Author: Alexander Fawn

The call comes in to the station.

It’s transferred through to the detectives.

The caller has vital information.

They are interested.

He wants to meet.

He’s asked to come in to give a statement.

He refuses and names the time and place.

A detective is assigned.

The alley is unlit.

The detective calls in for backup.

The man steps out of the shadows.

The detective moves forward.

A second man appears and grabs the informant from behind.

The detective watches as a gun is put to the informant’s head.

A siren sounds.

Police dogs start barking.

The informant is struck to the ground.

The man runs off.

The detective takes chase.

The dogs and their handler follow.

The man makes for the bridge.

The dogs are let off their leads.

The detective gets to the bridge.

The dogs race passed him.

The man jumps up on the railings.

The dogs yap at his feet.

The man loses his balance.

The detective catches up.

The man falls from a great height.

The detective looks down to see the man enter the water.

The handler calms the dogs.

The detective watches for signs.

The man comes up and just floats.

Back at the station the detective grabs a coffee.

The detectives shift is nearly over.

The chief says he’s happy.

The detective does the paperwork.

He gets another coffee.

The station goes quiet.

The detective gets another pat on the back and goes home early.

He sits at home in silence.

He remembers his childhood.

How much he wanted to grow up and become a Botanist.

Things never change.

He had peered in at it so many times on his way to the bus stop each morning.

The joy of knowing that he could see it, almost made him look forward to school. Almost, but not quite. He wondered how it was possible that a thing so small could cost so much. It had been the object of his desire so long that he couldn’t stand it much longer. He made some fairly complex calculations trying to work out just how long it would take him to save up for it. After careful thought he came up with a plan.

It was exactly as he anticipated, when the final moment came and it was right there, in his hands. It was so awesome.

He stood, mesmerised by it, before his reverie was shattered and he became aware of the shop’s alarm bell clanging.

He carefully picked his way through the broken shards of window glass, and quickly disappeared down the alley, just as the sirens grew louder.

This was what she had always wanted to do.

Moving into the flat near the university was a good move from the point of view of making progress with her studies. The course itself was going well, she had always been interested in social welfare issues and wanted to get a better understanding of matters that impact on both the community and society in general, particularly for the aging population. Going for a bachelor degree in Social Science was what she had always dreamed of doing.

On the other hand, she really needed to get some sort of part-time work. She had literally lost count of the number of resumes she had sent out. Most of them getting no reply at all.

In desperation she phoned home.

Her father was saying, “Something part-time you say… well, I did see in the obituaries a while back that old man Barns passed away. I used to play golf with him soon after I retired. Do you remember him?”

“Only vaguely, why?” she asked.

“He owned that auto parts shop, not far from you, in the high street. I’ve met his wife a few times, nice old lady; probably worth a fortune now. Anyway, they never had children so I assume she’s taken it over. She might give you a job. It’s worth a try.”

“Wow! That would be great Dad! How do I get in touch?”

“OK. I’ll give you the number, but let me get in touch first. I ought to anyway, since I knew her husband. I’m pretty sure she’ll remember me. I’ll say you are looking for something and give you a bit of a plug; can’t do any harm.”

“Oh! Thank you so much.”

“Not a problem sweetie. Glad I could be of help. I’ll give her a call today and you can follow up tomorrow.”

“Will do, and thanks again. Bye.”

This could be just the break she needed. So handy. So close.

Time dragged; but she finally made the call the next day.

“Hello, Mrs Barns?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“My father suggested that I give you a call.”

“Oh! Yes. He said you might be in touch. He said you were looking for something.”

“Yes, I am.”

“He told me you are a keen worker. Is that right?”

She hesitated, “Well, yes, of course.”

“Oh! Bless you my dear. You can start on Monday, if you like. Of course, I can’t afford to pay you. This is so kind of you to volunteer.”

The student was shocked into silence. She started, “I… I haven’t…”

The woman went on, “It will be such a help. Trying to keep house since my husband died… well, it’s been very difficult. As for the business, I seem to be losing more money than I’m making.” There was a long pause, then she spoke again, sounding tearful. “I’m sorry my dear. You don’t want to be burdened with any of that, I’m sure.”

“No. That’s alright, not at all.”

“Lovely. See you Monday then.”

She dropped the phone. “Well. Here we go,” she murmured, “social welfare in action!”

When he was young he used to play with the smaller kid next door.

