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Driving Lessons Chapter 46 The Man with the Golden Poncho
"I just saw a dragon."
"I think you're drunk."
"I think he's drunk."
These words were spoken by Pru, then Den then Pru who nodded at Mr K, who in turn was still trying to get some sense out of them. He was failing.
"You will leave me no choice but to torture you…" Mr K said.
"God, you're already doing that, mate. This place is the pits and no alcohol! What's going on?"
"Is that my bruder there?" Prussia nodded at the tv screens showing various Nations. "Are you in love with him? He ain't gay you know."
"Actually, sorry to tell you, but he is. With Italy. They go on date nights together," Den said.
"That's a lie!" Pru yelled.
Den was watching the TV screens though, "This is great. What channel is this on? Those two goobers there kill me. They look just like Berwald and Tino."
"It is Berwald and Tino, you idiot. He's spying on the other Nations. Did you have a camera on us?" Pru asked Mr K.
Mr K shook his head, "You're not important enough," he said crushingly.
Den nodded, "Yeah, I wouldn't watch us either."
"There's Miss Double D!" Pru yelled.
Mr K winced. They were both giving him an headache.
"Now all we need is some popcorn and a close-up of Miss Double D doing some more of those chest expanding exercises that she does in a morning… so I heard…" Pru was saying. He saw Den's look and added quickly, "Hey, it's only what I heard. Don't forget I used to live at fat Russkie's house and she stayed over sometimes. I don't have a crush on her! I really don't!"
"Hey I'm not here to judge!" Den retorted.
Mr K turned to his henchmen, "We'll start the torture," he said in a sinister voice - in a slight Canadian accent, which sounded frankly odd.
"I still can't believe she left my employ," England was still moaning.
"Will you put a sock in it?" America said.
"Oui, I agree with l'Amerique. Put a sock in ze mouth, mon cher."
"I'm really not listening to anyone wearing such awful shorts," England replied.
All three Nations, along with King Henry, who slouched along beside England, were sneaking along a corridor.
"We need a gun," America hissed.
"I don't think we need anything…" England said, looking around. "Where are all the guards?" he raised an eyebrow at France.
"Zay cannot party like moi," France said with a shrug.
"Indeed."
They halted at a corner with England in front and all bumped into him. "Will you all just back off?" he hissed. "Honestly, I can tell you lot weren't trained in the Special Forces like me."
"Special is right," America said in a bored voice. "Can we get a move on? It's almost lunchtime."
"Do you not want to rescue leetle Gilbert and young Matthias?" France asked. (For some reason, France, seeing himself as 'Big Brother France' although nobody ever called him that, took it upon himself to often call the other Nations by their human names.)
America thought about this, "I'd like to say yes. But yer know what? I really need some food, otherwise I think I'm gonna faint."
"Oh my God! Can you think about something other than your bloody stomach for a while? It's all of what? Six hours? Since your last meal?"
"Six hours?" America looked panicky.
"And we need to find Russia anyway," England hissed as they headed down the deserted corridor. "Where is everybody?"
"Well… Zere was Marcel, Tristram and Percival in ze car…" France said, counting them off on his fingers.
"Don't tell me anymore!" England said.
"We partied! I found a nice bottle of Beaujolais…"
"Those poor blokes."
"And zen when zay had passed out I got out and I came in here and found ze canteen. I had a very nice latte with a young man called Peregrine…"
"Those are not real names!" England said suddenly. "What a load of tosh!"
"I got his number, so it must be true!" France suddenly produced a piece of paper with a series of numbers on it.
"That don't look right, Francy-pants." America said, squinting. "Too many numbers. I think you're a big fat fibber." America told him.
"We partied avec Fabian, Maurice and Dave…"
"Ha! You've already used that name. Maurice! As if!" England said.
France looked upset. "I have no idea what you mean. I know you are jealous, mon cher that I am so popular…"
They turned a corner, still no sign of guards. England was wondering if in fact France's story of exhausting the guards by partying was true.
"So I am a hero as well as popular, non?"
"I'm the hero! Tell him, Artie dude!"
"Shut up, both of you!" England said. "If we're caught, Mr Kumajiro won't hesitate to lock us up properly next time. Where's the exit, France?"
France smiled. He was quite pleased that America had been told to shut up and that England was asking him for advice. "I bet if we all walk zis way…" he said and sashayed down the corridor.
