Monday, June 15, 2009

Ducktales: Twenty Years Later - Episode 6

Here you go. Chapter 6. Special thanks to Babelfish for the no-doubt mangled Portuguese translations. I tried limiting the amount of full sentences, but a few are in there. If they are wrong, don't blame me, blame the crappy tools.

Louie related. And who is that masked man? Who knows? Remind me never to try drawing Plaid in MSpaint again.

If you want, feel free to read the Tl;dr post under this one after reading today's chapter, about today's very special guest star. Enjoy!


Episode 6:

Rio de Janeiro, the Marvelous City. Seated on the water and bathed in sunlight, this bronzed, charmed city lay under the watchful gaze of Christ the Redeemer, awaiting those who would come to her and partake of the communion of dance and cachaça running through her veins. As the Sea Duck came to a halt in the port of Rio, several tourists sat and gawked at the antique plane.

The passengers of the plane didn't even wait for the rotors to come to a complete stop before they stepped out onto the Port. The five ducks and other waterfowl, two of which were wearing heavy costumes obviously not ideal for such a climate, stretched tired muscles and breathed in the heavy air.

"Well, Huey?" Asked Dewey, used to the much more temperate Calisota weather and having a bit of difficulty breathing, "Rio. Why are we here again?"

"Because, Dewey, the Sea Duck needs refueling, and I know a guy who can put us up while we wait."

Webigail picked at her ripped and filthy sundress, feeling self-conscious around all the bronzed goddesses heading to and from the beaches and decks of cruise ships, "Good a place as any."

"As long as there's a phone," said Dewey, the sunny day doing nothing to soften his hard expression, "I've still got McDuck Enterprises to manage, and with that six thousand dollar hole..."

"Of course. Even when you're forced to take a vacation in Rio, God forbid you let your subordinates handle the company for a little while. Right Green Phantom."

But nobody answered. Darkwing Duck and the Green Phantom had managed to slip away unnoticed.

"Well, that's just rude," said Huey, "Where do you think they went?"

"Who cares?" snapped Dewey, "Where's this friend of yours? Do they have an air conditioner?"


"Are you sure about this?" asked Louie, now back into his civilian outfit of Plaid and suede, "I could come with you. Help you out."

"No," answered Gosalyn, having changed into her own secret identity, standing with a single small case in front of an airport, "You've got to take care of your brothers. They need you more than I do." She smiled. "I've got more than enough friends I can call on to clean up Duckburg. Just cool your heels around here. If you're right and your brother is being targeted, you'll be in the perfect position to keep him safe."

"I'll come back as soon as I can." Louie tried a sheepish smile and began to sweat a bit, and not from the heat. "As soon as the heat is off I'll fly back to Duckburg. Once this is all over we can head back to Saint Canard, and..."

"What's all this 'we' business? It's just a team-up. It's not like we're partners or anything."

"Ah, well, I guess not."

"Now remember your cover story," began Darkwing, changing the subject and pulling a slip of paper out of her pockets, "Darkwing Duck called you up, and you came right down to Brazil as soon as you could. Your ticket, sir."

She handed the paper ticket to Louie, and their hands touched for just a moment. Like an electric shock had coursed through her, Gosalyn drew back her hand, suddenly averting her eyes from looking at Louie. At her reaction, Louie blushed.

"I..." he stammered, "I'll go... Have a good flight....?"

The end of his sentence raised up quickly as Gosalyn began to step forward towards him. Her face hovered close to his, and he could smell her sweet breath flowing past his bill. He dared not move. After a moment of indecision, Gosalyn began to lean forward.

"Wait!" said Louie. "W-wait."

"What? What's wrong?"

"You're so young, I..."

"I'm old enough."

"I... You know I... I'm flattered, but... I'll see you in Duckburg, okay?"

After a pause, a disappointed Gosalyn sighed, and without a word, turned and left.

Moments later, as Gosalyn's queue disappeared into the airplane, Louie was mentally kicking himself. His hand snaked up to his bill, where it rested on top, wiping off some of the sweat that had run down onto it.

"Some millionaire playboy I turned out to be," he said, as he too turned and left.


Near the city center, three ducks, one in blue, one in red, and one in pink walked, at the insistence of the blue one, towards a hotel. A few passersby may have seen the three ducks get approached by a fourth Duck, in green, who was greatly relieved to see the other three alive and well. The Red and Pink ducks were all hugs and smiles, but when it came time for the Blue duck's turn, there was only a big slap, apparently for getting himself lost, followed by several unprintable words, and then a rough, worried hug.

Witnesses to this exchange quickly forgot about those crazy Americano touristas as soon as the four ducks walked inside the small Inn.


"Boa vinda! Welcome! American, si?" Cried the diminutive crow standing behind the front counter, wearing a straw hat that had apparently had the top punched open from the inside, "What I can do for you?"

The main hall was thick with plants and bushes, with cracked stucco walls painted in summery colors. The place had an air of history about it, the sense that although it was a bit on the run-down side, it wasn't unpleasant, and that staying there implied sleeping in some historical Ritz of days gone past.

Huey stepped forward and said something to the Crow in what to Louie and Dewey sounded like flawless Portuguese.

"You want to have my children?" asked the crow, taken aback slightly, "I am sorry senhor. I do not swang that way."

"Er. No. I mean..." Huey blushed as fumbled for the right words. Louie couldn't help but laugh, attracting the ire of his brother. "You shut up!" He turned back to the crow, "I want to see the boss. Is he in?"

"In what?"

"In... huh?"

"In what, senhor? What would he be in?"

"No. I mean is he here today?"

"Oh! Is he IN!" The crow laughed, "English turns-of-phrases will be the death of me yet."

In rapidfire Portuguese, the Crow rattled off a bark towards the back rooms, and was answered by another call, which sounded slightly angry. The Crow would have blushed if his feathers could have shown through.

"He will be right up, Senhor." He then quickly vacated, apparently not keen on sticking around for whatever was coming.

Left in a thick silence, the four Calisotans stood awkwardly before the front desk, waiting for something to happen. Soon enough, there were footsteps coming towards the beaded curtain that partitioned the back room off from the main hall. The curtain was drawn aside slowly by a delicate peach-colored hand, revealing the scantily-clad body of a female parrot, who was absentmindedly snapping her bra back on in the front with her off hand. Huey, Dewey, and Louie all stood up rail straight, their eyes tracing paths around the slight woman's scanty curves.

