A Tour de Fate

by P R M Kinloch

  He went on, “If my guess is correct, I think he’ll find it all a bit much to figure out while trying to soak up the free drinks. I’m hoping that the drinks will beat his attempts and then your duty will really be done if he does want to stagger back to his place.

  “There again,” said Monty with another thought, “I suppose he could get maudlin. If so, offer him a shoulder to cry on – he’ll probably take it – though I’m not sure I’d wish that on you!

  “If the worst comes to the worst? Well, if he really corners you, you can of course say that not only am I alive and kicking but I am at this very moment booby-trapping his home! Yeah, seriously, if necessary, say it. But if you can possible do so, I would much rather you withheld that particular information just as long as you can.” Then he added, “But I don’t want you hurt, and I don’t want you stressed. What I would love to happen is for you to get some fun out this after what you’ve both been through.”

  “Point taken, Son,” said his Dad, “Leave it with us.”

  74 TWO LUMPS PLEASE

  As Monty Stump raced back to the Café Credenza once again, others were also on the move. One of them was Fustian Lump. He had got up very early and had been on the go for hours. He was tracking. But this time, he was doing it for himself. Not constrained by any considerations of official policies and procedures, impartiality, preservation of evidence, crime scene protocol, or red tape, he was free to follow a single thread. Thus, his progress was much faster.

  After his work tracking Horn and company on the kidnapping business, Fustian Lump had ruminated on what he could do to maintain the turnover in his larder. He had then remembered the fedora-wearing dog’s offer about some high-rolling clerical gander loose in a nunnery. He thought he might at least give that job a second look while he was in the mood. The fact that the dog had left no details meant nothing to Lump. Even after so many days had passed, picking up the scent of fedora-dog was no problem. He tracked him all the way to Plenty in the Clumps. The fact that he had been there recently meant nothing to Lump. A job was a job. He provided stuff. That was his job. Other people made connections. What to make of stuff was their job.

  Fustian of course had no idea of what kind of danger he might be in, let alone that the police kidnap investigation was going on “under his very nose”.

  Meanwhile of course on this particular snooping business or whatever the job was to be at Greylags that fedora-dog had hinted at, he was never meant to know who would be hiring him, let alone where they lived.

  Lump knocked on the door of Horn’s hideaway to say he might take the job. Skinner answered the door, had no idea who Lump was or what he was talking about, tried to close the door but was defeated by the approach of what could best be described as surprising amount of slobber. Skinner retreated in the hope of rounding up reinforcements in the form of Blowback.

  Blowback, informed of the presence at the door, instantly became terrified that he had let the boss down somehow, and owned up only that he had simply followed orders regarding the Greylags Gander job.

  Horn, hearing the hurried conversation with Blowback, called a demand for an explanation. Blowback crept – a point missed by Horn – into Horn’s inner sanctum and shamefacedly – also missed – brought Horn up to date on the forgotten job and who was at the door, and gave the only explanation possible for how Mr Lump could know which door to be at.

  Horn stared. Blowback stood transfixed by Horn’s stare and thought the worst for having let the Boss down. But Horn wasn’t seeing Blowback at all. He was seeing a much worser worst of his own.

  Like a blind dog, he came at Blowback, bumbled and bundled him out, out, out of his den, and closed the door on the by then perplexed mutt.

  Blowback, wondering exactly what had happened, was drawn to look back at the closed door. It was vibrating. Horn in his den was backed against the door, quivering. His mind was ticking through the situation like a bomb approaching detonation - while his instinct for self-preservation had shot like a missile straight to the point of impact. His half-hearted attempt to engage the services of a bloodhound on some minor escapade had been totally forgotten in view of the more pressing and far more lucrative venture of the on-going kidnap and forthcoming sale of the still unnamed beautiful fox lady.

  The fact that Fustian Lump had tracked Blowback all the way to Plenty was bad enough. After all, a bloodhound is supposed to be a bloodhound. But the fact that Fustian Lump had been able to follow Burt Blowback all the way to Horn’s secret lair after so many days had gone by amazed and terrified him.