The smaller kid was happy about that, as he wasn’t popular with others of his age. In fact, most of the time they were downright unkind to him. The kid was an easy target. This was mainly because he had a lot of stuff going on. His constant facial tics were the most noticeable, like rapid blinking, but he had other things on the go. Like the clicking noise he used to make with his teeth and the cracking of his knuckles.

There were a whole lot of sudden, uncontrolled body movements, some of which could really take you by surprise. Like the twitching of the shoulders and the obsessive slapping of the knees, the head jerking, earlobe scratching, foot tapping, throat clearing and nail biting; and of course, there was always the grunting and the sniffing.

Now, all these years later, with a medical degree and a fair slice of life behind him, he looked back, remembering the kid next door… with a kindly understanding.

All these things were simply ways for him to cope with him being him.

What is this place that comes to me,

While sitting beneath this willow tree?

Watching a peaceful stream glide by.

Above, a never changing sky.

Swans flapping to and fro.

Fish swimming far below.

Insects crawl where they belong,

While birds provide their happy song.

Canopies that shade mushrooms growing,

Autumn leaves forever showing.

Ivy intertwines the trees,

With floral scents upon the breeze.

Dew drops falling one by one.

All is dappled by the sun.

Distant pines sway together.

They never know inclement weather.

Fairies dancing here and there.

Waltzing butterflies in the air.

Unicorns saunter without care,

With flowers blooming everywhere.

Bluebells waving happily.

Time suspended indefinitely.

Nature’s canvass never tainted.

Only waiting to be painted.

What is this place that comes to me?

Precious, yet provided free.

It’s magic of a special kind,

It grows within a poet’s mind.

The detective entered the interview room and dropped the file down on the table.

“Good morning,” he said with a grin. “I just thought I’d pop in for a chat.” He looked down at the file, then up at the suspect. “I’m sure you’re just dying to tell me what you’ve been up to; helping yourself to things that simply do not belong to you.”

The suspect dragged his thumbnail across his lips, indicating that he wasn’t going to say anything.

The detective’s eyes glazed over slightly, then he laughed and said, “Ah! That’s good, very good, your mouth has been zipped.”

The suspect slowly nodded.

The detective grinned again and mumbled, “Marvellous invention zips.”

The interview room fell silent. The suspect frowned, and let out an involuntary, “What?”

The policeman was obviously enjoying himself. “Zips,” he repeated.

The other sat glaring.

“Yes,” he went on, “invented by a chap in the late eighteen-nineties. Then, the modern version, the one you and I know today. Yes, it was improved on and really took off a couple of decades later.”

The suspect stared in disbelief.

The detective sat nodding, he seemed to be deep in thought. “My word. Awfully clever things; based on the wedge and hook principal.” He leant forward and tapped on the folder. “It’s all about making things come together, you see. Coming together and staying together.”

The suspect was becoming visibly agitated.

The detective went on. “He was a travelling sales man, the guy who first came up with the idea; name of Whitcomb. What kind of name is that, eh? First name Whitcomb.” He held up his hand, “No. Don’t answer that.”

“You know, these things have dozens of tiny teeth with weeny hooks and hollows. I mean, what an invention! It’s hard enough to invent the idea that these miniscule, odd shaped components should all lock together like that, but to figure out how to actually make it! Think of it, a thing like that; to manufacture all those separate bits so perfectly that they mesh; they just come together!”

He made a slow hand movement.

“And you slide this thing, I forget what it’s called, backwards and forwards to open and close the whole thing. The simplicity of it. The cleverness of it.”

He snorted. “Just think about how long it takes to button things up. You know, a shirt, a jacket.”

His eyebrows raised. “Did you know they have to manufacture a special tape, just for zips?”

He clasped his hands behind his head and gave out a long sigh. “I mean, people like us, the good and the bad of us, we just pale into insignificance.”

The suspect said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course, you don’t,” replied the other and opened the file. He read for a moment. “Would you like to know?”

The other just shrugged.

“What we have here, received from forensics earlier this morning, is a thumb print.”

The suspect stiffened.

“One beautiful thumb print. I must say you did a pretty good job of wiping the jewellry shop clean before you left, what a tidy fellow you are, but… you missed just one nice, big, clear thumb print.” He held up the evidence sheets and jiggled them.

“I’m not saying anything.” The suspect growled.

“No. I wouldn’t expect you to. We have you cold on this one and you’ll be spending time for it.” He sat back in his chair. “I’d like you to be truly amazed when I tell you that your place has been turned over and we’ve found the loot.”