"Oh! Pesaroso! I sorry!" As the girl spoke, she skittered on towards the staircase towards the second floor, "Sorry. I So so sorry."She went on like that until she had reached the stairs, which she rushed up, using her arms covering up her bare skin.

As they followed the woman up the stairs with their gazes, they could suddenly hear the beads clink and clatter apart.

"Si? What can I do for you gentlemen?" Said an irate voice of the figure, with a green-feathered hand, as he entered through the curtain. The first impression was of the straw boater atop the faded green head. Next, the handsome parrot beak, framed by an attractive face of lines and experiences, although the expression it wore was presently one of annoyance and not sagacity. Next, the slick suit, a sort of creamy yellow, and accented with a black bowtie. The suit was very old-fashioned, and the buttons were also uniformly attached to the wrong holes. "Hurry, hurry. The daylight burns."

"Mr. Carioca?" asked Huey tentatively, " I don't know if you remember us..."

"Get on, get on. You wan'ned a room, yes? How many you like?" His voice was a creamy as his suit, and even under the veneer of barely concealed contempt for the tourists who dared interrupt his afternoon activities, he projected an atmosphere of smooth chillness. Almost without seeming to think about it, he retrieved a thick cigar from under the counter, along with a box of matches, and began the process of lighting it up.

"Mr. Carioca. José Carioca. I'm Huey Duck, and these are my brothers, Dewey and Louie, and this is our friend, Webby. We met very briefly in Mexico..."

"I meet many people in Mexico..."

"...With our uncle Donald."

"Donal'... Donal'..." He shook his head, "I do not..." But then his face split open. All of the wrinkles etched handsomely upon his face twisted and transformed, revealing a sincere smile. "Donal' Duck!? O Pato Donal'? Donal' Duck!" His fingers were then at his buttons, straightening them out. His smoldering stogie was left to hang from his beak, being spoken around without the least bit of difficulty.

He began to speak quickly and precisely in Portugese, rolling his 'r's and crying out on joy. While speaking he took each duck by the face and gave a little personalized greeting to each one. Huey, who knew at least enough of the language to get by, was absolutely stumped after the third sentence, and soon joined his brothers in the blank stare and vague nod in answer to the parrot's gusto. He took the cigar out of his mouth and began to gesture with it as he spoke, flicking ashes onto the floor behind the counter, speaking on some topic that had nothing to do with what came before and will have no bearing on what comes after. He took a breath. "Or, as they say in the states: So happy to see you!"

The three ducks couldn't help but smile at the sincerity, if not the intelligibility, of the words and gestures given to them by this friend of their Uncle.

" You must be his little ones! I remem'er you. Such cute little ducks. Oh my word," He smote his forehead, "You grow so big! An' so grown up. Please do not tell me how old you are, or you will cause an old man to die of old age prematurely."

The parrot grabbed something from behind the counter, an umbrella, which he used as a cane to assist him in his very pronounced limp as he walked around to the front and towards a set of plush chairs in the lobby, "Come! Come. Sit. Talk. What brings you to The Magnificent City?"

"It's a long story," said Louie.

But Webigail was still confused, "I'm sorry, but how do you...? You knew Donald?"

"Knew, Senhorita? You could say I knew him quite well, although to my remembrance I think we only met... oh..." He did some quick calculations in his head, "Five times or so. But oh what times those were. It seems wherever your Oncle Donal' went adventure seemed to follow; Adventure, Senhoritas, things your little Duck ears should not hear so early. His adventures was the reason I could retire and open this little hotel."

Eventually, they all were sat down, with José insisting on seating himself after his guests despite the difficulty in moving his stiff leg.

"There was some trouble in Duckburg," said Dewey, frankly, "We had to get out of there."

"No. Not that Beagly Boy invasion thing, was it? I hear on the radio. Terrible disaster."

"We were able to escape, but we didn't manage to grab anything," said Huey, "I don't suppose we could stay here. We can certainly pay..."

"No! No! No pay! You stay here my treat. My guests. Donal' was a good frien' and I do a service to his little ones." He paused, taking a drag of his cigar, "Where is Donal' these days?"

The three boys looked to each other slowly. Louie was the one to speak, "He, er... He disappeared a little after Uncle Scrooge died. Nobody ever found out where he went. We've all sort of given up hope."

"Oh, ohh." His eyes sank to the floor. "Tha's too bad. No good at all."

Seeing the expressions on Dewey and Huey's faces, Webigail, ever the tactful, looked around and decided to change the subject, "These girls. In this picture." She pointed out three lovely, yet almost identical young women standing in front of an airport in a black and white photograph hanging on the wall. "They resemble you, Mr. Carioca."

At Webby's words, he coughed, "José, Please, Senhorita, or if you prefer, Zé, or Joe as your Oncle used to call me." He sighed, and seemed to have a sliver of melancholy stick in his gregarious airs, "They are my, er... My cousin's daughters." He pointed to the first, "Maria Jandaia, of my cousin Zé Jandaia from Ceara." He pointed to the next one, who had an arm over her cousin's shoulder, "Rosalina Pampeiro, of my cousin Zé Pampeiro, from Rio Grande do Sul." And he moved onto the last of the girls, who was looking slightly off-camera, "Last is Amalia Paulista, of Zé Paulista, from Sao Paulo. All three are very beautiful and I'm... sorry I don't get to see them more often." His eyes began to glaze over a bit, "I remember their mothers very well."

"Very strong family resemblance," commented Webigail.

"Er... The Carioca Jeans, they do fit so well. But enough talk of family. Please. I shall show you to your rooms." He rose with a slight creak, and leaned over onto his umbrella, before extending an elbow towards Webigail, "Come, Senhorita, tomorrow I shall show you and your friends the town, and the land of the samba."

"That would be lovely."

As Webby and José walked off towards the staircase, Dewey seemed to smolder like the one of the Parrot's cigars, "Right. Let's go see our rooms." He then marched quickly towards the stairs, "Can't let them get ahead of us."

