An Explosive Time (The Celtic Cousins' Adventures) (10 page)

‘OK - Hotel rooms booked, British Gas will confirm our story, anything else?’

‘Taxis. Book taxis, then we can pull ‘em from their houses, bundle them in and pack them off.’ Crombie said, ridiculously pleased when the semi-conscious Wren stirred and mumbled drowsily.

‘That’s a clever Crumbley. Ver’ good. How about a bribe too? From British Gas - make out it’s bad for their image and here’s a little sweetener, provided you keep your mouth shut?’ He hiccupped again, his eyes seemed to swim, then focused again.

‘Twenty quid each?’

‘Make it fifty. They might be away from home two nights.’

‘OK - Dave and Francis - Tony and Nicky and their two girls, Marilyn and Colin and brother. Erm. Dave and Tony aren’t talking so make sure Dave gets well away before knocking Tony and Nicky up.’

‘Better take two hundred quid, in case anyone cuts up.’ Rhyllann pulled the notes from the tea caddy as he spoke. Wren nodded, swallowing back another hiccup, motioning at Crombie to begin booking taxi-cabs.

Waves of gratitude swept Crombie. These two horrors were responsible for this mess, but they were doing their damnest to get him out of it.

‘Thanks boys, I really appreciate this.’

He hoped Wren meant to pat his shoulder, and tried not to flinch as the still woozy teenager patted at his stomach.

‘S’kay Crumbley. S’kay. S’my fault anyway. It’s all my fault.’ Wren sounded tearful again.

Rhyllann blew out with exasperation, catching Crombie’s eye he said

‘Look, shape up now, stop with the Jeckell and Hyde act, and when we’ve got Albert back in the bathroom, me and Crombie’s gonna share a little secret with you about women.’

‘S’Alfie. Not Albert. Whoever heard of an alligator called Albert?’ Wren slurred. Adding ‘There’s a secret? A special secret?’

Crombie and Rhyllann nodded firmly. ‘But you’ve gotta man up first. OK?’

Wren nodded so hard Crombie worried he’d make himself dizzy.

‘Son, go and have a rest on your bed. The alligator won’t climb stairs will it?’

‘S’good idea. I think ... I do feel ...’ He broke off as another train of thought diverted him:
 
‘Actually Crumbley you’re wrong. They can climb. Very good climbers.’ With that Wren folded his arms on the kitchen table, rested his head on them, and fell back into a drunken slumber.

‘Come on. Let’s go tell the neighbours the good news - we’ll come back for him.’

Rhyllann’s combats made him even bossier and Crombie followed, wondering if this plan might actually work, though god alone knew how they’d entice the alligator above ground.

‘What about that sword thingy your cousin’s got - you know?’ Crombie asked, following Rhyllann into the street.

‘Not unless you want a real explosion Crumbley.’ Rhyllann said firmly. ‘In any case, the geek wonder broke it, mucking around trying to slice open a stone.’

‘Enough of the Crumbley. Crombie or Sir to you.’ Crombie responded automatically. Although the houses appeared to march in one long terrace, Crombie saw now they’d probably been erected in one large block, divided into four, a narrow side passage along either end of terrace, with two dwellings in the middle. They started at the far end, three houses away from the cousins’ house.

‘Dave and Francis, Francis is agoraphobic.’ Rhyllann explained. ‘Tell her there’s a free mini-bar.’ He scrutinised Crombie more closely.

‘On second thoughts, leave the talking to me. You stand there and look ugly, Crumbley.’

Gritting his teeth Crombie decided to make certain the traffic cops had Rhyllann’s number plate on their radar first thing Monday morning.

Charm came easy to Rhyllann, and he seemed on good terms with his neighbours, huddled together as they were in such a small community they probably had no choice. Dave’s eyes flickered over Crombie as Rhyllann explained earnestly that they needed his co-operation. A shortish guy with tattoos on both forearms and a bulldog neck merging seamlessly into his balding head, he nodded and disappeared, reappearing five minutes later with a suitcase which Crombie suspected he kept ready packed for occasions like this. Apparently “the wife” was staying with her sister for the foreseeable future, Dave had been about to visit for the weekend and the thought of being catered for in a top hotel instead seemed to please him enormously.

The next neighbours Tony and Nickie were trickier, their eldest daughter Becca was about to give birth. The girl finally emerged in a tracksuit, pencil thin apart from the huge bump she carried in front, clutching her younger sister Molly’s hand for reassurance. That left Marilyn, her ex-husband who still lived with her, and her brother. Crombie presumed that the shorter guy was her brother, both he and Marilyn were well under five foot, the ex-husband seemed a giant in comparison. As predicted, Marilyn was full of questions, Rhyllann guided her firmly towards the taxi, promising to feed her rabbits and water her plants, and text her if anything went “Tits up”. Finally they too were gone, and Rhyllann and Crombie had full possession of four houses.

