Roberta and Carl raced from Jack Sunnier’s office, raced into the lift and raced across the large reception area on the ground floor of the building.  Racing through the exit doors, Carl suddenly stopped and bent over, hands on knees, gasping for air.

“I can’t keep this pace up,” he puffed.  “I need food and water, mostly food.”

Roberta rolled her eyes and glanced at her watch.  “We can’t slack already,” she said, “We only have six hours to complete this mission.  After that we’re on overtime.”

Carl hauled his eyes up to stare at her.  “Overtime!” they both said in unison.

Smiling now, Roberta and Carl sauntered casually down Colmore Row with Roberta humming ‘We have all the time … in the world.” 

Colmore Row, Birmingham

Carl’s mobile phone rang - a high pitched version of the mad frog blubbering along to Axel F music.

“Hello,” he said.  “Oh, right.  Okay.  No problem.”  Putting his mobile back in his pocket, he turned to Roberta and said, “We’ve got to pick the pace up a bit.”

“Why?”

“Jack Sunnier said so.”

“How does he know we’re not sprinting at this very moment?”

“Because he can see us from his office.”

They both turned and looked up at the building they’d just exited.  Up on the fourth floor, behind a huge panoramic window, Jack Sunnier stood staring down at them.

They started running.

“How far is this place?” Carl gasped as they raced across St Philips Square.

St Philips Square (with rather handsome man in foreground)

“Beatties?” Roberta said, vowing to join a gym at the earliest opportunity and making a mental note to buy a  really good sports bra.

“Yeah, where is it?” Carl puffed.

“It’s a big department store!  Haven’t you ever been there?”

“I’m a man,” Carl wheezed, “I don’t shop.”

“Its just down that alleyway between Lloyds Bank and Royal Bank of Scotland.”

“Oh God!  I can’t make it!”

Carl began to slow down, his face flushed, his breathing heavy.  Roberta slipped an arm threw his and pulled him along after her.  “You can do it,” she said, “Not much further.”

“I can’t.”

“You can!”

“I need to rest.”

“We’ve only been moving four and a half minutes!”

“I need food!”  Carl flopped onto the grass verge surrounding St Philips and lay on his back, one hand on his pounding heart, the other draped across his perspiring forehead.  “I can’t go on.”

“You can’t give up now!” Roberta shouted down at him.

“I’m sorry.  I don’t leave the office very often.  The world’s quite big, isn’t it.”

A young girl approached them.  At first, Roberta thought she was maybe a nurse or a doctor about to offer medical assistance.  Instead, the girl held out a pamphlet and droned, “Can I interest you in free membership at L A Fitness?”

“No,” Roberta hissed.  “Carl!  Get up!”

A student-type male with hair draped over his eyes approached.  “Free coffee with every order at MacDonalds today,” he said brightly, holding out a leaflet.

“Go Away!”

A middle aged woman in a bright pink suit holding a clipboard dashed towards them.  “If I can just have a moment of your time for a quick survey,” she twittered.

“Will all you people just BOG OFF and LEAVE ME ALONE!” Roberta yelled.

The gym girl, the MacDonalds bloke and the lady with the clipboard all threw her a dirty look and wandered off to attack other unsuspecting shoppers who dared to pause for more than a few seconds.  Furious now, Roberta glared down at Carl, still puffing and prone on the grass, and hissed, “We’re sitting targets for every promotional advertiser in Birmingham city centre.  If you don’t get up right now, I’m going to kick you in the head.”

“You can’t do that!”

“I can.  And I will.  Unless you haul your pathetic carcass off that grass right this second.”

Carl froze, silent.  Roberta moved forward and lifted her leg to boot him in the cranium.  Carl suddenly leapt up like an electrocuted cat.  “Bloody bossy women,” he muttered.

“Let’s go,” Roberta said.

They jogged together down Cherry Street, passed the side of Rackhams and Car Phone Warehouse, Carl humming the theme tune to Batman as they dodged the oncoming crowds. 

