One Of Our Dinosaurs Is Missing (19 page)

Pi Wun Tun wriggled his leg farther inside. “You’ll have to help,” he groaned. “I can’t lift BOTH legs off the ground at the same time.” The other spies held his shoulders as he forced his second leg into the drum. “Now push me.” For several minutes they pushed. Pi Wun Tun gradually disappeared into the spin-drier. Only his head remained outside the door. “No good,” he said. “That’s all of me that will go inside.”

“Start the motor, then,” Lui Ho ordered. The spies felt in their pockets for quarter dollars to feed the machine. They shrugged. “Obstructionists,” screamed Lui Ho. “Hasn’t
anyone
got a quarter?” There was silence from his team.

“I have,” said Pi Wun Tun obligingly, his head protruding from the spin-drier like that of a French aristocrat lashed to the guillotine, “but in my trouser pocket.”

“Sometimes, I wonder how our beloved country tolerates so many imbeciles,” moaned Lui Ho.

For once, Sam Ling was in complete agreement with his Comrade Leader.

The Cuban, Russian, Greek, Italian, French and German spies were already cluttering the 20th Precinct Station House steps by the time Jumbo Hooligan arrived. He noticed the Chinese was missing.

Hooligan waved the agents aside, and ran up the steps, two at a time. An invisible, but audible, barrier stopped him just outside the door. He froze. He wished he’d remembered to tell his team not to bring the children along with the nannies.

Hooligan hesitated, then strode determinedly inside. The front office was in chaos. To his right, on the pale-green desk, sat a young lieutenant, his legs dangling. He held a screaming child, face down, across his knees and was singing, in a youthfully toneless voice, something about old soldiers never dying. He tapped the infant’s bottom smartly in time to the rhythm.

Ulysses Pilgrim’s feet stretched out into the centre of the room. He lay, slumped, on a chair. His head seemed to be distorted. His right eye was already a bright purple. There was a line of blood running down his lips, from his nose. The youngest of the nannies was repairing him by winding yards of four-inch bandage enthusiastically round his forehead.

Another nanny seemed to be suffering from convulsions at the side of her baby carriage. She sat and heaved, her eyes streaming, continually sneezing. Her children added to the noise with piercing yelps.

The red-headed nanny was having a shouting match with Ivor. As Hooligan watched, she stepped back and clipped him on the ear. Huw, on the other side of the room, jumped, put his hand to a smarting ear, and yelled “Lay off” to his twin.

Just in front of the radio officer, an elderly nanny was breathing fire at a young and very timorous policeman. He was leaning backward against the desk, trying to get farther away from the infuriated woman. She poked her face close to his. Hooligan again couldn’t hear the words, but there was no doubt the young patrolman could.

To his left, on a bench, sat the oldest of the nannies. She seemed to be oblivious to everything. She was calm amidst the hurricane of noise and confusion, and was quietly knitting some rainbow garment, while her baby, in its carriage, leaned over the side and banged the ancient central heating radiator expertly with a policeman’s nightstick.

Jumbo Hooligan looked. The noise was appalling. The off-duty cops were standing in the corridor to their rest room, watching. Hooligan stared at the sign he knew was pinned just above the door. It read: “Please be considerate to our neighbors. Be quiet at all times.” He winced.

“SHUT UP . . .” he bellowed. No one even heard. He tried again, “BE QUIET.” His voice was lost in the wilderness of sound. He remembered a piece of his early training, lowered his voice to a normal speaking range, and said, “Okay, everybody, please quieten down.” There was silence. Faces turned to look at him.

He opened his mouth to speak. And pandemonium was stirred up again.

“QU-HI-ET,” he stormed. Again there was silence. He spoke, rapidly, to take advantage of the moment.

“Okay, let’s get some order into this meeting. You .. He pointed at the nanny who had the policeman pinned against the desk. “You, ma’am. I’d like a few words with you. Please come into the office.”

Hooligan turned to the others. “And try to cool it in here.” He opened the door to the Deputy Inspector’s room and ushered in the indignant nurse. He started to speak to her, but she interrupted him.

“Look here, my good man. We dinnae know if you realize that we’re a British citizen and a subject of Her Majesty. You have no right to hold us here without reason.”

Hooligan tried to speak again.

She cut him off. “Don’t try to bamboozle us with pitiful explanations,” she thundered. “We want the truth, man! Our Queen will hear of this. You can’t try these high-handed tactics with Hettie MacPhish. We’ve tanned more respectable hides than yours. Royal bairns’ backsides. And we can do the same for you.”

