The Old Woman’s Tale.
A Fable.
(Inspired by a close friend).
by Angharad.
She was led through sunlit gardens to a huge mansion, by a being whose countenance could only be described as blissful, not a line on his or her face — the being was of indeterminate sex.
Something that had struck her from the beginning was the light, it was so bright, yet there was no glare, and it warmed rather than burned you like normal sun.
The mansion was sparkling, it was the only word to describe it, made of polished white marble with large windows and wide driveway. Beyond it she could see what looked like a huge vertical structure, but the house obscured its definition.
The gardens seemed to go on for some distance, and were perfectly kept, groomed with loving care, that much was obvious, and birds and insects abounded, no chemicals were used here.
They walked up the drive and then up the steps into the house. The place was buzzing, there were dozens of people there. It was easy to define the staff, they all wore white, those being processed such as the old woman, were in assorted shades of grey, from nearly white to charcoal. Her own was nearer the latter.
Her guide bid her sit and wait until she was called, then left. He or she, didn’t say anything, it seemed to be more a mind thing, but the old woman understood, and thanked her guide who nodded acknowledgement. When she sat down, she noticed a thin pale stripe near the bottom of her robe. “Didn’t see that before,” she said to herself.
She sat and watched the people come and go, her appointment seemed to be taking an eternity, but then, that was no problem, she had nowhere to rush off to.
There seemed to be all colours and creeds of people coming and going. An obviously Islamic woman came and sat next to her, wearing a scarf around her head. The old woman felt uncomfortable and moved up a seat, leaving a space between them. Then glancing at her robe, she noticed there was no pale stripe, so it must have been a trick of the light, if anything her robe seemed darker.
Eventually she was called, and another of those indeterminate beings led her to a door, knocked and was bid enter. It was a huge room, with large floor to ceiling windows. On the white marble floors were scattered thick fleecy rugs and in the centre before a huge desk, was an ornate sculpted rug with delicious abstract patterns which almost sprang to life.
Sitting behind the desk was a small, Negro woman. She rose from her chair and walked around the desk to shake hands with the old woman, and to the elderly visitors horror, she was not only black but was some sort of dwarf, standing no taller than four foot. The old woman towered over her at five foot one inch.
The black dwarf held out her hand and the old woman, with great reluctance took the hand and shook it twice, her skin crawling from the dwarf’s touch.
“Elsie Bagworm, that is you?” said the dwarf sitting in her seat again.
“Yes,” replied the old woman, noticing the dwarf had a step stool to get back to her chair.
“Please do sit,” said the dwarf opening a large file.
Elsie sat and stared at her robe, it seemed even darker. She stared at the golden robe of the ‘darkie’ who sat opposite her, that shone in the wonderful light which perfused the window.
The small dark woman, continued scanning the file, “Sorry this taking so long, but there is quite a lot here. I’ll be ready to start the interview in a moment.”
“Interview?” gasped Elsie.
“Yes, all candidates for entrance have to be interviewed. Didn’t you realise this?”
“No I didn’t, I assumed that….”
“We try and dissuade our applicants from making assumptions, they can be rather misleading.” This was said with an almost perfunctory manner, which made Elsie feel a little angry. She looked down at her robe again, there was a thin red stripe now around the hem. It consumed her interest for several seconds.
“Right are we ready to start then?” asked the small black interviewer.
“I see you are seventy nine?”
“Yes.”
“Were married but your husband passed over twenty years ago?”
“Yes, I was hopin…..”
“Can we stick with the interview criteria please?” asked the interviewer.
Elsie glanced down at her robe, the red strip was thicker, the robe darker. It fascinated her.
“You lived in the same house for fifty five years?”
“Yes, but the neighbourhood had run down, full of bloody Asians and dark…. and gays.”
“You have a problem with different races?”
“No of course not, as long as they keep themselves clean and eat proper food and speak the Queen’s English, which half them Indians can’t do. And as for them gays, it makes me sick… doesn’t it you?”
Elsie noticed the darker robe and the widening red stripe. It was amazing, seemed to grow by itself.
“No it doesn’t,” offered the little dark lady.
“Doesn’t what?” asked Elsie absent mindedly, absorbed watching the robe change.
“Doesn’t make me sick, the diversity of humanity.”
“Oh,” said Elsie.
“I see you were a regular churchgoer.”
“Yes, a Baptist chapel, didn’t get on with them C of E types, gay priests and women bishops whatever next?”
Elsie paused for a moment, “Do you have Baptist chapels here?”
“Not really, no call for them,” answered the small interviewer. “Now, your family, you had a boy and a girl.”
“Yes good kids, tried to bring ‘em up proper too, none of this sparing the rod business.”
“So I see, “ agreed the small black lady, “and five grandchildren, three girls and two boys.”
“Nah that’s wrong,” challenged Elsie.
“Mrs Bagworm, I assure you our information is always correct.”
“No it isn’t, I have three boys and two girls grandkids. Well two of each and that little pervert.”
“It says here that your grandchildren are, Lucy, Jillian, Petra , John and Darren.”
“Petra, the pervert, that should be Peter, he was born Peter and he can bloody die Peter.”
“Is that why you stripped her out of your will?” asked the interviewer.
“Bloody right, sex change operation, silly little queer — how can that ever be a woman, I ask you?”
“From the picture we have, she looks very attractive and is happily married.”
“Bloody nancy-boy, and that creep he lives with, the arse bandit.”
“Do you not think you are being just a little judgemental here?”
“Not at all, why should I accept queers?”
“According to the information we have, all forms of human expression are equal in the eyes of God. They are also probably largely genetically influenced, but we don’t do the science here, just the human side of how people cope and act.”
“I don’t have to accept it,” Elsie huffed, and noticed the robe was now nearly black and the stripe had been joined by another around her waist.
“I have to caution you about using the term acceptance.” Said the interviewer.
Bah! Thought Elsie.
“According to this, your passing was in a shopping centre, a heart attack brought on by shouting at someone begging.”
“I don’t remember,” said Elsie.
“We have it here in detail. The black paramedic who responded tried CPR and defibrillation, but in vain.”
“What’s that? CP whatever?”
“Cardio pulmonary resuscitation, the kiss of life they used to call it,” said the interviewer smiling.
“What some black bast….erm, bloke kissed me!” Gasped Elsie, no wonder I died, shock I expect. I’m going to complain.”
“So you don’t accept someone’s efforts to help you?”
“Accept that, no chance,” declared Elsie.
“I’m afraid, we have to say the same. There is no chance of our acceptance of you as a candidate at this time, you may reapply when you have considered your life for a bit longer.”
“What? Who the hell are you to tell me what I can or cannot do?” said Elsie loudly and aggressively.
“I’m afraid this interview is at an end.”
“Don’t you mess with me short-arse! I demand to see St Peter.”
“I’m afraid you can’t.”
“Why not, he’s supposed to be outside the pearly gates to let me in?”
“He’s much too busy to see you, these days his team deal with those who have been damaged by people like you.”
“I never hurt no one?” said Elsie feeling a hurt indignation.
“Didn’t you? What about all the times you said dreadful things to others which were completely unjustified, the way you treated your granddaughter Petra, who you’ll be pleased to know was given a share of your estate by the other grand children. Even the way you died, ranting and raving at someone who was worse off than you.”
“He annoyed me?”
He said nothing, he merely held up a card which said, ‘Hungry and Homeless’.”
“They’re all liars.”
“No he wasn’t, he was one of our researchers doing an undercover job, and he was hungry and homeless. He’s back here now, shocked by your behaviour.”
“Oh!” Elsie paused for a moment, “Serves him right, probably queer or a junky.”
The interviewer shook her head, “Someone will be along in a moment to show you where to go.”
“Dunno if I’ll go with them,” declared Elsie.
“Oh you will, they have Baptist chapels and they play bingo every afternoon.”
==============================================================
Not my usual stuff, see what ya think? Sorry don't do subtlety. Comments to the usual place.
The Recoverer.
by
Angharad.
