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Arell laughed. "Well, lon' story short, de mob an' my family ain't been de best of friends . . . an' when I see a punk mafiosah tryin' t' put de whammy on my li'l bro, I gotta step in." he said, the mixture of his thick Cajun accent and the rasp of his cigarette voice cut through the air. "But yeah, ya can reckon we's de good guys, che' . . . jes' wit' some . . . unorthodox methods, bud."

Smitty decided to make his move, calling the Don on his cell phone. Hoping he can do something.

"Smitty, where the hell are you?" the Don asked from the other side of the phone.

"Sounds like I'm at a railyard, those dammed southerners are in some trouble." the mafioso said. The Don, Bozo and a few other goons Razolli recruited were piled into a Mercedes and on their way.

"We're on our way, make sure they DON'T LEAVE!" the Don growled and hung up, driving up to where the railyard.

Meanwhile, whoever wasn't inside of a trunk or at work were focused on the Nightwing fellow.

"Now you just back up a bit, son. I ain't 'bout to go anywhere just 'cause some hotshot in tights is sayin' I gotta go." the Cajun said, not really appreciating his attitude as Dundee stuck his head out of the boxcar.

"I got that thang ready to get Don Razo- aw s**t, what the hell?" Dundee asked and hopped down from the railroad car. "Hey kid! Get down from there! You're gonna get yourself hurt, man! Just get down and we'll talk a little bit to figure out what's goin' on!" Dundee shouted up to Nightwing.

Dundee cocked his head. "So, bro? Have we MET this guy?" Dundee asked as a pair of headlights appeared . . . a Mercedes Benz pulled up to a halt nearby. Arell looked over at the car and back to Nightwing.

"Hey, mon! Who's da guy in da Mercedes?" Antigua asked as about . . . six or seven mobsters came out of the car, most loaded for bear.

"I know you seem set in fightin' me or seein' us behind bars, but if you can just turn yo' head behind you, de mobsters are THERE and who WE were tryin' to capture!" Arell growled.

"Hey Cajun! We have unfinished business!" the Don said. Arell lit a smoke and casually pushed Nightwing to the side.

"Trucks to de right, tweety. Watch how thangs get done." the Cajun said. Dundee caught up and was next to Arell, monkey wrench in hand.

"Whatcha doin' in Gotham, Razolli?" Arell asked. The Don lit a cigar and sneered.

"Wouldn't you like to know, Cajun? In about a half-hour, you'll have a bullet in your head and I'll be plowing that new chop shop right in your beloved swamp!" the Godfather said with an evil smile. Arell nodded to Antigua and he released Smitty from the trunk.

"Boss! Boy am I glad to see you . . . and Bozo, too!" Smitty yelped and tried to hustle over to join the fight . . . and was quickly cold-cocked by Dundee.

"Boy, you KNOW dat's 'gainst de law . . . Bayou's protected land son. Now what's your REAL plan?" Arell asked. The other thugs under Razolli's control surrounded Dundee and Arell.

"Hey, Bro? Reckon we're gonna fight our way out?" Dundee asked Arell.

"Well, either dat, wait 'til Jonah gets here, or turn ourselves into de dude in the tights. Your pick, bud." Arell replied. Dundee smirked, eying the thugs.

"Let's fight it out." Dundee smirked.

"Having you two mangled will be a relaxing thing. Maybe then Mr. Brooks will . . . well never mind, I'll just kill you two and get it over with." the Don said and snapped his fingers. Dundee and Arell stood back to back as the thugs closed in. One of the thugs took a swing and the two dove in on it, kicking up a cloud of dust as the fight broke out.

Razolli blew a smoke ring in his face. "Strangely enough, I'm the one that DESERVES to go, but I won't . . . just give up." the Mafioso said. Meanwhile, the two southerners were in the midst of the fight.

"Hey, you in th' tights! You wanna make yerself useful an' lend a hand?" Arell asked, two bigger fellows trying to kill him . . . the Cajun putting up one HELL of a fight, throwing punches, not much time for going for his knife.

