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Found a bit of one.......from the olden days.....


Guest pelmetman

Found a bit of one.......from the olden days.....  

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Guest pelmetman

Mr W ......and the Goblet of Pork.........

 

Chapter One

In lush rolling hills between the Lancashire metropolises’ of Blackburn and Bolton, lay a large mansion, built in the reign of Margret Thatcher the Iron Lady.

No expense was spared in its construction; the full repertoire of building styles was incorporated into the design, from the mock crenellated battlements, watch towers, moat and Tudor revival style timber treatments with a heavy hint of gothic, plus Elizabethan UPVC windows all helped to create a unique edifice, known locally as Mockney Manor.

On the Marble step stood Mr W, who tapping his feet impatiently yelled.........”Gladys will you move yourself we must leave NOW!!”..............

“I’m coming!!”...........screeched the indignant voice of his wife as she appeared at the top of the massive wrought iron horseshoe shaped staircase.

Gladys nee Higginbottom was no longer the petite page 3 girl of the Bolton & Blackburn Bugle, wealth had enlarged her, a rich diet and the surgeon’s knife had done as much to enhance Gladys, as the builders had to Mockney Manor.

Mr W observed to himself, as his wife of 40 years tottered down the stairs on impossible high heels, her hands and feet were the only parts that remained their original size.

“Come on come on”, snarled her angry husband........

“What’s the rush Dubbya, why do we have to go away again so soon, we’ve only just got back from a world cruise?”...........Gladys’s use of her husband’s nickname did nothing to improve his temper....

“Get in the RV Gladys I’ll tell you on the way to the tunnel”

“Tunnel?.......are we leaving the country?”

“Yes.....that’s what normally happens when you board the Euro tunnel” replied Mr W with a heavy hint of sarcasm, and at the same time pointed his key fob at Mockney Manor and pressed once.

Instantly, steel shutters started rolling over the windows and doors, effectively sealing every opening with galvanised steel.

The House gave a loud double bleep and the security lights flashed in unison to confirm the alarms were set. HE was very security conscious.

Mr W gunned the RV into life, and sped with remarkable speed for such a large vehicle, through the grand wrought iron gates, which closed automatically with a clang.

So preoccupied with getting away he failed to notice the two pairs of eyes observing them as they left..............

Chapter Two

Once on the motorway and heading South at speed, and no obvious vehicles following, Mr W physically relaxed, and switching on the cruise control, he turned to his wife.

“I’m sorry Gladys we have a slight problem at work”.......

“Not horse meat again!”.........exclaimed Gladys

“No no.. nothing like that......well er.... erm not horse”...

Mr W was the chairman and sole share holder of Halal Enterprises a major supplier to the Muslim meat trade, he had recently managed to narrowly avoid a major disaster when horse meat had been discovered in the food chain............... HE had been the importer...

Fortunately having a paid informer in the ministry of Food and Fisheries, he’d had time to act and not only dispose of the evidence but dish his main competitor Mustapha Pie.

Mr W immediately removed all evidence by repackaging the horse meat, and via a French contact received an excellent price, as his bulk imports had driven up the price of Romanian horse meat..........but he had retained a small amount that he placed in packaging bearing his rivals logo and counterfeit bar code, and under the cover of a burqa. Mr W had travelled the country distributing his horse meat in super stores supplied by his rival.

He returned to his factory where he had his staff deep clean everything in sight, and waited a few days.........

It was soon evident from the TV frenzy that the animal loving UK majority were incensed and demanding blood. But with the aid of his insider information he knew when the raid on Mustapha Pie would take place, and the night before he delivered the coup de grace....

Mr W parked outside his rivals premises the next day to enjoy the fruits of his labour, and gloated as he saw Mustapha being handcuffed and dragged off to the police meat wagon protesting his innocence, that he knew nothing about the horse’s head found in his waste bin........

Chapter Three

“SO?”........demanded Gladys

“So what?”.........

