The Alienated Assassin: A bawdy laugh-out-loud Tom Sharpe style comedy by James Ward

Author:James Ward [Ward, James]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2022-03-12T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty Eight

Colin Crimp was in a quandary. He was also, just then, standing across the road from a detached bungalow on the outskirts of Fetherton – that bungalow being the source of his current concern. A thick wooden board, carved in the shape of a squirrel, proclaimed the property to be ‘Shangri-La’, though Colin suspected it was anything but. The ‘Abyss’ might have been a more appropriate description, given his promise to Henry and how he feared today might turn out.

He had left Arcadia Avenue first thing and headed for the office. Henry had remained behind, muttering something about a mid-morning meeting with his solicitor, to ‘sort out a few pressing matters’. Colin suspected that if his employer had a meeting, it was more likely to be with one of his trollops, and a different form of soliciting altogether. Be that as it may, his own course of action was inevitable. He wanted Henry out of his house, and if that meant enduring a face-to-face meeting with Norah Plank, it was a price he would have to pay.

Henry had told him to take the cost of a taxi out of petty cash and drop in on his wife at 11.15. Apparently, she enjoyed listening to Ken Bruce on Radio 2, and it always put her in a good mood. She would be sufficiently relaxed by then, which would make her more amenable to what he insisted on referring to as Colin’s ‘voice of reason’. Colin wasn’t convinced on either front but, lacking alternatives, and keen to get the job done quickly, he had told Karen he was off to the dentist and might be some time. Having received her assurance that she wouldn’t break off their engagement and elope with Bob while he was having his gums syringed, he had taken a cab to the outskirts of Fetherton, made a note of the firm’s number for the return journey, and walked up and down the road several times rather than ring the front doorbell.

He had set out in good time, though not in a good mood. The petty cash box had proved to be empty which, in hindsight, was hardly surprising. Henry had expensive tastes and was already two weeks behind with his rent. At this rate, Colin had reasoned sourly, he would be bankrupt by the end of the month – unless he could shift the problem of Henry Plank back to where it belonged. Having put up with his boss for the past three weeks, however, he struggled to see why Norah Plank would want him home on any terms. The situation was grim, and that was even before he rang their wretched doorbell.

Reaching the end of the road for the thirteenth time (he had kept an accurate tally – much like he might have counted sheep – in the hope it would calm him down), Colin briefly considered continuing on his way and walking the five miles back into town. At that moment, it was an appealing idea.

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