The Latest In Crime Fighting
by: Peter Frederick
Nigel Osprey sits in front of his television set with a can of beer in his hand and slowly raising it and taking a luxurious sip and a sound escapes his wet lips ‘ah…..this is life!’
He is enjoying the sport program on television, holding his favourite brew in his hand as symbol of freedom, whilst stabilising a family size pizza that had just been delivered and now balances precariously on his knees. He notices its steam rising gently and wafting through the air, filling the room with his favourite aroma: ‘food!’
He listens with rapture to his favourite football manager’s ranting.
Yes, he reminds himself with glowing eyes: that manager’s a real man, strong, with a thick-set body and a mouth that continually seems to burst forth outrageous statements! And expletives – admittedly beeped out by a sissy programme editor – seem to stream effortlessly from thick and egotistic lips.
Nigel giggles to himself. He is enjoying these outbursts; they are amusingly insulting and words are being aired that cannot be received over the airwaves because of their earth content – they are too earthy! But one can always lip-read and not missng out, thereby increasing the fun!
Wonderful thoughts are coming to his mind as he takes another strong suck from his beer can: The wife’s gone away, this time for good! The divorce was very disturbing and a real upheaval. She seems to live now with her aunt Gerti in Muckalot in another state - wherever the hell that is.
Her dim-witted cousin Winston had come and picked-up all her belongings. He’s taken a lot, piling it high on a truck, but it was great to see the last of her junk!
From now on, he keeps reminding himself, there is no more screaming at him, no more berating, the home is now quiet and peaceful as there is only he and his cat Benny, who is in complete agreement with him.
He glances around and notices that the room now looks sparsely furnished. His wife, ex-wife to be exact, has left him with the bare necessities! But there is a tranquil light filtering through the sheer curtains, making all the dust visible and yet giving the room a tranquil ambience.
‘This is a man’s paradise’, he thinks, nodding to himself. There are his scattered newspapers, with the sports pages open and soon there will be a few magazines lying around the room he would normally not have dared to buy.
‘It‘s great to be free’, he thinks – it is a wonderful feeling, and he becomes aware of an intoxicating rush rippling through his body, making him sigh in bliss.
Suddenly, there are knocks on the door, rather firm and banging with determination.
‘What on earth…..’ He doesn’t like unforeseen visitors, especially when they are interrupting his favourite television program!
Before he is able to shout ‘Go away!’ it bangs again, this time with an added touch of impatience and very annoying! He feels his fury rising.
Opening the door somewhat to avoid further noise, he becomes aware of two men who were obviously detectives, identifiable by their tight fitting suits and felt hats – ‘who wears hats, nowadays?’ he observes. Behind them jostled a fat policeman with a television news team, complete with camera man and sound technician.
The detectives worry him - right from his first glance at them he has this gut feeling that they spelt troubles. These two men had faces so leathery and weather beaten and with darting eyes that, when making eye contact, seem to yank out any secrets a person might want to withhold.
They are with a third man, a kind of professor type, with thick glasses, holding a clipboard in his hands.
The news team is getting visibly exited, starting to push their way closer to Nigel. They are of the delicate type, colourfully dressed, ‘very pansy-like’, Nigel observes.
They are holding their various apparatuses as if they were doing the public, and humanity in general, a great favour! ‘But what is this all about?’ his thoughts keep racing through his mind.
Before he could think straight and absorb all this gathering, one of the detectives, with a face like a constipated bulldog, with eyes that were big and bloodshot and darting everywhere, held out a shiny metal plaque.
‘Homicide!’ he rasps, ‘Are you Nigel Osprey?’
And he did not wait for a reply – so sure was he of his case.
‘You are under arrest for the murder of a Mrs.Emilia Prattlelot…, your ex wife!’
‘W..w..w.whaaaat?’ Nigel could only gasp incredulously.
‘That’s right!’ You heard!’ This bellow comes out of non-existent lips.
‘Come with me now. Come on, come on…..’ A huge fat hand reaches out to grab him.
‘What are you talking about?’
Nigel instinctively tries to close the door in an attempt to shut out this hostile crowd.
Unfortunately, this Robert-Mitchum-look-alike has big feet – very big, they reach the door gap, thereby preventing its closing.
The third man, the one looking like a boffin, but with the same non-descript clothes, had white hair and probably a large bald spot that, too, is covered by the old-fashioned hat. His pronounced features were thick spectacles – very thick. They were so pronounced that they seem to convex out in an attempt to reach him, with two tiny black spots showing that are trying to hypnotise him – they were either his pupils or the dots flies had left on his glasses.
‘We know’ escaped his stern lips. His Adam’s apple moved up and down his scrawny throat with a collar that was far too big, giving the impression of shrinking whilst on duty!
