" A Police Car By Any Other Name”
John
pushed the bar door open and was immediately engulfed by an escaping
cloud of smoke, fueled by exotic infusion of charred logs, nightshade
( tobacco ) and an assortment of other burnt offerings. Rubbing his
stinging eyes clear the overall inebriated condition of it's patrons
became self evident to him. Although he couldn't be sure if this
self-induced state was down to recent exposure or as a result of
prolonged exposure. He skirted his way around the small tables and
their residents, scouring the room as he went for any sign of a
menu, but all he could find was a weak spot in the line of hangers on
at the bar. Easing his way through he was greeted by the sight of
Wendy, supplying another undiscerning soul a pint of her 'illicit'
ale. She stood there, almost to attention, like some proud
defiant Celtic warrior queen defending her battlements from any and
all advances. One arm extended fully out firmly grasping a pump
handle while her other hand hung down by her side, slowly twirling a
damp tea towel around as if preparing it for action. The scene was
suddenly broken by her unrestrained laugh,
"Ha,
Ha, I may not know much about sheep dog calling, but I can still tell
the difference between a dog and a wolf whistle, thank you very much
!” Her body was still convulsing with laughter as she started to
serve another customer, relieving him of his glass tankard she asked
the age old question, “ Same again, Albert ?” The lean elderly
gentleman, with a peaked flat cap slightly too big for him, hunted
around some loose change in the palm of his hand, “ Aye, go on then
love, I might as well. It ain't killed me yet, 'as it !” a faint
smile breaking across his hollow cheeked leathery face. “ No, but
you've had a coupla close calls though, ain't cha ?” jibed a nearby
drinking companion, gently patting Albert on the shoulder. “ Best
not push your luck, eh ! 'Ere, I'll tell you what, why don't I drink
it for ya, jus' to be on the safe side, like ?” he jokingly
offered.
"Oh
no you don't, you both know the 'house' rules: He who orders it,
drinks it ! Whether he likes it or not !” reminded Wendy before
glancing over at John. “ Hello there, I see you're still alive,
then,” she greeted, strolling over to him. “ What do you mean by
that ?” John replied slightly disconcertedly. “ Just that I
didn't murder you on your first day on the job, that's all,” she
explained with a cheeky smile. “ Hmm, well not for the want of
trying, I'm sure,” he replied sardonically. “ Anyway, that must
make me rather a glutton for punishment, as I'm here to give you
another chance, not at murdering me that this ! I meant more in the
sense of food, I'd like to order something lunch, please.” Wendy
pursed her lips, which empathised her cupid's bow, and frowned, as if
giving the matter serious consideration, then, “ Well, for you I
would have to recommend today's special... Mistry Hotpot !” she
declared.
"A 'special' hotpot, eh ! Okay, I'll bite what's it made of ? John was
compelled to enquire.
"Do
you really want to know ?” returned Wendy.
"Probably
not,” John was beginning to resign himself to the fact that his
stay in Mistry was rather like the seven stages of grief, which by
his current reckoning put him somewhere around stage 3: Bargaining –
his need for food outweighing sense of taste. “Alright, I'll take a
bowl of that, and a pint of whatever comes out the pump ,” he
requested, nodding towards the row of brass pump handles adorning the
counter top.
"Steady
now, you almost ordered that like a regular. And there you were the
other night saying you weren't going to settle in here,” Wendy
teased, before stretching up on tiptoes in front of him, her tight
white blouse threatening to impede any progress by her generous form,
to retrieve a glass tankard from a narrow shelf over the bar. “ I
assure you that I'm NOT 'settling in' as you put it, merely accepting
my... short comings,” John clarified, temporarily caught off guard
by her action and proximity. Before averting his eyes, conscious that
they may have lingered slightly longer than the statute of
limitations permitted under such circumstances.
"So,
how's the detecting job going ?” Wendy asked, steadily pulling
down on one of the pump handles, to encourage the reddish brown
liquid into the glass below. “Slow and steady,”
came the short answer.
"That
doesn't sound so bad.”
"It
could be better,” John reviewed. “ But so far nobody seems to
know anything, about anyone,” he continued frustratedly. “ You
know, you should try the ' Black Museum', it's just a little further
on passed your station,” Wendy suggested.
"'Black
Museum' ? That's rather a macabre name for a museum, isn't it ?”
"Not
really ! It's named after the owner, Ebediah Black,” “ I see,
but why would any of this be of interest to me, exactly ?”
"Because,
he and Sergeant Keel, used to drink and play draughts together when
they were in here.”
"Huh!
That's actually quite helpful. I'll make a note to drop in there
sometime.”
"Well,
you don't have to sound so surprised about it ! I happen to be a very
helpful person, I'll have you know,” said Wendy indignantly,
placing his drink in front of him.
