e left off last time with our hero, The Palaver, saving the bulging hide of our other hero, The Poet, at The Cooked Goose tavern on London's south side. But what of The Preacher and his well laid plans for keeping the RAF's greatest secret safe? What of Tisiphone, and of The Lawyer? And who paid the bartab at the Pharaoh, since much MacAllan 12 yerar old was drunk, and its not especially inexpensive whiskey? Yes, dear readers, what of all this, indeed.
As it so happened, The Preacher managed to stagger home to his lair; a spiffyly decorated flat atop the vestry of Saint Mathias's Parish Church in Chelsea. From this high vantage point, our moral hero could watch over the lost souls that drifted to and fro beneath his window, and occassionally baptize someone for fun (they'd just think it was starting to rain, and did not suspect that they had been suddenly conscripted into Christ's flock. But The Preacher's passtimes when he wasn't fighting crime are of no consequence right now. This is a time of great peril, and The Preacher was a man who made it his business to end that peril.)
In any case, The Preacher returned home, and managed to get a few hours of restless sleep before being called to morning prayer. How could he sleep, thought The Preacher to himself, as he lay in bed, wrapped up in his afghan. The MacAllan was in German hands, and the fate of the world depended on him, and his enormous mental capacity, to recover the lost formula. Our hero tossed and turned, and tossed again, until he was called for his morning duties.
Morning prayer came to the parish of St Mathias, and Agammemnon, or Aggy, as his fellow men of the cloth liked to refer to him, was in no shape for the activity. His throat was barren, and his mouth filled with sand. But still he pushed on, fullfilling his vows to the Lord.
Once the official prayers were over, Agammemnon remained behind inside the church, and offered his own private prayers to Jesus Christ. He pleaded with the King of kings to offer some guidance, and illuminate him on to his course of action in order to fight the vile menace that was the Nazi empire.
His prayers went out, and drifted up towards the pinnacle of the church's apse.
Now, many people differ in opinion as to what happened next. Some suggest that there was too much incence in the air of the church, and others still suggest that Agammemnon was still quite drunk, and others still cite the lack of sleep. Whatever the explanation offered by these pundits, the fact remains that our courageous hero, our most beloved of shepherds, our shining knight in the crusade against sobriety, our valiant prince in the cause of justice, had a vision.
Yes, there he was, all alone kneeling before the altar, when a voice broke the reverential silence.
GET UP AGGY, OLD CHAP
"Who's there?" asked The Preacher with a tremor of fear and awe. The voice had come from the bowels of the ground itself, and it had sounded clear and loud, with perfect pitch, and with a regal authority, despite its nineteen-twenties Boston Common accent.
AGGY, IT'S ME, GOD.
"Where are you?" asked Agammemnon nervously. I mean, it was the big man himself. The Boss. The Big Kahuna. El Gran Queso. Number One. The Chief.
OH, AGGY, YOU KNOW THE ANSWER TO THAT. I'M EVERYWHERE AND NOWHERE. IN ALL TIMES, AND IN NO TIMES. OVER THERE AND OVER HERE.
"What do you want from me, oh spiteful one. Oh you who makes mortals tremble... you who's beard I am not worthy to shave... you who-"
ENOUGH AGGY. I HAVEN'T GOT ALL DAY. LISTEN TO ME NOW, AGGY. IT IS VERY IMPORTANT THAT YOU DO AS I TELL YOU, OR YOUR ENTIRE CIVILISATION IS DOOMED.
"But aren't we doomed anyway? I mean The Book of Revelations and all that?"
OH, JOHN WAS ON CRACK AT THE TIME. SHEESH, DOESN'T ANYBODY REALIZE WHAT A CRACKPOT IS WHEN THEY SEE ONE? ANYWAYS, AGGY, I NEED YOU TO...
"Yes? Yes? What is thy bidding my master?"
I NEED YOU TO RECOVER THE MACALLAN.
