Read The Brentford Chainstore Massacre for Free Online Page B

see.” The conversation was interrupted by the sound of a thirteen-year-old fist striking Bill in the face.
    “I never touched her,” cried Bill as the bus conductor fought his way through the standing passengers to grasp him by the collar. “A man is innocent until proved guilty,” he complained as the conductor flung him off at the next set of traffic lights.
    “It’s the same thing every day,” said Jack to his fellow traveller.
    “Not for me it isn’t,” said John. “For I live the kind of life that most men only dream about. A riotous succession of society get-togethers, country weekends, operatic first nights and charity functions.”
    “Get away,” said Jack.
    “True as true,” said Omally. “Then there’s the skateboarding, the sky diving and the riding of the big surf. Not to mention the North Sea oil drilling.”
    “North Sea oil drilling?”
    “I told you not to mention that.”
    “Sorry.” Jack scratched at his hat. “Do you do any crop spraying at all?”
    “Heaps, and Formula One motor racing too.” Omally pulled off his cycle clips and adjusted his socks. “And I’m judging the Miss World competition this afternoon.”
    “That must be interesting.”
    “Extremely,” said Omally. “As long as you don’t have to sit next to Tony Blackburn or Michael Aspel.”
    The bus shuddered to a halt, regrouping its standing cargo at the front end in an untidy scrum. As the struggling passengers regained their feet and began to dust themselves down, the driver put his foot down and they all bundled towards the rear.
    A lady in a straw hat fell upon Omally.
    “Is this a regular occurrence?” he asked.
    “Sometimes we lose one or two at the roundabout,” said Jack. “Although I don’t recall there ever being any fatalities.”
    “What about that dwarf the fat butcher fell on last month?” said the lady in the straw hat.
    “Oh yes, there was him.”
    “And that Zulu who went up in a puff of smoke.”
    “That was spontaneous human combustion. That could have happened anywhere.”
    “This is my stop,” said Omally.
    “It’s very nice,” said the lady in the straw hat. “How much did you have to pay for it?”
    “Give my regards to Tony and Michael,” called Jack as Omally slipped off without paying.
    The 65 bus swung over the Great West Road and headed south towards Brentford. In its path there might well have been a giant spider of outlandish proportions, its mutated mind set upon world domination. But upon this day, as upon others past, there wasn’t.
    But this was to be the most eventful day in Jack’s long and uneventful life, although he still didn’t know it as yet.
    The Tension Almost Reaches Breaking Point
    “Good morning, Jack,” said Jack’s boss, Leslie. “And how is your lovely wife?”
    Jack looked at his watch. “She’ll be making the postman’s breakfast about now,” he said. “And how is your handsome husband?”
    “Still delivering the Queen’s mail.”
    A thought entered Jack’s head, but finding itself all alone in there it left by the emergency exit.
    “Now, Jack,” said Leslie, boss of Jack. “We have a very important despatch to make today and it must be handled with great care. We wouldn’t want there to be any more unfortunate mistakes, now would we?”
    “No we wouldn’t,” said Jack. “No-skiddly-oh-po-po.”
    Leslie, Jack’s boss, smiled upon her subordinate. She was a tall woman, slim, sleek, svelte. Brown-eyed and black-haired and carrying about with her that aura of a woman who knows exactly where she’s going.
    “I’m going to the toilet now,” said Leslie, boss of Jack. “And when I get back I want to see you with your shoulder to the wheel and your nose to the grindstone. Do I make myself clear?”
    “Well,” said Jack.
    Nail-Biting Stuff
    The company Jack worked for was called SURFIN’ UFO. As far as Jack had been able to ascertain during his ten years of service, it had something to do with despatching fragile and