"Four old ladies were killed at a nursing home up in Des Plaines," Duckie mused, reading the front page of the newspaper.

"That's terrible!" Andie gasped. "Do they know who did it?"

"Not for sure, but they're afraid it might be the South Bend Shovel Slayer."

"Who's that?" Sloane asked from the front seat.

"It says here that he killed 36 people with a snow shovel back in 1958 over in South Bend, Indiana," Duckie read off the front page. "It also says they had a suspect in some guy named Jonathan Marley, but they couldn't come up with enough evidence against him, so they had to let him walk."

"I've heard of him," Cameron said, looking rather depressed. "I think he's the old guy that salts down the sidewalks on Lincoln Boulevard every time it snows."

"Well, let's not worry about that, after all we're not out today to catch a killer," Ferris said as he pulled into the Cracker Barrel parking lot. "Well, here we are, and..." he checked his watch, "...we're still three minutes ahead of schedule."

"Ahead of schedule for what?" Andie asked him, rather suspicious.

"You'll see in due time," Ferris reassured her. "Come on, we'd better reserve our seats so we might miss out on being close enough."

"Close enough to what!?" Andie demanded. "Ferris, would you please tell me what you're...!"

"I take it you don't trust me, Miss Walsh," Ferris said.

"Well, to be perfectly frank, no I don't," she told him. "I don't want you to rob some innocent person just to get money for me."

"My dear Andie, I have never robbed anybody in my life," Ferris told her.

"Cameron can vouch for that; he's been there all the time, right Cameron?"

"Well, for the most part no, Ferris, but..." Cameron began.

"There, you see, nothing to worry about," Ferris said with a big smile. "Come on, success awaits us."

"Or a jail sentence," Andie muttered under her breath as they entered the restaurant. The store was very thoroughly decked out for the holidays, with several Christmas trees scattered here and there all around the country store part of the building. Surprisingly, there was practically no line to go into the restaurant, even though it was the heart of the lunch hour.

"Table for five, smoking section," Ferris told the woman on duty at the reception table.

"I don't like to sit among smokers!" Andie whispered in his ear.

"I'm sorry, but we'll have to be there if we want to get the person we need!" Ferris whispered back.

"To get the person YOU need, Fer...!"

"Follow me please," the woman said, leading them toward the smoking section.

"Look, why do you doubt Ferris so much?" Sloane whispered in Andie's ear.

"Oh, I'm just very apprehensive about people who stretch the rules to their own liking!" Andie shot at her.

"Ferris may stretch the rules, but he always has a good reason to do it," Sloane told her. "Trust him."

As the teens headed off toward the smoking section, the Wet Bandits strolled into the restaurant. "Are you sure you wanna call it off now?" Marv asked his buddy, casually shoveling some expensive blue china into a sack.

"Marv, we've got an appointment. We'll get this Thueller guy after we eat," Harry told him. "Come on, we'll get the merchandise here later."

"Does that include the register?" Marv asked. Harry ignored him. "Two for smoking," he told the lady.

"This way," she led them into the smoking section. Neither burglar noticed Ferris and the others as they walked by them. They were seated at a table at the end of the row. Once the waitress had left, they jumped up and strode two tables down to where two men were puffing away at cigarettes. "We're here," Harry announced to them.

"You're late," Sam McGurk snarled. Although he'd only been in Joliet for four months, having been transferred there from a small prison in southern Illinois in September, he'd already come to the conclusion that the Bandits were hopeless fools. Even though he'd also been undone by an encounter with a kid. He was now nonchalantly flipping open and closed a new switchblade knife, much like the one that had earned him the infamous nickname "Switchblade Sam." His companion was fiddling with an old framed advertisement for Texaco gas. Lenny Snygg had been a small time hitman with the Chicago mob for the last ten years until about a year ago, when a mugging attempt on an old woman coming home from bowling night had landed him in the hospital with a mild concussion. He also had a rather low opinion of Harry and Marv.

"We had an agreement of noon exactly," the hitman said as the Wet Bandits sat down across from them.

