NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION

 NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION

By Bob French

Humphrey sat back and looked down at the Christmas presents he had just received from the tree by the hand of his sister Jean.  As he contemplated them, he noticed that his and all the other presents were wrapped in the same wrapping paper. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dorothy’s face turn to thunder as she unwrapped her presents, but thought nothing of it.  Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by Jim, Jean’s brother, a rough and ready builder by trade, who slumped down beside him.

“Hay Humph, how you doing mate?  Haven’t seen you since we went on that boat trip down the Thames last summer.  You know, when you puked all over Mother and little Christine.”  His voice carried across the room, causing many to laugh at him and some to groan.

Jim was about twenty-five; tanned, with ice blue eyes, and built like an Irish toilet.  His lack of decorum was made up by his fast-talking wit and charm which he used on the ladies, regardless of their age.

“Fine Jim, how’s business with you? keeping busy?” Humphrey knew that when speaking to Jim, it was best to stick to subjects he knew about rather than the cost of living or the war in Ukraine.

“Made a couple of grand last month renovating an old house over in Wickford.  It was owned by some ponce who had retired from the Conservative Party or something.  And you?  Still, pushing your pen around ledgers?

Humphrey was an accountant and had been since leaving school.  He had, as suggested by his father, started at the bottom, but instead of rising slowly through the ranks, he had stayed at the bottom. Overlooked and regularly criticized by his managers as being too slow and a little too honest.  This last misdemeanor had caused him the loss of Mildred, his wife of some ten years.

Mildred was the daughter of Roger Harvest, the manager of the local bank and when Mildred mentioned that her husband was an accountant, Roger thought to push some business his way.  That was the first mistake because after Humphrey had gone through the books, he found that Roger had omitted to declare a number of taxes to Her Majesties Inspector of Taxes.  Secondly, rather than sit down with Roger and explain his findings and then how he could overcome the issue, he informed the tax man, causing the preverbal poo hit the fan.

The first he knew something was amiss was when he was called into his boss’s office, and after an hour of being yelled at and criticized for being incompetent and a dead weight in the company, was told to get out.

That night as he pushed his front door open, he felt the place cold. After calling out for Mildred and getting no reply, started to slowly search his home. He found her letter on the kitchen table.  She had left him, claiming that what he had promised her on their wedding day of being a successful accountant and living in a nice house in Billericay with a car each and a couple of kids, had failed to materialize. Now alone, his sister Jean had taken pity on him and included him in any family celebrations.  He had always found an excuse to duck out of these events, but this year, he had failed to convince her, and so, was duty bound to attend.  Her parting words were “Don’t bother to bring presents, I’ve bought everyone a present or two.”

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of two children giggling behind the sofa but chose to ignore them.  He hated kids, especially those two brats belonging to Jean.  Arrogant, spoilt and rude. He recalled the time when he had been given a plastic bottle of water at the family summer picnic and after a brisk game of football with the family, had sat down next to Jean’s beautifully laid out picnic, took a deep swig from the bottle, only to find it was pure gin.  He had swallowed two or three deep gulps before realizing what he was drinking, then vomited up the foul-tasting alcohol, all over Jean’s masterpiece.

Since then, Humphrey was always on guard when these two miscreants were nearby.

It was nearing nine at night when Humphrey made his apologies and left, taking his unopened Christmas presents with him.  As he left, Jean quietly mentioned that if he didn’t like the presents, he could take them back to the House of Fraser down at Lakeside and they would give him a credit note.

A few days before New Year’s day, Jill popped her head around his door.

“Hey, have you heard?  The boss is throwing a work’s New Year’s party in a restaurant down by the House of Fraser in Lakeside. You coming?”

Humphrey had liked Jill, but being married, felt that she was out of bounds and was about to decline her invitation, then realised that he could pop into the House of Fraser, exchange his unopened Christmas presents, then join the party.

“Jill, I’d love to come.”

The journey down to Lakeside was sadly lacking in Christmas or New Year’s spirit.  As he stepped down from the minibus he called out.

“I’m just going to change my Christmas presents at The House of Fraser.  I’ll meet you all in the restaurant,” and started to walk away from his work colleagues who had already started to window shop.

“Hang on Humph, we’ll come with you.  I have heard that the House of Fraser has a great New Year window display,” yelled one of the girls.  Humphrey spun around to see that the girls, led by Jill from the typing pool, and a few of the senior managers, had decided to join him.

In his defense, he called out that “It’s OK, they always buy me things that I don't need, you know, men’s things.” Thinking that he did not need to explain that every Christmas he always got socks or handkerchiefs.

He finally found the customer care counter and was a little surprised to find it busy, but more concerning, was that everyone seemed to have followed him into the store.

“Good evening, Sir.  How can I help you?”  The woman was in her early twenties and wore a badge that declared her to be a trainee.

“Yes, good evening, Miss.  These are my Christmas presents which I wish to hand back and obtain a credit note please.”

“Certainly Sir, let me unwrap them for you.  By this time everyone had gathered around Humphrey, eager to see what he had received for Christmas. All of a sudden those around him fell silent and Humphrey looked back into the face of the young trainee, who had started to blush.

“What is it?”

Very slowly the young woman pulled out a pair of black stockings, a bright red garter, a matching garter belt, and a pair of scanty black lace knickers.

No one spoke for a few seconds, then Jill, who had been standing next to him quietly whispered to him, with a grin on her face.

“Humph you dirty old man.  If I knew you were kinky, I’d have bought you something like these ages ago.”

