It had taken just thirty minutes to get to Manchester from Cardiff by helicopter. But the flight was beset by an inordinate amount of heavy, thunderous rain which scared him utterly: he sat frozen, both from the temperature inside the cabin and from the fear that the evil CEO had intentionally lured him into a trap. He was not even sure if there was a human pilot, for it was so dark and everything was so rushed that he had scarcely had a chance to see if there was truly anybody inside the cockpit or not; the entire ride was bumpy, chaotic, nauseating, tumultuous, and seemed as though it was about to crash. When he landed, he ducked so low out of fear his head was in danger of being sliced off like a carrot or a parsnip in a busy restaurant kitchen.
The city itself was humongous, but somehow retained that poverty-stricken feel which he had grown tired of in Wrexham within the first year of living there, with its reoccurring homeless actors begging for change in the street; the city of Manchester was so dark at this time of night, parts of it so embarrassingly unlit for a modern, urban environment, that one as large and neglectfully hairy as Rod was filled with such an immense and overwhelming feeling of unease and uncomfortableness that every moment and every footstep he took over the cracked pavement sent terribly cold shivers up his spine and into his large cranium. The streets were empty at this time of night, save the wanderings of drug addicts and aforementioned derelicts – although many of these seemed healthier than he, for they were much slimmer and upbeat in mood; his face remained a scowl as though a permanent stank followed him wherever he went. There were three men advancing upon him from the other end of the stretch of pavement he had just merged into from the side street; he should have taken the helicopter all the way to the mansion, but he wanted to stretch his legs and think some things over before he saw his friends. The men, dressed in brown rags, seemed better kempt than he, and must have sized him up and assumed with accuracy that he had nothing worth taking. Rod took this assumption as an insult.
When he finally got to the gated mansion and trekked the long private road to the main door, which sat opposite a fountain atop a grassy roundabout, he seethed internally at the man’s fortunate position. It would be difficult not to think badly of the tech billionaire, but to Rod in his disordered state of mind, he was somewhat glad that he still retained the friendship of someone so fortunate. He could ask the businessman for handouts, like the beggars on the street, and after enough requests the man would break down and throw him a bone or two to shut him up. His self-respect had been eroded so much that he was not above taking advantage of his unique position to survive in the world, for it owed him more than it had given him thus far. He had given up trying to keep a full time job, and settled for the working of several different part time jobs throughout the same year, rotating them as he saw fit. For instance, he would hire someone on the cheap who lived in a developing nation to fill out job applications and update his CV every couple of months, writing and responding to emails for him as well, so that he could constantly rotate between the several support worker jobs in Wrexham, sending all of them a lesson that they were in fact as disposable to him as he was to them, but even more so for there was always a labour shortage since all of these jobs paid minimum wage, yet carried with them severe risk of injury.
"Your mum works three jobs to support you,” Aleku used to say to him with smug satisfaction, “it’s a disgrace.”
“It’s expensive to study in a capital city,” Rod would say back meekly, “We aren’t all from well-off parents.”
“Not an excuse; and I am not that rich. You’re a disappointment mate.”
“Yeah, shouldn’t be spending your money on holidays to Poland,” Jam would add as he took a flurry of selfies in the mirror of a Uniqlo changing room.
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Rod would hang out with them in Manchester about once or twice a year; he always felt upset spending too much time with them. Last time they spent any time together was when she finally had enough of him and broke up with him...Even though he had written her a novella; he never did end up writing a novel for her. He came close to, but he abandoned it half-way and sent it to her anyway. No wonder, he thought absentmindedly, she didn’t respond to it.
Rod opened his eyes, saw the young teenage girls and surveyed them like the robot from Terminator. He thought soberly for a minute, then opened his mouth to speak, but felt anxious instantly, as if he was brought back in time to French class when he sat next to one of the hottest girls in the Year, Jessica League: one of the many brunettes who Rod fawned over miserably, daydreamed about endlessly, and stared at relentlessly. It was embarrassing to Rod, and haunted him throughout the years, when it was said to him by one of the popular guys that she found him cute and wanted his phone number. He didn’t believe it then, and so said that he was bluffing; he thought it was a trick. But damn it, why didn’t he just take a chance? Why didn’t he just go for it? He will never get that time back...not unless he steals it. Rod narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists into balls of white-hot vengeance. His heart almost skipped a beat in giddiness for what he was about to do. “But,” he muttered with a faint smirk, delighted at his plan, “what’s the rush? I can enjoy this pleasant night as though it was my last night on Earth.”
“You shouldn’t talk to adults like that: it’s a very naughty thing to do,” tutted Celina. After a pause she put her finger to her lip in thought, and said, “But how do we know he’s daddy’s friend?”
“I am-” stuttered Rod, flustered.
“What do you mean, Cee?” asked Aldona, looking up from her notebook, which she had been scribbling upon. “If you mean to suggest that this strange man is not the incel we were expecting, and Fredrick had really just let in one of those violent rioters into our home, then we surely are in trouble, now, aren’t we?”
“But...I mean, look at him,” said Lena with a tinge of concern, “he don’t look dangerous.”
“He ain’t shit,” said Justyna. “My mate’s BF could fuck him up no cap,” she laughed spitefully.
“Don’t insult him,” whispered Celina, cupping her mouth to hide it from Rod, “He might really be a dangerous individual.”
“Perhaps he could be our armed escort,” teased Aldona, pushing up her glasses which had fallen to the ridge of her nose.
Justyna burst into laughter, and said, “You just said that it would be better for us not to shop because it would be better for the environment.”
“Sure I did, Just. Well I still think so. Because although I really want those new emerald and diamond earrings from Graff, we have to do our part to reduce global emissions, and stop shopping so much, as Mrs. Rude would say.”
“Mrs. Rude does talk absolute shit sometimes,” observed Lena, blowing yet another white bubble that ballooned twice the size of her head.
“Mrs. Rude does teach us a lot about the world,” said Celina with a pitiful smile towards the punk rocker, who was leaning against the handrailing which led to the basement.
Lena immediately thrusted forward, the creak of her boots piercing everyone’s ears like a startled bird, and stopped chewing for a moment, looking as though she was about to say something, then deciding not to at the last moment; she went back to chewing her gum obnoxiously loud.
“Do you have to chew so fucking much?” snapped Justyna.
Lena smirked, and said, “That’s why I do it: ‘cause I know it pisses you off.”
“That’s why I’ve never seen you with a guy.”
“Yeah, because I’m not a whore.”
“Girl-power!” sang Celina, pumping her fist into the air, with such a silly face that both girls broke out into laughter, and the bitter feud ended for at least that time.
“Honestly, girls, you really must get a grip,” interjected Aldona in her older-sister tone, “You mustn’t let a boy get in between us. Chicks before dicks as they say.”
“Shut up!” blushed Lena, turning her head to face the wall. She struck out her arm and wagged her finger at her sister, and said, “She’s the one who can’t keep her hands off Johnny Lemon!”