Big Bad Wolf

I was being watched over a case of mistaken identity involving a murder, a gun, a serial number, and retardedness.

Damn that Freewheelin’ Badass Investigative unit!  Like it is my fault my momma named me Big Bad.  I’m a wolf!  It’s customary!  If those three Piggies would just get to know me a little better, they would know that I’m as mellow as they come.  My acquaintances call me B.B.  My friends call be Double B.  Jesus friggin’ Christ!  Just cuz that lousy woodcutter fingered me, now they are going over every purchase I ever made!  If I have to answer that “Do you have a receipt for this” question one more time… 

That line-up wasn’t even fair.  They grabbed me off the street and put me next to the Gingerbread Man, another piggie, and a couple of other degenerates.  The woodcutter picked me because I am a wolf and the perp was a wolf.  Now, did they bother to put me in a line up with other wolves?  NO!  We don’t ALL look the same, you know.  It’s friggin’ species-ist, if you ask me.  Unfair profiling.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.  Maybe I should start this story from the beginning.

It’s like this.  I was sitting on the front stoop of my den minding my own business, resting after a day of hard yard work, when a black sedan came screaming onto my lawn, doing cookies and tearing up the beautiful green turf I had JUST put down.  Those damn three Piggies jumped out and hustled me into the backseat of the car before I could say, “What the f***?”  I was angry at them for destroying all my hard work and was yelling at them, trying to get them to explain, when it finally dawned on me that they were trying to encapsulate me in the back of their vehicle.  I knew getting wolf-napped by a bunch of piggies was NOT in my best interest. 

Pigs have generally harbored ill will against wolves ever since one of the Pigs’ more retarded cousins built a house out of straw.  What moron builds a house out of straw?  A heavy gust of wind blew it down just as another wolf named Big Bad (no relation) happened to be walking by and the house collapsed and suffocated the pig.  The Pigs blamed it on my fellow wolf. 

So in my terror at being wolf-napped, I struggled mightily and may have even bitten one or two of those Pigs in my attempts to get away.  Next thing I knew it was dark.

I awoke to a dimly lit room that smelled of smoke, sweat, fear and vomit.  Lovely.  My eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom.  I was sitting in a chair at a table.  I tried to get up, but discovered I had been pawcuffed to the table.  Damn it.  Since when did the Pigs have pawcuffs?  I rubbed my aching head.  There was a sizable goose egg on it.  Ah.  That explained the darkness earlier.  I wondered which of those bastards had hit me.

The door to room opened, and in walked a very large bear in a suit.  It was one of those J.T. Barnum specials that screamed “F-man” all over it.    On his rather wide belt he had clipped a shiny gold badge.  It read Forest Bureau of Investigations.  Great.  We wolves like to call them the Freewheelin’ Badass Investigative unit, simply because they have a habit of persecuting us with or without direct evidence to support their wolf hunts and they used questionable means to get that information.

One of those damn pigs followed in after the bear.  Ohhh.  Then I got it.  So the Piggies were joining up with the FBI now, to legalize their persecution.  Fantastic.  I growled at him.  He puffed up his chest and made like a ham.  The bear cut our posturing short by asking me a question.

“Any particular reason you would attack two of the Bureau’s finest?”

Huh?  I never attacked anybody!  Defended myself from getting wolf-napped, sure, but attack?  And what does he mean by two?  There were three of them.  I decided not to say a word.  These FBI types would use anything you said against you. 

The bear slammed his giant paw on the table.  “Well?  I asked you a question!”

“Yeah!” the swine sniped.  “He asked you a question!”

I just glared at them.  “I don’t talk to strangers.”

“Ah, well, pardon me then.  Allow us to introduce ourselves.  I am Agent Papa Bear.  This is Agent Third Little Pig.”  He swayed his giant bulk forward in a mock bow.  The Pig just stared at me with his beady little eyes and stroked the bristly hairs on his chinny chin chin.

“I want my lawyer and a phone call.”  That’s all I said. 

So I got thrust into this line-up of theirs and some guy I couldn’t see through a one way pane of glass ID’s me and calls me a murderer.  I get processed into the system—paw prints, mug shots, the works.  Then the nice agents of the FBI let me sit and stew for quite a while before I finally got what I asked for. 

