My Dinner with Monty
                                 
                        By Matt Plotecher
 
 
 
                The line between pleasure and pain
             Can't be measured by means of the brain
               Mere reason alone can never explain
                      How the heart behaves
 
                                    -- "How the Heart Behaves", 
                                              Was (Not Was)
 
      Monterey would have considered this quite possibly the stupidest
thing he would ever do, but the night was still young.
      The maitre d' of The Golden Scales, a tall, thin, impeccably dressed 
mouse with a pencil-thin mustache, eyed him distastefully, wrinkling his 
nose at Monterey's wardrobe. The large Aussie merely smiled in return. 
He could have donned his formal get-up for this place, but he felt that if 
he was going to go through with the dumbest way to spend an evening, he 
was bound and determined to do it full-bore. That way, he could look 
back on it and say, "Hah! That was a blast!", rather than "Boy, that was 
really stupid."
      "You have a reservation?" the maitre d' asked coldly, complete with
a mocking sneer.
      "Not me, no," Monterey said, just so he could see the other
mouse's hopes rise. "But my date does."
      The Rescue Ranger enjoyed a slice of sadistic satisfaction at
watching the other mouse's uppercrust bubble burst.
      "Name?" the maitre d' asked, clearly wanting to get this over with 
and Monterey out of his sight as soon as possible.
      "No worries mate," Monterey told him as he stepped by the 
maitre d''s station and into the dining area. "I'll just find her myself."
      "But-but-but-" the other mouse blubbered ineffectually as the larger
rodent cheerfully sauntered away, ignoring his pleas. The maitre d' 
quickly decided against trying to stop Monterey, however, as being 
seen with someone in such dirty, repulsive clothes would have been 
too much.
      His fun over, Monterey's smile faded as he remembered why he
had come here. He wasn't looking forward to this reunion one iota, but 
he didn't see any other choice aside from getting it over with now. At the 
very least, he might come away with some information that could be of 
use to the Rangers.
      He briefly wondered how the other Rangers would react if they 
knew he had gone off to this meeting without telling any of them. 
Chip would blow his stack, to be sure, but too bad. This vaguely 
clandestine move was more for Monterey's sake than for the 
team's, to be completely honest.
      Shaking his head a bit to clear it out and return to his current
objective, Monterey began making his way through the large dining
room, sticking out like a sore thumb, thanks to his flight cap, tan
overcoat, and green sweater. This was supposed to be a black-tie
establishment, but as Monterey had expected, nobody had tried to stop
him from entering. The dress code was merely a formality, and he would
not have come if it hadn't been on his own terms.  Of course, that mindset
was just for this particular occasion. If he had been arriving here for a 
relaxed meal with the rest of the Rangers, or a lady companion he wished 
to impress, he would have happily worn his tailor-made tuxedo. 
      As he walked, Monty took a moment to look around the place. The 
Golden Scales prided itself on providing patrons with a fine dining 
experience, including high-quality food, service, and ambience. Especially 
ambience. The actual design of the restaurant was one of the 
architectural crown jewels of animal community of Stones City. It was 
located in one of the humans' own four-star restaurants, up in the glass-
suspended ceiling over the humans' own dining area. The Golden Scales' 
management had found the location to be a gold mine in terms of 
getting the most from the humans' architecture without losing any of 
the animals' own embellishments.
      The Scales' main dining area was situated on the actual glass of the
humans' ceiling, but the lights glowing below reflected perfectly off of
the bottom of the panes, preventing the humans underneath from
glimpsing any of the movements above. Thus, the diners in the rodent
restaurant were afforded a magnificent view of the decorative and
ornamental dining area below them, in addition to the Scales' own decor
around them. Dining on the glass surface was often equated with
levitating over sixty feet in the air, providing a unique thrill that most 
diners had never experienced.
      In order to accommodate those who might be nervous around such
heights, the dining area was actually two levels. The main level
was the actual glass ceiling, surrounding by a brass railing. Several wide
stairwells led up from it to the second dining area, situated along the 
ledge of the main dining room. Any acrophobic guests could dine in 
this latter area with ease, and without losing sight of any of the 
restaurant's own tasteful interior designs. It was here that Monty 
paused for a moment, glancing about for his date.
      Several of the diners nearby eyed him; some warily, some
condescendingly. He was clearly a nonconformist, and that threatened
them.
      He strolled along the edge of the second level, until he came to a
stairwell. He paused for a minute to scan the main floor. The treated glass
floor made it fairly easy to focus on the rodent guests on top, rather than
be distracted by the humans below, but even so, scores of tables were
spread out over the entire area. Since this was a Friday night, the place 
was packed, only adding to the number of tables to check.
      He glanced at a stylish watch, mounted on a nearby wall. Ten after
nine. He was supposed to have been here at nine. Fortunately, his date
knew him well, and probably wouldn't be expecting him for another five
minutes. That'd be a nice surprise for her, showing up earlier than she
expected--
      There.
      Monterey didn't move at first. Now that he was about to make the
last leg of his trip to the dinner table, he doubted the wisdom of the 
whole endeavor once more. Sucking in his breath, Monterey pushed 
his flight cap forward a bit and headed down the stairs to the main floor. 
He had come this far; he had might as well see it through.
      It was just really stupid, is all. But he could live with that.
      He steadily made his way through the tables and servants, not even
noticing the looks he was getting; his eyes were fixed on his date. She
was the type of female who, even though Monterey had expected her to
look ravishing, always appeared even better than he could have imagined.