 (I knew I could slip that in somewhere)

At Corporation Street they turned right and came face to face with three young mothers pushing buggies side by side, claiming ownership of the entire path and forcing pedestrians to step out in front of buses and taxis.  Carl almost collided with a particularly large pushchair. 

“Just get out of the way!” the mother screamed, tutting and rolling her eyes as Carl and Roberta raced on across the road.

Finally, six minutes after they’d left the offices of Grail and Peace Solicitors, they arrived at the doors of Beatties department store.

Beatties Department Store, Birmingham

“What now?” Carl puffed, staring at the entrance doors.

“We're going to do something really radical,” Roberta told him.  “Something you’ve never done before in your life.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that then?” Carl asked.

“We go inside.”

Carl groaned.  “You’re not going to be long, are you?”

They raced inside the department store.  It was heaving with shoppers.  Just as Roberta was racing through the frenzied throngs towards the escalators, she realised Carl wasn’t racing beside her.  She stopped and turned around to look for him.  Carl was just inside the entrance doors looking for all the world like a stunned rabbit caught in the headlights of oncoming car.  Roberta raced back to him.

“What’s the matter?” she hissed.

Carl slowly moved his eyes to focus on her.  “Isn’t it big!” he gasped in amazement.  “And isn’t there so much … stuff!”

“You really don’t shop, do you, Carl.”

“Not since 1989, when my mother forced me to go to … “ Carl inhaled dramatically.  “ … Marks and Spencers for underpants.”

Roberta grabbed him by the arm and hauled him towards the escalators.  Carl allowed himself to be dragged  along, still wide eyed and open mouthed, until he suddenly spotted a pile of men’s socks piled on a counter.  He pulled away from Roberta’s grasp and began picking up the socks, smelling them and rubbing them against his cheek.

“Wow,” Carl gasped.  “Such lovely colours.”

“They’re all black, Carl.”

“ And so soft.  I’ve never touched such soft socks before.”

“Leave them,” Roberta hissed.

“Such lovely lovely socks,” Carl breathed dreamily.

Roberta prodded him in arm and said, firmly, “Carl, put down the socks and step away from the display.”

“But - “

“Do it now, Carl!”

Carl actually screamed in alarm as Roberta caught hold of his arm and dragged him towards the escalators.  They went up the first flight in silence.  On the second flight, Carl muttered, “Are we nearly there yet?”  On the third flight he said, “Are we nearly there yet?”  Finally, on the fourth flight, he exhaled loudly and gasped, “Thank God we’re here, at last.”

Roberta raced through kitchenware section towards the restaurant on the far side.  Behind her, Carl meandered around, picking up objects and nodding, looking at price tags and drawing sharp inhalations of breath.

“Carl!”

“Coming dear.”

They were there.  At Beatties restaurant.  Where, hopefully, the second clue to the location of the double size statue of three men and a scroll awaited them.  Carl sauntered up to Roberta’s side as she scanned the restaurant for statues.

“I don’t see any,” she said.  “There’s no statues here.  The clue said there should be a statue’s head.”

Carl picked up a wooden tray and moved along the food counter.  “Well,” he said, “Whilst we’re here, we might as well eat.”

“Carl!”

“What?  I’m hungry.  Do you want something?”

“No.”

“Cooked meal?  Sandwich?  Baguette?”

“What’s on the baguettes?” Roberta asked, as casually as she could manage.

“Cheese.  Ham.  Prawns.”

Roberta casually sauntered over to the counter and peered inside the chilled cabinets.  For a split second her heart actually stopped beating and she felt a cold sweat wash over her.  “How much?” she gasped, “For a bloody cheese baguette!  Are they having a laugh or what!”

“Steak and kidney pie, chips and beans, please,” Carl said to the woman behind the counter.  "Oh, and throw on a couple of sausages, too."

“That’s nearly a tenner,” Roberta breathed in his ear, staring goggle-eyed at the price list emblazoned on the wall.

“I’m a solicitor,” Carl said smugly, “I can afford it.  You having anything?”  His question sounded almost like an accusation.