I called an old friend, the Wise Old Owl.  He was like a flying encyclopedia.  He knew where to go and who to get for any sort of trouble.  He sends me this up-and-coming young go-getter named Jack to be my legal representation.  I mean, this guy’s rep can’t be beat.  Not too many people around here have earned the nickname “Giant Slayer”.  He’s got balls the size of Nebraska.

Jack hears my story and starts lighting into Agent Papa Bear, the agent in charge.  He threatens to sue and have the Pigs all in the slammer for wolf-napping because they never identified themselves, etc. etc.  After much hullabaloo, I was released from the holding cell. 

Jack gave me a ride home.  He clucked his tongue when he saw the battle zone that used to be my lawn.  It looked like the ice does after the Ice Capades, all swirled and pitted.  Jack pulled out his camera.

“No reason for this.  We can sue them for damages.  They could have just parked on the road like reasonable people do.  No need to go all Dirty Hammy on you,” Jack said, as he snapped pictures.

“I don’t care about the lawn,” I said.  Well, I did, but I was more worried about me.  “Just find out what the hell happened and keep me out of jail, please?  I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Will do, my furry friend,” Jack promised.

Just then a news van from KRAT showed up and their roving reporter, Pinocchio, started running up to us.  “Wolf!  Wolf!  I’d like to ask you a few questions!  How do you respond to the allegations the Pigs have against you?  They said you are a killing machine!”  Pinocchio’s nose was already almost as long as his body and that last statement caused it to grow a few more centimeters.  It was enough that he accidentally tripped over it and flipped over in this ungainly cartwheel.  He ended up sprawled on the ground, with the microphone dangling from his nose in a knot.

         Jack took advantage of that momentary distraction to grab my shoulder and shove me into my den.  He slammed the door shut behind us.

         “Under no circumstances are you to talk to the press,” he hissed.  “I will be your mouthpiece IF anything needs to be said.  Do you understand?”

         I just nodded.

         “Good.  I’ve got some men working on this.  As soon as I know more, I’ll be in touch with you.  If you get picked up by the F-men again before I can get back to you, call me immediately.  But do NOT talk to the FBI and do NOT talk to the press!”

         Jack straightened the brim of his fedora, opened the door and strode through the KRAT debacle in grim determination.

*          *          *          *          *

         A few hours later, I heard some knocking on the back entrance to my den.  I nearly jumped out of my skin.  That was more than a little strange, since I was the ONLY creature that knew the location of that entrance.  I crept to the well-hidden door and cautiously opened the peephole.  It was Jack.

         I opened the door and hustled him in, quickly shutting the door behind us. 

         “What are you doing using my back door?  It’s supposed to be a secret!  How did you know where it was?”

         I could see he was smiling by the glint of the dim light of the tunnel on his gleaming white teeth.  In this lighting, his canines looked bigger than mine.  (Mental note to self--do NOT mess with Jack.) 

         “No worries, Big Bad.  I made sure I wasn’t followed.  Besides, I couldn’t use the front door without alerting KRAT’s multitude of viewers.”

         “But, but- “

         He cut me off.  “Just about every wolf I’ve ever met has a secret escape door ever since the Straw Pig incident,” he explained.  “I just got a topographical map of the area and did some calculations to figure out the most likely place for your secret escape hatch.  It’s elementary, my dear Big Bad.  Really.”

         We followed the path into my living room.  There we sat while he explained to me the poop.  The more I heard, the more my heart sank.  I didn’t think it could sink any farther when I heard loud pounding on my front door.

         “Open up, it’s the FBI!  We have a warrant to search your den!” someone with a very loud voice bellowed.

         I was wrong.  I felt my heart hit my paws.  I looked over at Jack and he nodded.  I got up and let them in.  A swarm of agents burst into my den and started snooping through everything I owned.  I watched as possessions I had collected over the years got bagged into evidence.  A well-worn issue of “Tail” (which caused some eyebrows to be raised), a couple of knives, and my hunting rifle, among other detritus of a well-worn life. My lawyer sat with me and we watched.

