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.