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Toffee Nose, Bluenose, Fuck Knows – Settlers of Catalan II: “The two yutes…”

Marcus walked down the dilapadated halls of the training ground building. It was almost a shack, with uneven flooring and cracks in the walls. This was Joan Gaspar’s glorious revolution? It stank, thought Marcus as he went to unlock the door to his office. Only to find the door was slightly ajar. Burglars? Impossible, Marcus considered, it was the kind of office that people would break into to leave stuff behind.

Marcus pushed the door open gingerly, only to see a man bound to his chair with a black bag over his head. Manu? asked Marcus, expecting his Head of Youth Development Manu Vacas there. “No” came a familiar voice. Fucking hell, it’s him again, he thought angrily. What are you doing here, he shouted. “This is no way to greet the Zlatan. On your knees to kiss the feet of a genius is the proper way!” said Zlatan, rising from behind the chair, dressed in an immaculate white suit. “So, you were taking a meeting with Manu were you?” Zlatan asked, questioningly; a malevolent smirk on his face.

Marcus replied that he was supposed to. It was time for the quick report on the youth intake due in April. Zlatan’s smirk grew wider. Marcus wondered if he could make it across the floor quick enough to punch him. Zlatan, as if reading his mind, pulled open his jacket and withdrew a .357 Magnum from his waistband. “The Zlatan knows all. And I will not hesitate to turn you into a bird house” He then pulled the barrel up and began to lick it suggestively.

He withdrew the gun and pointed to the squirming figure bound on the chair. “Sadly, Manu will not be joining us for the meeting. Or, indeed, the rest of his life” He started to turn towards the figure, gun in hand.. NO! yelled Marcus, rooted to the spot. Zlatan stopped, turned back to Marcus with a mystified look on his face. “I said that Manu would not be joining us. And THIS IS WHY!”, whipping off the bag with a flourish.

Sat, squirming in the chair, with what looked like a sock gagging him was Bryan Klug! Marcus recoiled in shock! He was supposed to be in jail! Framed for the crime that led Marcus to this godforsaken place! “Good eh?” said Zlatan. “Manu is currently serving time in San Vittore prison. Bryan is not. As such, he owes us and couldn’t wait to help us in this project!” Bryan’s eyes bulged large as they tracked the path of the gun barrel.

“Here” Zlatan threw a slim folder on the desk. “This is the last thing Manu was working on. Let’s hope you can make silk purses out of these sow’s ears! Open it!” Marcus picked up and opened the folder.

“The Zlatan looked over it. Amateur work. Although it looks promising in some ways. Now, I will leave you. I am entertaining several ladies later and I need my lunges. Adios!” Zlatan holstered his gun, drew a flick knife and cut Bryan’s bonds. He then strutted out of the room, leaving Marcus and a recovering Bryan in the room looking open-mouthed at each other…

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