The Professionals Circuit Archive - Eupsychian Chase	     Eupsychian
Chase

 

by Asymphototropic 

 
 *Written for "Discovered in Graceland" on the discoveredinalj livejournal
community.*

 ******

It's now or never, 
 Come hold me tight.
 Kiss me my darling, 
 Be mine tonight.


 Bodie seized the opportunity of a traffic snarl to glance at Doyle.

 His partner was curled upon the back seat of the car, sound asleep and
dreaming. Every few moments, Doyle's lips twitched. The shifting night
shades and electric silver green of street lamps cast his features in mere
mysterious hints of humanity. He seemed neither man nor animal, but rather
some ethereal being, nocturnal dweller upon another plane of existence.

 Poised on a rocky outcrop of a lunar mountain, perhaps, defying the weak
pull of gravity exerted by the moon, ready to rise into some weird
galactic domain.

 Doyle's fingers trembled before clenching, his fists tightened, but not
in battle mode.

 In his dreams, he was holding something.

 Bodie conjured a vision of loveliness, clasped to Ray's chest, receiving
his ephemeral caress.

 The evanescent female form glittered vaguely in Bodie's imagination,
sculpted in shifting moon beams resting in the masculine embrace, with
Doyle's more solid presence, one of nude flesh overlying sleek
musculature.

 The lady was draped artistically in glistening silken sheets.

 But Ray lay sprawled in wicked abandonment, naked upon polished lunar
stone, sultry warm with desire.

 "Come in, 3.7," the radio crackled to life.

 "Wish I just might!"

 "Eh?"

 "Come in. Wish I might come in!" Bodie growled into his transmitter,
while guiding the steering wheel one handedly adept.

 "You're sounding somewhat surly, 3.7," Murphy kindly informed him.
"Anything amiss?"

 "No. Neither a Miss nor a Mrs, nor any immediate prospects of them
either." Bodie shifted uneasily in his seat.

 "Too right," Murphy agreed fervently over the airwaves.

 "I may gather from your dulcet tones that HQ is simply hopping with
excitement tonight?"

 "You may. In fact, I've just been reviewing the CI5 billing codes."

 "Why?"

 "Some clerk left the file out on the worktop, next to the tea urn."

 "Thrills!"

 "It's actually quite interesting. For example, did you realize there's a
payment code for 'overtime scuba diving'?"

 "Wow. Hope they checked their pressure gauges."

 "Yeah. But wait, it gets better. There's a pay code for 'hazardous
occupation, naval inspection'."

 Bodie chuckled lewdly. "Depends on whose navel you're inspecting, doesn't
it, old son?"

 "I'm sure I wouldn't know," Murphy retorted primly. "Hold a moment.
Here's a beauty."

 "The suspense alone may kill me."

 "This pay code is for 'voluntary death and dismemberment withholding'."

 Bodie suddenly roared with laughter. "Voluntary death and dismemberment?
That's priceless, mate."

 "Think it's one of Cowley's plans for budget reduction? Better flee the
country if your assignment doesn't go right tonight," Murphy snorted
audibly.

 The humorous sound over the radio was so damp, Bodie imagined his friend
having to mop the microphone with his handkerchief.

 "Erm, Murph?"

 "Yes?"

 "Was there something you wanted to tell me, perhaps?"

 "Why do you ask?"

 "Oh, no particular reason. I mean, other than the fact that I'm here in
me motor, all about town, trailing a couple of villains in a fake hackney
cab. And you're there at HQ, calling me on the radio."

 "Oh, right. Uncle George told me to transmit new orders to you and 4.5."
Murphy paused, not wishing to miss any of 3.7's infamous scathing replies.
After a silent moment, he continued. "Cowley's instructions are to
intercept and arrest."

 "What? Now you tell me!" Bodie howled in outrage. "We've only just been
following these curmudgeons for hours, no food nor drink, not so much as a
break for the loo. And you oh-so leisurely inform me, we're to intercept
and arrest."

 "Correct."

 "Listen. I've been sitting in the motor so long, the flesh upon me arse
cheeks has fused with the interior aspect of me Y-fronts. Likewise the
fabric of my undergarment has joined with my bloody trousers, and that
surface has glued itself onto the Ford's upholstery. And the thrice damned
seat has collapsed into the frame of the motor from my perpetual weight in
it. In brief, I have become one with the car. In fact, so attached to it
have I become that, if I'm obliged to give chase afoot after the
criminals, I'll be ruddy well obliged to tow the entire car behind me in
my fucking wake!"

