The Royal Perfects

by Jeremy Neeley

  Chapter 3: The Spotlight Shines

  The Rat’s Tail was several blocks away, and while Sooty Stoops was mostly an industrial epicenter now, there were still a few retailers operating in the forgotten neighborhood.

  Madam Ladyfist’s Gorgeous Gowns and Men’s Tweed Suits was one such place. After John’s Lacey Leggings and Coverings closed a few months prior, Madam Ladyfist’s was the only clothing parlor left in Sooty Stoops. Well-known throughout Upper Southrump as an emporium of unique and lovely custom gowns, the business also sold men’s attire, and Timmy thought best to examine what they had to offer.

  A bell jingled as Wicketts passed through the etched-glass door. Inside were rows upon rows of vibrantly colored dresses and shimmering ensembles. No two pieces were alike, yet each and every one held a splendor all its own.

  “Good day, Sir,” a woman’s voice echoed.

  Timmy looked past a wooden mannequin sporting a strapless blue dinner dress, and spotted a woman behind a counter. Her back was to him as she was hard at work operating the foot pedal of her sewing machine.

  “Good day to you, Madam,” Timmy responded. “I was hoping to peruse your men’s clothing.”

  Without turning to look at Timmy, the woman pointed toward the back of the store and said, “I have a few suits over there, honey.”

  The collection was small but adequate. Timmy found two nice pieces, a black suit and a brown one. They were affordable, too, so he brought his finds up to the counter for purchase.

  “Madam, I would like to buy these,” Wicketts stated, while laying the clothing in front of her.

  The gentle woman grabbed the hanger of the first suit and waddled her way out from around the counter. She held the item up, eyeballing it against Timmy’s slender frame. She then pulled out a measuring tape and assessed the fit while moving all about her customer.

  Timmy had a weird feeling that something was not entirely right about the woman. She was a middle-aged lass and plenty friendly enough, but she avoided eye contact like the plague. She also moved in an odd fashion, almost as if she had a heavy sack of coins strapped to her belt, forcing her to widen her gate.

  When she was satisfied with her findings, she took note of them on a pad of paper and returned to her sewing machine.

  “Your name, Sir?” she asked Timmy.

  “Timmy Wicketts, Madam,” he answered.

  “Mr. Wicketts, it’ll take me a bit to make the proper adjustments, so come back tomorrow afternoon and I’ll have them all ready for you.”

  “Thank you, Madam. I’ll see you then,” said Timmy, heading toward the exit.

  As he gripped the iron handle of the door, he took one last look back at the woman. He just couldn’t shake the odd sensation he felt. Whatever it was, he couldn’t place it, so he simply shrugged his shoulders and left the shop.

  Bugs was already at the Rat’s Tail, sitting at a table while the tavern staff readied the place for operation later that day. The establishment was bustling with activity, save Bugs, who sat lonely as if the last man at a wake.

  “Hey, Bugs,” Timmy yelled as he entered.

  “Tim and Twitch,” Bugs answered.

  Twitch lifted off from Timmy’s shoulder and landed on the thick wooden crossbeams supporting the tavern’s roof. Gabriel Goldhand suddenly appeared from a back room and, with a couple of employees in tow, headed over to his newest act.

  “Good to see you fellows,” Gabriel stated. “I’m hoping that tomorrow night we can present your first show at the Rat’s Tail. How’s that sound?”

  “Fine to me, Mr. Goldhand,” Bugs replied.

  “Yes, I see no problem with that,” Timmy added.

  “Very good,” the tavern owner said in an assured voice. He then introduced the two youths standing to his right. “This here is Elvin Goldhand, my grandson, and his friend Leland. They’re both doing a stretch of work with me prior to entering the Southrump Academy of Needed Trades. I’ve instructed them to do whatever stage work you bestow upon them, like setting up backdrops or figuring out lighting. These are two smart boys and can handle whatever is requested.”

  Gabriel grabbed each one by the shoulder and gave them an ardent shake. Elvin smiled as Leland rolled his eyes.

  Timmy and Bugs introduced themselves to the lads and the four exchanged pleasantries.