I suppose I should be used to it, being mistaken for a woman. Sometimes it's embarrassing, sometimes amusing and occasionally it leads to violence. I have taken some training to defend myself, based on Baritsu, which was used by Sherlock Holmes, which if you recall involved a mix of boxing, cane fighting and ju-jitsu. The sort I did is more based on karate, kick-boxing and a bit I suppose of judo, but is designed to use an opponent's weight, movement and actions against them which many martial arts do. Just think of throws in judo and most are designed to unbalance an opponent and with minimum effort throw them over a hip or less used, a stomach throw. I once put a bloke that attacked me through a plate glass window and left him there to explain to the police why he was lying in amongst the soft furnishings and groaning. I walked away with minimal injury.
I learned how to use the environment as a resource, to always keep my back to a wall or immovable object, how to use objects I could lift or swing or throw, like fire extinguishers, or portable furniture. I have also stabbed someone with their own knife, and hit someone on the head with their own gun. I decided, I didn't want a manslaughter charge against me or worse, a murder one. I was tempted to shove it up his rectum after I knocked him down, but threw it in a river instead having removed my fingerprints.
My work is a free-lance recoverer of stolen objects, usually employed by insurance companies but occasionally by collectors or by previous owners from whom an object was stolen. It's usually Objet d'art, jewellery, gemstones, documents, manuscripts and other valuables. I have recovered stolen paintings and once a vintage Rolls Royce and super valuable Ferrari but this latest object was a first - a child, a real life one not a statuette. The parent was a rather wealthy man and the child had been kidnapped.
"You are Adam Bright?"
"I am." He regarded me doubtfully, my longish fair hair, my slight figure and fine features. Hence the mistaken for woman comment earlier.
"Are you sure you are up this physically? The people who abducted my daughter, Sophie, are quite physical, one of her so-called protectors, is still in hospital."
"I can look after myself most of the time, so unless they're in large numbers and huge, with guns or large knives, I usually give a good account of myself, and the fact that I am small and rather spindly looking gives me the advantage of surprise as many opponents have discovered."
"But you look like a young woman."
"I had an illness that affected my development as a man, but it hasn't held me back, my mind is quite sharp and my body disguises just how physical I can get, as one or two men have found out." He seemed to relax a little but maintained a dubious appearance.
"I'm expecting a ransom demand, it's a day or so since she was abducted. The money's not important, I can get that back eventually, but my daughter is priceless."
"Exactly when was she abducted?" I asked wanting to examine the site myself in case they left any clues.
"Yesterday, going to school."
"Damn, they have a whole day's lead on us, how old is Sophie?"
"Nine, it was her birthday about a month ago." He said showing me a photograph of his missing daughter, she was a pretty little thing.
"Why aren't you talking to the police?" I asked him.
"They said if I did, they'd kill her." He swallowed and his eyes moistened. I was seeing a side of the richest man in Britain that very few ever saw, he was usually seen as unemotional but this man was showing me he actually cared about this young woman.
"What sort of ransom would you pay?" I expected a pile of money, preferably in small denominations like insurance companies pay for objects of value.
"Whatever it takes."
"You realise my fee goes up depending on the value of the object that I try to reclaim."
"She isn't an object, she's a little girl; my wife has had to be sedated, she's going mad."
"I'm sorry," I said and genuinely felt their loss and anxiety, more than I usually did.
"Just find her, you can name your price afterwards." He turned to go, leaving me with his flunky to fill in the details. We drove to the entrance to the school, it made most others I'd visited look cheap and cheerful. The man went through what had happened according to the reports made by the two body guards, one being unconscious in hospital. They were confronted by a group of thugs who stopped the car and shoved a jack under the front wheels as quickly as an F1 pit team do it. A noxious gas was fed into the air vents and the men in the car had to open the door to breathe, once they opened the door, it was soon over, with Sophie having succumbed to the gas being removed to a waiting car. It all took about two minutes from start to finish.
It was obviously a professional job, I was half surprised that the body guards hadn't been killed. However, according to their report, the group of attackers wore masks and said nothing to each other, so it was almost certainly well rehearsed. I wanted to speak to the bodyguards involved, but one was still unconscious in hospital and the other was still shocked by the speed and cold-blooded way that the hit had been carried out.
I examined the site, all that we could see was a mark in the road where they had positioned the jack under the limo which was heavy and bullet proof; seems nobody had thought of gas in the air inlets, except the abductors. Once they had Sophie, they were off in seconds. I had to keep thinking of her name to remind myself that I was dealing with a little girl, a commodity which was perishable and for all I knew, she could be already dead.
I got them to take the car to a private forensic firm that I used from time to time, they were as good as anything the Metropolitan Police had and they would go over the car with a toothcomb and quickly.
I told the flunky I had more questions after visiting the site of the attack and seeing the car. He told me that Sir Louis, the girl's father would call me tomorrow to get a progress report. What does he think I am, a magician? My job involves seeing clues others don't, being plugged into a very good information network and perhaps putting myself in the place of the people I am pursuing or their mindset; what would I do next if I had just stolen...someone's daughter. Nah, it didn't work. I mean I don't know anything about children. I mean I can't father any, so what woman is interested in a weed like me, albeit a carnivorous one.
I returned to my office and began running down possible leads. The most obvious was the jack. It wasn't a normal garage one. I got my researcher checking where racing teams get theirs, and a list of customers who had recently bought one. They weren't cheap and usually only bought by racing teams where time is so important in pit stops.
My researcher Mike, went home at eight o'clock and I had a microwaved jacket potato with some salad and grated cheese. Then I went back to my desk as the preliminary report from the lab came in. I'd also had the clothes worn by the bodyguards analyzed for alien DNA and any fibres. Having taken samples of DNA from the guards, even the one in hospital - that took us a while to get the hospital to agree. I had to go and plead for them to allow us run a swab over the inside of the cheek on the unconscious man, I had to tell them that a little girl's life may depend on it. An hour later we had our swab and the lab I use could do their examination of the clothing.
I was amazed at how much they could tell me about the paintwork of the Mercedes they'd attacked and the scrapings from the jack. They were only made in this country where I learned most of the F1 equipment was made and used, all a few miles from Oxford and the White Horse of Uffington, in the opposite direction.
I slept for a few hours in my office and showered there. I always kept fresh clothes there although much of the time I wore jeans, a polo shirt and when cool a sweat shirt or sweater. I didn't need to shave, the virus that destroyed my testicles also meant I had little or no testosterone and my testicles were subsequently removed in case they became cancerous. I was agonadal and had occasional shots of androgens but never enough to make me masculine looking and I sometimes had oestrogen to keep me looking young and keep my hair thick and my body hair minimal. It also helped when I occasionally cross-dressed in the line of my work.
Because I wasn't subject to the ravages of androgens, my body produced so little quantity after my illness, my hips were much broader than most men and my shoulders and stature remained smaller than average. I had my mother to thank for that, she didn't want my body full of all sorts of drugs, so my body became semi-female. At the time it was an embarrassment and I got called lots of names and picked on by bullies but after one such beating, I decided to learn self-defence. It took a few months to get the basics because I wasn't as strong as most boys after puberty, but I learnt how to use my environment to my advantage. The boy who beat and humiliated me ended up eating the biggest part of his physics textbook and losing a few teeth in the process. No one saw it and believed a weed like me, girly-boy could inflict such damage. I was lucky, if they had spotted my locker door had the outline of Smith's forehead and face, I could have been expelled or charged with assault. Amazingly the bullying stopped and Smith's parents withdrew him because they felt he was no longer safe there until the gang that attacked him was caught. I did smile a bit about that.
I had called a teacher when Smith lost consciousness, well he had banged his head on the floor a few times as I was stuffing the textbook down his throat, while telling him to digest the chapter on force. He'd tried it on at my locker, usually I just stood there and told him to leave me alone, this time, I let my training take over, whispered something to him and when he stooped down to listen, I grabbed his tie and hit his face and head a few times with my locker door, I then kicked his legs from under him and he smacked his head on the floor. I opened his bag pulled out the textbook and bashed him a few times and began feeding its pages to him. I wore latex gloves and then removed them before I got him help. Brute force may win some encounters but intelligent force and surprise wins more of them.
