Part 30
Sometimes, the Newsman didn’t mind being short. It helped, for instance, when one was trying to sneak past nurses’ desks on a closed ward. He waited, blinking around dazedly, trying not to give in to the urge to simply lay down, which was now pulsing pervasively through his entire body. He couldn’t rest until he knew Gina was safe. A soft scuttling noise alerted him to company. Rhonda came up from under the bottom of the rolling cart Newsie was hiding behind in the hospital hallway. “Okay,” she muttered. “So, I got a look at the admissions stuff. Looks like after she was treated in the emergency room, they took her upstairs. I think it said room three-twelve.”
Newsie paused, taking that in. “No surgery?”
“Nothing on the file. I didn’t have time to read it all before that bossy nurse came back. But it looks like she’s upstairs now.”
Relieved, he tried to pat the rat’s shoulder. Rhonda said, “Uh…Newsie? What are you doing?”
He looked up, realizing his eyelids were drooping. He’d patted the rat atop her head. No wonder it felt odd… “Uh, sorry. You, um. You have nice hair,” he said awkwardly.
Rhonda rolled her eyes. “Oh my gawd. You drugged is even worse than you normal. Come on, Einstein. Elevator’s that way.”
They jumped under the sheet of a passing gurney with a patient aboard, clinging precariously to the shelf below, as an unsuspecting nurse wheeled the gurney into the elevator. Fortuitously the patient was also destined for the third floor. The gurney stopped in the patient’s room and the nurse hooked up his IV drip to a stand, checked a few things, and then left. Rhonda poked her head out, then elbowed Newsie. “Coast is clear! Come on!”
“Huh? …Oh…”
“Sheesh,” the rat said, disgusted. “I wish you hadn’t taken whatever that was! What, do I gotta do all this for you?”
“I’m fine,” he snapped back tiredly. “Three-twelve?”
“That’s what it said.” They quietly let themselves out of the room, checking the number on the door. “This is three-oh-eight.”
Newsie glanced at the doors to the left and right, picking the larger number. “This way,” he muttered, heading along the hall that direction.
“Like I can’t read,” Rhonda complained.
Upon reaching the closed door to room three-twelve, Newsie hesitated. He took a deep breath, his chest tight and every nerve shaking, though the pain itself seemed to have lessened. Reaching up to turn the knob, he eased the door open. Within, one bed lay empty. He started shaking in fear before Rhonda nudged him, pointing to the other bed, partly hidden by curtains. Rhonda shut the door most of the way, keeping her eyes trained on the corridor outside. Newsie approached the bed, seeing a familiar sprawl of red hair against the pillow. He swallowed hard. The last time he’d seen that was just hours ago; it felt more like days. There was a hard plastic chair by the bed; he climbed into it and at last saw Gina’s face.
Her eyes were closed, and an oxygen mask covered her nose and mouth. An IV snaked into her left wrist. Bruises had bloomed across her collarbone, visible just above the pale green hospital gown. Trying not to cry, Newsie touched her hand, stroked her arm. She didn’t give any sign she noticed.
“I think we’re good,” Rhonda whispered, popping up at the end of the bed. She gazed at Gina’s sleeping form, and shook her head. “Man. That poor girl.”
“Gina, I’m sorry,” Newsie whispered, leaning close to touch her hair, her softly curved ear, her cheek. “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry…”
“It doesn’t look too bad,” Rhonda said. Newsie glared sharply at her; how could she say such a thing? This was terrible! Rhonda held up Gina’s medical chart, clipped to the end rail of the bed. “According to this, she’s been treated for two broken ribs, cracks on two others, a bruised pelvis, bruised heels, a bump on her head, sprained collarbone, and some other minor contusions.”
“How is that not that bad?” Newsie hissed, dismayed.
“They already x-rayed her when she came in. Nothing else is broken, no internal injuries. Maybe mild concussion.” Rhonda looked brightly at the Newsman. “Trust me, that ain’t bad, considering how far she fell and what fell on her! Newsie, if you hadn’t cushioned her…it’d be worse. Much worse. You did good!”
“This is all my fault!” Newsie argued. He turned back to Gina, softly stroking her hair on the pillow. Someone had undone her braid, probably to check the back of her skull. “I’m cursed, Rhonda! I’m…I’m dangerous! If I hadn’t been so upset…if I hadn’t even been there…” he gulped. “She’d be fine. She’d be unhurt.”
