Tie Hallo, listeners, and welcome back once again to Underwood and Flinch.
Here we call this season four, episode twelve, but over at Patreon we
call it Underwooden Flinch Underground episode twenty five, twenty five of sixty no less.
But I won't bore you with all that Patreon guff again. I know
you want to get on with the story, and so I'll just shut my
pie hole and hand over to me for my original twenty seventeen episode recap.
Here I come. I'm sure that you can all remember vividly that our starring
character was Demo, who woke up in Rosy's bed and had a wild and
crazy impulse to go off to Underwood's house. Now, as you know,
Demo is unaware of what has happened to Underwood, and he believes that because
Underwood's belongings are all moving to his house in Bloomsbury Square, so most probably
is Underwood. We left Amos last time as he came out of the basement
entrance to Rose's subterranean apartment on Surrey Street, and in the interest of a
smooth continuity between last episode of this one, I will play you that last
scene again before we slide into the conclusion of this chapter. In Underwood and
Flinch Underground, the evening was cool, and though the smell from the basement
bin covered opposite Rose's front door was less than fragrant, he was once again
out in the fresh air. He drew in a deep breath, imagining it
blowing away the dust and mold that must have settled in his lungs since his
descent into Rose's lair. Then he trotted up the steps and out onto the
street. To his right, at the bottom of the street was the river.
To his left, top was the strand. If he remembered rightly,
Bloomsbury Square was north of here, straight up a main road. He could
probably be there in fifteen minutes. Underwood and Flinch Season four Underground written and
performed for podcast by Mike Bennett. This podcast is intended for an adult audience.
Episode twelve, his memory served him well. After a short and direct
walk, he was on Bloomsbury Square and counting down the door numbers to his
destination. He remembered the house well and was looking out for the front door
with its glossy black paint and polished brass, door knocker and letter box,
But on seeing it ahead, he stopped. Light shone through the fan light
over the door. Someone was home. That should have pleased him, but
he felt strangely unnerved by it. How would Underwood react to seeing him like
this as a vampire. It was a question he'd been mulling over as he
walked here, with numerous scenarios playing out in his mind. At one end
of the spectrum of imagined possibilities, he saw Underwood embracing him as a brother,
while at the other end there was always the chance that Underwood might kill
him. If that was how it had to be, then so be it.
It would save him the trouble of falling on a stake. Damo wore
down to the house and paused at the foot of the four stone steps for
a long, steadying breath, then went up to the front door and knocked.
He expected that it would most likely be David Flinch who opened the door,
or maybe a butler, some Jeevesian type in a black duckxedo or whatever
it was. They wore, but no one came. He noticed there was
also a doorbell, so he pressed it. He heard it ring deep inside
the building. He stood back and waited, but again no one came.
Ah for Fox's sake, he muttered, then began stabbing repeatedly at the doorbell
until between rings he distantly heard a woman shouting something incomprehensible. Within Then footsteps
came thumping down the hall and the door flew open. It wasn't Underwood or
Flinch or Jeeves. It was a woman, and she looked pissed off.
What she demanded, Demo was taken aback. Why was an East European woman
living in Underwood's house? Despite his surprise and her evident annoyance, his eyes
took a moment to appreciate her beauty. Her black hair, long and lustrous,
tumbled over her shoulders. She wore figure hugging blue jeans and a bright
red sweater that matched her lipstick. Demo gave her his best disarming smile.
Eh, hell ya, it's Lord Underwood, harm boy, any chance what
drewwood? Eh tall feller posh? I betold he lives here? She scowled
in bafflement, before firing off a volley of unintelligible words at him. Demo
shook his head and spoke over her. Yeah, I'm sorry, love,
Why I don't speak Russian or whatever it is, your tarken. Then he
added slowly, speak English, not English. She snapped, you go.
She began to close a door. Damo put out a hand and stopped it.
