Chapter Three
The Summit
Mizz Bonnie D’Avocat picked them up at the airport. After the usual exchanges of “It sure took you long enough to visit.” and “Is your brother still living in sin?” she took them to her favorite bistro - The Napoleon Café deep in the French Quarter, for some brandy and a few of their special sandwiches. The location was not incidental; this was the hangout of all the trial lawyers in the city and Mizz Bonnie wanted them all to know that Monsieur Beauregard and his colleague had returned, and her notorious case had risen again. Naturally Craig disgraced himself with the sandwiches and had to ask the hotel for extra digestive biscuits before the two guests retired for the evening.
The next day Beauregard and Bonnie closeted themselves away for the entire morning reviewing the evidence, and consulting with the Chief Historian of The Sovereign State of Louisiana. That night Beauregard phoned his family home and after the exchange of some stilted pleasantries he said “Mother I have made some most disturbing discoveries while I have been away. I think that it will be in every one’s best interest to invoke a meeting of our lawyers and those of the Malmares. I know that this seems rather excessive but I assure you that it will soon appear to be most reasonable, all things considered. You might as well inform Montague of my appearance; as head of the Malmares his presence is unfortunately required.”
Mizz Bonnie reviewed, and chose the most appropriate restaurant for the meeting, and Craig had the Council General’s Office book a table in the name of the Government of Her Majesty the Queen. This caused a flutter at the restaurant, and Beauregard was sure that the nature of the reservation traveled to the other parties posthaste.
Craig, Bonnie, and Beauregard arrived early and ordered some ice cream flambé. Beauregard was attired in the outfit Zita had designed for him just for this occasion. She had taken the motif from the uniform of a late 19th century Viceroy of Imperial India. It was dazzling. Actually he had just been given an honorary commission in the Royal Rhinosasauris Postal Service, and so had every right to appear in public in such style. Craig was wearing his Cameron of Erracht waistcoat and matching tie. As is usual for lawyers Mizz Bonnie had on a nicely tailored gray ensemble, and did not add at all to the magnificent ambiance the other two had created. Thus prepared they awaited the confrontation.
At 12 o’clock promptly Mrs. Clayton-Lyon and the partners Barnstable and Poole arrived, gaining a seated position marginally before Montague with his second cousin and councilor B-J Tailifurt slid into the dining room.
Mizz Bonnie stood up and introduced all of the dinnees, though with the exception of Craig they were only too well known to each other. She introduced Craig as M. Beauregard’s friend, confidant and The Representative of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, Die Grata Regina. This resulted in frantic scribbling in note books and the elder Mr. Barnstable asked, “Is Her Majesty taking a personal interest in this case or is this just another flagrant case of foreign exploitation of our poor widow ladies, such as my most put upon client.”
Before he could actually launch one of his notable tirades Bonnie said, “Shall we say that there are several Royal Personages interested in this matter. Her Majesty’s Government has traditionally tried to prevent unnecessary conflagrations. Her representative is here in the role of an observer and interpreter of events for the moment.” This seemed to satisfy, or at the very least confuse the adversaries. Beauregard summoned the waiters.
Craig looked around the table as the multitude interrogated the menus and the waiter about the construction of various dishes. Mrs. Lyon was dressed in layers of pastel chiffon and pearls, with a hat designed to cast a soothing shadow for several metres around her. Her lawyers were dressed in the professional camouflage of their profession - dark blue pinstripes. He turned his attention to their more apparent advisories, Montage and Billy-Jo. Montague was dressed in a paisley print silk suit, blue T-shirt, imprinted with some writing that disappeared under the jacket and a sling for his arm made from the remains of a Hawaiian shirt. Billy-Jo was dressed in white, white shoes, white Panama hat, and everything in between looked like an ad for powerful bleach. His hair was slicked back and had the deep blue-black tones of a skilled hair dresser’s best attempt at another sort of camouflage. A black rimmed monocle set off the ensemble.
