Moondog and the Reed Leopard

by Neil Mach

  It took seconds for the wildman to react. He didn’t wait to pick up his knife; he simply launched himself into the undergrowth. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him.

  ‘No…’ shouted Moondog. He’d worked with hounds since he was a nipper. ‘Don’t move, that’s the last thing you wanna do...’ But the advice came too late. The wildman took to his toes because he saw the opportunity to escape, and the animal did what came naturally to it, and it went for him. The creature took three leaping strides, then caught the fleeing man in the twinkling of an eye. With an amazing burst of energy, the hound leapt with impressive force and took the man down.

  ‘Holy razors...’ Moondog uttered.

  ‘What have we here?’ came another resonant voice, this one also approached from behind. Another figure had entered the clearing. ‘What you got there, boy?’

  The huge animal turned to look towards his master’s voice and then eyed Moondog suspiciously.

  ‘Your beast brought down a dangerous suspect…’ Moondog explained to the voice behind, but without looking around or shifting a muscle. ‘That fella that your boy brought down had a knife on him, and he might have another, so take care…’

  The handler approached Moondog and looked on impassively as his animal gnawed the wildman’s elbow. ‘Looks like my boy has things under control,’ the man said. ‘And who are you?’

  ‘I’m a witness...’ Moondog told the man. He watched as this fella, a man aged about thirty who was dressed in a short jacket and held a leather leash, approached the wildman. ‘That guy there was about to attack a young woman sat on a bench... I ran to get him before he pounced. Then your boy brought him down.’

  ‘Is that right? Was he indeed? And you say this suspect had a knife?’

  ‘The blade is on the ground, where he dropped it. He threatened me with it.’

  ‘Well, thanks. I’m just taking my boy for a walk. I’m Sergeant Rogers by the way. I’m from the local dog section. I see you’ve already met my boy. He’s named Beowulf. He’s the biggest German sheep-dog on our force.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Beowulf —’ murmured Moondog.

  *

  ‘Whose Hummer is that?’ asked one of the sound guys.

  ‘It belongs to the gypsy...’

  ‘How can he afford a Hummer? They don’t work. They simply roam around making a mess and thieving stuff.’

  ‘They don’t pay taxes either...’

  ‘Keep it down; he’s over by the wall. He might hear.’

  ‘What’s he doing over there? Why won’t he come inside and join us for a drink? Or are we too good for him?’

  ‘Security cameras. He won’t have his picture taken... he doesn’t even like to get his face on the video loop.’

  ‘They think if someone takes their image, they also control their destiny — or some rot. They’re very superstitious like that...’

  ‘Mind you; they’re more than happy to appear on Big Fat Gypsy Wedding for a fee. Our gypsy-boy works on Hocus Focus, doesn’t he? They’re not superstitious when there’s cash to be earned. I think he’s probably on the Old Bill’s most-wanted list and he doesn’t want to get recognized.’

  ‘Shut up; I think he can hear.’

  Moondog sat in the corner of the beer-garden, near a red trellis, and he cradled his glass of pure apple juice in bramble-torn hands. His head had been confused by twisted ideas and terrible plans since the attack on his trailer. And now things felt a whole lot worse because he’d just put an innocent young girl’s life in jeopardy. What was he thinking?

  Of course, yes, he could hear what they said about him, but what was the point of getting angry? Everyone hated gypsies. He’d been around the world a dozen times. He knew he’d be reviled by everyone he’d meet.

  *

  The blousy figure of Tibby Fromstein arrived at the pub to take charge. She immediately made the rounds, to soothe egos, make calm suggestions, and get people enthused again. First off, she spent time in hushed discussions with the producer and director, then she toured the entire group of television-folk, sharing trivia and gossip, and nodding and smiling generously.

  Eventually, she wandered into the pub garden and sat down beside Moondog.

  ‘The police want a statement,’ she suggested.

  Moondog took a sip of his sweet liquid but didn’t look up or acknowledge her presence.

  ‘You did something good back there...’ Tibby continued. ‘They recognised the fella you apprehended. He’s a proper scallywag. His description coincides with details from another assault, a mile or two away. He’s on their sex-offenders list and under a suspended sentence from the court. Plus, you took the knife away.’

