Intergalactic Terrorist (New Dimension Book 1) (24 page)

    Charlie looked at the food in her kitchen, most of which was still squirming.

    “No,” he said, “thank you. Please this is important. Is Greebol still in his room?”

    Muggo chuckled to herself. “No dear. Greebol has not been in his room all night.” Upon seeing the confusion on Charlie’s face she explained. “Greebol is a creature of the night. It is the time he makes his most profit. Usually he sleeps in the day… if at all.”

    Charlie sighed. That would be right! Greebol out making money. Illegally no doubt. “Do you have any idea where he is?” he asked.

    Muggo stroked Charlie’s cheek. “It is so nice to see that boy finally find a friend.”

    Charlie groaned inside. Muggo was such a nice grey skinned, yellow eyed, giant breasted, four armed alien.

    “Please Muggo,” Charlie continued, “this is important.”

    Muggo smiled. “He did say something about heading to the bank to withdraw some knobs,” she said softly. “It is the large building in Soggy Biscuit. Do you know the way?”

    But Charlie had already rushed from the café. 

Chapter 31

The Baggus Bank of Excellence stood tall and proud in the centre of Soggy Biscuit Road. The building was tall and Gothic, casting its spire-like towers high up into the sky. Inside the bank it was bright and shiny. Polished marble floors that caused many a person to slip and injure themselves, stretched the entire building, all eighty-one floors of it. The tables and counters were made of thick, varnished royal oak wood and the staff wore the most pristine of uniforms, tailored by the galactic famous Marvious Haraggus.

    What actually went on inside that bank was unknown to most. They were content in the knowledge that they took and stored their knobs there and received interest, happy knowing that it were safe and would never go missing. Not like the bank at the other side of the city down Porridge Avenue.

    The Regious Bank of Adequacy had never lived up to the large, swanky, perfect image of its rival. It was small, a little shabby and the staff wore uniforms that Marvious Haraggus would probably vomit on if he saw them, and then use that vomit to make an outfit far superior to theirs.

    As the only two banks in the city, it was always the case that the Baggus Bank of Excellence would be the most popular.

    Literally billions of knobs were stored there. Safe in some of the most secure vaults in the universe. Only the most hardened, experienced and intelligent criminal masterminds would try and steal from here. Many had tried and many had failed. Each and every one of them sent to the prison ship Reformatory, a jail for the worst of the worst, described as an actual hell that flies around space and that no one
ever
gets away from.

    At the moment the bank was busy. Many people were entering and exiting through the large spinning door.

    Charlie stood facing those doors. Soggy Biscuit Road was bustling with life. All of the richer folk in the city going about their daily business - shopping mostly. All of the poorer folk going about theirs - stealing mostly.

    Charlie looked up into the sky. The imposing form of the large silver ship still hovered above the city. No one seemed bothered by the ship anymore. It was as if the citizens of Baggus’Regious had simply become accustomed to it being there.

    An Umfian strode past Charlie, forcing him to move into the bank, remembering what he was doing there. He shielded his eyes from the gold that shone at his face. This was a rich and amazing building for sure! It was a total contrast to the general crappiness of the rest of the city.

    “Can I help you sir?” asked an employee nervously who seemed to appear out of nowhere by Charlie’s side. He looked at Charlie and furrowed his brow, confused as to what species he could be.

    “I’m just looking thank you,” the Human replied and stepped away from the staring man towards Greebol who he spotted crouched down on the ground. He put his hand on his shoulder.

    “Greebol we need to talk,” he said.

    The Gumthar turned with a very confused look on his grey face. To Charlie’s horror, this was
not
Greebol but in fact another Gumthar male. This one had a beard!

    “I say,” gasped the stranger, “please do not hurt me young man!”

    “I am terribly sorry,” Charlie began, “I thought you were someone else.”

    “Charlie?” said a voice behind him. “Coming to make an investment?”

    This time there was no mistake. The smug face was so furiously irritating that there was no doubt that this
was
Greebol.

