“Can I get yer something stranger?” said the barman, a thick faced Gumthar with bad teeth and a patch over one eye. One of his antennas was snapped in two. He was missing an arm.
“I might,” Charlie lied, for he had no money, “later perhaps. I’m just… browsing the drinks menu.” He realised quickly that there was no drinks menu.
“Humpth,” the barman snorted. “Get one of these down yer gullet. Maybe it will clear yer clouded mind.” He reached behind him and grabbed a venomous looking bottle, with a green liquid inside that bubbled dangerously when moved. He poured it into a dirty shot glass and plonked it on the bar in front of the tired Human. There was a teeth grinding sizzle as a drop of the green liquid splashed from the glass and landed on the bar. A tiny stream of smoke rose into the air.
“I’m alright thank you,” said Charlie.
“No,” the barman grunted, “I insist. It is on the house.”
Charlie shrugged. A free drink? He was very thirsty. With slight hesitation he picked up the little glass and quickly downed the contents.
A strange tickling sensation as the liquid trickled down his throat.
A slight cinnamon after-taste.
Quite warming really.
Not quite as alcoholic as he presumed it would be. He smiled.
“You know that’s not as bad as I thought it wash going to be. In facts I mights go ash far ash shaying vat I foroughly enjoyeds it!” Charlie’s eyes crossed. The room span. His legs turned to jelly. He began to gibber. He had uncontrollable flatulence. He began to drool. All in all it was not a pretty sight.
The barman chuckled to himself, wiping the bar with a damp cloth. Another customer entered the Rancid Pickle and stepped heavy-footed over to him.
Charlie span around on his barstool and attempted to sing ‘Granddad We Love You’.
The newcomer turned to stare at the spinning pink skinned man, straightened up and paced over to him. He grabbed the sides of the stool to stop his nauseating rotation and stared into his eyes.
It took Charlie several minutes to focus, but when he did he wished he hadn’t. He sat face to face with a cruel and menacing looking Umfian. Even though to Charlie all Umfians looked alike, he knew instantly that this particular pig-like alien was the one from the electrical.
“Ah,” he spat, “it’sh yous ish it? How the devils did you wake up?”
The Umfian snarled, showing rows of pointed, bone crunching teeth. Charlie was too drunk to notice the threat and proceded in tapping the giant gnashers with his fingers.
“Not Quite The Warrior I Was Expecting,” the Umfian said.
“Aren’t yous?” Charlie babbled, “Don’t put yourshelfs down. You looks the shturdy types,” and he pinched the Umfians muscles, “yous could be a warrior if yous wantsh to be a warriors!”
“You Hit Me,” the Umfian continued, ignoring the drunken pinches, “It Hurt. I Think It Is Only Fair That I Return The Favour… Don’t You?”
Charlie stuck a wobbly finger into the air. “Indeed!” he grinned. “A favours returned ish a favours given… or shomething like that!”
“I’m Glad You Agree,” said the Umfian. And he punched Charlie in the face with a rock-like fist.
Being punched in the face by someone that is not only stronger than you, but also probably stronger than the rest of your entire species, is quite a sobering experience.
Other sobering experiences are discovering your mother sleeping with your head teacher, your sports teacher, the taxi driver, the butcher, the baker, the candle stick maker, your best friend’s mother (a very disturbing sudden sobering) and the local priest. All moments Charlie could still remember with acute accuracy.
It was also a very sobering moment for Charlie to discover his mother sleeping with his father. Possibly the most sobering and shocking of all.
Another would be to have your head continuously pushed in and out of a trough of ice cold water. This was also something Charlie had experienced. He was experiencing it right now.
“Please!” he begged as his head was pushed in for another dipping, “Please… glug, glug, glug! Stop!”
“Are You Sober Now Brave Warrior?” the Umfian shouted angrily, still holding onto the back of Charlie’s scruffy hair.
“Sober and very, very frightened!” Charlie screamed, flapping his arms around wildly.