Suddenly everyone was laughing at him, but Jill, realizing his dilemma and quietly took his hand and squeezed it.

Before he could snatch the other unopened present from the trainee, she had ripped off the wrapping paper and tore open the box which contained seven pairs of raunch knickers each with the day of the week and a very suggestive logo on each pair.

Humphrey suddenly leaned across the counter and grabbed at the wrapping paper.  Then he saw it.  Those two little devils had switched the labels on the Christmas presents.  It was then that the image of Dorothy’s expression flashed across his mind and he relised what they had done.

Suddenly everyone was laughing at the presents and not him.  Jill, who held onto him, leant into him and gave him a quick kiss, and whispered with a huge grin on her face, “You are naughty, but I like it.”

A couple of the senior managers slapped Humphrey on the back, grinning at him and wishing him a happy New Year. Then the whole party was moving towards the restaurant; the mood had changed; everyone was laughing and chattering and in high spirits. Jill had taken Humphrey by the hand and drifted to the back of the crowd as they entered the restaurant.

“So Humph, what is your New Year’s resolution?”

He smiled at her and then gently kissed her.  “I was wondering if you would like to come and live with me?”

With a huge grin on her face, she whispered into his ear. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Copyright Bob French

DO YOU REMEMBER?

                                    

 DO YOU REMEMBER?

 by Richard Banks                 

                                                                                                                 

I was still in that drowsy state of waking when I realised there was a visitor. I wondered who it would be: my wife, mother, brother, George, whoever George was. All had come and spoken of others who intended coming. My family was evidently a large one. There were also friends. Their get well cards numbered thirty.

         I hoped, when I opened my eyes, it would not my wife again. One should feel a special attachment to a wife; I must admit I felt none. The woman was not unattractive, although possibly a little older than myself. We were, she said, twenty years married. Our son was called Michael, he had just started work for a firm of stock brokers. The three of us lived in Benfleet. I was Chief Clerk of a City bank. The rest, she considered, was best left until I was feeling better. Her voice had a monotonous drone I found irritating. I compared her unfavourably to the unpaid volunteer, who, since the previous day, had been helping out on the Ward. I looked forward to meeting her but so far had only seen her pass by the sometimes open door of my single room.

         My visitor coughed. It was a man's cough. I decided to see who it was. An elderly man looked back at me. The lines on his face rearranged themselves into what might have been a smile. I smiled too, as well as the bandages on my face would allow.

         “I don't suppose you remember me?” he said with the sad resignation of someone whose fate  was to be anonymous. 

         I shook my head.

         “Didn't think you would, I'm your father. Expect you were hoping for someone more distinguished. Just as well you take after your mother's side of the family.”

         I recalled my first visitor of the day: a large woman in her fifties with bleached hair who insisted I call her Ma.

         “What do I call you?” I asked.

         “Oh, Dad will do.”

         “Not Pa?”

         “No Pa is your mother's husband.”

         “But I thought you were married to my mother.”

         His hangdog expression was suddenly animated by a facial twitch that caused his right cheek to vibrate. I was about to summon a nurse when the vibrations subsided and he continued speaking.

         “That's what I thought. Also thought I owned a three bed semi in Southend, but it's all gone now. Your mother's solicitor saw to that.”

         “So you and Ma are divorced then?”

         He nodded.

         “And where do you live now?”

         “In a bedsit on the Kursaal Estate. It's not too bad. Small but cosy. Just room for Joey and the TV.”

         “Joey?” I asked.

         “Yes, Joey the budgie. He's not much of a talker but he's better company than your mother.”

         I decided to steer the conversation in the direction of myself. “So Dad, I expect you be wanting to say something that will jog my memory.”

         He managed to look thoughtful and bewildered at the same time.

         “I mean, what can you tell me about my life, the things I've done that were important to me.”

         “You mean like driving off that cliff?”

         I took a deep breath. “Yes, that will do.”

         “Well it certainly got you into the 'papers. Also got you in here. It's a wonder you're not in the cemetery. As if going over that cliff wasn't enough you had to land on the Fenchurch Street line and get hit by a train. Wreckage all over the place. No more trains until Monday.  You aren't very popular with the commuters I can tell you. That's about it really. ...Have you remembered anything?”

         I shook my head.

         “No, didn't think you had. When you do you'll have a lot of explaining to do.”

         “You mean about the accident; how it happened like?

         He looked ill at ease as though he had said too much. “Yes, that as well.”

         “As well as what?” I asked.

         He responded with what I hoped was a non-sequitur. “Has that police chappy been in to see you yet?”

         “No,” I said.

         “Probably best to leave it to him.”

         “Leave what? Look Dad, if there's something I ought to know don't you think you should be telling me first before the police do?”

         His face began twitching again. “Not sure I'm allowed to. Wouldn't want to be breaking the law.”

         “Dad, this is just between you and me. No one's listening. No one will ever know this conversation took place. Now, what is it the police want to talk to me about?”

         The nervous twitch went into overdrive. When he spoke it was as though someone was exerting a strong grip on his throat. “The money,” he spluttered.

         “What money?”

         “The money you took from the bank to pay your gambling debts. Fifty thousand so the papers say. At least that's how much they found in your car, what was left of it. Then there's that drugs gang that chased you off the cliff. I expect the police will be wanting to know where they fit in. No doubt it will all be clear once you remember. …Won't make no difference to the house though.”

         “What house is that?”

         “The one you failed to keep up the payments on. Being sold at auction next week. Alice wasn't too pleased I can tell you.”