         Then they were gone.  Except now there was a car parked out in front, with a piggy and rather large bovine companion seated inside, watching my home.

         “Did you do it?”  Jack asked, snapping my attention back to the matter at hand.

“What?  No!  I didn’t kill Granny.  I’ve never met her!  I’ve never even seen the Woodcutter in my life, either!  I know where Granny lives, but then everyone does, because you have to pass by her house on the shortcut through the forest!  But that doesn’t mean I did it!  I can’t believe you would ask me that!”

“I have to ask.  I have to know.  If you’re innocent, my defense is different than if you are guilty.”

“Oh.  So what do I do now?”

“You sit tight.  The Bureau is watching you.  They aren’t going to arrest you or bring you in for questioning again unless something turns up in their investigation.  If they had something prior to now, they wouldn’t have let you go home in the first place.  But, if you go out, anyone you go visit is also going to be subject to scrutiny.  Be kind to your friends and avoid them for the time being.”

“But that woodcutter fingered me.  Isn’t that enough to get me fried and eaten?”

“Not in itself, no.  He just saw someone who he thought looks like you at the scene of the crime.  He didn’t see you do it.  It isn’t enough.  They need more evidence.  However, his statement WAS enough for them to get the warrant.  They’re going to be hoping that they find the murder weapon in your stuff.  They won’t, will they?” he asked.

“Of course not!  I don’t see how.  I’ve been home all day putting in my lawn.  Nobody came to visit me except Jeremiah the Bullfrog around noon and we had some lunch.  But all he had with him was his bottle of wine.”

“What if someone else found your back door?”

“I suppose that is possible.  You found it.  I thought nobody could find it,” I said, plaintively.

“Does anyone have a grudge against you?”

“No. Not specifically.  The Pigs have a grudge against us wolves.  That red hoodie-wearing biker princess gets into clashes with us wolves every now and again.”

“Red Riding Hood?”

“Yeah, her.”

“You realize it was her granny that got iced, don’t you?”

I nodded.  Everyone knew Granny was Hood’s relation.  She was always riding up there on her hawg, carburetor opened up so the exhaust sounded loud and gassy, taking her granny some new treat or other.  Who knows how many wolves she nearly ran over, riding with her arms up in the air, hands gripping the gorilla bars.  She looked ridiculous.  But no one dared tell her so after what happened to Socks.  His tail now dangles from a flag pole attached to her hawg, and flutters in the breeze.  She’s a menace to wolf society, and the F-men love her.  There is no justice in this world.

“Well, sit tight.  Call me if they bring you in for more questioning.  I’ve got an investigation to run.  With the F-men’s history, you’re looking at the stew pot unless we can come up with good evidence of our own.”

I nodded again.  Jack stood up and looked at me briefly in sympathy.  Then he left.  I stared out the window after him.  I had never felt so lost.



*          *          *          *          *



         Eventually, I went to bed.  I couldn’t sleep.  The usual trick of circling around several times to get comfortable just wasn’t working.  I just had too much on my mind.  It seemed like no sooner did I finally fall asleep, than there was a pounding on my front door again.

         “FBI, open up!”

         Great.  I put my bunny slippers on and shuffled over to the door.

         “Yeah?”  I croaked, head leaning against the door.

         Just then the door burst open and I went flying backward.  There were the two biggest, burliest Badass agents I had ever seen. I think the word “bully” came from these bulls.  They looked the part.  They were holding a battering ram. The ram’s eyes were crossed from hitting the door.  They dropped the poor ram to his hooves and they grabbed me.  This time I didn’t resist.  What was the point?  I was cuffed and shoved into their car quicker than you can say Rumpelstiltskin. 

         Down at the station, I was hustled into an interrogation room and advised of my rights by Agent Papa Bear.  The pig with the beady eyes was watching all the while.  I felt a sense of déjà vu.

         “What do you think I did now?”  I asked him.

         He dropped photos on the table in front of me.  There was a picture of a man, with a hefty axe sunk into the middle of his forehead.  I turned a little green.

         “C’mon.  Don’t tell me you don’t know,” he said, gruffly.

         “I’ve never seen that man before in my life,” I answered, truthfully.  “Who is he?”

