THE VILLAGE : Part 14 - A Complete Failure to Give a Shit.

This is Newquay, Cornwall. This throbbing tourism hub is full of night clubs, so very popular with English tourists. They come for the nightlife. They stay there because it stinks of piss all summer long and that reminds them of home. Whichever shit hole that is. Locals tend to steer clear of this temporary outdoor toilet preferring to be stabbed by someone they know.

(The copyright for this picture is the property of Visit Newquay. I recommend you don't.)

When she'd signed up to join Stephanie and Sophie's gang she hadn't fully understood what this entailed. Principally because they hadn't explained it to her. The probationary period was all about training it seemed. Dressing down and sensible shoes were a major part as well. Though Darcy had never been unfit she quickly learned she wasn't fit. Not compared to Steph and Soph at least. They ran a lot. Not the pointless jogging stuff. Their's was more akin to parkour except there was far more livestock involved in their version. Thank God she didn't smoke. Today she was learning surveillance. Surveillance with a rural twist. At one end of the village there was a granite outcrop. Known to the locals as The Devils Fist. About sixty feet high and a real bastard of a climb. They'd said there were steps that made it easier. Not mentioning that each of these steps was as least 6 to 8 feet in height and most of them less than 6 inches wide or deep. Half way up Darcy discovered something about herself, that up to now, she'd been unaware of. She was afraid of heights. More particularly dangling off high things.

The three of them settled onto their perch. Darcy still gulping in huge lung fulls of air. Partly the new discovered fear but mainly due to the climb. She rarely climbed more than 2 flights of stairs. Previously there'd been these things called elevators she'd grown accustomed to. This was a whole new level. She chuckled to herself at the pun. Stephanie had been explaining things on the way up. Darcy guessed it was chiefly to keep her mind off the drop. This granite stack was the main reason there was no phone signal. It interfered with radio waves for some inexplicable reason. Not only that, but it interfered with civilian and military radar. There was a shadow here, as such. That explained the nearby air base allegedly. Mostly abandoned now. There were a few RAF personnel remaining and the rumors insisted, US Homeland Security. Not their concern today. They were spying on Michael Penrose. Scanning his property through powerful binoculars. Darcy had never used binoculars before. Today she'd found out what she'd been missing for all these years.

They were actually fun. It seemed the girls, through means that were unclear and unexplained, had sent some evangelists to call on Michael. They needed a birds eye view of the results. Darcy was mildly curious as well. In her minds eye she'd pictured Penrose slaughtering the two unlucky evangelicals, then taking his own life. Not with any malice. It was only that seeing him fetch a shotgun opened up the possibility. She didn't want him dead. Of course she didn't. Or did she? It was hard to know where that man was concerned. Knowing her luck he'd have missed anyway. Her colleagues, unlike Darcy, didn't not like him. Steph was pretty fond of the misanthropic ass. Sophie was a fan of his dark twisted persona. They both assured Darcy he wasn't quite as bad as he appeared. In many ways he was worse. That didn't matter though. Unlike Luke, Michael was from around these parts. He might be an antisocial moaning machine but he was their antisocial moaning machine. They'd discussed this very thing a lot since their first meeting. They talked about it all the while they watched him deal with his visitors.

