He frowned at the councillors coat with great annoyance.
josh
‘That’s my peg,’ Manny thought, eyes bulging, neck craning, his great annoyance filling the room. ‘It’s a peg that belongs to me.’
He held his own camel trench in one hand, suddenly unsure of where to place it. He opted for the peg directly to the right of his own. Unoccupied. Vito would be out for the next few years, it felt like a safe place to place it.
Manny looked over at his peg once more. Very standard issue. Silver, thick, a delightful 90 degree bend upon another 90 degree bend at the bottom of the thing, causing a ‘lip’, or a ‘hook’, depending on which way you were inclined. A smooth 45 degrees up top to allow for the bulkier items to be stowed. As bulky, apparently, as a councillor’s coat.
Manny entered the office with gusto.
“Councillor? I beg your pardon… councillor?” Manny allows the room to breathe one breath before the interrogation continues. “What? The fuck? Is your coat? Doing? Upon my peg?”
The councillor turns. A smarmy bastard. All fat, no fingers. Clearly a body riddled with hair - sideburns that know no end, jowls that scream for freedom. Yet a charming quality to his facial befuddlement. A visage of endearing confusion.
“What makes you think I’m a councillor?”
“I don’t see how that’s any concern of yours.”
“It is indeed of my concern in its entirety, as the council in question is concerning moi, yours truly, me.”
“So you are?”
“I am what?”
“Indeed.”
“How queer.”
A stand off, apparently. Great annoyance, for certain, but also mystery. Intrigue. Another tactic may be needed to crack this nut.
“Chancellor, I feel great annoyance and I demand an explanation.”
“Councillor.”
“I beg your entire fucking pardon?”
“Councillor. You referred to me as chancellor.”
“And there is it.”
“Well played, squire.”
A beam of celebratory enjoyment emanated from Manny’s hairless jaw.
“So, councillor, I shall ask a final time. Your coat - explain to me why it hangs from my peg.”
“Oh yes, quite right. As established, I am in fact a councillor.”
“Yes, that has been established.”
“And do you know to which council I belong? The fine people whom I represent?”
“Now that I do not know. Enlighten me, I beg.”
“Pratt’s Bottom.”
The smirk leapt forth before Manny had a chance to catch it.
“‘Tis not a laughing matter, ‘tis in fact a matter of grave consequence that has landed on my doorstep. And I’m afraid to say, it has landed on yours, also.”
Annoyance and intrigue rapidly transform into uncertainty and self-consciousness, with a palpable undertone of devastating anxiety. Manny pores through the moments of illegitimate business transactions. The fraud. The solicitation. Which one has finally bitten this Pratt on the Bottom?
‘Turn the interrogation into charm.’ Manny told himself. ‘Flirt your way out.’
“Oh, dearest, fuzziest Councillor, representing the finest citizens of Pratts Bottom, whatever seems to be the problem?”
“These pegs.”
The stomach dropped.
“They are not. In fact. Standard issue.”