A FUNNY THING HAPPENED TO ME ...
BY MAGGIE
Catherine was late. She stood pacing outside her office building, hoping to catch a passing cab, but so far none of the drivers had obliged. She knew Joe would be waiting at court for her to bring her hurriedly typed-up notes, which he urgently needed for the case they were tied up in. He would pacing, just as she was, or tapping his fingers impatiently on a desk and cursing under his breath.
*No more than I am, Joe,* she thought, irritated by her seeming inability to catch up over the past week.
This morning, for example, she had inexplicably overslept. *No,* she corrected herself, *I hadn't wanted to wake up.* She had felt so close to Vincent last night.
The previous evening she had gone Below, to find Vincent, Mouse and the older children, crammed into his chamber, watching a rather bashed up portable Video/TV, that was running off an old car battery. It was showing an old gangster movie, centred around pool halls and the illicit liquor trade, which was set in the days of prohibition.
"What's going on?" she whispered to one of the kids. "I didn't think Father approved of television."
"Not TV," said Mouse. "Video. Old, broke. Mouse fixed it."
"Where did you find it, Mouse?"
"Garbage bin."
She looked over at Vincent; he seemed engrossed in the movie, but perhaps feeling her gaze, he turned to look at her. Grinning in Mouse's direction, he shrugged his shoulders.
"All we need is a fire," she murmured, wistfully, sitting herself next to him, on a footstool.
"A fire?" he enquired, puzzled.
"An evening at home with the kids," she whispered back, a little ruefully.
"Oh," and he put an arm around her. "I'm sorry; I'm afraid this is the best we can do."
She gave him her warmest smile and put her arms around his middle, snuggling her head into the comfort of his shoulder. "This'll do fine," she murmured back.
She tried to follow the movie, but found it difficult, having missed the beginning and soon she was drifting off to sleep.
Of course, as far as she was concerned, she was still watching the movie. It didn't even strike her as strange that the characters in the film all seemed to be people that she knew.
There was an old man and his wife, being held hostage by the Mob, as retribution for something; she couldn't immediately figure out what. Catherine took this in her stride and didn't even do a double-take over Father being married to Mary; it seemed quite reasonable.
The man holding them at gunpoint seemed to be Elliot Burch; she noticed how friendly he was being with the hostages, even charming.
*Trust Elliot,* she thought.
There was also a private detective with another face she recognised - Joe Maxwell, but in the film his name was Pete, and his friends all thought it was very funny to give him the nickname, 'Perpetually Puzzled Pete'. He was trying to find the whereabouts of the old couple, and wasn't having much luck.
*
Back at the old warehouse, where Father and Mary were being kept by Elliot, he seemed to be waiting for someone called 'The Boss'.
"And who precisely is this 'Boss' of yours?" Father enquired, testily.
A rather charming smile crossed Elliot's face. "Well, now, I'm afraid that would just be telling, now wouldn't it? Besides, if you knew his name, it might be that you folks wouldn't live very long. If I were you, I wouldn't worry about who he is." The charming smile became an even more charming grin, which alleviated somewhat, the threat posed as he settled the Thompson he was carrying, more comfortably across his arm. "Now please, just rest yourself old man; you've had quite a shock and it might catch up to you."
Father looked very disgruntled at being called 'old man', but when 'shushed' by Mary, who also gave him a glaring look, he decided to keep quiet. The look in his eyes, however, promised that this was only a temporary state of affairs.
Just then there was a noise downstairs, of a door being opened and - still covering them with the Thompson - Elliot backed up to the door of the office. Opening the door, he looked out, past the catwalk and down the stairs which led up to the little Second floor office, to the warehouse floor, to see who had come in. Then he turned back to Father.
"Looks like the wait is over, folks; The Boss has just arrived. You should be flattered, you know," he continued, moving into the room again. "He's come here just to see you two. The Boss never does that - hardly ever leaves his permanent address."
"And where might that be?" asked Father, obviously hoping for some crumb of evidence. Elliot's grin got wider, but he said nothing; just moved to stand over by the open door. A few moments later the boss walked in and Rather and Mary both gasped.
"Oh, no!" Mary burst out.
"You!" exclaimed Father.
"Yes, Jacob; me."
The sepulchral tones rolled around the office, making Catherine think of a very sad Father Christmas. *Good job he's not carrying a sack,* she thought, *cos there's no way he's ever going to say, 'Ho-ho-ho' ...*
It was Paracelsus.