Jumbo Hooligan looked round for the second person. He decided she was schizophrenic. He was amazed at the amount of words she could get out in one breath. She began again.

“And who are you, anyway, ma laddie? Where are your credentials? We demand to see the British Ambassador at once. We used to be Nanny to his nephew. And what about our bairn? It’s way past her feeding time. How dare your men lay their disgusting hands on our person? Well, come along. Tell us.”

Hooligan tried.

“Sorry, ma’am. I just want.to.... er, I want to ask ...”

Hettie interrupted him again.

“For God’s sake, laddie, speak up. Dinnae mumble.” Hooligan stuttered. “I, er. My department. We’re just trying to clear up a few ... er details.”

Hettie seized on the word.

“Details?” Her nose flared in anger. “Details? You must be a wee bittie daft. You dare to bring us here to discuss details? How DARE you? Bring us here to discuss details, indeed. You and your whole department must be mad.”

Hooligan put his hand on the woman’s arm. It was a sad mistake. She hit him swiftly with her handbag.

“Take that, you common lout. Lay a hand on a British citizen? Assault a lady, would you?” She hit him again. Jumbo Hooligan backed away.

“Police,” screamed Hettie. “Police. We’re being assaulted. Police!” She hit Hooligan for the third time. He backpedaled as fast as his bulk would allow.

“Villain,” shouted Hettie. “Fiend. Help ... POLICE!”

Willie Halfinch burst into the office, his pistol in his hand.

“Good God, no,” shouted Hooligan. “It’s me, you fool. Get this crazy hen out of here. Release her. Tell her to go home.” He thought for a moment. “No, don’t tell her to go home. Take her ... Drive her home.”

Willie stuffed his gun back in its holster. “I ain’t got a car, boss.”

Jumbo Hooligan fumbled in his breast pocket. He pulled out a ten dollar bill and threw it at Willie. “Then get her a taxi.” He thought of her schizophrenia. “Two taxis, if she insists. But, GET HER OUT OF HERE.”

Hettie poked her chin in the air, shrugged her uniform more comfortably on to her shoulders and peered down her nose at Hooligan. “And not before time, ma laddie.”

As she stalked through the door, Hooligan heard her order Willie: “First, get us some warm sterilized milk from your canteen. It’s way past Simone’s feeding time.”

Jumbo Hooligan slumped in the Deputy Inspector’s armchair, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. He eyed the Inspector’s wastebin, but didn’t have the energy. It took him a full quarter of an hour to calm down. The noise outside continued. At last, he stood and walked over to the door.

A patrolman, swinging his stick, lumbered up the station house steps and into the muster room. He began to edge himself through the noisy crowd. Hooligan noticed him. He remembered his name only because the 20th Precinct claimed he was the ugliest cop in the city.

“Porcello,” called Hooligan. The patrolman looked round. “Over here,” shouted Hooligan. He decided that the men of the 20th Precinct were right. Vittorio Porcello had been ugly even before he’d become a boxer. He’d started off with an overlong nose, this had been squashed flat over almost half his face in his twenty-seven straight fights as a professional. He was regarded by his officers as the reincarnation of Neanderthal man, and was in great demand in quelling student riots. He terrified them.

“Uhuh, Mister Hooligan, sir,” said Porcello, lumbering closer. “You WANT ME?”

Jumbo Hooligan smelt the garlic from five feet away. No wonder Porcello was surprised to be called.

“Yeah. Help me out, will you? Bring me that woman over there.” Hooligan pointed across to Una, still sneezing on the bench. Porcello nodded. Hooligan went back to the office.

Seconds later, Porcello led Una in. She collapsed, gratefully, into a chair.

Jumbo Hooligan tried his calmest approach. He walked softly to her side and put his hand gently on her shoulder. She heaved an enormous sneeze.

“Lady,” he began. He was stopped by another sneeze. “Lady ..he began again. She sneezed even louder.

“Ooops,” she gasped, and sneezed again, her eyes

watery and her cheeks damp with tears. “Sorry, I . . ah ... tishooo.”

“Lady!” Hooligan tried a third time. “I only wanted to ...” His question was drowned by two quick sneezes. “For God’s sake, lady.” Hooligan looked at Porcello, who shrugged.

“I guess it must be some sort of flu, sir.”

“That’s all I need,” said Hooligan, timing his words to correspond with the shortening gaps between Una’s sneezes. “Look--lady--I--got--some--questions . . “

“Beg pardon,” gasped Una. “Can’t talk. Ouaite allergic. Impossible. Aaahtishoo ..She stifled the sneeze in her wet handkerchief.

