Discovered in a Christmas Pud: 28th December: Stalemate Part 2
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Here's the rest of the story. Summary from yesterday: Bodie and Doyle are at Wholefoods on High St. Kensington. Doyle leaves Bodie sipping coffee upstairs while he goes to shop for a loaf of bread but ends up on his knees with a knife at his throat.
Bodie stayed very still. He - they both - might have been out of the field for some time now but some things didn’t change. You didn’t antagonise or surprise someone who had the advantage.
‘You all right, Ray?’ He kept his voice low and calm, although the adrenaline pumping through his body at the sight of his partner made his heart rate kick up into overdrive.
‘Yeah. Think this lady might have mistaken me for someone else.’ Doyle’s voice was equally low but slightly strained due to the angle of his neck.
‘Mistaken? Oh, no, I don’t think so. I know exactly who you are, you bastard.’
Bodie looked at her, mind racing frantically. Who was she? Was she a nutter, or did she really know Doyle? And if so, where from? There were so many years of villains, it was hard to separate them sometimes. But this unkempt woman with the staring brown eyes and straggly grey hair was no one they knew.
‘I was inside for a long time. I had plenty of opportunity to plan what to do to you. Every bloody parole board turned me down. I had to serve the full sentence. But I knew they’d have to let me out one day, and then I’d hunt you down and make you suffer.’ Each jerky sentence was uttered with force and spittle collected at the corner of the woman’s mouth.
Who was she? Bodie stared fiercely at the woman. Doyle closed his eyes briefly and swallowed. Blood ran sluggishly down his neck.
‘Really, I think you must have the wrong person. Now why don’t we -‘
‘Oh, yes, I know I’ve changed. Thirty years in prison does that. You thought I was pretty enough once!’
‘Look, I’m sorry if I’ve -‘
‘My dad just gave up and rotted away in prison but I was determined to hunt you down. That kept me going. I used to lie there at night imagining I had my knife at your throat. Like this!’ and she twisted her wrist viciously.
The knife in question was digging into Doyle’s neck now and a thin stream of blood trickled steadily down into his open collar. Doyle tried to shift to move the pressure and put one hand up placatingly.
‘Turvey. Turvey’s granddaughter. Julie, that’s it, isn’t it?’ He caught Bodie’s gaze and made a grimace indicating the need for conciliation.
‘Yeah, that’s right. Come on, now, love, there’s no need for all this. Let’s just talk -‘
The woman interrupted with a howl of fury.
‘You don’t even bloody remember! You ruined my life, you ruined my dad’s life and you don’t even remember who I am!’
Bodie winced. Wrong guess.
‘Jill! Jill Hayden! You got my dad locked away and then you got me locked away too, you bastard! Remember me now?’ She dug the knife in triumphantly and Doyle flinched as it gouged a deep furrow along the base of his neck.
Bodie’s mind was racing. Much further and she could - and indeed probably would - slit his partner’s throat. He calculated, working out her undoubted need to make Doyle suffer against the satisfaction of ending it all now. But what might her strategy be? How would she get away? Then it came to him, listening to her ranting - she had no strategy. Her hatred had grown during her time in prison so that it was an all-consuming mania and she could see nothing else. Bodie scanned the area, calculating angles, looking for options, his gaze flicking over and dismissing the terrified staff. All he could see were shelves full of produce, counters full of cheese and olives, and artistically-arranged heaps of bread.
This was ridiculous. A Mexican standoff with a middle-aged woman in the bread section of a supermarket? Cowley would be turning in his grave. Bodie’s patience, never strong at the best of times, ran out. He caught Doyle’s gaze in warning and leaned on the counter, one hand behind it, fumbling for anything that could - ah. He nodded infinitesimally at Doyle.
The woman was listing all the things she was planning on doing when Doyle groaned and clutched at his chest, choking slightly.
‘Don’t you dare fucking die on me now!’ she screamed. As she shifted her grasp on the sagging Doyle, Bodie brought his arm up from behind the counter and in one smooth overarm move let fly with the knife in his hand. It hit her at the junction of neck and shoulder as Doyle rolled out of her grip, her knife clattering harmlessly to the floor.