As their brother walked off, Louie and Huey shrugged their shoulders. Huey followed Dewey up the stairs, but Louie hung back for a moment, mostly on a whim, but also because of a desire to not have to stand so close to Dewey.

He let his eyes sweep the room slowly. He hadn't noticed before, but in the shadows of the lobby underneath the thick potted plantlife, there were several benches hidden away, from which you could hear a strange whispering. Curious, Louie walked towards the bench.

At the sound of his footsteps, the whispering stopped and two round-nosed dogs reached their heads around the plants to stare at the green-clad American.

"Oh. Uh." Their stares were threatening, and Louie was sure that he did not want to be receiving their ire any more than necessary, "Is that the time?" He said, faking wearing a watch, "I'd better get up to bed. I am tired."

He then pivoted on one foot towards the staircase and began to walk up, intending to catch up with the rest of his party.

But who were they, and what were they doing in Zé's hotel, he thought, I've got a bad feeling.

He smiled, reaching into his pocket where his costume was hidden away in a small capsule from Gearloose Magazine that can fold cloth down to 1/1000th of its regular size. Bad feelings call for a little investigation.


That night, under the cover of the warm carioca nightfall, the Green Phantom came out to play. First, the roof of the hotel, to catch the night air, listen to the rhythm of the city, so different from his home in Saint Canard, and a far cry from his former home in Duckburg. The faint sounds of the streets, still alive with activity, emboldened Louie, allowing him to disappear behind the mask, to become the Green Phantom.

Within then, to prowl the hallways of the Hotel Carioca. Through the third floor, empty of both boarder and customer, dark and forbidding, then through the second floor, where his companions slept safe in their beds, and the single maid of the establishment, now properly dressed in her demure black uniform, a far cry from the bra and panties from before, floated down the hall with a bundle of bedsheets for the wash. Then through the first floor, the empty, ghostly lobby, where the crow at the desk was catching forty winks of dreamtime. Through the beaded curtain carefully, making sure not to let the beads clack together.

The back room was bare and sad when compared to the friendly, lush front room. It had a single, well used couch for employees, and a tiny kitchen off to the side woefully unprepared to serve more than a few guests at a time. The fact that the kitchen was where this particular couch lived more than put Louie off of his breakfast in the morning.

But no matter, down now, past a small, handwritten sign denoting that it was the Hotel's "Adega de vinho" and that there would be "¡No amostra gratis!" Down below that there was a smaller note in a loopy, elegant handwriting that read, "Eu significo-o, Nestor."

Past the sign, the cellar stairs were ill lit and creaky. It took all of Louie's restraint to walk down the stairs without causing any sound, especially since he left his "sneaky-sole slippers" in Duckburg. And he had special ordered them to be shaped like little ghosts too.

As he neared the bottom of the stair, he could hear low, gruff voices speaking low to each other in portuguese, as well as another, lighter, smoother voice speaking while terrified. He looked over the rail of the stairs and saw a group of about ten men, each looking retched and hungry, as well as José Carioca circulating around the room, keeping them placated with his house wine as they spoke of whatever it was they spoke of in their language.

Louie stayed up on the stairs, making sure he was well back against the dark wall so he couldn't be seen. He pulled out a small microphone, just in case he could understand something, and snaked it down over the top of the stairs, directly over the heads of the men. At first, he couldn't really decipher anything of real importance, but eventually He could make out some recurring words that he recognized. First, 'Capitalista,' spoken with a deep distain that cut Louie, who had just about been brought up with capitalism as a de-facto religion, to the bone. Next, he could hear names, Zé, Carlos, Marco. Interesting, but not too useful. For a moment, Louie wished that he and his brothers hadn't had to turn in their nigh-mystical Junior Woodchuck guidebook when they outgrew the organization. It really was useful for situations such as this.

It was then he heard a perculiar mix of 'Capitalista' used in junction with the word, 'Sequestre,' which Louie knew to mean 'Kidnap.' His ears pricked up harder for any other hints, but it was no use. The discussion ended soon after with a rousing cry of "¡Viva Volta!" led by a seemingly enthusiastic Carioca. '¡Viva VPR!"

Soon after, with not a sound uttered, the Green Phantom was up the stairs, through the curtain, back up through the second floor, out the window, scaling the wall outside, and in through the window of his single-bed hotel room. Checking for spies, Louie, searched every nook and cranny before he got comfortable enough to come up from the persona of the crime fighter, and become Louie once again.

Communists! He thought, And Zé is one of them. Not only that, but they're planning on kidnapping someone... but who?

He wracked his brain, before realizing that he didn't have nearly enough information to go on, not with his abysmal grasp of Portuguese. That tape he made with the recorder, however, could be useful if he could have someone listen to it, someone who could get more out of it than he could.

Taking his mind off of things for the night, Louie laid down on the plush bed, hiding the tape of the radical's conversation in his pillowcase for safe keeping. Soon after, he was asleep.


"Louie! Wake up."

Bleary and still half asleep, Louie's half-remembered dreams ran together with reality causing a confused vision of the modern sight of Huey Duck's face looming over his own while the glacial hills of the Yukon rose behind him, where he had seen Uncle Scrooge walk off through only moments before.


"What?" Then he remembered the night before, and his back was suddenly straight and sober, "Wait, did something happen?"

"Huh? No. Mr. Carioca is just fixing breakfast. Come on. Even Dewey had a few bites before he stepped out with Webby."

Rolling over, Louie crawled out of his warm bed, groaning. He grabbed a terrycloth robe in the colors of the Brazilian flag off of the bathroom door before he began to follow Huey downstairs.

Strong smells of brewing coffee wafted up through the staircase as Louie padded his way down the steps. Instantly, his stomach woke up a little behind schedule, and demanded to be filled. He walked a little faster towards a little alcove that stood off to one side of the lobby containing a cushy, sun-drenched breakfast nook, where Huey was already seated, chewing on a halved papaya fruit. The table was set with all manner of cheese and cold cuts, and small sweet cakes, along with a long loaf of bread which had already been decimated halfway down. Louie sat down next to his brother and took up the breadknife, helping himself to a thick chunk off of the loaf.

