From a Feint Into a Slip and Kicking From the Hip

I am eternally grateful to the loyal band of readers who are sticking with my serial, “A Couple of Tenors Short”. I must admit is was concerned that people would lose interest or become so totally baffled they would drift away, but looking at the statistics of my site yesterday, I realise that despite the difficulties posed by the way I have chosen to publish it, people are sticking with it.

Your loyalty has lifted my spirits more than you will ever realise. So, Part 62 is dedicated to you with heartfelt thanks.

For those of you frustrated with your daily commute, take heart from today’s strange news story. If you ever find yourself complaining about the traffic on your way to or from work, consider this.

 Today I was unable to find a quiz question related to the number 62. So, you will just have to make do with finding the song, connected vaguely to today’s episode, from which the title is taken. I have given you a picture clue and of course, here is the answer.

OK, the quiz question out of the way, here is my mantra. This is a serial. Any new-joiners should start with the opener known as Part One.   

The troublesome recap has now settled into its new home. You can find the recap here!

Now read on...

Smithy looked over to where Jones was pointing. It was a piece of waste ground. The security fence that surrounded it had been vandalised. If there had ever been a gate, it was now long gone.

At the far end of the waste  ground, four youths, dressed in orange and blue striped blazers and yellow trousers, were tussling with another youth wearing a grey sweatshirt and jeans. The youth in the sweatshirt had his arms up around his head as the others pushed him around, occasionally throwing punches.

“On it, guv!” Smithy gleefully announced as he accelerated hard.

Smithy turned the Zephyr sharply to the left and bounced it up the kerb causing all the other occupants to cling on to their doors grimly. The Zephyr came to a halt just inside the gateway. The doors flew open and the four detectives rushed out.

They were half way between the Zephyr and the fracas when one of the youths shouted “Scarper! It’s the filth!” The four youths in blazers looked up then ran. Three took off in the direction of the right hand corner of the waste ground. There the fence had been almost destroyed, providing access to a side street. Smithy, Brown and Johnson took off in pursuit of the three. The fourth broke left and headed for a brick wall.

Before starting the chase, Jones looked over to the lad in the jeans and sweatshirt. He was half sat, half lying on the ground, dabbing at a cut above his eye, smearing blood across his face. Jones accelerated after the youth.

When the lad reached the corner he leapt up and grabbed at the wall to heave himself up. For a moment, it looked like he would be up and over, but then the bricks on top of the wall came away and the youth fell backwards.

“Give it up, son.” Jones slowed to a walk as the youth picked himself up.

The youth swore under his breath before snatching up a long piece of wood.

“Cummon, copper!” The lad jumped to his feet and swung the chunk of wood a few times.

Jones looked at the wood and a large, rusty nail that curled from the end. He shook his head.

As the youth swung the wood from side to side, it made a whooshing sound. Jones ignored the wood and concentrated on the thug wielding it, staying on the balls of his feet, feinting left and right, just out of range of the swinging length of two by four.

“You’re just going to make it worse for yourself, lad.” Jones spoke calmly, never dropping his guard for a fraction of a second.

The youth laughed and lunged forwards. Jones deftly moved to his left and let the club swung harmlessly past his right shoulder.

“You’re not very good at this are you?” Jones waved his hands, wriggling his fingers as he continued to bounce on the balls of his feet.

The thug swung his club violently from left to right. Jones danced backwards as it flew past his throat.

“Bloody coppers!” the youth aimed another swing, which Jones dodged easily. “Why are you so concerned for a freak anyway?”

The youth didn’t give Jones chance to respond, lunging forward swing his club. Jones dodged it easily and stepped inside the arc of the club. He grabbed the arm holding the club, he  pulled it. The momentum of the youth caused him fall forward. Jones twisted his body, while continuing to hold the arm, executing a perfect jujitsu throw. The thug fell to the ground. Jones twisted the arm he still held and expertly turned him over so that he was face down. Jones placed a knee on the thug’s back as he produced a set of handcuffs and fitted them tightly.

“I’m arresting you for suspected assault. “ Jones hauled the thug to his feet. “You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

“What?” the thug sneered and spat. “Don’t I even get a ‘you’re nicked, son’?”

Jones said nothing, just gave him a shove to move him back towards the victim of the assault, who was now sat up.

“Are you OK?” Jones shouted over.

The young man remained seated and continued to feel his various bruises and checking his hands for blood.

“Are you OK?” Jones rested his hand on the young man’s shoulder, then pushed the thug over to the wall.  “I’ll get you an ambulance. Get somebody to check you over.”

“I can’t hear you when you look away.” The young man spoke in a monotone, without inflection. “I’m deaf. I have to see your lips.”

After manhandling his suspect so that he was seated facing the wall, Jones came back to victim and crouched besides him.

“What is your name?”Jones signed

“Michael Langreen.” He signed back.

“See, he’s a bloody freak!” the thug shouted. “People aren’t safe if they let freaks like him roam the streets.”

Ignoring the thug, Jones completed his signed conversation with Michael before taking out his phone and calling for an ambulance and then a wagon to take away the thug. 

 

With a Texas Tommy Wiggle

Part twenty-three of “A Couple of Tenors Short” arrives after a short break caused by a rather busy week. With my support garments now firmly in place, I am able to pick up the threads and try to knit a ski mask for my gecko. 

Remember boys and girls, this is a serial. Any new-joiners should attempt the standard loin girding and start with Part One.    

Should you be rejoining the story, or do not have the inclination to read the previous parts, allow me to recap. Disclaimer: There has been so much going on that this summary is proving very difficult to keep to reasonable length. It could be that I miss important facts!

