3. The Wabbit and the Ghostly Gunfire

It was just as Lapinette envisaged. They were casually crossing St Peter's Square when they were caught in a barrage of gunfire. They ducked behind chairs and returned fire but couldn't see the enemy. Just faint muzzle flashes. "They're a long way off," shouted Lapinette. Arson Fire belched fire too - but couldn't quite get a bearing and only singed the seats. "Sniper," muttered the Wabbit. "Keep moving," yelled Lapinette, "so they can't get a bearing." They moved along the chairs and back, firing all the while. The shots kept coming. ""More than one," said Lapinette. She scuttled backwards and the fire sprayed out and along. "We're pinned down," said Arson Fire. "Shall I make a run for it? I'm rather fast." The Wabbit glanced back and forth. "Try for the pillars." Arson Fire darted to the pillars, then speeded back. He was a greyhound, and he could run. But gunfire followed him all the way. Chairs splintered. Concrete shattered. A bullet shaved fur from the Wabbit's ears. "I'll get you for that!" he shouted. Lapinette screened her eyes. The sun was fading and she could see silhouettes on the rooftops. "There they are!" But one by one they vanished. The gunfire stopped. Everything went back to normal. Tourists came and went as if nothing had happened. "Think they're are our guys?" asked Arson Fire. "They have to be money ghosts," said the Wabbit. "They're as ephemeral as our gold bullion." Lapinette tucked her automatic into her frock. "They're coming all the same. Arson, can't you remember the name of the dead dictator?" Arson Fire thought and thought. "Cacchio Scarsoni!" he shouted. "That's rude," shrieked Lapinette.

2. The Wabbit and the Numismatist

The Wabbit decided to take the gold to a safe place. There it would rest in his account. But as he began to move it, who should stroll in but Arson Fire the Greyhound. He seemed annoyed. Lapinette soothed him with a strong paw. "What are you doing with my gold?" he said. "Your gold?" echoed the Wabbit. "Yes, my gold," said Arson Fire gruffly. "I'm confused," murmured Lapinette.  Arson Fire's head nodded. "It's my hobby," he said. "I became a numismatist." The Wabbit smirked. "I've heard that one before. Confess!" Arson fire looked a bit shamefaced. "After our last adventure, I kept an eye on the Dinosaur Fund and I spotted some strange transactions." Lapinette laughed. "So you decided to make a collection?" Arson gnashed his teeth. "I deprived a few dictators of their ill-gotten gains." The Wabbit shrugged. He pulled a notebook from his fur, scribbled a receipt and passed it to Arson Fire - who ate it. "Which dictator?" Arson Fire barked twice. "I can't recall. I think he's dead now. So, the gold is mine, isn't it? It's worth six times what it was. I balanced the books and I get to keep the rest." Lapinette shook her head. "That's not the way it works. Someone is looking for this and they could be rather unpleasant." Arson Fire growled. "The dirty dogs!" The Wabbit stomped up and down, which he sometimes did when he was thinking. "We'll wait for them to show up." "And then?" said Lapinette. "We'll trick them!" Lapinette scowled. The Wabbit tried desperately to think of a trick and knew there was paper mache and gold paint in his shed. "We'll give it back." Lapinette knew exactly what the Wabbit had in mind. "Remember the Golden Rule." Arson Fire laughed. "The dog keeps the gold."

1. The Wabbit and Funds in Transit

The Wabbit had gone down to the vaults to check on his Dinosaur Fund that funded his more unorthodox missions. Details were kept in the cellars of the Department of Wabbit Affairs in a tiny deposit box. Just a few secret papers specifying where things were at any given time - in overnight deposit in the Post Office in Browne's Bottom, UK for all he knew. That was the way it worked. He'd just glance at the papers, look at the balance and go away. He took Lapinette to ensure no impropriety could be alleged. But he pushed open a door to find something extraordinary had occurred. They both gasped. The cellar contained more gold bullion than they'd ever seen in one place. He shook his head. "Is it dated?" Lapinette shrugged. "Might be a few years ago," She looked under a gold brick. "Yup," she said. "Dated 1977. But it's from the Bank of the Republic of San Serriff." The Wabbit didn't really believe it. He shook his head again. "I don't believe it." Lapinette scowled. She picked up typewritten paper clipped with a treasury tag. "Neither did anyone else. Here's a note to say it's in passage." At that very moment, a dollar bill fell from the ceiling, followed by several more. They were deluged with bills. Lapinette waved the notes. "This is a bill of lading. There are two other notes. A policy of insurance and an invoice. And here's the payment." The Wabbit tripped over Lapinette's feet and nearly measured his length on the floor. "Then everything is here, but nothing went anywhere." "Or rather it eventually arrived here," said Lapinette. "In the Department," said the Wabbit. "Yesterday," said Lapinette. "Where's it been?" asked the Wabbit. Lapinette shrugged again. "Nowhere?" "So we're in the money?" asked the Wabbit. Lapinette drew a sharp breath. "The Dinosaur Fund is in the money..."

[Background Picture: Mathias Wewering, Pixabay.]

