'Yeah that is Harry alright!' said Greg desperately. 'I can't believe it is him! Snivelling twerp! Look at him, dripping about. He stinks. I can smell his unclean fousty odour from here. What is he doing out here in Sunscale? I thought he was a housebound twat like the rest of us?'
'Well we are not housebound any more are we?' said Pete, unhelpfully.
'That's not funny, Pete. You do know who is Dad is right?' said Greg.
'Wait? You are not talking about that idiot who runs the mini mart across the road from you? O no! Not him! Didn't he try to get us arrested once?'
'Yep,' said Greg.
'Why did he do that?'
'We were trying to steal those jelly beans so we deserved it I guess. But I hate that shop, I hate the man who runs it and I hate that kid. Damn you Harry! What is he doing out here in the waste?'
'Maybe he is hunting us?' said Pete. 'I mean we didn't pay for those jellybeans in the end!'
'Maybe you are right,' Greg replied reluctantly. 'Maybe the filth is tracking us down! Damn it! We are going to have to find somewhere to hide, Pete. O gosh! I think he has seen us! He is making his way over. Quick Pete let's run!'
So the lads were looking for a place to hide and they ended up pitching tents inside The Wellington.
Now let me tell you about The Wellington...
In the year of our lord 1808 Arthur Wellesley - Duke Wellington - left Ireland for the Iberian Peninsula to participate in the Peninsular War. Along the way Lord Arthur decided, for some bizarre reason no historical text can account for, to stop and stay at Fenwick...
During his stay he is said to have done all sorts of crazy things, drinking, womanising and all that stuff. Apparently, according to local legend, his arrival made him very popular among the locals so much as so that the memory of his stay in Fenwick eventually became a legend. In 1956 the locals decided to honour the memory of Arthurs visit by building a public house to him and the people dedicated the building to his name and to his memory.
THE WELLINGTON FREE HOUSE it became known.
As glorious as the history is behind this free house the building itself was a dump.
The literal definition of a back alley pub.
You touched grease on the door before you even felt the grease inside the building.
The building was so unclean one could forget themselves and imagine it was really built by Arthur himself back in 1808 and left that way ever since 1808, it was such a disgusting place.
The building was full of dogs. And I do not mean dogs as a metaphor for ruffians off of the street NO! I mean literal dogs, unwashed and unclean beasts infested with fleas and infected with odours that would please a sewage treatment plant.
The owner of The Wellington kept this vast overweight Saint Bernard about the place, and the animal made a habit of sleeping on booked seats or disturbing customers whenever they were eating. The beast was renown for sticking its head into freshly cooked meals and drinking booze. The beast had great watery blue eyes. It looked thoroughly stoned, like it had emerged from an acid induced hippie trip from 1966. Maybe the dog was a time traveller from that era?
Who can tell?
The world is a strange place...
And this is the place Greg and Pete entered as they were trying to escape and hide from the dreaded Harry.
The lads were under age so they could not order drinks BUT they could buy food, and if the thirst got hold of them they could always have a sneaky sip or two of the spiced wine in their bags...
The spiced wine is what eventually led them into trouble - but not with the owner...
NO.
Watching them was a lusty lad named Jack.
Now our boy Jack liked to fight. Yes he was all about might is right. There was a song about him in town: "OUR BOY JACK! Jack: He liked to drink he liked to fight he was the kinda guy the ladies liked."
His girlfriend Jill had just emerged from the toilet. Jack whistled her over like she was some kind of a pig.
'YOU! DOG!' he said to her. 'Are you listening to me?'
'Do I have any choice?' she replied reluctantly.
Jack slapped her around the face for that. Then Jill replied meekly in response to the savage slap, 'Yes, Jack my love. I am listening to you.'
'Good. See those two squirmy bastards over there?' he said. 'They are carrying these fine bottles of spiced wine. My favourite drink. I want you to chat them up. You do not have to sleep with them. Just sweet talk them. I don't care what you say or do, just get that wine off of them and bring the bottles to me! Do you hear me dog?'
'I hear you my love,' she replied softly. 'I will do my best.'
Jill decided she was going to take on Pete first.
She undid the first two buttons of her top and wafted herself about the young man. 'And how are you today handsome?' she said. 'Looking for company?'
Pete's reply was blunt but true: 'Sorry love! Might as well do your buttons back up! That sort of thing won't work on me. I am asexual.'
Jill gave up on Pete immediately and made her way over to Greg.
'Hi gorgeous,' she said to him. 'What are you doing? Fancy buying me a drink? We can talk somewhere quiet if you like?'
