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After The Riot.

by  firethorne

Posted: Thursday, March 3, 2011
Word Count: 817
Summary: Continuing story of Jack Almond . This week's installment: Jack and his mates are being held in Scourthorpe police station. The Minister For Urban Cultural Development pays the station a visit. Comic strip silliness containing various violations of grammatical correctness. Don't mess with the muse.




Massive thanks to Nick, who kindly took a long time over the original version and has ground out the typos.




Inspector Corby was about to pen a red ring around the name Jack Almond. Down in the cells it sounded like steel plate being attacked with sledgehammers. The lighting flickered overhead.

"I’m Hercules!"

The mad Irishman was kicking off again.

”Right." Corby slung his pen down onto the pile of statements, drew himself up to his full height and went to inspect what was going on.

"Mickey, it's me Andrea. Can you stop that please?" The rhythmic pounding against the cell door ceased.

Inspector Corby strode up to the young girl, shaking his head. "WPC Wren? For Gods sake, Andrea!"

"Yes sir. Mickey just needs gentle handling."

"Look Wren," snorted Corby, "I’ll show you how to handle the likes of him."

"O’Collins, either you pack that in or I’m going to Tazar you again. And if you don’t go down we're coming in with shields and battens. Got it?"

There was a sudden massive impact on the other side of the door. A large chunk of plaster fell from the buckling frame, catching Corby a glancing blow on his forehead.

"Hell!"

"Ha, ha, fecking har," came O'Collins’ voice from the other side of the door.

It was about an hour later and Corby was back in office struggling with his notes.

There was a delicate knock.

"Enter," he growled.

Corby blinked and swallowed. Bloody hell, he thought, she looks like a film star. Images of them running hand in hand on a beach, surf lapping at their ankles, ran through his mind.
"I don’t always wear a towel on me head love, had a bit of aggro earlier. It's to stop the blood dripping on me paperwork."

She smiled perfectly. "I’m from the Ministry Of Urban Cultural Development. It was an unfortunate misunderstanding at the gallery, wasn’t it?"

"I'm sorry," said Corby.
She took a step forward as if a little unsure.

"I was at a late night poetry reading when I got the call and didn’t have time to get changed." She placed her hand to her neck and ran a finger down a necklace of white pearls.
"May I?" She gestured to a chair.

Corby couldn’t remember saying yes, or much of the subsequent conversation , though he could hear the cry of gulls overhead and feel little warm waves lapping against his feet. In the bay dolphins popped their heads out of the water and grinned benignly at him.

“So." It was like a snap of her fingers. “Adrian Searle described it as ‘utterly regenerative’ and ‘the most invigorating live performance art’. He immediately contacted the Home Secretary. If you drop the charges The Government extends the Scourthorpe Arts Development Grant. It’s all a silly misunderstanding isn’t it?"

"Of course it is," Corby managed to say, laughing and patting the desktop.

"Fine I better be going then. It’s been an absolute pleasure meeting you, Inspector Corby."

" Tony, call me Tony. So, em, you and me eh? There’s this lovely little taverna on Eckburton Road. We can take our own wine"

"That’s really sweet Tony. I'm sorry, I have flight to catch. Some other time perhaps?"

She shut the door. Corby put his head on the desk and closed his eyes. For the second time he felt his heart breaking.


Corby forced himself out of his office and moped over the Duty Desk. "Alright get them out, drop the charges."

"Who sir?"

"Almond, O'Collins, and the rest of the hooligans."

"They’ve already gone Sir, about half an hour ago."

"Why?"

"You released them sir."

"No I bloody well did not. I’ve just spent the last hour talking to The Minister of Urban Cultural Development," he pointed to his office. "Why you all looking at me like that?"

Corby felt a bit dizzy and leaned against a cell door."

" Sir, now let's get that towel off your head and have a proper look shall we."

It was almost sunrise over Scourthorpe, pavements were iced-up, and those who hadn’t already got home were kicking McEwans’ cans back along the empty streets towards the flats.

"Look! Up there."

The Northern Lights fired their colours and like a shoal of fish, shooting stars darted and flashed through them before fading into the new morning sky.

"Did you see that?"

"I feckin well did. Felt like me heart was turning over."

"It were right weird, it were like stars were happy an' laughin'."

Jack went into a stutter "Cali...""

"Callio...I can't even say her name."

"Jack, come on mate, stop staring, whatever it waz's gone now. Let's get home eh."


Next week: The Hodyssey begins. Will our bricklaying heroes even find their way to London? Is The Guggenhammer a posh name for a lump hammer ? Which hero must face down the notoriously violent Headhunters to find out?