Hollywood Showdown

by Gareth P. Jones

  “Hmm. Chip … that name sounds familiar,” said Chuck. “We have learned that the Ringmaster is involved in making the film, but we are not sure what his plan is. Can you get here as soon as possible? We need your inventive genius, Donnie.”

  Chuck found the scrapyard’s address on a letter on the desk, read it out, then hung up.

  “Hey, look, it’s that dog-trainer woman again,” said Bruce, pointing at the TV.

  Chuck turned up the volume, and both meerkats watched the footage of Honor Longlead shaking hands with a tall, smartly dressed man.

  “Hollywood insiders say that Chip O’Lata, the president’s pet sausage dog, has landed a role in a major movie,” said a reporter.

  “The president’s dog! Of course, I thought I had heard that name before,” said Chuck. “But like a jigsaw puzzle short of a piece, the picture is still not clear.”

  When the news feature ended, Chuck and Bruce waited for the others in the deserted scrapyard. Chuck found a spot where he could sit and meditate, while Bruce avidly read the film script, occasionally muttering things like, “Cool,” or, “That’ll look amazing.”

  By the time Jet and Donnie arrived in their poodle costume on wheels, Bruce had finished reading. “This is going to be a fantastic film,” he told them. “And I know where they’re going to make it—the studio’s address is written on the last page.”

  Chuck smiled. “Very good. Then that is where we shall go. We are not all going to fit into the poodle costume, so we will need a different form of transportation. Donnie, do you think you can whip up something?”

  “In a scrapyard like this?” Donnie replied. “Let the hammering commence!”

  * * *

  It didn’t take long for Donnie to get an old hot-dog van (complete with a huge plastic hot dog on top) working again. With Bruce’s help he fitted new tires, and got Jet to screw them into place with one of his Twist-Turn Lunges. This involved diving at the wheels at great speed, then jumping into a horizontal spin to fix the tire in place. Once that was done, Chuck added long blocks of wood to the pedals so they could control them while still being able to steer and see through the windscreen. The finishing touch was the motor, fine-tuned by Donnie.

  The ninja meerkats were ready to go.

  Navigating the streets of L.A. is no easy feat, but with the help of the map on Donnie’s phone, they soon found themselves outside the huge gates of the film studios. Chuck stopped the van in front of the intercom, and Jet jumped up and punched the button.

  “Yes?” said a female voice.

  “We’re caterers,” said Chuck.

  “What production are you here for?” the bored-sounding woman asked.

  “Evil Plots and Good Dogs,” said Bruce.

  “Go on in,” she said. “You need warehouse sixty-six. You can’t miss it. It has a big sixty-six on the side. If you see sixty-five, you need to go farther. If you see sixty-seven, you’ve gone too far.”

  The gates clicked open and Chuck drove the van inside.

  “All my favorite films were made here! This is so exciting!” said Bruce.

  “Oh yeah,” said Donnie. “A load of warehouses with numbers on them, really exciting. Remind me to book my holiday here next year.”

  Chuck parked the van alongside the warehouse with the large 66 on the side. The meerkats jumped out, scurried over to the building, and peered around the corner at the entrance. A couple of scruffily dressed men were unpacking bits of film equipment out of a van nearby.

  “This new director seems pretty far out,” said one of the men, heaving a large metal trunk out of the back of the van.

  “What do you mean, dude?” said the other, giving him a hand.

  “Like, just because this scene is set in a circus he’s got all the crew to dress up as circus acts. Anyone who isn’t dressed in circus gear isn’t allowed on set while they’re filming. That’s pretty weird.”

  “Yeah, that is pretty weird. Hey, let’s take a break. My arms are killing me.” They put the trunk down.

  “This is our chance,” whispered Chuck.

  While the men weren’t looking, the meerkats dashed over to the trunk, pushed open the lid, and crammed in amongst the equipment inside.

  “Come on, we’d better get moving,” said the first man. “We’ve got to get this stuff inside and then clear the area.”

  “OK, OK,” said the other guy.

