Sepia Saturday 251: Three Tasmanian Coppers

Last week, my grandfather's horses were speaking to me from their photos. This week it's the police.  But I can pin the blame for my silliness on Marilyn for her Facebook suggestion that the cops were looking at Alan. 

 "Charlie...do you see that woman looking this way?" said John gruffly through his thick beard and moustaches. John's hirsute appearance matched his abrasive personality and he was visibly agitated. "That old cow is on the lam. I recognize her."

"Really John?" Charles said indifferently, thinking to himself that John's imagination was working over time again; even for an imagination inside someone else's imagination.  He understood it completely; afternoon street patrol in Hobart could get very, very slow.  Sometimes he felt that time was standing still. He folded his hands and observed with a faint smile, "Looks like an ordinary old sheila to me." 

"I'm telling you," said John with growing excitment, "I saw an ancient sepia colored flyer just the other day." He lowered his head and glowered into the dim light.  "It came in the postie from Manitoba. The RCMP have been after her for more than 50 years! Something about an illegal bonfire, smokin' and drinkin' under age and trespassing too. Done some real damage up there tromping through a field. Now here she is - thinkin' it's clear sailing cause half a century's passed." 

Harry, standing calmly by, harumphed at the absurdity of his mate's Clouseau-like allegations; he didn't bother to turn around and continued to stay focused on the street scene. John ranted on," Those RCMP blokes have no cold cases - they never stop until they get their man. Look at her, peering away at us just like someone with nothing on her conscience.  Bit of a brazen hussy."

Charles observed with a faint smile, "I think she's trying to read that boot sign over your head Johnny. Or the sign in the Chemist's window." He felt his head throbbing and somehow his world seemed to get alternately larger and smaller; larger and smaller. 

John was chafing at Charlie's casual attitude. "No Charlie," he said, " You're dead wrong! She's squinting at Harry's arse - that's what she's doing - no manners at all!" He paused and in a rare moment of thoughtfulness sized up the scene before speaking again. "Harry - at least you could move over to the left a bit and get your arse out of her sight!" Harry shifted to the other foot ignoring John which he'd learned was the wisest choice of action.

Raising his voice in frustration John asked, "Do we have no privacy here; is there no respect for the law? Let's get a warrant, reach in there and search her hard drive. Teach her a lesson for being so bloody nosy." 

"Too late Johnny," said Charles barely smothering a chortle, "She's figured you're onto her. Not as much of a drongo as you thought. Argghh...she's beat us to it and reaching for the publish switch. Gone, gone, gone - she's back on the lam again. And look at what she's done to us; left us standing here for eternity, framed."

Make a quick getaway to Sepia Saturday for more stories: Sepia Saturday #251