“Don’t you try and soft soap me Dubbya, you’ve been up to something?”

“Weren’t my fault” replied Mr W

“What do you mean not your fault.....your always up to something”

“It’s that dam predictive text, I ordered Pork Chops from Bumbescu”

“You supply Halal meat for christsake!”

“Yeah I know, but once it’s been mechanically recovered and processed it looks and tastes like turkey”........”Besides they’ve been eating it for years”.....

“Well that’s alright then”.......Gladys never did understand why some people wanted their meat killed in such an unsavoury manner.

“Well actually it’s not alright........as Abbu Boo Boo is not happy”

“Abbu Boo Boo of the Bolton & Preston Seventh day Jihadist’s!!!”

“But you just said they’ve been eating it for years??”

“Yes I know.......but like I said I thought I ordered Pork Chops to process for their feast after Ramadan ”

“So?”

“Well it appears I ordered Pork Cocks”

“But you just said you just process it and they’re none the wiser?”

“Well I couldn’t.......but they liked them anyway as they said they tasted like turkey twizzlers”

“So what’s the problem?..........and why are we leaving the country in such a rush?”

“It’s that Pudding Face idiot of a store man left the dam delivery note in the box that was sent to Abbu”....They found it after their feast”.....

“Oh heck they know they’ve been eating pork........but can’t you just say it was cross contamination?”

“Not quite as Bumbescu google’d the English translation for his invoice”

“So what are Pork Cocks in English?”

“Pig Penis’s”

“DRIVE QUICKER!!!!”

Chapter Four

The two pairs of eye’s looked at each other, and moved slowly from the undergrowth once the RV was out of sight.........standing outside the grand gates the men looked greedily at the acres of lead on the roof of Mockney Manor..............”This way 1foot”.......... said Antony...........

Meanwhile speeding South on the M1.........the Birdy song interrupted their thoughts.

“Its Yessor”..........said Mr W checking the number on his hands free and switching it to loud speaker.

“Did you get my message Yessor?”

“Yessor is unable ta cum teur t' phone as 'e's tied up a' t' moa. ”

The colour drained from his face as he recognised the voice of Abbu Boo Boo...

“Missen 'n uz fella jyhadists are reet miffed wi' theur Mr W.”

“It....Its... all a big mistake Abbu stammered”......Mr W

“Thee's reet abaht 'a', wea'ar abaht ta return remainin Pig pricks ta yessor, Yorksha fashion wi' eur crikkit ba', although thee be frozzen an twoa for long. “

Thwack!...........followed by a high pitched scream drowned out the motorway noise.........the screaming suddenly stopped.....

“Yessor's bin given t' full Halal treytment Mr W....an' when we finn' theur tha'il gerr t' sem”

The phone went dead.....

Thinking rapidly he dialled 999.........”Which emergency service do you require”............”Police there’s been a murder!”.........

Chapter Five

1Foot and Antony arrived back at the Grand entrance to Mockney Manor.

“Well how many did you count 1foot?”

“110 motion sensor camera’s, 20 CCTV, half a dozen layers of infrared laser beams, and for good measure I even saw some old fashioned trip wires and man traps............the place is a feckin fortress!”

“So it would seem my friend.....so it would seem”.......said Antony with a wry smile

“Well what have I missed then clever clogs?”.....replied 1Foot thinking their nice little earner had disappeared from their grasp.

“What do you see?”....

“Eh?.....some fecking great gates with a 1000 volts passing through them!”

“And?”

“What’d you mean AND?”.........1Foot was getting tired and dispirited, which usually made him more cantankerous than usual.

“And what else do you see?”......asked Antony knowing his mate was getting wound up

“A pedestrian side gate, also with a 1000 feckin volts passing through it!”

“And?”

“If you say fecking AND one more feckin time!.....I’ll .....not be responsible for my FECKIN actions!!!”