The school got cctv in the corridors after my revenge attack, but I was never troubled thereafter. I had used my form of self-defence since several times, once or twice while wearing a skirt, which gave me the advantage of surprise, so they didn't know what had hit 'em before I won the encounter. In one, my high heeled shoe got kicked into someone's crotch, as he has shoved me into a chair and then advanced towards me. I suspect he may have needed surgery after, but he started it. I was undercover at the time and we heard later that someone had employed a female assassin and she beat him up. It was just me, girlyboy, who was using her training to keep herself safe.
Back to the lab results, we had some DNA, the guard who hadn't been knocked out did manage to hit one of his attackers. There was a minute drop of blood on his clothing. My lab found it and through various intermediaries we got a result from the police data base, we now had a name, though we still had to find him, as he wasn't likely to be at home. He'd be hopefully entertaining a little girl and if we did get him I suspect Sophie's father might make his future relatively short.
I contacted a detective inspector I knew, he tolerated my actions because I usually invited him to make arrests for which he got some kudos and I also contributed to several police charities when he helped me and I got as good a fee. I mean twenty per cent of a few million means my tax bill pays off the national debt, or feels like it. I always make my donations before tax, so I'm not entirely stupid and have a good accountant.
"Hi, Steve, what can you tell me about Philip Larkin?"
"He's a poet, Adam, used to be a librarian at somewhere like Hull."
"Not that Philip Larkin, but Philip Reginald Larkin?"
"This for a case?"
"No, he asked me to marry him, of course it's for a case, an urgent one."
"They always are with you."
"You do alright from them." I heard him typing and pause as he read the screen.
"The other Philip Larkin, is probably nicer."
"He's dead, Steve."
"It's pity this one isn't, he's a nasty piece of work, form as long as your arm."
"Where does he live I'd like to have a word with him."
"So would we, he's involved in one of our current cases. Let me know if you find him, his wife lives at number 25 Millpond Lane, Fenchurch."
"Thanks, if I find him I shall let you know."
"She has a record too, receiving stolen property, perjury and assaulting a police officer. If she thinks you're helping us she will be evasive if not violent." I thanked him and decided a disguise may make things easier, so I changed in my bedroom, donned some makeup, added some lingerie, put my hair in a pony tail and wore a skirt suit. I slipped on some heels and after a spritz of perfume went through my office and collected a few things including my handbag.
"Oh hi, Eve," said Mike my researcher, "The jack's components are made in Germany but imported by Hargreaves and Hampshire, I've tried phoning them but they're not answering." He'd seen me dressed as woman dozens of time, in fact he'd escorted me a few times when I was impersonating someone at a social occasion.
"Keep trying, someone supplied it and it wasn't a normal retailer. I'm off to see a villain's wife to see if she knows where he is and if he wants to buy any insurance or if she does."
"Okay, good luck," he smiled at me. The first time we met he thought I was a woman, I suppose I can look the part and my voice never broke and I enjoyed playing him along. He wanted Adam for a job interview and I was going out to do some undercover work. To be truthful, I 'd forgotten he was coming. Instead of an interview I put him to work to find out all he could about someone I was investigating for insurance fraud. I disappeared for two hours and he'd discovered loads, so he got the job and also a surprise when he discovered who I really was.
I dashed off to Mrs Myrtle Larkin in Fenchurch. As I hadn't checked before I didn't even know if she was in. If she wasn't I'd call on neighbours and tell them he was suspected of insurance fraud, which was a porkie, but I'd show them I was bona fide insurance investigator. I had ID in both sexes just in case.
I was surprised when she answered the door wreathed in a cloud of cigarette smoke. She was in her forties but I suspect if she stopped smoking, she'd look younger. "Hello, my name is Eve Bright and I'm looking for Mr Larkin."
"He ain't 'ere," she said and went to slam the door.
"Oh dear," I whimpered, "my last client was out too, I'll never make any commission at this rate."
She hesitated in closing the door. "What yer selling?"
"Insurance, life insurance mainly, but my office had a query for me to see if I could encourage him to take out a policy. I get a fee if they send you an information package, we give quite good rates to spouses if the insured should die."
"Weren't me luv, haven't seen Phil for a few weeks but if he had been 'ere a pretty little thing like you could have sold 'im the pyramids, he's push over fro a pretty face."
"Oh dear," I pretended to be distressed. "Could I ask you to receive a policy package, it would mean a lot to me?"
"Go on then, I won't buy nuffin' but at least you'll get somefin'."
"Oh thank you, " I virtually grovelled to her, got her name and would arrange for the insurance company to send her an invitation to buy a policy. Seeing as I worked for them recovering stolen property, they played along with me as they knew I used them as a cover, they were also aware of Eve, my alter ego but were very discreet about it.
After she'd gone back in I knocked on a few doors to see if anyone knew anything of Larkin's whereabouts saying I was investigating an insurance fraud. No one said anything useful except one middle-aged woman who said it wouldn't surprise her if he was because he was a wrong 'un.
I called in the pub on the corner of the street. DI Harris had sent me a photo of the man, so I asked if anyone knew where he was, as I had an insurance payout for him. No one said they recognised him but as I was leaving a man who looked as shifty as they come told me to try a pub a mile or two away, called the Nag's Head, as someone may know where he was, there.
It was lunch time and I ordered a tuna roll from the bar. As soon as I started sipping my coffee a mid-thirties bloke started to chat me up. I'm used to it and know how to send them packing but thought I'd see if he knew Larkin.
"'Ello, darlin', no one to talk to?"
"I'm just waiting for my lunch, so I'm not looking for conversation," I smiled and shrugged and he started to slope off. "Oh, I'm looking for a Mr Philip Larkin."
"What d'you want 'im for?"
"I'm working for an insurance company and he's claimed some money for a damaged carpet, I have a cheque for him."
"I think I know who you want, I'll tell 'im if I sees 'im." I gave him a card with a mobile number.
"Please do, here's my number." I ate my roll and left quite rapidly after I hate these chat up creeps, they all think they're attractive to young women but they are anything but. I went to the ladies and washed my hands where he'd touched me accepting my business card.
I went back to my office and spoke to Mike. "Anything new?"
"Sorry, boss. I've at last made contact with the jack importers but they said they only sell to various racing teams and not to private individuals. So I rang all the teams again and asked if they'd lost a jack. Apparently, Jaguar had one stolen two weeks ago."
"Good work, where are they based?"
"East Hanney, near Wantage."
He passed over a sheet with the address and looked for a phone number. I picked up the phone and dialled, well I didn't as it's all pushbutton these days, but I rang the company.
"Hello Jaguar Racing, can I help you."
"Hello, I'm Eve Bright, did you have a racing jack stolen recently."
"I'll pass you through to my boss, Mr Carmichael, hold on."
"Carmichael," said an obviously male voice.
"Hello, I'm Eve Bright, an insurance investigator, we believe you have recently had a racing jack stolen."
"We have but I don't know if we have claimed for it yet, sort of on the 'to do' pile, you know?"
"Yes, I know the feeling," I said and chuckled then realised it was a serious matter and stopped, "the reason I'm phoning is we believe it may have been used in a serious crime a couple of days ago."
"Oh, so why aren't the police calling me?"
"We liaise with the police, especially New Scotland Yard, and keep them fully appraised of any information we obtain."
"I don't see how our jack could be used in a crime, but yes we have lost one, have you found it."
"If we do we shall let you know or ask the police to notify you, but from what I understand the jack featured in the crime."
"Good Lord, well I never. Thanks for letting me know, Miss Bright, did you say?"
"Sounds like it's their jack," I said and congratulated Mike.
"Hello?" he said, "Looks like they've found it. They've packed it off to the lab without adding to the finger prints."
"Oh good, they may be able to say where it's been." It was heading for the evening and we both did a few more hour's work before I suggested we eat and cooked a meal in the kitchen behind my office. Really, cooking was an exaggeration as I had cooked last week and added a few veg to a frozen casserole. We ate and went back to our work.
"Eve Bright," I answered my mobile.
