Hettford Witch Hunt: Series One

by James Rhodes

8.

  Gary had never felt quite so uncomfortable on his own couch. Mrs. Fuller was a heavy set woman who had taught him English Literature at secondary school. Back then she had always worn rather low-cut tops that exposed her prodigious cleavage. She was wearing a low-cut top. Remembering some of the thoughts that he had about the cleavage was not the only reason that Gary was uncomfortable. He was out of his element and faced with an old school teacher, he instinctively felt as though he were in trouble for something.

  “I suppose Alison told you why she invited me here?” Mrs. Fuller asked.

  “No, I’m afraid not. I didn’t even know you knew her.”

  “Everyone knows Alison from the mini-market.”

  “Yes, I suppose they do.”

  “So anyway, she and I were chatting and your name came up. Of course I remembered teaching you and asked what you were up to.”

  “And, of course she told you.”

  “Well, she told me you were working at the garage but I’ve never seen you there.”

  “I mostly work nights.”

  “Anyway, I thought it was strange because the last I heard you were off to Winchester to study classical lit.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And you left there with a decent degree.”

  “Just a two-one.”

  “Which from King Alfred’s is a very decent degree.”

  Mrs. Fuller emphasised the word “very.”

  “It’s not been much use to me. Believe it or not, being able to compare Apollonian and Dionysian qualities within the work of Aristophanes doesn’t look all that great on a CV. You don’t get many job ads that list comparison / contrast among their required skills.”

  Mrs. Fuller slurped her tea and put it back on its saucer. Gary had not been aware that he owned cups with saucers he was a bit bemused as to how Mrs. Fuller had got hold of it.

  “Not many no,” she said pointedly.

  “Anyway, it did teach me one thing that I thought was important.”

  “What was that?”

  “That I hate classical literature. I don’t read at all anymore. I’m with Larkin; books are a load of crap.”

  “It is interesting that you quote a poem to say that.”

  “It would be hard to describe the reading experience without mentioning books. Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore. How can I help you Mrs. Fuller?”

  “Well actually, I was hoping I might be able to help you.”

  Gary smiled broadly and sarcastically.

  “I wasn’t aware that I needed any help.”

  Mrs. Fuller smiled and leaned forward a little. Gary pulled his eyes up to her face and hoped she had not noticed them wandering.

  “Everyone needs help. And I suppose you would be helping me out too. Did you know that I was promoted to the head of the English department?”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Anyway, we need someone two days a week to teach A-level Lit and I thought you might be a good choice. Hettford isn’t brimming with graduates you know.”

  “Alison’s a graduate and Mr. Patel has a triple Masters.”

  “Yes, but you’re really ideal for the job. It would only be two days a week but I dare say it pays better than the all night garage does.”

  “It would have to actively try not to.”

  “And, we could enroll you on a teacher training course. Do you think you’d be interested?”

  “Which authors?”

  “Chaucer, I’m afraid, Marlowe, Plath and appropriately enough Larkin.”

  “Can I teach the filthy stuff?”

  “As long as it’s in the book. They’ll all be over sixteen anyway.”

  “Let me think about it. When do you need to know by?”

  “Next month, I know it would make Alison very happy with you.”

  “Yes, you get that impression don’t you?”

  “A little.”

  “Tell me again how the subject of this came up.”

  9.

  Milton looked at his empty shop and then down at his telephone. He sighed in self-reproach.

  “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”

  He picked up the phone and dialled a number:

  “Hello, warehouse. I’ll hold.”

  Milton tapped his fingers in time to a bad rendering of one of his favourite pieces of music.

  “Hello, yes, it’s no problem - it’s quite interesting to hear Bach’s greats reduced to two octaves. Anyway, I wanted to place an order for some books. Account Number 22108.”

  The man at the other end of the line gave Milton his consent to the suggestion.

  “Ok! I’m going to need all current material from the following authors:

  Brown, Dan

  Palmer, Tamsin

  King, Stephen

  Koontz, Dean

  and…”

  Milton bit his lip so hard that it drew blood.

  “Rowling, J.K.”

  Milton wiped his brow and continued.

  “Just two copies of each book for now. King has how many? Alright just send me the five best selling of his, and the same for Koontz.”

  The man at the other end of the line responded to the list with a question. Milton’s whole body sagged as he responded.

  “Yes, all of the Rowling books. No, all of them except that one.”

  The man asked Milton an additional question to which Milton responded as follows:

  “Twilight? We still have some dignity, thank you.”

  Milton slammed the phone down.

 

  10.

  Alison checked her mobile phone; there was no answer to the text she had sent to Gary asking how things went with Mrs. Fuller.

  Gary did own a mobile phone but he almost never charged it. On a big list of frustrating things about Gary, that ranked as Alison’s number seventh.

  Discount News didn’t close until after six and the sky was beginning to darken to dusk. Alison turned a corner and as she did so, she heard a whistling sound.

  The tune of the whistle was family but its tempo had been slowed. “Dah, dum, dah, dum, dah, dum, dah, dum, daddity dum, daddity dum.” It was the music to Laurel and Hardy.

  It got quicker and increased in volume. Whoever was whistling it was getting closer.

  Alison looked behind her but there was nobody there. She turned a second corner and the noise continued, now at full tempo and full volume.

  Alison jogged the last hundred yards to her house. As she arrived at the front door she noticed a large stuffed kiwi bird hanging from a noose.

  Alison was not impressed, she couldn’t see Saul and Paul but she knew they were around somewhere.

  She shouted so that everyone could hear:

  “Arseholes!”

  She took a breath, composed herself and remembered her next point of business.

  Gary was sat in the armchair of their front room. He did not look up as she entered. He was skimming through a paperback that he looked very cross with.

  “You not at your club yet?”

  “No, I’m not at my club.”

  Gary emphasised the word club by making inverted comma signs with his fingers.

  “Shouldn’t you be at your club?”

  “The meeting is not until eight.”

  “What are you reading?”

  Gary looked up from the book, his eyes smouldering with repressed anger.

  “Oh, I was just browsing through some Chaucer.”

  “Seriously?”

  “More seriously than anyone else would.”

  “Did you speak to Jean then?”

  “Well, I spoke to Mrs. Fuller, my secondary school teacher… Who, mysteriously seems to know everything about my life in every single detail.”

  “So you’re reading up on Chaucer, great.”

  “I am reading up on Chaucer.”

  Gary waved the book at her.

  “
This is Troilus and Cressida by the way.”

  Alison nodded.

  “I was hoping to see if Chaucer had any more eloquent way of describing a treacherous whore, other than simply ‘treacherous whore.’”

  Alison tilted her head to one side and smiled.

  “And does he?”

  Gary put the book down.

  “No, nothing so interesting.”

  Alison took her coat off and sat down on the sofa.

  “Are you pissed off at me or something?”

  “I don’t like the whole world knowing my business.”

  “What does it matter? You never see the world anyway.”

  “For that very reason; now when they come in to the garage and they’ll want to talk.”

  “Is this why you called me a treacherous whore? Because I told an old school teacher what you were up to?”

  “You’re lucky I didn’t call you worse.”

  “What did you think about the job?”

  “It pays nearly four times what I get at the garage.”

  “So are you going to take it?”

  Gary hummed.

  “If I do I won’t be able go with you to Leeds.”

  “You don’t want to come anyway, at least this way you could afford to visit.”

  “I never said I didn’t want to come. And, I certainly never said I was going to visit.”

  Alison let herself deflate; she had just had enough for the day. She stretched out on the sofa and but her hands behind her head.

  “Look, let’s not argue about it now. I’ve had such a terrible day that I’m even prepared to let that treacherous whore comment pass without remark to your own behaviour.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was followed home by Saul and Paul. I know they’re harmless but for a while I thought they might have been someone scary and I was actually very scared.”

  “What did they do?”

  “They were creeping around behind me and they’d hung up a giant stuffed kiwi from a tree.”

  “It’s getting ridiculous; tomorrow I’m paying them a visit.”

  “Don’t do anything that will get you arrested.”

  “Do you need me to stay in tonight?”

  “No you go - I’m sure I’ll be fine all alone by myself. So long as no-one breaks in.”

  “OK.”

  “OK. What time will you be back?”

  “Should be over by nine.”

  “I guess I’ll see you then.”

  Gary stood up and sat back down again.

  “I’ve got nearly an hour before it starts,” he stated.

  “Good, because I need a cuddle.”

  Gary patted his lap.

  “Come on then.”

  Alison shook her head.

  “Upstairs,” she said.

  11.

  Milton unfolded a camping table into the middle of Occultivated and put a table cloth over it to make it look more official. It was his best table cloth, the one with red and white checks on it. On the table sat four glasses of red wine. Milton swilled his apprehensively and stared at Dan in irritation.

  “Can we start?” Milton asked.

  “Wait until Gary gets here.”

  Milton gestured to their guest, who was leaning back quite comfortably but whose eyes were darting around the room as if they could take in the title of every book there.

  “Poor Carrie has been waiting here for nearly half an hour.”

  “The rules state quite clearly that no meeting may be begun until all the members are present.”

  “Yes,” argued Milton, “but when we wrote those rules there was only two of us.”

  “Gary will be here.”

  Milton shot Carrie an apologetic glance.

  “Gary’s having a hard time of things at the moment.”

  “Gary’s having a hard time?” Dan marvelled.

