Uncle Lucien spent the rest of that night standing around his sad old fire, it was the only source of light inside the rickety old building he chose to spend the rest of his life living in.
Why it is dark out there!
Uncle Lucien was doing what he liked to do, his favourite past time hobby, talking to himself. O he loved talking to himself! He did it all the time!
There are odd things going on outside tonight... Why the witching hour is truly abroad...
He continued his pleasant conversation with himself:
The lights are on inside that old gas station across the road... The place has been closed down for twelve years, all boarded up and locked down. Rotting. But tonight the lights are on, and there is somebody standing in the window! I think they might be looking at me... I better move away from the window. It might not be safe for me to be standing there, not at this dark hour with so many evil people about.
But old Uncle Lucien couldn't help himself...
He had another window, south facing - looking out onto his favourite place in the whole world...
The graveyard.
He liked looking at the place whenever he could.
It was going to be his home one day.
FOREVER.
That night some strange magic was at play over the graves...
Ah! So she is back! The lady in black! She is standing over her old grave...
...Lucien was back at it, talking to himself again!
I have not seen her in weeks. It's an omen for sure, but whether for good or for ill I will never know. And nor do I really care which way. Soon I will be dead and spirits and phantoms will frighten me no more. Because I will be one with them as it should have always been!
Time for bed and to sleep.
And Lucien would have actually gone to bed, if he had a bed. But he didn't because he could not bend his legs or sit or lie down to save his life. So instead he just leaned on the wall and nodded off into a deep fast sleep. And his dreams were haunted by surreal imagery of the lady in black...
* * *
Freddy was feeling a little rough and shaken after his deadly encounter with Corta, and he decided that he needed professional help.
So he booked an appointment with his local GP, the good Doctor Flaccid.
Flaccid was a fine man with good temper and a keen interest in helping his patients.
Doctor Flaccid liked to have a personal relationship with his people.
He arranged to see Freddy the very next day, which was wonderful, because next day appointments don't happen anymore in the year 2025, and before Freddy knew it he was walking into the good Doctors personal office.
'It is good to see you again, Freddy,' said Doctor Flaccid warmly greeting Freddy with a shake of the hand. 'We have not had you visit us in weeks! Where have you been? Your suit looks a little muddy! Busy day at the office?'
'Very busy,' Freddy replied.
'I think the last time you paid me a visit was when you told me how wonderful my pink socks looked on my feet. I never forget a kind word, Freddy. You are my favourite patient.'
'That is good to know, Doctor,' Freddy replied.
'Now Freddy I am glad you are here because I need to ask you something rather intimate. If you don't mind? No? Good. Please take a seat Freddy. Now I need to share something rather personal. Would it offend you if I told you that I like to wear ladies undergarments?'
'Well my response to that Doctor Flaccid is each to their own. If that is what you are into then go for it. It doesn't bother me...'
The Doctor took a deep breath. He was clearly relieved to hear Freddy reply in such a way, but he still had more to say. 'Thank you, Freddy. Your words are good for my ears to hear. Now listen. How would you react if I told you that right now I am wearing beneath my trousers a pair of pink frilly knickers?'
'Doctor. I appreciate your ability to open up to me about such things, but surely shouldn't you be having a conversation like this with your wife?'
'O good grief no, Freddy! No never! If my wife were to ever find out about my personal knicker wearing ways it would be the perfect excuse for her to divorce me there and then on the ground! I couldn't cope with that! What if she was to tell everyone about it?' said Doctor Flaccid. 'What if my secret were to ever leak onto social media? What would my colleagues and my old university friends say? I can hear their conversations now: "Look at old Flaccid there! Embarrassing middle-aged old man wearing pink knickers to work!" My reputation would be in runs I tell you! It would be the end of my career!'
'Alright. Maybe you should keep it a secret. We don't want your wife to divorce you. And social media is what life is all about as far as I am concerned.'
'Thank you for understanding, Freddy.'
'No problem doctor. I am happy to listen to your problems.'
'It's not a fetish, Freddy.'
'Of course it isn't! Why good Doctor I would never think such a thing. You are a respectable man. You have a good heart and you care for people. You are not some kind of degenerate, good lord no!'
'Do you want to know the real truth behind my knicker wearing ways? Do you want to know the real secret to why I do what I do?'
'No Doctor. I think you should keep the true secret to yourself thank you very much!'
