sallllllllllllllam
I select a story for you It is very nice and I will put it in parts
It was one of those nights It was one of those nights
PART 1
The evening was quiet enough. It was 11 already gone. Arthur McCollins was putting the tea cups down on the table and Stuart was making himself comfortable. This was fun. He had thought it would be a lot harder. He was 24, straight out of the academy. Stuart Miller was his name, born in Sussex, just recently moved up to Birmingham to join his wife, who was studying here. They had been together since school, and Stuart’s mother had always told him, "Stuart, hold onto that girl, I don’t know how you got her, but you’ll never get one like her again."
Con Redbridge was still writing up some open files on the computer over in the office room. You could hear him go on from time to time about what he thought of the new system. "If somebody would finally blow shit through Bill Gate’s head, I wouldn’t even move out of this chair to stop him, why I’d even pay him something for it!" Arthur, about 58 years old, was smiling, having a seat in the easy chair that seemed to be his very own and gazed generously over to young Stuart.
"So how do you like your first night shift so far, Stuart?"
"Very nice, sir! Of course I’m sort of missing the action, I mean, we’ve just been sitting around here, I mean at least I’ve been sitting, while you’ve been doing your paper work."
"Still doing it, young lad, still doing it." That one came from the other room, Con was joining in the talk.
"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."
"Don’t you worry. You’ll get you’re action. You’ll be glad for every second you can look at these ugly walls from the inside." Arthur McCollins was reclining in his chair, he had been the chief for so long that everything in these rooms seemed to be his.
The rooms were ugly. Hidden in one of those brick houses on Bordersley heading out east. The little blue sign with "Police" on it. The specially enforced door. Video cams to check the entrance area. The poster with the malignant faces of wanted terrorists in the reception. The commons room they were sitting in now was fair enough. Hadn’t been redecorated since Thatcher first came to power, though. Con was coming from the office. "That’s done with." He sat down beside Stuart, the sofa cushions moved down and Stuart had to keep himself from sliding down over to him. Took a sip from his tea.
"I made you one with sugar and milk, Redbridge, just like my little daughter likes it." Stuart could tell that Arthur didn’t like sugar, and he was glad that he had decided to take his tea just like his chief did.
"Thanks, Chief. Just goes to show that someone in the family has taste. You also gulping that stuff bitter like pure ground coffee? I suppose you’re still at the stage where you have to do everything like the chief does, that’s all right."
Stuart didn’t answer.
"Leave the kid alone, Con. Just because I didn’t put enough sugar in your tea is no reason to turn sour on us."
"The sugar’s all right, chief. Sorry, kid."
The minutes went ticking by. The radio was crackling over in the corner, but headquarters would only call them in an emergency. Chief had told them that he didn’t want to work that much, and Arthur was one of the oldest in the whole force. They made themselves comfortable. Talked about this and that. You could hear a weather coming up outside. It was story telling time.
Chief McCollins started. "It was one of those nights, you know. Half of my colleagues were over at the stadium working at the Tina Turner show, that was when she still toured with Ike, and I was on motorway patrol. Fine. So then, at about 10 o’clock, we get this call you don’t ever want to get. A car ran right into somebody walking on the M6 direction to Stafford. The driver was all shaken and could hardly be understood on the emergency phone. An ambulance was alarmed but would take a while to get there. So the dispatcher asked us whether we weren’t close by. Dispatchers in those days always knew exactly where you were. I don’t know how they did it. They’d actually ask you to stop in this and this shop to buy something for them, and ten seconds later, you were driving past this shop that you had never heard of in your life.
"Anyway. We were close by and drove to the scene. The traffic was jammed, the hard shoulder was free, we slowed down and came up to the car that was obviously involved. You didn’t really see that much, the windshield was broken. Up ahead there was a truck standing at the left. Without lights. The man was probably from the truck, my mate said. And then we saw the driver. He was all shaking. But seemed to be doing reasonably enough. He just pointed to the back of his car. He died instantly, the driver said. I wasn’t satisfied, always did want to do a thorough job back then. So I went to the rear door and opened it up. There was this bloody mass hanging about on the bench. I saw a shoulder and shook it. "Hello? Can you hear me? hello?" That’s when a head rolled out of the door and fell on my feet. I swear. There it was, cleanly cut at the neck with some chords hanging out from it. Rolled on my feet and came to an end looking up at me with freaky eyes."
