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Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories PRESENTS:

Episode 11

Location:  London

Time: 11.59.00

James Thornton, a man exactly the same age and extremely similar in build and appearance to Joseph waited impatiently for the lights to change at the corner of Haughton and Dwaynewrite.   Thornton could easily have been mistaken for Joseph at a distance, or even up close, as Joseph could have been taken for him.   But had the two men been standing side by side the differences would have been possibly noted almost immediately by the observant … if not by the various minuscule discrepancies in their facial features, or the colour of their eyes, then certainly in their quality of dress or their mannerisms.  While Joseph displayed refinement in his vocal tones, a relaxed, confident facial expression when communicating, his clothing was noticeably off the rack and his hair certainly trimmed by a cut price hairdresser, whereas Thornton’s entire demeanour expressed culture and grooming.   They were not quite doppelgangers, more like a doppelganger cross, but certainly close enough in appearance to fool, or confuse, somebody in a hurry to approach either one of them.

Thornton looked at his watch.   Eleven fifty nine.   One minute left – four blocks to go.   He was about to become late.   ‘Should have left earlier,’ he thought, reproaching himself for his tardiness, ‘I don’t want to be rushed into making a decision, but Martin is insistent that time is of the essence, which means that his friend Rosetta will want a decision before I leave.   Well Martin may very well be right, however I have two more interviews with potential clients within the next few hours … and they are similarly certain of the time factor involved in their problems.   And based on Martin’s description of what may be required I can’t help but feel it could very easily become very time consuming.   Perhaps I should simply tell her that I really don’t have time to help.   Surely Martin can handle this by himself.   He is more than capable from what I have heard.   Probably just wants me there to give her assurance of completing the task successfully.’

At thirty five, Thornton was proud of his physical prowess.   On the weekends, when he was not on a case and had the time to spare, he would don his running gear and go for a ten mile run, or bike ride, before ducking into one of the many boutique coffee shops that were springing up with regular monotony in his modernised rural retreat in Hampshire for a cold beer or a coffee depending on the weather.   He enjoyed his runs; he enjoyed the briskness of the cooler air in winter and the hotter, and often wetter, conditions in summer equally.

But today was a different story.   He had been forced to utilise a two hour limit parking spot located fifteen blocks from the restaurant where he was to meet Rosetta … and he could not believe the continuing restraints on his time that fate seemed to be placing in his way.   Not the least of which was his current dress mode which was not in any way meant for this type of morning stroll … especially when he was all but running late.   And at the rate he was moving he probably would arrive late.

Thornton was a professional in his trade and tardiness was not part of his job description, though his dress code was, and it was his dress code that was adding to his current plight.   The stature of his clientele usually required a particular standard of appearance when dealing with them, in public or in private.   The expensive dark blue-grey suit he wore was tailored for comfort and impression in civilised conditions.   It was not made for a brisk walk over fifteen blocks on and off an unsealed road with time limits imposed.

Nor were his equally expensive shiny, black, soft sole leather shoes a match for the step by step affront from the barriers, shovels, buckets and machinery spread spasmodically across the footpath that continually forced him on and off the equally chaotic roadway, his feet constantly under pressure from the loose bitumen, dirt and holes that were taking their toll on his speed of movement.

The particular street he had expected to use to gain entry to the back of the Anderson building where he could normally guarantee parking was out of bounds to road traffic due to road works, or at least the dozens of signs, barriers and equipment spread across the road and footpath indicated it was closed for road works, hence his need to find alternative parking at quite a distance from his eventual destination.

However, the non appearance of a singular worker in the area at this time of day was, to say the least, unusual.    Not one singular lollypop director.   No yellow and orange jacketed smokers hanging around in groups discussing the merits of some ridiculously named horse in the fifth at Epson running at fifty to one, or engaged in some other equally inane conversation.   No vehicle of various sizes and shapes erratically moving up and down the road or digging great chunks out of it.   The road fixing vehicles were there alright, but they were all neatly lined up as if it was Friday afternoon and their drivers had all gone home for the weekend and abandoned them.   Though there was enough mess and inconveniences on both the road and footpath to verify that some previous action had taken place.   But there had not been a single worker within his sight since he had left his vehicle and traversed his way to the restaurant.

And the strange event that had occurred several minutes earlier had not made it any easier for him to maintain his speed.    It had taken place at the previous street crossing where there had been a rather odd interaction with what he had assumed to be a nanny.   The woman, who had been pushing a pram, had come out of nowhere as he began to cross over the road.   Thornton assumed the woman must have come out of one of the buildings around the corner.   Wherever she came from she must have been running because she ploughed into him with so much force he ended up laying face down on the roadway with the pram wheels digging into his back.   He was winded, not too badly hurt, but dazed enough to be grateful for the woman’s help in getting back on his feet.   The woman gave him the impression that she was profusely apologising, but she was using a language that he didn’t recognise and, therefore, never understood a word she said.

He never got the chance to make sure of the condition of the child he assumed was in the pram because as he was brushing himself down the woman and the pram disappeared in the direction he had just come from at a rate of knots.

It was an unusual sight to see a rather large built woman pushing a pram as fast as her thick legs would take her in and out of the roadwork minefield, and he wondered why she was running.   Certainly nobody seemed to have followed her from around the corner, nor had there been anybody from one of the buildings brought out into the street as a result of the noise of their collision.   But Thornton suddenly realised that he also had to move faster and pushed the event out of his mind.   His time was running out and he too began to move with as much speed as his showpiece shoes would allow him.