'You seem very kind and very nice,' said Greg in return, 'but to be honest, whatever your name is, I can't be bothered with any of that. To be honest I would rather just drink and play video games if that is alright with you?'
Jill did her buttons back up and returned to Jack.
'There is nothing I can do,' she said. 'They are both gay.'
'Useless dog!' Jack bellowed at her. He slapped her round the face for a second time that day. 'Come on. Let's get out of here before YOU embarrass us any more!' And they both walked out of the building.
The owner of the Wellington had his eye on Greg and Pete from the moment the lads entered his business. As soon as Jack and Jill had left he made his way over to them and asked for their ID.
'You cannot drink in this building boys,' he said.
'Can't drink, eh? What? Not even water?' Greg replied, trying to be clever.
But Greg's cleverness backfired dramatically when the owner snatched the water bowel from the Saint Bernard and just handed it over to him - plopping it down onto the table like some foul gift from a foul land.
'There you go,' said the owner. 'There is your water. Enjoy.'
Greg had been defeated...
Now let's talk about the owner of The Wellington, well, what can be said about him?
As odd pennies go he was the strangest in the purse. Of all the odd pennies he was the kind that stood out from the rest - the kind of penny you would happily discard down a drain.
He was a tall man, quite intimidating for sure. He looked like he was in his sixties. His hair was unwashed and greased all back with grease. But that was not all. He had a strange tail sticking out of his backside. Quite odd indeed.
'Look! I will do you lads a favour,' he said. 'I will get my wife to make you both a nice cup of tea. You can drink tea here, as long as you pay for it.'
'Fine! We will have tea. And we will pay for it,' said Greg.
And so the tea was brought on.
The owners wife did the pouring. The woman herself was in her forties, maybe. She was all greased up and greased down with her hair greased back just like her husband. But unlike her husband she had the taste and the grace not to have a great big hairy tail hanging out of her backside.
She came over with a kettle and poured the lads a brew.
The tea looked thick and oily after it had been poured. You could see whole lumps of grease floating on the surface of the cups.
It was quite gross.
'Enjoy your tea lads!' she said.
Greg and Pete took their oily tea and looked about the building. They needed to find a good position to hide in. They needed to blend in with the crowd. They couldn't take the risk of Harry walking in and finding them.
Finally the lads met this friendly old Irish man. He was bathing his naked feet in a bucket of wine. He waved the lads over, 'Take a seat with me boys,' he said, and that is what the lads exactly did.
So for the next hour the lads sat there and listened to the Irishman while trying to drink the oily filth from their cups.
'If there is one thing about this country that annoys me and that is that a man does not have the right to own a gun,' said the Irishman. 'This isn't the UK for bloody hells sake! Sorry! Let me introduce myself. My names Ross!' Then Ross lifted one of his bare legs up and put one of his wine sodden feet on the table. 'I can't shake you with my hands lads because both of my hands are frail - I used to be a tin miner. Bot I can shake you both with my bare foot here.'
Greg and Pete awkwardly shook the Irishman's foot.
'We are living in a dangerous country let me tell you lads,' said Ross. 'It should be law that a man has a gun to defend himself in Fenwick. In this country a man has no choice but to fight!' Ross rambled on. 'We have a population of one thousand seven hundred women and three hundred men. Thirty of those men are in the police, and ten of them are in the local army. We have to rely on the Americans for military strength for goodness sake! It is a sad situation. It is no wonder we have all these problems. Now I know we managed to rid ourselves of the Brazilian cartels and that was all thanks to the Americans. But the problem these days aren't the cartels. Not any more. It is the Mafia. Yeah, you heard me. The Italians are taking over, stealing our jobs and our women and leaving the locals high and dry. I am a war veteran you know? But what respect do you think I get for my service? None!'
Greg dared to ask the Irishman what war he was a veteran of, and the Irishman Ross happily told him.
'Any of you two feckers ever heard of the Hidden War?' said Ross.
Greg and Pete shook their heads. They had never heard of it.
