Whisky Charlie One – Seasonal Greetings

A festive short story of sorts by

Mistersoft

Just to reiterate (yet again), this is just a story. It is historically inaccurate, factually inaccurate, logistically inaccurate, militarily inaccurate, medically inaccurate, geographically inaccurate, scientifically inaccurate, linguistically inaccurate, religiously inaccurate, diabolically inaccurate, grammatically inaccurate and prone to bad spelling and even speling mist-aches.

Chapter One

“Are you hot to trot yet?” shouted Flabby from his bedroom adjusting himself in the mirror. “Fcuking bollox!” came the reply from the guest bedroom and Knocker was obviously having some difficulty. “Stupid fcuking idea this was!” added Knocker and Flabby smiled. It had been the same thing last year but he knew Knocker would get there in the end. Smudge was already ready and was outside on the patio adding to the ever increasing pile of dog ends as he smoked yet another cigarette. Can you fcuking help me with my cnuting jacket?” shouted Knocker ever louder. “Since you asked nicely” replied Flabby smiling from ear to ear. Knocker was not known for his patience and Flabby actually wondered if he was really up for the job.

Flabby swung the guest bedroom door open and there in front of him was a six foot elf. Flabby just had to laugh as Knocker struggled with the jacket. His false beard had become entangled in one of the jacket button holes and he was at risk of garrotting himself with a grey brushed nylon beard. “Fcuking fcukpig barsteward!” shouted Knocker not quite in the festive mood and even closer to garrotting himself. Flabby freed him and a now very red-faced Knocker sat down on the bed and tried to get his breath back. Flabby was resplendent as Father Christmas though strangely he hadn’t needed as much stomach padding as last year. He spat his beard out of his mouth and complimented Knocker on his attire. “Get fcuked!” shouted Knocker as Smudge finally made an appearance as elf number two. He was a slightly singed elf as he was a bit of a messy (and dangerous) smoker but he looked a treat.

The three just like last year would be staffing Santa’s Grotto in town, in the large department store called Olders. The store had formally been a branch of Allders but when the company had gone bust, the management had bought out this particular branch. The fact that the name was similar cut down on expense and the fact that most of the management had been at best old, or at worst close to death, had made the name seem totally appropriate. Allders had always recruited more mature members of staff as unlike the young, they weren’t bone idle (their words not mine) and liable to miss work for any number of reasons. Actually the more mature members of staff had been worse than the young, as the work had given them more disposable income and the means to pursue things that they normally might not have done. Just like the young, the elderly had chased the opposite sex with a vengeance, some had chased the same sex, some had suffered horrific burns dying chest hair, there were umpteen accidents as penis extension expensive cars were driven into ditches, half a dozen disappeared in one go in a white water rafting accident and one had even been lost in the jungle. Nobody got him out of there as much like the TV show, he wasn’t a celebrity but at least there wasn’t Ant and Dec around to compound the misery.

Sterling Lines had all but shut down for the festive period. There were a few on standby ready for any eventuality but the next intake weren’t due in until January. The new intake had incidentally been sent out their introductory DVD and some of these were already on eBay and fetching some ludicrous prices. The rest of the regiment were suitably occupied in places like Afghanistan and Iraq and maintaining the reputation of the regiment as the best in world. Flabby and Knocker had last year decided to make good use of their spare time and had jumped at the chance of helping out at Olders. There had been some rivalry but Flabby had got the vote to play Santa as Knocker had refused to stop swearing. Smudge was now semi-retired and just did the work for cigarette money which with his habit, was close to or almost equivalent to the national debt of a small African country.

“When the fcuk are you going to get a proper car?” asked Knocker as they sat somewhat uncomfortably in Flabby’s electric car. Flabby had decided to go green and rather than buying a hybrid which he couldn’t afford anyway, he had decided on the electric car. It was a fine piece of Chinese handiwork, straight from Mi Ha province and apparently exactly the same model that David Icke drives. Car crime was a bit of a problem in Hereford but nobody had even attempted to steal Flabby’s car. He had lost a couple of charging leads but the car appeared to be thief proof. “It get’s me from A to B” answered Flabby knowing that C was well out of range. He didn’t really need a large car, as long as he had fit in a couple of crates of Lofty-Brau and the odd Emmerdale (The Amos Brearley Years) DVD then it was fine by him. Flabby let the car roll down the drive (there was no reverse) and then selecting a vague looking squiggle (Chinese for drive) he hit the accelerator and the car sped off at a not very great rate of knots. Flabby let a cyclist overtake him and gave up in the race against the women and the pram and headed towards the multi-storey car park hoping that there was space on the lower level as the car usually struggled getting up the ramp.

