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   Chapter 11 No.11

The Time Saving Agency By Christina Engela Characters: 4813

Updated: 2018-06-29 12:02

This was quite enough for the very Reverend. Ramsley Valcovar. Flinging his service-book aside, he hitched up his robes and ran down the aisle at full speed. The choir, janitor and altar boys and Virgin Snow snapped out of it and tagged along behind. This was way beyond his scope. He was a minister, a man of the cloth, damn it! Give him ceremonies and rituals and long hollow convoluted sermons and prayers any day – but the supernatural was another thing altogether! You needed actual faith to deal with that sort of thing. Yeah, he thought, discarding his robes and paraphernalia as he ran – fanatical faith. Like with bombs and stuff. Faith that could move mountains and exorcise demons and knock down tall buildings and… and… and – make ends meet. 'Begone ye foul abominiminimination' and all that. Fire and brimstone (he was sure that was a kind of racing tire) and the like were way over his head! Using it as a tool to terrorize his congregation into tithing more was one thing – dodging lightning bolts in Church while blessing a new door knob was quite another!

Brad Xyl stood at the front of the rapidly emptying building, trying to regain the full use of his faculties. Fingers, hands, arms – check. Toes, feet, legs – check. Eyes, ears, mouth – check. His eyes rolled madly round. Something at the back of his subconscious was saying 'Error, missing brain.exe'. He needed something to help him wake up, something strong and – o

rying to hide the fact that he'd been playing with the little ornaments on Peggy-Ann's desk. One of them had shiny little metal balls suspended on gut, and were tick-tacking back and forth. He was wearing pretty ordinary looking, if not formal clothes. Sort of a gray suit, but not exactly in the current style.

"Mister Beck?" He greeted, extending a hand as he rose.

"That's me." Said Gary, offering his. "What can I do for you, Mr -?"


"Hey!" Said Gary, suddenly getting his back up. "You can just screw yourself, buddy!"

The man looked a little taken aback.

"No, that's my name, " He interjected hurriedly. "Scrooby. Johnathan Scrooby."

"Oh." Said Gary, "Well, what can I do for you, Mister – uh, Scrooby?"

"This is a bit of a delicate problem, Mr. Beck." Said Scrooby, reaching for his coat which was lying on the other chair. "It requires, shall we say, visual demonstration? Shall we go somewhere a bit more… suitable?"

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