         “Alice who?” I asked.

         “Alice your wife. She came to see you yesterday. Don't you remember?”

         I said that I did remember but that the woman in question had introduced herself as Ali.”

         “Yes, that be her. Tall woman with freckles. I take it she didn't say anything about the....”

         “About the what?”

         “About the.... Probably best if she tells you.”

         “But she's not here, Dad. So if there's any more bad news you might as well give it to me now. She wants out, is that it?”

         “She is out. Moved out when the bank sent in the bailiffs.”

         “I mean she wants out of our marriage.”

         “Yes that too. Says she's going to take you to the cleaners for everything you got. Don't suppose that will be much. At least your boy has a bob or two now he's started work; not that you'll  be seeing much of him once you're in prison.”

         “Is there anything else I should know?”

         “Well Southend lost five nil to Scunthorpe last night.”

         “And I'm a Southend supporter?”

         He nodded.

         “Not many reasons to be cheerful then?”

         He considered the question carefully and sighed. There was an awkward silence. He looked at his watch and announced his intention to leave before it got dark. I watched him shuffle off with a bag of foodstuffs he had purchased from the Pound shop and saw myself thirty years on.

         I was eyeing the window with a view to throwing myself through it when the pretty little voluntary worker I mentioned earlier appeared in the doorway. She was pushing a wheelchair on which sat the slumped figure of an unconscious policeman.

         “What's wrong with him?” I asked.

         “Sleeping pills in tea,” she replied matter of factly. “Now get out of bed and help me take off his uniform.”

         “Why?” I sensed I was in enough trouble as it was.

         “Because if you don't, we can't escape and you'll be found guilty of goodness knows what and sent to prison. Now get a move on before someone finds out he's not on guard in the corridor.  Oh and by the way I'm Glennis. You may not remember me but I'm your girl friend. Now this is what's going to happen. You get up, put on his uniform and we leave via the fire escape. Car to Burnham,  yacht to Amsterdam, collect new passports and off to Brazil. Any questions? On second thoughts questions later. But if you're having money thoughts the fifty K in the back of your car was just the small change. The rest is on the yacht. Oh don't look so worried; we're going to Rio: Sugar Loaf Mountain, Copacabana beach. That's got to be better than prison. Now let's have a big smile for your little Glennis. ...That's better.”

           My observations on better were delivered through clenched teeth. 

           “What's that you say? You weren't smiling, it was a grimace. Well of course you're hurting all over, but it's got to be done honey bunch. Big effort now. Button up that tunic, helmet on head and you're all ready to escort me to the car park. Isn't this exciting!”

         Before I could answer she flung her arms around my neck and kissed me on the lips. That's when it all came back to me, when I remembered how good life could be.

         “Are you ready?” she asked.

         You bet I was.

 

The End

Copyright Richard Banks

Tylywoch ~ 32

 Tylywoch ~ 32  Reunion 1

 by Len Morgan

   It was several hours after Aldor entered the City before he and Weilla finally found time for their reunion.   By then the palace was under the sure command of lieutenant Veille, and the Surbatt ringleaders were safely under lock and key.

   The Empress was adamant that she would bury her friend Cholou with full honours, and that it would be her first priority.    Cholou had made the supreme sacrifice whilst performing her duty, so she would allow no other business to take precedence.   Her mind was firm, and in that mood, nobody could dissuade her; if so inclined!

After the ceremony she made a public declaration to the crowd that assembled at the palace entrance "Today, I lay my best friend and loyal subject beneath the ground so that she may the sooner return to the wheel of life.   I bear no animosity toward her killers.   I will forgive, but cannot forget those who allowed themselves to become puppets of a foreign country.   I charge all members of the 9^th Clan loyal to the empire with the task of rooting out the treacherous architects of the attack that resulted in Cholou’s, and so many other needles deaths; be they high or low born.   As of this moment, the Surbatt is declared an illegal organization.   Henceforth, membership, aiding or actively supporting the sect will be a treasonous act punishable by death.   All Surbatt members currently in custody will be summarily executed like common criminals, and hung from the city walls, as warning to all who would contemplate similar acts of treason.”  She paused as the crowd voiced their approval. 

“By royal assent, From this day forward, all lands currently  administered by the 13^th Clan will be deemed theirs together with all income from goods and chattels therein.   Their unofficial Clan status will cease, as of today.  

We hereby decree the 13^th Clan will be recognised as an official member of the Cheilin Empire.   They will enjoy full Clan status, becoming equal partners, with equal voting rights.   This means They will be entitled to put forward a candidate for the office of Emperor/Empress when I eventually return to the wheel of life."

.-...-.

The Engagement @ Sea:

The sky was slate grey, but the storm had abated.    From the cliff tops of Ricc point, Terrek could see for twenty miles.   What he saw did not instil confidence in their ability to repel the invasion on the beaches.   He started to methodically count the ships, but gave up at two hundred.   There were many more vague shapes visible beyond, close to the horizon.   He closed his eyes: 

"There must be a fleet in excess of a thousand ships out there."  Said Orden the moment he made contact.   "If a third are carrying stores and equipment there will be in excess of 150,000 warriors out there on the river."

"We have 30,000 here, that's only 5 to 1 odds.   Aldor is bringing between 60 & 80,000." Terrek mused. 

"That means we still have to reduce the odds a little." Jax added. 

"I've been listening to your conversation!   We have the means to do just that Jax!"

"Baedan?" said Terrek in obvious surprise "So you have decided to return and take part in our little dispute…" 

"Who?" Jax asked. 