  “Elvin, why don’t you take Mr. Harrington and Mr. Wicketts up to their apartment,” Gabriel ordered. “You two get settled in and then come back down and figure out how best to work the area.”

  “That sounds great, Mr. Goldhand,” Timmy said, “and thanks again for this opportunity.”

  Gabriel cast aside the graciousness saying, “Hey, if you can pack the Rat’s Tail like you did that street corner, the gratitude will be all mine.”

  After ascending a creaking staircase and passing down a narrow hallway, Elvin led The Royal Perfects to a studio flat at the far end of the tavern’s second floor. The space was large enough, if a bit unkempt, but neither man uttered the slightest complaint. Anything beat the cold ground of Sooty Stoop’s forgotten alleys. There was a wash area and several beds posted along opposite walls. Muted light, passing through several panes of frosted glass, bathed the area in a yellow glow. Collections of cobwebs caught the soft beams in their silky threads, shimmering in the corners of the ceiling. Bugs threw his belongings on one of the lumpy mattresses as Timmy dumped his on another. Twitch swooped in and took post on a shelf just overhead his master’s bed.

  “Mr. Harrington and Mr. Wicketts,” Elvin began, “my grandfather said if you need anything more, just ask. I’m going to head back downstairs to lend a hand in setting up the dining area. When you’re ready, just let me know and I’ll break away to help with whatever setup you need.”

  “Thanks, Elvin,” Bugs said appreciatively as the boy closed the door and left them.

  Timmy laid back on his bed and propped his head upon a couple of goose down pillows.

  “Can you believe this, Bugs?” Timmy asked, reflecting on the opportunity they had been presented.

  “It’s a great thing, isn’t it Tim?” Bugs replied, while taking a seat on a worn sofa at the center of the room. “To think where we were only yesterday, and now we’re here in an apartment, overtop a stage that will be the future showcase of whimsical brainchildren. It’s quite a thing, you know.”

  “What’s that?” Timmy pondered.

  “Life. You just never know how it will twist and turn, what way it’ll move you and what way you’ll move it. The plans we make, the circumstances thrust upon us, the whole ordeal. It can be both so bleak, and in the next moment, so bright. As it weaves, so do we alongside it, and our only real choice is whether we wear a smile or a frown as we move along upon an invisible trail.”

  “My Bugs, that’s a pretty deep analysis. I never fancied you a philosopher,” Wicketts laughed.

  “Hey, your brain has plenty of time to contemplate the great mysteries when you’re a jobless bum with no true responsibility other than feeding your crying gut.”

  “I can testify to that, good Sir. Yes, indeed.”

  Timmy sat up on his bed and rummaged through his bag. He pulled out a length of lead and a piece of paper.

  “So, I had some ideas about how we can improve The Grapel Duke’s Burnt Straw Knickers. I was thinking about that part where you lament your spilt tankard of ale, maybe we could use a particular lighting focus to really add drama to the scene. It’d be like you were crying to the Lord above, mourning the loss like it was your firstborn son.”

  Bugs’ creativity kicked in at the thought, “Yeah, I like that. Oh, and we’re gonna' have to think about how to address the climax, what with your pants igniting into flames. Outside it wasn’t a big deal, but if your straw shorts set this whole tavern ablaze, The Royal Perfects will die faster than a turkey on Thanksgiving.”

  Timmy’s face went blank for a moment. Confused, he asked, “What’s Thanksgiving?”

  Bugs chuckled, realizing Timmy
and his English ilk didn’t celebrate the holiday.

  “It’s an American thing. Uh, here let me rephrase. The Royal Perfects will die faster than a goose on Christmas.”

  “Oh,” Timmy said, now understanding. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want to repay Mr. Goldhand by burning down his tavern on opening night. I suppose we just have a trough of water waiting backstage. We’ll have Elvin or Leland stand at the ready to smother any stray embers.”

  The partners continued to plan and modify their show. With the permanent indoor location and the greater use of lighting and scene, they imagined ways to evolve the production and make it even more titillating. The pair had a natural and easy creative chemistry, and it helped forge a mighty friendship.

