by J Battle
I’d been at the office for eight straight hours and that’s a long day for me. I hadn’t had time for lunch and only had five or six coffees all day.
There were just so many people asking for my help. When Sam sidled in, I even had to have him talk to people; from behind his screen of course.
And every case was the same; lost animal in the night and my card left in an easy to find place.
At first I took him to be another client; these days policemen don’t wear uniforms, of course.
‘Good evening, Mr. Chandler,’ he began, reaching out to shake my hand as he sat in the chair opposite.
‘Good evening, Sir,’ I threw right back at him.
‘You seem very busy, don’t you?’ He was a small guy, with a nicely trimmed moustache, and completely untrimmed eyebrows.
‘Just one of those days, I suppose.’
‘Perhaps I should introduce myself? My name is Evans; Inspector Evans I should say.’
‘Inspector Evans?’
‘Police Inspector Evans.’
'What can I do for you officer?' I sat up a little straighter in my chair, trying not to think about my fridge and its contents. My rec. drugs are not actually illegal, but, if my office was construed as a public place, then there might be issues.
'As I said, I am Inspector Evans, private I should mention, as I actually work for a private security company, The Really Secure Company, to be exact. Here, I’ll zip you over our brochure.'
He did just that and my wrist-top gave a jolly little tinkle to let me know.
'We provide foot on the ground investigative services for the Law and Order AI, and we are always on the lookout for good quality investigators.'
'Oh,' I said, trying not to preen. 'So you're trying to head-hunt me, then?'
'Uh, well, if you don't mind, no; not really. Are you looking for a job?'
'Depends on the package?' I said, coyly. I didn't really want a job, but it's nice to be asked.
'I think you may have misinterpreted my presence here. I'm not recruiting; I'm investigating.'
'Oh, I see. Exactly what are you investigating?' I asked very quickly to avoid any suggestion of embarrassment.
'Well, you, actually.' He flipped open his wrist-top. 'We'll be recording the rest of the proceedings if you don't mind.'
I did mind, but I didn't think it would get me anywhere to protest.
'I haven't done anything!' I couldn't help the touch of a whine in my voice. He was kind enough to ignore it.
'Let me be the judge of that,' he said abruptly, and then he frowned. 'Was that rude? I didn't mean to be rude. We're trained not to be rude. Was it rude?'
I took pity on him. 'No, you're fine, officer. It'd take more than that to offend me,' I said, hoping he wouldn't take it as a challenge.
'OK, then. Let's get down to business. You are Philip Humphrey Chandler, the son of Chips and Mary Chandler, and you are 38 years of age on your next birthday. You have a small mole on your left buttock and you were a bed-wetter well into your seventh year.'
'Is all this really necessary? And it was only once, when I was just seven; I’d drunk too much pop at my party. It hasn't happened since; and how do you know about my mole?'
'Just establishing your identity; have to be sure who we're talking to.' He glanced at his wrist-top. 'Not married, I see. Never been married, and you're nearly 38. You don't currently have a girlfriend.'
'Not for the want of trying.' I laughed in an all-men-together sort of way.
'I see your mother has some quite disparaging things to say about you.'
'Look, that's enough. There's no need to bring her into it.'
'Sorry, Sir; did I hit a soft spot, Sir? My, my. I'll just make a note of that, Sir.'
He frowned again. 'Oh dear; that sounded unreconstructed to me. Did it sound unreconstructed to you? We have training to stop that as well, Sir.'
'You're fine, officer. If we can get to the point, Officer. You can see how busy I am.'
'Not too busy to help the law as it goes about its daily business, I hope, Sir.'
He closed his wrist-top and sat back.' Do you mind if I stop calling you Sir, Sir? We're supposed to say it at the end of every sentence, to show our respect, but it can get to be too much, sometimes, I think, Sir.'
I smiled. 'Call me Phil if it will speed things up.'