“By fcuk that was lucky” said Knocker as they found a space on the lower level. The person who should have been parked in that space was now driving round hoping for another. He sniffed and blood dripped from his nose. Knocker and he had been involved in a slight disagreement and the shock of being beaten up by a six foot elf over a parking space was suddenly starting to dawn on him. “This place gets weirder every year” said the driver to himself. Flabby and co headed towards the Olders, taking the lift with its compulsory muzak and that all too familiar smell of stale urine. The three got out outside Olders and showing their passes were allowed in. Like workers the world over, the first thing they did was shove the kettle on. Santa’s Grotto was pretty well kitted out though the lighting department had made a slight faux pas with the reindeer. Reindeer generally have red noses which might or might not be lit but the part of the reindeer that was now flashing gave the whole thing an almost obscene look. Of course a chain smoking elf, an elf that couldn’t stop swearing and a trained killer Santa wasn’t exactly the norm either. Still, the kids didn’t seem to mind.

So with their coffee drunk and the bulbs in the reindeer unscrewed, Santa’s Grotto was open for business. Smudge was outside on a fire escape for a smoke break, Knocker was arguing with a parent and Flabby had just been pished on by a rather over excited child. Yep, it was business as usual. “Daddy, that elf said the F word” piped up a small child. “It’ll be the fcuking C word as well as the F word if you don’t wind your fcuking neck in” said Knocker with all the sensitivity of a cluster bomb. The child burst into tears and the father squared up to Knocker. The floorwalker got involved and got a fist in the face and a crushed carnation for his trouble. Smudge back from his smoke break finally stepped in and some sort of order was restored. Flabby now in clean, dry and pish-free trousers was getting GBH of the ear hole from a small child with a list as long as your arm. Of course the child’s mother had paid and handsomely for visiting Santa’s Grotto and a gift did await the child and one of China’s finest.

Smudge passed the time of day with an estate agent who had brought his son in and Santa’s Grotto got a free valuation though of course if they ever decided to sell, they would have to have a HIP (Home Information Pack). The estate agent did say there was a way round it but he didn’t go into detail. Flabby got pished on (twice) by a nervous child who got even more nervous and puked on him as well. Knocker was arguing with the floorwalker as Smudge nipped out for another smoke so Flabby was left to the mercy of all and sundry. Smudge lit up and inhaled deeply. He coughed and spat onto a passing pedestrian down in the street. He shouted an apology but the gesture from the pedestrian sort of hinted his apology hadn’t been accepted. Then something caught Smudge’s eye. A bulky looking Asian youth appeared round the corner and seemed to be looking at his watch. High up above the street, the Asian youth couldn’t see Smudge but Smudge had a very clear view of him. The youth then appeared to make notes and reached inside his jacket. As he did so, something like a card fell to the ground and he seemed to fail to notice this. He also appeared not to be able to reach something so undid the jacket and Smudge got a good view of something he recognized very well. The Asian youth was wearing what looked like a suicide vest though it didn’t look quite right. He couldn’t be totally sure but it seemed as though there were no explosives and this was perhaps just a dummy run.

Smudge rushed back into the store and sending a small child sprawling pulled Flabby outside. En route he also grabbed Knocker who was arguing with a local celebrity footballer who had just asked for preferential treatment. The three stood on the fire escape and were just in time to see the Asian youth disappear round the corner. Smudge quickly explained what he had just seen and even as he was still speaking Flabby was down on street level and on the trail of the Asian youth. Flabby rushed to the corner and stopped. He peered round the corner and saw the youth disappear into a café. He made his way to the café and nonchalantly in a window shopping type way peered in. The youth was sat at a table with three others and they all looked equally bulky. In the meantime, Smudge was also on street level and had picked up what the youth had dropped. It was a Millett’s Loyalty Card and there was no name on it, just a number. Knocker had seen that the situation seemed in hand so had returned to continue his argument with the local celebrity footballer. Things like “I don’t give a flying fcuk” and “Celebrity my fcuking arrse” rang round Santa’s Grotto as parents covered their children’s ears.

“Do we call in old bill?” asked Smudge now outside the café with Flabby. Now Flabby does have a great respect for the police but he’d seen so many delicate operations over the years go pear shaped when some numpty plod had stuck his size ten in. “Not for now” replied Flabby. “But we could inform the suits” he added and Smudge gave him a look. “Do we fcuking have to?” asked Smudge, still giving him that look. “We’ll play it by ear” replied Flabby and Smudge was happy with that. “By the way, what did you pick up?” asked Flabby and Smudge showed him the Millett’s Loyalty Card. “Guess where we’re going now?” asked Flabby and they headed off towards Millett’s though they did call in at Santa’s Grotto as Knocker was otherwise engaged. Actually Knocker had found a kindred spirit as the local celebrity footballer had an attitude problem as well which he demonstrated on a regular basis on the pitch, hence his nineteen yellow and four red cards this season already. He and Knocker had arranged that they would meet up again some time in the New Year. “Fcuking hell Knocker, when you’ve finished sorting out your love life” joked Flabby but Knocker didn’t quite see the joke. So with Santa’s Grotto now displaying a sign that Santa was “Out To Lunch” the three headed for the nearest branch of Millett’s, which was just a couple of minutes walk away.