"Druther have ya do dat then just sit around tryin' to arrest someone! Mo' productive!" Dundee yelped, just cranking a mobster over the head with a wrench. Antigua just sat there as Smitty came to.

"Uh . . . did anyone get da number of dat truck?" Smitty asked in a daze. Antigua smiled and took a puff on a joint.

"Nah mon, dat wasn't a truck . . . dat was Li'l Cajun, mon." Antigua said casually . . . her nickname for Dundee as they watched the fight.

"C'mon, Razolli! Lemme in on this!" Smitty yelped coming to.

"Aw c'mon, man! Dat's still not dat good of odds!" Arell yelped.

"Okay, I'll fight the dude in the tights!" Smitty replied. "Bozo! Lemme borrow your stuff!" Smitty hollered. Bozo laughed.

"Duhh . . . Okay, Smitty!" Bozo replied and handed Smitty a pistol and a baseball bat. Smitty stared down Nightwing.

"Now c'mon, put 'em up!" Smitty yelped.

The sweep-kick sent the bad guys . . . and Arell flying. Unlike the goons however, the Cajun landed on his feet like a cat and took on another one of the goons by surprise.

"Guess who, che'?" Arell asked, putting his hands over the goon's eyes.

"Crocodile Dundee?" the thug asked as Arell spun him around and threw a sledgehammer fist into the thug's mouth.

"Think again!" Arell said and spun around, taking on the other thug. Meanwhile, Dundee had already rendered his original two thugs unconscious, seeing how the last two were beaten, the other thug got mighty nervous.

"I guess I owe you one, che'." Arell said to Nightwing with a smirk. "I'll go quietly after dis dude." the Cajun said, rolling up his sleeves.

"Naw, I want 'im!" Dundee shouted, pulling out his buck knife and running towards the goon. Razolli smiled sheepishly . . . any day now, gunslinger . . . snipe the hell out of these two! the mobster thought. Smitty and Bozo dove in to help the other thug.

"Now boys, three on one ain't a good fight, che'." Arell said, holding back Dundee and Nightwing. Bozo and Smitty stepped in looking menacing.

"Better now, bro?" Dundee asked.

"Yep!" Arell replied and dove in to fight the more armed thug, leaving Smitty and Bozo for Nightwing and Dundee.

Smitty fell forward and staggered to his feet facing the be-tighted superhero. He staggered around and pulled out a gun. "Try dat again an' I'll blow your brains out!" Smitty slurred, dazed from the speed of this attacker. Meanwhile Arell had the crony in a full nelson when the Don pulled out his gun and pointed it at the Cajun. "Knock it off!" Don yelled.

"So say de guy dat wants ta kill me!" Arell growled and with a bear-paw fist, snapped the crony's neck and into the sweet sleep of unconsciousness the other dude went. Dundee however didn't have that easy of a time with Bozo, who was using his mass to pin the unlucky southerner down.

"BRO!! GET DIS SUMBITCH OFF ME!" Dundee yelled, muffled by the big fellow about to squish him like a bug.

"I gotcha!" Arell yelped and tacked Bozo off of the younger brother and proceded to enter the wildest brawl two people ever could have, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Dundee looked down at him. He was still breathing. "Jest 'nuff t' knock 'im out." He looked at it again and slung the thug over his shoulder. "May a' laid it on too hard. 'Ey Antigua!" the Cajun yelped. The Jamaican woman perked up.

"Ya mon? What's goin' on?" Antigua asked.

"Reckon ya can take dis dude to de hospital? I think big bro laid it on 'im a li'l too much." the Cajun said, handing the out-cold (and almost comatose) fellow over to the cabbie, who placed him in the back of the car. Arell sheepishly looked back at Nightwing. "He don't know his own strength sometimes." he said, apologizing for his brother, who was currently with his hands full fighting Bozo . . . who was enraged at the fact that there was an unconscious and bloodied-up Smitty on the ground.

Arell got up and shook Nightwing's hand. "Thanks fer yo' help, che', but ya tol' me I was gon' get arrested. Still want me to come along?" Arell asked as Dundee and Antigua piled into the car, ready to head out . . . the "death trap" for Smitty wasn't going to be used tonight.