AMP: Artists' Meeting Place and Resource Collective

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.

In the previous episode, Ddwwchllyff offers microchips for the call girl's consideration as Wolfcastle motors towards town.

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 4

The bar door opened and a short figure entered the room. He paused briefly and dusted the fresh snow from the shoulders of his trench coat. It had been snowing for hours now – this was typical weather for the time of year in Reykjavik. But this wasn’t Reykjavik and snow storms in Manhattan during April weren’t typical at all.

It was an ordinary looking bar on the upper east side. Inside sat a dozen or so ordinary looking customers. The bar was what you would call ‘off the beaten track’. Quite a long way off in fact. The establishment wasn’t one that regularly entertained tourists. But then it wasn’t a place known for entertaining anyone.

The new arrival calmly limped over to the bar and tried to catch the attention of the ordinary looking barman who was glued to a TV set which was fixed to the wall at the far end of the bar. The limping man remained unphased. He had been around long enough to know it was best not to ask about such things. Besides, in his time he’d pretty much seen it all… twice!

“You busy pal?” asked the figure sarcastically. This was enough to get the barman’s attention alright. The barman threw a menacing look in the figure’s direction. If it hadn’t been fixed to the wall he would have probably thrown the TV instead.

“Get me a bottle HemerrinbergTM the figure commanded. He had been in New York long enough to think he knew how to order a drink. The figure was called Peppet. He’d been in New York for two months now and had hated almost every minute of it.

Peppet was not what you would call a happy man. Most people tended to call him a miserable bastard. However, they only did this when Peppet wasn’t in the room. There was no particular reason for the miserable bastard’s unhappiness, it was just a personality trait he had carefully nurtured and developed over the years.

The barman, at full stretch, reached into the glass fronted cooler and extracted a bottle of beer. Brushing off the broken glass from his now bleeding free hand, he slid the beer down the length of the bar.

“Two bucks” said the bartender. He’d turned ugly and was glaring at the stranger.

Peppet tossed two one dollar bills on the bar, just short of the barman’s restricted reach. “Keep the change” said Peppet turning from the snarling barman and taking a sip from his bottle of European beer. He hated the taste of most beer but he had an even greater dislike of European beers. Having hated his time in New York he wasn’t about to ruin it by enjoying himself on his last night. Peppet took another long sip, grimaced, and scanned the room. Sat alone in the far corner of the room was the man he’d come to see. The man he’d spent two months tracking down. Peppet casually limped across the room.

(to be continued)