The rat came closer, carefully stepping around Gina on the bed. “Newsie, what are you talking about?”
Angrily, he growled at her, “Didn’t they tell you what happened at the Muppet Theatre today? Didn’t they tell you I caused it all?” Rhonda stared at him, confused. Newsie could feel his throat going raw. “It’s me. I’m what’s wrong here. Something…something’s happened to me. That weird thing I’ve always had, the reason objects fall on me during my reports, call it a jinx, whatever – it’s grown worse, Rhonda! I’ve grown worse!” He shook his head, looking down at Gina, unable to hold the tears in any longer. “I…I love her. She…she wanted me to stay with her. If I do…she…it’ll be worse…” Choking up, he removed his hand from her hair, feeling suddenly as though his touch might contaminate her somehow. “That crackpot scientist was right! Kermit was right! I’m a threat to everyone!” Frightened, he stared at Gina. “I can’t. I can’t stay. I can’t be with her. What else might happen?”
“Newsie…look, even if that’s true, there must be something we can do,” Rhonda said.
He nodded desperately. “Yes. Yes there is. For once, I can prevent it. I can stop it before it happens.” Roughly brushing away his tears, he gazed down at Gina a moment, then gently left a kiss upon her cheek. She didn’t stir. “This time I can stop it first,” he whispered, backing away.
“Hey, hey now…” Rhonda said, alarmed.
Newsie jumped down from the chair, heading for the door, not allowing himself to look back. If he looked back, he might lose what little determination he had right now. “Goodbye, Rhonda. Thanks for your help.”
“What? Goodbye? Hey!” Rhonda hopped down as well, hurrying around in front of him. “Where are you going?”
“Away,” he said harshly, pushing her aside and opening the door.
“Away? Away ain’t any country I ever heard of! Do they speak sanity in Away?” Rhonda snapped, following him.
The Newsman whirled on her, feeling sick, but able nonetheless to manage his trademark glower at her. Rhonda stopped, startled. “You say you’re a journalist? Then look at the facts! I caused this. Ihave no control over it. It will very likely happen again, and what if Gina is hurt worse? What if…” He choked to a halt, unable to voice his fear. Rhonda stared at him, silent. “I have to go.”
As he turned, dizzy, and put a hand against the corridor wall to steady himself as he walked away, Rhonda protested, “Newsie, you moron! She loves you!”
Newsie stopped, eyes shut tight a moment, pain worse than the crushing blow earlier coursing through his chest. He couldn’t reply. He forced his feet to move again, and continued down the hall, not caring if he was caught; being thrown out would only hasten his departure, and that had to be a good thing.
Behind him, Rhonda stared in mixed admiration and disgust. She winced as the stumbling Newsman tripped over a chair leg in the waiting area across from the nurses’ station and was promptly set upon by the angry nurse on night duty and tossed off the ward. As his shriek echoed down the stairwell, Rhonda slipped under a nearby supply cart. She shook her head, sighed, and considered the whole screwed-up situation. Someone had to stop that idiot before he made the worst mistake of his life…well, maybe second-worst, after choosing journalism as a profession.
After a minute’s careful deliberation, she scurried along the edge of the corridor, keeping to the shadows, mindful of Nurse Ratchet and the heavy forearm of doom. She had some news to deliver.
“Is this the building, Beaker?” Bunsen asked, checking the readout on the psychokinetic energy field detector. Beaker nodded, looking up at the rounded-off Art Deco corners on the higher levels. This reminded him of something. Small spotlights shone on the penthouse corners, a few floors above the ninth, and with a squint, Beaker could make out the statues they illuminated. Not statues – gargoyles! He gulped anxiously. Well, at least they wouldn’t have to travel that high, would they? He counted the windows up to the gargoyles, relaxing a bit when he realized they were higher than Gina’s apartment; the statues were in fact perched above the corners of the thirteenth floor.
“Meep!” he cried, shaking. Bunsen looked at him, then up where Beaker’s frightened stare remained. Frowning, Bunsen tweaked the controls on the psychokinetic energy field detector.
“Hmmm…that’s very odd…”
“Mee?” Beaker looked down at the readout, though he couldn’t see the screen from that angle.
“Well, according to this, the girders of Miss Broucek’s apartment building are reinforced titanium, with a core of pure selenium!”
“Meeeee!” Beaker squealed, shuddering backwards.
