Saturday 2 November 2019

The Governor and the Jinn

Mason Bushell

honey and lemon; because the author has a cold.

He was known as ‘Dominator’ Doug. He was the Governor around these parts. Although that position had come under threat of late. Sitting in his sweatbox of an office above the warehouse, Doug knew he was running out of time, and needed a plan. A knock on the door, made him groan, some peace and quiet would have been nice too.

“Yeah, what yer want?” he called in a gravelly voice.

“It's us, Guv.” answered a man coming in. 

“Ah, Jonesy, Slick an’ Ton, what yer got to tell me?” Doug knitted his fingers on the desk before him, showing a thick gold ring on his finger.

“The Colt’s are coming, Guv.” Ton pounded his large fist into his hand. “Can we smash ‘em?” 

“Yeah, let us kill some of ‘em, to show we mean business.” Slick leant against the wall and flicked a coin into the air. 

“What's that you got there?” Doug put out a hand. 

“Just a coin, Guv.” Slick handed to him. To defy him was never a wise move. Doug saw the features of a horned demon surrounded with fire upon the coin. 

“Well, this is right nice. Must be worth some decent nicker, I bet. Don’t mind if I keep it, do yer?” he said. 

“Nah, it's yours, Guv.” Slick looked sad at the loss of his coin. “What about the bloody Colts.” 

“You lot, go down them stairs, and make sure they can’t get on the premises, alright.” 

“We want guns,” requested Jonesy. 

“Yeah, guns, Guv.” Agreed Ton looking like a murderous bulldog. 

“Let me see to that. You just buy me time, alright. Now get out, the lot a yer.” Doug pointed to the door. 

Once he was alone, he took up the coin. Could it buy him a few guns? It sure looked valuable. He read the incantation, etched around the demon, then thrust it on the desk. Taking a picture on his phone he used the image search function and learned it was a talisman. It had barely registered when the room grew hot and took on an orange glow.

“You sum- Ah - Ah -Achoo!” the sneeze was so violent that it sent warehouse paperwork billowing across the room. “Bloody hell. When was the last time you dusted this place?” 

“Who’s there? Come out where I can see yer.” Doug rose with a sizeable combat knife in his hand. “I never dust my office. I’m the governor, not the bloody maid.”

“I’m up here, and you summoned me, you lazy git.” The Jinn stepped around a cardboard box. At five inches tall it was bigger than he. The granite-like little man was naked save for his khaki shorts, and red sunglasses in his fiery ginger hair. “Now, put that knife down, before you cut yourself, you bloody idiot.” 

“Oi, I told you, I’m the governor around here. Not you, get it?” 

“Well, you summoned me. So, shut up, and govern me. I want to get back to my relaxation if you don’t mind.” The Jinn folded his arms and looked expectant. 

“You’re a genie, are you?” Doug saw the little man nod and sneered. “Yeah, good. I want guns, big guns.”

“Guns? What do you want guns for?” 

“I want my fellas to blow some ugly faces off. Yer know? To show them, Colts, who’s in charge around here.” Doug sneered and chuckled at the thought. 

“Oh, brother.” The Jinn slapped a hand to his face. “Six-thousand-years humans have been on this planet, and still they want to walk around blowing peoples faces off like it’s a gentlemanly sport or something.” The Jinn put on a feminine voice. ‘Come on kids, let's go out and blow our neighbours faces off. That be really fun won’t it, boys?” 

“Think yer funny, do yer?” Doug wiped his nose with a forearm, his smile gone. 

“You’d think, that by now some of you brainless morons would have learned about a nice friendly bit of diplomacy.”

“Bugger diplomacy, they want to kill me. Can yer get me guns, or what?” Doug stepped around his desk and approached the Jinn. The little man looked up to him and shrugged.

“Sure, you want some C4, so you can blow their into orbit, too?” The Jinn rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, good idea.” 

“Huh, your boys would probably blow this building up, with them still inside it. You want to end up wearing your warehouse rather than working in it, do you?” 

“Shut up, and get me the goods.” 

“Fine.” The Jinn shook his head, then snapped his fingers. A large crate appeared in mid-air, hovered for a second then crashed down, flattening the desk and destroying the computer monitor in a shower of sparks. “Bugger, sorry about that,” the Jinn held a sheepish figure for a moment.

“That’s alright, just fix it.” 

“Will do.” the Jinn gestured, making the box move aside. Then repaired the desk with further hand movements. 

“Nice.” Doug went to the door. “Fella’s get up here, now.” 

One-hour later, Doug and his men stood at the warehouse gates. Each man armed with a large and deadly M4 Carbine machine gun. Beyond the gates, stood twelve leather jacket-wearing Colts. Their boss (Biceps) Billy stood before them flexing with large arms with a menace about him.
“Hey Dominator, ready to give me your land, or your life?” 

“Gent bent, Biceps. One step closer and we’ll blow yer faces off.” Doug beckoned him forward. He wanted to fight, to end this while he had the weapons to succeed.

“You sure, you can do that? Those incompetent fools probably don’t even know where the triggers are.”

“Shut yer face, and come get some then.” Doug smacked his chest with aggression.

“Huh, really. Old Slicky there probably couldn’t shoot the broad side of a bank van, if he were an inch away from it.” Biceps laughed showing his yellowed teeth.

“That’s it, let me blow him away, Guv.” Slick bristled as he clicked the safety off his gun. 

“That’s what he wants. Just hold yer temper.” Doug faced Biceps. “This land has belonged to me and my fellas for decades. What gives you the right to take it from me?” 

“Simple. You ain’t got the balls to stop me.” 

“That’s it. Let em have it, boys.” Doug pointed forward and crouched as his men clicked their carbines into action, unleashing a cloud of bubbles upon their opponents.

“What the hell is this, Dominator? You planning a foam party.” Biceps laughed. “Colts, bring these losers to their knees.” His signal had his men draw stiletto knives as they charged through the gates. The moment they crossed into the warehouse grounds it happened. Each man found himself holding a bunch of roses instead of his blade.  

“Look out, boys, they’ll bend their knees and propose, in a minute,” Doug retorted as Ton seized two men and sent them flying into piles of pallets and crates with ease. “Go or Ton will destroy all your men with his bare hands.” 

“Retreat, Colts. You win this round, Dominator. However, we’ll be back to end you” Biceps made a rude gesture and ran down the street, his men right behind him. 

“And stay out,” yelled Jonesy. 

“Alright, fellas. Get inside. We’ll have a toast to our victory.” Doug made to follow. Instead, he saw the Jinn sat on a low roof. Bubbles billowing from a pipe he was smoking. “I s’pose yer think that was funny?”

“I’m forever blowing bubbles,” sang the Jinn.  

“Shut yer face, and give me real weapons next time, Jinn.” 

“Wasn’t this better though, no deaths, no extreme violence. They even brought you roses.” The Jinn floated down to stand on a pallet level with the mob boss. He was grinning from ear to ear, he’d had fun even if nobody else had. 

“No, it bloody wasn’t. When they come back, I want bazookas, grenades, and miniguns. I command you to make it happen.” Doug pointed a finger at the Jinn. “Don’t cross me again, Jinn.” 

“Ugh, when was the last time you clean these finger-nails. Looks like you have a rubbish tip under each one.” The Jinn smiled, vanished and reappeared on the gate post. “Now do I want to be responsible for London becoming a crater when you boneheads go all apocalyptic?” he mused. 

“Stop insulting me, and get me the weapons, Jinn.” 

“Nope, nope definitely not.” The Jinn vanished leaving the word. ‘Be diplomatic, you bloody idiot.’ Sparkling in the air.

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