Just then their waiter asked Craig if he wished for any refreshments, breaking his mental absence from the matters at hand. Moments after the aperitifs had been delivered Montague looked up over his Pernod and asked if Beauregard had at last come to his senses and was here to make an abject apology to all and sundry and the next county. Craig decided that, before Montague lost the use of any other extremities, a timely intervention was called for. He leaned back in his chair and pontificated -“Actually the whole concept of Apology was never one of the more happy notions that the Empire promoted. We usually are content to play the hand through. Though to be honest I would like to think of this meeting as the introduction of a new deck into the game rather then just another reshuffle. I think that Mizz Bonnie had best introduce the rules of engagement.”
Bonnie smiled and distributed the weighty, leather bound dossiers to all the parties and asked them to read the shameful contents while they waited for the main course to be delivered.
Tears started to trickle down the cheeks of Mrs. Lyon as she read the historical preamble that the Q-O Pigs had written.
(The three about-to-be-PHD’s were going to submit a version of this opening as an article to the Journal of The Great Lost Cause, as soon as the present unpleasantness was resolved and they were not likely to be called as expert witnesses.)
As they all progressed through the documentation there was a small breeze set up by the constant flutter of pages as the various lawyers consulted the attached set of precedents. B-J’s face began to match his suit; oddly enough Montague’s visage began to take on the mottled shades of his paisley suit. Craig wondered to himself if it was genetic.
Mizz Bonnie interrupted their reading with the enlightening comment that all the documentation had been validated by the proper authorities in Ottawa, London, Lower Owenn’s-Gate upon Twine and Baton Rouge and it would withstand the rigours of any court contention. The partners Barnstable and Poole nodded in agreement with this statement.
Mr. Poole harrumphed and said “Most impressive and most complete, quite interesting and well written I must say.” Mrs. Lyon ordered two double brandies and sodas and began to use the napkin to fan herself. Beauregard reached into his valise and produced a small rattan fan and passed it to his mother, who thanked him profusely for his kind and diligent attention.
Using this break in the proceedings to his advantage Beauregard said, “Seems to me as if we had best put away all our papers as I can smell our dinner orders approaching, and it would be a crime to let ourselves be distracted from a fine repast by some reckless behaviour by our mutual forbearers.”
Following Dugal’s advice he had decided to take the moral high ground in the forthcoming confrontation.
Craig, who had ordered the potted veal in a shrimp, wine and a three cheese sauce thought this to be a fine idea and searched the room for an approaching waiter. The food arrived just as his subconscious tried to unfold an anomaly. As he put the first morsel into his mouth he realized what was disturbing him. There seemed to a notable excess of pith helmets in the room; perhaps you might think that one pith helmet represented a surplus, be that as it may when he glanced around again there were none to be seen and he put it down to the unaccustomed heat and returned to the matters at hand.
Everyone had started by the time he had refocused his attention, and he leaned back and launched himself into the enjoyment of a fine dinner and strove to ignore the under current of discord that circled the table. As the coffee cups were being refilled Montague leaned towards the rest of the party and said.
“I - I decry this falsity, this deception, you, you, foreigners are trying to foist off on our great grandfather. And the family of the Malmares will not stand for it,” he said and then contradicted himself by rising from his chair.
“I see you waited to finish a free dinner before indignity struck” said Beauregard, “How typical and predictably opportunistic. Are you sure you do not want a doggy bag for the rest of the family?”
Montague’s face now entirely matched his suit and poor B-J was trying to calm him as at the same time he tried to finish the dregs of his own three star brandy, and drag him out of harms way. (Which to the Malmares, was three inches beyond the reach of a Lyon sword.)
As the two Malmares stumbled from the dining room, Mrs. Lyon asked Bonnie to “play mother” and pour them some tea, deciding to ignore the interruption.
“Since you are representing my son, and it seems as if he is representing our best interests, I suppose we should become better acquainted. Now where do you live?”
Mizz Bonnie gulped down her tea and said.” I am just in the process of buying a small house just round the corner from you, though I am sure that you really wish to know where my family lives.”
