The Dwarf 1.
I was just adjusting the last tin of Abyssinian Kumquats when the first gunshot went off. Looking up I turned with a quizzical expression to face Mr Ali. In response Mr Ali fired a blinding blast of light into my face.
"It is a Masterpiece, David," stated Mr Ali, winding the film on in the camera. "We will be sure to win the Shelf Stacker of the Year prize with a display like this!"
I let the 'we' pass and stood up. Mr Ali took another photograph and my vision blurred again. Another gunshot went off.
"You don't have to take so many pictures, Mr Ali," I said, rubbing my eyes to get my vision back. The camera went off again, just as I had lowered my hands.
"You are joking," said Mr Ali, over a volley of several shots. "A masterpiece such as this representation of 'The Last Supper' by Leonardo Da Vinci in Abyssinian Kumquat labels needs to be recorded straight away."
"You said that about my 'Laughing Cavalier' using Iraqi Toothpaste labels," I pointed out. The sound of a shotgun blast rattled the shelvse. "and my three dimensional 'Mona Lisa' made from packets of Brazilian Toothpicks."
"Well, you never know," replied Mr Ali, "It just takes one person to buy some Abyssinian Kumquats and all of your hard work will be ruined."
"But that's my point," I controlled my temper to speak. Another shotgun blast caused a single packet of toothpicks to fall from 'Mona Lisa's left breast. "No-one ever buys any Abyssinian Kumquats. Mr Ali, you have loads of stuff that nobody wants."
"Ah," Mr Ali smiled, "But one day they might want it and then they will find that I have just what they need."
I looked at Mr Ali and his big hopeful grin. I couldn't actually remember how long I had worked for Mr Ali as a shelf stacker. At some point I must have gone to school and got some qualifications, but it all seemed so far away to me now. Working in a second rate cash and carry stacking shelves may not be the height of ambition for a lot of people and I did have my dreams but, for the moment at least, the job was good enough for me.
More gunfire echoed through the wall as Mr Ali walked away. I watched the little man disappear behind some shelves and turned back to straightening my Kumquats. Another shotgun blast dislodged some more toothpick packets so I spent a couple of minutes adjusting the 'Mona Lisa's chest. A blue flashing light wailed past the shop with a police car attached to it. It screeched to a halt between a waste bin and a raised flowerbed. Someone started shouting through a megaphone, but I couldn't make out what they were saying.
"I'm going for my lunch," said Big Reg, behind me.
I turned to look at him, not quite understanding what he meant by this statement. Obviously I was aware that it meant that he was going to go off and have some lunch, but he didn't normally need to tell me of his domestic arrangements. I knew, like everyone else, that he was going to be meeting Rita from the bakery in the park, but he didn't really need to let me know.
"Good," I replied and then, because he seemed to expect something more of me, I added. "I hope you enjoy yourself."
"You did look at the noticeboard this morning, didn't you?" Big Reg's acne pocked face broke into a lopsided grin. I could see from his eyes that he was delighting in telling me something that I was obviously supposed to know.
"Yes," I lied, unconvincingly. "Doreen's off on her holiday and there's a delivery at ten past two." Both of these true fact I had learnt through listening, not through reading the noticeboard.
