"Look lady ..." said Shorty.
"Miss Collins thank you!" said Mary, tartly.
"Uh, look Miss Collins, we got orders, see!" said Crewcut. "We just gotta pick up da file and deliver it. Den we get paid. See?"
"Delivered to whom? Paid by whom?" asked Mary, realising that Toby was trying to smile and nod at her without it becoming evident to the men.
"To George Sand..." said Shorty.
"Hey bozo, we don't say who we're working for! Okay?" said Crewcut tersely, grabbing Shorty's collar.
"Oh yeah, I forgot," said Shorty. "It's conden..., it's confild..., oh, secret. See?"
"I see," said Mary. "So what if the whereabouts of the key was confidential?"
"Ah, that's goin' to be a big problem," said Shorty, looking at his partner, perplexed. "Mr Sanderson is going to be mighty fierce with us."
"Ah, you dumbo!" said Crewcut. "Shut your mouth, you're spilling the beans."
"Ah, oh, yeah, guess I did," said Shorty. "Forget I said that."
"Yeah, well, if we don't deliver, we gotta be in a whole heap of trouble, you might say," said Crewcut. "And we prefer you's in trouble den us, so give us da key and we'll be gone and no trouble!"
"Right, yes," said Mary, still wondering what Toby seemed to be trying to tell her - something hopeful, she hoped, but what it could be she had no idea.
"So lady ..." said Crewcut.
"Miss Collins!"
"Oh, sorry, Miss Collins," said Crewcut, missing his place in his script.
"So Miss Collins what?" asked Mary, walking up to him. "So Miss Collins, if we break your arm or smash a hole in this wall, the key will magically turn up, you'll get your precious file and we'll all be deliriously bloody happy! Is that it?"
"Uh, no, not quite," said Crewcut, stepping back a pace. "We don't want to hurt anyone. We were told no damage to people or property. Just get the file."
"You have no idea how relieved I am about that!" said Mary, stepping forward again. "But, right now, you'd love to bust a limb, see some blood, hear a scream. Right?"
"No Ma'am, we just want the file, easy like," said Shorty, coming to his friend's rescue.
"Easy like," said Mary, turning on him and savouring his phrase. "Easy like. All just little lambs in here, these pathetic little clerical types. Say boo and they run. Is that what you thought?"
"Well, yeah, ah no," said Crewcut, looking everywhere except at Mary.
"Yeah, well we don't just bow down to cowards like you trying to muscle in here and stuff us around!" said Mary venomously. "You think you haven't hurt anyone?"
"Well, no ..." said Shorty. "Nobody been harmed."
"You've scared the living daylights out of people, you've stuffed up our day here with your stupid antics and we're all going to have to work late, for no extra pay and we're going to have to beef up our security from now on. You think there's no cost?"
"Well, y ..." said Shorty.
"Well, hell, of course there's a cost!" said Mary, turning on him. "I predict that we're going to have a lot of people calling in sick over the next week or so - your intrusion is traumatic and unwarranted and a lot of people here are going to be upset for months. I hope what you get paid is worth all the heartache, pain and cost you're causing!"
"Look lady ..." said Crewcut.
"Miss Collins!" said Mary, turning back on him.
"Ah shut up! I'll call you what I like, LADY!" shouted Crewcut.
"Ah, so the big man has finally found some balls," said Mary, quietly.
Burglars and Bungles
Monday, 12th March 2012, 12.14 p.m.
Mary knew the situation was dire, that she was in danger, that these thugs could harm her, that they could smash the place and that she had absolutely no idea what to do next - bluff was only going to work for so long, until one of these mutton-heads lost their cool. Maybe this was how ordinary people became brave people, she pondered, while frantically searching her little grey cells for a way out. Maybe situations just became too overwhelming, too surreal, for them to be fully absorbed by the rational brain and so the irrational one kicks in and the unexpected happens. However, this time, nothing else kicked in - Mary was still confronted by two knuckle-dragging pea brains, intent on taking something she didn't want them to have.
