It Happens At Night 9: The Spy With a Weak Eye...

Freddy was walking back to his home which was a toilet when a great shadow stepped out from a corner somewhere and pulled him by his shoulders right over to one side.

  The figure was very tall, spindly, spider-like and pale of skin.  In the darkness it looked like a giant spider was slopping randomly around.  

  Freddy's first thoughts were these:

  'The Grim Reaper has finally caught up with me.  It's over now!  I am going to die!'

  A nearby street light shed same light on Freddy's abductor and it turned out to be his old Uncle Lucien.  So no, it was not the Grim Reaper, grim Mr Death, but easily the next best thing then.

  'You will regret turning against me Freddy,' said the shadowy, cobweb-addled man.

  'I didn't turn against you,' Freddy replied.  'I have just moved on with my life.  I have a new business now and new friends.  It's just how things go.  We change, we make new friends.'

  'It's always been you and I, Freddy.  I am the hand and you are the glove.  We are one.  A cat cannot be a cat without its claws, and Lucien cannot be himself without his dear nephew - armed with a shovel!  We need each other.'

  'No we don't!  I keep telling you I have new friends now and they are a good bunch of lads!'

  'They will betray you.  Everyone you have ever known even your own wife has stabbed you in the back.  You should know that there is only one person you can rely on in life and that is the man you are looking at right now.'

  'O come on Uncle!  You daft twat!  There is NO love loss between us.  Let's be honest with one another here.  We have never got on with one another, not really.  We are not even mates.  You bully and push me around.  You used me because you can't dig up graves.  Well I have had enough and I am cancelling our business arrangement.  It's over, Lucien.  Accept it and move on with your life...  or at least what's left of it.'

  'You are going to regret dealing with me in this way.'

  'What is there to regret, Uncle?  O I am going to really miss getting my hands dirty at the back of some crypt every night, yeah, great laugh.  So much fun!  Sod off, you creep.  I am not doing it no more.  Dig your own graves.'

  'Fine.  Have it your way.  But let me give you a gentle warning, young nephew of mine: there are strange powers at work in the world.  I have seen evil spirits at work outside of my very window.  Dark powers have been awoken.  This town is cursed.  It's broken.  I am old and past caring what happens to me, but thee, young, Freddy, are still young and you should be afraid.'

  'Leave me alone you weird bloody idiot,' Freddy returned aggressively and he pushed the old creep back into the darkness of an unlit alley and ran away back home to the vacant toilet where he lived his life.

* * *

'Look at that strange lonely fellow sat over there.  He hasn't said a word since he arrived, hasn't ordered a drink either,' said McGregor.

  'I don't think I have seem him before either,' Freddy replied.

  'He hasn't moved.  What a really weird guy...'

  'He is creeping me out.  Do you actually think he is alive?' said Freddy.

  'I don't know.  Do you want to go over and check?'

  'NO.  Not yet.  Let's just wait and see if he does anything.  I mean he can't just sit there forever he is going to have to move at some time?  I mean every man has to use a cloakroom, right?  Look at me I live in one!'

  'But what if he is actually dead?'

  'I don't think he is dead.  He still has colour in his cheeks.'

  'Look at him with his suit and his glasses, and he is holding a briefcase...  What is he up to?'

  'He could be a student.  Maybe he is doing research.'

  'Research?  Here in Fenwick?  He chose the worst town for that kind of thing.  I am worried he might be a spy working for one of the gangs...'

  'O no!  I don't think so.  If he was a spy he wouldn't just sit there looking so weird and stupid.  He would try to be your friend, smuggle himself into the business, look for a job.  He would try to get to know you and find out about what you do.  He wouldn't just sit there like that looking so strange.'

  'He is like a man cooked on G-Juice!'

  'Exactly.  Maybe that's it!  Maybe he is just drunk?  It could be something innocent like that.  Just because he looks like a strange creep doesn't mean to say he is evil or anything.  He could just be a drunken dog looking for some sympathy and an ear or two to share.'

  'I hope you are right Freddy,' McGregor responded.

  Just then the stranger terrified both men by suddenly standing up and walking over to them.

  He introduced himself as Wuan, and snapped open his briefcase.

  This is what he had to say:

  'I am Wuan Yea and I own the little gas station across the road from here and I would like to offer you fine gentlemen a free gift.'

  'That's very nice of you so long as it is not a gun or something crazy like that,' McGregor replied cautiously.