"Baedan is the wayward member of our family.   He sailed west ten years ago and hasn't been heard from since…"

"There was good reason Orden," said the newcomer, "I'll tell you about it when we meet face to face." 

"Baedan is the wiliest mariner you will ever meet," said Orden "What can you do for us?" 

"I have learned a few tricks in my travels, and I have a little surprise that will do the trick."

"There's a small fleet of ships creeping along the coast…" Terrek began. 

"That will be us.   If Terrek can see us we should be visible to Jax in about fifteen minutes.” 

"I see you." 

"Good!   I want you to watch and listen but maintain silence.   You should be able to see the large black ship near to the fore on your left?   Observe it!"  

Three of the smaller ships headed out, at a tangent, towards the enemy fleet, heading away from the black ship.   The black ship turned to run, others came to the fore to protect it.   The three allied ships continued on their same course splitting up to attack three individual targets.   The larger ships were the first into action, the plumed splashes of their missiles clearly visible in the wakes of the smaller empire ships.   It was immediately obvious that the smaller ships proved to be far more manoeuvrable, lower in the water and faster under sail.   As they approached their targets, their sails were shipped and their ballistos hurled two dozen small missiles into the rigging of the larger ships without apparent effect. 

Then, flames erupted from the two ships and they veered onto the paths of their own fleet.   The watchers on the cliffs could clearly see men abandoning ship, and other ships scurrying to avoid the approaching inferno's, and for long minutes chaos reigned.   There were a number of collisions in the congested channels. 

   Manoeuvrability was limited because the tide was now on the ebb.

Gouts of fire rose from all sides, and further confusion ensued, many ships were obviously reacting with panic.   Whilst Jax had been viewing that initial contact, the rest of the allied fleet had joined in the action, engaging individual targets throughout the front.   They continued in amongst the larger ships, wreaking havoc on either hand, continuing to rain fire on the transports and support vessels alike.   The allied ships had plenty of draft, and were highly manoeuvrable turning within their own length.   Just a hundred small ships were able to wreak havoc on the massed fleet from Bluttland.   It seemed that every ship within sight of land was afire. Then suddenly there were no more fires breaking out on the Blutt ships, the allied ships were out of fire balls.    The large vessels started to head for land.   Counting the ships, Jax realised it could still be possible for the invaders to push home a landing on a scale that could overwhelm the defenders.   A large proportion of the friendly ships fell back to prevent this happening.   But, things still looked grim.

"We are within two hours of the coast, we have 100,000 reinforcements with us and fifty balistos, hold them on the beach and we will crush them!    We don't want them to escape and return in five years with another army, I want them crushed now!   I want any survivors to quiver in fear at the thought of ever crossing that river again.   So we let them land and gain a foothold on the beaches then we fire the ships behind them and they are left with no means of escape." 

"It's Aldor!   Said Orden triumphantly.  "Things couldn't be better, glad you finally made it, we heard you were having a spot of bother back in the big city!" 

"Nothing we couldn't handle."

.-…-. 

Jax watched in amazement as the defenders, bolstered by Aldor’s contingent routed what remained of the invasion force.  The depleted fleet turned tail and ran for friendly ports back on the Blutt mainland.   The invasion was over but where was Aldor? 

Pockets of resistance remained, but with their fleet routed, It was simply a mopping up exercise.   They were apprehensive of the fact that somewhere out there lurked another Glamhorten and possibly another Wilden but, after tonight, the time of conjunction would be past.   It would be six months before conditions would again be favourable, but next time the Empire would be ready for them.   And, without the diversion of Taleen's uprising it would be considerably more difficult for them.

When Orden, Baedan, Terrek, Jax, and Aldor finally met face to face two months later (not two hours), they had already developed the rudiments of a communications code that would confuse and misdirect Bedelacq, who had obviously been listening in on their conversations and passing them on to his commanders.  

"He has violated the rules laid down for our conduct in this conflict" said Orden.

-...-.

Reunion 2:

"We were told you were dead…" Weilla began. 

"It was necessary.   But, Meillo would have known…" 

"When she returned to the wheel, I thought I was completely alone.   Then Galyx told me she would always be with me."  She tapped her forehead. 

Aldor nodded. "As she is with me kitten."

"But, when I tried to summon you, I found you were absent.   That was when I decided you were probably still alive," she said a tear forming in the corner of one eye. 

"Looking is always a good test" he smiled, pulling her into his embrace.   "She was always stronger than me.   When you were lost beneath the ice, and my thoughts dwelt selfishly on what I had lost, with your passing, I was close to breaking down.   Then I saw her strong resolute face and all the pain and hurt I felt was bearable, for her sake.   If I had broken, her mask would have crumbled.   She loved you so, but grief is a private thing to be shared by family…  Then I thought of you," he tapped his head "and immediately I knew you still lived!   Never forget that” he said tapping his forehead. 

"When I was sent to climb Metti Takka and go through the eye of the needle, I became lost and confused when dealing with a spirit.   You talked to me: 'Use your brain not your senses, this is a wraith!' you told me and my mind cleared…"

 "Ah yes, I remember it well!"   he said with an uncharacteristic smile that earned him a playful dig in the ribs.

"I'm not so old that you can mock me with impunity" she warned.   They embraced once more, "It's good to see you again." She declared. 

He smiled again, with utter contentment, "Me too kitten, me too." 

"I have to take up my position with the honour guard" Weilla explained to Aldor, "and I expect Galyx will be returning home as you are alive again?" 