Bodie dived in to subdue her, twisting her arm cruelly behind her back. Doyle scooped both knives out of the way and sat back on his heels, regarding Bodie quizzically.
‘I was beginning to wonder if you’d stopped to finish your carrot cake first.’
‘How did you know I wanted carrot cake?’
‘How did you know I needed rescuing?’
‘Who else would cause mayhem in a bloody bakery? Thought all the screaming was because they’d run out of fancy bread as well as waffles.’
There was a bustle at the door as the police arrived, and some confusion as they established that no, Bodie hadn’t taken the woman hostage and yes, she was the cause of the panic. Once this was over and the paramedics had cleaned the wound on Doyle’s neck, they looked around to find a be-suited individual bearing down on them, hands flapping in an agitated fashion.
‘Watch it, here comes Mr. Humphries,’ muttered Doyle, who was weary and just wanted to go home.
‘Are you one of our regular customers, sir?’ The manager of the store wasn’t quite sure whether to treat them as heroes or as the cause of the whole situation, and his attitude was polite but tempered with caution, perhaps expecting Bodie to run amok.
‘Yes, we’re in here most weekends. He sits upstairs with a coffee while I come and do the shopping down here.’
‘Yeah, and that’s something I wanted to talk to someone about. Did you know there’s no - oof!’ Doyle had nudged his partner violently in the ribs.
‘I’m so sorry, gentlemen, I really can’t imagine why that woman chose our store to cause such a disturbance.’ The manager looked around despairingly. ‘It’s going to take us a while to clean up after this incident, and I’ll need to file a report with Head Office. I do hope that this hasn’t put you off - really, I can’t explain it, and I do assure you that this has never happened before!’
With some difficulty, the partners reassured the man that they would return to the store in future, Bodie snaffling a loaf of bread on his way out (‘after all, you can’t sell it now, can you?’) and slipped through the remaining police cordon to head down the High Street towards home.
‘You saved me again.’
‘Yep. Always will, sunshine.’
And there, on the busy High Street, they exchanged long glances that said it all, without the need for words.
Here's the rest of the story. Summary from yesterday: Bodie and Doyle are at Wholefoods on High St. Kensington. Doyle leaves Bodie sipping coffee upstairs while he goes to shop for a loaf of bread but ends up on his knees with a knife at his throat.
Bodie stayed very still. He - they both - might have been out of the field for some time now but some things didn’t change. You didn’t antagonise or surprise someone who had the advantage.
‘You all right, Ray?’ He kept his voice low and calm, although the adrenaline pumping through his body at the sight of his partner made his heart rate kick up into overdrive.
‘Yeah. Think this lady might have mistaken me for someone else.’ Doyle’s voice was equally low but slightly strained due to the angle of his neck.
‘Mistaken? Oh, no, I don’t think so. I know exactly who you are, you bastard.’
Bodie looked at her, mind racing frantically. Who was she? Was she a nutter, or did she really know Doyle? And if so, where from? There were so many years of villains, it was hard to separate them sometimes. But this unkempt woman with the staring brown eyes and straggly grey hair was no one they knew.
‘I was inside for a long time. I had plenty of opportunity to plan what to do to you. Every bloody parole board turned me down. I had to serve the full sentence. But I knew they’d have to let me out one day, and then I’d hunt you down and make you suffer.’ Each jerky sentence was uttered with force and spittle collected at the corner of the woman’s mouth.
Who was she? Bodie stared fiercely at the woman. Doyle closed his eyes briefly and swallowed. Blood ran sluggishly down his neck.
‘Really, I think you must have the wrong person. Now why don’t we -‘
‘Oh, yes, I know I’ve changed. Thirty years in prison does that. You thought I was pretty enough once!’
‘Look, I’m sorry if I’ve -‘
‘My dad just gave up and rotted away in prison but I was determined to hunt you down. That kept me going. I used to lie there at night imagining I had my knife at your throat. Like this!’ and she twisted her wrist viciously.
The knife in question was digging into Doyle’s neck now and a thin stream of blood trickled steadily down into his open collar. Doyle tried to shift to move the pressure and put one hand up placatingly.