She wore a low-cut magenta dress which hugged her hourglass figure. It
was floor length, but had a slit on each side leading from the bottom up to
her mid-thigh. She never had been the shy type, as he knew all too well. 
Deep blue elbow length gloves completed her outfit, while a small pearl 
necklace adorned her delicate throat.
      She didn't notice him at first as she studied her menu, but when he
approached, she glanced up.
      She smiled. Warmly. Monterey's nerves were instantly jarred;
he hadn't been expecting this.
      "Ah, Monzee!" she said with what seemed to be delight.
      "Hello, Des," he managed to get out.
      "I'm *so* glad you could make it," Desiree D'Allure said as she set 
the menu down. "I wasn't expecting you for anozer five minutes," she 
teased.
      "Yeah, well, you know me," Monterey replied guardedly as he sat
down facing her. "Always a surprise."
      "Indeed," she chuckled throatily.
      "Whattaya what, Des?" Monterey stated quickly. As much as he
hated to admit it, she looked as inviting as ever. The sooner he got out of
here and away from her almost tangible wiles, the better. "I got yer letter
at the tree. You wanted this meetin' to talk, so start talkin'."
      He hoped her pout meant he was coming off as cold and distant.
Espeically since she was looking even more enticing than usual.
      "You arrived alone?" she asked at first, nonchalantly glancing over
the menu once more.
      "Yeah, no worries, be happy," he grumbled. It wasn't a smart move
to leave the rest of the Rangers in the dark, he knew, but he considered
anything that happened between him and his ex-fiancee to be his own
business. And, privately, he was almost desperately hoping that she had 
given up on crime, so they wouldn't be on opposite sides of the law 
anymore.
      "But" he continued as he picked up a menu, "just be careful. If I
think I've been set-up or if you try anythin', I'll personally hog-tie you
and haul you to the A.P.F. before you can blink."
      "Oh, Mon'zee!" Desiree seemed aghast. "Don't you trust me?"
      "No," he immediately replied.
      "A good zing, I'll agree," she admitted freely. "But not to fear, I am
'ere in peace. Alzough, I am not entirely alone."
      "What?" Monterey managed to keep his voice down, but gripped
the edge of the table strongly as he glared at her.
      "Oh, do calm down, Mon'zee," she sighed, a bit annoyed. "'e's an
 old acquaintance of yours, and should be 'ere before too long."
      "Who?"
      "Someone who can 'elp you out."
      "What?" Monterey noticed that his banter was painfully lacking in 
cleverness during this confrontation. Not a good sign.
      "Mon'zee," Desiree explained patiently, "We boze know zat Fat Cat
and Stripes 'ave joined zeir power to create a formidable new crime 
syndicate. When I returned to ze city, I met someone who can 'elp 
your team take zem down."
      "Yeah, why--" Monterey stopped abruptly as he thought of
something. "Speakin' of which, why *are* you back here, Des? 
Attendin' a femme fatal-ee convention?"
      "Well, I did not 'ave much choice, now, did I?" she returned
petulantly. "You really embarrassed me, Monzee, switching zose 
labels like you did. My *ex*-boss was most upset. I 'ad to return 
ze money 'e paid, and I could not 'ope to find work zere again wize 
my reputation ruined."
      Monterey grinned broadly. "Good," he said happily as he returned
his attention to the menu. "Good, glad to hear it. Serves ya right for tryin'
to cut me in half with a lumber saw."
      Desiree shrugged. "It was nozing personal."
      "Right. Whatever you say, Des." He glanced up as their waiter
arrived; a stiff and formal rat, a bit on the short side for his
species, being a full head shorter than Monterey.
      The waiter cast a disdainful eye over Monterey's lack of "proper" 
dress, and then turned to address the radiant and photogenic lady who 
no doubt employed him as a servant. "Good evening, ma'am, and 
welcome to The Golden Scales, where the food, atmosphere, and service 
are perfectly balanced for the finest dining experience imaginable."
      Monterey glanced up at him after hearing the corny tagline. "You
don't know a bloke by the name of Jiffy, do you?"
      The waiter ignored the lower-class mouse and continued to speak
directly to Desiree. "My name is Franz, and I'll be your server for this
evening. Can I interest you in an appetizer and a drink before your meal?"
      "Yes, please," Desiree nodded. "I shall 'ave ze grilled onion sticks
wize a white wine sauce, and to drink... some champagne, Chateau de 
Souriciere '93, slightly chilled."
      "And your servant?"
      Franz felt himself jerked to the side to face a standing Monterey,
who was smiling with clenched teeth.
      "Call me her servant again, mate," the large mouse snarled in an 
unnaturally low growl, "and carpal tunnel syndrome will be the least of 
your medical worries."
      "Uhm, of course. Sir," Franz quickly added, being reminded, again, 
of just how short he was once his customers had stood up. "Will you be 
having an appetizer and a drink?"
      "I believe I will, Franz," Monterey replied jovially, retaking his seat.
"Two orders of them mozzarella sticks, and a Black Cow."
      Franz was quiet for a moment. "A what? Sir."
      "A Black Cow."
      Franz could tell from sight that this guest was an uncultured
peasant, but did he honestly think that they kept livestock here? Or that 
he could eat one all by himself? Either that, or he really liked his milk 
fresh.
      "Oh, wait," Monterey said, catching the blank look on Franz's face.
"You don't know what that is, do you?"
      "I would wager that I'm not familiar with your definition of it, sir,
no."
      "Never mind, then. Just gimme a glass of milk with some vanilla
ice cream in it, and a bottle of chocolate syrup. I'll handle the rest."
