody had paid him any attention. However, when he reached the correct room, he was flabbergasted to find absolutely no one standing guard! Voices from within the room at once drew his ire, and he jerked the door open and strode angrily in. A man with gray and receding hair stopped midsentence to glare at the Newsman; the woman wrapped in furs and holding a stylish pocketbook on her lap also stared at Newsie in surprise a moment before she said, “Oh! It’s…isn’t it…Aloysius?”
It took him a moment to recall their names. “Er…Mary? Fred?” It had been over a decade since he’d seen either of Uncle Joe’s grandchildren. Last he’d heard, both of Joe’s sons by his first wife were deceased; he’d been much older than Ethel. Newsie had rarely been in contact with any of this branch of the extended family, having only run into them a few times during those lakehouse summers and the occasional Christmas dinner. Startled but pleased to see them checking on Ethel, Newsie carefully set down the flowers on a table where Ethel would be able to see them, and offered a fuzzy hand to Mary, who smiled wanly at him. “It’s…it’s so good to see you! It’s been…ah…since, um, 1994, wasn’t it? Ethel’s birthday?” Newsie asked.
“Good memory,” Mary agreed. Newsie turned to Fred, but the man scowled, ignoring the outstretched hand.
“I didn’t realize you were in town,” Newsie said, trying to regain some composure despite the snub. “Did the hospital call you? I…I should’ve notified you, I guess…”
“Doesn’t matter,” Fred snorted. “I’m her executor. They’d have called me soon at any rate.”
“Fred,” Mary scolded gently. To Newsie she explained, “We dropped by the nursing home for a visit, and they told us –“
“Nursing home!” Fred snorted again. “Loony bin, you mean.”
“She’s not crazy,” Newsie argued. “She’s just…er…old. Dementia of some form isn’t uncommon at her age.”
Fred made no reply, standing apart from everyone and glaring at the still, frail Muppet woman in what seemed a sea of bedsheets and blankets, her tiny form almost hidden among them, the oxygen tubing down her throat hissing in measured pulses softly the only indication she was still alive. Newsie came closer, gazing at her shriveled face, remembering instead a handsome woman with bright eyes and a ready smile. This hardly seemed the same person… “How…how is she?”
“Really?” Fred snapped. Newsie started back at the venom in that voice, then glowered at his step-cousin.
“Those are lovely flowers,” Mary said. “I’m sure she’ll like them.”
“Will you stop acting like she’s going to wake up and everything’ll be better!” Fred burst out.
“She might,” Newsie said hotly. “The doctor said she might! And – and – she wouldn’t want her family to be at odds!” He swallowed hard, and tried a more neutral tone: “Look, I know we were never close, but she’s my aunt and your grandmother –“
“She’s my dead grandfather’s widow,” Fred snapped. “She made me her executor, lord knows why since it was always obvious she favored you Muppets more than her husband’s blood descendants! I’m just waiting for this to be over with so we can figure out what to do with the property! Don’t you worry, I’m sure she left you something. I’ll let you know at the reading of the will, okay?” Shocked at this antagonism, Newsie opened his mouth to protest, and Fred bent over to deliver one more piece of poison face to face: “You and I are not family, you – you – fuzzy yellow dwarf! And this whole business has dragged on long enough! I wish she’d just –“ He abruptly shut up, threw another glare at the sickbed, turned on his heel so sharply his designer loafer squeaked on the linoleum and left the room.
Stunned, outraged, Newsie stood there, wanting to yell back a retort but remembering his poor aunt was right there. One of them had to act like a grown-up, for the sake of this woman who’d wanted only harmony among all her relations!
Mary swore very softly, then stood and touched a hand to Newsie’s shoulder. “I’m really, really sorry. He’s…this whole thing has been really hard on him. I don’t know why he’s saying these awful things; he always loved Grandma Ethel!” She looked at the half-open door, fuming at her brother. “Just ignore him, okay? He’s not thinking clearly. We just…haven’t known what to do with Ethel, since she…since she started losing her grip on things. It’s hard, to see someone you’ve loved just go downhill like that.”
