A million thoughts were flashing through my mind as we marched on through the Soho backstreets. I didn't let them bother me though. I had a place I didn't want to go to get to and the last thing I needed was to get distracted by some extrememly cute blonde in a tight skirt bending over trying to adjust her stockings at the junction of Romilly and Dean Street. As she simultaneously tried to cope with a wayward ponytail flopping around she looked like a helpless fawn with it's leg in a trap. A fawn with a tight red skirt obviously. And a ponytail. But not as much body hair.
Anyway...my war machine was too tightly wound to stop now even if I wanted to. My soldiers were primed, each with his own reason spurring him on to deal with the Mik menace. For instance, Vink could smell a takeover and the potential power shift would see him walk into Mik's enclave unaided if need be. Robbo stood to gain a foothold in respectable above-counter animation if he could help see to the end of Mik, so he had plenty to gain too (also smoking crack most of the day helped). Olaf was gibbering with excitement, I think he just liked walking fast. As for myself, I would find out why a lady had walked into my office, and attacked me for turning down a logo job. And maybe I would find a way to pay my cross-dressing landlord along the way. If I had not been so single minded I might have glanced sideways now and then. And had I peered into a darkened side alley at a particular moment I could even have recognised the silhouette of others who I might have persuaded to align their destinies to mine. But I had been, so I couldn't, and I didn't.
"Isn't that...?", said a female voice. Her body arched as she strained to make out the faces in the crowd.
"Mmph?", came a muffled reply from what sounded like a voice under a covering of thin material- like a skirt.
The first figure leaned further as her eyes' quarry continued past the line of the foreground wall of the alley. Had I seen her I would have recognised her as an old friend and colleague Olwena Leekchomper- or 'The Demonstrator' to give her her street name. I would tell you that we had learnt our chops together running free through the world of post production when the world had seemed like nothing so much as a lamb frollicking in a minefield. When you could hold your head up and be proud of working in 3D and not hide like an old unshaven man in a raincoat, sheltering in a cinema just off Leicester Square. But when things got tough Olwena had found a way out of the competitive murders and beatings that now made up our lives in the rain and oil slicked streets of London. She now made enough cash turning tricks for lonely husbands to support hardware upgrades and support contracts. Paying extortion rates to Mik kept her down in the gutter. But as I said I didn't see her so I can't tell you.
Neither can I describe the figure that was still attempting to bring her to orgasm under her skirt or at least making a passable attempt at faking it. This was a shame because Claudetta- or 'The Teacher'- had an interesting history or two to tell as well- depending on the client. I knew the true story because we had also shared a brief part of our lives together. That special time when, as young animators, we had run amok through the youthfully exciting world of computer animation with everything to play for, no risk too great, no job too demanding, no lie-in too long. She and Olwena made their best money doing their double act for customers who had the cash to pay the extra rates. One such customer was enjoying their antics at that moment or had been until Olwena had become distracted.
"Whmmph...who is it?" said Claudetta surfacing, pleased of the distraction.
"They're almost gone now, but it looked like Vink, Robbo, Perrott and that guy who serves soup", Olwena had now completely forgotten about the business of massaging Claudetta's breasts- much to the annoyance of the punter and they made an unusal sculpture subject as Olwena was twisted around almost 180 degrees peering down the street while attempting to stay hidden in the alley. Her hand was down Claudetta's rain-soaked crop top while Claudetta peered through Olwena's fishnet stockinged legs and her own arms which hung from her wrists, still imprisoned in Olwna's knickers.
"Er...excuse me?! Hello?!" this from the punter, "I don't want to bother you but I'm trying to get off here! Anyone heard of customer satisfaction?", the girls could sense he was a little irate although with his trousers round his ankles it was difficult to take him seriously- but he was paying money so they got back to the business at hand.
"I wonder what's going down- LEFT A BIT...OH THAT'S GREAT- They look like they're heading in Mik's direction and -YOU REALLY DO IT FOR ME HONEY- and that's a no-go area for people like us." whispered Olwena while maintaining the requisite dialogue.
