“You’ll find it here, some things so rare,” Carl read from the slip of paper in Roberta’s hand, “A ring that someone cannot wear.”

“It’s a bit … vague, isn’t it.”

“I guess it’s supposed to be cryptic, but it’s not very well written.”

Behind them, in Chamberlain Square, a face wearing a large set of earphones popped out from behind the fountain, its mouth agape, its lips forming the words, ‘Not well written?’

“A ring,” Roberta repeated, “It can only mean the jewellery quarter.”

“You mean, Birmingham’s famous Jewellery Quarter which has been described by English Heritage as ‘a national treasure’ ... ‘a place of unique character’ ... ‘a particular combination of structures associated with jewellery and metalworking which does not seem to exist anywhere else in the world’?“

Roberta turned to Carl, astonished by his knowledge, and found him reading from a pamphlet.  “Where did you get that from?” she asked.

“Picked it up inside the museum.  They’ve got lots of leaflets about Birmingham attractions, including - ”

“Save it, let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Er, the jewellery quarter, where next clue is.  Are you having problems keeping up here?”

“Don’t be facetious.  The clue can’t mean the jewellery quarter, anyway.  The jewellery quarter’s miles away.”

“No its not, its only across the carriageway – “

“Across the carriageway and then down that long road, then left, then down another long road, and the jewellery quarter is big.  Let’s take a taxi.”

“A taxi!  We’ll have to walk halfway down Colmore Row to get a taxi, and then it’ll have to drive all the way round to get onto Vyse Street.  It’ll take ages.”

“Be faster than walking.”

“No it won’t!”

“Will!”

“Stop being such a sloth and let’s go.”

“No, let’s look at the clue again, it must mean something else, it just has to.”

“God, you’re so lazy!”

“You’ll find it here, some things so rare,” Carl read desperately, “A ring that someone cannot wear.”

Behind them, a man wearing headphones with a pair of binoculars hanging round his neck and holding a bag full of surveillance gear (A-Z of Birmingham, bus timetables, lunchbox of sandwiches and those nice stringy cheesy things, bottles of Evian water, sound equipment, a camera, a tiny camcorder and a mobile phone) furiously urged them to get it.  Inside the museum, behind the exit door, an elderly woman watched them through the glass window, glancing at her watch and wondering what she could do for tea.

“A ring,” Roberta breathed.

“Cannot wear,” said Carl.

“Come on!” muttered Bruce.

“Chips,” Mildred decided.

“The Bull Ring!” Roberta suddenly yelled.  Bruce slumped with relief.  Mildred prepared herself like a sprinter on a start line.  Carl said, “How do you figure that then?”

“Well, its obvious, isn’t it.”

“No.”

“A ring you cannot wear.  You can’t wear the Bull Ring, can you.”

“What about the rare stuff?” Carl queried, “How does that fit in?”

“Selfridges and Debenhams are full of thing so rare, and bloody expensive they are too.”  Roberta moved off excitedly.  Carl didn’t follow.  “Well?” she said, “What are you waiting for?”

“Where is it, this Bull Ring thingy?” he asked.

“You’re kidding me!” Roberta gasped.

“Is it far?  Only I’m a bit knackered with all this running around.”

Roberta lifted up the now seriously battered poster of Birmingham from the Air and snarled, “Do I have to beat you there every step of the way?”

Carl started walking, muttering, “You hit me at least fifteen times on the way out, that earns me fifteen more bonuses than you.”

“I deserve at least twenty for pressing your sweaty body against mine,” Roberta snapped back.

As they walked off towards Victoria Square, Bruce slithered out from behind Chamberlain Fountain and hurried after them.

As did Mildred.

* * *

Bruce has headed off down the Bristol Road towards Longbridge with his precious cargo on board.  His plan was to hide the statue at the now empty Rover plant – nobody went there any more and there was plenty of space. 

Rover Plant, Bristol Road South, Longbridge

A perfect location to hide the double size statue of the three men and a scroll.

Or so he thought.

Bruce had a mate who had worked at the car factory and he’d told Bruce about a ‘hidden entrance’ in one of the buildings.  Some of the men used it as a secret place to meet up and have a drink and a talk without their wives nagging at them to get a job when there weren’t any jobs, not with thousands of ex-Rover workers after employment.  Bruce would hide the statue there.

He drove through the main entrance off Bristol Road South [pic] and round the back of a huge storage building.  He parked up, located the ‘hidden entrance’ and unlocked the main doors.  Then he drove his truck inside.

