Meanwhile, back at the ranch at the top of Colmore Row

Colmore Row

a lone figure scuttled mysteriously out of the Council House

Council House

and hurried in front of the Floozie in the Jacuzzi

Floozie in the Jacuzzi

towards to the statue of Queen Victoria.

Statue of Queen Victoria

The figure was small and plump and didn’t move easily, as if they were wearing uncomfortable shoes or had a bit of arthritis in a hip.  It was a woman, middle aged, holding an old coat tight around her plump body as the wind buffeted her short grey hair.   The figure stopped by the column of Queen Victoria and looked back at the Council House.  She took a hand out of her coat pocket and brought it up to her ear.

“Okay, I’m outside,” she said into a mobile phone.  “What do you want me to do next?”

“Wait until you can see them,” came a stern male voice.  “Then follow them.”

The wind howled.  The woman squinted her middle-aged face against the cold and shivered.  “Tell me again why I’m doing this?” she whimpered.

“You volunteered,” the voice snapped.

“The email asked if anyone like to take a nice stroll out of the office,” the woman, whose name was Mildred, said.  “I thought it was a bit of time off to stretch the legs, deliver a local parcel or something.”

“This is a top secret mission,” the voice hissed into her ear.  “It’s very important.”

“Yes, so you kept saying in your office.”  The woman looked up at the Council House, at a window on the top floor.  There stood a man.  His name was Richard Cavanagh.  He was Mildred’s boss, and a right miserable sod he was too - although he had the most extraordinary blue eyes, the colour of primroses only a bit darker, which contrasted starkly against the blood red of his face.  Any excuse to get away from him was Mildred’s motto, hence the reason why she now stood, freezing, in the centre of Birmingham next to a statue of Queen Victoria, who didn’t look very happy either.  “Why am I following them?” she asked, slightly confused.

“The statue of Bolton, Watt and Murdoch has been stolen,” Cavanagh said fiercely.  “We think it’s an inside job, someone who works here at the Council House.  We are negotiating with a law firm who have contact with the thief.  If we can find the statue of Bolton, Watt and Murdoch before anyone else, then we won’t have to pay the ransom money or, more importantly, the extortionate legal fee.”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you,” said Mildred, shaking the mobile phone, “Can you say again.”

Cavanagh sighed heavily and repeated it.

“Oh,” said Mildred.  “Right then.  So, who am I supposed to be following?”

On the other end of the phone Mildred listened to what sounded suspiciously like a boss giving a strangled, exasperated cry.  “The legal people!” he hissed, “The people from the solicitors who want to find the statue first so won’t have to pay the ransom fee we’ve already given them so they can keep it for themselves AND their extortionate legal fee.”

Silence.

“Do you understand, Mildred?”

“Well, no, not really.  What do they look like, these people I’m supposed to be following?”

“I don’t know.”

Mildred glanced at the hundreds of people walking across Victoria Square.

“Could be anyone,” she muttered.

“They’re legal people, so they’ll be wearing suits,” Cavanagh said.

Mildred glanced at the dozens of suited people walking across Victoria Square.

“Our inside sources,” said Cavanagh.

“Sauces?”

“Sources!” Cavanagh screamed, “People on the inside who give out information!”

“Calm down, dear,” said Mildred, “You’ll give yourself a heart attack.”  She hoped.

“Our inside sources,” said Cavanagh, slightly calmer, although not much, “Tell us that the two people on the trail of the statue are a woman named Roberta and a man named Carl.”

Mildred dropped the phone from her ear and approached a man and a woman, both wearing suits.  “Is your name Roberta?” she asked the woman.  The woman shook her head.  Mildred moved on to the next suited couple and asked them the same question, getting the same response.  She could vaguely make out the tinny sound of a voice calling her name repeatedly, and brought the mobile up to her ear again.

“ - to yourself!”  Cavanagh was screaming.

“What?”

“Do not – I repeat, DO NOT – draw attention to yourself!  This is an undercover mission!  They mustn’t know they’re being followed!  We need to get to the statue before they do!”