“Of course that is what I meant. Nowadays anyone seems to live anywhere; look at Beauregard, living in a cabin with the wild Indians in the North Woods, or perhaps it is in Maine, I knew some people who vacationed at Bar Harbour eons ago but that was slightly scandalous at the time. Cold and far, that’s all I know. Now about your family?”
“Well my father was born in central Europe,” a silence swept over the table, “and my mother’s family has lived in Williamsburg County, Virginia for eleven generations.”
“Would you care for some mille-feuilles my dear?” said Mrs. Lyon secure in the recognition of the relative location of the Mason-Dixon Line to that county.
“Now all this foolishness between poor Beauregard and Montague aside, if all of your accusations are true, can they roll back time? Can they be exercised through the force of law? Shall we get our property up river back, shall we be ostentatiously rich?”
Mizz Bonnie said “This is a very difficult question, and we have had hours of discussion about what could be done to right a century old miscarriage of justice. In truth, an out of court settlement would be neater all around, but I am not sure the Malmares are the settling kind.”
“The fine point of a blade has always spoken louder than the fine point of reason.” said Beauregard as he ordered some more chicory spiked coffee.
“Well though it may be true what is the most likely course of action that we should initiate.” said Craig wishing to remove the thought of cold steel from Beauregard’s mind.
Mr. Poole suggested “Why don’t the five of us meet tomorrow at my club for morning coffee and jam tarts. I am sure I can prevail upon the Chief Justice to join us and well shall see if a mutually expedient solution can be created.” That seemed like a fine idea and everyone finished their desserts and loosened their belts.
Chapter Four
A Rough Night in the French Quartier
Several hours later Craig and Beauregard were walking back to their rental car through the French Quartier of the city. The humidity was high and the night was a sticky-three-pillow hot, as Craig was shown the night life of his friend’s youth. There were kabillions of T-shirt shops and jazz clubs. There were even more young women in need of companionship. Since they all spoke without the appropriate accents - French, Scandinavian, or Gaelic for that matter, Craig and Beauregard were far from temptation, but not from safety.
As they passed Bourbon Street the night grew still and they noticed that they were almost alone on the side street; not a welcome situation thought Craig. This thought slipped into his mind as the sound of tires on cobblestones brought his attention to their right. A squalid pickup truck was disgorging a dozen or so unsavoury characters.
“Ah-hem. Beauregard. Friends of yours from the past I hope?”
Beauregard slowly turned and faced the rabbly bunch of badly dressed red-necks.
“Well if it isn’t the gang from Malmare Mountain. Hello Possie, bought any new socks since the last we met? I see you brought your family, well with the exception of Emily-Sue, hope she still feels as well as she used to.”
This brought a howl of protest from Possie Maudit, the first behemoth who rushed them. He was immediately tripped and felled by some fancy work and Beauregard’s cane. This did not improve the newcomer’s disposition. He rolled over and shouted, “You know our orders. No quarter.”
Craig had quickly taken off his tie, which like all true Cameron ties had a half a kilo of lead shot sown into its bottom seams. Wrapping the light end once around his hand, Craig followed an incensed Beauregard into the fray. It was an epic battle. Beauregard and Craig, sorely outnumbered, stood back to back and fought the rabble to a frothy standstill, until Beauregard was struck a dirty blow from the side, as he bent down to retrieve his new hat, and Craig was foully trapped by an axe handle stuck into the spokes as he flailed about with his deadly tie.
He was singing—“There’s many a man of the Cameron Clan who has followed his friends to the field. Sworn to support them or die by their sides—for a Cameron never shall yield!”
Their prospects he had decided were far worse than merely grim and had settled on a glorious and heroic defeat as a reasonable alternative. Scotland’s traditions are hard to deny.
Just as the seams of his tie split, he realized he heard Beauregard’s name being shouted. He looked over to the left. At that moment it sounded as if the very gates of Hell had been pried open—without the benefit of WD-40. A piercing wavering screech, punctuated by a steady drone of the Pipes, and a rather nice bass rendition of “Men of Harlech” filled the square.
