Be Seated

John White

Description

Better than a newspaper. Better than your usual reading material. Better than contemplating your kneecaps.Why be bored? Why be alone in there? This delightful book of short stories is brimming with amazing tales of humour, adventure, crime, love, horror, science fiction, fantasy and chance. The short stories and monologues in this book are snapshots of experiences, thoughts, people and places. They are just the right length to be read at a sitting and suit that most lonely of personal occasions. Enjoy some light entertaining reading whilst nature takes its course. You know it makes sense. Take your pick.Book reviews online @ www.publishedbestsellers.com

Sujets

• Short story

Informations

• Publié par: Pneuma Springs Publishing
• Date de parution: 04 avril 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781782282846
• Langue: English

Extrait

Be Seated

Short Stories For The Smallest Room



John White
Copyright
First Published in 2013 by Pneuma Springs Publishing
Be Seated—Short Stories For The Smallest Room Copyright © 20 13 John White
John White has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this Work
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Mobi eISBN: 9781782282761 Epub eISBN: 9781782282846 PDF eBook eISBN: 9781782282921 Paperback ISBN: 9781782282624
Pneuma Springs Publishing E: [e-mail] W: www.pneumasprings.co.uk
Published in the United Kingdom. All rights reserved under International Copyright Law. Contents and/or cover may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written consent of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, save those clearly in the public domain, is purely coincidental
.
Dedication

For my wife and best friend,
Wendy

Also, the members of The Eastwood Writers Group, whose help over the past five years has been invaluable
Contents

A Letter To The Publisher
Evidence
Until He Saw Her Face
“What Have You Got To Lose?”
Food For Thought
“And This Year’s Winner Is…”
Calendar
Coincidence
Glassed
“Ho, Ho, Ho”
Irony
Last Of The Summer Whine
“I’m Like That” (A Monologue)
Oak
On A Clear Day You Can See Forever
Over The Hills And Far Away
Ronald
Search Party
Strangers When We Meet
One Of Those Days (A Monologue)
The Eyes Have It
The Truth Is Out There
Trespassers Will Be…
On The Defensive
“You’re Late”
Decommissioned
Unusual Demands
Tennessee Can Wait
The Supermarket (A Monologue)
Dome
Removal
A Change Of Plans
Bench Mark
Gladius
A Sound Business Base
Escape
The Spring Of ’44
First Person Singular And Guests
A Forward Step
Flights Of Fantasy
An Error Of Judgement
Now You See It, Now You…
If You Go Down To The Park Today
1. A Letter To The Publisher
Like the majority of aspiring authors, I have received my fair share of rejection slips. Most are returned with a polite, ‘thank you, but no thank you’, standard letter, but not all. Some were rather abrupt and frankly, off hand. The following text is my tongue-in-cheek reaction, brought on by feelings of frustration.

Dear Dog’s Breath,
I received your rejection slip this morning. The obvious truth is my manuscript received only the most cursory of glances, before being demoted to your slush pile. The tea or coffee cup stain adorning the first page of my returned submission suggests it was used as a convenient coaster, a sure sign that your staff’s attitude to their work represents a passable version of the arse-end of the ‘Butterfly Effect’.
Aspiring author, one. Lickspittles, nil.
You know, having read some of the drivel your House has published in the past, I thought my work would at least be taken seriously. Silly me. I’m just a poor sod with a reasonable standard of education, putting his heart and soul into his work in the vain hope of recognition. What chance do I stand against the massed ranks of wannabe celebrities, innit?
And then to further insult my already injured pride, there you were being interviewed on the TV’s weekly arts programme. At this point I will try, with sincere apologies to Elizabeth Barrett Browning, to unbridle my emotions. How do I hate thee, you supercilious, pontificating plonker? Let me compute the ways. An impossible task, I fear.
A small observation on dress code is in order here. If you’re going to wear a tie in front of your adoring, bribed audience, granny knots are an absolute no-no. As for the red and green shirt, sorry duckie, total faux pas.
I could go on and on and on, but will, instead, end this missive here, before I type the odd word you might consider offensive.
In conclusion, may your dangly bits fester and drop off.