"Oh, yeah, I seen Larkin in the pub, 'e don't know nuffin' about any carpet, so who are you?"
"I'm who I said I was, may be his wife put in the claim. I'll go and see her tomorrow." I rang off, he might not have been as stupid as he looked.
"C'mon," I said to Mike. "We could have a stake out,to put something warm on."
"You going like that?"
"Why what's wrong with it?"
"Nothing, are you wearing a coat?"
"You can drive, I'll check my makeup as we go." We drove to the pub and I sent Mike in to look at the clientele. He came out with a soft drink for me and a can of beer for himself. We sat down and waited, the photo of Larkin on the dash board.
It was dark and we were getting sleepy when suddenly the doors of the car were ripped open and we were dragged out. It was quite a shock and Mike was punched and he fell by the side of the car. "Don't hit me," I whimpered while taking stock of my predicament. They were big blokes and I appeared as an average woman.
"What d'you want wiv me?" Larking stood before me. I needed to detain him. He was big and without some clever moves he was going to flatten me. Mike was groaning from the other side of the car. Larkin went to kick him and I had to stop him.
"Please don't hurt him, he only came because I asked him to."
"Get talkin' bitch or he's gonna get beat up somefin' awful."
"Okay, okay. I have a cheque in my handbag for you for the cost of a carpet, that's all I know."
"So why was yer stakin' out the pub."
"I had a phone call from a bloke who said he'd seen you."
"So what's special about this 'ere carpet?"
"I get half the amount as commission once you sign the form."
"It must be worth a bit then, but I 'aven't claimed for no carpet."
"The envelope is in my handbag. Can I get it?"
"No tricks now," he warned.
"Well you can grab it for me," I smiled. There's one born every minute. He reached in and I shut the car door on him, quite hard, I then punched him on the back of his neck, as his friend came to help, I opened the car door and caught him with it. He stopped with shock and I elbowed him in the face and finished with a chop to his throat. The other man who'd been going to kick Mike came rushing at me and I turned grabbed his jacket and threw him over my hip he landed quite hard on the road banging his head.
I began tying their wrists with cable ties. Mike stood up groaning and asked if I needed any help. I called Steve Harris and he promised to come quickly. He did - fifteen minutes and we saw two police cars flashing blues and twos as they approached us.
"You realise you could be done for false imprisonment?"
"I was just detaining them until you got here." We all went off to the local nick and I explained that we were pretty sure they were involved in the abduction of Sophie.
Steve's demeanour changed immediately. "Why didn't you tell us immediately, there's a little girl's life at stake?"
"I wanted to but Sir Louis was adamant, they had told him no police."
I phoned the lab and Larkin and one of the others had left dabs all over the jack they'd stolen. Under ferocious interrogation, the other man cracked and said where the girl was. I insisted on going with Steve to see if she was there.
We had a little trouble with another thug but Steve had decked him before I could blink. They had her in a boarded up shop and as soon as we got in I went to gather her in a huge hug. She burst into tears calling for her mother. I sat in the back of the car and cuddled her until we got back to the nick where she was examined by a lady police surgeon. Thankfully, she was physically okay, but very shocked. Her parents came to collect her and Sir Louis looked oddly at me. "That lady rescued me from the nasty men," offered Sophie and Lady Martin, thanked me and shook my hand.
Sir Louis beckoned me to speak with him. "No wonder you look androgynous it means you can impersonate a woman quite easily. Well thank you, um..."
"Eve Bright, Sir Louis."
"Name your price, um Eve."
"I shall send you my account plus expenses."
"I'll pay it within the day," he said and kissed me on the cheek.
"Well that's got to be a new experience, a kiss from the country's richest bloke," said Steve and we all laughed. He'll get the credit, I'll get a nice fat fee and the police charity will get a decent donation. I'm just glad we managed to save the little girl before anything else happened. I also saw in the diary I was due a hormone shot. This time I'd have oestrogen, I quite like dressing as Eve, this time it worked out well and the look on the thugs faces when they saw me in the police station was priceless.
The End.
The Recoverer (2).
by
Angharad.
Following the successful recovery of Sir Louis' daughter, his gratitude meant that he doubled my fee which I had already priced at an exorbitant rate. Perhaps, he recovered it from the firm that was supposed to be guarding her, or perhaps his guilty conscience triggered it, or even his wife nagging him. I didn't really care, he paid over the odds so my donation to a police charity was generous too, It helped keep the plod on side. So my relative generosity, and my success rate enhanced my reputation. I had been offered jobs abroad but I didn't have the same degree of support from various sources that I had in Britain, though I had had to go to both France and Germany to clear up the odd case.
On a personal level, I had taken several courses of oestrogen and was now possessed a small but very lovely pair of breasts. It just made dressing as a male a little awkward at times. When doing so I wore a sports bra and looser tops with a jacket. It was a pain but necessary at times. I had my own personal gym in the basement and used it most days trying to maintain my strength while keeping musculature down, making me fit but not masculine as I wanted to maintain an attractive female figure.
I had bought myself a new dress and coat from the generosity of Sir Louis both designed by Vera Wang and of course shoes and a bag as well. I got a few comments from Mike but generally he ignores which of me he works with, not speaking until he sees which edition is present. Of late, it's been more Eve than Adam.
I've spoken to my doctor about doing something with a certain appendage that I no longer use. He thought I meant having surgery but I told him not at the moment but I would like it better disguised and out of the way. He phoned a friend while I was there to make an appointment to discuss the options. When he had given me the appointment he informed me that his friend was a plastic surgeon, and very good one. My appointment was next week because I was going privately and my GP told me that he was off to the States soon and to count myself lucky he was seeing me at all.
We were working on several small cases which kept us busy but I felt no great incentive to work on them because they were boring; they were mostly for insurance companies, and concerned jewellery thefts. I had been around most of the fences who handle such property and let them know if it came to them, I was interested.
I had worn a suit, a skirt suit while doing this as the items were women's jewels that had been stolen, frequently from nice houses with safes and alarm systems to protect them but which hadn't been up to scratch. The police were investigating but seemed even less interested than I. With so much violence about they decided that baubles purloined from the wealthy were best left to others to investigate and some of that came our way led mainly by insurers trying to recoup their losses.
I had a good network of information from the police and forces of so-called law and order to fences and other handlers of stolen valuables and most of them were familiar with my company and our reputation. In fact, the day I went to see the plastic surgeon I had received a call from a thief who offered me some stolen jewellery at twenty five per cent of their stated value. I just had to inspect the items and see my surgeon as they were both in the same area of town.
I had learned that I don't do business in hotel rooms unless it is one of the public rooms. The bad guys can be violent and while I can usually handle it, the first time I did it I had a gun pulled on me, an experience I didn't want to repeat. Some of the thieves are professionals and are realistic about values of things and that I need to have a cut as well, in acting as the middleman to whom they and the insurance companies were slightly beholden. I have learned negotiating skills and the ability to tell a fake from the real thing. In fact, I was trying to make it harder to tell me from a cis-woman for which I was seeing this bloke in an hour, so I didn't need any aggro before it.
The thief was largely unknown to me but had called me on spec, as my reputation went before me. He demanded more than the item was worth to me and after a very excited discussion, I turned him down telling him I couldn't work within the parameters he'd tried to set, so to try someone else. He lost it and threw a punch at me. I was nicely dressed and didn't want to break a nail extension or ladder my stockings. I stepped inside his punch, smacked the heel of my hand under his jaw and pushed him backwards over a coffee table. He went flying and I went out the door after collecting my handbag, brushed myself down checked my hair and makeup in the ladies' loo and went to my appointment.
The doctor was charming and for what he was charging I think it went on the bill. I have mentioned before that I am agonadal and he gave me two options but not to take too much time as my sac was shrinking, I had declined plastic testicles. His options were - using surgical adhesive to wrap the sac around my member and glue it in place, it could come undone eventually and fall apart or to have him wrap my member again but to stitch the skin around it, giving me what resembled an artificial pudenda with labia created by the excess skin.
"I don't know why you aren't going for a complete rebuild with vagina and clitoris, you certainly make a rather attractive woman."
