The Gas Man

Flat number 12 was where Archie Felbutt lived. Every morning at 9 Oclock, Archie Felbutt would move his square body down the corridor to the front door. He would open the door, pop his square head out and glance with his beady eyes at the floor, where every morning at 9 Oclock a small parcel would be waiting. Archie Felbutt would squarely reach down and disappear with the parcel into flat number 12.

It was on such a morning as this, that he opened the door at the usual time and come face to face with the Gas Man. The Gas Man came every 6 months to check the pressure of the natural gas being pumped through the vessels of the apartment. He resembled a runner bean and wore a rather placid expression. The placid expression was most probably linked to the fact that in this particular town, the only way of checking the gas pressure was for the Gas Man to suck on a thin rubber tube plugged into the little gas box outside each flat. Although it was his electric box that actually measure the pressure, he had to suck the gas into the tube before connecting it to his electric box. It was inevitable therefore that the Gas Man took in a tiny bit of gas each time he performed his duty, leading to a state of minimal yet constant elation. It was such an elated Gas Man that Archie Felbutt opened the door to which meant he couldnt immediately disappear with his parcel without appearing impolite. The Gas Man was holding up his thin rubber tube.

Good morning! chirped the runner bean. Morning, nodded Archie. His small eyes wandered to the floor where the parcel looked up at him hopefully. The Gas Man attached his tube. He put his thin lips over the end of it and gave a quick, hard suck. Archie looked up. Isnt that dangerous? he asked, for a moment genuinely concerned. Well, I dont know about dangerous, smiled the Gas Man. But Ill tell you what. Most nights Im on the ceiling. The Gas Man took out his gas-measuring gadget. He stuck the end of the rubber tube into it and it beeped amiably at him, making his pale skin glow with contentment. How many times a day do youurm Archies sentence trailed off and he nodded at the little rubber tube. Oh, sometimes 15 times a day. That must be bad for you. Stupendously so! The Gas Man gave Archie a whole-hearted smile and proceeded to pack up his gear with his long rubbery arms. Actually, this is my 16th today.

Archie deemed it now an opportune moment to gather up his parcel. It was just as he was about to bend down squarely over his parcel that somebody arrived on the scene. This somebody had very bushy eyebrows and a thick black moustache. The Gas Man, although wary of his powers of perception due to his constant state of elation, did think he detected a moment of recognition between the two men. Archie Felbutt suddenly seemed extremely nervous. Through the haze that was his much damaged vision, the Gas Man saw the thick black moustache twitch once. Archie Felbutt flinched. He stood, short and square facing the moustache. They stared at each other. The Gas Man shuffled his feet. The moustache twitched for the second time. Archie Felbutt disappeared into flat number 12, leaving his abandoned parcel on the doorstep.

The Gas Man decided to leave. The moustache was becoming rather intimidating as it was now staring hard at him. He turned to go when his eyes fell on the parcel sitting forlornly on the doorstep of flat number 12. It was looking pleadingly at him. Then it started to cry. The Gas Man looked over at the man with the bushy eyebrows, slightly embarrassed. The man with the moustache seemed to be eyeing him very closely, apparently unperturbed by the noise coming from the distraught parcel. The parcel began to wail. No man could ignore the wailing of an abandoned parcel. Especially a man high on natural gas. The Gas Man took one long, rubbery step and gathered the parcel up in his arms. It stopped wailing and sniffed. The Gas Man wasnt quite sure what to do next and, in his confusion, turned to face the moustache.

The detective had been watching this long, thin man who was clearly stoned out of his head and seemed to be comforting a small parcel. A parcel that was of much interest to this detective. Evidently, this man was attempting to hide the parcel. No wonder. Mr Haji Houssein had been trying to catch the dealers for months. Archie Felbutt was a number one suspect but he was like grease. Slippery. And rather bad for your heart. Housseins moustache raised slightly under the influence of his smile. Now he had a new suspect.

Hand over that parcel, demanded the moustache. The parcel began to wail again. The Gas Mans head was beginning to ache. Well I - Im not sure Hand it over! cried the stout little man, whisking out a detectives badge. The Gas Man gave a friendly smile and handed it over. Inside were lots of little white packages. These yours? asked the detective. Nope, beamed the Gas Man, squinting. He was sure the moustache was trying to crawl off the mans face. Whose are they? I think they belong to that nice man in there. So why did you pick it up then? The Gas Man thought this was a very good question. This man must be a wonderful detective.

Well, he said. It seemed to want me to. The detective took three large steps until the Gas Mans chin was brushing the tip of the runaway moustache. The moustache looked deep into the gas mans glassy eyes. You, it said. Are very, very high. Ah, well. That, beamed a relieved Gas Man. I can explain.

Archie Felbutt watched from his balcony as Detective Haji Houssein led away a tall, rubbery man, who was gripping a small parcel between his long, hand-cuffed hands.

Archie took a sip from his strong, hot coffee and went over to the phone to make a call.