“Good,” the Umfian chuckled, “Now Tell Me Where Your Friend Is!”
“I… I don’t have any friends,” Charlie replied. And he was telling the truth.
The Umfian pushed Charlie’s head back under the water once again. “The Bounty Hunter!” he yelled. “The Gumthar! Where Is The Gumthar!”
A hundred things rushed through Charlie’s head. Mainly water true, but amidst the flooding he thought of his loyalties to Greebol. Did he have any? Could he condemn that grey skinned son of a… to death at the hands of this angry (and deservedly so) Umfian?
If he did, would that take away what it meant for him to be a Human?
“I don’t know where he is,” he lied. The Umfian gripped the hair on Charlie’s head, about to dunk him back under the water again. “Really, really I don’t know where he is!” he squealed. “I did know where he was… but now I don’t. I haven’t seen him all night!” In some ways he was telling the truth.
The Umfian released Charlie and let him drop to the ground like a rag doll.
“When You See Him You Tell Him From Me,” he growled, “That Vegora Vrall Is Coming For His Blood!”
As Charlie hid his head under his arms, Vegora Vrall, Umfian Warrior, stormed away, deeply annoyed that the pink skinned man did not turn out to be much competition for him after all.
Charlie was left wet and in pain on the floor. He stared up at the morning sky. It was a nice morning, nice for Baggus’Regious anyway. The clouds were a lighter shade of miserable.
So, the Umfian was awake. Did that mean that the beautiful May’orn was awake also? He tried to put her full lips, large sensual eyes and exotic smooth green skin out of his mind. Greebol was in trouble. Nothing new there of course, but he had no idea that the Umfian was looking for him.
Was this Charlie’s fault? Was the Umfian awake because he messed with the stasis canister, waking him before he was supposed to be woken?
Either way, Charlie could not handle another death be on his conscience. Even if it was a lying, cheating, murdering moron like Greebol.
Slowly standing and suddenly being attacked by the worst hangover he had ever felt in his entire life, Charlie staggered down the street, heading back towards Steak and Onion Alley and to Mother Muggo’s Café.
‘Mother’ Muggo washed a pan for the fiftieth time and was still unable to scrub the egg off, even though she used three of the best washing up liquids on the market.
She sighed and threw the pan in the dustbin, taking a new one out from her spare pan cupboard. There was nothing she hated more than throwing away what was once a perfectly good frying pan.
She opened the hatch from her kitchen to the café floor but, as usual, there were no customers waiting to be served. The old Kororka sat in the corner, drinking his cold tea from his top mouth and his even colder coffee from the bottom. Whilst the female Zax-lar shouted random swear words sporadically through her beak-like mouth.
Muggo’s two loyal customers. Her only two customers.
Still, she was happy in her job. Kind of happy anyway. Well, alive at least.
She heard the bell above the door ring as it was opened and turned back to the hatch excited to have a potential new customer. Her smile did not droop when she saw it was Charlie, even though she wished she could be cooking food for a paying person.
“Charlie,” she beamed, “I thought you were still sleeping!”
Sleeping. Even the word made Charlie want to curl up into a ball on the floor.
“Have you seen Greebol this morning Muggo?” he asked.
“Oh do not worry about him,” she responded. “Fancy a nice cooked breakfast? Most importa
nt meal of the day.”
Charlie looked at the food in her kitchen, most of which was still squirming.
“No,” he said, “thank you. Please this is important. Is Greebol still in his room?”
Muggo chuckled to herself. “No dear. Greebol has not been in his room all night.” Upon seeing the confusion on Charlie’s face she explained. “Greebol is a creature of the night. It is the time he makes his most profit. Usually he sleeps in the day… if at all.”
Charlie sighed. That would be right! Greebol out making money. Illegally no doubt. “Do you have any idea where he is?” he asked.
Muggo stroked Charlie’s cheek. “It is so nice to see that boy finally find a friend.”