  Wuan brought up a good-sized glass bottle brimming with a dark green liquid...

  Freddy was confused but McGregor knew what was in that bottle and the old man gasped with amazement.

  'That is a bottle of original G-Juice?'

  'Yes.  A 1991 bottle to be precise.'

  'No way!  I have never seen a bottle like this before.  I didn't think it was real!' said McGregor with a stammer.  The old wily war veteran had literally been knocked off of his feet at the sight of the green juice!

  The old Scot asked Wuan where he managed to get the bottle from, and Mr Yea replied:

  'It is taken from my private collection, Mr McGregor.  I have been collecting since two thousand and seven.  My collection is quite robust and well supplied.  Here, Mr McGregor take the bottle.  If you cannot bring yourself to open and drink it then put it on one of your shelves for show!'

  'So you have more bottles of this Green Juice?'

  'Yes.  And they are very well hidden and serve as part of my secret collection...'

  'You should be careful, Mr Yea,' McGregor replied carefully hiding the bottle behind his bar.  'These are mean streets and there are men out there who would be willing to fight your for a bottle of the Green G-Juice.'

  'O I am counting on it, Mr McGregor.  Goodnight.'

  And with that the strange little man left the building.

  'Follow him Freddy,' said McGregor the next day.

  The Scot had been thinking about the little man who ran the gas station ALL NIGHT and had been unable to sleep because of it.

  A bottle of original green?

  How was it possible?

  The little man had to be up to some kind of mischief!

  'He must have a lab and is cooking the stuff,' McGregor went on.  'There are no more bottles of green left.  They all got broken when the castle was raided back in the day.  No.  I don't accept this nonsense.  I want you to watch Mr Wuan, Freddy.  That is your new job from now on.'

  'O please don't make me do this Mr McGregor!' Freddy whined in a wet feeble voice.  'Anything but this.  I don't want to spy on that creepy little guy.  I will do any other job.  I will empty the bins I will clean the toilets...'

  'Freddy you are going to spy on Wuan!'

  DAMN!

That evening Freddy paid the gas station a little visit...

  'Nice shop you run here, Wuan, what do you sell?' Freddy started.  His plan was to keep cool and calm, and try not to say anything stupid.  'The shelves are looking pretty empty?  Stocking up?'

  'It is not what I sell on the shelves people are interested in,' Wuan replied, coolly.  'It is what I keep below in the dark hidden away that people really want.'

  'Are you talking about G-Juice?'

  'Of course.  Why else would you be here trying to make conversation with me Mr Colden?  It's all about the G-Juice, right?'

  'That was a very impressive bottle you gifted my friend yesterday,' said Freddy.  'A bottle of the green has not been seen not in many years.'

  'Indeed.  Not since 1991,' Wuan returned calmly.  'It is not the only bottle that I have.  You look thirsty Freddy, can I offer you a nice little drink?'

  'Wouldn't that be inappropriate?'

  'My dear Mr Colden.  It is the year 2025.  What isn't inappropriate?  Wait here, kindly, and I will fetch you a good drink.'

  ‘O very well, if you insist.’

  Freddy still had his mission on his mind, and he thought that maybe a little compliance might win his ear a closer peer into Wuan’s mind and schemes…

  Freddy also fancied a drink - a drink of anything just something to ease is hefty depression.

  And it was not before long that Wuan returned propping up a large bottle of the proper green G-Juice on the counter.  Eventually the bottle was uncorked and soon a glass was being filled up.

  ‘The bottle was sealed with French wax,’ Wuan explained as he poured the green flow.  ‘Now this is a very important vintage of G-Juice.  There is a romance connected to the story of its creation.  In the early nineties there was said to be a madman living in a train who had the recipe for the juice in his hands, and he did a deal with Europe for the production of three hundred bottles of the 91 green.  He shared the recipe with three men with who owned distilleries in France, Belgium and Switzerland.  By 2001 those three men had died, and the recipe for the green was lost.  But the three hundred bottles remain out there, hidden in the alps.  Here try some.  Your lips will be the first to taste this fluid beyond the likes of kings and queens.  Enjoy!’

  There is an old saying that is well known even in 2025, “It will knock your socks off!”  

  Well…  That is how Freddy felt after gushing that first glass of green G-Juice down his gullet.

  The first thing Freddy realised, after ingesting the drink, is how bloody miserable and terrible and truly  unhappy he felt before BECAUSE after that first drink Freddy had his first ever experience of feeling TRUE happiness.  Bliss even!  (And this was at the age of forty).