         “The victim.”

         I sighed.  I knew that Agent Papa Bear was just doing his job, but his prejudice against us wolves was really annoying.  It was coloring his vision.  I tried to tell him so, and next thing I knew I had a fat lip.  I’m not sure WHO hit me, but whoever it was, he moved awfully damn fast.  Blood welled up in my mouth.

         The pig leaned over me, inches from my face.  “Why’d you axe the Woodcutter?” he stated.  The way he said it, it almost sounded rhetorical.

         So now I saw what was going on.  The Woodcutter fingered me for the murder of Granny and now they think I tried to murder the Woodcutter to quiet the witness.  One murder leads to another.  Damn.  I was screwed.  I didn’t say a thing.

         “Why?!!”  he demanded, as he grabbed my fur and pulled me even closer.  The whiskers on his chinny chin-chin were tickling my nose.  I didn’t like to be wolf-handled like that.  Without thinking, I spit the blood that was running into mouth on the bastard’s piggy face.

         Probably not the brightest thing to do.  The pig snarled and was about to clobber me when Papa Bear grabbed him.

         “I want my lawyer,” I said.

         Hours later, Jack slunk in.  The expression on his face is that of a mourner at a funeral.  I could tell things didn’t look good.

         “I thought you said you didn’t do it, Big Bad,” he said reprovingly.  “You’ve got to be honest with me.”

         “I was!  I didn’t do it!”

         His black eyes stared into mine.  “Then why did they find the murder weapon in your den?”

         “WHAT?  That’s impossible!”

         “Well they did.  It was stuck up under a loose tree root in the ceiling.”

         I just looked at him flabbergasted, jaw to my chest.

         “And they found bloody pawprints leading away from the Woodcutter’s body, too.  Wolf prints that led toward your place.”

         I think my jaw dropped even further, which I didn’t think was possible.

         Jack shook his head.  “Your silence is not reassuring.”

         I tried several times to say a coherent sentence and failed.  Finally, I got my lips, teeth and tongue to cooperate.

         “I didn’t kill either one of those people,” I said emphatically.  “Why would I?  There’s no motive!”

         “Sure there is,” Jack said, almost nonchalantly.  “Earth to Big Bad.  You are a wolf.  Wolf with a capital W.  That’s enough motive for any jury.”

         “Not a jury of my peers,” I said.

         “Yeah, well, that’s another subject.”

         “Am I being charged with something?”

         “Yeah.  Capital murder.  So why did you do it?

         “I already told you that I didn’t!”  I said hotly.  “Why don’t you believe me?  You’re my lawyer, for crying out loud.  I think someone must be trying to frame me!”

         “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere,” Jack smirked.  “Who would do that to you and why?”

         “I don’t know,” I moaned.

         Jack and I racked our brains for quite some time, with no luck.  He was being spectacularly unhelpful.  I was beginning to suspect his reputation was over-rated and that maybe those golden eggs of his were paying for a really good PR firm.  Then Jack promised he would do some more hunting around and get back to me, and he left.  I peered out my cell window at the moon and howled mournfully.

         “Shaddup!”  the guard ordered.

         “Piss off,” I muttered under my breath.  Then I noticed a shape outlined in the moonlight getting closer.  It wiggled and crept closer and closer to my window.  I watched the shape intently, and realized it was human in form.

         I looked over my shoulder to see if the guards saw what I saw.  There was one of the bull’s who grabbed me at the end of the hall, hooves up on a desk, perusing the latest issue of “Got Milk?”  I wasn’t an udder fan, so I didn’t particularly see the value in the mag.

         A clinking noise and a quick motion brought my attention back to the window.  There, I saw Red Riding Hood attaching a chain to the window bars.  I recoiled in horror.  THE Red Riding Hood trying to bust the window open?  This was NOT good.  She was going to kill me!  I was about to shout for the guard when she reached through the window and grabbed my snout.

         “Shhhhh!  Quiet!  I’m going to bust you out!”

         Chaos and my own confusion followed. 