Starting at the far end again they let themselves into Dave and Francis’s house. The front room was sparse and surgically clean. It seemed they lived in the kitchen, white paint turned magnolia with nicotine stains, a pile of yellowing newspapers on the kitchen table. Turning on all the lights, Crombie went first upstairs, Rhyllann following with a baseball bat he’d found by the front door.

‘Where do we start?’ Crombie asked, looking around the cluttered spare room, shoulders slouching.

‘I say rip up the floorboards, get some metal dustbin lids or something to use as shields and kind of herd the thing back to ours.’

An immense weariness overcame Crombie. ‘That “thing’s” got a mouthful of large pointy teeth and a hinged body that can turn corners. There’s no other way. We’ve gotta sober your cousin up.’ Crombie headed for the stairs.

‘Can’t we chuck stink bombs or something down there and gas him out?’ Rhyllann said hopefully as he followed. ‘Don’t they trust you with a gun yet Crombie? We could have shot it. Or how about this Crombie ... Crombie! Where’re you going? You never listen to a word I say!’

Head down, Crombie slogged back towards the cousins’ house, thinking if he had a gun, he’d shoot the bloody alligator, Wren and Rhyllann and the next person who tried to tell him about human or animal rights. This night seemed to be lasting forever, the cheerful art deco sunrise above the kitchen door mocked him with its fake promise of dawn, and Crombie’s heart sunk further as he surveyed the empty kitchen and realised Wren had taken his advice and retired to bed. He groaned out loud at the thought of slogging up three flights of stairs and slapping Wren into some kind of sobriety.

‘Crombie why don’t you sit down before you fall down? I’ve got an idea.’

He didn’t protest when Rhyllann nudged him over to the sofa, sinking into the cushioned upholstery with a sigh.

Turning a chair to face him, Rhyllann straddled the seat and began earnestly.

‘Listen to me for once OK, hear me out. I’ll make that hole bigger, prop the ramp inside it, and lay a trial of food into the bathroom.’

Crombie turned this over in his mind. ‘It might work.’ He said doubtfully.

Rhyllann flashed a hundred watt smile, one capable of sinking a thousand maidenheads. ‘It will work.’ He encouraged. ‘I’ll make certain all the bedrooms are closed off, it’s dry and dusty under those floorboards, crocodiles like wet and humid. He won’t be able to resist.’

He patted Crombie’s knee, and got to his feet. ‘You sit here, this won’t take long. We’ll have something to eat while we’re waiting, and figure out what to do with the bugger.’

This time Crombie didn’t mind being treated like a geriatric.

After making a raid on the fish and chip shop’s bins, Rhyllann dashed upstairs, from the racket he made Crombie assumed the plan was well underway. Thinking he may as well make himself useful, he got up and went to check out the fridge. By the time the front door slammed signalling the start of stage two of “Operation Alligator”, Crombie had all four rings on the gas stove alight, and was happily anticipating a full English breakfast.
I’ll get Wren up next, he can give that sanctuary a ring.
Crombie didn’t ever intend to spend another night like this.

Dusty and dishevelled, Rhyllann appeared just as Crombie dished up.

‘That smells delicious - better than Alfie’s rotting fish.’ He pulled a face at the memory, and hurried to wash his hands. Rhyllann didn’t smell so good either, but Crombie supposed neither did he.

‘You get stuck in. I’ll take your cousin’s up for him.’ Unable to find a tray, he took a plate in one hand, and picked up a mug in the other.

A flicker of relief crossed Rhyllann’s face. ‘Thanks Crombie. If I have to climb those bloody steps one more time.’ He yawned. ‘After this, I’m gonna sleep for a month of Sundays.’
You and me both kiddo,
Crombie started on the stairs, feeling desperately sorry for Rhyllann, who’d been travelling all day only to come back to chaos, and even sorrier for himself as his thigh muscles started cramping in protest at tackling yet another flight of stairs.

*******

Crombie counted to ten before kicking Wren’s door open, feeling a stab of annoyance at the sight of Wren, laying on the bed propped up against pillows. The blond hair glistened damply, and he’d changed into baggy track bottoms and a grey faded t-shirt, and Crombie recognised the laptop balanced over Wren’s knees immediately.

He glanced up as Crombie approached, tilting the lap top around to share.

'I presumed this is what you meant by something interesting.' Wren seemed to have regained sobriety remarkably quickly. Thoughts flashed through Crombie's mind too fast to be analysed, leaving him with only a vague notion Wren shouldn't be playing with the laptop unsupervised.

‘What are you doing with this?’ Crombie whispered, mesmerised by digits and symbols flashing across the screen. Eventually managing to tear his eyes away from the dancing numbers, he looked at Wren, to see him calmly checking the smart phone plugged into one of the USBs.