"I ain't walking like him. He walks weird," America confided to England.
"We should be going up, I mean up some stairs. We are actually underwater," England told them.
"I think you're a bit mad actually, Artie," America said.
"No, we're under the Thames."
"Really? How would you know?" America asked.
"When Mr Kumajiro questioned me there was a window and we were underwater."
"Like in Thunderball or The Spy Who Loved Me or…"
"Will you shut up about James Bond, besides he was English you know," England said, hoping this would shut America up.
"Scottish," America said.
"What?" England's left eyebrow twitched.
"He was Scottish."
"Here we are. L'ascenseur," France said.
"What?" America asked.
"He means… I don't know. What do you mean, France?"
"Elevator, mes cheries," France said. He took a puff on a French cigarello and blew the smoke in England's face.
"Same as in American," America said, clapping France on the back and shoved his way in. "Just stand back from the middle of the floor."
"In God's name, why?" England sighed, shooting a horrid look at France and coughing. There was a 'no smoking' sign on the lift wall. Apparently, villainous polar bears had to abide by Health and Safety in the Workplace guidelines.
"Because the floor might just give way any moment and we'll be plunged down in a shaft and into a shark infested pool," America said and stood at the edge of the compartment. He pressed all of the buttons hopefully.
England stood resolutely in the middle of the floor and glared around him.
"You are a hero, mon cher," France said.
"Don't bloody touch me, and stop blowing your French smoke in my bloody face," England said.
"Ooh lala!"
"Shut up men! We're here and it's time to kick ass and find a MacFlurry!" America said as the elevator/lift stopped.
"And Russia…" England reminded him.
"Oh yeah and him."
Whilst England, America and France (and King Henry) were not rescuing anyone other than themselves and also not finding Russia, Prussia and Denmark were being tortured…
"Aaaaargh! This is terrible! Stop stop!" Den yelled.
"I take everything back! I'll tell you anything you want! Just stop!" Pru shouted.
Mr K nodded and held up a hand to his henchmen to stop the horrid torture.
Pru and Den slumped in the chairs.
The beer pooled around their feet. Two large beer barrels were now empty.
"You held out longer than I expected," Mr Kumajiro said with a hint of respect.
"That was awful. You're horrible, you are." Denmark said. He was about to say he was going to 'tell on' Mr K to Finland and Sweden but bit back his tongue.
"Ja, all that beer... Wasted…" Pru choked back tears.
Mr Kumajiro nodded, "It was necessary," he said.
The henchman lifted another beer barrel up.
"Nein! No more! Don't pour any more out! We'll tell you everything!" Pru said desperately.
Mr K smiled and nodded. He jumped onto his swivel chair, his small legs swinging and waved a paw at them, "Proceed, tell me where the key to the shed is."
"Ah right… when we said everything…" Pru began to say.
Mr K gave a wave at his henchmen who picked up a beer barrel.
"Noooooo!" Pru and Den both shouted.
"We do know where it is!" Den said.
"We do?" Pru said. He looked doubtful.
Den gave him a knowing look, "Ja! You remember?"
Pru thought about it. "Oh ja, now I do!" he said looking at the beer barrels. It had been terrible to see beer being poured away like that. If he'd thought Mr Kumajiro was villainous before, he certainly did now.
"Ja! Perhaps a mug of beer will help us as well?" Den said.
"You get beer when I get answers," Mr K said.
Pru and Den exchanged looks.
"It's in England's underwear drawer," Pru said confidently.
"Ja!" Den agreed. "Now where's that beer?" he added hopefully.
"We checked. You are wrong," Mr K said.
"Jeez… you went in England's undies drawer?"
"We will risk anything to get that key," Mr K told them ominously.
"I can't imagine anything worse than Arthur's undies drawer," Den said.
"Francis' undies drawer?" Pru countered.
"Blimey."
"Where is it?" Mr K said and nodded again at his henchmen.
"Wait! I know I know!" Den yelled. He would have put his hand up but his hands were tied behind his back to the chair.
Pru shushed him and thought hard and then he had an idea. A good one of course. After all he was the most Awesomest Nation that ever existed. He was looking at the range of TV screens. "It's not where the key is that I can tell you, it's who has it now…" he said mysteriously.
