Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman) (21 page)

‘An
awkward customer, eh?’ said Hobbes, dangling upside down over the river. With a
grunt, he took the trunk in his hands, squeezing until, the elephant releasing
him, he fell backwards into the river with a great splash and a yell. Jumping
up in one fluid movement, grabbing a flapping ear, he half vaulted, half hauled
himself onto the elephant’s back. Dregs ran towards them, barking.

The
great beast, taking fright, bolted along the river bed away from me, sending up
curtains of foaming cappuccino-coloured water. Hobbes, somehow clinging to its
back, despite the violent bouncing and scything attacks from its trunk, looked
surprisingly small and vulnerable.

‘Why
doesn’t he get down?’ I muttered.

‘He
can’t get down from an elephant,’ said Augustus who, having shuffled to my
side, was watching proceedings with a smile.

‘Why
not?’ I asked, puzzled.

‘Because,
down comes from ducks.’ He chuckled.

I
groaned, staring at him. Hobbes might be killed any moment and all Augustus, an
old friend of his, could do was make stupid, schoolboy jokes.

‘I’d
move, if I were you, sir,’ cried PC Poll.

Dregs,
tail between his legs, was rushing towards us, the elephant close behind, with
Hobbes still clinging on, the grin on his face making him look like a child
enjoying a free ride on the rollercoaster. PC Poll’s advice seemed reasonable,
so turning away, I fled. I’d only gone ten steps or so when, remembering
Augustus, I hesitated, slowed, stopped and turned back. The elephant was again heading
straight towards him, and I had no chance of reaching him in time. Since I
could no longer see Hobbes, I assumed he’d fallen off. The elephant bellowed
and wondering if, perhaps, he wasn’t running quite so fast, reckoning I might
just have a chance, I sprinted towards Augustus, who was watching calmly, unconcerned
by the mountain of muscle bearing down on him. I reached him a moment before
the elephant, still bellowing, came to a standstill, almost within touching
distance.

Hobbes’s
voice rang out. ‘Are you two alright?’

I
still couldn’t see him. ‘We’re fine,’ I shouted. ‘How about you?’

‘A
little wet.’

‘Where
are you?’ I asked, peering along the river’s sodden banks.

‘Here.’
His hand waved from behind the elephant, which was standing still, as if in
deep thought.

In
a slow and stately manner, it turned, stomping up the bank into the meadow,
while Dregs bristled and growled from a safe distance. Hobbes, gripping its
tail in one hand, seeming to have its undivided attention, guided it towards
the trailer. I expected him to force it back inside. Instead, he shouted, ‘Who’s
in charge of this poor animal?’

A
stout, little man wearing greasy overalls and a faded denim cap, looking
around, as if expecting to see someone, finally raised his hand. ‘It looks like
I am, guvnor. But I’m only the driver.’

‘Alright,’
said Hobbes, ‘before he goes back, he needs feeding and I want the trailer
cleaned out properly and a good supply of clean water and fodder put in. How
long was he in there?’

‘I
don’t know, guvnor, but I only picked him up a couple of hours ago.’

‘Who
was in charge before that?’

‘I
don’t know. A bloke in a suit paid me five hundred quid to take the rig to
Brighton Zoo. I only met him this morning.’

‘Where
did you pick it up?’

‘At
a service station, the other side of Birmingham. It took us the best part of
two hours to get here. The bloke reckoned that, as it would take us another
couple of hours to reach Brighton, it’d be a good idea to stop here and get a
bite to eat. He said it was pretty good.’

I
shuddered. In the past, having eaten at the Greasy Pole, I knew it wasn’t good.
Furthermore, Hobbes had hinted that he knew something about the place,
something too horrible for my delicate ears. The only element in its favour was
that it wasn’t expensive.

‘Where
is the gentleman now?’ asked Hobbes.

The
little man shook his head. ‘I wish I knew, guvnor. He hasn’t paid me yet. All I
know is that I was just sitting down with my burger and my mug of coffee when
he says he has to step out, ’cause he’s gotta make sure the elephant’s alright.
A couple of minutes later, all hell breaks loose, the wall comes down, the
ceiling caves in, and we has to run for it.’