The other’s head dropped.

“Do you see what I mean, now? About things coming together, I mean. I do like it when things come together.”

The suspect was still staring at the copies, now laying on the table. He sighed and said, “OK. OK. No point now in… well, denying or anything. Just tell me what all that zip stuff was about.”

The detective put his head back and closed his eyes for a minute.

“Oh! I don’t know. This can be a pretty boring job, really. You have no idea how mundane it gets sometimes. It’s always me that ends up doing the interviewing, and to be honest, I just get sick of it!” He closed his eyes while he massaged his face.

“Can you imagine,” he went on, “how many suspects I’ve had to interview in this room over the years?” He put his hand up. “No. Don’t bother. Not even I know the answer to that. Just about all of them had to be worked on for hours, and in most cases with no result. Just think about how mind-numbingly boring that is. But you…” he looked at the robber and wagged his head, “…you, my friend, are a piece of cake.”

He picked up the papers and slid them into the file. “How easy was it, eh? You leave a nice piece of evidence that you were in the jewellery store on the night of the robbery. They wipe all the glass cases ready for the next day, you see. So finding the print you missed wasn’t that hard.”

The robber said, “What was all that stuff about zippers? Did you just make all that up?”

“No. Watched this interesting documentary about it a couple of nights ago.” He chuckled softly to himself. “I mean, with the evidence we had on you, I could have jumped straight in with it. I could have been out of here in less than a minute, but there’d be no fun in that, right?”

The robber went to speak.

Before he could say anything the detective said, ‘that would have been so boring!”

He stood up. “You have no idea how satisfying it’s been, teasing and annoying you in here today. There should be more of it. Honestly… taking things that don’t belong to you, it’s very naughty.”

He chuckled again as he left the room.

For him, Monday was never a good day.

There had always been something about it, beyond the fact that it was the beginning of the working week. Something else; something sinister.

When he looked in the bathroom mirror, he scowled when he saw that his acne was coming back. Then, he took a cup of tea to his wife, in bed. He forgot her usual serving of three sugars. She spat it out, all over her brand new bedspread; a present from her mother. On the way in to work his car broke down. He had to leave it at the garage and go in by bus. The only bright spot would have been his usual coffee, at his usual café, served by the lovely waitress that always made his day, but she was off.

He got to work late. During the morning his paper jammed in the printer, burst into flames and all the smoke alarms went off.

The building was cleared and they all stood out in the street waiting for the fire brigade. It started to rain, heavily. When they all finally got back inside, his boss called him into his office. He handed him a week’s notice.

On his lunch break he rang his wife with the news.

She hung up.

He lost his wallet somewhere on the bus getting home. When he got home he found her packing her bags. She was leaving for good. When she backed out of the driveway like a maniac, shouting that he would never see her again, she ran over the neighbour’s dog.

All in all, he didn’t sleep well.

On the following morning, it was Tuesday. Tuesday is a different day. It is not a Monday. Never was. Now he can move on with his life and create a whole new future. He will go into the café as usual, albeit by public transport. With no wallet, he would have to pay for his drink with loose change. It didn’t matter. He will sit there and think about what it all means. He will be served by that sweet angel that has somehow taken on human form.

He entered and found his usual spot. A good sign that, he thought. He just needs to let all this other stuff go. Reinvent himself. Boldly go where no man… whatever; he would forge forward towards a greater, brighter destiny. Besides, the lovely waitress always made him feel better about things.

After a minute or two, the Arcadian nymph that only looks like a pretty waitress, glides over to his table.

She smiles her lovely smile and says, “Can I get you your usual today?”

He freezes. Her words strike home. In that moment he is thrown into a whirlpool of mental agony. He is swallowed up by a great, dark cloud. He finally looks up as she comes slowly back into focus.

“My usual today… today… usual,” he mutters. “I wish you could get me my usual today.”

She waits patiently.

He frowns at her. “I lost that yesterday!”

He had books, folders and sundry paperwork spread over the cubicle’s table.

He sat studying in his usual spot. The local library was the ideal venue for working on his course papers. It was a small cubicle, one of several that ran along the wall, just large enough for a single bench seat and sufficient room to pile up reference books along with his own stuff. He was studying medicine and was in the process of producing a paper on crude drugs; those medicinal drugs that are derived from natural sources. It had been going well until he heard a rustling in the booth behind him, with a phone going off almost immediately.

A woman answered, saying, “Oh! Hi! How’s it going?”

