King Potsy

“Wake up, already!”

Potsy’s blue eyes stung as they opened.  They quickly took in the large square room with its burgundy walls, golden chandelier in the center, and numerous paintings on the walls.  He was laying on top of an extraordinarily comfortable bed made up with black silk sheets and duvet.

An old man with a Santa-like beard sat in an arm-chair beside the bed.  Lilly, of the long black curls and black tee-shirt that only came down to her belly, was on hands and knees on the mattress beside him.

His eyes quickly shot down her further to confirm she was still wearing torn jeans.  Shifting slightly, Potsy found that he was still completely dressed as well.

Lilly grinned.  “Look, he’s awake.”

The old man nodded but said nothing.

Potsy turned his head to the old man.  “Where am I?”

The old man glanced about the room.  “You’re new home, sire,” he answered without a pause.  “Oh, and I am Gregor, you’re assistant.”

“My assistant?”  Potsy looked around the room again.  “This isn’t my home.”

Gregor chuckled.

Lilly looked over at Gregor.  “Did Carl choose the wrong person?”

Again, without missing a beat, Gregor answered, “No, Carl chose wisely.”

Potsy slowly sat up and shook his head.  “Chose what?”

Gregor asked, “I’m sorry, sire, but I do not know your name.”


Gregor nodded.  “King Potsy…umm…”  His hand scratched his chin.  “Potsy as in Happy Days?”

Potsy nodded.  “Born Peter, but everyone calls me Potsy.”

“King Potsy it is, sire.  How can I assist you.”

Lilly laughed and fell back on the bed.

Potsy raised one eyebrow.  “An explanation might help.  Last I checked, I was still working at RBC and no one was calling me sire.”

Gregor chuckled and lifted himself out of the chair he sat in with surprising ease, considering the age Potsy guessed him to be at.  “Seems you have moved up in the world.”

Potsy watched the old man and began to wonder if the word “old” was appropriate.

“You were a banker yesterday, and a king today.  Who would have thought that.” Gregor smiled and walked around the bed to a small cupboard that was hidden in the wall and, until he opened it, unnoticeable.

“Yes, who?” Potsy asked.

“King Carlton, is who.  You knew him as Flying Carl, I believe.”

“The homeless dude hit by the bus last night.”

Gregor nodded and pulled a can of Diet Coke from the wall.  He handed it to Potsy.

“Thank you.” Potsy popped the seal and drank like a parched man in the desert.

“King Carlton had been our leader for the last five years.  As is our tradition, when he was diagnosed with cancer five months back, he picked a successor.”  Gregor returned around the bed and his big blue eyes connected with Potsy.  “That would be you.”

Potsy, mid slurp, lowered the can to between his legs.  “I only met him last night.  Not even sure ‘met him’ is the right term for it.”

“Are you sure,” Lilly asked and raised herself up on her elbows.

“I…ah…you know, he did look familiar, but I couldn’t place him.”

Gregor continued, “Of course you couldn’t.  You had seen him as a vagrant, no doubt.  Not aware that he was watching you nor that he had chosen you.  Everything you saw was an act.”

Potsy sipped from his can.

“Now, of course, you do not believe me.  You have little reason to.  That necklace, however, was handed to you quite on purpose.  King Carlton chose you and gave you that because he believes you are the best choice to go on from here.”

Potsy shrugged.  “From where?”

Lilly grinned.  “We’ll get to that.”

Gregor waved his hand at Lilly to silence her.  “We have much to teach you about what is actually going on.”

Potsy’s eyes widened.  “Oh, really?”

Gregor nodded again.  “We are known in many parts as the Illuminati.”

Potsy stifled a laugh.  “The Illuminati?  The shadow government?  The one world government that conspiracists fear?”

Lilly nodded as well.  “Mock if you like, but it’s true.”

Potsy lowered his head and placed his hand on his forehead.  “But you’re homeless people?”

“Where better for a shadow government to watch its flock than from the shadows?” Gregor asked quietly.

A knock came from the wooden door on the wall opposite the bed.

Gregor turned, “Enter!”

The door cracked open and Sir Charles entered.

Potsy was amazed at just how much this Sir Charles looked like Sir Charles Barkley, retired basketball player.  He was also surprised at just how large this Sir Charles was.

“Lord Gregor?”

Gregor smiled at Sir Charles.  “We’re good.  King Carlton chose wisely.”

Sir Charles looked disappointed.  “Are you certain.”

Perhaps, Potsy thought, Charles had wanted to rip his arms from his sockets and use the rest of his body as an ash tray.

Lilly responded, “Fuck off, Charles.”

“Lilly!” Gregor chastised.  “No need for that.”

“I’m sorry,” she said and looked back at Charles.

Sir Charles looked right at Potsy.  “Perhaps I should introduce myself properly, then.  I am your head of security, sire…sire?”

Gregor answered, “Potsy.”

Sir Charles nodded.  “Forgive me.  Thought it might have been a nickname.  Hail, King Potsy,” he said quietly and stepped back out the door.

Potsy had no words to answer any of this.

Lilly glanced at Gregor.  “Can I fuck him, now?”

Gregor laughed and playfully smacked her shoulder.  “Get out, child.  We have work to do.”

Lilly giggled as she got on her hands and knees.  Before leaving the bed, she leaned forward and planted a wet kiss on Potsy’s cheek.  “I’m looking forward to my chance, though.”

“You’ll get it.  NOW GET OUT!” Gregor ordered.

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