Notes

The Latest In Crime Fighting
Nigel Osprey sits before his tv with a can of beer in his hand and slowly raising it and taking a luxurious sip and an audio escapes his wet lips 'ah.....this is life!'

He is enjoying the activity program on television, holding his favourite brew in his hand as symbol of freedom, whilst stabilising a family group size pizza that had just been delivered and today balances precariously on his knees. He notices its steam rising gently and wafting through the air, filling the room with his favourite aroma: 'food!'

He listens with rapture to his favourite football manager's ranting.

Yes, he reminds himself with glowing eyes: that manager's a genuine man, strong, with a thick-set body and a mouth that continually appears to burst forth outrageous statements! And expletives - admittedly beeped out by a sissy programme editor - appear to stream effortlessly from thick and egotistic lips.

Nigel giggles to himself. He could be enjoying these outbursts; they're amusingly insulting and words are being aired that can't be received on the airwaves because of the earth content - they're too earthy! But you can always lip-read and not missng out, thereby increasing the fun!

Wonderful thoughts are arriving at his mind as he takes another strong suck from his beer can: The wife's gone away, this time for good! The divorce was very disturbing and a real upheaval. She seems to live now with her aunt Gerti in Muckalot in another state - wherever the hell that is.

Her dim-witted cousin Winston had come and picked-up all her belongings. He's taken a whole lot, piling it high on a truck, but it was great to start to see the last of her junk!

To any extent further, he keeps reminding himself, there is absolutely no more screaming at him, forget about berating, the home is now quiet and peaceful as there is only he and his cat Benny, who is in complete agreement with him.

He glances around and notices that the room now looks sparsely furnished. His wife, ex-wife to be exact, has left him with the bare necessities! But there is a tranquil light filtering through the sheer curtains, making all of the dust visible yet giving the area a tranquil ambiance.

'This is a man's paradise', he thinks, nodding to himself. There are his scattered newspapers, with the sports pages open and soon there will be a few magazines lying round the room he would normally not need dared to buy.

'It's great to be free', he thinks - this can be a wonderful feeling, and he becomes aware of an intoxicating rush rippling through his body, making him sigh in bliss.

Suddenly, there are knocks on the entranceway, rather firm and banging with determination.

'What on earth.....' He doesn't like unforeseen visitors, especially when they're interrupting his favourite television program!

Before the guy can shout 'Go away!' it bangs again, this time around having an added touch of impatience and incredibly annoying! He feels his fury rising.

Opening the door somewhat in order to avoid further noise, he becomes alert to two men who were obviously detectives, identifiable by their tight fitting suits and felt hats - 'who wears hats, nowadays?' he observes. Behind them jostled a fat policeman with a television news team, complete with camera man and sound technician.

The detectives worry him - from his first look into them he's got this gut feeling they spelt troubles. These two men had faces so leathery and weather beaten and with darting eyes that, when making eye contact, appear to yank out any secrets a person might want to withhold.

They're with a third man, some sort of professor type, with thick glasses, holding a clipboard in his hands.

The news team gets visibly exited, beginning to push their way closer to Nigel. They are of the delicate type, colourfully dressed, 'very pansy-like', Nigel observes.

They're holding their various apparatuses as though they were doing the general public, and humanity in general, a great favour! 'But what's this about?' his thoughts keep racing through his mind.

Before he could think straight and absorb all this gathering, one of many detectives, with a face just like a constipated bulldog, with eyes which were big and bloodshot and darting everywhere, held out a shiny metal plaque.

'Homicide!' he rasps, 'Are you Nigel Osprey?'

And he didn't wait for an answer - so sure was he of his case.

'You are under arrest for the murder of a Mrs.Emilia Prattlelot..., your ex wife!'

'W..w..w.whaaaat?' Nigel could only gasp incredulously.

'That's right!' You heard!' This bellow happens of non-existent lips.

'Come with me now. Come on, come on.....' An enormous fat hand reaches out to seize him.

'What are you currently talking about?'

Nigel instinctively tries to close the door in an attempt to shut out this hostile crowd.

Unfortunately, this Robert-Mitchum-look-alike has big feet - very big, they reach the entranceway gap, thereby preventing its closing.

10 Best Food For Travelling , the one looking such as a boffin, but with the same non-descript clothes, had white hair and probably a large bald spot that, too, is included in the old-fashioned hat. His pronounced features were thick spectacles - very thick. They were so pronounced they appear to convex out so that they can reach him, with two tiny black spots showing which are trying to hypnotise him - they were either his pupils or the dots flies had left on his glasses.

'We know' escaped his stern lips. His Adam's apple moved along his scrawny throat with a collar that has been far too big, giving the impression of shrinking whilst on duty!

The policeman, was in a uniform that tries to control his excessive weight by compressing it severely. But it only shifted his blubber downwards, manifesting itself in legs like concrete crushers, with rather gigantic, broad feet.

Now, he too, tried to find yourself in the act: Come out, quick!' it escapes his thick lips.

Nigel feels that it's time to say something:

'Look, I haven't done anything to anybody - I just desire to be left alone'. He forcefully through his weight against the door, as hard as he could, jamming that giant's foot as hard as he could - with no effect.

'He must have a prosthesis', he observes as the man's features betray nothing.

The man with the thick goggles explained:

'We are from PCU, Predictive Crime-fighting Unit, based at police headquarters......'

'I don't give a fig everything you are - I haven't done anything and my meal gets cold'

(He didn't shout exactly 'fig', but this writer is of good upbringing and wouldn't normally know how to spell the exact expletive!)

Nigel keeps banging the entranceway contrary to the detective's shoe - a useless exercise.

