Any Ancient Port Wall In A Storm

An early stroll through the dark heart of the Underbelly is certain to reveal all manner of things that you would barely notice in the evening or late at night when you’re too busy watching your back. It is becoming quite clear to me that the residents of this backward backwater on the whole, don’t do mornings. The gutters are lined with chip wrappers and stringy lettuce from half eaten kebabs. Chili sauce and pyloric acid burns through the paint that makes up the road markings whilst Zac has to negotiate his way around the pools of smashed pint glasses. Being an ancient port town, the Underbelly has an ancient port wall. Once this solid giant hugged the entire town and castle but now it is broken up and interlaced with trunk roads, dry cleaners and value supermarkets. We follow the remnants of the broken stone and count the hair salons. The quiet walk forced me to think about recent events. In truth I was just looking forward to a day where I didn’t happen to either, discover a dead body, witness anyone being turned into a dead body, or slide around in the entrails of a dead body. The trouble was stacking up like badly made pancakes. No-one had mentioned to Beth as yet that her sister was probably the size of blimp and currently floating off into the Atlantic. This was largely my fault since I myself had plenty of opportunities to tell her; somehow I just didn’t feel it was my place, even though I was possibly the only one alive who knew. And there was the other worry; Ray and Mike. I hadn’t necessarily imagined the worst when I saw the stricken golf buggy; I supposed they had dumped it there and legged it, but where to? My worry increased with the town’s disproportional interest in the event. The fact that the stolen buggy had made the front pages of the local paper for one thing seemed more than strange. More sensational things appeared to happen in the Underbelly on an hourly basis. Why was finding it such a priority? Surely Beth would have revealed the buggy’s location by now?

I had stopped and was admiring an enthralling piece of graffiti decorating one of the more complete sections of the ancient port wall. The artist had used the subtle tones and shades of the stone to create a face in the contours using grey and black aerosol. The powerful result was an evil three dimensional face and due to its location alongside the main road into the Underbelly, served as a perfect introduction for visitors.

“Do you like it?” Why were people always coming up behind me? It was Beth. I did a quick mental calculation as to her current appearance. It tuned out to be pointless as usual. Beth was now blonde with her hair tied back in two tiny pigtails. She was wearing an exotic lime green t-shirt and artic camouflage pants.

“It’s very apt.”

“Did you tell anyone about the buggy?” I shook my head since she’d got straight to the point. “We’d better go.”

The buggy was exactly where we had first found it; face down in the flooded quarry. Our tracks on the steep slope had also remained in tact. “Good it’s still here” Said Beth breathing heavily, “We do have one problem though.”

“What’s that then?”

“One of us is gonna have to get wet.” Beth put on her best smiley grimace.

“And let me guess…you can’t swim?”

Beth put her hands in her pockets, swiveled her hips from side to side and gave me her cutest look.

“I’m not falling for that. What are we looking for anyway?”

“Who knows? I’m guessing that someone at the Club wants this buggy back for some reason other than the fact that they have a big demand for them at the moment.”

“Perhaps you should go for a closer look.” I tutted and carefully edged down the gravel slope towards the water. The back end of the buggy was on dry land at a perilous angle. I was worried that any movement would send the thing crashing to the bottom of the artificial lake. The front, the portion I was interested in was entirely submerged.

“Why don’t you climb in the back?” I looked round. Beth folded her arms obviously feeling the cold of my returning glare. I kicked off my shoes and socks and prepared to look less than manly as I anticipated the Baltic chill. I didn’t get the chance. Beth shout whispered. “There’s someone coming, hurry!” It was now or never. I lurched towards the front of the submerged buggy and unexpectedly found myself waist deep in water after only one step. I held onto its bulkhead to support my weight as I fumbled under the water with my right hand for anything, a glove box, a golf bag, who knew? There was nothing. I could see that Beth had begun to wander back up to the top of the slope towards the ever reluctant Zac, obviously in an attempt to head off any interlopers. I was contemplating whether I dare to commit any more weight to the buggy to extend my reach when I felt the first signal that I had already committed too much. My feet gave way forcing me to spin into the cabin of the buggy as it trundled at speed underwater headlong towards the bottom.