"I can't help it. Something about him isn't right." Darcy stated.
"Oh there's no arguing with that." Sophie replied. "You could say that about everybody around here though."
"There is no rational explanation. I know he had no intention of kidnapping or harming Emma. That he only confused them with one another due to their having the exact same coat. I can't explain it. I get this strange vibe about him. Like I'm unaware of something and he's laughing at me."
"Maybe it's because you've got the hots for him."
Sophie suggested. Much to Darcy's shock and annoyance.
"No way. He's not my type. That's even supposing that there are women out there he'd be right for."
"What if I told you he was hung like a horse, can lick his own eyebrows and goes like a train?"
"I'd think you were lying and I'd ask how you knew."
"Oh that's easy. Steph here has ridden that rocket to the moon and back. She was all over him like a rash. Ooooo pump me pump me Mr Pumpy. Split me in two my stallion. Fill me with your.. Ow. Did you just flick my ear?" Sophie giggled.
"No." Stephanie replied. "It must be another figment of your sick imagination Sophie. Well he's sent them on their way with a flea in their ear. Mildly disappointing to say the least. We were hoping he'd start punching people. Still those guys don't look very happy. Look they've started arguing."
Darcy and Sophie immediately binocularized the target area. They weren't disappointed.
"Cool. They've started fighting. Well slapping each other anyway."
Sophie commentated. Darcy guffawed.
"See I told you. Something ain't quite right with him. Ten minutes of conversation and two Christians are at each others throats. Don't you feel bad being responsible for that?"
Sophie and Steph looked at one another and shrugged.
"Nope." They chorused giggling.
"Darcy?" Sophie asked cautiously. "Now that we're getting to know one another and we're becoming friends, are you attached to your name? I mean, would you mind changing it."
"Why?"
"Well ya see me and ma colleague, our names begin with S. So we were wondering if you'd be amenable to changing yours to one beginning with S. Like say Susan or Sharon or Sarsaparilla Candycock? Take all the time you need to make up your mind."
"Wait a minute. Tall Girl, her name doesn't begin with an S."
"Yes it does." Stephanie explained. "Her given name is Samantha. A lot of people made the mistake of shortening it to Sam. Sam is a guys name, Tall Girl is all lady. She's regal, refined, ultra feminine, mysterious and became very upset with having anyone call her that. After she'd kicked seven colors of shit out of them it was decided she needed another name. One that nobody would be stupid enough to shorten. It took a while to bed in. Cornish people are very fond of stupid. It's much more fun than clever. It's not compulsory though. You can keep your own name and wait around until butterfly brain here moves onto something else."
"Oh I don't know. I think I'd quite like to be called Sarsaparilla Candycock. It kinda rolls off the tongue."
"Cool." Sophie climbed to her feet. "Now how good are you at abseiling?"
Darcy gave a humorless laugh.
"No idea. Never done it before. Probably never will." She paused as she realized who she was with. "Shit. That's what you meant when you said it was a lot easier getting down."
The young woman winked at her. Picked up a rope, that surely hadn't been there a moment ago, then dived head first off the stack.
"No worries Darce. I'll show you the ropes. Damn that was almost funny in my head."
"Right okay. I can do this. How hard could it be? I can do this right?"
"It's pretty straightforward. You'll be perfectly safe I promise."
"I wish I was as brave and courageous as you two. " Darcy lamented.
Stephanie chuckled.
"Never confuse this with bravery nor with courage Darcy. People round here, we don't do them. I think Michael got it right when he said, it's not heroism or valor. It's a complete failure to give a shit."

How did you explain Doogie and Doidge? The simple answer was, with the utmost care. They lived in a field which believe it or not is fairly common in Cornwall. Three interlinked static caravans, or as the Americans call them, mobile homes or trailers. Their warped morality was essential to St Erile. It's entirely possible that somewhere on their CV's there would be some form of employment. If so it was a lie. They both worked hard though. Harder than the vast majority of wage slaves. At some point there was a slim possibility they'd pay income tax or any other tax, eventually. It was impossible to quantify. As was their turnover. If you checked the companies registry you'd have found their business listed. DooDo Enterprises had existed as a limited liability concern for almost a decade. It even had directors. Who happened to be a sheep a cat and two dogs, if anyone bothered to check. It was all legal and above board although the animal executives were slightly dodgy. Board meetings were a hoot.

The biggest advantage they had over competitors was low overheads. They owned the field and their trailer homes. Their water came from the abandoned Coast Guard station. Their electricity came via about 2 miles of copper cable from the nearest wind turbine. Another advantage they had over their competitors was that there weren't any. They did whatever nobody else in the immediate area did. From repairing leaking roofs to servicing cars and agricultural vehicles. They dug graves and they freelanced plowing fields. Anything to make a crust. They also had a knack of procuring exactly what you required. As long as no questions were asked as to origin. Well you could ask but you'd only get a really long convoluted story that wouldn't explain anything. In fact it would leave you even more confused. Ask too often and it was a distinct possibility you'd lose all grip on reality and end up insane or worse.

As everybody knows the one and only thing worse than being bonkers is being 100% sane. Sanity is not only overrated it is also harmful. All you have to do to understand why this is true is take a look at the world around you. Stop ignoring it and have a good long look. You'll instantly see that things are top down crazy. The kind of crazy that says "Our house is on fire. Let's build a swimming pool" or "That tiger looks very angry. Let's poke it with a pointy stick." Add into this the fact that the powers that be are constantly fixing things that aren't broken and maintaining other things that no longer work, because that's the way it's always been done. If people were actually sane they'd lose their shit every single day as new and ever more ineffective things are done very badly. There'd be a constantly throbbing vein on everyone's forehead. Happiness would become extinct. The lunatics have not only taken over the asylum they've been running it for so many generations they now feel like they are the only ones entitled to. Sanity would be harmful to your mental health.

