Ok, I think Lord Derby may have to wait till I’m back in Malta (which looks a lot more like Carcosa than Kyiv). The board meetings went ok actually, though there’s still a decision we’d rather have an answer to now than waiting till February. I guess we can’t have everything. Today I have to sign legal documents, because that’s just what we do for fun round here :-D
Justice The sound of jeers and catcalls floated up the stairs that led down to the holding cells. The light in the corridor down there was broken, again, from a prisoner struggling to break free and nearly managing, so it looked shadowy and dangerous. The Duty Sergeant sighed and tapped at his laptop, trying to find a YouTube music video that he could listen to and drown out the noise from below. Finally the opening strains of China in your hand started up and he stared off into the distance, his report forgotten. “Jeez louise,” said Breaux, staggering down the corridor. He belched, a deep rumbling sound better suited to a rhinoceros, and ran a dirty hand through shaggy, unkempt hair. He was as white as the walls except for his eyes which were red-rimmed and red-veined, and he looked like he’d died and been sent back until he could make himself look respectable. He smelled of stale beer and cheap perfume, the flowery kind that little girls put on to pretend to be their older sisters. “Are you crying, Sarge?” “No,” said the Duty Sergeant, wiping away tears with the back of his hand. “You stink to high heaven, Breaux, and it’s making my eyes water. I’m surprised I’m not throwing up on you.” “He’d smell better if you did,” said one the DI’s as they walked past. “What’s that racket down in the cells?” “Whores,” said the Duty Sergeant. “Some of the lads brought them in last night, just finishing the paperwork now.” He sniffed, and looked down at the forms on his desk. “Six of ‘em.” “Feels like it happens every week, Stan,” said the DI. “Can you shut ‘em up at all? Only the Chief Inspector’s coming over at 11. Can’t get him getting all worked up over a couple of pussy-pushers.” He winked. The Duty Sergeant sighed, and sniffed again. “I’ll try,” he said. “They’re not the type to listen when you talk though.” “Well, shove your co-“ “Evans!” The Chief Detective Inspector cut the DI off and pointed into the police station. “Briefing room A, on the double.” He looked over at the Desk Sergeant. “Been crying, Stan?” The Desk Sergeant pointed at Breaux. “If he smells any worse the police dogs are going to file a complaint,” he said. “Nice one Stan. Quieten the cells down, will you? Cyril’s in at 11 and you know what he’s like.” The CDI vanished as well, and Breaux shuffled over to the Desk Sergeant’s desk. “You know Breaux, he’s right. This does seem to happen every week. And it’s always you and your mates bringing the prossies in. Think I ought to go back through the paperwork and check it out?” Breaux rubbed his forehead, his fingers leaving red marks that quickly faded away. “Do me a favour and don’t?” “What’s in it for me?” Breaux scrunched his face up with the effort of thought, and his hangover got worse immediately. He fought down the nausea, knowing that if he threw up on the desk the Sergeant wouldn’t rest until he’d checked it all out and more. “We were drinking,” he said, trying to buy himself some time. “Yeah, the usual kegger,” said Stan. “What’s in it for me?” Finally a light-bulb went off in Breaux’s head and he winced from the brightness. He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a packet of mints, a key, and some white pills. “Ambien,” he said. “Stick ‘em in an omelette and serve the girls breakfast. That’ll quiet them down.” Stan considered this for several seconds while Breaux swallowed, and swallowed again, the nausea getting stronger. “Fine,” said Stan at last. “Better than Cyril getting worked up. Anything else I should know?” “No... wait. Yeah. Cutlet’s one of the girls in the cells.”
2 comments:
Ok, I think Lord Derby may have to wait till I’m back in Malta (which looks a lot more like Carcosa than Kyiv). The board meetings went ok actually, though there’s still a decision we’d rather have an answer to now than waiting till February. I guess we can’t have everything. Today I have to sign legal documents, because that’s just what we do for fun round here :-D
Justice
The sound of jeers and catcalls floated up the stairs that led down to the holding cells. The light in the corridor down there was broken, again, from a prisoner struggling to break free and nearly managing, so it looked shadowy and dangerous. The Duty Sergeant sighed and tapped at his laptop, trying to find a YouTube music video that he could listen to and drown out the noise from below. Finally the opening strains of China in your hand started up and he stared off into the distance, his report forgotten.
“Jeez louise,” said Breaux, staggering down the corridor. He belched, a deep rumbling sound better suited to a rhinoceros, and ran a dirty hand through shaggy, unkempt hair. He was as white as the walls except for his eyes which were red-rimmed and red-veined, and he looked like he’d died and been sent back until he could make himself look respectable. He smelled of stale beer and cheap perfume, the flowery kind that little girls put on to pretend to be their older sisters. “Are you crying, Sarge?”
“No,” said the Duty Sergeant, wiping away tears with the back of his hand. “You stink to high heaven, Breaux, and it’s making my eyes water. I’m surprised I’m not throwing up on you.”
“He’d smell better if you did,” said one the DI’s as they walked past. “What’s that racket down in the cells?”
“Whores,” said the Duty Sergeant. “Some of the lads brought them in last night, just finishing the paperwork now.” He sniffed, and looked down at the forms on his desk. “Six of ‘em.”
“Feels like it happens every week, Stan,” said the DI. “Can you shut ‘em up at all? Only the Chief Inspector’s coming over at 11. Can’t get him getting all worked up over a couple of pussy-pushers.” He winked.
The Duty Sergeant sighed, and sniffed again. “I’ll try,” he said. “They’re not the type to listen when you talk though.”
“Well, shove your co-“
“Evans!” The Chief Detective Inspector cut the DI off and pointed into the police station. “Briefing room A, on the double.” He looked over at the Desk Sergeant. “Been crying, Stan?”
The Desk Sergeant pointed at Breaux. “If he smells any worse the police dogs are going to file a complaint,” he said.
“Nice one Stan. Quieten the cells down, will you? Cyril’s in at 11 and you know what he’s like.”
The CDI vanished as well, and Breaux shuffled over to the Desk Sergeant’s desk.
“You know Breaux, he’s right. This does seem to happen every week. And it’s always you and your mates bringing the prossies in. Think I ought to go back through the paperwork and check it out?”
Breaux rubbed his forehead, his fingers leaving red marks that quickly faded away. “Do me a favour and don’t?”
“What’s in it for me?”
Breaux scrunched his face up with the effort of thought, and his hangover got worse immediately. He fought down the nausea, knowing that if he threw up on the desk the Sergeant wouldn’t rest until he’d checked it all out and more. “We were drinking,” he said, trying to buy himself some time.
“Yeah, the usual kegger,” said Stan. “What’s in it for me?”
Finally a light-bulb went off in Breaux’s head and he winced from the brightness. He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a packet of mints, a key, and some white pills. “Ambien,” he said. “Stick ‘em in an omelette and serve the girls breakfast. That’ll quiet them down.”
Stan considered this for several seconds while Breaux swallowed, and swallowed again, the nausea getting stronger.
“Fine,” said Stan at last. “Better than Cyril getting worked up. Anything else I should know?”
“No... wait. Yeah. Cutlet’s one of the girls in the cells.”
Greg - having been to Malta, I can see what you mean about Carcosa.
Thanks for more from Breaux, it's darkly enjoyable :)
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