The Klowns of Kent

by steve higgs

  I turned to Big Ben. ‘How is it that you came to the rescue? We left you engaging in your usual sport of seeing how many girls you can shag.' I asked him.

  ‘I remembered that I had left my keys In Jagjit's car. You had only just left so I ran after you. Phone signal is always bad here and you lot were heading into a concrete carpark so there was no point in using my phone. Anyway, as I got down the stairs I could see the three of you facing off to three Klowns. I called the Police while I circled around to come up behind them. It would have been four against three, and fairly easy with their attention split, but in the minute it took me to circle around you were already fighting and more Klowns had appeared. Then Bongo the evil dickhead Klown from hell hacked at me with a machete.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked.

  ‘A bit shit actually.’

  ‘Scar tissue looks good on a man.' Jagjit offered, lifting the icepack from his face to speak.

  ‘It does.’ Big Ben conceded. ‘But I fear this is going to cost me a few shags while I recover.’

  ‘We are done here.’ One of the paramedics said. He was stood above us and speaking to the Officer in charge. Then he said, ‘Ok. Let’s go.’ When he got a nod in return.

  Big Ben and I were strapped in and were going to the hospital whether we liked it or not. Jagjit and Basic were asked if they wanted to come with us. They needed no further treatment, had given their statements and were free to go. I told them to get home. Basic lived with his little old lady mum and she needed him around to help her out.

  Thankfully they did not argue. We all shook hands, Big Ben and I from our stretchers and as the doors to the ambulance were shut our two friends were getting into Jagjit's car. The pub in the village would be shut by now, which was a shame because it looked like Jagjit really needed a drink.

  In the other ambulance, accompanied by two Police Officers, was the Klown with the green wig. He was still unconscious. He was under arrest, but I suppose since he was not able to talk or listen or anything else, the question and answer section of the evening would have to wait. I was beginning to worry that I might have done some lasting damage. Not that I really cared about the person beneath the daft outfit and make-up but were he to be badly injured it would most likely cause complications and questions back to me that I did not wish to have to answer. Much easier if he came around with nothing worse than a headache.

  It would be the Police that questioned him, not I, so I hoped they would provide some answers. I had questions like:

  Who are you?

  Who sent you?

  Why am I your target?

  Who is that wants me taken alive?

  Why are you dressed like a complete penis?

  Would you like to bleed some more?

  I suspected that I would not like most of the answers but getting them was necessary and it would be simpler if the Police got them. I probably wouldn’t voice the final question.

  The journey from Lockmeadow in Maidstone to Maidstone A&E is roughly three miles and took about as many minutes. Big Ben and I were both quiet, keeping our own thoughts. The driver had ignored the red lights as he sped out of town on the Tonbridge road, but it was late and traffic was light anyway.

  As we came to a stop, the backdoors opened to reveal the double-wide entrance into A&E. Even at this time of the day, it was busy with people coming in and out; doctors and nurses, paramedics in their green uniforms and the family or friends of people inside popping out for a quick smoke.

  The stretchers were rolled out, Big Ben's first and then mine. The mild bumping and jarring far more painful on my ribs than I had expected. They were broken, of course, four of them down my right side under where my arm would naturally rest. It had taken nothing more than a brief examination by the first doctor available to confirm a diagnosis I was already sure of. There was little they could do other than give me pain relief. The bones were all in place and not splintered or likely to cause further damage. Most of the doctor's time was spent advising me on all the activities I should not do over the next six to eight weeks. He prescribed pain relief which a nurse appeared with moments later: Oramorph. It was morphine in liquid form. It would help me breathe, but other than that I just had to put up with the pain.