 "Wish I could be there to view it."

 "Intercept and arrest!" Bodie grumbled, meanwhile gathering a bit of
vehicular speed to overtake the cab he'd been following interminably.

 The radio sounded again. "Erm, Bodie, mate? I hate to mention it, but
there's more."

 "What now?"

 "Cowley said he wants you to find proper cause for arrest."

 "Since when does CI5 give a damn for proper cause?"

 "Since the Cow wants the villains to telephone their solicitor. The Old
Man reckons, the lawyer is implicated in their shady dealings. The plan is
to get all three despicable gentlemen simultaneously at HQ. Give them a
goggle at each other before separating them, allow their imaginations to
take over. Make them so nervous in their mutual company, they tattle on
each other."

 "Sheer genius." Bodie screeched around a corner, momentarily losing sight
of the dark cab ahead of them before regaining it. "See here, Girl Guides
at Sunday matins are more likely to give proper cause for arrest than this
lot. Angels an't in it, I'm telling you," he moaned. "They've not so much
as entered a zebra crossing against the light, all day. Washed their hands
after using the bog, they did. Helped little old char women with their
parcels through busy intersections. Proper cause for arrest? Not going to
happen, Murphy."

 "Cowley says to tell you, that's what Doyle's for."

 Bodie glanced into the rearview mirror for another glimpse of his
peacefully oblivious partner. "What? Do you mean to tell me, he's supposed
to be useful as well as ornamental?"

 "So sayeth Uncle George."

 "Harrumph. Oi, sunshine?" Bodie fluted toward Doyle.

 Ray opened one eye and grimaced at him.

 Amused at Doyle's ability to sleep through prolonged radio conversations
and high speed chases, but instantly to awaken upon summons, Bodie
guffawed.

 "Such a charming noise, that," Ray murmured, meanwhile insinuating
himself agilely from the back into the front passenger seat, without
jostling his partner's efforts at steering.

 Bodie got a lovely view of Doyle's bum before it settled.

 "Ex-Constable Doyle, your inestimable expertise is required."

 "Naturally."

 "Witness them blokes in yon hackney cab? They're to be arrested."

 "By us? Before or after we stop at the nearest bog?"

 "Before."

 "Oh, ah. Lends a certain urgency to our efforts then, eh?" Ray grinned.

 "Too right."

 "Well then, have at."

 "Ah ha, however!"

 "Ah ha, however?"

 "Murphy says that Cowley says we're meant to have proper cause for
arrest."

 "However, indeed. The villains been behaving themselves, have they?
Comporting themselves like gentlemen?"

 "Impeccably."

 "I see. That does present a certain problem, doesn't it? Hmm." Doyle
rubbed his fingertips thoughtfully over his chin, rasping his five o'clock
shadow, which had long since attained midnight status. "Where are we?"

 Bodie pulled a face at the foolish question. "London, of course," he
replied gently, as if counseling a mentally defective personage on the art
of tying his boot laces.

 "Yes, but it's only just the conurbation."

 "I love it when you talk dirty to me, Raymond."

 "Ha. Can you force them to turn left here?"

 "Can I? Just watch the master at work."

 Bodie drew the Capri squealing alongside the elegant, classic black cab
and proceeded to threaten its glossy finish. Twice he came within
millimeters of the other motor. Then with an angry curse at them, the cab
driver veered off and turned left around the next street corner.

 "Yo ho!" Bodie exclaimed triumphantly.

 "Excellent. Now we're heading toward London."

 "Doyle," Bodie politely protested, "We've been in London all along."

 "I mean London, as in 'The City of London'. Stay the course this
direction, steady on Whitechapel High Street and soon you'll find
yourself..."

 "In the muddy waters of the Thames."

 "True, but we hope to make an arrest before we drop into the river."

 "We do? How so?" Even the slightest mention of flowing waters caused
Bodie discomfort. To distract himself, he concentrated on Doyle's words.

 "Well, the City of London is an interesting legal entity. Has been around
a longish while, many centuries in fact. Got some rather old laws still on
the books, available to your fiendishly clever copper for his various
nefarious intentions."

 "Do tell." Bodie cast an affectionate glance at him.

 "Listen and observe," Doyle smiled warmly back, basking in the light of
his partner's approval.

 "Just say when," Bodie placed the proceedings in Doyle's able hands.

