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Dr. Wonka found the numbers exactly where he'd thought he'd find them. The results didn't please him. "Bee, Bee, BEEP!" the phone screeched, in a frequency Dr. Wonka could no longer hear well.
"The number you have dialed is no longer in service. If you think you've reached this recording in error, please hang up, and dial again."
"You're the error," Dr. Wonka muttered, when it happened for the third time. He slammed the phone back into its cradle like a tug slamming into a dock. How dare those lice change their number without informing him! Sickened, he got smart. He did some research. Stabbing in the numbers for the fourth time, his fingers jangled the ringer in his antiquated phone.
"If you don't take this call, I quit." The snap of popping gum punctuated the proclamation, followed by slurpy chewing.
Prodnose pushed the papers on his desk into an untidy pile only to spread them out again, protesting. Dangling the quitting— what a bitch; he knew she didn't mean it. "Tell 'im I'm in a meeting Schnookems, you know that, we've talked about this— I'm too busy to take calls from crackpots."
So far, the morning was a disaster.
"Don't gimme that crap, Honeypea, I can't take this guy anymore." The gum snapped again as she shifted her weight to her other foot and sat her skinny bum on the edge of the desk.
Threatening quitting was the high point of her day. Proddy-waddy expected her to quit when they married, but she knew better. She'd pried off ball-and-chain number three courtesy of Secretaryville, and that wasn't gonna happen to her till she was good and ready. The bangles hanging from her wrist clanked together out of tune, as she lifted the phone from its cradle, her manicured, be-ringed fingers poised over the button that would open the line.
"He's been calling every ten minutes for the last hour, Sweetie-weetie, and he ain't gonna take 'no' for an answer." The wheedle left her voice for a hard edge. "I'm sick of it. You get rid of 'im."
Prodnose retrieved his face from his meaty hands, taking the outstretched phone. "Who'd ya say?" The only place he paid any real attention to her was in bed, and even there, his attention was mostly on himself.
"Wonka." The gum snapped emphatically as she got to her feet.
The blood left Prodnose's face like water separating from oil. "Willy?" he squeaked.
"Doctor." Snap.
The sting of seeing her glory in her scorn at his discomfort bucked him up. "You're lucky it ain't the son, sweetie-pie, cuz if it was we'd be out of business." A smug smile accompanied the wave of his fingers. "Say 'bye-bye' to all those pretty things! —Now get outta here and get back to work."
"Way ahead o' you, Honeypea," she tossed over her shoulder, with a dismissive flip of her bottled tawny hair and studio tanned hand, as she sauntered from the room. "Way ahead o' you."
She slammed the door with a force that reverberated along the hall, and Slugworth raised his head. Roddy and his nitwit child-bride— what was up with them this time?
Prodnose held the phone for a minute, collecting himself. He'd thought Wonka was dead—hadn't heard from the creep in years—but apparently he could file that under 'no such luck'. He took a deep breath and punched the button.
"Dr. Wonka. What a pleasant surprise."
"Peabody. So good to have you finally on the line. I trust your meeting was satisfactory?"
Prodnose grimaced at the 'Peabody'. No one called him that. He hated it. But this was definitely Dr. Wonka. The dulcet tones and measured speech could be no one else. Prodnose felt sick. "Why, yes— yes it was. Ah, to what do I owe the honor?"
Slugger had cracked the door, his beaky nose and narrow, wispy-haired head peeking 'round it. Prodnose gestured him in, and put the phone on speaker. Wonka was droning on about a house being moved, and using buckets to take another stab at taking down his son.
'Is he crazy?' Slugger was mouthing the words, but the dread behind them fairly shrieked. He felt like a boa constrictor was running amok in his large intestine. Prodnose, listening to Wonka wax eloquent about surveillance schemes, felt the same way, but he made calming gestures telling Slugger to sit. This was a nightmare. Slugworth pointed to the phone and made throat-cutting gestures to end the call.
