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Rear Window [3]

 
Hanne Berg's picture
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The sun was decending in the reddening sky, almost kissing the near distant hilltops as Dwight turned off the main road and into the  cul-de-sac. 

Half way along the cul-de-sac, he brought his car to a smooth halt in front of the high black cast iron gates. He pulled the handbrake on with a rasp of the ratchet and wound down his door window. He was not at all surprised to find himself looking at the double circle of the business end of a sawn-off shotgun. He pushed the round rims of his spectacles up his nose a little and smiled at the barrels.

"Good Evening. I am Dwight Frye of The Ranyhyn Company. I have a business meeting with fat Eric. I do believe I am expected." Dwight kept his hands on the steering wheel and refrained from making any sharp movement.

The shottie lowered and the no-nonsence face of the Goon at the other end  came into view, peered back at Dwight. The head nodded. " Follow the drive and park outside  the... "

" Yes I am familiar with the place. " Dwight said politely.

"I know that, Mr. Frye. Welcome to Crispin Hall... once again." A thin smile appeared on the otherwise craggy face. The Goon stood up straight, waving his arm at the guard-box. The gates opened smoothly and Dwight drove on through.

Tyres crunching the gravel, Dwight parked his car opposite the well lit entrance. He opened the door and stretched a little, it had been a long drive. He smoothed the creases out of his grey suit as best he could then placed his black Homberg atop his bald head before making his way to the main entrance, flanked as it was by two silhouettes of men with rifles on thier backs. Both were straining to hold back the rather ferocious looking guard dogs that were snarling and growling dangerously at the stranger approaching.

Dwight tipped his hat to both guards as he passed between them and made his way to the door, which swung open before he reached it. The inside was bright, well lit and Dwight recognised Jeeves, the butler. oddly attired as he was like a chocolate box soldier. his faux 'uniform' a deep blue draped with gold braiding and epaulettes to each shoulder.

"Mister Eric is waiting for you in his study, Mr. Frye, Follow me" Jeeves held a hand out for Dwights hat.

"Thank you, Jeeves." Dwight gave him his hat and followed the butler's slightly mincing steps to Fat Eric's study. Jeeves opened the door, allowed Dwight through then followed him into the room to announce his arrival.

"Mister Frye, Sir."

Fat Eric stood up from behind the huge mahogany desk and beamed a welcoming smile to Dwight. 

"Mister Fryyyyyye. How nice to see you again !  I hope the journey was not too tiring.. Please have a seat.. " Eric motioned to one of the two matching mahogany chairs  at the desk.

Dwight paused a moment as he fully took in the scene before him. The desk was immense. The room was brightly lit and the light reflected off much brass and gold around the room. 

Flanking each side of the desk and a couple of paces behind stood two huge bemuscled med, both almost naked except each wore a thigh length draped white loin cloth. The guilded brassy light shone onto each of thier oiled, well sculpted muscles. These were clearly servants as one held a overflowing bowl of fruits and his collegue a large, dark red jug. Wether this held wine, water or whatever was not evident. 

Despite all the obvious wealth and oppulence that Fat Eric's study displayed, Fat Eric himself was a bit of a let down. From what Dwight could see from behind the ornate desk. Fat Eric was wearing a blousey and quite simply garish bermuda shirt. It was opened to the middle buttons, showing his sweaty chest and an olympian size gold medallion. The baby blue shirt displayed an explosion of reds, yellows, deeper blues. 'Quite tasteless', Dwight thought, to himself.

From Erics capacious waist was a pair of khaki knee length cargo shorts which hung on him like a khaki knee length cargo tent. And worse, on his feet, Dwight could see brown open sandals... and.. yeah, white socks.

Nevertheless, Fat Eric greeted Dwight warmly as they both took their seats. Fat Eric's joviality was infectious. his fat face never seemed to stop smiling from behind his grey 'Colonel Sanders' style beard and moustache. 

Fat Eric  clapped his hands twice. One of the bronzed oiled beloinclothed beefcakes walked over to a sideboard and made tea.

Pleasantries over and tea served. Fat Eric announced, " Right ! Down to business. "

Comments

Joe Spivey's picture

((It was the white socks that broke the camel's back. I didn't like Fat Eric from the first word of the description but by the time you got to the socks I had developed a deep and undying hate for the man. :D

Stick with me kid and you'll be farting through silk.



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