A HOLE IN THE BREAD
BY
KROKKIE
Disclaimer: I do not own these wonderful characters, Hardcastle and McCormick; sure wish I did, though! This story has oozed out like green slime from the broken computer masquerading as my brain. I hope it will bring a smile to the faces of everyone reading it.
1
It was Tuesday, and that meant Laundry Day at Gull's Way. McCormick wiped the sweat from his brow, after an arduous battle with a mountain of laundry. As soon as the tumble dryer started chugging away, sounding like a locomotive ready to throw a rod, he plopped himself down onto the couch in the den. He grabbed the remote control and turned the TV on. He flipped through the channels, looking for a movie or some cartoons worth watching.
"Aww," he groaned, "more crap about critters and bu-u-ugs! I'm starting to feel like a learning-disabled fruit fly!"
He flipped through some more channels, and after finding nothing that interested him, he turned the TV off.
"Wow! That was a great movie," McCormick growled and made for the front door.
"McCormi-i-i-ck!" The Judge's voice boomed from somewhere within the house.
"Wha-a-t?" McCormick bellowed back.
Hardcastle came steaming into the den with a sock that might have been white once, in his hand. The sock sported several holes, and his fingers were poking through them.
"What have you done with my socks? Did you pour acid into the washing machine?" Hardcastle groused.
"Heh heh, looks like we've got some mighty big mosquitos in there," McCormick said, with a twinkle in his eyes.
"That's not funny, McCormick. You washed my socks to pieces."
"No way, Hardcase, it's your toenails! You need to clip 'em!"
"My socks never have holes in them. You're gonna buy me new ones," Hardcastle went on, wiggling his fingers through the holes in the sock.
"If there weren't mosquitos, cockroaches or snakes in your cupboard, then it must be a mouse. You got some old cheese in the refrigerator?"
Hardcastle considered that for a moment, looking at the holes in the sock with disgust.
"Ya think? There never were any mice in this house before. Maybe it came from the gatehouse. It's usually a rat's nest in there with all your stinky sneakers, rotten t-shirts and filthy socks draped over the lampshades."
McCormick just snorted and shook his head. "I'll get us a couple of mouse traps at the hardware store, okay?"
"Mice! Gah! Dirty little pests with their beady eyes and fur crawling with lice, and they're fooling around in my drawers," Hardcastle grumbled and turned to see if any other socks were the victims of pest molest.
"Yeah, like the ones that chewed my underwear right off'a my butt while I was in the cooker. You need to check yours before the mouse turns them into something you would wear over your head if you ever feel like robbing a bank," McCormick snickered.
"Get outta here!" Hardcastle shouted, making shooing motions with his sock covered hand.
2
"That mouse is gonna get it with this little sucker," McCormick said as he went up the staircase to Hardcastle's room, armed with a mouse trap sporting a piece of mouldy cheese.
"Knock yourself out," Hardcastle called from the bottom of the staircase, still doubting whether there really was a mouse or not.
McCormick came to a stop in front of the cupboard containing Hardcastle's socks. First, he put the trap on the bed, and started with his investigation.
"Where are you hiding, you pesky little varmint?" McCormick asked, getting down on all fours, peering under the bed. "Nope, nothing here except dust balls."
He opened the cupboard, and tried to open the top drawer. It was stuck. He pulled with all his might, but it wouldn't budge.
"Aargh, what the he—…o-o-o-h!" McCormick cried out as the drawer suddenly became unstuck and sent him flying backwards, head over heels across the bed. The drawer cartwheeled in the air, while socks, strings of chewed-up wool and mouse pellets rained down upon McCormick's head. The drawer hit the floor and all but exploded. The mouse trap slammed shut onto his sneaker.
"Owww!" he cried out, trying to pry the offending mouse torture device from his foot.
Hardcastle heard the commotion and stomped into the room.
"Looks like that little sucker just caught a nut job," Hardcastle said drily as he surveyed the mess in the room. McCormick was covered with socks and other debris mice tend to leave behind in people's drawers. "You only had to catch a mouse, not demolish the entire neighbourhood!"
"Get this off'a my foot, will ya?" McCormick said, trying to fish socks and mouse pellets from his hair.
