“Oh...” Blowback stared into the distance for a long moment and then moved. “I’ll be back,” he said, and went off to find the Boss.
Hans Horn was cowering in his own bedroom, now experiencing the full terror of his predicament. The horror that started with not even knowing the size of his enormous, unspecified, financial debt with the ferocious mob up north from that humungous swindle that included such a massive beating and had made him look like a novice. All of which was to end when he had presented them with that magnificent, totally unrefusable, Miss-Universe-Looking prize that they had agreed would wipe out his entire debt and let him retire. A deal in the making! All arranged!
And then. As if that wasn’t enough! On top of it had come this extraordinary stroke of good fortune with this dimwit, dumb-as-they-come, genius at tracking, who just wandered in looking for a job!
And I threw that hound in as a bonus? My own token of good will? Free! Why? Why free? Well... It wasn’t meant to be free, was it! But when they said it would help them agree to wipe his debt AND make it easy for them to give me the golden handshake? What else could I say? ‘No’?
“That’s why,” he said out loud. “Insurance. That hound was insurance, for crying out loud! For once I even had insurance... In the bag, it was! A sure thing!” He howled louder. And what happens? The prize, the girl of all their dreams? Vanished – just before the auction! He started up.
“They took her! Must have!” He tried to grasp what that meant. It got worse. He slowly sank down. I haven’t even got my monthly payment, he realised.
“The debt,” he whined, sinking lower, “what will they do about my debt?” With a dud sale now, they get nothing - and I’ve still got the debt and they’ll demand their monthly usual payments. He started up. A ray of light.
“The hound,” he whispered, “I’ve got the hound. Yes! I can...” The light went out. “Nooo!” Down he went. They’ll say it’s just the monthly repayment. What a WASTE!! Think of it! A real live bloodhound wasted on just a one monthly payment.
“All that special expertise used just to pay off one lousy month...”
Groaning, he sunk lower still with yet more even worse thoughts and began jabbering to himself in a tiny whisper,
“That was the good news! They must have taken her. But I can’t even prove who took her! What if they haven’t got her? They’ll all be rabid for the girl and I’ve lost her! They’ll think I sold her somewhere else... They’ll think I sold out to a higher bidder! That it’s a double cross - that I double-crossed them! Imagine what they’ll do to ME! THEY’LL SKIN ME ALIVE! Then they’ll make fillets... No, don’t imagine what they’ll do to me!”
Hans ‘Hammerhead’ Horn, the scourge of the underdogs of Diddling was in his darkened bedroom, crouching on his haunches as low as he could get, facing the half open door, as he lapsed into silence. His mouth was clenched shut yet his teeth were bared in a sickly grin. The rest of his face was stricken with fear. The whites of his eyes were now stark red, and he was trembling all over, taking tiny little panting breaths.
Blowback knocked and put his head round the door.
“Boss,” he said, “I know you’re busy, but it’s just occurred to me that Lump could track the girl and we could get ’er back, don’t you fink?”
Horn closed his eyes and tried to become just a smear on the floor. Anything to help blot out an interruption to his own private, swamping misery. He’d have no further use for those two beat up dogs anymore. He’ll be dog meat and they’ll have to fend for themselves. He certainly won’t be able to afford the luxury of looking after them. What a failure! His thoughts insisted with their torment. Where did I go wrong? Big mistake getting involved with that bloodhound. It went wrong because of him - all because of him! If I’d have kicked him out, like never let ‘im in, I’d still have the girl. If I hadn’t shown him off up north, I’d still have the girl. If I hadn’t tried to be so clever and start that stupid side business, I’d still have the girl. If that bloodhound hadn’t tracked Blowback to here, I’D STILL HAVE THE GIRL!...
Utterly dejected, Horn’s mental misery dribbled away. I mean who would have thought he could do that after so many days! That was insane! I mean, at that rate he could even track – he could... track.