Severely hacked-off, of Nottingham.
2. Evidence
“Hello Zulu One, this is Alpha One, come in. Over.”
“Zulu One receiving. Over.”
“Morning, Julia. No movement yet, I take it?”
“No, sir. The suspect is still sitting in his vehicle, like a spare part.
Either his contact is being extra careful, or my info is starting to look decidedly dodgy. If it’s the latter, you’ll be fishing my informant out of the river.”
“Hold on Zulu One, the Super’s arrived. He wants a quick word.”
Superintendent Manning’s deep voice boomed out over the radio.
“Hello Zulu One. I just got word everything is go. I’m sorry you’re a bit thin on the ground out there. Commitments elsewhere, you understand. Are you sure you can contain the situation should it develop along the lines previously discussed?”
“We’re confident we’ve got it right, sir. Over”
“Good, good. Over.”
Alpha One resumed the transmission and ended the radio traffic.
“Let it run a while longer, Julia, you’ll know if and when to call time. Alpha One out.”

To an outsider, the call sign Zulu One might have appeared to be a bit insensitive, given that the recipient was the only black female police officer in the division. However, when the joke was first played on her at the time of her promotion, Detective Sergeant Julia Brown took it in the manner it was intended from colleagues whose respect she knew she had earned. There had been cheers around the office when she had taken up the gauntlet and asked to have the Zulu One call sign designated as her personal badge of recognition.
Julia was twenty seven years old and whilst she was not exactly being fast-tracked to the next level, she was regarded as ‘one to watch’. Her technical ability was as good as any of her colleagues, but what made her convictions record so impressive was her interview room technique. Once a suspect was in front of her it was almost as though she could read their mind. A gut feeling, instinct and a woman’s intuition weren’t exactly textbook methods of concluding an investigation, but they worked for her, nevertheless. Currently, these attributes had all been brought into play when considering something she had had on her mind for several days. One in which her suspicions made it unsafe to confide in anybody else except her boss; a man with an in-house reputation for bending procedures to suit the occasion and an officer she trusted implicitly.
Chief Inspector Bob Sangster leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, the belt around his considerable waistline straining to be released onto a notch more in keeping with the pressure it fought to support. He was due for his annual ‘physical’ in four months time and the betting in the office was stacked against him passing. His eyes betrayed the irritation he was beginning to feel.
“Stop right there, Julia. You can’t ask to see me privately and then make those kind of airy-fairy allegations, apart from which, your direct line of approach is through your senior officer, Inspector O’Neil.”
“I’m sorry sir, but on this occasion I don’t know who to trust. Except you of course.”
“Alright, carry on. And make it good, sergeant.”

No one had actually said so, not in so many words, anyway, but a feeling of unease amongst several of the team was plain to see for anyone who cared to take a closer look. Their arrest and prosecution rate was first class by anybody’s standards, however, one seemingly untouchable individual always managed to stay one step ahead of all their best-laid plans. Why was it that the only members of Max Stanley’s vast criminal organisation to be put behind bars, were the foot soldiers? Why was it that as soon as they set up an operation to capture their elusive prey, he always managed to sidestep before the net closed?
Julia had practiced what she was about to say repeatedly in front of her bedroom mirror; there was no room for mistakes. She paused briefly before launching forth into her prepared statement. It took her just over ten minutes, without interruption from the boss and quoting chapter and verse from her pages of notes, before bringing her suspicions to a conclusion.
“And that’s why I could only approach you, sir. After carefully going over the positions of our team members and anyone else who was present during our failed attempts, he’s the only one whose movements are suspect. I’m ninety nine percent sure, but I don’t have one percent of actual proof. It’s not as though we haven’t all privately suspected there’s a mole in the department, is it sir? ”
Bob Sangster remained silent, staring fixedly at a point in the middle of his desk. When he finally gave Julia his full attention, there was the look on his face of a man betrayed. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible.
“I want you to go back to your desk and carry on with your current investigation. If anybody asks why you’ve been in here for so long, tell them you’ve got family problems, or something. In a minute or two I’m going to ask Inspector O’Neil to join me. As my number two it’s necessary that I bring him in on this from the beginning and he’ll need to know why you cut him out of the chain of command.”
“But, sir, I…”
“It’s alright, Julia. It’ll take more than a small matter of indiscipline to ruffle Billy O’Neil’s feathers and when I bring him up-to-speed, I expect him to be totally professional, as usual. Although I’m loath to admit it, this time procedures must be followed by the book.”

Julia opened the window of the unmarked police car. As much as she enjoyed a good curry, the all-pervading smell of last night’s surveillance team’s supper was beginning to turn her stomach. She took a few deep breaths of fresh air before leaning over to nudge the man next to her in the driver’s seat.
“Take over, Sammy, I need to close my eyes for a couple of min