stubbornly, blocking the door with his stocky form.

“Yeah, what he said.” Ape Goon also stood in front of the door.

Baloo shook his head sadly. “That’s too bad, because if you don’t open that door and let us inspectors see what’s inside, your warehouse will be automatically confiscated.”

“Warehouse go bye-bye,” Kit clarified.

A look of fear crossed Ape Goon’s face. “Warehouse go bye-bye?”

“And, boy, would your boss be sore at you,” Kit added.

“All right, but da boss won’t like it.” Reluctantly, Rhino Goon opened the door. Inside were Rebecca and Molly, whose faces broke into big smiles at the sight of their rescuers.

Kit put a finger to his lips to warn the Cunninghams to be quiet.

“Do you have a permit for storin’ people?” Baloo asked sternly.

“P...permit?” stuttered Ape Goon, throwing a confused and guilty glance at his counterpart.

“Da boss didn’t say nothin’ about no permit,” added Rhino Goon.

Baloo solemnly shook his head. “No permit, huh? Tsk, tsk, tsk. I’ll have to report that to the Bureau of Better Warehouses.”

“No permit, no people,” Kit said.

Molly stifled a giggle at Kit’s unnaturally deep voice. The boy winked at her, shaking his head.

“Accordin’ ta section ABD123 of the official warehouse manual, ya hafta let those people go,” Baloo stated.

Kit nodded seriously. “Or we’ll take your warehouse.”

“An’ yer boss will be sore at you,” Baloo reminded.

Both goons were frightened. Trader Moe’s anger was a terrible sight to behold.

“Go! Go! We gotta save da warehouse for da boss,” said Rhino Goon, untying the hostages and escorted them out of the warehouse.

“You did the right thing,” Baloo said. With difficulty, he repressed a smile of relief.

“We’ll give the Bureau of Better Warehouses a good report about this warehouse. Thank you for your time,” Kit said, heading for the exit.

Both of the ‘inspectors’ gravely shook hands with the goons before leaving.

“Dat was close!” Ape Goon sighed with relief when the door closed behind the two bears.

“Almost lost da warehouse. Da boss wouldn’t like dat,” said Rhino Goon, leaning heavily against the door.

“He wouldn’t like dat at all,” added Ape Goon solemnly.

Outside...

“I can’t believe that worked!” Kit exclaimed with a grin as wide as the ocean on his face.

“Race you to the car, Kit!” Molly shouted. She was glad to be able to move around freely again. Both cubs ran as fast as they could to the grey automobile.

“If those goons get any dumber, they won’t remember how to breathe,” muttered Baloo. He wrapped an arm around Rebecca’s waist. “You gals okay?”

“We are now, Baloo,” Rebecca said softly with a grateful smile up at him. She wrapped her arm around his waist as best as she could and rested her head against him.

After they had gotten in the car, Baloo brushed the hair back from Rebecca’s forehead.

Perplexed by his actions, the bearess asked, “What are you doing, Baloo?”

“Seein’ if ya have ‘kidnap me’ tattooed on yer face. I swear, Becky, ya get kidnapped, ‘cause you like bein’ rescued by me.”

“I do not!” Rebecca retorted, crossing her arms across her chest.

Baloo started the car and made a U-turn back towards town. Shooting an infuriating smirk in her direction, he rejoined, “You do, too.”

“I do not!”

“You do, too!”

In the backseat, Kit rolled his eyes and Molly giggled at the adults’ petty bickering.

Higher for Hire

“Last stop. Everybody out,” Baloo said, turning off the car’s ignition. Getting out, he asked, “By the way, Beckers, what happened to the door anyhoo? Was Wildcat foolin’ around with the motor-trike again?”

“Those stupid goons tore it off its hinges,” Rebecca muttered sullenly, “when they broke in.”

“Yeah, it’s broken all right,” Baloo chuckled.

“Papa Bear, wasn’t Trader Moe coming here to look for the stone?” Kit remembered, tugging on the hem of the big bear’s shirt.

“You're right, Li’l Britches. I better check it out. You guys stay out here,” Baloo told Rebecca and the cubs.

He peeked around the sagging door. The office seemed empty. There wasn’t a sound except his own breathing and the ticking of the grandfather clock. Baloo exhaled a sigh of relief and motioned to Rebecca. “All clear.”

When all four bears were in the office, Trader Moe snarled, “Think again.”

