Mr. Feinberg: Gentleman!

[Mr. Feinberg has just saved his employer's beloved tortoise, nicknamed "Mr. Feinberg", from the attack of a pack of stray cats.]

"Mr. Feinberg!" his employer remarked, delighted. "You have saved my pet from the attack of a most hostile foe. This was not part of your job description - I hired you to wax my Cadillac's hood! But you did so anyway, exhibiting courage and quick-wittedness in your actions. To think that a pair of roller-skates and a bucket of soapy water might prove so essential to your impromptu plan! I may seem to be be "going on" at excessive length about your actions - and perhaps I am, Mr. Feinberg, perhaps I am."

"Aw, it was fine, Mr. Feinberg. I didn't mind."

"In any case, you have displayed your character to great advantage by your actions today. You are a true gentleman, Mr. Feinberg, and you deserve to dine like one."

"Why, thanks, Mr. Feinberg! But I'll be fine, really. I was planning to eat out at Bob's tonight - it's just fifty cents for the grilled cheese, and it's hardly rancid at all!"

"No, no, I won't have it. Tonight, you dine with me!"

[A certain amount of time passes.]

Mr. Feinberg dismounts his prized three-speed bicycle and leans it carelessly against a nearby limosine. Mr. Feinberg, surrounded by armed bodyguards, stands just inside the doorway to the restaurant to which he invited Mr. Feinberg.

"Hey, Mr. Feinberg, I'm here! What's with all the guys with guns?" Mr. Feinberg asks cheerily.

There is a grim look on Mr. Feinberg's face. "...nothing," he replies after a pause, disarmed by his employee's naive charm. "Come in."

[Time passes.]

"Shucks, Mr. Feinberg, this prime rib is really good - and this filet mignon is even better! Hey, what's that guy whispering in your ear saying? Oh - oh, sorry, no need to look at me that way, sorry for the rudeness..."

"Mr. Feinberg, I have just received confirmation of what I only suspected prior to this moment: you are in the pay of my deadly enemy, the Don. It is good that you enjoyed the meal you just devoured - for it will be your last. As I invited you here to dine, I now instead invite you - to die!"

"What? No! I ain't workin' for no Don! Come on, guys, put down those guns, stop pointin' them at me like that! You've got me confused with some other Feinberg!"

"Men - prepare to fire."

"No! Mr. Feinberg, you know I'm a good guy - a gentleman, a real gentleman, you said! Don't let your goons shoot me! Stop 'em, please!"

"...fire!"

Mr. Feinberg crashed out the rear window of the restaurant, pursued by a hail of gunfire. Ducking and zigging and zagging, he ran to his bicycle, using the steep slope of the street to effect a downhill getaway.

"Do we follow him, boss?" one of Mr. Feinberg's bodyguards asked, emerging belatedly from the entrance of the restaurant.

"No," Mr. Feinberg told them curtly. "There''ll have an ambush ready, if I know the way the Don's mind works - and I do. This is just one more indignity perpetuated by that most vile of foes, that most evil of men, Don Feinberg. Mark my words - I will have my revenge, sooner or later."

As they entered the limosine to make their departure, not a one of Mr. Feinberg's bodyguards noticed the small object Mr. Feinberg had stuck to the side of the car as he made his escape - so when the bomb went off, it caught them all by surprise. The feeling was short-lived. There were no survivors.

Mr. Feinberg died in the explosion. Mr. Feinberg was richly rewarded for his treacherous work. Mr. Feinberg was stuffed and mounted on the Don's wall. And Don Feinberg became undisputed ruler of the criminal underground of Feinberg City.

A busy day indeed!