  He had never felt happy like this before.  Never before.  Not before that first drink.

  He needed to have another one…

  This feeling of happiness… WOW!  It was worth…  Well it was worth anything!

  Worth dying for?  O hell yes!

  ‘I will pour you another drink, Mr Colden, but first you must listen to my story.’

  DAMN!

  Worth dying for?  Okay.  I will listen to your stupid story.  Go on!

  ‘From the age of 8 I knew that I was depressed,’ said Wuan.  ‘My grandparents told me, “You cannot be depressed at such a young age!”  But I was depressed.  I was more than that.  I was broken.  Even a young person can be broken.  The only difference between a young broken man and an old broken man is that there is still time left for recovery, to rebuild.’

  ‘Wuan.  I like you.  I would like to be your friend.  But I really think you should be telling all of this stuff to your doctor!”

  ‘I’ve tried Doctors.  But I find quiet shadows in quiet corners serve far better as ears,’ Wuan returned, calmly and then the little man started chanting eerily:

  Shadows never speak back.

  Shadows never speak rubbish.

  Shadows are what they are.

  Shadows are better.

  Wuan continued his tale:

  ‘My depression reached such a desperate state that at the tender age of twelve I knew that there was no reality out there except sadness.  Sadness was the only truth.  And by the time I turned fourteen I adopted the robes of a professional alcoholic.  I drank whiskey from the bottle.  It was good to begin with.  I loved it!  I was finally in love with something.  I fell in love with hard whiskey.  But then the dark times came.  Alcohol has a way of dong that - it tricks you.  Makes you think everything is good at the start.  It is your friend one minute and your enemy the next.  In five years since I began my love affair with whiskey I was waking up with cold sweats and night terrors.  Then I had delirium tremens.  I saw demons.  I saw a shadow lord one night, counting all of my twelve empty whiskey bottles on my desk with its red eyes and its glowing claws!  I was in despair.  But then one day my life turned around.  It changed for the better.  My life changed because of love.  Love for G-Juice.  O yes, Mr Colden.  I found it.  They green stuff.  It changed everything for me.  It changed how I looked at the world.  Now I could get drunk without the consequences.  No more nasty hangovers!  No night terrors...  And I drank and I drank until I suddenly deiced I was going to sell the stuff so that other people like me, who are miserable, can finally be happy.  That’s my tale, Mr Colden.  Now I will pour.’

  And Freddy drank.

  O the sweet ecstasy! 

  The feeling of G-Juice in the belly was beyond anything Freddy had ever experienced before. 

  Now that Freddy was fully and hopelessly drunk on the green Mr Yea had this to say:

  ‘I will continue to pour, Mr Colden, more and more, so long as you refuse to snore, and adore my words more and more.  Will you listen to me?’

  ‘Yes I will MR…Wuan…yoo… whatever,’ said the drunken slobe.

  ‘I will pour you as much juice as you like, Mr Colden.  So long as you work for me.  I have a job for you.’

  ‘A job?  O yay!  I can't wait!’

  ‘I want you to spy on the King family.  You can do this?  You are in with them, yes?  Tell me all that you now.  Can you do this for me, Mr Colden?’

  ‘Now listen!’ and that little tiny vanishing bit of sobriety in Freddy’s soul snapped back, ‘I can’t betray the Kings!  They have done so much for me!  I am working for them now.  I share their business and all.’

  ‘And that is why I want you to work for me as a spy.’

  ‘I can’t do it Wuan!’

  ‘But you want the delicious taste of G-Juice again on your tongue don’t you, Freddy?  Now you have a taste for it you need it, right?  And I have it, O I have so much of it.  And it is all yours Freddy.  Just share the whispers of the Kings hall with me!’

  ‘I will spy on them!’

  ‘Good man.  Now sheer up!  Here is another glass.  Drink.  Now go home.’

  Freddy tried to go home.

  But he couldn’t.

  He fell over somewhere in some street, and woke up somewhere else, possibly hours later, and he was in complete darkness.

  Good lord?  Am I finally dead?  Am I lost and stuck in purgatory?

  No it would turn out to be worse than that.

  There would be light, finally, but that was only when the trunk was open.

  Freddy was stuck in the boot of a car and several rough men started to pull him out.

  It looked like he had been captured!

