Jim opened the door, muscles tense and eyes wide as it opened to reveal the neighbour there, bottle of red in hand with the same plastic grin, blinking wildly.
"Ah, there you are!"
Blink. Blink. Blink.
"Argent. Doctor John Argent - but my pals call me Doc."
"May I come in?"
Jim nodded dumbstruck, and moved back as the man in the rainbow waistcoat and feather hat marched up the stairs to their shared floor. Doc led him to his room - an amber painted door leading into a neat, well managed apartment room. The window looked out just a little to the right of the view that Jim usually got, and large bookcases dominated the walls. Doc then stopped in the centre of the room, closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
He then moved closer to the door, gesturing to Jim for the corkscrew. Jim tossed it over, and Doc caught it in mid-air, gracefully manoeuvring the screw between his middle and ring fingers. The door creaked almost imperceptibly - Doc yanked it open and hauled in a man in builder's gear and jeans, holding the metal tip to his neck.
"Who sent you?" he roared - the builder tried to draw a gun, but a little applied pressure to the carotid artery caused his fingers to flex and the gun to fall. Doc pressed a little deeper, and the assailant began to choke. "Tell me who sent you, or you're a dead man in five seconds."
The would-be attacker squirmed a little before choking out a single word - "Nadir", it sounded like. Doc applied a little more pressure until the attacker went limp, and gently laid him upon the floor. He briskly walked into another room, and returned minus feather hat and waistcoat.
Now donning a white shirt with black long coat and trousers, he marched purposefully towards his bed, reaching beneath it to draw out a small silver pen, something that looked like a green plastic bottle opener and a roll of black velvet. He then concealed each in his coat before grabbing Jim's arm and moving out of the door with him.
"So... those builders..." Jim began to speak as the two walked down the road.
"You can say 'assassins', young..." Doc Argent stopped and looked to him. "What is your name?"
"Jim. Jim Blake." He gave a small smile, and was met with a grin - one, however, filled with vim and vigour and warmth.
"Well, Jim," he continued, "those 'assassins' were after me. Sorry about the mix-up, but these things just happen. They're a nasty bunch hired by a very unpleasant individual indeed - if you're staying with me, you'll need to be ready to face them again." The colour drained from Jim's face, and a slight surging sensation rose from his stomach. A small voice in the back of his mind told him the dim sum would soon be making a reappearance...
Doc, meanwhile, was looking over a small journal he had whipped from his pocket, and upon finding a series of old entries marked with a red triglyph, smiled and began to speed up.
"We shall have to find the TT, anyway," Doc continued, walking down the pavement in the cool dark night, his eyes wide and shining in the dim street lamp lights.
"Do I have to go to the Isle of Man?" Jim groaned, looking behind him with trepidation, thoroughly expecting some interior decorators with nunchakus to suddenly leap from the shows. His new companion merely rolled his eyes, and led him into the darkness of the night.
"The Terrific Trio, my dear Jim. If anybody can help, it'll be them. Now quit complaining - we have a train to catch."