The pub was less busy than it had been the week before. A hastily written note on the chalk board informed the room that, “The Mysterious Julie is cancelled this week (pub quiz still on).”
“So run me through it one more time,” Dan said.
Carrie took a swig of her pint.
“I’m in public relations.”
“I get that, but how did you get rid of the Christ Brigade?”
“I was wondering that too,” Milton told her.
“They’re one of our clients or, I guess, their church is. Most of the members are good hearted and vulnerable people but the management are cold calculating business sharks.”
“How so?”
“Well essentially the Christ Brigade is a marketing brand for a Christian publisher well funded and staffed by volunteers. They’re bordering on being a cult but a cult that makes a lot of cash.”
“Milton knows that one,” interjected Dan “he’s always been bordering on being a cu...”
“Thank you Dan,” Milton said calmly, “and I hardly make a lot of cash.”
“Anyway, I told them that one of our reps had arrived to drop off their sample literature to your shop, been beset by their protestors and, as a result, you’d cancelled your order of their manifesto, The Even Better News Bible.”
“Well done you,” said Milton.
“So their manager told them all to leave.”
“Shouldn’t he be called their priest?” Dan asked.
“Nope, they all work in his publishing mill. I think he pays them in heaven.”
“Terrible,” said Dan.
“There are worse things,” said Carrie, “but not too many.”
They all took another drink. At the back of the room the quiz master clicked his microphone on and burst directly into flamboyance.
“OK, question three: the bestselling author Tamsin Palmer wrote which novel?”
Milton smiled at them all.
“I definitely know the answer to this one,” he said.
He took the paper and he wrote the name of the book on it, being careful to turn the letter W into vampire fangs.