  After a good session of back-and-forth, Timmy and Bugs headed downstairs to examine the stage area. The old tavern was a wood-laden wonder. It had oak paneled walls and numerous sturdy crossbeams traversing the cathedral ceiling, a dusty wooden floor upon which rickety wooden tables and chairs stood, a long wooden bar whose once-polished surface had been dulled by mugs and elbows, and a small, raised wooden stage set off in one corner of the single dining room.

  Timmy stepped up onto the platform. A long, shrill creak greeted his weight. He then walked the entire surface, checking for additional shrieking planks. He found a couple more before looking up to eye a lighting rig suspended just a few feet out from center stage.

  Bugs checked a recessed area directly behind the dais. It was a modest backstage of sorts. There he found a pulley system used for moving backdrops in and out of scene as well as another for raising and lowering a curtain. The whole area had all the basic necessities needed for a small production and was indeed a vast improvement over the street corners from which they both had come.

  Elvin approached the actors as they finished their preliminary examinations. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “Looks like this was set up from the beginning as a miniature theater,” Timmy replied with subtle surprise.

  “Yes, Sir, it was. When my grandfather took over ownership of the place, he remodeled and added this performance area. He was always big on having live shows as a means of drawing in more customers. At first, he had a few musical acts. That went well enough until a gentlemen convinced him to give his acting troupe a shot. His company was called The Illegitimate Sons of Sophocles.”

  Bugs scratched his head before saying, “Never heard of them. You, Timmy?”

  “Can’t say I have,” replied Wicketts.

  “Reason for that,” Elvin continued, “is probably because they were average at best. They prided themselves on reproducing the classic works of Greek theater, but lacked any true knowledge of the subject. I mean, they knew the general gist of the certain things, but often fumbled with execution and delivery. Some nights they couldn’t even finish the show because someone would forget a line, or start performing a part from Hamlet during a staging of Antigone. It was a bit comical at first, but soon became commonplace and annoying. Before long, people started to call The Illegitimate Sons of Sophocles the Ill So-Sos, due to their shoddy showmanship. Less and less people were coming to the Rat’s Tail and my grandfather was just counting down the days until his contract with them expired. That day came last week.”

  Timmy and Bugs both knew the hard work it took to be a true stage presence, and from what Elvin had just described, it seemed the Ill So-Sos lacked that focus. It all worked out for The Royal Perfects though, leaving them a small platform fashioned quite well for such entertainment.

  “Hey, Elvin, do you think you could tighten down a few of these floor planks?” Timmy asked while stepping on a particular loose and loud one.

  “No problem,” replied the lad. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, we’ll need you and Leland for a few other things during the show,” Bugs added. “Nothing too taxing. One of you will need to man the spotlight up on the banister, and the other will have to help backstage with manning the curtain and backdrops. We’ll also need that same person to help control the flames of the Grapel Duke’s knickers.”

  “Will do,” an eager Elvin replied. “I’ll go get Leland and you can go over everything with the two of us.”

  Elvin then headed off to find his friend while Timmy and Bugs each took a seat at the edge of the stage. Before them stood dozens and dozens of empty seats and tables. Come tomorrow night, those seats would contain patrons, patrons with expectations. While the thought of it all may have brought butterflies to the stomachs of those less confident, Timmy and Bugs relished the challenge. If they could draw the crowds they did while adjacent to the fruit cart, this place would be packed wall-to-wall no problem. The energy, the excitement, it was all they needed.

  Timmy felt great the next day. Sleeping on a mattress, no matter the lumps, was definitely better than the cold ground, and waking to the smell of brewing tea rather than baked brick exhaust was indeed refreshing. He spent the morning making some final preparations for that evening’s opening show and then headed to Madam Ladyfist’s Gorgeous Gowns and Men’s Tweed Suits to pick up his previous purchase.

  A bell chimed playfully as he entered the parlor. Madam Ladyfist was once again perched at the sewing table, her back to the store. Without turning around, she said, “Good morning.”

  Timmy returned the greeting.