      Franz secretly breathed a sigh of relief that they had some chocolate
syrup as part of the children's dessert menu, then headed off, only too
glad to put some distance between him and the ruffian Ranger.
      "Now then," Monterey said, redirecting his attention to the female
across the table from him, who was still smiling over the 'servant'
comment. "Why would you be so bloomin' quick to help us out, anyway? We
stopped your little crime spree last time, and stained yer work record with
a nice, big blotch o' failure."
      Desiree's smile melted away. "I 'ave my reasons."
      "And I wanna know 'em, Des," Monterey replied. "How do I know
I can trust you this time?"
      "I only sent a letter to your 'eadquarters, razer zan a letter to Fat 
Cat telling 'im where it was," she replied smoothly, still unsmiling. "'ow 
do I know I can trust *you*?"
      "I came alone, rather than have the A.P.F. waitin' in ambush in the
kitchen," Monterey replied evenly.
      An uncomfortable silence ensued as the two mice struggled to come to 
grips with this mutual respect they could sense developing. They both knew 
it was dangerous to form this type of understanding with the "other side", as
one could never tell if the interest was actually genuine or just part of 
a brilliant facade. The fact that the "other side" in this case was an ex-lover 
only made things more complicated. It wasn't until a few minutes later that 
Desiree broke the rapidly forming ice.
      "Ah, 'ere 'e comes," she said brightly, looking past Monterey.
      Monterey figured it was the waiter, so he didn't bother to turn around
until the figure reached the table.
      "Monzee," she said introductorily, "I would like you to meet--"
      "YOU!" Monterey and Bubbles yelled simultaneously.
      "Ah good, I see you two remember each ozer," Desiree remarked
affably.
      Both male mice were on their feet in an instant, facing off against
each other from opposite sides of the table. Desiree glanced around at the
nearby customers, most of whom had moved to the far side of their own
tables as discreetly as possible, or had suddenly became engrossed in
studying their wine lists.
      "Boys," she said evenly to the two testosterone-charged hunks of
fur flanking her, "do respect ze dining space of ze ozer patrons 'ere,
'mmm?"
      "What is this bloated, overstuffed--" Monterey started.
      "--thick-skulled, pot-bellied--" Bubbles continued.
      "--brain-dead, muscle-headed--"
      "--cheese-breath, goat-chinned--"
      "--reject from an Art Nuevo fashion show doin' here?" Monterey
finished with a snarl.
      "Zis is ze--" Desiree began.
      "Like you're one to talk," Bubbles scoffed back at Monterey.
"When's the last time you washed that trenchcoat of yours? 1989?"
      "Please, boys, can we--" Desiree tried again.
      "Where's your diaper, Bubble-brain?" Monterey taunted. "You
finally graduate to pull-ups?"
      "I zink we all could just--"
      "*I* am dressed for the occasion, punk," Bubbles snorted, proudly 
tugging on the coat of his rented tuxedo. "You probably couldn't even 
manage a bowtie."
      Monterey snorted. "Tell me that isn't a clip-on."
      It was, of course, only serving to enrage Bubbles further. "Why
you--"
      "Why I--"
      They both stopped abruptly as Desiree jumped up, grabbed each of
them by their ears and yanked down. Hard.
      "Now listen up," she scolded them harshly in a fierce whisper. "I
went to a lot of trouble to get you boze 'ere wizout 'aving it turn into
some brainless slugfest between Bubbles' gang and ze Rescue Rangers.
Ze least you two can do is be quiet and 'ear out my plans before you
engage in your useless displays of machismo."
      The two male mice grumbled their agreement, and Desiree released her
firm grasp on their ears, letting out a sigh as they all sat down.
      It's always so awkward when your boyfriends meet each other, she
thought ruefully.
      Franz abruptly arrived, placing Monterey and Desiree's drinks
 down in front of them. Bubbles looked like he was about to make a
 remark concerning the bottle of chocolate syrup placed by Monterey, but
 Desiree discreetly stabbed one of her high heels into his exposed foot,
 causing him to bite his lip.
      "Would you prefer an appetizer, or something to drink, sir?" Franz
asked in a flat, derisive tone to Bubbles; Franz could spot that clip-on tie
from a mile away. At least the other peasant at the table hadn't tried 
such a lame and obvious ploy.
      "Just water. And some curly fries. And make it fast."
      Franz kept his face immobile, but his eyes flashed at the insulting 
thought that the elegant restaurant he represented could be expected to 
serve such a grossly offensive treat as "curly fries."
      "I am afraid we do not carry that item, sir," he managed to say
coolly.
      "What? Water?"
      "The 'curly fries', sir." Even though he tried, Franz couldn't help
but sneer as he said the name of  the deep-fried, grease-laden potato
sidedish.
      Bubbles grumbled. "Then just get me something deep-fried. High
in fat."
      Franz cast a sideways glance at Monterey. The Aussie looked as if
 he was about to make a comment, but was now suddenly biting his lip.
      "Very good sir," Franz replied to Bubbles' request. "I'll be back
momentarily with it and to take your orders."
      He bustled off, not feeling guilty in the least about refusing to tell
them about tonight's specials.
      "Let's get this over with," Monterey grumbled as he mixed up his
drink. "Out with it, Des."
      Desiree expertly sipped her champagne before starting. "Let us look
at our current situation, shall we? Right now, ze Kingpin Kingdom is ze
single most -- 'ow do you say, well-fortified? -- crime ring in ze state, 
let alone in ze city. Zis is not beneficial to eizer ze Rescue Rangers or 
Bubbles' gang, correct?"