“I’m sorry sir but under the Data Protection Act, I can’t give his personal details away” said a very sensibly dressed shop assistant in Millett’s. Flabby had tried asking nicely but the shop assistant was having none of it. “You’ll need the fcuking face protection act by the time I’ve fcuking finished!” shouted Knocker and the shop assistant (wisely) relented. Flabby found the correct screen for the loyalty card details and punched the number in. Up came the name, a Farid Mohammed Khan McAllister and the address which was on an estate on the outskirts of town and not a very nice estate either. “That fcuking name seems familiar” remarked Smudge and googled a bit on the store PC. The shop assistant was told to “Fcuk off” and so he did without any protests. He disappeared into the stockroom uttering what sounded like “They don’t pay me enough for this sort of hassle”. Smudge found what he was looking for. The name McAllister came from the Angry Brigade in the seventies when a home-grown terrorist group had carried out over twenty attacks on various targets in the UK. McAllister had been one of the founding members and he did have a son from a brief liaison at a training camp somewhere possibly in Pakistan. The liaison would have been longer but US Special Forces had attacked the camp and McAllister had been lucky to get away, as had the mother of his then unborn son.

“We can’t go onto that estate without backup” remarked Flabby. “The place is so full of knives, it’s almost impossible to get a compass reading” Smudge wondered why you would need a compass reading at a place like that but he got the point and some sort of point was what you would get there if you weren’t careful. The estate was now somewhat rundown and rundown was also what happened to some of the residents as the resident scumbags didn’t like the new scumbags and on top of that, all the immigrants ended up there making it a melting pot of cultures from all over the world and just like oil and water, they don’t necessarily mix. “We can’t fcuk around too long” said Smudge lighting up a cigarette despite Millett’s strict no smoking policy. “See if I fcuking care” was heard faintly from the stockroom as the shop assistant smelt the smoke. “Who’s on standby over crimble?” asked Smudge. “You might have cracked it Smudge” replied Flabby as ‘Funky Farid’ Kajuga was one of them. Kenji Kajuga was of Iranian descent and wouldn’t attract much attention on an estate like that. Of course they would but maybe, just maybe there was a way a slightly overweight Santa, a chain smoking elf and a swearing elf could fit in as well. After all, it was the right time of year and a time for giving.

Chapter Two

Flabby and Knocker headed back to the car while Smudge headed for the café. “Just make sure they don’t get up to anything and don’t take any chances” added Flabby as they parted company. “Fcuking right I won’t” replied Smudge and strode off to the café only stopping twice to light up. Smudge peered into the café and it was fortunate this particular café had invested in an extractor fan as unlike most cafes where the condensation dripped down the walls and the windows, this one gave him an excellent view of the four still sat at a table though looking somewhat warm and overdressed for the occasion. Smudge stubbed his cigarette on a passing Labrador and stepped inside. He sat himself down at a nearby table and perused the menu. The four were having a heated discussion but it seemed to be over whether they should plum for the Lancashire Hotpot or the fish (cod). “I don’t think they’ll be blowing up much today” said Smudge to himself and attracting the eye of the waitress (she wore an eye patch so one eye was all he could attract), he ordered himself the soup of the day (oxtail) and a roast beef sandwich. The waitress moved a wilting flower from an unoccupied table and plonked it on Smudge’s table. She returned minutes later (limping badly) with some dirty cutlery and a scabby looking serviette. Smudge whispered something in her ear (fortunately not her deaf one) and nipped out for a quick smoke while the chef opened another eight pint tin of soup ready to be micro-waved as and when necessary.

Flabby turned the key in the lock of the car and it snapped off. Fortunately, as only the driver’s side was lockable, Knocker was able to let him in. Using the ignition key which also opened most Samsonite suitcases, Flabby switched on. Realising that of course the car had no reverse, he got out again after letting off the handbrake. Knocker rummaged in the glove box so called as you could only fit one glove in it and pulled out a mint. His arm caught the gear lever and the car started moving backwards. “Fcuk it, there is a reverse!” shouted Flabby and dived into the car as it sped backwards at 2.5mph. Noting the squiggle that denoted reverse (his Chinese language skills were at best crap) he slammed it into the forward squiggle and sped off towards the exit. Now Flabby was an honest soul and the car was so small, it actually fitted under the barrier but being conscientious, he paid the strange looking woman anyway. Knocker was on his mobile and was making his (and Flabby’s and Smudge’s) excuses to Olders as Santa’s Grotto was at present, somewhat understaffed. Fortunately a reserve was standing by and thanks to the efforts of his probation officer, the three times convicted sex offender was now keeping Hereford’s children happy.