  Freddy was pulled up and dragged out like a dirty old trunk full of junk.  Then he was thrown down on the floor.  Slowly finding himself again Freddy stood up and finally and with vast unhappiness met his grim captor:  

  O yes it was non other than Corta Boa Almoço.

  ‘Found you sleeping on the street again,’ said Corta, ‘on my street.  You dog!  You gonna bark, dog, like you did the other day in the Scotch Bar?  Do it.  Bark!  No.  You are going to yelp.  Yelp like a loser.  A loser who has lost their legs.  I dig a hole for you dog,’ he went on.  ‘I put you in it.  You die.  What you say now, you little English pig?’

  ‘Don’t kill me Corta I beg you!’ said Freddy in a sad, stupid, wet slippery rubbish excuse of a voice.  ‘I didn’t mean to speak smack to you back at the Bar.  I was just drunk.  I am dumb and foolish, you know that.  You can have my wife.  Take her.  She’s yours.  Just ket me live.  Please don’t kill me like this I beg you!’

  Corta slapped Freddy around the face for a few times and then he said this:

  ‘If ever wanted you dead I would kill you.'

  'So you are really going to let me live?'

  Corta punched Freddy in the face.  'You do not speak unless I tell you.  Comprende?  Good.  Now listen!  You friends with Italians, yes?  If you spy on them then and I let you live.  You spy on them and you find me in my crib and you yelp, dog.  You yelp.  And I do not need your permission to take your wife, dog.  She is already mine.  I take everything from you, dog.  I own you.  Now bow!’  He gave Freddy one final punch to the face and another punch to the gut for good measure.

  Corta dropped Freddy in the hole, and left him there.

  A few hours later, when he realised again that he was actually able to walk, Freddy return to the Scotch Bar.  

  ‘How’s your day been Freddy?’ said McGregor while drying down a glass.  

  ‘Just another day being an accountant,’ Freddy replied in a soggy and defeated way.

  ‘Do you hold these accountancy meetings of yours in a field?’ said McGregor checking out Freddy’s dirty suit.  ‘You are covered in mud son!  You are always covered in mud!'

  ‘It’s been a hard day that's all,’ Freddy replied weakly.

  ‘There are hard days boy and then there are real HARD days.  And the day you have had looks to have been beyond hard,’ said McGregor and then he continued:

  ‘Here, son, as a treat, enjoy this glass of water.  Don’t worry about opening that purse of yours!  This cup of water is on the house.  I know.  I am so generous.  Now get down into that basement and get some sleep in that toilet down there.  The spiders could do with the company.’

  Freddy took a sip of his cold water drink and went downstairs to sleep in a dark cobwebbed drenched room.

(Remember!  All spelling errors and grammatical mistakes are intentional - the author 😆)

Previous part here

There is a prequel to this story.  Check the link below if you would like to read it:

Jim's Subway part 1

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THE LEGEND OF RUDWIN REVIEW

It Happens At Night 8: Get OUT of MY Bar!!!

  Everybody needs to find time to relax.  

  Most people go for walks, or go for a meal or meet up with friends.

  Uncle Lucien liked to relax by standing next to mortuaries and watching people die.

  'I have found us a new dig, deep and rich,' said Lucian one day.  'An old man.  He was buried about a week ago.  Relatively fresh.  I noticed as they were putting him in that he was still wearing a very fine watch.  A Rolex.  Could be three digits in the hands of my fence?  I think it is worth the dig!'

  He sounded very happy.  Digging up mud at nighttime was the one thing that made the man content.

  'Count me out this time, Uncle,' Freddy replied.

  Lucien looked at his nephew quizzically.

  Freddy went on to explain:

  'I am done with this business.  I have been making friends in town.  I am moving onwards and upwards.'

  'O is that so?  So you are done with your old Uncle Lucien?  How nice.  So tell me about these new friends of yours?'

  'I have teamed up what McGregor, you know?  The Scottish guy who owns the bar.  He has got some very powerful friends.  I mean REALLY powerful.  I can't go into it.  The business is strictly confidential...'

  'O so it is like that is it, Freddy?' said Uncle Lucien.  'After all these years I have ben looking after you, helping you out of your financial mess.  Who was it who found that dig with the gold teeth that paid off those damn loan sharks you were in debt to?  ME!  Who was it you hid you when your creditors came looking for their pound of flesh after that failed printer business you started crashed and literally burned?  ME!  I have looked after you Freddy.  Your Mum and your Dad, they didn't want to know.  You brother and your sister live in different parts of the world and never talk to you.  You were alone before I took you in.  I started the digging business.  I kept my eyes on the street and my ears open.  I scooped the juiciest digs.  I have made us thousands over the years.  And now when something plumper and juicier comes along you are going to reject me?  How very fine of you, Freddy.  It is good to know who your friends are in these dark days.'