Gestures weren't getting it done on either side.
'Sit down.' It was Roddy mouthing words now. Giving up, Slugworth crumpled into the chair.
Dr. Wonka droned on, and finally to a halt. "I'm counting on you. Like last time." He heard nothing. "Hello?"
Prodnose sat up. "Still here. I'd love to help you, but it's not old times anymore. I'm not even in town anymore."
Dr. Wonka chuckled. "Do tell. And you and Mr. Slugworth are partners, aren't you? Prodworth's Confections, I believe you call it?" The morning's research that had yielded the phone number had raked up a good deal more information as well.
"That's right. Mr. Slugworth is with me now." 'Say something' he mouthed at Slugger.
"Dr. Wonka." It was all Slugger could mange. Surprises threw him.
"How fortunate for me, I have you both. It saves me a call— of course you should both benefit. As for the move you made, it's nothing a few hours drive won't set right. I'll put you up at my abode." Enjoying this, Wilbur's smile would stop a clock. "In Willy's old room, if you like."
Slugger shivered.
Prodnose rubbed down the goosebumps on his arm, wishing the hair standing up on the back of his neck would take the hint. "Very kind of you Doctor, but I'm afraid we're too, ah— too busy for any new projects."
"Yup, got our hands full we do," seconded Slugworth. "Too busy!"
The line was quiet. And then Dr. Wonka's sinister baritone filled the room. "Let's take off the gloves, shall we? This isn't a request. You owe me. I told you what to do to put Willy out of business, and it worked exactly the way I said it would. It cleared the field and made you rich. Everything you have, you owe to me."
Livid, Prodnose was on his feet, blood coursing to his face. "Why you little shit— you bled us dry with your take! We made you rich! Help you now? Fucking eat shit and die! If you were on fire, I wouldn't cross the street to piss on you!"
"Roddy! Get a grip!"
"Yes, Roddy, get a grip." The even tone of Dr. Wonka's voice dropped the temperature in the room ten degrees. "You and your cohorts were the industry leaders, for years. Using my son's recipes. There was plenty of money— for all of us."
Roddy's finger hovered over the button that would cut the connection. His heart was racing, his breathing rapid and shallow. Sweat seeped in the folds of his clothing. Fuck this man for making him lose control this way. Prodnose slowed his breathing and took a deep breath.
"Well grip this old man— your sinking, shitass scheme didn't work, did it? A few good years for us, and your son came back— changed all the recipes with newer, better ones and put us out of business. D'you remember that part? The part where he got the better of you? And your stupid plan? The part where he's the most respected, envied, RICHEST candy maker in the world?"
"And the biggest froot-loop," muttered Slugworth.
Prodnose scowled. "With a freakin' Oompa-Doompa-Loompa work force he'd a never found if it weren't for YOU— undercutting all of us FOREVER, you useless jerk!" His blood pounding, Prodnose slowed himself again. "Your problem, asshole," he spat, "is you can't stand that your biggest achievement in life is gonna be fathering him." Prodnose had an epiphany. "That's what this is all about, isn't it? You can't stand that, can you?— Can't stand that your son gets the better o' you, does bett'r 'an you." Almost dancing, his grin split his face. "What's a matter, Doc? You afraid little Willy's gonna do somethin' else bett'r 'an his big 'ol bad daddy? Well, my money's on him and you can go suck."
The handset hit the cradle with a crack as Roddy pressed the button that severed the call, and fell back into his chair.
"That's telling him," said Slugworth.
The adrenaline kept Roddy's grin plastered on his face. "Like we have a choice."
Slugger laughed. "Yeah. Like we have a choice. If we owe what we have to the Doc, we owe what we keep to Willy. That sucker's got us right where he wants us."
"Yeah." Roddy joined in the laugh. "Here we are. The two of us. Crap making crap."
"Yeah." Slugger paused. "There's a market for crap. But Wonka ain't gonna get his hands dirty with it."
