The Cosy Criminals

The Rush & Daisy

"My name is Detective Inspector Darren Starr. I'm in Archerdale investigating a string of fraud cases. I need to inspect your pub as a vantage point and a place to see how the people work."

"...Right. Well, it's £2 per person, teams only, winner takes the pot minus 20."

Isobel Mitchell placed the jar on the table, forgetting (or potentially ignoring) everything the man said beforehand.

"...Oh. I can't just sit in the corner?"

"Not tonight. Thursday night is quiz night. Last orders are at 6:30 for 7:00, then the quiz starts at 7:30."

"I can't just..."

"No."

"Right."

The man shuffled in his pockets and dropped two pound coins into the jar, adding a bit of loose change to vaguely raise the stakes. "Right, I'll take a seat."

"Alright. What are the names of the team?"

"Excuse me?" spat Darren.

"I said. What are the names of the team."

"I told you. Darren Starr."

"And the rest? You need at least two to a team."

"Look, this is getting out of-"

"Do you want to take it up with Eoin?"

The man stammered. He didn't know who Eoin was, and wasn't too sure he wanted to find out. He knew nobody in this quaint, unsung... practically non-existent hamlet in the middle of the A-10-Nowhere. He could be a great burly Irishman, maybe this woman's brother. She had a hint of Irish in her voice, though it was inaudible enough for him to tell it was inherited. "Eoin?"

"He could be on your team," Isobel suggested.

"...Alright. I want to speak to Eoin."

Isobel held at arms length a small white mouse, squeaking and fiddling, its nose poised high in the air to calculate its surroundings before concluding 'pub'.

"...Sorry-" Darren shook his head. "What am I looking at?"

"Eoin," Isobel nodded simply.

"Eoin... is a mouse."

"Correct. Do you have any complaints?"

Darren decided against arguing. Isobel had won. "No, no, I... have no complaints."

"Good." She placed him in his hastily-cupped hand, followed by a plate containing a ramekin of water and a small handful of dried strawberry slices. "Give him one at the end of every round, there's a good chap."

Still a bit dazed, Darren dropped an extra fiver in the jar to prove that he meant well and wasn't someone to hold a grudge against, bringing the total above fifty at a guess. He didn't expect to win, but his heart did drop a little at the thought.

"What's your team name," inquired Isobel, pulling out a pen.

"O-Oh, erm... T-Team- Team... Mouse. I guess."

She handed him a small leaflet depicting the rounds and a pen.

"Good lad," she nodded, and stifled an eye-roll as she saw who had just leaned against the bar.

"Nice turnout, Isobel," sneered Jennifer, her shitter-in-law.

"Yeah, well, I always plan on earning my keep."

"Anyone here for you?"

Isobel soured, but turned to Jennifer with a smile. "Just fuck off for me, Jennifer. It's turning to 7:15, you're not allowed in the pub Thursdays after 7:15."

"Don't mind me, I'm just heading out. With Alun. See you."

Isobel muttered under her breath as she left. Every Mitchell knew her brother could do better, even their dementia-held father.

She looked around the bar floor of the Rush & Daisy, humming proudly to herself. The Rush & Daisy was the most beloved pub in Archerdale, here since it was a last-ditch try to keep alive an expecting Irish couple driven from their home by hunger. It had seen out many a rival, from startup Americans being laughed out of town to fronts for money laundering, and through it all its rich history was written in ink. The Mitchell family held the pub like a grudge for centuries, and they were fucked if they were ever going to let it go.

Isobel stared at the empty circular table marked 'Reserved' right by the bar. It had been reserved for years, but had only been emptily so for a couple of months now.

'Reserved,' it said, 'for Fergus Hutchinson'.

Fergus Hutchinson. He was the only person Isobel let play on his own. A league (and, indeed, team) of his own; 'The Imaginary Friends'. Indeed, Fergus Hutchinson was Isobel's only friend.

Well, he was. He was her only friend. And in the worst way possible.

As the clock ticked to 7:30 PM precisely, Isobel removed the 'OPEN/CLOSED' sign from the glass of the door, replacing it with a piece of paper.

'The Rush & Daisy pub,' this one read, 'is hereby closed to outsiders. You are too late. The game has begun.'