She could, of course, employ the karate-chopping skills of Toby but that would only delay the inevitable - they'd have friends (though, why anyone would want to be friends with twerps like these she could not fathom) and the next wave of rampaging Neanderthals would be worse. Violence never solved violence, it just perpetuated itself. She was intent only on transforming their aggression into something softer or, at the least, to deflecting their violence in another direction, in the way that Toby had explained the basic techniques of his martial art - not stopping their force but turning it either sideways or back on them.
In the split second these conversations with herself went on, nothing much else happened. She waited, they waited and Toby sat serenely behind his high desk, blithely doing something that looked important. As her mind was churning over these bewildering little things, she looked at Toby and his silly smile was infectious.
"This is not bloody funny!" said Crewcut.
"No, you guys in trouble here," said Shorty, reaching into his belt and pulling out a knife. He held it with the blade down as if to plunge it into something.
"You're not going to hurt anyone holding it like that," said Toby, quickly recovering from his laughing fit as he came round to the front of his desk.
"Oh yes I am ... I could," said Shorty.
"Oh no you won't," said Toby. "You see, my ribs are overlapped, like planks on the side of a ship, and if you chop down, the knife will just bounce down my ribs. Here, let me show you." He held out his hand.
"Uh ... oh, yeah, okay," said Shorty, taken aback by the surrealism of the moment. He handed his knife to Toby who held it with the blade facing up.
"See, if I go at you this way, it won't bounce down your ribs but will go up between them," said Toby lunging at Shorty and stopping millimetres from his ribcage. Shorty's elbows went up and he took a deep breath, immobilised. Crewcut immediately reached into the back of his belt, fumbled around and a pistol clattered to the floor. Toby, quick as a flash, kicked it across the floor to Mary.
"Don't pick it up, Mary - fingerprints!" said Toby. "Kick it behind my desk! Quick!"
Mary's body reacted quicker than her brain and obeyed Toby's instructions to the letter. Crewcut turned to chase after his gun.
"One move and this knife moves an inch and pierces your friend's heart!" yelled Toby, at Crewcut, who realised Toby had not moved the knife from Shorty's body. Crewcut seemed as paralysed as his friend.
"Wadda I do now?" asked Shorty in a squeaky voice.
"Drop that knife!" came a voice from nowhere and then Mary realised two policemen had come out of the lift, into the corridor.
"Not till you hand-cuff these men," said Toby calmly.
"Drop that knife, young man," repeated one of the policemen, advancing up the corridor. "You're trespassing and you're under arrest for assault."
"I work here, sargeant!" said Toby. "These crazies are the trespassers. Now hand-cuff them - what are you waiting for?"
"How do we know whose assaulting who, Sarge?" asked the second policeman.
"Uh, I ... I'm not sure," said number one.
"We damned well work here, you irks," said Toby. "You think invite people in here to be attacked by us? Come on, cuff them. NOW!"
"Uh, yes sir," said number one, leaping forward. "You, sir, are under arrest. Do not move!" Shorty had not moved a muscle for over a minute and remained scarecrow-like. "Get your hands down, behind your back!"
"But you said don't move ..." said Shorty plaintively.
"Well, move your hands, clever clogs!" said number one. "NOW!"
Mary wondered who had the lowest IQ - the burglars or the police - and quickly decided it was a dead-heat. She and Toby promised to come down to
give their statements, within the half hour and Crewcut and Shorty were led off, still mumbling at each other.
Over a cup of very strong coffee in Mary's office, she and Toby worked out a battle plan to deal with the Atkinson file once and for all. It had started out so simply, this little insurance claim and now it was growing like a nuclear bomb on the horizon ... and the horizon was closing in fast. Decisive action was needed.
Emily and Chloe
Monday, 12th March 2012, 12.14 p.m.
Having escaped his office, two heavies and two policemen, Arthur's brain was still in panic mode, conjuring up all sorts of consequences for Joan and him.
As these conflicting thoughts stampeded through his brain, battling with each other, he kept a wary eye on everyone, especially KGB agents, in the train carriage. Would James Bond have stood casually at the door, ready to leap off, or would he have sat down, mingling anonymously with the crowd? Yet another herd of thoughts charged round in his brain.
"Hello Mister," said a small voice at his knee. He looked down and remembered the tousle-haired little girl who had offered him ice cream in the park.