“And?.......woo woo there me old mate”...........hastily trying to stop 1Foot from unstrapping his peg leg.......”Just joshing with yer”

“Well what do yer expect we must of walked five miles around this feckin fence, and not a sign of a way in anywhere!”

“And”...... quickly adding...”that’s where you’re wrong”

“Eh?”.........1 foot was completely nonplussed.

“The side gate what do you see?”

“A warning sign 1000 volts!”

“And”

“Jeeeez’s enough with the feckin AND”.......”What else is there to SEE?”

“The door mat”

“So the pompous barsteward has a door mat saying No Poor People”

“Look closer”

“I’m looking.......I’m looking.......!!”

“There’s a lump underneath”

“So there’s a stone under it.....what of it?”

“Lift it up”

1 Foot lifted the corner and there was a key fob.

“They always do that”......said Antony laughing......”spend a fortune on the most expensive security then leave a key in case they lock themselves out”

“Well I never”.....”This changes things no end”.....

“We’ll need elp”....replied Antony

“I know just the blokes”.....”They’ve just got out this week”......”You know them MalcD and CliveH”

“What they’ve been inside again?” said Antony rolling his eyes......”Don’t tell me.....Dealing and Handling......the old Rioja scam again no doubt.....when will they ever learn!”

“Got it in one”......said 1 Foot with a smile on his face for the first time in months.......”Ear, Antony how much do you think we’ll get for all that lead down at Trackers knacker yard?”

“Got to be a million”

“Cor”.......1 Foot had pound signs in his eye’s.......”What’ll you do with your share Antony?”

“I’m going get one of those hair implants like Wayne Rooney.....how about you”

“I’ve always fancied one of those classic Travelhome campers”

 

Chapter Six

Mr W and Gladys were in shock at the recent turn of events, and had pulled into the service area at South Mimms. Gladys was first to break the silence.

“What’re we going to do?”

“DO?......nothing...... we’ll wait here until we hear from the police, they’re sure to get there in time and catch the murdering nutters......Just because they ate a bit of Pork, that’s ne reason start killing people, have they sense of proportion?”

The Birdy song interrupted their conversation.

“Hello its Inspector John from the 47th Precinct, can I speak to the person who dialled 999....a Mr W I believe”

“That’s me.......did you catch the murdering swine?”

“Swine is a rather unfortunate term when used in connection of the death of your business partner....Mr W”

“So what!......did you catch Abbu Boo Boo?”

“We found your deceased business partner at your premises, we have the name of Yessor is that his real name and did he have any family?”

“Eh?..” Mr W was somewhat taken aback with the Inspectors line of questioning.....”Well no.. Yessor is.....or rather was a nickname we gave him when he first started working for me, as whenever I asked him to do something he would say Yes Sir, and no he had no one else except the business, that’s why I made him a partner with 1 share, as it was cheaper than giving him a pay rise, he’s not.....I mean wasn’t very bright.......but what’s that got to do with anything?......Is Abbu and his cronies locked up???”

“What was his full name please?”

“Hugh Hughes”......Mr W replied in exasperation

“Who?”

“HUGH HUGHES!!”

“Oh...I see....no need to shout Mr W....Who Who’s as in doctor?”

“Doctor?......what use is a frigging doctor he’s dead ain’t HE?”

“No I mean Who as in Doctor Who”

“Jeeezus effin Christ”......the penny finally dropped....”NO!... HUGH AS IN HUGE...FIRST NAME SPELT...... H...U....G....H.......SURNAME H......U....G.....H....EFFIN......E”

“I repeat Mr W there is no need to shout.......are you sure about the F in Hughes?.....as that’s a rather unusual spelling”

“Give me strength” muttered Mr W

“Please tell me you have Abbu Boo Boo locked up?”

“Yes I understand from your initial 999 call you tried to implicate a prominent member of the Muslim community”

“Implicate.....IMPLICATE!!!..........I heard the murdering b*rstards kill Yessor!!”