  “I’m just saying - we can get through all of the introductory stuff without him. You don’t mind waiting for the important stuff do you Carrie?”

  “No, you go ahead - I’ve got all night just to sit around. I’m not even joking.”

  Milton waved his hand to emphasise Carrie’s point.

  “Can we start?”

  Dan began:

  “Very well. There is not actually much that you need to know that can be told to you. It is the nature of our occupation that experience teaches more than books or teachers. That is the first of three vital things that you should know.

  The second thing is that if you choose to join with us and eventually go with us on a hunt that anything could happen. Anything at all.

  I believe we have some information on the irregularity of experience in your starter pack.”

  Dan pointed to the huge stack of paper he had given to Carrie when she had first walked into the room.

  “You can look through it in your own time at home.”

  Milton looked embarrassed:

  “A lot of it you can just skim over,” he told her.

  “It’s all important though.”

  Dan had a ring of finality when he spoke.

  “OK,” agreed Carrie.

  “Good,” said Dan, “any questions?”

  “What was the third thing that I had to know?”

  “That witches do exist and we kill them whenever we can.”

  “Now that I can remember.”

  Carrie finished her drink and poured another.

  “You had any experience with witches?” Dan asked her.

  “A little.”

  “So what can you tell us?” Milton’s words came out faster than he wanted them to. He wished that he could stop looking at Carrie without it being impolite.

  “Well, for a start, someone’s cast the runes on you,” she told Milton.

  “Not on me, on Dan. How do you know that?”

  “It happened to someone I know. There was no one around to catch the script that time.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s OK; sometimes these things can’t be helped.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t want to go in to a lot of detail. But let’s just say I learned a lot about witches very quickly; mostly how to find them and how to kill them.”

  Milton’s curiosity got the better of him and he regretted the words the moment they left his mouth:

  “Did you stop the curse?”

  For a second, Carrie’s face darkened. Then it brightened up again and she spoke:

  “No I had thought it was just a load of poo until, well you know.”

  Dan looked horrified. He tried to compose himself.

  “Ah well, this is our first time so anything that you know that you think might be helpful... I’d appreciate it.”

  “Well, first of all, which one of you had the script last?”

  “I put it in the safe,” said Milton.

  “The spell is a summoning one. It goes to the last person who held the script.”

  Dan’s face lit up.

  “You mean?”

  “It passed on to Milton.”

  Dan tried to simultaneous pat Milton sympathetically on the shoulder and to suppress his own broadening grin:

  “At least we have a while to get it sorted.”

  “Is there no way to cancel it?”

  Carrie’s eyes met Milton; he wasn’t sure if he was breathless about learning that he was going to die or just because he liked her eyes. They were hazel.

  “Pass it back, or pass it on,” she told him.

  “Nice,” Milton sighed.

  “Can you mail it?”

  Dan was still plotting to pass it on to a government bureaucrat.

  “It has to be hand to hand. We’ll work it out though, how long is it?”

  “Two months.”

  “You’ll be alright. We’ll just find the witch.”

  Dan tried to put a positive spin
on things:

  “At least we got out to curse her back this morning, eh?”

  “I looked up the Latin you were yelling. The witch in the wood doesn’t sleep.”

  “I also yelled fuck you, come on look on the bright side - at least one of us will survive.”

  Milton stared his best friend hard in the face.

  “If I die I’m willing you my shop and they’ll cut off your benefits.”

  “Steady on mate.”

  Carrie giggled; her voice lilted the dust off the bookshelves.

  “Mad one, you two are nuts.”

  “You still want to join?”

  “Defo, where do I sign?”

  Dan put aside his glee for a moment and returned to being needlessly officious:

  “It’s all in your starter pack just read through, the paper’s in there somewhere. Oh and we’ll have to test you.”

  “What for?”

  “To make sure you’re not a witch.”

  Milton panicked:

  “Just safety reasons, its routine.”

  “You’re not going to tie me to a chair and throw me in a river are you?”

  “God no!” Milton told her.

  “It’s harmless,” said Dan, “but we can’t tell you in advance or it won’t work. If you’re up for joining we’ll have it all prepared next time you’re here.”

  “OK, but your test will be my test to. If it’s too weird I’m going back to hunting alone.”

  Milton smiled reassuringly:

  “It’s easy. You’ll be fine.”

  12.

  Gary lay snoozing in bed; Alison placed a steaming mug of tea next to the clock on the bedside table. It was half past eight.

  Alison gently shook Gary’s arm.

  “I brought you tea Gary. Wake up you’re going to be late for your club.”

  Gary rolled over, Alison shook him vigorously.

  “Wake up. It’s time for your club.”

  She continued to shake him.

  “Hello Gary, it’s time for your club.”

  Gary mumbled: he was obviously still asleep.

  “It’s intransient,” he told her.

  “What?”

  “It is.”

  “What’s intransient?”

  “Chronology, the order of events, the passing on of things; intransient but vital.”

  Alison smiled.

  “You’re still asleep aren’t you?”

  “I…”

  The end of Gary’s sentence was incoherent.

  “What’s five plus ten?”

  “A series of numbers, dichotomy.”

  Alison sighed.

  “Shall I phone them and say you’re not coming.”

  Gary’s mumbling became insistent:

  “Tell them it is intransient. You have to. Tell them to speak to the postman.”

  “If you insist.”

  “Tell them, they’re idiots. The post, idiots.”

  Alison tucked Gary into the covers.

  “You go back to sleep.”

  Never having been awake, Gary had no trouble with the request. Alison picked up the phone.

  “Hello. Gary can’t come I’m afraid, he’s too sick.”

  Episode Three: Quiz Night at the Quiet Woman Inn

  1.

  The serene haze of the twilight was roughly disturbed by the guttural throttle of a battered Rover failing to start.

  Gary turned the ignition key a fourth time. The engine threatened to catch and then choked out, leaving only silence and an orange light indicating he should, “Check Engine.” Gary grumbled silently about the warning light’s grammar but glancing at the look of irritation on Alison’s face, he opted not to voice the concern.

  “What’s wrong with it now?”

  There was a scathing tone to Alison’s voice that Gary felt neither ready to chastise or accept.

  “It won’t go.”

  “I know that, why won’t it go?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “Every other bloke in the world would know.”

  “No they wouldn’t, at best they’d say something like, ‘I think the timing belt’s slipping. I’ll have to get Ron to tighten it: I don’t have the tools.’”

  Alison folded her arms.

  “Yes, but at least they’d be able to afford to get Ron to check it. This would happen the one night I actually want to use it.”

  “Yes, funny that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Gary waved his arms in frustration.

  “I’ve told you, the damn thing is sentient.”

  “In what respect?”

  “In the respect that it hears what you say about it and reacts accordingly.”

  “Nothing to do with it being seventeen years old, I suppose? Try it again.”

  “We can’t force it; we’ll just have to wait for it to come around.”

  Gary sat, gently rubbing the dashboard.

  “We could take it to the garage?” Alison suggested.

  “No need to. Look, it is this simple: you can’t say anything nice about him because he gets embarrassed and then stops working.”

  “Oh, really?”

  Gary did not have the expression of a man who was joking.

  “I have told you this before. Remember you were talking about him last night.”

  “All I said was ‘the car’s running well.’”

  “And now he’s stopped running.”

  “So this is my fault?”

  “No,” Gary made his voice as gently as possible, “it’s the car’s fault. You just inadvertently caused it to happen.”

  “So it’s my fault?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, you wouldn’t would you? It’s all implied with you.”

  Gary let the comment hang for a few seconds whilst he tried to think of a retort.

  “For Christ’s sake Alison, what’s an educated woman like you doing going to a fortune teller anyway?”

  Alison sighed.

  “OK, without even starting on the fact that you’re a witch hunter...”

  Alison paused until she was sure the comment had sunk in.

  “You remember the video of you and your little friend? How it appeared for one grainy showing and then reverted to the weird flashing light?”

  “How could I conceivably forget? I’ve been trying to get it to do it again for weeks.”

  “Well that, you constantly shouting things like, ‘they’re burning Gilgamesh,’ in your sleep and the general weirdness around here has convinced me that there might be more to life than just our immediate surroundings.”

  “But a fortune teller?”

  Gary opened his hands and lifted them slightly.

  “Everyone who comes in the shop talks about her and I’m just curious. Anyway, you were going there to meet up with your club for quiz night. It’s not inconveniencing you.”

  “I’ll have to sit by myself for an hour.”

  “It’ll be no different to what you do at work.”

  Gary tried the ignition again. His shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “Do you want me to call a taxi?”

  “Can we afford it?”

  Gary looked nervous.

  “Of course we can,” he told her.

  “Forget it,” said Alison, “It will be quicker to walk,”

  2.

  Dan and Carrie sat at the kitchen table. Milton was milling around in the attempt to out-busy the nervousness he felt about seeing Carrie again. She was dressed in jeans, boots and a very flattering blouse; it was almost too much for him to cope with.

  “How was it you took your tea again?” he asked her.

  “Orally and with milk.”

  “Good job. One milky oral coming up.”

  Milton considered what he had just said. He clenched his lips together. Much to his relief Carrie chuckled
at him. Then, she turned her attention to Dan.

  “So Dan, tell me about this test.”

  Dan was holding up a newspaper and pretending to be interested in its contents. It was more dignified than Milton’s approach to handling nerves.

  “All will be revealed in due time.”

