Mr. Dick fidgeted nervously, adjusting his pink bowtie. He was awaiting the arrival of his boss, Mr. Brown. Everything was perfect; the soothing music coming from the antique record player was playing beautifully in the background, the lights were slightly dimmed to create a more dramatic effect, the table was laden with platters of sweet-smelling buns and muffins, and the two bottles of Chaucer 1913 wine was poisoned with a dash of Hemlock.
Mr. Dick rubbed his hands together gleefully as the doorbell of his luxurious mansion, situated in the middle of nowhere, rang. He ran to the huge oak doors and opened it, only to find Mr. Brown standing there in a crisp blue suit, with a disgusted expression on his slightly wrinkled face.
"Good evening, Dick," Mr. Brown acknowledged. "My, how kind of you to invite me to your miniscule house here – if you could call it a house, that is."
Mr. Dick glowered. "Why, you're welcome, Brown. Do come in."
"Hmm…your little shack here isn't as bad as I thought it would be…," Mr. Brown commented, making Mr. Dick puff out his chest in pride. "It's even worse."
Mr. Dick's chest immediately fell and his pride was instantly replaced by an expression of utmost hate. "This way, please," Mr. Dick said with forced warmth as he gestured towards a long, winding corridor.
"If you insist," Mr. Brown replied, making his way through the corridor, with Mr. Dick walking closely behind him.
"Should we head straight to the dining room or chat for a little in the living room?"
"Of course we should chat for a little in the living room!" Mr. Brown looked shocked. "Didn't you know that it is impolite to eat before getting properly acquainted?"
"Yes, of course," Mr. Dick mumbled. "Into this room right here then. Yes, the one on the right."
Once they had seated themselves in comfortable armchairs by the fireplace, Mr. Dick decided to start the conversation lightly. "So, how have you been, Brown?"
"Very fine, Dick. Very fine, indeed. I just had the most marvelous holiday in Paris last week. The fashion shows were fabulous! You might want to go there yourself, as we both know that you fashion sense isn't exactly great."
Mr. Dick forced a smile as Mr. Brown surveyed his suit with great distaste.
"Oh!" Mr. Brown exclaimed suddenly, startling Mr. Dick. "Did I tell you about my trip to the Arctic? The glaciers were of such beauty that I couldn't take my eyes off them…," and Mr. Brown blabbered on and on about his latest travels, while Mr. Dick just stared gloomily into space.
When the antique grandfather clock chimed 8 o'clock, Mr. Dick hastily got up and led the way into the dining room.
"I see you've done some refurbishing in this tiny kitchen of yours," Mr. Brown said. "No need to try so hard, Dick. Your kitchen will never look as beautiful as mine."
"Mr. Brown, this is my dining room," Mr. Dick said crossly.
"Whatever." Mr. Brown waved him away and seated himself at the dining table.
A waiter came up to the table and sat a silver dish on the table.
"My goodness! You still have a waiter, Dick?!" Mr. Brown exclaimed. "You should get the latest gadget, the Kitchenator 2000 – it cooks food and brings it to you via a conveyor belt! I've got five of them…you could buy one off me, seeing as I'm such a nice man. Say at 5 discount? I know all about your poverty, Dick, so don't feel too exhilarated at the discount I'm giving you."
"I shall consider your generous offer, Mr. Brown," Mr. Dick said, struggling to suppress the sarcasm in his voice. He sat down at the table and picked up his silver fork. "I hope you enjoy the salad – it came straight from my personal garden."
"The garden? Is this a weed salad, then?" Mr. Brown asked, laughing heartily at his flimsy joke. "I think I shall pass the course…I was never a big fan of rabbit food anyway."
"Very well," Mr. Dick signaled his waiter to remove both their plates. "Bring in the soup, Abraham."
"Oh, no, don't bother," Mr. Brown interrupted. "Judging by your terrible ways, I'm sure the soup would be as bad as that weed salad. Why, it might come from your toilet!"
"It does not come from the-" Mr. Dick gave up, seeing that his talking would not ease things. "Oh, forget it! Abraham, the lamb, please – unless Mr. Brown has any objections, of course…"
"Not at all, not at all…I haven't had lamb in ages," Mr. Brown said. "Though I was hoping you'd have baked lobster and scallops. I've always fancied seafood. Have you ever tried lobster, Dick?"
"About a million times already," Mr. Dick replied dully.
"A million times only? Why, my last count was two million five thousand nine hundred and twenty-one." Mr. Brown paused when Abraham sat a steaming plate of lamb shanks in front of him. He picked up his fork and knife and sampled the lamb shanks, chewing thoughtfully as he did so. "Mmm…this is not bad. You don't, by any chance, have some red wine to go with this, do you, Dick?"
"As you can see, I do," Mr. Dick said, presenting the two bottles of poisoned wine. "May I, Mr. Brown?"
"Oh, yes, please." Mr. Brown held out his wine glass and waited whilst Mr. Dick filled it. "I know you don't drink, Dick, so I'm touched that you remember to please your guest. You know – seeing as you've always been a stingy old miser to begin with." He took a great gulp of wine while Mr. Dick watched with bated breath. "The wine is excellent!" Mr. Brown's gaze turned to the wine bottle instead. "Dick!" He exclaimed, making Mr. Dick jump.
"Y-yes?"
"This is a Chaucer 1913! You know how much better I like the Chaucer 1914! See here…the 'e' just isn't there. Oh, well…I guess you're still a selfish prat after all…" Mr. Brown sighed. Then his eyes bulged. His face was turning scarlet. "Don't you feel a bit…hot, Dick?" He asked, pulling at his collar.
"Oh, no, not at all. Are you feeling a little off-colour, Mr. Brown?" Mr. Dick smiled, watching as Mr. Brown's face started to bloat.
"Um…well, I –" Mr. Brown stopped and covered his mouth with his hand. He looked as if he was about to be sick. "May I use your lavatory, please?"
"Sure, sure. If you must," Mr. Dick said, motioning towards a corridor through which Mr. Brown instantly ran. "Any second now…"
"AAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!" Mr. Brown's deafening scream echoed throughout the 'little shack' as he slid against the wall of the lavatory, clutching his throat helplessly. The pain he was experiencing seemed to be too excruciating to bear. His chest felt tight and he found it immensely hard to breathe.
Finally, after five whole agonizingly slow minutes, Mr. Brown collapsed onto the smooth marble floor, blood dripping out of his mouth, evidently dead, while Mr. Dick rejoiced the death of Mr. Brown with a sip of plain water.