Friday 11:17 pm, July 13, 2012

“Mum, wake up it’s Lance. Shit, help me…  Mum?”

“Listen Nancy-boy, this is not your blooming Mum, and next time put on yer peepers before ya dial the telly. Arcehole.” Click

A light rain falls on a dimly lit street outside Lance’s flat while the neon sign outside his building crackles on and off.

Cowering in his favourite corner like a mouse trapped by an invisible cat, his demons begin attacking him like Norman Bates to a shower curtain. Picking up a knife he stabs back lunging forward then squatting, again and again, thrusting the blade in all directions. His wooden floor becomes the next target as he stabs it repeatedly like a man killing red ants.

Lance thinks about the encounter he’s just had with the old man who whipped him like a milkshake, regurgitating the event in a scenario of inward screams.

“That fucker, I’ll get him, I’ll get that bastard,” he says, as a ten-minute mantra begins and then ends with, “no bastards going to beat me down. I’m going out. Let’s party girl!”

He begins to change for an evening on the town at his favourite pub, ‘Flippin Cakes.’

Meanwhile across town Sergeant York, of the Metropolitan Police, questions his superior, Chief Inspector Chaffin.

“Inspector, what do you make of this? This is the queerest thing I have ever seen.” Pointing at the computer screen repeatably.

“We got a call from a Robert Yates, about an assault on the chap’s teenage son, about ten-o’clock tonight, and so I started checking the CCTV cameras around the area, and you just won’t believe what you are about to see.”

“Okay.” Sighing and rubbing his face, with an ‘already up to here with the day’ attitude,  he stumbles on his way to York.

“Over here. Sir? Oh, watch your step, sir. You alright?. Good! Where was I? Oh… this was on the cameras over by, let me see… Ravenscroft Gardens and West End Lane.”

“York, play the tape back again. Stop… More… Continue. Okay.”

“Well sir, what’s your take?”

“First, I wonder what would possess a man to jump headfirst into a garbage skip? Is he running from something?”

“You tell me. You’d best put yer glasses on Inspector for this next one. I’ve watched this over and over again and it’s beyond stupid, it’s insane! Now I ask you Inspector, who’s he talking to? And who’s he fighting with sir? Because there is abso-bloody-lutely, nobody there.”

“Fighting? What fighting? Oh, my goodness York.” Chaffin’s mouth drops and stays lodged open. Well, I’ll be. It looks like he’s fighting with himself, but getting the shit kicked out of him, by himself. Now that’s funny. I ask you as well, who in the hell is he talking to? He’s delusional.”

“Exactly. Inspector if you think that’s strange, it gets better. I’ve heard of dumpster diving, but from ten-meters away? Let me pull the camera view back so you can get a better perspective.”

“Whoa. Shit. The man is obviously a totally deranged dimwit, Sergeant or drunk. What the hell? A long jumper perhaps from a circus?”

“This is like a bad Kung Fu movie. But, how does he fly through the air like that? Oh, I’d love to put this on YouTube.”

“Do we know who it is?”

“Well I investigated more, sir, and at camera sixteen on Wood Street we caught this same man running away like he were on fire. He’s running like that Olympic Jamaican fellow, what’s his name?”

“You mean Usain Bolt?”

“Yes, Usain Bolt. Now, that chap can run. He’s like a cheetah. Did you get any tickets? Me and the Mrs. got nose-bleeders for the opening ceremony.”

“Na, just going to watch it on the telly.” Chaffin continues, “So were you able to identify this Bolt character?”

“Yes, Inspector. A chap by the name of Pilot.”

“Not Lance Pilot is it?”

“Yes. You know him?”

“Oh, good show York, jolly good show!” As Chaffin begins a quick parade about the room. “This chap used to be a Constable. He’s all sixes and sevens, all messed up. Twisted. He’s done more crimes than any criminal, but nary a one ever stuck to him. Starting with murder, jewellery theft, bookmaking, human trafficking, and so on.”

