#3. Maddest of Maddening Itches

(Year is 2008...9 years before the Personal Apocalypse)

There is nothing worse in the world than having an itch that can’t be scratched. This tiny, seemingly innocuous sensation can randomly materialize on any part of the body at any given time. It can then proceed to command a subconscious portion of your attention until action is taken – ideally, a good scratch. However, if nothing is done, if no scratch is forthcoming, then this annoying occurrence can rapidly evolve to become your sole focus. This sensation, though only affecting a minuscule portion of your body, can soon become the only thing that matters in your current existence. The itch would be everything. And it would be oh so maddeningly annoying.

This horrifying reality is what faced Finn McCool at that precise moment in time. He had an itch. He really wanted to scratch it. He couldn't. It was driving him bonkers. Sure, there were other concerns that probably deserved more of Finn's attention – like, for example, the five heavily tattooed men that stood in front of him. Or the air of outright hostility they were directing his way. Or perhaps the worrying way in which all five were pointing a variety of silenced automatic weapons at his chest. Or even the fact that he was bound to a chair via his arms and legs. These things probably should’ve been Finn’s foremost concerns...but by Merlin’s beard that itch was infuriating.

'Could you loosen these bonds a fraction, friend?' asked Finn, in doing so interrupting the nearest tattooed sporting gun-wielder. In the brief time he’d known the men, Finn had decided to christen them the Goons. Why the Goons? Well, because they all looked like idiots, and they’d tied Finn to a chair – a very goonish thing to do in his opinion. Oh, and it was also the first name that had come to mind. Finn McCool was never one to waste time on overthinking things, so “Goons” it was.

The Goon that Finn had interrupted was all skin and bone with dark tattoos running up his bare arms. He wore battered cargo pants, nothing but a cheap waistcoat on his upper body, and dark shades. His hair was short. Finn knew this appearance was designed to intimidate, but he was fresh out of guesses as to who the intimidated might be. The man looked like a comedic hybrid of a stockbroker and a junkie. Not exactly terrifying.

Of course, Finn kept this opinion to himself. He wasn’t inclined to insult a man with an automatic weapon while tied to a chair. Now, if Finn had been free, well, that was a different scenario altogether. He might’ve even given this man some style tips after he thoroughly insulted him.

The stockbroker-junkie had been in the middle of some sort of threat when Finn had spoken. Finn hadn't heard a word. Because of the itch.

'What, mate? What did ya just say?' demanded the Goon.

Ah. Great. So, he's deaf as well as tasteless. 'My apologies, friend, didn't mean to stop you mid-threat,’ tried Finn again. ‘Pop my eyes with a hot spoon, pull out my teeth with a tweezer, clip my toe-nails with a secateur. I get it, bad things are coming my way. However, before they get here, could you loosen the bonds on my wrists a little bit? I've just the worst itch that you could possibly imagine. It’s driving me bonkers.'

Stockbroker-junkie's eyes narrowed. 'Ya serious, mate?'

Finn nodded adamantly. 'Completely. It's an itch of diabolical proportions.'

'You’s havin' me on, mate? He’s havin' me on, lads?'

'He's definitely havin' ya on, Marv,' announced one of the “lads”.

Stockbroker-junkie, or Marv apparently, lowered his weapon and tilted his shades down to the brim of his nose. 'Well, mate, ya havin' me on or wha?'

Finn tried his level best to not roll his eyes, which took a heroic effort on his part. 'I'm most certainly not having you on. Mate. I need to scratch this itch, preferably sooner rather than later. At this point, I probably won’t even feel the impending torture such is the itchiness I’m experiencing. It’s that serious.'

Marv pushed his shades back up to their previous position and rocked his head from side to side, weighing up what to do. 'Not happenin’, mate. Me and the lads here are under strict instructions to not go within five feet of ya. Ya don't look like much, but instructions are instructions.'