      "Yeah," Bubbles shrugged. "I guess."
      "Keep talkin'," Monterey prompted, not about to agree to anything
until he heard the whole spiel.
      "We 'ave a common enemy, no?" She smiled innocently at both of
the bulking males flanking her, experiencing a distinct feeling of power 
-- which she rather enjoyed.
      Monterey, on the other hand, was merely impressed that his ex-fiancee
could still manage to pull off that act of innocence; he knew her
much too well to be taken in by it. He surreptitiously cast a wandering 
eye over to Bubbles, who was just looking at Desiree with a glazed 
expression. No smirk, no chuckle, no sign of anything which would indicate 
that Bubbles knew Desiree as well as Monterey did.
      Monterey's smile slipped into smug mode, but only for an instant,
and then it was gone before either of his dining companions could notice.
      "You suggesting we trust those Rangers?" Bubbles openly scorned
the idea. "Not likely! I still owe that girl mouse inventor from way back, 
and *no way* am I stooping to teaming up with little Miss Know-it-all!"
      "Not a team-up," Desiree smoothly cut in before Monterey's ire
was raised. "A truce."
      "Truce?" Monterey echoed.
      "Oui," the manipulative seductress nodded briskly. "An open
alliance would not be very likely, seeing as 'ow ze rest of ze Rangers are
as unlikely to trust us as Bubbles is unwilling to trust zem."
      Too right, Monterey thought to himself. Chip wouldn't be too keen on 
the idea of trusting either of these two. Of course, Monterey wasn't too 
keen on the idea, either, but he still gave Desiree some credit. At least 
for now.
      Bubbles was not as optimistic. "Yeah right, Des. They'd toss us in
the clink soon as they get the chance. They still owe you for trying to
slice ol' cheddar-belly here in half. Even if it would have been a welcome
weight-loss program."
      "Wanna step outside and say that, Mr. Diaper Rash?" Monterey
growled through clenched teeth which he managed to force into some
semblance of a grin.
      "Boys, boys..." Desiree sighed, resting a hand on her forehead.
      The two males stared at each other, but managed to keep from
leaping over the table and throttling one another. Nevertheless, Desiree
could tell that this idea wasn't getting any support from them; unless
she was able to get them to put their grudges aside, she might as well kiss
this entire ploy goodbye.
      "Do us all a favor," she smoothly advised them. "Be quiet for a few
moments. When Franz returns, we will order our food, and we will not speak
of business again until ze food arrives. By zen, you should boze have
calmed down enough to act like gentlemen, razer zan barbarians."
      A long shot, Desiree admitted to herself.
      In their own minds, Monterey and Bubbles had no objections
to acting like barbarians (it was their preferred demeanor, after all), but 
in the presence of a lady such as Desiree D'Allure, they both opted to try
and follow her request.
      Franz, who had been hovering behind the curtain separating the
dining area from one of the busstands, finally managed to compose
himself before returning to the table occupied by the Lady and the Tramps.
      "And have we all decided?" he asked through a tight-lipped, forced
smile.
      "I will order," Desiree immediately said, cutting off Bubbles before
he could open his mouth and ask for a burger. She artistically read off the
entries -- in French -- Franz jotting them down with great relief; she
could properly pronounce the menu items. Unquestionably, a woman of
renowned class and stature.
      Monterey was still squinting at some of the menu items; he figured
he could understand what was printed, but the menus were printed in one
of those ungodly elaborate script fonts, with long, whip-like serifs that
obscured half of the word and required a skilled cryptologist to decipher.
      Bubbles hadn't even bothered with the names. He was fairly sure
that all restaurants served burgers. At least, all of *his* favorite places
did.
      After finishing taking down the orders, Franz nodded respectfully to
Desiree and scurried off, managing to avoid looking at either Monterey
or Bubbles the entire time.
      The trio sat in an awkward silence. They had agreed not to say
anything about Desiree's proposition until the food arrived, but that was
also their only reason for being there.
      Until Monterey thought of another reason. A delightfully stupid
thing to bring up, he knew, and thus he had pounced on it immediately.
      "So," Monterey said nonchalantly to Desiree, "how've you been,
luv?"
      She smiled. "Just fine, Monzee. And you?"
      "Doin' well enough, I guess," he answered with a shrug, then took a 
sip from his drink, playing out his response. As she began to turn back to her
drink, he spoke again. "So, you ever regret turnin' to a life of crime?"
      Desiree blinked, and Monterey chalked up a point for himself; this
would surely add to his overall stupidity score for the night.
      "Not especially," she finally answered, regaining her poise with
remarkable grace. "It pays well."
      "Oh?" Monterey inquired. "You didn't get anythin' from that
Canada job."
      "Canada job?" Bubbles echoed.
      "Before your time, Bubzee," Desiree said with a smile.
      "Bubzee?" It was Monterey's turn to echo.
      "What was it about?" Bubbles asked, not getting the hint.
      "Do not concern yourself wize it." Desiree's smile was beginning to
look strained.
      "Bubzee?" Monterey repeated. It was one of those words that just
could not be believed the first few times it was heard.
      "You got a problem with that, *Monzee*?" Bubbles growled.
      "Not at all..." Monterey said, fighting back his laugh. "...Bubzee."
      Desiree cleared her throat forcefully, mainly to cover the stomping
of her foot. Monterey bit his lip again, only this time fighting back the
urge to curse.
      Bubbles showed intelligence by refusing to take Monterey's bait.
He also showed ineptitude by refusing to take Desiree's hints. "So what
about this Canada job? Outback Jerk over there knows about it. Was this
back when you were with him?"
