Chapter the Twoth

April 24, 2007 at 3:50 pm | Posted in fiction | 28 Comments

Read Chapter the First first.


Raucous piano music and laughter spilled through the doors of the saloon as I stepped through. The barman, busy polishing a glass with a blank comments form, glanced up, and froze as he saw me enter. His shock quickly spread to the patrons, and in the sudden silence of no piano, I grinned crookedly. My red-haired greeter pressed against me as she passed, unnecessarily close. The sweet smell of fresh blog fodder rose from her bosom, and I hid a swallow when she mouthed the word “later”. I watched along with every other man in the room as she sashayed across the sawdust-strewn floor and mounted the stairs. Stairs that led to bedrooms. Bedrooms that –

The creaking promise of the stairs was interrupted by the barman.

“Hep you, boi?” he asked curtly.

“Howdy. Who’s the law ’round these parts?” I asked, keeping my hands where he could see them.

“Who wants to know?”

“I think you recognise me, friend. I’m The-”

“Hell, I know who you are, boi. Word is, you thought the Matrix trilogy climbed into its own rectum somewhere ’bout halfway through the second one. I also hear you’re a fan of Scorsese. Fact is, your kind ain’t welcome ’round here. Now what say you get back on your hoss and git out of this town while the gittin’s good.” he said bluntly.

I hadn’t expected a welcome wagon, but really, this guy was just plain rude. I considered chiding him on his poor manners, but moving towards the bar, I noticed the name badge on his chest. His name was Curt Blunt. Ah. At least that much made sense.

“Ain’t got a hoss,” I replied, to incredulous chuckles from a few red-faced old boozers.

I whistled. Moments later, a seismic canter vibrated the walls and the saloon window exploded inward, as Randolph propelled himself into the room in a shower of glass and glee. His tongue lolled pink and dripping, like clean laundry from a washing machine.

“Lord have mercy. That’s a considerable-big dawg. Real enormous-like.” said Curt, who had paled a shade or two. He tweaked his enormous handlebar moustache nervously.

“So, friend – mind if I call you Curt? Seein as it’s yer name, I’m just gonna go ahead and do that – Curt, who’s the law around here?” I asked again, patting Randolph gently as he emitted a low growl.

“Goes by the name of Major. Veinte Major.”

Veinte Major? I thought the big cheese was a fella known as -”

Twenty? Well, time was, you was right. Now’days, though, he don’t take so well to folk. Went and got hisself a book deal and shipped his whole damn operation outta Blogville. Works out west now, in a big city called Published. Charges a damn appearance fee for every story he’s referenced in, including this one. So, unless you got the green to command an appearance from the man hisself, I suggest you take his cheap non-union Mexican equivalent, Veinte Major, and make do with him.”

“Veinte Major it is then.” I replied. I turned to the staring masses, their drinks and music forgotten as they eyed Randolph. I patted his wide chest and whispered confidentially “Go on now Randolph, you wait outside.” Raising my voice, I added “And how about you folks go on about your business, while me and Curt here set up a meetin with your sherrif. Sorry about the ruckus.”

Curt emerged from behind the bar, shouting “Faith! Hope! Joy! Prudence! Composure! Git on down here and tend bar! Papa’s got a little bidness to attend to.” From above I heard a titter of laughter, chased by a cacophony of heels on the bare stairs. Five buxom wenches, all sassy winks and deep cleavage, stepped behind the bar, to much cheering by the suddenly animated drinkers. The music started up again, the jukebox this time, playing Waiting for a Star to Fall by Boy Meets Girl.

“I fuckin love that song” Curt said as we reached the back door of the saloon. The word verification lock requested that he enter xwijrnm into the control panel on the door. He typed and clicked enter, then punched the wall as the panel buzzed an angry rejection. “Goddamn muthafuckin word verification bullshit! Fuckin r’s and n’s look like m’s.” Curt moaned, typing out the correct code. The screen flashed “chapter complete” as the door opened.

“Come on,” Curt said, “Let’s git you to the sherrif.”



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  1. Brilliant!

  2. Ooooohhhhhh….hooray! I love a good bar story!

  3. I refuse to give you any more compliments on the grounds that you will have to issue a restraining order against me, but it is bloody brillant.

    Can you please put a link to part 2 at the end of part 1 so I can link to part 1. If you get what I’m saying – partner (in the country not biblical sense)

    Do I want to know what ‘blog fodder’ is?

