by steve higgs
‘Sorry about that,’ I said as I went back through to find Brett relaxing on my sofa.
He hit me with a smile that went straight to my stomach and made it squirm, ‘No problem.' If he wanted to comment on Tempest's presence in my flat, he found the strength to keep quiet instead. His eyes were on me as I moved across the room to snag the open champagne. I had got no further than popping the cork earlier.
‘Can I offer you a glass?' I asked. He was still watching me, making me feel a little nervous. It was not that he was undressing me with his eyes, more that he had a hungry look to them like maybe he wanted to pour on some toffee sauce and eat me with a spoon. I could hear Patience's voice at the back of my head telling me that I should be whipping off my clothes to show him a slutty outfit beneath.
I brought the bottle and two glasses across to my sofa, we were going out for dinner, but I imagined the restaurant would wait for us if we were late. I would not be shocked to hear that he had bought the restaurant for that matter. He stood up as I came near, took the bottle from my hand and looped a muscular arm around my waist. As he pulled me to him a zip of excitement shot through me. We were going to kiss, and I was not sure I even cared about making it to dinner anymore.
The End
The Klowns of Kent
The Klowns of Kent
Blue Moon Investigations
Book 3
Steve Higgs
Text Copyright © 2018 Steven J Higgs
Publisher: Steve Higgs
The right of Steve Higgs to be identified as author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved.
The book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copywrite law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
‘The Klowns of Kent’ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.
Contents
The Eagle Tavern. Rochester High Street Saturday 22nd October 1357hrs
Maidstone Bowling Alley. Saturday 22nd October 1917hrs
Maidstone Hospital. Sunday 23rd October 0843hrs
My House in Finchampstead. Sunday October 23rd 0956hrs
Sunday Lunch at The Hen and Pheasant, West Farleigh. Sunday October 23rd 1351hrs
The Blue Moon Office. Monday 24th October 0900hrs
Mystery Men Bookshop, Rochester. Monday October 24th 1115hrs
Maidstone Hospital. Monday 24th October 1307hrs
My House in Finchampstead. Monday 24th October 1443hrs
Fenucci’s Italian Family Restaurant, Faversham. Monday October 24th 1900hrs
The Blue Moon Office. Tuesday October 25th 0922hrs
Maidstone Police Station. Tuesday October 25th 1413hrs
Outside the Blue Moon Office. Wednesday 26th October 0853hrs
The Coffee Shop. Wednesday 26th October 0957hrs
Maidstone Police Station. Wednesday 26th October 1117hrs
The Blue Moon Office. Wednesday 26th October 1426hrs
A Possessed Child. Wednesday October 26th 1705hrs
Evening Meal. Wednesday 26th October 2037hrs
Big Ben’s Escape from the Sex Dungeon. October 27th 0812hrs
Old Dears Home, Tonbridge. Thursday October 27th 1207hrs
The Blue Moon Office. Thursday October 27th 1512hrs
The Warren, Rochester. Thursday October 27th 1952hrs
Trip to Scunthorpe. Friday October 28th 0600hrs
No Friggin’ Clue. Friday October 28th 1201hrs
A Date with Sophie. Friday October 28th 2015hrs
The Big Fight. Friday October 28th 2053hrs
The Aftermath. Friday 28th October 2151hrs
Postscript. Sunday October 30th 1115hrs
Extract from Dead Pirates of Cawsand
The Eagle Tavern. Rochester High Street. Saturday, 22nd October 1357hrs
I took a long draught of my pint and set it back on the bar without letting go of it. I was confident the contents of the glass were not going to last long. To my right, my office assistant James was drinking his pint in a similar fashion and to my left sat Frank Decaux, the owner of a local occult bookshop called Mystery Men. He had downed most of his pint already. All three of us were staring into nothing, our brains still wired from the events of the last two hours.
I took another swig of beer, savouring the cool, crisp taste as it washed away the smoke, adrenalin, and dirt. A little less than two hours ago Rochester High Street had been subjected to a zombie attack. I need to clarify that though because the zombies had of course not been zombies at all. They had been perfectly ordinary people that had been doped with a neurotoxin and hypnotised. The drug ensured they stayed in the hypnotic state for an almost indefinite period and the hypnosis had been delivered courtesy of Dave Gough, a local hypnotist who went by the stage name The Great Howsini. The zombies were a smokescreen to distract people from the crime he was perpetrating: As people fled from their businesses, he and his wife were robbing the tills and setting fires to cover their tracks – why look in the cash register of a burnt-out building?