It was only when he jumped out of the cabin and picked up the controls for the swinging arm that he noticed that there seemed to be rather a lot of cars parked inside the building considering the place was supposed to be deserted.  Mitsubishi cars, all of them, and all the same colour.  Yellow.  And beside the cars were vans and trucks, also Mitsubishi, also yellow.

And, as he stared at what appeared to be an indoor car park, Bruce heard strange noises coming from an adjoining building, kind of heavy, metalic clunks and … voices?

With his heart hammering frantically in his chest, Bruce put the control down quietly on the back of the truck and moved towards a door on the far side of the building.  He pushed down on the handle and was surprised when it turned without resistance and the door opened with a creak.

He peered into the enormous room beyond.  It was a manufacturing plant, full of machines and rails where cars had once been put together.

Rover Car manufacturing plant

The room wasn’t empty.

The room was full of people.

Chinese people, all frantically unscrewing things and moving dismantled pieces of machinery.  There were at least fifty of them, all wearing yellow overalls.  Some had hard hats on and were yelling at the others in a fast, foreign language.  The atmosphere seemed very frantic, like starving dogs gobbling food.

The Chinese were stripping the Longbridge Rover factory of all its assets!  They were even taking posters and calendars off the walls and putting those in bags to take away.

They were taking everything.

Bruce watched, open mouthed and unseen, for a good few minutes, unable to believe what he was seeing.  And then he turned away and quietly closed the door.

“Bugger!” he gasped.

Where the hell was he going to hide the double size statue now?

* * *

“Are we nearly there yet?”

“Shut up.”

“Are we nearly there yet?”

“Shut up!”

Roberta and Carl – closely followed by Bruce and Mildred – were struggling to get down New Street. 

New Street, Birmingham

The crowds were out in force and seemed to deliberately block their way.  Pushchairs came at them like out of control steam trains, determined not to  give way or veer one millimetre from their chosen path, while pensioners wandered aimlessly like children lost in the middle of a riot.

“How come,” puffed Carl, as he half ran to keep up with Roberta, “How come every single person in Birmingham city centre seem to be coming at us.  It’s like swimming upstream.”

“Save your breath and keep moving or you’ll be trampled to death,” Roberta said.

“There’s just so many people!” he gasped.

At the bottom of the ramp leading up to the Pallasades Shopping centre

they encountered a seething mass of compacted bodies. Carl got separated from Roberta and screamed out in panic, pushing a hand between the heaving crowds and reaching out to be saved.  “Don’t lose me!” he screamed, “I don’t know where we’re going!”

Roberta grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the milling throng.  When he was free, he didn’t let go.

“You want to walk down New Street holding my hand?” she sneered.

“Yes,” he said, gripping tighter.

“You, a solicitor, holding the hand of a mere secretary in public?”

“I’d hold on to the testicles of a rabid bull if it would get me out of here,” said Carl.

Roberta threw his hand away in disgust.  Carl grasped onto her jacket tightly, and together, like a mother and its timid child, they fought their way passed The Odeon and The Works towards the Bull Ring.

And finally, they were there, facing the big bronze bull outside the sparkling glass shopping centre.

“Where - ?” Carl began.

“Don’t know,” snapped Roberta.

“How - ?”

“Don’t know.”

“What - ?”

Huffing, Roberta turned to face Carl, who was still gripping tightly onto her jacket.  “You’re the one who’s been to university and clearly thinks you’re vastly superior to little old me, why don’t you figure out what it is we’re supposed to be looking for?”

“Okay,” said Carl, letting go of her jacket and standing up straight, if a little red and sweaty, “I will.”

They stood in front of the bronze bull, Roberta waiting, Carl thinking.  And waiting.  And thinking.  And waiting.  And thinking.  Crowds bustled around them, bumping into them, talking loudly, dragging screaming children along after them, all carrying a multitude of carrier bags.

“I can feel my life force just draining away,” Roberta eventually drawled.

“Not a commodity you can afford to lose at your age,” Carl drawled back.

Roberta just sighed.  Carl looked at the constant stream of shoppers and said, “Talking of commodities, this is commercialism gone mad.  Surely these people don’t need so much stuff.”

“Fascinating though your philosophical view of mankind’s buying habits are, can we please just get on with the matter in hand?”

“Okay, okay, don’t rush me, I’m thinking.”

“Not something you’re familiar with, obviously.”

“If you would just shut that mouth of yours up for one tiny sec- “

“S’cuse me, mister.”