"Sorry
, I didn't mean to sound ungrateful or anything. Thank you,”
returned John earnestly, taking a deep quick gulp of his ale – the
theory being it was probably better to down it as fast as possible,
like the removal of a sticky plaster, a short, sharp unpleasant
feeling then you can relax. “ Would you put this all on my account,
along with the room for last night, please,” he requested. “ And
I'll settle up with you at the end of the month, if that's okay ?”
"You're
leaving ?” Wendy asked, taking note of his order.
"Yes,
I'll be staying over at the station, for the time being,”
"Mmm,
how cosy for you ! It's getting to be quite the bachelor pad over
there, isn't it ?” she smirked.
“Hardly !” replied John
curtly, downing the remains of his drink at the very thought of the
notion. “ I'll have another one of these, please,” he requested
pushing his empty glass back across the bar. Wendy obliged before
being called away to serve someone else, but remembered to tell him
that food was only served in the back room, as she left.
To
John's surprise there were only two diners in the small room, a
semi-comatose gentleman with a semi-digestive meal and the other was
a thin, well turned out buttoned up spinsterish looking elderly lady
who was busy picking over the bones of her meal like a small bird.
Both parties seemed completely disinterested in John's entrance,
which suited him just fine. Since the death of his wife he preferred
to dine on his own, undisturbed, alone with only his haunted thoughts
for company. In fact most of his solitary moments recently were given
to replaying old conversations, memories and feelings of Cathy over
and over again in his mind's eye – a psychological long-playing record of refection, heartache and loss.
It
was late afternoon by the time John returned to the station, in a
much more gentler state of mind after the third and final pint –
it's taste may have been questionable but there was certainly no
doubt about it's effectiveness. Upon entering he found Buster and
George in a relaxed state of their own, collapsed into armchairs,
shoes off, warming their toes by the fire, the young PC was the first
one to acknowledge John's arrival, “ 'Ullo, Chief ! You've timed it
well, there's a fresh brew in the pot if you want one ! Oh, and that
job wot you asked us to do… we couldn't do it !”
"WHY
NOT ?” John asked slightly perturbed.
"The
old boy at the station said something about a ' holding charge' or
other, what with it being a Sunday an' all, and as we're both
brassic, we couldn't pay it,” George explained.
"WHAT
! Why that little... extortionist !” replied John through gritted
teeth, while he scoured around the sink area for a clean mug, “ I
take it he wouldn't trust you for it, then ?” he continued, as he
poured tea into a cup, through a strainer.
"Nah,
I think we must have caught him at a bad moment or somethin'.”
reflected George.
"You mean AWAKE ! ” observed John caustically. “ It seems that I'm doomed
to chase one bad 'case' after another,” he concluded drawing a
chair up to the fireplace.
Sitting
silently for a moment, a faint impression of concentration sketched
across his face, George leaned closer in to John, to confess his
quandary.
“Y'know, Chief, I've been thinking about this whole '
Mad Monk' thing,” he paused in mid-thought conducting his musing, “
and if it had anythin' to do with what happened to me and Peggy the
other night ?” John stared stared expressionless at the Police
Constable and wondered if this was one of those ' better off not
knowing' situations, but eventually succumbed to professional
curiosity, “ That depends. What are you talking about exactly ?”
"Well,
we were jus' on our way back from the pictures, we'd been to see '
The Bride of Frankenstein ', have you seen it ?”
“ No
I haven't, go on with the story.” pressed John
“ Right,
well there was this mad scientist fella, see, an' he created this
woman monster from...” George elucidated.
"YOUR
STORY MAN ! Not the film's ! Just confine yourself to what happened
to you and the young lady, please ! ” John requested, becoming
slightly frustrated.
"Got'cha
! Well we'd only jus' passed ' Dead Man's Gallow ', when suddenly
this strange figure appeared right in front of us ! We must have
missed 'im and the trees by inches ! ”
"Anything
broken ?” John asked concerned.
"No,
only a coupla of scratches on the chassis, as far as I could see.”
"Please
tell me you're talking about the car,” John asked wryly, from over
the top of his cup. “ What about people, were there any human
casualties in all this ?”
"Oh
no ! Peggy was a bit shaken up by it all, more than she was about the
film, and I ripped me best trousers. But that was it.”
"What
about that 'apparition' of yours ?”
"That's
jus' it, when I got out an' had a look around for him, he'd vanished
into thin air !”
"So
he did a vanishing act, eh ! Is that the only reason you suspect that
there's some sort of connection between this itinerant pedestrian of
yours and the ' Mad Monk' then ?”
"No,
'course not ! He was glowing ghostly white all over, and was wearing
one of them hooded robe things !”
"Did
you get a look at it's face ?”
