Gods Just Want To Have Fun

By Dylan Perry

In a Welsh coastal town Michael lives his uncomplicated life with the minimum of effort. That is until a drug deal to buy hash cakes to ease an old lady's joints goes horribly wrong. So wrong that he turns blue, leading him to find out that humans aren't the only intelligent creatures on Earth.
Drawing the attention of a feckless, hedonistic god called Corvid, Michael is thrown into a series of inexplicable events that introduces him to gods and creatures of Fey living in the human world.
As life for the non-humans spirals out of control, will anyone work out what is going on? Can things be put back to what passes for normal? Will Michael discover why he keeps turning blue and whether he has any control over his life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dylan Perry
• Release date: Feb 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310306204

Dylan Perry

Dylan Perry was born in the 1970's in Bridgend, South Wales, before moving to the coast. That's the original South Wales, UK, not New South Wales, Australia. He had an idyllic childhood of solo imaginary adventures, making dens and running through woods. It was idyllic mostly because he was largely unaware and disassociated from everything else. He loved his primary school Welsh lessons, where they read Welsh fairy stories. He was not so happy with his secondary school Welsh lessons where they actually expected him to learn Welsh. He loved to read Grimm's fairy tales over and over. He never quite got Hans Christian Anderson's tales, they lacked the darkness of Grimm's and the traditional Welsh tales.Dylan was naturally drawn to the sciences at school and read Physics at university. He has no real formal education in relation to writing but has constantly written novels since his late teens. Not whole novels, just the first chapters or plot outlines.Since leaving education he has spent almost two decades researching characters, plots and situations by taking a variety of low achiever jobs, including double glazing sales, pharmacy and pub management.His first novel, Gods Just Want To Have Fun, was written in just a few months around his full time job. It was rewritten and edited repeatedly over the following few years.

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Disclaimer

This work is entirely unoriginal. Almost every word has been used before in other works, both original and unoriginal. Shanarkaleze is the only original word used and copyright is claimed on it's use in any other works. Characters are based on real people. Each character is a combination of at least seventeen real people. All events are based on real events, where names, places, incidents, times and details have all been changed to protect the author from any lawsuit.

Warning

This book contains flashing images which may affect those who are photo sensitive, suffer from epilepsy or sneeze in bright lights.

Parental Guidance

This book contains explicit language, scenes of violence and scenes of a sexual nature. There are no graphic scenes. Some are explicit, but you will have to use your own imagination to get a graphic representation. The only exception is if you have a second hand hard copy previously owned by pubescent boy who has drawn in the margins. But that would be more to do with the boy's hormonal state than the text of the book. The evidence for this can be found in any school geography text book where penises are drawn all over, especially where it can be made to look like it is entering an orifice of a person in a photograph or illustration.

DAY ONE – FRIDAY

1

Corvid was confident he wasn't going to let his new found friends down. Even in a city he'd never visited before, like Houston, he knew exactly where to find a supply of drugs. When Houston's Central library opened that morning he was first through the door, although for him it was still last night. Inside he felt a temporary relief from the sun washing the alcohol and marijuana intoxication out of him. Something needed to be done to re-intoxicate himself quickly. He'd left siblings Marcus and Alannah waiting in the car outside, trying to fake being straight, while Houston's more productive and upstanding citizens busied their way through the city with some unknown, but no doubt important, purpose. Corvid made his way to the reading room and tried to find a friendly, helpful librarian. Realising the futility of the task, he asked the least miserable looking one for the last week's copies of the Houston Post. The librarian looked at him as he'd asked him to find the top half of the Rosetta Stone, before huffing away to retrieve the papers.

Corvid flicked through the papers, scanning each page's headlines and soon found he was in luck. On page four of Friday's issue, fresh off the press that morning, had exactly the article he was looking for. Everything he needed to know was in the first paragraph.

He spotted the librarian lurking nearby and said to him, Do you have a copy of the paper I could have?

This, the librarian said indignantly, is a library, not a newsagent's.

You know your problem? Corvid didn't wait for an answer, it was likely to be quite comprehensive. You have to get a degree to work here, but you're no better than a bookshop assistant. In fact, you're worse off because you don't get paid any more, yet you're swamped under all those college debts. And what do you do on a degree course? Year one, the Dewey Decimal system. Year two, stacking shelves. Year three, shitty attitudes?

