“Woo!” yelled Bowlby, who had returned to his seat, dripping with saliva and sweat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the first ever official Warrior meeting live,” Aleku announced triumphantly into the microphone. “You know who I am: my unmatched perspicacity, coupled with my sheer indefatigability, combine to make me the most feared opponent in any dominion of human existence. Life is a fight; life is a struggle for existence; the weak always lose. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you can start winning. But don’t be fooled, I have no pity for you losers. I make so much money from exploiting losers it is laughable. Success is not given, it is taken! I bring the heat. I am the flame. I burn each and every person who dares even stand close to me. Anyway, what should we first talk about? What’s on the agenda, Antonio?”
The stubby man picked up a piece of paper that was lying in front of him and squinted his eyes at the small print. “Err, I’m thinking through,” he stuttered.
“Why do you have to ruin the beginning of every meeting by being unprepared? You are the most useless man I have ever met. Wait,” Aleku said, pointing to Ant and then to the clearing smoke behind him, “there’s still somebody who beats you even at that: Well, speak of the devil. I can see you. There he is!”
The realisation that he had been caught by the gangster did not occur to him for what seemed to be half a minute or so, for he was still lost between dream and reality; her face was imprinted upon his mind like a mural. Rod stood like a deer in headlights. Then he felt a heavy hand grip his shoulder tightly like an iron vice, and the rich, fresh, sporty and unforgettable scent of Green Irish tweed: it came at him from behind strongly, immediately making him aware that this was not a tickler, but a bulldozer; the Mike Tyson of scents – manly, upfront, oppositional, intense and frightening. The start of the scent, the highest note, the first note, was that of a vibrant lemon verbena, which if one had to describe it down to its most finite detail, its more basic biological components, the unrefined and unsophisticated recipient would have to make do with the explanation that it was a cross between a sparkling lemon and a lush green herb garden, distinctly zesty and clean, with a subtle grassy and herbal hint which swirled and tantalised the insides of all but the brutish of men. The young student then was pushed with peppermint, which lasted only a little while; so little, in fact, and so brief was the push of peppermint that he wondered if his nostrils had even picked up that smell or not in the first place, for it waft passed with the speed of a formula one racing car, leaving him in the blink of an eye, or in this case the inhalation of a breathless, hyperventilated man. Then, and only then, did the young man notice the absence of any impurity in the note, the lack of immaturity in the scent, the non-attendance of any passive aggressive indirection. It was everything that he hoped for in the smell of a person, bar the perfume of the woman he was thinking of, and he wished for the briefest and slightest of moments that he could take a bath in such waters, if only to come out smelling anew like that person who had gripped him on the shoulder only a moment ago, or at least to relive this surprising moment again. There was no artificialness in this scent. It was tranquil. It was like a walk in nature all at once. And then it hit him, and it hit him hard: the intense dark and possessing green coated him entirely like a vicious, gooey liquid, stimulating his circulation and cleansing his pores without so much as a touch; it was watery like the inhabitance of crickets at night on a walk. It was a delicate note, but transformative. The violet leaf was accompanied by the earthy, sweet and musky scent of Ambergris, which ends the cascade of light notes with its grounding notes. Rod had to admit to himself that the cologne was utterly elegant.
“Get in, get in!” shouted the crowd at the table in eruptions of delirious, drunken joy. At once, everyone laughed and raised their glasses to him, even Antonio, exclaiming all sorts of things at him.
“Wait, isn’t that the crown prosecutor? Back again for round 2, eh?” Bowlby asked with bewilderment, his eyes wide and fixed on the approaching figure. “Get in, get in! Join in the podcast, bud!” he cried excitedly. Then he turned to Sophia and snarled, “Be a darling and give him your seat.”
“Fuck off,” she growled.
“How unwomanly,” he replied, looking around the table for approval. But to his dismay, they were all distracted by the returning arrival of their boss’s friends.
“No wonder you are alone with that attitude,” remarked Sophia.
