JACK OF DIAMONDS, REDUX

CHAPTER 10, WITH MY EDITS

Photo by Robert Linder on Unsplash

CHAPTER 10

Nigel Bannister looked up from the sketch he was working on, his eyes on the hallway, watching closely. He could still hear the low echo of the door slamming shut downstairs, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. There’s only one person that can be, he told himself, wondering what Charlie had forgotten now.

He had half the lights turned off, low thinking there was no need to have all the lights on, not with everyone at the Fair and the town relatively quiet. It was the main reason he’d volunteered to stay behind in the first place. To answer whatever any calls that might come in—knowing there’d be no calls because of the Fair—but also, because it gave him a chance to sketch, something he’d been neglected ing for far too long. 

He had no plans to spend the rest of his career locked up in the middle of Devon; the War had shown him there was more to life than the English countryside. He had his mind set on moving to London, and there was nothing he was going to let get in the way of his dreams. The only way for him to be noticed was if he were to make a name for himself, and the only way for him to do that, was to present his work at the Academy. understand the newest breakthroughs in law enforcement. But he was a man who was easily distracted, and soon found himself drawing working on another picture—a different picture—a face in the crowd as he liked to call it, where he drew random sketches from memory.

“Had e-fukin’-nough of it, eh have you, Charlie?” he asked, hiding a grin as Constable Murphy limped to a chair and sat down, pushing his shoes off and voicing a heavy sigh. 

“Been on your feet all night, chasing down fuckin’ bad guys, have you Charlie?”

Nigel hadn’t didn’t even looked up from the picture portrait he was drawing. It was someone from the War, maybe an officer he thought.

“I’d beg for a pair of new shoes if it weren’t for this bloody hemorrhoid I’m sitting on,” Charlie said with a quick wince, as he shifting his weight on the chair.

“Oh Jesus—fuck Charlie! Thanks for putting that thought into my fuckin’ head,” Nigel said, throwing the sketchbook on the desk and leaning back in his chair. He grinned and slowly began laughing. “It’s an ugly fuckin’ picture, it is Charlie.”

“Honestly, Nigel, I’m telling you, it’s the size of a bloody marble. I’m only telling you this in case I bleed out on account of it.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Charlie? You can’t die from a fuckin’ hemorrhoid.”

“Bloody hell, you can’t!” Charlie protested as the phone rang. He was a large, overweight burden of a man, who’d gladly tell you he was too young to be saddled down with a wife and three kids if you gave him time to grab a breath of air. Nigel wasn’t about to let that happen. Charlie was scheduled for outside patrols because the Chief Constable thought the walking would do him some good.