'No Freddy! I have to tell you and you alone, Freddy, because nobody else will understand like you do.'
'Go on then, Doctor. Tell me the secret...'
It was time for Freddy to buckle up, as Doctor Flaccid told all:
'The real reason I wear pink frilly knickers is because I care about my patients so much,' the Doctor replied gently. 'You see, Freddy, the truth is this - as a young man growing up I was always very shy and awkward around women. It made my job as a practitioner very awkward, as you can imagine. But when I started to wear ladies undergarments it began to help me feel more like a woman. That feeling gives me a greater connection to my female patients it really does. Which is very important, Freddy, especially when you have patients like Madam Bigtop and Mrs Crinkley Bottom to deal with. Good gosh! I tell you something, Freddy, listen up now. I had Mrs Crinkley Bottom in the other day for a - gulp - check up. Good lord! Her backside would make an African Bull Elephant blush. Good grief! The sight of it would horrify even the most hardened Vietnam War veteran. But because I was wearing ladies underwear that day it helped me to stand my ground and do my job.'
'Well, Doctor, I must say you are a true professional,' Freddy replied thoughtfully.
'Yes indeed and I also respect my patients as well. But bless my soul look at the time!' said the good Doctor examining his watch. 'Good grief!' he exclaimed. 'I have another appointment to attend. You better be heading off home now Freddy. It was wonderful talking to you.'
And with that Freddy was out of the door and making his way back home again.
* * *
Back in the bar Mr McGregor had his hands full with a couple of very tough customers...
Several members of the Irish Gang with their bowler hats and their beating sticks had moved in and taken over. They were demanding Irish Whiskey on the house, and threatened to smash the place up if they didn't get it. So McGregor poured them a sneaky glass each of the old Pony and Trap and told his friends it was Tullamore Dew.
'We see you have been cosying up to the Italians McGregor,' said the one Irish. 'Now that is something that we do not like to see. Your hostelry is standing on Irish territory, and we do not like to see you snuggling up to those New York boys do you hear me? Now here is a message directly from my boss, Callum Macleod, he doesn't want to see that L.A Thinns in this bar again. Are you feckin listening to me McGregor?'
'But the Italians are good for business,' McGregor replied honestly.
'Not for our business they ain't. Now listen, you Scottish feck, or have you got feckin cloth in your ears? My boss does not want to see those Italian boys in your bar again. If we do see any of them feckers feckin around in your feckin bar again drinking our feckin whiskey then we will come back and set your stupid feckin business on fire. Are you listen, McGregor? You better be feckin listening, because as you know, Macleod doesn't take prisoners and he doesn't want the damn New York boys in his town. The New York boys are outsiders and we don't feckin want them here. Do you hear?'
'In all honesty, this is Fenwick and we are all outsiders in this town.'
'Are you trying to be feckin clever with me, McGregor? You live in this town at our feckin leisure. NO Italians in this bar ever again are you listening? I hope for your sake that you are.'
With that being said the Irish left.
A minute later Freddy arrived.
McGregor took note of Freddy's dirty muddy suit.
'Hard day in the office son?' he said. 'What's that scratch on your face? Have you been in a fight with a couple of good-sized lads?'
'No. It's Bolly. She got the glove out gain...'
'O right. Speaking about Bolly now you have married a right cracker there, Freddy. Well done my boy!'
'I don't think I understand your meaning, Mr McGregor?'
'No? Then you obviously haven't seen this pictures she has been posting on social media lately? Great pictures by the way. I have looked at all 1335 of them. I don't know who this chap she is with in picture 503 see for yourself...'
Freddy snatched the phone out of McGregors hand and started scrolling down with utter and true unfiltered disgust at all the pictures that were freely on display there.
'My favourite is number 435 the one where she is on the beach...'
'I have seen and heard enough,' said Freddy angrily tossing the phone back at the Scotchman. 'If Bolly wants to take pictures of herself with her new boyfriend then there is little I can do about that, but to upload them all to social media for all to see. How could she do that to me? What are my old school friends going to say? "O look at old Freddy boy, sad bolding middle-aged man who married a woman who hoped in bed with the leader of Brazilian Cartel at the soonest opportunity!" I will be a laughing stock. I need to get those pictures taken down off of the internet today!'
