The Beginning Part 2 By Staci "Windsurfer" Faulkenberry Page 7 Opening a door at the rear of the office, she entered a darkened storeroom piled high with crates and barrels. "Now, let's be reasonable, here, lady!" Baloo sounded desperate. "That plane's my baby!"
Rebecca turned to find Baloo standing in the doorway, his figure nearly blocking out the light. Kit was right in front of him, staring at her and Molly a little wistfully.
"Fine," Rebecca said. "Fifty thousand dollars and she's yours! In the meantime, I do have an opening for a staff pilot."
Again, she could see that Baloo was getting ready for an argument of epic proportions.
"If you think I'm working for you, brown eyes, you've got your hair tied too tight!" he started.
Again, Kit intercepted with a whispered, "Louie's, Louie's!"
Rebecca couldn't hear the exact words, of course. He'd said them much too softly for her to hear, but the bear calmed down immediately. She marveled at the young cub's ability to get the pilot in hand so quickly and wondered where he'd gotten his silver tongue. He certainly hadn't learned the art of diplomacy from Baloo.
"Come to think of it, I'd love to be your pilot, Becky," Baloo sounded fairly jovial once again.
Rebecca walked out of the storeroom, putting down Molly and tugging on her red cardigan before replying, "Good! And it's Rebecca, not Becky."
Realizing that she'd never been introduced to the boy, she turned to him and asked gently, "Who else do we have on staff, here?"
"Uh—" the boy removed his baseball cap and ducked his head shyly. "Kit Cloudkicker, ma'am. I'm the navigator."
The last was said with a bit of bravado, and Rebecca found herself wondering how this boy could even stand being in the same room as Baloo, much less being his navigator and proud of it! The two were so different!
"Hey, can I be tail gunner?" questioned Molly excitedly, leaping onto Kit's back and waving the small doll she'd carried since she'd come in.
Kit seemed surprised at first. Then he began to run around the room, dodging crates and other garbage while Molly made machinegun sounds. Finally, he dropped the golden cub onto the faded red armchair in the corner that looked to Rebecca as if it saw frequent use.
"Gosh!" Rebecca waved her arms in the air excitedly, her light brown hair swinging around her shoulders. "Suddenly, I've got an office and a plane and two of my own employees!"
Directly in front of Rebecca, the small pile of boxes suddenly crashed to one side and a small trapdoor in the floor swung open.
A tan mountain lion dressed in dirty gray coveralls and an orange visor crawled out, reeking of sewage and covered in some kind of green gunk.
"Hey, Baloo! I finally fixed that sewer pipe. Want the old one?" he seemed to take it for granted that the large gray bear would be in the room.
Baloo chuckled and stepped forward, prodding Rebecca towards the filthy mountain lion and saying, "Better make that three employees. This is our mechanic, Wildcat. Wildcat, meet Ree-becca Cunningham, our new boss."
The mountain lion turned and offered a gunk-covered paw to the surprised lady, who shook it, grimacing as the slimy green stuff slid between her fingers.
"You smell pretty good for a boss," stated Wildcat.
Rebecca didn't want to know what he thought a boss should smell like. She thought she was better off not knowing. "Uh—thanks," she stammered, caught off-guard.
Immediately, Wildcat's attention was drawn back to the pipe in his hand. "Yeah," he said. "This poor little guy was all clogged up! He was sayin'" clutching his throat, Wildcat imitated not being able to breathe and choked, "Help me, help me! I can't breathe! I gotta cold!"
He collapsed to the ground, the pipe clattering from his limp hand.
Rebecca watched him, horrified. "This is a mechanic?" she asked. "He couldn't tell a bus driver from a screwdriver!"
Baloo shook his head. This lady was way too caught up in appearances. "Oh yeah?" he said smugly. "Just you watch."
Walking over to the phone, he picked it up and smashed it against the wall before Rebecca could say a word.