The policeman, was in a uniform that tries to control his excessive weight by compressing it severely. But it only shifted his blubber downwards, manifesting itself in legs like concrete crushers, with rather gigantic, broad feet.
by: Peter Frederick
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Nigel Osprey sits in front of his television set with a can of beer in his hand and slowly raising it and taking a luxurious sip and a sound escapes his wet lips ‘ah…..this is life!’
He is enjoying the sport program on television, holding his favourite brew in his hand as symbol of freedom, whilst stabilising a family size pizza that had just been delivered and now balances precariously on his knees. He notices its steam rising gently and wafting through the air, filling the room with his favourite aroma: ‘food!’
He listens with rapture to his favourite football manager’s ranting.
Yes, he reminds himself with glowing eyes: that manager’s a real man, strong, with a thick-set body and a mouth that continually seems to burst forth outrageous statements! And expletives – admittedly beeped out by a sissy programme editor – seem to stream effortlessly from thick and egotistic lips.
Nigel giggles to himself. He is enjoying these outbursts; they are amusingly insulting and words are being aired that cannot be received over the airwaves because of their earth content – they are too earthy! But one can always lip-read and not missng out, thereby increasing the fun!
Wonderful thoughts are coming to his mind as he takes another strong suck from his beer can: The wife’s gone away, this time for good! The divorce was very disturbing and a real upheaval. She seems to live now with her aunt Gerti in Muckalot in another state - wherever the hell that is.
Her dim-witted cousin Winston had come and picked-up all her belongings. He’s taken a lot, piling it high on a truck, but it was great to see the last of her junk!
From now on, he keeps reminding himself, there is no more screaming at him, no more berating, the home is now quiet and peaceful as there is only he and his cat Benny, who is in complete agreement with him.
He glances around and notices that the room now looks sparsely furnished. His wife, ex-wife to be exact, has left him with the bare necessities! But there is a tranquil light filtering through the sheer curtains, making all the dust visible and yet giving the room a tranquil ambience.
‘This is a man’s paradise’, he thinks, nodding to himself. There are his scattered newspapers, with the sports pages open and soon there will be a few magazines lying around the room he would normally not have dared to buy.
‘It‘s great to be free’, he thinks – it is a wonderful feeling, and he becomes aware of an intoxicating rush rippling through his body, making him sigh in bliss.
Suddenly, there are knocks on the door, rather firm and banging with determination.
‘What on earth…..’ He doesn’t like unforeseen visitors, especially when they are interrupting his favourite television program!
Before he is able to shout ‘Go away!’ it bangs again, this time with an added touch of impatience and very annoying! He feels his fury rising.
Opening the door somewhat to avoid further noise, he becomes aware of two men who were obviously detectives, identifiable by their tight fitting suits and felt hats – ‘who wears hats, nowadays?’ he observes. Behind them jostled a fat policeman with a television news team, complete with camera man and sound technician.
The detectives worry him - right from his first glance at them he has this gut feeling that they spelt troubles. These two men had faces so leathery and weather beaten and with darting eyes that, when making eye contact, seem to yank out any secrets a person might want to withhold.
They are with a third man, a kind of professor type, with thick glasses, holding a clipboard in his hands.
The news team is getting visibly exited, starting to push their way closer to Nigel. They are of the delicate type, colourfully dressed, ‘very pansy-like’, Nigel observes.
They are holding their various apparatuses as if they were doing the public, and humanity in general, a great favour! ‘But what is this all about?’ his thoughts keep racing through his mind.
Before he could think straight and absorb all this gathering, one of the detectives, with a face like a constipated bulldog, with eyes that were big and bloodshot and darting everywhere, held out a shiny metal plaque.
‘Homicide!’ he rasps, ‘Are you Nigel Osprey?’
And he did not wait for a reply – so sure was he of his case.
‘You are under arrest for the murder of a Mrs.Emilia Prattlelot…, your ex wife!’
‘W..w..w.whaaaat?’ Nigel could only gasp incredulously.
‘That’s right!’ You heard!’ This bellow comes out of non-existent lips.
‘Come with me now. Come on, come on…..’ A huge fat hand reaches out to grab him.
‘What are you talking about?’
Nigel instinctively tries to close the door in an attempt to shut out this hostile crowd.
Unfortunately, this Robert-Mitchum-look-alike has big feet – very big, they reach the door gap, thereby preventing its closing.
The third man, the one looking like a boffin, but with the same non-descript clothes, had white hair and probably a large bald spot that, too, is covered by the old-fashioned hat. His pronounced features were thick spectacles – very thick. They were so pronounced that they seem to convex out in an attempt to reach him, with two tiny black spots showing that are trying to hypnotise him – they were either his pupils or the dots flies had left on his glasses.
‘We know’ escaped his stern lips. His Adam’s apple moved up and down his scrawny throat with a collar that was far too big, giving the impression of shrinking whilst on duty!
The policeman, was in a uniform that tries to control his excessive weight by compressing it severely. But it only shifted his blubber downwards, manifesting itself in legs like concrete crushers, with rather gigantic, broad feet.
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