While the librarian tried to remember where to find the section on quick witted replies, Corvid tore the page out of the paper. The librarian opened his mouth to complain. Corvid raised his sunglasses letting him see the blazing glow of his yellow eyes. When he saw the urine dribble over the librarian's shoe, his mouth formed a self satisfied grin and he made his way back to the car.

DRUGS RAID AT UNIVERSITY

Detective Lieutenant James led an early morning raid yesterday on the home of two unnamed men studying Pharmacy and Chemistry at the University of Houston. A quantity of designer drugs were seized, along with an array of chemistry equipment that was set up for the production of various illegal substances. The men are being questioned at MacGregor Park Police Station.

Corvid was always impressed when he saw lines of parked police cars outside a police station. It showed the police weren't driving round wasting fuel and adding to the global warming situation. It also showed they weren't bothering any hard working petty criminals as they went about their dishonest day. He adjusted his Crombie coat as he walked past the patrol cars and into MacGregor Park Police Station, as clothes maketh the con convincing. By the time he'd reached the front desk, regrets about bringing Alannah with him were growing. It was one of those decisions that shouldn't have been so easy to get so wrong. Go on your own or take the half wasted waif. She was wearing denim hotpants with a pink vest top, and was hanging off his arm, more for stability than closeness, so he propped her up against the wall next to the counter and reached inside his coat pocket for his badge. It was definitely his badge, he clearly remembered stealing it two years before whilst in California.

Corvid, D.E.A. I'm here to examine the evidence collected by Detective Lieutenant James. He gave a warm trusting smile to the officer behind the counter and did his best to ignore Alannah pawing at his arm, trying look at his badge. He felt the middle aged officer was the slow steady type that never quite braved the world and was likely to still be living with his parents in his childhood bedroom, complete with a display of hand painted model trains, not even the ones that move but the even more boring sort that were untouched by human hands for the past three decades. It'll be best, he thought, if I coax this one to help.

The officer checked his computer. Detective Lieutenant James isn't on duty at the moment, you'll have to wait until he returns this afternoon.

I spoke to him last night. Corvid kept his voice calm and confident. He said he would leave a message to allow me to give the evidence from the University bust a quick examination. It's to do with a separate enquiry, so it's not a matter of jurisdiction.

You have no jurisdiction, and there's no message. The officer stared blankly, unmoving.

This wasn't how Corvid pictured things were going to happen. He thought he might have to use another approach. His thinking was disturbed when Alannah shoved into him, squeezing in next to the desk. She leaned into the officer so she was close enough to whisper, Do you think I like having to dress like this? Don't you think I'd rather be at home with my family rather than dressing and behaving like a tramp? She lifted her leg onto the counter and raised her skirt to reveal the last covered inch of her inner thigh. Do you think I like having a filthy tattoo like that, having to hide it from my kids when I get to see them?

She could see the officer was giving her his full attention and, by his expression, she had given him in return, a hint of fear. He'd obviously been put on front desk duty to keep his interactions with the public in a controlled, safe environment, where back up was within easy reach if he felt himself becoming stressed. Alannah raised her voice to add to the pressure. The longer I'm stood here where the public can see me, the more likely my cover will be blown. Do you know what happens to undercover D.E.A. Agents when their cover is blown? I'd tell you, but I don't really fancy seeing your breakfast regurgitated over the desk. Now which way is your evidence room? Maybe they have the message.

The officer leaned back and buzzed them through. Third floor.

As they waited for the lift Corvid asked. You're not really undercover, are you?

Fuck no. I just watch a lot of cop shows.

Kids?

Alannah patted the front of her skirt. Oh no, everything's still tight down there. She stepped into the lift as soon as the door opened, turned to face Corvid and pulled him into the lift, and herself. She kissed him hard and snaked a hand down past his waist and felt the front of his trousers.

Ahem, said the officer stood in the corner. Alannah released Corvid and they rode the lift to the third floor in silence. As they stepped out, Alannah asked the officer for directions and he pointed them down the hall.

Police stations are always the best places to score, Corvid said, half supporting, half dragging Alannah along. You can check out what they have in stock, just by reading the papers and unlike from criminal sources you can con your way in and out. They even conveniently file the drugs away in a designated room without you having to search for them. And the best thing? Even though everyone's armed, the police are less likely to shoot you because they don't like the look of your face.