The town was busy with Christmas shoppers all out for a bargain or waiting for the next high street institution to go under. The traffic was a nightmare but that was mainly thanks to Flabby as he’d forgotten to charge up the car and the top speed he could now muster was roughly 18mph. This was not appreciated by the locals and Flabby was not exactly flavour of the month. Knocker was hanging out of the window (it had opened and refused to shut) and was returning any offensive gestures made by the other motorists. The driver of a Lexus became yet another victim of a six foot elf as he had made a rude remark at the traffic lights and green didn’t come quick enough as Knocker dragged him out of the car and semi-throttled him. The lights went from red to green and back again as the driver of the Lexus still in shock sat there bleeding profusely over his leather seats. Finally they were free of the centre and along the bank of the river. The river (the Bulmer) rose in the Welsh hills and flowed through Hereford. It had given its name to a brand of cider and was also a fine river for watersports but the sort that involved water and nothing else but water. “Look, they’re painting the boathouse again” remarked Flabby looking across the swollen river (it had been pishing down all day in Wales and to be honest, when doesn’t it?) at the famous boathouse as mentioned by Robert de Niro himself. “Yep, like me it needed a touch up” remarked Knocker telling us a bit too much about himself. “I’ve always thought it looked good in…………..” “Look out!” screamed Knocker interrupting Flabby but at least he had noticed the large white van heading straight towards them. “Fcuking w@nker!” screamed Knocker as the white van cut back into the traffic, narrowly missing them and causing Flabby to slam on the brakes. “By fcuk that was close” said Flabby now keeping his eyes firmly on the road and resisting the temptation to stare at the boathouse.

Smudge had finished his soup which had been both freezing cold and scalding at the same time. The chef was not as proficient on the microwave as he was with other appliances though he was a real dab hand with the tin opener. Smudge picked out a finger nail from his roast beef sandwich as the chef was apparently not that good with an electric knife either. The four had finished their meals and still overdressed for the occasion, they were looking decidedly hot and sweaty. A couple had unzipped their jackets and Smudge could quite clearly see what they had on underneath. There wasn’t a hint of any explosives but some of the wires seemed to be already in place. “Maybe they learned how to make them from one of those weekly magazines and they haven’t got to the adding the explosives bit yet” thought Smudge sipping at his cup of tea or half a cup of tea as the waitress’ limp had spilt most of it en route to his table. The waitress wobbled over to the four and using her good hand, wrote out the bill. There then followed an argument or at the very least a heated discussion as to who was to pay the bill. Smudge had had enough and took his tea outside and lit up. Finally the matter seemed to be settled and the four appeared outside. Smudge nipped in quickly and deposited his cup. He had already paid and he had also left a tip for the waitress. The tip was to get another job.

Smudge followed them at a distance as the four appeared intent on window shopping and entered a few of the shops as well. This didn’t seem like the dummy run he had seen before. The four were actually looking for Christmas presents but Smudge wasn’t to know that. After what seemed an age, the four headed towards the bus station and queued up for either a 6 or a 9. The 6 would take them out Holmer way so northwards and the 9 would take them to the village of Ham which lay to the south. Ham was actually no longer a separate village but had been swallowed up by the urban sprawl of Hereford. Smudge didn’t have long to wait as just a couple of minutes later, a 9 pulled in and the four got on. The four headed upstairs as fortunately this was a double-decker and Smudge paid the driver/conductor and found a seat downstairs where he could use the interior mirror to keep an eye on them. It was also close to the exit so if there was the slightest chance of a smoke break, he’d be there in seconds few. The bus seemed to take an age but eventually he could see the concrete jungle that was the Apple Tree Estate or as the locals affectionately called it, Ham Towerlets. Smudge knew they lived in the tallest building, it was no high-rise but it towered over the mostly two or three storey buildings and not wanting to get too close, he got out what turned out to be just a couple of stops before the four. He stood next to a burnt out Yugo and hoped Flabby would pick him up before nightfall, well before the night crawlers came out.

