Yet another humorous short story, starring the ineffable Mr. Brown, with a cameo appearance from my alter ego, Werdna the Wizard.

The evil wizard Werdna, followed closely by Mr. Brown, crept silently through the streets, heading towards Victor's house. Victor Lesly was a news writer, who'd written a rather unflattering story about how inept Werdna was at being a villain, and how no self-respecting hero would dare to face off with him. But he hadn't stopped there. After that, he'd gone so far as to call the wizard Werdna's infamous experiments with gnomes 'pointless'.

"I'll show him 'pointless'." Werdna muttered under his breath, his soft shoes making no noise on the cobbles. "I'll make Victor regret having crossed swords with the mighty WERDNA himself!"
(Werdna always spoke his name in capital letters. He got very offended at those who didn't.)
Werdna's plans were simple. Gain access to Victor's house, trash the furniture, leave all the faucets running, and drop off a 'gnometastic' little present, that would ensure Victor would never forget enraging him.
But he couldn't be caught on the way to the house, and had to break in as silently as possible, so he'd be able to do as much damage as he could. And so he'd brought the Ineffable Mr. Brown, master locksmith.
Mr. Brown was well known in the criminal world. For no matter how much work you went to to get past the guards, or into the treasure room, you would inevitably need the services of Mr. Brown to open the locks. He was so well known, that any job requiring his services was known as a 'Brown Job' and all 'Brown Jobs' had a certain professionality attached to them. Mr. Brown never backed out on a job, and always did his part, walking away with a neat twenty percent when all was done. His prices were high, but well worth it, since it practically guaranteed that you would succeed.
Werdna looked over at Mr. Brown as they walked down the street, and wondered not for the first time how he had become such a legendary figure. He was a neat, dapper little man in his mid-forties and starting to go bald. And he was, well, brown. He wore a brown tweed coat, with pinstripe trousers in light shades of brown, neat little brown shoes, and of course, his brown bowler hat. Everyone who knew about Mr. Brown knew about his hat. It was just part of his image, and went everywhere he did, along with his little clink-free brown bag, full of all the tools of the trade, most of which he'd invented himself.
And as they approached Victor's house, Werdna marveled at how inconspicuous Mr. Brown was. The man just looked so ordinary, that no one saw him. He reflected that perhaps he should have been a bit more careful about his own choice of clothing. Instead of his normal purple wizards robes, he wore a long yellow trench coat, the brim turned up so there was so little space between the coat and his top hat, that he kept having to push the hat up so he could see.
They arrived at the front door, and began their work. Mr. Brown set down his bag, pulled out a neat little metal ring with dozens of near identical lock picks on it, and started on the lock.
"Looks like an easy job," he said quietly, "should take me only a few hours."
Werdna stared at the rather basic looking lock, and wondered how 'a few hours' constituted an easy job. Maybe difficult locks took days?
After a few minutes, Mr. Brown started to whistle under his breath. He didn't even seem to realize it, but the whistle was both loud, and annoying, and Werdna glanced around fearfully, expecting to see the police at any moment. Finally he couldn't stand it anymore when he heard a series of clicks like gunshots from the lock.
"Woops, sorry." Shouted Mr. Brown over the noise. That happens sometimes if you don't oil it up first. Don't worry, I'll have it fixed in a jiffy." Mr. Brown then started rubbing oil over the lock, producing a loud squeaky noise, like old shoes.
"Keep it down!" Werdna whispered frantically, as he heard a door slam in the distance, as if someone was coming out to see what had caused all the noise.
"Don't worry, don't worry." Said Mr. Brown soothingly, making a point of not whispering. "I've been in this game a long time. If you act stealthy and quiet, it will look suspicious. By acting as ordinary as possible, as if we're just two blokes out for a stroll, then no one will notice us."
"Are you sure?" Asked Werdna doubtfully.
"Hey sonny, I'm Mr. Brown! Of course I'm sure. Just ignore everything that's going on around you, and give me a hand with the lock. Pull out those deflectors from my bag, we're going to try aiming some sound waves at the lock to force it open."
Werdna shrugged, and let his fears of discovery vanish. Mr. Brown was a professional. If he said it would be ok, then it would be ok.
They set about blasting waves of sound towards the lock, achieving no apparent result. After a few moments, they both heard a polite cough behind them, and turned to see a policeman watching them.
"Can I help you gents?" He said, pointedly looking towards the lock picks.
Werdna stepped forward to speak, but Mr. Brown quickly hushed him into silence.
"Not at all officer," Mr. Brown replied, "we're just going about our business, so I suggest you do the same." And then he turned his back to the policeman and continued working on the lock, muttering under his breath.
"I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the door." Said the policeman, after a moments hesitation at seeing someone happily picking a lock right in front of him. As a rule, criminals didn't break the law in front of an officer if they knew he was present.