They stopped at a door marked 'Evidence Room'. Inside, the receptionist sat behind the desk was a civilian worker, an old lady with bouffant pink hair. Her loose, flabby facial skin was caked in flaky foundation that showered the desk like mouldy flour falling from a torn bag, as she looked up at them. Corvid parked Alannah by the door and explained to the old lady that he needed to see the evidence brought in by Detective Lieutenant James.

There's no message here, the old lady said, shaking her hair causing a puff of dust to float out of her hair.

Maybe he forgot, Corvid said casually. We could just take a quick look then we'll be out of your hair.

It wouldn't be like my boy Jesse to forget. I think I should call him at home. She reached for the handset of her phone. Corvid put his hand over hers and gently pressed down, returning the handset to the receiver.

Corvid checked the identity card clipped to her lapel. Mrs James? He's your son? There's no need to disturb him, we'll only be a moment.

Well bless your sweet heart, I'll call him anyway, he'd want to be informed. All my boys are diligent officers. She stood up and came from behind her desk. Would you mind waiting in the corridor?

Alannah stepped over from the door and threw her whole body behind her forehead as she drove it into Mrs James' face. Mrs James did the decent thing and crumpled onto the floor. Corvid tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.

She was being rude, Alannah said rubbing her forehead and wiping the tears from her eyes, she works for the police and readily admits being the mother of multiple baby laws. She had it coming.

Corvid shrugged. As far as he could see, the whole situation had just become easier. Calling her kid Jesse James was probably all she needed to do to deserve that. Why is it common on this side of the Atlantic to find heroes amongst killers and thieves? Alannah didn't seem to have an answer so he carried on, Shall we just grab the drugs and go? He checked their location on Mrs James' computer and quickly found the shelf in the next room. The shelf contained a large cigar type box, which Corvid popped open. Inside was a selection of vials, jars and bottles. The lid contained a diagram of the layout of the drugs in the bottom half with a name and description of each drug, like a quality chocolate box.

As Alannah read the box Corvid slammed it shut and handed it to her. Hide this up your top, we're leaving.

Really? Alannah said as she demonstrated the box's inability to be hidden by her top.

Corvid took a moment to look at the box that stuck out farther than her breasts, then took his coat off and put it round her. Hold on tight to it, it's time to go, he said and pulled the fire alarm. Once the sound of the alarm was joined by the sounds of staff chatting in the corridor as they made their way out for an impromptu extra break, or if there really was a fire an extra day off, Corvid and Alannah entered the corridor and followed the crowd down and out of the building.2

At twenty years old, Michael had vague plans to make changes in his life, but turning blue whilst stood in a walk-in bath in an old people's home wasn't one of them. Usually boys of his age might consider changes along the lines of smoking less grass at home, at college or at work, to be a good idea. Or maybe spending less time on that solitary pursuit common to men of his age across the globe. Enjoyable though he found it, he was going to cut back on the procrastination, but that was going to have to wait.

Even before Michael turned blue he was used to being a little unusual, having a unique condition where he never slept, but turning blue came as a bit of a shock. It wasn't the kind of thing that happened in the quiet coastal town of Barry in Wales. Barry was the home of cheap day trips to the beaches and the knackered old funfair, where the only visitors came from the valleys to the north, where decades of economic desolation had actually made Barry seem like an improvement. There was plenty of beautiful places of the more sedate variety in and around Barry, but for more exciting things to do, most Barrians headed the seven miles along the coast to Cardiff.

Michael's day had started with a semblance of normality, but whether he liked it or not, it was going to gradually bumble its way into the definite realms of absurdity. It had started with a visit to old Mrs Duff. Michael's uncle, Llewellyn, would normally have checked on her, but he had left Barry and was in China for the whole summer as a consultant retail psychologist where he would help his employer make use of every capitalist trick and extract every last Yuan from anyone foolish enough to enter one of their stores.

This extended absence meant that Michael had the house to himself as long as he kept an eye on Mrs Duff. This arrangement meant he could avoid finding a job for another few months and really focus on improving his procrastination skills. Even with all the extra hours he gained from not sleeping, he felt he needed more time to perfect his procrastination. He dropped in to see Mrs Duff that afternoon, hoping that the home help had already been and left him with no errands to run.