  “Mysterious,” Carrie said, “Are you this thorough about everything?”

  “We’re very selective about new members.”

  “He’s not joking,” Milton interjected, “We only fully trusted Gary after he got himself captured.”

  “What happened?”

  Dan let his newspaper drop so that he could maintain serious eye contact.

  “It was a classic boy in cage event, right out of the fairy tales.”

  “So how did you rescue him?”

  “Shoved the witch in the oven,” Milton quipped.

  “Did you want any biscuits? I’ve got digestives and rich tea.”

  “I’ll have a couple of digestives.”

  Dan frowned in disapproval.

  “You should wait until after the test before you eat anything.”

  Milton held the plate full of biscuits towards Carrie.

  “Go on, a couple of bickies won’t hurt.”

  Carrie took a few and dunked one in to her cup of tea. With a mouthful of biscuit she asked:

  “So what’s the itinerary for tonight?”

  “Well, first the test,” Dan declared.

  “And if you’re still up for it after the test, there’s the quiz night at the Quiet Woman: our local. We always lose but it’s a laugh.”

  Milton tried to compose his expression to suggest that having fun was something that he and Dan regularly indulged in. However, he was a touch concerned that he might have pulled that same expression had he just soiled himself.

  “No witch hunting?” Carrie asked.

  “Not tonight,” said Milton, “believe me, the quiz is more fun anyway.”

  “Alright, well let’s get the test out of the way then. What do I have to do?”

  “Hang on.”

  Dan stood up and left the room. Milton clenched his fists and then stretched out his fingers.

  “So how are you with trivia?”

  “I’ve got a really good memory,” Carrie told him, “but not usually for stuff that might ever come in useful.”

  “Did you ever go to college or anything?”

  Before Carrie could answer him, Dan burst back into the room holding an unusually thick and ancient Bible in one hand and a set of bathroom weighing scales in the other.

  “I’m back,” he declared with bombastic glee.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Basically we have to weigh the Bible and then weigh you to see which weighs the most.”

  Carrie stared from Dan to Milton.

  “You’re kidding right?”

  The two friends shook their heads in unison.

  “Why?”

  “It’s an old test dating from the Fifteenth Century. Basically the idea was that if you weighed less than the Bible then you weren’t equal to its truth.”

  Carrie shook her head in amazement.

  “That’s completely stupid.”

  “Yes it is. However, there was some truth behind the idea. Witches, because of their unique cellular structure, have a very low density. Actually, that’s how they are able to fly. If your own mass is lesser than that of this little book then we can safely say that you’re a witch.”

  Milton stepped in:

  “Which we’re sure you’re not, it’s just a precaution after all. One rule for everybody.”

  “And you’ve both done this test?”

  “We have very boring lives,” Milton confessed.

  “Let’s get started then.”

  Dan placed the weighing scale on the floor and then placed the Bible on top of it. He stared at the scale and when he was sure of its reading, he looked up at Carrie.

  “Your turn now. You have to step on the scale.”

  “No way, you cheeky git.”

  “There’s no other safe way,” Dan responded, “we have to check your weight.”

  “You don’t meet many women do you?”

  Milton and Dan shook their heads in unison.

  “I’ve an idea,” said Carried, “why don’t you put the Bible on Milton’s knee? Then when you take it off, I can sit on it and he can see which was the heaviest.”

  “I really must insist...”

  “I’ll be able to tell.”

  Milton patted his knee. Dan eyed him.

  “If there’s any doubt, Carrie will do it your way, won’t you Carrie?”

  Milton shot a conspiratorial wink at Carrie.

  “Oh, sure,” she said.

  “Go on then,” Dan puffed.

  Milton sat down. With great solemnity, Dan placed the Bible on Milton’s knee. Then, after he had removed it, Carrie wiggled to get comfortable in its place.

  “See, I’m much heavier.”

  “Is she?”

  “She’s very light actually. Why don’t you shift on to my right knee? Dan, you put the Bible on my left knee, then we can be certain.”

  Dan and Carrie both obliged Milton. He considered the matter:

  “Well, there’s not a huge amount in it but I can at least say categorically that Carrie weighs more than the Bible.”

  Carrie jumped up and cheered:

  “Hooray, now can we go to the pub?”

  “Best to eat first, do you like pizza?” Milton reached for the phone.

  “Everybody likes pizza, Milton; it’s like kittens,” Dan declared, “But we’ll have to go now or we’ll be late.”

  3.

  Gary and Alison walked into the Quiet Woman Inn holding hands. It was a typical mock-Tudor village pub, replete with a selection of draught ales from local breweries. The bar was almost entirely empty.

  “So let’s get the plan sorted out,” said Gary, “You go in to the back room and have fun and I’ll just sit out here all alone.”

  “I’m sure you’ll survive. Anyway, your mates’ll be along in a minute.”

  “Thirty minutes if I’m lucky.”

  “I’ll see you later, OK?”

  Alison gave Gary a peck on the cheek.

  “I love you.”

  Gary waved her off.

  “Go on, you’ll be wiping dirt off my face with your saliva next.”

  Alison walked into the back room.

  4.

  There was very little room in the back room of the Quiet Woman Inn and it was literally filled with customers. However, there was almost nobody waiting at the bar and Alison waved to the bored looking barmaid.

  “Pint of McGluckens please,” said Alison.

  “Coming up.”

  The barmaid pulled the muddy ale out of the tap as if it were resisting her.

  “Are all these people here for the quiz night?” Alison asked.

  “No, the quiz night is in the other room, these are here for Julie the fortune teller.”

  “Is there a queue?”

  The barmaid gave an indifferent shrug.

  “I don’t know how it works; you’ll have to ask around. Two pounds eighty five, please.”

  5.

  The front room of the bar was beginning to fill. Gary had shooed several people away from the empty chairs at his table and the other customers were beginning to eye him with menace. He couldn’t even get a drink because he’d lose the table if he did. In front of him, three pint glasses stood empty except for the sticky white residue of their heads. There was also a white sheet of paper and a pencil.

  “Eh up!” Milton said from behind him.

  “Started early, did you?” Dan motioned at the empty glasses.

  Gary nodded:

  “It’s your round, I already got the first one in.”

  Milton pulled up a chair for their newest member.

 
“Carrie, this is Gary. Gary, Carrie. Please accept the introduction because I don’t plan on repeating it after a drink.”

  “Pleased to meet you - are you all staying?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, then either sit down or get me a drink, it’s been hell keeping this table.”

  Milton sat down and Dan gave him a mean spirited glare.

  “Usual? Usual?” Dan asked of Gary and Milton.

  They nodded their consent.

  “And Carrie, what’ll it be?”

  “Do they do cocktails?”

  “Not unless you count gin and tonic,” Milton smiled.

  “See if they’ve got that alco-pop that tastes like Vimto, and if they don’t have that I’ll take a snakebite and black.”

  “A pint?” Dan asked.

  “Why not?”

  Milton and Gary gave quiet golf style claps.

  “Keen choice,” Gary observed.

  As Dan disappeared to the bar, Milton took charge of the answer sheet and pencil.

  “First order of business, let’s pick a team name.”

  “There’s no point, Dan’ll just argue it when we get back.”

  “I don’t know why we bother trying to be clever with it. We never win the name bonus anyhow.”

  Gary shrugged:

  “We do it because it makes Dan tolerable.”

  “We should pick something funny,” Carrie suggested, “like the Jug Lickers.”

  “I’m up for that,” Milton said with greater enthusiasm than he would have preferred.

  “Jug Lickers it is,” agreed Gary.

  Dan’s thick fingers broke through the centre of the conversation as he placed all four pints on the table.

  “Did we pick a name?”

  “I think we’ve settled on the Jug Lickers.”

  Dan sat down.

  “Oh, you’re joking, you know they only give the prize to the clever ones.”

  “Never us though.”

  “Still, they only ever like double entendre if it’s being ironic.”

  “We tried that with the Psychoanalytic Mother Focus,” Gary reminded him.

  “And with Ditches and Hoes,” said Milton.

  Gary took a large swig from his pint and wiped his lips with his hand:

  “If we’re going to be ironic and clever we should just call ourselves something completely unexpected like ‘the application of post pre-Raphaelite art within neo-post-colonialism.’”

  Carrie laughed.

  “Or aspects of naturalism within post-absurdist realism,” she suggested.

  Milton and Dan looked concerned.

  “No, we need to keep it simple,” Dan said, “funny and clever.”

  “The Jug Lickers it is. Or shall we vote on it?”

  “No, no, fine, keep your stupid boob joke.”

  Milton leaned forward.

  “Don’t worry, Carrie, he does this to everyone’s name suggestions.”

  “Oh it’s fine, I’m getting used to Dan.”

  “He’s an acquired taste,” said Gary, “like pickled hog’s maws.”

  Dan went a little red.

  “I just think if you’re going to do something you should do it right.”

  “That all depends on whether you’re doing it for a laugh or not.”

  “They’ll start the first question in a second. So now we’ve got you, hopefully we’ll at least place in the top ten.”

  For the millionth time that evening Milton internally cursed his over enthusiasm when speaking to Carrie.

  “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “We have to do better than with just these two,” Dan told her.

  “I tell you, for someone with a degree in literature, Gary sure doesn’t know a crap about anything. Who wrote Anthony and Cleopatra? Plutarch, says Gary. He’s a bright lad, except when it comes to thinking and that. Isn’t that right Gary?”