Bunsen laughed loudly. “Oh ho ho! Oh, Beaker, honestly! You’re so gullible sometimes!” As his assistant gave him a startled look, Bunsen shook his head. “Nobody builds them that way! Oh, that was most amusing. Tsst, tsst sst!” Beaker realized he’d been duped, and glared at Bunsen. “Oh ho ho. You should have seen your face just now! Come on, Beakie. Let’s go deliver the good news!”
Grumbling to himself, Beaker followed the happy scientist. Honeydew hadn’t been through a whirlpool and a face-swapping dimension today! “Mee mee meep mee mee,” he muttered under his breath as they entered the lobby.
“What’s that, Beakie?” Bunsen murmured absently. “But you didn’t lose an eye, you lost a nose, and I don’t understand what fun and games have to do with it! Ninth floor, correct?”
Sighing, Beaker gestured at the elevator. When it opened for them, he stepped in next to Bunsen. The doors closed before either of them noticed the frondy fake plant in the lobby corner shaking and growing eyestalks…
The doorbell rang insistently. Irritated, Kermit tied the sash of his bathrobe as his feet flapped down the broad stairs of the townhouse in his favorite slippers; though the place was nicely heated, these marble floors Piggy loved so much could be awfully cold on cool spring nights. Bing-bong, bing-bong, bing-bonnnnggg… “I’m coming!” Kermit yelled. Who on earth would be ringing their bell at this hour? Wasn’t it past midnight? He and Piggy had turned in around ten, and although Piggy had done her best to take her frog’s mind off the tragedy of the day, he still felt horrible. Some rude person insisting on an audience this late did not encourage a better mood.
Kermit made sure the porch light was turned on, and peered through the beveled glass window at the side of the elegant front door. He didn’t see anyone. Muttered voices outside complained, “He ain’t comin’. Look, let’s just forget it, all right?”
“Shut up, Rizzo, and hold still!”
As the bell rang again, Kermit unlocked and opened the door. He found himself eye to eye with that cute blonde rat whom he’d seen around the theatre a few times. She was perched on top of Rizzo’s shoulders, and Rizzo was standing on the back of a larger, musclebound rat. “Oh! Kermit! Hi!” the blonde squeaked. “Hey, sorry to disturb you at home and all, but –“
“Oof!” The ratpile wobbled and tumbled, spilling the blonde into the foyer.
Kermit looked at them all quizzically. “What is it?”
“Hi, Rhonda Rat; can we come in? Thanks,” the blonde said rapidly, getting to her feet and trotting inside before an objection could be voiced. Rizzo staggered upright, groaning. The beefy rat who’d been the bottom of the stack stood there, looking impressed at the view of the wide foyer, which Piggy had decorated at great expense just last year after claiming the previous antiques were simply tres unfashionable now…despite the fact she’d bought them only the year before. Even so, Kermit doubted selling all of it would raise enough to fix the theatre.
“Nice digs,” the larger rat said, sounding uncannily like Stallone.
“Uh, thanks,” Kermit said, looking confusedly from him to Rhonda, who was standing in the middle of the foyer, looking around with the eye of a pro.
“Louis the Sixteenth crossed with Piet Mondrian, huh? Little gaudy for my taste, but hey, it’s all the rage in the designer mags.” She turned to face Kermit again. “Listen, I know it’s late, and I am really, really sorry about this, but it’s kind of an emergency.”
Sighing, Kermit beckoned the others inside, closing the door behind them against the chilly, wet night. “Well, it had better be. I know you must know what kind of day it’s been already.”
“Kermit, it’s the Newsman. He’s—“
“He’s the guy who wrecked our theatre!” Kermit said, throwing his arms up in the air. “I know! Some kind of energy field. I was there, I heard Bunsen, I got sucked into the black dimension of unpleasant cosmetic alterations! What else is new?”
Rhonda shook her head. “It’s worse than that.”
Kermit groaned. “How could anything be worse than that? Didn’t you see that enormous hole in our stage?”
Rizzo stepped up. “It’s Gina. His girl. She’s in the hospital.” Nothing less than that would have convinced the displeased rodent to accompany Rhonda on this mission. After all, the nice young woman had given him food three times without him even having to steal it.
“What?” Kermit asked, taken aback.