“So you say Mr W........unfortunately the evidence we have show’s that Mr Hugh Hughes committed suicide”

“Suicide??.........Evidence??........I heard him die! With a cricket bat!”

“So you say Mr W.....but as I said the evidence say’s otherwise”

“Otherwise! ......????”

“Yes otherwise as I said, Abbu Boo Boo has categorically denied being involved, and has 150 fellow Jihadists willing to confirm he was at the mosque at the time of your call...furthermore Yessor left a suicide note written in his own blood on the back of an invoice from a Romanian slaughter house.....in his note he confessed to be involved in the processing of Pork to supply the Halal meat trade, and the guilt had driven him to take his own life by committing Hari Kari with a Pork Sword............we assume when the sword didn’t kill him.....he decided to slit his throat”.

Mr W’s brain was struggling with what he was being told..

“Furthermore in view of your implication with the illegal supply of Pork to the Halal meat trade, I must ask you to return to Bradford to answer further questioning”

“WHAT?..........so that nutter can slit my throat to?...............I don’t believe IT!......”Mr W hung up as he needed time to think......his mind was in turmoil how could this be happening to him.........Gladys quietly sobbed..............

 

Chapter Seven

The full import of recent events dawned on Mr W, he was no longer a pillar of the establishment and the chairman of a successful company, but on the run from not only a crazed Mullah but the Police were also in hot pursuit, his need to leave the country had become even more urgent, he gunned the RV into life and departed South Mimms services at speed.

With his foot to floor his mind started to seek out why things had gone so disastrously wrong, how could this happen to him of all people........suddenly the image of a pudding faced store man appeared in his mind........his eyes narrowed into evil slits as he identified the author of his miss fortune........fortunately Pudding face could not hear the curse’s being muttered, nor the description of what would happen to him when Mr W caught up with him.

Although he did feel his ears burning.....

Pudding face was at that moment helping the police with their enquires, and very helpful he’d been having found a set of books hidden in his store room, which implicated Halal Enterprises as the main importer of horse meat, and along with the counterfeit copies of Mustapha Pies packaging, the scam had been fully exposed.

Mr W’s RV edged up to passport control, he decided to use the passport in his real name rather than the one he had when he changed his name by deed pole, he rarely used his given names as it had been cause of much anguish in his life, but never the less useful for his trips to Romania, where his real name caused no comment.

He handed over his and Gladys’s passport, hers was still in her maiden name as she refused point blank to take on her husband’s name when they wed.

Mr W’s parents had been childhood sweethearts, and had the good fortune of being sent to a good school and received and excellent education, becoming head boy & head girl, it was a accepted fact by everyone who knew them that they would marry, they were ardent social climbers, and ensured that they knew all the right people, went to all the right parties.

When they wed they decided to use both names as double barrel names were de riguer in the circles they mixed, hence Miss Kerr and Mr Wright became the Kerr-Wright’s......

They moved to just the right suburban neighbourhood, on the best road, and were considered by all around them jolly nice people, and just the right sort.

So when nature took its course and a child was born, it was only natural that they should have a party and invite all the right people, so along with the mayor and other dignitaries’ Mr Kerr-Wright invited the registrar to wet the baby’s head.

Unfortunately it was this invite that was to be source of Mr W’s cross, as Mr Kerr-Wright found keeping up appearances expensive, so would often fill expensive wine bottles with his home brew.

The matronly registrar who rarely consumed alcohol was feeling rather squiffy after two glasses of Chateauneuf du pape, and made her excuses to leave early, but being a conscientious person, she returned to her office to complete the registration of the Kerr-Wright’s new born.

Wright Wayne Kerr, had a troubled childhood............

 

Reaching the booth he handed over their passports, and waited for the usual reaction, the policeman looked at the passports....then did a double take....he stifled a laugh and nudged his mate on the other side......who couldn’t contain himself and fell about laughing......whilst Mr W quietly fumed.