Newsie nodded, staying silent, still feeling slapped. Mary rubbed his shoulder lightly, then sighed. “I should go catch up with him before he tries to drive in that mood. It honestly is nice to see you again, Aloysius. You, uh…you take some time with your aunt, okay? Maybe she does know we’re here.”
“I hope not,” Newsie muttered, casting a dark look at the door.
“He didn’t mean it,” Mary said. “He’s just really angry at all of this. I should go.”
Newsie nodded, and clasped her hand one more time before she left. Once she’d gone, he stood looking into the hospital bed a long while, seeing no change on Ethel’s face, no indication she’d heard any of the altercation. Just as well, he thought gloomily. The lack of a guard returned to his awareness, and in growing unease he checked under the bed, in the wardrobe, and every corner of the room, but found no sign of the yipping monsters, or of any other untoward creature. He was sitting on an uncomfortable chair when a nurse came in; Newsie looked up worriedly, but it wasn’t the one who’d threatened to throw him out last time. “Just checking vitals,” the nurse murmured at him. Newsie nodded, relaxing slightly.
After a minute of watching the nurse log readings from various displays over and around the bed, Newsie asked quietly, “Do you think she’s going to wake up?”
The nurse gave him a sympathetic smile. “Hon, you know, I have seen miracles around here, once in a blue moon…but in her case I don’t think it’s likely. If she’s not breathing on her own by next Wednesday…” She shrugged.
“What…what do you mean?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I assumed you were her nephew,” the nurse said, then gently began to explain, “She has a limitation order for artificial methods of life-prolongation we didn’t know about until her step-grandson informed us of her living will. If we’d known about that she wouldn’t even be here now, hon. I’m so sorry.”
“I am her nephew!” Newsie said, hopping down from the chair to confer more closely with the nurse. She pointed out the neon-green piece of paper taped above the bed which spelled out his aunt’s wish not to continue life hooked up to a machine. “When – when did she order that?”
Sighing, the nurse checked the file clipped to the bed. “Says here she signed the directive years ago; a Fred Muppman witnessed it. We told her nephew about it as soon as we were informed –“
“But I’m her nephew!” Newsie insisted again, then realized he wasn’t the only one. “Er…do you mean Chester Blyer?”
“No, no Blyer listed…this says we told an Aloysius Crimp. I’m really sorry nobody contacted you about it…would you like us to add you to the contact list as well, Mr…?”
Shaken, Newsie gulped out, “But –but I am Aloysius Crimp!” What the hey was going on here? This is starting to feel like an Abbot and Costello routine! If one of the yip-yips had popped up and chimed in, “Third base!” he wouldn’t have been at all surprised. “Nobody called me! What the hey – that’s the second time someone said they called me and nobody did! What number are you people calling?” Could there possibly be two people with the same archaic name in this city?
“You’re…” the nurse stared at him uncertainly.
“Let me see that,” Newsie demanded, reaching for his aunt’s chart. The nurse jerked it up out of his grasp.
“Only immediate family are –“
“D—it, I am her closest family!” Newsie shouted, then wrested his anger under control again. Fuming, he dug out all his ID to show the unhappy nurse. When she was at last persuaded of his familial relation and birth-name, she allowed him to copy down in his reporter’s notepad the phone number the hospital believed to be his, and for good measure he wrote down for her his home phone, cell phone, and the main number at KRAK. “These are the numbers you should call if anything happens! Not that one! I never gave you that one and I don’t even know who that is!” he growled.
The nurse shrugged. “Fine, I’ll pass it along to records. I’m sorry about the mixup, Mr Crimp. And I’m sorry about your aunt.” With a frown, she left the room.