  'Do the dig yourself!  You can keep all of the profits then.'

  'I can't dig not anymore, Freddy.  I don't have the frame for it.  I can't bend my knees anymore.  You know how the business goes.  My brains your brawn.  I find a dig, you do the digging and we split the profits.  That's how it goes.  Fine.  You want to end the family business and go your own way that is your prerogative.  But let us do this one last dig.  Please.  Do it for me Freddy?  I need the money.'

  'I can't, Lucien.  I just can't.  I have commitments now.  I have got commitments to the mafia.'

  'You can't abandon me.'

  'I can and I will.'

  'You need me Freddy.'

  'No I don't.  To be honest uncle it is probably more the other way round.  You have used me over the years.'

  'Now that is a lie beyond lies.  We built this business together.  And we shared ALL of the profits.  I have never USED you.  We worked together.  You have your strengths and I mine.  It worked and it worked well.  It can still work well.  Don't shut us down like this, Freddy, I beg you.'

  'I am shutting us down.'

  'You will be back...'

  'Never.  I am done with this morbid business, Uncle.  I don't want to see another grave again not until I die.'

  'You will die very quickly if you stick around with McGregor and his boys,' said Uncle Lucien darkly.  'McGregor is MAD.  He drinks G-Juice all day and all night long.  You know that stuff makes you hallucinate don't you, Freddy?  The man sees dragons.  He is crazy!'

  'He is a war hero!'

  'Yes.  Eighty years ago!  How old is he now?  A hundred?  He is older than me, Freddy!  He will be dead soon and you will come crawling back....'

  'NO, Lucien.  It's over.  Truly over.  I am with the mob now.  If you want to know the truth, there is a war going on in the streets.  The Gangs want control over the G-Juice trade.  The Kings have the monopoly because they have the recipe, the other gangs have to steal the product.  The Kings were losing ground, but now they have got themselves a new ally.  The New York Mafia.  That's right, Uncle Lucien.  No need to check your words for I speak truly, New York has stepped in to back up the Kings.  This is very serious business, and I am in the thick of it, and when this business is all done and dusted I am going to make a lot of money for myself.  I will be rich!'

  'They will use you and throw you out like an old rag, just like everyone else you've ever known,' Uncle Lucien replied.

  'Not this time.  I have found a new family.  They really care for me.  I am going upwards in the world.  Goodbye, Uncle Lucien.  Let me know when they are holding your funeral.  I  might pop in to say goodbye.  I might even dig you up for old times sake.  Who knows?  All that I know is that my fortune is changing, and YOU uncle, you are not going to be part of it.  Now go away and never speak to me again!'

  And that was the end of that.

* * *

A great man entered the bar that morning.

  He was almost very nearly six foot.  Very smart in an expensive tailored suit, and he was wearing a long dark overcoat.  he came in with a smile and a sparkle in his eye:

  'Uncle McGregor!' he said with and nod of his head.  

  And then the bar lit up and every gasped and cried:

  Why it is FRANK KING!

  And the head of the King family no less.

  'Why not pour me a glass of that good G-Juice stuff that my family brew so well,' said Frank King as he stalked the hall stopping only when the bar was an inch within reach.  He propped himself up on his left elbow and clicked his fingers.  'A glass of the good stuff would do well.  I know it's still early, but a find from experience that a drink or two before business makes business good business.  And we are going to be doing some good business today, hey Uncle McGregor?'

  'We are indeed my beloved nephew,' McGregor replied heartily, as he poured the fine and vast man a glorious flow of the G-Juice.  'Get that down you boy,' he said handing the fifty year old Frank King his glass of golden juice.

  'Still foaming at the brim, fresh and good, like all G-Juice should be,' said Frank.  'That is what I like about your business, McGregor.  You have good pipes.  You respect the juice.  I like that.  And that is why I am investing in the place.  You remember our deal?'

  'Fifty fifty,' McGregor replied quickly.  

  ''You can still keep your name above the place,' Frank replied.  'But we share the profits.  Now in the shortfall you are going to experience a loss, but when we sign this deal with New York and my people start shipping the juice to the states, that is when the money is going to really start rolling in.'