Handing back the passports the officer waved him through with tears in his eyes.....but Mr W’s ruse had worked, as they failed to recognise him from the picture that they had splashed across their computer screens.

They were on their way to Europe and safety............

Some days later in the Chatterbox bar of the Halfway Inn, a well known watering hole of the Bolton underworld sat Antony, 1Foot, MalcD and CliveH.

“So everything’s agreed, 1Foot sorts out the transport, Clive and Malc set up the false company, and I will sit here and admire Donna doing her stuff”

From their table they could see through to the Lap dancing bar, and sat slacked jaw as they watched the resident pole dancer Donna Oggle go through her routine for the first time, since she had returned from having the latest in automaton breast implants.

As Donna gyrated around her pole, the new implants came into their own, not only appearing to defy gravity, but perform their own rotary routine all in tune to the music, the grand finally brought the house down when Donna’s boob’s started to flash like belisha beacons.

Donna jumped from the stage and made her way through the rapturous applause to her dressingroom, passing by Antony’s table she recognised them all as regulars.

“Hey Tony what are you doing with these Saga louts?”

“Just a bit of business” He replied tapping the side of his nose.

“What do you think of these Puppies”....Donna asked..thrusting her ample enhanced bosom forwards....”They’re the latest must have for us exotic dancers you know, we have to move with the times”

“In more ways than one”.... chipped in Clive.

“Watch it Clive, or I’ll set them on you.....these puppies can bite!”

“Hey Donna who’s that lot over there?”.....asked Antony....he indicated towards a table with a lairy looking group of leather clad OAP’s.

“Oh them”... Donna said sarcastically......”They’re from Mobility scooter Fun, a right bunch of miserable gits they spend all their time bitching about anything and each other..... but Brians got their measure”.......she said with a wink....”He’s watering down their Sanatogen...besides if they get too grumpy we’ll chuck their buggies in the canal......and they can crawl home ”...................

One of the Mobilty Scooter Fun club...........finished snorting some Anusol off the back of his hand...........unfortunately being a cream it dangled from the end of his nose as he stood up emboldened by his drug of choice............he staggered towards to the Gents with clear intent......

Malc was the first to notice............”Incoming”..........But too late Pappajohn collided with 1foot leaving a trail of intentional nasal Anusol across his face..............

That’s when the fight began........

 

Next day..........In Sweaty Betty’s.

Winner of high class tea room and boudoir for genteel menopausal Yorkshire folk 2013

The Chatterbox crew sat, wearing their flat caps back to front and drinking builders tea out off authentically chipped china mugs, stuffing black pudding and tripe sandwiches with the crusts removed, accompanied by some French fancies dusted with 100’s & 1000’s.

The post-mortem of the previous evening’s debacle had concluded that the Mobility Scooter Fun gang had arrived tooled up, with every intention of starting trouble over some perceived slight to one of their gang.

It had later transpired that they’d came looking for another Halfway Inn regular, part time lay preacher for the local CAB, and fulltime voluntary dog warden Colin Cymballs, as one of their gang members had foolishly been walking their Chihuahua on Colin’s patch when he did a dump.............Colin had unilaterally done away with the previous bylaw of on the spot fine for this miss demeanour and replaced it with a 12 bore shotgun.......The Chihuahua’s owner had spent a fortune on the latest in handbag hounds, and was totally devastated after hearing the bang to just discover the remains of pink stone incrusted collar bearing Fifi Trixibelle Hakesafe’s name, and a large hole in the ground.

The dog owner had mistakenly assumed that Colin had discriminated against him, when in fact no discrimination took place, as Colin is well known as a equal opportunities dog hater.....Indeed his devotion to the cause had made dogs in that part of Bradford a rarity, and was widely thought to be the reason that ferret keeping had become popular again.

