Creamy Murder Eyes

For Fred, who asked me to write her a story about creamy murder eyes.

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.”