Holding up the dangling bits, he sang, "Oh, Wildcat! I think there's something wrong with the phone. Would you take a look at it?"
The mountain lion sat up and walked over to Baloo, rubbing his chin with a paw and examining the phone with undue scrutiny.
"You know, I think you may be right!" grabbing his toolbox, he took the phone and began pounding away.
"Five… four… three… two," Baloo counted. The phone rang just as he got to one, and Wildcat answered it.
"It's for you," he said, holding the receiver out to the astonished Rebecca.
"You were saying?" asked Baloo, that smug smile still on his face.
Rebecca took the phone, scowling at the pilot. "At least something works around here!" she snapped before holding the receiver to her ear, her face relaxing as she settled in to business mode.
Across town, another entrepreneur was pruning the jungle of plants that abounded in his office. Unlike Rebecca Cunningham, however, this entrepreneur had been in business for years, and had built such a large empire that he considered himself exempt from the laws that governed the other citizens of Cape Suzette. He was one of the wealthiest men in the world, and every aspect of his hulking figure and refined face set in a permanent expression of distaste reflected this fact. Even his perfectly tailored navy suit and maroon tie practically reeked of money. His office building was so massive that it towered over every other building in town and his top floor office was larger than a lot of houses.
It was into this office that a thin, timid tiger dressed in more casual clothes than his boss now crept.
"Mr. Khan, Mr. Khan!" he shouted, unable to see the large tiger through the plants that took up a good three-quarters of the office space.
There was a rustling in the leaves behind the desk, and an orange head appeared, his yellow eyes cold enough to freeze boiling water.
The messenger gulped. He'd just made a major mistake, stepping into Mr. Khan's office unannounced. Men had been killed for less than that.
Slowly, Shere Khan removed the thin gardening gloves he wore and placed them on his massive desk. Then, still not looking at the tiger, he sat in the huge chair behind his desk with undue care and steepled his hands in front of him, leaning forward slightly.
"Speak," Khan's voice was deep and refined, a weapon that he used in business deals the way a pirate used a gun.
Shaking, the messenger played nervously with his tail and crept forward. One never knew what Mr. Khan would do if he was displeased or caught unaware.
"I-I have an update on the s-s-stone, s-s-sir," he stuttered.
Khan raised an eyebrow, "It's been found?"
Why did he have to be the bearer of bad news? The messenger silently cursed his job that made him come up to tell Shere Khan that his most valuable new invention had been stolen.
"Umm….n-no, not exactly, s-sir. You see…er…" the tiger gulped as he felt the vine of one of Shere Khan's plants wrap itself around his ankle. "I-it's been stolen!"
If the tiger was phased, he didn't show it in voice or manner. "By whom?"
"A-air pirates, sir!" the messenger grabbed onto the edge of the rug with his claws extended as the plant tried to drag him to its mouth. Khan calmly stood up, a canister in his hand.
With a sigh, he began to move towards the messenger slowly and deliberately, "I've spent years building Khan Industries into the biggest corporation in the world. And I've discovered that business is like a jungle," opening the canister, he pulled out an exotic-looking insect and regarded it for a moment, allowing his employee to be dragged almost to the mouth of his carnivorous plant. "There are the eaters—" here, he flicked the bug into the plant's mouth. "And there are the eaten."
The plant released its hold on the messenger and eagerly devoured the hapless insect. The messenger scrambled to his feet, thanking Khan profusely.
Khan didn't care much about the little tiger's thanks. He had more important things to consider than saving the life of one measly little employee. Besides, the messenger probably would have given his plant indigestion.
"Find those pirates," he ordered, his voice taking on a tone of he-who-will-not-be-denied.
"Y-y-yes, s-sir," gulped the messenger, bowing his way back to the elevator and out of Khan's dark, cavernous office.
Khan watched the elevator doors close, then he turned to his plant. Placing a proprietary paw over it, he murmured, "Bon appetit."
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