Mr K stopped whizzing round and round on his swivel chair and looked at him, "Go on, I'm listening." This kind of made sense. After all, he knew that the tea-obsessed Coronation Street addict was a crafty bastard. It wouldn't surprise him if the key to the most powerful weapon known to man (or Nation) had been given to a fellow Nation for safe-keeping. He didn't believe that England didn't know where it was. SLAPARSE had warned Mr K that they couldn't rely on the meglomaniac superpowers to start the Apocalypse (or Armacopalypse as England and America had called it) and that they would have to do it themselves.
Pru smiled and looked at the TV screens showing the various Nations going about their business.
Den held his breath.
"England gave it to the one person he knew you would never suspect…"
"I wonder where I did put that key?" England ruminated.
"We don't care," America said as they walked along. They were now out of the 'lair', having argued over and over about the exit, America wondering if there was a 'gift shop', France pausing long enough to find some men's loos and look at his hair, and were trying to hail a taxi.
"Do you have any money?" England asked.
"Me?" America looked startled. "English money?"
"Seeing as we're in London, yes."
"Nope."
Suddenly there was a terrible rumbling, like distant thunder coming closer.
"Quick get some shelter, this is it! It's war. It sounds like bombers. I thought we had more time. I thought…" England was saying, shoving America and France down an alley.
"Woah! It's my stomach! I'm hungry!" America said, grabbing England. "Stop panicking, dude."
"You compete knob."
"Why? It's not my fault, I haven't eaten in hours and hours…" America looked close to fainting.
But France was swooning, "Arthur! Mon cher! You would have saved my life! You do love me!"
"No I don't."
"He didn't, you daft Frenchie. He thought it was a bomber. It was my stomach!" America said as if talking to an imbecile. "Tch! Europeans." He strode off. "Where's the nearest McDonalds?"
England growled to himself. This was intolerable. "We need to go to the Airport."
"Good idea! I bet there's a McDonalds or a KFC there!"
"No, that's where we left Russia!"
"Liz has it," Pru said eventually.
"Hungary?" the polar bear looked at him.
Den also looked at him and was about to say something that he was indeed 'hungry' but then decided not to.
"Ja. Hungary has the key. So go on your way, little polar bear and leave us in that cell with that nice beer. We'll look after it. Make sure it doesn't come to any more harm."
Mr K gave him a hard stare. He turned to his henchmen, "You two, go to the Hungarian Embassy and get Miss Hungary and bring her here."
Den's hair, already on end, stood up even more on end, "Really? You're just gonna go get Liz? Wow. She'll kick your heads in."
"We are not afraid of her," Mr K said.
"We are," Pru said. "She kicked my arse once. Me! She threatened me in my bed once cos I stole Austria's Silesia."
The henchmen hesitated. They looked worried. One of them said to Mr K, "Sir? Perhaps you should come with us? She sounds crazy… And besides the top boss will destroy us all if we get this wrong."
Pru and Den exchanged glances. Who was this 'top boss'?
Mr K sighed, "Oh alright. If I want something done properly I'd better do it myself…" he jumped off his chair. "Besides she likes me and she won't kick my arse."
"Ja, she doesn't like us," Den said.
But Mr K and his henchmen were already out of the door.
"Wait! What about us? You can't leave us here!" Pru yelled.
"They didn't even leave us the beer and they promised!" Den said. He looked close to tears.
Pru would have hugged him but they were still tied up.
The Sock Shop, Heathrow Airport…
The teenage boy stood at the counter was still recovering from the events of the night before. He tried to get the echoes of 'kolkolkol' out of his head. Some men in dark suits, saying they were from the Security Services had questionned him and he'd been offered counselling with a specialist psychotherapist who dealt with 'civilians who'd had the misfortune to get embroiled in Nations' shenanigans or in Secret Service speak 'muggles'.
The boy, called 'Nigel' was just putting on his lanyard when three people skidded into the shop.
One, an American dressed as a Beefeater with a long furry tail sticking out of the seat of his trousers was skidding up and down looking for a 'fat Russkie', a Frenchman wearing just pink lurex shorts and who looked drunk began trying on ponchos. An Englishman with wild blond hair, who looked on the edge of reason, approached the counter.
"Excuse me, young man?" England asked 'Nigel', "I don't suppose you've seen our friend?"
"He's not our friend!" America called. He was rummaging around the back and holding up various socks of different hues.