Now Ham or the Apple Tree Estate might have looked an absolute crap hole but Ham had some history and some was even relevant to this story and is not a silly attempt at boosting the word count by adding unnecessary woffle. Tony Robinson and Time Team had visited Ham and while Tony Robinson had bounced about the place like an epileptic gibbon, Phil had almost come in his trousers as he’d found a posthole. He’d also had a definite hard on when he’d found a bit of flint as if you looked at it carefully, it almost resembled an arrow. I say almost as during a break in filming, it had been nicked along with one of Mick Aston’s most colourful jumpers. Geophysics had also lost all their equipment as according to local rumour, just before the estate had been built, a local criminal of some notoriety had carried out a bullion heist and his share of the loot was apparently buried somewhere on or actually under the estate. But of course the estate had been built and the loot could be under hundreds of tons of earth and that (in)famous concrete with a slight pishy odour.

The smell of pish has long been associated with Ham as after spells as a leper colony and a place to bury plague victims, the village of Ham became a leather tanning centre and at the time, was one of the biggest (and smelliest) in England. Hereford had prospered and Ham was fortunately far enough away even when the wind was in the wrong direction. The tanners had also planted vast orchards of mainly apple trees though for some reason they were never popular as eating apples mainly due to how they were watered. Not wanting the apples to go to waste, the tanners had decided on turning the apples into cider and while it can never be categorically proved, the origin of the phrase “it tastes like pish” is attributed to the village of Ham. Of course nowadays Ham is just part of Hereford and the apples for the cider production in Hereford come from France. Smudge didn’t know all this and he had his own problems as still dressed as an elf and standing in what is one of the main pickup areas for prostitutes, he had been told to “Fcuk off” twice, “Pish off” three times, he’d been told by a strangely dressed lady of the night that all the pervs were hers and he’d had three offers from punters already as ‘elfs’ or elves generally do it without a condom.

Flabby and Knocker had finally made it back to camp and yet again, there had been changes at Sterling Lines. Security was no longer handled by Group 6, a subsidiary of QinetiP. Ok it is still one of the world's leading defence technology and security companies and it still provides (usually cheapskate) security for most of the MoD but after the accident, there had been an enquiry and they had lost the contract. The accident had been a surge in the security system computers and the gate barriers responding to more teraflops of information than they could handle, had launched themselves and sailed almost half a mile through the air before coming down on a party of visiting nuns close to St Alan’s Abbey. Two had been decapitated, three seriously injured and two quiches and a nice tartan travel rug had been totally ruined. St Alan of Titchmarsh’s statue had also been damaged and while Group 6 didn’t have a leg to stand on, St Alan now has just the one. As the founder of an order of monks in the 9^th century called the Nasturtiums, Alan of Titchmarsh had developed many of the garden practices still used to this day. It’s not without good reason that St Alan is the patron saint of allotments.

Dennis was on duty today. A veteran of six weeks service in the army, he was as immaculately dressed as ever. He had spent the entire evening bulling his shoes, pressing his kit and it left very little time for his life outside of uniform and that’s peering through windows as Dennis is a peeping tom. That probably should be another story so onwards and upwards with the real plot such that it is. Dennis saw Flabby’s car and (needlessly) raised the barrier. Flabby roared through (17mph) and Dennis saluted. “Fcuk off, I work for a living” shouted Flabby and Dennis laughed. It was the same procedure every time. Flabby parked on a no parking sign as the brakes needed a bit of attention and jumped out. Knocker kicked his door open and one of the hinges snapped. Whistling, he carefully shut the door hoping Flabby hadn’t noticed and followed him into the office. Flabby rushed back out and didn’t notice the broken hinge but after rummaging in the boot, finally remembered to put the beast on charge. There was still Smudge to pick up and you couldn’t always be guaranteed to nick a landrover.

“Kenji, you old dog. How’s it hanging?” shouted Flabby in greeting. Kenji was sat in the duty room and screens flickered, printers churned out piles of paper and yes, he was doing it again. “Fcuking homemade crimble cards again” remarked Knocker as he knew Kenji all too well. As a Muslim, Kenji didn’t strictly observe Christmas but he always sent out crimble cards though no way would he ever buy any. “Big firm isn’t it” replied Kenji rhetorically. They talked for what seemed ages but then I had to wait outside as I don’t have adequate security clearance so can’t even tell you what they were talking about. Finally as I was again privy to their conversation I can write that they discussed the four Asian youths and exactly what smudge had seen. “You should have called old bill” said Kenji but even he realised that if they had done that then there wouldn’t really be any story and who the fcuk wants to read three chapters about Flabby, Knocker and Smudge working in Olders. “He’s got a fcuking point” said Knocker not referring to his hat but referring to the fact that the SAS while special forces are not supposed to run about the countryside gung-ho doing the job of the security services.

