Nothing quite brings the neighbours out like the swirling lights of the emergency services. No matter what hour of the day or night the show rolls into town, the street will be straining from their windows, delighting at the prospect of maybe witnessing some other poor soul's tragedy. I am no exception.

It was John who first brought my attention to the feint blue light that intermittently lit up the hall. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, squinting at it like it was some strange phenomenon.
  “Those look like police lights,” I said sitting up, “something must have happened.”
  “Fat fucking chance. It's probably a crank call. What ever happens here? This street is so boring that even death goes elsewhere for fun! ”
  “God, you've even lost your belief in tragedy. That's a sure sign of insanity, that. Believing the world is so ordered. Anyway, I'm not gonna miss out on your account. This could be something big, maybe someone with their head blown off! Jeez, you sit there all you want, but not me!” With that, I unpicked my Y-fronts from the crack of my arse and scampered off to the living room where I took up my favourite peeping position behind the curtains.

Outside, the street was lit up blue and red. It looked like a film set. Parked just off to the left were two police cars and a van, and over to the right an ambulance and fire truck. On the opposing pavement, a small group of the Heavyweight neighbours had converged. They were talking to a police officer and pointing across. Amongst them stood Mr Bartholemew. He was in striped pyjamas delicately sipping at a cup of tea. Marlowe was glued to his side sniffing and licking his fat stubby fingers. Up above, for as far as the eye could see, miserable pale faces were pressed up tight against every window. It reminded me of the time I was in the Albert Hall and had turned around and looked up to the Royal Box.

  “John! Get out here,” I screamed, “something big's going down. I think the Garbo tranny from thirty eight may be dead!”
  “Oh, it'd be nothing!” John yelled back “More anti-climax for the streets gawkers. Half an hour of semi hard-ons and erect nipples then everyone'll mope off home disappointed they've nothing to have fucking nightmares about. And you're the worst... Fuck Christ, you're all the petty gawkers rolled into one!”
  “Oh, as you want. But it looks like you may really miss out this time. You've always said you'd like to see a dead body, well tonight could be your chance. I'm telling you, this is the real deal!”
  “Nahhhh!!!” screeched John “I'm staying put. As I said, it's a fucking prank call or something..”

I left John to his own devices and watched anxiously as the mob outside grew, as other police units joined the scene and a cordon was put up cutting the road off from no.36 up to no.48.

  “It's heating up out here,” I called out to John “the neighbours are being pushed back and Bartholemew's been banished outside the cordon, HA! Lovely! Oh, and it's nothing to do with the Garbo tranny either. He's over with the rest of the shitheads... sharing a cigarette with the nazi who put his windows through last year. No, I think there's maybe a gunman or something inside No. 40. The Police are all congregating around... hiding behind cars. Shit! It's just like a film... It was all true.

Oh My God! John! Now the fucking sharp shooters are here. Rifles, body armour, the lot! JeeeZ'us! I think there's a bloody killer loose, I really do.

Fuck, now they're down between cars and pointing this way. God, lets hope the gunman killer isn't on our fucking roof or in the yard! Ha ha, and you said 'Nothing happens round here!' Eat your fucking words Mcmanus, this is a street of high profile criminal activity... The place where it all happens! Fuck, I'm excited... this is exciting. John, you should really be here!

Uh Oh... There's movement. The police chief is out there with one of those fetish loudspeakers slapped to his gob. That always means trouble. I think he's gonna make an announcement, probably try to coax the killer gunman out and take him down. Or, maybe he'll first try and negotiate the release of hostages... Get the innocent safe before blowing the crazed loon to Queer Street! I bet that's it. That's how it always works. Fuck, this looks like it could get nasty. There could be more than just one dead body, maybe a whole fucking street load! John,  he's gonna speak, this time it's for real. Are you coming to watch?”

John didn't reply, but I heard his electric wheelchair going down the hall and him opening the letter box. “Be careful peering out there,” I yelled through, “you don't want a bullet in the face, those things are fucking deadly. But oh, it's starting....”

Behind a left hand drive Toyoto Corolla parked opposite, the Police Chief was knelt down. All that was visible was his load speaker, one eye and the top of his head. At first there was a crackle, then a high-pitched frequency, then words:

  “Mr Spencer... Mr TRISTRAM SPENCER.. We know you're in there. Come out with your arms raised and your head up. We have the place surrounded!.”


  1. Wildernesschic: Then it worked well! Though you'll have to wait a bit for the concluding part as i'm knackered.

    Laying straight for orgasms? My mother was like that too. It wasn't ideal for my father, as he always used to tell her "I can't come if I can see your face!" X

  2. I'm guessing it's a fake call to the cops.


    (1) John
    (2) Post Pansy
    (3) Mr. Bartholomew
    (4) Marlowe

    Unless there's something you've been hiding from us...


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