“Come give us your thoughts on the podcast!” the crowd shouted, swaying and laughing together.
“Yes, Jam, come here,” said Aleku, leaning back on his chair and placing his hands behind his neck, his cigar sticking out of the corner of his mouth. “Did you find the toilet?” he asked.
“I pissed,” slurred Jam, pushing past Rod and stumbling into the room, “I pissed on the floor...”
Aleku erupted into laughter, his face red as a tomato. “You are a funny guy,” he said, “you truly are a crazy man. Come, sit here.” As he said this, he turned to Sophia and grimaced, “Move.”
“What?” Sophia asked, her face crinkling in confusion, "Why should I move? Why don’t you ask that idiot twitch streamer?”
At once there was an outbreak of laughter.
“Move, move!” shouted Aleku, leaning forward from his comfortable, reclined position, with an awkward smile on his face, which was obvious to everyone there was actually a twisted frown.
“Move, move!” the crowd chanted and jeered. “Come on, don’t be a sour sort; can’t you hear? Just go and get off your seat. You don’t own it, do you?”
“Yeah,” laughed Bowlby, his face a grimace, “get off your high horse...get off and move on. Jog on.” He then leaned into the microphone and said, “Sorry for the technical difficulties everyone. What’s up? Welcome to the Warriors podcast. I’m the guest today-”
“Hey, you’re supposed to let the host introduce you,” said Ant.
“Move,” said Aleku quietly, his eyes searing a hole in Sophia’s lips.
“I’m your guest, Bolwby. I’m the number one grimes rapper in the UK-”
“That’s debatable,” laughed Sophia.
“Move,” repeated Aleku, a bit louder this time.
“I do not see why I should give up my seat for a man who can barely string a sentence together.”
“It’s alright,” Jam said, “I’ll just stand here and watch.”
“It’s right across the bridge across the world. It’s a totally different world up here in Aleku’s house, so much different from Rotherham where I’m from,” said Bowlby into the microphone. “Up there, you might see a little man, no shirt riding a goat. Yeah, you might see that.”
“I’ve just flown twelve fucking hours to get here and now you’re saying I can’t even be on the podcast,” Sophia cried.
“Well, my beautiful woman,” said Aleku, his putrid breath enveloping all her senses, “did I ask you to come on my private jet to do the podcast?”
Sophia was acutely aware of the crowd now staring at her; how they thought that she was out of her mind. How could they not laugh? If they did not laugh, they were ready to become angry and violent. Therefore, they continued to laugh and jeer at the poor thirty-year-old woman. That woman was holding up their fun. That woman was not toeing the line. That woman was holding up the entire podcast, which meant that they could not retire peacefully anytime soon. Two of the young women there were fidgeting nervously, and struggling to suppress their urges to bark at the woman for holding them all up. Their legs struggled to stay still underneath the table. As the laughter again renewed, and the chatter about other things commenced, the woman sitting opposite Sophia kicked her shin. The juxtaposition between the heartfelt laughter of the table and the striking and stinging pain of the kick was so great that it perplexed and then filled Sophia with rage. She furiously thrashed her arms about and slammed the table, as though she believed that she could break it.
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“You are a despicable man,” said Sophia, after she had shot a stinking eye at the woman who had kicked her. She stood up and walked quickly out of the room, passing Rod without so much as a look of curiosity who the stranger might be.
Rod, however, felt a slight pull towards this woman.
“Oooo! Oright then. Are you just going to let her speak to you boss man like that,” Bowlby said in the microphone. “Emo blud init,” he said. “Ay check out da fucking goff, trash im! Oi y’startin, y’starting, he’ll spark ya’out cold!” He roared.
“Excuse me but you have been nothing but rude to that poor girl all night,” said one of the women. Her voice seemed unnaturally articulate. She was short and petite with brunette hair done up in a ponytail.
“Fuck off brav,” he replied. “I don’t even know your name that’s how irrelevant you are,” he added callously.
