He pulled back the cover and stared.
For the second time that day he found a small, curly, black hair in a place you really didn’t want to see one. Just like in urinals, why the hell did you find little black hairs in beds? Especially on fresh sheets?
This was too much. Charlie could not take any more. Everything that had happened to him swirled around in his head, circling that little black hair.
Charlie Pinwright snapped.
And it was a big one.
His face turned red, steam billowed, the raging bull had returned. He flung open the window and screamed. It was a scream that scared even the murderers.
He couldn’t hold it back any longer. Greebol’s stupid face was all he could see. He blamed Greebol for everything that had happened to him, for, when he really thought about it, it was all his fault! Even this black hair was probably his fault in some way.
Charlie hated him! He couldn’t stand another second in his company. He couldn’t even stand being in the same building as him!
Before he really knew what he was doing, Charlie had stormed from the café, still in a fit of rage, and out into the dark Baggus’ night.
Chapter 28
Baggus’ red light district didn’t just have a few red lights, but one giant red glow. The red lights could be seen from space.
Haddock Street, a rather apt name, was the most popular area. The women down this street had even less teeth than most in Baggus’Regious, and riddled with diseases that most did not know existed. Some had their babies in harnesses on their backs.
For ten knobs, which was not a lot, you could do whatever you wanted with most of the ladies. For twenty knobs you could get one to keep!
This particular night was a busy one for the Haddock Street ladies. Already three of them had become pregnant and six of them had contracted a new strain of syphilis. A good night for the pimps who were some of the richest men in the city. This night would be a night to remember.
However, something was about to happen that would become more memorable than a couple of extra shags. It was something that made every person down that street, prostitute, pimp, client and the lost sightseer who was terribly embarrassed and apologetic to have made a wrong turn, stop and watch. They couldn’t believe their eyes.
A metal hand was pulling itself along the street, clinking as it went. It stopped next to a parked hover vehicle that was bouncing up and down and had steamed up windows. Slowly, and carefully, it reached upwards and grabbed hold of the vehicle. Then, with a speed faster than the time it took most of the clients to reach extreme heights of pleasure, it dismantled the vehicle, tipping out two naked and highly confused people in the process, and constructed a metallic body. Finally, the hand attached itself to an arm and the body began to move, little lights twinkling all over it.
It turned its head, eyes made from headlights, and stared at the people.
“MY… DESIGNATION… IS… X7421a… NONE… OF… YOU… ARE… THE… UNWELCOME…”the new Mechanoid screeched in a tinny voice, “I… AM… SEARCHING… FOR… THE… UNWELCOME.”
When no one answered, the Mechanoid turned its back on them and headed away from the street, making a mental note to return here and bring these strange creatures to justice. But first it had a lawbreaker to catch.
Chapter 29
Charlie Pinwright sat on a bench at the corner of Cabbage Soup Alley and Hot Potato Lane, staring out at a large and busy square called the Hub. He sat back and stretched his tired arms out across the back of the bench, rubbing along the shiny golden plaque. In loving memory of Zilbobwig Sqwuabbarf, died a hero but lived a prat.
From this spot, Charlie had an unrivalled view over the area, which was a bustle of night time activity.
He watched as a Gumthar busker, sporting a strange instrument similar to bagpipes, made a strange noise that sounded like a monkey being stretched.
A bar called ‘The Rancid Pickle’ constantly spurted out drunks who collided with each other and almost every wall they came across, similar to the ball in a pinball machine.
A young Jaal couple did passionate things to each other’s mouths, which before long would probably turn into passionate things in other places. Hopefully, Charlie thought, not in the Hub as it was not a sight he really wanted to see.
A Waabba passed by, leaving a trail of hair behind him. The problem with having hair over most of your body was the terrible itching that came during moulting season.
Charlie was intrigued by the various species in this dimension. He, of course already knew the Gumthar, had had dealings with the Umfians, the May’orn and the Jaal. But there were some at the Hub that he had never seen before. Long necked, purple skinned, sticky-out eyed aliens, whose strange mouths sat on separate bits of face underneath the head, walked in long strided bounces across the roads. Alongside them, small green/grey skinned people with large heads and peculiar beak-like mouths, placed bets over two small pink rodents fighting each other to the death.
Around the outside of the Hub two hover vehicles sped through the streets racing one another. The hover vehicles were smooth and slim-line in bright colours with blue neon strips underneath and fluffy dice hanging from the mirror.
Charlie was lost in this world. He had never felt more alone.
A Waabba tramp sat down next to him and made a strange gurgling noise into his bottle of booze that smelt like it could take paint off walls.
“I don’t understand you,” Charlie said, trying to ignore the Waabba, whose hair was even scruffier than most.
“Well… why would due?” the tramp mumbled. “You’s some kind of pink shkin mishter. Dint fink you could shpeak Waabba.”
Speak Waabba? Charlie didn’t realise that the various aliens here spoke different languages. So far, the only language he had heard them speak in was English. Which, when he really thought about it, was somewhat confusing for all the obvious reasons.
There were many things that Charlie could not quite work out. The language thing was just one of them.
