(you can listen to the story here.)
You are probably familiar with the classic nursery rhyme Little Miss Muffet. Until recently, everyone assumed Miss Muffet ran from the spider like a sniveling coward and that was the end.
But our team of literature hunters discovered the entirety of Miss Muffet’s story in a remote mountain cabin. And you, dear listener, get to hear the full story. Enjoy!
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey;
There came a big spider,
And sat down beside her,
And frightened Miss Muffet away to a nearby brush, where she met the other law enforcement agents. Her captain, Jack Nimble, smiled. “Good job, Agent Muffet. By the book. Just like I did it when I was in the field. Before… Before… “ Captain Nimble looked down at his burned toe that almost took him off the force. Curse that candle.
Agent Francesca, or ‘Frankie,’ Muffet, whispered into her walkie-talkie. “Listen up. The spider is in position. For the drug possession charges to stick, we have to wait until he takes hold of the curds and whey!”
“Curds and Whey” was the street name for a dangerous narcotic ravaging the city.
The spider, aka Alfonso “the Spider” Spiderelli, was a notorious drug trafficker. He didn’t give a damn who got poisoned with “Curds and Whey”, so long as he made his money and lived in his expensive mansion.
With Agent Muffet at the helm, this sting operation took damn near a year to put together. Frankie had put everything into this. Hell, she damn near sacrificed her marriage, but her husband, H.D., stood by her, both literally and figuratively. She scanned the trees to see if she could find him tucked away in his sniper’s perch. But of course she didn’t see him. H.D. was too good. But he was there; she knew it. She could feel him, and that gave Frankie some relief.
“Oh, no!” she thought, realizing there was someone she couldn’t see, that over eager, loudmouth rookie. He had a good heart and meant well, but had to be kept on a short leash. Frankie whispered over her walkie-talkie. “Where is the rookie, Thumbkin? Where is Thumbkin?”
Out from the woods came a battle cry “Here I am! Here I am!”
Meanwhile, Spider picked up the Curds and Whey and rubbed some on his gums. This was the good stuff, pure. Then he heard Agent Thumbkin yelling. Spider yelled back, “Who the fuck is there?”
“You’re under arrest, scumbag!” shouted Agent Thumbkin and dashed out of the woods, gun in hand, straight at Spider.
Spider was a drug kingpin for a reason, and didn’t miss a beat. Instantly his six spider arms reached out with six shooters blazing. That’s 36 shooters! Thumbkin collapsed as blood sprayed out of his left leg. Spider fired wildly then tried to run, but as soon as he turned around, taser prongs hit him and he fell. His six spider legs kicked and then went limp.
“Dammit!” said Frankie as all hell broke loose.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” yelled Captain Nimble. He wasn’t looking at Spider. No, he was looking the other way. Something was wrong, very wrong. Frankie heard over the radio, “Agent Dumpty is down! I repeat, Agent Dumpty is down! We need medics!”
“Humpty! No!” Frankie swore and ran to her shattered husband.
A stray bullet knocked elite sniper Humpty Dumpty off his sniper perch, and he had a great fall. All the king’s men worked to stabilize him.
Then they heard it… neighing!
“Dammit! Not again!” shouted a paramedic. Out of nowhere, all the king’s horses galloped onto the scene. The paramedic waved his arms. “Get back! We got this! We don’t need all the king’s horses! You’re horses, not medics!”
But all the king’s horses didn’t listen. They cantered forward and did what horses did best, trampled the helpless.
All the king’s men finally chased off all the king’s horses, but Humpty was in awful shape and taking shallow, ragged breaths. From his broken body bloomed broken yolk.
Frankie ran to her husband’s side. “Humpty! Can you hear me?”
He looked at his wife and gave a weak smile before going limp.
She yelled, “Do something!” Tears burned as she pled for her husband’s life. The look on the medics’ faces said everything. All the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again.
A medic put a hand on Muffet’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Frankie. Humpty can’t be saved. “
Frankie wiped away tears and whispered to her husband. “Not saved, but you can be avenged.”
Six-Months later.
Crowds packed the courtroom for Alfonso “the Spider” Spiderelli’s trial. He had hired the best defense team from the law firm of “John, Jacob, Jingleheimer, and Schmidt.” But it was not looking good.
Everyone rose as the judge and jury entered. Then, to the surprise of all, the prosecutor addressed the court. “Your honor and members of the jury. As much as it pains me to say this, we are dropping our case against the Spider.” The crowd gasped!
