The next day Agent Glyker went to the Reality TV Awards Association to collect his fee. He’d looked everywhere, but the Rabbids were gone. They must have summoned their ship, the strange yellow one that looked like a flying submarine with a Rabbid’s face on the front.
“So,” he said to the head of the association, “about that fee . . .”
“What about it?!” the man snapped, still livid because the Rabbids had ruined his show. “We owe you nothing! You didn’t control your clients at all! You’re the one who should be paying us for all the damage they did!”
“They’re not my clients!” Agent Glyker shouted.
“Oh?” the man said. “Then you’re definitely not getting a fee!”
As he left the office, Glyker thought about how broke he was. He really needed to get off probation and get back to work at the SGAII-RD. But his uncle, Director Stern, was still mad at him, as far as he knew.
This called for desperate measures. There was really only one thing to do. Agent Glyker sighed. Then he took out his cell phone and reluctantly made a call.
“Mom?”