 "Up ahead there. Whitechapel becomes Aldgate Highstreet. Yer right
through Portsoken Ward. Aldgate Ward's to the north and Tower to the
south. You'll see the Hoop and Grapes upcoming on yer left."

 "S'truth, the lad knows every pub in the greater London metropolitan
area."

 Doyle's eyes gleamed with the excitement of the chase. "Got my priorities
straight. Now, Bodie me lad, you're surrounded on all sides by ye olde
City of London. It's time for the lights and sirens."

 Suiting action to words, they forced the hackney over to the side of the
road.

 Instantly the cabbie leaped out to confront an eagerly pugnacious Bodie.
Meanwhile the passenger bolted with Doyle fleetly at his heels.

 The joy of battle surged in Bodie. The cabbie was a huge specimen, a very
mountain of a man. The first fist Bodie flung bounced off his opponent's
middle like India rubber. The second was equally ineffective. Roaring
exultantly, Bodie charged the man, knocking him to the pavement.

 The cabbie exhaled with a noise that resembled a collapsing blimp.

 They writhed together in animal aggression. Then Bodie stunned the man
with a left roundhouse punch to the jaw. Without allowing any recovery, he
locked both his hands around the man's beefy neck and squeezed, half
throttling his opponent. Only when he felt the body go limp did he shove
back and up, to stand cautiously eying his felled victim.

 It seemed the miscreant was down for the count.

 Panting from exertion, Bodie rolled the huge form to add handcuffs. Then
he searched his prisoner, finding neither contraband nor weapons.

 His next rational thought was to worry about Doyle's whereabouts. The
little blighter was nowhere in sight.

 Bodie thumbed his R/T. "Headquarters, this is 3.7. The cab driver is in
custody. Agent 4.5 is in pursuit of the passenger, last seen on foot
heading southwest along Aldgate High Street."

 Abruptly Murphy's voice was serious. "Do you require back-up?"

 "Negative. Not for myself," Bodie paused. The thought of his prior levity
suddenly struck him. It occurred to him that he might regret his humorous
take on the situation, should anything bad happen to Doyle. The next
moment, he scolded himself for allowing such a pointless reflection to
intrude upon duty.

 But a vision of Doyle, lying bloody and injured upon the pavement,
impinged ruthlessly on Bodie's imagination.

 The radio buzzed against his palm. "4.5 to HQ and 3.7."

 Bodie beamed ecstatically at the sound of Doyle's voice.

 "Thank you very much. Back-up not required. T'was a kind thought,
however. Murph, I shall remember you in me will."

 "Going to leave me your spare pair of best Sunday socks, 4.5?"

 "Sumfink like that, yeah."

 The cabbie groaned, stirred, and rose awkwardly onto his knees. Sensing a
long overdue culmination to this assignment, Bodie benignly assisted the
man to his feet.

 Down the street at a distance, Doyle reappeared, urging his disheveled,
shackled prisoner back toward the stalled cab.

 Bodie eyed his partner from head to toes. He lingered over the knees,
where torn denim revealed bilateral bloody abrasions. "Been crawling upon
the tarmac?"

 "Quite dischuffed about me ruined trousers," Doyle pouted.

 "If you'd only eat a reasonable diet, you wouldn't be so bony and
inclined to injury upon impact," Bodie scolded. He shook his own portly
villain to emphasize the contrast.

 "Upon what charges am I detained?" Doyle's miscreant whined in overly
posh accents of outraged innocence.

 "Willfully and knowingly leaving a hansom cab licensed to ply for hire by
the Public Carriage Office of Greater London, without payment of incurred
fares," Bodie grinned wickedly.

 "In that case, what the bleedin' hell charges am I nicked for?" the
cabbie snarled.

 Frowning, Bodie looked to his partner, and was relieved to discover
Doyle's insufferably insouciant smirk.

 Emphatically, Ray replied. "You are under arrest for violation of
'Amendments to the 1654 Ordinance for the Regulation of Hackney-Coachmen
in London and the Places Adjacent'."

 The prisoner commenced sputtering.

 Doyle continued in visible glee, "Which requires all cab drivers to
inquire of their passengers whether or not they recently have been exposed
to either smallpox or the plague. Did you ask your passenger that?"

 "Bet you didn't," Bodie elbowed the driver.

 "Course not," the affronted cabbie retorted. "That's not illegal."

 "Yes, tis, actually."

 "I don't believe you. You're making that up."

 "Most assuredly not, sir," Doyle twinkled gaily. "Call yourself a cabbie?
Consider bubonic plague a trivial matter? You're a disgrace to yer
profession."