"So sue us!" Marv shrugged. "Harry and me, we got a new job."

"What do you mean a new job?" Lenny asked, looking as if he felt they were lying to Sam and himself.

"We's been hired as truants for Shermer High School," Harry told him.

"Truants?" Sam said, trying hard to suppress a laugh. "You guys, who never even made it out of kindergarten!?"

"Hey, I made it to second grade before I decided school wasn't for me!" Marv protested.

"All right, all right," Harry waved him silent. Turning to the others, he said, "Yeah, it's just a temporary gig, just until Christmas Eve when we fly outta here. You guys set a plane, right?"

"Yep," Sam nodded. "It leaves at one a.m. for Trinidad. One way."

"We all gotta be at the airport by midnight so we can rush the plane at once, so you two better not waste time tryin' to track down that kid you're always sayin' you're gonna tear apart," Lenny said, snickering towards Sam, who snickered back.

"It ain't funny!" Harry shot at him, "This kid is a menace to society!"

"Ain't they all," Lenny, chuckling into his hands. Once he recovered, he asked them, "So how're ya doin' with your goods?"

"Better than I hoped," Harry said. "The stint we do as truants gives us free access to the kids' goods, so we're rackin' it up into I think the ten thousands now. We're gonna hit a couple of rich houses tonight, so we might get up to the hundred thousands. You guys?"

"Oh we're already at the halfway point," Sam said with a triumphant grin. "We struck the jewelry store about nine blocks down from here the night we got out."

"We agreed we'd handle that one in the exercise yard!" Marv protested.

"Well you weren't there, so we did you two a favor by doin' it for you," Sam told them. "Consider it a special Christmas gift from us to you."

"Thanks a lot," Harry grumbled.

Several tables down, Ferris was counting down on his watch. "Five, four, three, two, one, and..." he pointed toward the entrance to the dining room as the entire Cracker Barrel staff came running forward. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY MR. PACKARD!" they shouted in unison.

"Alexander Packard, the railway kingpin?" Sloane asked aloud.

"The one and only," Ferris grinned. "His net worth is nearly fifty million dollars, and he hasn't really done anything for charity, so, knowing that he always has his birthday meals at Cracker Barrel, he was the perfect person to tap for charity money."

"How did you..." Andie began, but Ferris silenced her with a raised hand.

"It's time to go to work," he said, rising to his feet.

"Has he been hacking into private information?" Andie asked Cameron, eyebrows raised.

"Uh, that depends on how you define hacking," Cameron said awkwardly.

Ferris strolled casually over to where Packard and an entourage of close to a dozen other men were being seated. He stood over across from the group and waited until the waiters and waitresses walked away before approaching the table.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Packard, and happy birthday!" he told the industrialist.

Packard slowly looked up from his menu. "Who the hell are you?" he asked Ferris.

"My name is Gustavo Renoir, and I work for Abe Frohmann," Ferris said as professionally as he could. "Mr. Frohmann specifically wanted me to talk to you about a little project he's currently doing."

"What does Abe want with me?" Packard asked, looking quite confused. "We only see each other every month at the Yacht Club!"

"Well Mr. Frohmann thinks very highly of you, higher than any other of the people at the Yacht Club, so you're the first person he's coming to on this," Ferris explained. "You see, he's thinking about building a new sausage factory in the suburbs, in a town called, I believe, Shermer, one that he thinks will really stimulate the local economy. The thing is, though, he needs somebody else's assistance in putting it together, so he told me to get in touch with you and secure a small advance down payment on the project of, oh, about three thousand dollars, just so he can get started."

Packard frowned at him. "Are you sure you work for Abe?" he asked suspiciously. "You look a bit too young to be in his expansion division!"

"Are you suggesting I'm not who I say I am!?" Ferris exclaimed with mock indignation. "Why don't you call Mr. Frohmann and see for yourself!"

"I'd be glad to!" Packard reached for his cell phone, but before he could place a call, one of his aides touched his hand. "You know, Mr. Packard, if this young man is being honest, and we do give him the three grand, we'll look very good in the eyes of the public, especially after..."

