PART 1 (TEDS DEAD)
It was a little after midday and
the smell of stale piss pervaded the atmosphere of the dingy downstairs room.
Old “Pa Bumfold” crossed his legs but failed to stop the emission flowing from
his fetid soiled undergarments. Placing both hands on the filthy armchair he levered himself to his feet and shuffled towards the kitchen back door and the sanctuary of the brick outhouse, unfortunately situated in the back yard of the Victorian terraced property.
After a ten minute session in the putrid latrine and doing the paperwork with an old copy of the Radio Times, Pa Bumfold shuffled back in to the kitchen, where he was immediately set upon by his deranged octogenarian wife Gloria, a failed gymnast and part time exhibitionist from Kilburn. She managed to wrap here spindly legs around his neck by leaping from the kitchen table and slowly began to squeeze the life out of her befuddled husband.
A loud knock at the front door interrupted the comic grappling in the kitchen, and both made their way to the hallway and front door, where the unmistakable shadow of a policeman was viewed through the tinted glass panel in the door.
Old Pa Bumfold, whose face was still puce from the near strangling his wife had administered, turned the latch and opened the door, fully expecting the old bill to nick him for his ungentlemanly conduct in the Mitre public house the previous night, when he had farted in the face of the opposing darts teams captain.
However, after removing his helmet, the constable explained that during recent excavations so as to facilitate the building of a new sports centre at Vale Farm, on the site of the existing open air swimming pool, they had unearthed a skeleton of a deformed dwarf like creature with missing teeth, broken wire rimmed spectacles, a curved spine and a silver bracelet on his lower arm depicting the name “Ted”.
Furthermore, due to the boggy nature of the soil, part of the creature’s skin had been preserved and upon it was a child like tattoo describing the name “Ted” in blue ink. However, the PC also stated that unusually for such cases, the skull was missing and was presumed to have been disturbed by animals but would no doubt be found in due course.
Old PA Bumfold and Gloria shuddered at this news as both glanced at the skull like feature on the sideboard across the other side of the lounge. The constable went on to explain that he was calling on all the properties in the vicinity of the adjacent Mitre pub, to ask if they had any knowledge of a missing person named Edward or Ted. Sobering up fast, both the geriatric Bumfold's stated that they knew of no missing people named Ted, Edward or any other name.
The PC made a quick scribble in
his notebook and made his exit. Pa Bumfold pulled a tin of old holborn from his
pocket and started to role a cigarette and was soon coughing and blowing his
way across the room towards the cranium shaped feature placed on the middle
shelf of the dilapidated sideboard. Holding the skull like ornament in both
hands he briefly smiled before placing the objet d'art back on to its plinth. Old Pa Bumfold scratched his head and without saying a word opened the front door and ambled towards the bus stop where after exchanging a few words with a gangling youth climbed aboard the bus, drawing hard on his roll up and blowing filthy smoke at the peroxide clippy as she gave him his ticket.
PART 2 (THE CRIMSON WIENER)
SUDBURY TOWN
Straining to breathe the cold air, Old Pa Bumfold walked the few yards from the bus stop and entered the smoke filled drinking den known as “The Lodge”.
He scanned the room looking for
the unmistakable figure of Doctor Doyle and soon located him seated in his
specially strengthened chair at the bar. With trepidation, he slowly approached
the corpulent red faced doctor, his befuddled mind desperately trying to filter
reality from the untrue.He reached out his emaciated hand towards Dr Doyle but the shinny faced doctor refused to acknowledge his gesture.
The Doctor shuffled on his bar stool and turned slightly towards the foul smelling creature shuffling beside him. "Hi Pa” he retorted distastefully, in a low husky voice which was still recovering from his recent experience escaping from the clutches of his arch enemy, KarlHeinz-Brunner, in war torn Europe.
Seated to his left was his long time associated “Pope Pat” a retarded former priest and reformed alcoholic, but prone to long lapses of abstinence that lead to him being incredibly unstable and dangerous company to be with. However, he was a lifelong friend of the Doctor and they had completed many dangerous operations in occupied Europe over the last few years.
Indeed, Pope Pat had recently saved the lives of Doctor Doyle and his South African accomplice, Ivan Terrablanche, enabling the Doctor to complete a dangerous mission to obtain the Munich Horn.
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BAVARIA - (The recovery of the Munich Horn from Germany)
The light was fading fast as Doctor Doyle
and Terrablanche drove over the river Isar and headed for the sanctuary of a
safe house on the outskirts of Friedrichshafen. There they were to board a
small fishing boat, row across lake Constance (Bodensee) to enter neutral
Switzerland, and eventually fly back to the UK with the recently recovered
Munich Horn. However, as they approached the small farmhouse on the banks of Lake Constance they encountered Karl Heinz-Brunner. He was driving a large battered Mercedes which attempted to crash in to the pair as they attempted to board the fishing boat with the treasured Munich Horn.
In the fading light it was difficult to precisely locate the duo as they ran towards the dark waters of the Bodensee, but just as the battered Mercedes driven by Brunner crashed in to the overweight and wheezing Doctor, a huge bulldozer driven by Pope Pat, thundered in to action and utilising its huge metal blade blocked the speeding car, stopping it in its tracks and smashing it to smithereens.
