Vincente Jarvis was bored. It was not, all in all, an uncommon thing to befall him, but this was the first time he ever got bored while in the middle of a discussion, and about a criminal, no less. Again he tried to mask his glance to the enormous grandfather clock behind his conversation-partner. It's been twenty minutes since the man started talking non-stop, without giving him a chance to interject in the slightest; indeed, it was enough to make Vincente wonder if the man even needed to breathe at all.
"And so," the chatterbox was saying, "I caughts this liddle ruffian Jameson, just when he was in the middle of trapeezeing across the room. He was running around with like super speed until I managed to tic- tackle! - him and tie these fisticuffs - that is to say, handcuffs - on his feet so he won't go a-runnin' again."
With that, the chatterbox made a grand gesture towards the (now properly) handcuffed figure sitting on a chair near them. The figure, however, seemed not at all impressed with the twenty-minute summation and instead deadpanned: "That's a C- for your English, mate. Even Iknow that ain't the way to do it."
"Aw, shuddup, you rag! Rouge!" the mafioso chatterbox slapped the seated man upside his head, but did not get any reaction from it.
"I see," Vincente murmured, instantly regaining the attentions of the other two men. "You've done an exceptional job, bringing the thief back to me. Here's a bit for you; go get yourself a celebratory pint. You deserve it." He dug a hand into his pocket and retrieved a small roll of bills (really, they were five-dollar bills, but it adds an extra something to see it in a neatly-set roll). The chatterbox was quick to accept it and put it in his trouser pocket.
"Thanks, Mister Jerry. Jerris." He blinked. "What'd you say your name was, again?"
Vincente shrugged. "It doesn't make a penny-worth of difference. The transaction is over, so I might as well never have existed, to you."
The chatterbox laughed. "Righty-o, that." He inclined his head towards Vincente as way of taking leave, sent a glare and a raspberry towards the seated crook, and bounded away.
"Oh, and IJ?"
The chatterbox stopped and spun around; apparently, he really was named IJ. "Yes, Mister Whatsyername?"
Vincente stifled a laugh at the new appellation. "Send my regards to Don Donato. Oh, and you might want to wear more suitable shoes the next time you expect bad weather; you're terribly clumsy with the little things."
IJ blinked, astonished, but cleared his throat and regained his composure. "Sure thing, Mister Whatsyername." And off he went again, looking solemn and grave until he thought the door was closed behind him, at which point he practically skipped downstairs singing what seems to be a traditional chant.
After the cries of "Chi Beddu stu Cappiduzzu" had died away, Vincente walked over to the man on the chair and produced a hairpin from his breast-pocket. The sitting man raised his eyebrows, unable to resist a quip:
"Now, I didn't expect Vinny Jarvis would have a hairpin in his pocket. What's that for - keeping your bangs from your face?"
Vincente chuckled, straightening the hairpin and forcing it into the handcuffs. "If being an amateur magician taught me anything, it's that handcuffs aren't that hard to pick once you know how. Of course, it's twice as easy when you have the tool, and thrice such when you're not the one having the cuffs on."
"Thrice? Is that even a word?"
"It was, and probably still is." With a small clicking sound, the handcuffs were pried open. "Now, Lennox, did you get it?"
Lennox Johnson rubbed his wrists, glaring daggers at the now-empty handcuffs. He then started fishing into one of his inner pockets and pulled out a handkerchief. Unfolding it, he produced a small slip of paper, folded neatly in half, and gave it to Vincente.
"There you go. Next time we do this, you'll be the thief and I'll be the detective."
"I'm afraid that's out of the question, Lennox. You've a reputation as a thief, and I as a sleuth. To suddenly switch places would be downright unnatural. And besides," he unfolded the paper, scanned its contents, then stuck it into the inside of his hat's brim, "you make a much better spy than I'd ever be."
"Apology accepted," Lennox smiled, satisfied.
Glossary of La Reinaisms
Aheheh: onomatopoeia for a chuckle, esp. a mischievous one
Hurm: onomatopoeia for thinking; a standard reply when all else fails
Spam: an all-purpose word
This message was edited by the author on January 25, 2012 at 5:27:17 AM