'Give this man a call,' and Mr McGregor handed Freddy a card. 'This is the number for my lawyer, Dick Saggers. Give him a call when you have got a bit of time to spare (And you seem to have a lot of that lately, Freddy boy!) and he will get right to the source, and I don't mean the G-Juice!' and McGregor gave Freddy a sly old wink. 'But seriously when you have a spare moment give Dick a call. He will get those fine pictures of your wife sorted out for you. He has got a personal safe to stash away stuff like that!'
Freddy took the card gratefully and smiled. 'Thank you Mr McGregor,' he replied, humbly. 'You are beyond a good friend to me at this point in my life.'
'Great. Now that is sorted let us talk business.'
'Sure. What do you want to talk about McGregor?'
'We are going to be opening these doors to a very important visitor later tonight. Very important. L.A Thinns is going to be paying us a little visit so I want you sharp and in shape for when he arrives!'
'O no!' Freddy groaned. 'Not Mr Thinns again! I don't like him. Whenever he turns up the atmosphere in this place changes for the worst, and he keeps on patting me on the head all of the time like I am some kind of an animal.'
Freddy's negativity brought out a gentle wave of anger in McGregors old heart. So McGregor pulled Freddy to one side, slapped the man on both sides of the face twice, and shook him up. 'Now you watch that tongue of yours Freddy when you are talking about Mr Thinns like that! L.A Thinns is a very important man in town and right now I need his help. I am at war with the Irish Gang and my business is about to bust! To keep things going I need the support of New York. The guys from New York are bigger than all of the other guys out there put together. And when they do finally arrive and start to settle roots I want them on my side. The Irish are threatening to burn my home down, Freddy, but with the New York Mob at my back none of the other Gangs will dare to mess with me again.'
It looked like Freddy understood the situation so McGregor finally stopped shaking him.
McGregor started to calm down.
'You want a toilet to live in don't you Freddy?'
'I guess I do Mr McGregor.'
'Then you will go along with things?'
'Whatever you say Mr McGregor. I am very grateful to you and all of the help you have given me these last two weeks.'
'Good to hear. Now the question is this: can you play pool Freddy?'
'Only very badly.'
'Then you need to learn the game and to learn it real fast! See that pool table standing over there? I ordered that today. When Thinns finally turns up you are going to play pool with him, right?'
'Do I really have to?'
'Yes. You are going to play and you are going to play good!"
'Damn it! This is a bad situation. I don't know if I can do it Mr McGregor!'
'You will do it and you will do it well. Let me teach you a few things, Freddy. To be somebody in this world, a real somebody that is someone who other people respect you need to have money in the bank. Do you have money in your bank, Freddy? No of course you don't. That is why your wife ran off with another man. Now my plan is to make a lot of money, Freddy. Luckily for me and luckily for you I know how to do it. Let me show you the key to my plan.'
And McGregor slipped behind the bar and returned with a full flowing pint of G-Juice. It looked beautiful and golden! McGregor slammed the foaming pint down onto the table for Freddy to get an even better look at. 'That is the key,' said the wily Scotchman. 'That is the best drink in the world! Do you know why it's so good? G-Juice gets you drunk and all that, but there is no hangover whatsoever afterwards. That's right Freddy, it's true! You can drink as much of this juice as you like and there is absolutely no comeback!'
'Seriously? No hangover?'
'Nothing! G-Juice delivers the goods and the only price you pay is money! Lots of money. I can sell a regular bottle of whiskey for about 30. I can sell G-Juice for fifty sometimes sixty. People really want to buy a drink this stuff like mad! Imagine the possibilities of selling booze to people that doesn't give you a hangover in the morning?'
'I think that is a prospect too terrifying to think about. I think we will all be drunk every second of the day.'
'So long as they are putting money into this bar I do not care!'
'I can't believe it, McGregor. What is this G-Juice stuff anyway? Liquid magic? There has to be consequences for drinking this stuff? It's the way of the universe. You can't have pleasure without pain! Things don't work that way.'
'It's pleasure all the way with G-Juice,' McGregor replied craftily. 'There have been some reports of mild hallucinations... There was this one chap I remember he told me he saw a Tyrannosaurus Rex standing in his backyard after a few pints. And o yes! There was this one fellow called Phil, nice guy, used to come in here often. He used to be a train operator. He had a few cheeky pints before going to work - complained about seeing demons and a dragon... Then during one of his shifts he let his eye off the ball and caused one of the largest train crashes in all the history of Fenwick. 90 people died. Utterly awful. But other than that there have been no reports of any serious consequences of drinking G-Juice.'
