The Clan of the Scorpion

by Gareth P. Jones

  * * *

  Donnie and Chuck directed the suitcase through the parking lot, darting behind cars every time a human appeared.

  “Jet is a talented ninja, but he is too much like a trainee doctor,” said Chuck, as they took cover behind a car.

  “In what way?” asked Donnie.

  “He has much to learn about patience,” replied Chuck, with a wry smile.

  “Argh!” came a voice beside them. “Talking luggage? Now I really have seen it all. The sooner I’m back in the zoo, the better.”

  “Throw!” said Chuck, seeing his brother’s head poking out from beside one of the car’s wheels.

  “What?” yelped Throw, quivering with fright. “Talking luggage that knows my name! Help!”

  Chuck leaped out from under the suitcase. “It’s me, Chuck, your brother.”

  Throw gaped at him. “Chucky Egg! Am I glad to see you,” he cried, clasping his arms around his brother.

  Donnie sniggered. “Chucky Egg?”

  Chuck scowled at his brother, his face reddening under his fur. “Throw, please. I am the leader of an elite ninja clan. I do not go by that name anymore.”

  “Sorry, Chucky … I mean Chuck,” said Throw. “But I’m so glad to see you. I thought I’d never find you. The outside world is terrifying … and confusing. You said it was a park, but there are no trees.”

  “It’s a car park,” said Chuck. “A parking lot for cars. Never mind, we’ve found you now. Did you manage to arrange transport for us?”

  “Yes, a van from the zoo is here to collect a pair of sloths. It’s leaving shortly,” Throw replied. “It’ll be easy to slip aboard.”

  “Good work,” said Chuck. “Let’s go and pick up the others.”

  The journey back to the eastern corner of the parking lot twice as long with Throw’s help, as he kept trying to push the suitcase in the wrong direction. When they arrived, Jet and Bruce were nowhere to be seen.

  “No doubt Jet has convinced Bruce to do something impetuous,” said Chuck. “Jet is a great fighter, but he is also like a car with no steering wheel.”

  “In what way?” asked Throw.

  “Almost impossible to control,” replied Chuck. “Come on. They can’t have gone far.”

  On the other side of the parking lot, Jet had spotted something interesting.

  “Bruce, look at that car,” he said.

  “Oh yeah, it’s right across two spaces. That’s bad parking,” said Bruce.

  “Not the parking,” said Jet. “The car itself.”

  Jet was pointing at an orange car with multicolored spots, bright purple hubcaps, and a ridiculously large exhaust pipe.

  “It’s the clowns’ car,” said Bruce.

  “Exactly,” said Jet. “Looks like Grimsby and Sheffield, the Ringmaster’s henchmen, are in town. And there’s Grimsby now.”

  The car door opened and a large yellow shoe appeared, followed by a clown wearing a red costume. He had a sad, painted face, and green hair sprouting from under his hat. Another clown climbed out of the other side. He was wearing a blue wig and his mouth had been painted with a big smile. They both wore fake red noses. They hurried off as fast as their huge feet would allow.

  “Looks like Chuck was right,” said Jet. “The circus is in town at the exact same time a powerful tigress goes missing. What a coincidence! Let’s take a closer look.”

  “Shouldn’t we find the others first?” asked Bruce.

  Jet shook his head. “We need to find out what they’re up to. Besides, I expect Chuck and Donnie are still looking for Chuck’s brother. You know what zoo animals are like. Without a YOU ARE HERE sign they don’t know where they are.”

  “I suppose it won’t hurt to have a quick look,” said Bruce. He followed Jet to the car.

  “Ah, good. It’s locked,” said Jet.

  “What do you mean good?” asked Bruce.

  “I’ve been looking for a chance to practice my Air-Key Open Palm Move,” said Jet. “And this is perfect.”

  “Your what?”

  “I read about it in What Karate! last week. It involves a non-impact punch that twists the air itself into the lock and opens the door.”

  Jet took a step back and raised his flattened palm. Then he leaped forward and launched himself at the trunk, stopping right in front of it and twisting his paw.

  It looked impressive, but when he tried the trunk it was still locked.

