12

'Biff' Is A Four Letter Word.

Dredly sauntered down 5th Avenue. He was walking as fast as he could, given the fact that his shoes seemed to have tightened still further. And as for the squeaking! It had become nigh on intolerable. It had started as if it had been a squeak of surprise, then turned into an almost pained sound, then finally into a shrill mixture of pain and irritation which cut through the rumble of the New York traffic. It was as if the heels of the shoes were crying out at him to stop putting weight on them. And so, between the noise of his brogues and the pain they were causing him, Dredly was less attentive to his surroundings than usual. Normally he would have worried about the effect of the light rain on his shoes, or noticed the large black car trailing him at a distance of all of five feet - especially a car driven by a woman who looked for all the world like a magician's assistant. But that evening he was preoccupied with pain and it made Pauline's job ridiculously simple. With a hint of a smile playing across her bland features, she was able to trail him without incident all the way down to Greenwich Village and 'Biff's'.

Dredly checked the small map on the back of the flier as he walked. It indicated that the shoe repair emporium was down an alley off Sullivan Street. When he reached it, he didn’t like the look of the place at all. Although the main street was bright and bustling, the alley was narrow and dark, with the only light coming from a flashing red neon sign that read "BIFF'S". An arrow indicated a door in the black wall. The alley was a dead end. As Dredly looked down it he knew that once he had ventured into it, he would be an easy target. He stood still, searching the darkness for any hidden adversaries. He looked up and down the street - there was no one. He wavered. It would be much more sensible to return in daylight with his companions. He turned to go, but as he did, he let out a sharp squeal of pain. His shoes seemed to have clamped themselves even more tightly to his feet. Suddenly the discomfort was unbearable. He had to get the shoes off, and if Biff could help him it was worth the risk. The pain had given Dredly a new set of priorities and with a hiss and a shake of his blonde mane, he plunged into the inky blackness.

The alley was dank from the falling rain, but even a Biblical deluge couldn't have washed away the lingering reek of urine and rotting garbage. Dredly's head twitched in a reflex action to get away from the smell. The pavement underfoot was tacky, like Trafalgar Square, and he presumed that, as in London, pigeons were to blame. He looked up at the high canyon made by the buildings to left and right. No pigeons in sight. That was good. He had tangled with pigeons once before in Venice and knew that they were cunning and vicious adversaries. They worked in pairs and you could bet that if one had landed in front of you, cooing gently and looking innocuous, its partner would be stalking you from behind. And their favoured weapon? The cosh. Always the cosh, hidden beneath the wing. In Venice he had been lucky, had heard the light flap of the feathers, and had turned in time to see the raised wooden club. The struggle had been brief but ugly. His arm, held up to fend off the blow, had been broken, but he had fought through the pain and won the encounter. Now there was a pigeon with an eye patch and another with a limp in Venice that had sworn their revenge.

Dredly paused at the door of Biff’s shop. He looked through the window into the dimly lit room. It actually looked quite welcoming and so, with a final glance skyward, Dredly entered 'Biff's'.