Frank, James and I had discovered and foiled the crime by the simple expedient of running towards the zombies instead of away from them. My name is Tempest Michaels and I am an accidental paranormal investigator. Not that I investigate paranormal accidents, I am a paranormal investigator and I came to that role by accident. I joined the British Army when I left school at seventeen and enjoyed a career as a professional soldier. I learned a lot and had no great desire for the career to end but the need for a large Army diminished, the Ministry of Defence offered pay-outs for volunteers to leave, so I handed my uniform back and entered the world of civilians earlier this year. Adrift in a sea of endless options, I had created my own next career as a private investigator but luck, or fate, or perhaps even God messed with the plan, my advert got misprinted and I was presented as a paranormal investigator instead. I had been angry at the time. I remember quite distinctly calling the paper and shouting at them for messing up my advert. But while I was shouting at them on the office landline, complaining that I was trying to make a living and now had no chance of attracting a customer until they could rerun the advert, my mobile began to ring in my pocket. It had been a client calling with a case to solve.
To my great surprise, there was an endless supply of people with problems for which they had determined a paranormal explanation and needed someone to investigate it for them. Suddenly that was me. The business has gone from strength to strength and recently a serial killer pretending to be a vampire murdered some people in my town and the case made National news. I solved the case, sort of, and the resulting publicity has boosted enquiries even further, forcing me to hire an assistant and another detective.
So, here I was in a bar in Rochester drinking away the confusion and horror of the last few hours flanked by two people I would probably call friends but could most certainly call comrades. Frank had arrived at my office on the morning the advert ran. His bookshop was located less than one hundred metres from my office. In it, he sold both fiction and non-fiction, comic books, toys, games, models and anything and everything that had a tangible link to the paranormal. Frank had been a sounding board for me on several occasions and often came with me on cases where I needed an extra pair of hands. He was an absolute font of knowledge and he had the heart of a lion. The lion's heart though was sheathed in the body of a middle-aged scrawny man. James was the c
hap I had hired as an office assistant just a couple of weeks ago. He used to pretend to be a vampire but had given that up. Not that he was entirely normal now. The day after I hired him, he turned up for work dressed as a girl and insisted he be called Jane. I could not condemn him for being a transvestite, or a cross-dresser or whatever the correct term is, it was not my choice of lifestyle but now each day on my way to work I got to have a silent bet with myself about which version of him I would see.
I took another sip of beer, the glass now nearly empty. Amanda arrived a few minutes later, entering the establishment looking around for us and spotting us instantly sat looking weary at the bar. The first pint was in my system now and the second one, once ordered would have an equally limited life expectancy. I was relaxed now at least.
‘Hi, Tempest. Hi, fellas,’ Amanda said as she reached us.
‘Hi, Amanda,’ the three of us replied more or less as one voice.
‘Had a busy day?’ she enquired rhetorically. ‘The high street looks like a disaster area. What did you do?’
‘You remember hearing about the zombies?’
‘Yeah. The police are all over the case but have no idea what is going on.’
‘Well, the case got solved. Frank, James and I just happened to be here when they turned up in Rochester. I'll tell you all about it later but suffice to say that it has been an eventful day and I have no one to bill for it.' Amanda was the other detective I had hired to share the caseload. Actually, she had suggested I hire her before I had got around to advertising a position and I had taken her on immediately. We had met a few weeks ago when I was investigating the vampire serial killer case. At the time she had been a uniformed police officer and still was, I suppose, as she was working out her last few days’ notice in between putting in a few hours at the firm in her new role. She was proving to be a real asset. She knew how to interview or interrogate people, she knew what we could legally do in pursuit of a case, which meant I got arrested a little less often than I used to, and like me, she was able to assume that there was a perfectly rational explanation for every case we were presented with.
Unfortunately, I was also kind of just a little bit in love with her.
Amanda was unfairly attractive. Her blond hair fell to her shoulder blades in a flawless cascade of natural waves. She had blue eyes that might have been carved from the heart of a glacier and seemed to go on forever when I looked at them. Her skin was equally flawless, her teeth were perfectly even and white and her lips – my Lord, her lips – they were wonderfully full and pouting and it was only rigid discipline, and the fear that I might consider my life complete and just die on the spot, that prevented me from grabbing her and kissing them.
She was also dating a multi-millionaire playboy and I stood no chance whatsoever.
‘Sounds interesting,’ she said, bringing me back to reality. I had been staring at her face again.
‘Would you like a drink?’ I asked, indicating the array of options behind the bar.
‘Sounds great, but I have a shift in a few hours, so I had better not. Actually, I came in to check you were all alive and report on the restaurant ghost case.' Amanda had been in the nearby town of Faversham this morning looking into a restaurant that was in danger of closing because of ghostly goings-on.
‘What did you find?’ I asked. Frank had swivelled around in his chair now to listen.
‘The owner believes he has a ghost. Utterly convinced might be a more accurate term. Several of his staff have quit and a number of customers have apparently run out screaming midway through their meals when the ghost has put in an appearance.’
‘How is it manifesting?’ Frank interrupted.
‘Hmm?’ Amanda replied with a raised eyebrow.
‘I mean, what form is it taking? Is it a formed visible apparition? In which case, is the apparition taking the form of a person or an animal or something else? Or is it just manifesting as noises or as a mist? Or it is able to produce ethereal energy so that it can move objects?’ Frank was ready to believe a paranormal explanation over anything else.
