EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY SIX
After Denise Dagway had
gone home, following the meeting with Gemma Armitage about the pornographic
video, she had telephoned the manager of the charity shop, Jane Pelham, and
told her about the incident. Jane
panicked, in case there were other obscene videos in the shop, until Denise
reassured her that she had taken the stock home for ‘quality checking.’ Relieved that any such material was off the
premises, Jane made light of the situation before hanging up, and said to Denise:
‘Oh well, happy viewing.’
Denise arrived earlier than usual at the shop the following morning, carrying a
carrier bag of what might have been potentially offensive videos. Jane greeted her with raised eyebrows.
‘Well?’ she enquired.
Denise shook her head. ‘I sat through
the beginning of nearly every film in our stock – there’s only another half
dozen at home to check – and they’re all exactly what they say they are.’
Jane, a much younger woman than Denise, who liked to think of herself as dynamic
and, if circumstances hadn’t conspired against her with a messy divorce quite
early on in her marriage, thought that she might have been a contender as a
successful business woman in some prestigious organisation, folded her arms
together and drew herself up to her full height and spoke to her assistant as
if she was obtuse.
‘You mean you didn’t watch the videos all the way through?’
‘Of course not,’ began Denise, but Jane interrupted her.
‘We can’t possibly put them back on the shelves if they haven’t been properly
checked. What if some child’s halfway
through a Harry Potter film and it changes into something obscene?’
Denise laughed lightly. ‘You can’t edit
a scene into one of these cassette’s.’
‘How d’you know?’
‘You just can’t. The pornographic video
that Gemma Armitage bought had the labels switched. It was probably just a question of steaming
it off the children’s film and gluing it on the pornographic video. Quite simple to do really.’
Jane frowned. ‘Well, I only hope you’re
right...about not being able to edit the cassettes.’
Denise thought about this for a moment and, sounding less sure of herself,
said, ‘I’m not one hundred per cent certain. I suppose one could use two video
recorders and record from one onto the other at any point in the tape.’
Jane looked as if she had swallowed something disgusting. ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ she began, waving a
frantic finger at the carrier bag in her assistant’s hand, ‘that those
videos...’
The shop door swung open and she was distracted by two men, who entered confidently,
their manner enquiring and resolute. Both women knew at once that this was a
visit from the police.
*
Mike, exhausted after walking hurriedly from Tonbridge station as far as Shipbourne Road, paused to get his breath back. He checked his watch. It was nine-fifteen. He was about fifteen minutes early for his
first appointment with Callas, the proprietor and tattooist at Gandalf’s Tattoo
Studio. He only had another two
appointments after that, both of them in
Tonbridge, which was inconvenient, to say the least, since the time it was
taking him to travel over on the train from Tunbridge Wells, and then to walk
to each appointment, meant that the entire morning’s earnings came to a measly
twenty-seven pounds, and maybe two pounds in tips on top of that. Callas never tipped him though. And who could
blame him? He had such long hair, and he only liked the most cursory trim, to
keep his hair from dropping irritatingly in front of his eyes. Still, at least he paid Mike the full eight
pounds for less than ten minutes cutting.
Mike sighed with dissatisfaction as he neared the tattoo shop. Last night he
had considered ringing all his Tonbridge customers and giving them the elbow. But
it was Maggie who persuaded him to retain his clients. ‘You’re going to need them, ‘ she said, ‘for when you get your license back in eleven
months’ time.’
Mike arrived breathlessly at Gandalf’s Tattoo Studio and pushed open the
door. The bell tinkled incongruously as
he entered this dense and overpowering fantasy world. The small reception area of the shop was like
a tribute to a heavy metal band on LSD in a psychedelic version of Lord of the Rings.
‘Morning, Mike,’ said Callas, suddenly materialising like a spook from the door
to his studio. ‘This is brilliant. I’m
glad you’re early, ‘cause I’ve got this twat coming in at half-nine for another
neo Nazi tattoo.’
Mike opened his Gladstone back and got out the protective mantle to wrap around
his client.
‘I should think you do a lot of those in your line of business.’
The tattooist pursed his lips and shrugged as he sat down. ‘Not really.
A few now and then. I don’t really like doing them. But you’ve got to earn a living. I charge this guy over the odds and he don’t
seem to mind. Know what he wanted about six
months ago on the side of his arm. He
wanted a union jack flag with a swastika in the middle.’
Mike laughed. ‘So what’s he having done
this morning?’
The tattooist shook his head and sighed.
‘He wants a flag – the cross of St. George – on the other arm, with a
swastika in the top right hand corner. I
should’ve refused. But you gotta earn a
crust.’
Mike came round the back of the chair and began carefully trimming his client’s
hair. ‘So why the top right hand corner
of the flag? Why not the left? Is that significant?’
‘Haven’t a clue, mate. All I know is the guy’s dangerous. Got a screw loose, if you ask me. Hardly says a dickey-bird. And they always say, it’s the quiet ones
you’ve gotta watch.’
‘I’d agree with that,’ said Mike.
‘You got a busy day?’
‘Not really. Just three this morning and
nothing this afternoon.’
‘Is that through choice?’
Mike paused before answering. This
afternoon he’d had to keep free. It was
the first appointment for him and Maggie at alcohol counselling and he was far from
looking forward to it.
‘I couldn’t cut hair this afternoon,’ he told the tattooist. ‘There’s something else I’ve got to do.’
The tattooist chuckled. ‘Anything I should know about?’
‘Oh, I’m just going down to Hastings for the afternoon with my girlfriend,’ Mike lied.
IN EPISODE 137
Half term becomes a nightmare for a parent who bought a Shrek video.