"Ah, Sleepyhead Louie finally wakes," Said that slickly accented voice as the green parrot walked up with a fresh pot of strong coffee, along with three already filled mugs, "You rich men always seem to enjoy staying in bed."

"Not all of them," said Louie, as he took one of the white cups of coffee, "Some of them are up at the crack of dawn to make more money."

"Like Dewey," said Huey, "You should have seen him. He must have called every single arm of McDuck Enterprises just to yell at them not to slack off while he's taking time off in Brazil. He then proceeded to run the business by proxy by José's phone anyway, until the crow at the front desk kicked him off of it for running up the long-distance charges."

"It was an ugly sight. Nestor is not so used to people yelling at them like that." José took a sip of the coffee. "Luckily that lovely young senhorita convinced him to take in the town. He needs it, poor little duck, he looks sickly."

As José spoke, Louie's mind couldn't help but flash back to last night, and the sight of José Carioca limping around among a band of Marxist revolutionaries, distributing the wine, and laughing and smiling along with their whispered plots and plans. As he stared at the large beaked face so full of life, he wondered if he really believed in the radicals or if he was merely playing along. Was he in trouble somehow?


"Please! Any nephew of Donal' must call me Joe, or Zé as they would say here."

"All right, Joe. I don't suppose there are any eggs back there. I am just dying for one over easy with a piece of toast."

With a loud laugh, José slapped Louie on the back, "Of course! Of course. I shall cook for you all the eggs you want. One 'Ofor Eesie' an' a piece of toast." He then stood, taking up his mug of coffe, "As they say in the states: Back in a jiffy."

As he walked off, Louie watched him off nervously, which Huey noticed.

"Louie. What's up?" he began to take on his brother's shifty tone.

"Er... Listen, Huey. I want you to listen to this." He produced a small tape recorder from the pocket of his robe, which he placed on the table, "I recorded it last night, but I don't know a word of Spanish."


"See? No idea. Can you help?"

Noting the serious expression in Louie's eyes, Huey wordlessly turned on the recorder and began to listen to the playback.

The hushed voices were barely audible over the loud static of the tape recorder, but Huey bent in to listen.

"José? Is that Joe I hear?"

Louie merely nodded. "What are they talking about?"

"The football game. Pélé apparently won them the game against England, one-to-nothing."

Louie deflated, "Oh. Well... Keep listening!"

Huey did, growing ever more impatient, "They're talking pretty fast. I'm only picking up every other... wait." He had reached the cheers, and his blood froze, "Rewind that."

Louie did, rewinding it and playing it back.

"VPR?" Huey's eyes had gone wide, "It's the goddamn Vanguarda Popular Revolucionária. Where did you find this? What is Joe doing there?"

"Shh!" Said Louie suddenly, as the parrot came back through the beaded curtain, holding a plate of fluffy yellow mounds.

"We were all out of 'ofor eesie,' I do not think they make it in Brazil. I make you Scramblies instead."

"That is just fine, Joe. Thank you."

Huey chimed in, "Er, Say, Joe. The smell of those eggs is fantastic. Could I get some too?"

"Of course! Of course! Um minuto."

"Oh, and do you have any bacon? Eggs go just great with a slice of bacon on the side."

"Say no more my frien'." He walked happily back through the beaded portal.

Ignoring the eggs, Louie and Huey began speaking conspiratorially once more. "So where was this?"

"Downstairs, in the wine cellar. I think they're using the hotel as a hideout. Who are they?"

"They're a group of commie revolutionaries. You're saying they're downstairs?"

"Probably not this minute, but yes. I heard, er, Se... Sequester? That means kidnap, right?"

"Yeah, Sequestre, but they don't say who. They just call him 'the capitalist.' They planned it for this morning, when he is separated from his group, and are planning to exchange him for some political prisoners."

"So, they're planning to kidnap a capitalist in the morning, when he gets separated from some 'group.'" He scratched his head, "I wonder..."

Then, slowly, deliberately, the two ducks turned their heads towards each other. As soon as they saw the other's eyes, they understood that they were thinking the same thing.


"Here you boys are, Bacon and eggs, just like you... huh?" José looked at the empty breakfast nook with a concerned eye towards the untouched plate of scrambled eggs. The open door was still in mid-swing, as if they had just left, and in a hurry.

José sighed, before he placed the plate of breakfast on the table and walked back towards the backroom, muttering "Merda" under his breath.


There he stood, awkwardly taking up space in the middle of the busy outdoor marketplace. People spilled around him like a river around a rock. He had very reluctantly eschewed his tie, by Webigail's suggestion, and his neck felt strange without the slight pressure of his collar pressing in against it. His hands, with nothing better to do, buried themselves in his pockets as a bulwark against possible pickpockets.

"Dewey, how about this?" asked Webby, holding up a pretty little summer dress off of a nearby rack, "I need new clothes after that terrible time in Duckburg."

"It's fine."

Webby pursed the lips of her beak, "are you sure? That's what you said about the last one."

"Yes, that one was fine as well."

"Alright then," she said, picking out another dress, "How about this one."

"Just fine."

"Or maybe this one?"

"That one's fine. Just great."

"Dewey, I'm not holding anything."

His face swiveled over, and she was indeed simply standing with her hands balled in front of her.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Are you alright, Dewey? I know how hard this has to be for you."

He turned away from her, "It's just fine. Uncle Scrooge's entire fortune is just in the hands of those incompetents at the company. I could come home bankrupt for all I know." His brow creased, "And just when my gold mine was opening up."

"It will still be there when you get back, Dewey," she answered, in her most soothing voice, "Mr. Kagan is in charge of everything. He's a very competent businessman."

"Yes. Of course," Dewey began, his eyes starting to soften, "Farid is quite good, isn't he."

"So there's nothing to worry about. We just need to wait for the all-clear to come back in to Duckburg and you can go right back to being your regular wretched self."

"What was that?"

"I said you can go right back to your regular winning self."


Webby abandoned the clothes rack with sigh and a smile. She wound her arm around her boss's elbow and smiled up at him. "Relax, Dewey. Nothing is going to happen."

At that moment, there was a commontion down the crowded street. People stampeded down the market away from some great growling menace. When the crowd finally parted, Dewey could see that it was a long, black car with tinted windows. It was coming right for them.