The tramp began snoring and let his hairy head fall down onto Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie shrugged him away and watched him fall, quite heavily, to the other side. There was a sickening crunch as his head hit the arm of the bench. Charlie froze. The last thing he now wanted was another death on his conscience – and this poor bugger’s death would have actually been his fault!
He reached across, retching at the smell of stale booze and even staler sweat, and checked that he was still breathing.
Thankfully, he was. As he began to move away again, Charlie spotted the headline on the front page of a newspaper in the tramp’s pocket. Gingerly he removed it, thinking he must put it back as this was probably to be used as the tramp’s blanket.
He read the headline in horror:
Thugs Destroy Historic Church
The church of Saint Intingus has been brutally burnt down and numerous priests killed by crazed arsonists and their killer reptile lapdog. A city wide hunt for the two fire starters, Greebol, the notorious Gumthar bounty hunter and his pink skinned accomplice, has begun.
Charlie thought that perhaps it was better to not be out in public places.
At the other side of the city, another figure read the article in the newspaper with a special interest in the ‘killer reptile lapdog’.
Giblet looked up at a map of the city on the side of a tourist information board. There was a big red arrow pointing to the general area he stood in with a big ‘YOU ARE HERE’ written above it.
Giblet looked down at where he currently stood and then back up at the map a little confused, as he was clearly not standing at the tip of a giant red arrow.
Still, the map showed him the general direction of the Church of Saint Intingus. He grabbed at the board and began to tug at it in an attempt to rip the map from the wall.
A passing Lampan lady wearing a tall hat, with some sort of stuffed bird on the top, stopped to stare at him.
Giblet paused, mid tug, hugging the bo
ard. “Can I help you?” he asked gruffly. And he flinched when he saw the fowl hat.
“Why would you try and steal a large, wooden map mounted on a board when you can purchase one at quite a reasonable price?” she snootily scoffed.
“Where the devil would I purchase a map?” Giblet asked, emulating the Lampan’s accent, sticking his nose up into the air.
“Just over there,” she replied, pointing to a small stall nearby that sold souvenirs and trinkets.
Giblet grunted. He climbed down from the large map, brushed himself off and straightened the shield on his back.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said pushing past the female Lampan.
“What can I do you for?” asked the stall owner, a small, podgy Waabba, who had decided it would be a good idea to bleach all of the hair on his body. He was perfectly albino.
Giblet looked over the stall’s items. Tacky. Every single one. But there were a number of small maps!
“I need a map,” he said.
The Waabba grinned, showing two rows of brilliantly round white teeth. “A tourist yes?”
Giblet frowned his already furrowed brow. “I suppose so,” he mumbled.
“Then perhaps I could offer you a novelty snow globe of the city?” He shook it. “Nice little present for the wife?”
“Giblet has no time for a wife,” he muttered. “I just need a map. I have money.” He reached to his thick leather belt and untied a small cloth bag attached to it. He opened it and brought out a handful of what he expected to be gold but was in fact a couple of knobs.
Giblet was momentarily confused but soon shrugged it off. Perhaps knobs had always been his people’s currency. He couldn’t really remember.
“Ah! You have money to spare,” smiled the Waabba. “In that case perhaps you would care to purchase a bottle of water, fresh from the River Bag? Guaranteed to contain no fingernails.”
“I just want a map.”
“What about a cuddly teddy bear made here in this very city? Squeeze its tummy and it will sweetly utter profanities at you.”
“I do not do cuddly. Just the map please.”
“Then a book of the city’s best places to vomit?”
“Just the map. Please!”
“A mug with a picture of the Governor’s face on it?”
Giblet gave up. He was getting nowhere.
“Very well,” he grumbled, “I’ll take it all!”
The church of Saint Intingus III was no more. Sure, some of the walls still stood but there was no roof to speak of and the tower lay shattered in a thousand pieces on the floor. The great bell ringing no more.
Giblet stepped over to the large doors, which were now black and crumbling. He sniffed the burnt air then snapped his head around quickly as he heard laughter. It was laughter aimed at him.
Two small children, one a May’orn, the other a Kororka, a light orange skinned species with two mouths, stood pointing at the Dwarf, holding their bellies chuckling.
Giblet looked at his reflection in a broken shard of stained glass on the floor. He wore a kiss me quick hat, a t-shirt saying ‘I heart Baggus’ and held a towel with some of the city’s most attractive (apparently anyway) women sewn onto it in various provocative poses.
He also had a book of postcards dangling from his pockets.
Giblet growled.
“Laugh at me one more time boys and I’ll stick my boots so far up your arses that it will poke out of your mouths!”
The two children ran off into the night still laughing.
Giblet mumbled something about no respect for elders these days and turned back to the church, ripping the hat from his head. He was about to enter when he heard voices from within.
“Please leave my church,” said the first.
“I will not leave until I have the answers I have requested from you.” Giblet knew that voice. It was the voice of his bitter rival. It was High Delta Officer Lemor’all. The Elves had beat him here! He was too late!
“You will leave my church now or you will regret it!” the first voice repeated. Giblet smiled. It seemed the Elves were not doing so well. Perhaps he was not too late after all!