DooDo Enterprises had encountered a whole lot of timber. Thanks to serendipity and Big Jeff filling them in. Wood was always handy and this stuff was just sitting there. Awaiting removal for destruction. Most of the timbers were at least fifteen feet long, that's almost five meters in new money. They'd very carefully negotiated a contract to remove the debris. A contract that didn't specifically state what was and wasn't debris. The builders might disagree with Doogie and Doidge's definition but they really had no say in the matter. It was all there in black and white. One low loader "borrowed" from a man who wasn't currently using it for anything other than holding the sky up. One truck they were taking on a test drive after maintenance work. Two men working their asses off. Deveraux House needed urgent repairs and this load would go some way towards that. They'd been at it for the best part of four hours. There was at least twice that they still needed to do. All work and no play makes Jack take hostages and start a killing spree. Time for a break.

"What ya up to Doidge?"
Doogie was in the cab of the truck with the door open. Doidge stood at the stack of handy timbers. Notepad in one hand. Pen in the other.
"It's me poems." Doidge replied. "Gettin me metaphors and similes straight. That's half the job so Michael says."
"Do go on." Doogie replied.
"Well see according to Michael a simile is when you say something is like something else. Stephanie's smile is like the sun to me. That's a simile. A metaphor is when you say that one thing is another thing that it isn't really. Like Stephanie's eyes are solar discs lighting the heavens. That's not good but it shows what I mean."
"So what are they for then? These metaphors and similes."
"Yeah I had the same problem at first. Thing is they say stuff in what's like a thing called subtext. Turns out a lot of the poems I been reading are really dirty. Poets don't just come out with hump this and bone that and I can't wait for sex. They comes at it from a different direction. Makes it dirtier but more classy and romantic."
"How's this gonna work then? Cos, correct me if I'm wrong, but you've barely said two words to Stephanie since she came back."
"Oh I said words to her. Only they been hmmm, urg, fnurr and mmmf. I been sayin them a lot."
"You're a smitten kitten then. Been there meself Doidge. There's women can do that to a man. So what's the plan?"
"I ain't got one really. I'm hoping to write me love for her using metaphors. Only not as dirty as them romantic poets. It's pure filth. Every mighty oak that's thrusting ain't a mighty oak, if you get me meaning. Them clouds like pillows is boobs and any cave you can think of is the thing them mighty oaks are wanting to thrust into. I never had a throbbing need before and now I get one all the time I think of this radiant goddess. I feel bad cos she's too good for me. It don't feel right."
"Where did ya hear about throbbing needs Doidge? Not something that comes up in general conversation is it?"
"Been listening to Soph. When she's teasing her friends and that. I'm not worth the sweat in her socks Doogie. I'm dirt compared to Stephanie. Me even being in the same village as her sullies her."
"Hold on there mate. You're the equal of any man I've ever met. Uh you do know Steph's not a v.."
"Yes. That don't make no difference. Oh no that's a double negative. It don't make any difference. That's the kind of mistake I got to avoid if I'm going to write something that's not dog crap."
"So yer constantly thinking about your throbbing oak thrusting into her cavern then?"
"Pretty much. I got a little bit of control over it now. Thanks to poems." A far away look came into his eyes. "She's perfect to me. That raven black hair and her beautiful face. And her body. Oh she's like heroin to me. I got her in my mind Doogie. She shouldn't be in my mind. It's doing things I don't want it to do to her... I do want to do em like but in that special way."
"You mean full on throbbing, thrusting and plunging."
Doidge gave a heartfelt groan.
"Oh no. Me control's gone. I got the.. I'm... Me thing's engorged." Doidge buried his face in his hands. "Now when I see her me head'll be full of swellings and I'll get more tongue tied. Oh no it's fit to burst now. Can't stop meself. Quick Doogie. Give me something to think about other than metaphors and similes. I just thought of two and they're disgusting."
"Hold on pal. I'm here and I'll get you through this." Some doubt set in at this point. "Have ya tried hitting it?"
"It don't work. It only gets angrier."
"Aw shit. You got it bad Doidge." He had an idea. "See all the splinters in that wood Doidge. Look there. That ones like a frigging javelin. Sharp and pointy. And it's headed right for your old man. It could pin it to a wall mate. Imagine that thrusting right up your throbbing. Aw Christ. Don't know about you but mines definitely feeling frightened now. Take a step back from that timber or you'll be permanently deflated."
Doidge slammed his hand on the pile of lumber before him. He let out a sigh of relief.
"That's done it. I think. Mustn't let meself think here, mustn't think. No head pictures except long sharp splinters for me. Well the oak's not throbbing anymore. Thanks for that Doogie. Now I got that in me head I should be alright."
"Good for you my old mate. Proper job as they say round here. Mind you I don't think I'll be able to perform for a while. Them splinters will be in me dreams."
"Sorry. Didn't mean to do that I promise."
"Ah not to worry. Turns out that's what friends are for. Sticking foot long splinters in your dick. Who'd of thought it. Right buddy back to work. No rest for the wicked. Thank fuck for that at least."