Little Dick Tracy was dressed in black; it was that serious. He entered my yard with his head down, pinching his jacket collar closed so as the wind didn't bite into his neck. When he knocked a nest of pigeons took up from an adjacent roof and scattered as if there had been a warning shot. I smoothed my hair down, done my best to look like left over turkey, and opened up. That was yesterday afternoon.

The second my door opened four beefy arms grabbed me, spun me around, bent me over and pushed my head down. I waited for the old cock up the arse routine and the violent, heavily breathed threats – but they never came. Instead I heard what sounded like clunky jewellery and then a clicking noise as Little Dick clamped my wrists together and read me my rights. His voice which had always seemed like a corny joke now sounded deadly callous and clever. It rattled off something about being arrested on 'suspicion of murder', told me I didn't have to say anything but if I didn't I'd be even more fucked than I already was. Then it asked me if I understood. I said “yes!” Only then was I straightened up, turned around and allowed to see the day.

Little Dick was smiling. He ripped his tie down a foot into its usual position. Now I was restrained by metal and words he felt it was safe to turn back into an idiot. I suppose he does that in two instances. 1) When he's nothing on you, wants you to believe you are his intellectual superior and so fuck-up through cleverness; 2) After he's captured you, so to frustrate you even more at being outwitted by a fool. If it was that, then it was working a treat.

For a moment nothing happened. Up and down the street I noticed the Neighbourhood Watch up at their respective windows in force. It made me think of Celebrity Squares. Suddenly one of the Goons gave me an horrendous shove and I was then out in front, being frog-marched over towards the car by Little Dick. He bundled me into the back and slid in besides me. “Tell Bill to follow on behind,” he shouted out as he swung the door and freedom shut.

From outside the car had looked normal, but inside it was an unfamiliar space. There were radios and wires and a stack of electronic equipment. It looked like a teenager's sound system. There was also something different about the roof, and the doors had been modified, but I cannot tell you how. After a moment Little Dick's Goons slipped in. They fidgeted about getting comfortable and strapped themselves in. As the engine started up their huge frames pushed together and blocked out all light from the front. I had no other option but to look back. As the street shrunk into the distance the car that had been parked outside for the last week pulled out and followed slowly behind. So that was 'Bill'? I thought. I squinted to get a proper look at him, but even now he remained just a mysterious shadow. There was some dark force in this life which was blocking him out. I looked at Little Dick and he looked at me, and then everything went black....


  1. ...and you're hopelessly brilliant...oxo

  2. Stacy: No, I'm the first, brilliantly hopeless. Your parcel hasn't arrived yet. I tell you publicly just so the others can see what a kind girl you are. She sends me books! X

  3. my pleasure, tristram...i sent it sat. before last so you should get it any day now.

  4. 'Up and down the street I noticed the Neighborhood Watch up at their respective windows in force. It made me think of Celebrity Squares'

    Ha ha!

    And what easy targets, helpfully framing themselves.

    As I've often thought:

    Why does one never have a rifle handy when one really needs one.

  5. I assume this isn't Verity? In which case, you're fine. Poor suspense form, Spencer.

    But still, would like to know how you get out of this pickle.

  6. Simon: It wasn'tsupposed to cause suspense, it's why I purposely mentionned "that was yesterday" in the first paragraph. I had to separate the posts as it would have been too long and that seemed a good point to end post (a). X

    Lena: Oh yes! X

    Abigail: A rifle in the house would just be too dangerous... look what I can do with a plant pot! X

  7. Last time I was in the back of a police car, the thing I noticed was the complete absence of smell. Not donuts, not tobacco, not sweat, not vomit. Nothing.

    I can see your pale face looking out the back window as i write. Now I understand why - it's not a last glimpse of freedom - it's just something more interesting than the goons' necks in front. Love it!

    Stacy may send you books - but send me your address, and I will bake a cake for you, that contains a hacksaw!

    G =]


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