The Brownies

The cards...

Characters: The Millionaire and The guy in the apartment upstairs.

Setting: A submarine below the surface.

Problem: "Who ate my brownies?"

Resolution: It was all just a dream.

The story...

Nigel J. Hollingsworth III had a near perfect life he thought to himself as he settled in to an overstuffed armchair in the lounge with his evening snifter of cognac to reflect on the day.

A beautiful wife that adored him was waiting at home every night at the most exclusive addresses in the city. The finest tailors on Saville Row made all his clothes. A table was reserved for him at every upscale restaurant in town. A garage full of expensive and exotic cars was available when he felt like driving and James and the Rolls were ready when he didn’t. Every exclusive club either had him as a member or was desperately trying to get him to join.

Due to a large inheritance, and the fortune of having an honest accountant and financial advisor that came along with it, Nigel was a millionaire. The kind with a capital "M". And more money came in every day. All day. Compounding like wild rabbits run amok. Life was blissfully easy.

Except for the guy in the apartment upstairs.

Rodney Barrington-Smythe was his name. And it was the fact that he lived upstairs that bothered Nigel. For that fact meant that Nigel didn’t live in the penthouse apartment.

Nigel had the best of everything else in his life. Except for his address. The second to top floor apartment was like being the first loser to Nigel. The fact that Nigel felt he could out-class Barrington-Smythe in every other aspect of life really made it even harder to swallow.

For years Nigel had been trying to find ways to obtain what he felt was rightfully his and just fell short at every turn. Obtaining the penthouse apartment had become his mission. He would succeed. He felt it in his bones. And when he did his near perfect life would become Nirvana.

It had started this morning when Barrington-Smythe had shown up late as usual, delaying the start of Nigel’s current vacation. Using considerable clout Barrington-Smythe had coerced last minute tickets for the voyage and caused the ship to be held at port until he and his mistress were checked in and boarded.

Nigel had worked hard planning for this trip. For months he had schmoozed the right people and made the right connections to be one of the first to purchase tickets. He also worked at ensuring that the list of potential passengers remained to his liking. Barrington-Smythe had not been on that list and it angered him to have to wait on his nemesis. The fact that Barrington-Smythe had found out about it, procured tickets at the eleventh hour and was participating in something that Nigel thought would be exclusively his compounded his feelings.

Touted as being the fastest and most luxurious way to travel the seas, The Swift was the world’s first transatlantic passenger submarine and Nigel was on its maiden voyage. It was the pinnacle of ocean travel. Her hull was a new design that made her the most efficient sub in the water and the largest in the world by far. Her builders spared no expense to provide the most prestigious voyage possible for her passengers.

Due to hull restrictions and high costs the Swift was limited to one hundred passengers. All with first class accommodations and a valet for every ten. Every paying customer would be coddled from port to port with staff at their beck and call.

Being several hundred feet below the surface she was never affected by anything on the surface and could travel unimpeded by storms or other shipping at a pace faster than any cruise ship or ocean liner. Crossing the Atlantic in the nautical equivalent of the Concorde was going create a new niche in travel for the rich and famous to fill.

"Who ate my brownies?" Bellowed the captain. "I will not tolerate this kind of behavior on my command!" "The guilty party will be detained until port and summarily prosecuted upon our arrival!" The captain then turned to the security officer, gave his orders to commence the search for the culprit and stormed out of the lounge.

Nigel was so excited he was about to wet himself. He had seen Barrington-Smythe eating the brownies earlier and this was just the opportunity he had been waiting for. If Barrington-Smythe were to be convicted the buildings board of directors would be forced to move him out. And of course Nigel would be the logical choice among the rest of the residents to take the now vacant penthouse. He was all but packing for the move as he started to make a plan.

Nigel knew that as a distinguished gentleman of the highest caliber he himself could not turn in Barrington-Smythe. The act of being seen as a "tattle-tail" would stain his reputation just as much as the accused. And no one else had witnessed the act. Nigel needed to think.

"If only this had happened on a regular cruise instead of this submarine" mused Nigel. "I’d have a lot more options."

The crew was to small and elite to be bribed without potential for it coming back on him so he would have to find a way to set up Barrington-Smythe himself.

Deciding that he would ensure that the evidence pointed in the right direction, Nigel set out to provide some.

Starting in the galley he carefully gathered some of the remaining brownie crumbs into napkin and then placed it in his pocket. He then headed to the area near Barrington-Smythe’s cabin. Looking around to make sure no one was going to observe him, he slowly headed for the door.

Nigel planned to smear some of the crumbs on the door knob and door of Barrington-Smythe’s cabin and scatter the remainder on the floor near it and in the hall leading up to the cabin. After planting his evidence he planned to casually loiter around the area until a crew member happened by. Nigel intended to stop and tie his shoe in the hall at the appropriate time and discover the mess on the floor, leaving the crewmember to put the rest of the pieces together. It seemed foolproof.

In the midst of distributing the crumbs, Nigel became aware of someone shaking his shoulder.

"Sir." "Sir!" Said a voice. "Can I help you?" "Are you all right?"

As the shaking grew more persistent Nigel began to panic. What would everyone think? How could he explain his actions? Would his life be ruined instead of that deserving wretch Barrington-Smythe?

Slowly Nigel began to realize that he wasn’t kneeling in front of a door, but was sitting on the floor in front of an overstuffed armchair. A worried valet was trying to help him up and another was cleaning up his snifter and a spill on the floor.

"You seem to have slid out of your chair Sir" said the valet. "May I help you up?"

"No, no" I’m quite all right!" Said an embarrassed Nigel as he began to get up himself. "I must have nodded off." "It has been a very tiring day" Nigel muttered and headed off in the general direction of his cabin. The valets watched him walk away still shaking his head trying to finish waking up.

Drat! Thought Nigel. It was all just a dream. I guess getting jailed for brownie theft did seem a little preposterous after all. At least I didn’t really get caught planting the evidence. I don’t know what kind of disaster that would have been! It’s probably better in the long run though, he mused, I would have felt a little bad finally getting the better of Barrington-Smythe over something as trivial as brownies. A better opportunity will surely come along soon and when it does I’ll be ready, or my name isn’t Nigel J. Hollingsworth III.

And with that he went into his cabin, put on his silk pajamas, kissed his lovely wife goodnight, and went to bed.