Arnold the Newt 2: The Case of the Camden Drug Dealers

Arnold the Newt awoke , rubbing his sleepy eyes to the chorus of sea gulls.  Not unusual in itself, but what was unusual was the sound of the sea crashing against the shore. An uncommon sound in an inland city alley way I think you’ll agree. Feet getting wet Arnold took the plunge and despite fearing the worst opened his eyes.  Dressed in his best indie tatty suit he was indeed laying on a pebble beach on a grey winters day, the tide lapping his shoe less feet and damp trouser legs.  Bleary eyed he looked around and saw a scribbled note poking out his trouser pocket.

Dude,

That really escalated didn’t it – sorry man.  Don’t head to any pub or club south of Birmingham  for a bit.  They’ve pub watched yo’ ass good.  Hilarious.

Anyway sorry again dude,

Laters,

Carlos

Alone, hung over and shoeless Arnold fished in vain for an undeniably moist phone from his pocket as he walked off the beach toward the seaside town of … (do you know?  It would help him greatly).  The nearest paper showed that yesterday had been a Saturday, and so  by awesome powers of deduction Arnold was almost 100% sure today was Sunday.  Walking through the quiet high street of …. (honestly, any ideas?) the locals eyed him with a curious mix of fear and anger (fanger?).  Luckily he still had a wallet and money and used finely tuned pub senses to find a fine establishment serving breakfast.

Sir leave now or I’ll call the police, you’re pub watched!

Ordinarily Arnold would use his powers of reason to get around this small obstacle to deliciousness but this bar lady was holding a baseball bat.  Staggering away in shock and sadness he literally fell onto the train station and saw a train back to Wickham-under-Seige, mostly intrigued how he’d ended up starting the night in said town and was now in Dover but also slightly worried it might end like ‘In Bruge’ with someone stopping the train and arresting him for hitting a Canadian.  Pulling himself sleepily from his seat as the train rolled into  Wickam-under-Seige Arnold headed home.  Wading through a sea of incredulous and curious glances he went home, got shoes and headed straight for Carlos, the little abandoning nob-end, with the determination of a sugar starved fat kid.

Armed with new shoes Arnold stormed the whole 30 seconds to Carlos’s flat.  The scene that confronted him upon arrival was frankly horrifying.  A made bed and a clean floor; who had the gag reflex control to do this – a monster!  Sitting on the bed in the midst of this chaos was a note helpfully labelled ‘RANSOM NOTE please read’.

To whom it may concern,

Carlos and a newt accomplice have burnt down our Dover drug den worth in excess of £50.  We’re not really arsed about the place, but you know it’s the principle of the thing.  You want to see Carlos alive?  Come to Camden Market with something awesome and we’ll talk!

Clyde the henchman

Angry at Carlos for leaving him still, Arnold returned home for a nap, disturbed  that he vaguely missed the feel of pebbles and sea water.  Several hours later he was up, after a shower and breakfast which he stretched out for three hours (impressive right?!) finally had nothing better to do than go after Carlos.  Arnold clambered onto the first train to London and sat deep in thought at what ‘something awesome’ might be.  Traversing London Bridge station and the Northern Line Arnold was soon facing the rabbit warren that is Camden Market.  He wandered aimlessly, being offered Chinese food and Indian food samples at every corner – and weed which was on his ‘impress a drug dealer shopping list’:

Arnold’s shopping list:

A fajita the size of a head

A pint of Round Boy’s Ruin cider

A Bob Marley throw

Eventually with these in hand Arnold set about tracking down the dealers.  Given the illegal nature of their trade and the unhelpful lack of directions you’d think it would be a challenge.  But no, luckily for Arnold there were posters advertising them everywhere, complete with an elaborate and well crafted map.  Following the map to a seedy looking night club complete with boarded up windows and a bouncer the size of a house. Arnold was thinking they might as well have a neon sign above the place (they did, it was broken) when his thoughts were rudely interrupted by the huge bouncer grabbing him and dragging him through a side door practically invisible under the night sky.  Bundled up stairs through a cloud of big beats and dark synths Arnold ended up in an imposing office.  Framed by floor to ceiling book cases a grimy  fox sat behind an  ornate wooden desk.

‘You! You burnt down the Dover branch of my drug empire’ snarled the little fox

‘You said it was a hole worth £50.  Why do you even care? Where’s Carlos the little bastard?’

‘Yeah that place was a dive – my people say you were pretty drunk so you probably don’t remember.  I don’t care about that, it’s the complaints! “Where are my drugs?” “Give me drugs!” “I’m switching supplier”.  I can’t take it anymore and its all your fault!’ The fox’s desperate rant was cut off as the phone rang.

‘You’ll them when you get them, and what has a platypus got to do with anything?! Jabba dabba do one son!!’ the exasperated fox slammed the antique phone down, making that chime sound they make in old movies as it hit the table.

‘You see?!’ continued the fox ‘Anyway what did you bring me? It had better be awesome!  That cat is pain in the ass!’

Arnold  handed over the miraculously still warm fajita and the throw and watched the fox’s face soften.

‘These are…these are’ his face swelled with emotion ‘shit.  But just take that cat away and never come near me or my stuff ever again.  That cat is doing my nut in!  That’s your “awesome gift”.

Jabbering and continuous talking made their way up the corridor.  The door opened and there was Carlos accompanied by two weary looking guards.

‘Jabbering.  Continuous talking.  You’re free to go now, this dumb ass is taking him.’  the fox drug lord told the relieved looking lackies.

Carlos and Arnold were thrown out a first floor window and headed towards the tube station.  Before Carlos could say a word Arnold punched him in the face and dragged him the rest of the way home, resisting the urge to say ‘my friend is dead tired’ several times.

This was originally posted here.

David Horn

Related Posts

Story: Arnold the Newt 1: The Life and Times

Story: Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 1

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