It was one of them normal days. A nice late brunch and we were off looking at this place and that. Diving into this tube station, emerging from that. The usual stuff. Evening came and off we went to a watering hole for the standard issue thirst quenching and stimulating conversation. This particular place was nice and cozy and we sunk into our seats. The barkeep was a little weird though. When I asked for ice she loaded the glass with ice, I mean, there wasn't place for the drink. Luckily Joe Cynic gave lip. "Hey," he quipped to me, "That's too much ice. Stand up for your rights. Remember, the customer is always right." So, I step up and deliver the message. The barkeep let out the longest, deepest sigh ever and said (with a exasperated face and Australian accent), "But you asked for ice!" I suppose the barkeep probably went back home to her list of "Why I hate Indians." and penned down the incident there. Ach, well, can't be helped I suppose.
Anyway, the evening went on nicely. Until two shady guys walked in. And stood behind the F.W. Kid's and Joe Cynic's chairs, that is, facing the Sleeper and self. Unfortunately, my spidey senses were on vacation that day. So there was no tingling sensation. Or anything. The Shady Guys hung around until we stopped noticing them. They blended into immediate background,so to speak. Time went on and the conversations intensified to the point where physical demonstrations became necessary. On this note the F.W. Kid twisted in her chair and her hands dove into her bag, or rather, where her bag should have been. Hanging on the back of her chair. "Where's my bag?" she said, "You guys! Stop fooling around. Give it back." The three of us smiled like dorks, each one suspecting the hand of the other two in the ol' sneak-the-bag-away-when-the-person-wasn't-looking gag. "Where is it? Give it back," she continued. The three of us exchanged fading (aforementioned) dork like smiles and then we all looked at the F.W. Kid.
And in the same instant of eye-widening, jaw-dropping, heart-double-flipping horror the four of us came to the same conclusion. The bag had vanished. Soon after that Reason returned to her throne and then we had another of those simultaneous eye-widening, jaw-dropping, heart-double-flipping horror moments. Somebody whacked the bag. And it didn't take another revelation to realize that it was them Shady Guys who'd done this. T'was them damn Shady Guys.
In the ensuing panic I'm not really sure what happened. But at the end of it we were politely informed by the staff that if we wanted to view footage from the pub's CCTV cameras we'd have to file a complaint with the cops and then head back here. So, we headed to the nearest police station and tried to make a complaint. Tried, because apparently there's only one cop from the entire building at the reception desk. Anyway after all that, the F.W. Kid insisted that we continue with the plan and head to the the Lebanese place. Gallant, I must admit. Which we did. In retrospect, I wonder if it was a smart move.
We got to the place and the Sleeper decided he needed some money. So while the rest of us parked ourselves at the spot and set about ordering hookah's and what not, the Sleeper took off to find an ATM. We'd settled down, when the Sleeper came back, his eye's bulging and a V shaped frown marring his features. "What the fudge is wrong with this place", he blurted out as he collapsed into a chair. It didn't take much to coax the story out of him. Apparently, when he was trying a make a transaction, a lad with a newspaper approached him. "Newspaper?" went Newspaper Lad. The Sleeper politely declined. Newspaper Lad became pushy. Placing the newspaper over the ATM keypad he continued pestering the Sleeper. The Sleeper politely declined. Again. But by this time his Spidey senses were tingling (I guess) and he shoved Newspaper Lad away. And ,lo and behold, there was a solid two hundred pounds emerging from the ATM. Apparently Newspaper Lad was waited till the Sleeper had punched in his ATM code before moving in with his newspaper technique. Covering the keypad with the newspaper and punching in a random number was the next step. If it weren't for the Sleeper's vigilance *cough, cough* Newspaper Lad would have made it. So, next time you're at an ATM ...... watch out.
Anyway, the rest of the evening was pretty decent. Fruit flavored hookah, Lebanese food and tea was good for our shaky systems. Well, it calmed down the F.W. Kid and the Sleeper and soon they were back to normal.
That's it for now. With the next post, I close the London Arc. (Finally!!)
Anyway, the evening went on nicely. Until two shady guys walked in. And stood behind the F.W. Kid's and Joe Cynic's chairs, that is, facing the Sleeper and self. Unfortunately, my spidey senses were on vacation that day. So there was no tingling sensation. Or anything. The Shady Guys hung around until we stopped noticing them. They blended into immediate background,so to speak. Time went on and the conversations intensified to the point where physical demonstrations became necessary. On this note the F.W. Kid twisted in her chair and her hands dove into her bag, or rather, where her bag should have been. Hanging on the back of her chair. "Where's my bag?" she said, "You guys! Stop fooling around. Give it back." The three of us smiled like dorks, each one suspecting the hand of the other two in the ol' sneak-the-bag-away-when-the-person-wasn't-looking gag. "Where is it? Give it back," she continued. The three of us exchanged fading (aforementioned) dork like smiles and then we all looked at the F.W. Kid.
And in the same instant of eye-widening, jaw-dropping, heart-double-flipping horror the four of us came to the same conclusion. The bag had vanished. Soon after that Reason returned to her throne and then we had another of those simultaneous eye-widening, jaw-dropping, heart-double-flipping horror moments. Somebody whacked the bag. And it didn't take another revelation to realize that it was them Shady Guys who'd done this. T'was them damn Shady Guys.
In the ensuing panic I'm not really sure what happened. But at the end of it we were politely informed by the staff that if we wanted to view footage from the pub's CCTV cameras we'd have to file a complaint with the cops and then head back here. So, we headed to the nearest police station and tried to make a complaint. Tried, because apparently there's only one cop from the entire building at the reception desk. Anyway after all that, the F.W. Kid insisted that we continue with the plan and head to the the Lebanese place. Gallant, I must admit. Which we did. In retrospect, I wonder if it was a smart move.
We got to the place and the Sleeper decided he needed some money. So while the rest of us parked ourselves at the spot and set about ordering hookah's and what not, the Sleeper took off to find an ATM. We'd settled down, when the Sleeper came back, his eye's bulging and a V shaped frown marring his features. "What the fudge is wrong with this place", he blurted out as he collapsed into a chair. It didn't take much to coax the story out of him. Apparently, when he was trying a make a transaction, a lad with a newspaper approached him. "Newspaper?" went Newspaper Lad. The Sleeper politely declined. Newspaper Lad became pushy. Placing the newspaper over the ATM keypad he continued pestering the Sleeper. The Sleeper politely declined. Again. But by this time his Spidey senses were tingling (I guess) and he shoved Newspaper Lad away. And ,lo and behold, there was a solid two hundred pounds emerging from the ATM. Apparently Newspaper Lad was waited till the Sleeper had punched in his ATM code before moving in with his newspaper technique. Covering the keypad with the newspaper and punching in a random number was the next step. If it weren't for the Sleeper's vigilance *cough, cough* Newspaper Lad would have made it. So, next time you're at an ATM ...... watch out.
Anyway, the rest of the evening was pretty decent. Fruit flavored hookah, Lebanese food and tea was good for our shaky systems. Well, it calmed down the F.W. Kid and the Sleeper and soon they were back to normal.
That's it for now. With the next post, I close the London Arc. (Finally!!)
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