The Alienbutt Saga, Book 1. War of the Coffee Bean. Part 3.

After half an hour Piestoff called in the job. “Control, I’ve had a runner.”
“Piestoff me old mate, did you not get any credits up front?” Control as usual was being that smug git you wanted to smack. Biting back what he wanted to say to the slimy fat slug, Piestoff looked into the face of Poodles who now sat next to him panting and looking hungry.
“They left their puppy as security, I will drop it onto the base,” said Piestoff hopefully.
“Can’t do that mate. You’ll have to keep hold of it until we sort it out.” Control had gone from smug to this is your problem smug without missing a beat. “I will have to take you off duty till it’s sorted, sorry mate”.

Like hell was he sorry, he would already be laughing his arse off. With certainty Piestoff knew the house would be empty and the phone number fake. He was stuck with this beast that had now started to chew on the passenger seat. By law he couldn’t get rid of it for two months when if the taxi fare wasn’t paid it would become his. What the hell was he going to do with a six foot plus walking fur rug with the build of a space troll? At least she had left four bags of puppy food in his lockers. That should last a day or so.

Piestoff had been stuck looking after Poodles for about a month. He couldn’t leave him at his home as he wailed and ate the metal furniture, so for want of anything better to do he brought him to work with him. Piestoff would now work for up to eighteen hours a day and in that time would drink at least seven cups of coffee. While to most intelligent life forms coffee was addictive and most would now be needing a detox course to stop them bouncing off the walls, to Alienbutts it tasted nice and beat the fizzy drinks you normally got at the burger drive-through (which gave him even worse gas.)
Taxi drivers the universe over love drive-through burger bars. You can get food and drink and you don’t have to get out of your taxi and miss the job of the night. Plus the job title was taxi driver which means you drive, you never walk; it’s against your work ethic.
Having to look after Poodles, who had almost doubled in size over the last month, Piestoff was now working an extra four hours a day just to feed him. But having an eleven foot plus Mutthound sat by the back door discouraged people from not paying and also made for very good tips from nervous punters. Poodles was starting to grow on him and didn’t seem to mind the natural odor that surrounded Piestoff, also he didn’t seem to drool quite so much now. In fact Piestoff’s standing with his fellow taxi drivers had gone up no end when a few days before four Trollian gangsters had tried to rob a fellow driver.
Piestoff had been first to arrive to help out when the Alpha call had gone out. (An Alpha call was a quick and polite way of saying. “Help, some no good low life is trying to bash out my brains and the police take an hour to turn up while thirty taxis are there in half that time with various tools to cause damage to the little shits”).
Poodles had gone through the gang of eight foot Trollians, and had them begging for mercy within thirty seconds. After that they had paid their intended victim the fare owed plus a large tip for the stress caused and the word was out. Don’t mess with the Sloppystool taxi drivers, they’ve got a new weapon to protect them. For the first time Piestoff was accepted by the other drivers and Control even started to give him the odd good job.

Piestoff had been taxi driving for about two years before he was finally considered experienced enough for working the planet Hardstool. It was always a gamble, your first job on Hardstool; you either did the job and got paid or you got a memorial plaque at the office. Piestoff though had fitted right in with the locals, a shared love of junk food and strong drink bridging the cultural gap. Hardstool was a terraformed planet that had been colonized by humans, mainly the New Lothians. The old Highlanders of Scotland had moved into exile after Scotland became a giant amusement park centred around Loch Ness. A large aquatic beast was imported from some distant planet that acted as the legendary monster. This beast soon hunted down and killed the shy and secretive real Nessy. The Highlanders soon settled into their new home on Hardstool and now produced the finest Scotch whiskey in the universe, just as Sloopystool produced the finest Brazilian coffee.