A slight dread came over him as he stood outside her front door. It was a feeling that always came when he had to deal with the incorrigible Mrs Duff. She may well have been a water retaining, tree trunk limbed old biddy that had difficulty standing, but her mind still had a razor sharp edge, even if it was somewhat dirty.

Michael rang the doorbell twice, one long, one short, so she knew it was him coming in and unlocked the door with Llewellyn's key.

Who the fuck is that? she said. Michael smiled, he could never get used to her greeting no matter how many times he heard it. As he saw it, it just went to prove that it's not just genteel people that reach old age.

It's me Mrs Duff, Michael.

Come in then. Let me have a look at those eyes of yours. Michael could feel his face redden already.

Ten years before, when he first moved in with his uncle across the street from Mrs Duff, his uncle introduced them. The first thing this old lady with thinning hair on top, and thickening hair on her chin, had said to him was, You've got come to bed eyes. Aah and you blush too. Since then Michael had gradually dimmed his reaction from a deep purple to a warm pink. She was possibly the only person he had ever met that had barely seen his normal complexion and while he enjoyed the teasing, it wasn't something he ever mentioned to anyone, especially not his girlfriend.

Just checking if you want anything? Michael said as he walked into the living room.

A fine looking young man like you asking me that, well-

Shopping or anything?

Mrs Duff pointed towards the kitchen and said, I've hired someone in to do a few extra chores today. She turned her head and called out, Fabio!

A moment later a man in his mid twenties, wearing a cheerful expression and no clothes, walked in with a plastic bowl. Michael couldn't help admire his muscular physique with a hint of jealousy, but as his eye was drawn down the triangular shaped body, he suddenly jumped back and looked up at the ceiling. He desperately tried not to think about, and certainly not visualise, the singular muscle hanging below Fabio's waist. Well that disproves the theory, Michael thought when he found himself looking at his own forearm trying to make a visual comparison, that bodybuilders are trying to make up a deficit on what nature gave them.

I have to pay him extra on top of the Nude Home Help agency rate to take his apron off, Mrs Duff said quite casually. She dipped her hand in the water in the bowl. A little warmer and some more soap.

Fabio nodded and left.

His name's Paul really, Mrs Duff confided, but I like Fabio better. It sounds more exotic.

That's good. Michael grimaced a little. Was there anything I could do?

She paused a moment, then said a little quieter, There is something. She looked at him coyly. Your uncle gets me some stuff for my joints. I've run out and I'm starting to ache.

Sure, what are they? He was glad it was something simple. If you still have the old box, I'll pop down the chemist's and get some more.

It's more herbal. She smiled broadly as if she was playing some guessing game.

Herbal tea?

It's... Well ... Grass. I need you to get me some grass. She had a hopeful look on her face.

Michael was stunned. He was used to her crudeness, but illegal hippie health cures were new.

I wouldn't know where. It was an automatic denial, but he probably could get some through a friend of a friend, if he really had to.

I do, she said helpfully. I've got a dealer, Mister Eghast. He runs a nursing home. Is that okay?

Michael's brain tried to keep up. You smoke dope?

It depends. If he has any cakes, I'll take them. If not I just put some in my pipe. She produced a small pipe from down the side of the cushion she was sat on. Pass me my purse. Michael fetched it from the table. If he's not there, ask for Mr Gwylim. She rummaged in her purse and produced a business card which she gave to Michael with some money. If you get it from Gwilym, check he hasn't put blue tac on the bottom of the scales. He's a slippery one, that one. If you don't watch him he'll fuck you over. He'll ass rape you and before you know it, he'll have your money and you'll have an ounce of finest oregano.

Michael silently digested the information.

She stared at him for a moment. Are you still here? Don't you want to go before Fabio gives me my sponge bath?3

As soon as Marcus brought the car to a standstill on the gas station forecourt, Alannah was climbing out, dragging Corvid with her.

You fill her up, she said to Marcus, and we'll get some supplies.

It was obvious to Corvid by the way they interacted, that Marcus was the older, sensible brother and Alannah was younger and frivolous.

