Inspector Hobbes and the Blood: A Fast-paced Comedy Crime Fantasy (unhuman) (28 page)

'All
aboard,' said Hobbes. 'Next stop's the cop shop.'

As
I got in the front seat, Tony shuffled into the back, like a condemned man.

'Seat
belt, Tony,' said Hobbes. 'I wouldn't want any harm to come to you.'

The
car sprang forward again and, as I closed my eyes, I heard a whimper as if from
a scared baby. Tony would have to come to terms with Hobbes's driving in his
own way. The ride seeming smoother than normal, I considered opening my eyes
until Hobbes spoke.

'One
hundred and forty. That's quite fast, eh, Tony?'

He
did not reply.

Not
surprisingly, we made the five miles back to the police station in three
minutes, which I supposed meant we'd slowed down at times. The car pulled up
abruptly and with barely a screech.

'The
brakes aren't bad either,' said Hobbes, as I opened my eyes.

He
had to lift the pale-faced, trembling Tony from the back seat and carry him
into the police station. On reaching the interview room, he plopped him onto a
chair with a soft thud, watching as he slithered to the floor like a sack-f
of quivering jelly. My legs, though shaking, still held me up and I looked down
on the sad mess with a heady feeling of superiority.

'It's
a bit nippy in here,' I shivered.

'Would
you like a cup of tea?' asked Hobbes.

'I'd
love one,' I said.

'Great,'
he smiled. 'So would I and you'd better make one for our guest as well. He
looks like he could do with one. Make it a sweet one; he's looking somewhat
stressed.'

Having
descended from superior being to tea-boy in less than fifteen seconds, I
muttered under my breath as I headed for Hobbes's office to perform my menial
task, though I perked up on realising I'd been presented with an opportunity.
While the kettle got hot, I rummaged through some of his things, although I
felt guilty, almost as if I was committing burglary. At first, I didn't find a
great deal of interest, since nearly everything was locked away, apart from the
piles of old reports and other such stuff on the floor. Yet, taking another
look at the newspaper cutting, I was staggered how much the moustached,
uniformed policeman looked like a younger version of Hobbes.

Then,
not expecting much, I tugged at the drawer in his desk, a spine-tingling thrill
of naughtiness running through me as it opened. I found more or less what I
expected in a desk drawer: a variety of junk, some stationery, pencil stubs, a chipped
twelve-inch wooden ruler and a battered tobacco tin. However, the contents of
the tin were interesting. On top lay a handful of bent, flattened and distorted
bits of metal, looking very much like damaged bullets. Underneath, was a faded,
purple ribbon attached to a dull, black cross, bearing the legend 'For Valour',
beneath images of a crown and a lion. It took a few moments for the meaning to
sink in: it was a Victoria Cross, Britain's highest military decoration. Stunned,
I remembered Mrs Goodfellow telling me that he'd been decorated, and I didn't feel
the need to turn it over to know whose name was engraved on the back.

Yet,
I was puzzled why he kept such a glorious award in a tin at the back of a
drawer filled with rubbish. If I'd ever won something like that, if I'd ever
won anything at all, I'd have it displayed where it might impress people. My
father proudly showed off his dental certificates, yet I'd never even passed my
cycling proficiency test.

At
least, I didn't think so, because when the badges were handed out I was in
hospital with a broken collarbone and cracked pelvis after having failed to
notice the road works in time, crashing through a wooden barrier and plummeting
down a hole. Though it had hurt like hell, I didn't cry when they pulled me out,
or laid me in the ambulance, or during treatment. It wasn't until I lay in the
hospital bed, plastered and helpless, that the tears overwhelmed me. My parents
had been visiting and I'd wet the bed, because I didn't know how to get to the
toilet and couldn't speak over mother's crying and father's sarcasm.

Footsteps
approaching, I crammed everything back, scuttling towards the kettle, which had
started to boil. I was pouring it out when Hobbes entered, giving me a
quizzical look.

'Alright,
Andy?'

'Umm
… yeah. Why d'you ask?'