“Oh don’t worry,” Mildred said, getting pretty cheesed off with this undercover mission by now and wishing she was back in the office having a nice cup of tea, “I know how to be discreet.”

And with that she ended the conversation and put the phone in her pocket.  She approached a woman wearing a rumpled suit half running next to a very large man with his shirt hanging out of his trousers.  “Are you Roberta?” Mildred asked.

“Yes, why?” came the startled response.

“Oh, just a good guess,” Mildred said, trying to look innocent as she moved away.

“Do you have information for us?” the woman called after her.

Mildred started humming to herself and stared very hard at a flock of pigeons with gnarled feet.  From the corner of her eye she saw the man and the woman glaring at her, and then they turned and ran off round the corner of the Council House.  Mildred moved quickly – or as quickly as she could manage with her arthritic hip and painful shoes – towards the statue of Queen Victoria and hid behind the concrete column.  Peering out from the side, she watched the woman called Roberta and the man called Carl running up the passageway between the Town Hall

Town Hall (with drunken Iron Man)

and the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery

Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery

towards Chamberlain Square. 

Chamberlain Square

Just then, the mobile phone in Mildred’s pocket began to vibrate.  Mildred jumped in surprise at first, and then she slowly smiled.  It was a nice vibration, it made her feel all warm and fluffy.  She was loathed to answer it, but then she looked up at the top floor of the Council House and saw her boss jumping up and down in front of a window.

“Was that them?” Cavanagh cried, when she finally brought the phone up to her ear.

“I think so.”

“Then follow them!”

“How long for?”

“For as long as it takes!”

“But I finish at 4.”

“You’ll be paid your normal hourly rate until the task is complete.”

“I want double time,” Mildred said, surprising herself.

“Time and a half is my final offer,” Cavanagh replied.

“Plus credit for my mobile in case I need to contact you?”

“We’ll cover it.”

“Then you’ve got yourself a deal, Cavanah.”

“That’s Mr Cavanagh to you.”

“And one more thing,” Mildred said, getting into the spirit of things, “Call my husband and tell him not to wait up.”

Mildred flicked the mobile phone into her pocket like a cowboy spinning a gun into a holster.  From her other pocket, she pulled out a pair of black sunglasses and an object she unfurled into a white stick.  The mobile vibrated.  Mildred grinned with pleasure for a while before answering it.

“What are you doing?” came Cavanagh’s high pitched voice.

“I’m getting into character, disguising myself.  I’m pretending to be a blind person.”

“Why?”

“A character in Dan Brown’s book is deaf.”

“That was in Digital Fortress, not the Da Vinci Code!”

“I’m improvising.”

“Take them off, Mildred.”

“But I bought these sunglasses specially.”

“Take them off.  Follow them as inconspicuously as you can.  Do you think you can manage that?”

“Yes, Mr Cavanagh.”

Reluctantly, Mildred took off glasses and handed them and the stick to a man staggering across Victoria Square with his eyes closed and his hands outstretched. 

“Oh thank God,” the man says, and walked off more confidently, tapping the stick in front of him.

Mildred scuttled to the wall of the Council House and slithered along it sideways, following the woman called Roberta and the man called … she’d forgotten.

* * *

“Do you get the feeling we’re being followed?” Carl asked Roberta as they stood outside the entrance to the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery.

They both saw an elderly woman in an old overcoat crawling along the Council House wall towards them.  The woman saw them looking, and suddenly spun round to face the brickwork, which she diligently began inspecting.

“Probably a nutter,” Roberta said, “Don’t pay her any attention or we’ll be stuck with her for all time.”

They turned back to look at the fountain in Chamberlain Square

Chamberlain Memorial Fountain (Art Gallery in background)

and the Library building behind it.

Birmingham Library

“Where to now?” Carl asked.

“Do I look like I know?” Roberta snapped.

“No.  You don’t look as if you know much at all, actually.”

