Things fall apart 2/5 : Norfolk Bronze by fawsley, green cortina with Gene and Sam
Title: Things fall apart 2/5 : Norfolk Bronze
Author: fawsley
Characters: Gene, Sam, Norwich CID
Rating: Green Cortina for language. Colours will crank up somewhat in the next hopefully exciting installment.
Warnings: mouthy and badly behaved Guv
Word Count: 1550
Disclaimer: not my characters, all the property of Kudos and the BBC
Notes: The Guv goes on the warpath...
Part one be here: Things fall apart 1/5 : A Keystone Cop
Things fall apart 2/5 : Norfolk Bronze
Bollocks of steel. That’s what you need to be a desk sergeant. The DI himself had imparted that particular snippet of wisdom. Trouble was, being a woman, she didn’t have bollocks of any description to start with.
Tits of steel, maybe. They could come in useful now and again, give a poke in the eye to some of the stroppy students who landed up in front of her of a Friday night, the over-indulged farmers on market day.
This bloke right now, he could certainly do with a nickel nipple where it hurt most, though she’d have to stand on the desk itself to inflict it. Very tall, this one, all puffed up with arrogance and attitude, yammering on about nobody ever picking up the phone, having to drive half way across the country to claim some lost property. Or was it stolen goods? Whatever it is, he wants to see the DI now and make it snappy Desk Sergeant Turnip-head.
Which is not the sort of abuse she's going to stand for. If the phone would stop for one second she’d ring upstairs, get someone to come down and cart this bloke off to the cells pronto, but the phones don't stop and he doesn’t stop and now he’s picking up the call himself and yelling ‘Piss off! I’m busy!’ before slamming the receiver back down in its cradle.
And then, as if by magic, the DI himself appears on the stairs. Only to freeze in his tracks, a look of pale horror upon his face. The big man glances up and that’s it, he’s off again
‘Tyler, yer bloody runaway runt! Get that scrawny arse of yours down here right now before I have to climb over this desk and drag yer by it!’
DI Tyler blinks and swallows hard, holds on tight to the banister as he makes his slow descent. The desk sergeant claims the for-once-in-its-life silent phone and makes a desperate call for reinforcements as DI Tyler does his best to calm the big man, leading him away from reception and disappearing down a side corridor, shaking like a leaf from what she can tell.
*´¨)
¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•´
‘Gene! What the fuck…?’
‘You, Tyler, have got some serious explainin’ to do.’
‘What…?’
‘Whaddya mean, what? What the hell are you doing here when you should be behind your desk in Manchester, for starters.’
‘I got transferred.’
‘Well pardon me Gladys if I didn’t know that already. But that still doesn’t answer the question why!’
‘You didn’t ask why, you asked what.’
‘And what you are is still the cream of the crop annoyin’ little picky pain of an argumentative tart that you ever were. Now I’ve had to drive all the way to this arsehole in the rump of the country because nobody here has yet learned that when a phone rings you’re supposed to pick it up and say Hello. So what I want right now is a very large drink and then another very large drink and then, Tyler, I expect you to start givin’ me the bloody answers you so conveniently neglected to impart before yer high-tailed it off to this fuckin’ stinkin’ back-water manure heap of a…’
‘DI Tyler? Everything all right?’
They had been joined by a very short, very wide, somewhat red-faced and sweaty gentleman of a nervous-looking disposition. Tyler shuffled, embarrassed.
‘Yes, Sir. All under control now Sir.’
‘Sure, DI Tyler? Sergeant Neal reported a serious incident occurring at the front desk and I…’
‘Serious incident? Fuck me! If a mild difference of opinion is what passes for a serious incident round here then…’
Tyler pushed his companion behind him, making frantic shushing noises.
‘No, everything’s fine, absolutely fine, Sir. Nothing to worry about.’
‘Very well, if you’re sure, very good…’
And with that the short fat gentleman disappeared as quickly as he had arrived, relief etched all over his flustered face.
‘Don’t tell me that clown’s yer superior officer, Tyler?’
‘DCI Dunning, yes.’
‘More like DCI Dumpling if yer ask me. No wonder he has to work in these parts. Nice and flat so yer can roll him around.’
‘Guv, I mean Gene, please…’
Tyler did his best to guide his former boss somewhere, anywhere, out of everyone else’s way.
‘You’d never get him into the Tufty outfit. Paint him orange and stick a stripy pole up his arse, might just get away with the road safety Belisha beacon…’
‘Look, Gene, please, come this way, we’ll find somewhere to talk. But then you must go. Understand?’
