Belling the President (standard:fantasy, 2411 words)
Author: hvysmker	Added: Jan 15 2007	Views/Reads: 3254/2265	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
How I helped save my pal, Oscar Rat, from a Presidental setup.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

"But General," Col Ratovich complained, "with all due respect, I know
Oscar and he's not a traitor.  A little loudmouthed and drinks a lot, 
but not a traitor.  Remember how he helped us in the campaign against 
the Irish?" 

"If the President says so, he must be a terrorist," Spike replied, "the
President doesn't lie." 

"Like a rug, he doesn't." 

"Must I remind you, Colonel, that we are soldiers in the United States
Armed Forces.  We do as ordered by our Commander in Chief." 

"Even against our friends, whom we know aren't terrorists, like poor
Oscar?  Our contract with the government specifically excludes going 
against rodents in the United States.  That's a police matter." 

The Colonel was right, Spike knew.  They had never been officially
members of the military.  Formed in the forties, during WWII, the rats 
were under contract, working directly for the President.  Outside the 
normal Chain of Command, they were equipped, from a secret fund, with 
specially built vehicles and weapons, copies of those the regular army 
used.  Trained in a secret base hidden in the wild jungles of Virginia, 
they were used for special operations. 

"Well, you do as I order, then.  Take a battalion of troops and bring
him in.  That's MY order." 

After the Colonel left, Spike lit a cigarette, an American Camel of
course, and shook his head.  Something stank about the whole sorry 
mess, he thought.  How could Oscar Rat be a traitor?  Not only that, 
but the head of an important terrorist network? 

* 

That's where I came in.  My name is Charlie, and I'm Oscar Rat's best
friend.  We both live on the second floor of the Ezboard Building, and 
are both writers. 

I was sitting in my apartment, trying to finish a story, when I heard
tapping on my door.  I opened it to find two of the Meescowski kids 
from downstairs.  The two small mice were fairly bouncing up and down 
with excitement. 

"Mr. Charlie, Mr. Charlie," Tommy, the oldest, told me, "the bottom
floor is full of army rats.  They're looking for Oscar." 

"What's that rat done now, to involve the army?"  I asked.  He seemed to
be often in trouble with the police, but ... the army? 

"They won't say, Mr. Charlie, but we told them he was probably
downstairs in the Ratskellar bar.  You gotta tell Oscar or they'll get 
him, yes they will." 

I thanked them, gave them a chocolate chip cookie, and ran down the hall
to Oscar's room. 

He, his wife, Malodor Skunk, and her niece Nancy were watching
television. 

"Don't ask questions," I ordered, grabbing Nancy up in my arms, where
she snuggled familiarly, "hurry to my room.  Right now." 

Protesting in a weak voice, Malodor followed.  She was used to such
emergencies.  Oscar was always getting into trouble, though nothing two 
skunks couldn't stop by raising their tails.  Oscar took time to close 
his laptop, preparing to drag it along. 

"Leave that thing there.  We don't have time," I told him. 

As we went into my door, I could hear scurrying on the fire stairs. 
Closing the door, I hurried them into a secret hiding place in my 
baseboard.  Oscar didn't think I knew about his hidey-hole, but I did.  
I figured it was better to let him have one I knew about than one I 
didn't. 

There was soon a lot of activity out in the hallway.  I cracked my door
open to see what was going on.  It looked like hundreds of rats in 
uniform.  They were organized, though, some pointing guns at all the 
doors, including mine.  Others were guarding the stairwell, with two 
tiny mortars set up, aimed at the windows on each end of the corridor.  
Little machine-guns covered the entrance to Oscar's apartment.  His 
door was wide open, with squeaky voices shouting orders in the rat 
language.  I knew a little rat, but they were talking too fast for me 
to understand. 

"Please go back inside, Sir, this is Federal business,"  one of them,
wearing lieutenant bars on his collar, yelled up to me, brandishing a 
pistol.  Since I knew it would at least sting a lot, I did as he 
ordered. 

* 

Jeeze, we're on the run.  I knew I annoyed my former pal and employer,
Georgie, but not that much.  Not enough to send the Rat Commandos after 
me. 

A couple of hours later it quieted down outside as most of the Commandos
left, after searching my apartment and posting snipers across the 
street.  Charlie smuggled us out in a load of dirty laundry.  And when 
I talk about that human, I do mean dirty.  I mean, I have two skunks in 
my family and his filthy shorts put them both to shame. 

Well, I felt much safer when we were in his car and a couple of miles
away from the apartments. 

"Look, Uncle Oscar,"  Nancy pointed out the back window. 

Following the direction of her extended paw, I saw a speck drifting back
and forth.  It seemed to be following us. 

"Damn, Charlie," I called to the idiot driving, "they have a helicopter
following us.  Head for the JointGate Shopping Center." 

"Why there?"  Malodor asked. 

"It's enclosed, and has a car rental inside," I answered. 

Within minutes, we were in a rental car.  Leaving by another exit, we
were soon lost in the city.  Charlie, the fool, gets lost easily.  Just 
like a human. 

"Uh, do you know where we are, Oscar?" he asked. 