  Once the trunk had come to rest again, Bruce lifted the lid a fraction and they all peeped out.

  “Wow,” said Jet.

  If they hadn’t known otherwise, they would have been sure they were in the Ringmaster’s circus tent. Everything was perfectly recreated, from the trapezes that hung from the ceiling (complete with the Von Trapeze family, who were rehearsing up above) to the sawdust on the ground. And the meerkats instantly recognized the film crew.

  “The Ringmaster’s got all his goons working here,” said Chuck.

  The clowns were present, as was Herr Flick, the knife thrower. There was also a new guy pedalling backward and forward on a unicycle, carrying a microphone on a long boom pole to keep his balance.

  “Hey, there’s Vin,” gasped Bruce.

  The actor was pacing the set, dressed as an acrobat. He was holding a script, and was practicing his lines.

  “And Doris,” Jet pointed out.

  The dancing dog was on a director’s chair, having her fur brushed by Honor Longlead.

  “Yeah, the first scene has Vin and two dogs in it,” said Bruce, remembering what he’d read. “I wonder where the other one is.”

  The Ringmaster appeared and took his place in the center of the fake circus tent, a sinister smile on his face.

  After a moment, he clapped his hands. “Positions, everyone! We’ll film the first scene shortly. But first, I have an announcement. Today, we have a special guest joining us.”

  Suddenly, a dozen or so men dressed in black suits and sunglasses marched into the room. Doris barked, but the Ringmaster raised a hand. “Please don’t be alarmed, Doris. The security is completely necessary. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I give you the President of the United States of America, and his dog Chip O’Lata, who will be starring in this film.”

  The circus goons applauded as the president strolled into the room carrying Chip. “Thank you all so much for this. Chip’s always wanted to act. This means a lot to him.”

  “It is our pleasure entirely, Mr. President,” replied the Ringmaster.

  “And thanks to you, Honor, for helping Chip with his acting this morning,” added the president.

  “You’re quite welcome, Mr. P— I mean Jim.” Honor smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be great in the scene.”

  “And Mr. Pain. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the president said. “I’m a huge fan.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” said Vin, shaking his hand.

  “Very good,” cried the Ringmaster. “We have our actors, we have our crew. We have the president and his excellent security men. It seems that the scene is set. Let’s make movie history. Lights!”

  Suddenly, the lights went out.

  Cries of, “What’s going on?” and, “Hey, if this is a joke, it ain’t funny,” filled the studio, followed by the THUD THUD THUD of bodies falling to the ground.

  When the lights came back on, all the security men were lying unconscious on the floor, and the president was being held by Sheffield and Grimsby, his hands tied behind his back.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded.

  “Oh, it’s quite simple,” said the Ringmaster with a menacing grin. “Kidnap and ransom, Mr. President. Kidnap and ransom.”

  “What do you want?” the president cried, struggling against his captors.

  “Wealth, power, and control of the WORLD, of course!” the Ringmaster replied.

  “Honor! Vin! Get help!” the president pleaded.

  Vin merely rifled the pages of his script, looking confused, but Honor laughed.

  “Help, Jim?”
she replied with a smirk. “Why would I call for help when the Ringmaster has promised to pay me half the money we get for your ransom?”

  The president looked defiant. “So that’s it. You expect my country to pay for my life?”

  “That’s stage one,” said the Ringmaster. “I will demand billions of dollars for your safe return and then I’ll use it to run in the election to become the next President of the United States.”

  “Ha! Why would anyone vote for you once they find out that you kidnapped me?” scoffed the president.

  The Ringmaster laughed. “Let me introduce you to my newest recruit,” he said, turning to the man on the unicycle. “Hans Free—Dutch unicyclist and hypnotist extraordinaire.”

  “Hypnotist? You’re planning on hypnotizing the whole United States? Don’t make me laugh,” said the president.

  “If I had wanted to make you laugh, I would have introduced you to the clowns, Mr. President,” the Ringmaster replied.

  “Hey, why do politicians always have such good shoes?” asked Grimsby.

  “So they can run for election,” said Sheffield.