“Sound like a real smarmy git, sir.”

“Yes, exactly. A real cool jerk, a rather smooth character. Blink and he’s got yer doughnuts York. I’d love to collar this creep. Listen, contact and get the canine unit and then make sure the constables have their tasers fully charged and ready. Let’s go pay him a visit. Oh, and furthermore contact a duty court clerk who can give us a search warrant, as well. York? Turn the heater on full blast, don’t want our guest to freeze to death.”

Ring Ring

“Mom it’s me. Just had a row with an old man that called you by name. Shit, how could he fucking know that? He mentioned yer sister saying he done away with her and he spoke that same stupid language as you… I don’t mean you’re stupid mom, but… Fuck me, shit!”

If you’re happy with your message press 1, “fuck off bitch.”If you want to re-record press 2 or – beep.

“Mom it’s Lance. Met a guy who knows my ass, I mean your name, shit, shit, barmy, fuck me, shit! Flog me ass.”

If you’re happy “bite me bitch.” with your message press 1, If you want to re-record press 2 or say nothin – beep.

“Mom it’s me, Lance. Just had the shit beat outa me by some old man who called you by your name, Hagakulla Puitlootta. Shit. I am really scared. Not sure what to do, said he killed yer sister Bultas, the other old ugly hag… arsehole fuck me, fuck me bollocks, shit to hell!

Knock Knock

Now, who’s at the bloody door? Shit!”

If you’re happy with your message press 1, If you want to re-record press 2 or say nothing to leave your message and disconnect. Click.

Knock knock.

“Who’s there? “

“Metropolitan Police looking for Lance Pilot.”

“Lance who?”

Two dogs and eight Constables await Inspector Chaffin’s signal to ram the door and enter Pilot’s flat like roosters in a cockfight.

“Listen, Pilot, don’t play games with me. This is Inspector Chaffin and unless you want me to bust down yer door and send the dogs, you’d best open. That is your first and last warning.”

His arm raises and gets the attention of all eyes waiting for his arm to drop, just as a latch is heard unlocking, then the creak of the door’s opening occurs.

“Good Pilot. Step back Pilot, against the wall.”

“Piss on yer-selves coppers.”

“Constables, what we have here is Renee Gunn, aka, Lance Pilot. Nice dress Pilot. Too bad those high heels don’t match yer purse.”

“Blow me, Inspector.”

“What’s happened to you, Pilot? You look like shit. Although you always have. Maybe a bit more rouge would help?

“Piss-off Chaffin.”

“And would someone please turn down that music? Thank you. Who is that playing Pilot, Liberace? And you, search him.”

“Why me sir?”

“Alright then, Constable Henry, you search his bottom half, and Constable Vicky you search his top. I don’t blame ya for not wanting to, I’d like to search him myself using a fork-lift.” The Inspector pokes his finger into Pilot’s shoulder a few time.

” Now pay attention Pilot… You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

“What?”

“A complaint has been lodged.”

“What for?”

“Mayhem and hooliganism and assault.”

“Piss-off coppers. I’m the one should file a complaint. Against ya coppers disturbing me peace, just after me evening stroll.”

“Search his flat. Come-on Sergeant let’s take this duff back to headquarters.”

“Can I change first?”

“No Pilot. By the way that’s a rather nice dress. Chiffon?”~

Cat whistles and laughter welcome Pilot’s visit back at headquarters.

“Have a seat Pilot. Over there, no, that’s my chair. You want to explain where you been tonight?”

“First, can you turn the bloody heater down? It’s like an oven turned on fuckin broil. Shit! You could bake fuckin clams in-here.”

“Yes, Sergeant, he’s right, please turn it down, this is rather unbearable, I myself can barely breathe. Shit.” Removing his coat the inspector grabs a pen and pad. “York! Why is it so blooming hot in here and why in the bloody hell is the heater on in the first place, it’s bloody July? York? Sergeant York? Where are you man? Turn down the bloody heater!”