  Suddenly the hound at the front door represented an uncanny ability to track peoples’ long forgotten movements! All of them! Anywhere! No matter how long ago, and no matter where they went! That mutt could know exactly when and where they had been - including to all the secret and dangerous contacts up north!

  Horn’s silly attempt to broaden his own business activities on the side with a bit of snooping was suddenly threatening to undo the highly profitable scheme he was trying to put over the treacherous and lawless wolf gangs to the north.

  Spying on the antics of a wayward gander in Diddling was peanuts compared with the value of the deal that Horn was hatching to finish with the northern gangs.

  However, with those up north being so exceedingly dangerous, Horn’s life depended on guaranteeing anonymity for all concerned. If they find out that I’m compromised, I’d be a dead duck at the best of times. But for it to happen just when I’m gonna complete the biggest deal of my life with them??? Cripes!!

  “OK, OK, OK! What do I do?” Horn asked himself in a complete panic “What do I do? How do you get rid of a bloodhound when you don’t want one? I can’t send ’im home, can I! And I can’t even imagine digging a hole that big!”

  “OK, OK - What do I normally do?” He thrashed about looking for something - anything - a way out... “Well... things either go north or south. Easy. But a Bloodhound? How do you move a... Ooooh!”

  Everything stopped. An extraordinary idea had struck him. A life line? His mind grabbed at it.

  He began to marshal his thoughts in a new light. He wanted out, out of the game altogether. That was his goal. To make one big killing on the market and then disappear. And he’d got that so organised! The bidding on the girl was going to be ferocious.

  But just, let’s supposing maybe, this was not so much a disaster as yet another opportunity? Maybe I could sell a bloodhound as well to the guys? What would somebody pay to have his own police forensic expert?

  Rather than disappoint Mr Fustian Lump, Hans “Hammerhead” Horn, the half wolf, stopped his deliberations, turned to practicalities and opened the door – whereupon Blowback almost fell on him.

  Horn allowed the bloodhound to be brought to him. Mr Horn then checked the hound over in quite a new light.

  ________________

  In the undercover police observation post, the appearance of the bloodhound had been duly noted.

  With Lump’s disappearance into Horn’s hideout, the greyhound was duly despatched to HQ with the information to go priority to Commander Button.

  ________________

  Noting Fustian Lump’s worn and scuffed ears and nails, Horn offered him a retainer at half the amount that had first come to mind.

  “Ooo! Nice.” Said Lump unabashed, pleased at the prospect of any sort of regular income again. Then, realising he might have missed something, like bargaining for more, he added, “I’d like to think about that.”

  “Good. Wise move.” Said Horn, “But you can tell me.” Horn straightened an old bone on his desk and asked, “So now that you’re thinking about it, what do you think about it?”

  “I, er, well. I’ll let you know.” Said Lump.

  “Gooood,” encouraged Horn, “Do so. Now.”

  “Um, Can I call you back? Maybe tomorrow?”

  “Yeees. Here’s the deal. One meal a day plus expenses. The boys will give you a little introduction to the rules of the house. No, you are not fre
e to go home and get a few things. OK. Take him away. Lock ‘im in an empty storeroom downstairs. Bring ’im back tomorrow.”

  Blowback led, Lump followed, Skinner at the rear. Downstairs they went, into a storeroom. It was very dark. Blowback withdrew, door was closed, Skinner had the key, door was locked. The fact that Lump could smell Diana in the next room, the very hostage he had tracked, meant nothing. Different job entirely.

  Well! Thought Lump with satisfaction, instantly settling down comfortably. He was suddenly getting a wage, a meal a day, a roof over his head, and nothing as yet to do. What more could he want? He was free to continue his Hobby, his latest passion. He was compiling an Olfactory Compendium of Diddling (OCD for short). He saw the beauty of this pursuit in his approach, by producing it in FM form (i.e., From Memory), his OCD would surely be an instant hit with the local Police. If not, then it would be with the local CID (Community Information Department), construction of which would be his next project. His digital version would have to languish at home for the moment, where – luckily – his landlady had given up trying to clean his rooms. This was on Whiffy Street in the suburb of Smelt, next to the marshes on the outskirts of Diddling.