"Why are you keeping us here?" Father demanded.
"Because of your precious son," sneered Paracelsus.
Mary shivered in her bonds, suddenly more worried than she already had been. "What has Vincent to do with you?" she asked, quaveringly.
"He's cut short a valuable source of my income."
"Whisky," snorted Father, disgusted with Paracelsus illegal activities.
"Yes, Jacob; whisky. MY whisky."
*First gold, now whisky,* thought Catherine, wryly. *He's getting worse ...*
"You'll never catch him," stated Father firmly. "Out there, the people call him 'The Invisible Avenger'," he said, trying to be brave.
"Oh, he'll come to save you," gloated Paracelsus. "Rescue you from my clutches," and he chuckled, evilly.
Catherine was almost disappointed when he didn't rub his hands together, as well.
All of a sudden, there was the sound of a scuffle down in the warehouse and Elliot stuck his head out the door once more.
"Well, well, if it isn't 'Perpetually Puzzled'," he exclaimed, cheerfully. "I wonder how he actually managed to find us?"
"I presume they have him?" asked Paracelsus. His voice was hardly half a shade away from Midnight.
"Jock and Ugly? Sure, Boss; with a guy like Pete whaddaya expect?"
Catherine thought that was a bit unfair. Joe wasn't inneffective, just a little bit ... naive.
"Get him up here."
"Yes, Boss." Elliot handed the sub-machine gun over to Paracelsus and left the office, clattering down the steps to the warehouse floor in his snazzy two-tone shoes. A fair amount of shouting went on - coming mostly from Joe, (or rather, Pete) - and then more clattering on the steps, as the third addition to Paracelsus' little collection was brought up to the office, to join the other two.
"How did you find me?" Paracelsus asked. "By accident, I presume?"
"I was following a lead," Pete replied defiantly.
"He was nosing around the uptown joint, and was given one of our famous 'hot tips', laughed Elliot.
Pete glowered. "You won't get away with this."
Paracelsus just smiled his graveyard smile and - obviously deeming the opposite to be overwhelmingly apparent - said nothing.
"So, what's going on here, anyway?" asked Pete.
Father opened his mouth to tell him, but before he could do so, Paracelsus put a question to the private detective.
"Who actually hired you to find these people?"
"That's none of your business."
"I don't have to hurt you, Maxwell, to get an answer to my question." He pointed the gun - which he hadn't returned to Elliot - at Mary. Elliot, who was leaning with his back up against the door, twitched a bit at that, but said nothing.
"You wouldn't," said Pete.
"Wouldn't I?" threatened Paracelsus, silkily, leaning closer, until the barrel was almost against Mary's throat.
"Stop this!" shouted Father. "We used to be friends once."
"And what kind of friend did you turn out to be, Jacob?"
"You can't do this," fumed Pete, struggling to free himself from the ropes he'd been secured with.
Whilst Paracelsus' attention was distracted, Elliot edged away from the door, and adjusted something in the back of the waistband of his pinstripes, perhaps aware that he might have to be ready for an unseen eventuality.
*Good for you, Elliot,* thought Catherine. *We might reform you yet.*
Meanwhile, Pete had had enough.
"Alright, alright, I'll tell you; just don't shoot the old lady, okay?"
Once more Father's face expressed a certain peevishness that Joe had referred to Mary in that way. Catherine found such seriousness a tiny bit amusing; after all, she was sure Mary didn't mind - just as long as she didn't get shot. She could almost imagine how her own expression would be echoed in Vincent's gorgeous wry smile. *By the way, Chandler, I wonder why he isn't here yet ...*
Back at the film, Pete was on the point of spilling the beans about his client, crossing his fingers behind his back, (because that was where they tied,) and hoping that his client could look after herself.
*Now how did she know about that? Maxwell hadn't said anything in the film about his client being a woman ... hmm, interesting.*
Anyway .....
"The woman who came to see me -"
"Evening, everyone."
It was Vincent. He was stood in the office doorway, in an even snazzier pinstripe suit than Elliot's and his hair was swept back over his shoulders, also like Elliot's, except that Vincent's was much, MUCH longer.
Elliot was jealous. The white of Vincent's two-tone brogues, positively sparkled - much like his teeth, which he was flashing in, what was for him, a broad grin, and his trilby was perched on his head at an even more rakish angle than Elliot's.