Horn stopped breathing. He stared at the mirage of this new thought. His front rose slowly by itself as the thought solidified. He still stared as if into the distance. The clammy fog of horror over his impending fate from the hoard of monsters up north lifted just a bit. He had a picture of Lump chasing after the girl as she ran away.
His back legs got up. He blinked, eyes sore. “Blowback!” A hoarse whisper.
“Yes, Boss?” Blowback’s head shot round the door. He’d obviously been waiting as before, listening, pressed up against the door.
“I think we might...Would you ask...” With this new reality, Horn seemed to have difficulty finding his way back to his own normality. He was quite shaky. He cleared his throat and tried again.
“Get Lump. We gotta get ’er back. Fast. We gotta cash in tomorrow. MOVE!” That felt better. Maybe there was time yet to rescue this disaster and see what that Lump was really worth!
Horn was back in more familiar territory within himself.
80 MOVES IN ALL DIRECTIONS
Finally on full alert, the two detectives watched in fascination as Fustian Lump drew first Horn, then Blowback then Skinner out of Plenty. Like a crocodile of kids, the four of them proceeded in crazy gyrating circles from Horn’s residence.
Eventually it looked as if Horn lost patience and tried to get the whole gang to go north. Three of them were happy with that idea but not Lump. After a few attempts at organising, Horn gave up and sat down and the other two sat. Lump kept up his antics. Then horn got up and went and stood in front of Lump. Some sort of serious discussion ensued.
After that, Lump almost but not quite headed straight in the direction of town. He first hunted a bit before he picked up the line, then kept going. The others hurried to catch up.
________________
The detectives knew what to do. The greyhound was instructed to race a message to HQ with express instruction to avoid detection from the Horn party, Urgent Attention Commander Button: -
HORN TRACKING WITH LUMP
STOP MAKING GOOD SPEED
________________
Magnus Opum had finally picked up the message left by his wife and sauntered off to Headquarters and to Button’s relief, was immediately up to the challenge. He knew just the place to look after the likes of Diana Vulcan McLeash in a manner to which she was undoubtedly accustomed and with no questions asked.
He suggested dispatching a greyhound to his trusted friend Alfred Stump with brief details and ETA. This was promptly done, and in due course the reply was, Mr and Mrs Stump had no objections and would be delighted to help.
Time was getting on. Diana McLeash, while much refreshed but still obviously weak, had been debriefed and was declared medically fit to travel, subject to no racing, avoidance of steep hills, long distances or lifting heavy weights. With these conditions set, Button introduced her to Magnus Opum and watched them leave for High Aytus, Hernia.
Seeing Diana walking beside the trotting dachshund, he muttered, “Just what the doctor ordered.”
________________
The two detectives assumed there was nobody left to watch and abandoned their hideout. They assumed they should also not be seen by the Horn group. They also assumed they could go home early. Just occasionally life had its up-side.
Meanwhile, it would be another hour or so before the greyhound from Plenty reached HQ. By that time, Diana would be delivered to the care and hospitality of Mr and Mrs Stump.
________________
The Stumps in their house, knowing full well that the Fullon charade was set to commence in the evening, had no qualms about allowing the young Diana McLeash into their home. There was plenty of room for her to remain at peace on the premises without coming across t
he likes of Mr Fullon.
________________
At the café, time crept on. Although it would normally close soon, Fatty would stay put to give them maximum freedom.
Suddenly, the idea sprang up that Fullon might leave early. All of them fled except Fatty. James took to his place in bushes overlooking two side of Fullon’s property. Anybody leaving Bortontick to go north would have to pass within his view even if they slunk out from a back door. Monty, Joshua and Max went down to the river. In a sense, they had the hard part. They felt out of touch and had nothing to do except watch occasional bird life until the action started.
Suddenly, James’ heart raced. He couldn’t believe it. Fairly Fullon came out to the road dressed as a cockerel complete with head comb and magnificent tail feathers. What must have been the invitation was sticking out of the costume. James watched him looked furtively this way and that, then set off towards High Aytus.
