**spoiler alert – references to 'Life with Richard' series that hasn't been posted over on AO3 yet.

Memories of Croydon

It is a British fact-finding Commission's welcoming do at Government House and it is boring as hell. Just as boring as he'd feared it would be. Not enough booze and definitely NOT enough female skin on display… in fact, none at all! Why come all the way to a tropical paradise that doesn't have half-naked women on tap? It's a mystery… not that he liked mysteries, mind. Being a cop doesn't mean you like mysteries, you know.

Reggie Suggs, on security detail with the Commission and a reluctant last-minute substitute at that, finishes complaining to himself and looks across the room. Looks and jerks in surprise. He can't believe his bleary eyes! Why, it's Dickie Poole over there talking to a gaggle of foreigners with a younger version of Dickie standing at his right elbow. Did Dickie have a younger brother? Reggie can't remember… and anyway, who cares? Dickie was always good for a laugh in the old days… and everyone looks so serious! Time to liven up this party!

Reggie saunters over, fond memories of all the ragging he and Dougie Anderson had enjoyed at Dickie's expense running through his fogged mind. He barges into the group, slaps Dickie's back, almost knocking the drink out of his hand, "Hiya, Dickie-boy! Long time no see. How's banishment treatin' ya? Who are all these posh yobs? Friends of yours?" He laughs uproariously at the idea of Dickie having friends… even down here in this god-forsaken backend of the Empire.

There is a moment of silence then hard hands grab him, turn him and frog march him away, an arm twisted up painfully behind his back. He sees Dickie's sidekick and two enormous gorillas on him and he goes quietly due to complete shock. What just happened?

He hears Dickie excuse himself in French, some other jibber jabber, then English, saying, "Excuse me. This person seems to have mistaken me for someone else. I'll be back momentarily." Dickie then signals to the bully boys and they follow him outside into a shaded sunken garden. Dickie nods and the goons release Reggie who stands rubbing his arm. The sidekick returns to his station at Dickie's right elbow. It is a tense moment which Reggie just can't believe, not with Dickie-boy! He has to laugh, "What's the deal, Dickie?" He nods to the sidekick, "And who's this? Your boyfriend?"

Dickie crosses his arms over his chest. Reggie notices the suit doesn't move at all. Hmm, VERY expensive. Nor does he look at all upset. His eyes are calm, cool, in control. Did he make a mistake? This man looks like Dickie but he sure doesn't act like Dickie.

Dickie speaks, "You've just insulted three Presidents, two Special Envoys to the Queen, and a Lord of the Realm… not to mention..." A cold look "… me. Care to suggest how I should handle your gross transgression of Caribbean hospitality?"

"Huh? What are you yabbering on about? Can't an old Croydon cronie say Hi?"

At the word 'Croydon', his minders growl and take a step closer. The boyfriend's eyes light up. Dickie holds up a hand. The muscle halts but no one backs down. If he didn't know better, Reggie would fear a beating. He starts to sweat.

"No one calls me 'Dickie-boy'. The last person to do so is still paying the price and will continue to pay for the rest of his life in the general prison population." The boyfriend leans in. Whispers. "I stand corrected… in solitary confinement. Seems he doesn't get on well with others ANY where."

Reggie is getting worried, "Er, yes. I did hear summat about that. Dougie always DID play rough. Well, then, what DO they call you down here in this hell hole?"

The boyfriend grinds out, "We call him sir. Detective Chief Inspector. Commissioner. And very soon now, Sir Poole."

Reggie is startled, "A Knighthood? YOU? How did you swing that?"

"You don't follow the news much, do you?" the boyfriend mutters.

Reggie just can't help himself, "Are you two brothers or cousins or summat?"

Poole smiles, "Or summat." Green eyes meet in amusement, "We get that a lot, don't we, Angus?"

"Indeed we do! And hasn't it come in handy time and time again?" laughs the younger version.

A tall distinguished cove from the original group of yobs strolls out into the garden, joining the tense little tableau beneath the tree, "Everything all right out here, Richard?"

