The Gathering Storm: An Opco Boone Adventure
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The Adventures of Opco Boone, Legal Ace™
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A gunmetal sky was spotting Barrington Road with fat cold blobs as the station clock struck nine. The underground exhaled a gust of sullen commuters onto the pavement. Black brollies bloomed on first contact with the rain. Edd Sweeney didn’t have a brolly, or an overcoat, and he was late. He sighed, tucked his chin into his collar and began to stomp through the forming puddles.
After a minute, an urgent toot. “Hi, Sweeney, old man!”
Edd turned to see a plump young man with floppy hair beaming at him from a taxi.
“Oh, hallo, Roly.” It was a trainee in his department.
“I say, aren’t you running a bit late? Cripes, I’m late enough, and I’ve got wheels!” Roly slapped the taxi door happily.
Edd nodded and approached the taxi door.
“Oh well: See you at the office! Don’t get too wet!” As he pushed the window back up, Roly barked, “Let’s crack on, driver!”
Edd stared in damp disbelief as the taxi pulled back into the traffic, drenching his trousers as it went.
The artist once known as the Barber collected a sheaf from the printer and stalk back towards the office that he shared with Roly.
A mildewed graveyard of tombstones stretched away across his desk hemmed in and overgrown by gnarled stacks of offering circulars. He cleared a space for his printing precipitating a small avalanche a metre away in which a wad of overgrown trust deeds and closing agendas, belching side letters and half-wrecked amendment agreements cascaded into a wastepaper basket and onto the floor.
Elements of the blues brothers putting the band back together and wake up neo. BJA costs in the through some technological technology service then makes his way into the office in a client meeting room. Also no element of weird wizards at the beginning of Harry potter that he sees all around is Fleet Street office.
I’m reviewing
The confirmation
Can a fellow be a minion all his days?
All the folders — this information
Who knew a bank could set-off in oh, so many ways?
“I say has, that deal of yours gone pear-shaped?” Barber looked up at a smug, pudgy, floppy-haired youth, leaning on his door-jamb. The kid pronounced it paar.
The Barber sighed. “Yes, Roly, you could say that.”
Barbers head was framed by poster of the grand canyon bearing the legend “Keep going: it may not be by the path you anticipated; it may not be the outcome you expect, but you will get there. Don’t give up!”
Barbers skin was grey, his complexion waxen.
One more closing agenda slid spontaneously — gratefully — into the wastepaper basket.
“File that one in the circular filing cabinet,” quipped Roly. He pronounced it sahcular. “I had one earlier” — ahleear — “this week that properly cratered. Client was a total” — taytle — “wally.”