  “Ah, Mr. Wicketts,” the madam began, recognizing Timmy’s voice, “I have your suits right here.”

  The devalgate woman wobbled over to a rack and unhooked Timmy’s hemmed garments. She then placed them on the counter as Timmy retrieved adequate coinage from his pocket. During the whole exchange, the odd feeling Timmy had experienced the last time he was there re-emerged. He simply could not place it. Madam Ladyfist was cordial, but very brisk and not much for small talk. She also continued to avoid his eye, instead opting to shuffle about with her head hung low, as if constantly ducking an overhead branch. It was a bit perplexing.

  “Madam Ladyfist,” Timmy questioned while admiring his new suits, “do I know you from somewhere?”

  “Oh no, lad. Can’t say we’ve actually ever met before. I mean, other than yesterday that is,” Ladyfist replied. “Although, you may have seen me at the fruit cart once or twice. I’ve seen your shows. You’re quite good.”

  Timmy blushed with the acknowledgement. “Why thank you, Madam,” he responded with sincere appreciation.

  Just then, an old woman came storming into the shop. She clutched a torn red velvet gown in her hand and wore a furious brow upon her face.

  “I want my money back!” the woman demanded.

  “Mrs. Beedlebark, what happened?” the seamstress inquired.

  “You sold me this gown, and it tore right down the side. Look!” Mrs. Beedlebark held up the dress and ran her fingers through a long tear near the side seam. She was fuming.

  “I pride myself on the highest standard of work, Mrs. Beedlebark,” Madam Ladyfist said softly, trying to calm her customer. “Pray tell how this rip first appeared.”

  “Well,” the irritated woman stated, “I had it sitting on my bed when Queen Gigi Slender Toes, my prize poodle, came into my bedroom and jumped up on my mattress. Next thing I know, she’s digging at my dress and tears a big hole in the side.”

  Madam Ladyfist took a closer look at the garment, noting brown stains nearby the tear.

  “And what are these stains here?” she asked with growing annoyance.

  “Those? Um, well,” the woman stuttered, growing somewhat sheepish.

  Ladyfist smelled the smudges. “They smell like cooked meat.”

  The woman was clearly not prepared to reveal this information, but was at a loss for anything else to say, and so offered, “I was at a dinner party the evening prior and spilt some beef gravy on it.”

  Madam Ladyfist was outraged. “You mean to tell me you stained one of my gorgeous gowns, left it lying about your bedroom, let your dog tear into it like a wild wolf, and now expect me to refund your money!”

  Mrs. Bee
dlebark stared at Madam Ladyfist as if that was exactly what she expected would occur.

  “GET OUT!” Ladyfist yelled in a surprisingly deep and disgruntled tone. It was more akin to the sound of a grizzly bear than that of a middle-aged seamstress. Timmy was just as shocked as Mrs. Beedlebark, who snatched back her garment and swiftly exited the parlor in a huff.

  Madam Ladyfist, apparently embarrassed at her outburst, quickly returned to her sewing machine.

  “I apologize, Mr. Wicketts. Good day to you, Sir,” she uttered, regaining her womanly tone while turning her back to Timmy once more.

  He gathered up his clothes and made for the exit as well. “Good day to you too, Madam,” he said as he closed the shop door behind him.

  Timmy, as surprised as he was by the whole uncomfortable ordeal, was doubly surprised by the sudden drop in octaves Ladyfist unleashed when yelling back. It was very strange to say the least, and only added to Timmy’s curious feeling about the woman.

  Arriving back at the Rat’s Tail, Wicketts saw a wondrous sight posted outside the tavern’s main doors. It was a beautifully painted sign stating, THE ROYAL PERFECTS PLAYING HERE NIGHTLY. The letter work was marvelous and the sign itself was rather large and impressive. It was the first real promotion he had ever received, and it was fantastic from his point of view.

  With a large grin, Timmy entered the tavern. Mr. Goldhand and Bugs were standing on the stage, discussing the evening’s details as Elvin and Leland listened intently nearby.

  “Love the sign, Mr. Goldhand!” Timmy exclaimed upon seeing him.