"Not so, Galyx is to take over my role permanently as soon as he is able.   I am going away, and you are coming with me, as my acolyte, there are important things that you must learn," he replied "so that on your sixteenth birthday you will be able to  take full advantage from meeting an old friend, who will be able to complete your education."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"You will see soon enough.   Safe to say you will soon have grey hair and blue eyes just like me, before I decided to shave my head.   If you wish though, you could always dye it…" 

Weilla never got to serve in the palace or indeed to meet the Empress.   Before sunset both she and Aldor would be on their way to Stokk, accompanied by a small army.

Aldor would soon retire, and disappear from Cheilin society.   Galyx would prove to be a very able General of Internal Security in his stead. 

Terrek would also retire, never to be seen again in Hartwell.  

Prince Taleen, would then be found dead on a seldom used out of the way track far from anywhere.   His body when found would be born back, to the Emerald Palace in triumph, for a relatively respectful ‘political’ burial that would heal old wounds. 

Jax would then be free to reclaim and marry Bianne, the object of his affection.    Jax and Bianne would return to Hartwell where he would spend fifty years inventing and selling machinery and clever artefacts that would eventually bring about an industrial revolution.   His steel making processes and methods of production in general would make him a living legend.  When Bianne passed on, he too left Hartwell seemingly an old man.   But, after removing the makeup, he would wandered abroad again as a young man of seventeen.   He founded Universities for Invention, Metallurgy and Scientific studies in many lands before moving on again.   This was not to be the end by any means, merely the start of the beginning, for Jax and for mankind. 

He would never remarry or go through the trauma of watching her grow old and die, he didn't regret one moment of his life with Bianne, it was the time after that he could not forget.  She had always been the most wonderful thing in his life and it hurt so much to say goodbye.

 

Life goes on…

 

A few haiku to fill a gap

  A few haiku  

Hope you are all keeping well.

All the best

Rob Kingston

 

weekend escapades…

the bamboo chimes alone

in the garden

 

since dawn the same branch telling me to get up

 

moonlit dawn

a flurry of jackdaws 

over the ridge

 

Copyright Robert Kingston

The Moon Belt (2nd & Last)

 The Moon Belt (2^nd & Last) 

By Len Morgan 

They returned to the 29^th Precinct, booked both perps, and took the evidence and perps to the lockup. 

“We could be in for a hard time if they call a brief, where’s our proof Sarge?” Cheu asked. 

Mell held up Two Trump masks, and Sherry held up the belt over her shoulder. 

“This is a really weird device Sarge, almost out of this world…” 

“What, a crappy leather belt?  Bet there are dozens just like it on ebay,” Cheu snorted. 

“Can they do this Sarge?” she turned the half-moon on it, but nothing happened.

“Get it booked in as evidence, and get it and the masks checked for prints.” He shook his head; it’s gonna be one of those days… 

 “Let’s get them to interrogation,” said Mell “you can take the man Proby.”

.-…-. 

“Name?” the man didn’t reply. “Where did you stash the loot?” ~ no reply.  “Who are the other two and where are they?” ~ Silence.

“You do know they will be away with the loot, They’ll fence it, and be off, leaving you to carry the can, They’ll cut you out…” 

“This one’s not speaking sarge, not even to lawyer up.”

“Don’t feel so bad Reed. Mell didn’t fare any better with the dame…  Take em back to the cells, and keep them separated.  We will get to the bottom of this!”

The phone rang.  Sarge I have the manager of the store, he wants to speak to you.”

“Mr Zaglioni?  Sergeant Covax here, yes… yes… but that’s crazy, why would they plan and carry out a heist, and leave with nothing?  Is this a prank?  Don’t reopen the store yet, I’m sending two investigators to take your statement…”

“Another call on line three Sarge, they’ve found the car, with the guns in the boot…”

“Covax here…  What?  Bring em in…”

“What gives Sarge?” Amellio asked. 

“Listen up everyone!  It seems they were firing blanks, the store has done an inventory for insurance purposes and nothing is missing…”

“That’s ‘Looney Tunes’ Sarge, what was it all for, a publicity stunt?”

“Officer Reed, you and Mell go back to the store and do what your good at; investigate.”

.-…-. 

“Mr Zaglioni, we’d like to take another look around before you reopen, it’s not every day we attend a non~heist!” 

“Are all your staff here?” Mell asked.

“Yes officer, the thieves made a terrible mess, but when we did our check none of our stock was missing…” 

“Is that door behind the counter locked?” Sherry asked. 

“Yes, except when we accompany clients to their lockboxes or we need to go to the safe.” 

“It isn’t locked now,” Mell noted.  “Who are the key holders?” 

“That would be me, and my deputy Miss Hanson, and of course the security officer.” 

“What’s in there?” 

“Safety deposit boxes and our day safe, but we have a state of the art security system. None of the boxes or our safe could be opened without the alarm going off and the security firm being alerted.” 

 Sherry looked up at the ceiling “Mm no bullet holes and the scene of crime photos didn’t include that.  Have you opened any of the boxes, or the safe sir, to confirm they were not accessed?” 

“The boxes require two keys, mine and the one held by the leaser of the box. Miss Hanson and I both have a key to the safe, and the combination code which is changed monthly, in fact it was changed three days ago.” 

“Would you open it in our presence please sir?”

“Certainly officer,” he took out a bunch of keys and selected one…

“Show me the key,” said Sherry. She examined it and returned it. Miss Hanson, your keys please?” She examined them and showed them to Mell who nodded.  “Have you recently had a copy cut?” 