The woman pushed, but he held it firm. She pulled it back
open and was about to let fly a stream of foreign abuse. But then
she met his eyes. In a moment, the tension left her body,
her anger dissipated, and her expression softened. Damo smiled. Jesus. He
said to himself, if only I could have done des on my life,
imagined a piece inquired would have had. Then, in a pleasant voice,
he said, now then let you and me start over. Yeah, Hallo,
you live here, yes, said the woman, dully, I live
you no underwood? No underwood. Demo frowned, unsure whether she meant she
knew him or he wasn't there. He said, I mean, do you
no underwood? This is his house. Yeah. The woman's expression became troubled.
She began speaking to him in her native language. Demo held up a
hand to quell her. No English speak English, No speak English? Oh
janey, okay, he sighed, what about flinch? You're no flinch?
No speak French? Oh for fox's sake. Demo felt his patient slipping away.
He was about to push past her to look for underwood himself, when
a child's voice called from inside Mamma. Demo looked past her to see a
little boy standing in the hall. He looked about four years old. The
kid put his thumb in his mouth and started down towards his mother. Demo
rolled his eyes. Ah, that's all I fucking need. He gently laid
his hands on the woman's shoulders and eased her to one side. Then he
stepped past her into the hall and closed the door behind him. The kid
was tugging at his mother's sweater, thumb in mouth, eyes worried, Hey,
said Damo, smiling down at him. Here's a coin, dude.
The kid looked up at him for a moment before retreating behind his mother's legs.
Look, don't worry, said Damo. I'm a friend. Yeah,
me and Mammy. He took the woman's hand and held it up with a
smile. We're Francie. Then he hunkered down and said to the boy,
Hey, do you speak English? In Spain, the kids of experts often
spoke Spanish fluently, while their parents could barely say hola maybe this little guy
had picked up a few words at kindergarten. I just want to ask you,
do you know a friend of mammy's called Lord Underwood. The kid said
nothing, maybe Uncle Underwood. The kid stared at Demo with his big brown
eyes, gave his thumb a suck, then looked up to his mother.
Demo was about to take the thumb out of his mouth when an angry voice
boomed down the hall. What de fuck is this? Demo turned. A
man stood in a doorway leading under the stairs, from where a light shone.
Demo suddenly became aware of the smell of food. The man was tall,
at least six foot. He had short, cropped blonde hair, and
wore jeans and a tight T shirt that revealed the kind of physique you usually
saw on Russian shot putters. Maybe he was a Russian shot putter, Demo
thought. Demo stood up, all right, mate, how's it going.
The man ignored him and called to the woman, Yellana. The woman turned
at the sound of her name, her expression slack and unresponsive. The man
frowned. Concerned, he spoke to her rapidly in their language. Yellena's dull
expression seemed to waver and a look of doubt crept into her features. She
touched her brow. Demo watched, unsure of what was happening. She looked
like she might be coming out of its fascination. Could they do that?
Then she looked at him, and he knew they could. She recognized him,
looking in confusion from where he stood to the closed front door and back.
Then she started speaking rapidly in her language. As she raised her hands.
Demo tried to catch her eyes and attempt to subdue her again, but
he saw she was drawing her fingers into claws, the long red painted nails
aiming at his face. Hey, he said, easy now. Then she
sprang at him. Demo fell back, staggering into the hallway and trying to
shield his face from her talons. Shut, he cried. He caught the
woman by the wrists and stopped her. He was surprised at how little effort
it took to hold her back. She was fighting like a harpy, but
he found he could restrain her easily. His instinct was to give her a
good hard shove away from him, but he hesitated, afraid that he might
put her through the wall. Then a huge forearm came from behind him and
encircled his neck. Demo released the woman and grabbed at the man's arm.
The woman immediately relaunched herself at him, her nails now connecting with his face.
He tried to catch her wrists again, but he couldn't. The man's
grip was tightening, cutting off the blood flow to his brain. Now the
couple were shouting to each other in their language. As the kid started wailing,
Demo heard the woman say police. He couldn't breathe. Darkness was blotting
the edge of his vision. He was blacking out. He had to fight
them, He had no choice. He flexed his neck muscles and immediately the
man's choke hold felt like nothing more than a friendly embrace. Demo took hold
of the man's hand and uncoiled the arm from his neck. The woman paused
in her attack, unsure how this was possible, but on realizing that it
was, she screamed and sprang at him again. Demo stopped her with a
hand to her breastbone and shoved her back. He'd only intended to cause her
to stagger a few paces, possibly stumble and fall, but she flew off
her feet and went crashing against the front door. The kid screamed and went
running to her look. Demo cried, Cam the fuck down, Willis.