  ‘I’m not going to give one.’

  ‘You will not give a statement?’

  ‘And anyway, they won’t accept one from me...’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They never do.’ Moondog had gone through all this before. The police asked all sorts of problematic questions: date of birth, surname, occupation…

  ‘You can give a statement this, once can’t you?’

  ‘They’ll ask for a postal address...’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘They become conflicted when I tell them I have no fixed abode.’

  ‘Right. If you give a statement this once it helps put the fella away though. And put this story to a close. He’s a nasty bit of work, that one.’

  ‘Holy potatoes! Are you listening, woman? I’m telling you that my statement means nothing. And anyway, if it wasn’t for me — if I hadn’t suggested we use that poor girl as bait — if we hadn’t put her life in danger, none of this would have happened.’

  ‘You don’t know that. He might’ve gone on to find another victim. You probably stopped a crime before it happened.’

  ‘Really? You think?’

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up.’

  ‘I guess the film footage is useless now. A total waste of time.’

  ‘Not necessarily, the police want to confiscate the video, for legal reasons, but the story is good. We’ll get something for the show even if it’s only a few grainy shots of Rowley Goldwrath’s backside. Plus, you solved the mystery of the black hound, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, the supposed beast was a police pooch all along. It seems the local police dog handlers walk their animals on that wild track all the time.’

  ‘You’re very defeatist today.’

  ‘Am I?’

  Tibby sat in silence for a while. Then moved closer to Moondog and rubbed his shoulder. ‘Don’t do that...’ he snapped. He gave a churlish pout. ‘I’m not a twelve-year-old boy…’

  ‘I have another job for you — that’s if you’re interested. It might keep you amused.’

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘It’s in Leicestershire. They asked for you, by name.’

  ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘Maybe the work will distract you from the disturbing thoughts you’ve been having.’

  He looked sidelong at her. ‘Who asked for me?’

  ‘He’s a big boss. He sent an email to the channel and asked for you by name. He said his niece was a big fan.’

  ‘Is she soft in the head?’

  ‘Who? The girl? She’s an admirer. Don’t get nasty about someone you’ve never met.’

  ‘I have to go to Germany this week to pick up a new trailer. I have no time for more desperate pursuits.’

  ‘Do it when you get back from Germany. It’s a crime that the neighborhood police can’t solve. Their boss has asked for your help.’

  ‘Their boss? So, this big boss you’re on about, the one with the stupid niece, he’s a senior policeman?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Holy mackerel! Why do you do this to me? Working for the police? Are you crazy? You know I can’t do that...’

  ‘I told them you’d think about it.’

  ‘That was presumptuous of you.’

  ‘When you come back from Germany you should call me. I’ll sort
the details out for you then.’

  ‘I’m not going.’

  ‘It’s in a town called Hugh-Lupus. They need you up there. They’re in a right mess. I’ve promised them that you’ll be their knight in shining armour…’

  ‘No chance.’

  *

  Miss Stook’s Teahouse

  ‘I’m off to see the geezer who’s supposed to help us with these dog mutilations,’ Sergeant Matt Moyes told the girls. He tugged a stained brown anorak over a raunchy-smelling shirt, then squeezed his full stomach beneath the stressed zipper. He tucked both epaulettes under the grimy collar so that they wouldn’t show. Then he took a swig of cold coffee before he gave a twirl for the office.

  ‘Cool,’ said both girls in unison.

  ‘Are you coming?’ he directed the question to Hopie.

  ‘Me? She looked surprised.

  ‘Yes. The boss said you would know him. You’ll know the psychic geezer. I have no idea about all this claptrap, but I asked the Chief, and he said you could come along. I need you to point him out and all that —’

  ‘Yes, but, um —’

  Hopie’s friend, Sarah-Jane, glanced across the room from her keyboard, then folded her arms across her chest to give a loud harrumph!

  Hopie returned a wide-eyed gaze.

  ‘Come on, grab a coat...’ continued the Sergeant. ‘We haven’t got all day.’