  Gary was unable to defend his literary allusion as his attention was focused elsewhere:

  “I don’t fucking believe it.”

  “What?”

  Gary pointed to the other side of the room, where his nemeses the brothers Saul and Paul were chuckling over their pints.

  “Those twats!”

  “Who are they?” Carrie asked.

  “Saul and Paul - our local xenophobic pranksters,” Milton explained. “They have a problem with Gary’s girlfriend.”

  “They look harmless enough,” Carrie suggested.

  “It’ll be alright,” Dan soothed with mild sarcasm, “you had a word with them, right?”

  “Yeah, I reasoned that as Alison was from New Zealand by their own anti-immigration views they should be happy that she’s come back to England and that furthermore if they followed her home again I would stab them.”

  “And they haven’t, right?”

  “That’s not the point, their presence here offends me. “

  “Let’s just leave it for tonight,” said Milton. “We’re here to win a quiz.”

  The two brothers noticed Gary staring at them. Paul held two fingers in the shape of a v up at him. Gary stood up, a look of fierce determination on his face. Milton stood up and intercepted him.

  “Come on mate; let’s go grab something to eat.”

  6.

  Milton and Gary inhaled the fresh air as they walked.

  “Now that I think of it, I’m not sure I’ve enough money for food.”

  “On me mate,” said Milton.

  “It’s OK, we can go to the garage: I’ll just steal it.”

  “The offer still stands. Oh, and I want to buy your beer for the night.”

  “Did you win the lottery?”

  “No, but I tried that idea of yours about the horror books. Damn things have been selling like hotcakes. I even sold four books on Wicca off the back of it.”

  “Glad to hear it. I hope it has left you time to sort out your other problem.”

  “Well, we’ve still got a few weeks to sort that out. I reckon I should stick with what’s going right for now.”

  “Alright. Well, I’m on call if you need me.”

  “You’re a good lad Gary. How’s it with you and Alison?”

  “Dreadful, she’s at the fortune teller tonight.”

  “You told me.”

  Gary scratched his head.

  “I figure she must be really sick of me if she’s asking for spiritual advice.”

  “You believe in all that?”

  “Fuck no, there’s no evidence to support it.”

  “Me either,” said Milton, “but sometimes it can help people I suppose. You know, a lie to stop an aching pain. It must be nice to believe all your dead loved ones are happy and content.”

  “I suppose it depends on who’s doing the telling. Let’s face it; you have to be a bit of arse-bag to want to talk to dead people. So, this new girl?”

  “Carrie.”

  “Yes, she’s nice. Right?”

  “Yeah,” Milton admitted, “she’s very nice.”

  “So? You know?”

  “You’re kidding right? I’m old enough to be her dad.”

  Gary laughed.

  “Her daddy perhaps, but not her dad.”

  “Shut up. I’m not going to start a relationship with imminent death hanging over my head.”

  “Sure, but you can sell pulp novels and go to the pub quiz.”

  “Are you not interested in her?” Milton asked, “I thought with you and Alison on the outs...”

  “Believe me, if Alison and I break up I’m becoming a wandering monk. Relationships are emotional hell - not to put you off. It hasn’t helped that we’re returning to the scene of my crime tonight.”

  They arrived at Ron’s All Night Garage.

  “Still at least Julie hasn’t shown up tonight,” Milton said with encouragement.

  “Julie?”

  “Shakespeare’s Sister.”
/>
  “Is Julie her real name?”

  “Yup.”

  “I wish I known that while I was doing it, I spent the night saying, ‘excuse me,’ every time I needed her attention.”

  Gary pushed the door and they entered the garage. Gary began to pick out food items.

  “You want some scotch eggs?”

  “Why not.”

  Gary took the food to the counter where a slender woman in her late forties was smoking a cigarette.

  “Can I get a bag for all this?”

  “Are you actually going to pay for it?”

  “Of course not, I work here.”

  Karen handed him a plastic bag.

  “Here you go.”

  Gary thanked her and turned to exit the shop.

  7.

  Dan and Carrie sat staring at the quiz announcer in silence.

  “Question Two, which British Prime Minister was shot for ignoring a letter from a constituent? A little clue, he is the only British Prime Minister ever to be assassinated.”

  The announcer’s voice was needlessly pronounced.

  “I don’t know that one,” said Dan, “why don’t you just put down Pitt? It’s normally the elder or younger or something. Him or Gladstone. Or better still just write down the question.

  Carrie wrote something down.

  “It’s a shame the world never learnt anything from that.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A politician ignoring a letter and getting shot for it.”

  “It can’t be anyone recent. Still, I suppose it must have been even more frustrating to have your letters ignored back when only about twelve people in the country were literate.”

  “It’s always frustrating,” Carrie sighed.

  “You don’t know the half of it. I wrote a virtually a novel’s worth of letters a week every week for ten years. I never heard back from one.”

  “You’re more tenacious than me; I gave up after two months.”

  “Witches?”

  “I tried referring to them as sectarian activists in hope of being taken seriously.”

  “If only people had lived my life, they’d see how serious it is - my dad, my mum, my granddad - all gone.”

  Carrie nodded:

  “It’s serious stuff. I wonder what the next question will be about.”

  Dan shrugged. The announcer’s jaunty vowels interrupted them:

  “Glad to hear that last question causing a bit of a stare. I know Jan’s looking to shake the hand of that gunman.”

  The eponymous Jan raised a cheer, somewhere in the back of the room. Milton and Dan arrived back at their table placing their bag of ill-gotten gains in its centre.

  “We haven’t missed much have we?” Milton asked.

  “Shhh.”

  The announcer had raised his microphone.

  “OK if everybody’s ready, you look at it every day but what are the colours on the Google logo?”

  Gary leaned over to look at the sheet of paper.

  “Carrie, let’s see what you’ve got down there. Question two, Spencer Perceval - The only Prime Minister to be murdered?”

  “Very good,” she told him.

  “I know you didn’t get that one, Dan.”

  “I might have.”

  Gary pointed to the top of the paper.

  “Question one - question mark.”

  “Neither of us got that one.”

  “What was the question?” Milton asked.

  “Which band recorded the album Congratulations, I’m Sorry?”

  “Don’t all look at me,” said Gary.

  Milton gestured at the other side of the room:

  “I’m watching that team that always wins, right? And after every question they phone someone.”

  “Winning is no price to pay for owning a mobile phone,” said Dan.

  “Hey, I’ve got a mobile,” Carrie told them.

  “Phone someone and ask them what the colours on Google are!” demanded Dan.

  “I’ll check on Google, shall I?”

  Milton and Dan stared at Carrie in total amazement.

  8.

  Alison was sat nursing her pint. She was thinking about giving up and joining her boyfriend and his weird friends in the main bar. However, she was saved from what would almost certainly be an ordeal by the sound of a chair pulling up next to her.

  “Oh, hello Alison,” said Mrs. Fuller, “do you know if Gary’s thought any more about the job?”

  “Yes, thinking comes easy to Gary; it’s actually doing anything he has a problem with.”

  “I’m sure he’ll come around in the end.”

  “Yes, which is more than you can say for our turn at the fortune teller. Is there any queuing system here at all?”

  “I think it’s like the accident and emergency room,” observed Mrs. Fuller, “she’s picking patients in order of severity.”

  “Then I guess we should be flattered that we’re last in line.”

  Julie’s voice called out from the other side of the room:

  “I’m looking for someone whose name contains the letters J and E.”

  “Hey, that’s me.”

  Joan Fuller stood up to receive her fortune, then immediately sat down again.

  “Someone else already got there.”

  9.

  “This one is ridiculously obscure,” said Carrie, “what was the name of the horse that Eadweard Muybridge first captured with motion photography?”

  “They do seem more than usually hard tonight. I wonder why,” mused Gary.

  “Let’s ask?”

  Milton waved at a nearby glass collector.

  “Excuse me. Why is the quiz so hard tonight?”

  “They’re trying to cut down on people cheating with their phones. Hello Gary, nice to see you back.”

  “Nice to be back.”

  “Been avoiding her, have you?” asked the glass-collector. “Can’t say I blame you. Did you see her new hair?”

  “No.”

  “She’s gone blue now.”

  “I’m so relieved she’s not here tonight,” said Gary, “I was stressing out about it.”

  “She’s in the backroom. It’s packed back there. Are these empty?”

  The glass-collector took their glasses and went about his job.

  Milton raised his eyebrows at Gary.

  “Are you worried - both of them in the same room?”

  “No, now if I was back there... Besides I don’t think Alison will recognise her if she’s dyed her hair.”

  “Ah,” said Dan, “But will she recognise Alison?”

  “I don’t see why she would.”

  “What’s going on?” Carrie asked.

  “His girlfriend and his one night stand are both in the queue to see the fortune teller.”

  Carrie chuckled.

  “You better hope the fortune teller is not actually psychic.”

  “Mercifully, I think that’s one thing I can actually hope for.”

  “It’s all action for you tonight, hey?”

  “In my experience all action leads to no action,” Gary told her.

  Dan nodded his approval.

  “Very Taoist.”

  They were interrupted by the sound of the announcer.

  “Question Six, according to Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle is an electron a wave or a particle?”

  “An easy one at last.”

  Carrie wrote down the answer.

  “You know,” Dan speculated, “I think we might win this week.”

