With a million thanks to Rob Z Tobor for helping with the font errors!!!!
Of all the five major senses (excluding the sense of motion, the sense of dread that arrives every Sunday night before the working week begins) the sense of smell is most important when travelling around the fictional town of Stockdale.
Using just the nostrils it is possible to gauge where you are by simply sniffing.
A sickly sweet stench confirms that you would be in the vicinity of the either the bakery or the glue factory where as the bitter scent of body odour and desperation puts you within fighting distance of the Weatherspoons pub.
It is possible to traverse the town without using your eyes at all, which is sometimes preferable if you don't like seeing morbidly obese mums dragging their snotty nosed kids to the shops to do a bit of shop lifting.
However, there is one place where the sense of smell is not really needed, or wanted. The municipal sewage plant.
Here, the thick sticky fumes that grab and claw at the back of the throat and attempt to pull your lungs out have been know to cause mild hallucinations.
In the past this was seen as a cheap way to get high by the local bums, until the council began to charge an entrance fee and now they simply hang around the glue factory watching the horses being dragged inside ready to create another batch of industrial grade solvent for the masses.
These days the sewage plant is mainly abandoned but for the occasional arrival of a limousine with blacked out windows.
Today is one of those occasional days.
The car pulls up along the dirt road and two large set gentlemen exit from the front and silently walk to the back of the car.
A close look at these suspicious gents reveals some poorly drawn tattoos poking out from the edges of their shirts, around the neck and wrists.
One of them has a big scar on his cheek.
They are both bald by design.
Everyone in Stockdale knows them as the Hatchett Brothers. Gangsters. Mean men who love their mum and would cut you up for looking at them the wrong way in equal measure.
They are also very stereotypical.
"EAR!" Said the first brother, who is called Wayne.
"Wot is it?" Said the one not called Wayne but is in fact called Dwayne.
"Are we cockney's?" Wayne asked.
"Ah fink so.... why?" Dwayne replied.
Wayne shrugged. "It's just Ah've not called anyone a slaaaag for ages."
Dwayne bit his bottom lip in thought (it was not his primary function). "Shat it you slaaaag! and 'elp me move this body."
Wayne and Dwayne began to drag a large black body bag from the back of the car. As they heaved and swore and huffed and puffed and swore some more, another black limousine pulled up behind them.
This time two smaller men exited the car.
They were the polar opposite of Wayne and Dwayne.
With shiny leather jackets and lots of gold jewellery around their necks these slick individuals took as much pride in their appearance as the Hatchett brothers did in thumping people.
It just so happens that these two were also brothers. They also loved their mum and hitting people but instead of being saarf Lan-daners, these two thugs were of Italian decent and answered to the family mane of De Ficiente.
"Mama-Mia!" exclaimed the first, who was called Antonio.
"Chi sono questi uomini calvi brutti ?" said the Antonio's brother (who was just called Tony and only spoke in Italian).
"I-a have-a no idea who Dees-a bald-a guys are?" growled Antonio in a borderline racist accent (at least it would have been racist if he were not actually Italian himself and so it is NOT racist at all).
Wayne and Dwayne stared in disbelief at the new arrivals.
Antonio spoke again. "I-a fink-a they-a should ... how you say... hurry-a-up before-a the fists, they start-a flying."
His brother nodded. For some reason Tony could understand broken English but not speak it.
Dwayne stepped forward, his fists clenched tightly. Wayne grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.
"EAR." He said all cockney like. "We woz ear first. Dis is arrr patch."
Tony lifted his chin, in that way some people do and said "Si dovrebbe affrettarsi , l'uomo che è grasso e calvo come il fratello . Non abbiamo tutto il giorno."
Dwayne roared in rage. "Did 'E just call me a poof?"
Wayne shook his head and said "Nah mate. He jast said we should..um.. hurry app...."
Dwyane frowned (again). "Sarn-ded like 'E said more than tha'..."
The posturing and postulating progressed progressively for a few minutes with each retort allowing the two sets of brothers to take a step closer to each other until they were almost with arms reach.