“Inspector the heats been this way since we left, I got a notice, maintenance says another hour or so, some sorta busted shut-off valve.”

“Sorry sir, I was getting me smokes sir, want a fag Pilot? Sorry, no offence meant.”

Pilot reaches out and accepts his offer to light as well.

“Oops, sorry bout that Pilot, the flame does rather leap-up.”

“Thanks for the cig. You’re all right. As I said, I took a stroll this evening. No harm in that or it’s against the law to stroll?”

“A young man was attacked tonight, and we have you on CCTV at the scene and again running away. Explain to me that, if you can.”

Like I was saying Chaffin, I took a stroll and then was nearly run over by this punk on a bike, and when he wrecked, I went to help. Then this old man came from nowhere and attacked me. Hell, I should get a medal as a good Samaritan, don’t you think Inspector?”

“Then how do you explain this? There’s no one else in this tape, but you. Run the tape Sergeant.”

As the tape begins to roll Pilot’s head bobs back and forth like a bobble toy.

“What the hell? Fuckers. You coppers have done something to the tape. I tell you there was an old man who attacked me. Fuckers! He was there I tell ya! He was there.”

“Calm down Pilot. Want some tea? Seems like we’re going to be at this for a bit.”

“Fuck you.”

York leaves and a minute later pops his head in and says,  “Inspector, I need to have a word with you, please?”

Inspector Chaffin leaves Lance to swelter inside the room, then enter into the adjoining room.

“What is it, Sergeant?”

“Everything seemed ok in his flat except this? You ever saw a ruby this big?”

“What’s this scumbag doing with something like this. Where in his flat?”

“No, it was here inside his jacket he was wearing. We put it through the computer search and nothing showed up as being stolen. Unusual shape. Looks like a duck or, or perhaps a dragon.”

“Nothing turned up? You took pictures of the  ruby?”

“Yes sir. Oh, and another piece of odd news. Got a report from the detective who questioned the lad involved, and he too says there was an old man. Who beat the crap out of our friend in there.”

“Then there must be something wrong with the cameras?”

“Nope, nothing wrong there Inspector.”

“Let’s have another look at the video.”

“Tommy can you hear me? Tommy can you see me? Tommy…”

“Sorry Inspector must be maintenance working in the vent shaft. Turn that bloody music off! Thank you.”

“Where were we? Oh, so Sergeant do you see anything striking?”

“All I see is Pilot’s quick thrust and lunge, as he swings a cane or stick and then, ‘wack’ looks like he hit something or something hit him as he falls to the street. I mean how does a person end up in that kind of position, all contorted and such? And then the dumpster move, look at his speed when he leaps. Now how in heaven’s name do you speed yourself up in midair? He looks like he’s been shot from a cannon.”

“That’s odd. I never notice the speed before Sergeant. Good eye, a good bit of investigative work. I will be sure to mention this to the Chief. Sergeant, what puzzles me is who is this old man, apparently, according to both sides there was a man present, but why on earth can we not see him on camera? A mystery. I for one would like to shake his hand.  Now, about this shithead, I’m afraid I need to release him, nothing sticks in this case. But let’s keep this toad where he is, maybe with any luck he’ll melt. Give him water too.”

“How long should be holding him, sir?”

“I’ll let you know. Give the ruby back to him, but I want a twenty-four-seven detail following this bird everywhere. Put Abbott and Costello on it.”

“You mean Petrobum and Watts? Excuse me sir, but why them? They both seem like morons sir.”

“Exactly. In order to catch a stupid person…”

“Got it, you send stupid to catch stupid, and sooner or later, Bob’s your uncle.”

“Exactly… Listen, Sergeant, I’ve been thinking about what you mentioned earlier in jest, but do you think we could maybe put this on YouTube? Just a secret between you and I. Somehow it leaked out, who knows how it happened? I don’t?”

~ “And on the lighter side of this mornings news, it would appear we have an instant YouTube hit right here in London. It’s a Bird, it’s a Plane, no it’s Stupid-Man.”