Recap: Chelsea v. United – The Thin Man

It was one of those soggy afternoons when bourbon and Coltrane blended into one sweet beat.

I´d been to West London once before and never cared to return. The night of my only visit, I´d gotten lost out of my mind in North Kensington looking for the West London Hospital after a buddy had got shot. By the time I arrived, a sheet covered his face. It was not a land of fond memories.

That Scot got around is all I could say. From the skank alleys of Liverpool to the posh enclave of London, he was a man of many acquintances. I´d followed him most of the day, with a pistol in one pocket and my trusted ally Jim Beam in the other. One would get me killed someday. But not today.

The buildings in West London creeped me out. Sure, they were an architect´s delight, but I only saw remnants from when the plague gripped the city with an iron fist. And the rats….the rats were everywhere. I sat in a cafe across the street from the palace where Mr. Ferguson had decided to spend his day. “Softly As in a Morning Sunrise” filled my ear and I ordered coffee after coffee; which I promptly filled with whiskey.

I closed my eyes and thought of the two dames, the old redhead and the younger model, who had come to dominate my affairs. I´d heard from a little bird that the Scot, Mr. Ferguson, was a Scottish shipping magnate who stalked England searching for business deals and beautiful women. He was happily married, of course.

But to whom?

The motives, the actors, nothing was clear except the checks for $1,000 that arrived every Monday morning like clockwork from the old redhead. As long as they kept from bouncing, I would hop around town on Mr. Ferguson´s tail. But I do like to know what exactly it is I’m doing. At least from time-to-time.

The coffee and music made for a wonderful buzz and I hardly noticed the group of elderly gentlemen enter the cafe. Elderly is probably not the right word – they were mid30′s probably, but looked mid40′s. All of them were tall as a skyscraper and thick as a forest. But one of them, the thin man, had a buzz cut and the adam’s apple of a skeleton. Before they even made eye contact, I knew I was in for it.

Some fights you win, some fights you just try not to lose. I was in a cafe in West London, not some dive poolhall in Liverpool. Surely things could not spiral too far out of control, I thought. I was wrong. This dark-skinned guy made a gesture and the apparent owner just looked down and started to polish a mug. The regulars buried their faces in their newspapers. I stood up and had one goal: do not lose my footing. And definitely do not pass out.

I did used my fists and elbows to bruise my head, but at the cost of exposing my ribs. The first blows stung but the adrenaline kicked in, and I held off two of them for seconds that seemed like minutes that seemed like days. The others didn’t want to get their elbows dirty. I saw an opening and cleanly landed a right jab. I swore I could feel the guy’s nose break, but it was a hollow victory. The rest swarmed.

In the blink of an eye, I was wrestled to the ground. This tall guy with skin whiter than Casper gave me a wallop to the head and I was out cold. When I came to hours later, I found myself in some alleyway with the company of a few homeless men. Of course, my wallet had disappeared.

However, in my right pocket I found a crumpled up note that appeared handwritten by the fine fist of a grade – schooler. “Tell Alex to Stay out of West London.” So those clowns saw me tail the Scot & assumed I was one of the posse. Interesting. I reached into my vest and felt an old friend – the bottle had survived the altercation and screamed for attention.

My head ached and I hobbled to the nearest tube entrance. I had a hunch. Holloway Road was a fashionable place nowadays, and I was sure I would spot the fiery redhead around those parts. I kissed West London goodbye with a quick swig of Jim Beam. The rain caressed my face like a scorned lover and I descended into the dark Underground.

It was one of those soggy afternoons when bourbon and Coltrane blended into one sweet beat.