Newsie stared at the number he’d copied down. They’ve been calling some total stranger? But...but who would say they were me? Who wouldn’t correct their mistake, instead of being given reports of…of… Chilled, he raised his eyes to his aunt, still motionless, the machine breathing for her as she slept, and slept, and slept. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, fear sinking into his stomach. His fingers fumbled through his coat pockets until he found his cell phone, silently thanking his beloved yet again for making sure he took it with him this morning. Slowly he dialed the unknown number, put the phone to his ear with a trembling hand, and listened.
After three rings, the line clicked. A scratchy voice said, “Main office. What extension?”
Newsie paused, then tried to clear his throat, and said hoarsely, “A-aloysius Crimp, please.”
“One moment.”
Some truly ghastly hold music warbled through the phone, then the line clicked again. The voice which answered was deep, smooth, and somehow very, very cold: “Yes? This is Mr Crimp.”
Newsie choked, inhaled, struggled to regain his speech. “You – who are you?”
Silence filled the open line. Then Newsie heard a very, very faint, very deep chuckle, and the line went dead. “Who are you?” he shouted, frantic, even though he’d heard the other person hang up, and now a beeping tone sounded in his ear. Frightened, he hastily punched redial.
After a second, a recorded, snide voice informed him: “The number you have dialed has been disconnected. If you would like to place a call, please hang up and dial again. If you require assistance, please hang up and dial zero…”
Shaking, Newsie closed the phone and tucked it back in his pocket. He stared at his aunt. Silence filled the room, save for the steady hissing of the machine. He looked at the notepad with its simple, local, and now very disturbing number. The fact that it now appeared in his own handwriting on his notepad seemed somehow very wrong. He pulled his phone out once more, and after a moment of racing thought and worried hesitation, called his detective friend. Once again he reached voicemail. Newsie used one of the curse words he’d picked up from Gina, although quietly, and then found the main number of Detective Pendziwater’s precinct in his contact list.
“He’s on administrative leave,” the desk sergeant informed him.
“Admin…what? Why?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that, sir. If you’d like another detective to –“
He’d met some of the others once, on a visit to the precinct chasing a story about a rash of burglaries; none of them had seemed friendly. “Er—no. Can I – can I just report a – a case of identity theft?” He had no idea what else to call the troubling thing he’d just discovered.
Some other detective who sounded even more tired and bored than the sergeant took down his information and said they’d look into it. Frustrated, Newsie hung up and paced the room. What can I do? Oh frog, what the hey can I even do, to keep her safe? Once more, he made a circuit of the entire room, checking for anything lurking, but found nothing. Whom could he recruit? Ethel needed a guard now more than ever! Penguins? No, too noisy, they’d be thrown out! The chickens? No…there’s probably laws against that in Queens… Sweetums came to mind, but he shuddered. No! A thousand times no! Despite what Gina had told him of her odd but friendly conversation with the troll, he couldn’t bring himself to accept the idea of anything even slightly monsterish here…and Sweetums was more than slightly. He shivered hard. No, he needed someone trustworthy, someone who would take this all with the utmost seriousness…
Brightening somewhat, Newsie quickly checked through his contact list, found the number he needed, and hurriedly punched it in.
-----------------------------
Thirty minutes later (the eagle was nothing if not prompt and punctual), Sam nodded grimly as the Newsman ran for the elevator before the doors closed. Now there, Sam thought, is a Muppet who understands that time is money…money is the absolute base of our society – why – it’s the BASEST base, oh indeed…and the news is…is…the news is very important! Even if I’m not sure how falling sofas actually affect Wall Street. Nodding again sagely, he leaned forward to follow a passing intern with a fierce glare until the spooked doctor-in-training was out of sight. Well! I certainly hope this ‘Frau Blucher’ doesn’t know of the lax security measures at the hospital bearing her… “Why am I hearing horses?” Sam muttered aloud, looking up and down the hallway. When no explanation presented itself, and there was no one around to ask, he shrugged. “Weird.” He checked the lock on the doorknob behind him; it remained firmly shut. “Good,” he rumbled, satisfied. “Those nurses will just have to prove they’re really nurses by using their special hospital key! Hm!”