“You’re gonna scare all the women away,” Aleku laughed. “No matter, I have thousands of girls who want to be with me, who want to be here on this podcast. Who cares if one gets upset, who cares if you all get upset,” he laughed harder and leaned once again back on his chair.
“They can’t hear you,” said Ant, “you need to lean forward to speak in the microphone.”
“Don’t you think I don’t know that you absolute doofus?” said Aleku, leaning forward. He took out his cigar and blew a thick wad of smoke in the man’s face across the table.
“Okay cut the bullshit now,” said Aleku, “my true reasoning to do this podcast is to tell all my followers the truth about what’s happening. We need an army, an army of great men to combat the darkness of this world. There is a terrible, existential threat facing human kind, facing us men, and we need to combat it. So I’m building an army to take on the threat. If you’re interested, click on the link in the description. I’m going to be upfront because I am a man of honour and integrity. It’s going to cost you £10,000. Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘But Aleku, I don’t have £10k to spend on your bootcamp.’ Listen, do I give a shit? Like honestly interest rates are so low right now you can get a fucking mortgage. Honestly, be a man for once. Why do you need people to spoonfeed you shit? This is what’s wrong with the generation today – you just don’t know how to take from the world. Thousands of years ago, men were fucking taking things from other people because they wanted them. But now today men are just cowards and wimps and just want the government to give you things. Like shut the fuck up. Honestly. Anyway, £10,000, link in the description.”
“What do people get in return?” asked Ant sheepishly.
“Oh, right. The problem with this generation, you expect things,” said Aleku. “Like, what happened to just giving money because you believed in the cause?”
“Here, here,” said Bowlby.
“So now I have to give something back. Well, I’ll be honest with you, my children, I’ll be bloody honest with you: I’m Alexander the motherfucking Great and the UK is Persia, and I’m going to conquer it. If you want to be the people that conquer it, if you want to join me in transforming this nation into a Warrior culture, then £10,000 is literally nothing compared to the loot you’ll get from this.”
“Some people might think we’re inciting an insurrection. What do you say to those who say that?” said Ant.
“I say that they are part of the government.”
“What the hell is going on?” Rod asked suddenly, overwhelmed with sheer confusion. “This is utter madness. What the hell are doing? You’re going to-”
“Ah, ladies and gentlemen, please let me introduce to you my old friend, Rod Beasly. He’s the weirdest man I’ve ever met. Ant, give him the microphone would you? Jam, why are you standing there, sit the fuck down next to me.”
“Pfff,” spat Jam, and he wandered over to Aleku with a bright smile, and a red flush.
Aleku manhandled the government employee, giving him a big bear hug, and said, “Oh, you! Come on everybody, come in and give us all a big bear hug!”
They all sat still in their seats nervously, looking at each other in bewilderment; each one of them waited for the other to make the first move, or to at least say the first word. Then Ant burst out laughing at the awkwardness of it all, at the utter irony of it, and this caused everyone else to erupt into laughter as well. All the men stood up and walked over to the couple and then embraced each other warmly.
“Oi, let me get in, too, you bastards!” shouted Bowlby, shaking his head rapidly and growling, for a desire for closeness and human contact was activated by the sight.
“Come on, squeeze us hard ‘till we can’t hecking breathe,” cried Aleku, “’til we can’t hecking breathe I tell you – it's an order! We’ve made it lads; we’re fucking richer than the United States!”
“What are you doing?” cried Sophia, “You’re going to kill them!” And she looked at the four other women with horror. “Get off, get off!” she cried, running to the huge mass of sweaty limbs and attempting to drag them off like branches from a tree.
“Aleku, Aleku!” shouted Rod tirelessly, and then he turned to Sophia in a panic, “Hey, what are they doing? What is this madness? What the hell is going on?”
“Who are you and how did you get in here?” she demanded quickly, but then her attention was drawn back to the huddled men. “Are all of you this fucking idiotic?”
