Hugh Hamilton
"...I heard a familiar stabbing noise. Judging from the squelch, I guessed it was coming from my brother's person."
"So you know what your brother being stabbed sounds like. Interesting," said Hugh.
"Very interesting," added Ben, helpfully.
"Not my brother; my brother's person. You know, his helper. You would have met him in the course of your investigations, I'm sure."
"Um, well, not exactly," admitted Hugh.
"And they call you the world's greatest detectives."
"No, I'm pretty sure that's Batman," said Ben.
"Oh?" Shelly paused. "What do they call you, then?"
"I'm not sure 'they' know us, actually."
"There was that piece in The Chronicle," said Hugh. "Well, photo."
"Oh yes — 'Sinister Gay Cyclists Mutilate Prize-Winning Terrier'," said Ben. "Wonderful publicity."
"We rode into a dog carcass," clarified Hugh. "Ben was steering."
"And whose idea was it to get about on a bicycle built for two?"
"May I continue?" said Shelly. "I tend not to enjoy banter."
"Very well," said Hugh.
"As I was saying, I recognised the sound of something sharp entering Schwab's abdomen."
"Schwab?" said Ben.
"My brother's helper."
"So you know what Schwab being stabbed sounds like. Interesting," said Hugh.
"Very—"
"When you hear something enough, you become somewhat familiar with it."
"Oh?" said Grace, feeling slightly left out.
"Yes, he's quite the pin cushion."
"Why's that?" said one of the three.
"It's his job," shrugged Shelly. "We call him a helper, but really he's just there to stop my brother stabbing people. And the most effective method he's come up with of doing that is to be the one getting stabbed the majority of the time."
"So your brother is... not entirely... That is to say, he's—" ventured Hugh.
"Retarded?" offered Shelly. "No. He just likes stabbing people."
"He seemed comically benign to me," said Ben.
"Really?" Shelly was puzzled. "Even with the villainous moustache?"
"Unless it was as subtle as his hiccupping, I don't recall a moustache," said Ben.
Shelly squinted at the middle distance. "Hang on, you don't mean Stephven?"
"Stephven?"
"Small, navy-blue jacket?"
"Sounds about right."
"That's my other brother."
"Other brother?" said Hugh. "I think I have a headache."
At this point Grace was bored enough to once again retire upwards.
"Why didn't you mention him earlier?" asked Ben.
"I assumed you meant Freeman."
"Interesting," said Ben, nodding. A moment passed. "And by that I mean, Why?" he added.
"Stephven's so comically benign I tend not to associate him with acts of violence, even as victim."
"F'nough," said Ben.
"Don't do that," said Hugh.
"Anyway, I wandered into Freeman's room, only to discover..."
"Ouch," said Hugh, in response to the knife that had just entered him.
A tall, slim, evil-looking man with an appropriate moustache was standing nearby, his fingers splayed after releasing the knife.
"Freeman!" said Shelly. "Where's Schwab?"
"Recuperating," said Freeman, evilly. "Now if you don't mind, I have some detectives to kidnap. Good day."
"Good day," said Shelly, unfazed.
"Do I get a say in this?" said Ben, more unfazed than he should have been.
Freeman responded by withdrawing the protuberance from Hugh's stomach and slipping it into Ben's thigh.
"Are we in too deep?" asked Hugh, hopefully. "Do we know too much?"
"Given you have yet to meet the true villain, I'd say no," said Freeman. "But orders are orders."
Bleeding profusely, Ben and Hugh entirely failed to resist being bundled into a helicopter and flown off.
No comments:
Post a Comment