  “I must have twisted the air the wrong way,” said Jet.

  “My turn,” announced Bruce. “Time for some Bruce Force.”

  Using the exhaust pipe as a springboard, Bruce jumped up and whacked the trunk.

  It sprang open with a twang.

  “Very effective,” Jet admitted. “Though totally lacking in style. Now, let’s look for clues.”

  “Like what?” asked Bruce.

  “Something that links those clowns to the theft of the tiger,” said Jet.

  Bruce climbed into the trunk and glanced around. “There’s nothing except for this cage, this empty box of meat, and half a packet of sleeping pills.”

  Jet sprang up and joined him. “This is too easy,” he chuckled. “They must’ve crushed up the sleeping pills with the meat to knock Ming out, then transported her in the cage.”

  “Oh yeah, I didn’t think of that,” said Bruce. “But this cage is way too small for a tiger, isn’t it?”

  “What’s up, looks like we have a little pest problem,” said a voice behind them. “And they’ve walked right into our trap just like the Ringmaster said they would. Good thing we bought a whole lot of these cages.”

  The meerkats spun around to see Grimsby stepping out from the shadows. “Shame there’s only two of them, though.”

  “Never mind, we’ll get the other two later,” said Sheffield, appearing next to him.

  “No one cages a meerkat. Ninja-boom!” cried Jet, leaping up and kicking Sheffield straight in the nose, which made a loud honking noise.

  Bruce followed Jet’s lead with a punch to the clown’s chest, ripping the pocket from his shirt. A massive spotty handkerchief fluttered out. Sheffield staggered back, but Grimsby was there in his place.

  “Would you like to smell my flower?” He grinned, shoving the bright green flower on his lapel in the meerkats’ faces. It was the kind that normally squirts water, but not today—a blue gas with a strong smell of rotten eggs sprayed out of the center, enveloping the meerkats.

  “That’s lovely. What’s it called?” asked Sheffield.

  “Its Latin name is Knockouticus Gasicus,” said Grimsby.

  “Shame we can’t smell a thing thanks to these protective noses,” said Sheffield.

  “Knock-out gas,” uttered Jet, then he and Bruce fell unconscious.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Jet and Bruce awoke to find themselves locked inside the cage in the trunk of the clowns’ car.

  Bruce rubbed his head. “I told you we should have stayed put. Chuck’s gonna go mad.”

  “All right, keep your fur on,” said Jet. “I’ll take the blame. Let’s just concentrate on trying to find a way out of here.”

  He checked the bars of the cage, but they were too close together for them to slip through.

  Bruce pulled out his phone. “We should call for help.”

  Suddenly, the car braked sharply, sending the cage sliding forward.

  “Hold on,” said Jet. “I can hear what they’re saying.”

  “… The light show on New Year’s Eve!” Grimsby chuckled.

  “And that’s when he’ll use it?” replied Sheffield.

  “Yes. That’s why we’re going to The Peak after we’ve disposed of these two.”

  “Sounds like it’ll be a roaring success,” said Sheffield. The two clowns laughed.

  The van set off again, sending the cage flying into the trunk door. Bruce lost his grip on his phone and it flew through the bars.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve still got mine,” said Jet, reaching into his holst
er.

  But before he could grab it, the car swung around a corner, screeched to a halt, and Grimsby opened the trunk.

  “What’s up, little ninjas,” said Sheffield, appearing next to him. “Welcome to Hong Kong docks. The perfect place to dispose of some pesky rodents without anyone seeing.”

  “I’m going to wipe that fake smile right off your face,” Jet cried. “Ninja-boom!” He flicked out his claws and attempted to slice through the bars. Unfortunately, the bars didn’t break.

  “Maybe with some Bruce Force,” said Bruce. He charged at the side and managed to bend the bars slightly.

  The clowns laughed. “This cage is made out of titanium,” said Sheffield. “A material strong enough to hold far bigger creatures than you, my furry little friends.”

  “What does the Ringmaster plan to do on New Year’s Eve?” demanded Jet.

  “Yeah, is he going to have a party? That’s what most people do,” said Bruce.

  “That’s not what I meant,” said Jet.