His efforts to make up time, however, had only managed to get him to the next block which presented him with a back handed gift.  There were now no longer any barriers to obstruct him.   He now had a clear path for the rest of his trip to the café where he was to meet up with Rosetta which meant that he should have arrived at the restaurant with not a second to spare, but at least he would have been punctual.   However the change in conditions also allowed for traffic arriving from his right to turn right into the street under repair which meant the traffic lights here were working.

The trouble was – there was no traffic to be seen in any direction, the road crew had not arrived back on duty and the road building vehicles remained stationary where they had been abandoned.   Yet the crossing lights seemed to remain on red forever.    Thornton would have simply ignored the lights and crossed if it had not been for the policeman who was waiting on the other side.   The last thing he needed as precious seconds ticked by at the speed of light was to waste any more of the little time he had left arguing the rights and wrongs of jaywalking with an over-enthusiastic young policeman.

Thornton could not believe the time that the lights were taking.   He looked at his watch for the third time in the thirty seconds that had elapsed since he had arrived at the crossing.    Still nothing had changed …still the crossing lights were red and still there was no traffic.  ‘Surely the policeman could walk out and pretend to direct the non-existent traffic and allow them both to cross over without traversing any laws, Thornton thought.   ‘Surely the man can’t be that arrogant in his enforcing of the law?’ 

    ‘Perhaps I should call out’, he wondered, ‘make a suggestion to him?’   Thornton thought about it for a second and came to the conclusion that there was no sound other than his own impatient sighing to come between them – so the policeman would have to hear him.’

But before Thornton could open his mouth to call out, the first crack of lightning arrived so unexpectedly that he actually jumped several inches backwards, almost losing his balance.

He looked towards the sky surprised to see the dark swirling clouds heading his way.   As far as he could remember it had been a fairly clear sky all morning.   There certainly hadn’t been any sign of rain before he had arrived at the lights that were beginning to infuriate him.   Even the policeman stationed across the road daring him to break the law seemed mystified by the impending storm.

Another streak of lightning dispatched itself through the air as the clouds grew even darker.   The bang was less than a millisecond behind as expected for something so close, but it was the two following streaks followed by their inevitable explosions that placed fear into Thornton’s heart because one of them had struck one of the heavy road machines less than twenty five yards behind where he was standing.

Thornton looked at the lights, they were still red.  He looked at his watch: twelve noon: midday: he was late.  He looked again at the clouds that were now almost above him and for the first time in his life Thornton was frightened … and he had no idea why.   He looked at the policeman, almost pleadingly.   He knew something was wrong, he had to get away from the storm, but no, the policeman gave the impression that he could wait the lights out forever … storm or no storm.

Without warning, the world around Thornton suddenly went insane.   There was no rain, but the storm was exploding with a violence that Thornton had never witnessed before.   The wind was rising to such a pressure that he was having trouble keeping his balance.   There was no cover under any of the buildings, there was nowhere to hide – he had to move to somewhere safer … and he had to do it right now.

Thornton placed his right hand in his coat pocket in frustration, swore softly under his breath, and began to take a step onto the road, ready to draw out his revolver and threaten the policeman if he attempted to prevent him from crossing, however, as he went to run across the still deserted street his hand made contact with the unexpected feel of something beside his revolver inside the coat pocket, something small, but extremely solid.

Without thinking he stopped moving , one foot on the footpath, one foot on the road, as the wind from the storm intensified to a point where it became a threat within itself and extracted the mysterious object – and his eyes almost popped out of his head as he found himself looking at the most magnificent red ruby he could ever imagine.   It glistened as it lay in his hand, its exotic beauty amplified by the reflections of the constant array of lightning steaks in the sky above.

His eyes were mesmerised by the stone’s beauty.   The storm, the time, the wind, the appointment … all disappeared from his mind.   He could only concentrate on the ruby.

‘Where the hell, did you come from?’   He asked the stone, not expecting an answer, but in his current mental state accepting that anything was possible at the moment.  Then it hit him.   “The Nanny!” his voice cried out, frightening the policeman across the road with its intensity, “She must have slipped it into my pocket when she helped me up.”   And it was then that Thornton realised what had been bugging him since the incident – it was how easy she had been able to lift him up … and it was then that he realised that the nanny had in fact been a man.

And it was then that all thought disappeared from Thornton’s mind; disappeared forever as some primitive instinct made him look skyward … and what he saw in the thick black cloud that hovered no more than fifty yards above him revealed something to him that caused his heart to explode … and James Thornton died less than a second prior to his body being struck by a bolt of light that hit him with so much power and so much force his entire body exploded into a huge ball of smouldering smoke.

Almost immediately the clouds lifted.   The sun shone as bright as it had before.   The lights changed to ‘walk’.   The policeman crossed the road and continued walking the way that Thornton had come paying no heed to the small smouldering blob of something indistinguishable that lay in the gutter.

As the policeman began crossing with the now green lights, further up the road the driver of the street cleaner parked alongside the other heavy machinery returned to his job along with his co-workers, started up the engine on his large machine. then weaved his way through the many things that littered the road until he reached the street where Thornton had waited impatiently for allegedly an eternity.   A street, that had appeared to be open to traffic a minute earlier, was now completely blocked off by barricades.   The driver then turned into that street and began the task of rolling the pick-up brushes of the cleaner along the gutters, picking up any debris that was in its path and disposing it into its belly … everything that lay in the gutter – including a small, glowing pile of embers.

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