at the gangster. “You’re an animal, Lord Lambontroff. One of our regulars used to be a woodsman on the edge of the Washin: he told us ALL about you.”
Loogie made a dismissive gesture with both hands, then suddenly leaped onto the table and sat down, cross-legged, drawing in a deep breath as if to prevent himself any further loss of temper. “That’s neither here nor there,” he snapped, as the couple looked on, wide-eyed. “I’ve not come to your decrepit dung heap of an inn to discuss my past—and, incidentally, you can forget anything you’ve heard from your scummy regulars: I haven’t been Lord Lambontroff for a long time.” He flexed his knuckles. “I work for Mr. Mediocre now, and I’m here—once again—to discuss your little debt problem. I thought I’d arrive unannounced this time, as you were both conveniently absent during my last visit. I had to leave a message with your stupid barmaid, and Mr. Mediocre hates it when I have to leave messages.” He finished the statement with a feline grin.
“Mr. Mediocre?” repeated the innkeeper, his wife cowering in the shadows behind him. “Who—”
“He’s Mr. Big’s assistant … and I don’t know what you’re grinning at, because Mr. Mediocre can get very nasty when he wants to.”
The innkeeper’s tone changed immediately. “Of course, sir. I wasn’t grinning, honestly; it’s my bone structure.”
Loogie nodded. “So get on with it, then … I want that safe emptied, and don’t even think about making any excuses.”
The innkeeper didn’t move, but he did begin to sweat. “Um, well, actually, business has been a bit slow this month, and we—”
Loogie picked up his crossbow and took aim. “That sounds like an excuse to me …”
The innkeeper held up a shaking hand. “P-please! We d-detailed our situation in a l-letter,” he stammered. “They sent one back; said it’d be all right to pay double next month.”
Loogie paused, lowering the weapon slightly. “I might be new to this job,” he muttered, “but I didn’t come down in the last shower. Mr. Big’s been on holiday in Spittle since June, and I reckon Mr. Mediocre would’ve told me if he’d decided to let you off a payment. So who sent you this letter?”
The innkeeper thought for a moment, his brown eyes glistening with the effort.
“Mr. Titch,” he said, wringing his hands.
“Mr. Titch is dyslexic,” Loogie sniggered. “You’re lying through your teeth.” He raised the crossbow again.
“I know, I know.” The innkeeper gasped hurriedly. “But he only dictated the letter. Mr. indrfnff wrote it down.”
Loogie boggled at him. “Mr. who?”
“Mr. indrfnff.”
“Mr. Indifferent?”
“Yes! That’s it! Definitely. Mr. Indifferent.”
Loogie’s beady eyes narrowed. “And that’s your final answer?”
The innkeeper nodded, trying desperately to ignore his wife’s whimpering.
“There’s not a doubt in your mind?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re that sure?”
“I’m sure, sir!”
Loogie cocked his head to one side. Then he raised the crossbow, drew back the bolt, and aimed.
“Bad luck, then, because there’s no such person as Mr. Indifferent, and you just signed your own death warrant.”
“Noooo!”
The innkeeper dropped to his knees and began to beg for mercy, his wife echoing his every word.
“P-p-please spare us!”
Loogie shook his head. “I don’t do mercy.”
“But you said you weren’t a violent man!”
“I lied. Now get up and take what’s coming to y—”
Two giant shadows fell across the floor of the inn, creating a sudden absence of light, which, in effect, cut off Loogie’s words.
Gordo Goldeaxe squeezed between Groan’s and Gape’s tree-trunk legs and waddled through the devastated doorway.
“Sorry to interrupt your little party,” he began, staring distractedly around the inn. “But we need to take the next available coach. What time does it leave?”
Loogie gritted his teeth and, briefly taking
Loogie made a dismissive gesture with both hands, then suddenly leaped onto the table and sat down, cross-legged, drawing in a deep breath as if to prevent himself any further loss of temper. “That’s neither here nor there,” he snapped, as the couple looked on, wide-eyed. “I’ve not come to your decrepit dung heap of an inn to discuss my past—and, incidentally, you can forget anything you’ve heard from your scummy regulars: I haven’t been Lord Lambontroff for a long time.” He flexed his knuckles. “I work for Mr. Mediocre now, and I’m here—once again—to discuss your little debt problem. I thought I’d arrive unannounced this time, as you were both conveniently absent during my last visit. I had to leave a message with your stupid barmaid, and Mr. Mediocre hates it when I have to leave messages.” He finished the statement with a feline grin.
“Mr. Mediocre?” repeated the innkeeper, his wife cowering in the shadows behind him. “Who—”
“He’s Mr. Big’s assistant … and I don’t know what you’re grinning at, because Mr. Mediocre can get very nasty when he wants to.”
The innkeeper’s tone changed immediately. “Of course, sir. I wasn’t grinning, honestly; it’s my bone structure.”
Loogie nodded. “So get on with it, then … I want that safe emptied, and don’t even think about making any excuses.”
The innkeeper didn’t move, but he did begin to sweat. “Um, well, actually, business has been a bit slow this month, and we—”
Loogie picked up his crossbow and took aim. “That sounds like an excuse to me …”
The innkeeper held up a shaking hand. “P-please! We d-detailed our situation in a l-letter,” he stammered. “They sent one back; said it’d be all right to pay double next month.”
Loogie paused, lowering the weapon slightly. “I might be new to this job,” he muttered, “but I didn’t come down in the last shower. Mr. Big’s been on holiday in Spittle since June, and I reckon Mr. Mediocre would’ve told me if he’d decided to let you off a payment. So who sent you this letter?”
The innkeeper thought for a moment, his brown eyes glistening with the effort.
“Mr. Titch,” he said, wringing his hands.
“Mr. Titch is dyslexic,” Loogie sniggered. “You’re lying through your teeth.” He raised the crossbow again.
“I know, I know.” The innkeeper gasped hurriedly. “But he only dictated the letter. Mr. indrfnff wrote it down.”
Loogie boggled at him. “Mr. who?”
“Mr. indrfnff.”
“Mr. Indifferent?”
“Yes! That’s it! Definitely. Mr. Indifferent.”
Loogie’s beady eyes narrowed. “And that’s your final answer?”
The innkeeper nodded, trying desperately to ignore his wife’s whimpering.
“There’s not a doubt in your mind?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re that sure?”
“I’m sure, sir!”
Loogie cocked his head to one side. Then he raised the crossbow, drew back the bolt, and aimed.
“Bad luck, then, because there’s no such person as Mr. Indifferent, and you just signed your own death warrant.”
“Noooo!”
The innkeeper dropped to his knees and began to beg for mercy, his wife echoing his every word.
“P-p-please spare us!”
Loogie shook his head. “I don’t do mercy.”
“But you said you weren’t a violent man!”
“I lied. Now get up and take what’s coming to y—”
Two giant shadows fell across the floor of the inn, creating a sudden absence of light, which, in effect, cut off Loogie’s words.
Gordo Goldeaxe squeezed between Groan’s and Gape’s tree-trunk legs and waddled through the devastated doorway.
“Sorry to interrupt your little party,” he began, staring distractedly around the inn. “But we need to take the next available coach. What time does it leave?”
Loogie gritted his teeth and, briefly taking
Similar Books
