And then the door to the pub crashed open and in stepped a gloriously blond Amazon, aiming two gleaming silver pistols at the Monsieur. She was at least six foot six, and every curve on her was exaggerated, her tiny rock hard waist, her bountiful bosoms that pulled at the constraints of her button down shirt, her ass, oh her ass with it's firm and rippled glutes that reminded Swotsy of nothing less than a prize race horse. Her muscled shoulders filled the door frame.

All the little people looked up at her and gasped. As did Swotsy. Poor confused Swotsy, her head spun, her loins burned.

The Monsieur, however narrowed his eyes and stalked the floor. Dwarves scattered to all corners.

There was no time for confusion. Swotsy pulled her weapon, as did all the other police in the room and the Monsieur just laughed.

"Those will not harm me." He tossed the nearest police man into the wall, and he grunted and slid down to the floor, unconscious. The hail of bullets that followed, he just laughed off. When it quieted, and the dwarves all peeked from behind their cover,

The blond goddess spoke. "But mine will. They are silver... that would be poison to your system wouldn't it?"

"The Giant Queen!" they dwarves whispered in awe from their hiding places. "The Giant Queen."

From her great height, the Amazon, looked down upon them and the whispers ended.

"I've got your back, Captain Velkiris. I don't know how you knew what was going on, but I'm ready," Joe said, his trusty gun warm in his hand.

"Stand down, Sargeant," she said, her steely eyes never leaving the Monsieur's. "I sent you in here without knowledge and without the proper equipment. Your bullets will just pass through him. If I had prepared you, if you had known, the Monsieur would never have exposed himself by following you in here. I needed you to be too attractive to his needs. I needed you as bait. And he was, wasn't he, Monsieur?"

The Monsieur hissed.

A Mystery, A History, A Recipe, A Key

a book.

An old photo book.

He opened it up, knowing it came from his mother. Knowing that whatever it was, it was his very own legacy.

And there, in all the pictures, was his mother.

Young, so young. A girl, even. He didn't remember seeing pictures of his mother as a girl, ever.

He wondered why. She seemed to be having such a lovely time. Running around a carnival with another young, beautiful girl. A crowd of girls, it seemed, but most specifically, just one. No, it wasn't a carnival. It was a circus.

He saw the other girl riding on the back of the horses. He saw his mother, amazingly, up in the air, on the high wire. It looked like she was dancing. And then he saw both of them together, their arms clasped and in them middle, a tiny girl, no taller than his arm, standing on their clasped arms. All three of them with the huge, innocent smiles that can only come with youth, with the hope and dreams that exist before the world comes crashing down.

Was it possible that his mother, before she met old Bill who ruined her life, had been a circus performer? It seemed impossible, but here was the evidence right here in front of him.

He turned to the last page, and pasted there, was a key.

He had seen it before. He didn't know where. It wasn't the key to this, his mother's old lock box... that was still stuck in the box in front of him. It wasn't the key to the house-- which he just remembered that idjit Randy still had. But he knew

He remembered..

. . . the key . . . he carefully took the manilla envelope from his pocket and kissed it . . . this would solve everything. Surely this would make her understand why he'd had to leave.

Was that really Randy?
Or were the voices playing tricks with his mind . . .
The jukebox in the Tavern, he could hear . . .