      To her surprise, Monterey interceded on her behalf.
      "Her job crossed paths with me and the Rangers," he cut in, "and
we stopped her. So she told you about our time together, eh?"
      Then again, maybe this wasn't such a good thing.
      "She told me enough," Bubbles replied vaguely.
      "She tell you about our engagement?"
      "Yeah," Bubbles said smugly. As far as he was concerned, it just
proved Monterey's stupidity that he had let a catch like Desiree get away.
      "She tell you about the night we spent on the beaches of Moroc--OW!" 
Monterey pushed himself back from the table a bit and glanced at
his foot, making sure that Desiree hadn't drawn blood with that last
stomp.
      "What?" Bubbles' natural look of confusion appeared as he glanced
over at Desiree. She had a hand up, shielding her eyes as she looked
down at the table. She seemed to be composing herself.
      "I do believe zat we are straying from ze purpose of tonight's
meeting," she said at length, straightening up with a wonderfully forged
look of good cheer. "Ze point is not to dwell on ze past--"
      "As fun as it may have been," Monterey interjected, chuckling
snidely at Bubbles, whose face was beginning to burn. Patrons two tables
over looked about in confusion to try and locate the grinding noise, not
realizing it was coming from Bubbles' teeth.
      "Ze *POINT*," Desiree snarled, glaring at Monterey, "is to
concentrate on ze present, oui?"
      "Fine," Bubbles agreed. "But I ain't calling no truce until I get it
from the rest of those Ranger punks. Monty here ain't the king of 'em 
all."
      "Oh?" Monterey said smugly. "What makes you say that?"
      "Because they'd be dead by now if they listened to you."
      Monterey merely grinned. "And tell us, o' all-seein' oracle, just
how many of yer own gang members have landed in jail or worse from
followin' your own plans?"
      Bubbles' lips strained into a polite smile, but everyone in the
restaurant was saved from his impending reply as Franz arrived, hefting a 
tray laden with soup and salads. He stood by Desiree the entire time, 
refusing to move any closer than absolutely necessary to the two 
unwelcome representatives from the unwashed masses. He quickly 
scampered off the moment his hand left the final plate.
      "Hey!" Monterey called out in vain. "No fresh pepper here?"
      "Never mind, Monzee," Desiree cooed, smiling disarmingly at him.
Monterey's mind immediately went on full alert, but it was just a trained
reaction; he actually wasn't in any immediate mortal danger. Not yet,
at any rate.
      The trio silently worked through their soup, and then the salads,
both Monterey and Bubbles focusing their gazes on their plates. Desiree
glanced between them occasionally; the stony quiet weighed heavily upon 
her enjoyment of the meal, but was far preferable to the alternative dining
experience of a full-fledged brawl serving as a pre-dinner show.
      When Franz again made his exceptionally swift return-and-departure act, 
this time carrying off their empty bowls and plates, Desiree gathered her 
courage and tried again.
      "Now, Monzee," she said diplomatically, not risking a glance at
Bubbles. "Truthfully, will ze Rangers 'onor our agreement to a truce?"
      "Despite this blighter's disbelief," Monterey stabbed an accusing
finger at Bubbles, "yeah, they will. Me pallies trust enough in me to take
my word for it. It's trust," he emphasized the word by staring at her, "that
makes any relationship work."
      Actually caught off-guard by the veiled attack, Desiree leaned back
slightly and blinked once in surprise before her professionalism regained
control.
      "Hey," Bubbles commented darkly, "you can't blame me if I don't
have any desire to trust you, bub. In *my* organization, we go by
unquestionable obedience to me. If I say there's a truce, they'll listen. 
It's *you* Rangers aren't sworn on penalty of death to follow a single 
leader or anything."
      "I can't argue that," Monterey said amiably. "I guess we have a
higher respect for free will, eh?"
      But Desiree came to the rescue, much to Monterey's chagrin. "Now
now, Monzee, you know full well zat Bubbles is no dictator or supreme
ruler."
      This was news to Bubbles. "Says who?"
      "Bubbles listens to 'is lieutenants, and 'eeds wise advice as all
excellent conquerers do," Desiree continued, a playful smile blossoming
across her full lips. She didn't take her sultry eyes from Monterey's.
      Bubbles, yet again having no clue, tried to sound knowledgeable
about this. "Uh, yeah! Right." It was a horrid failure.
      But it didn't matter -- Monterey got the secret message that Desiree
was sending. *She* was in charge, not Bubbles. If they put a truce into
effect, she'd make sure that it'd be honored by Bubbles' gang, despite
whatever Bubbles might have to say on the matter. And being Desiree,
she'd enforce it by pulling at her "boyfriend's" strings.
      Monterey sat back in thought, a bit upset with himself for not fully
realizing this beforehand. She had been in charge of the last gang 
she was in, and he knew from his own experiences with her just how... 
persuasive she could be. In the back of his mind, this unsettled him a bit, 
making him wondering if their former engagement was indeed based on 
the prospects of love, or if maybe there had been something else taking 
place out of his peripheral vision.
      That, however, was speculation for another time.
      He folded his hands on the table as he leaned forward, but still
did not reply. Not that he needed to; both Bubbles and Desiree could tell
that he was seriously considering it. Well, they weren't quite right. He was
considering something, but not the proposed treaty. Instead, he was 
thinking about Desiree's current position in Bubbles' gang.