'Nice!'
'And do you know what the best thing is, Freddy? The largest distiller of this stuff lives in this town and he is my best friend! Nobody knows who came up with the idea, but the Kings own the recipe and only they know how make the stuff! My plan is to get the Kings to sell their Juice behind my bar to the Italians, and make me a fortune. If tonight works out well I think I can create a deal with Mr Thinns that will see shipments of G-Juice travelling all the way to New York, to the casinos and to all the places where the big people live. And what do the big people like to do, Freddy? They like to spend BIG. Now do you see why this meeting is so important?'
'I do see, McGregor.'
'Have you ever tried G-Juice before Freddy?'
'No sir. But I am sure that pint sitting on that table over there has my name on it and so with your permission I am ready to give it a go!'
'No so fast, Freddy! You are not ready for that stuff, not yet! But your time will come.'
'Whatever you say Mr McGregor,' Freddy replied weakly and in full defeat.
'Just drink that pint in now but with your eyes only... Tell me what you think of it? How does it look?'
'It's a work of art Mr McGregor that's what it is.'
'For sure, Freddy boy. And this art is going to make me rich!'
And then McGregor picked up the large pint with both of his hands and glugged the whole drink down in one full flow.
'No drinks for you tonight Freddy boy,' said a now very tipsy Mr McGregor. 'I need you sober for when Mr Thinns turns up. I have got a good feeling about this meeting tonight!'
Just then the doors flew open and the atmosphere in the whole bar changed completely...
Everyone knew what had happened.
The pool playing hustler king had finally arrived.
L.A Thinns steps and after a few casual steps he held the whole room and everyone in it in his presence.
And so he begins:
'Gentleman! I see that your hands are naked. Feel free to clothe them with a pool cue or two, I keep plenty of them back in the boot of my car. I will have my man send some in. And how is my Chicago boy?' and L.A Thinns stepped up to Freddy and started patting the middle-aged man on the head as though he was some kind of broken and defeated dog lying on the side of the road.
'I am wonderful Mr Thinns,' Freddy replied meekly. 'I paid the doctor a visit the other day and had my blood tested. Apparently it turns out that I am two percent Italian!'
'That's beautiful to hear,' L.A Thinns replied sincerely with joy in his voice. 'It is good to know that I am sharing a room with a man of my own stock! And what is that beautiful thing setup over there?' said the master hustler eyeing up the pool table.
'I ordered that for you this morning Mr Thinns,' McGregor replied solemnly.
'Beautiful stuff! Ah! You two are the best! A Scot and a fellow Italian? I couldn't ask for better company,' L.A Thinns replied. 'Now fellas let's chalk up and get a game going. You there, Chicago boy, you like playing pool?'
'I love it Mr Thinns,' said Freddy.
'Are you any good at it?'
'I would say I was average.'
'I find your honesty humbling I really do,' Mr Thinns replied. 'But there is no need to be modest around me. We are both Italian we both have the same blood and the same passions. I made my fortune hustling pool across all of the States. Now chalk up. I will teach you the secret to playing good pool. You see it's not complicated. Playing good pool is just like making love. You have to look at the table like it was your own wife. You have to make love to it. That's the key, are you listening? Good. It's a dance. It's a union. You have to be one with the table as you would be with a lover. That's how it is. Playing pool it's all about... what words am I looking for?'
'It's all about making love?' said Freddy.
'That's right, Chicago boy,' L.A Thinns replied. 'It's all about making love, rather much like that guy I saw in those pictures on the internet with you wife...Picture number 678 was my favourite the one where she is in the back of that limo,' and Mr Thinns gave Freddy a sly nudge and a quick pat on the head.
'Well the pool table is all setup and ready to go Mr Thinns,' said McGregor. 'And once we have had a game then we can talk business...'
'I am all about business,' Thinns replied gravely.
'Good, so am I,' said the Scotchman with a glint in his eyes. Mr McGregor started rubbing his hands together. 'We are going to make a lot of money today!' he said, and then he added:
'Its the perfect setup! The Kings have the booze I have the bar and you have the brains Mr Thinns...'
'No words truer said,' the pool hustler replied coolly.
It was time to play!
(Remember! All spelling errors and grammatical mistakes are intentional - the author 😆)
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