A small bell tinkled as he closed the door and from a back room he could hear movement. Dredly looked around. The shop was small and cluttered with shoes and repair equipment. There was a counter opposite the entrance and the space behind it was piled high with footwear of all kinds. Up against the wall to his right there was a chair, like a barber's chair. Around it were the accoutrements of the professional shoe shiner. The room was heavy with the warming smell of leather and polish, rubber, glue and... Dredly sniffed again. Odd. Was that a hint of Paul Mitchell dry conditioner? The stench of the alley must have upset his olfactory capabilities. He shrugged to himself as a figure appeared at the open door behind the counter.
"I'm Biff. What can I do yer for?" Asked a squat, greasy haired man.
"I've got a problem with my shoes." Dredly replied, indicating the brogues.
"It figures." Biff's accent was heavy Brooklyn. "No one ever came here to get their car fixed." He moved awkwardly to the counter and lifted part of it. As he stepped through, he put a small Sherlock Holmes style pipe into the pocket of his shabby, ill-fitting brown cardigan. He approached Dredly. It seemed that for Biff, too, walking was difficult.
"Goddam sciatica's killing me." He said, noticing Dredly's quizzical look. "Have a seat and I'll give your shoes a look-see." He indicated the chair. Dredly squeaked over to it and sat down. Biff took a pince-nez from the top pocket of his cardigan and fixed it to his nose before looking down at the offending footwear.
"So what's the problem?"
Dredly explained his predicament, but left out any mention of the evil shoemaker Caracciolo.
"Yeah... Oxfords can be hell. Tough to break in and always trying to run free even when you have broken them." He squeezed the right shoe at the mid-point. Dredly winced and shifted uncomfortably.
"Hmm..." Biff mused, straightening. "I think I know what you need..."
"What?" Dredly brightened - perhaps this man could end his pain. Biff made no reply, but simply pressed a button on the wall.
 Suddenly there was a sharp metallic click. Steel manacles snapped across Dredly's wrists, pinning his arms to the rests of the chair. Ankle restraints simultaneously trapped his legs. A sixth sense told Dredly that this could not be a positive turn of events.
"What?" Dredly stammered. He was unable to move and had to watch helplessly as Biff pulled a steel shutter down on the inside of the shop front.
"What is the meaning of this?" Dredly demanded as Biff unhurriedly padlocked the shutter.
"What are you doing? Are you listening to me?"
Biff turned and approached the chair with his awkward gait.
"Well, what do you have to say?" Dredly desperately kept his voice firm.
"Silence!" The man barked. The Brooklyn accent was gone, replaced by an ugly, Germanic growl. "From now on it is I who shall be asking the questions!"

Dredly's heart dropped as, in a single movement, Biff removed a rubber mask. Then Dredly was looking into the cold, beady eyes of a gnome whose face was horribly familiar. A second later and the gnome had opened up its padded costume and was unbuckling its feet from the stilts that had lent it the height it had needed to complete its disguise of the fat shoe shop owner.
"My God... The killer gnome!" Dredly exclaimed.
"It is good that you remember me... And what I am capable of." The gnome's eyes met Dredly's and held them.
"I should have realised!" Dredly was inwardly kicking himself; "You said I was wearing Oxfords, when any shoemaker would have instantly recognised these as brogues."
"Yes, my friend. You might know all about shoe design, but I'm not the one strapped to the chair." A cruel smile played across the gnome's lips, drawing them back to reveal its yellowed teeth. Dredly made a mental note to give it the number of his dentist.
"And now we talk, ja?" The gnome flicked a switch on the counter and the chair moved three feet out into the room before slowly swivelling round. Dredly was concerned by the sight that met his eyes. The wall had swung around to reveal a large, well-lit mirror. Below it was a counter with a basin set into it. Around the basin were all the tools of the unisex hairdresser - from curling tongs and curved scissors to the buzz-cutter.
"It's set at number 2." The gnome's eyes seemed to glaze as it picked the instrument up. "I like this one. It is like a machine gun - indiscriminate. It can cut a swathe through even the thickest dreadlocks." Its voice was a mixture of reverence and barely concealed lust. The gnome pulled a box over and stood on it. Dredly tried to pull his head away. The gnome tutted.
"Are you going to be a naughty boy? Then you must be restrained!" Its breath was hot and rank on Dredly's cheek. In a moment it had pulled a leather strap across Dredly's neck - tight enough to restrain, but loose enough to allow speech.

"And I don't think we need this..." The creature plucked the hat from Dredly's head and threw it aside. His fine, blonde hair was now fully at the mercy of the creature with the electric shears. The gnome took a nylon smock and put it on Dredly. It then tucked a small towel into the top of his shirt. This explained the whiff of Paul Mitchell conditioner Dredly smelt on entering. Questions whirled through his mind: Why hadn't he run then when he had the chance? How could he get away now? What was the second largest city in Paraguay - Caacupu or Concepcion? He cursed his stupidity. The gnome was toying with his hair, regarding it with a cold, professional eye. Its tiny, chubby fingers slipped easily through the fine blonde mop. It was caressing his hair with its hands, and as Dredly looked upon it via the mirror, he could see the delighted, lustful expression of a gourmet presented with a feast.

Lawks-a-Lordy! Dredly's in a hairy situation and no mistake! Will the gnome's threats to Dredly's hair dwarf his shoe problem? And what is the second largest city in Paraguay? Answers to minions@dredly.com and the first 3 correct will each win a super-special character mug!

Find out what happens to Dredly in the next hair-raising chapter...