Milton jogged to keep up with the Nimmo's long strides, the Meercas tiny legs
barely able to match Mr. Rodgers speed. Mr. Rodgers glanced down at Milton and
smiled, and gestured gracefully to the truck Milton was to be trusted with for
his very first day. Milton gasped when he saw the strongest looking vehicle
he had ever seen. Not a single banana-peel remained in the large pool-sized
metal hollow the garbage slimed into on Tuesday mornings. Not even the smell
wafted into Milton's little pink nose. Not a single scratch on any of the doors
of roughed the surface,or the fine coat of paint. Only when Milton bent down
to examine the tyres of the magnificent GT1001, he saw a few hubcaps were loose
and were threatening to fall off. Milton frowned slightly and his broad grin
faltered more in confusion rather than annoyance.
"Mr. Rodgers, the hubcaps are loose on this one, I'd hate to damage this beautiful
Garbage Truck (or anything else) if the tyre came off whilst I drive."
Mr. Rodgers mimicked Milton's expression, and also bent down to confirm if
this was true.
"Hmm, I'll have to get that seen to," Rodgers exclaimed, as he pushed up his
glasses with two lean fingers.
"I shall let you drive Ol' Betsy for the day Mr. Meerca. And next Tuesday,
you may have our most favoured GT1001. Be careful with Ol' Betsy now, she's
a hard handler." The Nimmo smiled and he patted Ol' Betsy's grubby side. A hand-print
emerged from the dust. Milton grinned. This truck must be great for hiking around.
As a key jingled and was placed into Milton's outstretched paw, and Rodgers
footsteps were safely thumping in the opposite direction, Bolanski leapt to
his feet and sprinted, not wishing to be caught anywhere near the area.
THUD
Bolanski collided head on, and nearly bowled Milton Meerca over.
"Whoa, slow down there buddy!"
Milton chortled as he straightened himself. Bolanski grunted. He was panting
too heavily in exasperation and panic to talk. He didn't have time to chat with
some Meerca anyway! Bolanski shoved Milton out of the way and kept running until
he could no longer be seen from the isles in the car-park.
Milton shrugged, and clambered into Ol' Betsy. He remembered the driving lessons
his dad gave him when he was 12. He slipped the key in the ignition, and after
that, it all went smoothly.
Well, the start did. The tyres rolled powerfully around the corner as he slowly
drove out of the area and up a hill to start his journey down town.
Yet when the ground evened out, Ol' Betsy bounced around on the new coat of
gravel the government applied last week.
Milton felt sick, and when the rough road was through, he looked around the
front part of his truck.
He steering-wheel had a thick chain where Milton's stubby paws were, the whole
inside of Ol' Betsy consisted of leather, except for the piece of paper in the
drink holder, and a date branded in black paint that read: Ol' Betsy, 1969.
Milton gasped at the date. Was this machine really over four decades old!?
With trembling fingers Milton opened the letter addressed to Mr. Rodgers He
obviously had read it and forgot to bring it inside the office that day.
Mr. Rodgers,
The museum has agreed to place Old Betsy in the
car section. We will pay you no more than 30,000 NP for it. Please drive it
to the museum's public car-lot on Monday, where we can exchange treasures.
Sincerely,
I . P .Nicely
Milton's head swam as the tyres creaked. This was bad.
Only when he glanced up at the agreement forms onto the road, he saw a Mallard
running for his life with a bunch of eggs firmly in his arms. Milton threw himself
on the wheel and spun it left. The screeching of the tires pressed down upon
Milton. Mallard dropped the eggs when the tyre approached him, but they only
broke when the spinning black wheel drove over them with a loud crunch.
Mallards eyes filled with water and his bottom beak trembled. He only felt
better when one of the tyres rolled off and the truck spun out of control, headed
for the gully.
Milton squealed and rolled the window down, not hesitating for a moment to
leap out as Ol' Betsy teetered, and descended down the deep gully. The crunches
and sound of scraping metal made Milton shiver, and as a cloud of dust drifted
at Milton's feet, he knew he was in trouble once more.
He ran for it. He didn't pause to allow his burning limbs some rest, his didn't
pause to allow his lungs to recover. He just ran as fast as his little legs
could carry him. Mallard shook with anger. He honked after the Meerca, his wing
clenched like a fist as he shook it in Milton's direction. This was war! And
Mallard had a plan of destruction...
***
Yet another troublesome obstacle blocked Milton's road of progress, and a
thorough state of depression overtook him as the Meerca glumly padded past the
ashes of what used to be his home. He leaned against a metal pole that still
supported the bright yellow police tape. Yet this time there was no commotion,
or anyone in sight. Milton ducked under the tape, and plonked down upon an ash-covered
rock. He was definitely going to have to skip town. Perhaps the country... maybe
even the world!
