ORANGE AND BLACK E-Book

MARK BEWLEY

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

TWO NOVELLAS

PART ONE two tigers escape from Colchester zoo to cause meyhem and more. Joseph Grant, the tiger keeper has let them escape, but was he framed? Is there someone who wants to harm Joseph?

Can chief inspector James Pineville and Janice Orange save the day? Find out and follow an unlikly partnership develope between DI Orange and WPC Black.

PART TWO sees private dectectives Janice Orange and Samantha Black begin a new service. Their first case is unusual to say the least. A young girl is attacked and asks for the helps of ORANGE AND BLACK.

Leseprobe

MARK BEWLEY

ORANGE AND BLACK

Two novellas

Tigers Nimrod and Nora escape from the zoo. What damage can they cause and who can stop them before members of the public are harmed? Chief inspector James Pineville is on the case to track down the culprits of a recent murder. Pineville puts his best detectives on the case. A small boy of east African heritage, who has a fascination with these animals goes missing. PART TWO ORANGE AND BLACK PRIVATE DETECTIVE SERVICE begins and try to find answers from a girl who was attacked by a mysterious stranger in the park.BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

PART ONE: chapter one

‘Alright Nora, calm down now. What’s the matter...? Stay there, Nora…no...! What are you doing, girl…? No…Don’t you dare...! No, Nora, no… bloody hell!’

Joseph Grant was still shouting when he turned and dashed towards the high wire electric gate attached to the tiger enclosure, quickly slammed it shut just as the great Amur tigress roared and reached for the tight mesh fencing in frantic tones and excitement. The system was tough enough to stop the tiger easily. Sparks struck a vicious claw, causing Nora to back away with a slow hiss. Startled and disturbed, Joseph stood, his eyes wide and taking in slow breaths. He wiped his forehead of the thick sweat. Exhausted and fearful, Joseph had slumped to the ground.

‘What is the bloody hell is the matter with you?’ Joseph said to the tiger, while he lay on the ground, addressing the great tigress through the tough fence. Nora was now coolly licking a singed paw innocently.

‘You’ve gone crazy, girl. I thought we were friends.’

Joseph Grant’s breathe was still heavy as a new character approached.

‘What’s going on here, Joseph? Are you O.K?’

‘Gregory. Thank god you’re here,’ exclaimed Joseph with real relief. ‘It’s Nora, she’s gone wild.’

‘I know she’s a tiger.’ His supervisor was laughing. Gregory Carlton, a medium sized man often chuckled to himself at serious moments like this. He laughed when his mother died.

‘It’s not funny boss, she went for me,’ argued Grant, still on the ground, his breathing slowing down to the normal rate. ‘I’ve never known her like that before in all the ten years I’ve been here.’

‘Look, mate,’ added the head of staff at the zoo with positive reasoning. ‘She seems calm now. Come and have a cuppa and calm your nerves. Have a break Joseph, mate.’

Joseph took his boss’s advice, rose from the dirty ground and the two walked to the staff rooms and canteen. Joseph Grant, short, not very old, brown goatee beard, his Colchester Zoo cap sitting on his round head at a destressed angle, walked slowly beside the other man, Gregory Carlton, who was much older, cropped brown- silver hair, blotchy and scared features, always smiling, often inappropriately.

‘Don’t forget,’ said Gregory, as they sat with two cups of hot coffee. ‘She is pregnant, you know. Who told you to go in there, today anyway?’

‘No one, I usually go in first thing in the morning…I didn’t know she was pregnant, not yet. I should’ve known really, it’s my own bloody fault.’

‘No, no Joseph,’ his boss reassured him. ‘No one told you? Someone should’ve told you Nora was pregnant. I’m not having this. This is not your fault, mate.’

‘No,’ replied Joseph, stunned, but delighted inside- his girl was having a baby.

The two men drank their coffees, after which Gregory stormed off to investigate how Joseph was not informed about Nora the tigress being pregnant. Joseph sat quietly for a time to recuperate some more. However, by the time his boss had returned, the chubby tiger man had returned to his duties.

‘Joseph! Where’s Joseph?’ Carlton asked the insect man, Roger James.

‘He went outside,’ answered the tall thin man.

‘He hasn’t gone back out to the tigers, as he?’ Gregory whispered to himself.