‘I want a drink first before anything else. Bloody hell! What’s this, the soddin’ National Portrait Gallery?’
Gene was stood stock still in front of an array of framed photographs, framed photographs of the station staff, mouth open wide in horror.
‘Tyler… Which particular circle of hell have yer brought me to?’
‘I didn’t bring you here! I didn’t invite you! You just arrived!’
‘And I wish to fuck I hadn’t, believe me! Now, we’ve got to talk and we’ve got to work out how to get yer away from here.’
‘Away? What makes you think I want to get away? S’not like it’s The Prisoner or something!’
‘Wouldn’t be so sure about that, Sammy-boy. You sure nobody’s been callin’ yer Number Six recently? DCI Dumpling looks awfully like one o’ them bloody bouncin’ balloon things if yer ask me.’
‘Will you just shut up about DCI Dumpling!’
‘DI Tyler?’ a voice echoed down the corridor. ‘Are you sure you are all right?’
Then DCI Dunning’s yell of anger echoed around the station.
‘My photograph! Some hooligan has broken my photograph! The glass! It’s all cracked!’
Tyler glanced back at his companion to find him sporting an evil grin whilst sucking at knuckles that were slowly oozing blood.
‘Oh dear, what a shame. Poor DCI Dumpling.’
‘Gene, as God is my witness I am going to kill you before the day is out. Fuck it! He’s coming back! In here - quick!’
Tyler pulled them both into the confines of a dark and dusty storeroom as reluctant footsteps approached.
‘Why, Gene? Tell me why. Why is it that whenever you get involved with anything, anywhere, it ends up turning into…’
‘Adventure? Excitement? Come off it, Tyler, you haven’t had this much fun for bloody ages have yer?’
Gene grabbed Tyler by the ears and planted a large wet kiss on his forehead.
‘And you love it! You know you do. Stick with the Gene Genie and it’s a rollercoaster ride all the way. Don’t worry, we’ll get yer back home before DCI Dumpling reaches simmering point.’
‘But I am home, this is home now. I’ve transferred. I’ve left Manchester, Gene. Get used to it.’
‘Bollocks. Cartwright said she thought there was somethin’ to do with personal stuff behind it all and that’s bloody bollocks too’
‘It was personal, believe me.’
‘All bollocks. And this isn’t home because home for a copper is where the crime is an’ as far as I can see here is where crime ain’t. What’ve yer got? Tell me about yer crime profile.’
‘Well, we’ve got a missing student from the University…. And there’s talk of underhand dealings at the sugar beet processing plant…’
‘Students? Sugar beet? Listen to yourself, Tyler. What you need is real crimes, real criminals. Blags and scams and nonces and drugs and bloody hell! Roger Gibson was sprung from Dartmoor last week and I reckon he’s back in town!’
‘Gibson? Roger Gibson? Blimey! What I wouldn’t give to…’
‘Exactly! Now get me out of here and get me a drink and we’ll sort it out, get yer back.’
Silence had once again descended outside, the storeroom door creaked open and two stealthy figures crept out, heading off to the main exit.
Emerging into daylight Tyler was momentarily blinded after the darkened depths of the station. Blinking against the brightness he could just make out that Gene had produced those appalling Elvis shades from some inner pocket and was now striding purposefully towards the car-park.
‘Gene! Wait up!’
‘Drink, Tyler! Now!’
‘You can’t, the pubs aren’t open yet.’
‘And you’re telling me you don’t have any booze at your place? I know yer better than that, my lad.’
‘No way am I taking you back to my place!’
‘Don’t worry. Promise to leave yer front door intact.’
‘Still no way. I’m not letting you… Oh… Oooh… Ahhh….’
Gene turned, puzzled at Tyler’s sudden cessation of mouthy gob. Then he saw the reason why.
‘Ah, yes. Well, ehem, you didn’t think I’d leave her behind, did yer? Couldn’t do that. She missed you too, yer know…’
Tyler stared.
As much as he couldn’t bring himself to admit that he might have missed Gene even a little bit, there was no way he could deny that his life wasn’t complete without her in it anymore. There she was, waiting patiently for him as she had always done. Loyal, unquestioning, bathed in golden sunlight under the endless expanse of an East Anglian sky, and he felt the ice around his heart begin to thaw.
She was sleek and sexy, bronze and beautiful, and Tyler loved her.
