Story by Big Magnum

Merv had been pacing the floor behind the bar all morning. Two problems, one was the bloody Christmas decorations. He’d finally found two, foot high, tinsel trees and a red and green banner with the words ‘Merry Christmas’ emblazoned across it, then spent ten minutes sticking the damned thing up. Problem two was Granny keeping a shotgun in the hotel, so had decided that it would be best to get rid of it. The Pleece had an armistice for illegal, or unregistered, weapons, but that was now over. The miserly part of him knew that the Purdy was worth a few Oxford Scholars, so, rather than simply letting the piece go, Merv had started to think about ways to get rid of the gun and, get some easy readies. His ruminations were disturbed, not so much by a presence, but more by an aroma, Foodge had just staggered in, resplendent in his new track-suit and running shoes.

“Jeez, Foodge, it’s thirty five degrees out there, yer gunna die of heat exhaustion!” Exclaimed Merv, as he hefted another tray of glasses into the rack under the bar.

“Well, Merv, as you are fully aware, I missed our morning’s training session so I’m trying to make it up.” Foodge had been on surveillance all night, only managing to take a couple of murky photos of a man behind the wheel of the senator’s car. Later, the man in question would prove to be the hotel valet who was moving the car to the forecourt. “Anyway, thought I could procure some rehydration therapy here.” Foodge had an enthusiastic gleam in his eye.”

“Too right you can, Foodge, here’s a glass a water, on the house.” Merv pushed a glass canoe of cold water across the bar. “I’m not sellin’ you beer in that state!”

Foodge reluctantly took the glass, knowing that Merv was probably right. “Well then, Merv, what’s on the luncheon menu today?”

“Same as it’s bin for thirty three years, but, for you, Granny will knock up a salad.” Granny had been ‘knocking up’ a salad for Foodge for the last eight weeks, which, with reduced alcohol intake, and some training, had brought about a quantum improvement in his overall health. “While yer waitin’, yer can give me a hand.”

“Oh, um…er” Foodge, in spite of his improved fitness, was still averse to any kind of physical labour.

Merv motioned, with his index finger, for Foodge to lean in closer. “What do you know about guns?”

Foodge breathed a sigh of relief. “Sorry, don’t do shooters.” He’d heard Phillip Marlow say this in a film.

“No, not to shoot someone, I’ve got to get rid of Granny’s Purdy, so, thought I might try and sell it.”

Foodge’s pupils dilated. “Did you say a Purdy?? What sort of condition?”

“Sixty years old, and as good as the day it was made.”

“Mmm, let’s see.” Foodge had whipped out his iPhone, and started pushing keys. “Here you are.” He held up the device for Merv to examine. “Nineteen Thirty One model, under and over, sold at auction in the states for thirty one big ones.”

Merv went weak at the knees, grabbing the bar to steady himself. “I thought we’d get a few hundred bucks for it, not thousands.”

“Yes, indeed, what you need to find is a high end gun dealer who’s willing to give you a fair price. The other thing you should do is do a Google search and find out what prices people are prepared to pay.”

Merv thought that Foodge was talking gobbly gook with the google business, so nodded and smiled. “Well, thanks Foodge, you’ve earned your keep today.”

“No worries, any Googling needs, I’m your man!” This wasn’t strictly true, as it had taken Emmjay the best part of two weeks to teach Foodge how to use the iPhone. Foodge was hoping that this would be another traditional Christmas spent sucking down Trotter’s Ale, imbibing wedges and regaling the assembled piglets with tales of derring-do, only to wake up on the floor of the Gent’s on Boxing Day. He was surprised to see the place filling up. Gerard and the Mysterious ‘H’ were the first in (he hadn’t seen young Viv pop in through the kitchen to start on the evening meal), followed by Emmjay and his First Mate, both dressed like Bogart and Bacall on a date.

A small band, composed of O’Hoo on the bass, Asty on the guitar, Dr Mick on the euphonium and DCI Rouge playing percussion, had started playing some new fangled pop music. ‘Steely Dan’, or some such thing. Sandshoe and Lehan Ramsay had started to dance, and were quickly joined by Atomou and his missus. The music was suddenly drowned out by the deep throated roar of un-silenced Charlies. Algy’s group had arrived! The party was in full swing, the music occasionally stopping for an oration by J.G Cole, Atomou and even O’Hoo.

Foodge was gob-smacked. It looked like becoming the family Christmas that he’d missed for so many years. “Merv, I think it’s time I shouted the bar, Trotter’s Ale all round!” Merv couldn’t help but notice a film of tears in Foodge’s eyes, but was polite enough to ignore it and started pouring.

“Yes, Foodge, Merry Christmas to us all”