Charlie groaned inside. Muggo was such a nice grey skinned, yellow eyed, giant breasted, four armed alien.
“Please Muggo,” Charlie continued, “this is important.”
Muggo smiled. “He did say something about heading to the bank to withdraw some knobs,” she said softly. “It is the large building in Soggy Biscuit. Do you know the way?”
But Charlie had already rushed from the café.
Chapter 31
The Baggus Bank of Excellence stood tall and proud in the centre of Soggy Biscuit Road. The building was tall and Gothic, casting its spire-like towers high up into the sky. Inside the bank it was bright and shiny. Polished marble floors that caused many a person to slip and injure themselves, stretched the entire building, all eighty-one floors of it. The tables and counters were made of thick, varnished royal oak wood and the staff wore the most pristine of uniforms, tailored by the galactic famous Marvious Haraggus.
What actually went on inside that bank was unknown to most. They were content in the knowledge that they took and stored their knobs there and received interest, happy knowing that it were safe and would never go missing. Not like the bank at the other side of the city down Porridge Avenue.
The Regious Bank of Adequacy had never lived up to the large, swanky, perfect image of its rival. It was small, a little shabby and the staff wore uniforms that Marvious Haraggus would probably vomit on if he saw them, and then use that vomit to make an outfit far superior to theirs.
As the only two banks in the city, it was always the case that the Baggus Bank of Excellence would be the most popular.
Literally billions of knobs were stored there. Safe in some of the most secure vaults in the universe. Only the most hardened, experienced and intelligent criminal masterminds would try and steal from here. Many had tried and many had failed. Each and every one of them sent to the prison ship Reformatory, a jail for the worst of the worst, described as an actual hell that flies around space and that no one ever gets away from.
At the moment the bank was busy. Many people were entering and exiting through the large spinning door.
Charlie stood facing those doors. Soggy Biscuit Road was bustling with life. All of the richer folk in the city going about their daily business - shopping mostly. All of the poorer folk going about theirs - stealing mostly.
Charlie looked up into the sky. The imposing form of the large silver ship still hovered above the city. No one seemed bothered by the ship anymore. It was as if the citizens of Baggus’Regious had simply become accustomed to it being there.
An Umfian strode past Charlie, forcing him to move into the bank, remembering what he was doing there. He shielded his eyes from the gold that shone at his face. This was a rich and amazing building for sure! It was a total contrast to the general crappiness of the rest of the city.
“Can I help you sir?” asked an employee nervously who seemed to appear out of nowhere by Charlie’s side. He looked at Charlie and furrowed his brow, confused as to what species he could be.
“I’m just looking thank you,” the Human replied and stepped away from the staring man towards Greebol who he spotted crouched down on the ground. He put his hand on his shoulder.
“Greebol we need to talk,” he said.
The Gumthar turned with a very confused look on his grey face. To Charlie’s horror, this was not Greebol but in fact another Gumthar male. This one had a beard!
“I say,” gasped the stranger, “please do not hurt me young man!”
“I am terribly sorry,” Charlie began, “I thought you were someone else.”
“Charlie?” said a voice behind him. “Coming to make an investment?”
This time there was no mistake. The smug face was so furiously irritating that there was no doubt that this was Greebol.
“Shouldn’t you be in disguise?” Charlie asked moodily.
“I could not be bothered,” Greebol muttered. “Besides that tight suit chafes the groin. No worries though… this is my home town. I will be fine here!” He shuffled the large item he held from one hand to the other.
“You might not be so fine,” said Charlie. “Not when he gets his hands on you anyway.”
“Who would that be then my friend?”
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Charlie continued. “This doesn’t mean that we’re friends or partners or whatever reason you’ve kept me with you…”
“I really do not have all day Charlie,” Greebol interrupted.
“Vegora Vrall,” Charlie said with a shaky, panic filled tone, “the Umfian from the electrical… he’s awake and he is quite miffed.”
