Tunnels 01, Tunnels

tables of sensibly red tomatoes and downright soberly green cabbages. With his infectious high spirits and seemingly endless repertoire of quips and puns he was a great favorite of the ladies of the borough, both young and old, yet oddly enough he had remained a confirmed bachelor.
    On the other hand, Mr. Clarke senior, the elder brother, couldn't have been more different. A staunch traditionalist, he frowned upon his brother's exuberance, both in appearance and in manner, insisting on the somber, time-honored dress code: the old shop coat his forefathers had sported. He was painfully clean and neat; his clothes could have been ironed while he was wearing them, such was the crispness of his mushroom brown shop coat, white shirt, and black tie. His shoes were so beautifully polished, and his hair, cut short at the back and sides, was oiled flat with such a glistening sheen, that from behind one would have had a hard time telling which way up he was.
    The two brothers, within the shady green interior of the shop, were not unlike a caterpillar and a butterfly trapped within a shared cocoon. And with their constant bickering, the flippant joker and his straitlaced brother resembled a comedy team in constant rehearsal for a performance that would never take place.
    "Expecting a rush on my lovely gooseberries, are you?" Mr. Clarke junior said in a mock Welsh accent and smiled cheekily at Chester, who, still propped against the door, made no effort at a response, as if struck dumb by the whole situation. "Ah, the strong, silent type," Mr. Clarke junior whispered with a wink as he danced down the stepladder and whirled in a flourish to come face to face with Will.
    "It's young Master Burrows, is it not?" he said, his expression suddenly becoming serious. "I am so sorry to hear about your dear father. You've been in our thoughts and in our prayers," he continued, placing his right hand softly on his heart. "How is your mother bearing up? And that delightful sister of yours...?"
    "Fine, fine, both fine," Will said distractedly.
    "She's a regular here, you know. A valued customer."
    "Yes," Will blurted, a little too quickly, as he tried to pay attention to Mr. Clarke junior while still keeping an eye on the door against which Chester remained buttressed as if his life depended on it.
    "A highly valued customer," the invisible Mr. Clarke senior echoed from behind his counter, accompanied by the rustle of papers.
    Mr. Clarke junior nodded and smiled. "Indeedy, indeedy. Now, you boys just park your pretty selves there while I get a little something for you to take to your mother and sister." Before Will could utter a word, he had spun gracefully on his heel and practically tap-danced into the stockroom at the rear of the shop. Will took the opportunity to go over to the window to check on the whereabouts of their two pursuers. He recoiled with surprise.
    "They're still there!" he said.
    The two men were standing on the sidewalk, one directly in front of each window, staring in over the display tables of fruits and vegetables. It had now turned quite dark outside, and their faces glowed like ghostly white balloons under the illumination from the shop's interior. They were both still wearing their impenetrable glasses, and Will could make out their bizarre hats and the waxy shine of their angular coats with the unusual shoulder mantles. Their craggy, slanting faces and their clenched mouths looked uncompromising and brutal.
    Chester spoke in a strained, low voice: "Get them to call the police." He gestured with his head at the counter, where they could hear Mr. Clarke senior grumbling as he thumped so forcefully on a stapler that it sounded like he was using a jackhammer.
    Just then, Mr. Clarke junior waltzed back into the shop carrying a basket piled high with an impressive array of fruits, a large pink bow tied to its handle. He offered it to Will with both hands outstretched, as if he were about to break into an aria.
    "For your mother and sister and, of course, you, old chap. A little something from me and the old codger over there, as a token of our sympathy for your predicament."
    "Better a codger than an upstart," came the muffled voice of Mr. Clarke senior.
    Pointing at the windows, Will opened his mouth to explain about the mysterious men.
    "All clear," Chester said loudly.
    "What's that, dear boy?" Mr. Clarke junior asked, looking past Will at Chester, who was now standing in front of one of the windows and peering up and