Penny’s Pass the Story Part 10

Part 9 at: https://www.abctales.com/story/penny4athought/pass-story-chapter-9

 

Penny’s 'Pass the Parcel’ Part 10

Milton wanted to flick another rolled up ball of scrap paper at Polanski’s face but he had bigger fish to fry.

“Oh it’s nothing. Just carry on writing up those citations, Po-lan-ksi. And don’t forget the donuts later.”

The rookie cop wondered if there would ever be enough sweet treats to keep his porky superior happy. Probably not, he thought, daydreaming once again of setting fire to that stupid squashed hat.

Milton’s chair squealed like finger nails on a chalkboard, its occupier pushing the legs back to stand.

“I’ll be back in a jif. I have a lead to follow up on.” With that, the unkempt sheriff stormed out of the station.

The conversation with Marandina had sparked something inside his suspicious brain. The tone had been off, strained. He didn’t like it one little bit. Nope. He glared down at his mobile phone focusing on the tracking app that sat innocuously amongst other icons on screen. It was another carefully guarded secret that all of his minions’ whereabouts were tracked via rigged police-issue handsets.

Firing up his state-of-the-art Chevrolet Tahoe PPV, wheels screeched as he shot out of the rear parking lot in the manner of the tune that was playing on the car radio: Bat out of Hell by Meatloaf. Mouthing the lyrics, he pulled the steering wheel aggressively to the left then the right, imagining himself careering around the skies like the eponymous flying mammal from the song.  

The station was on the outskirts of the hamlet of Mornington Heights which was only a couple of minutes from his destination, not even enough time to hear the end of the anthem blasting out; driver-side window wound down and a crooked arm on the sill.

Padget’s place looked eerie, what with the lights out and all; Milton’s sense of unease was not receding. Pulling over to the kerb, he slipped the cruiser into park and slumped back in the car seat. He had settled on the other side of the street, wary of announcing any arrival.

He scanned the frontage, looking for signs of activity in the windows. Nothing. Opening the car door, he squeezed his bulky frame out and onto the sidewalk looking like an overweight intoxicated hermit crab leaving its shell. Brushing down his trousers, he reached down to check his revolver was sitting inside its holster. It was.

Sunlight dappled the house exterior, apple trees distorting the evening light as dusk approached. Shadows were forming, the advent of night soon to envelop the town once more, an insidious cloak that masked many a strange occurrence behind closed doors and drawn drapes.  

Checking in all directions, Milton crouched as low as he could and shuffled over to the left side of the property. Stepping over the white picket fence that bordered the Padget residence, he threw his back against the wall and breathed in. By now his gun was held out in front of him, gripped in both hands. Making his way along the frontage, he skirted past rocking chairs on the porch and paused at the front door. It was slightly ajar which made life easier.

Pushing gently with his forearm, an entry was executed without fuss. The hallway had rooms on the left and right with an ornate staircase in the middle leading to the bedrooms on the first floor. Muffled voices could be heard from somewhere at the rear.  

The senior cop padded along on the patterned runner that led to the back of the house. He found himself primed ready to open a door when the scratchy sound of his intercom broke the silence.

“Ah shit” He exclaimed under his breath before going for broke and barging in.

The scene that greeted him was one he didn’t expect:

Marandina tied up in a chair with Oliver and Jenny Padget milling around like cats on hot tin rooves. His eyes were drawn to the latter’s firearm.

“Put the gun down, Jenny. Slowly put it on the floor.”

Jenny was wide-eyed with shock and complied meekly.

“Now kick it towards me very, very gently…assuming the safety is on.”

Again she did as she was told.

“So this is where the party’s at, deputy Ma-ran-din-a. I do declare that you get yoself into some of the most beguiling scrapes, so ya do.”

The tone was mocking.

“I caught these two up to no good. They are complicit in a wider criminal forgery operation.”

The sheriff’s eyebrows raised as he pondered his own involvement with the counterfeit shenanigans.

“Untie the good deputy would ya now.”

Marandina looked down as Oliver Padget cut through the ties with a knife.

“And once finished freeing my erstwhile assistant, I would be most grateful if you could pass me that sharp instrument you have right there, Oliver.”