*God, he looks GORGEOUS!* thought Catherine. *No wonder Elliot's jealous. But how do I know he's jealous? ... Well, he looks jealous ... and how does Vincent get that hat to sit so well on top of all that ... LOVELY ... hair ...*
The whole effect was finished off by an M16, held lazily - but no less menacingly aimed at Paracelsus - in his right hand.
*Eh? Where did he get an M16? This is an old-time gangster movie. Oh, well ...*
"This M16 is MUCH faster than that Thompson," imparted Vincent, conversationally.
"I can still kill the old lady, first," gloated Paracelsus.
"NOT ... if I aim for your hand."
"Drat you," cursed Paracelsus. "Why don't you do something, Burch?"
Elliot opened his mouth, but then Vincent reached out his left hand, in a seemingly, quite friendly, manner, and thoughtfully tapped his claws on Elliot's shoulder. They were rather too near his neck for comfort and Elliot had second thoughts. Catherine could tell, by the way he was eyeing Paracelsus and then Vincent, that he really rather urgently wanted to change sides. He flicked a glance at the still open door and looked like he was listening for something.
Of course. Vincent had appeared at the door without any warning, so he must have dealt with 'Jock' and 'Ugly', on his way in. Elliot was certainly smart enough to figure out who suddenly represented the winning side, in this situation.
So apparently, had Paracelsus.
"Where are my men?" he asked, slowly lowering the gun from Mary's neck. He began backing into a corner, keeping the Thompson loosely on Vincent.
"Erm ... Mouse is playing with them. Don't worry, he won't hurt them;" he continued, looking almost apologetic, "but it took him quite a long time to make the net and he must have some fun."
"May I?" asked Elliot, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Vincent removed his hand from Elliot's shoulder and opened the door wider, for him to look out. Elliot stuck his head out the door.
Mouse had strung up the two thugs in the aforementioned net, in which he'd caught them, and they were now suspended from a thick beam near the ceiling. Mouse was, rather enthusiastically, using them as a swing.
Elliot gulped, and looked a little sorry for the two hoods; one of them looked quite green. "Probably can't stand heights," he muttered to himself. Looking back at Paracelsus, he nodded his head and shrugged his shoulders.
"How did you find me?"
"That's for me to know and you to forever wonder about," replied Vincent, smugly.
"It was that busybody, Chandler, wasn't it?" Paracelsus retorted, angrily. "That girlfriend of yours sticks her long nose into everything; one of these days she's going to lose it, along with the rest of her pretty face," he finished, hoping to goad Vincent into making a wrong move.
"You're just hoping to goad me into making a wrong move;" said Vincent, with a knowing smile on his face. "It won't work."
"No, it won't," came a woman's voice from behind Paracelsus. Whoever she was, she must have slipped in through the other door behind him, while Vincent had been talking. Paracelsus jerked forward an inch or two, as if he'd had a gun stuck in his back.
*Is that me?* thought Catherine. *I can't see; let me just - * and she moved to get a better look. There seemed to be someone rather tall in front of her ...
... and she seemed to be covering him with a .22 Beretta.
*Whaddaya know, I finally made it into the movies,* she thought. *Well, this IS interesting ... *
"Just drop the gun," she said, briskly, " and move into the centre of the room."
Glumly, Paracelsus obeyed. Vincent descended on him and, tossing her the M16, which she caught with practiced ease, he produced a length of rope out of nowhere. *Well, this IS the movies,* she thought, as Vincent proceeded to tie 'The Boss' up.
Once he was firmly bound, Vincent looked over at Elliot. "You still with him?"
In reply, Elliot began to untie the other captives. Catherine smiled, and tucked the Beretta back in the top of her stocking. When she looked back up, she found the eye of nearly every male in the place, on her. Except for Father and Vincent, of course. Father was too busy fussing over Mary, but Vincent was rather too conspicuously checking Paracelsus' bonds. Even though his hat was tipped down over his eyes now, she could see that he was blushing. *Oh, you big softie,* she thought, fondly. The other two she just stared at meaningfully, until they remembered to mind their own business.
