Part VIII — smoking in Ipswich



Colin took a deep drag of his cigarette as he looked at the newspaper in front of him with disbelief.


A cartoon underneath depicted a crazy-eyed Farage punching a shocked Sadiq Khan, the latter draped in the flag of England. ‘FARRAGED’ read the caption.  Normally Colin ignored the papers as much as possible, but this rattled him. Especially after the phone call he received last night. First a friend of Nigel calling help, now this? Something big was going on. Colin glanced around the shady harbor bar. It was his favorite place to visit in-between work. Nothing fancy, just friendly personnel, decent coffee and a bunch of sailors and fishermen drinking and smoking, minding their own business. If only things everywhere could be as peaceful as in this bar, Colin thought to himself. With the smoldering butt of his cigarette he lit another cig and read the article.

‘A GRISLY turn of events as UKIP-leader Nigel Farage without provocation PUMMELED Prime minister Sadiq Khan in the FACE during a diplomatic dinner gone awry. Doubts on the Brexit-instigator’s sanity were raised earlier but…’

Colin stopped reading as the bar door opened and a tall young man with sunglasses and a blue hat entered. Which is exactly what the voice on the phone said he’d be wearing. Colin held up a hand. The youngster came over and sat down. Colin, watching him intensely, caught him glancing at the newspaper. ‘You know anything about this?’ The youngster stayed quiet. Something about him seemed very familiar to Colin. ‘Who are you?’ The young man looked around, as to check no one was listening in. Colin pressed. ‘C’mon man, give me something. Who are you? Why did Nigel give you this number? Why should I help you?’ Slowly, the youngster took off his sunglasses and with no small surprise Colin realized he was sitting opposite the son of the uncrowned God-Emperor of the United States of America. ‘Holy shit. You are –‘
– ‘Yeah, I know.’
‘So that explains how you know Nigel.’
– ‘Yeah.’
‘And I guess this brawl’ -Colin pointed at the newspaper- ‘involved you.’
– ‘Yeah.’
– ‘Can you get me to the Netherlands?’
‘Uh, what? Probably. Yeah, sure. Sorry I kind of need to process this.’
– ‘I’m not sure this disguise will fool anyone looking for me, and I’m sure they’ll be looking for me. Can you get me to the continent without anyone ehm… Authoritative finding me?’

Colin straightened up. ‘Well… It just so happens mr Farage sent you to the right guy. I’ve got just the thing that will get you straight to mainland without anyone knowing.’ For the first time since he met him, Colin saw a glimmer of hope cross Barron’s face. ‘Great. How soon can we leave?’
‘Ehhh tomorrow, actually. Be here at 6 AM. ‘
– ‘OK. Great. Don’t tell anyone about this. See you tomorrow.’ Barron stood up, but did not leave before taking a last look at the newspaper. ‘And don’t believe everything they tell you in the paper’ he said. Colin smiled. ‘Don’t worry, never do.’

Once alone again, Colin ordered himself a pint and absentmindedly took a sip. So he was going to smuggle the son of the Donald to the continent? He lit a cigarette and blew out a big cloud. God damn, these were exciting times.


2 thoughts on “Part VIII — smoking in Ipswich

  1. “The British naval leader Nelson was touched by the hand of Trump and rose up from the dead to lead the English whites from the Muz Poz hordes. Nelson’s first act was to behead the cucks of London who had turned it into Londonistan with the Sword of Richard the Lion-Hearted, found in a swamp in Washington.”

    — X.

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