  'I cannot wait Mr King,' McGregor replied rubbing his grubby little hands together.

  'You will be able to retire soon,' Frank replied, taking a sip out of his cup of fine foaming golden juice.

  'I am already retired, sadly!' the old Scotch replied.

  'No sir.  I mean retire properly.  You are a bloody war veteran for crying out loud!' said Frank.  'You saved this island back in the day, McGregor.  You should be putting your feet up and telling your grand kids all of your old war stories...'

  'Grand kids?  What a joke!' McGregor replied bitterly.  'My son can't get off of that bloody video game-thingy that he keeps on playing.  I keep telling him to get a job.  He tells me he is in the middle of fighting a troll.  I tell him I was married with kids at his age, he tells me that I have never had the responsibility of serving as a level twelve mage in the council of wizards.  He is twenty five years old!  My boy is a joke.  I will never have grandkids.'

  Frank returned with a sad sigh.  'Maybe it is for the best,' he said sombrely.  'It is a hard old world out there, McGregor, and it is getting harder by the day.  Maybe children are not the future any more.'

  'Now that is something I can not only agree with but drink to as well,' McGregor returned boldly.

  'The future of our world is this golden stuff swimming around in my glass,' said Frank holding up his cup.  'Pour yourself one, McGregor.  Let us have a drink to G-Juice!'

  Hear!  Hear!

  'This is my new friend Freddy.'  

  And McGregor pulled Freddy up from out of the toilet.

  'He is an accountant.'

  Frank asked if Freddy was good for the books, and McGregor replied, 'Very good!'

  'That is good to hear!  I might be sending some work your way soon Freddy boy,' said Frank King to Freddy's dread.  'My old accountant was a crook.  I can count on a man like you to prop up my legit businesses, yes?  If McGregor likes you, I should be able to like you as well right?'

  Freddy gulped.

  'Yes, Mr King sir...' he said in a sweaty slushy wet voice.  'I can help you...  prop up your businesses.  I am one of the best accountants in Fenwick, sir.'

  Frank King heard this and burst into laughter.  'Freddy boy!' Frank said loudly, 'you are the ONLY accountant in Fenwick!'

  And everyone in the bar laughed.

  'The last one ended up in prison but that won't happen to you will it Freddy boy, because you are straight and legit, right?' said Frank King.

  Freddy wagged his head.  'O I wont end up in prison sir.  I am as straight as straight can be when it comes to the accountancy business I really am.'

  'Good to hear.  We will be having very serious talks later,' Frank replied.

  After that more drinks were poured and more laughs were shared.

  And then something suddenly happened that got everyone scared.

  The doors to the bar burst open and in stepped the Irish.

  It was Callum Macleod with two of his lads at his back.

  So in he came, the leader of the Irish, the dreaded and feared Mr Macleod with his metal plaited teeth and the swastika tattoo on his throat fully exposed and in plain view for all to see.

  He stood in the middle of the hall and addressed everybody sitting to the bar:

  'My name is Calum Macleod but all you stupid feckers who have eyes will know that already.  I am the leader of the Irish and I am wanting words with that man on the other side of the bar.  That's right.  I want words with you, McGregor.  I sent my boys over to pay you a visit the other week.  They told you stay out of my business, and to keep away from the Italians.  And yet I hear that you are still dallying about with that LA Thinns character, and holding pool nights with him?  I want a fecking explanation McGregor and I fecking want it now.'

  Frank King was the first to speak.  The vast man turned away from the bar and slowly pacing his length of the hall till he was standing right up to the Irishman and close enough to look him right in the eyes.  'McGregor does not need to answer to you not anymore,' said Frank.  'This is his bar and he does as he wishes.  And now I have an investment in this bar and I am telling you to back off.'

  'I am not speaking to you, you fecking weirdo,' Callum replied fiercely.  'My business is with the scot.  Now get out of my face or I will cut you.'

  'That scot is my uncle.'

  'Well isn't that a sad state of affairs?' the Irish warlord replied.  'So you both own the bar?  Good then you can both share ears then when I tell you what I am going to do today.  I am going to burn this place down.  I said I would and as a man of my word I am going to do it, here and now, with you all still in it.  Nobody crosses my people and gets away with it.'

  'I haven't crossed you.  I am just doing business,' McGregor replied.  