He straightened his feathers, checking himself once all over just to be certain he was maintaining a proper guard appearance. By gum, they should never have sent a man to do an eagle’s work! But no matter. Now I am on the job, and nothing will get past these steely eyes! Nothing, and certainly not one of those long-furred weirdos!
Inside Ethel Muppman’s hospital room, a shimmer in the air was followed by the materialization through the tiny window of a pink, many-tentacled thing and its blue twin, goggle-eyes wide, mouths downturned in unhappiness. “Eth-el, yip,” the blue thing mumbled.
“Yip yip yip,” the pink thing agreed, then put an appendage to its wide mouth. “Shhhh! Qui-et! Mmm! Shhhhhhh!”
“Shhhhhhyipyipyipyipyip!” the blue one echoed, the two of them shushing one another, progressively louder and with many competing yips until both finally subsided. “Shh. Mm.”
Slowly they drifted lower, closer to the bed with its unconscious occupant. Wide-eyed, and with only the slightest twitching of their quirked antennae, the monsters studied the frail, pale Muppet woman a long time.
“Eth-el,” the pink one muttered.
“Shhhhhh! Yip,” the blue one shushed it, and again they fell to quarreling: “Shh! Yip yip yip yip!” “Qui-et! Yip yip qui-et! Shhhh!” “Yiiiiip yip yip yip yip aaawww…”
The woman in the bed didn’t stir, didn’t open her eyes, made no acknowledgement of them whatsoever. The creatures, silent finally, stared at her. One turned to the other, and they exchanged a wide, serious look before returning to their study of the woman they were ordered to terminate.
“Mmm,” said the blue one, shaking its head.
“Shhh!” said the pink one.
----------------------
Rhonda had the flashdrive in her paw, tapping her darling little open-toed high-heeled patent-leather boots as she waited for the Newsman to argue his way past security. His scowl didn’t change when he spotted her. “What’s with all the guardposts?” he demanded, gesturing back at the beefy guard in short sleeves and a tie lounging purposefully at the corner desk to the news studio offices.
Rhonda tossed back her just-highlighted hair, reflexively smoothing out the bangs. “Eh, some kinda new policy the boss put up. Apparently there’s been some kinda terrorist threat against local news stations and he’s not taking any chances, no matter how much he has to cut our salaries to pay these oafs.” She wrinkled her nose. “Frankly, I think it’s all bullpuckey.” Both of them cast a dark look at the polled Angus guard before Rhonda grabbed Newsie’s sleeve and tugged him toward his dressing-room. “Get in here. We gotta go over this report.”
“Rhonda, the results on the monster goop came back negative,” Newsie muttered at her, obediently trotting in her wake. They wove between a couple of station interns ferrying coffee mugs and one copywriter dashing between meetings before reaching the relative safety of the Newsman’s room. “I don’t know how, but it didn’t register as monsterish! So we’ll…we’ll have to go back down there and get better –“
“Like holy flamin’ Hades we will! Goldie! What is your malfunction about this monster stuff?” Rhonda squeaked angrily.
Newsie flushed, and pointed at the floor. “They are down there, Rhonda! I saw them! I just –“ He smacked his palm in frustration against a pile of paper stacked on his desk. “I just can’t prove it yet…ow.” He tried to shake the sting out of his hand. “What the heck is all that?”
The rat sighed, exasperated. “Remember you asked our loyal viewing public for leads on disappearances around town? That is the email your little request generated, all printed out for your enjoyment, and believe me, you had better be really nice to Elisa at the front desk for a long while for sorting through all of it for you!”
“Leads? We have leads?” Newsie muttered, flipping through the stack. “I’ll…I’ll start right away! I guess making sure all of them involve disappearances near a sewer or subway entrance is the first step, weed out the crackpots…”
“Do you ever listen to yourself?”
