The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1676 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Nowhere within Portsmouth is actually very far from anywhere else in the city, however, traffic congestion can be a factor in trying to get from one place to another. Now you’d think that on Easter Sunday, and with all the main shops closed, there’d be little reason for roads to be congested. But they were, possibly would be shoppers were exercising their mono-neurons, and didn’t realise the shops would be closed–or they’re out for some other reason which I don’t know about–rolling Easter Bunnies?

Finally we got near Fratton Park, and began to cruise the streets–I hope no one thinks we are actually cruising, then again if we get out and walk, we’re likely to get mugged or arrested for soliciting. Yeah, it’s that kind of area, along with the commercial units and rundown housing, the night workers are another attraction, I don’t think.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and I just remembered I’d left the joint in the oven. Oh well, it should be cooked by the time we get home. I spotted someone who looked like a younger version of the white kid who’d wanted to stab me. He was coming out of a house and slouching his way down the road. I’ve seen woodlice with better posture than he had. He must have been all of thirteen or fourteen but was almost as large as my assailant, so he could be a younger sibling.

Simon agreed he could be family, especially as he was carrying a bottle of lager from which he took regular swallows. On finishing it he tossed it over his shoulder and walked on, oblivious to its smashing behind him. As a cyclist, I wanted to scoop it all up and shove it into his underpants and invite him to ride a bike for a few miles. We stopped the car and watched him. He lit a fag, throwing the empty packet in the street. I heartily disliked this kid, even though I didn’t even know his name.

“Well that’s at least four offences,” observed my driver.

“Is it?” I replied absently, I was too busy hating this kid to want to talk about him.

“Yeah, underage drinking, underage smoking, litter and creating a hazard for other pedestrians or dog walkers.”

“And cyclists,” I muttered.

“Cyclists don’t usually walk dogs.”

“I’m well aware of that, Si, but they do get punctures from broken glass created by arseholes like him.”

“You don’t think he’s the apotheosis of English youth, then?”

“No, and I’m feeling very Scottish at this moment, if that’s the case.”

“Know the feeling, Babes. ’Ello, who’s this?” Another youth appeared and they talked for a while before walking off together and entered a house about fifty yards further on. Simon spotted a parking place about twenty five yards away from the house. He took the car there.

“You realise we could be accused of stalking?” I muttered.

“Yeah, would you prefer to be done for something else or go home or what?”

“No, but I just thought I’d best say it.”

“You can stand around on a street corner if you like, but I suspect that would be even more problematic.”

“Um–yeah, okay. Look out they’re headed our way.” The two youths left the house and our first target, shoved something in his pocket. “Drugs?”

“I doubt it’s dolly mixtures. Let him go, let’s keep a watch for a bit longer, then if anyone does the same, shows they’ve bought something there, we’ll call the cops, okay?”

To my astonishment, two doors further on a door opened and out stepped Leon. He was casually dressed but his hair was shorter–he is in the services now, or he was the last time I heard. Moments later a girl came out and trotted after him. The way she draped herself round him, it would seem they were an item.

Now, do I tell Julie or not?

Leon and the girl walked on and fairly quickly were lost to our sight, however a car pulled up outside the house and a man got out, went into the house and a few minutes later came out shoving something in his pocket. I noted the time and his car registration.

I pulled out my phone. “What’re you doing?”

“Calling the police.”

“We have no evidence.”

“We’ve seen two or three people come out and shove something into a pocket. It’s got to be drugs.”

“What if it’s their hankies?”

“Oh sure.”

“It’s either a brothel or a drug den.”

“They’re bloody quick if it’s a brothel.”

“He might have been a premmie.”

“A what?”

“A premature ejaculator.”

“I hope no one is listening to our conversation,” Simon looked as if he was blushing slightly. If we weren’t needing to stay alert, I’d have teased him about it.

A black man with dreadlocks went into the house and five minutes later was back on the street and definitely shoving a little white bag or envelope into his pocket.

“Another premmie?” asked Simon and it was my turn to blush.

“Do they do condoms in white packs then?”

“How would I know?”

“You’re more likely to buy them than I.”

“What for? You’re hardly needing contraception are you?”

I asked for that and kept silence. A large black BMW pulled up behind us and two black men got out and began to walk down either side of our car. Simon started it in gear and they jumped back, he started the engine and we screamed away with them yelling curses at us.

“That was a bit too close for comfort,” he said with a hint of relief in his voice. He drove about for several minutes and I called the police.

“How d’you know it’s a drug dealer?” asked the person on the police end of the phone.

“We saw several persons come out and shove a little white packet in their pockets. They were only in the house for a matter of a few minutes. I have times and a brief description of each.”

“What are you doing watching a house anyway?”

“I happened to be in the street having dropped off a young person I know at his girlfriend’s house.”

“And who would that be?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see why that’s relevant and as he’s in the armed services, I don’t think he’d want to be involved with a police investigation.”

“I see, Mrs Cameron, so what would you like us to do?”

“Raid the place, it’s obviously someone dealing from there.”

“We can’t just raid it, we need warrants and for that we need much more evidence.”

“How about the two black guys who were going to attack us?”

“You said they walked down either side of the car, perhaps they were going to see their girlfriends too, like your young friend?”

“There was an element of menace in the way they approached us.”

“Pure speculation, I’m afraid.”

“Sorry, next time I’ll wait until they smash the windows of the car and shoot or stab us.”

“That would be evidence, Mrs Cameron.”

“You already know about this house, don’t you?”

“I can’t tell you that, ma’am.”

“It seems you can’t do anything useful–why do I bother paying taxes and rates?”

“Because it’s a legal requirement, ma’am.”

“Thanks for the advice, we’ll go back and raid it ourselves. I think I can manage to call up half a dozen friends, who’ll be lightly armed with stun grenades and Uzis.”

“I hope you’re joking, madam, I would remind you that this call is being recorded.”

“You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?” I rang off.

“Where now, Lady C? asked my chauffeur.

“Let’s go home.”

“What about James?”

“We could drive round here for the next hour and not see him.”

“This is very true.”

“And I have leg of lamb in the slow oven which needs checking and vegetables need preparing.”

“Now you’re talking,” he said with some enthusiasm and pulled out into the traffic.

As we headed back to the house I suddenly pointed, “There’s James, stop the car.”

“What about the lamb?”

“It’s already dead, James isn’t.”