Without wasting another minute, he grabbed onto a nearby stall and pulled it forward, spreading splintering wood and crates over the road in front of the car. They ran, hand-in-hand, as the car began to slip from side-to-side on the crushed fruit it had spread all over the road. However, the speeding car was simply too fast, and it came to a stop in front of the two fleeing ducks. Out poured a team of people of unknown species, wearing big stocking caps over their faces. Webby screamed, trying to summon help, while Dewey back up into the nearest stall, abandoned, and selling scissors of various makes and models.

One of the men approached Dewey, babbling on in Portuguese, threatening him with a gun. As soon as he was close enough to grab Dewey, Dewey struck. He grasped the hand holding the gun firmly with his left hand, and with his right drove a pair of wicked scissors directly into the masked man's arm. To avoid unnecessary dry-cleaning, Dewey turned the bleeding wrist away from himself, so he wouldn’t get splashed with the blood. The shock of the stab caused the man's grip on his gun to loosen, which Dewey took full advantage of, by wresting it out of the screaming terrorist's fingers before kicking him square in the chest, causing him to fall back into the gutter.

The others began to wield their guns, and Dewey found cover, "Webby!" he screamed.

She screamed. Dewey peeked around the scissor stall he had hidden behind and saw her being held at gunpoint by a plain-faced beagle.

"Mr. Duck. If you would come out and come with us peacefully, we will spare the girl."

"Who are you?" yelled Dewey, checking the gun, a small pistol, and finding too few shots inside to get all of the goons before they got him or Webigail.

"We are the revolution, Mr. Duck. You will be doing a great service to my country. Please come with us."

"No, Dewey! Don't! Get away!" Webby then gave a muffled screamed as a thick cloth was stuffed into her beak.

"Don't you dare hurt Webigail!"

"Then will you come with us or not?"

"I..." he swallowed a lob of saliva, sweating as he was forced to choose between himself and the best personal assistant a man could have. He suddenly got an idea.

The duck rose up, with the gun trained on his own head, "Don't you dare hurt a hair on her head, or I'll kill myself, you hear me?"

The plain-faced man did not flinch, although his companions did, "You would not, Mr. Duck."

"You want to try me? You need me. I don't know why, but you do. If you don't have me, you lose."

It was a tense moment as the dog held the girl hostage, while the duck held himself. Their eyes bored into each other, a visual knife-fight, from which there could only be one winner.

"Ugh!" yelled one of the goons suddenly, his feet suddenly wrapped in a strong cord tied to a set of heavy rocks. He fell forward, firing into the air uselessly.

With that, the other goons were pointing their guns into the air, trying to find the source of the bolas. Another masked Marxist was suddenly wisked away, dragged off by some other strange rope-trick that had been perpetrated on him.

The plain-faced man yelled at his subordinates in Portuguese, before roughly shoving Webigail into the black car.

The Green Phantom swung in just then on a long rope, kicking one of the dazed freedom fighters in the face and knocking him down for the count. The leader and the remaining few goons piled back in the car, believing themselves surrounded.

"No! Stop!" yelled Dewey as he raised his gun. He fired on the car as it began to drive away, only managing to hit the back bumper before it disappeared down the street, "Webigail!"

The Green Phantom then landed next to his brother, "Dewey." He flinched as a gun was roughly shoved into his face.

"You! I had things under control before you swooped in. What are you doing here anyway? I thought you left with Darkwing Duck."

"What I'm doing here is saving your life."

"But... but they got Ms. Vanderquack." Dewey fell to his knees slowly, dropping the gun on the ground. "They took Webby. What was that?"

"They were planning to take you for ransom. Needless to say, we can't let them do that. You're too important."


Louie knelt down, his inner hero burning forth, giving him to right lines to speak, "I can get her back. I Will get her back. We've just got to find out where they've taken her."

"I don't think that will be possible, amigos." Said another voice behind them.

The Green Phantom stood suddenly, reaching for a tool, but was stopped by the sight of a large, elegant revolver in the hand of José Carioca, and the umbrella in the other.

Louie's eye's squinted. "You..."

"I'm very sorry. It is not anything to do with you, I promise. I simply cannot let you interfere with the VPR any more than you already have. It is important."

"Traitor! You... You traitor!"

"I have no loyalty to you, my fren'. It is a... family matter. I am sad that I must do this to Donal's sweet little nephews, but... but I was hoping you wouldn't bring me to it." He rose up the pistol towards Louie's head, his hand shaking the whole way, "I... I'm sorry."

"Sorry to butt in."

"¿Que?" said José, just before he found Huey's hard head ramming into his stomach. Knocked to the floor and winded, José dropped the revolver by his side, clutching his stomach and whining.


"Couldn't let this slime off my favorite Superhero, could I?"

But Dewey had no time for small talk, he walked right up to José and climbed on top of him, putting his bill close to the parrot's beak.

"Where is she?"

Carioca simply whined, his stomach still sore after Huey's headbutt.

"Where is she!?"

"I don' know! I don' know." Tears began to form at the edge of his vision. "They... They promise to tell me after I help them. Give them a place to stay at. They... they took my daughters... They took Rosalina, Maria, and Amalia, and they will kill them if I do not cooperate. Oh Mãe de Maria do dues."

Huey blinked, "Daughters? I thought they were your nieces."

But José was too far gone to answer. He merely babbled on in Portuguese, muttering platitudes to whoever would listen. He was soon snapped out of it by a rough slap from Dewey.

"Answer. Tell us whatever you know."

"Dewey!" yelled Louie. "Push off. He's a wreck."

"So am I, Ghost! My PA was just kidnapped instead of me. She could be dead by now!"

"Yelling at Joe won't make anything better!"

"It will if he knows something!"

Their two heads had gotten closer and closer as they yelled, their beaks nearly touching eachother, splashing spittle on the other's beak. Soon, however, both felt the impression of a hand on the back of their heads, before those same heads were forcibly knocked together. Huey rubbed his hands as the two brothers he assaulted fell to the ground, dazed. He then walked up to José and held out his hand.

"Are you okay, Joe? I hit you pretty hard."

"I... I'm okay." He seemed to have gotten a hold of himself as Huey helped him to his feet, "I... I know where they might have taken her."