"It suits me to still call myself a man at times, admittedly, not as often," I replied and he shrugged.
"If ever you change your mind I have a colleague who will do a super job for you and I know a psychiatrist who'll help too, you really make a very pretty women, Mr Bright."
I opted for the stitch up job which he would do on Saturday, it was still costing megabucks but I dreaded to think what a full vaginoplasty plus clit would cost; he didn't do those but he could enhance my boobs or facial features. I thanked him and left, I didn't want big boobs or facial surgery. In fact, I thought he was a creep, but he came very highly recommended by my GP, so I accepted the appointment. I had to see about removing all my pubic hair as a hygiene precursor and I drove home shuddering to think about the discomfort of stitches surrounding a place that within days would be like a hedgehog, even though I didn't have much pubic hair to begin with.
I told Mike about my fracas in the hotel and that I'd hit the bloke after he tried to hit me. I left him sprawled in the coffee lounge and walked out. "You're getting slap happy for a woman."
"He started it and if he had connected I might have had a black eye or lost some teeth, so I didn't give him a second chance. The look on his face when my hand connected with his jaw, was something else. Anyway he wanted too much for what he was offering and I didn't see any of it to value, so he was pushing his luck. Where has all the 'honour amongst thieves' gone?"
"I think that ended back in the fifties and sixties, boss lady." Mike commented.
"I wasn't born then and I'm sure I've met nicer villains who want to negotiate. Oh, I'm busy on Saturday so don't commit me."
"I wouldn't dream of committing you boss, you may be weird but I don't think you're mad."
"Remind me to cancel your latest bonus." I threw at him as I went to change into something more comfortable, my shoes were starting to pinch. I changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, although both were women's clothes because my body shape would look silly particularly in men's jeans. In short, the hormones I'd taken over the last few months gave me a rather large arse - I wasn't complaining. Together with the disguise in my crotch, my lower body looked decidedly female. That evening, I wondered if I should go the whole hog and have the full surgery, but then I'd be out of action for a few weeks and the pressure of business would have prevented me doing so, I pushed it to the back of my mind.
For the previous two weeks I had worn skirts or dresses and done most of my business on the phone. I have already said that my voice has never broken and during one conversation with an insurer I was told to get my boss to speak to him because I was obviously his secretary. My initial reaction was to call him all sorts of unflattering names, male chauvinist arsehole, being the least offensive, instead I calmed down or chilled and told him in no uncertain terms that I was the boss and if he didn't want to do business with a woman, I'd be sure to tell his wife unless of course, he was gay. That shut him up and he almost apologised.
My main domicile was the small flat above my office, it wasn't that small and it had two bedrooms, as well as two ensuites, a kitchen and a sitting room. However, my parents had left me their cottage. It had apparently been my grandmother's and was deep in the countryside near Okehampton. Okehampton is a weird place, near to Dartmoor. It has a funny feel to it, although the town itself is quite pleasant except that it is a bit damp. Dartmoor, reminds me of wild places in this country in North Wales or the Lake District or even parts of Scotland. The weather can be as wild as the places and it blows, rains, snows, sleets or thunders as it wants and you have to sit it out. Dartmoor is also quite high in terms of altitudes, with rocky tors and several nationally important ancient sites. It's also quite large and despite being popular with tourists, walkers and campers, you can still be alone if you desire it - I usually did. Reading is quite important in my life and as long as I had a good book, solitude was no problem, unlike being surround by chattering people who didn't have a synapse between them.
The local police had phoned to say they had noticed signs of a break-in in my gran's cottage, the intruder had broken a window and helped themselves to anything of value, could I let them have a list. They had shored up the window with a plywood cover.
It was enough to shake my apathy and I packed a case and set off for Devon the next morning. I had packed jeans and sweatshirt in case I had to repair anything, but by the time I'd got there, the glazier I'd requested to view the property, had repaired the damaged window. He also suggested that one or two others needed some work or I'd have more uninvited guests. I thanked him, agreed and asked him to continue.
Once inside, I saw that several antiques, the television, and a few more electrical appliances had departed with the intruders. I had some milk with me, at least the kettle was still there, as was the fridge freezer, although they had emptied the latter. I hoped they enjoyed the food before they all choked to death, such was the scale of my largess, I made us a cuppa and after a quick chat with the glazier, who tried to chat me up, I drove off to Okehampton and bought a boot load of food and drink and returned to stock my fridge and pantry. I didn't bother with telly, I had my laptop with me and I had reasonable wi-fi to watch anything I wanted; they hadn't spotted the router..
The glazier finished and I had my tea, then wandered down the local pub to enquire If anyone had seen or heard anything of my break in. As a single woman, I attracted attention, where a man wouldn't, so there are some things to be considered before swapping genders, although in fact, I had got to the stage where I couldn't profess to be male and be believed.
I sat at the bar and had a white wine before setting-off back to my cottage and settling down for the evening. The thieves had searched my cottage quite thoroughly, though they didn't find the safe I had installed for Granny ten years ago. I was quite devious and fitted it behind a panel I installed in her wardrobe, so there was no obvious sign of anything there. I could remember the drilling and excavation I had made at the time before covering the panel with plaster and having a switch which enabled the panel to be removed quite quickly.
To open the safe one needed the key, so even if you found the safe, it would take a lot of strength and brute force to open it without the key. I removed the panel and inserted the key. It was full of documents, official things like passports and birth certificates. There was also at least a couple of thousand in ten pound notes. As everything now was owned by me, at least the money, which was still legal tender, would pay for the repairs and my short holiday.
The glazier had added a mortise lock to the aging front door, so I felt a little safer but I was going to have an alarm fitted to the house, the presence of which may deter casual thieves. I woke having slept reasonably well, showered and breakfasted, toasting some of the bread I'd bought the day before. A couple of poached eggs added to the toast made a good meal together with two mugs of tea; after this I used my makeup and dressing in a skirt and top went off to Okehampton again with the list of things I made of the stolen property from the house.
You never think it will happen to you, sadly it does and I put in an insurance claim to get the cost of a replacement telly if nothing else. I had to visit the police station to get a crime number to validate my insurance claim. Like many old towns in the UK it wasn't designed for the infernal combustion engine or the morons who drive them, most of whom are either blind or learner-drivers, so I had to park some distance from the cop-shop. As I wandered through the town, looking at shop windows as I walked, I spotted, in an antique shop, a figurine of a shepherdess, that was amazingly similar to one that had been taken from the cottage. Granny was very fond of it.
Surreptitiously, I looked around the shop and looked at the ornament. It had a small chip out of the base that I had caused as kid when I nearly dropped it as it was heavier than expected. I still remembered my parent's anger although Granny, hadn't been too perturbed herself. The asking price was several hundred pounds. I gave it back to the shopkeeper, looked around for anything else that had been purloined and saw a Victorian pendant, with rose gold and a pearl, that been my great grandmother's, Gran was proud of it, but rarely wore it as it was so old fashioned. Again, the shop was asking several hundred pounds for it. I left the shop and hurried to the police station.
I showed them my list, told them of the improvements or repairs I'd had made and of the alarm system I was going to be having installed, I also said that an antique shop down the road had two of my stolen possessions in the window. That created an interruption to the copper's spiel that they rarely recovered any stolen property. Of course that required more than paperwork, so they didn't do it if they could, too much effort.
"Tell me, Ms Bright, what is your occupation?" coming after they had told me of probable negative outcomes regarding recovering the stolen property, my answer caused some red faces.
"My job, nothing much, I recover stolen property for insurance companies or negotiate for the same."
"Oh, well, you probably have more time and less pressure than the force does."
"Probably, I only work about ten days a week, twenty six hours a day, but then, I'm only an amateur compared to you overworked professionals." He coloured up again but agreed to come with me to the antique shop.
Neither were visible when we entered the shop and the shopkeeper denied ever having them or that I had recently viewed them. The copper was unsure of what we did next. I took him to one side, "You call CID and get a search warrant, for all I know my Gran's mantel clock is here as well." I refused to budge from the shop until we had gone through it.