"What would've happened if you got your nose or your skinny butt caught in this thing?" Hardcastle groused as he pried the mouse trap from McCormick's sneaker.
"There really is a mouse in here," McCormick groaned as he brushed mouse pellets from his shirtsleeve.
"Oh I can see that," Hardcastle said, pulling a face. "But at this rate you would catch a cold first before you catch a mouse in this house."
"I have a better idea how to get that mouse," McCormick said as he rubbed his foot.
"I'm all ears," Hardcastle sneered as he picked up the remains of the drawer from the floor.
"There's this really cool pet shop in Camden Street, you know, Awesome Petz or something. This guy sells nine foot yellow snakes as thick as your waist. And he's got six foot black throat monitors. Those things will sniff out mice and rats from anywhere in here. It's their favourite food. We should get ourselves one of those, we could even catch a couple of bad guys with it," McCormick said as he gathered the bits and pieces of ruined socks on the bed.
"Oh that's nice, McCormick, I've always wanted a pet that could kill me," Hardastle said with a pained expression on his face.
"Nothing beats a mouseketeering pet ex-con in your house," McCormick quipped, as he unravelled the remains of a sock.
Hardcastle sighed and shook his head. "I'll book the pet ex-con a cage at the local zoo, instead, where he could teach nine foot snakes to trim hedges cock-eyed and to build mouse traps!"
3
For three days Hardcastle kept an eye on his cupboard for any rodent activities. McCormick had placed two mouse traps inside the cupboard, as well as rat poison under the bed. The mouse seemed to have left, or died. No more socks fell victim to critter carnage. McCormick was busy around the breakfast table, rummaging inside the kitchen cupboard for the corn flakes. Hardcastle walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table. McCormick handed him the box of corn flakes.
"Looks like we've taken care of our mouse problem, my new pairs of socks are still whole," Hardcastle said as he poured some corn flakes into his bowl.
"It's because they don't stink, yet."
Then McCormick's eyes turned to the corn flakes in Hardcastle's bowl, and he noticed something in there that were not raisins.
"Wassa matter with you?" Hardcastle asked, taking the milk to pour it over his corn flakes.
"Uhm, Judge, before you do anything else, what's that in there?" McCormick asked, pointing at the corn flakes.
"What's what?" Hardcastle asked, and then looked into his bowl. The expression on his face turned to repulsion, slowly. He peered into the box of corn flakes, and noticed a hole in a bottom corner inside the box.
"Don't look like that, it's organic. It's very good for high blood-pressure and—" McCormick tried, but was cut off by Hardcastle.
"Dammit, McCormick, this is war. Go and call the pest control company!"
"Looks like our house guest got tired of your old socks stinking like blue cheese, to look for something more appetizing" McCormick said, with an impish grin.
"Well I'm not gonna watch you destroying any more cupboards with your ridiculous pranks, entertaining that mouse! I'm not gonna sit around here eating cornflakes full of sh—"
"Don't blow a gasket now, willya? I'll go and call the pest persecutors before the mouse starts eating holes in the sofa, or your files, the toilet seat, the—"
"Just do it, McCormick, do it now!"
4
McCormick had called several pest control companies, but they seemed to think rat-infested restaurants were more important than residential areas, with chewed-up underwear hanging from the clothes lines.
"McCormick, who did you call? Why aren't they here yet?" Hardcastle asked impatiently, while he was arranging some paperwork at his desk.
"Well, I called Pest Patrol, Bugger Off, King Cockroach, Pure Venom and D.I.E Pests. Can you believe that they're currently busy chasing rats around in restaurants? I really don't know what I'd do when I see rat-raisins on my pizza, I swear!" McCormick said, exasperated.
"Pure Venom? Those people catch snakes and alligators in sewers, not pests! Doesn't any one of those dumb bug busting companies have one hour to spare to come and flush a single mouse from the kitchen?"
"This guy from D.I.E Pests told me that they have an opening for us the day after tomorrow, they're too busy fighting a plague of fruit flies," McCormick said, rolling his big eyes. He plopped himself down in front of the TV again.
"Fruit flies? Hah, that's just great! Go to the store and get some more rat poison. Get a loaf of bread and a couple of soda pops while you're at it," Hardcastle grumbled, taking some money from his wallet.
