And now, back to The Adventure Team
Nightfall came, the guards were nowhere to be seen, and only the dogs were left to defend the perimeter of Matheson mansion. Miller and Log made their move, behind the cover of trees to the fence.
"What are we going to do about the dogs?" asked Miller.
"Simple." Ron replied, "We'll simply will them into a deep sleep."
"Will them into a deep sleep?" Miller said with a surprised look on his face, "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Take a few deep breaths and then concentrate on an image of the dogs falling asleep."
"That's ridiculous. Are you kidding?"
"Do it." Ron insisted, "Submit to my orders. I've been doing this for lots longer than you have. People pay me big money to do shit like this."
"Will them to sleep, he says. You know what Ron?"
"What."
"I'm going to close my eyes and help you will the dogs to sleep. I'm going to put all my effort into it just so I can prove to you that this won't possibly work."
"Claremont, you can't have any doubt. If you do, it really won't work. Remove your doubt."
"This is ridiculous."
"What do you mean by that? My ideas are ridiculous?"
"No," Claremont said, "this particular idea is ridiculous. I didn't say all of your ideas were ridiculous."
"Well, you certainly made my feel that way."
"I didn't make you feel any way. You make your own feelings, Ron. You just used what I said, blew it out of proportion, and then decided to make yourself feel bad."
"I didn't say I felt bad, I just don't appreciate your doubt in a situation where faith is clearly called for."
"You said I made you feel ridiculous. I'm saying that it's you making yourself feel that way."
"I never said I feel ridiculous. You said my ideas are ridiculous."
"No I didn't."
"Then I told you I feel a certain way, meaning ridiculous, not bad. I feel fine. I'm just trying to understand why you don't believe me when I tell you I can will the dogs to sleep."
"How are you going to will the dogs to sleep? That's impossible."
"Nothing is impossible."
"Impossible!" Claremont asserted.
"Not with these knockout pills, it's not." Ron pulled out a small bottle of pills from his pocket. "Aha! See, you don't know everything."
"Hey, you didn't tell me about any knock-out pills."
"Well I don't always tell you everything, do I? Otherwise how can you be expected to learn anything about life."
"You said you were going to will them to sleep with your mind."
"No I didn't. I just said will them to sleep. You interpreted or inferred that I was going to use psychic ability, but you were wrong. Face it, Miller. There are just some things that I have a better grasp on. That's why you're the Monkey, and I'm the Messiah Guy."
Ron turned to the dogs, closed his eyes, pointed his finger, and the dogs appeared to magically fall asleep, much to the dismay of Claremont Miller.
"Wow," Ron said, guess we won't be needing the pills." Ron said.
"I'm afraid I must agree, your worship." Miller replied.
They climbed the fence and covertly made their way to the door. Suddenly, the door flew open and standing in the archway was Matheson Avenue, and several armed guards.
"Hello there, gentlemen," he said. "Welcome to Matheson Avenue Manor, heroes of the Adventure Team. Perhaps we should sit down over tea and discuss our recent conflict of interest, which I fear brings our lucrative contract to an abrupt and bitter end."
"Guess you talked to Frahn." Ron said as he offered his wrists for the metal restraints that the guards were now securing.
It was a beautiful and sunny day in the park. A crowd of children had collected to witness the magic show which was being performed in the down town plaza by one Harry Blackball, one-eyed magician and pyrotechnics expert. His devious mind was spinning as he excitedly imagined the grand finale of his dastardly plans for Bob McGillicuty, President of the Rare Fish Society. He remembered the searing pain as the corner of the morning paper displaced his eye so very long ago.
Bob, he thought to himself, soon my wrath shall come to bear on your wicked soul. I shall smite thee with the magic sword trick. But I have to make sure that nothing shall go wrong. So here, in the park, I shall test my latest trick on one of these unsuspecting youngsters. After all, practice makes perfect.
"Good afternoon children and parents of the Maryville Park, and welcome to Blackball's Magic Show." A small monkey with a gurney appeared from behind the curtains and began to jump and spin and crank his handle, causing the carnival like accompaniment music to begin playing.
"For my next trick, I shall need a volunteer from the audience who is not afraid to be penetrated with razor sharp swords." That's my disclaimer, Blackball thought to himself, I tell them exactly what I am going to do. No mystery here, they ask for it. They beg for it. They clap for it. Let's see anybody try and sue me.
A small little girl of approximately six years old, at the urging of her mother, stepped up to the stage.
"Brave little child," Harry remarked aloud. "Let's give her a round of applause as I help her into the coffin... I mean, the box." The beaming faces of the audience, as they appeared to be mystified, warmed the magician's heart. He helped the little girl into the tiny compartment and being sure not to catch her tiny fingers in the latch, he shut and locked the door. Her mother waved to her with delight and looked on as the magic continued.
"Now ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, I hold before you a razor sharp sword. Just to prove it, keep your eye on Juggles, the Spider Monkey, as I magically sever his head."
The small brown monkey had but a moment to reflect on the shame of begging for money with a tiny red hat when suddenly, the edge of the sword passed swiftly through his neck and his view of Harry Blackball began to spin around rapidly as Juggles' head bounced down a stairwell, out into the street, and beneath the spinning wheel of motorbike, where it popped. The audience broke out in thunderous applause.
"Yes," the magician continued, "but of course there's quite a difference between a monkey and a little girl. Not much though, but definitely a difference."
The audience gasped as the magician positioned the first of nine swords in the guide hole leading to the little girl's waist. "One!" Blackball began to count, bringing high drama to the performance of the magic. "Two!" he continued as the crowd leaned in on the edge of their seats. "THREE!" and with a gallant thrust, the sword passed through the girl and out the other side where only the profuse bleeding seemed to draw attention away from the magic, and to the suspicion that perhaps the little girl was really speared through the buttocks.
"My, oh my." the mother said to her husband, Stan, "He makes it all look so real."
"And now, another sword!" and again a quick flurry sent another sharp sword up through the asshole and out the back of the head."
"Whraank!" the little girl screamed.
"Little Wendy is putting on quite the show to add realism to the act, isn't she Stan."
"Indeed she is," Stan replied. "She's acting as if she's really been speared. I love magic. It's so dramatic."
"And now folks, swords number three, four and five." With a flurry, Harry Blackball had inserted the swords and by now, Wendy was kicking and convulsing. The audience applauded at the wonder of the performance.
"Finally ladies and gentlemen, the remainder of the swords!" and in they went. Wendy's mother gave Stan, her husband, a gentle hug. Their daughter was the star of the park. Harry Blackball positioned himself in front of the door and, unlatching the latch to reveal that the volunteer was quite unharmed, he threw open the door and parts of the heaving pulpy blood ball that used to be Wendy fell out and rolled into the laps of several people in the front row as they screamed in horror and began to run.
"Wait!" Harry shouted, "This is the best part." Harry pulled out a flare gun and fired it into the dynamite he had packed into the base of the sword box earlier that day, and the whole mess blew sky high in a powerful explosion that scattered little Wendy bits across the park grounds.
I can tell you the squirrels had quite the meal that day, and Harry Blackball disappeared in a cloud of smoke as the remainder of the audience trampled over each other to get away from the carnage and blood.
"It works! It works! Bob McGillicuty sleeps with the fishes!" Shouted Harry Blackball from his secret backstage hideaway. "My God, The glory...the glory!"