“Kermie? Who is it?” Piggy’s voice came from the top of the stairs. Everyone looked up to see the diva in a gorgeous satin robe over a satin gown with satin slippers, all embroidered with lace and pearls and a feather maribou trim, all of a lush champagne hue. Kermit frowned. When he’d left the bedroom, she’d been wearing next to nothing. Daintily, Piggy came down the stairs as though she was making an entrance in a musical about Parisian salons…until she saw the rats. She halted, her sweet expression turning dour. “Oh. Why’d you let them in?”
“There was an accident at the Sosilly Theatre tonight,” Rhonda continued as if Piggy hadn’t interrupted. “Gina was hurt, but it could’ve been a lot worse! Newsie broke her fall and then took more damage on purpose to prevent a piece of the lighting grid from hitting her!”
Kermit stared at her. He’d never thought the Newsman would deliberately put himself in harm’s way, considering all the painful things which already tended to happen to him.
“That redheaded girl? Is she badly hurt?” Piggy asked, coming the rest of the way down the stairs. Concerned, she took Kermit’s arm. Kermit stroked her sleeve reassuringly, then shook his head gently at Rhonda.
“Well, I’m…I’m very sorry to hear that. Is there anything we can do?”
“You can call everyone and get them to help search for the Newsman! He’s not thinking clearly, and he’s run off because he thinks he caused the accident!” Rhonda squeaked.
Piggy and Kermit traded a look. “Sounds reasonable to me,” Piggy muttered.
Rizzo sighed. “Piggy –“ She glared at him. He amended, “Miss Piggy, I hear ya. Believe me, no one knows better than me what a jinx that guy is. But Gina’s nice! She doesn’t deserve to have her heart broken as well as half her body parts!”
Kermit gulped. “Half her…?”
“It’s not that bad,” Rhonda said hurriedly. “Couple’a bashed-up ribs, some bruises. Few weeks’ rest and she’ll be fine. Look, I know everyone seems to think Newsie’s a jinx. Heck, he thinks so himself! That’s why he ran! He said he can’t be around her because something worse might happen, even though he loves her!”
“He…” Piggy blinked, taking that in. “He loves her?” She leaned over to stare eye-to-eye at Rhonda. “This is the same yellow nerd we’re talking about, right?”
“The one and only,” Rizzo muttered, shaking his head.
“Hey, he took a hit for her. Ya gotta respect that,” Bubba spoke up. “Even if he is a nerd…guy’s got moxie.” Rizzo nodded agreement grudgingly.
Kermit sighed. “Well, be that as it may, I honestly don’t see what we can do about it. We’d be happy to help Gina with anything she needs, but as far as the Newsman goes, even Dr Honeydew failed in an attempt to cure him of this…jinx, or whatever it is! I’m sorry this has all happened, and I know…” He looked at Piggy, who was biting her lip, her gaze sad, clearly rethinking her own position on the Muppet she’d so recently pounded. Swallowing back a little guilt himself, Kermit finished, “I know the Newsman didn’t intend for anything bad to happen. He’s not a bad person at all. But what you’ve just said confirms it: he’s dangerous, and he can’t help it. What are we supposed to do about something like that?”
Rhonda looked at all of them. Bubba stared at the floor, shaking his head. Rizzo was nodding at Kermit resignedly. Piggy seemed upset, but had nothing to say, and Kermit looked too down and helpless to muster any strength. Angry suddenly, Rhonda stomped her foot hard, loud enough to startle everyone. “Look at all of you! My gosh, I am ashamed of you all!” Affronted, all of them glared at her, but before anything could come out of anyone else’s mouth, Rhonda snapped, “Here I thought the Muppets were supposed to be such a wonderful group, always helping each other out, always standing together in adversity!”
“Where we standin’?” Bubba asked in a low voice.
Rizzo shrugged. “Man, I dunno. Just let her get it outta her system.”
“Wow, I’m sure glad I’m not a member of the Muppet Theatre! Boy, would I feel down, would I feel betrayed, if something awful happened to me and my supposed friends just turned their backs!” Rhonda said, her voice rising.
“Now wait just a minute!” Kermit replied heatedly. “All I did was suspend him! He quit! He caused all that horrible wreckage, all that chaos, and then he quit! This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to the Muppet Theatre, and the Newsman walked away!”