She looked surprised, “No?” 

Mell gave her a look of disbelief…  “Do you have a partner?” 

“Yes?” 

“A live in partner?” 

“Yes.”

“Name of?”

“Lance Frobishire, he’s a nice guy, we’ve been going out for about two months.”

“Would you unlock the safe please. Not you Miss Hanson.” 

Zaglioni opened the safe, it was empty!  Both their faces turned white… 

Zaglioni fell to the ground and lay still.  Sherry checked his pulse, then started compressions, “call an ambulance Mell, he’s having a heart attack.  She continued compressions until the emergency services arrived and hooked him up to a defibrillator.  On the stretcher, he began to slowly come around. 

“What was in there sir?”

“Three million in uncut stones Rubies, Emeralds, Sapphires & Diamonds. Plus a package of low grade, as yet unidentified, stones with a silica like luster, probably worthless, but could be of interest…  Our syndicate  can’t sustain a loss like this, we are ruined!” 

“Whose we sir?” 

Zaglioni relapsed into unconsciousness. 

She raised her cell phone, “Sarge, Their safe has been cleaned out.  It contained $3 mil in uncut stones now it’s empty!  We suspect Jane Hanson’s live in partner name of Lance Frobishire.  Miss Hanson is coming down to the 2-9, and the store premises have been secured by their own security firm.  We have the keys to Hanson’s apartment; So, we are on our way there.  I’m sending you the address, we may need assistance.” 

.-…-. 

Mell rapped on the door “Police; Open up!”  There was a faint scuffle from within. He rapped again, harder. 

Sherry took up station at the rear door, it opened and a shadowy figure emerged. Sherry inverted the half-moon on the belt she was still wearing, and the man materialized. She drew her sidearm, “Lance Frobishire.  We have Jane Hanson in custody, don’t move.” 

He gazed at her, a look of disbelief on his face.  He bent down, picked up a rock and threw it at her.  She discharged her weapon, as she easily dodged his missile, both the rock and her bullet seemed to be moving in slo-mo.  She ran at him and forced him to the ground.  He fell heavily under their combined weight.  She cuffed him, turned him over and reversed the half-moon stud on his belt then her own, just as Mell rounded the corner. 

“I heard a shot, did you…” 

“He’s alive just winded.” 

“let’s get him back to the 2-9.”

She unhooked his moon belt and slung it over her shoulder, like a bandolier.  “Up you get Frobishire,” they led him to their patrol car and secured him in the rear.  They heard the siren from another unit, it stopped and an officer jumped out.

“What kept yuh!” said Mell, “We got the perp in custody, you guys check out the premises. Keys…” He held his hand out to Frobishire, who threw his keys to Sherry.

She caught them in one hand, gave them a cursory look.  Two newly cut keys plus an older but similar one caught her eye.  She removed the three from the ring and showed them to Mell, “These look familiar.”  

“That looks like a safe key, and at a guess, I’d say those are deposit box keys.” 

Sherry nodded and took a pic of Lance on her cell phone. “I’ll show this to Zaglioni, I’ll bet he’s a recent procurer of a safety deposit box.”

“Let’s get this one into custody first.”  Mell handed the keys, ‘minus the three’, to the patrol officer.  “Get forensics’ to check the place over officer.”  They left the scene at speed… 

.-…-. 

They handed over their prisoner at the precinct. Booked the moon belt in as evidence; Sherry retained hers (it could prove useful she reasoned, though strictly against protocol), breaking the chain of custody.  ‘But, there are three already in the custody room,’ she reasoned. 

.-…-.

 

“Do you recognise this man Mr Zaglioni?”

“No!”

“Are you sure?  Take a closer look…”

He shook his head, “but you said you have keys?  Let me see them.  Get me discharged from this hospital at once and take me to my store.” 

.-…-. 

They accompanied Zaglioni back to his premises.  They tried the larger key in the safe, and it opened.  They compared the other two keys with Zaglioni’s key, one was a match.  

The third key had an inscription around its rim, “This is one of ours; a client key.”

“Can you identify the client for us?” 

He unlocked his drawer and took out a journal, “It would be recent you say?”  He thumbed the pages and ran his finger down the entries, after the fourth page he look up.  I’ve gone back two years, but nothing matches.” 

“What about keys not yet issued?” 

“Excellent idea,” he went to a deposit box, put his key in, beside an existing key.  Turning both at once opened the box.  Inside was an array of keys and empty hooks.  “Ah!” He returned to his journal, “You’re key should open box 192, was the last one issued.” 

“193; can we open it?”

“Yes, my dear.” Sherry & Mell stood on either side of him as he put the keys into the keyholes.  He opened it, and began to cry!  “I’ll have to check the inventory but I think all the packets are here… 

.-…-.

Back at the precinct, they asked sergeant Covax if they could interrogate Miss Hanson.  She’d been housed in a waiting area but when they went to find her she was gone. 

“She wasn’t under guard sarge?” 

“She was helping us with our inquiries and was not considered to be a suspect.” 

“That may have been a miscalculation,” said Sherry. 

The desk phone wrung and an alarm sounded then all hell broke loose. 

“What’s happening!” Covax yelled down the phone. 

“The custody area has been breached and certain items of evidence have been removed.” 

“What’s missing?” 

“The three belts brought in earlier today.” 

“There’s going to be an attempt to break the prisoners out of the cells,” Sherry headed for the door with Mell close behind her. 