  Hopie shrugged, then walked to the coat-stand to find her cute, raw-pink hoodie. Sarah-Jane forced a smile but complained, ‘Proper police work, huh? Alright for some, isn’t it? I was here long before you… Why’s he chosen the new girl? Why must I stay here to work my way through this drudge while you are out gallivanting? I’ve been working here for ten months… it’s not fair that he’s taking you.’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Sarah-Jane. I’ll make it up to you. I swear.’

  *

  They arrived early at Miss Stook’s Teahouse, situated on the upper half of Mountsorrel Lane. The little bell tinkled over the door as they entered. Sergeant Moyes bent his head to avoid hitting his bald patch on the exposed beams. Once they were inside the little cafeteria, a young girl led them to a table near the bow-window. But Sergeant Moyes was not able to squeeze his sizeable backside beyond the fireplace. ‘Could you find a table at the back?’ he enquired. ‘Please find one with adequate space for my et cetera?’

  The girl snapped, ‘Whatever. Do you whatever you want.’ She stomped away, snapping her knuckles as she went. They found their table, at the back of the tea shop, and the Sarge relaxed his sweaty backside on the bench and rested his glossy head against the cold wall so he could scan the room.

  ‘Why didn’t the psychic geezer choose to meet at Starbucks?’ he asked. ‘Or, even better, at the drive-in McDonald’s on the by-pass? I could do with a big mac and coke.’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘What are you having?’ The Sergeant swiped a greasy plastic card from the tablecloth and read from a list of teas and cakes. ‘I’ll probably grab a sandwich and a cup of tea.’ The policeman rubbed his stomach because he had started to get hungry. ‘Do you have money in your purse? Or do you want me to lend you a couple of bob?’

  Hopie gave a big sigh and let her shoulders drop. She had hoped he would get the tea since his wages were at least four-times superior to hers. But clearly not. Sergeant Moyes was a notorious tight-arse — she should’ve known better. She decided to have a cup of green tea because it seemed the cheapest thing on the menu. They looked around the room. She saw two mature ladies who chatted and read knitting patterns in the corner, and she saw an elegant woman who leafed through a glossy magazine near the counter. She also noticed a young man, but he was half-concealed in an alcove. He was busy checking his mini iPad.

  The waitress approached them, at long last, and gave a lukewarm smirk, ‘What do you want then?’ she snapped.

  ‘I’m going to have a cup of tea and a cheese sandwich, my dear,’ asserted Sergeant Moyes. ‘Hopie, my sweet, do you want to get yourself something?’

  She sighed, ‘Yes, green tea.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Do you have a Wi-Fi code, please?’ Hopie asked.

  ‘Not on your nelly...’ said the girl, even though it seemed clear the young man in the corner had managed to acquire it. ‘If you want that sort of luxury, you need to go to Starbucks.’

  ‘Exactly’ said the policeman. ‘That’s what I told her…’ he smiled, very pleased with himself. The server snorted.

  *

  ‘He’ll get here soon enough...’ The Sergeant commented.

  ‘Who? The man who came to help us?’

  ‘Yes, of course, the man who came to help us. Who do you think? You’re so thick sometimes. Anyway, my dear, what’s he like? I need to recognise him when he arrives.’

  ‘Er?’

  ‘Come on, just a brief description — so I can identify him when he comes through the door. White? No doubt about that, I suppose. My age? Yeah, of course. My height, yeah … I guess he’ll resemble me won’t he, huh? Come on, my love. What’s he like? ‘

  ‘I don’t know...’

  ‘What do you mean you don’t know?’

  ‘Just that. I don’t know.’

  ‘The Chief told me you’d recommended this geezer.’

  ‘Recommended?’

  ‘He said you gave him the idea. The Chief said you were quite a fan of this psychic.’

  ‘Well, as I told you before, I watch his shows, and I follow his videos on YouTube. Doesn’t everyone, right? But I…’

  ‘Not me. I don’t even know what you’re on about...’

  ‘Well, then. Well, um...’

  ‘I ask again, what’s he like?’

  ‘The thing is this: I thought I’d explained before. I don’t know. I’ve never seen him… Nobody has…’

  ‘You watched his shows... Whaddya mean you have never seen him?’