“Yeah, and you know why?” Rhonda yelled back. Rizzo and Bubba leaned away from her, alarmed. “Any of you talked to him about it? Any of you ever ask him to go bowling with ya, or include him in a party that wasn’t work-related, or just give him aspirin after something fell on him? Huh? No! None of you ever have! That’s why he quit, and that’s why he just left that hospital convinced he doesn’t have a friend in the world! ‘Cause as far as I can see here, he doesn’t!”
“Wuh…we…that’s not true,” Kermit said, stunned. Piggy’s mouth was hanging open. “We’ve included him, haven’t we, Piggy? He was always too busy to attend things, I heard! Right?” He turned to Piggy.
Piggy stared at him, speechless a moment. “Ah…aha, ha, ha,” she laughed lightly. “Ah. Uhhhmm…yes?”
Rizzo shook his head. “What about that New Year’s bash you held here this last time? I thought you told the DJ it was okay to play old disco tunes because you’d purposely left the geek off the guest list, so he wouldn’t embarrass you by trying to dance after the punch got spiked like at the last event at the theatre!”
“Grrrr!” Piggy growled, shaking. “I thought I left you off the list as well, you little food thief, after you ate all the brie crackers last time! What were you doing under the…” She suddenly realized everyone was staring at her. “Ah…I mean…aha ha ha…”
Kermit gave her an unhappy look. Oh, she hated that look. It always made her feel soooo guilty… “Piggy? You…you left the Newsman off the guest list?” He thought about it; he couldn’t recall a party in quite some time, or an outing, or a reception for a guest star on the show, at which he’d seen the Newsman. He’d assumed the always-serious Muppet preferred to spend his free time reading news journals, or something. “How…how many times?”
Rizzo snickered. “Not that I blame ya…” Rhonda thwapped him over the head. “Oww! Knock it off!”
Piggy looked away. Kermit took her hands gently. Oh, she hated it when he did the soft, wounded thing. She felt like such a heel. She looked into his eyes and burst into an explanation. “Kermie! It wasn’t as though he was even going to come! He hardly ever did for years, and then when he did bother to grace us with his boring presence, Pepe or someone,” (she glared at Rizzo) “would sneak something into his punch so he’d make a fool of himself on the dance floor! I just thought…just thought it would be easier if…” She trailed off as her frog shook his head at her. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, all right? But you have to admit, the New Year’s party was a lot more fun…until the darned penguins crashed it and tore the drapes…”
“Piggy…we don’t leave our friends out,” Kermit admonished gently.
Rizzo sighed. “Even if they’re no fun until you slip ‘em a Mickey.”
Bubba gave him a puzzled look. “Mickey? Yeah, he seems like a fun guy. He come to the parties too?”
“Well, Gonzo hangs with him sometimes, he claims –“
“Well?” Rhonda interrupted.
Kermit sighed, considering it. As low as he himself felt with the theatre ruined, he couldn’t imagine how much worse it would be if he didn’t have the other Muppets to turn to. He looked at Piggy. “Kermit,” Rhonda said, quietly, “he really believes none of you like him. Gina told me so. He thinks you all laugh at him. She’s the first person who’s ever talked with him about it. She’s crazy about the guy.”
“Crazy is right,” Rizzo muttered, and ducked before Rhonda could club him again. “Ha haa!” he taunted her, but then Bubba smacked the back of his head. He slumped on the floor, groaning.
“Ya don’t riff on love,” Bubba said firmly.
“All right,” Kermit said, nodding slowly. “We’ll see if we can find him and convince him to stay…but that still leaves the problem of the jinx! I don’t want any of us in danger. Gina either.”
Rhonda sighed. “Yeah, I don’t have an answer there either. But there must be something we can figure out.”
Sure, and the Muppet Theatre will be fixed overnight, too, Kermit thought, but he shrugged. “One issue at a time, I guess. You’re right, Rhonda. The Newsman’s been a part of the Muppets since the beginning, almost; he shouldn’t walk away thinking we don’t want him!” He turned to Piggy. “Piggy, get your cell phone. You call everyone on your girls’ night list; I’ll call Scooter and Fozzie and Gonzo, and Scooter can get hold of everyone else. All right?”
“Yes! I will call them all, and wake them up, and tell them…ah…tell them a dear friend needs our help!” Piggy said, nodding determinedly. She kissed Kermit and then hurried up the stairs.
“Eeesh,” Kermit muttered, shaking his head.
“We’ll start searchin’ by the hospital,” Bubba offered. “I’ll round up the guys.”
