Chapter 11

Pigshit and Morrison were crawling through the city traffic on their way to the morgue. Morrison was driving, or more accurately, occasionally edging the car forward in first gear, while Pigshit sat in the passenger seat reading the sleeve notes to Curiosity Killed the Cat’s 1987 album, Keep Your Distance.

They were now on the second track , the top 3 single Down to Earth.

“Why’s Frank called Frank?” asked Morrison.

“It’s because he’s very straightforward and honest,” replied Pigshit.

“No, I mean, that’s not his real name, is it?”

“What, Frank?”

“I’ve seen his badge. It says ‘Adam Chance’.”

“Well, yeah, his real name’s Adam, but they call him Frank because it’s short for Frankenstein. As in that book by that woman. You know. Virginia Woolf.  Young Frankenstein. Anyway, they reckon he keeps body parts in his house and he uses them to build himself friends and people to talk to.”

Morrison sniggered.

“Seriously. In fact, I have heard it said in some of Haymarket’s seedier drinking dens that one of them actually got a game for Hibs. Played two seasons, apparently. Centre-half.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Only telling you what I heard.”

Pigshit turned up the volume for track 3 of Keep Your Distance. He liked the brassy bits at the beginning of Free. Was it a trumpet or a sax? He could never tell. He spent a few moments watching the workmen digging up the road to put in the tramlines. Blokes with pickaxes and shovels, hard at it in the pissing rain. Every one a potential criminal, he thought to himself.

Suddenly, Pigshit felt his pocket buzz. He was getting a text on his mobile. He took it out of his pocket and read it.

“Oh fucking hell,” he said solemnly. “Not today …”

“What’s that, boss?”

“DCI Mitchell wants to see me after we’ve been to Frank’s.”

Pigshit knew his day was only going to get worse.

To be continued.

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