Entry #538578, added on 09-29-07 @ 7:16 pm EDT
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| Chapter Twenty Five | Entry #538578 |
Albert who was always fond of a drink had decided to abandon his carriage driving for the evening in favour of a few bears with an old pal of the trade. If Albert wasn’t driving around it was a fair bet that he could almost always be found in his favourite drinking hole ‘The Coachman’, which had quite frequently resulted in the rather large Mrs Albert Murphy tracking him down and bludgeoning him on the head with a rolled up copy of the daily newspaper until Albert apologetically scurried home.
This evening was going well thus far though, Mrs Murphy was spending time with her equally large sister in Somerset for a few days, which meant there was no-one to spoil Albert’s fun. Six pints into his favoured tipple and Albert was slowly a little worse for wear. Still his night’s partner in crimes grasp on reality was far from loosening. Victor Romanov had the kind of constitution typical of a man born and raised in the Motherland; Albert had never remembered ever seeing his pal truly be overcome with drink still that wasn’t such a spectacular statement when considering Albert could hardly remember anything of an evening.
Albert and Victor was very much the odd pair, two men from very different backgrounds with very different characters, Albert it seemed never stopped talking whereas Victor barely seemed to speak a word but still in ‘The Coachman’ they could always be found in each others company. Some joked that Victor didn’t understand much English which is why he could tolerate the incessant ramblings of the drunken Irelander and was simply too polite to walk away, but that was far from the truth, Victor although raised an impoverished child in Russia’s heartland had been well educated in his time in England, he had to be, his employer demanded it.
The jovial atmosphere of ‘The Coachman’ suddenly drew silent as Officer Dillon entered the public house. “Please carry on” ordered the approving officer.
As the noise levels once again started to climb Dillon approached the table where Albert and Victor was seated.
“You are Sir Maxton Silas’s driver are you not?” Dillon addressed Victor who reluctant to engage in conversation simply nodded.
“Good, good, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions concerning the night of October 5th.”
Albert drunkenly interrupted “Are ye trying to accuse me good friend Victor here of something untoward now officer?”
“No nothing of the sort, I simply was hoping Victor may have seen something on the night of the animal attack”
“Too bloody right he did, me beast of a wife for bloody sure” Albert roared backwards laughing nearly loosing the balance of his chair as it fell back dangerously.
Victor let out a small smile clearly amused at Albert’s outburst.
“Hilarious I’m sure” politely responded a rather unimpressed Dillon.
“Aye you should see the bloody woman, she often says she could eat a horse, a bloody stable more like”. Again Albert fell back in a roar of laughter, the chair again teetering precariously on its hind legs before gentle falling forwards to safety.
“Yes, now Victor I know you were driving for Silas on the night of October 5th did you see anything unusual other than this mans unfortunate wife that is” questioned an increasingly agitated Dillon.
“I saw nothing”
“May I remind you that Sir Silas promised me your full co-operation in this matter, I know as a matter of fact that you spent a sizeable amount of time in that area that night, I’m sure your esteemed employer would not take kindly to you withholding information from me.” Threatened Dillon.
A serious glare eminated from Victor’s face as he raised his six foot eight frame from his chair. Looking down menacingly at Dillon he once again repeated himself with a clearly defined angry tone “I saw nothing!”
Dillon squirmed uncomfortably in his uniform feverishly trying to maintain his composure.
“Bugger me, either that cop needs a shit or he’s already had a large one” shouted aloud Albert as both himself and his fellow patrons burst out into a sea laughter. Albert more so than most though as once again he fell back on his chair, only this time much too far as he fell with a crash to the hard wooden floor.
Dillon angered by the public humiliation found himself ignoring the intimidating presence of Victor before him and vainly fought to assert his authority once more. “It’s my belief that you did indeed see something that night Victor and with such a shameful display of your accomplice here I have a good mind to arrest the both of you, obstructing the course of justice is a very serious offence you know”.
Victor’s eyes began to widen wildly as his clenched fists and head began to visibly shudder consumed with anger fighting for a release. Victor began to reach out for Dillon clearly willing to demonstrate his own well kept respect for the law when Albert who had gingerly dragged himself from of the floor stepped in between the two men.
“You know where I come from calling a mans character into question like that is simply not on, in fact it’s bloody down right disrespectful. Back in Belfast should you make such a claim you’d be liable to find yeself nursing a knife to the chest me laddo officer of the law or not. Now if you’re a man of any character at all I’d suggest you turn tail and leave this fine establishment before you find out what it’s like to sing soprano in the Murphy/Romanov quire.”
Dillon unimpressed and clearly paying little attention to the crowd that had amassed around him nudged the off balanced Albert to the side sending him crashing again to the floor. “Bloody leprechaun” Dillon muttered under his breath. Before being able to take the opportunity to address Victor one last time the sound of the uneasy crowd that had gathered around him distracted his attention as he fully began to appreciate the situation he himself had helped escalate. Dillon clearly realised he needed to do some serious backtracking and turned to address the crowd.