He gave her an uncertain look. “Er…well, I do review my newscasts sometimes, to make sure my presentation skills are compelling enough…”
Rhonda rolled her eyes. “Oh my frog, I ask of thee patience.” She held out the flashdrive. “Will you please sit down and let’s go over this actually newsworthy report? I submitted it to Murray twice already and he kept requesting more edits. This is what I came up with. Rubber-stamp it so we can throw it on tonight, will ya, and then we can move on to the other stories you’re gonna cover tonight on your segment?”
“I suppose it ought to be the priority,” Newsie grumbled agreement, setting up his laptop. “I just wish it could include a warning about the monsters…”
“I am not even dignifying that with a reply. Boot up and let’s go.”
Newsie blinked, surprised, at the finished report, which was barely a minute and a half long. “Uh…I thought this was our featured piece?”
“Yeah, you’d think so. But Murray kept sending it back, asking for cuts. My guess is they’re decreasing your segment overall to put in more commercial time.”
Newsie snorted. “They’d better not! If Blanke does that, I’ll…I’ll barge right into his office and—“
“And say what? ‘Please sir, may I have some more newstime?’ Come on!” Rhonda shook her head, disgusted. “Like he’d care! Ya know, he only reinstated Muppet News, I hear, ‘cause of some sort of lawsuit threat by the ACLU.”
“You’ve heard that too?” Newsie frowned. “We ought to investigate that!”
Rhonda sighed and rubbed her tiny eyes. “Later, sunshine, later. You want coffee? I’ve been up since four. My brothers moved in, temporarily they say, and their screaming toddlers kept me up…all three hundred of ‘em…”
Taken aback, Newsie stared at her. “You’ve never mentioned your family before.”
“And I never will again, believe me. There’s a reason I got into the news business: it was calmer than my home life!” Rhonda paused at the door. “Regular or with that froofy cream you like?”
Newsie scowled at her. Rhonda nodded. “Froofy cream. Got it. Be right back. Your stories are on the makeup table.” She trotted out, squeaking indignantly at some technician who nearly swept over her with a camera rolling out for repairs. “Hey! Eyes down here, genius!”
Tearing himself away from the graphic animation of the ConEd tunnel’s possible collapse proved somewhat difficult; the disaster-film-style scenario was certainly compelling viewing. He couldn’t imagine Murray or even Blanke wanting to cut any more of that, as astoundingly grim as it looked. He wondered whether water really would flush the sewer contents into the streets of Manhattan, as the animation showed, if and when that cracked tunnel wall fell in… The tiny animated society matron screaming as a flood of garbage and swimming rats swept her up Fifth Avenue was particularly fascinating… Shaking himself out of his morbid frame of mind, Newsie picked up the short stack of printed story notes for tonight and began reading them. ‘Suggs receives vote of no confidence from American Fertilization Society’…’MADL makes a stink with cow pies at Occupy camp’, hoo boy…’NYPD detective on administrative leave following cow-pie incident with protesting Muppets’ –what? Oh no! Glumly, Newsie read the details of his friend Detective Pendziwater’s suspension from the force for responding to the pie attack by a MADL member (he could guess which one) by grabbing a kid’s can of spraypaint and coating the Muppet with Krylon Glossy Flamingo. Oh for crying out loud! He glanced up when Rhonda returned, and accepted the mug she held up for him. “Have you read this idiocy?”
“Every day, sweetheart, every day.” The rat sipped her black coffee, watching the Newsman glower as he read through the whole stack. “Isn’t that your contact on the force? Nice move, coating that mouthy wench. Can’t say I blame him; those pies are really hard to wash out of a nice jacket.”
“The Muppet is suing for assault, claiming she’ll never get her felt back to midnight blue,” Newsie replied, shaking his head. “What do they think they’ll accomplish by harassing people?”
“Eh, there’s a bad apple in every barrel. So, ya like the tunnel danger story?”
