"Cool whip, mister!" called out a kid as Victor passed him.
Victor grimaced. He was never going to forgive his sister for this. Never. He began planning diverse revenge scenarios in his mind. It took his mind off the agonizingly long walk to the big community hall at the end of the street.
As he walked, he could see he wasn't the only adult in a funny dress. Up ahead him was Old Mr. Roberts, who'd shed his usual casual shorts and tee and was wearing a ridiculous gladiator outfit. Victor debated on whether he should catch up with him and comment on his costume, but decided against it since he could not possibly think of anything good to say about it.
He reached the hall where an urchin dressed all in black was manning the door. "Name, sir?" enquired the stripling.
"Victor Greene" He glanced curiously at the boy's eccentric get-up. "New fad?" he asked, waving towards the clothes.
"No sir, I'm the Ink," the boy answered, sounding shocked.
Victor, who had no idea who or what the Ink was, nodded. He was given a pin-up badge and allowed to enter. The badge said 23 in big, bold numbers. Victor was amazed. Were there 22 other fools who'd actually turned up for this thing? Maybe there were giving free drinks or something. He began to feel more hopeful.
"Vicky, my boy, good to see you!" roared a voice in his ear. Victor winced. He knew that voice. He turned to see Jack Gillingham grinning mischievously at him. Great. Now the news would be all over town that Victor Greene had actually attended a costume competition dressed as Indiana Jones, complete to the whip. Victor thought balefully of his sister again. He wished he were immature enough to put frogs in her bed like he'd done when they were young.
"Hey, Jack."
Jack seemed to catch the palpable lack of enthusiasm in Victor's voice. He bent down near Victor. "I know how you're feeling, my dear fellow. I felt the same when the wife pushed me out here in this fancy get-up. But every cloud has a silver lining, I can tell you. I know this whole thing is for charity, but they're offering free food for whoever turns up. And it's really good, dear chap. Try some." He steered Victor to the banquet table and piled some food on his plate. "And besides," he continued, lowering his voice even further "the winner of this competition gets a cool two-grand prize. How about that? It would be something to win that." His eyes looked dreamy.
Victor glanced at his companion's Viking costume and found it difficult to imagine it winning. It was almost similar to the Old Man Robert's gladiator costume. Why did people with paunches have to choose costumes meant for people twenty years younger?
Victor glanced at his own get-up. Nothing spectacular - just a pair of Khaki trousers and a Khaki jacket, topped off with a fedora hat(it was rather battered-it belonged to his adventure-loving nephew). But the crowning glory was the magnificent whip. It trailed two-feet long on the floor behind him and nearly tripped up anyone walking near it. He'd just considered rolling it up and bundling it away when a loud announcement came over the speakers.
"The Annual Fancy-dress Competition for Adults is now officially begun. A huge thanks to all of you who are participating. The money collected, as you all know, is going to charity..."
Victor didn't bother to listen any more. He was only here because his sister had forced him into it. He just hoped it would finish quickly.
Twenty minutes later, he was perspiring as he stepped on the raised platform in response to his name blared out from the speakers. He'd thought they had to just stand in a line while their costumes were inspected and then they would be free to go. But to go on stage and act out the character he was portraying? He'd known this was a bad idea. He pushed away his revenge schemes from his mind as he contemplated what he would do. He hadn't even watched these movies, for God's sake. The man dressed up as James Bond had given a credible imitation of a fight scene. Even Jack had roared out some meaningless gibberish and pretended to attack some enemy Huns(had Vikings ever fought Huns?) What on earth should he do?
With no really coherent thought in his head, he took a deep breath, faced the audience, raised his whip, and cracked it in the air.
The result was overwhelming. There was a sharp CRACK so loud it nearly deafened Victor. There was a buzz of static, and he smelt something burning. More specifically, hair. He reached up and tentatively felt his head. His hair was singed where the whip had caught it. The whip now lay innocuously next to him on the ground. Victor looked at the amused audience and groaned inwardly. He hoped his sister would be happy.
His sister was happy. She gazed at the huge, gold-plated trophy in satisfaction and at the two-grand check in Victor's hand with even more satisfaction. "See? I told you you'd win. And it was all so easy. Yes, I know you said you made a fool of yourself," she said, in a tone which suggested this was to be expected, "but you gave the judges something different, something to laugh about, and I bet that gave you an edge. Now," she said in a kindly tone, "hand over the cash to me and I'll put it for household expenses. And I'll keep some aside to buy you a nice costume for next year. I saw a nice gladiator costume in the thrift shop today."