The Rhinosasauris Foot had arrived! Haemish-Mór and Callum McCallum were marching at their head - Haemish on the Pibroch and Callum on a giant Bodhrán drum. BT-McG was at their side, with a Stirling submachine gun in one hand, keeping them in time - conducting with the barrel.
“We are here to save the day!” The three of them announced, “And we brought some company!”—pointing to 25 grim-faced Resplendent Redoubtables, carrying wicker shields and much polished 12 foot halberds.
The ambush came to a distinct halt. Callum helped Beauregard to his feet and Haemish brushed his new hat clean, “Glad to see you guys - but what are you doing here? Giving some sort of concert or what?” he said groggily.
Haemish tenderly replaced the hat on Beauregard’s head, and turning around said to the Rhinosasauris in charge “Rassaldar! Would you have your men restrain those fellows. Toss them into that little truck. Needn’t be too gentle y’a know.”
There followed a meeting between the pointy ends of the halberds and the chubby ends of the ruffians as they were marched off, hopping into the night.
Turning to Beauregard Haemish suggested that they depart to a quieter part of town, find a pleasant bistro, and have a nice late evening snack. He looked over to his right where BT-McG had put down his weapon and helped Craig remove the obstructing axe handle. They both agreed—it seemed the only possible conclusion to a disagreeable outing; so the five of them walked off arm-in-arm, to find a place to sit and discover some ingenious explanations.
As they meandered along the nearly empty streets, Haemish leaned over Craig and they shook hands, “Thanks Haemish. Things were looking a little gloomy there for a while. We both appreciated the timely assistance. You’ve been putting in some hours practicing with the pipes I see.”
Haemish looked shyly out from under his pith helmet and replied, “Think nothing of it just a small repayment for your welcome assistance at the bookstore y’a see. And yes, Dugal and I have spent many a studious hour with the digital bagpipes he got for Christmas, I am getting not bad, if I do say so myself.
Just then they turned a corner and found themselves in front of a small street café where coffee and ice cream were ordered all around.
“.....So we left a note for Zita saying that we had gone white water rafting, so she wouldn’t worry, and your brother-in-law lent us some of his frequent flyer points so we shipped ourselves air freight to New Orleans, arriving yesterday afternoon.”
“Just how many of you made the trip?” asked Craig with some amazement.
“Just room for the five of us, what with the down pillows and the coolers of pate and ‘the champers’. There was me, and Callum, BT-McG, Albert, and L.B. Pig. The other two are on guard duty at Beauregard’s house, just in case.”
“Where did all the Rhinosasauris Foot come from?”
“Well — we called home and it seemed there was a company or two of our lads settin’ up a jungle training program in Florida, so some ‘volunteers’ arrived to keep things tidy you see.....”
Craig was sure there was more to this then he was been told and said “I assume it was you all in the restaurant earlier this evening. The pith helmets are quite distinctive you must realize.”
BT-McG said, “We forgot our silk hats at home and don’ have near ‘nough to get new ones—as w’are a bit short—of the ready. Oh, we charged our meal to the gov’ment. Told them we were your security. The meal was excellent, ‘sidering there was no chutneys in anyt’ing.”
“What are we to do now?” said Beauregard, holding his second dish of ice cream against his sore head, “Do we have any evidence to join Montague to this dastardly affront to hospitality? I would hate to think that my family and friends are to be in continuous danger - au cause du Montague.”
Haemish put down his third bowl and said “Well.... I think we will be getting some confessions out of that gang of rapscallions who set about you - my Rassaldar can be quite persuasive when he puts his mind to it. They will be on the horns of the dilemma I bet.” and all three of them laughed. “Ignorance most certainly can be bliss.” Craig thought to himself as he paid their bill and they all started off to retrieve the rented car for the drive to Beauregard’s home.
Chapter Five
The Final Confrontation
Fifteen minutes later they arrived in the Garden District. It had been the fashionable place to reside in New Orleans since before The War and the Lyon house stood out as a flight of King Cotton’s fancy. It had been built around of middle of the 1840’s, with three full stories and screened-in porches on each of the first and second floors.
