It would be nice to say that this sort of thing didn't
normally happen to him, but it wouldn't be true. J. M. Hatter had a knack for
getting into this kind of situation. This was, at least, the fourth time.
Hatter woke to find himself tied to a chair, in the middle of an abandoned
warehouse, surrounded by gruff looking men. Most people would find this
terrifying, but he was feeling rather chipper. Compared to some of the things
he saw growing up, this was practically tame.
The leader of his kidnappers came forward. A short man with
a strong build, the dim orange light glimmering off his bald head drew Hatter’s
attention. Privately, Hatter dubbed the man McGleamy.
“Glad yah could join us,” McGleamy said, lighting up a
cigarette. “When yah fought back da boys gave yah a pretty good whack on da
noggin.” Hatter had noticed a painful
throbbing in the back of his skull. “Truth is, yah didn’t wake up, I’d ah hadda
shoot Jimmy. Now that yer ‘wake, I don’ hafta.”
“I ‘preciate that, Boss,” Jimmy piped up from behind Hatter.
“Glad to help!” Hatter said amiably, tugging on his bound
wrists. “Now that Jimmy’s safe, if you’ll untie me, I’ll be on my way.”
McGleamy shook his head. “We can’t do dat. Yah’ve got info I
need.”
“Is it where to find wax for your head? Because, it’s pretty
shiny already,” Hatter quips.
WHAM! Ears ringing, blood pounding through his aching head,
Hatter wobbles precariously on his chair, reeling from the sudden blow of
McGleamy’s meaty fist.
“Dat’s funny. We got us a funny man,” McGleamy mocks.
Grabbing a handful of Hatter’s hair with a jerk, he leans in close. “Yah tell
me where yer partner is, Funny Man, or I’ll make yah wish yah’d never been
born.”
Staring into the light grey eyes of his captor Hatter said
with a lopsided grin, “You’ve got rice pudding eyes, and the pupils are
raisins.”
McGleamy blinked, looked at his men in confusion, turned back
to Hatter. “Yah makin’ fun ah me?” he asked. “Are yah really that stupid?”
Hatter chattered on, ignoring his captor. “Maybe not rice
pudding. I never liked rice pudding. Tapioca eyes? Isn’t tapioca just rice
pudding? I don’t think it is. I can never remember. Maybe your eyes are more
like the cream filling in a Cadbury Egg. Or a cherry cordial! No, you just have these dreamy, creamy murder
eyes.”
“Hey! I’m talkin’ ta yah. Listen ta me yah stupid freak!”
McGleamy yelled, shaking Hatter, to no avail. The mindless prattle continued uninterrupted.
“I think yah broke ‘im, Boss,” Jimmy suggested.
“No kiddin’, Nimrod. Get the pliers. Maybe a few broken
fingers will get his attention,” McGleamy announced with a grim smile.
“No, once he gets on a roll you just have to wait until he
stops,” a new voice said from behind McGleamy.
He turned, seeing a young, dark-haired woman. The same
person he’d kidnapped Hatter to find. “Hey!” he exclaimed, a little stunned.
“Hullo,” she replied with a wicked smile.
“I’ve got it! You’re eyes look like cheese soup, if it was
the white cream filling from a donut that was melted, and not actually cheese
soup,” Hatter announced triumphantly. He realized, belatedly, that he was no
longer with McGleamy in the warehouse, but sitting shotgun in a car. Hatter
turned to greet the dark-haired woman driving. “Hi, Belle! Did you get the information
you wanted?”
“I did,” she said with a satisfied smirk. “Your bald friend
knew more than I expected. Thank you for being the bait.”
“Not a problem,” Hatter assured her, gingerly leaning his thumping
head against the cool window. “You meet the most interesting people that way.”
“I suppose you do.”
After a few minutes of companionable silence Hatter piped
up, “Y’know, his eyes did look a little like creamy mashed potatoes.”
