In an earlier post (El Stake-out) I evoked widespread scepticism amongst the writing community by suggesting that a nefarious cadre of elderly Peruvians were at large and up to no good in the Royal county of Berkshire.
Well get ready to apologise people cos I’ve got absolutely no evident for a second incident!
Quick recap: Four Peruvians in fully lacy regalia – I bump into them freakin everywhere – The 6th sense: I see red people – followed them / they followed me – presume other people can see them too, but this is yet to be verified. I may turn out to have died at the beginning (spoiler alert)…and you’re all caught up…
For weeks now it’s been quiet – Not even un peepo pequeño, but on Tuesday morning…
…Hills meadow, the scraggy bit next to the car park, a lone man walking along a solitary path at dusk, late for his train, flustered, handsome etc. He looks up…and blocking his path…the four Peruvians (the two women at least – the man are waaay back). They see him. There are devilish smiles of recognition. The punishment for having arbitrarily stalked them one afternoon will be swift and severe. Its too late to run; too late to take a photo (conveniently). He later pens an exact drawing of the ordeal and hazards a guess at their names (Big Mike levitated apparently).
In his head he hears David Attenborough narrating: ‘The Berkshire man is bigger, but at 39 he’s well past his prime. The lighter, nimbler predators can sense that he’s disorientated. They wait to see if he’ll do something douchey like fall into the canal or start crying…’
A few years back I narrowly avoided a head on collision with an ice-cream van in Sri Lanka. Later I envisaged my father reading the eulogy and choking back grief in order to savour the immortal line: He died a clown’s death. Given the choice however between ice-cream and South American smack-down I’m going with the former. Either way I’m winning the Darwin Awards that year, but everything’s relative.
What to do?
Think dammit. Your cover’s well and truly blown. You need to reach your extraction point. Where is it? You don’t have one. You are, after all, an IT consultant… I wonder if there are men who died simply from watching too many Steven Seagal movies…I tell you what – don’t think!
Big Mike’s looking tasty – all four feet of him. I’m reckoning that if push comes to shove I can probably drop kick him into a bush, but then the women’ll be all over me like stink.
How to appease them? The only Spanish I know fluently is the phrase ‘Lo siento para mi esposa’ (I apologise for my wife) and, though useful as a general statement, is of no practical application here!
But wait, a woman is coming and she’s pushing a pram. I’m going to avoid a massacre by invoking operation human-shield. The Berkshire man is past them, onto the train, still debonair etc.
But now I’m having to get up 20 minutes earlier every morning to go the long way round the park, and Google’s been no help. Typed in “some sort of tracking device (or blow dart) that fits into a panpipe” – Nothing.