'Thanks, Phil. You don't realize how hard it is to keep up this level of politeness, day in day out. My grandad was a policeman at the end of the last century; he never said a polite word to anyone in his whole life. He was even rude to my nan on their wedding day, if you can believe it.'
I could, so I nodded, thinking that I could probably brew and drink another couple of coffees before he got to the point.
'So, Phil, let's get down to things. It appears you've been breaking into people's houses to steal their pets…'
'No, I…'
'And you've been leaving your calling cards so that they come to you to find them again. It's one way of drumming up business, I suppose.'
'No, officer. None of this is true.'
'So, how do you explain the cards?'
'They're as much a mystery to us as they are to you.'
'I see no mystery here, Phil.'
I thought about going with Julie's explanation. I'd believed her and I knew she was lying, but no, it's never a good idea to tell a lie to the police; remember that, kids.
'Well…' I flustered. 'They're not our cards, and I was at home, or in a pub, whenever it happened.'
He flipped open his wrist-top. 'The time is now 17:33 and I am about to go into interrogation mode; Stage one; Bad Cop. Start timing from… now!'
He suddenly seemed much bigger, and his moustache was bristling; I've never seen anything bristle before, but that was definitely a bristle. He leaned closer and slapped one really quite dainty had on the top of my desk.
'So, buddy, are you ready to stop pulling my pisser and tell me the truth? It will be much better for you if you do, sonny, and quick, because this is my nice face; you don't want to see my ugly face.'
It was an opening I chose to ignore.
'You don't impress me, officer, with your moustache and your pink hands.'
That got him going; I thought he was about to explode.
'You're speaking to a police officer, here, sonny.'
'Private,' I offered.
Now, anyone who knows me would be surprised at how relaxed I was in the face of all this moustache bristling, hand slapping offensive interrogation. And they'd be right; I don't handle confrontation well at the best of times.
But, whilst he'd been getting up a head of steam, I'd taken the opportunity to query Neville on current police practices (private) so I knew that he was only allowed to use Interrogation code one, Bad Cop for two minutes.
The time was very nearly up and he'd have to move to Interrogation code two; Good Cop.
Very soon now he'd be getting me a cup of coffee, and maybe a cherry scone.
**********
'Here, let's stop and step outside, and I'll show you properly.'
The midsized white van pulled over to the hard shoulder and parked between the vibrant flower beds.
The Transport and Infrastructure AI had really wanted to look after something a little more exciting; maybe Deep Space exploration, or perhaps, one of the Military Action options, or even Parks and Recreation, but no, it got stuck with looking after roads that were hardly ever used now that you could get almost anywhere you wanted to go by squirtbooth. As compensation for its tedious role, the AI was given a very generous budget, so it was able to keep the highways in tip top condition, with all of the roads bordered by well-tended gardens and each shoulder area garlanded by flower beds.
The AI was really looking forward to the next Christmas, as it planned to decorate the whole length of the M1 with fairy lights.
Dart was a little nervous in the left-side passenger seat, squashed up against the much larger figure of Bill and unable to k
eep a close eye on Barnes, his new driver. Barnes was the only member of the old gang who’d chosen to stay in Manchester when Deed had taken the rest of the gang off to pastures new on OK. Dart was not entirely sure that he’d got the best side of the deal, as Barnes was unpredictable, arrogant and not very bright. Far more a handicap than an asset.
At some stage, Dart was well aware that he might have to join his old compadres, but not just yet. Not when he had a plan that, if everything worked out as it should, might leave him in a position of strength when he did finally leave Earth behind.
He opened the van door and stepped onto the shoulder. Bill joined him with a sigh of relief as he squeezed out of the middle seat.
'Right, Bill,' said Dart, pulling a roll of paper from its long cardboard tube. 'These are the plans. If I stretch them across the bonnet, you'll be able to see what I mean.'
Bill walked slowly to the front of the car, as if he had all the time in the world. He stretched his aching back as Dart spread the blueprints out on the front of the van.
