Gazpacho guffawed in maniacal amusement and mirth. “You'll give me the money and like it! I expect you to smile and thank me you hand it over. Be grateful! I could have easily asked for twice or even thrice that amount. You'll give me the money or you'll never see your precious darling Camille again. Unspoiled at least! Mu-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!”
“You fiend!” the man cried. “You're nothing but a heartless, depraved monster!”
And Gazpacho laughed some more. “My, such flattery pleases me but it will not get me to lower my price. Oh, and do not bother contacting the police or having them trace this number. They will only trace it to the 7-Ate-9 convenience store on Aphid Street and I am nowhere remotely near that location. So says I, Gazpacho of the Andes! Mu-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!”
And so he laughed and laughed and laughed until he could laugh no more and then he slammed the phone back on the rotary dialer on the table beside him. Slowly, he turned around to regard his two captives with slate-like beady eyes. There in the far corner of the sparsely-furnished room, both gagged and bound, were a little blond girl in a horseback riding outfit and her pretty pink pony.
Gazpacho of the Andes was a Latino man of average height and built, in his late twenties and with hair that was an impressive voluminous coif supported by copious amounths of extra-strength glossy wax; it was nearly as third as tall as he was. His chin and jaw were quite large and prominent and his straight mustache, very long and pointy. He was wearing a plain, white, V-necked T-shirt, torn and faded jeans, and a dirty pair of tennis shoes, which he donned without socks. He had on a cape and what a cape it was! Luxurious red velvet it was, with gold trim, a tall collar the height of his head, and long, pointy, crooked shoulders that reached more than a foot above his ears.
Rubbing his hands together, he grinned wickedly at the hapless, little girl and her pony, both of whom could only stare back at him with wide-eyed terror. They were both thinking pretty much the same thing, “Oh, please! Oh, please! Don't molest me! I'm too cute to be molested!”
Gazpacho continued grinning and rubbing his hands together. Minutes passed. Still he continued grinning and rubbing his hands together. Many more minutes passd. He glanced at the black cat clock hanging above the door. A quarter past eleven, it said. He went back to his gloating, grinning wickedly and rubbing his hands together.
Finally, he declared, “Ah, noon at last! Excellent! I always do my molesting on an empty stomach. Food always taste sweeter after a good molestation.”
“Noooooooo!!!” the little girl and her pony thought in unison.
Suddenly, the ceiling collapsed, dust and debris flying everywhere, and into the room tumbled Mallet Girl and Fried Chicken Wing guy, the two locked in deadly combat, exchanging fists, elbows, and knees as they fell.
They were instantly on their feet, standing at opposite ends of the room with the astonished Gazpacho staring at them, unable to move an inch. He was so shocked at this sudden interruption of his lunchtime plans that he simply stood there, rooted in place, and watched in silence as the two combatants sized each other up and considered their next move.
Mallet Girl stared at her opponent. It was clear that he was already exhausted and injured to boot. His fried chicken wing suit was all torn and ripped in several places. Still both the man and his costume had fared quite well all things considered. This man, this Fried Chicken Wing guy was better than she had anticipated. He was definitely trained in the finer arts of hand-to-hand combat.
Not that she cared much for the martial arts disciplines, being self-taught herself. Still she couldn't help but be impressed by the man's prowess. He had a critical eye and decent reflexes. And a strong arm, too. And his face wasn't all that bad looking. No wonder he had his own super villain name and costume. No doubt he'd also had his own them music and even a sidekick or a henchman or two. Yeah. He was just the kind of guy she could fall for.
Mallet Girl sighed. If only he wasn't wearing such a silly get-up.
“Feh, what am I thinking!” she thought to herself then. “Focus, girl. Focus! Now's not the time for such silly fantasies. A good cup of coffee is at stake. He's good. Yeah, but I'm definitely better.” She wiped sweat and grime from her left cheek and a little blood from the corner of her lips with the back of her hand. “Heh. Heck yeah, I could take him. Just underestimated him a little, is all.”
Mallet Girl reckoned she could bring him down in five seconds flat. Less if she really put her hip into it. Yeah, she was just that good. She was enjoying the fight far too much to end it all too quickly though.
Still it had been quite the long morning and she badly needed a caffeine jolt, and sugar rush as well, to bring her back to her old perky self. Thus she decided to end the fight in thirty seconds instead of five, all in the name of fun and generosity.
She had lost her mallet on the rooftop so she drew another one from her back. “Alright, buster,” she said, “listen up. This is your last chance. I know you know something so you better fez up.”
“Hah!” Fried Chicken Wing Guy spat out vehemently. “I ain't telling you nothing! I'm taking all my secrets to the grave!”
“Oh, yeah?” Mallet Girl retorted. “We'll see about that! Better fez up already if you know what's good for you. I'm getting the location of that cafe out of you even if I have to beat it out of your brain. So make it easy on yourself and get with the talking! A girl's got a right to her coffee, you know.”
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” he responded in turn. “Stop talking nonsense!”
“Whaa? Nonsense? You're the one who's making no sense whatsoever. I was just asking for directions. You're the one who suddenly started acting and screaming all crazy-like.”
“Hah! I'm on to you!” Fried Chicken Wing Guy smiled triumphantly, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “You're just trying to confuse me, aren't you? You're messing with my mind! Well, I'm not falling for it, you hear? You, you, you sphinx you!”
Mallet Girl paused. “Sphinx?” An image of the Egyptian Sphinx but with her head instead and holding crossed mallets in its pause sprung to her mind amidst the sounds of a cricket chirping. A large bead of sweat formed on the side of her head. She was not amused. Not one bit.
