The Torments of Memory
Disclaimer: Main characters and setting not mine (shock horror!). Most of the words are mine (except for the odd direct quotation).
Chapter 4
DCI Gene Hunt was drunk. Well, why not? he thought truculently. It's late at night and the only time I get any peace and bastard quiet. Yap, Yap, Yap, all day long. Meetings! – It's all brain-storming, motivational training, financial reports and target setting. What about catchin' criminals?
No-one to talk to, so perhaps if I write it down I can get it out of me system. I'll send 'er a letter.
As he searched for paper and a decent pen, Gene had a vague memory of being at school and chewing the wooden end of the pens they had used when set some laborious copying task. He had hated writing even then, always preferring to settle problems in the playground with his fists.
Gene began to write, unconscious of what might be revealed. The letter would never be read, and he had no talent for introspection. It was just something to pass the time.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
I don't know where you are, Bols, or if this will ever reach you, but I need to get a few things off me chest and take advantage of the fact that you can't interrupt.
It's time for Poirot to visit the pub so I'm going to ask him to give this letter to Nelson.
As Terry and the lads make up the regular team now, there's no more sitting around waiting to be told what to do. Last week Poirot surprised us all by rescuing a drowning kid. Didn't think he could move that fast, just leaped right in. Poor bloke was shattered and suddenly his memory returned. During a period of snowy winter weather he and some mates were in a park, arsing about on duty, and the poor sod fell into an icy river and drowned.
DI Mercer, your replacement, is finally beginning to look like a real copper. It was touch and go to start with. He behaved like Skelton, copying the grownups, until I got the team to take him in hand. Still, Joe gets a round in without too many hints and you'd laugh at the way he's brought CID into the computer age.
Terry and Bammo still remember you but it lowers morale if we keep going on about how good the team used to be. I don't want to forget you, but even more I don't want to remember all the trouble you caused.
The way you used to wiggle your backside around CID, always knowing we were clocking the view. Talk about distracting, I had to work bloody hard to get me mind back on the job. Why do you think I was always in a bad temper? At least Sam didn't try that one.
The way you wouldn't leave it alone when Keats started: pick, pick, pick. I did try to warn you but you never would take advice. Always la-di-da Bolly-knickers, I know better than the rest of you. Same trouble with Sam – always wanting to do things differently.
Stopped meself from beating up a suspect this week, so that's another little piece of fun off the agenda. Mind you I still want to give DI Mercer a thump; annoying little twat. Terry has been promoted recently and makes a good deputy. Not much use in a ruck, though, he's more of an office man, and Mercer won't take too kindly to the competition.
Now I'm getting warmed up, what is it with women always having to be talking? Did you ever understand the idea of a quiet pint? Your giving me grief about driving the Quattro too fast was the hardest thing to put up with. Visiting my mother is ok, but I'd rather not have her hanging around at work.
I remember you quoted something by Yeats just before everything went pear-shaped. Well, I went to the library and got them to look me out some of his stuff – came across another one.
'Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.'
Hope you're impressed, because it's taken me ages to copy out. Don't know what half of it means, of course, I'm just throwing words around.
Drunk? Of course I'm bloody drunk or I wouldn't be drivelling on like this. Miss you, you daft tart - no-one to argue with. I shout, they jump. It's like a room full of performing seals. Even miss that dipstick Skelton.
Got to finish now, Alex. A one-way conversation is no fun. It's a long trip to Manchester and we have an early start.
Signed (with an extravagant scrawl)
Gene-Genie.
A/N – and now for the honesty (or pedantry if you prefer) –
'peace and bastard quiet' – direct quotation – one of my favourite lines!
Snow and police – reference is to Oxford City cops filmed sliding down snowy hill on their shields while on duty. ./uk/2010/jan/14/sledging-police-repri...
'He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven' – Yeats (The Little Oxford Dictionary of Quotations)
If you're still reading – wonderful. Courage – only two chapters to go.
TBC