The Werewolf of Wottenham Wood by Rupert Harker

Author:Rupert Harker [Harker, Rupert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781913006020
Publisher: The Blue Belvoir
Published: 2019-08-01T22:00:00+00:00

14. The Urban Dude

Having feasted, ablated and changed, I made my way back to King’s Cross and caught the seven forty-five back to Cambridge, and thence a taxicab to Ulysses’ cottage, arriving a little before half past nine.

The lights were on and the door unlocked. As I stepped across the threshold, I noticed a movement from the living room, the door to which was half-open (or half-closed if one were of a pessimistic bent). Ulysses’ cat, Ajax, was rolling around on the living room carpet, his paws in the air, and a relaxed air about him. As I opened the door fully, I was confronted by a lanky young gentleman, clad in an enormous, garishly coloured T-shirt and short trousers, colourful running shoes upon his feet, and a peaked cap, which had been turned about by one hundred and eighty degrees so that the peak protruded posteriorly. His shoulders were stooped, his hair hung down across his brow, and he shuffled slowly from foot to foot.

His slack jaw and heavy lids were suggestive of one who had been imbibing the imbibements to excess, yet he smelled not of alcohol, but of some sweet herbal mixture that clung to him like a perfume.

“Duuuuuuuuuude,” he drawled. “Are you the Urban dude?”

“Indeed not,” I replied. “It appears that he is elsewhere. May I help you?”

“No, dude. I need the Urban dude, real bad.” He sniffed and wiped his nose against the back of his arm. “Duuuuuuuude,” he added for emphasis.

I wrinkled my nose. “Young man,” I chastised, “have you been smoking marijuana?”

“Duuuude.” A moronic grin spread across his face.

“I think it best if you come back later,” I suggested. “Leave me your name and contact number, and I shall ensure that Urban-Dude…. I mean Urban-Smith contacts you upon his return.”

The visitor shook his head sadly. “No can do, little dude. Gotta see the Urban dude, reeeeeeeeeal bad.” He turned away from me to make a closer inspection of the picture that was hanging above the mantel.

I gritted my teeth and tried not to step on Ajax, who had rolled the entire length of the room and back during this exchange, but had now climbed to his feet and was rubbing himself affectionately against the interloper’s leg.

“Now look here, young man,” I said sternly, “I simply must insist that you leave.”

“Come now, Rupert,” he replied without turning around. “Surely this is no way to greet a guest.”

“Fairfax,” I gasped.

He spun about, whipping away his cap and causing Ajax to startle. “The very same,” he declared proudly.

I was aghast. Even with his Eton tie hanging down in front of his multi-coloured T-shirt, I had not recognised the man. His disguise and mannerisms were perfect, even down to the aroma.

“What is that smell?” I asked.

“Catnip spray,” he replied. “From the pet shop. Ajax seems most taken with it.” The cat had again begun rolling about the floor, purring loudly.

“But what is the purpose of this deception?” I enquired.

“Tonight,” he announced, “I shall ingratiate myself amongst the

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