11!

Miss Snark groaned, stepping out of the Easter procession to lean
against a lamp post. She slipped off her stilletto and prodded her
bunion tenderly.
"That is why," Killer Yapp said, "your mother wears Army boots." Yapp
adjusted his tam and turned back to his appraisal of the promenading
poodles. "Wait a minute!" He reached into the jar at his side,
extracted a pickled terrapin, and threw it at a will of the wisp
masquerading as Bat Segundo. "Drop everything and give me ten... books!"
"You never made galleycat do that," the ephemeral spirit whined. "I
can't think over the roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd.
It's Easter in New York, for Pete's sake."
Yapp scowled. "Cry me a river, Sparky. Just try to muddle through,
and have them on my desk by Tuesday."

Killer Yapp joins the fray!

Scoring to come