Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 921 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Hey, bitch, woss in da case?” One of the robbers had noticed my brief case.

“Nothing to interest you,” I retorted, irritated that these idiots were going to make me late home.

“Dat’s fo me ter decide–open it, bitch.” He walked up to me and waved the gun in my face. I should have been scared–for all I knew he was a total psycho–but I wasn’t, I was annoyed, fast moving up to very annoyed.

“Open da case.”

“Say please and I might,” I stood my ground. My hands were still up in the air.

“Don’t get smart wid me,” he poked me none too gently in the midriff. I’d now have a bruise there–this man was beginning to really annoy me.

“Compared to you, the average slow worm looks quick.”

He pulled back the hammers on his gun and aimed it at my face. “Shall I jus’ blow dis priddy face away?”

I shrugged but maintained eye contact–I had to die one day–but somehow didn’t believe it was going to be today. On the other hand his life span was possibly shortening by the moment.

“Woss in da case?”

“Papers–about rodents. I’m an expert on pests–I deal with them–savvy?”

“Yo gonna die, smart ass bitch.”

“We’re all going to, but I think you’ll be dead long before me. The silent alarm has been running for several minutes now–armed police are on their way, with a swat team. If I were you, I’d run like hell.” I told him what I thought, he looked at the manager.

“Is dat true–da alarm–is it runnin’?”

“Probably,” was his response, he was shaking as he spoke. If I was shaking it was with anger.

I tried to weigh things up–I could probably take one of them, which would leave two. Others may be shot by accident or in panic–I’d have to bide my time, also my skirt was probably a bit tight for aiming kicks any higher than his waist.

I was aware no one had come into the bank for several minutes–the police were probably outside already, waiting for them to emerge–evacuating shops nearby and lining up marksmen. I thought I could hear the helicopter, so could our little would-be robber.

Suddenly, the robber at the desk fired his shotgun into the ceiling, blowing a hole in an Edwardian masterpiece–I was incensed. “Here, take the bloody case.” I bent down and picked up the case and swung it upwards against his gun, which went off once again damaging the decor of the bank–however, despite the bang, I continued my swing and caught him in the face. He fell backwards on to the floor and banged his head as he fell with a sickening thud.

The third robber came rushing at me and didn’t see the customer push a chair in his path, he fell over it and I smacked his head with the case–he took no further part in the action. Two women customers, obviously inspired by my act of resistance grabbed at the first robber as he was trying to reload his gun. He pushed them away as I ran straight at him, somersaulted on the floor–which was hard–and kicked him with both feet somewhere near his groin and belly.

He fell over, and another customer an oldish man, kicked him hard as he fell. I managed to jump up and removed the gun from his hand; he was holding his groin and groaning.

“Keep away from the door,” I shouted, “Someone call the police–tell them it’s safe to enter, but we need assistance to keep these thugs safe.”

I noticed the first one attempt to rise and a customer hit him with a chair, quite hard. I hoped he hadn’t killed him.

The video cameras would have recorded much of the action–all I wanted to do was pee and go home. Moments later, armed police stormed into the building and picked up the villains, who were cuffed and dragged away.

“Where did you learn to do all that?” asked the astonished bank manager.

“Learn to do that? I didn’t learn it, that was improvisation–I was just blowed if those morons were going to vandalise a listed building. I hope we’re going to sue them for repairs.”

“Duh?” said the manager.

Amazingly in the confusion, I managed to slip away from the bank–though that horrible robber had broken my thermometer with his face. I knew when I got home that the police would be round to see me and ask stupid questions. It’s what they do, even though they have the film of me doing my version ofDie hard–with attitude. Oh, by the way I have more hair than Bruce Willis but fewer muscles, and I wasn’t in a dirty singlet for several hours. Unfortunately, the bad guys didn’t look like Jeremy Irons or Alan Rickman or I might have been more gentle with them.

Thankfully, we’d finished dinner when a police car followed by a plain car pulled into the drive. I had warned everyone that I’d left a crime scene without permission.

I answered the door, and led the police into the lounge. “Lady Catherine Cameron?”

“I am.”

“I have a warrant for your arrest.”

“On what grounds?”

“Leaving the scene of a crime and removing vital evidence.”

“Evidence–oh my case?”

He nodded.

“You realise that this is going to make you all look rather foolish?”

“I’ll take that risk.” Superintendent Judd, then cautioned me and asked me if I’d come quietly or would they have to use cuffs? I agreed to go quietly, but asked Stella to tell Simon and arrange a barrister immediately.

“Oh if they charge me, I want maximum publicity.”

“Why?”

“I’m fed up with being poked about by people just because they have warrant cards. So some can take early retirement, eh Inspector?” I demoted him just to wind him up.

In the car, he looked me straight in the eye and said coldly, “Look here you stupid woman, just because you’re a toff don’t mean we can’t embarrass you with a criminal record.”

“If you can prove I did anything criminal, go ahead. Oh–by the way, just because you’re a plod doesn’t mean we can’t black list you and foreclose your mortgage.”

He raised his fist at me, but took it down when I invited him to hit me.

There must be loads of decent police out there, how come I seem to meet those who think with their dicks and probably make love with their heads. I accept that I left a crime scene, having rendered it safe with the help of some customers. I hope the bank rewards them–I’ll ask Simon to organise it. I wonder if the bank manager has dried his trousers yet–something was smelling when it was all over.

I was cautioned again and a statement requested. I declined to do anything until a lawyer arrived–he did half an hour later. In front of him I gave a statement and explained why I left the scene of the crime–I had three children to collect, I was already late when I got there.

“Why didn’t you tell us this earlier?” asked the Chief Superintendent.

“No one asked me.”

“You’re like bloody Batgirl, layout the villains and disappear,” he said rolling his eyes, and my solicitor snorted.

“Yeah, but Batgirl makes a getaway without the police finding out who she is.”

“Well, next time wear your outfit.”

“Have you tried finding a telephone box these days?” I replied. At this point my solicitor lost it altogether and convulsed with laughter.

In the end, I was released on condition that I didn’t run away again without informing the police. I agreed on condition that they inform the underworld that I needed to finish bashing them in time to collect my kids.

“If that video ends up on Youtube, I’ll sue,” was my parting shot.