Most of Claudetta's reply was muffled as although her head was back under the skirt she was actually still staring down the street, in fact she might have been viciously tonguing Olwena had her clitoris actually been located between her knees but the client didn't seem to notice.
"-OH BABY- hmm don't like the look of it -YOU LOVE IT DON'T YOU- wait there are more of them!" She hissed.
It was all Olwena could do to restrain herself from turning around again, the punter was working up to a frenzy and she wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible. A quick faked one and he'd be done she reckoned. "Who -OH YEAH...OH YEAH- is it? I'M COMING...YEAH" She shrieked in a suspiciously well-modulated display of sexual hysteria.
Claudeatta tried to make out the faces but they were steeped in conversation with their faces hidden. Then one of them had a quick shifty glance to the left and right and she made out Benethy De Blanc, and since no one who recognised the assassin usually got the chance to see him again the effect was electric.
"Mmph...SHIT!" She said, instinctively jerking her head up and bucking Olwena sideways into the trashcans. Olwena almost stifled a scream and landed noisily while Claudetta, in her haste to hide, impresssively rolled backwards, inadvertantly spearing the punter in his genitals with her stilettoes. They both scrambled up and vanished in the backstreets- Claudetta with a testicle firmly attached to each heel.
De Blanc who had come to investigate the commotion only found a wide eyed and gasping punter in foetal position. The erstwhile punter slowly focused on the mammoth and grinned "Brilliant.....bloody brilliant." And then with a distinct look of sincerity he said, "Erm...could you ring an ambulance please. My scrotum seems to have been ripped off" before passing out.
All of which I was glad not to witness personally and can only relate it to you, my trusted reader, through shamelessly slipping into the third person. I'm not proud of it but I thought you'd rather know. My band of Warriors was by this time outside "Aldis...and More!" I didn't recognise the doormen and we were ushered in with cursory, but expected, body search. Obviously no trouble was expected- either that or the management were only concerned with attacks from thin weapons that can be concealed in a pocket on the upper arm and we passed through to the reception mumbling something about needing a quote. We got our mandatory, and quite welcome, cup of coffee and noticed that apart from a couple of producers cutting up coke with an Amex on the reception desk and leering at the receptionist and an unfortunate wretch- probably an animator- being worked over with a length of rubber hose, it was quiet.
Nervously waiting for the alarm to sound, we watched the elevator, the receptionist, the front door and each other. Knowing how Mik liked to do business, if he was informed that some producers wanted to see him we could expect to wait anywhere from an hour to 2 weeks. It all seemed a little too easy. Time seemed to slow down and I started to feel even more apprehensive. I looked at my watch which impossibly said that we had only been waiting for 10 minutes.
I looked at the others.
Vink was staring blank eyed at the floor, Robbo was fidgeting and sweating and Olaf looked clear headed and awake. Something was wrong. When the table started to melt and Robbo began to transform into my mother a horrible thought swam through mud to reach my consciousness. The coffee! It was drugged! Vink realized it at the same time and we lurched to our feet, trying to focus on the door. Then I hallucinated that the receptionist smiled and took off her head. No, not her head- a wig. The producers turned around and suddenly they were the doormen- Chinnington and B Spline- from Zillies. And everyone had guns. And Olaf was staggering towards the receptionist. No. Towards Soren "The Dog". And the door exploded open. And it was Quattro Formaggio. And it was Half Fat. And it was Benethy De Blanc. And it was Edwina. No-one knew what to do. I didn't know what to do. Olaf was talking to the reception dog thing. Robbo was asleep. Vink, swaying. Formaggio, wild eyed. De Blanc, snarling. Edwina, defiant. Half Fat, crazed. Chinngton, manic. Spline, confused. Dog, laughing. And everyone had more guns. And then the lift door opened. Mik. Was. There.
I was fumbling for my gun. Then I remembered that I didn't have one. We had one piece of piping between us and we had walked into the lion's den to find not only the lion but a few poker-playing lion buddies and some lioney cousins who had dropped in to visit.
Well, guess what happened next.
next week: 12 Angry Men