  “It’s a laugh anyway,” said Carrie. “Do you do this every week?”

  “Without fail,” Dan told her.

  “So when do you find time to do the hunting?”

  “We’ve been doing it so long it’s just sort of blended in to our daily lives,” Milton told her.

  “So if I keep coming to meetings I’ll be what?” />
  “Helping with the quiz night,” said Dan.

  “We’ll call you up if there’s actually any work to do.”

  Gary slapped the back of his neck and winced in pain.

  “Ow!”

  “What is it?”

  “Something...”

  Gary pulled his hand forward to reveal a paper clip.

  Dan held up one finger like the great detective.

  “Someone must have an elastic band.”

  “I wonder who,” Gary said with undisguised irony.

  Paul and Saul were behind him, their bodies animated by exaggerated nonchalance.

  Gary clenched his fist.

  “They’re just stupid kids,” said Carrie.

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Harmless,” agreed Milton.

  Saul and Paul were having the following conversation:

  “That little prick thinks he can tell us what to do,” said Saul.

  “Yeah well, we’re gonna get him tonight.”

  “One way or the other.”

  “Let’s do both,” sniggered Paul.

  10.

  The backroom was no less full than it had been an hour before.

  “If I drink anymore I’ll be drunk,” said Mrs. Fuller.

  “This hasn’t turned out to be much fun has it?”

  “I don’t know, I’m quite enjoying it. It’s nice to have a bit of female company for a change. My Barry’s got two topics of conversation, football and cleaning.”

  “I wouldn’t have taken him as the domesticated type.”

  “It would be OK if he was domesticated. No, what Barry does is stand there saying things like, ‘this sink could do with a quick scrub.’ ‘I know,’ I say, ‘if only there was someone near enough to the sink to reach it.’”

  “Gary’s the opposite, he doesn’t notice anything. You put up curtains and he’ll walk by them as if they’d always been there. I got a new couch two months ago and he still hasn’t noticed it.”

  “Haven’t you said anything?”

  “No, I’m keeping a diary. I want to see if there’s some kind of record or something.”

  Julie’s voice piped up from the back of the room, it was beginning to get croaky.

  “I’m afraid that I only have time to see one more person. I’ve put out a book and all of you that write your name in it will be seen first next week.”

  “Should have had a proper queue. Shall we put our names down?” asked Mrs. Fuller.

  “I suppose so. Are you at all interested in doing the quiz night?”

  “Lovely.”

  The two of them stood up and went to write their names down in Julie’s book. As Alison signed her name, Julie spoke up again:

  “I’m looking for someone to whom the initials G. T. are significant.”

  Mrs. Fuller nudged Alison.

  “Ooh, that’s you.”

  Alison shook her head, in feigned innocence. She just wanted to leave.

  “You know, Gary Turlough.”

  “You’re right. But it doesn’t matter I think I can wait ‘till next week now.”

  “No, it won’t be a minute or two. You go on, I’ll wait right here.”

  Alison walked over to Julie and sat down. Julie smiled at her.

  11.

  Saul and Paul were talking to the barmaid.

  “I’ll have a look in the back,” she told them.

  “Cheers, Jelly love,” said Saul.

  “Don’t call me Jelly, you know I hate it, and love.”

  “You’ll always be Jelly to us.”

  “Try an’ make it Angela when I’m at work. You better not be starting any trouble with this. ‘Cause if you are...”

  “We wouldn’t dream of it.” Saul cooed, “We’re trying to do the right thing for once.”

  “Is there anything else you need?”

  “Well, now that you mention it.”

  Saul was grinning from ear to ear.

  12.

  Julie drew a pentagram on the table in front of Alison and let her head fall backwards.

  “OK, don’t tell me anything, I have to be able to hear the spirits. This can sometimes disturb.”

  “I’ll try to contain my trepidation.”

  “You are not from here, the spirits are calling but they’re distant.”

  “How did you guess that?” said Alison in her New Zealand accent.

  When Julie didn’t answer she asked:

  “Can’t they fly here or something?”

  “Shhh, they want me to speak to you about G.T. G.T. is your lover right?”

  Alison nodded cautiously.

  “The spirits show him as the inconstant man.”

  “Those are some good spirits.”

  “He is a little bird, looking so vulnerable, but in his mouth are the teeth and tongue of a serpent. He has betrayed you, no?”

  Julie was affecting the voice of a television gypsy for no good reason that Alison could ascertain. However, she was curious about the level of accuracy that the girl had reached, so she encouraged her:

  “Go on.”

  “They are showing me a place a huge green hill. It misses you.”

  Julie flinched as if something had struck her face.

  “The bird is in your way of this place; it spreads its wings and blocks the view. It spits poison one second and sings prettily the next.”

  Julie slammed her hands on the table and let her eyes roll into the back of her head.

  “An elemental hates you. You are interfering in a curse, staying where you should not. The stagnant pond is not to be drunk from, it has only entrapment and death. The lamb is dying away from its hill. Save the lamb.”

  Julie slumped forward. Alison poked her to see if she was still alive.

  “I’m sorry, it doesn’t normally, ever, come on me that heavily.”

  “That’s OK, is there anything else?”

  “That’s all I saw.”

  “How much will that be?”

  Julie held up her hand dramatically:

  “I’m not going to charge you, but please, something out there must be worried about you. Listen to the spirits - go.”

  “Thank you, you’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  Alison walked back to her friend.

  “Well, that looked spooky,” said Mrs. Fuller.

  13.

  “Fifteenth and final question,” called the announcer, “which American president wrote the satirical story A Witch Trial at Mount Holly?”

  “Lincoln,” said Dan, “he was the clever one wasn’t he?”

  “If you ask me, William Henry Harrison had the most sense.”

  Gary’s joke drew a table full of blank stares.

  “He died thirty days into his first term,” he explained.

  “Was it Washington?” Carrie asked.

  “That’s what I was thinking,” said Milton.

  “As keeper of all knowledge in the whole cosmos I have to tell you that you’re both wrong.”

  Gary smiled at his friends.

  “So?”

  “It was Thomas Jefferson,” Gary told them, “super intelligent human rights activist and barely sane white supremacist.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Dan.

  “Yeah, the man had about fifty billion slaves.”

  “No, are you sure it’s him?”

  “Yes, it is actually pretty funny and insightful. I mean, considering it was written by a racist arse face.”

  Alison and Mrs. Fuller appeared behind Milton and Dan.

  “Hey guys, do you mind if me and Joan join in?”

  “The quiz is over,” Milton told her, “but you’re welcome to join us.”

  Gary stood up.

  “Have a seat,” he offered.

  Mrs. Fuller sat down.

  “I’ll go and find some more chairs.”

  Gary wandered off.

 
; “So how was the fortune teller?” Milton asked.

  “You mean - The Mystic Julie?”

  Dan and Carried glanced at each other and bit their lips to suppress a giggle.

  “Is that her name?”

  “Yes, except for the mystic part. She was a little intense for the setting, but she was cheap and reasonably entertaining.”

  “We think we may have cracked the quiz this week,” Dan interrupted.

  “It must be the new member; I’m Alison by the way.”

  “Carrie,” said Carrie.

  “And this is Joan.”

  Gary returned, with nothing in his possession but a glum look.

  “No free chairs in the whole place, looks like we’re standing,” he told Alison.

  “I was just telling everyone about the fortune teller.”

  Gary put his finger to his temple.

  “I’m looking for someone who was born in October.”

  “Very good impression,” said Mrs. Fuller.

  “Can I get you a drink, Joan?” Alison inquired.

  “Get for everyone Gary.”

  Milton slipped Gary a twenty pound note.

  “Same?”

  Everybody at the table nodded.

  “Mrs. Fuller?”

  “Joan. Dry white please.”

  “Come on,” said Alison “I’ll give you a hand.”

  Alison walked to the bar with Gary. He ordered the drinks.

  “Look I’m glad I got a chance to get you alone.”

  “Sounds promising.”

  “Be serious.”

  Alison had on her serious voice.

  “I was being serious and anyway, no, I’ve been serious enough today.”

  “Look, that fortune teller got me thinking about a few things.”

  “If they’re unpleasant things you can tell me later.”

  “Oh, you can rely on it. You’re just lucky that I ran into Joan.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t want my night to be ruined.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m tired of you always being angry at me.”

  “Well, maybe I wouldn’t be angry if you’d just behave normally.”

  “What have I done?”

  “Nothing, Gary, as ever.”

  Gary threw up his arms in total frustration. The drinks arrived just in time to stop a full blown tantrum.

  14.

  Gary and Alison stood on opposite sides of the table to each other. They deliberately avoided eye contact. Carrie nudged Milton with her elbow.

  “I see that announcer getting ready to come back up.”

  “To tell everyone that we won,” Dan assured the table.

  “It’ll be a few more minutes before they do the actual quiz. There’s the winners of best name to announce yet,” Milton told Carrie.

  “Oooh, what are we called?” Mrs. Fuller asked.

  The announcer took the opening letter “a” of his sentence into an extended vibrato:

  “AAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand the winner of tonight’s best name goes to Harry Shaft and Harry Ball.

  “Ridiculous!” Dan snorted.

  “A close second place was The Jug Lickers, but no prize for that I’m afraid.”

  Milton clapped towards Carrie:

  “It’s better than we’ve done before.”

  “I’ll be back in two minutes with the results of this week’s quiz.”