*          *          *          *          *



         Never in a million years did I ever think I would be riding on the back of Red Riding Hood’s hawg, holding on to her little waist for dear life.  I felt out of sorts.  I felt like a traitor to wolf kind, because Socks’ tail was still whipping in the wind, hanging off the damn flag pole.  I shut my eyes tight and prayed for my soul’s salvation.

         The forest got darker and thicker as we followed a little worn path.  It was very bumpy and uncomfortable.  Several times, Hood stopped the bike and listened carefully to see if we were being followed.  My hearing is far better than a human’s, so I assured her we weren’t.  Presently, we came to a very dark little house, more like a hut, really.  It sat in the middle of a small copse of trees, looking very lonely.

         Hood stopped.  She turned off the headlights.  Then she turned them on again and off again twice.  It looked like some sort of code.  From inside the little hut, a light came on and went back out.  Twice.  Hood turned off the ignition of her motorcycle and we got off.  We pushed it into this little lean-to.

         We went through a side door into the darkness inside the house.  My eyes were adjusted to the dark, but Hood lit a small candle to give her some light.  My eyes caught a movement in the windowsill, and I ducked.  I heard a tiny little laugh.

         “No need to duck, Big Bad Wolf,” the source of the laugh said.

         I looked back up and saw the Gingerbread Man.  Rumors floated around about how Fox tried to eat him once, but no one really knew the real story.  It was almost Forest Legend at this point.  But Ginger wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the details.  Gingerbread Man jumped down off the sill onto a table next to the wall.  He walked toward me, his icing eyes peering at me warily.

         “You sure we can trust him, Red?”

         “Yeah,” Hood replied.  “He’s the only suspect in the murders and the Badasses are keen to throw him in the stew pot.  He’s got nothing to lose by going with us and everything to gain.”

         Huh?  Red calls them Badasses, too?  Red Riding Hood, the woman who removes wolf tails?  The Forest Bureau loves her!  I was getting more confused by the minute.  My confusion must have registered on my face, because Hood actually laughed.

         “You want to know why I sprung you, don’t you?”

         “Yes.  What am I doing here?”

         “You’re going to help us prove you’re innocent, so we can bring the real killer to justice.”

         “And how do you propose to do that?  I’ve got my lawyer Jack, you know—Jack the Giant Slayer--on the case.  He’s the best in the Forest, and he hasn’t been able to find who did it.  Hell, I think he thinks I did it!” I exclaimed. 

         “Poor Big Bad.  You can’t see the Forest through the trees.”  Red shook her hooded head.

         “What?  Are you saying you know who did it?”

         “Yes.”

         I just stared at her.  Getting information out of her was getting increasingly frustrating.

         “Oh, right.  You want to know who.  Open your eyes, Double B.  Who had access to your home?  Who knew where your secret entrance door was?  Who has you right where he wants you?”

         I thought about it.  I knew she was suggesting Jack, but I couldn’t believe it.  Yet Jack really wasn’t being all that helpful, that was true.  Maybe by pretending to help me he really wasn’t….  I shook my head.  My brain felt fuzzy.

         “Wait a minute, Red.  How do YOU know about my secret door?”

         “I’ve got an inside man at the Bureau,” she explained, as she pulled a file out of her basket.  She plopped it in front of me.  I opened it.  Inside were the details of the case against me.  It didn’t look good.  Apparently, after the Woodcutter died and they arrested me, the FBI searched inside, found the door they missed before and the so-called murder weapon.  Ballistic tests were being performed on the Pig Sauer 9mm, but it probably was the murder weapon.  The gun had the serial number filed off, but they thought enough of it was there to link it to me.  I DID own a 9mm a long time ago, but I had sold it a couple of years ago when I had a girlfriend who didn’t like guns in the house.

         “So you think Jack did it?” I asked.  “Why?  What possible motive would he have for killing your grandmother and whacking the woodcutter?”

         Red smiled a tight little smile.  “I know some things about him.  He doesn’t know that I know for sure, but I’m pretty certain he suspects.  As a result, my life is in as much danger as yours,” she explained.

         “What could you possibly know about him that would cause him to kill your grandma and create this grand consipiracy?”