“Oh you sweet talker, fatty.”

“I can always lose weight,” Carl said furiously, “But you’ll always be ugly.”

“I’m not ugly!  The thief said I was quite pretty for my age.”

“Yeah, pretty for a sixty year old, maybe.”

Carl suddenly felt a stinging sensation on the side of his face and, stunned, turned to look at his slapper.

“Any more comments like that,” Roberta seethed, “And you’ll be eating your testicles for tea.”

“Tea?” Carl smirked, rubbing his still stinging cheek, “How common.  Educated people call it dinner.”

“Educated!  You call yourself educated you ignorant – “

Roberta suddenly felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to look at a man wearing black sunglasses and carrying a stick.  “Is your name Roberta?” he asked.

“Why do people keep asking me that?” she cried, “Is it tattooed on my forehead or something?”

“No, idiot is what’s tattooed on your forehead,” Carl said.  Then Carl ooomphed as Roberta threw her elbow into his stomach with some considerable force.

“Yes, my name is Roberta,” Roberta said to the blind man (who’s glasses, she thought, looked quite effeminate, but then, if you’re blind, you probably don’t notice these things).  “Are you the thief who stole the double size statue of the three men and a scroll from the bottom of Broad Street?”

“What?” said the blind man, “You’ll have to speak up, I’m a bit deaf.”

“I SAID, ARE YOU THE THIEF - ?”

“Thief!” cried the blind man, “Who are you calling a thief?”  And he began lashing out with his white stick.  Only, because he was blind and didn’t see Roberta deftly step sideways, he ended up beating on Carl’s kneecaps instead.  Carl calmly looked at Roberta and sighed, “It’s just not my day.”

The blind man eventually stopped his attack and said, “Oh, that’s better.  Nobody seems to understand how frustrating it is being blind and half deaf, but I feel much better now.”

“Any time,” Carl drawled.

“DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE DOUBLE SIZE STATUE OF THE THREE MEN AND A SCROLL?” Roberta yelled.

“I have a message,” the blind man said, shuffling a little and ending up with his back to them.  “I have a clue to – “

“Pardon?” Roberta said, moving to the front of the blind man so she could hear more clearly.  The blind man turned again, Roberta followed.  “I’m getting dizzy,” she muttered.

“I have a clue to the clue,” said the blind man.  “The message is … “

Carl and Roberta waited.

And waited.

“What’s the clue?” Carl eventually asked.

“Don’t rush me,” said the blind man, “It’ll come to me in a minute.  Blah blah statue blah blah tenner blah blah fat man and pretty woman – “

Roberta grinned victoriously at Carl.  “See, pretty.  You, fat.”

“The message is … “

“I can feel my life force draining away,” Carl sighed.

“Here!” cried the blind man, throwing out an arm and pointing across Chamberlain Square.

Carl and Roberta followed his outstretched finger.  “The Town Hall?” Roberta asked, “Is that where the first clue – “

“No, no, here!” said the blind man, turning and pointing somewhere else.

“The library?” said Carl.

“No.  No!”

“Where do you want to point to?” Carl asked.

“I’m not supposed to tell you, I’m just supposed to point.”

“Well, whisper it in my ear,” said Carl, “It’ll be our little secret.”

Roberta huffed as the blind man whispered something in Carl’s ear.  Carl coughed and fanned the air in front of his face as the blind man breathed over him.  Then he grinned at Roberta victoriously and gloated, “I know something you don’t know.”

Roberta rolled her eyes.

“I know the clue to the clue.”

Roberta folded her arms and tapped her foot.

“I know where to start.”

“Where, Carl?” Roberta drawled.

Carl raised an arrogant eyebrow.  “I’m just waiting for the suspense to build up.”

The three of them stood in the middle of Chamberlain Square, waiting.  Roberta sent a text message to one of her work colleagues asking what Pete in the property department was doing.  Carl was motionless and smug, the proud owner of the clue to the clue.  The blind man shuffled about uneasily between them, saying, “Hello?  Hello?  Are you still there?”