“Okay, right, well maybe this mans suggestion may have been correct after all, there seems clearly no need to further intrude on you good patrons, I think maybe it would be best I leave now, please all enjoy the evening…”
Before Dillon could finish his parting statement Albert raised himself of the floor once more and in fine Irish tradition grabbed a half full bottle of Whiskey from a nearby table and cracked Dillon full force with it across the back of his skull.
Albert laughed out “Who you calling a bloody leprechaun now you flatfooted pig” as he passed out and fell back to the floor one final time.
Barely twenty minutes passed before a group of officers descended on “The Coachman”. Dillon, who had now come around after being knocked clean cold by the bottle of Irelands finest, was gently mopping up the trickle of blood still flowing from his battered skull as he watched both Victor and Albert being carted off in the direction of the station, Albert still very clearly unconscious.
Dillon had had enough for one night and retired home, he was going to deal with this in the morning, Victor had to know something.
Mason had spent all night by the side of the Huntz hound. Although Mason was now all but certain he had managed to create a more genetically stable creature he was more than just a little disappointed that this great beast seemed to have lost the loving and loyal qualities of his previous creation. After all to Mason it was still a treasured pet, sure he’d sacrificed many animals in order to fulfil his work, but all had always remained loved pets to him, after all animals were the only thing he’d ever really managed to form any kind of close bond to. Women had never been attracted to this rather awkward man and friends only hung around for personal gain or glory, it was the way of his life and he’d accepted that.
Throughout the early hours Mason confided in the creature on the opposite side of the steal door to the background carcophony of ugly growls. Hour after hour passed and with each passing hour the Huntz slowly, ever so gradually began to calm, at times it even sounded like it was trying to respond with a shared crying of two beliguered creatures.
When the morning eventually came Mason’s trust in the creature was complete, he knew it could destroy and mutilate him in seconds, still he didn’t care, he needed to be with his creation, have faith in his pet. Mason slowly opened the steal door that had restrained the Huntz since its creation, he found himself face to face with a clearly much greater evolved dog like beast than that of his previous design. It was noticeably larger, and very clearly a vastly stronger animal all together. He starred deep in to its eyes, it starred back, as it let out an ominous growl and charged at the defenceless Doctor Mason sending him flying powerfully to the floor leaving Mason pinned down by his monstrous creation.
Mason closed his eyes tightly and prepared himself for his mortal end, heart racing, brow sweating, totally resigned to death, as the Huntz warm dry tongue gently caressed his cheek.
With the morning light Dillon woke to find himself with a thundering headache, no doubt the result of the previous nights events, any other day, any other case and Dillon would have more than contemplated staying at home and closing out the world outside. But not today, he was determined to finally get to the bottom of the case that had haunted him since that fateful night, and finally redeem his tortured guilt.
As Dillon arrived at the station he barely had chance to set foot inside before Jennings bellowed out at him from the hall an immediate desire to see him. Dillon surprised and mildly concerned immediately adhered to his summons.
“What the bloody hell do you think you were doing last night officer? I’ve got a cell layered out in pools of vomit with a smell that will take weeks to clear no doubt along with Sir Silas’s personal carriage driver. To top it all off I’ve had numerous complaints about your conduct last night in ‘The Coachman’ with witnesses stating your behaviour befitting that of a common thug no less. You better have a bloody good explanation for all this.”
“I was simply following up on the animal case sir, yes I admit my behaviour may have been a little on the blunt side but I felt it necessary to assert myself sir. As for Sir Silas’s driver he’s potentially a very good lead, he was in the area that night no less.”
An increasingly annoyed Jennings retorted “That doesn’t explain why he’s in one of my bloody cells sonny, did he do anything to warrant an arrest, break any laws at all?”
“Yes sir I’m sure he was trying to obstruct the investigation of an officer”.
“And just why is it do you believe that”.
“He said he didn’t see anything sir”.
A highly agitated Jennings screamed out at Dillon “Do you suppose that could be simply be that he didn’t indeed see anything! Get that man out of my cell immediately and offer him a full apology before Silas slams wrongful arrest on all of our asses, while you’re at it release the drunkard too and wash out that cell…”
“But he assaulted me with a bottle sir!”
“Did he kill you?”
“Well no sir of course not but…”
“Then I don’t care, get them both out of my station and drop the bloody case, it was a fucking animal attack, it’s most likely long gone or even dead by now, drop the bloody case immediately”
Jennings was still ranting when Dillon dejectedly left the office, the whole station had heard their conversation and all but a handful of sympathetic souls who themselves had been in a similar position in the past fought to stifle back the laughs cementing Dillon’s humiliation once more.
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© Copyright 2007 ReflectingeyE (UN: reflectingeye at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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