"Well, gee fuckin' surprise. I could have figured that one out myself, pointdexter."
HAPPY GOD? OR VENGEFUL GOD?
"Um... sorry."
I NEED YOU TO RECOVER THE MACALLAN. YOU SEE AGGY, BACK IN THE OLDEN DAYS, WHEN LIONS WHERE RICH, AND MEN OF MIRACLES WALKED THE EARTH, AND PEOPLE COULD HAVE MORE THAN ONE WIFE, I SENT MY SON JC DOWN TO THE WORLD...
"Uh-huh."
NOW JC HAD A PARTY ONE NIGHT, AND PETER WAS SUPPOSED TO BRING THE MACALLAN. UNFORTUNATELY, PETER TRIPPED ON HIS WAY TO THE SHINDIG, AND SMASHED THE BOTTLE. AS A RESULT, MY SON'S FRIENDS HAD TO TOAST WITH KOSHER WINE. HAVE YOU EVER TASTED THAT STUFF? MAN I TELL YOU, PHEW! EL STINKO. SOMEBODY GOT SHAFTED IN THE LIQUOR DEPARTMENT. BUT ANYWAY, AGGY, MY POINT IS THAT IF PETER HADN'T TRIPPED, TODAY YOU AND ALL OTHER CHRISTIANS WOULD BE CELEBRATING COMMUNION WITH A REFRESHING GLASS OF MACALLAN, NEAT.
"I like it on the rocks."
YOU CAN'T HAVE IT ON THE ROCKS! THAT WOULD BE BLASPHEMY! HERESY! HERESEY! ON THE ROCKS?! I'VE NEVER HEARD A MORE RIDICULOUS THING!
"Alright, God, are you through? I want to go have breakfast now."
OH... WHAT DID THE RECTOR'S WIFE MAKE?
"Hash browns, scrambled eggs, bacon... and I think pancakes."
DO YOU THINK SHE'D MIND IF I...? OH NEVER MIND, I'LL GET THE BOY TO WHIP ME SOMETHING UP WHEN I GET HOME. YOU WON'T BELIEVE HOW HE SPENDS HIS DAYS. HE WAKES UP AT NOON EVERY DAY, HE'S EATING ME OUT OF HEAVEN, AND EVERY DAY THE SAME QUESTION, "IS THE APOCALYPSE TODAY?", "IS THE APOCALYPSE TODAY?" I HAVE TO GIVE HIM SOMETHING TO DO, BEFORE HE DRIVES ME MAD. MAYBE I WILL BRING IN ARMAGEDON EARLY JUST TO SHUT THE LITTLE INGRATE UP. THAT'S THE LAST TIME I LET SOMEONE CRUCIFY HIM. AFTER THAT ITS, "BUT DAD, I WAS CRUCIFIED. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS? IT WAS PAINFUL. LET ME WATCH MY TV SHOW." LITTLE BRAT. THEY SHOULD HAVE LEFT HIM UP THERE ON THAT CROSS.
"Anyways, God old buddy, I have to be going now."
NO DON'T LEAVE ME! ITS SO BORING TALKING TO THOSE PEOPLE UP THERE. BUNCH OF DO-GOODERS. OOOH YOU'RE SO RIGHTEOUS, AHH? WELL, KISS MY ASS PAUL!
And with that our hero slowly inched his way to the church doors, and fled to the comfort of the Rector's kitchen, where they were just finishing up a lovely breakfast.
Agamemnon was in shock. Was this truly a vision? Was the MacAllan really that important, not only to the world, but to God too? Of course it was, thought The Preacher! Now he knew what was to be done. Now it was no longer just personal. God himself had charged him with the most important mission since the quest for the Holy Grail. The search and recovery of the MacAllan!
He was on a mission from God, and he was ready to kick some Nazi ass!
And here ends the third installment of our story. Tune in next time for: Part Four: Reunions (or, Where's that fiver you owe me?)