“I’m not that hungry,” Roberta said.  Her stomach growled as she eyed the food, remembering she hadn’t had time for breakfast that morning.  “I’ll just have a cookie,” she said, moving to another counter.  There she endured another massive panic attach at the price of a pre-packed biscuit.  “Actually,” she gulped, “I won’t have anything after all.  I’m on a diet.  Atkins.”

“Oh, Atkins,” Carl cried enthusiastically, “I’ve tried that.”

“Did it work?”

Carl threw out his arms to display his substantial torso.  “I’m living proof that it clearly doesn’t,” he said proudly.  “You can eat meat with Atkins,” he added.  “Why don’t you get some sausages - “

Roberta’s stomach growled emptily.  In the distance, she could just make out the sound of her bank balance screaming in agony at the price of a single sausage.

“ - and bacon - “

Roberta thought she might pass out.  In the distance, her bank balance was now a quivering, dribbling wreck.

“ - and a couple of eggs.”

Roberta forced herself to say, “No, really, I’m not hungry.”

“Tell you what,” Carl said, “Let me treat you.”

Roberta drew breath to order the sausages and bacon and eggs, and maybe some fried bread, and chips, and definitely some beans, when Carl said to the woman behind the counter, “Small coffee, please.”

“Oh thanks.” 

They sat down, Carl with his steak and kidney pie and chips and beans and sausages, Roberta with her tiny cup of coffee.  She emptied several packets of sugar into it, hoping the sugar rush might quieten her rumbling stomach and keep her going.  Carl dived into his food.  Roberta pinched a chip off his plate and ate it before he had time to object.  Carl glared at her.  Obviously not a sharer.  Unable to resist, she pinched a sausage, almost choking in her haste to swallow it.  Carl looked as if he would leap across the table and throttle her.  She hungrily eyed the steak and kidney pie, but decided against it.

Sitting opposite each other in Beatties restaurant, Carl and Roberta stared off into the middle distance and said nothing. Carl scraped his plate clean.  Roberta sipped her hot, coffee-coloured syrup.

Finally, Carl said, “What shall we do then?”

“Don’t know,” Roberta sighed.  “The clue said It’s crowded, its tacky, it’ll cost an arm and a leg.  Surely this must be the right place.”

“It’s not that crowded though, is it.”

“No,” Roberta said, gazing round the elderly couples who were obviously on seriously good pensions to be able to afford the hot meals they were tucking into.  “And there’s no statue’s head either.”

“So what now?”

“Don’t know.”

“Pudding?”

“You buying?”

“My own, yes.”

“Pass.”

Carl went up to the counter and handed over yet another cash note for a slice of cake only marginally bigger than a Dairylea triangle.

Dairlea triangles

He ate it greedily.  Roberta, coffee now gone and stomach still growling despite the input of a sausage and single chip, felt the overwhelming urge to push his face down onto his cream-covered plate.  Just when she thought she couldn’t resist a single moment longer, the sound of a mad frog dingdingdinging echoed around the restaurant.  Carl stopped eating and pulled his mobile phone from his jacket pocket.

“Yes?” he said.  “Oh.  Yes.  Uh-huh.  Right.  Okay.  Got it.  No problem.”

He replaced the mobile in his jacket pocket and carried on eating his pudding.

“Who was that?” Roberta finally had to ask.

“Jack Sunnier.”

“What did he want?”

“He’s received a message from the statue thief.”

There was a long pause as Carl scraped the last remnants of the cream off his plate. 

“And?” Roberta hissed.

Carl put down his spoon with a flourish and leaned back in his chair, satisfied.  “The statue thief has, apparently, called Jack Sunnier.  The thief knows we’re on the trail he set for us.  He left a message.  He said we’re in the wrong place.”

“Wrong place?”

“Yes.”

“Did he say where the right place was?”

“No.”

Roberta flopped back in her chair.  “So we’re right back where we started!”  She huffed a few times while Carl looked on, then she jumped up and said, “I’ve had enough of this, I’m going back to the office.”

Carl’s phone rang.  He answered it.  He looked up at Roberta, and then hung up without saying a single word.  “That was Jack again,” he said.  “The statue thief said we’re not to go back to the office, it’s against the rules.”