There was a pause.

“Nothing much. You?”

Pause.

“Really?”

There was a long pause.

He looked around, wondering if it was worth gathering his stuff up and moving.

The woman said, “When did this happen?”

Pause.

“Poor kid. Did he need an x-ray?”

Pause.

“Yes, better to be safe, I always say.”

Pause.

“Well, that’s something I suppose.”

Pause.

“What about Tiger Balm?”

He pricked his ears up.

After a pause, she went on, “Eh? Not really, I know it’s analgesic; old as the hills.”

Pause.

“What’s that?”

Pause.

“No. I didn’t!”

Pause.

“What a cheek!”

Pause. The medical student sighed and began closing his books.

“She didn’t!”

Pause.

“What did you say to her?”

Pause.

“I don’t think so.”

Pause.

“What! While he was still there?”

Pause.

“Is he still working there?”

Pause.

“But, if it was drugs, why would they do that?” The student stopped packing his bag.

She went on. “Not really, I met her at a cooking class. That was ages ago.”

Pause.

“Dunno, but he was forever quoting bits from Corinthians, so it doesn’t surprise me.”

Pause.

“I know.”

Pause.

“He’s OK.”

Long pause.

“No. The boss decided to redesign it instead.”

Pause.

“Somewhere in Egypt, I think.”

Pause.

“Yep. Me too.”

Pause.

“Is it?”

Pause.

“No, I hadn’t heard.”

Long pause.

“Do you mean actually in the cinema?”

Pause.

“Who was?”

Pause.

“Do they know who did it?”

Pause.

“Don’t know. You never met his mother, did you?”

Pause. The student was resigned to come in again on the following day to finish his research.

The woman said, “OK.”

Pause.

“OK.”

Pause.

“Don’t forget the Tiger Balm. Bye.”

As the student left the library he made a mental note to look up Tiger Balm.

He’d never heard of it.

As she left the last shop she checked her list.

It had taken an age when she considered her plastic shopping bag only contained four items. As it happens, none of them were for her. On the list: jar of pickled gherkins, pregnancy test kit, kitty litter and jumbo-sized paperclips.

An extra-large jar of pickled gherkins for her brother who collects bugs; he just wants the jar. He dropped the last one and some of his specimens escaped. He told her that the jar was a perfect, size, shape, and everything. Who could argue with that?

A pregnancy test kit for her friend, who works at the canning factory on the edge of town. She convinced her that she really couldn’t bring herself to go into a shop to buy one herself.

A small bag of kitty litter for her Mum’s phone. She dropped it in the sink and has had it drying out for a couple of days. Then she found out that you could bury it in a bag of kitty litter to dry it out.

A box of jumbo-sized paperclips for her boyfriend who has a passion for modelling little art pieces with them. He made a bicycle once, using large paperclips and a couple of cardigan buttons.

She was on her way to the bus stop when she saw the girl from her office, who was about to enter a coffee house when she was spotted and received a friendly wave.

She was nice, but a hell of a gossip. What the hell! It would be good to get the weight off her feet. She gave her a smile as she approached. They went in together and found a table.

“Hey! I’ll get them,” she said, “I’ve just had a successful morning’s shopping. It’s my treat.”

Not really thinking, she put the bag down and went to the counter. The bag gaped open and the girl peered in.

When she returned. The girl said, “I must say, you have an unusual collection of items in there.”

“Don’t ask!”

The valley was beautiful.

He looked out across the vast slopes of green. He could see, and just about hear, the gushing flow of the river as it meandered through the length of it. Its pattern seemed to replicate the twisting road that brought him here. Despite its isolation, it was certainly magnificent country. Everything looked so fresh from the recent rain. Mother Nature at her best. His close colleague had told him about the place, how he had visited the area when he and his wife toured here last year. Looking at their photos had been the clincher. From that moment he wanted to come and see for himself. Now he was actually here, he would have liked to tell someone about the scenery spread out before him, along with a picture, but his mobile phone was not accessible.

Was it the wet conditions, a lack of attention to the road, or too much gazing out at the view?

All of the above.

He had to mentally re-orientate the scenery since the car had landed on its side. He hung to one side uncomfortably, with the seatbelt jammed. As the vehicle had rocked slowly to a standstill he had watched his mobile phone slide out of sight.

Although he had seen no other vehicles on this stretch of the road, the man at the motel had assured him that this route was very popular with tourists.

Sooner or later, a vehicle would come along, until then… he had the view.