An hour later a harassed-looking detective arrived and asked to look at the shop's stock. The owner declined to let him, so he produced a piece of official paper which proved to be a search warrant. Together we looked over the shop's stock, the shop being closed while we did so, the owner complaining all the time that it was costing him money. In a back room, hidden in a box we found both the shepherdess and my gran's pendant, we also found her clock and a few other things that were on my list. The owner was arrested and accompanied down to the police station.
He was charged with receiving property he knew to be stolen. He denied it saying a punter had visited his shop saying his mum had just died and he was clearing the house. I challenged him, usually such dealers are invited to value the property before offering to sell it for the heirs. He asked how I knew that and the copper said, "She recovers it for a living, she works for the big insurance companies."
He stuck to his story and was released on bail. I watched his shop for a couple of days in case it led me to the thief who broke into the house. The house was being fitted for an alarm system. I wanted one that either electrocuted intruders or fired lasers at them, preferably both. They sighed and told me neither was available and I had to accept what they could do. All the same it was costing a fortune, although my insurance would be slightly cheaper, but I left them to it and went back to my surveillance. I rented a car so mine wouldn't be too obvious, and was fortunate to see the antiques dealer had a mobile phone. I had a scanner that could record what he said. It was all totally illegal but so is theft.
The thief who had broken into my cottage contacted the shopkeeper for his cut of the money they were making. "There ain't none, stupid bitch who owns the place saw her stuff in the window and although I removed it to the back, the plod came with a search warrant. They took all the good stuff and I've been charged with receiving."
"Oh shit, I need that money, George."
"Well don't look at me, I 'aven't got it," claimed the shopkeeper.
"'Ow about if I tells them about one or two other things what we done togevver."
"You wouldn't, you bastard."
"Not for a consideration, of course, call it a loan until I gets back on me feet."
""'Ow much?" asked the rattled shopkeeper.
"Oh, say a couple of big ones."
"Two thousand, where am I supposed to find that, the shop barely meets its overheads."
"Vat's your problem, George, just bring it round tonight, or give the filth an anonymous call."
An hour later, George walked to his car and drove off. He wasn't expecting a tail and he drove casually out of Okehampton into one of the nearby villages and pulled into a near derelict farm house. There were lots of outbuildings which I suspected would be interesting to search. They obviously had words because George stormed back to his car and drove off at speed as if in a bad temper.
I knew where he lived, in the flat above his shop, so I stayed hidden behind some trees and a hedge and a little later the other one emerged and I followed him to a pub, where he bought himself a beer and whisky chaser. I suspected he was going to be there for a while and I wanted to look in his sheds and barn.
I drove back to the old farm and hid my car where I had before, well the rental car. I crossed the road and snuck into the farmyard. The outbuildings were in surprisingly good condition compared to the house and the doors were heavily padlocked. Of course, padlocks are not infallible, and I soon picked the first one and looked around inside. It was as interesting as I had suspected, the police had to see this place, it would probably clear up a few cases that they had.
I was still photographing items on my phone when I heard his car pull in. I hid in a corner hoping there weren't too many arachnids about. I don't mind them but get quite girly when they get in my hair. He noticed the door was unlocked, opened it, cursed but didn't see me and locked the door again. Now, no matter how clever I may be at picking locks I can't do them from the inside while they are on the outside, a bit of wood tends to get in the way.
I looked at my options in the gloomy barn, there were probably thousands of pounds of loot here, I photographed a few more and then tried to call the police. I couldn't get a signal - wonderful, just bloody wonderful.
In the gloom I could see a staircase, I wondered if I should try it or could it be as ropy as the house, in which case it could be a death trap, but then so could the loft. I stepped carefully on the steps and once I could see more clearly, I noticed they were relatively new. They were okay and I got to the top, where I could just about see that the floorboards were in good condition. There was more swag up here and I took several more pics, my cameraphone flashing away. It was that he spotted and as I heard him undoing the lock again, struggling a bit more as the booze made him fumble-fingered. I looked at my phone, saw I had a signal and phoned the police. I told them where I was and mentioned a firearm. That usually means they may come the same day.
I slipped down the stairs and hid in the corner again as the thief got the door open and shouted for me to come out. Why do we always say stupid things when under stress, the most common asking someone who's just had some sort of trauma - are you alright. If their head has just fallen off, they obviously aren't but we still ask it,
"Come on, I know you're in 'ere." I stayed where I was trying not to breath heavily but I was sure he could hear my heart trying to escape my rib cage by beating its way through. He shone a torch around and my blonde hair showed in its beam. "There you are," he shouted and walked towards me.
I stayed where I was until he almost got to me and then jumped up and stepped around him. He grabbed at me and nearly caught my coat, I ripped it out of his hand and leaped for a couple of yards. He dived after me, was more agile than I thought he'd be and my high heels meant I was slower than I should have been and he caught my ankle as he fell. I tripped and fell against the wall, pushed myself up but he was up and on me. All I wanted to do was escape and all he wanted was to prevent me.
I pushed him away but he was too strong and held onto me. I hit on the muscle in his upper arm and he pulled his arm back and swore at me, rubbing it. "You're gonna pay for that, you bitch." I readied myself for his next onslaught. I didn't have to wait long, he threw himself at me and I sidestepped and he hugged the wall. He jumped up as I made a step for the door and he threw himself at me again. I picked up a bit of timber and waved it at him but he ignored me and dived at me once again, I stepped out of the way again, he hit the wall just after I had hit him on the head and lay there groaning.
I brushed myself down as I walked out of the door and was nearly hit by a police armed response SUV. Boy, the aggro I got for solving the case for them, no wonder the police have such a poor public relations record.
They arrested me and threatened to charge me with grievous bodily harm, wasting police time and breaking and entering. For a moment all they were interested in was making the site safe. I said I called them because I thought he had a shotgun. It was a lie but many country folk have them. I claimed he'd left the door unlocked so I went to see what was so valuable, I explained that I'd followed George here and all the items looked like stolen ones.
The 'gun club' were snotty because I'd interrupted them watching the X-factor or something but the ordinary CID were delighted. From the lists of stolen property they had so reluctantly collected, they were able to solve half a dozen cases. No one asked if I was alright or anything else. As the adage says, "No good deed goes unpunished." It was certainly correct as far the plod were concerned, then a few days later I received a letter informing me of some reward for discovering all the stolen property, it wasn't much but it paid for cleaning my skirt and coat, next time I do a stake-out I'll wear jeans and trainers, if I had this time I'd have been able to escape but I still like high heels.
The Recoverer (3).
by
Angharad.
The money from the reward of the Devon stolen property was a few hundred in the end, which meant I had to declare it because it's what I do for a living. It was paid into Eve's account which is separate from Adam's though Eve is acknowledged as one of the two owners of the agency. Life continued to be busy, the economy was almost flat- lining so with less opportunity to make honest money, the population seemed to be doing so dishonestly, faking thefts and claiming insurance, or actually stealing someone else's property and then selling it. So instead of a nation of shopkeepers we seemed to be nation of fraudsters and thieves. Retailers have been complaining about the flagrant attitude of many to think they have a right to shoplift, while others are doing it because they can't afford to buy, and in places it appears to be organised crime based or certainly organised with gangs of shoplifters. The police weren't that interested until politicians became voluble about it, then suddenly they were interested.
I know we are mainly funded by insurance companies and once they were paying out significant sums for claims of theft, we were asked to take a look at it. We were authorised to detain shoplifters we caught but to keep the violence down, some were known to intimidate shopkeepers or security people with violence, carrying large knives or hammers, so they were often allowed to leave unchallenged. I went undercover as a shop detective and saw the problem for myself. I'd never seen myself detaining someone over a tin of corned beef, but it had -partly come to that.
I was still in Eve guise, feeling more comfortable by the day, and I thought I'd be less visible than as a man. That wasn't probably quite true but as a rather androgynous man, I would probably have been quite noticeable and also I thought I might encourage violence if male shoplifters felt able to threaten me.
The shop had displayed notices saying that store detectives were operating and that shoplifters would be detained for the police, and anyone threatening violence would mean that the perpetrator would be charged with robbery with violence or armed robbery if they produced a weapon. It also said that the shop detectives had the right to defend themselves if they felt threatened. They had been warned.