It had been a wise move to stop at that point, as they were in for a long drive, they didn't want to stop for the munchies, and the dose of something called 'Instant Dementia' hadn't begun to kick in yet.

Half way to the store Alannah asked Corvid, You've got money on you, haven't you?

Corvid nodded confidently while he thought, I should have checked for confiscated cash whilst we were in the evidence room. Maybe I should put it on a credit card.

He should have known he was paying. With her tiny, tight outfit, Alannah didn't have anywhere to store money, except internally.

He frisked his pockets and found a card. He checked the previous owner's name, Mrs Yuki Kuroki, and carefully scratched it with his claw like nail to remove the 's' from 'Mrs'. He hoped, as he'd only obtained it recently, that it hadn't been reported stolen yet. A quick glance at the young, nervous cashier reassured him that he was unlikely to be aware of the difference between male and female Japanese names.

Inside the store, Alannah was filling a basket with a range of snacks to ward off any attack of the munchies, no matter how intense. Corvid grabbed a few bags of nuts and lobbed them over some shelves into Alannah's basket.

Alannah nodded out to the forecourt. Just have to wait for Marcus to finish filling her up before we can pay. She put an arm around the back of Corvid's neck, pulling him to face her and hung off him. She raised a knee up to the side of his hip. Are you going to be filling me up later?

I think that's a definite possibility.

She dropped the basket and launched herself at Corvid, wrapping both legs round his waist and both arms round his neck. She rubbed her body against his and gently nibbled at his ear. After just a few seconds, much to Corvid's disappointment, she abruptly stopped moving.

There's a crow out there staring at me, possessive like. It reminds me of the dog we used to have when we were kids. Scout his name was. He used to stare at my dad just like that whenever he went near my mum. Almost drove them apart. We had to send him for counselling.

Your dad went to counselling over a dog? Corvid asked as Alannah detached herself, no longer in a frisky mood.

No, he got divorced. Scout went for counselling.

Very American, Corvid thought. Everyone gets divorced and they all end up in counselling, even the pets.

Do you know that crow?

Corvid looked out the door. There was indeed a crow stood on the forecourt, looking at them. No, can't say I recognise her. But that doesn't mean she doesn't know me.

What?

If we met, it may have been more important to her, so she remembers me more than I do her. I mean, I've seen lots of crows. Corvid flicked his hand towards the crow to shoo it away and it flapped itself backwards a few feet, landing behind a parked pickup truck. It was the kind of truck that was so shiny, that it had never been used to pick anything up. Other than girls.

A woman, who, if she decided to improve herself considerably, might be described as trailer trash, barged past Corvid and Alannah saying, Who the fuck is he talking to?

She crashed through the door and stormed straight up to the driver of the pickup, who was talking on his cellphone. Is that one of your whores, you fuck?

She reached in through the open window to grab the cellphone off him and shouted into it, I know who you are, you fucking bitch! Who the fuck is this?

The driver shoved the woman away and gave her a solid bitch slap. The pickup jerked backwards over the crow. Corvid flew out as the couple shouted a string of abuse at each other, neither pausing to breathe or listen. He reached into the truck, grabbed the man's throat and dragged him out.

He held his face an inch from his own and screamed at him, You should not have hit the bird!

For the next two minutes everyone in or around the gas station watched in awe as Corvid brutally and efficiently used the man's face to dent every panel of his beloved truck. Stopping before killing him, he dropped him into a heap on the floor. He whispered in his ear as a hand relieved him of his wallet, If you ever do anything like this again, I will turn you inside out and feed you to her.

Alannah ran up to Corvid as he walked away. That was so fucking cool!

Corvid looked her up and down. I think you might have issues.

Maybe. Just one thing though, you Brits may like to call girls 'birds', but over here it's not so cool.

Corvid turned to look at the girl that had been arguing with the driver, as if he'd forgotten all about her. The girl. Oh right, yes, the girl.

He stepped round Alannah and carried on towards the back of the pickup. I'll just check on the crow.

Uh, Alannah said, begrudgingly passing on the bad news, I think it's dead, or at least near enough dead that it doesn't matter. She squeezed her palms together and made a crunch noise, all the while trying to look sympathetic.

It might have looked worse than it was. Corvid said as he crouched down.

Uh, I heard the crunch as the wheel went over his head. Alannah pointed vaguely back to the store. Even from in there.

