He was lucky that he'd stopped serving an hour ago and was cleaning up otherwise the urns and coffee machine would have been full of scalding hot water.
Wassa.... he said to himself, not at all sure what had happened.
Robert sped on. His old Mitsubishi Dion had rammed the coffee cart in its position at the side of the road and sent it spinning across to the other side.
"Well done" he said to himself "that bastard won't get in my way again".
Robert believed that the coffee cart had been a black and white police cruiser and, in his deranged state thought that he was saving his life which to be fair had only recently been almost snuffed out at the hands of American law enforcement officers.
To complicate matters and adding to Robert's delusion was the fact that Dion had stencilled 'SHERIFF' across the side of his cart and had personalised number plates reading 'BOSHOG'.
Dion was still shaken but was now worried.
Was it his fault he wondered.
What would his mum say?
What would his big brothers say?
They always gave him a hard time about parking up at the top of the hill.
Dion was slightly Asbergic and Autistic. He'd struggled through school and if it hadn't been for his big brothers who were gang members he probably wouldn't have made it. They gave him a hard time for sure but would sure as hell give anyone else a worse time if they caught them bullying Dion.
He couldn't get a job after school and was on a benefit while living at home with his mum. He didn't drink or smoke or go out though so saved all his money and eventually bought the coffee cart which was a converted Toyota van, old but reliable. It was his life. And soul.
Dion climbed out of the van and looked at he damage. The right front wheel was munted, lying flat underneath the front suspension. He wept and asked himself again "is it my fault? What'll mum say? What'll the brothers do?"
He decided to walk home. Luckily the van had been pushed up against a lamp-post. Although it was bent at a strange angle it still functioned and illuminated the coffee-cart van well. "Reuben will be able to fix this" thought Dion as he shouldered his pack and made off.
Reuben was Dion's second oldest brother. He was big and strong and what he didn't know about cars wasn't worth knowing. Reuben could identify any vehicle by tyre marks or paint scrapings alone. He was cool.
The coffee-cart van sat in its lonely and crippled state throughout the night.
The streetlamp lit its right hand side clearly showing the impact marks and paint scrapings from a Mitsubishi car. A Mitsubishi Dion. Reuben would have something to go on with that..........
........ If he didn't then the number plate from Robert's Dion would help. It was wedged under the right font bumper of the van.
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It was a Samoan priest who waved Robert down, just outside the Catholic church on Main Street. In his present state Robert wouldn't have stopped for anyone, except a priest. The priest suggested that he park around the back and come into the church. Sanctuary.
"I'm Father Feuleuleulai'a," said the slightly overweight servant of God, "already news is spreading about the coffee cart incident. Nuova Lazio has a very efficient bush telegraph system, and we also have mobile phones. You'll be in big trouble if those Te Anau boys find you. You'll be safe here in God's house. We should pray now."
Richard was having a scratch when he first noticed the car headlights in his driveway. In the dark it stood out as a big old car. Probably a Holden. He could see his own reflection in his kitchen window. He'd been for a haircut and asked for a trim and his hair combed back. The lady had cut it very short and combed it forward. He wondered what had prompted her to do the exact opposite. He looked at his image. He looked quite like Robert with his hair this way. Little did he know that this was soon not going to count in his favour.
Reuben got out of the Holden. He was not alone.
Robert woke to find a hand sliding up his thigh. A large hand.
He was still wearing his Samurai armour but, distubingly was still not wearing any underpants.
Father Feuleuleulai'a jumped when he realised that Robert was awake and quickly improvised.
"We are praying now, we're in God's house".
Robert was conflicted. He didn't like Father Feuleuleulai'a's hand so close to his genitals but, it was God's house and Father Feuleuleulai'a was acting as the hand of God so, he settled back and tried to think pure thooughts......
Meanwhile Richard was entertaining in his dining room. To clarify that, Richard isn't exactly entertaining, no, he was entertaining Reuben and two other large Te Anau men in his dining room.
They each had a large glass in front of them and Richard was pouring a thimbleful of chardonnay into each one.
"Like this" Richard said as he took a sip from his and swirled it around in his mouth before spitting it out into Shelley's fruit bowl.
The Te Anau brothers looked at each other and then followed suit.
"Elegant with nuances of quince and white peach" said Reuben and the brothers nodded agreement "but now to business" he said and reached into his canvas carry-all. A very heavy carry-all.
Richard desperately needed a diversion.
"Do you guys want to see my basses? They're just over here."
Reuben was about to get stroppy, but the biggest Te Anau boy was interested.
"Weeee! Can you play those big violins in a band? Do you play any Reggae?"
All three Te Anau boys laughed.
Richard seized the moment.
"Playing over chord changes requires quite big movements on the double bass. Say, for instance, we're in the key of B flat and moving through a II V7 sequence..."
He could see the biggest guy's eyes clouding over. Reuben was soon yawning.
Richard thought to himself, "I think that being a bass bore is finally about to pay off!"
Then there was a knock at the door. The three Te Anau boys were released from the spell. The middle sized brother opened the door.
It was Humbert and he was not alone!
Standing next to him was Father Feuleuleulai'a.
"Well Halleluia" said Reuben.
"No, Feuleuleulai'a" said Father Feuleuleulai'a as he stood, slightly stooped at the door and holding his groin where Robert had kneed him.
"Is Richard here?" he asked, trying to peek past Reuben's massive frame in the doorway.
Over his shoulder he noticed that Humbert was no longer standing there.
Humbert had made his way around the side of Richard's house pasusing only momentarily to look at the olive trees planted on the lawn that had no olives on them. "Those trees need some cross pollonation" he thought to himself "I guess the old feller still doesn't understand how the sex thing works".
He made it to the rear of the house and looked through the window into the lounge. What he saw was shocking. He stood still, scarecely able to believe his eyes.
One of Reuben's brothers, having taken Richard'sinstruction literally -
"Playing over chord changes requires quite big movements on the double bass"
- was squatting over one of the double basses and taking a big movement.
Richard was being held back by another brother.
He was weeping.
"...the priest;
for the moment he would bloke that out "
The Freudian slip passed Robert by in his distressed state but he would reflect on that later. Again and again.
Richard knew that, even if it was cleaned with Robert's special soup, he could never touch that double bass again because he was a hygiene crank. The only thing to do was to try and save the other bass. There were four people in the room, including Father Feuleuleuai'a, who really was only a threat to young Catholic males. What was he thinking when he touched Robert's dick? Richard knew that the biggest brother was his biggest threat - Dion was no fighter and the other brother had his pants around his ankles. He slid his bow from the quiver on his clean bass and thrust into the big guy's eye. The bow was out before a big panicing hand arrived and was attacking his second eye. The big guy was pretty defenseless now. He was sraggering around uttering profanities; not able to find his bearings. Dion had panicked and run outside and was cowering in the back of the Holden. The other brother still had a dirty bottom and was struggling to get his pants up. A wide swing on the German double bass bow came just close enough to rip his Adam's Apple. Blood squirted, the guy blew out some more shit and collapsed on the floor. Richard wiped the tip of the bow with a bass cloth and returned it to its quiver. He removed the clean bass to the safety of his bedroom. He lay it gently on the bed. It was too late to do anything about the shitted on bass. He'd hold his ground and hope that Robert showed up. A cleaner would be handy, especially one used to cleaning up other people's shit.
Eeeyew!
Disgusting.
I guess Richard (rhyming slang?) has successfully ended this stream.
You started the shitting on things stuff.
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