Oh no he didn't. Finn arched an eyebrow. ‘Excuse me? I don't look like much? You're wearing a waistcoat without anything underneath it; pants that I wouldn’t wear on a dare; and sunglasses that cost, let me guess, €10? Max. Oh, and we’re indoors. Where there’s no sun.'

'Wrong. The shades cost €16.99,' announced Marv triumphantly. Some of the other Goons at least had the intelligence to wince.

Finn gave the man as deadpan a stare as possible. 'Apologies. You’re clearly a man of refined taste.' Sarcasm coated every word.

Marv smoothed his waistcoat. 'Too right, mate, nothin’ but class goes on this here body.'

Finn just shook his head helplessly. He couldn't even stay angry when faced with such stupidity. At least the itch seemed to have subsided. Or maybe Marv annoying me temporarily made me forget. If that's the case then....dammit. 'Will one of you morons please let me scratch my damn wrist!!!'

'Don't make a move, lads, he's got a plan up that there sleeve of his,' warned Marv, raising his gun once more. The rest of the Goons followed suit, suddenly appearing to think their captive was hiding a submachine gun in the sleeve of his shirt.

Finn's head dropped back in exasperation. 'No. It’s just the itch that’s up my sleeve. You’re all idiots,' he said in resignation, staring up at the ceiling of the warehouse. There was a skylight at its center.

'How long more do we have to wait here, Marv?' asked one of the Goons. 'This is getting real borin’, real quick.'

Marv shot an annoyed glance at the man. 'Stop whinin’, Benny. We're professionals so why not start actin’ like it.' Marv puffed out his chest and stood up tall. 'This is what we do.'

'No, it's not. It’s really not,' replied Benny with a bemused look on his face.

'What?'

'Um, we rob shops, Marv. We never kidnap people. This is like the first thing we’ve ever done that wasn't directly robbin’ a shop.'

Marv shook his head, maintaining his newly adopted straight-back, chest inflated pose. 'Yer wrong, Benny. Shut up.'

Benny had other ideas. He was looking hopelessly lost now. 'No seriously, Marv, we’ve never kidnapped nobody before. And I've been with ya from the start. Isn't that right, lads?' Several nods from his fellow Goons proved him correct, including the adamant nod that Finn gave.

'I said shut up, Benny,' warned Marv.

However, Benny wouldn't be derailed. 'Like, just a few days ago we robbed that Centra up in Stillorgan. Got a cool 150 bucks each. No kidnappin’ though.'

'Wow. 150? Each?!' exclaimed Finn. 'That's the big time, lads. Mafia standard like.'

'Thanks, man,' beamed Benny.

Finn grinned back.

'Benny, final warning, ya need to shut up,' growled Marv who was slowly going red in the face. 'We're hired criminals. We do all sorts of illegal activities for the right price. Includin’ kidnappin’. If yer not on board with that then maybe ya should leave my crew.'

Benny's frown of confusion returned with a vengeance. 'Your crew? When did that happen? Thought we agreed there was no boss and we'd all be equal and all?'

'OK, that's enough,' said Marv, swinging his AK-47 up to eye level. It was now pointing directly at Benny. He did this in a slow, precise movement that he must have thought looked highly dramatic. In reality, it gave the impression that Marv had struggled to lift the weapon to its current position.

'Shizzle just got real,' commented Finn with raised eyebrows. It was fair to say that he was enjoying this little spot of infighting amongst the Goons. The entertainment had also pushed the itch to the back of his mind which was an added bonus.

'Ahhh, Marv man, relax will ya,' said one of the other Goons.

Marv shook his head. 'No, I won't relax one bit. This here is my crew, and I won't take people disagreeing with me.'

Benny held up his hands. 'Hey, Marv, sorry, man. I didn't know being the boss meant that much to ya. Like we all had a chance to vote who we thought should be boss and no-one came up with any ideas. Including you.'

‘Solid point, Benny,' commended Finn.

‘Thanks, man.'

‘Will ya stop talking to the prisoner like he's yer mate!!' yelled Marv, spit flying. The gun was starting to wobble in his hands.