  His rented rooms were part of a house sandwiched between boarding kennels also run by his landlady, and the Ducks School of Laughter run by two doctors who also ran a quackery at the local hospital.

  He felt his lodgings had three particularly attractive advantages. For a start, he found the address – Whiffy Street in Smelt - easy to remember. Secondly, it was a downhill run from the pub, and lastly, his industrial deafness meant he wasn’t disturbed by the constant ruckus either from the kennels or from the Ducks School of Laughter practicing in their yard.

  Just at the moment, he felt his life looked very promising.

  75 THE WAITING GAME

  Luckily, Monty didn’t barge into the café with a wheelbarrow full of tools. He’d meant to do that, but had forgotten the barrow. Lunch was on and the place was busy. James was definitely earning his keep and it looked like his brother was also helping out. Monty slipped through to the kitchen and James followed.

  “Hey Monty, check out the invitation.” Said Josh, loading plates of soup and meat laden bones onto trays. “Over there on the bags of flour by the door.”

  Monty read it with glee. “Just the job! That’s brilliant. When can we get it round to Fullon’s?”

  “After the lunches James will be free.” Said Josh, “He’ll run it round. I’ve got my cousin, Fatty Nurdle coming in. He’s willing to run the place for as long as we need. He’ll be here tomorrow. James’ brother Collin is out front. He’ll go with James to do the staff thing at your place. Have I missed anything?”

  “You’re on fire, Josh.” Said Monty. “Luckily, I didn’t bring my wheel-barrow. I was going to. But now I remembered you said lunch time was busy.”

  “Very good, Stumps, but you’ve still missed a trick,” replied Josh.

  “Very likely,” said Monty, agreeably, “So what have I missed?”

  “Four barrows,” agreed Josh, “but only three of us.”

  “Oh.”

  “Somebody’s got to make a second trip,” began Josh.

  “Yes.”

  “Or we rope someone else in.” Finished Josh.

  “Ah.” Said Monty.

  “Luckily, James here has volunteered.” Josh looked at James.

  “Will that be alright Mr Stump?” Asked James.

  “Yes of course,” Monty confirmed.

  “But he drove a hard bargain.” Josh said, “He’ll get double the wages.”

  “Oh! Thanks Mr Nunt, that’s fabulous.” This appeared to be news to James. He grinned happily on is way out front again.

  “Good, James. Any road Monty, we have a back entrance. There’s room at the back for the barrows. There’s a back lane. Go round the Bottle of Fun. You’ll see it.” Josh was still filling plates, spooning out food, cutting pastries, doing all sorts of things at once.

  Monty took the hint. “You’re a natural, here, Mr Nunt. You know that?” he said as James came back with a loaded tray.

  “O’ course I know that! I’m as happy as a pig in -”

  “Shush!” Interrupted Monty. “I don’t want to know what they’re eating!”

  “Well, now that you know, just don’t tell ’em out front, and they’ll never know!” cried Josh, taking the banter in good spirit.

  “Keep ’em guessing. Righto! Back soon. I’ll go and fetch my barrow across. That’ll be one ready at least.” Monty said.

  “You can go out the back here. Easier.” Josh said as James came in with the tray now loaded with empty plates.

  Monty headed back to his house, got his satchel and went straight for the tool shed. He loaded a barrow with several brooms, two spades, two buckets, saws, and filled the satchel with hammers, wood chisels, screwdrivers, all sorts of screws and nails, and a ball of stout string.

  His eye was drawn to a coil of rope. Why would Dad want rope? Weird! Anyway, it could easily be replaced along with everything else if I take it, but the point is really, would it be useful for this caper? He now had an attraction for rope, and kept looking at it. But nothing needing rope had been discussed.

  In two minds, he chucked it in with the rest. Then he wheeled the barrow all the way to the rear of the café and parked it beside another one. Once inside, he helped with the washing up.

  “We’ve got two barrows now,” he called to Josh who was going in an out bringing stuff cleared off the tables.

