Short Story: A Fix Too Far?

There’s man down the pub who can get you anything you like, as long as you’re not too concerned about its provenance, its container, or the occasional blood stain. Walk in on any given Thursday around two in the afternoon with a shopping list, and come back around ten thirty. Whatever you asked for will be there, provided you’re willing to pay the price.

For the most part he supplies the usual white goods and personal electronics that are the stock in trade of any of his counterparts around the world; but what sets him apart is that when he says he can provide anything, he means it. Nobody is quite sure how he manages it, and I’m pretty sure he’s on every watchlist going. I suspect he hasn’t been picked up by the authorities because they’re all just a little bit curious about how he does it, and can’t quite prove anything.

Just to be sure here, we’re not talking about drugs, or weapons; though I’d be surprised if someone hadn’t asked him at some point. That just isn’t his style. We’re talking about really obscure things – first edition copies of books, rare import vinyl records of forgotten jazz musicians, and sketches by renowned writers have all been seen at one point or another in the slightly shadowed booth he likes to use to do business.

And then, there’s always someone who just has to push his luck just that little bit more than anyone else:

There’s a guy down the end of the street who asked him for a unicorn, and now has to build a stable in his back garden and invest in some taller fencing. His daughter thinks it’s amazing; his wife less so after it skewered next door’s cat and ate her best pillow cases. You’re probably not going to be too surprised to hear it doesn’t poop rainbows.

What’s worrying me is that it was wearing a saddle when I saw it in the pub garden. A single letter ‘T’ was embroidered in the slightly scaled leather, and I really hope the owner doesn’t come looking round here for her lost property. This has the potential to be as bad as that time the tall hairy guy came round asking about three-headed puppies.

About Tim Maidment

Writer, House Husband, Library Person, Raconteur, Poly, Queer and Bon Vivant. You were expecting something simple?
This entry was posted in Fiction, short story, writing and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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