 And with that, Bodie and Doyle escorted their villains to headquarters.

 xXxXx

 Cowley met them almost at the front door of the building. "Detained upon
proper charges?" he rubbed his hands together in ill-concealed delight. "I
suppose you'll be wanting to contact your solicitor?" he added with
evident concern for due process.

 While one disgruntled miscreant was dialing the telephone, Cowley turned
to Bodie and Doyle. "Escort this other gentleman to Interrogation Room
Three."

 "No sir!" Doyle replied adamantly.

 "What?" The look of astonishment on the Controller's face was unfeigned.

 "It's now or never. I'm not following another order until I get a chance
at the loo. Give me a facilities break or accept my instantaneous
resignation, sir."

 The ensuing silence was deafening. Even the prisoner using the phone
ceased complaining to his lawyer.

 Murphy had to stifle himself, lest he chortle out loud.

 Bodie looked utterly amazed.

 Cowley stood with his mouth open upon an angry admonishment. He looked
Doyle squarely in the eye. Then a red flush spread rapidly across the Old
Man's countenance. "Why certainly, 4.5. Take as many minutes as you
require."

 "Right then." In undiminished dignity, Doyle pivoted and strode away with
a measured tread.

 Bodie didn't so much as pause for comment before hastening after his
partner.

 Inside the privacy of the men's room, flies were unfastened rapidly.

 Side by side, Bodie and Doyle offered heartfelt tribute to the water gods
of the porcelain temple.

 Then tucking himself away, Ray spoke. "You know, I don't think much of
Maslow's hierarchy of needs."

 "Funny you should mention that, neither do I."

 Doyle chuckled at Bodie's whimsical expression. He explained, "Maslow.
American psychologist, came up with a list of priorities for mankind,
presented in a pyramid format. At the base were necessities, things like
needing air to breathe, food and drink, shelter. You know, the
essentials."

 "Certainly." Fastening his trousers more leisurely than he'd unfastened
them, Bodie agreed, adding an erudite nod.

 "Basically what Maslow said was that you couldn't be bothered to worry
about things like kindness and love whilst strangling in a vacuum."

 "And they paid him to write that in a book, did they?" Bodie hooted.

 Doyle fondly patted Bodie on his well-developed back. "I imagine they
did. Funny thing, though. Nowhere in his hierarchy did Maslow mention an
urgent need to pee."

 "Strange oversight, that," Bodie looked profoundly perplexed, immediately
before bursting into uproarious laughter. "Gawds, Doyle, I can't believe
you said that to the Old Man. 'It's now or never, sir'!"

 Ray smiled at his partner's glee. "Well, I mean to say, there's losing
it, and then there's LOSING IT. And I was about to LOSE IT."

 "Quite. Me too," Bodie confessed.

 They walked on along the hallway toward Interrogation Room Three, where,
undoubtedly, a chuckling Murphy had escorted their prisoner.

 "So, uh, how did that hierarchy of needs go?" Bodie asked.

 "Hmm. I think it went: air, water, food, warmth, shelter, sleep, sex..."

 "Ah ha. Maybe Dr Maslow had something to say for himself after all."
Bodie settled his arm comfortably across Ray's shoulders. "And speaking of
which, I meant to ask you. Before, in the motor when you were dreaming,
you looked like you were having a pretty pleasant time of it."

 "Oh?"

 "Yeah. So I was just wondering, who was it you were holding so tight and
kissing?"

 "Kissing?"

 "Yeah. You were puckering yer lips."

 "In me dreams?"

 "Yeah."

 "Don't recall any kissing going on. Not at all. No. Right when you woke
me up, I think I was just about to sink me teeth into a nice cheese
sandwich."

 Bodie's countenance fell, along with his illusions. "A sandwich. You were
dreaming about a sandwich."

 "Yeah. Cheddar. Very nice it was, too. With tomato slices."

 Bodie sighed, then grinned. "Right. As soon as ever we can escape this
lunatic asylum, I'll buy you the biggest cheddar cheese sandwich in all of
London."

 Ray offered a wicked smile. "Do you mean the conurbation?"

 Bodie drew his partner close enough to whisper in his ear. "I just love
it when you talk dirty to me, Doyle."

 -- THE END --

 *August 2007*

 *Quotation notations: "It's Now or Never" lyrics by Aaron Schroeder and
Wally Gold. 
 References to the need hierarchy from: "A Theory of Human Motivation"
(1943) by Abraham Maslow.*

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