Consequences of Gods

Chapter 2.

Destiny. The way it works is that some unknown thing or the universe has everything already planned out for you and therefore nothing or no-one has any control over their lives. We'll that's it in a nutshell, maybe not quite scientifically correct, but in a nutshell, nonetheless. The path is already predetermined but you just don't know about it yet. It therefore becomes stories that you can tell the grandkids.

In Terry's case, destiny was having a little difficulty in keeping up with him. Try as it might to kill him off on numerous occasions it wasn't quite capable of completing the task and destiny was getting a little bit annoyed with him to say the least.

As Terry stared into the abyss of his cup of tea from Stans Snacks just a couple of hundred yards from his house he was blissfully unaware of the ordeals that were about to become all too real and without a doubt terrifying.

As he sat and pondered into the whirlpool abyss of his just stirred Tetley teabag cuppa, a faint aroma wafted to him. It was definitely not Stan and the odious odour of his renowned capacity for capitulating bottles of whiskey in the previous night’s drinking den up the stairs with anyone who could put up with the ABBA singalong and song-a-thon which would inevitably be belted out by the greasy spoon proprietor.

It was something completely unfamiliar in Terry's neck of the woods. Something that aroused his senses in awe and wonder. It was a female! A female who smelled... smelled nice!! A perfume, a smell that didn't reek of cheap ciggies and grease from chip pans that had been left for days and then reused. It was like a confectionary and boulangerie all rolled into one. A melody of flowers and cakes to his nostrils.

He stopped the abyss staring and looked up. Left, right, eagle eyed trying to find the nasal sorcery that had befallen him. What witchcraft had delighted his nose. Then the smell was surrounding him, enveloping him. A breathy voice from behind came closer to his left ear. That smell. That wondrous smell felt like it must be heaven sent.

'Awrite darling, I need your help and sharpish' came from the voice. It wasn't unpleasant as such, it just felt to Terry that should he refuse such a request there could be serious violence ahead. His bum cheeks tightened somewhat. But that smell.... delicious.

Hypnotised by it, and afraid of the consequences of not responding to that ominous voice, he summoned the power to turn around and gaze upon the smelly voiced person behind him.

He was mesmerisingly disappointed. Unfortunately, the nuanced fresh bakery and milk chocolate scent couldn't hold up the agonisingly painful to look at Roald Dahl' witch face that was currently pleading but at the same time ordering him to accept the request of aid.

'Well luv, are you going to help a woman in her hour of need'? The breathy yet distinctly rough accented choice questioned Terry. With a further tightening of his buttocks, Terry felt no but choice but to show some gentlemanly conduct to this... wretch of an 'alleged' woman.

'How may I assist?' Terry replied. At this point Terry's main priority was to shorten this exchange of words quick enough and out of sheer determination of not wanting to gaze any further on the face before him for any longer than he had to.

'Well you see, darlin' these two cherubs 'nefarious types' so they are, are on a collision course with me. They want what I have, and I can't, or mores to the point, won't give them it'. The 'alleged' woman said in a satisfied tone that Terry, looking a bit of a character himself, would be rigid with fear yet dumb enough to see a certain con in front of his eyes and ears.

Terry couldn't quite believe what was happening. He had never been involved in anything remotely close to a confrontation before, let alone with two "nefarious types" as the woman had described them. He didn't even know what they wanted from her, but he could feel the tension in the air and the urgency in her voice.

"Um, okay. What do you want me to do?" Terry asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"I need you to distract them, darlin'. Just for a few minutes. Give me enough time to make a sharp exit" the woman replied, her eyes darting around nervously.

Terry nodded, not entirely sure what he was getting himself into nor what it would involve. But he couldn't deny the thrill of adventure that was coursing through his veins. It was like something out of a movie, and he was the hero. Or at least, that's what he wanted to believe. Or had to.

Heart racing, the last thing she said was to 'hold on tight and don’t let go' and pressed a small box against him. The box was the size and type that engagement rings would come in. Her hand ever so slightly touched his as he took it from her grasp. There was a static shock between them, at which point Terry jumped a little. At the same time as the voltage was discharged between himself and the walking air freshener of a woman the bell on the front door of the cafe went 'ding' and chimed a couple of times.