Greebol stared. “Awake?” he said slowly. “You mean… awake and moving?”
“Moving and shouting and pushing innocent people’s faces into water… and he wants to kill you!”
If any sort of panic spread through Greebol he did not show it. He simply continued to smile, flicking his finger on something that clicked every so often on the item he held.
“Why did he wake?” he wondered. “His stasis cycle should not have ended for days yet… weeks even.”
“Don’t ask me, I have no idea, why would I have anything to do with it?” Charlie stuttered, a little too quickly and nervously, trying to sound as guilt free as possible but in the process sounding as guilty as hell.
“Interesting,” Greebol said suspiciously, “very interesting.”
“Isn’t it?” said Charlie. “Well… I guess I’ll be off again then.”
“Oh really?”
“I’ve told you what I came here to tell you.”
“So you will not be sticking around?”
“I see no real reason to.” Charlie, for the first time, realised it was awfully quiet in the bank. It surprised him as in his experience banks were usually quite noisy. The bank he kept his money in back on Earth was always noisy. Probably because his bank was so rubbish that no one could ever get any money out. In fact people usually ended up losing money.
Charlie himself lost about four hundred pound because of his bank. It was actually his ex-girlfriend using his bank card to buy sordid ‘love’ items to use with her Spanish lover but that was an image Charlie tried to keep out of his fragile little mind. To him it was the bank’s fault. End of.
“What’s going on here?” Charlie asked, a little bewildered but hoping the answer would not be what he was beginning to think it was.
Greebol shrugged. All four of his shoulders moved.
“Greebol,” Charlie said, almost in a growl, “why are all these people laying on the floor with their hands over their heads? And what is that you are holding?”
Greebol looked at the item in his hand and considered trying to hide it behind his back. “It is just a gun,” he said meekly.
Charlie’s eyes crossed. He nodded his head with his bottom lip stuck out, hands on his hips.
“You’re robbing the bank?” he scolded angrily, like a mother discovering her child has been drinking alchopops behind the school bike shed. “Will you never learn?”
“I am not robbing anyone,” he said a little insulted. “My friend is robbing the bank… I am merely helping him out.” He smiled.
“Helping him out? Helping him out? What are you doing to help? Holding his gun?”
Greebol looked
down at the big, black, bulky phased weapon in his hand.
“No,” he grinned, “this is mine!”
“Of course it is,” Charlie snapped. “And I suppose your friend is a little green fairy who sprinkles magic dust to steal the money as I don’t see him anywhere in the bank!”
At that point the vault doors burst open and a thin, gaunt looking Waabba with random sore, bald patches over his face where his hair had fallen out, rushed into the room. He held a gun even larger than Greebol’s and flashed it around at the people in jittery, nervous movements.
“Nobody move,” he screamed, “or I’ll execute every mother plucking last one of you!”
Nobody moved except Charlie who frowned.
“His name is Wextoal,” said Greebol. “As I said, he is an old friend of mine a bit short of cash. I owed him a favour so said I would help him out.”
Wextoal bound back into the vault, returning with several large sacks full of money. He made strange clicking noises with his tongue and snapped his head left and right in anxious jerks.
“Help him out by robbing a bank?” Charlie whispered, nervous around this clearly unpredictable madman. “Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?”
“I told you Charlie,” Greebol responded, “I am not robbing the bank. I am a bounty hunter not a thief. My job here is to just make sure no one tries to leave.” He stepped over to a security guard whose hand was slowly creeping towards an alarm button under his desk and pointed the gun in his face.
“Or tries to call the Sentry!” he growled, pushing the security guard back to the floor with the tip of his weapon.
“You’re insane Greebol!” Charlie shouted across the bank. “I don’t know why I bothered trying to help you! I should just let that Umfian get his hands on you!”
“That is not a very nice thing to say my friend.”
Intergalactic Terrorist (New Dimension Book 1) Page 20