The planet was more run by street gangs than anyone else and the most feared of them was 'The Ladies’ Darts Team.' This gang consisted of Claire and Mary the six foot muscle, Stacey and Debs and finally the leader, the four foot Killashandra. They ran the largest protection racket on the planet but as they were always drunk they hired taxis when they went out collecting. Killashandra was unique in New Lothian society as she didn’t like the taste of whiskey. This was normally a hanging offence. By the age of sixteen, though, she had over forty sporrans nailed to her door frame from people who had tried to place a noose over her head, so the matter was dropped and never mentioned again.
The girls were regular customers with the taxi firm but now always asked for Piestoff. This was so Claire could play with Poodles. The first time they had met she had held him down and put a pink ribbon in his hair. Poodles was so scared after that he now sat still and let her. For Piestoff the street gang had become the closest thing to friends he had known since Nifty had gone. The girls liked him because he would match them drink for drink and was the only person ever to win a drinking contest against Stacey, when after four days of drinking he had challenged her to drink a double shot of his special recipe chilli sauce. Stacey had woken up two days later unable to speak because of the burns in her mouth.
But like all good things in Piestoff’s life, just as he started to get used to them, things would go wrong.
Now Piestoff was parked around the corner from the bar "The Wembley Goal Posts." An odd name, but Debs had explained it was named after a daring raid by Scottish patriots in the late 20th century where they had looted the posts from under the noses of their old enemy the English. Looking through his mirror he saw the girls stagger around the corner. He started to lower the rear door ramp as the girls broke into a run. Pretty soon a large angry mob of kilted Highlanders also rounded the corner giving chase. Piestoff was starting to take off as the last of the girls jumped onto the ramp. Pressing the ramp lift button he shot into the traffic two hundred feet above. Killashandra slumped into the chair next to Piestoff breathing heavily.
"Thanks, Piestoff, you’ll never guess what that daft cow’s done?" She jerked her thumb in the direction of Stacey who had already lit up a cigarette. "She’s only gone and nicked the Wembley goal post!”
Piestoff looked blankly first at Killashandra then Stacey who sheepishly pulled a three foot section of white post from behind her back.
"The actual Wembley goal post, it’s priceless, we’re rich." She slurred.
"We’re dead you daft cow, everyone on Hardstool will be after us now." Killashandra repied.
Piestoff felt pressure build on the cork in arsehole number three; if Killashandra was worried then Piestoff was scared.
"Where to now?" he stammered.
"Head for Starbase Maxwell please, I need time to work out how we live to see tomorrow." Killashandra said.
Piestoff jumped lanes causing a minor collision behind him as he headed off into the upper orbit. It wouldn’t take long for word to get out, so Piestoff wanted to be off planet quick.
Starbase Maxwell was one of two deep space trading posts where deep space ships would constantly be passing through. As Piestoff came into sight of it he noticed two things, firstly there were three large Ick dreadnoughts moored at the station and secondly there was the unmistakable black custom starship of the Ick playboy leader, Wickede. The Ick were the only people able to withstand the advance of the Earth coffee houses, and now stood as the only independent group of any worth in the whole universe. They didn’t have the coffee bean but what they did have was the best technology and ship designs. The dreadnought was the most powerful ship in space; it was a nuclear missile compared to everyone else’s hand grenade.

Killashandra pointed to a spare docking bay next to the Ick starships. "Drop us off there, Piestoff." She looked over her shoulder. "Make yourselves lovely girls. I’ve got a great plan."

Piestoff set back off towards Hardstool with a large tip and the white post secured in the hold. Life wasn’t as short as it had been ten minutes ago but it wouldn’t be as much fun. Again Piestoff was getting left behind, but Killashandra refused to put him in any more danger despite his pleading to go with them. As he started his final approach towards Hardstool the proximity alarm on his taxi went off. Not knowing where the threat came from he covered his head with his arms, which all things considered was totally pointless. Looking through his fingers he saw the black Ick starship pass him by, quickly followed by a police pursuit ship. The Ick ship flirted with the upper atmosphere of Hardstool in a display that caused flames to shoot along its length and its hull to glow red before executing a ninety degree turn and shooting off into space and jumping to light speed. Piestoff fought to control his taxi as it was buffeted by the cosmic waves caused by the ship’s jump to light speed. Finally gaining control he saw the police pursuit ship had suffered the same fate as his ship. He quickly flipped the switch of his radio to the police scanner channel.
"...Jumped to light speed guv. We lost em."
"OK, we’ll put out an all point on the stolen ship. Now, find that taxi that dropped them off." Police Control ordered.
Piestoff decided life was going to be very short again.As the pursuit ship turned around to face him, the pressure on his corks began to build.

Well that's it for another day, thanks for reading.
All images are my own work.