Sunlight filters in through my front window. It's harsh, kind of like the taste in my mouth. It's obviously time to wake up.
I'm sprawled on the dead sofa in my living room, still wearing the clothes I had on last night. My neck creaks a bit from having slept on the arm of the sofa.
God damn, but I need to wash this taste out of my mouth, what is that? Shuffling through to the kitchen, I light a cigarette and glance at my watch. 14:20. What the fuck? A solid eight hours sleep, but I feel like it's only been two. I swill water through a dirty glass, "cleaning" it before filling it. I briefly run through yesterday in my head. It feels like a second rate movie.
I stumble through the detritus on my floor back to the seat. I glance briefly at the crumpled paper. I decided not to call anyone when I got home. After all, what would I tell them? I still feel a distaste for the paper though. The cigarettes? I can certainly live with that, but I need to do something about food. Hunger is gnawing at my stomach having not had a bite to eat yesterday, so I scramble through the shit on my floor, hoping to find some reserve of money I haven't already raided. Pointless. I've been doing this for a couple months now, I don't have money anywhere.
Fuck it, I'm going to head to the supermarket down the road and do whatever it takes to get a bite to eat. I don't want to break the law, but if it comes to that, I will.
I grab the jacket Jim gave me the night before, not letting the sun fool me into thinking it's warm. If nothing else, I can flog it to someone to get something. I consider leaving the scrap of paper here, but something tells me to take it with me, after all Mandy "watches" me. I pick it up and fold it again, slide it into my inside pocket on the jacket. My backs of my fingers slide against something unexpected. I pull it out.
It's a wad of notes. What a fucking winner! Jim obviously gave me the wrong jacket yesterday. It's not my money, but damn right I'm going to spend it. And I'm going to spend it in the pub, where I've not been for a few weeks.
It's a forty minute walk down to the pub, and for much of it I can avoid running into people. I could take the bus of course, but I far prefer walking. I walk very quickly, thinking nothing much at all, and get to the boozer completely event free.
I push my way through the doors into an almost empty bar area. As you expect for midafternoon on a Thursday. A good friend of mine is standing behind the bar. I smile as I grab a stool. Used to be that I would have my drink waiting for me when I came in, but that was before the days when I was sponging constantly. When I reach into my pocket and pull free a ten pound note, however, he immediately starts mixing one up for me. A regular sized glass with a double shot of the cheapest, nastiest whisky with shit loads of ice and topped with cola.
"Jesus man, I've not seen you for weeks. We thought something happened to you." My friend is a tall guy. We call him Slim, because there are too many of us called Steve in the pub, and I already reserved that name for myself by beating the other Steves in a drinking game.
"Yeah man, you know what it's like though. It's embarrasing sponging so relentlessly, so I like to lay low for a bit before I start again." He nods, having been there himself.
"You could at least let us know. Fancy a pie?" When I aquiesce, he pops into the kitchen and comes back with a fresh one. It looks absolutely disgusting, but who cares? Food is food.
Over my drink, the pie, and another drink, I fill in the last couple of weeks, including last night. He comments little, but does laugh at the idea of Mandy stalking me. The pub is starting to get busier as local businesses close earlier on Fridays, so I move myself to a table in the back, out of the way and let him do his job.
With food in my stomach, and alcohol in my veins, I feel more able to read whats written on the paper. I fold the symbols under as I want this to be private, and they are eye-catching.
Steve,
So glad you finally got round to reading this. We are serious about you doing this for us. Consider the money as
payment in advance. This paper will not have much importance to you until later, but we do recomend you keep
it in mind. The first key has been given to you, though understanding it will take a while. Using it will lead you to
the second. And so forth.
Our messages to you will be brief. Our assistance will often not be noticed until after the fact.
Beware the man wearing a grey coat. The Christian preacher will help you and you will have to be prepared to
listen to him at the most awkward time.
Sorry for the cryptic message, but this is the way it has to be played out this time.
Seriously, take care. We will be watching but we cannot cover for every eventuality.
~Mandy.
Shaking my head, I put the paper back into my hip pocket, nestling beside the wad of cash. Time for a piss, and another drink. I head to the door marked "Gents". On my way out, heading back to the bar for that drink, I see a flash of grey as the man in the hat runs out the door, Jim's jacket in his hands.
Feeling properly pissed off, even though the jacket is not mine, and nothing was in it, I give chase. I chase him for a few blocks, chase him 'round a few corners, always just glimpsing his grey jacket. I'm just about completely winded when I come to an abrupt stop. He's standing in an alley way, the jacket on the ground.
And he looks mad.