  “You should be more concerned with what we’re planning to do to you!” Grimsby grinned. “Prepare to swim with the fishes.”

  “Except you won’t be swimming,” added Sheffield.

  “No,” Grimsby agreed. “More like drowning.” He picked up the cage and dangled it over the murky water.

  “Hey, Grimsby, how does the sea say good-bye?” asked Sheffield.

  “I don’t know, Sheffield, how does the sea say good-bye?”

  “It doesn’t. It just waves.”

  Grimsby hooted with laughter and dropped the cage. It hit the water with a huge splash and sunk out of sight.

  Hong Kong has one of the deepest harbors in the world, so Bruce had plenty of time to reflect on his life as he and Jet sank to their almost certain death. Mostly, he found himself regretting not having eaten more. Sure, he had eaten quite a bit, but if he had cut out sleeping and really focused on it, he reckoned he could probably have eaten at least twice as much.

  Jet, on the other hand, wasn’t going down without a fight. He held onto the cage with his paw to steady himself, and positioned his other paw in front of the lock with his palm facing forward. Bruce floated over to see what he was doing. He watched as Jet raised his palm and thrust himself towards the lock. To Bruce’s surprise, the cage door swung open. Jet burst through, quickly followed by Bruce.

  They broke the surface, coughing and spluttering, and swam to the bank.

  “How did you open the cage?” asked Bruce, gasping for breath.

  “I remembered that the Air-Key Open Palm Move works better when used under water,” replied Jet. “And this time I twisted the right way.”

  * * *

  Back in the airport, Donnie, Chuck, and Throw had found no trace of Jet and Bruce. “They’re not answering their phones, either,” said Donnie. “Something’s up.”

  “You may be right,” said Chuck. “But we must continue with the mission and wait for them to contact us. Jet may get himself into trouble a lot, but he is very capable of getting himself out of it again. Throw, take us to this zoo van you spoke of.”

  The battered suitcase set off across the parking lot once more and was soon safely tucked inside the van. The meerkats wriggled out from underneath their disguise, and found themselves in the company of two sleepy sloths. As the van set off, Donnie emptied out the suitcase and repacked his stuff into a neat backpack. One of the sloths half opened one of its eyes for a second, glanced at him, then went back to sleep, which, if you know anything about sloths, is about as exciting as they get.

  When they arrived at the zoo, Throw led Donnie and Chuck to Ming’s cage. The zoo was quiet at night and they were able to move around without needing a disguise.

  They slipped through the bars of the cage, and Chuck and Donnie set about checking it for clues.

  “What are you looking for?” asked Throw. “The police already searched it.”

  “Then no doubt they are now looking for a man with extremely large feet,” said Chuck. “Look at this!”

  In the middle of a pile of tiger poop was an enormous footprint.

  “Surely only a giant would make such a big track,” said Throw nervously.

  “Not a giant,” replied Donnie. “A clown.”

  “And I bet I know whose clown,” said Chuck. “The Ringmaster’s.”

  Suddenly, there was the sound of dramatic music.

  “What’s that?” asked Throw, jumping in fright.

  Donnie pulled out his phone. “That’s my new ringtone. Hello? Oh, hi, Jet.”

  “Where is he?” demanded Chuck.

  “Hold on, I’ll put it on speakerphone,” replied Donnie.

  “Jet, Bruce, why didn’t you two answer your phones?” asked Chuck.

  “Bruce lost his and mine stopped working after we were thrown into the harbor by Sheffield and Grimsby,” replied Jet. “We’re calling from a pay phone. We caught a ferry into the city center.”

  “So the clowns are in town,” said Chuck. “Have you found out anything else?”

  “Yeah,” said Bruce. “Jet’s Air-Key Open Palm Move works underwater.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” said Chuck. “But have you discovered anything of importance to our mission?”

  “We overheard the clowns talking about a light show and New Year’s Eve,” said Jet.

  Chuck turned to his brother. “Any idea what that means, Throw?”

  “No idea,” he replied.

  Another voice came over the phone.

  “Testing, one two, one two…”

  “Who is that?” asked Chuck.