"He's about this height," England raised his hand above his head, "Has blond hair, is quite big, speaks with a Russian accent…"
The boy went pale and began trembling, "He was here. He tried on all the socks. He got a bit aggressive…"
"Yes, that sounds like him," England said glumly. "What happened?"
"I called for security…"
"And then…?"
"Ponchos!" France suddenly yelled in ecstasy, breaking the mood. He had put on a lurid yellow poncho and was twirling around orgasmically. "This is gorgeous non? To protect me from ze horrid English rain." (England thought he looked like a burst boil.)
"Please don't ring for security!" England said desperately when he saw the boy reach for the panic button under the counter. "They're not dangerous, just idiots. Can you tell me what happened?"
"He got tasered but he just got angrier. It was really scary," the boy stammered. "I'm not sure what happened then, they all left…"
England nodded, "Come on, you blokes. We have to go and find Russia… I mean… er Ivan!"
"Superman socks! Hell yeah!" America slammed his Bank of America credit card onto the counter. "We'll take these and that poncho for my weird gay friend."
England tried to ignore America, "So he ran out of here with the security chasing him?" England asked the boy. He could just imagine the scenario.
The boy nodded, taking America's card and putting the purchases in a bag. France insisted on wearing his poncho. He looked ridiculous in England's eyes. Was this the latest in French haute couture?
England ran out of the shop, then ran back in, "Come on!" he yelled to America and France who were 'dallying'. "We have only 12 hours to save the earth from annihilation!"
'Nigel' took out his mobile phone and rang the number on the card the Security Services had given him. "Hello?" he asked. "Is that the office for Counsellor Von Edelstein? Can I book a session for psychotherapy?"
"He's all booked up!" the voice on the other end of the phone told him.
England hurried down an escalator, looked across to see America going down an 'up' escalator. He wondered vaguely where King Henry was. Their journey to the airport had been a bit of a nightmare in itself: an open-top tour bus and then a train with members of the public had been a lesson in not travelling with half-naked French Nations and excitable Americans. America had posed several times with tourists in his Beefeater costume, telling anyone who would listen that he was indeed a guard at the Tower of London and that it was 'awesome' when the Queen had knighted him. All tosh of course and England wondered if America had been smoking weed.
Thankfully, though, Alfred had not twigged yet that he had acquired a tail. England was going through his 'mind palace' (or actually two-bedroomed terraced house with back yard) for the spell that would get rid of said tail. He also wondered if he could surreptitiously get his wand out and do a spell that could summon Russia. He'd done it before but not in an airport. It might be easier. He had no idea at all where Russia could be.
He hurried up to an airport security guard, "Excuse me, I'm looking for my friend," he said.
"That one there?" the man asked.
Arthur turned round to see France who was dreamily eating from a Ben and Jerry's icecream tub. He wondered how on earth the Frenchman (and the American for that matter) could eat at a time like this. "Not that one. A big Russian. I think there was an altercation yesterday. A misunderstanding…" England said quickly.
"Oh yes?" the man looked at him suspiciously. Too suspiciously, England thought. He wondered if perhaps he'd said the wrong thing. His suspicions were proven correct when the man began speaking into his two-way radio.
England grabbed France and his icecream and pulled America away from a gaggle of Americans heading for the departure gate (Alfred was telling them how everything in London was old, broken and small and that he was only staying there because he was looking after his senile relative).
"What's the rush, Artie dude?" America asked England.
"Come on!" England said and for the second time in less than 24 hours they ran out of the airport, closely followed by airport security.
"I could be a decoy!" France said, waving his plastic spoon in the air.
England considered this. France was very good at putting off possible pursuers. He would rather not ask how. It probably involved shedding of clothes and drinking alcohol. But there was no need as England found himself together with France unceremoniously dumped into an airport baggage trolley by America and hurtled, literally, out of the concourse and at a breakneck speed flung onto the side of the Inner Ring Road that looped around the airport. This gave prospective travellers the unforgettable sight of a man in a Beefeater costume with a long furry tail pushing a luggage trolley containing a man with wild eyes screaming his head off and another individual wearing nothing but a yellow poncho and pink shorts, eating a Ben and Jerrys ice cream (flavour unidentified).
England's long and often boring life flashed before his eyes. He was about to die before he'd even had his morning cup of tea…