Bad Advice

It felt like the middle of the night. Under Bridge Lane was empty as Ben Bear and I slowly walked up to the Jackster plant from the parking garage. Up at the end of the street cars were noisily rushing along the high overpass where Memorial Drive exits to Poultry Bridge. Behind us Poultry Bridge itself obscured half the sky. Hedged in down here the Under Bridge Diner was closed except for a neon sign in the window. Mary Lambkin was probably tucked up in her bed next door to the diner, with just her bedroom light on upstairs, reading her daily mystery novel. There was still a single light on at the back of the office of the Jackster Service Station. I could see it faintly through the window. Probably Wilma Bunny working late, watching TV and waiting around.

The flat concrete face of the Jackster plant loomed above as Ben and I went in through the little side door. High above us the ivy fluttered against the wall. We checked in at the teleportal dock and I looked over to the assembly line where I could see the Bats all launched on their night shift. Their supervisor, Billy Bat, up in his loft, had turned down the orange lights to low. Nobody noticed us. Ben ambled down to his office and I knocked softly on my own office door and tried the handle. It was open. I stepped into the dark. Through the window I could see the moon above Beastburg and the top cabin of the listing Jackster Ferry. The listing was getting worse by the minute. If by now no one across the river had noticed that the ferry was tipped at an angle it was because no one was looking.

"Sybilla?" I said.

"I'm up, Jack," she said and I looked across to her workstation where Sybilla Spider was hanging by a thread above her high rise. Her monitor glowed softly.

"Working late?" I asked.

"Why aren't you at Woody Spit, Jack?"

"One thing after another has kept me in town," I said, "Everyone has been onto me about it. I've got one more thing and then I'm gone."

"Have you talked to Jilly," Sybilla asked me and I could hear concern in her voice.

"She's still singing at the club. I'll call her before taking off. Anything happening here?"

"Jack, I'm a little worried about your plan to stay out at Woody Spit this week. This might not be the best time."

"Why?"

"We've got a lot going on at the plant and you're the public face. We have meetings all week. If you're not around you should get someone to speak for you at the meetings."

"Like who?" I asked. "Condon Duck maybe, or Einstat Chimp?"

"I was thinking Amanda Rabbit. She was in today with Hat and I know she's got a light week."

"No, not Amanda. She doesn't even work here. It wouldn't be appropriate."

"But everyone likes her. Those other guys are hopeless."

"She's great, Sybilla, and I know Jilly wouldn't get jealous or anything but they're known to be best friends and if Amanda stood in for me the Jackster Plant would talk. You may not have the right perspective, being a Spider, but Rabbits are known for an unfortunate tendency to being oversexed. I'm afraid she's too cute."

"I know that, Jack. What do you take me for? What do you think they say about us Spiders? Everyone talks about how in the old days us Spider girls had sex once and then killed our husbands."

"Not any more they don't, Sybilla. That's ancient history."

"No, not any more. Now we just divorce them."

"Like you divorced Harold. Maybe you'd better get Ben Bear to front for me," I said.

"I guess the old lug will have to do," and Sybilla drooped on her thread. "But don't just rusticate, Jack. Call me every morning from Woody Spit, first thing."

"Fine," I said. "That's a promise." Then, taking one more nervous look at the ferry, I left.