The Wabbit at his famous Adventure Caffè

The Wabbit arrived first at the Adventure Caffè and took his seat. For a jolly joke, everyone else snuck in behind him. Then they all shouted "Boo!" The Wabbit knew they were there all the time, but he went along with the joke. He jumped a bit - and then he said "What a surprise! I never knew you were there." It was a new Adventure Caffè that the Wabbit liked. It was quite near the Vatican and the drinks were priced a little above the norm. But no one minded because the Wabbit said he would pay. He fished in his fur for some money. "What's are you all having?" he asked. "Before we order," said Skratch, "What sort of adventure did you just have - all on your own." The Wabbit shrugged. "You tell me." Skratch paused for effect. "It was rather like a road movie, he meaowed. "Nice to be along for the ride but going nowhere in particular." "That's true," smiled Lapinette. "But Rommy was certainly a marginal character who rejected his given identity." Wabsworth rapped on the table. "No, it was about narration, identity and representation. The story confronted all three." The Wabbit felt it was his turn. "It was between genres," he stated. "Rommy was the unwitting yet powerful delinquent, always ready to assume the lead, no matter the cost." Lapinette agreed with the Wabbit. "He disturbed and fascinated - rather like a reflection of you, Wabbit." Wabsworth reconsidered and nodded. "It was hardly an easy ride. We were repelled by and attracted to Rommy who was a different order of being." The Wabbit turned round finally. "I'd like drinks." Lapinette pointed at him. "You're paying!" She twitched an ear and a waiter appeared. The Wabbit smiled. "I'll have one for my baby and three more for the road."

[My thanks to Neil Archer: The French Road Movie. Space, Mobility and Identity. Berghann Books, New York, 2013]

13. The Wabbit and Artistic License

The Wabbit said goodbye to Rommy at Testaccio. They both looked down at the mural. Rommy chuckled. "The ears are too big." The Wabbit hung over the edge of the building and said, "Artistic License." Rommy got bigger. "I'll try to fit in." They examined the mural from top to bottom. "Jaws bigger and teeth showing," said the Wabbit. Rommy obliged. "More swirly fur," said the Wabbit. "Do you like that swirl?" said Rommy. "I do," said the Wabbit. "I'll do what I can," said Rommy. His fur swirled in all directions, and he adopted a ferocious look. "We've got to adapt," said the Wabbit, "it's good for us." Rommy was becoming too large for the top of the building, so he dropped down and merged with the mural. "Grrrrrrrrowl" he growled. The Wabbit laughed. "It's what people expect." Rommy looked up. "You mean the plebs." The Wabbit swithered and considered. "I meant the general public. Try harder." Rommy opened his fangs and growled at the top of his voice. People looked up from the market place. Some of them pointed. "You're popular," said the Wabbit. "I'm a God," said Rommy, "of course I'm popular." The Wabbit grimaced. "It's chancy to rely on only one God. The people can't have enough deities." "Or temples," agreed Rommy. He looked down at Testaccio market. "I think that market needs a temple." "I'll try and arrange it with the local municipality," said the Wabbit, "they've got a new mayor now. The last one hardly moved a fingertip." Rommy was part of the wall now. "I'm peeling. Can you get someone to touch me up?" The Wabbit couldn't help but smile. "Risky," he said, "but you never know your luck." Rommy winked. "I'll wait to hear from you." Then he froze.

12. The Wabbit and the Misjudged Blast

The Agents arrived in droves and descended on the biscuits. That part of the plan worked well. But no one ever knew what caused the blast. It may have been faulty electrics. Maybe the biscuits caused a short circuit. Or perhaps it was the Agents' enthusiasm. But there was a blinding flash and what was meant to be just a trick turned to chaos. Rommy the Wolf had a smile on his face though. Agents hurtled through the air amidst a hail of ginger biscuits. "That'll teach them," said Rommy. He chortled long and hard. The Wabbit was aghast. "That was some Kaboom! Steady on there Rommy." Rommy reached a safe distance, skidded to a halt, and turned round. He surveyed his handiwork. "A good mechanical will sort that out in seconds. I'll get Apollodorus of Damascus onto it! The Wabbit raised a slightly blackened eye. "Wasn't he executed?" Rommy thought for a minute. "Oh yes," he muttered. "He did get into bother. He was one for an offhand quip at the wrong time in the wrong place." The Wabbit nodded sagely - because so was he. He addressed Rommy. "That completes my tour for now." Rommy's face fell. "Don't worry," said the Wabbit, "perhaps I can keep you on for special projects. You'd like the odd per diem, no doubt?" Rommy growled in a happy fashion. "Now you're talking." The Wabbit and Rommy the Wolf strolled off in the Aurelia direction. "Just one thing," said the Wabbit. "No kabooming without my say so."

11. The Wabbit and the Deserted Shop

The Wabbit and Rommy the Wolf made their way into the shop. Everyone had fled, but they made sure the shop was empty. "Do you have a plan?" asked the Wabbit. "Do you? asked Rommy. The Wabbit shrugged. So did Rommy. A wolf's shrug looked impressive. Rommy looked around. "Do these things work?" he asked. "I think so," said the Wabbit. Rommy looked intrigued. "Maybe we could lure them in. What do they like?" The Wabbit thought for a minute. "Ginger biscuits," he said. Rommy wrinkled his nose. "Really?" "Everyone does," said the Wabbit. "Do they sell them here?" asked Rommy. The Wabbit shook his head. "I'll nip out for some," said Rommy and he vanished. The Wabbit watched him go. There was a coop nearby and that's where he thought he'd get biscuits. He tucked his gun back in his fur and glanced about. There were electrical things of all descriptions. He examined curling tongs. "Useful." he said to himself. One said, "Best for short hair." He tucked that in his fur. Rommy returned bearing biscuits of varying descriptions. "That was quick," said the Wabbit. "Nobody at the till," said Rommy. They opened the doors of the washing machines and placed the biscuits deep inside. "Now we have to call them," suggested Rommy. He placed a biscuit on a stove and turned it on. The smell of hot biscuits wafted through the air. "Like this", said Rommy. He shouted. "We're having hot buttered biscuits!" The Wabbit joined in. "We're having hot buttered biscuits," he called. He heard the scurrying of feet. "They're coming," said Rommy. "Get ready to shove the devils in ..." "And then?" asked the Wabbit. "We give them a good clean," said Rommy. "And neat curls," nodded the Wabbit.