"Where?" said all three.

"There is... There is a compound a few miles out of town, He may have taken her there." He then grasped the fur-lined lapels of Huey's jacket, "Please, if you find my girls..."

"Don't worry, Joe. We'll help."

"An'... please do not let them know about me. They musn't know I'm their fathers."

"I understand."

Louie had recovered from his head injury, and stood, "The car is in the Seaduck. If we start driving now, we could probably make that compound by nightfall." He then turned towards Dewey, "Er... are you okay?"

"No," Dewey said, standing up slowly, brushing off his suit, "Let's go."

Calmly, he began to walk towards the dock, followed by Louie, and then Huey, supporting José Carioca with a helping shoulder.


Rough hands shoved and pushed her through the dark. A bag was over her head, obscuring her vision, and causing the sweat to cling to her feathers and beak. With one last shove, Webigail lost her balance and fell to the floor. The hands pulled roughly at the black hood, and grey, dingy light flooded her sudden vision. Her hands, bound behind her back, were freed, the knife nicking the sides of her wrist. Without a word, her still unseen kidnapper left the room, and slammed the heavy barred door behind him.

Webby finally had the presence of mind to inspect her surroundings. It was a large, square, unadorned room, with brown walls and piles of straw everywhere. Huddled in the corner were three others, dirty and destitute, and with masses of stringy black hair and ruffled green feathers sticking up every which way. They were young women, lushly-colored parrots with small, dainty beaks, and were nigh identical except for a few subtle distinctions in shape of face and body shape. To tell them apart, the rags of whatever was left of their clothes were colored Red, Blue, and Green.

"Rosalina, Maria, and Amalia, right?" said Webby, kindly.

After a moment, the one in red spoke up, "Yes. Who are you?"

"I'm Webigail Vanderquack. I'm a friend of your Uncle, José Carioca."

The one in green blurted out, "Tio Carioca?" And began to speak in rapidfire Portuguese.

"Please... er," Her meager knowledge of the language failed her. "I don't understand."

"Is okay, Miss. My cousins do not speak the English. Please. How is our Oncle?"

"He is just fine, er... Maria?"

The red-clad one shook her head, "No. I am Rosalina," She pointed to her blue sister, "This is Maria," and to her green sister, "And this Amalia."

Webby was sure the disturbing symmetry between these three girls and the three Duck boys was simply coincidence, but nevertheless decided to keep a suspicious eye on the blue sister if they ever got out of this mess. "Ah. Well, even under these circumstances, it's nice to meet you." She then looked around, "Who are these people?"

"Their leader is a man named Carlos Lamarca. He is ruthless."

"Evidentially," said Webby, "Well girls, I suppose we're stuck together."

The four women then sat up against the back wall, Webby hugging her knees to her chest and the three girls all hugging each other.


"Turn here, Senhor Phantom," said José, pointing out a small, blink-and-you'll-miss-it side road in the jungle. The little red car turned wide, almost dipping into the deep ruts on the sides of the thin dirt strip.

"I still don't see why we're trusting him," said Dewey, with a glare at José, who was situated in the rumble seat next to Huey, "He was just about to shoot Green Phantom. He could be leading us into a trap." José looked shamed by Dewey's words.

"Yeah? And?" answered Louie, "There are no other leads to go on. We need to act now."

"Oh like you know what you're talking about." He looked back at Huey, "Why didn't we go get Louie?"

"Stop here, quickly," said Joe, interrupting the conversation.

Dewey looked around, and spread his arms out, "Where is it, Carioca?"

"It is in just a few more meters that way," he pointed towards the left, into the thick bushes.

Huey jumped up and out over the top, "Let's go."

"Wait! Are we just leaving Carioca here?" said Dewey.

Louie rolled his eyes, "No. You're staying too. We can't afford to take you with us." He smirked, "You've got Scrooge's gun. You keep guard over him if you want."

" What? But..."

But it was too late, Huey and the Green Phantom had disappeared into the overgrown foliage.

"I don't suppose you would have a light, Senhor," said José, who had somehow found a half-smoked cigar somewhere or other on his person. Dewey crossed his arms and leaned back, grumbling under his breath.


Birds called in the sky as the two ducks marauded through the jungle. Louie was having trouble every now and then with his cape catching on branches and twigs.

"Quiet," whispered Huey, who stalked through the trees relatively soundlessly, "You're going to give us away."

"It's my cape. It keeps catching on things."

"So ditch it. You don't really need a cape do you?"

"It's part of my design aesthetic."

"Oh for pete's sake."

Huey came up behind Louie and grabbed the small catch located around Louie's neck that attached the cape to the rest of the outfit. He then balled the cape up, while keeping it away from his brother's desperate, reaching hands, before chucking the whole thing deep into the woods.

"You jerk! What did you do that for?"

"I did you a favor. Now come on." He then started back through the woods again.

The Green Phantom gave one last look towards where his cape used to be, sighed, and turned to follow his brother.

Soon, the two of them came to the edge of a clearing, surrounded by large coils of barbed wire piled two men high. Beyond, there were several flat, utilitarian buildings built sturdily of long sheets of aluminum and wood. The men patrolling the area were of all different species, but were consistently unwashed and a little mad around the eyes, possibly from hunger, and possibly from crazy.

Knowing now that this was the end of their banter for the moment, Louie and Huey began to wordlessly navigate their way around the deadly fence. Louie pointed towards a tall tree nearby, whose long branches jutted out over the coiled wires. Huey, in answer, nodded, and very soon the two brothers were helping each other climb up the lush tree. Very soon, the two of them were scooting along the thick branch carefully. Louie looked down into the camp and tried to ascertain where the girls must be hidden.

"There are bars on that one," Louie whispered, pointing towards a small building near the center of the camp, "Maybe we can sneak over the rooftops."

"Good a plan as any. Lead the way Mr. hero."

Louie nodded his head lightly, before reaching into his suit for an appropriate gadget. He pulled out a simple, Iron hook that had obviously been salvaged from somewhere, and tied to a long rope.

"Wait a second," said Huey, "That's from the Sea duck! You can't just steal shit from the sea duck."