 
‘This is mine, and that’s my phone.’ Crombie managed to say.

‘It isn’t yours. Charlie Bozen stole it from Harry Lampton. And your phone in case you haven’t realised yet has been bugged.’ He raised his eyebrows at Crombie, inviting comment.

‘What are you doing? What have you done?’

The air crackled with static electricity, Wren’s eyes reflected the activity on the screen, seeming to dance with glee.

‘Is that for me? Breakfast in bed.’ He grinned. ‘Thanks Crombie. You are going soft in your old age.’

‘Soft in the head.’ Crombie muttered, suddenly not wanting to know what new mischief Wren was involved in. Chances were he’d only be told a new pack of lies anyway.

‘Eat that, then get up. We’ve got work to do.’ He turned and was halfway down the stairs by the time Wren called after him. ‘Thank you Uncle Derek.’

Gritting his teeth, Crombie pretended not to hear. He’d almost reached the kitchen when a thought struck him. He looked towards the lounge, then back up the stairs, and for the life of him couldn’t remember breathing a word about the laptop, which he’d virtually forgotten leaving in the front room. And his phone had been bugged? What did that mean?

Rhyllann called from the kitchen. ‘Hurry up Crumbley. Your food’s getting all cold. And eaten.’

Shaking his head, Crombie gave up thinking, too tired even to reprimand cheeky Rhyllann.
 

The first scuttling came as Crombie mopped up the last of the breakfast juices with a slice of bread. His head shot up and he shushed Rhyllann, in the middle of a moan about the RAF ‘(thing is Crombie, there’s no money to train up recruits, but they can’t be seen to have stopped recruitment, I’ve had two medicals already, they’re “longing” it out.)’

‘D’you hear that?’ He asked urgently. A scuffling snorting noise came from directly overhead, it sounded almost friendly. Crombie wrinkled his brow trying to remember where he’d heard it before.

‘Alfie!’ He grinned spontaneously, then laughed at the surprise on Rhyllann’s face.

‘Blimey! It worked!’ Rhyllann said, managing to look pleased and astonished at the same time.

‘Come on - quick!’ They raced up the stairs in tandem, fatigue forgotten. The ramp previously against the hot tub was now wedged into the enlarged escape hole. Again only the bottom half of the giant reptile’s body could be seen, this time masked by the bathroom door; from the muffled slurping sound Alfie was tucking into an early breakfast. Rhyllann slumped against the wall.

‘Phew. Thank god.’ Before Crombie could stop him, he marched over, drew back his booted foot and kicked the unsuspecting alligator in the rump.

‘Rhyllann no!’ Crombie threw himself across the floorboards, bracing himself for the inevitable fall to earth, knowing he’d come up short. Alfie’s head jack knifed around, morsels of fish dropping from its gaping jaws.

Only Rhyllann’s lightning fast reactions and an Olympian standard backflip saved him. One moment the alligator’s teeth scrapped against his combat trousers, the next they snapped on empty air.

His heart thundering painfully, Crombie pushed himself up from the floor and made an even clumsier low dive, somehow managing to snaffle his hands around Alfie’s jaw, praying Wren wasn’t wrong for once in his life. Unscrewing his eyes, he found himself looking into Alfie’s. Beneath his hands, the alligator’s skin felt silky smooth still, apart from the bumpy teeth. Crombie shivered and compressed his hold.

‘Get some bloody tape or something.’ He yelled, unable to break his gaze away from the alligator’s. Alfie’s head went limp in his hands, he did that strange blinking trick again, and Crombie swore he heard a sigh.

‘It’s ok Alfie, it’s ok now.’ He soothed, disconcerted when Alfie’s head rested on his knee, the tail flickered from side to side, and the eyes half closed in resignation.

‘Sod your bloody Alfie, what about me? It nearly tore my leg off!’ Rhyllann shouted indignantly from the other side of the room.

‘What did you have to kick him for?’ Crombie shouted back.

‘I didn’t kick him. I was trying to get him into the bathroom!’

From the floor above, Wren’s voice called out. ‘Can you keep the noise down please?!’

Gritting his teeth, Crombie loosened his grip slightly on the alligator’s snout. ‘Get me some tape.
Please
. I need to take my hands from this.’ He jerked his head at Alfie. ‘and wrap them round your cousin’s throat.’

Rhyllann didn’t move. His head was still flung back, an angry red flush covering his face and neck, and he glared up at the ceiling as though his eyes could bore through solid plaster.

‘Rhyllann! Tape! Now!’ His trousers felt suspiciously wet, looking down he saw Alfie dribbling, and he scrabbled his legs from under the alligator’s jaw, adjusting his grip so he could crouch to one side, making room for Rhyllann, scampering over with a roll of electrical tape, his face still red with anger.