Dominic Punchinello: (Chapter One:) Danger and Peppermint

By Blaxcell

Moon light poured into the office. In a world of power, drugs and pseudo infantilism,Dominic Punchinello sprawled himself over a leather imitation office chair blowing smoke rings. It was one of those big ones that came hand in hand with a balding villain and his pet Persian puss. Dominic Punchinello was a man of singular character; his story is one of those that are so extraordinary it was almost considered too outlandish for a fictional book and any other author might be attempted to play down such distinguishing features as his white blond hair or excessively tall frame. They might be tempted to put stains on his impressive teeth or tears in famous three piece pinstripe suit tailored especially for him by one of Mab's maids. They might even be tempted to take away the peppermint flavoured cigar in his hand, their reasoning being that it was just another gimmick.

And here is he eternal question; what came first, the smoke or the Punchinello?

"Mister Punchinello," the words were perfect; like Punchinello's cigar smoke, they came out easy and slow, forming and curling in the air and lingering just long enough to ingrain whatever secret toxins they carried into some not so innocent's body. Passive listening was as dangerous as first hand smoke.

"Mister Punchinello, I know I'm not that much to look at but it would make me ever so happy if you would look at me." The cat meowed.

"Yes Sir I am"

"You're what?"

"Listening, Sir" Sir was not tall; he was balding and did have a cat, a weedy tortoiseshell with half a tail and one ear. There was nothing heroic about the man; small body, large head, neat brown suit. There was something villainous about him; defiantly not his physic and his smile was that of a tired father watching his sixteen year old pierced offspring don an 'I love my Daddy' jacket before going to school. He couldn't kill a person with his bare hands. But if he could…

There were little things that Dominic knew about Sir only from familiarity. Sir had a large oak table purposely three centimetres higher at his end, Sir had a think lime green book filed with coffee stains and dog ends and smudgy inky writing and small details like how much money you make, what you did with it and what school your children attended; Sir had a very quiet, non-threatening way of speaking.

"Sir, I came to propose myself for the Helen project"

"You did, did you? Well go on, propose yourself; what make's you better then Sabino, do you think?" Sir stroked his cat. Dominic felt the fake leather stick to his suit.

"I'm ambitious, I am professional and I can be there on the plane with Ms Margaret in three hours," he ticked off his qualities on his fingers, still in his reclining position.

"You're cocky, boastful-" Sir imitated Dominic's finger list "and not fluent in French. Do you think after July's cocaine incident I would trust you with something so… hmm" Sir stopped to think.

Dominic ground the cigar butt in an sterling silver ashtray. "Sir, Ms Margaret speaks French, I hardly think language barriers will be much of a problem; I plan to bring in my own pe-"

"Shut up Dominic. Important, that's the word." Sir told his cat.

"Excellent Sir; you're a literary Picasso. Why I don't know why the Pope hasn't commissioned your silver tongue yet. Maybe you could write yourself in as a new apostle." He took pause to look at Sir's face. "I'm sure you would have if you could have" He flashed Sir his dentists' choice smile.

Sir simply patted his cat. "It's eye opening to know that you assume such a sense of humour in this matter is at all appropriate."

"Well Sir," He adjusted his tie "it may very well not be, but what'd being in this line of business if you can't be a bit excentric?" That earned him a chuckle. "It's something likeable about me; something that gives people a kick. Like you and lace panties; oh the things I do for this job!"

Sir had no gaugeable reaction. Dominic hadn't expected any.

"I never liked that word." Sir said as he scratched his cat between its one and a half ears.

"What word Sir?" Dominic's voice was shrill.

"Panties; I prefer lingerie, but underwear is equally good. And no; Mister Punchinello, pink panties, or panties of any other colour in this case, will get you assigned to the Helen project." Sir lent back into his office chair. Sir never smiled too widely; people who worked with him thought it was a show of restraint even in the most emotive situations.

Maybe they were right but there were better odds, odds even Dominic Punchinello was willing to bet on, that Sir was self conscious of a blue tooth on his bottom jaw, a mark if honour from being beat up for the contents of his lime green book.

"I am not going to help you onto the project and you are not going to blackmail me Dominic; and really you can do better than that. So without further whinging, good evening Dominic."

Dominic Punchinello pulled himself up. The leather squeaked and farted under him. He lumbered to the door. Sir was still smiling, watching all Dominic's little stumbles and 'humanities.'

"Good bye Mister Dominic Punchinello" Those twelve syllables could have put a less prepared person in the hospital; either waiting for an organ or a stomach pump for sugar poisoning and Dominic was glad to slam the door.