  “Quiet, you two,” snapped the Ringmaster. He turned to the unicyclist. “Let’s see what you can do, Hans.”

  “Of course,” Hans replied. He pedalled over to the president, pulled a watch on a chain from his waistcoat pocket, and proceeded to swing it back and forth in front of the president’s eyes.

  “Your eyelids are growing heavy,” Hans chanted in a soothing voice.

  “What?” scoffed the president. “You expect me to feel sleepy, then do everything you say? This will never wo—” Suddenly, his eyes glazed over and he fell silent.

  “He’s under,” said Hans Free.

  “Excellent. Tell him what he’s going to do after his safe return,” said the Ringmaster.

  “Mr. President,” said Hans. “Once we have ransomed you for billions of dollars and you are back at the White House, you will announce that your ordeal has made you rethink your priorities and that you are standing down from politics to make way for a better man. You will tell the American people that they should place their trust in a new president by the name of the Ringmaster.”

  “The American people should place their trust in the Ringmaster,” echoed the president.

  “The American voters will be so impressed with the way you have dealt with your kidnapping they will be ready to listen to anything you say,” the Ringmaster said. “With the elections coming up, I will win by a landslide and become the most powerful man in the world.”

  Chip O’Lata growled angrily, but Doris leaped, snarling, into his path, keeping him at bay.

  “Is this part of the film?” asked Vin Pain. “Because I can’t find the page in my script.”

  “Oh yes, it’s all part of the film, Vin,” said the Ringmaster.

  “Mr. Pain, it’s time to throw away your script. This plot just got real,” said a voice from the corner of the studio.

  The Ringmaster and his cronies turned to see the four meerkats leaping out of the trunk in the corner.

  “The Clan of the Scorpion! Will I never be rid of you?” snarled the Ringmaster. “Get them!”

  Quick as a flash, the seven Von Trapeze children leaped into action. The older ones catapulted their younger siblings down at the meerkats from the trapezes above, then dived down themselves.

  “Aren’t they supposed to attack one at a time?” asked Vin, looking confused.

  “This isn’t a film, Vin,” cried Donnie, pulling a handful of marbles from his backpack. “This is really happening. Bruce, throw me!”

  Bruce ducked to avoid a kick to the head, then grabbed Donnie, spun around once, and hurled him up into the air. As he soared above their heads, Donnie threw the marbles so they scattered across the floor, tripping up three of the Von Trapezes.

  The youngest boy grabbed a large roll of film and flung it at Bruce. But Bruce caught it and sent it flying toward his opponent, knocking him backward.

  “That sent him reeling,” said Jet with a smirk. He landed a roundhouse kick on another one of the troupe. The acrobat stumbled backward and tripped over Chip O’Lata, who had jumped into his path.

  “Good work, Chip!” Jet cheered.

  The entire Von Trapeze family was now unconscious, but Hans Free was pedalling speedily toward the meerkats, his pocket watch at the ready. “You are all feeling very sleeeeepy,” he said.

  Chuck drew his sword. “Time to wake up and smell the ninjas,” he said, leaping into the air and slicing clean through the watch chain.

  Hans grabbed a nearby boom pole with a big furry microphone on the end, and swung it at Chuck and Jet. The meerkats jumped, avoiding being knocked off their feet, then ducked to dodge it a second time.

  “Talk about Ninja-boom!” said Jet.

  Chuck spun around and sliced the boom pole in half, causing Hans Free to wobble precariously on his unicycle. Jet then grabbed the remaining end of the pole and swung the unicyclist around, sending him clattering into a corner.

  “Now for the Ringmaster,” said Chuck. “Where is he?”

  “And the rest of his goons,” said Donnie.

  Chip O’Lata yelped and pointed at an open door on the other side of the set.

  “Quick, after him!” said Chuck.

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” said Honor, emerging from the darkness. She put a shiny whistle to her lips and gave it a quick blow.

  Suddenly, the air was filled with the sound of barking, and a pack of Dobermans raced into the room. Bud scooped Chip up in his teeth, holding the struggling sausage dog by the scruff of his neck.