         “What I know is that we are going to get that proof right now.”  Red Riding Hood plucked the Gingerbread Man off the table, put him in her basket and headed out the door.  She looked over her shoulder at me.  “The longer we wait, the more people will hear about the jailbreak.  He will probably realize the game is up, and he will destroy that proof.  We have to go NOW.”

         I sighed.  I followed her out to her hawg, reached up and pulled at Socks’ tail flag.

         “This is terrible,” I said to her.  “Why do you display such an atrocious thing?”

         Red narrowed her eyes at me.  “It’s a warning.  Socks attacked me one day when I was leaving Granny’s house.  No reason, no warning.  We struggled all around the clearing around her house.  In the chopping block by the woodpile was an axe.  I managed to grab it first.  I swung.  I missed his head because he ducked at the last second and so I got his tail, instead.  In a way, I’m glad I missed, because I was able to get information out of him after that.”

         She climbed onto the bike and motioned for me to follow suit.  I climbed on.  She looked back at me. 

“He attacked me because Jack paid him to do it.  By flying that tail, they know not to mess with me again.”

With that, she started the motorcycle and we took off.  I felt numb.  Red had told the FBI was that Socks attacked her.  The story Socks told us wolves was MUCH different than that.  Socks went to the jailhouse for a while after that.  Nobody had said anything about Jack being involved.  But then, Jack was Socks’ lawyer, too.  If this story was true, he was probably afraid to say anything.

After a while, we came to a fork in the road.  We took the least travelled path.  We rode along it until we came to the top of a hill, and then pulled over.  Red hid the bike in amongst the bushes. 

The view from the hilltop was spectacular.  About halfway down the hill, I saw the homes of the cliffdwellers.  For whatever reason, building homes high in the air is supposed to equate with wealth.  I never figured that one out. 

Red disconnected her basket from her bike.  Then she carefully began to thread her way through the bushes and down the hill. 

I grabbed her shoulder.  “What else?”

“What do you mean?”  she asked.

“There’s more to this story.  I need to know!”

Red sighed.  “Ok, I’ll tell you as we work our way down.” 

By the time we arrived outside the walled complex of Jack’s mansion, my head was spinning.  Red’s story, as best as I could understand it was something like this: 

Three years ago Jack offered to buy Granny’s home from her.  She refused.  About once every couple of months after that, he would offer her some more.  She kept refusing.  Granny finally told Red about it when Jack’s tone no longer seemed friendly and the offers became more threatening.  Red started doing research and discovered that buyers had been buying up property along a huge swath of forest, and Granny’s house was right smack dab in the middle of it.  A few of the pieces of property were bought by Jack himself. The rest were purchased by different people.  Red had reason to believe they were all working for an umbrella corporation. 

Socks was paid to take Red out, since Red stood to inherit Granny’s home.  Jack didn’t want anyone to own it.  They were the last holdouts in this long section of Forest that was being bought up.  If both she and Granny were gone, then it would revert to the Forest and he would be able to get it cheap.  So Jack, wanting Socks to prove his loyalty after his jail stint, made him kill Granny.  The Woodcutter, who thought all wolves looked alike, DID see a wolf leaving the scene of the crime.  Later, while I was sleeping, Socks axed the woodcutter.  He came to my den and hid the murder weapon that killed Granny there.          

I guessed it made sense, but I still didn’t understand the why portion.  WHY was it necessary for Jack to have this section of the Forest?  Why would he do or order such horrible things?  And the Pig Sauer…  How did he know to link that to me?          

“I don’t know about the gun part,” Red admitted.  “But I do know the WHY part.  Look!  We’re here!  Let’s get inside and I’ll let the proof speak for itself.”

As we carefully climbed the wall and jumped over onto the manicured lawn, I whispered, “Red, just what is it exactly that you expect me to be able to help you do?”

“Socks is here somewhere.  You need to neutralize him in some way.  I barely survived our last encounter.  You’re, shall we say, better equipped… to handle him.  If Jack is here, I’ll take care of him.”

“But but bbut, “ I spluttered in protest.

“Shssh!”  she put her finger to her lips.

“I don’t have an aggressive bone in my body,” I hissed quietly.

“That’s not what the Piggies say,” she winked. 

