Hobson wasn’t sure if it was the noise that had woken him, or if he had awoken in anticipation of the noise. He supposed the latter, as the noise -- the scrape of a loose brick abrading the mortar that should have held it -- wasn’t all that loud. It was enough to haul him out of bed, though, toward the window, where he cracked open the curtains overlooking his front garden.
In the sodium glow of a streetlight, a woman was performing oral sex upon a man. Or at least Hobson assumed it was a woman, though he could see only her back as she sat on his low garden wall, her head gently bobbing as though in thoughtful agreement. She was dressed ambiguously in tight jeans and a leather jacket, and even the long hair flowing down her back wasn’t definitive proof of her sex, but it suited Hobson to assume that she was a she.
He studied the figures for a while, head cocked this way then that like a brain-damaged dog, then retrieved his nightstick and cape from their secret repository under the floorboards.
"This neighbourhood bad," he muttered, securing a scarlet bandanna so tight across his forehead he could hardly see. "But Captain Puritanical will fix you, and fix you good."
On the bed, the Snoopy duvet undulated.
"Get some milk while you're out, dear," said his wife. "I'm fixing omelette for lunch tomorrow just the way you like it."
Unable to nod without tearing a hole in his forehead, he smiled back at his one true love, and with a morale-boosting roar to shame an enraged Silverback, somersaulted out of the window to do battle with the forces of Satan.
Opening: Anon......Continuation: Whirlochre