The Night of the Tiny Jim
Artie looked on sympathetically as he watched his friend, trying to get comfortable. By his estimate, Jim was just six inches tall. Artie knew he should be thinking of a way to help his friend but he couldn't concentrate. He kept marvelling at the little suit Jim was wearing, a perfect replica of the real thing.
"Hey, Artie, got any ideas?" the tiny voice asked.
Artie shook himself. "I don't have anything to get me out of these chains," he said looking down at the restraints holding him in the chair. It was simpler for Loveless to render Jim helpless; all he'd had to do was pop him in a large goldfish bowl. Jim had been trying to lean on the inside of the bowl but kept sliding down to the bottom. That was partly what had distracted Artie.
"Since we're stuck here until Loveless returns, can I ask you a question?" Artie asked.
"What is it?" Jim replied, finally plonking himself, cross-legged, on the floor of the bowl.
Artie looked embarrassed again. "I just wondered...well your clothes looks so..."
"Spit it out!"
"Did Antoinette make you tiny authentic underwear as well?" There he'd asked but whether Jim would answer was another matter.
"You may not have noticed, Artie, but I've been a little bit too busy to investigate my underclothes," Jim said, crossly.
"Can't you find out now? You're not exactly doing anything at the moment."
Jim sighed and wriggled his bottom slightly. "It feels like I have some on."
"Yes but are they the same as you normally wear or has she made you boxer shorts?"
With another, deeper sigh, Jim turned his back and took a look. "Boxer shorts," he finally announced.
"Ah, not a total replica of your clothes, then." Artie stopped talking and a look of shock came over his face. "You do realise what this means, don't you?" he said.
Jim looked shocked too. "I'd rather not talk about it," he said. Turning his back and sitting back down.
When Loveless returned, with Antoinette, neither agent could look her in the face.
ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo
THE END