    “Shouldn’t you be in disguise?” Charlie asked moodily.

    “I could not be bothered,” Greebol muttered. “Besides that tight suit chafes the groin. No worries though… this is my home town. I will be fine here!” He shuffled the large item he held from one hand to the other.

    “You might not be so fine,” said Charlie. “Not when
he
gets his hands on you anyway.”

    “Who would that be then my friend?”

    “I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Charlie continued. “This doesn’t mean that we’re friends or partners or whatever reason you’ve kept me with you…”

    “I really do not have all day Charlie,” Greebol interrupted.

    “Vegora Vrall,” Charlie said with a shaky, panic filled tone, “the Umfian from the electrical… he’s awake and he is quite miffed.”

    Greebol stared. “Awake?” he said slowly. “You mean… awake and moving?”

    “Moving and shouting and pushing innocent people’s faces into water… and he wants to kill you!”

    If any sort of panic spread through Greebol he did not show it. He simply continued to smile, flicking his finger on something that clicked every so often on the item he held.

    “Why did he wake?” he wondered. “His stasis cycle should not have ended for days yet… weeks even.”

    “Don’t ask me, I have no idea, why would I have anything to do with it?” Charlie stuttered, a little too quickly and nervously, trying to sound as guilt free as possible but in the process sounding as guilty as hell.

    “Interesting,” Greebol said suspiciously, “very interesting.”

    “Isn’t it?” said Charlie. “Well… I guess I’ll be off again then.”

    “Oh really?”

    “I’ve told you what I came here to tell you.”

    “So you will not be sticking around?”

    “I see no real reason to.” Charlie, for the first time, realised it was awfully quiet in the bank. It surprised him as in his experience banks were usually quite noisy. The bank he kept his money in back on Earth was always noisy. Probably because his bank was so rubbish that no one could ever get any money out. In fact people usually ended up losing money.

    Charlie himself lost about four hundred pound because of his bank. It was actually his ex-girlfriend using his bank card to buy sordid ‘love’ items to use with her Spanish lover but that was an image Charlie tried to keep out of his fragile little mind. To him it was the bank’s fault. End of.

    “What’s going on here?” Charlie asked, a little bewildered but hoping the answer would not be what he was beginning to think it was.

    Greebol shrugged. All four of his shoulders moved.

    “
Greebol
,” Charlie said, almost in a growl, “why are all these people laying on the floor with their hands over their heads? And what is
that
you are holding?”

    Greebol looked at the item in his hand and considered trying to hide it behind his back. “It is just a gun,” he said meekly.

    Charlie’s eyes crossed. He nodded his head with his bottom lip stuck out, hands on his hips.

    “You’re robbing the bank?” he scolded angrily, like a mother discovering her child has been drinking alchopops behind the school bike shed. “Will you never learn?”

    “
I
am not robbing anyone,” he said a little insulted. “My
friend
is robbing the bank… I am merely helping him out.” He smiled.

    “Helping him out?
Helping him out
? What are you doing to help? Holding his gun?”

   Greebol looked down at the big, black, bulky phased weapon in his hand.

   “No,” he grinned, “this is mine!”

    “Of course it is,” Charlie snapped. “And I suppose your
friend
is a little green fairy who sprinkles magic dust to steal the money as I don’t see him anywhere in the bank!”

    At that point the vault doors burst open and a thin, gaunt looking Waabba with random sore, bald patches over his face where his hair had fallen out, rushed into the room. He held a gun even larger than Greebol’s and flashed it around at the people in jittery, nervous movements.

    “Nobody move,” he screamed, “or I’ll execute every mother plucking last one of you!”

    Nobody moved except Charlie who frowned.

    “His name is Wextoal,” said Greebol. “As I said, he is an old friend of mine a bit short of cash. I owed him a favour so said I would help him out.”

    Wextoal bound back into the vault, returning with several large sacks full of money. He made strange clicking noises with his tongue and snapped his head left and right in anxious jerks.

    “Help him out by robbing a bank?” Charlie whispered, nervous around this clearly unpredictable madman. “Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?”