"You soppy pizza eating nonces..." Said one brother.
"la testa è così lucido che rende i miei occhi male." said another.
And so on ...
That was , until a fifth voice entered the conversation.
"Excuse me gentlemen..." The soothing, well spoken voice was soft yet revealed a sinister undertone that nobody could mistake. "May I make an observation at this interjection?"
The four thugs turned as one to face the intruder of their altercation.
four sets of eyes scowled as one upon the sight of a thinning head of hair on top a short man in thick spectacles.
The stranger continued unabated. "I notice you each wish to perform and act of, shall we say, recycling and are currently at odds as to which order is best to proceed."
The four men nodded slowly.
The thinly haired man raised an eyebrow in confirmation. "Then I believe we may be able to come to an arrangement of sorts."
"Oo the bleedin' 'ell are you then, Poindexter?" Shouted Wayne (or it might have Dwayne).
The intruder pushed his glasses back up his nose. "My name is Dr Malevolent and, as I say, I come to you gentlemen today with a solution to your quandry."
Silence befell the group.
"Sa-ye..." Queried Antonio. "What-a sord-a doctor are you anyways eh?" He shrugged and pouted and threw his hands out for an answer in much the same way as that chef off the TV does and the creasing of his leather jacket creaked in rhythm of his Latin tones.
"That's not important right now." The Doctor said sharply. "I have here £30 I wish to you have in payment of those bodies you wish to dispose of ."
"Is dat firty parns each?" said the other of the Hatchett brothers.
"£30 per body." Corrected the doc.
"MAMA-MIA! tha's-a fif-a-teen pans each eh brov?" Antonio squealed.
Dr Malevolent waved a small bundle of notes infront of the gangsters in oder to hypnotise them.... and it worked.
"Marvelous.. Marvelous. Just hand the bags to my associate, Barnabas, over there and he will give you the money." The doctor laughed.
The up to now unmentioned man in question stood by a large grey transit van and ushered the thugs and their bags toward him.
The bodies were placed in the van with care and each thug received the money promised.
"Excellent." grinned Doctor Malevolent. "Gentlemen, it has been an utmost pleasure to purchase your wares. I trust you each have more ... supplies if and when they may be required?"
Wayne took his turn to speak. "You mean, wen we knock orf an-uva creep wot owes us maney we can sell his corpse to you?"
"Indeed. yes yes. The more the merrier."
Antonio jumped in with a question of this own. "But-a what-a do you, 'oh you say, plan to do with the bodies?"
The Doctor lost his smile very quickly. "That is none of your concern young man. But if you wish to receive more cash, you will call me on the number on the card Barnabas gave you with the money and we will collect."
There was nothing more to be said and so the doctor and his aid climbed into the van and left as quickly as they had arrived.
The Hachetts and De Ficientes both looked at each other in disbelief at what had just happened.
"Aah fink..." started Dwayne....
and Antonio finished "...Ah want-a my Mama..."
Wayne looked at Tony and with an understanding only brother could have, both shrugged and walked their respective brothers back the their cars and drove home for tea and (in the case of the De Ficiente household) a nice big bowl of pasta.
Some time later, in an undisclosed location, a grey transit van pulled up in the shadows.
Dr Malevolent got out of the van and spoke.
"Put those bodies with the others Barnabas. I'm going to my lab to see how how guests are doing..."
Barnabas heaved a body bag, one under each arm, and walked off into the unknown.
The Doctor made his way to a large, cold, makeshift operating theatre.
Machines and pipes were mixed with the smell of chlorine and death. Various medical instruments adorned the room. Some covered in blood.
Pulling back a large dust cloth over a huge containment unit the doctor spoke to the occupants inside via the glass window.
"Ah!... almost ready for your grand return I see boys." Two shapeless husks twitched on two hospital gurneys.
"I have some new friends for you to play with. They need a little work but soon... soon you will no longer be alone."
He walked off and followed Barnabas into the deep freezer in the other room of his hidden lair.
As he did, the camera (in your mind) turned toward the containment unit to read the inscription : Shabby and Dooby Scoo.