The first I caught was a young woman stealing formula baby food, not just one tin but several. I nicked her and despite her tears and accusations of false arrest, they found her with the stolen goods and the police were called. It was upsetting until you knew that women thieves can turn on the tears faster than CS gas. They are more accomplished actors than you see in the West End and will lie and swear like street girls. Once you realise this may happen, it inures you a little.
The men were a different category, especially the professionals. They were flagrant and when challenged they tried to play innocent and then to try and intimidate. I spotted a bloke pocketing some expensive perfume, so not so poor he couldn't afford food. He was also relative well dressed, so the proceeds of crime can obviously pay.
I challenged him and went through the usual gamut of excuses, then he tried to act bigger and stronger than I was. He was without any doubt of that, but he didn't know how I'd respond. Most female store-detectives are advised to let the police deal with it or to let them go if in any personal danger. I hadn't been told this even if the thief had been. I told him to accompany to the manager's office and he pulled his arm from me and was going to run for the door. I wasn't in heels this time and as he dashed off, I did the same and beat him to the door. He pulled a knife and flashed it at me. I made sure the security cameras caught his actions on film, told him I was detaining him, so he flashed the knife again. I then told him that I was allowed to defend myself so he ought to come quietly. His reaction was to laugh, he soon stopped.
He slashed at me I parried then pulled his wrist behind him possible dislocating some joint in doing so. He dropped the knife, yelled and tried to punch me but by this time he was on his knees and I was threatening to break his wrist if not do more damage to him. It was painful for him, I made sure of that, and I held him for the police who had been summoned when the knife appeared arrested him. I was commended for taking him down but told that I had put myself at risk and not to do it again.
I replied that I never considered myself in any danger except damaging my attacker to the point of nullifying him. The copper wasn't impressed but I smiled at him. By teatime that day, I had caught five criminals including one I suspected was working with accomplices. He went off via cop car and I was warned to be careful when I left. The warning was correct, his friends surrounded me in the car park. I hoped that it was being filmed on cctv by the security people.
There were six, all men and they were using jibes to frighten me. Six against one is quite intimidating. I tried to show I wasn't scared and warned them that they were being filmed and they were likely to pay for their crimes with jail sentences. I advised them to fold up their tents and go, because my company would prosecute to the highest punishment.
I backed against my car. They looked at each other first before deciding who was first. One lunged at me and I grabbed and threw him over my hip and landed hard on the tarmac. Two more thought to attack together. I managed to run them into each other kicked one in his kneecap and elbowed the other in the throat, they both went down. Three left, one ran for it, another pulled a knife, he got close and I broke his arm the other rushed at me with a hammer swearing his friends would be avenged, but not by him he swung his hammer and I sidestepped, he hit my car and damaged a side window. Now I was angry, he lunged again and I threw him and his hammer over my shoulder. He landed on his head. One of the others stood up to attack me again and I used a flying kick which caught him under the jaw.
By now the police had arrived and again warned me of violence, I told them what would they do if surrounded by six thugs intent on doing them damage. I had used restraint, next time I would badly injure them. "What do you call this then, a verbal warning?" asked the police sergeant. I told him to look at my car, that window was going to cost, next time I would take it out of the attacker's nose, as the expression goes.
I got home two hours later, by then my car window was repaired. I was again warned about excessive violence and was I a martial arts practitioner. I wasn't registered as one but I borrowed moves from various ones, including the judo throws and the tai- kwon- do kick.
They cautioned me, but had seen the film of the car park episode and I had let them make the first move. There was no doubt it was self-defence, plus I got a copy for my brief, and would sue all my attackers and demand maximum sentencing and if the police wanted to make anything of it other than the obvious, I'd sue them as well. I hadn't made any friends but I wasn't going to be intimidated by anyone including the local constabulary.
In the end, I had just finished my dinner and telling Mike all about the two scuffles I'd had when a senior detective called me. I agreed to meet him in a local pub the next day. I wasn't sure if he intended to read the riot act or what. I supposed I'd soon find out. The store were surprised to see me the next day but there I was, large as life and twice as beautiful - okay the last bit was an exaggeration. It had gone around the local grapevine that Wonder Woman was at the store catching crims, so they all seemed to go elsewhere. I only caught one all day, so I had quite an easy day for a change.
I wore a suit to my meeting with DCI Crambourne, along with sandals with four inch heels. I always carry spare shoes in the car in case I'm doing lots of walking or getting physical although I have learned how to dance in heels and also to handle myself if attacked. If our hammer holder had managed to land a hit, it would have hurt, if the hit had been my head he could have disabled me for life or killed me. These morons are usually driven by impulse rather than rational thought. If they think at all it's all about how they are going to share the loot or get revenge. The planning is spontaneous not thought-out, so with minimal racking of brain cells they can be intercepted and caught. From an insurance point of view, I am only interested in recovery of the lost or stolen property not the detention and prosecution of the felon, that becomes the police responsibility. I was however required to show my evidence to the police or courts if they asked for it, very often they didn't, neither did the insurance companies. Like banks they are only interested in money, the accumulation of it with minimal pay outs. The whole of British and American society is built on taking money off the little man, at least in the higher echelons, the higher you rise or richer you become, it's still the same except you pay others to get their hands dirty rather than doing it yourself. I therefore have a very jaded view of society especially the rich and famous, who are basically all arseholes.
We met at the pub by the river, which also called by the same. Its main lounge has brass markers on the wall to demonstrate how high the river was last time it flooded. It is a very nice pub and does a roaring trade most of the time except when the river is in spate. Then it hits the insurance companies, although if it has been flooded before they load the premiums. So unless you are rich you can't afford them so you don't bother, and take the risk. On the bank of a river it makes it very popular but very expensive to run, next time you go to such a pub, ask the landlord how much his insurance is.
Anyway, we sat ourselves down in the garden, protected from the sun by a large parasol, which kept off some of the rain as well, but not when it's being driven by gales. Fortunately, we only get such weather for 360 days a year in England, 370 days a year in Scotland and Wales and Ireland can also be rather damp. It was suggested that the British Empire controlled half the known world as the natives tried to escape the weather. I was enjoying watching the ducks on the river while Crambourne got the drinks and the menus, it was close enough to lunch. He returned and I told him I'd have the risotto while he settled for the lasagne, both great British pub dishes - only joking. I'd have settled for a ploughman's but it can lie heavy on the tum and all I'd want to do afterwards was sleep.
I don't drink much except fruit juice, especially at lunchtime, but you don't save anything because the pubs charge exorbitant prices for all the drinks they carry. I have even been asked for money for a glass of tap-water, the landlord reminding me that he had to pay for it. Unfortunately, I dropped the glass taking it back so we were quits and I vowed to never return to that pub. It closed a year or so later and was developed as executive housing. When will governments and developers realise it's housing for poor people we need, executives can usually afford the cost of a house in all but the most desirable parts of London or Edinburgh.
We talked about our most unusual cases, his were much more hair-raising because the police deal with everything from litter-bugs to murder. In fact he had just finished a murder case recently. He hoped the courts were lenient. I asked why. He said none wants to convict a ninety-year old man who killed a twenty-year old after years of harassment by the younger one and on whom, the older man blamed the death of his wife a year before. She was eighty nine and he reckoned she fell going down the steps of their tower block because it had a trip wire.
He thought the old man was right in his accusation but you can't get fingerprints off a piece of wire and they couldn't get enough DNA for a conviction, but then as the gang leader, he may have ordered someone else to do it. He's still guilty, but unlikely to be convicted. It must be very frustrating to be able to prove what you feel sure is the case. Mine was about an heiress who complained someone in a hotel had stolen her silk knickers. It turned out to a spurious case of the rich demanding satisfaction from an insurance claim for something that had never happened. I was only involved after the local police couldn't prove anything, but my research showed she had a history of spurious claims and the insurance company rejected it.
"How much did you get for that one, fifty knicker?" asked my lunch companion.
"No, but I realised that my own were much nicer," we both laughed, but I did rather enjoy expensive lingerie.