“It’s…er…”
“’Must-see’ is the phrase ya want, Goldie. I’m thinking, we lead with that, then the MADL muck-up, then Suggs, ya know, get the local stuff outta the way first. After those, talk about the rumors of anti-Muppet laws still on the books in Yemen and Syria, and the Muppet peace mission to Libya. Ya know, those guys are really brave, trying to get those shipments of water, medicine, and rubber chickens through the lines,” Rhonda observed, chugging her coffee every other sentence.
“The international stories are much bigger news than MADL and Marvin Suggs,” Newsie argued. “Although I agree: lead with the tunnels. Maybe emphasizing what we caught on film will persuade the authorities to mount a full-scale expedition down there, and root out some of those creatures! At the very least, it should deter people from venturing down there without backup and protection!”
Rhonda put one hand on her slim hip and glared at her reporter. “You’re still thinking of going back down there, aren’t you!”
Newsie blew out a breath in annoyance. “Someone has to! Rhonda, I – I heard about another possible angle to all this. Sweetums says there are some sort of monster pests infesting the subway!” Rhonda stared at him, speechless. “We should check it out! Can you get Tony to meet us at Rockefeller Center tomorrow morning? There are a bunch of disused tunnels down there; I think that would be the perfect place to start looking!”
“Looking for what? Newsie! You only just got over a case of congestion that woulda made an Easter Island statue look healthy, you did not get any evidence of so-called monsters, and—“
The Newsman’s attempt at a reply was interrupted by the door swinging open. Blanke stood there a moment, looking uneasily from the rat producer to the Muppet journalist, until both of them realized he was there. “Uh…do you two have a minute?”
“Of course,” Newsie muttered, throwing a scowl at Rhonda.
“Absolutely,” Rhonda snapped, twitching her whiskers in disgust at Newsie.
Blanke saw the tunnel-disaster film paused on Newsie’s laptop screen, and tapped it with a round finger. “I need to talk to you about that. Just how did you think you would get away with using station equipment to produce that without running up your costs?”
“I paid for it out-of-pocket,” Newsie said quickly. “It didn’t cost the station a thing!”
“Well…good. Because I’d hate for us to waste money on a piece that’ll never air,” Blanke grumbled. Newsie jerked, startled, and Rhonda leaped onto the desk where she could glare at their boss from chest-level instead of foot-level.
“What do you mean, never air? Do you know how much work went into that?” the rat yelled. “We saw ample evidence of ConEd’s total neglect of that tunnel! It’s a danger to all of lower Manhattan – maybe even the whole city! You gotta air this! Besides…we have animated sewer trash flow!”
“I have seen your film, and I have been in contact with upper management at the utilities company, and they assured me they are already aware of the problem and—“
“And they’re dragging their feet while the city is in imminent danger of being overrun by monsters?” Newsie demanded. “Ow…” He winced, putting a hand to his chin where Rhonda had just thwacked him.
“Monsters? What are you talking about?” Blanke asked, eyes widening.
“Nothing. He didn’t say nothing. But you gotta air this! It’s…” Lost, Rhonda borrowed a phrase Newsie seemed as fond of as that stupid eagle: “It’s our civic duty as journalists to present this to the public!”
Blanke’s lips tightened in a pouty frown. “Absolutely not! To go on air and suggest that a company is putting the city in danger, with such flimsy footage? Do you know how much flack we’d get from the Mayor’s office about that? Reyney over at ConEd golfs with the Mayor, for heaven’s sake! He’d call City Hall, they’d call me, I’d have to air a…a retraction…” Blanke looked as though the very word gave him an ulcer. “No. This does not air. Not tonight, not ever! And furthermore, for that little end-run stunt, both of you are suspended from any and all reports which are not handed to you here at the station by Murray or myself! Got that?”
“You can’t bury this!” Newsie protested, gesturing at the screen. “More people will go missing! The city could be flooded! Do you really want all that on your conscience?”
