Intergalactic Terrorist (New Dimension Book 1) (23 page)

    Giblet turned and headed back towards the door. He had some people searching to do and quickly. “Thank you for your help,” he said, taking a last look back at Reverend Kimfin, “but who the devil is Beff?”

    Hiding under one of the broken windows, a shadowed figure watched as Giblet ran from the broken church, a number of bricks flying through the air after him.

    “Greebol… the bounty hunter,” whispered Lemor’all, smiling to himself.  

Chapter 30

The Rancid Pickle seemed like a good place for Charlie Pinwright to hide, away from whatever prying eyes may be looking for him, as it:

a)
     
was very dark inside and his pink skin was not as noticeable

b)
     
most of the folk in there were so pissed they probably couldn’t see straight anyway

    The barman stared at him in the gloom, so Charlie turned his back on him. It was always the case, no matter what pub you went in, the barman did not like you being there without a drink. Even though they were called
public
houses.

    He was so tired that he tried to keep himself upright by sitting at the very edge of the chair. Therefore, should he drop off to sleep, he would drop off the side of the chair and wake up. That was his theory anyway.

    An old Jaal lady with far too many wrinkles and far too few clothes came over and put a vein covered leg that looked like the bark of a tree up onto the chair next to him. She winked and gave what Charlie could only presume to be ‘come-to-bed eyes’. Although, taking in mind the scantily clad outfit and the bright red lipstick, the red rashes around her mouth and the fact she kept itching her crotch he doubted she ever used a bed. Must have been ‘come anywhere’ eyes.

    He carefully stood and, taking care not to catch any sort of infection just by breathing the same air as her, headed his way over to the bar where he slumped down on a stool.

    He was shattered. He just wanted to snooze. He hadn’t slept properly all night. He had found some shelter behind a large and grubby bush where he must have had at the most an hour. However he was rudely woken by some sort of feral badger-like creature gnawing at his left ear. So now not only was he tired and aching from sleeping under a bush, but his ear flipping hurt too!

    “Can I get yer something stranger?” said the barman, a thick faced Gumthar with bad teeth and a patch over one eye. One of his antennas was snapped in two. He was missing an arm.

    “I might,” Charlie lied, for he had no money, “later perhaps. I’m just… browsing the drinks menu.” He realised quickly that there was no drinks menu.

    “
Humpth
,” the barman snorted. “Get one of these down yer gullet. Maybe it will clear yer clouded mind.” He reached behind him and grabbed a venomous looking bottle, with a green liquid inside that bubbled dangerously when moved. He poured it into a dirty shot glass and plonked it on the bar in front of the tired Human. There was a teeth grinding sizzle as a drop of the green liquid splashed from the glass and landed on the bar. A tiny stream of smoke rose into the air.

    “I’m alright thank you,” said Charlie.

    “No,” the barman grunted, “I insist. It is on the house.”

    Charlie shrugged. A free drink? He
was
very thirsty. With slight hesitation he picked up the little glass and quickly downed the contents.

    A strange tickling sensation as the liquid trickled down his throat.

    A slight cinnamon after-taste.

    Quite warming really.

    Not quite as alcoholic as he presumed it would be. He smiled.

    “You know that’s not as bad as I thought it
w
a
s
h
goin
g
t
o
be. I
n
f
a
c
ts I
m
igh
t
s
g
o as
h
far
a
s
h
sha
y
in
g va
t
I
fo
r
o
u
g
hly
e
nj
o
y
e
d
s it!
” Charlie’s eyes crossed. The room span. His legs turned to jelly. He began to gibber. He had uncontrollable flatulence. He began to drool. All in all it was not a pretty sight.

    The barman chuckled to himself, wiping the bar with a damp cloth. Another customer entered the Rancid Pickle and stepped heavy-footed over to him.

    Charlie span around on his barstool and attempted to sing ‘Granddad We Love You’.

    The newcomer turned to stare at the spinning pink skinned man, straightened up and paced over to him. He grabbed the sides of the stool to stop his nauseating rotation and stared into his eyes.

    It took Charlie several minutes to focus, but when he did he wished he hadn’t. He sat face to face with a cruel and menacing looking Umfian. Even though to Charlie all Umfians looked alike, he knew instantly that this particular pig-like alien was the one from the electrical.

    “
A
h
,
” he spat, “
it’
s
h y
o
u
s
i
s
h
i
t
? Ho
w
th
e
d
e
vil
s
d
i
d
yo
u
wak
e
u
p?
”

    The Umfian snarled, showing rows of pointed, bone crunching teeth. Charlie was too drunk to notice the threat and proceded in tapping the giant gnashers with his fingers.

    “Not Quite The Warrior I Was Expecting,” the Umfian said.

    “
A
r
e
n
’t y
o
us?
” Charlie babbled, “
D
o
n
’t pu
t
yo
u
rsh
e
l
f
s
d
o
wn.
Y
ou l
o
o
k
s th
e
s
ht
u
rdy ty
p
e
s
,
” and he pinched the Umfians muscles, “
yo
u
s
c
o
ul
d
b
e
a wa
r
rio
r
i
f y
o
u
s
wa
n
t
s
h t
o
b
e
a
war
r
i
o
r
s
!
”

    “You Hit Me,” the Umfian continued, ignoring the drunken pinches, “It Hurt. I Think It Is Only Fair That I Return The Favour… Don’t You?”