"So, is there good money in recovering property or is it all one big scam?"
"It depends on the item you're trying to recover. A Vermeer is worth a bit more than a Banksie, so I get 20% of what they want back, and remember they don't send for me until after you lot can't get it for them."
"Why wait so long?"
"It's all about money, it doesn't cost them much if you recover the item within a few days of it being stolen, but if it's a year later, your, methods may not be suitable, so they send for me."
"We don't close cases because they're old ones."
"Where's Shirgar, then?" I asked about the never recovered super race horse, that they suspect was taken by the IRA.
"You didn't find it either did you?"
"No, it was before my time but 20% of the twenty million it was valued at would have paid the mortgage for a while."
"Didn't I hear you were involved in a kidnapping case resolution, a little while ago?"
"Yeah, I did tell Sir Louis to call the police, because you are the people who should have dealt with it."
"So, why didn't he?"
"He believed the abductors when they said they'd kill her if he did."
"They always say that."
"I told him that and we did need your lot to make the arrests in the end."
"Glad we're good for something, then." He shrugged as he said this. "What's 20% of a kid then, an arm or a leg?"
"I don't know, I don't usually deal with perishables." He roared with laughter although we both knew it could have ended in tragedy. "So why did you invite me for lunch?"
"Because you couldn't do breakfast."
"No I prefer to eat my cornflakes while I wake my brain up."
"I can't believe that."
"I'm not human until I've had two cups of tea."
"I'm sure that's not true." He flattered me.
"So this wasn't just an attempted pick-up then." I asked him straight out what I suspected, he was after those expensive knickers, or at least getting inside them. He'd have had a surprise wouldn't he?
"Nice idea but my wife would kill me." He blushed, it may have been a partial motive, "You're a nice looking woman." Now it was my turn to blush.
"Sorry, I'm spoken for, too." I lied and I blushed but I think he believed me.
"Thought so, all those 20%s." He smiled.
"Ain't it the truth." I declared and we both laughed.
"Look this business with all the thefts from shops, we're getting a bit of aggro from the Home Secretary."
"The insurers aren't too happy with it either, it's costing them money." we discussed this for a while and what we were going to do about it. "The organised crime element is worrying although I only encountered a localised form of that with gang of half-wits."
"Still, six against one, especially one woman, is quite frightening, even if she is Wonder Woman. Weren't you terrified."
"No, because if you have to deal with violence, never think you're going to lose, because you will. At the same time, keep telling the other guy, what if he does? It unsettles them. Mind you one of them damaged my car."
"A Jag F type, I heard."
"You heard right, my own fault I should have used the Renault." I had a couple of cars which were especially useful when working under cover, the Jag does tend to draw a bit of attention and tends to indicate I am as valuable as the car I drive. "It did annoy me, didn't the bastard know how expensive glass for them is?"
"So you fractured his skull."
"I wasn't thinking too much of outcomes, he came at me with a hammer, missed and hit my car. I just wanted to deal with the threat as quickly as possible, so he went over my shoulder using his momentum to help it."
"If a copper had done that, he'd a been in big trouble."
"Most coppers would have tazered him or hit him with their baton. If I'd had one I'd have used it."
"You took care of six attackers, you were like James Bond out there."
"So, I keep myself fighting fit."
"I'll say, no copper I know can fight like that, where'd you learn the SAS?"
"No, they don't take women, but the guy who taught me could have been one when he was younger. He taught me to expect to win, the opponent is disposable and to use them as weapons if the potential arises, but also to never fight if you can run away. When you're surrounded you can't, so you have to fight and hope you don't meet someone who's been trained."
"What if one of them had had a gun?"
"Then I become scared, it's only happened once. I nearly killed him. I don't like having to face that level of threat."
"So I heard, they described your victim as looking like a train had hit him."
"I must admit the fact that I expected to feel a bullet hit me at any moment caused a new incentive to make sure it didn't. He hesitated, I didn't and I hit him a few times after disarming him."
"Why did you go on hitting him?"
"That was reaction, the adrenaline thing." I still remembered the fear I felt that day and I managed to control it and move faster than I had in my life to knock the gun from his hand and then to knock him a few times, so he'd be in no position to threaten me again. I didn't care how badly I injured him, he was trying to kill me all I thought about was how I'd avoid that, being dead or badly injured, guns are for killing things. I hated them before, I did doubly so now and believed passionately that no individual should be allowed to possess one unless they were in the armed services or police and even they frightened me a little.
I once spoke to a retired SAS soldier, who was the weapons man, they operated in teams of four, one was the medic, one did ordnance - mainly explosives, one was a marksman and the fourth did the weapons and radio. He thought a copper with a gun was scary because they're as nervous as a kitten and as likely to shoot too early or shoot the non target. It's different in America because everyone there thinks they're John Wayne and they all carry guns, still they are even worse with cars or should I say more dangerous as they all drive round in tanks.
"May be we could work together on the shop lifting thing?" said the copper.
"If it saves the company money, then I get a commission. We both know that putting them away doesn't stop them and they'll only get fines or community service which they won't complete or pay the fines."
"I see that day after day, we arrest and convict them and courts discharge them, it's one of the reasons coppers resign so early."
"Now you can see why I didn't become a policewoman, apart from the sexism, misogyny, racism, bullying and corruption - wasn't worth it, besides I had just spent four years in university, so I needed to get some money, it was just luck that they needed insurance investigators. I did that for a couple of years, got beaten up a couple of times, learned how to fight, 'total street fighting' and went on my own. No one has beaten me up since. It works and I don't look like the Incredible Hulk."
"I thought you'd look nice in green."
"The last man who told me that, swallowed some of his teeth."
"Sounds like you have anger control issues."
"Only when someone annoys me."
"Okay, I am forewarned. What about this organised crime stuff?"
"I'll share what I have if you do the same, equal partners or we do nothing." I had been stiffed by coppers often enough in having solved thefts, who did me out of my commission. They get the collar, I get the 20%.
"Okay, with me got to get the top brass of my back," he admitted and I suddenly realised they had more jewellery on their hats as they worked up the ranks than I found when I got the loot back from an Asprey's robbery. I think in the services they called it scrambled egg, or that might just be the RAF, they tend to have a good line in their slang.
We ended up at his office, I showed him the photos I'd taken of shoplifters and he showed a few mug shots. I recognised one or two because I'd seen them elsewhere not in the store I'd been working in. We pooled our information and we would work in a store that had more items the gangs were interested in and the level of theft was frightening.
We had two ordinary coppers in plain clothes who stood out like sore thumbs and they were bit wooden, doubtless if anyone had parked illegally in the store, they'd have nicked them. In the end I had one working with me, so when I spotted someone half-inching the stock I pointed them out and my young colleague grabbed them, until he did so to the wrong person and got a Glasgow kiss for his troubles. Unsurprisingly he went down and before the thug could put the boot in, I tapped him on the shoulder then smacked him in the throat then kneed his family jewels, he went down as well and we arrested him. The thug had just dropped a copper so what I did short of killing him, they blind eyed it.
An hour later we caught another pocketing an iPhone and in case he wanted to play rough one of the coppers said he was police and I grabbed him wrenched his arm behind his back and we handcuffed him. If only I had that authority all the time... I could by joining the plod, nah, not for me too much of a maverick.
"By the time we had three of them in custody we were able to make a few connections and made a raid and got some of the gang leaders. After that I left it to the police and they took out a whole group. I was invited to dinner with Crambourne and met his lovely wife. He thanked me for my assistance especially in spotting shoplifters. I asked after the young copper who got himself a broken nose and learned he was okay and would be more aware another time. I got a nice commission for saving them thousands and bouquet from the store, and I now had another copper with whom I could liaise if I need help. That's how we all work after all by sharing info and helping each other, networking, is I believe the term used.
On a personal level, I realised that there had been no sign of Adam for a few months, I was still taking oestrogens and Mike did ask me when I was going to do something about it. I shrugged, did I want have sex with a man? I didn't know and until I did, did I need the wherewithal to do so? I shrugged and went back to my paperwork.