I knew I had to do it but I didn't know if I had the strength to complete what I came here to do.
$3.50 was a price that I wasn't willing to pay, but I would do anything to get my hand on his pickle. I was in Cambodia, aka the pickle capital of the world. Right in front of me was the world's finest pickle picker and it was particularly pricy for his practically perfect pickles.
"Take it or leave it" he said in a gruff tone, it was a tough gig to peruse and purchase pickles to make a profit and it showed in this man's eyes. Known as the pickle prince by the public and just Peter by the pickle people that are closest to him, he was a man to be amazed by. For decades he has been the prime pickler and no one came close to his performance.
"I'll pay $1" I replied in my much meeker and mellow tone.
"I have to make a profit here!" he belched back "I'll lower it down to $3"
"You think I can afford that?" I quivered at the thought "How about $2?"
"You'd ruin me!!! I'll take $2.50" he thundered.
"Sure thing bbg" I squeaked. I handed him my last five dollar note. I was so grateful that he traded in the currency that I had. He took the note and tore it in half.
He roared "here's your change" and handed me half.
I had never been more aroused by the sheer strength and spirit. This was the kind of guy I wanted to pin against a wall. I wanted to take him home and introduce him to my family. Yes, this was the kind of man that would be great to put above my mantle piece all taxidermized and nice. If I feel like it, I might even make him the centre of attention. The only problem with that plan is that I would need to rehang the plaque that currently has my light up Tambourine.
I snapped out of my fantasising and snapped out my desert eagle. I aimed it straight at Peter's head. He didn't even flinch, he just clicked his fingers and twenty-eight sniper laser points appeared, all aimed at my pelvic region.
"I see you are prepared" I stammered coolly "well so was I!"
In that moment fifty-eight laser pointers pointed towards me.
"Is that all you've got?" Peter piped
"Just wait for it" I smirked
All of a sudden fifty-eight cats appear and lunge straight at my body. The cats are screeching but they all manage to find their mark. They have caught the laser dots. I stand up with the cats covering every inch of me. I know have an impenetrable armour of cats and my gun is still aimed at the pickle dealer. The snipers wouldn't dare to shoot a cat as they have an extremely strong set of morals and would never shoot a peaceful animal. But I'm no peaceful animal which is why I need the cat armour.
I have a change of heart; I lower my gun. Only a bit though and I shoot him in the stomach, I want his head to remain intact so that he looks nice on my wall. He kneels over in pain, he's not dead yet but that's all I need. I put on my nifty goggles and then signal to my Airbus A380 which starts descending on the main street. Dirt is kicked up and old boxes are flung around like peas in a snowstorm. I am unaffected due to my nifty goggles. The plane comes to a crushing halt, stopped by a large bush that houses a couple of goats. I drag the bleeding Peter up into the cargo bay, He weighs a lot, probably more than three potatoes. The interior of the plane is like Alien meets thunderbirds meets polly pocket meets Salzburg meets a mango.
"It's good to be back" I scream
"wefuiucsjkcanfecods" grunts the Peter
I pull open the lid of a huge tank full of water and vinegar.
"It seems that Peter will be permanently pickled and never pick a peck of pickles ever again" I say manically
"Per my plan this is practically perfect, 1 down 6 to go"
YOU ARE READING
The Pickle Dealer
HumorA thrilling and dramatic story about a man and his dedication.