As they arrived at the front door Craig noticed the glint from the second story as a blacked-out LB. Pig put down his night vision binoculars. They were met by Albert—in evening clothes, “I am disguised as an old retainer. Mrs. Lyon fixed me up with some clothes from a long forgotten trunk.”
He was covered in a black velvet cutaway of ancient style, and his tail was wrapped in a gold sash from an old set of velvet drapes, with the final tassel looped over his shoulder. He looked quite rococo, and was obviously enjoying every minute. They all settled themselves in some of the many swings that hung in the side porch. Beauregard turned on the overhead fans and said, “Well Craig and I are not sure what to make of your lamentable lack of confidence in our ability to take care of ourselves.”
The onrush of laughter from the other five Animeaux drowned out his protests, “And who said you should have all the fun anyway?” said Albert. Beauregard jumped up from the swing and thumbed his nose at the group. He called back over his shoulder, “Just for that I’ll fix you all some of my special pistachio lemonade. Back in a jiffy.”
Just then Mrs. Clayton-Lyon swept into view, and was promptly introduced by her son to his recently arrived friends. Craig noticed that she was holding a small glass thermos of Mint Juleps, accompanying her was a smallish figure draped in black silk, carrying a Japanese katana long sword in his belt and a silenced Ingram slung across his back.
Craig looked and asked “You’re the other side of this coin I assume?” A muffled response was heard through the silk and the draped head nodded in agreement.
“Great, it looks just like ‘Jeeves meets Bruce Lee’. Well I suppose as disguises they work well as no one would think of either of you as body guards.” This pleased both Albert and LBP who sat down on either side of Beauregard’s mother. The lemonade arrived in huge crystal jugs with matching cups. Callum poured while Beauregard recounted the tale of the ambuscade—his mother was shocked and incensed, “Why I am going to phone Cissie-Sue Malmare right this instant and put her to rights about her precious son. And she flounced back into the house. Craig ventured “Do you think we should.” The look of resignation on Beauregard’s face drove that suggestion away, “Well I suppose what will be will be.”
Twenty minutes later Mrs. Lillian Alexandria Clayton-Lyon sailed onto the porch, “They are driving from the country and will be here in 90 minutes. Call the lawyers and wake the servants. We are going to do this all up properly and in the great style - for Grand-father Furrouche’s sake. Albert you and Mr. Mór bring down his picture from the third floor. Now Beau, I want arrangements of flowers on all tables. There should be some ‘zaillias in the greenhouse, if not break in to Mizz Hepplewrith’s and steal some. It is important you know. I’ll take care of the kitchen and the servants; Mr. Big and Mr. Callum should set up the video camera in the den and point it through the little window that overlooks the living room, just in case we need documentary evidence. My late husband installed the microphone system - for safety’s sake. Just put in new tapes; now hurry along, times-a-wasting.”
Everyone jumped to their appointed tasks, lest they asked questions—or broke out laughing.
The transformation from a slumbering house party to a full blown extravaganza of Byzantine intent was almost immediate. Heavily bribed caterers suddenly appeared with food destined for subsequent parties. The lamps were lit, furniture freshly polished, baths drawn, socks changed, hats brushed, ears cleaned and mustaches combed.
The coterie of lawyers arrived, had cups of tea thrust into their hands and were told to sit in the living room and to look permanent.
Beauregard arrived, attired in a shimmering trendoid suit of Japanese origin, while his mother floated on wings of chiffon, lace and rose water. The assemblage was ready. Lance Bombardier Pig had brought his ledder-hosen with him, and insisted on wearing them in spite of the heat. If the truth be known he cut quite a dashing figure, especially when he put on his traditional poka-dot bow tie and his favourite homburg.
The Malmares arrived 20 minutes late and were led into the reception hall where the re-hung and spiffied-up portrait of General Furrouche hovered protectively over the proceedings.