The judge looked over her reading glasses. “Council, did I hear you correctly? Why are you dropping this case?”
Spider looked at his attorneys, and from their dropped jaws, they were just as surprised as everyone else.
“For lack of evidence, your honor. This morning, the Curds and Whey, in evidence, well it… well it…”
“Spit it out, council,” said the judge.
“It is apparently just common porridge.” The crowd gasped!
And with no evidence of drug possession, Spider was released. The prosecutor saw the big grin on Spider’s face. Of course, he would be happy. But he also saw a smirk on an unexpected face, Agent Frankie Muffet.
Just outside the courthouse, the prosecutor caught up with Agent Muffet. “You must be really upset. I am so sorry I couldn’t convict Spider for killing Humpty. Without the drug possession charge, all the other charges would be chalked up to self-defense.”
Frankie looked at the prosecutor through dark sunglasses. “You did all you could.”
He asked, “So, what do you think happened to the Curds and Whey? Why would someone switch it out with porridge? Why would anyone tamper with such important evidence to get a scumbag like Spider off?”
“You got me,” Frankie said through a poker face.
“The reason I’m asking, Agent Muffet, is I reviewed the evidence locker sign-in logs. You were the last person inside the evidence locker. Strange, huh?”
Frankie turned to leave. “I had nothing to do with the evidence locker. I’ve been busy.”
The prosecutor asked, “Busy with what?”
As Frankie walked away, she said, “I’ve taken up hunting.”
transition
Muffet cashed out her retirement, and along with Humpty’s life insurance, was able to stay afloat without returning to the force after bereavement leave. Besides, that wasn’t her anymore. The by-the-book, follow-the-rules Agent Muffet was gone. Now she was just plain old Frankie.
And Frankie was a busy girl. She trained daily in cardiovascular, weights, marksmanship, and close combat, all before most people left for work in the morning.
She spent the rest of her time studying Spider. He was careful not to have an online or social media footprint and kept his personal information locked down tight. However, in the real world, Spider made one enormous mistake with his routine.
He had one.
And predictability makes vulnerability.
Spider was busy constructing a new building for his operation. A tall eyesore near Mulberry Terrace.
He left the house at the same time each morning, took the same routes, and used the same bodyguards. And the bodyguards also had predictable routines. It was almost too easy.
The one sticking point was the Spider’s family. No spouse or partner, but he had an infant son. And Spider hired an elderly live-in nanny for when he was at work. Sure, there were a few guards at the mansion, but they, like him, were predictable. Same coffee and lunch breaks every day. Sometimes leaving the mansion unguarded for up to five minutes. The boss would not have been happy to know that.
One day the guards stepped away for a minute to get coffee, and that was all the time Frankie needed.
transition
Spider was called back to his house by a panicked guard and nanny. As he stormed into the foyer, they were pale-faced and pacing.
Spider snarled angrily, “What the fuck is going on? Why did you call me in a panic?”
The nanny, an elderly woman with kind, tear-soaked eyes, handed Spider a note. “I f-f-f-found this in the baby’s crib, sir.”
Spider snapped up the note and read.
[In Frankie’s voice] “I have your son. If you want to see him before he dies, be on the roof of your new building at midnight. Come alone, or he dies sooner.”
Spider softly asked the nanny, “Why weren’t you watching him?”
The elderly nanny wrung her gnarled hands and said, “I-I-I’m sorry. He-he was asleep.”
“It’s okay. I understand,” Spider reassured her with a warm smile.
The nanny sighed. “Thank you, sir! You are so kind.” The sound of a gunshot and body thud fills the air. Spider looked at the guard next, who shook with wet pants. “I’ll take this as your formal resignation.” Another gunshot and body thud fills the air.
Spider re-read the note, tore it up, and screamed in rage.
That night:
Frankie stood on the rooftop and waited. She had spray painted an egg on the front of her black bulletproof vest, but the white paint had dripped down and the egg looked like a white skull. She held a green and yellow baby basket at her side.
Frankie tried not to look down. She wasn’t afraid of heights, but neither was Humpty, and we know how that turned out. She grasped the basket tighter.
A loud voice split the quiet. “Give him back!” Spider stood on the roof, not more than ten feet away, and shook with rage. “Now!”
“Tut-tut,” said Frankie and wagged her finger. “I told you to come alone.”
Spider looked around. “I did, idiot. Do you see anyone else?”
Frankie pulled out a small electronic box with two switches. “Let’s see.” She flipped one switch, and the rooftops of surrounding buildings sparked, and snipers screamed.
