Greg walked out of Ma Tooley’s to find the sun had come out from behind the clouds and bathed the town in a golden sheen. He had enjoyed a good meal, which had reduced the effects of the drinks to a warming glow and he felt good about Bamptonville and what he would try to do here.
He chose to walk to the motel by the back route to check again the numbers of waste oil containers. He wanted to be certain he wasn’t mistaken about the quantities of waste oil before he planned his enterprise and he took a closer look in the yards this time.
Greg was encouraged to find that he had not been mistaken, and there was a lot of waste cooking oil lying around Bamptonville. If there was as much to be had in Larksville and neighbouring villages, there was an opportunity worthy of a larger investment than he needed to fund Jess through School and College.
Just before he turned right into Greener Street, a trio of high spirited, giggling youths rushed around the corner and nearly bumped into him. They quietened immediately they saw Greg who saw guilt break out over their faces. They ran on past him without speaking. Greg stopped to watch them and wondered what mischief they had been up to and then resumed his walk to the motel office.
Greener ran up into Main. The motel cabins and car park were on Greener with only the office and reception building facing onto Main.
He was about to cross the entrance to the car park when a rusty white Toyota pick-up blaring out a Dixie tune on its horn sped out into the road from the motel car park entrance and narrowly missed hitting him. Greg was startled, but instinctively jumped backwards onto the sidewalk out of the path of the vehicle, which had come out without stopping at the road or showing consideration for any other road users who might have been passing.
‘Bloody idiots.’ Greg was angry.
He caught sight of the grinning face in the driver’s seat and recognised one of the rednecks he’d seen in Harry’s Place last night. Greg’s first impulse was to go after him and give the man a piece of his mind, but he shrugged it off as a pointless exercise and muttering.
‘Where’s there’s no sense there’s no reason.’ And walked the back way into the reception area to firm up his ongoing arrangements at the motel.
The motel clerk rubbed his hands together greedily while Greg confirmed he’d be staying for an unlimited, but lengthy period of at least a month and agreed a monthly rate.
‘I’m going into Larksville today to arrange satellite internet like we discussed.’ The clerk looked doubtful and Greg put him at his ease by adding. Don’t worry. It will all be at my own expense. I need to get going, could you take my things down to the new room please. I’ll be back before 5.00 tonight.’
‘It will be done. My pleasure Mr Mitchell.’ The clerk continued rubbing his hands together and reminded Greg once more of the Dicken’s character, Uriah Heep and expected him to say 'ever so humble Sir,' at any moment.
Greg stopped on his way out and turned back to the clerk who stood watching and still rubbing his hands together.
‘Was there something else Mr. Mitchell?’
Greg pulled the lobe of his ear while he thought how best to say what he wanted without causing undue speculation or curiosity.
‘Ye-es, I’m expecting a visitor tonight at 5.00. Jess White, the kid I knocked down yesterday. He’ll be working for me in the evenings. If I’m delayed will you let him into my room and ask him to wait.’
‘No problem Mr. Mitchell.’
‘Thank You,’ Greg watched the clerk for a reaction, but there was none and he left the office for his room.
YOU ARE READING
The 'Cousins'
General FictionEnglishman Greg Mitchell has served only two Gods in his lifetime- Making Money and Himself. Now at 35 years of age and after his second divorce and loss of his business he faces a future with no family or friends- he does have some money in the ban...