“I’ll call the airport and the train station,” Rhonda agreed. “I have a couple of sources there. Maybe someone’s seen him. Oh – and I’ll check Gina’s apartment. He might’ve gone back there to pick up his things.” She sighed. “Assuming he even got that far…but at the least, maybe I can get some personal items for Gina and take them back to her.”
“Ugh…okay…I’ll come with ya,” Rizzo said, getting to unsteady feet. “That sounds less painful.” He shot an annoyed glance at Bubba.
“Okay, then,” Kermit nodded. “Why doesn’t everyone check back here in half an hour, unless they find the Newsman before that?” He opened the door again for the rats, and went to his study to get on the phone. Maybe he had been too harsh on the Newsman. After all, the unlucky journalist wasn’t trying to cause harm…or be the death of the party. With a heavy sigh, he dialed Scooter’s number first.
Lefty hadn’t scored a nickel in hours. He thought he saw one shining in a sewer grate back in the off-off-Broadway district, but it turned out to be only a shiny gum wrapper washed there by the rain. Disgusted, he kicked a crumpled soda can along the gutter. Man, what I needs right now is a class-A mook, he thought. An’ da frickin’ rain, cleanin’ da whole town off, makin’ it harder on honest guys like me to oin a livin’, like, by drivin’ offs alla da simps and dumb boids…riiiight. Makin’ everthin’ all shiny, like, a…a…shiny… like a nickel! His head jerked up, looking around wildly. “Nickel? Where?”
Nothing. Sighing heavily, he kicked the can onto the sidewalk just as a short guy came around the corner. The clumsy geek, not walking all that steady to begin with, tripped on the can and tumbled into the gutter, his big ugly glasses flying off. “Ungh,” the guy groaned. He saw Lefty. “Ex…excuse me…could you help me? I lost my glasses…I think…” He squinted fuzzily at the ground. “No…that is even blurrier. I definitely…definitely lost them.”
Lefty cocked his head to one side, studying the mook. Though oddly yellow-colored, his skin was unblemished, his hair unfashionably short, and his half-buttoned sports coat straight outta the audience of “Let’s Make a Deal.” Hmm…that gave Lefty an idea. “Say, buddy,” he said, sidling closer, “I gotta, whatchacallit, a propositioning for ya!”
The yellow mook peered blearily at him. “What? Oh! Oh, no, no! I, uh…I’m afraid I don’t, ah, swing that way, sir.” He staggered to unsteady feet. “Though…though I suppose I ought to be flattered. That’s very nice of you.” He gulped, weaving, hands outstretched on the air for improbable balance. “Could you…could you just help me find my glasses?”
“Your glasses? Oh…riiiight! Ya know, I tink I seen ‘em around, maybe. What’s it woith to ya?”
The mook gave him a dirty look. “Payment? Fine, fine, all right! How about a dollar?”
Lefty considered it. “How many nickels is dat?”
“Uh…eighteen. No, wait. Twenty.” He smiled abashedly. “I’m sorry. My mind’s not…not too steady right now. I don’t think I should’ve taken those…”
Lefty stepped backward to avoid the wobbling geek, in case he fell that direction. Something crunched under his shoes. Glancing down, he saw the hornrimmed specs smashed. “Tell ya what. I guess I was wrong. I don’t sees em nowheres now! But, ah…hows about I helps ya out? Ya know, like dat whatchacallit…da Good Sumerian. Riiiight.” He was already eyeballing the guy’s pants, trying to judge which pocket he kept his wallet in. Maybe it was in the ugly jacket?
“Oh! Oh thank you, that’s very…kind of you…” the yellow guy gulped, looking sad. “Very kind…”
Impatient, Lefty stepped up, taking hold of the guy’s arm. “So where is youse goin’s, anyways?”
“Away…far away. As far away as I can get, thank you.”
Wow. Dis guy took da cake an’ da ice creams too. Drank too many triple cream sodas, maybe. “So youse need ta get ta da train stations, den?”
The mook brightened. “That’s a great idea! Yes, the train station! Grand Central, here we come!”
“Hey, now whadda coinkydink! It just so happens I am a travel agents…riiiight!”
“Really? That is…that is lucky…” The guy laughed, but he didn’t sound happy.
“Lefty!”
“What?”
“I’m Lefty, ya mook. Lucky’s my brudder!”
