Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
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"Vince, come on. Just this once I'm actually asking you for a favour."
"And I can't do it." Vince explained, fixing Howard with a strained smile. "I'm a busy man, Howard. I've got places to go, people to see- you know what I mean."
Howard rubbed his brow, desperate to think of a way to win. "I'll do whatever you want, just name it."
Vince sat at the edge of the shop counter and kicked his legs in a move Howard could only compare to a school girl's playful flirting. No one else could pull it off without raising the wrong sort of questions.
"Howard, look..." Vince said, dragging the Jazz musician's attention back to the heart of their conversation. "I need the night life, I thrive in it ye' know?"
"I'll let you play whatever sort of music you like for a day."
"I don't know," Vince chuckled lightly, "A month maybe, but just a day? Can't be done."
"A week then."
Howard grimaced, knowing full well he would regret ever suggesting such a thing. Vince was a good mate but some times his taste in music left much to be desired.
"Eh..."
"Come on," Howard pleaded. He was seconds away from falling to his knees and begging. "You're my mate - best mate. We're supposed to help each other, yeah?"
Vince sighed dramatically and threw his hands up. "Oh all right, but I expect you to live up to your end of the bargain. My music, remember? Any kind I choose for a whole week."
"Great!" Howard grabbed the trumpet case he'd left behind the counter and bowed graciously. "I'll be back before you know it."
"Right, right." Vince said with a sad shake of his head.
Howard paused at the entrance to the shop and gave his mate one final bit of advice. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Vince rolled his eyes. "If I did that I'd bore myself to death."
Howard considered saying more but stopped himself. If he came off too pushy Vince could resend his decision to mind the store while Howard was away. The safest course of action, he decided, was to leave Vince to his own vices and hurry along to his jazz meet before anything happened.
"I'll be seeing you then."
Vince gave his retreating form a half hearted wave and watched the door swing shut behind him.
"What a drag." He lamented to the empty shop. "Everyone's out doing someth'n except me. How'd that happen?"
The small bell above the shop's door chimed, drawing his attention to a sketchy pair of characters who entered.
"Hello," Vince greeted them in a bored tone. He was here against his will so he was not going to make the customers think otherwise. "If you want something classy you've definitely come to the wrong place. But if you want piles of dust and spider webs then look no further."
The taller of the two was a gangly fellow with bleached hair and dark beady eyes. Vince didn't like the looks of him. But he did like the woman at his side, she was short and a bit wide, but the fashion she sported was a blinding white light in Vince's mind. If only her companion read the same magazine articles.
"I think we've come to the right place." The man said, directing the statement more to his lady friend than Vince. "Nabootique - home of the strange and out of ordinary."
Vince supposed the man was right though he found the place to be an eyesore on most days. He would be working somewhere else entirely if Naboo wasn't a good friend of Howard's and his.
"What're you two look'n for?" Vince hopped off his perch on the counter but remained with his back to it. No point in vacating if the customers were going to leave again.
"Actually we want everything." The man replied, gazing at Vince with those tiny wet eyes. The woman remained silent beside him but she grinned at his comment and nodded accordingly.
"Everything?" Vince couldn't resist showing some cheek. "Even the bookshelves?"
The white haired man snorted and pointed at an empty burlap sack he had tucked beneath his arm. Somehow Vince had missed that entirely. "I'll take anything shiny that fits in this."
"We do have bags you know." Vince said pointing at the plastic he and Howard recently decorated with the shop's name. He liked how their glittery letters shined beneath the shop's lights.
"Yeah, I noticed that." The man replied. "But I think we'll do it our way."
Without waiting for Vince's response, he tugged a hand gun from the back of his pants and pointed it toward the substitute shop keeper. "This is what some people would call a stick up."
Vince would have retreated a step or two but the counter proved to be an obstacle he hadn't anticipated. Instead he swallowed a lump in his throat and eyed the weapon. "What would you call it?"
"What?" The man's eyes grew smaller yet as he narrowed his gaze.
Vince grimaced and mentally reprimanded himself for ever thinking Howard's eyes were bad. "I mean if 'some people' would call this a stick up, what would you call it?"
"A minor inconvenience. Now do you have a storage room or am I gonna haveta tie you up and gag your pretty little mouth?"
Vince didn't like the idea of bondage. He barely knew the bloke after all. He quickly pointed to the back of the shop.
"Good. Lead the way."
Cursing his bad luck and his friend Howard Moon, Vince was corralled across the shop at gun point and shoved into the back storage. The door slammed behind him, leaving beady eyes and his vixen on one side and Vince and the dark on the other.
Vince suddenly regretted choosing the closet over rope and chair. At least then he would have had company, albeit bad company, but it was something he was willing to overlook. The dark stale air around him was a bit overwhelming, and reminded him why he liked to go out so often.
"Ah come on man, give me a break, will 'ya?"
When no answer followed, Vince pounded the door.
"Let me out, aight? I don't like dark places, they're bad for my complexion!"
The thick oak muffled sounds of glass breaking as the hoodlums went about ransacking the shop.
With a heavy sigh Vince resigned himself to wait for rescue and turned his back to the door. A tower of records loomed over him, stacked against the far wall of the closet. He vaguely recalled seeing Bollo store them there weeks earlier. At the time Vince hadn't thought much of it. But now that he had nothing better to do...
Vince picked the nearest record and flipped it face up. The dark frightening visage of a bearded musician stared up at him with a trombone pressed to his lips. Jazz. He scanned the other records and shuddered as each one revealed itself to be none other than Vince's least favourite genre.
The record tumbled from his fingers and slapped against the floor.
"Oh great." Vince groused, "First I gotta take Howard's place so he can hold hands with his Jazz mates, then I end up in 'ere with my worst nightmare and his wet dream."
It wasn't his imagination; Vince could definitely feel his collar growing tighter. There wasn't enough space between him and the records, no matter how much he pressed against the smooth wooden door.
Desperate he pounded the door again. "Lemme out! I'm being eaten alive in 'ere! I'll give you fashion advice, or a manicure! I don't care just open this door already!"
Silence echoed around him.
With a whimper Vince eased himself down the length of the door until he sat on the cold floor. He kicked the record he'd dropped and watched it skid across the small space. It rebounded off the bottom of a stack and came back with a vengeance.
He squeaked and batted it away once more. This time it stayed where it landed, face up in an act of defiance. He glared at it. "What do you think you're look'n at?"
He felt the weight of a thousand eyes fall on him and he remembered they weren't the only two occupying the space.
"You have a problem to?" He snapped at the back of the closet. "You stay in your corner and I stay in mine, alright?"
The wall of old records loomed over him and he hid behind his crossed arms. "Sorry I didn't mean it! Don't hurt me!"
The room began to close in around him, and not for the first time he regretted letting Howard talk him into such a mess.
"Howard! You and your bloody jazz!" He sobbed into his drawn knees, "I'll come back and haunt you to your grave!"
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To be continued...