      She was undeniably the real mastermind behind the gang's success
as of late. Bubbles had usually only been able to tread water -- or KooKoo 
Kola, as the case may be -- but ever since the Kingpin Kingdom had been 
formed, Bubbles' gang had executed some very impressive heists and 
shakedowns, increasing their territory at a respectable rate. Bubbles 
probably was too shallow to fully appreciate the working of his "girlfriend's" 
mind; Monterey highly doubted that the fizz brain even suspected that there 
was a reason why his upswing of success coincided so nicely with Desiree's 
appearance in his ranks.
      But Desiree's involvement did pose an interesting question, so much 
so that Monterey almost wished that Chip *was* here to help him puzzle it 
out. What was Desiree's true motivation here? Bubbles was clearly just a 
useful front for her, but for as long as Monterey had known her, she had 
never been interested in participating in a large organization that sat in 
one place, even if it was a large empire.  Desiree was a born freelancer, 
skipping about from job to job, taking the ones that amused her, and the 
vanishing like a will-o-the-wisp once the mission was completed.
      So what was Desiree doing as a commander of a gang?
      By now, Franz had returned with their orders, which he dispensed
as only a thin-lipped and stuck-up waiter can.
      "Kind of a stick in the mud, ain't he?" Bubbles remarked after
Franz had marched off.
      "What is this glop?" Monterey asked in suspicion as he poked his
fork at the lump of off-white edibles.
      Desiree smiled tightly at him. "Why worry, Monzee? Don't you...
 trust me? I, after all, was not ze one late for our... appointment." The glint in 
her eyes revealed her barbed comment for what it was. He had mentioned the 
trust she had violated by using him; now she was paying back the needling 
remark with a reminder of his long-ago absence from their wedding altar.
      Monterey cleared his throat and tucked in to his food.
      Again, the trio did not speak for the first few minutes of the actual
dinner. Monterey was still kicking around the reasons why Desiree had
chosen this new career move, Desiree was attempting to foresee the
possible outcomes of tonight's meeting and plan for them, and Bubbles 
was too busy grousing to himself over the lack of curly fries.
      About half-through the entree, Monterey decided to cut
to the chase.
      "One question," he said, addressing Desiree.
      She looked up at him, expectantly.
      For a very, very brief moment of time, Monterey felt himself
transported back to the early days of their courtship, back in Paris.
For it was during this singular split-second that Desiree had actually been
thinking of something else rather than crime, and Monterey saw none of
the corruption and decadence that had festered within her since their
first separation. *This* was the woman that he had truly fallen in love with,
all those years ago; the one he would have happily spent the rest of his
days with.
      Then the purpose of the dinner returned, her clear eyes now
becoming overcast from the clouds of ulterior motives.
      Monterey swallowed hard. Ya can't go home again, he thought
bitterly.
      "This truce you're offerin'", he said, then halted as he saw
Desiree's gaze flick over to Bubbles. He realized, with a trace of
embarrassment, that he should be addressing Bubbles, who was
"officially" the leader of the gang.
      "This truce," Monterey started again, this time to the hulking
mouse sitting opposite him, "does it mean you blokes won't be 
committin' crimes no more?"
      Bubbles laughed. Since he had his mouth full at the time, the mirth
wasn't shared.
      "Yeah, right," Bubbles chortled. "No way, buddy. The truce is just
to stay out of each other's fur, and that's it. To me, that means we
don't poke our noses into your cases, while you keep your own snouts 
outta our territory." His decisive tone made it clear that there was no 
room for argument. Not even Desiree could sway him on this point.
      Monty nodded in understanding, wiped his mouth on his napkin,
and dropped it on the table. "Then I guess our business is concluded,"
he said with a shrug. "There's no deal."
      "What?" Desiree looked honestly surprised.
      "Des," Monterey explained patiently, "Chipper and me other pallies
wouldn't let you guys just run around stealin' and hurtin' others. And
I won't neither."
      Desiree looked at him with a gaze that Monterey couldn't quite
identify. He got the distinct impression, however, that she hadn't been
counting on him to actually turn the offer down.
      "Big whoop," Bubbles said around his current mouthful. "This plan
was for your benefit, Ranger, not mine. You Rangers won't be able to
stop us anyways, so its no skin off my nose."
      "I can rectify that," Monterey hissed. "Face it Bubbles, you're on
yer way outta the competition. You've got the Kingpin Kingdom on one 
side, the Siamese Twins on the other, and that blighter Morty waitin' in 
the wings to take you down."
      "We'll take care of him."
      "You'll need brains for that, chump."
      Bubbles gripped the sides of the table. "If you'd like to
see some brains spilled, fatso, just keep it up."
      "You and what bottling company, torso-boy?"
      Desiree momentarily toyed with the idea of stopping their 
argument again, but since Monterey had already given his answer, 
there really wasn't any reason to delay the inevitable. She was a bit 
unsettled, though, over her ex-fiancee's dedication to his fight 
against crime. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he 
surprised her yet again.
      Bubbles, meanwhile, wasn't nearly as congenial in his assessment
of Monterey's mental facilities.
      "I've had just about all I'm gonna take from you, cheesehead,"
Bubbles announced coldly as he slowly stood up.
      Monterey sighed, shook his head, and glanced about the dining
room. People were starting to glance nervously over in their direction.
He had to admit, it would be beyond the boundaries of all that was stupid 
to egg Bubbles on any further.
      Well, he could do stupid...
      Bubbles barely had time to register the fact that his face was now 
full of the remnants of Monterey's dinner before the large Aussie, 
himself, crashed into the criminal's burly midsection, inadvertently 
flipping the table up and over in the process. Lettuce and manicotti 
showered down like confetti, but having expecting this possibility, 
Desiree had stretched her napkin over her head to shield her from 
a rain of stains.
