Goldilocks,” Baloo said, his spirits lifting. He had just realized something.  A mental comparison of the current time with the time that it took to fly from Cape Suzette to Thembria told him that Rebecca must have cut her date with Col. Conrad short.  She had walked out on the glitz and glamor of the world’s biggest hero to fly to this forbidding, forbidden country and risk a firing squad to rescue him. It warmed the cockpit of his heart.

 

Rebecca scoffed, “Oh, Baloo!  I think your brain’s frozen, because you’re making less sense than usual.  Okay, so Col. Conrad might not be the shining paragon that the press makes him out to be, but he’s still our peacekeeping ambassador.  It’s not his fault the High Marshall didn’t want to negotiate with him and that they’re going to declare war on us.”

 

“Does it make sense that the so-called peacekeeping ambassador was swipin’ stuff from Thembrian warehouses to jump-start the war?”

 

“He was?” she said, shocked.

 

“And then he tried to frame yours truly for it.”

 

“He did?” She balled her fists, looking as if she would like to punch the peacekeeping ambassador.

 

“Yup, just like he framed that other chauffeur of his, poor stiff.” Baloo thoughtfully rubbed the back of his neck. “Call it a hunch, honeybunch, but something as fishy as the Great Patriotic Flounder is goin’ on here and I think that that Col. Conrad is just the tip of the iceberg.  Yessiree, he’ll be back.  I just know it.”

 

“Okay, I’ll stay too,” Rebecca replied reluctantly. She had known Baloo long enough to respect his hunches; they were usually right. Besides, she knew she would follow him anywhere and go along with almost any of his screwball schemes, especially if he called her endearing names like ‘honeybunch’.

 

Grinning, he grabbed her hand.  “C’mon, comrade, we gotta see a sergeant about some supplies.” 

 

On the Shores of Mustgo Lake
A Little While Later…

 

Baloo squinted through the darkness at the snow-blanketed building that loomed before them. “The Ministry of Lawn Ornaments?” he whispered just loud enough to be heard over the waves of hot-spring-fed Mustgo Lake that were lapping against the nearby docks. “What are we doin’ here, Dundee?”

 

“You said you needed supplies, sir,” Dunder replied, pushing open the heavy metal door. “This is where the supplies are.”

 

As Dunder, Baloo, and Rebecca entered, a frightened woman sidled past, furtively tucking a package wrapped in brown paper into the pocket of her faded dress.

 

The sergeant led them through the dark, empty room, around the counter and lifted up on a ring connected to a trap door, revealing steps leading down.  The light got brighter as they descended.  At the bottom of the stairs, they found themselves in what looked like a large underground warehouse stocked to the rafters with every kind of item imaginable.

 

Baloo let out a low whistle. “What is this place?”

 

Dunder replied, “It was built as a bomb shelter during the Great War, but now it’s the Black Jack Market.”

 

“Does everyone in Thembria know about this?” Rebecca asked, glancing at the rows of canned food on the shelf next to her. The prices stamped on the cans were ten times more than what she usually saw at her local grocery store in Cape Suzette.

 

“Everyone but the top, top officials.  If they knew, they’d take all the best stuff for themselves.”

 

Just then, a warthog with one tusk that pointed up and one tusk that pointed down approached them. In a thick Thembrian accent, he said, “Ah, more customers.”

 

“Hey, you’re that Lawn Ministry guy,” Baloo exclaimed.

 

“Black Jack is the name,” he said proudly, rubbing his hands together. He knew suckers when he saw them, and everyone who came to the Black Jack Market was a sucker.

 

“Fleecing is your game,” Rebecca concluded. “These prices are outrageous!  Two dollars for a can of beans?”

 

“For you, special price of $3,” Black Jack said, slapping a label with $3 on the can.

 

“That’s a crock!”

 

A $4 label was piled on top the $3 label. “Four dollars, then.”

 

“What?” Rebecca cried.

