The Ones You Call When Everyone Else is Busy (11)

Meanwhile…

Matt and Malcolm Mullins were happily eating a dinner of fried chicken while most of the puppies and dogs quivered expectantly, waiting for them to drop some chicken on the floor. Matt and Malcom weren’t known for being the neatest diners.  Some of the puppies lay on the ground, heads on their paws, looking sad. Chewy was one of them. “Hey Matt, don’t you think that some of these puppies look sad and some look happy?” “Yeah, the sad ones are the ones we took, and the happy ones are the ones we found.” “Why do you think they’re sad? I stole them some food and toys and treats.” “Maybe they miss someone.” “I didn’t even know dogs could think. We should get a dog after we drive to Hawaii if they have dogs there.” “Of course, they have dogs there, Malcolm; it’s just another country, not another planet.” “Right, I can be so dumb sometimes. Hey Matt, do you think they have dogs on Mars?”  “Yeah, I heard all about one, its name is Rover.”  After that less than brilliant discussion, their cell phone rang again. Matt left the room to answer it. This time, he forgot to close the door all the way.

“Yeah boss?” “Have you two dismal dimwits finally finished your enterprising errand?” The dogs barked in the next room, letting off a cacophony of sound that echoed off the walls of the empty factory. Matt hurried to shut the door. “Did I hear a bunch of boisterous barking?” “N…n….no boss. It was just some dogs outside.” “A piercing pack of disorderly dogs just happened by?” “Matt yeah boss, what’s that Malcolm? You think you hit concrete? I’m on my way. Sorry boss I gotta go.”  Maniac Mike Mullins was less than perfectly pleased. “I guess I have to wander over to the scandalous scene tomorrow to see just what the dubiously dynamic duo is doing.” Maniac Mike said to himself.

Before he called to check on his corrupt cousins who were following his dastardly dirty directions, Maniac Mike had been gleeful and giddy. He had checked his e-mail and found that a cluster of corrupt criminals had replied to his atrocious advertisement. There would be a massive mob of mischief-making miscreants in Middleville. He even had the name already picked out, Middleville’s InfaMous  EvildoerS – it would spell MIMES – because Maniac Mike Mullins, who feared very little, thought mimes were the most terrifying things on earth and his group needed to be terrifying so no one would mess with them.