Carl looked down at a toddler pulling on his trouser leg.  “Can I help you?” he asked it, thinking maybe the child was lost or else street beggers were getting younger these days, just like policemen.

“That man over there … “  And the child pointed behind him, towards the crowds on New Street, and specifically at a man standing beside a lamppost wearing headphones and binoculars.  The man, clearly startled that they were now looking at him, ducked behind the lamppost.  Then, realising he wasn’t being hidden, the man turned and tried to look inconspicuous by bringing the binoculars up to his eyes and staring up at the sky whilst nodding his head in a knowing way.  “That man told me to tell you something,” said the child.

“Oh yes,” said Carl, watching the man and wondering just how many nutters they were in Birmingham city centre at that precise moment in time.  “What?”

“Bollocks,” said the child.

“Pardon?”

“Bollocks,” the child said again. 

Just then, the child’s mother appeared in front of them with a pushchair and screeched, “What did you just say, Kieran Callum Bradley?”  And she clobbered the small child round the back of its head.  The child immediately started wailing at a volume Carl had never before encountered.  “’Ow many bleeding times ‘ave I told you not to bloody swear,” the mother bawled, as the child bawled.

The mother yanked the child towards her and pressed its fingers round the handle of the pushchair.  “Now bloody well ‘old onto that and stop bleedin’ runnin’ off.”  Lifting her head, her twisted face suddenly broke into a beatific smile as she said to Carl, “Sorry about that, it’s ‘is age, the little sod.”

And off they went, the mother still screeching, the child still crying.

“Bollocks,” said Roberta.

“Does that mean anything to you?” Carl asked.

“Oh it means a lot of things to me, none of which I care to discuss with you right now in the middle of a busy shopping centre.”

“So, no idea then.”

“None whatsoever.  And when you get an idea, you’ll be sure to let me know right away, not that I’m holding my breath or anything.”

Roberta turned to walk away.  Her intention was to get something to eat, maybe a coffee and a sit down somewhere, her feet were absolutely killing her.  Had she known she’d be racing all round Birmingham today she’d have worn more comfortable shoes, or even – a cardinal office sin – trainers.  But mostly she was starving, absolutely starving.

Roberta stopped dead in her tracks on her way towards one of the many cafes wedged into the side of the Bull Ring, and turned back to Carl.  “Lend me some money,” she said, as casually as she could manage.

“Bollocks,” said Carl.

“There’s no need to be rude about it! I only asked- “

“Remember what I said when we were battling our way down New Street?”

“Yeah, that you were tired, that your feet hurt, that your sweat hurt, that your- “

“That I’d hold on to the testicles of a rabid bull if it would get me out of here?”

“And your point is?”

“Testicles!” said Carl, “Bollocks!”  Still staring wide eyed and excited at Roberta, Carl threw out a hand to point at the bronze bull standing outside the Bull Ring Shopping Centre, and gasped, “Bull Ring!”

Roberta’s eyes widened.  Carl’s widened even wider.  Roberta’s mouth fell open, and so did Carl’s.  Roberta lifted her hands and cupped her breasts, jiggling them, and Carl shrugged.

They ran to the bronze bull.

They peered underneath.

And there was a folded piece of paper stuck to a blank area where the bull’s twiddly bits should have been but weren’t.

Carl leaned under to try and reach it, when a hand clamped down hard on his shoulder and pulled him back up again before he had a chance to grab the second clue.

“May I ask what you’re doing?” asked a stern looking man in a security uniform.

“I – “ Carl began.

“You’re kidding!” Roberta gasped at the security guard.  “Some yobbo hacks his name into this iconic bull with a sharp instrument and you do absolutely nothing!  Yet dare to bend down to check how well hung it is and you’re like a ferocious team of SAS commandos.”

The security guard looked from left to right, as if to emphasis that he was, in fact, alone and not working as part of a team, SAS or otherwise.  He opened his mouth to speak, but Roberta pushed passed him, huffing, and reached underneath the bull for the piece of paper.  Grabbing it, she straightened up, unfolded the paper, and said, "Ah! Just as I suspected.  It says … “  She stared straight at the security guard and said, “No Bollocks!”

Carl sucked in a sharp stream of air.  Roberta continued to glare contemptuously at the security guard, who glared right back and said, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to accompany me to – “

Roberta ran, the second clue clutched tight in her hand.  As she passed Carl, who suddenly looked very confused, she hissed, “RUN!”

“Not again,” Carl whined, and began lumbering after her.

