Cruella De Vil: A Short Story

“Ms… Devil is it?” the detective asked the slender, ghastly woman. She smelled of a mixture of cigarettes and very strong perfume, perhaps to hide the unpleasant stench of the smoke.

“De Vil! Two words! Is it really that hard to even look at the name? Imbeciles, all of you, completely idiotic,” the woman shouted.

“I’d be careful with your tone, Ms. De Vil. Do you realize what you have done? You kidnapped and tried to kill 15 dalmatians, just for fur. The Radcliffes, however, you actually killed. Do you realize how much jail time you're facing?”

“Of course I do, you maladroit cretin. Besides, I don't see why I should. At least not in a crummy old jail cell in Scotland Yard. Bedlam seems more of my taste. All the grandeur, with a not-so-subtle

Slowly, the time slowed down, till it reached a halt. Without warning, it was 3 days ago. Cruella De Vil, London’s most infamous aristocrat, was on her way to see her dear “friend” Anita Radcliffe, who had recently heard her pet dalmatian was having puppies.

Dalmatians make the best fur coats, but the time to get them, I’ve heard, is right when they are born, Cruella thought.

“James, darling, if you could, I’d prefer to get there before I have my 4th 30th birthday, please.” Cruella said, rather calmly, for her at least.

A short time later, she arrived at the Radcliffe Residence, ready to buy the little brats with her capacious amounts of money. She was almost certain that if her persuasive techniques weren't enough to win the creatures, £680 would be sufficient. She rang the doorbell a few times, more exasperation in each toll of the buzzer. Finally, the Radcliffes answered the door.

“Anita, Darling!” Cruella said in a hastily tone, as she barged into the

“Where are they? Where are they?” she inquired. “Goddamn it, I said ‘where are they?’ No time for games,