Freddy's typical strategy for returning home was to sneak through the back window.
He had it all setup perfectly.
He had a table and an old rickety chair put together in the back alley which enabled him clean entrance into the bathroom through the unlocked window. Sure a thief or a gangster could use it to break into the flat, but there was nothing to steal inside Freddy's little home.
He had it all setup perfectly.
He had a table and an old rickety chair put together in the back alley which enabled him clean entrance into the bathroom through the unlocked window. Sure a thief or a gangster could use it to break into the flat, but there was nothing to steal inside Freddy's little home.
Not unless the gangster was into dirty old second hand socks...
Bolly had forced Freddy out of the bedroom, so Freddy, ever the innovator, setup camp behind the living room sofa.
That was where he sent the nights sleep, on a bedroll, with a good book and his dreams of a better life to keep him company.
Freddy had been up all night, as we know, at the graves, and was especially eager to be inside his bedroll.
And he had a backup plan if Bolly caught him sneaking behind the sofa.
A bottle of whiskey...
Because Bolly was a full blown alcoholic.
This addiction was both a good thing, and a bad thing as far as Freddy was concerned.
Good because Bolly spent most of the day sleeping the booze off.
Bad because she was madder than ever when she was drunk, and prone to ridiculous and childish fits of bad temper.
That night it was lucky for Freddy that he brought his backup plan with him, because Bolly caught him in the act of sneaking in through the bathroom.
She was sober, and waiting for him - glove and claw at hand...
'It's 3am,' she said.
'Is it? My gosh! So it is! My word! Who'd a thought.'
'It's 3am!'
'And I think it is about time for me to snuggle down behind my sofa there...'
'Look at the clock!' she snapped. 'What time is it? Read it out loud!'
'3am...'
'What time do you call this?'
'Either really late or extremely early, whatever you prefer,' Freddy replied with a tremble.
'Don't you try to be clever with me boy! What have you been doing all night?'
'Look! Now listen, Bolly dear. I can explain...'
'I am listening.'
'I had work to do in the office! You know I am a busy man. The business requires my full attention. Especially these days with the economy being the way that it is.'
'A late night in the office is something like 9 or 10pm, not 3 in the morning.'
'Maybe...back in the 70s. But Bolly come on now! This is the 2025 and things are different today!'
'You think I am stupid? You have been up to trouble! You stink. You haven't spent the day in an office. Your covered in mud! What kind of an accountant gets covered in mud?'
'I was working at a farm. One of my clients is a pig farmer...'
'An accountant who works for a pig farmer?'
'You cannot be too fussy these days, love. You need to get the work where you can!'
'Don't call me love. What year do you think we are living in, the 1950s? You think I am going to be your nice little happy house wife for you to lie and trod all over?'
'To be honest lov... dearest - you have never given me the chance to ever trod on you!'
The cheek of it!
Bolly was not going to stand for that kind of talk not in her home!
She slashed at him with the glove! Freddy had to dive over the sofa to avoid the shrieking slash!
It was now Freddy's job to try and calm the woman down. He had to act quick, before she gave him an injury that saw him on the wrong side of an ambulance unit.
Initiative kicking in Freddy drew out the whiskey bottle and waved it in front of her:
'Look! See! It's alright, Bolly. It's whiskey! The good stuff! I spared no expense. Here. Have a drink! That's it! Good!'
Now Bolly had a drink she was easier to talk to.
'Things are not as bad as they look, Bolly,' said Freddy. 'I have had a good day in the office. The business is really doing well at the moment. Here. And I can prove it. Take a look at what I have got here.'
He brought out a brown envelope containing five hundred pieces of paper.
He handed it slowly over to her. She snatched it away!
That is how it was every payday.
In all honesty in those situations Freddy felt like he was in the Mafia, like he was some kind of a capo paying off a don.
She took the paper out of the enveloped and sniffed it.
'This will do, for now,' she replied. 'Now you get in the cupboard!'
'What?' Freddy was shocked. What did she mean by this?
'I want the living ALL room to myself. And I don't want you in it. So get in the cupboard. Inside there you will be out of my sight!'
Now here Freddy stepped up:
'Listen now, Bolly. This is becoming ridiculous! You have taken over the bedroom, now the living room is out of bounds as well? There is nowhere else for me to go!'
Bolly flashed the glove...