  “Isn’t it great, Timmy?” Bugs added, having seen the promotional piece as well.

  “Thank you, boys,” Gabriel replied, “I thought it turned out well. As did the several dozen posters I had pasted all over Upper Southrump. With your street reputations, word-of-mouth, and the printed materials, I’m hoping we have to turn them away at the door tonight.”

  “Us, too,” Timmy agreed, smacking Bugs on the shoulder.

  “So, Tim, I was just going over a final checklist of how everything is to go down tonight. Elvin is going to man the spotlight and rig. He’s done it before, and Mr. Goldhand vouches for his skill.”

  Elvin nodded his confidence and Gabriel seconded it.

  Harrington then continued, “And Leland here will be our backstage hand. He’s going to operate the pulleys and stand at the ready to help you extinguish your flaming britches. We’ll have a large tub of water back there, and Leland will have soaked towels.” Bugs then turned to Mr. Goldhand specifically. “It shouldn’t be an issue at all, Sir. We’ll have the flame and ash under control, no problem.”

  “You lads have my complete trust,” the tavern owner stated.

  Secure that all had been covered, Bugs then said, “Alright, we have a few more hours until show time, so let’s just all relax and enjoy ourselves.”

  Handshakes of understanding were exchanged all around and Mr. Goldhand, Elvin and Leland walked off to care for other responsibilities.

  “Seems like we’re all set,” Timmy said to Bugs.

  “Yeah Tim, we’re in good shape. All that’s missing is the crowd. I can’t wait.”

  “Neither can I. And to think, yesterday we were two bums on the street. Now we are, honest to Pete, two paid actors with promotion and a standard sounding box.”

  “And it’s only the start,” Bugs laughed. “You interested in a little pre-show meal? Mr. Goldhand has provided a great supper of meat and salad. It’s all set up in our apartment.”

  “Sounds capital, Bugs. Let’s get to it.”

  The dinner was fabulous as the two friends mightily ate their fill. They hadn’t had food of such quality in many, many days. The peppered beef and fresh greens with olive oil and grapefruit juice tasted like ambrosia, a heavenly meal of great joy. All the while there was a growing rumble emanating from below their apartment. It was evident that the tavern was filling with customers. The sounds of clanking mugs and muffled guffaws reverberated through the tavern’s wooden skeleton. It was a growing vibration, and its resonance raised excitement in both Timmy and Bugs.

  At the noted time, the pair made their way down a narrow stairwell at the end of the hall and ended up in the backstage area. Elvin was there, ready to take up his position. Bugs peeked out from behind a drawn, red curtain. The place was packed, just as he and Timmy had envisioned. Word and reputation had made for a great marriage, and the Rat’s Tail Tavern was filled to capacity.

  “Timmy!” Bugs yelled, eyes wide and bright. “We couldn’t have jammed them in any tighter!”

  Timmy immediately popped his youthful peepers out from behind the curtain and found Bugs to be a man of his word. Tons of people had shown up. He recognized some from their numerous appearances at his street corner. Many more he had not seen before.

  “This is great!” Timmy grinned with childish zeal.

  “Biggest crowd we’ve ever had,” Elvin added.

  “You ready, Elvin?” Bugs asked.

  “Yes, Sir,” he answered.

  “Where’s Leland?”

  “He should be back in a second. He said he had to talk to my grandfather.”

  Timmy again looked out across the crowd. The tiniest bit of worry crept into his cranium as he had hoped he could go over the safety measures with Leland one more time. He then spotted the boy across the tavern. He was speaking to a tall man, marked by a pencil-thin mustache and matching black chops. The svelte fellow wore a black top hat and long overcoat. He handed Leland something, gave the boy a smirk and sent him off. Seconds later, Leland was backstage.

  “Who was that guy, Leland?” Timmy asked.

  “Oh, that, that was my uncle. He heard you guys were performing here and asked if I could get him a good seat,” Leland replied.