So now fully briefed, Kenji of course agreed to help. “We’ll need some hardware” stated Flabby as there was no way they were doing it without any weapons or equipment. “You’re fcuking pushing it” replied Kenji but he was smiling and Flabby knew he wasn’t going to turn him down. Anyway, if push came to shove, he’d just help himself, he’d done it many times before. “So how do you want to play it?” Flabby asked Kenji. “I thought it was your show” replied Kenji not yet quite sure and playing for time as the author didn’t have a fcuking clue. “You’ll probably have to get changed first” remarked Kenji but changing his mind added “On second thoughts, you could go as you are. I’ll play a social worker do-gooder type which should get you onto the estate dressed as you are without too many questions. I’ve got a baggy sweater, some cord jeans and an old pair of hush puppies knocking about in a locker somewhere. I used them on another job” So a plan was finally coming together which suited Smudge just fine as he’d been propositioned another three times. “I fcuking told you before, I’m waiting for someone and I fcuking definitely don’t fcuking do fcuking blowjobs!” he shouted after another enquiry. “Hurry up Flabby” he said to himself as another car crawled past.

Chapter Three

While Flabby, Knocker and Kenji talked and while Smudge smoked and fought off (mostly) unwelcome attention, Hereford (and Ham) had come totally alive. All over the city centre (and on the estate), suits roamed and plods did what they do best which was plodding. Various diverse security service units watched and/or listened and even the Special Salvation Army Squad or SSAS, a virtually unknown part of the Salvation Army were on the streets. Don’t let the silly hats and tambourines fool you, this unit means business and unlike other wings of the ‘sally bash’, they won’t be bringing out a CD at Christmas. MI5 and MI6 had been tracking our Mr McAllister and his name being searched on the Millett’s network had triggered alarm bells at various listening and monitoring facilities. Almost in an instant, the population of Hereford had increased and quite significantly. Needless to say, if suits are involved, it wouldn’t make things any easier for Flabby and co. Of course while the suits were interested when McAllister’s name rang alarm bells, they all thought it an ideal opportunity to get in some Christmas shopping so at least the shopkeepers in the area were laughing all the way to the bank.

Smudge had been the first to notice the suits, as the traffic between Hereford and Ham increased significantly. There were far too many similar cars with far too many similar people in them, wearing far too many similar suits and far too many similar sunglasses. Not many of them stopped but at least their perversions were vastly different and some far too perverse for the tender eyes and ears of the three (ish) people who regularly read my stories. He had also received a visit from the pimp of some of the prostitutes and by playing it dumb had managed to convince the pimp that he was no threat to his girls and to his only income apart from the usual state benefits. The pimp was actually the owner of the burnt out Yugo and as well as being a pimp, he was one of the main drug dealers on the estate. The Yugo had been perfect cover for his other occupation and he was supposed to be on benefit so no black BMW for him. Actually he did have a black BMW but he only used it to go to church and visit the mother-in-law. The rest of the time, it was in one of his many lockups where other items of saleable merchandise were stored and virtually none of them were legal. Mroslop Svengali had claimed political asylum in Britain as he had been persecuted in his home country. I’m not sure exactly which one it was but it was one of those ending in ‘Stan’ and the reason he’d been persecuted was that he’d double-crossed the Russian Mafia over a vast drugs shipment. He had been lucky to get out alive and even luckier when the Yugo had gone up in flames. He had fitted a CD player in the Yugo to play the CD’s of one of his home country’s most famous rap stars, Sis Kebab. The wiring on the Yugo had protested and one minute he was rapping along, the next minute his heroin stash was char-grilled. He missed the Yugo but as he was unemployed and on benefit, he did get a bus pass and that helped him get around satisfying his customers’ needs.

Smudge had also noticed the plethora of dry cleaning vans heading for the estate and knew that one estate did not need that much dry cleaning done. The vans were the usual suit type names as well with Smith Dry Cleaning and Jones Dry Cleaning among the more obvious ones. It was usually Smith, Jones or colours and to prove that point, a van proclaiming that The Pink Dry Cleaning Company was the best in town sped past with more aerials on a van that a real dry cleaner requires and the front seats full of suited bods wearing sunglasses. Smudge smiled to himself attracting the attention of a vicar who happened to be kerb crawling at the time. Smudge told him where to go in so many words and decided that enough was enough. He pulled out his mobile and called Flabby. At that very moment, the screens in the duty room seemed to go crazy with activity and it wasn’t Kenji’s Christmas cards as he’d finished those ages ago. “I know Smudge, we’re getting it now” said Flabby as printers chattered crazily. Although most of the security services were a law unto themselves, they did usually let the SAS know as it was usually the SAS that cleared up the mess the security services had made. The local police were usually the last to know but this time it seems they had been let in on the act. “We’ll be along in a bit” said Flabby and pocketed his mobile. Smudge cursed as it was starting to rain and the only cover was the burnt out Yugo or a vandalized bus stop. “We could just let them get on with it” remarked Kenji but the looks he got from Flabby and Knocker suggested they had other ideas.

