Thurs 24th August 2000
My plan today was to sit in the office and work out every last fine detail of what I’m gonna do when I’m inside the Queens Legs tomorrow. I’ve gotta slip in undetected, get what I want, then pull out fast! It’s such a great plan, I’m almost giddy with excitement because it is gonna feel great doing it, even though someone like me shouldn’t have to go into such a shit hole. God my family don’t deserve me and my brilliance. After yesterday I almost felt like saying bollocks to the pub, bollocks to the lot’em. Let’em roll in the shit they make for themselves, but then I remember that I’m not doing this for them, this is for me. Tomorrow is when my Empire grows like a beautiful flower out of compost. Though it’s quite hard for such a wonderful rose to grow when the shit keeps getting piled on.
Every two minutes there was a knock at the office door. First Curly asking for a hand with the beer delivery (really, would a maid ask a King for a hand serving the dinner?), so I told him not to be so bleedin cheeky and bugger off. Then Miller rung down to the office phone and asked me for some money to make the fat woman in his bed go away (he swore he never knew she was a prossy). I had Clint badgering me every two minutes about his crappy Karaoke contest. He wanted to discuss what sort of ad we should put in the local paper and how we should organize the event. I didn’t have time for his stupid little plans, not when I have a proper master plan to sort out! Then there was Marie. She didn’t knock on my door. In fact she was very quiet today, which worried me even more. All day I saw her on my CCTV, sat huddled in the corner of the pub, but she wasn’t on her own. It seems Marie has a new little friend, a little ginger head lad. White as ice cream, he has the kinda dead blue eyes you would see in a horror film. The sight of the pair of them hunched over a piece of paper finally got the better of me and so I went out to inspect what they were up to. Maria, being as sharp as a vicious cat, quickly noticed me coming and I saw her snatch the paper in front of her, into her fist.
“You two okay?” I kindly asked
“Fuck off spac face” came the charming response from my little sister. Many times I have wondered if I could convince a court that I was not a child abuser if I punched the little fecker in the head, but British justice being what it is I thought I’d best not try my luck and so let her remark go. I turned to the boy and asked him if he would like a drink (best treat him nice, then he can tell his family what a lovely pub his new friends family has). He didn’t say anything; he just seemed to stare at me with pant shitting frightened eyes.
“Come on Macky, we’re going outside now!” my sister shouted to the little boy. She jumped off of her chair and darted out of the front door, with the strange little lad quickly following after her. For the rest of the day I saw the pair on my office CCTV coming in and out of the pub, the whole time Marie’s new friend seemed glued to her side, though he looked like he didn’t actually wanna be anywhere near her. I’ll have to keep an eye on her, cos no one else will. I’m sure she is up to no good.