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> Home Made Tales, The journey
peter.howden
post 28th Mar 2017, 06:07am
Post #361

Super Lord Provost
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Posts: 392
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485

Bond Note Episode Three;


The short babble

It did not often happen but James froze where he stood. He supposed this would be the police and he knew exactly how they worked. There was no obvious way out of this quandary, as it was certainly something to do with the caller and message he had just received. James had a perturbed relationship with the local police which his chosen profession sometimes warranted.

He had crossed swords before with the neighbourhood constabulary who were inclined to tediously say, “Where there is smoke you will find a fire” though perhaps this time, they would probably jump through hoops of delight, saying ‘Caught at last, hey!’ the bell rang constantly now as he jiggered all the considerations in one moment, concluded it would be better to open the door willingly, rather than having it forcibly broken down.

With the latch on, he opened the door as far as it could go, and tried to look normal, what ever the hell this was, but in his case not to show there was a body… dead to the world, in the very next room.

James almost swore as, into view came the unwelcome mug of, ‘Haud this a minute’ Balgair, the Scottish dirty fox, undisputed head anything criminal or corrupt, in the whole of the city, if not the country. This excuse for a human being is unpredictably dangerous, no hint of what, or how, or whom he will ‘Do’, until he muttered through his tight thin lips, the catchphrase; ‘wait a minute …and then it was too late. Along with two loosely dressed heidbangers, just of the leash, carrying a clumsy, tatty Jack-stand, he mumbled his words, but he always did “I hear there was a hell of a bruhaha coming from your place last night!”.

There was a long pause as James stared at the hefty jack-stand, as Balgair waiting for an apology, or explanation of sorts, but realized none was coming, via the deadly silence.

he added slyly “Don’t rock the boat pal, I like you, I was a bit hurt you never invited me round,your line of work, you must be able to pick the birds…or so it has been said?”. Balgair was a huge mass of muscles, with arms and legs, complete with an odd shaped head, always displaying a kind face, the kind you would love to punch. His manners were less than recommended for a sub species, a devious bastard, but everyone was careful especially when he had a carjack near hand.

James winked saying ‘Private, one on one Balgair, however, the next time, I’ll have your bell rung!’. The reputed hard man looked vexed but muffled “Wait; there is no need to say any more; one on one, wow …you’ve got a way about you!” James abruptly shut the door, before the bloody maniac had time to finish his obvious sentence. Then, standing astride, with his pounding heart and back against the door… James did not move a blinking muscle, but his brain raced around with his growing predicament. He had a unknown dead body, he had a intimidating phone call, on his private phone, threatening police involvement, and now this arsehole, and his cronies with his favoured weapon…a jack-stand.

For a few brief seconds, his mind strayed from the dilemma of the thugs outside, and the body inside, realizing Balgair, was a dinosaur, in respect to the modern man, however, James felt he was probably one too. He still thought of woman as delightful, and if a sexist was wanting a well-dressed woman, wearing high heeled shoes, creating a cute wiggle, then he was certainly the man for that. Long time since he saw a living bra or a Playtex girdle and high times were over though not dreams. Call them naughty if you want but I call them self-preservation, thought James.

Speedily, the image of the flaky, rusty jack-stand, came racing back to govern his brain, vexed with wondering if this was a vicious intimidation stagey ,or was he the next intended victim. The cause of being tarnished…all the times black blood was scrubbed, with a wire brush, from its basic workings.
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peter.howden
post Y'day, 01:32pm
Post #362

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 392
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485

Bond Note Episode Four
;

The wee sign

James lost no time resuming his original task, checking the scene holding such a horrible deed, while the lights was off. With his miniature, built-in blue moon system, beamed torch, in his mouth, convinced it was the better way to search for clues, assuming, this murder must have been completed in the dark. A problem arose with the consistency of blood, while the bruising around the mouth, cheeks, and eyes, made it certainly to be some hours old. She had been smothered, but as far as he could detect, not by any of his pillows, which remained unruffled elegant and slinky as silk pillowcases are.

Obviously, the female was slapped around, quite a bit, before being slain, but then again, somehow, all the details did not connect. The slashing or stabbing was all out of concept, of what should have taken place, yet, perhaps the culprit wanted the finders to think. The smell of urine was not present which should have been, if she had met her demise in such a manner. Something was defiantly wrong… with the mouth, the blood on the teeth and gums. He needed a closer examination

Edging towards the unlit chasm, he trips over a heavy object, with his unprotected bare foot, starts leaping around, swearing like a trouper in pain, James tumbled awkwardly, on his side, at the back end of the round bed. He almost swallowed the torch, but managed to spit it out. Landing on the floor, the beam shone squarely on the culprit which caused his unwanted pain. The bloody Thinker statue, which must have fallen, unobserved, when the phone or the door rang.

Picking up the torch carefully examine at a certain angle, staring at the corpse, something caught his eye. An almost minute piece of paper was lodged in the mouth of the misfortunate cold deceased. Carefully, taking the two pencils, working them as chop stick pincers managing to free the paper from the blood-stained teeth. Her lips by this time were blue, while there was a macabre beauty about her face or in fact, the actual body, as it lay unprepared for her maker

No sooner had this delicate operation was completed; the doorbell rang, then impatiently resounded. The bell rang once more. James had good reason to believe this was the officers of the law. The discipline in his training from his chosen occupation, automatically kept him cool, while placing the soiled piece of tattered paper into one of the small plastic bag, shoved it into his back pocket of his, old standby ‘505’ vintage Levi jeans. Removing the gloves, he opened a small drawer, placed all his protective gear into it, then closed it quietly.

There was nothing for it but to open the door, without the latch this time. A well kent, high blood pressure, face of Inspector Andy Clyde, who should have joined the river police, for he was always splashing around, with nowhere to go, certainly lacking imagination. A dour expression minus humour, though what could you expect from someone who had been in the force forever, and well past his sell by date. He was just a tad smidgen short of being a bigot

Gawking into the doorway, was freckled reddish faced plump man, with an old styled hat, if you’re into that kind of thing, a coat almost trailing to the ground. Rolly Polly would be a better description however, his voice hallowed. “Well”; cackled the leading man; ….” I’ve got a warrant to search these premises… I have reasons to believe a foul deed has been committed”.

The Inspector had known James’s Uncle Saul, years back. In fact, they had been constables on the beat together in the early days. Within seconds of waving his little bit of paper; Andy and his team were not only in the door but already searching with hands and eyes.
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