One All By Mike Watts

The knock on the door sounded official; usually callers just pressed the bell, but this morning, they didn't... Dean's heart rate moved up a notch. 'Who the fuck's that?' He stood up from the chair that he was slouched in and walked over to the window. Parting the curtains slightly, he observed two powerfully built characters standing there. One was holding a clip-board; his sleeveless arms were loaded with tattoos and a thick gold chain hung around his neck.

The other guy was bald with an ugly nose squashed into his face. He looked dangerous - like a fighter. Dean moved away from the window. 'Hang on.' he shouted. He went into the kitchen and pulled out a bunch of keys that were dangling from the back door. He picked out a small one and then made his way back through the house. He unlocked the front door. 'Dean Wild?' the tattooed guy grunted. 'Yeah, what's up?' said Dean, one of his legs shaking as the bald guy looked him up and down. 'We work for the Windfall debt collection agency and we're here because you have an outstanding debt which was passed on to us - on theee twenty fourth of the second, by P.M. Electricals and which now amounts to - dah dah dah, let me see - six hundred and three pounds nineteen pence'.

Dean's other leg began to shake. 'What you on about? said Dean, I got a letter from them last week and I rang 'em to say that I'd start paying it as soon as I got my dole sorted out, and they said that'd be fine, don't worry about it.' The tattooed guy reached around the back of his jeans and began pulling at the crack of his arse, 'Well I don't know nowt about that mate, my orders are to collect either the full cash amount owed, or goods to the value of (he returned to his papers) six hunnndred and thir, sorry three pounds and nineteen pence.'

Dean stood there chewing his thumb. He knew he was fucked. A neighbour from down the terrace walked past with her dog. 'You alright Dean?' Dean nodded. The bald guy leaned forward and began to search either side of Dean's shoulders. 'Hey, I've got fuck all in there mate,' said Dean, as he reached back for the door handle. 'and you can't touch the telly, it's not mine, it's rented.'

'Look, are you in a position to pay me any of the money?' said the tattooed monster. 'No, am I fuck.' Said Dean. He felt taller now, he could feel his balls enlarging, the situation was making him grow. 'Well in that case we're going to have to come in and do our job, so if you don't mind.' Mr tattoo and Mr bald backed Dean up into the house and began to scrutinize its contents. He was furious, but what could he do? They would have dismantled him in seconds.

Slowly, a series of dusty spaces began to appear as the two of them set about their business in a clinical fashion. Dean raged. He swore and ranted like a drunken maniac. He insulted their mothers, their sisters, he questioned their sexuality, their right to live - he hated every square inch of their existence.

Twenty minutes later, a folded receipt was thrown onto the mantelpiece and then the front door quietly closed in front of him. He dropped onto the sofa and reached into his pocket for some tobacco. He was exhausted. He'd out-cursed himself. They'd taken more than he dared to think about - Except the telly. Dean stretched out and picked up the remote from the chair opposite. He gripped it tightly, held it out in front of him and began jabbing it toward the window like a blade. A sneaky grin opened up across his face as his thumb hit the power button..

'Rented, my arse - Fucking suckers.'

Copyright Mike Watts 2009

thisisUll.com Featured Writer Mike Watts
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