Bedfordshire Clanger Calamity

by steve higgs

  Rex couldn’t work out what was going on. His human was being taken care of, it seemed; he looked cold and Rex wanted to get him back into the warm somewhere. The human holding his lead wouldn’t let him get to him though and now it looked like they were taking his human somewhere. Why wasn’t he going with him? He went everywhere with his human.

  ‘Calm, Rex,’ Albert called from the back of the ambulance. ‘It will be okay. I’ll see you soon. Go with the nice police officers and be a good dog. Okay?’

  Rex didn’t know what to make of it. A short while ago, he was having the best time, playing chase with the two humans. But then the air stank like blood, which he didn’t like, and now they were taking his human away. Where was he going? When would he be back? Who was going to look after his human if he wasn’t there to do it? It was his job.

  The ambulance doors closed with a thump, and the flashing lights lit the walls of the courtyard. As it started to pull away, Rex tipped back his head and howled, a low mournful sound that made everyone in the courtyard stop and look.

  Too Much Coincidence

  Francis didn’t see what happened to Eugene. He hadn’t realised his partner was that close behind when he darted in front of the truck. The squeal of brakes and the thump of steel on flesh brought his head around but even then, he only got a brief impression of something flying through the air. All he knew was that it wasn’t a dog.

  He’d kept running, getting some distance between him and the nightmare situation in the courtyard. He’d never been to jail. He’d never even been arrested, and though he knew he was employed for criminal activities, it had never really occurred to him until this point that he might one day get caught.

  It was an epiphany.

  Sirens wailed behind him as he stepped into a black alleyway to catch his breath. He’d run hard enough to give himself a stitch which he rubbed at now as he tried to get his heart rate to calm down. He felt for sure the dog was going to catch him, and now he was worried it might be able to track his scent or something.

  He pushed on, not wanting to stay in this town any longer than he had to and beginning to feel truly concerned about all of the mistakes he had made. His fingerprints were all over the van for a start. He suspected, when Eugene failed to answer his phone for the umpteenth time, that the thing he saw flying through the air was his partner in crime. Was he injured? Would he talk? All these questions played over and over in his mind until he stepped in front of a car and almost got run over.

  The car screeched to a halt, the driver getting out despite the rain. For a second, Francis thought he was going to have to threaten the man to make him go away, but he was just showing concern. A man in his late sixties who just wanted to make sure the man he almost ran over was all right.

  Seizing the opportunity presented, Francis grabbed a fistful of the man’s coat and raised his fist to knock him out. The blow never landed though because the man fainted first. With a shrug, he opened the boot, shoved the limp body inside, and stole the car. He even found a surprise bonus waiting for him on the passenger’s seat where the man’s fish ‘n’ chip supper lay as yet untouched.

  Happy to see Biggleswade vanish into his rear mirror as he munched on the unknown man’s chips, Francis’s smile soon fell when his phone rang. He didn’t even need to look to know who it was calling.

  ‘Eugene is dead,’ he announced the moment the call connected.

  After a brief pause, Earl Bacon’s response came, ‘Why would you tell me that? Have you got Mr Harris?’

  Francis snorted a mad laugh. ‘Have I got Mr Harris?’ he repeated. ‘No, I haven’t, you crazy food-obsessed lunatic. Getting Victor Harris is off the menu, or you can find someone else to do the job for you. I’m not going back; the police are crawling all over Biggleswade now.’

  The earl gnashed his teeth. How dare the insolent idiot defy him? ‘I gave you a task to do and I expect it to be done. What excuse do you have for your failure?’

  ‘Excuse? I dunno. The task was ridiculous? We didn’t have enough time to adequately prepare? Pick one. The old man and his dog kept showing up every time we tried to grab the target.’

  ‘What?’ Did he hear that right? ‘An old man and a dog? What kind of dog?’

  Francis screwed his face up in the dark of the car. Why on earth was the earl asking about the dog? ‘A big German Shepherd thing. Enormous beast, that’s for sure.’