Freddy stood back down again.
'If you aren't happy then you can get out! Go on! Leave!'
'Are you seriously going to turf me out onto the streets? Again?'
'Yes.'
'Look! I have been up all night! Please be reasonable!'
'And you can spend the rest of the night out in it as well. Now go away!'
And like that Freddy was thrown out onto the streets. The door was slammed shut and locked behind him. Bolly was also clever enough to secure the toilet window, so no secret way back in that way not that night.
Freddy's plans had been foiled again!
So he gave up.
Cold and all alone in the dark it was time for him to find a bench to sleep on.
Freddy didn't mind. He was used to it. This was not his first taste of homelessness...
Bolly had thrown him out only three days prior.
Time to find my usual bench I guess...
Rustling around a bin for a few sheets of newspaper, Freddy snuggled down on the old rotten branch fully prepared to sleep out the rest of the morning in the cold harsh and open air.
But before his eyes were allowed to drop down they were filled with a sudden and brilliant dash of light.
And from up the road a flashy car swivelled into view.
Out of the car stepped several brightly dressed men. They were wearing sunglasses, for some reason, in the middle of the night? Freddy didn't know why they did that, but he knew full well who these men were.
They were Brazilians!
The last man to step out was non other than Don Corta Boa Almoço, leader of the dreaded Fenwick cartel!
Back in the old days people had a saying, out of the frying pan and into the fire. Well, that good old saying pretty much summed up Freddy's drab fortune right there and then.
I will just lie here and pretend to be dead. I mean what would the powerful and mighty Brazilian cartel want with a washed up and thoroughly homeless tramp?
Don Corta flashed his phone light on Freddy and ordered the bedraggled and defeated man to stand!
'You! Dog!' he called out to him. 'What gang to belong to? Are you with the Irish?'
'I am with no gang, sir,' said Freddy feebly and humbly.
Don Corta heard Freddy out and shook his fists and appeared to be very offended by something. 'Look at you!' Don Corta said angry. 'You stand on your feet and speak openly to me like I was some kind of common cur. Why are you not on your knees? On your knees now!'
Freddy dropped at once to his knees and begged for forgiveness.
'You talk when I say you can talk, do you hear me, dog?' Don Corta raged on. 'You nod your head. No words are permitted to leave your lips less I give you permission. This is my city. All the G-Juice in this city it flows through me! Do hear me, dog?'
Freddy wagged his head like a loyal dog.
'Speak! Your name!'
Freddy gave over his name to the fierce Brazilian warlord.
Don Corta laughed in Freddy's face. 'What kind of a name is that for a man? I have a new name for you. I call you dog. Why you on the streets Dog? Speak!'
'My wife through me out of our apartment!'
Once again Don Corta laughed at him. 'What kind of a man get's thrown out of his house by the hands of his own woman? Speak!'
'Well, sir, it is the year 2025.'
This reply knocked Don Corta for a few seconds. Eventually the warlord nodded and had to admit that Freddy did have a really good point right there and decided to accept the answer.
'You are sleeping on my bench?' the dreaded man rumbled on. 'Why do you sleep on my bench? Have you no respect? This is my city. You can sleep in the gutter, like a rat, but nowhere else. Do you hear me Dog? Speak.'
Freddy said that he heard him.
'Watch!' Now Don Corta brought out a knife and he cut his right hand! 'Next time I will cut you, just like that, do you hear me dog? Speak!'
Freddy said that he heard him.
'But you must still be punished! All men who defy my will must pay the price! And pay you will!'
'What are you going to do to me?'
'Did I give you permission to speak Dog?'
Freddy bowed his head in shame.
There was only one choice left to Freddy now and that was merely to accept his fate.
Don Corta brought his knife out and upwards again. 'I am going to shave you like the dog you are!'
And that was when the dreaded cartel leader shaved off all of Freddy's hair leaving the poor man trembling and as bold as badgers underside.
'The moon shines nicely on your freshly bold head,' said Don Corta disrespectfully. 'Next time I see you sleeping on my bench I will freely shave you again, do you hear me dog?'
Freddy nodded, but dared not say a single word.
Don Corta got back into his car and slamming the door too he drove away with his lads leaving Freddy shaved, shaken and scared...
(Remember! All spelling errors and grammatical mistakes are intentional - the author 😆)
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