Old Enemies Really Do Run Belfast

Yesterday I went for a job interview. It was a shitty call centre one. I was sitting in the reception all prepared to lie about my experience and intentions when I was called into a room with non other than The Death Owl and Mr Ponti. Except Mr Ponti wasn't really called Mr. Ponti, he was called Boris something or other.

They had big smug bastard grins written all over their faces when I sat down in front of them.

"So, if it isn't crack headed Tuesday Kid?" The Death Owl smirked. "Want a job do you?"
"That's right," I said trying to brush off the fact that I was sitting in front of two complete wankers that I'd hoped I'd never see again.
"We don't employ crack heads. Our business is serious. However..." the Death Owl said.
I sat waiting for him to finish.
"How is your dog?" said Mr Ponti.
"That's none of your busines," I replied.
"That's not very friendly," said the Death Owl. "Especially since you're wanting us to give you a job."
"Are you going to give me one?" I asked.
"I'll give you something else," said the Death Owl bringing out his majik wand.
He was about to zap me before I took off my shoe and threw it at him, snapping the wand into shite.

Mr. Ponti dived over the desk at me but I uppercutted him, knocking him clean out cold.

The Death Owl started dancing around the room.

"You're so dead," he said, "I'm a yellow belt in Karate now."

He pulled off some fancy Chuck Norris roundhouse but it missed me by miles. I pinned him up against the wall.

"I'll scream for help," he said.

"Do it," I shrugged. "They won't get here before I twist your balls."

He fainted right away. I spat a big drooly spittle all over his face.

Then I stole money from both their wallets. A result of sorts. Though not the one I was hoping for.

I woke up today to hear Fabian Wildman banging on my front door. He was in a wile state when I let him in, in his dressing gown and slippers. I looked at the clock, it was only half eight. I gave him a good smoke of my crack pipe and that calmed him down enough so he could tell me what was wrong.

He says he woke up in the middle of the night to see The Death Owl pacing at the foot of his bed with a sacrificial dagger in his hand talking to someone who wasn't there, not just muttering, he was having a full blown conversation and my name came up as well as Fabian's. Poor Fabian waited until The Death Owl went to the bog, then he legged it out of the house.

I asked him who The Death Owl was talking to, if he mentioned Mr. Ponti or Balkazaler. Fabian said he hadn't heard of them. I told him about the wee guy in the bowler hat. Fabian said The Death Owl always called him Boris but he was a weird wee fucker who smelt of candle wax.

Fabian asks if he can stay at mine, and much as I like him I really don't want him here. He starts crying when I say no, so I tell him he can stay here until he finds somewhere new, but I know already I'm going to have to kick him out the first time he takes my stuff to cash converters.

We go round his in the middle of the day to get his stuff. I was hoping The Death Owl would be there just so I could give him a kicking but the place was empty. There was an awful reek of sage about the place.

We got all Fabian's stuff back to mine and by the time we got it sorted and him settled in the living room (his new bedroom) we settled down for the night with a good smoke of crack.

Fabian has a vinyl record player and lots of old records. He wanted to let me hear some french guy called Jaques Brel. He said I'd like him but I think his real reason for playing him was just to help him feel a bit more at home. I said okay, then Fabian told me he wrote that Westlife song Seasons in the Sun. I really wasn't looking forward to this. But once he stuck him on it was pretty good. Some french guy who sounded really emotional about everything. He had one called Amsterdam which was all in French so I don't know what it was about exactly but by the sounds of him he'd been busted trying to smuggle some dope back with him. Living with Fabian might be okay after all. I might leave it a bit before I tell him The Death Owl sometimes visits next door.