“You’re assuming he has one,” Rhonda muttered under her breath.
“It’s irresponsible, it’s unprovable, and it is not airing!” Blanke shouted, leaning over the shorter Newsman to get his superior position across. “No more special reports for the foreseeable future! Try that little stunt behind my back again, and you’re both fired! Now get back to work!” He glared at both of them before stomping out.
Angrily, Newsie shouted after him, “This disaster will be on your head! Your politics will not protect you!” No response came; apparently Blanke was satisfied with having laid down his law. Despairing, Newsie sank into his desk chair. “What are we going to do?”
Rhonda sighed deeply. “What else can we do? We run the other stories. And we do not go trolling through the sewers again!”
“Please find some other term to use,” Newsie muttered.
“You,” Rhonda yelled at him, “are completely paranoid!”
“I am not!” Newsie retorted, his voice rough, feeling slammed on all sides. “D—it, rat, do the math! People vanishing! Monster goop in the tunnels! Other monsters afraid to ride the subway! Even your brethren are fleeing the undercity! Add it up and tell me there’s nothing to it!”
Nose to nose, they stopped, small brown eyes glaring up into squinting dark ones behind thick glass. Rhonda opened her mouth, froze, shut it. She blinked, and grudgingly eased down. “I never saw any monster goop,” she argued, “but…you have a point. My brothers never dared to ask to stay at my place before…” Newsie leaned back in his chair, shoulders still tense, but feeling less under attack as his producer slowly nodded. “And there were those rats protesting the other day… Did Sweetums really say he was afraid to ride the subway?”
“Well, he did say he never went into the undercity. He told Gina, and I quote: ‘It’s scary down there!’ Does that sound normal to you?” Newsie stared at Rhonda until she sighed and shook her head.
“I can’t believe that hulk of fur would be scared of anything. All right, just for the sake of argument, say there are monsters under New York. So…what could they possibly be doing except just avoiding paying rent at Trump Tower?”
“I don’t know, but it can’t be good! That thing tried to bite Gina –“
“Well, even if you actually saw that, which I still find questionable given your temperature yesterday, so what? They kinda have a rep for biting, ya know.”
“I was not feverish! It was just a nose cold! And those stringy things were threatening my aunt, Rhonda! I had to post a guard today just to make sure she’s safe, even if she might not…might not…” Choking to a halt, he slumped, and Rhonda saw the change in his expression from outraged to grieving.
“Hey…hey. Easy there. I’m…I’m sorry your auntie’s not doing well.” Awkwardly, the rat patted his hand.
“Rhonda, there’s something else,” Newsie said, his voice dropping to a scratchy whisper. “Someone has been impersonating me!”
She stared at him a long moment in silence. “Why would anyone do that?”
“I…I think…it’s a monster,” Newsie said, and now Rhonda heard actual fear in her fearless reporter’s voice. “It sounded all…deep. And cold. And…and sinister.” He shivered.
“Wait – you spoke to your identity thief?”
“They left a number at the asylum and at the hospital, pretending to be me, to get updates on my aunt’s condition! I discovered the number today and called it, and I reached some sort of office, and…and that voice…”
“Well don’t keep me in suspense! What did your mysterious impostor say?”
“He…it…answered with my name. My real name! And then it…it laughed at me.” Newsie gulped. “And hung up. When I…when I tried calling back…the number was disconnected. That fast.”
“Holy Bourne Identity, Goldie! What the heck did you stumble into?” Rhonda’s eyes were wide; Newsie grabbed her paws in his hands.
“You believe me finally?”
“Do ya still have the number?”
Newsie immediately handed over his notepad. Rhonda frowned at the number, pulled out her cell and tried it. She listened a second, then shook her head. “No service, number disconnected. Did you call the cops?”
