Danny Dempsey and the Unlikely Alliance (5 page)

‘He's doing that, all right,' the Superintendent said. ‘At first I wasn't sure what it was, but I might have guessed. After a while, he let me know he was there. Stuck his snout a couple of inches above the water and winked at me before he disappeared again. After another while, all that came up was a periscope, pointing in my direction. He was still playing submarines when I came looking for you.'

D
anny found what he was being told difficult to believe. They were back on the river bank, the Superintendent sitting on the rock, Danny sitting on the grass beside it, taking in everything in silence. Their last cooperation together had been straightforward and uncomplicated in relation to what he was now being told about.

*

It had been a dangerous enough assignment, involving two ruthless twin brothers who used jet-propelled wheelchairs to carry out bank robberies all over the country. They'd already outfoxed numerous security guards and Garda officers before the Superintendent decided to take matters into his own hands. He'd called Danny to where they were now sitting to a private meeting, gave him the facts, then asked him if he'd be prepared to join him in putting a stop to the wheelchair raiders once and for all.

The brothers had up to then eluded all efforts of the police to apprehend them. They were clever, and didn't stick to any set pattern which might give away the fact where they were going to strike next. When all rural banks had been forewarned about their method of operating, which was by easing themselves into the buildings in their wheelchairs so as to allay suspicion, they altered their tactics. They parked the chairs in a convenient spot not far away, then hobbled in on aluminium crutches, evoking sympathetic glances from customers and tellers alike. Should a security guard be on duty, he'd invariably act the Good Samaritan, asking them politely if they required any assistance as they went about their business.

As soon as the unsuspecting guard came close enough, one of them would continue the pretence of disability, divert the guard's attention, while the second twin made a miraculous recovery, leaped across, then promptly squirted a jet of Mace from the end of one of the crutches into the guard's face, rendering him temporarily blind and breathless for the length of time it took the twins to conduct their
real
business.

One of them kept watch over the customers with a sawn-off shotgun which materialised from under his coat, whilst his brother ordered the terrified tellers to fill the neatly folded canvas sacks he'd thoughtfully brought along for the occasion. The sack-stuffing, he emphasised menacingly, must be done with speed and efficiently, otherwise, his nervous twin could possibly develop an itchy trigger finger.

They were aware, he continued, that the alarm had most probably already been raised, some naughty member of the staff having more than likely pressed a panic button while they'd been dealing with the guard. It always happened, he told anyone who might be interested, and hoped they'd appreciate why he was urging the tellers to get the
blankedy-blank
loot into the
blankedy
-
blank
sacks quickly, unless, of course, they wanted their
blankedy
-
blank
heads blown off.

As soon as they heard the police sirens wailing in the distance, the twins made their exit laden down with their haul, nipped out to where they'd parked their wheelchairs, stashing the loot in the special compartments built under them, then rocketed away past the oncoming squad cars like a couple of shooting stars. Laughing, as one of them always said to the other after they'd made their getaway, all the way
from
the bank.

As they counted the takings and had a celebratory drink in their palatial penthouse after each successful robbery, they smugly told each other that they'd never be caught. They were far too smart for the stupid forces of law and order, with their idiotic police officers and ponderously slow squad cars. Snails, they'd snigger sarcastically, would have a better chance of catching them. Then they'd toast each other with the finest champagne other people's money could buy. But, after another few months, they'd become restless, then get down to planning what type of ruse they'd employ for their next robbery.

Which was their last after Superintendent Clifford and Danny became involved in tracking them down. Danny decided to have a word with Madam Noseybeak as soon as the Superintendent gave him whatever scantly details were on the police files regarding the twins. There wasn't an awful lot. But it was known that they were fond of a luxurious lifestyle, and certainly wouldn't dream of living anywhere other than in the finest accommodation. It was also known that they were twins, for they were audacious enough to allow themselves to be filmed by security CCTVs without even bothering to wear balaclavas. It added spice to their crimes, this thumbing of their noses at the authorities.