  “I don’t know. It’s coming through a big speaker just above us,” said Jet.

  “Testing, one two…” said the voice. “This is the Hong Kong New Year’s Celebration Commentary, broadcasting across the whole of the city for tonight’s Chinese New Year light show, when the skyscrapers will light up the city and fireworks will light up the sky. For the best view in town, why not take the tram up to The Peak, 1712 feet above sea level.”

  “The clowns also mentioned something about a peak,” said Jet. “I think it’s where the circus has set up camp.”

  “Then that’s where we will go,” said Chuck. “Meet us at the tram terminal. The nearest garbage can should provide adequate cover.”

  “OK,” said Jet, hanging up.

  “Throw, we must take our leave,” said Chuck.

  “But I want to come with you, Chucky Eg— I mean, Chuck,” protested Throw.

  Chuck shook his head. “As brothers, we were both born wild, but your time in the zoo has tamed you. You are hand-fed, and the only danger you face is the possibility of a child mistaking you for a soft toy and cuddling you to death. For me, danger is as real as the scar on my face.”

  “Can’t I help at all?” asked Throw.

  “You already have. You alerted us to Ming’s disappearance. Now, return to your cage knowing that you have played an important part in this mission.”

  The brothers hugged, then Chuck and Donnie took their leave.

  There was a long line of people outside the tram terminal. Bruce and Jet were the first to arrive at the garbage can across the road, having stowed aboard a ferry from the dock, then used a newspaper as cover to make their way to the terminal. Donnie and Chuck had each donned a potato chip bag on their heads by way of a disguise, but had been temporarily delayed by an overly eager litter collector, who had shoveled them into his garbage can.

  “What are you eating?” Donnie asked Bruce when they arrived.

  “Some kind of noodles, I think,” Bruce replied, holding up the carton.

  “You’re eating food from garbage cans?” said Donnie.

  Bruce shrugged. “At least I’m not afraid of trying foreign foods.”

  “Well, I hope you like foreign illnesses, too.”

  “What now?” asked Jet, eager to get moving.

  “We go in disguise to The Peak,” said Chuck. “Then we split up and search for the Ringmaster. Whatever he
plans, we know he intends to do it tonight on New Year’s Eve.”

  “Hang on, New Year’s Eve was last month,” said Bruce. “Remember, we all ate too many crickets and sang that song about the old lamb sign?” said Bruce.

  “Auld Lang Syne,” corrected Donnie.

  “This is Chinese New Year,” said Chuck. “And this year they are celebrating the Year of the Tiger. Donnie, we need to get on that tram without being seen. The Ringmaster and his minions will be looking out for us. Any ideas?”

  Donnie smiled. “I have just the thing.” He pulled out something large and furry from his backpack.

  “What is that?” asked Bruce.

  “It’s a brilliant disguise,” said Donnie. “It has hollow legs and four sets of eyeholes in the body. I call it…” He paused for dramatic effect. “Puppy.”

  “Puppy?” said Jet.

  “P.U.P.P.Y.,” said Donnie. “Prototype Undercover Pretend Poodle Yoodle. Prototype because it’s the first one. Undercover because that’s what it’s for. And Pretend Poodle explains itself.”

  “What about the Yoodle?”

  “That’s just to make it spell ‘puppy’,” replied Donnie.

  “Won’t a stuffed toy dog look more suspicious than just us as we are?” asked Jet.

  Chuck shook his head. “The Ringmaster won’t be looking out for a poodle,” he replied. “Even a pretend one.”

  Jet looked unconvinced, but he knew he was outnumbered. He sighed and climbed into place as one of the puppy’s legs.

  The meerkats had to jump in time to make the puppy look like it was walking, but anyone watching closely would have noticed that one of the poodle’s back legs was always out of time with the rest.

  “Bruce, please keep up,” said Donnie.

  “Sorry, I was just finishing this spring roll.”

  “From the garbage can?”

  “Where else?”

  “Disgusting.”

  The odd-looking poodle moved through the crowds to the front of the tram line. It quickly got rid of an over-friendly terrier with a swift whack from Jet’s nunchucks, but an annoying little English boy on board was harder to scare off.