I don't want to fight, I'm just looking for someone. He turned to
appeal to the man and was met by a fist smashing into his face.
The blow spun him around and sent him face first into the wall. He
clung to it for a moment, then his face darkened. Oh fuck you
man. He pushed himself back onto his feet, turned, dipped, and
threw an unrestrained punch straight into the man's stomach. His fist connected with a
tight wall of muscle, but the man jackknifed and crumpled to his knees.
Demo was about to follow up with a punch to the face when he caught
himself he might kill the guy. Instead, he gave him a savage,
backhanded slap that sent him toppling to the floor, where he lay gasping like
a fish out of water. That was when Yelena sounded the alarm. The
sound exploded through the hall, hammering against his head in ear splitting waves of
sound that seemed to rip into his brain. Demo had never heard anything like
it. He clamped his hands over his ears and looked round in shock,
trying to find the sauce. He saw the box on the wall behind the
front door, the agony seeming to be emanating from it in waves that the
pulsing of its little red light. He staggered back against the wall, watching,
paralyzed by pain, as Yelena ran with the screaming kid in her arms,
passed him to where the man lay Demo. Pressed his hands tighter against
his ears and stumbled towards the front door. He had to get out.
He clawed the door open, his face contorted in agony as the sonic pulse
hammered him at close range. Then he was out and stumbling down the steps
to the street. He started to run, reeling from the effects of the
alarm that still blasted its terrible noise out into the street. People were looking
at him, Curtains were parting, pedestrians stepping aside, some reaching for mobile
phones. He pulled up his hood and tugged it down over his face.
His sleeve touched his face and came away bloody. Jesus, he thought she
really scratched me up. He ducked his head and broke to a full sprint.
As he approached the corner, he slowed down before turning on to Southampton
Row head bowed and shoulders hunched did disappear into the crowd. What had just
happened? He asked himself, Who were those people? And where was Underwood?
Was even there at all? He had read in the papers about Russian
oligarchs buying up London's most affluent neighborhoods. Apparently they built down into the basement
levels. He'd read about swimming pools and gyms being built underground, a bit
like Roses Place, but obviously modern and much more luxurious. Was that what
this was? Had Russians brought Underwood's house? The guy seemed to have come
from downstairs. But if that were so, why was underwood stuff from Spain
coming here? It didn't make sense unless Jesus. What if Underwood hadn't made
it out of Lafntesia after all? What if he was dead and his estate
had fallen into the hands of some one else, some one Russian, someone
like Sergey. On the flight over from Spain, he'd read a report on
the shootout at La Fanntesia in a Spanish newspaper. Police were treating it as
a gang war incident between Russian and Serbian mobs, but no names had been
mentioned. The protagonists were stated only as being Russian and Serbian maffia. So
what if Sergey had survived, What if he'd killed Underwood and Flinch and now
with Lydia he was here? Lydia Christ Lydia was the other vampire in London.
She had to be. And furthermore, she was an estate agent.
She knew all about property law, and with David out of the way,
she'd have no one to stop at taking over Underwood's estate and his sect.
She would get it all her hand stopped him. You all right, mate?
Demo turned to see a man looking at him with concern. He remembered
his bloody face. He touched his forehead and cheeks. The scratches were already
healing over, but he'd done nothing about the blood. Oh yeah, he
smiled. Thanks, It's not just a little scrap, is all. You
should see the other guy. He gave a little laugh. But the other
man wasn't smiling. He was no one special, just a concerned passers by.
But he'd had a good look at Demo's face. And if the police
came sniffing around after that alarm incident had underwards. The last thing he needed
was another witness, and especially one who'd seen in which direction he was traveling.
