Him At Number Three by Clayton Graham
Manchester, England, 1955. Jim potted the red and lined himself up for the pink. Nail that, and he had won. He took his time, stretched his legs, bent low and checked the angle. Chas and Mike looked on with amused expressions on their faces. Mike rammed the question home. “Has she though? Seen anything recently?”
Jim lined his cue up. “Jenny seen any more UFOs?” Chas asked, as Jim brought his cue forward. It was a customary tactic that Chas and Mike used when they were in danger of losing. They knew it put Jim on edge, put him off his shot, somehow affected the coordination between Jim’s hand and his brain.
“You could say that,” Jim replied. “How d’you mean?” Chas asked, with a sly grin at Mike. Jim squared up to the other two. “She’s been abducted,” he said. “What! By aliens?” Chas queried, left hand tugging at his beard.
“Bollocks!” Jim exclaimed as the pink hit the edge of the pocket and rebounded back into play. He glared at Chas. “You did that on purpose.”
“More likely by him at number three,” Mike remarked. They all knew about him at number three, and had him down as a cheapskate womaniser who couldn’t be bothered finding his own wife.
They were the three amigos, or as their other friends often named them, the three stooges. Jim was long and lean with a hooked nose. Chas was short and slightly overweight with a beard that made him look ten years older than he really was. Mike was somewhere between the two, and sported a trim moustache beneath his rather bulbous nose.
The comment hit a nerve, and Jim brandished his cue like a weapon. “Take that back, you moronic weasel!” he yelled. He was turning red in the face. Mike held up both his hands in mock surrender. “Just kidding.”
“All’s fair in love and war,” Chas quipped, as he nonchalantly potted the pink and black. “That’s a tenner you owe me,” he said to Jim. He blew on the end of his cue and placed it back in the rack.
“What’s happened?” Chas asked, trying to diffuse the situation. Jim put his cue on the table and glowered at Mike. “I need a drink.” He gestured at Chas. “You’re paying.”
Jim and Jenny were UFO freaks, and Chas and Mike knew it.
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