Mrs. Clayton-Lyon stepped forward and said “Why Cissie-Sue, it’s been such a long time—God make me thankful for small mercies. I suppose we will be seeing even less of you after you move out of our property. I understand the evidence of chicanery on the part of your great-grandfather is incontestable, and unless I am very poorly informed we also have enough evidence to send that odious Montague of yours off to the chain gangs for several years. I think we had best negotiate a suitable and private solution of these unfortunate situations. We would not want it to get into the gutter press. Perhaps it would cause problems with your up coming stock issue for the Alligator Farm!” (This remark caused some dismay among Albert and his friends.)
“Shall we retire to the living room?”
Thus in a single long-awaited outpouring of breath, Mrs. Clayton-Lyon set the tone for the confrontation.
Cissie-Sue Malmare sat down in the big wingback chair close to the high front windows, “You always wanted Tipitree didn’t you? When we offered to sell the marshes to the state as a toxic waste dump, you and all your friends got the governor to withdraw the offer, when we started the Klan Kiddies Kamp, it was you who got all the darkies upset, when we tried to sell the Indian wall carvings in small pieces in our “Quick Quality History” franchises! It was you and all your pearls and lace biddies who put a stop to it—well the entire Malmare family have finally tired of you and your interfering in our entrepreneurial innovation. We have all decided to move to Alaska and start a deep fried Seafood business, there are plenty of raw materials just sitting there to be picked up on almost any beach.”
“Why Cissie its right up your ally, if you ask me. Can we help you pack?”
“Not so fast Lilli. We want some compensation. Look at poor Montague, one arm, no wife, and dammed little to show for the loss of either.” She said and gave her son a kick, “It was your base Beauregard who was trifling with my daughter-in-law’s affections and we want satisfaction. We want money to start again in Alaska. We want bail money for Uncle Possie. We want to get cousin Tuppy out of the Colombian slammer. We want..., “
“That is really quite enough Cissie! You won’t get a sou from us! Cruel Montague drove that poor girl into Beauregard’s kind and innocent friendship, and your rapscallion son deserved every thrashing he got. And speaking about trifling, I am sure the LSU varsity squad of 1936 would speak up in your behalf, or would it be your behind! You’re cheats, liars, not to mention scoundrels. You have never made a decent dessert, or an interesting sauce since you foully stole Tipitree from us a century and a half ago. Get out of my house and never darken my doorstep again!”
This speech was punctuated by a rattle made as Beauregard took down his great-grandfather’s sword from the mantle. It was emphasized by BT-McG’s scratching the floor, as he pulled his submachine gun from under his chair.
“Now now boys, no needless resort to mindless violence. Unless of course they spit on the floor or take an extra piece of pecan pie.” said Mrs. Clayton-Lyon.
The entire scruffy hoard of Malmares left the state three days later. All were there to see them off; as was a strong contingent of the Louisiana National Guard and Haemish’s ‘volunteers’ from The Royal Rhinosasauris Resplendent Redoubtables - of whom, as it was soon discovered, he was the honourary Colonel-in-Chief. As the last of the Malmares disappeared, the entire party returned to the big house in New Orleans. Mrs. Clayton-Lyon had already dispatched legions of fumigators, renovators, decorators, gardeners, chefs and accountants to Tipitree. She felt the estate would be totally uninhabitable for at least two years.
Three days later back at the Lyon home, and amidst much of the desired pomp and circumstance The Zouaves were re-constituted, with Beauregard as their honourary General-en-Chef, and BT-McG as Regimental Sergeant-Major. The TeddyBear with the GreenFeet was made Colour Sergeant, and his heathen friend, The TeddyBear with the Red Toque was appointed Regimental Pipe-Major.
(No one mentioned to him that it was most unusual for a Zouave Regiment to have a Piper. He had his heart set on being a Pipe-Major and had spent many long months practicing on his do-it-yourself bagpipe kit, when everyone else had been out enjoying themselves on the croquet pitch or visiting the Aviation Museum. It had been his Christmas present from home, you see.)
All the Animeaux thought it was the least they could do for him, especially since they could always use another skilled piper for all their parties, picnics and Bear-mitzvahs. Anyway Craig and Dugal, after a long discussion had privately concluded, that with a pipe band at their head The Loyal Lyons might very well have taken Little Round Top—once and for all, proving the absolute necessity of Pipe Bands.