The world has gone mad, but Inspector Glynn Jones believes that everyone else is out of step not him. After finding the man from the State Security Services in his kitchen dressed in a green lycra body suit, he tried an experiment with the engraving on his wedding ring and discovered that it mysteriously changed when Pippa gave a different wedding day for their marriage than was on the ring.

Although he had no recollection of any marriage, he found himself hitched to Pippa Hucknell, an investigative journalist, in an arrangement he is enjoying. Other events are not so pleasurable. He has found that he driving a rather chirpy, lime green Datsun Cherry that behaves like a puppy; suffered numerous random wardrobe malfunctions; keeps re-growing a ginger moustache; bet against his own station in the upcoming police light entertainment championships; had run in with gangs of Buddhist monks; had one of his team hospitalised by the feral Girl Guides and found the camp Sat-Nav unit in the pink Mark III Ford Zephyr is developing a personality and cannot be switched off.

Then there are the strange cases he has to solve, the abduction of Archie McRamie, the theft of industrial generators, forged tickets for the Light Entertainment Championships, feral Girl Guides, the smuggling of illegal Macramé yarn, and a suspected murder of a ‘John Doe’ dragged from the Thames.

Since the case started, Doctor Wilkins, the famous TV Pathologist has confirmed the unknown swimmer drowned in the Thames after taking a large high tea. The Fruit Fancies of his last meal are being linked to Darrius ‘The Baker’ Kipling. Darrius works for Horace Adkins, the beloved Barbers Shop Quartet impresario who is presumed dead after a massive explosion at his Georgian Mansion which the local police have suggested was suicide.

It turns out that the missing author, Archie McRamie did not write ‘The Cat Crowed at a Little After Two-thirty’. The main character in the book appears to be Horace Adkins.

Darrius ‘The Baker’ Kipling and Dunker Phil, another of Adkins employees, were observed with Vera Anne Adkins and Violet Ann Adkins, two of Horace’s daughters, visiting the offices of London’s premier trial lawyers, Witherspoon, Lewes, Grambling, and Witherspoon. Vera Adkins had gone there to instigate a defamation case, but her sister Violet arrived and talked her out of it.

Jones has had a meeting with his Superintendant and a man from the State Security Services who were very interested in finding out why this visit took place, but have told the Inspector that he will be disowned if his investigation results in adverse public opinion. The State Security man has also suggested that he does not believe the book is the cause of the defamation case.

See, I told you about the need to start from the beginning.

Now read on...

Jo Schooner fanned herself with one hand, her face flushed.

“Are you OK?” Jones asked.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” Jo reached into a fold in her voluminous red dress and withdrew a handkerchief which she dabbed on her brow. “I seemed to lose the plot there for a moment.”

“I’ll get you a cup of tea.” Jones patted her elbow.

Jones got up slowly and went out to the office. A constable was sat at his desk conducting an imaginary orchestra while studying some sheet music gave a start when Jones tapped him on the shoulder and barked out an order for two teas. Jones gave a chuckle as he watched him scurry off towards the canteen.

When Jones returned to the interview room, he caught Jo studying his notepad. Jo’s head snapped round when the inspector entered and hurriedly replaced his notepad. Jones raised his eyebrow and gave her a stare.

There was no apology from the agent. Instead she started to talk about how she first met Archie and started on a stream of anecdotes of his antics on the literary circuit. Jones found himself laughing, which served to encourage Jo to continue.

Jo suddenly stopped mid-anecdote. “Archie is alright, isn’t he?”

Jones gave a cough and straightened himself in his chair. “We’ve got nothing that suggests otherwise.”

“Oh.” Jo examined her hands. “Something has happened to him, Inspector. I know it. He just wouldn’t abandon Elspeth without a word. He would find a way to contact her, let her know he is OK.”

“Look, we will find Archie; you have my word on that.” Jones looked Jo directly in the eyes with as much conviction as he could muster.

“Thank you.” Jo grabbed one of the Inspector’s hands and squeezed it tightly. “That means a lot to me.”

They were interrupted by a constable in full dress uniform entering the room with a tray. The constable set the dray down on the table and poured two cups of tea into flowery bone china cups from an ornamental teapot shaped as a country church. After serving, the constable stood to attention, saluted and then did a short soft shoe shuffle before turning and leaving the room.

Jones shook his head slowly before picking up a plate of biscuits and offering them to Jo Schooner.

While they drank their tea, Jones had Archie’s agent run through the dates and locations of Archie’s various escapades. He carefully noted them all down on the notepad. At first glance none matched up with the dates and locations mentioned in ‘The Cat Crowed at a Little After Two-thirty’.

The interview ended with Jo enveloping Jones in a hug and thanking him. Jones blushed as he rubbed lipstick from his cheek, but promised to keep Jo abreast of any news and progress.

The two of them walked together in silence to the entrance of the station and exchanged a handshake. Jones watched as Jo hailed a luridly decorated llama carriage and climbed in. As the carriage pulled away, narrowly avoiding two boys carrying a large wedding cake on a litter, Jo gave the inspector a wave. Jones instinctively started to return it, realised what he was doing and hurriedly clasped both hands behind his back.

When the carriage was out of sight, Jones went back into the station and started to walk back to his desk.

“Sir, Sir!” the uniformed constable who had promised to review the CCTV footage shouted at Jones as he reached the stairs.

Jones stopped and turned.

“I have found something on the CCTV footage, sir.” The constable pushed out his chest in a way that threatened to make lethal weapons of the shiny buttons on his tunic. “I think you might want to see this.”