The Hasbro Conspiracy

Providence, Rhode Island - 1939

        The three brothers squabbled on the drive to their client.

        “...it’s probably best that you let me or Herman handle it,” Henry said. “This guy could be our next big ticket.”

        Helal reasserted himself. “But I can’t get experience if I don’t make a sale, and I can’t make a sale cause you say I don’t have experience because I can’t make a sale cause...”

        “Ya know, Henry,” Herman interjected, keeping his focus on the road, “it’s not like we need to win him over or anything. Doctor Black requested us, afterall. So, ya know, we don’t need to do much other than basic business and haggling.”

        “Wait, Doctor Black? I thought his name was Mister Boddy,” Helal questioned.

        “That’s probably his maiden name,” Herman said with a small grin, without breaking his focus from driving. His brothers gave a loud chuckle, and Herman continued to ramble. “You know, in my day men were men! We didn’t go around swapping no names like some sorta Western rigamaroll. No, you were born with a name and you died with a name. I died once. The reaper could catch me cause I changed my name to Sheri. Funny story that.”

        Helal exhaled, turning down his laughter as Herman slaughtered his own joke. “But seriously, I thought this guy’s name was Mister Boddy.”

        “Yeah, that was his name once-a-time,” Henry explained, “but I think he changed it after gettin’ his doctorate.” Henry sat forward to mull something over. He turned back to face Helal. “Okay, Helal, you can do it this time. But talk ta’ me before you seal the deal.” Henry pointed at his other brother. “And no funny stuff.”

        Herman gave a few quick glances to his brother. He scrunched his mouth, “Who me? Nah! You worry too much, ya know.” Herman parked the car, and the brothers scrambled out.

        As they made their way into the office building, a cold stare from up above followed their path. Doctor Black stood in his office, observing those flim-flam brothers with scrutiny. Black kept his office neat and and in line, from the pencils in his desk drawer to the time on the clock. Aside from his degree, no objects or pictures of personal significance stood in his office. The doctor’s suit was dark as his name, ironed and crisp; his hair showed only small signs of wintering, and it was kept clean, combed, smooth. Doctor Black was a man of business, prosperous and respectable, but easily forgettable. His face belonged to many men, men who wore suits and worked in offices and smoked cigars, that blended into a crowd and would be easily missed.

        Doctor Black positioned himself in his office chair, and waited the arrival of his guests. Not long after he heard a knock on the door and some hushed bickering. He invited them in.

The three brothers strolled in, nonchalantly admiring the office as they adjusted their collars. Each brother wore a striped teal-and-white suitvest with a matching bowtie and straw hat. The eldest wore a lush mustache on his lip and the strains of business had begun to show in his face and body. The middle brother, by contrast, had a vibrant and strong expression, with the broadest structure of the three; his stubble of a beard was balanced by a pair of obtuse mutton chops. And it was the youngest, whose tall frame was as wiry as the glasses on his nose, who greeted Doctor Black this afternoon.

        “Salutations, my dear doctor! Allow us to introduce ourselves: the gentleman on my right is Henry,” The eldest tipped his hat with a quick nod and smile. “And I believe you’ve met Herman before,” The middle sibling took his hat to his chest and gave a dramatic bow. “And sir, you may call me Helal.”

The brothers each struck a pose, outstretching their arms and bowing on one knee. In unison they proclaimed, “We are the Hassenfeld Brothers! Marvelous salesmen nonpareil!”

Doctor Black examined the brothers with a cold stare. “Adorable,” he commented; it might have been sarcasm had there been emotion in his voice.

        The Hassenfeld Brothers each wore an awkward smile. They stood up as Helal began to talk.

        “So, my dear doctor, what brought us to your interest? Quite an office you have here and we can stock it up! We have many deals to offer! Folders, binders, pencils, paper, pencil cases, paper shredders, pencil sharpeners, erasers, paper racks, pencil shredders, shredder cases, paper sharpeners! You name it, we can make it!”

        “My office is fine,” Black said grimly.

        Nervously, Helal continued, “W-Well then, you must be interested in our wide selection of fabulous fabrics and fashion!” His smile became more strained.

        “My attire is none of your concern,” Black sharply stated, as retrieved some paperwork from his desk drawer and started writing.

        Helal looked back at his brothers, who were also wearing expressions of stress and confusion. Henry motioned his arm to get the youngest brother to continue. Helal turned back to face their client.

“May I inquire then, dear doctor, by what means may we provide our service?”

        “Toys.”

        Helal blinked. “Toys?”

        “Toys.”

        “Such as dolls or wooden horses? The things girls and boys play with?”

        “That seems like an adequate definition.” Doctor Black continued with his paperwork.

        Helal paused. “Would you hold on a moment?”

        Helal scattered back and regrouped with his brothers.  They huddled and squabbled in muffled whispers as Black observed. After much bickering and comedic punches and slaps, Henry, Herman, and Helal separated and faced their client.

        “We would be honored to fulfill your order,” Helal said as all three brothers bowed. Helal peeked up from under his hat. “Though you’ll need to shuffle more of profits in our direction. To cover... research and development, of course.”

        Doctor Black closed his eyes and almost gave a smile. “Money is no object.”

        As Hassenfeld Brothers rejoiced in this statement, Black tuned out their cheers and cash register noises, drowned out by his own thoughts. He peered down at his desk drawer, pondering on the artifacts contained within. The prototype necklaces and crown would soon be ready, to be entrusted to the three idiots in front of him. He looked back up to see the three brothers dancing, then once again closed his eyes, pondering. Money may not have been an object, but he was running out of time.