Free One Of Our Dinosaurs Is Missing by David Forrest

balanced on silver skewers, and roasting over charcoal ...” Lui Ho sighed deeply. “Nicky Po is one true comrade who makes exquisite efforts to fully occupy his time and enhance our deprived diet.” Lui Ho made a visible effort to concentrate on Sam Ling’s report. “So, Second in Command to myself, what did you learn today about those female Capitalist lackeys?”
    “Our plan worked . . . er, your plan. Pi Wun Tun’s efforts in the hall of the fake dragon brought immediate results. The museum authorities have begun their repainting, and the nanny-ladies have started phase two of their operation.”
    “Excellent. Excellent.” Lui Ho rubbed his steam- slippery hands together. “So we act tonight?”
    “No, tomorrow, if all goes well.”
    “Good,” smiled Lui Ho. “See that nothing disturbs them at their work. Nothing, absolutely nothing, must go wrong with their plan.” He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out his red book. He flicked the pages.
    Fat Choy sighed quietly. He wondered if, today, he was going to learn that he had too few toes.
    Lui Ho cleared his throat and began to read. “Thousands upon thousands of martyrs have heroically laid down their lives for the people; let us hold their banner high and march ahead along the path crimson with their..
    He was interrupted by a splashing, scuffling sound. An effluent-smeared figure staggered in through the mist, dripping eerily, its thigh-boots overflowing. It clutched a wriggling heap of mud in its arms. “Eee-ee- ee-ee,” it cried delightedly.
    “A devil,” gasped Fat Choy, hiding his head under his damp blanket.
    Lui Ho squinted through his moist spectacles. “Nicky Po.”
    “I’ve caught one . . . I’ve caught one,” shouted the slime-covered apparition. “Tonight we will all have the most delectable and exotic repast.”
    “Holy dung beetles,” moaned Lui Ho in horror. “Not another sewer alligator!”
     
     

FOUR
     
    The sharply dressed young salesman at Happy Harry’s Used Car Lot and Rebuild Emporium flicked a minuscule speck of tobacco ash from the lapel of his shiny mohair, and peered through the one-way inspection window. Two women, children’s nurses, he guessed, from their white uniforms and lace-up shoes, were wandering around the truck section. They stopped in front of a yellow, seven-ton, long-wheelbase Dodge. He couldn’t believe it. Hardly anyone bought yellow, seven-ton, long-wheelbase Dodges in the condition of that one, especially nannies.
    The short, odd-looking one, with the funny glasses and twitching nose, shook her head. The salesman split a match with his thumbnail and began picking his teeth. He saw her indicate a refrigerator truck further down the line. He bit on his piece of wood. Nurses didn’t buy refrigerator trucks, either.
    He kicked open the shaky door of the timber shack that served as Happy Harry’s office, and strolled over to the two women.
    “The automobiles are over there, lady.” He pointed to the battered rows of hasty repaints that were rusting away discreetly on the other side of the lot. “We got heaps of bargains, repossessions, insurance jobs, low mileage autos--last you--” he eyed the two women-- “last you a lifetime.”
    “We want a vehicle for carrying things,” said the one with the pince-nez. “Not small things, but things a bit bigger than you.” She eyed the salesman. “Quite a few things, quite a bit bigger than you, my good man.”
    The salesman immediately thought of “Arsenic and Old Lace.”
    “You want a hearse?”
    “Goodness, of course not,” snapped the other woman, in a Scots accent. “We’re not carrying dead bodies.”
    “Well, not actually dead bodies,” added the older nurse. “But it has to be quite a big vehicle. And frightfully reliable, too.”
    “I got a good one here,” said the salesman, pointing to a battered green Ford. “Almost brand new inside. Just wants a slight clean-up. A rare model. Only done twenty thousand miles.” He thought