Rubbing his arms to get circulation going again, Marandina took a step towards the sheriff to thank him for his release. It was only then that Milton noticed the hobnailed boots sticking out from underneath floor length curtains.

Before he knew what was going on, a shadowy figure stepped out holding a luger with silencer attached.

“A wad have ye put the gun doun sheriff”

It was as a man, stocky build, wearing a balaclava; only his eyes visible through holes in the knitwear. He was wearing a green and white hooped football shirt and camouflaged khaki bottoms.

Milton looked baffled, the words a mumble of meaningless jumble to him. Thoughts drifted in his head. Was this a terrorist? It certainly looked like one and yet there was something very familiar….

“What the Holy f….” Before the sheriff’s exclamation was complete, Jenny chimed in:

“I think he wants you to put your gun down.”

Milton slowly bent down and placed his weapon on the carpet.

“Reet, A'll tak thae plates tae gae wi ma valueable maps an documents.”

Again, gobbledegook to Milton.

Fortunately, Jenny got the gist and dropped them into an unzipped sports bag that had appeared.

“Much appreciatit. Now aw stand ower bi tha wall will yooz?”

Milton, Marandina, Jenny and Oliver Padget all edged backwards nervously.

“Aye, that’s grand.”

There ensued a few moments of awkward silence as the group tried to process the situation. Darkness fell outside. Jenny’s gaze was drawn to the window from where the interloper had come from.

“I know you. It’s Sel ain’t it? I knew I’d heard that indecipherable brogue somewhere before.” Milton congratulated himself on a nifty piece of deduction.

“Aye, it’s me alreet. Nah shut yer hole ya barm.”

The sheriff was nonplussed.

Behind them a sudden rustling sound echoed with the curtain on the other side of the window parting.

“Pavel!” declared Jenny.

It was a tall man with a moustache and Latin looks. He was carrying a pump action shotgun that had been pointing at the ground but was now very much pointing at them.

“Put the firearm down, my Scottish friend.”

“Yes, that’s the way. Now join the rest of the gathering if you wouldn’t mind.”

Jenny went cold inside.

“You’re here to tidy up loose ends aren’t you?” She shook inside as the question trailed off.

“You know we don’t like a mess, Jenny. The boss runs a tight ship. There’s no more cabins below deck for the likes of you guys.”

Milton closed his eyes and pictured pizza and porn. They were his happy place.

Pulling the shotgun up to his eye line, Pavel decided he would take out the policemen first. With his finger quivering over the trigger, the room was suddenly plunged into darkness. Pitch black. Someone had somehow flicked the switch over by the door.

Shots were fired, streaks of light evidence of a firefight. Grunts and groans followed as a struggle ensued. Amongst the fighting, howls and curses could be heard.

By the time the room was illuminated once more, Pavel was lying on the floor, his head badly beaten. Milton, Marandina, Jenny and Oliver were all bound and tied sitting in pairs with their backs to each other.

Standing over them was the hunched figure of an old man with his sidekick Sel Ticman next to him.

“But…but…I thought you were d-“

Not waiting for the end of the sentence, Amos Snodgrass grinned.

“Oh…THAT. Yep, now and again I forget my insulin. I ended up in a diabetic coma. I am well and very much in the pink as you can see.”

He basked in the glory of his resurrection.

“And now it’s time to escape. Is the pink Caddy far, Sel?”

Marandina fumed. This unholy duo should be facing justice. Instead, they were about to leggit with all of the illicit loot.

“Fleeing Mossad, I imagine. I take it, it was them that did you over?” The deputy glowered and noted how he would take it out on Milton’s squashed hat when they got back to that station. IF they got back to the station.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Like it matters muchly. I’m off to find an unmarried school mom outside an undisclosed school and my pal Sel here will continue to sell his books and avoid the ICE warriors.

With that, they left.

Only a weird thing happened at that point. The TV came on and a man who was quite orange was on screen bragging about his latest foreign conquest and how he would take all the oil.

“I fucking hate Trump.” Milton thought. “And anyone who supports him.”

Oliver Padget stared at the knife left behind for them.

Mornington Heights always used to be so quiet, he mused.

 

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