  “Good name choice, Carrie. Dan?”

  Gary waited for Dan to acknowledge what he had just said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Gary’s face turned a bleak, ashen stern. He stared directly at Alison, who checked herself to see if there was something wrong. She found the problem by looking over her shoulder. Saul and Paul were standing behind her, with their arms folded behind their backs.

  “Our cousin Jelly told us you were in the back room tonight,” Saul told Alison.

  “And anyway, we’ve been thinking a lot about what your boyfriend said to us the other day and we’ve been thinking that maybe we have been a bit hard on you. I mean you’d be from here if your ancestors hadn’t moved right?”

  “I suppose so.

  “Anyway, we got you these.”

  Saul handed her a box of chocolates that he had hidden behind his back.

  “By way of an apology.”

  Paul produced a card from behind his back and handed it to Alison.

  Alison accepted the gifts with bemusement.

  “Thank you,” she told the brothers.

  Saul and Paul turned their backs and went back to their own table.

  Alison put the chocolates on the table and opened the card. As she pulled it out of the envelope, a photograph fell out of it. It was a picture of Julie the fortune teller, her arm draped over Gary’s shoulder. Gary was holding up his pint to the camera and winking so hard that the left side of his face looked like it was in spasm. His visible eye was bloodshot and yellow.

  Alison showed the picture to Mrs. Fuller.

  “That’s her isn’t it? The fortune teller?”

  Joan went red and took a quick slug of her wine glass.

  “Looks like she’s dyed her hair, but yes.”

  Alison held up the picture so that Gary and the rest of the table.

  “This better be the same one from the video,” she cautioned him.

  “It is,” Dan affirmed.

  “He’s right,” said Gary. “Sorry.”

  Alison took a deep breath, her eyes darkened. She spoke in slow deliberate syllables:

  “That little bitch.”

  Alison stormed off towards the backroom.

  Gary stormed off towards Saul and Paul.

  “This is way better than watching the telly,” said Carrie.

  “I know,” Mrs. Fuller agreed.

  15.

  The back room was entirely empty except for the Angela the barmaid.

  “Show’s over I’m afraid,” Angela said.

  “Is Julie still here?”

  “No, love, she left right after her last reading.”

  “Know where she lives?”

  “I’ve not the foggiest,” Angela told her, “You must be Gary’s lass.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The accent. Between me and you, if I were you I’d want to kick the shite out of her too. She’s not worth it though, a stinky little minger who has to get men blind drunk before they’ll even touch her.”

  Alison struggled to control her temper through relaxed breathing.

  “Have a drink on me, love. She’ll be here next week if you’re still angry.”

  Angela poured a large vodka and splashed some coke to it.

  “Thank you.”

  Alison took a hearty swig. Angela smiled at her.

  “I can help you with something else too.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Saul wet the bed till he was fourteen and Paul shat himself at the Christmas party last year.”

  Alison grinned.

  “Thank you.”

  “Girls got to stick together, right?”

  Alison nodded.

  “Plus, if they ever call me Jelly again, I’m going to take their balls.”

  16.

  Gary loomed over the two brothers; Saul and Paul were too drunk to be scared of him. They had half empty glasses in front of them and full pints ready to replace them.

  “Alright lads.”

  “Gary,” said Saul.

  “I suppose you think that was pretty funny, right?”

  Paul almost choked on his beer:

  “It was hilarious, mate.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  Saul raised his glass with politic charm.

  “We’re glad that you’re glad.”

  “I don’t think you are. You see, the irony is...”

  Saul opened his mouth to speak but Gary raised a han
d to silence him.

  “It’s alright, I know you don’t know what that means. What you idiots have inadvertently done, is proven that I was drunk on a certain night, and somebody else was sober. You boys have made me a victim in the eyes of the law.”

  They stared at him blankly.

  “So you haven’t caused me any problems tonight, quite the opposite. That aside, I am going to get you.”

  He pointed his finger at Saul.

  “We’re shaking,” said Paul.

  Gary looked at him.

  “Not you. You’re a harmless idiot.”

  Gary picked up one of their beers and began to drink it.

  “Anyway, just wanted to say thanks. Have a good night, you little tossers.”

  Gary downed the pint in one. He picked up the second full pint from the table and walked away.

  17.

  Alison and Gary were together on the couch in their front room. Gary had his head in Alison’s lap; she stroked his hair with one hand and drank vodka with the other.

  “Now that was worth coming home early for.”

  “You can consider yourself marked territory,” Alison told Gary.

  “I’m in no fit state to consider anything. Who was it on the phone?”

  “It was Milton, they came third place,” Alison said.

  “Great. They weren’t mad that I snuck off where they?”

  “No, I think they understand.”

  “Did Mrs. Fuller get home alright?”

  “Yes, apparently Dan walked her home.”

  Gary laughed heartily.

  “Don’t get your hopes up.”

  “Believe me, that isn’t something I’d wish on anyone, let alone hope for.”

  Gary yawned:

  “I’m so tired.”

  “You go to sleep then, my lovely lover.”

  Gary made a few noises that sounded as if he were eating his favourite food. Then he began to snore. Alison stood up and went to get him a blanket. Gary sat up; his eyes open but stark white as they rolled into the back of his head.

  “Alison, the lamb is dying away from its hill.”

  “What?”

  Gary mumbled incoherently, closed his eyes and lay back down.

  “Hello, Gary?”

  Gary was soundly asleep. Alison shook him.

  “Gary, what did you just say?”

  “No.”

  “Are you awake?”

  “I’m awake.”

  “Do you love me, Gary?”

  “I love all of the trains,” he told her.

  Alison shook her head and went to get the blanket. She spread it over Gary.

  Episode Four: The Christ Brigade

  1.

  Dan was red in the face, his unwavering stare fixed on the cage on the table. In the cage stood Roaster, Milton’s chicken. Dan stamped his foot for emphasis before he began talking.

  “That thing is a feral animal; I do not want to stare at it whilst I eat my cornflakes.”

  “There’s a picture of a chicken on the cornflakes box. Not far below it there is a bowl with cornflakes and milk under which...”

  Milton held up one finger to silence the interruption that Dan’s rapid deep breath had pre-empted.

  “Under which is emblazoned the legend – serving suggestion.”

  Dan took another deep breath.

  “When Kellogg’s wrote that on the box I don’t think they had placing a live chicken in front of your cereal bowl in mind.”

  “Then why did they put it there Dan?”

  “It’s a company logo.”

  “Don’t be stupid; what does a chicken have to do with cornflakes?”

  “Chickens eat corn.”

  “I know that Dan, I own a chicken.”

  “So there’s your connection.”

  “But they don’t eat cereal; I mean, how would they hold the spoon?”

  Dan relaxed, just a tiny bit.

  “I don’t like eating in front of live stock; it’s just rude, like picking up an elderly relative for a relaxing spin in a hearse.”

  “We’re not going to eat her, are we?” Milton asked.

  “No, but...”

  Dan couldn’t think of anything to say. He ran his fingers through the bristles of his beard and hummed whilst he rethought his approach.

  “She’s a bit smelly. Explain to me again why she needs to be in here.”

  Milton walked to the window and opened the curtain. Outside was a crowd of about thirty people holding placards and luminous plastic orange crucifixes.

  “Because of them! We must keep Roaster safe.”

  “They’re Christians I don’t think they go in for sacrificing poultry. That’s more your usual customers.”

  “Customer,” corrected Milton.

  “You’ve been busy recently.”

  “With middle aged women buying pulp fiction, not Voodoo priestesses. Any mob is a threat to a chicken; Jesus didn’t feed the five thousand with loaves and Quorn sausages.”

  “He didn’t feed them with live chickens either,” noted Dan.

  “You should be happy with your success Milton.”

  “We barely broke even this month.”

  “Which compared to our usual 100% losses is a staggering upswing.”

  Milton frowned:

  “That is what’s brought these Muppets, I suppose.”

  Dan nodded and pursed his lips with sincerity.

  “Well, what do you want to do about it?” Dan asked.

  “I don’t know, do you want to call Carrie and tell her tonight’s meeting is off.”

  “You call her, she’s your girlfriend.”

  “She is not.”

  “She is in fantasy land.”

  Milton shrugged and picked up the phone.

  “We should call Gary too.”

  2.

  Gary’s phone rang; he shivered and hoped that Alison would answer it. He listened for the sound of movement but heard only the steady stream of the shower in the bathroom. He winced as he reached to answer it.

  “Yes.”

  Gary listened to the voice at the other end of the phone.

  “No you haven’t woken me up Milton; I work nights so I’ve only just got to bed.”

  He listened to Milton’s voice talking to him again.

  “Well it’s not the frigging Batphone, I have to sleep at some point.”

  Gary yawned over whatever it was that Milton was saying.

  “OK, OK, I’ll try and get down there in a bit.”

  He put the phone down and unplugged it, pulling the blanket over his head to block the bright sunlight that made a mockery of his curtains. Gary closed his eyes and waited for sleep. He envisioned a forest and a pale moon. He imagined he could hear the rustle of leaves and soft hands rubbing his shoulders. He hovered in the space between waking and dream; it was warm and welcoming like a wombgina.

  “Who was that?” Alison asked.

  Gary pulled his blanket down and squinted at her. She was entirely naked except for the towel she had wrapped around her hair.

  “What?”

  “On the phone? Who was it?”

  “Milton.”