‘I
see,’ said Hobbes. ‘Do you know the gentleman’s name?’

‘I’m
sorry.’

Hobbes
sighed. ‘Fair enough. Just get the trailer cleaned up and feed Jumbo.’

‘Me?
It’s not my trailer. I’m just moving it.’

Hobbes
growling, the little man ran up the ramp into the trailer, grabbed a bucket and
shovel and set to work.

‘I’ve
got my hands full, Derek,’ said Hobbes, turning to face Constable Poll, ‘so
would you ensure no one’s been injured and then take statements from anyone who’s
got anything useful to say?’ He beckoned me. ‘Andy, find some food for this
beast and plenty of it.’

‘Umm
… right. What do they eat?’

‘Cabbage,
bread, apples, bananas, carrots – that sort of thing. Try the kitchen. It looks
like some of it’s still standing.’

Eric
appeared, wiping his eyes as if he’d been crying. ‘He can’t just go taking what
he wants from my café.’

‘Yes,
he can,’ said Hobbes. ‘It would only go to waste otherwise. It’s not like you’re
going to be in business for a while.’

Eric
nodded unhappily and, oblivious to the rain, sitting on the kerb, sobbed like a
broken man. Since I can’t bear to see a grown man crying, I turned away and
rummaged, finding several bags of white sliced bread, a bunch of browning
bananas, a pile of cabbages and a crate filled with carrots, quite surprised to
discover Eric could, apparently, have served vegetables with his stodge. Having
piled a selection into a box, I hurried towards Hobbes, who was still holding
the elephant’s tail.

‘Well
done,’ he said, ‘but I believe that lot will do more good at the front end. He’s
quite calm now, but be careful.’

Plonking
the box down in front of the elephant, I backed away, although I didn’t feel in
any danger. Picking up a carrot, it stuffed it into his mouth and, though I
wasn’t an expert, the way it tucked in suggested it hadn’t been fed for far too
long. As soon as it was absorbed in feeding, Hobbes released his grip, strolled
round and patted its head. I noticed his thick, hairy toes were jutting from
the ruins of his boots.

He
followed my glance and shrugged. ‘I appear to have worn out my boots. It takes
a lot of leather to stop an elephant.’

The
rain was still falling, Hobbes was soaked and splattered with mud – at least, I
hoped it was mud – and I was nearly as wet, having, in all the confusion, never
got round to donning my mac. We stood around, waiting until the elephant had
eaten its fill, and the back of the trailer was nice and clean. Then Hobbes led
it inside.

The stout little man, who answered to the
name of ’arry, seemed a decent sort of bloke, who’d just been trying to earn a
living and wasn’t responsible for what had happened. Unfortunately, he couldn’t
give a detailed description of the man who’d employed him. All he could say was
that his employer was young and fit, that he’d worn a dark suit and a blue tie
emblazoned with a golden emblem. No one fitting the description could be seen,
which didn’t surprise me, for I wouldn’t have wanted to take the blame had my
elephant demolished a café.

It
was one of those extremely rare occasions when I almost wished I was still
working for the
Bugle
, for I couldn’t yet see any reporters in the
burgeoning crowd and wondered, for a moment, whether I might knock off a few
hundred words to see how much Editorsaurus Rex Witcherley would pay for it. Yet,
the prospect of having to face him again giving me the willies, I abandoned the
idea.

Although
Hobbes had the situation well under control, several police cars, two fire engines
and an ambulance had rushed up, lights flashing. I couldn’t blame them for
wanting to be there, for it’s not every day an elephant creates havoc in
Sorenchester. With so many police officers attending, and the elephant happy
and under control, there was no longer any reason for Hobbes to be there. So,
leaving things in their hands, we left. I was glad to go, for I was shivering,
dripping, sodden, and the rain was showing no signs of abating. As we walked
towards the car, Dregs shook himself all over me and I was too wet to care. Even
so, I was in a better state than Hobbes, for being dragged through a river by a
rampaging elephant is one of the most effective ways of ruffling an individual’s
attire; his clothes had suffered almost as much as his boots.