Carl suddenly grabbed the blind man and spun him round.  The blind man, startled, let out a cry of alarm and lost his balance.  Carl struggled to keep him upright before someone accused of abusing disabled people, while Roberta stared at her mobile phone and screamed, “Pete’s talking to that cow in finance!”

“Now point,” Carl said to the blind man.

“What?” said the blind man.

“POINT!”

The blind man, terrified now, threw out his arm.  And jabbed Carl right in the left eyeball.  Carl screamed out in pain.  The blind man screamed out in terror.  Roberta screamed at her mobile phone.

Outside the library, a large crowd of Japanese tourists obviously thought they were observing a local custom and began to scream and clap their hands together in glee whilst taking photos.

Along the wall of the Council House, an elderly woman stopped her inspection of the brickwork and breathed, “Nutters!  They’re making me follow nutters!”

The screaming stopped.  Roberta furiously jabbed a text message into her mobile phone while the blind man held out his hand.

“What?” said Carl.

“Money,” said the blind man.

“For what, beating my kneecaps and poking me in the eye.”

“For the information.”

“Oh here,” Carl sighed, handing over a note, “Go get yourself some mouth wash.  And toothpaste.  And floss wouldn’t go amiss either, mate.  Neither would underarm deodorant.”

The blind man scuttled off, tapping his stick in front of him and tripping up a man, a dog, and one of the Japanese tourists.

“So, what happened?” Roberta asked, holding her mobile phone in a tight fist.

“Weren’t you paying attention?”

“No.”

“The clue to the first clue.  I have it.”

“Oh you’re not going to go all smug again and try to build up the suspense, are you?”

“Been there, done that, you missed it, your loss.”

“I’m gutted, truly I am.”

“Come on, sarky.”

“Where are we going?”

“Where the blind man pointed.  Into the museum.”

“The museum.  So where’s this pointing woman the thief was rabbiting on about, then?”

“Don’t know.  Don’t care.”

“It’s up there, isn’t it,” said an elderly woman who had, until recently, been inspecting the brickwork of the Council House.

“Do I know you?” Roberta asked the woman suspiciously.

“Up where?” said Carl.

“Up at the top.  A woman.  Pointing.”

“I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before,” Roberta said.

“No, love.  I was just passing and heard this young man here ask where the pointing woman was.  And she's up there.”

Roberta took a few steps away from the building and looked up.  The Japanese tourists by the library immediately started taking photographs of the sculpture they were looking at.

Sculpture of woman 'pointing' on top of the museum

“She’s not pointing,” Roberta said, “She’s holding her hands out, an entirely different thing altogether.”

“What difference does it make?” Carl asked.

“Well, it shows the thief isn’t too clever when it comes to detail – “

Across the other side of Chamberlain Square, an indignant man wearing headphones and a pair of binoculars popped up from behind the wall of the fountain and cried, “Excuse me!”

Thirty-three Japanese tourists all laughed, “E’cuse me! E’cuse me!”

Irritated, Carl turned to the tourists and yelled, “Listen, you lot, you’re making far too much noise and just generally getting in everybody’s way.  Can you just … “

“Bog off?” Roberta suggested.

“Go home?” said the elderly woman.

“Go somewhere else!” Carl eventually yelled.

“Where we go?” asked a Japanese tourist.

“I don’t know!  Anywhere but here!”

The tourists all started opening up maps and making even more noise.

“The Bull Ring,” Carl shouted.  “Bugger off to the Bull Ring.”

The Bull Ring Shopping Centre

“Been there,” they all shouted back.

“Well how about … Brindleyplace.”

Brindleyplace

“Been there too, velly canally.”

“Canally?” Carl repeated to Roberta, “Is that even a word?”

Roberta shrugged.  Carl muttered, “Oh wait, I’m asking a secretary for advice on the English language, how amusing!”  He turned back to the tourists and started to shout, “London!” only it came out “Londargh!” because Roberta whacked him across the back of the head.  “Will people stop beating on me!” he screeched.