  “What did he want?”

  “I don’t know, I wasn’t listening. I was trying to get to sleep.”

  Alison put her leg on the bed and leant over as she slipped on one of her socks. The raising of her thigh formed a beautiful arc that met with her buttock. Her breasts jingled at him as she leant forward.

  “Are you doing that on purpose?”

  “Getting dressed you mean?”

  Gary thought about it.

  “Yes.”

  “I did consider going to work nude but I didn’t think you’d approve.”

  “Well if you’re going to be all sexy and naked you could at least have sex with me, it would help me get to sleep too.”

  “I’ve just had a shower sorry.”
/>
  “You should be. I’m horny as hell now.”

  “Since you’re wide awake do you mind if I dry my hair properly?”

  “Why not? Go for the gusto.”

  Alison finished getting dressed under the close scrutiny of Gary. She turned on the noisy hair drier; Gary got up and pretended to go to the toilet.

  “I’m back at three today,” Alison told him when he came back into the bedroom, “I’ll try not to wake you.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Gary “I won’t be here.”

  “You sound sulky; I said I wouldn’t wake you.”

  “It’s not you, it’s everybody. Ten to one odd, as soon as you go some bastard will knock on the door trying to sell me milk or insurance or religion.”

  “Are you going to see Milton?”

  “No, I’m going to put an end to it all.”

  Alison brushed her hair and the hair drier made an intermittent swishy noise as though a rat were trying to free itself from the nozzle of a vacuum cleaner.

  “That sounds ominous,” said Alison “if you do anything drastic, try not to make a mess.”

  3.

  Milton flipped the shop sign to Open and looked out at the hoard of protesters. One of the placards read simply “Blasphemy.” Another read “Burn in Hell!” Others had the number of chapter and verse from specific parts of the Bible.

  “It’s odd that they do that,” Milton noted.

  “What? Protest?”

  Dan chortled to himself.

  “No, put things like Mathew 12:31 on their banners. Surely only the converted are going to know what they’re talking about.”

  “What does Mathew 12:31 say?”

  “I haven’t the first idea and that is my precise point.”

  “You should strike back and quote them Exodus 22:18. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. See how boned up they are on that one. ”

  “Don’t give them ideas Dan; I’m sure they’ve made their minds up that we’re Satan’s footmen already. We don’t want them reaching for the torches.”

  “That would be ironic; witch hunters killed for the sin of witchcraft.”

  “Christians aren’t supposed to kill anyone.”

  “It’s definitely a mixed message.”

  The crowd was singing Hosanna, and holding up their plastic crosses as if they might make Milton, Dan and the shop disappear entirely. Dan waved at them and swayed slightly in time to the music. Milton shot him a disapproving glare.

  “What? It’s catchy. Plus, they’re giving us the day off. Nobody will dare cross that line of psychos.”

  “The women who buy these novels,” Milton picked up a copy of a book the protesters were protesting, “know no mortal fear.”

  “Too stupid, I suppose.”

  “I don’t think that’s it; I suspect it has something to do with hormones.”

  “Do you mean because the key audience is girls in puberty and ladies approaching a certain age?”

  “Something like that but less sexist.”

  Dan raised an eyebrow.

  “Explain the concept to me again.”

  Dan held aloft the offending book. The front cover was black with three prominent letters K, W and P boldly displayed across the cover. The W had been made to look like vampire fangs whereas the K and W were both done in dripping red paint. Between the three letters there were other letters in smaller print that announced the novel’s title: Kissy McWolfPyre.

  “Well, Kissy is a vampire.”

  Dan nodded.

  “And in the first novel, he is attacked by a female werewolf.”

  Dan nodded again.

  “Because werewolves are part human, he becomes part human. That’s not good if you’re a blood drinking monster apparently. So he sets out to break the curse of the werewolf by killing the werewolf who bit him. That way, he can go back to being just one monster rather than two monsters - one of whom is a little bit human.”

  “OK.”

  “Anyway, to cut a long story short, he falls in love with the werewolf in her human form and mopes about; all the while feeling a crushing combination of ennui, spleen and angst that nobody but a two monster-human hybrid could understand. Then, he has to decide whether or not to kill the woman and break the curse or to continue living a life of conflict and dichotomy.”

  “That actually sounds quite good.”

  “It isn’t, I assure you.”

  Dan chuckled.

  “It doesn’t sound any worse than anything else we have in here, so what’s their problem?”

  Dan motioned to the crowd outside.

  “Buggered if I know.”

  Dan thought about it for a moment.

  “Shall we ask them?”

  4.

  Gary sat opposite Mrs. Fuller, he was trying his best not to think about the fact that the last time he had seen her she had been shown photographic evidence of him cheating on Alison who was more Alison’s friend than his.

  “So, about that job?”

  Mrs. Fuller sipped her tea. Gary had left his mug on the coffee table as he was too shaky to hold it without spillage.

  “Yes?”

  “Erm, I’ve been thinking a lot about it and I’d very much like to give it a try. If that’s OK.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “It’s not too late? Because I know it’s been a couple of weeks since last spoke about it.”

  “No it’s not a problem, Alison told me to put you down as a definite last week.”

  Gary blanched.

  “How thoughtful of her.”

  “She said she’d spoken to you.”

  Gary nodded.

  “Its fine, she has.”

  “So you’ll start in September, do you want to come in and look at the school?”

  “No thanks, I’ve seen it.”

  “Lots of new stuff has happened since you left.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  “OK, well you just start reading up on Chaucer.”

  Gary tried to think of something clever to say but he had nothing. They sat in awkward stillness for a few moments.

  “So,” said Mrs. Fuller “is everything alright with the Julie situation?”

  “I think things are OK – I’m keeping quiet about it and Alison only brings it when she’s losing an argument.”

  “Very wise,” said Mrs. Fuller, “on both counts. Glad you two are getting on.”

  “We’re OK; I think she’s happy I’m taking this job.”

  “The all-night garage is not for you.”

  “It would be fine if the rest of the world could accept that I have to sleep.”

  “You do look tired. Do you want to go upstairs for a lie down?”

  Gary flashed back to a fantasy he had had when he was one of Mrs. Fuller’s students ten years before. He felt himself stiffen, and then almost immediately felt like punching himself in the balls. Those things were a menace.

  “No, thanks for the offer though. Maybe another time?”

  Mrs. Fuller’s laugh came as a tremendous relief to Gary once his sleep deprived brain had caught up with his mouth.

  “I’d best be going,” he told her.

  5.

  Dan stood on a chair and looked down at the crowd below him waving their pickets at the Occultivated bookshop. The wind was catching his beard with what he hoped was the majesty of a waving flag. He held up both his arms to silence the crowd. The crowd, who were already looking at him in a respectful silence, looked at him in a slightly confused respectful silence.

  “Now, now,” Dan started, “Can one of you nice people tell me exactly what the problem is?”

  “You’re selling that book,” said a man on the front row.

  The man on the front row had a tattoo. Dan didn’t like him.

  “We are a bookshop” Dan stated, “We do that.”

  “It’s evil,” shouted a woman near the back.r />
  The crowd booed gently at Dan and raised their orange crucifixes.

  A prickle of redness began to creep across Dan’s cheeks. He raised both his arms again.

  “Silence! Crikey, what I am trying to ask is why you think it is evil?”

  “It is blasphemous,” said the man with the tattoo.

  Dan took a deep breath.

  “OK, so you are upset that one book, Kissy McWolfPyre, is at odds with The Bible which is, at the end of the day, just another book?”

  The crowd booed. Dan raised his hands.

  “Let us assume that I have not read either book, can somebody please explain what the problem is?”

  A woman stepped forward; her thin face was almost entirely hidden by large framed glasses and a mop of curly hair.

  “Are you familiar with Jesus?”

  “I’m not an idiot,” Dan told her.

  “Well, there is a character called Jesus in the novel that sleeps with a virgin called Mary. It’s a deliberate attack on our faith.”

  “And she’s his mother,” added the man with a tattoo.

  “Wait,” said Dan “how can she be a virgin and his mother? That’s just ridiculous.”

  The crowd eyeballed Dan in unison.

  “She’s not his real mother,” explained a young girl who looked to Dan as though she were too pretty to believe in things.

  “She’s the werewolf who bites him, so she is called his wolf-mother.”

  “Well,” Dan shrugged, “it does seem needlessly contentious but we didn’t write it.”

  “Worse still,” added the girl Dan thought was pretty, “because he’s a vampire, when she attacks him and he gets killed he comes back to life three days later – as a wolfpyre.”

  Dan looked behind himself to see if Milton was going to do anything to support his effort. Milton smiled and gestured to the crowd. Dan got down from the chair and gently shoved Milton towards the crowd.

  “It’s his shop.”

  The crowd jeered. Milton cleared his throat.

  “I’ve flicked through the book, Jesus is a Central American character. Pronounced Haysus, I believe it is a popular Hispanic name.”

  Someone in the crowd nodded, that was good enough for Milton.

  “I’m sure the rest is just co-incidence.”

  “You should be worried about your soul.”

  The man who spoke was the one holding the placard that read Mathew 12:31.

  “What is the passage your banner refers to?” Milton asked.

  “Blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven.”

  “Ah” said Milton “but what about Luke 10:23?”

  “I’m not familiar with that passage.”

  “I knew it!”

  Milton walked back into the shop with look of triumph on his face.