Roberta gasped out loud.  “He heard us?  He can hear us?  He’s here?”

They both peered at the collection of pensioners all around them.  Roberta slowly lowered herself back into her chair.  “Which one do you think it is?” she whispered, staring at a white haired man who was at least 70 years old a few tables away.

“Don’t know,” Carl whispered back, “But that old gal over there looks suspicious.”

Roberta looked.  An elderly lady sat on her own in the corner of the restaurant, slowly sipping at a bowl of soup.  “She’s wearing a hearing aid, Carl,” Roberta said.  “I doubt she could have heard us saying we were going back to the office.”

“The hearing aid could actually be a sound amplifier.”

“You watch a lot of spy films, don’t you, Carl.”

“Yes.  So?  I definitely think its her, the thief, spying on us.”

“Tell me, honestly, Carl, can you see that woman, even if she brought a few of her octogenarian mates along with her, stealing the double size statue of three men and a scroll off the huge plinth it stood on at the bottom of Broad Street?”

“Could be a disguise,” Carl whispered conspiratorially, “On the outside she may look like an old woman, but underneath could lurk a body builder of epic proportions.”

They both looked at the old woman sitting in the corner of the restaurant.  “I can’t see it myself,” Roberta said.

“That’s the problem with you secretaries,” Carl said.

“Oh yes, and what’s that then?” 

“No imagination.”

“Carl.”

“What?”

“Would you like a slap?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then stop making stupid comments about secretaries.”

Silence.  Carl stared at his empty plates, then at the menu on the wall.  Roberta toyed with her empty coffee cup.  “If the thief heard us say we were going back to the office,” Roberta finally said, “He must still be able to hear us now.”

“Not a good time for confessions about sexual perversions then,” Carl joked.

There was a long pause.  Carl flushed.  Roberta pulled her suit jacket tighter across her chest.

“We could ask the thief where to start,” she said, “Since we clearly can’t figure it out ourselves.”

“Stupid idea,” Carl said.

“Is it?  Thief, if you’re listening, tell us where to start.”

Silence.

“Like I said, stupid idea.”

Then his mobile rang.  With a stunned expression, Carl answered it.  Roberta waited with baited breath. 

“Er, yes.  Er, no.  I can’t talk right now.”  And then, very quietly, with his head lowered, he said, “Yes, of course I love you.”

“Was that Jack?” Roberta gasped when he’d finished.

“Would I be telling Jack that I love him?” Carl huffed.

“I don’t know.  You’ve just mentioned sexual perversions and I thought maybe - “

“It was my wife, asking what I wanted for tea.” 

“Does she know about your sexual perversions?” Roberta asked.

“Yes.  I mean no!  Of course I don’t have any - “

Carl’s mobile rang again.  “Saved by the bell,” he breathed, answering it.  “Chops are fine, darling,” he said.  “Oh, hello Jack.  Yes.  Really?  Okay.”  He hung up and stared at Roberta. 

“Has the thief left us a message?” she asked, grinning.

“Yes.”

“And he said, what?”

“Jack relayed the message word for word,” Carl said.  “The thief said we’re idiots, that I’m a chubby stingy git, and you’re quite pretty for your age.”

“My age!” Roberta gasped, subconsciously flicking back her long hair and getting her fingers caught in it, “37 is no age.” 

“The thief said the clue starts at the top end of Colmore - “

“Oh he could have mentioned that before we hauled ourselves halfway across town!”

“He said we’re to look for a woman with her hand in the air.”

Silence.

“Do you know what that means?” Carl finally asked.

“No, but lets walk up there and see if inspiration hits us.”

Will inspiration hit them, or will Roberta just hit Carl? Will they ever find the beginning of the trail that will lead them to the double size statue of three men and a scroll, or are they really as stupid as the thief suspects?

Find out the answers to these and so much more in the next exciting episode of DA BRUMMIE CODE, coming soon to a computer screen near you.

© Brummie Blogs 2005

people have been here (spooky!) [added May 2006]