5
The next morning Hardcastle and McCormick were preparing breakfast, before they would set off to the precinct to discuss the progress on their latest case with Frank.
"McCormick, make us some toast with the coffee," Hardcastle requested.
"Toast a-la-McCormick comin' right up. Hey, I just thought of something. We could always get some evidence against that thug Shorty D'tockolosh from the guy at that accounting firm, O'Shucks and Schuster, you know, and apply a little pressure since he's been pocketing money from several institutions around Culver City," McCormick said as he opened the kitchen cabinets, looking for the loaf of bread he had bought the day before.
"That's a long shot, McCormick, we don't have enough evidence against that accountant yet, but maybe we could pay him a little visit, since this Shorty character is one of his best-paying clients," Hardcastle suggested.
"I just wish I knew why the hell anyone as big as King Kong, is called Shorty? How stupid is that? Maybe it's an African thing, because this guy's been selling drugs in South Africa before he hit our streets." McCormick smirked.
"Crazy place, that. Anything goes down there. You just sit and watch channel seventeen to see all the crap that's going on there, it's unbelievable," Hardcastle said, stirring his coffee.
McCormick was rummaging around in a drawer, looking for the bread knife. Then he took the bread from the table, ready to slice it.
"Whoa, look at this loaf of bread, here! What kind of crappy dough did they use to bake this with? The hole in this one is bigger than the ones in your socks," McCormick exclaimed as he eyed the loaf of bread with an expression of distrust on his face. He showed the loaf to Hardcastle.
"Geez McCormick, why do you always have to buy a fifteen-inch loaf of bread with twenty-inch tunnels in it? Those things sitting in your head below all that hair are called eyes. Use them!" Hardcastle groused.
McCormick took the bread knife, slicing the bread. "I bet that all the loaves of bread in that store are riddled with-…a-a-a-argh! I almost chopped your head off!" he shouted as a flash of a furry gray something with whiskers, shot with the speed of white lightning from the hole in the bread.
"McCormick, that's a rat! Kill it!" Hardcastle shouted, jumping from his chair.
The rat scurried out the kitchen door with its ears flattened against its pointy head. To be almost decapitated while feasting on the insides of a freshly baked loaf of bread, was just too much to put up with. McCormick just stood there, rooted to the spot with the bread knife in his hand, his mouth hanging open.
"Don't just stand there, gawping! Get it!" Hardcastle shouted again, looking around for a weapon to dispose of the rat.
"It's gone outside, I'll never find it now!" McCormick replied, taking the broom.
"I thought I told you to get more rat poison, dammit!" Hardcastle growled.
"I did, too! I just never thought I'd have to put it inside the bread, you know!" McCormick shot back.
"Bah! To think, the toughest, meanest, street wise lock-picker and safe-cracker was outsmarted by a rat!" Hardcastle groused at McCormick.
"Ho, ho! What did you do to catch that varmint, huh? Anyway, the pest control people will sniff it out. If there's one rat around here, there's probably more of them somewhere, eating the wires inside the TV," McCormick replied, pointing a finger at Hardcastle.
"Brilliant deduction, McCormick!" Hardcastle said, disgusted, as he turned to leave the kitchen.
"What about breakfast?" McCormick asked.
"You go ahead, and eat that ratty bread if you want to. I've lost my appetite!"
000000
D.I.E Pests had arrived two days later, only to find nothing in- or outside the main house. They even searched the gatehouse for rats, and found no trace of anything except a small snake slithering into a crack in the wall. It seemed that McCormick rather should have called the guys from Pure Venom after all. Hardcastle was disgusted when he received the bill. He tore it up and threw it into the waste basket.
One evening, two weeks later, McCormick was lying in bed, drifting off to sleep after they've wrapped up the Shorty case. Suddenly he sat up, as something had disturbed his slumber.
"What the hell was that?" McCormick said to himself, cocking his head to one side.
Grrts, grrts, grrts, came the noise from his cupboard. It sounded like something was chewing up his socks in there. Something gray and furry with whiskers.
McCormick sighed and rubbed his face.
"Dammit, not again!"
THE END