“Don’t worry, they’re not dead. Just unconscious. I shocked them only enough to keep them from disrupting our – business. Besides, you wouldn’t want a stray bullet to,” she lifted the basket, “accidentally hit someone, now would you?”
Inside the baby basket, the baby spider cooed from under a blanket.
Spider took a step forward, and Frankie lifted the basket over the ledge. “Not another step,” she said. Spider backed up, and Frankie pulled the basket back.
His voice dripped with malice. “When this is over, and he is safe with me, I will skin you alive.”
Frankie snarled. “You took everything from me. Humpty and I were going to start a family. He would have been a wonderful father. But now…”shit
Sensing a weak spot, Spider’s eyes narrowed, and his face contorted into a cruel grin. “Hey, it was an occupational hazard. You know what they say: if you want to make an omelette…”
Frankie’s eyes darkened, but just for a moment.
Spider chuckled. “He died painfully, didn’t he? Getting stomped by all those horses? What a humiliating way to go!”
Frankie’s arms shook, just slightly. She couldn’t afford to lose her wits, not now. She took a deep breath. “Yes. It was terrible. Almost as bad as being thrown off a building as a baby because of your father’s mouth.”
Spider took a step. “Ok. Cut the bullshit. What do you want? Money? Power? Everybody has a price.”
Frankie smiled. “I want you to choose. You or your baby? You took a life, so now give a life. You… or… your baby?”
The Spider assessed the situation. “You’re bluffing. You’re a cop. Cops don’t do that kind of sick shit.”
Frankie again held the basket over the ledge. “I was a cop. No more. That part of me is dead. And speaking of dead. Last chance. You… or… your baby?”
Spider smiled, but his brow was damp with spider sweat. “I don’t think you’ll do it. Go ahead. Do it coward! I dare you! “
Frankie stared at Spider. He had been inching in and was getting dangerously close. She was good at combat, but not one-handed with her back to a 100-foot drop.
From under the blanket, the baby spider cooed again.
“Okay. You made your choice.” Frankie hurled the basket out over the ledge and ducked.
“No!” screamed Spider and jumped over Frankie and caught the basket. He fell faster and faster. Spider saw something beneath him and shot out webs, making a parachute to slow the fall while twisting his body towards the target on the ground.
Within seconds he landed on a mulberry bush. He was scratched up with a fractured exoskeleton, but still alive. “Ha! You Idiot! We’re fine, you sicko!”
Frankie waved at him. “Yup! Congratulations!”
Triumphant, Spider reached into the basket and pulled off the blanket to find… a speaker? From it came his baby’s coos.
“What the fuck?” He looked around. The mulberry bush was loaded with, dolls? Little clay figures with four legs, long bodies, and long necks. He picked up one of these clay things. It looked like…(Frankie began whistling “Pop goes the Weasel.”)
…weasels. Why? He held one up to ask Frankie, “What the fuck are these things?” Then he saw it. The weasel wasn’t clay; it was putty, and pressed into its back was a blinking blasting device. These were explosives! Spider, now panicked, tried climbing out of the mulberry bush, but his fractured exoskeleton kept him pinned. He looked up at Frankie, who held up a small electronics box with two switches. “No! No! No!”
Frankie finished whistling “Pop goes the Weasel” then an explosion. She stared down for a long while and sighed.
Moving quickly, she unclipped a safety cable from the harness under her ballistic vest. She hurried to a dark corner of the top floor. Baby spider slept inside a green and yellow basket next to a microphone.
She picked him up and hurried out of the building. They had to make one more stop that night.
The doorbell rang, and Roland Thumbkin, now retired from the force after his leg injury, hobbled to the door. Nobody was there. He looked down and saw a green and yellow baby basket, complete with a smiling baby spider.
Roland picked up the baby, and a note fell out with a small key taped to it. “He is your new resident. And don’t worry about expenses. This key goes to a train station locker with enough funds to last a very long time. I know I can trust you with this, Roland, because you are a good and honest man. Take care. -F”
Bewildered, Roland took the baby spider inside and closed the door. The door sign read “Itsy Bitsy Orphanage.”
In the shadows, a figure with a skull-painted vest slipped into the night.
She had sold everything, and the proceeds sat in a train station locker.
She was no longer a wife.
She was no longer a government agent.
But she still had a job to do. Some may call it vengeance. This is not vengeance. Revenge is not a valid motive; it’s an emotional response. No, not vengeance. Reprimanding.
Look out, villainous evildoers. For here comes –
The Reprimander.