A brisk breeze flapped at the edge of the paper.
'Here, hold this while I get some stones to hold it down,' said Dart.
Now, Bill wasn't a dim or a slow man, but he took his time in everything he did. So, when Dart's hand left the blueprint, Bill's hand hadn't quite made it, and a happy gust of wind ripped the blueprint from the bonnet of the van.
As Dart looked up, he was just in time to see the A3 sheet of paper wave goodbye as it sailed over the barrier towards the carriageway below.
'I…'said Bill.
‘Oh dear,’ said Barnes from the far side of the van. ‘That’s not very clever, is it?’
'You'd better go and get it,' snapped Dart.
Bill glanced over at Barnes.
‘He don’t mean me,’ smiled Barnes; shaking his head.
Bill turned back to Dart.
‘Go on,’ encouraged Dart.
Bill shrugged and walked to the barrier; taking his own good time. He looked over the edge and his eyes watched the errant paperwork on its impromptu journey.
'It's a long way down.'
Dart joined him.
'A few broken bones are nothing compared to what will happen to you if you don't get it back.'
The hand that gripped Dart's neck was surprising quick, and really quite strong.
'You threatening me, Dart?' he hissed, each slow word accompanied by a quick squeeze.
Despite his rapidly darkening complexion, Dart held his eyes and nodded, as he placed the barrel of his small handgun against his potential colleague's forehead.
‘Go Boss, go!’ yelled Barnes
Bill gave a last squeeze for luck and released his grip,
'Off you go, then, son.' Dart smiled as he waved Bill away.
Chapter 6 Now…The Kleptrip!!!
(Some questions you might have, especially if you haven’t read the original book, In Favour of Fools: still available anywhere that has little regard for the quality of its merchandise:
No. 1, Why am I wasting my time on this claptrap?
Well, I need the money of course, and so will Phil, very soon. And at least I can pretend I’m writing.
No. 2, Who am I anyway?
I’m the Narrative Facilitator and it is my onerous task to take the direct real time uplink from Phil’s brain implant and convert it to the ‘light, witty text’ you see before you. From time to time I’ll attempt to relieve the tedium with one or two pithy comments of my own.
No. 3, How great are Pixies?
Well, I know I’m biased but, yes they are great. Check out my epic Pixie fantasy novel at;
pixiesaregreat.univ.com
You’ll love it. It is 1200 pages of intense drama and adventure, told with a certain panache by yours truly.
No. 4, What’s all this squirting stuff?
A Fools' Particle is a massless particle created when matter and anti-matter collide. Professor Fool worked out a way to trick normal matter into thinking it’s a Fool’s particle and can be squirted across a significant portion of the Galaxy. So, when you step into a squirtbooth, you dial up where you want to go on the planet and, hey presto, you’re there. If you want to travel off planet, you need a bit more power so you go to a Squirtport and do very much the same. The maths are very complex so you need an AI to do all the heavy work. If you imagine the worst algebraic equation you’ve ever come across and times it by A to the power of B (with A being an Astronomic Unit (the distance between Earth and the Sun) in millimetres and B being your mother in law’s disapproval rating (of you) on a scale of 1 to 100), then you’ve got the idea.
No. 5, What’s this thing in Phil’s head?
For heaven’s sake will you give me a break and stop with the questions?
OK, last one. The AI was squirted into Phil’s head to help prevent the theft of mankind’s supply of the most valuable commodity in the universe; Gill-juice.
That’s it. If you want to know anymore, just click function keys three to five on your Wrist-top and you’ll get all the information you could possibly need, or want. If you’re using a reader, of even paper (do people still do that?), then you’re going to have to guess, because I’ve got better things to do with my time. Or you could buy the book. Go on, you know you want to, and I’d be able to eat tonight.
Back to the story. N.F.)
Something very strange is going on here.