Entering through the front door to Stans Snacks were what could've have only been described as a pair of gents looking decidedly dodgy, but rather large in stature. They had the sunglasses on and the air of not quite fitting into the surroundings, or through the door at the same time. Considering the fact, it was rather hot outside, therefore sunny, the fact they wore matching beige three quarter length raincoats kind of gave it away that they weren't regulars to Stans.

Terry turned around to see where the smell had disappeared to. Gone, nowhere in the cafe. He was left to deal with the lingering aroma and the two nefarious descripted gents eyeing the patrons of Stans. Terry suddenly began to feel somewhat aggrieved by the chance meeting of 'Ms Boulangerie'.

He certainly wasn't taking kindly to the looks from the two light brown turds that had rather obviously turned their attention to the mullet headed watchmaker. Jeez, he had only come for a cup of tea and cream scone to while away his lunch break. Here he was minding his own, not bothering a soul and has been dragged into a situation. And fearing whatever the situation was about to become, Terry's head stooped slowly lower and tried to not look sheepish in any way. Look at the floor, look at the floor he told himself.

The silence from the patrons as these two apes entered the cafe descended. As they had surveyed their quarry in the greasy spoon environment, imperceptible to most but noticed by the sheer panicking mullet man. The first footsteps from the front door were in his seated direction.

One, two, three, ....thirteen (unlucky me, thought Terry) steps and then the toe of a polished black shoe, lazily tied he noted, came into his view whilst he continued staring at the floor. Both shoes came into view. They stopped and he could hear the leather creaking as the turd’s feet rested into their positional stance.

Terry immediately was struck by the thought of a copper’s stance, gently rocking back and forth and the words 'what's going on here then?' filtered through his mind. There was a split second before the voice above him, repeated out loud his thought.

It was a deep snarl of a voice. No happiness had been seen for many a year from the owner, Terry knew that instantly. Sheepishly he slowly raised his head and knowing he shouldn't do so as it really wasn't the wisest of moves. Then destiny played its hand.

As he raised his head, he was feeling something in his legs. Stupidity and bravery can be linked sometimes, and you don't always have control of either of them. He was petrified to lock eyes with the leather creaking brute in front of him and so the only two things that were in Terry's eyeline were the salt and pepper shakers which sat on the table. They made the various soups that Stan concocted barely palatable after a good dousing.

When Terry was ascending from the plastic chair to try to stand up to the beige turd who towered above him his right hand reached out for the pepper shaker. In one fail swoop destiny had not only given him the means to defeat such a ogre, but to also give him a means of escape.

What transpired next was whirlwind 45 seconds. As Terry threw a right-handed pepper spray, George foreman would have been proud, at ogre number one, he had the wherewithal to stand down upon the lazily tied lace. The pepper spray worked to perfection causing ogre number one to rescind back before the calamitous sneezing fit started. As ogre number two was situated directly behind him he couldn't see what had happened to his ogre buddy and then got headbutted by ogre number one’s back of skull full on his schnozzle. The sunglasses that hadn't been removed, now were firmly indented into his eyeball. He staggered backwards and sideways careering over one of Stans plastic chairs headfirst through the cafe's front window and was garrotted by the glass on the way down. Before the burning eyes even commenced on ogre number one, Terry had followed up the pepper spray masterclass with a two-handed shove which then meant the oaf went back and scudded the already sunglass dented rear of his skull on stans cake fridge, totally ruining the remaining cream scones.

As the leather creaking ogre number one succumbed to death by cake fridge, Terry was suddenly aware that he didn't even know who these people were, or who the fragrant lady/witchy looking was woman was or what he had been given to hold on tight to.

As he surveyed the blood-spattered scene of Stans Snacks, reality hit home as did a little bit of urine hit his boxer shorts, as he felt completely terrified and wondered how many years he was going to go down for the murder of two gents who had only asked him one simple question.