CHAPTER SIX
When the Pope regained consciousness, he heard faint voices echoing through the shaft.

"He's gotta be here somewhere." the Crab yelled. The frantic footsteps of his henchmen took off faster than a cheetah on the Concord.

"That Crab sure has those hoods spooked." the Pope whispered.

"Sure does." came a voice from behind him.

He turned around. The silver revolver glinted in the streams of fluorescent light that filtered through metal slotted vents.

"Say goodbye, Papa." The hood said.

"Please," the Pope said, "call me J.P."

"Huh?..."

"Eat skullcap, toadie." The Pope yelled and hurled his little hat at the hoodlum. It flew through the air and stuck to his face like a fencing mask with no peephole.

"Hey...who turned out the lights." The hood's words were muffled by the hat.

The Pope grabbed the silver revolver and hurled it furiously down the air shaft. It hit the wall and was imbedded there in the aluminum like a fossilized seashell.

"You've still got it, baby." the Pope said and pulled out another skullcap from under his robe. "Glad I brought my spare. LET'S GO!!!" He took off running down the long air duct, his cape flying majestically behind him as he ran.