A Symphony unto Oneself

A Symphony unto Oneself

Chapter 5

     The Story The Authors
Meanwhile, back at the chaotic scene of Mr. Tickles heinous crimes... Two silent and stationary 450 pound Monsignors of the Holy Church sat astride matching Vespa motorscooters behind the large gray nondescript Vatican van into which a steady stream of workers carried crates and cartons from Mr. Tickles late residence. Getting the identical-twin "Tons O' Fun" brothers temporarily assigned to him had been Cardinal Ratfinger's very pressing goal for several days. At last they had arrived from their native South Latvian province and set up shop in the New World. (El Mondo Nuovo) This situation was now very firmly in their pudgy, but capable, hands. Their eyes barely flickered as they watched the last cases of diamonds being carried across the street and into the van. The police came and went, detectives, crime technicians, photographers, curious neighbors, yet nobody seemed to notice any of the work being carried on under their noses. Lotho and Botho were masters of clouding human minds. This was their gig. This was their baby. In a few hours all these materials would be safely stowed on the rust-bucket "Mary Contrary", and in another two or three she would be beyond the 3 mile limit and showing her true colors as the 500 thousand horsepower turbine-powered catamaran "Serafina", making for Rome! They did lift an eyebrow at each other when, along with the crates of dead parrots now starting to exit from the basement of Tickles' building, one workman advanced with a buxom, gorgeous,bound and gagged and violently struggling young blonde draped over his shoulder. They did have to simaltaneously reach beneath their robes and put on their shades. For scattering the day's gloom on a large crimson sash around the young thing's lithe torso was blazoned in the most incredible blinking and flashing of pure Zircons, the mysterious boast, "I LUV DIAMONDS"! It glanced a million watts of pure star energy in all directions at once. The brothers hooked pinky fingers instantly! Personal Jinx! Oh, yes. This lovely creature would have to have some very thorough body searches before the night was through. Onto the van she went, stowed with a thump, the dead parrots already starting to wall her in. Around a nearby corner, unnoticed, strolled Pencilthinmoustache. Tom L.
"Hmmm," he paused when out of the corner of his eye he saw a slight movement which appeared to be two very large men sitting atop two straining vespas, Pencilthinmoustache decided it was probably an hallucination brought on by overwork, "interesting to say the least ... must be an hallucination brought on by overwork," he continued, vanblah
He chewed the ends of his walruslike moustache thoughtfully and stared at his shoes. Scotland Yard...it had been so long, so long since he'd last heard a saucy retort from the lips of Miss Moneypenny, or sat wearily through the debriefing procedures of his superiors, or interrogated a prisoner. This case had gone on too long, and Officer Pencilthinmoustache felt like he was losing any identity other than those few figments of personality and intellect necessary for the pursuit of this Jake and Mr. Tickles duo, international supercriminals par none...How he longed to be home, in his mum's cottage in Devon, in his old da's worn rocking-chair, feet warming on the hearth, with a pot of tea and a plate of buttered scones and the family wolfhounds, Igor and Edna, dozing on the floor beside him. Philip
Instead, he was stuck here in the godforsaken country of America, in the "Badlands" of South Dakota. Jannie
The Badlands had been replicated, to scale, in wax and papier-machŽ, by none other than the justly famous wax sculptor Madame Coquille, then placed over the stinking totality of Trenton, New Jersey in so convincingly realistic a manner, and with so an unfailing eye for the things that count, the little details, that even a displaced brave of the Brule Sioux, finding himself relocated by time and space from the territories of his tribe to the good Madame's recreation, would not have been able to tell the two apart, and though the rancid brown sludge of the Hudson river lay turning in the grey afternoon before him like a fat anaconda on day number seven of a drinking spree, still that noble savage would have blinked, and sniffed the wind, and told himself that the watery mass in the distance reeked sulphurous indeed, and was in fact but a uniquely large specimen of those bubbling thermal features for which the Dakotas are so well-known.
This told, then, Officer Pencilthinmoustache wandered off into the day.
Philip


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