Bring Out Your Dead - Part 16

Continued from Part 15 

A little further down the coast, other journeys were at varying stages of progression.

“I’ve always said, you can’t beat eggs, bacon and a fried slice to set you up for the day”  D.I. Wood patted his stomach contentedly as he accelerated up the coast road, “What was that you had?”

“Grilled sardines” D.S. Stone replied, primly.

“Fish for breakfast?  You must be out of your tiny mind.  What’s wrong with a Full English, eh?”

“It’s a regional dish.  When in Rome…”  D.S. Stone pointed out.

“I reckon you’re going restive” D.I. Wood muttered as he hurtled around a put-putting moped, causing the rider to wobble alarmingly.

“Native! Going native, you mean.  It isn’t that.  I just like to eat a healthy diet and grilled sardines are a local speciality”

“You’ll be ordering that calamari stuff next.  Nothing more than deep-fried rubber bands if you ask me.”

“Why are we going up the coast road?” D.S. Stone decided that a change of subject was called for, “There’s a really good toll road that would get us there much faster, you know”

“Yeah, I know, I just don’t want to cane the expenses more than I can help it.  What with the two nights in the hotel and all that…”

“We didn’t have two nights…Oh!”  D.S. Stone suddenly noticed the expression on his superior’s face.

“Maria fixed me up with a receipt, didn’t she” He explained, “Least she could do, under the circumstances.  We stand to make a few bob on that.  Make it worth our while spending a night in the car park, eh?”

“Hmm” D.S. Stone was unconvinced, “Oh,oh, watch out, there’s a sign for road works ahead”

“Oh, flaming hell.  That’ll mean miles of bloody cones and nobody doing nothing in them”

D.I. Wood pulled over to the left, much to the annoyance of the bus that was trying to pass him at the time.  They were aware of a blur of cones, high-vis jackets and then…nothing.

“Was that it?”

“Looks like it, sir.  Half a dozen cones, one bloke down a hole, digging, the other leaning on a spade, smoking and watching him.”  D.S. Stone confirmed. “Not a very safe working practice, if you ask me.”

“Stroll on!  Back in Blighty that would have been cones as far as the eye can see and you wouldn’t even have spotted the two blokes. “ D.I. Wood chuckled, “I bloody love this country.”

******

Lawrence Hamble climbed into the driver’s seat of their tiny car, clutching the paperwork that he had just signed and wearing a rather puzzled expression.  The provider of the car, a swarthy looking chap who reminded Lawrence of an all-in wrestler he had once seen on the T.V., was even now vanishing rapidly from the car park in his expensive-looking four-by-four.

“What seems to be the problem?”  Amber asked, pointedly.

“I’m not sure I’ve grasped whether we’re supposed to return the car full of fuel, or empty?”  Lawrence leafed through the sheaf of papers.

“Oh, give it here”” Amber grabbed the documents and reviewed them with a practiced eye.  “Empty!  You have to bring it back empty.  Look, it says so there in black and white.”  A newly painted talon was applied to the relevant clause, “You’ve paid for a full tank of fuel.  Mind you, looking at the price you’ve paid it would have been cheaper to have filled it with champagne”

“Oh” Lawrence said, miserably.

“What do you mean, ‘oh’?  What’s wrong?”

“Well, you see, it’s a diesel, sweetheart, and it’s only a tiny car.  I doubt that we could empty the tank if we did nothing else but drive for the rest of the week.”

“Typical!” Amber snarled, “you can’t be left to do anything right, can you?”

Lawrence started the car and made a few kangaroo hops across the car park whilst he mastered the clutch.

“What the hell are you doing?  And why does the driver’s window keep going up and down?”

“Sorry, dear.  I keep going for the handbrake with my left hand and knocking the electric window switch.”

“Give me strength!  For God’s sake, keep to the minor roads.  I want to survive to see the rest of my holiday, such as it is.”

“I was going to suggest that, love.  It would be prettier anyway.”  Lawrence edged, apologetically, out into the Alicante traffic.

“I don’t care if it’s visually stunning, I just want to get there in one piece” Amber observed, darkly.

******

Meanwhile, in a villa on La Manga, Chantelle Lace was checking her appearance in the full-length bedroom mirror.  She nodded, approvingly.  The tiny white skirt showed off the length of her beautifully tanned legs and the halter-neck top displayed just the right amount of, similarly tanned, cleavage without appearing too cheap and chav-like.  She adjusted the halter-neck slightly, which set up an inviting jiggle she would have to remember to employ in her forthcoming discussions.  A large sun hat and mirrored lens sunglasses set off the whole ensemble.

Climbing into the Mazda MX5, she accelerated, with a satisfyingly throaty roar, for the seaside town of Castiliano de la Ribera, last known residence of Frankie Knight.  She didn’t know what he was up to, and that wasn’t a situation with which she was at all comfortable.  If she started with the jail where he was supposed to be currently held, but clearly wasn’t, then perhaps she could trace his movements.  At the very least, she could make sure the authorities knew he was missing.  Frankie Knight rampaging around the Spanish Costas, armed with a ‘plan’, was too frightening to contemplate.