Corvid picked up the crow's mutilated and blood soaked body, cradling her in his hands, as she struggled to force her last few breaths in and out. He stood up, saying to Alannah behind him, She must have been knocked out of the way. He turned opening his hands. She's just a bit shook up, that's all.

The crow breathed easily as she stretched her body and wings as if she'd awoken from a long restful sleep. Corvid reached into a pocket took out the money from the wallet he'd just stolen and gave it to Alannah.

She walked backwards to the store to pay for their gas and snacks, saying, What you did to that fella was cool, but that crow... that's mind blowing! When I get back, I'm going to blow your mind... and other things.4

Michael decided to catch the train to Barry Island, as it was historically, not actually, an island. It was connected to the rest of Barry on one side by the docks and along the other by a causeway with a road and rail line. Three train stops and half an hour later, Michael was outside the nursing home, ringing the bell. After a moment the door was opened by a middle aged man. Michael became aware he was staring. He was captivated by the man's skin. It wasn't because he was black, or even that he was darker in tone than anyone he had ever seen, it was the fact that he looked like a polished obsidian statue of a god which Ray Harryhausen had pointed a stop motion camera at and created his finest work. It was the kind of perfection that any self respecting artist would have the decency to promptly go mad as soon as it was completed.

Coming in then lad? the statue man asked.

Uh, yeah. Michael stepped past and the door was shut behind him.

Can you just wait here a moment? he said and strode down the corridor.

Michael watched him go and thought about how he was going to ask if he sold grass. He didn't want to blurt it out, nor be so subtle that he didn't get his message across. When the man entered the room at the far end of the corridor Michael could hear him talking quietly to someone. As he tried to make out what was being said, the ambient scent became noticeable and distracting. It was the universal smell of the very old, the very young and the unwell. Disinfected faeces. Wherever people who lack full control of their bowels but are cared for well enough to be cleaned up, this is their scent. It is often the first sign that the girl you have been introduced to is a young mother. Michael had on a few occasions feigned surprise when a girl carefully broached the subject of having a child, while trying to ignore the fact they clean up other people's shit. One girl he met took him by surprise when she apologised up front for the way she smelt. Michael was so surprised that before he had a chance to say anything she continued and told him that getting the smell of the chip shop, where she worked, out of her hair was a nightmare. He really wanted to tell her she had cleverly managed to hide it with the used nappy scent she was using, but diplomatically decided to excuse himself to the toilets and disappear.

At the end of the corridor the man stepped out of the room, still talking to the person inside. Thank you so much, he said. There are still some of the old ones, like Mary, that prefer a traditional send off.

My pleasure, Red, said a woman's voice. I'd better be off now. She stepped into the corridor and pulled her black leather biker jacket onto her shoulders.

Shit. The word fell gently from Michael's mouth. It was the closest his brain could manage to express the beauty before him as it struggled to cope. He threw his brain into emergency mode. Did I just say 'shit' loud enough to have been heard? Can I turn my gawping into a smile without looking retarded? Can I stop looking at her perfect curves highlighted by her leather jeans and cotton top? He looked up and watched her flick her hair under the side of her collar. He'd managed to stop staring at her body, but by her smile, he guessed she'd heard him swear. At least he didn't seem to be grinning like a flamboyant baboon on heat, or if he was, she seemed to like it.

She zipped up her jacket and Red said, Your helmet is in my office, you can use the kitchen exit if you want.

Thanks. She stretched up and gave him the briefest kiss on his cheek. She turned to Michael. See you, she said and left.

Yeah, Michael croaked just after she gone out of sight. Before he could think of anything better to call out after her, Red came up to him.

What can I help you with?

Michael was still staring at the corner the woman disappeared around. That woman...

You came here to ask about her? Red's teacher like tone forced Michael to focus on him.

No, but...

If you know her, call her. If not, I can't help.

Michael thought about whether he should try chasing after her, but what would he say, I'm sorry I swore, but you're gorgeous? He brought his attention back to the matter at hand. Are you Mr Eghast?

Yes, but call me Red. And you are?

Michael, a friend of Mrs Duff. He hoped Red would understand what he wanted when he said who had sent him. He waited in vain for a response. She wants something for her joints? He wasn't sure this was the best way to ask a stranger for drugs.