"Yes, Lord English. Just catching up on the gossip from my old station in Croydon."

The man's expressive eyebrows lift, "Croydon, you say?" He gives a long sigh, "What a pity times have changed. Too bad we can't still say 'off with his head' and problem solved." A piercing dark look belies the joke. Reggie swallows and, for once, minds his manners.

"Yes, Lord English. I'll ensure he doesn't intrude further on the proceedings."

"Well, jolly well see that he doesn't!" His Lordship waves a lanky hand towards the building, "It took me until now to calm down the delegation from South America. They jolly well want this man's head on a whangee stick out in the sun! His Delegation Head wants him gone! Now! This very instant! Chop chop!" Lordly hands are clapped sharply to emphasize the point.

"Yes, Lord English. It shall be done."

Reggie is silent. He's finally realized that he's stepped into a major pile of shit. How did it happen?

As Lord English turns away, he murmurs to the man who used to be Dickie Poole, "Do give my regards to your lovely wife, won't you, my boy?"

Poole smiles, "You may do it yourself, Johnny. She's just coming in with the children." He then gives a slight jerk of his chin and Reggie is being frog marched back into the room.

The entire retinue pauses as Poole stops to speak to a most beautiful and heavily pregnant woman. Behind her are 4 children, impeccably dressed and groomed. There is a hushed conversation. Reggie hears the word 'Croydon' pass between man and woman and is treated to the gimlet gaze of four pairs of green eyes as the children all swivel to look at him. When did 'Croydon' become a swear word? He feels like he is being sized up by a pride of lions… or hawks… whatever. Meat-eaters, every single one.

As one, the children hiss, "Andersssssson." It fair gives him the willies. Maybe Dougie is safer in lock-up after all? He sees the oldest boy lean down for a whisper from a younger boy. Is he suffering from shock? Did the boy actually hiss, 'Shall we kill him?' Did the oldest boy glance up his father, shake his head and hiss back, 'Papa would notice.'?

The head of his delegation comes up, making most abject apologies for the appalling behaviour of one of his members. Reggie is led away in disgrace, sees Poole soothing ruffled feathers and turning attention away from this temporary faux pas. His last sight of Poole is the man laughing with the Beauty and fenced in behind a ring of burning green eyes.

Oh! Reggie wants outta here so bad!

As he is bundled into a taxi and escorted by his security detail to the hotel to collect his belongings, Reggie cries out, "Well, how was I to know he'd ever amount to anything? We all knew he was a nothing… a nobody! How in god's name did THIS happen?"

The boyfriend fixes him with a cold stare, "If you had truly known him, you would understand. We all do. And if I were you, I'd be very careful until you are well away from the Caribbean. Accidents seem to follow his enemies."

Vague memories of bizarre accidents happening back in the UK swim up into Reggie's mind. Surely not! But… yes… come to think on it… the old crowd from Croydon seemed to have had an awful run of bad luck these past few years. Those kids… were they ever in England? He shakes his head… stop it, Reggie! They're just kids. Keep your cool! You're going home early and that's a GOOD thing, right?

Wrong.

They left Reggie standing in the airport driveway with an 11-hour wait ahead of him. A car narrowly misses him in the driveway. A dog bites him. A tree falls over to block the main entrance. His jacket gets caught in the side door and rips. His ticket will not print and has to be hand-written. His coffee cup jumps out of his hand. His luggage disappears from beside him. His glasses snap in two on his face. His pockets drop everything onto the floor. Chairs keep breaking beneath him. Voices seem to whisper at his left shoulder.

He stands in the middle of the terminal within sight of three attendants and a Security Officer, clutching his wallet and passport to his chest. He badly needs a drink but doesn't dare leave the safety of this most public place.

His trip to the bathroom had been a nightmare. Snakes in the toilet! Wasps out of the tap!

Oh, god, he desperately prays... get me OUT of this tropical hell and as far away from HIM as possible!

END