The Professional Job

crime caper by Oonah V. Joslin

A field somewhere in Little Piddlingtonshire

“Can’t you go any faster?”

“Inadvisable I’d say. Better to act nonchalant. Anyway, I’m bleeding, Barry. I stepped on glass.”

“Well, I’m sorry but you’re not going to be the one at the receiving end though, are you, Brent? You should have looked where you were going.”

“You should try in this get-up!

Maybe if we split up. There’d be two targets then.”

“Yes and I know which would be preferred! I’m wounded, Barry.”

“That’s a bit over the top, isn’t it? It’s only your foot.”

“Yeah? Well that’s what I walk on, Houdini.”

“Well, I’d really rather you walk a bit faster, Brent. He’s getting closer.”

“Stop pushing. I can’t go any faster, right? It hurts!”

“Stop whining. It’s not professional.”

“Oh, put a sock in it.”

At Hackett Fair

“Sorry, Officer, I only saw the back of them disappearing over that field of ‘effers. They was brown and white, they was. Car? No. No getaway car. They just cut through the crowd and away. Nearly knocked me on my arse, they did. My trilby went flying. Look, it’s all muddy now. How will I ever get that clean? That’s a job for professionals. I’ve a good mind to sue.”

“I don’t fink they actually took anyfink, Sergeant. My mother ‘ere beat ‘em off with ‘er umbreller but ‘er eyesight isn’t as good as it used to was. I don’t fink she’ll be much ‘elp.”

“My son’d gawn to get a couple o’ teas when these two geezers come up and tried to grab the tom bola takings. Well, I took at ‘em wif my brolly, see. Wha’ did they look like? ‘Ow should I know? I couldn’t see nuffink of ‘em!”

“They came running through the tent, see, these two blokes. Well, on a bank ‘oliday you expect that kind of thing to ‘appen, ‘igh spirits, one thing an’ another. I took no notice at the time. Then Bert comes and tells me Daisy’s missing. Daisy, says I? Aye, says he.”

“Aye, and that’s when Ernie calls you fellas. Only I think one of them’s cut hiself because there was blood on the sawdust below the rack where that broken bottle is. I ‘ope you find them soon, Officer. We’ve put on ‘orace the ‘orse instead, time being. The show must go on!”

Back in the field

“Shut up yourself! This was your bright idea, anyway! We could’ve split up and mingled. There was no need to run. We didn’t even get anything.”

“Except for a pantomime cow–”

“Except for that. That’s going to be well embarrassing isn’t it? Done for theft of a pantomime cow. I can just see it in the headlines now. August Bank Holiday weekend in Cannot Hacket, brothers Barry and Brent Dickhe–”

“Can it! Have a look behind and see if he’s still there.”

“Yip! He’s interested. He’s kind of pawing the ground now. They can smell blood you know. I’ve heard it drives them mad.”

“Yes well, I’m told they like sex, too, and since I’m at the back, can you get a bloody move on and stop wasting breath?”

Under a tree in a field somewhere in Little Piddlingtonshire

“Reg Boult. B.O.U.L.T. Make sure you spell it right.”

‘My farm’s out by the fairgrounds. It’s the queerest thing! I never saw a cow in a tree before, but there it is. These two men must’ve climbed up to get it down and now damned if the three of ‘em ain’t stuck!”

“That’s why I called the fire service. Thought it was a job for professionals. But you’ll have to wait until Caesar calms down.”

“No, I don’t know what’s got into him. He’s usually such a placid bull.”

Copyright 2009 by Oonah V. Joslin

Oonah V. Joslin lives in Northumberland, United Kingdom. She blogs about writing at Oonahverse.

[Return to the July 2009 stories]