  ‘Nobody has ever seen him… How many times do I have to tell you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No one ever has.’

  ‘Good grief. It’s a fat lot of good me bringing you here, isn’t it? I thought you’d be a help.’

  *

  But then the young man in the corner, the chap with the mini iPad, closed his gadget, rolled his shoulders, straightened his back, and stood full height as if he was ready to depart. The waitress set aside whatever she’d been doing to give him 100% of her attention. She bounced over to him with an obvious spring in her step.

  ‘Is everything alrighty? Might I get you something else? Perhaps another pot of tea? ‘

  ‘Handsome,’ said the young man. He slid his gadget into a fancy leather satchel and gave the girl a dazzling smile. ‘Would you bring my next pot over to that table by the wall, sweetheart?’ He pointed to where Hopie and the Sergeant had chosen to sit. ‘I will join those punters.’

  ‘Really? They are the colleagues you’ve waited for?’ the waitress rubbed her elbows.

  ‘I know,’ he said with a wink. ‘They’re boring, huh? I wouldn’t go so far as saying they are colleagues — but they are casual confederates, so I really must say hello.’

  ‘Okay,’ said the girl, but she shook her head — baffled by his long words yet enchanted by the gorgeous eyes and the way his nose wrinkled when he spoke.

  *

  The young man arrived at Hopie’s table in three long strides. When he reached the Sergeant, he provided him with a wide smile, then winked at her. Hopie guessed he was over six feet tall, with thickly curled, coppery-gold hair, smoggy eyebrows and a platinum ring that pierced his nasal septum. The best thing about him, by far, were his blue-violet eyes that glowed from dark shadowy sockets — they looked like azure nuggets in coffee-stained boreholes. He was, quite simply, the most eye-catching man she’d ever seen.

  ‘Sergeant Moyes?’ said the young gentleman.

  ‘Good gravy,’ said the policeman. His gaze fixed on Moondog’s nose piercing.

  ‘Good golly gosh,’ Hopie said, as she
admired the guy’s wiry body and noticed the way his gold-tanned, muscular arms stretched naked from his pale blue waistcoat.

  ‘Well, can I sit down?’ said the man. He possessed an impeccable physique, so she smiled and unconsciously licked her lips.

  ‘Well, I suppose you’d better,’ Sergeant Moyes said. It seemed evident he remained puzzled by the guy’s nose ring and so he gazed at it rudely.

  ‘And you are?’ enquired the man, shaking both of Hopie’s hands at once. She gently bit into her cheek.

  ‘My name’s Hope,’ She said. ‘But everyone calls me Hopie,’ she fiddled with her hair and was unable to break her gaze.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you. I’m the man you called for. You asked me to help with your problem. Folk call me Moondog.’

  ‘I thought you’d be older...’ murmured the policeman. ‘And more, you know, wossname...’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sorry. Just thinking aloud. Um, er, have you come about the thing?’

  ‘The thing, yes.’

  ‘Er? I don’t know much about what you do mister. Did you say your name was Moon Dog? Miss Sopgood here is one of your fans, aren’t you, love?’

  ‘Yes, I have seen all your videos, and I watch episodes of your Hocus Focus show.’

  ‘Don’t let that put you off...’ Moondog said with a snicker. She noticed his hair bounced when he laughed. ‘It’s not my best work.’ He smiled again.

  ‘So then, right, uh, yes. We have a set of crimes to explore. I wonder; do you help investigate things?’ The police sergeant spoke to the nose-ring but tried not to look at the remainder of Moondog’s face.

  ‘That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?’ Moondog replied.

  ‘What sort of stuff do you normally do? If you don't mind me being bold? I’m sorry if that sounds rude, but, as I say, I don’t know you from Adam. You’re not quite what I expected.’

  ‘I enquire into areas that dangle between what is real and what is not real. I investigate things that couldn’t possibly happen. And that’s typically because they didn’t. I study the incredible and the unexpected. In the television programs that I am involved in, and Miss Hopie mentioned, they employ me as a preternatural researcher. But that’s just a fancy title for what I do. I explain it to folk this way: I investigate things that hang in the balance. I take care of things that can’t take care of themselves.’