Pedro and Consuela

It’s nearly a month since *I last talked of what has befallen me and my three men, Mikey Squeaky and Freddy*, since my arrival in America from England a year and a half ago, to avenge an insult to my monarch Queen Elizabeth, made by Jimmy, a blogger in Texas.

In my last few postings I had digressed, *talking about that worthless son of mine, Albert*, and about my late wife Gladys, for whom Albert was the apple of her eye. I will continue talking about them in future postings, but today I’ll talk more about my, and my men’s, flight from the American police, since my avenging of the insult to Her Majesty the Queen of England, involved killing not only the man who insulted her, Jimmy, but his men as well. Then there were *the men we killed under the bridge*, the ones who attacked us in the night while we were sleeping.

About the only positive to come out of our sojourn so far in America had been the SUV we’d rented. We didn’t return it to the car-rental company because we were by then on the run from the law, and we needed wheels. But after a few days our SUV began losing power, due, I thought, to a blockage of the gas supply to the carburetor.

I would normally have taken the SUV to a garage. But I considered this too risky, because I had no doubt we were on the American police’s “most wanted” list, so we needed to keep the lowest of profiles. Since our SUV could still run, although not as fast as normal, it would do until we could find a replacement.

One evening while on the road heading south we stopped off in a little Texas town, which I can’t name because the police may be reading this blog, so I have to keep vague where we are. The name of the town is, anyway, not important, for it was one of those amorphous little towns one finds throughout Texas. It was early evening when we arrived, and we killed time eating a supper of hamburgers and beer in a bar. There was also a pool table, on which we played snooker.

In hindsight I realize we were risking drawing attention to ourselves by playing the very English game of snooker, rather than the very American game of pool. We may unconsciously have been tempting fate, out of guilt for having killed so many men – perhaps as many as 14 – in the short time we’d been in America. But, after all the life-threatening situations we’d so far overcome, we felt invincible.

We left the bar at about 11 pm, and drove down the town’s main street until we came to a stop-light. I turned our SUV down a side-road, parked it, and we got out. Then, with handguns hidden on our persons, we walked back to the stop-light and waited. After some minutes another SUV, with a man and a woman in it, came along and stopped at the light. I, together with Mikey, went up to the vehicle, I to the driver’s side, and Mikey to the passenger’s. I put my gun to the driver’s head and told him to get out. Mikey did the same with the woman passenger.

They did look surprised, and very frightened, so they did as asked. The content of their wallets revealed their names to be Pedro and Consuela. Freddy and Squeaky hustled them off to our own SUV, where they tied them up and put them in the back.

With Mikey next to me I drove Pedro’s and Consuela’s SUV back on to the highway, with Freddy and Squeaky driving our own SUV behind. After some miles I detected some deserted land with trees – a good place to dispose of our SUV and Pedro and Consuela. We stopped there, and transferred all our chattels – including our veritable arsenal of guns – into Pedro and Consuela’s SUV, which would become our new home-on-the-road.

We now were ready to move on. But what to do with Pedro and Consuela?

Mikey Squeaky and Freddy, their atavistic blood-lust doubtless preternaturally high after all the killing they’d done in the past days, wanted to shoot Pedro and Consuela, then dig a hole and bury them, since, if allowed to live, they would tell all to the police, thereby making things more dangerous for us. Besides, since we’d already killed 14 people, what difference would it make if we upped the number to 16? My men argued their case passionately, while Pedro and Consuela listened to know whether they would live or die. They made rather a lot of noise, since both were weeping, and weeping is seldom without noise.

While I considered the arguments of my men in favour of killing Pedro and Consuela to be cogent, I was adamant we kill no more unless necessary. In my view, to kill needlessly isn’t cricket.

Thus we untied Pedro and Consuela and left them, after giving them the keys to our old rented SUV, so they could drive back to their little home-town, where they would, no doubt, have their fifteen minutes of fame after the telling of their tale. We, for our part, continued south.

This entry was posted in Writing.

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