The collision enabled the Doctor and Terrablanche to safely reach their vessel and escape to the sanctuary of the Swiss border, and subsequently fly back to England. On arrival at Croydon airport they were debriefed by the Ministry of War and handed over the fabled Munich Horn so as to be safely stored by the military authorities.
After the successful mission to retrieve the Munich Horn, Doctor Doyle, having said farewell to Ivan Terrablanche, had lapsed in to his usual routine of overeating, over sleeping, frequenting seedy whorehouses and drinking copious amounts of alcohol in one or the other of his favourite drinking dens, the Mitre or the Lodge.
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SUDBURY
At the Lodge, Pa Bumfold whispered in to Doctor Doyle’s ear and stood back for a response. The Doctor picked at his yellowing teeth with a cocktail stick and reaching in to his trouser pocket for a stained handkerchief, blew his nose and cleared his tortured airways.
“So you have murdered Ted” rasped the little chubby legged double agent.
Old Pa Bumfold recoiled in terror as he envisaged the clientele of the bar overhearing the conversation. However, as usual in the Lodge, nobody battered an eyelid or bothered to inquire as to the content of their sordid discussion. Even Pope Pat continued to read his yellowing copy of picture post, sipping from his huge glass of red wine, whilst engaged in small talk with the host of the establishment, Frau Grunewald.
Doyle, now grinning like a Cheshire cat, continued, “who else knows of this delicate matter?”, to which Pa responded “only the misses and you, your eminence.... , although the wife is as pissed as Pope Pat so will not remember anything, so it’s just you and me!”
“However...”, stuttered the geriatric piss stained octogenarian, “the old bill were making enquiries earlier today, but I don’t think the Rozzer got wind that the skull on the shelf was the deformed dwarf like creature known as Ted!”
Doctor Doyle stretched his diminutive legs towards the floor and almost stumbled from his stool. Regaining his sense of gravity he slid from the reinforced steel seat and stood before old Pa Bumfold.
The Doctor fumbled with his attire until he recovered a small red address book. The book was tattered and covered with a selection of body fluids and beer. Reaching for the wire spectacles hanging from the chain around his thick neck, he placed them upon his broad nose and pinched them in to a secure position on the ridge of the ruddy protuberance. Scanning the pages he quickly folded back a page and stared directly at old pa Bumfold.
“The Crimson Wiener” where is it Pa? If you lead me to the location of the Wiener I can arrange for your involvement in the unfortunate murder of barman Ted to be extinguished and the blame placed at the feet of your enemies. Perhaps one of the Artimarti clan can take the can, or maybe the Taylors, or Redheads?
Anything can be arranged provided I have access to the “Crimson Wiener” Pa, anything you wish!
Pa Bumfold looked at his soiled boots and shuffled uneasily from side to side. “That was a long time ago governor, and I don’t think I can locate the Crimson Wiener without upsetting a lot of the local villains who would kill to get their hands on the Crimson Wiener”. Doctor Doyle grabbed the wizened shoulders of Pa Bumfold and shook him until Pa pissed his pants leaving a putrid yellow stain on his pantaloons and a puddle on the dirty floor.
Grabbing a bar cloth from the bar and wiping the excess urine from his legs, Pa Bumfold explained that he would make enquiries towards getting the Wiener, and would start with visiting his younger former partner in crime “Big Mac”, who was involved with the earlier discovery of the artifact some twenty years earlier, and was implicated in its subsequent disappearance, and the legend that has grown about its powers.
Although not established by science, the Crimson Wiener” was believed to have aphrodisiac powers and when immersed in a pint of cinnamon infused cider, and drunk in full without taking a breath, would induce sexual arousal greater than that attributed to Eros and his arrows, honey, oysters and/ or a night in the bed of Frau Grunewald.
Pa Bumfold trudged towards the Lodges door and slipped away with his mind full of terror and trepidation. A bus glided to a halt at the stop and after pulling himself on to the lower deck, and swearing at the clippie, Bumfold was soon heading towards the Swan and a meeting with “Big Mac”.
PART 3 (BIG MAC)
Old Pa Bumfold pushed the door of the Swan open and surveyed the crowded bar. His red eyes darted about the smoke filled premises as he searched for the familiar bulk of Big Mac.
Big Mac had been an associate of Bumfold's for many years, and having first
met him in Wormwood Scrubs whilst doing a five year stretch for bigamy and
possession of forged petrol coupons, had become a firm friend.Big Mac had been serving three years for G.B.H and took a shine to the much older Bumfold, due to his ability to make him laugh when they shared a cell. In particular, Big Mac was particularly amused the way he described the mad antics of his debauched alcoholic wife back at the Mitre, and the way she would back flip her way across the bar floor wearing no underwear and smoking a roll-up.
Pa Bumfold moved towards the lonely figure of Big Mac who was seated at the end of the bar, quietly watching the radio as it played family favourites. He gingerly placed his withered hand on the monstrous shoulder of his compatriot and pulled up a stool beside him. Big Mac slowly twisted in his seat and acknowledged Bumfold by raising his hand and pointing towards the barman. After buying Big Mac a pint, they began discussing the weather and the lack of snow for the time of year.
