The Pope Of Comber

Chapter 11

Dopey dope dealers

The Next –Day 12:10 Hrs: Somewhere within the 'Manor-House' Estate Grounds

'Well did you cook the batch like I said, man?' Jake Sheldon asked his best buddy Johnny Marshall as they sat within the confines of their huge state of the art trailer.

'Hell yeah, bud no shit. This shit's gonna blow that little fuckers head clean-off!' Johnny let out a sinister laugh, sliding a small plastic tray towards Jake. The tray contained a tiny amount of a dark ashy coloured substance.

'Shoot me a big one, you sure there's enough here to send that little shit to Mushy Heaven?' Jake asked looking confusingly at the contents of the tray.

'Yeah, man, sure. Like we've only been using about the same as that? And shit looked what fun we been having?' Johnny said squeaking with laughter.

Jake rubbed his index finger in the ashy substance within the tray and without looking up he said, 'Yeah...but like. We don't want to kill the little bastard or anything, do we?' 'Yeah...I mean no, shit. He'll be okay. Maybe just have the shits for a few days or so, nothing serious like?' Johnny said smiling as that notion played out in his head.

'Okay so...I've been watching that little bastard for the last couple of weeks now' Johnny said. 'And he does the same thing every God-dam day. Around lunchtime he takes himself off into the secret-garden, at the rear of the 'Manor-House'.'

'Don't tell me?' Jake interrupted. 'That's where he eats his lunch?'

'YO...Fucken "A" man' Johnny said, sarcastically.

'Yeah' Johnny continued 'I've watched him, he like he just sits there surrounded by all those little creepy looking gnomes of his. Must be hundreds of those little suckers?'

'That's where we'll do it? Spike his drink with the shit or swap it with one of our own when he's not looking?' Jake said his were eyes rolling in his head at the idea.

'Yeah, man.' Johnny agreed smiling, 'I mean one diet coke bottle looks the same as the next, doesn't it?'

'Still, we'll have to be careful though. He's a suspicious little SOB at the best of times.' Jake Said, rubbing his chin as if lost in thought.

They were convinced at having tried and tested their product over many weeks.

That their magic mushrooms were indeed and without doubt the best shit this side of the Atlantic.

Hell, Beavis and Butthead would certainly agree! So Jake had said.

What exactly the effects would be on the locals 'per-se' or more to the point one local Isaac was a mystery?

Nevertheless they were armed with a mind-bending drug in its undetectable form and all the inside information on their chosen target, that mystery would at resolved long last be.

It was just another bad day in the sad life of Isaac Hunt, master gardener, and head of his department.

He's just plain old, Head gardener. He thought.

Those bloody Yanks are a right pain in the arse, what with all their slabbering about their big houses and fancy cars back home.

Not to mention the huge amounts of money their boasting about getting paid.