THIRTY-FIVE
Claudio stamped his one foot up and down on his perch above the Cutty Sark bar. His other foot was tied down, his wings secured behind his back with a cable tie and he was silenced with duct tape on his beak. Duck tape! Claudio was mightily offended. The Pope was tied to a seat in Poncenbey’s lounge with his mitre pulled right down over his face, which would do no good whatsoever for his mitre hair, recently so expertly redressed.
Derek wore his formal Caretaker’s beige overall coat with the duck-egg-blue badge and insignia, over his Bricky’s formal leather lederhosen. He served drinks to the Council of Hairdressers. The Holy Barbaras had freshly squeezed lemon juice, which suited the sour faces of the Spanish-Inquisition hairdressers. There was a synergy between the two grou