As she entered, a shadow moved beside one of the cells. The custody officer was down and his keys were missing.  The keys appeared dangling from an open cell door. The cell occupant was in the act of fastening a moon belt around his waist.  Sherry slammed the door shut and locked it. 

“They are secure, in a while Hanson will appear in that cell,” she said. 

“Hand over the belts Miss Hanson, you can’t get away.  The missing stones have been located they never left your employer's premises.” 

“How do you know all this Reed,” said Covax.

She opened her coat revealing her Moon belt.  “I’ll demonstrate how it works she said turning the stud, (She disappeared), she returned the half-moon stud to its original state and reappeared by the door twenty yards away. 

“That’s a helluva trick,” said Mell. 

“It’s a hell-of-a device!  Frobishire is the key, let’s get him to interrogation.” 

Tonni entered the Holding area, “Sarge two FBI agents want to speak with you in private…” 

Two men in slick black suits entered. “Thank you for your assistance in apprehending this gang, they are now under our protection.” 

“What?” Covax exploded, “They carried out a raid, took $3 million in uncut stones, and you want them to get away scot-free?  Not on my watch!” 

A police Captain entered, “afraid they can Sergeant, apparently it’s a matter of National Security.  And, since the stones never left the premises, their bullets were blanks; it seems that no crime has been committed. 

“What about the criminal damage charge?”

“The FBI will foot the bill for all damages.” 

“Wasting police time & resources?” 

“Think of it as a training exercise, sergeant.”

I understand your distaste, it rankles with me also but they have documents from the highest authority to back them up.”

“Turn off your belts,” said Sherry.  The four perps appeared and a squad of FBI agents came in and marched them away.

“Is that it?  Don’t we get an explanation?” 

“Apparently not Sergeant Covax.  This incident is covered by the official secrets act.  Nobody here can ever talk about this, a loose mouth could get you an indeterminate prison sentence.” 

“Thank you Captain,” said Covax, will we receive some sort of explanation for closure?” 

“Apparently, they wanted a packet of rare iridescent stones for a top-secret project.  Personally, I think they could simply have asked to purchase the stones but the FBI knows best…"

“Sherry rested her hand over her moon belt, ‘could prove useful’ she thought.

 

Copyright Len Morgan

 

 

 PASSING ON

by Richard Banks 

       As he nervously walked up the Pearly Way Harry reflected with quiet satisfaction on the final scene of his life. It had been a traditional, old fashion death, well attended by his nearest and dearest.  He had gone out in style, consoling his wife and exhorting her to marry again should the opportunity arise. As she was nearly seventy-six he hardly expected that it would but Harry felt the occasion demanded a magnanimous gesture. He lectured his children telling them to live good lives, and forgave his sister and brother-in-law for misdemeanours committed so long ago he was at a loss to remember what they were. With his last words, he commended his soul to ‘his Maker’ and then, by some inexplicable process, found himself ascending this strange spiral stairway in his pyjamas. 

         It had been a long climb and Harry was beginning to despair of ever reaching the top when yet another loop in the stairway brought him abruptly onto a small, gloomy landing within four grey walls of unadorned concrete. A light bulb hung limply from the ceiling dimly illuminating two adjacent doors and an overflowing dustbin. 

         Harry took a deep intake of breath. He had never been very fortunate with doors. He remembered, with acute embarrassment, the occasion when he had inadvertently walked into the ladies loo at Geneva airport and been repulsed by a large German woman brandishing an umbrella. On that occasion there had been a sign that should have guided him, but now he was confronted by two almost identical doors. If he were dead, he thought, and that seemed a reasonable assumption, these might, perhaps, be the portals to heaven and hell. They seemed inauspicious portals but the thought carried just enough conviction to make Harry consider his next move very carefully. He sensed that once he opened one of the doors there would be no going back, that he would be drawn inexorably into whatever lay beyond. He remembered a medieval painting he had once seen in which tormented souls were being thrown into a fiery furnace by ape-like creatures wielding tripods; this was definitely something to be avoided. 

         He crept forward towards the left hand door half expecting it to fly open and for someone or thing to rush out at him. Dropping down onto both knees he peered short-sightedly into the narrow gap between door and floor. The impenetrable darkness behind the door was unbroken by demonic bonfires or celestial light. He listened for the singing of hymns or the cry of tormented souls but heard nothing but his own heavy breathing. Crawling across to the other door he made the same observations with the same outcome. For several minutes he remained on all fours, deep in thought and only vaguely aware of the numbing effect of the cold floor on stiff limbs. He struggled to his feet only to find that one of them was now devoid of sensation and unable to support his weight. He tottered drunkenly and with a great flapping of arms fell heavily against the right-hand door which flew open with a resounding bang. To his horror there was a startled exclamation from within and, after the briefest of pauses, the sound of approaching footsteps. A neon light flickered on and Harry found himself staring at two stockinged feet in a pair of open-toed sandals. A bespectacled face peered down at him with unconcealed suspicion. 

         “Can I help you?” she demanded in a tone of voice that suggested she would rather not.

         He sheepishly struggled to his feet. To his surprise the thin, sharp-featured woman of middle years who had towered over him was no taller than himself. While this was reassuring, her appearance, he decided, was less than angelic; he began to fear he might be in ‘the other place’ or at least in a place not much to his liking. “I’m not sure where I am,” he stammered. 

         “Well, where are you wanting to go?” 

         “I’m not altogether clear,” said Harry, the last thing he expected was to be offered a choice. “You see, I’ve only just arrived.” 

