Black Diamond Heavies

Sent from the richest mad professor Mafia boss.
Truly, the geek inherited. He rules
in silk bespoke lab coat, commands
his robot bully boys
to yoink information, whatever
the equivalent of the Bruce Partington Papers is
in this era.

They show up
after three equi-tempo raps
on your door, glittering
like hidden ice - the kind
most lethal to the unsuspecting.
Barnacled in black diamonds, their scarp shoulders
scratch your door frame,
but you don't complain
or even say anything.
Let them spout their monotone chrome demands,
cough up the data, watch them lumber
back to the white spider-haired moghul
whose muscle-less finger hovers,
quivering,
over the button
linked to the fireworks
beneath your feet.