“I seriously doubt that a group of priests could do anything to us that we will regret,” Lemor’all said in his sickly, sly voice.
“Do you really want to find out?”
Giblet looked through one of the broken windows. There were five Elves surrounded by seven priests who all had weapons pointed at them, pale fingers on triggers. The priest that was speaking was Reverend Horta Kimfin. The left side of his face was hideously burnt behind his dark hood.
“We will not fight with holy men,” Lemor’all continued. “Even if the god you worship is as pointless as an inkless pen.” The Elves smiled, almost like they were actually wanting to laugh. Laughing was something the Elves did not do, at least not in public.
“Then get out of my church!” shouted Kimfin.
“Very well,” said Lemor’all softly, “but you have made a grave mistake in not helping us. We could have been allies.”
The Elves turned as one to leave. Kimfin snorted. “The True Believers will never be allies with people who have no faith in our almighty Beff!” he called out.
Giblet ducked behind a cluster of fallen bricks as the Elves left the church. The last thing he wanted to do right now was have a confrontation with Lemor’all. Especially dressed like this.
He waited for a few moments after his rivals had headed off into the night before entering the church. He pushed the large doors, which fell off their hinges and crashed to the floor.
“We’re closed brother,” said Reverend Kimfin glumly, without looking up from his current task of removing dust and rubble from the mouth of the statue of Saint Intingus. “Prayer will have to wait for now.”
“I have not come here to pray,” Giblet said, striding forward.
The Reverend looked down to the Dwarf. “Arise from your knees my brother,” he said, “there is no worship today.”
Giblet snarled. “I am not on my knees!” he barked. He hated tall folk.
“What can I do for you,” said Kimfin, waving his hand in annoyance, “I’m a very busy man.”
“I want to know about the dragon.”
Reverend Kimfin sighed. “As I just told your friends I will not discuss these matters with…” he stopped as he noticed the badge on Giblet's t-shirt. It said ‘Believe in Beff for He believes in you!’
“You are a Believer!” he said with praise.
Giblet looked down at the badge he had just bought from the stall, not having read it before. He shrugged.
“As you are a True Believer I am willing to help,” Kimfin continued with a smile.
“The dragon… it did this to your church?” Giblet asked.
The Reverend nodded. “The beast and its keepers.”
“Keepers?”
“Two men controlled the monster. They can make it appear out of thin air. I call this dragon a monster… but in reality it is they who are the monsters!”
The Dwarf nodded as though understanding or caring what this man was talking about. “And where is it now? The dragon.”
Reverend Kimfin shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows?” he said raising his hands into the air. “It spread its wings and flew towards the heavens!”
Giblet kicked the rubble on the ground and barked several curses that Reverend Kimfin would normally have thrown someone out of the door for. But seing as though the Dwarf appeared to be a Believer and that he didn’t currently have a door, he decided to give Giblet the benefit of the doubt.
“Find the bounty hunters… Greebol and his pink friend… and you will find this dragon you are looking for,” said Kimfin softly.
Hope filled the Dwarf. He would slay that dragon yet! “Where do I find these bounty hunters?”
The Reverend shook his head. “I do not know. But find them quickly you must. For the True Believers are also looking for them and when we find them they will have
Beff to answer to for what they have done.”
Giblet turned and headed back towards the door. He had some people searching to do and quickly. “Thank you for your help,” he said, taking a last look back at Reverend Kimfin, “but who the devil is Beff?”
Hiding under one of the broken windows, a shadowed figure watched as Giblet ran from the broken church, a number of bricks flying through the air after him.
“Greebol… the bounty hunter,” whispered Lemor’all, smiling to himself.
Chapter 30
The Rancid Pickle seemed like a good place for Charlie Pinwright to hide, away from whatever prying eyes may be looking for him, as it:
a) was very dark inside and his pink skin was not as noticeable
b) most of the folk in there were so pissed they probably couldn’t see straight anyway
The barman stared at him in the gloom, so Charlie turned his back on him. It was always the case, no matter what pub you went in, the barman did not like you being there without a drink. Even though they were called public houses.
He was so tired that he tried to keep himself upright by sitting at the very edge of the chair. Therefore, should he drop off to sleep, he would drop off the side of the chair and wake up. That was his theory anyway.
An old Jaal lady with far too many wrinkles and far too few clothes came over and put a vein covered leg that looked like the bark of a tree up onto the chair next to him. She winked and gave what Charlie could only presume to be ‘come-to-bed eyes’. Although, taking in mind the scantily clad outfit and the bright red lipstick, the red rashes around her mouth and the fact she kept itching her crotch he doubted she ever used a bed. Must have been ‘come anywhere’ eyes.
He carefully stood and, taking care not to catch any sort of infection just by breathing the same air as her, headed his way over to the bar where he slumped down on a stool.
He was shattered. He just wanted to snooze. He hadn’t slept properly all night. He had found some shelter behind a large and grubby bush where he must have had at the most an hour. However he was rudely woken by some sort of feral badger-like creature gnawing at his left ear. So now not only was he tired and aching from sleeping under a bush, but his ear flipping hurt too!
Intergalactic Terrorist (New Dimension Book 1) Page 19
