The 168th Greatest Story in the Universe - A Tribute
Created | Updated Jan 5, 2004
Part Six
Norman wasn’t very happy about his current circumstances. Having to
do work was not his thing.
Norman’s thing was sitting around getting a kick out of seeing the
members of the activity hall’s struggle to achieve the objectives he
had given them. Actually ‘working’, he had vociferously
persisted in saying to his employer, was not part of his job description.
Unfortunately his insistence of this point was cut short when his diminutive
employer threw him across the room.
‘Get up you little worm!’ his employer croaked. ‘You
can’t even imagine what a mistake it would be to oppose us. You will
find Terry Horowitz, and this time keep hold of him, or this you will find
yourself removed. Permanently.’
Norman then attempted to give his employer’s back the eyeballing of
its’ life, as the cloaked figure walked out of the room. But it gave
him a massive headache, so his expression ended up as a vague frown.
Once he was resigned to his fate, his first step was to try and find out
who had let this Horowitz escape, just so Norman could get the pleasure of
blaming someone else. This happened to be Tommy.
Norman wished he didn’t have to deal with Tommy. Tommy was what is
technically known as an idiot. There was nothing medically wrong with him,
he just seemed to have the knack of being incredibly stupid.
‘Tommy,’ said Norman, trying to get his attention.
‘Tommy!!!’ he repeated angrily when Tommy seemed more
interested in the space about four feet in front of his face.
Shocked, Tommy quickly focused. Well that wasn’t true really, Tommy
just kind of vaguely looked at Norman, but it was probably about as close as
he would ever get to focussing. ‘Yep… I mean yes sir?’
‘What were you doing, letting that man escape?’
‘Which man?’
‘The man who has gone missing. Terry Horowitz.’
‘Oh I was probably opening the door.’
‘What?!! No, I don’t mean what were you doing at the time. I
mean why did you open the door to let him escape?’
‘Well, he needed the toilet.’
‘And you didn’t think it would be a good idea to follow him
to see where he was actually going?’
‘Why would I do that? I don’t want people thinking that
I’m a pervert.’
‘Of course not, Tommy. You want people to think you’re a
bloody idiot, don’t you!’
‘Well…’
‘That wasn’t a question! How could you just let him wander
down a corridor on his own where he could end up anywhere?’
‘It kind of just…happened.’
‘My fist will kind of just happen to end up in your face in a
minute!’ Norman had to calm down, he felt a headache coming on.
Just as he was about to compose himself for another battle of wits,
Gospot walked in.
Gospot and Norman did not get on. This was primarily because Norman
always felt inferior to him, which was one of his infinite number of pet
hates. However to explain this more thoroughly you must be aware of certain
details. The first being they are not even from the same time.
Gospot was from the 19th century, and Norman was from the 25th. So in
essence it’s a generation thing, even though Gospot is only four years
older than Norman’s 40 years. However given the number of generations
involved this is amplified ten fold.
So how do they come to be here? And after all where is here?
Questions we probably all ask ourselves at some point in our lives, for
various reasons. Most of which happen to involve 12 pints of lager and a
stag party. But I digress. Well as for where they are, they don’t
actually know. Well part of that is a lie, given that they know that the
place that they’re in exists out of time. But as for where they exist
out of time, probably should be left to people with more time than sense,
and a PhD in Quantum Physics.
And as for how? Well let’s just say a lot of money was involved,
and in Norman’s case a few contracts for his life (mostly arranged by
his ex-wife) helped convince him of his current career. And once again a PhD
in Quantum Physics wouldn’t go amiss.
And as for why Norman actually felt inferior to Gospot lay in the fact he
was actually a descendant of the man who used to sleep in the gutter in
front of William Gospot’s rather expensive house in 19th century
London. Norman always had to resist some natural urge to take off some
invisible dirty old cap, and say ‘Wonderful mornin’, ain’t
it sir?’ in an awful cockney accent. He got lots of urges like this.
However he had quite a different urge after Gospot had spoken. ‘The
storytellers want to speak to you about wages, Norman.’
Norman’s new urge was to curl up in to a ball and sob
uncontrollably. Norman did not do this.
The storytellers were basically out of work actors picked up throughout
history. Strangely enough there wasn’t much difference between a 16th
century actor and one from the 21st century. Only that, for some
inexplicable reason, the 16th century ones had a strange urge for turnips.
Turning his attention away from Tommy, Norman addressed Gospot.
‘How much do they want now?’
‘You’d better ask them that yourself. Some of them want to be
paid in groats, some want to be paid in Dollars, and the old gentleman
who… ahem, breaks wind a lot - Alfred, wants to be paid in flagons of
ale.’
Norman groaned. ‘I don’t have time for this. Will you give
them the usual 1% increase in wages, sir?’
Norman winced, realising he had actually called Gospot ‘Sir’.
Feeling he had to cover this, he followed up with ‘And can do it now
please. I mean, do it now sir… not sir. Look just do it now,
please?!’
Gospot looked at Norman as if he had an egg coming out of his nose.
Norman was about to collapse, when an enthusiastic young woman ran in to the
room. ‘Mr Norman sir… I mean, Mr Hurst.’
Norman looked up, stunned that someone actually remembered his surname.
‘Yes, go on.’
‘Well sir,’ she continued, ‘One of our contacts has
spotted Terry Horowitz. He’s in a pub.’
‘Excellent,’ said Norman. Maybe things where looking up
after all, he thought. ‘Which pub is he in?’
‘Ah, well that’s the problem you see. He disappeared…
through a wall, with two other people. Plus our contact had sampled quite a
lot of the local ale, and isn’t 100% certain which pub he was in, but
we’ve narrowed it down to about 10.’
Norman sighed. Nothing seemed to be 100% certain round here. But at least
it was something. He was about to have another moan, when Tommy surprisingly
spoke up.
‘If he walked through a wall in a pub, there’s a good chance
he is with the Callack organisation. I’ve had dealings with one of
their mercenaries, Revo Recma, from time to time, when I haven’t been
able to pay up for certain items…’
There was a stunned silence in the room. Even the man sitting in the
corner holding his brief case, had stopped rocking back wards and forwards.
They were all shocked that for the first time in his life Tommy Dein had
said something vaguely intelligent.
Tommy looked around a little nervously. ‘I’ll shut up
now.’
A smile crossed Norman’s face. He worried for a moment whether his
face would crack under the strain due to the under-use of the particular
muscles this would involve. However, they held out. ‘Tommy, I think
you’ve just redeemed yourself.’
Relieved, Tommy sighed. ‘Can I have a raise?’
‘No.’
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