“Yes, but they didn’t seem inclined to pursue it! Rhonda…why would anyone pretend to be me, and learn about my aunt’s condition, unless they were connected somehow with the monsters I caught in her room?” He jumped from the chair, nervously pacing. “Why would they want her hurt? She was never involved in anything shady! This is all since those weird yippy things started hanging around her! What if she learned something about them, something, I don’t know – compromising?”
“As low as Scribbler is, I have yet to see a photo of a monster in a compromising position in that rag,” Rhonda said. “What could possibly be so bad and secret? They’re monsters! They…they eat critters, okay, that’s bad, but it’s hardly a secret! They hide under beds, they creep outta closets at night, they have really bad fashion sense in footgear…”
“Hide under beds?” Newsie shuddered. “I’m glad Gina’s is a platform model!” He made a mental note to check their closet tonight, however…
“Monster stories, injured aunt, people vanishing, cracks in a ConEd tunnel,” Rhonda noted all on her delicate claws one by one. “I just don’t see connections! But…as far as that phone number is concerned…we might have an angle on that.” She gave him a determined nod, and adjusted the sash on her angora cardigan with the air of a woman about to shove her way through a crowd. “I think I oughta introduce you to one of my old contacts, ‘Ma Bell.’ If anyone can track this number for ya, she can.”
Newsie paused his anxious pacing and fidgeting. “Uh…won’t that go against Blanke’s order, if we work on a special report?”
“Who said anything about a report? This is a personal favor for my dear colleague, the guy with the very large nose for news – even if that nose leads him up the wrong tree half the time.” Rhonda grinned suddenly. “Now if it happens to turn into a story, well…I do still know some folks back at the Times…”
Newsie swallowed, fumbled for words, and finally took her paw in his hand. “Rhonda…you’re the queen.”
She snorted. “Look, sunshine. Monsters you worry about on your own time. I will corner my brothers and find out why they suddenly wanna visit now, and you will find out why someone has been trying ta be you.” She tilted her head sideways, gazing up in some skepticism. “They actually used your real name? The, what is it, Alicious thing?”
“Aloysius,” he muttered. “Yes. Outside of a few official records, and, er, Gina…that’s not common knowledge.”
“That is deeply disturbing,” Rhonda murmured, grabbing her scarf and tucking it artfully around her neck. “Who the heck would want to?”
“Exactly! I’m sure it must be connected to—“ Newsie abruptly caught the inference, and stopped cold, huffing. “Hey!”
“Can it, Goldie. Grab your coat, Gina’ll kill me if I let you catch another cold. Let’s hustle.”
“Wh-where are we going? The news…” Newsie stammered, looking back at the pile of items he was supposed to be mulling over for tonight’s broadcast.
“Can wait. We have a doppelganger wannabe to track down.” She gave him a dubious look while he fumbled with his overcoat; the russet-and-gray hound’s-tooth wasn’t bad on its own, but he’d dressed after Gina had left this morning for her own work at the Sosilly, and his favorite brown-plaid sportscoat and the orange-and-brown argyle-patterned tie he’d chosen made Rhonda wish she’d brought her shades today. “Sheesh. I sure hope whoever he is, he doesn’t dress like you.”
“Rhonda!”
“Come on. Nose pointing this way, Cyrano. If we hurry, Blanke won’t notice we’re gone and back before he returns from his two-hour lunch! Move it!”
Not sure whether to feel grateful or insulted, the Newsman followed the confident little rat out of the building by the back stairs. With any luck, perhaps he’d uncover the connection he just knew was there between the yipping things, the tunnels, the disappearances… Grimly, he hurried down to the street, where a modicum of sunlight fought the chilly breezes sweeping along the midtown sidewalks.
Despite all Rhonda’s protests, he absolutely refused to take the subway.
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Welcome to the Muppet Central Forum!
Back to the Rock Season 2
Sesame Street Season 54
The Muppets Mayhem premieres
Bear arrives on Disney+
Sam and Friends Book
But Gobo forgot his mittens!
Mitchell!
No wonder that ting was in dere, nobody likes that stuff!
The plot thickens!