Although the melee was short lived, the fight had been vicious, Antony and 1foot had both received black eyes from well aimed dentures, Malc had narrowly missed being pierced with a sharpened walking stick, but his puffa jacket had prevented serious injury, it was Clive who had sustained the most damage as he was given a nasty gumming in the nether regions, that was clearly giving him some discomfort......

“I should get that looked at Clive, those OAP bites can soon go septic in this weather”

“Aye, I will Antony......it nearly opened up me ferret wound”

This nugget of information set them of discussing the pro’s and con’s of keeping ferrets down ones trousers.......................

 

A gentle tinkle attracted their attention to the front door of Sweaty Betty’s...... walking backwards carrying a large tray of pies was Pudding Face Dave.

“A up Dave, what you doing ere?”.........

“It’s me new job 1foot”..........replied a beaming pudding face.....”Chief Pie salesman for Mustapha Pie’s......and I’ve got me own company bike with a bell and flag”

“Owd you manage that then Dave?”......asked Clive

“Well inspector John from 47 precinct let him know it was me who found Mr W’s dodgy books...........he was so pleased he offered me this job........Now I’m chief pie salesman......AND......I can eat as many pies as I want!........do you want one of his celebratory pie’s coz there free to locals?”

“No no it’s alright Dave”........they replied in unison.....

“But they’re award winning?”

“Yeah we know”....replied Antony.......”But we’re full see”........”Stuffed to the brim” .....said Clive.......”couldn’t eat another thing”.......added Malc and 1foot.

The rumours had spread quickly.....

Mustapha announced he would produce a celebratory pie as a thank you to his god on release from jail............He wasted no time.....the very next day he produced a pie that received acclaim up and down the land......but locally people where gossiping...........the wording of the ingredients at first confused.........to quote.............”This pie contains Halal prepared meat. Although pork contamination cannot be ruled out. Only natural ingredients were used in the preparation of this product”

Then rumours spread, that Yessors body had disappeared from the police morgue.

The final nail in the local’s appetite was when it was marketed as.......

Mustapha’s Revenge...........

 

Tinkle tinkle......they turned to see who they thought at first appeared to be a bag lady, entering the tea room, but it was soon apparent from the shawl and lucky white heather pinned to it she was a gypsy.......she sidled up to the counter where Sweaty Betty feeling more menopausal than usual judging by the beads of sweat on her heavily powdered face, sat with a unlit rollup dangling from her bottom lip, reading a Mill’s & Boon novel.......Betty looked up from her book gave her potential customer a look up and down........then peering over the top of her horn rimmed glasses said.

“Feck Off”

The gypsy lady was clearly not put off, as she replied...

“Cross my palm with silver madam and I will tell you your fortune”

Before Betty could reply, she grabbed Betty’s empty tea cup and started swirling the tea leaves. In a voice full of import.

“I can see you surrounded in men in uniform.....they are running their hands all over your body”

“Oooh Eeeer”......Betty broke out into a major sweat, the fortune teller had just described her favourite fantasy.....”What happens next?”.......

“Show me your palms”

With the sweat causing rivulets in her heavy powder, Betty offered her hands forward.

“These men are going to give you the biggest.....”

“Biggest what?”.......... a now drenched Betty asked huskily.

“SHOCK”.......and in a thrice the fortune teller whipped out a pair of handcuffs and clapped them on Betty’s wrists.....speaking rapidly into her lucky white heather........”Wham Bam this is Pampam...suspect Rich T has been dunked.....I repeat DUNKED”.

Half a second later there was pandemonium as two dozen members of the vice squad, dressed in full riot gear charged in from all directions, the majority headed straight up the stairs shouting “POLICE....STAY WHERE YOU ARE!!”

Nonchalantly strolling in behind them came Inspector John from the 47th Precinct, “Thank you Pam, I’ll take over now”........”Mrs Betty Alcock alias Mrs T...I am arresting you for Tax evasion, Money Laundering,”....as a trail of young women dressed in skimpy French maid outfits appeared from upstairs...he added...

