One of THOSE nights...

I am currently quarantined, because someone was exposed to someone who was exposed to someone who was exposed to someone who had whooping cough. Or something like that. Anyway. When one is quarantined, there is not much to do, so I thought I'd stop by for a chat. A rather one-sided chat.

As some of you may have heard, yesterday was Independence Day. Well, as you probably have guessed by now, I was quarantined yesterday as well. Not quite optimal, if you know what I mean. I did practically nothing except invent the most immature game ever known to mankind. Not bad immature, just immature immature. Think, second grade.  I must say, though, this whole quarantining business has been somewhat eye-opening. I never knew till now how perfectly spoiled I am. I was really put out by the whole thing. I didn't cry, thank God, but I complained to no end. I don't know why my parents didn't shoot me or something, come to think of it.

It turned out that one of the families in the area didn't care that we had the potential to be potentially unclean, so we went over to their house for dinner. And it was cool. One of this family's kids had friends from college there that I had never met, so that made things, shall we say, interesting. You see, I have this uncanny ability for making even more of a perfect fool of myself when I am hanging out with people that I don't know at all. One would think that maybe I would a bit more shy, but its actually the opposite that happens. Last night I was purposely acting as dumb and dumb can be and talking in a less than perfect Godfather accent. I cringe at the thought. At least most everyone was laughing their guts out for 95% of the night. Its nice to know that I sacrificed my spotless reputation for something.

But wait. There's more. I am going to give you another example of my unfortunate ability. Last fall I suddenly found myself riding shotgun with a pretty pretty girl I had never met. So we were stuck with each other for about an hour. Or rather, she stuck with me. You'd think that being shoved with an unacquainted attractive member of the opposite sex would have shut me up; sort of numbed things up a bit, if you know what I mean. That was not the case. I went on a rampage of obnoxiousness. You know, really forward for people who had never met and cracking jokes as if we were old pals.I dare say it was probably quite amusing in its own sort of way, but I keep on running into her and I am still pretty embarrassed about the whole thing. I suppose I shall get over it sometime.

I still just don't understand why I have have problem...its probably something to do with my diet.

TTFN

-Thomas

Murica Baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Happy 4th.

Six.

VI

The random object Colin had happened to snitch on the way out of the shop turned out to be an antique silver pocket-watch of Swiss manufacture. Its face value probably wasn't much, maybe two or three thousand pounds, but it was one of the unfortunate shopkeeper's family heirlooms and he was greatly attached to it.

You can imagine, then, the utter shock and horror he experienced upon discovering the disappearance of both the watch and the timepiece the next morning. Its a surprise the old man didn't drop dead on the spot. He didn't, though, to the disappointment of a great many relatives, and immediately contacted the police. So, by the time Colin arrived at ten to return the watch, the place was all taped-off and absolutely crawling with Police and Inspectors.

On the outside of the tape, a tall, slim man with longish, darkish hair stood with a package under his arm, apparently waiting to be let in. Colin thought that maybe if he waited near him, he would be let in as well. So he promptly went and stood beside the man with the packet.

“So, you've finally decided to show up, miracle baby.” The tall man said, in an American accent, with a chuckle. All he got from Colin were raised eyebrows, so he continued, “I really am sorry about spoiling your party last night, but I just couldn't resist this opportunity to finally introduce myself.

This time around he got more than eyebrows from Colin.

“Then why don't you bloody introduce yourself. Who the hell are you?”, Colin hissed.

“Well, Colin, both because after having observed you for past five months I think it would do you good to not be in the 'know' for once, and because that chubby cop with the awful mustache is finally coming back, you'll have to wait and find out.” And turning to the Bluey who had just arrived on the other side of the tape he added, “Hello again officer. Will the owner see us now?”

“Who's this man?” The officer asked gruffly.

“He's my secretary and he will also be of help to the owner.”

The officer let them through the tape, into the shop, and up a flight of stairs, to the owner's apartments, where he was yelling at chief inspector, who had apparently just reported that they had procured no evidence from the scene. Upon the entrance of Colin and the other man, the shopkeeper looked up and growled, “What do you two want? Can't you see I'm occupied?” Colin was going to answer him, but he heard his—his whatchamacallit clear his throat next to him, so he let him do the talking, and talk he did. “Yes, so sorry about that, but we have information regarding the two missing objects whose absence are causing the unfortunate occupation you just mentioned. We must speak to you alone.” The was an awkward pause and then the grump of an owner said in a hoarse, glorified whisper to the inspector, “Well, you heard him, didn't you? Get out!”

