Revenge Tastes Like Chicken

Holmes vs. Haberdashery, again!

 

     Damn Holmes, that waste of good oxygen, thought Inspector Walt Haberdashery.  Then he thought, I've just GOT to get that b*****d!  But how was the question?  His overheated mind had thought up different ways of getting that dumb b*****d Sherlock Holmes and his fat-a*s porker 'roommate' Dr. Watson ('roommate' indeed!).  He thought again that those two sounded a bit light in the black buckled shoes.  Here was a couple of adult men baking pastries together, or whatever they chowed down on; it was perverted!  He was losing control of his rage; of course the 7 beers he'd had might have had a little bit to do with it!  Ah, the hell with it; he was tired of trying to think; it had never been one of his strong suits (accordingly, it never occurred to him that maybe he was in the wrong line of work!); no, he was a man of action.  Enough with the trying to deceive Holmes, he would march right up to his apartment and personally knock him on his a*s.  As he was thinking this, he gazed at his reflection in the window (he had pulled back the curtains as soon as he got home; he wanted to take in the sunset) and shadow-boxed the air, pretending it was Holmes's ugly face.  Much to his chagrin it was too late now to make his fist delivery, as he was too tired, but tomorrow?

 

 

******

 

 

     He was across the street from Holmes's Baker Street apartment building; he had everything he needed in the form of his meat hooks, now he just needed to super-charge his courage, as it had slipped a little, but the beers he had brought should take care of that.  He told himself not to listen to the inner voice telling him that maybe this wasn't such a smart idea.

 

     Shut up, inner voice, you nut-less pansy!

 

     Add those two beers to the one's he'd already chugged and he'd be good to go.  It was dark, and he could see shadows cross in front of the curtains of Holmes's apartment.  He'd already seen Holmes return home from wherever he'd been, so he was ready.  He took the bottles of beer out of his pocket, pulled out the cork stopper out of one and upended it, guzzling until it was gone; then he repeated the actions with the last beer, and belched a satisfying burp.  There, he now had the courage to go ahead.  He flexed his fists and ran across the street.  When he was halfway across, a drunken sea hag of a woman staggered up the stairs from the bottom apartment.  Damn, Mrs. Hudson!  He turned and walked back towards the safety of the shrubbery lining this portion of Baker Street.  She was the last person he wanted to meet, but before he could make the shrubbery, came a cigarette and alcohol-affected baritone voice, 

 

     "Oh my God, don't touch me!" she slurred upon catching sight of him.

 

     No worries there!  he thought.  "I assure you, madam, your virtue is quite safe with me."

 

     "So what you're telling me is I'm not good enough for you, is that it?"  She stumbled and damn near fell.

 

     "No ma'am, I just meant I'm not that kind of a guy."

 

     "Oh, one of those powder puffs, huh?" and with that, she staggered away towards her apartment.  Haberdashery briefly felt a little sorry Holmes, before remembering what a dick he was, and Watson.  With renewed purpose he again walked towards 221b Baker Street. 

 

 

******

 

 

     He knocked loudly upon the door, hearing footsteps sounding almost immediately.  Oh, would he ever enjoy this.  He heard the door being unlocked and got ready to attack.  The door opened and even before he had time to react, he saw a shadow and a catapult flung a bag of mud mixed with kitchen grease right into his face. 

 

     "Ah, ha ha!" sounded the leering voice of Sherlock Holmes, joined by a high-pitched keening from Dr. Watson.  He was too angry to scream anything.  He turned around with the gloppy mixture dripping off him and disappeared into the dark; damn you Holmes!

 

 

******

 

    

     "Ah, ha, ha!  I say my dear Holmes, did you see the shocked look on Haberdashery's face when he saw the flying bag of mud and grease?   Jolly good show!" laughed a red-in-the face Dr. Watson, tears of mirth streaming down his jowls.

 

     "Yes, Watson, I was here, remember?"

 

     Holmes could see rage replace laughter on Watson's face, "No, I plum forgot; screw you, my dear fellow!"

 

     "Sometimes your feeble mind is so hard to put up with."

 

     "Hurumpf; fine, if that's the way you feel I'm gone; out of here!"

 

     "Oh now, calm down Watson; I apologize," like hell I do!   "I guess I had a bad day," which started about the time you walked through the door! he added to himself.

 

     "Well, I guess I can overlook it, we all say things we don't mean."

 

     Oh, I meant it; oh how I meant it,  "Yeah, sorry; I guess we owe Haberdashery's neighbor kid another few pounds.  If he hadn't of seen Haberdashery punching the air last night, I couldn't have rigged up that catapult."

 

    

******

 

     Damn Holmes! thought Haberdashery as he neared his apartment.  All he wanted to do was get inside and wash off all the mud and, what was this, a glob of congealed chicken grease and bits of skin?  Holmes always seemed to be one step ahead of him.  How did he do it?  Maybe he was physic; what else could explain it? 

 

     "Hello, Inspector!"

 

     He looked up to see the new kid who had recently moved into the apartment next door.  He gave him a half-hearted wave and continued on to his apartment.  He didn't have time to talk to some hero-worshiping kid; he had to figure out how Holmes was always a step ahead of him!  He didn't notice the interested way in which kid was watching him.

 

The End

 

 

 

       

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

     

Reviews

[Marie]

Haberdashery is never going to best Holmes; he might as well face it.

I can't help wondering who that new kid i. Hercule Poiroit?

[Michael Stevens]

Thanks Marie, and that new kid pisses Holmes off!