  'O!  So the Scot does speak does he now?' said Callum.  'Why don't you come over here and say your words to my face, McGregor, instead of hiding behind this fecking meat-wall of yours?  Come on, McGregor.  Walk over here and speak to me in my face.'

  'I am not your servant Callum.'

  'Everyone in Fenwick serves me you little fecking Scottish weasel.  Now man up and face me!'

  'I won't waste my breath on you, Callum,' McGregor returned strongly.  'You were worthless.  You are scum.  You are just a deadbeat Adolf Hitler worshipping fool.  The Nazis lost the war.  When I see a man parading about with a swastika tattooed on his skin I see a loser.  And that is hat you are, Callum, a Hitler worshipping loser.'

  'Aye.  You have got balls the size of Wales talking to me like that, McGregor.  I wonder if they wouldn't just drop off if there wasn't a certain Mr Frank King over here standing in my way?  Aye.  You were always a cheeky feck, McGregor.  And the swastika on my throat does not make me a Nazi.  I just like the look of it.  And yeah, I think old uncle Adolf Hitler had a few good ideas, but that does not mean to say I worship the dead man.  Whether Adolf fled to Argentina or not, it doesn't matter now because he is dead, but I am here.  And I mean to raise this fecking bar to the ground.'

  'You touch this place and you will regret it,' said Frank King stepping up.  'I am not frightened of you, Callum.  The Irish Gang is not what it once was.  You have like, what, six soldiers?  I am standing here and I am saying that I am ready to fight every single one of you.  Come on.  Let's do it.  No weapons, just bare fists.  Are you up for the challenge, Callum?  I know I am,' said Frank clicking his knuckles.

  It looked like Callum was beat, but the Irishman was not finished not just yet.

  Freddy was watching the whole scene from his corner of the bar and it looked like Callum had a confident twinkle in his right eye...

  But by the sound of things the Irishman still had a card left to play...

  'I wouldn't waste the sweat dealing with you, King,' Callum returned arrogantly.  'This bar is full of feckers who do not know who they are dealing with.  I am the head of the Macleods and when I say I am going to do something I am going to do it.  I am going to destroy this business, completely.'

  'O yeah?  You and whose army?' Frank came back, grimly with his firsts already raised up.

  THIS ARMY!

  And then the Brazilians burst in!

  It was Corta Boa Almoço with ten of his lads all armed and ready to go!

  LET'S DO THIS!

  Firing his gun into the ceiling, Corta was in his element.  'Let's do this!  We are going to have a party tonight boys!'

  'A real party,' Callum replied, and then the Irishman returned his cold icy gaze back across the hall towards McGregor.  'You have lost the war, McGregor.  You tried to play the game with the big boys and you failed.  Now here is what is going to happen.  Me and my new Brazilian friends here are going to trash this place.  There will not be a single piece of this building standing by tomorrow.  But here is the deal, McGregor.  I will let you and your friends live, I will let you walk away.  All you have to do is pour me a drink here and now, and salute the new alliance between the Brazilians and the Irish.  Because I can tell you this now, McGregor, we are going to take over Fenwick and no fecker is going to stop us.'

  Frank King backed off.

  McGregor looked beat, and Freddy was hiding in the toilet, and wishing the toilet actually worked because he really felt like he needed it at that moment.  

  The Irish and the Brazilians really working together?

  Could the dreadful situation really get any worse?

  And then the door to the bar swung open one last time that night, and in a large and finally dressed man stalked.  

  Pool cue over his shoulder, it was no one less than LA Thinns!

  And this was the first thing that he said:

  'Genteman!' addressing everyone in the hall, 'why was I not invited to the game?  It sounds like there is a lot of bad business going on here?  I think there are a few matters of business that require addressing?' 

  He was chalking up his cue as he talked.

  'I have a little investment of my own in this bar and I don't like seeing its ceiling getting shot up,' Mr Thinns continued.  And then the man from New York turned on Corta in particular.  'Do you mind dropping that gun of yours, son.  I am finding it a little disconcerting.  Now we are all men here.  So let us talk like men and get this little bit of business done quick and quiet.'

  'How about I blow your brains out?' said Corta raising his gun on level with LA Thinns forehead.  'I kill you now, pig.  I pull the trigger and it is done.  I kill men like you all of the time!'

