CHAPTER SEVEN
The Crab's gloved finger nervously flipped through all the channels of his security camera system. No sign of the Pope anywhere. Just hood after hood incapacitated by His Holiness: Clubbed with a crucifix. Tied up with a rosary. Gagged with communion wafers. The Pope was like a walking church supply closet.

The Crab kicked the desk. "That dirty dog. There's got to be a way to get him out of my life for good." He turned around in his chair and looked at the wall. There were dozens of photos and newspaper clippings of the Crab in his full bishop's regalia. One huge article from the "ROMA NOW!" magazine was placed in a gilded frame in the center of the wall. The headline read in big black letters: CARDINAL CRABOLINI IN FRONT RUNNING FOR POPE.

"I was so close." he said, choking back the tears. "He took everything. Why can't he let me have one thing to remind me. One piece of superficial glory. One little piece of my past."

He opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out the Pope's huge pointed hat. He lifted it high above his head. The gold on the mighty headdress glimmered in the white afternoon sunlight, casting spinning metallic pinwheels on the wall. A host of dancing lights filled the room.

"It should have been me!" He sobbed and lowered the hat.

Just as the hat was almost on the Crab's head, he heard the door open.

The hat was knocked out of his hands and flew against the wall, knocking the picture down. The slingshot boomerang rosary flew back into the Pope's hand. He swung it around on his finger and it flew back around his neck with one motion.

"I want what's mine, Cardinal." The Pope said dryly.

"That hat should be mine. I should be you. I was robbed."

"You lost fair and square, Cardinal. It was close, it could have been yours, you were a great man."

"I still am!" the Crab said desperately.

"Look at yourself, Cardinal Crabolini, you're a wreck."

"That's your fault. You stole the Popeship from me."