Threats and Promises? (Bring Out Your Dead series - Part 10)

Continued from Episode 9 - "Not lost, but..."

The story so far (you can read from the start at 'Board Stiff!'):  Josiah and Archibald, our two Undertakers, are on a mission to Spain to collect the mortal remains of Sir Lewisham Carnock.  At the same time, Detectives Wood and Stone are due to extradite Frankie 'Nighty' Knight back to the U.K.  Unfortunately, neither Sir Lewisham nor Frankie are where they should be (in Alicante).  In fact, coincidentally, both are residing in Castilliano de la Ribera, further up the coast, necessitating an overnight stay in Alicante, for all concerned:

"That business with our stiff…" Archibald began, as they boarded the lift for their room.

"I do wish you would not employ such terms, Archibald, it is not becoming to our profession, as I have told you on countless occasions." Josiah, whose patience was now at an extremely low ebb, glared at Archibald.

"Sorry, Mr. Oakshott.  Wasn't thinking, Mr. Oakshott" Archibald responded, automatically.

"I take it you are referring to the late Sir Lewisham?  What 'business' exactly did you have in mind?"

"Well, you said he was with this minger…"

"I said nothing of the sort.  I said that he met his unfortunate demise on La Manga, a narrow strip of land a little further up the coast, much favoured by the rich and famous"

"Oh, right" Archibald considered this information for a moment, "what was he doing there, then?"

"As I understand it, Sir Lewisham was receiving a massage at the time of his unfortunate demise, to alleviate an old sports injury" Josiah gripped the handle of his wheeled suitcase firmly and set off along the corridor, checking the room numbers against the number on the keycard.

"Massage, eh?"  Archibald sniggered.

"What, exactly, do you mean by that remark, pray tell?" Josiah turned on his heels and glared at his assistant.

"Well, you know what they say about massages, Mr. O." Archibald burbled, taken aback by Josiah's sudden hostility.

"No, I do not.  Perhaps you would care to enlighten me?"

"Well, they reckon, not that I'd know of course, but they reckon it's one of them…euphoniums"

"Euphoniums?  What, like a tuba?"  Josiah looked at his assistant with bewilderment

"No, no, that’s gardening innit?  Daffodils and hyacinths and stuff?"  Archibald ventured, "Perhaps it's not euphonium.  It's one of those things where you use one word but it means summat else"

"Euphonium?  Oh, you mean a euphemism!"  Josiah found that interpreting the meaning of Archibald Thurble's conversation was infinitely more taxing than The Times' crossword puzzle. "A euphemism for what?"

"Well…you know!"  Archibald blushed deeply.

"No, Archibald, I'm afraid that, for once, your meaning entirely escapes me." Josiah slid the keycard in and out of the slot on the door, but the light remained obstinately at red.  Finally, after half a dozen attempts, there was a satisfying click and the light turned green.  He barged the door open with his shoulder, eager to avoid it locking on him again.

"We've just got the one room then, Mr. O.?"  Archibald observed, gloomily.

"You know as well as I do, Archibald, that we were most fortunate, at such short notice, to get even this!"  Josiah snapped.

"It's got a double bed" Archibald noted, flatly.

"That would seem to be the case, Archibald.”  Josiah sighed, “I will telephone Housekeeping with immediate effect, to see if this situation can be rectified" Josiah hurried toward the telephone.

"I was thinking about…S.E.X." Archibald advised, spelling each letter in a stage whisper.

"What!?" Josiah yelped, horrified.  He was aware that the younger generation had a much more, how should he put it? ‘Fluid’ interpretation of gender and sexual orientation but, up to now, he had never suspected such a thing of Archibald Thurble.

"Massage," Archibald explained, "when they say 'massage', they often mean S.E.X…or so they reckon"

"Oh, thank God for that" Josiah exclaimed with considerable relief, mopping his forehead, "for a moment there, I thought you meant…"

"What, Mr. Oakshott?"

"It is of no importance, Archibald.  A simple misunderstanding, on my part, brought on, no doubt, by stress and fatigue.  Please, pay it no attention." He closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead and found himself giggling with relief.  He pulled himself together rapidly, "as for Sir Lewisham, I am sure that you will find he was receiving proper, medically sanctioned treatment, for his sports injury.  Perhaps he strained himself at Polo?" Josiah mused.

"Them packets can be a bugger to open" Archibald agreed, hurling his suitcase onto the bed.

******

“Oh we’ll be all right, little Maria will see us okay, just you wait and see!”  D.S. Stone repeated, in a passable imitation of his boss, as he hauled his suitcase, like a recalcitrant toddler, back across the car park.

“I don’t see what you’re getting so upset about” D.I. Wood puffed as he struggled to keep up with his subordinate, “It was hardly my fault that those two coffin-floggers got the last room, just as we turned up, was it?”

“Our room!  They’ve got our room!”  D.S. Stone moaned, “Now, because there’s a conference on and nothing else available anywhere, we’re stuck spending the night in our hire car.”

“Look on it as a practice stake-out” D.I. Wood suggested, helpfully, “you know what they say, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” D.S. Stone glared at his boss, as he shoved his suitcase into the boot of the car in a marked manner.  “Anyway,” D.I. Wood continued, “I think it’s pretty decent of Maria to let us kip in the car park.  She didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“You can’t believe how grateful I am” D.S. Stone snarled, as he slammed the boot shut and hurled himself into the passenger seat.

“Well, so you should be.  Anyhow, it could work out that you get the car to yourself tonight” D.I. Wood ventured, removing an electric razor from the glove compartment and setting about his beard industriously.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Just sayin’!”  D.I. Wood contemplated his image in the vanity mirror, “Got a dinner date with Maria tonight, ain’t I?”  He splashed some duty-free aftershave around liberally, rendering the atmosphere of the car unbreathable, “Reckon I could be on a promise, know what I mean?”  He winked and leered, much to D.S. Stone’s disgust.

“Mrs. Wood happy about that, is she?” D.S. Stone enquired archly.

“Don’t get all self-righteous with me, Sonny Jim!” D.I. Wood snapped, “Just ‘cause Maria wouldn’t give you the time of day.  If you want something to do, you can read up on that villain we’re going to be collecting tomorrow.  You know what they say about knowing your enemy?  Night, Sergeant, don’t wait up”

D.S. Stone glumly began to dig out the papers from his briefcase as he watched his boss swagger back toward the hotel.  This was going to be a very long night, and no mistake.

Now read Part 11