Hooligan sat heavily on the edge of the desk.

“Take her outside again,” he told Porcello, resignedly. “Get her a drink of something. I’ll see her later.”

He followed them out and looked around. He caught sight of Pilgrim, holding his heavily-bandaged head in his hands.

“Ulysses!” he called. “Come in here. I want to speak to you and the girl.”

The battered Ulysses eased himself out of the chair with the help of Susanne’s arm around his waist. Hooligan waited until they had entered his office, then he shut the door behind them. He swung round suddenly.

“Now look here,” he roared.

The teenage nanny blanched. Jumbo Hooligan was satisfied. This one would be easier than the others. She could be broken.

Ulysses raised his one good eyebrow slightly.

“Look here,” Hooligan roared again. “I’ve had enough of this. I want the truth. And now.” His face was so close to Susanne’s she could feel his breath on her cheeks.

“The truth,” he demanded, his face even closer. Their noses were almost touching when she bit him.

“Herough ...” shouted Hooligan, jumping backwards so quickly he stumbled over the chair. He clutched his nose. It was bleeding.

“I’m frightfully thorry,” said Susanne, politely, “but I thought you were going to attack me. Daddy told me the best thing to do when attacked is bite. Does it hurt much?”

“Hurt!” yowled Hooligan through fingers held against his bleeding nose. “Assaulting the law. I’ll have you in for life.”

Pilgrim looked at his boss, sympathetically.

“I got it both ways, Chief. I went to pick her up, like you said, and a young Central Park cop thinks I’m assaulting her. So he works me over with his prod. I try to stop him, an’ she joins in. McGraw’s Greek spy saved me.”

“I’ll kill her,” blazed Hooligan. “Get her outa here. Get them all outa here.”

The nannies stood in a group outside the 20th Precinct Station House. Hettie looked satisfied.

“Did you say anything?” she asked Susanne.

“Nothing, but I bit him.”

“Wonderful, wonderful,” said Una.

“Yes, wonderful,” congratulated Emily.

“Really too wonderful for words,” said Una, again.

“For heaven’s sake, woman,” snapped Hettie. “No need to keep repeating yourself.”

Una looked at her, dreamily. “It’s so wonderful,” she said.

Hettie shook her by the arm. Una jerked, and blinked. “It happened,” she said. “It’s happened.”

“What?” asked Melissa.

“I didn’t sneeze at him,” said Una, pointing up the steps at the ugly Porcello, standing guard at the entrance like a gargoyle. “He didn’t affect me. Look.” She ran up the steps and pushed her arm through Porcello’s. He looked astonished. Una smiled. “See, no sneezes.”

“Amazing,” said Hettie.

“Absolutely amazing,” said Emily, squinting through her pince-nez.

Melissa looked at Porcello. “Poor Una,” she said.

Jumbo Hooligan stood by the office window, looking at the bunch of nannies, and their carriages, below in the street. He walked over and shouldered the office door shut. He scowled at the wastebin. It was square and heavy. He stomped over to it. Gave it a moment’s contemplation. He considered the fact that it belonged to someone else, then leapt into the air and delivered a dropkick at it. There was a sharp, audible crack and a cry of pain. Hooligan flopped untidily onto the floor beside the still-intact bin. He looked down in horror at his ankle. It had a strange misshapen look about it. He suddenly felt sick. There was no doubt it was broken. The cast-iron bin had barely moved.

There were two plasters on Hooligan--one at each end. The one across the tip of his nose made him slightly cross-eyed. He raised his head and looked at the white cast round his ankle, swinging uncomfortably from the scaffolding at the end of his bed.

“It’s a delightful fracture,” the surgeon said. “Most intricate and complicated . . . quite rare. Everyone’s interested. Kept a set of the X-rays, myself.”

“How long?” asked Hooligan, in a bored voice. “Dear man, what a worrier! No time at all. Absolutely no time at all.”

“And HOW long is no time at all?”

The surgeon remained professionally cheerful. “Oh, about three months,” he laughed.

If Hooligan had been fit and well, he probably would have leaped across the ward and flattened a wastebin.

“Tough,” said Adam, from beyond Hooligan’s suspended leg. “Real tough. And just when we thought we were getting somewhere. But I guess you can still brain it from here.”

Hooligan thought cautiously before he spoke. You didn’t make too many mistakes in front of a bright second-in-command like Adam.