‘Joseph, Joseph!’ he called, speeding out the door. ‘Joseph!’

‘Gregory, Gregory,’ was the return call from the fat figure rushing towards him. These calls were more frantic than earlier. The two names JOSEPH and GREGORY were heard all around the site, causing every animals to sing their own tunes: elephants blew their trunks, monkeys giggled, wolves howled, and the lions too roared, until eventually the two men met.

‘What are you doing, Joseph mate?’ asked the first.

‘They’ve gone, they’ve gone,’ shouted the second, close to tears. ‘The gate is open. I bloody locked it. You saw me lock it Gregory, didn’t you? I bloody locked it.’

‘What do you mean, gone?’

‘Nora and Nimrod, they’ve escaped,’ confirmed the chubby tiger man. ‘You saw me close the gate, Gregory didn’t you? you saw me. You did.’

‘What?’

‘I locked the gate,’ repeated Joseph, not calm. ‘You saw me, didn’t you? They’ve got out of the cage- they’re gonna bloody kill someone. What are we gonna do?’ Joseph Grant was holding Gregory by his uniform. The chubby tiger keeper slipped to the ground. Carlton the veiny faced one lifted Joseph up again by his tight zoo clothing.

‘I don’t know if I did see you close the gate, Joseph,’ the tall man answered blankly. ‘I don’t know, Joseph. I’m sorry mate.’

chapter two

The sky was clear, not one cloud hung upon the firmament. The ancient and famous town of Colchester, known as Camulodunum to the glorious Romans was alive in the early morning, a red landscape and the blue skies began to arrive. The town of tiny creatures, birds, rodents, cats and insects opened the day. A building below, busy the previous evening sat proudly on the high street. A back door opened as a slight but exercised figure appeared holding a black plastic bag.

‘Lovely,’ uttered the young kitchen porter of SPIKE’S restaurant, who was putting out the refuge. Handsome chap, showing off a full bronzed tan.

‘Go the beach this afternoon,’ he concluded. ‘Yeah, sun, sea. Lovely, can’t wait.’

The healthy young chap peered out up at the clear blue morning skyline, his eyes squinting: ‘yep, should be hot later, a scorcher I reckon. Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight, red in the morning…’ And here the man’s ponderings were interrupted by a low growl.

‘What’s that?’ he called, half shouting. ‘Who’s there?’

The low rumble in the early dew filled dawn sounded once more.

The black plastic bag full of smelly food, broken plates and garbage of every variety did not make it into the industrial refuge bin, just two inches in front of the kitchen porter. The young porter [his first job] asked his innocent question once more before daring to turn around.

‘What’s that? is that you, Dexter. Is this a joke? It better be you git.’

The young kitchen porter wished he hadn’t done it, Simon wished he hadn’t turned around; Simon wished he hadn’t gone outside to empty the rubbish. He wished it was raining. Simon wished it was snowing. He wished he did not have a rotten job. Simon wished he could remember that red sky at night saying. He wished he hadn’t been born. His seventeen short years, 5 months and four days, 2 hours and four minutes flashed through his mind when orange and black stripes (not yellow sand or blue sea) were the last things the young Simon Hayes blessed his bright blue eyes upon.

chapter three

‘It’s always a bloody Sunday,’ proclaimed inspector James Pineville as he clicked off his mobile phone in bed at 2:07 in the morning. A woman lay next to him, a brunette, his faithful wife. James carefully climbed out from under the sheets in the attempt not to wake the wife of seventeen years. He slinked up and out of the house with complete success.

The tall handsome man arrived at the terrible scene, the streets were now bright with a warm yellow sun above, busy in the modern Essex town. Police sirens sounded and flashed their brilliant orange lights for all to see, London and Suffolk included. A confused restaurant owner stood rubbing his white head while speaking to a uniformed officer. Near by a lady was sobbing to a police woman, her hands rubbing blotchy wet eyes.

‘Bloody hell!’ Pineville whispered in angry tones, starting his new day, climbing out of his 2-litre whatever. Pineville didn’t know the actual make, it just had to be a 2-litre motorcar for a chief inspector: that’s what the salesman told him anyway.

‘Sir, glad you’re here,’ said the young, fresh detective inspector to his well-dressed mature senior.