”Living off immoral earnings, running a house of ill repute”.

“Found it Sir”.... said a sergeant holding up a WWII vintage wireless set.

“Thank you Sergeant”.

”And communicating with a Royal Naval nuclear submarine, there by breaching the official secrets act....Book her Danno!”

“But my names Bert”....replied the sergeant confused.

“Yes I know Sergeant there’s no need to be so pedantic!”......”I’ve always wanted to say that”.....replied inspector John, his moment of triumph slightly diminished.

“Me?.... Pedantic?”.....muttered the sergeant

Following the French maids were a group of portly naked men, who were soon recognised as members of the local Probus group, and were struggling to decide whether to cover their modesty or their faces from the assembled press photographers, it was clear that the raid had ensnared the local worthies indulging in their monthly orgy.

The Chatterbox Crew, were flabbergasted and disgusted, they’d been regular customers for years, and the only French fancy they’d ever been offered had 100’s & 1000’s on.

“Load em up” ordered inspector John, and wandered over to where the Chatterbox crew were sat, helping himself to one of Pudding Face’s pie’s.

“Well I call that a text book operation... Now what are you lot up to?.....I heard about the fight last night....you’re lucky no one recalls knowing who took part!”.....he said with a menacing look at Antony and 1foot’s black eyes.

“Have you found Yessors missing body?”....asked Malc, to distract him.

“MISSING? Missing?.....Oh no not missing....things don’t go missing in my department......merely mislaid he’ll soon turn up I’m sure”.... replied Inspector John taking another bite of pie..

“Sooner than you think”.....whispered Malc with a nod to the pie

“I say Pudding Face....these pies are very good......do I detect a hint of Pork?”.....

 

 

Chapter Eight

Mr W watched the local news from home on his Ipad with utter dismay, as he saw his Probus chums being humiliated in public, clearly the police had tipped off every news hound in the area, which in turn had attracted a large crowd, so when the arrested worthies where loaded into the back of the waiting meat wagons they had to endure a raucous reception from the crowd.......along with shouts of “Don’t look Ethel”......and........”So this is where the big knobs hang out”..........”Ear ain’t that Judgemental?”.....

Although his fellow members had decided to cover their faces rather than their modesty, he was still able to identify them from their much reduced wedding tackle, as he’d enjoyed many a daisy chain at Sweaty Betty’s High class award winning brothel.....

Watching the proceedings he scowled, don’t the lower orders realise people with a high IQ require more than a Friday night missionary position!... then.... in the back ground he spotted his nemesis Pudding Face, giggling with a group of well known local trouble makers......”You won’t be laughing when I get hold of you!” he muttered............Because Mr W had a plan...........

There was a knocking at the door.....

“Monsieur Wayne Kerr, un colis est arrivé pour vous.”

“Great... right on time just as Bumbescu had promised”

Opening the door, taking the package he thanked the landlady of the Mafia safe house, and enquired of his wife.

“Merci madame Madame Gladys a retourné?”

“Non pas encore”

“Jamais l'esprit, mais je pense que nous allons bientôt partir pour la Roumanie”

Closing the door he quickly ripped of the wrapping paper and as expected, along with the false set of Romanian number plates, the parcel contained two new Romanian passports, complete set of new false documentation for their RV, and a Walther PPK...........Bumbescu had turned out to be a god send, as it appears his Romanian slaughter house contact had Mafia connections.

Hence their current hide out in a Mafia safe house, the RV was currently receiving a complete paint job along with a new set of chassis and engine numbers, in a Mafia workshop..........his Romanian friend was very thorough and efficient.........maybe the 100k Mr W transferred to Bumbescu’s account had influenced his efficacy........but his news that he could invent a whole new Mr W that would allow them back to their old life had given them hope..........