###
Things fall apart 3/5 : Five minutes with me and you'll sing like a canary
Author: fawsley
Characters: Gene, Sam, Norwich CID
Rating: Green Cortina for language. Colours will crank up somewhat in the next hopefully exciting installment.
Warnings: mouthy and badly behaved Guv
Word Count: 1550
Disclaimer: not my characters, all the property of Kudos and the BBC
Notes: The Guv goes on the warpath...
Part one be here: Things fall apart 1/5 : A Keystone Cop
Things fall apart 2/5 : Norfolk Bronze
Bollocks of steel. That’s what you need to be a desk sergeant. The DI himself had imparted that particular snippet of wisdom. Trouble was, being a woman, she didn’t have bollocks of any description to start with.
Tits of steel, maybe. They could come in useful now and again, give a poke in the eye to some of the stroppy students who landed up in front of her of a Friday night, the over-indulged farmers on market day.
This bloke right now, he could certainly do with a nickel nipple where it hurt most, though she’d have to stand on the desk itself to inflict it. Very tall, this one, all puffed up with arrogance and attitude, yammering on about nobody ever picking up the phone, having to drive half way across the country to claim some lost property. Or was it stolen goods? Whatever it is, he wants to see the DI now and make it snappy Desk Sergeant Turnip-head.
Which is not the sort of abuse she's going to stand for. If the phone would stop for one second she’d ring upstairs, get someone to come down and cart this bloke off to the cells pronto, but the phones don't stop and he doesn’t stop and now he’s picking up the call himself and yelling ‘Piss off! I’m busy!’ before slamming the receiver back down in its cradle.
And then, as if by magic, the DI himself appears on the stairs. Only to freeze in his tracks, a look of pale horror upon his face. The big man glances up and that’s it, he’s off again
‘Tyler, yer bloody runaway runt! Get that scrawny arse of yours down here right now before I have to climb over this desk and drag yer by it!’
DI Tyler blinks and swallows hard, holds on tight to the banister as he makes his slow descent. The desk sergeant claims the for-once-in-its-life silent phone and makes a desperate call for reinforcements as DI Tyler does his best to calm the big man, leading him away from reception and disappearing down a side corridor, shaking like a leaf from what she can tell.
*´¨)
¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•´
‘Gene! What the fuck…?’
‘You, Tyler, have got some serious explainin’ to do.’
‘What…?’
‘Whaddya mean, what? What the hell are you doing here when you should be behind your desk in Manchester, for starters.’
‘I got transferred.’
‘Well pardon me Gladys if I didn’t know that already. But that still doesn’t answer the question why!’
‘You didn’t ask why, you asked what.’
‘And what you are is still the cream of the crop annoyin’ little picky pain of an argumentative tart that you ever were. Now I’ve had to drive all the way to this arsehole in the rump of the country because nobody here has yet learned that when a phone rings you’re supposed to pick it up and say Hello. So what I want right now is a very large drink and then another very large drink and then, Tyler, I expect you to start givin’ me the bloody answers you so conveniently neglected to impart before yer high-tailed it off to this fuckin’ stinkin’ back-water manure heap of a…’
‘DI Tyler? Everything all right?’
They had been joined by a very short, very wide, somewhat red-faced and sweaty gentleman of a nervous-looking disposition. Tyler shuffled, embarrassed.
‘Yes, Sir. All under control now Sir.’
‘Sure, DI Tyler? Sergeant Neal reported a serious incident occurring at the front desk and I…’
‘Serious incident? Fuck me! If a mild difference of opinion is what passes for a serious incident round here then…’
Tyler pushed his companion behind him, making frantic shushing noises.
‘No, everything’s fine, absolutely fine, Sir. Nothing to worry about.’
‘Very well, if you’re sure, very good…’
And with that the short fat gentleman disappeared as quickly as he had arrived, relief etched all over his flustered face.
‘Don’t tell me that clown’s yer superior officer, Tyler?’
‘DCI Dunning, yes.’
‘More like DCI Dumpling if yer ask me. No wonder he has to work in these parts. Nice and flat so yer can roll him around.’
‘Guv, I mean Gene, please…’
Tyler did his best to guide his former boss somewhere, anywhere, out of everyone else’s way.
‘You’d never get him into the Tufty outfit. Paint him orange and stick a stripy pole up his arse, might just get away with the road safety Belisha beacon…’
‘Look, Gene, please, come this way, we’ll find somewhere to talk. But then you must go. Understand?’