"Nah,
his hood was pulled right down over his 'ead,”
"If
you didn't get a look at him, how can you be so sure that it was a
man, then ?”
"On
account of his size, he was a giant fella with dirty big hands !”
George held up his two hands, fingers wide apart, as if to
demonstrate.
"I see, and your young lady be able to corroborate all this, will she ?”
" Yeah,
of course ! She was sittin' next to me the whole time and saw the lot
!” George answered confidently. “ Hmm, I suppose it does fit in
with the way the rest of the investigation is shaping up … wild
speculation and over-active imagination, with holes big enough to
drive a truck through !” John massaged his temple and rested his
head back on the chair. “ Still, I guess it couldn't hurt to take a
look around out there, besides it's not as if I have anything else to
go on right now, ” he conceded through half closed eyes. “ You'd
better show me where all this happened tomorrow morning. Can we take
your car out there ?”
"MY
CAR ? It's NOT my car !” George revealed in surprise.
"Really
? Whose is it then ?” John asked even more surprised.
"The
station's !”
"WHAT,
THIS STATION ? You mean, the car you've been driving around in,
conducting all your private affairs out of, that's actually a police
vehicle ?” queried John making his way back over to the sink. “
Er, well..yeah, y'know the locals needed help, and the car wasn't
doing much, it was just a classic case of supply an' demand. I guess
I must be one of them entrée-manure
types, providing a central service to the community,” George
responded, defensively.
Y"You
mean, you're a 'entrepeneur', providing an 'essential' service !”
corrected John.
"Exactly
! I knew you'd understand !”
"Not
quite ! Since when did taking your girlfriend to the cinema
constitute as an essential service ? challenged John rinsing his mug
out under the tap.
"Ha
! He's caught you good there, you would've been better sayin' it was
one of them whatchamacallit's... emergency call outs !”
interjected Buster jokingly.
"NO,
HE WOULDN'T HAVE ! And you're one to talk, Mister ! You're just as
complicit in all this too, you know !” said John disapprovingly,
waving a judgmental wet finger at him.
"Don't
go thinking I've forgotten about your little 'sleeping arrangements',
either” reminded John, “ that's a far from ideal situation, as
well !”
"HEY
! I know, why don't you both come along with us next week, there's a
Abbott and Costello film playing, ' Abbott and Costello meet the
Wolfman',” offered George in a classic conciliatory/distraction
pincer movement. “ Er, no thanks, I'm more of a Marx Brothers man,
myself. But you and I really need to sit down and talk about the
whole Status Quo of things around here, especially about the misuse
of police property !” said John placing his cup down on the
draining board. “ Well, I'd better look-over this car for myself,
shouldn't I ? An informal identification, so to speak. Where is it ?”
"It's
parked in the yard, around the back,” explained George. “ I was
goin' to give it a bit of a wash this weekend,
honestly Chief ! But, things have been kinda busy here recently,”
he confessed.
“ Hmmm, tell me about it !” agreed John, retrieving
his overcoat from a wooden coatstand. “ Come on then, lets take a
look at this thing,” he said over his shoulder as he headed towards
the door.
The
evening was drawing steadily in as the three of them traipsed into
the open yard behind the station, but even in the diminishing light
John could clearly make out the distinctive features of the big black
vehicle parked within. They stopped a few feet away from the motor,
John gazing in disbelief, “ No, no it can't be, tell me that isn't
our car, please” he asked. George looked from John to the motor,
and then back to John, “ Why, wot's wrong with it ?”
"WHAT'S
WRONG WITH IT ?” answered John incredulously. “Well for one thing
it's.... NOT A POLICE CAR !”
"Yes
it is, we've had it for almost 3 years now, I know you're not seeing
it at it's best, but...”
"IT'S
BEST ?” John cut George off in mid-sentence. “ It's going to take
a hell of a lot more than a ' spot of cleaning' to sort that thing
out !”
"Ah,
you're talkin' about it looking a bit like a...”
"A HEARSE ! GO ON, SAY IT ! IT'S A HEARSE ! It's designed to transport
the dead to their final resting ground !” interrupted John
impatiently.
"NO
IT DON'T ! Well not anymore, anyway... 'cept maybe for the odd body,
now and again, but's that's all !” assured George.
"I'm
not sure what bothers me the most about that last statement, the
frequency or the 'odd' bit ?”
"I'd
say it wasn't more than three times, tops, if that helps any. And
they ain't been any trouble !”
"I SHOULD HOPE NOT ! “ declared John. “ I have enough on my hands
with the live ones, as it is !” he said glaring at the sorrowful
pair in front of him. Then moved away from them and slowly walked
around the massive mausoleum on wheels.
“ I can't ride around in
this thing !”
"Why
not ? Everyone else does ?”