  It couldn’t be. It was just too much coincidence to be possible. ‘The old man, describe him to me.’

  Francis had his finger poised on the button to end the call. He wanted no further part of this madness. The money was good, but what good was it if you were dead or behind bars? Yet something in the earl’s voice kept him on the line – he’d just begged Francis for information. He’d never used a pleading tone before. He just barked orders and expected them to be obeyed.

  ‘The old man must be around eighty years old, I guess. There’re only a few wisps of hair left on his head and he’s got that sort of slightly hunched look like he’s been standing up for a great many years and his body is starting to defy him. Oh, he’s white,’ Francis thought to throw in his skin colour for good measure. ‘He’s around six feet tall and he looks like lots of other old men.’

  Earl Bacon was still struggling to believe that it could be the same man. It was one thing to get in his way in Stilton. He’d been utterly enraged at the time but had mellowed since. Pursuing one old man for revenge over the cheese was nothing but an unnecessary distraction. If it were the same man now though … well, how could it be? To interfere twice in a matter of days would suggest that he knew the earl’s plan and was trying to scupper it. Why would he? What possible motivation could he have?

  Gripped by paranoia, the earl found he was biting his nails, a terrible habit his father spent years scolding him for. Taking his fingers from his mouth, Earl Bacon knew he had to find out what the old man knew.

  ‘Bring him to me,’ he commanded.

  ‘The old man?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No. Biggleswade is too hot. You’ll just have to find someone else, Your Earlness. That’s enough for me. I’m out.’

  The earl almost blew his top, and he was seething with fury when he switched tactic. ‘I’ll give you a million pounds,’ he stated quietly, confident it would change his employee’s attitude.

  Francis almost crashed the car. ‘A million!’

  ‘Yes.’ Earl Bacon had no interest in money, only what it could be used for. He couldn’t possibly spend what he had and there was no point in hanging on to it, what worth would silly bits of paper have once the world ended? He could give it all to Francis if that were what it took to make sure he could be safe and secure in his bunker when the end came. ‘A million. I will transfer half of it now and the rest when you deliver Mr Harris and the old man to me.’

  ‘You want the dog too?’ Francis asked.

  Shaking his head at the man’s stupidity, the earl asked, ‘What purpose could I possibly have for the dog? Kill it if it gets in your way. Just get me that old man. I need him alive. He has questions to answer.’

  Francis sucked air between his teeth. Everything in his head was telling him to put the accelerator down and keep driving until he ran out of land and then cross whichever sea he had come to. A million pounds was a lot of money though, and with it, escape would be so much easier. He knew the earl had it. Chances were, if he checked his account now, the half up front would already be in there.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, with some resignation, slowing the car as he started to look for a place to turn. He was going back to Biggleswade, and now, by himself, he had two men to kidnap.

  Rex and Hans

  Unhappy when they took his human away and even more so when they corralled him into a cage inside a van, Rex felt genuine relief to have Hans with him. The sausage dog went into the cage next to his, lowered gently onto a blanket by the lady holding him. She spoke soothingly to both dogs, promising them a comfortable place to s
leep, food, water, a check-up, which Rex wasn’t too sure about – it sounded like it might involve a thermometer – and all the attention they deserved.

  The van ride hadn’t been a long one, and true to her word, the lady had snacks in her hand when they arrived wherever they were. The snacks proved to be a lure to get him inside the building – Hans got carried – where they then wanted to bath him. He was already soaked, his fur stuck to his body to make him look fifty percent smaller than usual so what on Earth did they want to bath him for?

  ‘I don’t need a bath!’ Rex barked, bucking against the lead as the man holding him tried to drag him toward the obvious doggy shower facility.

  ‘Just a quick splash and tickle,’ the man assured Rex. ‘You’re a bit stinky and there is mud in your coat, big fella.’

  Rex bucked again, this time slipping his collar with a triumphant bark, ‘Not a chance, puny human! I am dog and shall outwit you!’

  He pranced away, but a heavenly scent caught his nose and made him stop.