"Nope." 

"I do," answered that smart-ass, Nancy.  "but not where we're going?" 

"How about my Aunt Ethel's?" Malodor asked, "She's living alone and had
a large burrow dug to raise all her kids.  They should be gone by now?" 


Sure, I thought, just what I need.  That old stinker never did like me. 
The first time we're alone, I'm damned sure going to get sprayed. 

"Uh, how about your sister Spot's apartment?" I had to ask. 

"You gotta be kidding, Oscar.  I Don't you trust you anywhere near that
hussy." 

"I'll just rent a motel room, you guys," Charlie answered, turning into
one, "I can't live in a skunk burrow and Spot's got too many drunken 
male suitors around to suit me." 

He rented two rooms, one for himself and one for my family and me.  I
couldn't talk him into buying any beer though.  I was unfamiliar with 
that part of town and didn't know which stores sold to rats and skunks. 
 I'd learned early that some places just didn't like to serve us.  I 
don't know why, except for prejudice. 

In any case, I'm glad he did rent separate rooms, since I had some
important phone calls to make. 

"Yes. Yes. Damn it, yes.  I want to speak to Colonel Ratovich, and don't
give me any of your bull .... Just tell him it's a friend .... Oscar, 
Oscar Pissedoff." 

"^(&*%$^())))^%%," mumble, pause. 

"Spike?  Yeah, Oscar....  Your old buddy, buddy.  What the hell's going
on with you guys?  I ain't done nothing." 

I got the information off him.  It wasn't easy but he owed me.  Now at
least I knew what was going on.  I'd been set up. 

My next call was to the mouse mafia.  They also owed me some favors. 

"Hi, amico.  Yeah, we 'member ya, ya old rat ya.  Wa' ya' want?"  Don
Meeskio listened.  "Yeah.  Don' ya' worry, Oscar.  I'll send'a us some 
mice down ta check it out.  Us wiseguy mouses is everywhere.  Nuttin' 
happens in this'a town wid'out us guys knowin' it." 

Satisfied for the moment, I had Charlie send out for some pizzas and we
settled in for the duration. 

Things were uneventful for several days.  The only things exceptional
were the news shows on television.  My face was highlighted, along with 
my biography.  According to them I had been trained as a terrorist in 
an Al Quida camp in Canada. 

At the time we were being flooded with propaganda to force Canada to
turn over a former Prime Minister said to be a terrorist.  Despite 
sanctions on importation of luxury goods, Canada was holding out.  They 
would have to live without Cadillacs and mouthwash for awhile. 

Damn, but they made me out to be an evil character.  I didn't mind, but
Malodor hated being a gun-moll.  That idiot, Charlie, wasn't even 
mentioned, and still wouldn't buy me any beer.  He, and Malodor, said 
they didn't want a drunken rat storming around the room.  Nancy?  She 
was just happy to have an excuse to stay out of high school. 

"Uncle Oscar, a telephone call from some mouse," Nancy yelled, waking
me. Damn, three am, I thought, looking at a clock. 

"Yeah, yeah.  Just a minute."  I yawned and jumped up to the phone. 

"Sounds like one of your drunken drinking buddies,"  she yelled.  Hell,
I was only two inches from her, and she had to scream? 

"Yeah?"  I answer. 

"We done found 'um, amico.  It's a buncha' humans.  Out of work
Republicans.  Dey's done workin' wit'a ganga' aardvark terrorists.  Da' 
kind at wants ta' turn Utah int'a a separate aardvark country." 

"You got any names or locations, Mr. Meeskio?"  I ask. 

I scribble the info down as fast as I can write.  Damn these human
pencils.  They're hell for a rat.  Hurriedly, I drop the pencil and use 
my claws to scratch the information into the tabletop. 

"Thanks for the offer, Mr. meeskio,"  I tell him, "but you should get
your guys out of there.  I'll send someone myself to take care of 
them."  He'd offered to beat the hell out of them, but I didn't want to 
be the cause of trouble for his guys.  Those mafia mice can be mean. 

Instead, I called in the Rat Commandos.  They and the local police made
short work of the terrorist bunch.  Too bad the courts didn't do the 
same. Some of the guilty Republicans were lawyers, and the cases were 
expected to run for years.  Republicans never give up or resort to 
reality. 

Anyway, I'm free now and the news media had to print a retraction. 
Nancy's school forgave her absence and made her a hero.  All in all, I 
made out well, the name recognition enhancing sales of my books.  Screw 
you, Mr. Pres.  Someone should hang a bell around your neck so we can 
hear you coming. 

* 

The Fuhr ... Father was livid. 

"How does that rat do it?"  he yelled, throwing his toy soldiers against
the wall, "A perfect setup and he got away ... again." 

"Now, now, Father," Condy spoke to him from under his desk, "we'll try
again, no rodent can win forever." 

"Sob,  I can't help it.  I used to call him a friend and drinking buddy.
 Now he turns against me."  Father blew his nose on a dainty hankie 
Condy held over her head, not noticing it was already dirty. 

"I know what we can do," she said, brightening, "we can call your daddy.
He can fix it.  He always does." 

Charlie


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