Packard made a loud sound similar to clearing his throat that silenced this man. "Seymour, when I'm interested in your input, I'll address you in the first person!" he snapped. Then he looked this man in the eye and said, "Seymour, how do you think I should handle this?"

"Well,..." Seymour the aide waved Packard and the rest of the party into a group hug. They conferred for close to two minutes before Packard looked up at Ferris and said, "Okay, three thousand, is it?"

Moments later, Ferris returned to his table clutching a fresh check. "There you go," he said triumphantly, showing Andie the check, "three thousand dollars, triple what you were aiming for, just like I promised. Just put in the name of whoever you want to give it to, and you're all set. Just don't lose this one."

"I won't," Andie said, still not looking too pleased at Ferris's method of obtaining the money.

"Darling you were fantastic," Sloane said, giving him a kiss.

"Sometimes the best performances..." Ferris was distracted by Cameron, who was looking intently out the window. "What is it Cam?" he asked his friend.

"I could swear there was somebody out there just now by the dumpster looking in at us," Cameron said.

"Well, I'm sure a lot of people..."

"No, I mean, really, really looking in at us!" Cameron protested.

"Well there's nobody out there now," Ferris said, leaning over Cameron.

"Well, all this aside, so Duckman, you said you're working at Walleyland in the car?"

"Yep," Duckie told him, "I'll be operating the Barrel of Fun in the funhouse. It's not the best job in the whole park, but it's good enough for starters. How'd you guys find it yesterday?"

"Wonderful, truly wonderful," Ferris said. "I hope we don't get too many more snowstorms this winter, because..."

A few tables away, the Wet Bandits were looking through their menus. "Let's see, I think I'll try the roast pork dinner," Harry said, scanning the entree list.

"But Harry, that comes with a salad!" Marv protested. Ain't ya allergic to salad?"

"Who said I was gettin' the salad, Marv!" Harry told him curtly. "I'm just gonna..." he glanced up at this moment and just happened to notice Ferris sitting a few tables down. His eyes widened. "Hey Marv, look, it's the Crueller kid!" he exclaimed, pointing.

Marv turned and gasped. "Wow, you can't get any luckier than this!" he said in awe.

"Who's he?" Sam asked.

"He's the kid Eddie the principal asked us to get," Harry told him.

"Look, he's gettin' up and goin' to the bathroom," Marv pointed at Ferris, who was heading now in the general direction of the bathrooms.

"Run out to the car and get a blanket and chain. We're bringin' him inta custody," Harry ordered his buddy.

"Right," Marv lept up and dashed for the front door.

"A blanket and chain?" Lenny asked, looking quite perplexed by Harry's proposed method of capturing Ferris.

"That's what we got," Harry said coolly. "We make do with what we got. Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta capture to make."

He got up and strode over toward the bathroom. He stood outside the door and waited, but Ferris didn't come out. Marv didn't show up either. Finally, the taller crook came running up with a blanket and chain. "Sorry Harry, I couldn't find them," he said, out of breath.

"But they was right by the...never mind, just come on," Harry waved Marv into the bathroom. "Now where's he hidin'?"

"Over...!" Marv started shouting.

"Shhhhhh!" Harry snapped. "Do ya wanna tell him we're here before we catch him?"

"Sorry Harry," Marv said in a voice so low that Harry had to strain to hear him, "He's there in that stall."

Harry looked where Marv was pointing. Sure enough, a shock of black hair was visible over the stall wall. "Okay, get by the door and prepare to smother him!" he whispered.

Marv obediently got into position aside of the stall door and raised the blanket high. Moments later there came a flushing noise inside the stall and the door started opening...

"Gotcha!" Marv practically jumped on the person inside. ""Harry, help me get him locked up.

"Okay Mr. Glueller," Harry sniggered, locking the chain around the midsection of their thrashing prisoner, "just sit back and enjoy the ride. "We're takin' you to Principal Eddie for Christmas!"