  “You’ll have to introduce us afterward,” Timmy stated with sincerity. “Now, let’s go over the finale routine. When my pants light on fire, I’ll be standing behind the castle balcony decreeing the straw knickers law. I’ll need you to push the water bucket underneath the stage to a spot directly below me so, as my pants burn, they can be doused in proper time. Any stray embers we’ll need smudged out by your wet towel. Got it?”

  “No problem, Mr. Wicketts,” Leland responded assuredly.

  Bugs pulled out an old pocket watch, and noting the time, said, “Elvin, head off to your post at the spotlight. The show will start in mere moments.”

  Elvin wished everyone good luck and made his way to the rig. Twitch had positioned himself there as well, for it was the best seat in the house.

  Leland moved to his post and Bugs and Timmy donned their costumes and headed for theirs. Mr. Goldhand stepped backstage for a brief moment, was given the ready signal, and then took a position in front of the crowd. He was instantaneously bathed in the warm light of Elvin’s spotlight.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you all to the Rat’s Tail Tavern!” he shouted, drawing the crowd’s attention and a warm applause.

  “Tonight, we have something very special for you. This duo has been entertaining you for months on the streets of Sooty Stoops. Their humor and skill have no bounds, and their recently forged union has proven royally perfect already. So without further ado, the Rat’s Tavern presents a Royal Perfect production of The Grapel Duke’s Burnt Straw Knickers!”

  With that, Leland drew the curtain back and Mr. Goldhand stepped down from the stage. Now basking in the spotlight was Timmy Wicketts, and upon seeing him, the entire tavern roared with cheer and applause.

  As easily as one draws breath, Timmy fell into his role, and the show was off and running. Elvin and Leland proved excellent stagehands. Both hit their marks with admirable precision, Elvin directing the light for optimal dramatic effect, and Leland rolling the backdrops in and out with ease. Bugs was on point as well, and performed at his customary high level of skill, garnering laughter with almost every line. The show was brilliantly delivered and brilliantly received, just as it had been before.

&
nbsp; The work drew to a close, and it was time for the final, pyrotechnical pants scene. Timmy, with straw knickers held firmly in place around his waist, delivered his satirical end monologue about the superiority of straw pants. The audience giggled and guffawed. Then, bending over, his pants were lit ablaze by a candle, as was the plan. Timmy played it up in comical fashion to the delight of everyone there. The pants were to burn almost completely, revealing skin-colored stockings with buttocks painted on the backside. It was then the flame would be extinguished, literally revealing the butt of the joke. But, when Timmy looked down to see what should have been a tub of water, he saw but an empty pale. It was bone dry. He then stuck his head behind the curtain desperately trying to alert Leland. Leland was nowhere to be found. Meanwhile, Bugs was passed out drunk on stage, as was his role at the time.

  As the comedy continued, Bugs opened an eye. The laughter had echoed for longer than he had imagined, and he began to think something was amiss. Seeing Timmy, smiling but clearly preoccupied, revealed as much. The straw knickers had burnt through, and Timmy could feel the heat on his very skin. He had to act fast. the Grapel Duke leapt from his podium, vaulted off the low stage rim propelling himself high into the air, and landed in the only spot he could to quench the flames—a large bowl of chestnut soup sitting at the center of a table in the first row. His bottom hit the target precisely, spewing forth steam and driblets of juice like a geyser. The lovely woman who had been eating the soup was soaked. Timmy raised his smoldering backside from the broth, brandishing two reddened butt cheeks in the actual flesh, all the while striking an ear-to-ear smile and a boastful, arms-raised stance. Everyone, including the soup-soaked woman, burst into hilarious revelry.

  The clownish antic only added to the scene, and no one was the wiser, except for Bugs. Timmy stood atop the table taking in the adulation, bare cheeks and all. Bugs was quick to join him, and the pair partook of a standing ovation. The applause seemed to last forever, and it was awesome. No one had ever seen such a show, but it was now a certitude that the Royal Perfects specialized in exactly that—truly unique entertainment.