  4. The Blogville welcome wagon is over-rated – you didn’t miss much. It’s just a donkey and cart proffering warm orange squash and some stale tea-biscuits. Not even McVities. You do get a sitemeter button and a free six-pack of memes though. And a coupon for a free meal and beverage at the Blogville Beef’N’Bean House. That is certain death though. Only the very meanest bloggers hang out there, eating their bitter beans and supping on bile, waiting for fresh meat for their pot.

  5. And this is great by the way! I’m loving it.

  6. Je suis assez impressed, Kav.

    Beaucoup des avertissements pour autre blogs and you managed to write it into a story.


  7. barman? fucking two line barman? Oi where’s the waiter?

    I’ll tell you where the waiter is, out the back having a crafty fag and penning his damning and yet insightful critique into the world of serving the “general pubic”[i know what i wrote!]

    Only slagging, quality work kav…

  8. Kav you must be the greatest blogger in the entire fuckin world. I bet you knew that already.

  9. Aisling: Like a hundred watt light bulb. Cheers.
    Andraste: I expect the beverages will be flowing soon. Should liven things up. You can’t beat a good old fashioned bar brawl.
    flirty: Aw shucks ma’am. I’ll do that link thing, yeah. Good idea. And I know well you meant partner in as dirty a way as possible. There’s no need to lower the tone of this blog. I can do that all by myself thank you very much.
    Sam: You give me more ideas every time you post. Excellent.
    Dario: You froggy bastid. From what I can gather, you got the date wrong on the exam? Best of luck anyway.
    manuel: Waiter? In the wild west? Pah. Don’t worry, I’ll find a job for you somewhere.
    Knudsen: Why only last night I was saying that myself. Thanks. I like the Happy moniker by the way – what brought that on?

  10. […] The next chapter is here. […]

  11. “reailty and my little fantasy blog would”
    at least you’re still in touch with reality; if you begin to think you’re the blog you write; you’ve had it. The only problem I would have about anyone writing a post on the real me is, it might just frighten the small number I already have paying me a visit away for good. Cheers!
    Y:-) Paddy.
    PS: got you new site in sight.

  12. Am I missing something? What’s going on?

  13. Blarney, it appears that Dario has had some kind of stroke as he’s speaking Frenglish.

  14. Paddy, you keep leaving comments on the wrong post, you know. The comments yoke is at the top of each post!

    Blarneyman: Missing something? I doubt it. It’s complete nonsense, as far as I can see. Care to elaborate?

    Twenty: He’s just showing off, the multilingual bastid.

  15. Is this a collaborative posting thing or is it like in high-infants when my teacher would tell stories at the end of the day that would incorporate all the class in them at some point or another! I’m lost.

  16. No, there’s no collaboration involved, save the unwitting collaboration of the unfortunate bloggers who pop into my head as I write. It’s pretty much like your high-infants thing.

  17. I’m looking forward to the new chapter, Kav. Loved the word verification bit there.

  18. Cheers M. If there is one!

  19. Then include me ya bastard!! 😦

  20. I do love that song.

    But you forgot to say how the door led to a back alley where I bum raped you for givin me lip.

  21. Blarneyman: All in good time. An epic needs time to introduce its characters.

    Niolk: That’s it, you’re getting killed off in the next chapter. I imagine you’re going to be fisted to death by Randolph. Or pawed, whatever.

  22. I don’t like this. It’s making me insecure about my own writing. I hate bloggers. There’s too many talented writers out there like Flirty, Sweary, you and Twenty … you’re all bastards.

    Stop being so talented, Kav. I mean it.

  23. There’s room for everyone Blarneyman, don’t stress. Seriously, you have mad skillz in the whole film stuff that I know nowt about, so dinnae sell yourself short. I’ve read bits from your scripts and you’re good, mang.

    Here’s a secret: What I do is steal everyone else’s stuff. It’s much easier to let them all be brilliant and then just nick it for your own posts.

  24. I’m not in that, so that was shite*. Hurry up and get to rescuing me, for God’s sake.

    * apart from Niolk’s handlebar moustache.

  25. All in good time. I haven’t figured out what I’m doing with you yet. You might be killed off if I can’t figure something out.

  26. Oh this is like Lost and God knows I am (back) in love with Lost. If I get killed off I want a spectacular death scene and then turned into a zombie/ghost so I can still haunt the story!

  27. Don’t talk to me about Lost. Fucking cunting Sky took Lost off me over here, so I don’t get to see it anymore. I miss ranting about the ridiculous rambling plot twists. The cunts.

    And I’m only joking Sweary. You’re my muse, I couldn’t kill you.

  28. Oh good old RTE have it here and Sky. Na-na-na-nana-nah! It’s gotten great.

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