But that was the extent of the information their Garda files contained. Not exactly over-helpful, the Superintendent admitted to Danny, but it's all we have to go on. An added problem was that nobody knew in which part of the country they lived and operated from. None of the usual police snitches, who could always be relied upon to inform on their colleagues if the price was right, could throw any light on the case. They all swore they hadn't a clue who the twins were or where they'd sprung from.

*

It was to feathered pigeons as opposed to stoolpigeons Danny went for help. He made a trip to the woods and sought out their president, Madam Noseybeak, shortly after the Superintendent had briefed him on what little was known about the twins.

She was astounded that the police hadn't been able to find out more about these – these hoodlums! Absolutely amazed! Surely somebody somewhere had at least
some
nice item of juicy gossip where they were concerned? Wasn't it simply unbelievable how incompetent humans were, present company excepted, of course, when it came to discovering everything it was possible to know about each other? Why, she herself was fully aware of every single eccentricity, vice and weakness of the entire pigeon population of the whole country! And as for the latest scandals amongst them, please, she implored,
please
don't get me started!

Which Danny had no intention of doing if he could help it. Of course, he knew before he came looking for the favour, he'd have to contend with having his ears battered, just as he always had them battered whenever their paths crossed. He wasn't really all that interested in the follies and foibles of his many feathered friends, preferring to be left in ignorance of their various misdemeanours, thank you very much just the same.

There were absolutely
no
animals or humans, Danny knew, himself included, who didn't have their weak little moments they'd just as soon nobody else knew about. But Madam Noseybeak simply couldn't help herself when it came to gossip. Yet there was no denying her incredible organisational skills and leadership qualities, which had resulted in her being elected pigeon president for the last five years in a row. And whenever she gave a speech, her subjects flocked in their thousands to listen to the eloquence of her oratory. But she certainly did enjoy a spot of backbiting whenever the opportunity arose.

‘I suppose you heard all about the trouble at the last junior cooing contest?' she asked Danny grimly, as though the very thought of it was far too much for her to keep to herself.

Danny shook his head dutifully. If he wanted what he had come to Madam Noseybeak in the first place for, he knew he was going to have to wait patiently for it.

‘You simply wouldn't believe what some of them got up to in an effort to win it.' She lowered her voice to a confidential whisper, doing nothing whatsoever to avoid displaying how deeply scandalised she'd been by the whole thing. ‘Not in a million years, you wouldn't.'

Danny somehow doubted if he'd be so outraged as Madam Noseybeak was pretending she was, but managed to maintain a grave expression as the terrible goings on which had occurred were whispered in his ear.

It was difficult not to laugh on hearing of how the Greystreaks had secreted a tiny, pre-recorded version of a professional pigeon-cooer beneath their fledgling's tongue in an attempt to hoodwink the judges. Of course, Madam Noseybeak, herself being on the judging panel, immediately recognised the cooing as being that of one of the foremost Italian exponents of the art, resulting in the Greystreaks being exposed for the fraudsters they were. Madam Noseybeak imparted this information with an air of smug satisfaction, as though she'd single-handedly been responsible for uncovering the most heinous crime in the history of the world.

And on and on she continued, informing him of how dowdy and obese Pauline Feathers had allowed herself to become after that philandering Plumpbreast Downy had dumped her. And as for
him,
that - that show-off! It would suit him better to pay more attention to his duties as lookout for birds and beasts of prey than strutting about the tree branches, continually combing his feathers!

If he didn't look to his laurels with more responsibility in the future, she'd have him demoted to grain-gathering instead. She'd already had a stern word with him on the matter. And just as Danny was of the opinion he'd heard the last of her twittering, having congratulated himself on keeping a straight face through it all, Madam Noseybeak launched into another supposedly disgraceful event she considered had contributed to causing shock and horror throughout the pigeon community as a whole. It concerned old Mr. Fantail, and was almost too sensitive to talk about. Nevertheless, Madam Noseybeak forced herself to, however much it pained her to do so.