"So he leaves it to us."
Slugworth pursed his lips, nodding. "And watches us like a hawk."
Prodnose picked up a pencil. It was true. Whenever Prodworth's Confections introduced anything of quality, Willy undersold them, or created something so wonderful, it totally eclipsed their soon forgotten work. They couldn't escape the niche, but it was a truce they could live with. It was justice really: they'd tried to take everything from Willy Wonka once, but when he came back he'd rewarded the effort by giving them something in return: a decent living, two towns over, and the reputation for making the worst candy anyone would still consider eating. It was a high price—their dreams of confectionary glory dashed—and a life sentence, but the 'World's Worst' reputation aside, they'd survived. Their own choices had put them here, and they knew it. Messing with Willy Wonka— it was a game they weren't gonna lose again, because now they knew better than to play.
Knowing he should get back to his office, Slugworth stayed on. Dr. Wonka's call had made him oddly reflective, as indeed was the ever practical Prodnose. Just now he was tapping the eraser end of his pencil up and down on the blotter.
"We could quit," said Prodnose between taps.
Slugworth leaned back. Over the nasty surprise, his bearings were solid again. "And lose our living? Besides, Wonka wouldn't care if we quit."
"That's what Ficklegruber did."
"Which is why he can live in the shadow of that Factory. Big deal."
The pencil tapped back and forth. "You know he didn't want to take that recipe."
"You going soft on me, Roddy?" Slugworth leaned toward the desk with narrowed eyes. "Don't forget he caught us in the act, old pal. If we didn't make him use that recipe we could never trust him. Not much of a future in that."
Prodnose nodded. Slugger could be cold… way cold, and then he laughed. Slugger should have taken the ice cream recipe.
"What's so funny?" The distrust was blatant.
"I was just thinking. Someone ought to warn Wonka his father's gunning for him again."
Like the stick insect he resembled, Slugworth crawled to his feet. "Knock yourself out," he said as he left. "It won't be me."
Prodnose hefted his pencil and reached for last week's sales report. It wouldn't be him, either.
Riffraff. That's what those two cowards were… bloody riffraff. No surprise there. Always had been.
Dr. Wonka stroked his Van Dyke. It'd been genius—his genius!—that had got those two louts into the Factory while The Boy was away in India. They were idiots not to see they still owed him. Once inside, it had been so easy for them to steal the secret recipes. So easy! Everyone left at the Factory thought it was someone else's job to guard them, and the only person who really cared about them was off gallivanting on a fool's errand, continents away. The whole plan—his plan!—was like taking candy from a baby. The best part was The Boy's dejected disappointment, when he returned to find his recipes stolen, and his Factory in chaos. Dr. Wonka sneered. After daring to disappoint his father, Willy deserved it.
With a merry twinkle in his eye, Dr. Wonka rubbed his hands together, and would have laughed aloud, but for the pain in his lower back. His eyes fluttered to his hanging shrine, and his face went soft with pleasure. The gormless Boy reacting by closing his Factory was sinful sweetness Dr. Wonka had savored for years. Though he took the credit for it, he hadn't expected that: The Boy walking away from his life's work. Not the move I'd have made! Oh, dear me! No! I'd have made everyone working for me suffer, while I hunted the culprits down! Ah, well. Good times those, and that's what made today's call so disappointing. Riffraff had handled the dirty work then… who better than riffraff to handle the dirty work now?
Staring at the silent, black hole before him that was the telephone, Dr. Wonka deliberated. Those two weren't the only louts. There was always Ficklegruber. Feckless Ficklegruber! His spine was well-known for having the same steely qualities as a pond reed in a gale. Like the pond scum he was. Bullying him into partaking of the current agenda should be as easy as plucking a rotten tooth. And Ficklegruber lived in town. So much the better.
Dr. Wonka obliterated the number for Prodworth's on the pad, and dialed the next.