 

“Haven’t you heard?  There’s a shortage on,” Black Jack replied with a smug smirk. Due to the lack of goods in the Thembrian warehouses and the government-owned Storesky above ground, he could charge the paltry peasants whatever he wanted and none would dare complain.  Illegally obtaining things from anyone other than the State was a capital offense.

 

“Wait a prop-spinnin’ minute!” Baloo interjected. “If there’s a shortage, how’d all this stuff get here?”

 

At that moment, seven very short Thembrians in matching jackets and stocking caps raced down the stairs. They all wore black sashes, indicating that they were security guards. The grumpiest-looking one, aptly named Sgt. Grumpy, said, “The Flamingo’s here, boss.”

 

Baloo and Rebecca shared a look, saying simultaneously, “Flamingo?”

 

Baloo, Rebecca, and Dunder ran upstairs after Black Jack and the seven security guards. From behind the counter they saw the tail section of a large pink plane protruding into the room. 

 

Black Jack’s midget cohorts had formed an assembly line. Some were unloading plastic pink flamingo lawn ornaments from the plane onto a conveyer belt.  Some were taking the flamingos apart.  Some were boxing up the goods that fell out of the flamingos.  Some were snapping the birds back together and painting them blue.  Meanwhile, Sgt. Grumpy spray-painted the plane blue.

 

Dunder murmured, “That’s the biggest flamingo I’ve ever seen,” meaning the cargo plane.

 

“Hey, I recognize that guy,” Baloo said. He was looking at the panther pilot talking to Black Jack. “He’s one of Khan’s men, but what’s he doing jockeying that pink jalopy?”

 

Seeing Black Jack slip the panther pilot a wad of cash, Rebecca replied, “Making a profit from that merchandise for his boss.”

 

Baloo had turned his attention to the assembly line where he saw pair after pair of chinchilla earmuffs drop out of the opened flamingoes.  “It’s not just any merchandise, Beckers.  That’s the stuff that Connie shoplifted from the storehouses.”  Thumping the counter with one of his massive fists, he growled, “Why that dirty so-and-so!  He’s stealin’ from the poor so’s Khan can sell it back for more.”

 

“And making a tidy profit in the meantime.”  Realizing how Col. Conrad had obtained part of his millions, Rebecca glanced guiltily at the gem glittering on her finger.

 

After the newly painted blue cargo plane had left, Black Jack turned to Baloo, Rebecca, and Dunder, an oily smile on his face. “Now, how can I be of assistance to you comrades?”

 

“We need some supplies,” Baloo replied.

 

“Supplies I’ve got,” Black Jack said wryly as he leaned against the counter.  “What I need is payment, either money or something that I can re-sell to the peasants.”

 

“Anyone have any green?”

 

“I do.” Dunder rifled through his pockets, then helpfully held out a handful of leaves. “I have some turnip greens leftover from lunch.”

 

Black Jack snatched them and promptly shoved them into his mouth. Gulp. “No sale.”

 

Rebecca piped up, “This diamond ring will more than pay for whatever we need.”

 

“What would the peasants want with a diamond ring,” Black Jack laughed scornfully as he handed the ring back to her, “even if they could afford it?”

 

“But that’s all we have,” Rebecca pleaded.

 

“Not everything...” Black Jack leaned over the counter and leered at her.

 

A Half Hour Later...

 

The grey dawn was beginning to lighten the oppressive blackness of a Thembrian night as Baloo, Rebecca, and Dunder hurried across Mustgo, through the snowy streets, with their arms full of the precious supplies.

 

However, Rebecca would have preferred the cover of darkness. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into doing that, Baloo.”

 

“It was either that or no supplies.  ‘Sides, what’s wrong with the dress you got on now?” Baloo cast an admiring sidelong glance at her.  He had liked that pretty pink dress, but what she was currently wearing was revving his engines.

 

“It’s not a dress, it’s a slip!  And the next time you sell someone’s clothes, they’d better be your own, buster!”

 

“Hey, the guy said there wasn’t any demand for Thembrian uniforms, but pink, frilly dresses were hot stuff.”

 

“Hot?  No thanks to you,

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