  Not too far away I could hear Big Ben charming the pants off several nurses. It had not taken him long to attract an unfair share of the ladies working on the ward. Looking across at them now I had to observe that most of them were young and attractive as if he had some form of invisible filter that prevented less attractive ladies from getting close. I turned to look at the nurse still hovering by my bed. She looked like a raccoon might if it lost all of its fur, developed a bad allergy that affected its skin and gained two hundred pounds. Life seemed a tad unfair at times. Big Ben had a wound to his abdomen that was almost ten inches long – can you guess what he compared the length to? The blow from the machete had been a glancing one mostly but it had also cut into his flesh and muscle. He would likely heal sooner than I and he didn't seem all that bothered by it.

  I was though.

  Some evil dickhead Klowns had set about my friends and me. I was incandescent with rage. What had provoked the attack? That was a question I really wanted answering? Why come after me when I am accompanied by my friends? Why not attack me when I am alone? I believed that I was not a violent person, that I only fought when I had to or was forced to. Right now though, thinking about Big Ben bleeding on a carpark floor and Jagjit going to work on Monday to meet with high-stakes clients and having to explain to his boss why he looks like he has been in a bar brawl, well I was ready to hurt some people.

  I was gritting my teeth for my internal monologue and my jaw was starting to ache. I relaxed and flopped my head back onto the pillow.

  ‘Tempest?’

  I looked up. The voice was Amanda’s.

  ‘My God. Are you okay?’ she asked. She was in uniform; her glorious blond hair was tucked up into her hat and she was devoid of make-up. She was still beautiful. Utterly, utterly beautiful.

  ‘What are you doing here?' I asked her, rather than answer her question and spend time talking about me.

  ‘I brought in a perp that went a bit nuts and put his head through a window. He is cuffed to my colleague and being treated just a few beds down. I heard Big Ben’s voice and came to investigate. What happened?’

  ‘Klown attack.'

  ‘Klowns? You and Big Ben got taken out by some Klowns?' she said incredulously.

  ‘And Basic and Jagjit.’ I corrected her. ‘They were armed, and it was six against three. Big Ben only turned up at the end.’

  ‘Okay. But without wanting to butter your ego, you and Ben and Basic are like a small army. Basic looks like he could not only smash through walls but eat them afterward.'

  ‘Nevertheless, we took a beating.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked again. She seemed genuinely concerned.

  I opened my shirt and showed her my ribs.

  ‘Damn.’ She whistled. ‘Broken?’

  ‘Yeah. Really, really broken.’

  Her radio crackled to life. Whoever she was here with tonight needed her.

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’ I offered her. I was glad to see her. It saved me a call. She patted my calf in an act of camaraderie. It was heart-breaking for me but had she leaned in to give me a hug I probably would have tried to kiss her so it was better that she didn’t.

  She vanished from view behind a curtain further down the line of beds and I found the button thing to summon a nurse. I asked for more pain relief and another thing of Oramorph was given freely.

  I don’t remember much else.

  Maidstone Hospital. Sunday, 23rd October 0843hrs

  I awoke to my phone ringing. I was on a different ward to the one I had fallen asleep in. I was still coming around when Big Ben appeared in my field of vision. He snagged my phone from the bedside table and answered it.

  ‘Blue Moon Investigations, Ben Winters speaking. How may
I help you?’ He winked at me as he listened to the person at the other end. ‘It’s your mother.’ he mouthed ‘Yes, Mary. Yes indeed. I’ll pass that on.’ He hung up.

  ‘How you feeling.’ I asked.

  ‘Fine.’ he replied jovially. ‘A little sore at the site of the wound but I can work that to my advantage. I believe it will shortly be raining blowjobs.’

  ‘No doubt.’ I said, laying my head back onto my pillow. ‘What did my mother want?’

  ‘Just to let you know that she and your dad were just leaving your house. They had fed and walked the dogs and stayed the night rather than go home. She also said that your dad found your rum and it is somewhat depleted.’

  ‘Sounds about right.’ At least the dogs had been well catered for. They would not have been bothered that I had failed to come home. They were well used to my parents and had probably been given treats to boot.