      As her two quondam dinner companions brutally wrestled on
the floor, the Gallic mouse lightly signaled to Franz, who, from his 
secured location in the busstand, was weeping over the mess being 
created in his area.
      "Check," she said casually.
      Etiquette between Monterey and Bubbles was happily chucked out
the door as they devolved into their preferred back-street brawler mode.
Utensils were employed as dueling apparatus, while serving trays and
dishes acted as makeshift bucklers. Occasionally, one mouse managed to 
fling a screen of spaghetti sauce or salad garnish at his opponent, who
usually managed to dodge out of the way, allowing the attack to hit a few
stunned dinner guests.
      From the other side of the dining area, the manager ran out with the
security force to remove the dregs from the premises, while the guests
eating near the door watched with interest, appreciatively sipping at
their wine.
      "Especially good floor show tonight," one remarked to the other.
      "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it --" the manager demanded, abruptly 
subsiding after Monterey accidentally belted him a good one.
      The security personnel piled onto the two combatants, and were --
naturally -- hopelessly outclassed. They joined the continuous shower of
plates, chairs, and after-dinner mints surrounding the one-mouse
battalions.
      "This is why I didn't bother dressin' up," Monterey said, blocking
a shish kebab thrust with a candelabra. 
      "Ha!" Bubbles snarled, lunging again with a salad spoon, "I'll just
take the dry cleaning bills outta yer hide!"
      They exchanged several more parries, blows, and threats, until
Monterey decked Bubbles aross the chest with a borrowed loaf of bread.
It knocked Bubbles' bowtie off, revealing the clip behind it for all to
see.  The uppercrust patrons gasped in shock.
      "Ah ha!" Monterey laughed triumphantly. "I knew it!"
      "Curse you!" Bubbles, enraged at being exposed as the fraud he
was, leapt towards the mouse who had unmasked his dark secret.
      Monterey attempted to backpedal out of reach, but realized with
sudden trepidation that he was already up against the railing. And he
had been flying-tackled enough to realize that the trajectory of Bubbles'
incoming attack--
      Before Monterey could finish the thought, Bubbles crashed into him,
sending them both flipping over the railing, plummeting to the human
restaurant below. The mice patrons screamed in alarm; the security force
gasped; the manager fainted; Desiree left a generous tip lying in the spot
where her table used to be, then headed off to catch the next taxi back home.
      Monterey and Bubbles' quick trip to the ground floor was luckily
interrupted by a large bowl of beef gravy, carried by one of the human
waiters. The splash drew the waiter's attention, and he paused for a moment. 
The two mice leaped out of the hot gravy with a yelp, attracting the attention 
of the surrounding diners.
      "Crikey! That's hot!" Monterey howled, landing on a nearby table
and diving headlong into a convenient glass of ice water. The woman
who had been holding it at the time dropped it with a scream of utter
terror, then bolted away from the mouse under glass.
      "Geez, ya think she'd never seen a mouse before," Monterey
grumbled as he climbed free and began to wring out his jacket. He
noticed a shadow flying in over his own and immediately threw himself
flat, seconds before Bubbles swooped in.
      "We're not through yet, blimp," Bubbles informed a vastly
unimpressed Monterey. Bubbles wiped away some of the gravy from his
face, then snatched up a fork.
      "Bring it on, *Bubzee*," Monterey taunted while he planned his
 next move. The man who was still sitting at the table, stunned, held the
 only other fork, as well as the only knife.
      Fork leading the way, Bubbles went on the offensive again, but
 Monterey had more room to maneuver this time. He easily evaded
 Bubbles for a few moments until he spotted a tool he could use. At the
 next opportunity, Monterey sprang to the wine bucket, then arced his
 jump up over the still-shocked man, swiping the toupee free from the
 man's scalp. While the man was suddenly moved to action -- running off,
 crying, with a napkin over his head -- Monterey spread out the hairpiece
 like a tarp (it was fairly large, after all), easily blanketing Bubbles and
 his cutlery.
      By now, the humans were quickly and rather uncouthly running
away, screaming, in concentric circles that spread out from the source of 
the disturbance. The manner in which they sped gave the impression that
they were more concerned about contamination from rodents than
contamination from radioactive waste.
      Bubbles managed to free himself from Monterey's hairy trap
and even succeeded in pulling the rug out from underneath Monterey
altogether. The solo Ranger worked to keep his momentum in the roll,
bringing him to the edge of the table and down the tablecloth before
Bubbles could home in with another fork jab.
      Quick to follow, Bubbles was on his tail -- so to speak -- within
an instant. The large mouse crook had abandoned his fork in order to 
better give chase, bringing the duel back down to Monterey's preferred 
choice of weapons: fisticuffs.
      They pummeled each other with that certain unnatural glee that all
testosterone-fortified rodents posses. The fight continued on more or 
less even terms for several minutes, until the security from The Golden 
Scales had finally made their way down to the floor. They expediently separated
the two gladiators, while the manager was gesticulating at such a 
frantic pace that Monterey worried the mouse might dislocate something.
      "You imbeciles!" he politely informed them both. "You rotters!
Buffoons! Uncultured swine!"
      Bubbles roughly shoved off the newcomers and bounded away, 
halting atop a chair and pointing an accusing finger back at Monterey. 
"This isn't over yet, wide load. You'll get yours soon enough."
      "Yeah, go on," Monterey called back as he strained against the
security mice holding him back. "Why don't you go back and get a new 
clip-on tie, diaper-boy!"