He met the man's eyes and concentrated his attention, far more so than
he had with the Russian woman earlier. Look forget about at mate, You
never saw me, understand. The man nodded slowly. Demo noticed he was
smoking a freshly lit cigarette. Okay, now give me that fag and get
him overn. The man extended the cigarette to him, Demo took it and
they parted, the man going on his way like nothing had happened. Demo
wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve and went on with his head
down. He had to get back to Rose and tell her what was going
on. He hadn't been gone that long. Hopefully she would still be asleep.
But how would she take this news? He realized he'd been rash coming
out without her. He had thought he could manage alone, that by going
out and getting some kind of result with Underwood, he would reassert his sense
of independence, if only to himself. He was a grown man, for
God's sake. The thought that he was somehow a child again hanging on to
Rose's proverbial apron strings and unable to manage without her annoyed him. But whether
it annoyed him or not, it was unfortunately a certain truth in it.
He was a newborn vampire. He knew next to nothing about the kind of
creature he had become. Take that Russian woman back there, How she'd woken
up from his fascination of her? What was the deal there? Maybe it
was something the Russian guy had said to her, or maybe because her kid
was in danger. Or maybe and now that he thought of it, this
seemed the most likely it was simply because he'd done a lousy job of fascinating
her in the first place. He checked his watch. He'dn't have been gone
for about forty minutes. He was sure that Rose would still be out for
the count. But if she wasn't, he pictured her waking up and finding
him gone. He hadn't even left a note. Shit, he muttered,
What would she do? How would she feel? He hadn't even thought about
that. Would she be angry? Hurt? Jesus? Would he even let
him back into the house. He stopped at a corner to wait for pedestrian
lights. It was the wide and busy junction where Kingsway met High Hoben.
On the other side of the street, he saw a florist stall at the
entrance to the underground station, Bingo, a nice bunch of flowers should smooth
things over with Rose. When was the last time anyone had bought her flowers?
Probably about nineteen forty. The lights changed and he hurried across the road
to the florists. He picked out the most beautiful bouquet on the stool,
which cost him most of his remaining money, but they were gorgeous and smelled
fantastic. When when he thought, not only would the flowers make Rose happy,
but they'd brighten up that dismal apartment that has no end, he walked
on, feeling somewhat more optimistic. If she was still asleep, the flowers
would be a beautiful thing to wake up to. She'd think he was the
dog's bullocks. Shame he couldn't get a bagels or something that would be the
icing on the jamo cake. He thought he heard someone call his name somewhere,
but it couldn't be him they were calling to He didn't even know anyone
here, Daimo, that shout again, louder this time. Demo glanced around.
He couldn't see anyone. Hey, hey, Damo over here. The
voice was coming from the other side of the street. The traffic was four
lane and heavy. On his side, two lanes of buses, taxis,
cyclists, and cars were flowing south towards the river, while on the other
side the two northbound lanes had stopped in response to the lights. At the
corner, a line of double decker buses blocked his view of the opposite pavement.
Demo retraced his steps, his eyes searching across the street for a sign
of whoever was calling him. Then a man appeared between the buses and waved
a hand. A smile rose on too Damo's face. It was David flinch
Jasus, Damo laughed, Thank Fa for that, I've taught the Russians at
Gatya. David was jabbing a finger towards something up ahead. Demo looked and
saw a pedestrian crossing. He looked back to confirm his understanding, but then
he noticed a man behind David, looking intensely across the street at him.
He was an older guy, mid fifties, wearing a shabby suit and coming
out of a pub. Now he was saying something to David, but David
was shaking his head gesturing at the guy to stay put. As he started
down the road for the crossing, Damo didn't move, unable to take his
eyes from the man across the street, who continued to scrutinize him. Then
behind him, another man appeared in the pub doorway. This one was wearing
a gray sports jacket over a black polar neck sweatter, and he too was
looking at Demo. However, when their eyes met, the man looked quickly
away. Now he was talking, touching his ear a Bluetooth device. The
older guy wasn't responding, so it wasn't him. The man was talking to
Demo looked for any sign of contact between the two of them, but there
was none. The older guy seemed completely unaware of the man behind him.