 

Chapter Nine

The Chatterbox Crew were walking along the tow path, heading for the halfway inn, with their flat caps on back to front, judging by the swagger in their gait and their hands down their crutch.

It was clear they had their ferrets with them.

They’d spent an enjoyable afternoon, ferret racing down at the old dog track, apart from the unfortunate incident with Malc’s ferret Mavis coming on heat causing a couple of ferrets to divert from the track straight up each trouser leg, the rumpus was soon settled without too much embarrassment as Malc’s Mrs always sent him out with clean underwear in case he got run over, and his Union Jack thong was pristine......... a credit to Mrs MalcD.

Although there were mutterings about doping after 1foots ferret Victor won all his races again.

Nevertheless, all things considered, at the end of the day, and without doubt, the Chatterbox Crew had, had an enjoyable day and it was 1foots turn to buy the drinks again..........

Leaving their ferrets in the cages by the door that the landlord Brian Kirby had they thought, thoughtfully provided, but in truth, he was fed up with cleaning ferret crap of the carpet, the crew took their usual table, once drinks had been bought and Clive was settled with his pint of Rioja, Malc with a Guinness, 1foot with a Pint of Snake Bite and Antony with a sweet sherry..............they got down to business..............

“So...........we have the company set up Clive?”..........asked Antony

“Well.......not only a company” replied Clive with a wink to his fellow conspirator Malc......”BUT......we have managed to set up a government funded company”..........

“Eh?.....what’s one of those” ......asked 1foot, just before Antony.

“Pay dirt” replied Malc..........taking over Clive added.

“We have set up a not for profit company!”........

“EH???”...........this time 1foot and Antony asked in unison

“Aaah... you clearly don’t understand government funding initiatives”......replied Malc......”The secret is not to guarantee a profit, but to provide a future for minorities”......

“EH?”

“Tell em Clive”.......replied Malc, seeing they were struggling with the concept.

“Right we have set up a company called ‘Heavy Metal Recycling For Minorities’......and because we have included minorities we have opened the flood gates to match funding from competing government departments...........they are falling over themselves to give us money!”......

“So how much?”.asked 1foot, I only got 60 quid a week when I had my foot chopped off.

“1.5” replied Clive

“1 pound bloody fifty......Jeezus.......my ferret couldn’t live on that!”.......

“1.5 million my one footed friend...........and that’s just to get us going.....and we can also tap into the EU for further funding up to 20 million before they start asking questions”...........

“What questions?”.........asked Antony

“Questions like..... why have you not employed enough minorities”..........answered Clive with a grin

“So we don’t need to get our hands dirty nicking lead then?”...........

They all glared at 1foot.......

“That would be fraud you muppet.........we still need to employ some minorities...... and do the job!”.........

“Exactly Antony, unless we show we have set up a proper company, and cross all the ‘T’s and dot the ‘I’’s, then we are open to charges of fraud...........but if we fail due to market forces...... ie incompetence of the employed minorities.............we’re in the clear”........

It’s your round 1foot................

 

 

As they entered Romania they were surprised by the lack of people.......the few that remained appeared to drive Silver Merc’s and Beemers, which strangely appeared to be all right hand drive, and sport GB stickers with Romanian number plates.

As the satnav directions took them up into the hills by passing Bumbescu’s premises where Mr W had been before, he was amazed by the properties that could only be described as palaces, making Mockney Manor pale into insignificance..........he was not normally impressed, but the moment satnav said you have arrived....... HE most definitely was.....as he saw well dressed peasants instantly stand to attention and open huge gold plaited gates..........What confronted them was obviously a Royal Palace.......

Driving along the tree lined drive with manicured lawns and gardens spreading for acres on either side, it was clear Mr W had not only reached the top of the mountain.... but the top of the mafia.............circling the massive water feature of a serpent writhing and spouting water, whilst disappearing up its own rear end, they arrived at the grand entrance of the palace.....putting on the hand brake....Mr W and Gladys stared in awe

 

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