‘I’m not,’ returned James. ‘What’s happened then?’

‘This man, Mr Osborne,’ continued the young detective inspector not noticing Pineville’s sarcasm, ‘is the head chef of the SPIKE’s restaurant. He thought his new porter had sneaked home early yesterday. Then discovered what was left of the poor chap’s body over there.’

‘Let me see!’ Ordered Pineville, standing on tip toe to increase his six feet 5 inches. He and the younger and shorter inspector left the chef to peek at the remains of a human being. Pineville lifted the temporary sheet, which was decorated with splats of red.

‘Bloody hell it’s been eaten,’ yelled the chief inspector unprofessionally.

‘Yes sir, I know.’

‘What do you mean, you know?’ James Pineville was still shouting.

‘We know what it is, sir,’ added the newer inspector, fully fearing Pineville.

‘Do you? What is it then?’

‘A tiger, sir.’

‘A tiger!’ The chief folded his arms. ‘Are you telling me this murder was committed by a tiger?’

‘Yes, sir,’ answered the mild police inspector. ‘Two were reported missing on Friday. A male and female escaped from the zoo.’

‘Bloody shit!’ expressed the chief. ‘Why didn’t I know about this?’

‘Friday and Saturday were your days off, sir,’ Informed the younger man, who still had acne on his cheek.

‘Oh yeah,’ conceded the chief. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Barnes, sir.’

‘Yes, of course,’ injected Pineville with slight panic and embarrassment. His face glowed. ‘When she…what’s her name?’ Pineville was pointing to a female inspector who as speaking to the weeping young woman, several feet away.

‘Detective Inspector Orange, sir,’

‘Yes, my memory. When DI Orange has finished with that girl… who is she anyway?’

‘A waitress at the restaurant, sir,’ said Barnes always full of the right information. The chief inspector mumbled for a few seconds. He had dealt with all manner things in his time as a policeman; murders, rapes, missing children, pranksters and the like. But never in his life as a copper, had tigers, or animals of any kind, been a suspect for murder. He turned to Barnes once again: ‘when detective Orange is finished I want both of you see me in my office back at the station, that understood?’

‘Yes, sir,’ uttered Barnes while Pineville turned to return to his 2-litre vehicle and the police station at the edge of town.

‘How can anyone lose two bloody tigers?’ exclaimed Pineville to himself ducking his head and into his big vehicle. ‘I just don’t bloody believe it.’ Next, the 2-litre was screeching away from the gruesome scene. Someone forgot to tell the chief inspector the year 1978 had passed almost four decades ago. That would have made no difference to James Pineville. Detective Barnes and Orange watched the car throw up white smoke, apparently in an urgent hurry. The two fresh faced inspectors did not remember 1978.

chapter four

The dark blue sky was bright; the heat of the day penetrating to gate-crash the demure evening party.

‘What a lovely evening,’ exclaimed the man, his head tilted in admiration of the July sky from his colourful back garden. He took a sip of his rosé wine as a slim, elderly 70-year-old [the new 50] female, joined him to stare at the constellation of heaven.

‘Yes dear,’ she said sweetly. ‘Top up, Tom dear?’

‘Yes please Jean, my love.’

Lovingly the pair chatted about nothing but gardens, beauty, loveliness and how wonderful this world of ours is. There is nothing horrible in the world according to Tom and Jean Conner.

‘Top up, Tom dear,’ Jean asked her husband kindly, in a repeat of only minutes before. She didn’t push, can’t make Tom angry, not that Tom would ever get angry. That is very wrong. They were off for another protest tomorrow; a NO MORE WARS rally: let’s chat and reason with terrorists. The leader of the left-wing party will be there, naturally. We’ve had far too many wars, was the view of the two baby- boomers of the late nineteen forties.

‘Top up, Tom dear,’ Jean asked for a third time. No need to ask a fourth time, the old but not too old lady poured the wine into Tom’s glass that was already half full. Yet she didn’t stop, Jean kept on pouring until the wine overflowed and spilled onto their newish beautiful patio.

‘Steady on, Jean my love…what on earth is the matter?’

Tom stared at his wife. Her eyes had splayed open like gigantic saucers. She was gazing at something that was out of Tom’s eyeline. Here he turned. His wife had been watching two gigantic cats intrude into their glorious garden.