‘I want a drink first before anything else. Bloody hell! What’s this, the soddin’ National Portrait Gallery?’
Gene was stood stock still in front of an array of framed photographs, framed photographs of the station staff, mouth open wide in horror.
‘Tyler… Which particular circle of hell have yer brought me to?’
‘I didn’t bring you here! I didn’t invite you! You just arrived!’
‘And I wish to fuck I hadn’t, believe me! Now, we’ve got to talk and we’ve got to work out how to get yer away from here.’
‘Away? What makes you think I want to get away? S’not like it’s The Prisoner or something!’
‘Wouldn’t be so sure about that, Sammy-boy. You sure nobody’s been callin’ yer Number Six recently? DCI Dumpling looks awfully like one o’ them bloody bouncin’ balloon things if yer ask me.’
‘Will you just shut up about DCI Dumpling!’
‘DI Tyler?’ a voice echoed down the corridor. ‘Are you sure you are all right?’
Then DCI Dunning’s yell of anger echoed around the station.
‘My photograph! Some hooligan has broken my photograph! The glass! It’s all cracked!’
Tyler glanced back at his companion to find him sporting an evil grin whilst sucking at knuckles that were slowly oozing blood.
‘Oh dear, what a shame. Poor DCI Dumpling.’
‘Gene, as God is my witness I am going to kill you before the day is out. Fuck it! He’s coming back! In here - quick!’
Tyler pulled them both into the confines of a dark and dusty storeroom as reluctant footsteps approached.
‘Why, Gene? Tell me why. Why is it that whenever you get involved with anything, anywhere, it ends up turning into…’
‘Adventure? Excitement? Come off it, Tyler, you haven’t had this much fun for bloody ages have yer?’
Gene grabbed Tyler by the ears and planted a large wet kiss on his forehead.
‘And you love it! You know you do. Stick with the Gene Genie and it’s a rollercoaster ride all the way. Don’t worry, we’ll get yer back home before DCI Dumpling reaches simmering point.’
‘But I am home, this is home now. I’ve transferred. I’ve left Manchester, Gene. Get used to it.’
‘Bollocks. Cartwright said she thought there was somethin’ to do with personal stuff behind it all and that’s bloody bollocks too’
‘It was personal, believe me.’
‘All bollocks. And this isn’t home because home for a copper is where the crime is an’ as far as I can see here is where crime ain’t. What’ve yer got? Tell me about yer crime profile.’
‘Well, we’ve got a missing student from the University…. And there’s talk of underhand dealings at the sugar beet processing plant…’
‘Students? Sugar beet? Listen to yourself, Tyler. What you need is real crimes, real criminals. Blags and scams and nonces and drugs and bloody hell! Roger Gibson was sprung from Dartmoor last week and I reckon he’s back in town!’
‘Gibson? Roger Gibson? Blimey! What I wouldn’t give to…’
‘Exactly! Now get me out of here and get me a drink and we’ll sort it out, get yer back.’
Silence had once again descended outside, the storeroom door creaked open and two stealthy figures crept out, heading off to the main exit.
Emerging into daylight Tyler was momentarily blinded after the darkened depths of the station. Blinking against the brightness he could just make out that Gene had produced those appalling Elvis shades from some inner pocket and was now striding purposefully towards the car-park.
‘Gene! Wait up!’
‘Drink, Tyler! Now!’
‘You can’t, the pubs aren’t open yet.’
‘And you’re telling me you don’t have any booze at your place? I know yer better than that, my lad.’
‘No way am I taking you back to my place!’
‘Don’t worry. Promise to leave yer front door intact.’
‘Still no way. I’m not letting you… Oh… Oooh… Ahhh….’
Gene turned, puzzled at Tyler’s sudden cessation of mouthy gob. Then he saw the reason why.
‘Ah, yes. Well, ehem, you didn’t think I’d leave her behind, did yer? Couldn’t do that. She missed you too, yer know…’
Tyler stared.
As much as he couldn’t bring himself to admit that he might have missed Gene even a little bit, there was no way he could deny that his life wasn’t complete without her in it anymore. There she was, waiting patiently for him as she had always done. Loyal, unquestioning, bathed in golden sunlight under the endless expanse of an East Anglian sky, and he felt the ice around his heart begin to thaw.
She was sleek and sexy, bronze and beautiful, and Tyler loved her.
###
Things fall apart 3/5 : Five minutes with me and you'll sing like a canary