To be continued
I select a story for you It is very nice and I will put it in parts
It was one of those nights It was one of those nights
PART 1
The evening was quiet enough. It was 11 already gone. Arthur McCollins was putting the tea cups down on the table and Stuart was making himself comfortable. This was fun. He had thought it would be a lot harder. He was 24, straight out of the academy. Stuart Miller was his name, born in Sussex, just recently moved up to Birmingham to join his wife, who was studying here. They had been together since school, and Stuart’s mother had always told him, "Stuart, hold onto that girl, I don’t know how you got her, but you’ll never get one like her again."
Con Redbridge was still writing up some open files on the computer over in the office room. You could hear him go on from time to time about what he thought of the new system. "If somebody would finally blow shit through Bill Gate’s head, I wouldn’t even move out of this chair to stop him, why I’d even pay him something for it!" Arthur, about 58 years old, was smiling, having a seat in the easy chair that seemed to be his very own and gazed generously over to young Stuart.
"So how do you like your first night shift so far, Stuart?"
"Very nice, sir! Of course I’m sort of missing the action, I mean, we’ve just been sitting around here, I mean at least I’ve been sitting, while you’ve been doing your paper work."
"Still doing it, young lad, still doing it." That one came from the other room, Con was joining in the talk.
"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."
"Don’t you worry. You’ll get you’re action. You’ll be glad for every second you can look at these ugly walls from the inside." Arthur McCollins was reclining in his chair, he had been the chief for so long that everything in these rooms seemed to be his.
The rooms were ugly. Hidden in one of those brick houses on Bordersley heading out east. The little blue sign with "Police" on it. The specially enforced door. Video cams to check the entrance area. The poster with the malignant faces of wanted terrorists in the reception. The commons room they were sitting in now was fair enough. Hadn’t been redecorated since Thatcher first came to power, though. Con was coming from the office. "That’s done with." He sat down beside Stuart, the sofa cushions moved down and Stuart had to keep himself from sliding down over to him. Took a sip from his tea.
"I made you one with sugar and milk, Redbridge, just like my little daughter likes it." Stuart could tell that Arthur didn’t like sugar, and he was glad that he had decided to take his tea just like his chief did.
"Thanks, Chief. Just goes to show that someone in the family has taste. You also gulping that stuff bitter like pure ground coffee? I suppose you’re still at the stage where you have to do everything like the chief does, that’s all right."
Stuart didn’t answer.
"Leave the kid alone, Con. Just because I didn’t put enough sugar in your tea is no reason to turn sour on us."
"The sugar’s all right, chief. Sorry, kid."
The minutes went ticking by. The radio was crackling over in the corner, but headquarters would only call them in an emergency. Chief had told them that he didn’t want to work that much, and Arthur was one of the oldest in the whole force. They made themselves comfortable. Talked about this and that. You could hear a weather coming up outside. It was story telling time.
Chief McCollins started. "It was one of those nights, you know. Half of my colleagues were over at the stadium working at the Tina Turner show, that was when she still toured with Ike, and I was on motorway patrol. Fine. So then, at about 10 o’clock, we get this call you don’t ever want to get. A car ran right into somebody walking on the M6 direction to Stafford. The driver was all shaken and could hardly be understood on the emergency phone. An ambulance was alarmed but would take a while to get there. So the dispatcher asked us whether we weren’t close by. Dispatchers in those days always knew exactly where you were. I don’t know how they did it. They’d actually ask you to stop in this and this shop to buy something for them, and ten seconds later, you were driving past this shop that you had never heard of in your life.
"Anyway. We were close by and drove to the scene. The traffic was jammed, the hard shoulder was free, we slowed down and came up to the car that was obviously involved. You didn’t really see that much, the windshield was broken. Up ahead there was a truck standing at the left. Without lights. The man was probably from the truck, my mate said. And then we saw the driver. He was all shaking. But seemed to be doing reasonably enough. He just pointed to the back of his car. He died instantly, the driver said. I wasn’t satisfied, always did want to do a thorough job back then. So I went to the rear door and opened it up. There was this bloody mass hanging about on the bench. I saw a shoulder and shook it. "Hello? Can you hear me? hello?" That’s when a head rolled out of the door and fell on my feet. I swear. There it was, cleanly cut at the neck with some chords hanging out from it. Rolled on my feet and came to an end looking up at me with freaky eyes."
To be continued
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