Once Fullon had disappeared out of sight, James slid back from his view of the road and bolted for the river.
At the sight of his approach, the other three stood up. James gushed with his report. They all stifled gleeful laughs and raced to Bortontick.
81 THE WORKS
Once inside the grounds, the four foxes brought their wheelbarrows out of hiding and pulled off the covers. Monty disappeared round the house as the others started selecting the first tools they would need. The whole thing was done in complete silence. The effect was very smooth. They could have been well-practiced workers or very skilled burglars. By the time the others had their tools on the front steps, Monty opened one of the two front doors and they moved everything inside.
Josh murmured, “No problem?”
“Easy.” Replied Monty. “It just popped open, same as always. Nothing different there. He’s obviously never known.”
“Well, I suspect he might strengthen his security after today.” Said Josh, opening the other half of the front doors as Monty went to get his satchel and tools.
Then the mood changed and the noise began. From then on, the four of them were constantly going backwards and forwards, in and out. Stuff went in. Buckets, brooms, saw, chisels. Other stuff came out. Doors came off. Some to go on differently, but a stack of them grew outside, hinges and screws in Monty’s satchel. Sacks of stuff went in, loads of something like soil came out. Sounds of sawing and hammering came out. Screws, nails, string, lots of string, went in. Long shelves, lots of bannisters came out. Buckets, both full and empty seemed to go both ways
It sounded like a regular building site, but sometimes it went mysteriously quiet. One by one. four doors were put on a barrow and ferried away. Then even the barrows themselves were worked on. Wheels came off, hulls were separated from their frames, then even the frames were reduced. Then the four wheels were taken indoors, leaving everything else on the ground. The work continued.
Finally, a massive double bed eased into view at the entrance. The boys were all around it, gently bringing it down the front steps to leave it standing in front of the house. The barrow wheels were now on its legs. For a moment, they all had fun wheeling each other about in the bed.
Then back to business. The six long shelves that had come out were placed on the bed. The four barrow hulls and all their frames were stacked and placed on the bed. A great heap of bannisters went on. Everyone disappeared again, but eventually, they all came out. Satchel, tools, a couple of buckets, brooms, unused rope, all went on the bed. It looked very loaded. The quiet returned. All four workers assembled round the bed and pushed it silently away, disappearing into the shadows of the night.
Ending up at the riverbank, they unloaded and started work all over again.
82 STORM COMING
The Greyhound from the detectives at Plenty arrived at Police HQ and delivered his message to Commander Button. It was as expected – except for the reference to one thing. The loose cannon, Lump. The mention of Lump in the Horn group made Button focus on the question of speed. It was safe to assume that Lump was being used to track Diana, so it was a question of the speed at which Lump would be tracking, and therefore, the estimated time of Horn’s arrival. What was unusual was this “Making good speed” business. Horn’s ETA was critical. Getting it wrong could be a disaster. but with only the single clue, could he calculate it?
Lump had proceeded from Hob to Plenty with what Button thought of at the time as an infuriatingly slow speed. On that basis, he would take days. On the other hand, Lump had apparently tracked his way from his own home to Plenty at an impressively fast rate. A matter of hours. How come the difference?
Button needed more information and called for a copy of Lump’s file. The hound had been hired for his extraordinary tracking skills. These had not deteriorated by any means. There was no sign of that. But what was evident was the number of comments added to his record saying the same thing. ‘Inefficient’ was a word that had started appearing, and its frequency had been growing. The efficiency of Lump’s initial service record read like magic compared to the latest. With such a good start, Why had he got steadily worse. It was as if he had progressed into doing the wrong job. Button had seen him working. Now he had the picture. Lump wasn’t doing the wrong job. He had drifted into doing it the wrong way.
Another idea came. The Kettle run, tracking the girl from Hob to the Clumps was official. Slow job. From Lump’s place wherever he lived to Horn’s was unofficial. Fast job. Lump could turn on the covering-all-contingencies red tape to an absurd degree. Maybe red tape was the key? Maybe it had a hypnotic effect on him. Could red tape be acting like plaque or a hairball in Lump’s brain?