All in all, it was a proud moment for everyone.
The original roll-call book was produced from the attic, and the new names were entered on the active duty list. Beauregard’s mother generously offered to host the biannual regimental charade night, and to provide several retirement cottages on the Tipitree estate for all superannuated gentlemen of the various Brigades of Animeaux.
She and Beauregard went through some tempestuous evenings when he announced his intention of returning with his friends and remaining “up North” Mrs. Clayton-Lyon was appalled and therefore was only slightly mollified when Beauregard informed her that he would be returning to N’Orleans for the Sugar Bowl with his companions, and he promised that they all would visit “up river” as soon as the house was fit for human habitation again and some nice cypress ramps were built for Craig.
A day or two later, Beauregard borrowed the Corniche and drove up to Baton Rouge, to pay his respects to Therese. They all awaited his return with some trepidation. About two in the morning he returned, in a quite jovial mood, much to his mother’s joy, and announced that Therese was having her marriage to Montague annulled, and was soon to announce her upcoming engagement to their cousin Cowrie. With no little relief the household went to bed.
On their way upstairs, Beauregard told Callum that he felt that if he stayed in Louisiana that Therese’s brothers were far too near, and she far too tempting for his safety and that perhaps the interests in Ottawa were a little safer, anyway there was always Miss Susan—the somewhat un-married friend of Zita’s who lived just a few blocks away.... Callum tried to remember when the lessons about counseling were due on his studies.
With his social good standing in mind he finally convinced his mom to ship his Ferrari Super Americana up to Ottawa and to pay the insurance. The terms of his father’s will stated that access to the family funds was limited to inhabitants of Louisiana, and his mother had no intention of letting him have his cake and eat it. No family business—no money. This was the lesser of several evils to Beauregard, and anyway what would Zita do without him, he told the others.
On their last night in the state the whole Lyon family gave a soiree for the Animeaux and Craig. Two of Beauregard’s many cousins shared the duties of cook and the dinner was extravagant, even for New Orleans. At Craig’s insistence all the assembled small arms were returned to the Royal Rhinosasaurises, who also attended in full Ceremonial Dress, including their monstrous emerald watch fobs, which stunned all the natives.
Beauregard presented Mizz Bonnie with a diamond pendant of such size as to render it of questionable taste, but of unquestionable value. Mrs. Clayton- Lyon had her second uncle make Bonnie a sheriff of Ste. Margarine Parish, for all her assistance to the family. The whole event was a grand success and made all the papers, even the Republican ones.
The next morning the packing case was restocked with hot sauce fritters and a small keg of a pleasant Louisiana Chablis. They had bought a new collection ‘Cajun zydeco music on cassettes for the trip home. Callum, Haemish and LBP were joined by Beauregard and they locked themselves into the aluminum shipping case and were loaded onto the plane. The music was already seeping from the box as it rolled into the jet. BT-McG who had decided to accompany Craig got the window seat, and a few minutes later they all left for home, truth served, and evil vanquished again!
As they looked out the window at the passing American countryside BT-McG said “Now I bin asked to chat wit’ you ‘bout our, Imperious TeddyBear Zouaves’s soon to be - Annual White Water Rafting and Culinary Excess Excursion.”
Craig looked up from his book “Re-fight Jutland in your Bath - a Manual”.
What Imperious TeddyBear Zouaves? Imperious? Before he could become more confused and loose his place in the book, BT-McG said “Well we don’t want t’use Imperial; ‘cause of the numerous t’ird world TeddyBears Y’see. It were an idea from the ‘Stralian DropBears who finally ‘rived in Ottawa. Was talk’ng to them while we all we’re ‘citing the famous and very dignified Zouave oath -.”
“What DropBears? From where?” asked Craig his fears rising, but BT-McG was already off at the front chatting-up the tall blonde stewardess who had asked him “Are you a friend of that cute ol’ Colonel Blackthorn-Badger?”
He returned to his book and considered getting away from it all, but wisely they never gave out parachutes on commercial flights.