         “Oh, so you’re a new entrant then. Why didn’t you say?” Her expression melted to the approximation of a smile. “You had better come in. Take a seat over there;” she pointed to a wooden bench that reminded Harry of a church pew – his hopes were beginning to rise. 

         “There’s just a few formalities to take care of. First of all I need to see your AR1.”

         “My AR1?” he repeated. 

         “Yes, your AR1,” she insisted. “Didn’t they give you one at reception?” 

         Harry fidgeted uncomfortably. He recalled passing an unoccupied desk on a landing someway below; perhaps he should have waited, but then patience had never been one of his virtues. 

         “It’s the pink form,” the woman persisted, “the one headed ‘Application for Residence’. Surely you have one?”

         There was no need for words, the look on Harry’s face clearly indicating that the first link in the paper chain of post-life bureaucracy had been found wanting. 

         The woman frowned heavily. “Most irregular,” she muttered, “I suppose you are on the list? What’s your name? Mr?” 

         “Oldcastle, Harry Oldcastle,” replied Harry, grateful at last to be asked a question to which he knew the answer. 

         The woman disappeared into an adjoining room and re-emerged a few moments later with a clipboard to which was attached a list of some twenty names. With evident relief she discovered Harry’s name towards the bottom of the sheet. “Oh yes, here you are. According to this you should have been with us this morning. Your wife has been in the Reunion Room nearly all day.”  

         “My wife?” repeated Harry, “is she here too? 

         “Yes, of course. Doris has been with us for nearly four years. She’s really looking forward to seeing you again.”

         “But my wife’s name is Laura,” protested Harry 

         The woman’s expression changed to one of alarm. “You are Henry Oldcastle of Rochester Way, Bexley….  Aren’t you?”

         “No,” said Harry, “I live in Southend, at least I did until this afternoon.” 

         “Oh no!” she groaned through fingers that had suddenly enveloped her mouth and nose. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m afraid there’s been...how can I put it… an administrative error.”

         There was an uneasy silence. “What happens now?” asked Harry.

         “You will have to go back.”

         “Isn’t that going to be a little difficult?” 

         “Difficult yes, impossible no,” said the woman firmly. “Remember Lazarus?” 

                                                ***** 

         Harry opened both eyes and was immediately dazzled by a bright light from above. For a moment he wondered whether he had made it into Heaven; then he remembered the woman’s last words. He blinked several times dazzled by the translucent glow of the glass lampshade above the double bed on which he lay. At the same time he became aware of several conversations taking place about him. Through half open eyes he noted that most of the people who had been present at his ‘passing’ were still there. He wondered how they would react to his ‘passing back’. It was bound to be a shock, he thought. He considered how best to break the news. After a few minutes reflection he decided to make some small movement or sound that would allow someone to discover that he was not as dead as they thought he was. Then, as they hurried to his side seeking further signs of life, he would slowly ‘come to’ smiling benignly at their anxious faces and expressing his astonishment at his strange lapse into unbreathing inertia. Well, he could hardly tell them what had happened, no one would believe that!   

         He began by moving an arm slowly across the eiderdown towards the side of the bed. When this wasn’t noticed he affected a palsy-like tremor allowing the hand to drop over the side and swing back and forth like the pendulum of a clock. 

         The steady hum of conversation continued unabated. He raised his head slightly off the pillow and took stock of the dozen or so persons conversing in several small groups. To his surprise, none of the conversations taking place seemed to be about him. Young Matt was regaling one group with an animated account of Tottenham Hotspur’s last home game, while cousin George was telling an inappropriate joke about a travelling salesman and his involvement with a young woman of inconspicuous virtue. Occasionally the shrill tones of Vicky, Laura’s older sister, could be heard relating the details of her recent operation to the vicar who was looking wistfully towards the door. 

         Abandoning his previous attempts at subtlety Harry emitted a loud groan just as a collective guffaw greeted the punch line of George’s joke. For a moment he thought they were laughing at him and he indignantly sat up only to realise that they were blissfully unaware of his reanimated presence. It occurred to him that his short excursion into the after-life had rendered him invisible and mute. The thought of being relegated to observer status in some kind of fourth dimension threw him into a sudden panic. “Can nobody hear me!” he bellowed in a voice that was heard halfway down the street. “Can you….?” He stopped in mid-sentence as twelve horrified faces stared back at him in disbelief.

         A loud thud greeted Vicky’s sudden descent onto the floor. Almost immediately she was trampled underfoot by Matt whose attempt to flee the room coincided with Laura’s coming in with a tray of teas. The tray flew upwards almost hitting the ceiling before a mixture of broken crockery and hot tea ricocheted, like shrapnel, onto the heads of those below. Vicky leapt back to her feet with remarkable agility for someone of her age and cannoned into George who, for reasons he is still unable to explain, aimed a punch at the vicar who staggered back against the light switch plunging the room into darkness.

         At this point, Harry reached the unlikely conclusion that his intervention in the melee was needed to restore order. Attempting to step out of bed his feet became entangled in the sheets and he too collapsed, head first onto the floor. Someone screamed, “he’s coming!” and there was a panic-stricken rush to exit the room. Pursuing them down the stairs he arrived at the front door just in time to see Vicky abandon her Zimmer frame for the back seat of Matt’s motor bike.

         “Come back,” he shouted, as the bike careened wildly down the middle of the road, narrowly missing George. “You don’t understand, I’m not really dead. It was an administrative error!”

 

The End

Copyright Richard Banks