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘The temperature in your greenhouse was too low to keep the plants in there alive through the winter so she has turned it up and you need to get your overwintering vegetables planted now or you will miss out.’

  My mother was a constant provider of helpful horticultural advice. I had grown up with a garden that provided all manner of fruit and vegetables that she would then convert into pies and tarts and stews etcetera. My parents lived only a couple of miles away from my house and it had taken nothing more than a quick call last night to get them to leave their house and go to mine.

  Soon enough, the doctors came on their rounds. They came to me first, led by a tall, slightly plump lady consultant with a gaggle of mostly female junior doctors following her. She instructed one to check my chart and make a recommendation, she did not address me at any point which felt rude but also completely in keeping with National Health Service patient care. I was swiftly dismissed. The young male Doctor recommended that there was no need for further treatment and I should contact my local General Practitioner if I needed further pain medication. While dealing with me, I had watched the consultant as she watched the young male doctor. Behind her were two equally young female doctors, one of whom had just got a look at Big Ben. He had removed his top so that his wound could be inspected when they got to him and now she was urgently nudging her companion and motioning with her head.

  The consultant was finished with me, so I began to slowly gather my things. I would wait for Big Ben so we could travel in a taxi together, but that is not what happened. What happened was the consultant lady stared at Big Ben with goggly eyes for half a minute while she tried to convince her brain to reconnect itself with her mouth. Big Ben was used to the attention and had most likely taken his shirt off just so he could distract the ladies. Just in case it was needed, which it wasn’t, he smiled one of his magical smiles and made his pecs dance a bit.

  Stammering, the consultant lady finally instructed the nudgy girl to get on with the task of checking his chart and determining if he was fit enough to be discharged.

  ‘Um,’

  ‘Come on, Doctor Stephenson.’ snapped the consultant, who looked flushed and annoyed. ‘You know how I hate mumbling.’

  ‘Mr. Winters has suffered a penetrating abdominal trauma.' She managed, flicking over a page on his notes as if hoping the information she needed would leap from it. She was having trouble diverting her gaze from Big Ben though. He had now relaxed back onto the bed and fixed her with a smouldering stare of encouragement. I wondered if she might dribble.

  ‘What are the dangers of abdominal wounds?’ The consultant asked the group while also staring at Big Ben.

  There were two young male doctors in the group, one of whom was staring slack-jawed at the aftershave model relaxing on the bed in front of them. The other one was immune. By dint of being heterosexual, I assumed. He was looking around the group in wonder, probably trying to work out what spell had bewitched his colleagues.

  ‘Abdominal wounds are particularly likely to cause internal bleeding, which can be life-threatening due to the number of major blood vessels that run through the area. Peritonitis is an especially common complication if the weapon punctures the intestines.' He delivered the answer as if reading from a textbook. When he finished he fell silent again, waiting for the consultant. Nothing happened. They were all just staring at Big Ben. Seeing the lack of impetus from his colleagues he stepped forward, grabbed the chart from the unresisting hands of Doctor Stephenson and then moved between the crowd and Big Ben as he moved in to inspect the dressing.

  ‘How are you feeling, Mr. Winters?' he asked.

  ‘I’m just fine, brother.’ Big Ben replied in his usual relaxed manner.

  ‘No temperature, no nausea?’

  ‘Nothing at all. The wound is sore when I move, but they said it was superficial and would heal quickly.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, this all checks out. Thank you, Mr. Winters. Please do not participate in any strenuous activities for a week and keep the dressing dry during that time. You will receive a letter advising you of an appointment to have the staples taken out. You are free to go.'

  The consultant seemed startled as if woken from sleep to find herself in an unexpected place. ‘What? Dr. Coruthers are you blind?' she asked fixing him with a glare. ‘This man is clearly not ready to be discharged. The wound might produce all manner of complications.' Which she then went on to list. I understood very little of what she said but she made it sound like he would most likely explode if he attempted to leave the hospital. She moved closer to Big Ben and took his hand. ‘Mr. Winters, I am afraid you will have to stay here for a while at least. But don't worry, I will be taking very special care of you myself.'