Then the man the polar neck started off in the same direction as David.
He was walking at a casual but determined pace, all the while his eyes
on David and talking to his Bluetooth device. He was following him, no
doubt about it, did David know. Demo looked back to the older guy,
who was lighting a cigarette and still watching him, and then through the
window of the pub, he saw two more men looking straight at him and
talking. When he met their eyes, they looked away and stood up.
Now they were moving to the door. Jesus Christ thought, Damo, who
are these guys. The two new arrivals, both of whom were wearing dark
suits, came out of the pub and split up without a word. One
headed after David and the guy in the polar nac. The other, who
had a shaved head, was walking back in the direction that Damo had just
come. Demo saw that he too, was talking into a bluetooth device.
At that moment, Demo knew with absolute certainty that these men were police.
Maybe David was working with them, or maybe they were tailing him and he
was unaware. But Damo couldn't afford to hang around to find out. He
turned back sharply and started walking quickly but with an air of calm, towards
the underground station. From behind him, somewhere he could hear David calling to
him, but he didn't turn back. The buses parted up. Ahead,
he saw the shaven headed cop standing at the pedestrian crossing opposite the underground station,
waiting to come across to Demo's side of the street. Their eyes met
and there was a moment of mutual understanding. The man's cover was blown.
Now they would move to intercept Demo ran dropping the bouquet of flowers before charging
into the underground. And so Demo and David are reunited once again, or
at least they would have been if it weren't for all these strange men buzzing
around. Is Demo right? Are they police? And does David know about
them? Well we'll find out at least some of what is going on next
time, when we'll see things from David's side of the street. So join
me next time for episode thirteen of season four. The music you're listening to
is Amad Armor by Farried Fajard on Tarrannay Records. You can buy the track
online from iTunes or Amazon, and you can stream it from Spotify, which
is lovely if you like that sort of thing, and it seems these days
most people do. So there you go. Well there it was listeners,
season four, episode eight, and I can't tell you how much I've been
looking forward to sharing that with you. Isn't it nice to see the lads
getting back together again? Sort of It's great to have two strands of our
story and the original Underwood and Flinch story coming together. Obviously, I can't
say anything about what's going to come, but I think you'll like it.
But enough of that, and feel myself on the verge of letting plot details
slip, so I'll shut up and move on. The scene in there with
the alarm when Demo was at the house and the alarm went off. That
was actually inspired by an incident that happened to me a few years ago.
We were renting a flat the last time we moved back to England, and
one day I was at home and I thought, you know, as you
do that, I should check the batteries on the smoke detector. So I
found the smoke detector and I got on a chair underneath it and went up
for a close inspection. It was of an unusual design, at least to
me, and I couldn't see a place to open it. So I got
ahold of it, and the next thing I knew, I was in the
middle of a sonic attack. I was blasted by the thing, just as
Demo was in the episode. I couldn't turn it off, I couldn't pull
it off the ceiling and jump up and down on it until it stopped.
And even if I had been able to do it, it wouldn't have done
any good because that was only part of an alarm system, which was sending
out a message to the security firm that installed it and the fire brigade.
Because it was a kind of you know, a combined smoke detector and intruder
alarm. I googled it, you know, just for the sort of sake
of this chat, so I could say what it was, and I believe
going for the you know, the description of what happened that I put into
the Internet. It's called an inferno sound barrier. The spectrum of sound that
these things broadcast completely disrupts the brain and overwhelms the whole head process of any
intruder to the point that they just have to leave. They can't ignore it
and you know, carry on burgling. It's it's absolute agony. I can't
remember exactly what happened in the time after I triggered the alarm, but I
know that I had to wait outside the flat, apologizing to neighbors and to
the fire brigade until the security people came and shut the alarm. Down.
It was hell. Really, it really was like someone put my brain in
a biscuit tin with a screaming baby and threw it down ten miles of concrete
steps and so yeah, as you can imagine, not very nice. And
that was what inspired that particular scene in the book. But anyway, enough
of that, time for me to go. Thank you for listening, ladies
and gentlemen, and I will leave you now with a promo for one of
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