Humouring him, Amanda replied, ‘It is just making noises, Frank. They are reporting footsteps and music in the upstairs dining room. The owner said that…' She opened her handbag and pulled out a notepad to read from, ‘the footsteps appear to walk across the room. He gave me the impression that most evenings the sound of someone walking across the upstairs dining room happens. He claimed to have stood in the room himself and witnessed the footsteps go from behind him then right through him as the ghost crossed the room. Sometimes it comes back or goes in a different direction. The music is faint but intermittent.' She snapped the notebook shut. ‘I heard nothing, but he is convinced he has a ghost and wants us to do something about it.'
‘Groovy,’ said Frank.
‘You know what? I think I will have a little something. It is an hour before my shift starts.'
‘I am buying,’ I said, only too happy to buy the love of my life a drink.
I was such a loser.
I made eye contact with the bartender. He was at the far end of the bar doing his best to chat up one of the waitresses. He sauntered over.
‘Another round?’ he asked.
‘Yes, please and something for the lady.’ Amanda was staring at the bottles behind the bar as if hoping they would tell her what to have. She settled on a white wine spritzer and plonked herself down on the bar stool next to mine while the barman made it.
‘How long until you finish in uniform now?’ Frank asked her, making conversation.
Her eyes went upwards, doing mental calculation. ‘I have four shifts left I think. It will be weird to hand all the gear back in and never put it on again. But… also liberating I think.’
‘How so?’
‘Shift patterns mess with my head. I don't like the routine, the uniform is hardly comfortable and I am ready for something new. Besides, working with Tempest as an investigator is far more interesting.'
I shifted in my seat and groaned a little at the reminders of just how interesting my career could be as pain flared in different parts of my body.
‘Are you hurt?’ Amanda asked, concern on her face.
‘Just a few bruises and scrapes. Fighting zombies is an extreme sport.' I was playing it down, as was my natural style, but the injuries I had sustained were hardly life-threatening.
‘Given that you are an investigator and don’t have to actually catch any criminals, you seem to get into a lot of fights. Should I expect the same?’
‘Goodness no, Amanda. I don’t know how I do it, to be honest. The likelihood of your life being endangered or there being any confrontation at all is probably quite small.’ As the words left my mouth I wondered if they would prove to be true.
‘So, how is the Klown investigation going?’ Amanda asked, taking a sip of her drink.
Beside me, Frank drained the last of his drink and set the glass back down on the bar with a satisfied thunk. ‘I think that is enough for now,’ he announced as he stood up and stretched his lean frame. ‘Thanks for the drink, Tempest. I need to get back to the shop. It ought to be open and Saturday afternoon is one of my busy times.’
I got out of my chair to shake his hand. Behind him, James was getting up too.
‘I am leaving as well. My boyfriend is very concerned about me, so I intend to make good use of that.’
There was a quick round of goodbyes and it was just me and Amanda sat in a bar. I was breathing in her wonderful aroma – expensive perfume and sexy woman, and I was very conscious that with alcohol in my bloodstream the usual filter system that prevented my penis taking over my brain and using my mouth would not be fully operational.
In fact, Mr. Wriggly chose exactly that moment to voice his opinion. He thought that I should spend the rest of the afternoon making Amanda forget all about Brett Barker and his fortune. He thought that Amanda had a very nicely shaped bottom and I that I should try wearing it as a hat. I did not disagree but thankfully m
anaged to avoid telling Amanda about his ideas.
Instead, I told Amanda about the Klown case I was trying to investigate. Basically, it wasn't going anywhere at all. I had been hired by a lady to find her brother. He had left her a note explaining that he had run away to join a cult of Klowns. His note, which she showed me, told her not to worry about him as he was with friends and had a purpose and was going to get rich. The bit about him getting rich was confusing, or it felt erroneous. I could not decide, but over the last few weeks, there had been growing reports of men dressed as clowns but with disturbing face paint. Instead of the traditional jolly smile, they had make-up that made their eyes look hollow or perhaps gouged out and their mouths were made to look like they had been sewn shut or cleaved open. Small articles in local papers had escalated to local television news reports and finally to National news as the tactics the Klowns were using also escalated from physical intimidation to Actual Bodily Harm, then theft with violence and onto Grievous Bodily Harm. Then the assaults had involved weapons and speculation was that they would not stop until someone was murdered.
The Klowns had been leaving graffiti all over the County – huge daubed signs:
the Klowns are Coming
Their appearances were mostly after dark, but not always and they were popping up all over the place. The attacks seemed so random and the selection of victims so disconnected that thus far no one had been able to find a pattern.
My task to find the lady’s brother had proved easy though – sort of. I called his mobile phone number. He answered, and he spoke to me and was very clear that he had no intention of coming home. So, I was faced with an adult male who of his own free will was doing what he wanted to do. He had not been kidnapped, I had no evidence that he had personally perpetrated a crime and I could not come up with what I was supposed to do next. I could hardly go and get him and deliver him back to his sister - I had no right to do so.