“Yeah, the minute you stop being such an arsehole,” Roberta snapped.  “Oh wait, listen to me asking a solicitor to stop being an arsehole, how amusing!”

“Where?” cried the tourists, all frowning over their maps.

“London!” Carl shouted furiously, rubbing the back of his head.  “Go to London!”

The Japanese tourists all began nodding their heads.  “Yeah, Lon’on, we go Lon’on.”

“Let’s go,” said Roberta, walking up the steps towards the museum doors as the Japanese tourists all scurried off in the general direction of New Street Station, taking photographs of everything and everyone they passed.

Carl followed.  At the doors, they both turned to face the elderly woman on their heels.  “Are you following us?” Roberta asked.

The elderly woman gasped, wide eyed.  “Er,” she said, “No.”

The woman remained motionless as Carl and Roberta entered the museum.  As they walked up the internal staircase, they looked back, and saw the elderly woman’s face pressed up against the glass door, staring after them.

“Do you think - ?” Roberta started.

“No, don’t talk,” Carl said.

“Why not?”

“Because your voice is getting on my nerves.”

Roberta lashed out at him, but Carl caught her in mid lash.  “Ah ha!” he gloated, “I’m getting better at fighting off your Freudian advances.”

Roberta didn’t fight back, and Carl let her go with a smug grin of victory.  Roberta swiftly kneed him in the balls.  “Yeah,” she said, flicking back her long hair as Carl doubled up with his eyeballs bulging from his chubby face, “Waddaya think of those Freudian advances then, mate?”

Carl struggled to pull a mobile out of his trouser pockets whilst delicately cupping his testicles.  He jabbed numbers.  He said, in a strange, high pitched voice, “Mr Sunnier, I quit.  Why?  Because you’ve paired me up with a sadistic cow who won’t stop attacking me, that’s why.  What?  Well, yes,” he breathed, “I guess she is quite pretty for her age, but that doesn’t excuse her kneeing me in the … How much more?  Yes, okay.”  He struggled to stand upright.  “Mr Sunnier says that every time you hit me or offend me or piss me off in any way, I get a substantial bonus above what you’re getting.”

“What!  How much?”

“£20 for every slap, punch or kick.”

“What about pinching?” Roberta sneered, pinching him hard on the arm.

“Jesus, woman, you need some kind of deep regression therapy.”

“What about scratching, eh?”  And she ran her nails across his forearm, leaving red welts in their wake.  “What about – “

“STOP!”

Shocked by this sudden outburst which echoed off the stone walls of the museum, Roberta stopped.  Carl didn’t say anything else.  They both stood there, silent, not really knowing what to do next.  And then Roberta yanked her mobile out of her handbag and jabbed in numbers.  “Mr Sunnier,” she said, “I understand you’re paying Carl a … And I’m just supposed to put up with him insulting me all the time with no recompense?  … You’ll pay me the same amount?”  She grinned at Carl.  “And would that figure be for every insult?  It would.  Thank you, Mr Sunnier.”

Roberta tossed her mobile back into her bag and glared defiantly at Carl.  “I’m getting the same bonus every time you insult me,” she gloated.

“So?” Carl huffed.

“So .. insult me.”

“Hit me,” said Carl, jutting out his chin.

“Insult me!”

“Hit me!”

“Oh wait,” Roberta said, glancing at her watch, “Much as I’m enjoying this, we have to stop.”

“Why?”

“Because this bit has gone on long enough.  We’re due a break.  And I need the toilet.”

In the background, someone shouted “Cut!” and two makeup artists ran towards them, dabbing at their hair and faces.  Carl started chatting one of them up in a broad Brummie accent, whilst Roberta wandered off with the director’s arm across her shoulders, asking, “Was my characterisation okay, darling?” 

Behind the scenes, the writer typed END OF PART FOUR, stretched in her chair, and typed ...

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