Vivid Violet #10

Mr. Tweedle's Revenge.






"Well I don't mind telling you mate I'm a bit disappointed. A bit bloody disillusioned like, with the boys in blue, y'narramean..? I mean, okay, so I wasn't expecting an armoured car and motorcycle-cop combo, but Jesus - a fuckin' Bus..?"

"I'm sorry sir, I regret to inform you that all our cars in the area are busy, but should sir wish to provide a written complaint, a copy of said complaint will be forwarded to next month's Policing-quality-control circle meeting."

"I mean, what if I'd been violent..? What if I'd come out swingin' a bat huh..? I mean - just one copper, it's an insult tha's what it is, a right bleedin' liberty."

"Temporary staff shortages also mean that a policy of minimum manpower response with regard to risk assessment is currently being adopted."

"So I was assessed as 'low risk' huh..? I'll give you fuckin' low risk you son of a-"

"Look you stupid little prick, we both know that you are nothing but a long streak of very yellow piss and that I could cripple you for life without even breaking out in a sweat, so how about we cut the bravado and come as quietly as you can manage okay... Sir..?"

"Hey - Let go..! Leggo of me..! Okay, okay I'm cool I'm cool. Jesus H. Christ you fuckin' guys don't know when a guy's just screwin' around, do yah..? Fuck. Anyway, least you can talk normal, I was beginning to think you werra robot or summin...

... A fuckin' bus though, no sirens no nothing. Low fuckin' risk. Low. Fuckin'. Risk. Jeeze."

"Would you like to walk perhaps..? It's only about seven miles to the station, I could handcuff us together and well, if I made us walk fast we'd be there in an hour or two. I mean me, I'd hardly be out of breath, but you however, 'Mr.-I'm-only-wearing-flip-flops-and-am-woefully-out-of shape-and-hungover', you I guarrentee, would be an absolute physical and emotional wreck."

"..."

"So, as I said, if you want to make a formal complaint against the conduct of the metropolitan police force whilst you were in their custody down at the station, you have the right to do so, but if you don't, if you don't - then please shut the fuck up about it. Okay..?"

"Oh look, here's the bus. I hope your citycard is charged, I left mine at home. Y'know, I hadda pack in a hurry..."



"So, how did you catch me Mr. Copper..?"

"I'm sorry, I am not a liberty to divulge such information."

"Oh c'mon man - It's just you, me, that little old lady over there, anna driver, who's gonna know...? Look - you tell me how you caught me, I'll tell you if you're right, deal..? You can tell your superiors you were trying to 'interrogate me for infromation pertaining to the case' or whatever - okay..? C'mon, I'm bored man, aren't you..?"

"We were finally able to arrest you on the grounds of information provided by a Mr. Tweedles of Seventeen Firwood Road."

"Never heard of him...

...Hang on a minute - I know that address - that's Thelma's place that is. She's one of my best customers - she'd never grass me out to the pigs."

"She didn't supply us with any information concerning your... profession - however her cat, Mr. Tweedles, did.

We knew there was someone supplying in our area, we just didn't know how you were doing it. You were clever, using your Dad's doorstop-delivery Fishmonger business as a cover. We found your 'menu' stuck up on Thelma's fridge. - a 'Whiting special' was cocaine if I remember correctly and 'Monk-fish paté' was heroin wasn't it..? Funny."

"Stupid cow."

"What did you expect..? Conscientiousness from your customers..? Dependable drug addicts..? Anyway - as far as we can establish Ms. Thelma contracted flu and her Mother came round to look after her for a few days. And her cat. Of course, when she gets there - your last delivery of Monk-Fish paté is still sitting in the fridge, complete with its sachet of brown powder, torn apparantly, dissolving into the fish. Mother gives Mr. Tweedles a special treat.

Mr. Tweedles goes completely off his head and takes a nose-dive out of a second floor window, then legs it accross the road and appears to get hit by a car.

Thelma's Mother then rushes Mr. Tweedles to a vet, only for the vet to find nothing actually physically wrong with the patient. He sends a sample of blood to the labs, and, when he gets the results back, faces the unhappy job of telling Thelma's Mother that her daughter's cat is a junkie."

"A fuckin' cat..?"

"Yes sir. And before you start planning a revenge killing - don't bother, our informant passed away peacefully, in his sleep."