  'I contest that,' LA Thinns returned calmly.  Thinns started setting up the pool table.  He calmly drew his cue across the felt, sending a ball or two into a pocket as his words flew out in response:

  'I don't think you have ever killed a man like me, Corta.  I don't doubt you have killed a lot of men, but not a man of my standing.  Now here is the situation,' he said as he pocketed another ball.  'History is in the past.  In history I hear you guys ran the show.  But now I am here and I am the future of this nice little town.  You heard me correctly, the show is being ran by new talent.'

  'What are you fecking rambling about?' said Callum, who was growing very frustrated by the declining situation.  

  'New talent.  That is what I am talking about,' LA Thinns returned while sinking another ball.  'Gentleman, it is my duty to tell you that Fenwick is under new management.  New York has moved into town, and we are in charge.  And you Irish and you Brazilians, you fellows need to back off,' and with a single stroke of his cue LA Thinns cleared the table!  'It is over for you boys.'

  Corta heard this and laughed wildly.  He thought he was going mad.  'Are you threatening me?' he said.  'Do you even know who I am?'

  'Yes, sadly I do.  You are a boy.  You are bullets in the gun first, then blast last.  But for me my brains are in the cue and I strike first, and that is why you lose and this town is now under my eye,' LA Thinns returned cooly.  'You have lost, boy.  Now step down, walk away, and live in peace and leave the management of this town to me.'

  'How about I cut you up throw you into the sea?' Corta replied angrily.  'You walk in here like you are the big man?  You talk to me like I am some kind of common cur?  I put men in the sewers every day.  I run Fenwick.  I have men at home who will back me up.'

  'And I have men right here in this town who will kill you now no sweat,' LA Thinns returned calmly.  

  Corta looked confused.

  What was Thinns talking about?

  Thinns very quickly flicked his pool cue over his shoulder and gave the answer everybody wanted to know:

  'There are guns on the door but you, Mr Corta, you don't have to worry about them.  You just have to worry about the guns on the rooftops looking down now on that window over there.  Now all I have to do is click my fingers,' and that is what LA Thinns did and with a flash and bang the window on the left side of the hall shattered into pieces and there was a bullet smoking right by the toes of Corta's foot.

  'The next bullet won't miss, Mr Corta,' LA Thinns replied triumphantly.  

  'Okay.  You win mano.  I back off,' Corta replied calmly.  Corta was intelligent enough at least to know that he was beat.  The Brazilian warlord uncocked his gun.  He sighed and then looked back up and caught a glimpse of Freddy hiding in a corner.  The sight of that man got his blood boiling.  'I will go.  But I want to take the dog with me,' he said.  Corta pointed at Freddy, and he said, 'I see you dog.  You go with me.  You get into the back of the car now.  It is time we take another walk in the park...'

  And here LA Thinns stepped up:

  'NO!' he said.  'Freddy stays.  He is a man of my blood.  Italian.  I look after my family.  He stays with us.'

  My gosh!  I cannot describe how LA Thinns words warmed Freddy's heart.  

  Freddy was so happy he lost grip of his senses.  He stepped up onto the scene and said right at Corta, 'Yeah you heard him, Corta!  You ugly piece of filth!  I am with LA Thinns now.  And you cannot touch me.  Crawl back to your hovel.  But we will destroy you one day, and then I will get my wife back from your wicked hands!'

  Corta holstered his gun and laughed.  'Very good, dog,' he said.  'I like you.  You have a bite at last!  But we will see how tough you are when I catch you alone in the street...'

  And with that the Irish and the Brazilians walked away.

  'Sorry about the damage to the window,' said LA Thinns.  'Put it on the tab.  My boys will fix it soon.  They will fix the ceiling as well.  This is my business now as it is yours and we must make it work!'

  McGregor poured everyone a glass of G-Juice (Except Freddy).

  It had been a good day!

  A great victory against the gangs of Fenwick!

  McGregor, Frank and Thinns raised their glasses:

  'Today we have won the war!'

  Salute!

(Remember!  All spelling errors and grammatical mistakes are intentional - the author 😆)

Previous part here

There is a prequel to this story.  Check the link below if you would like to read it:

Jim's Subway part 1

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THE LEGEND OF RUDWIN REVIEW

It Happens At Night 7: Doctors Orders!

 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 😆)

Previous part here

There is a prequel to this story.  Check the link below if you would like to read it:

Jim's Subway part 1

===========================================================

Also take a look at:

My Games
Play Give 'em Hell
Play Elfin Quest
Witches Brew a short text based adventure game!
Also take a look at:
My YouTube Channel
My Books

THE LEGEND OF RUDWIN REVIEW