With a theatric sigh, Mr. Brown put down the lock picks and turned once again to face the officer.
"Look, I'm trying to go about my work here, alright? So just leave us alone, and let us get on with it. We don't want the boss firing us because some nosy officer kept us from getting in a full nights work." He then turned back and continued on the lock. After a moment there was a loud twang, and his lockpick flew upwards and through one of the front windows, breaking it with a crash.
"Blast!" cursed Mr. Brown. "Now look what you've done. Made me break the poor man's window. Will you leave us alone already?"
The officer looked questioningly at Werdna, as Mr. Brown rummaged through his bag for a second lockpick. Werdna just shrugged as if to say "Hey talk to him."
They both watched Mr. Brown for several minutes, before the officer felt it was time to give it another shot.
"Look, you do realize that what you're doing is illegal don't you?"
Mr. Brown rolled his eyes. "Officer, I'm an honest working stiff going about his job, ok? Just buzz off or I'll complain to the station."
Mr. Brown continued about his work, leaving both the officer, Werdna, and a few neighbors who had wandered over to see the show left watching in confusion.
"I'll be back in a sec," muttered the policeman, heading back to his car. This was too much for him to deal with, so he was going to pass the problem on to his sergeant.
Fifteen minutes later, a large crowd had gathered along with half a dozen policemen, all watching Mr. Brown pick the lock. Several of them had tried to point out that what he was doing was illegal, but he would hear none of it, leaving them confused and uncertain.
After another few minutes, Mr. Brown pulled out a small radio and started playing James Taylor's 'Handy Man' at full volume, to drown out the noise of the crowd.
"Half way there," he said, "should have this open in another half our or so."
"Um, why don't we just go through the broken window?" Werdna asked in a whisper.
"Go through the window?" shouted Mr. Brown, mortally offended. "What, like a common thief? You've got to have some class in this business, Mr. W. You pick the lock silently, like a pro."
"So you are picking the lock then?" asked one of the officers, stepping forward.
"Of course not!" replied Mr. Brown huffily. "I was just making a philosophical point to Mr. W here. Now will you lot go away already? You're blocking my light."
The crowd wouldn't stop bothering him though, so muttering under his breath, Mr. Brown went back to his bag, pulled out several small flood lights, and set them up to shine on the lock. By this time half the cops in the city were here to watch the show, along with everyone in a ten block radius.
As Mr. Brown broke yet another lock pick, Werdna seriously began to doubt the man's skill and wondered if it would be a good idea to sneak down an alleyway while everyone was busy watching Mr. Brown. But it was too late. For Vincent Lesly himself had finally gotten back home, and stepped out of the crowd, glaring ferociously at Werdna and Mr. Brown.
"And what exactly do you two think you're doing?" he asked.
"Just trying to fix this lock for you my good man." replied Mr. Brown. "That is, if people didn't keep blocking the light!" he added, looking accusingly at the crowd.
"The locks fine," said Vincent, roughly shoving him aside and inserting the key. He opened the door, and the crowd gasped. Vincent's house was a wreck...
Furniture was missing or destroyed, the wall paper was ripped, the word "Loser" had been written over the walls with spray paint, and the very floor boards themselves had been pried up or cut through. But that was only the entryway and living room. As Vincent, along with everyone else in the crowd, walked through the door to survey the wreckage, they found that it only got worse. Much, much worse. A few minutes more, and every single person in the area turned to look at Mr. Brown and Werdna the wizard.
Werdna knew they'd been caught, although he wasn't sure exactly what they'd been caught doing, since he and Mr. Brown had been outside the whole time. Mr. Brown himself just stood there looking innocent.
"Did you do this?" Vincent asked, walking up to Mr. Brown till they were practically nose to nose.
Mr. Brown waited a moment, pulled a small cigar out of his pocket, lit it and blew out a puff of smoke, in what Vincent considered a very offensive manner.
"I was outside the whole time." said Mr. Brown in his neat little voice, "Everyone in the crowd saw me, and I believe that's what you call an 'alibi'."
"Well we shall see about that!" said Vincent maliciously. He wanted someone to pay for this, and would be more than happy if it was this little man, in his little bowler hat, with his annoying little cigar.
So the police questioned Werdna and Mr. Brown rigorously, but to no avail. There were just too many witnesses to prove they hadn't done it, and they were let free.
As they both walked home, Werdna patted Mr. Brown companionably on the shoulder.
"Well, we may not have achieved our goal, but it looks like somebody else did, so I guess it all ends well."
"And who says we didn't achieve our goal?" said Mr. Brown with a smile, "While the crowd was busy giving us an alibi, a confederate of mine broke in through the back with a crowbar and trashed the place. Vincent's things are waiting at your home for you in case you wanted to keep any. Cheerio!"
And as Werdna realized why Mr. Brown was the best in the business, the little man walked off into the night, having pocketed a neat twenty percent of the take and the deed to Vincent's property...