“Oh…I’m sorry…my mistake…”
Frustrated, Lefty ceased trying to frisk the mook. He couldn’t feel a wallet anywhere he’d want to actually touch. That meant a little, whatchacallit, discretin’s was in oider… “Sure, sure, we’s all pallys here, right? Riiiight. So howsabout you tells me where ya wants to go, and I’ll, uh, I’ll extenuates ya dere?”
“I don’t know,” the mook said. He dug a battered leather wallet out of his front pants pocket; Lefty was dismayed at how thin it looked. The guy pulled a handful of bills out and handed them to Lefty. Just handed ‘em over! Lefty stared at him. The mook gazed solemnly back, still weaving a little. “How far will that get me, Mr Lefty?”
“Uh….errr…well, I tink dis much can gets ya twenny-toid class ta Pittsburgh,” Lefty offered, wondering when the next western express train departed. Experience had taught him that even the most stonkered sucker eventually woke up, and the further away from him they woke up, the better.
“Okay,” the mook said, nodding tiredly. “Pittsburgh. Sounds good. Okay. Lead on,” he giggled suddenly, drawing a wary stare from Lefty. “Lead on, MacDuff! And darned be he who first cries hold, enough! Hee hee hee!”
“My name ain’t MacDuff,” Lefty growled, taking the idiot’s elbow and tugging him along. “Mook.”
“Then you’re of woman born? I wouldn’t have guessed! Ha, ha, ha!”
Disgusted, Lefty stomped the guy’s foot. He staggered but seemed oblivious to the pain. “Geez. All da mooks in da city, I hafta land da stupidest one…” Already planning ahead to what schemes the easy cash might finance, Lefty dragged his mark toward Grand Central Station and the first train heading out anywhere.
Rhonda hung up her cell phone, sighing. “That was Kimmie at the airport. She’ll put the word out, but she hasn’t seen anyone who looks like Newsie.”
Rizzo snorted. “Anyone who looks like him? Could there be more than one? Perish da thought!”
Rhonda was about to snap something in reply when they both heard the screams. Looking up at the stairs to Gina’s apartment building, they saw Dr Honeydew running out the front door, shouting, “Help! Help! Monsters!”
Beaker backed out the door, doing his best to whap a decorative urn at some kind of large, green, frondy thing with multiple lobsterish eyeballs, attempting to beat it back into the lobby, meeping frantically. Honeydew saw the rats and hurried down to them, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Oh! Oh! Don’t go in there! The psychokinetic energy is still strong enough to animate harmless objects! It attacked us as we stepped out of the elevator!”
“Psycho is right!” Rizzo exclaimed, staring up at the snarling plastic plant-monster.
“What…the heck…is that?” Rhonda asked, stunned.
Breathless, Honeydew tried to explain. At the top of the stairs, the frondy thing grabbed the urn away from Beaker and began banging it over the top of his head, making his face collapse into his coat-collar with every pounding. “Well, you see, Miss Rat, Rizzo: the psychokinetic energy field which has been affecting the theatre lately has been caused by the unfortunate confluence of similar preexisting energy fields which both the Newsman and Miss Broucek had. When their, er, fields were…combined… ahem,” he blushed, “It created a new, and far more dangerous energy signature!”
“Meeeep!” Beaker cried, struggling to free himself from the frondy thing’s grasp. It opened wide a green, jagged maw and started dragging Beaker inexorably toward it.
“So…it’s not really Newsie? It’s both of them?” Rhonda asked.
Rizzo stared at her. “You understood all that?”
She shot him a snooty look. “Three months’ internship at Scientific Rodent, thankyouverymuch.”
“Yes, yes, precisely!” Honeydew said, nodding. “We have invented a specific-field-signature-tuned wearable device, which we were bringing to Miss Broucek! It should cancel out her side of the psychokinetic field equation, which then ought to bring down the Newsman’s energy in turn, back to his normal levels! However, when we arrived here…” Honeydew turned around, finally seeing Beaker kicking his legs at the frondy thing’s mouth, meeping in terror, as it repeatedly tried to shove him into its jaws. “Beaker! Stop playing with that thing! You don’t know where it’s been!”
“But Gina ain’t here,” Rizzo said.
“She’s at St Pancreas’ Hospital,” Rhonda added. “There was an accident at her theatre tonight! Newsie thinks he caused it!”
