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, Wolfcastle motors through late night Caerdyff on his way to some stereotypes…

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 11 1/2
Further along the street two police officers sat in their patrol car, sipping warm coffee from paper cups, watching events and waiting for the scuffle to come to a natural end. At such point, in Wolfcastle’s experience, they would finish their coffee and arrest whoever they considered would put up the least resistance – invariably the loser of such skirmishes. Wolfcastle wondered to himself why, in the meantime, the two police officers didn’t exercise their public duty to the full and arrest each other on the charge of wasting police time. He drove on, on towards the Chinese quarter.

Out of the centre now, the streets were emptier at this hour. But not empty. Wolfcastle weaved along the quiet roads, swerving between the various groups of Chinese that seemed to appear from nowhere in particular on their way to nowhere special. Each group of Chinese were industriously gathered around a shopping cart packed full of assorted household goods and were urging it along the rough and potholed roads that gradually worsened as you left the central parts of the city. Televisions, ‘Welcome’ mats, pillows, toasters, coffee tables, rolls of carpet, books, kettles…all manner of domestic items were jammed into the carts. To the uninitiated this scene would undoubtedly look even more bizarre than it did to Wolfcastle. But he knew the score. These were not random fools busying about in the night like so many disoriented ants. This was the public face of a highly organized and secretive organization. These were Wong’s people.

He directed the C class around an exceptionally excited looking group who seemed to be having some kind of disagreement over how best to free their cart from the large pothole part its front wheels had become embedded in. Wolfcastle then turned the Lada off the main route to the west of Cardiff and down towards the blend of derelict industrial buildings, abandoned-looking warehouses, and under-maintained high-rise anti-social housing estates. Before long all memory of the bright and bustling city centre had faded. This was a side of the city that the tourist never got to see, not in the whole six hours he’d stayed there. Such a fact suited the locals and would have certainly suited the tourist had he known what it was he didn’t see. In any case, the tourist had never returned and didn’t plan to.

Wolfcastle pulled the Lada up outside a battered looking shop front, relived to have finally gotten near to the end of the chapter. Despite the lateness of the hour, the darkness of the dark and the fogginess of the fog, a small child was perched on the edge of the badly paved pavement. Taking care not to fall foul of the local customs, Wolfcastle nonchalantly tossed the girl a £5 note. As she speedily tucked it away in her pocket Wolfcastle played his part – “Watch the car for me kid”. It was a game, a routine. He was expected to play along and did so. No sense in upsetting things…not just yet at least.

The broken sign above the door flashed on and off as the florescent lights intended to illuminate it struggled to remain lit. The main sign read ‘Wong’s Authentic Chinese Kebab and Pie Shop’. Wolfcastle glanced up at the pathetic sign and ambled casually into the pie shop and up to the counter.

“Yessir?” asked the eager young man behind the counter.

“Is Wong in?”. The young man wasn’t expecting that!