Chapter 2
Dr. Hugo Gibbet walked down the dirty sidewalk of the city street in his brand-spanking new suit jacket. He really quite liked his new jacket; it was showy enough to give him the ‘30s gangster look, while not too flashy, as to make him look like a pimp. He didn’t like pimps very much.
Walking by, He noticed an alley cat with patches of fur missing and a single eye. It hissed at him from below the curb.
“Poor kitty, let me he help you out.” Gibbet said with a smile on his face. He got a good running start and punted the cat into oncoming traffic. The screeching tires and angry honks made him chuckle.
Around fifty yards down the sidewalk, a shadowy man in a gray hoodie observed Dr. Gibbet.
Dr. Gibbet observed Him.
Looking the shadowy man over, Gibbet noted he was about five foot two with greasy brown hair, sunken eyes with bags under them, and acne-like sores on his hands and face that he was constantly picking at; He diagnosed the man as a meth addict. Gibbet’s eyes detected a flash of something metal in his hoodie pocket, and further inspection revealed it was the silver handle of a small revolver. Staring at Gibbet, The addict started walking towards him; the eyes gave it all away.
The addict was planning to mug Dr. Gibbet.
Dr. Gibbet made plans of his own.
Waiting until the man was thirty yards away, Gibbet went to action. He slowed down and started walking in the opposite direction. Passing by a small street-side café, Gibbet stole a napkin and a few sugar packets off an outside table. He quickly ripped open the packets and poured the contents onto the napkin. He bundled it up and stuffed it inside his new jacket. The addict was walking a little quicker now, so he picked up his own pace. This addict probably isn’t worth the trouble, he thought to himself, but at least this is fun.
Both running now, Gibbet juked into a dark, dead-end alley. He ran to the end, and turned around to confront the man, who stopped ten feet away from him.
Pulling out the gun and aiming it at him, the man barked at Gibbet, “Take out your wallet and throw it to me, no funny business.”
Gibbet complied, throwing his wallet to the ground just under six feet away. Even though he stared at the man with a blank expression, his eyes were stone cold.
Just come a little closer, he thought, I need to be able to smell you for this to work.
The addict hurried over and scooped up the wallet with his free hand. “While you’re at it, why don’t you hand over that nice shiny jacket of yours?”
Before he could take off his jacket, the addict saw him grab the napkin wrapped sugar, “Woah! Stop right there, what do you have in your hand?”
“It’s my last package of Meth.” That got the man’s full attention. Gibbet smiled, Addicts were way too easy to manipulate. “Here, you can have it.”
With the skill of a professional magician, Gibbet distracted the man by tossing the packet into the air while simultaneously lunging for the revolver and grabbing it out of the man’s hands. Check and mate.
“Turn out your pockets. I want everything.” In shock, the man slowly emptied the contents of his pockets, shakily throwing over a wallet with fifty bucks in it, Gibbet’s wallet, and two packets containing about four ounces of actual meth; Jackpot! Gibbet knew some underground markets where meth was ten times more valuable than gold. He could easily get a good three hundred dollars for just one of those packets.
“That’s all I got,” The man, now starting to resemble a frightened puppy with a meth addiction, said with a quiver in his voice, “just let me go.”
“Not likely,” Gibbet said, shooting him in the leg, “couldn’t have you following me home, now could I?
The addict swore at Dr. Gibbet.
Dr. Gibbet, in reply, eagerly said, “Right back at you, have a nice day!” and slowly walked off.
Dr. Gibbet had mugged the mugger.
He didn’t even get his jacket dirty.