    “I told you Charlie,” Greebol responded, “
I
am not robbing the bank. I am a bounty hunter not a thief. My job here is to just make sure no one tries to leave.” He stepped over to a security guard whose hand was slowly creeping towards an alarm button under his desk and pointed the gun in his face.

    “Or tries to call the Sentry!” he growled, pushing the security guard back to the floor with the tip of his weapon.

    “You’re insane Greebol!” Charlie shouted across the bank. “I don’t know why I bothered trying to help you! I should just let that Umfian get his hands on you!”

    “That is not a very nice thing to say my friend.”

    “I am
not
your friend!” Charlie yelled.

    The mad Waabba threw his hands over his ears and screamed. “What’s with all the shouting? Greebol why is your partner shouting?” His voice was high pitched and erratic.

    Charlie was about to respond when the bank's alarm system blurted out in a loud wail. Greebol turned instantly to the security guard who had reached up and pressed the button whilst no one was looking. He stepped forwards, the gun raised, ready to slam it down into the security guard’s face.

    Charlie flashed out a hand, grabbing Greebol’s arm. He shook his head. “Let’s just get out of here!”

    “No one leaves!” screeched Wextoal, the mad Waabba. “Not until we have what we came here for!”

    Charlie looked down at the bulging bag in his hand. “By the look of it,” he began, “you’ve already cleared the vault of cash! What more could you need?”

    Greebol glanced a look at Charlie with wide, worried eyes that instantly said, ‘Shut the hell up or he will gut you like a fish!’

    Wextoal stared at the Human with great distaste. “Greebol… you should keep your
pet
here quiet or he’ll find he no longer has the ability to voice his unwanted opinions,” he snarled quietly and quite sincerely.

    “I totally understand,” Greebol replied.

    There was a sudden flash of light through the bank's windows and the sounds of many, many sirens. Charlie shuddered. The Sentry had arrived. This was it. They would be captured for sure. He would go to some sort of alien jail under the charges of burning down a church, including the priests inside, and robbing a bank. Robbing a bank! How ridiculous! The only thing Charlie had ever stolen was a paperclip in a stationary store
and
he had felt so bad for doing it that he had returned it with at least twenty of his own the very next day.

    “The hogs are here!” Wextoal screeched. “Time for plan B!”

    Wextoa
l
rummaged around inside the large, dirty jacket he wore and pulled out a spherical object, about the size of the palm of his hand. He flicked a button on the side of it and it began to flash. He threw it towards Greebol but it was in Charlie’s hand that it landed.

    “Greebol it’s been a pleasure as always!” he said before rushing towards the window.

    “What am I supposed to do with this?” Charlie shouted after him.

    As the Waabba launched himself through the window, shattering the glass, he called back in a frantic voice, “Throw it!” But the words were drowned by the cracking of glass and the following sound of a multitude of charged batons thumping down on Wextoal’s head.

    “What did he say?” asked Charlie, still holding the object, which was now beginning to tick.

    “I think he said to blow it,” Greebol responded.

    A little confused, but willing to try anything right now, Charlie began to blow the hand sized sphere. Nothing happened. It continued to tick. A dreadful sense of realisation began to dawn on Charlie.

    “Baggus law breakers,” shouted the voice of a Sentry from outside, “throw down your weapons and exit the bank like good little boys.”

    Greebol scowled. He knew that voice!

    The Gumthar gripped the gun in his hand, ready to shoot his way out of the bank if he had to.

    “This is… this is…” Charlie stammered, “this is… a… a…”

    A canister bounced its way through the broken window, red smoke spurting from the end of it.

    “Not trying to rush you Charlie,” said Greebol, “but if you do not get your sentence out in the next few seconds then there is a great possibility that we are going to choke to death.”

    “This is a bomb!” he managed to say.

    They both stared at the bomb in Charlie’s hand for the briefest of moments before both realising what it was that Wextoal had shouted to them.

    “
Throw it!
” they screamed.