Fic: Door to Door, white cortina, by Sytaxia
The citizens of Manchester were used to it by now. Every so often, every street would see a bronze Cortina screech to a skittering halt on the curb, and several coppers would pour out of it, and start making the rounds in whatever neighborhood it was that they were making inquiries in. Occasionally, it would be the upper-ranking detectives that would handle the inquiries, as opposed to the detective constables or, more often, the uniformed constables in their striped cars. For some, it was a regular source of entertainment, to compare notes over the questions that they were asked…
“Lookin’ for a shifty bloke, damned hippy an’ all, dresses like a bird and has a bit of a squint.”
“We’re making inquiries after the whereabouts of a Caucasian male, 25 to 35, shoulder length chestnut hair, with a penchant for widely tailored trousers and obviously myopic.”
“Any of you see a tall, skinny bird, face like a hungry mongoose and attitude like Elizabeth Tyler on dope, you let us know.”
“If you could please ring the station at any sighting of a Caucasian female, about five foot seven inches, short, dark hair and possibly under the influence of narcotics, it would be greatly appreciated.”
“Anyone here hear sommat around two in the mornin’? Right racket, would’ve been.”
“We’re investigating crimes in connection with a possible disturbance in the area, at approximately oh-two-oh-seven this morning, possibly involving four IC-one males, all obviously intoxicated.”
“Lookin’ for a short, fit bird, skirt that ought to be illegal, arse like a ripe peach.”
“We’re inquiring as to the whereabouts of a Caucasian woman, approximately five foot one, last seen wearing a black dress and large white fur coat. If you have any information, could you please ring round the station.”
The denizens of Rockwell Street had considered starting a betting pool over the translations that they could come up with, but had given up, in favor of betting over how often the tall, broad officer that talked like a human would punch the polite officer. At present, the sweepstakes stood at five nil in favor of four punches before tea-time.