  6.

  Gary stopped to rest against a brick wall; his vision was a little blurry. It was the fourth day of a five day stint of nightshifts and he had only managed a total of ten hours sleep over the lot of it. He had one sole objective, to get home to bed. He leant forward and took a few deep breaths; he was not used to feeling that bad when he was sober. Mercifully, he didn’t vomit.

  Gary felt a hand on his back.

  “Are you alright?”

  Gary looked up, and groaned internally as he saw the girl’s face. Julie’s black lipstick smiled at him. He hadn’t seen her since the night of their indiscretion; he dug deep into his mind to think of something to say that would get rid of her without causing her to be upset.

  “Fine thanks, how are you?”

  “You don’t look fine. I live just around the corner, do you want to come in for a cup of tea.”

  “No, it’s alright. I live just around the corner too.”

  “It’s a small world.”

  “No, it’s a tiny village.”

  Julie chuckled.

  “I haven’t seen you since that night,” she said.

  “I know. I live with someone... I, I thought it would be best not to.”

  Julie sighed.

  “I’ve never done anything like that before, I feel really bad about it.”

  Gary lifted his head up and looked at the girl; her heavy mascara drew a black line around eyes that were welling with tears. Gary groaned internally for the second time.

  “It’s fine,” he said, “it was mostly my fault.”

  “It just made me feel so cheap!”

  Julie began sobbing,

  “You must hate me!”

  Gary glanced around the street; nobody seemed to be looking so he hugged her.

  “I don’t hate you, it was really nice. It’s just, you know, Alison.”

  Julie pulled away from Gary.

  “You like her more than me.”

  Julie put her face in her hands and blubbed.

  “No, no, it’s just, erm, she’s my girlfriend and we live together. It’s been a long time and erm...”

  Julie let her hands drop and stared directly into Gary’s face. She didn’t blink.

  “Listen, I’m really tired and I don’t feel very well,” Gary told her, “I’ll catch up with you another time.”

  Being careful not to look back Gary walked around the corner to his house. As he did so he almost tripped over the unpleasant youth Saul who had recently furnished Alison with a photograph of Gary’s infidelity. Saul met Gary’s bad tempered glare with a diarrhetic smile and carried on walking with a skip in his step.

  7.

  “Hello Carrie,” Milton was saying.

  “You sound frantic, is everything alright?” Carrie responded.

  Milton sighed into the phone receiver.

  “Well not really, my shop is being held under siege by a fringe Christian group.”

  “Why?”

  “They have moral objections to Kissy McWolfPyre.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A pulp vampire novel.”

  “Oh, which one?”

  “It’s the first in the series.”

  “No,” said Carrie, “which fringe religious group?”

  “I don’t know actually, is it important?”

  “Find out for me and give me a call back.”

  Milton shrugged.

  “OK, are you coming tonight?”

  “Yes, now go ask them.”

  Milton did as he was told.

  8.

  Sleep began to hug Gary like a warm blanket, which was doubly great because he was also being hugged by a warm blanket. He imagined the crackle of fire, and the rustle of leaves relaxing him.

  The door to his room swung open and banged loudly against the bedside dresser.

  “Gary Turlough, you absolute tosser.”

  Gary’s eyes strained to open.

  “What have I done now?”

  Alison folded her arms and thinned her lips.

  “Well, why don’t you tell me?”

  “I hugged that Julie girl. Sorry, she was crying.”

  “Is that it?”

  “Yeah it was like ten minutes ago, how did you know?”

  Alison sat down on the bed.

  “Saul just showed me a picture on his phone.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Why was she crying?”

  “Because I don’t want to be with her.”

  “Good!”

  Alison sat down on the bed.

  “I accepted that job at the school,” Gary said quickly.

  “I start in September.”

  Alison’s lips thickened out a little.

  “Just be honest, is there anything going on with you and Julie?”

  “That was the first time I’ve seen her since that night, it was just awkward. Sorry.”

  “I don’t think I know what I’d do if you did that to me again.”

  “I won’t, I promise.”

  Gary reluctantly sat up and kissed Alison.

 
“I love you.”

  She hugged him back.

  “Thank you for taking that job.”

  Gary yawned:

  “You’re welcome.”

  Alison stood back up.

  “I suppose I better get back to work. What are you doing for the rest of the day?”

  Gary looked at her in bewilderment, what the hell is wrong with people? He thought.

  “I might sleep.”

  “You should nip down to Occultivated. I hear that all hell is breaking loose there.”

  9.

  Gary tried to reason with the crowd; Dan had insisted that it was his turn.

  “Go on, you’re the one with a degree. You’re the one with all that reason and rhetoric.”

  “I’m not sure I’m at my best today,” Gary told him.

  “Go on, you’ll be fine.”

  “They’re called the Christ Brigade if that helps,” added Milton.

  The Christ Brigade stared at Gary, who with his black ringed eyes, shoulders slouched, and stammering sense of fatigue looked for all the world like one of the actors in the Heroin Screws You Up campaign of the mid to late Eighties.

  “Look, can you just all fuck off?” Gary asked them, “I’m really tired.”

  The crowd did not respond.

  “Have some decency please; I think I might be dying.”

  The man with the tattoo said.

  “We’ll leave when you stop selling that book.”

  “OK,” Gary reasoned, “but as long you’re here – nobody will buy the book. So, there’s no point in you being here unless you go away.”

  “It’s blasphemy,” shouted the mop haired glasses woman.

  “Kissy McWolfPyre? Blasphemy? Are you kidding? Have you been inside the shop?”

  “Den of iniquity,” someone shouted.

  “Yes, exactly,” Gary retorted, “There’s far worse stuff than that. The Bible of Satan, The Lesser Key’s of Solomon: you name it.”

  “Satanists are just lazy Christians,” said the man with the tattoo. Gary shrugged at him.

  “They believe in God and the Devil but they can’t be bothered going to heaven, still essentially they support the foundations of Christianity so that’s fine. Our problem is with that book.”

  He pointed to the poster in the shop window that showed a pretty young man crying in front of a mirror that gave no reflection of him.

  “The people in this shop are good people; they’re just trying to make a living.”

  The crowd booed Gary.

  “Also, they hunt witches. You don’t get more Christian than that, right?”

  The Christ Brigade began to pelt Gary with orange crosses. He made a dash for the shop door.

  “Patronising bastard,” he heard someone scream.

  10.

  “Are you coming to the meeting tonight?” Milton asked.

  “You mean the pub quiz? No, I have to work,” Gary told him.

  “Still I suppose you might be able to get some sleep there.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Gary yawned, Dan handed him a cup of coffee.

  “Don’t mind the chicken,” Dan said.

  “I’m too tired to mind anything, but when I get less tired I’ve got other stuff to sort out.”

  “Such as?”

  “Saul.”

  Milton frowned in concern.

  “I thought he was leaving Alison alone now.”

  “He is; it’s me he’s after now. He took a picture of me hugging Shakespeare’s Sister early.”

  Dan laughed.

  “Hugging?”

  “She was crying. Look, I don’t want to get into it.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Gary shrugged.

  “There are people with bigger problems.”

  Gary pointed at the safe were Milton had stored his death curse. Milton winced.

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “You only have three weeks,” Gary said.

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Carrie says she has something up her sleeve.”

  Dan walked over to Milton and put his arm around him sympathetically.

  “You can always pass the curse back to me,” Dan told him.

  “Aw,” Milton said, “you know I could never do that.”

  “Yes,” said Dan, “that’s why I said it.”

  The tender moment was interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing. Milton picked it up.

  “Oh, hello Carrie.”

  Milton put his hand over the receiver.

  “It’s Carrie,” he mouthed to Dan and Gary.

  “They were still out there a few minutes ago,” Milton said.

  Milton carefully put the phone down on its side.

  “She said to check now,” he told them.

  Milton walked out to the kitchen window and raised the curtain. The crowd had gone and the only sign of them was a few orange crucifixes scattered around. Milton ran back to the phone.

  “They’re gone, however did you do it?”

  Milton listened to Carrie’s response, a spry smile slid across his face.

  “You’re not wrong, I’ll see you later.”

  Milton turned to Gary and Dan.

  “She said she’s wonderful.”

  Dan chuckled at Milton, Gary just stared ahead.

  11.

  By the time that Gary finally made it to sleep, it was nine thirty at night and he was at work. He leaned forward with his elbows up on the cash register and let his eyelids droop. It was not a restful sleep but it might just tide him over until the next customer arrived.

  The shop bell rang.

  “We got you, kiwi-lover.”

  Saul and Paul were stood glaring at him. Gary stood up.

  “What are you going to do? Take a picture of me?”

  “We already did,” said Saul, “sleeping on the job.”

  “We’re gonna show it to Ron,” said Paul.

  “Oh right, I don’t actually care.”

  “You will care when you have no job,” said Saul.

  “Whatcha gonna do then?” Paul added.

  “I don’t need a job to be able to afford sex with your mother,” Gary told them, “I pay her in breadcrumbs.”

  “Don’t you talk about our mum,” Saul slammed his hand on the counter.

  “I’ll stop talking about her when you idiots fuck off.”

  “Yeah,” said Paul, “well, we’re not going to take it.”

  Gary yawned.

  “Fuck off lads,” he said.

  He sat back down and started going back to sleep. Saul and Paul looked at each other, quickly stuck some chewing gum in their pockets and walked out.