    Charlie stuck a wobbly finger into the air. “
I
n
d
e
ed!
” he grinned. “
A
f
a
v
o
ur
s
ret
u
r
n
ed ish
a
f
a
v
o
u
rs
g
iv
e
n
… o
r
s
h
o
m
ethi
n
g
li
k
e th
a
t!
”

    “I’m Glad You Agree,” said the Umfian. And he punched Charlie in the face with a rock-like fist.

Being punched in the face by someone that is not only stronger than you, but also probably stronger than the rest of your entire species, is quite a sobering experience.

    Other sobering experiences are discovering your mother sleeping with your head teacher, your sports teacher, the taxi driver, the butcher, the baker, the candle stick maker, your best friend’s mother (a very disturbing sudden sobering) and the local priest. All moments Charlie could still remember with acute accuracy.

    It was also a very sobering moment for Charlie to discover his mother sleeping with his father. Possibly the most sobering and shocking of all.

    Another would be to have your head continuously pushed in and out of a trough of ice cold water. This was also something Charlie had experienced. He was experiencing it right now.

    “Please!” he begged as his head was pushed in for another dipping, “Please… glug, glug, glug! Stop!”

    “Are You Sober Now Brave Warrior?” the Umfian shouted angrily, still holding onto the back of Charlie’s scruffy hair.

    “Sober and very, very frightened!” Charlie screamed, flapping his arms around wildly.

    “Good,” the Umfian chuckled, “Now Tell Me Where Your Friend Is!”

    “I… I don’t have any friends,” Charlie replied. And he was telling the truth.

    The Umfian pushed Charlie’s head back under the water once again. “The Bounty Hunter!” he yelled. “The Gumthar! Where Is The Gumthar!”

    A hundred things rushed through Charlie’s head. Mainly water true, but amidst the flooding he thought of his loyalties to Greebol. Did he have any? Could he condemn that grey skinned son of a… to death at the hands of this angry (and deservedly so) Umfian?

    If he did, would that take away what it meant for him to be a Human?

    “I don’t know where he is,” he lied. The Umfian gripped the hair on Charlie’s head, about to dunk him back under the water again. “Really, really I don’t know where he is!” he squealed. “I did know where he was… but now I don’t. I haven’t seen him all night!” In some ways he was telling the truth.

    The Umfian released Charlie and let him drop to the ground like a rag doll.

    “When You See Him You Tell Him From Me,” he growled, “That Vegora Vrall Is Coming For His Blood!”

    As Charlie hid his head under his arms, Vegora Vrall, Umfian Warrior, stormed away, deeply annoyed that the pink skinned man did not turn out to be much competition for him after all.

    Charlie was left wet and in pain on the floor. He stared up at the morning sky. It was a nice morning, nice for Baggus’Regious anyway. The clouds were a lighter shade of miserable.

    So, the Umfian was awake. Did that mean that the beautiful May’orn was awake also? He tried to put her full lips, large sensual eyes and exotic smooth green skin out of his mind. Greebol was in trouble. Nothing new there of course, but he had no idea that the Umfian was looking for him.

    Was this Charlie’s fault? Was the Umfian awake because he messed with the stasis canister, waking him before he was supposed to be woken?

    Either way, Charlie could not handle another death be on his conscience. Even if it was a lying, cheating, murdering moron like Greebol.

    Slowly standing and suddenly being attacked by the worst hangover he had ever felt in his entire life, Charlie staggered down the street, heading back towards Steak and Onion Alley and to Mother Muggo’s Café.

‘Mother’ Muggo washed a pan for the fiftieth time and was still unable to scrub the egg off, even though she used three of the best washing up liquids on the market.

    She sighed and threw the pan in the dustbin, taking a new one out from her spare pan cupboard. There was nothing she hated more than throwing away what was once a perfectly good frying pan.

    She opened the hatch from her kitchen to the café floor but, as usual, there were no customers waiting to be served. The old Kororka sat in the corner, drinking his cold tea from his top mouth and his even colder coffee from the bottom. Whilst the female Zax-lar shouted random swear words sporadically through her beak-like mouth.

    Muggo’s two loyal customers. Her only two customers.

    Still, she was happy in her job. Kind of happy anyway. Well, alive at least.

    She heard the bell above the door ring as it was opened and turned back to the hatch excited to have a potential new customer. Her smile did not droop when she saw it was Charlie, even though she wished she could be cooking food for a paying person.

    “Charlie,” she beamed, “I thought you were still sleeping!”

    Sleeping. Even the word made Charlie want to curl up into a ball on the floor.

    “Have you seen Greebol this morning Muggo?” he asked.

    “Oh do not worry about him,” she responded. “Fancy a nice cooked breakfast? Most important meal of the day.”