"I'm sorry. My grappling hook gun got lost and the new one won't come for another two weeks, not to mention it will come to my apartment in Saint Canard. I needed a new one."

Huey stared at the coiled rope in Louie's arms for a moment, before snorting, "Fine, but if you want something like that from my company's plane you ask first."

"Right-o." And with that, Louie stood up, balancing on the branch. He shaded his eyes to eyeball the distance to the nearest roof, before uncoiling a measure of rope. Circling his head like a halo, the makeshift grappling hook spun in his hands, before he threw the hook towards the nearest roof. The hook slammed down onto the tin roof of the building, puncturing it with the sharp end of the curved iron. Louie pulled the rope tight to test it, before he tied it off to a strong branch above their heads.

Huey's eyebrows came up, "Why do you need a grapple gun if you can do that?"


"Why do you need the grapple gun? You accomplished the same thing using a homemade tool, and some skills. It would probably be cheaper just to carry around some rope and rocks to make all your own tools instead of carrying around all those stupid thingamajigs?"

"I... er... Well. It's what you're supposed to have when you're a hero, you know? Like Darkwing Duck, y'know?"

Taking off his jacket and twisting it around tightly, Huey prepared to slide down the rope using the leather garment. "Louie, you were probably the best Junior Woodchuck out of the three of us towards the end there when it came to the crafts and activities." He placed the twisted jacket on the rope and crouched, preparing to jump, "But you were always lousy at thinking the details through without me and Dewey there. See you on the other side." He then jumped, the leather making a muffled buzz as it slid down towards the distant building.

Louie, still standing on the branch, crossed his arms, realizing that what Huey said was absolutely right. With a dissatisfied "huh," he pulled the toilet plunger-shaped fingerprint scanner out of his belt and used it once again to slide down the rope.


"I spy with my little eye," began Rosalina, looking over their small jail cell, "Something that begins with 'B.'"

Webby, head in hands, sighed and muttered, "Is it 'bars?'"

"Oh, wait, I do that one before, yes? This gets hard as time goes by."

"Don't worry about it Rose. It's a silly game anyway." Webigail sighed again, mostly out of habit at this point, and leaned back into her soft straw pile. "when do they feed us around here, anyway?"

"Day after tomorrow is next time."


"Is not great. We are hungry."

"Have you three tried talking to the guards?"

Maria was the one who chimed in here, "Yais. But the gards, they haf been told not to... what is? Leesen to our wourds. Nout after what Amalia did that first day."

"What did Amalia do?" asked Webby.

Rosalina smiled, a sign of her good humor even in such a situation, "She use her... what is? ...Feminine intuitions to promise the guards that every wish of theirs would come true."

"And what happened?"

"Guards come in. We knock them in the man's weakness, and all three of us try to escape. However, we do not get as far as the fence before we are caught. And now the guards, they wear earplugs to drown out our seductions."

"On the oother hand side," began Maria, "they do not coume in to molest os. Is good thing, yes?"

Amalia, inferring the context of this exchange, nodded her pretty little head, proud of her achievement.

"Oh. Good." Webby scratched under her bill, the straw giving her a feeling of itchyness all over. "I suppose we'll just have to wait for them to do whatever it is they want to do with us. Maybe whatever they want will just fall into their laps and they'll free us."

Before Rosalina could answer, however, the roof over their head burst open, and two figures fell inside, kicking up a cloud of straw. The three girls gave little screams as they ran away from the falling figures, but Webby stood her ground, thinking absently that the surefire escape tactic wasn't to break a long or untie a chain, but to say something ironic at the right time.

The Straw settled down, revealing two ducks on the ground, one in a strange costume, and the other wearing a tight-fitting red undershirt, and with a leather flight jacket in his hands. The two figures slowly began to pick themselves up off the floor.

"Huey? Louie?"

"Here," said a dazed Louie, "I'm not late for class, I swear."

Webby ran up quickly and hugged Louie around the neck, "Thank goodness!" She then looked to Huey, "But where's Dewey?"

"He's waiting with José Carioca in the car."

"Tio Carioca!?" said three voices in unison.

It was then that Huey looked over and saw that his occasional fantasy of three identical women wearing next to nothing had come to life.


The three girls then swarmed around Huey, grabbing his strong, bare arms and pulling at him. "Tio Carioca. You bring word of Tio Carioca?"

"Er. Yes. He's with Dewey in the getaway car. Don't worry. He's safe."

The three women were so happy that they began to babble among themselves in Portuguese, while orbiting around Huey like three sexy satellites around a really dazed planet.

"Let's get out of here," suggested Webigail, "We can do that, right?"

"Not with six people, we can't. Sneaking around in a group that size is asking for trouble."

"Then it is a good thing you won't have to worry about that!" said an artificially amplified voice from outside of the cell. Louie swore loudly. The three girls glommed onto Huey for protection. "My name is Carlos Lamarca. I am the leader of this camp. Intruders. We have snipers on the roofs and gunners surrounding the prison building. Do not do anything too rash or we shall fill all of you with the lead."

"What do we do now?" said Huey, trying not to get distracted by the three wild-haired beauties that huddled up against him.

"We... we..." He crossed his arms and began to tap his foot, "This is just great. They must have seen us swing over to this building. We need to find a way to get back to Dewey, or..." He snapped his fingers, "...Or a way for Dewey to come to us."

"What are you planning?"

Without answering, Louie reached into his pocket to pull out an unmolested, and so far unused gadget he had bought on a whim. The flare-o-matic 6000 with attached typing mechanism. "He'll be able to see a flare if we shoot it high enough."

"But they'll shoot at us if we try."

"Then lay down flat. They'll shoot over our heads without hitting us."

"All right. You're the boss." He addressed the three Senhoritas, "You heard him girls, lie down in the center of the room."

Rosalina nodded and translated for the other two, who, for their part, giggled at the thought of lying down with this red-clad man in any capacity. Side-by-side, the girls, Huey, and Webby flattened down on the ground, while Louie finished typing the little message on the Flare-o-matic.

"I hope this works." He then pointed the flare canister up towards the hole he had created in the ceiling and fired, before instantly throwing himself to the floor.

