I see you there...
Walking the streets without a care!
You are a fool.
You are a fool.
My eyes are on you.
I see you when you take your walks in the night.
I know what it is you do.
And eventually I will get you...
Freddy Colden was standing beside the bar with his hands in his pockets.
It was late. It was very dark, and Freddy was tired.
He was waiting for his uncle to return.
'I am going to need a pint of G-Juice before I do this,' he said.
'Don't tell me you have enlisted?' said the barman.
'NO! Nothing like that. I am just paying my aunt a visit. It's been a while.'
'O I see. Visiting relatives is awkward. I went to visit my grandmother the other day. I took my dog Rosy with me. Rosy is a fine thoroughbred bitch and very expensive. An my gosh is she ever trouble!'
The barman took a swig from Freddy's drink, and rambled on with his fine tale:
'That dog is a troublesome beast! As soon as we got the thing in the house it ran amok. My grandmother did not know what to do! O! Here's your pint, Freddy. I hope you don't mind but I supped the top off. I am just a bit thirsty you see.'
'NO worries,' said Freddy. 'I ordered half a pint anyway.'
'Well you see that is the trick,' the barman waffled on. 'A man orders half a pint, I pour him a full pint, and then drink half of it. Then I proceeded to charge him for a full pint. Good for business and I get to fill my belly with beer.'
'And how is business?'
'Not good. Got the bailiffs checking in tomorrow.'
'Sorry to hear about that!'
'Don't be. It's just life. Things have been tough in Fenwick since the war,' said the barman.
'But the war ended eighty years ago, didn't it?'
'Not that war. The street war. You know the one between the Brazilian Cartel and the King family up the road? Dreadful business indeed.'
'O yes. I heard about that. Nasty stuff,' said Freddy, sadly. 'Who would have thought we would live in times like this. I mean when I was a lad you never heard about such horrible things. The streets were safe. I mean we still had murderers and creeps and degenerates and all that sort of stuff, but you would never hear about cartels and that kind of thing, not here in Fenwick. The world has gone mad! I mean what do the Brazilians want in this poxy town?'
'That stuff you are holding right now in your hand,' the barman returned darkly. 'G-Juice! Ever since that stuff sneaked into the market everyone once to control it. Now you listen to this, Freddy! I know what goes on in the street because I was homeless for ten years and I am about to go homeless again. I know what happens out in the alleys and street corners when the lights go out. There are gangs. Thugs. And it is not just the Brazilians we have to worry about. O no! There are the Irish. They setup shop a few years ago. The Irish and the Brazilians have been fighting a covert war for the last three years. So watch yourself out there, Freddy. There's a war going on right now!'
'Trust me! I will be very careful!'
Just then the door opened and in stepped a bizarre, six foot stick of man. His hair was white with age, his brow thick set permanently furrowed and brooding. His eyes were dark and dead. His skin was pale and sickly.
So this was Uncle Lucien.
He looked like he was wearing makeup and had just stepped off of the set of a horror movie, but no, that was just how he looked.
ALL THE TIME.
He never changed his clothes.
His coat was covered in cobwebs.
He stank like a grave.
Now Lucien was a mystery to all.
Did he care about his looks?
Was he even still alive?
Nobody knows?
And nobody cared.
Nevertheless he was a customer and the barman was happy to see him.
With na few awkward swings of his long rotten legs Lucien joined them both at the bar.
'Ah! Lucien my dear fellow! Can I offer you a drink?' said the barman.
'I never drink,' said the pale man. 'A man needs his wits in these dark days. The streets are very dark. Very foul. A mans mind is his only defence. A weak man can defeat a strong man so long as his brain remains sharp. And my brain is very sharp. As sharp as a deadly dagger. The sort of dagger that a man might use to murder another man in a dark and cold lonely alley on the edge of the city. The murder would take place preferably near to the dock so that the body could be slipped nicely into the cold waters below and be forgotten about forever.'
'Well Mr Lucien, you fine fellow! If you don't want a drink then I will have one for you,' the barman replied.
As the barman began to drink his fill Freddy grabbed his uncle and pulled him over to a quiet corner where they could talk alone in peace.
'We will sit down here and talk.'
'I can't sit down,' Lucien replied, gravely. 'I can lie down on the floor. But I have not been able to sit down on a chair for the last ten years. Rot in the knee caps! My legs simply won't bend.'
FINE!
So Freddy propped his uncle in the corner like a lamp and then dragged a seat over just for himself.
'Now listen up, uncle. Are you ready to do this?'
'On a fine dark night like this? Why my dearest of dear nephews! I am always ready...'
'Splendid! Did you bring it? Did you... bring the shovel?'
'I always bring my shovel. We have a deep bond, my shovel and I. It is the only thing I have ever loved in my life. Some people out there might say I am a very sad man, but I would disagree with them. Yes. It is true. The only thing I have ever loved is a shovel, but then you know how that old saying goes like don't you Freddy? It is better to have loved than to never have loved at all.'
'Okay. That's fine. Let's get to business.'
Lucien never smiled.
But if you were there with them at the time in that dank drinking den you would have been able to tell by the sudden pips and beats in his sly little voice that Uncle Lucien couldn't wait to crack on with business!
After Freddy had polished off his drink the two of them set out and walked over to the local church...
Ah well... actually to the graveyard that was behind it!
'There she is!' said Freddy.
They stepped up to the gravestone.
Martha Colden 1937 to 2020.
'Marvellous,' said Lucien. 'Should we begin?'
O yes!
It was time indeed to dive right into things...
He might have had really rotten legs, but his arms were good and strong, and with several great strokes Uncle Lucien had heaved up all six feet of soil and clay, eventually revealing the oaken box below.
The two men put masks on before finally cracking the casket open.
Ignoring the very putrid body within, Uncle Lucien reached down and grasped the broach the haggard corpse was wearing.
When they had it they hammered the lid back down and forced all the soil back into place.
Uncle Lucien held the pretty broach up against the moonlight.
‘A job well done!’
They sold it that morning to their favourite fence for the fetching sum of £250.
They split the profits half each, respectfully, and then each man turned and walked away like they didn’t know each other.
(Remember! All spelling errors and grammatical mistakes are intentional - the author 😆)
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