  As the clapping began to fade, Mr. Goldhand addressed his patrons and thanked them for attending. He encouraged all to come back for the next showing, and was then mobbed by friends and family toasting his tavern’s acquisition. Timmy scanned the audience, still smiling, but focused on finding Leland. Despite the impromptu improvement to the play’s ending, Leland’s disappearance almost cost Timmy his bottom. Peering past the raised arms and jovial merriment of the first few rows, Timmy saw the blond-headed boy exiting the tavern alongside the tall, black-coated man with whom he had been seen earlier.

  While that curious sight raised one questioning eyebrow on Wicketts’ head, the person he saw next raised the other. Trailing behind them was the image of a woman from the Bastard Babyface’s past. It was Genny Jenkins, looking just as lovely as he had remembered. Her golden hair was a bit longer, and her soft complexion a bit fairer, but it was Genny. There was no doubt in his mind. She held for a moment at the door and looked back toward Timmy. Their eyes met for a brief moment before the mustached man in black grabbed her by the wrist and gingerly escorted her out.

  The crowd was now dispersing and Timmy and Bugs returned to the backstage area where Elvin was waiting.

  “What the heck happened to Leland?” Timmy shouted as softly as he could while placing a cold rag upon his buttocks.

  “I have no idea,” Elvin replied. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah Tim, how’s your old derrière?” Bugs seconded.

  “A bit tender, but none the worse for wear. Thank God someone in the front row ordered tonight’s soup special. Otherwise, I’d have two burnt buns,” Timmy patted his cheeks dry and slid on a new, hole-less pair of britches.

  “Elvin, I spotted Leland leaving with a lanky fellow, seemed to be about my age, twenty-something maybe. He had a thin, black mustache and black topper and coat. Any ideas who he might have been?”

  Elvin thought for a moment, then quickly came to a likely possibility. “That sounds like John Smith!” he exclaimed.

  “Who?” Bugs asked.

  “John Smith was the leader of the Ill So-Sos. Did he have a girl with him? A beautiful woman with light hair that shined like the sun, even in the darkest corner of the Rat’s Tail?”

  “Yes, he did,” Timmy replied, thinking of Genny.

  “Yeah, then that was probably him. He never goes anywhere without his girlfriend in tow. Smith was always a real uppity-up type of gentleman, thinking he knows what’s best in all matters, regardless of any actual insight. I’m sure he came out tonight because he wanted to check out his replacement.”

  “You say Leland left with him, Timmy?” Bugs probed.

  “Certainly,” Timmy answered.

  Bugs lifted his hand to his chin like a great thinker contemplating a new discovery. He then laid forth a hypothesis. “I bet that scoundrel Smith paid Leland a few pennies to try and sabotage our show. He’s probably disgruntled over being fired.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past him,” Elvin added. “The man is hardly virtuous. My grandfather thought he was stealing bottles of Colonel Thomas Stouts 100% Pure Grain Alcohol from the storage closet, but lacked any hard evidence. The day Smith and his party left, their bags were clinking like glass rattles.”

  Mr. Goldhand then appeared. He was red-faced and happier than ever.

  “Good show, boys! Good show! That new ending sequence was genius. The slapstick audience interaction brought the house down, almost literally. I can’t tell you how complimentary people were of the whole thing. I have one question though. How did you know someone would be eating chestnut soup at that table?”

  Timmy and Bugs never meant for the ending to go off the way it did, and the proximity of the soup was pure kismet, but now that it had proven a grand mark, they planned for the new ending to stay. Bugs threw his arm around Gabriel and walked off while concocting a believable story of how they came to develop the new ending, and most importantly, he requested that a bowl of soup be at that table every night they performed the show.

  As Twitch soared across the room and landed upon his master’s shoulder, Timmy turned to Elvin again. “Elvin, that was fine work out there, fine work.” He patted the boy on the back.

  “Thank you, Sir,” Elvin replied.

  Placing his costume in an oak chest, Timmy then ordered the boy to start cleaning up. As the pair reset the production and stored away the props, Timmy’s mind was fixated on Genny, and now John Smith. He couldn’t help but wonder how the two came to know one another, and why Genny, a girl he had always felt was of the most innocent nature, could be mixed up with a man who seemed far from that.

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