'Hey', shouts the man with the microphone, 'can you come out a bit and give us a smile - you may be on the news headlines tonight!'

Amazed, Nigel opened the door and steppes outside. 'What news? What are you talking about?'

The reporter was quite friendly; 'Our government has installed a fresh supercomputer that not only records all of the crimes in this state, keeps statistics concerning their frequency and type........'

The scientist took over:' With all the demographic details, and the time-span, motive and all other relevant personality traits of the perpetrators, we are now able to forecast in which a crime may happen, by whom, the reason why, etc, et cetera', letting the Latin words dissolve on his tongue.

He looked really exited relating to this new era of crime fighting. His hand, holding the pen, seem to write something unseen in the air.

'What rubbish! I 'aven't done anything and that is it. Leave me alone - the large amount of you!'

His eyes encompassed everybody and his chin pointed especially at the reporter and his team. Blood is draining from his face and suddenly he feels so alone and helpless.

'This is a nightmare! How do I escape this?' his thoughts keep racing. And there are now signs of perspiration on his forehead.

'Come around - come on, seriously!' The hefty detective uttered these words such as a busy landlord reminding his patrons of closing time.

'Just showing you how accurate we are,' the scientist tries to demonstrate eagerly, 'You've ordered a pizza for supper, with extra anchovies and mushrooms.' Staring at his clipboard folder in his hand, he rattled off the words.

Stunned silence prevailed.

'Well, yes, but.....'

'Come on, include us. Don't give us any troubles.' The mountain-man began tucking at his arm again - a symbol of his impatience.

'Leggo of me - I 'aven't done anything!'

Nigel's cry now sounds a bit more desperate.

Staring at his clip board folder, the scientist eagerly continues:

'You've ordered this from an outlet called Pizza Paradise - did you not? Then you fed your cat - did you not? Also, you rang your friend Alfredo, inviting him for the evening?'

The last sentence was shouted with disgust.

In the background, the tv screen anchorman began to talk right into a microphone, explaining to his unseen viewers this fun new technology, with the eager face of a specialist and an uneasy stomach because he was not sure what exactly he was talking about.

Standing on a nature strip, he notices that was not the one thing he was standing on. Don't people have confidence in picking up after their dogs?

Now the policeman gets into the act: 'You have a brother called Arthur who lives in England. And a cousin in Townsville, called Edward, - right? As well as your car number is ......' Raising his voice in triumph he finishes:

'Your ex-wife will arrive at any time now, attempt to take custody of the dog, leaving you with the cat. And then it'll happen!'

He nodded at the increasing number of spectators. Justice is being done - everybody can see this!

A fresh person, female, approaches the crowd. She actually is somewhat dowdily dressed, with a headscarf and showing an expertly method of pushing and shoving her way into the crowd and through it.

Nearly reaching Nigel, she nods at him.

'Stop! Where do you thing you are going? And that are you anyway?' The policeman organized a meaty hand with sausage fingers.

'Let me through, I must see Nigel!'

The detective tried to convey a fact:

'So, you're Emilia Prattlelot, the ex-wife?'

The gathered crowd outside the door stiffens; they look at each other, nodding 'I told you so!' They step back somewhat, aware they are facing a cataclysmic moment.

'No, I am Sally the cleaner! I'm here to pick up my pay for the home cleaning. She looked at Nigel, holding out a hand: 'You promised you should have the eighty-five dollars for me personally.....'

Nigel gasped: 'Of course, Sally, eighty five-dollars did you say? No issue! Reaching into his back pocket he produced his wallet and carefully counts out the money into her upheld palm.

Staring at the money piling-up in her hand, she readily gives information to the questions. Yes, she comes regularly and this afternoon is her pay-day.

Great consternation is spreading and the authorities suddenly look deeply wounded: It is supposed to be the time of murder!
There are frantic phone calls to the police head offices and phones are ringing in reply, backwards and forwards.

'Thanks, Nigel, see you soon!' Sally disappears with exactly the same quantity of determination she was included with, but this time having an added touch of triumph.

For reasons uknown the group of police are looking pale and stunned. The scientist staring into his clipboard folder was suddenly red-faced, the authorities crowded around him, all attempting to look knowingly.

'There is no reference to a Sally!' The geek with the thick glasses seems to have his eyes protruding like on stalks.
'The wife isn't here, but a cleaning woman arises.....'

First, a murmur undergoes the crowd, a sort of rebellion starts spreading. Mumbling first disappointment, then loud sounds of dissatisfaction concerning the police generally and the law begins to be aired.

The television team hurriedly pack-up their various equipment with downcast expressions whilst their bus driver starts the engine. Now, they have no story to report!

Folks are walking away, disgusted and everywhere, having been cheated out of a real drama.

The people of regulations are still making frantic phone calls with their head offices, especially with their computer department.
'Goggle-eyes' stares at his mobile as though he cannot believe what he's just heard, Fatso tries to crush his phone in his meaty hand and the bulldog's blood-shot eyes keep staring in disbelief at the scientist's computer readout.

But after a while they, too, withdraw, making their exit with a final glare at Nigel: 'We will undoubtedly be back,' their looks seem to say.

Everybody withdraws - the brand new, crime-predicting, computer has made a blunder!

Leaving Nigel standing outside his door, alone and scratching his head. Shrugging his shoulders he murmurs:
'Who the hell is Sally?'

PETER FREDERICK

[http://www.life-on-the-road.com]

[email protected]

For most of his working life, Peter was a commercial traveler, driving across Australia's countryside, needing to deal with many hilarious situations and some mellow moments. Now, he could be authoring them in his books. Peter Frederick invites the reader to visit him on his website to find out more about his publications..
Website: https://diigo.com/0skc0v