'Well you should have heard of it,' said Ross. 'It was 1956, back when they were building this beautiful bar here. I was a young lad at the time in love with a young girl called Olivia. She kicked me in the crotch, you know? It was around about that time Russian soldiers came parachuting out of the skies. It was the Cold War and all that. The Soviets wanted to take over Fenwick and use the island as a stepping stone to take out the UK. Now I do not like Britain. The bastards abandoned us during the Second World War. But none of us locals were going to let any of those commies take over Fenwick. No sir. We fought those scum in the hills and in the forests and in the swamps and in the wastes. Those Soviets were so scared of us they never came back! The Hidden War lasted two days! I will never forget it! My best memories are of me and the lads fighting the commies side by side. Most of the commies got stuck in the trees with their parachutes but that was their stupid fault for trying to attack us. We just killed them anyway. It was war. O Yes. War. And there I was. I was a soldier. A hero. I was wearing a uniform. I had killed other men! And I thought to myself "Now is the time to try again with Olivia!" Women love men in uniforms, right? They love soldiers, and they love men who are killers - look at all those women who send love letters to psycho killers locked up in jail. So there I was thinking to myself, "Now is my time!" I finally have got a chance with my beloved Olivia! I found her nearby in the local country pub and I gave her flowers and offered to buy her a drink and all that. Do you know what she did back to me? She took her pint smashed it over the bar and tried to stab me in the throat. And that was the end of that. Do you know what she did next? She ended up marrying an Italian! You see what I mean? The Italians are taking over!'
'Sorry to hear about that Ross,' said Greg. 'That is a sad story you have got there.'
'Ah! I don't mind. It's life,' Ross went on. 'I found joy in the end by drinking good beer and watching football. You know there is a big game tonight don't you lads? Cardiff V Barcelona!'
Now Greg and Pete were not the best fans of football but whenever there was a match to be had that involved Cardiff... Well they had to know about it.
'Cardiff? Really?' spoke up Pete. 'Damn! Best team in the country!'
'Best team in the world you mean,' said Ross. 'There is nothing better than seeing those fine Welsh lads beating the ball about! I have always loved Cardiff. Best team. Quality players.'
'Being Irish, Ross, I thought you would have supported an Irish team?' said Greg.
'When I was young, yeah, I was with Cork and all that,' said Ross. 'But as I got older I got wiser, and then one fine day I saw Cardiff beat Paris in 1966 and I was like, "those are the boys I want to support," and I never turned back,' Ross replied. 'It is going to be a good match tonight. Let's have a drink, lads! Let's drink to Cardiff!'
'I would love to but we are under age,' Pete replied.
'No worries lads, uncle Ross will sort you out,' said Ross. Ross whistled and the beach ball behind the bar rolled over and dropped two clean glasses down. When she was gone Ross dipped the glasses into the bucket of wine at his feet and handed them back to his companions. The glasses were all full up to the brim. He gave the lads a little sly wink. 'Get some of that stuff burning in your gullets lads and you will be good to go!' he said.
So they raised their glasses together and cried:
TO CARDIFF!
And then everyone else in the room cheered:
TO CARDIFF! The best football team in the world!
'Well lads I had better head off back home,' said Ross finally. 'It is a long walk back to Deadrock Point. And there are sea lions all around the coast! They attack you mind. That is what I mean by being given the right to own guns. But the government says no, and so an old man like me must walk in fear of sea lions and crabs and... sharks. Yes boys! You hear me right. Sharks! We have got em big and bad around the oceans of Fenwick. But how does a shark reach a man when he is on lad? Well that is the job of the golden eagles! We have got BIG golden eagles here in Fenwick. Now I love the eagles they have an innocent look in their eyes when they try to kill you. But the eagles along the coast especially them near Deadrock are big enough and strong enough to carry a full grown man and toss him into the sea... And that is when the sharks do their job. And it is not just sharks in the salty waters out there we have to worry about... no. It is the whales as well. The whales out there in the seas of Fenwick have developed a taste for human blood - rather like a Kodiak Bear when they taste a living man they want more of it. Now a whale will eat you WHOLE! Image slowly digesting to death in the gut of a whale...? O my! But there are things even worse than whales in the ocean... O... Red devils we call them. Colossal squid! Eat you alive they will with their eagle sized beaks. There is a lot to be frightened of out there lads. And that is why I make the argument for the local man being given the right to firearms to defend himself against the terrors of the world. Good luck lads! I hope you find what you are looking for.'
'Actually before you go can you help us?' said Greg, slyly.
Greg plopped the picture of the GOX house down onto the table. Then Greg asked Ross if he had ever seen the place before.
Ross glared at the photo and then spat on the floor. 'Never seen it before lads,' he said, and then he left the building.
The photo was still sitting on the table. The Saint Bernard with his acid induced 1966 eyes was eyeing it up as his next meal... He was about to come over and eat it!
That was when a voice drifted into hearing:
'O I know that place!'
The lads looked up.
It was Harry!
He had finally tracked them down!
DAMN!
The lads had failed to escape him!
'Yeah I know that place,' Harry went on. 'It is just across the road from the shop where I live. Yeah! It is up the road from your place Greg! Come one you should know! I can't believe you have never seen it before? It is a creepy old abandoned house... Looks like something out of a Roger Corman movie - the House of Usher that kind of thing. You cannot miss it!'
DAMN!
It was time to go home.