*
Catherine drove Paracelsus - Elliot covering him with the Thompson - to the Police Station, where she handcuffed him to a drainpipe, right outside the door. Then she used the kiosk round the corner to telephone the Police, to let them know of their second doormat. Alright, so she'd handcuffed him to the BOTTOM stanchion of the drainpipe, which meant that anyone entering the Station had to either step over him, or use him as a doormat. Of course, there was a third alternative; they could just not go into the Station at all. This, on the whole, was the most likely, the way Paracelsus was reacting to his situation - he'd been cursing a blue streak, when she'd left him.
Vincent and Mouse had simply melted back into the night, as was their wont, and a, by now, totally bewildered Pete ... Joe ... Maxwell, had been left to make his own way home, with few words of explanation.
Catherine had agreed to say nothing of Elliot's involvement in the matte, and he in turn, had agreed to mend his ways. He had also tried to be VERY friendly with her, but a swift thump in the ribs had soon put him straight.
"One day, Chandler," he promised her.
"I'm afraid you'll have an almost interminable wait," she told him, firmly. They shook hands and parted company.
Catherine got back in her old Packard and drove round to the back-street Pool Hall where Mouse liked to play. He didn't really understand the game, but by sheer force of genius, he very rarely lost. She went in, hoping to find Vincent there.
Mouse himself was playing on one of the back tables. As usual, he was winning. He went round the table like a mad thing, potting balls any old how, but they nevertheless went where they were supposed to.
"Good game," he chortled, as Catherine came up to him.
"So I see. Mouse, are you sure you're not cheating?"
"How can he CHEAT!?" complained his opponent, leaning on his hardly-used cue and scratching his head. "He doesn't even seem to know what the heck he's DOING!"
Mouse grinned innocently and Catherine returned it, leaving him to it. She went on through to the back office and was greeted by pile after pile of suspiciously clinky cardboard boxes. Vincent was in back of them, with a docket sheet in his hand, and was counting them up.
"Vincent! What are you doing?"
"Counting."
"I can see that!" she laughed. "What for, though? They're all going to be dumped down the drain, anyway."
"Father wants to make sure that we haven't 'lost' any."
She laughed again. "He would."
"Where's Mouse?" Vincent asked her.
"Out in the hall, beating the pants off some poor sucker."
"Beating the ... oh, winning. Well, I need him to help me load all those boxes."
"I'll get him in here."
By now, Catherine had completely forgotten that this was supposed to be a movie, and was beginning to really enjoy herself.
Once the boxes were loaded, they drove the lorry two blocks downtown, to a deserted back alley and, uncovering a sewer pipe, proceeded to pour every bottle of whisky down its awaiting throat. It took them quite a long time. Once or twice they were noticed by some wandering homeless guy or other, who couldn't quite believe it, when they saw what the three of them were doing. In fact, they were more shocked by the disappearing whisky than they were by Vincent, but even in their befuddled state, they could still discern the rather LONG nails on Vincent's hands - which he obviously didn't use to pick his teeth with - and decided to let the matter ride.
Once the intrepid heroes had finally completed their task; they all went to the movies.
It was one of those weird, fantastical stories, about some people who lived in secret tunnels under some city somewhere ...
They sat there, eating popcorn, and just when they got to the romantic bit, with the Cinderella heroine and the ragged hero, Vincent turned his head to kiss his best girl. Catherine leaned forward to meet him halfway ...
*
... and woke up to find his nose half an inch from her ear, snoring - purring? - very gently. He was fast asleep.
*I wonder ... * she thought.
She contemplated for the tiniest, weeniest time, really, honestly - well, about twenty seconds - waking up her 'sleeping beauty' with the kiss she'd almost forgotten. Finally, she decided against it. She would've loved to have seen his reaction though.
Instead, she tickled him under the chin, and he lazily opened one eye and blinked at her. He looked a little surprised to find that he'd fallen asleep.
"Dreaming, were you?" she asked, gently.
"Well, yes; so it seems. But I thought I was still watching the film.
"What happened?" she asked, all innocently.
"Well, Father and Mary were being held hostage by Elliot Burch - does he really look like that?" he asked, impulsively. "And there was Paracelsus, peddling illicit whisky and I was stealing his stockpile; and you were there ... "
Catherine just smiled.
***
"What's the excuse this time, Radcliffe?" Joe asked her, with exaggerated patience, when she finally rushed into the courthouse, holding out the papers.
"For what?" she asked, still preoccupied with her thoughts of the previous night.
Joe looked at his watch.
"Joe;" she laughed, remembering his nickname in the dream, "you'd never believe me ... "
~finis~
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