The Police Commander concluded that if Lump to do any further police work, he would have to be mentally de-furred. But if a job had no reference to officialdom, Lump was faster than a drug-crazed pooch looking for his next hit.
Lump was certainly not acting on Police orders. He was there for a reason of his own choosing. That meant, Lump would be moving fast.
The Commander added a note commending the decision to release Lump from his permanent job. Sending the file back, he called for a runner and dictated an urgent message for express delivery.
MSG TO SUPT OPUM: HORN LUMP IN FAST
PURSUIT EXPECTED TO ARRIVE AT HQ BY
NIGHTFALL BUT ASSUME WILL CONTINUE
AFTER HQ STOP IMPERATIVE FOR YOU TO
MOVE AGAIN STOP BUTTON END OF MSG
“Deliver to High Aytus, Hernia. You know it? Good. Speed: hot pursuit. Sirens as necessary. Wait for reply. Go.”
Shortly, he heard the greyhound howling as he approached the sharp right-hand turn at the corners of Upp Close and Persimmon Street.
Good, he thought, going flat out round corners like that? At least with that noise going, there’s less chance of wiping someone out.
Button had done as much as he could to help his friends, though he didn’t think much of their chances. Shaking off Lump was nigh impossible. He sat and mused. With the McLeash girl herself on tap to give evidence of her abduction and imprisonment, the obvious moment to arrest Horn and neutralise Lump would be when they approached HQ.
“Go for that?” he asked his desk, but thought, Tricky. Out in the street? Liable to end up in a brawl. Risk to the public... No. Can’t risk that. Imagine the headlines! “Police in dogfight outside HQ!” or “Coppers seen arresting their own!” That’s very messy. And exactly when and where? Can’t bottle ’em in anywhere. Best when he does it a second time. Nab ’im as he does it again at High Aytus. Now that would be a coup!
“Wouldn’t it just!” He echoed aloud. “Very satisfying.”
And that brought Button back to speculating why Horn would attempt such a crime in the first place, let alone a second time. Why?
“Something is making that fella really, really desperate.” He said to the room at large before lifting the large blotter to look under it.
“We need a little chat with our mate Horn, I think,” he told his desk and put the blotter down again. This thought led Butt
on to speculate about Horn’s desperation being put to some use, that it could lead to clearing up some racket going on somewhere that they didn’t even know about.
“There’s an opportunity there,” he explained to his ink well, “I can smell it.” This gave him a flashback, as it always did, to his Academy days, and his Sergeant saying, ‘having a nose for trouble. Some of you have it, some of you will possibly have it, and some of you won’t. Ever.’
“Yes. An opportunity to clear up something we may not know about yet.” He said, peering into an empty draw of his desk.
Meanwhile, Horn was still approaching.
“I think I’ll put the Riot Squad on Standby again.” He told the drawer. “That’ll be readiness enough at this stage.”
He shut the drawer and went to tell the Duty Sergeant to alert the RS, cancel meals to the O.P. and get everything back from The Clumps.
83 DRESS REHEARSAL
Mr and Mrs Stump had welcomed Diana McLeash and Magnus Opum into their home. Mrs Stump took one look at the girl and guided her straight off upstairs to a bedroom as far from noise as possible. Having put everything ready in the room earlier, she knew it was all good, but she still fussed about for the girl, showed her the ensuite, snacks bowl and water, checked the bed and everything else was ready, told her to sleep as long as she wanted, and left her to it.
Earlier, the Stumps had debated the issue of Fullon’s expected visit clashing with the presence of Magnus and the girl. Henrietta had pointed out that if the visitors were still there when Fullon arrived, they should know what the nonsense with Fullon was about. But of course, if Diana was now in bed and asleep, she needn’t know anything about Fullon. Magnus on the other hand, if he stayed, would need to know what on earth was happening.
A Tour de Fate Page 25