Manfred (Manny) Humbolt was an Agent of Chaos. It said so in his calling card, along with the words ‘Reverend’ and ‘licensed registrar’ but there was little call for chaotic weddings in Laverstone (where most brides-to-be preferred the sedate predictability of Bride Boutique) so he worked at the Filbert Street Garage Tuesdays to Saturday Lunch. His boss, Winston Campbell, had started the business as a sole trader less than a year ago but thanks to the recession had already been forced to hire two more mechanics, Manny and Tom Blesset (who worked part time for Triple-S cabs).
It was with some surprise that Manny was called into the office on Thursday and he nodded a greeting to both his boss and a customer he remembered clearly as ‘souped-up van man’ before taking a seat on the vinyl padded tubular chair.
“Are you up for performing a wedding ceremony?” Winston asked.
“Sure.” Manny grinned at the customer. “I left my card in your crazy van, didn’t I? Are you sure you want a chaotic priest ?”
“I think you’d fit the bill to a T, old chap.” Van Man smiled and held out a hand. His palm felt too warm for a windy mid-November day but Manny just put it down to working in a cold repair shop. “You don’t mind working at night, I presume?”
“Sure, whatever you want,” said Manny. “You want it in a crypt as well?”
“Certainly not!” Harold Waterman winked. “We’ll save that for the honeymoon.”