The North of England’s Only Transgender Detective Agency – A Short Story
Chapter 3
Every now and then life surprises me. Like the day Lauren and I met at the Gender Identity Clinic. We both had appointments at 10:30am but Lauren, being the brainless bimbo she was, was a day early.
She hung around while I saw the doctor, then we went for a drink. Later on, we ended up in bed together and thought we would live together happily ever after.
We loved each other, sure, but couldn’t live in the same house – we would have killed each other!
We stayed friends, and as we were both deemed “unemployable” in our new female lives, we decided to become private enquiry agents.
Today’s surprise, however, was that Eric Entwistle wanted to see Lauren and I. Strictly alone. Without Rex! He emphasized that point.
If only I could have gone to Norman and Ethel’s inquest, a few facts would have made life a lot clearer.
We drove to the quarry to meet Eric. The big sign on the gate was the first clue we completely missed last time. EE Enterprises Ltd. Eric Entwistle!
He was waiting for us at the top of the quarry. A fat, lecherous, middle-aged, self-made bastard. That was how he looked – and that’s exactly what he was – a cigar-smoking, red-faced, bastard.
“Hello there, young ladies!” He greeted us jovially. “You both scrub up well, don’t you? And you, darling,” he looked at Lauren lustfully “we have met before – all too briefly as I remember.”
Lauren looked at her feet.
“Well, down to business, eh, ladies? Thank you for the tip about Rex. It was you I presume?”
I nodded and lit a ciggy.
“I just wanted to clear up a few…loose ends, so to speak. You two would’ve worked it out eventually. This way, it just saves some time. Not that I have much of that left.” Eric paused for a brief moment before continuing.
“You thought I had Norman and what’s-her-name bumped off, eh? Not a brilliant way to recoup my 20 grand, is it? As it happens, I did know about Ray – er, Rex – and Mrs. Pratt. He works here – at the quarry – as foreman. You missed that, then? His nickname. My little joke, that. Ray Barker – Rex, my guard dog – he’s very much a rottweiler.” He chuckled to himself.
“This was never about money. Not a lousy 20 grand, anyway. Rex had bigger plans with that barmaid, Mrs. Pratt. He wanted her, the insurance money, and Pratt’s business. I heard he even wanted mine too. Got too big for his boots, did Rex.”
“Past tense, Eric?” I said uneasily.
“Sadly, yes. He’s under that big pile of gravel there. A bulldozing accident. A terrible tragedy really.” Eric tutted, not sounding the least bit upset. That was clearly no accident – and we weren’t fooled for a second.
“And Mrs. Pratt…?” Lauren asked nervously, thinking the worst.
“Nooo, I’ve no axe to grind with her. I will let her claim the insurance and squeeze her for the 20 grand she owes me – to start with, anyway.” Eric chuckled again.
“And us?” I was almost too frightened to ask.
“Just walk away, ladies. It never happened. I’ve got 12 months left – if I’m lucky. 3 people have died already. Mrs. P. won’t last long at her age. And me, well, I’m heading for the big quarry in the sky!”
“One question, Eric?” One thing was still bothering me. “Why on earth get Mrs. Pratt to get Lauren and I involved?”
Eric chuckled again.
“A bit of insurance, ironically. Rex was planning to take over my little empire – having you two involved, keeping an eye on things, made his plans difficult to execute. He wasn’t happy at all to know you were hanging around.” Eric chuckled all the way back to his car.
We made it out alive, and I for one was relieved to do so.
**
A short time later, we found ourselves calming our nerves in the pub. Lauren was still shaking.
“Here, get your mouth around this – a stiff one, you deserve it.” I said, handing the glass to Lauren. She knocked it back the whisky in one gulp.
“You can dirty-talk at a time like this?” Lauren snapped.
“Just easing some of your tension, dear.” I said with a wink.
“Eric is right, isn’t he?” Lauren asked, thinking hard it seemed.
“Well, all the bad people got what they deserved, and we saved the taxpayer a huge court bill. I’d say we’ve done our bit for society. We’ll probably go to heaven when we die, now.” I said in my jolliest voice.
“Any loose ends?” Lauren pondered.
“Just one – Rosebud.” I let that hang in the air. Perhaps it would always remain a mystery.
**
3 months after the whole ordeal with Eric, Lauren sat reading the newspaper when she – quite literally – fell off her chair.
“You won’t believe this!” She called to me, patting cushion beside her, getting me to sit. “It says here that a huge yacht has sunk in the south of France. It was registered in Liverpool.”
“And?” I said, feeling weary.
“You’ll never guess the name!”
“No, probably not,” I admitted with a tease.
“Rosebud! It says a British woman and a local waiter were found on board – dead! There’s photo’s – look!” Lauren got up off the floor and shoved the newspaper in my face.
“I believe you, dear!” I cried. And I did. I really did.
“I’ll bet Norman was going to do a runner with Ethel in that boat! He probably thought Mrs. P. didn’t know anything about it. Looks like she did!”
Lauren was practically wetting herself with excitement now. “So, she bumps off her husband and Ethel, claims the dosh, Rex goes “missing”, and she skips the country. Only for Eric to follow her to France and sink the boat – with her still inside!”
“Yacht.” I corrected her.
“Pedantic bitch!” Lauren spat. She wasn’t wrong. “So that’s it, then. We’re finished now?”
“Well, they’re all dead, apart from Eric. I check the obituaries every week. No sign of him.” I informed her.
**
6 months later, we were informed by Eric’s solicitor that the man had indeed passed away from his illness. He also informed us that we had inherited his quarry.
How strange. We’d never owned a quarry before. Nor did we have any idea how to run one. What were we to do with it? Sell it on E-bay?
Was it just his way of thanking us for keeping our mouths shut. Probably. Who knows?
We sold the quarry and returned to our normal service – flush with enough cash to take cases for our joy and at our leisure.
Adultery, blackmail, bigamy, tax-evasion – plenty of sordid practices were again our specialty. Not as exciting as multiple murders and conspiracies to defraud – but it kept us out of trouble.
Lauren and Bianca had a torrid affair.
Then Bianca and I had a torrid affair.
Then Lauren and I had a torrid affair.
And here we are. Still together. Not living together – heavens no – that would be dangerous! I’m not that stupid.
At weekends we would go down to the quarry and watch for the dogging – something to do if there was nothing on telly, right?
What a paid of old romantics we are – it must be love!
Strangely, Lauren did buy a new cat. It brought out her maternal instincts. For someone who can barely keep herself together, the cat (which she named Eric, by the way) did help her settle down a little bit. Just a bit.
With some of the proceeds from selling the quarry I got myself a lovely new BMW – Morris 2. Somehow, it never had the same smell as Morris 1 – but that’s probably because Lauren was never allowed to “borrow” it.
But it does mean there are no strange stains on the seat covers!
The End.