“We’ll take my car” said Kenji and they jumped into a black Range Rover. They sped off towards Olders as Flabby needed to pick up a few things. Kenji really looked the part and he was more social worker than your average social worker though the car didn’t really fit. Flabby’s car would have been ideal but there wasn’t enough room and it was still only half charged. “I’ll say it’s a rental” said Kenji. “You say what you fcuking like, it won’t last five minutes on that fcuking estate” remarked Knocker and normally he would have been right but the estate was jammed with all sorts of police and security services so probably as safe as anywhere. They sped into the multi-storey and Kenji waited in the car while Flabby and Knocker legged it to Olders. Flabby’s replacement was taking a well earned rest as all those children bouncing on his lap had taken its toll. They grabbed a large sack of presents each and legged it back to the car park. Incidentally, Flabby’s replacement would later be charged for theft as somebody finally found out about his criminal record and putting two and two together, made five. But since he’s a sex offender, I don’t think there’s any reason for sympathy and I can also happily report that just two days into his three year stretch, the sex offender was stabbed in the shower by an irate burglar who didn’t like sharing the prison with a paedo. Unfortunately he made a full recovery but the good news is that the burglar finished his sentence, came out, went straight and is currently working for MFI and enjoys it so much, he hopes to stay there for life.

They sped off towards Ham and traffic seemed even busier owing to the number of dry cleaning vans and dark black saloons on the road. Finally they reached where Smudge was still fighting of unwanted attention and if he’d been a bit more open minded he could have made a fortune by now. “You know what to do?” asked Flabby though more of a rhetorical question. Everybody nodded, even the dog on the parcel shelf and Kenji reached for his SAS Party Time CD in the glove box. Lofty Wiseman singing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer blasted out on the stereo. The CD is available from all good record stores, WH Smith’s and direct from the regiment. Also available is a whole CD for those who want to be totally politically correct and not want to offend anybody. Titles such as Happy Non-Religious Politically Correct Winter Holiday or Happy Generic Inoffensive Quasi Religious Winter Holiday will have you dancing on the table and if that doesn’t, SAS Sauvignon Blanc will. Only available from the regiment at the pump marked ‘Plonk’. 50p per litre, bring your own bottle(s), buckets, kegs etc.

They pulled into the estate with that SAS legend John McAleese and former director General Sir Peter Edgar de la Cour de la Billière KCB, KBE, DSO, MC & Bar harmonizing beautifully in a rendition of Jingle Bells. “Right let’s go!” shouted Flabby as Jingle Bells was reaching its crescendo. They jumped out, a plump Santa, a six foot elf, an elf who refused to stop swearing (fcuking right) and hopefully that acceptable figure of authority, a social worker. All over the estate people stopped what they were doing and looked. The exceptions were perhaps the security services as they were already watching so couldn’t stop what they were doing to watch as they were already watching. Another exception was a bent copper who had his eye on Kenji’s wheels. He knew a good scrappy who didn’t ask too many questions. Fortunately he was caught as the police social club finally discovered where the raffle money had gone. The copper was later thrown out and was lucky not to do time. He’s actually considering working for MFI as well; they need somebody experienced to run security. On the estate, there were those who had never seen Santa before. Not many had ever seen an elf before and especially a six foot one. People flocked around them and Flabby handed out the presents. Smudge and Knocker rode shotgun as one middle-aged man of Central Asian origin wasn’t as enthralled as he could have been receiving the shower set for ‘My Little Pony’. He wouldn’t have minded so much but the shower set ran using real water and he’d been cut off just the other day for not paying his bill. Smudge managed to make him understand that it would run on pish, so he went away happy in the end. They made their way slowly but surely towards the block where McAllister lived. McAllister had a flat on the sixth floor and while Flabby and Kenji braved the lift, the other two chose the stairs. Smudge could have a cigarette on the way up and Knocker didn’t have to endure the pishy lift. Flabby threw himself out the lift and breathed in some air. It wasn’t quite fresh but at least it didn’t make your eyes water so much. They knocked on a few doors just for show until they reached McAllister’s. Flabby had thought of watching McAllister from an opposite flat but had decided that the time for action was now.

