Business and Pleasure

Not everybody agreed that the city was better painted green. Mr Mizer certainly did not, nor did his companion Mr Burns. Mizer and Burns weren't fond of nature, not so much. Oh sure, if they could hunt it, skin it -preferably whilst alive- and cook it, it was fine. Otherwise, no thank you.

"Grey is the colour a city should be, Mr Mizer," Burns said, his voice gruff. He looked at the small flowers growing from the pavement, his face screwed up in disgust. "Not green, certainly not bloody yellow."

Mr Mizer, usually the more talkative of the two, was deep in thought, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. He made an interested noise, but said nothing.

"Black too, but mainly grey," Burns muttered to himself, knowing Mizer's moods and realising his companion wasn't listening. He opened the car door and stepped out onto the grassy pavement as if he was walking on glass. 

Mizer, startled by the sound of the door opening, undid his seat-belt, checked the mirror to make sure nothing was coming down the road and exited the car. 

Mizer, always the more safety conscious of the two and dressed in his suit and tie, could have been mistaken for a health and safety officer. It was not health and safety that was on his mind though, quite the opposite.

The only thing anyone would mistake Burns for was a thug, possibly a murderer. And that wouldn't really be a mistake now, would it? The big man looked down at the delicate little blooms growing at his feet and stamped on them.

Mizer watched with the longstanding patience of someone who knows intervention is pointless. "They'll just grow back, Mr Burns, you know that."

Burns looked at him with an evil grin. "That's the great thing, Mr Mizer. That means I get to do it again."

Mizer nodded. "Sensible," he said. "Very sensible. Now if only the same thing happened with people, eh?" A greasy, leering smirk played across his face. "Come on." He flicked his head. "business before pleasure."

He set off down the sidewalk, moving like a rodent, eyes darting everywhere all at once. His large companion stalked after him, smashing his feet down upon the flowers, grinding them with every step to make sure they wouldn't immediately spring back.

They headed for the shop, the little rat and the mountain of a man. The shop was called 'Peabody's Presents'. The name was somewhat of a misnomer however, for the presents it sold were not ones you would want to receive.

The exterior of the shop was dark and uninviting. Dirt smeared the windows, which looked as though they'd never been washed. They displayed clutter of the type that nobody wants. Broken dolls, chairs with missing legs, cracked mirrors. Junk of the most useless sort.

A bell tinkled as the two men entered the dusty interior, the smell of must and mold drifting out onto the street in their wake. It tinkled again as the door closed and shut them in. Neither of them cared about the dark, both could see perfectly well. 

Both, in fact, preferred dark, dank little places like this. Especially after the nasty shock of waking up this morning to find the city turning green.

Inside the shop rows of bookshelves jutted out from the sides. Only a thin channel allowed passage through the shop and Burns had to suck in his considerable girth to pass without knocking entire shelves over.

They didn't bother looking at the items on the shelves, they knew what was contained there. Mundane items for mundane people. No, they were after something extra, something special.

Jars of fungus passed them by, poisonous mushrooms were ignored, plants of dubious use and even more dubious provenance sat on dusty shelves without so much as a glance. The items they craved were kept out of the way. 

At the back of the shop stood an old wooden counter and behind it an even older man. He worked on a bronze necklace, a jewellers loupe held to his eye as he examined the piece. As dusty as his shop, this was Old Peabody, a thoroughly nasty man who cared only for profit and power.

As Mizer and Burns pushed their way through his shop he watched them, slightly nervously. These two, he knew, were dangerous. That wasn't what worried him though, no. He was worried about his shelves. About his goods getting damaged.

The men emerged from the passage and he shot them a rictus grin. "Hello again, gentlemen. How nice to see you again."

Mizer and Burns stood next to each other at the counter, eyeing the old man without talking. They looked at each other, then back at him. A thin tongue shot out Peabody's mouth and licked dried up lips. He looked from one to the other, anxiety creeping over him.

"What can I do for you?" he said, a slight tremble in his voice.

Silence hung between the three of them like a man on the gallows. Peabody gulped.

"Witches sack," Mizer finally said. "The best you have."

Peabody's eyes went wide, a furtive, greedy look flitted across his face. "I have one left," he said, getting ready to settle into a salesman's pitch. "But it—"

"Spare us," Burns said, leaning forwards so that he was looming over the man. "You'll get what you're owed. Put it on the account."

"And do it quickly," Mizer added.

Peabody nodded. He was wise enough to know when to push the sale and when to keep his mouth closed. He nodded twice, turned and started rifling through a chest of drawers behind him.

As Burns watched him work, he looked at the pale head, the incredibly delicate looking skull beneath it's skin. How easy it would be to crush it, to take whatever they wished. But this was Tower business and he would never have it said that the Tower did not conduct business fairly. 

Perhaps they'd come back at some point, for a little pleasure work.

Peabody found what he was looking for and stood, his hand held at the base of his spine and a small groan escaping from his lips. He placed a small hessian sack on the counter. 

"That's the last one, and I saved the best for last," he said with relish. "Made by the inquisition master Torquemeda in 1487. Who is it for?"

Burns slammed an open hand down on the bag and Peabody jumped in fright. 

"Tower business is not your business, so if you want to keep that bony little nose, keep it to yourself." He pulled the sack across the counter and took it in an enormous hand.

Peabody held up both hands, his normally pale face could have been mistaken for a corpse's. "Meant no offence, Sirs. You're right of course, I was just gonna say that whoever it is, this'll do the job."

Burns and Mizer weren't listening though. They had what they wanted. Business was concluded, soon would come pleasure.