The doorbell rang drawing Red's attention away.

Bloody hell, Michael thought. Why can't this be easier?

I'll just get that a moment. Red smiled and went to the door. When he opened it Michael saw a tall, suited man with expensive, dark sunglasses. He beamed with confidence beneath his blond curls that would have looked more flattering on a chubby baby than a slim man in a sharp suit.

Good morning. Mr Eghast isn't it? He jittered past Red at a speed that suggested he'd recently inserted a caffeine suppository for elephants. He looked down and around the corridor as if he was searching for something.

Yes? Can I help you? Red said at the back of his head.

Yes. He glanced over his shoulder and spoke as quickly as he moved. I'm Swift of Swift Media, we provide media and the fastest internet access to small to medium enterprises, I can offer you a free survey of your establishment and a report with recommendations for improving your media access: TV, satellite, cable, internet, telephone, business management systems, the works. You're under no obligation, I'll just have a quick look round, give you a report and call you in a few days to see what you think. He started down the corridor, turning to look in doors, along skirting boards and up walls.

Stop, Red said. It wasn't so much a word as an instruction aimed directly at the cerebral cortex. He followed him down the corridor like a rare type of store security guard. Dynamic, without a hint of being a social retard. We have all the TV we need.

Swift stood still for the first time next to the open door Red had been in earlier. He peered into the room. Now's the time to upgrade, the future's headed this way, fast. If you let me-

No. Red stepped between Swift and the door, shutting it.

Swift looked at Red then past him to the closed door. I noticed some antique books in there. He pointed at the room. Any chance I could have a look? It's a hobby of mine.

The resident has just passed away. Her body is still in there. So no, it's not possible.

Maybe I could buy them from the family? It could help with funeral costs.

No. Red's tone was reasonable and unbendable. They're still being sorted, some weren't hers and need to be returned. Now I don't want surveys or reports or more TV. I need to be getting on.

Swift stared at the door for a moment. He nodded as if he'd come to a decision. Sure. If you ever change your mind we're in in the book. He smiled politely and sauntered back out the front door. Red closed it behind him and turned back to Michael.

You get all sorts and they're all trying to sell you something. He shrugged as if he wasn't entirely sure what had happened. So, Mrs Duff's friend then?

Yeah.

What happened to Llewellyn?

Away, on business. I'm his nephew.

Red examined Michael's face and Michael knew where it was going and decided to get in there first. We're not actually related. He's a family friend, brought me up after my mum died.

That explains the lack of red hair. Sorry about your mother. Shall we get those cakes for Mrs Duff? Red took Michael into the kitchen. There were racks of cooling cupcakes lined up along the stainless steel worktops. The air was filled with the moist smell of fresh cakes with a note of quality grass coming through. Red explained they were baked for the residents to help with their aches and pains.

Try one if you want, Red said. It's all top quality, I grow my own crop. Michael examined the nearest rack. Farther along he saw some more enticing cakes with toppings and took a closer look at them instead. He picked one with white icing and a blue diamond jelly on top, turned to face Red and peeled away the paper cup.

No! Red lurched at him with a hand outstretched like Michael was pulling the pin out of a grenade, not pulling the paper off a cake. Michael froze and Red took the cake, carefully returning it as if it was fitted with motion sensors. They're Mr and Mrs Croft's special cakes. They help with... You know... Consummating... Their love. He let out a sigh with the tension.

Stiffens his resolve, does it? Michael grinned. He pointed at one of the other racks that weren't iced. Are these okay?

They're fine. Red took out a storage box and put some cakes in. How many?

I don't know, she just gave me thirty pounds.

There was a knock at the back door. Red gazed at the door for a moment before he went to open it. He wandered out into the back yard. He scanned around the wheelie bins and stepped to where Michael couldn't see.

In! a voice said from outside. Red reappeared and Michael thought he saw a flash of light next to his neck. Just behind him was another man with a pock marked face. He held a hand on Red's shoulder. The flash was a long knife held against Red's neck. He spotted Michael. Don't move, or I'll chop his head off.

