Don't mess with a man who can do the windmill. I promise you, you'll regret it.

Mike is a professional. Ask him what kind of a professional, however, and you just get a sort of unsettling sideways grin. He moved into the building six months ago to keep an eye on that chain-smoking broad with the attitude problem, and he was being paid very handsomely to do so.

He never asks questions. He just does what he's told, and he usually does it very well. Until recently, he had never botched a job. But when that nit-wit OCD blonde broke into his apartment a couple weeks ago, it threw him for a loop. He got distracted and lost track of the target. Now she was gone, and he was going to have to miss his Friday night tap lessons to go looking for her. Mike hates missing his Friday night tap lessons. It puts him in a sour mood. And you don't want to cross paths with Mike when he's in a sour mood.

The video feed from Mike's surveillance camera showed the nit-wit slipping in through the window by the fire escape. She clearly knew exactly what she was looking for, which is more than Mike could say. She had made a bee-line for his Bissell Power Clean Rewind, and dismantled it piece by piece.

It looked as if she had searched every last square inch of its unique Helix clean system, the bagless Easy Empty Dirt Cup and even the bristles of the combo dusting/upholstery brush. She hadn't found anything, of course. Mostly because he had never even used it. He just bought it to get that old man salesman out of his hair, so to speak. That was the other reason she didn't find anything. Mike didn't have any hair. None on his entire body, actually. Hair is evidence. And Mike never intends to leave any behind. Same reason he burned off his fingerprints years ago.

And the same reason he'll go completely undetected when he pays Blondie a visit later tonight. Right after Wednesday night glass blowing, of course.

Back to top