  “Yes, Max dropped one off from his mate.” Josh disappeared again and came back with more cutlery. “He’s gone to get his own now. I’ll get mine soon as. That’ll be the fourth,” he said, dumping the lot into the sink. “Let’s get the invitation away now, don’t you think?” He asked. “James can deliver it.”

  Monty quickly dried off from the washing up and they went through to the now empty café.

  They put the invitation on the table and pored over it. They agreed it looked as genuine as they could manage. Once it was neatly rolled up, they asked James to run it straight to Bortontick at Sale.

  “D’you know where it is?” Asked Josh.

  “Yes, my Dad showed us one day. Said he’d been inside and all.”

  “Make sure you hand it direct to Fairly Fullon.” Instructed Josh. “Just say ‘Special Messenger for Mr Fullon’. Got it?”

  “Yes, Boss.”

  “Thank you, James. Come straight back.”

  “James?” Josh called again as the young spaniel opened the café door.

  “Yes, Boss?”

  “Leave your kitchen cap here.” With a wink to Monty he said, “That’s too much of a give-away. Don’t want him figuring out who sent it. Just say you don’t know who gave it to you. It was just some old dog... probably wearing a disguise... You know?”

  “Oh, yeah. Can pull that one off, easy, Boss.” He opened the door again.

  “James,” called Monty.

  “Yes, Mr Stump?” James turned yet again.

  “Wait for a tip.” Said Monty, showing how to look as if a tip was expected. “If he doesn’t catch on, say ‘He said there’d be a tip, Mr? Or I can take the letter back if not, Mr?’” Monty mimics a young innocent voice.

  “Good one!” Called Josh, “Do it!”

  James left, finally closing the door with a grin of expectation on his face.

  In the afternoon Max turned up with the third barrow, then finally Josh ran off and came back with the fourth.

  Max went around to Nancy’s Nursery and bought four buckets, Josh donated two more from the Café. Total now, eight buckets. Monty put more money on the table for the café expenses.

  “Well, if you’re going to behave like that,” Josh said, as if taking offense, “have a load of this.” He staggered out with a huge bag of gelatine powder and took it to a barrow.

  Monty rushed to help him, then waited until they had returned before saying “That kind of behaviour is only worth dealing
with like this.” And he plonked more money on the table.

  “Hmph!” snorted Josh, “Max, give us a bit of help, here.”

  Max helped Josh take four large bags of flour out to the barrows.

  When they came back, Monty emptied the rest of his wallet. Josh raised an eyebrow, but Monty said, “Don’t worry. I’ll fill it up tomorrow. This is the least of my worries. What about you?”

  “No problem. I can trot over to Millers Bakery tomorrow and get more.”

  The barrows were now pretty full, and they couldn’t think of anything else to put in, so Josh covered them and they went in to have a meal.

  They were now ready and waiting for darkness. After a good supper in the kitchen of the Café, the three of them stayed in the back room to play cards, talk, wait, and go through yet again what they were going to do.

  “You reckon there really is room to get all four barrows out of sight until tomorrow night?” Asked Monty. “I know we can put one in the shrubbery to the right of the gate. You sure there’s room to get for three more out of sight?”

  “Plenty. He’s not kept the place up like he used to.” Said Josh. “One could go literally right up next to the front door. There’s room behind the big rhododendron bush on the right. Remember?”

  “Used to be the boys’ unofficial toilet in the old days. Remember?” Chipped in Max.

  “Yep, the girl’s toilet was behind the bush on the other side.” Said Josh.

  “Can we get one on that side as well?” Asked Monty.

  “I’m pretty sure yes. He hasn’t had a gardener for yonks. Those bushes are huge, now.”

  “It will save a lot of time tomorrow if the barrows were already down there.” Said Monty. “The fourth. Any ideas?”

  “Well, look. He’s got plenty of grounds. There’s bound to be somewhere. If not, can we leave it here ‘till then?”

  “We won’t have that sort of time. We need to hit his house as soon as he’s gone. But just imagine meeting him. He’s all dressed up as mad as a hare in spring going in one direction, and we’re pushing wheelbarrows full of the weirdest of stuff in the other direction!”