  The other dogs lined up around him.

  “It’s time for some Bruce Force,” said Bruce.

  The dogs outnumbered him ten to one, and had huge snapping jaws and powerful legs, but they were no match for the might of Bruce Willowhammer. As two dogs came charging at him, he ducked and they collided with an almighty THUMP. Next, Bruce rolled into a ball and aimed himself at the rest of the pack. “Strike!” he cried, as he knocked the dogs over like bowling pins. He leaped to his feet and set about kicking and punching any that were left standing, turning their angry barks into pathetic whimpers.

  In the confusion, Donnie yanked Bud’s tail. He yelped and released Chip, who ran to safety.

  “Wow, I’ve never seen anything like that before,” said Vin. “That meerkat is a true action hero.”

  Chuck smiled. “Yes. Bruce’s skills in battle are quite something to behold,” he agreed. Then he called, “Donnie, Bruce! Keep Chip and Vin safe. Jet and I will go after the Ringmaster.”

  “No problem,” said Bruce, leaping onto Bud’s shoulders and landing a double-fisted punch on his head, causing him to crash to the ground.

  “Come, Jet,” said Chuck, “it’s time for a change of scene.”

  Chuck and Jet hurried into the next studio and found themselves on a film set that had been made to look like a desert, with huge sand dunes and a glowing red sunset.

  “It looks just like home!” Jet said.

  “There they are,” cried Chuck.

  The Ringmaster was disappearing over a dune with Doris and Herr Flick. The two clowns were just behind them, carrying the president.

  “Give it up, Ringmaster,” yelled Jet. “Your plan will never work.”

  The Ringmaster stopped next to a large fan in front of the fake sunset and said, “Sometimes I wonder why our relationship has to be so stormy … Sandstormy, that is.”

  He switched the fan to maximum speed, sending huge clouds of sand at the meerkats, before disappearing through a door to the next set.

  Luckily, living in the Red Desert, the meerkats had faced more than their fair share of sandstorms. Instinctively, they dived into the sand and burrowed beneath the surface, tunnelling their way across the desert until they reached the door on the other side of the studio.

  The next set they stepped onto was dark and full of tiny points of light, as though they were in space. The
ground was filled with craters, like the surface of the moon, and large planets were hanging from the ceiling.

  “Hey uh, Grimsby, this set is out of this world,” said Sheffield.

  Grimsby slid his feet backward along the ground. “Yeah, look at me. I’m moonwalking.”

  “Stop messing around,” said the Ringmaster. “Herr Flick—time to put an end to our unwelcome globe-trotters.”

  “Now, das meerkätzchen will be flattened!” said Herr Flick.

  He pulled a knife from his belt and lobbed it at a rope that was suspending a huge red planet from the ceiling. The massive sphere crashed to the ground and thundered toward the meerkats.

  “You’re in a world of trouble now,” cackled Grimsby.

  “The Way of the Scorpion teaches us that even the smallest creature can move a planet so long as he has a place to stand,” replied Chuck.

  He rammed his sword into the ground and bowed down. Jet ducked too, just in time; the planet hit the sword and shot up over them.

  Chuck stood up to see that, once again, the Ringmaster had fled through an exit. But this one led outside, where a helicopter was starting up, its propellers gathering speed. The Ringmaster and Doris were already on board, and Herr Flick was in the pilot’s seat. The clowns bundled the president inside and climbed in just before the helicopter took off.

  “We are too late!” said Chuck.

  “We could always hitch a ride,” said a voice behind them.

  Donnie, Bruce, Chip O’Lata, and Vin Pain appeared around the corner of the building. Donnie was holding a harpoon, which he threw at the helicopter, looping the grappling hook onto one of its landing skids.

  “The security guys woke up just after we got the dogs under control,” Donnie explained. “So we thought we’d catch up with you. The security team were planning to contact the U.S. Army, but we’re going to need to slow the Ringmaster down to buy them some time.”

  The meerkats grabbed hold of the end of the rope, and waited to be lifted into the air.