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'What's going on?' I asked the small crowd that had gathered.
'This idiot turned left when he shouldn't have,' explained the grey-haired Morris Marina driver while his identical grey-haired Generic D-4 clones nodded their heads vigorously. 'We could all have been killed!'
'Are you okay?' I said to the cubist driver, who looked blankly at me and attempted to change gear.
'I've been driving in Caversham Heights since the book was written and never had an accident,' the Morris Marina driver carried on indignantly. 'This will play hell with my no-claims bonus – and what's more, I can't get any sense out of him at all!'
'I saw it all,' said another Spongg truck driver – a proper one this time. 'Whoever he is he needs to go back to driving school and take a few lessons.'
'Well, the show's over,' I told them. 'Mr Morris Marina Driver, is your car drivable?'
'I think so,' replied the eight identical middle-aged drivers in unison.
'Then get it out of here. Generic Truck Driver?'
'Yes?'
'Find a tow rope and get this heap of junk off the road.'
He left to do my bidding as the eight Morris Marina drivers drove off in their identically spluttering cars.
I was waving the cars around the stranded truck when there was a crackle in the air. The cubist truck vanished from the roadside leaving nothing but the faint smell of cantaloupes. I stared at the space left by the truck. The drivers were more than happy that this obstacle to their ordered lives had been removed, and they sounded their horns at me to get out of the way. I examined the area of the road carefully but found nothing except a single bolt made in the same style as the truck – no texture, just the same cubic shape. I walked back to my car, placed it in my bag, and drove on.
Jack was waiting for me outside Mickey Finn's Gym, situated above a couple of shops in Coley Avenue. We were there to question a boxing promoter about allegations of fight fixing. It was the best scene in Caversham Heights – gritty, realistic, and with good characterisation and dialogue. I met Jack slightly earlier while the story was off on a sub-plot regarding a missing consignment of ketamine, so there was time for a brief word together. Caversham Heights wasn't first-person – which was just as well, really, as I didn't think Jack had the depth of character to support it.
'Good morning, Jack,' I said as I walked up, 'how are things?'
He looked a lot happier than the last time I saw him and smiled agreeably, handing me coffee in a paper cup.
'Excellent, Mary – I should call you Mary, shouldn't I, just in case I have a slip of the tongue when we're being read? Listen, I went to see my wife Madeleine last night, and after a heated exchange of opinions we came to some sort of agreement.'
'You're going back to her?'
'Not quite,' replied Jack, taking a sip of coffee, 'but we agreed that if I stopped drinking and never saw Agatha Diesel again, she would consider it!'
'Well, that's a start, isn't it?'
'Yes,' replied Jack, 'but it might not be as simple as you think. I received this in the post this morning.'
He handed me a letter. I unfolded it and read:
Dear Mr Spratt,
It has come to our attention that you may be attempting to give up the booze and reconcile with your wife. While we approve of this as a plot device to generate more friction and inner conflicts, we most strongly advise you not to carry it through to a happy reconciliation, as this would put you in direct contravention of Rule IIc of the Union of Sad Loner Detectives' Code, as ratified by the Union of Literary Detectives, and it will ultimately result in your expulsion from the association with subsequent loss of benefits.
I trust you will do the decent thing and halt this damaging and abnormal behaviour before it leads to your downfall.
PS. Despite repeated demands, you have failed to drive a classic car or pursue an unusual hobby. Please do so at once or face the consequences.
'Hmm,' I muttered, 'it's signed Poi—'
'I know who it's signed by,' replied Jack sadly, retrieving the letter. 'The union is very powerful. They have influence that goes all the up to the Great Panjandrum. This could hasten the demolition of Caversham Heights, not delay it. Father Brown wanted to renounce the priesthood umpteen times, but, well, the union—'
'Jack,' I said, 'what do you want?'
'Me?'
'Yes, you.'