Milton thought of the possibility of getting a job at the space station with
all the slave Grundos. It just pressed more depression to Milton's troubled
heart.
The ash was fluttering up to his nose as he breathed, and naturally, Milton
sneezed. The force caused him to topple off and backwards into the soot. He
spluttered as ash coated his fur. He struggled to his feet, finally able to
control himself, when he saw what he'd been sitting on was uncovered.
It was a soup pot.
***
Alfreido light himself another cigar on his heavily furnished porch. He issued
a puff of smoke, and returned to reading his people in debt list.
He chuckled in cruel amusement on how many people owed him a lot of Neopoints.
The sound of a trickling fountain was drowned out by the songs of exotic birds
in his house of luxury. Alfreido tucked the papers safely in his oak-wood draws,
and picked up the newspaper he had dug out from the depths of his mailbox earlier
on in the afternoon.
"Garbage Truck
destroyed by a Meerca and dumped in Gallbridge Gully"
Read the headlines. Alfreido frowned slightly as his eyes wandered to the small
black and white print of a Meerca. Somehow this Meerca seemed familiar... yet
Alfreido didn't recall ever meeting a Meerca under this description.
Meerca...
He contemplated and peeked over the top of his newspaper out onto his lawn.
A very strange Mallard dragged fallen branches from Alfreido's exotic palm trees,
and dragged up colourful plastic rings from Alfreido's lengthy swimming pool.
Alfreido gaped as he saw what the Mallard was assembling. It resembled a very
roughly built catapult.
The green Mallard used its beady blue eyes to spot a passing Slugawoo, and
it took note of the murky green shell. The next thing the innocent mollusk knew,
it was being flung nine feet into the air and up over the neighbours fence.
The Mallard frowned and continued scrounging around the area for improvement
material, obviously dissatisfied with the catapults trigger reaction. Alfreido
rubbed his wary eyes, and slicked back the single grey hair that was perched
on-top of his head.
He was getting too old for this.
***
Milton couldn't stop staring at the laminated name-tag he had found under the
pot he found himself sitting on. The plastic was melted and warped, but Milton
could still read the address underneath the plastic exterior. Perhaps he could
now return the pot. He knew for a fact he wasn't the only one in the flat with
a cooking pot.
Milton squinted. He still couldn't make out the name, but as he made his way
up the stony path, he had no time to ponder. This guy was lucky to have such
a house. The tall brick walls and pot plants were nice at the front, but through
the window he could see the house was like that of a palace. Crimson walls and
carpet supplied the base colour of the lovely home. A fireplace was situated
in every room Milton could see.
Milton sighed, and continued about his way to the front door. No one appeared
to be home, and as he bent down to place the pot and name tag on the doorstep,
he heard a ping from the distance, and felt the force of some flying object
colliding with the back of his head. He fell forwards and got his head nicely
stuck inside the pot, as a frightened Slugawoo withdrew into his shell and shattered
the front window.
An alarm screeched. Milton's ears arched in alarm the noise was so loud it
could awaken the dead, even if your head was stuck in a soup pot! He scrambled
to his feet, and blindly seeing nothing but the dark inside of the pot, he ran.
He kept banging into trees, or slipping more on gravel, but he got out of there
just as he heard the roaring sirens of the police zoom past him and into the
distance.
How exactly Milton managed to stagger into a hardware store and get help from
the shop assistant to drill eyes into the pot so Milton could see, he didn't
know. All he knew is he had to get a loan, and fast. He didn't want to live
a lie. Milton decided to leave it until tomorrow, so things could die down a
little.
With a permanent marker Milton drew a crude face so he didn't look too suspicious.
He felt like Darth Vader when he breathed in a muffled-sort-of-way within the
pot. Even when he found his way into the Helpful-Loans No questions asked building
and asked reception where he could go to get a loan instantly, he got the odd
look or two from staff members.
When he closed the door with a quiet click, he once more felt like a flea in
an clean office. At the desk, was a man who had his back to Milton, and was
yaking on a cellphone.
"Yeah, dat's right Alfi, someone-" The back of the chair wheeled around, and
Milton locked eyes with Ryan Bolanski. Milton gaped. Perhaps instead of a loan
he could teach this guy some manners?
"I'll call ya back Alfi, I gots someone in my office." Bolanski muttered and
turned his cell-phone off. He placed it on his desk and put on a fake smile.
"Hey there, sorry about the hold up. Someone tried to break into my house
yesterday. I'm Ryan Bolanski,"
Bolanski held out a scaly hand, and Milton stifled a panicked gasp. Milton
stuttered in a muffled voice: "Did they take anything?"
"Nah, they just broke the window. And ran when they heard the cops." Bolanski
sighed.
