"Whoa, look at that!"

"Shhh! Be quiet already!"

"Sorry, Boss."

"And stop calling me that."

"Uh, sorry... Frank."

Like a couple of black cats toying with a tree ornament, the pair anxiously hovered in front of the wall-safe rubbing their paws together.

"There must be a million bucks in there, eh Boss?" the shorter one asked in a gleeful whisper. The only answer given was a silencing palm as Frank pressed his ear against the cool iron and began carefully rotating the dial.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He bit his lip, listening, while Murray admired the painting leaned against the executive desk. "You know, I'm no art critic, but I just don't get this moderny expression-type stuff..." "Will you pleeeease shut up?"

Murray mouthed an apology as if only aware of causing a disturbance for the first time. He twisted his hand in the motion of locking his lips then dropped the imaginary key into his imaginary pocket.

Yesterday's newspaper was on the desk top beside him. "Pasta La Vista, Baby!" read the headline. An odd picture of a man wrapped in spaghetti preceded a short article about the mysterious superhero. Weird.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

From somewhere in the darkness of the suburban night, a dog's barking suddenly turned the intruders to stone. What disturbed the animal? Had they been seen climbing through the window? Frank looked at the curtain as a slight breeze played against it.

The barking stopped. After another moment, the thieves safely exhaled.

"The window," Frank whispered. "Why didn't you close the window? Do you want the whole neighbourhood to know we're here?

Murray shrugged helplessly and headed across the room.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"And that damn clock!" Frank returned his ear to the door of the safe. "Stop that ticking, will you? This is hard enough as it is."

Murray grabbed hold of the pendulum beneath the wall-clock, but the sound continued. He pulled open the face and fiddled with the gears.

Dong! Dong! Dong!

"Shhhh!" Frank glared at his partner. Murray pulled the clock off the wall.

Silence returned for several heartbeats before Frank finally twisted the handle and pulled the safe door open. "Come to papa," he laughed and reached inside.

The focused beam of his penlight caused a rainbow of sparkles to play around the room with each handful of jewellery he dropped into his sack. A quick sniff of the first neatly bound stack of cash was the only pause before reuniting the rest with all the trinkets he'd just collected.

"Okay, Murray," he said shutting the safe. A cheesy grin of accomplishment smeared across the face of his partner in crime as Murray replaced the painting.

"You moron," said Frank, "it's upside down!"

"Huh? Oh, right..." He rotated it and hung it back over the safe. Little Boy Blue's painted eyes watched them both sneak back towards the window and drop over the ledge into the snow covered night.

"Good evening, boys!"

"What? Who's there?" Murray fumbled with his light. The beam fell on a grinning masked man clad in spandex and linguini...

Murray's mouth hung open.

"Get him!" snapped Frank.

"But," Murray hesitated, "what about his noodle powers...?"

"Start thinking about the welfare of your own little noodle! Now, get him!!"

Murray charged the pasta freak. But with a lightning blur and a whirlwind-whip of fettuccini, he quickly found himself helplessly bound and gagged from head to toe.

Frank wasn't waiting around. He was halfway to the getaway van parked at the corner when something in the snow caught his foot. He came down fast in the white powder.

Tick. Tick. Tick. The half-buried clock at his feet mocked him. His futile effort to stand was cut short as he suddenly found himself smothered in enough pasta to feed an Italian soccer team. The noodle man pulled the sack from the thief's limp fingers as the approaching wail of sirens grew louder.

Soon, blue and red lights flooded the scene as a young police officer jumped out of his cruiser followed by his partner.

"You guys got here quick," said the hero.

"Well," replied the senior cop, not quite sure what to make of the strange spaghetti man standing before him, and hoping those were just meatballs in his pocket. "We just answered a prank call nearby. Seems an old lady's dog got tangled in its own leash."

The hero's blush went unnoticed.

"What's going on here?" asked the rookie.

"Well, I noticed that rusted out van parked there and thought it seemed a bit out of place in such an affluent neighbourhood. Then, I spotted all these footprints leading straight to that open window. Doesn't that seem suspicious?" The man of pasta pointed to a mound of snow. "But really, it was the untimely chime of that clock that tipped me off. And when it came sailing out the window, almost hitting yours truly, I knew without doubt. Here." He handed them the sack.

"Wow, that's some pretty good police work, I must say," the senior cop said.

"Yeah, I wish they taught us stuff like that at the academy," replied the rookie.

"Yes, well, I'm afraid my work here is done, and so I must be off." And with that, the noodle wonder flicked a strand of linguini into the branches of a nearby tree. He saluted, then swung himself up and away, using his pasta powers to navigate from tree limb to lamppost to flag pole as he disappeared down the darkened street.

The two policemen stood watching the deserted street for a moment.

"Who was that guy?" asked the young cop. "He sure pieced this one together in a hurry." "I don't know, Jenkins, but you're right, he really knew how to use his noodle."