"Oh, hello, young lady," he said, "how are you today?"
"My mummy and me, we've just been to the shops to buy a gun," she said. Not quite panic but Arthur's heart leapt out of the carriage and back in again. He looked up and around and saw the girl's mother - Emily, was that her name? - smiling at him. She put her hand in a plastic shopping bag and pulled out a gun. Arthur flinched. It was a plastic water pistol ... well, he hoped it was.
"Sorry to scare you, sir ... Arthur, wasn't it?" She asked.
Arthur nodded, recovering his composure.
"We're off to a birthday party this afternoon for Chloe's cousin," said Emily. "He loves guns and this is the most inoffensive one I could find!"
"Yes, yes," said Arthur, acting more casual then he felt. "Boys do seem to like guns, don't they."
"The last time I saw you, you were a very shaken hero," said Emily. "How have you been since then?"
"Oh good thank you," said Arthur, with his standard reply, then thought he'd try the truth. "Actually I've had quite some happenings of late - job's become, ah, strange, my mother-in-law died, my son's wife left him, I've just escaped from work, ... yes, a few things and in only seven days." He smiled at the memories as the film clip of those seven days played themselves through his mind.
"My gosh!" Emily said. "You have been having a time of it! And how are you coping with it all?"
"Remarkably well, I thought," he said. "And how have you been?"
"Well, to be honest, not very good," she said gently. "Three days ago my father disappeared and nobody knows where he's gone ..."
"Your father? Gosh!" said Arthur, not knowing what else to say.
"Yes, we usually talk on the phone two or three times a week and he visits every week," she said wistfully. "He's very busy as a director of an insurance company but he always makes time for Chloe and I."
"An insurance company?" asked Arthur quickly. "Not AIL is it?"
"Yes, that's his company! Do you know it ... or him?" asked Emily.
"Yes I do indeed!" said Arthur, forcing a smile. "I've worked for the company for thirty years. Mr Lord, your father, was the one who, aah, changed my job last week."
"Oh dear, that must have been very hard for both of you," said Emily, looking concerned. Arthur had not considered that it would have been hard for Mr Lord.
"Do you have any idea where he could have gone?" asked Emily hopefully.
"Heavens no! No idea at all," said Arthur. "I thought he'd been sacked or made redundant or something. Seems like he just didn't turn up on Friday and I assumed he'd been asked to leave. Quite strange."
"Oh dear, that makes it even worse," said Emily. "No one at all seems to know where he is. I've told the police and got what I thought was a rather cold reception there. Just made it worse, really. I don't think anyone's looking for him."
"Oh dear, oh dear," said Arthur, finding himself at a loss with this tearful woman. "Would you and your daughter like to come back to our place for a cup of tea? It's a short walk and my wife is very good with things like this."
"Oh Arthur, that's very kind ... but I couldn't ..."
"Of course you can! I insist," said Arthur feeling unusually masterful. "A cup of tea and a nice chat might be just what you need."
"Well, if that's alright with you ..."
"Well," said Arthur, feeling a sense of mission rising in him. "Perhaps if we all put our thinking caps together, we can come up with something. You're not alone," he said, wishing someone would say that to him from time to time.
"Oh Arthur! You're a sweet man!" she exclaimed, loud enough for all the carriage to hear ... or so it seemed to Arthur. His extreme embarrassment was overshadowed by the approaching station, East Croydon (although, as Arthur thought in a small part of his brain that wasn't trying to deal with his embarrassment, that station wasn't approaching at all. It wasn't going anywhere, the train was approaching it!).
As they walked up Addiscombe Road, Chloe skipped along between them and Arthur felt light. He hadn't been mugged on his way home by KGB agents and he would soon be in his familiar home with his familiar Joan and all the coziness and peace they evoked. Danger obviously added a poignancy to the people and things he cherished and, well, he might possibly help someone else. He smiled at Emily who seemed to catch his mood and looked happier than when he first saw her on the train.