'Because
you're pouring boiling water into the tea caddy. Never mind, I expect a good
strong cup of tea will do us all a power of good.'

'Oh,
bugger, I'm sorry!'

I
poured the run off into the teapot, trying to retrieve the situation while he
rummaged behind the filing cabinet, pulling out a side-handled baton.

'I
always enjoy using this,' he said, whacking it into the palm of his left hand.

'You
can't,' I cried, appalled. Although I didn't think much of Tony Derrick, I was
damn sure Hobbes shouldn't use a baton on him.

'Why
not? It does the job and it's quicker than getting someone in.'

'No,
it's wrong.'

'Of
course it isn't. And even if it was, who's to know?'

'I'd
know,' I said. 'I really don't think you should do it.'

'OK,'
he shrugged. 'You can do it.'

'Me?'

'Why
not?' He grinned. 'It makes a smashing noise, you'll enjoy it.'

'No.'
He was going to overstep the mark and my hands trembled because I was going to
stop him. 'I absolutely refuse to do anything of the sort.' My sentiments were
strong, though my voice was a squeak.

'Well,
in that case, shut up and let me get on with it. Just bring the tea in, if you
can salvage any, and I'll get to work.'

Managing
to squeeze something vaguely tea-like from the brown sludge I'd created, I filled
three mugs and carried them through, unsure what else to do.

Hobbes
held the door of the interview room to let me in. I put the tray close to Tony,
who sat slouched at the desk and, who, to judge by his grimace, was not
impressed by my efforts. His eyes widened when Hobbes stepped inside, twiddling
the baton between his fingers as though it weighed no more than a chopstick.

'Right,
this won't take long,' said Hobbes, eyeing the baton, swinging it round in a
circle above Tony's head. 'These things are ever so good. We got 'em for
testing but weren't allowed to keep 'em, apart from this one that accidently
fell behind my cabinet. Right, a couple of good, sharp whacks should get things
going. It usually does.'

I
felt a numbing chill along my spine. Though it was cold in there, I don't think
that was the reason. Tony shivered, looking like he was going to cry and I
gulped, stepping towards him, certain that any protection I might offer would
be about as much use as a soggy cardboard shield against a battle-axe, yet
determined to do something.

The
baton, whooshing through the air, rapped hard against the radiator. Tony, jumping
from his seat, slumped to the floor with a low groan, nearly matching the
gurgles of the heating pipes.

'What's
up with him?' asked Hobbes, looking surprised. 'He was the one moaning about
the chill in here. A good whack usually shifts the air-lock in these old
pipes.'

I
sagged back into a chair, shaking my head. It would have been far too difficult
to explain. At least, I think it would have been. I wondered how Hobbes managed
to live among ordinary people, although no one else appeared to doubt his
humanity. Even PC Wilkes, who had sussed his 'unhumanity', hadn't taken the
next step to enlightenment. I pondered the question of whether Hobbes knew the
truth about himself. He'd told me he'd been adopted; if he'd been raised as a
human, perhaps he regarded himself as one of us.

'Daydreaming
again, Andy?' He ran his hand along the radiator. 'Ah, good, can you feel the
heat, Tony?' He turned, lifting the whining figure back into his seat.

I
emerged from my deep thoughts with a jerk.

'I've
done nothing,' Tony shouted. 'I want a lawyer and I want to make a phone call.'

'And
I want a decent cup of tea,' said Hobbes. 'Sadly, we can't always get what we
want. So shut up, have a drink and then we'll enjoy a pleasant chat. Won't we?'

'I've
done nothing.'

Hobbes,
sitting across the desk from him, took a sip of tea and grimaced, his eyes
widening. Standing up, clutching his throat, he dropped to the ground and lay
still.

'You've
done him in,' Tony jumped up, pointing a shaking finger at me. 'You've poisoned
him.' He flung away his mug, slopping tea across the floor.

