Ollie was frowning. “What’s going on?”
“We’ve had fourteen reports of thefts today.”
“But we don’t get that many in a month.” He considered. “In a year, most years.”
“Well, we got it today. I processed six of the reports but the other eight are awaiting your personal attention.”
“Hell’s bells.” Maybe no visit to Lou at the diner tonight after all.
“While you were out in town today,” Wayne asked, “you didn’t see a gang of bikers or anything, did you?” The phone began to ring. “That’s probably another one, Deputy Cornbach.” Wayne slipped his jacket on. “Have fun.”
“No,” Ollie said, about the bikers. He had been out in town, but he hadn’t seen a damn thing out of the ordinary. He dropped into the seat at the desk. “I didn’t see a damn thing.” He picked up the phone. “Roseville Sheriff’s Office.”
“She nearly got caught,” Frank said to Beverley.
“Shut up and drive,” Margaret said sharply. But something caught in her throat and in trying to clear it she began to wheeze.
“I’m just saying,” Frank said.
“Well, I had an easy time,” Beverley said. She was short, round, and wore her graying hair long and straight.
“What do you think the pickings will come to today?” Margaret asked, her breathing under control again.
“You should have seen her, though, Bev,” Frank said with a smile. “When she got returned to the room she looked great. How did you do that drool, Marg? The guy who brought you in was really spooked.”
“Natural talent,” Margaret said. “You know, I was thinking…”
“There’s a first,” Frank said. “Just kidding.”
“I was thinking that what we are doing is really a contribution to homeland security. All these small-town people leave their doors open, their cars running when they go to the drugstore for a lotto ticket. They have no attitude of alertness. What would happen if al-Qaeda came to Roseville? Security is all about vigilance.”
“Yeah, right,” Bev said. “Justify it however you want, sweetie. But we’re making money for ourselves.”
“That too,” Margaret said. “I was just saying.” She coughed, and stifled a wheeze. There was a chance if it got too bad, Frank and Bev would make her be the one to stay in the motel room while they went out, despite the fact that old women at the money end were less risky because they were less threatening.
“Well,” Frank said, “it’s my grandson’s birthday next month. And you know what greedy little beggars kids are these days because of the TV they watch.”
The women chimed, “Amen.”
“So,” he said, “where’s next? Who’s got the map?”
Say That Again
by Peter Lovesey
Copyright © 2007 by Peter Lovesey
A winner of the Cartier Diamond Dagger, the CWa’s life-time achievement award, Peter Lovesey is a longtime contributor to EQMM and a former winner of our Readers Award. The following story emerged from a seminar he and friends Michael Z. Lewin and Liza Cody presented at a crime writers’ conference in Britain — one of many projects the three have participated in together. Mr. Lovesey’s latest novel is The Circle (Soho Crime).
We called him “the Brigadier with the buggered ear.” Just looking at it made you wince. Really he should have had the bits surgically removed. He claimed it was an old war wound. However, Sadie the Lady, another of our residents, told us it wasn’t true. She said she’d talked to the Brig’s son Arnold, who reckoned his old man got blind drunk in Aldershot one night and tripped over a police dog and paid for it with his shell-like.
Because of his handicap, the Brigadier tended to shout. His “good” ear wasn’t up to much, even with the aid stuck in it. We got used to the shouting, we old farts in the Never-Say-Die Retirement Home. After all, most of us are hard of hearing as well. No doubt we were guilty of letting him bluster and bellow without interruption. We never dreamed at the time that our compliance would get us into the High Court on a murder rap.
It was set in motion by She-Who-Must-Be-Replaced, our so-called matron, pinning a new leaflet on the notice board in the hall.
“Infernal cheek!” the Brig boomed. “They’re parasites, these people, living off the frail and weak-minded.”
“Who are you calling weak-minded?” Sadie the Lady piped up. “There’s nothing wrong with my brain.”
The Brig didn’t hear. Sometimes it can be a blessing.
“Listen to this,” he bellowed, as if we had any choice. “ ‘Are you dissatisfied with your hearing? Struggling with a faulty instrument? Picking up unwanted background noise? Marcus Haliburton, a renowned expert on the amazing new digital hearing aids, will be in attendance all day at the Bay Tree Hotel on Thursday, 8th April, for free consultations. Call this number now for an appointment. No obligation.’ No obligation, my arse — forgive me, ladies. You know what happens? They get you in there and tell you to take out your National Health aid so they can poke one of those little torches in your ear and of course you’re stuffed. You can’t hear a thing they’re saying from that moment on. The next thing is they shove a form in front of you and you find you’ve signed an order for a thousand-pound replacement. If you object they drop your NHS aid on the floor and tread on it.”
“That can’t be correct,” Miss Martindale said.
“Completely wrecked, yes,” the Brigadier said. “Are you speaking from personal experience, my dear? Because I am.”
Someone put up a hand. He wanted to be helped to the toilet, but the Brigadier took it as support. “Good man. What we should do is teach these blighters a lesson. We could, you know, with my officer training and George’s underworld experience.”
I smiled faintly. My underworld links were nil, another of the Brig’s misunderstandings. One afternoon I’d been talking to Sadie about cats and happened to mention that we once adopted a stray. I thought the Brig was dozing in his armchair, but he came to life and said, “Which of the Krays was that — Reggie or Ronnie? I had no idea of your criminal past, George. We’ll have to watch you in future.”
It was hopeless trying to disillusion him, so I settled for my gangster reputation and some of the old ladies began to believe it, too, and found me more interesting than ever they’d supposed.
By the next tea break, the Brigadier had turned puce with excitement. “I’ve mapped it out,” he told us. “I’m calling it Operation Syringe, because we’re going to clean these ruffians out. Basically, the object of the plan is to get a new super-digital hearing aid for everyone in this home free of charge.”
“How the heck will you do that?” Sadie asked.
“What?”
She stepped closer and spoke into his ear. “They’re a private company. Those aids cost a fortune.”
The Brig grinned. “Simple. We intercept their supplies. I happen to know the Bay Tree Hotel quite well.”
Sadie said to the rest of us, “That’s a fact. The Legion has its meetings there. He’s round there every Friday night for his G and T.”
“G and T or two or three,” another old lady said.
I said, “Wait a minute, Brigadier. We can’t steal a bunch of hearing aids.” I have a carrying voice when necessary and he heard every word.
“ ‘Steal’ is not a term in the military lexicon, dear boy,” he said. “We requisition them.” He leaned forward. “Now, the operation has three phases. Number One: Observation. I’ll take care of that. Number Two: Liaison. This means getting in touch with an inside man, Cormac, the barman. I can do that also. Number Three: Action. And that depends on what we learn from Phases One and Two. That’s where the rest of you come in. Are you with me?”