  Big Ben looked at the consultant. She was mid-forties by my reckoning, was not wearing a wedding band and was attractive enough to have held my attention. The younger female doctors were a mix of different races, heights, and levels of attractiveness but I could see that each one was considering the possibility of keeping Mr. Winters around as a positive action. She placed a hand on his tight toned, abdominal wall, made some hmming noises then placed it on one of his bulging pectorals.

  ‘Yes, yes. Mr. Winters, I think is imperative that we keep you here for a day…'

  ‘Two days?' enquired Doctor Stephenson, taking hold of his arm tactilely from the other side of the bed.

  ‘Two days.’ Confirmed Doctor Harman, ‘For observation. It would be irresponsible to let you go now when there could be… complications.’ Her voice was getting huskier by the moment.

  ‘Ladies, I place my firmness in your hands. I mean I place myself firmly in your hands.’ Big Ben replied in his best bedroom voice clearly making the word order error on purpose.

  Doctor Harman shook herself physically and somewhat reluctantly took her hands from his body. ‘Doctor Stephenson see to it that Mr. Winters is found a private room where I can give him the best treatment.'

  ‘Doctor Harman is this really necessary?' asked Dr. Coruthers, the only one immune to Big Ben's charms. ‘Mr. Winters is clearly fit and healthy. The surgical notes state that the wound did not penetrate the abdominal cavity…'

  Doctor Harman cut him off with a wave of her hand. ‘That will be all Dr. Coruthers, thank you. Do not question me on my rounds unless you wish to be back on geriatrics.'

  The man closed his mouth. I guess working geriatrics was not a task he relished.

  I picked up my phone and put it in my pocket. It looked like I was leaving by myself. Big Ben was grinning at me. When we locked eyes, he waggled his eyebrows to show he was up to no good. He was going to stay here and enjoy the company of whichever doctors, nurses, orderlies and other persons elected to sneak into his room. This was not untypical behaviour.

  I bid him good luck, though I doubted he would need it and headed for the exit.

  I had an advice leaflet which could be summed up as: Don't do anything. Don't exercise, don't do anything strenuous. Don't drive if I have taken pain relief. The list of don'ts went on for a while. Big Ben had it better than me and w
ould heal quicker too. Nonetheless, he was out of action for seven to ten days while the wound healed. Once the stitches were out, he should be okay, but that was all moot because he was going to stay in the hospital and be used as a rather tall sex toy for the next couple of days.

  There were taxis available from the hospital reception, so I hopped in the one at the front of the queue and caught a ride home.

  My House in Finchampstead. Sunday, October 23rd 0956hrs

  As the driver pulled up outside my house, I checked my watch: 0956hrs. Nearly ten o'clock on a Sunday morning. I could not remember what I had planned for the day. Amanda and I had a few open cases but nothing that demanded my attention. The fare was more than twenty pounds so I handed over twenty-five, instructing the man to keep the change before I clambered tenderly out of the cab. Given how I felt right now I reckoned the day was going to involve lots of sitting on my bottom on the sofa watching TV. The dogs would be happy enough with that.

  I got to my door, fished for my keys and opened it. The two savage hounds tumbled out to greet me. I slowly bent down to pat and fuss them both but did not pick them up as I often would, my ribs were just too sore.

  Inside the house, there was evidence that my parents had been there in my absence. On the drainer were two clean glasses that my mother had washed up rather than put them in the "infernal dishwasher". The dogs buzzed around my feet and stared at the cupboard that contained their food and bowls. Like most dogs, they were everlastingly hungry and would ask for a second breakfast if the first was more than a few seconds ago. I felt certain that my parents would have fed them but called my mother to check anyway.