I'm just nine chapters in on this new project, which is, really, an adult version of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, one of my all-time favorite films. It's a derivative work, however, not a fan-fiction. The characters are original, and so is the story.
It's been slow-going, mostly because I want to get it right, and because the characters flesh themselves out slowly, as does the plot.
I hope you enjoy it. Please be aware that these chapters are very roughly drawn at this point and have not undergone any of what I term "deeper" edits.
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Chapter One
Job Interview
Job Interview
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Several miles south
of Carlingford , Ireland
He spotted the vehicle in the fog. It was parked on the side
of the road, perilously close to the ditch. Its right rear tire was flat, its
hazard lights blinking.
The fog wasn’t so
thick, nor the dusk so deep, that he happened upon it suddenly, which he gave
silent thanks for. He was already well above the speed limit, and the car was jet
black. He was quite late for home and a video call, one that might very well
help get him a decent job and a way out of the debt he and his wife were
drowning under.
Still, perhaps he
could help this poor bugger quickly and be on his way. Employers were always
late when it came to interviews anyway. He pulled over and slowed as he came up
behind the other car.
The job was at Belfast ’s finest hotel, and
would pay him more than he’d ever made before in his life—which, truthfully, wasn’t
all that much. He wasn’t quite qualified
for it (not really), and he certainly didn’t relish living in Belfast . But he had applied anyway, mostly
out of desperation. Neither he nor Lee wanted to move, but at this point, they
really didn’t have a choice.
He was shocked when
he got a call back.
He watched as cars
swerved impatiently around him and the other vehicle. One behind him honked at
as he slowed, then zoomed by, horn continuing to blare.
“Fuckin’ Belfast ,” he grumbled to
no one as he flipped the driver off.
He really shouldn’t
stop, he thought. He could very well miss the call, and he damn well couldn’t
afford to do that.
“Fuck it,” he
grumbled after another moment’s hesitation, and kicked on his hazards.
A light rain began
falling the moment he opened his door.
“Yeah, okay, pile
it on,” he groused. “Just pile it the fuck on, why don’t you?”
He spied the driver,
who sat next to the flat. He was an older man, with a fedora and rain coat to
match his car. He held a tire wrench and a jack and was trying, unsuccessfully,
to get them under it.
A Rolls Royce no
less!
“I’ll be damned
...”
He closed his door
and approached. “Need some help?”
The man looked up.
He had a sharp gaze, broad cheekbones, and worn smile, offered briefly, that
seemed best suited to a doctor or lawyer. He looked vaguely familiar.
“You’re the first
person to stop,” he said, still trying to work the jack under. “I don’t think
I’m going to get this.”
“Let me try.”
The man gazed up at
him, then nodded and scooched on his butt to give him room after handing him
the lug wrench. The rain had thickened and a gusty breeze had kicked up.
He knelt while
thinking what he was going to say to Lee when he got home.
It wasn’t that job
offers were pouring in. In all likelihood, they were going to have to sell
their home and get on a government debt program of some kind to keep the
creditors off their back.
Fuck it. Just fuck it!
He gruffly sat in
the dirt-turning-quickly-to-mud and angrily jammed the jack under the bumper.
He managed to get it under, but not without scratching the paint. He glanced
sideways at the man, who saw what happened.
The man shrugged. (Was
that the hint of a smile?) “Do what you have to do.”
People zoomed by.
The rain was becoming a downpour.
“Didn’t keep up on
your auto club membership?”
The man chuckled.
“I guess not.”
“Why don’t you get
inside your vehicle and stay dry? No need for both of us to get wet!”
The man studied him.
“What’s your name?”
“Ronan! Yours?”
“Good to meet you,
Ronan. I’m Karl.”
“Karl, you’re gonna
catch a right cold if you don’t get in your car!”
“It’s not mine. A friend
loaned it to me. I couldn’t find his auto club membership in the glove
compartment, and wouldn’t you know it, my cell phone needs charging. Don’t
worry about me, Ronan, and don’t worry about the car. He’s got plenty of
insurance. Good Irish name, Ronan.”
The jack was at its
maximum, just high enough to get the tire off the road, which was now a small
stream. Karl opened the trunk, and together they got the spare out. Ronan got
it on and tightened the lugs as quickly as he could. He was soaked through and
shivering, despite wearing a thick woolen jacket. Another couple of minutes and
the jack was off. He tossed it and the wrench back in the trunk, which he
slammed down as Karl watched.
“I’ll be off then!”
yelled Ronan through the downpour.
“Please let me pay
you!” said Karl, reaching for his wallet.
“No need!” said
Ronan. Can you pay me thirty-six thousand
quid? Fuck it, then! Go get dry, old man!
“Do you live
nearby, Ronan? Will you get home safely?”
“I’m just up the
road!” Ronan yelled as he hurried for his car. “I’ll be fine! Take care of
yourself, Karl!”
Ronan got in and
turned his car over, turned the defroster and windshield wipers to maximum, and
pulled back onto the road. Karl waved as he passed. Ronan waved back.
Chapter Two
Chapter Two
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