They came in followed by another man whose eyes were so close together it was difficult to work out which was supposed to be the left and which the right. The machete man told his friend to tie Michael up. Michael tensed his body against the cable ties to stop them being pulled too tight, but he knew he couldn't do much more while that machete rested next to Red's jugular. The last time he felt that powerless was when he was a child at senior school. It was that first day he returned after losing his mum, being amongst all those boisterous boys was overwhelming. His uncle Llewellyn saw the state he was in and signed him up for wing chun lessons to help his confidence. He'd been practising ever since, not that it would help him get across the kitchen and disarm Mr Knife before the machete was run an inch forward and through Red's throbbing vein. His wrists were strapped behind his back to the leg of the table. The lingering death stench of patchouli burnt the inside of Michael's nose as the man leant over him.

Mr Patchouli went to tie Red up and made him sit in front of a large gas main pipe.

You see this knife? Mr Knife passed it in front of Red's eyes. My boss says it's a special blade, he reckons that it can chop your head off in one go. Now I need you to tell me where Mary's room is.

She died yesterday. Red kept his eye on the blade as Mr Knife waved it in front of him in the most threatening way he could.

I know, I just need to have a quick look through, she had something my boss needs. Now where are her things?

Room twelve, down the corridor, left, first on the left.

See that was easy. Mr Knife turned to Mr Patchouli. You keep an eye on them. Any trouble stick that one in the eyeball. Michael rolled his eyes when Mr Knife pointed at him. He was even less impressed when Mr Patchouli took out a lock knife and opened it in front of his face. Mr Knife left and Mr Patchouli started to investigate the cakes on the rack. He sniffed along the top of them.

Are these hash cakes? A smile bloomed across his face.

Yes, Red said amiably, help yourself.

Mr Patchouli pointed at Red with his knife. I don't need your permission. He scoffed a few random cakes as he worked his way along the counter. He stopped near the end. He turned slowly with one cake held up as he smelt it. He lowered his hand so they could see the icing and jelly on top.

Hey, Red said, you don't want to be eating those.

Mr Patchouli stared into Red. Shut the fuck up. I'll do what the fuck I want, wanker. He stuffed it into his mouth, then turned, grabbed three more and forced them straight down. He dropped the papers and spilt crumbs over himself as he grinned defiantly. Sauntering round the room, he nosed through cupboards and drawers. He came to a pantry door with a padlock. He rattled it. What's in here old man?

Just some sterile stuff, Red said. Nothing that would interest you.

If it's got a lock on it, it interests me. Where's the key?

Look-

Oh fuck off old man. Mr Patchouli wedged his knife behind the lock, yanked it a few times and pulled the clasp screws out of the frame. With the door open, Michael could see a sparse room with a few shelves, a worktop and some containers. Mr Patchouli rummaged inside for a few minutes. He came out with a glass jar with a clear liquid inside. What's this, moonshine?

No. Red rolled his eyes. You're probably best leaving that.

Mr Patchouli opened the jar and sniffed it. He dipped a finger in it, swilled it around and lifted his finger to sniff it as it dripped. It's just water, he said.

Michael looked at Red who shook his head and mouthed, L S D. He'd heard you can't overdose on LSD but the amount absorbing into Mr Patchouli's dipped finger looked like it was a theory about to be put to the test.

It's just fucking water. He put the jar down and went back to the cakes, making sure Red could see him as he scoffed as many iced ones as he could.

Fifteen minutes later, Mr Patchouli had stopped looking about the kitchen and was sat on the edge of the table around the corner from where Michael was tied. Michael leaned to see past the table leg to where Mr Patchouli's legs hung over. He could see Mr Patchouli staring at the back of his own hand as if he had never seen it before. He looked back at Red who mouthed, cutlery drawer, and nodded to the side of Michael. Michael saw the drawer and managed to pull the handle with his mouth, trying to open it smoothly and quietly. Once open, he peeked over the table to check that he wasn't going to be seen. He stretched over and grasped a sturdy pair of scissors between his teeth and dropped it carefully onto his lap, aiming for a handle down landing. As it fell Michael tried to keep his thoughts positive in such a delicate situation, and not think about the possibility of the sharp end landing in his lap. Safely landed, he wriggled them onto the floor, then shuffled and twisted until he had them in his hands. He opened them and slid one blade in position inside a cable tie loop.

Fucking hell! Mr Knife came storming in. Where is it? He thrust a piece of paper with a few words written on it in front of Red. "It's a book. It should