"Sorry young man, I got no money today, if you come back same time tomorrow
then maybe I can give you a loan, but I just got to sort out some stuff first."
Bolanski got up, which indicated he want Milton to leave.
"Was your house by any chance brick one?" Milton blurted out, refusing to
believe what he was hearing. This was too uncanny.
Bolanski frowned and looked as though he was about to say yes, when a familiar
ping was heard in the distance, and a ball of green feathers screamed in rage
as it shot through the open window. It was no doubt Mallard, wearing a wooden
helmet. The Petpet ricochet of the smooth white walls and bounced around the
room.
The angry murderous quacks could be heard through Milton's pot-of-a-head as
the Mallard tried to bite him as he continued bouncing in all directions. Milton
ducked to avoid a front on beak attack, and Mallard instead collided with Ryan
Bolanski, who fell unconscious to the floor, a single not pad and pen toppled
out of his pocket. Mallard rebounded off Bolanski and hit the back of Milton's
head with tremendous force. The soup-pot cracked down the back and slid off
Milton's troubled furry face, landing with a soft thud on Bolanski's personal
favourite blue crosshatch carpet. Milton chewed his nails, trying to think quickly
on what to do. Bolanski lay in front of him, his scaly arms stuck out on odd
angles.
Mallard sat in the corner, and swayed slowly, as though he was very dizzy.
Milton spun on his heel and strode out of the office. He tripped on the notepad
and heard a slip of paper rip from the base and attach itself to Milton's sweaty
foot, where it stayed. Milton grabbed it, and saw a to-do list. Milton hurriedly
crumpled it and threw it on the ground.
He then saw a glimpse of a word that caused him to dive at the paper and shove
it in his pocket, before he zoomed downstairs and out the building. Like he
usually did when he was escaping, he didn't glance once at the people who were
probably staring confused at him from behind the Loan building window.
Mallard honked and leapt from the windowsill. He fluttered onto Milton's vulnerable
head and pecked at it with rage. Milton swiped with his stubby paw at the tedious
Petpet, his little legs strained to work properly due to their overuse in the
past week or so. Milton toppled to the ground, and Mallard continued quacking
and pecking at the cowering Meerca, until he collapsed and panted warily on
Milton's back.
The thought never occurred to the enraged Mallard to just go and steal some
new eggs to hatch into his friends, yet Mallard did not feel completely satisfied
with his revenge until Milton left town, so he could never threaten Mallards
adopted friends again.
Seizing the opportunity in the birds exhaustion, Milton lurched forward and
Mallard tumbled off and onto the tiny garden fence below. The Meerca ran into
the public bathroom and shut the door. The square slab of concrete was Milton's
only sanctuary against the honking Petpet. Little Milton shivered in the dim
light and huddled in a corner to read the list from Ryan Bolanski's notepad.
***
"Right, so this 'Ryan Bolanski' guy burned down the apartment building on
FruitLane, and checked it off on his To-do list."
A policewoman outside the station exclaimed with raised eyebrows.
"Yes! Just look at the list!
Take out trash, Buy groceries, Burn down Apartment building for insurance money,
Walk Hassee...
It's all there!"
Milton argued; his face flushed in exasperation. The policewoman shook her
sleek Gelert head.
"I'll need more evidence then a list that could have been forged anyway, to
press charges sir."
Milton's eyes flashed angrily.
"LISTEN, this week I have had my apartment burned down, chased by police,
driving to the Garbage Corporation in a GARBAGE TRUCK, gotten a job there, givin'
an OLD truck, crushed a Mallards eggs and drivin' it down a gully, pecked, lost,
stuck in SOUP POTS!!" Milton panted, his face contorted in rage.
"And when I find the SINGLE piece of evidence that links the actual crime-dooer
to all my misadventures, I NEED MORE EVIDENCE? Well-well, poo to you with nobs
on!!!!" Milton screamed as he flung his arms in the air. By the expression on
the police woman's face, Milton knew he had said too much. He grinned timidly,
as the police woman drew out he handcuffs and advanced on Milton. He shook his
head, his green eyes wide, and like he always did in the face of danger, he
ran. Ran as fast as his legs could carry him, the pounding of many feet from
the police force in hot pursuit. If he had thought he was in trouble before,
it was nothing compared to the trouble he was in now.
***
"Aiya!" Alfreido burst out, as the familiar feeling returned to him. His group
of card players jumped.
"Mr. Milton Meerca! OF COURSE!"
Alfreido threw his cigar onto the ground, and motioned for the group to follow.
Bolanski frowned and hurried to his side from the rippling ocean of followers.
"Alfi, who's dis Meerca guy? Where are we goin'?"
Alfreido looked down upon Bolanski.