“Oh! Oh, dear! She seemed a very nice young lady! She isn’t badly hurt, is she?” Honeydew asked, worried. Beaker managed to grab one of the frondy thing’s bobbing eyeballs-on-an-orange-stalk and shove it into the thing’s mouth. With a gargled howl, it let go, and Beaker tumbled, regained his footing, and pounded feet down the stairs. The frond-monster gave up, shuffling back through the lobby doors. Panting, Beaker stopped by the other Muppets on the sidewalk in front of the building. Honeydew gave him a frown. “Beaker! Miss Broucek isn’t here! She’s been hospitalized!”
“Muh?” Beaker gasped.
“She’s gonna be okay, just very bumped and bruised right now,” Rhonda told them. “I’m trying to find the Newsman. You guys haven’t seen him, have you?”
“No, dear me,” Honeydew said. Beaker shook his head. Honeydew turned to his assistant. “We should go to St Pancreas at once, and give the wearable device to Miss Broucek! Then when the Newsman is found and brought to her, the concurrent field effect should reduce his Mumford Scale level, and stop more things like that horrible creature in the lobby from animating!”
“Wait,” Rizzo said, confused. “So…the geek’s not even here, and his psychowhatever is makin’ things turn into monsters?”
“The field amplifies his own subconscious fears,” Honeydew replied. “Hence, the whirlpool at the Muppet Theatre today. I suspect the Newsman has been feeling as though his life was out of control, or going down the drain, so to speak…tsst, sst!”
“But monsters?” Rizzo demanded. “What do they symbolize, oh Sigmund Frood?”
“Meep me,” Beaker said, shivering as he glanced back at the quiet front door.
Honeydew adjusted his spectacles, surprised. “Oh, they don’t symbolize anything! The Newsman suffers from monsterphobia! I once gave him some of our patented Monster Repellent for it.” He nodded happily. “You know, there’s an idea! We could isolate the anti-monster factor into a vitamin form, and distribute it to every monsterphobic as a daily supplement! I theorize that, with enough long-term consumption…”
Beaker tapped his shoulder. “Meep Meena!”
“Oh! Oh yes, I almost forgot! You’re right, Beakie! We need to get the device to Miss Broucek! Come along…”
The rats watched the scientists heading off. Rizzo shook his head. “Ya know, those guys get weirder every year,” he muttered.
Rhonda’s phone rang. “Hello? Buffy! Yeah, yeah…what? You’re sure? Yellow? Okay, we’ll be…he what? Oh, no…we’ll be right there! Get ‘em to hold the train!” She paused. “Heck, I don’t know! Get Georgie to pop up in the diner car or something! Just stall it!” She shut the call off. “Rizzo! Newsie’s at Grand Central, getting on a train for Pittsburgh!”
“Why would anybody want to go to Pittsburgh? Even him?” Rizzo wondered.
“Who cares? Come on!” Rhonda squeaked, waving her arms as a yellow cab passed. She gave out an ear-piercing whistle. “Hey! Taxi!”
It took both of the rats threatening the cabbie, one on his shoulder and one on his lap, but eventually they reached the station. Rhonda led the way to the Spamtrak terminals. “Track eight, track eight, Rizzo, do you see a track eight anywhere? The board said track eight was the Smoketown Express…”
“Is that it?” Rizzo pointed at a train powering up, the porters going along the outside of the cars, shutting the passenger doors.
“Ohmygosh ohmygosh stop!” Rhonda yelled, running alongside it as fast as she could, looking up into the windows of the coach cars. She didn’t see a yellow Muppet anywhere.
“Uh, I think we’re too late,” Rizzo said, stopping, out of breath. Before Rhonda could yell at him for giving up, he pointed at the storage berth on the underside of the diner car. Among the crates and cases of bottled water sat a dejected-looking, rumpled, yellow-skinned Muppet with a long nose and wide chin, sans glasses. A luggage tag was tied to his left arm.
“Oh, crud! Newsie! Newsie, stop!” Rhonda shouted. His head raised slightly, hearing her, and he peered in her direction, right before the porter tossed a large heavy bag of kitchen supplies in on top of him and slammed the berth door down, latching it. With a whistle and a thrum of power, the train began moving. Quickly it picked up speed, leaving the rats easily behind. “Oh, no. Oh, man,” Rhonda gasped, slowing to a halt, staring after the vanishing express down the tracks.
Rizzo shook his head. “Next stop, Pittsburgh…if he doesn’t get used as some kid’s pillow pet first,” he sighed.
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