* * *

Bruce had driven the truck towards the Lickey Hills, wondering if he might be able to hide the statue in the woodlands somewhere.  He could maybe cover it in twigs and green stuff to conceal it.  But he was wearing his best designer trousers and didn’t want to get mud on them or rip them or anything, so he carried on driving over the roundabout towards Bromsgrove.

* * *

Mildred was starting to get a bit hungry now.  It was almost lunchtime and she’d hardly eaten anything all day.  Apart from breakfast from the office canteen (they did a lovely full fry up).  And a few chocolates that someone had brought into the department.  Oh, and a cream cake from Greggs because it was someone’s birthday (and they’d bought too many cakes to celebrate so Mildred sneaked a second one, she hated things to go to waste).  And a packet of crisps and a slimline cup-a-soup from her drawer.

And thirteen cups of tea.

Really, she was wasting away.  And they expected her to run around all over the place following solicitors looking for a stolen statue on an empty stomach?

Mildred pulled the mobile phone out of her pocket and rang Mr Cavanagh.

“Have they found it?” Cavanagh asked.

“No.”

“Are they close to finding it?”

“Doubt it.”

“Then why are you calling me?”

“Will you reimburse me if I buy lunch?” Mildred asked.

“What?”

“I said, will you reimburse- “

“I heard what you said,” Cavanagh hissed furiously, “It just seems a wholly trivial thing to ask when you’re on such an important assignment!”

“I’m hungry.”

“Just keep following them!”

“I feel faint,” Mildred said.  “I can hardly follow them when I’m lying in a muddy puddle in the middle of New Street with people stepping over me because I’ve fainted from hunger, can I?”

“Oh alright!  Get something to eat if you must.  But don’t let them out of your sight, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr Cavanagh.”

Mildred replaced the phone in her pocket, and smiled.  Lunch on Mr Cavanagh, how exciting.  She’d go to Druckers and order everything she wanted – all those lovely cakes, all those seriously expensive coffees.

Or maybe a proper meal in a proper restaurant, a really posh restaurant like the one those young secretaries always seemed to be going to at the top of Colmore Row – what was it called?  Sanction?  Suction?  Sanctum, that was it!  And she’d have pudding, maybe two. And wine.  The bill would be astronomical, but then Cavanagh was paying so it didn’t matter.

Ah, but if she stopped for a sumptuous banquet in ostentatious surroundings, how would she follow the pretty woman and the fat man?

Decisions, decisions.

Ahead of her, outside the Bull Ring Shopping Centre, the woman called Roberta suddenly started running away from a man in a uniform.

And now the fat man called Carl was running too.

Mildred sighed heavily as her stomach grumbled.  Feed her face and risk the wrath of Cavanagh, or stay on the trail of the two solicitors looking for the stolen statue of Boulton, Watt and Matthews like she’d been told?

Oh, decisions, decisions.

* * *

Bruce found himself driving endlessly around the rabbit warren that was Redditch, frantically trying to find his way out again. 

It was only by sheer luck that he took a right turn, another right turn, a left and straight across a roundabout that he managed to escape and headed back towards Birmingham again.

The relief was enormous.

But he still had a problem.  A major problem.

Where to go? Where to hide the statue?  The questions looped in his head, over and over, faster and faster, wheretogowheretohidethestatuewheretogowheretohidethestatue?

Suddenly, because he wasn’t paying attention, the car in front of him seemed to be coming towards him a lot faster than it should have been.  Or rather, the car in front had stopped at a traffic island, but Bruce hadn’t, not yet, probably not at all by the look of it.

Bruce slammed on his brakes.  He pressed his whole body weight against the brake pedal and barely managed to stop the truck in time before it flattened the car in front.  The truck lurched forward as it came to a sudden stop, then the suspension relaxed and the truck rocked back again.

Bruce was just about to breathe a sigh of relief, when he became acutely aware of gravity.  Something seemed to be moving from the momentum of his emergency stop.  Something heavy.  Something on the back of his truck.

Bruce didn’t even have time to fully turn his head to check on his precious cargo before three heads that didn’t belong to him came to peer though the back window of the cab.  Closer, closer.  Matthew, Boulton and Watt, staring at him accusing, getting closer, and closer.

Bruce threw a hand up to cover his face, knowing it was useless even as he did it but feeling comforted by the reaction anyway.  The three faces loomed, then seemed to pause momentarily before rocking back again.

And back.

And back.

Like a pendulum, the double sized statue of three men and a scroll literally rocked off the back of the truck.

Straight on top of a Volvo.

© Brummie Blogs 2005

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