The Artist (3/7) By The Silver Fox

(1/7), (2/7), (3/7), (4/7), (5/7), (6/7), (7/7).

Much of this second figure was shrouded in mystery (shrouded also, as it was, by a heavy black coat that reached virtually to the ground), but it would have taken an observer far less shrewd than the artist to perceive that is was a small figure - a very small figure. The artist was reluctant to use words like "midget" - one never knew how people would take it, for a start, and besides, he was a little fuzzy on what sort of physical characteristics actually betokened a lack of inches that merited such a term. If this man wasn't a dwarf, midget, or Person Of Restricted Growth, however, the difference was purely technical.

"Don't look at me," a thin, querulous voice shot out from beneath a much-abused black hat that seemed to grow directly from the stiff collar of the coat, "You know I've told you about oiling those fucking hinges." With a grunt and both arms, the man pushed the car door closed, and then walked towards the artist's doorway with determined (if slightly mincing) steps. Upon arriving, his wraith-like stature lessened to that of a silhouette as he slipped between the doorway and his towering associate. Red-rimmed eyes glared up at the artist from over a pallid, beaky nose. "So; this is an artist, eh? I've always wondered. I've never met one before."

From a shadowy upper corner of the doorway there came a mildly disgruntled cough. The nose swung around and tilted still further upward. "Two years of a Fine Arts degree and then dropping out doesn't make you an artist, son." "Well, not strictly speaking, I suppose, no. I did put on a show once, though." The smaller man rubbed the size of his nose with a crooked and dirty forefinger. "I've no doubt you did." His tone was dismissive and implied that further comment would be in very poor taste.

The artist, who had followed these exchanges with a gaping curiosity that didn't reflect well on either his intelligence or social poise, risked a question. It was not a question that he was keen to ask; partly because he knew the answer already, and partly because he knew that once answered, it would lead to many, many more. "Have you ... bought it, then?" The short man let out an explosive snort, which was instantly translated by the tousled giant: "Indeed we have - we're not in the business of wasting people's time, after all." A massive hand clamped itself chummily around the artist's shoulder, "It's in the boot." "We find it's best not to go lugging them to people's doors unless we're certain that they're in and," the close-set eyes swept suspiciously around the narrow hallway, "alone." "I'm alone most nights." The words tumbled out of the artist in a mixed torrent of relief and anxiety to prolong the conversation. The little man sniffed twice. "That's tragic. Right, then: hold on and we'll go and - "

"Kelp..." The tall man's voice held the gentlest of rebukes in its mellow tone, but his companion bristled instantly. Only when he followed his companion's gaze did he relax into the posture of sullen watchfulness that the artist assumed was the man's default setting. Turning his own eyes in the direction indicated, the artist saw two elderly men shuffling along the street outside. They looked to be in their seventies and were moving with grim, arthritic gaits - one about ten yards behind the other. The man in front occasionally turned around and grimaced at the other before continuing in his faltering progress; the trailing figure was making obscene gestures towards the man in front.

"Alright," Kelp groused, "We'll wait for these senile old fucks to go by first." "It might be a while - I think the chap bringing up the rear has got a false leg." "Would you like a cup of tea or something, while we're waiting?" asked the artist. His invitation was greeted by two stares of varying degrees of revulsion. "No thank you," said the larger visitor as he bowed his head to enter the house. "We'll just wait here and keep an eye on them, shall we?" Before the artist could respond to this suggestion, the door was closed and the three of them stood in the cramped passageway, mired in awkwardness and the moist, earthy aroma that emanated from the big man's clothes.

Continued...Next Page (4/7)

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