However, Big Mac soon tired of this chit chat and moving forward to within an inch of Bumfold's face retorted "Dr Doyle has been in touch. I know you need the Crimson Wiener. But you can forget it.....I'm not getting involved!".
PART 4 (SWANSONG)
Big Mac and Old Pa Bumfold sat silent for twenty minutes until a mighty bout
of flatulence forced Bumfold from his stool. Struggling to slide from his lofty
perch, he groped for the brass foot rail with his flaying feet, whilst
steadying himself with his left hand on the Bar. Just as he obtained sufficient
balance to stand aside from the bar, he felt a hard blow to his arthritic
shoulder, and turned towards the significant bulk and large red face of Dr
Doyle.Dr Doyle smiled at Pa Bumfold as the geriatric near cripple, broke wind, and inadvertently followed through. Dr Doyle turned his grinning face to Big Mac who had quickly averted his attention from the wireless, and was gesticulating as if to shake the Doctors hand.
Big Mac was as surprised as Bumfold to see the Doctor, as he had spoken to him on the phone only hours ago. However, he managed to maintain control of his sphincter and nonchalantly offered the wheezing Doctor Doyle a drink.
The Doctor accepted Big Macs offer of a drink, but refused a handshake, purposely placing both hands in his trouser pockets. After taking a glug from his large Bacardi and Coke, Dr Doyle stood between the trembling Pa Bumfold and the seated Big Mac and pulled a package from his war surplus overcoat pocket. The package consisted of a scarlet handkerchief that had been tied with cord so as to secure old black and white photographs, which on inspection were taken in the Mitre public house.
However, on closer scrutiny, it was apparent that two of the photos were of a far more revealing nature and contained images of Ted the barman laying prone on the bar floor with both Old Pa Bumfold and Big Mac standing over the lifeless body. Both had implements in their hands, possibly a screwdriver and a spanner, and the darkened street viewed through the windows, together with the pub clock in the background, revealed that the time was 1.16 am.
Dr Doyle shuffled the photographs in his hands, and mentioned in an
aggressive but positive manner, that he had copies and that they would find
their way to Inspector Crapper at the Wembley Police station, if anything
happened to him. Removing his wire spectacles from his blotched red face, and
placing them in his inside coat pocket, the Doctor turned to Big Mac and
explained that unless he helps recover the Crimson Wiener, there will be no
alternative for him other than to hand the photographic evidence to the
police, together with further information indicating where the skull of the
murdered Barman could be recovered.Turning to Pa Bumfold, Dr Doyle whispered “when you came to me earlier, did you really think I didn’t know you were involved with the murder of Ted. I have known since the day after you handed these photographs to your wife for safe keeping. She showed them to be in the Mitre, boasting that she had taken them, and for a few drinks she handed them to be together with the negatives. ”
The telephone behind the bar started to ring rhythmically and startled Big Mac and Pa Bumfold from their panic induced silence. The governor of the Swan lifted the receiver and stood back as the ranting of a hormone deficient mountain goat bawled down the line. Regaining his composure the publican scanned the bar and shouted to all and sundry as to whether a Mr Bumfold was in the house.
Knowing it could only be his wife, Bumfold gesticulated that he wasn’t there and that was sorry for the interruption. The relevant information was relayed to his deranged octogenarian wife Gloria, who slammed the phone back on to its base almost breaking the Bakelite casing.
Dr Doyle grabbed Big Mac by the shoulder and pulled Pa Bumfold towards his screwed up face and whispered that unless he hears from both of them by the morning regarding the whereabouts of the Crimson Wiener, they would both be receiving a knock from the old bill and be taking a short walk to the hangman’s noose shortly afterwards. So as to exaggerate his claim, he pulled a flat black cap from his pocket and placed it on his head, before turning his back on his trembling counterparts and swiftly exiting the Swan.
Big Mac and Bumfold sat with empty glasses for a few minutes until they
noticed a commotion coming from the direction of the Bar Billiards table. As
Big Mac ordered two further drinks, Old Pa Bumfold recognised that the fracas
was centred on “Pope Pat” a retarded and defrocked former priest from Achill,
an island located off the coast of County Mayo in West Ireland.Pope Pat was supposedly a reformed alcoholic, but was prone to prolonged lapses of abstinence, and during these periods was extremely unstable and dangerous company. He was known to be an associate of Dr Doyle, and had actually previously operated on missions all over Europe with Big Mac and his accomplices.
These operations had included undercover missions to Dublin, Paris, Rome, Amsterdam, Brussels, Munich and other European destinations, together with active duty in Edinburgh, Cardiff, Bath and the Isle of White. After a few minutes the Bar Billiard table was surrounded by drunken travellers and navies, shaking hands and hugging each other. Walking away from this melee was Pope Pat who made a direct approach to where Big Mac and Pa Bumfold were seated.
“How’s the crack, you whores” retorted the inebriate ex priest who pulling a wad of five pound notes from his britches offered all and sundry a drink.
To be continued.....