End of part 3

The Return of the Stone
Part 4

Higher for Hire

Trader Moe, with a gun in one hand and the stone in the other, stepped out from behind the desk. “All right, hands up, everyone, nice an’ high where I can see ‘em. You too, blondie.” He warily watched Molly eye his shins. “Go an’ sit on da stairs.”

Slowly, the foursome inched over to the stairs and sat down, all with their hands in the air.

“Wave bye-bye,” Trader Moe said as he sprinted from the office. He hurried to his shiny black Doozyburg and got behind the wheel. Tossing the gun on the passenger seat, he slammed the door shut. “Hee-hee! Nothin’ can stop me now.”

Just as he reached to turn the key in the ignition, there was a ‘click’ - the cock of a gun trigger.

“Hand over the sub-electron amplifier,” said a quiet, menacing male voice from the backseat.

Trader Moe’s eyes turned to find a gun pointed at his head. On the other end of that gun was a grim-faced lion with damp, matted hair, who smelled faintly of oil. “I ain’t got no sub-electron amplifier.”

“You have it right there in your hand. The stone.”

“Oh, is dat what dis is?” He looked down at the sharp point on the top of the stone. An evil plan whirled in his mind.

“No sudden moves,” murmured Leo Stedman, catching the scheming glint in the alligator’s eyes, “or you’ll activate the pressure-sensitive bomb that I planted under your seat.”

“B...bomb?” stammered Trader Moe; his beady eyes grew wider.

“Move one muscle and BOOM!” Leo Stedman carefully took the stone from Trader Moe’s hand and climbed out of the car very, very slowly. He got into a sporty silver Porche that was parked a little ways down the street and sped off.

Mindful of the bomb, Trader Moe sat as still as a mouse. Then, through the open window, flew a fly. Sweat beading on his forehead, he watched as the fly circled his head and buzzed in his ears. “Shoo!” he whispered through clenched teeth.

He exhaled a sigh of relief when the fly left through the window. A second later, the fly returned and alighted on his nose. Trader Moe wriggled his nose in an attempt to get rid of the fly, but the insect wouldn’t budge. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Then, horror of horrors, he felt a sneeze coming on. He clamped his mouth shut and held his breath, but to no avail.

“Ah-ah-ah-ah-choo!”

Trader Moe kept his eyes shut in anticipation of the searing pain, the big BOOM, but it didn’t come. He opened one eye, then the other. He and his car were still in one piece. “No bomb? Why that dirty so-an’-so!” Starting the car, he grumbled, “No one steals from Trader Moe an’ gets away with it, an’ no one tricks Trader Moe an’ lives!”

When the Doozyburg squealed around the corner, Baloo jumped up off of the stairs. “Follow that stone!”

Several blocks away, in the Porche, Leo Stedman smiled at the stone on the leather passenger seat. Now that it was in his possession, all he had to do was deliver it to Shere Khan. Within an hour, he would be on one of Shere Khan’s private planes heading for a few days of RR in beautiful Rio de Jalapeño where he would be surrounded by women almost as attractive as himself.

Pressing the gold star in the middle of his ruby ring, he waited for Shere Khan to answer.

“Yes?”

“I’ve got it, sir.”

“Excellent.” Shere Khan’s blasé tone belied his delight. “I’ll expect you in exactly fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Stedman peeked in his rearview mirror when he heard the wail of a police siren. Thinking that they were chasing after someone else, he frowned at his reflection - that horrible flat hair with the dark, oily roots! He would have to make sure that there was a hairstylist aboard the plane to Rio de Jalapeño.

“You in the flashy silver car, pull over!” ordered the policeman over the loudspeaker mounted to the top of the police vehicle.

“Drat!” muttered Leo Stedman. Reluctantly, he pulled over to the curb and turned off the ignition.

The policeman, a small, tan feline, strolled up to the Porche. He was so short that he could barely peek into the car. “License and registration, please.”

“But, officer, I’m a secret agent on a very important mission,” Leo Stedman averred, flashing a debonair smile. If he was late to his meeting with Shere Khan - well, he didn’t want to think about that!

“So important that you were doing forty-five in a thirty zone? The law is the law even for hotshotsecret agents. Get out of the car, spy guy.”

Leo Stedman grumbled, but complied. “I bet James Band never gets treated like this.”

While the agent argued and pleaded with the policeman, Trader Moe stopped his car, snuck to the passenger side of the Porche, quietly opened the door, picked up the stone that was lying on the seat, raced back to the black Doozyburg, and took off.

Seeing

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