Finn eyed those shaking limbs. Must be hard to lift stuff when you have no visible muscle.

Benny looked a bit put out by this. 'Hey, Marv, ya wanna be the bossman then cool, fire away. But don't think ya can go telling me who I can or can't talk to. That's just rude, man.'

'Rude? Rude?! Benny, I'm pointing a bloody AK-47 at your head!! Ya should be worried about that more than me being rude,' said Marv in a menacing tone.

One of the Goons chuckled. 'Ye, but we all know you're not going to shoot, Marv. C'mon.'

'Oh ye?' yelled Marv, sending more spittle air bound. 'And why's that?'

'Cause you're going out with Benny's sister and Sarah-Jane would eat ya alive if ya hurt her little brother. That's why.'

Marv's anger and sense of authority evaporated with impressive speed. The AK-47 sagged in his arms and his head dropped with a sigh of defeat.

'Fatality,' announced Finn.

'Ah it's OK, Marv,' said Benny in a consoling tone. 'Ya can still be the boss if you want. Honest.'

Marv's dejected head remained resting on his chest for a moment longer. Then, suddenly, he perked up with a broad smile on his face. 'Naw, I'm good, dearest. The thoughts of trying to lead you lumps is enough to make me suicidal. Oh, and I killed your sister last week.'

Benny had no time to register this revelation as two soft sounds ended his life – one being the silenced AK-47 in Marv's hands being fired, and the other being the barely audible thudding sound that occurs when a bullet enters a human head. Benny toppled to the floor without a word.

In a precise and efficient manner, Marv double-tapped the remaining three Goons each in the chest before anyone of them could react. He then did a quick lap, double tapping each of them again, this time in the head, as they lay crumbled on the ground. This mini massacre took less than twenty seconds. Marv then lowered his gun and turned to face Finn. He was still smiling broadly.

Finn looked at each of the dead Goons from his seated position. 'I hate to tell you this, Marv, but I think you’ve some control issues. That was excessive.'

Marv's head fell back, and he roared with laughter. He continued to laugh uncontrollably for a solid minute until eventually slowing to a giggle. He removed his shades and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. 'Control issues. That’s a good one, dearest.'

'Um, thanks….love?'

Marv threw the shades to one side and then did the same with the AK. It landed with a clatter beside the downed Benny. Marv sat on the ground with his legs crossed in front of him and his back straight. He placed his elbows on his knees and his fingers formed a steeple in front of his face. 'I disagree with the excessive part, though,' he said with a grin that could only be described as maniacal. 'These men were going to be killed very soon anyway, in a far more gruesome manner then what I just did to them.'

'Oh?'

'Fomorians hired us.'

'Ah.'

Marv raised a questioning eyebrow. 'Come now, dearest, you must have figured out by now who was behind this little kidnapping of yours.'

Finn shrugged. 'I hadn't really given it too much thought, to be honest. I was confident whoever was really responsible would show their faces eventually.'

Marv giggled and passed a hand over his face. 'Show their faces...Fomorians...was that another joke?'

Finn frowned again. 'If it were, it would be the first one, but no, it wasn't.'

Marv grinned stayed where it was as his eyebrows rose. 'It would've been funny, though.'

'OK.'

'You know, because Fomorians wear masks...'

'They sure do.'

'So, they wouldn't be able to literally show their faces...'

'I'm aware of that. Trust me, I fully comprehend my unintentional pun. No need to spell it out.'

Marv, once again, dissolved into laughter.

'This is weird,' muttered Finn.

Marv's laughter disappeared instantly. He cocked his head to one side. 'What's weird?'

'This. I'm not used to being the serious one in these types of situations. It's a bit unsettling.'

Marv nodded and smoothed his waist coat as the smile left his face. 'Apologies. Time to be professional.' He frowned. 'What do we do now?

This guy is a whack job, Finn decided. He also hadn’t missed how Marv’s accent and vocabulary had changed dramatically. 'How about you tell me your evil plan so I can start on a way to thwart it?'