Emily protested that it was all too much for Joan and Arthur and they didn't even know her and she didn't want to trouble them and they had enough with everything else that had happened to them and, well, her father would probably turn up soon anyway and and and ... However, Joan quietly got a resistant Emily to sit down, have a cup of tea and sandwiches while Arthur, under instructions, was fetching juice and toys for Chloe.
"Now, Emily, you're right," said Joan, sitting next to Emily on the couch. "We've had a little drama here, lately, with Arthur and Martin and we just buried my mother last week. Yes, it's a lot, Emily."
"It's too much, I would say!" said Emily, looking tearful.
"Yes, we might look back and say that," said Joan, smiling. "But while we're in the middle of it, we just go day by day, hour by hour."
"But I'm imposing ..."
"Emily, you're not, I promise!" said Joan with her hand firmly on Emily's knee. "You're actually doing us a favour."
"A favour?"
"Yes, a favour, isn't she Arthur?" said Joan.
"Ah, yes, a favour ..." said Arthur, looking up from helping Chloe get the Lego set out of the box. He couldn't hide his perplexed expression.
"You're giving us something to take our minds off our situation," said Joan. "You see, we can't do anything about my mother or Martin or Arthur. We could feel hopeless with all that. But, with your father, there's probably something we can do. It'll help us feel helpful again."
"Oh, I hadn't thought of it like that!" said Emily, brightening visibly.
"And, besides, I do love a project, don't I Arthur?" said Joan, smiling.
"Oh yes, she does love a project," said Arthur, chuckling while he tried to fit wheels onto a Lego block for Chloe.
"So, my friends, a battle plan!" said Joan, clapping her hands with glee. "What do we know?"
"Well, we don't know much at all," said Emily, uncertainly.
"Mmm, we probably know more than we think," said Joan. "Now, what were his hobbies? What did he do outside work?"
"Oh, I'm not sure," said Emily. "His work was a big part of his life. He usually took it home every night. And he visited us often. I know he liked folk music."
"Folk music?" exclaimed Arthur, incredulously, trying to imagine Sam Lord in his Versace suit, Gucci shoes and immaculate fingernails mixing in with bearded hippies. "Folk music? I would never have imagined it!" Seeing that Chloe was fully engrossed in her toys, he got up and took a seat, all ears on the adult conversation now.
"So, where did he
go for his folk music, Emily?" asked Joan.
"Oh, I don't really know," said Emily, frowning. "He did mention different clubs, sometimes ... usually in Camden, I think."
"So, folk clubs in Camden - how do we find people there?" asked Joan. Silence. No one knew. "Okay, so we put that question on the list for God, for The Universe. The answer will come."
"Joan, dear, what's this about God ... The Universe?" asked Arthur, perplexed.
"Oh dear, I have a confession," said Joan, smiling at Arthur. "I haven't told you I have been studying A Course In Miracles."
"Miracles?" asked Arthur, immediately regretting his first question, knowing this was headed somewhere he didn't want to know about.
"A Course In Miracles," said Joan, patiently. "It's a book to help you change your life, for the better. I read it each day when you're at work and we have a fortnightly group meeting - five of us."
"Why didn't you tell me this before?" asked Arthur, feeling left out.
"Because I thought you'd be uncomfortable with it," said Joan. "I just thought you'd find out when you were ready and, well, you must be now. You've just found out!" She smiled at Arthur and patted his knee. "I haven't turned into a werewolf, have I?"
"No, no you haven't at all," said Arthur softly. "Actually, dear, you seem different, softer, happier than you used to be. Not so, ah, brittle."
"Well you can blame the book for that. It's actually brilliant and I'd really like you to read it with me but I didn't know how you'd be with it," said Joan.
"Ah, Joan, this book mentions God. Is it Christian?" asked Emily. "I've had some bad experiences with the church ... one of the main reasons I'm separated."
"Oh dear! I'm sorry about that," said Joan. "But no, it's not Christian. In fact, many Christians would be challenged by it and many follow it." Joan laughed.
"But it mentions God ..." said Arthur, rubbing his temples.
"Yes it does love," said Joan. "It tells us that any decision that we need to make, if we hand it over to God and listen to the Voice for God, that still, quiet voice inside, the perfect answer will arise."
"That sounds like Christianity!" said Emily with a forced smile.
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