The security services hadn’t been too impressed when they had spotted Flabby and company. They had absolutely no idea who they were as the only computer with recognition software had been left in a car in a car park overnight and was subsequently nicked. But they knew that somebody had been asking questions. Farid Mohammed Khan McAllister actually didn’t have a criminal record but his name had been put on a list due to the activities of his parents. ‘Like father like son’ was an old MI5 and MI6 expression and they weren’t going to change the habits of a lifetime. On the estate, McAllister’s flat was being watched, his phone had been tapped, some poor sod was going through his rubbish, his internet connection had been monitored and they’d even had a word with his milkman though the fact he had two pints and yoghurt on a Friday didn’t help that much. His post had also been monitored and the fact he shopped frequently online with firms such as the electronics giant Maplin had rung a few alarm bells. You could build a bomb courtesy of Maplin especially some of their build it yourself projects. It might not start off as a bomb but there was every chance you’d soldered it in the wrong place or mixed up components and while it might not necessarily go bang, it might and you’d also probably be best to stock up on fuses and/or fuse wire before switching on.

In a flat opposite, you couldn’t move for suits. MI5 and MI6 were running a joint operation but you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. The fact that the flat was a bit short on electrical sockets and had just the one toilet was not helping with inter-departmental relations as plugs were pulled and some even went to the toilet and didn’t wash their hands afterwards. The kitchen such that it was looked as though a bomb had hit it as bacon sarnie after bacon sarnie were fried, eaten and nothing washed up or tidied afterwards. A bacon sarnie is the standard stakeout food and don’t let any of these other authors fool you that the security services live on ‘posh nosh’. An egg banjo comes a close second which is why most security service personnel tend to bring a spare shirt on stakeouts as you do tend to dribble the yoke down your chin and onto your shirt. “I’m getting static!” shouted a suit of security service undetermined pointing a parabolic microphone at McAllister’s flat. He switched the sound to the main speaker and all had the dubious pleasure of McAllister dropping his guts in the toilet after a particularly vicious curry the night before. “At least he washed his hands afterwards” remarked another suit munching a bacon sarnie. Voices were finally heard and words and phrases such as “it’ll go bang” and “explosive” and “wicked” and “we’ll go for it tonight”. That last phrase was the one that triggered the most reaction. After a brief session of running round like headless chickens, it was decided by the two head suits that the time to go was now or in a couple of minutes as one of the head suits hadn’t finished his egg banjo.

“Are we all ready?” asked Flabby and as if by magic, Santa and elves plus social worker were armed to the teeth. “Let’s do it!” shouted Knocker putting his shoulder to the door. It didn’t budge but knocker bounced off it and flying to the other side of the corridor, crashed through the door of the opposite flat. Mroslop Svengali was sat there in Paisley boxer shorts and was counting a rather large sum of money. On a coffee table were packets of powder which were obviously something quite illegal. Mroslop reached under a cushion and tried to pull something out. Smudge was way too quick for him and a shot rang out. Mroslop pulled his arm back pretty damn quick and realising it hurt grabbed it. Blood flowed from what looked like just a flesh wound but it was enough to stop him reaching under the cushion again. Flabby as the others covered him, reached under the cushion and pulled out a machine pistol. “Do you treat all your guests like that?” asked Kenji. “I never invite you” replied a sarcastic Mroslop in reasonable English. “Hey man, what’s all the noise about?” said somebody from behind them and Smudge confirmed him as McAllister. Protesting all the way and all the time, he was frogmarched through what was left of Mroslop’s door and through his now open door. Kenji watched Mroslop while the rest sorted out McAllister and the other three. All four of them were wearing the vests Smudge had seen and yes he could see the wires and yes he could see they were all holding a switch in one hand and yes they could see a battery pack and no, they didn’t see any explosives but what they could see when the switch was pressed were the words ‘Merry Christmas’ and ‘Happy New Year’ and ‘Happy Holidays’ and the most impressive sign of them all now worn by McAllister, flashed away in alternating red and green led’s with the words ‘Seasons Greetings’ .

“And why the reinforced door?” asked Knocker, his shoulder sill smarting. “With him as a neighbour” replied McAllister pointing at Mroslop as Kenji was daydreaming a bit and Mroslop was trying to escape. Special Branch and Inspector Gripper dealt with him and he was led away to answer a few questions. Sadly, though it does depend on your point of view but he was killed while on remand as the Russian Mafia contract on him had still been active and somebody finally collected on it. And so the whole episode drew to a close. MI5 and MI6 all tried to leave at the same time which was pretty funny to watch but I suppose you just had to be there to fully appreciate. The two from the Salvation Army made a (financial) killing on that and Hereford’s homeless will no doubt see some of the benefits of that. They left and it was just Flabby and company and the four youths who were still flashing away until they finally switched the vests off. Smudge wanted to ask it, he was dying to ask it and finally when all was quiet, he did ask it:

“Why were you wearing the vest under your jacket in town?” asked Smudge.

“No idea, I don’t write the sodding stories, he does” replied McAllister.

“Fair one” said Flabby. “And a very happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year to all” he added.

“And all those far away from home, stay safe and come back and see us soon” added Kenji.

THE END