Marv nodded enthusiastically. 'Sure, sure. Though, you may be disappointed, dearest. There's not really much of a plan to tell. The Fomor hired me to capture a Hero for them. I then took up residence with the recently departed Benny and his crew in order to get the job done.' Marv tapped his chin with a finger. 'Now that I think about it, I really didn’t help. No offense, but it wasn't exactly hard to capture you, dearest.'

'None taken.’

'Surprisingly little effort needed actually, considering your rather grand reputation.'

'You caught me on a bad day.'

'In all honesty, this has probably been my easiest job to date.'

'OK, I'm officially offended.'

Marv smiled widely once more. 'Apologies. This is the first time I've directly gone head-to-head with a Hero and, well, I was expecting more of a challenge.'

Finn gave Marv a knowing smile. 'Perhaps it was so easy because I wanted to get kidnapped? Perhaps it is you who’s actually been trapped, and not me.'

Marv shook his head straight away. 'Nope, you’re the one trapped.'

Finn's smile wavered and then disappeared. 'Ye, I know.' He shrugged. 'What can I say, I wasn’t paying attention. It happens.'

'Think nothing of it, dearest, tis perfectly natural.’

A thought flashed into Finn’s mind. ‘Hey, you haven’t seen a troll by any chance? Big hairy guy, not that friendly? That’s why I was poking around this neck of the woods in the first place.’

Marv smiled and shook his head. From his seated position, he checked his wristwatch and glanced at the entrance to the warehouse. ‘Not long now, dearest. My employers should be arriving any time.’

Finn silently flexed his forearms but there was no budging the ropes that bound his wrists. 'About that, any idea what the Fomor want with little old me? I'm flattered they went to all this effort, or lack thereof as you’ve so firmly pointed out. It makes a nice change for their usual “kill on sight” policy.'

'I can imagine. Unfortunately, I have no idea what they want with you, nor do I have too much interest. I usually turn down their job offers. This time, however, they had some information I needed.'

'So, what, you're a mercenary?

Marv frowned in disgust. 'Please. I'd never lower myself to such an occupation as that. I prefer to describe myself as a treasure hunter of sorts.'

Finn's eyebrow rose. 'A treasure hunter named Marv?'

Marv grinned. 'Marv was a loser who died a few weeks back.' The grin grew wider, and just a little bit evil. 'He died badly, along with his girlfriend.'

Finn frowned. 'You're an odd kind of psychopath, aren't you?'

Marv shrugged.

'Some sort of shapeshifter then? You stole Marv’s persona and appearance?' was Finn's next guess.

Marv raised an eyebrow at this. 'Bit vague, no? There are many things in this world that can change their appearance.'

'But not many would be willingly to impersonate a scumbag from Lucan in order to capture a Hero. Not to mention possess the ability to pull of their victim’s mannerisms down to a tee.'

Marv bowed his head in acknowledgement. 'Why, thank you. I do take pride in submerging myself in whatever role I need to assume. It’s an art, you see. A performance of sorts. But, to answer your question, how about we just leave it as “Marv the treasure hunter” for the time being.'

Finn ignored this request. 'I have it. Make-up. You’re wearing copious amounts of make-up. And not the stuff you see in Boots down the road, but that heavy duty stuff. I'm talking Hollywood blockbuster quality.'

Marv shook his head with a chuckle. ‘The Ignorant are always so amusing. And there are none more ignorant than Heroes.’

Finn frowned at this. ‘I feel that ignorant came with a capital I. Care to elaborate?’

Marv opened his mouth to respond but was cut off as the steel doors of the warehouse swung open in a rather violent manner.

'Oh yay,' muttered Finn as his eyes fell on the newcomers.

There were four members in the Fomorian Kill Squad.

—————

“Infuriating itch? Multiple AK-47s aimed at his head? Now a Fomorian Kill Squad?! Finn is having one of those days!! The question is…can he stay alive AND get a good scratchin’?? Click below to find out!” :)

- Aj