  From somewhere out of sight, Hans’ voice drifted out, ‘What is that? It smells amazing!’

  Rex’s nose was in the air. He was going to get caught by the man again, but he couldn’t help himself; he had to know where the smell was coming from. It smelled like all the best bits of meat all condensed down into one nose-curling odour.

  ‘Want some?’ asked the man.

  Rex’s eyes popped out like they were on stalks. The man he’d just given the slip wasn’t chasing him and trying to wrestle him back into the shower, he was offering Rex something that was causing long ribbons of drool to fall from his jowls.

  The man backed away and Rex followed. Floating on a cushion of the unbelievable smell, Rex was powerless to stop his legs walking all the way into the shower. The man kept the jar just out of reach; Rex would need to jump into the air to get to it, but the human was saying he could have it.

  As they came into the shower, the man stuck his hand into the jar, scooping a big blob of the dark sticky mass before smearing it onto the tile at Rex’s nose height.

  Rex fell upon it, licking at the blob with his rough tongue. Behind his ears something was happening, but he wasn’t really aware of it, whatever it was.

  Chuckling to himself as he started to work shampoo into the big dog’s coat, the man said, ‘The old Bovril trick. It gets them every time.’

  Meat and Two Veg

  Albert awoke disorientated and a little confused, staring at the unfamiliar room for a second before his brain caught up with him. He was in hospital, of course. Memories of the previous evening flooded back and along with them, concern for Rex, Victor, and Hans the sausage dog in that order. Animal services would take care of Rex, he was confident of that, but how would Rex react to being taken away by people he didn’t know? He could be so headstrong when he wanted to be.

  Sitting up in bed, Albert could see that he was in a room of four beds. Three were occupied, only the one opposite his feet was empty and the sleeping form diagonally opposite was Victor. Albert could see his face; the colour in it was a healthy shade, not deathly pallid, and though he was sleeping, he wasn’t hooked up to a bank of machines to monitor his vital signs.

  Turning his head toward the window, Albert found his clothes from the previous day neatly folded in a pile on a chair. Someone had cleaned, dried, and ironed them. His shoes even looked to have been polished.

  There appeared to be no hospital staff around and no noise coming from outside of the room to indicate there were people there. ‘Do I press the call button?’ he asked himself. Not getting an answer, he decided to get himself dressed instead because he always felt naked and exposed in hospital gowns. He would be happier meeting people if he were dressed in his own clothes.

  Gently tugging the curtains around his bed until he was shut off from view, Albert doffed the gown and that was when he found he was wearing hospital issue underpants. That meant someone had put them on him. No doubt his were soaked through, but he couldn’t help feeling a cringe as he pictured a pretty young nurse pulling down his undergarments.

  With a sigh, he dropped the white cotton shorts and picked up his own. Of course, that was when the nurse on her rounds pulled back the curtain to see inside.

  Albert heard the curtain open and span around, his blue paisley underpants in his hands and his meat and two veg on display.

  ‘Good morning,’ she trumpeted.

  ‘Arrrgh!’ he screamed.

  Unperturbed by his terrified yell, the nurse advanced, dropping her clipboard on the bed. ‘Would you like a hand to get dressed, dear?’ She was coming forward with her hands out to take his underwear.

  She was a short woman with wide hips and large round glasses that made her eyes look bulbous. In her late thirties, Albert felt sure she would claim to have seen it all before and no doubt she had, but now he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to use the paisley shorts to cover himself, or whip them around behind his back so that she couldn’t get to them.

  ‘I can manage,’ he stammered.

  ‘It’s okay to get a little help, love. We all get old.’ She was still coming forward, her hands at his groin height and reaching forward. If he pulled the shorts away now, she might grab something else.

  ‘Did I hear a scream?’ asked another nurse, pushing the curtain aside as she too came to help. ‘Is everything all right?’

  Her colleague turned her head to reply. ‘The poor dear just needs a little help getting dressed.’

