THE SCALLYBIRD & MABEL RIMPLE
When I arrived back into work a few days later, we were told that our Unit would be disbanding, as due to changes and restructuring we were all needed elsewhere. I was being posted back to my old Section with Dave Jennings as our Patrol Sergeant and as much as they tormented me, I was really looking forward to being back with the lads.
I was up to date with my paperwork, but the rest of the Unit were staying put to clear everything up before we made our moves. Taking the keys to one of the Patrol cars, I headed out towards the Town Centre. We’d had reports in that a male was touring the area on a pedal cycle dealing drugs to the local kids and the Sarge had asked me to take a look at it. We didn’t have much to go on, just white male, early to mid-twenties wearing dark coloured tracksuit bottoms and a hooded top. Well that clears that up then, how hard is this going to be considering 99% of our naughty boys wear this type of stuff as a uniform. In any Town Centre you can see the Catwalk of Shame being played out around the benches, litter bins and local McDonalds outlets:
“Ah, here we have Tyrone wearing this seasons’ latest addition to the LaCoste range. As you can see Tyrone has pulled his trousers down so that you can also see his boxer shorts to their full effect. Tyrone will now give a little twirl to demonstrate that there is ample room for both, oh yes Ladies and Gentlemen, BOTH hands to fit neatly down the front for a little cosseting and jiggling when required.
Yes, thank you Tyrone – Tyrone that’s enough now, I think they’ve got the idea. ………..”
Musing the latter and having a quiet little giggle to myself, I spotted a not-so-rare Scallybird, whizzing through the precinct on his mountain bike. I say whizzing, he was fast but he was also very wobbly. As he stopped at the traffic lights, I pulled alongside him and pointed towards the layby. Scallybird obviously didn’t want to hang around and quickly took a short cut onto the pavement, around several shoppers and was just about to cycle off into the distance when he suddenly came to a grinding halt. I watched in amazement as the back end of the bike lifted into the air, spectacularly throwing Scallybird over the handlebars and depositing him face down on to the pavement with a resounding ‘whump’, followed by the sound of crashing metal onto concrete. Abandoning the police car I ran over to where he was now lying prostrate and gasping for breath.
Standing over Scallybird, wielding an extra large baguette was one Mabel Rimple, a genteel 83 year old retired school Ma’am who had courageously taken it upon herself to ram her red tartan Model 6963 Stafford 4-wheel shopping trolley into the path of Scallybird’s bike, thus hindering his escape. She had also delivered several blows to his head with her trusty baguette judging by the amount of crumbs stuck to his hair and the rather droopy bend to her bakery product. Looking down at Scallybird I recognised him as one of our regulars.
As I shouted up for assistance, Scallybird started to protest;
“Arrrr hey Miss, I ‘aint dun nuffink, yer just picking on me ‘cos I’m black……”
Rolling my eyes, I wagged a finger at Scallybird;
“No Jerome, you are not black, you are white with a sun tan, we’ve been through all this before – I treat everyone the same so don’t start with that sort of behaviour or you and I will fall out…….”
Spitting on his finger and rubbing at a dirty mark on his trainer, he grinned;
“Hee hee, fookin’ gets ‘em everytime that one…. ‘cept you Miss….”
Jerome started his little jiggling dance as they all do when confronted and then, just as he was about to place his hands down the front of his LaCoste trackie bottoms, I spotted a rather large bulge, just to the side by his front pocket. Jerome stared at me, I stared at the bulge and then at Jerome. He was becoming increasingly uncomfortable and antsy….I knew I had him, he was definitely carrying down his trackie bottoms. I was sure that I’d got our drug dealer. Way to go Mavis!
Derek arrived just in time to help me do a proper search of Jerome, taking his jacket from him, Derek asked the standard safety question;
“Right lad, you’re going to be searched now, is there anything you want to hand over before I start, any sharps, anything that might endanger me, anything you shouldn’t have……….?”
“Nah boss, nuffink…I ain’t got nuffink on me….swear down boss…I’ve got nowt….”
Looking him straight in the eye I challenged him;
“Nothing on you Jerome, I hardly think so…..if you’ve got nothing on you what’s this then?
Smirking in a know-it-all sort of way, I leant forward, grabbed hold of the rather large sausage shaped bulge through his trackie bottoms, and with my thumb and fingers gave it a hefty squeeze;
“Fooking ‘ell Miss…that’s my willy..………..”
Embarrassingly enough, I could confirm that it was indeed his appendage – it was probably the only truthful comment Jerome had made in the last ten years – and if I wanted to be nit-picky about it all, in a different sense to the one that I had meant – Jerome had been carrying….only it had been a rather large erection rather than the packet of drugs that I had anticipated.
The disappointment must have been written all over my face for Jerome to suddenly take pity on me.
“Ah hey Miss, snot all fooked yer know…..I nicked the bike from outside the Aldi if that’s any ‘elp to yer, that’s why I woz gettin’ off like………..”
Thank you Jerome………..
(c) 2013 Gina Kirkham