Toby and Loach weren’t getting anywhere with the houseowner or his stone-face wife. ‘Unless we know for sure, we just can’t barge in next door,’ Toby was telling them. ‘We’ll need a warrant.’
In the meantime, the vehemence of the houseowner’s neighbourly animosity has not diminished one iota on the tantrum gauge. ‘I don’t believe it! Are you saying you have to wait for the blood to leak out under the front door before you’ll do anything?’
Suddenly a series of horrendous crashes exploded in their ears, coming from next door. Loach and Toby exchanged startled glances, then raced for the door. The houseowner mocked them with a told-you-so smile: ‘I could do with a nice cup of tea …’
Toby pounded on the door of the next house, Loach backing him up. After a few moments, the door opened slowly.
Alert to any possibility, Toby was shocked into alarm by the young man standing in the doorway. Appearing exhausted, his shirt and pants in disarray, the young man was leaning on a long-handled axe, as if he’d been chopping wood for a long winter or impersonating Lizzie Borden.
Instantly Toby rushed the man and disarmed him, taking possession of the weapon. The young man frowned, but didn’t block or resist his move in any way. ‘Can we come in and have a chat, sir?’
Though confused, the young man shrugged. ‘Sure. Why not?’
When Toby and Loach reached the main room inside the house, they discovered a scene of cataclysmic devastation. The place was a total shambles: furniture all smashed, pictures and knick-knacks shattered to smithereens, the carpet mottled with shards of vapourized porcelain and pottery. Simultaneously apprehensive and baffled, they viewed the scene like virgin soldiers sickened at their first sight of mass destruction.
‘Is your wife here, sir?’ Loach asked him.
The young man gave him a cool nod.
‘Then we’d like to see her,’ Loach informed him warily.
For the first time, the young husband was truculent. ‘You’d better find out if she wants to see you.’
Toby tried to correct the young husband’s apparent misconception. ‘You don’t seen to understand, sir. We want to see your wife … now.’
‘Listen. What my wife does is her choice. Okay?’
‘No, it isn’t okay,’ Toby admonished him. ‘You’re going to be in serious trouble if we don’t see your wife pretty sharpish.’
‘What for?’ said a woman’s voice behind them, and as they turned around, a young woman – obviously the husband’s wife – walked between them into the room. In her hands was a sublime blue vase, and on her face a look of blue thunder not the least sublime.
‘What the hell so you want?’ she inquired, pitching the vase past them. Instinctively they ducked, as a blue streak disintegrated against the wall behind them.
Loach looked at Toby, and Toby looked at Loach, silently asking each other what the hell was going on here. Had they somehow wandered into the psychiatric ward?
An unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, the young husband searched his pockets for a match. The young wife happened to notice him, looked through the debris and unearthed a small jade object. Retrieving it from the rubble, she flipped it at her husband.
By now a bit gun-shy, again Loach and Toby ducked. The young husband caught the lighter easily and lit his cigarette.
‘It’s them next door, isn’t it?’ griped the young wife.
Their failure to answer confirmed she was right.
‘Well, you can tell Mr and Mrs Snoopy that we’re having a divorce, and we don’t particularly care who hears it!’
The young husband picked up a cuckoo clock, the cuckoo bird hanging from a spring like a strangled chicken. He turned something and made the clock ‘point’ forlornly before he dropped it back into the rubbish all over the floor. He sighed.
‘We can’t agree on anything … politics … my job … her job … sex … not even this lot …’ He gestured to the remains littering the room beneath their feet. ‘So we thought … sod it … if we can’t agree who owns what, then neither of us is going to get anything.’ On this, and perhaps on this alone, his young wife seemed to agree.
Loach thought he’d heard it all, but this one had to take the cake. Stunned by their lunatic display, he leaned back against the only object left standing in this universe – an antique table. It crumbled under his weight, taking him with it. After hitting the floor hard, he struggled to climb back up while looking at the young couple with what he was sure appeared to be a sheepish and apologetic grin. ‘Oh well. I’ve saved you doing this one.’
Yet they did not seem to be sharing his amusement, their mood having suddenly changed. Once again, they agreed. And in fact, they were appalled.
‘You bloody barbarian!’ the young wife spat at him.
‘You know what you’ve done?’ her husband demanded.
‘What?’ Loach asked rather innocently, though with considerable apprehension at this point.
‘That was a Georgian table, you cretin!’ the young wife informed him.
There was cold anger in the husband’s intonation. ‘I hope you’ve got good insurance cover, guy. Because you’ll need it before I’m through. And right up front, I’ll have both your numbers.’ He looked down, aiming his gaze at Loach. ‘And I want your name most of all, Sunny Jim …’
Helpless and hopeless, Loach exchanged glances with a grim-faced Toby. Another fine mess he’d gotten them into.
The Pub on 4th was busy later that evening with a full complement of both regular Police and Specials. At one of the tables Viv Smith was having a drink to pass the time while waiting with Freddy Calder and a group of PCs and other Specials. When a PC with distinctive ginger hair entered and started to look around the room, Viv shrieked, jumped up, and, in her haste to join him, upset and nearly spilled the table and its contents into their laps.
‘What’s going on?’ asked one of the PCs at the table.
‘Ginger …’ Freddy answered, as he watched Viv possessively embracing the object of her affections. Now that’s the proper way to treat the chap in your life, he secretly smiled, happy for Viv in his own way. ‘The walking no-smoking zone,’ he added, also a bit jealous of Ginger himself.
The PC kept his eyes on Viv. ‘By the way,’ Freddy interrupted his reverie, trying to distract him from Viv, ‘you seen anything on your travels of a nice bachelor flat?’ It was time for him to think about making plans for his own paramour … should he ever be fortunate enough to find her.
The PC gave Freddy the same old-fashioned look of mild disbelief, followed by a patronizing smile. ‘Give over, Freddy, and pull the other one. If I’d a quid for every time you’ve