I
sat as if I'd been nailed to the chair, unable to speak, unable to do anything
other than stare at the inert body, sprawled like a clubbed elephant seal. What
had I done? I knew I wasn't much cop at making tea, yet …

Hobbes
sat up with an evil grin. 'Andy, I've had better bilge water than this. It's
worse than the stuff from the canteen, which is saying a lot.'

'I
thought you were dead.' A muscle in my cheek twitched.

'No
thanks to your tea that I'm not. I'll get George Wilkes to make some; he's not
bad.' Rising with a smirk, he called for Wilkes. Tony was shaking like he'd
just emerged from an icy pond and had forgotten his towel.

Hobbes
sat down and smiled at him. 'It's time we had a good chat.'

'Right
then,' said Hobbes, sitting back in the chair, clasping his great hands behind
his head. 'Let's treat this as a friendly little chat between old friends who
happened to bump into each other.' Frowning at the quivering wretch, he leaned
across the table. 'I take it, that you have no objection to a chat between old
friends.'

Tony
shook his head, a portrait of misery.

Hobbes
grinned. 'Good. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin. What have you
been doing with yourself since the little misunderstanding over Billy
Shawcroft? I heard you'd gone into a monastery.'

Tony
nodded. 'I did, only I didn't stay long. I couldn't be doing with all the
praying and getting up early, though I kinda liked wearing those robe
thingies.'

'Cassocks?'
I suggested.

'No,
it's true.' He gave me an angry glare. 'But the thing is, I thought a
monastery'd be more fun. I'd heard they, like, brewed beer and stuff but my lot
didn't. They dug gardens and kept bees and went to church, every day – several
sodding times! We didn't even get Sundays off. I mean to say, it's a bit bloody
over the top, isn't it?'

Hobbes
nodded, rocking back in his chair, which, teetering on two legs, emitted
alarming creaks.

'They
wouldn't even let me eat chocolate, so after about six weeks, I gave them the
shove.'

'That's
funny,' said Hobbes, 'I was informed that they asked you to leave following
some inappropriate remarks to a nun.'

Tony
flinched. 'That's not true. Well, it is sort of true, though it wasn't my
fault, was it? I thought nuns would be a bit like the girls in 'Naughty
Naturist Nuns'. Have you seen it?'

Hobbes
shook his head.

'Ah,
you should,' said Tony and sighed. 'Bloody good it is. But they're nothing like
that. All I did was tell one of them about it and, next thing I knew, the chief
monk was calling me in for a bollocking. Afterwards, we agreed I wasn't quite
ready for monastic life. Do you know, monks aren't supposed to think carnal
thoughts? Not even about nuns. So I left.'

'Incredible,'
said Hobbes. 'Do go on.'

'Then
I did some stuff. This and that, you know. I worked as a barman, worked in a
shop and worked my way back here.'

'And
who are you working for now?' asked Hobbes, as PC Wilkes entered, bearing three
steaming mugs of tea.

He
placed them on the table, departing with a grin, which I ignored.

'No
one,' said Tony. His hand shook as he reached for a mug and spilt a few drops. Taking
a sip, he pulled a face and put the mug down.

'And
yet you had thousands of pounds in your wallet,' Hobbes pointed out, 'how
come?'

Tony
took another slurp of tea. 'I've got generous friends.'

'Like
Philip Waring?'

'Yeah,
he's a good mate. Very generous.'

'How
long have you known him?'

'Years
and years.'

Hobbes,
taking a gulp from his mug, turning towards me, grimaced. 'Nearly as bad as
yours,' he said, turning back towards Tony, with what I guess he believed was a
friendly smile. 'Years and years? Really? I find that an intriguing remark. You
know, of course, that Mr Waring only came to live in Sorenchester a year ago? But
I suppose you must have met him somewhere else?'

'Uh,
yeah.' Tony nodded, slouching. 'That's right.'

'Where
did you meet him?'

'It
was so long ago, I can't quite remember.'

'Try.'

I
had an inkling Tony wasn't being completely honest.

'Uh
… I'm thinking.'

His
eyes widened as Hobbes stared at him with a deepening frown that threatened to
rival the Grand Canyon.