“But I have never seen them act so irrationally?”
“Irrationally?” blinked Sophia, “You want to talk about irrationality? Honey, you don’t even know the beginning of irrationality. I flew here...it must have been yesterday by now to do this podcast, and look,” she said, gesturing her arms towards the chaos. “It’s absurd,” she added.
“They’re just acting silly, right? They’re not really trying to squeeze them to death.”
“How the hell should I know? I only met this geezer last night.”
“Wait, you only met him last night? How?”
“He messaged me on Instagram.”
“You meet every stranger who messages you on Instagram?”
Sophia looked at him exasperatedly, and then looked palely at the embracing men. “This country...this would never fly back in my home country. What is this madness?”
“Why did you even come here, then?” inquired the small young brunette woman to her side.
“Eh? And why shouldn’t I come here?” snapped Sophia.
“Well, if you don’t like it you should leave; t’s all I am saying.”
“Oi, lads, the lasses are ‘bout to fight; go on, hit her in the face, in the eyes, in the eyes, in the eyes,” cried Bowlby, who was on the outside of the mass hug, twisting his neck almost right round to them with a devilish grin.
Two lads raised their own heads at the sound of Bowlby’s voice, and looked also at the women standing behind them, twisting their necks in the process.
“Give us a wrestling match,” shouted one of them, and everyone turned and looked at the women, chanting hilariously for them to break into a fist fight.
Aleku threw himself out of the mass enclosure of limbs, they having been suddenly relaxed thanks to the women drawing attention. “Capitalism,” he gasped, “is a fucking scam.” Then he laughed while coughing. He walked over to the microphone and repeated this thought, “Capitalism, ladies and gentlemen, is a right ol’ scam. Who can argue against it? I’m literally just scamming people and making loads of money from it. Think about eyelashes...Eyelashes, ladies and gentlemen...Why do fake eyelashes exist? Like, why? I mean, why? Like what the fuck? Is anything even real?”
“What about people without eyelashes?” squeaked Ant.
“Okay, so I can see why someone without eyelashes would need to buy fake eyelashes,” replied Aleku; but then he placed his hand on his stubby chin and rubbed it, pondering to himself. “Actually, though, why doesn’t society just accept people without eyelashes, instead of forcing people through coercion to buy and wear fake eyelashes?”
“But you need eyelashes to like get dirt away from your eyes and shit,” said Ant.
“Yeah, probably true: humans are born with eyelashes after all...but then why the fuck do eyelash extensions exist? Like if Capitalism is so good and everything why does it feel the need to create markets by telling people they need to extend their eyelashes for no functional purpose other than making them appear more attractive on the dating market? You see how Capitalism is a scam? It just creates markets out of thin air by exploiting human desires.”
“Is that so wrong?” said Ant.
Aleku shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I suppose not. If someone falls for that then they deserve it.”
“You almost died,” cried Sophie, “and now you’re just talking about philosophy!”
“This is philosophy? We ain’t talking about your boring shit. Wow, I cannot believe it. I literally just talk about my thoughts and I’m accused of being a philosopher. You can’t make this up. I didn’t even study philosophy; I didn’t even pay tens of thousands of pounds to study that in university and yet I’m naturally just coming up with this stuff – it's practically brilliant.”
“I’ll teach you some philosophy,” Sophia shouted furiously. She walked over to the table, picked up one of the wine glasses on the table, and threw it at the wall behind Aleku. It shattered into tiny pieces, scarcely missing the man by a hair’s breath.
“Oh, I’ll crush you,” shouted Aleku venomously, wobbling sideways as though he was on a boat. He still carried the desert eagle in his hand and pointed it at Sophia.
“Kill her!” was shouted round them both. “What are you waiting for?” they shouted again. Even the brunette woman had joined in.
“Aleku, stop this madness! Please, just stop!”
“Stay out of this,” said the businessman, staring intently at Sophia.