‘Turvey. Turvey’s granddaughter. Julie, that’s it, isn’t it?’ He caught Bodie’s gaze and made a grimace indicating the need for conciliation.
‘Yeah, that’s right. Come on, now, love, there’s no need for all this. Let’s just talk -‘
The woman interrupted with a howl of fury.
‘You don’t even bloody remember! You ruined my life, you ruined my dad’s life and you don’t even remember who I am!’
Bodie winced. Wrong guess.
‘Jill! Jill Hayden! You got my dad locked away and then you got me locked away too, you bastard! Remember me now?’ She dug the knife in triumphantly and Doyle flinched as it gouged a deep furrow along the base of his neck.
Bodie’s mind was racing. Much further and she could - and indeed probably would - slit his partner’s throat. He calculated, working out her undoubted need to make Doyle suffer against the satisfaction of ending it all now. But what might her strategy be? How would she get away? Then it came to him, listening to her ranting - she had no strategy. Her hatred had grown during her time in prison so that it was an all-consuming mania and she could see nothing else. Bodie scanned the area, calculating angles, looking for options, his gaze flicking over and dismissing the terrified staff. All he could see were shelves full of produce, counters full of cheese and olives, and artistically-arranged heaps of bread.
This was ridiculous. A Mexican standoff with a middle-aged woman in the bread section of a supermarket? Cowley would be turning in his grave. Bodie’s patience, never strong at the best of times, ran out. He caught Doyle’s gaze in warning and leaned on the counter, one hand behind it, fumbling for anything that could - ah. He nodded infinitesimally at Doyle.
The woman was listing all the things she was planning on doing when Doyle groaned and clutched at his chest, choking slightly.
‘Don’t you dare fucking die on me now!’ she screamed. As she shifted her grasp on the sagging Doyle, Bodie brought his arm up from behind the counter and in one smooth overarm move let fly with the knife in his hand. It hit her at the junction of neck and shoulder as Doyle rolled out of her grip, her knife clattering harmlessly to the floor.
Bodie dived in to subdue her, twisting her arm cruelly behind her back. Doyle scooped both knives out of the way and sat back on his heels, regarding Bodie quizzically.
‘I was beginning to wonder if you’d stopped to finish your carrot cake first.’
‘How did you know I wanted carrot cake?’
‘How did you know I needed rescuing?’
‘Who else would cause mayhem in a bloody bakery? Thought all the screaming was because they’d run out of fancy bread as well as waffles.’
There was a bustle at the door as the police arrived, and some confusion as they established that no, Bodie hadn’t taken the woman hostage and yes, she was the cause of the panic. Once this was over and the paramedics had cleaned the wound on Doyle’s neck, they looked around to find a be-suited individual bearing down on them, hands flapping in an agitated fashion.
‘Watch it, here comes Mr. Humphries,’ muttered Doyle, who was weary and just wanted to go home.
‘Are you one of our regular customers, sir?’ The manager of the store wasn’t quite sure whether to treat them as heroes or as the cause of the whole situation, and his attitude was polite but tempered with caution, perhaps expecting Bodie to run amok.
‘Yes, we’re in here most weekends. He sits upstairs with a coffee while I come and do the shopping down here.’
‘Yeah, and that’s something I wanted to talk to someone about. Did you know there’s no - oof!’ Doyle had nudged his partner violently in the ribs.
‘I’m so sorry, gentlemen, I really can’t imagine why that woman chose our store to cause such a disturbance.’ The manager looked around despairingly. ‘It’s going to take us a while to clean up after this incident, and I’ll need to file a report with Head Office. I do hope that this hasn’t put you off - really, I can’t explain it, and I do assure you that this has never happened before!’
With some difficulty, the partners reassured the man that they would return to the store in future, Bodie snaffling a loaf of bread on his way out (‘after all, you can’t sell it now, can you?’) and slipped through the remaining police cordon to head down the High Street towards home.
‘You saved me again.’
‘Yep. Always will, sunshine.’
And there, on the busy High Street, they exchanged long glances that said it all, without the need for words.