As the excellent Mr. Van Croft wrote recently, we have had a slight accident, which unfortunately interfered with our relaying of ghastly gossip. Rest assured however, that we are soon to be completely free of radiation, and as such, posting should soon return to it’s normal, if not steady pace.
As a beginning, I am hereby posting first part of a nauseating narrative retrieved from one of my pasients. Do enjoy it.
Mad waiter, part 1.
There was absolutely nothing about Wilfred Jackopy that gave any indication of danger. This short, chubby and red-faced man, elegantly dressed in a suit, with a bowler hat, a cane, and a rather ugly bow tie, seemed like the very essence of safety and comfort. Nevertheless, the man facing him did not look like he found Mr. Jackopy comforting at all.
He was squirming in his chair, situated at the other side of the small, round table, his back facing the wooden walls of the tavern. The man looked terrified, despite the fact that he was way more intimidating than Jackopy. The well-muscled body, the gun that could be glimpsed from underneath his coat, and the magnificent scar, running all the way across his forehead, clearly stated that this was a man quite capable of taking care of himself, and that he was no stranger to perilous situations.
And yet he was shivering, barely able to look at the rotund person sitting calmly in front of him, finishing his fourth glass of Brandy. Jackopy closed his eyes for a moment, as if savoring the taste, before he put his glass down, opened his mouth, and started talking.
“It HAS been a while, hasn’t it?” Not awaiting any reply, he continued: “I’ve been doing my best to keep up, of course, but there are still a few things I would like to sort out. First of all, how’s Vlacha doing?”
Swallowing, in a most loud and uncivilized manner, the nervous man replied: “Not too good. He fell with your warehouse, I’m afraid. The Fez still doesn’t know why he was there. He must have seen the trap, but instead of warning Hammer and the Italians, he joined them. He was mowed down along with the rest.”
One might think that such tragic news would put some sort of damper on Jackopy’s mood, but instead the small man began laughing quietly to himself.
“Well, the man was always somewhat of an enigma. It was never good to say what he was up to, with the kind of people he teamed up with.” Raising his glass once again, he proclaimed:
“To Vlacha! Never did I meet a man more annoying, stupid or funny!”
After the toast, Wilfred suddenly turned serious.
“But Rurik, I’m not here just to exchange news, no matter how intriguing they may be. We have business to discuss.”
The man whose name we must assume is Rurik, did not reply to this.