"I'm
sure they do... EVENTUALLY !” John continued his resistance. “ I
guess I'm just a traditional sort of chap when it comes to
travelling, I like the simple things like.... sitting in an upright
position ! Besides, the way things are going for me so far, I don't
want to push my luck anymore than I have to !”
"It's
been very handy, Chief ! Buster an' me, cleared all the fixtures 'n'
fittings and other things out of it's back, you'd never believe what
we've had in there !” explained George, mounting the case for
defence, trailing behind John.
"One,
can only imagine, let's just leave leave things there, shall we !”
grimaced John, his attention increasingly being drawn to the
condition of the bodywork.
"We've
'elped a lot of people with it, and like I said we had to do
something to make ends meet, what with not bein' paid an' all,”
George concluded his closing argument, trying to justify his actions
and lay down the groundwork for any possible plea bargaining. He
shared a conspiratory glance at Buster, who returned a dumbfounded
expression followed by a shrug of the shoulders in response.
John's
attention was drawn to a series of dents and scratches in the
nearside front wing, “ Hello, what do we have here then ?” he
said crouching down and running a hand lightly over them. “ Ah,
those are me driving lessons, I taught meself, y'know !” George
answered proudly, sticking his chest out and pointing to himself with
a protruding thumb. “ By the look of things, you must have
graduated via the 'school of hard knocks' … with honours !”
postulated John, examing the extent of the damage.
"Ha,
ha ! I see your sense of humour hasn't improved any, then. Still,
you always managed to make me laugh, didn't you ?” came the soft
reassuringly voice from somewhere over his left shoulder, which John
recognised immediately. Partially turning his head, he saw the
translucent figure of his late wife, drifting in and out of focus,
seemingly peering at the car's wing, too. “ Hmmm, right... well I
guess it's just another thing I'm stuck with … for now !” John
said resignedly without acknowledging her presence, and placed a hand
on the bonnet to steady himself as he stood back up. His unexpected
capitulation caught Buster and George by surprise, but nonetheless
they were quick to take advantage of the situation, “ Okay, Chief !
Well, me an' Buster better head back inside now, and see about
rustlin' something up for supper,” said George, rubbing his hands
together in expectation. Buster stood between his two companions, the
continual confused expression still remaining, “ Is that it then ?
Didn't he want to know about the other...” he started up before
being sharply closed down by George.
"Shuddup,
Whiskers !” he blurted, grabbing Buster by the arm and dragging him
out of the yard with him. “ C'mon, before you drop us right in it
!” Fortunately, for them, John was more concerned with the
unannounced arrival of the late Mrs Fox than anything his ageing
sergeant had to say. Once the two officers were safely out of earshot
he confronted her head on, “ What do you think you're doing ? Can't
you see I'm in the middle of something here ?” he blurted,
gesticulating with an open hand towards the departed pair. “ I just
don't have the time for this..” he explained frustratedly, “
whatever this is !”
"Don't
take that tone with me ! It's not my fault I'm here !” Cathy
answered back indignity. “ You're the one whose undergoing an
adverse reaction to change, you just won't accept your current
situation or even let me go !”
"What
are you talking about ?” John snapped, his brow furrowed deeply and
the tone of voice became slightly manic. “ I'm trying to do my
best, but it's not easy – everyone around here is crazy !”
"As
a student of philosopher and an innocent bystander to your life I have
to challenge you there,” Cathy responded, folding her arms she
adopted a more skeptical attitude. “ So now you're the only sane
person in a mad world, is that how you see it ?” she continued
arching an eyebrow. “ Look, it was obvious you were about to get
over heated about your..” she paused looking at the four wheeled
behemoth next to them, “ .. travel arrangements ! And
something tells me that would be extremely unhealthy, given your
current condition.”
"What are you saying ?” he
queried, confusion and frustration vying for equal attention. “
Well, simply put my darling, these last few months have taken their
toll on you, emotionally and physically, whether you accept it or
not. And now all the little corners of your life that you've been
secretly hiding away in have been finally stripped away.”
"That's
ridiculous ! There's nothing wrong with me ! All I need is to get to
bottom of things around here, and then I get my life back, that's all
!” clarified John, a slight nervous edge to his voice as he leaned
back against the motor.
"Okay,
if that's how you want to play it, John. But deep down, darling, you
know something isn't right, don't you ? I'm afraid that if you don't
change your ways and continue along the path your set on, then
there's a real danger that you simply won't be able to find your way
back again,” Cathy warned, a concerned tone in her pitch. The
couple stood staring at each other in silence for what seemed an
eternity, only the cold and their thoughts hung in the air between
them. The last light of day flickered out and darkness fell heavily
behind it, leaving John all alone once more. Eventually he pushed
himself away from the motor and started to make his way to the
station, nursing the ironic thought that if he disappeared while
looking for the Sergeant who would know or even care about him.
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