"Thisa isa the guy whoa owes mea a lota money! Nota only did I fixa his VCR,
but with alla the crimes he'sa been up to, like setting his apartmenta ona fire,
maybe after he's outa jail we cana have hima joina us!"
Bolanski looked outraged as the large group of mafia members billowed their
long coats as they moved.
"But Alfi, I set fire to da apartment building! When I came home from our
little card game I saw dis guy on the porch, and so I used my master key to
get into his apartment, then I set fire to his curtains with my lighter you
used to light your cigar!
I loosened the guy's tires and made this Meerca get the old garbage truck
to drive down a gully, I had to do a whole heap of stuff to make you se I'M
TOUGH ENOUGH TO BE IN DA GANG!!"
Bolanski found his chest heaving with emotion. Why did the MEERCA get the credit
for his doings? Yet when Alfreido laughed like he often did, Bolanski's emotions
immediately derailed and turned to curiosity.
"Youra funny mana, so I tinka I cana let you ina too." Alfreido smiled. Bolanski
goggled, unsure what to say. He just followed Alfreido in admiration, as the
large group of thugs drew their weapons, and blocked off the middle of the road.
"Nowa we justa wait for a this guy to turna up. He'll paya us." Alfreido muttered,
his yees on the distant blur of a yellow blob being chased by a big bunch of
people in blue....
Milton panted, his lungs raw, and his limbs aching. He couldn't run much longer.
He neared the road that lead to the bridge, he'd be safe! He could jump into
the river from the bridge! But no.
Ahead of him stood a large bunch of people, all in long coats with matching
hats that shaded their features.
Behind him was the army of good, all speeding toward him, the shimmer of handcuffs
and stun-guns caused Milton's heart to jolt.
"YOU!" Milton screamed at Alfreido.
"Oh no, can I pay you later? I'm in a spot of trouble!" Milton began to sweat
when Alfreido laughed, and the police drew near.
"I think I've waited longa enougha."
"GET OUT OF THE WAY!!"
The recruits drew their weapons, and when the police caught up not a moment
too soon, they all stood silently behind Milton, not a sound escaped anyone
lips.
Both groups of people had the exact same expression of surprise. All had not
expected this. Milton stood silently in the middle, like the only barrier warding
off the urge to arrest. The wanted posters on shop windows probably helped the
police confirm, these are the guys they'd been after for years.
A ping from the distance was noticeable, and Mallard once more flew through
the air at the most inappropriate of times.
The Mallard grasped Milton's ear in his firm beak, and pulled. Milton keeled
over backwards and grappled with the Mallard to ward him off. This broke the
trance of the people, and they merged, police brandished their handcuffs and
stun guns, the Mafia loaded their Improved Lightning beams and battle attacks.
The shouts were incredibly loud, especially for the Mallard and Milton, who
were crouched in the sea of legs that surrounded them. Milton gestured to call
a truce, and the Mallards faint honk could be heard in Milton's bent ear. Mallard
clamped onto Milton's tail, and he rolled. Milton rolled away form the commotion,
away from the fighting, away from the madness! This was the last straw! Milton
threw out his feet and began to walk instead of roll. He was leaving this town,
with Mallard still clutching on dazedly behind him. Their feud was over.
***
Milton sipped his hot Borovan and snuggled down into the warm leather couch
in his sisters house. Milton tightened his white bathrobe, and he fondly brushed
his fluffy yellow fur tentatively. He was finally clean, safe, and no longer
was too worried about his debts. Mallard emerged from the hot-water-bottle-cupboard
after checking on his new batch of eggs Jane Meerca had managed to purchase
at the poultry shop. Mallard was also wearing a tiny white bathrobe Jane had
made herself. Mallard joined Milton on watching TV, and Jane's little blue head
poked out from the kitchen door.
"Do you want any mushrooms in your soup Milton?" she asked kindly.
"No thank you." Milton smiled. He knew he could depend on Jane. Milton sighed
and removed the To-do list from his jacket on the table beside him. He looked
sadly at it. What a way to start a life on your own. The lotto ad came on. The
blonde Acara grinned cheesily at him through the screen. Milton tried to unfold
the dog-ear on the paper, when he noticed the colours on the other side.
"21, 60, 92..."
Milton blinked.
The cello tape holding the lotto ticket on the back was falling off, and Milton's
heart leapt when he saw the first three numbers. He ripped off the cello tape
and held the ticket in his hand, he looked determinedly at the TV, listening
as hard as he could. Mallard dipped his beak in Milton's untouched cup of Borovan.
"40, 78, 53, 12, 33, 24 and..."
Milton held his breath.
"03! Congratulations to all winners, please come to claim your prize of 19
0,000,000 Neopoints jackpot tomorrow morning when the booth opens."
Milton found himself drooping in a numb disbelief. He came so close to winning...
and he did.
The End | 