For
once, I didn’t much mind his maniac driving, since it got us home quicker. When
safely in the warmth, throwing off my soaked clothes, I wrapped myself in a
dressing gown and drank hot tea, while he took first go in the bathroom, his
roars suggesting he was enjoying his shower. When he’d finished, I took a long,
hot and, as far as I was concerned, well-deserved bath. Afterwards, as if by
magic, clean, fresh, dry clothes, nicely pressed and neatly folded, had
appeared on my dressing table, while my soggy, dripping relics had vanished.
Mrs G, I thought, was a marvel.

Going
downstairs, I found Hobbes at the kitchen table, looking as clean and fresh as
I felt. Dregs, on the other hand, having picked up on the idea of bath time,
had wedged himself in the cupboard beneath the sink, and was resisting any
attempts to remove him, until undone by Mrs G’s low cunning. She dropped a
scrap of meat into his bowl and, unable to control his hunger, he emerged,
sealing his fate. Seizing him round the middle with her skinny arms, she
carried him off to the bathtub of doom. To be honest, I didn’t feel sorry for
him, despite his hangdog appearance, having become convinced that he only
exhibited token resistance for pride’s sake and that, secretly, he rather
enjoyed it.

I
poured a fresh mug of tea and sat opposite Hobbes, who was staring out of the
window in a manner suggestive of deep thought, or total paralysis. The rain having
finally stopped, a glint of sunlight hinting the clouds were breaking up, a
bird singing, I felt warm, relaxed and at peace with the world.

‘Do
you find it strange,’ asked Hobbes, ‘that someone would go to the bother and
expense of transporting an elephant as far as Eric’s café only to abandon it?’

I
nodded. ‘He must be bonkers – especially if he’d stopped there because he
thought it was good. No one thinks the Greasy Pole is good.’

‘Yet,
according to Harry, the man had not acted at all strangely, other than being in
possession of an elephant just outside Birmingham. And there’s another thing,
why would anyone come this way to get to Brighton? It’s miles out of the way.’

‘It
just proves he’s bonkers,’ I said and shrugged. It didn’t seem important.

‘Maybe
he is, as you say, bonkers. Yet the combination of events is striking. A
mysterious young man offers to pay five hundred pounds, a generous sum for a
few hours of work, to transport an elephant from Birmingham to Brighton. He
then chooses a route taking them miles out of the way, stops at the Greasy Pole
and steps outside for a minute, during which, the elephant, which is ravenous
and bad-tempered, somehow escapes from a locked trailer and demolishes the
café. By then our man is no longer to be seen. The whole scenario seems most
unlikely.’

‘Are
you suggesting it wasn’t an accident?’

‘I
think so. I asked one of the lads at the station to check who was supposed to
be transporting an elephant to Brighton Zoo. He phoned back to say there isn’t
a zoo in Brighton. What’s more, he’d checked round all the zoos within fifty
miles of there and none of them was expecting an elephant.’

‘That’s
very strange indeed, unless Harry got muddled up about where he was going.’

‘Harry
didn’t strike me as a man who’d get muddled but, you’re right, it is very strange,
unless the man had a reason for letting an elephant loose at that particular
spot. Perhaps, I’d better have a word with Eric and see if he’s got any
enemies.’

‘He
must have – anyone who’s ever eaten there.’

Hobbes
chuckled. ‘I take your point but, really, I think a bad meal is unlikely to
make anyone resort to such a bizarre scheme to get revenge, unless, of course, it
killed someone. Mind you, that’s unlikely. People are surprisingly resilient.’

‘Isn’t
it weird,’ I said, ‘that this was another incident with a dangerous animal? It’s
like we’ve become infested with them.’

He
nodded. ‘It is unusual, even for Sorenchester, and I wonder if there might be a
connection. I can’t see any obvious link, but it’s worth a little
investigation.

‘Right,’
he said, standing up, ‘I’d better go and see Eric. He’s in hospital with shock
so I’ll go on my own; I don’t want to alarm him. One more thing, Mr Catt at the
Wildlife Park has agreed to look after Jumbo until things are sorted out. He’s
rather pleased.’

He walked away with a slight hobble. Even
Hobbes wasn’t entirely immune to elephants.