Mr. Fantail, who was ninety if he was a day, was rumoured to be socialising with cats.
Cats
!, Madam Noseybeak wailed, as though to emphasise the seriousness of the outrage, especially when she saw it didn't appear to cause Danny to throw up his arms in dismay and roll around the grass in disbelief. He did, of course, purse his lips solemnly and give a little shake of his head, just for the look of things.

He certainly didn't want this influential lady to get the notion that he wasn't taking what she considered a calamity of the greatest magnitude seriously. He
could
have mentioned that he thought it was a wonderful gesture on Mr. Fantail's part, that it was a pity more pigeons didn't follow his lead before they reached his age, but should Danny do so, Madam Noseybeak might get on her high horse altogether and deny him the assistance he required.

‘He's been seen four times already in the last couple of months down at the
Tomcat's Whiskers
, standing on a barstool as brazen as you like, chatting away to his newfound friends as though it was the furthest thing from their minds to stalk members of his very own community whenever they get the chance! And drinking
milk
, if you don't mind!
Milk!'

Danny would have liked to say that he thought that Mr. Fantail's actions were highly commendable, that it was a pity more communities distrustful of each other didn't get together and chat to one another on a more regular basis. That was the way to build bridges, restore trust, become familiar with each other's cultures, even drink milk if that was what it took to find out how the other half enjoyed themselves. But he said none of those things. Now wasn't the time to lecture someone whom he was about to seek the assistance of, and which he finally managed to do after Madam Noseybeak ran out of breath.

‘Just you leave it to me, Danny,' she replied importantly, ‘I'll have found out everything there is to know about them in jig time.'

And she did. She despatched flocks of pigeons to every expensive apartment block in the country, giving them their instructions before they departed. They were to operate in teams of eight, each team to descend in orderly fashion on the buildings under surveillance, there to remain eavesdropping for as long as it took to gather the required information on the brothers.

Windowsills, air-vents, hot water closets. Everywhere a snippet of conversation from within could be overheard was to be covered. If necessary, laundry chutes were to be infiltrated, and woe betide any member of a team who didn't give their full attention to the task. She'd issued instructions to Central Command that each team member was to have a lightweight electronic listening device fitted to their leg, so there was no reason why the exercise should take any longer than three days at the very most. The latest modern listening devices were no larger than a pin-head, so excuses regarding it hampering their flying would on account be tolerated.

And none were given, either. It took the feathered flying squad a mere two days to successfully accomplish their mission. Notes were taken by the leader of each team from every building under surveillance. Most of the information was irrelevant to the case in question, but Madam Noseybeak was delighted with everything the team leaders had recorded. There was enough idle gossip about perfectly innocent people throughout the land to feed her fascination regarding the fickleness and vagaries of human nature to the full, and she spent the following months happily poring over the notes, comparing them favourably or other wise to the weaknesses and frailties of her own community. She was surprised to discover that there wasn't an awful lot to choose between them.

*

Madam Noseybeak's neatly spiral-bound report on the brothers was passed over to Danny exactly one week after he'd made the initial request. Naturally, he'd had to endure a further two hour session regarding everything from A to Z in the gossip department, but it was a small price to pay for the vital data he'd received.

He still felt a bit light-headed when he was finally able to make his escape, and the wind in his face as he cycled back to town from the woods didn't take long to make him feel normal again. When he reached his shack, he promptly phoned the Superintendent, gave him the good news and told him he'd send Charlie in the form of a carrier-pigeon with the report straight away. Under the circumstances, he thought it the only appropriate mode of transport which could possibly be used.

‘He'll be on your office windowsill in five minutes, Super,' Danny informed him, then couldn't resist adding, ‘Make sure you have the window open just in case he might take it into his head to fly straight through it.'