      Bubbles snarled, then turned and continued off, out of sight.
      With his main source of fun gone, Monterey finally calmed down
enough to notice that the entire human dining room was now entirely
devoid of any life aside from animals; only he and the staff of The
Golden Scales were left.
      The Golden Scales' manager continued to voice his general
displeasure over the preceding ruckus.
      "You brainless, boorish--"
      Monterey twitched his fist, and the manager immediately closed his
mouth, covered it with his hands, and dove for protection behind the
nearest security guard.
      "Don't you realize what you've done!" he called out from his
newly-discovered duck blind.
      Monterey considered briefly. "I don't think so."
      "The humans will now know that we're here! They'll completely
turn this place upside-down in order to get rid of us all! The Golden
Scales will be forced out of business!" He broke down and wept at this 
point, unable to bear the thought.
      "Uhm..." Monterey stalled for an excuse. "Well, they don't know
that we weren't brought in by another human, do they?"
      One of the guards frowned. "And how, exactly, are they supposed
to reach that conclusion?"
      Monterey looked blank for a moment, then dusted off his
non-combative neurons and fired them a few times until the neural 
energy was flowing smoothly. He hated to admit it to himself, and 
wouldn't ever tell anyone publicly, but Chip was starting to rub off 
on him.
      "It'll only take a few minutes 'fore the humans get back," Monterey
informed the others with a grin. "Check in the offices in the back for a
hole puncher, scissors, some stiff paper, and a pen. Oh, and some string if
you can dig any up."
 
      Back at Ranger Headquarters, Monterey related the evening's
events to the rest of his teammates. Chip's restraint was remarkably better
than Monterey expected.
      "You idiotic heap of molecules!" the fedora'ed chipmunk fumed through 
gritted teeth. "What on Earth could you have been *thinking*?! You should 
*never* just waltz into something like that without telling us!'
      Monterey nonchalantly chuckled Chip's criticisms aside. "Relax,
Chipper. I've known ol' Des long enough to know when she's worth
trustin'."
      "Two words, Monty," Chip replied crisply. "Lumber saw."
      Monterey cleared his throat and frowned a bit, but held his ground.
"That was then. I've learned since."
      "I'll bet." Apparently, Chip was not convinced.
      "Uh, Monty," Gadget asked politely, "so what happens now? Do you
think that Desiree will seek us out as a target, or as an ally?"
      "Neither, Gadget-luv," Monterey replied with a sigh as he crossed
his arms. "Des is gonna be workin' on gettin' her puppet strings better
attached to Bubbles first; she's the power broker in that gang. I'm sure
of it."
      Dale and Zipper nodded solemnly, and even Chip had to agree with
that assessment.
      "She'll probably be too busy with her own rackets within her
territory to worry about us," Monterey explained. "If we get involved in
her crimes, it'll just be business as usual to her."
      "And we *will* be getting involved in her schemes," Chip stressed,
still miffed. "We don't play favorites here -- a criminal is still a
criminal."
      Monterey rolled his eyes.  Chip's diplomacy was sorely lacking at
times.
      "Chip," Gadget said in her disapproving tone, reserved for special
occasions. She trusted Monterey as strongly as she did her father. Chip
glanced at her, still upset at Monterey's assurances that Desiree was no
major threat, but he respected Gadget's own opinion enough not to press
the issue. He kept his mouth shut, and nodded in concession.
      Zipper took advantage of the brief respite to change the direction
of the conversation, asking about the fate awaiting The Golden Scales.
      "No worries there, mate," Monterey answered with a knowing smile.
      "Huh?" Dale asked in surprise. "You and Bubbles busted up the
whole human dining room. I gotta say that even I'm impressed. The
humans've gotta be doing something about it."
      Monterey nodded. "And that person should be gettin' a call any
time, now."
      The rest of the Rangers looked at each other in wonder.
 
      *RIIIIIING* . . . *RIIIIIN--
      "Hello?"
      . . . .
      "Yes, this is."
      . . . .
      "What? That's ridiculous! I haven't been out to eat for years! I
was home all night working on my latest world-shattering inven -- 
uh, I mean, I was making a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich."
      . . . .
      "Yes, it took me three hours to make one sandwich, is that so hard
 to believe?"
      . . . .
      "I choose my bread slices very carefully from the bag."
      . . . .
      "What are you talking about? *What* tags?"
      . . . .
      "Tags that came loose during the calamity? Look, first of all, two
vermin running around in a dining room isn't a calamity, it's a failure
to follow proper health department guidelines."
      . . . .
      "So the tags asked that if these so-called 'lab rats' were found, to
return them to my lab, so what? I don't even *use* lab rats anymore."
      . . . .
      "No, I can't stand the things. The stupid animals always foil my
plans."
      . . . .
      "No, they *don't* drive around in a van called the Mystery Machine --
don't patronize me. I had nothing to do with this!"
      . . . .
      "Oh, I see -- just because I've been arrested for 53 felonies
and 231 misdemeanors, it means I have no credibility. How typically
prejudicial of you cops."
      . . . .
      "You want to fine me? Go ahead! None of it will matter in just a
few weeks' time; all of you insignificant peons will cower in the shadow
of my magnificent genius soon enough! I shall wreak my revenge on all
those who have wronged me, starting out with those insufferable rodents
and that horrid little fly! They shall pay the ultimate price! They
shall be the first to cry out for mercy! They shall...."
      . . . .
      "Hello?"
      . . . .
      "Hello, anyone there?"
      . . . .
      *CLICK*
 
 
 
                              The End