She crept forward until she came to an open spot.  Then she did a quick stooped-over dash to the cover of an immense statue.  She repeated the same maneuver several times to various bushes, garden ornaments and such until she got to the side of a building and motioned for me to follow suit.  I held my breath and raced along her helter skelter path in the same ungainly fashion. 

“Boost me up,” she ordered.

I got on all four paws and she stepped onto my back to reach an overhanging balcony.  She pushed her basket between the columns and climbed over the rail carefully.  I jumped up there with her.  Humans can’t jump to save their lives, I noted.  In front of us was a set of French doors.  Gingerbread Man climbed out of the basket and carefully slid a thin metal wire into the lock on the door and jiggled it about for a bit.  We heard the latch click, a small metallic sound.  Quietly, Red pushed open the door.  We all peered inside. 

Inside was a giant, lavishly decorated boudoir.  Asleep on the bed was a girl with golden curls.  She looked quite lovely and angelic lying there.  Hood motioned for us to go on.  We crept past the slumbering figure of femininity.

My heart was racing as we went from room to room doing our search.  If there was a pile of papers, Red was inspecting it.  If there was mail, she was seeing who it was from. 

“How many rooms does this place have?!!”  I asked.  I was getting antsy.

“I don’t know.  I read in Who’s Whoot something like 30 or so.”

“Dammit, Red, we’ll be here all night, at that rate!”

“No, we just need to find his study.  His safe should be in there.”

Extended bouts of adrenaline don’t do my system much good.  My senses start to go haywire.  I was getting jumpy over the teeniest thing.

After what seemed like an eternity, we finally found Jack’s study.  Red had put Gingerbread Man to work again, and I watched the little larcenous miscreant in fascination.  It didn’t take long before he had the safe open and the two were rifling through the contents of the safe. 

As they were going through various stacks and boxes of paperwork, I saw this beautiful golden harp leaning to one side, near a wire cage.  On top of the harp was the face of a beautifully carved woman.  The harp’s eyes flashed open, when Red inadvertently bumped it.  The harp let out a screech and started singing in an extremely amplified voice.

“Master, Master!  Saaaave me!  Hellllp hellllp!!”

Next thing I knew, I was blindsided, with teeth at my throat.  I yelped, rolled over and lashed back.  It was Socks, and we were going at it tooth and claw.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Red frantically searching through the paperwork.

“Buy me some time, Double B, buy me some time!!!” she urged, desperately.

I tossed Socks off me and we began to circle each other, growling deep in our throats.  I heard footsteps coming down the hall.  Two pairs of them, from the sound of it.  Things were going from bad to worse.

I never liked Socks much, since he tended to be a blowhard.  Now that I knew he had been lying all those years, I liked him even less.  I lunged quickly for his throat, grabbed him and knocked his head against the desk.  Socks went limp.

No sooner had I knocked out Socks, when the door was thrown open, and in strode Jack and Agent Third Little Pig.  Both of them had guns pointed at us.

“Hands and paws up!  Now!”  the Piggy squealed.

Jack lifted up his arm.  In his hand were some papers.  “Looking for this?” He asked.

Red’s eyes narrowed.  “The plans for the freeway, I suspect,” she said.

“Very good, Red,” Jack said.  “You’ve got good contacts.”

“I don’t wear glasses,” she replied.

“Wait,” I said. “Freeway?  What freeway?”

“Jack here has people on the inside on the city’s planning board.  They are planning on putting a freeway through the Forest, and Jack and his cronies are trying to make a fortune off the land, when the city buys it from them.”

“But I haven’t heard of any freeway plans.  Why hasn’t that been in the papers?” 

“Because the board is composed of people Jack and his cronies put there.  They will be making a recommendation for the freeway next week as a way to put an end to traffic problems in the Forest, and of course everyone will vote yes on the idea.”

“What does that have to do with me?” I asked.



Red Riding Hood gave an exasperated sigh.  “Weren’t you listening to me before, Big Bad?  Jack needs the land my Granny lived on for his stupid freeway.  He had my Granny killed so that they could get their hands on that land!”

Just then, the golden haired angel that was asleep on the bed sauntered into the room.  She slid her hand around Jack’s waist.  “What’s going on, baby?” she asked in a husky voice.