"FIRE!" they heard, before the walls and ceiling was littered with bullet holes. The girls screamed in surprise as the flying lead whistled over their heads, and Webby had to grit down to keep herself from screaming similarly.

Soon enough, the gunfire stopped. Everyone was unhurt, but rattled. Soon, the man known as Carlos Lamarca began to speak again.

"If you are still alive, please listen, for I will only say this once. You are all expendable, and once you are gone we will be in the perfect position to capture the capitalist American, Dewey Duck, for to exchange him for forty political prisoners being held by the tyrannical Brazilian government." He paused. "If you are still alive, you will be used as bait for the capture of Dewey Duck."

"What now, genius?"

"We wait."

"For what?"

Yells and the sounds of bending metal answered Huey's question. There were the cracks of gunfire and the sound of a puttering engine pushing as hard as it could under the circumstances.

"To one side, everybody," said Louie, as he herded the group away from the south wall.

"What did you tell him in the flare, Louie?" asked Huey.

"It said 'ram the south wall.'"

Soon, the thin wall of the prison burst open, revealing the front end of Louie's little red convertible. As the dust settled, Webigail was the first to open her eyes and try to look for the driver.


In answer, the grim-faced duck popped up out of his position, crouching under the driver's seat. Crouching in the rumble seat behind him was José Carioca, who had indeed found a light for his Cigar.

"Tio Carioca!" the three girls yelled, running towards the car, and climbing all over it, trampling Dewey underfoot like a dirty, sexy stampede. The girls squeezed into the rumble seat with their uncle, embracing him, not intending to let go for anything.

"My... My little girls! You are safe now."

Webby had run up, followed by Louie and Huey, "Dewey, Let's get out of here."

"It's going to be a tight fit," said Louie, "Scoot over. I drive."

Dewey complied, squeezing himself between his two brothers in the front seat, and allowing Webby to sit In his lap, with her arms around his neck for support. In the back, the small pile of Cariocas were a mass of hugging arms supporting each other.

"Go!" Yelled Huey, as the car backed out of the wall, and almost immediately into gunfire.

The car quickly began to pick up speed. It rushed through the gaps between the buildings, trying to find a route that wasn't overrun with revolutionaries. Eventually, such a path towards the hole in the barbed wire fence appeared. Slamming down the gas, Louie drove on towards the hole, just before a round-nosed Marxist jumped from the roof onto the hood of the car, wielding a knife.

The girls screamed, and the man began to raise his knife to take out Louie, but for Huey's intervention. Huey stood up, grasping the man's knife hand in his own, and began to struggle for ownership of the knife even as the barbed wire fence loomed ever closer.

"Huey!" Yelled Dewey, "You're too high, the wires will kill you!"

"Not today!" Huey yelled as he twisted the freedom-fighter's wrist, causing him to scream in pain and drop the knife over the edge of the car. Without enough time before they passed under the low clearance of the Barbed wire fence's hole, Huey simple picked the revolutionary up bodily by the collar and held him up, protecting himself from the shredding wires using the man's back. The man screamed as his back was made into a bleeding mess, before he passed out from pain. Past the barbs, and With no more use for him, Huey dump the man's unconscious body over the side of the car and sat down calmly.

"Where now?" yelled Louie.

"Sea Duck." Said Huey, "Maybe Rio wasn't such a good idea after all."

"And, er, what about them?" said Dewey.

As the little car drove through the jungle floor towards the pathway, the four ducks looked back at the four parrots questioningly.

Webby was the first to speak, "José, you should come with us."

"What?" asked Huey, "What are you...?"

"He's in danger here, because of us. We should take him and his nieces somewhere else, away from the VPR."

Dewey stared at Webby's earnest face for a full minute, the car finding its way back onto the smoother dirt road, before he nodded, "Fine. Thank you Ms. Vanderquack."

"You're welcome, Dewey."


In Portuguese, Carlos Lamarca, was conversing with a lieutenant as he surveyed to damage and injury caused by the escapees.

"Report, Miguel."

"There is extensive damage to the prison block, as well as the hole in the fence. Three men were injured in the attack. We Raul may die from his wounds."

Lamarca nodded, before he rubbed his temple, "This plan was a disaster. Why did no one know that Dewey Duck and he brothers were so fearsome?"

"We thought they were merely the relatives of the richest duck in the world, sir. We did not expect them to be so formidable."

"Scrap the kidnapping plot. We will find another way to get back our brothers." He sighed, "But how?"

After a moment of thought, Miguel shrugged his shoulders and said, "The Prime minister of Switzerland will be in Rio in two months, won't he?"

After a moment, Lamarca nodded his head, "Good a plan as any. Tell the men to quit searching for the Ducks and begin planning for our new plot immediately."

"Yes sir."


About an hour later, the group found themselves near the dock, driving towards the Sea duck. They braked in front of the dock before piling out. Webby retrieved a large blanket from the car's trunk and wrapped the three girls up with it. As Huey lowered the ramp up to the Sea Duck's cargo hold, Louie lamented over the red paint of the car, which had been largely scratched off by barbed wire and branches.

Dewey spoke, annoyed at the prospect of having to tell his subordinates where he'll be all over again once he touches down god knows where, "Well, where to now?"

"Honestly, I need to get back to Cape Suzette," said Huey, "I should have been back by now. Old man Cloudkicker will have my head. Once we're there, we can charter you guys a flight back to the states. Duckburg must have cooled off by now."

José shook his head, gesturing towards himself and his nieces with his cigar, "If it is all the same, if you would drop us off on the way, it would be lovely."

"Oh, Are you sure, Zé?" asked Webby, "We would be honored to have you accompany us."

The car drove up the ramp slowly, followed by José and his progeny, and then the rest of the duck family.

"No. We must part the ways. I am old and not cut out for adventure, and I would like to spend some time with Rosalina, Maria, and Amalia. I cannot thank you enough for saving my little girls."

"Alright, Sure. Where to?" asked Huey with a smile as he raised the ramp, "Anywhere at all."

"Anywhere, hm?" As the last of the natural sunlight disappeared as the ramp closed up behind them, He looked to his nieces and smiled. He then turned towards Huey and, putting a voice dripping with nostalgia and easy sensuality, said, "Tell me Huey. Have you ever been to... Bahia?"

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