  Nurse number two, a slightly younger and much slimmer version of nurse one, gave Albert a sweet, encouraging smile. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘This won’t take us a moment. Veronica and I do this every day. We’ll get you dressed and then we’ll sort you out a nice bit of breakfast.’

  Now Albert had two women advancing on him, and he was still naked. If they would just turn around or go away, he could get some clothing on his skin and regain his dignity. All he could manage to do was back away with his undershorts held firmly to his groin. ‘I don’t need any help,’ he stated firmly.

  Unbelievably, the curtain twitched again as yet another nurse came through it. This one looked to be at least ten years older and wore a darker blue uniform. Her stern, no-nonsense expression made Albert think she had to be the matron.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ she barked though Albert wasn’t sure if the question was aimed at him or the nurses.

  ‘We’re just giving Mr Smith a hand to get dressed,’ said nurse two. ‘He’s a little shy, I think.’

  ‘No, I don’t …’ Albert managed before the matron cut him off, uninterested in what he might have to say.

  ‘Hurry up about it then,’ she barked at the nurses. ‘The police are here to see him.’

  Just about ready to abandon being polite, Albert’s eye flared even wider when the curtain shifted yet again, and DS Craig came through the gap. Worse yet, he had a young female officer with him, and it was her reaction that tipped Albert over the edge.

  The girl spotted Albert, glanced down to his groin, and back up but by then she was looking away and trying to stifle a laugh.

  Albert threw his shorts on the bed, letting his tackle swing free. ‘Get out!’ he roared. ‘Every last one of you. I have been dressing myself since my age was in single figures and I am not so old that I can no longer manage.’

  His outburst made the two nurses, who were closest to him, back away a pace. Albert locked eyes with DS Craig who needed no further encouragement. He swivelled on the spot, and shoving the young female officer ahead of him, he beat a hasty retreat.

  Nurse one tugged the curtain back in place with a final, ‘Just call if you do need a hand with buttons or anything,’ and finally Albert was alone. He dressed swiftly, determined to prove a point, but in doing so, he discovered his body had developed a few aches. His hips and knees for a start which he attributed to all the walking he had done over the last two days. In Bakewell and Stilton, he’d gone around in a car a lot of the time and in Melton Mowbray, the dis
tances he’d needed to cover were generally not that great. Over the last two days in Biggleswade, he’d challenged himself and the aches he now felt were the penalty. His lower back was stiff too, and he resigned himself to taking it a little easier.

  Once his sweater was in place, and his shoes were tied with neat reef knots, he pulled the curtain open and stepped through it to reveal himself.

  ‘Your sweater’s on inside out,’ commented DS Craig who was leaning against the wall half in and half out of the doorway.

  Looking down to confirm he wasn’t lying, Albert swore and muttered, then took it off, reversed it and tried again. He’d been awake for thirty minutes and it already felt it was going to be one of those days.

  ‘Where is my dog?’ Albert demanded to know.

  DS Craig pushed himself off the wall but didn’t answer straight away. He eyed Albert steadily for a second. ‘I’ve arranged to have him brought to the station. I need to take a statement from you, and I have a number of questions as you might imagine.’

  Albert was pleased to hear they were bringing Rex to him, but he wasn’t ready to play ball with the DS just yet; he was still sore about his treatment last night. Rather than thank him, Albert turned his attention toward Victor.

  ‘How is he, do you know?’ he asked the detective.

  DS Craig moved into the room, coming to stand beside Albert at the foot of Victor’s bed. ‘I’m told he has no lasting injuries, just a nasty contusion on his head. They performed a scan – I don’t remember what the right word for it is – on his head last night. They assured me his brain is fine. Beyond that I don’t know much, other than that he regained consciousness an hour after they brought him in here and he is sleeping now. I want to interview him too, but they were adamant that I not wake him. We should probably move away, in fact.’

  Thirty years ago, Albert would have just woken the man if he was in the middle of a murder enquiry and had questions to ask, but then he didn’t live in a small rural community where the matron would remember his disobedience and might punish him for it next time.