“Who are you?”  I asked the blonde bombshell.

She sashayed over to where I stood and rubbed me behind the ears.  “Oh Wolfie, you don’t know me.  I’m very close… friends… with Mr. Jack Giant Slayer here,” she giggled.  “A friend of mine bought your Pig Sauer a couple of years ago.  I knew it might come in handy some day, so I kept hold of it.”  She tweaked the tip of my ear. 

“Why?” I asked. 

“Well, darling, I knew we would need a fall guy, should we have to rub out Red’s grandmother.  Everyone knows wolves are dangerous.  You indirectly provided us with a murder weapon and the perp,” she smiled a toothy, almost winsome smile.

She spied the Gingerbread Man and picked him up.

“Ow!  Don’t girl-handle me!” he protested.

         “Ginger!  What are you doing here?”  She shrugged daintily.  “No matter.  I’m hungry.  And I’m all out of porridge!”

The Gingerbread Man’s head was on a bee-line course to the girl’s mouth. I grabbed her and put my teeth to her throat. 

“Let him go!”  I said.

“Put down the guns,” Red said to Jack and Agent Third Little Pig.

“Shoot him!” the girl with golden locks said. 

Jack hesitated for only a second and fired.  As he was firing, Agent Third Little Pig’s own gun was coming down on Jack’s head.

Fortunately, Jack missed.  Or at least we thought so.  We heard a tiny wail.

“Not the gumdrop button!” I turned and saw the Gingerbread man holding melted sugar in his arms.  The bullet was lodged in the wall behind him.

The girl with the golden locks struggled to break free of my grip.  The pig started walking determinedly my direction. 

Agent Pig grabbed the girl.  He started cuffing her.

“You bastard Pig!  What have you done!  Jack was paying you well!”  she screamed.

“Goldilocks, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder.”

I sat down heavily.  Red came over and patted my arm. 

“It’s over,” she said.

“But I thought the Third Little Pig thought I did it!  He nearly clobbered me in the jailhouse!”

“Agent Pig was my inside man,” Red explained.

“But what about the Straw Pig incident?  Pigs hate wolves!  Hell, Third Little Pig is one of the First Little Pig’s brothers!  Why would Agent Pig help me?”

“Because I found out that his brother’s Straw House was also in the way of this freeway.  I gave him enough circumstantial evidence that he was convinced.  Third Little Pig is the level-headed one out of his brothers.  He listened.  But I had to get him where he could do more damage.  He went to work for the Bureau with his brother and a cousin and started working for Jack under the table. It was all part of the plan to expose Jack and his cronies.”

“If Pig believed you, then why didn’t he exonerate the other Big Bad?”

“He couldn’t.  Not without giving his suspicions concerning Jack.  Now that this is all over, he will.  Hopefully the damage done between Wolf and Pig relations can be repaired.  It was all a horrible ruse perpetrated by Jack and Goldilocks.”

“So how did you find out about the freeway?  I mean, how did you KNOW all this stuff?” 

“I told her,” said the Gingerbread Man.  He was carefully trying to smear some icing to cover the hole where the bullet had nicked his belly.

“No one ever pays me much attention, because I’m so small.  I work in people’s houses and kitchens.  I hear things.  I see things.  But Red was one of the few who treated me like a person and didn’t want to eat me or make me work when I met her.  So when I heard what they were planning to do to her Granny, I told her.” 

He looked up at me.  “Thanks for saving my crust, Double B.”

Agent Papa Bear’s considerable bulk waded into the room.  He surveyed  the damage.  He nodded at Red and Ginger and me. 

“Get outta here,” he said.

Red picked up the Gingerbread Man and put him in her pocket.  We climbed back up the hillside to Red’s motorbike and clambered aboard.  I took one last look down at the mansion that Jack built.

“I wonder where he kept the Goose?” I said rhetorically.  “I would have liked to have seen one of those Golden Eggs.”

Red Riding Hood and the Gingerbread Man laughed.  She reattached the basket.  I heard a muffled honking noise come from inside the basket.  She kick started the hawg and we rode off, just as sunrise started creeping over the horizon.  I smiled a wolfish grin, as only a wolf can.