In the grip of the Zephyr

For those of you who haven't already, you should read the first part of this story, which to avoid confusion, I shall call Part One .

If you are too busy, or find that I have confused matters in my naming of Part One, then I shall give a quick recap.

Jones and Smithy are on covert surveilance in a pink Ford Zephyr Mark III. It is turning out to be anything but routine. They have both grown facial hair, their pizzas turned into kebabs and a waxwork Horatio Nelson appeared briefly to confuse matters. They also discovered that Horace Adkins comitted suicide by blowing up his Georgian Country house - although Pippa Hucknell doubts it was suicide. The Superintendant is getting nervous and sending out runners. To make matters worse, two hoodlums are hanging around the 24 hour Taekwondo Emporium.

Now read on....

A Black Cab had drawn up at the 24 hour Taekwondo shop. Darrius Kipling, aka the Baker and Dunker Phil suddenly became animated, stepping out into the street, heads darting this way and that. They opened the door of the cab and out stepped Violet Ann Adkins. The two men fawned over her and paid the cabbie.

Violet smiled at them before heading through the door of Witherspoon, Lewes, Grambling, and Witherspoon.

“That’s two of them in there now, Guv.” Smithy watched as the two heavies went back to their game of cat’s cradle. “What do they want with trial lawyers?”

Jones shrugged and then winced when he realised he was wearing brown corduroy trousers with black shoes.

Jones opened the second pizza box. It was filled with Tammy Wynette albums. As he prepared to throw them aside, he noticed, the big gold ring was back on the third finger of his left hand.
“Smithy, am I married?” he asked slowly.

Smithy turned to look at Jones with a furrowed brow. “Errr... you know, I can’t remember. No! Wait, yes, you are married, but none of us have ever met her, because.... errr... Guv, why have you never introduced us to your wife?”

Jones was sure that something was wrong. He sat in the back of the Ford Zephyr and tried to remember. The only problem was he wasn’t sure what he was trying to remember.

Ten minutes later, a Volkswagen Camper van, rolled around the corner and noisily drew alongside. Smithy wound the window down and the driver of the camper van did the same.

“Hiya, Tom” Smithy greeted his colleague cheerfully. “When did you get the afro?”

“Dunno.” Tom stroked his thick, droopy moustache. “I was as bald as a coot this morning.”

Jones examined the two policemen in the van and shook his head. “Doesn’t that seem strange to you, Tom?”

Tom looked at him with his head on one side and shrugged. “We’re here to relieve you. The Super wants you back at the station. He says you have some explaining to do.”

A marching band appeared down the street. Thirty two men dressed as George Washington drilled expertly as they belted out popular German Opera arias. Jones struggled to brief his relief above the noise while simultaneously removing the big gold ring.

Briefing complete, Smithy started up the Zephyr. A group of young girls rushed towards the marching band brandishing Bratwurst they wanted autographed. Smithy watched them engulf the conductor before pulling away.

The Zephyr crawled through the traffic with Jones cursing the latest bylaw that gave Llama drawn carriages right of way. In the back seat, Jones brooded. Shortly after they crossed the river, Jones noticed the big gold ring back on his finger. He removed it and looked at the white band of skin on his otherwise tanned finger.

“Smithy, does all of this seem normal to you?” Jones looked at the back of the young detective constable’s head while biting on his own lip.

Smithy didn’t answer at first. He had noticed a gap between a bendy-bus and a handcart. He gunned the engine and forced the Zephyr through it. The tyres squealed as he avoided a group of unicyclists and he accelerated past an ornamental fishpond on a traffic island. When clear of the hazards, he pondered the question.

“It’s why I joined the force, Guv.” Smithy grinned as he out-accelerated a tuk-tuk from the lights.

“The exploding gourds, the marching band, this pink Zephyr, the sudden growing of facial hair.” Jones paused to let the words sink home. “Are all of these everyday occurrences in your life?”

Smithy, guided the Zephyr into the car park of the police station. “Well guv, I would hate to have a boring, ordinary nine to five job.”

Jones shook his head and got out of the car.