After the inspector had made his extremely ungraceful retreat, in which he tripped over a small table laden with breakfast things, the owner, Mr. Bisquebey was his name I think, turned to Colin and the stranger and asked in his pleasantest 'customer' voice, “What was that you were saying, Mr...?”

“Ellen. Liam Ellen, sir”

It is rather hard to explain what was going through Colin's brain in the moments after Mr. Liam Ellen revealed his name. A pinball machine with about sixty too many balls poured into it is the first thing that comes to mind. The second is probably an overly anxious mother who has just been informed that her son has had a serious accident at his friend's house. You know the drill, a plethoratic torrent of questions paired with an astoundingly large fountain of fantastical answers to those questions. It is enough to say that to give an account of all the questions and answers that bounced around in Colin's head at this time would merit a book in in of themselves. A boring and redundant book at that. For these reasons, it is not something you will find in these pages.

“I was saying, Mr. Bisquebey, that we have information on your stolen items. In fact, we know exactly where they are.”

There was, needless to say, a reaction from the old man when Liam, as he shall be called until further notice, finished his most eloquent address. Something like that of a volcano erupting, but in a good sort of way. Maybe a chocolate volcano. Anyway, this Mr. Bisquebey was oozing with friendliness. So much so that it was rather in-your-face and obnoxious, as I assume a life-size chocolate volcano would be. Too much superficial goodness, if you know what I mean. He sort of bowed and folded his hands together. I say, 'sort of', because circumference of both his stomach and fingers made it difficult to perform with ease either of the aforementioned actions. This, coupled with a drooling, hang-y smile, made the overall effect pretty repugnant. “Ah.” he said, and the three men were soon steeped in the boring details of the return of the timepiece and watch.

The only thing worth mentioning out of the long, twenty seven minute conference was Colin's motive for stealing the timepiece. Or rather, what he told Mr. Bisquebey what his motive was and what will also have to satisfy us. “You see, sir, I am a student and lover of clocks, watches, and timepieces as well, and upon seeing your collection so inadequately guarded, I was left quite nervous about it. After returning to my flat that evening, I tried to think of a way to convince you to up the security on your collection. This was the best plan I happened on.”

Although this explanation seems lacking, it satisfied Mr. Bisquebey and so why should it not satisfy us, who don't have anything tangible invested in the situation? Well, most of the time curiosity overpowers rationality, especially in matters such as these, so between you and me, I wouldn't be surprised if he did it purely for excitement's sake.

After Colin and Liam were finished with their conference with Bisquebey, they descended the stairs and made their way to the street. It had rained bit right before dawn, and the morning that the two men found themselves stepping into was one those crisp, spring mornings; the kind that puts a sort of vigor in one's step and new outlook on life. You know the kind, the sort of which one quiff of the air acts as a miracle stimulant of sorts. This air almost made Colin forget the positively turbulent state of mind his mind had been in ever since Liam had announced his name.

Almost. But not quite. He was naturally stupefied and made uneasy by the fact that this random, not-so-random man apparently knew not only quite a lot about him, but also had the same name as main character in the novel he was working on. Although e kept telling himself that it was, “pure and utter coincidence”, he had that awkward feeling in his stomach. The one that makes it feel like your stomach can't decide whether to jump or to fall and that's its just floating, both elasticized and clumped-up, in a soup of indecision. Finally he stammered, “Sorry. But, um...did, did I catch your name right?”

“What did you catch?”

“Liam Ellen?”

“Yeah, that's it alright. Why?”

After Colin seemingly finished this titbit of a conversation with exceeding awkwardness—something about it all being nothing and such—and a smile more fake even than Mr. Bisqubey's, Liam gave him a look. It wasn't an overly nice look, but not a mean or patronizing one ether, it merely sated, in the plainest of terms, that Liam knew everything and that Colin had better stop talking rubbish. The look was followed by a string of words from the looker.

“Its no use Colin. I know why you asked about my name. You may also be interested that my middle name is Ignacio and that, 'My parents are immigrants, my father from Scotland; my mother from Portugal. Hence the strange name.' or were immigrants, bless them.”

This time there was no doubt or indecision about it. Colin's stomach dropped rather like that of an egg from a tallish chicken, and then slingshotted back up to his adenoids and stayed there for a time.

He gulped air. Then he gulped again. And then, “What in—what are you?”

“Not what, who. I'm your older brother, mate!”

Colin immediately found himself in the midst of one of those overpowering bear-hugs, and, after the initial shock of it all, found to his surprise that for the first time since—since before he could remember, he actually felt like he was home.