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Gordon

an Illegal Alien

A story in progress by Andy Le Monde

Ep 2, Gordon & The Quay La Tasda

  His 40ish year old body was warm and comfortable, at least from the neck down. From the neck up, however, there was a freakish phenomenon occurring. Someone had appeared to have inserted a throbbing ball of pain into his brain. In his present position, the dull ache was quite evenly distributed and seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. He rolled onto his back, with eyes firmly shut, and the ball of pain shifted quite dramatically. First to the top of his skull, where it swelled with an unwelcome rush, and then slowly down, it eased below his forehead and around each eyeball.

  The alcohol he was used to supping on the Mothership was mainly synthetic and rarely left any trace of bad feeling the next day. He’d forgotten how painful the real stuff could be. To reduce the feeling maybe a good moan of ‘arrrrrgggh’ might help but as he released the gasp, neither his mouth nor throat responded and instead a blast of air rushed through his nose with a whining sigh.

  The desire to discover his new surroundings finally surpassed his desire to continue lying there till death. He threw off the thin quilt and raised himself to a sitting position, noting that he was still fully clothed. As he gingerly stood up, images and sounds from the day before trickled back to him. The Pig had gotten quite busy the night before, and though he hadn’t exactly taken centre stage, he had certainly made his mark on the proceedings. For now, his legs at least had a motion of their own, even if his knees and ankles hadn’t, and he stepped Frankenstein-like towards the door.

  After passing along a short corridor and down a single flight of stairs, he came to another door, which he opened with caution. It led into a bar room, but it wasn’t The Pig. This one was far quainter. Like an old house adorned with painted plates and hanging brass oddments, like bed pans and oil containers.

  Gordon headed towards the bar, behind which stood a man with his back to him. On top of his short, curly, grey hair sat a pair of spectacles. Through a dry, tired throat, Gordon invited him into conversation. “Morning”, he croaked.

  With no obvious response forthcoming, he tried again with a little more gusto, “I don’t suppose you could tell me where I am, please?”

  The gentleman turned to face Gordon, placing both hands flat on the bar. With a stern look he held Gordon’s gaze for a few seconds and then raised his eyebrows in an expression of ‘now ask me that again’.

  Gordon looked up at the man who now looked much taller and carefully asked again “Where am I please?"

  “The Quay La Tasda” His well filled six foot frame looked familiar to Gordon, but he couldn’t at this very moment place him.

  This tense standoff needed breaking. If Gordon stood any chance of making his stay in Barnsley tolerable then he had to make these people his friends. He had a good idea that this present uncomfortable situation was of his own making but until his memory released the full details he had to wing his way through it. “My name’s Gordon”, he finally offered and stretched his hand out in friendly greeting.

  The gentleman’s tone lowered to a gentle growl “I know”. He took Gordon’s hand in a firm grip and pulled himself closer over the bar, till his nose was almost touching Gordon’s brow. “I’m Dave”, he replied and then dropped the tone even lower, “and if you ever ask me to touch my feminine side again I’ll bounce you out the nearest closed window”.

  The veil of amnesia was lifted and relief coursed through Gordon’s body. He hadn’t murdered anyone, broken anything of value or harmed a single animal. He now remembered Dave as a close friend of Landlord and of Landlord’s wife, Vanessa. He remembered, albeit still vaguely, how the conversation amongst the men had hardened into a testosterone fest so he decided to hose it down with oestrogen. His euphoria spread across his face in a massive grin as he exploded with excitement, “DAAAVE, of course, I’ve got you now”.

  With their hands still gripped, Gordon now shook them up and down in joyous friendship.

  Dave’s stern expression wavered in confusion. He was expecting a more reserved reaction. Indeed, he was hoping for humility, ideally in fact, fear or at the least, apology. Unsure of which way to go next, he pursued his attack “and if you ever wave a pool cue at me again I’ll snap it over your bloody head”, though the statement now issued forth as more of a request than a threat.

  “Oh no, that wasn’t me”, Gordon continued, his smile still beaming, “That was Vanessa, she told me to wave a stick at you”.

  Dave was broken. He saw before him only two possible responses. The first might involve the police and a good surgeon, the second required two shot glasses and a bottle of fine whisky. “What are you on?” his tone now incredulous.

  “I’ve been trialling a new strain of cannabis”, he joked back “it’s called Super Badger”

  “You mean skunk?”

  “Probably, anyhow, how did I get here to The Quay?”

  Dave, now drained of fight, explained “You’d passed so many notes over the bar last night, refusing to accept change, you were over £200 in credit. That paid for: a taxi here; the taxi waiting time, while you kissed every woman in the pub goodnight and shook every man’s hand; the taxi waiting time, when you stopped for a kebab; a kebab; the taxi repair bill, when you slipped and damaged the wing mirror; the taxi cleaning bill, when you threw up said kebab and a room here for the night at The Quay. Oh, and here’s your change, £3”

  “Sounds like we had a great night”

  “We?” before Dave could muster a suitable response, Gordon continued.

  “Will that change buy me a breakfast pint?” Gordon asked brightly with a cheeky smile.

  “If I give you a bottle will you take it and piss off?” Dave felt broken, but at least he finally had a chance to lose this guy.

  “Deal”

  Dave fetched and opened a bottle of Newcastle Brown. Placing it on the bar he asked, “You don’t seem to care about the mayhem you caused last night, is there anything you actually give a damn about?”

  “Many things”, Gordon replied “all much more important than a few sore ears and damaged egos”. The dull throb in his head softened as he took a big swig from the bottle placed before him. “I don’t suppose you know of a house or flat I could rent for a few weeks?”

  Dave pulled a mobile from his shirt pocket and dialled, “Ayup, is Nev the Fish there? ….. Ayup Nev ….. av ya any properties free at moment? ….. Princess Street? ….. aye ….. arr …. aye ….. I’ve got a new tenant for ya”

© 2016 Authored by Andy Le Monde

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