I was just walking towards the spaceship with the big guy, and I have to say it’s something quite special.
We’re never going to develop proper spaceships because we have Fool’s Squirt technology, which is a bit of a shame if you ask me. Not just because I’d rather travel in a spaceship and take ages to get somewhere than be dishonest with my particles and get squirted in seconds. It just that spaceships are so cool. Especially this one; it’s all black with red go-faster stripes along its upper and lower services.
If you want to get an idea of what it looks like and, as I suck at descriptions, just flip open your wrist-top and ask it to bring up a 1980’s Porsche and you’ll get the flavor.
Anyway, as we’re walking towards it, he suddenly veers to the left and begins to stagger off in the wrong direction.
So, now I’m standing here watching him go, and I’ll admit that I’m confused.
‘Not an unusual condition for you, Phil, if I may say.’
‘I should have expected you to chirp in there, Neville. So, what’s going on? You must know.’
‘It seems that our friend has succumbed to the invidious influence of the Kleptrip.’
That’s just what I want to hear when I’m so far from home, or safety.
‘The what?’
‘The Kleptrip is the intelligent and dominant life form on this planet.’
‘But I thought it was uninhabited; that this was the only land on the planet.’
‘Of course you did, Phil.’
‘Well, that’s what you told me.’
‘I thought it advisable to restrict your exposure to the truth.’
‘Why, what’s so bad about the truth?’
‘I wanted to reduce the opportunity for panic on your part.’
‘Now I am getting panicky. Tell me the truth; I can take it.’
‘Would you like to experience a humorous interlude first? I have several new jokes that I’d like to try out on you, if you think it’s the right time.’
‘No thank you; I’d rather just stand here and have a moment to myself, and then you can tell me the truth.’
‘Let me know when you’re ready.’
I watch the big guy for a moment. He looks as if he’s just about to fall, but catches himself at the last moment.
Now’s he’s stopped, and he’s waving his hands about, as if he’s trying to attract someone’s attention. But there’s no-one here but me - I hope.
He’s coming back now, and his walking is a little better. Perhaps he’s over the little fugue state he was in, and now he’ll invite me into his spaceship. I
bet it’s got lots of shiny dials and levers and…things. Amazing things. Maybe he’ll give me a ride in it.
‘Phil, I think perhaps you should return to the cave.’
‘Why? I’ve only just left it.’
‘Still, you don’t want to get sunburnt.’
I look up at the grey cloudy sky.
‘I think I’ll be OK.’
‘Phil, trust me when I say this; I believe that if you start running now, you might survive the next 10 minutes.’
‘What?’
Now, I admit that I’m not always the quickest when it comes to noticing things, but, when there’s a voice in my head telling me to run, and there’s a 200 kilo alien charging at me with his arms spread and his little mouth gaping, then OK, I get the message.
I’m running now and I can hear him behind me, but he’s only got short little legs, and he’s very heavy; so he’s not that fast. Neither am I, to be honest, but now I’m in the cave, hiding where I started.
I know; you don’t have to state the obvious. If I’m hiding in the same place he found me last time, it’s not really hiding.
But it’s the best I can do.
**********
‘Your credpers has been declined,’ Julie said as she flounced into the office the morning after the busy day. Well, it was five minutes to midday.
‘I had to pay myself,’ she snapped, giving that look that says how did we both come from the same womb?
‘That can’t be right. We’ve still got plenty of money in the bank. Did you get the numbers wrong?’
That brought a glare; Julie has a very good glare; I think she practices in the mirror.
‘Of course the numbers are right. You must have spent all of the money you got for the Gill-juice last year.’(Taken directly from the nostrils of a dead gangster, if you’re at all interested. N.F.)
‘No, there’s some sort of mistake.’ I flipped up my wrist-top and called up my bank accounts. I have three accounts because, back before I briefly became the richest man in the Universe, the debit figures in my accounts seemed much smaller when split into three.
